Excerpt (Ahsoka Tano / Riyo Chuchi)
Dec. 6th, 2018 12:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sanerontheinsideoriginal post
*squints*
you… you get an excerpt
oh. it sorta edges into nsfw bc I started this during femslash week but I locked up bc smut writing isn’t always sustainable.
The convention was expected to host representatives from the most staunch of the remaining Confederate worlds, with the goal of hammering out a series of new bills and resolutions that would entice them to join the New Republic. Riyo Chuchi was one of the Republic representatives involved in the legal restructuring of the Republic, and was—apparently—considered an almost neutral face out of previous Republic Senators.
Which, of course, meant that appearing at the summit with a Jedi bodyguard would be regarded as a decided statement of alliances—regardless of the Order’s deliberate effort to win back its neutrality. Master Obi-Wan was already attending the conference as a representative of the Order. Any evidence of the Order holding sway over the parties represented at this conference was sure to end in trouble.
Yet Ahsoka had been assigned as a bodyguard to Riyo Chuchi, and it was her responsibility to protect the Senator even at the showy evening dinners and lavish balls. Honestly, Ahsoka thought, if all the representatives were trying to distance themselves from Republic finery and show off how damaged they’d been by the war, what was the point of all this pomp and circumstance?
Her irritated thoughts were completely short-circuited by Riyo’s solution to this glaring ball problem.
“Looks like you’ll be going as my date,” the Pantoran said lightly.
Ahsoka wasn’t sure that she’d ever seen Riyo with a smirk on her face before. “Your date, Senator?” She raised a challenging eyebrow to cover the sudden nervous flutter in her stomach. “Are you sure you can keep up?”
Riyo’s response was lost in a sudden giggle.
Oh, Force. Ahsoka wondered if she would regret that bit of light teasing before the end of the night.
By the end of the night, she was regretting quite a bit, but most of it centered on letting someone pick out the dress and jewelry for her entirely without her input. Padmé and her handmaidens had been accommodating and eager to assist, as ever, but Ahsoka was not used to—well, any of it.
She’d been dressed in pretty pieces of impeccable craftsmanship. The jewelry was intricate and beautiful, the gown diaphanous—silk in pale blues like Skyguy’s lightsaber, gradually deepening to sapphire at the hem. There was a glittering jewel collar, there were cuffs and rings and chains studded with tiny brilliant gems like dewdrops. Her montrals were adorned with them. At any other time, Ahsoka might well have refused to wear the headpiece, but the chains were fine, and only briefly a distraction—a whispering sort of white noise that caught her attention only sometimes.
The entire elaborate construction was light, and, Sabé had assured her, much sturdier than it looked. That assurance didn’t help: she was still afraid she might tear or break something, or that the chains would tangle if she so much as glanced at them. The weight of all this finery made her like she’d been put on display, Ahsoka couldn’t think why.
Yet all throughout the dinner, and the dance performance afterwards, and the formal dances after that, Riyo found ways to distract her. She’d kept Ahsoka talking through the courses, fingertips resting on her wrist or forearm—or, eventually, hours later, on her thigh. They were four points warmth bleeding into her skin, anchoring her in an unfamiliar place, and for that she was grateful—if inconveniently flustered.
By the end of the night, they stumbled back to their assigned suite, exhausted. Ahsoka hadn’t noticed anything suspicious or untoward, but it was only the first day of the convention, after all. Many delegates hadn’t yet arrived. She felt oddly worn out, stretched out to her limits and pressed flat, almost as though it would be far too much effort to raise her arms and disassemble the fine, intricate construction she wore. It wasn’t quite that she’d found new respect for Padmé and her handmaidens, but Ashoka was suddenly very mindful of it as she sank down on the edge of her bed.
Riyo lingered behind her, bare feet brushing quietly through the luxurious carpet. Ahsoka had thought she would go on to her own room, but found herself looking up at the sound of a soft knock at her door, which she hadn’t bothered to close behind her.
“Need help with that?” Riyo asked, her expression sympathetic. Her own traditional Pantoran headpiece, cuffs, and collar were a relatively simple affair, but Ahsoka expected she’d seen worse.
She let out a relieved sigh. “Please.” Ahsoka half-suspected Riyo was biting back an amused smirk, but couldn’t muster any resentment for it, either. “Why was all of this necessary?” Oh, she sounded absolutely, embarrassingly plaintive.
Riyo laughed, hitching up her skirts to tuck one knee beneath her as she settled beside Ahsoka, reaching for the headpiece first. “Well, no one thought you were a Jedi, did they?”
Ahsoka realised her grimace was probably visible, reflected in the mirror just by the door. But, again, she did nothing to quell it.
Then, voice like smoke in the evening-dim light, “And you look so beautiful in it.”
Ahsoka raised her eyes to their reflection in surprise. “Oh,” she breathed softly.
There was a faint flush to Riyo’s cheeks, only a little less obvious than the heated glow of her eyes, the movement of her throat as she swallowed, perhaps a touch nervously. It sent cold prickling over Ahsoka’s skin, woke a sudden curl of heat in her core and made her breath go short.
Riyo inched just a bit closer, fingers hovering over the clasps of the headpiece. Ahsoka’s montrals fairly hummed at the proximity, her pulse hammering loudly. She was suddenly hyperaware of the brush of Riyo’s light breath on her backtail, the warmth behind her.
“May I?” Riyo asked softly, barely breathing.
