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.
Laughter.
Chuckles.
A teasing glance to your waist, your thigh…
He makes love to you with all the remembrances of youth, with all the enthusiasm of years, with all the experience of an aged warrior. The bed is but a rumpled collection of cool sheets, thrown pillows and spilled candle wax. The house is permeated with the smell of ripe fruit, clean linens, dirt and all things earthen, and sex.
A happy gasp.
A murmured: “I love you”
His ponytail pulled until his neck arches back, a feast for your lips.
You make love to him with all the rapture of a woman given her heart’s desire. His face is arranged in a mask of pleasure, his lips open to gasp your name, the Gods…nature….love. The remaining one candle flickers by the bed, causing flames to cavort and dance against the wall. Its flame stains you vivid and lustrous, but softens that around you until you and he are all that is solid…real…in a dream world. The sheets pull, sounding harsh, yet mild in the night air…itself awake with sighs, groans, laughs, birds, and gentle, ever present wind.
“Ah Gods, love.” He sighs, his beard trailing down between your breasts, as his lips plunder the skin there. You squirm under the feeling, and your back arches off of the bed as if offering your breasts to the heavens. His hands glance under your hips, helping you to arch into him. “That’s it, love.”
“Giving lessons, again?” you joke, pulling on his hair again, until his head arches back and you can plunder his lips. His swollen, aroused, parted and heated lips. They are pliable under your tongue, your lips, lightly touching, then crushing, and then sucking. He chuckles as you grasp at his hair to hold him in place, only to have his hands slide down and grasp your upper thighs and throw them wide.
“Always teaching, love….” His body sinks between your thighs, supported on his lean and rock hard arms. He arches his back, allowing your hands to drift down his flanks, across his gathered muscles, to cup at the outside of his buttocks, firm and rounded. You squeeze, and enjoy his moan of pleasure. As his hands sweep towards your feet, you lower your legs to the mattress. Then you press upwards, into him, and throwing his body slightly off balance.
You try to talk, as you swing your body around to pull at the headboard. You try to get leverage to throw your body over the edge of the bed. Your breath is stolen by your own laughter. Your hands grasp at its cool wood, only to have your hips grasped and Qui-Gon’s beard pressed into your lower back. He nibbles your hipbone, rumbling wordless grunts that are somewhere between a growl and a chuckle. Qui-Gon grasps at your hips, easing you back into the L made by his legs and torso. “Escape is not possible, Tira…”
He tickles at your hips, your waist, wrapping his large arm around you to hold you to him. “Who says…” you gasp, laughing, mock struggling against him, “ that…I….want…to escape…I just…want…you…to …give …chase.”
His surprised shout of laughter is cut off as his lips close around a tendon in your neck. He shimmies up your body, while holding you in place. Soon his body completely encases yours, your thighs to his, your buttocks nestled into his hardened length, your back to his chest. His chin rests on your shoulder, the coarse hair awakening nerves at the place that is truly your most sensitive, erotic spot. Qui-Gon’s voice is heavy, like cream, as he breathes into your ear. “And when I catch you?”
You sigh, arching your neck and back, pressing your buttocks up into his groin. You are rewarded with a moan. “You may do whatever you please….”
His arms tighten, and you are truly trapped in his animal presence, and his strong masculine strength. “You are not running very fast, love.”
You sigh, and do not bother to answer as his mouth opens on your shoulder and his tongue laps at your skin there. You can feel every nub of his tongue. It draws slowly up your shoulder to your neck, trekking to your ear. His soft lips circle your lobe with warmth and oh so sweet moisture. He chuckles momentarily, and you feel it, bubbling out of his chest, and hear it gracing your ears. You feel his legs tense, the muscles in his thighs moving. You break into a giddy smile as you feel his one arm tighten on your lower stomach, and feel his other hand move around to your buttocks.
