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The Same Orbit Around a Different Star

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Baze knows that look.

To be accurate, it isn’t a look so much as a set of behaviors. Chirrut keeps twisting his staff back and forth with his webbed fingers splayed wide along the length of the uneti wood. Every minute or so he reaches up to readjust the light blue scarf tied around his eyes that Baze had obtained from the quartermaster to replace the mask he lost on Scarif. When Jyn talks to him, he hums noncommittally to everything the little Bothan says with a tight smile. Most pertinently of all, the fronds of his tri-tipped ears almost glow from how crimson they are, the fringe twitching stiffly as opposed to their usual relaxed rippling.

Chirrut wants to get out of here and fuck.

Baze removes his spotted tail from his mouth where he’d been holding it to shield his nose from the chill that seeps into every room on the Hoth base, and unfolds from his seat to touch the ground and casually stretch, every vertebrae in his back cracking as he bends low, his body curving into a downward slope. Standing up the Cathar clears his throat as he swoops into the conversation to save his husband so they can evacuate to their room and defile their bed vigorously. He claps a large silver paw onto Chirrut’s shoulder and his tail curls around the Miraluka’s leg. Chirrut doesn’t even try to hide how he leans into Baze’s touch and it makes anticipation pulse low in his belly.

“Little sister, you should go ask Bodhi if he needs any help with his new project. This old man needs to turn in for the night,” he shakes Chirrut a bit playfully and it’s a testament to how horny Chirrut is that he doesn’t even make a snipe at Baze being the older one, just passes a hand over the feathery fur on his tail as he stands gracefully.

Chirrut smiles sincerely now at Jyn, a sliver of relief showing through, “Yes, I’m afraid neither of us will be very good company for the rest of the day. Baze must rest his brittle elderly bones,” and there it is, “We’ll see you in the morning Jyn. Bodhi.” calling out to the Mirialan as Baze chivvies him out. Bodhi doesn’t look up as he raises a hand, muttering to himself as his frustration mounts over whatever mechanical device he’s fidgeting with, his skin deepening into a rich viridian and his mouth pulling down into a frown. It looks like there’s the stock of a blaster rifle, a tiny reciprocating engine, three plastiform tubes, and other miscellaneous junk spread out on the table before him. Force knows what the pilot is building.

They nod curtly at Cassian as they pass the spy in the hall, he twitches one of his lekku at them and bids them good night, and when they get back to the little closet they call a room that the Rebellion was so “gracious” to give them, Chirrut pulls him down by the ears and kisses him deeply—his tongue sweeping into his mouth like the tide to topple his flimsy sandcastle defenses and washing away all other thoughts and worries from Baze’s mind. Chirrut plays with the dark tufts that tip his ears and a purr rumbles like brontide in his chest, making Chirrut grin as he pushes Baze towards their bed piled high with pillows Chirrut charmed out of Acquisitions for his husband.

They fall upon the fluffy hoard still wrapped up in each other, Chirrut kissing Baze lovingly for long long minutes, time stretched and folded in upon itself like those sweets that clung to the teeth Chirrut had once procured from Force knows where the day they became shiny new initiates, sharing them with Baze and laughing as he struggled to lick the sticky remnants of saltwater and sugar off his fangs. The kisses go on and on and remind him of brighter days, remind him that even with all the darkness that’s befallen them and the galaxy in the past decades, the brightest thing in Baze’s universe is still here in his arms. He breaks the kiss to swipes his tongue along one of the points of Chirrut’s ears and is rewarded with a full-body shudder; he laps slowly and marvels every time at the texture of the cilia lining the spurs of Chirrut’s ears, how delicate they feel fluttering against his muzzle.

Chirrut sits up in his lap to pull off his robes, dropping them carelessly off the side of the bed, though he hands the echo-box to Baze who leans to the side to rest it on their night stand, and runs his own hands down his smooth sculpted body, fingers skipping lightly over the gill slits on either side of his upper torso, with an eyebrow raised expectantly over the silk wrapping his eyes.

