Title: ABH: The Best Laid Plans...
Author: Shana Nolan   dpangel@thegrid.net
Rating: NC-17
Archiving: GG, Sith_Chicks
Disclaimers/comments: I spent about a couple months last year chasing down
the Red Shoe Diaries programme... the original plot bunny for this came from
a scene... and then, like all plot bunnies, it mutated.  I don't own the SW
universe, and since I think I own myself, we'll just run with that for now
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It always seems to start out the same way.  Get up in the morning, eat
breakfast, grab a stim on the way out, get on the shuttle, arrive at work
and spend the next seven hours slaving in front of a screen and comm,
handling the daily problems of Republic life, oftentimes fielding calls of
absurdity... all in the name of customer service.

But this day is different.  You can already tell that much as you glance out
the window, absently counting air taxis whizzing by your place while you
slip a blouse on over your bra and buttoning it.  It's in the air, you can
feel it, buzzing around you like some insect, searching for a part of your
brain that understands it.

Your mother would say that it was your radar going off.  What she would
imply, one of the many reasons you moved far away from her, is that it was
your "man" radar.

Yeah, like you honestly need a male presence about.  You have a plant and a
fish, that's enough for you.

Well, not really, but you try to tell yourself that.  Truth is your fish,
had it a large enough memory and vocal chords, wouldn't remember your name.
The plant gets watered by virtue of the steam from your showers and you go
shopping once a week.  Sure, there's time to play, eat out and be social,
but you just don't feel the urge to do that.  Not your style.

However, what is your style, you note with a brief curse, is procrastinating
just long enough to have precisely ten minutes to get to the shuttle
station.  Running out of the bedroom, grabbing the brush from the sink's
edge and heading for the kitchen for that mandatory artificial high, you
catch sight of your purse and shoes.

Well, good.  At least you don't have to go digging for those.

Pulling a brush through your hair, reminding yourself that you have to
re-dye it tonight so the uneven streaks of brown will be dyed to match the
rest of the supposedly black locks, you spot one of the instant breakfast
drinks in the back of the ice box.  With a toss of the brush, aiming for the
nearby table, you grab that, crack it open and down it in a few gulps.

By the time the chrono at the wall beeps the hour, you've got the shoes
mostly on and your mind flying fifty-five kilometres per second.  Time to
go; you can dose up on sugar and caffeine in the shuttle.

With a quick slam of the door, a brisk run ~helluva day to wear pumps,
genius~ to the pickup spot, you breathlessly find your normal seat on the
early morning route, smiling briefly at one of the other regulars.

"One of those mornings?"

"Nah," you shrug, prying off the lid and knocking 100% hyper down your
throat, "one of those weeks."

He laughs and points at the stack of work piled on his lap.  "Tell me about
it.  I got socked with the restoration of the entire database after some
spacer punk cracker crashed it."

You feel pity for him.  Not as much pity than if you shared his unenviable
task, but pity nonetheless.  "They find him?"

"Nope, tracked it back to a pirated comm somewhere in the lower levels."

There's a dead end if you ever heard one.  Hit the cloud layer of the ever
bustling Coruscant and who the hell knows what all goes on. "Overtime pay?"

"You wish."

The shuttle slows, reaching one of its last pickup places on your edge of
town and you raise your eyes to watch for the new passengers.  Gods only
know what gets on with you and the rest of the regulars; you've sat across
from Senators, prostitutes, shoppe keepers and Jedi, though the thing with
the breathing masque and tentacles is what really stands out in your mind.

This time, however, all of the passengers are humanoid, which is good since
the seat next to you is one of the few remaining ones left.  A man with a
half cloak draped over his shoulders steps on, crosses to the back, and
makes it clear that he'd much rather sit next to you than the Bothan a few
rows up.

"Is this seat taken?"

Your disinterested reverie is broken by the tone of his voice, the lilt of
an accent catching in your ears, causing you to raise your glance before you
grant him permission to the edges of your personal space.  Meeting eyes with
crystallised hues of green and blue, the irises framed with smooth, slightly
tanned skin and a layer of slightly disheveled dark blonde hair that matches
the goatee on his chin and lip, you feel a smile curl up your cheek.  "Not
at all.  Sit down and join us in the padd pit."

You get a raised eyebrow in reaction as he settles into the moulded plastic
chair next to you, his well-fitted black pants and knee high boots exposed
briefly to your gaze.  "Come again?"

Suddenly finding the stack of to-be-restored database interesting, the other
regular chuckles.

"Padd pit.  I haven't seen you on this route before, you not a regular part
of the commerce here in the glorious city?"

Again the regular across the way laughs.  You'd like to, too.  If nothing
else over the crap they pay you for your time.

