Jet: You know, the Wolfpacks are just dogs who really like their General. I saw once that feral Commander Wolffe just happily relaxing while General Koon was stroking his head.
Bacara: Ha, I want to record that. It will be a great blackmail material.
Jet: Well actually some Shinies of us get jealous of them, because you know, our General doesn't pat or do anything with us.
Bacara: He won't dare. The first time he tried to touch my head I subdued him with my hands. I showed him how Clone troopers can be dangerous even without weapons.
Jet: ...Bacara, is that why two months ago I heard General Mundi suddenly screaming 'my arm' across the training room and had to keep cast on his right arm for two weeks for unknown reason?
Bacara: You have a great memory, Jet. Yes, that's right.
Jet:
Bacara: ...I'll be honest. I was panicked. It was instinct.
Jet:
Jet: Glad nobody has the recording of that, because that will be the real blackmail material.
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Jet: Did you ever wanted to have son like other Cerean, general?
Bacara: Jet, cut it. That's stupid question.
Ki-Adi: Actually I had desired to have son. And shamefully it was the reason that I didn't had a child with my bond wife for a long time, because I was afraid that I would be disappointed if we get another daughter.
Jet: And you did had a child with her eventually, right?
Ki-Adi: Yes, and the child was girl, but there wasn't any disappointment in my mind when I saw my new daughter with Shea.
Jet: Oh, that's heartwarming... Oh, I'm sorry for your family, general.
Ki-Adi: All is in past for now. Thank you Jet.
Jet: By the way, I heard that Cerean fathers really desires to get a son of themselves. I feel like there's a reason beyond their population problem.
Ki-Adi: That is complicated, but perhaps...
Bacara: ...Loneliness?
Ki-Adi: That's actually great theory!
Jet: I'm surprised that you answer like that, commander. How did you...
Ki-Adi, Jet: (sudden realization)
Ki-Adi, Jet: (feel guilt and sadness)
Bacara: What. I'm used to it. Don't give me that look.
Warnings: Violence, aggression, mentions of blood and battle, sparring, slight suggestions of body dysmorphia, 18+ smut, slight degradation, praise, domBacara, first sexual encounter.
Chapter 3: Maramere
19.42 BBY
Everything was red; everything was blood. It was hot, sticky and thick - all consuming, clogging with the sand cementing in her veins. Nalani could feel it congealing in every part of her body, her feet, her spine, her eyelids, her very soul.
It hadn't taken long for agony to morph into fury, not long at all, Hands' shaking her into her senses had brought her back into the carnage of New Bornalex, only sinking back into devastation as the doors to their gunship closed. They’d arrived back on the venator a few moments later, Nalani slumping against the sun-kissed durasteel walls in dumb silence. Then, one glance at the Marshal Commander's scruffy, bruised face was all it took to send her into a blind rage.
Her fists clenched at her sides, clipped nails grinding into her palms hard enough that she was sure crescents would form, and she heard more than she felt her jaw snap as her teeth gnashed with a slow, crunching grind. All decorom and Jedi schooling somersaulted out the airlock when she saw him, confidently clapping his surviving men on the backs for their effort. Then, as if she'd willed it - maybe she had, he turned in the bustling mess of the hanger to meet her ire face on.
Bacara was grimacing, though it seemed to be more of his natural resting expression than a reaction to her own disgust in him. His mouth was slightly parted, revealing a streak of crimson against perfect teeth - framed by full lips puffy and split - almost too big for his face at this moment. His left eye was severely bruised, split vessels colouring the swollen flesh around it an unhealthy blue. He squinted, maybe his vision has suffered with his new wounds, or perhaps he was purposefully narrowing his eyes at her. It must have been the former, for he shook his head slightly as he focused on her frame, at 5’’10 she was taller than most women, easily matched to any Clone's 6ft and their hard stares rivalled.
He - the bastard, broke into a slight grin, the upturn of the bottom corner of his mouth looking more horrific than ever against his scruffy, marked but infuriatingly handsome flesh. Handsome, that was new. She internally shook her head as he beckoned her over with a slight flick of his neck, his brow raising to follow the motion as he gestured to his space. Immediately, she was striding purposefully to him, menace and absolutely agonising fury weighing down every sure-footed stomp - until a gurney flew past her, interrupting her rhythm.
Just like that, the fog cleared, the red mist encompassing them fizzled out to reveal the full extent of their surroundings - the shouts and marching of their men, the blinding reflections of the sterile overhead lights against the scuffed metal floor. The whirring of the doors and screeching of engines as yet more shuttles arrived.
Nalani sucked a breath through her teeth before unclenching them, barely registering that her lip had been between them as a sharp metal tang coated her tongue. With one last, heaving glare at the unmoving Commander, she sprinted after the gurney towards the medbay.
Bacara stood forgotten.
[Break]
The red didn't fade completely, scarlet flesh still pricked at the edges of her peripheral - right where she'd left Bacara. It was his red, so deep it teetered on purple; weighed down by the insistent bruising of blue loss. The red was persistent, it watered her eyes as she tried to staunch the wound on Dance's shoulder, discolouring the bacta she sprayed over his fresh stitches.
The red did not blend either, it mottled against the blood of each trooper she tended; cooper dripping from the corner of Bitter’s mouth, claret on the shrapnel she pulled from Chip’s leg. All of it coagulating on her finger tips, refusing to obscure the stains left from Jet's last breaths.
[Break]
Hours later it lingered, even as she scrubbed herself raw in the ‘fresher, only achieving to effectively marr her already rosey skin an even deeper hue of cerise. Her eyes, long scrubbed of sand, still burned with the tears she finally allowed to fall in the privacy of the water, and her fingertips pruned with her attempts to scratch Jet's rust from beneath her nails.
She’d lost track of time under the steam, hastily dressing with mere moments to spare before she was due to attend the debrief. Her only clean tunic was a dull, sleeveless muddy brown, and with her arms bare she was forced to endure the sight of Jet’s fingertips clutching to her bicep.