“Are you going to take off the potato sack you call a flightsuit or am I going to have to do everything myself?”

He can hear Baze raise his arms above his head and his husband smirks, “It would be a nice reversal of our mornings.”

Chirrut sniffs imperiously even as he pulls down the zipper of the flightsuit to reveal Baze’s broad body and gropes shamelessly at his shaggy chest, “My dear, you know how incapacitated I am just after waking. It’s simply your duty as my doting husband to help me dress myself when I can’t. There’s nothing making you useless right now other than your attitude.”

“I think my attitude is appropriate for the occasion,” Baze answers with a roll of his hips so Chirrut will faceplant directly into the valley of dense fur between his pecs.

“Ha, jokes on you, this is exactly where I want to be,” he crows muffled by Baze’s soft pelt, his ears waggling the way they do when he’s either underwater or delighted.

Chirrut yanks the bottom portion of the flightsuit down and nuzzles into the lovely fuzz gathered there as Baze kicks the whole baggy atrocity off onto the ground. He doesn’t need to see to know his husband is rolling his eyes at him as Baze slides his claws out to trail them teasingly along Chirrut’s scalp to trace Jedhan words for silly, childish, and fool, as well as for cherished, together, and eternity on the nape of his neck. Chirrut breathes out a happy sigh and pets down Baze’s belly to his swelling prick, his hand detouring for a moment to scratch at a particular spot on his belly that makes Baze arch up into it with a rough groan, a subvocal trembling pitch caught in his throat that Chirrut wouldn’t have been able to hear if it weren’t for his hypersensitive ears. He grins gleefully and digs his fingers in until Baze’s voice climbs high enough to be heard by any passers-by in the hall and he’s writhing under Chirrut’s ministrations; when Chirrut relents for a second, his husband rears up to grab both of Chirrut’s shoulders, claws pricking into the shimmering skin, and growls heatedly, “Get on with it Chirrut.”

Chirrut pecks him on his cute inverted triangle nose and beams unrepentantly, sliding down to Baze’s proudly standing cock and gripping it firmly around the knobby base. Once upon a time back in the early millennia of Cathar evolution the bumps would’ve been spikes, but now they’re rounded nubs that pull exquisitely against his rim when Baze thrusts in and out of him. He twists his hand around the nodes and sticks his tongue out to lick around the tapered head, smearing the tip against his lips and showing off his ruby red mouth that Baze sings slurred praises to after they make love. He thrills inside when he hears his husband’s head falls back into a tasseled pillow with an oomph and a stifled grunt. Baze may call him a tease, but he can’t help it when his beloved husband makes the most gorgeous sounds when he’s all worked up. He kisses up and down his prick, mouthing against the nubby spurs until Baze reaches a paw down to cup his face and presses a thumb to the corner of his wet lips, the gentle touch belying his vehement, “Get on with it Chirrut.” Chirrut kisses the squishy pads of his fingers and smiles before sucking his stiff cock down into his mouth hungrily—like a prisoner on death row and Baze is his last meal.

Baze tries not to rip up the sheets underneath him as Chirrut slowly bobs his head up and down his length, taking his time to savor his husband and looking like the perfect picture of contentedness. Baze pants and takes Chirrut’s hand, the one not sending fire up his spine whenever Chirrut thumbs across the bumps lining the root of his prick, and squeezes tightly. Chirrut squeezes his hand back and hums gently, Baze swears as his dappled tail curls up and his husband chuckles around his girth. It’s too early for Baze to be seeing stars behind his eyelids, but he supposes Chirrut’s eagerness is catching, his husband’s flame devouring him like tinder. Chirrut takes him fully into his throat and Baze keens as Chirrut’s lips meets his pelvis and his tongue plays along the nubs on his cock. Every time his husband swallows Baze feels his nerves tying themselves up into knots and he has to grasp Chirrut’s face to push him off before he comes too early, Chirrut is still sucking on his prick for all he’s worth as it leaves his mouth with an obscene pop, followed by a glistening line of spit and a whining protest. His husband leans forward with his tongue chasing Baze’s cock, and Baze catches him under his strong biceps to bring Chirrut up so he can lick the taste of himself out of his mouth, smoothing his fingers along his husband’s fern-like ears. Chirrut kisses back fervently until they run out of breath, and then slaps Baze on the shoulder, “I was enjoying myself you know.”

