Embers

The blaze in the hearth glowed like a summer sunset. Every once in a while, a lone ash would climb into the air, only to swirl away into the night. There was a single window, set high in the wall, to the right of the great fireplace. The wood floor stretched forever across the open space, both warm and cold to the touch. His boots had been removed from his possession and so his feet traveled its surface. His soles were black from the spread soot.

Any other place, any other world, and he might have been able to release him from the prison of the room, but the inhabitants of Niok were one of the few civilizations that had perfected Force dulling. He could not feel the web of life, the ebb and flow of the Living Force that usually surrounded him. He could only sense the existence of the net of energy that had lowered over the room. It was disconcerting, but not completely unsettling....he still had his center. But he did not need to feel the Living Force though, to feel the swirls of plots around him. It was a simple deduction of nature, of philosophy and psychology: there would be a problem and soon.

Qui-Gon Jinn sighed and turned, his hands landing on his hips. The accommodations were comfortable, lush even. A large four-poster bed stood in the center of the room, against the wall. A large, and comfortable chair snuggled near the hearth, close enough to stand in a rain of sparks as a log fell. Very cozy...very....beautiful...and very much a prison. The heavy locked wooden door was simply the dotted I in a long signature.

The Gods had something in store for him. And he had a feeling he would not like it very much...

You shake your head as you approach the door. The large men on either side of you do not allow you body room nor mind space. In all your twenty years, you had never been called by the high priestess for your duty. You had hoped that you would escape the fate that awaits many girls of your age, but it appears that your time is at an end. The full moon of Myr is at hand and the sacrifice is to be made.

"This is an honor, Set..."

You turn your head to meet the eyes of the man walking along side of you. It was Uril, a friend of your brother's, and someone to be trusted. "To not have a choice in this matter?"

"To be chosen, you know that...." Uril holds your arm for support as you climb the stairs. The gown that you wear, although floor length, is tight enough to cause problems walking. You teeter at the top step, but settled quickly on your feet.

"To be chosen for what, Uril? To be someone's whore for a night...to give the one thing that society deems to be worthy and valuable for a woman?" Your voice is tight and high pitched with stress.

Uril sighs and grips your arm tighter. "To serve Myr...to give what is precious in her sight....your purity is more precious than your life....."

"And it is, in the end, my life...what good am I to my father after this? Take me away please."

Uril turns to the side, and eyes you with disbelief. "That would me the end of my life, as it would be yours..." As he uttered the words, you both climb the last of the stairs to stand in front of the impersonal wood of the door. The heavy smell of must from the hallway overpowers your nostril, making you almost giddy with the odor.

"By the love of the Gods, Uril..." You breathe, turning your face away from the portal to the prison.

But there is little else that you can do. You are pushed forward, the tray that you hold in your right hand tilts a little. The smell of fruity wine permeates the air as a few droplets fall to the floor. The chalice itself remains upright, however.

"Deliver yourself unto your fate, Set....and may Myr smile upon you...." The voice that used to call to you in friendly converse hardens to your ears. There are none that are sympathetic...and it is only your course of fate that steers and centers you. You hang your head and await the door to open.

The door swings toward you, its heavy weight moaning on the hinges. It is an old door. The machinery to maintain its existence is antiquated, but it serves its purpose well. Tonight it will seal you in with your fate, and keep the world out when it might help you. The red light from the moon outside alights on the windowsill near you. It has changed the pale brick to a deeper shade...a shade that reminds you of death, of pain. Tonight will be a death of sorts, a death of your innocence, a change that is irreversible and unable to be retained. You enter this room a girl and will leave it a woman. The only thing that specifies your worth in society will be taken away.... Your sigh is bone deep.

Uril grabs your arm once again, more roughly than needed. He leads the way, his slightly taller stature moving ahead of you. The man behind you presses, pushing, making sure that you do not bolt. They have no worry about that, you think. To run would insure your death. And although you are saddened and crazed at this new aspect of fate, you still realize the sanctity of your life.

"Stay where you are, sir."

Raising your head, you see the man that is held within this prison. He stands at the far side of the room, appearing as though he would move toward you in the space of heartbeat. His legs are tensed, as though Uril's words had stopped him from doing just that. Although he stops his motion, his voice is not silenced. "What is the meaning of this?! Why am I being kept here? I am the ambassador..."

Uril pulls you around completely, and your skirt flies out to tease your legs. You come to a stop, held away from his body. "We are quite aware of who you are, sir. And it is for this reason that you have been chosen as the Anointed One."

The man twitches, his hands landing on his hips and his legs brace further apart. "Anointed One? I am not quite sure..."

"It is the Full Moon of Myl, my lord."

Uril removes his hand and steps back, falling behind you. You can feel the man's eyes rake over you in slight surprise. He still stands too far from the sole lamp and the dying fire for you to make out his form, or indeed his face. All that you have known of him is his height, which is intimidating, and his voice, which is deep.

"The full moon of Myl? You speak of your religion?" The man's voice draws deeper, calmer. His form seems to relax. His eyes narrow as he looks to the men behind you. It is the one concession that you see he is giving to his discomfort at being at a loss. "You believe that a sacrifice occurs on the full moon of blood."

"Exactly, sir," Uril moves back completely to the door. "Cosette is the chosen sacrifice and you are the Anointed One to accept it."

The man moves quickly across the floor, his legs pumping. You can hear the slap of his bare feet against the wood of the floor. He speeds by you, the displacement of air chilling you. Uril and his friend had already anticipated his move and had already begun the door closing procedure before they had finished speaking with him. By the time the man reached the door, there was barely enough room for him to wedge his hands to keep it open.

His shoulders and arms are tense; his legs are solid and braced. He grips at the door for his life, pulling against the machinery that shuts it. Man against machine. He grunts in exertion as he fights to keep it open. You know better though.

"Sir? You should save your strength. The door will not reopen for you, and if your strength gives out...it will crush your fingers."

The man grunts again, as if realizing your wisdom and quickly pulls his hands from their precarious position. The door slides shut with a whoosh, and a low creak. Once again it is sealed from the outside.

You hang your head, realizing the fact that your fate is now sealed...quite literally.

"What else do you know of our prison here, my little friend?"

You raise your eyes to meet his face, as he has turned around to face you in the room now. You open your mouth to answer him and he steps closer to you, out of the shadows and into the light. You momentarily stop as you see his countenance for the first time. He continues, as if discussing the weather.

"And what do you know of my apprentice, a young man named Obi-Wan? I am under the impression that he is near. Your friends have lowered a Force restraint over the room, I can not sense my apprentice, nor can I use my abilities. What is the meaning of that?"

You gulp, as he comes closer, his body moving quietly and with much force. Restrained, glorious force.

He smiles slightly. "But I do not need my abilities to sense your fear at me. Do not fear, little one...I will not hurt you, it is not my way. I simply wish to understand this problem and gain my freedom. I have a mission that must be accomplished here."

