Call me, call me any, anytime!

[buckingham]

the phone sex +
sexting meme

what it says on the tin. leave a blank comment, include your preferences or a starter, it's all good. reply to others with a text, a dirty picture (please link all nsfw things!), misfires, misdials, drunk filthy voicemails, whatever your heart desires.

Comments

[morghon]

"More detours," he says with an exaggerated groan, accompanied by a mock wince that he makes sure she catches before he turns to complete powering down their ship. Well, they have done a lot of detouring, haven't they? She always manages to come up with a formal, sensible request that he can't officially deny, and now with her having taken particular interest in lightsaber crystals, she's bound to make so many more of those. On the occasions he's considered saying no... somehow she manages to talk him into changing his mind, deliberately or otherwise. It's just some harmless sightseeing. And what's the rush, anyway? They weren't exactly given a deadline, and with the Lord Commander occupied with business in Coruscant, Jon's not been hurried to get her to King's Landing, either. That and he can always blame her for the numerous changes to their flight plans. He's but a bodyguard and a pilot, after all, subservient to a lady and a senator and an esteemed colleague of the Supreme Chancellor.

If he's to be completely honest, however, he is also stalling. Why rush when every detour is an opportunity to spend time together? Alone, for the most part, sometimes even alone under the moonlight. And now exploring caves, slipping away from the world and forgetting time and just being with each other in relatively dark places? It's a delightfully dangerous adventure that he finds himself arguing against the voice of reason and sense in his head. Of course she has every right to have a lightsaber. Of course he's going to help her find an appropriate crystal, and because she won't be content with one, they're not going to be done anytime soon. Of course he's going to help her build her saber, and make sure she doesn't accidentally injure or cut herself. Of course this is all allowed; she needs protection, she needs to be able to protect herself, she's from a noble house that in Westeros would've warranted an ancestral weapon. Excuses, and he'll gladly make up a hundred more to justify this excursion and its consequences.

Like the fact that he's standing up and holding his hand out for her to take. They don't have to hold hands, do they? She can walk just fine. She's not some child who requires assistance in getting off a ship. But it had felt good to hold her hand, felt good for their fingers to lace together, and he'd relished in the warmth that had blossomed between them. "We're not stopping until you have crystals in every color, I know," he teases, smiling at her. "We better get started, then."

[nexubait]

Maybe detours have been one of the defining features of their trip, but it hadn’t brought them any real trouble, had it? And it hadn’t resulted in any true delays – her Chancellor was not badgering her for not yet being installed in a gilded cage in King’s Landing, and her defender’s Lord Commander wasn’t chastising him for taking such a long, meandering route to deliver his charge. They had, for the time being, seemed to escape the galaxy’s notice, and she wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to continue riding that liberating wave for as long as they could. And if anyone asked, this particular detour had a reasonable foundation. It was, as was everything else between them, safety-related. A respected figure in the Senate was deserving of a weapon, right? Who better to facilitate the creation of that weapon than a renowned Jedi? She felt prepared to defend their detours if need be. And they both knew who was at fault if it really came down to it. “My pilot is unpredictable and impetuous, and what’s a passenger to do when he starts flying us deep into the Gallo mountains?” She can be sure he loses that argument.

Only in theory, of course, because she is delighted to be complicit in each detour they make, and she is especially delighted by this detour, because it is so far removed from civilization. A cave, a true, dark cave, lit only by the glimmer of crystals, with no one to catch any glimpse of them or eavesdrop on anything they might say? And the dark – the last time the dark had felt so tempting was in her own apartment, with wine making the moonlight shiver in bands of silver, sliding in shadows over muscled arms, and the slope of a lean back, bewitching every murmured word into a secret mantra of desire. Maybe every dark was tempting. But the opportunities to disappear into it were not always present – not like this, now, with an actual cave waiting to shield their impulses from the world.

Not hesitating to reach back out and take his hand, she links her fingers smoothly there and can feel the flame of her palm meeting the flame of his, keeping her attention lifted to the escapade waiting to unfold before them, as if this affectionate joining and rejoining of hands does not need to be officially noted. It doesn’t, not officially. But she has a full litany of unofficial details from their officially-sanctioned trip stored in her head, and in the tips of her fingers, and in the pattering of her chest. Things that are natural and acceptable and can go on unsaid, right? Just like this undertaking is natural. Only them and the mountains and the cave hidden somewhere within them. It’s acceptable. And she’s glad to hear that he knows they’re not stopping until she has crystals in every color, mirroring back a chipper smile before using their linked hands to begin tugging him out into the waiting world a little more energetically. “Thank you for being apprised of the heart of the mission. But another reason we should hurry up and find this cave is that it looks like it might rain.” An honest reading of the play of the clouds above them? Or just a wish spoken aloud? Either way.

[morghon]

He takes a moment to look up at the sky, his fingers tightening a little as they lace together with hers. He hums noncommittally, then says, "You're right, it does look like it might rain." An honest reading of the play of the clouds above them? They do look a little heavy and gray, don't they? And who knows better about the weather and climate of Naboo than her? With that he looks back to her, smiling — knowingly, impishly, as though they're exchanging a secret — before he lets her lead the way to their destination.

