Fives curls his fingers around Jedao's, big and warm and rough with callous, and lets Jedao pull them to his chest, the other hand he lays at the nape of Jedao's neck, a soft, steady presence. He tips his head just enough to press his face to Jedao's hair and breathes in the scent of him, lips twitching into a small, warm smile that Jedao can't see when he says he loves him. The rest, well-
"Pain's part of life, ner'kar'ta," he murmurs. "I know you'll never hurt me on purpose... or if it's not necessary." He has to add that last for honesty, because in battle a general doesn't have the option of sparing his soldiers pain, and Jedao's already hurt him so many times... but always to lead him forward. To help him see the truth, and the possibilities open to him. "Just like I'll try to never hurt you." But he knows he already has, and he hopes that it's been worth it to Jedao.
Jedao makes a consternated sort noise, frustrated and rueful at the same time.
"Not like that. Fuck. I hurt you all the time but I feel like this is worse because I might not even realize, because it doesn't even help us - I think you would do things that made you miserable, if I told you to. Not for the mission. Just. Off-hand. Or because you thought they'd make me happy. And you wouldn't think twice about it or even tell me you didn't want to."
His hand is so tight on Fives, that it hurts Jedao's fingers a little bit. In the smallest, most desperate voice, he asks,
Fives goes still as Jedao explains, Jedao's death grip on his hand worrying him as much as what he's saying. And... he's not sure how to answer. He's not sure what Jedao is trying to get at. It definitely doesn't feel like it's going anywhere good. Still, he brushes his thumb along the edge of Jedao's hand in an attempt to be soothing, just barely skritches blunt nails up into the short hairs at the nape of Jedao's neck, and thinks about the question. About what Jedao means by it... about if it's true.
"Jed'ika?" he finally murmurs, and he's working so hard to keep his voice steady. "What's wrong?" He thinks maybe he knows, but he's not sure, and he doesn't want to step wrong.
"You told me could say no to me." You promised, a tiny part of his mind wants to scream, like a damn three-year-old - he keeps his voice under control, a little thick, but not choking. "For things that weren't the mission. And if it's not true. Even if the things it's not true about - aren't. Sex things. I think it might still be wrong for me to - to -"
He can't keep going and not have his voice break. He trails off, his head turning to press a little more of his face against Fives' clavicle.
He opens his mouth immediately to protest that he can, that he would, except he's suddenly sure he knows what this is about. And that Quentin was wrong, he did screw up and it's not okay. He can feel his heart rabbiting in his chest, and he knows Jedao must be able to at least hear it, where he's curled up, but he keeps rubbing his thumb along Jedao's hand, keeps his fingers threaded gently into his hair. Keeps his voice... mostly steady. Not completely, because this is Jedao. This is his brother, and the one place he doesn't have to wear that mask.
"I did screw it up, didn't I?" he asks softly. Sad and hurt and worried. But at least he's a little farther from the fractured confusion and hurt of the flood, a little closer to the end of his death toll. A little more able to keep himself together.
"You were afraid. And in pain. And you managed to hide it from me, because I'm a selfish prick and I didn't want to see it. Thank the fucking stars Quentin did. Next time you'll succeed and I'll - I'll be everything I'm afraid of, I can't do that. Please don't let me do that."
Crowned with Eyes. He should pluck his stupid eyes out, for all the good they ever do, but he's a coward who's afraid of the dark.
He keeps his face buried in Jedao's hair, makes himself just breathe steadily and work through it. Because Jedao's right, he had been afraid, and he had been in pain, and he doesn't like being reminded of it, of the fact that it's still lingering beneath the surface of the last day or two's happiness. Doesn't like the reminder that he doesn't really understand why or where it comes from. It's just... there.
So he breathes. And he rubs at Jedao's hand. And he shifts his other hand down so he can wrap his arm around Jedao and hold him tight while he tries to find an answer. "It's not that I can't say no to you," he finally murmurs into Jedao's hair, a little raspy and broken. "It's that... why is my hurt more important than yours? You want him, he... he must make you happy, and... and I keep hurting you. I just... why did he want me? To tell him... why-" He stops; makes himself breathe again; tries to think past the irrational panic.
