will you live in hope, or dark desire? Who: Issan & Glasya. What: Issan takes the newly created Nightsister talisman to her master. When: Following this thread. Where: The Wraith, neutral space. Rating: NC-17.
Issan twisted the black ring on the cord around her throat, her idle hands making a noose of the necklace. The object hummed with a gentle power, one that she found hard pressed to release her grip on; it was the first definitive proof of her coven, of their abilities, of how far she'd come. She ached to reach out to the goddess and ask for her wisdom, but, as always, other matters demanded her attention. Issan did not begrudge this particular task, even as she felt hesitation and confusion fill her veins as she watched the familiar sight of the Wraith descend onto the Lok docking platform.
Tucking the necklace and its pendant back out of sight under her black robes, she boarded the ship; almost immediately, it lifted off of the surface and returned to the black ocean from whence it had come.
* * *
Once onboard, Issan headed for her room as her memory and muscles went into autopilot; a handful of steps later had her realizing her error, and she changed her trajectory for the hall that had been sometimes repurposed as a living area just outside the cockpit. A table used to project star charts sat dead center, with a scattering of chairs near the walls and windows placed helter-skelter about the space. A handful of plants showed her own mark on the room, along with a smattering of datapads and some loose articles of clothing that showed the ship was more than just a transport vessel.
Her hand reached for her breastbone again, but Issan forced herself to leave the talisman where it lay as she stared out a starboard-side window, waiting for Glasya to feel comfortable leaving his ship to linger in the dark echoes of space. Her thoughts turned back to the coven, worrying this sudden introduction of Dee's family and friend like a wound in her side, completely occupying her mind and causing her to miss the cockpit door opening.
Glasya hesitated in the doorway between cockpit and living space. Since their last parting the ship had felt unusually empty in her absence, and to see her again in her rightful place was an unexpected comfort. It was rare to find his apprentice so distracted that he could study her unguarded, to read her state of mind without overtly intruding. Something weighed heavily on her; whether its origin was the talisman he had asked of her or something more, he could not know without further prying. Quietly he moved beside her, watching her all the while.
"Issan."
Whether it was her name, his voice, or a combination of the two, Issan's eyes closed as a shiver worked its way through her form. She turned, and her expression changed from night to day; a smile softened her features, though it was far more tepid than one she might have produced for him in the past. Her body started forward, as it often did, but she stopped herself from closing the distance between them. Too many unanswered questions lingered there, preventing her from doing so.
Finally, she broke the comfortable silence. "I have it," she nearly blurted out, her hands reaching to her neckline to snag and pull out the necklace. The black ring dangled from the end of the simple cord, looking entirely unassuming; round, black, and somewhat tarnished, anyone merely glancing at it would have passed it over. But the Force that twirled around the object was strong, like a beacon. Issan gave the cord a soft jerk, undoing the knot she'd tied, and holding the ring out for his inspection with no small amount of excitement or pride.
A small smile quirked at the corner of Glasya's mouth. He stepped closer. His hand raised, palm curving just beneath where the ring hung. Its power was palpable: Issan's, but others' as well. The Force energy it held was something altogether different from what Glasya knew. It was akin to what he'd felt only on Dathomir, and even there, only in remnants and scraps.
His hand closed around the ring. He pulled the necklace from her hand, closing his fist around it. "You did well," he said. "Is there anything I must do before wearing or using it?"
She nodded, eager to explain its mechanics. "You'll need a strong Force connection with your target; don't put it on before then, or you might accidentally snag someone or something random.
"But once you do wear it, it will impose your will over whomever you're most closely connected with at that moment." Her excitement abated as she thought back to the holonet message where he had given her this assignment.
"You said this was for a creature that claims to want inclusion in the Order?" Her words were tinged with curiosity, and no small amount of concern.
"It is." Glasya pulled his eyes away from the black ring. He shared the concern he heard in her voice, though he refused to speak them aloud, unwilling to allow himself such weakness. He looked to her as he raised the necklace and bound the cord with a tight knot. "Must it be a mental connection? If I have to go deep into this creature's mind, I'm afraid that even with the talisman there could be complications. I would prefer a more tactile approach if possible, or at least a combination."
