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A Fall From Above	By : Poem Category: +G through L > Knights of the Old Republic Views: 25239 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, or any of it's characters. I make no money from writing this story.

Chapter List
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Thanks for the ratings, guys! I can't promise how fast I'll be putting these chapters out. It'll be as I have time and as the muse strikes me, but I'll try to do it as fast as possible! Hopefully I'll get through all the pairings I have in mind, hehe.
This is just a quick chapter, and then we'll get into something a little heavier ;]
As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!
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Carth Onasi slumped down onto the edge of the bed, exhaustion catching him like a fist to the gut. He hadn't slept in over 36 hours now, and with everything he had been through for the last few days, he desperately needed sleep. But with his companion slipping in and out of consciousness and the Sith so close and still trying to root out all of the Republic soldiers that had crashed to the surface, he had had plenty to stress over. The little sleep he had managed to get since the battle on the Endar Spire had been short and troubled, with the man often rousing himself out of anxiety long before he had gotten the rest he needed.
The sound of water running in the refresher caught his ear, and he glanced idly at the small door that led to the room. The wild woman had insisted on having a shower as soon as she realized how long she had been tossing around and sweating in her bed. She had thanked him a little too earnestly for stripping her down to her underclothes first, though he insisted fervently that it was simply to check her over for more injuries. In actuallity, he had been loathed to leave her with any of the hidden pockets her had found on her uniform, several of which concealed knives and even a few frag grenades. The knowledge that she had been full to the throat with weapons hadn't set well with him. But he was starting to wonder if it would have been better to leave the damn woman clothed.
She had used her body, used it in a way he wouldn't quite have expected out of a republic soldier. Not that they were always above that kind of thing, but she honestly hadn't looked the type. When she had approached him outside the escape pod, when they were still on their doomed ship, she had looked sharp and proud and every inch the warrior. Even in the face of their possibly impending doom, she had looked steady. The suspicion and distrust that crossed across her high features had been a hard, unyielding expression. Every bit of her had seemed proud and mighty and above such base desires.
And yet, when she woke, she had acted almost like a completely different person. Her mistrust, and a mysterious anger, had flashed periodically through her smiles, but besides that she had been light-hearted, sunny, flirty. Someone you might meet out at a party or in a bar. Nothing like the warrior he had met before. The change had unnerved him, though he was willing to attribute enough of it to her injury, and the confusion that must have come with it. He had even considered it might just be a defense technique she had learned.
Even when she had attacked him, he had been unwilling to think the worst of her. She was uncomfortable around him, without her weapons. He could understand that enough. If the situation had been reversed and he had woken up in a strange room with someone he didn't know holding his weapons hostage, it would have taken an impossible amount to trust them.
He didn't trust her. He wasn't that stupid. She might have been a soldier, but he had found her file while she slept. A smuggler turned soldier, pushed into service when the options were that or prison. She had skills he could never hope to gain, not living a life of service as he did. She could speak a remarkable number of languages, could pick her way through any lock, could get her ship through blockades and around search parties. And of course, she could smuggle better than most anyone out there. In the right circles, she was damn near a legend. But all these skills only intensified the level at which he mistrusted her. She hadn't chosen this life, as he had. He had seen too many men pressured into the Corp that had bolted the first chance they got. And he doubted she was too different.
Rinna. She seemed willing enough to help him find Bastilla. Maybe she was as loathed as he was to try to get off this planet alone, or maybe she was genuinely interested in finding the woman.
Or maybe she just really wants into your pants.
The thought came unbidden, and he pushed it back with a vehemence. Shame rose on the back on his neck, burning and red, as the thoughts tried to push through. She doesn't want that, he thought angrily. She was trying to distract you. And what would it matter if she did? You won't touch her.
The last thought, at least, was sure and steady. Even if he liked the strange woman, or found her attractive, or was even interested in getting to know her, he would never touch her. For what she was, he could never trust her, and for who he was, he could never want her. It didn't matter.
But you did want her, the unbidden voice whispered. The images rushed forward again. The way her body curved like a panther as she stretched herself out, the sheer fabric of her underclothes teetering dangerously close to failing in their purpose. The way her hair had glided over her bare shoulder, falling in silky little waves across one breast. The way her dark blue eyes had caught him in their sights as she ground against him, the wicked little smile playing across her lips.
He was hard all over again.
The sound of the refresher door banging open jolted him to his feet. Rinna stood in the doorway, one towel tousling her hair lazily, another wrapped haphazardly around her. It was too small by half. The woman looked around mildly, glancing over him as she searched around the room. Finally she seemed to find what she had been looking for. Dropping the towel in her hair, she strolled across the room to where his bag lay on one of the chairs, undid the clasp, and started rifling around. Before he could even raise a cry of annoyance, she had pulled out several pieces of fabric and was slinking back to the door.
