Chapter 3.5: The Youngest
Will was alone in the common area when Lunira found him.
It was late—ship's night cycle, the lights dimmed to simulate evening. He'd been reviewing terraforming calculations, but his mind kept drifting. The numbers blurred together. He rubbed his eyes and looked up.
She stood in the doorway, wearing one of the soft shirts they'd bought on Alderaan. It hung loose on her frame, the hem reaching mid-thigh. Her lekku were wrapped in a sleeping band, and her feet were bare.
"I thought you'd be asleep," he said.
"I couldn't." She shifted her weight, arms crossed. "Can I—is it okay if I sit?"
"Of course."
She moved to the couch but didn't sit close. Left a careful space between them. Her hands twisted in her lap.
"Are you alright?" Will asked.
"I'm fine." She looked at the wall, the floor, anywhere but him. "I just—I wanted to talk. If that's okay."
"Always."
She was quiet for a long moment. Her jaw worked like she was chewing words, trying to decide which ones to let out. Finally: "The others have been with you. Alone, I mean. And I haven't."
Will's stomach dropped. "Lunira, you don't have to—"
"I know." Her voice was sharp. "I know I don't have to. That's not—" She stopped. Took a breath. "I want to. I just—it's different for me."
"Different how?"
"I'm younger." She said it flat, like stating a fact. "I haven't—I mean, I have, but not—" Her face flushed deep purple. "This is stupid. I'm making it stupid."
"You're not."
"I am." She finally looked at him, and her eyes were bright with frustration. "I've been thinking about it. About you. And I want—but every time I think about actually doing it, I get—" She gestured vaguely at herself. "Like this."
Will moved closer, slow enough that she could pull back if she wanted. She didn't. "What do you want?"
"I don't know." Her voice cracked. "That's the problem. I know I want you, but I don't know how to—I'm not like Nayela. I can't just walk up and take what I want. And I'm not like Meyra, I can't just—" She made a frustrated sound. "I keep thinking about it and then I get embarrassed and then I'm angry that I'm embarrassed because it's stupid—"
"It's not stupid."
"It is." But her voice was softer now. "I'm eighteen. I should be able to just—but I can't."
Will reached out, slow, and touched her hand. She flinched but didn't pull away. "Do you want to try?"
She looked at their hands. At his fingers covering hers. "What if I'm bad at it?"
"You won't be."
"You don't know that."
"I do." He squeezed gently. "And even if you were, it wouldn't matter. We'd figure it out."
She was quiet. Then, so soft he almost missed it: "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay." She looked up at him, and her face was still flushed, but her jaw was set. "But if I tell you to stop, you stop. Immediately."
"Of course."
"And you can't—you can't laugh at me. If I do something wrong."
"I won't."
"Promise."
"I promise."
She took a breath. Let it out. "Okay. Then—" She shifted closer, the space between them shrinking. "Then show me."
Will leaned in and kissed her.
She made a small sound—surprise, maybe, or relief—and her hands came up to his chest. Not pushing away. Just resting there, fingers curled into his shirt.
He kept it gentle. Let her set the pace. When he pulled back, she was breathing hard.
"That was—" She stopped. Looked away. "I mean, it was fine. Good. It was good."
"Just good?"
"Don't—" But she was smiling now, just a little. "Don't make fun of me."
"I'm not." He touched her face, turning her back toward him. "I'm really not."
She looked at him for a long moment. Then she leaned in and kissed him again, harder this time. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping tight.
When they broke apart, she was flushed all the way down her neck. "Can we—I want to go to your room. Is that okay?"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." She stood, pulling him up with her. "Before I change my mind."
His quarters were small—just a bed, a desk, a narrow viewport showing the blue-white tunnel of hyperspace. Lunira stood in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around herself.
"I don't know what to do," she said.
"Come here."
She moved to him, and he pulled her close. She was tense, every muscle tight.
"We don't have to do anything," Will said. "We can just—"
"No." She pulled back enough to look at him. "I want to. I'm just—I'm nervous. That's all."
"That's okay."
"It's stupid."
"It's not." He kissed her forehead. "Tell me what you want."
She was quiet. Then: "I want you to touch me. But I don't—I don't know where."
"Anywhere you want."
"That's not helpful." But she was smiling again, just barely. "I mean—start somewhere. Please."
Will slid his hands down her sides, slow, giving her time to pull away. She didn't. When he reached the hem of her shirt, he paused. "Can I?"
She nodded.
He lifted the shirt over her head. She wasn't wearing anything underneath, and she immediately crossed her arms over her chest.
"Don't," Will said.
"I'm—"
"You're beautiful."