"Maybe I should have said I didn't want to talk to him," he admits, quieter and rougher, has to pause again to swallow hard and wet his lips before continuing. "But it... it shouldn't have been hard. It's... I don't... I don't get to say who you can... who-" Oh Force, it shouldn't be hard and he doesn't know why it is still, but it is, even if it makes no sense. Even if he has no right for it to be hard. "I'm sorry, I just... I wanted to do it right."
"He didn't want you to say the right thing. He wanted to know if - we. Would hurt you. Because he's - gentle. He doesn't want to hurt people. And he knew that if we did, I'd hate myself for it, and probably him too, eventually. And it wouldn't matter whether it should have been hard or not."
He wants to push up, enough to look Fives in the eyes, but he doesn't want Fives to let him go, either. The tightness of the embrace feels like maybe the only thing holding him together. But -
Try that, Quentin said. Put him first. The trick isn't putting him first but making him understand the concept in the first place, and - fox and hound, he shouldn't, he shouldn't be romantic about it, not if they can't, if he can't -
But he promised, and worse, part of him still hopes -
"Look at me, let me look at you," he says, pushing with his free hand, resettling above Fives, tipping their foreheads together for a few seconds before pulling back enough they don't go cross-eyed.
"Listen to me now. There is no one who makes me happy enough to make up for how much I hate it when you hurt, even more when you hurt because of me. No one and nothing." He takes a shuddery breath, slides his hand up to trace the edge of Fives' face. His voice is very soft, until it cracks on the question. "Ner'kar'ta. How could I be happy when my heart is unhappy?"
He doesn't precisely let Jedao go, but he shifts his hand to the small of his back and loosens his hold enough for Jedao to move. His eyes are bright-damp and his expression tense and worried and sad when Jedao tips their foreheads together, but the gesture helps settle him a little, a Keldabe kiss, one of the first signs of affection they'd shared as brothers in arms.
When Jedao pulls back Fives watches him, solemn and intent and so damn worried. He doesn't ever want to hurt Jedao, he doesn't want him to hate himself over something that... that shouldn't even be an issue, and he can't really breathe as he listens. Tries to process. Turns his face into Jedao's touch with a cracked, shuddering breath of his own finally and almost sobs at the question. It's a dry, wrecked sound with no tears to back it up, and he wants to kiss Jedao so badly right now, but he thinks it wouldn't be right.
"Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum," he whispers into Jedao's palm, because it's still and always the most true way he knows to say it. It holds so much more weight than a simple I love you. "Darasuum," he repeats, emphatic and a little broken, because it's true. No matter what. Nothing will ever change that, he'll hold Jedao in his heart forever.
Jedao feels - caught, pierced, like the rare occasions he meets his match in dueling. He can see the desire shivering over Fives' face, feel the momentum of the moment, he wants - but that isn't an answer, he doesn't know if Fives can accept any of what he said, and - and - he leans closer, inch by inch, finally drops a kiss on just the corner of his mouth.
He's trembling, slightly, in Fives' hands, even as he cups Fives' cheek, steady and gentle.
"Ni kartayli gar darasuum, Fives. Ner'kar'ta. Ner'or." My heart. My life.
He trembles at the kiss, but doesn't let himself turn his head to try and catch Jedao's lips. Doesn't let himself turn it into more when he has no idea if Jedao could bear it, or even want it. So he tips his head again, just enough to press his lips to Jedao's palm, slides the hand on his back up to curve gently around the back of his head instead. To urge him gently back down so their foreheads press together again.
He doesn't try to keep his eyes focused on Jedao this close, just lets him be a warm, comforting blur above him as he tries to find the right words. "I think," he whispers, shifting into Mando'a because it feels... safer. More private, just between them. "I think that I'm... afraid I'll hurt you. Too much. That. That I'll be too... hard? That I'm just... that I'm being... that it's just. Selfish? Pushing you. When you could have something. Something easy. And good." He sucks in a couple gasping breaths, eyes still unfocused but fixed on Jedao's face inches away. "I don't... want you to hurt. To make me happy."
