Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It happens slowly, over time. So gradually he doesn't even notice. 

Oh, Zeb knows very well when it starts, and where - Bahryn - in the breath between his enemy deciding where to shoot and offering him his hand.

After that, it gets murky. Suspicions he dares not entertain, yet cannot shake entirely as he wonders whether the man he glimpsed, vulnerable and honest in the snow, has searched for answers like Zeb prompted him to. Between missions, as the Ghost hurtles through hyperspace, Zeb can’t help but dwell on the person he spied beneath the Imperial facade. A man of integrity, whose loyalties are true, even when horribly misplaced. To win a bo-rifle through the Boosahn Keeraw , even if Kallus had no idea what it meant, revealed that somewhere in there, there was an honorable man, buried under layers of indoctrination. 

Then Sabine comes back and relays Kallus’ words - ‘Tell Garazeb Orrelios we’re even.’

That doesn’t change anyone’s mind, but it reinforces the idea in Zeb’s mind that, at least, the person he met on Bahryn hadn’t been a figment of his imagination. After all, only men concerned with honor are capable of feeling indebted to others. And even if that is to be the end of it, Zeb thinks it a fitting end.

Except it’s not. 

He still remembers vividly the shock of learning that their new Fulcrum had been Kallus all along. He jokes about having recruited him by accident, but he’s also proud that Kallus proved capable of changing his ways.

And after that, he puts it out of his mind, the small feeling of gladness an ever-present ember, but one that burns out of sight. Out of mind.

When Kallus blows his chance to be extracted and insists on staying in Thrawn’s clutches just to keep feeding them information, Zeb is incensed - how dare that bastard be so stubborn, so reckless, so... stupidly noble! He goes between wanting Kallus to get killed for his idiocy, and dreading the possibility, because if his change of heart is genuine, it would be a massive waste. 

Instead of dying, Kallus manages to get out a desperate warning of an impending attack and- 

Silence. 

Captured.

Zeb fears the worst, but saving the base - saving his family - takes priority. 

The next time he sees Kallus, the man is waiting in line for medical, the rebels around him giving him the silent treatment. His usual Imperial outfit is scuffed, dirty and torn, and his face is no better - lip split, bruises and cuts marring his face. To Zeb’s surprise, Kallus gives him a pleased smile.

“Garazeb,” Kallus acknowledges him, and Zeb answers something to the effect of - ‘You’re still alive’, to which Kallus gives a laugh that makes him wince and lick at the freshly bleeding cut on his lip.

“I’m not that easy to kill, you know that.” Kallus says wryly, and Zeb can’t help but grasp his shoulder firmly.

“Course not, yer a rebel now!”

Kallus keeps laughing, even though Zeb can tell it hurts, and mutters something about his life expectancy being considerably higher now that he’s out of Thrawn’s way, and Zeb offers a grin of his own.

“Welcome to the rebellion, Kallus.”

And that’s it, for a while. 

Kallus gets debriefed, obtains a new rank, and is put to work in their Intelligence branch. He’s busy and stressed, but Zeb can see the changes as time goes by. For one, the ex-Imperial no longer looks like he has a stick up his ass. Zeb catches glimpses of him grinning, laughing with a small circle of rebels, on the fast track to becoming friends. Yet, never does Kallus grin wider than when he spies Zeb coming, and they grab drinks and catch up whenever they can.

Whenever they spar, it’s fun - considerably more fun now that they aren’t trying to kill each other, and Zeb finally gets that rematch he’s been craving. 

He’s not terribly surprised when it turns out to be a draw. Feels fitting, now that they are on equal footing.

After that...it gets fuzzy. Both of them are busy fighting, surviving. There’s not much time to think. This only brings into sharp relief the few moments of downtime they do get, and Zeb catches himself one time, while sharing a bottle of Correlian whisky they’d managed to liberate ages ago, and realizes he no longer sees the shadow of Empire over Kallus. There’s no sneer superimposed over the soft smile that crinkles the human’s honey-colored eyes, and the image of the sleek black uniform is but a  distant memory. The man before him nurses a slightly cracked glass, holding it aloft gingerly as he swirls the contents without being aware that he’s doing it, more at ease than Zeb had ever seen him. Through the warmth of the liquor, Zeb realizes they’ve managed to become friends. 

There’s respect there now, reinforced through missions and sparring and amiable conversation. There are even times Zeb forgets altogether that they were once enemies, especially when Kallus laughs at something Zeb said, his usual stern expression dropping from his face entirely. 

He forgets the animosity, the blood, and the ashes of Lasan for a moment before they come crashing back, reminding him that there’s distance there, a chasm of pain they’ll never be able to cross. Kallus has never once asked for forgiveness. Zeb wonders if he’d ever dare. 

He also wonders what it says about him that he isn’t sure whether he’s already forgiven Kallus without being prompted. Zeb can’t help but dwell on the fact he won’t tell Kallus that until he asks for it, and whether that makes him vindictive or petty. 

The past is heavy, its weight as comforting as it is oppressive. Still, his new family looks to the future, trying to overcome the terrors of the past, and Zeb finds that a worthy goal. After all, the future’s not yet written.  

That thought returns to him now, in the darkness of the forest on Yavin IV, him and Kal staggering half-drunk back to the barracks. Promise of more drink isn’t half as alluring as the carefree, open expression Kal’s sporting as he pulls Zeb along, sweaty warm fingers digging into the short fur of his forearm. 

They tumble into the room, breathless and giddy, up until the moment Zeb asks where Kal’s bunkmates are, because it is rather late, and Kal looks away, a strand of golden hair escaping over the rim of his ear to fall across his forehead, framing his face in a way Zeb’s seen before. It looks good disheveled like that, falling freely over Kal’s temple.

“They’re out on a mission,” Kal mutters, expression suddenly uncertain, eyes wider and more earnest than is his custom, and that’s when it hits.

The scent of him, so strong, rolling off of Kal in waves.

Zeb has had the displeasure (and occasionally pleasure) of smelling arousal of just about every species common to the galaxy, and the human variety is especially noticeable in the Massassi base, considering how horny the pilots tend to be, high on adrenaline and stress. Human women smell a very particular way when aroused, and Zeb can honestly say it does nothing for him. Not to mention that most of them look so frail he could snap them like a twig. Sabine certainly breaks that mold, but the association doesn’t help, since she’s like a sister to him. 

The men are slightly more interesting in the scent department, but Zeb isn’t fool enough to fuck any of them, well aware of several particular strands of veneral diseases making the rounds on the base (the rebels tend to be rather, ah, indiscriminate in their sexual exploits). 

But Kal is different. He lives for the job. Zeb knows the man’s had offers before, because Kal was flustered and outraged enough to share it, along with a few choice words on lack of discipline, but he’s never seemed interested in the carnal side of things. 

Only when they spar, does that particular scent occasionally tinge the air, but Zeb had assumed human men just gave it off when high on adrenaline. 

Well, they certainly aren’t sparring now, and they’ve had enough time in here to catch their breath, yet Kal’s breathing is still slightly ragged. Small, suppressed pants make it past his lips, and Zeb steps forward, drawing in the scent.

Kallus puts his palm over Zeb’s chest, fingers splayed and firm, and Zeb can’t tell whether that’s meant to encourage or discourage him from approaching. When he isn’t pushed away, he steps into Kal’s personal space and barely manages to resist burying his nose in his hair. Instead, he hovers an inch away from his neck and breathes in deeply, greedily. 

Beneath the sweat and fear, there’s more.

“You smell better when you haven’t taken a shower in a few days,” Zeb admits, indulging in the scent and resulting shiver both. 

“Zeb…” Kal utters breathlessly, shoulders trembling, fingers trailing down his jumpsuit haltingly, like there’s something he wants yet dares not ask for. 

Perhaps Zeb should be selfish and take matters into his own hands; take away the burden of choice from Kal. He does have an unfair advantage, after all. Before he manages to make a move, Kal grips the fur on his neck and pulls him down until Zeb can taste his breath, and then lips crash against his, feverish, firm, and demanding.  

Lasat don’t kiss like humans do, but the novelty is interesting, the taste of Kal’s mouth curling Zeb’s tongue in pleasure. 

He honestly can’t tell who pulled who first, but soon enough, Kallus is gripping his arms strong enough to bruise under the fur, and Zeb has hands full of firm thighs slung over his hips. The body he’s used to from their many sparring sessions, strong and lethal, melts against him. Fragrant, sweat-slicked skin slides against his ruffled fur, and Zeb growls in pleasure at the feeling of deft fingers undoing his jumpsuit, pulling the fabric away roughly to paw at him impatiently. 

Zeb licks at Kal’s neck, thrilling at the heady, salty taste and he way Kal bucks in his arms, groaning and desperate.

There’s no discussion, no negotiation, only a push and pull that ends with both of them naked, wrestling across all available surfaces until they end up in a tangle of limbs, sprawled over Kal’s immaculately tidy cot. 

Judging by Kal’s roaming hands, by the way he grasps Zeb’s fur, a steady stream of encouraging sounds tumbling from his usually so eloquent lips, Zeb rakes a hand down Kallus’ front, enjoying the sparse fur he meets there (well, sparse by Lasat standards, anyways). His other hand tangles in Kal’s hair and pulls. The resulting shudder has his cock unsheathing, and how can he not feel at least a little bit victorious with Kal breaking apart in his arms, gasping around the syllables of his first name?

This loss of control from the man usually so composed awakens in Zeb a desire to be the cause of it, to prolong it, to keep at it as long as he can until Kal’s brain shuts down altogether.

It’s not gentle, not that Zeb wanted it to be, and he finds that Kal can take pretty much anything he gives him, and look magnificent while he’s at it, too.

And when they are both spent, lying in an exhausted heap, Alexsandr resting against his chest, Zeb’s touches turn gentle and slow, ruffling the lush strands of golden hair and enjoying the texture. 

Alexsandr is beautiful, but Zeb knows that human men take offense at the word, so he doesn’t say it. The point stands, however. There’s no way to describe the man’s dedication and hard-working nature any other way. And the physique he wouldn’t have particularly cared for were he younger and less experienced, now seems uniquely appealing. Kallus is firm, in body and in mind, his lightly furred brow usually stuck in some type of frown to signal either displeasure or defiance, and Zeb’s learned to appreciate the vivid spirit that spills from the man’s often stern gaze. 

There’s none of that sternness now, Alex’s face lax and smiling softly. It’s so far removed from the man that used to hunt the Ghost crew with a single-minded focus. Once so dedicated to the goals of the Empire, he works even harder now in a desperate bid to atone for his past crimes.

Zeb understands the sentiment all too well, so he lets Kal do as he must. 

And when Alex falls asleep on top of him, Zeb finds he doesn’t mind in the least. The weight is comfortable against him, their legs tangled, one of Alexsandr’s arms wrapped around Zeb’s middle and the other buried so deep in his lavender chest fur that the nimble pale fingers are barely visible. 

The last thought he has before succumbing to sleep is whether or not their night together is something Kal will be willing to discuss come morning or not.

Chapter Text

It was a mistake.

In the morning, Zeb has to leave on a mission, and Kallus lets him.

There’s no kiss goodbye, no promises, no grand declarations of feelings.

“We were both a bit drunk, it’s fine,” Zeb says with a grin, and that’s it.

Kallus waits for two full minutes, rooted to the spot, staring at the closed doors of his quarters before succumbing to the emotion he’s suppressing. The choke comes first, lodging painfully in his throat like he’s swallowed a stone. His eyes burn. He wipes the first insolent sign of moisture away with an almost violent swipe of fingers and as he drags his hand across his eyes, he catches a whiff of Garazeb’s scent on his fingertips. It sends him hurtling into the surprisingly clear memory of last night and pushes him right over the edge.

It had been perfect. All of it. Every single moment was like a dream he’d forbidden himself from indulging in, because there was no way he deserved anyone like Zeb. And yet, he got to touch and be touched in return, and now he knows exactly how the man he loves tastes and feels under his hands. It’s burned into his very soul like a slave brand. 

And if he thought before that loving Zeb from afar was torture, knowing exactly what some better version of himself could have had had he made better choices, knowing for certain... The enormity of his impossible desire threatens to erase what little peace he’s managed to find in their friendship.

So yes, last night had been a mistake - a terrible lapse in judgment that he would no doubt be paying for for a long time to come. 

It sinks in then, as the coldness seeps into his skin, that this is the most fitting punishment the universe (whether it’s the Force or Ashla or whatever else exists and governs the laws of existence) could have given him. 

That he, who has helped destroy an entire race and culture, would fall in love with a man who had every right to despise him to his dying breath. It’s proof of his irredeemable nature that he can’t be satisfied with being put on a path of redemption, that he keeps wanting more - keeps chasing that warmth that graced him on Bahryn until it led him here.

He wants Garazeb, needs him even more desperately now than he needed him back on that  accursed frozen moon. Guilt is like frost, always prickling at his skin; its chill seeping ever deeper to burrow into the marrow of his bones. 

His stoic facade crumbles and he stumbles half-blind to his cot, where his bared knees meet the hard stone floor. Like a supplicant, he clutches the sheets and drowns in the faintly lingering warmth and scent, desperate for the meagre benediction it provides. 

He prays, desperately, to forget. 

To forget the gentle way Zeb touched his hair until he drifted off to sleep.

To forget feeling cherished.

To forget that he doesn’t deserve any of it.

And when he goes back to his gaol, he pretends he’s hungover instead of heartsick, and works until he can’t think anymore. Eventually, Draven chases him off so he can get something to eat, but Kallus isn’t especially hungry. He doesn’t want to face his quarters and be assaulted by the scent of Lasat that must surely still linger in the air. 

He’d been weak. The liquor had lowered his inhibitions, and Zeb’s gentleness broke his resolve. He never should have kissed him, never should have succumbed like that. 

The thought of ruining their friendship - the only true friendship he ever had - fills him with dread.

What had he done?

Was one tipsy dalliance enough to ruin everything? Kallus fervently hopes not, but until Zeb comes back and reassures him, he won’t get a moment’s peace. 

For several days, he overworks himself, eats only when he starts feeling faint, and spars with whoever’s interested until he’s exhausted and dead on his feet. He’s changed the sheets to not be reminded, and the smell’s aired out by the time his roommates return. As far as he’s aware, nobody knows about that night, since he hasn’t heard any rumors about it yet. Hopefully Zeb will keep it to himself. To have anyone poking in their business; Kallus doesn’t think he’d be able to take it.

What he has with Zeb is precious, and if he ever lost it… 

Better not go there. 

When the crew of the Ghost finally returns to base, he barely manages to keep a neutral expression; the gaping chasm of worry in his gut only marginally appeased by seeing Zeb alive and well. 

He lets them unpack, observing their easy banter from his hiding place behind a pile of crates. Their open affection with one another bleeds through every gesture and he aches for it.

That’s what made him turn his back on the Empire, the sight of something warm, something that mattered in a galaxy that had reduced men to no more than spare parts. Zeb’s warm camaraderie with Kanan, Ezra, Hera and Sabine, even Chopper, brought into stark relief Kallus’ own lack of relationships. It made him finally realize that he was replaceable, irrelevant, and that there was no one in the entire universe who’d miss him. 