Her head was a quagmire, a sanguine of anger, mourning and utter bitter resentment as she faced her Master and the Marshal Commander. Nalani had not trusted herself to speak during the briefing, her temper could not withstand it. Instead, she only offered a mute bow to Master Windu's flickering image as Master Mundi disconnected the line; plunging the poorly illuminated room into shadow. Even as the two men in the room remained speaking, Nalani was only half listening, preferring instead to study the dusted, golden fittings on the holotable. It’s as though her head were being held underwater, their voices warped between the waves of her fabricated interference like a dull echo.
Observing how one of her nails seemed to line up perfectly with one of the many scratches on the metal surface, Nalani found herself gathering up excess dust and residue as she traced it, an extremely uncomfortable vibration shooting up her arm as she followed the line. The dragging scratch obscured the low voices in the room, sharp but slow until her Master’s even tone slipped through her radar. Nalani’s head shot up in disbelief as she caught the end of his sentence “... all in all, well done Commander, things could have been worse had you not made the call you did.”
Her sluggish movements halted with an abrupt screech, her dry palm sliding across the curves of the tables projector with a high enough wail she felt her ears tremble. The Marshal remained silent, bucket obscuring his reaction, but she could tell from his posture that his chest had puffed at her Master’s words - neither of them noticing her reaction until she could contain herself no longer. “Worse?!” Nalani finally snapped, her Master visibly slumped as he finally took in her anger while Bacara simply cocked his head to the side. “We lost countless men!”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and Nalani felt her teeth throb from the strain with which her jaw clenched shut. Her Master didn’t recoil at her shouting, rather he just furrowed his brows, face in stern disappointment. With a deep sigh, he languidly crossed his arms before speaking. “Calm yourself, we’re at war young one and that means sacrifice.”
“Not when that sacrifice is unnecessary!” Nalani spat back against his revolting pragmatism, too wound up to hone in on the soothing patience under her Master’s scolding.
Master Mundi parted his lips to speak before he was interrupted by a rumble from his left. “How do you figure it was unnecessary, Commander?” Bacara almost growled, the use of her title mocking as his helmet turned to her fully, squaring his shoulders defensively.
“You’re serious?” Nalani spluttered, somewhat taken aback by his ignorance. “They had no weapons and yet you demanded they fight!” Nalani reminded him, all composure lost when faced with the source of her turmoil.
“And what would you have me do, Commander?” Bacara levelled, “Surrender? Have my men betray the Republic like a bunch of osik-eating cowards?” He still wasn’t shouting like her but his voice barely disguised his malice, disgust clouding the word “coward.”
Nalani seethed, her shoulders trembling as she coldly focused on his visor, hoping to find his eyes. “Saving our men should matter more than a few meters of sand, Marshal Commander.” Speaking evenly for the first time since her outburst, Nalani noted with satisfaction the way his fists clenched in offence at the mention of his title.
“You think I don’t know my priorities, Commander?” Bacara gritted, his temper rising to match hers.
“I think you’re stubborn.” She retorted. “And it made you reckless, we could have regrouped, we could have - ”
“We won, didn't we?!” Bacara escalated as he cut her off. “We drove them out and my - our men’s sacrifice was worth it.”
“There didn’t need to be a sacrifice!” Nalanli insisted, her voice rising once more, almost wailing with the intensity of her anger, heavy tears clouding her vision.
If Bacara noticed her crying, he didn’t care as his own temper unwavered. “Yes there did! This is war, this is real, and it’s what we were created for!” He roared, his voice reaching a crescendo and snapping her into silence as she sucked in a startled breath. “We know our purpose.” He finalised with a quieter sincerity.
Finally, Master Mundi felt it appropriate to speak, sighing once more, he looked between his two Commanders thoughtfully. Uncrossing one arm, he brought it to rub his chin. “It has been a long and difficult day for everyone.” He conceded without favour to either party before completely subverting that minimal effort. “I support Marshal Commander Bacara in his decision, it was the right one and it secured us a vital victory in this conflict.”
“But Master, surely -” Nalani began croaking, feeling more childish and isolated than ever as a hot tear broke free of her lashes and trailed down her cheek.
“And I understand that we lost a lot of men, as our Marshal Commander surely does too, let us focus on our next objective and have their sacrifice be recognised for what it is.” Her Master cut her off, the admonishment for her outburst unspoken between them.
She felt abandoned by him, embarrassed and foolish as her face darkened as purple as the bruises under Bacara’s helmet. “Maybe it was too soon for you to see so much bloodshed young one, we can meditate on this later.” Her Master added with a somewhat more understanding timbre. She was about to refute that when Bacara butt in again.
“If I may, Sir.” He began with a sneer. “I think it wasn’t soon enough, she’s spent too long sitting idle, nursing bedsides in an empty temple while a war raged on -”
“Commander…” Her Master warned against the Marshal’s baiting.
“She needs to be broken in sooner, than later.” Bacara continued, undeterred.
“I’m not afraid of battle!” Nalani spoke up, her neck flushing. “I’m - I’m just…” She trailed off, unsure of what it was she wanted to say.
“Oh I know you’re not afraid little one.” Bacara taunted, finally removing his helmet so that she could see the smirk twisting through the coarse hair on his chin. “I know what’s bothering you, you enjoyed it.” She suppressed a shudder at the way his sardonicism snaked over her, coiling about her skin in such a way she swore she was close enough to feel his breath.
“Yes, thank you, Commander.” Her Master tried again, a futile attempt to dismiss them both before tempers reignited.
“What?” She’d whispered at the same time, she wanted to shout but she was so incredulous that it merely clawed its way out as a gasp.
Bacara’s mouth parted with a sliver of white teeth, highlighted by the blue glare of the disconnected holo as he openly grinned at her reaction. “I’ve seen you fight, I saw you through the comm, you love it.”
Her entire body soared alight and Nalani found herself moving towards him with an enraged purpose, until she was halted by her Master’s voice. “Enough!” Master Mundi yelled, finally losing his patience with the two of them, she stopped immediately and Bacara looked almost crestfallen , his soft jaw tightening as he faced his general once more.
“You’re dismissed, both of you.” Her Master exhaled with disappointment, and with a mortified humbleness, Nalani bowed to him, nodded her head at the Marshal Commander and made her exit.
