Author's Notes: I am continuing it... but I hope that it lives up to the first. Let me know what you think... this is just a romantic interlude in the tub, before the actual hide-the-kiddies rating starts.
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.
The warmth of the water surrounds you like a cocoon. Small waves, the result of two breathing bodies moving together in water, crest at your chest. They lap at your collarbone. Relaxing and soothing. It is almost as soothing as the heartbeat at your ear. Warm skin at your back, warm water to your shoulders and cool summer air against your face; the night is a study in contrasts.
It seems as though all sound has disappeared except for in the sanctuary that you and he inhabit. The candles remain darkened, only the faint smell of smoke and ozone reminds you of their previous illumination. Faint whiffs of smoke drift above your head, floating out of the open window. The splash is loud in your ear as Qui-Gon lifts his hand to grasp at the wine goblets next to the tube. Every drop, every splash is magnified
“Relaxed, my dear?” His voice is low and gentle, a slight accent breaking through. He hands you the goblet. Its cut crystal facets are cool to the touch, and your fingers run over its surface of their own accord. You cup it with two hands and lift it to your mouth. The man does have good taste, you think. The wine sits on your tongue, and a bouquet of slight fruity taste that reminds you of nights of humid passion permeates your head. You let him take the goblet back and it disappears over the side of the tub. He urges your head to fall back on his shoulder, and you allow it to. This places your body in complete contact with his, but you can think of no complaints to voice.
Hard muscle, soft water.
Your feet barely come to the middle of his calves. The hair there, soft in the water now, tickles at the sensitive bottoms of your feet. Your toes curl into the muscle, rubbing, yearning for the stimulation. Your thighs align with his. You don’t feel the hair as much as the bulges of muscle as a part of his thighs. The man contains as much power in his thighs as you do in your entire body. He could outrun you, outfight anyone you know, and outlast you in bed. The thighs leave no doubt in that last thought. He shifts under you, one of his thighs rising. It throws you a little off-balance on his lap, but his arms tighten to keep you safe.
His arms. As you only saw their graceful dance earlier, you feel only their movements now. Iron with a touch of silk, his arms wrap around you, crossing over your flank. His hands cross and hold over your stomach. A lone thumb gently traces the skin of your abdomen. It is a casual caress. It promises of much, much more in its burning heat, but remains steady and calming in its gentle ebb and flow. Tangible safety, palpable might, these arms will protect you against anything that threatens.
“Look at the third star there, love.” One of his hands leaves your abdomen to point at the stars visible through the window. You immediately miss its contact. His head bows next to your ear, that rich throaty voice bathes your senses. “That third star is the Coruscant system.” You turn your head into his chin, nodding slightly. His beard brushes against your temple, at once coarse and soft. His lips gently kiss your brow and you feel that mixture combine to alert your arousal. With a sigh, you snuggle down lower in the water.
His chest heaves with a contented sigh. Your body is thrust forward a little, riding the tide of his movements. You can feel the symmetry of his body. Both sides of his chest are bulging, moving as he shifts to lean further over. With his arms around you, his shoulders folding you in, and his chiseled, smooth chest behind you, you feel as though all there is of the world is he and the water. His closeness makes you feel weak, warm and fluid.
You turn slightly on his lap. You suddenly have an urge to see his eyes, to taste his mouth. As you complete the turn, sliding your skin on his, you are confronted with a slight grin on his face. It is the most that you have ever seen him smile. With a reluctant hand, you touch the corner of his lips. He kisses the tip with reverence. Oh the heat!
A sudden violent breeze pushes the curtains in. The gauze, white and filmy, comes between you and he. Paper thin, the gauze simply adds a surreal aura to this bath; it coats everything like a dream. Just as quickly, the curtain ebbs back against the window, scratching in its withdraw. You sigh as his face comes once again into total view. “The night is lovely,” you sigh.
“Just right for a bath.” He answers, talking against your finger. Your hand leaves his lips and travels down his chin, his neck. When it reaches the collarbone, your other hand joins in, running the length of the bone. You curl your hands up and over his shoulders. To have these muscles support you is one feeling, to have your hands cupping and stroking them is quite another entirely. Your hands can barely span the deltoid muscles. As you trace his muscles with your hands, his head falls back in relaxation. His hands take up new residence at your waist. They simply sit there, lightly touching.
