"Oh, look at the time. We're late to practice."
Meetra wakes to discover that she has slept in. Probably because she was so relaxed and sleepy after yet another evening of dinner followed by Force healing followed by sex.
Tony is unconcerned as he plods in from his bathroom, his scarred body naked and damp from the shower. "We're skipping practice this morning."
"Oh." She's disappointed.
He's in her mind. He knows what she's thinking. "Never fear, my dear. You'll get your chance to swing a sword at my head. Today, I'm fake killing you."
That gets her attention. "Really?" She sits up.
"Yes. Take your usual afternoon walk to the pond, but dress as your old self under your cloak. I will find you there, we will duel, and I shall slay you!" Tony declares this intention with a theatrical leer and a pretend lunge brandishing the harmless hair comb he holds.
"Excellent!" she approves.
"We will need to make it look good."
"Okay . . . So, real swords?"
"Yes, and real Force tricks. The fight needs to seem spontaneous and freeform like actual combat."
"Does that mean no rehearsals?"
"No rehearsals. My plan is to disarm you and to fake strangle you. But the rest we will improvise."
"Sounds good." She's all in. But Meetra can't resist teasing a little. "Do I have to lose?" she pouts. "You haven't beaten me yet."
"Regrettably, you must lose. And when we're done, I expect you to pay up with a kiss," Tony adds. He flashes that goofy grin which charms her.
But not today. "I only pay kisses for fair fights," she informs him.
"That reminds me. Think of a new prize for beating me at saber practice."
"You already owe me a lot of rides in that new starship of yours," she reminds him archly.
"Yes, and I plan to pay up today."
"The ship arrives today?"
"This morning. You can take it joyriding so long as you don't crash it."
"It's a deal!" she accepts.
And that's how a few hours later, Meetra is the first person up the ramp of Tony's newly delivered shuttle. Behind them follows a coterie of advisors who will eventually be traveling with Darth Sion on his new ship. On the fringes of the landing pad stand a collection of servants and lower-level Fortress Sion employees, all of whom want a look at the boss' eye-catching new purchase.
"What's with the color?" Meetra leans in to ask under her breath. "Was it on sale?"
"You don't like red?"
"I like red. Just not on starships."
"I paid extra for the red paint and for those black racing stripes on the engines."
"You're serious?"
"Absolutely. I want my ship to have style. The Lord of Pain travels the galaxy in a sweet ride that all others covet."
She can't resist a giggle. "Everyone will certainly know you're coming."
"Then my objective is achieved," Tony decides, sounding very sly Darth Sion from beneath the mask.
His new ship is fully loaded with all sorts of exotic armaments and tech. Much of it doesn't really have an analog in the Republic. Intrigued Meetra puzzles over it. "Hyperspace lane departure warning system? What does that do?"
"It's so we don't fly too close to a star or bounce into a supernova."
"Sounds useful." She looks around the main cabin they're standing in. It's very plush. "There sure are a lot of cupholders in this thing. And a lot of charging ports. But seat warmers . . . who needs seat warmers?"
"Space is cold."
"You can't just grab a blanket?"
"A blanket?" Her suggestion offends notions of Sith masculinity. "Blankets are for children. No self-respecting guy flies snuggled with a blanket," Tony scoffs.
"This is cool—I like the drink and snack dispenser."
"There's a full bar and a small kitchen back by the bunks."
"Look, there's even an onboard repair droid." Meetra wanders over to investigate. "This could come in handy."
"There's a small escape pod in the aft as well. This ship has all the latest safety equipment," Tony assures her. "Back up comm radio and an extra sublight engine too."
"Tell me about the shielding." Meetra starts peppering Tony with questions about hyperfuel efficiency, acceleration capability, lightspeed stats, and the timing for the takeoff and landing protocol.
He's loving her keen interest in his new toy. "So," he asks as he ushers her into the cockpit and urges her to take the pilot seat, "what do you think?"
She beams. "I love it . . . except for the color. But I'll get used to it."
"Good. Pull the ramp and close the hatch." Tony gestures to the controls on her left. The cockpit is mostly familiar to Meetra, except the instruments are reversed to favor the predominantly left-handed Sith. "Start her up. As promised, the first flight is yours, my Lady."
"Co-pilot for me?" Meetra requests, with a second—and this time somewhat dubious—glance at the confusing controls.
