Does This Look Jedi To You?

There were five competitions until Champ picked the final two recruits, the best of the remaining, to become agents. Jack was so cocksure the job was his, walking around like his shit doesn’t stink. You’ve had enough and you finally blow up, tired of him and his giant ego.

“Daniels, you are a vile, horrible fucking man. You truly think because I have a pair of tits and vagina it makes me less capable than everyone in this room?” You spat the words at him after he made an off-handed comment about how surprised he was to see you after the last competition which was a strength-based test. The objective was to see who could hold their own bodyweight off a booby-trapped ground. You had to complete an obstacle course while swinging yourself along monkey bars, essentially.

“Now darlin’, don’t go putting words in my mouth. I’m just saying it’s very impressive that you have the upper body strength to complete that course. You beat out two other men, you should be extra proud of yourself.” His deep drawl and his stupid little smirk made you sick, he doesn’t need to explicitly say the words, you knew what he’s thinking—you’re the only woman. Everyone was surprised you’ve made it this far.

“Fuck you, Jack. I bet your Southern values, patriarchal, sexist ass that I can run circles around you in the rest of the competitions,” you jammed your finger into his chest. You were livid that he continuously questioned your merit and right to be here.

“A bet? I don’t consider myself a bettin’ man but if the stakes are high enough I’ll consider it.” You narrowed your eyes, of course he’d ignore everything else you said.

“If I win you have to wait on me, hand and foot for the entire first year that we’re agents.” He let out a sharp laugh at your request. He placed his hand on your shoulder and his eyes gained a mischievous look.

“Fair enough darlin’ but what about if I win?” You wracked your brain for a minute before finally saying, “What do you want?” A devious smile tugged on his lips and you started to regret even asking.

“A single night with you.” you scoffed loudly at his words. What an absolute fucking womanizer. You started to shake your head but his hand moved from your shoulder to the side of your neck.

“There’s five competitions left, darlin’ best 3 outta 5. You win and I’ll wait on you, hand and foot, like the Goddess you are. I win, and I get a single glorious night spent with you, and then when we’re both agents we forget it ever happened. We go on with our lives as Statesmen.” You clench your jaw as you consider the offer. You were so certain you’d win that the threat of having to spend a night with Jack was barely even there. So you put your hand out and the two of you shook on it. Just some friendly competition between recruits.

That was a few weeks ago, and here the both of you were at the final competition. You won the first of the five, Jack somehow beat you in the next two but you were able to dominate him in the last one. Which means this one is the tie-breaker. It’s also the last competition before Champ announces his picks for agents. The three men and you walk in a straight line through the halls of Statesman HQ on your way to find out what the last test would be. Your coordinator opens up a door that leads into a large room, the four of you step inside and see a giant mechanical bull in the middle of it, your eyes scan the bull for traps but it just seems like a simple mechanical bull you would find at any county fair.

“Your last test, and possibly the most important of all, is a test of agility, reflex, and endurance. Each of you will mount the mechanical bull and you will try to stay on it for as long as possible. There will be surprises and obstacles," Champ walks out from behind the mechanical bull as he talks. "The two recruits who stay on the bull for the longest will be our two newest agents,” his brown ten-gallon tips as he finishes his sentence.

Your coordinator tells you the order you’ll be going in — it’ll be the two men from your academy, then Jack and then you’ll be the last to go. You see that as an advantage, you’ll be able to map out the obstacles, calculate the times of each man and you can create a plan to beat each of them efficiently.

The first recruit mounts the bull and it begins to move just like a regular bull would, but one minute in the bull begins to rise higher in the air and you watch the face of the recruit as he panics. The machine continues its ascent until it's 15 feet off the ground and then it suddenly lurches downward. It happens so quickly that if you had blinked the movement would have been lost. The recruit tried his hardest to hold on but the impact from the fall made him lose his grip. He flies off the bull and lands with a loud crunching noise, you suppress a cringe as you realize his bones just shattered, you force your expression to say blank as Champ calls for the next recruit to walk forward.

Jack turns to look at you with a dumb smile and a wide look in his eye. He mouths the word ‘wow’ to you before turning back around. It’d be a lie if you said you haven’t started to look at him in a different light since he brought up his end of the bet. He’s an extremely attractive man, there’s no denying that, with his thick brown hair and ‘70’s-esque porn mustache that somehow works on his face. He’s tall and lean with muscles in all the right places. You aren’t sure of his exact age but if you had to guess you’d assume around mid to late 20’s. But the thing that really draws you to him is his deep, warm brown eyes and the way he bites his lip when he’s concentrating on something, his eyebrows pull together like he’s focusing all of his attention on that single project. God, fuck, you need to stop thinking about him, and how maybe he would look at your naked, sweating body like that as he thrusts deeply inside you fuck! Stop. You need to focus on the task at hand.

Jack has somehow slithered his way into your brain and you’ve tried convincing yourself you’re only thinking of him in that light because you've been cooped up at Statesman HQ with no way to get the release you need. You shake your head to get the thoughts from your mind but you still absentmindedly squeeze your thighs together as you turn your attention back to the second recruit on the bull. He’s struggling to hold on but he’s made it further than the first recruit, a compartment on the mechanic bull opens and a robotic arm extends from the side. Golf ball-sized discs start flying in the direction of the recruit, he’s able to dodge and evade the first dozen or so but they start launching faster. One hits him directly in the throat and he begins to wheeze and cough, his grip on the reins loosens. Another disc hits him directly above his eye, you watch as his skin splits open and blood starts to pour from the gash, blurring his vision. He’s forced to let go of the reins and he’s bucked off the bull in a matter of seconds. Jesus, Statesman really isn’t fucking around. You start to make a list of the possible obstacles, a death drop, speed-enhancing, aggressive bucking, and a disc launcher. Your mind starts thinking of all the other things they may have added, trying to prepare for the possible incoming attacks.

You pay extra close attention as Jack walks up the platform and mounts the bull. His muscles ripple underneath the tight athletic clothing. He wraps his hands around the reins, giving a slight tug, the muscles in his forearm pulling taut as he prepares himself for what's to come.

“Now this may be an unfair advantage for me Champ, I happen to be the bull riding champion 5 years and running at the State Fair.” Jack lets out a soft laugh as the machine turns on, the bull bucks forward and you watch Jack’s hips shift fluidly with each movement. About a minute in, his obstacle starts to reveal itself. A pole raises out of the ground 5 feet in front of the mechanical bull, you watch as a rope extends from it and it spins in a circle, the movement is very similar to a lasso. The rope throws itself at Jack and he effortlessly catches it before it can tangle around him. He throws the rope away from him as his hips continue to roll on top of the bull. Your eyes are fixated on the muscles of his back and arms as he beats the time of the prior two men without breaking a sweat. You feel heat lick up your body as you continue to watch his bodywork. At the 3 minute mark, a fine sheen of sweat finally appears on his body and it only adds to the heat that’s already rocking your body. The bull shifts so his face is turned towards you, his lip is between his teeth and his eyebrows are pulled together, fuck. Are you seriously turned on by this? The answer is yes.

Jack lets out a soft groan as the bull raises into the air and you know the drop is coming. You hold your breath as the bull drops again but Jack lowers his body closer to the bull to keep his inertia. His breathing picks up and you see his hand slip on the rein, even if he were to let go right now, he’d still be initiated as an agent. He seems to be thinking the same thing because you watch him let go of the reins completely and jump from the bull. He stumbles a bit but still lands on his feet. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and pushes the wet brown curls off his face before turning around.

“Champ! What’s my time?” Champ laughs and shakes his head as Jack walks off the platform.

“3:18, Welcome to Statesman, agent.” A wide smile spreads across Jack’s face and he turns to face you. You don’t miss the glint in his eye as he speaks.

“You just gotta get 3:19 darlin’ and then I’ll be calling you Goddess for the next year.” Your stomach clenches as he says the words but you stay silent as you walk past him, up to the platform, and onto the bull.

