Baze was the strongest man Chirrut knew. He never faltered, never hesitated. Never stopped to question the decisions he had to make in the heat of battle.
Everyone relied on Baze. When the temple was looted and the Guardians scattered, they turned to Baze to lead them. What should we do? Where do we go?
Baze had told them, his voice like stone. Take care of each other. Don’t lie down for the Empire. Be the thorn in their side, the pebble in their shoe.
It was only when they were alone that he’d allowed himself to grieve as Chirrut gathered him close, tucking Baze’s face into the crook of his neck as Baze wept in shaking heaves for the life they’d lost.
Chirrut had mourned with him, his own tears wetting Baze’s hair as they held each other in the tiny hut they’d found. One room, with a pallet in the corner and a little stove in the other, a cramped outhouse tucked behind the hut. Chirrut joked about falling in the hole some day, half asleep and stumbling to relieve himself. He knew without the benefit of sight that Baze never smiled at those jokes.
The best day of Chirrut’s life was the day he managed to con a tourist out of nearly thirty credits, spinning them tales of what their life would be in days to come. He’d pocketed the money and headed straight for Lyshel’s shop.
“Do you still have it?”
“Master Chirrut!” Lyshel sounded cheerful, but then, the Twi’lek was rarely anything but. “Where’s your shadow today?”
“He had a cough this morning, I made him promise to stay in bed. Do you still have it?”
“For you, of course.” Chirrut listened to the rattling and clanking from the back of the small shop as Lyshel rooted around and finally emerged. “Hold out your hand.”
Chirrut obeyed and Lyshel placed a cold metal handle in it. It was heavy, weighing his arm down, and Chirrut grunted, pleased.
“It’ll fit one person if they don’t mind a bit of a squeeze,” Lyshel said. “It’s a good tub. Hammered steel. Should last you.”
Chirrut hefted it experimentally, thumping the side of it with his staff. It boomed with a hollow metallic clang, and Chirrut smiled. He set it down to pull the credits from his pocket and hold them out.
Lyshel accepted them and Chirrut listened to him counting them off.
“Your change,” Lyshel said, and Chirrut took the remainder back with a nod. “Wait, one more thing.”
Chirrut stood, hand on his staff, as Lyshel’s footsteps receded and soft voices rose in the back of the shop. Then he was back and pressing a package into Chirrut’s arms.
“My wife made too much gruuvan shaal for us. Please, do us a favor and help us eat it so it won’t go to waste.”
Humbled, Chirrut bowed his head. “My thanks, Master Lyshel.”
He could hear the smile in Lyshel’s voice when he answered. “Tell Baze I hope he’s better soon. It doesn’t feel right, seeing you without him.”
Chirrut climbed the steps to their hut with the tub bumping at his heels, the package of food tucked inside it as he used his staff to guide his feet.
He made it to the house with a sigh of relief and pushed the door open.
Bedclothes rustled as Baze sat up. “Chirrut? What do you have?”
“Stay there,” Chirrut ordered. He dragged the tub inside and set it down with a triumphant noise.
“Is that… a bathtub?” Baze asked.
Chirrut set his staff down and crossed to the bed. Baze’s forehead was cool under his fingertips, and he bent to press his ear to Baze’s bare chest.
“Take a deep breath.”
When Baze had done it again, Chirrut nodded and straightened. “Your lungs are clear. No fever. How do you feel?”
“I feel fine,” Baze snapped. “Like a wasteful fool who spent the day in bed instead of with you.”
Chirrut cupped Baze’s face, stroking his short beard. “Better that than you coming down with something we can’t fix.”
“Why do you have a tub?” Baze asked.
Reminded, Chirrut grinned. “I’ve been saving for one. Master Lyshel threw in some gruuvan shaal for our dinner. Get the food ready while I start some water heating.”
He dragged the tub over to the stove and began the tedious process of bringing water to a boil and adding it to the tub as Baze set the food out.
They ate on the bed, knees touching as they enjoyed their first full meal in weeks.
“I have a little left over,” Chirrut said as he scraped his plate clean. “I’ll buy rice tomorrow.”
Baze just grunted, but he leaned briefly against Chirrut’s shoulder.
When they were done, Chirrut set the dishes aside. “Strip, my love. I want to give you a bath.”
Baze huffed a quiet laugh as he stood up and fumbled at the drawstring of his pants. “I think I’m a little old for bathtime.”
“You’re never too old for me to spoil,” Chirrut retorted. He stood too and pulled his outer robes off, leaving on his soft tunic and pants. He tested the temperature of the water and made a satisfied noise, turning to refill the kettle. “Get in.”
Baze stepped into the tub and sat down. The water sloshed as he drew his knees up, and Chirrut knelt behind him and scooped some over his shoulders.
He loved rediscovering Baze’s body, thick with muscle, roped with scars, every inch of him as perfect as he’d been when they’d first met, all those years ago, when they’d been little more than boys, flush with youth and frantic to experience everything they could.
