Private A Dangerous Kind of Arrival

[Kaelon Virex]

Location: Nar Shaddaa, Upper Platform – The Gilded Veil, Private Lounge 9

Kael had changed shirts four times.

He stood in front of the narrow mirror bolted into the wall of his private suite in the Gilded Veil, fiddling with the cuffs of a charcoal tunic that somehow looked effortless and rebellious—like him, or so he hoped. The lighting above cast a smoky violet hue over his features, highlighting the faint scar beneath his jaw and the smirk he hadn't quite wiped off since he got her message.


"Born of secrets and stitched from sins…"

He mimicked the line under his breath, then let out a low whistle, dragging a hand through his black hair. It was still damp from the sonic shower, but not messy enough yet. He messed it up a little more, let a few strands fall into place like they just happened to look that good.

The cologne came next.

A little black bottle, scuffed at the corners. He rarely used it—too flashy for someone always on the move—but tonight wasn't just about a drink. It was about curiosity. Chemistry. Maybe a little chaos. He tilted the bottle, gave his neck a single spritz, then another along his collarbone. Spiced neroli and smoke.

He leaned in to the mirror, adjusting the line of stubble along his jaw.

"Not exactly stable, but at least I don't lie about it…"

He grinned.

Scherezade deWinter

She didn't just reply—she crashed through the signal like she was daring him to regret it. He liked that. He liked a lot of things about her, and he hadn't even seen her face yet.


Kael slipped his vibroblade into his boot holster. Not because he expected trouble, but because Nar Shaddaa didn't like anyone walking around without one.

A quick glance toward the door. The lounge was already prepped—low lights, a bottle of Zeltron wine chilling in the corner, sabacc cards set on the table just in case she wanted to make good on that threat to make him fold first.

He exhaled, rolled his shoulders, and let that cocky, dangerous charm settle over him like a second skin.

"Alright, Chaos," he muttered, heading toward the door. "Let's see what kind of trouble you've brought with you."

He stepped into the corridor, boots echoing softly on the polished durasteel floor, heart hammering just a little faster than he'd ever admit.

Tonight, the past was irrelevant.

The danger didn't matter.

And love? That was just another game they could both cheat at.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

The first Scherezade had done was scratch her head. Wait, was that really happening? Someone had noticed a profile that had been rotting in the void for over four decades and responded? Positively? What the kriff. And then the coordinates. She plugged them quickly into her ship's system, realizing she was going to be on Nar Shaddaa. Well. Not a bad place. One of the many she had terrorized all those years ago. She hoped the locals remembered her fondly for it.

She also had to NOT tell her sister! Or her chosen sister! Or her friend! No, all those whackjobs would come flying at her with entire wardrobes in tow, dead-set on stuffing her into something that wasn't bloodstained or explosive-resistant. At least one of them would expect to see her in something like a dress. What!

The Sithling took a few deep breaths, and set the course. This was happening. No one was allowed to know about it.

Right then, she was close to the planet. Time to get ready.

As predicted, there wasn't anything really suitable for something like that. Well. She assumed he wasn't someone who was trying to phish her and she also assumed she was not going to end up stabbed (by him). So… it was time to do what she did best. Improvise.

A bunch of leather coats she hadn't worn in a while were torn up, and then carefully stitched together, her delicate manual control of the Force allowing her to do so with accuracy. It was simple, really. If one was good at building bombs, one had to be good at working with their hands, which included… Dresses Yes. Fine. It was a dress. But it was a leather-wrapped sin of a dress, and that made it okay. The black leather clung to her body like a tight glove, hugging every single curve. A few cuts placed perfectly to let skin flash with every move.

And of course, the knives. The leather gave her certain freedoms to hide them in strategic spots. Not because she thought he'd try to stab her. No, Kael was probably the safest thing in the room, and that was saying something, considering he was still a complete unknown.

Hair… Yeah, that she could leave alone. It was long, soft, a little wild… She liked it the way it was.

The Gilded Veil, Private Lounge 9​

Here she was now. Ready. Or as ready as she could be. It wasn't too late to turn around, get back on her ship, and run away. She was really good at running away. That was part of why she was still alive.

A guard was by the door.

"Vael Ryn," she half purred at it, letting the syllables run freely. It wasn't his name. It was the name she'd been instructed to use.

As the door opened, a thousand thoughts ran across Scherezade's mind.

She didn't flinch as the door slid open.

Her boots, heavier than they looked, clicked once on the polished durasteel floor, a warning shot to the silence. She walked in slow, not because she wanted to draw it out, but because for the first time in a long time, she didn't already know how this was going to end.

The lights were low. Wine chilled. Cards on the table.

Cute.

And then her glowing green eyes saw him.

He did clean up nice. Not in a polished, groomed, boring kind of way, but in the you'll-regret-this-but-not-right-away kind of way. That collarbone spritz? She caught the smoke and neroli in the air like a snare trap woven in scent.

Scherezade tilted her head, gulping quickly before a sly smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she stepped fully into the room.

"Look at you," she said, purred, letting her eyes roam freely. "Didn't even need to spill blood to make my heart race."

Then she paused, reached for the sabacc deck without breaking eye contact, and dealt herself a card.

"Fold now, Kael, and I might even let you keep your shirt."

---

Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael didn't move right away.

