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Star Wars: Honey Trap (TheCorsair and Lady Vi)

Naadia couldn't help but smile at his discomfiture. From the way he cradled her ankle and stared at her leg, it was obvious that he hadn't been examining her wounds. The woman leaned back in her seat and watched as the jedi performed some odd force magic on her feet, the whole time wondering how badly tempted he was to slide his hands higher. If she didn't stop him, how high would he go? It was common knowledge that the Jedi were celibate, but every Jedi Naadia had met had proved that to be a lie. Of course, how much of that was owing to her profession? A few days vacation would be lovely, but Naadia'scha was a slave to her curiosity.

She leaned forward and began removing the jewelry on her feet. Her hand brushed his wrist casually and the position left her cleavage even more on display. It was intentional, of course, but she was sure to be subtle enough that denial would be believable if he was to be offended. After everything, the last thing she needed was an offended, sexually repressed jedi trapped with her for three days or more.

"Your hands are so warm!" She exclaimed, genuinely surprised. Naadia pressed the ship's comm button. "De'o, would you please bring up a medkit and two glasses of the blue-label Corellian whiskey?"

"Right away, Mistress." The droid's voice came through the speakers, as polite as ever despite his earlier fall. "Over ice or neat?"

"Neat, thank you." She released the comm and settled back into her seat, one hand toying with an errant curl while she watched Quentin. Her eyes suddenly widened as a thought 'just' struck her. "I'm sorry, I should have asked if you drank. It occurs to me that I don't know very much about the rules of Jedi-hood. Master Kahn drank on occasion, but then I think he did many things the Order would not approve of. Still, after that display, I think your masters couldn't begrudge a well-earned drink."
 
"Your hands are so warm!" She exclaimed.

"That's actually, for the most part, your own blood that you're feeling." By this time, absorbed in directing and enhancing the healing abilities of her own body, he barely noticed that she was displaying herself more for him. "Increased blood flow, particularly once the wounds begin to scab, increases the flow of nutrients so that you heal faster." Finally, releasing a breath, he dropped his hands and looked up. "That will help, too. But you should stay off your feet, at least until we get them sutured."

For the first time he noticed her leaning forward a little, providing him with a generous view of rounded, creamy flesh. His first instinct was to look away, embarrassed. But Master Valis had made him study psychology as part of his apprenticeship, and he knew that it was a normal reaction for a heterosexual human male to at least look. So, he made sure not to stare as he continued looking up to meet her moss-green eyes. "So, I can carry you out to the lounge, or..."

Naadia pressed the ship's comm button. "De'o, would you please bring up a medkit and two glasses of the blue-label Corellian whiskey?"

"...or that would work as well, yes," he conceded, suddenly aware that he was ever so slightly disappointed that he wouldn't be carrying her out.

"Right away, Mistress." The droid's voice came through the speakers, as polite as ever despite his earlier fall. "Over ice or neat?"

"Neat, thank you." She released the comm and settled back into her seat, one hand toying with an errant curl . Her eyes suddenly widened. "I'm sorry, I should have asked if you drank. It occurs to me that I don't know very much about the rules of Jedi-hood. Master Kahn drank on occasion, but then I think he did many things the Order would not approve of. Still, after that display, I think your masters couldn't begrudge a well-earned drink."

Quentin laughed at that. "I can't vouch for what Master Nerris may or may not have done, but there are no rules in the Order about drinking. Only about losing control of one's actions." He leaned back in the pilot's chair, watching her watch him. "I'm more of a beer man myself, when I drink - the Organa Brewery produces a dark lager with a head you have to eat with a spoon, for instance - so I've never really tried brandy." A shrug. "But I'll certainly drink to a successful escape from those kind of odds."

He sat in an easy silence for a minute, then spoke again. "It occurs to me that I don't actually know your first name. De'o told me you were Lady Ahkaa, and that matches the registration on this ship. But... well, if we're going to be stuck together for the next three days, I'd like to know your name."
 