If Agent Kallus died, not a single soul would mourn his passing.

Even his impressive work record would mean nothing since there’s no such thing as heroes in the Empire. 

He’d been so blind, clung to his beliefs and ignored anything that brought them into question for so long that he almost became irredeemable in the process. Had Zeb not saved him on that ice moon, Agent Kallus would have died a pointless death. 

Death he’d personally delivered to so many… 

Even that stormtrooper he dropped to his death for nothing more than annoying him prickled on his conscience now. And that was nothing compared to Lasan. 

He’d assisted the Empire in genocide. Willingly. Gladly. Happy to get satisfaction for having been hurt by Guerrera’s Lasat mercenary, Kallus was proud to do his part.

That pride made him sick now. 

Zeb was right - he didn’t deserve the bo-rifle. It was only fitting he’d lost it when Thrawn caught him. 

The only personal possession he’d actually been sad to lose was the meteorite Zeb had given him. 

Kallus isn’t the sentimental sort, never had been. He used to scoff at other officers who carried around mementos, tokens from their families or lovers. He used to dismiss them as weak, as not dedicated enough to the cause simply because he didn’t need any such trinket to anchor him. 

More fool he, for now he had a strong emotional attachment to the one man he shouldn’t covet. 

Swallowing sharply, he turns away from the sight before him, and walks away from Zeb and his family. If Zeb wants to find him later, there aren’t exactly many places Kallus can be. 

He seeks out one of the commando teams and joins them for a spar, stopping only when they break for dinner. Exhausted and sweaty, he heads for the showers. 

Right as he’s leaving his room with a towel slung over his shoulder, Zeb rounds the corner and spots him immediately. Kallus freezes, rooted to the spot. He curses himself for taking his shirt off, since his undershirt hides none of the betraying flush he can feel creeping across his skin. 

“Kal! I’ve been looking everywhere fer ya!” Zeb says in his usual effusive manner, and Kallus feels like all his demons have been ripped from him, leashed and caged, at least for the moment.

“I was just going for a shower,” Kallus explains, trying really hard not to recall Zeb’s comment about him smelling good. He can’t afford to have his body stir in response, not again. 

“Ah, okay,” Zeb mutters, looking a bit lost for a moment as he rubs the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. “Wanna grab some dinner after? We just got back and I’m starvin’!”

Kallus’ first impulse is to say no, to invent some excuse and slink back into his hole, but being alone in his room until his roommates come back would only remind him about their night together, and he can’t take it. 

“Sure,” Kallus relents, expression softening despite his intentions, “I won’t be long.”

Instead of leaving for the mess hall, Zeb falls in step with Kallus, following him to the communal showers, where he stops and leans against the wall like a guard. 

“I’ll wait, go on.” Zeb grins at him like nothing’s amiss, like they hadn’t had sex mere days ago and everything is perfectly normal.

Kallus grants him a watery smile and retreats into the showers.

As the water beats down on his back, lukewarm, making him shiver in his overheated state, he doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Perhaps having their night of passion go unremarked is the best he could have hoped for. Zeb doesn’t look like he came to have a serious discussion, so it seems their friendship remains undamaged.

Kallus washes as thoroughly as he can, but doesn’t dare tarry overlong. Despite everything, he wants to spend time with Zeb, and feels it rude to make him wait. 

He dries himself off as well as he can, and ruffles the towel over his hair, which has grown longer than is his custom. He runs his fingers through the unruly strands, slicking them back in a style reminiscent to what he used to wear, except a hundred times messier. 

In the mirror, his eyes look haunted. He plasters on a half-convincing smile and steps out of the bathroom, the towel draped around his shoulders to hide as much of himself as he can.

“Sorry, Zeb, I need to get changed.”

“No problem,” Zeb says agreeably and peels off the wall, intent on following him. 

“You can wait for me in the mess hall, if that’s ok? I won’t be long, I promise.”

Zeb blinks then fixes him with a long, lingering stare. For a moment, Kallus gets lost in the piercing green of his eyes and wonders what Zeb sees.

“Sure,” Zeb nods, but Kallus notes that his ears are flattened backwards, a sure tell that he’s uncomfortable or unhappy.

He tries not to think about that as he enters his quarters, lays his towel over a chair and grabs a fresh change of clothes. 

If he were a better man, a stronger man, he’d get over his inappropriate feelings and just be the friend Zeb seems to want. Instead, he will keep on breaking his own heart with desires he knows he shouldn’t entertain; hopes that crop up like weeds no matter how many times he tries to uproot them. 

With a deep breath, Kallus steels himself and walks out.

Chapter Text

Zeb doesn’t know what he’s been expecting, but this sure ain’t it. 

Alexsandr has changed. Gone is the joy Zeb could feel every time they crossed paths, the wide smile he’s come to expect each time they met - the one that makes the corners of Kal’s eyes crinkle in that typical human way. 

He’d hoped, privately, that the unease he’d sensed the morning after would disappear by the time he returned, but, if anything, it’s become worse. 

There’s a skittishness to Kal’s behavior that wasn’t there before, and it worries him. It’s been a long time since Kal was last weary of him, and it only reminds Zeb uncomfortably of the time before they were friends. 

Alexsandr is spooked, acting like an injured animal; flinching and evasive. Zeb knows very well what happens if you push a creature when it’s cornered and it’s not an option. 

Instead of risking Kal retreating even further into his den, Zeb gentles his approach. If their intimacy is what caused this fear to suddenly appear, then the only sensible thing to do is to take a step back, lure Kal onto familiar ground.

Friendship. 

Not exactly how Zeb had expected their antagonistic relationship to go, all those years ago, but he wouldn’t change a thing in the trajectory it’s taken since. 

Well. Maybe one thing.

It saddens him to see Alex recoiling from the idea of deepening their relationship, especially now that Zeb's had some time alone to think about it. Their night together was eye-opening in many ways. He’s not exactly a stranger to the occasional inter-species fling, but he never found humans particularly appealing. They were just...too plain. Hairless. Faint-scented. Also too small. Zeb found exactly zero appeal in a lover he could easily injure.

Now, however, he finds his opinion has shifted. Some humans could handle stronger lovers, and Kal was one of them. He could hold his own in their spars, and in bed also. Zeb could still feel tender spots under the fur of his upper arms, where Kal had gripped him. It’s a nice reminder of a night he remembers more than fondly. 

Isn’t it time he was honest with himself? 

Kal may be avoiding him, both his gaze and his presence, but it’s too late. He’s already burrowed his way under Zeb’s fur and can no longer be dislodged. Zeb knows better than to fight it. When Lasat fall for someone, they fall hard. These feelings may have snuck up on him when his back was turned, but now they’re here to stay.

Which brings him to his current dilemma. 

Easing back into their familiar patterns is the right call, he knows that. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s become increasingly difficult to feign cheer in front of a struggling friend. It’s hard to remain unaffected when Kal squirms out from under his touch, or when he stiffens uncomfortably in Zeb’s embrace. 

Every interaction feels forced - on both sides. There are moments when Kal looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, and it’s a new blow to the gut each time. Every instinct in Zeb’s body is screaming at him to reach out, to pull Alexsandr closer, and to hold him until he stops fighting.

Instead, he curbs the impulse because he can’t afford to have it backfire on him. If Kal only needs a friend, then that’s exactly what Zeb is going to be. 

Whenever they go drinking these days, Kal never takes anything stronger than mild ale, almost like he’s terrified of getting drunk. Zeb tries not to let it get to him, but fails miserably. Gone are the happy, soft smiles they used to exchange while drinking and catching up. Every smile Kal directs his way nowadays is pained, almost like being in close proximity to Zeb is what hurts him. It’s confusing, especially because his scent is still faintly tinged with desire. What does Alexsandr even want?

It takes time to mend their relationship into a semblance of what it once was, but Zeb can see the cracks everywhere he looks, like an encroaching fracture developing across a transparisteel window. Everyone knows there’s no way to fix it once that happens. The only solution is to pull it out and replace it with a new sheet.

It hurts, seeing someone you care for suffer in silence. 

There are times, though, instances when Kal relaxes against him. They are few and precious, and they seem to Zeb the truest manifestation of Kal’s spirit. These are the moments when he looks the most at ease, the perpetual frown melting off his face to leave behind a soft, relieved smile. Sometimes, Zeb allows himself to gently card fingers through Kal’s light hair. If he’s lucky, Kal melts against him for a long moment, as content as he was when they made love. If he’s unlucky, Kal turns rigid in his arms, muscles twitching and stiffening for a moment before some excuse falls from his lips and he extricates himself. 

It grows tiresome, watching Kal pull away. Zeb misses their easy camaraderie and mourns its loss. The situation is fast growing untenable, and Zeb can tell that his weariness is slowly spilling over into other relationships. He’s snippier than usual with Ezra and Chopper, and even Hera and Sabine are at times on the receiving end of his irritability. 

It takes Kanan to finally pull him aside for a little chat. Zeb should really be used to the Jedi’s interventions by now, but that doesn’t change how annoyed and unwilling he is to have this issue poked at.

“Ok, Zeb, mind telling me what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Zeb growls low in his throat, ears twitching.

“Don’t give me that, you’ve been biting everyone’s head off for weeks,” Kanan crosses his arms, “And while I’m sure Ezra and Chop deserve it, I can’t imagine Hera provoking you in any way, so spill.”

“It’s not Hera,” Zeb grumbles. “It’s none of you.”

Kanan goes quiet, his eyebrows knitting together in a way that suggests he’s thinking deeply about something.

“It’s Kallus, isn’t it?”

Zeb makes an aborted sound and blinks thrice in rapid succession. “How did you-”

“He’s the only other person you’re close to, and the only one likely to get under your skin.”

That much was true. One didn’t even need Force powers to figure that out. 

“It’s…” Zeb sighs heavily, “complicated.”

“Isn’t it always,” Kanan rolls his eyes, and Zeb finds himself missing the vibrant color they used to hold. They are still expressive, despite being sightless. 

Kanan pulls him along to his quarters and locks the door behind them. He sits on his bunk and pats the space next to him. Zeb obliges, hunched enough not to scrape his skull open on the bottom of the top bunk. 

“What’s wrong, my friend?”

That word. It worms its way through Zeb’s brain and eats away at his heart, crawling and squirming through his insides like a twisted parasite. 

“There’s somethin’ wrong with Kal,” Zeb says, feeling his ears flatten against his head. He’s grateful that most people can’t read him as accurately as other Lasat could.

“Wrong in what way?”

Hah. Zeb wished he knew. 

“He’s...pulled back.” It’s hard to put it in words. “There’s a distance between us now. It wasn’t there before.”

“Do you know why?” Kanan asks, in what everyone aboard the Ghost calls his ‘Jedi’ voice - all considerate and wise (and mildly uncomfortable).

“Yeah, I think so,” Zeb nods. He remembers how it began, with the fine, layered scent of Kal teasing his nostrils, filling his senses until he didn’t want to feel anything else. He also recalls how it ended, with averted eyes and a guilty expression that prompted him to make a joke and leave Kallus an out if he wanted one. They had been tipsy, and if that was an excuse Kal wanted to take to never mention it again, Zeb was fine with that. 

Or so he thought.

“I won’t ask you what it was,” Kanan murmurs considerately. 

“I wouldn’t tell ya,” Zeb answers honestly. “It’s nobody’s business.”

“I just wanted to point out that you’re not alone. We’re here if you want someone to confide in. Or commiserate with.”

Zeb gives Kanan a soft smile, forgetting for a moment that the man can no longer see it. Not that it matters.

The bigger question remains - who does Kal have?

Chapter Text

Zeb has noticed, Kallus is absolutely sure of that. 

Their dynamic has shifted. Zeb is just so damn careful nowadays, treating him like he’s some precious bauble made of spun glass; all delicate and frail. 

It angers him more than he dares admit - or show. Still, there isn’t much to be done about it. If he were to show that he feels slighted, they would end up arguing, and Kallus isn’t sure he could stomach any sort of hostility coming from Zeb, even the warranted kind. 

He feels like everything is souring around them. They keep losing ships and personnel, news just having come in that one of his roommates was shot down piloting a transport full of medical supplies. Kallus bangs a fist on the table, rattling various half-empty cups of caf and a stack of reports that litter his desk. The taste of bile rises in his throat, a common companion this past fortnight. They needed that shipment of bacta, and now he’ll have to tell their already overtaxed medical staff to keep ‘making do’. 

When he’d defected, he knew what he was getting himself into, aware that he’d be on the Empire’s kill-on-sight list, but he’d never fully considered the state of supplies the Rebellion possessed. He feared it would be bad, but hadn’t expected to actually have to watch brave people going without proper treatment simply because of the Empire's greed. 

Fool. He’d seen poverty and deprivation before, back in the lower levels of Coruscant and on Lothal, but he’d never connected it to its true cause. He’d assumed only traitors and dissenters merited being displaced and having their ill-gotten property confiscated. That they must have deserved it somehow. 

This is why he deserves every sleepless night and every stab of guilt. For so long, he’d been a part of that regime, content to bring ruin to innocent people, all in the name of a greater cause. 

Well, now he knows that he was nothing but an insignificant pawn in the thrall of an evil so powerful it had most of the galaxy in its clutches, and was busily squeezing the life out of it. 

Lasan.

Geonosis. 

And many more he was likely unaware of. 

No more. It had to stop. That’s why he’d signed on, to repay an enormous debt he knew he couldn’t hope to even make a small dent in within his lifetime. Yet, he’d still try - die for it if he had to. There was no other way. 

“Eat,” A familiar, imperious voice makes the demand as a metal plate clangs against his desk. “Yer no good to us starvin’ to death.”

Kallus stares at the messy sandwiches, pulled bantha meat and haphazardly sliced vegetables sticking out between slices of dark bread. It’s not a gourmet meal, but to a man used to eating rations and protein supplements, it’s a veritable feast. 

“Zeb, you shouldn’t have.” Kallus feels his shoulders drop, his usual control over his body slipping. “I’ll eat when I’m done.”

Well, he should have known better than to appeal to Zeb’s common sense. The stubborn Lasat has none.

“If it were up to you, ya’d keep workin’ till ya dropped dead at yer desk, so shut it. And start eatin’, or I’ll hold yer mouth open and shove it down yer gullet, hear me?”

If anything was going to be shoved down his throat, a sandwich was not what immediately came to mind. Kallus feels his cheeks redden at the implication so unhelpfully supplied by his errant mind, and pulls the plate closer. After all, if he busies his mouth with chewing, he’ll be less likely to blurt out something unfortunate. 

They used to banter. Before. It came easy - felt right. Nowadays, Zeb simply avoids any playfulness that Kallus secretly cherishes so much. It’s sorely missed - just another casualty of their ill-advised one night stand. 

Kallus is so tired of counting casualties. 

“When was the last time ya left yer desk?” Zeb asks, standing there stubbornly with arms crossed across his wide chest. 

“Thirteen hours, at least,” Draven supplies in passing, and Kallus has to fight to suppress a hiss at the betrayal. 

Kallus tucks into his food to avoid having to answer, and Zeb just looks down at him crossly, luminous green eyes narrowed in accusation. 

