The Blossoming of Padawan Jinn

by Tem-ve H'syan

Title: The Blossoming of Padawan Jinn
Author: Tem-ve H'syan tem-ve@gmx.de
Pairing: Padawan Jinn and his fevered imagination. And some plants.
Rating: R for very naughty thoughts and mild interspecies sex.
Archive: M_A, Querstrich and my site.

Summary: Leaving a sixteen-year-old Qui-Gon Jinn alone on a garden at night can lead to some... interesting discoveries.

Notes: This one attacked me literally out of the blue - as my usual Sunday walk was infested with drunk men, I took a detour along an overgrown row of allotments and was assaulted bodily by all the plantporn that grows there. Qui!muse jumped to the rescue (thanks for shoving Ducard out of my head for a moment, dear), and voila - plantporn. All these plants are based on Earth ones that actually grow in that particular row of allotments. I live in a startlingly sexy city, it seems.

It had all started with the berries, and quite innocently, all told. The Queen's assurances that nothing in her lavish palace gardens would harm a humanoid enough to make him ill, combined with her own very shapely and very humanoid physique, had made Qui-Gon more than eager to spend his meagre downtime on this most recent mission in those gardens.

Gardens that were so vastly preferable to the cool staterooms his Master so liked to frequent, exercising his sharp mind against a shimmering crowd of benevolent but insistent lobbyists, diplomats, and politicians, captivating attention with one sparse gesture of his elegant long-fingered hand. The firm-breasted ambassadresses and their slender, long-haired male consorts savoured every word from Master Dooku's lips as if it were a rare delicacy with an irresistible centre of truth waiting to be exposed if only you turned it about in your mouth for long enough, working at it with your own tongue and teeth and taste.

They were a strange people, a collection of strange peoples really, united under the nominal reign of the Queen. All shades of humanoid, a riot of skin tones and brightly coloured clothing that varied delicately from one culture to the next. Matriarchal mostly, at least as far as he could deduce from the attention the ladies of the assembly were receiving from their male, and sometimes female, companions.

Which would go some way towards explaining why they had given in so easily to his request to retire early for the evening, seeing as the important work for the day had been done. A young boy such as himself, still marked with what they had learned was the braid of the apprentice, was doubtless delicate enough to require refreshment and repose on a regular basis, and the Queen's idea of sending him to the gardens had met with titters of excited approval.

Which had meant, in a roundabout way, that they had sent him away without dinner, a fact he didn't notice until he was well into the sprawling gardens and his stomach was beginning to make itself heard. Qui-Gon sighed. One thing he didn't like about growing - one of many things he didn't like about it, right up there with the fact that his arms and legs had become altogether too long to properly control and only really balanced by the fact that he would soon measure up to his Master's impressive height - was that it became increasingly difficult to skip meals. Then again, if the Queen's words were to be trusted, the place he was in was essentially one gigantic banquet laden with the bounty of nature. If one knew where to look.

The berries had seemed like a safe bet. Large things like piles of fat black bubbles crushed together and frosted with a pale blue veil that came away at the slightest touch. The taste of the first one had actually drawn a sound from him as he crushed it against his palate, a surprised little sigh of pleasure at the rich tart flavour that flooded his mouth. Greedy, he had picked handfuls of the berries, feasting on their lively juicy flesh, not caring that his fingers were being stained an amazingly tenacious purple; as was, he imagined, his mouth. Not that there was anyone to see him here. Alone in a garden with nothing but edible plants and the slow yellow light of evening and the pulse and thrum of the Living Force wrapping him in its clinging embrace. Qui-Gon wasn't sure he had ever been happier in his life.

His growling stomach somewhat placated, he decided to set off in search of something to wash his hands with, only to find that the berry shrubs were very reluctant indeed to let him go, clinging to his tunics with little barbs, stretching their sinewy spiky arms out after him like yearning lovers. He untangled himself with more than a little effort, managing to free himself without either drawing blood or mauling the hardy tendrils of the shrub, then licked his purple-stained fingers clean one last time, savouring the last of the berry juice seasoned with the salt of his own skin and the earthy scent of the leaves. It would be a shame to wash that off.

Dusk was falling more rapidly now, turning the many-hued foliage of the garden to a warmer palette of browns and greens and golds. Up ahead, an arrangement of small bright orange beacons caught his eye and drew his fingertips closer to explore.