"I'm sorry, I've never heard that term.  I'm afraid I'm just headed to a
particular office on an errand."  His apologies are beautiful, well worded,
precise, humbled and honest sounding...

"You're Jedi."

Apparently you've startled him, because he seems to check his wardrobe for
the standard robes that make them look like monks amongst the couture
wearing classes.  "Yes.  I'm afraid I've never really been in this area
before, but I need to pick up some designs for some new equipment."

"For what?"

His eyes lower and he's digging for a discreet way to say whatever's
actually on the tip of his tongue.  "Military plans."

Mystery solved, although now you're wondering if he's headed to the same
place you are.  Though you sometimes call the people on the other end of the
comm "difficult, maligning Sithspawn born to torture you five minutes before
lunch break," you do realise that most of them are pretty important.  Or at
least that's what you overhear.

"Maybe you could help me find the building, I only have an address.  They
weren't very clear on details."

You pause.  This is a question aimed at you, you should probably oblige.
The black clad Jedi sitting next to you, his leg nice and close to yours, is
probably part of the army or a related branch and if he's tracking down a
set of plans, likely for a new vehicle or weapon, he probably knows the back
stories behind the newswire services and their daily updates.  "Sure, I can
help.  I'll just stay later after my shift."

The regular coughs, to which you raise an eyebrow.  Yeah, he knows what
undercurrent of thoughts in going on in that head of yours.  After all, the
creature sitting next to you is rather attractive.  You'd have to be blind
and numb from the waist down to not notice that.

"Thank you, but I don't wish to make you later for your work."

You snort.  "The phones can wait for me, it's no big deal."

There's a pause and you notice yourself staring as he thoughtfully licks his
lips, the simple movement catching your attention.  "All right, as long as
you're sure.  Thank you."

You would blush had you an ounce of damsel in you.

~*~

When the shuttle slides to a stop finally, you stand up, gathering your
purse and slinging it over a shoulder, the jacket you slid over your blouse
wrinkling at the waist.  Watching the Jedi stand up and point at the door
opening a couple metres ahead, you shrug and head out, enjoying the fact
that his stop is the same as yours.  Cuts down on your time to get back.
Waiting until the shuttle pulls away and the few others that also got off
disperse for their various workplaces, you smile.

"Now what?"

He gestures at the little datapad in his right hand.  "Third floor, Office
C, the Amme building."

It's probably not coincidence that the place he's looking for is the same
place you call home away from home, except for the fact that you work on the
second floor, and the last time you heard about Office C, it was that they
had rotated the passwords yet again in the interest of security.

"Follow me, it's just around the square here.  They gave you passwords,
right?"

"Yes."

"Good, 'cause I'd hate to have them strip search you." ~Unless of course it
involved me doing the stripping.~

The slightly serious face breaks for an amused grin and he moves to stand in
front of you, his feet settling in such a way that one of his hips rocks to
the side.  "By the way, my name is Obi-Wan."

"Ann."

"It's a pleasure.  I really do appreciate you taking time out to help me."

You smile and take up step again, moving out of the more visible area,
waiting until he can no longer see your face to register the flush of heat
over him saying "pleasure."  Pointing at a silvery paneled building, the
main entrance a blocky set-up with embedded sensors and an utter lack of
style, you wait for him to stand behind you, the edge of his cape fluttering
in the breeze, brushing your back.  "It's here.  If you have any weapons you
better be ready to give them over to the guards.  I can guide you to the
second floor where I work, but from there on up you're on your own."

He nods.  "That's more than adequate.  Thank you again."

"No problem," you manage, waving away the onslaught of gratitude you're not
used to.

Passing through the security field, pulling out a badge from your jacket
coat and displaying it to a slightly furry guard, you step into the lobby
and turn around, waiting for Obi-Wan to catch up.  He seems to have little
trouble getting through, and with a quick adjustment of his waistband after
replacing his little packet of information, waits for you to make the next
move.

"Elevator."

Following you into the car, you automatically press number 2, and hearing
him shift behind you, hit 3, feeling the elevator shift into gear.  The
music from the overhead speakers glides out with saccharin tones of songs
you never liked the first time, so you shift on your feet and try for
conversation, ignoring that you've intentionally placed yourself in a closed
environment with this man.

"Are you part of the militia?"

"Yes," he says, his voice wandering, "a General, actually."

Wow, they send someone this high up on a messenger duty?  "How'd they stiff
you with this?"

Apparently your choice of words is curious, because he shifts a little where
he's standing.  "The plans I need to retrieve are rather sensitive..."

"Oh."

"And the regular messenger is out due to Corellian flu."

"Ah, okay.  Well, there's one good thing about it, then."

"Oh?"

You take the chance to flirt a bit.  "You're cuter."

