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lotrificationer · 1 year

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Meet Me at the Cantina

Summary: After the events on Malachor, Jedi Exile, Caoimhe Orunde, has been tasked with finding Revan by her former mentor. Alone. But what will that mean for the budding connection she's formed with her snarky pilot?

Atton Rand/F!Exile

Rating: M (mild spicy scene)

@aylaaescar 👀💖

Read on Ao3

It had been a little over a month since the events on Malachor. In that time, the crew of the Ebon Hawk had been ferrying themselves around the galaxy, slowly losing members as they were dropped off at their destinations. All but Mandalore had insisted on accompanying Caoimhe to find her former leader in the outer reaches of space, but she had refused, telling them they each had a task she needed them to perform.

“Mira please,” Caoimhe pleaded, “I need you to help them form this new Order.”

Mical and Visas stood by, hesitant to leave the Exile’s side, but dedicated to aiding her.

“No, if I’m not allowed to go with you, then I’m going back to Nar Shaddaa,” Mira stated, hand on her hip, strong in her resolve. “I can’t leave those people to live like that when I know better. When I know I can help them,” she paused, “I need to be the help that I never got.”

Caoimhe examined her and sighed, the hint of a smile pricking the corners of her mouth.

“Okay,” she breathed, nodding her head. “But please keep in contact with Mical and Visas as best you can.”

“Thank you, and I will,” Mira responded, “and save that smug smile of yours for someone else- just because you made me like this, doesn’t mean you get to gloat in it!”

Mira stalked down a passageway to start collecting her things.

“You are certain this is the path you wish to take?” Visas stepped forward, her calm tone resonating in the main hold.

“It is,” Caoimhe responded, mirroring her composure.

Visas smiled and gave a quick nod of her head, “Then Mical and I shall see it through.”

“And if you should ever have need of us,” Mical drew closer, placing a hand on Caoimhe’s shoulder, “you know where to find us.”

Final goodbyes still proved to be difficult as the crew members arrived on their appointed planets. A grand, galaxy-changing adventure can be quite the bonding experience for a ragtag group of misfits. Telos was the last stop for the Hawk before its departure to the Outer Rim. After a long goodbye to Bao-Dur in the Restoration Zone, Atton and Caoimhe headed to Citadel Station to refuel and rest before their last journey.

“Are we going to talk about it?” Atton turned to look at her, lazily swirling his cup of juma as they watched the latest swoop race.

“Talk about what?” Caoimhe countered, keeping her gaze fixed on the speeding bikes. He stared at her, silently, until she finally relented and turned to look at him.

“You appointed a task to everyone else on the Hawk. Everyone but me. So here I am,” he gestured to himself, “unappointed and little confused.”

Casting her gaze downward, Caoimhe sighed and picked at an invisible crumb on the table. Atton sat patiently, leaning an elbow on the edge of the table. When she failed to respond, he prompted her.

“Well, fearless leader, what’ll it be?” his smirk was placed indolently on his mouth, even as an air of strain hinted at the corner.

“I don’t know,” she whispered to the table.

“What?” he responded, unsure if he had misheard her.

“I don’t know,” she responded more firmly, meeting his gaze.

“Oh,” he sat up a little straighter. “Well, hey, I said it before, but I mean it. I’m with you, whatever you need.”

“I know,” she murmured, a smile ghosting over her lips.

“Okay,” he nodded, “well, what do say I get us both another drink? Try not to miss me too much.”

Caoimhe was pulling away from Atton and he could feel it. In those few days after Malachor, she had felt so close to him, desperate for his presence, in particular, after the suffering. He didn’t see it then, but she had begun to lay the bricks in an ever-rising wall and now he had to beat his fits against it to get anything out of her. With the last of their companions finally off, Atton had tried to pull her back to him, to return to where they left off. But the wall seemed higher and stronger. Every so often, if he played his cards right, he would see a crack in that wall. When he would conspiratorially whisper something ridiculous in her ear, creating the most splendid smile on her face; the kind of smile that made creases at the corners of her eyes. But she seemed to be able to mend the fractures faster than he could create them.

As he leaned against the bar, waiting for their drinks, he could feel her eyes on him. He turned, catching her gaze, and gave her a soft smile. Knowing she’d been caught, she didn’t try to turn away or avert her gaze. Instead, something in her eyes hardened, but she returned the smile, albeit, smaller than his. The droid slid the drinks in front of him and the moment was broken.

