** Authors Note: I've said before that I don't write romance, but for emphasis, I'll say it again: I don't write romance. So I'm not sure how this fic popped out of my brain and onto paper, but I'm content with the mystery. I tried not to make this too graphic, but it got a little bit steamy by my standards, so younglings be warned. This is a pretty short piece, but I have possible plans to continue, if I still feel inspired.
Disclaimer: As much as I wish I did, I don't.
Benefits
My Master would be so ashamed.
She tried to push the thought away, but it managed to force its way into her head with each kiss the man placed on her neck.
This was singularly the most awful, terrible, amazing, wonderful, thing she had ever done...and she despised herself for it. She had started the night out on a very clear, cut-and-dry mission: get in, gather information, and get out.
Get out. Somehow, that stage of the plan had gotten botched. Somehow, between the shots of Ale that she didn't know the name of and the overwhelming flash of lights and the booming music and the press of his skin against hers, things had gotten complicated.
Complicated, and yet so simple, she thought wryly, running a hand through her matted, sweat-soaked hair. She had reverted to her most basic instincts – she had given in to her emotions, to her lust, to her passion. Once those desires – and copious amounts of alcohol – had invaded her system, she allowed them to overtake her.
And without even putting up the slightest fight.
She was beginning to understand how that murderous Skywalker had fallen to the dark side. He probably didn't realize it was happening until it hit him. And by then, it was too late.
Skywalker was a weak fool. And so was she. She wanted to hate herself, but the way this man beside her was placing his kisses and the way his rough hands were exploring her body...she wouldn't mind being a weak fool for the rest of her life.
She grabbed a fistful of tangled sheets, breathing out a swear because she didn't know his name. How did I get here? How did she get into this room, with her legs enveloping the enemy and the scent of sweat and booze and spent lust tainting the air?
He was doing something new now; something atrocious and startlingly fantastic, and she arched her back, blonde locks rippling, the green of her eyes clashing with the brown darkness in his and the surprise in them was as raw as the challenge. He hadn't said much, – in point of fact, he hadn't said anything since he'd dropped her savagely in his bunk – save for the occasional, primal groan and for that much she was thankful.
She had never done anything so irresponsible. She had always followed the rules, always been a prototype of excellence among the padawans...but who knew that breaking the Code could feel so good?
She didn't know what to think. All she knew was what she was feeling – and right now, her feelings were rushing at lightspeed.
Grabbing his buzzed head, she pulled him to her lips and he met them with voracity. As she peered over his shoulder, slick with beads of sweat, she visibly flinched. Her eyes lingered for only a moment on the footlocker at the base of the bunk, and the kit of white armor striped with yellow that sat haphazardly atop it.
She tore her eyes away as the mass of muscle hovering above her persisted in his attack. She moved with him, fingers digging bruises into his back. For a moment, her vision wavered and she realized it was because – somewhere along the line – she had stopped breathing.
My master would be so, so ashamed...