What is they had met a few weeks before the events of Rogue One? What if they'd shared a *ahem* passionate night together, thinking they would never see each other again…what happens when they unexpectedly do?

Doesn't that change the entire vibe of the scenes from the film? We'll find out!

*Disclaimer—this story contains some PG-13/R rated material but that's because of the plot…the chapters after this will not. It's not all sex, I promise.

I own nothing, enjoy!

Chapter 1: Of All the Gin Joints in all the Galaxy…

Corulag. Jyn had only been here for a week and she was already sick of it. She was getting no where in her scheme against the dictator and she was running out of time. If they were going to blow up his ship they needed to move fast. She could've strangled the Aqualish—If it were possible to strangle one—when he told her they hadn't turned up any useful information. She'd just have to pull it off herself, it was better that way. She didn't trust the Aqualish or his men. Something shifty about their eyes.

She would worry about it in the morning. Tonight she needed to unwind.

She kept her head down while she was on the main streets, not relaxing until she'd reached the back alleys. Here, in the parts of the city not so heavily patrolled, she ducked into one of a dozen bars. The same bar she'd been frequenting all week.

It wasn't crowded. In fact, it was nearly dead. Good.

People gave her a headache. There was a couple in the corner and one man, alone at the bar. She slipped onto an empty stool a few seats down from the man then ordered a beer. The stranger, she saw, had three empty shot glasses before him, so he was probably to far gone to be good conversation. Just as well, she needed to keep a low profile. She sipped at her beer in silence.

The movement of his arm as he signaled the barkeep caught her attention, as did his heavily accented voice when he said, "Another whiskey."

Before she could look away, his eyes slid to to hers and their gazes met. He quirked a dark brow and said, "It's not polite to stare."

She rolled her eyes and snapped her attention back to the half-empty beer before her. She thought about what her next move would be to take down the dictator. She definitely did not think about the fact that the deep brown of her beer was quite similar to the stranger's eyes. Or the way his voice had rolled off his tongue smooth as warm chocolate. He apparently had not gotten the hint.

Suddenly, he was there, sitting on the stool right next to her, their elbows almost touching on the bar top where they rested. "Playing it safe tonight?" He asked tipping his head toward her beer.

"No." She said. "I'm just warming up." Why had she said that? Flirting with a stranger in a back alley bar was the last thing she needed to be doing. But…she had promised herself she'd unwind. Drinking wasn't the only way to relieve some tension—and that train of thought was headed to the wrong station.

His smile made little wrinkles appear around his dark eyes. She found that adorable, against her better judgement. When the barkeep dropped off the stranger's shot he slid it toward her and nodded for another to be brought for himself. If he were any normal bar creep she'd have thrown the shot in his face…but he wasn't. Three words from him and she knew that he wasn't. They were alike. They belonged to the daylight. They were just here in the dark together to escape for a night. So, she raised her glass and he did the same.

"What shall we toast to?" She asked. Please don't say the Empire…

"To pretending."

"To pretending." She echoed. The whiskey burned her throat. Truthfully, she wasn't a fan of it. She could drink a man under the table but that didn't mean she liked the taste. She wrinkled her nose and let out a groan. When she opened her eyes she found him watching her again, his lips quirked at the corners, the barest hint of a smile.

He set the shot glass down and angled his body toward her. "What's you name?"

And this was why she didn't talk to people. She cast about for a response finally settling on, "Does it matter?"

"Fair enough." He's said, "I'm Cas—" but she cut him off with a finger to his lips.

"Don't. I don't want to know."

He studied her for a while and she got the feeling it was something he did a lot of. "Well, I'll need something to call you."

"Stardust." The word was out of her mouth before she could even realize what she'd given away. She wanted to grab the word out of the air and snatch it back and lock it back away in her heart. She kept her heart under tight lock and key—and he'd sidled over and blown the lid right open. But how?

She had her answer the moment he locked eyes with her and repeated it. "Stardust. I like it." The way his accent caressed each letter was like being wrapped in a warm towel after the rain. He could use that voice of his to his advantage…and again, she got the feeling it was something he did a lot of.

She could think of a hundred names for him. Danger. Trouble. Sinful. His choice was less creative, "It's nice to meet you Stardust. I'm Jeron." He raked a hand through his shaggy hair and said, "So, can I buy you another drink, Stardust?"

Jyn saw the question in his eyes. He wasn't just asking for a drink. Her mind filled with images—him pressing her against the bar's wall, his rough stubble scraping against her bare shoulder. She didn't trust her voice so she just nodded. He smiled—a real one this time.

Later, she would recall that his Corellian jacket belonged to the rebels. That he smelled like engine oil and peppermint. That he tasted like whiskey and blood. She would remember the way her stomach fluttered every time his fingertips grazed her skin. She would recall the deep bruises on his back, sprinkled in with the long healed scars. She would recall the fire in his gaze and how she felt it reflected in her own. She would yearn for these things when they were gone.

She didn't ask why he was in the bar and Cassian was grateful for it. He wouldn't have told her the truth anyway. After he'd bought her a third shot, they had talked, exchanged fake backstories about childhoods and lives that didn't really exist. Stardust and Jeron—two normal people. Two people that only existed in the minds of two lonely souls.

Cassian was adept at playing the role of casual observer but he found it impossible to maintain any subtly as he watched her. He blamed the whiskey. She was only a girl—and really she was. Younger even than him. But her green eyes were world-weary to match his, maybe even rival it. He couldn't remember the exact moment he'd decided to kiss her…maybe it was the moment he saw her. He'd asked her if there was anything she had always wanted to do but hadn't yet.

"Fly a ship." She said and he was undone. He lunged forward capturing her lips with his. It was like she'd been expecting it, waiting for it even. She responded at once, threading her fingers in his hair, nails grazing his scalp and sending tingles down his spine. It was fierce and sloppy—they were both a bit drunk by that point. He sucked at her bottom lip until it was swollen and pink. Other parts of him were getting there too.

They were so wrapped up in each other they hadn't even heard the barkeep telling them to take it outside until he'd let out a keening whistle. Cassian's cheeks were burning as he paid the man. He'd never be able to come back to this bar again. But she was worth it. He turned to find that she was gone. He only panicked for a moment before he spotted her, leaning in the doorway, grinning at him.

He jogged up to her and whispered, "There's an inn on the next street over."

She snaked her arms around his hips and squeezed his arse. "What are you waiting for? Lead the way."

Somehow they got to the inn and by the time he was unlocking the door his fingers were trembling. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been with anyone let alone a one night stand with a girl he picked up in a bar. It wasn't really his style—it definitely wasn't. But tonight he was Jeron. Tonight he needed to forget that his hands were capable of murder and believe that they were capable of love.

Cassian opened the door and followed her in. They might have shut the door—or maybe not. All he knew was her, pressed back against the wall mewling in approval as his body melded against hers. The first time they didn't even make it to the bed. They didn't even make it out of all of their clothes. But they had all night for that. One night. Only one.

He unbuttoned her shirt, ripping a button or two in the process. Her hands fumbled with his belt. He pulled off her boots and leggings, baring her toned legs for his lips to explore. He trailed kisses up her thighs, but she stopped him.

She threaded her fingers in his hair and tugged him back up to her. "That later. Inside me now."

He didn't argue. Her undergarment and chest band joined the floor and he pressed into her. They both cried out, going still for a moment to enjoy the relief of being joined. It was fast after that up against the wall.

Later is was slow and quiet. Later he had time to watch her reactions when he touched her here or kissed her there. He'd keep those memories with him after. He'd long for them when they were gone.