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Haute Couture An ABH

By Brensgrrl (E. Elizabeth Whiting-7/30/1999)

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Rating NC-17

Pairing: Q/F

Summary: You have fun with fabrics!

Archive: Sith Chicks, JediHunks, and Corellia. All others please ask--I'm easy!

Spoilers and Disclaimers: Costume spoilers for TPM. Dear sweet George: please don't sue me! I am just borrowing Qui-Gon for a little fantasy play and fashion design exercise; Later on I'll borrow your Sith Lord for the same purpose. I promise I'll put both of em back back where I found em, none the worse for wear. And since I'm paying to train a future Olympic figure skater, I'm broke!

Feedback:  Yes, I need it very badly--[email protected]

A special thanks to listsib AyaJJ who left a couple little plot bunnies hoppin' around where I could get my hands on em!!

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The headache struck while you were sitting at the pattern book table in the fifth fabric and crafts store you had visited, curtailing any further search for patterns from which the Jedi Robes could be replicated. As near blindness sets in you realize that this could be

the mother of all migraines. // Shit! // you think as you slap the pattern book shut and rise to leave. During the drive home, frustration adds to your pain. Time was running out. Finally, you pull into your driveway, and touch the garage door opener. // If I don't find a suitable pattern soon I'll have to give up hope of having a costume for the con,// you think as you wait for the door to lift.

After fishing the prescription headache pills out of the medicine cabinet, and washing them down with a little water you make a short trip to the kitchen to retrieve the cold compress from the freezer. And then you go into the bedroom and hurl yourself down on the rumpled coverlet. Just before shielding your eyes with the cold compress, you take a glance at the sewing machine and cutting table set up in the corner. "I just wish that I could get a real look at those clothes, check out the construction, take some notes." // It would be very interesting to, maybe undress one of them, // you think to yourself muzzily. " If only there was a way. . ." you murmur softly as you cover your eyes with the compress and begin to drowse a little from the effects of the medication.

"There is a way." says a gentle baritone voice from a corner of the room.

You sit bolt upright in bed, drowsiness fleeing. The compress falls to the side but your sudden motion jars your aching brain and you see stars. You blink furiously and stare into the corner. The corner that now contains your sewing machine table, your cutting table, and Qui-Gon Jinn. Qui-Gon Jinn! The Master was standing there, statuesque, gorgeous, hooded, arms enfolded within his robe. Despite your headache, you gasp and think, // simply beautiful//.

As you quickly slip your feet to the floor and rise from the bed, he lowers his hood and smiles at you.

"Thank you." he says quietly.

"You're more than welcome, " you respond, wincing a little from the pain. In a smooth motion he is standing in front of you, reaching out with his hands to gently touch your temples. Your headache disappears.

"I must be dreaming, it's the medicine,or else I need another CAT scan. . ." you mumble, looking down at your bare feet.

"No. I am here to help you>" he retorts as he tips your chin up with a finger. Your eyes meet.

God. He seems so solidly real. So close to you. You could reach out and *touch* him. You can hear the soft sound of his breathing, smell the warm, clean male scent of him. Your mind floods with a hundred unguarded thoughts all at once, and your body softens, quickly reacting to those thoughts. And then you remember that he's Jedi, and you blush. He gives you a knowing smile.

"I am as real as you are. And now to the reason why you called me here. You are interested in our clothing--Jedi clothing. " He steps back a bit, re-enfolds his arms within his robe and thoughtfully looks up and to the right, remembering. "It seems to me that my Padawan and I had discussed this matter of 'dressing' with someone here once before. . ."

"Yes, I remember that you did. By the way, where is Obi-Wan? "

"I asked him to demonstrate this issue last time and he thought that if he came along I would ask him to do it again. It's not that he minds doing it. He just thinks I should take a turn at show and tell."

"Hope you don't mind," you gesture towards the sewing machine " But I sew and I need more details about how your garments are put together, what the material is like. . ."

"And the 'god is in the details,' is it not?" he moves closer once more, his eyes drawing yours. "Shall we begin?"

"Yess," you drawl as he removes the outer robe and hands it to you. He then steps back and assumes a casual standing position, his hands linked behind his back.

"This outer robe is made of Blended Barathea specially treated for durability. You will notice that the material is firmly woven yet light in weight. . ." he said.

"Yes. I think I can make a duplicate up in Viyella. But the robe itself seems a little too large. It's a wonder you don't stumble over the hem of it all the time. " You say as you hold the garment up by its shoulders and measure it against his body, noting the beautiful drape of the fabric.