“Get some rest, Captain Kallus,” Draven says evenly, but Kallus knows it’s an order, not a request. “Get him out of here, Captain Orrelios.”

Kallus’ mouth is full of lightly spiced bantha, so he can’t point out that Draven has been here just as long and yet he can’t see anyone telling him to take a break. 

Garazeb, the bastard, perks up at that and grins cheekily at the General. “That an order, sir?”

Draven cracks a small smile, almost despite himself and then smooths his expression back into his usual implacable self. “Sure. Tie him to the bed if you have to, but make sure he gets some sleep.”

Kallus chokes on his food, sputtering half-chewed bits of sandwich over his desk, utterly disgracefully. 

Does Draven know? If anyone was shrewd enough to pick up on his feelings for Zeb, it figures it would be the head of the Intelligence division, damn the man. 

Worst of all, Zeb’s smirk is positively gleeful. “Yes, sir!” He salutes Draven, who waves them away, head already stuck in a new report as he coordinates with the people on the next shift. 

Kallus chokes down the rest of the food and does his best to scrape the half-masticated flecks off the desk and onto the plate. 

“I have to take this back to the Mess,” Kallus murmurs, trying to shake the soggy crumbs off his fingers. 

If he hoped Zeb would take that as incentive to leave, he was sorely mistaken. Just as is his custom, the Lasat falls into step by his side, his usual easy smile gracing his face and lending an amused air to his shining eyes. In moments like these, Kallus almost forgets that things are broken between them. 

You broke this. With your selfishness. 

They stop by the Mess and Kallus leaves his plate on the appropriately dirty stack, then murmurs something about having to wash his hands. 

Clearly incapable of leaving well enough alone, Zeb follows him into the restroom, completely unperturbed as Kallus scrubs his hands clean. Maybe it’s just his imagination, but he can feel the weight of Zeb’s assessing gaze. A subtle shiver tingles down his spine. Kallus splashes his face in cold water to regain his composure. An honest, unfiltered reaction to Zeb’s proximity is the last thing he needs now.

The last thing they need. 

“C’mon, Kal,” Zeb prompts him, visibly excited, “when was the last time ya went out fer some fresh air?”

Kallus can’t help but roll his eyes. He flicks the excess moisture off his fingers and into the sink, and then runs his fingers through his unruly hair in a vain attempt to tame it. Ever since he lost his supply of hair product, keeping it tidy was an impossible task. In the mirror, he catches a glimpse of Zeb fidgeting, the short fur on the sides of his neck bristling. 

“I’m too busy for strolls , Garazeb,” Kallus reprimands him, but instead of dropping the subject, Zeb only turns more adamant. 

“I need a sparring partner,” Zeb all but whines, ears drooping in a way that always makes Kallus want to give him anything he wants, if only to make him feel better.

“I’m not the only person willing to spar on the entire base,” Kallus huffs, trying to point out that Zeb’s being unreasonable. “If you want, I could introduce you to-”

“Are they proficient with a bo-rifle?” Zeb cuts him off, posture tense and the line of his mouth curved downward. It looks so unhappy, so frustrated that Kallus shuts his mouth. 

Nobody else on the base has a bo-rifle, and that also goes for Kallus, who lost his when Thrawn captured him. If he points this out, he has a feeling Zeb wouldn’t take it well.

“Look, Kal,” Zeb sighs, shoulders slumping so much that he looks almost half a metre shorter. “Anyone else I tried fightin’ complained I go too hard on ‘em, and if I can’t go all out, then-”

“Then you’re not improving.” Kallus finishes the sentence for him, knowing he’s lost. “Fine, I can go a round or two. Better grab an electrostaff from the armory on the way.”

Zeb’s ears perk up and his face lights up with a bright smile that shows off his canines to great effect. Kallus tries not to think about the effect this has on him, and focuses instead on the small spark of joy he gets from knowing that he made Zeb happy. 

And when they are standing in their usual clearing in the forest, Kallus’ electrostaff crackling blue and Zeb’s bo-rifle extended to its staff configuration, he reminds himself that Zeb is right. Any skills you neglect for long enough, you’re liable to lose. 

It’s just that the sight of Zeb standing in front of him with legs in a wide, almost loose stance, looking powerful and predatory does unspeakable things to both his mind and his body. His heart is already a lost cause. 

He parries the first blow easily, the shafts of their weapons clashing. The ripple of muscle beneath the striped fur of Zeb’s arms makes Kallus swallow. This is why he avoids sparring with him. Zeb’s bared fur, on such beautiful display, throws Kallus back into that night he can’t forget or let go. Immediately, he’s back in the moment when Zeb licked into his mouth, furred fingers grabbing at his thighs and leaving bruises and scratches in their wake. 

Kallus obsessed over the marks until they faded, and lamented their loss. He liked the proof upon his skin, and couldn’t help but wish for more. 

Zeb advances on him and Kallus whirls away, trying to get his head back into the fight. He’s not allowed to daydream here, since Zeb is likely to injure him if he doesn’t pay attention. Unchecked Lasat strength is nothing to scoff at. 

But then he thinks about the fact that this spar could give him an entirely different set of bruises, and snarls at himself for being a weak-willed fool. Zeb takes that as an expression of his desire for battle and comes at him harder.  Kallus ducks and jabs the electrified end of the staff into Zeb’s side. It’s on the lowest setting, so it doesn’t do anything but provide a small jolt. Zeb hisses, more in surprise that the blow connected than in pain. 

Kallus is quite proficient at telling when Zeb’s actually in pain. 

“Heh,” Zeb chuckles, “Maybe not so rusty after all!”

Kallus doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he spars often, just not with him. 

And how could he, when the sight of him, every inch the Captain of the Honor Guard of Lasan, proud and lethal, makes Kallus’ knees and heart quiver? When every traitorous thought he’s fighting to suppress comes burrowing to the surface?

If he could, Kallus would tackle Zeb, push him into the ground and writhe against him, begging to be overpowered in turn. 

Instead, he gets a stinging blow to his left knee and nearly loses his footing. 

“C’mon, Kal, I’m not even breaking a sweat here!” Zeb taunts him, and Kallus growls in displeasure. 

If he were allowed, he’d make Zeb sweat in a much more productive way. 

But Kallus knows he can’t have it, so he focuses on what he can have - the thrill of fighting against an opponent who’s the closest thing he ever came to having a true equal. They are evenly matched, neither winning more than two rounds in a row. Blow for blow, strike after strike, they come together in the only way they can, and Kallus throws himself into the struggle, doing his best to ignore the wrenching pain of his heart breaking all over again. 

Sometimes he thinks he will drive himself insane. 

Perhaps that would make it easier to bear this gaping chasm of loneliness yawning open in his soul.

Instead, he fights Zeb even harder, winded and breathless, sweat streaming down his brow, the occasional stray drop stinging his eyes. If this is all he can have, he’ll take it. At least this way he gets to admire Zeb’s form; the prowess and grace with which he moves, nimble and precise with the bo-rifle in his hands. 

Unbidden, the memory makes itself known - nip of teeth at his neck, rasp of tongue against his jugular, taste of strong liquor warming the inside of his mouth. The rumbling purring sound he could feel in the tips of his fingers as he stroked Zeb’s chest while sitting on his lap. 

The look in Zeb’s eyes right now, elated and eager, perfectly echoes the look he remembers. 

Zeb had liked it. Kallus knows. In the moment, the hunger in his gaze, in his touch, had been real. It’s the aftermath that brought doubt - that dashed hope. 

Kallus’ eyes burn, from sweat or unshed tears of frustration, he can’t tell. Zeb doesn’t go easy on him, and Kallus respects that. At least here, when they spar, whatever’s left between them remains earnest. In this clearing, where they clashed dozens of times before, Zeb finally treats him like he’s not damaged. 

Kallus is grateful, even if he’ll never admit it aloud. 

“What’s the matter, Kal?” Zeb grins at him, clearly enjoying himself. “Lookin’ a bit tired there.” The words are followed by a good-humored laugh, and Kallus wishes he could vent his frustration in an acceptable way, but all he can do is keep whaling away at Zeb and hope he gets pounded into the dirt. It would be a mercy. At least if he can’t walk straight tomorrow, it will mirror that night.

He knows the blows Zeb gifted him with will bruise tomorrow and he seeks out more. 

The muscles in his arms are burning, the weight of the weapon making itself known. He can’t keep this up indefinitely, and Zeb definitely has more stamina out of the two of them. It’s not like he can tell Zeb that he hasn’t eaten or slept properly in days. If he did, Zeb would stop and drag him to bed by the scruff of his neck.

The rest of him is burning too, lungs on fire as he attempts to squeeze every last bit of strength out of his overtaxed body. For every strike he gets in, Zeb pays him back two-fold, and Kallus takes it. 

Maker , he takes it all.

And when Zeb sweeps his bo-staff low, Kallus is too exhausted to avoid the blow. It sweeps him off his feet, and he fumbles, landing on his back; breath knocked out of his lungs. He holds onto his staff, but lacks the strength to move. Zeb kneels over him and places the shaft across his neck in a gesture more ritualistic than threatening. 

“I give,” Kallus manages to pant out, and stays down. The triumphant smile Zeb’s sporting isn’t doing him any favors. He feels himself twitch in his trousers and knows he’s lost the battle in more ways than one. 

“Good fight,” Zeb grunts, also out of breath. “You can take a lot of punishment, anyone ever tell ya that?”

Kallus gives a hollow laugh at that. He knows that all too well. 

For a long moment, they just breathe. Zeb collapses his bo-staff into its rifle configuration and lays it gently on the ground, yet makes no move to actually get off of Kallus.

For his part, Kallus tries to will his arousal away. It’s not working, not with Zeb hovering a scant few inches above his crotch. He closes his eyes in a desperate bid to ignore the powerful scent of damp Lasat fur. It’s so hard to not bury his fingers in it. 

“Y’know…” Zeb says conversationally, still catching his breath, “the last time I had a spar this good, back on Lasan, it ended with a great kriff.”

Kallus’ eyes snap open in shock, and lock onto Zeb’s. His gaze is relaxed, an undercurrent of something more giving Kallus pause. 

“Sometimes the tension got too high to resolve with sparring alone.” Zeb shrugs, like he hasn’t just pulled the rug from under Kallus. “S’not like Lasat shy away from gettin' physical.”

It takes every last ounce of willpower not to buck up against Zeb. He must have heard it wrong. This wasn’t an invitation. 

It couldn’t be.

“You still look tense,” Zeb supplies, like his previous provocation wasn’t enough. “If you want…” Then he trails off and Kallus feels like he’s going to explode from the effort it’s taking him to lie still. In one last attempt to safeguard his dignity, he mutters a strangled admonishment.

“You shouldn’t joke about such things.”

The expression on Zeb’s face is dead serious. 

“Who says I’m joking?

Something in Kallus gives way, and he shudders, a mortifying whimper slipping past his lips.

Zeb leans down and breathes him in, then proceeds to make a noise Kallus fails to describe as anything but obscene. 

“Y’know I can smell it on you, right?” Zeb mutters, his warm breath gusting across the sweat-chilled and oversensitized skin of Kallus’ neck. “Arousal?”

“ K-kriff- ” Kallus swears, and Zeb chuckles against him. 

“Yeah, that’s the idea,” Zeb hums contentedly, drawing in more of his scent and Kallus doesn’t know what to do with the information. Zeb enjoys his scent. Zeb wants...

“ If ya want,” Zeb says, all too considerately. 

Kallus makes a noise between a helpless laugh and a whine. If Zeb wants him...there’s no way he can find the mental fortitude to refuse. 

He doesn’t want to refuse. 

No matter what it will do to his heart.

“Zeb…” Kallus pants, blood roaring in his ears. 

“Do ya? Want it?” Zeb asks once more and Kallus’ hands take hold of his jumpsuit, pulling strong enough to tear the stitches. 

“Yes-” he gasps, lost. “ Yes .”

Permission granted, Zeb descends on him, licking a luxuriously long stripe up the column of his neck and Kallus bucks up, the last reserves of his self-control fraying. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this, not when he first experienced a man’s touch, and not when he first slept with Zeb either. 

For one, he hasn’t got alcohol as an excuse to fall back on, no substance impairing his judgment or lowering his inhibitions - only the closeness of the man he loves to the point of delirium. 

If Zeb wants...Kallus will give. He needs to give. 

Ever since Bahryn, he’d been at Zeb’s mercy, and now is no different.

And as Zeb licks at his neck like a cat keen on grooming, Kallus realizes what it is that Zeb’s doing. 

Sweat. He’s tasting me.

Unable to stop himself, Kallus keens and grinds his hips upwards. Zeb hums against his throat and nips him just sharp enough to draw a tortured moan from him. “Like that, huh?” Zeb asks, entirely superfluously, and Kallus hasn’t the mental capacity to answer, hips snapping up sharply his only response. “Yeah, that’s good,” Zeb praises and Kallus feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t get his hands on Zeb. 

He pulls, and swallows the chuckle tumbling from Zeb’s lips, kissing him with a desperation he didn’t know he possessed. For a few frantic moments, Kallus loses himself in the taste and feel of Zeb’s nearly scalding mouth, and it’s almost, almost enough. And when Zeb tries to move away, Kallus buries his fingers into Zeb’s beard and yanks him back until their lips crash together again. 

That lovely rumble starts back up again, evolving into a full-on purr. Kallus throws an arm around Zeb’s shoulders in a bid to draw him closer, and moans into his mouth. 

He’s not going to last, not with Zeb on top of him, grinding against his lap. 

“Zeb,” He pants, needy and unmindful of his destroyed dignity, “ Zeb- ”

“I’m here, Kal,” Zeb rubs his face against Kallus’ cheek, “m’here.”

Kallus isn’t sure whether he’s losing his mind or not. All he can say for certain is that his head is blank, empty of anything that isn’t Zeb, Zeb, Zeb.  

All that is cold in him is melting as he rakes fingers through Garazeb’s velvety fur, nourishing himself from the only source he craves. Zeb’s large hands crawl under his shirt and Kallus’ firm stomach twitches. The gentle scrape of claws makes him beg, and his shirt is pulled off with little effort or consideration. 

Zeb throws his shirt away, and stares down at him with what can only be described as appreciation. 

Kallus isn’t used to anyone looking at him with appreciation. And he isn’t used to being regarded with affection, or desire. In the Empire, taking a lover was a risky prospect, bordering on suicidal. Having someone so close only invited betrayal, and in his line of work, he’d seen so many cautionary tales that he’d resigned himself to celibacy. Nobody was worth that kind of effort, or the risk. 

But Garazeb...he was worth everything. 

“D’you wanna take me this time?” Zeb asks and Kallus’ eyes widen. 

Take Zeb? Be inside him-

No. That would be… No. 

He shakes his head. “I’m...I’m fine with what we did before.”

“I’m not askin’ what yer fine with, Kal,” Zeb says, “I’m asking what ya want.”

Kallus knows his face is betraying him, a red hot flush spreading across his cheeks. His answer is a quiet, strangled - “You. I want you. I-in me.”

Zeb shudders, his fur rippling almost imperceptibly. 

“If that’s what ya want,” Zeb promises with a husky murmur, “then that’s what yer gonna get.”

