Heart of Fire

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Spoiler

This thread takes place between This one and This One

Kiffex​

Sprawled on her side, gently plucking thick, long blonde strands up and down from what wasn't in his loose tie-- Kiskla's frame paralleled that of her chosen. She was forcing him to spew stories again in the gaps of her presence. What he did before discovering The Force was one of her favourites. He seemed so ignorant and she loved it; especially with his initial resistance to what seemed so obvious. Nobody's reflexes were that good!

A pleasant smile was draped across her signature lips, sometimes parting enough for a splash of laughter to tumble out. Her falling off the grid and being dragged back had knocked some sense into the two of them--- reminding each how important they were to one another. In times of reflection, Marcello and Kiskla could happily set their duties on the shelf and nod at their achievements.

They could, but they weren't the type to do that.

Restless in their onus to the Galaxy, the duo's duty and self sacrificing attitude outweighed selfish desires of longevity.

Still, Marcello had taken the time to travel with her to the Healer's Circle and now here, back to Kiffu. Dedicating days to her. One would assume that's what a lover should do, but she still wanted to let him know he was appreciated.
There would be two ways she planned to do that tonight, but only one he's recognize in the morning.

****​

Kiskla didn't go to sleep. Instead, she lay on her side in silence while waiting for the vitals of Marcello to drop and the heaviness of his fatigue take over. She'd learned a long time ago, that once he was out, he was out. He had to be a heavy sleeper, she was as noisy in her own slumber as she was in consciousness. If the male Jedi Master ever wanted to get any sleep, he had to learn to sleep through noises and movements.

Which worked out just excellent for the current scenario.

It wasn't until she heard heavy breathing taint the room's audio that she decided it would be an appropriate time to stir. Scarred arms moved to the edge of the bed frame, paving the path for her body to angle out and follow; delicate with her movements so as not to send of any sort of fleeing cue. An explanation that she was getting a drink of water would be simple enough, perhaps getting some fresh air, anything of the sort -- but she would prefer ignorance.

Barefoot and leery, the blonde Kraliçe crept around the perimeter of their shared mattress until she reached her destination. In the crumpled pile of clothing from Marcello, was the item she sought. While awake, the man never parted with his sabre. In sleep was truly the only time it was not on his person; though she was suspicious he'd be able to sense her interfering with it. So, as soon as slender digits looped around the cylindrical hilt she paused once more - testing to see if there would be a peek of alarm.

5

4

3

2

No peek.

Having salvaged her object of desire, she quickly turned and exited the room -- keeping her pace hurried and purposeful.

Within the perimeters of the Kiffex palace, was the craftsman that handled most of the weaponry used by The Guardians. The Kiffar inside was expecting Kiskla's knock, and quickly welcomed her in.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

"Here it is."

Upon request, the blacksmith produced thick something wrapped in thick sackcloth weave. It fit neatly in the crook of her palms as she presented the item to her queen-to-be, who reached toward it with delicate hands.

"Stored safely as requested. It truly is beautiful."

While the blacksmith spoke, the possession of the item was exchanged to rest in Kiskla's favour. She unwrapped it gingerly, taking care of each fold as a blue glow became more and more powerful as each layer of protection was lifted. A smile creased the blonde's lips, white eyes crinkling with delight when the stone manifested. It was raw, and uncut, as she recalled. And yet naturally smooth, speckled with dark spots throughout its design. It was a good size, and had a healthy glow about it that reflected the value of the gem.

"And I have what you need to complete everything," Kiskla set the stone down on the table between them, though it was soundless from the cushioning of the cloth. The lightsaber hilt of [member="Marcello Matteo"] was produced and rested in Kiskla's hands for the blacksmith to take. The hilt was not a thing of beauty. It was worn and tired looking, basic in design - proving its worth and effectiveness through the years of protection and devotion to its master. He was still alive by that thing's design.

