Ask Cloud Nine

[Darth Stolas]

Morgan went through his plate of food with the kind of practiced ease attributed to someone who was, literally, taught how to eat a plate of food. Only faster than usual because he wanted to leave. When it was empty he'd reached into his jacket to retrieve a card but Emryc wordlessly handed off his own, which only made the desire to return to the ship stronger. There hadn't been a moment's hesitation, he'd just backed up exactly what he said minutes before.

The young Drast stood from his chair and on its own his hand found its way around Emryc's arm, as natural as could be, if with a little more strength than was absolutely necessary. The closeness was lovely, but it didn't exactly improve the problem at hand. Morgan was very quiet on the way to the ship, focusing on just being guided along to somewhere less public and not trying to drag Emryc into an alley somewhere.

Just like that, it seemed, they were up the ramp and back to Emryc's ship. That was good. Morgan looked back at the man who had said his name, a rumbling purr joining the sound of the door sealing behind them.

"Yes," he answered, almost a whine, and rushed forward to capture Emryc's lips with his own. Morgan's arms wrapped around the other man's waist to pull him in, silk and iron, fingers clenched to prevent him from actually grabbing his clothes. The heat felt unbearable and he didn't quite trust himself not to tear them to shreds to get at what he wanted in that moment. He had to maintain at least a little control, especially since he actually cared about damaging bits of Emryc's ship. By now he was becoming almost comfortable with the intensity of the feelings that ran wild through his veins, but even so it took a concerted effort to pull himself away, possibly minutes later.

"Should probably get the ship moving," he breathed, looking into Emryc's silver eyes like they were most precious thing he'd ever seen. He moved to walk away then, slipping his coat off with casual abandon, before pausing to turn back around to Emryc.

"Am I allowed in your room?"

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Hilariously, Emryc was still baffled and clueless on how mere words had such an impact on Morgan. He welcomed it when the man practically threw himself at him, pressing their lips together. Emryc returned the kiss eagerly, that familiar fire igniting in him once again. His hand slid up Morgan’s back till his fingers curled into his hair to press him closer. Emryc had expected to hear some clothing tear by now, but Morgan took great care in how he held him.

He wasn’t quite ready to pull away from the kiss when Morgan did, and he blinked when he spoke. What? Emryc could only stare as Morgan pulled back and quietly tried to temper himself. It only hit him a second later that the man was actively trying not to damage his ship. Emryc couldn’t help but smile at that, fondness clear in his eyes. The expression was replaced abruptly at Morgan’s next question. Briefly, his face turned more pensive, not because he had any qualms with Morgan in his room, but because he knew about the man’s heightened senses. The fact that he had bothered to ask at all left him with a sense of warmth.

“Yes,” He said simply, and Morgan would know this meant a great deal to him. Emryc followed quietly behind him and then past him to keep walking towards the cockpit. He was privately rather impressed at Morgan’s show of control, having seen the man get lost in his passions - which in turn did the same to him - several times prior.

Emryc popped a cigarra into his mouth and lit it before he revved up the engines. He had no idea what Morgan was doing and just filed it away under ‘Morgan things’ that he sometimes didn’t understand. The ship roared to life, and he couldn’t be happier than to hear it again. While the other ship had been nice, nothing felt like home like his ship.

Speaking of which, Morgan would find Emryc’s room to be meticulously neat and clean. However, the lingering smell of incense was in the air, along with the scent of his cologne. Morgan would also pick up on the unmistakable scent of his blood mixed in with all that. The room would be a sensory blast to Morgan of everything Emryc. The bed was perfectly made, and there were some Preef Callo comics neatly stashed next to it. His bag that contained his whip and figurines was on the ground.

Emryc didn’t need to warn Morgan about when they were making the jump, a countdown resounding throughout the ship. The jump was smooth enough, and he finished up the cigarra. Emryc stared at the hyperspace vortex for a moment before heading back towards his room.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

Morgan flashed Emryc a brilliant smile as he passed by, the purring sound intensifying as he went to grab something from his crate where Dante had placed it by the couch. He pulled it out and looked down the length of the ship into the cockpit area, a sly grin spreading over his features. Maybe just a little game.

While Emryc was getting his ship into the air, from somewhere behind him came the sound of cloth slipping across skin and being tossed to the floor, one piece after the other. It was accompanied by a purring hum, an old and jazzy song from the audiodisc they'd listened to. If Emryc turned behind him to look he might catch a glance of branded skin and delicate fingers very deliberately dropping clothing on the floor to make the sound, the rest of Morgan just out of sight.

Then footsteps moved away, and the smooth sound of the door to Emryc's room sliding open and then closed again briefly joined those of the rest of the craft.

Morgan looked around the room, taking in the sights and smells. It was a lot, especially in the state he was in, and he felt the fire fighting to the surface. This was where the smell of iron and incense came from, of course. It was strongest here, along with the now familiar cologne and general smell of Emryc. The comics brought a smile to his face, another little detail he stashed away for later, before his eyes came to a bag on the ground.

He stared at it for a few seconds, then turned away as the countdown began. A wall served as a brace, careful not to actually touch anything else or knock something over as the ship hit lightspeed. Morgan glanced at the bag again, then shrugged and moved onto the bed, planted himself somewhere in the middle, placed what he'd taken from his crate in front of him, and waited. With a great tenseness and energy roiling through his muscles, but Emryc took his time, and he waited all the same.

The sight Emryc was greeted with when he entered his room was entirely as usual, everything in its proper place and entirely undisturbed, save for a few small wrinkles in the sheets from his guest sitting atop them. Morgan himself was quite casually bereft of any clothing, legs crossed tastefully in the center of the bed and his hands resting across his thighs. The faintest silver beneath undertone of his skin, flushed gold in different places, stood out bare in contrast to the many brands.