Zeb straightens above him and trails both hands down Kallus’ shoulders and arms, then comes for another pass, using his claws. It’s more gentle than Kallus deserves, even as it leaves faint red lines across his skin. He bites his lip so he doesn’t ask to be marked in a more visible manner. He shivers and brings his hands up to fumble with the fastenings on Zeb’s jumpsuit. They are annoyingly stubborn and refuse to budge, and he’s all but growling with frustration when Zeb takes his hands away gently and places them on his thighs, taking over the task. The garment falls open easily, and Zeb pulls it off until it’s hanging open, pooled around his waist. 

Kallus’ hands are drawn to the expanse of firm muscle and sinfully soft fur. 

“It’d be easier if yer on top, like last time,” Zeb comments and Kallus remembers how good it felt to spread himself open for Zeb, and how glorious the stretch was. 

How much his thighs ached the day after. 

The dirt is digging into his back, and the ground isn’t exactly comfortable, but he doesn’t want to move. He wants Zeb to encase him, surround him, pin him in place and fill him until he forgets his own name. 

“N-no,” Kallus utters shakily, “I want you on me…”

Zeb halts for a moment and then nods. “Okay.”

Kallus’ breath hitches at the slow drag of purple fingers down his abdomen. 

“There’s somethin’ I wanna try first,” Zeb says, and Kallus nods eagerly, giving blanket permission for anything. 

Deft hands divest him of his trousers, pulling them down his legs. Zeb unlaces Kallus’ boots and pulls them off using his feet. That shouldn’t be so arousing, but Kallus knows he’s too far gone to care. Before long, he’s lying on the ground, completely bare, Zeb dusting off his discarded shirt to place it under his hips. Kallus can’t help but admire Zeb’s foresight, as he didn’t even consider the fact he’d have likely scratched his ass raw once they got started. 

His mind really is gone. 

Zeb shucks his own garments off and settles between Kallus’ legs. Before he has the chance to figure out what’s going to happen, Zeb’s face is buried between his thighs, breathing in with eyes closed, almost like the scent of him is something to be savored. 

Kallus is shaking, half-mad from sheer, unadulterated want. Then, Zeb licks a stripe from balls to tip, and Kallus cries out.

“Zeb, what’re-” His words slur into gibberish as Zeb swallows him down to the root. 

Kallus thrashes on the ground, delirious from the feel of Zeb’s scalding, delicious mouth. Every rasp and swirl of tongue pulls a guttural groan from his throat, and his right hand reaches down to caress Zeb’s brow, carding through the short fur and caressing down, smoothly, fingertips traveling down the slope of an impossibly soft ear. Zeb slurps around him and it’s entirely too much for Kallus to take. 

He comes with a strained gasp, back arching, the back of his head scraping the ground. 

He wants to apologize for coming without warning, but his mouth is refusing to cooperate. The only thing he can do is breathe, thoroughly dazed. 

Zeb pulls away with another deliberate lick, and Kallus wonders whether it’s possible to die from pleasure. 

“Didn’t get to taste it last time,” Zeb smirks up at him, “Had to make up fer it.”

“My…condolences,” Kallus manages to squeeze out.

“On what?” Zeb is looking at him, completely mystified. 

“The taste,” Kallus huffs. “I’ve yet to find anyone who actually likes it.”

When Zeb doesn’t look any less confused, Kallus groans.

“Too bitter?”

“Oh,” Zeb says unhelpfully, “Well, I don’t mind it.”

Kallus laughs, quite despite himself. “You’d be the only one, then.”

“I’m fine with that,” Zeb replies easily, and Kallus ignores the raw twinge in his heart. It’s just post-coital talk, not a promise of fidelity or an expectation of a more lasting arrangement. 

Kallus lies there, and for the first time notices that night has fallen around them, phosphorescent bugs flittering through the jungle, luminous like stars. In other circumstances, this would be beyond romantic, but he forces his mind back onto the right track. As Zeb said, they just got physical to release some tension. Nothing more. 

Zeb doesn’t love him; Kallus is just...convenient.

And isn’t that an entirely unproductive thought?

Before he has time to dive headfirst into a round of self-loathing, Zeb is pulling him up into his lap. With a small noise of surprise, Kallus finds himself sitting on Zeb’s furred thighs, caught in an embrace. It takes him a moment or two to register what’s happening, and then he finally regains the use of his arms. He buries fingers into Zeb’s chest hair, enjoying the feeling of being held. 

“Heh, yer holding on like a kit,” Zeb snickers, and Kallus tries to move away, too embarrassed to be compared to a clingy child. “Hey, none'a that,” Zeb chides, “I like havin ya close.”

Kallus wonders if Zeb is even aware of the way he sounds, and how easily misconstrued his words could be. He shivers at the feel of large, impossibly warm hands roving up and down his back. 

“So smooth...” Zeb purrs next to his ear, his enjoyment evident. Kallus tries not to think of anything but the feel of those big hands caressing his skin. 

He tries not to think at all. 

Whatever Zeb wants, Kallus will oblige. 

And Kallus, well...it’s not like he can have what he wants, so he’ll content himself with what he can get and do his best to ignore the niggling feeling in the back of his head that whispers a question - What if it’s not enough? 

It will have to be.

Chapter Text

Alexsandr rests comfortably against Zeb’s chest, his breathing evening out at last. Zeb tucks a stray lock of golden hair behind his ear to get a better look at his face. Kal looks exhausted and mellow, lips adorably slack and eyelids droopy. Zeb can’t resist the urge ro rub their cheeks together in a gesture Lasat would liken to kissing. He can tell Kal has no idea what it means, but he submits to it easily, making adorable contented noises. Zeb enjoys the feeling of Alexsandr’s facial hair rustling against the short fur over his face; an intimacy he could see himself getting addicted to in short order. The smell of sweat makes Kal’s scent stronger, and Zeb nuzzles into his cheeks eagerly, drawing in as much of it as he can.

Alexsandr looks so lovely like this, pliant and satiated, damp blond fringe falling across his forehead.

“It looks nice this long,” Zeb comments as he rubs a strand between his fingers.

“I should cut it, but I haven’t had the chance yet…” Alex murmurs with a soft sigh, burrowing fingers into Zeb’s fur like he needs to feel closer to get any comfort. 

“Don’t,” Zeb nuzzles Kal’s neck, “It makes ya look softer.”

Alex scoffs, but doesn’t continue to argue the point.

Is there anything Zeb can do to coax Kal out of this strange shell he keeps retreating into?

He likes to think he’s pretty good at holding himself in check, but the feel of Alexsandr’s firm body in his arms makes his fur ripple in pleasure. It reminds him that they aren’t done here quite yet. Alexsandr chooses that moment to look up at him, expression hesitant, like he wants something that he dares not ask for. Those lovely amber eyes glance down at Zeb’s lips and all is made clear.

Zeb leans down and cups Kal’s face before licking at his slightly parted lips with the tip of his tongue. His Alexsandr shudders and melts into the kiss, as pliant as a purring loth-kitten. Zeb wonders whether Kal is aware of how desperate his sweet mewls sound, and what they do for his libido. 

Why is Kal is only honest with his feelings when they’re having sex?

Regardless, Zeb isn’t complaining. If this is the bridge he needs to carve for Kal to come to him, it’s no hardship at all. 

“Sweet thing,” Zeb mutters in Lasana, knowing that Alexsandr won’t understand. “I wonder which one of us is the Warrior and which is the Fool right now?”

“Zeb,” Alexsandr gasps, eyes hooded, “Gah-ra-zeb…”

Zeb shivers at the sound of his name. None of his lovers ever said his name like Alexsandr does, with that curious emphasis on the last letter, as if it’s some kind of revered ritual in need of completion. 

Alexsandr looks both hurt and blissful at once, and Zeb squeezes his hips.

“What-ah, what did you say to me?” He asks hesitantly.

Zeb grins unrepentantly. 

“Just a bit of dirty talk,” He says and enjoys the fine tremor that traverses Alexsandr’s frame. “Why, d’ya want the translation?”

His superior night vision catches the darkening across Alex’s cheeks. So adorable and honest. And when Alexsandr shakes his head, Zeb kisses him again.

“I asked,” Zeb murmurs against Kal’s lips when they try to catch their breath, “whether you’re still interested in having me in you.”

Alexsandr makes a choked noise of pure want that Zeb decides to take as confirmation. The scent of Alex’s arousal is getting stronger, and when he looks down, he finds him hard again.

“Ready for round two?” Zeb purrs, relishing the needy gasp his words elicit.

Alex throws his head back and grinds against Zeb, who finally slips free of his sheath at the sight. 

“Prepare fer me?” Zeb nudges, tempted to drop an endearment or two in Lasana. 

My darling.

My nest-mate.

Alexsandr whimpers and bites his lower lip in a desperate bid to stay quiet. 

“I wanna hear ya,” Zeb encourages and nips Alex’s neck playfully. The lapful of alluring human squirms, whining and panting softly. Hesitant fingertips find his erection and Zeb can’t help the delicious shudder at the feeling of Kal’s deft fingers gripping and sliding along the rows of his slowly stiffening nubs. The answering purr builds in his chest as Alex works his shaft, coating his fingers in Zeb’s slick. 

Once his entire palm is coated and glistening with it, Zeb watches avidly as Alex reaches a hand behind himself. Aiming to assist, Zeb grips his lover’s sparsely furred cheeks and pulls them gently apart. 

“Kriff, Zeb !” Alexsandr cries out, a dissolute moan breaking apart on his lips like a crest of a wave shattering on the shore. 

“Yeah, so good fer me, Alex…” The name slips out of him, a small concession to the change in their relationship. His instincts are demanding he make a comfortable nest for his partner. If they were back on Lasan, Zeb would have bought some new furs, perhaps a colorful quilt or two, so he could make a proper little den for them, since only unmated Lasat slept on actual beds. 

If creating a nest for one’s partner was the equivalent of proposing to them, mating on it was as good as accepting. 

Sadly, he doesn’t have anything on hand to make a proper nest, only their discarded clothing. Following the pull of instinct, he thinks about a way to lay them out under Alexsandr, to make their coupling more comfortable. 

To think that a human, and a former enemy at that, would be the one to trip his instinct to bond… The Ashla really has a funny sense of humor. 

And his beautiful Alexsandr isn’t making it easy on him. The scent of arousal thickens in the air around them, accompanied by subtle squelching noises as Alex works slickened fingers into himself, faster and faster, grunting sweetly in exertion. 

There’s no part of this that Zeb doesn’t love. Perhaps...perhaps he should tell Alexsandr that he’s loved. Maybe Zeb should explain what he wants. 

A life-long companion.

They could wed under some ancient tree, not like Yavin 4 lacks in that department. Or, they could wait until they got Chava’s blessing, even if that was optional, since she wasn’t their matriarch in anything but the most symbolic way. Still, approval would be nice. He hoped Chava could see what a fierce warrior his Alexsandr is.

“I-ah, I’m ready,” Alex mutters, pulling his hand away and holding it awkwardly, likely embarrassed by the fact it's dirty. Zeb catches a whiff and rumbles in approval. 

“Good,” Zeb says and gives him a brief kiss. “Now, just gimme a moment…”

He arranges his jumpsuit on the ground as best as he can, opening the front to make the surface as wide as possible. Once it’s done, he looks at Alexsandr.

“Still wanna have me on top?”

Alex swallows, his lovely bared throat working, and nods. 

“ So sweet, my Alexsandr …” Zeb murmurs in his mother tongue, and lays Alex gently on the makeshift nest he’s made for him. 

It’s a poor substitute. His mate deserves better - silken white pelts, masterfully woven fabrics - only the best. Zeb promises himself to start acquiring suitable items for next time. If at all possible, he wants to spoil his Alexsandr with the most extravagant offerings, like fluffy feather down duvets or whatever it is that rich folks use to keep warm at night. These would be unsuitable for a Lasat mate, but Kal is softer and lacks claws. Comfort is what his mate needs most, so Zeb will plan with that in mind. 

Alexsandr is trembling underneath him.

“ Are you cold, my love ?” Zeb croons in Lasana, then follows up in Basic. “Lemme warm ya up.”

Alexsandr is shivering beneath him, legs falling open to accommodate Zeb in a very inviting way. Zeb follows the unspoken plea and leans in, aligning himself carefully with the shyly squeezing entrance to Alexsandr’s body. Slowly and carefully, he sidles up to his lover, his rumbling ratcheting up a notch as he feels the hot, silken warmth wrapping around and clinging to his member. 

Steadily, Alexsandr engulfs him, the feel of him tight and divine. Lasat feel entirely different, nowhere near as smooth within, but it’s lovely. Alexsandr’s expression is completely open, with lips parted, eyelashes fluttering as he gasps and moves underneath him, trying to merge their bodies completely. Zeb cradles his head gently and guides their foreheads together. 

Ashla , he would do anything for his mate. One day, he will give him the absolution he so desperately fights for, take him to Lira San and show him that he didn’t destroy an entire race, even if the people of Lasan are well and truly gone. 

“ I love you ,” Zeb murmurs in Lasana, unable to contain the sentiment any longer. “ My foolish warrior .”

It feels strange to lay with someone with the intent to claim them, but Zeb revels in the way his blood sings for it; relishes the thrum in his chest as his soul seeks to connect and entwine with Alexsandr’s.

There’s no need to chase a rhythm or work for release. Love eases the build-up, making it seamless and swift. 

“Alexsandr-” he rumbles smoothly, the only forewarning he’s capable of giving before orgasm overtakes him and he’s filling his sweetly moaning mate, enjoying the way Alex’s fingers grip the scruff of his neck with a strength he only shows during the most brutal of their spars.

Zeb knows they aren’t done yet, Alex is still hard and leaking gently, but he can’t smell the distinct musk of human seed, which means his mate requires more stimulation. And Lasat, well, the more invested they are in the coupling, the more likely multiple orgasms become. Zeb knows he could go at least once more. 

“You ok there?” Zeb asks, trying to read the slightly dazed look Alexsandr’s sporting. 

“Mhm,” Alex answers, seemingly too far gone to be verbal. Zeb tries not to be smug about it. 

“Could ya, hah-” Zeb fumbles with his words, “-go fer a bit longer? I’m not done yet, and ya don’t seem to be either…”

Alexsandr laughs breathlessly. “Are you trying to kill me, Garazeb?”

“Only if you'd like that,” Zeb replies cheekily. 

“I just might,” Alex mutters, more to himself. 

“C’mere, sexy,” Zeb beckons and kisses Alexsandr deeply, swallowing the soft groan he makes. 

The way Alex’s muscles pull at him is obscene, and he takes care to keep his movements thorough, pulling out until his tip threatens to slip free and then slides back in languidly until he’s flush against Alexsandr’s overheated flesh. 

One one particular thrust, his control slips and his hips snap up more harshly than he’d intended. Instead of a cry of pain he’d have expected, he receives a blissed-out moan. 

“Zeb,” Alexsandr pants, “Ah-again, do that again!”

What kind of mate would he be if he didn’t follow his beloved’s earnest pleas to the letter?

Without delay, Zeb complies, taking Alex harder. If anything, his cries turn more desperate and needy. Should he not hold back at all? Could Alexsandr withstand it?

