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.
His footfalls are muted as they proceed down the path. The path is a worn shadow of its former self. Once a beautiful collection of different color blocks of stone, the path is now merely an accumulation of shards of the pink, white and gray stones. They crunch under his boots, and yet muffle the click of his heels. The summer breezes move the branches overhead and you lean back in his arms to stare at the passing clouds and stars high above. An overly large palm frond moves across the opening to the sky and blackness returns for a moment.
The tang of citrus attacks you as Qui-Gon takes a corner at a near gallop. He passes the lemon tree that frames the outside of your walk. Such a powerful, relaxing smell it is, you think. His hands clench at you as he nears your house. It is a small cottage. His warm palms, open against your thigh and shoulder, burn through what little silk covers your limbs. He takes the small steps two at a time, his long legs carrying you up the entry as though you are a feather.
He sets you down on the porch, and leans against the olden, peeling door frame with a smile. “Rather old fashion, love.” He tries to put a harsh tone in this voice, but the affection breaks through, tempering it. He loves this place, always has and probably always will. It is a small place that his large frame fills easily, but with a warm welcome. You reach to open the door with your data key. Your purse. Gods! You have forgotten it. The Jedi Master next to you shakes his head with force and looks back up the trail that he carried you down. It winds through the large citrus trees and disappears out of sight. Privacy is essential to you, but it is inconvenient when you have forgotten something. The distance is great to return to the party.
You hiss through your teeth and sigh. So close. You nibble on your lower lip, drawing it in to taste with your tongue. You taste the remnants of the wine and smile at the fruity taste. A slight groan returns your gaze to the Jedi. He had been looking around the porch for another entry, but has suddenly found your eyes and lips infinitely more attention grabbing, if his heated gaze is any indication.
Suddenly, you feel the worn old railing, peeling paint and all, pressing forcefully against your back. His large, powerful chest crushes your breasts, rumpling the silk. But you could care less. His lips descend on yours with a speed and prowess that is reserved for the most majestic Alderaanian lion. His hands are on your chin and cheeks, holding you to him as though he will never let you go. You smell his musk, his warmth, his very soul as his cheek presses your nose.
His moan is muted as his mouth slants over yours. The familiar link in your mind opens once again, and you hear his breathy voice drift across it. “I want you, dearheart. Now. It has been far too long.” You sigh as his mouth deepens the kiss. “I want to be with you, talk with you, but right now, I want to be in you.”
You pull away to whisper against his cheek. “To join.”
His eyes wander past yours for a scant second and then return. You feel yourself lifted as he projects both of you over the side of the railing into the soft sand beyond it. You gasp as you bend to pull off your shoes. They vault over the side of the railing and clatter to the wood. As you stand there now, your toes curl in the cool sand and the minuscule grains push between them. You get pulled into arms again and nearly fly of the dune in front of you.
As he crosses the crest of the wave of sand, you are confronted with the silver-touched ocean. The moonlight sparkles on the waves, moving as the tide brushes the sands. Mist from the angry meeting of water and earth rises to coat your face and you inhale the salty tang. He slides and steps down the side of the dune, his feet barely holding their own in his boots.
“Nature becomes you, love.” He whispers, reaching the bottom of the pile of sand. His arms slip up your dress, moving over the material until they reach your shoulders. He looks at you for a second, and then grabs your hand and leads you down to where the sand hardens from the waves. You see the ocean meeting the sky, two different colors of black meeting and receding, playing off one another.
He pulls you to him and kisses once again. This time, his hands wander down the paths that they had forged years before. Down over your shoulders, rubbing your sides. Down to your hips, and they lead you to lean against him. Down to your buttocks, pulling you against his groin. Up to your breasts, lightly resting his thumbs there.
His mouth moves on yours with the timing of the tide, ebb and flow, and yet remains as gentle as the wind across the reeds on the dune. You feel his body pull away slightly, and his tunic part from his body. It falls to the ground, fluttering in the ocean breeze that stirs his hair. He tugs on your lips with an insistence that no other man could ever hope to match. And as far as you are concerned, another man never will get the chance.
You pull away, running your hands down the hard planes of his chest with a sense of possessiveness. His shoulders have remained in your dreams for years. So broad that they block out the sun when you stand in front of him. His chest is equally as thick. And all this glorious skin, bronzed and honeyed. His muscles are larger, you decide, as your run your hands down his chest, grazing his nipples. Age and a demanding physical routine will do that to a man.
With a slight smile, you watch as his tunics float up into the air and then arrange themselves into a make-shift bed on the ground. His white undertunic folds and becomes a pillow and stands out in stark contrast with the black tunic as it lies on the grains.
His breath is warm in your ear as his tongue grazes your lobe. “Is this beach as private as it has always been?”
You barely get time to nod, before you feel the sand at your back and a Jedi at your front. His hands creep up your body, sliding up your legs lifting your dress. He speaks quietly, with a raspy voice that grates on your libido.
“I don’t know what is softer…the silk or your skin.” He continues to push it up as you arch your back, your head grinding in the sand. He lifts you slightly with one hand and pulls the dress the rest of the way off. Your eyes close as you wait for his large hands to touch you, to tease you, to sweep across you like a painter’s brush.
When he does not touch you, you open you eyes to gaze at him. You see, through the haze that arousal has produced, his eyes focused intently on you. With an effort you reach to touch his knee. “What is it?” you ask.
“I don’t see you for two years, and I just walk back into your life and you accept me with open arms.” He head sadly. “You deserve better than this.”
“I deserve the man I love, Qui-Gon. And I love you. You have known that since our childhood.” You sit and touch his face, drawing your thumb down its plane to rest against his lips. Qui-Gon’s hair blows across his face as he sighs. You sigh with him and draw his hand to your breast. His thumb draws across the surface, raising gooseflesh and the nipple. “Make love to me, Qui-Gon. Make me forget the last two years tonight. There is only the present.”
He sighs and kisses your fingertips. The moistness and the softness of his mouth make your toes curl. You sit straighter and draw your hand down his chest, and sweep it out to the side to run over his clothed leg. The bulge in his pants is pronounced and giving off tremendous heat. It is an inferno of arousal, burning bright in a galaxy of darkness. You gently run your hands over his organ, feeling the length and width that you have remembered, if only in your dreams.
He groans, shifting his hips on the sand, and you hear the crinkle of the grains of sand as he moves. Suddenly, he lies across you, and you feel your head return to the little indention that it made before. His lips move down your neck, rasping against the skin, pulling here, sucking…oh there. He climbs the peak of your breast with his lips, only to slide down the other side, leaving a trail of cool kisses for the breeze to tickle.
“It has been long.” He groans, moving his clothed thigh between your naked ones.
“Undress, love.” You state, lowly, moving your hands down over the bunched muscles in his shoulders.
Quickly, he straightens to remove his boots and his pants. You sigh as you stretch on the sand eagerly awaiting the return of your lover. The moon shines brightly, painting the world in hues of blue and silver. The air is filled with the scent of sand and earth and tide and sea…and man. The rushing of the tide upon the land is deafening until his mouth touches your breast and he draws in the nipple, biting lightly. Then, all you hear is your own moan, and his answering breathy sigh.