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Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos
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Private Decided to Reboot - Please delete
- Thread starter Kitty Kat
- Start date
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- black marsh
Character
Dean's gray eyes flicked to Katarine as the hotel staff's enthusiastic greeting washed over them. The corners of his mouth quirked upward ever so slightly, and for just a heartbeat, his calm, collected demeanor gave way to something sharper, something almost mischievous.
When the pink-skinned receptionist mentioned their "honeymoon," Dean didn't miss a beat. His arm slid smoothly around Katarine's waist, drawing her closer in one fluid motion. He turned his head just enough to brush a warm kiss against her cheek, his lips curving into a faint, alluring smile.
"Thank you," he said, his voice low and rich, with just the right amount of warmth to sell the act. "We've been looking forward to this for a long time." His words were smooth, deliberate, and perfectly convincing, as if this whole setup had been his idea all along.
Dean took the offered glass of champagne, raising it slightly as he turned his attention back to Katarine, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. "To us," he murmured, his tone soft but with a subtle edge that made the simple toast feel more intimate than it had any right to be.
As the champagne flutes clinked softly together, Dean's smirk deepened just a fraction. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a private murmur just for her. "Happy wife, happy life, right?"
With that, he turned his attention back to the staff, his arm still comfortably around Katarine as they were ushered toward their suite. Dean's calm confidence remained unshaken, but the subtle flicker of amusement in his expression suggested he was enjoying this far more than he'd admit.
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Character
Dean barely blinked as Katarine's hand ventured lower and grabbed his butt, though the faintest flicker of amusement danced in his stormy gray eyes. His smirk deepened just enough to let her know he'd noticed, and as the lift doors slid open, he cast her a sideways glance that lingered for a fraction longer than necessary. His expression was perfectly stoic, save for the teasing glint that betrayed him.
When they entered the suite, Dean's gaze swept over the space, cool and calculating despite the rose petals and lavish decor. The plush sofa, fully stocked bar, and hot tub barely registered — it was the king-sized bed, sitting alone in the center of the bedroom, that drew his attention.
"Well, well," Dean murmured as the staff explained the room's details. His smirk curled back into place, subtle but unmistakably teasing. "One bed. Figures."
Valery.
Alone now, Dean moved to the window beside her, his hands sliding into his pockets as he followed her gaze toward the building across the way. The large man behind the desk was unmistakable — their target, as she'd pointed out.
"That's him," Dean confirmed quietly, his voice low and even. "Position's perfect. Valery did her homework."
Straightening up, he turned his attention back to the scene outside. "We'll set up the equipment tonight, get what we need. But," he added, glancing back at her with a raised brow, "I'm curious how far you plan to take this act of ours." His smirk tugged deeper.
"You were good down there."
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Character
Dean let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest as he turned back toward Katarine. His smirk lingered, playful and sharp, as he leaned casually against the edge of the window. "A line down the middle, huh?" he said, crossing his arms over his chest. The idea made sense but...
"I don't think that will be necessary."
He was great at keeping things professional. Usually.
His grin softened slightly, and he nodded toward her as she stepped away from the window. "Undercover isn't new to me," he admitted, his tone relaxed but with a tinge of pride. "I've spent plenty of time pretending to be someone else — blending in, playing the part, and getting what I need. Just not usually with a fake wife." He tilted his head, his grin widening.
"That's a first."
Dean pushed off the edge of the window and took a step closer, his demeanor cool but his curiosity genuine. "How about you? Is this just another Tuesday for you?" He gave her a teasing glance, his smirk never quite fading.
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Character
Dean lingered by the window for a moment, his stormy gray eyes scanning the skyline before drifting back toward Katarine. Her laugh had been soft, genuine, and it stuck with him more than he expected. He leaned a shoulder against the frame, his arms still crossed, but his smirk softened into something less teasing and more thoughtful.
"CorSec, huh?" he said, his voice carrying a faint note of curiosity. "Partnership like a marriage... well, I guess that makes me the husband of the year." He threw her a playful wink but didn't push further.
