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Note from management: Mando'a translations provided at the end of the chapter.
Content warning: Still M, because smut.
Context – Chapter 4
The yellow light suffusing her quarters illuminated the edges of his hair, spiking the crown of his head with radiance like a halo. He hesitated for a moment, looking at her, before he ducked his head to kiss her fingers.
"Jiila"
He moved away from her to sit on the side of the bed, his back to her. She curled up, cat-like, in the warm spot he had left, watching him curiously, wondering if this was how he got undressed at night in his lonely bunk downstairs. She meant to see how he got his kute off, if it was, in fact, some strangely complicated Mandalorian chastity device conspiring to keep his skin from her, but when he pulled the material covering his torso off over his head all she could do was stare.
She'd never seen him fully undressed before. It seemed incredible, considering the number of times she had patched him up after battle, her meager medic skills and kolto injections keeping them both alive. The sight of his bare back, wide, defined shoulders, muscles rippling under tanned skin, golden and glowing in the light of her cabin, made her jaw unhinge. Then he stood briefly to get out of the pants, skimming the tight material down over his narrow hips, and she felt her brain short-circuit at the sight of him standing, backlit in gold: the shadows of twin dimples at the base of his spine, the tight curves of his ass, the strong, compact muscles of his thighs.
When he sat back down, bending over at the waist to wrestle the material off around his feet, she had to physically restrain herself from a strong but completely irrational desire: to fling herself onto his back as if she were going to ride him around the cabin like a wild tauntaun. The pull of need was so strong; she felt it like a fire-hot hand in her belly, grasping her, tugging her towards him: the need to feel him between her thighs.
"Checking my form?"
He looked back over his shoulder at her, smiling his little Torian smile. When she didn't answer, her mouth hanging open too far to make words, he made a very deliberate, graceful motion, the muscles of his back bunching and then releasing smoothly under his skin, flexing. It took her a moment to realize what he was doing, then she recognized it: exsanguination, a stance she had seen him perform countless times in battle, only now he was doing it sitting on the side of her bed, naked as the day he was born. He finished by raising an imaginary techstaff over his head, holding the stance, obviously posing for her, still smiling faintly.
She stared harder, the steady pull towards him becoming a sudden yank like a grapple line wrapped around her body, and then she did fling herself at him, crushing her breasts up against his back, one arm going up under his arm across his chest, the other trailing downward to his belly, feeling peach fuzz and impossibly defined abdominal muscles. The pure heat of him was incredible against her naked skin, his scent like musk and durasteel and incendiary devices. He smelled delicious.
She thought he meant to say something else, his head turned towards her, but when her body made contact with his whatever he was going to say was lost in a long exhale and the quietest moan. She kneeled behind him, her breasts caressing his back, and held him to her tightly, placing tiny kisses around his jaw line, his neck, behind his ear.
She felt his whole body shiver against her, gooseflesh prickling up against her lips, her breasts, and then his hands covered hers on his body, holding her in return. He turned his head as far as he could towards her, seeking more of her mouth. She teased him, placing the lightest kisses around the edges of his lips, the corner of his mouth, his ear, making him groan softly, his hands tightening over hers, until she relented all at once, parting his lips with her tongue.
His heart thundered against her, beating fast and hard. She felt her body go liquid and hot, molten, melting into him, her hands beginning to move under his, exploring the planes of his chest, the ripples of his abdomen , so silky and hot and hard. He opened his mouth against hers, his hands rising; she thought he would grab her, but instead he combed his fingers through her hair where it hung around their faces, the motion making his muscles flex enticingly under her touch, leaving his body open to her.
Another kiss, or the same kiss, deep and unending, her hands mapping his chest, his stomach, rising up his arms, and suddenly it wasn't enough. She shifted around him without breaking the kiss, her skin sliding against his, her body straddling one of his thighs for a long, hot moment, and then she was kneeling on the floor in front of him, running her hands down from his shoulders to his thighs.
His body was ridiculous.
