Disclaimer: Lucas Owns em all
Notes: This is for all you Qui-gon lovers. I couldn't think of a better title... anyone has one better please let me know. Thanks to Angie for the Beta
Part 1
I shiver a bit as I watch the over two-meter-tall hulk kneeling in the middle of my living room breathe. At least I think he's breathing, I'd need to pull out a hand mirror to make sure. It's been two years, and I still am a long way from figuring out what makes this man tick.
Well, we have the important issues understood. We treasure long discussions on anything under the sun, we both appreciate art and nature in all forms, we hold to similar ethics and beliefs.
However, it's the cultural differences that leave me mystified.
I consider myself a modern logical girl. Which means I grew up in a world where religion is virtually dead and is looked upon as a childhood fantasy. But Jedi... they are something else.
To aid my thoughts, I decide to go and get a cup of hot tea. I always found that having something mundane to do, like drinking a homey cup of tea, helps when I am trying to contemplate the sacred. I also hope the tea will help me warm up. How a man with as much surface area as he has can be warm at this temperature I will never know.
I walk quietly, making sure I don't disturb him, but I don't do anything that sounds like stealth. One must walk a fine line with a Warrior-priest. When I get back I contemplate him through the steam rising from my cup, trying to imagine the steam being the Force surrounding him in a white mist.
I had long ago accepted the Force was something very real. Its nature and what it really is I can't fathom. My reading material has changed greatly since I fell in love. I now read anything I can about the Jedi beliefs and Force philosophy, just to try and understand. But it's like trying to learn what blue is when you are blind.
The analogies I have drawn I personally feel are very weak, but the best I can do. His belief in the Force is much like a religion, since the definition of a religion is really only Ultimate Concern. Some have the State as their ultimate concern, others have money. He's devoted to the Force. When he communes with the Force, it's like experiencing the sacred.
That's it ladies and gentlemen. Two years of research, study, nearly a hundred books and articles, and this is the best I can do.
I sigh as I sit and stare at the man himself. He has depths to him I will never hope to see, depths that were carved there by the Force. It has made its mark in him.
When I have visited the temple, I have seen Jedi in all stages. Children are children everywhere, but Jedi children have something special. I can't put my finger on what it is.
As they get older, Jedi children leave childhood much sooner in other cultures. It's not surprising in a way, they are in spiritual and mental communion with something older then any individual living creature.
Jedi talk about 'joining the Force' after death. To me, it seems as if they are constantly attempting to do it while in life. Maybe when they meditate in it and use it, they get a little taste of what it would be like to be completely immersed in it? Then why don't they just all commit suicide?
I know the answer even before I ask the question to myself. The Force has a purpose for them. Many have tried to explain it in obtuse phrases, but in reality, it's simply just trying to make the universe a little better then they found it.
I look at his face and follow the distinct lines of his nose and jaw. He has many lines around his eyes and mouth, but few of them are from grief. Most of them are of smiles and laughter. He is strong. There is intense power built into every one of his limbs, infused into each muscle. Not all of that power comes from simple exercise. Its as if his individual cells are also as dedicated as he.
I wonder for a while if the Force tends to preserve its handmaidens.
That code they live by also puzzles me. It seems in a way, they don't even live by it. "There is no passion, only peace" is an outright lie. They are a fellowship that fights for the goal of galactic peace, a goal that is likely never to be seen in several life times. Yet they fight for it as if they will achieve it tomorrow. Try and convince me that these people aren't one of the most passionate in the galaxy.
Then I sip my tea and the answer flows into me as the warms seeps in. Maybe the calm they talk about is really the calm after a storm. Maybe they are trying to say that anger, passion, despair, and hatred will pass over, around and through them, but will never grip hold. In the passing of the emotions, they will bend but not break and come through stronger and wiser than before.
I frown as I realize my tea is gone and the warmth from my cup is fading as well.