“I didn't have a change of clothes,” she called over her shoulder. “So I'm borrowing some of yours.” He watched her go, mouth half open, surprise and annoyance warring within him. She was so . . . arrogant. And willfull. And strongheaded. The urge to knock her into the wall again rose in him, but his pride and chivalry quelled it easily enough. That, and it hadn't seemed to phase her much the first time, why would it do anything more this time?
It was only a few seconds before she was flitting into the room again, her hair a wet tangle around her shoulders, dripping down around one of his old T-shirts. She had pulled on a pair of his long boot-socks as well, but nothing else. Carth struggled not to gape at her, and the bronze skin of her thighs winking at him in flashes from under the long shirt. She cast him a bright smile, looking for all the world as innocent as a child, and made her way across the room to her own pack, where she started pulling her gear from inside.
Part of him was screaming at him to be careful, pointing out that her vibroblade sat mere feet from her now on the floor, and that she had access to all her other little weapons as well, from small knives to the frag grenades he had found earlier. The other part of him couldn't seem to pull his eyes from the flesh of her legs, smooth and toned as it was, and the way his shirt, his shirt, was fluttering just below her ass. His already semi-hard length was stirring more and he struggled against the thoughts that flashed through his mind.
When she noticed her blade on the ground, and leaned to pick it up, he discovered she had decided against underwear, and his groin won out over his sense. He should stop her, he knew. But he couldn't. He had to get out of the room, and away from the coy smile she was giving him from her prone position.
“I'm taking a shower,” he told her abruptly, turning away from her, despite every part of him screaming that he should never turn his back on an armed enemy. She's not an enemy, he reasoned to himself. She had already had the chance to kill him, when he released her from the wall, when they had talked it out. She had retrieved a blaster from her pack, to make her feel better, she claimed. And she hadn't shot him then. She's not a danger, he repeated. Not yet.
He made it to the refresher with long, brisk strides, closing the door behind him with a bit more force than was necessary. The sharp sound of the slam did little to snap him out of the panicked state his body was struggling through. What was wrong with him? He'd spent enough long nights at the cantinas, with enough women rubbing themselves all over him, to know how to control himself. And he couldn't do better than this? He had run from the room like a blushing virgin, worked up by a pair of legs, of all things.
And that beautiful ass, the unbidden voice whispered, and he shut it down as quickly as he could. He needed to get his head straight. There was too much to do, too much at stake, for him to be twisted up and crazed by some harlot smuggler. He was an officer of the Republic, for god's sake. He had a pride and honor that were legendary. What was he thinking.
A cold shower, he reasoned to himself, forcing a long, slow breath. A cold shower, and you'll feel right as rain.
The pilot shoved the curtain aside, only to find that the woman had taken the time to clean her filthy clothes, and had hung them across the railing. The sight of her standard issue uniform and the ill-conceiling undergarments only served to remind him that she was wearing nothing but a pair of his socks and an old ratty t-shirt.
With a growl, he ripped the clothes from the railing, flinging them to the floor in the corner. He'd hang them up when he was done, he reasoned. He couldn't take a shower with them in the way. With sharp, angry motions, he turned the dials, working to get the water the way he liked it. He undressed just as sharply, yanking the off his shirt and undoing his buckle and belt, ripping them both from his body. The rough feel of the thick material of his pants rubbing against him as he pulled them off made him grit his teeth, and he shook his head angrily, trying to ignore the sensation. Once rid of his clothes, he slipped into the shower, sighing at the feeling of the hot water sluicing across his body. For several minutes, he just stood under the deluge, enjoying the warmth soaking into him, and letting his mind drift in and out as he simply relaxed.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice reminded him that he had come in here to take a cold shower, and that this wasn't really helping, but he ignored it. The water felt too good on his aching body to complain. He sighed, leaning his back against the tile behind him and simply letting the water do what it wanted.
Once again, the image of Rinna bent over her pack, her skin still glistening from the water of the shower, flashed through his mind. He was too tired to fight it now, too relaxed to draw on the outrage and shame he had felt before. He could still see the way her eyes flashed mischievously, the way her soft lips had parted slightly, as if she were drawing in a breath, before she smiled at him in that teasing way. His body was taught, as if he hadn't been able to relax since he had pinned her to that wall, and no matter which direction he tried to think, he came back to the look in her eyes.
She wanted it, the quiet voice whispered to him, so softly, as if not to disturb him. You saw her. She wanted it.
His cock pulsed with the thought, his breath drawing sharply as he imagined those eyes looking up at him through dark lashes, as she lowered herself to her knees before him.
He had lost the battle, he knew that then. He should have turned the water cold when he thought of it. But there was nothing to do about it now. A groan escaped his tired lips, and he slipped a little farther down the tiles, leaning fulling against the wall. He closed his eyes, leaning his face into the spray, and reached up to grasp his length in one rough hand.
I need it, he told himself in resignation. Just once, and then I can get back to my job. His breath rattled out of him in another low groan, and he stroked himself slowly under the warm spray of the water.
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A Fall From Above