“Harder,” Alexsandr hisses, voice breaking as Zeb complies, marvelling at the keen, sharp look in those beautiful amber eyes. 

The longer they maintain eye-contact, the hotter Zeb feels. It won’t be long now, so he takes Alexsandr in hand and strokes.

“Try n’ go together, yeah?” Zeb suggests and Alexsandr breaks apart in his arms, a small spurt of white spilling over his fingers. The smell of his pleasure tips Zeb over the edge as well, and he roars helplessly as he empties into Alexsandr’s loose body. 

Their co-mingled scent is glorious, distinctly separate from the smells of the jungle that surrounds them. The star-bugs fly around them, and Zeb feels they’d been blessed by the Ashla. He gathers Alex into his arms and holds him close.

He’s made his choice. 

Alex will be his, fully, no matter how long it takes.

Chapter Text

Kallus can’t shake the strange feeling that he’s missed something. The way Zeb’s treating him leaves him unbalanced, the words he can’t understand laced with significance that he can only vaguely intuit. There’s a gentleness in Zeb’s luminous eyes that has seldom been directed his way, which throws his heart into turmoil. 

If there’s anyone who’d treat a casual lover with an almost unnecessary amount of respect, it’s Zeb. For a moment, Kallus can pretend that the emotion he can glimpse in Zeb’s expression is something more akin to what he’s feeling himself - a yearning for a deeper connection, but then Zeb says something flirty and Kallus is reminded that this is all just playful banter to Zeb - a bit of fun to be had. 

It should be enough. 

To be held, kissed and cradled...it’s already more than he ever thought he’d have, and yet, it hurts to have it revealed so blatantly that he’s addicted to any small mercy given by Garazeb. 

Was there never any way to safeguard his heart?

No, Kallus thinks to himself, this is a fitting punishment. Just like countless Lasat disintegrated by the ion disruptors, he too will be vaporized and sublimated into nothing. And the universe will use love to do it, as a final cruel judgment, proving that penance ends with death and not redemption. 

Fitting. Absolutely fair. 

Yet, before that death arrives, his empty heart and body will be filled, if briefly, with Garazeb’s warm essence. So he trembles in anticipation of that release which comes before the steel fetters are slapped back on his limbs and he’s put back to the grind to toil away until some mission kills him or the Empire finds and destroys them. 

And then Zeb says they should climax together and he’s gone, just gone, flung off the precipice, falling for a moment that stretches on like time-dilation near a black hole. 

As if that wasn’t enough, Zeb holds him close like he’s something precious; gently, tenderly. 

It shouldn’t feel like this.

But for once, his body is stronger than his mind, and he sags against Garazeb, boneless and flooded with feel-good hormones. Suddenly, he’s beyond exhausted, and doesn’t feel like moving an inch. 

Zeb nuzzles into his neck, murmuring words he can’t understand, followed occasionally by the sound of his full name. 

Kallus isn’t used to anyone calling him Alexsandr. Not since his mother passed away when he was eleven. In the Academy, it was cadet Kallus, after that it was Agent Kallus, and now it’s Captain Kallus. Never was he anything other than his function. 

Perhaps his name wouldn’t sound so strange if it came from a friend, but Zeb saying it in this context muddies the waters too much for Kallus’ tastes. Why only after they’d been intimate? It gives an impression that is surely false. There’s no way Zeb could…

It’s only in his mind, surely. 

He’s tired. So tired of war. 

When will he have given enough?

At least in the Empire, he didn’t care enough about losing troops to be torn up about it. Well, not in the last decade, or so. The loss of his first squad on Onderon still haunted him. But people in the Massassi group were more close-knit, their pervasive sense of camaraderie a double-edged sword. 

He must be fucked up beyond repair to only be able to think about death while in Zeb’s embrace. 

None of them have any guarantee of living past today. Their enemy is well-funded and vast, led by a ruthless, nearly all-powerful entity. Their odds of success have never been great. He’d know, he has to work with the data. The pilots can live off of adrenaline, but he’s forced to stare at the ruthless calculus of war day in and day out. 

I’m so tired…

He just wants to rest, close his eyes and find oblivion instead of the nightmarish carousel of bad memories that is put on display each night. The fear of those early years, dodging thugs and vermin on Coruscant, segueing seamlessly into smoke and a hulking form that silences the voices of his comrades one by one as he lays there unable to move or help, then the rising bile in his throat as he first fired that accursed prototype ion disruptor, the enemy soldier he’d been aiming for vaporized along the small gaggle of civilians she’d been trying to shield… And then, once his mind runs out of real terrors to employ against him, it turns to the unknown, to the fear and uncertainty of their future, and takes it as inspiration to supply him with unwelcome images of Garazeb dying on some suicidal mission, usually in an attempt to save one of his fellow Spectres. 

When will it end?

“Shhhhh, yer safe, I got ya,” Zeb croons soothingly against his ear, and Kallus realizes his face is drenched in silent tears. 

He should be mortified, but he’s beyond the point of caring. Zeb has already seen him at his worst, so what is some more humiliation on top of that? His shame is already unfathomable. 

He wants to tell Garazeb he loves him, but it’s too shameful to even contemplate. The Butcher of Lasan, confessing his eternal devotion to a man as honorable as Garazeb Orellios...what a travesty! 

Whatever good there is in Kallus, it’s there because Garazeb was kind enough to bring it into the light. Isn’t it only logical that Kallus should dedicate all of it to him?

“Alexsandr,” Zeb addresses him gently, the rest of his statement spoken in his native language, indecipherable. Whatever it is sounds like something one would say to soothe a child. He supposes Zeb isn’t using Basic to spare Kallus the embarrassment. 

Considerate to the very end. 

Kallus isn’t sure he’d want to keep sleeping with someone who starts crying once the deed is done. Too awkward. But Zeb isn’t like that, holding him close despite his sniveling, choking sobs. 

The hushed, softly spoken words spin a cocoon around him, and Kallus surrenders what’s left of his dignity, clinging to Zeb like a drowning man. Once again, he will be a burden and take advantage of Zeb’s boundless compassion. 

It’s deeply ugly, this baring of his frustrations, and there’s not a damned thing Kallus can do to stop it. The tears seem to be welling up from an inexhaustible reservoir that goes deeper than anyone could ever hope to measure, and it hurts to let them loose like this, still unable to say the things festering away in his gut. The words burn in the back of his throat, jagged and unspoken.

I love you , he longs to say. 

I would give anything to be worthy of you. 

I would give anything to turn back the time and not be the one who stole everything from you. 

The words, when they finally force themselves out of his throat, are disjointed and barely coherent. They are also pitifully inadequate to express the weight of his regret. 

“I’m so-sorry.” He slurs through a wretched sob, breath hitching violently, “My f-fault, mine-nh-”

“Nothin’ to apologize for,” Zeb attempts to soothe him, but Kallus can’t allow this disgraceful display to end in a misunderstanding. If nothing else, he can be clear on this point. 

“N-no, there is,” Kallus pushes Zeb away enough so their eyes can meet. “I destroyed y-your life, aided the genocide of your s-species…”

How can you even stand to look at me? 

“Ya didn’t know any better,” Zeb says firmly, like that’s an exculpatory fact. 

How can you bear to touch me?

“Blood on my hands-” Kallus swallows heavily, choking on the immensity of his regrets, “-can never be washed away!”

Why do you hold me so gently?

“Yes it can,” Zeb states calmly, bringing a hand to cup his cheek, “How many people have ya saved as Fulcrum, huh? How many are ya savin’ now?”

Why can’t Zeb understand?

“It’s not enough, it can’t be-” Kallus shakes his head until Zeb’s large fingers slide around and come to rest at the nape of his neck, cradling his head carefully, holding him in place. 

“Listen to me, Alexsandr Kallus,” Zeb emphasizes his disused name, “Second chances are real, and ya earned yours.”

“I don’t-” deserve it , is what he intends to say, but Zeb chooses that moment to interrupt him with a lingering, achingly soft kiss. 

When they part, Kallus quite dazed, Zeb looks at him with immeasurable kindness.

“I forgive ya.”

Kallus’s eyes widen in shock. 

“Hey, no lookin’ at me like that,” Zeb tries to sound wry, but it comes across as pained. “I mean it. I’ve forgiven ya a long time ago.”

Kallus’ expressions crumples, vision blurring completely as his brows knit together and he starts weeping in earnest. Zeb holds him to his chest and rubs his back with an impossibly warm and wide hand.

What a fool, to forgive what is unforgivable, to accept so much ugliness with grace, and respond to cruelty and ignorance with mercy…

He doesn’t deserve such a gift, but Kallus knows Garazeb is the most stubborn bastard in existence, and if he’s gotten it in his thick Lasat head that Kallus was forgiven, there’d be no dissuading him. 

Zeb is a force of nature, and to go against him is futile. 

Even though Kallus knows no other Lasat would forgive him, the fact Garazeb could…

Maybe he’s not as irredeemable as he’d believed.

Chapter Text

Zeb waits until all of Alexsandr’s shudders subside and tears run dry, leaving him an utterly exhausted dead weight in Zeb’s arms. 

“Feelin’ better?” Zeb inquires, nuzzled against Alex’s clammy temple. 

Alex gives a weak chuckle. “I’m a mess.”

“A glorious mess, at least,” Zeb grins and drops a kiss on the top of Alex’s head. 

“Crazy Lasat…” Alexsandr grouses fondly, and Zeb squeezes him a bit tighter.

“Think ya can walk back to the base? I did receive orders to make sure ya went to sleep…”

Kal’s exhausted face splits into a grin Zeb knows and loves. 

“Draven isn’t actually in charge of you, you know that, right?”

“Orders are orders...especially if they involve me having to tie ya to the bed…”

The scandalized look on Alex’s face is priceless. 

“You wouldn’t dare! My roommate would never let me live it down!”

“Hah, just your luck to be roomin’ with one of the worst gossips on base.” Zeb teases. “Don’t worry, I won’t actually do it. Unless ya get stubborn about not resting.”

“I solemnly swear I will go to bed as soon as I’ve washed up.”

“Errr, about that…” Zeb trails off, saddened in advance. It would be a pity for their mingled scents to be washed away so soon, but if Kal goes back to the base smelling like this, by morning, everyone would know they were kriffing, and he didn’t want people prying into their affairs just yet. Zeb’s fully aware of how fiercely private Alexsandr is, and he’d never dare take that away from him. Besides, what they have is still undefined, and having the rest of the rebellion find out before even they know what it is they are to each other is a recipe for disaster. 

“Yer soaked in my scent right now. If ya go to the showers like this…”

Alexsandr sighs, clearly having connected the dots. “Anyone with a decent nose will be able to tell what I’ve been doing and with whom.”

“Yeah,” Zeb feels embarrassed for a moment, “not that I don’t want people to know, it’s just, I know ya hate when people gossip about ya, so…”

“You know me well, Garazeb,” Kal says softly. “Thanks for being considerate. My brain isn’t exactly firing on all cylinders at the moment.”

“I think there’s a stream nearby, if ya wanna go fer a swim?”

“Skinny dipping at this hour, Zeb? Have you always been such a free spirit?”

“Heh heh, maybe.” Zeb smiles and looks at his delightfully messy human when a brilliant idea strikes. 

Kal is naked...and humans can’t exactly go around barefoot, not without getting hurt...and with the state Alex is in, anything he wore would end up reeking of their kriff. In that case, the only solution is-

“Here we go,” Zeb exclaims happily, like he’s picking up a rambunctious kit, and lifts off the ground with Alex in his arms. 

“Wha- Garazeb !” Alexsandr protests, “Put me down!”

“Nan also used my full name when she was angry with me,” Zeb smirks unrepentantly, “and while she may have been your size, she was definitely scarier than you!”

“I’m not an invalid!” Alex continues to protest, but Zeb cuts through the jungle, not caring one bit. “You’re just going to leave all our things behind? What if some animal runs away with them? That’s the only comfortable pair of boots I own!”

Zeb laughs brightly. “Look at us, already bickerin’ like an old married couple!” 

Well, they will be, one day. Zeb looks at Alex’s miffed face and grins. And while he may not be the smartest kind of mate a person could have, he’s plenty determined. He can outwait and out-stubborn one Alexsandr Kallus, if it’s the last thing he does. 

Alex shakes his head and drops his forehead against Zeb’s neck, for all intents and purposes giving up the argument. 

“If the critters make off with yer boots and outfit, I’ll hide ya in the Ghost.”

“That’s not exactly a silver lining, Zeb.” Kal grumbles.

“Oh? Would ya prefer I carried ya through the base instead? Give ya a nice kiss good-night in front of yer nosy roommate?” Zeb chuckles and hoists Kal up a bit higher till he rests more snugly against his chest. “I’d be fine with either, mind ya.”

“What happened to respecting my privacy, Zeb?” Alex pouts up at him, his brows adorably drawn. 

Zeb’s expression softens. “I’m messin’ with ya, Kal. ‘Sides, I’d rather people don’t know how sexy ya can be when ya let yer hair down a bit. I’d have to beat them off with a stick!”

Alex snorts like an idiot and Zeb thinks he’s the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. 

“I doubt you’d need a stick. People aren’t exactly lining up in front of an ex-Imperial’s door.”

Zeb shakes his head. He knows that’s a lie. 

“Ya daft? At least a third of the guys here are defectors! We’d be kriffed without ‘em.”

“Sure,” Alex acknowledges, but his expression implies he’s about to disagree and monologue Zeb half to death about it. “Except half of them bailed before they finished the Academy, and the other half got out without needing to have it pointed out to them that they were part of a genocidal, merciless machine.”

“And none of them saved as many as ya did, workin’ as Fulcrum.” Zeb points out. “It all levels out.”

Alex lapses into silence, probably mulling things over in that overtaxed brain of his, and Zeb contents himself with having an armful of deliciously-smelling human as he walks through the ferns, rustling all the way to the stream. The night is fairly dark, the reddish glow of Yavin the only light aside from the companionable flutter of star-bugs. Zeb wonders how much Kal can see in this darkness. Well, it’s not like it matters. Zeb can see well enough for the both of them, and he’ll keep his mate-to-be safe. 

When they get to the sandy bank, Zeb finally deposits Alexsandr on the ground. Alex is looking away, staring at the swiftly burbling stream with a frown. 

“It will be abominably cold, won’t it?” Alex comments, more to himself.

“Yeah, probably,” Zeb concurs, fur on his neck bristling in self-consciousness. “I,ah, I could keep ya warm. If y’know, ya think it’ll help.”

He curses himself for stumbling over his words in front of Kallus, who’s always so suave and eloquent. Well, if Kal could ever learn to love him, Zeb doubts he’d win him over with words, anyways. 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Alex says with a half-smile and Zeb replies before his brain has managed to process what he was going to say.

“I’d rather ya held onto me.”

Kal’s eyes go impossibly wide, and his cheeks flush fetchingly. Zeb knows it’s probably from embarrassment, since he’s spent years in the company of enough humans to make the expression easy enough to decipher. And even though he’s not exactly glad that Alex is embarrassed, Zeb can’t deny that it makes him look rather cute. 

Alex looks away, flustered, and heads for the stream. When his pale, flat foot wades into the water, he lets out a protracted hiss. 

