A/N: I sincerely apologize for how long it has taken me to get this chapter out. To be honest, I rewrote it several times and I'm still not sure I properly conveyed the thoughts and feelings I wanted to. In my frustration, I got distracted on other writing projects and gaming, all while feeling horribly guilty that I had let this story fall by the wayside. I can't promise that updates will come more quickly (though I certainly hope they will, and that none will take as long as it took this one) but I can promise that I will finish this story. Thank you all for bearing with me and I hope you will enjoy this chapter. OTL
What You Do To Me
Two days she had been laying there before she woke up. Her vitals had stabilized quickly enough but the condition in which they found her had caused Atton's heart to nearly stop beating. Blood loss, dehydration, saber burns—he was paralyzed with fear. He had stood there at the door to the medbay and stared, completely still. For the first time, he had no grievances with Mical. The man worked quickly and diligently to administer treatment and, within hours, she was resting soundly.
And then she woke up. It was the middle of the night and Mical had wandered in to check her vitals so Atton had gone to the cockpit to vent his fear in privacy, pacing across the room and running his hands through his hair and flipping pazaak cards. The moment the Disciple's voice came over the comm saying that she was awake, he raced back to the medbay, cursing that he had gone to the cockpit at all. When he walked in, she was sitting up, alert, and looking around like she was confused to find herself there. Mical was checking her vitals and talking absent-mindedly but Atton didn't hear him, he was just looking at her.
And she was looking at him.
"We're in motion," she said, voice scratchy. Mical glanced back at him and, when he saw no words were coming, he smiled and went back to his examination.
"We hit orbit as soon as we found you and transported you back to the Ebon Hawk," the Disciple explained. "Kelborn's transmission came in this morning with an urgent call back to Dxun."
"What's going on? Is it trouble?"
"Jedi Master Kavar is looking for you. When we heard, I figured you would be anxious to return and meet with him."
Khara sigh and closed her eyes. "Good." After a moment, she opened them again and stared at the bed, at her feet, and then nodded. "Good."
"You are doing much better than expected," Mical announced. "I thought you would need at least a few more days of kolto and rest, but you seem fully recovered."
"When we left Korriban, I was able to utilize the Force to speed my recovery," she explained.
"A healing trance?" Mical asked and she smiled. "Fascinating."
"How long was I down?"
"A week," the Disciple replied reluctantly. "You were lost in the caves for three days before your signal came back online and we were able to track you to a scorched plain about four kilometers west of the academy. You've been in the trance for two days."
Khara was visibly shocked to hear the news. Atton just stood there numbly, anger and stress and desperation all tangled up inside of him. She was safe, she was home, and they were flying away from the Sith world. So why did he feel like she was still lost and dying? Because he had come too close to losing her. It was making him crazy just how close to death she had been, how the nightmare had almost become reality.
"You escaped," she said when she had recovered from the initial shock, changing the subject. What had happened to her down there? Why was she gone so long? Why was she so wounded? It was killing him not knowing but he couldn't bring himself to ask. "How?"
"Through an old reservoir in the slave quarter," Mical replied. "Mandalore found it. The Sith hunted us but they lost interest quickly enough once we were separated from you." He frowned. "We were really worried. I'm glad you're all right."
Khara smiled. "And I, you. All of you." Her eyes flicked in Atton's direction before going back to Mical. There was a pause, almost hesitant, before she quietly said, "I think I still need some rest."
"Of course."
Mical quickly put his tools away and tapped Atton on the shoulder as he left. Atton started to follow him out but stopped at the threshold, one hand on either side of the frame, and hesitated. If she needed rest, he should leave. Staying behind to talk to her would be selfish, especially when he couldn't even speak. Besides, he wanted nothing more than her to be her normal self. No. That wasn't true. He almost wanted nothing more than her to be well again, but there was just one thing he wanted slightly more.
Atton quickly tapped the command pad. The door sealed closed and locked. He turned to look at her. She had moved, her legs thrown over the side of the bed, and she was staring at him.
"Atton," she said, and the way she called his name knocked the wind out of him, expanded the lump in his throat, and stroked his overwhelming desire to kiss her, hold her, dominate her, confirm that she was alive, mark her as his—Kreia and her lies be damned! "I let go of the Code."