She registered Bacara’s answering “Sir” and a “ma’am” directed to her back as he followed, storming past her in the dimly lit hallway.
[Break]
Later, hours later she still couldn’t settle. She’d skipped evening rations in the mess in favour of the quiet solidarity of her quarters, unable to focus, Nalani periodically found herself rolling out of her sitting position and having to pace. Each time she drifted back into her mind, her Jungle was obscured in ebony shadow; a new impenetrableness only further frustrating her spinning mind.
There was limited room in her narrow quarters, and eventually she reasoned a change of scenery would clear her mind and help her refocus. The night team was limited and mainly consisted of cleaning droids anyway and so she wouldn’t have to worry about encountering anyone.
Nalani methodically stripped out of her sleepwear and donned her simple training leggings and a fitted workout shirt, normally she would try to obscure her body through the standard issue, shapeless robes given out at the temple. Though her figure was athletic; toned with endurance and countless drills, the curves of her breasts and hips had grown in recent years. Much to her chagrin, she was resembling a typical Zeltron female more and more.
Pushing any further self despairing thoughts to the back of her mind, Nalani closed her door behind her. She barely registered the journey to the training room, her mind still far too occupied by the events of the battle and, most confusingly, the Marshal Commander’s persistent presence. It was when she waved her hand to activate the lights that she was drawn back to reality. Her quarters had been lit solely by the soft glow lamp she kept by her bedside as she showered and changed, and at this time of night the corridors of the cruiser relied solely on the minimal cast of emergency overheads. The gym lights were unforgiving as they switched on. They engulfed the room, the brightness strained her eyes with their sterility as she rubbed them in an effort to adjust.
She felt exposed, but reassuring herself that none would be training at this hour, Nalani began a series of gentle exercises; more a set of poses younglings were taught to encourage the flow of the force through one's body - a way of identifying each chamber of energy and how to centralise it.
A sweat had just barely started to prick at her exposed skin when she drifted into her usual meditative pose, her eyes never opening. With a few gentle breaths, mat-cleaning solution and floor bleach became damp soil, a shadow falling over her face as she found the Jungle.
The rain still drizzled, thunderous clouds silent but lingering as they obscured a blue sky - they should be moving away by now but they stood static in stubborn refusal. With the force, she could visualise herself lifting the fallen trees, setting the trunks in a pile of timber to the side of the clearing; the squashed flowers beneath squelching. It would take a few more visits for the plantlife to recover and regrow, but at least the damage was tidied as best as she could manage for now. Nalani encouraged the humid air to weigh over her, squashing her exposed limbs in warmth as she inhaled the earthy scent of dew drops, a slight breeze tickled the cropped hair against her nape. She allowed a small smile, before frowning again as the clouds echoed once more. The thunder stayed low but it still teethred on threatening, she was about to turn when footsteps pulled her in the opposite direction.
“You won't calm down like that.” An unmistakable gravel determined.
Nalani wishes, in hindsight, that she had calmly raised her shoulders while breathing evenly, slowly as she opened her eyes - so much like she’d seen her Master do when irritated. Instead, they jolted wide in a petulant glare as she slumped.
Bacara was grinning again, his stupidly rugged face un-affronted by her seemingly permanent ire, and Nalani had to swallow a lump against the butterflies threatening to creep up from her stomach as she noticed he’d shed his armour from the waist up. His muscles were so defined in the skin-tight blacks he wore that she was half concerned they were painted on. She wasn’t much shorter than him, but he towered over her like a giant in her sitting position, springing to her feet - Nalani leveled another cold look at his hooded eyes and watched with disdain as the surrounding skin crinkled with amusement.
“You can't just think or wish away your problems.” He continued, ignoring the stretch of silence between them completely and folding his arms casually, the taught fabric covering his arms straining further.
He must have noticed her staring as he chuckled darkly and waggled his eyebrows suggestively, ignoring the indigo blush creeping up her neck, Nalani subverted the confusing attraction for anger once more. “I’m not thinking away anything, I’m making a conscious effort to navigate my emotions.” She tried to speak levelly, again as she’d seen her master do countless times, but it came out too defensively - which only deepened Bacara’s sly smile.
He chuckled once more, though his smile faded as he countered, “won’t work in this case.”
“This case?” She asked impatiently, just needing him to leave so she could shake off the embering cloud of his proximity.
“Yeah, you're pent up - it's not healthy, you need to release that energy.” He elaborated dryly, as though it was obvious.
She scoffed, that’s exactly what she was doing wasn’t it? Seriously, is he going to mansplain how to activate her lightsabre next? For once, stopping herself from arguing with him, Nalani simply shot a questioning, albeit irritated look and waved her hand in invitation to elaborate.
His grin spread wide once more, crooking to the side with a glimmer of teeth and his rounded nostrils seemed to flare as he spoke - almost excitedly. “Spar me.”
She visibly straightened, liquid fire igniting every vessel and coursing through each vein. Spar him? It was tempting. It was impossibly tempting actually, irresistible. The thought of finally putting the smug Marshal in his place, beating the everlasting hell out of him in the least Jedi way possible as she knew she was capable of. He’d be a good challenge, and Nalani imagined he thought the same of her - it would be an exhilarating fight. No. That kind of thinking had no place in the mind of a padawan learner, certainly not a peacekeeper.
However, he made a good point; she’d been sitting on this anger for too long, stewing. Ultimately, as Bacara made clear he noticed, it was the thrill of battle that truly brought her alive. She didn’t have to like that it was true, she didn’t for the record - and she certainly wasn’t proud of it.
“Well?” He interrupted her revelation, the thunder rolling off of his heavy shoulders in waves once more.
“I'm fine.” She stated finally, perhaps more convincingly than she’d hoped as the Marshal’s bravado fell into disappointment, and his relaxed stance tightened as he released his arms from their fold.
“Suit yourself.” He grumbled, swiftly leaving the gym so she was alone with her thoughts once more.
19.43 BBY
The report from General Secura detailing her excursion to Maramere, and consequently General Kenobi’s rendition of his endeavours to track the, formerly deceased, Asajj Ventress had arrived late in the evening.
