Woman without a Country

"Is the world supposed to be spinning like that?" asked Atton vaguely.
"No, boy, it is not. Try to rest," Kreia urged.
"I don't want to rest," he protested. "I'm not tired. I want to do … something."
Kreia frowned. She couldn't put him to sleep, not in this state, but Ludmilla was still talking to Master Vrook, and she couldn't risk letting the Jedi Councilor get a glimpse of Atton.
"I'm not tired," Atton insisted. "I just want the world to stop … doing … that. Is this going to happen every time?"
"No," Kreia sighed. "You will learn to control it better as time goes on. You are too tense," she said gently. "Try to relax, and rest. You will feel better."
"This is actually kind of fun," Atton grinned. "I just wish I had something to play with," he mused. "A skwirret or something."
"The dog is busy meddling with the ship's stores, or I would have him sit with you," muttered Kreia.
"Dog?"
"Loyal. Stupid. Always pleased to see his Master no matter how long he has to wait."
Atton burst into cruel, dark laughter at her joke. "I like that!" He shifted slightly, unable to lie still. "Where did Visas go?"
"She is hiding in the Mandalore's tent."
"Oh, so she gets to listen to the singing while I'm stuck here," said Atton quietly. "I'll get her for that."
"Restrain yourself!" said Kreia sharply.
Atton looked at her with amusement. "Did I frighten you? I'm sorry."
"You need to learn the right kind of self-control, boy."
Atton smiled, sweet and dark. "I'll be good if you tell me to," he offered.
Kreia sighed. "It would be more meaningful if you behaved properly of your own volition."
"So you're not going to tell me to be good?"
Kreia shook her head.
Atton laughed, a rich, thrilling sound. "Then I'm not going to be good." He stretched, trying to find a comfortable position, knowing that the problem was in his mind rather than in his body. "You know, if you want that Jedi Master out of the way, I could get rid of him for you. He's old, and he likes that Administrator but won't admit it. She'd make perfect bait. She wouldn't even know what really happened. We could just tell her he had to leave Dantooine for something. There are plenty of places in that cave where we could hide a body."
Kreia smiled gently. "You're being difficult on purpose, boy. Not that I doubt your skill," she laughed. "But you're supposed to be following the Exile, not your own inclinations. Rest, boy."
"You think it's a good idea," he said softly. "But no, she probably wouldn't approve, would she?" He sighed, and moved restlessly in the bed again. "Where is Mical anyway?"
"The dog has settled into the medbay. He is taking stock of our supplies. He wants to make sure we have everything we need for our adventures."
Atton blinked. "I have to get up."
"You will be ill, boy," said Kreia. "But perhaps that would be easier for you to deal with. Allow me a moment to pretend I don't know your plans." Kreia rose, graceful and slow as always, and swept out of the room, leaving Atton lying alone in the half-darkness of the cargo hold.
Atton sighed, and tossed and turned for a few minutes before he stood up. The world was doing strange things, and he was seeing things that weren't really there, shapes and shadows and glimpses of light. The room was spinning oddly, not as if he were drunk, more like he had been spinning around for too long. He walked carefully to the garage, and peeked down the exit ramp. The Mandalorians and the settlers were drinking and singing, celebrating life and death with riotous joy.
Somewhere out there, beyond what he could see, Ludmilla was deep in conversation with the acerbic Master Vrook and wishing that she were with Atton instead. He could feel it from her, a soft mental caress, a gentle hint of loving desire. He smiled, but he couldn't return the thought. Another wave of darkness washed over him, insane jealousy that she would waste her time talking to some wrinkled, nasty old man instead of coming back to the ship to take care of him.
Atton put his hands to his head, and sank to the floor, gasping for breath.
"What are you doing? Are you all right?" Mical rushed over, and lifted Atton back to his feet. "You're not all right, what are you doing out of bed?"
Atton didn't answer, and let Mical lead him away. He only took a few steps before Mical gave in, and lifted him in his arms. Atton smiled to himself, and closed his eyes.
"Kreia said you were asleep," Mical said softly. "What are you up to, Atton?"
"I just wanted to see what was going on," said Atton weakly. "I wasn't going to go outside. You can put me down."
Mical ignored him. He walked into the cargo hold, and laid Atton down on the bed again. "Would you like me to sit with you for a bit? Or should I ask Kreia to come back?"
"You don't have to sit with me," said Atton. "I'm just going to lie here and watch the world spin. It's pretty cool. How much longer do you think they'll be talking?"
"Master Vrook can go on for quite some time, I'm afraid." Mical laid a gentle hand on Atton's forehead. "You're a bit warm."
"Really? I feel cold. Well, not really. I don't know," Atton fidgeted slightly.
