(prompt request: "a kiss... for luck." Nine/Theron. NSFW.)
you've got this
"You've got this," Theron says for probably the tenth time in an hour as he turns away from the shuttle's controls to look at her. "It's going to be fine."
Nine ignores him and keeps pacing. She's been on edge all morning- Valkorion's doing, as per usual. The mission's straightforward enough, a quick run on an outpost with Theron slicing her a path in and out, but since Arcann's escape and Vaylin's ascension the voice in her head's been a little louder every day, his patience thinner and his insults more pointed; her nerves are stretched wire-taut, the tension in her body humming so loud that some days she thinks it must be audible.
Rationally, she could run this op in her sleep with one hand tied behind her back. But-
Counting helps a little, the repetition a marginal distraction. (Drinking helps a little more, but that's a line she won't cross, not in the field.) So she walks back and forth, back and forth, counting her steps as she traverses the bridge until finally she turns around and Theron's standing in her path with his arms folded across his chest.
"It's going to be fine," he says again as she nearly collides with him, reaching out to take her by both wrists. "Talk to me."
"I know it will." She makes a face but stops her pacing. His hands slide up her bare skin- she hasn't even finished getting dressed yet, still in her undershirt with her jacket draped over a nearby chair but they've still got half an hour to go and it's not like he or Lana care, anyway- to wrap around her shoulders and pull her in close. "Unfortunately for me-" she glances toward the still-shut cabin door; the two of them monopolized it far too often and Lana needed rest so they'd given her the luxury of privacy today- "I'm not any good at meditation, and someone's decided now's the perfect time to revisit the various and sundry ways I've fucked up this week. Apparently there have been quite a few."
Theron frowns. "Again?"
"I'm used to it." She shrugs, leaning forward against his chest. "It's just interrupting my prep routine, that's all."
"Can I help?" His lips brush across her forehead and the noise in her head recedes.
"You can do that again."
"Hm. I think I can do one better," he murmurs. Her hair's pinned up already; he knows better than to muss it but the pressure of his fingers on the nape of her neck eases the tension from her muscles and makes her head tilt back, lifts her chin up to bring her mouth level with his.
For a moment her mind quiets, the only noises external- the hum of the engine and the soft in-and-out of Theron's breath, the little happy sound he makes as he feels her relax against his body. With her thoughts her own she can finally, finally focus on something, even if it's only this-
(Not only, not even close to the right word. To say only would be to diminish it. She might as well say only air, only water, only gravity, as though she could survive without those any more than she could without him.)
"Again," she says, and winds her arms around his waist.
He grins. "Kisses for luck?"
"I don't need luck." Her teeth catch his lower lip, nipping sharp until he hisses and digs his nails along the edges of her spine. They don't have time for this, not really. But she needs grounding, needs to center herself, and if this it what it takes sometimes to drive the noise away he doesn't seem to mind. "I have you."
"You do. You always do." A pause, grip shifting down to the curve of her hips, and then- "Where-"
She lets her own hands wander in counterpoint. "Not the cabin. 'fresher?"
"Not much room-" the end of it's a shape of a word against her neck. He lifts her up like it's nothing, already moving, the door to the little space sliding open- "but-"
"Don't need room. Need-"
They didn't need room on Yavin either, after all. All they need is just enough space to stand and something to brace against, their bodies still mostly clothed save for half-lowered trousers; Theron's hand presses tight over her mouth so she can be as loud as she pleases when they fuck, the last of her tension vented in muffled cries into his cupped palm, and he bites into her shoulder hard enough to bruise- she likes it, the marks he leaves on her, she's told him so, and even if she hadn't he can read it in the arch of her back and the way she comes, quick and gunshot-sharp once and then again and then again as he shudders and breathes her name against her swollen skin.
"Is that for luck, too?" She looks back at him, kisses his forehead before he has a chance to move away, and he opens his eyes and laughs and nips at her opposite shoulder with a flick of his tongue that makes her squirm.
"Call it incentive," he says. "I know how you are about symmetry, but you're not getting the other one until tonight."
Oh, you-
She grins. "Well, then. I suppose I've got this after all."