Title: What do your senses tell you? (1/?)
Author: Lady Maul (Lady_Maul@telia.com)
Category: ABH
Rating: R
Archive: Sith Chicks. Others, if you like it, take it! Just drop me a 
note so I know where it ends up! Thanks!
Disclaimer: I've just borrowed "Mr. Horny" for awhile... He belongs to 
Lucas.
Feedback: Please? I neeeeeed feedback!
Summary: An unexpected visit...
Dedicated: To Britt-Marie Brovik, my Swedish teacher! I think that I 
never would have written this if she hadn't given us this task!
Author's note: This plot, if one can call it a plot..., dived into my 
brain when our Swedish teacher told us to write a character 
description. I asked her if I could describe a fictive character, and 
she said "Yes". So, here it is!
Thanks to Blitzen for beta reading this story!

/thoughts/

Enjoy!



The first thing your senses register, are his black clothes. He's 
totally covered in black, from head to toe. The hood on his 
ankle-length cloak is drawn far down, and puts his whole face in 
shadow. The sleeves are as long as the cloak. The openings for the 
arms are along the seams on the sleeves. His hands are covered with 
leather gloves. On his feet he wears sturdy boots.

"Can I help you?" you ask nervously. The man makes you feel both 
scared and curious at the same time. He looks so familiar that it is 
frightening.

He doesn't answer you, but forces his way past you, into your 
apartment. At first you get angry, but when he walks by you, his 
shoulder meets yours. Through the clothes you can feel that his 
muscles are firm, and very likely also strong. You swallow a lump 
which for some reason seems to have gotten in your throat.

He walks on, into your living room. You become aware of his way of 
walking. It's a soft, but still determined, gait. Almost as if he 
glides over the floor. He stops in the middle of the room and turns in 
a complete circle to see everything.

/He must believe that I'm obsessed when he sees all my figures!/ you 
think, and wince. You have a vague feeling that he is grinning at you, 
as he stands there looking out through the window.

"I am pleased that I am well-liked," he suddenly says, clasps his 
hands on his back and turns around to face you.

The voice almost makes your knees buckle. It's like dark velvet, and 
seems to contain unspoken promises. Quickly you walk to a stool and 
sit down, before your legs can give way under you. Not so much because 
of your knees, but because that you suddenly understand what he said: 
/_I_ am pleased that _I_ am.../

"Are you really...," you manage to say, and point at one of your 
dolls.

"Yes," he answers with a purring voice that make you melt.

Slowly he lifts his gloved hands and removes the wide, deep hood off 
his head, so that it finally rests on his broad shoulders and back.

The first thing your eyes fall upon when he passes the hood over his 
head, are a pair of blazing yellow eyes. Then you can see his chin, 
lips and nose. They're beautifully tattooed in red and black. /Or 
rather, red _or_ black./ You don't know if it's the red or the black 
that's tattooed.

Suddenly you see them. The horns. You gasp. He looks even more 
seductive in reality -- /If this isn't a dream, that is.../ -- than in 
the movie.

He unhooks the clasp of his cloak, takes it off and throws it over the 
table so that it lands on your sofa. Something on the table catches 
his interest. A hand grabs one of your note pads. Soon he starts to 
chuckle and shake his head. His laugh is deep and rich. Sensual.

"What?!" you burst out.

"So, you want to dress like me?"

You hear by his intonation that it isn't a question, and thus only 
shrug your shoulders and give a silly smile. He laughs again, and you 
can see that his teeth really aren't neglected, as they appear to be 
in the movie, but simply... painted! You have difficulty thinking, and 
can't think of any better word than... painted. /Probably to look more 
menacing,/ you assume.

Amazingly you resist the sudden temptation to walk to him, to... 
Quickly you stop your line of thought. /Remember that he can read your 
mind whenever he wants to!/ you remind yourself.

Once again he starts to chuckle. /Shit!/ you scold yourself. /But 
still... To be able to.../ You blush when he lifts a hand to his head 
and lets his forefinger glide around one of his horns, at the same 
time as he licks his lips. He lets his hand fall to his side again, 
and you release a breath you didn't know you've been holding.

"Not yet..." he purrs, and places the note pad on the table again. If 
he alludes to your wish to study his clothes, or your thoughts, you 
don't know, but you think you know the meaning of the words...