The compliment isn't lost on him, and he lets a bit of a smirk touch his
lips.  "And you're certainly a sight compared to the three eyed pilot
escorting me about."

Well, it's something.  You're prettier than a three eyed alien.  "Thanks."

There's a tension that falls between you, both of you losing the thread of
polite conversation, and you catch yourself taking advantage of it.  In the
lights of the elevator, the well-tailored black clothes give him an air of
mystery and elegance, his sleeves pooling around his arms, the faint
outlines of muscle just visible to your eyes.  Starting from the belt he was
adjusting earlier, the pants, probably one of those new synthetic fabrics
you've heard about, are black also, but the shiny surface catches the glint
of elevator light, reflecting the normally white hue in a blue pallour.  The
boots that captured your attention right away on the shuttle are solid and
well polished, the kind you adore on men because of the way they stand
around their legs, the slight heel boosting them up a bit higher than their
native height, the edge of the top causing their pants to cling around
muscular calves.

You hear him exhale as he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back
against the elevator wall.  Resting his head against the glassy surface you
watch as he slowly closes his eyes, his mouth relaxing as he obviously tries
to distract himself from whatever's weighing down his shoulders.  His
eyelids blocking your view of the oceanic hues, but it doesn't seem to
matter, because where you could be studying the eyes, you instead choose to
wander over his cheeks and nose, studying the curl down of his nostril into
his goatee, the strands tinted with the lightest hint of red.  It's well
trimmed and only obscures part of his chin, the regularly re-shaved line
outlining his lips.

"Do you like it here?" he suddenly asks.

This shatters your study of him, and you lick your lips, feeling a bit
self-conscious.  Had he noticed how you were staring at him despite the fact
that his eyes are closed?  "I've had better jobs, if that's what you're
asking," you begin, realising that maybe you have your own set of secrets to
keep about this building, "but it's steady pay and the bosses try to keep us
happy.  My first job was senatorial.  Used to schedule appointments for two
or three Senators, run stims, messenger, comm, file, fun stuff like that."

He catches the sarcastic edge of the last sentence, smiling a bit.  "Great
experience for the Amme building, eh?"

"Yeah.  Secretarial pool's been tapped out since they called the reserves to
duty.  I went from a nobody to big bitch boss secretary in two weeks."

The eyes slit open, maybe a bit perplexed at your title.  Well, it's true
enough.  Anyone who can tell an Alderaani ambassador to "shove it up his
ennobled ass" earns the name.  "Sounds like fun.  Any suggestions for a
General of the Republic army?"

You raise an eyebrow.  It's not an entirely serious question, but this seems
to show that he's more tired of the life than you guessed.  "De-stress, for
one.  I've seen looser shoulders on a lamb about to go to the slaughter.
Don't they give you vacation days anymore?"

The grumble he gives you seriously resembles a growl.  "This is my vacation
leave."

"Oh."

"Precisely.  And I haven't had a decent meal in weeks."

Yeah, if there was ever an opportunity for you to leap on the... situation,
this would be it.  Quickly considering the fact that you're about to open
yourself to all kinds of potential questions, you take a look at him,
watching him watch you with those great eyes.

Sot the questions.  You're a big girl, you can handle him.  Hell, you -want-
to handle him...

But not yet.  "I really wish they would treat you guys better.  My father
was a pilot and he got the crappiest holidays off.  Half the time he'd miss
our birthdays, and then when he did come home, it was for the shortest damn
time."

"Your mother must have hated when you followed in his path somewhat."

You nod.  There's an astute guess if you ever heard one, though you wonder
in the back of your mind if he picked it up because of what he is or what
he's been trained to be all his life.  "Better believe I'm my father's
daughter.  Brother's in the army and my younger sister married one of the
governmental security service guys.  I didn't play with dolls when I grew
up; well, okay, I played with a few.  But the rest of the time it was
'smugglers and fighters.'  Had all the ships, used to build them, too."

There's a chuckle and the shoulders seem to relax back a little.  Somehow,
by staying on topic yet bringing into a personal life, you've made him
happier.  Good for you.  "If I had foreseen this life I don't know if I
would have done the things I did."

You can't help but agree, but that evil little mechanism against retroactive
angst that you built into yourself turns your humour on.  "Yes, but then you
would have never gotten on the shuttle, thereby depriving me of a reason to
enjoy my day."

He chuckles and takes a step across the elevator, the slight shift of the
floor indicating that it's about to stop at your level.  Dammit.  You don't
want to end the conversation now.

The door slides open obediently and you shift your purse on your shoulder.
"I hate to break this up just as it was getting good, but this is my floor.
This'll take you to the third floor, they'll ask you for that next set of
passwords there and from then on, I think you can find everything okay."

