Private One Reason

[Loske Treicolt]

She didn’t want to hurt anyone. That was immeasurably true. Altruism was her ultimate motivator, but how much inaction caused a damaging and painful reaction? Maynard Treicolt reassured her that it didn’t matter. They had now, it was theirs - along with happiness and each other. Relief suffused her bones. She didn't want to dwell on the past either, there was nothing that could be done and the future looked all the more promising (disregarding the bioweapon in the cockpit).

The ridges and gaps in his hands served as a reminder how mortal they were in the end. Skin could be broken, blood could be spilled, and bones could shatter. How damaged he’d become from vexation from one thing or another. An anger that she’d felt too before he’d walked into her temporary room earlier that day. It didn’t stop there, the scars were etched on his handsome face and likely elsewhere too. That bruising touch didn’t translate with the way he held her, she could only feel his care and want. Other scars and imperfections would be discovered soon enough, as he would hers; she’d pretty well surrendered to that reality by now. The real exposure and vulnerability had happened with their words, anything more was just the result of being flesh and blood.

His eyes, before he closed them, spoke in a primal way no further utterance could. His patient acceptance and endearing everything tore down her defenses and obliterated reason, replacing it with a desire that roared through her veins. She only Mhmmm’d with an agreeable smile to the sentiment of being alone before he captured her up in another longing kiss that only made her greedy for more. He needn’t fear her not reciprocating anything at this point, and her hands slipped around his angled torso to pull him, or her, whichever it worked out to be, closer with an excited tremble.

This was one of those moments where total clarity appeared for only the briefest instance to confirm want and then motives took over all decision making and the blood surged through her system with a single intent. Every emotion that coursed through her mind now was fully attributed to him without any distraction.

There was humour to be found in their entanglement's lack of sustainability, and she let out a laugh and drew her legs up from the floor to give her a more advantageous angle from potentially being squished. With a half hip rotation later, she was poised with her back against the table and a leg on either side of his thighs. Changing the angle of their coupling. A roguish grin and arched brow coyly rose while she gave a backward nod toward the liquid courage on the table, before informing the ace pilot: “You taste a bit like Merenzane.”

Instead of immediately canoodling again, Loske took a second to brush her fingers through his hair slowly, letting them trail down behind his ear as if she were blindly trying to memorize him with a bit of affectionate tracing.

“I love you.” She murmured once again, liking the sound of the statement and this time didn’t hear the scolding tone at the back of her head again. It gave her clemency. And so there’d be no further mystery of since when or how much she sought to reward him with more than her verbal commitment. He’d been the bolder of the two thus far. Clumsy handiwork sought leverage with the layers of his hemlines, but she hoped the inefficiency of belts and tucked in things and whatever wasn’t super noticeable with her distracting kisses. At one point, her fingers brushed against the stomach beneath and a jolt of anticipation rushed through her. That anticipation eventually surrendered to gratification. The rest of the time Buddy has been encouraged to give them was a series of explorative moments, bent on appreciating rhythms and natural expressions of untamed and far too long suppressed desire.

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

These moments of pure relief and unfettered want felt a deeply embedded warmth of vindication flow through his body as the two wantonly accepted the other. In those flaws she briefly explored she'd find a plethora of old wounds dug into his skin and body. But their journey was a perilous one. Granted he was wrought with a delusion of perfection from her. Every flaw was negligible. His eyes spelled it out whenever he looked over her with that look of awestruck admiration. He always had it even if it was now showing in spades in these moments of closeness with her. She was as close to perfect as he'd ever seen, there wasn't much she could do to change that, not for him.

That brief looked shared between the two when they seemed to surrender everything to other. All that time of keeping barriers between one another of how they genuinely felt, that time had ended. There wasn't anything to hide, whatever consequences would come of this she'd be damned to think he wouldn't fight for this, for them to the end. But she knew that.

That moment was distraction subsided when they inevitably had to readjust themselves, drawing a faint breath of momentary amusement acknowledging the predicament before he was on her once more.

"Not like you'd want to taste it any other way." Maynard chides with a toothsome grin before he leans down closer to her, his hands caressing and exploring her body in unfettered want. As his desire brimmed the layers between them grew intolerable. Like some irritating itch he began to work away at them at a pace that didn't interrupt the smoothness of their intimacy as much as his hunger demanded something more frantic.