The bull hums to life and you can feel it vibrate between your thighs—this is definitely not going to help your current situation. The machine begins to rock and you move your body, making sure to keep your center of gravity low. It bucks to the side and you lean opposite, this continues for a while and you’re starting to get used to it when you hear another low hum noise. You realize your obstacle must be coming up. Your hands tighten around the reins and you rock your hips on the bull scanning the area for what it could possibly be. You hear a deep noise from behind you and a burst of air hits your neck. You lean forward until your chest presses against the bull and one of those discs from earlier flies above your head, shattering on the wall in front of you.

You sit up and regain your composure, you turn your head to see another disc launch and you lean out of the way just narrowly missing it. The robotic arm moves in a half-circle until it’s directly in front of you. Your eyes stare at the launching mechanism and you’re able to time it well enough to miss every disc. After a couple of dozen, the arm finally retracts and the bull begins to spin wildly. You realize at this point you've definitely lasted long enough for the agent position but you haven’t lasted long enough to beat Jack and win the bet. You bite your cheek as you think, would a night with Jack really be all that bad? He looked so hot on the bull, his muscles, and that goddamn concentration face he makes. Maybe a single night of hot, hateful fucking will get all of this out of your system and you’ll be able to carry on a professional relationship with him.

A night with Jack seems more enticing than continuing to have your brain scrambled by this bull so you let go and jump from the bull tumbling to the ground. You bring your arms to your chest and lock your ankles making sure you don’t break anything. The fall still knocks the air out of you and you take a second to regain composure before you sit up. When you sit up you see Jack running towards you with a worried expression on his face. You stand and roll out your shoulder, hissing as it pops back into place. Jack’s eyes look over your body a few times before he finally speaks.

“Are you ok, darlin’? That was quite a tumble.” You scrunch your face up and scoff, he’s still treating you like a delicate fucking child.

“I’m fine. Champ, what was my time?” You shoulder-check Jack as you pass him and you have to bite your lip as pain radiates through it. Note to self: don’t shoulder check someone directly after popping in a dislocated shoulder.

“2:59. We have our second agent. Welcome to Statesman. Both of you clean up and meet me in the conference room for proper initiation.” Champ smiles and nods at you both before disappearing. You start to walk out of the large room, determined to go back to your sleeping quarters to clean up and get ready.

“You could have stayed on that bull for so much longer, darlin’. I was watching you. You let go on purpose. Why?” Jack grabs your wrist and forces you to turn around to look at him.

“I didn’t let go on purpose, the spinning just got to my head. I couldn’t hold on anymore.” You shrug your shoulders and keep your face blank. Jack’s eyes narrow but he lets go of your wrist and follows you out of the room.

“Sounds like you just wanted a night with lil’ ole Jack.” You grit your teeth and ignore him as you work your way through HQ, you won’t let him ruin the best moment of your life. You’re a Statesman… you proved everyone wrong, you beat out 6 other competent, strong men and now you’re an agent at a private, highly secret organization that only takes on the best of the best. You’re floating on cloud nine, and to top it all off you can fuck Jack without feeling like you were the one to suggest it.

You and Jack dress in your “Sunday best” as Jack calls it, and work your way to the conference room. The only person inside the room is Champ. He greets both of you warmly and hands you a pair of aviator glasses, gesturing for Jack and you to sit down. You do as he says and you put on the glasses. You see other men dressed similarly sitting in what you thought were empty chairs, you try to contain your excitement at the high-tech device.

“Gentleman and uh…gentlewoman. I’m proud to introduce our two newest agents.” Champ points to Jack before he continues “Agent Whiskey, an appropriate name,” Champ gives Jack a wink before his attention turns to you. “and Agent Cognac, our first woman field agent. She’s truly the best of the best and we are lucky to have someone as skillful as her. Welcome to Statesman, agents.” Both you and Jack introduce yourselves and accept the multiple congratulations before the conference ends. You turn your head to see Jack giving you a wide, lopsided smile. He holds his hand out for you to shake.

“Agent Cognac, it’s a pleasure to work with you.” You put your hand in his and give it a firm shake, you can't help the large smile that spreads across your face.

“Likewise, Agent Whiskey.” Jack drops your hand and stands up from the table.

