016. LOVER'S LANE

( —A secluded road or area sought out by lovers seeking privacy. )

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"My friend," the well-dressed man in the hologram spoke in a booming noise, "if you are receiving this transmission, that means you are alive. You might be surprised to hear this, but I am alive too."

Before taking off into space, Myra realized that the Razor Crest had earned one more passenger. A male, Qin, much similar to the Twi'lek female who had been aboard, cuffed and prisoned at the farthest ends of the ship. The Mandalorian had banned her from visiting the prisoner and she had remained shacked in the cockpit with the child in tow.

Not much had occurred after the prisoner had been dropped off at the space station's hangar and he had been paid for. Of course, the Mandalorian had returned to the ship with excessive smugness wheeling off in streams.

When travelling with the Mandalorian, there was so much Myra praised inwardly. The fact that he was a survivor by nature or that, never mind what he thought, he was strong on the inside just as much on the outside. He was truthful to the ways he paced, quite like her, which was the real prize.

While Myra had been locked into coldness and believed she had lost her ability to love, not Din though. He could still love, hate, trust and grieve. He could eat, sleep, admire and breathe. A witch such as Myra couldn't even figure out emotional difference without looking into their heads—could she love anyone?

Surrendering of her soul was a high price to pay for power and enlightenment. She wished to go back to when she was sixteen, ready to pledge herself to the ways of sorcery and then, turn the time over. Watching the Mandalorian made her second guess herself and if someone could truly come to love a witch.

"You seeing this?" The Mandalorian asked her with a snort in his voice. Myra leaned back into the seat diagonal from him, breathing out loud.

"Seeing," she sighed, "still working on believing. Greef Karga, huh? Your leader?"

"He's not my leader," he grunted. "And how do you know him?"

"From your thoughts," she tilted her with a smile. 

"I guess we can call it even," the hologram continued to inform while the Mandalorian turned back with a soft mumble she hadn't caught. "A lot has happened since we last saw each other. The man who hired you is still here, and his ranks of ex-Imperial guards have grown. They have imposed despotic rule over my city, which has impeded the livelihood of the Guild. We consider him an enemy, but we cannot get close enough to take him out." 

"The Client," she mouthed softly in an ominous voice when the face of the said person scurry past his flurry of thoughts. 

"Stop looking into my head," he hissed out, turning to throw her a short-lived glimpse.

"If you would consider one last commission, I will very much make it worth your while. You have been successful so far in staving off their hunters, but they will not stop until they have their prize. So, here is my proposition," he said, his dark eyes set straight and to the point.

"Are you sure, Mandalorian?" Myra asked in a simple tone. 

"If it's about the kid, I have no choice," he shrugged. "You?"

"No."

He looked at her, surprised. "No? Why?"

"I sense a disruption in the Fate of this," she said easily, lolling her head to a side with a slow shrug. "But I have no say in your choices."

"You can't just say that and expect me to be okay with it after," he sighed, shaking his head. "Tone it down on the brutal honesty, please?"

"Okay," she hummed, clearing her throat to make her voice seem less threatening and more loving. "Listen to him, Mandalorian."

"Don't lie either," he said dryly. 

"Well," she huffed, "what do you—"

"Ssh."

"Return to Nevarro," the holographic man placed his suggestion and plan forward. "Bring the child as bait."

"No way—"

"Ssh," he shushed her again.

"I will arrange an exchange and provide loyal Guild members as protection," the blue hologram, Greef Karga nodded firmly. "Once we get near the client, you kill him, and we both get what we want. If you succeed, you keep the child and I will have your name cleared with the Guild, for a man of honour should not be forced to live in exile."

The Mandalorian breathed out, close to convinced.

"I await your arrival with optimism."

It was a substantial plan. A plan that could go both ways; to fail and to succeed. But wasn't every move in life such? She glanced at the Mandalorian who was thinking comparable to hers, doubtful and considering his chances. They were null to a bare minimum so instead of slumming it around the galaxy in random planets, he weighed the greater odds.

Myra breathed out softly in shock. "You're on exile?"

"Sort of," he replied simply. "Scared, princess?"

"Do not call me that," she growled at him when the title snapped a convalescent ribbon in her, "I'm not some hoity-toity, blowhard with a—"

"But you are," his chuckle came out in short, staticky pants due to his obstructive helmet. "Daughter to a king is a princess... princess."

