ever so patiently

by Anonymous

Summary:

Lasat have very peculiar mating habits. No one thought to tell Kallus about that.

or: Kallus is the last one to find out he’s being courted.

Notes:

Hello! This was supposed to be a 3k one-shot and it devolved into a tool to help me practice writing smut. I have to state that this one is really for the monster fuckers :^). I never imagined myself writing fic for Rebels of all things, but what can I say? Big brutish aliens are hot apparently.

It gets horny in chapter 3 onwards, because it was supposed to be innocent before then <3

Later chapters contain spoilers for the end of Rebels. Please be cautious if you haven't finished the show.

Chapter 1: Purring

Alexandr Kallus is almost certain that there’s an old proverb that suits his current predicament. 

Caught between a rock and a hard place. His body crushed into the space between the glistening flint walls of the frigid moon bluff, speckles of frost glimmering across the surface. It’s entirely dry, frozen solid, and the stale weight of the cold air makes his lungs clench and shudder with each pained breath.

So the grey walls of the cliff face are very much his rock.

Which means that Garazeb Orrelios is his hard place.

Currently, Kallus has his back pressed flush to the solid surface of the cliff wall, ignoring the aching chill seeping through the too-thin layers of his coat. The vantage point allows him to keep an eye on the Lasat, the hulking body and thick hands that taper off into curled claws. Even with his blaster holstered, Kallus knows that the man has the advantage over him. His torso is aching with the little bruises from their earlier confrontation, and he won’t soon be forgetting the encompassing feeling of those giant hands manipulating him like he weighed nothing. Even if the Lasat had made a point of being vocal about how heavy Kallus was, it doesn’t change the fact that one clawed hand had almost encompassed his thigh as he had been carried. 

If Garazeb suddenly decided he wanted Kallus dead, there would be very little that Kallus could do about it in his current state.

Especially since he can’t put weight onto his leg. 

It’s most definitely broken; he had heard the chilling crack of bones snapping when they made their landing. But there’s even less that Kallus can do about that than he can do about apprehending the rebel in front of him, so he simply sets his jaw and resolves to ignore the pain.

It’s… not going very well. 

Especially since his body is being racked by little shivers that disturb his leg, pulling at the injury and never quite allowing the discomfort to settle into the back of his mind.

He’s shivering less now than he was ten minutes ago, although he isn’t convinced that that’s a good sign. 

Even the leather of his gloves is doing little to act as a buffer against the crisp air, and the ends of his fingers are just as devastatingly numb as the tip of his nose and his ears. Even if he did manage to get his blaster back from the hulking Lasat, he’s not too confident in his ability to wrap his finger around the trigger.

If he can’t twitch his finger towards his own palm, what hope does he have of squeezing a trigger? 

Not to mention the absolute nightmare that would transpire if Kallus somehow did manage to pull one over the Lasat, only for his mangy group of rebels to show up before the Empire. 

Heaving a frustrated huff that turns to white mist on his lips, Kallus raises his hands and tucks them beneath his armpits. It accomplishes nothing more than earning a warning glance from the Lasat, green eyes narrowing in his direction even as the pricked ears swivel towards him. 

“If I was going to attack you do you not think I would’ve been more subtle?” Kallus grits out, teeth clattering as he wrenches out the words. Stars, but he’s never been this cold before. 

Garazeb flattens his ears back, the picture of a disgruntled loth cat. His hands are currently occupied - one holding the patched up commlink, the other wrapped around the golden rock. A soft haze fizzles around the craggy surface, heat rippling in the cold air.

Kallus huffs out a desperate sound, and flickers his gaze away to glimpse across the desolate ice fields and whipped up white tundras.

He wouldn’t be so spiteful if it weren’t for the fact that Garazeb doesn’t even seem to need the blasted thing. When Kallus had been hoisted up on the other man’s back his fingers had snaked into thickets of purple fur, grasping at the insulated layers. Garazeb ran about as hot as a lightspeed engine, and it’s only because of their dire situation that Kallus will even allow his brain to mourn the loss of contact between them.

Seeming to pick up on Kallus’ train of thought, Garazeb wanders back over and settles against the rock face alongside him. They’re almost close enough for their shoulders to touch, and the tendrils of warmth seeping off of his body makes Kallus’ heart pound in his chest.

“Your entire face is red,” Garazeb points out. His lips quirk up into enough of a smile to reveal a flash of a white fang. 

“Because it’s cold,” Kallus hisses out. Every part of him is achingly cold, and his wrists creak when he adjusts his hands.  They’re fully stiff now, and he can only look in dismay as he tries - and fails - to flex his fingers. “Not that you’d know, because you’re fluffier than a Wookie.”

“I mean, it’s a bit nippy,” Garazeb replies. 

“Can I have the rock for a moment?” He refuses to tack on a please, although he has to bite it back behind his teeth at the last moment. It almost slipped out of its own accord in his delirium. “You don’t even need it. All that fur has you warmer than a small sun.”

Something ripples across the Lasat’s expression, and Kallus has no idea what it is for sure. All that he knows is that he doesn’t like it. But before he can voice as much, Garazeb is moving towards him, flattening his large palms across his arms and using the leverage to drag Kallus flush to his body. 

His face is pressed to the Lasat’s chest, and any angry protests shrivel up and die in his throat when Garazeb wraps an arm around his back to support his weight. His other hand presses the golden rock into the space between them. 

Heat seeps in from both sides, encompassing his front and back. Kallus shivers, biting down a relieved noise. Tufts of fur tickle across his cheeks, and his scalp prickles when the Lasat exhales and the puff of warm breath disturbs his hair. 

“You’re colder than the bloody ice,” Garazeb grumbles, and Kallus feels the deep baritone growl of his voice reverberate between them just as well as he hears the words. 

He doesn’t have much leverage to struggle against the hold with his shoddy leg, but he still makes an attempt to pull away. An attempt that is quickly rebuffed by Garazeb placing a large hand on his hip, holding him still like his thrashing is inconsequential.

A low grumble pulls out of Kallus’ mouth before he can swallow it down. His eyes lock on the curved slope of the claw against his abdomen, and a little hysterically he wonders whether it would be able to cut through the fabric of his coat and disembowel him all in one quick motion.

Kallus stops struggling, although he doesn’t let himself sink back into the warmth in front of him. 

No matter how badly his body wishes that he could. 

Grey clouds blot out the skyline, and it’s impossible to know for sure just how long they stand together like that. Even a second of contact is too much, in Kallus’ opinion, but he no longer feels like his fingers are going to detach from his hand. So, no matter how badly he wants to, he doesn’t pull away. His eyelashes - thick with frost, sticking together with each blink - flutter and lull, his body soft and tired from shock and exhaustion and the cold. The only thing keeping him upright is the agonising pain in his leg, and the way it shrieks in protest as he keeps his weight on it.

“I think I need to sit down,” Kallus mumbles into the space between them.

Like this, with his cheek pressed against a warm flight suit, Kallus at least doesn’t have to look the other man in the face. 

“Think it’s colder down there in all that snow than it is up here,” Garazeb says in a warning tone. 

“I can’t-” Kallus hisses out a frustrated sound, fighting the urge to swallow back the words and feign total competence. If this were an Imperial mission they would’ve left him down in that cave system at the crash site. It would’ve been the smart thing to do, so it’s little wonder that Garazeb did the exact opposite. “My leg.”

“Oh,” Garazeb hums. “Just take your weight off of it.”

Kallus blinks at the way Garazeb speaks so easily. As if it’s as simple as that. As if taking his weight off of it wouldn’t entail relying on the Lasat entirely to keep him upright. 

Honestly, Kallus can’t think of a single way this day could get any worse. At this point death would be a small mercy.

But death doesn’t seem intent to come for him - not yet, at least. So with a reluctant sneer, Kallus inches himself closer to the expanse of Garazeb’s chest, propping himself up against the line of his body while maintaining as much distance as possible. Removing the weight from his leg is an immediate relief, satisfaction flushing his system in a heady rush. 

He thinks he might make a low noise in his throat, but it’s likely lost to the wind.

In fact, just about every sound is lost beneath the tumultuous noise of rumbling. At first, Kallus had thought it was the wind being whipped up into a frenzy against the craggy bluffs that punctuate the surface of the moon. But now, with his ear pressed firmly to Garazeb’s chest, there’s no denying that the murmuring sound is coming from within the Lasat himself.

Shifting as much as his battered leg will allow - which is, admittedly, nowhere near as much as he would like - Kallus tries to force himself to remain calm. Surely there’s a plethora of reasons behind why Garazeb has started snarling, and not all of them will end in him deciding enough is enough and ending Kallus right here in the snow.

Still, with the deep roaring noise reverberating in the space between them, it’s difficult to stop a tendril of fear from creeping up and ensnaring his mind. 

The moment that Kallus’ shoulders hitch defensively the noise cuts out.

When Garazeb speaks it’s a murmur, voice still deep and guttural but purposefully tempered. “Sorry,” he says simply. 

The unexpected apology strikes Kallus harder than any physical blow he’s received today, leaving his mind reeling even as his eyes flare open and glance upwards to search the man’s face for any explanation for the unexpected word.

Garazeb offers him nothing in the way of clarification, looking askance. “It’s not personal.”

Which is… more of a relief than Garazeb likely believes it to be. Lots of species produce sounds on a subconscious level. Kallus is just immensely grateful that Lasat snarling appears to be one of these very noises. 

At least it means Garazeb isn’t about to turn and rip his throat out.

It happens a few more times as they wait for a shuttle to break the atmo. A gentle churning noise building up in the base of Garazeb’s throat, only to be bitten off with the sound of grinding teeth whenever it becomes too obvious.

Somewhere between his exhaustion and delirium, Kallus’ brain begins to filter it into the background. Reduced to some abstract comforting noise like the sound of the wind or the racket of his own heartbeat pounding against his ears. 

It only tapers off entirely when it’s interrupted by the familiar noise of a shuttle breaching the clouds, engines churning and landing throttles bursting out hot plumes of air. Kallus doesn’t need to look to know which ship has arrived first - he can tell by the way Garazeb goes taut against him. The way his heartbeat picks up speed and the fur around his throat bristles in excitement. 

And all at once Kallus realises he can’t go with them.

Before the question is even posited he shakes his head in refusal. Winces when the cold rushes in to replace the warmth when Garazeb pulls away from him. Even the molten warmth of the golden stone does little to soothe the pains. 

All he can do is hope that the Empire will in fact come for him the way those rebels had come back for their own. 

---

After he’s recused. After he’s ushered through an agonisingly long debriefing, where the only thing he can think about is the numbness of his toes in his sodden socks and not the lies spilling off of his tongue. After he’s dismissed with a curt nod and allowed to make the trek back to his room. 

That’s when he bumps into another operative.

Kallus wouldn’t go so far as to say the man was pleased to see him. He quirked a single eyebrow at the sight of Kallus, gaze dragging across the likely dishevelled appearance and soaked clothes. 

“You should hit the showers, you smell horrific.”

Then, before Kallus can force his tongue to make anything other than a low noise of surprise, the man skirts around him and disappears down another corridor.

Wincing, Kallus subtly tries to sniff at his own coat. Beyond the musky scent of damp cotton he can’t make out anything at all.

Chapter 2: Gloating

Kallus would never go so far as to claim that any battlefield could be orderly. Certainly, there is always some unknown element and percentage of risk that can never be adequately planned or prepared for. There is never a fool proof way to engage in combat. 

Fighting alongside the rebels, however, definitely makes Imperial warfare look calculated down to the final detail.

Most of their alleged plans are named as such due to lack of an alternative. Sometimes Kallus has to bite his tongue to stop himself from pointing out that defeat the enemy isn’t so much a plan in and of itself as it is the objective of the mission overall. 

Thankfully, the rebels fight well enough to make up for their deficiency in the tactical department. 

Not that Kallus ever believed the rebels to be stupid. That thread of perceived superiority that many of the Empire Generals fostered was what allowed them to wreak havoc amongst the ranks for so long. One of their greatest strengths is the Empire’s flagrant willingness to underestimate the rebels.

Kallus never for a single moment considered them to be weak.

And after fighting at their side he can’t help but to pity any of his former associates who still bring themselves to doubt them.

It’s discerningly impressive how the universe has managed to bring together such a crew aboard the Ghost. Hera has more piloting prowess in her little finger than half of the top graduates at the flight academy, not to mention all of the desirable traits that can’t be taught in the classroom. Quick witted and starkly intelligent. Then there is Kanan and his padawan; two Jedi in a world that is staunchly determined to see them dead. Sabine with the calculated mind of the best Mandalorian warriors. Painted beskar and narrowed eyes, drinking in every single one of Kallus’ actions, waiting for him to make one wrong move. 

Then there is Garazeb. Zeb. 

Zeb, who Kallus is beginning to suspect might have been going easy on him during all of their previous skirmishes. 

For all that he had left Kallus bruised and battered in the past, after watching the Lasat break bones with unflinching ease, he can’t help but wonder whether Zeb had let him off with the equivalent of a love tap.

And he can’t help but notice the carnage, no matter how adamantly he works to keep his face tilted away and his mind focused on his own fight. 