Formerly deceased, what a notion, if there’s one thing the Jedi could learn from this never ending war, it’s that Sith should never be presumed dead. From the hastily completed file, Master Mundi recounted that Kenobi, after a detour to drag his former padawan from Naboo - (though there was no mention of why Skywalker was there of all places) had reason to believe Ventress was holding up in Boz Pity. Apparently the infamous duo, against all reasonable judgement had taken up some info from a Black Sun agent; located a bounty hunter in the Karthakk system; and from there somehow deduced that Ventress could be in Boz Pity.
Forces above.
Nalani was grateful she’d missed that goosechase. Long story short, the bounty hunter’s source appeared correct as the 212th scouting team encountered an overwhelmingly large Sepradist base - as well as an array of warships.
They had no idea that Seppie control stretched into Boz Pity and Nalani had gasped aloud at the revelation. The Marshal Commander had also tensed in surprise beside her, sternly commenting that the 91st would need to be made aware.
Things between Nalani and Bacara could have been awkward, if she hadn’t done such a good job of eschewing him. Okay, that’s a huge lie. She’d done a terrible job, mainly because they still had to attend briefings together and she couldn’t not speak to him in those - plus, if the spasming of her chest everytime he was near was indication, things were definitely awkward. Outside of these meetings she’d be extra cautious, even going as far as to reach out to him through the force, just so she knew which areas of the cruiser to avoid. However, these meetings were insufferable; their close proximity; the cold burn of her cheeks whenever she felt him looking at her.
The anger had fizzled out into a light drizzle over her jungle but its presence still irked her, and whenever the Commander was near the storm would ignite once more. She anticipated it’s emergence each day before she saw him, to the point where she was almost - almost disappointed when she did not see him despite her efforts to make it so.
That was the other thing, his proximity, it instilled more than just anger in her now. At first, the unavoidable, boisterous power of his aura had come close to intimidating her, later she noted that her own energy enjoyed clashing against it - a rivalry expanding between their essences as the warrior within her sought to challenge. But, more recently, an undeniable pang had started to glimmer within - it started as that; a mere fluttering - nerves she had thought. Until it grew insistent, an urging that terrified her more than Bacara ever would as it emerged from within her.
Surely it was just closure she needed? Their argument had been cut off before she could make herself heard, their encounter in the training room not bringing her the satisfaction she needed. Satisfaction, of what though? Shouting at him more, maybe even fighting him as he’d offered. She’d returned to meditating that night, and attempts to understand her feelings worsened them - the anger, the fury, the indignity he aroused in her - joined by a lurking desire.
By the time their impromptu meeting ended, with a final note that they would rendezvous with Kenobi and Skywalker within the next two days to discuss the best course of action, it was past most duty rotations. Only the emergency lights lit the halls once more and against her better judgement, Nalani found herself trailing behind the Marshal commander as he entered the training room.
Her dawdling had meant that by the time she arrived, and sealed the door behind her, he’d already shed his helm, working on his bandolier and utility belt. His practiced motions stopped as he turned to the sound of the door panel sliding shut. The gym seemed brighter than ever as his eyes settled on her form, yet impossibly small as she took two short strides towards him, forcing her breath not to rattle. “Is your offer still open?” Nalani asked, as calmly and as flippantly as she could muster.
Bacara tossed the now loose belt aside with a grin. “Start warming up.”
[Break]
Her bare feet squeaked sharply against the yellow mat, a colour not unlike the fading bruises on her opponent’s face. The action had left a burning sensation against the pad of her left foot as she skidded to avoid Bacara’s lunge. They’d been at this for what felt like hours and their movements had only just begun to grow sloppy.
Where she’d simply shed her belt, shoes and outer tunic, the Marshal Commander had stripped down to just his blacks, the sleeves of the upper portion rolled up past the elbows so that she could see the veins that tensed along his forearms. She’d taken as long as possible dressing down, anything to avoid staring and risking the heat climbing her neck at the thought of Bacara doing the same. Rolling to avoid a second jab, Nalani swiped at the matted bangs clinging to her forehead, launching herself to feign right before kicking at the Marshal’s left. He caught her foot and sent her hurtling back, barely saving herself from falling.
They were both calculated in their movements, perhaps too much so - they were both masters in this field - both predators fighting for dominance with no prey in sight. Where Bacara was brute strength and weighted attacks, she was all dexterity and quick, precise jabs. When she finally landed a sharp blow to his side, she grinned at the small “oof” he exhaled - jumping back once more as he attempted to catch her wrist.
Saltwater was trailing down her spine in rivets, the stretch of her undervest pulling against it with every movement before sticking once more as she continued to duck, dive and dip away from Bacara’s attacks. He was quick enough that she could feel a breeze with each action, the scent of their mutual exhaustion and excursion permeating the filtered air.
“Where’s that ferocity my men spoke of?” Bacara taunted as she escaped another hit, this time aimed at her bicep. “They said you were a sight to behold, I’m wondering if they exaggerated.” He huffed.
Sweat beaded beneath the tightly trimmed buzz of curls at his temples as he toyed with her, baiting her into an offensive. Nalani matched his cocky grin as she made to run for him, just as he thought she was engaging, she swerved to plant herself behind him and kick at the base of his spine. It was just enough pressure to send him toppling slightly, recovering just as she aimed a chop to his hip, she motioned to roll away once more - but he caught her at the waist; sending them both crashing to the ground with her dive.
The wind left her lungs with a devastating abruptness as his arms wove tightly against her stomach, his shoulder taking the brunt of the fall as they twisted on their sides. He grunted softly with the force, the vibrations tickling the back of her neck from where it pressed against his sternum. Nalani felt her legs flail as she used her arms to help her arch herself forwards, hoping to break Bacara’s hold, succeeding in a mere slackening of his vice.
Ignoring the burn in her overworked muscles, she contorted until she created just enough room to slam an elbow between his abdominals. The effect was instantaneous; Bacara loosening his hold as he sucked in a harsh breath. With a growl, Nalani dove out from his grip, only to clamber over him this time, pinning his bulk to the ground with her own weight.