You sigh, tilting your head back to look at the mountain of man. He lifts an eyebrow as you begin to speak, and his face morphs from gentle to incredulous in the space of scant seconds. "There is a way out of here, sir, but it requires the completion of the sacrifice. Once that is accomplished, the door will be opened for both you and I."

He shakes his head once again. "I have studied your ways..." his large hand moves from his hips to open in a gesture in front of him. "I understand the belief in the sacrifice...but I do not understand what is expected here. The exact nature of the sacrifice has never been written about...."

"The sacrifice is me, sir."

"You? A human sacrifice?" his voice raises in timbre and pitch, climbing.

"Not my life, sir, rather my purity."

And you watch as his eyes and mouth widen in shock.

The man's arms uncross, unfurl and fall to his side. You can see the veins in his hands against his skin, as though fighting for freedom from containment. They brush against the roughened material of his clothing as they slow to a rest against his side. "Your purity?" he nearly sputters, his head tilting to the side as he sighs.

You stop momentarily in your thoughts and your breaths and gaze back at the man. It is strange that he does not.... "You were not told of the position that you fulfill?" you nearly choke out.

"I know nothing save that I stand in front of you in a locked room, that it is the Moon of Myl and that your religion calls of a sacrifice at time like this. The type of sacrifice is not mentioned in literature surrounding your society, I am afraid." His voice gets deeper. He moves closer, skirting the edge of the table, stalking close to you. "What exactly is it that I am missing here?"

"You are to be the Anointed One. You are from the stars...." You sigh, tilting your head back as the man's face finally comes into view. It is a kindly face, a handsome one. His brow is smooth, free of most lines. It is capped with a mane of silver tinged brown that extends well past his shoulders, falling in waves. It curls around his ears touching his cheeks, which are slightly drawn yet, rounded at the same time. The brow sits above a pair of startling blue eyes that pierce like a laser. His nose is asymmetrical; his lips are slightly full, hidden in a close cropped beard. Not the face of a man to be trifled with, nor was it a face of a man that would hurt you.

"From the stars, my little friend? Your planet knows of travel...why would this be important...?"

"In the time of the ancients, this act was reserved for the priests. The ones that were considered otherworldly. It has simply carried over to today, sir..." you move backward a little, pressing up against the solid side of the chair. The plush of the material is cool to your fingers as they dig into it.

"My name is Qui-Gon, little one. I am a Jedi, not an Anointed One..."

You sigh, shaking your head a little forcefully. "It matters not if you are a God walking or a beggar, Qui-Gon. My purity is being offered to you. It is a gift you cannot refuse, or you will bring on the wrath of the Gods, and I cannot shirk my given duty...."

His hands reach out to clasp at your shoulders before you have time to step backward out of reach. His broad long fingers dig hard into your muscles there, and you realize that your voice has been loud and highly pitched. You sound like a weeping child, almost crazy. His face is impassive as he gazes down at you from his great height.

"Easy, little one, easy. Calm." He waits until your voice evens and your breaths slow before he leans down and looks at your eyes. "Your purity? I gather you are talking about your sexual purity. Am I correct in that assumption?"

You nod and his hand comes up to cup your cheek gently. You are amazed at the warm and gentleness the hand conveys even as the callused surface touches your skin. He grimaces slightly and lowers his hand. "I am to take your virginity tonight?"

A verbal answer is not needed as you nod. The shock in his eyes is plain to see, even in the low, golden light that floods the room. You expect him to simply accept the fate that has been handed to him. Your mother has repeatedly told you of men- that they are sexual creatures, that they will do whatever is needed to be able to join in the act. This man, as a large and massively cut male, should not fall too far from that estimation, you think. Bracing yourself to be bodily moved to the bed, you close your eyes and inhale.

His hand picks up your smaller one on the chair. Not expecting that move, you open one eye to gaze at him. He raises it to his lips and kisses your knuckles. The eyes that meet yours over the joining of your hands are kind and blue, like a summer sky or a calm pool.

"Your society values that special aspect of women, little one. How could they expect a girl to forfeit that which gives her value? You would..."

You sigh and nod, feeling your neck muscles tense. How dense does this man think you are? You have thought of these things. "I would be giving up my father's and my worth within a marriage. But it is my duty, sir....Qui-Gon. And if it is not accomplished, it is punishable by death."

His mouth opens and his head twitches a little to the side, before he decides better of it. His hand rubs over your hand momentarily. "The argument is mute here, though, my friend. I would not engage in this act with one so young, nor would I do so under duress."

You open your mouth to gasp. Wanting to tell him that he is signing your death warrant, you take in a breath to begin. He stops you with fingers on your lips. "I will not allow you to be killed for this, or for anything to be levied against your family. I am a Jedi Master, little one. They cannot expect this of me, or of you for that matter."

He drops his hand and walks away from you. The tail of his tunic swings about his thighs. He approaches the table on which you have set the pitcher of wine. "What is your name?" he asks, as he pours himself a goblet of liquid.

"Cosette," you answer around the lump in your throat. Your fingers are clenching in the rich brocade of the chair covering, flexing and pulling.

"A very nice name," he answers, moving to the chair by the table. "You will have to excuse my serving myself, Cosette, I have not had refreshment in a day."

Nodding you approach him to stand along side the table. You can feel the confidence wafting off of him. His surety in himself as well as for his actions exudes to you and makes you feel protected. He truly believes that you will not be harmed because of him. He smiles at you with a gentle air and sips of the wine, taking in several mouthfuls quickly. As he approaches the bottom of the goblet, his eyes squint and he pulls the rim from between his lips.

You barely have the time to jump back away from him before he spits the contents of his mouth onto the stones at your feet. Your head whips around as he shakes his head with a growl. The droplets that had not completely cleared his mouth were hanging in his beard. His lips appear stained red - red like the setting sun, and collected on his beard, it looks like bloody rain.

"What is this wine, Cosette....it tastes bitter...like rinds of some sort...has it gone bad?" His mouth screws up, making his mustache bend over his lips like a shield protecting from the rain. He holds out the cup and you reach to take it with both hands. The cup is as large as your two palms cupped together, and you are amazed as you realize that his hand just cups the goblet in one hand, between two fingers. The cup settles heavily in your palms, its metallic surface cool. You tilt it watching the glint of its surface.

The smell of fruity wine fills your nostrils. The wine laps at the sides and leaves a thin residue. That residue turns a crystalline white as you watch. You run your finger down the smooth surface on the inside, touching it to the powder as it is left behind. Very gently you press some of the powder to your tongue. It tastes bitter, harsh, and your tongue goes numb. Your soul goes numb with it.

"Untril." You whisper, quickly placing the cup on the table. Its momentum carries it across the surface quickly, threatening to tilt it. At the last minute, the Jedi's hand shoots out and stops it from continuing its descent. His eyes fly to yours trying to understand.

You back away from the table. Untril. It is a drug that is used by prostitutes on your planet. It serves to increase a person's sexual need; sexual prowess until it is necessary for the person to accomplish the act. It has been known to cause what is called Inferno among women and pain in males. It is an illegal drug among those in the general population, but apparently that did not stop the priests from using it to insure the completion of this rite.