"Of course," he accepts. Meetra can sense the smile hidden behind his helmet. "I'm your co-pilot for this and for everything else in life, Lady Sion."
Tony sits down, straps in, and gets to work flipping switches to activate the repulsor lifts. The ship breaks gravity to hover over the landing pad and the onlookers on the ground cheer.
"This is fun," Meetra decides as she starts to take off.
Four planetary orbits, two figure eights, three barrel rolls, and one swooping maneuver to buzz by Fortress Sion later, Meetra returns to land the ship from her maiden voyage. She gets a high-five for her piloting skills from Tony and a few incredulous, maybe even begrudging, nods of approval from Tony's cronies. Then, the group tromps down the ramp together. It's time to get back to work.
"Who taught you to fly so well, milady?" one underling asks.
Meetra looks to Tony, and he nods his permission to answer. They've gotten very good at playacting husband and wife in public, which basically means that Meetra pretends to be subservient and often lets Tony speak for her. It's ostensibly a nod to the male dominated Sith culture, but it's mostly to avoid ignorantly putting her foot in her mouth. Also, people tend not to ask followup questions when Darth Sion answers. He's very good at quelling others' curiosity.
Meetra now replies with a softly spoken, outright lie. "I learned during the war . . . from my late husband."
"Force rest his valiant soul," Tony intones piously on cue.
The crowd of underlings immediately concurs with a chorus of approving head nods.
That exchange pretty much sums up how Lord and Lady Sion are publicly perceived these days. She's the meek little woman with the surprising skills she gained from her war experience. Sion is her magnanimous Lord protector who stepped up to take in a refugee widow. He's unbothered by her atypical background and nonplussed by her tragic backstory. Others take that attitude as their cue to feel the same way. Already, the initial hubbub about Darth Sion's new bride is beginning to die down. She's old news, and that's a good thing.
As instructed, a few hours later, Meetra sets out for her daily walk surreptitiously ready to duel. She wanders far out of sight of Fortress Sion to the edge of the wooded copse that abuts a small pond. She waits for Tony there with her Sith Lady cloak cast off to reveal her old Jedi Exile clothes. Her hair is yanked back in a tight, scrawny ponytail and her face is scrubbed clean of all makeup. She's got her sleeves rolled up to reveal her 'for the Force and for the Republic' tattoo on her right forearm. Her lightsaber hilt hangs blatantly at her waist. All the hallmarks to identify her as the number one most wanted fugitive in the Sith Empire are clearly visible.
Everything is set except . . . where is Tony? She's been hanging out for half an hour waiting for him to arrive to kill her. What's taking so long?
Finally, the bond tingles in the back of her mind. It's awareness of Tony approaching her way. He's close and getting closer still.
Took you long enough.
My meeting ran long. But I'm here to kill you now. I'm bringing a droid to record us, so play along from when you first see me.
Will do. But don't expect me to make it easy for you.
You never disappoint, little Jedi. Do your worst. Make me earn it.
Roger that.
Soon, Tony bursts out from behind a set of bushes. It's an intentionally dramatic entrance.
"So we meet again, Exile," he booms loudly with a ridiculous amount of villainous glee. Hands on hips, his cape lifting behind him with the breeze, helmeted and armored Tony plays the role of vengeful Dark hero impeccably. And sure enough, he's got a camera droid buzzing beside him.
Meetra whirls and endeavors to look surprised. "Sion . . . Darth Sion . . . Only you could be so bold."
Look scared. You don't look scared.
I'm not scared.
You're supposed to be scared. At least light your sword.
Nah. Gotta do some trash talking first. Duels always start with trash talk.
Alright. If you insist.
Meetra stalks forward to plant her feet, cross her arms, and pop out one hip. She looks her foe over with a decided lack of intimidation and calls, "I beat you last time, and I'll beat you again."
"I let you go."
"Hardly," she sniffs. "I killed your posse and you slunk away looking a little more zombie than usual after I was through with you," she boasts.
Not to be outdone, Tony starts in on his own disparaging. "Why are you here? Have you come for me, Jedi? Or did you foolishly think you could hide in my system? I sensed your Light. You cannot hide for long with that ugly Light blazing out."
"Is this backwater world yours?" Meetra feigns ignorance. "You rule this dump?"
