Private The Trust Test

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith's lips curved into a faint, knowing smirk as her words and touch pressed against him, a spark against the cool, plasteel of his chestplate.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the very armor he wore. "Keep testing me, and you might find out what happens when I stop playing by the rules."

Before she could reply, he leaned in, closing the gap. This kiss was different, slower, deeper, a deliberate exploration that coiled heat low in her belly. His gauntlets, clumsy and oversized for anything but combat, were surprisingly gentle as they mapped the curve of her back, pulling her flush against the unyielding surface of his armor. Then one slid down, the articulated metal fingers tracing the line of her hip before gripping it with a possessiveness that was both thrilling and absolute.

With a fluid shift that defied the bulk of his suit, he settled her fully onto his lap. The sudden, solid weight of him, the sheer heat of his body radiating through the plates, stole the air from her lungs. The world narrowed to the hard press of his armor against her softness and the insistent warmth of his mouth.

He broke the kiss just long enough to let his forehead rest lightly against hers. Now she could feel his skin, warm and slightly damp with sweat, a stark contrast to the cold metal surrounding them.

"I'll admit it," he confessed, his voice a raw whisper, unfiltered by any vocoder. "I've been thinking about this. About you." His thumb, the only part of him that seemed truly bare, stroked a slow, hypnotic circle against her side, dangerously low on her waist. "And now that I have you… I'm not sure I can let you go."

His gaze held hers, dark and intense, promising safety and danger all at once. "No rush. No pressure," he murmured, though the grip on his hip told a different story. "Just us… seeing how far we can push the limits."

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

The air in the room seemed to thin, sucked out by the sudden, heavy gravity of him. When he pulled her into his lap, the world didn't just shift; it narrowed until the only things left in existence were the two of them and the erratic cadence of their breathing.

The physical contrast was a shock to her system, the biting, indifferent chill of his armor plating against the backs of her thighs, and the staggering, radiated heat of the man beneath it. It was a tactile riddle she wasn't quite ready to solve. For a long moment, Ana simply existed in that space, her weight settling against him, feeling the way his strength didn't just support her, it claimed her.

Her hand rose, not with the frantic energy of a girl lost in the moment, but with the calculated, predatory grace of an expert mapping a new system. Her fingertips traced the seam where the beskar gave way to the softer seal of his flight suit, then higher still, to the bare, burning skin of his neck. She didn't just touch him, she studied the friction, the way his pulse jumped under her thumb like a trapped bird.

"You're a contradiction," she murmured. Her voice was a low, velvet rasp that seemed to vibrate in the small space between their lips. "All that cold control... wrapped around something that clearly doesn't like being contained."

She didn't pull away when she felt the tension in his frame coil tighter. If anything, she leaned into the danger of it. Her fingers curled into the edge of his collar, anchoring her palms against his chest. She could feel the mechanical thrum of the suit and, deeper still, the heavy, rhythmic thud of a heart that was anything but controlled.

"Good," she added, her gaze sharpening, locking onto his with an intensity that refused to blink. "Because I'm not interested in playing it safe. I've spent my life navigating the grey. I know exactly what happens when things get too hot to handle."

There was no bravado in her tone, only the terrifying certainty of a woman who knew her own worth and her own threshold. Her thumb traced the line of his jaw, mirroring his earlier touch but adding a proprietary edge to it. She was learning the map of him, the rough stubble against her skin, the heat rising to meet her.

"And for the record…" A faint, dangerous smile ghosted over her lips, her voice dropping to a whisper that was more felt than heard. "…I don't break that easily. You can drop the shield, Specialist. I promise I can carry the weight."

She didn't wait for an answer. She closed the distance, her lips brushing his with a teasing lightness before deepening the contact into something certain and hungry. It wasn't a question anymore; it was an intersection. Her hand at his collar tightened, knuckles brushing the heat of his throat as she pulled him a fraction closer, demanding he meet her pace.

"So if we're pushing limits…" she breathed against his mouth, her scent, clean, sharp, and entirely her, filling the space between them. "…I hope you're ready for something that pushes back just as hard."

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith didn't answer her immediately.
He watched her.
Not like a man cornered. Not like a soldier calculating threat vectors. Just… watching. Taking her in the way she studied him. The certainty in her voice. The weight of her confidence. The way she leaned into him without hesitation.

Then he laughed. Low. Quiet. Not mocking. Something warmer.
"You always talk like you're calibrating a detonator," he murmured, brushing his thumb along her jaw. "Careful. Precise. Like you already know exactly how much pressure something can take."

His other hand slid to her waist, steady, firm but not demanding.
"But you're wrong about one thing."
He leaned in, not rushing, not devouring. Just closing the distance until his forehead rested lightly against hers.
"I'm not dropping a shield because I think you can carry it."

