Baze Malbus was a powerful man, physically and mentally. There were few who could match his strength, of both arm and will, and fewer still who could bend him to theirs.
Just one, in fact.
Baze stopped just inside the door to their rooms. “Chirrut,” he said. “It’s dark. Can I at least—”
Rustle of fabric as Chirrut slid from the bed. His footsteps were sure and unhesitating as he crossed the room.
Baze sighed, the knot of frustration and fury under his breastbone twisting. “It’s late. I’m tired. Can I take my armor off? Maybe get clean?”
He could just make out Chirrut’s outline in the dark, a dim shape against the black velvet of the room. This deep in the city warrens, windows were a rich man’s dream. Baze missed waking up with sunlight on his face, but he would die before saying that in Chirrut’s hearing. Somehow, he thought Chirrut knew anyway.
Chirrut was circling him, bare feet silent on the stone floor, the faint swish of his robes the only signal of his movement.
“You smell of gunpowder and death,” he observed.
“That happens when you kill people,” Baze said.
“Take your armor off,” Chirrut said.
Baze unbuckled the chest plate and lifted it over his head. It thudded to the floor and Baze stripped off the rest—gauntlets, gloves, and ammo belt—with efficiency born from years of practice.
Down to only his jumpsuit, Baze took a deep breath. His shoulders still felt heavy, a weight bearing him down.
Chirrut was in front of him again. He stood motionless until Baze twitched with irritation.
“Is this going anywhere?” he asked. “I grow weary of the games.”
Chirrut still didn’t move, his form dim against the shadows. “Something burdens you, my love.”
Baze flinched away. “Don’t.”
Chirrut’s voice was implacable. “If not me, then who?”
“No one,” Baze snapped. “This is my burden to carry.”
Chirrut didn’t challenge this. He turned away. “Take your clothes off and kneel.”
Baze fumbled with the opening of his jumpsuit and shoved it down and off over his hips. He stepped out of it, leaving it a crumpled heap on the floor, and shed his underthings just as quickly.
Completely bare, he hesitated, unsure what to do next, but Chirrut took the dilemma from him as neatly as he always did.
Baze dropped to the floor, knees connecting with a painful thud. His eyes were adjusting to the dark, and now he could see Chirrut, a few feet away, taking something from the bedside table. He was clad in nothing but a pair of thin linen trousers that hugged his hips and fell loose and flowing over his bare feet.
Chirrut turned back and closed the distance between them, stepping right up into Baze’s space until Baze could feel the heat of Chirrut’s body on his skin.
Baze closed his eyes and leaned forward. An inch was all it took and then his face was pressed against Chirrut’s bare stomach, the skin soft under Baze’s cheek.
He drew a ragged breath as Chirrut cupped his skull, fingers gentle as they combed through his hair in slow, rhythmic motions.
“I wasn’t fast enough.”
Chirrut hummed encouragingly when Baze faltered and stopped.
“I—” Baze squeezed his eyes tighter shut. “It was supposed to be an easy job. They didn’t tell me the mark was a child.”
“Oh, my love.” Chirrut’s voice was full of sorrow, and Baze dragged in air.
“I didn’t. You know I wouldn’t—”
“Of course not,” Chirrut said immediately. “Someone else did?”
“Rath’nok,” Baze said. “He was—a contingency plan. Too important to risk one of us screwing up or not finishing the job.”
He hadn’t realized, at first. Had thought it would be as simple as warning the family and returning the fee. Stupid, thoughtless—
“I took my gun off, powered it down. When I looked up—” Baze couldn’t finish.
Chirrut’s fingers were reassuring in their steady movement.
“He killed everyone in the house,” Baze said dully.
Standing over the bodies of the woman and her child, Rath’nok had looked up, to the roof where Baze was crouched, and bared bloody teeth in a triumphant snarl.
“By that time my gun was back online, so….”
“You shot him.”
Baze nodded wordlessly.
“I was too slow,” Baze managed. “They’re still dead. I can’t undo that.” He tipped his head back, looking up along the planes of Chirrut’s chest to his face, just visible in the low light. Chirrut’s blind eyes were full of sorrow, lines of grief etched into his brow.
“Do you wish we’d had children?”
The question was abrupt, slicing through the air between them, and Chirrut froze.