Here he was, three days later, sitting at the bar in the same cantina, shifting uncomfortably in his seat while trying to take it easy on his drink. She was 27 minutes late, not that he was constantly checking the chronometer or anything. Caoimhe had asked him to meet her here for one last drink on Telos before they departed later that day. He glanced back down at the drink he ordered for her, condensation pooling around the sad cloth that lay underneath it. He alternated between rapping his fingers across the durasteel counter of the bar and clenching his fist. The droid behind the counter had tried to remove the untouched drink twice, and both times Atton impatiently waved him off. He craned his neck to look at the chrono; it had been 31 minutes now. He stood, shoving his chair back when—

She’s here.

He felt her before he saw her. The door slid open and Caoimhe stepped into the cantina; the hazy florescent lights bathed her skin in unnatural neon colors and painted her soft fiery hair in iridescent shapes. It danced and shimmered in her searching eyes. He stood there, holding his breath, as she found him in the crowded bar. She was out of breath and her eyes shone in the bleary lights, and he was certain he had never seen a more beautiful person. It had to be the Force giving her that glowing halo around her hair and he was sure the Force had it out for him.

His mouth hung open and tweaked into something resembling a smile. She readily returned it, the full force of her affection hitting him squarely in the chest. As she joined him at the bar, Atton waved the droid over.

“Yeah, can we get a fresh one of these over here,” he ordered, not taking his eyes off of Caoimhe.

“But, sir, I already tried to-” the droid started.

“I don’t care,” Atton interrupted, turning to look at it, “A fresh one.”

The droid bustled off to refix the drink.

They talked, Caoimhe laughed, and Atton coveted every moment. Her eyes lingered on him longer and she was generous with her casual touches. Every touch was like a fire burning straight through his clothing and down to his skin. This sudden shift had Atton off-balance, grasping for anything to keep him steady. The wall she had been so careful to build was gone and he was basking in this closeness.

They finished their drinks and Atton threw some credits on the bar before they walked back to the Hawk. Neither of them spoke much on the way. Atton found himself getting pulled into her orbit, walking closer and closer until they stood outside of the Ebon Hawk.

Atton stole unsubtle glances in her direction as his restless mouth kept trying to find something to say. Just as he opened his mouth, T3 greeted them from the top of the ramp and Atton scowled in its direction before watching Caoimhe traipse up the ramp and turn out of sight. Atton sighed and shuffled his feet to follow her.

An hour into hyperspace and he still hadn’t quite figured out what he wanted to say. Caoimhe had gone to meditate in the port dormitory 30 minutes ago and left him to his own thoughts. He counted cards, listed off engine sequencers, and tried to count the ticking in the fixed power couplings. But it always came back to her. He tried to lean into the basest of his impulses, but the curve of her body turned into the curve of her smile. The feeling of her hands on his body became the gentle brush of her hand against his as they walked side by side. He took a deep breath and stood from the pilot’s seat.

Striding down the hall, he narrowly missed that tin can of a droid on its way to the communications room.

“Watch it, will ya!” he scoffed under his breath as he turned the corner- straight into Caoimhe.

“Atton!” she startled.

“Oh, Keevie!” The nickname flew from his lips before he could catch it.

Her eyebrow quirked as she stared at him in amusement.

“What was that?” she teased and he knew full well that she had heard him.

“Oh, uh, I just, I don’t,” he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “I don’t know why I said that, it just kind of uh-”

“I like it,” she hummed, saving him from his own embarrassment.

He swiftly hid his surprise behind a self-satisfied smirk.

“I’ll uh, I’ll have to keep that in mind,” his pitch lowered as he inched closer, “Keevie.”

She leaned closer, her lips brushing against his ear.

“Don’t wear it out, flyboy,” she whispered mischievously and turned on her heel.

Atton stood slack-jawed as he stared at the now empty space she had just been. Recovering quickly, he whipped his head around to find her strolling down the port dormitory hallway. He lingered a moment longer before stumbling back to the cockpit.

Caoimhe’s traitorous heart thundered in her ears as she paced around the dormitory.

Space, why did I say that? She condemned. What is he going to think of me? It’s not my fault he was projecting those images so loudly… but it felt different. He felt different.

She sunk down to the floor, leaning her back against the bed and cradling her head in her hands.

What if it’s me? There’s only the two of us now. No one else around as a distraction. What if I’m the one imposing my thoughts on him? Should I have listened to Kreia…

Footsteps rang down the hallway and she lifted her head. His grey eyes studied her, folded on the floor, worry etched on her face.