His voice softened. The edge of the soldier faded, leaving the man.
"I'd drop it because I trust you."
That was the difference.

He met her kiss again, deeper this time, not hungry in the reckless sense but deliberate. Intent. One hand moved to cradle the back of her head, the other steady at her hip as he stood, lifting her with ease. Not claiming. Not conquering. Just bringing her with him.

Her legs instinctively steadied around him as he carried her a few steps before easing her gently back against the workshop wall. The cool surface met her spine, his warmth pressing close but never overwhelming.

He brushed a slow kiss just below her ear, then back to her lips, lingering there.
"You said you don't break easily," he murmured.
His thumb traced a quiet line along her side, grounding rather than igniting.
"Good. Because I don't want something fragile."
His eyes searched hers now, not predatory. Honest.

"I'm not here to win a game, Ana. I'm here because I…" He exhaled, a rare hesitation. "Because somewhere between corrupted data and you fixing what I couldn't, I started wanting more than just your technical expertise."

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"And I'm willing to explore that. Carefully. Properly. If you are."

He didn't move away. But he didn't push further either.
The heat was still there.
It just wasn't reckless anymore.
And somehow, that made it heavier.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

The air in the workshop was still heavy, thick with the lingering charge of everything they'd just admitted, and for a long heartbeat, Ana didn't move from the space they'd carved out against the wall. She stayed tucked against him, her breath hitching in a way that had nothing to do with the physical exertion of her work and everything to do with the steady, grounding reality of his warmth pressed so close it blurred the edges of the room. Her fingers remained at his collar, not gripping with the desperate intensity of a moment ago, but resting there with a quiet, lingering touch that traced the line of his throat and felt the vibration of his presence beneath the armor.

Her gaze held his, the usual sharp calculation of her eyes softening into something more vulnerable, though no less certain of what she was seeing.

"You're dangerous when you get honest like that," she murmured, her voice barely a notch above the low hum of the machinery around them, while a faint, genuine smile touched her lips. "Most people use the heat of a moment to hide what they're really feeling, but you…You just seem to step right through it without blinking."

As she spoke, her hand slid slowly from his collar down to his chest, her palm flattening against the cold metal of his plate as if she were trying to memorize both the weight of the armor and the man who wore it.

"I meant every word I said to you just now," she added, her voice dropping to a low, steady frequency that vibrated with a lack of hesitation. "I've never been the type to scare easily, and I certainly don't have the patience to do anything halfway."

Her thumb traced a slow, deliberate line along the edge of his chest plate before finally coming to a rest, her touch lingering just a second too long to be accidental.

"So yeah…" she continued, her gaze flicking momentarily to his lips before pulling back to his eyes with a renewed sense of intent that echoed his own. "I'm more than willing to explore exactly what this is, provided we do it carefully—and properly."

For a fleeting second, the magnetic pull between them felt like it might draw her back into him for another round of testing those variables, but the practical reality of their surroundings began to seep back into her consciousness. She exhaled a soft, almost amused breath and let her head tip back against the cold stone of the wall, a quiet laugh escaping her as the professional side of her brain finally reasserted itself.

Her hand reluctantly slid from his chest, though she didn't fully break contact, her fingers trailing down his side as she glanced toward the dark silhouette of the workshop door.

"As much as I'd love to stay right here and keep exploring those particular variables with you," she said, a subtle, teasing thread returning to her tone to mask the underlying heat, "this is still a functioning shop, and I'm fairly certain I left the front door wide open to the street."

She looked back at him, that spark of challenge still dancing in her eyes even as she began to physically put a small amount of space between them.

"The last thing my reputation needs is a customer wandering in while I'm clearly…distracted by the help," she joked, her fingers brushing lightly against his side one last time before she pulled away fully to move toward her workbench.

"Give me just a minute to shut the systems down and kill the lights properly," she added, her voice softening as she stepped out from between him and the wall, though the air felt colder the moment she moved.

She moved through the workshop with her usual efficiency, flipping switches and securing tools, but as she passed him to head toward the main entrance, her hand brushed his arm with an intentional, lingering pressure.

"Don't just stand there in the dark," she murmured with a quiet certainty that left no room for argument as she reached for the handle of the heavy front door. "Follow me out. I think it's time we took this conversation somewhere a little less…industrial."

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith stayed where he was for a second after she stepped away, letting the cold air settle back into the space she'd vacated. It felt wrong without her there. Not empty. Just… unfinished.

A faint smirk tugged at his mouth.
He reached for his helmet first, fingers curling around the familiar weight, then scooped up the cigar case from the bench. The metallic click of it snapping shut echoed softly in the dimming workshop. Ritual. Control. He slipped both under one arm before turning toward her.