The gilded stars he had for eyes in that moment turned from where they'd been looking at the stack of Preef Callo comics to meet Emryc's silvers, and he instantly broke out into a bright, fang-toothed smile to match, the purring that had been filling the room suddenly growing much louder.

Neatly placed before him was a coil of black rope. Morgan knew himself fairly well, especially after the destruction wrought on the Lady Lucy. He had no desire to damage a single thing Emryc cared for, so he decided to offer something of a solution if the other man was worried about it. The young Drast spoke after another moment passed.

"You may bind my hands. If you want."

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc could hear the sound of clothing shifting and being removed, and it was all while he had to manually pilot the ship. He had never been so disappointed at flying this ship like he was now. It took everything in his willpower to keep gazing ahead, exhaling slowly as his jaw tightened. He had to call on his training to level his mind and keep his focus on the task at hand.

He didn’t quite know what to expect when he arrived at the doorway to his room. Silver eyes immediately fell on the slender firrerreo sans clothing. It was a feast for the eyes, and he drank in every bit of his chiseled muscles, the delicate accents to his body, the markings, the flushing of his skin and of course those vibrant eyes. Emryc met his gaze, not even noticing the rope at first. Desire danced in the silvers, and he almost walked in until Morgan spoke.

Emryc’s gaze flicked over to the rope. He stared at it for a long moment before looking back at Morgan, and then back at the rope, and then back at Morgan. He thought about the incident on the couch, he thought about how Morgan had found him again afterwards. Emryc was frozen in place, his eyes wide for a moment. His brain had effectively turned into mush. He looked at the rope again and then back at Morgan.

“Oh..kriff..” He said simply, placing his arm against the doorframe, “Oh...kriff…” He began to chuckle then, burying his face into his arm. As the implications of Morgan’s words hit him, making him feel ironically weak, he had to quite literally hold himself up. He couldn’t look at Morgan for a moment, “Oh kriff Morgan…” He all but groaned out the words, still smiling into his arm. He had already told himself this was an avenue he would never be able to explore with him. For Morgan to open this door sent him directly into an exalted plane of euphoria he didn’t think was possible with words. Words. How the hell did words do this?

It took a moment for him to collect himself before he finally turned to look at Morgan again. He met the man’s gaze with a smile before easing himself out of his own clothing. He wanted nothing more than to pin Morgan right then and there, the beast inside him finally being allowed to join the party. He tempered it still, slowly climbing into the bed towards Morgan.

Emryc gently placed a hand against Morgan’s face to cup his jaw. He gazed at him for a moment before leaning in to tenderly kiss him, his touch feathery and loving against his skin. Emryc pulled back after a moment, staring into his eyes as he fought his hardest to reel himself back. The beast was circling just beneath the surface, his eyes betraying him in the way they glinted and the faint hints of yellow, “Are you sure, nightingale?”

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

The young Drast seemed almost to glow beneath the other man's appreciative gaze, clearly enjoying the attention. He sat up straighter and his smile turned halfway to a self-confident grin, the muscles beneath his skin coiling and uncoiling as he moved. Silver eyes on his bare form were welcomed just as surely as the simple touch of another was avoided, and Morgan was making very sure Emryc knew just that.

Morgan tilted his head, a small amount of bemusement admixed with his smile at Emryc's reaction to his suggestion of hand-binding that quickly faded into affection. The other man was being very open with his expressions in that moment, and the young Drast also knew he understood the weight of what the firrerreo was offering. Emryc's laugh, such a rare sound, brought out joyful little trilling of his own. It seemed, overall, to have been an excellent surprise.

He sat silent and still atop the silken sheets, eyes hungrily watching the other man remove his various layers. His hands left his legs and lay on either side of the coiled cord as Emryc joined him, leaning in to sink into the kiss. A pair of vicious and passionate beasts clawed at their cages, chained just beneath the surface and eager to be set free. Burning gold met yellow, Morgan took his time, and Emryc waited.

The throaty purring intensified a moment after Emryc made his confirmation, a second passed, and Morgan sat back on his haunches. His arms slowly rose up, palms up and wrists close together in front of him and offered freely to Emryc. He had permission, and a great deal of trust.

"Yes. Only in front, for now."

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

If Emryc was perceptive before, he was even more so now. His eyes would never leave Morgan’s, and he took in every sight, sound and feel of him. He watched him for a moment before glancing down at the wrists offered to him. An almost wild look came over him, but still he held himself back. His gaze flicked up to Morgan’s again, a smile playing on his lips that only the Firrerreo saw. It rarely ever graced the half Sephi’s face, but it looked as if it always belonged there.

He gently grasped a hold of Morgan’s hands with his, pulling them apart before he leaned forth to nudge him onto his back on the bed. Emryc guided Morgan’s hands on the bed to the sides of him, and he entwined their fingers together. Morgan's hands were gently pinned on the bed, but they were not bound. Emryc gazed down at Morgan the entire time, listening to his breathing, watching his face and body for any tenseness.

It was only when he saw that desire still in Morgan’s eyes that he leaned in to kiss along his collarbone and down his neck. The entire time he curled their fingers together, letting Morgan feel the pressure of Emryc holding his hands while he kissed and explored his body. There was a different kind of passion in his gestures that wasn’t there before, a hungry desire that he had kept subdued. But through it all, he would make it clear just how much the man meant to him.

---​

Emryc reminded himself not to tie the rope too tight next time when he saw the faint red marks on Morgan’s wrists afterwards, but neither had really noticed at the time.

They had danced this dance before, but this time it was a whole different kind of tango. It was one that ushered in the beasts that they both had within them, but it brought out the one inside Emryc even more. It emerged more than it ever had before, and still it was tempered with passion. He played out his desires both carnal and from deep inside the confines of his icy heart. It was a dance he didn’t want to dance with anyone else.