Ahsoka nodded, wide-eyed, the delicate chains clinking softly. “Please.”
Anonymous said: would you ever write ahsoka ships?
*squints*
you… you get an excerpt
oh. it sorta edges into nsfw bc I started this during femslash week but I locked up bc smut writing isn’t always sustainable.
The convention was expected to host representatives from the most staunch of the remaining Confederate worlds, with the goal of hammering out a series of new bills and resolutions that would entice them to join the New Republic. Riyo Chuchi was one of the Republic representatives involved in the legal restructuring of the Republic, and was—apparently—considered an almost neutral face out of previous Republic Senators.
Which, of course, meant that appearing at the summit with a Jedi bodyguard would be regarded as a decided statement of alliances—regardless of the Order’s deliberate effort to win back its neutrality. Master Obi-Wan was already attending the conference as a representative of the Order. Any evidence of the Order holding sway over the parties represented at this conference was sure to end in trouble.
Yet Ahsoka had been assigned as a bodyguard to Riyo Chuchi, and it was her responsibility to protect the Senator even at the showy evening dinners and lavish balls. Honestly, Ahsoka thought, if all the representatives were trying to distance themselves from Republic finery and show off how damaged they’d been by the war, what was the point of all this pomp and circumstance?
Her irritated thoughts were completely short-circuited by Riyo’s solution to this glaring ball problem.
“Looks like you’ll be going as my date,” the Pantoran said lightly.
Ahsoka wasn’t sure that she’d ever seen Riyo with a smirk on her face before. “Your date, Senator?” She raised a challenging eyebrow to cover the sudden nervous flutter in her stomach. “Are you sure you can keep up?”
Riyo’s response was lost in a sudden giggle.
Oh, Force. Ahsoka wondered if she would regret that bit of light teasing before the end of the night.
By the end of the night, she was regretting quite a bit, but most of it centered on letting someone pick out the dress and jewelry for her entirely without her input. Padmé and her handmaidens had been accommodating and eager to assist, as ever, but Ahsoka was not used to—well, any of it.
She’d been dressed in pretty pieces of impeccable craftsmanship. The jewelry was intricate and beautiful, the gown diaphanous—silk in pale blues like Skyguy’s lightsaber, gradually deepening to sapphire at the hem. There was a glittering jewel collar, there were cuffs and rings and chains studded with tiny brilliant gems like dewdrops. Her montrals were adorned with them. At any other time, Ahsoka might well have refused to wear the headpiece, but the chains were fine, and only briefly a distraction—a whispering sort of white noise that caught her attention only sometimes.
The entire elaborate construction was light, and, Sabé had assured her, much sturdier than it looked. That assurance didn’t help: she was still afraid she might tear or break something, or that the chains would tangle if she so much as glanced at them. The weight of all this finery made her like she’d been put on display, Ahsoka couldn’t think why.
Yet all throughout the dinner, and the dance performance afterwards, and the formal dances after that, Riyo found ways to distract her. She’d kept Ahsoka talking through the courses, fingertips resting on her wrist or forearm—or, eventually, hours later, on her thigh. They were four points warmth bleeding into her skin, anchoring her in an unfamiliar place, and for that she was grateful—if inconveniently flustered.
By the end of the night, they stumbled back to their assigned suite, exhausted. Ahsoka hadn’t noticed anything suspicious or untoward, but it was only the first day of the convention, after all. Many delegates hadn’t yet arrived. She felt oddly worn out, stretched out to her limits and pressed flat, almost as though it would be far too much effort to raise her arms and disassemble the fine, intricate construction she wore. It wasn’t quite that she’d found new respect for Padmé and her handmaidens, but Ashoka was suddenly very mindful of it as she sank down on the edge of her bed.
Riyo lingered behind her, bare feet brushing quietly through the luxurious carpet. Ahsoka had thought she would go on to her own room, but found herself looking up at the sound of a soft knock at her door, which she hadn’t bothered to close behind her.
“Need help with that?” Riyo asked, her expression sympathetic. Her own traditional Pantoran headpiece, cuffs, and collar were a relatively simple affair, but Ahsoka expected she’d seen worse.
She let out a relieved sigh. “Please.” Ahsoka half-suspected Riyo was biting back an amused smirk, but couldn’t muster any resentment for it, either. “Why was all of this necessary?” Oh, she sounded absolutely, embarrassingly plaintive.
Riyo laughed, hitching up her skirts to tuck one knee beneath her as she settled beside Ahsoka, reaching for the headpiece first. “Well, no one thought you were a Jedi, did they?”
Ahsoka realised her grimace was probably visible, reflected in the mirror just by the door. But, again, she did nothing to quell it.
Then, voice like smoke in the evening-dim light, “And you look so beautiful in it.”
Ahsoka raised her eyes to their reflection in surprise. “Oh,” she breathed softly.
There was a faint flush to Riyo’s cheeks, only a little less obvious than the heated glow of her eyes, the movement of her throat as she swallowed, perhaps a touch nervously. It sent cold prickling over Ahsoka’s skin, woke a sudden curl of heat in her core and made her breath go short.
Riyo inched just a bit closer, fingers hovering over the clasps of the headpiece. Ahsoka’s montrals fairly hummed at the proximity, her pulse hammering loudly. She was suddenly hyperaware of the brush of Riyo’s light breath on her backtail, the warmth behind her.
“May I?” Riyo asked softly, barely breathing.
Ahsoka nodded, wide-eyed, the delicate chains clinking softly. “Please.”
