The Hues of Love

by Pumpkin (apumpkin@slashcity.org)

Archive: Yes to M_A and SWAL

Author's webpage: https://www.squidge.org/~pumpkin/

Pairing: Q/O

Rating: NC17

Warnings: none

Feedback of any kind is a real pleasure for me to receive.

Disclaimers: Mine they are not. Dream a girl can.

Summary: How does Obi-Wan love Qui-Gon?

Notes: These were an experiment posted to vegetales. I'm sending them in one shot here, in the order they were posted.

I knew you. I had observed you from all angles. My master, consummate Jedi, fierce warrior, loyal friend, always the teacher. And then one day I realised I only knew your outer shell, that which you chose to show, your protective layer.

And so I delved within, peeling back the layers to reveal the you beneath the you I knew.

Inside, oh, inside you are so sweet. The man who became my lover lives within that staunch Jedi, that firm master.

Beneath the roles I had known so intimately was a whole other you. A you with skin, sweat slicked, the taste sharp against my tongue. Softness that meets my tongue eagerly and grows hard, dedicated to being my lover.

I never knew your juices would slide down my throat, sweet and succulent.

I peeled you; examined each layer, each piece revealed; I tasted all of you, sharpness and sweetness each in their turn.

I love you orange.

I examine you.

Once you catch your breath and I have softened, sliding from your body, I trace your skin with eyes and fingers, looking for the signs that I have left a part of myself in you.

The passion marks on your neck. Two of them. The first, in the hollow of your throat is easy to see. On the back of your neck the other hides coyly behind your hair. Both match the circumference of my mouth. I sucked you just there and there, and bit you and toyed with your flesh until the blood drew to the skin and remained there.

Your nipples are swollen and dark from my pinches. I took them between my thumb and forefinger and pulled, revelling in your gasps and moans and the twist of your hips as your body searched for mine.

And these. Five sweet bruises along one hip and five more the length of the other. I place my fingers over them -a perfect match. I made them when I held you tightly still as my body invaded yours. I made them when I gripped you, pulling you to me with every stroke.

I cover them now, placing each finger along its mark and press, just a little. You moan and shiver and I bend to kiss each one. Each bruise loved and stroked and cherished.

I love you purple.

I watch you, my eyes trailing you as you move among the padawans. They all follow you with their eyes, each hoping to catch your attention, to have you speak to them privately.

A young Chalacta touches you, his slender hand stops yours and you listen intently as he speaks. You respond and place your other hand on his shoulder and from the look on his face, I know you have praised him. I want to cut that look from his face.

I want to push them all away and stand in front of you, my saber lit, daring them to come any closer. I want to defend you from their advances. I want to stake my claim here for all to see.

My master. You are my master. We all know it. Don't I wear the braid in my hair? The symbol of my place at your side, my right to all that you are and know.

I watch you, my eyes trailing you as you move among the banquet guests. Mine are not the only eyes watching and I long to throw up a curtain around you, to block their view of what is mine.

A Shandra female touches you, her small hand on your arm and you bend to hear what she says. You both laugh and I want to wring her smile from her face.

I want to throw you to the floor, here, now, in the middle of this banquet, on the feasting table itself, and take you. Stake my claim here for all to see.

Mine, Master, you are mine. I know it and you know it. I want them to know it.

I love you green.

I hear you.

From the warm comfort of our bed I hear you move about the room, getting dressed. I don't need to look to know what you choose to wear today, my master. Your clothing is always the colour of soil, dirt and sand. The Living Force at its most basic.

I cannot kiss you without being aware of it.

I cannot touch you without being aware of it.

I cannot know you without being aware of it.

As long as I have known you, you have worn a robe the colour of arable soil on most habitable planets.

You wore it, wrapped around you like protective armour the day you first called me padawan.

You wore nothing but it when we first kissed. Your skin was pale beneath it and I wrapped my fingers in the soft material -its texture as familiar against my hands as your mouth was exotic pressed to mine. It was glorious.

I love you brown.

I want you.

It rises in me; a tide that takes my breath away. It is a need as deep as any ocean. I would drown in you, Master.

I want you.

It explodes through me; a craft that rockets me to you. It is a need as wide as any sky. I would fly in you, Master.