I can't help but feel left out. Despite the evidence of its existence right before my eyes, I feel a twinge of sadness. I can't ever touch the sacred. I have never known it. Even primitive cultures with a godhead cult feel there is some sort of holiness in their lives. It's something I have never felt, and doubt I will ever be able to feel.
I sigh, put my cup down and try to huddle against the chair for warmth. While I will never be able to feel it, I should respect it. I feel a deep primitive need to do this. Why am I so confused when I try to contemplate my lover and his beliefs? The answer to this question might help me determine what's wrong.
After much hard thought, I come to the conclusion that I don't know where the boundaries are. No one explains what is sacrilegious and what isn't. That explained a few of my feelings. My sense of intense unease when I am near the Temple, my feeling that I am trespassing when I enter. I almost giggle when I realize that I am afraid of angering or upsetting the very thing that Qui-Gon loves. It's a natural reaction. Most lovers are frightened to upset or damage the things or people their lover cares for. Some people have in-laws. I have an all powerful energy field that binds the entire universe together.
Unlike in-laws that will simply snub you, the Force will smite me.
It is at this point I feel that any more thinking will lead me to irrational conclusions since I am so cold my fingers and toes are numb.
I watch fondly as Qui-Gon starts to show signs of returning to his corporeal container. Color returns to his cheeks as his heart starts to speed up. His chest begins to rise and fall as evidence of a return to normal breathing.
His deathless blue eyes open slowly and blink. I see an expression of satisfaction cross his face, one that has a small twinge of sadness. I can only guess he is sad to leave the unity he achieved.
He turns to me and searches my face for a while. I know he is adept at reading people, able to divine from the Force and body language thoughts of people. After two years with me, he probably knows my depths better then I do.
"You are cold." He says softly.
I nod. "Yes I am."
He stands up, and I once again marvel at how this is the only man in the universe that can make me feel feminine and protected without a sense of being fettered. He walks over to me and encloses both of my icy hands in his warm palms.
He looks a few feet away to his neatly folded cloak, "Why didn't you put on my cloak? I can say with some authority, that it is very capable of keeping someone warm."
I feel blood rush to my cheeks, making them feel very warm indeed. I didn't expect to talk to him about my thoughts quite so soon. I didn't know how much he knew of my attempt to understand him, or my near obsessive research.
"I didn't want to presume," I told him honestly. "I didn't want to obtrude on the sacred, in case there was some significance to it."
His reaction was the last one that I expected. His eyebrows shot straight to his hairline as one corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Sacred? What could possibly be sacred about a homely cloak?"
I looked at it again. I had to admit to myself, it did look rather well worn, like a comfortable old shoe.
He couldn't hold his laughter back any longer and let it spill out in a soft-rumbling chuckle. "My dear girl, if there was something sacred about my cloak, I would like to think I would take better care of it. In reality, it is only material."
I blush even deeper and look away, feeling extremely foolish. In my effort not to trespass, I committed the opposite sin.
He leans over and reaches for the cloak. Quickly he stands me up and dresses me in it like I am a giant children's doll. The sleeves extend far past my fingertips and the extra fabric pools at my feet. The hood is pulled over my head so I can't see.
When he lifts the hood enough to peak inside I could see the mirth sparkling in his eyes as those laughter lines got a little deeper. "Warm enough now?"
"Yes," I reply, there is nothing more I could think to say.
"Good." He drops the hood back down plunging me into darkness once more, "I'll make us some lunch." His chuckles were the melody to the back beat of his boots as he walked away.
***
Part 2
I love it when he makes lunch. It's not often that someone other then myself creates a meal for me. Meal times are one of my favorite times with him. We can sit in companionable silence. There is no pressure to speak.
I smile wryly at him as he insists I sit down at the table still wearing his robe. He has fixed the both of us sandwiches and juice. It is a very quiet domestic feeling, though I am careful to not have the enormous sleeves trail in any food or tip over my cup.
He shifts in his seat before touching my wrist with his fingertips to get my attention. I look up into the crystalline eyes and compassionate countenance of my lover as he watches me. Finally, his gentle baritone says, "Why would you feel as if my clothing is sacred?"