He nods, and you catch the briefest flicker of regret.  "It was a pleasure
to meet you, and thank you for making my day all the better."

Feeling your legs go a little wobbly at his voice forming around the word
"pleasure," you smile and steal a final look at him before the door closes,
leaving you alone.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It's not that you hate your job, it's just that... well, it's not your focus
right now.   In between the calls from two people who had a very poor grasp
of Galactic standard, you find yourself staring at a blank computer screen,
typing idly at the file you're supposed to have done by the end of the day,
the words not really flowing any better than they did when you first turned
the buggery machine on.

So what if you're distracted.  This is the first time you've ever considered
the elevator a good place for sex, and not as some contraption bent on
sending you into employee hell.

Grabbing the cup sitting to the right of the monitor, wincing as you realise
your tea is now room temperature and about as tasty as sludge, you sigh and
lean back in your chair.  You can still hear his voice, all those words he
said playing in the back of your mind like a movie, the delicious accent
music to your abused ears.  All told, you're glad you didn't make any moves
on him in that brief time, but the urge is there nevertheless, nagging at
you, playing with your repressed hormones.

"Get it together... geez, you'd think I'd just run into an archangel or
something."

Tapping a finger on the desk to a silent rhythm, you nearly jump out of your
chair when your boss comes up behind you.

"Is something wrong?"

You adjust the receiver jammed in your ear and try to look busy.  "No, sir,
just an odd ride to work on the shuttle today."

Your boss isn't heartless, per se, but he's still the one who gives you your
pay.  "Well, it's a bit early, but why don't you take your lunch now.  It's
quiet right now and Maggie just got back."

Oh, perfect.  The office's domestic goddess, the one who rearranges your
desk when you're out.  "Okay, sir, if it's alright with you."

His is a mirthless laugh.  "Just sticking to the labour laws.  Now go before
the comm goes off again."

Without further comment, you nod, grab your purse and get out from behind
the desk before he can change his mind.  Stepping into the elevator, rather
fruitlessly hoping that the air will still be charged with his presence, you
hit the lobby level button and wiggle your toes in your shoes, trying to
restore feeling to them.

"Hello again."

You jump around, startled.  This is the second time you've let your mind
wander enough to ignore your immediate surroundings.  Leveling eyes with the
one and only General Kenobi, you see that his face is still drawn with those
lines of wear you caught before, except now there's a curve of a smile on
one cheek, hopefully because of you.

"Hi, just got out of there?"

He gestures to the padd in one of his hands.  "Yes.  You should have warned
me that they give you a lecture every time you take something out of that
office."

You can't help but laugh, and it's almost out of pity.  Maybe you should
tell him about the time you got a "there's always someone listening" talk.
"Sorry, just one of those things best left to the actual experience."

"So I gathered.  Aren't you off a little early?"

Caught.  In the elevator.  Again.  "Lunch break, better known as the
scramble for carbohydrates to keep me from falling asleep at my desk."

The look that bothers you fades, his eyes gaining a glitter.  "I have a hard
time believing you fall asleep at your desk."

You wave a hand in the air as if playing with a wand.  "All great
secretaries do it, it's one of our initiations into our secret society."

He laughs, and as the sound strikes your brain, you have the immediate
instinct to grab for something solid.  Does he realise what he's doing to
you?  Half the time he's making you want to give him a teddy bear, the other
half inclining you to strip off his clothes and fuck him blind.

The fuck him blind being the sensation of the moment.  Clearing your throat,
straightening your skirt, you manage to cross your arms over yourself before
you betray what you're really thinking.  "You're telling me you don't?"

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by the question. "Never tried it, and I
don't think the opportunity has ever arisen to attempt it."

"Aw, you really are missing out.  There's nothing quite like dozing off only
to have an alien whose entire language is based on a series of clicks taking
out your eardrum and waking you up."

"This sounds like an experience you've actually had."

~As compared to the one I want right now,~ you think to yourself.  "My ears
were ringing for hours."

"I imagine."

Your response held back, the increasing lewdness of certain thoughts
probably having something to do with your lack of food and his edible
potential, you smile broadly and gesture at the door as the elevator once
more glides to a stop.  "I'm sure you can."

"What?"

You said that out loud-- quick-- spin control. "You said you haven't had a
good meal in weeks?"

He nods, taking a few steps to enter the lobby.  "Army rations are not what
I would consider a 'good meal.'  Actually, I doubt they could be considered
real food."

You nod.  You should know.  Your father used to feed you and your siblings
the crap when you couldn't keep anything else down.  Pausing a few moments
longer, making sure you won't chicken out, you take a deep breath and blurt
out "Dinner, my place, tonight."

