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daddyhausen · 2 years

Note

Hi I requested Demon King Finn Balor absolutely dominating and RECKING his submissive cute thicc girlfriend

i spent three days writing this my god! hope you enjoy !

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• in this hell you are my paradise — finn balor •

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{ masterlists } | { wwe masterlist } | { finn balor masterlist }

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{ warnings } — 18 + { minors do not interact }, fem!reader, plus size reader, demon!balor, reader x demon, body shaming / fat shaming, body dysmorphia, description of injury/death/murder, body worship, oral sex { female receiving }, restraints, overstimulation, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, male + female orgasms, squirting, rough sex, penetrative sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, internal cumshots/creampie, cockwarming

{ word count } — 2.8k

{ genre } — smut/fantasy

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{ taglist } — @boutmachines @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @thebestintheworld @chrisdickinson @cuzimacomedian @wardlow @sammiejane22 @april-jeanette-wagner

{ comment if you want to be added to the taglist }

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the throne room lined with hundreds, if not thousands of his spectators, all bowed their head submissively to their king, whom sat perched upon his throne, overlooking the grand spectacle that surrounded him, all to worship his presence. he kept you close, kept you stoic upon his thigh, a hand protectively tightening its grip around your waist, hand smoothing over the luscious curves of your hips.

he’d been rather frustrated these recent weeks, having ruled his kingdom for centuries yet with almost little to show for it. it was not his fault per say, his guards were incompetent, advisers dim-witted and don’t even get started on the lords that ruled just beneath him, all greedy, festering pigs all with disingenuous loyalty bowing at his feet but would just as quickly stab a blade through his back at a moments notice.

your king became increasingly paranoid, sleep was definitely a hindrance rather than a helper for him. many nights you found him, weapon in hand, whether it be a blade or a rifle, perched stoically by the window frame, staring out into the darkness, ignoring your pleas to coax him back into bed. as for sex, he’d barely touched you since this whole crusade began.

as the two of you remained sat upon his throne, you noticed a scowl cross his lips, his council none the wiser to their king’s thoughts, not even your tender hand to his cheek could quell the frustrations burning inside him. he gave no reaction where other times he might cup your hand, in his, smoothing his thumb across the back of your palm, offer a gentle smile. this time, nothing.

he raised his hand, a que of silence for the audience that filled his throne room, your gaze remained fixated on the appendage for a moment, the way he could command his spectators with a single motion, the veins in the back of his palm would twitch with the slightest movement of his fingers, the rings that adorned them, all hand picked and crafted with the most extravagant jewels, it surely was a sight.

an elder member of his counsel waited anxiously at the foot of the staircase leading up to his throne, two guards positioned behind him practically shaking in their armour at what their king would say. he beckoned them forward, with a slow, come-hither motion, the three slowly made their way up the red, upholstered velvet staircase, bowing before their king timidly.

“speak.” he commanded, a thick accent bellowing throughout his throne room, echoing against the black marble and basalt pillars. the sound caused arousal to swirl in your belly, so much so that you instinctively clenched your thighs together, god what this man could do to you with his accent alone. lucky for you, he was no mere man.

his elder councilman trembled over his words, fidgeting with the air between his fingertips, his beard had greyed more since the time you saw him last, maybe what three, four months ago when your king had his last important sermon. the elder inhaled deeply, trying to calm his nerves before he addressed your king.

“there have been reports from the west…” he began, eyeing the king quickly before returning his gaze back to the velvet floor. you peered at your love for a moment, scanning his features for any sort of emotion other than aggravation. still nothing, you love as stoic as a frustrated king could be.

“and..?” your love pressed on, hoping to get some information out of the withered councilman. he stammered, trying to gather his words

“the western kingdoms, they’ve rebelled…” he began, avoiding eye contact with your king. “they ambushed us…completely eviscerated the army you sent, my king. out of the forty thousand you send, five thousand or so still remain, that is if they haven't already been slaughtered too…”

you felt your love tense in his throne, fist gripping the armrest, while the other did the same to your waist, not hard enough to hurt but hand enough to be able to safely vent his frustrations. you placed a compassionate hand to the back of his palm, in hopes that it would soothe his frustrations in the slightest, it did not, although he did reciprocate the action, albeit, subtly

“my love…” you whispered quietly, hoping to not cause any provocation from the wandering eyes of his councilmen. he merely exhaled, knuckles turning bone white due to his grip on his throne’s armrests. still your voice went unheard in his ears, almost completely ignored.

“you’ve failed me…” he mentioned to the frail man standing before him, knees about to buckle under his own body weight. you looked on with worry, as your love’s features grew increasingly frustrated, holding onto his hand with a tight grip. it was then you noticed the demeanour change in the eyes of his elder councilman, he was vexed, eyes staring daggers through your mortal being as if you were some type of hindrance without having even voiced your thoughts.

“with all do respect, my king…perhaps if your attention was more focused on winning this war rather than on a heavy-set harlot, then maybe-”

he did not get to finish his sentence, for the once proud councilman of your king was now a heaping mess of flesh and bone before him. gasping at air, nails clawing at his throat in the hopes that it would retrieve the air trapped in his lungs. his bones contorted, twisting and turning, breaking and dislocating joints. his screams and shrills were spine-chilling, making your blood run cold. the sound and sight was so gruesome that you had to shield your gaze into your love’s shoulder, just waiting for it to end. you peered up at your love, eyes void of colour and emotion, just blackness, letting himself be overcome by the devil that wreaked havoc inside him for the next few moments until that bastard before him laid dead.

you’d only been introduced to the sight one time prior, a similar occurrence, a peasant insulting your looks, your frame, your curvy figure, throwing loaves of stale bread in your direction as you simply meandered through the courtyard calling you such horrendous names, you promised yourself not to repeat. believe you me, once your love got wind of what happened, that poor peasant never saw the light of day again, in fact he left him hanging from the kingdom gates by his neck, bones contorted, organs spilling from his stomach, it was not a pleasant sight.

the entire throne room fell into an eerie silence at the sight, the scowl still permanent on your lover’s lips, removing the hand from your waist, a silent signal for you to stand with him. he overlooked the crowd, glaring daggers at whoever decided to stare back, a stern warning laid the now dead councilman for anyone else who dares insult you. he took your hand, pulling you close to him rather protectively, quickly exiting the throne room with thunderous footsteps.

he was fuming, eyebrows furrowed, hand wrapped tightly around yours. the only resemblance of your love was the Caribbean blues, staring down the hallway until you’d finally reached the safety of his personal chambers. it was foolish to challenge him, try and test the waters of his depravity. he was a ruthless king, cold and calculated, the very demon that haunts your dreams, leaving a lasting imprint on your each and every waking memory. for you was his everything, his kingdom followed at a close second, you were his being, his lifeblood, the very reason for his existence.

“my love…” you repeated, in hopes your voice would draw some sense back into him. he sat on the bed beside you, head in his palms, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. he was exhausted, frustrated. with what just occurred plus the countless days without sleep left him a shell of his former self.

you rested your head upon his shoulder, arms wrapping around his, clinging to him like a lost, scared child. you’d rarely seen him in such a state of rage. you took a moment, allowing him to try and calm his nerves before you spoke.

“please don’t pay any mind to him, we will win this war-”

“do you really think i give a fuck about this war now?!” he roared, the sight frightened you, making you jolt back slightly, back now resting against the headboard. you avoided his gaze, already noticing his eyes returning to their blackened state as they’d previously been in the throne room.

“don’t you think your punishment was rather harsh..?” you questioned meekly, head now resting upon your knees, hiding your face slightly. he stood up, begging to pace around the confines of his quarters.

“harsh..?” he quipped, having claimed down the slightest after recognising your current state. “my queen, did you not hear what he called you? i should of given him a slower death…”

“its fine…i’m used to it…”

he joined you back on the bed, cupping your cheek gently, thumb wiping the stray tears that had seemed to have fallen down your cheeks. his gaze softened, blackness soon fading from his eyes, returning to the soft glow of caribbean blue.

“no…you’re never to say that” he grasped your cheeks in both palms, your gaze now fixated on him, pupils blown with such adoration for your love. “my queen, i am going to show you just how beautiful you are”

he kissed you, rather harshly, a small smile he managed to pry from your lips, savouring the sweetness of the kiss.

“don’t be gentle…” you muttered against his lips, feeling him smirk into the kiss. he pulled away for a second, your vision blinded by a dark haze that fogged his quarters, mouth ran dry with a mixture of worry and anticipation. he was nowhere in sight, it was as if he had vanished into thin air.

the haze cleared, he remerged, naked, standing at the foot of the bed. it had become apparent that your body had also been stripped of your clothing, tendrils appeared from the darkness at the foot of the bed, his eyes once again overcome by the black void of nothingness, letting his demon once again take control.

you gulped thickly, tendrils wrapping around your legs, keeping them pried open for his gaze as he positioned himself between your deliciously thick thighs. a third tendril appeared, hovering over your void for a moment, he cocked his head to the side, simply watching it swirl around your sensitive pearl, controlling and manipulating it however he saw fit. you let out a small whimper of pleasure, the tendril was a new feeling, vastly different in texture than his tongue or fingers, yet apply the same amount of such wondrous pressure.

he pried it away momentarily, replacing the sensation with his tongue, a soft moan fell from his lips, the sound rumbling between your thighs. two more tendrils appeared from his back, twirling around your wrists, much as they did in keeping your thighs pried open for him, bound above your head. with you now fully restrained, vulnerable to his tongue, he devoured you, lapping up your sweetness with the long appendage, savouring your taste.

gentle het was not, your taste was his favourite, sweet yet not overpowering, he shuddered with delight each time it graced his taste buds. his hands half a death drip of your full hips, adding only extra restrained as he fucked you out with his tongue, hastily tracing circles around your sensitive pearl.

a gasp caught in your throat as he paused for a moment, his tongue barely teasing your clit, blackened eyes peering up at you, soulless and null of empathy. your king was gone, in body not so much the case, but one hundred percent in soul.

“you taste divine, my queen” his voice held a dark rasp to it, one that would ring so wondrously in your ears. your throat empty of words, only choked cries of pleasure were able to part your lips. his tongue curled inside your warmth, drawing out your orgasm little by little, lips wrapping around your swollen clit, the vibrations of his moans rumbled around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“my love…” you whined breathlessly, hips following the movements of his tongue, swirling, bucking up against the appendage. your toes curling with pleasure, fists balled above your head, clutching at air. he gave no response, he insisted on devouring you until you were left a shaking mess on his tongue, that was clear in his intentions. your orgasm flooded your veins, pleasured screams burned your throat, sweetness gushing upon his tongue as he hummed in delight drinking you in.

he pulled away, the tendrils around your wrists and thighs receded behind him. peering up at him with hazy eyes, noticing his beard glossy with your wetness, a sight you could never grow tired of. his breathing coupled with small growls as he re-joined you on the bed, flipping you over so that you were now face down, pretty ass in the air for him. his body close to yours, hot and heated, most of his body weight on his forearms.

“pay no attention to what anyone says, you’re fucking beautiful and that’s all that matters, my queen” his cock rested at your entrance, teasing your warmth as he slowly slipped himself inside. his thick cock stretching out your walls deliciously, bottoming out as soon as his length fully rested inside you. with a fistful of hair and what seemed be inhuman strength, he pulled you up, know only on your knees, back pressed flush against his heaving chest, free hand smoothing over your luscious curves, fingers dipping in every lovely crevice, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh.

“and you’re all mine…” he breathed out with a low grunt, the sound ringing in your ears, like a wicked harmony, a corruption of your mind. his hips angled back the slightest, allowing you to fully arch back against his cock, feeling his thick shaft fill your tight cunt to the brim, he hesitated for a moment, just admiring the sight. no words left his lips, he already knew you were ready for him, just awaiting his movements.

with a quick snap of his hips his length buried inside you once more, rhythm fast-paced, rough, violent, animalistic, primal, all such words simply muddled into such exquisite pleasure. words evaded your tongue, each moan met the same rhythm of his thrusts, eyes rolling into the back of your skull, body numb, overcome with euphoria, it was as if you had died and risen to heaven.

though he was vacant of words, only a single phrase rang from his lips.

“all mine, all mine…” he repeated like a mantra

such sensations were so physically unbearable, in such a delicious way. your vision foggy, hazed with hot tears, salty as they dripped down your cheeks. he was quick to wipe them away, making quick use of his tendrils that he had previously utilised, having them wrap around your waist, holding you close as he brought his hand to your cheek, his thumb smoothing the tears from your skin.

he kissed you, still keeping that roughness from beforehand, albeit not as violent. it was more reassuring, more comforting, more romantic.

