Little Deaths - chapter 3 -

Chapter 3 of my WIP fic. This chapter vexed me but I think I am pretty happy with how it came out. Both boys dealing with some shit and also you know... having sex. Hope you all enjoy the backstory I invented for the Glimmer. 

TW : rough sex, talk of death, some pain play, mild sub/dom elements, possible humiliation/shame talk (misunderstood)

Kallus had known the losses they suffered from the attack on Mako-Ta had been great, but after all the chaos that had happened during and after the evacuation, he had not afforded himself to dwell on any of them. At least not until he was sitting in a ship of his own; his only because he was the only one who knew how to pilot it after the captain, and owner, had died.

A breach in the transparisteel of the cockpit had killed the previous captain, who had suffocated and been thrown about before the failed shields flickered back to life, thanks to the droid that was in the cockpit with him. Kallus had been grouped with the other passengers, all haphazardly standing shoulder to shoulder in the large galley, when the blast was heard and the sharp pop of his ears indicated a hull breach somewhere on the ship.

He knew a thing or two of ship functions, and had been an above average pilot during his sims, so he had pushed his way through the crowd to see if he could be of any use to the crew. The cockpit’s door had flashed red and did not open at first, and Kallus had felt dread plummet into his stomach (he found the hull breach). Then the doors had opened, and Kallus met D4.

He had piloted the damaged ship through the frenzied evacuation and the stalled jumps through hyperspace, all while glaring at the hole in the transparisteel, a barely functioning invisible shield the only thing between him and the emptiness of space. He had also done all this with the body of the dead captain at his feet.

Kallus had wondered if the former captain had tried to scream when he was dying. There was no sound in the vacuum of space.

Once at the rendezvous point, Kallus had tried to see who the command would fall to so he could hand off his oral report of the damages and repairs he and the droid had already started on. There had been no one to take command, no family of the rebel, and when a medical droid had finally come to take the previous captain away, to do whatever they did with a dead body in the Rebellion, he resumed repairs and the Glimmer of Fangs had become his by strange inheritance.

Promotion in the Empire was often done with the body of your predecessor at your feet. It was eerily poignant how similar it was in the Rebellion.

Kallus thought of this as he sat in the cockpit and scanned the hastily written reports of what happened on Mako-Ta and the list of confirmed and presumed dead Rebels. He meant to read every single name, but had gotten fixated on the report of General Davits Draven and the group of Rebels that had stayed behind and faced down Darth Vader’s troops, buying them all time to escape.

Draven worked (had worked) close to the fulcrum agents since its inception, working with Tano and the Spectres themselves in the early days. Then he had worked with other agents like Andor and himself in Rebel Intelligence, guiding him and giving him the honest facts, even when Kallus was still freshly defected. He was a stern, non-nonsense, brutally practical man, and he and Kallus had butted heads more often than not, but he respected him and the decisions he had to make in the name of rebellion. In the name of hope.

“Missed a spot.” A familiar voice from behind him said.

Kallus turned in the pilot’s seat and saw Zeb standing in the threshold of the cockpit, one arm holding onto the frame above, his free hand pointing to the hole in the transparisteel. It was small, no bigger than a detonator really, but had been just as deadly.

The Ghost had been away from Mako-Ta at the time of the attack and evacuation, halfway across the galaxy on Lothal. Kallus had made certain of that fact as soon as he was able to check his resources accurately. They were on their way to the rendezvous point last he had heard but the relief wouldn’t feel real until he saw for himself that they were indeed alive and well.

Kallus felt a weary smile tug at his tight lips. He glanced back at the hole in the transparisteel for a brief look and stood, taking a step towards the lasat.

“It is next on my long list of repairs, I assure you,” Kallus replied with as much cheek as he could manage, the lump of emotion he felt upon seeing Zeb strange and jarring in his throat.

"What's her name then?" Zeb asked, patting the threshold before stepping inside to have a look around.

"Glimmer of Fangs," Kallus replied with a small flourish. Zeb snorted. Kallus' eyebrow ticked upwards. "I'm thinking of changing it, if it's truly to be my ship, but didn't want to disrespect the previous owner's choice."

"Maybe it wasn't his choice," Zeb offered and shrugged one shoulder. "He coulda not liked it either."

