Soon, babe. Very soon.
This wait tho.
Will u come to me? This is not a drill. I don't know when I'll be back home again after this weekend.
We need to be careful. Getting busted by Lady V isn't like getting caught by Azamin.
Since when are you shy? My girl is bold. My girl is fierce.
Yes. But ya girl's not stupid.
I need to see you. I live to see you.
You mostly live to see the Joint Chiefs to show off your flashy battle plan, right? Don't think I don't know that.
You'll be marrying a lover and a fighter, Lady Malgus. Deal with it.
Call me that again in person?
Soon, babe. Very soon.
Soon isn't fast enough. The anticipation of a reunion with Gaius is killing Portia. She counts the days and then the hours until her secret boyfriend returns to Dromund Kaas. He'll be getting in late when she'll be at his home for a sleepover with his 'little sister' Julia. It will look like the usual Friday night to Mother and Lady V. Only Julia will know what's really afoot.
So after eating all the carbs and then some at Friday night's dinner—no diet police at Julia's!—she and Julia kill time primping in anticipation of Gaius. Lady V pokes her head in every now and then to check on things. She finds her and Julia dressed in their nighties doing what they usually do at sleepovers—play around with hairstyles and makeup while they take pictures to send to other friends. Sweet Lady V brings in milk and cookies—forbidden yummy cookies!—before announcing that she's going to bed and they should soon too. Lady Vindican tells them that Gaius' transport has been delayed, so don't be alarmed if they hear him come in very, very late. Portia, of course, knows of this development already thanks to her comlink. But she dutifully smiles, nods, and bids her hostess thank you and goodnight.
Hours later, Gaius finally arrives. By now, Julia is dozing from the sugar crash aftermath of too many cookies. Portia, however, is wide awake. She glories for a few seconds in the mental jolt that is the advent of Gaius Veradun. He's impossible to miss with his characteristic giant Force imprint. She's been dreaming of this young man and fantasizing about their reunion since she fled into her house dripping wet from Darth Azamin's sprinklers. And now that he's actually here, she is very excited.
Portia brushes her hair, powders her nose, and touches up her lip gloss. These are unnecessary preparations since she's been primping for hours now. But has she waited long enough? She's eager, but she doesn't want to seem too eager. Gaius needs to anticipate her a little. He needs to worry if she's coming. But oooooh, she can hardly wait herself. Twenty minutes later, Portia gives up any pretense of playing hard to get. She creeps to the Apprentice suite down the back hallway.
The door slides open as she walks up. Her Force imprint has preceded her as well, it seems. Gaius appears fresh from a shower, with little beads of moisture glistening on his bare shoulders. He stands in the doorway barefoot and shirtless wearing only a pair of slouchy pants.
"You came . . ." he breathes out, like he can't quite believe it.
Portia nods and never gets a chance to reply. Because as she opens her mouth to speak, Gaius greedily tugs her forward. He waves the door closed with the Force and claims her lips with his own. She's pressed tightly against his damp chest, a willing captive in strong arms. His kiss is every bit as exciting as Portia remembers and even better than she has fantasized.
When they both come up for air, he's grinning. "You came . . ." Gaius looks thrilled at his good fortune.
"Welcome home, my Lord," Portia gushes, matching his enthusiasm.
"Did anyone hear you?"
"I gave Julia a little Force sleep."
"You didn't!"
"I gave Lady V some too," Portia giggles.
"You are a very bad girl," Gaius chides, his eyes dancing. "I love it. Now, kiss me again."
Portia needs no further encouragement. She still has her arms entwined around his neck. It's an easy thing for her to pull him down for more passion. They fit together so perfectly. Everything about them feels so right in this moment.
That effortlessness causes things to escalate fast. Under her nightgown, her breasts are free of the tight bra Mother now insists that she wear. Mother might consider large breasts to be an embarrassment but Gaius clearly thinks otherwise. His hands roam all over them now, shamelessly squeezing, kneading, and palming them. The movement drags the thin fabric of her nightie across her excited nipples and the sensation makes her gasp with pleasure. Portia moans into his mouth, encouraging him to go further.
"Force," Gaius groans in response. "You're so beautiful. I want you . . . I want you so much . . ."
Portia understands completely She wants him back in equal measure. She's absolutely loving this feeling. And yes, it's physical. But it's so much more. For lack of a better word, Portia feels appreciated. Here is the praise she longs to hear from her critical minded Mother. It's the male attention she doesn't get nearly enough as a fatherless daughter. It's also the physical touch that she didn't know she craves. Her family has never been especially demonstrative about their love. Best of all, it's all wrapped up in a delicious sense of daring. Every single adult Portia knows would condemn what she's doing. They would fault both her actions and her choice of lover. Bad enough that she is in the arms of a young Lord in his bedroom. But worse still—he's the widely disliked colonial random.
