prompts:
- I am half-sick of shadows.
- Lightning
- Forbidden Fruit
- "It'll be our secret."

With her there's every reason to pretend; 59 ABY

(takes place in an AU that branches off when Festus turns down Ferrus's offer to go out drinking with him at the beginning of "End of the Line (Creep II, Brute II)" in Thunderbolt and Lightning, and as a result Ferrus is able to pursue a relationship with Iselle, a young woman he meets that night; definitely not the same AU as "you love in whispers", but it is the same girl)

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The Universe Is Ours Tonight

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Darth Ferrus hadn't exactly lied when he'd told his brother he was going out for a few hours. He just left out the part where "a few hours" meant spending a whole day exploring Narath City with the most captivating woman he's ever met, and pretending to be completely normal.

"It's this way!" Iselle shouts over the noise of speeder traffic and the music blaring from a cantina down the street. The low rumble of thunder has chased after them for the last several blocks, ominously underscoring the city's lively nighttime melody, and even though it's too dark to see them, Ferrus senses the clouds overhead have reached their breaking point.

"We're not going to make it," he points out as they come to a halt in the middle of the walkway.

The wind whips several strands of sandy brown hair across her eyes as she looks up at him, and she tucks them behind her ear and grins. "Sure we will; that's my building right there." She nods toward the tall building across the street; it's at least thirty stories tall, with a transparisteel exterior that reflects the flashing neon of the buildings and speeders around it. As Ferrus looks up at it, the first fat drops of rain splash against his unprotected head.

"Well that's just my luck," he mutters.

"Maybe it'll pass—" Iselle's words cut off with a surprised laugh as it begins to pour. She grabs him by the hand and pulls him toward the edge of the road, and they wait for a few speeders to pass before dashing across the street. By the time they duck under her building's shallow overhang, they're both completely soaked. He smirks as he watches her wipe damp strands of hair out of her face.

"It'll pass, huh?"

She smacks him playfully on the shoulder; she has to reach up to do it, and he's not sure why that makes him like it more. "Okay, so maybe it won't pass," she says, glancing up at the sky. "Happy?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh I don't know, because it's pouring rain and you still have to cross half the city to get back to your ship?"

"You're right, I should be miserable instead." He bends down and scoops her up in his arms, holding her close as he stands up straight and lifts her head and shoulders above him. "Worst day of my life."

"Veeran!" Iselle ducks her head to keep from hitting the overhang, even though she's still at least half a meter under it. "What are you doing?"

"I'm having a terrible, terrible time."

She laughs again and shakes her head. "Well I guess if you want to keep having a terrible time, you can put me down so we can go up and dry off."

He lowers her slowly, still holding her close to him. "You are just no fun."

"I keep trying to tell you I'm not. I'm the very boring old lady among my friends."

"Uh-uh. You're forgetting, I've seen you dance."

Iselle groans as she takes a step back and digs through her purse, but he can see the shy smile on her lips. "That was a one time thing. And I had a very skilled partner."

"I wouldn't say skilled, so much as motivated."

"Sure." She rolls her eyes affectionately as she pulls her keycard out of her purse and taps it against the security panel. The door slides open, and he follows her inside.

The turbolift is empty when they reach it, and he doesn't waste any time; she's barely entered the code for her level when he draws her into his arms and kisses her.

"Veeran," she says with an admonishing sort of laugh. "The cameras."

He doesn't let go, but he does relax his grip. "This can't be the worst thing they've seen in here," he counters with a smirk. She swats him again, not hard at all, and he catches her hand and twines his fingers with hers. "How am I supposed to resist you when you keep smacking me like that?" Her mouth drops open a little, and he winces. "Yeah, I just heard it, too."

She steps back from him, trying in vain not to giggle. Gods, it's the most kriffing adorable thing he's ever seen. She's really not making this easy on him.

The lift chimes, and her eyes flit to the control panel. "This is my floor," she says, scooting past him. He senses a hint of nervous anticipation, one that isn't at all obvious from the assured expression on her face.

He turns and stands innocently next to her as the lift opens, and he keeps his hands to himself all the way to her door and into her apartment. His twin accuses him of lacking restraint, but knowing when and how much to hold back is probably his greatest strength as a lover. Well, that and the rest of it. He's pretty great at the rest, too.