Qui-Gon releases the goblet and steps to you. His hand grabs at your forearm as your feet scrabble on the floor to get your further away from him. So much warmth, so big...his hand grasps as you swing your arm to back away from him. The other arm swings around to grab the other arm to steady you in front of him. "Untril? I have not heard of this....explain....Cosette, please..."

You lean back, pushing against the bulk of his body. He is not holding you close, but any contact with him at this point is not wanted. The movement of his muscles as he tightens his arms frightens you and you withdraw your hands before you answer him. If he is truly ignorant of the drug, he deserves to know. By the Gods! After his promise, you had hoped it would be fine...

"Untril, Qui-Gon, is a drug extracted from local plant life. It works against the lower nervous system, and serves to excite those sacral nerves that control the....the..." you sigh and shift, trying to look at his eyes. "It causes what is called Inferno....prostitutes of this planet use it to increase....business..."

You finish your tirade and lift your eyes to his, squinting as you gaze at him. His lips that have been full to his point, thin and his chin sets. The golden tint of his skin has grayed. He appears to be sick, but not physically. He swallows once, and inhales a large quantity of air. "An aphrodisiac?"

You nod and watch his swirling blue eyes closely.

"They drugged me?" he asks, quietly. "By the Gods, I should have expected something like this. Did you know anything about this?"

His voice raises at the end of his question and you shiver at the tone that is used. Suddenly his girth, his size becomes the threat that you originally sensed in him. You begin to shake your head as you press on his chest to move away. Your hands make contact...against the absolute solidity of his body. He seems like a wall or a stone... His arms are like steel bands. They confine you, imprison you.... "No..." you whimper, pushing harder.

His eyes flash momentarily as if testing your validity. Their ice blue depths search yours. He switches tactics quickly as he senses your reluctance to be held. His arms drop as he whispers, "What can be done?"

You look at your feet as you answer him, quietly and not without a little trepidation. "Nothing."

Qui-Gon paces the confined area as a wild bird beats its wings in a cage - expending energy and accomplishing nothing. He is agitated. Angered almost. But he is fighting for calm, that much as apparent. His hands clenched as he stalked from one side of the room to the other. With each sweep, he passed the bed. You watch him as he passes, his hair swinging with every stride. His hips sway slightly from side to side, almost as if they lead the rest of his body in direction.

"There is nothing to do for it," you reiterate for the seventh time in an hour. He turns to look at you, his face flushed and covered in sweat. A lone rivet of sweat runs from his neck down into the V of his opened tunic moistening and darkening the material. His arms move restlessly as he appears to try and get comfortable. You lower your gaze to eye his bare feet. They are gentle feet, not cloddish, but well-formed, high arched. His ankles are encased in a tight band that begins his leggings. The brown material stretches up and over his tight calves and strong thighs.

"The alternative is not to be considered, little one," his voice is tight. Qui-Gon's massive shoulders shrug, making the tunic, now lying open to relieve the increased body temperature that he was experiencing, swing, dancing around his waist. "There has to a way to avoid..."

You inhale while you consider options for him. The acrid smell of ashes enters into your nostrils and you are reminded of the hearth in your home. The fire has gone down more, making the orange-red glow of the room dim considerably. But what has been lost in heat and light from the blaze however, was being made up for in his eyes. They were like stars in the sky. You squirm under their gaze. "It has been an hour, Qui-Gon....you do not have much longer until your body will be unable to..."

His mouth sets in a firm line. "It is already to that point, Cosette..."

Your eyes flash to the joining of his thighs. You can see a plain bulge confined within its material. "You..."

"I am aching already, Cosette....but I refuse to...." He holds your gaze with his blazing eyes for a moment longer before lowering his eyes and stalks back across the floor. As he passes you, you can smell the odor of man....sweat, and power, and something older...musky. You turn your head and your hair falls past your shoulder to hang in space in front of you. Your legs are folded under you. Although you are in a situation that you have dreaded most of your life, you feel strangely calm. You have accepted your fate, you suppose.

His legs furl and unfurl as he sweeps back past the bed. You are mesmorized by his long stature, the way that he flows with every step, the way that his bulk almost glides. There is a restraint to his body, a stiffness to the way that he holds his body now, a change from what was before. "I will not..." he mutters, his teeth gritting.

You tilt your head to look at his profile as he turns to look at the fire and its dying embers. The gleam of sweat in the firelight shines back at you. You can hear his harsh breaths, like rustling of leaves in a harsh wind. He hangs his head and digs his hands into his hips. You whet your lips and sigh, swallowing. "Can you ignore it?"

His sharp, bitter laugh startles you. "I can try, but it is extremely hard with a woman dressed like you in the room, little one." He stalks to the far side of the room and collapses in the chair. His legs whip out and cross at the ankle. "May the Gods be damned...I can't abate this affliction." His eyes sweep over your form again, making you feel as though you are already naked in front of him. Your breasts inflame, pressing against the fabric of your gown. The tightening of your nipples is an uncomfortable feeling. It is almost like his body is calling to yours in a language that you cannot hear, nor can you understand. "Cover up, love.." he grits out, his eyes centering on your breasts that you know are clearly visible through the flimsy material of your clothing.

You reach behind you to draw the coverlet over your shoulders, to drive away the chill from the night, to hide yourself from sight, and to ward off the inferno of his gaze. As your shoulders arch, and your breasts press forward, a strange sound is heard in the room. You wonder at the sound before you realize that it is coming from the man in the room with you. You quickly draw the material over your shoulders and forward and only then do you realize that one of your nipples has escaped from the confinement of your clothing. You gasp and try to draw it over you quickly.

You try to ignore the sound from across the room, but your eyes are drawn to him again. You gasp as you do. The gentle hand that had held your chin earlier is now cupping the bulge in his pants, his fingers curling slightly under this body. His head is tilted back slightly, and his eyes glitter at you from underneath his weighted lids. In a voice that is somewhere between a growl and a moan, he pleads: "Cover up."

He seems to be in pain, you decide. It would fit with the mechanism of the drug, you decide, thankful, not for the first time that your mother has given you some of her healing arts knowledge. "Qui-Gon?"

"Hmm?" comes his answer, as he pulls his hand away from himself and places it on the armrest of the chair and grips it. "What is it?"

You sigh watching him squirm. "Is there something you can do? I do not wish you to be in pain, sir..."

A barked laugh bubbles out of Qui-Gon and his arms tighten even further on the chair. "What do you suggest?"

"I have brothers, sir. I do know what they...." You answer in a matter of fact way, but trail off as his laugh becomes continuous. The bed shifts as you squirm in an uncomfortable way.