“I think I feel the reason that you are not running…”he comments, almost like he is making a commentary on a political issue. His fingers dip into you with practiced ease. “I think you want to be caught…and I think you want me to…”
“Qui-Gon!” you shout in mock outrage. Laughter starts to bubble out of you again. This man has not been this playful since his teen years.
“Yes, I think that is what you want…and I think that is what I should give you…” He uses his thigh to gently ease your knees apart on the mattress. Your knees suddenly dig into an area of the mattress that is cooler than the rest and you feel him leverage up off of you. You miss his warmth and his bulk. Then you feel him presenting himself at your opening, hot and heavy and most definitely ready. “Never let it be said that I am not merciful…”
You bark laughter, only to feel him press into you, easily…you are more than ready for his entrance. Your hands dig into the wood of the headboard, curling in an effort to convey the feeling of fullness to the inanimate furniture. You throw your head back with a groan; he bends over you with a moan, his head touching the space between your shoulder blades. “So magnanimous.” You gasp.
“Selfish…I couldn’t wait any longer, love.” He grits out, rolling his hips against yours. You giggle at the tone in his voice, only to have him nearly shout in pleasure. You can feel your interior muscles pulling and squeezing his cock with every guffaw. He pulls out, to ease back in with a quick quirk of his hips. Under you, the bed, a faithful supporter all these years, creaks as if put out. Qui-Gon kisses your skin on your back, sliding one of his hot hands to palm your abdomen, pressing you up into him. Such small quick movements, such concise thrusts… He fills you as always…
His hand suddenly pulls you tightly to him, and he whispers in your ear. “How do you want it tonight, love? Gently…hard, slow….fast?”
“You choose…” you sigh, feeling his hips pull back again. This time they continue to pull back and you feel him leave you. Then with practiced and concise movements, he flips you over into the fluffiness of the gathered pillows. Your head lands in the pile of down and synthetic material with a swoosh! You have little time to contemplate the change as he presses his mouth to yours in a heated, open-mouthed kiss. When he pulls back, his face is serious, but his eyes still twinkle in mischief.
“Do you love me?” he asks, moving one of his hands down to press your thighs up and apart.
“Always,” you answer, your hands crossing over his strong neck,” and completely.” He gazes at you for a moment, before stroking your cheek. Your eyes meet his in the flickering light. So blue those eyes, and so clear…sparkling with laughter like a brook in the sun. Set in that lovely face, that non-symmetrical face that haunts all your dreams, they look like the sky itself. “And for the rest of my life…”
He sighs and kisses your nose with a gentleness that should only be reserved for the smallest babe. You tilt your chin down, to keep his eyes even with yours. “Do you love me?” you ask, your voice as low as his. “With my life,” he answers, as a lock of his chestnut mane falls across his neck to tickle your upper chest. “And for the rest of it…right here…in this bed…in this house, if I have anything to say about it, love.”
You smile a sad grin, driven by the weight of your feelings, although happy. He rises on his hands to kiss at your lips and nose again and slips into you at the same time. You both groan at the feeling and then chuckle at each other’s reactions. The pace is slow. So very slow. Like a slow climb at a high hill that ascends into the stars. Giddy as you both are at the happiness in your lives, you know that this act is only perfected using the tenderest feelings. His thrusts are more like a gentle coaxing, a joining, a meeting instead of a driving relentless rhythm.
Your legs ease out of the sheets to curl around his lower back and upper thighs, to hold him to you. He kisses at your neck, rubbing his rugged chin and cheek into the skin there. As you climb the peak, feeling his body expand, meet, thrust and roll into yours…you hear is deep voice in your ear.
“I love you…I want you, Tira. I always have.” His head tears away from yours to allow him to grimace in pleasure. “So tight and wonderful…you are. So lovely, so…”
“Yours…” you suggest, as your body arches into his. His slow thrusts are bringing you close to the top of the hill. But it is not by the friction that it is happening, rather the tactile feeling of his love, of his caring that takes you to the pinnacle. A thin layer of sweat has broken out on your skin and matches the gleam of his skin as it sparkles in the glow from the candle. The smell of sex is so strong, it overwhelms the aroma of harvest outside your window.