The first click of her boots hit him in the chest like a vibroshock—warning, arrival, game-on. And then she stepped into the light, and the rest of the galaxy promptly shut up and sat the kriff down.

Leather. Curves. Knives.

She moved like she belonged in a firefight and a poem at the same time, and Kael, for once in his chaos-soaked life, had no ready line. His smirk softened into something less practiced, more… impressed.
And then she spoke.

"Didn't even need to spill blood to make my heart race."

He let out a breath like he'd been hit, brows lifting as she approached the table.

"Okay," he said with a grin, watching her fingers slide over the cards. "So, you are Chaos."

She dealt herself a card with surgical confidence, those glowing green eyes locked on his. And then came the kicker:

"Fold now, Kael, and I might even let you keep your shirt."

He barked a laugh. "You drive a hard bargain. But I'm afraid my shirt and I have been through too much together to abandon it over one card."

He moved toward the table with easy swagger, but his pulse was still hammering in his ears. Reaching for the wine bottle, he uncorked it with a flick of the wrist and poured two glasses without taking his eyes off her.

"You like Zeltron red? It's got a burn like a lover's lie, but smoother going down."

He slid one of the glasses toward her, then leaned a hip against the edge of the table, mirroring her stance—but not trying to match it. That would've been impossible.

"I'll admit, I wasn't sure you'd show. A ghost profile like that? Most people would've assumed it was bait. But then, you're clearly not 'most people.'" He tilted his glass in her direction. "I'm glad you did."

There was a flicker of sincerity beneath the rogue's charm. Not too much—but enough.

"I'm Kael. Kael Virex. Taris-born. Ex-smuggler, maybe-still-a-thief, currently very interested in whatever it is you're drinking in your eyes right now."

A pause. He sipped.

"So how about you tell me something true, Vael… Something you've never told a stranger before."

He winked.

"I'll go first if you like. But be warned—mine's pretty embarrassing."

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Oh… He did not yet know what the chaos that made her was. But he was starting to understand. It was almost a shame he turned down the offer of handing her his shirt. But that was okay, she supposed. The night had the potential of lasting several days if both of them played their cards right.

Her gaze dropped when his thigh brushed the table. Just a flicker, but deliberate. She didn't bother to hide where her eyes landed: that cursed hip, the one that hinted at things better left unspoken… or thoroughly explored. He was radiating the kind of energy that made her forget the air in her lungs. Another swallow. Another little smile to mask it. But the game was on now, and subtlety was overrated.

She took the wine glass like it was part of a ritual, her fingers curling around the stem with a kind of deliberate grace that didn't quite match the general public opinion of what chaos was. But oh… She would explain that later if need be.

"Zeltron red," she echoed, lifting the glass to eye level. "Smooth and strong, with just enough heat to leave a memory." She didn't drink right away. She let the scent curl into her senses first, the way a hunter might study the wind before moving in. "Fancy pick for a guy with messed-up hair and a knife in his boot," she added, one brow arching with playful challenge. "Are you trying to impress me, Kael? Or disarm me?"

Then, finally, she took a sip, slow, savoring it as it was the first drop of alcohol she'd had in over a decade, and let her lips curl into a smile that was just a little too sharp to be entirely safe. He gave her a truth. She should've dodged. Should've made a joke. Should've said something glib and glitter-coated.

Instead, Scherezade tilted her head and let just a hint of warmth soften her voice. She leaned in slightly, just enough for the scent of leather and something sweet-but-dangerous to brush into his space. Her green eyes sparkled, not with menace, but with mischief. The best kind.

"I hog the covers," her voice just above a whisper, hushed like a confession meant only for midnight lovers, "And I talk in my sleep, usually threats, but sometimes recipes for meat-preserving. Once a love poem to a roasted nuna."

She took another sip and smirked before sitting in one of the chairs with a fluid motion.

"Will you sit with me, or did I ruin the fantasy?"

Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael exhaled a short laugh—caught between delight and something dangerously close to fascination—as she leaned in, scenting the wine, toying with him like a cat might a slow, pretty bird.

"Are you trying to impress me, Kael? Or disarm me?"

He grinned. "Why not both?" he replied, tilting his glass in her direction again. "Though I'm not sure which one's harder with you."


Then came her truth—delivered in that low, confessional whisper that twisted around his ribs and pulled something wicked from his chest. "I hog the covers."
"Threats and meat recipes."
"A love poem to roasted nuna."


Kael blinked, then broke into a real laugh—loud, unguarded, head tilting back just slightly.


"Well, kriff," he said through a grin. "That's going to haunt me in the best possible way."


He slid into the seat across from her with a rakish sort of elegance, legs stretched just far enough to casually invade her space beneath the table—but not so far as to be presumptuous. He set his glass down, picked up the deck, and began to shuffle. His fingers moved with practiced ease—somewhere between a gambler and a magician.


"Alright, sleep-talker. Cards, then stories."


He dealt two hands. Clean. Precise.


"I used to boost speeders off upper-tier platforms on Corulag," he began, casually. "Quick in, clean exit, no blood. Mostly."
"Then I ran protection gigs for a Mirialan slicer who taught me how to rewrite Imperial IDs. She disappeared after a job on Zeltros. Or faked her death. Jury's still out."
He sipped his wine, eyes lingering on hers like a held note.