"My people are hardworking, Force fearing, loyal citizens of the Empire. Do not insult them," bristling Tony huffs.
Hoping this bickering looks natural since they do it all the time, Meetra pointedly looks around. "Where's your army? Last time, you had your own small army."
"It's just me."
"Good," she smirks. "This should be quick and easy."
Meetra now lights her distinctive blue sword. It ignites with the usual snap-hiss that ends in a low, menacing hum. She can't resist a little showmanship to amp up the big moment. As the Jedi Exile, Meetra feels she owes it to the Order to make a memorable impression. Time for a flashy spin to maximize her badass bitch cred.
You look cute doing that.
Don't get distracted. You're here to kill me.
Right. Recalled to his task, Tony answers her challenge by lighting not one but two red swords with great flourish.
Meetra gapes. Two? Who said you could have two? You get one!
Never fear. You're going to knock one away soon.
I'm not afraid, I'm annoyed. She just got outclassed and the fight hasn't even begun.
Be careful. These are real swords, not practice weapons.
Yes, I know. Try not to cut my arm off. I can't heal that.
Tony executes his own flashy sword twirl now. His move is two handed, so it's considerably more cool than hers. Again, she's thoroughly upstaged.
Sour Meetra snarls as she dips into classic Jedi ready position, "Ready to meet the Force?"
"Overconfidence is your weakness," Tony jeers, sounding irritatingly smug himself.
"Your faith in the Dark Side is yours," she retorts. Her eyes now dart to the hovering camerabot. "What's with the droid?"
"It's here to record your death. It will go viral," he plots.
"You wish!" Meetra snorts. "You didn't leave a mark on me last time, Sion."
"You surprised a broken man who had come as a pilgrim for healing and renewal. I am recovered now, praise be to sacred Darkness. So come at me, infidel, and be vanquished."
With that pious speech, Tony settles into his own ready position pose. Sternly and with maximum foreboding, he vows, "At last, you will pay for your crimes against the Empire. At last, we will have our revenge."
Feeling cheeky in response to all his intense Dark emoting, Meetra shrugs and casually answers, "Whatever," as she starts to swing.
Their pretend battle begins. It's basic cursory moves at the outset. Meetra makes classic Jedi attack passes that Tony easily deflects. She next throws in a few springing leaps and mid-air spins to supplement her swings. Tony hangs back during her acrobatics, as if assessing her unfamiliar fighting style. But as Meetra makes yet another twirling pass, Tony goes on the offensive.
Time to let me show off a little.
If you must.
Tony jabs at her. Meetra leaps back almost lazily. But he comes at her again immediately. They've done this relentless dance of danger before during morning practice. Familiar with his furiously fast stab-and-slash pace, Meetra lets Tony do his thing. She meets him blow for blow, always remaining on the defensive. With a sword in each hand, he is a formidable opponent. She must concentrate to evade him.
Good. Keep falling back. Then disarm me on the right hand when I make the next pass.
She does. Tony gives her a split-second opening, and her sharply hooked riposte sends the hilt in his non-dominant hand sailing into the nearby pond. It lands with a splash. Did they droid get that footage? She hopes so.
Triumphant Meetra scolds, "Do not underestimate my power."
"One sword will kill you just as well," Tony replies grimly as he renews the battle.
They are on equal footing now, both wielding a single blade. They circle one another, each taking a turn at different attack and defense moves. But they are evenly matched, if stylistically dissimilar. Tony makes no headway. So, he decides it's time to punctuate his blows with a Force push.
Get ready. I'm going to throw you.
You can try.
He throws up a hand and she does the same. And now, the sword fight becomes a contest of Force. Here again, they are equally matched—which they both already knew. Force pushes, Force freezes, Force pulls . . . nothing works. So, after a few more unsuccessful blocked tricks, Tony relents and resumes the swordplay. They spar a bit more until Tony busts out the Force lightning without any warning.
It blasts her to the banks of the small pond. She lands hard on her backside. "Ooof!"
Damn. That hurt. It's not the first time Meetra's been nailed by the potent energy of the Dark Side, but it's the first time Tony has been her attacker. Damn. That really hurt. Who knew he was that powerful? Meetra lays there a moment, a bit stunned, her body and mind crackling with residual static energy. I guess I should be lucky that was the blue lightning and not the red stuff.