"How long have you been training?" he asks, suddenly serious.

"Huh?" Your brain feel like sluggish jelly.

Impatiently he points at something behind you. You turn around and 
suddenly understand what he means.

"Oh... With staff, not long," you answer. "Otherwise I've been 
training for six years."

He extends his right hand towards you. /What?/ A staff suddenly flies 
by you. You jump, as you sit there on your stool, and are rewarded 
with a grin from him. He easily catches it and extends his other hand. 
You other, slightly shorter and carved, staff flies to his 
outstretched hand.

"Lets see how good you are," he grins and holds out the long staff to 
you. You rise and accept it.

"But we can't fight in here!" you exclaim, and let your free hand take 
in the room.

"You're right. Change into better clothes, and then we can train down 
there," he says, and points out through the window down at the 
football ground.

You nod, lean the staff on your bookcase and walk to your bedroom to 
change.

You close the door behind you and slide down to the floor. /Oh my! How 
will I manage this, when I barely can think straight!/ He's so damn 
sexy! /Shit!/ You start to feel frustrated. /How the hell will I be 
able to do this?!?/ You start to rise to gather together your 
trainingclothes. You've sewn one set yourself. The other, the one you 
bought through the club, you only use when you train for shi-fu.

Suddenly you see his face in front of you, and your hands follow every 
thought you think.

The line separating the black from the red, that goes from the horn on 
the top of his head, to the temples, just under his cheek-bones and 
down to the corners of his mouth, is like a frame round his face. The 
chin is red with black patterns. It's as if he had a black snake 
tongue on his chin. On each side of the 'tongue' are two smaller black 
fields.

The three horns on his forehead are surrounded by black, oval, pointy 
fields. From the middle field a thin black line goes down across his 
forehead and the bridge of the nose. The line ends just over the tip 
of his nose, in two squares with one of the edges pointed downwards, 
one over the other. Between his eyes is a short line across the 
vertical. Just above, at the same height where his eyebrows would have 
been, is another square.

His blazing eyes are surrounded by black, which makes a striking 
contrast. From the corner of his eyes, a black line extends towards 
the horns on his temples. Even from under his eyes, a black line runs 
downwards and slightly outwards to the black. There, where the line 
meets the black, a new one begins. Like a "V", it runs inwards and 
down to the black, but without ever touching it, and up to his nose 
there it ends in a little curve just above the wing of the nose.

The black field of the nose looks like a "V" too. The lower point is 
just above the upper lip and then continues up and outwards so it 
contains the wings of the nose. The contours then join together again, 
right on the tip of his nose. Above his upper lips are also two black 
triangles, with their lower outer points in the corners of his mouth. 
Together with the black field of the nose, the red in between forms 
another "V".

From the black fields -- that surround the other two horns in his 
forehead -- lower points, an s-shaped line coils itself, and joins the 
black that surrounds his eyes, in the same height as the little 
square. Where the black around his eyes goes up, as if he raised his 
eyebrows, there's a little 'comma' with it's point pointing down and 
inwards. You whimper and start to think of all the things you want to 
do with his head.

Suddenly you discover your jeans in your hands. When did you take them 
off? /Damn! I was supposed to change clothes!/ Quickly you take off 
you shirt and socks, and pick up your black dress. /The color should 
please him,/ you think with a smile.

On with the pants, tie the cords. A t-shirt slips swiftly over your 
head. You don't want to get cold. And then the jacket over that. 
/Stupid strings!/ you mutter when they don't want to do as you want. 
Eventually you succeed in tying your jacket together, and dive into 
your wardrobe to search for your sash. Finally you find it and wrap it 
around your waist. /He must be getting impatient by this time.../ you 
think as you start to search for the straps that hold the fabric of 
your pants together on your calves. You find them, open the door and 
hop out on one leg as you tie the straps around calves and 
ankle-joint. Just as you round the corner into your living room, you 
change legs, look up, and fall on your butt with an "uff".

He stands in front of you dressed only in boots, pants and a long, 
sleeveless shirt. His belt, with the lightsaber clipped to it, is 
still around his waist, but his robe and gloves lies next to his cloak 
on the sofa.

Your eyes threaten to fall out of their sockets when you stare at his 
broad shoulders and muscular arms. Black as the darkest night, except 
for the red tattoos that coil like snakes down the arms to his hands, 
there they ramifies like veins out on his fingers.