Watching the play of water-reflected moonlight on his skin is a little too much to handle, and you lean forward to take his honey skin in your mouth. Your lips close over his corded tendon in his neck. You can feel his pulse, strong and steady, beat against your lips. A very low breathy moan escapes his lips and he pulls you so that you are straddling his thighs. You were right; he does like a kiss there. Still, though, his neck and muscles remain relaxed. You nibble lightly, your teeth drawing patterns of passion into his muscles.
“Yes,” you breathe against his skin; “it is perfect for a bath.”
Pulling away, you glance at his face. The darkness casts his face in dark hues. His sapphire eyes are black, his beard is black. His eyes train on your face. Without saying another word, and concentrating on the sound of lapping water, you run your hands down his chest. The hair there lightly scratches, and your hands pause just drifting back and forth across the wide plane of his chest. He sighs.
Your hands continue lower. The water adds another dimension to your senses. No matter what you touch, you are surrounded in warmth. You can feel his thigh muscles tighten and the friction on the inside of your spread thighs is exquisite. Thunder sounds again, and you hear the fall of light rain outside the window. The smell of fresh nature’s tears crosses the sill and you inhale. His low chuckle sounds as you release the breath.
“You try to absorb it into your soul,” he says.
His hands come up out of the water to stroke at your neck. The rivets of water released from his hands run down your back cool quickly, causing you to shiver. One of his thumbs brushes at your nape, rough but soft. Sweet friction. Your hands travel down almost between your own thighs, finding and then resting on his thighs. It is the only part of him that is tense- these thighs. Tense and ready to pounce. You press your thumb pads into the center of the muscle.
Another rumble erupts from his mouth and his hand draws you forward at your nape. A thought crosses your mind: how sweet his lips must be. How tender. The need to hide their lushness behind a beard, to protect them… they must be made of the finest ambrosia. Ever the teacher, as your face draws near to his, he tilts your head to the side with a push of the thumb- he leads you, shows you the way. One hand cups the side of your head, rubbing your hair against your ear, blocking sound but creating tangible texture. It is all that you feel until his lips close over yours.
Bliss. Heat. Gentle. Firm. Sweet.
The beard brushes your chin, drawing across the tender skin that lines your lips. It is strange. So rough looking, yet soft. The same as the man: rugged, yet hiding compassion. But it is his lips that awaken all arousal in you, and deaden all coherent thought. They are so soft. So warm. To and fro, ebb and flow, they draw back and forth. Brushing against your lips with purpose of intrusion, yet begging for permission.
You want to taste the forbidden fruit, the taste that is hidden from the world. Your tongue brushes against his lips, tasting the wine, the wind, the rain. Only the tensing of his hand in your hair alerts you to the coming of his tongue as it sweeps out gently to intercept yours. It leads you inside, into the sanctuary. His tongue dances with yours, gently rubbing. Mesmerizing, this action…like a dance of ritual…honed in every man and woman since time began.
Eventually he pulls back, drawing his tongue lightly over your bottom lip before nibbling on it. You no longer shiver at the cooling water and the even cooler air…you quiver in arousal. An eternity of a moment passes and his mouth leaves yours completely. You still feel the touch, pulling at your tender skin. You still taste the richness that only this man can possess.
“You wish more…as do I.” He whispers, kissing your nose. “But not in this bath. It turns cool, and the storm draws near.”
You turn your head to hear the rain, heavier now. It thuds against the pavement outside like a thousand heartbeats. You nod as you realize the logic of the thought.
“Retire with me to my bed.” He entreats, his hand rubbing at your nape again. “We will bring the wine.”
You smile gently, reaching to cup his own roughened cheek. “There is never a doubt, Qui-Gon.”
He returns your smile as the room flickers with far off lightning. The gray clouds obscure the stars out the window, floating against the ink sky. Enough stargazing, you think. He nods in agreement with your thought. You float backwards on your hands to allow him to stand in the tub. He rumbles with a contained chuckle.
“It is cooler outside.” He says, with a sigh and rises. The lightning flickers again, and you see his body in anointed glory. Rivets of water course down his body, interrupted in their flow with the patches of hair that exist on his chest and abdomen. His body glistens with the moisture, as nature offers more light for you to see him by. He steps from the tub and reaches for two towels on a nearby chair. His hand reaches out to help you from the basin, supporting you as your feet touch the cool marble.
The towel wraps around you.
“This way, love.” He states, holding the towel to his chest and leading you into the next room. Your hand is still encased in his large one. Instinctively, you know that you will follow this man anywhere…even to the ends of the galaxy.