Title: Jaxxon's Twi'leks 23 Leaving
author : helgaleena helgaleenas@yahoo.com
Series: post-TPM
Rating: NC-17
Category: slash, POV, PWP
Warning: interspecies, angst, mindsex
Disclaimer: Lucas is god of Star wars and owns everything; I am nothing
Summary: the continuing story of Jaxxon and Quinlan Vos. Jaxxon gets conflicted about the relationship
More on Jaxxon at web-strip Jaxxon's 11 at theforce.net
http://www.jaxxons11.com
previous episodes: http://www.livejournal.com/users/hl
Quinlan Vos is too sexy. It's making me hate him, how sexy he is.
With the others, the girls, I'm simply doing them the favor of making love. We just scratch where we itch, and don't bother ourselves too much about it. But kriff, this man has way too much ability to turn me on. All he has to do is think at me, and I am twitching like a spastic and shooting my load, wherever it happens to be aimed. Totally not fair. And I don't want him to stop, either.
No, the trouble is, he's gonna leave. And I highly resent that. It's getting to me; it's meaning too much. It means I can't relax.
"Quin, you're gonna leave."
The man rubs that bristly chin accross my chest, getting my nipples to rise, then looks up. Those dark eyes, over the yellow stripe, under that beetling brow, are aimed right at me. They are lazily hooded. I can see the black hairs in his armpit fanning out, from the small effort it took to raise his head.
"Yeah, I will, Rug. So what?"
"So what? So what?!?" Sheesh. I can't look at him anymore. My hands tighten around the weight of him on my belly, between my legs, against my upraised thigh, but I can't-- how can he be so calm about it?
"Jaxxon."
No way am I looking at him. I'm too mad. He's gonna leave, as if all this good thing between us never even was. As if I were nothing but a convenience, who just happened to ring his chimes when the others didn't.
"Hey--"
If he so much as says my name again, I'm gonna sock him, Jedi or no Jedi. Instead, he climbs me, high enough to get in my face, and pull my chin around with the unwrapped fingers of one hand.
"You do realize," he says, with one heavy brow arched over a midnight eye, "that the most likely reason for me leaving is due to my being dead?"
This has occurred to me. I cough a few tears out of the way so I can answer him. "Yeah."
"I'm in a risky profession. Not that yours is a safe one, but Jedi are trained to expect death in the line of duty. We take our pleasures where we can. Maybe I haven't said it enough, Rug. You are a pleasure."
What am I supposed to say to that? Thanks? Naw, I can't quite choke that crap answer out. Instead, I let him kiss me. Shit, this is serious. We both might be dead in the morning.
And of course it is an utterly worthwhile kiss. Those hot red lips letting that marauding tongue past our teeth crashing together is becoming standard procedure. It's getting the Rug to kiss back, that's for sure. I am going to get every drop of Kiffar flavor out of him, just in case tomorrow is the last day of our lives.
He's got his shields wide open now, so I will be flooded with his satisfaction over what we'd just been doing before this. It's coming in loud and clear, right through my belly fur, right through my hands on his ass. He had been using my eyes like a camera, to enjoy the way he'd looked on top of me.
Hell yeah, he'd looked wonderful, grinding our two shafts up against each other with his knees tucked up to his elbows, and the yellow tattoos on that reddish dewy-wet flesh flickering in and out of sight behind the greenish log of me, and his inky mop flying around his fierce and hungry face. And in replay now, echoing through my touch, he is a demigod of hotness, enthroned on me.
Meanwhile, he is doing something else equally hot. He's pushing himself up into my hands with an appreciative shimmy. He is giving me his ass. All mine. I am one lucky Rug.
And the bonus? --the bonus is poking straight down into my belly-fur. Hutch, it's making my eyes water, the beauty of him in my hands and in my mouth at the same time as this. And filling my mind again, too, the Lepi place in me that can't be involved unless I'm with one of my own kind. Or with this Jedi. And I am giving it to him. And shooting off into the air behind him, so that it splatters down on us like some kind of Lepi weather.
He's laughing in my head. I put a finger into that ass he gave me to take care of, and watch the light-show behind his eyes, as he coats me with his Kiffar juices in return. I love this so much.
It hits me then. Nobody else in the galaxy can do these things to each other except me and Quin. When he leaves, there will never be anyone, man or woman or Lepi, that can possibly do what Quinlan Vos does, except himself.
It's highly unfair. And I'm crying. But it's also the way it is. Already the moment is over, just a memory. We are both replaying it, and mashing ourselves together with the glue of our jism, but it is done with and not coming back.
Just like one breath follows another, we lie there, breathing in the scent of what we've done, and what's done is done. He'll be leaving.
I'll still have my ship, and my girls, as many as want to stay, and memories. Hell, I have them now, tons of them. I guess nothing is fairer than that. Okay, Jedi, you've convinced me.
Look at him, black locks flopped over my chest in a heap, butt showing ruddy claw-prints where I was gripping him. I run an appreciative fingertip over the red places, and he shivers at the memory newly made. I can feel his smile.
There are still so many things I want to do before tomorrow gets here, the tomorrow where he leaves. Even if we've done them before. I want to lick out his Kiffar ass, and have him ride me on my knees in the fresher. I want him to nearly kill me with psychic shock. I want him to rub himself off with my balls again. I want him to stand on my feet, and capture me between our bodies and sweat all over my dick while he's pulling my ass open.
I want to zip him into my coveralls with me and wear him. I want him to wake up now and kiss me until we are both asleep. Because he can do that, tell me to sleep and get me to like it. Smugglers are a jumpy lot.
He heard that. "Sleep," he mumbles, and it's in my mind, too, so I do it, no arguments.