“Let’s get a drink, to celebrate.” He says the words quietly, but his deep southern voice carries across the room as if he were speaking at full volume. He smirks and winks at you as you stand as well. Your thighs clench together once you realize the double-edged blade of his words. You were going to fuck Agent Whiskey tonight.

~~~

“Tell me, Princess, you let go on purpose, didn’t you? It’s just the two of us now you don’t gotta act.” Jack took you to a swanky hotel bar, and throughout the night as the drinks continued to flow his usual endearment of “darlin’” has turned into “Princess”. You protested at first, but every time the word rolls off his tongue you feel yourself getting turned on further.

“No, you jackass. Sorry to break it to you but not all of my actions are based on you.” You’ve got a good buzz going and you let out a real laugh as Jack grabs his heart and fakes being in pain from your admission.

“I’m sorry to pester you about it. You’re just the best of the best, you were just so determined to win and you always accomplish what you put your mind to.” You scoff at his praise, silently cursing yourself as your heart rate picks up.

“The best of the best, I’m going to need you to put that in writing. You didn’t seem to think that during the entire recruitment process.” You look into your glass as you say the words letting one of your fingers twirl the melting ice around, Jack lets out a soft sigh and brings his whiskey to his lips, taking a long sip.

“You really think I’m a big ole asshole don’t you?” You chuckle for a second before Jack raises his eyes to meet yours, and the soft pout on his lips makes you pause.

“Well, you kind of were a giant dick.” You go back to stirring your finger around the ice, not making eye contact with him.

“I hadn’t meant any of it like that. I guess it did come off a little misogynistic.” You scoff again at his words, rolling your eyes and finally looking up into his soft brown ones.

“A little?” You can’t help the malice that your tone holds.

“Why don’t you let me make it up to you Princess.” The twinkle in his eye mixed with the soft smirk on his mouth has excitement and desire blooming inside you.

“Oh yeah, Agent Whiskey, what do you propose as an adequate apology?” Jack’s smirk grows wider as he leans closer to you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ears.

“How about I take you to the room I have here and bury my face between your thighs until my past discretions are forgotten?” his deep voice rattles through you and you clench your thighs together as the image of it crosses your mind.

“I think that’ll be an excellent start” Jack stands and grabs you by the elbow hauling you to your feet, his arm wraps around your waist as he walks for the hotel bar and into the lobby. His hand stays wrapped around your waist as he leads you to the elevators. The second the doors on the elevator close his lips are on yours. You’re shocked for a moment before you start to kiss him back, your hands find their way around his neck and your fingers tangle into the curls there. His lips are soft against yours as he works his tongue into your mouth, pressing you against the wall of the elevator. His hands trail up your sides and he squeezes the skin under his fingers.

The elevator doors open. Jack begins to pull away from you but he lets his hands sneak down your back to squeeze your ass, and he places a gentle kiss to your throat. Jack grabs your hands and the two of you step out of the elevator. He pulls you down the hall and once his hotel room is in sight Jack grabs his card key, he fumbles with it for a bit before it finally swipes. He pulls you through the door and grabs the ‘do not disturb’ sign, hanging it on the handle of the door before quietly closing it. He turns around and his hands find your body. His fingers dance over your skin as he wraps a hand at the base of your skull holding your face close to his. He presses into the small of your back and his lips find yours again, this kiss is passionate and full of lust as his tongue fights yours for dominance. He walks you backward until your legs meet the edge of the bed and he forces you to sit against the soft material of the duvet as his hand moves from the back of your neck to squeeze your throat.

“Take off your clothes.” Jack’s raspy demand makes you gasp and your fingers move to the buttons on your shirt, you undo them as quickly as you can, Jack moves to the reading chair, and he sits down, undoing the buttons of his own shirt. You push your shirt off your shoulders and move to your pants, pushing your hips upward off the bed and wiggling them down your legs.

You never wear underwear so you’re left in just your lacy bra. Your eyes meet Jack’s, his fingers rub his exposed chest and his head cocks to the side a bit waiting for you to rid yourself of the last piece of clothing you’re wearing. You reach behind your back and undo the clasps, you hold the cups to your chest as you slowly move the straps down your arm wanting to prolong his anticipation. You stare at Jack as his eyes take in the material falling away from your body. You’re worried he’s judging your body, but he stands up and moves between your legs, his hand rubbing against the side of your neck.

“Beautiful, You’re so beautiful.” He mumbles the words as his hand trails along your chest and his finger circles your nipple.

“I want to make you feel good. Will you let me do that?” You nod your head and that classic smirk of his is back in place. “Open your legs for me.” Jack drops to his knees at the foot of the bed and you open your legs as his large hands trail down the side of your body and under your thighs. He pulls you to the edge and his hot breath against your sex makes you squirm. Your thighs clench around his head and his long fingers wrap around them, pressing into the pliant skin. You bite your lip to stifle a moan as he rubs his lips against the top of your pussy.

“This is going to be fun, Princess.” Jack’s tongue flicks over your clit quickly in a teasing manner before he closes his mouth around you. Your head falls back and you move your hands down intending to grab his hair, but before you can, his hands grab your wrists. He interlocks your fingers with his and holds them against your hips.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head with every flick of Jack’s tongue, a loud moan escapes your lips and he lets out a loud groan that vibrates through your core. His right hand drops yours and he drags his palm along your thigh before he teases the entrance of your cunt. He lines two of his fingers up with your entrance and pushes in slowly. The added sensation of his fingers curling inside of you has your back arching off the bed as another one of your loud moans fills the room. Normally you’re so much more vocal during sex, telling the men you’re fucking where they need to move to make you feel pleasure but Jack seems to know what you want without needing direction or guidance. He’s letting you lay back and enjoy the pleasure without the need for intervention.

“Do you feel that, Princess? Has anyone else made you feel this good?” Jack’s lips rub against your clit as he speaks and your free hand finds his hair, pushing the stray curls away from his forehead.

“No, no one. Only you.” You moan the words out as his mouth returns to devour you. Your legs shake around his head as you feel your release build in the pit of your stomach. Your hand grips Jack’s tighter as you grind your hips against his face, silently begging him to continue.

“Come for me, Princess.” His tongue and fingers match rhythm as you buck your hips again trying to create more friction. You tighten your hand in his hair and your eyes roll into the back of your head as your orgasm takes over. Jack may be a giant conceited asshole but he sure does know how to eat pussy. Your orgasm starts in the pit of your stomach and spreads throughout your entire body and you moan out a list of curses as your legs shake on Jack’s shoulders. His tongue and fingers never slow down and he allows you to ride out your orgasm as his fingers and tongue continue to fuck you through it. Once your body stops convulsing, his fingers slow to a stop and he pulls them out of you. His tongue stays buried in your folds, sending you into overstimulation. You let out a soft whine, he finally stops his tongue’s movement and places a kiss on the inside of your thigh before pulling away. He holds his fingers out to you and you take them into your mouth without hesitation.

“You came so hard around my fingers. Do you think you’ll come harder around my cock?” You hum at his words as you continue to lick his fingers clean. He presses them further into your mouth and you make eye contact with him as you gag on them. Jack pushes you up the duvet and gets on the bed to kneel between your legs, he moves his hands on either side of your face, and brings his lips down to yours, his tongue moving over your bottom lip. You open your mouth and let him lick into your mouth and you can taste yourself on his tongue. He places a hand on your throat and pulls his face away from yours, your mouth is open wide as you gasp for air, and Jack takes it as an opportunity to spit in your mouth. Usually, you’d kick the shit out of any man who spits on you, but when it comes to Jack you just let out a soft whine and swallow.

“Mmm, the real question here is whether you need a rough, dirty fucking or do you need someone to take it slow and appreciate your body.” Jack looks over your face and he places one more soft kiss to your nose before sitting up.

“Whatever you want, Daddy.” Your body freezes and you look at him—he looks stunned for a moment before a look of absolute desire and lust washes over his face. You’re mortified, you can’t believe you let the words slip out from your mouth but he doesn’t seem to mind. Jack has you so blissed out that at this point you don’t care what you say you as long as he fucks you. Jack’s hand wraps around your throat, and he harshly pulls you up to meet his lips before throwing you back against the bed. Seems like he’s decided on rough and he seems to be overlooking your incidental slip up, perfect.

“Flip over for Daddy, Princess.” Your body tenses for a moment and you curse silently but you listen to him and flip onto your stomach. Jack’s hands grab your hips and he drags you back until your ass meets his hips, you can feel his hard cock through the thin briefs.