"I'm choosing not to hurt you," she said calmly, looking straight ahead and shutting her eyes with a sigh. His proof was based on a technicality so she couldn't help but surrender.

"You'll think of something."

This made her lips lift up into a small smile, fluttering open one eyelid to cast him a mischievous glance. He was looking straight back at her and she did not need to look into her head to learn that he was smirking her way.

He started to chuckle again, looking beside her to see the child resting in the pearl-shaped pod—all tucked in and wondering in his slumber. Something seemed to shoot through his thoughts like a bullet, a discharge of playfulness as he looked back at her. 

Myra was amused. "What?"

Evidently, he seemed to forget that she could read his thoughts. He rose from his seat in all nonchalance, ignoring her question and walking past her as if he were the most relaxed being on this ship. The two-fold doors shut behind him on his exit, his mind still swirling with a nutty gaiety she had come to admire.

Leaning over, she rested her arm over the cradle and looked at the child with a squint in her eyes. "What do you think, should I follow him?"

The beautiful child continued its slumber nevertheless. Reaching over, she brushed a single finger down the delicate ear of the child with an unacknowledged smile. 

Wha was she kidding, Myra thought to herself. In no more than two seconds, she was going to shoot out of the chair to follow him down. In agreeance to the fact that she would follow him anywhere. And moreover, she didn't need the Sight to understand that.

∞

"Why can't I have a damned moment to myself on my ship?"

Din watched carefully as Myra gracefully leapt down from the cockpit entrance above without using the ladder for the very purpose. Brushing the hair from her shoulders, she walked to him with an easy-going smile only he knew, that the clever witch had something up her sleeves.

"Because a moment is too long for me to be away from you, Mandalorian," she grinned at him, full of mischief and ready to engage. 

Din looked away, the strings in his soul getting tugged on unevenly with her words. However playful she meant it, he had come to accept that he had started to fall for Myra. Whether he liked it or not. 

"Are you always like this?" He asked quietly.

"Like what?"

Din thought about it for a second, knowing all too well that Myra was looking into his head. "Frisky."

A short peal of shy, gentle laughter parted her lips and seating herself on the metal bench beside the cupboard that held the melee of his artillery. She watched the rifles and the blasters with a hard look, scuttling away discretely as if fearing it.

"I've never had someone to play with," she shrugged with a small smile, looking down at her bare feet. "You amuse me."

"Well, if my misery brings you amusement," he muttered, closing the cabinet for her sake. "Be my guest."

"Are you going to Nevarro?"

"We're going to Sorgan," he corrected her while walking to the opposite cabinet to fix something else; nothing particular in mind when Myra was around. She always seemed to put a stopper to his errands and run his focus on her. 

"We are?" She mused. "I like the sound of that."

"Sure you do," he whispered under his breath.

"I have a favour to ask you, Mandalorian," she announced suddenly when he turned to leave the room and heading to the cockpit. His heart started to stutter arrhythmically, pausing in his steps.

"What favour?" He managed to deaden his voice to a monotone before asking away.

"Promise you won't think I'm insane?"

"I already think that," he stated, turning on his heels to face her again. "Go ahead."

"When I blacked out," she tried to whisper, "I saw you in memory or—or a Sight. And I remembered seeing something on your back. A symbol similar to mine."

"So?"

"I want to see it."

Damn it all to hell.

"Myra," he muttered.

"Yes?"

He looked at her with a stern grimace which was shrouded by his helmet. "You're insane to think I would actually strip for you."

∞

"I can't believe I stripped for you."

Din really couldn't care about what she said. By the time she had him pinned onto the recently blanketed floor with his clothes off, he knew where this was going to end. And he was pretty satiated with the fact that that was going to happen one way or another. 

His mind was driven to focus on her touch, how he could be conscious of the mellowness a thousand times more when he wasn't drunk on pleasure. Every time her soft fingers alighted over his back, he couldn't help but suck in a sharp breath. It was like his brain was on fire, she was an angel with fingertips of flame.

"I'm sorry," she rustled in apology, retracting her hand when she heard him inhale piercingly. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," he mumbled into his hand, running it consequently into his hair to soothe himself back into normalcy. "It's nothing, I'm fine."

"Can I—"

"Yeah," he cut in with a quiet chuckle. "Don't need to ask."