I want you.

Caught in the gaze of your eyes; impaled by midnight's lust exposed at dawn. I would come in you, Master.

I love you blue.

The sun dances with you, Master. It turns your skin into a warm, golden hue, like the soft honey from the cultured fields of Alderaan. The colour of your skin deepens with longer exposure until it is the dark brown of the strong, bittersweet honey from the wild meadows of Corellia.

I lick my lips, the memory of the taste of you bursting across my tongue. Pale, golden or dark, your skin is a sweet wine upon my lips; your warmth is my sun and I bask in it.

Even on the days that are dark and grey and those spent in hyperspace where there is no sun to shine, you bring your own light with you. Bright, warm and eternally mine.

Dance with me, Master, as the sun dances with you. Colour my skin with your touch.

I love you yellow.

I possess you, Master.

Your body is stretched around my shaft, the point of joining electric. Heat, hotter than any other part of you. Silk, flesh smooth and make slick by oil.

The rhythm of our love is the rhythm of my life. I pound into you like a drum beating over and over. Light flashes like cymbals crashing behind my closed eyelids.

You're mine, I can feel it in every breath and I can hear it in each moan that leaves your body. Mine. Mine to fill. Mine to hold. Mine to want. Mine to need. Mine to love.

I love you, Master.

I love you red.

I feel you, Master.

Your body moves beneath my hands, muscle and bone and sinew and blood shifting under your skin. I don't need to see you to know how passion paints your skin rose, how it pulls your muscles tight and sculpts your face into a rictus of pleasure.

I make you feel, Master.

My hands are the ones that learn the contours of your body, that roam the planes and hills and valleys of your muscles. It is my touch that excites your skin to such exquisite sensitivity.

I feel you, Master.

In the darkness of the night I turn to you, my mind searching for your spark. My thoughts twine with yours, echoing our linked bodies. We are ever inseparable.

I would bid the sun never to rise; let darkness work its magic always.

I love you black.

I feel you, Master.

My fingers move over your face, smooth skin giving way to short hair, rough and soft. I pull you down to my neck, urging your kisses upon my sensitive skin.

I feel you.

Licks, nips and tiny bites, always accompanied by the scrape of your beard against my flesh.

I feel you.

Kiss me. Lick me. Bite me. Rub me raw.

I love you pink.

I follow you, Master.

Over quiet planes, beside murmuring shores and through verdant forests. The Living Force shines from you and I know it because of you.

I follow you.

Through the fires of volcanoes and the winds of hurricanes. You're a beacon of safety and light, leading me through all obstacles.

I follow you.

You hold fast to your beliefs, making your home in light and goodness, opening yourself to those who need you, opening your heart and your life to me.

I follow you.

You lead by teaching. You lead by example. You give me your body. You give me your heart. You give me your mind. You give me your spirit.

I am blinded and bedazzled.

I love you white.

I watch you, Master.

I watch the way your worn and callused hands move, touching the air as you talk, touching an arm or hand as you greet or soothe others.

I watch the way your eyes smile, the brilliant blue deeper somehow when you laugh. I love the way they are bracketed by the fine lines in your skin.

I watch the way your hair moves, flowing over your shoulders, blowing in the wind. The sunlight catches the grey, makes it shine.

I watch the way your body moves over mine, muscles and sinew, bones and skin, all moving toward one goal.

I watch you, eager to see the smile that lifts your lips, just like that, just for me. I watch as your hands reach out, touching me, your eyes wander over my body, caressing me, and your hair slides against my skin, touching me there and I come...

I love you silver.

I miss you, Master.

The flames dance over you, lending your skin a golden yellow glow, giving the illusion you are alive. But where your presence should be is cold -a cold no flame can warm.

But there is warmth still. There is warmth in the memory of our last kiss, in the way my heart still holds you in every beat. There is warmth in the memory of your skin against mine, a kindling of the glow between us in the way my soul does not grieve - for it feels no loss.

I miss you, Master.

Even though I know this fragile shell was the least part of you. Only crude matter, but that which I could touch and hold and visibly affect.

I miss you, Master.

As the flames consume your body I silently make my goodbye. I know you will always be with me, but never again will I see you.

I love you gold.

End.