Are you hurt? Like really hurt? Tony's alarmed.
I'm fine. Only my pride is injured.
I'm sorry. We have to make this look good. And you wouldn't let me throw you—
I'm fine. I'll heal it afterwards.
You should have let me throw you.
Not a chance. Enjoy my pain, asshole.
I'm supposed to win, remember?
I told you I wouldn't make it easy.
Tony now marches over to finish her off. But, in typical Sith Lord fashion, he can't do it without proclaiming a grandiose monologue first. Only she knows that his delay is to allow her to catch her breath and regroup.
"The Force is with me," he crows, all but beating his armored chest. "The Force is with the Sith. We will have our revenge for Malachor. And someday, Force willing, we will have our revenge for all the many crimes of the Republic and the Jedi." Tony now issues a baleful boast as he clenches his upraised and gloved right fist. "The Sith will rule the galaxy or die trying!"
Meetra can't resist rolling her eyes. Recovered, she leaps to her feet and re-lights her sword. "Over my dead body."
"That's the idea."
Tony starts in on the Force lightning again. But this time, she blocks it with her saber. No matter—Tony starts swinging again. He's got a sword in his left hand as he shoots Force lightning with his right hand. It's an effective combination that keeps her moving fast.
"The Force is strong with you . . ." she begrudgingly admits between panting breaths. "I remember that from Korriban."
Are you flirting?
Only a Sith would think talk of power is flirting.
Just let me win, will you? If you would just give up, this can be over.
Her praise for his prowess must be Tony's cue to acknowledge her worth as an opponent. "Impressive. Most impressive," he judges as she flips over his head to avoid his sword-and-lightning onslaught.
Are you ready to lose yet?
Nah. It will take more than this to kill me.
Meetra amps up the trash talk again. She's cheeky about it, too. That crack about flirting has given her an idea. She now starts goading Tony to live up to her reputation for being a Light Side temptress.
"We do not meet again by accident, Lord Sion," she begins, endeavoring to sound spookily authoritative like Kreia does. "This is destiny at work," Meetra manages to proclaim with a straight face.
Tony's confused. Where are you going with this?
Just play along.
"Indeed," he affirms. "This is revenge!"
"Not revenge. This is," Meetra suddenly pauses for dramatic effect before she trills, "redemption," in slow, overly enunciated syllables. Concentrating hard on her poker face, she boldly declares, "Darth Sion, you Dark sinner, I have come to save your soul."
Tony snorts. It's a good thing I'm wearing a mask. No one can see me laughing.
Shut up and keep posturing. "I feel the conflict within you. Let go of your hate."
"There is no conflict," Tony booms back from behind the mask, playing her foil.
Stop it. Seriously. You're making me laugh.
Meetra ignores him. "I feel the good within you. The Dark Side hasn't driven it fully away."
"Silence, apostate!" Tony rebukes her. He's a little shrill sounding, and that's perfect. It suggests he's wavering maybe.
Her lips twitch. And now, Meetra's the one who is threatening to break character. But she gamely stays the course, pressing the narrative that she knows will play into her Republic seductress reputation.
"You do not yet realize your importance. You could destroy the Emperor. I have foreseen it. With our combined strength, we can end this destructive conflict—"
"I'll never join you!" Tony yelps these words, sounding less like a commanding Sith Lord and more like an outraged virgin at an orgy.
Meetra leans even harder into her role as the treacherous, conniving Jedi woman come to corrupt Darth Sion's virtuous Dark integrity. It's everything his brother-in-law Darth Azamin feared when he came to visit. "Search your feelings . . . " she coos. "Your destiny lies with me. You know this to be true."
Did you have to bring up treason?
I'm giving you a chance to disavow it.
Right. Okay. Make that pitch again for me.
"I can teach you new powers . . . unlimited powers . . . Light Side powers . . ." she tempts. For every Sith Lord's weakness is his ambition to supersede the rest.
But not Darth Sion, who valiantly resists. "No! I'm no traitor! I'm no heretic! I see through the lies of the Jedi!"
"I could heal you . . . " she promises with a small, knowing smile as she pokes at his peculiar weakness.
You're going there?
Yes. Play along.
"I could make you normal again. You don't have to be a rotting Dark monster. You can be a handsome Jedi hero."