"That's because it has to be more than merely a cloak. Sometimes the outer robe has to be used as a sleeping pallet or hammock, and sometimes it is used to construct a sort of shelter against the elements. And it can be laundered in water without ill effects. In fact everything I am wearing can be safely laundered in water. Not every place that one is sent off to has special cleaning facilities available, but nearly every place has water. "

"That figures." you respond.

"As for the cloak--once one is used to wearing it, stumbling over it is not a problem. At least not for me--my Padawan might feel differently about that though."

"It's beautiful. Reminds me of Tussah or heavy East Indian homespun." Acting on pure impulse you gather the dark brown fabric and press your face into it, inhaling his scent, something like sandalwood and spice. // Wow,// you think, // I didn't know that Jedi men wore fragrance. Or maybe he just naturally smells that way.// He doesn't fail to notice what you are doing. Or thinking.

"We do." he responds to your unspoken comment. "I'm glad you like my choice."

You blush even more. " Do you mind if I take some notes," you ask as you cross the room to retrieve your notebook from the dresser and move toward the cutting table to lay the outer robe out for further examination.

"Not at all."

You turn the garment this way and that, noting the number of fabric panels that comprise its construction, the way the seams are finished, the way the hem is turned. Qui-Gon quietly comes to your side, watching as you sketch a rudimentary illustration of the cloak. You finish, and fold the outer robe, setting it aside. When you turn to face him once again, you catch the twinkle in his eyes, and your heart warms. // Damn! I may as well enjoy this. // you think to yourself.

Taking a sudden liberty, you wordlessly grab the front of his leather belt, hooking the fingers of both your hands under the top of it and you and pull him toward you. He doesn't resist, but smiles crookedly and lets his body move your way. Your fingers skim across his waist to the catch at his right. You undo the catch, holding one end of the open belt in each of your hands. Instead of dropping an end to remove it, you open your arms and circle his waist, embrace-fashion until you feel the tie of the sash at the small of his back.

You pass both ends of the belt into your left hand as the fingers of your right hand probe the small of his back for the ends of the sash. This motion gives his arms no where to go except around you. You look up into his eyes and see that they have darkened and the set of his lips has changed. You can sense his heartbeat, feel his breath on your forehead, are very aware of the warm reality of him filling your arms His large hands are resting gently on the small of your back. . You feel desire awaken within you. While your gaze is locked to his, your fingers unwork the soft knot and you pass both the belt with his lightsaber and the sash into one hand. Unbound, the double tunics fall free.

"Master Jedi, " you whisper as you stand in his arms, "I am surprised at how easily disarmed you are."

"Only by you." He's got a sultry look on his face. This flirtation is getting serious.

"I'll bet you say that to all the girls." you respond, trying to add a little humor to dissipate the heat of the moment.

Wriggling away and smiling, you turn and lay both the lightsaber belt and the sash out on the cutting table and pick up your pencil and notebook once more. First you look at the lightsaber and its belt. The lightsaber is sleek, streamlined, its outer cover made of a composite-type of material, black and silver. It is attached to one side of the belt by a neat square silver loop. The smooth, compact case of his Jedi Field Kit is attached to the other end, nearest the catch. The belt is about three inches wide, plain leather, except for a half inch decorative leather inlay attached to the main belt by silvery studs. // Very sexy,// you think as you handle the belt, caressing it with your fingertips. The black leather and silver studs of the belt remind you of *other* things and once again your mind fills with images, erotic ones. Quickly you shut those images down and sketch .

Qui-Gon, comes up to stand behind you, leaning over your shoulder, placing one hand on the cutting table at either side of you, framing your body with his. You can feel his breath caress the back of your neck as he looks over your shoulder.

"Why did you choose this type of belt?" you ask.

"It goes with the lightsaber." he answers simply as his hands move casually from the table to your waist. Your body begins to hum but you fight it and struggle to keep your mind on the goal of thoroughly documenting. You try to ignore the delicious feeling of his hands on your waist, try to resist the urge to lean back against his firm chest. You turn your attention to the soft fabric sash, smoothing it flat in front of you.

"It's an obi. . ." you murmur as you begin to sketch.

"What?" Qui-Gon says as he nuzzles your hair.

"We call a sash like this an 'obi'. " Now *you* are reaching for inner calm.

Qui-Gon laughs softly. "Ill be sure to let my Padawan know that. . ."

" It's a Japanese term for a broad sash that's used to tie the robes of a garment called a 'kimono' together. This one is really nice. Plain on the reverse, but the side that faces out has a lovely three-panel trapunto detail to it."