"That is very possible," Kallus conceded, wondering if the previous captain had also acquired the Glimmer as he had. Kallus also wondered when it would be his body on the ground, the line of succession falling to the next rebel to take the pilot’s seat.

Who would become General Draven's successor in the rebellion? There were few people Kallus respected enough to have earned the rank and hold it well, and Draven had been one of them. They would need the hard, decisive generals, ones like Draven, to survive. Rebellions were built on hope, but what sustained them? Kept them alive?

"Kal," Zeb interrupted his thoughts and he realized the lasat was now standing directly in his space, closer than polite, and nudging closer.

They were so far beyond polite, however, and Kallus found himself closing the gap between them to lean into the rough warmth and strong smell that embodied Garazeb Orrelios. The embrace was perfunctory, Kallus rationalized; something friends did when they both survived another day, right?

“How many we lose?” Zeb asked, nodding to the report holo Kallus had been looking at.

The guilt that he hadn’t read all the names yet clenched at his heart. He couldn’t bear to look at the holo anymore; he did anyway, over his shoulder. “Too many.”

“How many you save onboard?” Zeb asked and Kallus found himself questioning that; he didn’t know, he hadn’t done a headcount. What did it matter anyway? It didn't -not when it could have been him and the other passengers floating in the debris around Mako-Ta right now.

Zeb's hand gripped at his shoulder and gave it a grounding squeeze. So often they didn’t need words and nothing more than a glance to initiate things, but today, Zeb continued to ask him questions.

“You need it?” Zeb asked simply, and Kallus gave a single curt nod, like he was receiving orders. Zeb ran his hand up and down his arm, clutching at Kallus’ tense muscles. “I need it somethin’ bad too. This place have a stateroom or bunk?”

It did, but Kallus didn’t want to fuck on a dead man’s sheets, or in his room, where his belongings hadn’t been packed away or assimilated into his own yet. The cockpit was another whole thing, where the dead man had been laying less than a day before, but Kallus was impatient with his suddenly critical need to be taken apart and reminded of the pain; the pain that meant he was alive. It all intensified to a sharp point now that Zeb was here in front of him again. Avoiding explaining all that, Kallus tugged at Zeb’s thick belt and pulled him closer, a knee slotting between Zeb’s legs.

“Here’s good, too, I guess,” Zeb murmured low into the close space between them.

They hadn't fucked when they said their goodbyes just a week prior (what felt like an eternity now). They usually didn't unless the need had compounded enough inside Kallus that he had the urge to feel, to forget, in the arms of someone who didn't question him or his wants and needs; someone who took from him what he needed too. They usually didn't kiss long when they started a round, if at all sometimes, but today seemed a day they both needed that to start.

Kallus allowed his breath to be stolen away and did his best to reciprocate, the kiss they shared forceful and desperate. He gasped as Zeb began to growl into the kisses, teeth grazing and biting at him fiercely, just shy of breaking skin.

"Fuck, I need this so badly, Kal, need to be in ya so kriffing bad!" Zeb rambled against his lips, hands both on his shoulders, holding him still.

"Need it too," Kallus groaned and breathed in a shaky breath just before Zeb grabbed his neck and pulled him in for another filthy, long kiss. Zeb's other hand began to grope at the swell of his ass, squeezing it and bumping it closer with his massive grip.

"Those fuckin' Imps," Zeb snarled against his cheek as he worked his mouth and fangs down to his neck. "If I'd've been here, woulda blasted 'em apart, woulda made sure-"

Claws raked his back, having found their way under his shirt quickly. Kallus moaned and practically shuddered with want, his dick straining tightly in his trousers.

"Woulda been on the Ghost, safe," Zeb continued, "shoulda been on the Ghost. With me."

It was arrogant to think Zeb truly meant that, meant him, because it was just wrong to entertain that. Kallus shouldn't belong at Zeb's side on a crew, that crew, because it was family, wasn't it? But Kallus coveted the idea all the same, and wasn't sure how to process that. So he didn't. He began to palm at Zeb's erection, hot and big beneath his jumpsuit. Zeb grabbed a fistful of his jacket at the scruff of his neck and yanked at it.