“So obedient for me. Now, I’m going to fuck you darlin’ and when you come you’re going to scream that sweet little name you gave me. Do you understand?” You turn your head to look at him and gauge his reaction, he seems to be into the word ‘daddy’ just as much as you are. He finally pulls his boxer briefs down as he kneels behind you with his cock in his hand, silently stroking it while staring at you. You knew he was going to be big but fuck, that was almost too big. He’s long and girthy, you clench your legs together, you’re definitely going to be sore in the morning.

“I understand, Daddy.” You arch your back and turn your head back to face the headboard. Jack rubs the head of his cock through your folds and he focuses on your already sensitive clit. You let out a soft moan and Jack takes that as his opportunity to thrust forward, you let out a half yelp, half moan as his cock splits you open. Your muscles clench around him trying to adjust and he gives you only a second before grabbing a fistful of your hair and slamming into you again. He lets out a loud, deep groan with every brutal thrust and his free hand moves around to the front of your body. Jack starts to rub circles into your clit and your hands clench the bed sheets in front of you trying to find purchase from Jack’s vicious pace.

His hand in your hair tightens, straining your neck as he continues to pull your head back and you let out another strangled, feral moan. You’ve never been fucked like this before, Jack is hitting every orgasmic part inside of you. He’s lighting a deep fire inside you that you know will leave you insatiable and always wanting more from him. It’s so raw, so rough, and the slight bit of pain is mixing with all the pleasure, creating new sensations you’ve never experienced before.

“You’re so tight, such a little slut for Daddy, hmm, taking my cock so well. Are you gonna come around my cock?” You moan again, his voice is so thick and raspy, his words send shockwaves of more pleasure straight to your aching cunt.

“Yes, yes I am. I’m a good little slut for you!” You didn’t know where those degrading words came from but Jack seems to really like it, and you can’t help but notice how they affect you as well. He tugs your hair again and pulls you up from the bed until you’re flush against his chest. His thrusts become quicker and more wicked, he starts to bite and suck at the skin of your shoulder. You know the rough work of his mouth will leave bruises and your eyes roll into the back of your head thinking about how his mark will stay on you for the next weeks to come. His hand in your hair moves to grip your throat and he squeezes causing the heartbeat in your head to get louder as he cuts off the blood flow to your brain.

“Good, I want to see you come undone around my cock, Princess.” His hand tightens around your throat further and his hand on your clit picks up to a faster pace. You throw your arms behind your head and you grab onto the back of his neck, moving your hips to meet each of his thrusts. Your over-stimulated, sensitive cunt throbs as a familiar sensation starts to build.

“Jack, fuck I’m gonna come.” His hips slam into you at a harsh pace and his mouth moves over your shoulder.

“Good, but don’t forget my name right now darlin’, You’re Daddy’s little whore, aren’t you?” His lips nestle against your ear and his dirty words make you fall over the edge, your hips meet each of his thrusts as you let out a loud whine.

“Yes! I’m Daddy’s little whore!” Your orgasm rips through your body like a white-hot knife, you scream as promised, and your hands tighten around the back of his neck. Your fingers grip his hair, searching for any kind of support. Your vision goes black for a second as your second orgasm of the night crashes through your body. Your high begins to recede and Jack loosens his hand from your throat but he continues to slam into you just as hard as before. His hand moves from your throat to wrap around the back of your neck and he forces you forwards until your face is in the bed. You press your forearms into the soft mattress and arch your back as he drives himself into you.

“Tell me where to come, Princess.” His voice comes out short and forced as his hands grip your hips tightly and his thrusts become uneven.

“Anywhere! Fuck! Come wherever you want.” Your body and mind is wrecked from both of your orgasms, he can come anywhere he’d like and you’ll say thank you.

“Fuck, flip over for me, darlin’.” Jack pulls out and you flip over onto your back. Jack starts to fist himself quickly, your come covering his cock in a slippery wetness. Jack mutters a string of curses to himself before moaning out your name. His come shoots over your stomach and chest, his cock twitching in his hand as he continues to pump it slowly. Jack turns his gaze from the mess he’s made to look at your face and gives you a small smile before collecting his come that’s on your stomach with two fingers. He raises them to your mouth and you lick his fingers clean without breaking eye contact. He finally pulls his fingers from your mouth and the two of you stare at each other as you catch your breath.

“Jack, that was earth-shattering.” Jack falls to your side and his hand grips your chest.

“Hmmm it was, you took my cock so well, Princess.” His middle-finger plays with your hard nipple. “Stay here for the night, I think I may have fucked you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a while.” You let out a soft giggle as Jack stands up, he walks into the hotel bathroom and the sound of water running fills your head as you try to calm your heart rate. Jack emerges from the bathroom with a washcloth in his hand and he sits on the edge of the bed before running the warm rag over your stomach, gathering the rest of his drying come. You watch his face as that look of concentration returns. Your sore cunt pulses with desire as his soft lips turn into a pout, and his brown eyes narrow as he gently cleans you up.

“Agent Whiskey, thank you for the excellent apology.” You smile as Jack pulls the rag away from your stomach and discards it on the ground. He starts to smirk as he lays down next to you.

“Are you sure, Agent Cognac? You don’t think you require another more in-depth apology?” You bite your lip as you make eye contact with him, his eyes hold the same devious glint from earlier. You pretend to ponder the thought before replying.

“On second thought, I think you’re right, I don’t think your first apology was genuine enough.” Your voice drops an octave, Jack’s tongue darts out to lick his lip as he lowers himself between your thighs for the second time tonight. Jack has left you insatiable and now that you’re both Statesmen you’ll just have to come up with more friendly competitions for the two of you to participate in.

It’d been a tense couple of days, trying to reach him for any insight he might have over David’s case. Vanessa’s parents had gone down to the morgue, but the body revealed to them wasn’t his. He still remained missing even now, and Vanessa had to exist on this plane of purgatory, the continued question of his whereabouts gnawing at her attention.

She hadn’t even been excited when she mentioned a party she’d been invited to work, giving you no other details other than she probably won’t go. That worried you, exchanging a look with Carmen. Vanessa thrived off the attention, the ego boosts and heavy pockets these parties always gave her, but instead you’re left grasping at straws as you watch her wilt before you with each passing day.

“I’m getting more lemonade,” Carmen offers, “do you want some?”

The crescendo of dramatic music from the television is ignored, watching the listless, zombie-like movement of Vanessa as she nods and hands Carmen her glass. She disappears into her kitchen right as Rosalinda seems to make her decision. She wipes her eyes dramatically, tosses her hair and calls for the car. The driver appears onscreen and asks her where she’s decided to go. There’s another swell of musical score, a zoom of the camera as she opens her mouth and tells him…

The screen cuts to static, making even Vanessa sit up with a sound of confusion.

When the channel connects again, a stoic news anchor sits behind a desk.

“We apologize for interrupting your regularly scheduled programming, but we’ve just received an urgent transmission from our field correspondent, Valeria Valezquez.”

The anchor nods at the cameraman, and they’re replaced by a woman who fills up the screen. She sets the scene, explaining how a twelve-year-old boy was found murdered in the streets earlier this week, how it wasn’t just a freak accident but a coordinated attack. Then it cuts to an interview.

Vanessa lets out a wail of panic.

Carmen comes rushing out. “What, what is it?”

The glass of lemonade slips out of her grasp, shattering to the floor when she sees who’s on the television.

“How old are you?” Valeria’s offscreen voice asks.

“Ten.”

“I understand you’re quite a soccer player.”

The little boy lets out a nervous laugh, fidgeting in his seat.

The woman’s voice beside the camera continues. “Thank you for being brave enough to tell us your story, David.”

David’s eyes dart between where the voice is coming from, and someone else who is in the room.

“Tell me,” she coaxes gently, “who were the men who brought you to the building that day?”

He blinks, swallows. “They were Search Bloc policemen.”

“Do you know why they brought you there?”

“He…he said they were going to send a message to other kids.”

“Who is ‘he’? Do you remember his name?”

“Colonel Carrillo.”

Vanessa lets out another choked gasp, sinking further into the couch. You can hear Carmen’s worried murmurs from behind you, but you’re too frozen in place to offer either comfort, unease seeping into your bones.

“Who else was there besides Carrillo?”

Your heart shudders, eyes darting over to Vanessa who is rapturously watching the screen. A sweat breaks out along your neckline at how searing Carmen’s gaze now burns at the back of your head.

“A bunch of men. Some I heard speaking English. Americans. Like in the movies.”

Vanessa seems to stiffen next to you with realization.

“Are you sure they were police?”

There’s a pause, then David nods. “Yes.”

“How long did you know?” the cold question doesn’t come from the tv, but from the friend staring daggers beside you now.

You’re scared to meet Vanessa’s glare. “Van…”

“Answer the question.”

You look down at your hands instead. “I…I didn’t know David was there.”

Any attempt at rushing towards you is stopped by Carmen who pushes Vanessa back to her side of the couch. Vanessa lets out a disbelieving scoff.