I nibble a few more bites from my sandwich as I gather my thoughts together. He waits patiently for me to answer him. "I have been trying to understand you. I have known you for two years, and know how you will react to a new chair in my apartment, yet you are still alien to me. I have been reading about the Force and the Jedi to try and alleviate that feeling."
He nods slowly, his long silvered hair brushing his shoulders with the movement. "I have noticed your new reading material. What have you concluded?"
I smile wryly, "That no matter how much I read, I will never understand unless I can touch the Force, and that I will never be able to do." He cocks his head, "Is that all? The books I saw on your table are ones studied extensively at the Temple. I find it hard to believe a collection of works that has caused incredible debate among the Jedi would not cause some critical thought outside the Temple."
I close my eyes and tell him about my thoughts of the afternoon. I tell him my conclusions about his relation to the Force, about the Jedi, my fears of offending, and my feeling of loss. He listens patiently and without judgment.
He smiles a little when I tell him about my interpretation of the code. I can see by his eyes that he feels the same way as I do. The Jedi are rather passionate people. The calm spoken of is not the absence of all feeling, but presence of it, like all the various light waves blended together creating white light. I also sense this is not a traditional interpretation, despite his agreement with my analysis.
When I finish he remains silent for a while, contemplating what I have said. When he speaks next, it is with the voice of a true teacher. "Why do you feel lost?"
I frown, "I never knew there was something missing in my life until I began searching and trying to understand you. There were depths to you I couldn't decipher, and I wanted to. I found that those depths were created and filled by the Force. Unlike billions that live today, you have a sense of a purpose greater then yourselves and all encompassing. Unlike many in cults, you can actually commune with your godhead. You don't just believe in the Force, you KNOW the Force. I have grown up all my life to believe that religions are a crutch for cultures in their infancy. But Jedi break that mold. It's rather lonely, knowing that you can know this and I am left to only believe."
He smiles slightly, "And what do you believe the Force is?"
I sit and think, trying to not use any words I had read. "There is something very very ancient about it. It's been here since time began, it has to be. There is also something very very young about it. It's as if it's always being new born. It's as if all the emotions, pain, pleasure, suffering, happiness… the sum of everything all different forms of life have felt and experienced are poured into one… thing. That one thing is… well, doesn't seem to have any real active intelligence like a god, but it's not dumb or unknowing. It simply is."
He is silent for a very long time. His had eyes closed as I described. When I finish, he remains very still. Then, very slowly, he leans over and caresses my cheek with the back of his fingers. "That, was by far and away, the best depiction of the Force I have heard in a very long time."
I look at him in despair, "How can I describe it adequately if I can't FEEL it."
He smirks, "No words are adequate to describe it. It's like trying to describe love. There is no description. And who says you can't feel it?"
I blink and stare at him. He smiles at me sweetly, "But, according to all the books and my own experience I am deaf, dumb and blind to the Force."
He chuckles, "You make it sound as if you are the cripple."
I blink at him, "What do you mean by that?"
He cups my chin in his palm and brushes along my cheek with his thumb. I can feel the calluses from his years of saber practice. "Love, did it ever occur to you that we Jedi are really the ones who have a hard time hearing the Force?"
"No." I answer honestly, "But how…"
"We Jedi have more Midiclorians in our cells then others. Now, most scientists consider a genetic aberration from the norm a 'defect'. Midiclorians are the heralds of the Force. They amplify it's call. Did you ever think that the reason we have the Force shouting at the Jedi is because we are the people that need the extra help hearing it?"
I stare at him. It honestly had never occurred to me to think of it that way. "So how does that explain…"
He kisses my forehead, "Love, you don't need the Force to scream at you for you to follow your destiny. You don't need the extra help. You listen to it naturally all the time. You are artlessly able to release your emotions to the Force; I must do so by crude manual methods. All creatures are equal in the Force, some of us just need more help listening."
I smile indulgently at him, "I think you are just trying to make me feel better."