“m-my, king…” you stuttered against his lips, words muffled as they spilled onto his tongue. he merely hummed into the kiss, his cock moving at such a ferocious speed, wrecking your pretty cunt with ease. release slowly building between your thighs, trembling with such need.

“cum for me, my queen. cum around my cock” he was not shy with his wants, voicing them to you rather confidently. your back arched, moans heightened to almost a scream, he was a hundred percent sure that those who roamed the corridors at such an hour would hear how well he ruined you. you could not hold on much longer, despite your best efforts, orgasm gushing around his thick cock in such wonderful waves of pleasure, the black silk bedsheets stained with your sweetness as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm, effectively bringing on his own. his seed, white hot, filling your void to the brim with such a rough, final thrust. his grip on your scalp faltered, his breath choked with stuttered moans, cum dripping from your void, down his thick shaft. he hummed in delight, planting chaste kisses to the crook of your neck and tops of your shoulders.

he remained inside you, positioning you so that you laid upon his chest, his back pressed firmly against the headboard, a gentle sight left his lips, one of contentment, peering down at you for a moment before placing a soft kiss to the tip of your head.

“my queen, you are absolutely gorgeous, don’t you ever forget that”

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#finn balor #finn balor x reader #finn balor imagines #finn balor smut #wrestling smut #wrestling imagine #wwe #wwe smut #wwe imagine #wwe fanfiction #wrestling requests #fanfic requests

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lesbian-honey-lemon · 3 months

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anyhow I talk about the stereotypical autism a lot on here but y’know what, it’s time to show off the stereotypical autism. behold. the field of science special interest. behold the geology collection

I have more rocks in my collection, as well as a book on the geology of the Adirondack Mountains/ Canadian Shield area, but I don’t know where that book went. The scoria and smooth basalt are from Iceland!!

I got the one by Alfred Wegener and the one about the time scale this Christmas!! As well as a new geode, and of course my acceptance into a geology pre-college program. I also do two geology events in Science Olympiads (Dynamic Planet and Geologic Mapping) (dynamic planet is about plate tectonics this year!!!!!) and I do very well in those events.

I’ve had this special interest for the majority of my life, starting with volcanoes when I was in first or second grade (so from like age 5 or 6) and it morphed into geology in general when I was 13 and started to do geology-based Science Olympiads events.

#geology #autism #actually autistic #autism spectrum disorder #asd #special interest #autistic special interest

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mutant-distraction · 8 months

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Here is Kathalina Saurwein at Egilsstadir, Iceland. Iceland offers some really cool climbing on basalt columns, like in this canyon. Katharine says this of the location.

“The logistics aren‘t easy and you have to swim through the river to get to the columns, but that‘s exactly what makes it so special. The whole setting, the clear blue water, the nature, the volumns - it‘s simply stunning. The rock has been worked by the water for many years which makes it super smooth, the cracks are perfect finger to hand jams, the lines are so appealing and the climbing is great. What a place!”

Our world is special, eh?

Photographer: tobias lanzanasto

Source: Common Climber

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ashirisu · 23 days

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Excruciatingly Yours

The meaning of her words seemed to occur to them both simultaneously, and Amélie was suddenly keenly aware of just how close they were sitting to one another. She pulled her hands back shyly, leaning away even as she chided herself for it. It felt so silly to be so hesitant, but it felt different to say these things aloud, rather than shrouded behind careful wordplay in the relative safety of their letters. Baz seemed to agree, because there was a brief stretch of silence before he spoke again. “You know,” he said, voice strained in an obvious effort to keep things light, “now that you mention it, they’ll likely expect me to take a wife soon.” genre: romance, fantasy | word count: 3,094 cw: mentions of death

It had been three years since the tragedy at barony Basalt, but one wouldn’t know it from the look of the manor. It wasn’t pristine, of course—there were cracks in the façade in the form of chipped walls and windows that were visibly newer than the smoke-stained walls surrounding them—but all in all, it painted a rather successful and celebratory picture.

Amélie herself hadn’t seen the barony and its eponymous estate since Lady Ignea’s funeral, and she wondered if the damage would even be visible to someone who didn’t have prior knowledge of the attack. It had taken a not-insignificant amount of time, money, and effort, but things had been patched up, scrubbed, and polished to the point that it was nearly back to its former warm and inviting glory.

It was also more formal than she’d ever seen it, even before the disrepair. It was a testament to the event—barons and viscounts from all over County Sellius had made the trip to witness the Lord Basalt’s triumphant return and official induction into the Elorspire House of Lords. Lady Ignea hadn’t been a fan of large parties, but Amélie supposed even she’d approve of the crowd of colorfully dressed partygoers there to celebrate her son.

Who was nowhere to be found, Amélie noted. It wasn’t particularly out of character for him, but it was interesting that the only person who seemed to be missing from the party for Lord Basalt was Lord Basalt himself. Amélie could see his friends—the hulking lion man locked in spirited conversation with Viscount Riunwe, the girl and the bird flitting cheerfully about and causing mischief—but Baz had evidently slipped off at some point without anyone noticing.

Amélie politely excused herself from whatever conversation she’d become an unwitting party of and ducked around the corner, where she knew a servant’s staircase lay hidden behind a small seam in the wall. It was likely how Baz had disappeared as well—anyone who hadn’t grown up here wouldn’t know where to look.

She emerged on the third floor, where she found Baz sitting at the top of the staircase proper, hands steepled over his knees. He looked up at the sound of her approach, and something in her chest fluttered emphatically when his face melted into an expression of pleased relief.

“I thought I’d successfully escaped,” he said by way of greeting. “It seems you’re determined to bring the party to me whether I want it or not.”

“We have a habit of finding each other at inopportune moments during affairs like this,” she said, gathering her skirts to sit down beside him. “It wouldn’t do to break tradition now.”

He exhaled a laugh, but she noticed his face fall back into quiet apprehension. She made a show of smoothing the golden fabric around her legs before folding her hands and looking at him expectantly.

“So,” she said. “Why did you run away from your own party?”

“Too many people,” he replied, which would have felt like a cheap excuse if he didn’t seem to mean it so sincerely. “The house hasn’t been this full since…quite a while ago. The fact that it’s all for me is just…”

“A bit much?” she finished, and he hummed affirmatively.

“May I be honest with you?” At her permissive nod, he lifted the coronet from his head and turned it thoughtfully in his hands, twisting it to catch the stream of late afternoon light coming from the window above them. “I don’t know if I can do this.” He looked at her. “I really don’t think I can.”

Amélie blinked. “What on earth makes you say that?”

“Because this doesn’t feel like it belongs to me,” he said, gesturing with the coronet. “It doesn’t feel like it should. I’ve never…I was thrust into this title in the midst of tragedy and have spent the better part of these last few years in a state of damage control. Now I’m back, and expected to make decisions, and I don’t…I don’t know if I can make them. I worry about the type of leader I’ll be now that I’m expected to actually lead.”

“Baz,” she said, proud of the way her voice managed to be soft and reassuring instead of scolding, “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. You’ve prepared your entire life for this—you’ve been studying the laws and histories of this barony practically since you could read.”

“I know,” he said. “And I was so…I was eager for it, back when the prospect of facing it alone was still years away. But now, with everything that’s changed, I’m not sure that preparing and studying has done anything for me at all.”

He gripped at the sleeve of his coat with one hand, and Amélie was sure his thumb rubbed unconsciously over the place where the Quadrumvirate’s Blessing had marked his skin. He’d never confirmed as much to her in their letters—not directly, anyway, but Amélie wasn’t unintelligent. Baz was rarely unforthcoming, and there were few other things that would have kept him captive in the domed city while his barony suffered.

“My friends try to reassure me,” he continued, twisting the coronet more anxiously now. “They say that if I could manage to be a leader throughout all of this, then I’m more than equipped to handle the day-to-day. But you and I both know it’s the day-to-day decisions that have the most impact, for better or worse. And therein lies the fear—that I’m not equipped to make the decisions my people actually need me to make.” He motioned to the room around them. “All of this? It’s my mother’s doing. She’s who they need, who they deserve. Nothing I do will ever be enough in that regard.”

Amélie looked at the estate—truly looked at it—for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. At the magitech lights in their sconces, at the walls that hid labyrinths of complicated piping that powered water and systems all throughout the house, all of which had been painstakingly repaired since the attack.

Baz wasn’t wrong in saying that their existence had largely been Lady Ignea’s doing, but she couldn’t help but feel as though he’d left himself out of the narrative rather unfairly. The inventions had been his mother’s, certainly, but the repairs had been done with the money Baz sent home—money he’d earned with sweat and blood when his people were in need of it. An innovator he was not, but Amélie thought privately that caretaker was no less important a role.

Baz seemed to misinterpret her silence, and chuckled ruefully.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You didn’t come up here to listen to my laments and insecurities. I shan’t bother you with them anymore, I just needed to say them out loud. To someone who understands, at the very least.”

Whatever remark she’d been trying to formulate to lighten the mood died on her tongue. It ached the way he said she understood, because even though he only meant that she’d known his mother and what she’d been capable of, the two of them had always been far too similar for that to be the whole truth.

Amélie’s father was a good man and a beloved leader both because and despite of his flaws. As heir to the viscounty, Amélie had always dreaded filling his shoes, dreaded what the people might think of her when her father was no longer around and it was only her and her ambitions and abrasiveness at the helm.

In truth, it was something she’d always envied about Baz. His temper made his court manners clumsy at times, but he’d always been a beacon of earnestness in a way Amélie herself had never been for her people.

And yet he seemed not to realize it, or at the very least to doubt it. She watched him stare at his coronet, brow furrowed in consternation, and her chest fluttered in the same way it had when he’d smiled at her and said her name in that terrible, gentle way.

“Your mother was a remarkable woman,” she said, taking the coronet from him. “Her tenacity, intelligence, and independence were hugely inspirational. But those were her strengths. Nobody says yours have to be the same ones.”

“I’m not sure how clocking people and occasionally exploding helpfully will contribute to the well-being of the barony.”

“Nobody said they had to be good strengths,” she said smoothly, and he laughed. She reached over and placed the coronet gently back onto his head. “Perhaps you’re right, and you’re not equipped to make every decision required of you. That doesn’t mean you’re incapable. You’re also not alone in this.” She straightened the coronet, watching fondly as it settled into his curls. “You’ve always been better with teammates, Gabby. When it’s time to make the decisions you can’t handle on your own, I trust you’ll know where to look.”

Baz let out a breath of gratitude and relief. “Thank you, Amélie, I—”

Baz seemed to agree, because there was a brief stretch of silence before he spoke again.

“You know,” he said, voice strained in an obvious effort to keep things light, “now that you mention it, they’ll likely expect me to take a wife soon.”

“Hm,” she replied, as noncommittally as she could manage. “The one responsibility that doesn’t run in your blood. I suppose you could always follow your mother’s example.”

That surprised another laugh out of him. “And take a string of lovers before spending my better decades as a perpetual bachelor? I’d have to start outsourcing my paramours. If the rumors are to be believed, I’ve bored nearly every available young woman in County Sellius to death.”

“And some of the neighboring counties,” Amélie interjected. “You’ve got quite the reputation for being a bore.”

“So they tell me,” Baz said dryly. “All in all, it sounds like far too much effort to put into being a rake. Better just to settle down.”

“Presumptuous of you,” she teased, trying to ignore the growing lump of nerves in her throat. “To assume anyone would have you.”

“Not just anyone,” he corrected. “I’m far too presumptuous for that.”

He reached for his locket, a flash of gold and crimson against the navy of his suit, and pulled a small slip of paper from it. Amélie was intrigued for exactly as long as it took for the scent of an embarrassingly familiar perfume to hit her nose.

“You didn’t,” she said, mortified.

“I did,” he said cheerfully, all traces of awkwardness disappearing in the delight of taking her so horridly aback. “It’s my most treasured possession.”

Amélie forced herself to look at the torn bottom of the letter. She remembered writing this one, if only vaguely. She’d had a bit too much wine before reading his most recent correspondence, and for some gods-abandoned reason had taken it upon herself to write back while still inebriated. The result, as she remembered it, had been uncharacteristically daring in its flirtatiousness, to the point that she’d actually sprayed it with her perfume before posting it. Worse yet, she’d signed it with—

“Excruciatingly yours,” Baz read brightly, turning the paper to show off her wobbly penmanship. “I’ve never known you to get so drunk. I wish I could have kept the whole thing, but it wouldn’t fit in the locket. I resigned myself to only keeping my favorite part.”

“Throw that away this instant,” she demanded.

“I think not!” He looked affronted. “Are you outside of your mind? I was overjoyed when I got this, and you want me to throw it in the bin as though it means nothing? No, I will die with this on my person, thank you very much.”