"Karabast, get these clothes off," he growled at him and Kallus immediately went to work removing every article as quickly as he could. Zeb watched him with hot desire in his eyes, setting down his weapons and armor into the copilot's chair and unzipping and pulling down his jumpsuit. They so often didn't get to fuck completely naked, and Kallus tried to savor the sight and feel as Zeb purred in satisfaction and pulled him back against him.

Zeb initiated another stealing kiss, his hands and claws scoring over Kallus' body, the pinprick of his nails digging into the meat of his hips as he kept him close and rubbed their groins together. Zeb’s natural lubrication smeared into the thick curls of Kallus’ sex and all over his prominent erection. Kallus reached down to grope at Zeb’s cock, gathering enough slick to then reach back and work at his hole.

He barely had two fingers in when Zeb pushed his hand aside and probed his own finger at his rim. When he inserted it, stretching him wide and wet, Kallus bucked forward, sliding his dick along the ridges and nubs of Zeb’s girthier length.

Kallus was near mindless when Zeb scooped him up into his arms and quickly replaced his finger with his cock. The penetration was fast for Zeb, different from his usual steady build up of thrusts to be sure Kallus was stretched enough not to tear. Kallus didn’t tear this time either, he never had, but the tight, difficult push in nearly had him sobbing with bliss and effort.

Zeb hauled them over to the captain’s chair where he arranged Kallus to straddle him obscenely, his legs dangling over the armrests and pinned wide under Zeb’s arms.

Kallus trusted the other man implicitly as he was spread open and exposed for him to just take. He trusted that he would, that he would give him the searing chase to release he so desperately needed. He looked into those green, luminous eyes in the dim cockpit lighting and pleaded for more.

Zeb easily wrestled Kallus’ arms behind him and held his wrists together where they met in the small of Kallus' back. Kallus writhed in the hard grip, relishing the way Zeb tightened his hands and claws into the meat of him.

“You’re fuckin’ -kriff, I needed this. I needed to see,” Zeb mewled and moaned. Then with a grunt of exertion, Zeb rocked their bodies together, his elbows pulling Kallus’ entire core forward. Kallus bowed at the movement, his spine arching and leaning back, pressing the restraint of his arms into further security.

The limited mobility of being in a chair and in their position didn’t hinder Zeb’s ability to fuck him hard, and fuck him well. Their entangled limbs stayed locked together as Zeb lifted his powerful hips to bounce Kallus up and down on his cock with a mind-boggling show of strength and endurance.

Kallus watched the muscles of Zeb's abdomen bunch and flex with admiration, the fur there lighter and soft, looking damp and glossy lower where they were joined. Kallus' dick, deep in color and leaking already, bobbed stiffly with each impact, every now and then brushing that soft fur with stimulating contact. And the way Zeb's cock felt inside him, impossibly deep and scrubbing relentlessly past his rim with each thrust; it was all the perfect combination of sight and sensation.

"Zeb, yes!" Kallus shouted and this time he did sob, whimpering and crying out in jolting shocks of pleasure as he rode his way to a quick climax.

When Kallus came, untouched and shouting himself hoarse, it was messy and plentiful, his seed roping in thick strands across his and Zeb's chests. He was still shaking and clenching a minute later when he realized Zeb had stopped and had been watching him as he came, his massive chest heaving with exertion, his mouth open and panting, the want still pulling tight at his handsome features.

It was almost predatory the way Zeb held his gaze as he lifted them to standing again. Zeb's cock, still hard and throbbing, slipped out with a wet suck of sound and Kallus' wobbly feet touched the cool durasteel of the deck as he was set down.

Zeb reached up and cupped one of Kallus' cheeks, his thumb brushing at his facial hair for a tender moment that caught Kallus off guard. Thankfully it didn't last long as that hand gripped at his neck, and he was bodily turned to face away and bent over the control console.

A large hand held Kallus down between his shoulders, and the other guided the entire length of Zeb's cock back inside his twitching asshole. Zeb pushed himself flush with Kallus' hips and legs, buried balls deep and letting out a growling moan. His weight centered over Kallus' back so he could lick then bite at his neck, making Kallus shiver and press his head into the console, glowing buttons filling his vision. And just above, beyond those lights, he could also see the hole in the transparisteel, just at the edge of his eyesight.