This is because, for some inexplicable reason, Zeb has made a habit of vying for Kallus’ attention. 

The final enemy hits the ground with a thump, limp body crashing into concrete in a way that will certainly ache when they regain consciousness. Adrenaline fizzles in Kallus’ veins, turning his skin hot and his palms slick in his gloves. He barely manages to suck in a breath that’s tinged with the stale taste of blaster smoke before Zeb’s deep voice is filling the room.

“Did you see that?” he bellows. 

Green eyes are locked on Kallus, the narrow pupil of a predator honed in and waiting for his response.

Honestly, Kallus isn’t entirely sure what it is that Zeb expects from him. All he can offer is a tight nod, because he did, in fact, witness all of the brutish carnage that Zeb unleashed. 

It wasn’t unimpressive. 

“Not bad,” he tacks on, clearing his throat when his voice comes out thick and awkward from the pressure of being pinned beneath the weight of Zeb’s expectant gaze.

There’s a brief moment where the tufts of fur around Zeb’s throat puff up, and Kallus feels his eyebrows arch towards his hairline in surprise. Before he can catch much more than a glimpse, there’s a blur of motion hurtling towards Zeb, and Ezra is firmly in his space, blocking Kallus’ view of the peculiar way his hackles had fluffed up.

“What are you talking about!” the kid squawks, face splitting into a grin. “That was totally wizard.”

Zeb huffs out a low chuckle. “I know it was.”

---

One of the worst changes is having to adjust to living in such close proximity with other people.

Aboard the Imperial vessels they had their designated quarters and stringent schedules. So long as you abided by your manifold, it would be extremely unlikely that you would bump into another person outside of regulated meetings or in case of emergency. There was certainly little opportunity for recreation, especially outside of the mess hall.

But on the Ghost it’s impossible to avoid bumping into someone.

The room above the hold has been fashioned into an impromptu rec room, furnished with a mismatch of seats. Rusted walls have been painted over with intricate designs, data pads and flimsi books covering the little table that sits in the centre. 

For anyone else Kallus imagines that the space would be welcoming.

Except, of course, he is Kallus, and it’s more than obvious that he’s not welcome there at all. 

Unfortunately, they also keep their caff machine in the room, and on days as long as this one Kallus is willing to risk showing his face for long enough to brew himself a cup. 

Thankfully, the room is only occupied by Zeb, Sabine and Ezra. They’ve become less agonisingly hostile towards him with each day that passes without any treachery, and now only the fledgling Jedi bothers to glare at him for a few moments as he makes his way over to the machine and punches the button.

It’s impossible not to overhear their conversation, although he works to convince himself that it’s not eavesdropping.

“I don’t get why you won’t just cover for us,” Sabine impresses, forcing her face to soften into a look of perfect innocence. 

“We’re more than capable of looking after ourselves!” Ezra says.

There’s a beat of silence.

Even Kallus doubts that sentiment. 

“I’ll keep an eye on Ezra,” Sabine insists. “Just for one night. No one will know. It’ll be our little secret.”

Zeb shifts backwards in the chair he’s lounging in, jerking his chin towards Kallus with a grunt. “If this is how you lot keep secrets then I’m out.”

Waving a dismissive hand, Ezra scoffs. “He’s not going to tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?” Kallus asks.

“There’s a bar in the next city we’re porting in, and the kids want to check it out,” Zeb explains dejectedly. A deep tiredness threads the words in a way that suggests he’s been hearing about this plan for a good long while now. 

Although Ezra’s nose wrinkles at being referred to as a kid, he still nods his head eagerly. “It’ll be so safe! Bars always have bouncers.”

“And cameras,” Kallus points out cautiously. “You both have very distinctive faces. Very famous faces, might I remind you.”

At this Sabine is the one to wave him off. “It’ll be fine! We’re going to have disguises. We’ve got it all planned out. The only thing left is getting Zeb to cover for us so Hera doesn’t catch wind of it.”

Even on the frontlines of a war it’s impossible to convince a teenager that they’re fallible. 

Kallus opens his mouth to voice further protest, but before he can get a word in edgeways Ezra drapes his arms around Zeb’s shoulders and leans into him. 

“Please,” the kid whines, fingers clinging to the front of the man’s flight suit. “I’ll clean the galley for a month. I’ll stop using your conditioner.”

“You’ve been using my conditioner?” Zeb hisses, ears flattening to the side of his head. 

Ezra - impossibly - clings on tighter, burrowing his face against the Lasat’s shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I’ll never do it again if you help us.”

There’s a bubble of warmth growing in Kallus’ chest, pressing up against the underside of his ribs. It takes him a few moments to remember the name of it. Amusement. It’s soft and tepid, unfurling so very slowly until he has to fight the urge to smile.

And then he hears a sound that he hasn’t heard since that ice moon, and all sensation is replaced with a flush of panic.

Because Zeb is growling. 

Except… the kids don’t startle at the sound.

In fact, Sabine starts giggling. 

“We’ve got you now, big guy.” She sounds delighted, folding her arms across her chest. Confidence lights up her expression, like she knows that the argument has been settled in her favour.

When Kallus risks a glance towards Zeb, he’s surprised to discover that the man is grinning. Pointed fangs bared as Ezra ruffles the exposed fur around his face.

Maybe, Kallus considers, snarling isn’t a bad thing amongst the Lasat.

Except, that would make his first encounter with the noise all the more confusing.

It requires more research, he decides, snatching up his now filled mug of caff and retreating from the room. 

Notes:

Thank you all for your warm reception on the first chapter! I'm thrilled to hear from you all <3

Tiny little chapter before we get into the unforgivably horny.

Chapter 3: Gifting

Notes:

hhhh no plot. all horny. enjoy lmao <3

As it so happened, overhearing the planning process of the kid’s temporary rebellion meant that Kallus had been unwillingly conscripted into helping Zeb chaperone their little escapade.

Which is how he finds himself sitting in a dinky bar on some backwater planet. The air is stale and thick with smog, reeking of smoke that curls the yellowed posters clinging to the walls. The lights are kept dim enough that people are reduced to blurred outlines rather than memorable faces, and the music is loud enough to ensure that no one can quite hear one another without yelling directly into an ear.

It’s comfortable, and so lowkey that Kallus finds that he’s not worried as he slides into an agonisingly squeaky bar stool. It places his back to a wall, and allows him a decent view of the entire dance floor where Ezra and Sabine have been dragged into a circle of brightly dressed teenagers.

Kallus tries not to fret, considering Zeb is worrying enough for the both of them.

His hackles are perpetually bristled, bright eyes honing in on every little movement that the kids make. 

“If you keep staring, their new friends are going to think that you’re a creep,” Kallus points out politely. 

Zeb snarls in rebuttal, but grudgingly drops his gaze. “Do you want a drink?” 

“I’m not going to refuse that,” Kallus replies, genuinely surprised to receive an offer. He’s not very liquid at the moment, considering all of his credit were paid into an account that has now been seized by the Empire due to the unfortunate circumstance of Kallus being classified as a terrorist. 

Zeb leaves him with a satisfied sniff, turning and ambling off towards the manned bar on the other side of the room. It’s not until the Lasat is out of reach that Kallus realises it might have been an excuse for the man to break away and continue spying on the kids.

Rolling his eyes with a snort, Kallus props his head up in his hand and scopes out the room.

He doesn’t get long alone with his thoughts before there’s a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision, and a man sidling up at the table alongside him.

Kallus’ first reaction is to subtly slide his hand along to rest on his weapon belt, lightly wrapping his fingers around the grip of his blaster. Then, and only then, does he spare a glance towards the newcomer.

Who happens to be an unfamiliar, but friendly, face.

After a moment of hesitation, Kallus drops his hand away from his weapon.

The stranger rakes an appraising look across his body in a motion that is both unmistakable and so outwardly forward that it makes something hot pulse low in Kallus’ stomach. 

Because it’s nice to be on the receiving end of some positive attention for once. At least a lecherous stare isn’t loaded with the typical animosity that he’s used to. At least this stranger is looking at him and seeing a man, rather than a former Imperial who will never be anything but what the Empire made him.

Kallus tries not to seem too eager when the man approaches and cocks a hip onto the bar, squinting down at him with dark eyes. He smells nice, which is a blissful rarity in the middle of wartimes. Like old spices and woodsmoke. Kallus wants to bury his face into the side of his neck. 

He wants to do more than that.

“Do you come here often?” the man asks with an accent that certainly does not belong to this solar system. 

Wrinkling his nose, Kallus offers a soft smile. “Has that line ever worked out for you?”

“You’d be pleasantly surprised,” the man replies smugly. 

Honestly, Kallus would hazard a guess that the success rate has more to do with the fact that the man looks like he should be showcasing the next line of winter wear for the Coruscanti elite as opposed to any of the words coming out of his mouth, but it’s nice to create some sort of rapport before they skip straight to Kallus dropping to his knees. 

At least like that he can pretend he still has some dignity. 

“Will I now?” 

It’s been longer than he would ever dare to confess since he’s had to put effort into being desirable. Back at the academy anyone was willing to bed anyone for some sort of stress relief, and his rank in his former role had made it remarkably simple to find any number of willing bodies to take to bed in the hopes of winning his favour. 

Honestly, Kallus isn’t sure he even knows how to make himself seem sultry.

Thankfully, the stranger doesn’t seem to mind either way. His gaze flickers along the length of Kallus’ body appraisingly, lingering for too long on his thighs.

“There’s no way you’re here all alone,” the man says sweetly. 

Before Kallus can do more than wet his lip, a voice speaks up from behind him.

“He’s not.”

And Kallus can only wince, the wide-eyed shocked expression from the sweet stranger ingrained into the backs of his eyelids. By the time he opens his eyes again the stranger is stumbling backwards, forehead creased with concern even as he refuses to look at Kallus at all. 

“My bad, I’m sorry about that,” he stammers out. “I didn’t realise you had company already. Have a fantastic night, the both of you.”

And just like that the beautiful stranger is gone.

Kallus sighs dejectedly, running a finger across the grimy surface of the table and refusing to look at Zeb at all. 

“Just what exactly was that about, might I ask?” 

Setting two sickly looking shot glasses down, Zeb sniffs, snub nose twitching. He leans against the wall at Kallus’ side, clawed hand coming up to drum against the worn leather of his belt.

“You had no idea who that guy was,” Zeb points out. “You need to be careful. You don’t have any friends out in the galaxy right now.”

Something bitter and cold shifts in Kallus’ stomach. “I know that I don’t. You don’t have to remind me.”

“So why are you getting so cosy with strangers?” Zeb asks.

Kallus blinks at him simply. 

Zeb stares back with just as much patience, ears twitching involuntarily at the clamour of the other patrons. 

Steeling his expression into something unshakable, Kallus meets Zeb’s eye with a serious stare. “Believe it or not, running about with your crew is agonisingly stressful. I thought for one night I might be able to get away with a sad eye-contactless handjob from a stranger, but it turns out that the Gods won’t even allow me that mercy.”

Recognition quickly washes across Zeb’s expression, eyes widening marginally. The weight of his gaze flickering across Kallus’ body makes him feel like he’s strapped to an examination table, and he shifts awkwardly. His stupid bar stool lets out a low squeak. 

“Don’t act like you haven’t done the same,” Kallus snaps defensively. 

“You just didn’t strike me as the sort,” Zeb says cautiously. His arms come up to fold across his chest, muscles bunched up beneath the tufts of fur. 

“The sort to fuck strangers in a bar, or the sort to have sex at all?” Kallus grumbles.

Amusement tugs at the corner of Zeb’s expression, twisting his mouth up into a toothy smile. “A few months ago I would’ve died for the opportunity to call you unfuckable to your face,” Zeb announces smugly, leaning closer to whisper the confession into the space between them. “The universe works in weird ways, huh?”

“Stars, shut up,” Kallus hisses out.

It does nothing more than earn a satisfied bark of laughter. “You weren’t kidding, you are wound up.” 

A hand captures him by the elbow, tugging him up out of the seat like he weighs nothing at all. 

Kallus snarls out a curse, blustering as Zeb guides him towards the door and out into the cold evening air. Palms curl over his shoulders, tugging him into the dark and secluded alley that lines the side of the building. 

The moment that he’s released Kallus whirls on his heel, puffing up his chest and glaring up at Zeb with a scowl. “Could you not let me finish my drink before you drag me out here to reprimand me?” 

Zeb raises his hands once again, shoving Kallus backwards.

Industrial steel meets his back, the surface of the wall turned frigid by the cool night air. Zeb doesn’t waste any time and allow the cold to creep in, pushing himself up against Kallus’ body with a low groan. Tufts of fur tickle Kallus’ bare hands when he reaches out to run them across Zeb’s arms, fingers threading through impossibly soft tangles of silky purple. He doesn’t know whether he wants to push away or cling to the warm body that is finally pressed against his own.

Stars, he’d take anything. It doesn’t matter that it’s Zeb. 

Distantly, in the very back of his mind, his better sense is bellowing for his attention. Demanding that he stops and considers what he’s doing. Because this is absurd - this is letting Garazeb force a thick thigh between both of his own, pressing up against his crotch. This is tilting his head back and opening his mouth at the first touch of Zeb’s own rough lips.