The pause is painful.  Is he trying to figure out a polite rejection?  Is he
already busy then?  Is he gay?  Are you not his type?  Does he already have
a girlfriend?  Are Jedi-turned-Generals not allowed to eat dinner?

"What time?"

Your mouth dries up, your vocal chords fleeing for the Outer Rim.  He said
yes.  That was an affirmative.  Think, dammit.  Use your voice.  "I get off
at four."

"Five, then?"  He's assumed this pose, one hip jutting out slightly to the
side, and you feel salivary glands kick up a bit.

"Um, how about five thirty.  It gives me time to order out in case I burn
anything."

He laughs, and you fight down the flush of heat.  The lobby is not only a
public place, but also where you work.  If you turn all girly on him, the
gossip circles will be talking about you for weeks.  "Somehow, I doubt that.
Five thirty is fine.  Your address?"

Fidgeting a little, you dig in your purse for one of the little cards you
used to use when you were doing some telecommuting.  "Here.  Don't mind the
neighbours, uh, pet.  All bark, no bite."

"Thank you.  I'll see you then."  And with that, he moves in, gently kisses
you on the cheek and then walks towards the exit, his back now turned to
you.

Theoretically those things in your ribcage are there to help you breathe,
but right now all they're doing is making your jacket feel really
constricting.  The last time a man kissed you like that was... too long ago.
His lips brushing across like silken velvet, you can still feel where he
touched you, the nerves tingling just below the surface.

He said yes.  He's coming to dinner.  A dinner you're fixing.  At your
place.  Tonight.  At your place.

Maybe you should plead sick and get the rest of the afternoon off.  It would
be really uncharacteristic for the big bitch boss secretary to giggle at her
desk until the shift ends.

~*~

Well, you got out of work.  The boss wasn't happy, but neither were you when
you walked in and spotted your desk fanatically arranged by object size.

You really do hate Maggie.

So now, your hair wrapped in a towel, a pot of pasta on the stove, the smell
of cleaning chemicals in the air, you stand in front of your clothes closet,
torn for what to wear.

"Lessee, black dress with slit up to my neck equals 'I want sex,' blue
flower print is for mom visits, the pants are for Senatorial errands, I
don't have any leather, hmmm..."

Leafing through, spotting the soft black skirt and its matching top, a hand
embroidered number you got a couple years back from an ambassador after
pulling a few strings for him, you chew on your lip.  You really want to
play this right.  This is not a date, or even a formal thing, it's something
you got yourself into because you're willing to handcuff this man to your
ceiling in order to be around him more.

Snatching the hangers and pulling the skirt off, sliding it up under the
towel wrapped around your body, you hear the comm go off, wincing.  If it's
your mother, you'll scream.  If it's him canceling on you, you'll hunt him
down and hurt him.

"Hey, you've reached the message, if it's important, you obviously know
better than to call me here."

You wince.  After the incident involving your boss and a corrupted file,
you'd think you would change that voice mail message, except for the fact
that you always seem to forget about it until it's too late.

"It's Maggie.   I was wondering if you knew where the Carter plans went?
Give me a call back as soon as you can at the office, thanks."

Yeah, right, you're going to tell her where the files you've spent three
weeks slaving over are.  That's your project and you'd rather eat a bag of
nails than let her grab any of the credit for it.

Dropping both towels in a damp heap just outside your bedroom, you adjust
the top, fixing the built in bodice, playing with some of the beads worked
into the outer shell's embroidery.  Grabbing a brush and heading for the
kitchen, catching the smell of simmering spices, you smile to yourself.

Outside of a bit of makeup and the right kind of music on the stereo, you're
all ready for your intriguing dinner guest and it's only five.  Do it right
and you might be able to hide the smell of cleaning with some incense.

Letting your hair drip down your back a bit, all the excess dye thoroughly
washed free, you reach for the vegetables you had chopped about an hour ago,
dropping them into the sauce, adding a bit more spice to season it up just
right.  Catching yourself humming, the tune infiltrating your mind with a
lazy ease, you soon find yourself now singing the actual song, bopping to
the beat in your head.

And then the doorbell rings.

Setting the wooden spoon back in the pot and wiping your hands on a nearby
towel, you pad across the floor, wondering which neighbour it is that
smelled your latest kitchen creation and decided they want the recipe.

Yeah, like you can write "blind creativity" down on a notecard.

Putting on a smile, you unlock the bolt and open the door...

And nearly fall over.

"I'm sorry I'm early," he begins to apologise, "but the air taxi picked me
up ahead of schedule."

Caught between a stupid grin and pleasant shock, you nod mutely, opening the
door the rest of the way to admit the man in, his clothes from earlier
changed out to a silky grey shirt and a pair of pants that move with him
like a gentle breeze.  The boots are still there, but this time they seem
shinier.  Seems you're not the only one who decided to primp for the offer
of a home cooked meal.