“Of course you defend her.” She gets up, reaching for her jacket. “I need to find him.”

“Van, stop! She did nothing wrong.” Carmen blocks her path even as Vanessa tries to push past her. She holds up her hands appeasingly.

“Don’t you see?” Carmen points at the screen. “Those sick fucks used David. He’s just a kid and now they’ve identified him on national tv. The police are going to be looking for him too.”

Vanessa’s anger deflates at this, panicked glances between you and the door trembling her lip.

“Please don’t tell Javier where he is,” she settles on you with a pleading voice. “He’s only a kid. He…they’re going to arrest him or…or worse.”

The last tacked-on words, or worse, shoots a tingle up your spine, strikes through you like the gunshot that started this whole ordeal.

“I won’t say anything,” you promise. Vanessa nods, anxious tears finally rushing out, and then you’re up helping her leave. She’s talking a mile a minute about where David could be, you promising to help search for him again if her family doesn’t find him by nightfall.

In the commotion of getting Vanessa out the door you miss Carmen’s phone ringing, finding the result of the called conversation in her thinly pressed lips and worried brow once the lock clicks shut.

“What is it?” you ask quietly.

“That party Vanessa mentioned? I was just invited.” She looks at you uneasily. “They want to know if you’ll come too.”

“What?” You brush off the request by walking back to the living room, squatting to pick up the broken pieces of glass. “I’m not working anymore.”

“Well they think you are.” When your continued silence indicates your lack of interest, Carmen calls out your name, concern laced in the word.

“I don’t think this is a normal party,” she warns slowly once she has your attention. “They said it’s a big celebration.”

“What for?”

“They wouldn’t say anything except it’s…it’s something that hasn’t happened yet.”

Your mind stalls for a moment before it races with possibilities. Carmen cuts in to continue.

“They already bought out all the brothels from here to Cartagena, they’re flying us all out there. The paycheck’s their biggest ever.”

You swallow. “How much is it?”

You balk at the number when she tells you. It would cover the funds you needed for the fellowship twice over.

“It’s scaring me,” Carmen whispers, drawing nearer until you pull her into a hug. “I don’t know why but it feels…violent. Something bad’s going to happen.”

She pulls her head from your shoulder to level her gaze.

“Please tell Javier, okay? I think it’s going to be important.”

You nod, brushing back a wild stray curl from her fear-creased forehead. “The next time I see him, I promise I’ll tell him.”

When you hear your door open later that night, it’s not to the usual slow shuffle of his step, weighed down by whatever troubled him today.

He’s so light on his feet you have to look towards the entry just to ensure it’s actually him. He doesn’t notice you’re there yet, peeking up from your hideaway on the couch watching the black plastic bag in his hand swing as he adds a little sway to his step, the slightest hints of a dance to an imaginary song. Except it’s not completely imaginary because he’s…

He’s singing softly.

The sound is pleasant, so low under his voice you can’t hear the words. The back of your mind wonders if he’s been in some sort of accident that’s altered his brain wiring, at least enough to change his view of the world. You’ve never seen him this happy, this tranquil, an easy smile sitting gently on his face that finally spots your curious look from the living room. His body turns to yours with an open arm.

“Cariño,” he beams, “come over here.”

“Javi,” your puzzled laugh is apparent in your response, but you get up regardless. “What is all this?”

His arm loops around your waist to draw you nearer the second you’re within range. He sways you together for a moment, head dipping down for your lips to greet each other before he drags his up with a contented hum, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

“We’re going to celebrate tonight.” He remembers the bag then, hoisting it onto the counter and dragging the plastic down to reveal its singular content.

You look at him, bewildered. “Champagne?”

You don’t know how it’s possible that his smile stretches broader. “Everything’s about to change.”

He leaves you only to open your refrigerator, scanning the shelves before he’s satisfied with a home for the bottle of bubbles. He turns to you once more as the door seals shut, a questioning tilt of your head in response.

“What aren’t you telling me?” you venture to ask.

He pacifies the inquiry with hands coming up to cradle your face, drawing close to you once more as his smile relaxes back into a peaceful ease.

“I can’t say anything yet but,” he lets out a slow breath, expectant eyes searching yours for acceptance, “we might finally…this might all be over.”

The words ping through your chest, the beat of his contagious hope taking over the drum of your own heart now. “Really?”

He nods, barely-contained anticipation edging back into his voice. “I’ll be back to celebrate tonight, okay?”

Another chaste kiss and he steps away then, a quick check of his watch introducing a slight frown that disappears just as quickly when you turn towards him.

“It’s happening tonight?”

“Yes, the next time you see me,” he pauses, a resolute nod as the belief behind his words solidifies, “it’ll all be worth it.”

You smile at the idea, at Javier suddenly determined to reach the light at the end of the tunnel, that you almost forget your promise. It’s not until he’s reaching for the front door that your stomach twists in sudden remembrance.

“Wait, Javi…”

He turns back, and you’d do anything to keep that smile on his face. There’s a calm about him that you’ve never had the privilege to experience before, and the words Carmen wants relayed suddenly feel like daggers that will pierce the hopeful peace in Javier’s eyes.

You’ve yearned to see that look for so long, to give him at least one good night of it, and it's this desire that seals your lips shut from spewing out any warning. It can wait until tomorrow, you decide, and it might not even matter by then.

“Just be safe, okay?”

His face softens, and he pulls you in for one last kiss that expels any final worries with your sigh.

“For you, cariño?” he whispers. “Anything.”

Javier gives you a lingering look, full of a hopeful mellow expression spread easy across his face.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he promises, and then he’s out the door.

The atmosphere around the place feels different now after Javier’s presence, a quiet anticipation for the next time his spirit would grace your apartment. It’s buzzing just beneath your skin, bustling through your mind at what was going to happen next, at how certain he was that your lives were going to change after tonight. He’d planted that small seed of hope for a future, and it grew bigger and louder with each expectant glance towards the clock as the sun edged across the sky.

But you don’t see him that night.

Or the next morning, when you wake up to an empty bed and a breaking news bulletin when you turn on the tv.

You wished you had warned him.

No matter what channel you switch to, it’s the same scene over and over. Shattered car windows, spider-webbed designs of broken glass around bullet holes. Smoke and flame billowing from gas-slickened asphalt, the remains of a car explosion still being extinguished. The violence of the show now dissipated, reporters swarm the scene to reveal the aftermath. Thirty confirmed dead, the largest singular attack against Search Bloc, but they’re all there to talk about the main character. Their headliner, a demise so shocking it would be sure to rack in the ratings.

“Colonel Horacio Carrillo was pronounced dead this morning,” Valeria Valezquez drones on from your screen, “after a violent confrontation with the Medellín cartel. Locals report that…”

Whatever following information she dispels is barely comprehended, the memory of the kind face you met in Bogotá clouding your vision. His headshot is soon replaced by others on the television, pictures of the deceased presented one by one. You wait for the familiar brown eyes, that cocky smirk, your stomach in your throat every time your eyes flicker across each new image searching for recognition. It never comes.

But he doesn’t answer on the first ring, or the fourth, or the tenth. Your telephone cord has pretzeled with the amount of knots in it now, anxious fingers twirling and yanking through the curls every time you reach the answering machine. You’re about to shrug on a jacket, keys clattering into your hand when a shrill ring has you clambering back into the kitchen. It’s an American drawl that answers your shaky “hello?”

“Candy…” Steve pauses and you can feel your chest grow heavy, struggling for the next breath.

“Steve,” you have to close your eyes to escape your next intrusive thought. “Is he…is Javier…”

He pauses with a soft sigh and it feels like the entire world hangs on the thread of his next sentence.

“He’s safe,” he responds, but the deep set of a mouth frowning heavy with concern is apparent in his voice. “He just needs some time.”

“Of course,” is your immediate response of relief, but the selfish part of you can’t help but add on quietly, “how’s he doing?”

Another sigh. Another calculated pause.

“I wish I knew.”

“Okay,” you swallow dryly at your uneasiness, “just…just let him know I called, okay?”

“I will.”

“And,” the word wells in your throat like a lead balloon, “and I’m sorry about what happened. Steve, I…”

“It’s okay,” he tries to placate, but the delivery is empty. “He wasn’t the first, and he won’t be the last.”

Those words might be a common phrase to people like Steve, but it only sits heavier on your conscience as you hang up the phone. It remains there, in the back of your mind, through the days and nights you wait up for the chance encounter of a tall, dark stranger on your doorstep. You hope his specter would appear for you to wrap your arms around him, just to make sure he’s still real, just long enough for him to understand he did not have to bear his grief alone.

And as you pass by the military academy on the bus ride home each night, you consider getting off at the stop every time. If he’s been radio silent for almost a week, though, you didn’t even know if he’d be there. He’s effectively shut you out, and all you can do is wait to pick up the shattered pieces.