“Are you alright?” his voice was low as he edged past the doorway.

“Why are you here?” she couldn’t help the bitterness that seeped into her voice.

“Hell, okay, sorry,” he scoffed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Guess I won’t care about making sure you’re fine with all those emotions rolling off of you.”

He took a step back into the hallway before Caoimhe found her voice.

“Wait, I’m sorry,” she reached out a hand as the words rushed out of her. “It’s not- that’s not what I meant. I mean, why are you here with me? On this ship? Barreling out into unknown space looking for a former Sith lord?”

He hesitated before reentering the room. He sighed and shuffled closer to her.

“May I?” he requested, gesturing to the spot next to her on the floor.

She nodded her assent, and he gracelessly slumped next to her, sitting shoulder to shoulder.

“Where is this coming from?” he turned the question back on her.

“What do you mean?” she evaded, absentmindedly worrying a nick in her nail.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” he softly knocked into her shoulder. “I think you got scared. I think you saw where this might go, and it spooked you. Either that or there’s something that that old witch said bouncing around in that pretty head of yours.”

He caught her fleeting gaze before her eyes returned to her hands.

“I just,” she sighed and started again, turning to face him. “How do I know that I’m not putting my own thoughts into your head?”

“Sweetheart, trust me,” he boasted with a smirk, “no one puts anything into my head without me knowing.”

She smiled softly at him, still unsure even in the face of his own certainty.

“Look, believe me,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. “If I had any indication that you were putting things in my head, I wouldn’t be here. Okay?”

She searched those stormy grey eyes of his and decided to take him at his word. Her eyes danced over his face, and he could feel her anxiety prickling over his skin. He let his hand skim up her arm, brushing her fiery hair over her shoulder and she dropped her gaze. His fingers brushed the back of her neck as he gently cupped her jaw, moving his thumb along her cheekbone. Leaning into the touch, she breathed and met his gaze. Her eyes dipped to his lips before hastily returning. He smirked and opened his mouth to say something, but she wasn’t about to let him ruin the moment.

She captured his lips with her own and he made a humming noise as he gently returned the kiss. Her hands trailed up to cradle his face as his hand slid down firmly to her waist, encouraging her closer. She sighed and broke the kiss, not daring to move away any further than necessary.

He raised an eyebrow as he studied her face.

“Keevie,” he breathed.

He unabashedly stared at her lips, admiring how the dim cabin lights caught the peak of her pronounced cupid’s bow. His own mouth hung slightly parted as his breath became heavy. Everything else around him was a hazy fog as he focused back on her eyes.

His desirous energy swept over her in waves, encouraging her own longings. She sat there, on the edge of a precipice, gazing over the cusp and aching to dive in. His hand was still on her waist, fiddling with the linen ties of her wrap tunic. She placed her hand over his and he stilled.

“Do you want to…” her unfinished question hung thick in the air.

“Yes,” he whispered resolutely. “Would you like to…”

Her breath stuttered, the words catching in her throat. She nodded.

“You’re sure?” he returned, his hand tightening over the ties.

She guided his hand, pulling at the tie until the bow fell free. Atton’s eyes vacillated between her face and the slowly opening outer layer and back again. He brushed the olive-green covering off her shoulders and watched as the sleeves slid down her freckled arms. She pulled the tunic off fully and let it pool around her on the floor. Her hands undid the closures of his shirt and she felt a sudden gratitude for the lack of his usual jacket and gloves. Once free of his shirt, he pulled her into him, grasping the back of her thighs and hauling her onto his lap. With her legs around his hips, she felt a new sense of urgency, and their lips became reacquainted with one another. Caoimhe moaned into the kiss as his hands wandered up her thighs. Smiling against her mouth, he leaned back, dragging his tongue along his lower lip.

“Think we should move this little tryst about seven inches to left?” he nodded at the bed.

“I think I could be persuaded to consider that,” she replied with a conspiratorial smile, leaning into him further.

“As much as I would love to hoist you up there from our current position, my knees are not what they used to be,” he chuckled and Caoimhe slid off his lap. He immediately missed her newly familiar warmth.

“You could always use the Force to help a little in a that department, you know?” she offered genuinely.

“Believe me, sweetheart, there are not many departments I need help in,” his eyes raked up and down her body and he liked the blush that tinted her pale cheeks. “Still almost fully clothed and already blushing?” he teased, pulling her to him by her waist.

“Shut up, Rand,” she said, her voice throaty. She kissed him and he happily obliged.