“Sorry.” Zeb feels compelled to apologize. “Next time, I should find us a hot spring or somethin’…”

Was that the wrong thing to say? Does Kal even want there to be a next time?

The stiffness returns to Kal’s frame, the muscles in his back turning rigid. Zeb barely catches the hushed, yet sharp words.

“What are we doing, Zeb? What is this?”

Zeb senses he should come closer, so in three big steps, he joins Kal in the ankle-deep water and takes him by the shoulder to turn him around enough to peer at his face. 

“Er, bathin’?”

The look he gets after that statement is furious; evisceration made flesh. 

“Don’t be obtuse, Garazeb, it doesn’t suit you.”

Zeb supposes he deserves to be chastised for trying to take the easy way out. 

“I guess I know what ya mean, sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck, ears flattening to signal his regretfulness. 

“What do you want from me, Zeb?”

Zeb thought he was prepared to stake his claim on Alexsandr eventually, but realizes the question’s taken him off-guard. He wants many things, many more than he can eloquently put into words, especially if put on the spot like this. 

“I want…” You .

Is there even a way to say it that won’t send Kallus running for the hills? The amber eyes stare into his, Alexsandr’s gaze equal parts accusing and helpless, like his sanity hinges on the answer Zeb’s about to provide. If he says the wrong thing…

Suddenly afraid, Zeb feels his ears stiffening in their lowest position. Alex was vulnerable earlier; allowed himself to cry in front of Zeb, which must be a special thing, as the stubborn human never usually shows when something bothers him - not beyond a scowl of displeasure, anyway. 

The kind of scowl that’s developing on Kal’s face right now, deepening until his eyes are accusing slivers of citrine staring at Zeb ferociously. 

He crumbles like a treat of spun sugar dropped in a puddle. 

“I like ya, Kal. I enjoy yer company. I thought...I mean…Ya didn’t seem opposed...Was I wrong?”

For a moment, the scowl breaks, revealing an expression that Zeb isn’t terribly familiar with. Whatever it is, it’s powerful and it overtakes Kal’s entire face, contorting it into something vaguely scary. 

Zeb knows he must have said the wrong thing when Kal turns away from him and wades deeper into the water until it reaches his knees. Not wanting to let this, whatever it is, fester in Kal’s mind, Zeb follows and embraces him from behind, encircling his arms and chest, not letting him get away. 

“That was a cowardly response, Kal… Ya asked me what I wanted and...I want you .”

The water rushes around them, insects chittering in the air, the jungle around them alive with distant cawing of birds, but Kal says nothing, standing stiffly in Zeb’s embrace. 

“You could have anyone,” Alexsandr murmurs at last, “I’m not blind. Half of the base would love to get their hands on you… Why me?”

Zeb replies without thinking, as honest as can be. 

“Because I’m not some exotic trophy to you,” He says, deathly serious. “D’ya think I’m stupid? Most of that bunch just wants a Lasat notch on their bedpost, and while I’m not really against casual kriffs, that makes my skin crawl.”

Alexsandr shudders in his arms. 

“We’re friends, and we’re close. Karabast, I tell ya things even Kanan doesn’t know about me,” Zeb admits, willing his honesty to make a difference. “If it was gonna be anyone, it could only be you. I don’t want anyone else.” 

Kal swallows a sound that sounds suspiciously like an anguished sob. 

“I respect you, Alexsandr,” Zeb admits easily, “and if this isn’t what ya want, I’m fine with just bein’ your friend. I don’t wanna lose ya, and I’d never force ya into anythin’, so… What do you want?”

Zeb hopes for an answer, but doesn’t get it. At least not the one he expected. 

“I want to wash and go to sleep.”

It’s a clear dismissal and Zeb feels it like a punch to the gut. Still, he promised to respect Alexsandr’s decision, and perhaps having this conversation in the middle of the night while standing in an icy stream wasn’t the best choice in the first place, so he backs off. Zeb releases his hold on Kal and moves away until there’s at least six feet between them. 

Even this amount of distance feels wrong somehow. Zeb’s hands feel empty without Alexsandr there, and his heart gives a painful twinge. 

He’d asked Alex for consent properly, several times...so what went wrong? His lover is clearly upset about something, and Zeb can’t figure out why. 

While he thinks about it, he allows Kal his privacy to wash. 

Mournfully, Zeb scrubs at his fur, soaking himself to rid himself of Kal’s delicate scent. It doesn’t take long for it to wash away in the frigid water, and then he’s left there, waiting for Kal to finish. The splashing behind him is methodical and vigorous. Unsurprisingly, Alexsandr isn’t gentle with himself at all. Zeb wishes he hadn’t said the wrong thing, for if he hadn’t...perhaps he’d be washing Kal now, carefully and worshipfully as he deserved. 

Then he realizes Kal is walking back to the shore and hurries after him, intending to carry him back, yet when he reaches out, Alex moves out of reach. 

“If you carried me, wouldn’t your scent get back on me? It’s better I walk back.”

“We’d sparred, ya’d have my scent on you anyways. It’s just the, uh, essence that needed washing.”

Zeb sees Kal swallow, cheeks flushing once more. 

“And, ah...hope ya washed yer face, cause I might’ve...err...rubbed a bit too much.”

“Rubbed what exactly?” Kal crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at Zeb accusingly. 

“Our fur kinda… secretes a scent? When we kiss - that is - when we rub cheeks together, it remains on our partner’s fur or skin. Lasat do it to preserve the scent of their partner on themselves as a reminder, a kind of...token of affection.”

“And how should I know whether it’s washed off? My olfactory senses may not be able to pick it up.”

Zeb curses under his breath. He should have seen this coming. Maybe doing it in the woods hadn’t been the best idea…

Shaking his errant worries off like pesky bugs, Zeb steels his resolve. 

“I can give it a sniff, if...ya want me to.” He offers, ears low. “I’d have to step closer, though.”

Kal sighs. “Do what you have to do.”

Zeb approaches and takes in the drenched strands of Kal’s hair, slicked back and away from his face. More than anything, he’d like to kiss Alex again, but that would likely only exacerbate the scent issue, and he doesn’t want to risk aggravating the man further. 

Instead he approaches carefully and stops near enough that he can feel Alexsandr’s warm breath. He closes his eyes and just breathes him in. Beneath the biting cold cleanliness, there’s the scent of his beloved’s skin, and clinging to it, just barely, his own scent. It’s a much faded imprint that gets lost unless he’s this close, and all he wants is to reaffirm his feelings by making it stronger. If not for Alex’s preferences for privacy, Zeb wouldn’t mind who knew. 

It crashes over him, the intensity of his love for Alexsandr. The possessive side of him wishes to mark Kal as his mate, and kriff anyone who objects. Only the thought of Alex’s disappointment and anger stays his hand. 

“Do I still...smell like you?”

The halting delivery has Zeb open his eyes to scrutinize Alex’s expression. If Zeb’s reading him correctly, there’s hesitation there. Fear. And probably half a dozen other things he’s missing. 

“No,” Zeb responds morosely, “ya don’t.”

Chapter Text

Kallus doesn’t remember how he got back to base. His memory is fragmented, supplying only snippets, the feel of sinuous roots beneath his feet, the uncomfortable sensation of putting on dirty clothes over damp skin, and stepping into the shower fully dressed, scrubbing furiously at himself until he tore a stitch in his shirt and his skin was bright red. 

He’s disconnected, barely there; doesn’t even remember at which point Zeb bid him farewell. He must have. Kallus just can’t remember. 

He walks to his room through a dense fog and strips. Only ingrained habit makes him fold the clothing over a chair before he crawls into bed, unmindful of his sodden hair as it soaks the pillow and he’s lying on an uncomfortable and cooling patch of damp. 

It barely registers. 

Exhausted beyond imagining, he falls asleep. 

When he wakes, jolted out of a nightmare filled with acrid, stinging smoke, he wastes only a second to brush his rough palms over his face, and then jumps out of his bed, dresses in a fresh pair of clothes and stalks out into the pre-dawn on the base. 

He picks up a mug of pitch-black caf, snatches a ration bar and heads for his desk. 

When he gets to the Intelligence, Draven’s already there, as grim-faced as Kallus feels. There’s only a resigned nod of acknowledgment and they settle into their usual rhythm of sifting through endless amounts of reports. Droids chitter, wheeling between the workstations, running decryption protocols around the clock. 

He sees neither hide nor hair of Garazeb for over a week. 

He tries to distract himself with work, but every time there’s a lull in the decryption, his mind careens into the ditch where all his unwelcome thoughts lie buried. 

“I like ya, Kal. I enjoy yer company.”

Irritated, he sips the cold, bitter caf, and watches the words on the report he’s reading rearrange themselves into a dizzying, incomprehensible blur. 

“I respect you, Alexsandr.”

He closes his eyes against the unwelcome onslaught of memory.

“...Ya asked me what I wanted and...I want you .”

This is it, he’s going crazy. 

He’d been too tired to discuss it after they’d had sex, too wrung out by the emotional upheaval of his shameful apology and Zeb’s subsequent, unsolicited forgiveness. 

But this quiet, this... avoidance , it’s killing him. 

When he’s with Zeb, his mind is in turmoil and his body quavers in desire, but when they aren’t speaking, Zeb skulking away from him like a kicked puppy, Kallus feels like someone’s scooped up his insides and ripped them out in one fell swoop. 

To be in his presence hurts, yet to be without him...that hurts quantifiably worse. 

Once more, he’s disgusted at his own weakness. This indecisiveness is going to be the end of him, and soon. If he thought distancing himself from Zeb would give him some clarity of mind, he was dead wrong. Without Zeb, he’s adrift, immersed only in his work and days run together until Draven comes into the office with one of the doctors and orders he be taken away for a check-up. 

A hush descends over the office, every eye on him. It’s a testament to how exhausted he is that he barely even fights it. 

“You need me here.” He points out half-heartedly, but Draven remains unmoved.

“You’re no good to anyone in this state, Captain Kallus. You’ve not heeded any of my previous warnings, so I’m temporarily relieving you of duty.”

Kallus feels all blood drain from his face. 

“You...you can’t,” He stammers, eyes wide in shock. 

I don’t have anything else. 

If they take away his work too…

The doctor takes him by the arm and Kallus stumbles forward, not wanting to cause more of a scene. Still, his panicked eyes meet Draven’s, who remains standing firm and merciless.

“I’ll have nothing,” Kallus murmurs, willing Draven to understand. In the man’s eyes, though, there’s only grim, pitiless understanding. 

Draven knows. 

When did it get so bad? When did they decide I was a danger to everyone around me? 

Kallus needs to know.

“Was my work...unsatisfactory? Did I make a mistake somewhere?”

“If you had, I would be taking you before a court martial and not to the infirmary.”

Relieved, Kallus sighs.

“But if you go on like this, it would only be a matter of time,” Draven concludes pragmatically. “I am removing you before we lose you entirely. Get your priorities straight, Captain, or don’t bother coming back in.”

He gets the message loud and clear. He’s compromised their operations, which is unacceptable, and Kallus didn’t defect only to sabotage the Rebellion’s efforts by self-destructing. 

Draven is right. The way he is now, he’s nothing but a liability. 

Kallus hangs his head and allows himself to be led away. 

Once they get him to the infirmary, he’s stripped, poked, and prodded. The specifics of his condition drift past him, something about chronic dehydration, signs of vitamin deficiency, and mentions of post-traumatic stress disorder. He wants to laugh at that, most of the people in the galaxy have it, and they get on just fine. 

Exhausted and fed up, he lies there and tries to think of a way out of here. They have him on a drip, and he tries his best to tune everything out. Closing his eyes just for a moment, he thinks it would be easier to think rationally if he’d had more than two hours of sleep in the last three rotations. 

They’re not going to let him out of here anyway, not until that drip is done, and whatever else they find along the way. Perhaps they’ll figure out why his leg siezes up when the weather turns...

Quite without meaning to, consciousness slips away from him until there’s only oblivion.

Chapter Text

Once they get back to base from a successful rescue mission, Hera pulls Zeb aside before he’s had the chance to wander off. 

“Zeb.” She looks at him with something that looks suspiciously like pity. The fact she’s biting her lower lip reveals that she’s likely about to tell him something he’d prefer not to hear and that she feels bad about it. His ears flatten in apprehension.

“I wanted you to find out from me, and not from the rumor mill…”

Something’s happened. Bad by the looks of it. Surely it’s not about the small Lasat family they are hiding until their next run to Lira San, is it? Just the idea that they could have been captured-

“It’s Kallus,” Hera says.

Zeb freezes. He must have misheard. 

“He’s been relieved of duty.”

Zeb feels fury building in his gut. “What?! After everythin’ he did for the Rebellion-”

“Zeb!” Hera implores him and grasps his upper arm firmly to forestall his outburst. “It’s not like that. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Zeb’s ears twitch in distress despite her reassurances. 

“He’s…” Hera trails off, averting her eyes and sighing. Zeb gets a distinct sense of foreboding and Hera sure doesn’t disappoint. Her chin wobbles in sympathy as she stands straighter and tries to put on her General face. “He’s in medical. They say he’s had a...mental breakdown.”

Zeb sees red, then white, and his ears fill with a noisy, insistent buzzing noise that refuses to go away when he shakes his head. He howls in anguish and tries to shake Hera off, but then Kanan is there too, and he’s being held back quite successfully. 

“You can’t just go tearing in there, Zeb,” Kanan warns him in his serious voice. “He’s not well.”

Zeb growls at the Jedi.

“Yer not gonna keep me from him!” 

Kanan abandons his soothing Jedi persona and raises his voice - “And how do you think he’ll react when you storm in, furious as you are?”

Zeb stops resisting and sags in their grip. 

How would Alexsandr react? Would he be afraid of Zeb? Would he think Zeb was angry with him ?

No, never that. Kanan’s right. If he decides to visit, he has to keep a cool head, not go stomping in there like he’s about to tear someone’s head off. It’s just hard to calm his instincts and stop himself from going to his mate’s side immediately. He droops further at that thought. Nobody knows what Alex is to him, and since their fight, he hasn’t been able to figure out what went wrong, and was therefore incapable of apologizing adequately. All he knows is that Alex has been declining before his very eyes and he’d failed to address it. 

The quilt he’d bought in the market on the last planet they’d visited is tucked away safely in the compartment under his bunk, folded much more neatly than the rest of his possessions. It seems so presumptuous now, with Alexsandr lying in the infirmary.

“I need to see him,” Zeb whines, looking at his friends pleadingly.  

 “And you will,” Hera promises, “Let’s just ask the doctors if it’s allowed, ok?”

Zeb nods, beyond words for the moment. 

*

Zeb allows Hera to negotiate with the medical staff while he attempts to calm down. His nerves are shot and the only thing he wants is to rush in there and make sure Alexsandr is fine. A mental breakdown can’t be a pretty sight. The news of Alexsandr’s condition makes his stomach drop - dehydration, malnutrition and general neglect. That and the fact he’s barely responsive and needing to be sedated to get any decent amount of sleep, breaks Zeb’s heart. 

