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"Are you ready?" Plo asks one last time. Wolffe nods. Once they're set up it won't be easy to stop. That's fine. They've talked everything over. He knows what he wants.
The gag first. It's not a proper gag, but the oxygen nozzle fits so tightly into his mouth that he can't really move his jaw. It presses on his tongue, silicone over metal. It doesn't taste like anything, not really, but if Wolffe closes his eyes it could be some kind of condom. It's enough to start a low hum in his blood.
Plo waits for him to give a thumbs up before sliding the rest of the mask into place. It covers his nose, his eyes, tinting the world in a shade of soothing blue. Only when the mask is secure does Plo move to the control panel. The airlock hisses into place. Then the air starts to change.
Wolffe can't see it, but he's seen the composition readouts for Plo's home planet. He knows the air there would be as toxic to him as the standard atmosphere composition would be to Plo. He didn't expect it to be warm. When the inner door opens it's like he's stepping onto a jungle planet. The humidity is practically 100% and Wolffe immediately starts to sweat. Now he knows why the mask has a hydroplastic seal, and why Plo said not to bother with his full uniform, just his blacks.
Plo takes his hand, leading Wolffe inside his personal quarters. It's not so different. The scale is the same, the shapes are the same, but the materials are off. There's a table, but instead of being made of wood or metal it's made of some kind of porus rock. There's something vaguely fuzzy that might be some kind of plant or might be a couch. When Plo pushes him towards it, Wolffe decides it's the latter. Still he tests it before he lets himself sink into the fuzzy surface. The texture is similar to moss, but there's a woven quality to the strands, like a homespun blanket. It's nice.
Plo waits until he's comfortable to start disrobing, and his anticipation ratchets back up. The re-breather comes first. Plo leans his head back taking a deep breath that isn't matched by the hiss of a ventilator. He doesn't have humanoid lips. Instead there are something closer to gills. They flutter, and Wolffe wonders what that feels like.
Plo's eyes glitter without the goggles, refracting the light into miniature rainbows, which shouldn't be possible with the colored lenses but Wolffe would swear it was true.
Then when Plo has stretched out his neck and loosened his shoulders he reaches for the first layer of his robe. Wolffe thought he knew how complicated Jedi robes where before. He's seen the number of layers some of the other jedi wear, and thanked the stars that his Jedi wasn't one of the prissy ones, but now...
His robe slides off his shoulders, carefully set aside. He unwinds the sash at his waist, letting the silk trail over his claws. Two ties for each layer of the robe - inner and outer - and Wolffe feels like he should be on his knees, tending to those ties with his smaller human hands, despite how clumsy he would be compared to the delicate precision Plo shows. When he starts to lean forward, ready to offer, Plo stops him.
"Just relax, and watch." Plo's voice is deep and smooth and there's a harmony to it that the mask normally hides.
Inch by inch Plos skin is revealed. His shoulders are broad, subtle markings on his skin trailing across his chest to wrap around his upper arms. Wolffe is entranced when he gets to the gloves. They’re fingerless but he’s still so careful, deliberate, each long finger sliding free. Oh stars. Those hands will be on him soon. He wants it. Wants to kiss them. Take them in his mouth. He’s done it before. But now, with the mask he can’t. It’s only a taste of what’s to come and it has him equally frustrated and thrilled.
Plo’s legs are strong and steady and he works at his high boots just as slowly as the gloves. It’s enough to have Wolffe leaning forward. A sound escapes past the mask. How much can he say please and want without words?
Plo just hums “Soon. We have all night.”
Finally Plo is down to his underclothes, a tight set of black briefs. Practically skin tight. One last layer of protection from oxygen burns. Wolffe knows what’s under there, but so often it’s been hurried fumbling. Actually getting to look is new.
The briefs come off as slowly as the rest of it. Leaving Plo standing there with no’s naval ridge pointing straight down to his full sheath. Wolffe knows there's a proper word for what Plo has - not a dick but not a tentacle - but he can never remember what it is in times like this. Whatever the word, it's twisting in Plo's sheath now. Wolffe can see it there, under the skin, getting wet and ready.
Wolffe makes a sound around the gag. Battle sign was not made for situations like this but he tries anyway with come, and give and haste. Plo laughs and stars that's such a wonderfully musical sound.
"My pet, are you already so desperate? Should I help you take the edge off?"
Well there's an idea. Wolffe nods.
"Very well."
Plo raises a hand. It's for Wolffe's benefit. He knows Plo doesn't need to telegraph when he uses the force but it's comforting to know the cause when an unseen hand starts tugging on his blacks. He's bare in a lot less time then it took Plo thank the stars. The couch feels just as good against his bare ass as it did to his hands... Except, has the shape of it changed?