Her touch had short-circuited him in the best way possible, dragging it leisurely up the dip of his spine and feeling the inkling that had manifested over his skin. Her fingertips were supple in their assault on his thoughts, letting him know the shape and size of the symbol she was tracing out.

"Extraordinary," she whispered in a breathless laugh, mounting a hand over her mouth in wonder. "Truly, I've never seen anything like this."

"Thanks," he said, smug.

Din was returned with a subtle eye-roll. "Welcome."

"Am I going to die?" He asked with a cocked brow.

"Death is a fickle thing."

Din, mystified by her statement, turned over on his front. Immediately, Myra had looked away with a flush coming to her face and her tawny cheeks dusted with a pink-champagne glow. For the evening, she wore a form-fitting, ivory dress, almost as if it were nightgown; strappy and loose. It pooled around her like liquid silk, sliding like sleet on a mahogany tree. 

Engrossed in watching her, he let a hand alight her face and he was careful to be as gentle as possible. Her dismissal never came to his utmost surprise. Her golden eyes were stimulating, lighting every carotid in his body on fire and revealing a cat-like simper on her face. 

"Mortality is a fickle thing," he tried to suggest. "Right?"

She breathed out, "In a way."

"In a way," he continued, "any concept that involves life is faithless."

"Not you," she whispered. 

He looked at her, dumbfounded. Before he could search her eyes for some form of recanting, she was kissing him. Something he never seemed to grow tired of, and with his lips, he felt her mouth stretch wider than it should as if stifling a silent grin. In an instant, her hands clasped his on her face and guided it to her waist as she slung herself over his body and sighed at the inviting warmth.

"Is it normal for a human to be this warm?" She pulled back, dragging a hand down his neck in concern. Her eyes wavered between his. "Have you fallen ill?"

"Uh," he blinked, "I guess not. I think it's just... you?"

She laughed softly, a rasp in her voice when she said, "I adore you." 

Consequently, not giving him time to assess the confession as her lips caressed his hotly in a needy fervour. His eyes were wide open, pushing her hair out of the way and breathing heavily.

Did she just—she couldn't have. 

"Myra," he pulled her back and her eyes fluttering open to reveal the liquid gold that swam in them, heady with undone pleasure. He didn't realize he was grinning until her fingers traced the edges of his mouth. 

"What did you say?"

She shook her head. "That was—it's just—"

"Hey," he breathed out, "you what?"

She palmed her face, a small groan leaving her in a quick instant. She worked fast, pushing herself out of his lap and smoothing her hair wildly. Afraid, terrified of promise, strange. 

"I was so stupid to stay, to actually think—" She hissed out. "I never should have come back, Mandalorian."

"Are you out of your mind?" He grabbed her hand to entwine with his in a forbidding gesture while his heart raced miles per second at the words she had uttered. 

"You are not leaving this ship again."

"You don't deserve a witch," she looked at him with a glossy sheen floating in her liquified eyes. "You are entitled to someone who can be lucid; natural."

"Well, I don't want that," he insisted in a voice rooted with need. He had more pressing concerns than her being real. "You can't leave, Myra."

"I have to," she looked up at him in desolation. "I've done enough trouble in your life."

"I don't care," he fizzed. "Just don't leave again. Please."

"Why?" She disapproved. "It's me who has fallen for you."

His heart thumped, skipping a single beat. Her confession was like the sweetest melody to his ears, torn between elation and worry of seeing her leave again. His lips broke out into a smile, shaking his head.

"Because I have, too," he confessed softly. 

Her vivid eyes were piercing into him, peeling him layer after layer with an electrifying gaze that spoke a thousand words she couldn't say. Every ounce of air had left his lungs when her eyes lifted with anticipations of his next words.

 "I'm in love with you, Myra."

She laughed, disbelieving. Her hands went to her chest as if she were feeling choked for words and blinking out of a trance. As if her body had flushed warm, turning genuine into the divine, and a feeling of finding the greatest treasure of all time. Her hands cradled his face with a tender smile, her thumb tracing the ripples around his mouth. This is love, she realized. So, that's how it feels. 

"Believe it or not, I spend every waking moment dying inside, knowing I might never have you all to myself. I've made my peace," he nodded, "it's enough for me... only being yours."

He leaned in to press his lips against hers but in a moment of hesitation, she pulled back and stole heaven with her. She looked away, suddenly embarrassed.

