When their blades touched, Galen knew he'd made an error. Without a lightsaber in Mara's hand, his instincts had automatically categorized her as a blaster opponent-- the kind he'd faced hundreds of times-- and reacted accordingly. So when their weapons locked, his was still in a reversed grip, robbing him of the leverage to use his physical strength to overwhelm her. He could probably still win the lock, and he pressed hard, the energy blades whining with the strain.

And suddenly, Mara's mouth had closed over his and her tongue was snaking between his lips. Galen's other, newer instincts responded by returning the kiss for a moment before he was pushed back by the pressure of Mara's lightsaber.

Galen staggered back, infuriated and somehow amused at the same time.

"Interesting," he growled back. "Not exactly in any dueling textbook I've ever read, and Vader certainly never taught me that move." Twirling his lightsaber, he shifted his feet, looking for the next opportunity. "You planning on using that one a lot?"

The moment came, and Galen was a blur, ducking around Mara until he was behind her, arms closing around her upper body as if he would hold the red blade against her throat like a knife. Once he was that close, though, Galen wondered if he hadn't just compromised himself on his own.