Chirrut slid a hand down Baze’s chest, stroking his pectoral and lightly scraping a fingernail over Baze’s nipple, smiling at the jerk and gasp that netted him. Down farther, he splayed his hand over Baze’s stomach.
“Are you—ah—bathing me or petting me?” Baze managed.
Chirrut pressed their cheeks together and let his hand roam just a little farther. Baze was half-hard as Chirrut clasped him under the water, squeezing gently.
“We’ve been married for twenty years,” Chirrut murmured, and stroked him once, twice, humming as Baze’s back arched and a moan caught in his chest. “I think I’m allowed to do both.”
Baze turned and reached up to cup the nape of Chirrut’s neck and draw him into a kiss that quickly turned heated, lips and tongues fitting together perfectly as ever, breathing each other’s air until Chirrut’s head was swimming.
He broke away with a gasp. “I want—Baze, can I—”
He could feel Baze’s smile against his mouth as he pushed up for another quick kiss. “Of course,” he whispered.
Chirrut reached for the towel as Baze stood, water cascading off him. Chirrut couldn’t resist gripping him through the cloth and giving him another quick stroke as Baze half-laughed, half-swore.
“Wait,” he said, twisting away from Chirrut’s hand. “I want to light a candle, it’s getting dark.”
“Oh no,” Chirrut said, lips twitching. “How terrible it must be for you not to be able to see.”
That got him the laugh he’d been aiming for as Baze stepped out of the tub and rummaged in the box by the bed. Chirrut took the time to slip his own clothes off and move up behind Baze. He took hold of his hips and Baze dropped the candle as Chirrut pressed against him.
“I want to take you like this,” Chirrut whispered, bending forward so his chest was flush to Baze’s back. “You on your knees, spread open for me.”
“Ah—fuck,” Baze choked. “We don’t need the candle. Here.” He pressed the little jar of slick into Chirrut’s hand and then crawled onto the bed. “Come on, then.”
Chirrut opened the jar and dipped a knuckle in, savoring the feel and texture.
“Come on,” Baze said.
“In good time,” Chirrut said. He rubbed his finger and thumb together until the slick melted into a film across his skin, satin soft and warm. Only then did he get on the bed, steadying himself with a hand on Baze’s trembling flank.
He smoothed his fingers over Baze’s hip, bending to follow the touches with soft kisses pressed up the curve of his spine.
When he slipped the first finger inside, Baze sank onto his elbows with a choked-off noise. He was scorching hot around him, velvet heat that pulsed and flexed as Chirrut slid in and out, achingly slow.
He took his time opening Baze’s body, allowing his lover to let go, surrender to the feelings that Chirrut knew were gathering within him.
“You’re so strong,” Chirrut murmured, up to three fingers now as Baze panted and writhed beneath him. “So strong, my perfect, beautiful love. But now it’s time to let me be in charge. You take my hand so well. How will my cock feel, do you think?”
“Let’s find—out,” Baze managed, pushing back against him. “Please, Chirrut, I’m going out of my mind—”
Chirrut curved his fingers and rubbed—there, satisfaction spreading warm inside him like honeyed syrup as Baze bucked and cried out.
“Yes,” Chirrut said, and drew his hand out. Warmth bled through him as he guided his cock into position and pressed forward.
Baze was facedown, one hand stretched behind to hold onto Chirrut’s thigh, fingers tight enough to bruise, his chest heaving as he struggled for air and Chirrut sank deeper, until he was fully sheathed.
“Perfect, beautiful, so perfect,” Chirrut whispered, running his hands over Baze’s buttocks and hips. “How does it feel, beloved?”
Baze’s hand tightened on Chirrut’s leg. “Move,” he snarled.
Chirrut pulled back, resting a hand on Baze’s ass just above his entrance. He could feel everything like this as he slid back inside, the warmth that was expanding into blazing heat, a furnace that threatened to envelop him and leave nothing behind. He was sunlight set aflame, scorching everything he touched. He thrust in a steady rhythm as pressure built at the base of his spine and Baze sobbed something in a broken voice.
Chirrut curved forward, hips still working, and wrapped his hand around Baze’s shaft. Baze shattered at the first touch, punishing tight around Chirrut’s length as he spilled over his fingers.
It was less than a minute before Chirrut followed him, the inferno licking outward from his core, crisping him to ash.
They collapsed onto the bed in an exhausted heap, Chirrut draped across Baze’s back and panting into his hair.
Finally, Baze stirred and moaned. “Heavy,” he complained.
Chirrut breathed a quiet laugh and brushed Baze’s hair aside to kiss the nape of his neck before rolling to the side and pulling him close again. They had to get clean, dress for bed, and tomorrow they had to go back out and face the hard, unforgiving world they lived in, but for now it was enough.