He felt every obligation to offer her words just return with his own but all the same he sought out a more tangible means to showing the mirrored sentiment. Clasping a hand at the side of her neck with a clutch tight enough to be domineering but loose enough to be comfortable as he pressed down another hungry kiss that sent his teeth baring down on her bottom lip for the faintest of moments before they eventually rewarded their anticipation, the culminating tension and suppressed desire with a worthwhile pay off. --

At some point they'd managed the way to his quarters, the three-quarters empty bottle of Merenzane at his bedside only going to show that it might not have been the end point of the night at all. Slowly sitting himself up he looked the way of the other half of the bed to see Loske still in a restful sleep. The bed wasn't all too accommodating of the two, only ever intended for the Captain of the vessel alone. But like anything else to this point between them, they managed it.

Peering over to a dim blue florescent holo-screen on the wall across from him he was able to gauge all the information he needed about where the ship managed them even through their night spent blissfully isolating themselves from everything around them. 05:57AM, Coruscant, Galactic City. Ever the two wingmen Frank and Buddy were, they seemed to make themselves scarce when managing The Renegade here until they landed and stored themselves in the Galley, powering down to catch some rest themselves.

He didn't want to wake her, not just yet. Leaning over to her he managed a kiss on her cheek before he turned to lift himself from the bed. Pulling together the bare minimal ensemble of underwear and loose pants he slowly made way to the door. Pressing the button down to slide the door open with a faint metallic hiss, closing it behind him he made a divergent path toward the cockpit before anything else. Seating himself in the pilot's seat he wheeled it around to turn toward the canopy. In an open air landing pad he peered down over the picturesque skyline as the sliver of sunlight peering over the horizon slowly rose to shades of orange and purple. Idle to just...watch he glanced toward the metallic case carrying the very pragmatic object of this excursion. Selfishly, he didn't really seem to regard it with all too much attention as he felt out the room around him. Forever it'd be stained with the echo of when they first confessed how they felt to the other in a bold kiss. It gave it all a more welcoming aura, to him at least.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

I’ve got some secrets I forgot to mention. ​

As non-intrusive as Maynard Treicolt intended to be, the width of the bunker didn’t really allow for one person to leave without the other detecting it. Nevertheless, she didn’t really react in any way other than adjusting her position to take advantage of more space when the Concordian left the room, revelling in the euphoria of happiness. The guilt, frustration and abandonment that had been lingering in recesses of her mind were gone when she eventually rose, replaced instead with blissful serenity. It was like the flick of a switch.

The feedback loop between her conscious acceptance of her choices and the fault of her actions was swift.

The voice that had been screaming at the peripherals of her psyche shrieked out and roared through her subconscious and overwhelmed her entirely. It’s intensity was brief but didn’t ebb straightaway. It’s impression was lingering, and instead she was pivoted to trail down a route of discovery she couldn’t control.

It was staggering, and forced her to swoon and trip forward while nausea tapped at her cheeks. Her mental constitution was nowhere near the fortress required to put pause on the assault, so Loske had no choice but to ride out the experience as an unwanted voyeur. She was grateful to be contained solo in the square footage of the cabin.

Her chest and throat were tight with emotion, and she choked out a gasp while everything whirled about in her brain and coalesced to a realization. Unlike P Placeholder 0128 being taken completely by surprise, she knew what this was. Her guilt wouldn’t let her forget, and it was furious at her odious betrayal wherein she made the choice to ignore it and put her desires first. Now she was going to see the result of her hurt.

"What about the bridge you and I have forged." She latched onto that unpleasant scenario with a worried tone, lifting her hand to create a visor over her eyes and stop the rain from sticking to her eyelashes. "What if someone gets into one of our minds, can it compromise the other?"

"It can," Cedric answered plainly. There was no reason to lie to Loske, even if the truth was unpleasant. In all honesty, there was still much about the nature of the Force Bond that Cedric himself did not understand. They were rare things, and usually only ever forged between willing participants, or between those caught in a life or death scenario together. He supposed the latter had occurred between himself and Loske, and indeed he felt their bond strengthen with each new encounter. At first, he had only been able to feel Loske's most pwoerful emotions: fear and anxiety being the chief among them. Now he was able to touch on her mood relatively easily, though thoughts, proper sustained telepathy, and the many complexities such bonds supposedly brought about were lost on him.