It's not hard to locate the yawning mouth of the cave, and he helps her make the climb; she's tiny and nearly weightless that he can practically just toss her over his shoulder and carry her all the way inside like a sack of potatoes. He doesn't, of course, not wanting to insult her or rob her of the experience, especially since she's insisted that she's dressed in the appropriate cave exploration attire. As they traverse the rocks to the entrance, he uses the Force to clear the path ahead of them, making sure there aren't any predators lurking about or other dangers that might spring up on them and put her at risk. This might be an unofficial detour, and here and now they might not be senator and Jedi, but that doesn't mean he's any less her protector, her defender.

The sight that greets them after they cross the mouth of the cave is so stunning that even he stops to take a moment to breathe and take the view in. He's been to a crystal cave before — there's a one near Winterfell, behind a waterfall — but it hadn't been anything like this, as though the earth had swallowed up the night and transformed it into shards of moonlight. "Not black," he declares triumphantly, turning his head to grin at her, because he has to. This location had been his suggestion, after all.

[nexubait]

It could rain – Naboo was full of surprises. The sky could open up and unleash a downpour upon them, or a quiet, gentle sprinkle could begin without warning. Thunder could crack and shudder through the clouds. Anything could happen. She hardly cares what sort of weather is going to serve as the backdrop for this expedition, anyway, trying not to stay stunned at the fact that their fingers are still laced, that they’re keeping this contact as if it’s ordinary and meaningless. Or as if its meaning doesn’t flout the code of formality they’re supposed to be abiding by. She’s not going to be the one to retract her hand first. Flicking a curious glance up to gauge his reaction, either to their comfortable intimacy or the weather, she’s charmed by that knowing, impish smile she finds, returning a cheerful smile of her own. “No time to waste, then.”

There’s the threat of the rain, after all, and the threat of this stolen time disappearing just as easily as they’d found it, so she takes her role as leader swiftly and surely. The cave they’re after is easy to find, thankfully, even if there is a careful climb involved. One that she’s not quite dressed for, but that has never stopped her before, and so she doesn’t balk now. He’s there to help her, anyway, with a steady hand and a gentle strength, and it does cross her mind that she could just as easily climb onto his back and allow him to do the clambering for both of them. But there’s something to be said for the light exertion it takes to reach the cave, and there’s no dulling her wonder when she bears witness to another display of the Force, even if it’s only to clear a safe path for them. Invisible energy that can be commanded by a human hand to lift physical objects; how could she ever not stand in awe?

The mouth of the cave is an invitation to things unseen, of course, so it’s with bubbling excitement that she finally crosses that threshold, not yet releasing his hand. She does release her astonishment with a gasp, however, because while ‘crystal cave’ calls to mind all sorts of vibrant imagery, it couldn’t have prepared her for the sight glowing before them now. Luminous crystals, exactly as she’d hoped there would be, but she couldn’t have imagined that they would look like this. Like the cave is made of night sky and the shining, softly burning crystals are made of moonlight. Captured flames of color, stones made of starlight, an incandescent hideaway right here on Naboo. She doesn’t have time to regret how much of her life she’d lived never knowing the cave was here, too infatuated with the fact that it’s here now, tugging her taller counterpart along and holding a speechless breath as if breathing might extinguish the glow of the light-infused stones. There’s only room for a dazed whisper. “Are these real?”

(๑˘︶˘๑)

[morghon]

The mouth of the cave is an invitation to things unseen, true, but it's not the crystals that hold his attention. They do, fleetingly; they're startlingly beautiful, after all, like moonlight distilled into tiny, human-sized stars. He could stare at them forever... but he doesn't. Instead, his gaze flits to her face, easily, thoughtlessly, naturally, drawn by the excitement in her eyes and the happiness radiating off her like the warmth of a sun. She loves it here, as he'd hoped she would. And he made it happen. How strange, for him to feel this way, and more and more each day? He's found himself wanting more of that smile, more of that laugh, more of that wonder, and the thrill it brings him to know that he'd given her some happiness, that he can be more than what everyone back in his homeworld had said he could only ever be.

"They're real," he answers, grey eyes still not leaving her, even she tugs him forward, deeper into the cave. He won't let go unless she does. Because he wants to see if one of the crystals is calling out to her. Because he wants to keep an eye on her and make sure she stays safe. And simply because he wants his hand to remain in hers, fingers laced together, an impossible tangle that under ordinary circumstances should not be sanctioned. "I'm... not well-versed in crystal lore or science," he admits. "But I know that they are real." He does know something, occasionally. "Go on, you can touch them. You're safe."

He feels a curious ping somewhere further into the cave, a melody that's sad and haunting but eerily beautiful, and it surprises him not because he can hear it, but because he's not expected to find himself attuned to more than one crystal. Because that's what it is: a crystal calling out to him. Could it be possible, then? What she'd said, about having lightsabers in every color? She'd be delighted if that were true, and he can already see the changes to their flight plan, the detours taking longer, more roundabout, their stopovers growing in number. He also realizes the implication of that, as selfish as he knows it is. More time. Borrowed, stolen, however it is. But more of it.