"Naadia'scha, though you are welcome to call me Naadia." She spoke her name with the lilting accent of a native Twi'lekk speaker, but there was no trace of accent in her Basic. A smile settled comfortably on her face and smoothed out the last traces of anxiety left by their... exciting departure. "I'm glad you won't be scolded for taking a drink with me. Your masters will probably have enough to say about this afternoon as it is."

De'o came clambering up the steps with a medpack slung over his shoulder and a tumbler of golden liquor in each hand. He offered the drinks with much aplomb, dipping his head in a bow as his mistress took hers. She drank, savoring the sweet smoke-and-earth flavor of the whiskey while her droid began to fret.

"Mistress, treating your injuries is far beyond the scope of my programming. I simply cannot be of use in medical matters!" The lights of his visual sensors flashed in agitation, and Naadia nearly laughted.

"That's fine, De'o, I have a feeling that Master Hall has some training." She arched an eyebrow at Quentin, both questioning and inviting him. "Do you have enough room in your lap to work? Or would you prefer we move to one of the bedrooms? "
 
"Naadia'scha," he echoed, almost managing to get the accent right. "That's... Cerean? No, wait... Twi'lekk? Meaning..." He considered it for a moment. "Daughter of the heart, I believe. My Twi'lekk's a little rusty, but I believe that's right. An unusual name for a human. There must be a fascinating story behind it."

A smile settled comfortably on her face. "I'm glad you won't be scolded for taking a drink with me. Your masters will probably have enough to say about this afternoon as it is."

He shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. "They may have a few words, yes. In fairness, however, I believe I'll be able to plead 'getting attacked by heavy combat droids and then starfighters' in my defense." A chuckle, but his voice turned serious. "Still, that was an inordinate amount of firepower, either for a lone Jedi or for a young woman smuggling dubious but not illegal substances..."

Before he could continue the thought, though, De'o entered the cockpit and made a production out of serving the whiskey. Quentin hesitated, watching Naadia as she sipped the golden liquor, and then mimicked her action. He was glad he did as the fluid burned down his throat. If he'd drunk it as he'd considered, just throwing back a mouthfull like it was beer, he'd probably have coughed it all back up.

"Mistress, treating your injuries is far beyond the scope of my programming. I simply cannot be of use in medical matters!" The lights of his visual sensors flashed in agitation, and Naadia nearly laughted.

"That's fine, De'o, I have a feeling that Master Hall has some training."

"Sir Quentin, actually," he corrected. "If you feel a need to use a title. I'm not a Master, not yet." A grin. "But... Quentin will serve quite well. And yes, I do have some medical training. It's one of the many things we have to learn." He took another sip of his whiskey.

She arched an eyebrow at Quentin, both questioning and inviting him. "Do you have enough room in your lap to work? Or would you prefer we move to one of the bedrooms?"

Quentin did choke, this time. Coughing, he managed to not drop the glass. But he was determined not to concede defeat. If she wanted to play a game, he could call her bluff. "Plenty of room in my lap."
 
"That's a fair translation, but there isn't much story attached." She said as she took the medkit from De'o and began unpacking it. "My mother is Twi'lekk and she liked the name. It's not even a family name. A pretty dull story, really."

At his casual mention of their escape, Naadia's smile slipped into a disturbed frown.

"I'm not even sure you could call it 'smuggling'. Sometimes I declare it as jewelry and pay the tariffs that way. I don't always, but in the beginning I was so afraid of getting in trouble that I thought if I just paid the fees a different way, it would even out." She handed him a bacta-soaked bandage, her fingers brushing his as she did so.

Naadia watched in amusement as he sputtered and coughed. It had been an innocent enough question, was he really so high-strung? Jedi were supposed to be a chaste lot, but Naadia had the distinct impression that this one wasn't suited for that life. Not that she could blame him. Chastity didn't suit her either. As he regained composure, she wondered if she could make him break his code. Probably, considering how quickly his mind jumped to less innocent offers. Green eyes lingered on the line of his jaw and the breadth of his shoulders. A handsome man, though a bit plain; not the sort of man she'd look at twice in a crowded room. Still, Quentin had a bumbling innocence that she liked, a playfulness that hadn't been beaten out of him by power or tragedy.