Her face went purple again. "You can't just—that's not fair."
"It's true."
"Stop." But she lowered her arms, just a little. "You're making it worse."
"Making what worse?"
"This." She gestured between them. "I'm trying to be—I don't know, confident or whatever, and you keep saying things that make me—" She stopped. Looked away. "Never mind."
Will stepped closer, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to look at him. "Make you what?"
"Feel things." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to—when you say things like that, I don't know what to do."
"You don't have to do anything."
"But I want to." She reached up, hesitant, and touched his chest. "I want to make you feel—I just don't know how."
"Show me what you like," Will said. "I'll follow."
She bit her lip. Then she took his hand and placed it on her breast. Her breath hitched.
"Like that?" Will asked.
"Yes. I mean—" She closed her eyes. "Harder. Please."
He squeezed, and she made a sound that was half gasp, half moan. Her hands gripped his shoulders.
"Is that good?"
"Yes." She opened her eyes. "Don't stop."
He didn't. He touched her the way she'd shown him, learning what made her breath catch, what made her lean into his hands. When he brushed his thumb over her nipple, she jerked.
"Too much?"
"No." Her voice was rough. "More. Please."
He did it again, and she made that sound again—broken, desperate. Her hips pressed forward, seeking friction.
"Can I touch you?" Will asked.
"Where?"
"Wherever you want."
She took his hand and guided it down, between her legs. Even through the thin fabric of her underwear, he could feel how wet she was.
"Here," she said. "Please."
Will slid his hand under the fabric, and she gasped. She was soaked, slick against his fingers.
"You're—" He stopped. Swallowed. "Lunira."
"I know." Her face was buried against his chest now. "Don't—don't look at me."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm—" She made a frustrated sound. "I'm embarrassed."
"Don't be."
"I can't help it." But she was moving against his hand now, small desperate motions. "It feels—I didn't know it would feel like this."
Will circled her clit, gentle, and she cried out. Her nails dug into his shoulders.
"Is that good?"
"Yes." She was shaking now. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
He kept the pressure steady, the rhythm even. She was panting against his chest, her whole body tense.
"I'm—" Her voice broke. "Will, I'm—"
"I know." He kissed the top of her head. "Let go."
She came with a strangled cry, her body going rigid. He kept touching her through it, drawing it out, until she was gasping and pushing his hand away.
"Too much," she said. "I can't—"
He pulled his hand back, and she collapsed against him. For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then she looked up at him, and her face was still flushed, but her eyes were bright. "That was—"
"Good?"
"Really good." She paused. "But you didn't—I mean, you're still—" She gestured vaguely at his pants.
"It's okay."
"It's not." She straightened, and there was something determined in her expression now. "I want—can I touch you?"
"You don't have to."
"I know." She reached for his belt. "But I want to. Show me how."
Will helped her with his pants, and when his cock was free, she stared at it.
"It's—" She stopped. Swallowed. "That's going to fit?"
"Eventually."
"Eventually?" Her voice pitched up. "What does that mean?"
"It means we'll take it slow."
She reached out, hesitant, and wrapped her hand around him. He hissed.
"Did I hurt you?"
"No." His voice was rough. "That's good. Just—" He covered her hand with his, showing her the rhythm. "Like that."
She followed his lead, her grip firm, her strokes even. Her face was serious, focused, like she was studying.
"You can—" Will stopped. Took a breath. "You can go faster."
She did, and he groaned. Her eyes went wide.
"Did I—"
"That's good." He was close already, too close. "Lunira, I'm—"
"What do I—where should I—"
"Anywhere." He was barely holding on. "Just—"
She kept stroking, and he came with a low curse. It spilled over her hand, onto his stomach, and she made a small sound of surprise.
"Sorry," Will said. "I should have—"
"It's okay." She was staring at her hand, at the mess. "I didn't know there would be so much."
"Is that—are you okay?"
"I'm fine." She looked up at him, and she was smiling now. "That was—I did that?"
"Yes."
"Good." She wiped her hand on the sheets, then curled against his chest. "Can we stay like this for a while?"
"As long as you want."
She was quiet. Then: "Will?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you." Her voice was soft. "For being patient. For not—for letting me figure it out."
"You don't have to thank me."
"I do." She pressed closer. "The others—they know what they're doing. They're confident. I'm not. But you didn't make me feel stupid about it."
"You're not stupid."
"I know." She yawned. "But I'm glad you think so too."
They lay there in the dim light, her body warm against his. Outside, the ship hummed through hyperspace, carrying them toward their new home.
But here, in this moment, there was just the two of them. Her breath evening out. His hand in her hair. The quiet intimacy of trust given and received.
And that was enough.