He chuckles and leans forward so his lips brush my ear, "Believe what you will. I know only what I know." He kisses me on the neck, then the cheek, then a soft lingering kiss to my lips before he retreats back to his seat completely.
We finish our meal in companionable silence, giving me time to digest my meal as well as the new philosophical material I had been given.
***
Part 3
We spoil each other.
He lets me spend the entire day wearing his robe to keep warm. Robe is probably a bad word for it. I think the man wears two sizes, large and tent. But I can't complain when I have acres of soft brown fabric that bears his scent surrounding me.
We spend the day lazing about my apartment, fully intent on doing nothing and accomplishing it with ease. I can tell he appreciates this. A day where he doesn't have to wear a mask of a stoic Jedi Master, doesn't have to travel and absolutely nothing is expected of him. We while away the hours listening to soft music and alternating between reading and quiet conversation.
I love it we cuddle together somewhere and we read the same book. Sometimes he reads to me a few pages. He has a wonderful sonorous voice that makes the meaning leap from the paragraph.
He loves to dance and after many lessons where I mashed his toes mercilessly, I love it as well.
When he is in a playful mood, he springs up, turns up the music, and begins to twirl me about the room. Laughter floats in the air as we lightfoot our way between the furniture. It is a deep pleasure when I start to hear that beautiful baritone singing along with the music. I simply drown in the sensations of movement, his touch and music.
We are creatures of a moment only. Yet there is something rather infinite about these moments we share together. While we are in them, they seems to last forever. When they end, it only takes a thought to recall every tiny detail. The heaviness of the whirling cloak around me, the warmth of his hands radiating through the layers of cloth between us. I will never forget the sky bright blue eyes, or the laughter that I felt vibrate through his body.
In the end, we slowly come to a stop, pausing as the moment stretched into eternity. His eyes hold mine as our arms hold each other close. It felt as if the moment was so special, it was a hop out of time. We had been disconnected from the rest of space and time to allow us this heart beat.
I feel his fingertips under my chin, tilting my head my head back. He is moving very slowly, as if afraid this moment would shatter at the slightest touch. I smile in welcome and slide my arms up higher to encourage him closer.
The fingers on my chin curl so the flats of the nails trace my jawline before straightening again so his palm now cups my cheek. I lower my eyelids and lean into the touch. The arm holding me close tightens slightly. He moves so close I can feel his warm breath on my lips. I close my eyes.
"Don't laugh," he whispers.
I can't help but grin as I can almost feel his answering smile. I had never kissed anyone with a beard before him, so when he kissed me for the first time I was unprepared for the sensation. I had broken it off giggling insanely. He looked rather hurt until I explained that his beard tickled me. He countered that by saying my aura tickled him.
It's been a private joke between us that our relationship is built on unquenchable laughter. If it is, there are worse things it can be built on.
Apparently whatever spell is on us, it is stronger then most. For the mood doesn't break, it just shifts slightly.
Our lips meet.
While his beard still tickles me, it is no longer a laughing matter. The sensation now makes my toes curl and my skin tingle. Instinctively I tighten my arms around him, wanting him a bit closer. His arms are both around me now, and they lift me so I am barely touching the ground with my toes.
When we pull out lips apart we sigh deeply. I slide down his body as he lowers me back to my feet. I hug my arms around his waist and rest my head just over his heart. He has one arm around my shoulders, the other around my waist and nose buried in my hair. I feel content and utterly at peace to just listen to that powerful slow beat.
Maybe we were out of time then. Maybe, even though there was just the two of us, our moment will live on in the Force.
***
Part 4
The man has a mischievous streak you can land a freighter on.
Oh, Qui-gon hides it well, playing the part of a stoic Jedi Master. I think he just achieved that mantle so he could pull pranks and not be suspected. He says he's a headache to the council now, I think he's always been one, even as a child.
Take now for instance.
I am sitting here, quiet as a mouse, reading Master Thron's trilogy on the force and how it relates to… well… everything, and Qui-gon Jinn is supposedly doing dishes.
