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Title: Unparalleled Cruelty
Time: 43ABY

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His love was cruel.

He had always known this. But knowing did not change it or teach him how to deal with it.

She was cruel to him, it was a simple fact.

Her current method of torture came in the form of an evening gown - a shimmering navy number, backless and very nearly frontless as well, composed almost entirely of lace and he couldn't for the life of him comprehend how it was clinging to her body. He had run his hand down her back several times, an excuse to check for a transparent layer of fabric holding it all together, but found nothing. He was about to concede that it was held up by sheer will of the designer, that it might fall at any time, and that he should, therefore, be prepared to throw his jacket around her shoulders at any moment.

Not that he wouldn't enjoy the view himself - in fact, he had every intention of fully enjoying the view in private - but there were Moffs here. Most of them lewd old men.

And Jaina was a very attractive young woman.

Which brought him back to how cruel she was.

This was the most revealing dress he had seen her in for years, and the stuffiest event that he had been obliged to attend in as much time. This was, to put it simply, torture.

He held back another urge to run his hand over her porcelain skin. To ease the resulting ache in his hand, he allowed it to rest at the small of her back. She turned from her conversation to flash him a smile.

Hoping beyond hope that he had managed a polite smile back, Jag attempted to beat back the fantasies that were beginning to circle through his head. Most of them seemed to revolve around finding out how her dress stayed on and, more importantly, how he was going to get it off.

Relieved though he was at Jaina's apparent proficiency in diplomacy this evening, Jag was sure that some portion of his mind was still cataloging all the conversations swirling around him and keeping up polite conversation with the emissary from Lebica.

But the larger portion was...otherwise engaged. And had spotted a rather secluded alcove across the room.

Under the pretense of seeing Leia at the other end of the hall, Jag managed a polite but brief disengagement from the Lebican emissary and an escape to the alcove. Where he wasted no time testing his theories about the structure of the dress and simply put his mouth on the closest bit of creamy skin that he could find. It turned out to be a collarbone and elicited a soft moan.

She sighed his name into his ear as he ghosted his lips over her shoulders. Nimble fingers were running expertly through his cropped hair and sending shivers down his spine, his lips had latched themselves to her pulse point and sucked greedily, responding reflexively to her soft whimpers.

"Jag," she murmured softly. Then, more insistently, "Jag!"

"Mmmm?" He managed against her skin. Seconds later his lips were unceremoniously detached from their happy resting place with a wet plop.

She laughed at his wounded expression. "You were starting to leave a mark. Not the time or place, you realize."

He very nearly allowed his features to slip into a pout. "How much longer do we have to be here?"

"According to the dictates of politeness and the political correctness expected of the Grand Moff?" Jaina asked, pulling up his wrist to check the chrono, "Another two hours."

Groaning, Jag pressed his forehead against hers and pushed her back into the wall of the alcove. "One more kiss to pass the time?"

"Sure flyboy," she winked and grabbed his hand, leading him back into open space. "When we get home. Now you mentioned something about saying hello to my mother..."

Jag groaned. He was in love with an excessively cruel woman.

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