“Agh!” Her hands flew to cup either side of her head and she crunched back down to the side of the mattress, feeling the rolling convulsions of surprise and gradual questioning roll into discovery, realization, brokenness, and fury. Each sensation was as powerful as it was absolute.

Her hands moved from the side of her head to cover her mouth, trapping the meager gasp that tried to escape behind trembling fingers. For all the emotions she’d felt in the past twenty-four hours, this rivalled the romantic zion. But not because she wanted it to.

That burning animosity rolled from her mind’s eye down to her hands and she knew he’d acted out in utter anguish and attacked someone. She felt realization and remorse come quickly after. The sob that was trapped just behind her teeth slipped out and she dropped her hold to wrap herself in an embrace that was hollow with no comfort.

"There are methods to counter that, though. As a bond grows, so too does one's ability to block it out. If the time comes where one of us is mentally compromised, I feel we'll have the mental strength to deafen ourselves to the other."

And then without warning, for all that it was and as quickly and uninvited as it had come, it was gone.

It was the first time she’d felt the shutters close and the isolation was astounding in that instant. It was a subtle change after a few seconds. For the better part of a year or so, they’d been apart and the constant presence had been a faint glow. He’d just made the choice to put some permanence to that distance, and she couldn’t blame him. There were other things she could be upset with, but not this reaction to her. He’d put her on a pedestal and she’d reassured him he was safe to do so. For naught. So he burned that pedestal for all that it was, and whether or not he wanted her to be surrounded by the ashes couldn’t be known; but he certainly didn’t want her to see the Phoenix charged with terrible purpose afterwards. That was undeserved territory now.

Loske was left with not even enough breath to make her vocal chords buzz. Just move her lips noiselessly. Tears collected mourning the loss of the relationship of a person who she respected. They were as much sad as she was angry at the immediacy of the decisive silencing. The hastiness in the shut-out served as a measure of vindication in her choices. Still, when those tears couldn’t be restrained any longer, she knitted up, put her head in her crossed arms and cried. In that single moment of personal glory, it had torn her and the Jedi Master apart with a heartache built on pain and misunderstanding and while she didn’t want them to go back to where they were, scorched earth hadn’t been a desirable outcome either.

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

Her pain wasn't in isolation. Over their time spent with one another, the two had acclimated a force bond themselves. Thought it was something far more convenient and far less invasive than whatever her and Cedric had. In the most critical moments they seemed to feed off one another, in moments of great pain, anger and sadness they seemed to feed into it to sew a great synchronicity. It wasn't ever really something they'd talked about...but it was there, barely tangible.

What he thought might be a proper beginning to an ideally tranquil day following a night of passion the very pain Loske felt shot through his senses in a brief flicker. He could barely piece together the emotions. Anger, loss, loneliness- It was difficult to appraise what might've happened but it was certainly enough of a sensory envelopment to draw him from his isolated comfort. On one hand he considered the worst, that she might've regretted any and all what they did the day before.

That- Maynard wasn't confident he could go on living in that scenario. To build a connection that potent only to have it ripped to shreds in an instant. That would be the thing that would draw Maynard away from what'd he'd built for himself in the Alliance and the Order. Losing her. Or a far darker path that came with the loss of purpose and self preservation.

The Mandalorian peeled open the door to the cockpit with a press of a button before he made way back to the quarter's they'd shared not minutes earlier, entering with a wide eyed look of fear- for her. When the door opened he caught her attention. In a glimpse of reprieve she eyed him with reassurance. It wasn't him - it was clearly something else. Still accepting of him physically he seemed to feel an air of faint relief cool over him. Things weren't the worst they could be, but she clearly needed him. Shutting the door behind him (the last thing the astromechs should stumble upon)

Taking Loske into his arms he was quick to offer a close and warm embrace. As much as he wanted her to, she didn't need to explain anything, not right now. If she wanted to talk, he would listen. Otherwise, he'd only try his best to be there. With one arm wrapped around her the other hand sought a calm stroke through her blonde locks as he tucked her head against his shoulder. He could only offer a vague gauge of the full cause of this, only hoping his own actions could play a hand at mitigating the aftermath they were both baring through in the moment.