The dark-haired smith tool the hilt, treating it tenderly under the supervision of the Jedi Master in the proximity. Her task was not going to be an easy one tonight, she was not working with something easily manipulated --- for the stone, nor the saber. When the woman took it, Kiskla eased backward into a chair, folding her loose fabrics over her legs and resting her hands in her lap; almost exuding an air of patience.

The smith had expected this sort of behaviour, and yet, a thick brow cocked at the Sheyf daughter's actions. It was a most passive aggressive strain on both their behalves, although each could understand the necessity for the following two sentences: "You want to wait here while I work?"

"If you don't mind."

Kiskla was answered with a shrug and a bustle, the darker woman hastening to complete her task before the sunrise.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

In truth...Marcello wasn't a terribly heavy sleeper, not in the sense of sleeping through anything. He did, however, have a very strong tendency to sleep through anything that did not stir the ever-present reality of the Force drifting through his mind. Had it been anyone other than [member="Kiskla Grayson"] and, unknowingly, their genetic offspring, the Jedi Master would no doubt have been immediately started. In a very real sense, the Kiffar Jedi Master held so much of who he was in her heart and vice versa, there was little perceivable difference in quality of presence to his subconscious mind.

Not to mention. Nine times out of ten, nay, ten times out ten, the Naboo native happily and quite pleasantly forced every last bit of his energy into their physical interactions. It had been years by now, but his desire for the lithe Jedi Master had not wavered in the slightest. Let's be clear. She routinely tested his patience, but his love was a foundation that neither time nor effort could hope to erode.

However, once the hilt of the lightsaber had been passed into the hands of another, the biochemical reaction in his brain started to occur. Midichlorians within his entire body began to vibrate and heat with a sensation similar to the Force's warning of impending danger. Perhaps five seconds after the craftsman had touched the hilt, Marcello's eyelids shot open. Glacier-blue orbs groped the darkness, gazing briefly towards his clothing on the floor, confirming his lightsaber was not where he'd left it.

As the fog of his slumber lifted, he could rather quickly ascertain that Kiskla was not immediately in danger. She felt...almost at peace. Further more, she seemed to be in rather close proximity to the one thing in this galaxy that quite literally was the embodiment of Marcello. The lightsaber had been the first he'd created and the only one he'd maintained over the years. The extremely rare Pontite Crystal at the heart of the weapon was undoubtedly responsible for much of Marcello's adopted serenity over the years, fueling his naturally analytical and logical mind.

They often said there were always tests of...trust in relationships. Though Marcello's body almost screamed for him to vault from the bed and stalk down the corridors, clothed or not, to reclaim the entity, he forced himself to remain.

Sixty seconds passed...

"Alright, just go to sleep Marcello. It'll be cool."

Five minutes of his eyes being closed.

Marcello bolted upright, throwing off sheets at the same time. "Nope. Not gonna work." After swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, the Jedi Master stood to his full height and stretched with an associated groan of effort. Scooping his clothing off the ground, Marcello folded the clothing so it looked a little less messy and then stored it in a corner. He would, obviously, being washing them at some point. Making his way to a set of drawers, the Jedi Master slid one open and withdrew some athletic gear. Once he'd pulled on a pair of running shoes, Marcello made his way over to the double-doors that lead to the balcony. Pulling open the doors, the Naboo native stepped out onto the stone balcony and allowed his gaze to roam the Kiffex horizon.

Following a brief stretching routine, the Jedi Master vaulted over the railing and managed his descent to the ground with the Force. His presence on Kiffex was tolerated, but he was quite certain any animosity really only came from his connection to the current Sheyf's daughter. None of that mattered as the large Jedi took off at a brisk pace through the city, attempting to take his mind off the awkward sensation of being separated from his lightsaber.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

The instructions were simple; not to affect The saber itself. While the gesture itself was romantic, Marcello was a very particular man. Toying with his weapon would likely not be well received if there were permanent damages. Instead, the smith would create a thick leather bind to replace the worn one; with a cradle for the Heart of Fire stone. The work was masterful, and Kiskla observed from a distance with envy. The woman worked quickly and made it look incredibly easy. The shop was dark, save for the light that illuminated the worker's space.