Note the supposedly. I hear an inordinate amount of splashing. What worries me the most is the fact he is humming to himself. He only hums when he is in high spirits and that means he's planning mischief.
I sigh as I get up, careful to pick up the front of the enormous robe I am still wearing so I don't trip on the hem. I walk into my small kitchen and I see Qui-gon Jinn, rumbling out a tune I don't recognize, up to his elbows in sudsy water.
He rinses a dish and places it in the rack. After setting the sink to drain he dries his hands on a towel and then begins to hand dry the dishes. He looks as if he is behaving himself.
This only has me all the more suspicious. I take a few more steps into the kitchen and stand near him.
"Am I working to your specifications?" He asks while holding up a freshly cleaned plate. His laughter lines are creasing and his blue eyes are sparkling like matched sapphires.
I school my face into a stern look as I study the plate he holds in the air, "It appears so. Is everything all right in here?"
He nods as he finishes drying the last dish, "Yes."
I nod back, "Good." I turn and start to carefully walk away, making sure I kick the robe out with my foot before I step down.
I only had a small warning in the form of a rustle of fabric before I heard the sharp snap and felt the sting of the towel breaking the sound barrier in the general vicinity of my derriere. I gave a sharp yelp at the abuse to my behind.
I whirl about in shock and see an unrepentant Jedi Master with a large grin on his face. He already is twisting the towel, readying it for another attack.
I swear, all men, no matter their status, are really just twelve year old boys waiting to come out and play.
He snaps the towel at me again, this time aiming in the area where my thigh would be, but only harmlessly hitting the cloak. I grin and make a grab at the towel, wanting to get in on the play. I miss, but my lunge takes me to the towel rack where I grab a weapon of my own and prepare to fight.
I am out classed from the beginning, but I don't mind. I love these rare moments when he decides that he wants to play. Our laughter surrounds us in the air like a cloud of joyous sound as we parry and thrust.
I vocally blame the small kitchen and the giant robe handicapping me, saying I would do much better otherwise. He simply laughs mockingly and says that it would do me some good, fighting against a better opponent.
Eventually he snatches my towel in mid air and yanks me towards him. However, he miscalculates the effect of trying to move me while I am wearing yards of fabric and am standing on a slick surface. I completely lose my balance and topple into him. He takes a step to try and steady me. He too slips on the extra cloth resulting in a tumble to the floor in giggling heap of limbs and cloth.
I look up from my position of lying on top of him and bite my lip to try and stop my hysterics. My entire body feels the vibrations from his laughter. I lower my head so my ear rests over where his heart is. Slowly our laughter drifts away and I am left with the beating of his heart and the sensation of rising and falling with each breath he takes.
His arms are around me, one around my upper back, the other stroking my spine. "Should we get up?" he asks. I can hear his deep voice vibrating his chest.
"Why? I'm comfortable here." I reply, "You make an excellent mattress."
His chuckle interrupts the gentle rise and fall, making the ride more jerky, "And you make an admirable blanket. However, while a hard surface may be good for back trouble, I do not have any and therefore this is distinctly uncomfortable."
I snort in laughter and simply hug him. He, growing impatient with me, has me scooped up in his arms before I can blink and has carried me to the bedroom. Kicking off his shoes he carefully arranges our limbs to be like they were when we landed on the floor.
I snuggle close burying my nose into his tunics. The warmth is having a soporific effect and his heartbeat is becoming a lullaby.
I yawn deeply as I shift slightly. Qui-gon chuckles, causing me once more to bounce up and down and vibrate from the sound. I pout a little.
"Tired?" he asks amusement coloring his voice.
"mmmm hmmm" I say intelligibly, "Nap… Napping is good."
I feel him press his lips to my temple affectionately, "Then rest, dear one. I'll wake you when its time."
With a contented sigh, I shift one last time before surrendering myself to the warmth around me, the soft tunics under my cheek and the gentle touches on my hair and back.
***
Part 5
I start with his feet.
They are really big feet, and everyone knows what they say about big feet.
Big boots.