Baze fwips him in the back with his bushy tail, “Didn’t think you'd want this to end quickly. Come up here so I can taste you,” and grasps Chirrut’s thighs to drag him towards his face. Chirrut shuffles on his knees so his dripping slit is right over Baze’s mouth, “Well if you insist,” he breathes out cheerfully, though it morphs into a lusty moan when Baze runs his coarse tongue from the bottom to the top of the opening, the slick beading on the tiny nodes circling his cloaca coats his tongue and he can already feel his mind starting to float, not away but just enough for Baze to sink into the sensation. He licks ravenously into his husband’s hole and Chirrut lets out a cry, his hands fisting in Baze’s thick mane as he grinds his groin against Baze’s muzzle. Chirrut sometimes complains, facetiously and while smiling, that his tongue feels like sandpaper, but all he hears when he wiggles his tongue into Chirrut’s entrance are words of desire and adulation.

“Yes, yes, yes, good, just like that, Baze, are you getting drunk eating me out like this, dearest?”

He is, he always does. Something about the chemicals in Chirrut’s secretions and the way they interact with Baze’s own body chemistry gives him a mild high whenever he goes down on his husband, though he’s certain that the heady feeling he gets every time he buries his face between Chirrut’s thighs is mostly from the delicious noises tripping over his husband’s lips. He purrs blissfully into Chirrut’s sopping hole when his husband rubs his pointed ears. Chirrut whimpers and his legs shake as Baze eats him out with even more enthusiasm; Baze knows he’s close when the taste of his husband deepens, becomes richer and more potent on his tongue. He swirls his tongue inside of him and Chirrut comes with a wail, gushing across Baze’s muzzle and soaking his fur, kneeling over his face and heaving for breath as Baze licks his lips with a satisfied tilt to his mouth and hooded eyes blown completely black. He nips at Chirrut’s inner thigh as he waits for him to gather himself, his paws groping lazily at his husband’s ass without much input from his brain, and Chirrut huffs softly in amusement.

“Care for another go?” he murmurs close to Chirrut’s slit so his lips graze the reddened skin and Chirrut gasps, biting his swollen lips, before smirking down at his husband, “Why yes I would,” he responds as he flexes his internal muscles and his tentacle emerges from his cloaca to plap on Baze’s face. He giggles when he feels Baze’s mouth turn down into an unimpressed frown and flicks his husband in the nose with his noodly appendage. “Open up,” he tells him with a stroke of his hand along Baze’s muzzle. Baze does so obediently—though Chirrut is sure his husband is rolling his eyes at him again—and Chirrut feeds his tentacle into his mouth.

He groans at the welcome heat and spurts a bit down Baze’s throat. Baze rumbles dreamily around him and he shifts his knees so he has a more balanced position, then begins to rock into his husband’s mouth at an easy pace. Chirrut slides in and out and glories in how Baze draws his rough tongue across his slick length and how his fangs scrape ever so faintly near the root of his squirming length. He’s forever grateful that he can climax multiple times without running dry because he wants to ride out every sensation Baze can possibly give him. Chirrut threads his fingers through the matted fur on Baze’s face and even the damp hair gliding against the webs between his elongated fingers feels magnificent. His husband is made up of such wondrous textures: the lush fur covering his body, the ropy scars hidden underneath on his skin, the pleasant roughness of his tongue, the supple pads of his fingers. All of it powered by the softest heart that he holds in his hands, that he protects with everything he has, that he tries every day to wash clean of the darkness it sometimes carries home. He pulls out of Baze’s mouth, another squirt splattering on his husband’s outstretched tongue, and asks, “Where’s the lube? I want you to finger yourself open as I take my pleasure from your mouth til I come down your throat, then I want to fuck you to sleep. Does that sound good, beloved?” punctuating the last part with a caress on Baze’s jaw.