His breath comes in a fast puff of relief, and he tips easily at the suggestion, and he lets his eyes almost close as he rests with his forehead against Fives'. He answers in the same language, roughened with his accent, and he's a bit past conversational by now, even if he doesn't have quite the deftness in it that the admiral gave him automatically in English.
"You can't be too much for me." He's as sure of this as he was that Rosethorn couldn't evict him. He is too vast and too obsessive. Fives could not be at all himself, and not have Jedao want him, need him like air and more than steady ground. You could be too little comes the corollary immediately to mind, small enough for Jedao to crush in his wake, and neither of them ever recover. But there's no way to say it without ripping out the foundations from everything he wants Fives to build up. Fives would only ever, ever hear you are not enough.
"I've been a monster for so long. What if I want. To be something good? I want to be good for you, Fives. That would make me happy. Please let me."
"Oh, cyar'ika," he breathes, and his fingers slide down a little again, to tighten at the nape of Jedao's neck, to hold him the way he learned to hold a brother for reassurance so many years ago; at one of the only gaps in their armor large enough for a hand to press. "You are something good. You are... you're the best. The best thing that's ever happened to me. There's nothing that can change that."
And it's absolutely true. He loves Clark, he does. Loves his strength and his calm patience, his quick wit, his generosity. And he's shallow enough, self-aware enough at least in this way, to admit that he also loves his love. But it's Jedao who centers his orbit. Who's opened his world to all the possibilities he and his brothers have been denied and helped him understand they deserve them. And it's Jedao who he can't imagine living without anymore.
"Can... can I kiss you?" It's barely audible, and he's so worried that's selfishness again, but he wants it so badly, and... maybe Jedao does too. "Just one, if... if it wouldn't hurt."
"I want to," he says, slightly anguished - it might hurt a little, far less than not kissing him, and yet - "But I need. I need get this right, before I can. Fives - the man I was, in the flood, that other Mikodez was the best thing that ever happened to him. He still owned him, used him as an attack dog for twenty years - but he took him out of a place he was being tortured, and let him rest and - have light, and pet his head sometimes. And for him, that was the best thing.
He swallows, hard.
"I know I'm not - that, I know. But the best thing doesn't mean nothing he did to me was wrong or that I didn't deserve better than a keeper who preferred me unwounded. And you deserve better than, than a partner who makes you scared you're too difficult. Who makes you feel selfish for ever mentioning things you want and don't want. Who can get away with anything just because he saved you from the worse life you had before. So if -"
He shudders, full-bodied, a ripple that starts where Fives' hand is still on the back of his neck.
"If you can just. Try to remember that, that I don't want that, I want to be better than that - then you should. Push me."
Then you should kiss me, he means, the fingers Fives directed into his hair gripping tightly, tugging Fives just slightly forward in the tiny space between them, a wordless plea set atop the rest.
That I want to keeps him steady as Jedao explains why he can't. Why he's scared. Makes Fives want to find Mikodez, any version of him, and hurt him. Want to shake Jedao and tell him he's not just not that, he's not anything like that at all. That he's good. That he's given him so much, made his world so much wider, made him so much... stronger. Braver. That it's not just better by comparison to worse, but that it's good in so many ways he'd never have been able to imagine. Just because he's broken in so many ways, doesn't understand so many things about how people or the world work, doesn't mean Jedao's doing anything wrong.
But it's not about Jedao being wrong, or bad, it's about him wanting more, and better. For both of them. His eyes slip half shut at the feel of Jedao's fingers tightening in his short-cropped hair, and he runs over Jedao's plea in his head as he closes the distance between them. Push me. Jedao can't kiss him, but... push me.
He tips his head just a little, his own fingers a gentle curve around the nape of Jedao's neck, and slots their mouths together. Not chaste, not even close, but soft and sweet. A place to start from.
He makes a soft, ruined sound, somewhere between a moan and a whimper; his half-braced body slumps back onto Fives like someone cut his strings.