There was an ache in his shoulders and arms from where Zeb had held them back as he reached up to hold on as Zeb leaned back and began to piston himself in and out of him, fast and hard. Zeb's hands held at his hips and waist, pulling him back in time with his brutally set pace.

"They think they'll win, take this from us, they won't -won't let 'em," Zeb growled, his voice sounding like it came from between his clenched teeth. "Can't take this from me!"

Kallus' breath shook as he tried to breathe, unable to get a full breath in from the way he was being fucked so harshly. The wet sound of slapping flesh filled the cockpit, along with Zeb's dirty, incensed words.

"Take my cock, take it and feel it for days," Zeb crooned, pounding him harder into the console. "Fuckin' Imps!"

Kallus fixed his gaze on the hole in the transparisteel and couldn't look away. He should be thankful the ship had kept him alive, let him have this moment with Zeb, but all he could think of was that he had been so close to death. One more flickering failure of the shields and he too would have been on the floor of the cockpit.

Who would Zeb seek out to give him this, what he needed, if Kallus was dead? That question bothered him more than what would have happened had the shields failed again.

"Feel my cock. Can't take 'im from me. You'll feel it tomorrow and the next -a lasat cock up your ass, better'n anything an Imp deserves!" Zeb spat, his voice low and full of anguish.

Kallus felt a plummeting tug at his insides and his heart clenched unpleasantly. Zeb was right, he didn't deserve any bit of Zeb, not his cock, not his friendship, not even his smile.

"Tight Imperial ass -needs a deep lasat cock, don't it? Wish they could be fucked open jus' like this," Zeb continued, his tone broken as he began to be mindless of any sort of rhythm or care.

Then Zeb slowed just enough to slam into him so hard Kallus' feet nearly left the ground. His toes slid and scrambled to grip something with each thrust that followed just like that. His knees went weak and knocked painfully into a panel and his spent dick got smashed beneath him.

"Karabast, won't. Let them-" Zeb cut himself off with a roar of sound and pulled out abruptly.

Kallus felt a hot gush of fluid hit his ass and the back of his thighs. It dripped down languidly, gathering in his cleft and behind his balls. Zeb was still grunting and gasping when Kallus looked over his shoulder to peek at the lasat as he held and squeezed gently at his knot. He might have had the courage to face Zeb and watch him finish, but a hand and its claws kept Kallus to the spot, kneading the flesh beneath it as if in consolation for holding him still.

He now knew that lasat males would knot their partner during their climax, and for whatever reason, Zeb had never allowed it to happen while he was inside him. Kallus would have assisted if he could in any way, but Zeb had always acted like that wasn’t on the table. Kallus had never asked or offered, however, so their routine went unchanged yet again.

Zeb let out a low groan and the final ejaculation of his spend gathered with the rest dripping down his legs. Kallus let his weight sag against the console, finally relaxing now that Zeb had come too. Zeb released his hold on his back but Kallus continued to stay bent over, already feeling the bruises blossoming around his body. It would be a good reminder, a good memory in fact, for the cockpit; anything was better than the current reminder he couldn’t stop staring at in the transparisteel.

He lost track of the time in the blue glow of the holo report still projecting to his right, his focus drifting back to the hole in the viewport. It couldn’t have been more than a couple minutes and soon he felt a rough cloth cleaning him, the strokes broad and efficient. He would probably still need a sonic or shower, but he appreciated the attempt.

“M’sorry,” Zeb said softly and Kallus frowned when he turned back around and fished for his underwear, wincing as he pulled them on.

“For what?” Kallus’ hair dangled in front of his eyes as he bent down again to find and pull on his pants, not bothering to refasten his belt. It was too much effort at present to put the rest of his clothes on, so he raked a hand through his hair and leaned back on the controls, shirtless and barefoot.

“For being… mouthy,” Zeb said, obviously troubled.

“You usually are,” Kallus retorted frankly, because it was true. Zeb had always been vocal during sex and Kallus actually expected it now, even if the words he said this time were harsh. At least he was honest.