Their lips don’t quite fit together, but that’s alright. Kallus can feel the impression of sharp teeth with each frantic kiss, gasping when they delicately touch against his inflamed skin when Zeb cautiously opens up for him. 

Kallus jerks when their tongues meet. Of course he had known that Zeb’s would be big - it would be proportional to the rest of him. But it’s hot and thick and covered in tiny little bristles that catch and drag against his own smooth flesh with a deliciously sharp friction. His entire body pulses with heat when Zeb licks into his mouth, barbs leaving a stinging trail against the most intimate parts of him. Flickers of pain that are immediately soothed by the rush of pleasure that floods through him.

His brain feels heady, mind foggy and humming with a distinctly pleased buzz. 

Of course he’s been kissed before, but it’s been some years before one has left him so breathlessly needy.

He’s half convinced that if he didn’t have the wall at his back he would have collapsed to the floor. 

Even when his lungs begin to burn he can’t will himself to pull away, gasping against Zeb’s mouth and clinging to the body in front of him with scrabbling fingers. Somehow he finds his hand against the side of Zeb’s face, fingers trailing up to run along the lightly furred slope of an ear. The touch earns a low rumble from deep in the man’s chest, and Kallus grins into the kiss and begins to sweep his thumb across the shell.

Zeb wrenches away from him with a snarl. Hands come up to grab at Kallus’ shoulders, pulling and twisting his body until he’s swivelled around to face the wall. He doesn’t have enough time to get his bearings before Zeb pushes him up against it, flattening his cheek against the cold surface. Just as quickly Zeb sinks against him, the broad impression of his chest pressing up against Kallus’ back. Warm breath breaks across the nape of his neck, panting. 

The earlier exploratory touches have vanished, replaced instead with firm hands coming to grab his hips. Tiny pinpricks of pressure where his claws dig into the leathers of Kallus’ clothes. It’s strange to think that those claws used to frighten him. That, on some small level, they still do.

But he doesn’t want to pull away. If anything, the realisation makes even more heat blossom at the base of his spine.

Slowly, one hand drags across the top of his trousers. A large palm flattens across the shape of his erection, causing him to buck his hips with a stifled groan. 

It earns a satisfied hum from Zeb, who squeezes lightly at his cock. That rumbling growl has started up again, reverberating against his back with a deep timber. The Lasat has slotted his body up against Kallus’ and he can feel the hardening impression of the other man’s need against his ass.

Kallus barely hears his low whine above the pounding in his ears. “We’re still in public.”

Zeb leans forward, pressing a light kiss to the side of his neck. There’s a barely there scrape of pointed fangs, before his lips press to the delicate patch of skin just below his ear. “It’s dark,” he murmurs, voice pitched so low that Kallus can barely hear him at all. “No one will see.” 

With his large hands still holding Kallus’ hips, he ruts forwards with a sharp jerk. The hot, large bulge presses into Kallus’ back, even as he in turn is pressed hard into the wall with a startled gasp. 

It had only been one simple stroke, a mimicry of fucking, and Kallus already finds himself nearly breathless with pleasure. His toes curling in his boots as his fingers try to scrabble for purchase on the flat wall in front of him.

“Do you want to go back to the ship?” Zeb murmurs, mouth suddenly right beside Kallus’ ear again.

Maybe Zeb had never moved away in the first place. Kallus can’t quite tell. Everything has adopted a bleary, dream-like haze. The only real thing right now is the feeling of Zeb’s hands on his hips, and the firm line of his cock lining up with his ass. 

Zeb grinds the heel of his palm against him as he waits for a response, huffing out a sharp laugh when Kallus subconsciously thrusts up into the contact. He tries to force his brain to be rational, but the very idea of this stopping at all is almost painful. Every fibre of his body is shaking with desperation, lungs ready to burst and his stomach clenched hot and hard. He doesn’t think he could stop this and walk away even if he tried.

He’s absolutely certain that he doesn’t want to try.

“Garazeb,” he hisses, shuddering at the ticklish feeling of that purring noise pressing up against his back. “Please.”

“Stars, if you insist,” Zeb huffs out, somehow managing to sound entirely put-upon by the request. 

Then his hand finds Kallus’ belt, and all thoughts except his own painful desperation flee his mind. It feels like it takes a lifetime, although he knows it’s a matter of seconds as Zeb pulls open the top button and clicks the zipper down. A giant palm presses against his cockhead, smearing the embarrassing amount of wetness that has already gathered there. 

If Zeb has any comments on just how pathetic Kallus is, he thankfully keeps them to himself. 

Instead, he curls his hand into a fist around the shaft, hands large enough that he encompasses him entirely. Black claws are thankfully kept far away from his sensitive skin, but Kallus still stares down at the shape of them with a little thrill. The sight of them there - close enough to touch but not quite - is just as agonisingly arousing as the feeling of Zeb’s mouth working the side of his throat. 

Zeb thankfully sets a quick pace. Just because Kallus wasn’t strong enough to take this somewhere private doesn’t mean he wants to test his luck. The sooner they can get this over with the better. 

And although Kallus knows the sounds of the city are deafening, that no noise at all can be made out above the sound of the air traffic and the thumping music from the rows of gritty clubs, he can’t help but to worry that their own illicit noises drown the entire world out. The wet noise of Zeb’s palm stroking across his skin. His own stifled gasps and moans underscored by that deep rattling noise from Zeb’s chest. 

It’s almost too much. 

Warmth breaks across the shell of his ear when Zeb presses his lips against it. Voice guttural and low when he says, “do you think this is what your Empire friends had in mind when you ran off to serve the rebels?”

Shame douses the fire in his belly in an instant. The low keen that tears out of his throat is a garbled knot of arousal and dismay. Why would he say that? It’s not fair that the words spilling so easily out of Zeb’s mouth so perfectly echo the sentiment of Kallus’ deepest worries.

But then Zeb squeezes his hand just as he licks a bristled stripe up the side of Kallus’ throat, and all thoughts are lost beneath the white rush of his orgasm. 

Zeb strokes him through it, mouthing at the side of his throat and lightly pressing the sharp tips of his fangs against the vulnerable flesh. His body grinds up against Kallus’ own, and the man groans soft and quiet more than once when Kallus’ twitching forces him back against the Lasat’s erection. 

Before he can catch his breath Zeb is pushing him away, the delicious heat of his body stepping out of reach and allowing the brisk evening to settle in like some grim shroud. Immediately, he moves to tuck himself away, tearing up the zip and fastening his belt with a swift movement. Embarrassment sneaks in to fill up all of the hollowed out spaces in his limbs, flushing the numb digits of his fingers with warmth as he stuffs them back into his pockets.

He feels disgusting. Gritty and dark in the worst possible way. 

Sweat slicks across his face, sticking dampened tangles of blond to his forehead. Beneath his clothes he feels just as grimy, sweat sticking his shirt to his heaving chest. He dreads to imagine how red his face is, and the weight of Zeb’s gaze looking at him is impossible to meet.

So he ducks his chin and stares down at the top of his boots. 

His voice cracks when he opens his mouth, and he has to swallow to wet his throat enough to force the words out. “Do you want me to?”

But Zeb is already shaking his head in refusal before Kallus can finish. The puffed up plumes of fur around his throat are bright and quivering as he breathes deeply. “Not here. Not enough time for that.”

It’s hard not to feel a rush of dejection. Kallus nods slowly; incapable of meeting Zeb’s eyes. He can’t quite bring himself to face whatever expression must be lingering there. Doesn’t want to experience the brunt of his disgust or - gods forbid - amusement.

He can’t help but to wonder why Zeb had done that. If not for himself then had he done it for Kallus? 

The memory of the words whispered into his ear is profound, and without warm hands on his body they’re nowhere near as easy to dismiss. Had Zeb done that in order to prod at him? To see if he could reduce the former Empire agent to a whimpering mess in his hands? 

Even as the thought flitters through his head he’s quick to dismiss it. It’s not fair to Zeb; he doesn’t seem like the type to get his thrills from tormenting someone else.

Which only serves to leave Kallus even more confused. 

Why had he done that?

---

Truly, Kallus doesn’t know why he bothers trying to go to bed. He knows that sleep isn’t going to be an option for him tonight.

The moment his head hits the flattened pillow of his bunk his brain kicks into overdrive. Staring up into the darkness of the empty bunk above his own, he turns the memories of the evening over in his mind. Heat tightens in his chest and stomach at the memory of clawed hands tracing over his hips and cupping him through his trousers, but he fights not to shy away from the embarrassment of it all.

At the end of the day he had let the other man jerk him off in an alleyway, and no amount of mortified blushing is going to change that reality. 

Part of him is tempted to spring up out of bed and cross the hall until he can corner Zeb and explain that he never usually does things like that. For some reason he doesn’t want the Lasat to have a bad impression of him.

Or, well, an even worse impression.

But no matter how much the panic festers, his rational mind thankfully intervenes to point out that waking up Zeb in the early hours of morning will do very little to support Kallus’ petition that he’s a totally normal, functional person. 

Somewhere between one paranoid thought and another, Kallus manages to drift off. 

---

The stale smell of dehydrated ration packs and burned caff greets him when he wakes. 

Kallus’ stomach is already rolling with tight balls of trepidation and embarrassment as he gradually comes to; the memories of the night before batter against his mind like a fist. 

Which isn’t to say that he regrets it. It was good. 

It was more than good, which is a thought that he absolutely has no desire to entertain after just waking up. 

Part of him doesn’t know how he ever hopes to face the other man again, let alone find the strength to work with him. The other part of him is still groggy from sleep, and is much more interested in following the smell of the freshly brewed caff. 

Stepping into the small kitchen, he’s surprised to be greeted by almost the entire crew. Ezra has his face pressed to the tacky surface of the table, eye sockets reduced to ruddy purple bruises. His lashes flutter open as Kallus steps into the room proper, and his mouth twists up into a wicked grin. 

“Good night, I take it?” Kallus asks.

Sabine, reclined in the chair beside Ezra, nods her head enthusiastically. There’s traces of glitter across her cheeks, but Kallus certainly isn’t going to be the first person to point it out.

“It was amazing,” she breathes. “We should go out every time we stop there! Like, all of us.”

“Absolutely not,” Zeb interrupts from the hydrator, where he seems to be making the kids a breakfast pack each. “The second Kanan finds out about this little trip we’re all in for it. There’ll never be any convincing him to get in on it.”

Ezra sighs dejectedly, thumping his head back down against the table. 

Kallus lingers in the doorway as Zeb makes the rounds of serving a sachet of rehydrated eggs to the table, struggling to make himself appear very small and inconsequential. He refuses to look at Zeb at all, which is why he’s startled when the man suddenly appears in front of him.

There’s a mug of steaming caff in his hand, held out towards Kallus with an insistent little shake.

“For me?” Kallus asks stupidly.

“Well yeah,” Zeb quips. “It’s manky, I don’t know how you can stomach the stuff.”

Wrinkling his nose at the insult, Kallus cautiously accepts the mug and struggles not to fixate on the trace contact when their fingers brush in the brief exchange. His breath catches in his throat, lungs squeezing like they’re caught in a vice.

“Thank you,” Kallus offers cautiously. 

He takes a seat at the table, sitting silently as the kids regale Zeb with the story of last night’s escapades. Nothing that they mention is any immediate cause for concern, but it’s far from their promise to keep a low profile. Breaking tables, Zeb reminds them, is a particularly good way to draw someone’s attention. Eventually, when their yawning borderlines on excessive, Zeb ushers them out of the canteen altogether with strict instructions to go back to their bunks and to sleep off their hangovers. 

Which means that Kallus and Zeb are left entirely alone. 

And it’s, quite frankly, ridiculous. Ridiculous that Kallus is allowing himself to bluster and bow his head like some teenager fumbling through his first time. He’s a grown man, a grown man who has done worse things than let a man like Zeb take him apart in some murky little alley. Kallus climbed the ranks of the Empire with ruthless efficiency, and he had managed to betray their secrets without losing his life.

Very few can claim the former achievement, and even less the latter.

There’s an infinite amount of more unpleasant things in the galaxy, Kallus reminds himself grimly. Still, it doesn’t make his heart beat any softer when he speaks. 

“So, last night.”

“Last night was good,” Zeb responds with a startling amount of confidence.

It serves to quell the nerves roiling in Kallus’ belly, if little else.

“What was it all about?” Kallus asks cautiously, forcing himself to wrench his gaze up from the steaming surface of his caff. Plumes of white waft up from the beverage, distorting Zeb’s face behind the smog. “I thought we were going to be-” and there’s no tactful way to say it, so Kallus swallows his pride and forces himself to meet Zeb’s eye- “engaging in a mutual exchange.”

“Mutual exchange,” Zeb mouths, turning the phrase over with a frown. Then, leaning across the table so that they’re at a conspiratorial distance, his mouth twitches up into a smirk. “You thought that I was going to get off, too?”

Embarrassment flares molten hot across his face, even as Kallus works to huff an irritated sigh. “To put it bluntly, yes. I thought that was the whole point.”