“You may come in and speak to him if you wish, but there’s no guarantee he’ll respond. He’s refused counseling, and we can’t force him,” the Rodian medic explains to Hera. “I’d suggest you don’t overwhelm him with numbers either. No more than two people at a time.”

“That’s fine,” Hera assures the Rodian lady, “I thought to let Zeb go first, on his own. Captain Kallus and he are friends.”

The medic nods and ushers Zeb in, leading him behind a makeshift divider where Kal’s bed is. 

Alexsandr’s eyes are closed, the underside of them shadowed and bruised. Uncombed hair lies fanned across the pillow, more tangled than Zeb’s ever seen it. He had no idea it could even get so tangled, not with Alexsandr’s fastidiousness. Pale underarms are exposed, a line of fluid dripping steadily towards the valve inserted into his arm. 

He looks sick. Exhausted. 

“Captain Kallus? You have a visitor,” The medic says gently, the only indication Kal’s heard her a sharp frown. 

“I don’t want to see anyone,” He murmurs, voice hoarse like he hasn’t spoken to a soul in weeks.

Zeb exchanges a look with the Rodian and motions for her to go away and leave things to him. 

“Tough luck, Kal,” Zeb says without a hint of his usual humor, “cause I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

A sharp, pained gust of breath escapes through Alexsandr’s lips and his frown deepens, almost like he’s trying with all his might to keep his eyes closed while faced with something gruesome. 

Led by the instinct to soothe his mate, Zeb takes Alexsandr’s unattached hand in his (so cold and stiff) and sits down on the edge of the bed. 

“Hey there,” Zeb greets Alexsandr the moment his eyes open. “I came as soon as I found out. We were away or I woulda been here sooner.”

Alexsandr’s hand in his twitches. 

“Is it my fault?” Zeb asks without preamble, staring Alexsandr down. 

Kal’s frown deepens, then breaks as confusion sets in. 

“...fault?” He asks haltingly. 

“You bein’ here. Neglecting yerself.”

Alexsandr looks stricken. “No, of course not,” he says, all choked up. 

“Sure doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing.”

Alex’s lips tremble for a moment before he stiffens them into a tight, unbroken line. Zeb’s ears droop and he takes Kal’s palm and cradles it with both hands. 

“I shoulda said sorry earlier, I just...I couldn’t figure out what I did wrong.”

“You?” Alexsandr tries to sit up, “No, Zeb, it...it wasn’t you.”

“Isn’t it?” Zeb challenges softly. “All I know is we were...really connecting and then ya stopped talkin’ to me.”

Alexsandr sighs, more weary than Zeb remembers seeing him before. 

“I was tired, Garazeb. You told me...I just couldn’t believe it.”

“What, that I forgive ya?”

“No, that you-” Kal swallows, uncomfortable and afraid, shivering under the thin, coarse hospital blanket. Zeb wonders if Kal would accept the quilt he’s bought for him, and immediately chides himself for even thinking about using this situation to his benefit. “... wanted me.” 

The whispered admission cuts into Zeb like a sharp blade caught beneath his fur, prying his skin away. 

“It’s the truth,” Zeb assures him. “I still do.”

Alexsandr shakes his head, eyes wild and disbelieving. “How? How can you? I don’t deserve it!”

Zeb laughs. “What a load of bantha-shit.” When Alexsandr doesn’t respond, Zeb continues. “It’s not a matter of deservin’ anything! Does a newborn babe deserve love?”

“That’s hardly the same,” Alex scoffs. “A baby hasn’t done anything wrong and besides, it’s helpless.”

“And are ya so different? Lyin’ here, lost in your own mind, trapped in the worst memories you can think of - are you any less helpless?”

“It’s...it’s not-”

“Alexsandr,” Zeb says in emphasis and Alex falls quiet, large amber eyes imploring. “We love because we want to. Would you deny me the right to choose who I love?”

“Of course not,” Alex murmurs quietly. 

“This isn’t how I wanted to confess, gotta admit,” Zeb smiles crookedly, “but I think it’s overdue.”

Alexsandr’s chin wobbles.

“Sure, we started off as enemies,” Zeb admits, “but then we got to know each other better. I learned on Bahryn that you could be reasonable. I didn’t think much of that until Sabine relayed yer message that we were even. I was happy ‘cause that proved you were an honorable guy underneath all the propaganda. And then...I learned you were Fulcrum.” 

Alexsandr is mute, but Zeb can tell he’s hanging on his every word, like a beaten animal desperate for a gentle touch. 

“See, ya coulda just left the Empire. Quit. Plenty people do. Retire someplace nice. But not Alexsandr Kallus. Yer a believer, Kal. Any cause ya take up, ya give it yer all.”

Zeb reaches out a hand to touch Alexsandr’s gaunt cheek and feels him lean into it, beard catching on the short fur covering his palm. So hurt, so wounded - his beloved Warrior.

“There’s only one thing needed to make one deservin’ of redemption, Alex. D’ya know what it is?”

Alexsandr shakes his head, eyes blurry with unshed tears. 

“ Wanting it in the first place.”

Alex burrows into his palm, stifling a sob.

“It takes a strong man to admit they’d been wrong,” Zeb says in hushed tones. “But it takes an even stronger one to try and make things right.”

“I’m not strong,” Alexsandr states, trembling. 

“Yes you are. The strongest person I know.” He means it, too. “Ya just gotta learn when to share some of that weight yer used to luggin’ around.”

Kal nods but Zeb can tell he’s still worrying over something, fighting with himself over whether to say what’s on his mind or not. Zeb observes the course of Alexsandr’s internal struggle and, in silence, bears witness to the moment when his gaze turns determined, even as his voice is shaking.

“I can’t do casual, Zeb. Not with you. I thought I could, but...it’d kill me.”

Zeb moves back, frowning. 

“Who said anythin’ about casual?”

The look on Alexsandr’s face clearly shows his lack of understanding.

“Alex...what did ya think I wanted?”

“It...it sounded like you wanted...to be friends with benefits?” Alexsandr utters and then his face floods with embarrassment. “ Maker , that sounds so stupid when I say it out loud.”

“It’s not stupid, Alex,” Zeb says softly. “But it’s also not what I wanted - at all.”

“Then...what?” Alex asks timidly, as if too afraid to finish the sentence. 

“What I did with the clothes...remember? The way I, ah, arranged them?”

Alex’s brow knits and he nods. Zeb’s ears flicker in slight embarrassment. 

“It’s supposed to be done with somethin’ nice. Soft furs, quilts, blankets.” Zeb stops for a moment to gather his thoughts and attempts to tidy Alexsandr’s hair. It really is the most remarkable color, like sand when the sun hits it just right. “It’s not done for casual lovers. Only for…” Alexsandr is looking at him, unblinking, breathing quick and shallow. Zeb takes a deep breath and cups Alex’s cheek. “It’s only done for those one intends to bond with. For life.”

Alexsandr blinks, breath hitching. 

“I’ve never wanted to make a nest for anyone before,” Zeb admits. “Just you.”

Wide eyes look at him, hesitant and fearful. 

“And the reason why I didn’t say so outright is because I feared I was going too fast, I mean, humans seem to want to date fer a while before someone asks ‘em to marry…”

“Mh-” Alex makes an aborted sound. “ Marry ?”

“Yeah,” Zeb smiles at him shyly. “Making a nest is essentially a proposal. But please, ah, lemme do it properly? I bought a really nice, soft quilt fer ya and I still need more stuff, but-”

“You’re not serious.”

Zeb halts. How can he convince Alex that it’s the truth?

“You are ,” Alexsandr blurts out, stunned. “You actually mean it.”

“I haven’t been this serious about anythin’ since joining the Honor Guard of Lasan,” Zeb says softly. 

Alex scoffs. “I’m not an honorable cause, Zeb.”

“Yer not a cause , Alexsandr,” Zeb wills Alex to understand. “Yer a person . And I think yer plenty honorable.”

Alexsandr shakes his head, lanky, lifeless strands of blonde hair falling across his brow. “You’re asking me to marry you?”

“No, I’m telling ya I intend to ask. Gotta make up the nest first.”

“Garazeb, is this...are you courting me?”

Zeb can’t help a small chuckle. “Yeah, pretty sure I’m tryin’ to!”

Something suspiciously like hope flickers in Alexsandr’s haunted eyes. 

“I mean, it all depends on what ya want,” Zeb murmurs. “Yer allowed to say no.”

Fear flashes across Alexsandr’s face. When he opens his mouth, Zeb barely catches the faint words. 

“What if I wanted to say yes?”

Zeb beams at him and leans in to rub their cheeks together. 

“Nice to know, but yer gonna have to accept it the Lasat way for it to be binding.”

“And how do I do that?” Alex asks softly, cheek rubbing languidly against Zeb’s.

Zeb nuzzles into Kal’s neck and murmurs softly into his ear, “By lettin’ me make a nest fer ya, nice and’ proper-” Alexsandr shivers next to him, suppressing a small moan. “-and then makin’ love in it.”

Alex shudders and Zeb draws him into a firm embrace. The scent of disinfectant fades as he breathes in Alexsandr’s sweat, slightly acrid from inactivity. Still, it is wonderful and fills his lungs, just as surely as Alex fills his arms. He fits beautifully there, curled into Zeb’s chest.

“Is this real?” Alexsandr mutters feebly against his shoulder. “I’m not imagining this?”

Zeb huffs and holds him tighter. “It’s very real, I promise.” 

Alex exhales shakily and for the first time tonight, Zeb can feel strength in his future mate’s limbs. Pale arms cling to him and he cradles Alex’s head with one hand, and strokes his back with the other. 

“It’s going to be ok,” Zeb offers reassurances, heart warm and full, “My Alexsandr...”

Alex huffs out a weak laugh. “Nobody’s called me that since I was a child.”

“Do ya hate it?” Zeb asks, suddenly apprehensive.

“From you? No. It will take some getting used to. You say it so… lovingly .”

The way Alex says it leaves room for doubt, so bewildered and frail. 

“Well, that’s ‘cause I do. Love you.”

Alex squeezes him back, face buried in his neck, like he’d prefer to stay nestled in Zeb’s embrace forever. 

“Say it again?”

The request, so hopeful and timid, threatens to break Zeb’s heart anew. He kisses Kal’s brow, his temple and his cheek before bringing their foreheads together. 

“I love you, Alexsandr,” Zeb rumbles, “I said it in Lasana last time, so ya couldn’t understand me, but I meant it. I’ll tell you that every day, until ya believe me.”

“That might take a while…” Kal says self-deprecatingly. 

“Don’t care,” Zeb says nonchalantly. “Then I’ll say it until ya get sick of it.”

Piercing citrine eyes stare up at him and Alexsandr all but whispers what seems like a solemn promise. “I’ll never get sick of it.”

Zeb softens and takes in the sight of his beloved, frail yet fierce, tired yet strong, and thinks to himself that he really lucked out. Alexsandr wants to spend his life by Zeb’s side. 

“I have to warn ya, mates can be kinda pesky about stuff.”

“Oh? Like what?” Alex asks, smile brighter than before. 

“I dunno,” Zeb says playfully, “makin’ sure ya eat and get enough rest...boring stuff.”

“I’m never bored when I’m with you.”

“Good,” Zeb grins. “Does that mean I can tell Hera and the crew?”

“Tell us what, Zeb?” 

Zeb startles, head knocking against Alexsandr’s, who grunts in pain. Embarrassed and worried for his mate, Zeb ignores Hera for the moment and takes Alexsandr’s face in his hands, taking stock of his condition. 

“Sorry, love,” he apologizes to Alex, uncaring about who hears him. 

“Uhhh, someone mind telling me what’s going on?” Ezra chimes in, as tactless as usual. 

“Shut up,” Sabine hushes him harshly, and Ezra yelps, presumably from being elbowed in the ribs. “Can’t you see they’re having a moment?”

Zeb growls at the interruption and looks at his family. Just as suspected, Ezra’s rubbing his ribcage and grumbling something under his breath, Sabine rolling her eyes at him. Only Hera is looking Zeb’s way, a knowing smile on her face. 

“So,” she says, “You and Kal, huh?”

Zeb looks Alex's way and implores him with a look. Alexsandr sighs and cracks a little smile. 

“Yes, Garazeb and I.”

Chopper whoops and bleeps, whirling his manipulators like a maniac. Zeb wonders who let the insane murder bot into a place where patients are supposed to be resting. 

“Chop!!” Hera gasps admonishingly and Zeb hears Alexsandr choking behind him. 

Oh, blushing too.

“What did the rust-bucket say?” Zeb asks, willing and able to dismantle Chopper for good in case it said something mean about Alex. 

“Uh, he congratulated Alex on joining the family and-”

Sabine whines, “Ezra-”

“-asked him to abstain from leaving stains on the upholstery like Kanan and He-”

“That’s enough!” Hera says imperiously, holding up a hand, practically daring Ezra to finish the sentence. It seems the kid has enough sense to hold his tongue, for once. 

Chopper warbles a resolute whoop whoop and clacks his manipulators together. 

“Am I allowed to translate,” Ezra asks, on guard against Sabine’s armored elbow, “or will someone assault me again?”

“I didn’t hit you that hard,” Sabine rolls her eyes in exasperation. 

“That one was safe,” Hera admits grudgingly, giving Chopper the side-eye. 

“Chop said he’s sad his second-favorite organic is getting together with his least-favorite one, but that he counts on you to make Zeb less violent.” Sabine explains in a steady tone. 

“You little-” Zeb snarls at Chopper, who keeps up his usual racket, swirling his dome around twice as his manipulators flail about. Zeb feels inclined to get up and rip Chopper’s dome off, when the sound of bright, happy laughter stops him. 

Kal is laughing, corners of his eyes crinkled, and Zeb’s desire to punish Chopper for running his mouth off evaporates. How long has it been since he’s seen Alexsandr smiling like this - exhilarated and free of pain?

“Thank you, C1-10P. You have my solemn promise that I’ll work on Zeb’s violent subroutines to make him less prone to denting your chassis on a regular basis.”

As Zeb looks at Alexsandr, who seems so much lighter now, it occurs to him that this easy acceptance from his family might have been just the ticket to let Kal know that he’s not alone. 

“Weren’t we supposed to visit two at a time?” Zeb asks.

“Kanan might’ve told them to make an exception, since we’re family,” Hera says warmly and Alexsandr looks like he’s about to cry. “I didn’t think it was literal, but here we are!”

Sabine approaches the bed and hands Alexsandr a very colorful get-well card, together with a small bouquet of cheery yellow wildflowers. 

“Get well soon, Kallus. We’ll need to celebrate this occasion when you get out.”

Alexsandr takes the offerings and nods, too overwhelmed to speak. 

“Hope you enjoy spicy food, cause I’m cooking!” Sabine continues with a grin. 

“I enjoy it in moderation,” Alex smiles, and Zeb knows the man would eat anything and claim it tasted perfect so as to not disappoint them. He’s just that kind of guy. 

“Well, this is a lovely atmosphere,” Kanan says lightly, emerging from behind the divider. “It seems congratulations are in order?”

“How did you-?” Zeb starts and then remembers who he’s talking to. Jedi crap. Plus, Kanan was the only one who knew there was something happening between him and Kal. 

