Author's Note: *Peeks up from a hastily dug bunker.* Is anyone still there and not wanting to kill me after that last chapter? Yeah—we're slowly heading into slightly smuttier territories. Since we're dealing with Quinn, though, he's gonna be leaving furrows from dragging his heels through the smuttier territories. Since there have been a few questions about Quinn's M! Sith Warrior Darth, I've shamelessly pumped my husband for his perspective as a male Darth. So, thank you, my darling Xavier, for helping me to write this.
Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and am making no profits from this story.
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Chapter Seven: Bedtime Stories
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"I wouldn't mind a repeat, Quinn."
In the end, he'd not had the courage to pursue the interlude further. Even with an invitation such as the one extended by Caer, Quinn had instead turned his attention to immediately contacting his Darth via the now-secure holoterminal. He'd hidden behind his cool professional façade and given his report to the purebred Sith, all the while knowing that Caer was watching from the other side of the room. Nothing more had been said of the kiss and he'd ruthlessly shoved the memory to the back of his mind.
Now, though, in the dark, there was nowhere to hide. Quinn rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling of the room he shared with Caer. There was nothing extravagant or noteworthy about this particular ceiling. Grey duracrete strengthened with durasteel provided strength and sound dampening as well as natural temperature control. Likely it was the same ceiling as in every other room in the palace.
Sleep was eluding him. Part of the reason for his lack of sleep may have been the fact that he half-dangled off the mattress. In fact, snuggled against his side with her hand curled over his chest slept Caer. She was a bedhog. At the start of the evening, she'd been on her side of the massive bed and he'd been on his. Over the course of the night, though, she'd migrated across the expansive bed, the equivalent of two regular mattresses slammed together, and now lay draped along his side, leaving him clutching the edge of the bed in a bid not to press back against her. He could feel every curve and breath and it was driving him slowly mad.
Slipping out from beneath her arm, he shifted and stood away from the bed. Perhaps a cup of something would help him to sleep. Padding across the room, he found the pot and began the process of making himself a cup of tea. Long minutes later he sat on the sole couch provided in the room, the video monitor's volume barely audible as it showed holoimages of the day's events in the greater galaxy.
Had he been aboard the ship of the Emperor's Wrath, he might have found himself in the galley, sharing a cup of tea with Vette in a quiet moment while they watched the holoterminal together. A pang of regret echoed in him as he thought on his shipmates. He had been in an impossible situation, having to choose between two masters to betray.
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he examined the burning, hateful thing that had filled him inside, threatening to swallow him whole. It was shame. He knew, empirically, that losing a fight to a Sith, let alone a half-mad Purebred called the Emperor's Wrath who radiated evil in thick inky waves, was an almost foregone reality. And yet…he felt the burning sting of reproach and regret. Things might go back to a shadow—a semblance—of the calm and peace that had existed on the Wrath's ship before his betrayal but it would never be the same. He would never be the same. He would always be cautious, afraid to show even a hint of disloyalty.
Death didn't scare Quinn—he'd accepted long ago that he should have died several times over. No, what scared him was dishonor. He sipped the tea now long gone cold and pulled a face. But he did not set it down, instead sipping at the tepid beverage as the holoimages danced before his eyes and finally abandoning the cup to the floor.
"What are you doing out of bed?" came the sleep-roughened voice from behind his ear, Caer's fingers coming to rest on his trapezius muscles, lightly kneading tension from the base of his neck out to his shoulders and down the back of his shoulder blades.
Quinn let his head forward as tension he hadn't even thought to remark upon suddenly evaporated. He let a low groan escape as he felt her fingers work through the knots littering his shoulders and back. "You should go back to bed," he suggested when he finally regained the ability to speak.
"Don't wanna," came the slightly growly answer from the region of his ear as she pressed the heel of her thumb harder on a particularly stubborn knot in his back, earning a moan from Quinn's lips. She allowed herself a victorious smirk when he didn't fuss any further and just enjoyed the massage that she gave him.