You fold the sash and set the lightsaber and its belt on top of it, and set them both on top of the outer robe. You are then aware that his arms are *still* around your waist. And so you turn around to face him, spinning in his arms, and look up into his face once again.

"Can I see the tunics?" you ask softly.

"Yes. " he whispers--but he makes no move to remove them. His hands are caressing your back, sending shivers up your spine. Your throat suddenly feels dry. "Since you started undressing me, you may finish." He takes a step back away from you and kneels down in front of you. file://He's on his knees! Oh. My. God!// You swallow hard and try yet again to quiet the noise in your head.

You bend down and lift the hem of the outer tunic and he leans forward a little so you can draw it over his head. Your cheek brushes against his hair, and you find yourself resisting a sigh. You throw the first tunic over your shoulder, and proceed to help him out of the second tunic. Divested of the tunics at last, he sits back on his heels, and finger-combs his mussed hair hair back down. He is now bare to the waist, and you can't help but notice the fine, soft down on his chest, the brown areolas of his nipples. . . file://Ooh!// To keep whatever threads are left of your frayed concentration from totally unraveling, you quickly turn away and spread both of the tunics out on the cutting table.

The tunics appear to be made of the same smooth strong material as the sash. The outer tunic is tabard-like, but three paneled like a vest. There are no fasteners of any kind on the front of the outer tunic, which is obviously meant to be held closed by the sash.

The inner tunic is a basic bigshirt with dolman bell sleeves and v-neck. The sleeves have an inner cuff that is apparently designed to keep the bell-like portion in place on the arm. The necklines of both tunics are finished with a fine trapunto detail that mimics the impression of pleats, like a kimono, and both are fully lined. You are surprised at all of the fine attention to workmanship in his garments and wonder if they are constructed by Jedi. You carefully scribe down this information and then you fold the tunics and lay them aside.

I think I can reproduce the tunics and the sash in a fine Hemp Cloth. That'll look like linen but won't wrinkle up like linen." you say.

Inhaling, you turn around. Only to find that he has reclined on his back on *your* bed, one leg flat, one knee canted up. Casually. With his boots on. His "FM" boots. You exhale, a sigh. You wonder if he knows how you are feeling, what all of this is doing to you. How you are fighting with the silk degrees of arousal. Taking a fresh breath you walk over to the bed.

"B-boots?" you stutter. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. And then *you * are on your knees. In front of him. Between his legs. You place one trembling hand on the front of his ankle and another on the calf of his leg and awkwardly try to get one of his boots off. He looks softly down at you.

"Let me help." he smoothly removes both boots and boothose. The hose are like common socks. Nothing to record there. You rise slowly and take the boots to the table to examine them and take notes.

Knee-high, smooth, soft, dark brown leather, like Wellingtons, with grippy composite soles and flat heels. Expansion panels in the back of the calf portion, with neat little catches to secure the boots to the leg. And the front length of the boots detailed with a series of flat loops whose purpose appears to be merely decorative.

You turn around again, leaning against the edge of the cutting table for a moment. He has once again reclined on your bed, only this time, he is on his side, head propped up on one elbow watching you. As you steel yourself and approach for the final garment, he stops you with a single word.

"No." he is looking at you with eyes that are aflame.

"What?" you ask.

"First you have to demonstrate something for me." he says huskily.

"What???" you are frantic and just a little worried.

"I want to see what you look like with it on. . ."

"With what on?"

"My belt. My lightsaber belt." he whispers.

Then you remember. file://Dear God! He picked that thought up! What will I do?!?!? //

"You will put on my belt." he says matter- of-factly.

You turn back to the table and pick up the belt to put it on.

"No, not like that. Do it the way that you said you would." His voice is both command and desire, his lips turned in that crooked smile that makes your knees weak.

Instantly you let the belt rest back on the table and turn around. His eyes are soft and dark, and you feel strangely compelled.

So you draw your T-shirt over your head and drop it to the floor. That garment is quickly followed by your shorts, bra and panties. And you are nude and feeling so aroused. You can feel fluid sliding down your inner thighs and you pray he doesn't notice but you know that he does. Your heart is pounding so very hard that you think it will leave your body. You turn and pick up the belt, with the Jedi Kit and lightsaber still attached and put it on. It's far too large for your waist and it slips down , catching on the fullness of your hips.

"Come closer." he murmurs, his eyes roving over you.

You walk toward him, the lightsaber swaying to bump against your mound. Wordlessly he makes a little circling gesture with his free hand and you turn, displaying yourself for him.

