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Morning People

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Chirrut is not a morning person.

Baze knows this, and secretly finds it deeply adorable, the way Chirrut moans and rolls over when Baze tries to shake him awake, pushing his face into the pillow and swatting ineffectively at Baze’s hand.

Even once he’s vertical, Chirrut remains stubbornly nonvocal through his first few cups of caf, groping until Baze puts the mug into his reaching hands, shuffling for the bathroom and responding only with grunts when Baze tries to speak to him.

Baze has learned to wake Chirrut up early, give him time to find his footing and bring that wickedly sharp brain into focus. He knows he’s the only person allowed to see Chirrut like this, with his guard down, and Baze is determined not to fail in his duty as protector.

”But I’m your protector!” Chirrut had protested, laughing, when Baze mentioned it offhandedly one day.

Baze had shaken his head, fighting a smile, but Chirrut’s hands were on his face and he couldn’t hide the amusement so he didn’t try, delighting in the way Chirrut traced the lines of his smile with fingertips and thumbs and then bent to kiss him.

The sun is still below the horizon when Baze wakes. Chirrut is a warm, solid lump beside him, tucked under the blankets, his face peaceful with sleep. Baze gauges the time they have before first bells and decides to go for it.

He slides down the bed, lifts the covers and puts his fingers in the waistband of Chirrut’s pants, and Chirrut stirs with a drowsy noise. Baze waits until he’s drifted off again before he undoes the drawstring of the pants and lets them fall open.

His mouth waters at the sight before him. Chirrut has always run hot—even in his sleep—and finally, in a fit of frustration after nights of throwing off the covers, he’d taken a knife to his oldest tunic, slashing it at the midriff and sleeves.

There,” he’d proclaimed, wriggling into it. “Now I can sleep comfortably. How do I look?”

Baze had just stared until Chirrut had snapped his fingers to bring him back.

“Focus,” he’d said.

“I’m focused,” Baze had replied, and reached for him.

Chirrut turns his head on the pillow, stretching with a sigh. He’s soft and loose-limbed and warm with sleep, heavy with trust, and Baze presses his face to the cut of Chirrut’s hip, briefly overcome by the unexpected uprush of love for the maddening, mercurial being he’s tied his life to.

A hand touches his hair and Baze looks up to see Chirrut blinking drowsily, a half-smile on his face.

“’S’it my birthday?” Chirrut asks, dreamily stroking Baze’s hair.

Baze huffs a quiet laugh and shakes his head.

“M’kay,” Chirrut says, and goes back to sleep.

Baze has to fight the outright laughter at that, jamming a fist against his mouth to keep the noise in, but even so, he shakes the bed with his silent amusement, and Chirrut makes an annoyed sound and tries to roll over.

Baze catches his thigh, holding him in place, and palms Chirrut’s soft cock, watching his lover’s face. Chirrut relaxes into Baze’s hands, melting like butter on a warm day, even as his shaft hardens. He sighs, stretching again, and Baze can’t help but slip his left hand up under the ridiculous cropped top to flatten his fingers over the ridges of Chirrut’s abdomen.

Chirrut hums approvingly, cock thickening under Baze’s right hand, which is still gently petting him, coaxing him awake.

It doesn’t take long at all before Chirrut’s fully erect, skin sliding in Baze’s hand like satin over steel, flushed and leaking. Baze moves his left hand over until he finds a nipple and can tweak it, and Chirrut curls forward off the bed with a gasp.

Ah—Baze—”

Definitely sounding more awake, Baze thinks with a private grin, and sucks the tip of Chirrut’s cock into his mouth.

Chirrut sinks his hands into Baze’s hair as Baze begins to work Chirrut’s shaft with lips and tongue and fist.

He loves this. No matter what they try in bed, Baze always circles back to this, reveling in the intimacy afforded by this act, savoring every noise he manages to coax from Chirrut’s throat, the way every muscle in Chirrut’s body ends up strung taut and vibrating.

Baze wants to draw it out, make it last, but Chirrut’s breathing is speeding up, his thighs trembling as he nears completion, and Baze takes pity on him. He swallows him down, sinking to the base of Chirrut’s shaft until his nose tickles the soft hairs there and Chirrut makes a guttural, punched-out noise and empties down Baze’s throat, cock swelling and jerking on Baze’s tongue through his release until finally, finally, he sags back to the bed and drags in air.

Baze lifts his head and wipes his mouth, unable to help the smug smile that’s creeping across it, and Chirrut reaches for him, hand still unsteady. Baze allows Chirrut to pull him up the bed and kiss the taste of himself off Baze’s tongue as Baze rolls his hips against Chirrut’s muscled thigh, grinding in rhythmic movements.

It’s not enough to bring him off, but it feels so good, the friction making him gasp into Chirrut’s mouth and shove his hips down harder, and he protests wordlessly when Chirrut breaks away, but Chirrut’s pulling on him again.

“Up, up,” he chants. “Come on, love, I want—”

Baze is very willing to comply with this. He goes to his knees and swings a leg over Chirrut’s chest to straddle him, and Chirrut wriggles beneath him, settling their weight, and then lifts his head enough to engulf Baze’s aching cock in his hot mouth.

Baze tilts forward and slaps his hands against the rock to brace himself, watching Chirrut’s face as the sensations roll over him.

Chirrut smiles around his mouthful as if he can see Baze’s eyes on him and rests his palms on Baze’s legs, thumbs digging into the thigh muscles.

Baze mutters a thick curse, pleasure skittering along his veins, hips jerking in tiny, aborted movements as he tries to keep from choking Chirrut. This isn’t going to take long at all, he can already tell.

Chirrut hums, and the vibrations shoot through Baze to his core, snapping his self-control. He comes on a muffled groan, his release shuddering through his chest as he empties in helpless spurts on Chirrut’s tongue.

Wrung dry, he sags sideways, just managing to pull himself off Chirrut’s chest and slide down on the bed before collapsing.

Chirrut slings an arm around Baze’s waist and presses his nose to Baze’s chest.

“Good morning to me,” he murmurs, and Baze huffs a laugh and kisses the top of Chirrut’s head.