"These days, I'm… transitional." He offered a small, self-deprecating smile. "My cousin—Sommer Dai—she owns this place. You might've heard the name, depending on how long you've been ghosting around the galaxy. She's gone right now, off chasing something."


He flipped a card onto the table, then leaned back in his chair, watching her with that same persistent curiosity that hadn't dulled since the moment she walked in.


"So I'm holding the line while she's gone. Wearing the temporary crown. Making sure the lights stay on, the drinks stay strong, and the wrong people don't take a shot while her throne's warm."


His fingers tapped the card absently.


"But when she's back?" He shrugged. "I want my own place. Not just a bar. A real club. Music, gambling, a safe place for the kind of people who don't fit anywhere else."


Then he smirked, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Your turn. Another truth—unless you'd rather make me earn it."


He slid another card her way.


"Sabacc or secrets, pick your poison."

Tag: Scherezade deWinter

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

With every line that came from between his lips, Scherezade found it harder and harder to ignore the rising warmth within her. When she heard him laugh in such a genuine way, it only made it worse. She hoped the blush wasn't showing on her cheeks. Though far from being a chess player or even a great woman of banter with new people, this was deeper into the game than she had ever gotten before. The men beyond the Galaxy's edge… Were simply not her for, and there was no reason to think about that when she had this gorgeous specimen, willing, and with her for the moment.

Her gaze continued to follow his every move, not even looking at the cards he'd dealt her.

He spoke of his plans, his dreams… As though snapped from a dream, Scherezade perked up to look at him. He was a real person. Not a combatant. Not someone involved in the grand games of the galactic political powers. Just… Just a person. Who wanted to have a bar.

And in that moment, he'd slipped from being a flirt and potential companion for a night, to someone who had sparked a genuine interest within the Sith's beating chest.

"You're offering me a VIP seat in your dreams," she grinned, "And your bouncers would absolutely love me. I bite back."

Now she collected her cards, carelessly tossing one of them away before calling the deck to her. But she didn't use her hands. Instead, the Force flew, every so gently between them, controlling the motion of the cards as she dealt the next ones.

In truth, a piece of her wished she could find something wrong with the man in front of her. Something that would convince her it was time to drop the act and go home. This was not normal. She was a Sith Warrior about to get a future bar owner entangled with her if neither of them stopped it.

But she didn't want to stop it.

"When I was… Younger," she said quietly, "I was trapped somewhere for years. It was dark. I couldn't see anything, but I was aware of every moment. After I got out, for a while, I collected rocks. From every planet I'd visited. Because rocks were solid, and they were real."

She paused, fingers hovering just above the cards, her eyes glinting with memory and something softer. "Some were smooth. Some jagged," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "I used to run my fingers over them and tell myself, 'This is real. This happened.'"

Then, her eyes flicked up to meet his again. The weight of her past melting into the mischief that had begun to dance at the corners of her mouth.

"I still carry a few with me," she added. "Want me to throw one at you and see if you're real?"

The Force-dealt card landed with a flick and a grin. "Or would that ruin your pretty face? Might be a shame. I like looking at it."

Her foot brushed his under the table. Not enough to startle, just enough to spark.

"And I will win this game," she said, her tone lilting with playful challenge now, "even if I have to cheat just a little. Sith privilege."

She leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand, eyes bright with amusement. "But tell me something first. If I did win…," her voice purred for him, "What exactly would I be winning?"

Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael watched the cards move beneath her fingers—not her fingers, the Force. It flowed through her like breath, smooth and subtle, like it belonged to her as much as her skin did. He didn't flinch when the deck flew, didn't even blink. That spark in his eye only grew brighter.


He let her speak, every word of her past like a thread weaving itself into something far more intimate than the leather, the flirting, or the wine.

"Because rocks were solid, and they were real."

It hit him harder than any truth she could've whispered into the dark. The woman sitting across from him was no illusion. She wasn't armor and seduction and knives alone—she was memory, survival, substance.


And then, like fire catching fresh wind, her grin came back.

"Want me to throw one at you and see if you're real?"

Kael pressed his fingers to his heart, feigning injury.

"Oh please don't," he said dramatically. "It took me years to get this pretty face just right. All this symmetry? You know how hard it is to fake 'accidental' charm lines?"


His foot brushed against her's under the table, —he leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin in hand, mirroring her posture with slow, lazy confidence. There was heat between them now—thick, steady, hungry.

"But tell me something first. If I did win… What exactly would I be winning?"

His eyes darkened just a shade—still playful, but now with something smoldering beneath.


"You'd win a dance," he said lowly, the words slow and deliberate, like he wanted her to feel them before she even processed them. "Here. Tonight. Just you, me, and music low enough that the rest of the galaxy disappears."


A small smile tugged at his lips, curling upward with a mix of humility and mischief.
"But fair warning: I'm a terrible dancer. If you win, I might end up embarrassing myself. Arms everywhere. Too much hip. I get overly dramatic with the spins. It's chaos."


He leaned back slightly, enough to take a sip of wine, still holding her gaze over the rim.

"But something tells me you wouldn't mind watching me try."

"And for the record…" He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "You're… not what I expected. I thought Sith were all brooding and yelling and, y'know, throwing lightning every five minutes. You're… warm. Funny. Real. Kinda terrifying, sure, but I'm into that."


A pause.


"And, because I'm not a complete heathen—what's your food poison of choice, hmm? I should know what to feed you when you start feeling generous."