Shrugging a single shoulder, Zeb reclines back against his chair. His body becomes soft and lax, thighs parted where he rests his hands on top of them. Kallus has to consciously drag his eyes up to a respectful point. The phantom memory of those thick thighs pressed up against the back of his own is hot enough to prickle his skin.

“I enjoyed myself.” Zeb takes a long look at Kallus, tracing along the length of his body, mouth twisting into a self-satisfied smile. “And I have it on good authority that you did too.”

Fighting back the urge to argue for the sake of being contradictory, Kallus scowls. “Then why didn’t-” but that’s not quite what he’s worried about, is it? Taking a deep breath and drumming his gloved fingers across the surface of the table, Kallus somehow finds the words. “I want to know what your motives were. The things that you said about me and about the Empire, did that have something to do with it?” 

Did you only touch me so that you could demean me? 

Despite it all, Kallus can’t bring himself to speak those exact words. So he just stares expectantly at the man across from him and hopes that he’ll read between the lines.

The pointed ends of Zeb’s ears flicker before they flatten back against his head. The snub tip of his nose twitches when he grumbles. “Look, I didn’t mean it like that. I… karabast, I’m an idiot, and I’m sorry.”

“How else could you have possibly meant it?” Kallus asks.

This time Zeb breaks their eye contact, dropping his gaze to the table. “Just that the Empire wants you dead, right? Or worse than, if they could get their hands on you. So it’s a little bit hot to think about the fact that not only did you manage to escape with your life and their secrets, but you also got to fool around with a ruggedly handsome rebel.”

Kallus snorts, an embarrassingly undignified noise. “In that case why didn’t you let me help you out?”

“Look, if you’re really not going to let up on it.” Zeb shifts their chairs closer together, until he’s able to comfortably murmur into the space between them. “To keep it as easy to digest as possible for breakfast-time biology, Lasat take a bit longer to get there, y’know? You humans go off like firecrackers-”

“Hey,” Kallus snaps, embarrassment coiling in his chest.

“Hey, don’t get defensive, you did,” Zeb easily rebuffs. “And before you start getting wound up, that was hot too. But an alleyway isn’t suitable for me, alright? Simple as that.”

Taking a measured sip of his caff and savouring the bitter pang of the burned grounds, Kallus decides that it’s an acceptable explanation. He’s certainly more willing to believe that than the alternative of Zeb simply not wanting Kallus’ hands on him. “Thank you for the caff.”

Zeb grins, fangs a wicked slash in his mouth. “Anytime.”

Chapter 4: Grooming

Kallus doesn’t go onto the holonet with the intention of looking up Lasat anatomy. It’s just one of those unfortunate things that sort of happens. Like reading three hours worth of educational articles after looking up a simple, irrelevant question. 

It just so happens that Kallus ends up on some dubious video hosting platforms.

The kind of platform where the Lasats in question are filmed on grainy cameras and have rippling muscles packed across their bare stomachs. When one of the Lasats in the video runs his hands across the trim shape of his naked thighs, Kallus jams a thumb into his mouth and gnaws on the end of his nail.

He can’t help but feel like he’s doing something wrong. There’s the terrifying worry that he’s somehow going to get in trouble for this - that Zeb will be able to take one look at him and just know.

But it’s necessary research, Kallus tries to reassure himself. Because the more he watches the less he understands. Kallus had come into this under the impression that Zeb had some sort of penis; he had felt it press up against him!

Except, all of the Lasat in the video are very naked and very furry, and very much smooth in the nether regions. 

Squinting down at the grainy screen of his holopad, Kallus switches to chewing the end of a different fingernail. 

At that exact moment the camera cuts closer to the groin of a blue Lasat, who uses thick fingers to pull apart the coarse tangle of fur and reveal a smooth hairless sheath. Two manicured claws run along the edge, and Kallus can only watch in bewilderment as it pulses and parts enough to allow a smooth purple cock to slide free. The length of it glistens, wet from some apparent internal lubrication, and Kallus feels the excitement in his belly turn into disbelief as it keeps on coming.

Surely these actors are just overly endowed. 

There’s no way all Lasat are that big.

There’s no way that Zeb is-

But Zeb is big for a Lasat. He was a warrior, and he has the bulk and the muscle to prove it.

Kallus clicks out of the video in a flurry the moment his body clenches with heat, ignoring the fine sheen of perspiration that has gathered on his brow. 

A moment later he goes to delete his search history, just for good measure.

---

The state of the rebellion doesn’t allow him an opportunity to see Zeb again for quite some time. Responsibility requires them to act on separate fronts more often than not, and it’s rare for them to even be on the same planet simultaneously, let alone in the same room. 

During these long breaks in seeing one another Zeb begins to send him messages via comm link.

They remain innocent enough. Nothing that could betray the content of his mission. Mostly they’re single images; Ezra with a loth kit in his arms, grinning at the camera with a rare glimmer of youth touching his expression. A glimpse of the kid he really is beneath the grime of war. There’s a photo of Sabine with paint staining her fingertips, frowning down at a vambrace as she tinkers with the inner mechanism. A sunset bursting in orange and pink across a horizon of wispy clouds. 

Kallus will sit and stare at these pictures at night, tucked up in his bunk or in a sleeping roll or on the dirty ground. He will catalogue all of the tiny details, committing the image to memory, and he valiantly tries not to think about what Zeb must be thinking.

---

It’s raining when Zeb and his team return to base.

Heavy droplets tink down onto the tin roof of the compound, leaking through old fractures and pooling onto the concrete floor. Kallus has spent a better part of the morning instructing blustering farmers-turned-rebels on proper bucket placement, and requisitioning mops from the quartermaster so that they can at least try and keep the corridors clear of the deluge.

He has just managed to escape to the refuge of his private room for a few moments when there’s a knock at the door.

With a datapad still in hand Kallus pads over, thumbing at the release mechanism without looking up from his current report.

Immediately the strong smell of caff wafts above the general damp stench of the base, and Kallus glances upwards from the lines of blue writing.

He hardly expected to find Zeb standing there, still wearing his flight suit and holding a chipped mug in hand. The fur around his throat is matted, sticking to his neck in damp clumps. Beneath the bitter smell of burned caff he smells as he always does, of blaster oil and a deep earthy musk. 

Kallus offers a small smile and steps to the side, gesturing for Zeb to follow him with a jerk of his head.

Setting the datapad down on the surface of his desk, Kallus leans back against the wall and folds his arms lightly over his chest. “I didn’t realise you were back.”

It’s difficult to ignore the relief, as overwhelming as it is thrumming in his veins. Still, he makes sure to watch Zeb attentively as he walks into the room, ensuring that there’s no obvious signs of injury. 

When Zeb makes it in without any fuss Kallus finally relaxes.

“I just landed, actually,” Zeb remarks. He comes a step closer, holding the mug out towards Kallus with an insistent little shake. “Thought I’d come see how you were getting on by yourself.” 

Haltingly, Kallus reaches out to accept the mug with a frown. Were he still working for the Empire the gesture would arouse no small amount of suspicion; he likely wouldn’t dare to take a sip out of fear of being poisoned. But this is the Rebellion, and more often than not these people are sickeningly kind for the sake of it.

So Kallus raises the mug to his lips and takes a slow sip.

It’s burned, a guarantee that Zeb brewed it himself. 

Still, Kallus is immensely grateful for the familiar taste washing across his tongue. It works to fight off the slight chill that has settled into his bones throughout the murky day, and he can’t bite back a small smirk as he glances towards Zeb.

“That was kind of you,” he says. “But I’m doing rather well. I’m obviously still alive, and there haven’t been nearly as many attempts on my life as I had anticipated.”

Zeb bristles, ears twitching forward. “You expected to be attacked?”

“At least once! And so far I’m left wanting. Frankly I’m a little bit disappointed.” Kallus had hoped for the joke to earn at least a snort, but Zeb looks anything but entertained by the prospect. The tiny curl of amusement fizzles out in Kallus’ chest.

“No one here is going to hurt you, you know that right?” Zeb asks, voice painfully sincere.

Taking a sip of his caff to bide for time, Kallus looks askance. “I know. It was just a joke.”

Sniffing, Zeb drums his fingers against the side of his leg. “Well you’re not very funny.”

Clenching his eyes shut, because it’s easier to say these things with the imaginary veil of darkness between them, Kallus speaks softly. “I’m glad that you made it back safe. It’s been quiet around here without you all.”

When Kallus risks a glance he’s met with a painfully smug smirk. 

Zeb raises a bushy brow at him, mouth opening around a sharp grin. “Aw, did you miss me?”

It’s closer to the truth than even Kallus would like to acknowledge. So he does what he knows best, and adamantly denies the reality of his feelings. “I’m missing the quiet I had without you. If anything I missed the caff.”

Honestly he could give or take the caff. Burned to a crisp isn’t his preferred flavour profile, and he quite likes the routine of making his own cup. But something about the quality of Zeb’s caff always makes him want to drink it down to the very last gritty dreg. The flavour always lingers on his tongue for hours.

Likely because it’s so terribly burned. 

“I missed you too,” Zeb murmurs. Then he pushes forward into Kallus’ space, large hands coming up to rest on top of the desk on either side of his waist, trapping him in place. 

Kallus leans back far enough to allow him to look at Zeb’s face, watching curiously as the tip of his nose twitches. A sour expression ripples across his face and Kallus purses his mouth into a frown, raising his caff in a little toast before continuing to gulp it down. 

“What’s the matter with you, then?” he asks once he has finished the mug, slapping it down somewhere on the table behind him.

Rather than offering a proper response, Zeb leans forward and presses his mouth to the exposed skin peeking above the collar of Kallus’ shirt. It’s not so much a kiss as it is a light pressure, and Kallus barely manages to contain a gasp even as his heart trips into a violently pounding rhythm. 

He’s incapable of biting back a noise when Zeb shifts, rubbing the furred side of his face up against the patch of skin. It’s a scratchy drag, the sound of fur rasping against skin almost deafening in the silence of the room. 

Raising a hand, Kallus lightly presses his fingers against Zeb’s chest and uses the leverage to push him back. Kallus stares at him seriously, willing his voice to come out steady despite the tightness of his throat. “What on earth are you doing, Orrelios?” 

“Touching you up,” Zeb replies simply. 

In fact, he makes it sound so perfectly reasonable that Kallus feels a little bit stupid for not having guessed it in the first place. As if this - rubbing his furred cheek along the side of Kallus’ throat - is a perfectly normal thing to do.

Perhaps it is.

Perhaps the Rebels are more unerringly weird than Kallus had given them credit for. 

And maybe Kallus is more deliriously exhausted than he first realised, because his body goes soft and pliant beneath the gentle touching. He finds his head subconsciously rolling to one side to allow Zeb better access to the span of his throat.

Even when he feels the first rasp of a wet tongue touch his neck, body tightening at the sharp and stinging drag of barbs against his sensitive skin.

It’s not painful, but it’s toeing the borderline. The wet warmth of the pressure swoops in to soothe the prickle of hurt, and Kallus finds his toes curling in his boots by the time Zeb has moved on to the other side of his neck.

“Have you not done enough? I feel like I must be sopping by now,” Kallus grouses without any real venom in his tone.

It’s not until Zeb abruptly stops purring that Kallus properly realises that the man had even begun. The sound of it tapering off plunges the room into a dreadful silence, wherein the only noise at all is the frantic mantra of his own heart beating inside of his ears. His palms are slick, but there’s no way he could ever hope to subtly wipe them off.

“I have something I want to try, if that’s alright?” he manages to force out, surprised that his voice does not waver. 

And Kallus is used to being on the receiving end of liberal amounts of suspicion. It came with the territory of being an Imperial Officer back in the military. It comes with the territory of being an Imperial deserter now that he’s among the Rebels. 

But there’s not a single glimmer of hesitation in Zeb’s answer when he nods his head. “Okay then.”

Moving slowly enough for Zeb to fully understand his intentions, Kallus lightly trails his fingers down the front of Zeb’s flight suit. His fingers settle over the crotch, where he’s met with the feeling of smooth, flat skin beneath the fabric.

If those videos hold any credence that should change soon enough.

Zeb sways forward into the contact, seemingly unintentionally. Just a minute shift of his hips, even as a tight snarl tugs out of his throat. The fur around his neck puffs up, ears pricking forward in obvious interest. 

Kallus uses a hand on his hip to pull him forward, switching their positions so that Zeb has his back braced against the desk. Wasting no time, Kallus bullies a leg into the space between Zeb’s thighs, pressing his knee up into the Lasat’s groin.

It earns a low groan, more amusement than pleasure. Kallus tries not to let it knock his confidence. 

Leaning up on his toes, Kallus presses a rough kiss to the corner of Zeb’s jaw. “How would you like to have an Imperial on his knees for you?” 

“You’re not an Imperial,” Zeb replies simply.

Scowling, Kallus heaves out an irritated huff. Embarrassment is beginning to tickle inside of his chest, pressing up uncomfortably against the sensitive underside of his ribs. 

A large hand comes up to press against his cheek, a taloned thumb running over what is undoubtedly a deep purple bruise beneath his eye. 