You can’t even be certain the voicemails you leave behind have any effect. Attempts to keep the worry out of your voice quickly deteriorating the longer the message plays out. Staggered pauses when you fail to find the right words, anything that would touch him when he feels unreachable. Each one ends with the same breathed promise, a soft refrain. I’m here for you, Javier. You know where to find me.

The only day you disregard the door is when the funeral rolls around, wishing you could be there in Bogotá to support Javier but instead bogged down by an intense deadline. The hours wane through the night and you only have enough energy to shuffle onto the couch and click off the nearby lamp before the heavy set of your eyelids pulls you under.

It’s well past the witching hour when you hear rustling and clinking from behind you. A blanket has been pulled over you now, the threadbare patches sliding off you as you sit up to inspect your thief in the night.

You almost can’t recognize him, slouched over your open refrigerator to sift through its contents. There’s an unnatural lean in his posture, a slight sway to his stationary legs that forces him to grip the door harder. The fridge light casts his face in sharp angles, gaunt features pulled down in a haggard expression. The effect in the otherwise dark room is otherworldly.

A phantom in the flesh.

“Javi?”

His reaction time is slow, saturated with the alcohol you can now tell he’s steeped in by the clouded gaze of his eyes. And even then, the sadness you find there is fathomless.

“Why aren’t you in Bogotá?”

His face seems to harden at that, coldness in his response. “I don’t do funerals. Especially…” His brow winces, mouth trembling shut.

“Javi…” you sit up further but he stops any progress with an outstretched hand. There were so many words to say, but how good were any of them? Your uncertainty pitches your voice when you speak up again.

“What happened wasn’t your fault.”

Javier almost laughs but it shudders through him, eyes screwing shut as he turns to rest his forehead on the fridge with a heavy frown. After a slow exhale, he shakes his head.

“You know, you can say all the right things,” there’s a slurred pause as he sways, a painful hiccup resounding from his chest, “it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference.”

His eyes glaze over, unfocused and away from you.

“I know what I am. I know what I can’t change.”

Something catches the corner of his eye and he staggers back down to the open refrigerator, clumsy hand coming to grip the neck of a bottle. He brings it up slowly, like he’s racing to jog his memory of the promised life in this gift.

“You kept it?”

It’s not an accusation at you, just a morose curiosity at the unopened champagne in his hand. A sad look at a future lost.

“I forgot it was there,” you offer, but the sight of the bottle, of its promise, has already fully claimed his attention. He pulls off the top with a brute carelessness, the whizzing cork making you duck back as it smacks against the opposite wall. Champagne spills out onto the kitchen floor and he’s quick to not waste another drop, tipping it back and drinking greedily, like he can still chase after what should have been with each gulp, slivers of foam slipping past his careless mouth onto his collar.

But you can smell the whiskey heavy on him all the way from the couch.

“Javi,” you try to plead, “I don’t think you should have that.”

The mouth of the bottle leaves his lips, edges of his mustache dripping and understanding darkening the eyes that train on you now. They seem to grow even more despondent when he nods.

“You’re right.”

He pitches towards the sink, leaning heavily on the counter for support as the bottle tips in his hand. Champagne splashes down the drain, his wrist twisting to pour it out until he lets it roll out of his hand to clang loudly into the recess of your sink.

“I don’t deserve this,” he slurs. “Champagne is for celebration.”

He turns, stumbling forward but something doesn’t work. A knee doesn’t catch him right, his center of gravity toppling to the left and he finds the floor instead, sinking down against the cupboard with a choked cry.

You get up then as he curls into himself, shoulders shaking under the weight of keeping it all in. Soft soothing sounds spill out of your mouth as you wrap your arms around him.

“C’mon,” you urge, “let's get you to bed.”

But his arms only come around you to pull you closer to him, crushing you into his grip as fingers curl into fists around the fabric of your shirt. He knocks the wind out of your lungs with his embrace, the entire pack of cigarettes he reeks of caught in your last breath as your ribs scream in protest. You try to readjust but the effort only makes him pull you harder to him, like he’s afraid of letting you go.

“Javi,” your voice is tinged with a slight panic. “Please stop, please. You’re hurting me.”

“I know,” he gasps out sharply, a pained sound. “I know I am. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t let up, a shudder running through him as his brow draws even further together. His words tumble out broken, jagged edges catching in his throat.

“I’m always hurting people, aren’t I?”

He pulls away but you shift to lay your own hands on him, turning to cradle him. It’s this soft gesture that has him seizing up, frozen in your acceptance as he trembles in your arms.

His breath catches in his throat, and then it’s like all of the pent-up anguish he’s been holding the entire week rushes out at once. A broken sob escapes and he’s shaking apart, drunken wails muffled into your shoulder when you hug him tighter to you. You’re so close you almost can’t hear what he’s saying, only feeling his mouth move against you.

“It should have been me,” he cries, “it should have been me.”

His face is damp with spilt drink and tears as you rock him to and fro, broad shoulders crumpling and shaking with each pass of your comforting hand. He’s hugging you to him like you’re oxygen and he’s struggling to breathe, each ragged attempt only heaving him further into despair.

Any words of consolation catch thick in your throat – how could you ever encapsulate how glad you were that it wasn’t him? To imagine if it had been his face on the television, his funeral tonight…

Tears begin to blur your own vision, catching in the curls of his disheveled hair.

He’s here. He’s breathing. And that’s enough.

But Steve’s words come swimming back up too. Carrillo certainly wasn’t the first, and you had no control over Javier being the next.

Just like when you wake alone the next morning, you have no control over how long he stays. If he had even been here at all, or if he’d just been another dream. Another nightmare. But the crumpled shirt on the floor tells you otherwise, the spent cigarette in the bedside ashtray still smoldering enough to remind you that everything had happened, that you couldn’t take it back.

And as the sun began to peak through your curtains, it dawned on you. The party was Escobar’s version of a funeral for Carrillo.

And you could have stopped it. If you had warned Javier.

The flash of guilt builds, deepens, burning longer until it wasn’t just a momentary paralysis. It took on a new shape, forged in the determined footsteps you take towards the phone. It turned into revenge.

Carrillo certainly wasn’t the first, but you could make sure he was the last. You were done watching from the sidelines while this war ate away at everyone you loved. You had the golden ticket to burn it all down offered so casually, if you dealt your cards right. If you remembered how to play a part.

A pause at this crossroads occurs right before you dial the last number. You cannot return to the life you promised yourself by turning around on this progress, the finality of this sacrifice was certain. But if he needed you now and found you weren’t there, what good would that future even hold?

If Javier was burying himself into the depths of hell, you were going to follow him to get him out.

Your call is answered on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Carmen,” you stare resolutely toward youar decision.

“Yes?”

“Tell me more about this party in Cartagena.”

--

"Yeah, didn’t you always pick these?” His face tilts to see you more clearly. “From that abandoned property at the end of the block, the one overrun with weeds?”

You scrunch your nose. “So you’re giving me a weed?”

He huffs out a laugh. “No,” he responds rather seriously, “I’m giving you a wish.”

“Yeah?” you smile, and he jostles your legs with the arm that’s wrapped around them.

“You used to always give them to me and told me to make a wish. It felt like something kids used to do.”

Your lips twist up to hide a laugh. “It was childish?”

His head shakes minutely on your lap in disagreement.

“No, it felt…innocent.”

You hum in acknowledgement. It did feel like a sort-of optimism, a blind hope in making these wishes, and on the worst days back then in Colombia that was all you could have. It was all you could give Javier in hopes of seeing the edge of his lip twitch up in a rueful smile. But he indulged you every time, scattering his wishes to the wind in hopes they’d come true.

“It did make me feel safer, though,” Javi continues quietly, “it felt like…your wishes protected me.” He turns away then and squints at something at the horizon, like he can distract himself from his own feelings. But you don’t miss the squeeze he gives to your legs.

You twirl the dandelion in your fingers, a few stray tendrils drifting off in another whisper of the breeze. “Are you sure you don’t want to make the wish?”

“Mm,” you can feel Javi’s smile on your thigh, his eyes closed again. The arm wrapped under your knees hugs them tighter to him. “No, I’m good.”

Your lips purse for a second in thought. This was your first dandelion shared in Texas, in the safety of Javier’s childhood home with the possibilities of where you’d go next stretching as endless as the prairie horizon. You catch Javier’s eyes watching you endearingly at how seriously you’re taking this. You shoot him a playful smile, and his responding one is the last thing you see before you close your eyes, blowing out your breath in a steady stream at the little wishmaker.

It’s like blowing out the candles of a birthday cake, the only other partygoer watching you with such reverence it’s like he’s truly there to celebrate you. Except instead of extinguishing candles, you get to watch the cotton-tipped sprigs carry your hopes and dreams away on the surge of your breath, hopefully to the ear of some benevolent higher power that could make them come true.

