Title: Action Figure
Category: ABH
Rating: NC-17
Archive: tappity-tappity-tappity-ta-da! It's yours!
Feedback: Shameless troll for it, still ain't living under
this bridge for
my health.

Summary: You're trying to get your xmas shopping done
early. Right.


You're eyeing the hundred-odd Star Wars figures trying to
remember which
ones you're still missing. You sneak the checklist out of
your purse after
doing a quick glance around. For some reason, you always
feel guilty in this
section of Toys'R'Us. Could it be all that smut you read
(and sometimes
write) about the characters captured in miniture before
you? Nah.....

You see that they've added a few new items to the 12"
collectibles. You bite
your bottom lip in indecision. Should you really pay
$29.99+tax for another
Qui-gon? You reach up to take the box off the shelf, to
examine it a little
closer.

"I rather prefer the one with removable clothing. It has
better hair."

"I've already got two of those," you say before you can
stop yourself.

"Ah." You can sense him nodding, "Wise choice."

You try to surreptitiously crumple your little checklist
into a tiny ball
before turning around. You're not really sure if you want
to turn around,
you doubt you'll be disappointed but you are worried that
he might be.

He catches your hand, taking the list and smoothing it out.
He peers at it
closely, "I see you are missing the anatomically correct
Qui-gon Jinn."

You feel your jaw click open, your eyes are big as saucers
when you finally
get a look at him. Yep. He's even bigger than you expected,
hair more ginger
than salt, "Your hands are huge!" You blurt out,
immediately wishing a
salaac pit would open up beneath you--it's the least you
deserve.

He smiles, you practically orgasm right there. *Oh, but
I've done nothing
/yet/* He chuckles in your mind, caressing your cheek with
one of his "huge"
hands.

You whimper a little, sure your face is blood red and
radiating heat several
feet from your body. Embarassment wars with lust, various
bits of your body
choosing sides. Your shaking hands have obviously chosen
lust, they reach
out to caress the fabric of his tunics and the little
triangle of skin at
his throat.

He covers your hands with his, pushing them lower. That
twinkle in his eye
really worries you. Your hands reach his waist and he shows
no sign of
stopping their downward progress, but, then, neither do
you. When they fan
across the sizeable bulge under all those layers of
fabric, you jerk back
as if you'd just touched a hot pan.

"Um. Yes, well." You wring your hands together, trying to
get the feel of
him off before you think or do something that will prove
you can indeed die
of embarassment. Too late. Dozens of images flash across
your mind's eye,
all of them compromising to say the least.

"Then perhaps we should adjourn to some place a little
more..." He floods
your thoughts with a few choice images of his own.

You remind yourself to breathe, "I think I know a place."
You double time it
to the door, your checklist left crumpled on the floor
behind you.

It's a quick walk to your apartment, the joys of living in
the heart of a
bustling city. You start to dig in your purse for your
keys, he passes his
hand across the locks and they obediently click open. You
chuck the Hellbag
into a chair and turn to face him. He's already locked the
door behind you
and is bending down to capture your lips in a toe-curling
kiss. Tongues
dancing a wild lambada, he backs you towards the nearest
piece of furniture:
a horrid yellow chair you picked up when they cancelled one
of your favorite
tv shows. You flash on a particular piece of smut one of
your friends had
written about the chair several years previously, the
rumble of Qui-gon's
laughter hums against your lips.

*That's a wonderful idea* He busily attacks the buttons on
your shirt as you
lay siege to his belt. He uses the Force to whoosh away the
offending cloth,
pulling your arms away from him just as his lightsaber
clunks to the floor.
He takes the opportunity to remove the complicated system
of tunics from his
own torso. Flicking the buckles on his boots open, he kicks
them off,
trousers following as though the Force was the only thing
holding them up in
the first place...that and his swollen cock.

You stop struggling out of your jeans to stare. Maybe the
chair isn't such a
good idea afterall. You figured he'd be big all over but,
damn!
You step out of your pants, becoming more determined by the
nanosecond.
You'd have him, and have him but good!

"You're still a little overdressed," he says, gliding his
hands along the
edge of your brassiere, thumbs crossing your nipples, back
and forth over
the lace. His fingers slide under the bottom of the band
towards the hooks,
one hand deals with the clasp, the other keeps moving. With
a snap, your
breasts are freed to gravity and the wandering hand has
found its
destination...in your underwear. You gasp as his finger
runs along your
slit, dipping in at your moist opening. "I wanted to make
sure you were
ready for me."

In response, you "stir the mayonnaise" a little as your
movement teacher had
called it. Your own hands tangle in his long hair, pulling
his face to
yours, rotating the both of you into the ugly suede chair.
He strokes your
snatch a couple more times, removing your undies with his
unoccupied hand,
as you push him into the obtuse angle of the chairback. You
raise up,
positioning your knees to either side of his hips. You look
him in his
beautiful blues, your hands on his shoulders. He takes his
cue and places
the head of his rod just inside your hungry cunt. You began
lowering
yourself, he's thick as well as long and your own tension
isn't exactly
helping. He leans forward enough to take the tip of one
perky tit in his
mouth, tongue circling the areola, teeth rolling the nub.
You feel yourself
opening up to him, letting your weight bring you down until
your pubic bones
connect. You release the breath you didn't know you were
holding, start to
lift yourself. His hands cup your ass, fingers playing
along the cleft,
helping hold you up. He switches nipples, and, with more
confidence, you set
your pace. You flex your inner muscles, glad you had
bothered with the kiegl
exercises. He moans, throwing his head back. You increase
your rhythm,
adding a little twist to your hips, your hands caressing
his face, stealing
a kiss. He kneads your glutes, decides your clit needs a
little attention,
too. He puts one hand just there, so with every downward
stroke, you grind
against his thumb, the other hand catches your chin and
brings you in for
another tongue lashing. You shudder with pleasure, piston
faster. You're
getting close and you know from his partially closed eyes
and litany of "Oh
Gods, yes" that he's not too far off either. On this down,
you move your
hips in a figure eight and clench when you move away from
him. Two more of
those and his whole body jerks, hot cum shooting into you.
He growls, displeased that you didn't climax with him, and
holds you to him
as he slides out of the chair to the floor. He carefully
hefts you a short
distance from him to lie on your back. He places a hand on
either slick
thigh, spreading your legs wider. Then his expert tongue is
stroking your
g-spot, your long nails scratching his shoulders as the
waves of bliss wash
over you. He kisses his way back up your body, smiling
smugly as he looms
over you.

You trail a hand from his lips to his loins. "Now /that's/
what I call an
action figure," you sigh.

"Next time, you might consider the anatomically correct
Qui-gon Jinn with
anatomically correct Padawan Learner boxed set. I hear it's
quite the
holiday pleaser," he whispers in your ear as he picks you
up to carry you to
the bedroom.

"Definitely," you murmur against his chest, "Definitely."

~~the end?~~