She shoved him, grasped with a sudden need to put as much distance as possible between her and that scrap of letter. He grinned and fell back into her comfortably, shoulder to shoulder in a way that would have been casual were it not for the things they’d nearly said, and very nearly kept saying.

It was frighteningly intimate, but Amélie was not a coward.

“It’s silly of you to hold onto that old thing,” she sniffed, inspecting her fingernails for the sake of having something else to look at. “All folded and torn as it is. What’s the point of keeping it if you can’t hold onto the full thing?”

“Well, I…I quite like it—”

“Nonsense,” she said primly. “I’ll just write you a new one.”

He caught her gaze, eyes softening. “Will you?”

“How hard can it be?” she asked, trying not to let her voice waver. His eyes were very brown. “I’ll simply make a drunken fool of myself again, and you’ll have a brand-new letter to fawn over. Perhaps I’ll even make you cry this time.”

“Most likely, considering I already nearly cried over this one.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and let his hand linger, thumb stroking her cheek softly. “You don’t have to go through all the trouble of getting drunk, though. You could just tell me these things out loud, with your words.”

“Ridiculous,” she scoffed, leaning closer. “Who has time for that?”

His kiss was softer than she’d imagined, but she could feel the warmth of his magic against her lips and where his fingers met her jaw. It began as a soft tingle that intensified as he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer and sliding his fingers into her careful updo.

It could have lasted for minutes or months, but it ended with an amused huff when she could feel the buzzing in her teeth. He pulled away, but only enough to break contact. She could still feel his breath ghosting against her lips as he chuckled sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he said. “That still happens sometimes.”

“Don’t be.” She reached up to touch the side of his mouth, where a bit of her lipstick had transferred. “You’ll just never have the dignity of being able to lie about how much you wanted to kiss me.”

She could feel him smile, and he turned his head slightly to kiss her fingertips before straightening up and regarding her cautiously.

“Does this mean you’re all right being seen with me in public now?” he asked. “Just to avoid any undue assumptions on my part.”

“Eurgh,” she said, “I didn’t think of that. I take it back; let’s continue dancing around each other for a few more years.”

“And stealing occasional sordid kisses in stairwells in the meantime?” He laughed. “It’s a tempting offer—I could use another good scandal to my name. The only problem is that I’m growing tired of pretending I don’t want to marry you.”

Amélie couldn’t think of a clever comeback to that. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to.

“I suppose the solution is fairly simple, then,” she said instead, weakly.

“For you, it always has been.”

By the Lady, where had this version of him been all this time? Before Amélie could say anything—or, more likely, kiss him again—they were interrupted by someone calling Baz’s name from a few floors below.

“One of your friends,” she whispered.

“Fuck ‘em,” he whispered back, making her laugh. He did start to stand, though, reluctantly pulling away. “That’s Ret, though, so it probably is important. It seems I can’t avoid my own party forever.”

“Welcome back to the thrill of social politics,” she deadpanned. “You’ll always be needed somewhere by someone you don’t want to be needed by.”

“And I thought fighting Lethorians was annoying.” He paused halfway to his feet, then knelt back on the stairs next to her. Apparently realizing the awkward irony of being down on one knee, he quickly set his other leg down, then just as quickly reconsidered and went back to his original position. He slid the signet ring off his finger and held it out to her, taking her hand.

“If you’ll have me,” he said softly. “It isn’t much and it isn’t what you deserve, but it’s everything I have. Someday I’ll be able to afford to give you more than just my name, and I’ll propose in the way I would have if all of this had never happened.”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes and slipped on the ring, heart hammering fully out of her chest. It was a bit too heavy and a bit too big, and wholly perfect. “As if everything you have isn’t enough. If I really feel the need to brag to someone, I’ll just tell them you were so eager to kiss me that you nearly vibrated my skull off my spine.”

That made him kiss her twice more—once like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to do it, and once like he was afraid he wouldn’t get the chance again if he ever stopped. There were a lot of unspoken words in the second, and she was left breathless when he finally pulled away.

“Yes, well,” he said, just as breathlessly, stroking his thumb against her cheek again. “We’ll have to work on that part.”

And then he was gone, stopping on the landing just long enough to smile up at her in something akin to disbelief before disappearing down the stairs to deal with whatever problem had arisen in his absence.

Amélie stayed on the steps for a moment more, twisting her new engagement ring around her finger. She pulled one of the decorative ribbons from her dress and twisted it around the ring until it fit snugly and she could admire it from different angles.

It felt silly to giggle in the open stairwell, so she waited until she’d closed herself in the relative privacy of the servant’s stairs.

“Lady Basalt,” she said experimentally into the darkness. It would be strange to have the name be hers and not Lady Ignea’s, but she liked the taste of it. She twisted the ring once more before heading back to the party, feeling significantly lighter than when she’d left.

Did you like this post? Buy me a coffee! Want to work together? Check out my editing services! Tags: @memento-morri-writes @aquadestinyswriting

#it's a little messy but it's written with love #and now it'll never be canon rip she literally said “i don't want you anymore” what am i meant to do with that #my writing #ley writes #flash fiction #writeblr #d&d #d&d oc

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separatist-apologist · 1 year

Text

no gods. no religion.

Just bad, bad decisions

Summary: Galactic Senator Elain Archeron knows her ex-fiance is financing a crime syndicate. All she needs to oust him is a little proof.

And, of course, a pilot.

The prompt: SENATOR ELAIN AND FLYBOY LUCIEN

Part 2 | read on ao3 (OR GIVE ME A KISS) | part 1

14k words so you're not allowed to be mean to me

“Who is your contact?” Lucien asked Marcellus, meeting him just outside the cantina he’d left Elain inside. His mind was just vaguely on this mission, stuck in bed where he’d woken to her cheek pressed to his chest and her leg wedged between his thighs. Lucien had tried—and failed—to convince Elain he was feeling much better.

And she’d rolled her eyes and left him with an aching body and a weeping cock. The bacta had left him stiff, but mostly healed, and he thought he had a stim somewhere on his ship. If he timed it just right, he could do unspeakable, filthy things to her before the inevitable crash into oblivion.

Marcellus spoke, but Lucien didn’t hear. He should have cared more than he did, but Lucien was unfocused again. Elain, Elain, Elain. Those would be his final thoughts when he was shot dead in the face. He had no regrets, at least.

Well, maybe one. He wanted to know what it felt like to be inside her, and he supposed dying before he had the chance would be a shame. But other than that, Lucien was mostly fine with leaving the mortal coil having done all he needed to do.

Almost everything he needed to do.

“You’ll like him,” Marcellus continued, shouting over the sound of the hover car’s engine and the whipping wind.

Lucien didn’t see how that mattered, even on an illicit job site. He worked with plenty of people he didn’t like—Rhysand Moreno came to mind—and managed to get things done. Lucien also doubted he could possibly like a criminal dedicated to making the galaxy unsafer, given his own position within the Republic.

This was for Elain, who wasn’t his wife technically, though that didn’t stop Lucien from imagining she was. And he supposed he ought to please her in order to keep his position as husband. It was also for the good of the galaxy, which Lucien cared deeply about. There would always be criminals, always scum and villainy like Graysen and for as long as Lucien was alive, he could fight to make the galaxy a little bit kinder, a little more decent.

If not for Elain, then for everyone else.

“And if I don’t?” Lucien questioned as they whizzed over the dunes from the day before. No trace of the gundarks left to rot in the cliffside nest he and Marcellus had invaded. Lucien shifted, breathing deep through the orange scarf Elain had purchased for him. His ribs felt better than they had before, though the bruises in the mirror told him he was lucky nothing had been broken.

“Where is this place?” Lucien called. It was occurring to him he might be a little too trusting. He was out in the middle of nowhere with a stranger. What was stopping Marcellus from putting a blaster bolt in his head and leaving his own body to feed the desert scavengers?

“Up ahead,” Marcellus said. Lucien turned his gaze toward the cliffs, stretching into jagged mountains that loomed overhead like a great, craggy beast. Lucien could see, high up and built into the basalt columns, was a smooth, onyx building that likely snaked far below the ground. It was a good place, defensively, for a syndicate to hide out. “Mine is a little further ahead.”

“What the fuck is being mined on this sandy shithole?” Lucien demanded as the hover car came to a silent stop.

Marcellus only shrugged, hopping over the side. “All I know is whatever it is needs little fingers. Lots of kids inside.”

He didn’t react, though internally the thought made him blanch. “Child labor was outlawed.”

“A lot of things are illegal,” Marcellus reminded Lucien pointedly. It was a reminder that he couldn’t truly be himself, but a version with looser morals. Even criminals had a code, didn’t they?

Why shouldn’t he be a little outraged that Graysen employed children in his sketchy mine?

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Your wife doesn’t seem the sort to let it get that bad.”

“No,” Lucien mused, boots sinking in the sand. “I’m sure she has a contingency if our marriage stops pleasing her.”

Marcellus shot him a sidelong glance, unaware Lucien’s mood wasn’t about Elain but those children, and Graysen, and all the legalities a Senator was willing to break in order to serve his own interests.

“Explains the gundarks, I guess. I’ve been trying to find a partner for months before you show up. I thought you were looking for an in with Hybern.”

Lucien snorted. “I’m looking for credits.”

“I know that now,” Marcellus said, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. Were all of Hybern’s guys so forthcoming, so chatty? It seemed like a poor quality unless they were specifically trying to recruit. Marcellus was charming, well-spoken and persuasive. A good shot, too. He would have been a good candidate for the Republic, too. Lucien almost regretted having to leave him behind and wondered if he might not do a little recruitment of his own.

“This way,” Marcellus said, gesturing toward a door carved into the mountainside. “We have to be careful now. A Jedi was sniffing around a couple months ago.”

“Out here?” Lucien asked, his surprise genuine. “For what purpose?”

“Works for some uppity Senator looking to shore up his re-election, is my guess,” Marcellus said dispassionately. “She didn’t find much and no one out here wants to bring the Republic down on their necks, so we let her be. But the doors are reinforced.”

It was a warning, just in case Lucien had any smart ideas. “Smart,” was all he said. He only had a blaster on him, and silently cursed himself for not grabbing his vibrodagger which was also technically illegal. He’d forgotten to slide it in his boot, too distracted by Elain winding her hair up in front of the mirror.

No bombs, though. Lucien ran a hand over his beige shirt, following behind. Marcellus punched a code in a pad too quick for Lucien’s eyes to track, if he’d even thought to. He was focused on the imager peering down at them both, watching their every move. He held his gaze just long enough that whoever was on the other side knew he was aware of its presence before turning back to Marcellus.

The door hissed open, revealing a dim room and a labyrinth of halls Lucien would never navigate by memory alone. Lights set against the gleaming walls made everything seem brighter once the door closed behind them, causing Lucien to blink as spots blurred his vision.

Left, right, left again—Lucien repeated the pattern in his head, just in case he needed to make a hasty exit. Marcellus’s pace was clipped, his shoulders set with a sort of grim determination that made Lucien increasingly nervous. Still, he kept his arrogant, easy swagger and his unimpressed expression, even when he was led into a rather small, dank office. The man behind the desk was just that—a man, perhaps a few years older than Lucien, though not by much. The desert hadn’t weathered away his handsome features, though something had made flint out of those pine colored eyes. Blonde hair had been carefully braided off a suntanned face, leaving the powerful man reclining in his chair, surveying Lucien with just as much cool interest as Lucien surveyed him.

“Tamlin, this is Fox,” Marcellus said anxiously. “Took down a nest of gundarks with me. He’s a damn good shot and he’s got a pretty, young wife he’s looking to keep in comfort.”

Tamlin leaned forward, elbows on the sleek metal surface.

“What kind of work have you done before?”

Lucien offered up what he hoped was a savage smile. “This and that.”

Tamlin could read well enough between the lines. Holding Lucien’s gaze, he asked, “Good with a blaster?”

Lucien only shrugged. “I’m not dead yet.”

Tamlin reclined back in his seat, steepling his fingers in front of his lips. “I need someone who can help put down a rebellion.”

Lucien’s stomach splattered at his feet. “Oh?”

“There’s trouble over at the mines. I need someone who can go in and set the workers right again. Instill a little fear.”

No. It was a violation of everything he held dear, of his central, moral code. Lucien rubbed at his jaw, the stubble scraping over the pads of his fingers. “I heard it was mostly children.”

“Children have parents,” Tamlin reminded him cooly. Stars, he thought in a daze. What kind of galaxy allowed children to labor while their parents were held at blaster point?

“What happens to those children if I kill their parents?” Lucien asked, arching a brow. Beside him, Marcellus shifted uncomfortably.

“Then they become wards of the mine,” Tamlin replied reasonably. Lucien wasn’t stupid. Wards meant no pay—meant slaves. Children who would become adults, assuming they even lived that long, with nothing and no one. Indebted, even, to the mine that had housed and clothed and fed them, regardless of how poor that care had been.