His gaze returned to the view outside, the target still visible but unmoving in his office. The calm before the inevitable storm, but calm didn't mean inactive. A mission like this was as much about patience as action, and they were just getting started.
"Hope you're not expecting fireworks right away," he said, turning back to her. "This could take hours, days — maybe longer." He pushed off the window frame and stepped toward the sofa, his demeanor shifting to something more practical. "You hungry?" he asked, a brow quirking as he glanced down at her. "Stakes or no stakes, we can't work on empty stomachs. Watching someone's about as exciting as watching paint dry if you're starving."
Dean's smirk returned, his tone light as he added, "And if we're stuck in here for a while, might as well make the most of it."
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Character
Dean took the menu and brochures from her with a smirk, his stormy gray eyes glinting as he flipped through them. "Room service, no contest," he said, his voice smooth. "We're here to keep things quiet, after all. Better to stay private." He tossed the menu onto the sofa beside her and glanced out the window again, confirming their target was still in place.
Turning back toward his bag, Dean knelt to unzip it and began unpacking some essentials with casual efficiency. "Might as well get comfortable if we're settling in for the long haul," he muttered, his tone light but focused. He set a comm device, a datapad, and a small compact blaster onto the desk, arranging everything within easy reach.
Then he reached into the bag for a fresh shirt, tugging it free in one smooth motion. Standing, he faced away from her, his muscular back rippling as he straightened. Without a word, he grabbed the hem of his current shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing a broad, chiseled frame dusted with faint scars — remnants of missions past that told silent stories of danger and survival.
The soft light from the room caught on his tanned skin as he paused for a moment, his shoulders shifting slightly. Dean didn't look back, but the barest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he felt the weight of her gaze.
He knew what he was doing.
"There, much better," he said after finally putting on a different shirt. Something casual but more fitting for the job, if they ended up having to move in.
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Character
Dean blinked at her slip-up, his stormy gray eyes widening for just a fraction of a second before his trademark smirk returned, sharper and more amused than ever. He straightened, stepping much closer to her, his boots thudding softly against the carpet as he closed the gap.
"Naked, huh?" he repeated, his voice low and teasing, the words rolling off his tongue like a challenge. His smirk deepened as he leaned in slightly, his presence filling the space between them.
With deliberate ease, he reached out and brushed a loose strand of her hair away from her face, his fingers warm and gentle against her cheek. "That," he murmured, his gray eyes locking onto hers, "Would make it hard to focus."
The corner of his mouth twitched into a playful grin, and he winked before stepping back, leaving her space to breathe. Turning away, Dean reached for the comm unit on the desk and punched in the number for room service.
"Alright," he called over his shoulder, his tone light and laced with humor. "Let's see what's on the menu, hm?" he asked, as he focused on her.
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Character
Dean's smirk deepened slightly as he noticed Katarine's subtle reactions, her rigid posture, the slight tremble of her hands as she poured the water. He didn't miss the way she stripped off the leather jacket, revealing the thin white tank top beneath. The hint of her collarbone glistening with spilled water caused an unexpected warmth to rise in his chest, but he was practiced at hiding such things. He stayed cool, his stormy gray eyes giving nothing away.
"Yes," he spoke into the comm, his voice smooth. "We'll take two orders of the pasta with that wine. Thanks." He ended the call with a casual tap and turned back toward her.
His gaze followed her movements as she stood by the window, her profile illuminated by the soft glow of sunlight filtering through. For a moment, Dean allowed himself to notice the finer details: the curve of her face, the way her hair framed her sharp features, the quiet strength she carried, even in moments like this. She was beautiful — there was no denying that. But they had a job to do.
Right?
He cleared his throat softly, breaking the momentary silence. "You seem a bit tense," he said, his tone light but laced with subtle teasing. "Everything okay?"
Dean crossed his arms, leaning casually against the edge of the table, his smirk returning as he watched her. "The Pasta should be here soon." The playful glint in his eye betrayed his attempt to keep things professional, but his words carried just enough warmth to let her know he was paying attention. Too much attention.