Breathing harshly, Nalani bared her teeth in exertion. “I win.” She panted, securing his struggling form under her straddled thighs on either side of him as she leant forward to hold his wrists against the cool floor.
He looked impressed, amused and infuriated all at once, the intensity of his near ebony eyes never breaking as he gritted out a breathy laugh, soon huffing out a strained gasp as she moved back over him. Inadvertently, she’d encountered something solid and without thinking she ground her core over it inquisitively. As soon as she made contact, a hot flash of pleasure shot up from her groin to her spine, gasping highly as Bacara grunted harshly again.
Too late, Nalani registered that the rigidness was him. He was hard.
She froze with the realisation, guilt, desire, curiosity and mortification clogging her throat - forcing herself to act, she tried to sit up further and move away, about to fumble out an apology when she accidentally repeated the same motion. She gasped louder this time, and only partly out of embarrassment as she released his wrists.
“Careful little Jedi.” Bacara grunted and thrusted his hips up to press into her once again.
Against all better nature, against all Jedi notions of detachment and schooling, against every punch of coldness she forced herself to regard him in - she moaned. It was raw and wanton, desperate enough that her pink skin flushed impossibly darker with the understanding of what she was actively doing to him.
Bacara grinned, the sly contours of his plush mouth curling into his beard and he took advantage of her slackening hold to grip her hips, pulling them over his insistent bulge once more. She whimpered pathetically as he breathed in a relieved sigh. “You liked that didn't you?” He gritted. “You like fighting with me.”
She had no words to argue, she shouldn't be doing this, she definitely shouldn't be enjoying this but it seemed as though her entire body was screaming at her to continue. “I - I'm -”
“The challenge.” He interrupted, still dragging her warmth over him languidly. “The authority too, you want to test it, go on then.”
With a sudden movement, he flipped their positions, her back softly thudding against the mat, warm from where he lay just moments ago. Despite the fire both in and on her skin, she could feel the sweat decorating her exposed neck and her arms chill with the shock of excitement. Bacara shifted back, rising on his knees and using them to push her own apart and settle between them - causing her to gasp once more as the whoosh of air intensified the pressure at her untouched centre. “Tell me, order me.” He encouraged her.
Force, she wanted to, and he seemingly enjoyed her assertiveness - or maybe he wanted to challenge her? Wanted her to argue with him more and - oh.
She keened as he swiftly cupped her most intimate part over her leggings, the pressure felt too good; shockwaves erupting all over her body as dewy beads of sweat continued to cool over her burning skin. “Fuck.” He breathed, long and drawn out as he continued to squeeze her. “You're sweltering.” His other hand trailing up her leg to grip her thigh tightly, until he relaxed his hold, kneeling back. “Do you want me to stop?” He asked with a sincerity that was, frankly, quite touching.
No!
Nalani congratulated herself for not screaming the word shrill like her body was begging her to, instead meeting his eyes pleadingly, twitching in his hold.
The corners of Bacara’s eyes crinkled as he felt her jerk into his palm, sly smirk returning. “No, you really don’t want that do you?” He teased, his hold tightening so minutely she wondered if she'd fabricated the new pressure. “Oh you really, really want this.” With an agonising slowness, he rubbed his thumb over the surface of her clothed mound. “Has anyone ever done this to you before, Jedi?” He probed.
“No.” She gasped, finally finding her voice with the promise of him fulfilling.
“Have you done it yourself?”
He had asked, casually, without judgement but years of institutionalised training and doctrine washed over her body in crimson as she spoke honestly. “I - I tried, didn't know how - didn’t feel like this.”
“And how does this feel?” He asked, an unbroken grin revealing that he fully knew the answer already.
“Good.” She whined, trying to press into his palm once more, a wetness gathering at her core that definitely was not sweat.
“Oh fuck, look at you” he growled, almost to himself. “So desperate, I'll show you how, but you have to ask me.” Bacara determined, needing this confirmation.
“Please.” She whispered, only slightly humiliated by her own begging.
“Specifically.”
“T- touch me.” She whimpered.
He smirked again, unmoving. “Politely, little one.”
She vaguely recognised herself sobbing with need as he drew this out, too impatient to argue she choked out the words. “Please touch me, Marshal Commander”. That seemed to be what he needed as he made a pleased sound, shocking her with bliss when he firmly circled his thumb over the hood of her cunt through her leggings.
As if her whimpers and pleading groans weren’t enough, he repeated his earlier question. “How's it feel?”
Not wanting to give him any more reason to stop - she answered immediately this time, crying softly. “Good, so good.”
He chuckled darkly, pleased with the response but still with a glimmer of mocking. “Is it enough? Need more, girl?” He ran the hand holding her leg, teasingly up her side; his fingers just skimming the curve of her breast. After just two frantic nods of her head, Bacara yanked up her undervest and sports bra - revealing her flushed chest to his gaze, letting the material bunch up under her arms.
The rush of cool air to her tightening nipples provided one last moment of reason as Nalani glanced over to the closed door nervously. “What if someone sees?”
Bacara, smug man that he was, chuckled again with an uncharacteristic glee. “Oh imagine, just look at you, be a lucky guy who would find us eh? What would your Master say?”
Shame distorted her view once more at the mention of her Master, though not enough to obscure the desire coursing through her nerves as Bacara openly ogled her breasts. Her eyes grew lidded, both to ignore the sight of them exposed but also with the heat of his continued teasing. “Nah, you have your little Jedi mind tricks, you'll know if someone's coming…”
“They're not mind tricks - ahh!” She snapped, trailing off into a gruteral groan as he gripped her cunt again. “And the force doesn't work like that!” Her admonishment sounded half hearted against the waning of her ability to speak.
“Sure, ‘course not.” He tittered in response, tone anything but belief. He brought his thumb to run along her slit through the material, the soft fibres pressing achingly hot against her as he grunted again. “Fuck you're absolutely soaking, I can feel it through your pants. Want me to keep going?”
Nalani nodded again but her eyes tore open as he forced her gaze to his by lifting her chin with his idle hand. “I need to hear it.”
The fire behind his irises was intoxicating, his sincere resolve in ensuring she wanted this - asking for the third time so unexpectedly touching that her response left her in a sob. “Please don't stop.”