Issan frowned. "A touch while wearing the ring would work as well, though I'm not certain the binding would be as strong. If you prefer that route, I would encourage you combine the two approaches." She met his gaze, though her eyes kept glancing to the ring about his neck. Her mouth twitched, unspoken words lingering there.
"You said this would give us a powerful weapon. Are you confident this is worth such a risk?" Her mind went back to Coruscant, and how she'd found him -- a twisted creature of his former self.
"I am confident, yes," he said. He paused, considering. "I am not certain. If nothing else this will allow me control over a weapon best not turned on us. It seems to have no innate purpose of its own. I would not see the Resistance give it one."
He tucked the ring beneath the folds of his robe. "I will go as far into its mind as I can. I'll contact you beforehand. If you don't hear from me again by the next standard day, tell Kylo what has happened. Do not come and look for me alone."
A dark look passed over Issan's face at Kylo's name. "I would prefer to go with you, and not have to speak with him at all. Or are you taking your other apprentice? Going alone is an unwise choice for you as well. You are not immortal, Glasya, or did previous events not make that clear?"
Glasya's lips thinned to a hard line. "Your objections are noted, but I will not risk you yet. That is not up for debate. And what I choose to do with my other apprentice is not your concern."
"I have no concern for him," she replied with some annoyance, turning away from Glasya and taking a few steps toward the table in the middle of the room.
"It does not serve my purposes to see you torn to pieces," and here she reached the table, setting her fingers along its edge. "As enjoyable as it can be to put you back together." Issan turned to look at him again, watching for and weighing his reaction.
It would have been unreadable to any but her: a slight shifting of his weight, one booted foot to the other; a gentle arch to one brow. The slash of his mouth had softened. "You should have more faith in me," he said. He crossed the space between them, stopping a pace away from her. "If I am so weak as to be brought down by this creature, then I deserve to die, and you deserve a better master. And whatever wounds it may give me... rest assured none but you will touch them."
Her head canted back, gaze meeting his as he moved forward. There was nothing in her face but utter and complete belief, a devotion that ran as deep as the marrow in her bones.
"There is only one thing I believe in more than you, Glasya, and I know she brought you to me. I would not waste her gift." Issan kept her voice low, but her words were charged. She stepped forward from the table, closing the distance between them like a long held sigh, bringing her hands to his chest. They did not rest lightly; she pressed, searching for muscle and bone beneath his robes.
One hand moved up to his throat. A thumbnail traced from the hollow at the base of his neck upward, over his Adam's apple and to the tip of his chin. The feel of him under her hands seemed to release a tension she did not realize she was holding in her shoulders.
Her mouth worked for a moment, lost. She did not remove her touch, wondering if it would soon be removed for her. "Was that weakness, on Coruscant?"
The memory flared bright within him, setting a fire in the pit of his stomach. He knew the proper answer, but would not speak it, knowing it for the lie it was. His unblinking gaze traced the lines of her face, the curves of her mouth. So carefully she worked to shape this moment, to find the words that would pull the truth from him. So easily she undid him; how deftly she could stitch him up again.
"No."
He did not trust himself to say more. The rest was written in his body, in the brief quickening of his heart beneath her hand. She could feel his pulse, the beating in his chest and in his neck; an irresistible want etched itself into her mouth, her eyes. The thumb on the tip of his chin pushed down, angling his face.
Then, with no small amount of Force, she pushed him backward the short distance to one of the chairs scattered about the space. As she had often done in the past, she pushed, but this time with her hands and not her objections; this time she did not let up until he stumbled back and fell into one of the seats.
Her hands went to his face again, this touch far more tender than the movement she'd just enforced. Fingers traced the outline of his skull, feeling the bones just beneath the flesh. She leaned close, dark hair making a curtain around their faces.
"Then I would have you understand, Glasya, that you are mine," she whispered, her words echoing what he had said in their previous encounter. "And I am not in the habit of asking for what belongs to me." She brought her mouth down to his, hands cupping either side of his face.
He knew he should push her away, and for an instant the thought crossed his mind. Then his hands moved to hers, long fingers circling her wrists to hold her tight her against him. He leaned up to her, answering her demand with his own. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, then parted them; he pulled her down against him, his hands clenching on her as he deepened their bruising kiss.