Oh, please. That lure is terrible, just terrible.
Then, tell me so.
"I am the Lord of Pain. Darkness keeps me alive."
"Yes, but only the Light heals. Turn away from that pain," Meetra implores. "Choose the Light and I will help you be normal again."
Tony stands here hesitating. Unsure of himself.
This is all pretend, right? Right?
Yes, yes. This is how you win. I don't lose, I sort of give up.
I don't understand.
Here comes your big moment, Sith. Be ready.
Meetra lowers her sword to her side now. She outstretches a hand, simpers a little, and downright purrs, "Join me. Give yourself to the Light Side. Together, we can destroy your Emperor." She's offering power and treason with a little dash of sex.
Righteous Tony reacts fast. "NEVER!" He fires Force lightning at her right hand. It rips the saber from her grip. She is unarmed now as she stands her ground. Tony raises his sword tip to her throat. She doesn't so much as flinch.
For a long moment, there is just the sound of his sword buzzing as they stare back at one another. This is the moment for the killing blow, but Darth Sion keeps hesitating. Meetra knows it means he's waiting for her to give him a way out of taking her head. But she's hoping that on the recording it will appear as though Tony is tempted and considering . . .
"I can give you power you can only imagine," Meetra promises, looking up at him from beneath hooded, come-hither eyes. She's milking her femme fatale reputation for all it's worth. Because, why the Hell not?
Masked Sion hisses back, "When you are dead, I will burn your body and keep your ashes in my Temple. What remains of you will be used in our holiest rituals."
Meetra boldly takes a half step closer to his sword, knowing full well that Tony isn't about to issue the coup de gras. Flashing what she hopes is an enigmatic smile, she breathes out, "It doesn't have to be like that. We need not be enemies. We could be allies. We both want the same things . . . knowledge and power." She takes a deep breath and plunges forward. "Lord Sion, you and I could be allies and so much more . . ." She smiles at him but first she wets her lips suggestively.
Tony says nothing. But he deactivates his sword.
Yes, this is just as good as if they scripted it. Again, Meetra outstretches a hand. "Join me," she coaxes.
Tony moves fast, grabbing that hand and yanking her to him. With his left hand on her neck, his right hand grips her cheeks and chin hard. "Did you think," he growls, "that I would be fool enough to trust a Jedi who the Republic exiled? Your own kind turned on you. What does that say about you?"
Meetra's hands are free. She doesn't raise them to resist. Instead, she settles them against his armored torso. She croons huskily into his mask, "You and I could be so good together . . ." Instead of pulling back from his grip, she nestles closer.
What are you doing?
Unsuccessfully attempting to seduce you. Time to reaffirm your Dark allegiance and choke me to death.
Got it.
Tony has both hands on her throat now. His mask looms close as he unloads misogynist scorn. "You will not die by the sword in an honorable warrior's death . . . you will not die by the Force like a vanquished Jedi . . . you will die like the filthy Republic whore you are!"
Tony starts squeezing now. Hard. He's pretending to strangle her, but it's not far from the truth.
Die fast. Make this quick. I don't want to hurt you.
He's squeezing harder now. She's gasping and clawing at him. Able to breathe still, but just barely.
"You were a fool to try to play games with me!" Tony growls. "Did you think that because I am weak in body, I am weak in spirit too? Did you think me so wretched that I would fall for a brazen Republic harlot? You fool! I am a Lord of the Sith, and I show no mercy to my enemies!"
He shakes her and Meetra plays rag doll limp. Time to get this over with. Eyes closed, face slack, she gasps out last words, staying true to her role as his Jedi troll. "You . . . will . . . turn . . ."
"NEVER!"
Tony thrusts her away with disgust. She crumples to the grass with eyes closed and holds her breath.
Is that good enough? Can I open my eyes?
Not yet. Stay still another moment.
I need to breathe.
Tony turns to the hovering droid to order, "Cease all functions," but not before he delivers a vicious kick to her supposedly lifeless body.
Owwww!
Sorry, little Jedi.
Can I open my eyes now?
Yes. We're done. You're dead.
She opens her eyes and takes a few deep, wheezing breaths while Tony yanks off his helmet and gathers their discarded weapons with the Force.