Mical leaned over and undid the top buttons on Atton's shirt. "Silk," he said in surprise, and Atton laughed softly. Mical frowned at himself, and continued trying to make Atton comfortable. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the soft touch on his arm. "Atton," he said sharply. "What are you – "
The rest of the sentence was lost forever against Atton's lips, warm and incredibly soft on his, yielding and persuasive beyond anything Mical had ever imagined. Atton ran one hand through Mical's soft hair, and the other over his broad shoulders, tracing the outline of his muscles. He shifted slightly, and let Mical's hand fall between his legs. Atton moaned in pleasure at Mical's touch, and he could feel Mical's heartbeat speed up in response.
"No, no, M'adouin, not like this," Mical whispered, barely coherent, between kisses as he tried to pull away from Atton. "Not this way."
"What did you call me?" Atton asked in confusion, and let Mical slip away.
Mical stood up, and straightened himself before he answered, trying to recover his self-control.
"What did you call me?" Atton repeated.
"Er, I do apologize, I didn't mean to just blurt that out," Mical blushed. "It's just a term of endearment." Mical sat down again, and tried to think of something else. "I shouldn't have said it."
"Then why did you?"
"Because you're the kind of person who inspires love at first sight," Mical sighed. "Even if you're already taken." He sat down, carefully not touching Atton.
"She'll share, if you will," grinned Atton. "Say it again."
"Atton, I really don't think this is proper, not at all," Mical tried to explain. He looked over at Atton, and quickly looked away. "Stop that," he said, trying to be stern and commanding. "Stop looking at me like that."
"Say it again," Atton insisted. "Please?" he pleaded, his voice sweet and innocent, in complete contrast to the wickedly wanton look in his eyes.
"M'adouin, please lie down and try to get some rest," Mical said softly. "We can discuss this more later. Right now you need to get some rest."
Atton sank back into the pillows, his eyes still on Mical. "I bet I could rest better if you lay down next to me," said Atton sweetly.
"You'll be fine, M'adouin," said Mical wearily. "I'm going to sit right here."
"But there aren’t enough pillows," Atton pointed out softly, slightly mocking. "Usually Ludmilla is here."
Mical closed his eyes, and tried to concentrate on something else.
"I'll be good, I promise."
"I don't believe that for a second," said Mical with a sigh. "Unless you're using 'good' a different way than I am."
Atton smiled. "Well, maybe you should specify what you mean," he suggested.
"If I kiss you one more time, M'adouin, will you be still and get some rest?"
Atton watched him hungrily for a moment. "Two more times."
"Very well," Mical leaned over and drew Atton into his arms. "Two more times," he said hoarsely, and bent his head down to the soft, irresistible lips again. He could feel Atton smile into the kiss, and groaned inwardly at what he thought was his weakness.
Atton took Mical's hand, and slid the older man's hand between his legs again, but this time the fastenings of his pants were already undone, and Mical groaned at the feel of Atton's warm hardness in his hand. Atton made a soft noise of need, of pleasure, and pressed himself into Mical's hand and against Mical's lips. "Please," he whispered desperately against Mical's skin, kissing him again and again, burying his hands in Mical's hair. "Please."
Mical's hand tightened over him, stroked his hardness, drawing more noises of sweet wildness from Atton. Atton thrust passionately into the strong yet tender grip of Mical's hand, crying out helplessly as Mical's skilled touch left him shaking, spilling warm wetness all over the other man's hand.
Mical kissed Atton gently as he fell limply in his arms, and lowered him back to the pillows, then kissed him again, claiming his lips as he let his hand slide lower, gently exploring and curious. Atton gasped in surprise, but didn't pull away from Mical's questing fingers. Mical groaned with barely subdued passion as he felt Atton's body yielding to him, and he slid a finger inside Atton, then another, to a chorus of passionate and wonderfully enticing noises from Atton. He kissed Atton's lips again, then his neck, shifting himself slightly so that he could work another finger into Atton's body.
Atton threw back his head and screamed uncontrollably, as his body flooded into an unexpected orgasm – the physical sensation, the maddening desire, the sudden realization that Mical wanted him as he wanted to be taken – all of it combined caused something inside him to snap, and his body went wild, writhing helplessly on Mical's fingers.
Mical watched in shock and surprise as Atton's eyes fluttered, then Atton's entire body went completely limp. "Atton? M'adouin?" Atton didn't move at all, just a slight movement of his chest to show that he was breathing. "Good heavens," Mical exclaimed as he realized that Atton had fainted. He carefully pulled Atton's legs apart a little so that he could pull his fingers out. Mical looked at Atton again, and bent over to kiss him again while he lay still, and before he could stop himself, placed a series of short, wild kisses between Atton's legs. "No, no, I mustn't, this isn't right," he chided himself, panting, and settled for licking his hand clean after he covered Atton with one of the many blankets on the little love nest.
Mical sat back in the chair, and watched Atton sleep. "By the Celestials, what am I doing?" he groaned. "Madness," he murmured to himself, and took one of Atton's hands in his, lifted it to his lips and covered it with desperate kisses. "Utter madness."