"Sheets", yet another SWTOR drabble.
Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic
Characters: Perkele (formerly known as Salama, Sith Inquisitor), Andronikos
Summary: Presents! Inspired by post-romance in-game mails.
Rating and Warnings: Non-explicit sex; more feels than you can shake a stick at.
She clutched the packet of silk linens in her hands, rubbing her thumbs over the exquisitely tied bow. The small, hidden part of her that was still a slave, with the loudmouth defense mechanism because she knew she deserved nothing from anyone -- that part of her sought to cry out in joy and relief. It was a strange sensation, this feeling of mere humanity in the midst of all of her Force-given power, but for a brief moment, she dwelled upon it.
And even now, she felt like this gesture was unwarranted. Oh, he'd attached a note full of bravado and his usual pretending-not-to-care, but he had gone and acquired a gift for her simply because he thought she'd like it.
For her. No other reason. It wasn't contingent on a promise of power or riches -- he did it simply because. It was disarming, and touching, and everything that she shouldn't be concerning herself with.
She sat on the foot of her (their) bed, allowed the tears to well up in her eyes until they threatened to spill, and clutched the packet to her chest. Love was never part of the grand scheme, but it felt like a passionate, volatile defiance toward anyone who'd try to stop it. And it gave her more strength, more power than any relic or any teaching.
"Hey." His voice shook her out of her contemplation, and she felt the heat rise to her face. How hypocritical to eschew sentiment, and then be caught mooning over a present. But he didn't look disgusted or bothered -- rather there was a sincerely happy light in his eye, and she could sense his small swell of pride through the Force.
"Hello," she said, looking up at him while he sat beside her, placing the packet to the side, but still resting her fingers on it. "I was just --" She shrugged a little helplessly, her eyes traveling to his gift. "They're very nice."
Calloused fingers brushed gently across her cheek, and he inched closer. "Pretty things for a pretty woman," he said, that rough edge in his voice sending a shiver down her spine.
"As you say," she murmured, her eyes drifting shut as his thumb ghosted over the scars on her lips. "But thank you. Nobody's done something like that for me before."
A warm chuckle was his reply, and soon his hand was over hers, running against the silk, trying desperately to untie the bow while they kissed. One would have expected her to be forceful, in command, and for him to submit to her authority, but there was no such thing happening. The tenderness with which they approached each other belied their prowess on a battle-field: his hands framing her face, hers resting on his shoulders, and their lips and tongues moving together, softly and without greed.
Eventually the package opened, and, without words, he moved to spread the silks out on the bed, sat back, and pulled her into his lap, nuzzling at her neck, nipping at her earlobes -- and soon she was moaning softly with delight, her hands balling into fists against his chest. Suddenly he was stripping both of them down as quickly as they had unwrapped his gift, and as far as she was concerned, there was nothing threatening at all in the world. Nobody was trying to kill them; she wasn't dying of sheer arrogance and putting herself in danger for a cure --
All that existed was the two of them, quietly making love atop some very expensive textiles.
"You know you're worth it," he said, rolling her onto her back, entering her with a slow, decisive motion. "You're welcome. Sith."
Characters: Perkele (formerly known as Salama, Sith Inquisitor), Andronikos
Summary: Presents! Inspired by post-romance in-game mails.
Rating and Warnings: Non-explicit sex; more feels than you can shake a stick at.
She clutched the packet of silk linens in her hands, rubbing her thumbs over the exquisitely tied bow. The small, hidden part of her that was still a slave, with the loudmouth defense mechanism because she knew she deserved nothing from anyone -- that part of her sought to cry out in joy and relief. It was a strange sensation, this feeling of mere humanity in the midst of all of her Force-given power, but for a brief moment, she dwelled upon it.
And even now, she felt like this gesture was unwarranted. Oh, he'd attached a note full of bravado and his usual pretending-not-to-care, but he had gone and acquired a gift for her simply because he thought she'd like it.
For her. No other reason. It wasn't contingent on a promise of power or riches -- he did it simply because. It was disarming, and touching, and everything that she shouldn't be concerning herself with.
She sat on the foot of her (their) bed, allowed the tears to well up in her eyes until they threatened to spill, and clutched the packet to her chest. Love was never part of the grand scheme, but it felt like a passionate, volatile defiance toward anyone who'd try to stop it. And it gave her more strength, more power than any relic or any teaching.
"Hey." His voice shook her out of her contemplation, and she felt the heat rise to her face. How hypocritical to eschew sentiment, and then be caught mooning over a present. But he didn't look disgusted or bothered -- rather there was a sincerely happy light in his eye, and she could sense his small swell of pride through the Force.
"Hello," she said, looking up at him while he sat beside her, placing the packet to the side, but still resting her fingers on it. "I was just --" She shrugged a little helplessly, her eyes traveling to his gift. "They're very nice."
Calloused fingers brushed gently across her cheek, and he inched closer. "Pretty things for a pretty woman," he said, that rough edge in his voice sending a shiver down her spine.
"As you say," she murmured, her eyes drifting shut as his thumb ghosted over the scars on her lips. "But thank you. Nobody's done something like that for me before."
A warm chuckle was his reply, and soon his hand was over hers, running against the silk, trying desperately to untie the bow while they kissed. One would have expected her to be forceful, in command, and for him to submit to her authority, but there was no such thing happening. The tenderness with which they approached each other belied their prowess on a battle-field: his hands framing her face, hers resting on his shoulders, and their lips and tongues moving together, softly and without greed.
Eventually the package opened, and, without words, he moved to spread the silks out on the bed, sat back, and pulled her into his lap, nuzzling at her neck, nipping at her earlobes -- and soon she was moaning softly with delight, her hands balling into fists against his chest. Suddenly he was stripping both of them down as quickly as they had unwrapped his gift, and as far as she was concerned, there was nothing threatening at all in the world. Nobody was trying to kill them; she wasn't dying of sheer arrogance and putting herself in danger for a cure --
All that existed was the two of them, quietly making love atop some very expensive textiles.
"You know you're worth it," he said, rolling her onto her back, entering her with a slow, decisive motion. "You're welcome. Sith."