Baze chokes on his tongue and answers with a hoarse, “Works for me.”

Baze almost rips the drawer out of the nightstand when he scrabbles for the lube and Chirrut giggles again at how cute his husband is when he’s desperate to be fucked. When he hears a cap pop open, he lithely shifts up so his legs are spread around Baze’s face instead of his chest, his spindly fingers twining through his husband’s mane to hold his head down.

(Or, he tries to. What really happens is awkward shuffling and the following bickering over body logistics:

“Baze, move your arms I can’t move if-”

“Move your damn thighs they’re in the way.”

“I’m going to fall off the bed like this!”

“Chirrut stop that would you just-”

“Baze. I know you’re under the influence of my come, but please coordinate yourself.”)

After they finally situate themselves with Baze shoving two pillows behind himself so he can recline comfortably and another under his hips, Chirrut teases at his husband’s lips with the slim point of his tentacle, drawing little figure eights across his muzzle as Baze dips a thick finger into himself. He taps Baze’s cheek with his leaking length and Baze opens his mouth, his coarse tongue lolling out invitingly. Chirrut slips his tentacle into the ravishing heat once more and has to bite down on an undignified shout when Baze nearly inhales his length down and purrs at the taste of another spurt on his tongue. Chirrut steadies himself, breathes in a regulated manner to bring himself under control, and then thrusts hard into his husband’s mouth, sets a punishing rhythm that makes Baze purr so strongly the bed shakes a little, his breath whistling out of his nose.

Chirrut tugs sharply at Baze’s hair and the feeling of his husband's throat vibrating around his tendril shocks a guttural moan out of him. He tenses his abdomen so his tentacle undulates in Baze’s throat and his husband bucks his hips up into the air off the bed. Chirrut hears a faint rip and vaguely thinks, “We need to get thicker bed sheets. We can’t keep replacing them every time Baze curls his toes,” before repeating the motion so Baze will do it again. He knows the gills on his neck and rib cage must be open wide, drawing in air in loud whooshes as he plunges into Baze’s muzzle without restraint, and he struggles to warn Baze that he’s so so close. The wet sounds of his husband fucking himself with his fingers, especially the whine that escapes from his mouth around Chirrut’s tentacle, have him twisting Baze’s mane in what must be a painful manner, but his husband doesn’t complain—he hollows his cheeks and sucks til Chirrut keens and a flood of come bursts forth from his tentacle down Baze’s throat.

Baze holds still as Chirrut gasps noisily, his husband’s gills fluttering wildly as he hunches over him and slowly recovers. His head is fuzzy, stuffed full of cotton like a child’s plush toy, and when Chirrut’s length recedes from his muzzle he gulps for air. His throat feels raw and having oxygen flow into his lungs again dissipates the mental fog a smidge, though Baze can’t corral his limbs into cooperating. He wants to pull Chirrut down to feel their bodies in alignment, but he can’t do more than pump the three fingers in his ass languorously; he settles for smushing his face into the furrow of Chirrut’s left hip and whuffling. Chirrut snickers and it sends tingles across Baze’s skin when his husband massages his tufted ears, pressing a kiss to both before sprawling inelegantly beside Baze. Chirrut reaches a hand down to grip Baze’s cock and tugs experimentally. Baze mewls—and freezes in embarrassment; he smothers his face in Chirrut’s hair and tries to scrape up even the barest modicum of composure as his husband laughs. He musters up the energy to whack Chirrut in the face with his tail and his husband guffaws even harder, before getting fur in his mouth and spitting it out melodramatically.

“I deal with quite enough of your fur on my robes, I don’t need it in my mouth too.”

