**********

 

Title:  Midnight Snack, an ABH

 

Author:  BJ Stahl

 

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Rating:  NC-17  (Q/f)

 

Summery:  More 'House-Sitting.'  (For latecomers, 'you' in this story is

spending a quiet weekend at aunt's house and guess who decides to share the

silence with you?)

 

Archive:  Yes to all lists and private archives, but please with the other

parts?  (Between 'House-Sitting' and 'Snapshots.')

 

Feedback:  Tell me your heart's desire . . . [email protected]

 

Disclaimer:  I don't own the Master.  I don't even rent.  I have to borrow

him, and I have to state in plain English that I make no money from his use.

Author's Notes:  I've been neglecting the Master lately (hangs head) and

well, part of a feedback message from My-Gin-Gone was a request for more of

my long weekend.  So, here 'tis.

 

Chapter 1

 

---

It's interesting what a crooked smile can do to a woman's composure, you

reflect as you stare into your lover's shining face.  Qui-Gon's small,

satisfied smile widens a little as you watch, his hand tracing idle lines

over your back.  You lay in the circle of his right arm, sated for the time

being, basking in his warmth.  Even after *a lot* of sheet-scorching sex,

that smile makes you want to climb him like a tree.

 

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"

 

"Careful Master Jedi," you caution with a lopsided smirk of your own. 

"Plagiarism is a capitol offense in some parts of the world."

 

"You wound me," he accuses theatrically.

 

"I doubt it," you reply sweetly.  "Now, behave."

 

"Yes Master," he murmurs in a throaty voice.  Just *hearing* that makes you

whimper a teeny bit.

 

"Salute me when you say that," you command in mock indignation.

 

He leans down and kisses your temple.  "Will that do?"

 

"It's a good start," you concede, easing up to stroke his lips with yours. 

He takes the hint, opening his mouth and weaving his tongue around yours. 

You close your eyes and concentrate entirely on the Master's presence, both

physical and mental.  <<God he feels good.>>

 

The phone, of course, chooses *right then* to shrill, announcing an incoming

call.  <<Fuck!!!>

 

>>My sentiments exactly,<< Qui-Gon sends back, sounding even more

>>exasperated then you do.

 

Grumbling, "Who the hell's calling at this time of night?" you pick up the

receiver.  Phone manners prohibit you from saying what you're *really*

thinking.  Pity.  "Hello?"

 

It's your aunt.  "Did you make it there okay?"

 

You sigh.  "It's the middle of the night!"

 

"You never go to bed before two in the morning."

 

*Who is it?* Qui-Gon mouths, rolling over and propping his head up with one

hand.

 

You clamp one hand over the receiver.  "It's Aunt Jane."  You turn your

attention back to the phone.

 

"Sweetie are you okay?" she asks.

 

*Tell her,* Qui-Gon mouths.

 

You think for a moment on the best way to broach the subject.  Covering the

receiver again, you ask, "Did you leave a message on the answering machine?"

 

He nods.

 

"What's going on?" your aunt demands.

 

"Aunt Jane, do me a favor," you order.  "Hang up, check your messages, and

call me right back."

 

"Honey are you . . ."

 

"Just do it.  Trust me."

 

Pause.  "I'm calling right back."

 

Click.

 

The 'message playback' light blinks, indicating someone checking the

messages from another phone.  The two of you wait, while you fight to

repress giggles.

 

The light goes off.  "Five, four, three, two . . ."

 

The phone rings.  Chortling, you hit the speakerphone button.  "Yes?"

 

"Okay where is he?" you aunt snaps, addressing you by all four parts of your

full name.

 

"'He' who?" you ask between intense giggles.

 

"You know very well who young lady!"

 

"Calm down Janie," Qui-Gon calls, amusement highlighting his accent.

 

"What are you doing to my niece Qui-Gon?" she demands warily.

 

He grins at you and you dissolve into giggles again.  "Nothing we're not

both enjoying.  Immensely."

 

"I'm fine Aunt Jane," you manage to say.  "The Master's being a perfect

gentleman."

 

He arches an eyebrow.  "Oh really?" he inquires and you're lost in laughter

again.

 

You can practically *see* your aunt throw up her hands.  "Just don't break

her Qui darlin', her mother'll kill me."

 

"What am I, a porcelain figurine?" you demand.  Suddenly the phone beeps. 

"Oh hold on, there's a call on the other line."

 

"I'd better let you go then.  Love you.  Bye!"

 

she hangs up and you hit the speakerphone button, both of you laughing. 

"M'yello?"

 

Shocked silence, and then whoever called hangs up.  You make a face.  "I

hate that."

 

No sooner do the words leave your mouth then the phone rings again.  This

time Qui-Gon reaches over you and slams one finger down on the speakerphone

button.  "Hello?"

 

"Master?" inquires a polite, cultured, and *very* familiar tenor voice.

 

"Holy shit!" you blurt for the second time that evening.  You clap both

hands over your mouth in horror, wishing you could yank the words back down

your throat.

 

Qui-Gon gives you an amused look as he asks, "Yes?"

 

"Am I interrupting anything?" the voice on the other end asks.

 

"Not at the moment Padawan," Qui-Gon informs, watching you blush.

 

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, but you left your comlink behind . . ."

 

"I left it behind for a reason, my Padawan," Qui-Gon reminds him a voice

that could wither an oak tree.

 

"I know but . . ."

 

"Obi-Wan," he intones.  His tone reminds you of a tolling bell.  "Unless the

galaxy is ending around you, you are not to contact me for any reason.  Is

that clear?"

 

Beat.  "Yes Master," the younger Jedi says meekly.

 

"I will see you in a few days.  Good night."

 

"Take care, Master, miss."

 

"Is that who I think it was?" you demand after Qui-Gon cuts the connection.

 

He nods with a mischievous smile.  "My Padawan seems to take fiendish

delight in raining on other's parades."

 

You grin, sliding over the crimson satin sheets.  "That's what umbrellas are

for."

 

He grabs your forearms and pulls you into his arms, claiming you mouth in

another flaming kiss.  He rubs his body against yours, letting you glory in

his hard, muscled flesh.

 

You might've taken it further, except for a light gurgle bubbling away in

your belly.

 

"Hungry?" Qui-Gon asks, blue eyes sparkling.

 

"A bit," you admit.

 

He smiles, looking like a cat who's cornered a canary.  He levers himself

off of you, long hair in disarray and body lightly oiled with sweat.  "I'll

be right back lass."

---

More?

-BJ