(Written for the brand-spanking new Old School Bioware Kink Meme on LJ at oldschoolbwkink. Check it out, whether to fill, prompt, or just read!)

A Trickle, A Drop, A Downpour

"They can't be right," she said desperately, throwing her hands up in the air. "It can't be—how would that even work?"

Atton shook his head helplessly. "Maybe you should talk to one of our more cryptic, Jedi-type passengers about this?" he suggested half-heartedly. "This isn't exactly my area of expertise."

Something flickered over the corner of her mouth that might almost have been a smile, given enough encouragement. "You're a Jedi now too Atton, don't you forget. And you know I can't stand cryptic."

"Right. Thanks for reminding me," he sighed.

"It's just—you saw it, didn't you? You said I was glowing with it, that I looked at peace. I felt it, I know I did. They don't know what they're talking about! They just—they don't want me to be a Jedi again, that's all. They're trying to trick me, hoping I'll give up on it, they—" she broke off, head in her hands. "No, no, no, that's not right, I shouldn't think that, I just don't know…"

"Whatever you have now, it works, doesn't it?" he said. "Just don't think about it."

"I can't not think about it. I need—I need some kind of distraction."

"Pazaak?"

"I can play pazaak in my sleep these days." She hesitated a moment, biting her lip, before her hands went to the flaps of her robe. "You...you know more…involved distraction techniques, don't you?"

His eyebrows shot up. "I—if you're offering what I think you are, then fuck, yes…but I thought you Jedi were supposed to be above all that. Lust is a path to the Dark Side or whatever."

"Again, you're a Jedi too. And either I'm no longer one, or the Council can't even recognize the Force in someone anymore, so who am I to listen to them? Fuck it. Fuck me."

That was all he needed. He stood immediately, his hands brushing hers aside and pulling open the flaps of her robe, drawing the simple garment off her body with ease. She shoved the pants down off her hips herself; his hands unfastened her undergarment down the back and then suddenly she was bare, exposed to Atton and a thousand stars too faraway to notice.

He tossed his vest over the back of his chair and she had her hands up under his shirt before he could turn back around, his chest hot against her palms and her fingernails digging into his skin and what the fuck was she doing? He pulled her against him and kissed her like a sun exploding, nothing but lips and tongue searing her mind until the fear started to niggle at the back of her skull again and she tugged at his shirt, broke the kiss to pull it up over his head and press her breasts against his bare chest.

And then suddenly she was up against the wall and his fingers were doing this between her legs she hadn't known were possible. She bit her lip, bit his shoulder and screamed into his neck, and when her head came out of the white haze his pants were in a pile on the floor and something hot and blunt and sticky was poking at her belly.

"Do it," she whispered, and he lifted her up, back against the wall and her knees hooked over his forearms and he pushed, and it hurt in the most fantastic way possible. And then it was a haze again, nothing but flesh and sweat and movement, her hands desperately clawing at his back as he surged into her again and again.

Slowly and suddenly her feet were on the ground again; she was slumped against his chest and panting with the rush still thrumming in her veins. There was liquid trickling down her thighs, and Atton swore as he checked her with a finger and it came away red-tinged.

"Fuck. I should have realized—of course you were—"

She shushed him with a finger, willing the wound shut and cleaning herself with her underwear before putting her robes back on over nothing. She closed up the scratches on his back one by one before flopping into the seat next to him with a sigh.

Healing was really taking more out of her than it used to.