“I don’t hurt kids,” Lucien said, thinking he had enough information to take back to Elain. There was no fucking way he was taking this job, no way he was going to be the enforcer in the face of tyranny.

Tamlin paused for a moment, and then slid a small chip over the center of his desk. “Sleep on it. Consider this a good faith payment…for the gundarks,” he added. And Lucien, who was supposed to be a man trying to support his highborn wife, swallowed against the instinct that demanded he tell Tamlin where he could shove his credits.

He took them with greedy fingers, slipping it into his pockets.

“If you change your mind, you know where I am,” Tamlin said with a shrug, reclining back in his chair. His tone very much suggested he knew Lucien would see the credits to be had and set aside those convictions.

“We’ll be in touch, I’m sure,” Lucien replied.

But all he could think about was those parents, forced to watch their children toil in brutal conditions. Lucien had the tools and resources to help them if he had enough nerve.

It was impulsive.

It was risky.

It had his name written all over it.

ELAIN:

“So,” Pina began once the early rush of the morning settled enough for Elain to return behind the bar. Her feet were killing her, and Elain thought if one more person tried to pinch her ass she’d slam her metal serving tray straight against their face.

She didn’t think Pina would mind.

Elain glanced over, bracing her palms against the bartop. “That husband of yours.”

“What about him?” she asked, trying not to think of how she’d woken. Lucien, with his clever, sneaky fingers had been halfway up her nightdress before she stopped him, while her thigh had been wedged between his own, rubbing the thickened length of him. He’d done his best to convince her he was well enough for whatever activities she required from him but Elain had said no.

Not because she didn’t want him, but because the job had to come first. If they started in the morning, there was nothing to keep them from going to their pretend workplaces and unteasing the mystery that Graysen had laid before them. Elain could think of no greater humiliation than admitting she let another man sidetrack her again.

Pina was committed to rubbing out some invisible spot only she could see. “I see a lot of folks come in and out of this outpost. Ain’t never seen someone like him before. Where’d you pick him up, again?”

“Corellia,” Elain said, certain they’d had this conversation before. “He worked for my father.”

Pina hummed noncommittally, still rubbing the bar.

“Treats you good? Better than those rich boys I’ll bet you were supposed to end up with?”

Elain felt her throat constrict, because yes, he did—that wasn’t even a lie. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Yeah. He’s a good man.”

“Those are hard to come by. Unlucky he got scooped up by Marcellus, then.”

Finally. Elain didn’t let herself seem to eager as she reached for a stack of cups. “Oh? He seemed nice enough.”

Dumb, sheltered, rich man’s daughter.

“I didn’t say he wasn’t nice. But those Hybern mercenaries are brutal. He’s always in here recruiting, looking for new blood. They need it, with how they burn through people.”

“Hybern?” Elain forced herself to ask. Why would she know a thing about that?

Pina’s eyes were pinched at the sides. “That man of yours should inform you better if he’s gonna let you wander around alone. Hybern runs a little outfit in the desert. Mostly spice, but they dabble in all sorts of things.”

“Like the mine?” Elain asked, adopting a wide-eyed look of innocence. Pina’s expression sharpened.

“That’s run by some off-worlder. I wouldn’t get myself mixed up with that.”

“Lucien says there is nothing worth mining out here,” Elain continued, determined she’d get something she could tell Lucien later. Proof that she wasn’t useless, that she could do this, too.

Pina shrugged. “He ain’t wrong about that. But no one’s looking this way and if you wanted to slip the Republic’s notice, this is a good place for it.”

“Why would someone want that?” Elain asked, innocent and sweet. Pina looked like she pitied her.

“Honey, trust me. Don’t go near that mine. Pretty things like you are awfully tempting to the wrong sort. Warn your foolish husband there are things far worse than not having enough credits.”

Elain didn’t need to ask what might be worse. She understood well enough, the way all women in the galaxy.

“You’ve got a job here as long as you want it,” Pina added with clear admiration. And Elain, who’d felt overshadowed her whole life, didn’t realize how badly she craved this small bit of validation. “I’ve never seen this place half as clean, and you’re a nice girl. Don’t see much of that, either.”

Elain couldn’t hide the flush of pleasure spreading over her face. Ducking her head, she said, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Pina told her gruffly, taking off to the other end of the cantina to fill up someones cup. It didn’t take much longer for Lucien to appear, striding in with his thumb hooked into his belt. His eyes swept the room, landing wholly on her. Outwardly, he seemed as arrogant as ever—smug, even, if that smile on his lips was any indication.

But it was that russet eye of his that told Elain something troubled him. Even when he unhooked his thumb to beckon for her, and Pina sighed with exasperation but said nothing when Elain offered a hasty I’m so sorry! as Lucien hauled her up over his shoulder.

“I’ve got amazing news, baby,” he said, his voice carrying even as he dragged her out into the hottest part of the day. Elain was grateful for the scarf wrapped around her head, inching it up so only her eyes remained uncovered. He didn’t bother, and by the time they returned to their home, he was hacking up a lung. He’d dropped her back to his feet, palms braced on his knees.

“Kriffing hell,” he managed, stumbling to the kitchen for some water. Elain didn’t comment as he drank straight from the tap.

“You forgot your scarf,” she admonished, carefully unpinning it from her hair. Lucien nodded, mouth wide as he gulped down more cool water.

“My hands were full of your ass—”

“Lucien!”

He only laughed, choking out an, “Sorry, I’m sorry—” while not looking very sorry at all. Hands on her hips, Elain waited for him to straighten out, both eyes eager.

“Well?” she demanded. “What did you learn?”

“Nolan is using slave labor to run his mine through a little technicality in which he utilizes children, and then executes their parents for complaining about the conditions.”

Well. Elain had expected any number of things. But not that. Dizzy, she reached behind her for the little sofa, collapsing to the lumpy cushions as she fought to catch her breath.

“He…” She couldn’t finish that sentence. Because Elain had believed, deep, deep down, that Graysen was the man she’d fallen in love with. That she would recognize a monster, and all of this was some misunderstanding. Maybe he’d merely gotten caught up in something he shouldn’t. But this new revelation killed any of those hopes she’d been secretly harboring, and buried them, too.

Lucien knelt before her, one elbow resting on his thigh as he took her hand. “Is that the job, then? Helping with the mine?”

“Putting down some small rebellion,” Lucien admitted, his eyes searching her own. Elain knew, no matter how she asked him not to, that Lucien had already made up his mind to help. What kind of person was she to want him to sit it out, besides?

“The locals all know it’s an off-worlder running the mine. Maybe we could get some concrete evidence, send it to Nesta, and get it shut down,” she said hopefully. The set of Lucien’s jaw told

Elain exactly how this was going to go. Even when he squeezed her hand and murmured in agreement, she understood he couldn’t leave these people to some horrible fate.

Lucien had honor, and maybe she didn’t, if she didn’t want him to involve himself.

“Did you learn anything helpful?”

“They’re making something that doesn’t come from the planet,” she said, miserable that both her news wasn’t terribly important and she’d once been set to marry a monster. How could he look at her like that, with so much soft wanting etched into his expression, knowing how foolish, how stupid she’d been?

“Something for a weapon, right?” he interrupted her thought, his voice earnest. “I’ll bet it’s highly illegal. We’ll find it. Together.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him they weren’t actually married. That he didn’t have to try so hard when they were alone because she still liked him, still wanted him. But then he might stop looking at her like she was the sun and he was merely a planet revolving around her. It was just so nice having his attention like she did. Elain couldn’t remember a time in her life when anyone had looked at her the way he did.

“Together,” she whispered, returning a squeeze to his callused hand. Lucien stood with a grunt, a reminder that he’d let a group of gundarks kick the shit out of him in service to her. It was worth knowing why he allowed that.

“Lucien?”

He turned to look at her, though he was still making his way back to the kitchen for more water. “Why did you want to be a pilot?”

“I love to fly,” he replied with that dimpled smile. Elain waited, because she knew Lucien understood what she meant. Surely there was some tragedy that motivated him, something heinous that would explain why Lucien was so dedicated, had risen so quickly, was so respected by her sister.

“It feels decent,” he finally said, bracing his body weight against the counter. “That’s what my mother used to say. We do the right thing because it’s decent and kind. Or…something like that.

But I wanted to be a pilot and work for the Republic because I thought it was decent and kind.”

“Where did you grow up, again?”

“Yavin 4,” he said with a dreamy smile. “Until I was eight, anyway. We moved to the inner core when my dad became a Senator. I went to the naval academy, my brother became a Senator like our father…it was a good childhood, for the most part. I was far luckier than most.”

There was an edge to his voice that suggested, while things had been good, they could have been better. Elain knew better than to pick, in part because she understood that well. There was nothing to complain about, and yet it could have been better, too. She felt ungrateful to say so.

“I just realized,” she said, staring at Lucien. “Your brother is Eris Vanserra.”

Elain had never put it together, but here, looking at Lucien, she saw the resemblance. Lucien was far more handsome, lovelier in every regard. Nicer, too, by all accounts. She’d never spoken to the Senator, who both outranked her in terms of experience, but was also so intimidating in his scope that Elain had never dared to introduce herself.

And here she was, kissing his brother.

Lucien offered a rueful smile. “I wondered when you’d realize. Yes, the Eris Vanserra is my brother.”

“I know what that’s like,” Elain offered Lucien as he filled up his cup. “I had Nesta. Feyre, too.”

“Yeah, I’ve met Feyre. She’s something else. In a good way, I mean,” he added quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wish I’d known about you, though.”

Elain turned her attention back to her nervous hands. “I don’t think that's true. My sisters are so…you know? And I…”

The sound of shuffling feet, and a soft groan brought Lucien back to her. “You’re what?” he asked, his one good eye blazing defiantly. Daring her to say one disparaging thing about herself in his presence. So Elain shrugged, letting her body speak the words her mouth couldn’t quite get out.

“Magnificent?” he supplied, holding her gaze. “Brave? The smartest woman I’ve ever met? Beautiful—”

“Okay, I get it,” she grumbled, though pleasure coiled in her gut all the same.

“I’m not sorry people don’t see you for what you are,” Lucien murmured, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand. “I might have competition if they did.”

“Lucien,” she chided, but it was clear there was no deterring him. Not when he leaned forward, still on his knees, and pressed his lips to hers. There would be no arguing or shattering whatever fantasy plagued him. That suited Elain just fine, who was living in her own fantasy that when this was all over, she’d get to keep the younger Vanserra. That he’d still want her once the excitement of their mission wore off and he realized how mundane her life truly was.

In her mind, Lucien wanted stability amid the adrenaline and the chaos of his life as a Commander. And in reality, she suspected once he realized she was none of those things, he’d leave her behind in favor of preserving the rosy, glowing memories of Florrum.

Stars above, though, Elain wanted him beyond reason. Nesta would call her crazy, as if her sister hadn’t run off with a man she’d known half as long, and look at how they were doing. Perhaps it was a trait of the Archerons to fall in love immediately, to know on sight they wanted something. Even when it shattered her, like her engagement to Graysen had done.

Lucien wasn’t Graysen, though. Lucien was a man of honor, a man who had dedicated his life to serving others on the word of his mother—because it was right, and decent, and kind.

Nesta had served him up to her, seemingly unaware of how drawn Elain would be to him. Or him to her, if Lucien’s tangled fingers in her hair were any indication. His want was intoxicating and heady, his tongue impossibly soft and juxtaposed with the rough calluses of his skin.

She wanted to feel them scraping her bare skin, wanted to know what it was like to be the sole focus of his attention, if only once. It had been so long since a man had touched her and maybe longer still since she’d even wanted that.

Lucien stopped before they ever got started. “Not out here,” he panted, pressing his forehead against her own. “You should know…I was offered a job. I could go to the mine…or the factory…or whatever nightmare Graysen has concocted.”

He said the words as if they pained him.

“What’s the catch?” Elain asked, holding his face lightly between her fingertips.

“Putting down the rebellion. Making an orphan of more kids that, even if Graysen disappears, won’t have anywhere to go.”

He didn’t add what his eyes were so desperately trying to say. Taking the job might wreck his very soul. Lucien wasn’t the kind to aid tyranny, and here he was, apologetically trying to explain his limitations to her own mission. Silently pleading with her not to make him do it, to let them find some other way to infiltrate that didn’t involve his blaster pointed at innocents.

Was she any better than Graysen if she told Lucien to do it? She didn’t think Lucien would keep looking at her with those eyes if she begged him to.

“Another way,” she said instead, because that seemed decent and kind. And Elain wanted to be that kind of person, too. The sort that Lucien always looked at the way he was right then. Relief flooded his expression, warning her as sure as the sun overhead. “Let's talk about it.” His expression sharpened. “We can talk later,” he said, hoisting her up from the couch with a soft grunt of pain.