Atton immediately closed the distance between them, gripped her thighs, tugged her legs around his hips, and kissed her hard and hungry. He was beyond tenderness, incapable of gentleness; he was Atton the Scoundrel, whose passion overcame his reason with a carnal need to possess the object of his desire entirely and thoroughly. It was all wrong, he thought. He had imagined this moment countless times, refined it into a fantasy of perfect love-making. He wanted to do that for her, to treat her respectfully. Love should be respectful, making equals of its captives—and this was if one defined equality in the way that made him her slave as much as he wanted to make her his.
He shrugged out of his jacket and groaned when she reached out to touch his chest. He frantically tugged his shirt off, desperate to put his hands on her again. His palms roughly glided up her back and held her tight against him. She felt so small in his arms, like he could break her with his desire. He clawed at her hair, twisted his fingers into the silky strands, pulled her head close, held her there so she couldn't escape his kisses. And then he was gripping her shoulders, squeezing them together, and drawing her into him. She gasped against his lips. Maybe out of pleasure, maybe out of pain. He didn't know and he couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop. Not for Kreia, for his past, or even for her.
She had almost died. He had almost lost her.
Damn her! If she hadn't been a Jedi… if she could just stop being a Jedi, meddling in the dangers of the galaxy, he wouldn't have almost lost her! The dark and twisted part of him that he tried so desperately to hide—to forget—resurfaced. That part of him wanted to kill the Jedi in her. To save her. Because he was going crazy at the idea of losing her.
Atton went to untie her Jedi dressings and felt her push him away.
"Wait," she gasped between kisses. "Atton, I—"
Scared. She was scared. He was scaring her. Because this was all wrong. He should be loving and tender, but the Scoundrel wanted to possess her. He had held back long enough, held back long and painful months. He had ached for her. He was at his limit. He could hardly believe he had been so patient. He should have had her countless times! If she had been anyone but a Jedi, he would've been making love to her, not stumbling upon her near-dead body on the dunes of an ancient Sith homeworld!
Atton jerked her robes away from her and kissed her with a new ferocity. She tried to push him away but he bore down on her. He grasped her fingers and held her hand against his chest as he pressed her down onto the bed. He lowered his lips to her neck, suckled the hollow of her throat. Her protests turned to pleasured winces.
"Atton," she whispered. There was still a hint of fear, of uncertainty in her voice, but there was also desire.
"Do you know what you do to me?" he growled as his teeth grazed her neck. She gasped. "Do you know," he bit her shoulder, "how you destroy me?"
Atton pulled back to relieve her of the rest of her clothes and caught a glimpse of her expression. She stared up at him with a furrowed brow but loving eyes. Confusion, affection, concern, desire—she was a ball of emotion, emotion that he put into her! He thought of the last Jedi he had killed, how he had put his hands on her neck and destroyed her. He was good at destroying Jedi, at torturing them and turning them. And he would destroy this one as well.
He put his hand around her throat and squeezed ever so slightly as he bent to kiss her again. She tilted her head toward him, tongue rising to brush against his. He moaned into her mouth, pushing her pants down her hips and thighs until he felt them drop into a pool at his feet. He remembered Peragus, her skintight underwear, how it clung to her form, left nothing to the imagination. He growled as his free hand pressed against her body, slid across her naked flesh. His imagination had never felt this good.
He cupped one breast and squeezed, roughly ran his thumb across her nipple. She winced, breaking the kiss. He captured her mouth again, toyed with her sensitive skin. He kept thinking how all of these sensations were so new to her. She swam in uncharted waters against currents she had been taught since adolescence to avoid. But he would make her feel them, all of them. He would break her, possess her, consume her! Because he gave her these emotions, and emotions made a Jedi weak! He was her weakness! He was going to turn her to the dark side like he had so many others.
He pulled back to look at her body, how it flushed in heat and curled ever so slightly in embarrassment. It made him throb so intensely that it hurt. He quickly removed the rest of his clothes, climbed onto the bed, and wrapped her thighs around his hips. When she looked into his eyes, there was no longer fear. There was lust, strength, adoration, trust.
