HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LEAH
TITLE: Toys
AUTHOR: Ashe;
promisethesun
FANDOM(S): Knights of the Old Republic - Mandalorian Wars Era
CHARACTER(S): Revan/Malak
PROMPT: #016 Fight
RECIPIENT: Leah~
RATING: R
WARNINGS: Nope
SPOILERS?: None
PREVIEW/SUMMARY:
She's broken him, and it's the best feeling in the galaxy.
WORD COUNT: 1100
He reaches his hands out, fingertips brushing against her hair as he pulls the mask away from her face. Her hood dangles over, casting shadows over her eyes for a moment before she pushes it away, black hair a mess. She runs her fingers through it, gives her friend a smirk, and holds a hand out for the Mandalorian mask.
“I am capable of removing my own clothes, Alek,” she teases.
“I dislike having to look at that ugly thing while we are having a discussion,” he growls out, running a hand over his bald head, stiffening when he remembers the hair is gone, and lets his hand drop. “Malak, Revan. My name is Malak now.”
There's a hint of amusement on her face when he hands the mask over, and she takes care to place it on a nearby desk, covering a few schematics she's been working on in the bit of free time she manages.
“You are always going to be Alek to me, you realize.” Revan sits on the edge of the desk, watching him with dark eyes. “What is so serious that you had to come seek me out?”
Malak paces around the room, looking much like a caged cannock with a meal dangling in front of him. Her eyes follow him curiously, looking at the stiff lines in his body, the scowl set firmly on his face, the shadows in his eyes. “I am having doubts.”
Her eyebrows raise slowly. “Doubts?” There's a sharp edge to her tone, and if he isn't careful, he'll find himself impaled.
He sends her a withering look-or a look that might have been withering if she wasn't Revan. “Not about what we have set out to do, and you should have already known that.”
“Then what's troubling you?” She slides off the desk, sauntering towards him. Her fingers dance along his arm. “You're always too tense.”
He growls, spinning on her and wrapping his hands around her forearms, gripping them tightly. If it had been anyone else, they'd be nothing but a smear on the wall by now. She glares instead, letting his fingers dig into her pale skin. He's holding her hard, pushing the Force behind his actions, and she's sure she'll bruise.
“I'm tired of this, Malak. We have all been through things we would rather not have to go through. You're letting it affect you,” she tells him in a low, deadly voice, and he sneers in response. She can hear the quickening of his heart beat, feel the adrenaline pump through him from fear at her tone.
“Unlike you, Revan? Who feels nothing but satisfaction the way you push us closer to the end of this war?”
She wants to tell him differently. That she's not soulless, that she feels every death personally. That she still believes in their shared vision, even if Malak seems to have lost his way. That she cried when she felt him in pain and could do nothing to help him. If he doesn't know that about her now, after all this time, then there is no point in correcting him. A cruel smirk slides over her mouth.
“I said I would bring the Republic victory over the Mandalorians, and I am doing exactly that.” She shoves him away, hard, and he stumbles back. “Now if you would leave, I think I've grown tired of this prattling from you.”
Her back turns on him as he walks towards the door, pauses, and quickly changes his mind. He grabs her again, and she lashes out, watches him fall to the floor in a heap. It takes less than a second for him to jump back to his feet, thrusting a hand out at her, a grim smile of satisfaction when she falls back against the desk. The pain shoots up through her back, but she grits her teeth, throws herself at him. The Force crashes against them, fighting for dominance as she knocks him to the ground. Her fist connects with his jaw, his knee to her side, knocking the wind out of her.
It's gruesome, primitive, destroying the room around them as they fight. They manage to get to their feet, panting heavily, air thick with violence and anger.
“Get out, Malak.” Everything about her is laced with venom, and he shudders. They'll kill each other if they keep going. She's crouched in a stance, fingers balled into tight fists. She isn't likely to back down.
“No. You are not sending me away as if I am some soldier who fumbles over himself to please your demands.”
She sneers at him, slowly cracking inside. “That is exactly what you are. All of you are just soldiers.”
Malak takes a menacing step towards her, and Revan holds her ground.
He kisses her then-and it's harsh and as violent as their fight-and she attacks him with her teeth, tasting copper blood on her tongue. Her body slams into the wall, back of her head cracking against it, brown creeping up in her vision as she pulls at his robes, crashing him against her. He leans to the side, spitting blood onto the floor as his hands grab her around the waist, pulling her up until her legs wrap around him.
“I am not a toy of yours, Revan. I'm not,” he hisses before kissing her hotly, attempting to swallow her words up whole, but she's Revan, and she has to have the last word.
Her fingers grip his face, forehead pressing hard against his, harsh breath mingling. “You will always be my toy. Why fight it?” She laughs as his fist slams into the wall right next to her face, feeling a sick exhilaration from the cracking sound she hears.
Her words ring with truth, and they know it.
When it's over, they're a mess, a sight worse than any battle they've been in against the Mandalorians, broken and bruised and bleeding. Her chin rests on his shoulder, nails still deep within the skin, and she shifts so that her lips are touching his ear.
“Get out, Malak,” she whispers, and her old friend obeys this time, letting her fall to the floor as he jumps away from her, disgusted with her, with himself.
She doesn't look at him as he straightens himself out, stomping out of the room.
Her tongue runs over her bruised lips, a smirk on her face. She's broken him, and it's the best feeling in the galaxy.