With yet another, mouth splitting grin, he raised both hands to the waist of her leggings, dragging them and her underwear down her thighs in one swift, fluid motion - the sweat stained fabric clinging to her skin for a mere fraction. She was almost completely exposed to him now, her skin breaking out in goosebumps with a shy awkwardness - what if he didn’t like her figure? Were her hips too soft to be taken seriously? Is the definition of her abs too masculine for him? What about her - oh force, were her...her genitals attractive? Her thighs surged together at the notion. Her racing thoughts were joined by shivers as he ran his hands, rough and calloused like her own, up and down her trembling legs. “I can't do much like this, open up for me.” He prompted.
“I - I…” She stuttered.
“If you want this, you're going to have to help me out. Go on, show me.” Bacara’s tone was stern, maybe even slightly impatient, but not unkind.
Tension still coiled within her limbs, yeah she’d seen plenty of naked bodies of all genders and races in the temple clinics, but she’d never observed them in an intimate manner. What even was aesthetically pleasing in terms of vaginas?? Hers apparently, if the low sound he emitted when she finally eased her legs open was anything to go by. “Good girl, fucking perfect.” The weight in her stomach alleviated with the word perfect, her blushing never ceasing as he continued out a string of praise “gonna take care of you, girl.”
He brought a finger to her naked slit for the first time, gathering the wetness escaping in rivets now and running it along the outer lips. Her body convulsed with shivers, she’d never been touched in this way and the anticipation was almost too exhilarating to handle. Her gentle moans peaked in a squeal of surprised delight when his ministrations parted her enough to circle her clit. “Shhhh.” Bacara soothed. “Don't want to get caught do you? Or maybe you do?”
Nalani shook her head frantically, her eyes squeezing shut as the sensations against the previously unexplored bundle of nerves at her centre taking over all else.
“Best keep quiet then.” He laughed breathily.
She felt absolutely incinderay, her lower limbs quaking with the effort to chase the elation to its peak as he continued to rub up and down her clit before, increasing his speed and using a second finger, using the pads of both digits to send her into an impossible bliss. His motions found a particularly beautiful arrangement, maintaining the steady pressure and she squirmed in an effort to suppress the high squeak escaping her throat. “There?” Bacara questioned knowingly, the self-satisfied smile evident in his voice. “Just like that?”
He used his free hand to tweak her nipple as she nodded, a cry escaping her in agreement.
“Fucking good, good girl.” He uttered, the low timbres of his voice aiding the tightening within her core, suddenly each sensation began knitting together - making her aware of every part of her blazen body, but also somehow unable to distinguish one from another. All facets of her being were fixating in one steep climb, an infuriating intensity pushing insistently.
“Ba - Bacara, I - I’m feeling -” Her words fell into another cry and he increased the tempo of his movements, more filth and praise escaping his lips.
“Yeah, that's it, chase that feeling little Jedi.” Her eyes clenched so tight that she started seeing stars, her body reaching that peak and suddenly tumbling down as the coil snapped, Bacara unrelenting as her hips spasmed. “Good girl, coming so soon, so well for me.”
She continued to jerk in his hold, his movements slowing until her legs gave one last tremor. Her breath was still erratic as her eyes fluttered open, meeting the sight of Bacara beaming down at her like an absolute scoundrel. “Well?”
Her eyes, always so cool and observant, must have been blown wide as she blinked against the harsh lights above. Her vision finally focused on his smug face, a shy but pleased smile growing on her face. She felt a happy noise bubble in her chest, floating out of her throat in an abrupt breath as Bacara’s grin grew even more corked. “Yeah, thought so.” He laughed.
Nalani managed to raise herself slightly on shaky elbows, watching his expression darken slightly as he leaned back and palmed himself roughly over his blacks - the outline of his length even more distinguishable than before. “I reckon you can do another for me.” He declared determinedly. “That sound good?”
Nalani tore her gaze from his crotch, and if her chest wasn’t already heaving, he’d surely have noticed her shudder in response to the question. Meeting his twinkling eyes, she couldn’t help the choked noise that escaped her as she nodded.
He was laughing in that low rumble again. “No, no you know the rules”.
Blinking back desperate tears, already craving his touch; determined to grasp the bliss she’d discovered only moments ago, Nalani matched the hunger of his expatant stare. “Please can I have another one?”
“Huh.” He huffed, releasing himself. “You forgot to say Sir but, I’ll forgive you.” Bacara had already begun leaning forward once as he answered, his every word laced with a gloatingly brutal mirth.
Nalani tried to relax, clinging to any remaining dignity as she fought against the urge to square her thighs. Her muscles practically rippled beneath the skin as she prepared herself for the shockwaves to come; elicited from him finding that special spot again. It was futile, Bacara bypassed it entirely by entering her with one thick finger, an embarrassingly wet, squelching sound accompanying the action. The stretch was foreign, but not unwelcome, and her head fell back with a heavy whine as he began pumping the digit back and forth - a steady pressure building against her fluttering walls.
“Fuck, you’re a tight little thing.” He grunted, almost to himself rather than her. “Think you can take another?”
Could she? The stretch was delicious in ways she couldn’t imagine ever feeling, and the thought of increasing the simmering push was equally exhilarating and nerve-wracking. “Yeah.” She decided, her body clearly making the decision for her - though at Bacara’s raised brow she had to amend her answer with a hurried “please.”
Bacara winked as withdrew, not breaking eye contact as he brought a second finger to gather the wetness at her entrance, easing both in. The stretch burned a bit as he began thrusting and she found herself wincing with a gentle hiss.
Bacara instantly stopped, fingers stilling inside her, while he brought his thumb to gently press her clit. “Too much?”
The pain was dulling slightly, aided by the soft circles he provided with his thumb and her walls began to calm around the wider girth. “No, just slower - please.”
“Good, good girl, anything you say.” He promised, pumping his fingers at a more forgiving pace and encouraging her orgasm with equal attention on her clit. After a few moments she found herself begging him to go faster again, shrieking delightedly when he obliged. She came much quicker this time, her body more expectant of the sensations and already stimulated, though the impact was just as gorgeous and Bacara clearly agreed - sordid words of praise guiding her the whole time.
