Author's Notes: This is what happens when a list mom hands you a plot bunny and a thought to ponder.
There is no outright sex in this part, but lots of Qui body worship....see if you like it and let me know.....
DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognisable characters, names and references, etc are the sole property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
Is it possible for a man to have an acre of skin? Scientists will state that it is scientifically impossible for a human to have that much surface area. Could have fooled you. By looking in at Qui-Gon in the bathroom, you could swear it is that much territory and then some. And what a prime acreage it is. Golden in the candlelight, warm and molten like honey, his skin glows, shimmers. As much as you hate the summer thunderstorms here on Alderaan, you are thanking the Maker that there was one planned tonight.
The gauzy curtains over his head billow inward under the force of an after-the-storm breeze. He tilts his head back to capture the incense of rain soaked flowers. You can smell it even where you stand. The perfume saturates the air. Another puff of air moves the curtain again, sweeping ever so close to his brow, but he ignores it. From where you stand, it seems to surround his head in a halo of film. Dreamy. Relaxed. Summery.
Far away, a rumble of thunder sounds. The crack of the lightning whip is no longer heard; now it is simply the after thought. The sound makes the Master relax further back into the tub. You watch as his hair tumbles over the rim. Dark, thick and silky, you ache to plow your fingers into his mane. You long to pull gently on it, tilting his head back to taste his neck. Restraint, though, is a virtue tonight. In the subdued light of the candles, its mass is darker than usual. The same can be said for his beard; it is like a rich cocoa sprinkled on his skin. Which, you still argue, is more skin than any man has a right to have.
His usually bright and aware eyes are closed. His mouth is closed- but it is closed in such as way that his lower lip is slightly protruding. To see such a slight pout on such a serious mouth makes you smile. It also makes you want to taste it. To run your tongue over its slight slope, where the lip meets his beard. To feel the softness and the coarseness together, awakening your nerves. His lips are the color of ripe raspberries tonight, stained red from the wine. Wine, of which, he is currently raising to his lips again. You watch as the crystal goblet raises to his mouth and rest. A true connoisseur of fine foods, he rolls the wine on his tongue, holding against the roof of his mouth. You can almost feel the tongue move against your own roof of your mouth. You want to be that wine. Flowing, ebbing over his tongue. You want to stain his mouth with your saliva. Pity you are unable to.
The goblet is placed on the small wood block next to the tub. With a slight sigh, he rests more fully against the porcelain rim. His head tilts back, stretching his neck. The skin there is tight, taut, drawn over a skeletal frame that is just a blueprint for perfection. You watch as he finally swallows the wine; watch its progress down his throat. Finally his head comes to rest completely on the edge of the basin once again.
Your eyes are drawn down to his chin, firm and almost defiant in its cut. Even the beard has a hard time covering that angle. It almost irradiates from within…that defiance. It matches the powerful neck. You wish you had practiced your art as a child. Oh, to draw those lines- the sweeping arc from his chin down to his shoulders. A sensitive man about a wide variety of things, you don’t doubt the sensitivity of his skin below his ears, nor in the area where his neck meets his shoulders. Would he like a kiss there? Would he squirm? Moan?
His shoulders- another area for exploring. Tightly corded with thick muscles, they are broad and are barely contained in the space allotted in the tub. They are near the level of the water now. A fine mist of condensed steam has formed on his skin, making it look like molten gold flowing into the blackness of still bath water. What you would give to run your hands down his shoulders, massaging out the aches of the day? Who would you bribe to trace the muscles as they join with his arms, his wrists, and his hands?
One of his hand lifts to lower itself back over the inside of the basin. A slight splash sounds and his hand plunges into the water. You can see him rubbing his stomach, its tight muscles contracting and relaxing. Another gust of summer breeze, cooler now, rushes into the room. A slight shiver crosses his frame, and his foot edges out to turn on the facet. His toes curl around the handle, and more steaming hot water pours into the tub. After a moment, he shuts it off, and lowers his leg back down to the depths. You want to follow it. To sink into his embrace, to rub against his legs- it would be as fluid and warm as that bath.
His tortured sigh brings your eyes back to his face. It is thrown back in ecstasy. One of his arms is lined with the rim of the tub, under the window. The other arm still rests in the water. You sense, rather than see the tensing of his arm, of the shoulders. And instantly, you know what he does.
