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"Just relax," Tholme says, his rough fingertips skirting down Cin's sides.
"I don't see how this is supposed to help me relax," Cin grumbles, shifting a little.
"You trust us, don't you?" T'ra asks from somewhere behind him.
"Of course," Cin replies, a little offended that she feels the need to ask. "Though I hardly – "
"So trust us," she says. Her hand trails across his jaw and he starts.
Blindfolded, he has no way to tell when their touches are coming. It's hardly conducive to relaxation, instead he's tense as can be – trying to anticipate their every movement.
Of course he can't, both of them delight in being contrary. Tholme especially. Cin gets the barest notion that something is about to happen when a rough hand slides beneath his jaw and tips his head back. Warm breath ghosts over his cheek and then soft lips seal over his.
Tholme's kiss is wonderfully familiar. His soft lips and weathered face – because he uses lip balm religiously but refuses to moisturise – and the sensation of a jawline not shaved in a few days. His tongue swipes along the seam of Cin's lips and Cin acquiesces to his silent request. He opens his mouth to Tholme's pleasant intrusion, moaning as Tholme's tongue curls against his own.
He jumps a little as a smaller, softer hand rests on his thigh. T'ra. The bed dips as she climbs between his legs and starts smoothing her hands up and down his legs. Her sharp nails scratch lightly at his skin and tangle in the sparse hair that covers his thighs and he gasps into Tholme's mouth.
The deep chuckle it elicits from Tholme is oddly erotic. It's a deep vibration that brings Cin's skin up in goosebumps – sound and sensation alike.
As Tholme pulls away Cin tries to chase him. He doesn't succeed – he can't see where Tholme is to catch his lips again – but Tholme laughs again and it's almost as good. He tugs Cin's jaw and brushes an entirely more chaste kiss against his lips, before releasing him.
He feels oddly adrift. Tholme is behind him but not touching him anymore and he feels… untethered. Alone.
Before he can ponder the unpleasantness of the merest fraction of a moment – T'ra shifts in front of him. His head tilts forwards again automatically to look for her, but of course he can't see anything. Her hands leave his thighs and cup his jaw, and suddenly her tongue is delving into his mouth.
To any outsider, if they were to think about what Tholme and T'ra were like in the bedroom, Cin is quite certain they would get it wrong. Out in the corridors of the Temple, T'ra is a gentle and gracious presence – gliding through the halls with a soft smile on her face. In the bedroom she is demanding, impatient and never satisfied. Tholme is almost the opposite. In the halls he wears an almost permanent scowl, and communicates almost solely in grunts and glares. In the bedroom he is soft and caring, gentle in his firmness.
He smiles – faint but undoubtedly there.
While younglings flock to T'ra for her gifts of flowers, they avoid Tholme at all costs. It's their loss, he is actually excellent with children. Those that do get to know him invariably adore him – Quinlan and Aayla come to mind.
It is their loss also – whoever they may be – that they do not get to see these other sides of Tholme and T'ra. These wonderfully multifaceted gems of people, whose pools run deep and full of love. That is something that only Cin and the two of them know.
That they chose to share it with him when they already had each other has always astounded him, but he'll take everything they have to give him. He very rarely gets to be greedy, and they do so enjoy giving him everything he's ever wanted – it seems a shame not to grab onto the opportunity with his hands and the Force alike.
And so he leans into T'ra's kiss, moans wantonly into her mouth. Her fingernails press lightly into his jaw as she pulls him forwards. Her kiss is hungry and it makes him feel so wanted, so desired.
Cin jumps again as Tholme's hands settle back on his waist. Callused fingertips sweep up his rib cage and forwards, leaving trails of tingling pleasure in there wake. There’s a spike of pain that fades quickly to hot pleasure when Tholme pinches his nipples. Cin moans into T'ra's mouth as Tholme rolls the hardened buds between his fingers.
Tholme presses kisses into his shoulders and T'ra pulls back with Cin's lip caught between her teeth. She holds on to it as Tholme keeps pinching and rolling Cin's nipples. Both sensations are almost overwhelmingly intense, and as T'ra releases his lip Cin whimpers – not a sound he's sure he's ever made before.
Tholme chuckles against his skin again, and the vibrations travel right down his back to the base of his spine where they settle – fanning the flames that are quickly building in his belly. His lips are still tingling with the memory of her kisses, the faint taste of blood coating his tongue as he wets them – as if he could still find some part of her there.
Instead, T'ra's hands come up to stroke the scars beneath his chest. Though the scars themselves have next to no sensation, the skin that surrounds them is much more sensitive and every light brush of her fingertips brings more goosebumps. It's as if the nerve endings redistributed themselves around the scar tissue to compensate. Cin moans again as her hands move on – skirting down the planes on his abdomen to caress his thighs once more.
With the blindfold on, Cin is that much more aware of all physical sensations. The heat that emanates from Tholme's body behind him, bathing Cin's skin though they aren't even touching. The cooler trails that T'ra's fingers leave in their wake. The light gusting of air of her breath across his skin, and the firm wet kisses Tholme is still pressing indulgently across his shoulders.
They aren't speaking either. The only sounds in the room that could possibly temper the sensations of them touching him are the sounds Cin himself is making. He's breathing heavily – almost gasping for breath – and when Tholme pinches his nipples particularly hard he moans.
He can just about hear their breathing but it is drowned out by the noises Cin is making – not just the panting breaths but the pounding of blood in his ears. He is just kneeling on the bed with his hands by his sides and yet he's breathing like he's just gone three rounds in the training rooms with Master Windu.
T'ra's hand trails down between his legs and scratches lightly at the hair there. As her fingers thread through it, tugging lightly whenever she encounters a tangle, Cin shivers and opens his legs.
It provokes a soft laugh from her, fondly amused, and a far smugger hum from Tholme.
Suddenly, both of them withdraw. Tholme’s final kiss is more of a bite and then he’s gone – using all his shadow training to move silently so Cin has no idea where he is. T’ra is gone too, and he strains to hear them. The sensation of being adrift is just beginning to make itself known in the pit of his stomach when there’s a rustle of fabric and then firm hands grab his shoulders. He barely registers that it's Tholme before he’s being shoved onto his back.
A much slimmer set of hands – T’ra’s – settles on his inner thighs and pushes his legs apart. He’s not even settled in this new equilibrium when a cool tongue swipes up the seam of him. From his cunt right up to his clit with no warning, and he yells. His hands fly to search for T’ra’s head but Tholme grabs his wrists and pins them above his head.
T’ra grabs his hips and hauls him down to her body so that she can bury her face between his legs. Tholme takes both of Cin’s wrists in one hand as he continues to squirm – caught between the way T’ra is devouring him like a woman starving, like she has no need of air, and the deliciously tight grip Tholme has on his wrists.
His heart is hammering almost painfully against the inside of his ribcage. Cin gasps as Tholme cups his chin again, his thumb smoothing over coarse stubble with care before his lips seal over Cin’s. Like always, his kiss is gentle and adoring, soft in its sincerity. It still leaves Cin gasping and desperate as Tholme pulls away, straining up for more.
He needs the softness to temper T’ra’s ferocity, his calm to gentle back her hunger. Without it there is nothing but the way her tongue is swirling around his clit, sucking it like a cock. It's overwhelming.
Tholme keeps him pressed to the mattress with the hand on his jaw.
“Just relax, Cin,” he says. “We’ll take care of you.”