{Disney owns Star Wars universe and characters, not me. Warning: depictions of physical arousal, sexual acts, nudity, general erotica, adult language. 18+ only, please.}
The tension, he decided, was not imagined.
He dragged his fingers through uncomfortably long hair, relishing the hot water shower. The bathing station was outdoors, giving him an opportunity to take in the gorgeous countryside over the floating cylindrical modesty shield. A pond and a lake shone in the late afternoon sun, far down the hill at either end of his view. There was a field of wild grasses, green and brown, running between the farm proper and a steeper hill in the distance, heavily wooded in dense, ancient deciduous trees. Their bold summer green reminded him…
Fragmented memory showed him things he wanted desperately to remember in full.
Her nipples, for instance, were a shady forest shadow color, fully black at the teat. He could almost remember how they tasted…
"I have some soap just for hair, if you want it."
He jolted in guilty shock, hand flying from the area he had been absently massaging.
"Oh... just… set it on the ledge, I'll get it."
Something dully clicked against stone behind him.
"You're welcome."
"Uhh, thank- thank you."
He heard her take a hissing breath before her footsteps retreated.
That was relevant. She liked to be thanked…? He took note.
That hissing breath she took was another fragment. It preceded a sound… a vowel.
Sssshh… Aah!
He stifled a cry of his own; his ejaculate swirled down the drain at his feet.
The tension was most definitely not imagined.
He remembered something. She knew it. Maybe not enough to know for sure, but his gaze lingered on her all throughout third meal. She felt it on her skin, like feathers.
She had slaughtered and roasted a shantak hen, and even bothered to descale it after plucking. She made a chilled side of the richest organs- the two hearts and three livers were her favorite parts, so sweet- and a dash of black vinegar. She had also sautéed quartered jogun fruit with antarian peas in shantak fat. It was the best fat, in her opinion. Smoky and rich with umami. She mused for a moment that she could always be a chef after her looks left her, and smiled.
"Something funny?" Din asked.
Din. His name was Din. Like calling a mute a foghorn. She laughed out loud.
"I make jokes in my head. They're not always funny to other people."
He smirked, taking another bite of organ chutney.
"The food is delicious. You'll... have to give me lessons."
"Oh?" She cocked an eyebrow. "You want to cook?"
"I'd like to know some basics, anyway. Outside of spit-roasting something field dressed."
"You hunt?"
"Only when necessary."
They ate in silence for a few minutes, their shared intimacy a cord pulled tight between them.
She wanted to see him naked in the light. It had been too dark, the night previous. His chestnut hair, now clean and combed, lay on his shoulders. It had been tied back last night. She would have liked it loose for her to run her fingers through it, to tug at it. She jumped to her feet, remembering something.
"If you liked that paloflower cognac, you'll love this driss wine I've been saving. It's made from a squash instead of a blossom, but it still has a hint of spice. Wait a tick and I'll unstop the bottle for us."
He made a quiet sound of protest, but she set about in the kitchen getting the cups and bottle anyway. Before he could stop her, there was a full cup of opaque, sickly-yellow liquid in front of him. He picked up his clay cup and inspected the beverage. There were black bits floating in it. He visibly tried not to gag.
"After my overindulgence last night, I'd just as well have water, if it's not too much trouble."
"Oh. Of course. I completely understand."
She winced, regretting her enthusiasm and damning her luck. She wasn't sure she could crack open that shell again without booze.
They ate in silence again for what felt like an age.
Din sipped his water, grateful he felt almost completely better. The hangover had been rough. Prior to his fall from normalcy, he had rarely indulged in anything that compromised his higher functions. It was dangerous, especially when one wore their most prized possessions for every potential brigand and opportunistic murderer to see. Losing his son had changed his view.
He had been lucky last night. He hesitated to let it happen again, even in seemingly safe environs.
The food was decadent, easily the best meal he'd had in decades, maybe ever. Experience taught him not to ask about ingredients. He had eaten many strange things in his travels, and it helped not to know the origin of his proteins. He knew it didn't matter, so long as it didn't kill him. He trusted her more than that.
Her arms were exposed to the shoulder, as she was wearing a silky black shift- different from her work dress. The neckline plunged below the level of her decolletage; two straps of silk formed an X across her verdant cleavage as if barring the way from intruders, or holding back her breasts from escape. Either notion was intriguing.
The food was almost gone from both their plates. The tension remained electric in the kitchen air. The words danced behind his teeth. He wanted to tell her that he knew, he knew. The fact she hadn't admitted the act they committed only made it more difficult to spit the words out. She had all but asked him to stay with her. This was not the behavior of a victim. Yet, he felt guilt, even now. Women were strange and unpredictable creatures, regardless of species. A victim might feed a predator if only to lull it to sleep for the death stroke. But that did not track at all with Fuleen. She was eager to please because she knew loneliness. Because she sensed the similar emptiness in him. Perhaps, because he had… done something right even in his alcoholic fugue.
That sound she had made.
It wasn't faked. It had been genuine.
It haunted him. He needed to hear her make it again.
Words got in the way.
He caught her by the wrist as she stood by him to take his empty plate.
She met his gaze, honey eyes wide, expectant.
He rose, taking her face in his hands, and kissed her black, full lips. She wilted under him, grasping the back of his neck like a woman falling off a cliff. She was the one to bridge the gap between their mouths, tongue breaking the seal of his dry lips. He met it with his own, hesitantly, as this act was new to him. But her taste… perhaps the taste of that repulsive wine- was full of tantalizing spice and intoxicating sweetness. He let go of the wall he built to protect himself, grasping her around the waist and pulling her deeper into the intimate gesture. He probed her mouth with his tongue, drawing a moan from deep in her throat, causing his semi-erect member to twitch.
She broke the connection to gasp breath, resting her green forehead against his.
"How much do you remember?"
"I remember we both… enjoyed ourselves. I hope like hell I remember that right."
She grinned and chuckled evilly. "You remember correctly."
He grinned as well, catching her up in his arms. Her legs clamped around his waist automatically, causing him to almost stumble, eliciting a giggle from Fuleen. He carried her comically to the bedroom this way, laughter echoing in the arched hallway.
They left the light on this time.