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Baze is a quiet man. He only speaks if there’s something worth saying, and he doesn’t often consider things worth saying. Most of his emotions can be conveyed through withering looks, or failing that, a grunt. 

This stymies Chirrut, who is as at home with words as he is with his staff. But he accepts this about Baze, because Baze is perfect exactly as he is. Chirrut wouldn’t change anything about this maddening, stoic, monolith of a man he fell in love with.


He lifts his head. Baze wanted a candle lit, not that it makes any difference to Chirrut, but he says he likes to see Chirrut when they do this. 

“Would it kill you to make some noise?”

Baze’s stomach muscles tighten as he lifts his head. His hand is warm when he brings it up to Chirrut’s face, stroking a thumb over his cheekbone, and Chirrut turns into it briefly, but he won’t be distracted.

“I mean it, Baze. I want to know you’re enjoying yourself.”

Baze’s chest vibrates with his quiet laughter and Chirrut scowls. But Baze rolls his hips up, brushing his erection against Chirrut’s face where he’s crouched between Baze’s thighs.

“I assumed you were aware,” Baze says.

“It’s not like I can see you,” Chirrut points out. “You’re going to have to give me more to work with.”

Baze sighs and his head thumps on the pillow as he flops back against the bed. “What if someone hears?”

“Then they’ll know I’m giving you a great time, just like I will,” Chirrut says. He rubs his cheek along Baze’s soft inner thigh, smiling as Baze twitches at his touch. But he doesn’t move further. He just waits, until Baze sags—just a little—in defeat.

Only then does he take the tip of Baze’s shaft in his mouth again. Baze tenses and stifles a noise with what sounds like the back of his hand. Chirrut pulls off and raises his eyebrows.

“Sorry,” Baze manages, his voice choked. “Habit.” When Chirrut doesn’t immediately resume, Baze takes a breath. “Um. Please?”

“Please what?”

Baze tenses again. “Ah—please will you… suck my cock?”

Chirrut hums approvingly and bends to his task. Baze groans as Chirrut’s mouth engulfs him again, his hips jerking.

“You look—so good,” Baze husks. “Mouth stuffed full—ah, yes, like that, more, please—” He pulls Chirrut up and flips them in a flurry of limbs so that Chirrut lands on his back, Baze between his thighs.

He’s created a monster, Chirrut realizes with delight, as Baze growls and attacks Chirrut’s bare chest and throat with teeth and tongue.

“Do you know what you do to me?” Baze hisses, nipping Chirrut’s collarbone and making him jerk. “You drive me crazy with wanting you, looking at you, knowing you’re mine, sometimes I can’t breathe for it.”

Chirrut wraps his legs around Baze’s hips, pulling him closer and reaching between their bodies to grasp both their erections.

Baze rolls his hips into Chirrut’s fist with a throaty moan, pressing his face against Chirrut’s throat as they rock together. 

“Don’t stop,” Chirrut whispers. “What do you want to do to me?”

“Wanna—wanna fuck you,” Baze groans, hips pistoning harder. “Spread you open, pin you down, fill you up until you beg me to let you come. Gonna take you, mark you, claim you—” His breath is hot on Chirrut’s throat, his heavy hair in Chirrut’s nose and mouth, he is all Chirrut can smell and taste and feel, and it’s too much—Chirrut’s back arches as he comes, spilling between them slick and hot. Baze follows on a choked shout and finally collapses, a heavy living blanket across Chirrut’s limp form.

It’s some time before either of them is able to move, but eventually Baze rolls to the side, onto his back next to Chirrut. 

Chirrut can hear his breathing, jagged and harsh, and he rolls onto his side to rest a hand on Baze’s gently heaving stomach. “We’re definitely doing that again,” he says with satisfaction.

Baze pokes him in the ribs, making him yelp. “Gloating’s not a good look for you.”