Because he wakes up horny.
author : helgaleena helgaleenas@yahoo.com
Series: post-TPM
Rating: NC-17
Category: slash, POV, PWP
Warning: interspecies, angst, mindsex
Disclaimer: Lucas is god of Star wars and owns everything; I am nothing
Summary: the continuing story of Jaxxon and Quinlan Vos. Jaxxon gets conflicted about the relationship
More on Jaxxon at web-strip Jaxxon's 11 at theforce.net
http://www.jaxxons11.com
previous episodes: http://www.livejournal.com/users/hl
Quinlan Vos is too sexy. It's making me hate him, how sexy he is.
With the others, the girls, I'm simply doing them the favor of making love. We just scratch where we itch, and don't bother ourselves too much about it. But kriff, this man has way too much ability to turn me on. All he has to do is think at me, and I am twitching like a spastic and shooting my load, wherever it happens to be aimed. Totally not fair. And I don't want him to stop, either.
No, the trouble is, he's gonna leave. And I highly resent that. It's getting to me; it's meaning too much. It means I can't relax.
"Quin, you're gonna leave."
The man rubs that bristly chin accross my chest, getting my nipples to rise, then looks up. Those dark eyes, over the yellow stripe, under that beetling brow, are aimed right at me. They are lazily hooded. I can see the black hairs in his armpit fanning out, from the small effort it took to raise his head.
"Yeah, I will, Rug. So what?"
"So what? So what?!?" Sheesh. I can't look at him anymore. My hands tighten around the weight of him on my belly, between my legs, against my upraised thigh, but I can't-- how can he be so calm about it?
"Jaxxon."
No way am I looking at him. I'm too mad. He's gonna leave, as if all this good thing between us never even was. As if I were nothing but a convenience, who just happened to ring his chimes when the others didn't.
"Hey--"
If he so much as says my name again, I'm gonna sock him, Jedi or no Jedi. Instead, he climbs me, high enough to get in my face, and pull my chin around with the unwrapped fingers of one hand.
"You do realize," he says, with one heavy brow arched over a midnight eye, "that the most likely reason for me leaving is due to my being dead?"
This has occurred to me. I cough a few tears out of the way so I can answer him. "Yeah."
"I'm in a risky profession. Not that yours is a safe one, but Jedi are trained to expect death in the line of duty. We take our pleasures where we can. Maybe I haven't said it enough, Rug. You are a pleasure."
What am I supposed to say to that? Thanks? Naw, I can't quite choke that crap answer out. Instead, I let him kiss me. Shit, this is serious. We both might be dead in the morning.
And of course it is an utterly worthwhile kiss. Those hot red lips letting that marauding tongue past our teeth crashing together is becoming standard procedure. It's getting the Rug to kiss back, that's for sure. I am going to get every drop of Kiffar flavor out of him, just in case tomorrow is the last day of our lives.
He's got his shields wide open now, so I will be flooded with his satisfaction over what we'd just been doing before this. It's coming in loud and clear, right through my belly fur, right through my hands on his ass. He had been using my eyes like a camera, to enjoy the way he'd looked on top of me.
Hell yeah, he'd looked wonderful, grinding our two shafts up against each other with his knees tucked up to his elbows, and the yellow tattoos on that reddish dewy-wet flesh flickering in and out of sight behind the greenish log of me, and his inky mop flying around his fierce and hungry face. And in replay now, echoing through my touch, he is a demigod of hotness, enthroned on me.
Meanwhile, he is doing something else equally hot. He's pushing himself up into my hands with an appreciative shimmy. He is giving me his ass. All mine. I am one lucky Rug.
And the bonus? --the bonus is poking straight down into my belly-fur. Hutch, it's making my eyes water, the beauty of him in my hands and in my mouth at the same time as this. And filling my mind again, too, the Lepi place in me that can't be involved unless I'm with one of my own kind. Or with this Jedi. And I am giving it to him. And shooting off into the air behind him, so that it splatters down on us like some kind of Lepi weather.
He's laughing in my head. I put a finger into that ass he gave me to take care of, and watch the light-show behind his eyes, as he coats me with his Kiffar juices in return. I love this so much.
It hits me then. Nobody else in the galaxy can do these things to each other except me and Quin. When he leaves, there will never be anyone, man or woman or Lepi, that can possibly do what Quinlan Vos does, except himself.
It's highly unfair. And I'm crying. But it's also the way it is. Already the moment is over, just a memory. We are both replaying it, and mashing ourselves together with the glue of our jism, but it is done with and not coming back.
Just like one breath follows another, we lie there, breathing in the scent of what we've done, and what's done is done. He'll be leaving.
I'll still have my ship, and my girls, as many as want to stay, and memories. Hell, I have them now, tons of them. I guess nothing is fairer than that. Okay, Jedi, you've convinced me.
Look at him, black locks flopped over my chest in a heap, butt showing ruddy claw-prints where I was gripping him. I run an appreciative fingertip over the red places, and he shivers at the memory newly made. I can feel his smile.
There are still so many things I want to do before tomorrow gets here, the tomorrow where he leaves. Even if we've done them before. I want to lick out his Kiffar ass, and have him ride me on my knees in the fresher. I want him to nearly kill me with psychic shock. I want him to rub himself off with my balls again. I want him to stand on my feet, and capture me between our bodies and sweat all over my dick while he's pulling my ass open.
I want to zip him into my coveralls with me and wear him. I want him to wake up now and kiss me until we are both asleep. Because he can do that, tell me to sleep and get me to like it. Smugglers are a jumpy lot.
He heard that. "Sleep," he mumbles, and it's in my mind, too, so I do it, no arguments.
Because he wakes up horny.
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