“You’re still hurt,” Elain protested, though it was weak, even to her own ears.

“I’m starting to think you don’t want to see me naked,” Lucien teased, walking the ten steps to the bed. He dropped her atop it, hesitating as he waited for her response. Do you?

“I don’t want to have to explain to my sister why her best pilot is in the med bay,” Elain replied with what she hoped was an easy-going smile. “I’m not going anywhere, Lucien.”

“Are you sure?” he replied, crawling toward her. “Because sometimes I think I dreamt you up.”

“We can wait—”

“Is that what you want?” he asked, carefully emphasizing his words. The implication, of course, was that he very much did not want that, but would respect it because he cared about her.

“No,” she whispered, thinking just this once, she could have the thing she wanted. She could have him, and it wouldn’t all go spectacularly wrong. “No, that’s not what I want, Lucien.”

He exhaled sharply. “Good. I might have died if you’d said yes.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to be reckless. To tell him she thought she could love him, to ask him if he thought he might stay when the whole thing was over. She didn’t, though. Didn’t dare, not when he was pressing her back into the mattress and peppering her mouth with feather soft kisses.

Maybe the wanting was enough.

LUCIEN:

Lucien was ruined, and he hadn’t taken off a stitch of clothing.

He wanted to take things slow, to draw her out and really enjoy her their first time. More than anything, though, Lucien wanted to give her a reason to crawl into bed with him again—to want to see him when the mission was over and she realized how absurd his schedule was. What kind of woman wanted a man who could be gone for weeks at a time? Who couldn’t always reliably reach a comm to let her know he was okay? For someone as whip smart and put together as Elain, he imagined she wanted stability, a thing he wasn’t sure he could reasonably offer.

Not in the ways he was sure she’d imagined, at any rate.

He’d come home to her, though, and some hopeful part of him wanted to believe that was enough. That whatever was shimmering between them was compelling to her, a reason to stick around when they finished. And if not, well, Lucien hoped his cock would silence whatever objections she almost certainly had. Some small part of him wondered if he wasn’t trapped in the most incandescent dream. Elain had her arms around his neck, coming through his hair until the leather strap he’d used to tie it off his face was wrapped around her wrist and the strands were unbound.

His brain was screaming, urging him to move faster before she came to her senses and realized what he was trying to do to her. At any moment she might open her eyes, really see him, and pull away in revulsion.

That had never happened to Lucien, but if it was going to, he knew it would be with her. Lucien had the maddening habit of losing the things he cared about no matter how desperately he tried to hold on to them. She would leave, too—would realize the life he was offering was too simple, unfussy and uncomplicated. He wasn’t his brother, and though he had credits squirreled away, he couldn’t give her the life of a princess no matter how often he called her that.

Elain’s thumbs slid over his cheeks, brushing against the stubble clinging to his jaw. “What are you thinking about?” she breathed, arching her neck for him.

“How kriffing pretty you are,” he lied, licking the column of her throat. Elain squirmed beneath him, hooking her ankle around his leg so they were all but aligned. “And how cumbersome these clothes are.”

“Take them off,” she breathed, eyes closed.

It took Lucien a moment to truly register what she’d said. Take them off, her clothes, take them off—

It was the most inelegant moment of his life. Lucien had once believed he was rather suave, cool in the face of the unknown. He’d never had a true test like Elain Archeron before, arching and shifting so he could pull that tunic over her head and slide the pants from her body. Elain pushed her hips upward, grinding against his already hard cock so Lucien could remove the last of her underthings. He flung them unceremoniously somewhere behind him, greedy eyes never leaving her lush, naked form. Gods, but he hadn’t been lying when he’d said she was pretty. Truthfully, he was underselling what she was, but there wasn’t a word in any language Lucien knew that could wholly encompass the sight of her.

“Now you,” Elain said, trying to raise herself up on her elbows. Lucien wanted her to undress him and couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing her splayed out, hair a wild halo around her heartshaped face.

“I do as you command.” His voice was a rough whisper, his need making a mockery of him. Still, Lucien somehow got that shirt over his head and his boots off his feet. He had to stand in order to kick of his pants and his own undergarments, all the while Elain watched with sharp, hungry interest.

He was, perhaps, a little too theatrical when he let his cock spring free. Elain’s lips parted at the sight, filling Lucien with more than a little masculine pride. He stood there for a moment, flexing his abs while Elain kept her eyes directly on his cock.

“Are you coming back?” she finally asked, a soft smile twitching over those kiss bruised lips.

“I find myself distracted,” he admitted, giving himself a quick stroke thinking it would take the edge off his lust. He should have known his previously neglected erection would jump with excitement, begging him to touch himself again.

“By what?” she asked, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“You,” he breathed, settling himself between her parted thighs. This was happening. If he’d wanted to forgo everything, Lucien could have slid himself right inside her with a whispered, no takebacks.

He wasn’t ready to be finished. Not by a longshot. Content to rub himself against her, letting his cock tease everywhere but where she was so clearly wanted, Lucien came back for a messy, heated kiss. He couldn’t keep his hands confined to her hair, though he knew the minute he was buried inside her, he was coming back for those tangled curls. He wanted his to put his face in the crook of her neck, wanted to be flush against them so not even light could penetrate between the space of their bodies. Just them—just this.

Elain moaned, tracing his spine with her fingernails. When she reached his ass, she squeezed, pushing them closer together. Lucien gasped, his cock sliding against the slick heat of her pussy. If he’d shifted even an inch to the left he’d be buried inside her without even trying and every last nerve beneath his skin begged him to do it.

That would mean he didn’t get to taste her, and to Lucien, that felt sacreligious. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to move, rolling his hips carefully so the skin of his cock coated against the dripping wet of her cunt without ever penetrating her. He just wanted to kiss, wanted to touch and tease her pretty, perky breasts while she gasped and moaned and writhed beneath him.

“Please,” she whispered into his ear, but Lucien didn’t relent. He couldn’t remember the last time anything had felt so good. Her skin was soft and Elain was absurdly responsive—and Lucien was determined to find every little spot that made her eyes roll up into her head. Behind her ear, the crook of her neck, just beneath her collarbone all elicited that same breathless, “Lucien,” that he was suddenly addicted to.

She had no idea the sheer power she wielded. Lucien would have done anything she told him to in that moment. Elain could have demanded he stop, redress himself, and destroy the entire outpost and Lucien didn’t think he’d have the strength to tell her no. It was pure luck that Elain was the exact sort of woman he’d been dreaming about his entire life.

She was far too kind to ever demand the suffering of others, though perhaps she enjoyed making him suffer, if only a little. With one last, valiant effort, Elain attempted to realign them, to drag his desperate cock into her body. Lucien angled his hips and slid further down her body, grinding himself against the bedsheets in an attempt to soothe his rageful cock.

Soon, he told himself, as if that did anything for the sirens currently screaming in his brain. He could have lingered at her breasts, sucking rosy nipples in between his teeth until it was her bucking into the air, clawing at his shoulders to please, Lucien, please—but Lucien had an objective.

He could be singled-minded on a mission. Driven to the point of obsession, even. And all Lucien wanted was to make his way down her soft, unblemished body until he was eye level with her pretty, pink pussy.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispered, rubbing his fingers over the swollen, nestled bud. Elain moaned loudly as his fingers circled idly, watching how her back arched up off the mattress, thrusting her breasts high in the air. Fuck, but Lucien was so ruined. There was no coming back from this. If she left him, he’d spend the rest of his life right here in this bed. “Tell me you want to come all over my tongue.”

“Lucien,” she tried, but he wanted to make it difficult. Wanted to draw out her pleasure. They were alone on this backwater planet, surrounded by whipping wind that would disguise any and all noise they made. He’d never get a better chance to make Elain scream—when they returned to Coruscant, it was impossible that someone wouldn’t hear them, wouldn’t know what they were up to, given how people were stacked atop each other.

Lucien adjusted himself, holding his body up on his elbows so he could slide a finger into her body. She immediately clamped against him, so tight his head fell between her hips and his eyes rolled up into his skull.

“Tell me, princess, that you want me to taste you,” he managed, sliding that finger in and out with a tortured slowness, his other finger still drawing lazy circles over her clit. It was possible she didn’t hear him, prompting Lucien to tease around her clit, not touching close enough to give her what she so clearly needed.

Elain’s eyes flew open.

“Tell me to fuck you with my tongue,” Lucien ordered, holding her gaze. Please, he wanted to say.

“I want you to taste me,” she managed, her cheeks flaming red. She was sweet—wanton and yet still embarrassed to tell him what she wanted. Still, it was good enough to lower his mouth, still holding those brown eyes so she could watch him take an exaggerated lick.

Elain was sweet everywhere. He groaned, not for effect, but because his cock immediately responded. Pleasure slithered into his gut, stilted by the lack of stimulation and still heady and bright. Lucien became half animal in that moment, chasing the taste of her arousal while forgetting he was supposed to be teasing her. It couldn’t be helped—this was for him, now, though she was taking an immense amount of pleasure from his mouth and hand. Elain rolled against his face, draping a leg over his shoulder, the other spread wide.

Lucien didn’t stop, using the flat of his tongue to rub before sucking her between his lips, all the while watching to see what drew the loudest reaction. What did she like? What would break her apart? He managed to fit a second, and then a third finger into her body, carefully thrusting as he worked her open in preparation for his cock.

“Lucien,” Elain begged, the prettiest sound he’d ever heard in his life. “Lucien, please—”

She screamed. Thighs clamped tight around his face so he couldn’t move even if he’d wanted, which he decidedly did not. A bolt of white hot excitement flared through him, watching her come. It was as though some unseen being pulled at her strings, lifting her spine clean off the bed. Fingers curled in the sheets, pulling them from the edge of the mattress before they made their way to his hair, knotting in the strands and pushing him closer and closer before yanking with a gasping plea.

“More,” Elain begged, tugging when he wouldn’t stop. Lucien didn’t want to—he wanted to watch her come apart like that again, wanted to taste the sweetness of her orgasm flood his mouth and coat his fingers.

You can watch her when she comes on your cock, his brain screamed at him. It was, he decided, a compelling point. Lucien released her, pulling his fingers from her body only to press them against her lips.

“Taste yourself,” he demanded, sliding a finger against her pretty tongue. Elain sucked, eyes dark and wide. Lucien couldn’t help his groan, nor could he help how her wet, gliding tongue seemed to lick at his cock, too. He pulled back, kissing her with still wet lips. Pressing his tongue into her mouth, Elain kissed him back greedily, drinking in the salty sweet taste of her body with a pretty, soft moan.

This time, when she hooked a leg around his waist, Lucien didn’t angle away but slotted his cock against her. He could feel her thudding heart even at the opening, and when he pushed himself in just to the head, she convulsed in the aftershocks of his mouth, drawing him in further.

“Fuck,” he whispered, pulling from the kiss to bury his face in the crook of her neck. She smelled sweet like honey and floral like the shampoo and soap she used.

Elain dug her heels against his ass, shoving until he was flush against her, buried to the root in her body. Lucien couldn’t breathe, his heart jumping frantically in his throat. She was so wet, so tight and hot and still coming down from that first orgasm. Tangling his hands in her hair, Lucien kissed the skin between her throat and shoulders, adjusting the the silken heat of her body.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, refusing to move an inch until she responded.

“Yes,” Elain gasped, sinking her teeth into his arm. Lucien jerked, thrusting himself deeper into her body.

“Do you want more?”

“Yes.”

Lucien would give her more. Drawing himself all the way out felt like some kind of sin, while driving himself back into her felt like home. He’d wanted to hold himself against her, but Lucien needed to see, needed to watch his cock slide in and out of her body. Pushing himself up, Lucien spread her legs wide apart, bending them at the knees so they were pressed to her chest.

“Look at how well you take me, Elain,” he groaned, addicted to the sight. It was the most arousing thing he’d ever seen in his life, heightened by the sheer pleasure he felt being gripped by her pussy. “You were made for my cock.”

Elain dug her nails into his forearms. Looking at him, he found her pupils blown out, eyes wide. “More,” she moaned. He understood what she was asking for, releasing one of her legs to return back to her clit. Still pink, still swollen from his lips and tongue, Lucien began rubbing wet, tight circles around it until Elain squeezed so tight stars spotted in his vision. He was going to come, even with his ass clenched tight and his mind reciting star charts in an attempt to distract him, Lucien was building hotter and hotter.

Elain, too, by the looks of it. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life, bucking and moaning beneath him. Nothing in his life could touch this moment for perfection, and when Elain came again, squeezing around him as her lips parted in a wordless scream, Lucien tumbled over the edge with her.

