Little Deaths - chapter 2 -

Here is chapter 2 for my current ‘dark’ Kalluzeb fanfic. I hope my momentum can keep up and I can get this fic done and out of my system. I really want to tell this angsty, smutty tale of hurt and mourning but also one where they find love, eventually. Hopefully I can do these two justice. Enjoy. 

TW : talk of death, rough sex, mild pain play  

Some species mourned their dead inside coffins or mausoleums, with tombstones or plaques or even urns of their ashes. There was always something physical to represent the dead, whether it was their actual body or remnant of their body, or some rendering of their life. Some cultures planted a tree, a garden of flowers, or erected monoliths or statues or effigies.

The heroes of the Rogue One group got nothing but words.

The vigil was a scrambled affair, thrown together to fit in before the bigger medal ceremony planned for later that evening. In a way he couldn't blame them. It was more fun to smile and cheer and clap for the heroes who destroyed the Death Star than it was to mourn and honor all those who built the fucking steps beneath their feet.

Sure, there were plenty of people who were in attendance at the vigil, Kallus noted bitterly; nothing inspired Rebels more than martyrdom. He actually respected that.

There would be more people at the medal ceremony, bright and full of fanfare,  nothing like the somber murmurs and recitation of the Rebels lost in the battle of Scarif.

If Alexsandr Kallus had stayed with the Empire, worked for the ISB, he could have been on the planet, in the tower, when it was obliterated into nothing. If the fulcrum agent picked to lead the Jedha investigation was him instead of Andor…

It could have been him lost to the sand and waves and fire of the blast.

It could have been him with only words to honor him when he was dead and gone and vaporized.

Sure, words were probably all that someone like him deserved, but that didn't mean people like Andor or Erso did. And what of Alderaan? The fallen heroes of Rogue One got all their names read aloud by a stone faced General amidst a victory celebration. Who would read and speak the words for Alderaan's people? So many names, too many names for anyone to voice aloud.

Kallus was biting his lip so hard he tasted blood when the General started on the names of the pilots of the various felled squadrons; a riot of colors and numbers to go along with the names of the dead. In a way it sounded like he was describing a field of flowers during sunset, mostly dotted in blue forget-me-nots and red poppies against a golden clouded sky.

He was already staring at the back of Zeb's head when Zeb -who was standing near the front with Syndulla- turned and looked over his shoulder at him. Kallus was skulking at the back of the room with the scant few intelligence officers and what was left of the commando leadership. Even with the distance, they were both tall enough that they looked over most everyone else anyway, and Kallus was glad for it today as it made the line of their gaze unobstructed.

They didn't need words to agree to leave and meet up at the very moment the last name was spoken, walking so close their hands brushed eachother's.

They didn't need words to leave the bustle of the base and seek a barely secluded edge of the temple, the sounds of a nearby hanger still heard over their heavy breathing.

And they didn't need words when they collided into a tangle of hands and mouths and breathy gasps.

Kallus should be embarrassed at the sloppy way he kissed Zeb for the first time, all teeth and all aggression. Even as he tried to make up for it by trying to learn the contours of his mouth and how best to please him, he was still selfish in his need to tongue and press into the sharp fangs he discovered in his exploration. This was definitely not the way he imagined his first kiss with the lasat who had occupied his mind with so many, many thoughts to be.

Zeb was big, but so was he, and the angles and stretch it took to grip and grapple their armor and clothing out of the way was a flurry of tugging, uncoordinated movements. Kallus' jacket got caught on his elbows at some point and the way Zeb knew to stop a moment to use it to hold his arms back behind him and restrain him had him instantly hard in his pants. And when Zeb crowded him back and shoved him against the stone wall hard and ground his pelvis into his own, he was moaning wantonly and shaking with his desire.

Kallus only managed to kick off one boot to free a leg before he was being hiked up into the air and into Zeb's strong arms. His back slammed into the stone wall, dirt and leaves from a crawling vine raining down onto his shoulders. Wrapping his legs around the lasat's waist almost seemed natural, he mused, but he relished in the unnatural strength that Zeb embodied and used against him; not many could hold a man of his build aloft, and easily.

Zeb pushed and crushed him to the wall and gripped both his buttocks in his two clawed hands and ground him up and down over his front, the rough texture of the stone scraping at his back, even through the shirt he still wore.