Strong fingers curl around the rim of the tub, tensing. The ripple of force resonates up his muscles to his shoulders. You can see the supporting arm weaken and relax and then tighten again. His chest, broad and firm, hitches in quickly drawn breaths. A lone erect nipple pokes out barely above the water line. You don’t know whether it is an anatomical reaction to the cool dusting breezes or to sensual stimulation. Either way, it is a beautiful inspiring sight. Small stirrings in the water cause small waves. The candlelight reflects off of their facets. All at once you are blinded by the image of the Master surrounded in a sea of crystal, shining and bright.
His knees break the surface- the reaction of his feet bracing against the bottom of the tub. Still more golden skin. You stifle a smile as you think about kissing behind those kneecaps and hearing his rumbling chuckle answering. His neck bends over the back of the tube and his thighs become visible. Tight, smooth, powerful, his thighs remind you of all that the man embodies. A warrior’s physique primed in life to fight for good. And you finally see where his other hand has gone.
As he holds his saber, with surety and power, so does he hold his shaft. You can see his tanned hand sliding along the engorged flesh. His strokes are slow and measured a pace that his hips match easily. You can see his pelvis straining to meet his fist. A flat thumb sweeps out to rub over the head and a quiver enters into the rest of his body. You want to ease that quiver, to make it into a moan. You wish it were your hand on his flesh, that he was teaching you the proper way to hold him, to tease him.
The curtain above him parts again, allowing the breeze in again. You can almost see the interaction between his heated flesh and the cooler air. His mouth parts to emit a moan. Guttural and deep- you can hear the want and the need in that single sound. But the need and want does not make him increase his pace. This is a relaxing time for him. Gentle and warm, not desperate. It would be like that with you, you know it in your soul. A gliding of bodies, a coming together of souls in mutual peace, love and comfort, easy slow loving.
Another moan erupts from his mouth, putting you under its spell. What would that moan sound like in your ear? If your name followed it, how would you react? You feel yourself becoming wet, eager. Simply watching the erotic ballet before you has caused your excitement. The simple imagery of his want, his evident need, has reduced you to quivering as his engorged flesh does now. His hand has become rougher in its pull- not so much demanding but coaxing. He wants to seduce his ultimate pleasure from his flesh, not to wrench the gratification from it.
His neck is tense now, strained. His mouth is open to admit his tongue. The muscle sweeps out to coat his lower lip with moisture before a set of teeth grasp the ripe flesh in a death grip. You can see the skin turning white under the strain and pull of the teeth. His hand is still keeping the slow pace, gently rising and lowering. The water splashes against the side of the tub; a tide of passion.
With a loud groan, he lifts his hips further, arching his back. He braces his shoulders against the porcelain and lowers his other hand to caress his balls. The reddened flesh bobs in the water, eagerly awaiting touch. His hand slows and then stops as he grips his cock harder. With control known the galaxy over, he begins to run his hand up the entire length. His sighs become constant as his hand moves more quickly this time. Finally, as his back bows in rigid ecstasy, his cock erupts. Semen splashes on his chest, creamy and translucent in the candlelight. You find that your breath has stopped. Transfixed on the beauty before you, your breath, when it returns is hitched and steamy. The waves of passion that he could not contain had flowed in the Force, lapping at the shores of your mind. You are not Force sensitive, but the feeling was palpable and tangible.
His hand drops back into the tub, as his arms relax and slip to the sides of the tub. His legs unfurl and his pelvis drops back into the still water. A feeling of relaxation floats over you, and you struggle to calm your breathing. The sound of thunder again alights on your ears, closer this time than last.
“Come closer, my dear.” He states, lowly, his eyes remaining closed. “There is no need to hide from me. Come enjoy this fragrant evening with me. Taste and feel what you wish.” His eyes open to stare at the half open door that you hide behind, making your heart stop. “To voyeur on a Jedi is impossible, little one. I have known that you were there from the start. Come..join me.”
You push open the door, feeling its heavy wood resist and then groan ajar. His eyes smile as he lifts the goblet to his mouth again. With measured steps, you approach the side of the tub and kneel. A golden statue sits before you, anointed in water. And the man does have too much skin to cover. As you reach out to touch him, he intercepts you hand. You sigh as his lips meet the back of your hand. “Take off your dress and blow out the candles, love. Climb in here and share the stars and the storm with me.”
You smile gently to match the sapphire orbs staring back at you. Of course you will join him, there was never a doubt. Besides, all prime acreage must be scouted first, and then claimed.