At first touch, he wasn't sure they were of vegetable origin at all, his mind straying to the Queen's ornate chambers with their delicate bud-shaped lanterns... but these came in so many sizes and shades, from small, hard green buds to large, almost weightless bright orange balloons, their papery skin veined and ridged like... well, human skin. Certain parts of it.

Intrigued, he dragged one fingernail across the tip of one such paper lantern, finding a small opening there. With a little persuasion, the thing split apart along the ridges, revealing a small and exceptionally glossy little fruit inside, the exact colour of its papery home. The inside of the lantern was slightly sticky, and the aroma when he licked his fingers clean was sharp and peppery, a perfect complement to the delicate acidity of the firm little nub in the middle.

He didn't realise he had closed his eyes until he opened them again, finding daylight diminished even further, the colours of the garden reduced to a murmur of muted browns and greys, with just the orange and red flowers and fruits catching the last of the fading sun and holding on to it with bloodstained fingers, warlike in their flaunting of large, dark-veined petals, straggly fringes of swelling seeds, and long pointed spurs promising the sweetest of treats in their obscenely slippery depths.

The dainty blossoms of the trailing vine right next to his hand had faded to the uniform grey of night already, and he guessed they must have been blue or purple during the day. As it was, they were gently releasing the last of the day's scent before closing their trumpet-shaped flowers into slender furled buds once more, waiting for the sun to tickle them awake again. Qui-Gon found he could not resist the scent, so much less poignant than the flavours of the berries and the sticky sharpness of the lantern flowers. This was a barely-there whiff of earth and wood and sun-bleached petals, and... he made a surprised noise as the petals closed around his nose, sucked in by his breath, clinging to his face and sending a bolt of giddy shock through him at the unexpected caress, the stealing of his breath.

Only when he exhaled did he notice that his hand had crept up to his lips again, tasting of pepper and berries and salt, caressing and covering his mouth. An inexplicable wave of pleasure swept over him at having his face touched so, and for a moment he imagined another's hand doing this to him, doing it for him, covering his mouth while filling his nostrils with their scent, earthy and warm and real...

Unbidden, he wondered what the courtiers would make of this, of this evidently as yet untouched boy harbouring wishes of intimate touch, of caress and possession. Would the ladies flutter their lashes in laughter and hide their hands in their voluminous skirts, all dancing petals and bare breasts? Or would they send their attendants to pander to their boyish guest's whims? He was unsure which was the more daunting prospect. His groin knew it was definitely interested, throbbing with a low insistent heartbeat.

The flower that had taken his breath away had faded to grey, the starlight taking over from the last rays of the planet's sun. He would have to go by touch if he wanted any chance of getting out of this garden before morning. Taking a deep breath, he held out one hand in front of himself and advanced slowly, hoping his eyes would eventually adjust to the darkness.

The rustle reminded him of the Queen and her ladies at first, the soft papery sound of their long skirts, layers upon layers of gauzy fabric, falling in cascades of shifting colours from their pert hips to their feet and trailing along the floor behind them. Carefully, he reached for the source of the noise, his fingertips closing around a fruit of similar size as the berries had been, but much lighter, dry and soft to the touch, as if it hid nothing at all under the layers of thin feathery sepals. Or perhaps it was not a fruit but a flower after all? It was hard to tell in the dark, and the only hint his eyes gave him was one of lightness, a pale colour, and a vaguely round shape no bigger than his fingertip. Curious, he leaned in to smell, but found nothing but the ubiquitous faint leafy scent of the garden.

Shaking his head, he tried to blink some vision into his eyes, then sighed and felt his way forward. At least the embarrassing fantasies of... hands and possession had abated somewhat... oh sure they had.

He decided that thinking could be a dangerous activity. Feeling was much better right now, at least when it came to finding his way back out of this garden. Here was a touch, something that wasn't papery or ladylike. Carefully not thinking, he catalogued the sensations his fingertips were relaying: twisting stems and vines, hairy, almost spiky, thick curving blossoms not yet wholly closed up, their undersides covered in the same bristly hairs as the stems had been, the petals supported by hard hairy ridges and yet soft and powdery to the touch, narrowing to a tight channel at the centre of the blossom that was narrower than his blunt finger. His curiosity piqued, he withdrew his finger to sniff at the tip, then sucked it delightedly, licking the sweetest headiest nectar from his finger. Oh, he wanted more of that. Fumbling half-blindly for the source of that unexpected treat, he followed the twisting vine with his hands once more, shivering slightly at the prickle of the bristly hairs, then sinking his finger into the welcoming softness of another bloom.

