Title: Action Figure
By: T'ra, Celeste

Category: ABH
Rating: NC-17
Feedback: Shameless troll for it, still ain't living under this bridge for
my health.
Summary: You're trying to get your xmas shopping done early. Right.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

You're eyeing the hundred-odd Star Wars figures trying to remember which
ones you're still missing. You sneak the checklist out of your purse after
doing a quick glance around. For some reason, you always feel guilty in this
section of Toys'R'Us. Could it be all that smut you read (and sometimes
write) about the characters captured in miniture before you? Nah.....

You see that they've added a few new items to the 12" collectibles. You bite
your bottom lip in indecision. Should you really pay $29.99+tax for another
Qui-gon? You reach up to take the box off the shelf, to examine it a little
closer.

"I rather prefer the one with removable clothing. It has better hair."

"I've already got two of those," you say before you can stop yourself.

"Ah." You can sense him nodding, "Wise choice."

You try to surreptitiously crumple your little checklist into a tiny ball
before turning around. You're not really sure if you want to turn around,
you doubt you'll be disappointed but you are worried that he might be.

He catches your hand, taking the list and smoothing it out. He peers at it
closely, "I see you are missing the anatomically correct Qui-gon Jinn."

You feel your jaw click open, your eyes are big as saucers when you finally
get a look at him. Yep. He's even bigger than you expected, hair more ginger
than salt, "You're hands are huge!" You blurt out, immediately wishing a
salaac pit would open up beneath you--it's the least you deserve.

He smiles, you practically orgasm right there. *Oh, but I've done nothing
/yet/* He chuckles in your mind, caressing your cheek with one of his "huge"
hands.

You whimper a little, sure your face is blood red and radiating heat several
feet from your body. Embarassment wars with lust, various bits of your body
choosing sides. Your shaking hands have obviously chosen lust, they reach
out to caress the fabric of his tunics and the little triangle of skin at
his throat.

He covers your hands with his, pushing them lower. That twinkle in his eye
really worries you. Your hands reach his waist and he shows no sign of
stopping their downward progress, but, then, neither do you. When they fan
across the sizeable bulge under all those layers of fabric, you jerk back
as if you'd just touched a hot pan.

"Um. Yes, well." You wring your hands together, trying to get the feel of
him off before you think or do something that will prove you can indeed die
of embarassment. Too late. Dozens of images flash across your mind's eye,
all of them compromising to say the least.

"Then perhaps we should adjourn to some place a little more..." He floods
your thoughts with a few choice images of his own.

You remind yourself to breathe, "I think I know a place." You double time it
to the door, your checklist left crumpled on the floor behind you.

It's a quick walk to your apartment, the joys of living in the heart of a
bustling city. You start to dig in your purse for your keys, he passes his
hand across the locks and they obediently click open. You chuck the Hellbag
into a chair and turn to face him. He's already locked the door behind you
and is bending down to capture your lips in a toe-curling kiss. Tongues
dancing a wild lambada, he backs you towards the nearest piece of furniture:
a horrid yellow chair you picked up when they cancelled one of your favorite
tv shows. You flash on a particular piece of smut one of your friends had
written about the chair several years previously, the rumble of Qui-gon's
laughter hums against your lips.

*That's a wonderful idea* He busily attacks the buttons on your shirt as you
lay siege to his belt. He uses the Force to whoosh away the offending cloth,
pulling your arms away from him just as his lightsaber clunks to the floor.
He takes the opportunity to remove the complicated system of tunics from his
own torso. Flicking the buckles on his boots open, he kicks them off,
trousers following as though the Force was the only thing holding them up in
the first place...that and his swollen cock.

You stop struggling out of your jeans to stare. Maybe the chair isn't such a
good idea afterall. You figured he'd be big all over but, damn!
You step out of your pants, becoming more determined by the nanosecond.
You'd have him, and have him but good!

"You're still a little overdressed," he says, gliding his hands along the
edge of your brassiere, thumbs crossing your nipples, back and forth over
the lace. His fingers slide under the bottom of the band towards the hooks,
one hand deals with the clasp, the other keeps moving. With a snap, your
breasts are freed to gravity and the wandering hand has found its
destination...in your underwear. You gasp as his finger runs along your
slit, dipping in at your moist opening. "I wanted to make sure you were
ready for me."

In response, you "stir the mayonnaise" a little as your movement teacher had
called it. Your own hands tangle in his long hair, pulling his face to
yours, rotating the both of you into the ugly suede chair. He strokes your
snatch a couple more times, removing your undies with his unoccupied hand,
as you push him into the obtuse angle of the chairback. You raise up,
positioning your knees to either side of his hips. You look him in his
beautiful blues, your hands on his shoulders. He takes his cue and places
the head of his rod just inside your hungry cunt. You began lowering
yourself, he's thick as well as long and your own tension isn't exactly
helping. He leans forward enough to take the tip of one perky tit in his
mouth, tongue circling the areola, teeth rolling the nub. You feel yourself
opening up to him, letting your weight bring you down until your pubic bones
connect. You release the breath you didn't know you were holding, start to
lift yourself. His hands cup your ass, fingers playing along the cleft,
helping hold you up. He switches nipples, and, with more confidence, you set
your pace. You flex your inner muscles, glad you had bothered with the kiegl
exercises. He moans, throwing his head back. You increase your rhythm,
adding a little twist to your hips, your hands caressing his face, stealing
a kiss. He kneads your glutes, decides your clit needs a little attention,
too. He puts one hand just there, so with every downward stroke, you grind
against his thumb, the other hand catches your chin and brings you in for
another tongue lashing. You shudder with pleasure, piston faster. You're
getting close and you know from his partially closed eyes and litany of "Oh
Gods, yes" that he's not too far off either. On this down, you move your
hips in a figure eight and clench when you move away from him. Two more of
those and his whole body jerks, hot cum shooting into you.
He growls, displeased that you didn't climax with him, and holds you to him
as he slides out of the chair to the floor. He carefully hefts you a short
distance from him to lie on your back. He places a hand on either slick
thigh, spreading your legs wider. Then his expert tongue is stroking your
g-spot, your long nails scratching his shoulders as the waves of bliss wash
over you. He kisses his way back up your body, smiling smugly as he looms
over you.

You trail a hand from his lips to his loins. "Now /that's/ what I call an
action figure," you sigh.

"Next time, you might consider the anatomically correct Qui-gon Jinn with
anatomically correct Padawan Learner boxed set. I hear it's quite the
holiday pleaser," he whispers in your ear as he picks you up to carry you to
the bedroom.

"Definitely," you murmur against his chest, "Definitely."

~~the end?~~