When she finally stopped shaking, Nalani forced herself to sit up on her elbows once more, observing Bacara as he palmed himself again with a harsh grunt - eyes on her heaving figure. “That good enough girl? Did I help you wind down?
She was stricken quite dumb, enough to indicate he'd done as promised, her head was totally clear of all but the aftershocks of pleasure. He huffed a harsh breath and she realised that he was still squeezing the insistent tent in his blacks, the fabric darkening with the slick coating his hand. Images of him falling apart for her as she had for him flooded her brain as she stared. “D - do you want me to?” She quickly uttered, gesturing to where he still groped himself - unfiltered desire outweighing the rational part of her brain.
“Do you want to?” He asked, no suggestion at all of obligation in his tone.
“Very much.” It was the truth.
“Later.” He huffed, reluctantly releasing himself with a slight grimace. “This was about you blowing off some steam little Jedi, I'll not ask you to do anything until you're absolutely sure you want this to continue.” The gentle sincerity in his words astounded her, though less so than the care he applied in guiding her pants back up her legs and fixing her top back over her chest before standing.
He held out a hand and she took it, allowing him to help her settle on wobbly legs. “Okay.” She murmured, still struck by the sudden tenderness as well as the afterglow of her first orgasms.
“Okay.” He echoed, and with a saucy wink he was gone.
Okay, nobody asked for this, but I kind of have this headcanon that 79s is like infamously rough whenever the 91st and/or 21st (of which Wolffe is an honorary member of both) are on leave and that our favourite ARC duo found this out the hard way...
And I have watched the Spongebob Movie like a 1000 times and every time I see this scene, the same scenario plays in my head...especially when Dee Bradley Baker does some of the voices lol.
P.S. This was made possible by this post, (thanks one-million times to this soul) but I have not used photoshop since like year 8 DT and I’ve always been terrible at it so apologies for the crappy format! I’ve also pulled most of the reference images from bing and I’ve tried my best to use official ones only, if I’ve accidentally used any original/fan-made work please tell me!!!
P.P.S I know Ponds is the only one in phase 1 armour and I’m so, so sorry about the image I used for the Marines :(
Jet and Gus are both inspired by @thefoundationproject‘s Soft Wars
“You’ve reached the GAR, the Greatest Ass in the Republic, how can I assist you today?”
Jet huffed out an exhausted chuckle. “You do have a fine ass,” he said.
“Thank you, Commander Jet,” the vod on the other end said. “I thought you’d be past the blockade by now.”
“There was a pod of purrgil that delayed me by half a day. So, I have time to spare,” Jet answered, glad to have the company for however long Captain Howzer could spare.
He was the only one on this supply run, too far past the blockade for a Republic-issued ship, and this one only fit one man. None of his vod’ike should be forced to spend a week and a half in isolation, especially with the comms blackout behind the blockade. Jet took as many of these solo missions as he feasibly could; no vod handles isolation well—Jet only had to think of Nova and Commander Bacara to see proof—but he could handle it better than his younger vod’e. Winder delivered what a vod needs to survive, and Jet made sure his men stayed in one piece as they brought hope to their vod’e.
Still, the long hours wore on him, and he only had a day and a half before comms would most likely cut out. He’d already talked to Jag for several hours earlier in the trip, and Fenn and Spar were both unavailable.
“I have plenty of time on my end,” Howzer said.
Jet sighed with relief, stretching as best as he could in the pilot’s seat. He could go and lay on his bunk for this call, but Jet preferred the view of the stars swirling by in hyperspace. “I heard you had an exciting campaign.”
“Did Keeli rat me out to Gus?” Howzer asked.
“Doom did, actually. He seemed a bit more . . . annoyed the last time I talked to him, and I finally got him to tell me what happened,” Jet said. There was a reason why Jet was the oldest of all the CCs. It made it very helpful to wheedle information out of grumpy little brothers who thought that repressing their emotions was a Healthy Thing to do.
The comm crackled as Howzer heaved a heavy sigh. “It would most likely be considered against regulations to toss a pile of younglings at your commanding officer with a can of paint each, right?”
“Afraid so, Captain,” Jet giggled. “Send me a holo?”
“Of course. Commanders Neyo and Bacara would both enjoy the holo. Blackmail for the next time Doom complains about being the only one fighting the war,” Howzer suggested, a smug grin quite evident in his voice. Jet knew Doom grumbled and complained about the disaster that was the Priority Chat to anyone that held still long enough. However, Jet could never despise the shenanigans the Shebes got up to on Priority—not when it brought a smile to Commander Bacara’s face.
“Doom also said you’ve got a burr attached to your leg?” Jet prodded. “He refused to elaborate on that.”
Howzer laughed, and Jet couldn’t help but smile at the sound. It was nice after the endless emptiness of space.
“General Syndulla has a daughter named Hera. Apparently, I’m her designated obstacle course. She tries to climb up to my shoulders in a different way every day.”
“Holos?”
“She takes a new one every time she makes it to my shoulders without help. Her mother sends them to me later so I’ve got quite a few now. I’m sending over a few now.”
Jet picked up his datapad and grinned when he saw the message from Howzer. He immediately opened the files and his smile grew impossibly wider. The little Twi’lek girl was absolutely adorable. She was sitting on top of Howzer’s bucket, looking every bit like she ruled the entire galaxy. The next one was a holo of the same girl sitting on Howzer’s shoulders, squishing her cheek against his as they both smiled. There were several more, and Jet quickly downloaded and saved every single one.
“Tell me about her?” Jet asked.
“Gladly,” Howzer said. They talked long enough that the little girl—Hera—eventually found Howzer and started chattering to Jet about all the adventures she was going on and asking him questions about the kinds of ships he flew. A little pilot after his own heart.
For a moment, Jet wished he could turn his ship around and fly to Ryloth so he could spend a night bunked down next to Howzer or teach Hera how to fly. Wishes whispered to every deity in the galaxy in the hopes that one day Cody would succeed. That one day, the Forward Companies would be called Home, never to be sent away or isolated again.
