Last Night, I Dreamed
Thanks to Rose and Jedimom for encouragement.
I am a very sick, very naughty Jedi.
Last night, I dreamed we wrestled naked and greased. The night before that, I was the cruel Sith master and he was my obedient apprentice. I don't even know his name, or know what he sounds like, or know anything about him, really. All I know is that I can't stop dreaming about the Sith who killed my master, and I feel really dirty. Bad dirty.
Mind you, I do know that when he moved, he was sex personified.
I've never seen grace like that. Never seen someone so in tune with his body. And those eyes. I still shiver when I think about them. When he looked at you, those eyes just burned with focus. You could feel that gaze searing right into the deepest parts of you.
And yes, I also wonder how far down the tattoos go.
Bad, naughty Jedi.
Tattoos...oh yes, that dream from last week where I dreamed they went all the way down. He was a go-go boy dancing in a cage at a club, wearing nothing but skin-tight shiny black shorts, and the tattoos sure as hell looked like they were full body. Jagged red lines arcing across his broad chest, all pointing down in a V to the tantalizing bulge, then bursting out again and weaving down his muscled thighs and calves. And oh, how he moved. He was liquid fire for the slow songs, those golden eyes burning, staring right at me. Then when the tempo sped up, he went feral, slamming against the bars of his cage.
I'm not sure if it was my Jedi training or my hormones that kicked in at that point, but I leapt to his cage, wrenched the door open, and attempted to yank him out. But he was wily, that little bastard, and pulled me in instead, locking the door behind me. Our clothes were off in a flash, and oh yeah, those tattoos went all the way down, and before I knew it, we were going at it in the cage. I have this vague recollection that all the patrons of the club were fellow Jedi, but I didn't really focus on that since I was skillfully getting deep-throated by my tattooed companion. He sucked me dry, gulping me down greedily, then forced me down on hands and knees to take me roughly from behind.
Whereupon I promptly woke up to find sticky sheets.
I do remember how he growled. I may never have heard him talk, but I did hear those growls as we fought. And of course, my subconscious sprinkles those dreams liberally with that sound. Oh, and sometimes it also sprinkles my waking moments with that sound as well. I'll be sitting in a Jedi briefing, listening to Master Windu droning on about some nonsense, and suddenly I'll hear that growl and next thing you know, my robes don't seem so loose anymore. He never talks in my dreams. Well, there was that one where he opened his mouth and started talking like Yoda, but I chalked that one up in the nightmare category when I woke up.
The dreams aren't always so kinky. One really good one had him working out at a dojo in a loose pair of red pants and nothing else. I know that man knows martial arts. Knew martial arts. Damn, I've been dreaming about him so much that I still think about him in the present tense. Anyhow, that dream was more erotic than outright sexual. I just watched as he went through moves, sparring with an invisible partner, leaping, kicking, thrusting...okay, so it wasn't totally non-sexual. There was the customary fucking at the end. It was a wet dream, after all.
Part of me thinks I should go to the healers. I mean, it can't be right to have sex dreams night after night about the Sith who killed your master. Hell, even if he weren't Sith, it wouldn't be right. What if Qui-Gon had died in a bizarre shaving accident and I went and had sexual dreams about the razor? Not that Qui-Gon shaved, and sex dreams about a razor would be wrong on several different levels...
Hoo boy. I'm cracking up here.
As I was saying, part of me thinks I should go to the healers and confess all this. But then another part of me says that these dreams are way too much fun and I'd be crazy to try and get rid of them. So far, that part's winning.
Bad, sick, naughty, kinky, perverted Jedi.
Maybe if I actually had sex with a living being, that would help. Someone real, vital, not allied to the Dark Side. Of course, now I'm afraid that a real person wouldn't measure up to my nocturnal visitor. I mean, I could ask one of my fellow Jedi out, walk through the gardens, go to a nice restaurant...no, not a restaurant. Not after that dream where the Sith showed up at my door in a black silk brocade suit, took me to a five-star restaurant, treated me to a sumptuous meal, then swept the dishes from the table and fucked me with the empty wine bottle. Now there's a kink I didn't realize I had.
Mind you, I'm not always on the bottom in these dreams. There was that Sith master dream I mentioned earlier, and I was definitely on top in the hot tub dream. Oh, and there was the one where I had him tied spread-eagled to the hood of Anakin's pod racer. I don't even want to know what that one says about me. No, don't want the healers finding out about that one. Or the one where I had him hands bound behind his back, kneeling at my feet, wearing a tight leather hood, with holes cut out for his horns, of course.
Oh dear. Having that robes not so loose feeling again.
I need a life. Instead, I have a perky little padawan who'd better not be spying on my dreams. Hmm...now there's a thought. Maybe I'll have a nice dream tonight about that Sith being my padawan. I wonder how he'd look in beige? Just as long as I don't dream I'm the Queen of Naboo and he's all six of my handmaidens again. He looks really bad in drag, and my head still ached from the headdress when I woke up. All I care is that I have another night of sweaty, dirty, earth-shaking, mind-quaking, sheet-staining sex with that wild, tattooed, beast of a lover I keep dreaming about. Fine, so he killed my master. He can make up for it in my dreams.
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