He gestured toward the low table nearby, where a server droid had left a covered tray.


"I've got three things from the Gilded Veil's 'don't ask too many questions' menu." He lifted the lid dramatically:

• Tarisian black pepper noodles with nerf steak slivers and firefruit glaze
• Roasted dracoshroom wraps with honeyed bantha cheese and seared greens
• And a plate of spiced meat skewers with dipping sauces that ranged from tolerably warm to mouth-murderous

Kael grinned. "Pick your favorite, and I'll feed you while you plot your victory."


He dealt another card, casually sliding it her way with a flick of his thumb.
"Loser of this hand owes the winner a secret. Or a kiss."

A pause...

"Dealer's choice." He said with a wink

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Scherezade didn't answer right away.

Her foot pressed back against his under the table, more than just a brush now, a deliberate touch, the kind that lingered just long enough to cross the line from casual to charged. Her grin curved wider, slow and lazy, as though she were deciding just how dangerous to be.

"A dance?" she echoed, tilting her head. He had spoken of being terrible at it. She wasn't. Centuries long memories had been burned into her mind, and they included the dancing. But that was not what either of them was truly here for, "I'm a wonderful gyrator."

She let the card he'd dealt hover mid-air, spinning slowly between two fingers she hadn't moved. The Force danced with her, wrapped around her like a second skin, responding to thought rather than gesture.

Her eyes dropped to the food, and she let out a low, appreciative hum. "You know how to tempt a girl. All that and secrets too?" She called one of the meat skewers to her, "Okay, fine. You're a little charming. Maybe even a tiny bit irresistible."

She leaned in, elbows on the table now, mirroring him like a game of shadows… Closer, closer still, until only breath separated them. Her voice dropped to a velvet whisper.

"But just so we're clear… I'm not warm. I'm the fire they use to melt the durasteel."

The card still floated lazily between them. She flicked it into place on the table with a thought. "Alright, Pretty Kael. Let's see what you've got." A pause. "And just so you're clear… If I win?" She leaned closer again, lips brushing the rim of his wine glass as she stole a sip without asking.

"I'm cashing in both prizes."

Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael was grinning like a man who'd just stepped into a storm and found it kissed better than it struck.

Her foot, firm and deliberate, made contact again under the table. And then her words, that voice — "I'm a wonderful gyrator."

He didn't even bother to hide the way his gaze flickered down her figure and back up, slow and appreciative. His wine glass hovered near his mouth, paused, like he needed a second to re-catch his breath — or maybe his balance.

"Gyrator," he echoed, as if tasting the word. "If that's not a threat, it's a challenge. And I should warn you — I'm easily baited."

The card she floated spun like a blade, and his eyes followed it, watching her manipulate the Force with such effortless grace it was almost unfair. Unfair and unbearably hot.

And when she plucked the skewer with the Force and stole a sip of his wine?

He leaned in even closer, so close her lips practically brushed his grin.

"I'm not warm. I'm the fire they use to melt the durasteel."

His voice dropped an octave. "Good," he murmured. "I like things that leave burn marks."

She played her card, calling his bluff with every inch of seduction stitched into her words.

"If I win? I'm cashing in both prizes."

Kael let out a quiet, near-silent whew and reached for his own card, pretending to study it—except he didn't notice it was the wrong one.

Before he could lay it down, a soft chime from his wrist comm lit up, and a quiet, burly security officer in Veil black approached the side of the private booth with a dip of the head.

"Apologies for the interruption, sir."

Kael glanced up, keeping his tone neutral. "You know I'm off duty, Rix."

Rix's eyes flicked to Scherezade with barely a beat of hesitation before responding. "Yes, sir. Just thought you'd want to know. Diamond Eights just walked in. Eight of them. Jakob Lowman's leading. They're in the east balcony."

Kael's smirk didn't break, but there was the briefest twitch in the muscle along his jaw — the kind that only someone watching closely would catch.

"Appreciated," he said coolly. "Make sure they stay out of Lounge Ten. And send a bottle to their table. Whatever they're drinking — I'll cover it."

Rix nodded and backed away without another word.

Kael turned back to the table, looking every bit the charming host again… except now he was missing a beat. He placed his card down — and blinked when it was the wrong one.

Scherezade's total smirk said it all.

He groaned dramatically, hands going to his hair. "No. Nooo… Not the seven of cups. I meant the ace. I swear it was the ace." He narrowed his eyes playfully at her. "You rigged me with that wine glass move. Unfair play. Sith cheating."

Then, with a shrug, he leaned back and took another swig of wine. "Guess I owe you a secret and a kiss."

But then, like flipping a card of his own, he smiled slower this time. Not the charming mask, but something a little softer. Realer.

"How'd you feel about a little tour of the Veil?" he asked, voice smooth again. "The public lounge is nice, but I've got access to the back rooms. Private quarters. The spa wing. Steam sauna, if you're into that. Or something more secluded."

His gaze searched hers, but not with pressure — it was an invitation. One he wouldn't push if she wasn't ready. But if she was…

He stood and held out a hand, palm up, fingers relaxed.

"What do you say, Firestarter? Want to see what's behind door number two?"

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

"Good," he murmured. "I like things that leave burn marks."