"You are beautiful, my little dove. Come here. " his voice is heavy with lust. He swings his feet onto the floor and stands in front of you. "Take the last garment." His eyes are' locked to yours.

You look down to the fastener of the pants and your mind goes blank.

"Let me help you, my love," he softly says as he unfastens his trousers. His eyes are half closed, veiled in lashes as he watches you kneel to remove them. When you draw them down, over his hips, you are greeted by his blatant erection. You are not surprised to discover that he has nothing on underneath. His manhood brushes your cheek when you lean forward to help him out of the pants. Finally, something snaps, yearning claims you. You drop the pants and brush you lips against his hardness.

You hear him groan, inside your head, and then your mouth is full, and for a few moments he lets you pleasure him with your lips and tongue.

file://Hmmm, so nice, my precious. . .but I want to share *it* with you// His moans echo inside your head. He tilts his hips back and his organ slips from your lips.

And he helps you up, your body skimming his as you rise to your feet, and he lifts you and carries you to the bed, where you fall softly together. He seals his mouth to yours, his tongue gently probing your mouth, his hands skating across your back. You loop your arms around his neck, and fist your fingers in the mane of his hair, drawing his mouth closer. You feel his embrace tighten and the kiss becomes more urgent, deeper. His strong and gentle hands stroke your back and then your buttocks. Without breaking the kiss, he softly turns you onto your back and is on top of you, his hands roaming over your breasts, cupping them. Heat and tingles race through you as your nipples grow taut, and the very core of your being calls out for appeasement. You think that you will be consumed by his desire. The kiss is broken as he speaks.

" I do want to devour you, but I promise, my little one, you will feel no pain. . ." The warmth of his breath and the sound of his voice cause you to quiver.

His lips move lower, first on the column of your throat and then down. Your head lolls on the pillow as his lips lick and suckle on one breast and his hand tantalizes the other to anticipation of that same treatment.

After an eternity, his hand nudges your thighs apart and his fingers drift up to enter your most sensitive domain. You gasp as his thumb strokes you to hardness. He then slips one finger and then another within you-- delving, and moistening you , seeking and then finding the hidden center of your pleasure. Your back arches, and your hips thrust against his hand, your rhythm timed to the motion of his fingers.

"Please, " you gasp, "I want you now. . ."

file://Are you sure, love? You *are* ready. . .// Soft laughter peals inside your head as he slides his fingers free of your body.

"Yesss--please!" You beg.

Then he moves between your thighs, lowering his body over yours gently, gliding smoothly inside you. The feeling of him inside you is sooo very exquisite, your very bones seem to melt. Your eyes close and your head tosses on the pillow. You lift your hips, thrusting upward and then back, first meeting his hips in a slow dance of enticement, encouraging him to go deeper. And then both of you find the ancient rhythm, your bodies moving together in silken harmony. You move against him more and more urgently, letting him go a little only to draw him back again, each stroke making you desperate for the next. You are fevered, aflame for him, and he shares your emotion, sending you the sensation of his feelings, that he could never get deep enough, thrusting in over and over, lost in passion. For an instant, you sense that you are both giving and receiving, and the sweet thrill of this pushes you to the brink. You feel him, with you, in your mind, as your body yields the first ripples of your orgasm. And when you raise your hips to draw him in deeper yet again, he stays firmly inside you, his hands hard yet gentle on your waist above the belt, and you share a shattering climax together.

And when your eyes open again after a while, and your breathing is restored to normal, you gaze up into his smiling eyes.

"Thank you for helping me out." is all you can say.

His laughter bubbles inside your head again as his fingertips stroke your face. You feel drowsy.

"The privilege has been entirely mine." As he kisses you softly in the afterglow, sleep claims you.

*************

You feel cold. COLD??

You sit up in bed and look over at the clock. It's after midnight. The coverlet has been kicked to the floor, and the air conditioning is chilling your bare skin. Bare? And then you remember.

file://Oh no. It was nothing but a weird dream caused by the medicine I took.// you think.

"I'm going to call that doctor and get an appointment tomorrow. I can't take anything that causes hallucinations." you say to yourself out loud. And then you look around the room. Everything is still here, still the same. Just as you are about to exhale, thinking your sanity intact, you notice

that your clothes are neatly folded in a square little pile and resting on top of the cutting table. Next to your notebook and pencil. Your *open* notebook.

You didn't, wouldn't have done that! In a panic you rush over and force your eyes to stay open as you look through the notebook at the drawings and notes you wrote. Your breath catches as you turn the last page and see the note written there.

"If you need any more help, just call me.

-- Q "

END

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