“You’re a rebel,” Zeb tells him firmly. “One I would very much like to see on his knees.”

Kallus pouts, although he’s not nearly as irritated as he believes he once might have been. More so he’s put off by the sudden lurch in his chest, and the way his heart beats fast enough to make him slightly breathless. It’s not fair for Zeb to do that to him with simple words, when Kallus is working so hard to try and return the favour for once.

He sinks to his knees with a practised ease.

Except, it has been a while since he’s gone through the motions. Something in his bad leg twitches and pulses with agony in protest of the movement, and the moment his knee meets the hard ground he has to suppress a wince. It hurts, phantom pulsing from the old break.

Sucking in a sharp breath through his nose, Kallus struggles to swallow down the pain. Instead he occupies himself with the reality of the moment, of the shape of Zeb’s thighs in front of him. He reaches eagerly for the zip on the front of the flight suit, blinking up at Zeb through the veil of his pale lashes.

And Zeb bats his hands away. 

Kallus immediately snatches them down to his lap, feeling lost and a little embarrassed. When he tips his head up to look at Zeb the man is pushing away from the desk, wandering over to the bed without so much as casting a glance back over towards Kallus.

It’s hard not to feel excruciatingly stupid. 

All of the warm excitement that had been pulsing in his stomach shrivels up and goes cold.

He watches as Zeb plucks up one of the pillows, folding it in half. Then the Lasat returns to his position against the desk, holding the pillow out for Kallus with an expectant stare.

“We both know you’re doing yourself no favours,” he says.

Hesitating, Kallus glares up at the white cotton pillow. He’s a grown man, and yet he finds himself incapable of articulating exactly why he wants to reject the offer. Because it will make him look old, he realises with a wince. Because it’ll make him look imperfect, and he wants Zeb to enjoy this.

“Take the pillow or I’ll throw you over this desk and give you something to blush about,” Zeb grumbles. 

And as enticing as that offer is, Kallus sets his jaw and scowls harder. This is supposed to be about Zeb for once, and he’s making a mockery of it by being stroppy.

“Fine,” he grits out. 

He hurriedly accepts the pillow as it’s pressed into his hands, folding it up and sliding it beneath his dodgy leg. The immediate relief in pressure is almost enough to make him whine, the dull ache dying down into a background murmur of strain that is simple enough to ignore.

When he turns back towards Zeb he discovers that the man has already unzipped his suit, shrugging it down across his shoulders to hang open around his hips. Kallus blinks up at him, swallowing around the lump forming in his throat.

Zeb is big. Packed with hard muscle over a broad chest and round stomach. Fur coats every inch of him, which Kallis had known was an inevitability from the videos he had watched. Except Zeb is about three times as big as any of those other Lasat, and his muscle is hulking where theirs had been tapered and glamorous.

Reaching up towards his stomach, Kallis pets his fingers over a lilac stripe that cuts across his body. The patterns of Zeb’s fur are hardly prominent, but up close they’re easy to pick out amongst the tangles of fluff. 

Above him Zeb purrs appreciatively at the contact. 

A hand comes down to rest on the top of his head. It doesn’t apply any pressure, merely allowing Zeb to card his fingers through Kallus’ hair in soothing little petting motions. 

Surprisingly, Kallus discovers that he would be happy to just sit and pet the coarse patches of fur. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before, and the velvet slide across his fingers is luxuriously soft in comparison to all the grit that he’s used to on the frontlines. 

But he came into this with a purpose, and so he slowly smooths his hand down to the arch of Zeb’s hip. He drags his fingernail along the teeth of the zip, inching it down enough to reveal a patch of skin where the fur is thinned out and the ruddy purple skin is visible beneath. The sight of it makes Kallus’ heart kick up in his chest, something tightening in his throat until his next breath comes out with a tremble.

“Do you need me to-”

Kallus cuts him off with a shake of his head. “I looked into it.”

Fingers tighten in his hair, just shy of painful. Zeb immediately relinquishes the hold with a little gasp. “You looked into it ? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rather than dignify that with a response, Kallus sets his face into a proper glower. Then, making sure his eyes are still locked firmly onto Zeb’s own, he leans forward and licks a stripe across the velvety skin. The taste of salt immediately breaks across his tongue, but the flavour is lost beneath the overwhelming heat. He had forgotten just how hot Zeb ran under all the fur, but it’s little surprise that this part of him is just as warm. 

Zeb’s hips twitch at the contact, a pleased noise dragging out of his throat. The hand on top of his head flexes, claws scrabbling against his scalp. 

“Okay, you looked into it,” Zeb hums out, half breathless already. “That’s good.”

The muscle of his stomach is pulsing, racked with tiny little shivers when Kallus noses forward through the downy fur and begins to run his tongue across the inflamed skin. He can feel the sheath quiver beneath his mouth, the wetness of his own tongue soon joined by a bitter tasting rush of slick dribbling out of the hole. 

It’s not long before he feels a firmness grow beneath his lips, and he sits back on his knees to watch as the naked flesh twitches and parts enough to allow a swollen purple head to push through the folds. It’s sleek, head mottled with tiny little bumps in a perfect ring. As more of the length slides free to arch up against Zeb’s stomach, Kallus documents the little ruffles and ridges that flare against the underside. It’s disproportionately broader at the base, tapering down into a fat knot that has absolutely no hope of fitting into Kallus’ mouth.

At least, not without some strain.

He could probably manage it.

If he somehow figures out how to swallow down enough of Zeb to even get that far. 

Leaning forward, thankful for the cushion beneath his knee relieving the strain of the movement, Kallus opens his mouth around the dripping head. The entire length is coated in the slick, making the motion an effortlessly silky glide. To Kallus’ surprise the skin is terribly hot, like he’s still swilling that scalded caff around in his mouth. Not so warm as to be uncomfortable, but turning the weight of Zeb’s cock heavy on his tongue.

The thought of it inside of him is enough to make his hips twitch, searching for friction that isn’t there.

Pressing his hands around the base, squeezing at the firm pressure of the knot, Kallus relaxes his body and lulls forward. He begins with tentative little movements, sinking down and shivering at the feeling of the barbs dragging across the surface of his tongue. The palms of his hands are utterly drenched, which makes a downright obscene noise when he begins to jerk the length of Zeb’s cock that he has no hope of reaching with his mouth. 

Above him Zeb is purring out a deep guttural snarl, one hand clenched so tightly around the desk that his knuckles are pale. The other is petting lightly across Kallus’ head, digging into whatever part of him that he can reach. A talon scrapes along the side of his ear, tugging lightly at the lobe. 

It isn’t until Kallus moans softly around the flesh in his mouth that Zeb shifts his hips, a tiny little thrust that scrapes the ridges across the surface of Kallus’ tongue.

Those ridges are beginning to fatten, flaring up and digging with a blunt pressure into his mouth. All the while Kallus can’t help but imagine what that would feel like inside of him. Countless little points of pressure baring up against him from all angles. It makes him shudder, bowing his head and swallowing down as much as he can handle. 

His lips graze across the sweltering top of the knot and Zeb whines.

The sound goes straight to Kallus’ cock, twitching in the confines of his own trousers. Every inch of him feels too warm, itchy beneath his clothes and desperate for a hand to touch him. For Zeb’s hand to touch him. 

Bunched muscles ripple across Zeb’s stomach, and Kallus feels the way his cock jerks against his tongue. Knows that the man is likely about to come, any moment now, but before he can brace for it the hand on his head is pushing him back. Forcing his mouth to pull off of Zeb with an obscenely wet noise. 

“What?” Kallus croaks, ashamed at how worn and threadbare his voice is. 

Zeb runs a thumb across his cheek. Green eyes bore down onto his face, glimmering with amusement as he takes in Kallus’ undoubtedly dishevelled appearance. 

Then the hand not petting his face circles round, covering Kallus’ own where they’re still wrapped around his leaking cock. Zeb guides him through some rough strokes, squeezing his hands tight and forming a perfect hole for him to fuck into. It only takes a few strokes before he’s arching up and hissing, ears flattening back against his head. 

Kallus watches as the little ridges flare up, blunt points encircling his girth as his orgasm hits. Ropes of cum streak out, breaking across Kallus’ lips and chin in a messy spill. The knot beneath his fingers swells and pulses, burning hot. Zeb forces him to squeeze down tight around it, the Lasat’s hand trembling where it holds him steady. 

The ragged sound of their breathing fills the room. Kallus pants wetly, mesmerised by the feeling of the knot twitching beneath his tightly clasped hands. His chest is tight, throat sore and aching as he sucks in desperate breaths to try and regulate his breathing. 

Before Kallus can quite recover, Zeb has grabbed him under the arms and hoists him effortlessly to his feet. The Lasat spins him around with a grumble, shoving him down until his back meets the hard surface of the desk.

“What are you doing?” Kallus hisses out.

Zeb grins down at him, ruggedly handsome despite the way his fur is puffed up with pleasure. Cum is still oozing lazily from the head of his cock. “I believe I made a promise about bending you over this desk.”

And, well, Kallus isn’t going to argue with that. 

Notes:

as always thank you very much for your lovely feedback on the previous chapter! kudos/comments/bookmarks are seriously appreciated <3

Chapter 5: Knotting

Notes:

heed the canon character death tag for this chapter ✌️

For all that the rebels have been fighting on the frontlines since the beginning of the war, they’ve never lost one of their own.

Not until Kanan.

The revelation ripples through the base with enough force to shake the very foundations. It had been important that none of the elite Phoenix Cell had fallen throughout the years of conflict. Their stubborn grip on life had been a tiny beacon of hope in amongst the throngs of death and destruction. A reminder that these rebels, at least, were infallible. 

But then Kanan was killed, and that belief along with it.

It was a tragedy in two parts. Because not only had they lost quite possibly their greatest source of hope, but they had also lost a strong fighter and a good man.

Kallus doesn’t know many of those in the galaxy, and it’s a terrible shame to see such a bright light snuffed out.

Hera issues a briefing through the private commander channel before their shuttle even touches down through atmo. It’s painfully impersonal, a single sentence written in the footnotes of the full mission report.

But it means that Kallus knows before he hears a knock at his door.

There’s a single moment where his world remains entirely unaltered. The space between an inhale and an exhale where he approaches his door and releases the lock to reveal the form of Zeb standing there.

And then everything changes.

A single deafening moment of finality. 

Zeb looks wrecked. His ears are flattened back against his head, shoulders listless and big hands clenched into shaking fists at his side. Green eyes, wrinkled at the corners from where his expression is pinched with grief, meet Kallus’ own gaze.

“He’s-” and he doesn’t finish the sentence. He barely manages to wrestle the word out at all.

Kallus shushes him softly, coming close enough to flatten a hand across his bicep. “I know.”

“I don’t believe it,” Zeb snarls.

And now that Kallus has heard it properly, he can’t believe that he ever confused the soft lull of Zeb’s purring to be anything but. This noise, the guttural growl, is all enraged predator. 

“Come sit down,” Kallus murmurs, threading his fingers through soft tangles of fur and brushing lightly at the skin beneath. “Or let me take you back to your room. You’ve had a shock.”

But Zeb is already shaking his head, pushing into Kallus’ room and allowing the door to slide shut behind him. “People are going to be mad at the Empire.”

Which means that people are going to be mad at Kallus .

Despite everything, all of his sacrifice and betrayal, many of the devout rebels on base will never see him as anything but the enemy. 

“You shouldn’t be worrying about me right now,” Kallus reprimands gently. “I can take care of myself. Now come, at least sit down.”

Thankfully Zeb doesn’t fight him again. Instead the man is dreadfully malleable in Kallus’ hands, allowing himself to be guided over to the bed and sitting on the edge. The moment Zeb is seated his hands come out, capturing Kallus by the hips and pulling him forward. 

Zeb presses his forehead against Kallus’ stomach, fingers squeezing at his body so tightly that Kallus is worried his claws will break leather and skin. 

But then Zeb shudders, a tiny little sigh, and something inside of Kallus’ chest fractures.

“Oh Zeb.” He brings his hands up, resting one delicately on the back of Zeb’s head and holding him closer to his body. The other wanders down to run across the back of his shoulders, rubbing at the bunched up muscles in tiny little circles. “I’ve got you. It’s alright.”

With an insistent tug Zeb manages to drag Kallus into his lap, forcing him to straddle the broad shape of his thighs. His knees are cushioned by the mattress, and the new position brings him face to face with Zeb’s miserable expression.

“Things are starting to get dangerous,” Zeb says quietly.

Kallus raises a hand to smooth across his cheek, coarse bristles tickling against the meat of his palm. “Things have always been dangerous.” 

And then he leans in and kisses him. Chaste, light and lingering. A desperate bid for closer contact. 

In truth, the rebel fighters of the Ghost are lucky to have made it so far without incurring any loss. It was an inevitability from the very beginning, and they are fortunate in that it wasn’t one of the kids. 

Surprisingly, Zeb leans up into the contact. The man opens up into the kiss with a soft noise, mouth parting and barbed tongue coming out to prod against Kallus’ own. The prickling drag of wet warmth will never not startle Kallus, but he hums appreciatively at the now familiar sensation pressing between his lips.