In the shadows, Kiskla shifted when a feeling of alarm swelled in her chest. Her body tightened to a stand- reacting to the connection The Force had long since established between [member="Marcello Matteo"] and herself.

"How far along are you?"

"Everything was pre-cut, I'm just tightening the bonds to the hilt now; so there's no slippage." The woman explained, not looking up from her task. She'd known from the early exchanges that this would be a job she'd be working on with borrowed time. Every step had been completed before Kiskla arrived, so all she needed was the object itself to make sure the custom fit was adequate.

Marcello was awake, and teetering on a stressed emotion. He was also moving, she could practically feel the exercising of his muscles while they shared the proximity of the planet.

White eyes glanced backward while stepping toward the door; debating whether to swell her presence as a distraction of entirely reduce it to be more difficult to track. Typically Art of the Small made her nigh undetectable, but with Marcello it took an extra stretch of focus to be recluse. Or completely cut off from The Force altogether as history showed. Not something she wanted to do again.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

The light sound of his shoes rapidly pounding the pavement filled Marcello's ears as he rapidly traversed the streets. He was running a route that he preferred on a daily basis. It stretched from the heart of the city out towards the outskirts, a part of his effort to usually make his way away from society. Though his normal workout routine happened well before most were awake, he was conditioned by life on Naboo. There were actually laws in certain towns about being a 'public nuisance' at certain times. All part of the jeweled appearance of the planet, he supposed.

Approaching the familiar abandoned building that he occasionally used for agility training, the Jedi Master grunted ever so slightly as he utilized the Force to greatly enhance his physical abilities. With a slight added flex to his quadriceps and hamstrings, the blonde Naboo native vaulted himself into the air and inside the building through a fifth story window. Once his feet touched the ground, Marcello bent his knees and allowed his body to collapse down into a quick roll to aid in absorbing the shock of impact.

Immediately rolling back onto his feet, the Jedi Master shifted from running to making quick shuffle steps as his fists assaulted the air around him in a shadow boxing routine.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Kiskla’s fears it would appear, were in vain. A heavy breath of relief exhaled and her chest sunk with its exodus, leaning against the doorframe of the shop. The heart rate of her lover continued, but the frantic emotion of his purpose subsided.

In the background, the sounds of production slowed from the franticness it had been moments ago.

Her svelte frame pushed from her lean, and back toward the depths of the maintained shop.

“It was an efficiently executed job, Kraliçe.” The woman said, turning her back on the light and extending the freshly wrapped hilt in Kiskla’s direction. Balanced between both of her outstretched palms. Although it was not her official title yet, the blonde kiffar was learning not to cringe at the use of the royal insinuation. Princess-hood suited her.

Efficiently executed was a silver-tongued way to say quick. It did look marvellous though; so much so that the heir to Kiffar caught her breath with a pleasant beam.

“It’s perfect.” She offered, reaching into her jacket’s pockets for the credits she had brought to exchange. The transfer was made with a simple handoff - the price had been predetermined; with an additional token of appreciation tucked within. “Thank you.”

Hurriedly, nimble fingers used the cloth for the stone to repurpose and use to wrap [member="Marcello Matteo"]’s hilt, and press it back on her person to head back to the room. She’d wait for him there - not go find him. Especially with his heart rate at such an elevated state.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

It would never be Marcello's purpose to keep [member="Kiskla Grayson"] waiting unnecessarily. Their time together was so sporadic, that he treasured whatever time alone they had. Still, they both had their routines and, more realistically, Kiskla had her duties to her people. She struggled against the reality of her station, but he could not fault her for such. Fortunately for Marcello, he was the patriarch of his family and the decision to remove them from the vaulted halls of power was his own.