Well, damn the haters. Because Portia has discovered how uniquely attractive her big, pale swain is. His tall muscled bulk is the perfect match for her own noteworthy stature. Portia feels feminine and delicate next to Gaius, which almost never happens. Plus, he's got that long, almost beautiful face which contrasts with his glaringly bald head. It's a mix of masculine and feminine attributes that demands a second glance. Quite simply, no one looks like Gaius. And that's a good thing, Portia has decided. He's distinctive, like she is. And together, they will one day publicly make a striking couple.
Each kiss dissolves into another kiss as his hands explore her body. The heat that is building between them feels so natural. Like this is right, not wrong. Like it's inevitable, not intentionally foolish. Like the Force wants them together even if no one else does.
It emboldens her further. As Gaius' hands continue to worship her breasts and bottom, Portia lets her hands wander down to the waistband of his pants. They are the light, loose, comfy type meant for sleep. That allows the evidence of Gaius' passion to poke through unmistakably. Portia has to suppress a nervous giggle. She's been curious ever since she received that dick pic. So, feeling a little proud to have elicited such a response and more than a little daring for actually experiencing it in the flesh, Portia lets her hands explore further downward.
Gaius lets out a deep guttural groan of pleasure.
She smiles into his kiss, suddenly feeling powerful. Like she's a virgin femme fatale. After all, this is the most dangerous Lord in the Empire and he's putty in her hands. It's the motivation Portia needs to be extra, extra daring. She now slips her hand beneath the slack waistband of Gaius' pants. She wants to feel him without any fabric between them.
Gaius expels a yelp of surprise and flinches.
Portia yanks her hand back and gives a little shriek. "I-I'm s-sorry!" She clearly went too far. Her seductress bravado instantly deserts her. The spell of the moment is broken and now it's awkward . . . painfully awkward.
"I'm sorry!" Her face flames with embarrassment.
"Don't be," he rasps. "It's just—"
"I know! I've never done this before—"
"Yes! I mean, me neither. But don't stop. Please don't stop."
"Okay . . ." she nods, still feeling very uncertain.
Portia now blinks at him questioningly. Waiting for him to make his move.
But Gaius blinks back and just stands there.
She's passive and he's passive, and now they're at a bit of an impasse for what happens next. Does this mean it's her turn to make the overture? Portia's fine with that. Girls like Apollonia might prefer to sit coyly, casting lures as they wait to be chased. But Portia has no problems with being aggressive for what she wants, and tonight she wants Gaius. So, tentatively she lifts the hand that just cupped his manhood up to cup his cheek. The bold lust of moments ago is replaced by shy tenderness. "I hope tomorrow goes well," she murmurs.
"It will." He turns his head slightly to kiss her open palm and smiles. "Angral will be there to keep me in line. It won't be a repeat of the throne room."
The way Gaius says this betrays now nervous he is despite his confident words. It makes her want to reassure him. To boost his confidence, like he at times has boosted hers. "You'll have them hanging on every word," Portia promises as she pulls him closer for another thorough kiss.
But does he think she's some aggressive whore? She's acting like one. But Portia suspects that Gaius understands her risk taking. He seems to realize that her boldness with him and in other situations is a testament to her quiet desperation about life in general currently. While she has a lot to lose with this romance, that circumstance could change quickly due to events beyond her control. So rather than sit obediently on the sidelines until the war ends, she's looking to live a little. And that means when Gaius starts to guide her fumbling hands lower, she lets him lead her.
"Let's try this again," he whispers.
"Alright." She slips her hand beneath the waistband of his pants to fondle what she's only seen a picture of.
"Don't stop," Gaius chokes out. "Don't stop . . . "
But stopping is the issue really. Because they both know that this tryst can't go much further. Sex among the Sith elite has rules, and they are clear. Every Lady goes to her wedding ceremony a virgin knowing that she will be ritually deflowered on the Temple altar table according to long tradition. Every Lord knows he can't touch a Lady until a ring is on her finger, the vows are said, and their palms are slashed and bloody. Sex partners are life partners, monogamous both from societal expectations and lack of opportunities to cheat. There are no affairs among their kind. No premarital experimentation either. Sex is exclusively within the confines of marriage.