"Don't worry, Quentin. I was not inviting you to bed. There will be plenty of time for that in the next few days." She winked, exaggerating the gesture until it was obvious that she was only joking. "Though I suppose there is plenty of room in your lap, too."
 
"You even paid import duties on the honey?" Quentin asked, sounding mildly surprised. "Hell, you could probably have just claimed it was honey and ship stores, if anyone even asked." He accepted the first bacta-impregnated bandage, noting the touch of her fingers and the trail of heat they seemed to leave on his skin, before packing the putty-like material into the wounds. It would serve as a matrix for her flesh to build on, repairing the damaged tissue. With the first in place, he took another sip of his whiskey.

She arched an eyebrow at Quentin, both questioning and inviting him. "Do you have enough room in your lap to work? Or would you prefer we move to one of the bedrooms?"

Quentin did choke, this time. Coughing, he managed to not drop the glass. But he was determined not to concede defeat. If she wanted to play a game, he could call her bluff. "Plenty of room in my lap."

Naadia looked amused. "Don't worry, Quentin. I was not inviting you to bed."

He chuckled awkwardly. "I knew that. It's just..."

"There will be plenty of time for that in the next few days."

"What?" Embarrassingly enough, the word came out as a bit of a startled squeak. He had no idea why, either. He'd met beautiful women before, and it wasn't as if he was utterly inexperienced. But - and there was no way he'd admit it out loud - Naadia was an incredibly attractive woman. And something about her had him flustered.

She winked, exaggerating the gesture until it was obvious that she was only joking. "Though I suppose there is plenty of room in your lap, too."

Wiping his mouth, he took another sip of the whiskey to cover his expression. Then, rising, he scooped her up and half-lifted half-pulled her into his lap. "I think you supposed right," he said, turning her a little so her lower legs hung over his left thigh. "De'o, could you hand me the next bandage?"
 
Quentin did not react the way she had expected. A little less-than-innocent teasing should have just put him on edge and brought a little blush to his cheeks. For a few moments, that's exactly what happened. He sputtered adorably, squeaking in surprise and just generally acting the part of a bumbling virgin. His innocence was a refreshing treat after years of brash, arrogant men and women. She sipped smugly at her drink, reveling in the feeling of control for just a moment, when he ruined the whole thing by growing a pair. He lifted her easily into his lap and the shock of it made her stiffen until she worried the tumbler would shatter in her grip.

"What exactly are you trying to accomplish?" She asked wryly once the shock had worn off. The thin fabric on her dress did nothing to separate them and she could feel the texture of his uniform and the way his muscles moved under the cloth. The position hiked up her skirt scandalously high but Naadia shifted quickly to readjust. "I meant room for you to bandage my feet, not... whatever this is."

She gestured vaguely to their current position, lips quirked to the side in an expression that couldn't decide if it was laughing or exasperated. De'o handed over the bandage.

"Mistress, would you like me to excuse myself?" The droid asked before looking pointedly at the jedi. "There is glass to tidy up in the parlor, after all."
 
Quentin felt slightly light-headed and oddly euphoric as he lifted Naadia and rested her in his lap. She felt good, pleasantly soft and sleek with good muscle tone beneath her supple skin. The build of a martial artist, or of a gymnast. Jedi had muscles like that, and he realized he was comparing her with Linora. But even like this, slightly startled and flustered, she was gorgeous.

Also, he was taking a certain impish glee in her sudden discomfort. Sauce for the goose, and all that.

"What exactly are you trying to accomplish?" she demanded.

"I'm demonstrating that there really is enough room for you in my lap," he answered, deadpan.

Her answer was to shift and wigle deliciously, working her hem down to almost knee length. "I meant room for you to bandage my feet," she told him, "not... whatever this is."

"This," he murmured, running his left hand down and under the curve of her calf to lift her foot, "is a simple examination..." Gently he packed synthflesh bandaging into another cut, aware the whole time of the warmth of her body against his, and of the subtle movements as she breathed.