Issan slid forward onto his lap, legs parting to cinch her thighs to his, bringing her face level to his; her hands moved down from his face to his neck, her tongue passing over his teeth as she pressed harder to him. Once again, she could feel his pulse in his neck, the heat of him under her, and let it wash away the fear of what might happen in the days to come.
Her mouth moved away from his, over his jaw and down to his throat, tasting that pulse; she ringed it with her teeth, suckling it as though she would pull it into herself and swallow it whole. He squeezed her wrists tightly one last time, tracing fine lines of bone and delicate veins with the pads of his thumbs. His hands moved to her waist. He hitched her farther up against him, his hips raising beneath her.
His tipped his head back, giving her more of his throat. He groaned low and soft at the press of her teeth. His nails sank into the fabric of her robes, every inch of him remembering the smooth, pale flesh it hid; he groaned again, his body stirring beneath hers.
"Issan…" Is this really what you want?
She pulled back from his neck, bringing her face to his again; their profiles aligned, she moved her hands down his body and into his robes, pulling the cloth folds apart. Her body moved back, giving her room to work. Scars and skin appeared under her hasty movements, her breath hot against his face, hands and fingers searching until she found his length. With one hand, she cradled him gently and applied one small, slow stroke.
His eyes drifted nearly shut, but he held her gaze as she touched him. He lifted up to her, pushing himself into the circle of her hand. He shrugged his shoulders and let his robes fall from them; a brief withdrawing of his hands from her, and the heavy black cloth fell to pool against the back of the chair, leaving him bare before her. He leaned forward and kissed her; nipped at her swollen mouth with sharp little bites. She bit back, catching his bottom lip with her teeth as she stroked him again. Slowly she found a rhythm, though she stayed unhurried, content to draw the moment out.
Her other hand smoothed over one shoulder and up his neck, pulling his head forward. Her mind reached forward into his, probing carefully rather than in the haphazard blunder she'd performed before. Shadows of the wounds inside his mind lingered still. Though they had healed somewhat since last they'd met, scars remained, and likely would for some time. The bright places she had found in him on Coruscant seemed brighter now; the dark places seemed all the darker.
He reached back to her all the same, dragging her into the tangle of his thoughts; she fell into him willingly, eager to be surrounded by everything that was him. He sighed against her mouth, softly lifting his hips and her above him as she stroked his hard length. His hands wrapped in her robes, sliding over and through them with a care he had not shown before. He found the bindings of her belt and untied them; he let it fall to the floor, and then his hands were on her again, hunger marking even the slow, hard press of his fingers as he undressed her.
She encouraged his motions, shrugging and pushing off one sleeve of her robe; she released him long enough to free her other arm, but quickly resumed her ministrations, keep her touch and pace soft and slow, timing it with the beating of her heart. Her sex ached from the sparse contact, but she wanted this control; pushing forward in his mind, she reached out, brushing the places she had marked before. This time, she looked for him as much as those memories, those touches, wanting to feel him inside and out.
Some walls had been so long in the building that they were difficult even here, even now, to bring down. By slow degrees he opened himself to her, though he took as much as he gave. His thoughts wrapped around hers, as intimate and close as her hand on his arousal. There was something vulnerable in the dark recesses of his thoughts; something fearful and desperate, well aware of the dangers into which he willingly walked. It fed off her own fear, deep though she tried to hide it. He found the certainty in her, this goddess-gifted confidence he had never understood, and clung to it. He kissed her harder, his tongue thrusting over hers. He slid a hand between them, his arm brushing hers as his fingers found her slick heat.
A moan escaped her lips, echoing into his mouth as he touched her; in his mind, she grabbed up whatever she could reach, claiming it as her own. Everything that was hers was his, and she felt the same about the reverse; they were stronger together. As much as her family, as much as her coven, he was part of her, and she found recent events difficult to grapple with. They had been together through so much, and she hated the thought of him alone, despite whatever protections he had or that she could afford him.
