From Iego - #18 - SW: RepCom - Ordo / Besany
Title: From Iego
Pairing: Null Arc 11 - Ordo / Agent Besany Wennen
Fandom: Star Wars: Republic Commando
Rating: PG
Word Count: 585
Theme: #18 - Sleeping Angel
Comm: 30_distractions
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of any copyright holder. Characters belong to their respective owners.
Summary: Well she can't be a Diathim anyway. She doesn't have wings.
EDITED: 04.05.2009
(Prompt Table)
If the average person-with any knowledge of the Grand Army of the Republic beyond the over-simplified osik fed daily by the media-thought the clones worked hard, they had never met an inexorably driven, over-qualified Agent of said Republic.
Ordo arrived at this conclusion around the third time his cyar’ika’s eyes slipped closed and her propped up head came dangerously close to falling off her palm, and into the serving of mashed potatoes on her dinner plate. He found this side of her worrying, yet endearing somehow-though he’d never risk her embarrassment-fueled wrath by saying as much to her face.
The fourth time it happened, he was up and out of his chair in seconds. His hip bumped the edge of the table and knocked over an almost-empty glass of muja juice. The remnants of purple-pink liquid spilled over the tablecloth and spread outward like curled, reaching fingers through the fawn colored fabric.
The brief flare of pain didn’t give him pause, though a light stream of self-deprecating curses did flash through his mind. After all, there were more important matters at hand.
“I’m fine,” she protested as he scooped her up into his arms. “You need… to eat…”
“…I was just about finished, anyway,” Ordo murmured against her hair, softly laying a kiss atop her head as he held her closer to his chest. Her arms slipped around his neck and she buried her face into his shoulder as he left the dining area.
The rest of the small apartment was dark, but his eyes adjusted well enough to navigate the way to her bedroom.
She felt lighter to him, somehow. For being as gorgeous, tall, and intimidating as she was, he thought she’d weigh more. Was she losing weight? Getting enough sleep?
“Are you all right, cyar’ika?” he inquired softly as he dodged the couch, the coffee table, and a stray pile of books.
“’mm just… stressed…” She sighed, breath hot on the exposed skin above the collar of his shirt. A chill ran down his spine. She pressed a soft kiss that, for reasons unknown to the Null, felt as though it scorched his neck and instantly brought responses from… other areas.
He nearly dropped her.
“Bes-besany,” he stumbled, feeling his face flush and suddenly thankful that the lights were off.
She responded with a sleepy, incoherent mumble.
Ordo was torn between utter relief and muted disappointment-relieved because he’d finally reached her bed and was able to tuck her in without difficulty, but disappointed due to the sudden lack of affection.
He eased onto the side of the bed for a moment to watch her sleep.
Angel, he thought idly. Though he knew that Angel was another word for Diathim-supposed shape-shifting creatures whom lived on the moons of Iego and resembled beautiful, glowing versions of whatever species looked upon them-he allowed for this one reassessment… if only because he thought that, perhaps, the name fit Besany more.
The Null struggled and failed to suppress a smile as Besany made a strange face, her nose and mouth scrunching up as a loose lock of platinum blond hair fell over her brow. He leaned over and gently brushed the strands away. She breathed deeply, slowly, a sure sign that she was fast asleep.
Satisfied, Ordo stood up and headed back to the dining room. Someone had to clean up the juice he had spilled, and the dishes certainly weren't going to take care of themselves.
Pairing: Null Arc 11 - Ordo / Agent Besany Wennen
Fandom: Star Wars: Republic Commando
Rating: PG
Word Count: 585
Theme: #18 - Sleeping Angel
Comm: 30_distractions
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of any copyright holder. Characters belong to their respective owners.
Summary: Well she can't be a Diathim anyway. She doesn't have wings.
EDITED: 04.05.2009
(Prompt Table)
If the average person-with any knowledge of the Grand Army of the Republic beyond the over-simplified osik fed daily by the media-thought the clones worked hard, they had never met an inexorably driven, over-qualified Agent of said Republic.
Ordo arrived at this conclusion around the third time his cyar’ika’s eyes slipped closed and her propped up head came dangerously close to falling off her palm, and into the serving of mashed potatoes on her dinner plate. He found this side of her worrying, yet endearing somehow-though he’d never risk her embarrassment-fueled wrath by saying as much to her face.
The fourth time it happened, he was up and out of his chair in seconds. His hip bumped the edge of the table and knocked over an almost-empty glass of muja juice. The remnants of purple-pink liquid spilled over the tablecloth and spread outward like curled, reaching fingers through the fawn colored fabric.
The brief flare of pain didn’t give him pause, though a light stream of self-deprecating curses did flash through his mind. After all, there were more important matters at hand.
“I’m fine,” she protested as he scooped her up into his arms. “You need… to eat…”
“…I was just about finished, anyway,” Ordo murmured against her hair, softly laying a kiss atop her head as he held her closer to his chest. Her arms slipped around his neck and she buried her face into his shoulder as he left the dining area.
The rest of the small apartment was dark, but his eyes adjusted well enough to navigate the way to her bedroom.
She felt lighter to him, somehow. For being as gorgeous, tall, and intimidating as she was, he thought she’d weigh more. Was she losing weight? Getting enough sleep?
“Are you all right, cyar’ika?” he inquired softly as he dodged the couch, the coffee table, and a stray pile of books.
“’mm just… stressed…” She sighed, breath hot on the exposed skin above the collar of his shirt. A chill ran down his spine. She pressed a soft kiss that, for reasons unknown to the Null, felt as though it scorched his neck and instantly brought responses from… other areas.
He nearly dropped her.
“Bes-besany,” he stumbled, feeling his face flush and suddenly thankful that the lights were off.
She responded with a sleepy, incoherent mumble.
Ordo was torn between utter relief and muted disappointment-relieved because he’d finally reached her bed and was able to tuck her in without difficulty, but disappointed due to the sudden lack of affection.
He eased onto the side of the bed for a moment to watch her sleep.
Angel, he thought idly. Though he knew that Angel was another word for Diathim-supposed shape-shifting creatures whom lived on the moons of Iego and resembled beautiful, glowing versions of whatever species looked upon them-he allowed for this one reassessment… if only because he thought that, perhaps, the name fit Besany more.
The Null struggled and failed to suppress a smile as Besany made a strange face, her nose and mouth scrunching up as a loose lock of platinum blond hair fell over her brow. He leaned over and gently brushed the strands away. She breathed deeply, slowly, a sure sign that she was fast asleep.
Satisfied, Ordo stood up and headed back to the dining room. Someone had to clean up the juice he had spilled, and the dishes certainly weren't going to take care of themselves.