Wolffe shifts, as the lump in the seat presses up against his ass, not quite between his legs. It earns him a musical hum from Plo.
"Now now pet, no need for that."
With another twist of his fingers the couch shifts, because it's not a couch. Wolffe isn't sure what it is, or if it's supposed to do any of the things Plo is making it do. For a minute his heartrate picks up, but then Plo is there, cupping his face.
"Easy, I'll go slow."
Wolffe nods, and with an effort he relaxes back into the... whatever it is.
Strands - large threads, or small vines - slowly curl up around his hips. They push his legs open until he's lounging back with everything on display. His cock is up, has been for a while. The heat in the room has his balls hanging loose. Wolffe's hands are still free, but he doesn't feel like he could move if he tried.
"There we are." Plo muses to himself. He has some kind of oi from somewhere and he lets it pool in the palm of one hand. "Something to take the edge off before I properly take you apart." His fingers wrap around Wolffe's dick making Wolffe moan low in his throat. His head falls back. He'd missed it when Plo had added the headrest, but it's nice. Plo's hand is nice too.
It's a steady rhythm of tugs and twists. Plo knows what does it for him and he's giving just enough to ramp him up without forcing it. Wolffe let his eyes droop, giving in to the temptation to suck on the filter in his mouth, running his tongue over the smooth surface. It almost wasn't a surprise when Plo eased that long middle finger of his into his ass. Wolffe let out a grunt that ended in a moan
"So good for me pet. Go one now--"
Those words undid him, and Wolffe let himself fall over the edge.
For a bit he just floated. When he came back to himself, Po was gently moving him. Hands together above his head, vines around his wrists, trailing down his arms. He could still move his hands - enough to sign if he wanted to. Then those vines slid across his chest, tipping his head back, and making his back arch in a way that made him gasp. Stretch rather then pain as long as he didn't fight.
Plo never stopped moving, murmuring slow praise and tracing patterns over Wolffe's skin. He cleaned off Wolffe's dick, then explored further. A warm wet cloth tracing along the vines, checking them, wiping away beads of sweat. Wolffe couldn't help but bite down on the filter when Plo traced along his more sensitive scars, his sides, the curve of his arms.
Only when he was satisfied did Plo move on to Wolffe's legs. Plo bound his ankles to his thighs, still spread as wide as he'd ever been.
"How does that feel, my pet, good?"
Wolffe managed to nod.
"Good. You are so beautiful. I am honored you allow me this." Plo pressed a kiss to his leg. Plo's lips, or what passed for them, were feather light and soft. Wolffe made a low sound deep in his chest. Plo smiled.
"Ready for more?"
Wolffe nodded again. He wasn't back to full mast yet, but he was getting there. He'd completely lost any sense of time so he didn't know if it was impressive or not.
"Good." With another gesture the whole vine contraption lifted, settling at the height Plo wanted. Stepping up between Wolffe's legs, Plo waited there, letting Wolffe feel the movement in his sheath.
No need to rush this time. No danger or risk of an attack, just this, just that slick heat, pressing against his ass. Into his ass. Wolffe groaned around the gag. Plo was long. The tip was only as thick as a finger but he just kept going. Little rolls of Plo's hips as his amazingly flexible cock painted sensations on Wolffe's insides. Each twist, and roll opened him up a little more. The stretch made his breath catch, and that wasn't even taking into account the firework sensations every time Plo's cock pressed against his prostate.
"So perfect," Plo said, voice breathy as he pressed fully inside. "My beautiful Wolffe."
Please, Wolffe wanted to say, but even in his own head he wasn't sure what he was asking for.
Plo flexed, his cock reaching as deep as it could go, twisting in all the ways that made them both feel so good. Wolffe tried not to fight against the vines, but he needed to press in, to take everything Plo was giving him. He wanted this. Wanted to feel like this forever, full and held and safe, and warm. No enemies to be concerned with, no troops to ride herd on, nothing but Plo's cock in his ass, and Plo's hand wrapped around his dick, and enough sweat and oil to make everything so, so easy.
Then he felt it. Plo rocked into him, his cock pulsing, sending a thousand little beads of come into him. The wash of sensation across his insides took his breath and he was falling over the edge all over again, floating in the space Plo had created for him. As close to perfect as anything could get.
Later Plo slips a straw through the mask and insists that he drink. Later, Plo reverses whatever he did, and turns the plant back into a couch. Later, they lie together, pressed skin to skin as they so rarely get to.
Eventually they will have to return to their responsibilities. But that's for later, and neither of them are in a rush.