“Yeah, but -said some stuff -did some stuff, uh, rough,” Zeb said, his jumpsuit pulled to just over his hips and left there. “Sometimes my head ain’t right. So, I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry. It was -good,” Kallus said and cursed the smallest hitch of hesitation in his voice at the end.

“It was too much, wasn’t it?”

“No, I can take it, Zeb,” Kallus assured him, thinking he could even take more, too, if it meant that Zeb got what he needed from the arrangement. Maybe Zeb would remember Kallus better when he eventually died and Zeb found his next fuck buddy in the Rebellion succession pool. Again, he tried not to process why that thought bothered him so much.

“I know you better’n that, Kal,” Zeb scolded, interrupting his morbid, confusing thoughts. They stared at each other for a tense moment before Zeb deflated and rubbed at the back of his head, looking away. “Look, I’ve told you before I used to think ‘bout fucking Imps raw when I got off. I think it was a power thing, after Lasan.”

Kallus gulped, grief and guilt weighing any words he might say down to a lump in his lungs, making his breaths shallow and heavy. If he needs to think I’m still an Imperial for this arrangement to work best for him, then so be it, he thought solemnly.

“I’m still not right in the head, sometimes, near mad with it, wantin’ something I can’t-” Zeb floundered, his mouth forming around unarticulated words. He finally let out a sigh. “So I need you to let me know if I’m being too -much. Don’t want you hurt more than what you enjoy.”

“I enjoy how you fuck me, Zeb,” Kallus blatantly said, crossing his arms over his bare chest and nodding down at the come still smeared across his front. “Obviously. Nothing has to change.”

Zeb just looked at him in silence, his big eyes searching into his for something. Kallus scowled when the silence stretched on. Zeb scowled back and looked to the ceiling before replying, “Yes, nothing has to change. I just want you to tell me if it needs to, alright?”

Kallus thought of it and nodded, his eyes focusing down to his bare feet, flexing and fidgeting against the flooring. Four purple toes on a digitigrade foot stepped right next to his and Kallus looked up to find Zeb once again in his space, close and radiating warmth and smelling of the musky, familiar scent of sex. Their sex.

“Didn’t get the chance to say it ‘fore, but I’m glad you made it out of there,” Zeb said earnestly. There was a moment when Kallus was sure Zeb meant to kiss him, but apparently all he wanted to do was touch their foreheads together. After the nudge, Zeb stepped back and gave him a cheeky smirk. “You’re on track for promotion, ‘probly. Saving all the Rebels on board and all.”

Kallus grimaced at the thought. “I am quite fine being a captain.”

“Yeah, a captain with a ship of his own now. Next thing you know, you’ll have a crew, a command.” Zeb’s ears danced playfully. “Y’know… General Kallus has a certain ring to it.”

“Shut up,” Kallus groaned, but felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. It was always infectious whenever Garazeb Orrelios was teasing him.

Zeb chuckled and gave a gentle punch to his bicep, rocking Kallus’ body into a single sway. He nodded to the viewport behind him. “Don’t forget to fix that, eh?”

“Next on the list,” Kallus reminded him and watched Zeb gather his armor and borifle and tuck them under his arm. “The sooner it’s repaired, the sooner I’ll be flying around like you Spectres do, all dashing and heroic.”

“One can hope,” Zeb said, almost wistfully, quietly thinking. “Oh yeah, and shut that thing off.”

Kallus followed his line of sight and saw he meant the holo projector with the report of all the events of the Mako-Ta attack and the names of the dead, the section he was on with a picture of General Draven on the side. Shut it off? He wasn’t done with it-

“I know you, Kal. Lookin’ at all those names, thinking. Why not get a list of the people you helped survive onboard. The Rebellion still has them, still has you.”

Kallus’ mood was quickly souring. He scoffed. The dead, the fallen, the people who sacrificed themselves, the ones who never made it from Mako-Ta, they’re the ones who built the foundation, who inspired the galaxy. Least of all, not people like Kallus. “Rebellions aren’t built on survivors, they-”

“Yeah, Kal, they are. They’re built on hope. Those people have it now, cuz of you, cuz of this ship. Just. shut it off, will ya?”

It took all his effort, even waiting until Zeb was probably long gone from the Glimmer of “Hope”, but Kallus reached over and shut the holo off.