Please let this not be wrong, he begs - anyone, anything, the schizophrenic Force and the suicidal Ashhawk, the stranger's gods he sacrificed to with Callisto for novelty and luck, maybe the Admiral if the weird fucker is watching. Fives kissed him, that's a yes to the question, and he wants, he wants it to be okay so badly.
Please, he thinks, kisses softly and desperately back.
All Fives can think as Jedao collapses against him is that he loves him so much, that he can't imagine losing this... and it's possibly the most terrifying thought he's ever had. He's known every relationship he's ever had, every friend, every lover, every confidante, was limited, finite, something that he would have to be able to lose, and survive, because they're disposable, they're not meant to last. He's never thought in terms of plans for the future, of anything beyond now, or maybe tomorrow.
He almost didn't survive losing Echo, he doesn't know if he could survive losing Jedao, and he doesn't know how to deal with that. So he pushes the thought away, curls big hands into Jedao's hair, and the fabric of his shirt at the small of his back. Holds him close, but almost reverent, and kisses him like there is absolutely nothing in the galaxy past this moment, here and now, and the two of them together in it.
Jedao would survive losing Fives, he's quite sure, just as poorly as he survived dying himself, and probably worse. He'd keep going, keep fighting - he doesn't know how to stop - but he'd never be whole and never be well. It is terrifying when he slips and lets himself think about it, or cannot avoid thinking about it, it is raw mad heartbreaking panic. But mostly he doesn't.
Has he ever been kissed like this? Probably once or twice, by a would-be assassin, but not by someone who meant it.
The part of him that thought he should give this up has been well under seige from the moment it redeclared hostilities. He can't keep remembering why he should or why he shouldn't; all he can feel is Fives' sturdy hands, his warm bulk, the unbearable fierce tenderness of his mouth. He keens softly into the kiss, back curving, yearning, hands clinging.
Fives bucks up at the keening whine that seems caught at the back of Jedao's throat, at the way Jedao curves into him, clings to him, feels like his whole body is begging for this. He's not actually hard, not yet, but that doesn't stop the reflex, and he tugs lightly at Jedao's hair as he changes the angle slightly, so he can lick deeper into his mouth, tease at his tongue, feel like he's tasting his sounds.
He never had this before the barge, never had the time or opportunity to explore and savor, like all the rest of his life sex had to be quick and efficient, and it had to be hidden and furtive as well. Just lying here with Jedao's weight on top of him, splaying his big hand wide over the space between his shoulderblades, holding him there and kissing him 'til he's breathless, then nipping gently at the angle of his jaw or the soft jut of his bottom lip, then going back to kissing him again, is not a hardship. It's a revelation.
Jedao shivers and whimpers, wriggles on top of him out of a simple excess of emotion and sensation, not knowing how else to deal with it. He never tries to squirm away, tilts his chin obligingly to encourage every exploration. He jolts a little when Fives bites along his jawline, breath coming in softer, shallow gasps.
He hadn't meant it to be more than this, just kissing and comfort; hadn't meant to push farther so soon. But the sounds Jedao's making, the way he's squirming on top of him, is more than his currently overtaxed patience and self control can take.
He sets his teeth to the tender skin below the angle of Jedao's jaw and nips hard enough to leave a mark, then sucks at the spot, drawing a warm bloom if blood to the surface of his skin. He's beautiful, perfect, and Fives can't resist telling him so on ragged, gasping breaths as he slides his hand down without thinking to the curve of Jedao's ass and rocks urgently up into him. He wants to hear every noise Jedao can make, and he wants to feel him while he does it.
He cries out at the bite, a sharp shocked little ah, squeezes his eyes shut against the soft babble of praise. He shifts enough to hide his face against the crook of Fives' neck when he has a chance, shuddering and twitching as Fives rocks up against him.
"Fives," he begs, a rough urgent noise, and he means please but can't say it, certainly can't specify. He's shaking very slightly; he feels like he's going to fly apart soon, with too much that he wants and too little to ground him.