But that was not for now; for now she pushed those thoughts aside and willingly offered him her complete and utter trust. Her spine curled, pressing herself closer to his fingers, her hand struggling to keep the careful speed she had established as she continued to stroke his member.
He broke their kiss as she moved on his hand, her own sliding over him with a slow touch that set him on edge. He pushed her back, his fingers pressing into her as his mouth found her breast. His lips closed over the tight peak of her nipple, his teeth scraping over pebbled flesh; she gasped lightly at the touch, her sensitive flesh feeling every motion. With tongue and thumb he flicked over tender skin, coaxing her, goading her on. Her hand moved again and he sucked in a chill breath. Want and need and lust and love reverberated through his every motion; they bowed his back and leaned him into her, and colored every thought that filled his mind and echoed through hers.
A hand threaded through his hair, her mind pulled apart from so many directions. It was a sweet deconstruction, her body flaring with pleasure from his touch and his mouth, her mind drowning in his thoughts and emotions. It was enough to make a body want to remain like this, forever; a dangerous path, one that might take them further away from their goals. These were more thoughts that Issan pushed aside, wanting nothing to interrupt this moment. She pumped her arm again, a little faster this time, goading him.
He shuddered against her. He bit sharply at her skin; pushed his fingers deeper, fitted to the curve of her body. His thumb pushed over the tight center of her pleasure. He was close now, so close. All his thoughts had turned to her -- the look on her face, the smell of her skin, the tight grasp of her legs around his -- coalescing into a single bright flame illuminating his basest desires. He rolled his hips toward her hand, following her toward that blissful peak.
She cried out again, her hips thrusting into his movements; she stroked harder, no longer concerned with forcing him to linger on. She could feel his orgasm mounting, their entwined thoughts giving her everything he was feeling, thinking, seeing, and she had no desire to deny him anything at that moment. She wanted that, to own this moment, to know that she had been the cause of his gratification. Pushing her face into his, she found his mouth again and took it, wanting to taste him as he came.
He opened his mouth to her, an unchecked groan breaking on her lips. Her name and all it encompassed flooded his thoughts. His hand stilled between her legs, his back drawing rigid and straight when he came. He pressed close to her, his free hand clutching her tight, nails digging into her lower back.
She followed him through his orgasm, stroking until he was finished. His pleasure reverberated through her, echoing out into nothing, leaving her mind satisfied but her form still wanting. She knew she would never be done wanting, not when it came to him. Releasing his softening length, her hands rested on his shoulders, her face aligned with his as she kissed the side of his mouth, relishing the touch of his sweat-slicked skin. She rolled inside his mind, still wrapped in his thoughts, waiting to see what he thought of this. She was happy in that moment, her fears far away dots on the horizon that she would leave until tomorrow.
Her joy amplified his own, extending it out into something that felt, in that moment, immeasurable. Contentment seeped warm into his limbs. He sank back against the chair, pulling her with him. His thumb stroked idly over her; his fingers slid first out of her, then slowly back in. He turned his head and pressed his lips to hers, languid and soft. The black circle of her ring hung between them, thrumming with an energy of its own. It nearly pulled him away from her, nearly drew him back to thoughts of the work still to be done. But he fought that unwanted urge, forcing all of his attention back to her.
His thoughts coiled in and around hers, dark and close as smoke. In that moment she could have asked anything of him, and he would have gladly given it.
Tell me what you want.
Issan's mind spun away from her, hips grinding gently against his fingers as she struggled to answer his question. She was a needy thing, a creature of want; so much had been taken and denied to her before she was born. A family, a planet, a birthright that would be forever out of her reach because of what had been laid to waste so many years before. She had been taught to take it back, rip it from the hands of those who held it above her through whatever means necessary. Here, though, she found herself caught between too many points, her mind a trembling thing overwhelmed with pleasure, and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than what was already in her arms.
Make me come.
He sighed against her cheek. He kissed the line of her jaw, following it down to the column of her throat, nipping and sucking at at her sweat-slick skin. His hand moved against her, fingers slipping deeper as he moved her on his lap. His thumb stroked over her in time to the rhythm he found. As his mind stirred from its post-coital fog he began to fill their joined thoughts with images of what could be: her bent over the controls of the Wraith, watching the stars and their reflections in the glass as he took her from behind; him on his knees in his bedroom, worshiping each mark and scar on the pale canvas of her body; the two of them twined together in the room that had been their master's. Both of them, bound together by fate and desire, inseparable, unstoppable.