There was unspoken trust between the two men that neither voiced, and yet demonstrated many times over. Emryc pushed aside thoughts of his religion, thoughts of his path, thoughts of his devotion. All of that attempted so hard to creep up on him as he gave himself over to Morgan in entirely new ways. It was exactly what he had been trained and conditioned to avoid.

But none of it mattered as he laid there on his bed. He was on his side with Morgan’s back against his chest. He snaked an arm around the man’s waist and pulled him closer, their warm skin pressed against one another. Morgan fit snugly against him, and this was one of those silly gestures Emryc didn’t even know he wanted.

The way he held Morgan tightly with his arm was almost possessive in nature. Emryc buried his face into Morgan’s hair, drawing in that citrus and herbs smell that he had grown addicted to. He closed his eyes and exhaled softly, “I don’t want to be apart from you,” His voice rumbled quietly, and if Morgan didn’t know Emryc the way he did, he would think the tone was angry in nature.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

Morgan took in every detail of the other man's face while he smiled and knew it was a thing he'd always remember. Wordlessly he assented to being moved, his back touching the sheets along with his arms. Silk and iron fingers squeezed against Emryc's, gold eyes not letting Emryc out of his sight. The two of them had watched each other well during their journey together, picking up little quirks and mannerisms, what was normal and what was out of place. What belonged there, and what didn't.

Emryc looked down at him with care. He took in every movement and every breath, made sure they were what belonged, made sure Morgan was all right. He started slow, and it was something the Firrerreo greatly appreciated given the last time. Keeping in front of him was an excellent start. It allowed Morgan's eyes to stay on Emryc's face, eye to eye.

His fingers flexed again in the other man's grip as he moved in, breath hitching at the gentle touch of lips. He took in the scent of him, a languid fluidity of comfort coming together with the heat beneath his skin. Emryc made it clear how much he treasured him, and Morgan felt he had nothing to fear.

---
​

Breathing came deep and slow, a soft and content purring vibrating through him from his chest. Half lidded eyes idly looked over the rope burns, taking in the sight and sensation before they faded away. Bound and surrendered to the half-Sephi's tender embrace had left him feeling free, and even now it felt like glowing coals were lit beneath his skin. It was a comfortable and familiar warmth that kept an affectionate smile on his face.

Morgan had been at once more tender and more wild than before, and it was doubtless for the best the rope was used. Emryc saw him for who and what he was, gave everything he could, so there had been no reason to hold back. The other man had even managed to coax out something like a roar at one point, though still stifled somewhat so as not to deafen him, and he of course sported at least one new set of marks from ivory fangs somewhere. Morgan hadn't been counting at the time.

Idle thoughts drifted away when Emryc's arm slipped across his waist, joined by Morgan's gently interlacing fingers a moment later. He pressed comfortably into the closeness of their position. That soft little smile widened as Emryc spoke, though a little sad, and a thumb stroked gently across the man's hand.

"I feel the same," he whispered back. He pulled Emryc's arm around him tighter, brows furrowing where he couldn't see them. He was silent for several seconds, expression shifting briefly to something thoughtful.

"But I am your nightingale. For as long as you wish."

His head turned, slightly tilted in Emryc's direction.

"Don't forget, okay? Come marching home, soldier boy. I'll be waiting."

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Morgan’s words brought a smile from Emryc that he wouldn’t see but would know was there. Emryc pulled him in tighter, responding with a feathery kiss along his shoulder. His lips brushed against a bite he had apparently left but didn’t notice before. The fact that it was still slowly healing was a testament to how it wasn’t exactly gentle. He had relinquished more control of himself this time than he ever had before, but he never forgot to keep a pulse on exactly how Morgan felt the entire time. It was a new concept to Emryc entirely, as he often simply took what he desired. This was a battlefield where he met with an equal, and each yielded on their own terms and each knew one another's strengths.

His nightingale.

The words lingered on his mind long after they were uttered. Many more words whirled within his mind, all he felt were too stupid to say aloud. Morgan was far better at this than he would ever be. He knew he wanted Morgan to be his, but he didn’t understand what that meant. He wanted Morgan to know the same of him, but hadn’t he already sworn his allegiance? Was that what he meant? Then why did he look so disappointed when he knelt?

He didn’t know how much time passed as he simply laid there with Morgan. Exhaustion set in and he knew he would drift off if he didn’t move soon. Emryc kissed against where the bite mark was gone by now and gently eased himself out of bed. It was one of the hardest things he had done, but he still had things to work through.

Dutifully, he reached into the bag and set the figurines of his gods along the table next to his bed. He lit a sandalwood incense before he sat down on the ground and closed his eyes to pray. It was exactly as he had done for as long as he could remember. The only difference was that the antithesis to all his beliefs was quite casually draped across his bed. Praying was harder than it had ever been, and his jaw tightened and face twitched as he did so.

Emryc rose when he was done, blowing out the incense as a thin cloud of smoke rose into the air. His was more pensive when he was done as he silently walked over to put some pants - his own this time - on. He walked towards the doorway and turned back to look at Morgan. There was a deep longing in his eyes as he looked at the man, but he managed a faint, tired smile.

“Good night….my nightingale,” He whispered softly as his gaze lingered for a long moment, sampling the words on his lips. Emryc looked as if he were going to say something else, but he simply exhaled instead. He switched off the lights and walked away, letting the Drast prince have full reign of his room.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

Morgan turned to look at his bed companion as they moved off after what seemed like a long time. He turned over to watch him go through a series of well practiced motions, retrieving figurines from the bag and placing them across the table.

