(no subject)
title: Off Center
author: helgaleena
helgaleenas@yahoo.com
fandom: Star Wars, Clone Wars
medium: graphic novel
genre: angst H/C het
pairing: Quinlan Vos/ Dooku/Khaleen
rating: NC-17
warnings: disturbing content, sex
disclaimer: Lucas, Ostrander, and Duursema own everything. I am nothing
summary: How in the hells can Quin continue to play in Dooku's inner circles and remain true to his Jedi code? And Khaleen simply should not be here....Based on Star Wars: Jedi--Dooku.
part 1: Dooku's entourage...
part 2:
She smelled like a five-course banquet to him right now. He was only starting with her mouth. Khaleen's generous lips each needed to be pinioned between his blocky teeth and suckled until they were red and swollen. Left upper, mm. Right upper, umhum. Left lower-- fark, he just decided to shove his tongue in, to lap at the spurting of saliva his consumption was encouraging. That sallow, smooth face was rosying up from contact with his chin; he made a mental note of it-- do not shave, so as not to irritate the skin of Khaleen, who is wondering why I've stopped trying to swallow her tongue, her eyes are swimming open again and she's lunging up at me--
--and it felt so kriffin' good to feel her mouth, her sweet pointy tongue tracing around the tops of his teeth, darting out to meet his, making him moan and go on the offensive again, to ravage the arch of her palate with the roughness of his own starving tongue, which made her shiver and arc backwards, right into his hands. His hands had been waiting to snag in that satin-red hair, with that long elegant brain-case beneath it like a precious porcelain, only so warm, so fragrant. The second course , as he worked his way back to it with his voracious lips, would be her ears, in the perfumed thicket of that unnaturally purple satiny hair.
He combed at it with his teeth, behind the privacy screen of his own black matted locks, in which his willing banquet had embedded one of her hands, and was pulling him tightly in to his task. He let the rough wet texture of his tongue tracing her ear whorls make her moan, delved deep after the spice of bitter wax inside to increase the writhing, sucked hard on the lobe until the danger to her earring again sent her into panicky shivers, then let it go to descend her neck's stem like column, hot with her pulsing blood. It was so near-- he couldn't help pausing to pull and nibble and coax the blood still nearer to the surface, to make his passage visible with the imprint of his mouth, marks of his teeth accentuating the honey-tinged flesh he was grazing on.
The halter she was wearing she gladly let him shrug off her shoulders, merely increasing the clasp of her legs around his waist as he dined first on one shoulder, then the other, raising gooseflesh with his attentions. His erection--- it was weeping against the inside of his pants, straining frustratedly to reach her, so close and warm above, but Quin was simply too busy to pay it much heed-- busy devouring, kneading at her smooth, bare back, sinuously corded with shifting muscle beneath that tasty skin. Now and then his hands would encounter a patch of remembered sorrow there, but all it did was increase his desire, to worship her obvious deliciousness in contrast to the past.
And what was most delicious was her love. She loved a shaggy brown Kiffar with yellow stripes on his hide named Vos. Wanted him to eat her up. It surrounded him, this love, wave upon wave of her fierce joy at feeding him redoubled by the receiving.
When at last her breasts were free he dove between them, inhaling them, rooting at the bases of them, patterning the slopes of them, squeezing at them as if that would get them to spurt, laving them into horripilation, digging in his fingernails to pull at them, torturing their very tips with staccato licks before latching on like a mynock, while his hands slammed her against him.
And she came explosively, bucking till her legs nearly lost their purchase around him, and in return his body sprang out all bedewed with sweat as his own release shot out all hot around him, inside his trousers, but he didn't care, he could care less about his own leakage as he fed, he worshiped, he squeezed every drop of her pleasure over himself, and fell to his knees.
At last he stopped to gasp for breath, with mouth trembling, his brow streaming down over his dark face and the bright yellow stripe from ear to ear, his stubble prickling afresh with perspiration. The puuri cat in his arms had relaxed into a cuddly ball of warmth that he gently sat to cradle. She lifted up her green eyes, rosy face veiled by the loose ribbons of ruby hair, to meet his. "Quin, I love you."
