Yub Yub, Lieutenant
An hour later, Shalla sat in alone in her sparse quarters, debating with herself on whether or not she should go find him. It was unlikely that Janson would be the one to break. The man had a will of iron. Well, Shalla said to herself, I do too. Her father had spent years drilling that little principal into her and her sister’s heads and it had paid off. She could sit still, waiting for opportunity for hours on end - her record had been fourteen.
But that had been a matter of life and death. She wasn’t sure that besting Wes in a rather twisted game of wills and sex was quite the same thing.
Sure, she told herself, it was a matter of pride, but pride was generally something easily ignored when sex was on the other end of the equation. She drummed her fingers against the side of the bed and twisted the white linen of her sleep pants absently.
Sithspit! She never partook in nervous twitching. She stood up and glared at the chrono by her bed accusingly. Two minutes had passed. Two lousy, fucking minutes.
I will not crack. I will retain self-control. I will not let a desire to screw a superior officer cloud my judgment. I will find calm. Calm and rational thought is what has kept me alive this long.
She glanced back at the chrono. Another minute had gone by.
"Fuck it," she said, tossing her hands in the air and padding over to her door. Okay, so she’d lost. He’d better be worth it.
The door slid open, revealing dimmed light. The ship was set to Coruscant time, and the lights had been turned lower in this corridor to simulate the night. She glanced out in the hall to see if anyone was coming. Of course, she thought, it’s late and this corridor houses only Polearm, Rogue, and Wraith. No one would be out. But she stepped out cautiously all the same. How she would explain why she was out of bed wearing nothing skimpy white linen was anybody’s guess.
She knew where Janson’s quarters were. She had to in case of an emergency. She allowed herself to smile at that little bit of irony. I don’t think this is what Commander Antilles had in mind when he gave us everyone else’s room assignments.
Oh well. It works in my favor.
She turned the corner, musing absently about what Janson wore to bed and ran smack into another body. The impact threw her back a few steps, but as she was trained to handle situations like this it only took her a few seconds to get it under control.
"Force almighty, you’re jumpy!"
Shalla looked down at the person she was now straddling. The dim light, which a moment earlier had caught her off guard, now revealed certain details she had missed. Blue eyes and tousled dark hair for starters. "Wes?"
Wes grinned at her in the dark. "Shalla?"
"You startled me." It was an accusation, but it didn’t sound like one even to Shalla’s own ears.
Wes’ voice was dry with amusement. "I can see that. Could you please remove your foot from my crotch and your hand from my larynx?"
Shalla released him. "Sorry ‘bout that."
Wes stood up, rubbing his throat. "Not exactly how I’d planned this to go."
She grinned at him and brushed her braid out of her eyes. "I didn’t mind it." She touched his shoulder which, she realized with a start was bare. Actually, as she let herself take a good look at him as her eyes adjusted to the light, he wasn’t wearing much - just a pair of loose, drawstring sleepants which fit well over narrow hips.
He noticed her appraisal and took her hand. Kissing it, he said softly, "Domineering, are we?"
Shalla sighed softly as she felt a jolt of wanting run through her. Curse Dia for planting this idea in my head. She brushed his dark hair off of his forehead and found herself luxuriating in the softness of the strands. "You’re lucky I didn’t take you’re head off." She noted absently that her voice was huskier than usual.
He looked up at her and raised his eyebrow. With it, Shalla recognized the double-entendre and laughed. "You have a one-track mind."
He wrapped his arm around her waist. "You better believe it. Who’s closer, you or me?"
Shalla looked. "I think I am, actually."
He grinned at her and nuzzled her neck. "Well then, ultimately you win."
She let herself lean into him and realized happily that he wasn’t wearing much underneath the pants. She could feel every inch of him against her thigh. "And my prize is…"
"You’ll see. Now let’s go before some curious pilot looks outside to see what that bang was."
She pulled him along the hall back the way she had come. "It was your hard head hitting the floor."
He laughed. "You really got to watch your use of that noun, Shalla."
She grinned at him and keyed her code into the pad by the door. It slid shut behind them.
And Wes immediately had her in a bone-breaking grip, kissing her with a fierceness that surpassed anything Shalla had ever experienced or even fantasized about. She wrapped her arms around his neck while his hands moved behind her head, pulling her even closer into him. Every inch of her lit up with fiery anticipation.
Suddenly, even the small bit of clothing between them was too much. Way too much.
She ran her hands down his back, reveling in the hardness of his muscles and his strength. This was too good to be true. She encountered his waistband. Unperturbed, she slid down underneath it and moved her hands down his hips.
"Nuh uh," he said, grabbing her hands and pulling away from her mouth. "You won, remember. Which one’s your bed?" He stroked the side of her face, sending yet another jolt through her.
"T-t-the one on the left." She couldn’t control herself anymore. She wanted him, damn the consequences.
He kissed her again, this time softer. Shalla found it even more erotic than the hard insistent kisses he had endowed her with until. He placed his arm, a feather-light touch, behind her back and led her to the bed, never once breaking contact. Gently, he laid her down and pulled away, placing himself beside her.