The droid asked if he should leave.

"It's up to you," he told her. "Do you feel like we need a chaperone?"
 
"You may go De'o. I am more than capable of defending myself, jedi or not." She gave Quentin a long consideration, wondering just how far he thought to take the situation. His hand caressed her leg so carefully, so intently... "and what, pray tell, are you examining?"

Her voice was low as he massaged the wounds closed. They weren't terribly bad, though they were enough to keep her out of heels for a few days. De'o left to clean up the glass, ensuring that she would be entirely healed before too long. Without De'o the cockpit felt shockingly private. Just Naadia, her Jedi, and the swirling whiteness of hyperspace. It seemed odd now that she had never 'entertained' a client here. It was nearly romantic.

Naadia took a deep drink of her whiskey, letting it burn down her throat. She still felt the slightest effects of her earlier merakuya indulgence, but her faculties were entirely intact. Normally, Naadia wouldn't dream of letting a man handle her so freely without some sort of... recompense. Either he paid in credits, or in service. Quentin had nothing of the sort to offer, but he had saved her life. A little liberty could be overlooked. And three days was an awfully long time to be bored.

Setting her drink down, Naadia trailed her fingernails softly over his neck and collarbone.

"Do you often play at healer, Quentin?"
 
Was the merakuya still in his system? From the wwy his skin tinngled and his breath caught as her fingertips trailed down his throat, it seemed it was. "Do you often play at healer, Quentin?" He could feel her breath on his face, hot and moist, as she asked the question in a low voice.

He slid his left hand back up her calf to rest on her knee, fingertips slipping just slightly under the hem of her dress tp caress her thigh. As he did, he lightly ran the fingernails of his right hand up the gentle arc of her spine. "I rarely get the chance," he murmured back, his lips close to hers. His hand slipped a little higher on her thigh. "Do you need more attention?"

Technically, this was a bad idea. He should stop right now. But, right now, he didn't care.
 
His hand crept higher until it was just under her skirt. He stroked and teased the skin of her back, earning the tiniest shivers. Naadia slipped her arm over his shoulder, holding him closer to her. His heart was pounding, she could see it in the way his throat jumped and quivered. A gentle tilt of her head and her lips were millimeters from his Adams-apple and her nose brushed the tender skin over the artery.

"I crave attention always." Lips brushed his neck when she spoke and left faint smudges of color. Funny, but she had expected more of a fight from him. Not that she was complaining, really. "It's my greatest fault, you might say. I must always be in the center of attention."

Running her hand down his arm, she considered the muscles of his arms. He could easily carry her, and that could be great fun. Certainly something to remember. Naadia planted her hands on the armrests of the chair and turned so that she was facing him and straddling his thighs on her knees. The movement pulled his hand higher under her skirt until it was halfway up her thigh. The position was not the most comfortable, but ... well, she really did enjoy being the focus.

"See? Always." Wrigging a little, she settled a bit lower in his lap. Her eyes met his, a wicked ligbt dancing in them (or was it a reflection from the viewport?). Naadia leaned forward, lips wet, until. She could smell the whiskey on his breath. She waited for him to close the distance, however. It was always best to let them think it was their idea.
 
This was probably going much too far, Quentin knew. Naadia was straddling him now, explaining that she always had to be the center of attention as her lips brushed his throat. He shivered a little, feeling the muscles of her thigh bunch as she settled into his lap again, and sighed at the pleasant pressure of her hips against his erection. The swirling unlight of hyperspace danced in her moss green eyes and caressed her features, adding an unearthly quality to her beauty.

He slid one hand to her hip, exploring the sleek planes of her back with the other as she leaned close. Her dark hair tickled his face, and he could tastecsweet honey and the smoky whiskey on her breath. His breath caught, electricity fizzing along his nerves. "Always?" he whispered. "Then I suppose I'll just have to give you what you want..."

This was probably going too far. His arms tightened, just enough to pull her body against his as he kissed her. She tasted of heat and whiskey and honey as his tongue parted her lips, tenatively at first and then with increasing confidence. He made a low sound of approval and desire at the feel of her soft breasts flaattening slightly against his chest, the roll of muscles in her back and the tension as her thighs gripped his. The ship itself seemed to shudder in time with his quickening pulse.