Kallus has no idea how long they kiss like that, chaste and slow and utterly consuming. It’s long enough for his brain to stop fizzling at the edges, the tendrils of shock and grief and horror gradually unfurling from their violent occupation of his mind.

He doesn't dare even imagine how Zeb must be feeling. 

With a growl Zeb pulls out of the kiss, bowing his head and mouthing at the line of Kallus’ throat. He applies the light pressure of his fangs, blunt ridges pressed against the thumping line of his jugular, but he doesn’t bite down hard enough to break skin. 

Threading his fingers through Zeb’s fur, tugging at the strands, Kallus rolls his hips in silent encouragement. The motion brings him in contact with the hardening shape of Zeb’s cock, and the man grunts against his throat as Kallus bores down against it.

Still, when Zeb reaches towards his belt Kallus stops him with a small touch to the back of his wrist.

“Are you sure you’re feeling up to this?” he murmurs into the side of Zeb’s face. “You don’t have to do anything to stay here, you know. We can just lie down and-”

“Kallus,” Zeb snarls, and Kallus snaps his mouth shut with an audible click.

A talon finds a belt loop, using it to tug Kallus forward enough to press their bodies flush together. Zeb runs a hand across Kallus’ clothed leg, palming the meat of his thigh and squeezing. “I’m big enough to know what I want, yeah? Worry about yourself.”

If anything the words make Kallus worry about Zeb even more. Still, he lifts his hips as the man unfastens his trousers and drags them down his thighs. Furred knuckles brush against the underside of his erection, earning a stifled gasp as Zeb takes him in hand and begins to stroke. It’s too dry, and Kallus pushes up into the contact with a hiss. 

“Hold on,” he manages to grit out, relieved when Zeb immediately stops moving. “I’ve got something in my desk.”

And it should be embarrassing, standing up and kicking off his boots and trousers as he makes his way over to his desk. Except Zeb is leaning back, braced on his arms, and lets out an appreciative purr as his gaze drags across the shape of Kallus’ naked lower body. 

Turning his attention to his desk, Kallus drags open the bottom drawer and searches for a few moments before his fingers snag on the bottle of lube. It’s brand new, stolen from the quartermaster because he’d rather die than request the item in any official capacity. 

When he turns back towards Zeb the man has stripped out of his flight suit, lounging backwards on the bed with one hand languidly stroking the length of his cock. He holds out his other hand towards Kallus with an insistent grumble. “Come here.”

Kallus goes.

He clambers back over Zeb’s thighs with a smile, dropping the bottle of lube onto the sheets. With a pleased hum he runs his fingers over the exposed body beneath him, kneading at the strong thighs and the man’s trembling stomach. It’s packed with fatty muscle, twitching beneath his inquisitive touches. His fingers trace down to the hairless line of his sheath, skirting his thumb across the velvety skin.

Zeb twitches beneath him, biting out a pained sound. 

Leaning down, Kallus wraps a hand around the ridged length of Zeb’s cock just as he presses a kiss to the Lasat’s jaw. “What do you want then? Since you apparently know everything.”

“I want to fuck you.” Zeb twists his head, capturing Kallus’ startled gasp against his own lips. When he breaks away a moment later, Kallus is still pleasantly motionless with surprise. 

Excitement clenches hot in his belly, thighs tightening instinctively around Zeb’s hips. 

“Okay yeah, that sounds perfectly agreeable,” Kallus murmurs, leaning down to deepen their kiss. His hand not working along the length of Zeb’s erection reaches out into the sheets, searching for the bottle of lube. Thankfully it doesn’t take him long to recover it, and a moment later he’s pulling away from Zeb entirely to empty the cold gel out across his fingers. 

Under different circumstances he would draw it out. Kallus likes going slow. But the sight of Zeb reclined beneath him, cock hard and aching and drooling, is too tantalising to resist for long. The second his digits are soaked with the lube he reaches back and slides a finger into himself. He lists forward with the motion, and a moment later two hands come up to support his sides, holding him steady.

Kallus doesn’t have time to offer Zeb an appreciative smile. He’s too busy sinking a second finger in well before he’s ready, and grimacing at the sting. 

Zeb pets across his body as he works himself, the lube warming in his hands and turning the slight stretch into an effortless glide that makes his toes curl. In this position he can’t quite reach the spot he’s chasing after, but he has no doubts that Zeb won't struggle with the task. It’s better to wait, he reminds himself a little manically. Mouth watering and stomach clenching as he fingers himself open and imagines that it’s Zeb’s cock doing the work instead. 

By the time he can work four fingers in without much protest Zeb is grumbling beneath him, a low purr reverberating through his chest and up into Kallus’ body. He can’t help but laugh at the sound, pulling his hand free with a soft gasp and repositioning himself above Zeb’s cock.

Not one to waste time, or let something daft like better sense take charge of the situation, Kallus moves quickly to position himself across Zeb's lap. He sinks down slowly, supporting himself with a hand on the man's broad chest. The sensation is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. Every velvet ridge and barb pressing into him and drawing stifled moans out of his throat. It’s not painful, not with the amount of lube and slick easing the slow glide, but it’s foreign and scalding hot.

Kallus is panting by the time he fully slides down, knees slipping against the sheets and thighs trembling with the effort to hold himself still.

When Zeb’s cock twitches inside of him he can feel the way the ridges drag and pull against his walls. 

A large hand comes up to cover his nape, fingers threading up into his hair. Claws tickle along his scalp, making Kallus gasp and shiver. Zeb uses the leverage to pull Kallus forward, tucking his face into the Lasat’s furred neck. 

Then Zeb starts thrusting up into him, and Kallus can only clench down and moan at the overwhelming sensation.

It’s more rutting than anything else, fast and ruthless. The hand against his hip is gripping hard enough to bruise, the shape of sharp claws squeezing into his flesh. Kallus’ own cock is trapped up against a furred stomach, dragging across the velvety texture. Each thrust punches a low noise out of him, muffled into the side of Zeb’s throat. 

Zeb’s cheek is resting against his temple, which is the only reason he feels a trickle of wetness spill down onto his face.

Kallus falters, hips stuttering to a stop. He pushes up against the hold on his neck and squints down at Zeb’s face, mortified to discover that his eyes are glimmering with tears. Wet tracks have cut grooves into his face, pasting soggy tufts of fur to his skin. 

His palm comes round to cup Kallus’ face.

“Please Kal.” And his voice comes out broken, a low guttural thing that makes something crack inside of Kallus’ chest. “Don’t stop. Please.”

And Kallus doesn’t know what the right thing to do is. But he knows what Zeb is asking from him, and so he bows his head to kiss Zeb’s cheek and keeps moving. His lips taste of salt when he pulls back again.

He wraps his arms around Zeb, holding him close as he continues to ride him. Ignores the muffled hitch of his chest and the wetness seeping into his shirt as the Lasat continues fucking up into him with hard thrusts that scrape against his insides in all the right ways. 

Despite it all, Kallus doesn’t last long. 

A particularly hard thrust sends him over the edge, muffling a curse into Zeb’s shoulder as he clenches down and shudders through his orgasm. The fur beneath him becomes wet, sticking uncomfortably to his own stomach.

A few moments later Zeb grunts, hips stuttering and stilling even as the pressure of his cock in Kallus grows impossibly larger. The knot at the base swells, catching on his rim and growing enough that Kallus becomes worried. It stings, but doesn’t err into the territory of being painful. All of the little ridges and spines swell and dig into him too, tiny little points of pressure that make his toes curl and his heart hammer dangerously against the underside of his ribs. 

The feeling of Zeb spilling inside of him is almost overwhelming. Little cresting waves of warmth. 

Kallus heaves a shuddering laugh, pressing a kiss to Zeb’s temple.

“We were right not to do this in that alley.”

Zeb chuckles, although something about the quality of his voice is still wavering. His hands come up to cup around Kallus’ face, swiping the rough pads of his fingers across his cheeks. 

“Told you to trust me,” Zeb mumbles. 

“I do trust you,” Kallus replies without a moment of hesitation.

It would frighten him more to confess it out loud if he hadn’t just allowed the other man to knot him.

That act alone requires a level of trust that means he can get away with leaving it unspoken, if he wished. But it feels nice to hear it out loud, and it’s especially nice to see the glimmer of happiness that flickers through Zeb’s expression at the words. 

Slowly, so as not to disturb Kallus, Zeb manoeuvres them back against the pillows. Kallus is deposited on his side, head cushioned against a cotton pillow. His hair falls in lank strands across his forehead, slicked to his skin with sweat.

Joined together like this they have no option but to look at one another, and Kallus feels uncharacteristically shy beneath the obvious weight of Zeb’s wet gaze. It feels like those green eyes are sinking down into his very core. 

It’s too hot. Sweat beads across his arms and his legs, turning tacky and sticking his shirt to his body. Kallus manages to hoist himself up enough to allow him to tug the ruined shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the floor amongst the rest of his clothes. 

Every so often Zeb will pulse inside of him, and it makes Kallus’ hips jerk. Zeb snickers, petting a hand along Kallus’ body and smoothing across the scars that cover his skin. Kallus doesn’t shift when Zeb leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his mouth. 

Then Zeb pulls away, setting his head down against the pillow. “This can take a while, you know. Close your eyes if you want.”

“Alright,” Kallus murmurs softly. 

When he opens his eyes again he has no idea how much time has passed, only that the sweat has dried on his skin, and that his arms have prickled with gooseflesh. At some point Zeb had slipped free of his body, and Kallus had turned so that his back was flush to the other man’s chest. Kallus tries to quietly extract himself from Zeb’s lax hold. 

He barely manages to shift a leg before the hand resting over his hip tightens, talons pressing into his skin. Kallus goes still, sinking into the warm body at his back with a sigh. 

“I need to go get cleaned up,” Kallus points out quietly, valiantly trying to ignore the way Zeb has started to gently pet his fingers across the dusting of hair above his groin. “I feel sticky in places I didn’t realise you could even be sticky in.”

“Please don’t go,” Zeb whispers against his nape.

And something about his voice is so painfully fragile that Kallus finds himself incapable of refusing him. 

Slumping back into the warmth of the bedding, Kallus presses his cheek into the soft cotton of their pillow. Fur tickles across his back all the way down to his thighs, and he can’t help but stifle a low moan when a thick leg presses up between both of his own. 

Kallus lifts his hips to give Zeb better access, sighing at the soft brush of velvet fur against his balls. Something warm and tight is coiling in his stomach, making his chest prickle with heat. 

A wet tongue touches the side of his neck, a sandpaper rasp running up to lathe at his jawline.

Large hands wrap around to run across his body, a calloused palm smoothing over his flanks. Excitement tightens in his belly, a heady rush of arousal that makes his toes curl in the sheets. It’s not long before Zeb’s fingers find his forming erection, lightly running along the length in teasing little touches that make Kallus writhe and grit his teeth.

He refuses to beg for more already. 

The wet sensation of Zeb’s own cock pressing up against him from behind makes his throat tighten. Slick smears across his heated skin, sliding into the space between his thighs. 

Kallus tightens his legs together, just for the satisfaction of feeling Zeb grunt into the side of his throat. 

Zeb ruts into him like that for a few thrusts, the small nodules and ridges lining the length of his cock rubbing against the delicate inside of Kallus’ thighs and leaving his legs coated with sticky slick. It’s a delicious friction, one that makes him go breathless and giddy all at once. His own hands come up to cling onto the pillow beneath his head, arching his body back into Zeb’s hold. 

Glancing downwards, Kallus watches as the swollen purple head of Zeb’s cock peeks out of his pale thighs, leaving glistening wet trails in its wake. 

With a chuckle, Kallus reaches down to swipe a thumb across the leaking tip. It earns a delightful grunt, and the hand holding his hip steady tightens enough to threaten a bruise. 

“This takes me back to the academy,” Kallus confesses. “You really know how to make me feel young again.”

For a moment Zeb stutters, not fully stopping but reducing his movement to a slow laborious drag that makes Kallus want to toss his head back and cry. He presses a warm kiss to the top of Kallus’ shoulder, lips rasping against the skin when he speaks. “You did this back at the academy?”

Kallus tries to nod, but the movement breaks off into a muffled curse when Zeb stops running his hand across Kallus’ cock. 

“It usually makes less of a mess,” Kallus wrenches out behind grit teeth. “Key word being usually.”

To underscore the statement he reaches down into the sloppy space between his thighs, skirting his fingers through the streaks of slick. He gathers up a small amount in his palm before reaching for the heat of Zeb’s erection, squeezing at the velvety flesh. 

The Lasat’s grunt tapers off into a low snarl, rumbling through his chest. Fangs lightly touch against Kallus’ shoulder, pressing hard enough to impress the feeling of a bite without breaking the skin.

All at once the revelation that Zeb might be jealous courses through Kallus like a fever. His breath catches in his throat, a delighted laugh dragging out into a moan as the man behind him removes the hand from his hip, reaching down to hike up his leg entirely. 

