Rating: NC17
Summary: ABH smut, Someone wants his robe back.
Archive: Temple Library, Prudes, Aerie and Sith Chicks only for now. Ask me for anywhere else
NOTES: This was written after looking at good Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan piccies. At first I thought this would be episode 2 Obi, but my wonderful betas (Tams, Jenn and April, who are unwavering Qui-Chicks) said, "I loved this, Qui-Gon is faboo..." so choose your Jedi ladies. Hope you like. FeedBack ADORED!!!!! :)
You sit quietly, listening to the news feeds, sipping your tea. It's a cold morning, not that you'd noticed. Jedi outer robes are constructed for warmth, you think and snuggle deeper into the cloth. It still has his scent, a spicy yet earthy scent that wraps you in an invisible embrace.
The tea is perfect, just the right amount of sweetening and cream, cool enough to drink without scorching your tongue, but warm enough to feel spiraling down your throat and warming your belly. The exotic blend is one from your home, one he now prefers to the usual wood-bark blends of the temple. He laughed when you first told him the name, but now he asks for Darjeeling without batting an eyelash.
"Have you seen my robe, love?" he calls from the back room.
"Umm hmm," you answer, taking another sip.
He walks into the room and stops in front of you, a slight grin on his lips. "Comfortable?" he asks, folding his arms in front of him.
"Very," you answer, holding the cup out to him. "Tea?"
"Thank you, no. But I would like my robe."
You grin, raising the cup to your lips. "Your robe?"
His smile goes wider. "Yes, love. My robe that you have wrapped around your very tantalizing body."
"Possession is ninth-tenths of the law, love."
He sinks into a kneeling position in front of you. "Yes, it is. However, it's the other one-tenth that gets you into trouble."
"Maybe I like trouble, Jedi."
He smiles wickedly, takes the cup from your hands and sets it aside. Leaning close to you, he lets his warm breath ghost over your lips, your cheeks and across your jawline. With strong hands, he cups your face and brings you into a soft but possessive kiss, thumbs caressing your cheeks, brushing across your lashes then under your chin. His fingers loosely weave into your hair as his tongue teases yours in a leisurely dance.
His mouth moves to your neck as his hands slowly move to your shoulders to part the severe brown material. He nips a pulse point in your neck, his beard sweeping across your skin. You let your head fall back, content under his ministrations.
He pulls the edges of the robe away from your body, slowly exposing you to the cool morning air. Warm hands stroke the tops of your breasts, then down to your nipples, hard from the cool air and his warm fingertips. He moves his hands lower, to raise your nipples to his lips. You feel his moustache lightly rub against your already sensitive skin before soft lips catches your nipples, running over them quickly before enveloping you in wet warmth.
He suckles softly, switching from one nipple to the other with teasing kisses and nibbles. His hands are rough, but extremely erotic as they cup your breasts reverently, as if making an offering of them. The rough wet feel of his tongue brings another sigh to your lips.
The brown fabric parts more, falling away from your belly and hips, and you quiver as his palms smooth over your warm skin. He curls his fingers around your waist as his mouth moves over you, teasing your navel, then letting his breath stir the curls below. He moves his hands down a bit more and pulls your hips forward, to the edge of your chair, your legs straddling his body as his mouth dips lower still.
"Yes..." you breath as he tastes you, his moustache feathering lightly over your lips before his tongue begins to trace you, tease you. His beard brushes the insides of your thighs and you shudder again, your hands falling limply to your sides.
His mouth is magic, swirling around you, raising you to heights, then pulling away at the precipice, leaving you gasping, wanting more. One hand trails whisper-soft paths down the inside of your legs. And his tongue is relentless, tasting deep inside you, flicking your sensitive flesh until your control is near shattered.
"Please," you whisper. "Oh gods, please..."
And his tongue speeds as soft fingers begin to stroke in time. You can feel his body tense and his arm brushes against your calf as he strokes his own arousal with his other hand. His movements grow erratic, less rhythmic and his tongue plunges into you as you reach your crisis. Your cry is enough to send him over the edge and you feel his warm climax splash against your leg.
Breathing heavily, he pulls away, then pulls you off the chair and into his arms, cradled against his warm chest. You try to move but his arms tighten around you.
"Possession is nine-tenths of the law," he murmurs against your hair. You snuggle into his chest, thinking that in this case, the remaining one-tenth is definitely worth the trouble.