Jet hoped and talked. And that was enough for now.
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@sailorsol okay okay so on the subject of Neyo/Jet/Vaughn and the HP AU....
Vaughn is the Quidditch Commentator and when Hufflepuff plays, the Hufflepuff Beaters get more color commentary than any other players, but literally neither of them notice bc Neyo is trying to not kill his teammate and Jet is trying to figure out what Neyo's problem is, but the rest of the student body is all blindingly aware of Vaughn's massive crush on them
Vaughn, meanwhile, thinks he's keeping it together fairly well because sure, his friends know about his crush, but the crushes themselves don't know, so clearly he's got this, guys
(Narrator Voice: He does not, in fact, got this)
Neyo is inching towards begrudging acceptance of Jet as a person when one day, while hanging out with his twin brother Fox, he gets hit with "so when are you gonna ask out that Ravenclaw"
Neyo is not proud of the fact that the first thing out of his mouth is "Jet's not a Ravenclaw"
Much later, after a LOT of teasing and Neyo wrestling Fox to the ground and sticking a chocolate frog down his trousers, Fox says "Okay but that Ravenclaw has a massive crush on you, you know that right?"
"What Ravenclaw? And how do you know this? You're a Slytherin."
Fox gives him a look that says Fox thinks that he received all the braincells and then some between the two of them "everyone knows that he has a crush on you and Jet. Except you, apparently. The Quidditch Commentator?"
"I know," Bacara said evenly, not looking up from his Transfiguration homework.
"I'm going to break his nose."
"I know." Someone shrieked with laughter on the other side of the common room and Bacara's eyes flicked up to make sure nothing was going on that required a Prefect's intervention.
"He is the bane of my entire existence," Neyo snarled.
"So you've said," Bacara hummed, looking back down at his textbook once he was satisfied that no one was in immediate danger in the Hufflepuff common room.
"Bacara, I'm going to kill him."
"Okay."
Neyo had been leveraging such threats against the other Hufflepuff Beater for the past two years, ever since they had first played together. Bacara, privately, was pretty sure it was because Neyo actually liked Jet and just didn't know how to deal with it. Considering that his own friendship with Neyo had started with a fistfight that had landed both of them in detention, he thought this was a safe bet.
Across the room was more laughter. Across the table, Neyo seethed.
Jet was sitting amongst his friends, and they appeared to have devised some sort of study quiz game, taking turns asking each other questions. If the answer given was correct, the questioner threw a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Jelly Bean at the winner, who tried to catch it in their mouth.
Judging by the way that one exceptionally tall third year was scrubbing at his tongue, he must've gotten a gross flavor, which explained the laughter. Jet was almost rolling on the floor, overcome with delight.
"You know," Bacara said casually, "if you asked them, I'm sure they'd let you join."
Neyo sputtered indignantly. "Why would I want to join them? That is the dumbest thing -"
Bacara rolled his eyes and picked up his things. "Fine, stay here and be miserable then. I'm going to the Gryffindor tower to find better company."
Neyo kicked Bacara's shin. "Just because you have a cute little boytoy doesn't mean the rest of us need one."
Bacara quirked an eyebrow. "Sure, Neyo. Whatever you need to tell yourself."
There was more laughter from Jet's group as Bacara headed for the door, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he was delighted to see that Jet had noticed Neyo watching, and was waving him over to join them.
I’m just as frustrated as you are, I temporarily had to move back to home working due to a surge in cases meaning my building had to close - in a time when we’re both finalising this years projects, and recruiting for next so I’ve been clocking off well past my contract hours this week.
The next chapter is currently at 2,000 words about half way done. I’m aiming to finish it next weekend but I know better than to set deadline now XD
Please enjoy a short preview under the cut.
P.S I’m aware that The Battle of New Bornalexactually took place in 20BBY, but I’m taking liberties for the sake of my plot okay - taa.
Chapter 2: New Bornalex
19 BBY
...
“We’re ready to push at your command, ma’am.” Jet clipped as he disabled his comm, securing his helm back in place.
Her stomach coiled, enough that she worried it may be visible, he really was awaiting her approval. Backseat Commander or no, this really was her mission. Nalani resisted the urge to cough her own reply, teeth crunching with sand; vocals coarse and dehydrated. She gritted out an “onward” with a nod and Jet signalled the men to follow as she led them steadily downhill.
The decent was more of a trek in and out of a chasmal dune than a march downhill; the sand spilling over the edges with each slippery step of her mens boots. Nalani wished she’d bothered learning to forceglide as she desperately dug her textureless soles into the liquescent grains; a futile effort to avoid stumbling.
New Bornalex existed close enough to the Mid-Rim territories that it barely counted as an Outer-Rim campaign, a mere few hundred meters off border being enough to render it ready CIS fodder. After Aargonar, she’d dare hope for a break from desert worlds - half of this stars forsaken Galaxy was nought but scorching crevices of sand it seemed. Master had reassured her that New Bornalex at least featured some truly breathtaking cliffs, that the breeze traveled high enough that it carried a coolness absent of sandy debris. However, he’d neglected to tell her until they had almost finished the brief that he and the Marshal would take the high ground. Nalani and Jet would lead the ground forces, apparently content with sediment burning through her lashes and staining her tunic with turmeric patches.
The cliffs maybe could have been beautiful, but the sun was too intrusive to focus on anything but the glare of broiling rays; her eyes, equipped to a ceiling of lustrous flora, were less adapted than her tropically inherited skin.
She’d almost made it with her head held high, but at the last slope, found herself skidding with one foot in front of the other - lacking her signature schooled grace. Perhaps, if Commander Jet had not roughly caught her by the arm, the firm pads of his fingers jutting sharply into the hard sinew of her bicep, she could have played it off as an intentional flourish. Once he was satisfied she was stable, he chuckled out a “your welcome.”
Only then did she realise, rather ashamedly, that she hadn’t bothered to thank him. Instead, she had glared up at the sun reflecting off his helm. She was already a bit cold with the men, not entirely intentionally maybe but she couldn’t not blame herself for the distance between them. Attempting to soften her frigid features, Nalani opened her mouth, the apology ready to spit when the first shot fired.