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Character
Dean's smirk deepened at her words, a playful glint flashing in his stormy gray eyes. "Sexual tension, huh?" he drawled, his voice low and teasing. Pushing off the edge of the table, he stepped toward her, his movements slow and deliberate. The soft thud of his boots against the carpet filled the charged silence between them.
"You're pretty hard to resist, you know," he added, his tone lighter but carrying an edge that made it clear he wasn't entirely joking. With each step, the space between them shrank, the air thickening with an unspoken challenge.
By the time he stopped, they were inches apart, close enough that he could see every subtle shift in her expression, the faint rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. His smirk lingered, sharp and playful, his gaze unwavering as it wandered over her shapely body, before settling on her eyes.
"But," he murmured, his voice dropping just enough to make the word stretch out, "We should probably stay professional, right?" His smirk tugged higher, his confidence as steady as ever, though there was an undeniable heat beneath it now.
"Though... we won't go after him until tonight."
Dean leaned ever so slightly closer, his stormy eyes flickering with something unreadable. The tension hung between them like a taut wire, humming with unspoken possibilities.
God, he wanted to kiss her.
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Character
Dean's grin widened into something wolfish as she brushed past him, her lips barely grazing his. His stormy gray eyes followed her as she slipped under his arm, his smirk now tinged with amusement and challenge. Oh, this is how it's going to be, huh? he thought, his chest rumbling softly with a chuckle.
In some ways, she was just like Valery Noble.
When the knock came again, he stayed where he was, leaning casually against the window, watching as she opened the door. "Mrs. Smith," the attendant greeted with a polite smile, handing over the trays of pasta and the accompanying wine. Dean couldn't help but let out a low laugh at the title, shaking his head.
As she closed the door and brought the food inside, Dean gestured toward the small, round table set by the window. "Come on, then. Let's eat." His voice was warm, playful, but there was still a flicker of heat beneath it — a challenge that hung in the air between them like a taut wire.
He sat down first, choosing a seat that placed him in the soft light filtering through the window. The posture he adopted was casual, but deliberately so — his arm rested along the back of the chair, the way his shirt stretched over his broad shoulders and defined chest making it impossible to ignore the strength beneath. He poured the wine with a smooth flick of his wrist, setting her glass in front of her with a confident smirk.
"Well," he began, his gray eyes locking onto hers as he twirled his fork through the pasta. "How's the pasta?" Dean's tone was teasing, but his gaze was intense, full of unspoken tension. He leaned slightly forward, the corner of his mouth tugging higher, as he maintained eye contact and had his first bite.
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Character
Dean's stormy gray eyes never left Katarine as she took her seat, the light catching the sharp angles of her face as she feigned innocence with her smirk. The way she wielded her confidence — a deliberate mix of playful defiance and guarded caution — made her all the more intriguing. He admired the curve of her lips as she spoke, the way her dark lashes framed those deep green eyes that seemed to dare him to push just a little further.
She's trouble, he thought, the corner of his mouth twitching into a broader smirk. Beautiful, infuriating trouble.
"Delicious, huh?" he echoed, his tone teasing as he leaned back in his chair, his arm draped casually along the backrest. He twirled his fork idly, his muscles shifting beneath his shirt as he shifted his weight. "Glad to see the honeymoon suite is living up to your expectations."
Her question drew a faint chuckle from him, low and rich, as he set his fork down and reached for his wine glass. "Who am I?" he repeated, his smirk softening slightly as he considered her for a moment. His stormy gaze met hers over the rim of his glass, the tension between them palpable.
"Just a man who gets the job done," he said finally, his tone light but with an edge of sincerity. "Spent most of my life learning how to read people, how to blend in, how to survive. Got pretty good at it." He tilted his head slightly, his smirk returning as he added, "Guess you could say I'm a man of many talents."
Dean leaned forward slightly, resting his forearm on the edge of the table, his gaze never wavering. "Your turn, Mrs. Smith. Who's Katarine Ryiah when she's not slipping away?" He raised a brow, his tone teasing but laced with genuine curiosity as he took a sip of wine, watching her reaction closely.