Wild Mountain Thyme [Cira]

[Sarge Potteiger]

There was something about her being angry that was actually making it harder for him to stay away from her. She wanted nothing more to escape, and he was giving her every reason to want to. But frankly, he didn't care. It felt good to even be getting this sort of rise out of her.

It meant she wasn't a machine after all.

Besides, she'd avoid him like the plague after this anyway.

But if she thought he was leaving before her, she had another thing coming. Her attention shot towards the exit, and he simply closed his eyes for a moment or two and shook his head. He stopped her, however, with a heavy arm around her waist to pull her back against him long enough to plant another, heated kiss on her lips.

Now he could leave... her to be angry, and him to regret this while actually not regretting it.

He'd probably get an earful from Ayden, but he'd wanted to do that for a long karking time.

"Yes, ma'am." He retorts with his typical dry sarcasm.

And with that, he turned to leave, releasing her to no doubt shoot him in the kneecap or choke him with the Force. If she could deny her own emotions - not just in terms of whatever she may feel towards him, but also in terms of just the every day emotion she so habitually repressed.

Well, he could do that with his feelings for her, given time.

Closure was closure, for good or for ill.

 

[Cira]

He didn't fight fair. Actually, he fought exactly fair. He didn't extend courtesies, not a single one.

His thick arm came snaking round her waist, pulling her in tight. The full soft curves of her body went crashing against the hard wall of his chest, the beskar plates of his armor digging into her protesting flesh.

His mouth was on hers again, the hot silk of his tongue, the sharp, deliberate abrasion of this teeth, the exchange of breath and the rasp of his beard. Her senses went ablaze, and she tasted him once more. But that was fleeting as he suddenly pulled away, his glistening dark eyes boring into her own as his words dripped sarcasm.

"Yes, ma'am."

No. No.

If he wanted to cast those cards. Fine. He was going to regret it.

It was no shot to the kneecap or even the intangible grip of the force that went wrapping round his throat. Instead it was her arm that went snapping out to lock around his and this time the force in which she used to bring him round and slam him against the wall would not be denied. His back would hit, likely leaving a dent on the surface. But that wouldn't matter. No what would matter would be what came next.

Her free hand would soon come up, grabbing a fistful of his hair as she came nose to nose with him. Twin suns bore their vivid anger upon the Jedi, just as she uttered out in a low snarl, "Remember your place."

And in that instant she fitted herself against him and her lips locked against his, mouth coming up to crash on him as she finally let go, intending to punish him for what he dared to do. Lips slanted against his as she tugged his head down in that heated kiss.

He thought she repressed her passions? Think again.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Well, if there was one thing he wasn't expecting. . . it was to be the one slammed into a wall. But it's not like he was complaining - he'd heal up good and solid before too long; he'd probably just escape with a couple of bruises and a bit of a sore scalp.

But if she wanted to play the hair game, he could too. His own crushgaunt covered hand snaked up and into the thick locks of her auburn hair, fingers tangling in their length as he kept their lips locked together. This had to be a game of some sort - she'd probably pull away, walk off and act like it had never happened.

So he may as well get his kicks while he could.

"Only if you make me." He retorts dryly as he pulled back for air, only to press his lips insistently back to hers.

This was going to get awkward if someone opened the hatch; real, karking, quick. He half expected to hear Ayden over the shuttle comm telling them to stop acting like a bunch of teenagers.

 

[Cira]

She bit his lip, inhaling sharply the scent of sweat, blood, and metal, the shards of pain as his tightening hand only driving her further in her anger.

The bastard.

She pulled on his hair. He pulled hers. She shoved at him, and clawed him closer. He shoved her back, and then yanked her tighter against him. Outside the whine of the engines finally died down, post flight op procedures beginning.

Inside the cabin, however, Cira was determine to win this round. If for the brief minutes they had before the hatch was unlocked.

Hot breath flowed as she uttered savagely against his lips, keeping him pinned against the wall with her spare hand, "I'm already on top."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

There was a million things going through his mind as they dueled in a way he'd not quite expected. Shoves, pulls, yanks, gropes, all played out in a battle for dominance he'd not expected - but it was one he was going to win, if only because he was stubborn.

With sheer brute force - and the help of the Force if she was going to keep him pinned to the wall with it - he did his best to break free of her hold so that he could turn the tables and force her back into the position he'd been in. Fuel lines were being connected, engines were starting to cool.

That hatch would open soon, one way or another.

 

[Cira]

While Cira was strong, Sarge had a brute strength that could lay men his size flat. A gasp of air came whooshing from her lungs as her back cracked against the wall, her head flinging back as her hair fanned out for a second in soft waves, released from the tight fisted grip of the Jedi as he successfully pinned her.

Her teeth bared for a second, feral in nature as her eyes took on a wildness never seen before. Her heart was thundering in her ears, and her breath coming out in short pants. Not one to give in, her chin lifted as she pushed against his chest and swung her feet to attempt to clip him behind the heels to trip him.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

It seemed to him that as she wound up pinned against the wall, he'd finally found her trigger. Something was stirred inside of her that ignited her eyes wildly, momentarily catching him off guard. With her pushing against his chest, he almost didn't realize what her leg was doing - until he realized she wasn't doing quite what he'd expected.


Trip him up she may have, but that just forced him forward for a split second, turning their fisticuff of a liplock into something messy in time for him to hear the airlock beginning to cycle.

And like that, he was stepping away, watching her curiously for a moment as he quickly fetched his helmet to throw it back over his head. Awkward.

 

[Cira]

By the time he'd turned his masked gaze back towards her direction, the short clipped words of an ensign came through the open hatch.

"Lady Protector?" word had spread apparently to the staff of the Starfall.

"Yes?" came the calm and cool reply of a perfectly coifed and regal Cira. The anger, the wildness, the ferocity of what had happened mere seconds ago was gone. Her hair, manipulated by her Shi'ido heritage had skin shifted to lay in the same soft waves she'd been seen with earlier during the holonews briefing. Those formerly bruised lips from his kiss were their normal fullness, and the seemingly perfectly applied light cosmetics untarnished.


The air within the cabin was pregnant with more questions than answers. They didn’t even have one of their wordless conversations this time; neither of them were willing to betray a single thought or feeling.

Sarge and Cira had taken their skins off around each other tonight. Shared too many secrets, and none of them the important ones.

They completed the flight in the same strained silence it had begun.

The salute was rendered towards the woman, and Cira strode forward with that same familiar purposeful stride towards the hatch. Not a single glance was spared to the Jedi who's taste she could not skin shift out of her mouth.


In the end, she had her way. The conversation was finally over.