Her hips bucked against his movements, her face flushed from his touch and the thoughts he was spinning through her mind. She wanted all of it, every possibility; there was nothing they could not do, together. Her own thoughts were added to the void: him seated on Snoke's throne, in full Sith robes as she knelt before him, bending to take him into her mouth; her riding him at the base of a tree amid the jungles of Dathomir, rutting like animals; and finally, him crawling toward her naked form on a bed lit only by candlelight, inside the high priestess' tower. There was no future that she could imagine without him. She moaned pleadingly, the sound low as nothing else broke the silence between them aside from her panting.
For an instant his voice echoed hers, but he quickly bit back his own cry. His hand worked between her thighs; his mind moved with her own. He amplified their combined images, the visions of the future they would build together, until they seemed as tangible and real as the room that surrounded them. He drew her closer to him. His thumb pressed against her, pushing rough against that tight bundle of nerves. His teeth traced the line of her clavicle. His arousal stirred beneath her, bathed in her slickness, warmed by her body. He sighed at the hollow of her throat. He drank in every sound she made, every movement of her shape above him, aching to coax more from her.
Come, he demanded.
And she did, tipping over the edge that he'd so skillfully driven her to. Muscles seized, clenched, her body still driving against his hand as her mouth formed his name. The pleasure flowing through her mimicked the thoughts and images in her head, bringing her a sweet contentment that she could find in few other places. A delirium settled over her, her mind so bound in his that she didn't care to unwind it at that moment. She collapsed against him, feeling full.
She pressed a smile to the side of his face, her form pressed tighter to his. She could feel the ring between them, which stirred old irritations. Issan pulled her mind back enough to form coherent thoughts. "When do you have to go?"
"Soon." He withdrew his hand from her, curling wet fingers low around her hip. His thoughts he left mired in hers, unwilling to lose that connection or the visions they provided so soon. He kissed a damp and tousled lock of her hair. "I have left it long enough. Any longer and it may drift to our enemies. It's driven by its boredom, and it seems quite proud of that. I can't allow others to use that to their advantage."
Issan bit back an annoyed sigh; she had tasks of her own to complete. She knew leaving her students for too long was to court disaster, not to mention her excitement over the potential acquisition of the Haruspex Requiem sent chills through her. For the moment, she wanted chills of a different sort.
"Soon is not now," she replied, sitting up enough to meet his gaze. One hand slid up his neck, spreading fingers over a cheek to cup his face. "I see so little of you these days. I think we have enough time to enact at least one or two of your visions, and make them reality."
"I prefer yours," he said. He moved beneath her, his renewed arousal pressing hot and close between her legs. "But for now we'll have to make do." He gathered her up in his arms as he rose from the chair. Their robes fell and pooled around their feet. He stepped carefully over them, and carried her out into the ship beyond.
Issan leaned forward into him, her face pressing into his neck as her mouth found his pulse again. Her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, fitting there so easily. She sucked at his neck, fingers and nails finding purchase in his back and his hairline, eager to incite more demands. She could not see where he was taking her, but that was part of her excitement; her trust would not be broken by so small a thing.
They had had years of waiting, more than a decade of denial, and now the moments it took to cross the ship seemed far too long. The corridors were empty but for his hushed footfalls; his quiet sigh as her nails scratched old scars echoed loudly off the walls. The door to his quarters opened with a hiss. He brought her through, into the dark room that was his sanctuary. Lit by starlight alone, it was a beautiful place, all worn metal and black sheets and hungry silence waiting to be filled.
He loosed his grip on her, letting her slide down his body -- still sticky and slick with drying sweat and sex -- to stand. Her feet hit the floor soundlessly. The light from the port window made a white corona around her. He stood still for a moment, content to study her, all the curves and planes he had for so long left unexplored. He pressed close to her, his hand curving to fit the nape of her neck, and took her mouth with his own.