After a quick forty-minute workout, Marcello returned to the immense quarters he shared with the lithe Kiffar. Per his usual arrival, the Rogue Jedi Master ascended the outer wall to the balcony. The sun had risen well over the horizon in his time away, and the intensity of his workout had push the thoughts of his lightsaber from his mind. Now that things had settled, he could sense the piece of his soul had returned to that which was familiar, comfortable. In fact, it immediately merged with another part of his soul the moment it slipped into the hands of Kiskla.

Kicking off his shoes and removing his shirt, Marcello allowed his breath to stabilize for a moment as he reached for a cup of water.

Replacing the cup back on the table, the large Naboo native leveled his glacier-blue gaze in the direction of Kiskla. A thin smile adorned his lips for the moment, unsure of what precisely Kiskla had done. "Good morning, my love." To be sure, his immense trust in the woman was the only reason he did not display visible anger or irritation. It had been uncomfortable, but he trusted she would convey an adequate reason.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

“Are you going to feel comfortable enough to use the door anytime soon?” The future queen cooed, emerging from the vanity area and twisting her long, wavy tresses up into a knot that rested loosely against the nape of her neck. Kiskla was many things — a good actress however, was not listed on her resumé. She couldn’t keep up her charade for too long — especially when Marcello was there looking like that. They were both blessed in those regards. She’d planned to crawl back beneath the covers. Then considered the option of sprawling on the mattress or leaning against the railing. She wasn’t sure.

He was holding something back. She didn’t need to be a Lorridean to read the nuances hidden behind conversation. It was impressive, his dedication to routine. Even with the bionic leg he’d been living with for years he never permitted it to be an excuse nor a weakness. She admired him for it.

She’d planned this conversation several times in her head, but right now she couldn’t remember a single word of it. Would he be angry? Probably not. Deem her actions illogical? More likely.

Might as well be out with it. Deep breath.

“I felt you alarmed earlier..”

Or not.

"Why?"

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello's glacier-blue gaze remained...mostly on Kiskla's face as she spoke. It didn't really matter the situation, location, or time of day. His love and desire for her never actually diminished. However, he forced his surface thoughts to keep from overtaking the encounter entirely. "Well I didn't want to drip sweat throughout the corridors. Besides, I cannot deny the nosy people the fantasy of some tall off-worlder scaling the walls into the Princess' bedroom." Nosy people was a cover for...Marcello.

So much for controlling his surface thoughts.

Also it was true...Kiskla was a pretty terrible actress, but he loved that she tried to pretend like she did not know precisely what was happening in his head. If there was anyone in the galaxy that knew how to read Marcello with little more than a glance, it was Kiskla. Actually...it had always been Kiskla...even when he'd hated her. You know, like how you hated the girl you had a crush on in grammar school.

Laughter was all that the Rogue Jedi Master could offer the Kiffar. "Seriously? That was the best you could come up with?" Stepping towards Kiskla, Marcello folded his arms across his chest as he gazed down at her with an easy smirk. "You know what you did..." In an abrupt move, Marcello scooped Kiskla up and gently tossed her body over his right shoulder. "...now you have to pay."

Marcello doubted there would be a protest from [member="Kiskla Grayson"]...at least outside of the noncommittal ones she occasionally gave in order to convince herself she didn't always openly submit. If there were, however, they would fall on deaf ears as he carried her in the direction of the refresher.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

[member="Marcello Matteo"]'s afforded response cued an amused curl from her pouted lips. There was hardly anybody awake at this hour to spectate, and the guards' rounds were past this quadrant of the palace. Voyeur's to Marcello's athleticism were woefully behind - and although he pushed himself strenuously through his workout, his feet weren't completely sodden with sweat.