"It's alright, I seem to be running a little ahead of schedule myself.  Come
on in, it's nearly ready."

Congratulating yourself on the ability to mind your manners, you return to
the kitchen to stir the sauce once more, the aroma of gently cooking greens
awakening your appetite.  Focusing on the spoon in your hand, knowing full
well that as he walks, the lovely General is giving himself a self-guided
tour of your place, probably taking note of all the odd things you keep, you
smile.

Yeah, this could work out.

"Great fish, I understand that this breed is rather rare.  Does it have a
name?"

Biting your lip, you choke back the self-depreciating laughter.  "Uh,
'Fish?'  I'm really not home that much."

"I understand that well. Still, he's pretty."

"Thanks." Turning off the water and dumping the pasta in the strainer set in
the sink you let it drain as you figure out the intentions of your guest.
You know your intentions, the feelings you were getting from him in the
elevator-- both times, and what the basic male need is; however, you don't
want to step on his toes.  That whole side of him that needs a teddy bear
shouldn't be beat up for the sake of your hormones... unless of course it
wants to.

"How long have you lived here?"

"For a while," you start, resisting the life-story urge.  "Got this place a
couple years back right before my job change.  You?"

"The only place I call home is the Temple, but I'm not there very often
anymore.  Too busy with all this other stuff, and besides, it's not what it
used to be."

Taking two bowls from the cabinet, you grab a spoon and ladle in a steaming
heap of noodle into each bowl, hearing him walk around your place with an
interested prowl.  This one has a lot of layers to him, that's obvious
enough.  Now all you can hope for is the layer that equals "attractive and
needing the attention of a woman."   Ladeling the sauce over, hearing the
boots click onto the kitchen tile, you hold still, resolving yourself to not
jump when he first says something.

"That smells wonderful, what is it?"

"An experiment.  It's a little like a stroganoff, but with vegetables and a
bit less fat.  It's good for you."

You can feel his breath tickling at the back of your neck, and your mouth
curls into a wicked grin. His body is just about close enough to slide
against yours, the heat from his skin noticeable, even with the billows of
steam rising from the sink and stove.  Taking a chance and scooting
backwards, sliding your back languidly to lay against his chest, you wait
for him to bolt or back away uncomfortably.

But rather than a swift intake of breath and a half muttered apology, warm
male hands slide around your waist and hold you there, his face sliding in
next to yours as he nuzzles you with his cheek.  "Thank you for doing this
for me."

"Anytime." ~For you.  I don't do this for just anyone.~  "Now go sit down,
I'll bring this over to the table with some bread and wine."

His voice is a whisper, and a sultry one at that.  "Can't eat it here, hmm?"

This is the chemistry you were hoping for.  With that first look at him you
knew you wanted to draw the sexual creature buried inside of him to come out
and show itself to you, but up until now your self-control was holding you
back.  Despite the fierce resolve, despite your caution with you life,
you -knew.-  There were sparks.  Not literal fire hazard sparks, but sparks
enough to motivate you to invite him into your home and fix him dinner.

"As much as I'd like to, no.  My counter is not what you would call
comfortable."

One of his hands caresses over your waist, sending delightful shudders.  "We
can negotiate."

"Oh, real--"

Your voice leaves you as his lips descend on your neck, the moist flesh
feathering gentle kisses across your jugular, tasting the salty texture with
an amazing touch.  Grateful for his arms supporting you, some of the support
in your legs gives out as you lean further back into his grasp, your head
falling back, exposing the lines of your throat to his searching mouth.  The
hand that was playing across your waist moves over your hip, sliding down
your leg in an exploration, his fingers dancing excessively close to the
sudden rush of moist heat between your legs.

Knowing better, setting the bowl and spoon down before you drop them and
create a huge mess, you feel yourself giving in, this urge to turn around
and fully embrace the male creature suckling at your neck a rare one, and
one of delicious proportions.  Nothing inside you is telling you to stop.

"Obi-Wan?"

"Hmm?" he murmurs against your skin, his other hand sliding up to your
ribcage, falling just underneath your breasts.

"Oh, nothing," you manage, your now free hands able to touch him like he's
touching you, "I just wanted to make sure I wasn't dreaming."

He chuckles, the vibration of his chest reverberating through your back.
Sliding one of your hands up and though his hair, feeling the soft locks
slide past your fingers with silken ease, he lets slip a slight moan as you
try to back even further into him, the curve of your buttocks coming in
contact with his groin, your body unintentionally tensing as you feel the
slight bulge in the otherwise smooth pants.

"If you were dreaming," he purrs in your ear, rolling up to nip at the lobe,
"would you feel this?"