Why? Why? Why was she looking at him like that? He was going to devour her! Atton wrapped his hand around her throat again. He was going to kill the Jedi in her! Turn her to the dark side! If she could just stop being a Jedi, then he would never have almost lost her!
But then she wouldn't be Khara Saar. She wouldn't be the woman he loved, the woman who defied his expectations, who impressed him with her strength and justice and honesty. I am not a Jedi, she had once told him, and she was right. She wasn't. But she should be. She was the only living being worthy of such a title. She was the only real Jedi in the whole galaxy. The last Jedi in the universe.
Atton felt himself break. What was he doing? He didn't want to destroy her. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to help her, save her. He wanted to preserve that beautiful part of her that he could barely comprehend, much less understand. He didn't want to be her weakness. Atton withdrew his hand and brushed her cheek with his thumb. He pulled himself out of the dark vortex of who he had been and remembered who he was.
He was Atton Rand, a scoundrel and a good man. And his feelings for this woman beneath him… were undefined and unyielding. She had reconciled him with his past and healed his pain. He was strong enough, now, to stop himself from hurting her or anyone ever again. She had made him unafraid of everything…
Of everything but losing her. She was his one and only weakness.
"Why?" he rasped as he looked at her. Why had she put up with him? Why was she with him, beneath him, naked and vulnerable to him? He stroked her cheek, ran his knuckles over her tender throat. "Why?"
"I believe in you."
Atton's jaw tightened so hard his teeth hurt as he fought to contain the emotion that came rising up his throat. "Do you know what you do to me?" he choked out.
"Do you know what you do to me?" she whispered. He held his breath waiting for her answer. "You make me strong."
Atton kissed her hard, inhaling sharply. He was so charged with passion, he was vibrating. He wasn't a weakness. He wasn't her weakness. He was her strength. He was Atton Rand, a scoundrel and a good man, and he made her strong. And she made him strong.
He came to his senses—remembered what he was doing—and focused on her body, on touching her and caressing her and making her feel as good as he felt. He kissed and licked her neck and shoulders, over the bruises he had left in his fearful frenzy, and measured her pleasure in her gasps and moans. He would embrace her like a scoundrel would embrace a woman, not a padawan or disciple or hero embracing their paragon. He would embrace her honestly, and an honest man… with experience, he thought… would drive her wild.
Atton sat up and pulled her into his lap, his fingers playing at the entrance to her core. Her shy expression emboldened him, drove his fingers into her. He showered lavish attention on her chest as he worked her inner thighs, reveling in the tight heat and how wet he made her. When she was ready, he held her flush against him, kissed her, and slipped inside.
His mind was scorched white. He groaned from deep within, clawed her back, and filled her to the hilt. Khara cried out, trembled, but a life-long devotion to combat and war had prepared her body for such a shock. She recovered quickly, even with tears still in her eyes.
They kissed as he rocked in and out of her, slowly at first, and then his fever grew hotter, uncontained. He wantonly made love to her until she was calling his name.
"Kay," he uttered gutturally in response to her moans, hands clamped onto her hips as her fingers tangled in his hair and clawed at his shoulders. "Kay…"
The night became a surreal blur of sex and heat and sweat, the taste of her, the feel of her, the sound of her. And when she tightened around him, back arcing in ecstasy, he spilled himself inside of her and was momentarily paralyzed by the rapture that traveled the entire course of his nervous system, starting in his groin and ending in his brain.
Atton lay back against the wall with her in his arms, her head in the crook of his neck, and breathed. He closed his eyes, focused on how relaxed and satisfied he felt, how good it was to hold her like this, her naked body against his.
"Do you know what you do to me?" he whispered.
"Yes," she replied quietly as she gently laid her hand on his chest, fingers splayed over his heart. "The same thing you do to me."
He grinned and looked at her, relished the small smile she gave him. "I bet you're wondering how you went so long following the Code."
Khara laughed softly. "No… just that I'm glad I did. That I followed it long enough to meet you."
Atton felt his libido stir once more and flipped their position so that her back was flat against the bed and he lay on top of her, his eyes hooded with renewed desire.
"Oh, Kay," he rasped, "you have no idea what you do to me. But you will." He kissed her deeply. "Come morning, you'll know exactly what you do to me."
Atton wrapped his arms around her and stifled any protest with his mouth.
