(no subject)
Qui-Gon had the immediate sense that something had changed. Mostly that sudden illumination came when he rolled over onto his stomach, and then immediately rolled back, terrified that he might have hurt the little bird nestled against his chest. A hand groped at his neck, then lower, then--
Oh. That was not his. And neither was the other one.
He immediately snatched his hands back from both of them, staring down to find himself faced with a set of perfectly nice--and somehow strangely familiar--breasts under a white nightdress. Long, wild curls of hair trailed over his eyes, and he brushed them back with newly slender fingers. Holding both hands up in front of him brought another unwelcome revelation. One gold wedding ring. One silver with a faintly floral pattern.
For the love of the Force. The island had made him into the woman he most longed to touch.
Perhaps he could convince Abby or Luke to tie him spreadeagled to a tree for the remainder of the weekend.
A less disciplined, underdeveloped part of his personality suggested that he might just stay here, benefiting from both the warmly rumpled bed and the relative privacy of the room, and then the rest of him strangled that insinuating voice of temptation and forced Claire's body out from under the sheets. He felt so oddly petite, still graceful, but not so easily coordinated as usual. Claire's body was markedly different from Temperance Brennan's. She had been small but full of impetuous passion, all her power in her very center. Claire felt more like home, centered more in her head and heart, and moving her body seemed far more like moving his own.
He could not negotiate her clothing with his eyes closed, but he did try to avoid looking at her body as much as humanly possible when he pulled on her usual pair of pants and white blouse, buttoning the front over her bra. He also had the patience to brush most of the tangles out of her hair, but left it unbound for his own somewhat guilty pleasure.
Slipping on her shoes, twisting the gold ring rather nervously around one finger, Qui-Gon stepped out of the room and headed upstairs for the kitchen, intent on finding his own body, with his new feathery friend hopefully unharmed. After that, he would find himself a cup of tea. He supposed he could be grateful that he and Claire had that craving in common.
[Obviously backdated to Friday morning--I'm sorry for being so late. Find Qui-Gon!Claire on the way to the kitchen or the rec room.]
Oh. That was not his. And neither was the other one.
He immediately snatched his hands back from both of them, staring down to find himself faced with a set of perfectly nice--and somehow strangely familiar--breasts under a white nightdress. Long, wild curls of hair trailed over his eyes, and he brushed them back with newly slender fingers. Holding both hands up in front of him brought another unwelcome revelation. One gold wedding ring. One silver with a faintly floral pattern.
For the love of the Force. The island had made him into the woman he most longed to touch.
Perhaps he could convince Abby or Luke to tie him spreadeagled to a tree for the remainder of the weekend.
A less disciplined, underdeveloped part of his personality suggested that he might just stay here, benefiting from both the warmly rumpled bed and the relative privacy of the room, and then the rest of him strangled that insinuating voice of temptation and forced Claire's body out from under the sheets. He felt so oddly petite, still graceful, but not so easily coordinated as usual. Claire's body was markedly different from Temperance Brennan's. She had been small but full of impetuous passion, all her power in her very center. Claire felt more like home, centered more in her head and heart, and moving her body seemed far more like moving his own.
He could not negotiate her clothing with his eyes closed, but he did try to avoid looking at her body as much as humanly possible when he pulled on her usual pair of pants and white blouse, buttoning the front over her bra. He also had the patience to brush most of the tangles out of her hair, but left it unbound for his own somewhat guilty pleasure.
Slipping on her shoes, twisting the gold ring rather nervously around one finger, Qui-Gon stepped out of the room and headed upstairs for the kitchen, intent on finding his own body, with his new feathery friend hopefully unharmed. After that, he would find himself a cup of tea. He supposed he could be grateful that he and Claire had that craving in common.
[Obviously backdated to Friday morning--I'm sorry for being so late. Find Qui-Gon!Claire on the way to the kitchen or the rec room.]