Work Header

Iokath Was Bullshit

Work Text:

The jerk of the mattress was what sent his eyes open. He hadn’t moved to signal he had been awoken by it, not yet. He waited as the other man, still in an upright sitting position, took the time necessary to rub his hand over his face to ensure the nightmares that had shocked him awake were taking their leave. Disturbing dreams were not new territory for either of them – the special forces and intelligence branches of the Republic had seen to that – but the frequency was a cause for concern.

When Theron had slipped his legs over the edge of the bed but hadn’t managed to make it to his feet, Jones took the opportunity to slip himself over just enough to press his forehead against the SIS agent’s back. Working the vocal cords wasn’t going to happen immediately so he channeled what he could in the skin to skin contact, as groggy and sleep fuzzy as it was. It wasn’t until he felt Theron sigh and relax into the connection that he sat up properly and moved to a sitting position beside him. No lie, stone flooring at stupid o'clock against bare feet was always going to be a great way to kickstart his brain.

“Same shit?” Gravely voice was par for the course even when awake. When half asleep it was more of a series of mumbled syllables than a coherent sentence fragment.

Thankfully, Theron was getting quite proficient at incoherent mumbling at four AM. “Same shit,” he said quietly. There was no one with them in the tucked away Yavin hideaway Jones had claimed for himself before the Valkorion fiasco, before the five years in carbonite that seemed to both screw everything up and pave the way for better things. Theron whispered anyway. God forbid the wildlife tell his secrets.

Jones took his own turn to rub a hand over his face, fingers lingering for a brief second on the scar that ran across the bridge of his nose and down the side of one cheek. “And everyone’s sure you’re not force sensitive?”

A nod was given in response. A nod was given to confirm receipt. “Iokath was bullshit.”

“That’s one way to sum it up.” Still, Theron didn’t move and neither did Jones. “How about you?”

“Same old,” Jones shrugged. “God of wrath from crazytown telling the resident Alliance God of Wrath shit he already knows. Everyone around me taking turns being the super secret traitor in the midst.”

“Do I ever pop up as the traitor?”

Jones sighed. “Those are the ones that actually wake me up.”

“I’m not, you know.” When Jones didn’t immediately respond, Theron turned to look at him. “Hey, I’m not. You know that… right?”

A lazy grin slid across Jones’ face. “I have no control over my brain when I’m knocked the fuck out,” was the assurance he offered before leaning over to press his lips against Theron. “I know you’re not. Feel free to reassure me though, in great detail.”

Theron didn’t smile in response and Jones’ grin slipped into a concerned frown. “Talk to me.”

“You are all I have so I know I’m not the traitor but my dreams are telling me I am.”

Jones straightened up. “It’s too early in the morning for that sort of inception shit,” and though it was said with a straight face, he would have probably laughed while saying it if Theron wasn’t so serious. “You’re thinking hidden intelligence programming? Scion bullshit? All of the above?”

“All of the above and then some?” Theron’s hand smoothed against the back of his neck. “I don’t know, Jones. I can see the plan of action I take and every time I’m unable to stop myself. Maybe if I tell you all these details I can’t shake, you’ll be prepared to-”

“Tie you up until you come to your senses. That’s how that sentence was going to end.” Jones didn’t ask; he clarified. “I’m not entertaining any bullshit about killing you if you start fitting certain criteria.” He gently tugged Theron’s chin back towards him until the other man had no other option other than giving him eye contact. “If you’re preprogrammed by some asshole to kill me, we’ll unprogram that shit. If you’re bound for brainwashing or some hokey scion or sith mental programming, we’ll sort that shit out, too.”

“I don’t want to be the one to hurt you-”

“-you’re hurting me talking crazy like this.”

“You’re all I have-”

“-you’re all I have.” Jones rarely spoke prose, barely acknowledged his affections in any verbal form unless it was a dire situation. It was sobering to hear that soft but purposeful statement in the middle of the night with no one else to confirm it wasn’t his imagination or heart’s fanciful desire made reality with a sleep deprived mind trick. “If something fucked up is gonna go down, we’ll see it through without anyone getting killed.”

Theron was fumbling with what to say. “You...” For a spy, he was terrible with his own emotional confessions. “You’ve got people who can-”

“They aren’t you.” Even in the dark, those blue eyes were piercing in their intensity. “I have given up far more for less important things. I won’t give you up without a fight, whatever that fight pans out to be.”

Theron had a terrible habit of trying to ruin moments of intimacy. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were going soft, Commander.” It was a defense mechanism, one meant to not keep anyone too close born from abandonment and a life of always losing those closest to him.

Jones shook his head. “You’re a fucking idiot sometimes,” he whispered as he pressed his forehead lightly against Theron. “But you’re my idiot.”

“That’s my line.” His fingers traced paths that scars made on Jones’ chest. “I doubt sleep is going to come rushing back for either of us.”

“That is the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard.”

“I didn’t think I had to still put effort into getting your pants off.”

Jones didn't stop him when Theron slowly pushed him back flat on the mattress and climbed on top of him. “Lucky for you that I don’t wear pants to bed, eh?”