---

Loske Treicolt

 

[Loske Treicolt]

This was not how she’d imagined her day starting - and on that note, likely not how Cedric had expected whatever timezone he was in to go. When Maynard Treicolt stepped in and looked mournfully perplexed, she still couldn’t find the words to speak, and only hoped that she could reassure him with a look and a reach. She rose to meet him and he picked up the cues, and enveloped her in a steadying embrace she wasn’t sure she deserved. Especially at the cause of the grief everyone had just experienced.

The sanctuary of his arms served to help her re-establish a gradual rhythm to her breath, and rediscover her voice after that jarringly traumatic experience.

“I-I’m sorry,” Loske murmured against the nook of his neck, and reached up to wipe away the salty streaks of her cheeks and make sure no more dripped off her chin.

The alarm on his façade had been devastating, and she needed to provide some context to eliminate any doubts of fears he had. With a sniff, she ran her hands over her face to try and snap herself out of her reactive state. “That was not how I expected to start the day.”

Okay, so..what happened?

She sighed shakily before trying to explain “I couldn’t control that, maybe if I was stronger I could have but..” as was a tendency, she babbled out the full scope of her understanding, without sorting through her thoughts first. Perhaps that’s why the pair were so vulnerable with each other, they were constantly in the fray together without any pause to parce before entering into a dialogue. There was no room for anything but the constant truth.

“..Cedric, I guess..I guess he knows about us. About my decision, maybe not you exactly, but finally giving into feelings. And he was furious, attacked someone.." Loske shuddered to think of what would have happened if she'd been there. Or if she'd had the opportunity to deliver the news in person, rather than leave it up to his interpretation. In her heart of hearts, Loske knew his rationality would never lash out at her violently, but heartache could be blinding. Or what if he discovered May? She scolded herself for that. Cedric wasn't an animal, and he was probably making the decision to destroy any compassionate memory of her influence.

"I felt everything he went through and then he... I don’t know, he either cut himself off from The Force or just severed our connection. I can't feel him now, even if I try.” She pressed her forehead against the spacer’s chest, looking down at the space between their toes and scrunching up her face. The fallen Imperator’s pain had been more than just realizing what had happened, he’d scolded himself too. He hadn’t been part of Loske’s decision, but she supposed at one point she’d been his and that hadn’t turned out as intended. Bitterly, she thought this was typical of the Ession native - to be so painfully absolute in his choices. Operating without care for the consequences. But then -- hadn't she just done the same thing?

Further, she couldn't be sure what had ultimately triggered his reaction, and how much of what she was feeling he felt in return. If she could feel his reaction like that, what had he felt from her? How much? How quickly did The Force work with these things? Was it at the point she'd confessed her love? The unparalleled high from the former night's events? Or this morning's absolution in her feelings? Or maybe it was a compounding of everything that had happened - and he was forced to realize he hadn't been enough.

“I..I guess it was unavoidable, but I should have talked to him or something. Or been more outright when he left, I..I don't think I'm ever going to see him again.” she leaned back a bit, putting some space between herself and Maynard as if that would protect him or something. For everything she felt toward the man from Ession, the idea of him no longer being a part of her life in any capacity was strange, and she'd have to adjust to that reality. Closure would likely not be afforded.

A hand slipped through her wavy tresses, trying to brush the stress away before it came back to cover her mouth while she stared at the floor. “Feth.” She cussed quietly into her palm.

Finally, she dropped any barrier that would conceal her expression. “I never meant to hurt him, and I never meant to put you in this situation. I’m pretty sure it’s over, but man that was..I’m sorry." Maynard knew about herself and her former master, enough to have respected it for an indistinguishable amount of time -- he likely didn't care to hear much about her ex after their relationship's revelation. "You don't need to hear this either, that's..probably kind of weird.”

 

[Maynard Treicolt]

He'd be lying if he ever said he didn't feel uncomfortable in this. Even still he kept his arms around her, keeping her as close to him as he could as she explained the event which sent her plummeting from a state of tranquil bliss in a choking pit of loss. As soon she said that he knew he could feel his stomach turn with dread. How much did he know? Even as she offered him reassurances it did little to fan the fires of fear that came with knowing that there might be a mark on his head from a foe he couldn't best.

