Mara was sulking again. Luke loved her madly, but she really needed to stop taking everything so seriously. He walked over to the sofa, deliberately sitting so close as to smush her into the armrest.
“Hey!” she shoved him away, clearly absorbed by her own bad mood.
“Hey yourself!” Luke leaned over and dared a kiss on her neck.
Mara sighed, as if his lips were something to suffer.
“Stop being grumpy. It’s lame.”
Luke hadn’t really expected her to instantly snap out of it, but Mara burst into laughter, a real smile lightening her face as she turned towards him.
“Lame?” she quoted back at him, incredulous. “Were you born during the Old Republic, Master Skywalker? Seriously lame.”
Her strong hands pushed his shoulders firmly and Luke grinned. He could accommodate this change in mood. He slid back to lie down on the cushions.
“What’s wrong with 'lame'?” Luke mock-protested. He was ready to roll with it, if teasing his dated Outer Rim slang was going to bring Mara out of her funk. Mara laughed again, straddling his prone form as he continued. “It’s a totally hip thang, baby, all the chicks are digging on it.”
Green eyes rolled dramatically as his wife started tugging his shirt out of his pants, bending to kiss a path down his chest as she worked.
“I’m going to have to kriff you to stop hearing these stupid words now, aren’t I, Skywalker?”
“Don’t be a drag, sugar—” She cut him off with another kiss and yanked her own shirt off.
“Zip it, spaz, or no hanky panky.”
Now it was Luke’s turn to lose it, laughing so hard he was shaking beneath her. He’d never heard Mara talk like that. But as she sat up with a glare, he took her threat seriously. Lips were pressed closed, the invisible zipper secured, the invisible key thrown away, with only the very visible sense of happiness remaining on the Jedi’s face.