The warmth Scherezade had been feeling in her chest happily spread out to the rest of her body, coursing through her like lava and reaching the very tips of her fingers. She was a heartbeat away from forgetting the game entirely, ready to pluck the card from Pretty Kaelon's hand and do much less gentle things with the rest of him. And then they were interrupted.

Scherezade froze, the lava cooled to stone. It was a curse. That was it. She had be cursed, if something was going so well only to have it taken away at a final moment. This time, by a group called Diamond Eights. Whoever they were, her molten desire now flared into the will to remove them. Permanently.

"Guess I owe you a secret and a kiss."

Rain check on the killing. All it took was a few sweet words and the heat threatened to spike again. The place where his leg had brushed hers just moments ago suddenly felt cold. And aching.

A tour. Back rooms. Spa. Secluded.

He stood and held out a hand, palm up, fingers loose. "What do you say, Firestarter? Want to see what's behind door number two?"

A more primal part of her wanted to say this room was secluded enough. But the rest of her knew better. He wasn't stopping anything. He was offering her more time to stoke the fire.

Her gaze lingered on his hand for half a beat, then she laid hers in his, skin to skin, a brush of heat, and almost shivered. Her fingers brushed against his palm, warm, firm, real, and the contact alone was enough to send a ripple of sensation up her arm. A thousand hungry sparks lit behind her eyes. The grin she gave him now was nothing lazy or coy. It was pure hunger dressed in silk.

She rose.

Slowly.

She was ready. There was no need for the game anymore, even though he still had his shirt on. The game had already been won. Walking away from that table with his hand in hers wasn't surrender.

It was promise.

Scherezade stepped close as she came to her feet, too close, until her front nearly grazed his chest. She leaned in, her lips ghosting just beside his ear. "I was ready to throw the whole game just to climb into your lap," she whispered, her breath warm against his skin, "But this? This is better."

Then she pulled back, eyes gleaming like twin blades catching firelight, and walked with him, just barely resisting the urge to press into his side with every step. Not because she was uncertain.

But because she wanted.

And she liked the wanting.

Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael's fingers closed around hers—steady, sure—and that single connection sizzled.


She rose like an awakening, her body unfolding in slow motion. The game may have ended at the sabacc table, but here, now, it was just beginning again on a different field entirely.


When she leaned in—that close, her words pressed like velvet and flame to his ear—Kael's jaw tightened for the briefest second, a reaction he couldn't hide.

"I was ready to throw the whole game just to climb into your lap… But this? This is better."

It took everything in him not to kiss her right then.
Instead, he turned that energy inward, let it smolder, and let it show only in the slow, deliberate curve of his mouth.


"Then let's keep playing," he murmured, his voice rougher now, deeper.


He led her through the back corridor of the Gilded Veil, one hand never fully leaving hers. The noise of the main lounge faded behind them—the low beats, the laughter, the bar chatter—all dulling into the plush silence of exclusivity.


They passed velvet-draped doorways and warm mood-lighting, the kind that danced over bronze trims and gold-flecked floors. One room held private booths with translucent walls; another was a meditation room scented with exotic oils. And finally, down a slightly hidden corridor—
the sauna wing.


Steam curled from a sleek black doorway, soft blue glow lighting the word Sanctum in delicate script. Kael paused there, letting the warm vapor kiss their skin.


"I don't live here," he said, glancing toward her with that same smile, now dipped in something heavier. "Too much noise, too many eyes. My place is a few blocks over—loft above a spice importer I don't entirely trust. But I keep my corner quiet. Peaceful. Private."


His voice lowered.


"You're welcome there… if the night needs stretching."


And then, before she could speak, he leaned toward her.


His breath traced her jaw—slow, like the pull of gravity—and he kissed her cheek. Just there. Just barely. A whisper of a kiss, but one that lingered with every unsaid thing inside it.


When he pulled back, his eyes held fire. Desire, yes—but something else, too. Curiosity. That real interest she had sparked in him earlier, now wrapped in intimacy.


"You ever think about family?" he asked softly, tilting his head. "Not the people you trust with a job or a blade, I mean… family."


He reached for a panel to open a smaller lounge space off the sauna room—dim light, velvet cushions, no eyes but theirs.


"My dad was a mechanic on Taris. Drank too much, but he loved speeders like they were children. My mom? Worked the docks. Kept people in line with one look. She passed when I was seventeen."


A pause. Not heavy, but not glossed over either.


"I don't talk about them much. But I'm not ashamed of where I came from. They weren't perfect, but they taught me to survive—and never sit in silence when you've got something worth saying."


He looked at her again, more openly now.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

When he leaned in, Scherezade was ready. She closed her eyes, her lips parted slightly and she breathed his scent in deeply, ready for their mouths to finally make contact. But instead…

The warmth of his breath still lingered on her cheek, as though it had sunk beneath the skin and rewired her nerves. She should've said something flirty. Teasing. Light. But Kael's question cut through her like a vibroblade wrapped in silk.

You ever think about family?

Her lips parted, then closed again. No glib answer came. No easy escape hatch.

Her mind reached for words and structures as she followed him into the lounge, letting him lead her to those velvet cushions. For all their softness, they could not soften any of the memories. He had no reason to ever think to be ashamed of his parents. He had known his parents. Scherezade… Both knew hers and did not.

The look she gave him wasn't coy. It was bold. Bare. And burning.