"Yeah, I noticed." He had to smile at that, even as he felt the pain of his abused ribs trying to rob him of consciousness, in retaliation for all this exertion. Some of the bacta patches Khaleen had just applied were coming loose, simply from how sweaty he was. Oh well. Quite worth it.
part3: http://community.livejournal.com/jedi_nights/14882.html
author: helgaleena
helgaleenas@yahoo.com
fandom: Star Wars, Clone Wars
medium: graphic novel
genre: angst H/C het
pairing: Quinlan Vos/ Dooku/Khaleen
rating: NC-17
warnings: disturbing content, sex
disclaimer: Lucas, Ostrander, and Duursema own everything. I am nothing
summary: How in the hells can Quin continue to play in Dooku's inner circles and remain true to his Jedi code? And Khaleen simply should not be here....Based on Star Wars: Jedi--Dooku.
part 1: Dooku's entourage...
part 2:
She smelled like a five-course banquet to him right now. He was only starting with her mouth. Khaleen's generous lips each needed to be pinioned between his blocky teeth and suckled until they were red and swollen. Left upper, mm. Right upper, umhum. Left lower-- fark, he just decided to shove his tongue in, to lap at the spurting of saliva his consumption was encouraging. That sallow, smooth face was rosying up from contact with his chin; he made a mental note of it-- do not shave, so as not to irritate the skin of Khaleen, who is wondering why I've stopped trying to swallow her tongue, her eyes are swimming open again and she's lunging up at me--
--and it felt so kriffin' good to feel her mouth, her sweet pointy tongue tracing around the tops of his teeth, darting out to meet his, making him moan and go on the offensive again, to ravage the arch of her palate with the roughness of his own starving tongue, which made her shiver and arc backwards, right into his hands. His hands had been waiting to snag in that satin-red hair, with that long elegant brain-case beneath it like a precious porcelain, only so warm, so fragrant. The second course , as he worked his way back to it with his voracious lips, would be her ears, in the perfumed thicket of that unnaturally purple satiny hair.
He combed at it with his teeth, behind the privacy screen of his own black matted locks, in which his willing banquet had embedded one of her hands, and was pulling him tightly in to his task. He let the rough wet texture of his tongue tracing her ear whorls make her moan, delved deep after the spice of bitter wax inside to increase the writhing, sucked hard on the lobe until the danger to her earring again sent her into panicky shivers, then let it go to descend her neck's stem like column, hot with her pulsing blood. It was so near-- he couldn't help pausing to pull and nibble and coax the blood still nearer to the surface, to make his passage visible with the imprint of his mouth, marks of his teeth accentuating the honey-tinged flesh he was grazing on.
The halter she was wearing she gladly let him shrug off her shoulders, merely increasing the clasp of her legs around his waist as he dined first on one shoulder, then the other, raising gooseflesh with his attentions. His erection--- it was weeping against the inside of his pants, straining frustratedly to reach her, so close and warm above, but Quin was simply too busy to pay it much heed-- busy devouring, kneading at her smooth, bare back, sinuously corded with shifting muscle beneath that tasty skin. Now and then his hands would encounter a patch of remembered sorrow there, but all it did was increase his desire, to worship her obvious deliciousness in contrast to the past.
And what was most delicious was her love. She loved a shaggy brown Kiffar with yellow stripes on his hide named Vos. Wanted him to eat her up. It surrounded him, this love, wave upon wave of her fierce joy at feeding him redoubled by the receiving.
When at last her breasts were free he dove between them, inhaling them, rooting at the bases of them, patterning the slopes of them, squeezing at them as if that would get them to spurt, laving them into horripilation, digging in his fingernails to pull at them, torturing their very tips with staccato licks before latching on like a mynock, while his hands slammed her against him.
And she came explosively, bucking till her legs nearly lost their purchase around him, and in return his body sprang out all bedewed with sweat as his own release shot out all hot around him, inside his trousers, but he didn't care, he could care less about his own leakage as he fed, he worshiped, he squeezed every drop of her pleasure over himself, and fell to his knees.
At last he stopped to gasp for breath, with mouth trembling, his brow streaming down over his dark face and the bright yellow stripe from ear to ear, his stubble prickling afresh with perspiration. The puuri cat in his arms had relaxed into a cuddly ball of warmth that he gently sat to cradle. She lifted up her green eyes, rosy face veiled by the loose ribbons of ruby hair, to meet his. "Quin, I love you."
"Yeah, I noticed." He had to smile at that, even as he felt the pain of his abused ribs trying to rob him of consciousness, in retaliation for all this exertion. Some of the bacta patches Khaleen had just applied were coming loose, simply from how sweaty he was. Oh well. Quite worth it.
part3: http://community.livejournal.com/jedi_nights/14882.html