He rises and moves across the floor toward you. Your legs stretch out from the crouched position, moving to the edge of the bed, curling and tightening to gain leverage to throw you forward if need be. His hand tilts your head back to look him in the face. You clench your teeth, setting your jaw and you feel the movement of his bones within his hand. You get a new view of him, one filled with his hazy eyes. He is so close that you can see his blond eyelashes over the emblazened blue of his eyes. "That they are bringing themselves pleasure? Relieving pressure? Touching themselves? Is that what you suggest for me?" His voice gets low and grated, harsh. "You want me to relieve myself in here with you? You want me to undress and..."

You pull against his hand and try to free your chin from his grasp. "If that is what you need...Qui-Gon, I do not wish you to be in pain...."

"Would you be embarassed, Cosette?"

"I would leave you as much in privacy as I could."

"It might actually help the situation, I suppose," Qui-Gon answers, dropping his hand. You can see the shaking in his hand as it drops away from you. He is using immense control. "I confess, I do not usually do this with an audience."

You swallow and turn your eyes, going to stand by the lone sheet of glass that separates you from the elements outside. Raising your hand, you touch the surface, feeling it cool plane bend inward under the force of the outside wind. There is a rustling of fabric and then the familiar squeak of the bed as the Jedi's weight depresses it. You keep your back turned as you hear sighs. A rhythmic movement begins on the bed.

Pressing closer to the wall of glass, you try to distance your mind from the actions that are occurring in the room. His deep, rich voice is low, but virtually sings with hums and soft moans. This close to the weather outside, you hear more of the fury of nature than you do him, but what you do hear, has your body responding. In the room that you have shared with your brothers all your life, you have heard these noises before, but they have never affected you. Most often you would just roll over in your sleep and draw closer to the wall. Here, in this room, with this man, who is definitely not your brother, you can feel an interest within yourself.

His voice catches momentarily as he seems to shift on the mattress. With a uncomfortable movement of your body, you press closer to the glass. The movement brings a reflection to your sight line. The light from the fire reflects on the moving glass, it gives a subtle but concise view of a darkened, shadow-filled, reflected world.

The bed is clearly seen. Large feet are at the end of the mattress, one is straight out, the other is flat on the surface. The bent leg is supporting the movement of hips - the rhythmic movement you hear. The leggings are still on , but they are open at the waist. Both of his arms are bent, one laying low in his crotch, fondling flesh still hidden in the pants. The other is laying across his lower abdomen, curled in a fist around....you avert your eyes. You redirect them to his chest, heaving in pants that you can clearly hear now, as you strain to hear him...to hear whatever he does... The inner tunic that he has is separated on his chest, revealing....chistled muscles, tightening and releasing with a set cycle...extra gleaming of lines of sweat down in the crevices of the muscle... Further up, the tensing of that neck, the cords stretching....even further, the long brown hair like a cover upon the pillow so thick.....

His leg tenses, pushing his hips toward the ceiling. The hand moving along his flesh increases in pace. His voice increases in timbre and pitch....the throaty sighs becoming moans, the moans becoming growls...your body answers him...you sigh....reaching to touch the skin above your breasts... the sounds... it is like they shoot straight to your center, bypassing your brain...its basal, atomic...his hips press further to the ceiling, his feet dig for leverage...his hand is moving rapidly....tensed thighs, bulging the material....the creak of the mattress....

You turn from the window, suddenly the reflection is not good enough....he does not notice...his eyes are closed. His hand is angrily pulling at his flesh, his hips are moving quickly, rapidly...his body is golden, olive and brown against the blue of the bed....the movement is almost comical...but the sounds...oh Gods...the sounds....his moans....his growls....and then a keeling groan....his sighs....and then....tensing....grasping...gasping...neck arching...grimacing...a low hiss of pain/pleasure/pain....

Release.

His hand stops its movement, squeezing....sighs in a rhythm as old as time...you watch as his legs lower his hips to the bed...you can see a small pool of translucence on his abdomen. A releasing of the neck muscles, a slight relaxing of his mouth line....like all his strength, all his power, was washing away like water down a drain...the absence of pain... a contented sigh....a....a...

A lone blue eye staring at you across the room.

You whip around to face the window once more as he moves about, rising from the bed. You hang your head, attempting to stare at your hands, attempting nonchalance. But that disembodiment is not possible....you feel hot, achy....itchy...aroused.

You sigh as the next blast of cold wind presses the pane of glass closer to you and you notice that your nipples press outward toward its surface. What happened, why does it affect you so?

"Cosette?" the voice is low and gravely as if its owner had run a long distance.

You keep your back turned to the room, hoping for the heat and redness in your face to abate. "Yes?"

You hear the words that you had hoped never to pass his lips. "It didn't work...little one...in fact... I think...it is worse..."

Turning on your heel, you face the Jedi once again. He is breathing hard and his hands are at his sides, clenched. The waist of his pants hangs open and you see his ripe flesh peeking through the tails of his open tunic. It is reddened, angry and so very aroused. More so, judging by the size of the half hidden bulge, than before. "Gods...."

"I think we are going to need their help, my friend..." his voice is tight and breathy. The eyes that meet yours are both kind and heated. "That just whetted my appetite..."

You stand to the far side of the room, placing the bed between you and Qui-Gon. He has moved away from you, and is standing in front of hearth. His back is to you. The olive material of his tunic is loosened and covers the upper most portions of his thighs. His arms extend along the length of the mantle; his hands are turned to grasp at the edges. You can see the whiteness of his knuckles in his grip from where you stand across the room.

"Qui-Gon...."

"Sith, there must be something...." He mutters back. His head is bent forward, extended on his sweat- covered strained neck. You can tell that his eyes are centered on the conglomeration of ash and ember that was once the fire. "I am separated from the Force....I cannot dissipate the effects to it...."

You shift your feet and wring your hands. He is worrying you now. He is in pain; you can tell from the deep breaths and shifting of his hips in a restless manner. And the lofty promise of him keeping your purity untainted now seems far out of reach. His pain, though, by far, is the more pressing of matters. You have heard stories of men dying in agony as their systems either overload or shut down from the onslaught of the drug. Although this man, this strong man, has told you that he is Jedi Master....he is still a man. And this drug is an equal opportunity one - it will affect him no matter who he is.

"Qui-Gon...." You move towards him, skirting the edge of the bed. Your steps are sure even though your heart is not. You have to help him. He has tried to protect you from the evils of your own society; you cannot leave him to suffer this without an attempt at help.

"Stay over there, Cosette..." he warns, not bothering to turn around. "I cannot offer complete surety for what my actions might be, little one. He obviously hears you plodding across the floor and winces. "Please...Cosette....remain over there...my body..."

"Is in pain." You answer, slowing to stand behind the chair. You reach out your arms to grasp the back of the sturdy furniture. "This drug has maimed men, Qui-Gon...."

"It will not maim me, and I will NOT harm you to save me. So...please....Cosette...stay away." His voice is tight and he shifts his hips more forcefully as you stand mere feet from him. You clench your teeth and consider your options.

You could offer to allow him to repeat his performance of a little while before, or you could help him. If you help him, what can you do? You have heard of women servicing men with their mouths...you have even witnessed your sister doing so to her husband. Or you could just move away from him and let him deal with it himself. Those are your options. Shifting your mass on your feet, you weigh the options. It is obvious that it will be up to you; Qui-Gon's upper brain is being overrun by his basal instincts. That is how the drug works.