If Grayson wanted to intercept and kill Treicolt at any moment there was little he could do to defend himself or defend her. That was a horrifying fact, one Maynard wasn't sure he'd be able to live down as protective as he was over her. A trait that'd shown itself several times over now from as far back as Brentaal to as recently as their encounter with Kiskla. It was a difficult reality to tangle with.

When she cursed under her breath the wayward Concordian was quick to draw her closer from the faint distance she established moments earlier. Running his hand up to stroke through her blonde locks as an attempted means to ease the tension that the revelation wrought on the two. Though...all the same as he was distressed at the prospect of him seeking revenge on the two, the idea that he'd never seek to interact with her again brought a duality in reassurance. He'd certainly rather he be cut from her life and by extension his if it would only taut a tension between the two. It wasn't worth it.

"Hey- its alright...there's nothing to apologize about. I get it- I do. He was special to you and losing him...yeah, I get it. I'm sorry that...you're having to go through all this now." In the back of his mind he felt partially responsible. But he had to beat back that emotion, that self doubt that's acted as a persistent plague to him to this point. They'd sacrificed for the other several times over and were just now in a position to reap the rewards.

"I think it'll be better for you- for us. In the long term...if its like that." If she never saw him again. It felt selfish for him say but he genuinely believed it.

"He wasn't there for you. If he cared that much about you- he would've been. Instead...he walked away. What we did- you could argue if its right or not, I don't know really but...it feels right, to me at least." Maynard laid out in relatively simple terms to her.

"I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you again, Loske. I just can't. I've lost everyone and- I just...I just don't want to lose you either." Maynard admits candidly, unfurling that deep care for her once more.

"But hey- you feelin' alright?" Maynard asks, pressing a hand to her cheek as his gaze shifts to hers, caressing the side of his thumb against her skin. Whatever happened- it was over now. At least that was certainly the impression the Concordian got from her slow uptick in mood as the conversation carried on.

---

Loske Treicolt

 

[Loske Treicolt]

In the long term. Better for us. Maynard was probably right, and hearing him speak beyond the now made her warm and sink into his hold.

When she’d met Cedric she was more of a taker, she had little to give other than egotistical jabs and jests. Consuming morsels of knowledge and being a jubilant distraction in her own nascence to everything. Over the course of then to now, she’d matured. The Padawan had more experience and power, and ultimately a deeper and more familiar understanding about the pains and complexities of conflict and relationships. She had more to give, so her need to receive was similarly increased. And the man she was standing with was meeting her measure for measure and beyond. Even now, the comfort he gave, left no room for wanting else.

“This is right.” Loske agreed firmly without pause, looping her arms around his waist and pressing up his back. She sucked in a defiant breath, tightening her hold as if something were trying to yank her away. “You’re not going to lose me. Ever.” If self preservation hadn’t been a thought before, the idea of Maynard Treicolt having to scrape through life with another loss was purpose enough to fight. If it were possible, she tightened her clutch.

Nobody had been so constant in her life and the idea of him slipping through her fingers in loss created a pit in her stomach that made it difficult to breathe. She’d already felt that fear on Brentaal, and again Honoghr with the final devastating blow from Tathra. With whatever she could, she’d be by his side to protect him from that outcome.

Who would have thought that random Padawan on Peace station, making imitation engine noises of X-Wings, would turn into such a pillar.

The path of the two lovers to this point had been understatedly trialsome. Beyond wrestling with their own emotions, they were constantly rising to the requirements of the galactic struggle - one greater than themselves. Maynard was right, each time they ended up falling back to one another to rebuild their strength. This blip in the morning was no different, and with the weapon they’d picked up on Thyrsus, new challenges would arise. Morality would likely be questioned. Loske had already crystalized her opinion on it alongside his, born from unquestionable support and trust.

“With you here? Yeah, I’m more than alright.” She leaned into his caress, turning her head ever so slightly to quickly peck the inside of his wrist before she straightened to capture his lips in a tender, appreciative kiss. When her eyes opened once again, she held his hazel gaze to emphasize her sincerity. “Thank you.”