Anakin was sitting in the captain's chair on the bridge of the Ravelin, wearing the Imperial officer's jacket jacket he'd stolen from Chimaera, with the belt unbuckled and the lapels flapping open, redecorated with the insigina of the ship's commander.
It had seemed like an appropriate wardrobe modification, after their impromptu exploration of the captain's cabin - the larger rank badge on the lapel made clear that he was in command, but the pockets at the shoulders carried the code cylinders he needed to unlock the ship's systems and secure areas, and the ID that opened the rest of the hatches automatically was built into the belt-buckle.
Those were the sorts of practicalities he was starting to have to figure out now. The frigate was holding position a short jump outside the Darlyn Boda system, with Anakin ready to act as pilot if any trouble showed up, Tahiri interrogating the prisoners in the brig, Jaina getting acquinted with the engines - her engines, she said with the first full-sized smile he'd seen from her in weeks - and the astro-droids tidying up the last of the mess from the battle.
They were waiting for the Yavin Turtle to come back from its trip to Darlyn Boda, where Lowie had gone to drop off Ensign Verrer and the rest of the Imperial defectors. There was a tangible irony to having arrived at the planet that had been the endpoint of the freighter's derailed jump, roughly twenty years ahead of schedule. They'd talked about trying to recruit some new crewers in the shadowport, but they reckoned that being stuck twenty years in the past imposed certain obligations - their priority was getting back to their own time, and they ought to avoid actively interfering in anything they hadn't run across by chance.
Anakin's thoughts kept going back to the captain's quarters - redecorated now with the impression of their naked bodies against the windows in the main cabin, the curve of Tahiri's outline and the frontal hardness of his own muscles, and the tangled twist of sheets on the captain's bed. They'd managed to find three places to have sex in the restroom, too.
There were, he decided, some definite consolations to being trapped two decades in the past with his girlfriend and an Imperial frigate of their own. And he was starting to have some ideas about what they could do next, as well.
The hatch at the rear of the bridge slid open, and he heard high-heeled footsteps step onto the deck, marching smartly across the crew pits and up the steps to the command position. Tahiri had evidently found herself a pair of shoes.
"Hi, Tahiri," he said, without really looking round.
She seemed amused, so he turned to glance in her direction, and then his eyebrows lifted. "Oh. Hi."
She was wearing an Imperial officer's uniform - full uniform, unlike his borrowed jacket, and perhaps a size too small for comfort, but that meant that it just fitted even better, with the grey tunic and breeches clasped tightly to her body's taut curves, and she had slipped into an Imperial posture, too, straight-backed and high-heeled, with her shoulders back and her chin tilted high. She had pinned up her hair beneath the uniform cap, as well. It suited her.
"Lieutenant Veila reporting for duty, sir," she answered, in a delicious attempt at a Corewards accent. It came out sort-of Mid-Rim, but in a complex, strangely classy way, with the Coruscant inflection adding to the natural colour of her Tatooine voice. She was also trying her hardest not to smile, but her green eyes danced with suppressed amusement as she glanced sideways at him.
"Sit down, Lieutenant," he ordered, smiling back at her. Anakin was sure he wanted her close, but not quite sure he wanted to run the risk of getting naked right in front of the bridge viewports with her, just before Lowie got back with the freighter.
"Co-pilot's station, or captain's lap, sir?" she teased, stepping towards the back of his chair, then leaning over, and offering him a shoulder massage. She didn't need to tell him that she could sense the tension in his muscles through the Force, but her eyebrows asked a different question, backed up by a faint, non-regulation smile playing on her lips.
Who was he trying to fool? "We haven't had sex on the command deck yet," he observed, with a smile as he looked up at her. "Have we?"
"Is that an order, Captain Solo?" she inquired, kneading his shoulders in a way that provoked very un-relaxed responses lower down his body.
"Yes," he said, liking every implication of her question. "It is."