As you hear his sigh and he lowers one of his hands to his crotch, you decide against leaving him alone. It would do him no beneficence. The only true option is to help him as a repeat of his actions earlier would more than likely leave him worse off than he is currently. With quiet steps you move forward to touch the Jedi's broad back.

His muscles retract from your touch, rippling under the material. His shoulder blades thrust outward. He reacts as if you have burned him with a coal or a poker. His head remains down and you slide your hand up to touch his hair. "I cannot leave you in pain, Qui-Gon..." you whisper.

His blue eyes blaze into yours as his head turns to stare at you. "You would prefer to be under me, Cosette? Because that is what you are offering to me, little one." he states weakly. You feel your cheeks burn in embarrassment, but maintain his eye contact.

"I would prefer you not to be in pain," you answer honestly. Where your hand is, lying against his back, you can feel the sweat on his back wicking into the material of his tunic. There is a faint tremor to his muscles and a slight quaking to his arms.

"What do you suggest?" he whispers. He lifts his head and tips it back, breathing out. "I will not take you, and I will not harm you."

You move your hand to his shoulder, curling it around the bulk of muscle there. At this close distance, your world is nothing but a swirl of smells and texture. Powerful muscles under roughened material, silky strands of hair brushing your hand, the smell of ashes, the aroma of human sweat, and the tangy, salty smell of sex: they all combine to wrap you up in the heady combination that makes you dizzy. You know instinctively that Qui-Gon will not harm you. You make the first offer that comes to mind: "I can pleasure you with my mouth, it might stem the tide a bit longer and keep us from...."

His eyes open widely as he gazes at you and you nearly step backward under the piercing strength of his gaze. His eyes close for a moment afterward as his tongue sneaks out to brush against his upper lip. You expect him to answer you quickly with a sharp NO!, but you are surprised when he groans quietly. You stop backtracking as your legs hit the chair behind you and you collapse onto its cold impersonal nap.

"Do you know...." He stops and inhales deeply. "Do you know what you just did to me? Little one? Do you know the image....?" He says so quietly that you lean forward on the chair to hear him.

With a sigh, you shake your head. "I have seen it done, Qui-Gon, but I will tell you that I have never tried to do it...it does not seem a hard accomplishment..."you trail off as the Jedi turns fully and faces you. His leggings are still gapping open at the waist and you can see his distraction almost jumping out at you; it is barely held in check by the little material that covers it. You gape for a moment, before raising your face to his once again, skimming the naked sweaty chest on the ascent to his eyes. "You might educate me...."

Qui-Gon sighs visibly, moving his hips in a repetitive motion. The tails of his open tunic move back and forth against his legs like a curtain in the breeze. He seems to think deeply for a moment before shaking his head forcefully. "I cannot, Cosette....I will not...."

Shaking your head again, you rise, moving forward until you stand only a couple of feet from him. Where before, the smells and textured awakened your mind, now the sights rush in on you. Rivets of sweat course down the planes of his chest, dipping into the slight valley of his abdomen. Hairs are sparse, just adding enough depth to the skin that you ache to touch it to experience it. The neck has hair clinging to it, covered in moisture. You can feel the heat rolling off him in waves. Although you have never dealt with a man in that fashion, you can almost feel the experience of a millennia of women calling to you.

You press a hand to his chest, and raise the other one to hush the denial that you know is bubbling to the surface of him. The adamant argument is stopped as your fingers touch the softness of his lips. So tender, so hidden....surrounded like a protected citadel...the coarseness of his hair only makes the lips softer to the touch. You lean in and press a solitary, quick kiss to his breastbone that is even with your face. His breathing stops as you press the kiss and then move back, rubbing gently with the hand that was on his chest, as if applying the kiss as a balm on sore skin.

"Cosette..." you can feel the tremors in him. Your hand presses down his skin. He is so warm, so hot....so... Your hand on his lips drops past them to touch his chin. It drags along his whiskered neck.

"I want to help you..." you whisper in return. You really do want to help this heated, tortured warrior. "Show me how...."

"Gods..." he sighs. He opens his mouth again, to deny, to argue, to tell you no...but his voice tangles on itself as you sink to your knees in front of him. Both of your hands join each other and trail down his chest tunneling under his tunic, glancing his ribs, his waist...the muscles arching for touch and yet recede away from you.

"Show me?" you ask...and you find that you truly do want him to show you. The image of him arched off the bed, his body like a large bow readied for battle calls to you. You want to feel that need, that want....you ache and want as well....

You gaze up at him and time stands still. The heat from the dying fire, from the embers, bathes your front, making your back and feet, as they curl under you, that much more cold. His eyes, now just bare slits through his lids, glitter down at you. You speak to those eyes, to the depth you see and feel in them. "Teach me...."

He tilts his head back, a low moan escaping from his gaped lips. You see his hands tighten into fists, clenching at his side as his teeth grind. Your hands near the furnace that his body, at the juncture of his thighs. His legs quiver as you press down the sides of the leggings as they V between his legs. "Are you sure....Cosette..."

"Just tell me...." You lean in, peeling back the material... You have three brothers and know what to expect to see. He is much larger than what you have seen in your family though. As the last of the material falls aside, his erection juts out in front of him.

A pair of hands land on your head, gingerly tilting your chin back. Your eyes rise from his cock to his face. "Cosette... you are killing me...."

"Do you want this? It will abate the pain...if only for a little while...."

"Yesssss...." He groans, his hands burying in your strands. "I want this as much as I want to draw a breath....but...." his words are cut off as you wrap your hand around his erection. He caresses your hair between his fingers, drawing one back. You can see the raven black strands of your hair falling through his thick fingers. But that is the last part of you on which you consciously concentrate.

"Tell me..." you whisper, leaning closer. "I only know what I have witnessed in dim bedrooms."

He releases a groan as his head tips completely back to the ceiling. His fingers tighten in your hair, pulling almost roughly. He is doing it for grounding, for solidity, for....you wince as the hairs at the back of your nape are stretched tight. You can only hear the rasping of your own hair as it rubs over the shells of your ears. He grits his teeth with force and almost spits out. "Gods...I need this...."

You press a kiss to the tip of him. His shudder makes you sigh. It also spurs him to tell you of the images and thoughts he has racing through his mind. "Open the lips, Cosette, and take me in. Take. Me. In. I need to be in your....Gods...it is so hot..."

You lips widen, drawing out on an OH as you let the tip of him ease between your lips. The heat of his cock bleeds to your mouth. His girth stretches you , and you are amazed by the smoothness of him. And by the hardness...like satin on an iron rod.

"As deep as you....as you....can...take me..." he groans, his hands tightening even more on your locks. "No. Teeth. Ahhh. Cosette..." He quirks his hips pressing as deep as you let him. Your eyes water a little as you feel him touch the back of your throat and you choke a little. He eases back out with a sigh-crossed groan. "Soo good...Gods..." his voice catches.