"I envy you," she admitted at last, "The last time I even saw my parents was when I still a baby. What I have of them…"

She fumbled for words. Their walk had been slow, their touching sensuous. But it had shifted, shifted into a topic she hadn't spoken about in so long, that she had taught herself her very damned best not to dwell on, because it had only brought her misery and despair.

"…What I have of them," she tried again, "are impressions. Ghosts. Second-hand memories that aren't even really mine. Not really. Not in the way that matters."

She let herself sink into the cushions, but not away from him. Her knees angled toward his, her fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and touch his face, his hands, anything to ground her. Her gaze flicked to his lips, then to his eyes, and stayed there.

"I sort of grew up trying to fill in the blanks. Pretending they left me something more than just my blood." A soft laugh escaped, but it was small and sad and full of teeth. "You'd be amazed how loud silence can be when it's passed down like a legacy."

And then, her hand did reach out. Slow. Purposeful. She placed it over his heart, palm flat, feeling the beat beneath. A tether.

"But right now," she whispered, "I don't want to talk about them. I don't want to think about the things I never had."

Her thumb grazed his skin, featherlight.

"I want to think about you. About now. About how I haven't stopped wanting you since the second I smelled that neroli and smoke."

A pause. Her voice lowered like a secret:

"Tell me you want me too, Kael."

Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael had never believed in fate.

Not really. Not in that stars-aligning, destiny-spoken kind of way.

But as Scherezade spoke—truly spoke, with no veil, no smoke, no clever edge—
something inside him burned.

Her voice carved through the silence of the velvet-wrapped room.
Not with fire. With truth.
And Kael felt it like gravity, felt it in the same part of him that had buzzed ever since that first damned encrypted message lit up his screen.

"You'd be amazed how loud silence can be when it's passed down like a legacy."

He didn't flinch. He didn't try to fix it. He just watched her, every line of her face, every flicker behind those gleaming green eyes. She was a force of nature, yes—but not just of power. Of pain. Of longing. Of endurance.

And when her hand found his chest—flat, grounding, real—he felt the rhythm of his own heart become unsteady.

"I want to think about you. About now. About how I haven't stopped wanting you since the second I smelled that neroli and smoke."
"Tell me you want me too, Kael."

He didn't answer right away. Because words weren't enough.

Kael raised one hand—slow, reverent—and cradled her jaw in his palm. His thumb brushed just beneath her cheekbone, a stroke so gentle it made his pulse thunder in his ears.

He studied her face with a kind of reverence usually reserved for old star maps or fading dreams.
Like she was a secret he'd never expected to find.
Like every scar in her story just made her shine brighter.

And then—

He kissed her.

Not like a man chasing pleasure.
But like a man who had finally found the signal that had been echoing inside him for longer than he could name.

The kiss was deep, full of tension released, of heat gathered in the spaces between their words. His other hand moved to her lower back, pulling her just slightly closer—not to claim, but to connect. Fully. Unapologetically.

And in that moment, Kael Virex—smuggler, runner, gambler, interim club host—stopped pretending.

He kissed her like he had known her in another life.
Like her name was written behind every shooting star he'd ever watched disappear.
Like something bigger than fate had dragged them both through hell just to land here.

Now.

When he pulled back, just an inch, his forehead rested against hers, breath uneven. His hand still cradled her jaw, thumb brushing across her skin like he wasn't ready to let go of the feeling.

"I want you," he said, voice hoarse, "in ways I don't have language for."

Then, softer still—

"I think… I've been waiting for you. Even when I didn't know it."

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

He kissed her.

Scherezade's breath hitched, the world narrowing to the heat of his palm, the pulse beneath her hand, and the faint tremble in her own fingertips.

Her green eyes lifted slowly to his, shining with a mix of wonder and defiance. A silent challenge and a surrender all at once. Without breaking the connection, she pushed herself upright, every movement deliberate, every inch a message: I am here. I am present. I am willing.

Her free hand slid along his arm, warm and steady, tracing a line as if memorizing the feel of him, anchoring herself to this moment, to this rare and fragile truth.

"Words… aren't enough," she breathed.

Her lips parted just slightly, inviting, not a question, but a promise.

And to keep the promise, she closed the distance between their mouths again closer, until the space between them was nothing but whispered heat and shared breaths.

Her fingers curled around his wrist, pulling him gently, but with all the intent of a storm gathering force.

"So show me." Not a command. Not a plea. Just asking, almost begging, not to hold back.

She was no longer the Sith that night. No longer the terrorist. The murderer. The blood hound. The unwanted one. She was none of that. All she was now, was just Scherezade.

Her fingers tightened around his wrist for a heartbeat, then she slid her hand up, trailing it slowly along the side of his neck, brushing just beneath his ear. The faintest shiver escaped her lips, a breathless invitation, daring him to either lead or follow where words had only just begun.

Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael didn't blink.

Not when she rose with that deliberate grace—I am here, I am present, I am willing—
not when her fingers curled around his wrist like a tether to the real,
and not when her breath kissed the space between them like a spark begging for flame.

"So show me."

Those three words seared through him like the ignition of a starfighter at lift-off.

No fear. No barriers. Just her. Just Scherezade.

Kael inhaled deeply, the weight of her honesty and want anchoring him in this charged, delicate sliver of time. He didn't hesitate. With a flick of his wrist, the control panel by the lounge door dimmed the ambient light into something warm and golden, shadows rising like drapes. The walls softened into darkness, cut only by the neon pulse of the Veil's distant strobes leaking through the privacy screen.