The apartment opens up immediately to a small living room on the left and a kitchen on the right, separated by a short hallway that leads to what he assumes is Iselle's bedroom. She activates a light in the foyer and another dimmer one in the kitchen and drops her purse on the counter. "So this is my place," she says, making a sweeping gesture with one arm. "I'll be right back with a towel."

He wanders into the kitchen while he waits, noting the dark green tea kettle on the stove and an active holocube on the counter next to it, cycling through images of Iselle with her friends. A flash of lightning draws his gaze to the door looking out onto the balcony. There are curtains, but they haven't been drawn, and as another bolt splits the sky, he has a perfect view of it arcing over the city.

"Here you go," Iselle says as she returns to the kitchen with two towels and hands him one. "I was not expecting it to pour like that."

"I was." He runs the towel over his face and his hair, watching her do the same. How does she manage to make a simple thing like drying off look so enticing?

"Oh, of course you were," she says with a smirk, squeezing the water from her hair. "I think you've got a bit of a pessimistic streak."

"Hey, you're the one who promised me a terrible time."

She lets out a good-natured huff and hoists herself up to sit on the edge of the counter. "I guess I walked right into that one."

"You did." He reaches past her to set the towel down and then plants his hands on either side of her, his hips pressing against her knees. "And I'm not a pessimist; I'm a realist."

"Oh, a realist…" She catches her bottom lip between her teeth and spreads her legs a little wider, allowing him to lean in closer. "Never dated one of those before."

"Never?"

Her flirtatious tone mellows a little as she tucks a damp strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm usually the realist in the relationship. Not that I've had many. Only a couple that lasted long enough to really call them relationships, anyway." She looks up at the ceiling and exhales with a laugh. "I'm really selling myself here."

He shakes his head. "I'm already sold. Have been ever since I saw you in that club."

She studies him carefully, the same way she did when they first met, like she's not sure if he's real. "I guess I ought to thank my friends for dragging me out that night," she says with a shy smile.

His gaze travels over her mouth, and her rain-soaked blouse. "And I should probably thank my brother for not letting me drag him out that night," he says, and immediately regrets it. Iselle's eyes go wide at the mention.

"Ooh, that's right, the brooding twin. You know you're going to have to tell me more at some point, because right now I'm just picturing you, but with more… scowling?" She grins and nods at him. "Yeah, like that."

He hangs his head with a groan. "You're killing me, you know that?"

"I know," she says with another playful smirk. "So when do I get to meet this mysterious brother of yours?"

It requires great effort not to cringe at her question, even though he knew she would ask eventually. He shrugs it off with a flippant grin. "Never?"

Her gaze drops, and he senses her sudden hesitance. "Oh."

"Hey." He lifts a hand to her face, fingers sweeping back a few strands of her hair. "It's not you. My brother is… difficult. And weird."

A teasing gleam lights in her eyes. "You think he'll try to scare me off?"

Without a kriffing doubt probably isn't the answer she wants to hear, so he goes for something slightly less creepy. "He might. That's why I haven't…" He exhales, laughing awkwardly under his breath. This is not going how he expected. "I haven't exactly told him about you."

"Well, then." She leans in closer and tilts her face up toward his, lips curving in a coy expression. "I guess for now it'll be our secret."

Stars, he can't take it anymore, her closeness and her smile and the scent of rain on her skin. He takes her face in both his hands and kisses her, thrilling at the crackling bone-deep heat between them and the soft moan that escapes her lips. He can't get enough of that sound; he wants to hear it again and again, wants to hear her say his name (his real name) as he makes love to her. He wants to take his time and make her forget everyone she's ever been with, and he wants to forget, too. He doesn't want anyone but her, doesn't need anything but this.

She pulls back after a few more seconds – but not too far – and he can feel her pulse jumping against his fingertips. "You could stay here," she whispers.

"Yeah," he murmurs as he leans in to kiss her neck. "Probably should get out of these wet clothes."

She tilts her head back and lets out a breathy laugh. "You've just been waiting to use that one, haven't you?"

One hand runs down to her waist, brushes against a sliver of cool, soft skin. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't…" A flash of lightning illuminates the apartment, followed immediately by a crack of thunder so loud it rattles the building, startling her. She laughs again, embarrassed and nervous. "Veeran…"

"I'm ready when you are," he tells her. "Just say the word."

She places both hands on his chest and lightly pushes him away from her, and she holds his gaze as she slides off the counter and takes him by the hand. "This way."