"No," she murmured, pained. "No, I-I can't. We can't."

"Myra," he shushed her. "It's okay. You're alright."

He held her hands to his chest, hoping his own heartbeats could soothe her overthinking mind. He thought he saw a glossy sheen of what was tears in her eyes, vanishing with a soft blink. 

"Tell me the truth," he urged when his wrists moved around his clasp as if trying to hide away once again. He wasn't going to let go—not this time. 

"I," she whispered, "I am in love with you, too."

He laughed. "Are you now?"

Her lips lifted slightly. "Don't tease."

"Now you know how it feels."

Her headstrong grimace shifted to a smooth smirk in seconds, dropping her forehead onto his shoulder and falling into fits of little laughter. He dipped his nose into her hair to dissolve into amusement himself, holding her head tenderly in place. They were in elation; glad that the suppressed words were finally out in the clear.

"Those are but words, Mandalorian," she said, ever so teasing and her teeth grazing his earlobe. "Show me in your actions."

That was not how he would put it, he thought to himself. He liked it better when she wasn't wearing a stitch and she was addictive by herself, or maybe it was the way witches were. His kisses were trailing down her jaw, tilted to give him more access where she had her head thrown back and unable to stomach the pleasure. His hands had found their abode in her cascading hair, light fingers disappearing underneath the thick tendrils.

Her pecks increased in fervour when she helped ease herself out of her dress, untying the ribbon that held it together at the back. His hand dragged up the soft bare skin on her back, the ink of the symbol of the Mandalore standing out for him this time. It was beautiful how her body had forged associations to every go-between she had come across and made an impact. How much ever her eyes or her talk deceived her, he knew how much they were influencing each other. The bond linking them was unmistakably there; twisting, writhing and waiting for them to acknowledge it.

"You're lanky for a human," she whispered, amused more now than ever.

"Can this wait?" He sighed. "I'm not loving the 'for a human' comparisons."

She laughed, nodding. 

Her actions were controlling and in all honesty, he loved it. Dominating. Watchful. With the first of her touches, he was a goner and her tender kisses brought him to an edge he never knew existed. As if being handed a holy grail, his fingers touched the crevasses that had left an inkling in his mind and melted his confidence to nothing at all. He was putty in her fingers, restoring his heart that he never knew needed mending in the first place. The two defined lines down her stomach, or the flawless nature of the dark, marble skin and the contrast between the colours of their hands; everything was coming back to him.

When his mind started to restore from the trance he had her under, he gave her a kiss that was both soft and hard. She was treating him like glass, something so fragile and afraid that she would scare him away.

But they had done this too many times, just enough to understand and accept her sweet fears, and every time, it just kept getting better and better. Lost in the rousing dance of limbs, her lips were at his ear and teasing him about what would come after. She was hovering over him, pouring oh-so-sweet surprise into his pleasure, her slender but strong hands bound him to the ground. 

If it was begging she wanted, he thought to himself, she was going to have to stop for quite a time for his brain to restore once again. Her breath changed with every push, timed to the motion of her soft moans and when the electricity started to dance over her skin with the issuance of their climaxes, an intimate moment that stretched from tangible anticipation to the pleasure of release.

"Tired?" Her lips teased his sweet spot, her hands feeling the way his legs moved to rest himself. "You know, witches never tire except when we use spells."

His head rocked back into the blanket with a wearied laugh. "I don't know if that is the best or worst thing I wanted to hear."

"Half a loaf is better than none," she winked, her panting breaths dying down to mutters.

"The loaf being you in the sentence."

She laughed out loud. "I suppose. But you have my whole existence, my love."

His fingers swept into hair from her neck, fisting at her nape. No, he could never control her that way. It was the opposite. Her hands were still stroking at his thigh and abdomen, covetous. Probably more insatiable than him. 

"I'll take it," he murmured. "I'll take everything."

And that mere endearment set his brain on fire all over again. Wishing this tasteful moment in lover's lane never truly would come to an end. 

X X X

{ not all love lasts this long—just a reminder. you are not ready for the next one *evil laughter* }

{ i only re-published this because I am a sucker for descriptions and didn't feel the LURV as much as I did with this one. i hate making smut but I tried to make it as tender and as perfect as possible. hope I didn't upset or make anyone feel comfortable! }