“Ours is not a life meant for children,” he said after a moment.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Chirrut traced the line of Baze’s jaw with one finger. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.” He sighed. “Yes,” he finally whispered. “I would have liked… a child with you. Perhaps a boy with your ears.” He smiled, wistful as he reached up just enough to tug lightly at one of Baze’s ears.
Baze turned his head and kissed the soft inner skin of Chirrut’s wrist.
“Here and now, though, it’s you and me,” Chirrut said quietly. “Let me help you carry this, my love.”
Baze swallowed hard and nodded against Chirrut’s hand.
Chirrut thumbed his cheekbone. “Facedown on the bed. Hands on the back of your neck.” He took a step back and Baze scrambled to his feet.
In position on the bed, Baze clasped his hands together over the nape of his neck and waited. It wasn’t long before Chirrut knelt on the mattress beside him and smoothed one hand over Baze’s hip. He lingered briefly on a welt, still raw and sensitive, and traced the outline of it with a finger.
“What happened here?”
Baze fought the shiver. “Met a Zabrak who took a fancy to my gun. Had to persuade him he didn’t want it after all.”
Chirrut’s laugh was warm, sliding like rich cream over Baze’s body. Baze closed his eyes, reveling in it, and so was unprepared for the first blow.
It stung sharply and Baze jumped, stifling a yelp with some effort. It felt like a whip or crop of some kind, he thought, but then Chirrut hit him again and Baze forgot how to think.
He jerked with every blow that landed, each one setting up lines of fire that licked across Baze’s skin in hungry flickers, but his hands stayed laced together, his face firmly buried in the pillow even as his hips bucked.
He welcomed the pain like an old friend, letting it wrap around his bones and replace the soul-deep hurt with a sharper, more immediate agony.
Baze could feel his cock thickening as it slid against the rough homespun blanket with the movements of his hips, and he nearly succumbed to the urge to let go and reach under himself. But Chirrut hadn’t said he could, so Baze didn’t move.
Above him, Chirrut was chanting as he brought the crop down. “I am one with the Force, the Force is with me. I am one with the Force, the Force is with me.”
There was comfort in that, in the knowledge that Chirrut still believed as fervently as ever despite Baze’s own hatred for the thing that had cost them their beloved temple, their status as Guardians of the Whills—everything they’d held dear for so long.
Chirrut clung to his faith. Baze clung to Chirrut. It worked, somehow, even though it shouldn’t have.
After a few minutes, Baze realized dimly that Chirrut had stopped. But before he could lift his head, warm oil landed on his lower back, on one of the raw stripes Chirrut had left, and Baze hissed through his teeth at the sting.
“Be still,” Chirrut said. Clever fingers swiped through the oil and down, into the crease of Baze’s ass to press almost inquisitively against his hole.
Baze pushed back into it and Chirrut’s free hand caught his hip, fingers digging in to hold him in place.
The oiled fingers probed again, the tip of one sliding into the furled knot at Baze’s core, and Baze gasped and pushed back again.
Chirrut let go and smacked his ass. Baze groaned as fire exploded beneath his skin, licking outward along his nerves, and he clutched his hands tighter together to keep from moving.
“Please,” he gasped, but Chirrut seemed inclined to do no more than slide one slippery finger in and out, slow and agonizing in his deliberate movement.
Baze squirmed and Chirrut caught his hip again.
“Don’t,” he warned. “Or I’ll come on your ass and leave you like this all night.”
There was steel in his voice and Baze subsided.
Chirrut added another finger and twisted his wrist, knuckles pressing against Baze’s balls until they drew up heavy and aching to the base of his shaft. Chirrut found the knot of nerves deep within Baze’s core and rubbed it as Baze bucked helplessly beneath him.
“Please,” he managed again.
It was too much but nowhere near enough, their only points of contact the fingers inside him and Chirrut’s other hand anchoring his hip, and Baze spared a moment to wonder if it was possible to die from the sheer need coursing through his system.
Chirrut laughed quietly. “So impatient.” His voice was smoky with affection, curling in wisps through Baze’s lungs. “Tell me, my love, how long do you think you can hold on?”
Baze shook his head as words scattered, disintegrating on his tongue.
Chirrut made a noise and pressed a third finger deep. “Answer me,” he chided.
Baze fought for coherence as Chirrut pumped his hand in and out, dragging at his rim and making him twist.
“I—please don’t make me,” he rasped, and Chirrut laughed again and leaned forward over Baze’s prone form to press a kiss to his shoulder blade.