This was probably too far. But he no longer cared.
 
Naadia leaned into the kiss and wrapped her fingers in his hair. Quentin's pulse seemed to shake the chair beneath them. Pressed tight against him, she returned his kiss with passion, as though trying to prove that she was worth the price. Under her rump, she could feel the stiffness and size of him. The night promised to be less boring after all. She wiggled her hips, grinding against him until his pounding pulse made the seat practically vibrate. He moaned into her mouth and... hold on...

The chair was vibrating!

Naadia pulled away from his kiss, patting at his chest in a fluttering frantic motion. Green eyes wide with fear, she glanced at the incomprehensible gibberish of the ship's computer just in time for the warning klaxons to sound.

"What did you do?!" She demanded as the ship shuddered again. Somewhere, there was a creaking sound far more alarming than the shrieking noise of the warnings. "Oh dark stars... what... what does 'critical drive instability ' mean?"
 
"What did I do?" Quentin echoed, disoriented. An instant before she'd been a fever dream of lust and need, fingers twined in his hair as she'd returned his kiss with enthusiasm and dry-humped him for good measure. And now... "What do you mean 'what did I do'...?"

The warning klaxon registered along with her question, and he half-lifted, half-tossed her back into the co-pilot's chair. Glancing at the controls, he said something that - 39 seconds before and in a different tone of voice - could have passed for 'talking dirty'. "The hyperspace envelope's deforming!" he said, fingers dancing over the controls. "I need to rebalance rhe..."

The ship shuddered violently, and the tunnrl effect of hyperspace splintered into a chaotic fog as the sound of an explosion roarer through the ship. "Hang on. This is going to get rough." With that, he yanked back the hyperspace controls, and the yacht exploded back into real space.
 
Naadia scrambled out of his lap and into her own seat with just milliseconds to spare. She had the presence of mind to snatch up her whiskey glass before it spilled over the console, but that was about all the help she could manage. She watched in numb horror as the swirling stars jittered and jerked to a stop. A particularly bad jerk bumped her roughly against the seat and knocked the glass out of her hand and into her lap, dousing Naadia in liquor. She said several unladylike things, loudly, in both twi'lekk and basic.

"What happened?" she asked as the shaking died down.
 
Five minutes ago, the sight of Naadia's clothing - such as it was - wet and plastered against her skin would have been remarkably distracting. But niw? Quentin was too busy to notice. "A hyperdrine coupling blew," he said in answer to her question. "We must have been hit harder than we thought."

His fingers sped over the controls, making adjustments. "The hyperdrives are still engaged," he added, grimly. "If I don't shut the generator down, soon, we'll get blasted across space." Wrestling the controls, he made minute ajustmunt after minute adjustment. Finally, he sat back and wiped his forehead.

"Done! Now, we just need to figure out where we are..." He peered uncertainly at the srars. "If we can..."
 
"I think I know how we might do that. De'o?" She called down the stairs. Her hair was an utter mess, makeup disheveled and smeared, her clothing was drenched and growing sticky... And now she was adrift in a damaged ship. Naadia wasn't sure the day could get much worse. Her protocol droid climbed up into the cockpit, looking more than a little rattled. "De'o there's a problem with the ship and Sir Quentin is lost. Is there any way for you to access the star charts and figure out where we are?"

"Of course, Mistress! Though it looks as if there is a holonet beacon in the distance. It may be quicker to use the beacon identification code." Naadia slumped back into her seat in relief. "It will take some time, perhaps you would like to retire and change into dry clothing?"

Naadia looked down at herself and winced. The silk was ruined. She half expected the liquor to dissolve the delicate fabric at any moment. It was just that sort of night.

"I think that is wise... Quentin, I can show you to a room -ouch! Damnit..." She stood and sat again, sucking air through her teeth and glaring at her barely-bandaged feet. Smears of whiskey coated the synth-flesh, the likely source of her burning pain. The slender woman sighed and her dress began to slip off her shoulder. She yanked it back up more roughly than the over-taxed garment deserved. "Would you be a darling and help me down?"
 