She doesn't immediately sit up and that alarms him. "I hurt you. Oh Force, I really did hurt you . . ." Tony sinks to his knees at her side. "Where are you—"
"I'm fine." A minute or two of her healing skills should remedy her aches. "It's some bruises and a sore throat." She rubs at her tender neck and looks to Tony. "And you? Do you need some healing?"
"I'll never refuse your power," he answers sheepishly.
Tony settles down beside her. Meetra basically crawls into his lap as she summons the Force. And oh, this feels so good. It never gets old. Healing him—healing herself—she's begun to think it's all the same. Because she never feels better physically than after she heals Tony. That's provided she doesn't overdo it, of course. But she's learned how to control her power. Tony's original wounds have proven to be very stubborn. Still, he is exceedingly patient and that has encouraged her to feel less frustrated about her lack of progress. He seems to think that what she's accomplished is nothing short of miraculous.
"That was not how I thought it would go . . . " Tony sighs aloud as he shamelessly relishes her efforts.
"You said we had to make it credible. We were our authentic selves," she points out.
"Not really."
"Close enough. I mean, the whole thing is a deception, right?" Meetra smiles at Tony and impulsively leans in to kiss his cheek.
He opens his eyes. "What's that for?"
"For being you. I'm so glad that you were the one to capture me."
"I just killed you, too," Tony jokes.
She laughs. And now, she goes in for another kiss. This time, it's on the lips. "When's your next meeting?" she murmurs.
"It can wait," Tony immediately decides as he pulls her closer. She's in his lap and in his arms, and things are escalating fast. After the violence comes the Force healing, and after the Force healing comes the sex. Those latter two are a progression they do almost nightly, and so this passion feels natural. Maybe inevitable.
Tony is all-in for some al fresco friskiness. He seems to be approaching this as makeup sex. "Cara Jedaii, amo te . . . semper amo te . . ." As usual, he whispers Old Sith Kittat phrases that he knows she doesn't understand. He sprinkles his ancient language in between sexy dirty talk in Basic in a strange rambling patois. Meetra has been afraid to ask him what it all means, certain his Dark endearments refer to an attachment she doesn't want. But as he drops kisses down her forearm and pauses to loll his tongue over her Crusader tattoo, Meetra puts the issue out of her mind. Let him be attached if it makes him happy. She starts unbuttoning her tunic with her free hand.
Tony is a slow, considerate lover. Going to bed with him is the furthest thing from the arm's length, often drunken, always spontaneous sex she's used to. But here's the thing—Tony's expert caresses make for a slow, gentle culmination. And Meetra, whose experience is mostly furtive groping followed by hard thrusting, kind of misses those illicit hookups.
None of her Jedi male colleagues had much sexual experience themselves—certainly not any relationship experience—and so they tended to be unwittingly selfish in bed. It didn't always make for a great experience. But still . . . it had an undeniable thrill. And so, rolling around in the grass with a fully armored Sith Lord while shedding clothes fast, Meetra suddenly wants to be fucked, not adored. When Tony starts reaching below her waist she growls at him, "Don't waste time. Put it in me." Enough with the foreplay.
She wants what she wants, and Tony knows it. "As you wish, Jeddai . . . "
She's ready and he's ready. Soon, he's stroking into her. It's delicious friction but it's still too much like a tryst for Meetra. Something about the lead up and the setting make her want this time to be entirely different from their usual lovemaking. She wants to be ravished by her Sith conqueror in a twisted Dark daydream come to life. But she can't say that . . . er . . . can she?
She can think it. Harder. Don't stop.
It's a bizarre irony that she's commanding Tony to take charge, but whatever. She wants to submit and for that, he needs to compel. Time for him to step up to play the dominant Darksider she wrongly assumed he would be.
Harder. Make me feel it.
Tony heeds the request. And yes, now he is definitely fucking her. Meetra closes her eyes to enjoy it. This is the Lord of Pain and she's his spoils of war. She's pretending that he's the Dark sadistic brute she knows he is not. The only thing that could make this hotter would be if he still had his mask on. But his eyes are full yellow now and that's dangerous enough.
And wait—maybe she should pretend not to be liking this so much. Meetra reaches up to brace her hands on Tony's shoulders pushing him back to hold him at arm's length. Tony pauses, meets her eyes, smirks, and then intercepts her hands to force them down and over her head. He pins her, and resumes his emphatic efforts. And oh, this is amazing. This is what she wants but is embarrassed to ask for.