Then—

Snap.
Snap.

A soft mechanical chime answered as a sleek silver service droid rolled quietly into the room. The tray it carried held two fresh glasses—something rich and amber, aged in barrels older than most Outer Rim cities.

The droid lowered the tray and vanished just as silently.

Kael turned back to her, the drink in one hand, the future in the other. The glass caught the neon light, flickering like a promise forged in flame and mischief.

He raised it slightly.

"To now," he murmured, his smirk soft but not unserious. "To not holding back. To… you, Scherezade. However long the stars let you burn in my sky."

Then he leaned in, just enough to clink the rim of the glass against hers before taking a slow sip. He didn't break eye contact. Not for a second. His free hand found the small of her back again, drawing her in—not forceful, just certain.

The music from the lounge pulsed low through the walls. Neon kissed their skin with shifting shades of violet and red. There was no world outside that room anymore. No war. No past. Just two people orbiting a singular moment.

He set his drink aside. And then, voice quiet, heavy with intent—

"I'm all in. Lead me… or follow me."

And this time, when he kissed her,
it wasn't a question.
It was the answer.

(Fade to black)

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Scherezade rarely slept if anyone else was present. But that night, she had slept better than she had in years. No nightmares tormented her, no darkness threatened her, Their bodies had remained entwined as they slept, and both her body and soul inhaled the intimacy and warmth of it. Those hours of sleep had been pure and entire bliss.

When she finally stirred, it was the warmth that woke her, pulling her from the lovely fog of a dreamy existence into a quieter kind, one that invited staying just a little longer. Skin against skin. Breath shared in the small space between them.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, lashes brushing against his chest as she tilted her head just enough to listen. Kaelon's heartbeat. Steady. Present.

She took a long, quiet inhale, drawing in the mingled scent of them, familiar now, and already missed.

The Veil's hum was distant, muffled, the kind of quiet that only came when the rest of the galaxy decided to mind its own business.

Scherezade didn't move.

Not yet.

Her fingers, still loosely curled against him, twitched once. Part of her, old habits and older wounds, wanted to retreat, to put space between now and what it might mean. But the bigger part, the real part, stayed.

Because Kael was still there. Still breathing with her. Still real.

She smiled. Softly. Secretly. And let herself belong to the moment a little longer.


Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael stirred slowly.

The kind of slow that didn't come from exhaustion, but from peace—a foreign concept to someone like him, who'd spent his whole life running toward something, or away from everything else.

His eyes squinted open against the gentle slant of ambient light overhead, filtering in from the Veil's private skylight vents. The ceiling above was smooth durasteel, curved like the inside of a freighter hull—but this morning, it looked like the dome of his own little pocket of the galaxy.

His arm was warm. Anchored. Wrapped around the shape of her.

Scherezade.

She was still there. Curled against him, hair spilling across his chest in tangled, dark waves that carried the scent of last night's fire—and something even older than that. Something true. His fingers moved without thought, stroking slowly through her hair, reverent and careful, like he wasn't just touching her, but the silence that surrounded her.

He didn't speak at first. He didn't want to break whatever rare magic this was.

His thumb brushed the curve of her shoulder—scars beneath his touch, some physical, some not—and he didn't recoil. Didn't ask questions. Didn't judge.

He just was.

And for once, he didn't feel the itch to get up and dress, or check a feed, or listen for trouble at the door.

This—her, here—felt like his own piece of galactic heaven.

After a long moment, he finally glanced down at her, his voice soft, a sleep-wrapped rasp.

"Mornin'…"
A grin followed, lazy and crooked. "I'd say you look even better in daylight, but I don't want to risk ruining the moment."

He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing her cheek.

"Still real," he whispered. "Still here."

Then his gaze drifted out toward the skylight, just for a breath, before settling back on her.

"You wanna get out of here? Just for the day. Somewhere that doesn't have walls or schedules or bouncers knocking on the door every time someone important walks in."

A pause. His grin returned, this time carrying a shade more hope.

"I know a place not too far off—quiet, sky full of birds, food grilled on open fire. Bit of a local secret. I think you'd like it."

He nudged his nose gently against her temple in a small, affectionate gesture.

"No games. No masks. Just us."

Then, eyes still half-lidded, half-daring—

"You in, Firestarter?"

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Her body purred in joy at when he stroked her hair. Mornin'… She didn't want to move. She didn't really want it to be day yet, because if daytime had officially arrived, it meant that this, that them, would soon be over. Still real. Still here. Beautiful words. Dangerous words.

Her brain tried to shut them out, tried to wall itself up again. Because these were not the kinds of things that happened to her. Not the physical part. But the physical part was easy. Had always been. But the invitation to leave here together? To not split at the threshold, not return to separate shadows, but actually go somewhere…?

Her body stiffened as her thoughts raced. "You in, Firestarter?"

She took another dep inhale of him, of them, and forced her thoughts to slow.

"Yes," she answered, her voice still thick with morning fog. She meant it, even if every survival instinct screamed otherwise. Her brain could be stupid like that. She'd learned to live with it.

It almost hurt to break the embrace. To untangle from him, letting the cool air bite across scarred skin.

And then, reality struck.

"I think we need to stop at my ship first though," she admitted, "I don't think my dress is appropriate for something like that."