As De'o and Naafia discussed options for determining their whereabouts in the galaxy, Quentin set himself to pouring over the diagnostic information from the computers. Distressingly, the more he worked the grimmer the situation looked. "Hyperdrive's out. I could repair it in a few days, with parts and tools, but we're strictly sublight until then." He looked up and back at the droid. "So, I guess time is something we have in abundance. Go ahead and interrogate the beacon."

It was only then that he really registered Naadia's statements. He looked at her, dressed in sodden finery and wincing with each step, and felt tbe chivalry that was part of the knight's code rise in him. He stood and, before she could react, lifted her easily in both arms. "A room may be useful," he agreed, descending into the common room of the yacht. "And we should get the whiskey cleaned off of your feet."
 
Her arm curled naturally over his shoulder and behind his neck. He carried her easily, though she wasn't sure if she was pleased about it. As nice as it was to be off her feet, Naadia wasn't happy about being dependent on Quentin to get to her room. She directed him down the hall and into one of the side doors. Inside was a bedroom decorated in a similar way to the parlor, all dark wood and pale fabric. The flowers in this room seemed to have survived the rough ride. Not a vase was broken and they left a delicate scent on the air. To one side was a small vanity table with a cushioned seat, a dresser sat a few feet away. The minimal furniture gave the room a spacious feel, even if it was rather small. Most of the space was taken up by the bed. The enormous mattress was suited for all sorts of acrobatics, and it was undoubtedly planned that way.

Naadia ignored the bed and the vanity chair, pointing instead to a door off to the side. This door opened on a bathroom made of elegant white stone-like material. The bathtub looked large enough for three people, four or more if they were as small as the courtesan he carried. The shelves near the tub held colored glass bottles of all sorts, there was even a wine rack in easy reach.

"You can set me down here," She said, gesturing to the edge of the bathtub. "I know how eager you must be to see the bedroom, but I would like to wash up."
 
"Nice," Quentin observed as he opened the door to her suite. "Simple and elegant. Almost Arkanian in feel." He casually glanced at the oversized bed. "Although they tend to favor floor mats. But, where should I set you down?"

She pointed at a side door. Pushing the door open he found himself in what Republic warships referred to as a 'fresher unit', albeit one far more elegant than most military models. And it had a tub. The extravagence of carrying that much water just for bathing made his pragmatic, warrior-trained mind ache.

Although, big as it was, it probably wasn't intended purely for washing.

"You can put me down here," Naadia said, pointing at the tub. "I know how eager you must be to see the bedroom, but I would like to wash up."

Gently, he set her down on the side of the tub. "The bacta should have neutralized the worst ieffects of the alcohol in your cuts, but soaking your feet for a short while will help. And as far as wanting to see the bedroom...?"

That's not really what I'd wanted to see...

"It seems I've already seen it." He gestured over his shoulder as he took a step back towards the door. "So I'll just go and talk to De'o about that room you offered me. Just yell if you need any help."

He left the room feeling both disappointed and like he'd just dodged a bullet. He could still taste her mouth, feel her body moving against his. The honey, he realized, wasn't the most pitent narcotic on this ship. She was.
 
His nervousness was nearly palpable. Sitting on the edge of the tub, Naadia couldn't help but shake her head a little at the sheer silliness. Though sometimes she did take less experienced clients, it had been some time since she had seen anyone quite so skittish. The slim woman turned the tub's spigot until a small trickle of water came out. She took a hand-towel off the shelf and ran a little warm water over it before twisting the knobs again to stop the flow. Until she knew precisely how long they would be away from port, she would hoard the water carefully.

"Quentin?" She called through the cracked door while sponging off her feet. Naadia didn't even look up to see that he wasn't peeking while she removed her sodden dress. The smooth whiteness of her skin seemed to blend in with the stone around her. "That room is yours. There's only one guest room on the ship."