His cock pulsated, thrusting wildly without rhythm—only the frantic, instinctual need to get deeper, closer. He couldn’t breathe, his skin so tight he thought he might explode into glittering dust motes in the bright sunlight flooding the room. Even when there was nothing left and his muscles began to tremble, his body spent, Lucien couldn’t bring himself to pull out of her.

He did collapse atop her, kissing her until Elain turned her head to suck in a loud breath of air.

“Was it good?” he asked her, searching her expression for some clue. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” she replied, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Yes, Lucien, I liked it. Liked you.”

It was only that admission, spoken to just him and the desert sun, that convinced Lucien to withdraw his throbbing cock from her body so he could watch his come slide down her swollen pussy and drip onto the sheets.

“What are you doing?” she asked him, raised up on her elbows when he went to settle back between her legs.

“Do you have somewhere to be today?” he asked, slicking his fingers through the mess.

“No,” she admitted.

Lucien grinned. “Good. Neither do I.”

ELAIN:

“I have to go to work, Lucien.”

His answering groan was the only response she was gonna get. Fingers knotted in her hair, pushing her face back toward his erect cock, a not so subtle attempt to convince her she ought to keep sucking. It was so fun to watch him squirm and writhe and moan—and sometimes, beg, too. She very much liked hearing Commander Vanserra beg her to touch him, to lick him, to fuck him so hard he couldn’t see straight.

Elain drew him back into her mouth, cognizant that she’d been edging him for the better part of an hour and he was likely three or four good sucks from coming apart. Her aching jaw begged her to finish this, though every other part of her wanted to stay nestled between his splayed legs.

When she said she had to go to work, she was talking more to herself than to him. She was going to be late, and Pina had been so generous that it seemed cruel to betray that.

So Elain drew Lucien into her throat, letting him push her until she gagged softly. She made up the difference with her hand, stroking and sucking while watching him. Lucien moaned, his feet sliding up and down the slippery sheets. His other hand splayed over his chest, rubbing his skin as thought alleviate some unseen ache.

Elain was right—one, two, three—

“Elain!” he gasped, gripping her hair so tight she could feel him ripping it from the scalp. Fluid flooded her mouth, making a messy of his skin and her face. Elain did her best to swallow what she could, though the rest dripped over his stomach and the bed they desperately needed to wash.

She released him with a little kiss to the head of his throbbing cock, earning an exhilarated, panting smile.

She couldn’t help herself. “Was it good for you, Lucien?”

“Oh, stop,” he grumbled, reaching for her. Elain scrambled from his grasp, giggling as she went. Ever since they’d first slept together, Lucien always asked if she’d liked what he’d done—if it had been good for her. Elain appreciated what he was doing, that he cared enough to get verbal confirmation she’d finished, that she’d had fun. And still it felt wildly unnecessary. He could feel her come around his cock and fingers and tongue. He could hear her breathlessly begging him not to stop, for more, screaming, even, when pleasure overwhelmed her to the point speech was no longer effective or possible.

Lucien didn’t manage to sit up until Elain had shimmied a tunic back over her head, belting it at the waist. She didn’t prefer pants, but the tunic was practical in the heat and the pants beneath allowed her to strap a holster to her leg and carry the little blaster Lucien had given her.

Lucien sighed as she dressed, his expression contemplative again. They were stalled on their mission, with nothing to report to Nesta after that first contact with Hybern. Elain kept a low profile and ingratiated herself with the locals while Lucien picked up odd jobs and tried to find a reason to get closer to the mine.

How much longer before Nesta pulled the plug on the entire thing? Her last message had sounded gently irritated. Elain wanted to ask Lucien if Nesta had told him to placate her and couldn’t make herself say the words.

So she went to work each morning with a smile, and when she couldn’t figure out how to get people to tell her what she wanted to know, she came home and made love to Lucien until she forgot her impending failure.

He padded over to her, brushing his fingers over her covered shoulders. In turn, Elain reached for his forearm, tracing the thick, black bars of his tattoo. She wondered if he’d get to add another stripe if they did manage to take down Graysen.

“Have a good day, princess,” he said, pressing a swift kiss to her mouth. “I’ll clean this place up and reach out to Archeron. She might have an idea.”

He didn’t sound hopeful, though. Still, Elain flashed Lucien a sunny smile. They were a team and he wanted her to succeed. She didn’t need him to say so to know how he felt, at least in that regard. Everything else felt up in the air to her, unsettled until they returned to Coruscant. Elain was trying not to worry about Lucien leaving her, and yet the thought plagued her the entire way to the cantina.

It was strange how normal this job had become. Before it, Elain had never worked a job like that a day in her life. She’d gone from tutors to the Senate Hall on Coruscant, and her work consisted of more cerebral pursuits. There was something immensely satisfying about serving people, though.

Elain never had to construct policy from nothing, nor did she had to create contingency arguments for if her argument wasn’t persuasive enough. She could merely raise her tray if someone was irritating her and hold out her hand until credits were dropped into her palm.

She was saving them as a gift for Pina when she left.

It was quiet when Elain came in, with a few regulars tucked away in shadowy corners. A blonde she didn’t recognize sat at the bar top, holding a tarnished mug in one hand. Their eyes met when Elain slipped back to tie her apron around her waist. Elain had gotten used to the way people looked on Florrum—the hot, unrelenting sun weathered their skin, aging them quicker than had they not lived on a desert planet.

This woman couldn’t have been a whole lot older than Elain. She was stunning, maybe the first truly beautiful person Elain had seen since she arrived. Blond tendrils of hair slipped from beneath a tan scarf wrapped elegantly around her head and throat, framing the rich golden brown of her flawless skin. Green eyes tracked Elain’s movement, while slim fingers tapped out some unknown melody against the side of her cup. She wasn’t from around here, then.

Maybe she’d just come in.

Or maybe Graysen was on to Elain. The only way to find out was to walk to her, smiling, and say, “I haven’t seen you around here.”

“I could say the same,” the woman replied, offering Elain a lovely, bright smile. “You just get in?”

“A week ago,” Elain admitted. “I’m Rose. You?”

The woman’s eyes widened ever so slightly, lips twitching like she knew Elain was a liar. Still, she extended a hand while saying, “Arina.”

“Need another?”

Arina shook her head. “No. I heard a rumor though, and maybe you can help me out. I hear the man I’m looking for has an exceptionally beautiful wife, and I’m guessing that’s you.”

Elain’s heart stumbled. “You’re looking for Fox?”

“Is that his name? Yes, I suppose I am. I heard he met with someone I’ve been looking for—I have some questions. No trouble,” she added, catching Elain’s unhidden apprehension. “And I’ll pay him for his time.”

“I don’t know where he went,” Elain lied, which might have been convincing had Lucien not strolled right in, grinning like a fiend. He spared Arina a cursory glance of curiosity before sauntering toward her in his tight, brown pants and a long-sleeved, green shirt that clung to his muscular chest. He’d rolled his sleeves to the elbows, and hidden his tattoo beneath a leather wrapped vambrace snug against his wrist. A low slung belt over his hips held his rather large blaster, and tucked beneath his arm was his pilot's helmet.

“Going somewhere?” she asked him breathlessly when he leaned casually against the bar.

“I’m gonna check in on the ship,” he told her, his grin so wide she could see the little indentations of the dimples in his cheek.

Arina had angled her body toward him, looking at Lucien with warmth. Elain had to swallow her jealousy when the woman reached for his arm and touched gently. “Fox, right?”

Lucien spared her another look, brow furrowing. “Depends on who’s asking.”

“I have some questions. About Tamlin,” she added pointedly. Lucien’s expression flattened.

“Who?”

It was fun to watch him. Arina seemed taken aback, as though she genuinely expected Lucien to just blurt it all out in a cantina filled with watchful eyes and listening ears. She wasn’t from around here, then. Elain felt positively gleeful as Arina gaped, trying to regain her bearings.

“Take a walk with me,” she said, her voice strangely suggestive. Lucien blinked.

“Sure,” he said, pushing off the counter. Lucien didn’t look back, vanishing into the sunlight. Elain was tempted to follow him, but the blonde was replaced immediately by a new, lean body half hidden beneath a dark, black scarf.

“What can I get you?” Elain asked, still distracted by Lucien and Arina.

The man before her inched the scarf over a shockingly familiar face. Her heart leapt into her throat.

“I don’t know, baby,” Graysen murmured, his brown eyes flashing with ire. “What’s your favorite?”

He waited, holding her gaze, and when she didn’t speak, leaned forward. “I miss you.”

Still, Elain remained silent, though she knew her presence was damning. Elain wanted to scream for Lucien that the woman was a trap, but she couldn’t move. Pinned beneath Graysen’s damning gaze, she waited for him to do something.

“Nothing to say?” he asked with a sigh. “That’s just as well. You know, if it were anyone else out here, I’d chalk it up to some junior Senator trying to make a name for themselves and let it go.

But not you. Never you,” he added with a soft snarl.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice you snooping around in my accounts? That I wasn’t watching you after that? I wanted to believe you were just heartbroken and looking for answers so imagine my surprise when I saw a fucking Vanserra sniffing around.”

Elain couldn’t breathe, though she could convince herself to speak, if only to say, “Don’t hurt him.”

“I haven’t done anything, baby. His death is on your hands. You dragged him out here. You convinced him this was a worthwhile use of his time. You’re the problem, Elain. You never know when to leave well enough alone, do you?”

“Please,” she whispered, but Graysen shook his head.

“None of that. It’s beneath you. Now. Are you going to walk out with me, or am I going to have to kill everyone in here to convince you?”

“I’ll go,” she whispered. Elain nearly untied her apron before realizing it was the only thing concealing the blaster at her side. Graysen hadn’t demanded she disarm herself and why would he?

He knew she’d never touched a weapon in her life and wasn’t about to start now.

Only, Elain would. She knew it in her bones when his fingers curled around her wrist to yank her into the heat. If he hurt Lucien, Elain would make him suffer for it.

Her career almost didn’t matter.

LUCIEN:

“What the fuck, Arina,” Lucien hissed the second they were just out of view. “Don’t pull that shit on me.”

She waved a hand in front of his face only for Lucien to smack it away, irritated Arina had used her Jedi manipulations to convince him to go outside. Hidden just outside the hanger, Lucien readjusted his helmet beneath his arm.

“You weren’t going to leave if I didn’t,” she said unapologetically, shrugging those slim shoulders. Lucien narrowed his eyes.

“Where is my brother?”

Arina was the Jedi assigned to Eris, once upon a time. He recalled a conversation in which his brother ranted about not needing a security detail despite an active bounty on his head. Arina had, as far as Lucien knew, settled that score at the point of her yellow lightsaber. Lucien wasn’t entirely sure what happened after that—but he knew whatever had transpired between Arina and Eris had ended on poor terms.

Her eyes became flinty.

“Where have you been?” Lucien added, because he had it on good authority Arina hadn’t been on Coruscant for at least a year. Maybe longer, even—it had been three years since she’d worked with his brother. Lucien knew Eris was difficult, but surely he wasn’t so awful he could rob her of the Jedi path, or whatever it was the Jedi were doing.

“You spoke with Tamlin,” she said instead, drawing a lungful of air through her scarf. “What did he want?”

“To put down a rebellion,” Lucien replied. “I guess you’re the Jedi that was sniffing around?”

She only rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t call it sniffing. I came here, I found trouble. Isn’t that the way?”

A question in her eyes asked what, exactly, Lucien was doing so far from home, in a ship that was decidedly not his usual X-Wing. And like Arina, who chose not to answer him regarding,

Lucien was disinclined to give her everything she wanted.

“Tell me what you want, Arina, so I can get back to—”

“To Elain Archeron?” she asked, those eyes seeing far too much. “I can’t wait to hear what Nesta has to say about the two of you shacking up in the outer rim.”

Shacking up. Lucien bristled at the crude language and the insinuation something untoward was happening.

“She’s my wife, first of all,” Lucien snapped, ignoring Arina’s amused laugh.

“You Vanserras are all the same,” she said, amusement lacing her tone. Lucien raised his eyebrows but Arina lifted a hand. “Tell me what you know about Tamlin.”

“I don't know anything,” he said through gritted teeth, trying so hard to resist the compulsion. “Kriffing stars Arina, don’t use that bullshit on me.”

“You have a strong mind,” she said, which was the first thing she’d ever said to him when they’d met all those years ago. Eris had merely glared, and Lucien suspected he, too, had been subjected to her little tricks. “And that’s disappointing. I was hoping—”

An explosion rocked the world around them. Arina flung out a hand, creating some barrier Lucien couldn’t see to prevent rubble from outright killing them, though it didn’t stop him from being thrown through the air. He collided with a metal beam connecting a ramp to the hangar, only to fall face first back into the sand.

