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“How can you sit like that?” Aramys asked, watching Theron as he slouched awkwardly beside her on the couch in her quarters, neck craned at an uncomfortable-looking angle. His butt was close to hanging off the seat like he was trying to slowly slide his way to the floor.
“Like what?” he said, not looking away from the datapad he held over his chest.
“Like some moping Republic teenager,” she pushed his hip with her foot.
“There’s no need to bring the Republic into this,” he said, flashing an amused smile.
“A moping teenager then,” Aramys shrugged.
“Not better.”
"Sit up, will you? Just looking at you makes my neck hurt. And you’re going to regret it tomorrow. You’re not as flexible as you used to be.”
“Are you calling me old?”
Aramys pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows but didn’t answer.
“I’m not old,” Theron put down his datapad.
“I didn’t say anything!”
"I’m only five years older than you,” Theron said incredulously, fumbling his way back to a normal sitting position.
“I hear people call you Old Man Shan when you complain about the cantina music being too loud.”
“It’s only too loud when I hate the song,” Theron said. He leaned forward, hovering his face inches from hers, playfully smiling at her. She batted her eyes; curtained behind long dark eyelashes, and smudged eyeliner.
“You hate all the songs,” Aramys grinned.
“Just the ones that are hard to dance to.”
“You are a good dancer.”
“I am, aren’t I,” he agreed.
“I’ve seen better though,” Aramys teased.
“I don’t know,” Theron slowly closed the gap between them, the discarded candy wrappers beside her crinkling under him. “I can think of a few ways I could surprise you.”
“Oh?” she breathed, almost able to taste him on her lips.
“At least one.” Theron smiled, seconds away from kissing her. Aramys exhaled, anticipating. She felt her blood surge and she became desperate for his touch.
“Commander, Lana is contacting us from Iokath,” Senya’s voice came loudly through the comm.
They both exhaled in frustration. Theron collapsed against her, going limp. Aramys began to laugh, running a quick hand through his hair.
“Guess you’ll have to show me that surprise later, darling,” She said, stroking his back.
“Mmph,” Theron grunted, burying his face into her waist. She smelled nice, like her fancy soap. Theron recalled the bottle sitting on the shelf in the shower, flowery romantic writing bragging how it’s handmade by Alderaanian nuns or something crazy and frivolous like that. She told him all the scents in the shampoo once, but he just boiled it down to her smelling like flowers and honey.
“I know, I’m sorry,” she said in mock sympathy before laughing, “Are you going to need a minute?”
Theron grumbled to himself before he answered, his face fell into the couch as she slipped out from underneath him, “Yeah.”