The Drast's head tilted slightly and he sat up a little straighter to see the shapes and faces of the figures, all familiar, but some more than others. There were Kravos and Andraste amidst the others, and Morgan's face shifted quickly through a series of expressions. He knew well the shapes of those tiny statues, the imperious and even exaggerated expressions cut into their faces, but it was only one facet of who they had been in life.

He understood then Emryc's reaction to learning the young Sith was a Drast, and golden eyes turned then to gaze upon layered scars across the praying man's back. Their existence hadn't really been questioned, simply accepting they were a weight for Emryc to bear. Now he wondered if these scars were those the soldier boy had chosen himself, or had forced upon him by another. The thought darkened his expression and brought a tenseness to his limbs, but it quickly faded. It was not his place to ask such a thing.

Emryc stood again, his expression deeply thoughtful. Morgan was briefly distracted by his act of dressing before he headed to the door, which put a small pout on the Firrerreo's face. The look in the other man's eyes turned it into a smile after another moment. The words he said brought another flush of gold to Morgan's neck and widened his smile before he turned to leave.

"Good night, cheri. I'll be here," he purred affectionately, eyes glinting in the low light as Emryc turned the lights out. The door shut softly behind him and Morgan was still for a time, thinking to himself.

The Drast prince turned back to the little makeshift altar, the table and figurines. He scooted to the edge of the bed to get a better look at the array of them. They seemed just like the ones from the ancient tombs and old monuments. For several seconds the young Sith's face matched the imperious expressions of the two he most resembled, then slipped into a grin.

With delicate fingers he reached out to, ever so gently, re-arrange some of the figurines. Andraste was placed in the center with Kravos just behind her. To her right stood Siris, and to her left was Evandrus. Morgan adjusted the straightness of one of them with a thumb, brushed a bit of incense ash from Vader's helm, and sat back to observe his handiwork. It was certainly much more like what he knew of them now.

"If you can hear him, please guide him well," he whispered, quite sure the four dead Drast couldn't. But just to be sure.

The prince made his way back toward the center of the bed and into what was left of the warmth Emryc had left behind. It was enough, for now, and Morgan closed his eyes to drift off to sleep.

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

It took a long while before Emryc finally fell asleep. He kept telling himself it was simply because it wasn’t his bed, but even he couldn’t kid himself that much. He missed the other man, and he despised the absence of herbs and citrus. In the end, pure exhaustion finally took him and he drifted off.

As usual, he was awake bright and early. He finished up his morning routine of freshening up, working out and showering. Emryc finally decided that he didn’t mind that Morgan took his time getting up in the morning. He made his way over back to his room, wearing nothing but sweatpants. His hair was still damp and unkempt, and he smelled his usual mix of earthy essences woven with smoky birch and patchouli undertones.

Emryc walked into his room where he found Morgan still in his bed. He silently made his way in, pausing when he noticed the way his figurines were arranged. His gaze lingered for a few moments, an almost sad smile gracing his face as his thoughts began to spiral. He quickly drew himself away, instead climbing into his bed to pull Morgan against him tightly.

He closed his eyes and exhaled softly, finding himself back where he wanted to be all night. It was mid day by then and he couldn’t sleep, but he could still do this. His hand slid gently down Morgan’s side and paused at his hip bone, “It’s 1100 hours, you know..” He murmured softly with amusement in his voice.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

Morgan lay half beneath the covers of the bed, quite peacefully asleep when Emryc entered. It was one of the few times his skin was entirely without silver hues, gold replacing it except where he was marked by brands. His limbs were slightly splayed out, one arm resting across a pillow and the other across his torso, clearly comfortable with where he was. The soft sound of the door opening didn't wake him from his rest, but the presence of another alongside him did.

Gold eyes opened, senses rapidly taking in what was happening around him. He blinked once, a pair of thin membranes passing over his eyes just beneath. He was very still at first, and almost immediately the shadow of fury crossed his face and his skin began to darken to the same tone as his scars.

Then it was gone, skin steadily going back to its usual subtle shade. A little gold crept in, painting up his neck and down his shoulders in response to the various little things that meant it was Emryc next to him. Morgan smiled softly and turned to look at him.

"It's comfortable," he mumbled and became a little more animated, a hand slipping over the one at his side. He pressed in against the familiar warmth, taking in the scents coming off the other man, newer and fresher than the ones that permeated his room. Morgan turned over to face Emryc and slipped in further, wrapping an arm around him and burying his face against his chest. The room was nice, but it wasn't worth as much without Emryc in it.

"I think I like Callo comics now."

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc didn’t miss the shift in Morgan’s skin and that gave him pause until he watched it change back again. He filed that observation away, reminding himself to be more obnoxious about his arrival next time. He gazed into those goldens again when Morgan turned to look at him, having seen the curious thin membranes that covered the surface moments prior.

He smiled at Morgan’s words, savoring the way he nuzzled up against his chest. Morgan would feel the rhythm beating of his heart then, which quickened just a bit when he pressed in close. Emryc’s eyes widened slightly when Morgan mentioned the Callo comics, the words eliciting a grin.

“Oh?” He quirked an eyebrow, “I didn’t think those comics were refined enough for your tastes,” Emryc tilted his face down to kiss Morgan where he could, which just so happened to be his forehead. Every bit of the firrerreo felt warm and it was the perfect reprieve from the consistent chill of the ship. Emryc tried not to think about how they would be back at the station and parting ways the next day. Thoughts of his past crept into his mind - experiments where anything he valued was taken away by force. What if this was no different?

Emryc physically tensed for a moment before he closed his eyes calmed his mind once more. He exhaled slowly as he guided himself back to the present. His hand slid down and casually pulled one of Morgan’s legs to wrap atop his own to draw the man even closer. His hand went to rest comfortably below his thigh. He wanted the firrerreo to be draped across him every way possible and to weave himself against the warmth. His other arm snaked beneath Morgan to come up to wrap around his shoulders.