This 'heavy petting' and 'touching'—the 'making out'— as the very talkative housemaid at her family's summer estate called it—is unheard of. And for good reason, Portia is discovering. Because putting the brakes on desire isn't easy. Gaius doesn't want her to stop. She doesn't want to stop either. Her body has never felt so alive. It feels like it's throbbing with anticipation. She's slick and he's hard and they are in the privacy of his bedroom. It wouldn't take much more for things to get completely out of hand. For that's how combustible their young, curious passion is.
Even in his excited state, Gaius knows what she's thinking. "We need to stop," he pants with halfhearted enthusiasm.
She agrees, whispering between kisses. "We need to stop." It's a mixed message, and she knows it.
"I won't dishonor you . . . I would never dishonor you . . . but damn . . . all I want is to dishonor you . . ."
His words bring more thrill than threat. Because Portia knows that if Gaius threw her down on his bed and hiked up her nightgown, she might not bother with the pretense of fighting him. That's how precarious—how inherently dangerous—this situation is. They won't go to bed together. They can't go to bed together. But they both want to go to bed together.
"You're killing me . . ." Gaius moans as she keeps stroking her hand down below, hoping she's accurately emulating what that summer housemaid called a 'hand job.' "You're killing me . . . I'm so hard it hurts . . ."
"Good." Portia's being a tease and she knows it.
What would the summer housemaid do if she were in her place? The worldly-and-proud-of-it maid had described herself as 'technically a virgin,' since she was far from innocent. But that gives Portia inspiration for a way out of their mutual predicament. She decides that it's time to escalate from a hand job to a blowjob. It will give them both more of what they want. Plus, she gets an up-close peek at what she's only seen in a picture and felt with her hand.
So, breaking their embrace, she looks Gaius in the eye and tells him to sit down in the bedroom lounge chair in the corner of the room.
He looks dubious and disappointed, misunderstanding the request as her way of putting the brakes on. But he complies.
Portia follows him. She thrusts the ottoman footstool out of the way, sinks to her knees before him, and rests her hands upon his thighs.
Awareness dawns on Gaius' face. "You're not . . . You're not going to . . ."
"I am," she declares softly with more moxy than she feels. But here goes. Reaching her hands up his thighs as he slides down deeper towards the edge of the chair, her hands end up cupping him again through his clothing. "Let me see," she coaxes.
Gaius can't lift his hips fast enough to yank down his pants.
And there it is revealed. Pale pink and erect with a mushroom head. It's hot and throbbing in her hand. Maybe she should be intimidated, but she's not.
Gaius stares down at her in abject fascination at she perches closer and leans in. He lets loose a hiss of "Yessssss," when her lips first touch him.
If he was putty in her hands before, he is completely hers to command now. For as her lips and tongue begin to explore, he throws his head back, eyes closed, in an unmistakable posture of submission. His hands sink deep to the roots of her hair to hold her in place as she starts to devour him. She sucks. She licks. She drags her fingers and mouth along the underside of his shaft. She's toying with him and loving it. But it's all over soon as Gaius suddenly shudders and flinches as he climaxes in her mouth.
It's an unfamiliar sensation and a strange taste. Not bad. Just different, she decides.
Portia pulls pack, swipes the hair that has fallen in front of her face, and licks her lips.
Gaius is sitting back, spent and looking more than a little shocked and pleased.
"You're amazing," he exhales, his voice soft and husky in the aftermath of passion.
Portia smiles up at him and then crawls into his lap. It's an awkward array of flesh. There's too much of both of them occupying the chair. Arms and legs spill out everywhere. But it's perfect. If this is afterglow, it's terrific. Portia can't remember ever feeling so physically and emotionally close to another person.
Gaius strokes her hair as she nestles into his chest. He tells her, "Thank you," and it sounds as if she has bestowed upon him the most precious gift. "I will earn the right to marry you," he promises. His sincerity resonates in the Force. "You are meant to be my lady."
"I will wait as long as it takes," she vows in return. She will find a way to defer marriage as long as possible. And maybe by then, her family will be so grateful that she's finally marrying that they will accept Gaius as her bridegroom.
They have so little time together, but she and Gaius use it to maximum effect. Intermingled with one another in the big easy chair, they talk and talk. This is real conversation, not posturing with one-liners from behind a comlink keyboard with hours lapsing between replies. This is an exchange of hopes and dreams and fears set against a backdrop of war. They're two young people with their whole lives ahead of them, but that future is very uncertain. She sees the war as threatening, possibly upending everything she was raised to expect in life. He sees the war as his big opportunity. It's the forum where merit finally wins out. But neither of them has any illusions about how serious and far reaching the war's consequences might be.