When she brushed his arm on her way past, he caught her hand.
Not abruptly.
Just enough to lace his fingers through hers.
"Less industrial," he repeated quietly, amusement threading through his voice. "That's probably wise. I'm fairly certain your clients don't pay for atmospheric interference."

He followed as she secured the door, waiting until the heavy mechanism slid into place before stepping closer again. The street beyond would be quieter now, shadows stretching long across the district.

His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles.
"So," he murmured, head tilting slightly as he looked down at her, the edge of that smirk still there but softened by something warmer. "Your place or mine?"
There was no arrogance in it. No assumption.
Just a simple offering.
"I'm good either way," he added, voice low but steady. "I just need to know which direction I'm walking."

He gave her hand a small, grounding squeeze, gaze holding hers with that same quiet certainty he'd shown inside.
Not rushing.
Not retreating.
Just ready to follow wherever she decided this next step led.

Ana Rix

 

[Ana Rix]

Ana didn't hesitate.

"Mine," she said simply. Her fingers tightened just slightly in his before she turned, already leading the way.

There was no second-guessing it and no pause to weigh options. It was a decision made with the same quiet certainty she brought to everything else. She didn't drop his hand right away as they stepped out into the dim stretch of the district. The streets were quieter now, with neon reflections stretching across worn pavement and the hum of distant traffic blending into the ever-present mechanical pulse of the city. She walked like she knew every inch of it, weaving through side paths and narrower corridors that felt more like veins than streets.

"It's not far," she added over her shoulder. There was a faint hint of something softer in her tone now. "Don't expect anything impressive."

But when they arrived, that wasn't entirely true.

Her building was older, a stack of durasteel and concrete that had been patched more times than it had ever been properly repaired. The lift inside groaned its way upward, while flickering lights cast uneven shadows across them as it climbed. When the door finally slid open, her apartment was a stark contrast to the shop. It was smaller, certainly, but significantly warmer.

The lighting was low and deliberate. Instead of the harsh white of a workspace, she had chosen softer tones, with amber and muted gold spilling from curated wall fixtures. The space wasn't cluttered, but it wasn't sterile either. It felt lived in and deeply personal.

A couch sat slightly off-center, worn but well-kept, draped with a dark throw that looked more like comfort than decoration. A low table in front of it held a few scattered datapads and a small collection of mechanical components she hadn't quite put away. It was a blend of half-finished work and long-standing habit. One wall carried shelves that held more than just tools. There were pieces of technology she had fixed and kept, things that weren't necessarily valuable but were clearly meaningful. A broken nav unit restored to working order sat next to a cracked casing polished smooth. It was evidence that she didn't just repair things; she held onto them.

There was a kitchenette tucked to the side, simple but clean, and beyond that, a partially open door leading to a smaller back room. There was no grand separation of spaces, just enough to feel like a home.

And then there was the window. It stretched across nearly half the far wall, overlooking the city where layers of neon and movement bled into the night. It wasn't a perfect view, but it was hers.

Ana stepped inside first, finally letting go of his hand as she moved a few paces in. She shrugged off her jacket and set it aside with an easy familiarity.

"Told you," she said lightly. She glanced back at him, a small smile pulling at her lips. "Less industrial."

There was warmth here. It wasn't just in the lighting; it was in her. She leaned back slightly against the edge of the table, watching him take it in. Her expression was quieter now, open in a way she didn't offer often.

"Welcome to my side of the city," she added softly.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

Ironwraith stepped inside slowly, boots quieter here than they ever were in the shop. The door slid shut behind him with a soft mechanical sigh, sealing out the city's hum.

He took it in without speaking at first.
The warm lighting. The shelves. The pieces she'd kept instead of discarded. The window.
His expression shifted. Not impressed in a loud way. Just… moved.

"Any place that isn't a trench is impressive to me," he said quietly, a small, genuine smile tugging at his mouth. "But this?"
His gaze drifted across the restored nav unit, the worn couch, the scattered datapads that suggested she never really stopped working.
"This feels like you."

Not flashy. Not loud. Thoughtful. Intentional.
He set his helmet carefully on the table, not clattering it down like equipment but placing it like something that mattered. The cigar case followed beside it.
Then he glanced back at her, fingers brushing along the edge of his chest plate.

"Do you mind if I take this off?" he asked, nodding slightly to the armor. "I love wearing it. But after enough hours, it starts reminding me it's not exactly tailored for comfort."

There was no bravado in the request. Just practicality. And a subtle offering of vulnerability.
"Feels wrong to bring all that metal into a place this warm."
His eyes settled on her again, softer now, studying her the same way she'd studied him earlier.

He wasn't posturing here.
He was stepping into her space.
And waiting to see if she'd let him.

Ana Rix