Atton threw his hand behind him, blindly groping at the frame of the doorway until he found what he was looking for. The door glided shut and Caoimhe broke the kiss to throw him a puzzled stare.

“Expecting company?” she asked, mildly befuddled.

“Listen, the last thing I want is that stupid tin can barreling in here with our asses out,” he grumbled, his lips at her neck. Her laugh turned throaty.

“Right,” she drew the single word out, sarcasm dripping off of it. “I’m sure that would be a scarring experience for him… Or at least distracting,” she quirked an eyebrow, “I mean, for a droid.”

He pulled back, a devilish gleam to his eye. “You’re laughing at me.”

“Oh, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” her eyelashes fluttered in mock innocence. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down, his lips meeting hers as their conversation lay quickly forgotten.

Atton’s hands began to wander, dipping under the hem of her undershirt and caressing the soft skin of her stomach. His calloused hands moved higher and higher until he pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it to the ground. His lips found the delicate skin of her neck and she shivered. Caoimhe pressed him backwards until the back of his legs hit the bed and he relented. No sooner had he sat than he felt her legs on either side of him. Her lips returned to his and his hands pressed against her back, urging her closer.

The friction of his undershirt against her nearly bare torso irrationally infuriated her. She clawed at the bottom of it, breaking the kiss to peel it off of his skin. She ran her hands down his chest, admiring the hard and soft planes of his body and the smattering of hair that dusted across him. Her fingers instinctually found a few scars that painted his body and traced along them. The hands at her back crawled upward, finding the last closure of her undergarments. His fingers fumbled briefly before releasing it.

“You sure you don’t need help in that department?” she teased, her eyes still heavy with want.

“Clothing was not the department I was talking about, Keevie,” his lips tickled the shell of her ear and she moaned as he kissed the soft spot below her jaw.

In a blur, the remaining clothing toppled onto the floor, completing their new abstract floor art. She lay under him as he trailed hot kisses down her mouth, her neck, her shoulder. He pressed his mouth against her collarbone and continued the descent. Her breathing became quick, and Caoimhe buried her hands in Atton’s hair. He moaned in satisfaction. And to her own satisfaction, he was right about that department. Not that she would ever tell that smug son of a scoundrel that. Although she got the distinct feeling that he could already tell. He brought her close, then stopped, leaving her to squirm in his absence. His lips moved back up her body and her fingers drug across his shoulders. He looked into her eyes.

“You’re sure?” he struggled to get the words out.

“Please,” she breathed.

His hands were on either side of her head and she wrapped her legs around him. He pressed into her, their collective moans mingled together at the connection. He stilled, breathing heavily and gazing at her face. Burying her hands back in his hair, she pulled him down for another kiss. It was messy, but he relished the feeling of her mouth against his. He pulled away and started to move, unable to take his eyes off of the way her mouth fell open. Her sounds coaxed him on, not that he needed much encouragement. They moved as one and he could feel her pleasure flowing off of her in waves. He wasn’t overly fond of force bonds in their entirety, but he quickly came to appreciate this new aspect. His name was a whisper on her lips that he wanted to stay there forever.

“Keevie,” he rasped, the rise and fall of their chests moving in harmony.

She tumbled off of the precipice, breaths stuttering and limbs trembling, and he immediately followed. He collapsed beside her, somehow drained and invigorated all at once. Caoimhe’s hand found his and he intertwined their fingers as they lay beside each other, content to rest in the calm silence that followed.

Caoimhe shifted to face him, resting her head on his shoulder and her leg across his hips. His hand snuck down to her thigh, hiking it up to his waist with a gentle grasp. They lay there, breaths shallow and eyes heavy.

“I tried to leave you, you know,” Caoimhe breathed. “Back on Telos.”

Atton’s head tilted to look at her while she kept her gaze fixed on the wall.

“When I asked you to get me those parts for T3 and then meet me-”

“Meet you at the cantina,” he exhaled in realization, and she fell silent. He could feel her heartbeat against his own, soft but steady.

She took a quick deep breath and sighed, “But I couldn’t do it. I sat in this ship, engines primed, hands on the controls,” she wet her lips, “and I couldn’t do it.”

“That’s why you were late,” he said, not in questioning, but understanding. “You said the turbolift malfunctioned, but you were here. In the Hawk.”

“I’m sorry,” she kissed at a spot under his collarbone as her apology skittered across his skin.

He could feel the swell of emotions in her that she tried so hard to smother down.