Things aren't going well, Gaius confides. They're not awful, but they're not good. We've captured a lot of useless territory that will be difficult to defend. Gaius posits that if the Republic didn't bother to put up a fight to keep its Rim worlds, why should the Empire worry about keeping them? But we will, he predicts grimly, and that might turn into a bloody quagmire with little upside. The Republic will regroup and by that time they will have seen many of our tactics. We're foolishly revealing ourselves to gain meaningless worlds, he grouses. When we finally make a push into their Core sector, they will know what to expect. An informed adversary is a more difficult opponent, he worries.
She worries too. The war won't be over in a year or two. Even she can see that. At the current glacial pace of territorial advancement, it will be ten years or more before the Dark Side brings the fight to the main Republic worlds. No one said that the revenge of the Sith would be easy or quick, but still . . . That's a long time to keep their society mobilized to fight and sacrifice. Already, the casualty numbers have been raising eyebrows. The Sith war machine that so efficiently conquered and policed hundreds of colonial worlds seems surprisingly less adept at subduing a real opponent.
What will a long war mean? It will mean lives put on hold until a faraway date when things become normal again. Or maybe it will mean a new normal during which things are far less certain and you simply have to live with it. Portia is determined to be open to change, but she freely admits that it scares her at times. Me too, Gaius agrees, me too. Change you can control is one thing, he judges. But rampant change run amok is threatening. And as the conversation continues, that grandiose theme—the impact of a transformative war-hangs in the air. Both she and Gaius each return to it again and again. For while defeat and victory look equally likely at this point, the certainty of forever change seems clear. What will that mean for them? Only time will tell.
As always, Gaius speaks with his colonial drawl. His words are flat and long voweled despite all his time among the Empire's elite. To others' ears, the accent probably reaffirms his lowly status. But to Portia's, it confers street hardened authority. Gaius Veradun might be clueless about a lot of things, but when he speaks of war, he knows what he's talking about. Will the Joint Chiefs perceive it the same way tomorrow? Portia hopes so. But she worries that they will only see what she first saw: that young Darth Malgus doesn't fit in. And that's largely because he transcends the categories of the Sith caste system. Gaius embodies a lot of the change that might be coming.
More and more, Gaius' personal experience is opening her eyes to just how rigid and limiting her society is. There are far more colonials than there are Lords and Ladies, and yet she and the rest of her class are oblivious to the common peoples' struggles and successes. Until recently, Portia had never given a thought to the servants who cook her food and clean her house. She's never appreciated the myriad of doctors, lawyers, accountants, teachers, and other educated professionals who do the white-collar work of the Empire either. She has considered them to be necessary flunkies who support the Force-strong families like her own that do the real work of the Sith—namely, glory, conquest, and revenge. But those commoners are real people with hopes and dreams and value even if they don't have the Force. And lately, their conscripts are dying in droves for the war effort, their lives forfeit for a set of ideals they will never fully participate in.
It prompts her to wonder aloud who is the Empire? And what is the Empire exactly? She has always assumed it was the story of the struggle of people like herself—the descendants of the long-ago Dark Jedi exiles who intermingled with the ethnic Sith. The Empire from its earliest undertakings was obsessed with the desire for revenge and the need to demonstrate the superiority of its ideology. In time, a great religious and cultural schism arose as the acolytes of the Dark Side flourished in hiding on the edge of the galaxy.
But where does that leave Force-blind colonials today? They are the workaday stiffs who run the factories and the economy. They do the labor while their Force-strong betters make the decisions. Just how long will that system last? And how might it change if the Sith rule the galaxy and soon there are four hundred percent more colonial laymen folded into the Empire? And most importantly, what happens when all those new Imperial citizens are not of a mindset that is used to taking orders?
Moreover, what will it mean for the Sith to achieve their ultimate goal of galactic domination? What will the purpose of the Empire be at that point? For countless generations, the Sith have self-identified as the wronged, misunderstood outcasts of the Republic. They are the underdog upstarts who constantly plot their big comeback. But . . . then what?
Portia has more questions than answers, as does Gaius. Their wide-ranging late-night discussion goes places Portia never thought possible. After the war, could she live in the Republic? How would she feel about being the face of the enemy among conquered people? It could be much harder than the usual viceroy post, Gaius warns. These days, almost all Imperial colonial worlds are content, with little unrest. It won't be that easy to rule the Republic, Gaius predicts. Would she be willing to take on a challenging and maybe dangerous life at his side? Could she help him to shape the new Empire that is to come? Because while the big decisions might be made here on Dromund Kaas, the real work will occur on the other side of the galaxy. That's where the opportunity will be, Gaius thinks, and he plans to be a part of it.