She rose up to meet him, her hands pressed to his chest, sliding up to his neck; her mouth opened to his, her tongue searching for teeth and taste. Her fingers ringed his throat, thumbs in the hollow before her arms wrapped around his neck completely, causing her to all but hang with only her toes on the ground. Her nails scratched his skin, her whole body pressed to him as though their forms would become one through that simple act.
He pulled her tight against him, his tongue playing over and beneath hers. His shoulders lifted to seek the sharp touch of her nails. He pressed her back, back, across the cool metal floor to the bed behind them, until he felt her legs strike its soft edge. His hands traced her spine from her nape to the small of her back; he palmed the taut curves of her backside, squeezing tight flesh. Then he guided her down, his shape moving over hers, hovering a ghost of a touch away.
Her legs parted as he laid her down, her form welcoming his as she felt the cool, soft comfort of his bed beneath her. The smell of him wrapped up in the blanket and sheets surrounded her, almost more so than the man on top of her. Issan moaned into his mouth at the feel of his hands everywhere on her body; it was impossible to feel this way, and she wouldn't let it go anytime soon.
She pulled back enough to speak, her voice as low as the lighting of the room; her legs cinched tighter around his waist. "I want to feel you in me."
Glasya's sigh was a breath against her lips and a coil of smoke in her mind. His splayed hands fitted to her ribs, thumbs curved beneath the swell of her breasts. Every movement was slow, deliberate, as though he was committing every inch of skin to memory. He kissed her again, sucking lightly at her lower lip. She had pulled him close, so close he could feel the heat of her against his length. His hips rocked forward, sliding himself against her. But he gave her no more, only kissing the line of her jaw, her throat, her clavicle, tasting sweat and skin beneath.
Issan groaned softly, her nails digging deeper into Glasya's back as his teasing worked effectively. She pushed back in his mind, then down through his body; her Force abilities ran through his skin, through blood vessels and nerve endings as she searched out pressure points. Like invisible fingers, drops of pleasure blossomed down his back as her touch blessed each one, curling down toward the small of his back. Her physical hands followed this, smoothing down the flesh until they wrapped around his backside, trying to urge her wants into his motions.
His voice echoed hers. He needed no more provocation; already he fought to keep from trembling beneath the fine edge of her influence. Lust for her and pride for her skill commingled into something stronger than he had thought possible. He let both pour into her through their ever strengthening connection. Her hands tensed on him and he followed where she led. He fitted himself to her tight entrance, lingering there for a moment. Slowly he pushed into her with one single, deep motion.
She clung tightly to him, her hips rising to meet his thrust; a moan ebbed from her throat as her head fell back, black hair and braids lost amid the sheets. The feeling of his pride and his desire moving through her warmed her to her core as her hands slid back up his body. They affixed to his face, turning his mouth back to hers as she took it again, tongue tracing lips and teeth and deeper still. Her body moved with his, demanding a slow rhythm.
He let her claim his mouth as he claimed her body. He opened his mouth to her, groaning soft against the press of her tongue. He fell easily into the pace she set; between each languid stroke he stilled a moment, basking in the feel of her so close around him. He moved lower above her, until he felt the crush of her breasts to his chest, the peaks of her nipples rubbing over him with every small motion. His hands moved to her nape, holding her tenderly beneath him as he moved within her. Her name was a constant presence in his mind, shot through with emotions he could never admit aloud.
Issan grabbed at everything in his mind, returning it in kind a hundred times over. His name, his person, his very being was hers and had been from the moment she had set foot on his ship; it had simply taken far too long for her (and him, but she wasn't going to belabor the point) to understand that. The Goddess had brought him to her, to take her from Nar Chunna, to speed her journey toward her coven's resurrection, but also as the gift she'd called him earlier. He was a comfort, a pillar of strength, and she knew she would not be herself without him. She had no qualms telling him this, here, in the privacy and security of his rooms; better he know now, and reject it, than for her to keep all of this inside and let it fester into something unkind.
Holding him, Issan pushed him over on the bed to his back, her hips still pressed tight to his. She lifted herself enough to assume control, already picking up the slow, sweet rhythm that she'd dictated to him from the start. Her hands traced over his chest as she straightened her back, the starshine from the windows making a silhouette of her form as her hips rolled on his, muscles clenching to hold him tighter, deeper.