It buzzed.

Startled, Qui-Gon withdrew his finger. It was between his lips before he could even catch a coherent thought, and so it was with a small moan of pleasure that he leaned in closer, trying to determine the source of the sudden vibration that had thrown him out of the flower, his fingertip barely touching the hard little protrusion inside that had left a thick drop of sticky sweetness on his skin.

In the dim light, he could barely make out two longish dark shapes inside the flower's tight tunnel. Shapes that were moving, ever so slightly, rocking back and forth. Carefully, he reached in with the tip of his little finger, and encountered the cool bristly toughness of an insect's body, vibrating ever so slightly. It is stuck inside that flower, Qui-Gon thought, held between the thick sticky stem-thing and the powdery channel, face-down in a pool of sticky sweetness, trapped in this prison of pleasure until the flower wilted and released a drowsy and sated insect.

He could not honestly say he pitied the little beast in any way. To be held, trapped, pleasured... no, he didn't feel sorry for the bug at all. In fact, he quite envied it its delicious predicament. Unable to resist the lure of the flower's scent and sweetness, he dipped into another bloom, relishing the feeling of the tight channel enveloping his fingertip and the small hard spike inside planting its sweet sticky load on him.

Force, I'm going to be here all night, he thought between licks and dips and moans of pleasure. I need to get a grip on myself and... and...

That sidetracked him quite conclusively. Getting a grip on himself sounded like a very good idea. There was some flesh on his body that positively cried out for a good hard grip, and these damnable sweet pleasure-prison plants had not helped at all with the dull throb of arousal that thudded through his body with every heartbeat.

Just one more dip, one more flower, and then he would leave and make his way somewhere quiet and non-bristly where he could.... take matters in hand. Yes. Just one more dip, and his feet were already taking that one step further in the direction he had come from, away from the delicious blooms...

He only noticed he had fallen when his legs informed him quite conclusively that he was no longer on top of them. His foot had hit something solid and thick-sounding, and his other had reacted promptly by getting tangled in the hairy vines and tripping the rest of him up. Feeling very un-Padawanly, Qui-Gon took stock of his situation. Face down in a patch of prickly vines with sticky fingers and crushing a raging hard-on under him. Marvellous. His hands scrabbled for whatever it had been that had sounded so full and solid against his booted foot. It had been lying on the ground... and the end of one of the thick squiggly stems. A fruit, then, of the same plant. When his fingers finally reached the likely offender, it was all he could do not to moan and throw himself at it.

His hands, large though they were, had no chance of encompassing the size of the thing. He might not even be able to lift it without effort, thick and heavy as it sat on the ground in its nest of curly vines. Fascinated, he ran his fingers over its surface, firm, round, thick-skinned and perfectly smooth. His fingers were not strong enough to leave impressions on the taut skin, but he sensed a rich softness underneath that made his groin tighten. Ah, to part this thick firm thing, still warm from the last of the evening's sun, spread it open like a willing human body and plunge inside, be trapped and held and squeezed by its exquisite tightness.

Unable to control himself, he crushed his needy flesh against the firm curve of the fruit, rubbing and thrusting himself to a frenzied release that stained the front of his leggings and smeared the thing with his own most secret nectar.

When the stars were ready to appear again, Qui-Gon gathered his breath and snorted in embarrassment. Well, he meant to do so anyway. It came out as a broken moan of undeniable pleasure.

His limbs were so heavy, and the prickly vines and leaves weren't so uncomfortable after all, he decided drowsily. Besides, he was sure some of those sneaky vines had already wriggled their way around his arms and legs and held him down on his bed of decadent plantlife. Why else was he so unable to move even an inch?

And really, that was a question to be pondered tomorrow.

It was nearly dawn when a somewhat frazzled Master Dooku finally caught sight of his Padawan, curled up in one of the Queen's squash patches, half obscured by the wide leaves and twisting vines, tunics awry and hair tousled, his braid trailing across an extravagant yellow blossom that touched his cheek like a lover's protective caress.

Padawan Qui-Gon Jinn, the Order's most ardent plant lover.

Dooku breathed a sigh of relief, then allowed himself a few lingering moments to simply gaze upon the tableau before him before letting go of his control and allowing his wayward apprentice to be woken up by his resounding laughter.

--- end ---