Baze mumbles something in Chirrut’s hair and his husband pulls away, much to Baze’s disgruntlement, to map his face with his fingers. Baze pushes into it, tucking his head down so Chirrut will pet him again.

“Are you with me, my sweet?”


“I’ll take that as a yes,” Chirrut chuckles softly as he indulges him with a scratch behind his ears, and then crawls on top of Baze, running a fine-boned hand up his broad thigh to circle a finger around the three Baze is still curling inside himself. He shivers as he pulls them out and spreads his legs wide to offer himself to his husband, who eagerly presses forward. Inch after inch of Chirrut’s tentacle stretches his rim as he fills Baze up perfectly, his husband stroking him through it with gentle pulls on his soft barbed cock. They lie chest to chest as Baze adjusts to the fullness, and he quietly revels in having Chirrut on top of him, in the sensation of Chirrut’s gills ruffling the fur on his chest as he breathes in and out. There isn’t anywhere else in the world, this one or the next, he’d rather be and he shoots off a quick thank you to the Force (though the renewal or whatever you want to call it of his faith is still on shaky ground) for not being so indifferent as to let death tear them apart. He coils his arms around his husband and nips at the end of one of Chirrut’s frilled ears and whispers, “Move.”

Chirrut complies by nudging his hips firmly against his own and Baze feels the writhing tendril inside of him spasm against his inner walls, the tentacle dancing across the most sensitive nerves in his body and playing havoc upon his sanity. He whimpers helplessly and rolls his hips up to urge his husband to give him more. They fall into a sticky honey-slow rhythm, their hands roaming each others’ bodies as they move in tandem, grinding against each other as Chirrut’s length coils and wriggles and throbs inside him. Baze drags his hands sluggishly down his husband’s sharply-defined back, rubbing along the swoop of his shoulder blades, squeezing his flanks and appreciating the muscular frame that houses the brightest spirit Baze has ever known.

He appreciates how the fading light from their minuscule window slats across Chirrut’s body, as the rays of the sun gradually disappears and patterns light up upon his husband’s skin, the most gorgeous sight Baze has ever seen. The bioluminescent speckles and whirls shine all over his body, a light blue that matches the scarf Baze found for this very reason. Chirrut praises him as they make love and Baze feels his thoughts pull apart, strung out like the polished spheres of kyber of a Master Guardian’s prayer beads, the thread straining with tension as it’s pulled taut, until it snaps and the crystals spill between his fingers—his come spilling between Chirrut’s. His husband pours gentle reverent words into Baze’s ears, into Baze’s heart, while he quivers through his orgasm.

Chirrut kisses him and Baze croons low in his throat while he rocks into his husband as he rides the aftershocks. He moves gently so he doesn’t overload Baze’s frayed nerves until he reaches his own completion, and comes inside his husband with a soft moan. He slowly slides out and his tentacle retracts back into his slit as he collapses on top of Baze. His husband is sprawled bonelessly across the bed and doesn’t even twitch when Chirrut pokes him in the chest.

“How do you feel, my love?” he husks out.

Baze inhales. Exhales. Inhales and sighs, “Fucked.”

Chirrut smiles wider than the horizon, “Well fucked?”

His husband swipes his tongue over his muzzle a few times and smacks his lips, “Yeaaa,” he yawns, and then in one great ponderous motion akin to a tectonic plate rising over another, rolls them over so he can crush Chirrut underneath his mass. Chirrut strangles down a laugh and shimmies an arm out to pet his husband’s hair. Baze purrs and Chirrut can sense his husband has just tipped over the brink of slumber. He cuddles Baze, unfussed by his heavy weight, and luxuriates in the satedness in his husband’s body and his own. He touches Baze’s face, feeling how relaxed he is, his brow smooth and the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth. A glow of warmth suffuses through him and he nuzzles into Baze’s neck, his husband instinctively nuzzling him right back. Just before he drops off to sleep, Chirrut whispers,

“I love you.”

Baze’s tail swats him in the face.