Private Actually, It's Not A Big Deal

[Niysha]

Brain't.

Everything was a pleasant, miserable, very complicated blur for a very long moment. Fortunately, most of that cleared up when Niysha was gently guided to a sip of water... which turned into a gulp, and very quickly mutated into just taking the glass from Serina and downing the whole thing. With a satisfied sigh and a throat full of cool, revitalizing h y d r a t i o n, the Miraluka found the debris of her mind and started piecing it back together.

By the time she was properly aware of her surroundings again, Niysha was snuggled up against Serina's side, head on her shoulder, with her arms gently around her waist. That was a pretty good position to serendipitously find herself in. When her sight came back into focus, literally the first thing she saw was the powerful, warm, currently very protective aura of the woman she'd spent the night with.

"If you'd like," Niysha began, her voice only a little crackly, "I can take it off. There's not much to see."

A little cough to clear her throat later, the Miraluka was sitting up only a little taller, still hip-to-hip with Serina. There was a conversation they needed to have, but she'd need to consider her approach carefully. After a long moment of consideration, Niysha settled on a natural segue, rather than a full capital-C conversation.

"So, you like wine, big capes, and a couple of my whimpers," she commented gently, bringing her fingers up to fix her tangled mess of hair. She'd obviously need another shower, and this time she didn't really have any more clothes. It'd be back to the same set again... which Serina probably wouldn't object to. She seemed to like them. "What else do you enjoy? I'm trying to make a list of things to do with you that you'll just... really get a kick out of."

Showing her things that Niysha enjoyed would be a much trickier proposition. Serina was a bit of a rage-baby on occasion, and the last thing Niysha needed was her hurling Dr. Chromslor across the ship because a nurse cap on an orange tree was so whimsical that it set her off. It was borderline impossible not to treat her like a live grenade, at times.

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Deep, into the waiting dark."

Tag - Niysha



Serina Calis was still glowing.

Not in the literal, "light-side-redeemed-angel" way, of course. No, hers was the afterglow of a very different sacrament. Her aura flickered with contentment, coiling in soft plumes like slow-burning incense—warm and languid, all stormclouds with nowhere to go. Her hair was a tousled battlemap of victory, and her skin bore the subtle edge of fingerprints, as though some deity had handled her and left little claims of possession.

So when Niysha stirred beside her, nestled in the curve of her arm like some morally flexible miracle, Serina didn't even pretend to be surprised. Her hand reflexively curled across Niysha's side in a protective arc, and her chin tilted slightly to rest atop that wild mop of hair with something dangerously close to tenderness.

And then—

"If you'd like, I can take it off. There's not much to see."

Serina made a noise.

Not a word, not a breath, not even a laugh. Just a low, dangerously reflective hum that trailed out of her throat like a blade being slowly unsheathed.

She turned, just slightly, enough to speak close to Niysha's ear.

"…If you think I haven't fantasized about that exact moment—slowly, carefully peeling away the last thing you hide from me—then I'm afraid I've given you a terrible impression of how obsessive I can be."

She smiled, soft and sinful.

"Still. A moment like that deserves to be savored. Not shared with the post-ordeal dehydration whimpers. I'd like to be upright. Possibly robed. Ideally seated on a throne."

She turned her head back with a barely-contained grin, fully aware that she was doing a terrible job of pretending she wasn't just picturing it right now.

Niysha's voice again—clearing, testing its strength—and Serina listened with the bemused satisfaction of a woman who'd reduced a threat to a treat.

"So, you like wine, big capes, and a couple of my whimpers..."

Serina let out a soft laugh—just a single puff of breath through her nose, but it was genuine, and for once, not laced with menace or performance.

"Well," she replied smoothly, "wine is ritual. Capes are power. And your whimpers…"

She tilted her head, mock-considering it, as her fingers began idly to trace little arcs on Niysha's bare thigh.

"…Your whimpers are a symphony of surrender. A reminder that some things are too perfect to be forged. They must be unearthed."

She looked down at her, that crooked little smile still dancing at the edge of her lips.

"But as for what I enjoy…"

There was a pause. Longer than it should have been. A flicker of her usual tension returned—not because she didn't know the answer, but because admitting it was so very mortal.

"…I like control, Niysha," she said at last, quietly but without hesitation. "Not just having it. Maintaining it. The practice of it. The slow alchemy of will made manifest."

Her eyes flicked back to the glass sitting empty on the nearby table, then past it, into the stars streaking by beyond the viewport.

"I like things with design. Purpose. Control is structure. Control is order. I find pleasure in dominance, yes, but more than that, I find meaning in the web it spins. Not chaos, not domination for sport—but precision. To know something so completely I can reshape it. Guide it."

She looked down again, this time more gently.

"That's what I love most about you."

She brushed a knuckle under Niysha's jaw. "You're not trying to become anything for me. But you respond. You offer yourself to the process. You allow me to refine."

Her smile became just a little shy.

"…And I suppose I do enjoy those moments where you surprise me. That little line about being my weakness? You really shouldn't say things like that to someone who's already trying not to adore you."

Then—another beat, softer still:

"I also like books. Specifically old ones that haven't been translated into modern Basic. I like the quiet hum of servers when the rest of the facility's gone dark. I like ancient tools still sharp enough to cut, and women who stare too long at danger and decide it's just another type of puzzle."

And then—playful again:

"I also really like droids."

She ran her hand gently along Niysha's outer thigh.

"I like that you carry half your past in a lockbox and the other half in an aloof little smile."

Finally, she gave a little sigh—genuine, exhausted, warm.

"…And I like that when I start talking like this, you don't roll your eyes. You just watch me. Like I'm worth deciphering."

A pause.

Then, more lightly:

"Also: I like silk sheets, secure databanks, vintage astromech parts, and fried noodles with chili oil. And I would kill for decent chili oil."

Serina nuzzled Niysha's temple, whispering just loud enough to tease:

"Your turn, my little ruin. Tell me what you enjoy. And do be warned—if your list doesn't include 'being collared,' 'being kissed,' or me, I will be very disappointed."