Work Text:
Breathe in, breathe out.
That's what Master Porrim said, wasn't it? Think of sunsets, the cool breeze by the beach, and all those motivational holovids...oh Maker, that's not helping you concentrate at all, is it? Then again, achieving a thorough understanding of the Force is quite the challenge when your girlfriend is pestering you non-stop.
“I swear, it's like you're not even listening to my lecture on the finer points of the Nautolan saga.”
Your lekku twitch; Rose can be infuriating sometimes. Once again, from the top...breathe in, breathe out. Think of...think of the library halls, the warm glow of the holocrons, and all the wisdom stored in them, think of...oh. She plants a kiss on your lips, gentle and soft.
“As I was saying, what I find most fascinating about it is their creation legend. See, their approach to spirituality is completely different than ours, but what I find most fascinating is...”
The words start to fade away, but the melody remains, blending together with the distant steps, your soft breaths, the hum of crystals. For a moment, everything is perfect.
“Well, that and the not insignificant amount of tentacles.”
Damn it. She always, always, manages to find a way to toy with you like that. It's so frustrating...the coy smiles during lectures, the gentle prodding of her fingers – tap, tap, tap – the echo of her voice in the abandoned temple halls where you would spend evenings together, the way she would listen intently to your diatribes.
“...So I was wondering, does anyone know where blue milk actually comes from? I had always just assumed that it was something which one acknowledges but never speaks of, like the fact that “jizz” is the name of a genre of music.”
You...no, no. She is absolutely killing the mood here, and you have to take some precautions.
“Um, could you repeat the last thing you said? I'm afraid I was thinking about, ahem, more important matters, sadly.”
“Please don't tell me you were actually listening to my inane ramblings.”
“I only listened to most of them. Well, mostly the parts about various...appendages.”
“...oh,” Rose mutters, her eyes darting away from yours.
You take her hand; it's warm, warm like the temple steps on a sunny day, the same steps on which you'd occasionally sit with her, exchanging frivolous gossip, chatting, smiling, laughing. Your hand is cold, cold and rough and your fingers are gangling and ugh. Best not to think about it.
You embrace her, holding on tightly. You know there's no danger, but you want to treasure this moment. Her robes feel rough, itchy, and they cause a strange prickling sensation when your palms rub against them. Yours are soft, silk, pleasant to the touch.
You go in for the kiss. It's short still, but longer than the previous one. Her lips brush against yours, her black lipstick leaving a small mark. You pepper her with more kisses, and then stop.
Breathe in, breathe out.