There’s barely a second where cool air settles against his newly exposed skin before Zeb pushes up into the space, wet cockhead brushing against his entrance. He’s still somewhat sore, and deliciously sensitive, when Zeb pushes into him. Any resistance is trivialised by the wet slide of his cock, and Kallus can only pant into the pillow as he feels every little nodule and ridge press into him.

Every nerve in his body is singing by the time Zeb is fully sheathed, skin prickling at the feeling of hot breath panting against the side of his face. Every rasp of fur against his back and side makes him want to moan. Even like this, before Zeb has moved an inch, it feels like too much. Kallus drops a hand down to his own erection, knocking Zeb’s fingers out of the way and squeezing a fist around the base in an attempt to stave off his impending orgasm.

Zeb laughs, and pressed this close Kallus feels every note rock through him. 

Surprisingly, when Zeb’s hands come to his hips, they don’t clutch. They rest lightly over the jut of bone, using the leverage to slowly drag Kallus back against his body, impaling him even deeper on Zeb’s cock. It punches the breath out of his lungs when Zeb starts to thrust without pulling out, each movement feeling like he’s sinking deeper and deeper into Kallus’ body. 

It’s barely even fucking. 

Zeb is just forcing his cock as deep as it will go, rubbing a flared ridge across Kallus’ prostate with every tiny shift of his hips.

And Kallus could do this for hours, he realises. Wrapped in a soft bed that smells like home with the shape of Zeb covering him entirely. Pressing into him with a deliciously slow friction that would be luxurious if his own treacherous body weren’t already tight and trembling for release.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” Zeb murmurs against the side of his neck.

Kallus blinks, startled by the words. It takes a moment to regain enough control of his whimpering mouth to force out a coherent sentence. “I’ve never done anything stupid in my life.”

It earns a low laugh, punctuated by a particularly hard thrust. “Promise me, please.” 

The please is what startles him the most, pulling his mind back from the brink of senseless pleasure. Zeb is still rutting into him, mouthing at the side of his neck and raking claws across the front of his body. A large hand encircles his own over the length of his cock, beginning to jerk him in fast movements.

“Of course I’ll never intentionally do anything stupid,” Kallus hisses out, fingers scrabbling against the sheets and twisting into them. 

His body is clenching down, the grooves and ridges of Zeb’s cock are flaring and fattening out, increasing the stretch. At the base the shape of his knot begins to swell, warm and hard and too much. 

Kallus’ body flutters, boring down on the sensation even as he tosses his head back to rest on Zeb’s shoulder. Any attempt to shift his hips - to fuck himself down onto Zeb - are completely fruitless, the Lasat’s hands tightening around his body and holding him agonisingly still.

“Don’t leave me,” Zeb whispers into his ear.

And Kallus comes with a gasp, body tightening like a whipcord. Zeb strokes him through it, a pleased purr rumbling through his chest as he continues to mouth across the plain of his back and the arch of his shoulders. 

The shape of his knot is tight and heavy, burning with a molten heat that sinks down into Kallus’ trembling core. A few moments later Zeb comes with a grunt, barbs scraping against the sensitive inside of Kallus’ body. 

He holds himself impossibly still, sighing in relief when Zeb’s arms come around to help support his weight. 

It isn’t painful, but it’s a near thing. Tiny points of pressure digging up into his body. Part of him wants to continue grinding down, to feel what all of those solid ridges would feel like scraping against his insides. But Zeb is holding him too tightly to even attempt it, so instead he reaches down to find the man’s hand and tangles their fingers together.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises.

He’s never been more sure of something in his entire life.

Chapter 6: Scenting

They make it to the end of the war.

Somehow, despite all of the odds turning against them. 

It was never an outcome that Kallus had allowed himself to consider with a modicum of genuine hope. People like Kallus - Imperial Officers who had wrought so much profound agony across the galaxy - didn’t deserve to see the sun rise on a peaceful morning.

Or, well, a morning where they weren’t actively trying to kill one another on several fronts.

Except lots of people who didn’t deserve to die ended up dead, and most of the people who deserved worse than death got to see the war through to the very end. They’ll get trials, eventually. Trials that lead to unsatisfactory prison sentences and then…

Then it’s just supposed to be over, Kallus supposes.

And they can all go back to doing what they were up to before the war that is older than half of their soldiers even began. 

Kallus gets to wake up on the morning after the second death star is destroyed.

He gets to sit in a quiet little village on Endor, amongst the smouldering remains of bonfires and surrounded by the remnants of the previous evening’s raging party. Empty bottles are scattered across the forest floor, and the morning air is quiet except for the hushed conversations of hungover rebels. Whispers so they don’t wake their dozing companions.

It’s quiet, and it’s tranquil. 

It’s peace, or the closest thing most of these kids will ever know of it.

The air is thick with the stale smell of smoke, and the musty stench of dust that clings perpetually to the pelts of their little hosts. Kallus’ mouth is tacky and dry from the alcohol, the backs of his teeth gritty when he presses his tongue up against them.

He doesn’t even look up from his clasped hands when he hears footsteps approaching, and he doesn’t bother to feign surprise when he glances up to discover Zeb staring down at him.

Zeb has always managed to find him.

“This is early, even for you,” Zeb comments softly as he takes a seat on the log alongside Kallus. The warmth from his body sinks in through the drear morning chill, enticing a small shiver as Kallus subtly presses into his side. 

Shrugging helplessly, Kallus jerks his chin towards some of the smaller groups of howling rebels that dot the encampment. Most of them are still wide awake and buzzing with the ecstasy of their victory. “Can’t sleep.”

“Well then you could have given me a little nudge, too,” Zeb sniffs indignantly. “I was looking forward to waking up on the morning of our victory with you beside me.”

“Careful there Orrelios, you don’t want anyone to accuse you of playing favourites,” Kallus replies.

Zeb turns to look at him, face still soft and drowsy with the remnants of sleep. “I think we’re well beyond that now.”

Kallus blinks slowly, squinting against the pale early morning light. The words have settled into his chest, warming him through to his core. There’s a thousand things he could say in response, because Zeb’s words can only really mean one thing.

And Kallus isn’t frightened, but he is deeply ashamed.

“I think that I should go hand myself in,” he says, instead of something rational.

Instead of I love you, too.

There’s a brief pause. Somewhere across the encampment a chorus of uproarious laughter breaks out. Kallus stares down at the hands folded in his lap, pretending not to notice the way Zeb’s shoulders hitch upward. 

Ears pricked forward, Zeb reaches out and settles a giant palm across Kallus’ knee. When he speaks his voice is a low grumble. “What do you mean by that?”

His tone is so soft, so agonisingly vulnerable, that Kallus can’t bring himself to look the other man in the eye. With a frown he laces his fingers together, squeezing until the joints ache. “They’re rounding up Imperial Officers - war criminals - to go stand trial. I should go and turn myself over-”

“Alexsandr,” Zeb says.

It’s so unexpected that Kallus breaks off, blinking up and meeting the bright hue of Zeb’s gaze. Something about his expression has honed in on him, a stormy veil of irritation pulled across his face. 

“I did some awful things, Zeb.” He hates the way that his voice wavers, thin and agonisingly tired. “Things that I need to be held accountable for.”

“You’re a rebel,” Zeb snarls, filled with so much confidence that for a moment Kallus wants to believe him too. “Not an Imperial. You haven’t been for a long time.”

“You should understand more than anyone why I need to hand myself in!” Kallus snaps back. He raises a hand to smooth across his face, trying to scrub away the tension building up beneath his temple. “The things that I did to you, to your people? You should despise me.”

“And what would handing yourself in achieve?” Zeb is growling now, a low rumble in the base of his chest that makes Kallus want to duck his chin and apologise. A hand comes up to flatten against the nape of his neck, claws tracing across the sensitive skin. “You know just as well as I do what they’re doing to the Imps they get their hands on right now. Letting someone shove you up against a wall and shoot you is a coward's way out, and maybe I think you deserve to repent.”

Kallus is nodding before he processes the movement, wincing at the feeling of Zeb squeezing at the back of his neck. It’s a light touch. Comforting. And that just makes him feel worse, because why is Zeb having to comfort him, after everything? “I do want that. I want to.”

“I think maybe you’ve already started,” Zeb tells him. “And that there’s a lot of good that you can still do out in the galaxy. A lot of good that you won't have the opportunity to do if you’re dead or in a cell.”

Pressing his face into his hands and digging his fingers up into the hollows of his eyes, Kallus tries to regulate his breathing. Through one shallow pant and the next he manages to force out a sullen, “sorry for ruining your morning.”

The warmth at his side shifts, pressing more firmly into his body. A moment later there’s a pressure against the crown of his head, light and lingering. 

“Don’t be daft. We’re alive at the end of the war. Nothing could ruin this,” Zeb murmurs against his hair. 

Then, before Kallus can mistake the action, Zeb presses a second kiss against the side of his face.

The snub tip of his nose digs into the underside of Kallus’ jaw, warm puffs of air tickling across his skin with each exhale. Kallus shivers, half-heartedly trying to push his face away with a hiss. 

“We’re in public,” he reprimands, incapable of stopping the corner of his mouth from twisting into a smile. 

“No one cares,” Zeb protests. “Everyone is too busy with their own lives. Not to mention this is hardly the worst of it. I saw Cadets Madell and Thorne shagging on the balcony last night. Stars, there’s a couple going at it behind one of the speeders right now.” 

Kallus inhales sharply. “I told you there were feelings there.”

Gentle fingers take hold of his chin, tipping his head to the side. It allows Zeb better access to his neck, heated breath bursting across the sensitive skin. “Y’know, I don’t think they realised it until last night. Madell was always so dense.”

“Says you,” Kallus grits out. His fingers twitch against the coarse bark of the log beneath them, dragging across the craggy surface.

Zeb’s brow wrinkles in consternation. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what you think it does,” Kallus replies smugly. 

Then, before he can wring any more words out, Zeb leans forward and licks a stripe up the column of Kallus’ throat. Barbs prickle against his skin, tugging at flesh with a satisfying sting. 

Kallus barely manages to suppress a gasp, mouth pressing into a tight line. “ Zeb,” he snaps, without fostering any real venom.

It had felt nice.

It always feels nice.

Which is exactly the reason why Kallus lolls his head to the side, providing easier access for Zeb to repeat the motion.

Except, before the first prickle of warm wet flesh touches against him, a shadow falls across the pine fir laden ground in front of them. 

Looking upwards with a start, Kallus barely has the mind to roughly shove Zeb’s face out of the hollow of his throat. He dares not even imagine what he must look like, undoubtedly flushed with embarrassment beneath the scruff of his beard.

Not that the young woman in front of him looks particularly bothered. Na’tina is a Twi’lek with emerald skin, although her face is currently darkened to a ruddy juniper beneath the intensity of her blush. The top buttons of her flight suit are undone, revealing a collar bone that is covered in mottled bruises in the shape of her seatbelt. 

She holds out a glass bottle, the neck snatched up between two fingers that’re coated in blaster soot.

“Captain Orrelios,” she beams, sharp fangs flashed into a grin. “Captain Kallus. Sirs. I, uhm. I wanted to say congratulations. And, also, erm-” there’s a glaze in her eyes that betrays just how utterly wasted she is, and Kallus is half impressed that she isn’t swaying on the spot- “well, sirs. I need to go to bed, and I haven’t finished even half of this bottle yet. And it’s really good, so I thought you might want it.”

She thrusts out the bottle again, swilling the clear liquid inside. Little crushed red berries that the Ewoks had plied them with float around at the bottom, and Kallus knows from just one taste how potent they are. 

“We just woke up,” Kallus protests meekly.

“Well I haven’t gone to bed yet,” she replies easily. A moment later she blinks owlishly at him and tacks on an awkward, “sir.”

“If we don’t finish the bottle she’ll have to,” Zeb points out.

“She doesn’t have to,” Kallus is quick to interject.

But the young woman is already grinning and shaking her head, causing her lekku to sway erratically behind her back. “No, he’s right. I’d totally have to down the whole thing right now.”

“We have a moral obligation as her superiors to intervene,” Zeb responds, nodding sagely. 

Without pulling away from Kallus’ side, Zeb reaches out and plucks the bottle out of her grasp. He brings it to his mouth with a wry grin, one that makes the young woman giggle into the palm of her hand. Still, he winces as he takes a drag, and Kallus watches the line of his throat work as he swallows down the bitter smelling drink.

Na’tina rocks back on her heels. “Well then, I’ll leave you both to it.” 

She’s still aware enough to offer a sloppy salute before she spins on the spot and tramps off to fall in line with a small batch of fighters in pilot uniforms. Kallus watches with a small smile as another woman grabs her by the elbow and drags her off towards their makeshift campsite.

Zeb turns the bottle over in his hands, causing the crushed up berries to swirl in the vortex. Kallus watches them dance and sway, and feels no reservation about resting his cheek on Zeb’s shoulder when he leans back into the other man’s space.

“How about we polish this off and then go find a bed of our own?” Zeb asks.

Kallus purses his lips, pretending to consider for a moment. “Or a balcony, apparently.”

---

It becomes a habit.

