"Low blow, Skywalker," Mara murmurs, far too composed to wriggle away from the mental fingers slipping around her waist--they tickle, and too many years of laughter left her soft, because she has work to tuck away her smile.
"I can go lower," he promises, and that smile she was hiding tugs at the corners of his mouth, the creases of his eyes.
Mara doesn't blink; she reaches out, touch gentle--too gentle--until he's choking, and reminds him, "I was the Emperor's Hand. So can I."
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"Low blow, Skywalker," Mara murmurs, far too composed to wriggle away from the mental fingers slipping around her waist--they tickle, and too many years of laughter left her soft, because she has work to tuck away her smile.
"I can go lower," he promises, and that smile she was hiding tugs at the corners of his mouth, the creases of his eyes.
Mara doesn't blink; she reaches out, touch gentle--too gentle--until he's choking, and reminds him, "I was the Emperor's Hand. So can I."