She felt greedy, drinking in the sight of him, devouring him with her hands: the shadows of tight muscles, lean and defined, so strong; the crisscross of scars on his knuckles rising to his forearms, battered from hand to hand fighting; another scar curling around his ribcage on the left side, a raised line as long as the span of her hand; a trail of hair so blond and fine it was almost invisible, darkening near his hips.
His hands were busy, running through her hair, down her back, but dazedly, as if he couldn't control what they were doing. The direct skin-to-skin contact seemed almost too much for him, his muscles twitching against her wherever she touched, rippling under his skin. She was momentarily torn, worried she was torturing him - sweet torture, but maybe torture all the same - and desperately wanting to feel the texture of his body with her tongue.
She dipped her head to kiss his chest experimentally, running her lips across his left pectoral; he let out the longest breath, his hands fisting in her hair for a split second, pulling hard. Again, she thought he would grab her, pushed past the point of control, but his hands loosened, running down through her hair again, her back, cupping her ass.
"Gar serim."
That was all it took. Then her mouth was all over him, licking and kissing, running her tongue into the groove over his hip bone, nibbling on his pectorals, his abs, dipping her tongue into the cup of his navel. He tasted like salt and sweat and smoke, accelerant, flame. Torian.
He was nearly panting, discipline unraveling, thread by frayed thread. His hands moved from her hips, to the small of her back, to her ass, then up and down through her hair again, breathing deep. When she flickered her tongue at his nipple, brushing the opposite one with her thumb, he did clutch her for an instant, gasping, moving her head firmly away from him. She stopped immediately, looking up at him, unsure if the expression on his face was excruciating pain or pleasure, or maybe both. He let go of her, and she only had a bare second to feel incredibly bereft before his hands began moving gently through her hair again, his looping, astonished pattern repeating itself. She leaned into his touch and moved her mouth to the middle of his chest, heading south.
She ran her hands down the muscles in his legs, finding a deep scar on his thigh, hidden in his blonde hair, and traced its length delicately with her tongue, winding inward. She could feel him twitching against her in anticipation. Then she grabbed him. She bit her lip as her hand fastened around him, absorbing the length and the girth, the heft of him, silky and so hot and hard against her palm. He was suddenly and completely still, as if he had been frozen in carbonite. She smiled a secret, satisfied smile before leaning down and licking him from root to tip with one long, slow swipe of her tongue.
He exhaled in a burst of hot breath and seized her by her jaw with both hands. She tensed in anticipation but instead he stood, somehow, pulling her up with him. He pushed her backwards, two big steps away from the bed, until they were standing chest to chest, him holding her face in his hands, his thumbs on either side of her mouth, staring at her.
He was starting to look concussed, like a boma had just kicked him in the head: his eyes had lost their laser focus, so dark with desire, pupils dilated with want and need. So much need. It was intoxicating. His blond hair was dark with sweat and sticking up in little spikes and swirls. He was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen.
"Need you." His voice was deep and ragged, raw. She felt those two words reverberate in the very center of her, radiating light and heat in all directions like a star.
In answer, she pressed her whole naked body against his, standing up on her toes to hook one leg around his hip, arms around his shoulders, lips against his lips, the invitation clear: Have me. If she tilted her hips and stood further up on tip-toe he could be inside her in one movement, where she wanted him, then up against the wall or the desk or the bed or the floor.
His expression changed only slightly; it was all in his eyes and she watched it happen, like clouds scudding across the sky to hide the sun, an expression that stopped her as surely as if he had backed away from her. She thought for an instant that she might have pushed him over the edge too soon, that even the vaunted Mandalorian discipline could only take so much, but the look in his eyes was familiar; she'd seen it on Taris, right before he'd asked to come along with her, again right before he'd asked her if she was seeing anyone, and again right before he'd told her he loved her. In fact, she'd seen it earlier that night: the sudden spike of nerves and then the resolute brace for impact.
"Torian." She came back down on both her heels carefully, keeping her body against him. His naked skin was slick with sweat, muscles jumping under her hands. His mouth opened against hers as if he wanted to say something but nothing came out except a shaky exhale.
