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She’s supposed to cross her lekku if she’s in trouble. That’s the signal.
Most humans and other aliens don’t realize how much control Twi’leks have over the movements of their tchin and tchun. There’s a whole language of delicate motion, a dance, that the clumsier species blunder past unknowing. She taught Kanan some of it. He was a quick learner.
Hera frowns into her drink. It’s very pretty, the swirling colors reaching out from the liquid to catch reflections and reverberations from the voices that surround her. She feels very relaxed.
The signal is crossed lekku. Hera couldn’t move a lekku to save her life. She can’t even focus her eyes.
She also can’t remember the names of her contacts, but she’s glad that they’re pressing so tightly against her, one on each side. They were going to tell her something very important.
“I need,” she says, and is startled by her own slurred speech. “I need to ask.” What? Ask what?
“I need to ask about the shipment,” Hera says, and feels very proud of herself, even as some of her drink sloshes to the table.
The contact that’s holding her up on the right laughs in a way that momentarily unsettles her. The signal is crossed lekku.
No, a great deal depends on her ability to make these men like her. She’s not going to botch the job. She’s just got to pull it together.
“And we’ll tell you,” the man says expansively. Good. That’s good. “But not here. We need to go somewhere…more private. Don’t you think?”
Hera has only begun to marshal an answer to that question when her friend on the left answers, and she realizes it was never meant for her. “Definitely,” the other man says. “You’re not safe here, darling.”
Not safe. There was something she was supposed to do when she wasn’t safe. A signal. She can’t remember it. Blast it, she’s got to pull it together, or she’s liable to spook her contacts and ruin the handoff.
Safety, safety, they’re perfectly safe. A surge of warmth flows through her limbs. She knows they’re safe, she’s just got to reassure these skittish men. She can’t exactly tell them that they’ve never been safer in their lives because there’s a Jedi sitting at the other end of the bar.
“Have you ever even seen? What they can do?” Hera slurs. “I have.” Oh no, oh no, she said that out loud.
“Shh, we’re moving now.” The one on her left pulls, the one on her right pushes: Hera slides out of the booth and staggers to her feet. She’d fall over if they weren’t holding her up. Isn’t there something she was supposed to...say? Not say. Not to these men. But something...
As they make their way towards the exit Hera feels the warmth inside her intensifying, pooling at her center. She’s aware of every sensation on her skin: the soft rub of fabric against her nipples, the eddies of air across her lekku. She aches for something more.
She stumbles where she is led. The cool night air of the street outside prickles her skin and makes her moan softly. “That’s it, sweetheart. Ease into it,” her friend says.
A familiar voice, behind her: “Hey. You three look like you’re having quite a night.”
The men beside her stiffen, and one lets her drop as he turns around. “Slag off,” he says shortly. “Private party.”
Even in the shadows of the streetlights, even with her vision smeared and blurring, Hera can see that Kanan’s smile holds no mirth. “I’m crashing,” he says. And then he’s in motion, too fast for her unfocused eyes to follow, but she hears the thudding sounds and sick groans of pain that follow.
The man she’s leaning on tries to push her away, but Hera has had a sudden realization: he is not, in fact, her friend, and this intel-gathering mission has been screwed beyond all salvaging, so really she might as well just draw her blaster and shoot him.
She’s got the barrel in his ribs when she pulls the trigger. She literally cannot miss. Which is good because otherwise she probably would. The man falls, stunned, and Hera is falling too, still all tangled up with him: but then Kanan’s arm catches her around the waist.
She steadies herself, or tries to. Kanan puts a hand beneath her chin and tilts her face towards his. “Kanan,” she says happily. It is very nice to see him. There was something she had been meaning to tell him.
He shakes his head. “Doped to the gills,” he says. “How’d they manage that? I was watching the whole time: nothing went in your drink.”
The drink. Yes! When the colors in her drink started swirling, she remembered that she’s supposed to cross her lekku if she’s in trouble. “But I didn’t,” she slurs out. “I never gave you the signal.”
This time his smile is a real one. “Hera. When you’re being carried off into the streets by a pair of thugs--that’s a pretty good signal too.”
She pushes herself up on her tiptoes so she can kiss him. His body against hers, the smell of his skin…another surge of heat washes over her. “All right, all right,” Kanan says. “Let’s get to the safe house. We need to make the rendezvous with the Ghost tomorrow morning.”