Finally, though, Quinn straightened and lifted her hands from his shoulders. Standing, he stood away from the couch to face her. She looked tempting in her nightclothes. Not there was anything flirty or revealing about the lawn nightgown that fluttered above her knees. Her hair, though, tumbled around her shoulders in thick auburn waves, her eyes still had the half-lidded sleepy cast to them, and her cheeks were flushed both from sleep and from her massaging Quinn. "Come now, Caer. Time that all good little girls get back to bed," he suggested, trying to sound fatherly and failing miserably.
Caer arched a brow but took the hand he held out to her, allowing him to lead her back to the bed. Sitting down, she swung her legs back onto the bed and scooted back to "her side," as he liked to call it. She patted the right side of the bed, shooting him an expectant look. "Time for good little boys to come back to bed too," she lilted.
Quinn shook his head with a chuckle. "Now, now, Caer, I'm not a good little boy. Go to sleep." He turned back to the couch, determined to wait her out.
Lying on her side, watching Quinn as he settled himself once again in front of the holoviewer, she shook her head. At this rate, sleep would be a long time coming. "Tell me a story?"
Quinn startled, looking back over his shoulder in bewilderment. "A story? Like a bedtime story?"
Caer nodded quickly, attempting to affix as innocent an expression on her face as she could. "Otherwise I'll just bother you all night," she warned, a hint of teasing in her tone.
Quinn groaned and stood, stomping back to the bed and sitting on the edge. "A bedtime story," he groused. He glared down at the Cipher agent. "You must have been a trying child," he muttered.
Caer snickered. "The worst," she admitted, pulling the blanket up under her chin. "Story?"
Quinn shook his head, closing his eye. "Fine, then." He drew in a breath before starting. "Once upon a time, there was a young purebred Sith. A true warrior. He had great strength and a certain half-mad nobility, but he frightened his master. His master saw the young Sith as a threat to his own power base. So the master tried to kill his apprentice."
Caer watched Quinn's body language. Interesting.
"But the apprentice lived and was recognized by the Emperor himself as his living embodiment of his wrath. The Emperor needed the young Sith to fight his old Master but the young Sith forgot that one of his own soldiers, a man he trusted and depended upon, had sworn allegiance first to the old Master and owed the old Master his life. So, when the old Master came to the soldier and asked him to betray the young Sith, the soldier, with a heavy heart, did so. But the soldier failed. The young Sith, enraged, beat the soldier for his betrayal but let him live. The soldier, battered, rededicated himself to the young Sith and fought to earn back his loyalty and trust. The young Sith, with the soldier at his side, did defeat the old Master. And everyone lived happily ever after. The end."
Caer nodded, eyelids fluttering as she fought off sleep. "A good story, Malavai. Perhaps someday I'll tell you a story too." She covered his hand with hers atop the cool sheets, fingers entwining absently.
Quinn nodded, letting out a breath. "I think I would like that." He stared down at their entwined fingers, not ready to meet her eyes. Suddenly he was so tired. The space beside her looked so inviting. Sighing, he laid down beside her, not terribly surprised when she snuggled against his side again.
Caer chuckled sleepily. "I'm not so sure you would, Mal. In most of my stories, no one makes it out alive."
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Dreams chased Lok'nar's from sleep as he lay aboard the Fury, his bride wrapped around him. Jaesa had certainly become all that he could have hoped for in her total acceptance of the Dark Side and her devotion to him. That he loved her, he was almost certain. Well, as much as he was able to love anyone, he supposed. He possessed her and wanted her, had even promised to keep himself from other women. That in itself seemed an affront to both his nature and the Dark Side, but he had done it.
He'd received a quick holomessage from the Captain earlier, briefly outlining what his current mission was and advising that the situation was proceeding smoothly. And he'd caught sight of the woman with whom his Captain was working—pretty, he supposed. She was curvier than his Jaessa and had carried herself with the air of one used to violence and good at surviving it. Part of Lok'nar relished the idea of seeing how much the Captain's new friend could take—but it would likely make Jaesa angry and domestic bliss was a worthwhile enough goal to forgo random torture, no matter how satisfying.
As if sensing that her liege lord was thinking about her, Jaesa's red-tinged eyes opened. "My Lord?" she whispered, small hands sliding along his chest.
"Ah, Jaesa," purred Lok'nar, pulling his young wife atop him, appreciating the surprise and lust that showed in her face. All thoughts of his Captain were soon forgotten as he got down to the business of pleasing his apprentice.
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