“Mine…” he agrees, crushing his lips to yours again, tasting you as if you are the ripe fruit. “Come for me…”
“Demanding…” you pant, as you feel the sky within your reach, relentless, soft, gentle thrusting…but so large, hot and always everywhere inside of you.
“Only for your pleasure, Tira….come for me,” he pants back, lifting your hips a little to receive him more fully. You arch feeling him hit the right spot, the spot that…Oh Gods! Right…there…
“Yes, Tira…!” he moans, as your body hurtles off of the bed, off the firm ground…and into the sky…into the place where only your love exists. He joins you there, soaring through the clouds of dreams to dance among the stars.
The morning finds you in an empty bed. It is not long cold and you sit up, dragging the sheet with you. It covers your breasts against the cool wind that seeps through the curtains. He stands in the corner of the room, attending to his tunics, straightening them. You sigh, knowing instinctively what this means. The smell of hot tea is strong from the kitchen and you hear the rattling of pans there. Obi-Wan is also awake.
“Mission?” you ask, knowing the answer. His look in his eyes makes you shake your head.
He nods, as he bends to clip his boots closed. “We received word this morning.”
You frown and move off the bed to paddle over to him. The wood is cool on your feet, as if the floor is sapping your heat. But the morning is lovely, the smells, the sounds…you can hear the men in the fields nearby, singing their songs as they pick the ripe fruits.
“It will not be a long one, will it?” you ask, touching his cheek as he straightens. His hand reaches to hold your palm to his cheek before turning it to kiss its tender skin.
“No..” he answers, turning his head to look through the cracked door into the kitchen. “And we would not be going if the Supreme Chancellor had not asked for us specifically. It is but a trade dispute, and we should be returning the Coruscant quickly.” His eyes stay trained on the form of Obi-Wan through the door. “I will talk to the Council about him taking his trials when we return from this mission. I swear this will be the last mission that I venture on, Tira. I am done.”
You sigh, knowing that he wishes nothing more than to collapse back into bed and stay for the rest of the festival. His eyes tell you no less. “But, you have to go.”
“Yes.” He sighs again, holding your hand against his heated flesh. “Will you come to the landing platform with us…see us off?”
“You do not even need to ask that question, love.” You state, dropping the sheet and moving to the closet to throw on some clothes.
Once you are dressed, you venture into the kitchen to see Obi-Wan gulping down a cup of strong brew, and eating a ripe fruit, its juices running down his lips and cheeks. The boy always did have a voracious appetite. Qui-Gon is finishing a quick call to Mace Windu, and you nod to the image as you walk by the vid screen. Obi-Wan sees you watching the proceeds with interest and smiles at you, the dimples in his cheeks making him seem younger than he is.
“Master thinks that I will be taking my trials very soon…and then I am to understand that I will be attending a bonding ceremony…” his accent in his morning-cracked voice makes you smile.
You lay your hand against his cheek, smiling. “I would think that we could not do it without you, Obi-Wan.” You sigh as you hear Qui-Gon ending the talk. “Watch out for him, Obi-Wan…and bring him home.”
“Always, Tira….” He adds, and turns to eye his master with an affectionate gaze.
Qui-Gon steps to you and raises your chin with his hand. “I almost forgot, Tira…” he states, lowering his mouth to kiss you gently on the lips. You sigh as thoughts of sunbeams and white linen fills your head. “Good morning. I love you.”
“I love you, too…” you smile, feeling his arms tighten around you.
“We have to leave, Master…” Obi-Wan says from behind you.
“And so we do…” Qui-Gon sighs, “It is only a few days, and I will be back…I promise…” he murmurs in your ear.
You nod and pull away from him to smile. A few days of waiting in exchange for the rest of your life…