Still. Movement had begun. She wiggled out of the bed, not bothering with covering herself. What for? He had seen more than skin deep a mere few hours ago. The dress and the boots were simple enough to find, but the knives… less so. Apparently she'd scattered them all over the place in the process of being undressed. She'd actually let go of them. Even the hidden ones.

She'd actually let go of them. Even the hidden ones. How the hell had she managed that?

Then an idea sparked.

"Or maybe," she grinned, tugging at fabric before finding her fourth blade, "I can just take your shirt."


Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael's grin stretched slow and wicked when she said "I can just take your shirt."


He sat up, muscles flexing beneath bronzed skin kissed in the soft hues of morning light—and then, without warning, he reached for the shirt in question, twirled it around in a slow circle over his head like some roguish dancer on leave, and tossed it at her with a lazy, devil-may-care snap of the wrist.


"Stealing my shirt already?" he teased, eyes gleaming. "I should be worried. That's how legends start. First, it's the shirt—next thing I know, you're flying off with my ship and my soul."


He let himself drink in the sight of her—messy hair, scars bared without shame, that wicked glint in her eye—and for a flicker of a moment, something inside his chest ached. The good kind. The kind that meant something real had taken root.


"I almost thought I was dreaming," he said, his voice quieter now, more grounded. "When I woke up with you next to me. It was too damn perfect."


Then he moved—quick, fluid, all heat and smirk. In two easy steps, he was behind her, arms sliding around her waist as he nestled against her bare back, pulling her into the arc of him like they were puzzle pieces that had never quite belonged anywhere else.


He pressed a kiss just beneath her ear, lips brushing over her neck like a vow written in breath.


"But this… you… This is real."
His voice dipped low. "And it's just the beginning, Scher. Can I say Scher?" He grins


One hand slid along her stomach, fingers splayed, not possessive—anchoring.


"We'll hit your ship first. But after that? The rest of today is ours. And I plan on making every second count."


He kissed her again—neck, shoulder, just above one of her scars—before pulling back slightly, letting his hands linger only just long enough to say I'm still here.


"Come on," he whispered against her skin, "before I change my mind and drag you back into bed."

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

For just one heartbeat, Scherezade froze.

Not because he touched her. Not because of the words. But because of how easy it was to believe them.

Her whole life had been shaped by edges. Sharpened by loneliness. Even in moments of closeness, there had always been a space, small as it may have been, even if at the time she had denied it, that she didn't let anyone cross. Not really. Not fully.

But he had. Somehow. Silently. Like it had always been meant.

And it should have scared her. Maybe it did. Maybe it would, later. But in that moment, with Kael's warmth pressed against her back, his voice low against her skin, that fear didn't win.

She let her body relax into his. Let her hands cover his where they rested on her stomach. Let herself smile at the sheer absurdity of feeling safe.

"I don't like Scher," she murmured, tilting her head slightly so his lips had more skin to brush against. "But keep trying, we'll figure a nickname out. Not Firestarter either."

Her fingers found his and laced them together, grounding herself in the shape of him. She leaned back into him, just enough to feel the shape of his breath shift—then straightened, untangling herself with a gentle slowness, as if separating was a sacrament.

"Alright," she said, spinning to face him, grin returning full-force. "Let's hit my ship."

A pause. Her eyes held his.

"And then you better be ready, Kael. Because I am not wasting a second either."

It wasn't long after that before they reached her ship. Against her screaming instincts, she let him aboard. It was a small ship called the Giggledust, and like almost everything about Scherezade, it came with several stories of its own. But Kaelon, for a very strange change of pace, was not sensitive to the Force, so some of those stories had no power against him. For all intents and purposes, the ship seemed normal.

Except for the mess. Pieces of weaponry, armor, and a few mcthingies piled on every available surface, along with schematics in various languages, ranging from Basic to some that had never been heard about within the galaxy proper.

The main area held six doors leading to rooms. Scherezade kept the one to her private quarters open as she ducked inside to change—swapping the dress for a tighter-than-usual pair of leather pants and a top that emphasized the curves of her upper body.

It was so stupid. She could've worn a potato sack and Kael would probably not object. Especially when they got to the part where she took off.

Still. She ran her fingers through her hair, hoping to somewhat tame it. It didn't.

And when she bounced out of her room with a big and stupid smile on her face, she was ready. An unhealthy amount of blades had been stashed between skin and clothes as well. A girl never left her house without them.

"You know what's strange?" she asked as her gaze landed on him again, not really wanting to look elsewhere, "I've been in wars that tore planets in half. I've stared into the Force and seen things that would make most people lose their minds. I've led an army of flightless birds to kill witches. And you…"

She paused, throwing a jacket on that could also serve as a form of armor if the occasion required it.

And then she cursed herself. She had said too much. Her next words had almost been you scare me a lot more than those things, but it felt like it was one piece out of a puzzle that would hint at the entirely wrong image. As would not running away is scarier than jumping into a Sarlacc.

But she had to say something after that… Didn't she? Had to give him a different piece, one that more correctly reflected where she thought she was with him.

Eventually, and hoping her pause hadn't lasted long enough to make things awkward, she wrapped her arms around him and tasted his lips once more.

"You're none of those things," she whispered, surprised to hear something resembling happiness in her voice, "in all the best ways."

Kaelon Virex