“Will you sing me a song?”

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

There was a simple kind of joy in just being held, in Emryc wanting him closer and kissing anywhere he could reach. Morgan squeezed tighter with the arm around him, just spending a little while listening to the strong pitter-patter of the other man's heart.

"The art is good," he answered, laughing softly. "I was surprised they made Jakku Red into an issue, though." Morgan squeezed again when Emryc tensed up, not knowing the reason but also not needing to. He entwined his leg with Emryc's and filled as much space between them as could be filled. Soft breaths brushed against the other man's skin and an idle thumb brushed itself against his scarred back, a rumbling purr finding its way out of his chest. The Firrerreo's eyes began to close again, before blinking open when Emryc asked about a song.

"Yes," came the whispered answer after several seconds. Then it was quiet for a few more. "Right now? Because..." He shrugged in Emryc's embrace to indicate he was a little busy just then, entangled together as they were. "I will have to think of one." A tender kiss was laid against the half-Sephi's chest, then again above it, another across his collarbone. Lips brushed feather soft and gentle over his jaw and pressed against his neck, and anywhere else he could reach. His head finally settled for a time just below Emryc's chin, expression mildly thoughtful.

"I have a song. I'm afraid I'll need my hands back for a little while."

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc was once again surprised, tilting his head to stare wide eyed at Morgan, “You...did read them,” He had figured Morgan was simply being nice about the comics, Emryc's voice betraying affection. It was a hobby of his that many would consider silly. In fact, he kept it mostly to himself just like his Huttball fanaticism. He didn’t quite understand how to process Morgan showing a genuine interest in his habits. He only knew that whatever fire he had ignited within Emryc only burned brighter at these little details.

He felt Morgan kiss along his chest, and then his tender lips traveled up along his torso and towards his neck. Emryc closed his eyes to savor the feeling, Morgan’s warm breath brushing against his skin. His hand gripped tighter around his thigh as his other lazily grazed along his back. Fingertips traced down between Morgan's shoulder blades as he remembered how that made him arch and shift on the couch.

Emryc pondered his words for a moment, the hand on his back coming around to tilt Morgan's face up. He leaned in to kiss him briefly before breaking away to smile at him, “Just your voice then, nightingale,” He said softly, “I’m not letting you go.”

He didn’t care if it was nothing more than a hum at this point. Emryc leaned his head back into the pillow again, his hand traveling back around Morgan to pull him close. Silver eyes stared at the ceiling for a moment as he recalled himself doing the same when Morgan sang for him the first time. He couldn’t have known then that he was standing across the man that he would grow to cherish so much. That he was listening to the voice he wanted to hear over and over again, that it came from a man that made him feel so weak and powerful at once.

“...Not letting you go..” He whispered barely audibly with his gaze still on the ceiling. Cracks formed in yet another layer of ice, a faint sheen of yellow briefly flickering across the silver pools.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

Morgan blinked up at Emryc, clearly bewildered. The young Drast very rarely lied outright, but people always seemed to expect dishonesty. It seemed strange to him at times. "I did," he affirmed. Morgan often woke up midway through sleep and did something else for a time, and he'd had little desire to venture from the warm bed into the cold ship. Besides, how could he not be curious about a story written based on a song of his?

Emryc gripped him tighter, the touch along his spine serving to arch the Firrerreo further into Emryc. Their lips touched again and it felt like they belonged there. Morgan smiled brightly up at the other man, eyes alighted with joy and affection at his words. Without a word he pressed his cheek back into Emryc's chest to listen to his heart, squeezing him tightly in his arms. He was quiet then, eyes closed and breathing even, but still something seemed to be happening.

As close and as open Emryc was in that moment, there was no way he wouldn't feel it. The Force began to shift around them, subtle and quiet, barely a whisper beneath the currents. It shifted this way and that, adjusting beneath the skilled fingers of Morgan's will as if he was tuning a hallikset.

It settled at last on something, a subtle rhythm that thrummed through the air, barely a thing at all. Pitter-patter it went, back and forth, steady and sure. The sound of a beating heart, unmistakably.

MUSIC​

Morgan began to hum, soft and gentle, standing out in contrast to the steadily rising rush of feelings that echoed out along with it. Not a few moments later, he took a breath and began to sing.

"There's a calm surrender, to the rush of day. When the heat of a rolling world, can be turned away."

His voice was as low and quiet as his humming, but he harmonized well with the Force. The words weren't the tale of a lost soldier and the glory he represented. They weren't an ancient lullaby sung to the children of a powerful dynasty. It was something much simpler, and much more complicated.

"An enchanted moment, and it sees me through. It's enough for this restless warrior, just to be with you."

The echoes built to a crescendo, strong and true, their volume in defiance of the softness of the nightingale's voice. They sang of a man who listened to a song and told a young Sith never to stop. They sang of little games, circles walked around circles, dancing back and forth. They sang of old books and offers to read, of drinking whiskey at a table and the joyous trill of laughter.

"And can you feel the love tonight? It is where we are. It's enough for this wide-eyed wanderer, that we got this far."

It sang of dinner made in some unimportant couple's apartment, of jazz discs and eyes that wandered for a moment to the bed behind. It sang of rushing wind and the bright red of a speeder bike, the lights of the city passing them by. Of burning anger on the nightingale's behalf rising to snuff out the life of some dead man, and of exactly how much that had meant to him.

"And can you feel the love tonight How it's laid to rest? It's enough to make kings and vagabonds, believe the very best."

It was the moment of panic on a damaged couch, and the fiery feeling in one's chest that pushed a nightingale to follow. It was birdsong and tears and brightest, sunny laughter when he told his feelings to a soldier boy, a scholar, a painter. It was the feeling of comforting arms and warmth wrapped around him and two monsters purring, content and together.