He groaned against the radiating pain, his ears ringing from the explosion. Lucien’s hearing was already bad given how often he was subjected to the deafening blasts of blown up ships and this was unlikely to make things better. He distinctly recalled the medic on Coruscant warning him he was likely to go deaf he didn’t start plugging up his ears—which he did on missions, but not when he was standing out in the open.

Arina’s eyes were as wide as saucers while Lucien scanned the sky. Surely this was some sort of aerial attack. Surely…surely it hadn’t come from the ground. Only the sky was a clear blue save for the plume of rising smoke. Lucien rose to his feet on shaky legs, thinking of Elain.

Arina pulled the scarf over her mouth, speaking to him rapidly though Lucien couldn’t hear her. All he could think about was Elain, likely cowering behind the bar, terrified and unsure what had happened. She had his blaster—she’d be okay. He just needed—

“Lucien!” Arina screamed, hitting him hard in the face. He blinked, focusing back on the Jedi before him. “You can’t…you…the cantina is gone.”

No. Lucien hadn’t realized he’d shouted it in Arina’s face until she stepped back, visibly upset by his reaction. He didn’t care, staggering forward because it wasn’t possible that Elain—his Elain—was gone. He couldn’t make sense of it. Of course she’d be okay. Lucien made his way through the sand as far as he could, drinking in the blast radius. More than just the cantina was gone—everything around it had been demolished in the resulting explosion.

Including their little house, the place they’d been living in for the last week. It was like Elain had been erased entirely and every memory he shared was taken, too.

Lucien felt Arina’s hand on his shoulder, and swore if she said some shit about letting go, he’d kill her. She didn’t, though. She merely stood there beside him, touching him gently while Lucien’s hearing began to come back to him piecemeal. The longer he stared at the inferno, at the curling, acrid smoke, the more he knew that this was Hybern’s doing.

And he wondered if he hadn’t brought this down on Elain by refusing Tamlin.

“You want to meet the Syndicate still?” he asked, thinking if Elain was gone, he’d take the rest of them with her.

“Lucien,” she warned, though that wasn’t a no.

“You can come with me, or you can go home,” he said, turning back toward his ship. Lucien wasn’t walking through the front fucking door this time.

He was going to blow apart that mountain.

ELAIN:

Nice and tidy. That’s what Graysen had said right before he’d blown the cantina apart. It was, as he’d so helpfully explained, a warning to his enemies and, she thought, his attempt to erase that she’d ever been on Florrum. He’d taken out so much of the outpost that Elain couldn’t be sure Lucien had survived, though she hoped he had.

Hoped he was halfway to the desert with Arina, blissfully unaware of what was happening. Graysen lamented having to make a trip all the way from Coruscant to deal with her as if she were some wayward child. As if she were the one who had done something wrong. She supposed to Graysen, who didn’t like things that didn’t go exactly his way, she had done something wrong. She’d disobeyed him, had risked his source of income.

So Elain sat in the speeder with her hands in her lap hoping she looked appropriately contrite and not furious. He hadn’t noticed her blaster, in part because he didn’t think he needed to. She could end it right then and there if she only had the nerve. Elain wasn’t sure she did and had just managed to convince herself that if Graysen wanted her dead, he would have killed her instead of taking her up a massive cliffside toward some towering, black stone castle.

Graysen gestured for her to follow him off the landing pad and when she didn’t, he shoved her hard enough it was only luck that kept her from flying flat on her face. Stumbling toward several unsmiling guards in tusked masks. Neither of them noticed her blaster, either. She supposed she had her spectacle to blame for that. Still, Elain kept herself silent and small, leaning closer to Graysen when that heavy, armored door opened.

“Gray,” she breathed, drinking in the artifice of the interior. “What have you done?”

“I used to wonder what you’d make of all this. That was before you bitch of a sister told me your inheritance was forfeit if you married me. But back then, I imagined running this empire with you.”

Elain blinked. “Nesta…Nesta said what?”

As far as Elain knew, she had no inheritance. Her family had money, of course, and when her mother died it was divided among all three sisters, but not as inheritance or a trust, but just money they kept in their accounts. Graysen should have known that—Elain had given him access to her accounts.

“Your sister told me you’d lose your inheritance if you didn’t marry a member of the Naboo royal family. She assured me you didn’t care, but…”

But of course Graysen cared. And Nesta must have known that, too. She’d have seen what Elain missed, too love sick and desperate for anyone to truly see her for the first time in her life. Ordinarily it would have infuriated Elain to learn her sister had meddled in her life, but now she felt nothing but the warm rush of gratitude.

Elain couldn’t imagine being married to Graysen. What a miserable existence he offered and even if he’d stolen her chance at real, lasting happiness, Elain had a taste for it now. She wouldn’t be fooled again.

“Of course,” Elain managed, her thoughts interrupted by a sliding door and the sight of another all too familiar face. Eris Vanserra sat in the middle of an otherwise dim, red-lit room. Stuncuffs restrained his wrists and a bolt around his neck likely kept him from getting up and enacting the violence his amber eyes were promising.

Graysen reached for a blaster tucked into a holster at his hip. “Let me explain to the two of you how this is going to go. There is one blaster and only two of you. Surely you see the predicament? No? Let me explain—”

“Oh, by all means, Senator,” Eris interrupted dryly, his words dripping with condemnation. “All anyone wants is another of your long winded speeches.”

Graysen’s lip curled up over his teeth as he strode toward the elder Vanserra, dressed in his Coruscant best. Disarmed, his cheek dotted with mottled, purple bruises. How long had he been here, she wondered? Elain had never seen Eris Vanserra so rumpled, so vicious and feral.

Graysen unshackled Eris only for Eris to immediately smash his face against Graysen’s. Graysen stumbled back, dropping the blaster between the two of them. Both Eris and Graysen paused, looking at each other and their mirrored, bleeding noses, and then to the floor.

Elain withdrew Lucien’s baster, finger on the trigger.

“Let me tell you how this is going to go,” Elain said softly. Eris smiled through blood stained teeth, lunging for the other blaster while Graysen whirled, clearly stunned.

“You can’t escape,” he told them, spitting to the glossy floor. “Even if you kill me—”

“Oh, I definitely plan to,” Eris snarled, stepping a little closer. “What was it you said to me? Ah, right. On your knees, Senator.”

“Killing me won’t bring back the Jedi,” Graysen snapped, though he did as Eris said with a calculated, careful slowness. “Won’t bring back the child.”

Eris had become so very pale and so very still. “Maybe not,” he finally said, swallowing audibly. Elain wondered if she was imagining the tremble of his hand. She braced herself for what was surely coming. Eris was too lost in Graysen’s words, and for all his skill, all his experience, whatever the lost Jedi and child meant clearly had rattled him.

Graysen had always been so good at identifying a weakness only to exploit it later.

The problem, she thought, was Graysen didn’t understand what motivated Eris Vanserra, because he said, “Think of what we could do together. There is money to be made in these outer rim planets. The Republic doesn’t look this far, doesn’t care. And we’re doing them a service, employing them…it’s only fair we make a little more.”

Eris’s expression flattened. “And if it's our children being sent to the mine? What then, Senator?”

Eris was going to kill him, wasn’t thinking of the implications. If Graysen died, how would they ever tie any of this back to him? Someone else would merely take over and she’d have to start all over. Graysen deserved to be held accountable, to stand before a tribunal and atone for what he’d done.

Elain didn’t give Graysen a chance to respond and instead brought the butt of her blaster against his head and smashed as hard as she could. Elain didn’t truly think it would work until Graysen crumpled in a heap at Eris’s feet.

“You know he was going to make one of us kill the other, right?” Eris hissed, eyes narrowed to slits.

Elain crouched, fishing out the key to the bolt wrapped around Eris’s neck. “Yes. But this planet deserves justice, and killing him is a mercy.”

“You will regret this moment,” Eris told her, tossing the bolt to the floor with a loud clank.

“No, I don’t think I will,” Elain replied, thinking of what Lucien had told her. “Sparing him is decent and its kind, and—”

“That's far more than he deserves. I see my idiot brother has rotted out your good sense. Where is he, anyway?”

Elain’s fingers twisted in front of her. “I’m not sure. I think he’s safe though.”

A small amount of relief shuttered over Eris’s expression. “Good. One less thing to worry about.”

Eris kicked Graysen in the ribs before stepping over him as though nothing had happened. Elain didn’t comment on it, though something about it was particularly irksome and at least he’d hadn’t shot him.

“We can’t bring him with us,” Eris told her, pulling a data pad from his white pants. “Unless you want to sit here and guard him?”

“No,” she breathed. Elain very much did not want to remain in the scummy liar of the crime lord, nor did she want to be the one forced to face Graysen on her own. “Where are you going?”

“To the mine,” Eris said, jaw clenched. “I’m going to blow it into pieces.”

“You can’t—”

“This is your career, right? Bring down a powerful Senator, a crime syndicate, become a hero to the Republic? I respect that. Hell, any other time I’d get out of your way and let you. This is personal and I do not care about your pathetic ambitions. It will take months of arguing, of hand-wringing and pointless speeches about what can be done until eventually something else robs their attention and someone else takes over.”

“You don’t know that,” Elain breathed, but Eris slammed his fist against the panel to open the door.

“I practically wrote the fucking book,” Eris snapped in response. “You have pretty ideals—I had them once, too. I wanted to make the galaxy a better place—because it’s decent and kind—and quickly found the way things actually work. You need to learn how to play the game, Archeron. If you want results, you need to do it yourself.”

“What about proof, about—”

“The proof is the kidnapping,” Eris snapped, shaking out his hand before wrapping it around her wrist so they could run down the sanitized, sleek durasteel halls. “And to be honest, I don’t give a fuck about proof. You should have let me kill him, too. He would have watched you die, you know.”

Elain hadn’t had a second to truly consider that. Eris had hit home, though, his words a punch to the stomach. She had mourned Graysen, and he’d only ever seen her as an account filled with credits, and afterwards, a nuisance. And though that wounded her a little, Elain didn’t regret sparing his life.

She would not let herself stoop to his level. “I’m not going to become him. Or you,” she added as Eris yanked her down a separate hall, pressing her against a wall. The door was right there, and as Elain recalled, guarded by those horn masked men.

“You’re above killing?” he asked, amber eyes searching her own. “You must be the only person in the galaxy with such lofty ideals. Behind me, then, Archeron. Blaster out, just in case.”

In the end, Elain didn’t have to get her hands dirty. Eris burst from the door and in quick succession, ended the lives of the guards who might have stopped them from stealing the hover car. Elain’s fingers trembled, clutching her blaster so tightly her fingers ached. The toppled bodies, the splattered blood—all of it felt a step too far.

Eris didn’t even blink.

“Get in,” he barked. Elain did as she was told.

“Are you going to explain any of this?” she asked the man sitting beside her. Eris brought the car to life, his amber eyes flinty with anger.

“Why would I tell you anything?” he all but sneered, glancing in her direction as they left the cliffside. Elain meant to respond with equal sass, but the wooshing of ships overhead silenced her.

She twisted in her seat, heart pounding with excitement. She knew that ship, recognized the sleek nose, the little blur of orange painted along the side.

“I see you called the cavalry,” Eris said dryly, speeding along the desert sand. “No subtlety, that one.”

“He’ll buy you time if they’re distracted,” Elain snapped, unable to admit the heartstopping relief she felt. Lucien was alive, he was well, and most importantly, he knew she was in trouble. Elain could relax as much as was possible, given Eris wasn’t taking her to safety but back into the thick of danger.

And this was what she wanted, right? To see the mine, to know the full scope. Surely her word was just as powerful as Graysen, especially when it was backed by two Vanserras?

“When we arrive, I want you to begin evacuating everyone inside,” Eris told her, ignoring the sound of lasers being fired on the base. Behind them, Hybern had begun to mobilize his own fleet to take on the one rogue ship and Lucien, artfall as ever, dodged and wove his way through the sky, pelting the base with a rain of fire. Elain could smell acrid smoke and burning metal mingled in the air, even as they zipped away.

She hoped he knew she was fine. There was no way to tell him, not without a comm and she’d left that at home.

“And what will you be doing?”

“Blowing it afuckingpart,” Eris snarled. “If they want to rebuild it, they can do it on the ruined ashes and over my dead kriffing body.”

“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” she demanded. Eris looked over, jaw set. No. Whatever personal thing this was about—the Jedi, the child, she supposed, given what Graysen had said—he wasn’t going to share it with a stranger.

“You’re not the only one with lofty ideals, Archeron.”

She supposed that was the best she’d ever get. They said nothing else, squinting against the pelting sand and trying so hard not to look behind them and the distant battle furiously raging in the sky. Elain could stand watching Lucien fly—every time the ship rolled or dove, she was certain she was going to watch him explode into bits, just like the cantina had done.