I kiss the tops of his feet as my fingers massage the arch. I look up and get a glimpse of him lying on my bed, naked. His hair is out of its tie and spread on the pillow like a dark corona. His eyes are closed and an expression of relaxed bliss is on his face.
But I digress.
I cannot touch his soul, or open myself and show him how I feel by way of the force, like he can show me. He can place his joy and love inside of me and let me feel it. I can never do the same for him. Qui-gon tells me that he can sense it and that is enough, but I don't agree. It means he is doing all the work. It's not the same as giving it.
Since I cannot place my love and pleasure literally inside of him, I have to reason with his body and manually place it there by more conventional methods. I make sure I do a thorough job. Which is why I start with his feet.
I explore there, first letting my fingers barely tracing the lines of the bones that I can feel beneath the flesh. When he moves his toes, I can see them. I let my fingers circle gently around the anklebone then on to the tendon connecting his heel to his leg. I watch goose flesh rise on his skin. I smile in pleasure at my newly discovered sensitive spot.
My whole hands are now lightly caressing his feet. Those hard workers that have tread on so many planets. They deserve more then a little attention.
Placing one last kiss to each of his feet in parting I let my hands skim up his calves, the sparse hair there tickling my palms. Mesmerized, I enjoy the feel of it, so I linger there for a little while. Placing a light kiss here and there.
There is only soft hair, silky golden skin and strong muscle under my palms. The goose flesh on his body falls and I hear a soft deep moan above my head. My warm breath tickles the hairs, causing the goose flesh rise again.
My hands make slow, sweeping ovals over his calves until I reach his knees. I must say, he has terribly exciting knees. My fingers brush by the back of his knees; Qui-gon makes a small noise and kicks weakly. He was always ticklish there.
Being careful not to tickle, I kiss each of his kneecaps and let my hands roam up the outside of his strong thighs. Once again, only silk covered steel greets my palms. He purrs contentedly in his throat as my hands curve up his waist and down the tops of his thighs. When my hands sweep up again, he catches one of them and starts to pull me up his body.
I smile as I gaze into his relaxed and contented face. One large hand travels up my arm, over my shoulder to bury its self into my hair. The other reaches up and traces my facial features; there is a look of childlike wonder in his eyes. Then he draws my head down for a sweet, warm kiss.
Slowly the kiss becomes more heated. I pull away, wanting to catch my breath. His lips dot quick little kisses all over my face. The gentle tickle of his beard leaving skin sensitive and aching to be soothed. I Press him back into bed with a mock stern look. He turns his head and kisses my hand on his shoulder with a wicked look in his eyes, but he does nothing.
I continue my exploration.
Now where was I?
Oh yes, since I am up here, I bend down and nibble at his earlobe and the sensitive skin near it. I hear a sharp inhalation of breath. I love it here, my nose is buried in his soft hair, and I send my hands to run through the silken heavy mass. I work my way across his cheek and forehead, down the bridge of his crooked nose and thieve a quick kiss on his lips before continuing down his jaw line.
His neck is another one of my favorite places. He shivers from head to toe as my lips and teeth tease the sensitive flesh where the neck meets his shoulders. My hands roam over his biceps, shoulders and chest, memorizing the territory again. I set my fingers to dance and lightly trace over his scars as I nip my way down his clavicle. He goes boneless as the tips of my fingers circle a feather light touch over the inner skin of his wrist.
My lips dance their way all over his chest and stomach sucking here, nipping there, just enjoying the soft spring of his taught stomach. I trace my tongue in idle patters while my hands follow a mindless one.
I am so lost in what I am doing that I don't hear his breathing getting rapid and strained until I pause after toying with his navel.
"Come here," he whispers...
His voice is little more then a low rumble of thunder. His lids are at half-mast and his pupils had dilated until there was little more then a sapphire ring surrounding inky black. His body has broken out a fine sheen of sweat, making him glow.