One that - like many of the little things Zeb does - Kallus does not properly understand the intricacies of. He only knows that Zeb likes to lap at the skin of Kallus’ throat, particularly in the mornings after Kallus has stepped out of the fresher. Or when they’re in bed, tied together by Zeb’s infernal knot, and Kallus can’t escape the liberal attentions no matter how much of a fuss he pretends to make.

Because he doesn’t really mind it.

In fact he thinks that he quite enjoys it.

Sometimes Zeb will get carried away, preening until the skin is ruddy and raw. Sore to the touch for days afterwards, and Kallus only has to lightly press his fingers to his carotid to feel the memory of Zeb boring down on him.

More often than not Kallus will feel the blunt pressure of fangs, teasing along his nape, but Zeb has never pierced the skin. Which… Kallus can’t find himself to complain about. It would likely be unnecessarily messy, although he can’t help but imagine it with worrying frequency more and more often as the days go by. 

Especially in moments like this one, when he is sprawled across the bed on his stomach in the cabin of their small spacecraft. Zeb is above him, thick tufts of fur caressing Kallus’ naked back and thighs. A hand is between his legs, working over his dripping cock in languidly careless strokes. Every so often Zeb will thumb across the slit, smearing wetness into the already stained sheets below. It’s an agonising game, one that has every muscle in Kallus’ body bunched up and tight. Trembling for a release that is being constantly denied. Zeb’s mouth is at the side of his throat, lapping at sweat soaked skin, so Kallus can feel the haughty impression of his smile.

“Can you get on with it?” Kallus moans, throat tight and lungs squeezing. He’s so frustrated he feels like he could cry.

Zeb, in an absolutely devastating motion, pauses. His hand comes to a stop, squeezing around the shaft. Meanwhile, the fingers on his free hand come up to run lightly across Kallus’ ribs. The man lets out a considering hum, almost lost beneath the constant lull of his purring.

“We haven’t got anywhere to be,” he says simply.

And his next stroke is so slow and loose that Kallus wants to scream. 

He fists his hands into the sheets, knuckles trembling just as badly as the rest of him. “I’ll leave,” he threatens weakly. “Hera needs some new crew. I’ll go.”

But Zeb only chuckles, low and throaty. He bows his head to mouth at the skin on the back of his shoulder, pressing the words into flesh. “You’re not going anywhere. We’re stuck with each other.”

Stars, but Kallus loves him. He presses his face into the pillow with a whine, canting his hips to chase friction that Zeb just won't give him. The hand against his ribs wraps beneath his body, palm coming up to grope at his chest. Fingers splay across his sternum, sliding down until the backs of his knuckles barely brush against the head of his cock.

Kallus’ entire body shudders, and he presses his face into the sheets with a snarl. “I hate you,” he pants out.

Zeb rewards the words with a laugh, grazing his teeth lightly across the plain of a shoulder blade. Kallus wishes he would just bite down. He wants to know the stinging pain of it. He wants a more permanent impression of Zeb carved into his body.

The hand on his cock pulls away, leaving him hard and wanting. Kallus bites down on his lip with so much force that he worries he’s going to tear the skin. 

He manages to push himself up onto his elbows in time to see Zeb pull away entirely, reclining back against the headboard of their bed. He trails a hand leisurely down the scruff of fur coating his stomach, pointedly avoiding touching the weeping arch of his cock. 

Kallus squints up at him, ignoring the grimy feeling of his hair matted to his forehead with sweat. He doesn’t wait for an invitation to follow, crawling up the bed until he reaches Zeb, where he casts a leg over his thigh and straddles the thick muscle. 

It’s hot and downy beneath him, pressing up against the underside of his balls and grazing the sensitive skin beneath. His stomach is already pulsing with need, body clenching down on nothing and mourning the loss.

He doesn’t care that it’s desperate when he rocks his body forward, rutting against the line of Zeb’s hip. Kallus hisses, dropping his head forward to nestle into the crook of Zeb’s neck. He mouths at the skin below his ear, pressing panting kisses to the flushed skin.

“I can’t believe you’re making me do all the work.”

Zeb’s hands come to find his hips, clawed fingers running across his flanks and dropping down to squeeze his ass. 

“I wouldn’t call laying on your stomach for an hour work,” he argues. 

“An hour,” Kallus snarls, aching need turning his thrusts sloppy and frantic. His fingers find the fatty muscle covering the barrel of Zeb’s ribs, squeezing at the flesh. “That’s too long.”

“We could do longer,” Zeb replies easily.

Kallus wrinkles his nose at the suggestion. “Not at my age.” 

Then, before Zeb can goad him into another argument that he’s beginning to realise are only methods to bide time, he ducks his head and begins to suck at the patches of skin that line Zeb’s throat. It’s strange, adjusting to the texture of fuzz against his tongue, but the taste of clean sweat and Zeb beneath is more than worth it.

Fingers trail down the base of his spine, blunt claws pressing into the skin. Kallus shivers, humming out a noise of pleasure, and barely manages to contain a moan when a single thick digit presses into the cleft of his cheeks. A blunt pressure grazes across his hole. A single stroke across silky skin.

And Kallus comes with a cry, muffling the noise by biting down on the line of Zeb’s throat. White noise floods his ears, a distant trilling as everything is drowned out beneath the waves of pleasure. His body is shaking down to the core, pulsing molten hot. He tries to clench down on something that isn’t there, but that need is satiated somewhat by the hands running over his back in soothing little motions. 

Of his own hand wringing himself for as much pleasure as he can get.

It takes a while for his body to regain some semblance of control.

It takes a moment longer for him to unclench his jaw, pressing an apologetic tongue to the blunt indentation of his teeth. 

Zeb raises a hand to tug affectionately at the lobe of Kallus’ ear. His purring is relentless, chest vibrating beneath Kallus’ palms. 

“Firecracker,” Zeb says, voice thick and halting. He has to clear his throat a few times.

Kallus scowls, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “That was entirely your fault.”

---

Afterwards, when the sheets have been changed and Kallus steps out of the sonic fresher, he pads his way back into the bedroom on bare feet. Zeb is already sitting on the end of the bed, dressed in a new flight suit and looking painfully domestic with his fur puffed up from washing. 

Kallus forgoes the charade, and walks straight up to fold himself into Zeb’s lap. His arms come up to lock around the back of his neck, fingers splaying out to run across the coarse latex of his suit. 

He tilts his head to the side when Zeb noses down towards his neck, beginning the routine of rubbing his face across his skin and licking stripes across his jugular. 

Something is slower this evening, though. Zeb isn’t rumbling with pleasure like usual. He’s pensively quiet.

Until he breaks into the silence with words. “I have somewhere I want to take you, if that’s alright?”

Kallus is relieved that his face is hidden when he replies.

“I’d go anywhere you asked me to.”

---

Anywhere turns out to be a planet called Lira San.

It’s a breathtakingly gorgeous system, a dusty powdered gold that stretches on infinitely through the windscreen of the ship. The surface of the planet is dark and broody, beaten copper that conceals the shape of the world below. 

Kallus leans across the console, squinting down at the hazy atmosphere. “What are we doing out here, Zeb?”

“Hang on,” Zeb replies, voice oddly stunted. 

The shift in tone is enough to capture Kallus’ attention, swivelling his chair around to stare straight at the other man. Zeb has his shoulders hunched forward, a tight screaming tension reverberating through his entire frame. Kallus reaches out and takes one of his hands between his own, threading their fingers together. 

Zeb sucks in a shuddering breath. “Alexsandr, you know that I have feelings for you. Some good ones-”

Snorting, Kallus squeezes Zeb’s hand tightly. “I think I figured that out somewhere around the time you pushed me up against a wall and stuck your tongue down my throat.”

Zeb’s ears flatten back against his head. His lips twitch. “I’m serious, I’m trying to be serious and you’re making it harder. Karabast, why is this difficult-”

The hand between his flexes, and when Zeb swallows the nervous click in his throat is audible. 

Sucking in a tiny breath, Kallus decides to take pity on him. He’s trying, and it’s agonisingly sweet. 

Raising the man’s hand up to his mouth, Kallus presses a light kiss to the scarred knuckles. “I love you,” he says, quietly. “More than I have any right to.”

Something stutters in Kallus’ chest, the backs of his shoulders burning hot with embarrassment. He wants nothing more than to duck his head, but he forces himself to meet Zeb’s eyes and watch quietly as they dart across his face, searching his expression. 

Surging forward, Zeb presses his forehead roughly against Kallus’ own. “You have the only right.”

There’s a rasp of breath as Zeb opens his mouth again, and Kallus waits pensively for the next works. Feels the tickle of his own breath catching in his throat, a nervous tension sizzling across the top of his skin like a fever.

“Kallus,” Zeb says softly. “I have something to tell you. I-”

The radio crackles to life with a static hiss.

Craft STS/371-2C identify yourself.

Zeb jerks backwards with a hiss, using his available hand to grope over towards the console and pluck up the transceiver. 

Meanwhile Kallus narrows his eyes at the little blinking icon on the radio. Something about the deep baritone grumble of the accent had been achingly familiar, although he can’t quite place it. 

Surprisingly, Zeb provides his own name and his own ID Code. Information that is… rewarded with a low chuckle from their screener. 

Welcome home, the low voice purrs. We’ll send a shuttle up. Standby.

The moment the radio clicks off, Kallus squeezes Zeb’s hand with a wild desperation. “Home?” he prompts. 

“I know you blame yourself entirely for everything that happened on Lasan,” Zeb says quietly, thankfully ignoring the way Kallus’ body involuntarily flinches. “But that wasn’t you. In fact, because of you, my people get to live in a galaxy free of the Empire.”

“Your people,” Kallus mimics, numbly. There’s a quiet ringing in his ears.

“You’ll see,” Zeb grumbles. “I love you, and I think they will as well.”

Waiting for the shuttle to board is agonising, and Kallus is torn between running his gloved fingers through his hair until it falls in lank strands across his forehead and pacing the control room with unstable legs that feel ready to buckle at any moment. 

Zeb doesn’t bother trying to wrangle him, leaning back in his own chair and watching Kallus pace with a sharp gaze.

The other man only stands when a small shuttle breaches the atmosphere, appearing out of seeming nothingness as it breaks through the golden cloud cover. The windows are tinted, and Kallus can’t make out the shape of any figures on board. 

Something starts pulsing in his throat. He thinks that it might be his heart, trying to suffocate him.

It doesn’t take long for the shuttle to click into place on their vessel, a little alarm on their dash beeping to confirm the connection. It’s a small ship, and the sound of loud voices and hurried footsteps soon fill the hallways, picking their way towards the cockpit with speed. 

When the door slides open Kallus is convinced the only thing keeping him standing is the feeling of Zeb’s hand at the small of his back. His eyes instantly lock onto the bodies stepping up into the room, headed up by a tiny Lasat woman with a deeply wrinkled face. Her ears prick forward in excitement when she looks up at Zeb, although the expression quickly changes into quivering suspicion when her gaze lands on Kallus.

And he flounders for only a moment before stepping forward, straightening out his flight jacket before extending a hand towards the woman. Her shrewd nose twitches, and with the aid of a gnarled branch, she hobbles closer to him.

A wrinkled hand touches his own, clawed fingers wrapping around his digits and using an unprecedented strength to drag him forward. The shape of her nose first touches the inside of his wrist, drawing a panicked noise out of Kallus’ throat. One that makes him flush with embarrassment when her ears flap and she uses the leverage to jerk him forward again, until she can lean up and get a good whiff around his throat. 

Her eyes narrow into slits, and cut across to Zeb with an unreadable expression. 

Finally, she grins, a flash of wicked teeth. She glances over her shoulder to the collection of Lasat soldiers in their gleaming armorweave. “I told you he’d find a mate in amongst the rebels,” she says proudly. 

“Yes, but I said that he already had one,” one of the Lasat guards grumbles out, stepping forward. This one is almost the same height as Zeb, although his pelt is a murky cobalt. “What is it, then, Garazeb? When’d you mate this one?”

“Karabast, stop,” Zeb snarls out, running a hand across his face with an irritable huff. “You’re going to scare him off.”

Kallus turns to Zeb with an inquisitive noise. “Mate?” Like, fuck? Kallus mouths awkwardly, and then feels his eyes widen into shock. “You can smell that?!”

Zeb shakes his head. “Not like that-”

But then the old woman cuts him off with a chuff. “He’s got you marked up so badly I’m surprised we couldn’t smell you from orbit.” Her squinted eyes hone in on Zeb with a twinkle. “You really wanted to stake your claim with this one, hmm?”

“Back on Bahryn,” Kallus murmurs, feeling his chest tighten even as the words slip so easily off of his tongue. “When I returned to base someone said that I smelled-” like a Lasat staking a claim, apparently.

With a small nod, Zeb reaches up and traces a hand across the back of Kallus’ neck, fingers gliding across the ticklishly sensitive skin. The tiny prickling reminder of Zeb lathing him with attention. Of Zeb telling him that he is loved, and wanted. 

Zeb squeezes fondly. “Let’s go see our people.”

And Kallus can think of nothing in the galaxy that he wants to do more. 

Notes:

thank you very much for reading this far! I hope that you enjoyed <3

as always, comments and kudos are much appreciated. I love hearing from you!