"Tie the straps and put on your shoes," he says impatiently.

Quickly you do as he says, grab your staff and take your keys. You 
walk out into the stairwell and lock the door behind you. You fasten 
the keys in your sash. Together you step into the lift. All the way 
down you're painfully aware that he's standing right behind you.

When the lift stops on the ground you step out, walk through the front 
door and out into the tepid summer evening. /Perfect weather for 
outdoor training!/ you thinks

He walks behind you all the way round the house, until you reach the 
football ground on the backside. There he stops, and orders you to 
stop too. You do as he says and turn around. You widen your eyes when 
you see that he also has taken with him your short staff and cudgel. 
He grins and places the weapons on the ground. He lets one hand rest 
on his hip, and rests his chin on the other ahile he studies the 
weapons in front of him. He decides to use the short staff. It's half 
the length of the one you hold in your hands.

Suddenly he attacks you with a cut downward against your head. No word 
that you shall begin, no forewarning at all. You curse him and quickly 
raise your staff horizontally against the ground to block his thrust, 
and then you sweep one end of the staff against his legs. He does a 
somersault over you and slaps you on your butt with his staff.

He grins at you and your anger easily takes over your movements. The 
only thing you can think of, is his movements. They're soft and lithe 
like a panther's, a black panther, and yet contain the explosiveness 
that can be found in the bite of a cobra.

All your concentration goes into the fight, so you don't notice all 
the bystanders that gather outside the fence. The more you fight, the 
more tired you get, but the only thing he does is to tease you and 
grin at you. Finally you place yourself on the ground with the staff 
in your lap and raise a hand.

"I can't fight any more!" you manage to say between your gulps for 
precious air.

"You lasted longer than I thought," he smiles. "Do you know how long 
we've been fighting?"

You shake your head, too tired to speak.

"You! Come here!" he yells with an authoritarian voice and points at 
someone behind you.

You turn around and see all the bystanders. It feels like your chin 
drops all the way to the ground. /Oh my! Do that many really live 
here?!/ At least three hundred people must be standing outside the 
fence on the foot-path.

A man of Scandinavian origin steps cautiously forward.

"How long have you been standing here?"

"Two hours," the newcomer answers nervously.

"Were you the first here?"

"No, there were already twenty-five or thirty poelpe here when I 
came." The man is dismissed and backs away.

"The first came three hours ago." He laughs at your startled face and 
crouches down in front of you. Face to face. "Time for something 
else," he whispers, takes your staff in his left hand, and your hand 
in the other. Easily he pulls you up to a standing position.

Assuming that he will release his grip as soon as you stand up, and 
pull your hand towards you. It is firmly stuck in an iron grip. It's 
not a tight grip, just... solid. The staffs fly to his left side and 
he carries them under his arm when you walk back to your apartment.

Everything around you disappears like in a mist. The only thing you 
can think of, is his hand around your wrist. How close his warm body 
is.

Suddenly you're in your apartment again. You blink, startled, when he 
releases his grip on your wrist, and you look around dizzily. 
/How...?/ Then you understand. /Of course he used the Force to unlock 
the doors!/

He places the staffs there they usually stand. Then he turns towards 
you.

"Get me a towel," he says and walks into the bath room without closing 
the door.

You do as he says and walk to the bedroom to get a towel. To be able 
to open the wardrobe you have to close the door to the hall. By force 
of habit you grab your favorite towel, the one with his picture on it, 
but that doesn't register in your brain. The only thing you can think 
of is Him. In your bathroom! You rise, close the wardrobe and open the 
door again.

The foot you were supposed to step forward with freezes in midair and 
you almost lose your balance. In the bathroom, with the back towards 
you, He stands! Naked! He must know that you are standing there, 
staring, because he doesn't move, just stands still like a statue.

Your gaze sweeps over his well-trained body. Even on his back, coil 
red tattoos. From his shoulders the red coils downward, until they 
meet in the small of his back and continue to taper and then disappear 
between his buttocks. The rest of his body is black as a starless 
night.

Slowly you begin to remember how to walk, and walk cautiously to him. 
You stop just out of reach and hold out the towel so he can take it.

"Your towel," you say. Only now you discover which towel you've taken, 
and you begin to blush and drop your eyes.

He turns around.

~  Updated 5/6/00 ~