Kallus cried out with a low grunt of escaped air, and Zeb paused for a moment and spoke into his ear. "Too much?"

"No, it's good," Kallus gasped impatiently, arching his body into the wall more and digging his shoulders back.

"You tell me if it is, okay?" Zeb insisted, sounding assertive but out of breath.

"Yes, yes," Kallus growled and gave a nip to Zeb's twitching ear and squirmed so he could build friction near his uncovered crotch that was rubbing furtively at the front of Zeb's jumpsuit.

Zeb grunted in answer and resumed his grind, slower this time but more powerful, Kallus' dick being smashed and dragged between their bodies roughly. Kallus ran his hands over Zeb's shoulders and up the back of his head, the short fur ruffling under his fingertips. He wanted his dick rubbing against that fur.

Kallus was unsure where the clasps or zippers were on the jumpsuit, and after less than a minute of fumbling on his own, Zeb took over and undid everything and pulled it down past his waist and hips. He did this all while managing to nearly suffocate Kallus with a long, filthy kiss, his raspy tongue dominating his own and swirling him into a breathless, dizzying spiral of need.

His bare skin met Zeb's between his thighs and the coarse fur down Zeb's front tickled and scratched at his cock as they moved. The stimulation was divine.

Zeb readjusted him in his arms and he felt something slick and hot bump against him from below. Kallus might have wanted a proper look on any other day other than today, when right now he was so desperate for the promise of a brutal and thorough fucking he was near out of his mind.

"Need'ta get you ready, 'm tapered but not exactly small, don't wanna -break ya," Zeb said, voice slurred from where he was mouthing at his neck, sucking and running his teeth where months earlier he had lingering bruises from his belt.

Kallus nearly screamed in both glee and frustration. He wanted to be broken, he was already broken. He clawed at Zeb's shoulders and gave a growl that came out more of an anguished sob. "Ah! I'm ready, more than ready, just-"

"Shh, Kal, I get it, I've got you, was just…" Zeb mumbled, his voice so fucking close to sounding endearing Kallus had the panicked thought he had made a terrible mistake coming out here, with Zeb of all people.

Zeb held him up with one arm, the other snaking down around Kallus' muscled leg and rear to grab at his cock and angle it towards Kallus' asshole. Anticipation curled warm at his insides and his panic drained from him, and all Alexsandr Kallus wanted was this and now.

"I hafta go slow at first, then I'll give it to you how you need, alright?" Zeb asked, but it was more a statement than a question. Kallus nodded nonetheless, burying his face against the sharp jut of Zeb's jaw, his bristly beard there scratchy and grounding against his cheek.

Kallus held his breath, awaiting the moment contact would be made, the moment he would be impaled and stretched open obscenely on the lasat's cock. He forced himself to relax down there when the first prod gently pressed at his hole.

The head of Zeb’s cock felt different than a humans, slick and narrow like the tip of a tongue, easing past his rim with a wet thrust until he felt a pop as the head went in and was fully engulfed. Zeb then repeated the insertion, pulling out just enough to then push back in, working his rim with just the tapered head of his distinctly alien cock. The stretch ached in the best way as Zeb eased in further with each consecutive thrust inside.

"Karabast, yer tight," Zeb muttered, and Kallus let out a loud moan.

"Good," Kallus praised lowly, his voice strained and ragged, "I want to be tight and feeling you deep inside when you fuck me to oblivion."

"Fuck, Kal," Zeb gasped and sunk him down further. Kallus could now feel the girth of Zeb's cock, the way it stretched him more than anything else had stretched him before.

It was glorious.

When Kallus thought he could wait no longer for more movement, Zeb flexed his grip on him, letting gravity lower him onto his full length. When he was finally all the way impaled, Kallus seized like he was being burned; the best kind of burn though, a hand above a flame -not blistering but not unfeeling.

"Oh, Zeb!" Kallus wheezed, the air feeling like it was being punched from his lungs.

“Kal,” Zeb groaned back at him, and Kallus felt him swallow before curling his arms and lifting him those precious few inches up and then back down again. Nubs or ridges of some sort scrubbed at his rim, something he didn’t notice before when Zeb was being careful stretching him open.

