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Jyn looks…well, uncomfortable is the first word that comes to mind when Cassian watches her pull the door to his hotel room open in her fitted evening gown. Beyond that, she looks great. Amazing. Incredible, even. The emerald green satin complements her eyes — currently narrowed in annoyance — and hugs the curve of her waist, normally hidden by her bulky Alliance-issue shirt and jacket. Cassian resits the urge to fit a hand at the small of her back as she wobbles past him to the table full of weapons they’re meant to conceal for tonight’s mission.
Tonight, they’re guests at a reception for a senator on Coruscant, just back from a stint on the outer rim, doing “charity work”. Draven suspects charity might have more to do with the Empire than the senate’s letting on. So, Cassian’s playing a Festian dignitary escorting a visiting colleague on a tour of the core worlds.
“I can’t walk in these kriffing things,” Jyn says, bracing herself on the back of a chair. “And my dress is too tight to hide a handkerchief, let alone my blaster.” She grabs at her gun and frowns, holding it to her waist. “See?”
“That’s not where your blaster goes” Cassian replies smoothly.
“What?”
Cassian’s done his share of spy work with a multitude of partners and informants. He’s done this before, cloaking ability and danger with the trimmings of wealth, but Jyn probably hasn’. He points to the holster beside her blaster. “That’s where it goes.”
“How’s that?”
“It’s a thigh holster. Like a garter.” Soon as the words come out, Cassian’s wishing he’d picked any other analogy. The image of Jyn in garters short circuits every nerve in his body — mission? What mission? For a minute, there’s no Empire. No Alliance. Just Jyn, all pale thighs and dark lace.
But then she’s cursing and everything comes back.
Cassian shakes his head. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t get this thing on,” she grumbles, shooting daggers at the blaster in her hand. “It won’t stay.”
“Do you need help?” he asks, hoping that she’ll say no.
Jyn nods, brows raised as if to say well, duh. A sound escapes the back of Cassian’s throat of its own volition and she offers a helpful, “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Just…lift the hem of your dress and let me.”
She hums, grasping the bottom of her dress and lifting it nearly to her waist. Lucky for him, she’s wearing a sort of body suit for extra protection — Cassian’s got a matching one under his tuxedo — that just skims her thighs. Still, it’s more of Jyn than he’s used to seeing.
He kneels beside her and takes a deep breath.
Taking her blaster, Cassian slides it into the holster, trying his hardest to ignore the warmth of Jyn’s bare skin at his fingertips. It clicks into place like nothing and a thought runs through his head: why couldn’t she get this herself?
He’s about to ask when there’s a sharp tug at his tie and he’s suddenly nose to nose with Jyn.
“What — ?”
“You think I don’t know how a kriffing holster works?” Jyn breathes. She’s so close he can feel the words on his own lips. “I’m not an idiot.” When Cassian tilts his head down, he sees she’s smiling, hand still fisted around his tie. “Maybe,” she adds, angling her head to the side so their lips almost touch, “I’m better at this espionage thing than you thought.”
Jyn closes the space between them and Cassian lets out a useless groan. When she pulls away, he shakes his head, eyes falling closed. “If you wanted to kiss me, you could’ve just asked.”
“And what fun would that be?” Jyn finally lets his tie go and smooths down her gown where it’s bunched around her waist.
Cassian stands, a smile working its way across his face. He turns to check one last thing on the datapad, but Jyn clears her throat in that indignant way he’s grown so accustomed to. “I still can’t walk in these things,” she says, holding an arm out.
He laughs, taking her hand. She teeters on her heels a little and, this time, Cassian does steady her with a hand at her back. Jyn hums something in approval.
“You’re right,” Cassian says, helping her towards the door. They need to be downstairs...well, three minutes ago, actually. Then again, when are elites ever on time?
“About?” she asks, concentrating on not stepping on the hem of her dress.
“Being a good spy.” He unlocks the door and holds it open, letting Jyn grab his arm once they’re both in the hallway. “You certainly keep me on my toes.”
When she flashes him a grin, Cassian wants to kiss it off of her. Later, maybe. Hopefully. Definitely. That is, if he can get through the whole night without an inspection of her holster. Just to be sure it’s still secure.
(They wind up in a coat closet two hours later, having safely extracted information from their mark. Jyn shimmies out of her dress and starts to undo the clasps keeping her blaster safe.
“Keep it on,” Cassian whispers, a mischievous glint in his eye. “After all, it was a lot of work to get fastened in the first place.”)