“Someday,” he murmured, and the dark promise in his voice made Baze shiver helplessly. “Someday we’ll find out just how much the vaunted Baze Malbus can take.” He dropped featherlight kisses to Baze’s knuckles, one at a time, and then eased back and pulled his fingers out.
Baze sighed at the loss, mourning his emptiness, but Chirrut wasn’t far. Rustling came from the end of the bed and then his hand was warm and solid on Baze’s hip, urging him up onto all fours.
Baze obeyed as Chirrut shuffled into position behind him. He stroked the welts he’d left with fingers that pressed a little too hard, pulling another groan from Baze’s throat.
“I wish I could show you what I see,” Chirrut murmured.
Baze opened his mouth to point out that Chirrut couldn’t actually see anything, but Chirrut chose then to sheathe himself in Baze’s core, sliding home in one swift, efficient thrust as Baze opened for him on a choked groan.
Chirrut bottomed out and folded forward, hands roaming restlessly across Baze’s back and sides.
“The Force moves brightly around you,” he whispered. “It’s how I know where you are at all times. I look for the Force, and… I find you.”
Baze worked moisture into his mouth and rocked backward. His reward was a bitten-off gasp from Chirrut, and he couldn’t help the triumphant smile.
“Stop talking and fuck me,” he growled.
Chirrut’s laugh was soundless but it vibrated through them both. He straightened and caught hold of Baze’s hips, pinning him in place. Baze dropped to his elbows as Chirrut began to move, sliding in and out slow and steady at first, thrusts gaining momentum gradually until the obscene smack of skin on skin and the grunts as Chirrut drove deep were all that Baze could hear.
His fingers were iron bars curved around the cut of Baze’s hipbones, pressing bruises into the skin that Baze knew Chirrut would kiss in the morning, his mouth warm and soft and not at all repentant.
He was flying, the pressure building at the base of his spine, a ball of heat threatening to consume him, but Baze held it off by sheer force of will as Chirrut slammed home over and over, the head of his cock brushing Baze’s prostate every few passes.
He slapped Chirrut’s hand away when Chirrut would have reached for him, brought him to completion with scarcely more than a touch, finished what they were doing and brought Baze back to solid ground.
Chirrut didn’t appear any more able to form words than Baze, but he seemed to understand. He tilted forward, redoubling his thrusts, and Baze twisted, a sob catching in his throat as Chirrut’s cock hit the bundle of nerves at his core yet again, setting off sparks behind his eyes.
Chirrut traced his stretched rim with a finger without slowing, and Baze’s breath hitched. Chirrut seemed curious, prodding and testing, and Baze pushed back against him, knowing he would understand the unspoken invitation.
Chirrut’s hips slowed and he leaned forward, dropping a kiss on Baze’s shoulder as he retrieved the oil he’d set on the bed earlier. Then he straightened and more warm slickness landed on Baze’s ass. Chirrut dragged his hand through it, taking his time gathering the liquid on his fingertips, but finally, finally, he pushed two fingers inside along his shaft and resumed a steady rhythm, spearing Baze’s body wide and making him writhe.
Baze’s arms wouldn’t hold him. Facedown on the bed, he was nothing but a receptacle for Chirrut’s touch, warm and pliant like sweetmallow candy, unable to do anything but accept what Chirrut gave him.
He was flying so high, dizzying swoops and spirals, that his orgasm was almost an afterthought, only dimly aware as the pressure in his chest snapped and sweetness flooded his senses.
He regained awareness in stages. He was lying on his side, naked still but clean and dry, a blanket draped across his hips and Chirrut’s warm body tucked up behind him, his free arm draped over Baze’s in loose sleep.
Baze stretched, yawning, and Chirrut stirred. He pressed his nose into the heavy masses of Baze’s hair and took a deep breath, arm tightening around Baze’s chest.
“Mm,” he purred, lazy satisfaction dripping from his voice. “How are you feeling?”
Baze rolled over so they were facing and he could look properly into Chirrut’s face, open and guileless, plush lips curving as he waited for Baze’s answer.
“Better,” Baze finally said, and kissed him softly. He hesitated, their lips still brushing. “I—thank you.”
Chirrut’s mouth quirked up and he leaned forward just enough to kiss him again.
“I’m going to stay close to home for a while, I think,” Baze murmured between kisses. “Plenty I can do here.”
Chirrut hummed pleased acknowledgement and silence wrapped around them as something akin to peace stole across Baze’s soul on kitten-soft feet.