​

"Yes, but you do-on't!" The Kiffar heir sang-song, before the physical intrusion swept her off her feet. She was a strong independent young woman who didn't need no man hauling her fireman style over their shoulders! No matter how broad and muscular they may be. A slight oof was afforded from the swift movement, and her fists curled into a playful pound against his back. This was all too fantasy driven. Some unknown off-worlder scaling the bedroom to the planet's princess and kidnapping her for dastardly deeds? She'd play to it - sure, why not. "Unhand me, you brute. Do you have any idea who I am?" A joke, of course, accompanied with more quasi-flailing.

This was a bit of a conundrum. Marcello was extremely sweaty and in desperate need of a shower and she was not. Yet, his trajectory suggested that's where they were heading. Okay. You're right. It's not a conundrum at all.

The descent to the tiles was easy, and eager fingers quickly scraped at the hem of the blonde Jedi Master - peeling the damp articles from being pressed against his physique. Step one to the ultimate liberation. Hungry lips trailed over his dewy flesh and found his mouth once more; aggressive in nature as she cupped his jawline to draw herself closer to him, while The Force did a lazy activation of the steady stream from the overhead and spattered to the tiles beneath their feet.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]'s protests drew a smile to Marcello's lips, but he obviously did not respond. After all, a brute in the act of accosting a Princess wouldn't waste his breath on words. By the time they made it inside the refresher, the purpose of the Rogue Master's saved breath became all too apparent as their respective clothing was peeled away. The sounds of pleasure emanating from the two filled the space amidst the thumping of exposed flesh against the shower walls as steam quickly obscured their entwined bodies from view.

As their intimate interactions drew to a close some thirty minutes later, Marcello's body, now dry, laid sprawled out on a daybed that was situated within the large quarters of the Princess. Kiskla's lithe, tanned body was draped over his own in a manner that almost made them appear as two pieces to a puzzle purposefully placed together. Long fingers lightly stroked the Kiffar's long hair as glacier-blue eyes gazed out to the horizon that laid just beyond the balcony. "Hope you learned your lesson..."

A mischievous smile was cast in the Princess' direction at the utterance of the joke.

Or threat.

Whatever.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

"You've forced honesty right out of me." Kiskla responded, maneuvering from his lackadaisical caress with a backward-tossed grin. Knuckles placed down, she pushed herself from the side of the bed to stand, the morning's light highlighting her best angles as she stepped across the room to where she'd replaced [member="Marcello Matteo"]'s sabre. It was still wrapped in the fine leather that she'd covered it in earlier that morning.

Light steps took her back to the edge of the bed, perching on it and handing over the wrapping to the son of Naboo. It balanced on her palms, vying for him to take it. Impatience was always something she had to contend with, and the glitter in that pearl gaze of hers dared him forward to satiate his curiosity.

To ease the potential tenseness of the find, she forced a gentle wrinkle of amusement - keeping the running gag going. A single shoulder tilted upward and she cocked her head in faux-nievity; "I won't do it again."

No she most certainly would not! Those stones were hard to find, especially in the blue colour that she'd selected for Marcello's blade. The leather binding that encased it shouldn't throw off the grip too much - but he would have to get somewhat accustomed to it before leaping into the fray of battle.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Marcello smiled thinly at [member="Kiskla Grayson"] before leaning forward just enough to place a soft kiss to her forehead. Shortly thereafter, the lithe Jedi Master retracted from the bed and returned with what he knew to be his lightsaber wrapped in leather. Glacier-blue eyes lingered over Kiskla's form for several moments, thoughts of his lightsaber paling in importance to the mind-numbing beauty of his chosen's presence.
Eventually Marcello reached out for the leather-wrapped device. Gingerly, he opened the covering and allowed his gaze to take in the delicately crafted addition to the hilt. No words escaped the Rogue Master's lips as he busied himself with the task of evaluating the weapon...more through the Force than anything else.

"I won't do it again."

The seductively melodic tone of Kiskla's faux-naivety slowly drew Marcello's gaze to her from the corner of his eye. It was literally taking every ounce of control in his body not to give in to his heart's greatest desire in that moment. The desire to explore every swell and peak of Kiskla's figure in the most intensely passionate of ways.