Suddenly, you are unable to think or feel. Your hands fall to his thighs to brace yourself. All salt and sweat and sway and musk and might and man....The feeling is strange...the taste...bitter....but to hear those moans, that deep, silky voice breaking above you. Your toes curl as your fingers curl into his muscles. Your thighs feel like rubbing together - they need the friction...the contact.

"Please...." Qui-Gon tugs on your hair as he pulls out of you again. You wince as you feel the pain from your nape spread across the skin. It shoots to your center, igniting you, inflaming you. It is as if he is an animal directing his mate. It bears a feeling like wildness, like being untamed.

Your groan of pleasure/pain makes his hands unwind and they fly to the mantle, out to the side. "Take me deeper...." He grunts, his feet bracing apart on the floor. "Please... Gods...don't stop...."

You remove your hand from his thigh and raise it behind him, your fingers curling into the muscle of his buttock. As his body is off balance as he grips the mantle behind him, you are the one that has control of the movement. You release him from your mouth, hearing his moan of disapproval, but rise higher on your knees. "By the love of the Gods...." He moans. You stroke his length, allowing your hand to travel its entire distance. It is full, curved and very engorged, eager and enormous. You saliva glistening on it calls to you and you lean forward to taste it. As your tongue travels its length, he grunts, as it swirls its tip, he groans. And as you take him fully in, he whispers and moans your name and the Gods and the Force....

The increased leverage makes it easy for you to create and maintain a quickened pace. Your mouth opens to take him easier. His crown and shaft are fully hard, fully extended. As you begin to move with a fast pace, you hear the mantle shake. One of his arms comes down to land on your head and to curl around the crown of your skull. He pulls you closer to him. "Please...please...I'm going to....oh Cosette....Gods...please...oooh..." his hand pulls the hair up one side of your face, leaving you open to his gaze. You can feel his eyes on you. The hand is so gentle as it holds the hair, like he holds a fragile egg. You tilt your eyes back as you ease him to just the crown inside your mouth.

Blue ice awaits you. Ablaze. Ignited.

"Now." He whispers as you slide his cock back into your mouth. Two more strokes of your tongue and he throws back his head. A wave of salty fluid courses down your throat. You allow him to move for several seconds before he sighs and eases you back from him. In the next instant, he is kneeling in front of you and holding your cheeks in his hands.

You wince as his hands grasp at your ears and chin, pulling you to him. His lips are warm as they land on your brow, and open to gasp for air. He sighs heavily as his hand grasps at your shoulders and another arm wraps around your waist. "Cosette..."

Your world has switched from sex and heat and salt to hair and mouth and cinnamon. Your hands are on his waist. You can feel the heat from the fire warming your hands as they rest behind his body. It is dry heat. The skin cupped below your hands is wet, moist heat, driven by the heat of his body. His body moves as he draws in breaths. Air from him dusts your brow, moves your hair, warmth upon warmth. You allow him to hold you. You can feel that the hold is not one that speaks of intense caring, but almost of desperation.

"Jedi?"

"I'm fine, Cosette....just....just...." there is a trembling to his muscles, as if he has been under strain for quite sometime. You nestle your chin onto the shelf of his shoulder. You worry that you have hurt him, that something you had done had not pleased him. With a sigh you turn your head and brush your mouth against the side of his neck.

"Shhh. I didn't hurt you, did I?" you ask, tightening your hands. His head lies on yours momentarily, his hair hangs in your face. "I mean...it....you...."

"Far from it, little one," his sigh is followed by his muscles relaxing a little under your chin and your hands. His arms ease to slip around you and pull you completely against him. You are shocked, but remain against his chest...his sweat moistening your clothes. The heat that is coming off of him could warm a house in the winter you think. Gently you ease your hand into his hair. He continues his verbalization. "I had not expected you to...."

"Did it abate your symptoms?" you whisper, shifting on your knees. Your mouth brushes his neck again, to the left and under his chin.

His throat moves, following his swallow. "Somewhat, Cosette, somewhat....I can feel it tugging at me."

"Your pain?" you clasp at his shoulder. The muscle and bone are broad and large and oh so solid under your hands. The slope of his neck to his shoulders is broad like the side of a hill, gently stretching to the plateau of his bones and then rounding into his arms. They seem large enough to carry the world. "Is your pain less?"

"The pain, yes....the....arousal....no...." his voice is tight. "It is less, but it is there." You sigh as his hand slides up your back to cup your head against him, holding your lips against his skin. After several minutes he groans. "Not by a long shot, little one, the arousal is very much there...."

He hesitates as your lips move to nibble under his ear, along the cord in the neck. You have teased before in your life; you are not a cloistered woman. He shifts restlessly on his bent legs and opens his hand completely on your skull. "How long will this drug last?" He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shiver at the tone and pull away from his golden skin. It is not a good idea to tease a man under the influence of Untril. It is similar to playing with fire - one that will burn hot enough to blister. You had known this, but something about the smell of his skin, the glimmer of the low light off of its surface has made you want to touch the flames as they leap in the night. As you lick your lips you shake your head in answer to his question. "I have no clue."

Qui-Gon holds your head in his hand, brushing his thumbs down your cheek. His mouth tilts up in a little smile. "You ingested some of drug as well....has it affected you?"

You tilt your head into his hand. Your eyes drift shut as the roughness of his skin pulls on yours. The tip of his thick fingertip brushes the corner of your mouth and you hum. There is an ache in your body, bone deep, it makes your breasts tingle and your stomach flutter. It is not uncomfortable, but not familiar either. "I ....I don't know."

"I don't understand. Hmmm? Are you feeling heated?" His eyes are tender and concerned. His fingers stop their restless movement down your skin and remain on the corners of your mouth. "You are not in pain, are you?"

"No...no pain." You sigh, wanting his fingers to continue their movement. One of his hands travels down to your neck, curling around your skin under your hair.

"Ache?" Qui-Gon's voice rumbles out of him, so close to a growl that you shiver. He tilts your head back with a thumb under your chin. He sighs as your eyes meet his. "I want to touch you...."

You nod, as his hands move around to the front of your neck in the hollow. Just the tips of his fingers dance there. You cannot understand why you are doing this....you should be moving away from this Jedi, moving to safety across the floor. "Yes, I ache...."

He moves his fingers down to the gape in your dress, just barely above your breasts. The sweat from his skin has made your skin almost cold. The stimulation from his fingers makes you want to bow to his touch, to press your breasts into the hands that are running down your body. "I can help you with the ache, little one."

You lift your head again, raising your hand to stop his movement. "I don't want...need...."

His eyes glitter. "There are other things that a man can do other than making love, Cosette. I do not want you to let this affliction go until it reaches a point where you are in pain." At the words 'making love' your knees tremble a little. Your hands latch onto his shoulders as his hands travel between your breasts, over the fabric.