She leads him down the hallway to her bedroom, where they discard their wet clothes in favor of soft, dry sheets, and spend the rest of the night in a beautiful lie.

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It's still raining when he wakes, and from the gray light spilling between a gap in the curtains, he knows it's morning. The room is too dark to make out much of anything, and he gives his eyes time to adjust as he lies there listening to the rainfall and the distant rumble of thunder. Usually he would be out of bed by now, but for the first time in years, he's perfectly content to stay right where he is. Right next to her.

Something starts to buzz.

At first he thinks maybe it's the apartment's comm, but it's too muffled, and anyway, he can see the comm panel on the wall by the door, its interface backlit in a calming shade of ocean blue, without the pulse of light that usually accompanies a message. His gaze turns to his jacket, hanging on a hook next to the comm panel. Iselle had hung it there last night – so it'll dry, she'd told him with a satisfied little smile when he asked what she was doing, completely unaware of how uncommon that sort of natural courtesy is anywhere in the galaxy, let alone in the parts he knows best. He glares at the pocket where his comlink continues to buzz. He should ignore the stupid thing; it's too early for it to be his brother, and any other business can wait. He can't remember the last time he wanted to stay in bed so badly.

Iselle is lying on her side facing him, draped across his right arm, still sound asleep. Maybe he'll just roll back over and join her…

The comlink buzzes again. And again. And again. He sighs and pulls his arm out from under her body and slides to the edge of the bed. As he does, he glimpses the long lightsaber scar across his abdomen, the one Iselle's fingers had hesitated over when she removed his shirt. It had taken him a few seconds to realize she was actually concerned for him – he was used to his partners being impressed by that particular scar, or a little scornful of it, like it didn't measure up to their lofty expectations somehow, or just ignoring it completely because scars were so commonplace in their world – and he'd mumbled something about it being an old injury before demonstrating thoroughly and intimately, in more ways than one, how completely uninjured he was now.

She didn't bring it up again after that, but he should probably think of a better story, just in case.

The comlink continues its incessant buzzing, and he pulls on his pants and crosses the room to retrieve it, glancing over his shoulder at Iselle. She inhales a little deeper, but she doesn't move. He watches her for a moment, then finally leaves the room and makes his way out to her balcony, where the rain is splashing gently against the railing. There's only space out here for two chairs, and both of them are wet. He shuts the door and pulls out his comlink. "Ferrus."

"Took you long enough."

He breathes in through his nose and lets it out slowly, trying not to react to his brother's smug voice. So Festus can get up early when he feels like it. That's annoying. "What the hell do you want?"

"Where are you?"

He glances around the balcony, wondering how far his voice carries up here. He doesn't sense anyone nearby, at least not anyone awake enough to eavesdrop on him. "Why does it matter?"

"Because we were supposed to leave last night, and you weren't here."

"So why didn't you comm last night if you were so concerned?"

"Oh, I know better than to interrupt one of your little trysts, brother."

He bristles at that dismissive tone, his fingers flexing around the comlink. "Go to hell."

His brother huffs a laugh in response. "When you're done trying to convince this girl you're not a murderer, don't forget we have work to do."

The transmission ends, and he stands there holding the comlink in too tight a grip, cold rainwater soaking the hem of his pants. Little trysts. That bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing.

He heads back inside and squeezes the excess water from his pants, then hangs them up next to his jacket to dry. Iselle rolls onto her back and pulls the covers up to her chin.

"It's cold," she mumbles. He climbs into bed next to her, and she opens her eyes and looks at him with drowsy contentment. "Good morning."

He combs his fingers through her hair. "Good morning."

She holds a hand to her mouth as she yawns. "Did you sleep okay?"

"I did." He shifts closer, and she lets out a yelp, her legs jerking suddenly under the covers.

"Gah, your feet are freezing!"

He laughs at that and wraps an arm around her waist. "Sorry, I went outside to take a comm."

She snuggles close, resting her head on his shoulder. "Is it still raining?"

"Yeah."

There's a small pause before she asks, "When do you have to go?"

He trails his fingertips down her back. "When do you want me to go?"

Another pause, and he feels her breath flutter unevenly against his chest. "Never," she murmurs.

Even as her words spark an unfamiliar warmth all through his body, his brother's last taunt echoes in the back of his head. Never is a long time to hide that less desirable part of himself, but if it means keeping her, he'll do it. He's pretty sure he'll do anything.

He pulls her closer, and whispers in her ear: "I can work with never."

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