Slowly I crawl back up his body, letting his hands guide me to lie on top of him. Eagerly I receive his kiss. He isn't rushed as he kisses me. I am thankful to have him as a lover. How many young men once they discover the heady rush of orgasm forget the other pleasures the body can provide?
He takes his time. Long languid kisses that are designed to leave me boneless and breathless. One hand constantly cards through my hair and toys with the strands. The other massages slow circles in my lower back. I am so absorbed in the kiss I don't notice that he has rolled me under him until he lifts himself above me to look down at me.
I smile up at him and trace his features with my hands.
"I love you," he whispers before placing a kiss to my lips. Then he sends his mouth and hands on an exploration of my body. I gasp as he nibbles on my neck, the scratch of his beard sensitizing my skin. They travel down my clavicle and sternum to my breasts. He must have knelt for suddenly I feel two hands caressing my skin.
I give into the sensations and simply let myself be. His hands drift lazily along my sides and back up my front. I fight to open my eyes and see him kneeling astride my hips, his eyes intense as he studies my every reaction to his touch. He moves lower and caresses my legs. I am now distinctly aware of a familiar hunger.
I moan greedily. He chuckles, and allows us move so he kneels between my legs. He bends down and teases my stomach with kisses, sharp love bites and soothing patterns traced with his tongue. My body feels like it's on fire with his hands moving along every inch. His long hair, falling like warm heavy silk whispers against hypersensitive skin.
Just when I think my skin will fly off my body in an attempt to reach him, he stops and lays cradled between my thighs as our bodies press together once more. Our lips meet and dance over each other as arms embrace and draw each other closer. My hands roam down his broad back, now hot to the touch. His breath is a steam burning against my neck.
I gasp as he enters. My entire body freezing and bracing itself for the welcomed and much desired invader. I feel his body shudder against mine as he comes to rest completely inside me. My entire body is buzzing and I feel lightheaded. I am breathing so hard I am in danger of hyperventilation.
Then the rocking begins.
Something inside me continually quakes as he moves. My hands move restlessly along his back and sides as I fight for something solid inside me to brace my spirit with. I am on running on pure instinct now. My hips matching his movements with an accuracy born from familiarity and primal intuition.
I feel myself reach the crisis point. It's as if my soul had suddenly decided to separate itself from my body because the sensations were too much for it to handle. I gasp and my eyes fly wide, I exhale once…
I manage to make it through half of an intake of air before my soul slams back into my body and pleasure rips through. My back arcs and my head flings back. Choked sobs are all that I can utter as I tremble under him.
Then his breathing hitches as well and every one of his limbs begin to shake. I watch as the pleasure grabs a hold of him as well.
Then we both fall back together, in one boneless heap. I can't tell where he ends and I begin, and frankly I don't much care. All I am aware of is the liquid feeling of warmth inside my limbs, the impossibly hot body above me weighing me down, the scorching breath at my neck, and the uniform sounds of labored breathing trying to regain some control.
I hold him close with my arms, and toy with his hair. As soon as he musters the strength he lifts his head and smiles at me. Once again he rolls us over, this time I am resting boneless on top of him. Propping my chin up on his chest he searches my face. I never know what he looks for then. All I can feel is a deep sense of peace and love just to be with him.
What ever he looks for, he always finds.
His face always breaks into a genuine contented smile as he traces the features on my face. I commit Herculean act of energy and crawl forward to kiss him. My mind, already blank of anything else, latches onto this kiss and hold it. The feel of his lips on mine was exquisite. I can almost sense the love surrounding us.
We part and smile into each other's eyes for a few brief moments. His eyes are bright, clear, sparking blue. All too soon we feel sleep calling our bodies. He kisses my forehead and the bridge of my nose before stroking side of my face and encouraging it down to his chest. I settle myself down eagerly, my head pillowed over his heart.
We rarely say the words "I love you." Both of us feel that it is too special a phrase to just be bandied about. Besides, it seems rather a hollow word for how we feel. We do so many things for each other that speak much more clearly of our devotion then any mere combination of syllables could.
I am lulled to sleep by the slow powerful beat.
End