His hands reach your hips and curl into the muscle there, crinkling the fabric. You whisper a moan at the loss of the ghost fingers that had trailed your body. "I don't need...."

Qui-Gon shifts his body closer, reaching to draw you back into his arms. "I will not hurt you. I have given you my word: I will not harm you in anyway. Touching you, Cosette, will be pleasurable for the both of us." As he shifts closer you can feel the state of his arousal, still steady and strong against your stomach. He puts his mouth into your hair and moans quietly. "If we engage in touch, it might help to keep the full tide of this from swamping us. It might be the only way to keep me from taking you. Do you understand what I am trying to say?"

His hands tighten on the material as you nod gently. Your head falls to his shoulder as his fingers begin to rub deeply in the bunched muscles of your lower back. His hum is broken by a deep inhale as he presses his palm against your back, making you bend slightly. "Do you agree?"

"Yessss..." you sigh as you rub the bridge of your nose into the material and the strong shoulder below it.

"Don't just say that because of the pulls you feel, Cosette, try and think..." he whispers, moving his hips against you. "Think for both of us here...."

"Touch me..." you moan, feeling his arousal brush your stomach. His body comes fully against yours as you sound the last syllable. With a sure hand, one that flies from your waist, he tilts back your chin and tucks his. Suddenly his mouth is on yours: heat...such moist heat...soft...hard...and everything in between. His head tilts to the side, his hand guides your head to his shoulder. One arm takes your weight as the other holds you in place to receive his questing lips and tongue.

Your hand burrows into his hair as he opens your lips with his tongue and plunders what can be found within. He continues to hold you, covering you, overwhelming you until you can barely breathe. Until you feel the world tilt from lack of oxygen. He guesses at your condition and pulls away, dragging your lower lip between his own.

"Relax, little one," you quiver at the rasp in his voice as he brushes his thumb down your neck. "I promise it will only feel good, and that you will be safe."

Your very existence tilts as you are hefted off of the floor and placed in the waiting arms of the chair. As his arms move away from you, you are bereft of their warmth and you feel like you are icy cold and alone. "Edge forward..." he urges, bending at the waist to kiss your brow.

You do edge forward, your bare feet just brushing the floor. Without the sturdy back to hold you up, you are loose and feel unprotected. Bracing your arms on the sides of the chair, wrapping your hands around the cool wood knobs at the end, you look up into the sun...into the flashing blue of a summer sky at noon peeking out of his eyes. He stands and completely removes his tunic, peeling the darkened, moistened material from him and drops it to pool in front of the hearth.

Qui-Gon bends and begins to open you like a present. His large hands, so large that they fill the world, fall to pull at the straps of your dress. You scrunch in your shoulders, moving your hands to your lap. His eyes follow the movement. You can feel the brush of his thumb, pushing the material over the round of your shoulder and down your arm. Of their own accord, your hands reach to stop the material from falling past your breasts. His hand though, gentle and warm, closes on yours and squeezes.

Relaxing, you drop your arms and as they drop, the dress goes with it. The cold air as it touches your skin is likened to a brush, as it would touch canvas. The chill raises flesh creating texture was there was none previously. You almost moan, catching the noise in your throat and only allowing a strangled gasp to escape. Qui-Gon kneels in front of you, edging your thighs apart so he can remain close. His hands ruffle your hair, cup your cheeks gently and then race each other as they skim your neck and mold your shoulders.

"Ohmmm" you whisper as the hands run down the arms, the thumbs brushed the sides of your breasts. The tightness of the nipples turns to pain as you squirm on the chair. You aren't sure what is having a bigger effect, his hands or the cool air...but as his thumbs brush the tips of your eager breasts.... You head falls backward against the chair, arching your neck. He takes that as permission to begin to mold your flesh to his will...touching, pulling and cupping...

Qui-Gon does not say anything, indeed, you don't think that you could carry on a conversation if he did, but he leans forward and you forget to breathe. His mouth latches onto your chin, his teeth nip...gently. His mouth moves down to your throat, skirting the cords to bite gently on the soft skin where your neck meets your shoulder.

"Hold on to me, Cosette..." he breathes as he lowers his head even more. All you see is his hair, his eyes his....and then wet heat encompasses your right nipple. Incessant tugging, sharp teeth just so lightly grazing, sweet...such sweet suction, you arch your neck as you release a moan to the heavens. Somehow, your hands find their way to his head, guiding and yet relying on him for guidance. His other hand covers your other breast that had been bare in the night air. Between his hand and his mouth, you feel on fire, as though you are being burned alive for the sin of begging for touch.

"Qui-G.."

His answering hum as he holds your flesh in his mouth makes your toes curl. You tense your thighs as the sensation courses down whatever nerves it can find. They wrap around Qui-Gon and your feet touch the sweat soaked waist of his leggings. He pulls back, shaking his head a little to tangle your fingers in his hair. As his lips draw out the last suck to your flesh, you feel your insides liquefy. At least that is the only way that you can describe the feeling. It is like your abdomen has become hot and molten...your breathing increases in volume and pitch.

Giving you no reprieve to try and regain control of your wayward body, he slides his lips down the slope of one breast and up the other. His hand tilts the mound of flesh to his mouth as his eyes bore into yours. The lids are half drawn... and suddenly you can no longer look at him...at the heat...at the want.... You shut your eyes.

Gone is the heat of his gaze...the difference in visual texture of your pale skin against the brown silk of his hair....but oh...oh what you have gained.... Your whole existence centers on the heat...the blessed heat of his mouth... the way that the teeth graze you, worrying the flesh...gently...but only just barely. The sound of him sighing around your flesh mixed with the rapid breaths that rush out of you make the air sing. And the aroma...it is like fertile ground in spring...a promise of more to come.

You are jolted out of your sensory induced daze as his mouth releases your flesh and you hear his thick, rich voice flow over you: "Cosette..."

You moan at the loss of his mouth, and open your eyes. Qui-Gon's head tilts to the side, rubbing a little against your hand, now riding low against his cheek. "I want to taste you, Cosette...would you let me?"

You squint at him. The mention of the sense as it is makes you want to turn into a puddle. You do not have a clear idea what he is asking to do...but he has not harmed you...in fact everything feels so...basal...

"I won't harm you, Cosette...trust me...I want to... Gods, it will make you feel wonderful, little one...." His voice is so raspy now that it feels like sandpaper against your ears. His chin runs across your open palm, and he turns his face completely to kiss it tenderly. "Cosette?"

You nod. Gods forbid you deny him or yourself anything this night. Regardless of the situation that exists, this man would harm you at all - he exudes confidence and caring and protection and heat and the atomic difference between a man and woman.... "Lift up, little one." He nudges you r thighs and you tighten your legs and arms and you lift up your body. The skirt of your dress is lifted to your waist, uncovering you to his gaze. You gasp...trying to push the material back down your body...to cover...to hide...

He sighs as you tense and picks your hands back up in his. "Listen...peace... as you pleasured me with your mouth, I can pleasure you..."