She lets him guide her down the street. It’s slow going because she keeps stumbling, but he’s patient. Hera finds herself focusing intently on the strong steady grip of his hand at her side. She wishes there weren’t so many layers of clothing between her skin and his. When another misstep leaves her pressed up tightly against him, she just giggles and reaches up to twine a lock of his ponytail around her fingers.
Kanan scowls, his jaw clenching. “What’s wrong, love?” Hera asks.
“I’m not sure we beat those sleemos to a fine enough paste,” Kanan grinds out. “Half tempted to go back.”
Hera pats him reassuringly. “I don’t want to go back. I want to go to bed. With you.”
“We’re almost there anyway.” At his urging, Hera starts walking again. Well, it’s more like a controlled series of falls that somehow end up generating forward motion. But Kanan’s still scowling. “And Hera,” he says at last. “You’re high as a barge. Ask me again in the morning.”
She is genuinely shocked. “What? You’re...turning me down?”
“Yeah, believe me, it’s not easy,” Kanan says. “But I don’t take advantage of drugged women.”
“But I would want you anyway!” Hera feels something like panic. The heat inside her is building to a pulsing need. Electric licks of sensation flicker over her every time she jostles against him. She wants him--she needs him--to quench this burning. “Kanan, please.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Don’t,” he says shortly. “You’re not yourself, and I won’t betray your trust. Don’t ask me to.”
Hera bites her lip. She feels like crying in frustration but she’s not going to do that to him. She’s not. She’s not. She focuses so hard on retaining her last shred of self-control that she barely manages to catch herself when another stumble sends her reeling into the side of a building.
Wait. That wasn’t her, stumbling. It was Kanan.
“Oh no,” he whispers. “Blast it, no.”
“Kanan?” Hera says, alarmed.
They’re standing under a streetlight, but when Kanan looks up his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. “The drug wasn’t in your drink, Hera. It was some kind of contact poison. Probably on the glass.”
Yes. She remembers now, when one of her “friends” had shifted all the drinks aside to put a datapad on the table. It was shortly afterwards that she started seeing trails. “And I passed it to you,” Hera says. “When I kissed you.”
She scrubs at her lips with her gloved hand, then carefully strips off the glove and tucks it in a pocket.
“I probably got a lesser dose,” Kanan says grimly.
“Love, we’ll get through this,” Hera says. She reaches out her hand, and Kanan takes it. “Where’s the safe house?”
“Two more doors.” Leaning on each other, swaying and weaving, they make it the remaining distance. Kanan keys the door open.
It’s a very small domicile, little more than a sleeping area and an adjacent kitchen. The only furniture is a low platform bed, dressed in cheaply fabbed white linens. Hera sinks down on it gratefully.
Kanan stays back, leaning against the doorframe. He tilts his head back against the wall and lets out a long, slow breath. Hera watches him, runs her eyes over the lines of his exposed throat and down his chest and body. She makes a decision.
And she is very sure that it is her own decision, even as she begins to undress because she can no longer endure the stimulation of cloth against her sensitive places. Her nipples are hard and aching. Her thighs are wet. Her lekku quiver whenever she casts a glance at Kanan. He’s feeling it now too: she can see the tension in his body.
She understands Kanan’s sense of honor, even loves him for it, and for his sake she would have tried to suffer through this--but not while she’s watching him suffer, too. There is only one practical decision now. Hera is willing to make it for both of them.
“Kanan,” she says softly. “Look at me.”
Slowly, almost unwillingly, he lowers his head and opens his eyes. They’re nearly black, and the force of his gaze hits her with such heat that a shiver runs over her. She’s naked, kneeling on the bed. As he drinks in the sight of her she runs one palm up her thigh and hip, over her belly, and caresses her own breast. A low animalistic noise escapes his throat.
“I know you want to be strong, to endure it,” she says, her voice still soft and gentle. “And you probably can. But remember, I got a stronger dose and it hit me earlier. It’s worse for me, Kanan. I want you so badly it hurts.”
“Hera,” he says, his voice low and ragged.