The hand at your thigh tightens a little on your skin as it moves across
your lower abdomen, his fingers using the slinky fabric of the skirt to
gracefully wedge his hand down past your covered curls to caress between
your legs.

"Mmmmmm."

"I'll take that as a no," he continues to purr in your ear.  "Do you want to
know something?"

The fabric tangling in his wrist, his hand is falling deeper between the
folds, massaging back and forth over your sex, and despite the fact that
there are two layers between you and his hand, it doesn't seem to matter.
"What?"

"I was afraid after this morning I would never see you again."

As were you of him.  Your hand digging a little into his scalp, you want
desperately to turn around and look into those beautiful eyes, but the
amazing torture of his fingers is holding you in place.

"So when I saw you that second time, I knew I wasn't being irrational.  I
couldn't stop thinking about you... about how you talk... about how you
feel... about how you smell..."

His voice trails off as he sets his lips to your throat once more, and you
let out a vocal sigh.  The hardness at your back has become even more
prevalent, and as he works up to your chin, trailing kisses along the
jawline, you catch his hips rocking back and forth against your back,
finding yourself falling into that rhythm, seemingly drawn into a dance so
sweetly carnal that you can't help but indulge in.

Sensing the need, his fingers press further up, pushing at nerve centres
begging for attention, all the while gently turning your head as it lays
back on his shoulder, bringing his face close to yours, his nose angled to
the side just enough to keep from rubbing it too hard against you.

"About how you taste... about how you feel on the inside... about how you
sound when you come..."

All that's left in your lungs is a whimper, his voice seducing you with
every consonant, every honeyed word slipping free from that perfectly shaped
mouth to penetrate your ears like a wisp of smoke, destroying the solidity
of your bones and bringing the pounding of blood to a roar.  You can still
smell the food you had prepared, but the reality of it has slipped away and
now all you want is that increasing rigidity threatening to bruise your
back.

Denying you the ability to turn around, his hand abandons his feverish
touches, sliding up to your waist to slip his fingers underneath the loosely
tied skirt, his hands strong and questing.  When his fingers touch the edges
of underwear, you gasp and he muffles the last of the pleasant shock with a
kiss, descending upon your mouth with flushed lips, parting your own lips
with a press of his tongue, sliding it in to explore the inside of your
moth, caressing it against the moist warmth of your own.

Deepening the exploration, tasting you, he slides his hand over the cotton
of the panties, his fingers coming in contact with the wet fabric, pushing
aside the seams with a deft move of his fingers, sliding the tips of them
through your folds.

Bucking under his touch, crying out as the sensation first rips up your
spine, he permits you breath, pulling back, nipping your lower lip.  His
fingers continue to dance through the flushed labia, tracing circles along
your clit before pressing as hard as he can down towards your opening, just
grazing it with the tip of his middle finger, feeling you writhe under his
ministrations.

"Oh, please, gods, ah, don't tease..."

Nipping your lip before taking another soul-shattering kiss, pressing the
heat of his mouth into yours with a half-rumbled growl, you can't hear your
strangled whine as his fingers suddenly go from playing across your folds to
sliding his finger inside of you, the muscles clenching tightly on that new
touch, savouring the grind of your hips down on his hand as you beg for
more, waiting a second more, his mouth sucking the life from your own as he
slowly starts pumping his digit in and out, the slick wetness coating his
hand.

You inhale so sharply it manifests as a gasp, and you throw your head back
on his shoulder, your hand falling to his neck and clamping down there, your
eyes closed as you feel the tight knot of release build up somewhere inside
you.  Moving against his hand, hearing him moan slightly as the rocking of
your hips slides the rise of your buttocks over his erection, the muscle
straining against the barrier of fabric, you shudder, almost not noticing as
his other hand is tugging rather clumsily at your top, trying to free your
upper half from the restraint of the bodice.  The tips of his fingers rasp
across the textured fabric, sliding across the restrained nipples.

"All day, all I wanted to do was find you again..."

Striking an inner wall, causing you to stiffen and then curl back as the
violent pleasure hits you, you will yourself to focus on his voice, his
words seeping into your memory forever.

"All day I wanted to feel your nude body against mine, sweaty and sweet with
the smell of you, writhing against my own body, your cries of passion
reaching my ears as I brought you to climax..."

His fingers are harsh now, driving as hard and fast as they can into you,
the friction almost painful to endure.  You bite your lip, the whimpers
escaping free, his other hand sliding across your face and neck, and as it
rises finally, the initial feeling breaking loose a cry from your throat,
you feel your body shudder, his fingers pressing long and hard into you,
milking the orgasm from your body as you let him support your weight
entirely, the ability to stand gone.

