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Screencaps: Kourt and Blaine: More

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A young blond man is sitting alone on the edge of his bed, wrapped in sheets and blankets. His hair is rumpled, as if he's just awakened, but it's actually been a few hours. In his right hand is a holocube, where an image of his lover, in full Jedi gear, speaks of a mission assigned with no warning, his duty, and how he hopes to be back soon. The message is not long, and while the blond understands his lover's difficulty expressing certain things, yet there are words he would like to have heard. He frowns slightly, his lips thin, and presses the button to replay the message a tenth time.



A young blond man is lying on his back in a large bed, in a room lit with candles. One of his hands, over his head, grasps one of the bars of the iron headboard; the other is clutching the pale blue sheets under him. His feet are planted well apart on the bed, his knees are up, and there is a pillow under his hips. He is nude, and sweating a little; his nipples (one more than might be expected) are quite pink. He is breathing deeply and slowly, and occasionally gasping. His eyes are closed.

A slightly older man, also nude, kneels between the blond's knees. His dark curly hair is in the process of escaping from a tight braid. He wears a look of intense concentration. Beside him on the bed is a small pot of oil. He has three fingers of his right hand buried deep in the blond's ass, and is very carefully working them in and out.

The blond gasps again.



A large seaside house rocks with the music of a party; the occasional shriek indicates that the rowdy party games popular with the youth of Eab Nanoorn are being played. The lights in the house are bright, and some of them flash.

Two men are seated underneath the back deck. A large candle planted in the sand beside them casts a golden flickering light. The darker of the two men, wearing black leather pants and a dark-blue t-shirt, is sitting against a gently sloping sand hill. Next to him is a large jar, half-full of candied fruit in syrup.

The blond, wearing a short blue sarong and a white half-shirt, is laying languidly, his head in the other man's lap, his feet dug into the sand. His blue eyes are framed in smudged eyeliner. He is sucking on the other man's fingers; his lips and tongue are stained red with the syrup from the candied fruit. He opens his eyes slightly, looking up at the dark-haired man and smiling.



A mile offshore of the capital city of Eab Nanoorn on an utterly cloudless day, the waves are glimmering, almost blindingly bright in a blue-green color known locally as ewn. A tiny two-seat flitter is skimming lightning-fast an inch or two over the wavetops; when it hits the occasional slightly higher wave, it pitches violently, and great plumes of water are thrown into the air. In the passenger seat is a dark-haired man. Even in black knee-length swim trunks, it's clear that he is a Jedi. Even with his sunglasses and his Jedi calm in place, it's clear that he's alarmed. He is holding on to the side rail very tightly.

The driver of the flitter is a young blond man. The electric-blue sarong tied at his hips is little more than a wide scarf. He is half-standing as he steers the flitter, and laughing wildly as he pulls on the throttle, coaxing further speed from the craft.