Between the motions of her body and the warmth of her thoughts, Glasya was undone. He could no longer feel where she ended and he began. Everything they felt for one another was more than a mirror: their thoughts were one, their bodies one, their past, present, and future one single, fluid thing. His hands slid over and up her thighs, his fingertips pressing flushed lines into her skin as they passed. He slipped one hand between them, softly tracing the place their shapes joined. His fingers slid over her, his free hand wrapping close around her hip. His gaze traced out every star-limned line of her body, every pool of shadow that shifted as she moved on him. His lips parted on a muted sigh, his hips lifting slowly to meet her downward stroke.
Her head fell back, emotion curving her spine as her hips moved. Her Force abilities moved through his skin again, touching him in unnatural ways. She could feel the beating of his heart, the expansion of his lungs, every sinew and synapse that made up the being beneath her. Gentle, unseen hands moved back to his bloodstream, focusing on the same pleasure points as before, strumming them with delicate maneuverings. She leaned forward again, hands sliding over the planes of his flesh, mimicking what she was doing beneath it.
A small smile quirked his lips at the feel of her influence in and around him. Her skill with such fine and delicate work was considerable, and much of its development had been entirely her doing. He shivered as her caress reached deep within him, blossoming outward until it seemed to encompass him entirely. His heart beat faster. He reached up to her with one damp hand, tracing from jawline to throat down to the curve of her breast. He palmed her skin, his thumb sliding rough over one pebbled nipple. Slowly that tight warmth began to build within him, coaxed closer with every move she made. His left arm circled her, his hand pressing to the small of her back. He guided her down to him, kissing her deeply as she rode him.
Issan bent smiling into the kiss, her hands cupping his face. Her hips increased their speed, wanting what she could feel cresting on the horizon. She reached down, within him, and stoked the heat growing between them, pulling him down with her. He moaned into her mouth, his shoulders curving, raising him off the bed and into her. He held her close, tasting her, feeling every move she made, however slight, as she drew them toward that perfect edge.
Then all at once it was too much, and not enough: Glasya reached for her, nails digging sharply into her hips, pulling her onto him once more as he came. He shuddered beneath her, inside her, lost completely in the star-bright, soul-scorching oneness they had become.
She clung to him, carried over the edge, her own mind spiraling in the heat and brightness that exploded in their minds; it dissolved into nothing but pure blackness, a familiar sight and feeling. Issan laid on him a moment longer, her mouth alternating between pants and kisses as she moved down from his mouth to his jaw. Finally she rolled to the left, fitting neatly into his side as she let her breath catch up to her. His arm slipped beneath her and around her shoulders, pulling her closer still.
One hand reached out and idly played with the ring on the cord around his neck, but her mind was far too contented to be upset with what it represented. Her eyes were locked on the space just outside the window of his room.
"I see why you never invited me in here," she said, her voice low and tired. "Your bed is much more comfortable than mine. I wouldn't want to share either."
He smirked. His eyes flicked down to meet hers, seeking out the starlight reflected there. "Is that the reason, do you think," he said, his tone and his thoughts making the true answer plain.
She returned his smirk, the hand at his chest rising to his face; fingertips alighted gently on his cheek. She had read too many datapads on the Jedi and the Sith to not understand his meaning.
"This changes nothing. I would still see you rise, and this," here her hand trailed back to the ring around his throat, "is only the first of many things my coven will be able to do for you, to protect you, to make you stronger. One of my sisters, she is bringing me a mask that may help my coven to create stronger spells. It will give us a stronger connection to the Goddess, and with that, there is no end to what I can give you. We are stronger together, Glasya. Together we will do many things. Great things."
He caught her hand in his and raised it to his lips. "I know," he said. There was certainty in the press of his mouth to her skin, a calm assurance in his eyes as they met hers. The mention of this artifact intrigued him, but those were concerns for another day. For now their shared vision welled up in his mind once again, flowing into hers like warm fog: a covenant of new Sith and new Nightsisters, transformed and raised up to scorch the galaxy beneath them.