He can't resist that reaction, can't even pretend to try, and he tugs Jedao's head back with the grip in his hair as he moves farther down Jedao's neck, nips sharply at the straining tendon there and worries at it with his teeth before sucking again. There's no way it won't leave a mark, and there's something in him that's possibly unhealthily pleased at the idea. And all the while he still has one big hand curved over Jedao's ass, pulling him down at the same time that he ruts up against him, rough and urgent, murmuring praise and endearments in every language he knows.
The sting of Fives' hand in his hair helps, the fierce possessive bites help. But -
Fives feels amazing against him, and Jedao groans uselessly, helplessly, his hips want to match rhythm, want to urge Fives on, grinding and riding, and that's a cliff in his head that makes him skitter hard away, with no idea how deep or sheer it actually is. He's only half hearing Fives' mumbled words and he still can't tell if they make him feel better or worse or possibly both at once. But the rest is so wonderful, and he wants so badly - he doesn't want to stop, he just wants it to be different and he can't - he can't -
(If he had one more once of self-awareness, this would be ironic.)
"Fives," he gasps, growls, repeatedly starts, because maybe if he can just get words out of his mouth he can manage to ask - "Fives. Roll us over."
He doesn't have to ask twice, Fives wants it so badly, and he's moving almost before Jedao gets the last word out. Rolling them back towards the wall so they don't fall off the narrow bed, then pinning Jedao with his weight. He braces one forearm next to Jedao's head, where he can still keep a hand in his hair, and uses the other hand to reach down and pull one of Jedao's legs up, so he can settle fully between his thighs and rut down against him.
"Cyar'ika. So kriffing perfect for me," he murmurs against Jedao's lips, his jaw, voice coming out cracked and urgent and strained. He nips hard at Jedao's earlobe and then again at the angle of his jaw, then drags his teeth along Jedao's stubbled jawline before slotting their mouths together again, licking in deep and filthy and almost desperate. He just... he wants so much.
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"Pain's part of life, ner'kar'ta," he murmurs. "I know you'll never hurt me on purpose... or if it's not necessary." He has to add that last for honesty, because in battle a general doesn't have the option of sparing his soldiers pain, and Jedao's already hurt him so many times... but always to lead him forward. To help him see the truth, and the possibilities open to him. "Just like I'll try to never hurt you." But he knows he already has, and he hopes that it's been worth it to Jedao.
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"Not like that. Fuck. I hurt you all the time but I feel like this is worse because I might not even realize, because it doesn't even help us - I think you would do things that made you miserable, if I told you to. Not for the mission. Just. Off-hand. Or because you thought they'd make me happy. And you wouldn't think twice about it or even tell me you didn't want to."
His hand is so tight on Fives, that it hurts Jedao's fingers a little bit. In the smallest, most desperate voice, he asks,
"Am I wrong?"
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"Jed'ika?" he finally murmurs, and he's working so hard to keep his voice steady. "What's wrong?" He thinks maybe he knows, but he's not sure, and he doesn't want to step wrong.
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He can't keep going and not have his voice break. He trails off, his head turning to press a little more of his face against Fives' clavicle.
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"I did screw it up, didn't I?" he asks softly. Sad and hurt and worried. But at least he's a little farther from the fractured confusion and hurt of the flood, a little closer to the end of his death toll. A little more able to keep himself together.
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Crowned with Eyes. He should pluck his stupid eyes out, for all the good they ever do, but he's a coward who's afraid of the dark.
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So he breathes. And he rubs at Jedao's hand. And he shifts his other hand down so he can wrap his arm around Jedao and hold him tight while he tries to find an answer. "It's not that I can't say no to you," he finally murmurs into Jedao's hair, a little raspy and broken. "It's that... why is my hurt more important than yours? You want him, he... he must make you happy, and... and I keep hurting you. I just... why did he want me? To tell him... why-" He stops; makes himself breathe again; tries to think past the irrational panic.
"Maybe I should have said I didn't want to talk to him," he admits, quieter and rougher, has to pause again to swallow hard and wet his lips before continuing. "But it... it shouldn't have been hard. It's... I don't... I don't get to say who you can... who-" Oh Force, it shouldn't be hard and he doesn't know why it is still, but it is, even if it makes no sense. Even if he has no right for it to be hard. "I'm sorry, I just... I wanted to do it right."
