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Six months ago, Satine wouldn't have been caught dead in this position: leaning causally against a wall, a lit deathstick between her lips, the smell of smoke and death clinging to her hair. Her stepmother would have had a fit seeing her like this, but she wasn't around anymore.
Dead, Satine reminded herself. She's dead. Just like mother. She took a drag on her deathstick, exhaling a sickly sweet cloud of gray smoke. She rolled the small pen between her lips, allowing the chemical taste to cling to her tongue. Maybe Bo's dead too. The thought of her sister- still sixteen, far too young for the horrors of war- sobered her, and she removed the deathstick from her mouth. It was the cheap kind, flimsy and easy to crush between her fingers. Doing so, she cast it aside and leaned her head back, letting out a deep sigh. She could still taste ash on her tongue.
"There you are," someone said. She looked up, and saw Obi-Wan standing there, his face crinkled with concern. "What's wrong?"
"None of your business," she grunted, rubbing her hands on her pants. Kriff, why did he have to look at her like that? "Just…thinking."
"Thinking," Obi-Wan repeated. He crossed his arms over his chest. "About what?"
"Didn't you hear me? I said, it's none of your business."
"That's never stopped me before."
"You are insufferable," she said, turning away from him. "You know that?"
"How could I not? You only remind me every day." Satine stifled a laugh. "But in all honesty, if something is wrong…please, tell me." His normally playful and slightly sarcastic voice had turned pleading. Satine hated when it did that. Though she refused to admit it, the Obi-Wan who drove her mad was her favorite version of him. This quiet, pensive Obi-Wan? He scared her.
"It's nothing," she said quietly, staring at the ground. "I didn't want to worry you."
"Well, on that count you've failed spectacularly. Tell me. Please," he added after a brief moment. Satine closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could still taste the deathstick on her tongue, almost strong enough to overpower the lingering stench of death all around her. She didn't want to smell it anymore. I'd much rather smell Obi-Wan, she thought to herself, somewhat guilty. The part of her that still clung to the traditions she had been taught as a child wanted to reject that thought, forget about all the times she had fallen into his arms since he had come into her life. She opened her eyes, wanting nothing more than to fall into his arms again, to straddle him, to kiss him until all her worries turned to ash.
She reached out a hand to cup Obi-Wan's cheek, feeling the rough stubble beneath her fingertips. She leaned in, inhaling his scent, pressing her mouth to his. His lips were as soft and inviting as the first time they had kissed, and Satine savored the memory as her other hand found Obi-Wan's waist. "It's nothing," she whispered against his lips, capturing them in a long kiss. When they broke apart, Obi-Wan's cheeks were flushed with emotion. "Wh-what are you doing?" He stammered, tugging at his Padawan braid. Before, Satine had taken great pains never to kiss him unless she was absolutely certain they were alone. "Qui-Gon could-"
"-I know," Satine said, brushing a hand down his torso. "But there's nothing to worry about."
"I thought you said-" She kissed him again, drawing him even closer until his body was completely pressed against hers. She could spend hours kissing him, loving him. "There's nothing to worry about," she repeated, mumbling into his mouth. Obi-Wan's hands came up to tangle into her hair, and she deepened the kiss, brushing her forehead against his. I love you, she wanted to say, words her stepmother would have told her to say only to her husband if she wanted to be a good Mandalorian. But Satine wasn't a good Mandalorian, and she didn't have a husband. She only had Obi-Wan, and besides, wasn't she already impure? By the standards of her culture, she was a slut, a whore. She had given herself to Obi-Wan months ago, the first time they made love back on Draboon. Now she was back home, on the grounds of her ancestors, dishonoring them. Well, kriff it, she was about to dishonor them some more.
She was reaching for Obi-Wan's belt, ready to undo it, when he pulled away. "What are you doing?" He asked, frazzled. "Here? Now?"
"I just-"
"Satine," Obi-Wan said, grabbing her wrist. "Tell me what's wrong."
Looking into his sad blue eyes, Satine felt her own fill with tears,. "It's just," she said, her lower lip trembling, "I'm a failure."
"A failure?"
"Yes," she said. "As duchess, I was supposed to uphold the family line, to keep our traditions strong, to…to provide an heir for the next generation! And now? Look at me!" She flung her arms wide, narrowly missing Obi-Wan. "They're all dead, and I'm the one to uphold our traditions? Me? I can't even…"
"What?"
She sniffed. "I can't even keep myself pure. I smoke this-" She gestured towards the discarded deathstick on the ground, which Obi-Wan regarded with distaste- "And I sleep with you, and…Obi-Wan, I'm just so tired. When will all this end?"
He was silent for a long moment. "I don't know," he finally said, taking a step towards her. She looked up as he clasped her hands in his own. "But Satine…you don't have to uphold your family's traditions. You don't have to be…pure. Maybe…maybe it's time for a new kind of Duchess. Your kind of Duchess."
She blinked, smiling at him through her tears. "Obi-Wan…when did you get so wise?"
"It's a Jedi thing."
She let out a low chuckle. "Well, Padawan Kenobi," she said, drawing a fresh deathstick from her pocket. "Care for a smoke?"
"If my lady insists."
They spent the rest of the night by the wall, the sweet tastes of deathsticks and each other on their tongues.