She ran a little more water over the cloth before standing and removing the dress completely. Under it her chest was bare but she wore a few flesh-colored ribbons that were probably considered panties by a high-fashion clothier. Her back to the door, Naadia stood in the tub and dabbed the cloth over herself, to wipe away the worst of the whiskey.
 
Quentin paused, habd on the door, as he took in what Naadia had called to him. Then he turned and looked around the suite once more. "Thix is the guest suite?" he murmured softly, hardly able to credit it. Not that he hadn't been around wealth, mind. But training to be a Jedi meant learning to embrace a life of austerity and simplicity.

Curious, he explored the room. The dark wood wardrobe was an elaborate facade for a cleaner and auto-tailor, and tbe matching dresser was also a functional computer terminal and holonet access node, with a state of the art holographic display. The flowers were real flowers, as far as he could tell.

Experimentally he flopped backward on the bed. It was soft, ridiculously so, but immediately began adjusting texture and firmness and even temperature until it reached a point of maximum comfort. Spreading his arms, he stared up at the ceiling and let his thoughts drift.
 
Naadia dropped her soggy clothes in the garbage chute, sighing a little in regret. There was no saving that dress, though. Touching a panel on the wall triggered a hidden slot to open and a rack of bathrobes to slide out. The plush robes varied in size and color but she selected a white one without really glancing at it. The garment had long, loose sleeves but didn't quite fall to her knees. With the sash tied it left a deep triangle of her chest bare, but the robe gave her some illusion of modesty at least. Perhaps it would be enough to soothe his jitters.

She pulled her hair down from it's knot, letting the dark curls fall chaotically over her shoulders while she attempted to clean up her cosmetics. Without her full kit the best Naadia could manage was a little smudge removal. It would have to do. She stepped out of the bathroom and cocked her head at the decidedly undignified pose of her guest. She cleared her throat.

"Funny. I didn't expect to see you spread-eagle on the bed for at least another hour. You are a quick one, aren't you?" The amusement was obvious in her voice.
 
The bathroom door opened, and Quentin glanced over. Naadia was... different. Oh, sure, she was still a seven sector callout. But with her hair down and wrapped in a robe - even if that robe was short on her legs and open in front - she was less the polished sex goddess of their first meeting and more a flesh and blood woman.

Not that she'd seemed any less flesh and blood in the bridge, mind...

"Funny," she said, laughter flavoring her words. "I didn't expect to see you spread-eagled on the bed for at least another hour. You are a quick one, aren't you?"

"When you are a Jedi," he responded, deadpan, "you learn the virtue of self-reliance."

He let that hang in the air for a moment, then tried to sit up. It took more than one attempt, as it seemed that the bed-determined optimal comfort setting was softer than he'd anticipated. "But seriously," he continued. "This thing is absurdly comfortable. I mean, to the point that I'm considering recommending that we deploy them as humane peacekeeping weapons." He slapped the mattress. "Criminals and would-be despots would be too comfy to resist arrest."

He grinned at that, displaying just how unserious he was, then glanced at her legs. "Feet feeling better?"
 
Naadia watched him flounder on the soft mattress, the graceful Jedi killing machine. It was enough to bring a smile to her face. She sat on the edge of the bed a foot or so away from him, the edge of her robe hiking up dangerously high.

"I'm glad you approve. I don't know how long we'll have to make do with what's on the ship. It would be horrible to be trapped in a room you disliked." She reached up and lifted her hair away from her neck. The motion pulled the robe even higher, displaying a pair of pale and shapely thighs. She dropped the mass of waves when she realized that she had no pins to hold her hair in place. "They are a little better, thank you. Thanks to your skillful doctoring, I won't be a shambling cripple."

Green eyes scanned over his face and form, curiosity clear in her expression.

"Speaking of jedi self-reliance, I've always wondered about that. If your Order doesn't allow marriage, and discourages sex, do they at least let you masturbate?" She glanced unabashedly at his groin. "Or is the Temple full of guards on the look-out for impure thoughts? Dark stars, what a miserable life that would be! I wouldn't last two days."
 
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