Taking in a deep breath, Marcello came to his feet and activated the weapon. He started with a simple combination of flourishes to test the weight and balance of the hilt with the addition. It was, of course, beautiful, but Kiskla knew Marcello well enough to know that he would not have accepted the addition if it inhibited his ability to perform in combat. Finishing, Marcello deactivated the deep blue blade as he looked up at Kiskla with a warm smile. It would take a little getting used to, but it was functionally flawless. Tossing the weapon onto the cushions of the daybed, the large Naboo native approached the Kiffar Princess slowly.

"Oh you won't hmm?" Stopping just in front of Kiskla, Marcello allowed his gaze to drop as a single finger ran lightly up her side. Halfway, he abruptly snaked his entire arm around her body and pulled her firmly against him, his gaze returning to her eyes. "I certainly will." The last syllable was almost lost to the action his lips favored in her presence; a deep, passionate kiss.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Years of training Padawans in classes and as her personal students left the blonde with a critical eye when it came to technique. Marcello's silent reaction turned action was watched carefully. He didn't hate it, which was all she was asking for with her risky endeavour. And with each swoop of his blade cutting through the silent air, she found little fault. The swoops of power were most uninhibited, and performance would not be hindered. When the hilt met the cushions, she leaned back in preparation, smiling pleasantly with her own approval. Good job, Kiskla!

A gleeful squeal of slight protest was exhaled with the sweeping movement, before her own toned arms looped around [member="Marcello Matteo"]'s neck and her own mouth muscles stretched to meet his in an amorous tango. Like all of his movements, Marcello executed with purpose being a man more of action than words. Kiskla was still finding her balance between both; though her body yearned for action since tearing down the Panathan reach.

Locking her wrists behind Marcello's neck, she swayed slightly and parted their lips but mere millimeters for a breath.

"Where are you planning to break in the new addition?" It wasn't atypical for Marcello to be on the move. They both knew she had plans to visit Dathomir, whether Marcello supported them or not, didn't matter. She'd always had visions of grandeur -- nevertheless, she couldn't wait in inactivity for much longer. She was feeling better, she just wanted to learn more first.

 

[Marcello Matteo]

Truthfully, Marcello had taught himself not to really form much of an opinion about [member="Kiskla Grayson"]'s desires. In the end of the day, he did his best to support her. In true Kiskla fashion, that often meant Marcello having to tell her when she was being ridiculous. Still...no outward opinion was formed unless solicited. Though even when she solicited his opinion...she really just wanted to here his logic so she could pretend like she'd thought it through already. He knew her game.

But alas, none of that had a large tendency to matter to the Naboo native. To himself, he could admit that Kiskla had him wrapped around her finger in several ways. He saw it not as a weakness but as a simple realization that making her happy, made him happy. Most of the time.

Still holding the lithe woman in his grasp, the large Rogue Jedi inhaled deeply as he considered the answer to her question. As the scent of his chosen wafted through his nostrils, Marcello offered a simple reply. "Wherever my services are next required." In truth, he had no idea where that would be, but there was certainly no shortage of war and strife in the galaxy. "When do you leave?"

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

"Tomorrow afternoon." She replied, resting her chin against his collarbone and tracing small circles along his spine. Kiskla was going through a minor identity crisis. She'd been Grandmaster to the Jedi for five years, and a champion in a war against the Sith. Being captured away in a cell for a year had taken her off the map and out of action - now, a month or so later, she was having horrible nightmares and unable to return to her similar duties. She could only confide in the man that constantly supported her. This feeling of uselessness had to go away, and she had to use her talents for the galaxy once more.

Herself and [member="Marcello Matteo"].

"It shan't take long. As soon as I'm done, we're patching this galaxy up. Together." In their seven years, or so, together, they spent snippets or stretches of time together -- but unified, they could be a force to be reckoned with. It was time to unleash that with more magnitude than witnessed ever before.

"Just make sure R9 accepts all incoming calls."