The mine was surrounded by a high fence that stretched for miles in both directions. Barbed over the top to keep people from getting in…or, more likely, anyone from getting out. It looked more like a prison, not that she’d ever seen one. But Elain could imagine.

The gate was open, and with a flash of a badge and a smooth smile, Eris managed to convince the guard they had come from Coruscant on Gryasen’s orders. He certainly seemed convincing–slick as he’d ever been. Even his disheveled hair and rumpled clothing could have been the result of the desert. Eris looked like he belonged to the core, at any rate, which was likely what saw them both inside.

“He’ll call ahead. Hopefully Lucien’s got them so distracted they don’t answer, but we still need to move quickly. Remember–evacuate. That’s all you have to do. I don’t want stragglers when the mine collapses.”

Inside the gate was a circular pit of sand and a sea of neatly organized yurts just barely held together with animal skins and string. The air smelled foul, like something was rotting—and it didn’t take either of them long to see why. Bodies stacked tall beneath the hot sun baked as children no older than twelve dug a hole deep enough to bury them. Eris watched, his expression strangely haunted.

Whatever child was gone, she suspected they were lost to that pile, that unmarked grave. Elain couldn’t imagine Eris as a father, but perhaps a nephew, or merely someone he’d cared about. A child he’d mentored, had meant to come back for, only to find he’d been too late. Elain didn’t prod, given they were strangers, though maybe one day when they were back on Corsucant and this was a dim memory, he’d tell her everything.

Maybe Lucien would, if he knew.

Past the makeshift town set up, presumably, for all the children who lacked parents which Elain found to be horrifying, was the operation of the mine. She saw the open door that led into the planet and just beside, a tall tower built of more basalt stone and a structure built atop the landscape that likely wound its way through the planet like tangled, bloodsoaked veins.

“Ten minutes, Archeron. Don’t make me tell my brother I blew you up,” Eris said. Elain only nodded, straightening her spine and discarding her apron as she made her way to the tower.

“Shoot first,” Eris added, walking in step with her. “Ask questions later. They won’t share your mercy.” It was Eris who got them in—first with that charming, if not arrogant smile, and then with his blaster. He fired a round of shots, taking down several nosy guards and chattering droids. Elain wondered if she was becoming immune to the death, or if some part of her didn’t think Eris was justified.

Each time a new body collapsed beside them, Elain only thought of those children stacked beneath the sun while others dug a grave. What was it like to be surrounded by so much death so young? She didn’t think she wanted to know, and she didn’t think she could empathize with Graysen any longer. Though she didn’t regret sparing his life, she didn’t think she’d be so quick to spare him a second time.

This was his dream—his empire, and it was built on the blood of innocents.

“Go,” Eris hissed, wrenching open the control room. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

He vanished down a long hall illuminated in eerie red. Elain made her way toward the viewport, overlooking a factory filled with little people with even littler fingers operating conveyor belts and picking through tiny metal pieces. Bombs. They were building ion bombs. The Republic tightly controlled who had access to that sort of weapon and the Hybern Syndicate certainly wasn’t on that list. They were dangerous to construct, in part because one wrong move could blow up the entire facility.

And little fingers were likely far more adept and getting the pieces in place.

Graysen had sold out the safety of the galaxy for credits. Would put dangerous technology in the hands of the worst sort of villainy and scum without batting an eye. It made her sick—it made her angry.

Elain had one particularly good skill, one she’d learned as a child who liked to eavesdrop. Elain could slice through tech like it was nothing, and given Graysen had so obviously tried to cut corners everywhere he could, the tech laid out before her wasn’t particularly advanced. With a few tapping buttons on a green and black screen, Elain managed to make her way into Graysen’s database and, with a little clever workarounds, sent every file straight to her eldest sister. There was no time to parse through and see what was useful and what was garbage or merely administrative.

Elain hit the evacuation button the next second. She’d wasted a whole minute making sure there would be a traceable record of Graysen’s crimes, that testimony wouldn’t rely on her and Eris Vanserra.

Nine minutes. Elain watched the conveyor belts shutter and the overseers barking orders, shoving through trembling bodies to ensure they were the first to leave. Elain reached for her blaster, wondering if it wasn’t justice to kill them right here simply for enforcing Graysen’s cruelty.

She didn’t move. It was her job to get everyone out, and so she simply watched as more people than she’d first believed could exist in one large chamber began to climb up the rickety metal stairs.

They had, by her estimation, five minutes to fully leave if they wanted to be far enough away that they weren’t taken out by the resulting aftershocks.

There was a straggler. A little child who couldn’t have been older than three, turning circles and crying for her mother. She was dressed far better than everyone else, in a little dress of white and gold, and with the prettiest strawberry blonde hair that fell in little ringlet curls. She seemed new, and no one stopped to help. The child would have been easy enough to pick up, and yet when a passing overseer saw her, he merely shoved her to the ground and then kicked her aside with a heavy boot.

It was too much. Elain pushed open the door on the opposite side of the control room, jogging down better made stairs and into the emptied chamber. Behind her, the sound of steps clambering up echoed through the stone, drowning out the wails despite how much closer Elain was to her now.

She reached the little girl just as loud sirens began to blare. Someone had caught Eris—she needed to leave. It would have been faster if she only had herself to worry about—faster, too. Elain scooped up the little girl, angling her on her hip. There was a bruise just beneath the child's eye socket, and when Elain squeezed at her ribs, more tears fell down chubby little cheeks. Her tawny skin was tear stained and filthy, though her dress didn’t seem to be in too bad of shape.

“You’re okay,” she said as the little girl looked up with the greenest pair of eyes Elain had ever seen in her life. “You’re going to be fine.”

“I want my mommy,” she told Elain. Elain had no idea who that person was, but if she was alive, Elain would reunite them.

She said, “I know,” which seemed to pacify the child just enough to cling to her neck, face buried in Elain’s unraveling hair.

Up they went, back to that control room. Elain knew the way out from there, had thought Eris had bought her enough of a distraction there would be nothing keeping her from getting out.

She was wrong.

Graysen, bruised and bloodied and angrier than she’d ever seen him, held a blaster in her face the moment she returned to the control room. Elain managed to keep the door open, flung out to the hinges so she had a quick way to escape if she needed to. The child held tighter, and Elain wondered if she’d seen this all before.

“Baby,” Graysen whispered, his teeth stained red. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“This is wrong, Gray,” Elain replied, her heart pounding in her chest. “Ion bombs? Are you out of your mind?”

“I don’t give a fuck about any of it!” he snapped, his easy patience slipping into hot fury. “What is the difference between the Republic using it to keep the planets in line or anyone else? People still die, don’t they?”

Elain sighed heavily, backing toward the open space behind her. Graysen shook the blaster back and forth in a mockery of no. “Where are you going, baby? Your little friend has this place rigged to the heavens. If you run back down, you’ll die in the collapse.”

Graysen’s eyes slid to the child, a strange smile spreading over his lips. “How funny, that Eris Vanserra would condemn his own child to such a terrible death.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Why shouldn’t I? You’re the one who stuck your nose where it didn’t belong. I let you go, Elain. You should be thanking me, and yet here you are, still making a mess of my life!”

“You swore to protect the galaxy—!”

“I lied!” Graysen all but roared, drawing a whimpering cry from the child still wrapped in Elain’s arms. “I lied, just like everyone else when they took that ridiculous, antiquated oath! You cannot police the galaxy, Elain.”

His finger slid over the trigger. Eyes squeezed shut, her hearing half lost to the distant sirens, Elain waited for a blast that should have come. She heard it discharge, and yet there was no pain, nothing but her own frantic heart…and a broad hand on her shoulder.

Lucien towered just behind, blaster in hand. “I can police the galaxy you dumb fuck,” Lucien said a mere second before his shot went off. Graysen’s wide eyes were the last thing Elain saw before he crumpled to the ground, his fine black tunic spreading a slow stain against his chest.

“C’mon,” Lucien said, glancing at the child she held. “We need to go now.”

“How did you get here?” she asked as Lucien traded her. He took the child in one arm and thrust a vibrodagger—illegal, though she wasn’t about to comment on that now—into her hands.

“Luck,” Lucien replied, grinning like this was all just another fun adventure. Did he know he was holding his niece? “I saw the cantina, I thought—”

They burst into the sunshine and ought to have been stopped by a tall man with dark eyes staring with such hatred.

“Elain—” She lunged, plunging that dagger straight into his throat. Not today. Not when they were already so close. Eris had told her to shoot first, ask questions later. Wasn't that what this was? Blood sprayed over her hands, her face, her clothes.

Lucien merely gaped, eyes wide. “Do you know who that was?”

“No one the galaxy will miss,” was her icy response. Someone who would have been fine to let more children die if it personally enriched them.

“That was Hybern himself,” Lucien murmured, trailing after her with clear admiration.

Elain didn’t care.

“Good riddance.”

LUCIEN:

After he found Elain alive and clutching a child that, as it turned out, belonged his deviant brother, everything felt like a blur. Arina had cut down any opposition and Eris had managed to bring down the gates. He never once thought of Eris as a rebel or a hero, but watching the people of Florrum flood the little yurt city and take their revenge made Lucien think Eris was cut from the same cloth he was.

Made carefully by their mothers loving hands.

There had been no bombs, which annoyed Elain a little. Eris hadn’t apologized, taking the child from Lucien and clutching her as though it had been Elain who’d stolen her from him. And when Arina arrived with a matching set of eyes, Lucien knew better than to ask any questions regarding what had happened between his brother and the Jedi. Tamlin, too, had come with a small armada and some rather unkind words about how they'd fucked his entire undercover operation. Lucien found he didn't care much about that, either.

Some things, he supposed, were better left unanswered. Eris, for his part, didn’t seem angry—only relieved.

Lucien echoed that sentiment, hustling Elain back to his ship and then into his lap long after he’d punched the coordinates for Coruscant.

Another week alone—and then her sister, and the Senate, and real life. He didn’t want to go back to any of it, wasn’t ready to hear her tell him all the reasons why would never work. So that first night, Lucien merely climbed into the tiny little bed, lost to the dark and the humming engines, and tried to settle his anxious mind.

It wasn’t until they’d both cleaned the blood and grime off of them a second time, and the events of Florrum had settled softly in the background, that Lucien dared to broach the topic.

Twisting at the ring on his finger while Elain sat in the co-pilot chair, her legs folded beneath her while she stared at her data pad, he said, “I’ve been thinking.”

She glanced over, her expression paling. “Oh?”

“About when we return to Coruscant. About us.”

Her eyes fluttered shut. “What were you thinking, Lucien?”

“That you should move in with me.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. Not exactly. Elain’s eyes flew open, her mouth shaped like a soft oh. Kriffing stars, but he’d messed it all up. With nowhere to go, Lucien hastily added, “Because I’m in love with you.”

That hadn’t been what he’d meant to say, either, though he needed to. “I thought you died back there…I thought—” he sucked in a breath of air. “I don’t want to give you up. And I know my life is chaotic and a mess but I can make this work. I want to make it work, because I’m so in love with you I can’t think, I can’t breathe, I—”

“I love you, too,” she whispered, fingers twisting in her lap. “But Lucien, I…my life is boring. Its meetings and policy and late nights in the office. You’ll get bored—”

“I won’t,” he insisted. “You have no idea how nice that sounds, how good it would be to come home to a little quiet.”

He didn’t mention the constant ringing in his ears, how loud noises made him jumpy. Nor did he tell her that the adrenaline eventually wore off, and Lucien had long learned to stop chasing after it. It only occurred to Lucien, after a moment of silent contemplation, the rest of what she’d said.

“You love me?”

Elain blinked. “Of course I do. And I can’t move in with you, Lucien.” His heart sank. He ought to have expected that and still he’d been unprepared for the gut punching disappointment that flooded through him.

“You’ll have to move in with me,” she continued, blithely unaware she’d run him through the full gamut of emotions in the span of a few seconds. “I have a much larger apartment and truthfully, I don’t want to give it back to Nesta. It belongs to our family and she moved in with Cassian without thinking. So I think, if we’re going to do this, you ought to move in with me.”

Pissing off General Archeron and living with his dream woman? “Done,” Lucien said breathlessly. “I’ll start packing the second we get back.”

“The second?” she asked, her voice sweetly suggestive. “Maybe it could wait a couple hours?”

“Oh?” Lucien shifted in his chair. “What did you have in mind?”

Because he was imagining taking her to the temple and marrying her before Nesta got a hold of his neck. Judging from the look on her face, Elain wasn’t thinking marriage—not yet, anyway.

He could work her into it, though.

Just as soon as he took her back to bed.

After all—Lucien had the time.

#i contend that the smut is good #but everything else is medicore #elucien

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