“Ya know, I think a part of me knew. When you sent me to get a part that even I knew didn’t need to be changed for another standard month. When I was sitting at the bar, ordering your drink, saving you a seat, because I didn’t want to believe it. But you came. You walked into the cantina and it was like seeing you for the first time all over again. Your smile was different though.” He huffed, “Probably because you hadn’t just been drugged and I wasn’t ogling you in your underwear.”

He could feel the shift in her cheek against his shoulder and knew she was smiling.

“I’m just glad you decided I was worth having around for a little while longer,” he kissed the top of her head and rested his chin there.

A restful silence fell over the cabin as they lay there, her confession and apology swallowed up by his desire to be by her side. His thumb made lazy circles on her thigh and her own fingers couldn’t seem to stay in one place.

“What is it?” he asked, feeling the words hanging on her tongue.

“It’s just something Kreia told--”

“Now there’s mood killer,” he huffed with a roll of his eyes.

Her hand stilled as she tensed. He felt her withdrawing.

“Hey,” he placed a hand on her cheek, his tone serious, “I’m sorry. Please continue.”

She relented, meeting his gaze through her eyelashes as his hand returned to its ministrations on her leg.

“At the end- at Malachor,” she clarified, a bitterness creeping into her voice, “as we stood at the center of that shrine- that sanctimonious tomb of war- she told me that I had to follow Revan. To find her in the outmost reaches of the galaxy.”

He blinked in acknowledgment, already aware of that nominal command. She pressed her cheek back against his shoulder.

“Kreia said,” her voice was swallowed by the hitch in her breathe and she tried again.

“She said that I could not take anyone that I loved.”

His hand came to a rest, and he felt her eyelashes flutter against his skin as he played the words over again in his mind.

That she loved. Loved. Loved.

He tossed the word around in his head and decided that he liked how it felt there. He let it wash over him, seeping into his deepest parts and soaking him to his core. The briefest hint of a joke fluttered at the edge of his mind (“So that’s why Mical isn’t here, then?”), but he let it pass. A smile, unbidden but not unwelcome, danced on his lips. He felt her breath become unsteady and realized he had yet to respond.

Flexing his hand on her thigh, he shifted back to look at her face. She was reluctant to give up the shelter of his shoulder. He studied her face- her brows gently pinched together, creating that small crease in between- her murky blue eyes searching his own, shifting from left to right and back again- her mouth small and tense, keeping her words from tumbling everywhere in her uneasiness. He came back to her eyes and smiled.

“I never thought I’d say this,” he began, a wry smile further picking up the corner of his mouth. “But I finally have that old witch to thank for something. It only took her cryptic Jedi talk for you to figure out you loved me.”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled, nonetheless.

“And if I couldn’t make it any more obvious,” he inched back down to her until they were nose to nose. “I love you too, Caoimhe Orunde.”

Her hand skimmed its way up to his cheek as she guided his lips to meet hers. Though her body was already pressed against his skin, the feeling of her warm mouth prickled through his body as he melted into her. His hand glided from her thigh to the back of her calf, pulling her even closer to him. She gasped and his mouth drifted along the side of her face to that area below her jaw. It was a new favorite spot of his. He groaned against her throat and she sighed. Then he huffed and her eyes fluttered open, that crease returning to the middle of her brows. He continued to kiss her, pointedly ignoring her gaze.

“Everything alright there, flyboy?” she asked, a tinge of unsubtle amusement playing in the lilt of her voice.

He breathed against her neck and lifted his head.

“I cannot, for the life of me, feel my arm that you’ve been laying on for the past ten minutes.”

Her hair flowed freely as she tossed her head back in laughter and he felt a sort of pride at being the source of her joy. His pride shifted when she swiftly slid on top of him, placing her hands on his chest. His eyes widened as his breath stuttered.

“Is this better, Rand?” she challenged, her lids heavy with suggestion.

He wet his lips.

“Listen, hey, while I would love nothing more than for you to continue on whatever path the Force leads you down,” he smiled sheepishly up at her, “I would really like to have the use of my arm for that.”

“So I should stop?” she leaned back, adding pressure where it counted. He sucked in a breath.

“Postpone,” he hissed, moving his feeling hand to her hip. “Just until further notice.”

“Well, let’s see if we can’t hurry things along a bit, shall we?” she smiled sweetly.

#knights of the old republic 2 #atton rand #kotor 2 #atton x exile #atton rand/jedi exile #f!exile #my writing

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