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This island is a kriffin’ paradise.
After Corin and his Mandalorian took Hauroko with them on a mission, there really isn’t much left to do for Leave-it and his pals than to learn how to relax. And while he wasn’t great at learning things in a short time, he manages to pick this one thing up rather quickly.
It also gives him the time to moon after that entrancing Zev’sonya with her lovely eyes and sharp tongue.
“I think I could love her,” Leave-it tells Kiergan on their second night . . . right after Zev’sonya had chased him away with a threat to take her vibroblades to a certain part of him he’d rather keep, thank you very much.
“Leave it,” Kiergan replies reflexively, cleaning his blaster for probably the millionth time since their free time. “She’s a smuggler and just here for the money.”
Leave-it looks to turn with pleading eyes to Hauroko before he remembers she isn’t there to ignore him with a faint smirk which he always takes to mean she’s on his side.
“Well,” he says, getting to his feet and brushing sand from his palms, “I’m going for a walk.”
“Don’t wander off somewhere dangerous and get yourself killed,” Kiergan drawls.
“Yes, sir, father, sir!” Leave-it slaps a terrible salute against his chest which turns into a rude gesture.
He doesn’t wander off somewhere dangerous, unless he thought of the ocean as dangerous . . . which it probably is. He can’t swim, not an inch, but he likes shucking off his boots and rolling his pants up to let the waves tickle and grab at his toes.
“You can’t catch me,” he whoops, skidding back and forth along the shoreline, playing a game with the ocean.
No one’s around to see him being silly, but it’s not like Leave-it really cares.
After the game has taken most of his energy, he flops further up the sandy banks and squints at the sun settling into the watery horizon. It’s beautiful and peaceful, something he never thought he’d see before Michael had awoken the idea in their minds that defecting was a feasible action.
“Gotcha!”
Someone pounces from behind and grabs his shoulders. Leave-it squawks with surprise, flailing uselessly.
“Wow, you’d be dead,” Zev’sonya drawls, straightening up with those smooth movements of hers. “Really dead.”
“Ha ha, no,” he protests. “I could take you.”
She arches an eyebrow, pulling a vibroblade from her belt and spinning it expertly in her hand.
“I could!” Leave-it insists, sitting up.
“Is that a challenge?”
“Uh, sure,” he swallows. “Yeah. It is.”
She grins then, a full gesture that shows her fangs and is not sexy . . . but it actually is.
Oh, stars , he’s such an innocent, desperate soul. Maybe this is just the result of starvation from any kind of romantic situations ever?
“I’ll go easy on you,” she says, and then pounces again.
“Hey!” he manages, bringing his arms up in a hasty block just before she collides with him.
They go rolling in the sand, gritty white grains scratching his skin and crumbing against his lips. He’s not a terrible wrestler, and it’s not like he’s never fought against female bodies before . . . but it’s always been against bodies he’s never had a particular interest in.
Which makes this scuffle very different.
Zev’sonya is all hard muscles and nice curves and soft in the right areas. He can’t help but apologize when his palms brush against her chest or lower than expected, and she takes it with a huffed laugh and then a punch somewhere really, really painful.
The punches finally wear him down, narrowing his focus to the point where he finally makes it to his feet. She rises up split-seconds later and lunges at him —
—and Leave-it socks her right in the sternum.
Zev’sonya’s eyes go wide right as she makes an oof sound.
“I’m so sorry!” Leave-it says, and then crows triumphantly, “I said I could take you, so ther—”
He isn’t able to finish because she strikes again, a hand darting out to grab the front of his shirt and haul him close. He struggles until he feels something sharp and shuddering against his throat.
“You’re cute,” she says.
“Thanks,” Leave-it replies with a grin, and then winces when the movement causes her blade to knick his throat.
“Oops,” Zev’sonya drawls.
“You’re scary,” he blurts.
She grins and shows fangs. “Good.”
“I wanna kiss you,” he adds.
Kriff, here he goes again, his words stumbling out faster than his brain can count and collect them.
But Zev’sonya is still smiling as she says, “Okay.”
And then she kisses him.
For his first kiss, it’s probably not the best. There’s sand getting in the way of their lips and gritting against his teeth, which means it’s probably on her teeth, too. And when he goes to touch her shoulder, he ends up mushing his hand against her chest again .
But Zev’sonya laughs quietly and pulls back a moment to spit sand out, brush a thumb over his mouth, and then kiss him again.
The next time she pulls back, Leave-it mumbles, “I guess I’m really cute.”
“You are,” she agrees. “And you’re an idiot. You talk too much. Kinda clumsy.”
“O-okay.” He laughs awkwardly. “Uh, if you didn’t want to kiss me, then uhhh—”
“See, an idiot,” Zev’sonya sighs.
When she starts to kiss him again, he thinks he’s got the hang of things now.
He starts to learn the shape of her features with his hands, careful not to let his fingers wander too far. He touches the point of a fang with his tongue and then gasps a little when she uses her tongue, too. And when she bites down not ungently on his bottom lip, well, other parts of him really perk up at that.
“Hey, Leave-it!” Kiergan shouts from somewhere nearby. “You out here?”
“Kriff,” he mutters.
“Don’t worry about him,” Zev’sonya says, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “He can’t stop us all the time, right?”
Leave-it swallows hard and nods. “Yeah.”
“See you later, you cute idiot,” she says, leaning in for one last quick kiss.