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Too Close (Not Close Enough)

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When they stumble into the warehouse, a good three blocks from the Imperial Palace, her dress is a ruin of blue silk, and his suit spattered with dirt. Her heels dangle between her fingers, bent out of shape after being used as truncheons.

They shove one cargo box out of the way, his hand inches from hers, and Cassian stoops to pulled out the cloth bag hidden beneath. The inconspicuous, sensible clothing Bodhi dropped off as promised sends relief through every muscle.

"Thank the stars," she whispers, reaching out, and doesn't look at him when their fingers almost brush.

Any other night, this would be nothing. In the nine months since Scarif, there have been many fights that ended with his arm slung across her shoulder, or the world turning black as she collapsed into his arms. They share quarters when the base is full, and stalk side by side, shoulders brushing, down roads on Imperial-occupied moons. Touch is just touch.

But tonight has not been normal, and when Jyn closes her eyes, his touch ghosts across her skin. She can still taste his lips on hers as she slid back on the benchtop, hesitant at first while they listened, cautious, for footsteps approaching. She had clutched his shoulders, pulled him closer with a leg curled around his hips, until every inch of him pressed against her like a brand. The memory of the sound he made, their kiss deep and hot, rings in her ears.

His hands had been gentle, pushing her skirts out of the way and skimming up her bare thighs.

Jyn really, really needs to stop thinking about it.

He's not making it easy, and the sound of clothes rustling behind her makes her belly go tight. Cassian changing is another ordinary thing, but the memories keep rising: his tie soft in her hands as they both tried to undo it, his moan when she nipped at the exposed skin of his neck, jerking his collar down, his hand buried in her hair and tugging the twist into disarray.

It had been enough that the guards passed them by, on the way into the datavault. Leaving had been a different problem, and if Cassian had been more vicious with his blaster than usual, Jyn pretended not to notice.

She pulls the dark turtleneck over her head at long last, blocking out the rest of the world, and turns to look at him.

Thankfully, there's not an exposed inch of skin now that he's changed, and his quiet, unsmiling determination is as steady as the ground beneath her feet. The ballroom had spiked with wild heat, but this, camaraderie in the dead of night, this is the two of them.

"Bodhi's five minutes away," he murmurs, close enough he can speak softly, and she nods.

She blinks.

He's cleaned his face with a hand, then his ruined tuxedo, but a bead of blood dries from the tiny cut above his cheekbone. Without thinking, she rubs it off with her thumb.

Cassian's eyes shoot to her face. He swallows audibly, and the dark look he gives her is not normal, except it is.

He's watched her like this when they lie in bed together, too close but not close enough. It's much worse now that he looks like himself, and she wants to push him back against the crates and kiss him again until his arms hold her tight, breathless with joy.

Her hand drifts away.

"You missed a spot," she says, heart thundering in her chest, and because she isn't that reckless, follows him when he leaves.