(Prompt: kisses because I missed you and you shouldn't stay away so long)

When he walks into the cantina Nine's sitting at the bar, nursing her second glass of whiskey, and when he slips behind her barstool to wrap his arms around her waist she looks back over her shoulder with one eyebrow raised.

"Hello, stranger," she drawls. "Do I know you?"

"Very funny."

"You look awfully familiar. Like this SIS agent I met years ago on a joint op." As she says it she relaxes into him; his huff of mock indignation tickles the back of her neck. "He hasn't called me in almost three weeks, though, so I assume he must have been eaten by a sarlacc or-"

Theron mutters under his breath. "You know I was on comm blackout, or I would have-"

She keeps talking over him as Lana, beside her, starts to snicker into her wineglass. "-or drove his speeder off a cliff or something equally dramatic-"

"That happened one time. And that was not my fault."

"-but really, the resemblance is remarkable," she finishes, swiveling in her chair until she's half-facing him in the circle of his arms, perfectly straightfaced over the rim of her glass as she takes a sip and sets it down. "I was quite fond of him, you know, and at the moment I'm feeling rather lonely. So I suppose you'll do."

Theron blinks for a moment- he's tired, she can tell, both from the long op and from travel lag, his circadian rhythms entirely out of sorts- before he catches on and sighs melodramatically at her. "I made it back two days early and everything. I thought it'd be a nice surprise."

"Do I like surprises?" She taps one finger against the tip of his nose.

"You-" he scrunches up his face at her touch- "do not. But-"

"I missed you." She leans in until his mouth brushes hers; Theron tastes of caf and adrenal stims and hasn't shaved in a week, at least, the scruff on his chin rough against her face. "Comm silence notwithstanding, don't stay away so long next time."

"Is that an order?"

She nods, pretending sternness, sitting up straighter. "Definitely. Five day maximum, I think, effective retroactively. Exceptions to be negotiated on an individual basis."

"And I was gone thirteen- definitely in trouble, then. Tell me there's not a form," he mock-grumbles, grinning. "I hate forms."

"For you?" One more kiss, lingering, before she slips off the seat to stand up beside him. He steals a sip from her discarded glass and then catches her by one wrist, starting to draw her away from the bar; she lets herself be led toward the door. "I might be persuaded to skip the paperwork."

"I can be pretty persuasive."