"There's a rhyme and reason, to the wild outdoors. When the heart of this star-crossed voyager, beats in time with yours."

It was a love song, in the pure and powerful way that Morgan could sing. It was every treasured moment and honest feeling he'd gathered during their trip, laid out in the only way he could express them that felt like it was enough. It was a song that reverberated off the walls of the room and sank into the ship, wove its way through the bed, intertwined itself with the material things that sat inside.

"And can you feel the love tonight? It is where we are. It's enough for this wide-eyed wanderer, that we got this far."

His voice was still just as soft and sweet, but in the Force he might as well have been belting it to the heavens for all the effort he put into it. Emryc didn't want to let him go, and Morgan didn't want him to forget. So he decided to make sure of both in the best way that he could.

"And can you feel the love tonight? How it's laid to rest? It's enough to make kings and vagabonds, believe the very best."

Slowly the echoes began to fade, his voice reduced to a rhythmic humming. It fell away into the background, leaving only the gentle heartbeat that was paired with Emryc's own. It was otherwise quiet, the sounds of the ship around them coming back to the fore while Morgan worked to catch his breath from the effort, tears touching the corners of his eyes. The rush of emotions was a lot to handle all at once. But even so, he still had one more thing to say. Just in case.

"I love you. Never let me go."

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc began to feel the shift in the Force, and he was perceptive enough to pick up the very subtle and controlled way it was being applied. It was a finesse very few possessed, and it was a maneuvering of the Force that was beautiful and unique in nature. It was a language he spoke, and it resonated even more so with him as he felt and experienced the strumming of an instrument. This time he could experience it with his mind and spirit in a way he hadn’t before.

Eyes remained closed as he heard Morgan sing, savoring the enchanting and trilling voice that always called the soldier home. He held the man tightly while he sang, their hearts beating against one another as they were cocooned in their warmth. He heard each word, his mind replaying the events since the first day they met. He thought of the first time he heard Morgan laugh, when he saw that fang toothed smile, when he saw the way his skin flushed.

The song took him through his own journey of convoluted and confused thoughts that clashed so harshly against his beliefs. He had been forged into a machine and Morgan was breathing life into it that hadn’t been there before. The idea both excited and terrified Emryc, and he had to fight entire battles within his mind. Desire for Morgan was a constant at the foundation of it all, and that part remained unyielding and persistent, pushing back against even his most ironclad devotions.

It was a comfortable silence that hung between them as Morgan’s voice trailed off at the end of the song. Emryc heard those three words again and this time there was no hiding how his heart pounded against his chest. He wasn’t accustomed to feeling so many things at once, and it drew from him fear he hadn’t felt before. It was raw, unbridled terror that no Jedi, no Eternal and perhaps not even his gods could inflict on him.

Emryc’s breathing grew slightly more erratic, and he gently eased himself away from Morgan, his mind thrown into flux. He sat up on the edge of the bed, his legs swinging over as he looked down at the floor. His chest rose and fell rapidly and he had all the telltale signs of someone having what looked like a panic attack. It took many breaths to find his calm again, took a lot of effort to quell the fear and anchor back to the present.

“I’ve had everything I ever began to cherish taken from me,” Emryc said after a long moment, still not facing Morgan. The scars on his back faced him instead, “I have always been able to come back from it,” Emryc closed his eyes and exhaled softly, “I don’t know if I can come back from you.”

He would have to strike himself many times over for ever saying that.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

Morgan blinked and looked up from Emryc's chest, tensing in response to the reaction he seemed to be having. His heart was racing and his breathing sped up, the scent of fear tinging the air. The young Sith sat up, eyes glancing down to look at the other man's scars. His brows furrowed with worry, unsure of what to say in that moment. He didn't know what was wrong. Was it the song? For a moment his lips turned down and sadness crossed his face, but he looked up again when Emryc began to speak.

For a second afterwards, Morgan was still and silent, taking in the words. His eyes glanced over to the figurines on the table, then to the scars across the back of the man he loved.

The Drast prince, suddenly animated, leapt from the bed and slinked around in front of Emryc, skin an alarmingly deep silver. Golden eyes flashed with fury and his fangs were bared in a snarl, that gentle, loving purr having shifted sharply into a rumbling growl that filled the air. Both hands were planted firmly on either side of Emryc and Morgan got right in in his face, the fire beneath the surface blazing bright under his skin.

"I will not be taken," he asserted, pressing in closer. "Who would dare? Tell me, so I can flay the skin from their bones and leave them to rot in the sun." His words and tone were vicious, uncompromising, savage, and entirely genuine. Iron fingers curled into the sheets of the bed, resisting the urge to pounce at Emryc in that moment, even though it was not him but the shadows he saw that aroused such anger. "Do you think me weak, defenseless? Let them try, I'll tear them apart and string them to the fortress ramparts by their guts."

A hand, soft as silk, came up to lay itself against against Emryc's jaw and, gently as he could, bring Emryc's face up to meet Morgan's. Eyes like gilded suns burned into silver, boundless fury and passionate love in equal measure, and with the expression he had he might have looked like the true face of Andraste most of all.

"I am yours. You are mine. Is this not so? We stand together, and any who will come to take me from you will discover the very definition of chronic and sustained cruelty."

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc was lost in his own mind, grappling with his vulnerabilities. He barely began to collect his thoughts when Morgan abruptly leapt off the bed and jumped in front of him. There was no hiding the shock on his face, silver eyes wide and lips parted. Morgan was directly in his face, fire in his eyes and his skin flushing to match. He looked as feral as he had in the manor where he tore out the woman’s throat. Fangs were bared and for a moment he looked as if he would strike.

If not for the eyes that still held in them passion that only Emryc knew.