Portia decides that she's all in. If she's going to be Lady Malgus, she's needs to embrace Gaius' vision of the future and his role in making it. It's exciting, truthfully. Apollonia can stay here with boring Traverse to live a version of their mother's and grandmothers' lives. But she will help the Sith usher in a new phase of history by subduing and assimilating the enemy territories. For she is in complete agreement with Gaius that victory will transform the Empire.
Gaius approves of her Temple work. He is supportive of her developing her Force skills, whether it's in the foresight circle or with her sword lessons. He thinks that someday she might be called upon to help run a Temple in the Republic. Who knows? Maybe she will be asked to mentor female Jedi converts and take on a quasi-Apprentice. The Republic will need female role models to emulate, he reasons. She might be called upon to lead by example to demonstrate the virtues of a Dark Lady. All those celibate mannish Jedi nuns will need instruction, Gaius predicts.
It's a fun exercise to daydream together out loud about a successful and important future. To brainstorm about them living together on the frontier of galaxy. It would be a life of significance. A chance to do big things that matter. And not just from the reflected glory of her mate, but in Portia's own right potentially. She would do the usual life script of marriage and children, of course. But amid those vocations she could carve out time for meaningful public service. Let Apollonia stay behind here planning dinner parties and galas, and rotating on and off museum boards. She'll been in the Republic doing things that truly matter. Because for Portia, left behind at home bored and stuck reading about the war, this all sounds very exciting. What Gaius is talking about could well be the cure to her restlessness.
It all seems simultaneously far away and yet enticingly imminent as they loll in one another's arms in the wee hours of the morning. They've moved to the bed by now to be more comfortable. The rush of lust has faded and now they are dozing on and off as they cuddle.
Not long before dawn, a sharp bark outside the door gets their attention. It's Milady.
"She knows you're in here," Gaius surmises as he absently strokes her arm.
Portia lifts her head from his chest. "Think she can smell me?"
"Maybe. Dogs don't have the Force, but they have heightened senses."
"I guess I need to go take her out."
"I'll do it."
"No, let me. It will be the excuse I need if a servant sees me heading back to Julia's bedroom. I need to go and you need to get at least an hour of sleep."
Gaius tugs her closer and mutters, "I don't want to waste a moment with you."
"I know. But you need to be sharp for the Joint Chiefs."
Gaius relents to that wisdom. Portia gives him a lingering kiss and then slips away with Milady.
It's late when she and Julia finally rouse for breakfast. Portia completely misses Gaius' departure for the Palace. She loses her chance to see him respondent in his ceremonial armor. Grabbing her comlink, she texts some last-minute encouragement. You'll be great.
With Gaius here on Dromund Kaas today, his reply arrives instantly. Angral thinks I look tired because I was up late preparing.
Portia heard the whole battle plan presentation last night. Gaius has it down cold. He needs no further cramming. You're going to impress them. And then, you'll get that promotion you want.
She receives the 'fingers crossed' emoji in response. Then, the comlink goes silent as Gaius presents himself to get grilled by the Joints Chiefs.
Happy Portia lingers over breakfast with Julia and Lady V that morning, thinking to herself how wonderful it will be when she marries Gaius and her best friend and her best friend's mother become her actual family. One day, perhaps, she will get the opportunity to meet Gaius' adoptive father, who is his only other living relative.
Thinking back on her own mother's marital advice, Portia feels very good about her secret future plans. She and Gaius check all the boxes of Mother's criteria for a successful match. They share the same goals and ideas for the future, just like Mother had counseled. They get along easily and have no issues communicating. She adores his family. Portia knows that her family's objections will mostly concern Gaius' random background. But putting that huge issue aside, it only leaves the financial arrangements to be settled. But that should be fine. Gaius might not have inherited great wealth from his Master, but he is far from penniless thanks to his accumulating war prizes. And besides, Portia figures she has enough money for both of them.
Later that morning, she bids goodbye to Julia and heads home, surreptitiously sneaking a few looks at her comlink to see if Gaius has sent a text. There's nothing yet. He warned her that the discussion with at the Palace could be long with impromptu follow up meetings afterwards. The longer it goes on, the better, Gaius had predicted. It means that the Joint Chiefs are seriously considering our proposal.
So, Portia wastes the remainder of the day at home. That afternoon, while she's daydreaming about last night and watching Apollonia braid her hair, she finally receives a message. Instantly, her happy, hopeful mood vanishes. This is not the update on the battle briefing to the Joint Chiefs that she was expecting. Instead, it is jolting bad news on a totally different topic.
Your brother is wounded. It's bad.
