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Derek's expression shifts to something pleased and maybe a little smug. "Well shit," he says, grinning. "Took you long enough to admit it."

The warmth in his voice sends another pulse of heat through my nervous system. "Despite my inadequacies as a romantic partner?"

"Kav'eth, you're gorgeous, you're brilliant, and you're about ten times more thoughtful than any guy I've ever dated." Derek's grin turns wicked. "Plus, I've been wondering what it would be like to get my hands on you since that first day by the pool."

He shifts closer on the bench, close enough that our knees touch, close enough that I can see the individual geometric lines of his tattoos in the starlight.

"Kav'eth," he says, his voice dropping to something rougher, "want to know what I was thinking about during your whole formal romantic setup earlier?"

My breathing becomes irregular at the change in his tone. "What were you thinking about?"

"I was thinking about getting you out of that perfect formal attire," Derek says, his hand sliding up my arm. "Seeing if you glow everywhere when you're turned on. Finding out what makes you lose that diplomatic control completely."

Each word sends electricity coursing through my nervous system, my skin brightening involuntarily in response to his proximity and the bluntness of his desires.

"I was thinking about what you'd sound like if you stopped being so fucking polite all the time," he continues, his fingers now tracing along my collarbone where my formal jacket has opened slightly. "What you'd do if you just took what you wanted instead of analyzing whether it was appropriate."

"Derek..." I begin, though I am uncertain what I intend to say.

"I was thinking about kissing you until that perfect control cracks," he says, leaning closer until I can feel his breath against my skin. "About getting my mouth on you and making you forget every protocol you've ever learned."

My bioluminescence flares so brightly that it illuminates the entire observation deck, casting golden shadows across the walls and Derek's face. The control I have maintained for decades feels suddenly fragile, held together by rapidly fraying threads of professional obligation.

"We should not," I manage to say, though the words lack conviction even to my own ears.

"Why not?" Derek asks, his hand moving to press against my chest, fingers spreading wide over my formal attire. "Because it's not in your little assessment handbook?"

"Because..." I struggle to formulate rational objections while his warm hand presses against my chest and his golden eyes hold mine with unwavering intensity. "Because once we cross that boundary, I will not be able to maintain proper objectivity for the remainder of the assessment."

"Good," Derek says, moving closer until our knees press together. "Fuck objectivity."

And then his mouth is on mine, warm and demanding and completely devastating to every carefully constructed barrier I have spent decades building.

The kiss is nothing like the gentle exploration I might have expected, Derek kisses like he does everything else, with confidence and purpose that leaves no room for hesitation.

I respond with an intensity that surprises us both, my hands moving to grip his shoulders as I deepen the contact between us.

Derek makes a satisfied sound against my mouth that sends heat racing through my entire nervous system, and my bioluminescence explodes in patterns of gold and deep blue that illuminate the entire observation deck.

When Derek's tongue traces my lower lip, requesting entrance, I grant it immediately. The sensation of his tongue against mine creates responses I never knew were possible, and I find myself pulling him closer, desperate for more contact, more heat, more of whatever this is between us.

Derek breaks the kiss to trail his mouth along my jaw, his teeth grazing my skin in ways that make me gasp. "Fuck, you taste good," he murmurs against my throat, his voice rough with want.

"Derek," I breathe, his name torn from my throat as he finds that sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder.

"I love the way you say my name when you're losing control," Derek says, his hands working at the fastenings of my formal jacket with practiced efficiency. "Say it again."

"This is highly inappropriate," I manage to say, though I make no effort to stop his exploration of my throat and collarbone.

"This is highly overdue," Derek corrects, his mouth finding that sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. "You've been driving me crazy with those careful, controlled responses. Do you have any idea how much I've wanted to see you lose control?"

"I do not lose control," I inform him, even as his teeth graze my skin and make my entire body shudder with sensation I have never experienced.

"You're losing it now," Derek observes with obvious satisfaction, his hands working at the fastenings of my formal attire. "Your glow is going crazy, your breathing is erratic, and you're making the most incredible sounds."

The clinical assessment of my responses should be embarrassing. Instead, it only intensifies my arousal, the knowledge that Derek is paying such close attention to my reactions making every sensation more acute.

"This will complicate the assessment," I try once more to assert some vestige of rational thought.

"The assessment was already complicated the moment we started being honest with each other," Derek says, his hands finally succeeding in opening my formal jacket. "This just makes it more interesting."

His palms press against my chest, and the sensation of skin against skin sends my bioluminescence flaring even brighter. Derek makes an appreciative sound as he takes in the sight of my illuminated torso, his hands tracing patterns that follow the glow beneath my skin.

"You are so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice filled with genuine awe. "Like a living constellation."

The words undo whatever remains of my resistance. This human, this impossible, direct, utterly shameless human, looks at me like I'm something he wants to devour rather than simply tolerate. He touches me like I'm addictive rather than merely functional.

"Derek," I say, his name carrying more desperation than I intended to reveal.

"What do you want, Kav'eth?" His hands slide down my chest, fingers tracing the edges of my remaining clothing. "Tell me what you want."

"I want..." I pause, struggling to voice desires I have never allowed myself to acknowledge. "I want to forget about duty and protocols and just... have this. Have you."

Derek's grin is wicked and promising. "Then stop thinking," he says, pushing me back against the bench until I'm half-reclining beneath him. "And let me take care of you."

And for the first time in my adult life, I do exactly that.

The stars watch over us as I learn what it means to want something, someone, more than duty, more than efficiency, more than the careful diplomatic balance I have maintained for decades.

The assessment protocols can wait.

This matters more.