He knew those eyes even when the beast was out in display, even when Morgan could otherwise reduce even the hardiest of men to soiling themselves. Emryc was still as a statue, the surprise slowly melting away as he remained unmoving.

He let Morgan’s tirade wash over him, fire and passion pouring over like lava and burning him. Hearing that they belonged to one another struck him deep and he had to grapple with that. It was not a concept he understood, and it was Morgan giving name to something he had wanted all along. However, his values, his devotions, his religion, all of it clashed and clawed at him. He saw in Morgan his gods, the same gods that had guided him thus far.

“Fate always forces it to happen,” He growled, anger surging through him. He saw the dark hair, he saw the eyes, he saw the delicate lines of his face and he saw Andraste. Before he could stop himself, his own eyes flashed yellow, fully yellow, just for that moment. His hand jerked up to grasp Morgan around the throat as he moved forth and slammed the man into the wall behind him. He expected Morgan to tear him up as a result, and he was prepared for it, almost welcomed it. All of his religious figurines fell over.

“You were sent to me from the station,” He growled in Morgan's face, “You were sent to do this. Sent to make me vulnerable. Sent to make me feel….” His voice cracked slightly as he loosened his grip abruptly, eyes widening as he came back to reality. He looked horrified as he thought of what he had just done. He slowly stepped back, looking down at his hands.

“I’m a machine, Morgan,” He said barely above a whisper after a moment, “I can’t be loved. I can’t love. I can only destroy. If things don’t get taken from me, I inevitably push them away. I was made into this, Morgan, I was meticulously forged and crafted into this,” He looked up to meet his gaze, pain clear as day in his eyes, “As Sith we have to break and rebuild ourselves. For me the things that broke were never a choice until I became what I am today.”

He felt too weak to stand and he collapsed down to his knees then. His hand reached for the bag on the side and he pulled out the whip.

“The story on my back is one I crafted myself since. It is one I wrote line by line,” Emryc slowly looked up to gaze at Morgan, “You are one I will have to write over and over and over..and over.. again until the skin and flesh is stripped from me. My gods demand it. It will be me who is subjected to the very definition of chronic and sustained cruelty."

He had convinced himself he was incapable of this. Asmimys had told him just as much. He was not capable of love. He was nothing but the monster inside.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Darth Stolas]

Emryc was crying again, in that strange and fiery way he did. He was confused, conflicted, torn between one thing and another. It turned into anger, and hate, and despair in the span of a few moments. Which is why Morgan knew what he said was wrong, even if Emryc didn't himself. That deep and lasting pain the other man's eyes was wrong. It did not belong there, and it lit a fire in the Drast's blood that he had never felt. Strangely, in that moment, he somehow found a way to control it. The reason why was almost ridiculously simple.

Even with Emryc's hand around his neck he didn't want to hurt him, and iron fingers tore through bedsheets instead of tender flesh. Even as angry and upset Morgan was he didn't want to damage his precious ship, so the fury seethed and roiled and pushed against his skin but didn't break the surface. The love he felt for Emryc he'd gathered in his heart served as the perfect and most refined fuel for the furnace, a building explosion he could barely contain. But he did anyway, because he demanded it with every fiber of his being.

His eyes glowed bright with the heat, not leaving the yellowed orbs before them for a single instant, not until Emryc fell to his knees on the floor. Then they turned to the whip he brought forward, the words the other man spoke carrying the weight of years of torment. Morgan stood very, very still. His hands were clenched into tight fists, shreds of sheet between his fingers with drops of blood soaking into them and falling to the floor, nails digging into tender skin.

"I do not serve!" he shouted, and the Force echoed that sentiment with power, the air vibrating with the intensity of his pronouncement. Somewhere behind him a figurine cracked and the sheets in his hand began to smoke and burn. He moved like lightning, dropping the ashes that remained and wrapping silk and iron fingers around the wrist that held the whip to pull Emryc to his feet. "And we do not kneel, Emryc," he declared with a sureness and stubbornness that could not be shaken in ten thousand years. Morgan Drast had already made his decision.

"You cannot love? Who decided that?" He stepped forward toward Emryc. "Only a machine? Who decided that? Was it destruction when you named me Nightingale, hm?" His other hand jabbed forward into Emryc's chest. "Not just a soldier boy, I said so myself. Your gods, my ancestors, demand this of you? You want to see them, what made them into the gods and monsters they were in life?" He spoke quickly, not sure if he was making sense in the flurry of words, but it was all he could do not to drop into a feral roar. Then, suddenly, his fingers loosened from the other man's wrist, still shaking with rage. As delicately as he could manage he guided him to at the very least collapse into a seated position rather than back on his knees. The next words he spoke were in a low, loving, growling whisper.

"Then I will show you." He turned on his heel, entirely heedless to the continued lack of clothing, and after a moment there was the by now familiar sound of Morgan rifling through his crate, albeit with a great deal more energy than usual. Another couple of seconds and he was back, a polished metal box in his hands. He crouched down on the floor, in the exact place Emryc used to pray, and he opened the box.

Inside lay a lightsaber, adorned in electrum and crimson sarrassian iron and without a crystal, which was laid carefully atop the table. A small, old wooden box was placed next to to it, an old-fashioned wind up key embedded in the side. Morgan turned the key several times, slowly and carefully, and then he lifted the lid of the box until it held its position held it open.

MUSIC BOX​

A song began to play, as old as the box itself. Morgan stepped back from the table and sat on the edge of the bed, the fire inside him retreating beneath the surface, reduced to smoldering coals that only shone in his gaze. On the inside of the lid was a copy of an old picture, one that would never be shown in history books or official files, and certainly not by whoever had given Emryc those figurines. But there it was, all the same, a greatly personal and private thing to the young Drast.