"Remember, love," he said, "this is for you."
Shalla found herself quivering in anticipation. "Sith, you talk a lot in bed," she teased.
Wes grinned at her, making her shake with an unfulfilled desire. "Hush." She obeyed, relying on brute force to keep herself from losing complete control.
He leaned down to kiss her. They were soft, sweet kisses - kisses that made her want more. A sublime torture. But his hands - gods, his hands! Without breaking the kiss, Wes allowed his hands to roam freely over her body, exciting nerve endings that Shalla had never known she possessed. Ye Gods he’s had practice, was one of the few rational thoughts that ran through her mind as she became acutely aware to every shift in the air current.
Underneath her shirt, underneath her pants he roamed, squeezing and prodding with expert fingers, forcing her to beg inarticulately for more. Shalla knew that she was whimpering, but she didn’t much care. The kiss was broken briefly when he pulled her shirt over her head, but he returned his mouth obediently to hers and continued his exploration without the interference of superfluous clothing.
He let his hands kneed her breasts, circling her nipples and making them stand on end. Gods she wanted him. But there was no actual rational thought - only pleasure. He slid his hands down her hips, taking pants and underclothing with him. His hands roamed over her hips and across her abdomen, pausing for a moment as he reached her curls. She knew that she arched into him then, whispering his name into his mouth.
His hand brushed the dark hair for a moment before fingers ran down the inside of her thigh, teasing the sensitive skin.
She moaned in pleasure and irritation that he was teasing her. He laughed into her mouth - a rich sound that drove her wild. He ran one finger along the crevice before gently letting it slip in. She cried out then and he let his finger flick across her core, causing her to arch into his touch.
He detached his mouth from hers. At her protest, he kneeded her and smiled, leaning down and letting his tongue follow the path his hands had taken. She whimpered as he slowly circled his finger around her nub, driving her with exquisite slowness to orgasm. His tongue moved down her body sometimes nipping, but always causing her to beg for more.
She cried out as she neared the peak of euphoria. But he didn’t let her reach it. He quickly withdrew his hands and pulled his face out of her abdomen. Shalla looked at up at him, startled. "Pulling out like that is something they should sentence you to Kessel for," she said crossly.
He laughed. "You’re not done yet." He nudged her legs apart. "Close your eyes, love."
Shalla knew what was coming next, but she closed her eyes anyway. At the first touch of his mouth, she arched. At the second, she moaned with pleasure. Whatever edge she had lost with the break came back with five times the force as she felt his tongue probe her folds. He placed his hands on her knees and caressed her with his tongue. Gently at first, then with a urgency that caused her orgasm to hit without warning and with a force stronger than usual. She cried out loudly as she spiraled over the edge and her body racked with convulsions.
The wave passed and she opened her eyes. Wes was smiling down at her. "Was that a worthy reward?" he asked grinning. He knew perfectly well how he affected her.
She ran her hand down his cheek. He twisted and kissed it. "No wonder the Empire has a death sentence on your head."
He grinned at her and lay down on her narrow cot next to her. He propped his head on his hand and ran the fingers of his other down the front of her chest. She felt herself stir with fresh arousal. "There you go using that word again," he teased.
She laughed and kissed him. "I think you’re wearing too much clothing, lieutenant."
"I’d agree, Lieutenant Nelprin."
Wes had worked her slowly, using her own desires as some exquisite torture device. But Shalla could tell as she pulled his pants off of him, that it had only been his own indomitable will that had prevented him from spilling already. No, foreplay was not a requirement.
His kisses were urgent as he shifted so that he was lying on top of her. She wrapped her legs around his hips and he entered her carefully.
"You okay?" he asked, concern written across his features.
"Lieutenant? Shut up."
He smiled. "Yub yub."
And with that, he began to thrust - deeper and deeper until he was moaning her name in his ecstasy. Shalla found herself abandoning restraint. Roles blurred. They were no longer officers of the New Republic, nor were they pilots, or Shalla and Wes. They were simply man and woman, each partaking in a dance that was older than known history.
He came first, spilling into her with a cry. This drove her to a second climax that drained them both.
Shalla lay in Wes’ arms afterwards. "I must say," she said, pitching her voice so that it was conversational, "that beat out anything I’ve done in awhile."
She glanced up at him. He smiled down at her. "Well hell, half of the damned squadron is partaking, we might as well join them."
She laughed. "Commander Antilles must be losing his touch."
Wes stroked her arm. "No. He likes the gossip that comes along with it."
He laughed. "Very."
There was a pause. "So," Shalla said, "who is Lieutenant Klivian’s illusive lover?"
"A bothan from Polearm. He’s smitten. Why?"
"So," Shalla said slyly, "that means your quarters might be empty for some time yet…"
Wes’ chest started to vibrate. Shalla glanced up at him. He was shaking with silent laughter. "Yub yub, lieutenant," he choked out and squeezed her to him. She brushed her braid out of her eyes and smiled into the darkness. Maybe she’d allow Dia to live after all.
Back to Paula's fic