“What did you wish for?” Javier asks.

Your hand brushes through his dense curls, an appreciative hum given in response. The simple nature of this act, this affection, halts your voice for a second. You have to look up instead in an attempt for composure, out over the tall yellow grass spinning golden light in the setting sun. You think, or perhaps hope, in that woven mirage with your scattered wish floating out to it, you can see your future. Your eyes meet Javier’s.

“You’ll have to find out.”

--

It’s apparent in the rosy-peach hue that decorates your apartment with the setting sun, the last breaths of summer still lingering. When the air was still warm with residual heat but the days began to grow shorter, minute by minute before you even notice time’s changed. That’s when the stars were at their best, the intoxicating mix of good weather and longer evenings allowing the perfect opportunity to stay out all night if you wanted to.

“You’ve done that?” Javier asks, bringing his cigarette up to his lips as he tilts his head to punctuate the question. “Spent the entire night outside just to look at the stars?”

“Not lately.” You smile at him through the reflection of the bathroom mirror, catching him admiring where your sundress falls at your thighs. He doesn’t shy away from getting discovered, grinning from his spot in the doorway as he watches you get ready.

He’d called not even a half hour before, his night suddenly free, which left you little time to spruce up before his arrival. He seems content waiting, though, perched there the entire time you’ve been in front of the mirror.

“Not lately?” he asks.

You purse your lips, applying another thin coat of lipstick. “It was a long time ago. It’s something…” you pause, deciding whether to continue. You catch Javier’s eye in the reflection, your patiently captive audience of one blowing smoke out into the hallway. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, his look seems to read. It comforts you enough to continue.

“It’s something I used to do with my dad.”

“Yeah?” Something in his eyes changes at this small offering into your past, a sort of fondness creeping at the edges that saturates into his voice. “Sounds like you enjoyed it.”

“I did.” You cap the tube of lipstick, popping your lips. “We used to always drive way out of the city to see them better.”

You smile to yourself as it starts to come back, this memory that’s collected cobwebs for so long.

“He was really into astronomy, you know? And every year at the end of September we’d go far out to this cliffside. It was the only place you could see the Southern Cross and the Big Dipper at the same time. They’re only visible together for a couple weeks out of the year.”

You’re elsewhere now, reminiscing. “The drive would take so long, the sun would be rising by the time we got back. We’d always go out and get breakfast afterwards.”

You find Javier in the mirror again, subtly reserved tenderness in his eyes. “Do you miss it?”

A wistful air colors your responding sigh, giving a tiny nod that you hope is imperceptible.

You turn to him then, showing him you’re ready in an attempt to draw him away from any further observations. But he’s quiet when he watches you lock your front door, silent in stewing contemplation but knowing when not to press a subject as you walk downstairs together. His next question surprises you.

“Those constellations, are they visible this time of year?”

You can almost see the cogs whirring behind his aviators.

“Yes,” you offer slowly, “they are.”

His jaw ticks for a second, then he nods.

“Okay, then let’s go.”

“What?” You turn when he slows his pace, thumbing back towards his parked car.

“Let’s do it, let’s drive out there tonight.”

“Javi,” you say his name in a laugh, “getting there and back would take the entire night.”

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t be my first all-nighter.”

“But,” your breath stutters out in disbelief, “but don’t you have work early tomorrow?”

“I do,” he tilts his chin at you, ever convincing, “and I’ll still get there early tomorrow.”

A small well of affection begins to form in your throat. You can’t believe him, so adamant on doing this for you right now. “But what about dinner?”

He contemplates this miniscule wrench in your plans, but you can see the exact moment he reaches a satisfying conclusion.

“That’s fine. Let’s go,” he starts walking towards his car, “I’ll buy you dinner.” Then he stops, thinking through the timeline of your night. “And maybe breakfast.”

“Really?” Your voice feels tiny with hope, and he smiles at you as he goes to unlock your passenger door. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Cariño,” he levels his gaze with you now, serious with his intent. His hand comes to rest upon your cheek, and you can’t help but nestle into the comforting weight of it. “I want to see what you see. Will you show me?”

You can feel it then, in the rosy-peach potential of that late summer night. Slowly, just like the minutes edging into nightfall, bricks were tumbling off the walls you’ve built to shut out the world, leaving just enough space for a lone, determined man to walk through.

“Okay,” you finally agree, smiling back up at him. “Let’s go.”

--

“Snoring like a Wookie,” you smile fondly, adjusting his cowl as he stirs, like he knows he’s being discussed. “He wouldn’t stop chasing the womp rats under the floorboards.”

Din’s chuckle over the holo call is low. “Did he catch any?”

“Almost,” you bite back a laugh, “but he wore himself out before he could get the big one.”

Din hums in response, the staticky light of the transmission flickering blue kaleidoscopes in your otherwise dark room. The murmur of the busy bar is barely noticeable from below, like you’re hiding upstairs from a party to be here instead. Taanti had insisted you get the night off, and you were spending it the best way you knew how.

You’re curled up on your side in bed, Grogu slumbering in the cradle of your arms, his soft breaths puffing across your neck. His ear had twitched when the call connected, Din’s voice filtering through his dreams, but he hadn’t woken up. Not yet, at least.

Though your arm had fallen asleep mere minutes into the conversation, you were too content to move, pointing the camera at a perfect angle to catch both of you in the light of Din’s hologrammed head and shoulders.

Your teeth worry at your bottom lip. “He missed you today.” I did, too.

“And I miss you both,” Din responds, “it won’t be much longer, I promise.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you lament. “What planet are you on now?”

Din’s head swivels right, then left. “I actually don’t know.”

You breathe out a small laugh, shaking your head. Din had been tracking a bounty for days now, jetting from place to place to follow their latest detected location. It’d taken two days of space travel just to get where he is now and it’s comforting to hear his voice on solid ground, the whir of hyperspace and machinery no longer battling for volume behind him. There are still the faint murmurs of conversation in the background now, but you could guess he’s in some alleyway or cantina back booth by how distant it sounds.

“I can’t believe you’ve lost track of what planet you’re on.”

“Yeah well, this one travels fast,” Din responds. “And…it’s not where I want to be.”

That gets you, a tiny waver trembling on your lip. Your heart aches to have your Mandalorian back here again, safe and sound, the nucleus of your atomic family. You always feel off-kilter when he’s off planet, thrown out of orbit when the center of your tiny universe disappears.

“Mesh’la,” Din’s quieter now. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just,” you blow out a breath, “the things I would do just to see your face right now.”

He’s silent for a beat, his visor subtly scanning the area. “I…I can’t do that right now. I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” you backpedal. “I don’t mean that. I just mean…” another breath to release the lump in your throat. “I miss you.”

A forlorn sigh escapes his vocoder. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Not soon enough,” you try to joke, but it comes out despondent. “A week is a long time.”

“I know,” Din replies, and then when he has nothing else to offer, “I know.”

You worry it comes across as complaining, opening your mouth to tell him you’re okay waiting for however long it’ll take. But instead bright eyes begin to blink open, a big yawn escaping a tiny mouth. Grogu shifts to face Din’s hologram, a hand reaching towards it sleepily. Din’s voice melts into a new tone, affection laced through each word.

“Hey kid,” his smile stretches one across your own face. “Long time no see.”

You talk through the night, the bar below emptying out until the only two murmuring voices left were yours. You must have dozed off at some point, the flickering blue of his video feed wishing you a goodnight before it blinks off. You stayed up so late you aren’t aware of sleeping through most of the following day, the sound of a ship descending much too close to town stirring you awake.

Still in your nightwear you shuffle downstairs, spotting a lone figure leaning against the bar. Rubbing sleep from your eye you’re about to tell them you’re still closed when your vision clears enough to recognize the flowing cape, the beskar pauldrons on broad shoulders.

Din barely has a second to react before you’re launching yourself onto him. You’re breathless with unbelievable laughter, squeezing him just to make sure he’s real.

“What are you even doing here?”

“Just thought I’d make a pit stop.”

Your head rears up from its home in the middle of his chestplate. “Tatooine is nowhere near where you’re headed.”

He pauses for a moment, calculating before deciding to tell the truth. “It’s not.”

You wait for him to offer you the real explanation, his visor watching you carefully before a bare hand comes to brush along your jawline.

“I gave you my word, cyar’ika. I’ll be there for you anytime you need me.”

“Din…” your face falls open to him, emotion catching thick in your throat.

His helmet slides off then, his eyes darting between yours as a cautious smile spreads on his cheeks. “...and maybe I wanted to see you, too.”

His kiss melts away the days and the distance since his last one, sunbeams bursting across your skin in his gentle touch of your cheek. The planets align back into the orbit of your tiny universe.

And all is right in the world.