Zeb repeated the move, only this time with an added thrust of power from his core.

Kallus finally breathed, full and exhaustive. He threw his head back, his skull knocking into the stone behind him. He leaned into the wall and gripped at Zeb’s tense arms as a rhythm soon took over his initial tentative thrusts.

Obviously satisfied enough he wasn’t going to tear or seriously injure him, Zeb began to move in earnest. And the moment Zeb let loose was the moment Kallus finally felt alive.

Zeb gave Kallus what he needed, like he said he would. Kallus sobbed and cried out in excruciating pleasure as he was pounded into roughly, his world blurring into streaks of green from the foliage and purple from the lasat driving his cock so hard into him he couldn’t focus.

“Am I deep ‘nuf, Kal? Can y’feel how deep I am?” Zeb demanded and Kallus had trouble forming an answer, because oh fuck yes, but also Kallus could handle more he's sure. But instead of saying that, he quickly nodded, hair bouncing into his face, strands sticking with sweat to his forehead. “Good Kal, so good, I can feel it -karabast I feel so fucking deep in ya!”

Zeb slung one of Kallus’ knees over his elbow and then began to slap his hips against his brutally. Kallus felt the shift of Zeb’s cock pistoning into him more intensely now that he was spread wider, a thick ridge or nub grinding against his prostate. Kallus struggled to hold on, his hands sweaty in his gloves and the leg at Zeb’s hip bulked down with the weight of his pants and boot still dangling there.

“I-I feel it too -feel you deep,” Kallus gasped harshly into his fur, the words as frantic and slippery as his teetering climax.

Zeb gave a guttural growl, deep in his chest, and fucked him impossibly harder, jolting the breath from him and Kallus let out a shout that stung at his throat.

Kallus became too lost in all of it that he didn’t care about being heard or anything other than the burn of it all. The way his back was being scraped raw, the ache in all his muscles from hanging on, and the obscene stretch of his ass were all kindling for the flames.

His release fired off like a blaster shot, a bright flash amidst a firefight of other sensations. It was quick and over, the mess it made splattered between them, lost and unnoticed in fur and skin and clothing as Zeb didn't let up his heavy pounding.

Zeb had to be close and Kallus clung to him tightly, awaiting the other man to finish. He fisted his hold as best he could, knees shaking and his rim clenching hard around Zeb, trying to ride the fleeting electric buzz of orgasm quickly ebbing from his body.

A few shaking, powerful thrusts and a loud ahgh! marked Zeb's end and Kallus was all but dropped as Zeb pulled out and deposited him to the ground, turning away to angle his ejaculation so that it spurted loud and wet against the wall of the temple.

Kallus stumbled to land on a knee-high slab of fallen stone, his legs jelly and unsupportive. He leaned heavily on his hip, holding himself up with shaking arms, his chest heaving in gulps of humid air.

He watched Zeb's back, the lasat turned away, one arm leaning over his head and tangling in the vines spread like veins on the temple's weathered surface. The other was holding onto his cock, just out of sight, but the beautifully striped muscles of Zeb's back indicated he was flexing and still shallowly pumping or squeezing at it. A shudder rippled down Zeb's back, the dark hairs ruffling up and accentuating the V of stripes meeting down his spine. Kallus fought the urge to reach out and touch him. For all that they just did, that seemed oddly intrusive to Kallus, so he put his leg back into his underwear and pants and slid them up over his hips.

Whatever Zeb was doing, it looked private. Maybe it was some lasat thing, maybe just a Zeb thing. Kallus waited, and before long, there was another streak of come sliding down the wall and Zeb's shoulders eased and relaxed, his head resting back, ears sagging low in satisfaction and twitching in his direction when Kallus shifted, reaching for his discarded boot.

"You alright?" Zeb asked over his shoulder, still angled away, but getting a look at Kallus enough to give him a hazy once over.

Kallus was unsure if Zeb’s question meant was he unhurt or was he satisfied enough from the rough fucking. Since the answer to both was yes, he nodded, and pulled back on his other boot. It occurred to him, almost too late, to follow that with, “And you?”

