Scene 9 – Beginning with Agrippa

Vacy wasn't sure how long they stood there, but it was quite enjoyable. Eventually, though, she nuzzled into the side of his neck, sighed, and stepped back. "So, Mr. … I mean, Darmas…" She smiled shyly. "About those supplies?"

He chuckled, smiling down at her. "Ah, Vacy. I see it's impossible to distract you from your goals."

She winked. "It is! Y'oughta be proud of me," she said, tossing her ponytail. She sashayed over to the couch and flopped down, reached for her flask, then paused, her lips pursed.

"Something wrong?" Darmas asked.

"Well y'see," Vacy explained, "I'm trying to figure out if I'm still tipsy, or if you're the one making the room spin." She wiggled her eyebrows at him. "Why doncha get those supplies an' come sit next to me?"

He laughed again and sighed. "Vacy, you're something else." Crossing the room, he unlocked and opened a large cabinet and drew out a lumpy rucksack. He brought it over and set it on the floor at her feet, then sat down beside her.

Vacy took a few swigs, then offered the bottle to him. "Want some?"

Darmas glanced at it, paused, but shook his head. "I prefer to keep a clear head, my dear. Besides – and no offense – it smells rather dreadful."

"Oh, Darmas," Vacy sighed. "You miss so much." She took another sip to prove it. "Isn't about how it tastes; it's 'bout how it makes you FEEL." Grinning again, she rubbed her belly. "An' it's nice, cuz it makes me all tingly inside." She nudged him with her elbow. "Like you do." And it was also nice to hear his breath suddenly short and sharp.

He leaned over and unfastened the sack. "About these supplies," he said, rummaging through.

Vacy scooted extra-close, leaned over, and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Hope this won't take too too long," she murmured, pressing against him.

With a slow, careful breath, Darmas took out a small pistol. Oddly, it was bright green. "Oh yes? And why is that?"

Cheeks darkening, Vacy grinned broadly. "Oh, well, y'know. Just… cuz. I'm a curious sorta gal, yanno."

Supplies in hand, Darmas just looked at her in puzzlement. "Curious about what?"

Vacy moved against him, her gaze darkening. "Curious how tingly I can make your insides."

Darmas swallowed thickly. He put the green gun on the end table next to the arm of the sofa. "My dear, we can certainly come back to the supplies another time," he said, and he reached over, running his thumb along the curve of her lips.

She shivered, tilting her head back slightly, and then nipped at his thumb with her teeth, lightly flicking her tongue over the tip. He groaned, but as he reached for her, she sat back and took his hands in hers. "N-nope," she stammered, breathing heavily. "We're p'fesh'nals. Finish work… first."

His dark eyes flashed, and he held her gaze without saying anything. Somehow she couldn't move, couldn't look away. "Are you sure?" he rasped.

At the sound of his delicious voice, Vacy's eyes fluttered closed. "Let's finish this quickly," she countered, dodging the question.

She could have sworn that he actually growled as he picked the green pistol back up. "This fires kolto pellets rather than your typical bolts," he said shortly. "This switch sets it to either single-shot, which gives you greater range, or burst, which sprays several pellets but sacrifices range."

"'Kay," Vacy said in a small voice.

Darmas looked over and saw that she held her shoulders close and had her hands clasped tightly in her lap, and he sighed. "I'm sorry, Vacy. It… I hope you can understand if I'm a bit frustrated right now."

"Ahuh." Vacy gave a teeny nod. "I'm sorry."

He smiled gently at her. "No. Don't be. That wasn't fair of me."

She chewed on her lower lip, then reached down into the bag and grabbed … something. "Whatsis?" she asked, holding out a plasteel pad with little soft buttons on it.

"That is a control for a portable medical droid. You can either have it treat you, or you can direct it over toward someone you're helping…" He scooted closer, and draped his arm around her shoulders. "Here – like this."

Vacy found it difficult to concentrate, but she did her best to watch his fingers on the control pad instead of thinking about the strength in his arms, or how soft the skin on his clean-shaven face might be, or how his torso seemed to just radiate warmth. Focus, Vace. Professionalism. You can manage it.

And then he looked at her, and that didn't help matters one bit.