AUTHOR: Ashe;
promisethesun
FANDOM(S): Knights of the Old Republic - Mandalorian Wars Era
CHARACTER(S): Revan/Malak
PROMPT: #016 Fight
RECIPIENT: Leah~
RATING: R
WARNINGS: Nope
SPOILERS?: None
PREVIEW/SUMMARY:
She's broken him, and it's the best feeling in the galaxy.
WORD COUNT: 1100
He reaches his hands out, fingertips brushing against her hair as he pulls the mask away from her face. Her hood dangles over, casting shadows over her eyes for a moment before she pushes it away, black hair a mess. She runs her fingers through it, gives her friend a smirk, and holds a hand out for the Mandalorian mask.
“I am capable of removing my own clothes, Alek,” she teases.
“I dislike having to look at that ugly thing while we are having a discussion,” he growls out, running a hand over his bald head, stiffening when he remembers the hair is gone, and lets his hand drop. “Malak, Revan. My name is Malak now.”
There's a hint of amusement on her face when he hands the mask over, and she takes care to place it on a nearby desk, covering a few schematics she's been working on in the bit of free time she manages.
“You are always going to be Alek to me, you realize.” Revan sits on the edge of the desk, watching him with dark eyes. “What is so serious that you had to come seek me out?”
Malak paces around the room, looking much like a caged cannock with a meal dangling in front of him. Her eyes follow him curiously, looking at the stiff lines in his body, the scowl set firmly on his face, the shadows in his eyes. “I am having doubts.”
Her eyebrows raise slowly. “Doubts?” There's a sharp edge to her tone, and if he isn't careful, he'll find himself impaled.
He sends her a withering look-or a look that might have been withering if she wasn't Revan. “Not about what we have set out to do, and you should have already known that.”
“Then what's troubling you?” She slides off the desk, sauntering towards him. Her fingers dance along his arm. “You're always too tense.”
He growls, spinning on her and wrapping his hands around her forearms, gripping them tightly. If it had been anyone else, they'd be nothing but a smear on the wall by now. She glares instead, letting his fingers dig into her pale skin. He's holding her hard, pushing the Force behind his actions, and she's sure she'll bruise.
“I'm tired of this, Malak. We have all been through things we would rather not have to go through. You're letting it affect you,” she tells him in a low, deadly voice, and he sneers in response. She can hear the quickening of his heart beat, feel the adrenaline pump through him from fear at her tone.
“Unlike you, Revan? Who feels nothing but satisfaction the way you push us closer to the end of this war?”
She wants to tell him differently. That she's not soulless, that she feels every death personally. That she still believes in their shared vision, even if Malak seems to have lost his way. That she cried when she felt him in pain and could do nothing to help him. If he doesn't know that about her now, after all this time, then there is no point in correcting him. A cruel smirk slides over her mouth.
“I said I would bring the Republic victory over the Mandalorians, and I am doing exactly that.” She shoves him away, hard, and he stumbles back. “Now if you would leave, I think I've grown tired of this prattling from you.”
Her back turns on him as he walks towards the door, pauses, and quickly changes his mind. He grabs her again, and she lashes out, watches him fall to the floor in a heap. It takes less than a second for him to jump back to his feet, thrusting a hand out at her, a grim smile of satisfaction when she falls back against the desk. The pain shoots up through her back, but she grits her teeth, throws herself at him. The Force crashes against them, fighting for dominance as she knocks him to the ground. Her fist connects with his jaw, his knee to her side, knocking the wind out of her.
It's gruesome, primitive, destroying the room around them as they fight. They manage to get to their feet, panting heavily, air thick with violence and anger.
“Get out, Malak.” Everything about her is laced with venom, and he shudders. They'll kill each other if they keep going. She's crouched in a stance, fingers balled into tight fists. She isn't likely to back down.
“No. You are not sending me away as if I am some soldier who fumbles over himself to please your demands.”
She sneers at him, slowly cracking inside. “That is exactly what you are. All of you are just soldiers.”
Malak takes a menacing step towards her, and Revan holds her ground.
He kisses her then-and it's harsh and as violent as their fight-and she attacks him with her teeth, tasting copper blood on her tongue. Her body slams into the wall, back of her head cracking against it, brown creeping up in her vision as she pulls at his robes, crashing him against her. He leans to the side, spitting blood onto the floor as his hands grab her around the waist, pulling her up until her legs wrap around him.
“I am not a toy of yours, Revan. I'm not,” he hisses before kissing her hotly, attempting to swallow her words up whole, but she's Revan, and she has to have the last word.
Her fingers grip his face, forehead pressing hard against his, harsh breath mingling. “You will always be my toy. Why fight it?” She laughs as his fist slams into the wall right next to her face, feeling a sick exhilaration from the cracking sound she hears.
Her words ring with truth, and they know it.
When it's over, they're a mess, a sight worse than any battle they've been in against the Mandalorians, broken and bruised and bleeding. Her chin rests on his shoulder, nails still deep within the skin, and she shifts so that her lips are touching his ear.
“Get out, Malak,” she whispers, and her old friend obeys this time, letting her fall to the floor as he jumps away from her, disgusted with her, with himself.
She doesn't look at him as he straightens himself out, stomping out of the room.
Her tongue runs over her bruised lips, a smirk on her face. She's broken him, and it's the best feeling in the galaxy.