--

You’d been trading travel stories, his filled with all the different places he’d been to track a bounty. Yours were tethered solely within the barren atmosphere of Tatooine. You were born here, and you would have been content living out your days here. Until you met Din.

You suddenly feel embarrassed for admitting that, so inexperienced in your life compared to his. You can’t hide behind your hands though, occupied as they are currently cradling the slack weight of a slumbering Grogu. You’d be remiss to move an inch and wake him.

You’d struck an odd sort of arrangement to get here. Din had ventured back to Mos Pelgo (or Freetown as Cobb insisted, but you hated the new name) in search of a place to hide away for a while. The Marshall had pointed him in your direction, and you took him in over loyalty to the lawman. You didn’t ask questions, and he didn’t provide answers. You were the new keeper of the sole cantina in town, the previous bartender in deserved semi-retirement. In exchange you were allowed the floor above as your living quarters, the staircase in the supply backroom an easy daily commute.

He was a quiet roommate, respectable, generous with his please and thank yous when you brought up food for the foundling he kept hidden away. One night he’d left with Cobb on a business matter and you could no longer ignore the faint cries you heard upstairs. You were shocked to find green skin and giant ears poking out of the pram, but the Mandalorian came back to find you cooing at the creature, swaddled in your arms to aid his journey to sleep.

They left soon after that, but not without the promise that your door was always open should they ever return. Mando (or Din as he revealed, and you cherished this new name) kept you to your word many times, stopping by whenever he was on planet.

Slowly over time you opened up to one another, murmured conversations over morning caf and gentle touches to pass each other in the hallways at the end of a long day. It came to a point where Din no longer waited for you to walk him upstairs when he arrived, instead passing by the busy bar you maintained with a simple nod in your direction to announce his presence.

I don’t think he visits for me anymore, Cobb mentioned to you with a smirk. You didn’t respond, turning instead to hide the shy smile creeping along your face.

The three of you had been talking through the night, Cobb taking up airspace to discuss the modifications he’d like to do on his speeder. It was built from a 620C podracing engine, and so naturally the conversation drifted to the activity.

“What is podracing?” Din had asked.

“I used to do it as a kid,” you revealed, nervous for his reaction.

Cobb whistled low. “That’s a dangerous sport.”

That only intrigued him more, so you tell him all about the rules and regulations, of Boonta races and energy binders, of your cherished Vulptereen 327 that ended your career when it suffered a cataclysmic crash. It did little to squash your love for racing, though, apparent when you’re still talking about it long after the marshall’s departure. You’re tracing the old route you used to take, telling Din how tricky it was getting through Beggar’s Canyon when you sigh.

“I wish I felt something as thrilling as that used to be.”

Din regards you for a quiet moment, then a slow question filters through. “Can I show you something?”

He gets up when you nod but the cantina lights only blink off, the pitch black of the desert sky outside making it so you can’t even see your own hand waving in front of you.

“Din,” you complain, “I can’t see anything.”

The hiss of his helmet disengaging announces his close presence. “I know.”

When his lips met yours, the thrill that ran through you was better than winning any race.

The next time he visited, it was only for a quick drop-off. He was going after a trickier bounty, unsure of how long it would take, and he’d asked for you to look after Grogu in his absence.

“This one’s…difficult.” He tried to explain. “I’d feel better if he stayed with you.”

You accepted without a passing thought, and when you walked him to the door the next morning he stopped, turning back to you.

“If anything happens, take care of him for me.” And then he was gone.

You’d brushed away the request, hopeful he’d be back before the little womp rat even noticed. But each new day only left you more worried, and each new person walking through the entrance that wasn’t him only left you more on edge.

You’re alone tending an empty bar when one of them won’t leave you in peace, too drunk to form a coherent sentence and growing angrier by the second that you won’t serve him. He’s much too big for you to take on, and you worry that any outcome of this exchange is going to wake the sleeping child upstairs. Your hand touches the cool metal of the blaster tucked under the bar when the man steps towards you.

“I don’t think you heard her right.”

Both of you turn to the doorway of the backroom, a broad, imposing frame taking up the entire space of it. Din’s hand rests easy on the holster at his hip, waiting for the other guy’s choice. He mumbles something rude before stumbling out, leaving Din to wrap you in his arms when you rush to him.

“I didn’t see you get in,” you mumble into the hard plane of his chestplate.

“I just wanted to check on the kid first.”

You crane your neck up to see his visor gazing down at you. You smile up at him.

“I’d offer you a drink as thanks, but I’m not sure how you’ll be able to enjoy it.” You could tell, somehow, he was smiling in response.

That’s how you ended up here, Grogu asleep in your arms after waking from Din’s arrival. In the quiet of the closed cantina he tells you about the wild travels this latest bounty put him on, and you tell him how you’ve never left this pitiful desert surface.

“You’ve never been off planet,” Din repeats your words. “Would you want to, someday?”

You swallow dryly. “Maybe.”

It felt like an invitation. Come with us, you can almost hear him say, but instead he stands up.

“I should get him to bed.” He reaches towards the slumbering mass in your arms, disappearing behind the bar a moment later.

It leaves you with a silence that makes you question what your answer would be if he asked. But you’re not given enough time to reach a conclusion, the lights flickering lower, then off to signal Din’s return. You hear the now familiar hiss of his helmet, and then he finds you.

The next time he leaves, he doesn’t come back. Or rather, when he does, he’s different. He’s alone.

There’s one place on Tattooine he wants to be, but he has a stop in Mos Eisley first. A promise for a new ship had lured him here, and he’s taken to one that’s more engine than cargo space. But it’s lightning fast, Peli promises, faster than any racer can go. When she asks if he wants any route suggestions for a test drive, he declines and pulls up a map to Beggar’s Canyon. He knows exactly where to go.

The gleaming metal of the starfighter in harsh sunlight draws you outside to the small group gathering around the new ship. Din seems to stop talking to the others when he sees you approaching, stepping to you once you’re near enough.

“Want to go for a ride?”

The droid port has been refashioned into a tiny second seat, just enough space for you to cram in behind him as he readies for takeoff. The liftoff is bumpy, but once you’re in flight it feels like you’re crawling at a bantha’s pace. He calls your name to grab your attention.

“What?” you shout over the roar of the engine.

Din repeats himself, louder. “Hold on.”

And then you’re pushed backwards, the force of the starfighter’s sudden speed making you cling to your seat in a white-knuckle grip. You’re racing past sand dunes and settlements faster than you ever thought possible, heart soaring in your throat with adrenaline. Din can barely hear your laugh over the whir of motor and wind, but it makes him smile nonetheless.

A familiar route begins to come up before you: the Notch, Diablo Cut, Dead Man’s Turn. Before you can reach the Desert Plain and the end of the podracing circuit Din pulls up, up, taking you out of the canyon and towards the endless blue sky.

A new sensation makes your body feel weightless, a panicked sound escaping when you try to resettle.

“It’s alright,” Din soothes, and you notice it’s easier to hear him as the air changes around you. “We’re just leaving the atmosphere, the feeling will go away in a minute.”

“We…we’re going off planet?” The skies around you grow darker and then suddenly you’re pushing through into space. Din flips a few switches and your speed slows, settling into a gentle glide.

“That’s right.”

You dazedly take in the deep expanse of the galaxy behind your bubble of glass. It was like seeing the Dune Sea stretch out in front of you for the first time, except even more all-consuming in its vastness. There’s no other word to describe it except awe.

“You get to see this every day?” you whisper breathlessly, mesmerized.

A soft chuckle comes from the cockpit. “I do.”

Din lets you take in your surroundings at an easy pace, cruising through the blackness of space. There’s no concept of time out here, and the idea of that enraptures you in a terrifyingly beautiful way.

“It’s getting late,” Din says after a long journey of companionable silence. “And we’re running low on fuel.”

You tense. “How are we getting back?”

“We’ll have to stop on Arvala-7.” It’s only then do you notice he’s pointed you in the direction of a new planet, readying the ship for arrival. You touch down at a refueling station, Din helping your stiff joints climb out of the cramped seat. He stops a passing attendant.

“Where’s the closest settlement with an inn?”

Your head whips to him as the man gestures with an answer.

“We’re sleeping here?”

Din looks at you. “Unless you want to go back?”

Your bottom lip catches between your teeth in worry. “Don’t you want to sleep in a familiar bed?”

The attendants finish with the ship and rehook the fuel pump, scurrying away. Now alone Din draws you closer to him, arms around your waist as his helmet bends to rest upon your forehead. The gesture calms you until your breath slows in unison with his.

“Mesh’la, I don’t care where I’m sleeping, as long as it’s with you.”

You open your eyes, knowing his are looking back. You can’t go back, you realize now, not to the person you used to be before knowing him. Wherever he was going, you were sure to follow. He straightens up then, motioning towards the starfighter.

“Ready to go?”

You nod. “I’m ready.”

--