Tony flips her over and suddenly she's face down in the grass. And either he's very strong or she's light or perhaps he's using the Force, but his hands grip hard into her hips as he lifts her pelvis to thrust in again and again. He's rutting into her body in a primal way that fully asserts his male aggression. This is dominance that verges on punishment and, Force help her, she's loving it.
This isn't how she wants to relate to Tony in real life. This isn't how she has ever had sex. It's more like a torrid fantasy that she would never admit to but she's enjoying all the same. She and Tony have been role playing for the camerabot since he appeared. That context makes this encounter feel like an extension of that ruse. For here she is, vanquished in a duel with a Sith Lord and instead of losing her head, her body is plundered. It should be degrading and humiliating, except it's what she wants. As he plunges into her hard and fast, Meetra can't think straight. It's just too hot. All the more so because this submission feels like forbidden pleasure.
She panting and moaning now. Something about this new position makes her especially uninhibited. Plus, Tony's in her mind so he knows how deliciously subversive this feels for her. Face down, his body rams into hers and it just hits differently. He's creating friction toward the front, not the back, and it's driving her wild—yes! that's just the right spot.
Hurry! Hurry! She can't hold back.
Neither can he, for the bond that seeps her pleasure into his mind has Tony tipping into momentary oblivion as well. She gasps out her climax as he roars his. There's no one to see and no one to hear out here in the woods by the pond.
Only the Force knows, he reassures her.
"That was . . . that was . . . that was intense," she pants out, still face down and trying to catch her breath.
"Did I hurt you?" Tony leans to whisper into her ear with concern.
She rolls over as he sits back and slides off. "If you did hurt me, you'd enjoy it more." Meetra gives him a wry, knowing look even as she flashes a satisfied grin.
"No, I wouldn't. Not for you." They disentangle from one another as he insists, "I much prefer your pleasure to pain."
"You do know how to please me," Meetra chuckles as she settles down beside him, facing up at the sky. Their heads are together as they lay side by side on the grass. She's still half naked, but whatever. The sunshine feels good.
And now, an awful thought occurs to Meetra. "Tell me we didn't just make a porno."
"A what?" Tony's not following.
"Is the droid off? Or did we get filmed?" Meetra isn't keen to add a sex tape to her list of exploits.
"It's off."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"Whew!"
Tony laughs at her fluster. "Too bad, because if I submitted that as part of the holovid for proof of the kill, I'd be legendary. I'd get paid the full bounty for sure."
He's smirking. She can tell without looking. That makes her smirk too. "I bet you're right . . ."
Meetra's blissful in the afterglow but now Tony is the one to worry aloud. "I have to be careful with pleasure. I need pain. If I get too relaxed, too happy . . . I don't know what will happen. It could be self-destructive."
Her eyes slant his way. "That is so fucked up."
"Yes. It is," Tony sighs.
She sits up on her elbows now. "Is this your way of saying we need to ease up on the sex?" They have been having lots of sex. Daily sex. Sometimes twice daily sex. It's almost as if they are real newlyweds.
"No! No, I have a two-hundred-year dry spell to break."
Meetra laughs at how quickly Tony answers. "Good, because that was hot. Super hot. If I'd known you would be so good in bed, we would have hooked up on Korriban."
"Sex amid the tombs? That's kinky, Jedi," he snickers.
She laughs a little ruefully herself. "I am officially the worst Jedi ever, I guess."
"Wear that badge of honor proudly."
"Seriously, though—you and me . . . a Jedi and a Sith in bed together . . . a marriage attachment, even if it's pretend . . . this would confirm all the Council's fears about me . . ." Meetra has no doubt—she's definitely the worst Jedi ever.
"Do you care?"
"No." Yes.
Sounding very sly, Tony now wickedly suggests, "Maybe we should send them a picture of me eating your bald pussy."
Hearing her habitually formal, often prim Sith Lord lover lapse into colloquial dirty talk makes her giggle. He only does it when they're alone together and that makes it feel like an inside joke. "It might make their heads explode."
"I'm fine with that," Tony quips. "So, how about we break in the new ship tonight? I want you naked in the master cabin. And maybe in the cockpit, too," he adds upon second thought.