Your eyes fly open at the mention of the idea. Qui-Gon cups your palms together and kisses your hands with an open mouth. You take a deep breath, calming the fear in your heart. He smiles with his eyes over your hands. "Lean back..." he whispers, seeing your acquiescence. You do so, feeling him release your hands. Those same large hands, now hot, drift down your naked breasts, across your hips to pull you forward on the chair. Your legs are lifted to curl over his shoulders, leaving your toes to chill in the cooling air. Your eyes slip shut once again.

A shifting of material between knees and a hard wooden floor.

A creak of the wood and then...

Hot fingers, tilting your pelvis up. Another hand curling under you to help support. You go boneless by the thought of what is to happen. The rasping of coarse beard on the inner skin of your thigh, almost as if he is rubbing against you like a cat.

Moist. White-hot. His mouth...covers...searches and finds....separates...Gods! Your muscles tighten as his tongue gently traces the skin hidden all your life. You think you will die by the overload of sensation and then you realize that you will remain alive...if only to feel this over and over and....

An artist...this man is an artist...using your skin as a canvas to make an ensemble of passion. His tongue is everywhere...and nowhere... his lips are open. You can hear sighs and muffled growls coming from him. His hands are....searching...holding and yet...Gods! You arch your back, thrusting your breasts into the air as you feel him draw the flesh tightly between his lips and pull. As he pulls back he grins slightly "Hold on to the chair..." he instructs almost growling out the words.

You grasp at the side of the chair, digging your fingers into the arms. He returns to you, one of his hands now pressing the flesh apart for him...you are so...open... unprotected... His mouth opens completely...devouring you...his hair on your thighs, your abdomen...everywhere.... so wonderful... He pulls away momentarily and your eyes fly open. As you look down at him, all that you see is his pair of cornflower blue eyes...like blue flames...his finger is in his mouth. He pulls it out with a slight lick to its tip.

"What..." you whisper, gasping for air. He has stolen all the air in the room. The hand disappears back towards supporting you...but...it...

"Relax," his breathy moan drifts up to you. "Relax, Cosette...let me in."

His mouth falls to your skin again, and you can see him...see him...his tongue. Your eyes roll as you feel his tongue delve back into the folds and then you feel his finger searching...prodding...and then....

"Wet." He moans, pressing his hand against you. "My Gods, Cosette...let me in..."

You arch as you feel him push his finger inside of you...warm, slightly rough...but it feels like it touches...everything...you ...are. You groan as it sinks into you and pulls back out. With little thrusts, he teases you, igniting you, until the entire digit stretches inside of you.

Tightening your thighs on his shoulders, you try to concentrate on the feeling...to no avail. It defies description. But as his mouth attaches to you once more, you whisper pleas. Moans. Gods! Anything...just keep going... Deep breaths bring in the aroma of ash and sweat and man and woman... You stretch your neck. Anything. Please Gods...anything...just let this go on forever... The silk of his hair...the blaze of his mouth...the friction... the blessed friction of his finger inside. Tightening, building, erecting a wall of feeling...carrying you to the heavens. You hear your voice breaking on quiet cries and whimpers of want. Everything is centering on your abdomen and then spreading out until even your fingers tingle with the feeling. Your knees shake. Your hands grip the chair, trembling.

"Come for me, Cosette..." His voice is barely recognizable, coming to you through a haze of lust. "You are close....come for me."

The wall that holds you continues to rise. You hear his name being sighed and moaned in the room... He kisses you deeply, separating the skin once more, and you feel that incredible tongue touch everywhere once again. And it is enough.

Your back bows. Your arms convulse and you hear yourself giving a keening cry. His name and the Gods are intermixed. With a shout, you feel the warmth your center shoot to your breasts, making you quiver with the feeling. There is a grunt from between your legs and you open your eyes to see his face contorted in pleasure/pain. He stands quickly, his eyes begging for...

Boneless as you are, you cannot resist the urge to help him. He gains his full height, his erection bobbing near your face. You pull your legs in and lean forward. After the small death that you have been through it is almost impossible to remain upright, but you fall forward and brace yourself on his thighs.

A growl comes from overhead. "Please....if you do nothing else for me...please..."

As if following a pattern given to you by your genes, you wrap your hand around his cock. His leggings are around his ankles, discarded, as their use becomes unnecessary. You find your mouth attached to his testicles, licking ever so gently. Your hand rises and falls on his flesh, tightening and releasing in time with your licks. The heat is scalding. You can sense his knees trembling as you continue, switching back and forth between his sacs, quickening your strokes...

He pulls your head away suddenly, moaning as he takes himself in his own hand. He catches your neck before you get far and holds you there. No words are necessary. You can see it throb as he quickly strokes the flesh.

"Oh Gods...now, Cosette..." his head falls back as he releases a groan and a shout. You close your eyes, listening to the mating cry of a man in heat...only to feel a wetness and warmth cover your chin and neck. All that you hear following is a breathed sigh of release.

The sheets are warmed by skin: the most efficient way to heat known to man. You are curled on your side, facing the fireplace. Against your cheek, your hair scratches. Sighing, you shift your legs and feel the coolness of the material shift against your legs like a cool dry wave lapping at a shore. As you sigh, a stronger leg insinuates itself between your own. Although the warrior's body is not against yours, you can feel the body heat... the fire.

"What are you thinking, Cosette?" The dark voice is gritty after hours of vocalizations to which you are sure he is not familiar.

You roll onto your back and slide your legs away from the warm textured leg between them. As you settle, you see that he has lifted his head on an elbow and is staring down at you. His curtain of hair falls around his arm and neck. You settle your head into the indention in the pillow and glance up at him. The sheet is tucked across your stomach and under his hips. "I thought Jedi read minds," you say, a smile spreading across your face.

"They can and do when the Force is with them, little one," he answers back, his other hand lowering to trace your naked breast. "But it is not with me at the moment...and I wish to know what you are thinking."

You shiver slightly as his finger circles the pert peak of the breast that it is tracing. Regardless of the mindset you had or the person that you were when you walked into this room, you have changed. Lying next to this naked man is almost comfortable, like it is something you have done all your life. You can feel the tensing of your thigh and stomach muscles as his leg crosses yours, its roughness awakening the nerves in yours. As he moves closer, you can feel the evidence of his arousal as it nestles into the side of your hip. There is an overwhelming urge to roll over, to allow him to cover you with his body...to shelter you as you sheath him....

"What is the smile for, Cosette?" his finger traces up your neck to run over your chin and touch your lips. In the very soft and faded light now prominent in the room, he is a vision of dark and light. His teeth are white against the dark of his beard and mustache; his skin golden against the brown of his hair, and the hair on his abdomen is dark against the white of the sheet.

You feel warm, languid, as though it is a warm summer morning. The heat in your abdomen is intense, but constant, making you feel as though you are an ember, burning slowly. As he shifts nearer to you, pressing himself into your side, you hear the pull of the material- harsh in the silence of the room. "Do you feel pain, Qui-Gon?"

He sighs and shakes his head once, moving his finge