they had always had a mutual attraction to one another. it was nothing that they tried to hide. stolen glances across courtyards and the softness of making sure that the other was alright during a particularly rough training exercise. she’d always held a special place for him in her heart, desperately hoping and wishing that one day their paths would cross again, opening the door for each other to settle.
but she’d always been one for duty. the dance of time had pulled them in vastly different directions, the harshness of the world taking it’s toll on both of them in very opposite ways. god if she’d only known what had been happening to him while she was stuck on coruscant. satine opens her mouth to speak, but finds that his lips capture hers before anything more than and soft mmm comes out.
she’s grateful for the privacy they’ve been provided. satine still stands almost on her toes to reach him, as careful fingers brush against his cheeks. she deepens the kiss for a brief moment before pulling away and resting her forehead against his. a soft smile graces her lips and she closes her eyes, taking in a long breath. satine has a thousand things she wants to say, a thousand thoughts clamoring to get out and yet she stops them all. for once, she is wordless and content.
There’s an odd serenity that comes awash over the Fett as his eyes share hers, as his lips hover so carefully above, as his forehead gently graces its touch against hers. It’s quite a warmth that unfamiliarly razes itself within him. A feeling of unrepentant freedom he’s not felt since taking it back for himself from the jaws of slavery. Expression boils within him in ways he’s never quite been able to fully bring to realization on his surface.
Jango has been cold. Ankles shackled, belly empty, and head full of not but rage. It was in the jaws of torment and the galaxies tests of him that he learned to survive off of nothing but spite and his sheer tenacity. This, on the surface, had been no different than any of the other dozens of close brushes with his end he’d cut close. Boba had changed the way he saw things, thoughts of her stewing in the back of his mind had seared their way into his mind-- All to keep him alive through blood and grit teeth, with no breath to take, and no final words-- He survived.
It was her, it was always her. She and Boba were a new lease on the galaxy, they were all that mattered, and they would be his everything.
Not that, at its core it would change his personality to anyone else much. Just... A new found appreciation, perhaps. Of things he’d taken for granted.
Deep and rumbling the growl is, he makes, that clears his throat, and grinds itself against his skin. To more comfortably get that prosthetic to set against grafts and cloned pieces.
“Smell like Bantha.” His grin as sharp as ever, the faint laughter that does finally find itself falling from him oh so familiar. “Probably should shower.”