But she’s merciless. “Please,” she says. “Help me.” She lifts her other hand, cupping both breasts now, and rolls her own nipples between her fingers. The sensation is so sharp and sweet that her eyes involuntarily flutter closed. Yes--it only makes the throbbing need intensify but still, yes--
“Hera,” Kanan says again, much closer this time, and then his hands are moving hers aside. Hera’s breath leaves her throat in a sob of relief as his fingers close on her. She clasps his shoulders and arches her back, responding shamelessly to his touch. He tugs and teases at her breasts as she quivers and gasps.
Then his arm slides around her, and he guides her gently down to the bed. She draws him down over her. He lowers his head and now it’s his mouth on her breast, hot and tight, licking and sucking and kissing. Hera moans and winds her fingers in his hair, pulling it loose.
His kisses move across her body, but there’s nothing leisurely about it. His mouth is hard and urgent, as if he’s taking possession of every inch of her. He claims her breasts and her lips and her lekku, sucking relentlessly on the tips until she cries out. “Kanan,” she gasps, pushing at him. “Kanan--let me--”
He lifts his head, looking down at her with those blown-out eyes. Hera lays her hand along his cheek, sweeping her thumb over his skin. “Let me touch you,” she says.
“Are you sure?” he asks hoarsely.
“Yes. I am. Very.” For just a moment he drops his head to her shoulder, pressing his forehead against her skin in silent capitulation. Then he sits up and begins to unstrap his armor.
Hera helps him undress, although as soon as his chest is bared she grows very distracted by the sweep of his shoulders and the interplay of muscles there. The last of his clothing comes off more in spite of her help than because of it. When Kanan settles back against the bed she runs her hands over him, nips lightly at his shoulders, kisses his neck beneath the jaw. He strokes her lekku and makes her moan.
Hera feels as if she’s floating in her own body. Every sensation lasts forever, and she’s so sensitized that she imagines she can feel dust specks crashing against her skin. Nothing but Kanan’s hands on her can beat back the fire along her nerves. She can barely take it--but at the same time she needs it.
When it’s almost too much, Hera pulls away. She drops a trail of kisses down Kanan’s chest and belly. He makes an almost pained sound as her intentions become unmistakable. She lays her cheek against his thigh and lets her breath sweep over his cock: if he’s as ultra-sensitive as she is right now...He jerks, groaning.
Hera darts out her tongue, lapping delicately at his balls and shaft. Small, light movements. This is a gentler kind of pleasure for her, much more manageable. Probably it’s torment for him, but only the kind that leads to relief.
He groans again and reaches down to draw her tchin into his grasp. Oh. Hera whimpers and shudders. Oh, this won’t be a respite at all.
Suddenly she no longer feels the desire to toy with him. She wraps a hand firmly around the base of his cock and draws it into her mouth. Kanan’s whole body tenses beneath her, and he makes a strangled sound that’s probably her name.
He’s still stroking her lek. Waves of pleasure surge through her as she settles into a quick, firm rhythm, pumping her fist around his shaft and sucking on the tip. The taste of his pre-come is salty on her tongue.
She takes him as deeply into her throat as she can without gagging, then draws back to swirl her tongue around the head of his cock, laving every ridge and crevice. Then it’s back to the same quick rhythm, pumping and sucking.
Kanan scrapes his nails down her tchin and Hera moans around his cock, stuttering in her pace. Her breasts still ache from his attentions, and her thighs are throbbing with desire. She shifts herself, not stopping what she’s doing but looking for a position that will give her pressure where she needs it. Almost--if she squeezes her legs together-- She moans again, the sound half-stifled by the shaft she's still sucking.
Sweetness pulsing up from her core. Waves of tingling pleasure running down her scalp and lek and back. Kanan shuddering beneath her, very close now. Hera grinds against the mattress and--
--and implodes. Pleasure bursts through her, sweeping her up in crashing waves, again and again. She cries out, no matter that he's still in her mouth, her body is spasming--
“Hera,” Kanan groans, and then he’s coming too: she swallows reflexively, still lost in her own climax. It reverberates through her body for long minutes, fading only very slowly.
When she finally lifts her head, Kanan pulls her up, cradling her in the crook of his arm. “How are you?” he breathes, scanning her face.
She pulls him down for a kiss. “Good,” she says. “Thank you for watching out for me, dear.”
“Always,” he murmurs, before their lips meet and there is nothing left to say.