[OOM] Eiattu - Royal Apartments

[fighting_mad]

The night started out well enough.

Plourr mingled, and everything felt easier, somehow, than it had the last time she had been called on to host a state function. It felt-- less forced. She even had a halfway civil (if short) conversation with her mother-in-law, and most of the dignitaries whom she had to speak to were interesting and--

then her head of security pulled her aside and told her that Princess Leia Organa and Lieutenant Tycho Celchu had been kidnapped.

Kidnapped. From her world, her palace.

Fel, of all people, gets the information out of the traitor, Count Laabann. Moff Tavira has them. Plourr wants to go after them with the royal navy, with her people; she nearly does (because it's her planet, her guest, her friend). But Han Solo stops her in her tracks; points out that she's hosting this whole deal. She can't up and leave leave.

So in the end, Plourr has Laabann thrown into a cell and she goes back to the kriffing party.



It's hours later that she's curled up at one end of the sofa in the royal apartments (her apartments, she has to remind herself), barefoot and wearing shorts and a white undershirt. She is theoretically reading her datapad, but mostly staring into space.

Comments

[fighting_mad]

She's back after a moment, a full glass of whiskey in each hand. She leans over the back of the sofa. "You're going to have a hard time drinking like that," she points out.

[eiattu_pride]

"We'll do it intravenously."

Because this is a solution!

[fighting_mad]

She laughs softly, reaching over him and setting one glass on the coffee table, within easy reach of his hand. "I don't have any needles." She leans there and takes a long drink, since, well, he's taking up the entire couch.



Plourr swallows and coughs, eyeing the glass. "Wow."

[eiattu_pride]

Rial perks up at that.

"It's good?"

[fighting_mad]

"It's strong," she rasps, taking another sip. Which means good, yes.

[eiattu_pride]

He sits up, and takes a large swallow.





"...wow."

[fighting_mad]

"Told you," she says, taking the opportunity to come around the opposite side of the sofa and steal a seat while he's otherwise occupied, folding long bare legs under herself.

[eiattu_pride]

"'s good."

Eyes the bottle with new respect.

[fighting_mad]

" 'S old," she says, leaning forward and turning the bottle toward herself so she can see the year.

Her eyebrows rise.

[eiattu_pride]

Rial takes another healthy swallow.

"Do I want to know?"

[fighting_mad]

"Let's put it this way," she says, gesturing with her glass. "Younger than you. Older than me."

[eiattu_pride]

"Oh."

"Oh."

He grins, and raises the glass. "Cheers."

[fighting_mad]

There's a soft, fond smile at him in response, its wearer happy to see that grin.

She remembers to look away.



Eventually.

[eiattu_pride]

He's watching her right back.

Doesn't say anything, not really wanting to spoil the moment.

[fighting_mad]

Plourr tips her glass to him and finishes it off. You're supposed to sip the good stuff, she knows, savor it, but she's never been very good at doing what she's supposed to do.

"I have missed you."



Sometimes, even her voice isn't good at doing what it's supposed to do. Stupid voice.

[eiattu_pride]

"Me too."

Rial finishes his glass as well, because screw being proper. He's thirsty.

[fighting_mad]

Uncertain smile at him and she holds out her hand for his glass, tilting her head at the bottle (closer to her than to him) on the coffee table.

[eiattu_pride]

He nods, and hands it over, letting his fingers lightly brush her own.

[fighting_mad]

Is that a sudden warmth in her face? Plourr is certain it isn't. But the glass wobbles (only once) as she wraps her hand around it.

She leans forward and refills his glass, then her own, and she holds his out again.

[eiattu_pride]

He takes it.

And this time there's a definite moment of holding her hand, and he's leaning forward-

-but in the end, he takes his glass and looks away.

[fighting_mad]

Plourr watches him.

Something in her face sets. She knocks back her whiskey in one long drink and she sets the glass down hard on the coffee table. She slides over on the sofa, right up next to her husband, so close she can feel his warmth, and she turns his face to her with strong fingers under his chin. Plourr leans and--



she breathes shakily, lips almost brushing his. She slides both hands up the sides of his face, pressing his forehead against hers and closing her eyes.

[eiattu_pride]

He doesn't lean forward yet, because this is her decision and he doesn't want to influence it, but he breathes in the scent of old whiskey and something like spices from her hair and he's waiting and it's the hardest thing he's ever done.

But he'll wait forever.

[fighting_mad]

She finishes what she started. She brushes her lips against his ever-so-lightly.

[eiattu_pride]

Rial leans in, free hand (the one not holding a full glass) coming around to rub lightly at her back. Kisses, first gently, and then more demanding.

He's been waiting a long time for this.

[fighting_mad]

Plourr, practical as ever, takes the glass from him without separating their mouths for even a second, and she blindly sets it on the end table behind him.

Her hand is damp and cool with condensation from the glass when it returns to his cheek, and she slides closer to him on the sofa. He's solid and tastes like whiskey, and his mustache is scratchy, and she feels every bit of warmth that those first two kisses lacked.

Rial.

She slowly tangles her hand up into his hair, winds her other arm around his neck, and she is not stopping the kisses.