"You mean we climb to the upper atmosphere, put it on autopilot, and go at it all night in orbit?" she snorts.
"I was thinking more along the lines of a quick trip. I usually make a pilgrimage to Rhelg this time of year. I probably need to visit the shrine there to keep up appearances."
"Okay." Meetra knows that Tony is concerned that no one learn about their dyad and her Force healing. It's why he wears the helmet everywhere in public these days. It encourages people to assume that his health is bad, like it often has been.
But Meetra knows through the bond that there is an ulterior motive afoot. "Quick trip, eh? Who are you meeting? Confess, Sith," she commands playfully.
Tony doesn't bother to disavow his plotting. "I received an urgent message from a friend today. He wants to talk ASAP."
"What friend?"
"You'll see."
"He doesn't want to come to us like your brother-in-law did?"
"It's best if we meet him. He suggested Rhelg, and that kills two rancors with one spear."
Meetra's eyes narrow. "Can you trust him?"
"Absolutely."
"Alright. When do we leave?"
"After dinner."
Tony stands to his feet, rights his clothes, and then walks to collect her discarded Sith Lady cloak. Meetra takes that as her cue to redress as well. He waits patiently and then settles her cloak over her shoulders.
Tony hands linger at her collar bones. It's a possessive gesture, she realizes, as he speaks. Quietly he tells her, "I hate that you have been used so many times that you enjoy it."
What is he talking about? She's not following.
"I will never begrudge you pleasure and I, of all people, should not judge how pain can be enjoyed. But if I could, I would hunt down every man from your past and make them pay dearly for how they treated you."
He's absolutely serious. Understanding dawns now for Meetra. Tony's talking about all the Jedi she went to bed with.
"They're dead." All of them. Either in the war or in the aftermath of Revan and Malak's Dark folly and eventual feuding.
"Good," he grunts. "Then they are beyond my justice."
She bristles at his attitude. Meetra doesn't consider those men abusers. "I chose them. No one raped me. No one seduced me. I chose them."
Is he getting this? She was never a victim. She had agency. She went to bed with those men of her own volition. And it was how she wanted it—with no strings attached.
But Tony—openminded as he may be—is ever a prisoner of his patriarchal Sith mindset. "I hate that your Jedi upbringing and your Republic culture conditioned you to expect so little of men. You deserved better. All women deserve better."
"Tony—"
"I will give you better."
He's talking about attachment. Of marriage and commitment and emotional and financial support. It's all the traditional things that Republic women by and large opt out of these days in the name of independence. Because most Republic women don't want the baggage that comes from all of that. Those man-and-wife fairytale cultural tropes belong to an era best left behind. In fact, a lot of Republic women simply want to have sex like men have sex. You don't wait to be chosen, you choose. Then, you enjoy yourself and move on the next partner. It's the truest expression of equality there is. And thanks to modern medicine that removes the risk of childbearing from sex, there are no lasting consequences.
Tony's not buying it. "You will never convince me that men and woman are the same, especially when it comes to sex. Nothing you did with those men empowered you. That you can't see that makes me sad."
She's flabbergasted. Instantly upset and feeling slut-shamed again. That it comes so soon after they themselves had sex makes Meetra feel especially dissed. Why does he have to make this moment some kind of cultural statement? Can't it just be fun? She wanted today's rough sex just like she was fine with her past experiences.
"What are you saying?" Meetra demands hotly even as her humiliation grows. She can feel her cheeks turn pink.
"I'm saying that the Republic might be right about freedom, but they're wrong about women. There's nothing empowering about women acting like the worst aspects of men. Encouraging women to be more like men effectively erases what it means to be female." Tony sniffs, "The Force makes us male and female for a reason. Those differences matter."
She cocks her head at him and complains, "You know, there's not one way to be a woman in the Republic, just like there's not one way to be a man. You get to choose your life—that's the point of freedom."
"So, no social norms? No standards?"
"Not really." You choose your lifestyle and others are expected to respect that choice, even if it's not what they want for themselves. And, in turn, they can choose their own life.
Tony's clearly appalled by this laxity. He squints at her. "Fascinating . . . "
"Whatever." She blows him off and starts walking back to the fortress.
"I just want you to be happy," he calls after her.
She keeps walking but hollers back over her shoulder, "Fuck you. And stop overthinking me."