“Hmm,” Zeb murmured and Kallus appreciated the way his back muscles and arms looked as the lasat tugged at his jumpsuit, bringing it back over his shoulders but letting it hang open as he finally faced him and shuffled closer. “You're a good fuck, Kal, I’ll say that much. Took me better’n most. You're right noisy though.”

“So were you. Next time you can gag me,” Kallus replied with just the right amount of sarcasm and stiffness that Zeb scoffed under his breath about being a piece of work. The way he looked at him was nothing but fondness, however. Strange, Kallus thought, especially after Kallus had just implied there would be a 'next time' and that he wasn't quite joking about the gag.

Zeb reached towards him, and Kallus had a strange notion that he was about to gently cup his cheek or run a soothing claw through his hair. Kallus almost pulled away. But when Zeb pulled a leaf floret out of the sweaty clumps of hair sticking to his neck he felt relief, if not a small bit of disappointment. But then Zeb held out an open hand in front of his face, similar (almost too similar) to the way he offered a boost up from the snow on Bahryn, so many years ago.

Kallus shook his head, refusing, sure that if he tried to stand just then that he would make a fool of himself. “I think I need a few moments more.”

“Now you're just pattin’ my ego,” Zeb lowered his offered hand and zipped back up his jumpsuit instead and began to retrieve his armor to snap back into place across his chest and around his waist. "M'gonna head back, clean off some of the spunk from my fur before the ceremony. You gonna be there?"

Kallus was still considering that himself. After a quick internal debate he nodded. "I suppose I should make an appearance. We had a stunning victory."

With devastating losses. On both sides. It was practically confirmed through their intelligence sources that Tarkin, including a lot of other top brass, were on board the Death Star when it blew. Yularen had been a name on the report, the only name Kallus let himself dwell upon. If Kallus had stayed with the ISB, if he had never defected, it could have been him on-

"Hey," Zeb's gruff voice cut into his thoughts, the lasat crouching in front of him, catching his gaze. "You alright?"

The question, repeated with such earnest demand, caught Kallus off guard. "I'm fine," he said, more a knee-jerk reaction than anything. He should have known Zeb knew better.

"Could go 'nother round, later, if you need it," Zeb offered.

"Perhaps," Kallus said, unwilling to refuse or agree to such an offer when the day was long from being over. Tomorrow may bring new orders for him or the Ghost. It could be a long time before he saw Zeb again, and Kallus was a selfish man. "Go on, I won't be long."

"Okay," Zeb said and first reached back to grab Kallus' discarded jacket and hand it to him before standing to leave. "See you there, then, Kallus."

Kallus watched the lasat walk around the corner of the temple and listened as he sauntered through the underbrush until he could faintly hear him being teased by a group of mechanics they had passed on their trek past the hanger. They had been rather noisy, he recalls, the hoarseness in his throat a definitive reminder.

Maybe he'd take the long way back to base.

Gritting his teeth, Kallus stood, a flare of pain shooting deliciously up and down his spine. He sighed in pleasure and he finally took a moment to appreciate the burn of satisfaction crackling through his body. His asshole clenched weakly and he bit his lip at the tantalizing thought of being pounded into again, maybe in just a few hours, and losing himself to the act in Zeb's powerful arms. It was a good thought amidst a hundred terrible ones.

His back had been rubbed raw against the stone, and his shirt fabric caressed the ache quite nicely when he dusted off and put back on his jacket, making his way back to base. Back to the celebrations. Back to the mourning. Back to all the words.

Except some got more than words. Sometimes the living, of all people, got medals.

Kallus had never been more thankful for a kriff than he was while he attended the ceremony in the throne room. There was fanfare and smiles and the light shone into the crowded room like a stage performance.

Zeb was indeed there, as he said he would be, standing with Hera and Rex and the other heroes of the Rebellion; alive but without medals themselves. If anyone deserved something as physical and real as a medal, it was them. It was every rebel that laid down their lives and risked and sacrificed everything for what was right.

Kallus shifted his shoulders, the skin sensitive but every bit as grounding and solid as the stone it had been rubbed against. The bruises on his thighs held him to the spot, the blooming ache of just standing there keeping him from bolting like an indignant, spoiled child. The burn in his throat kept him from screaming his frustrations when Han fucking Solo got a medal draped around his neck.

So Alexsandr Kallus stood there. And clapped.