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He wants to push up, enough to look Fives in the eyes, but he doesn't want Fives to let him go, either. The tightness of the embrace feels like maybe the only thing holding him together. But -
Try that, Quentin said. Put him first. The trick isn't putting him first but making him understand the concept in the first place, and - fox and hound, he shouldn't, he shouldn't be romantic about it, not if they can't, if he can't -
But he promised, and worse, part of him still hopes -
"Look at me, let me look at you," he says, pushing with his free hand, resettling above Fives, tipping their foreheads together for a few seconds before pulling back enough they don't go cross-eyed.
"Listen to me now. There is no one who makes me happy enough to make up for how much I hate it when you hurt, even more when you hurt because of me. No one and nothing." He takes a shuddery breath, slides his hand up to trace the edge of Fives' face. His voice is very soft, until it cracks on the question. "Ner'kar'ta. How could I be happy when my heart is unhappy?"
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When Jedao pulls back Fives watches him, solemn and intent and so damn worried. He doesn't ever want to hurt Jedao, he doesn't want him to hate himself over something that... that shouldn't even be an issue, and he can't really breathe as he listens. Tries to process. Turns his face into Jedao's touch with a cracked, shuddering breath of his own finally and almost sobs at the question. It's a dry, wrecked sound with no tears to back it up, and he wants to kiss Jedao so badly right now, but he thinks it wouldn't be right.
"Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum," he whispers into Jedao's palm, because it's still and always the most true way he knows to say it. It holds so much more weight than a simple I love you. "Darasuum," he repeats, emphatic and a little broken, because it's true. No matter what. Nothing will ever change that, he'll hold Jedao in his heart forever.
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He's trembling, slightly, in Fives' hands, even as he cups Fives' cheek, steady and gentle.
"Ni kartayli gar darasuum, Fives. Ner'kar'ta. Ner'or." My heart. My life.
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He doesn't try to keep his eyes focused on Jedao this close, just lets him be a warm, comforting blur above him as he tries to find the right words. "I think," he whispers, shifting into Mando'a because it feels... safer. More private, just between them. "I think that I'm... afraid I'll hurt you. Too much. That. That I'll be too... hard? That I'm just... that I'm being... that it's just. Selfish? Pushing you. When you could have something. Something easy. And good." He sucks in a couple gasping breaths, eyes still unfocused but fixed on Jedao's face inches away. "I don't... want you to hurt. To make me happy."
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"You can't be too much for me." He's as sure of this as he was that Rosethorn couldn't evict him. He is too vast and too obsessive. Fives could not be at all himself, and not have Jedao want him, need him like air and more than steady ground. You could be too little comes the corollary immediately to mind, small enough for Jedao to crush in his wake, and neither of them ever recover. But there's no way to say it without ripping out the foundations from everything he wants Fives to build up. Fives would only ever, ever hear you are not enough.
"I've been a monster for so long. What if I want. To be something good? I want to be good for you, Fives. That would make me happy. Please let me."
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And it's absolutely true. He loves Clark, he does. Loves his strength and his calm patience, his quick wit, his generosity. And he's shallow enough, self-aware enough at least in this way, to admit that he also loves his love. But it's Jedao who centers his orbit. Who's opened his world to all the possibilities he and his brothers have been denied and helped him understand they deserve them. And it's Jedao who he can't imagine living without anymore.
"Can... can I kiss you?" It's barely audible, and he's so worried that's selfishness again, but he wants it so badly, and... maybe Jedao does too. "Just one, if... if it wouldn't hurt."
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He swallows, hard.
"I know I'm not - that, I know. But the best thing doesn't mean nothing he did to me was wrong or that I didn't deserve better than a keeper who preferred me unwounded. And you deserve better than, than a partner who makes you scared you're too difficult. Who makes you feel selfish for ever mentioning things you want and don't want. Who can get away with anything just because he saved you from the worse life you had before. So if -"
He shudders, full-bodied, a ripple that starts where Fives' hand is still on the back of his neck.