​

Spoiler: Family

It was the Drasts as Morgan had known them his whole life, and nothing like the figurines and statues everyone saw. The expressions they wore were human and varied, a wide variety of emotions shown on their faces, far more alive than the dead shapes Emryc was used to. In the picture they were all together, Andraste and the three men she had loved most of all.

Tears dripped from the prince's face and down across the hand he lifted to wipe them away, weary now from an exertion beyond his current ability to properly control. He'd lost his temper again. Morgan spoke softly again from his place on the bed.

"They were the most powerful beings in the galaxy once. A soldier, a scholar, a king, and an empress. They were gods amongst men, unbroken and unyielding, tempered by their fury, and the most cruel and terrible of monsters. It was their humanity that made them so. Their love, their sorrow, their anger."

Morgan almost couldn't get the next words out, choked past a lump in his throat that threatened to become a sob.

"She chose three to love and be loved by. I choose one, Emryc. You promised."

@Sreeya

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Morgan’s shout caused Emryc to flinch, sensitive ears twitching in pain. He felt defeated and prepared for the Firrerreo to strike him next. He would have welcomed it, and it would have been the perfect atonement. It would have hit harder than his whip, and it would have been from the very thing that caused him this dilemma to begin with. Instead Morgan took his fury out on his bedsheets, barely pressing into skin and showing self restraint he hadn’t thought possible.

Emryc found himself abruptly hoisted up. He couldn’t protest or fight against it because he anchored onto Morgan’s words. We? While pulling him up? Emryc’s eyes stared blankly for a moment, almost on autopilot as Morgan unloaded on him. He was several steps behind reality, still processing what Morgan had said. No, he was misreading things. This wasn’t his forte, and he was confused and Morgan was seemingly lost into his mind.

He felt Morgan jab into his chest, and he couldn’t even begin to form an answer to the barrage of questions. Was it destruction to name him nightingale? Was it destruction the way Emryc held him tightly? Was it destruction when they listened to old songs in bed? Perhaps so. Perhaps it was the sweetest destruction. Destruction he wanted over and over again, but destruction nonetheless. As deceptive and alluring as the Dark Side.

Emryc sat cross legged on the ground when Morgan guided him back, still reeling from everything, his ears still ringing. His gaze lingered on the sheets that laid in a heap, the smell of charred fabric hitting his nostrils. He was a passenger on this ride, his mind barely processing what was happening. He was designed to be simple and methodical, and Morgan introduced countless new variables he didn’t know how to process. How did the man even find someone to love in such a simple creature like him?

What could Morgan possibly have to share about his gods that Emryc didn’t know? He placed his hands on his knees, sighing as he stared into those sheets. His mind kept coming back to when Morgan said they did not kneel while pulling him up. Emryc prided himself in being meticulous with research and understanding, and yet he couldn’t think of a single book that could tell him how to understand Morgan.

The Firrerreo returned and drew out a saberhilt. Emryc stared at it curiously for a long moment before he was distracted by the music box. It was an old tune, one that had been remade several times over. He had never heard the original before and he found himself staring in fascination at what was clearly a direct heirloom. Emryc had believed Morgan when he revealed his lineage, but to see it presented before him shattered through him.

It wasn’t until Morgan tilted it so Emryc could see that his world turned upside down.

He had never seen them like that before. Emryc leaned in close to look, his eyes widening as he saw their faces. They were more alive than he had ever seen them and he couldn’t believe that was the same Siris that once wore the Eternal mask. The Kravos he saw was not the twisted and corrupted version of Kravos from the Holocron. Had his gods willed his way of life or had it been the man that simply gave him the whip?

Did he have a path set by them or was it a path set by the station? Emryc felt sick to his stomach, fingers weakly reaching out to trace over the picture. Morgan’s words dealt heavy blows as he took in every little detail of the faces in the picture. An entire dynasty was born through their commitment and loyalties. Did they simply….embrace and accept their flaws?

Emryc was torn away from looking at the picture when Morgan spoke, his voice faltering and tears in his eyes. Silvers stared into the goldens as they had so many times before. Except there was something different this time, and the surface of his eyes were glassier than before. They glinted just a bit as his nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. He quickly looked up at the ceiling and drew in a deep breath and exhaled. He squeezed his eyes shut and remained like that for a second before looking down again.

This was all enough to unravel everything he had believed. The station couldn’t have known any of this. The station would consider Morgan’s existence a threat. No one could have planted this. Morgan was risking his life sharing all of this. It was a wonder the Eternal’s mask did not call to Morgan and tip off the wearer.

Emryc turned to look back at Morgan only when he was sure his eyes lost that look they had just then. He tilted his head as he managed a sad, broken smile.

“...We?” He said with a whisper, once again thinking back to Morgan’s outburst. He didn’t ask about it beyond that, didn’t prod at it.

Emryc wrapped his arms around Morgan and pulled him in, pressing their lips together. He tasted the salty tears as he kissed him passionately and furiously. He wanted to accept this defeat and collapse against him. He wanted to stop denying himself like he had all his life. He wanted to accept the reality that Morgan was a Drast and as such could speak more to his gods than he ever could. He wanted to believe that he was capable of being something more than an empty shell. He wanted to believe that he could have a direction and path that was not set by the station.

More than anything he wanted to close his eyes so Morgan couldn’t see the tears that formed there for the first time since he had been a small child. He wanted to hide with every fiber of his being just how vulnerable the man made him. He wanted to hide how the man caused more joy than he ever thought possible and more pain than when Oota had torn his back open and then many times over.

He was lost in the melancholic tunes of the music box as he kissed Morgan and slowly lowered him onto his back on the ground. They were surrounded by the music box, the saber, Emryc’s whip, the cracked figurine. It was just the two of them between two worlds that had crashed and collapsed together in ways neither of them had ever planned.

@Mr. Teatime