You pant, still moving instinctually against his hand, hearing him growl as
your roll up slowly, letting a fingertip strike a sensitive bunch of nerves,
your lower back catching on the diamond hard tip pressing into you, now
clearly painful to him.

Sliding his hand free, caressing over your skin as he pulls you away from
his body, grasping your shoulders to turn you around, you oblige, shaky feet
finding the floor the those barely registering is the cool surface.
Regaining balance, locking on those eyes of his, now darkened blue with the
fever of ardour, you rock forward, crushing your lips, tasting him straight
on, his hands falling to your clothes as you run your fingers down his
chest.

Finding the tie on the skirt, releasing it with a pooling of fabric at your
feet, you gasp as the cooler air hits your legs and hips, but quickly forget
it as soon as you touch his belt, the immediate growl from him a sign that
it's now a source of constant consternation.  Loosing the buckle, freeing
the fly with a quick snap of the wrist, you slide a hand down the rest of
the way, pushing the soft fabric away from his member, sliding a hand around
its stiff length, feeling just how hard it is, the tip damp with his own
moisture.

As his hands finally find the secret to the built in bodice, removing the
laces with quick hand gestures, he freezes as you wrap your fingers around
him carefully, sliding your hand up and down the length of his shaft, your
other hand shoving the fabric off his hips to reveal the well-muscled hips
and moulded buttocks.  By the time you've bared him to the room, his lower
half garments clinging to him by the tops of his boots, he's pushed the top
aside, sliding it up over your shoulders and tossing it aside in a heap on
the floor, arching his back as he plays a hand across your exposed breasts,
trailing circles along one of the nipples as he cradles the other, bending
down to taste it, his tongue lapping at the tweaked bud, to which you sigh.
Tightening your hand around him, rubbing your fingers over the tip, he
grunts, suddenly using his arms to crush you to his chest, pulling you off
your weight entirely as he falls to his knees, hauling you to his lap,
slamming your hips into your arm as you release him, not wanting to actually
hurt him.

You two hold there a second, and he runs his hands all over you, eventually
sliding them down around your hips, fingering the fabric of your panties
briefly before firmly latching a hand around them, pausing to apparently
gather strength, and then with a fierce movement that sends shivers up your
spine, rips it free.  You gasp and then feel him crush you against him,
taking your mouth hungrily, pressing his lips into yours, his tongue taking
your mouth with hot desire.  Arching your hips to him, crushing your front
to him, you rock up, sliding slowly down, freezing when his free standing
member brushes over your folds, even the mere thought of that inside of you
re-building the coil inside of you.

His hands massage your hips, pressing into the muscles, one of them going
behind you to keep you from backing away, the other finding his own length
and running his fingers from sac to tip.  Pausing for a few seconds, he
holds himself, placing himself at your opening, using his other hand to
press you down, eliciting a whimper as he beings to penetrate you, your
natural urges to sit down on him taking over as you swallow his member
inside, his fingers rubbing through your folds mercilessly, causing you to
buck even before you're all the way down.

He breaks away, hissing.  Snapping his hips up, closing the distance between
the two of you, his eyes are burning as you being to ride him, throwing your
head back as he grinds up as hard as he can against you, most of the work
towards his climax done by you rubbing your back against him and your hand.
Keeping his fingers on you, working patterns over your clit, you gasp,
short, staccato cries mixing with his grunts.

Dropping your head to his shoulder, his hands moving to tighten at your back
as you rock in counter rhythm, the first spires of white heat hitting you.
You bite your lip, your hands falling at his back as you shudder slightly,
unwilling to hold it back.  A growl fills your ears again as he freezes,
rolls his hips back to the point of near withdrawal and then plunges himself
as deep as he could ever go, his nails digging into you hips as he hisses
through his teeth again, repeating the gesture a few more times before
snapping his hips up sharply.

You cry out again, your hands talons on his flesh and he makes a strangled
groan as he spasms inside you, the flood of heat filling you as your muscles
tighten around him, taking every bit of orgasm from his body before you feel
yourself dropping to the ground, your body splayed on top of his silk
covered chest as he pants hard.

"Obi-Wan?"  you whisper, your own breath rather thready and unpredictable.

He grunts and shifts a leg, causing a shiver of lingering energy to jolt up
your spine and cause you to gasp.  "Yes?"

"Does this mean--ah, you're not hungry?"

Gathering you even tighter against his chest, smothering you in kisses, he
laughs, "I thought this was dinner."

Your humour returns a bit, tempered by afterglow.  "Hmm, I thought this was
dessert."

"Oh," he murmurs, making no move to get up or pull you off of him.  "Then I
guess we should eat dinner."

You nuzzle his face, inhaling his smell, telling yourself to remember this.
"Later," you whisper.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*



*end*