She brushed her lips against his very gently, reassuring contact, and took his face in her hands, brushing the matching scars on his cheeks with both thumbs. When he didn't say anything she whispered kindly, but firmly, right up against his lips: "Spit it out, sweetheart."
"Never..." Context was everything when talking to Torian. She tilted her head back to look at him more fully, not letting go of him, the question in her eyes and he shook his head against her hands, repeating it. "Never."
As true confessions went, this one felt less like a grenade and more like a thermal detonator.
Emotion burned in her chest, rose in her throat, flooded her eyes: amazement, sadness, the triumphant, greedy feeling of mine, curiosity, understanding, more amazement. It made sense now, all of it, all of him.
He was watching her, taking in her reaction. She smiled at him then, tilting her head, letting her voice turn velvety, sultry and inviting: "Fast learner."
He brought her mouth to his to kiss her hard, lips crashing into hers, his tongue in her mouth. With more than a little effort he pulled himself back from her. "Don't know the half of it. Thought about this. You. A lot."
His words made her quiver, feeling something like a deep blush in her belly. "I thought about you, too." She brushed her fingers over his mouth, so soft against her. "Not enough?" She looked at him. "I should've, I mean…" She stopped.
"Surprised." That wasn't exactly a question either.
She nodded for a long time. Surprised didn't cover it. The words came out in an incredulous, breathless rush: "Have you seen you?"
He shook his head at her, his mouth hovering against hers. "Doesn't matter."
"And you pay attention. Some men go their whole lives without learning how to do that."
"Di'kute." Dismissive. He held her face like she was something precious, the timbre of his voice deepening. "Been paying attention to you before you even knew my name, Champion."
His use of her title made her remember him back on Dromund Kaas: blond and bright and shining like a beacon, how he'd already known who she was, how he'd been waiting for her, anticipating her. How she hadn't even wondered how he'd known.
"I should have paid more attention." Her head moved side to side in a sort of continuous negation, the motion wetting her lower lashes. "I wish you told me before, I wouldn't've-"
His hands tightened around her face, stopping her. "No. Loved it. All of it." Emphatic. He rested his forehead against hers, breathing deeply. "And you do pay attention. You noticed."
"Better late than never?" She leaned into him, breathing out as deeply as he had. "Were you just going to…let me?"
"No. Don't know. Mirshe shuk'yc." He shook his head again. "Brain went off-line hours ago. Wanted to tell you before. Couldn't get the words out."
She smiled at that, wide and sudden and surprised at herself, unable to help it, then looked down; he'd only said two words about it, and really only the one, twice.
He tilted her face up with his hands, whatever he saw in her expression making him clarify.
"Before you, no one. Untouched. Means a lot. This. You."
Her heart was suddenly so full, her chest felt heavy and light at the same time, as if it might burst.
"You honor me, Torian." She kissed him once, like he had kissed her when he had told her about forever: like a promise.
"I'm yours." So direct, simple and so sweet. She felt a twinge in her heart: not guilt, not regret, but something in between.
"I wish I met you a long time ago."
He smiled at her. "Wasn't ready for you yet."
She touched him carefully, barely proving his reality, suddenly afraid he would disappear right in front of her.
"How- how do you want this? Me? Us?" She brushed the twin scars on his cheeks again, so carefully. "What do you want? Tell me." She kissed him. "Anything."
As naked and vulnerable as she'd ever seen him, but the sudden, bright shine of lust in his eyes was undeniable.
"Cover me."
She took his hands in her own and led him back to her bed.
Mando'a translations from mandoa dot org:
Jiila [GEE-lah]
Right away, right now
Gar serim [Gar sair-EEM]
"That's it."
Di'kute [DEE-koo-tay]
Idiots, useless individuals. Literally: someone who forgets to put their pants on
Mirshe shuk'yc [MEER-shay shook-EESH]
{Brain} + {not working, no use, useless, broken down, out of order - usually said of machinery}