"If you can just. Try to remember that, that I don't want that, I want to be better than that - then you should. Push me."
Then you should kiss me, he means, the fingers Fives directed into his hair gripping tightly, tugging Fives just slightly forward in the tiny space between them, a wordless plea set atop the rest.
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But it's not about Jedao being wrong, or bad, it's about him wanting more, and better. For both of them. His eyes slip half shut at the feel of Jedao's fingers tightening in his short-cropped hair, and he runs over Jedao's plea in his head as he closes the distance between them. Push me. Jedao can't kiss him, but... push me.
He tips his head just a little, his own fingers a gentle curve around the nape of Jedao's neck, and slots their mouths together. Not chaste, not even close, but soft and sweet. A place to start from.
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Please let this not be wrong, he begs - anyone, anything, the schizophrenic Force and the suicidal Ashhawk, the stranger's gods he sacrificed to with Callisto for novelty and luck, maybe the Admiral if the weird fucker is watching. Fives kissed him, that's a yes to the question, and he wants, he wants it to be okay so badly.
Please, he thinks, kisses softly and desperately back.
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He almost didn't survive losing Echo, he doesn't know if he could survive losing Jedao, and he doesn't know how to deal with that. So he pushes the thought away, curls big hands into Jedao's hair, and the fabric of his shirt at the small of his back. Holds him close, but almost reverent, and kisses him like there is absolutely nothing in the galaxy past this moment, here and now, and the two of them together in it.
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Has he ever been kissed like this? Probably once or twice, by a would-be assassin, but not by someone who meant it.
The part of him that thought he should give this up has been well under seige from the moment it redeclared hostilities. He can't keep remembering why he should or why he shouldn't; all he can feel is Fives' sturdy hands, his warm bulk, the unbearable fierce tenderness of his mouth. He keens softly into the kiss, back curving, yearning, hands clinging.
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He never had this before the barge, never had the time or opportunity to explore and savor, like all the rest of his life sex had to be quick and efficient, and it had to be hidden and furtive as well. Just lying here with Jedao's weight on top of him, splaying his big hand wide over the space between his shoulderblades, holding him there and kissing him 'til he's breathless, then nipping gently at the angle of his jaw or the soft jut of his bottom lip, then going back to kissing him again, is not a hardship. It's a revelation.
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He sets his teeth to the tender skin below the angle of Jedao's jaw and nips hard enough to leave a mark, then sucks at the spot, drawing a warm bloom if blood to the surface of his skin. He's beautiful, perfect, and Fives can't resist telling him so on ragged, gasping breaths as he slides his hand down without thinking to the curve of Jedao's ass and rocks urgently up into him. He wants to hear every noise Jedao can make, and he wants to feel him while he does it.
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"Fives," he begs, a rough urgent noise, and he means please but can't say it, certainly can't specify. He's shaking very slightly; he feels like he's going to fly apart soon, with too much that he wants and too little to ground him.
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Fives feels amazing against him, and Jedao groans uselessly, helplessly, his hips want to match rhythm, want to urge Fives on, grinding and riding, and that's a cliff in his head that makes him skitter hard away, with no idea how deep or sheer it actually is. He's only half hearing Fives' mumbled words and he still can't tell if they make him feel better or worse or possibly both at once. But the rest is so wonderful, and he wants so badly - he doesn't want to stop, he just wants it to be different and he can't - he can't -
(If he had one more once of self-awareness, this would be ironic.)
"Fives," he gasps, growls, repeatedly starts, because maybe if he can just get words out of his mouth he can manage to ask - "Fives. Roll us over."
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"Cyar'ika. So kriffing perfect for me," he murmurs against Jedao's lips, his jaw, voice coming out cracked and urgent and strained. He nips hard at Jedao's earlobe and then again at the angle of his jaw, then drags his teeth along Jedao's stubbled jawline before slotting their mouths together again, licking in deep and filthy and almost desperate. He just... he wants so much.
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