“Wait, what are we celebrating exactly?” Ezra buts in, as clueless as ever. “I mean, I get they’re probably dating now or something-”

“That’s reason enough to celebrate!” Hera interrupts, warning Ezra with a glare to shut his mouth.

Zeb looks back at Alex, who stares into his eyes, soft and kind. Zeb would like nothing better than to shout from the top of the temple that Alexsandr is his now, his future mate, but he refrains. It’s enough that they know what they are to each other now. 

“Group hug!” Sabine yells and then there’s pandemonium - the kids pile up over Kal and him, Chopper wheels around the bed to bonk at the frame, then tugs the blanket with one of the manipulators. Hera takes her droid’s route and sits on the already overcrowded bed to half drape over him and Kal, drawing them in. Kanan remains standing, but he’s laughing, visibly pleased by the tangle of people on the bed. 

Alex gets smooshed under everyone, but he’s laughing too.

“Welcome to the Spectres, Kallus,” Kanan says warmly.

Chapter Text

“Can ya get up?”

“Of course I can get up,” Kallus snipes at Zeb, irritated. “I was dehydrated, not incapacitated.”

“Yeah, well, they told me to take ya for a walk and if all goes well, ya can get discharged tomorrow mornin’.”

“I’m well enough to get discharged now,” Kallus mutters, flinging the blanket covering his legs like it’s personally offended him. When he gets to his feet, though, he sways a bit, enough for Zeb to step in and wrap an arm around his waist to steady him. 

“Uh-uh,” Zeb grins at him and Alexsandr purses his lips in an attempt to look chiding, but the effect is rather ruined when he can’t quite suppress the amused smile that’s peeking out. It seems he’s permanently lost his ability to be mad at Zeb.

It hasn’t been easy these past few days. Kallus has finally agreed to therapy, on the condition that Zeb would come find him after every session. He’d needed at least something to look forward to. After the first few sessions, he’d been exhausted, at times even angry, but today marked the first time he didn’t feel upset afterwards. Perhaps he should have unburdened himself sooner.

Too tired after baring his soul and dredging through the memories he loathed, Zeb’s embrace was his only true comfort, and he’d stay in his arms for over an hour at a time, falling asleep more often than not. Kallus was grateful that the infirmary staff didn’t make a big fuss over it. Clearly having Zeb as a natural sedative was more pragmatic than inducing the same effect chemically, especially with their dwindling supplies taken into account. 

“Come on, Zeb, our candle-lit dinner awaits,” Kallus quips, sarcastically alluding to the fact Zeb’s promised to take him to the mess hall earlier. 

“Aw, is that our first date?” Zeb grins while escorting him out of the infirmary. 

Instead of answering, Kallus feels his cheeks warm in betrayal. Zeb has definitely turned into more of a tease ever since their conversation. Kallus finds himself quite helpless before the innuendo, as he’s been craving a kiss for days now, but Zeb, the obstinate, caring fool he is, keeps his kisses chaste. Zeb has no issue kissing his brow, his cheek, even his knuckles, but the one kind of kiss Kallus is yearning for seems off the table while he’s convalescing. 

They walk into the packed mess hall and Kallus can’t help but snicker. 

“Share the joke?” Zeb inquires, ears perking up in curiosity. 

Kallus loves Zeb’s expressive ears. Often, he gets the urge to pet them, run his hands over both, make Zeb purr again... 

“Hardly a romantic atmosphere with all the people in here,” he mutters, leaning in so he’s not overheard. 

Zeb grins. “We can grab the food and go somewhere more fun?”

“Oh?” Kallus smiles in turn, “like where?”

Zeb steers him towards the long tables where several large cauldrons are mounted, long ladles sticking out of them. 

“Hmmm,” Zeb seems to ponder, “I heard the sunset looks nice from the roof…”

“Did you now?” Kallus needles him, wondering which adventurous couple picked that particular spot to have a bit of fun. 

“Oh, great! It’s stew today!” Zeb avoids the topic and grabs a bowl. Kallus snickers and ladles his own portion, content to drop the subject for now. 

Several curious pairs of eyes follow their passage through the mess, and Kallus strongly suspects tongues will start wagging about their newfangled relationship. He must admit that’s at least preferable to being talked about as that-weirdo-who-snapped-and-needed-downtime-to-get-his-head-sorted. 

They walk out, both cradling their bowls, and Zeb heads for the stairs. 

“Think ya can climb all the way up?”

“Yes,” Kallus says emphatically. He’s in good shape usually, and a short bout in the infirmary isn’t enough to change that. 

The ancient and somewhat weathered staircase is completely deserted, and his steps echo off the vaulting walls. Zeb’s soft footfalls are magnified only marginally, creating a sound that is more soothing than it has any right to be. 

When they finally emerge onto the roof, they witness the sun beginning to dip below the overgrown treeline. From this height, the jungle looks breathtaking, with its twisted, vibrant canopy awash in dazzling orange light. Deep hoots and occasional screeches fill the air, and the murmur of the base is almost entirely inaudible from up here. 

Zeb settles on a small ledge, bowl perched in his lap, and looks at Kallus with invitation warm in his eyes. Kallus smiles and sits down next to Zeb, their knees touching. They eat in companionable silence, Kallus sneaking glances at Zeb and trying not to get caught doing it. Predictably, he fails, and Zeb graces him with a goofy grin. Mercifully, he makes no mention of Kallus’ childish behavior and goes back to his stew. 

Once spoons clatter against the emptied bottom of their bowls, Zeb stacks them together and puts them aside. 

By this point, the sun has dipped most of the way below the horizon, leaving behind a muted reddish halo which is holding the encroaching twilight at bay for a little while longer. Kallus breathes in deeply, enjoying the fresh air he’s seldom had occasion to indulge in. Lower levels of Coruscant were terrible - all filth, rust and decay, and Imperial facilities seemed like heaven in comparison, with their clean, recycled air. Only now, when he was free of it could he appreciate how much better the air smelled under a free sky, on a planet where the people weren’t enslaved or nature destroyed to make way for factories that only bred more and more death. 

Like Lothal. Kallus knows there are plans to liberate the planet and he vowed to be part of that effort. It was the least he could do, after everything…

“Beautiful,” Zeb comments, jarring Kallus out of his morose thoughts. 

“Yeah, the sunset is pretty spectacular,” Kallus admits, appreciating the vivid colors blooming across the horizon. 

“Wasn’t talkin’ about the sunset…” Zeb murmurs.

“What, then-?” Kallus asks, half-turning towards Zeb, when he notices that Zeb is studying him, taking him in, and any words he might have said die in his mouth. There’s a soft kind of wonder in Zeb's gaze, tinged with a yearning Kallus finds familiar. It’s the same way he stares at Zeb when the man isn’t watching. 

“You,” Zeb murmures, leaning in, and Kallus closes his eyes.

The scent of Zeb’s fur fills his nostrils, and Kallus melts into the long-awaited kiss, sighing into Garazeb’s warm, spicy mouth. Kallus can feel the breeze tousling his hair, and then there’s fingers playing with it. He loses himself in the gentleness of Zeb’s touches; immersed in the endless warmth of that big, supportive hand cradling his neck.

Kallus has never been one for poetry or art, but this kiss feels worthy of song; deserving to be passed down in memory. 

He trails his own hand up Zeb’s neck, luxuriating in the texture of his short fur. Garazeb was made to be touched, reverently, and even if Kallus’ hands are hardly worthy, they’ve been chosen. Even if it takes the rest of his life, no matter how long that ends up being, he will infuse every touch with the kind of devotion Zeb deserves.

When they finally part, Kallus somewhat breathless, Zeb rumbles in contentment and rubs against his cheek. 

“Mmm, perfect,” Zeb mumbles, sighing in satisfaction. 

Kallus finds himself in complete agreement. 

“Garazeb?” 

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Zeb grins, a small spark of mischief alight in his eyes. “I knew it was just a matter of time!”

Kallus huffs. It’s so like Garazeb to make light of any situation that seems like it might veer into serious territory. Still, Kallus appreciates it. Zeb doesn’t allow him to slip into his dark moods, for which Kallus is grateful. The therapist he’s been talking to stressed the importance of diverting his thoughts away from worst-case scenarios and onto a more positive track by focusing on good things that deserve his attention more. Kallus couldn’t think of anyone that deserved his attention more than Zeb. Sure, during the day, the Rebellion was his cause, but he’d switched sides because of Zeb.

And now he’s allowed to daydream of a future where they are, how did Zeb put it? Bonded? 

Yes, Kallus very much wants that. 

“I’m glad yer feelin’ better,” Zeb says softly. “I was scared for ya…”

“I didn’t realize how bad it was,” Kallus sighs. “I knew it wasn’t good, but I was trying to make it work the same way I used to, before. I hadn’t realized how ineffective my previous coping mechanisms had become.”

“This isn’t the Empire, Alex,” Zeb reminds him, “we take care of our own.”

“Thank goodness,” Kallus cracks a wry smile, “it would have been embarrassing had I defected only to end up worse off than before!”

“I really missed yer smile,” Zeb murmurs gently, and Kallus feels a pleasurable shiver traverse his body. 

Will he ever get used to being loved this way? 

He finds that, at this moment, any worries for the future don’t matter. Not as long as Zeb looks at him like he’s everything that’s right in the world.

Chapter Text

Alexsandr gets better, slowly. Most days, Zeb doesn’t even need to prompt him to eat anymore, Alex wandering into the mess hall of his own volition to grab a cup of caf and a plate of whatever’s on offer that day. Draven’s accepted Alex back to work without a word. Zeb wishes the guy acted less like he’s swallowed an electrostaff, but he supposes not giving Alex any grief over it is better than the alternative. 

Lately, Alex has been doing field-work as well, which Zeb knows he enjoys. It gives him less time to be stuck in his head. 

The promised dinner goes great, Sabine’s Mandalorian cuisine garnering many compliments, as well as a coughing, red-faced Alex who nonetheless gives a thumbs-up, despite his face being scrunched up in obvious pain. Sabine takes pity on him and pours some nerf cream over his food. Alexsandr seems embarrassed at first, until he realizes everyone except Sabine eats it that way. Ezra tries to go without, clearly still trying to impress Sabine (or maybe trying to prove something), but is forced to concede defeat when Hera remarks that he’s dripping sweat into his plate. They have meiloroon pie for dessert - Hera takes three slices and stares down Zeb who was reaching for the last slice, which he promptly gives up on. He may have wanted that second slice, but he isn’t suicidal. Alex offers him the other half of his own, claiming he’s full, and Zeb tucks in happily after making sure that’s the truth and not some misguided attempt at chivalry. 

“You two are so gross,” Ezra chimes in, “get a room!” 

Zeb is about to thwack the infuriating boy when Sabine kicks the Jedi brat in the shin under the table. 

“Then get outta my room, Ezra,” Zeb snickers at him. “I’m sure Kal won’t mind donating one of his socks for the door?”

The look of sheer embarrassment on Alexsandr is priceless, and Zeb is doubly pleased to see a look of pure, unadulterated horror dawning on Ezra’s face. Even Kanan laughs at that. 

All in all, Alexsandr is fitting in nicely, none of the Spectres giving him much trouble. Whenever there’s a lull in the action, Zeb catches Alex socializing with Sabine and Hera, and occasionally even talking to Kanan. Alex opened up to Zeb about one such instance, admitting that he apologized to Kanan for having tortured him before. Zeb knows that that can’t have been easy for him, and tells Alex he’s proud of him. 

Zeb spends the next month or so gathering materials for the nest, and despite Alexsandr’s curiosity, refuses to show him any of the components, telling him it’s meant to be a surprise. Alex pouts but acquiesces, taking a kiss or two to tide him over while he waits. 

For someone who used to be so reserved, Zeb is taken aback by how tactile Alex is when they are alone. He seeks out Zeb’s hand to hold, enjoys caressing any bared fur he can find, and gets them both into trouble more than once by fondling his ears. He still remembers that one time when Dodonna caught them in a moment of somewhat exuberant affection behind some crates in the hangar. It’s not Zeb’s fault that the feel of Alexsandr’s deft fingers sneaking into the back crease to run along it (a feat no Lasat could accomplish with any amount of finesse) sends Zeb purring like a well-oiled engine. 

Everything seems to be going well...until Lothal. 

Zeb loses count of how many near misses they’ve had.

Then those near-misses turn into losses. 

Kanan; Zeb’s savior, comrade and friend - lost. 

And before they’ve had time to properly mourn him, Ezra goes and pulls off one of his crazy schemes, and it actually works - the purrgil dragging away Thrawn’s entire fleet with Thrawn still on board. 

And just like that, they lose both of their Jedi. Hera is inconsolable, both for her mate and a boy who was like her adopted son. When Zeb mentions to Alex how strange it feels to no longer have Ezra complaining about his smell and leaving his possessions strewn all over their quarters, Alexsandr moves in the next day, without as much as a word. Zeb doesn’t say it, but he appreciates the fact Alex knows him well enough to understand a cry of loneliness and grief when he hears one. 

They sleep curled up, Alex snuggled up into his chest, and even though it can’t make up for their losses, it comes close enough. 

And when Hera calls a family meeting, the first one in ages, sits what’s left of their crew down for a conversation, they all get the shock of a lifetime. She’s pregnant. As soon as she breaks the news, Zeb is so shaken, he can barely process what she’s said. Sabine starts weeping and throws herself at Hera for a hug, and Alex tells Hera in the most cautious tone Zeb can imagine: “Congratulations.” When she hears it, her chin wobbles and she starts crying in earnest. Zeb barely holds it together, the wound left from Kanan’s passing reopening, even though he’s thrilled for Hera. She will have a living reminder of the man she loved, which is more than most people get. 

Once Lothal is liberated and reconstruction well underway, Zeb dares to seek out the finishing touches for the nest - a large, feather down pillow, followed by a light blanket they can use to sleep comfortably after they overheat, and then there’s one last thing to do before he can arrange the nest in the sleeping quarters they’ve been assigned on Lothal. It’s not home exactly, but it’s their shared space, at least for now. 

He’s also sent word to Chava that he intends to take Alexsandr for a mate. It was not a missive he relished writing, but he wanted Chava and the leadership of Lira San to know the truth before he took Alex there. It wasn’t just to be considerate of the Lasat on the planet, Zeb simply didn’t want to risk taking his mate somewhere he wouldn’t be welcome. Lasan was gone, and nothing tied Zeb to Lira San, not yet. Only a smattering of refugees from Lasan that they’d managed to smuggle there. If they chose to cling to their hate towards a former Imperial, Zeb couldn’t blame them, but that also didn’t mean he had to put Alexsandr through the possibility of redemption, only to snatch it away. Alex has had enough disappointment in his life and Zeb refuses to add to it. 

A pair of firm, pale arms wraps around his middle, and Zeb can feel Alex tucking himself snugly into his back. There are no words to express the blooming feeling in his chest whenever Alexsandr expresses his affection in this manner. 

“You were parsecs away…” Alex mutters into his fur, and Zeb rumbles a soft chuckle. His mate-to-be doesn’t know how right he is. 

“I’m right here, love,” Zeb murmurs, enjoying the way Alex is rubbing his face in the fur on his back. This will make him smell of Zeb, obvious for anyone able to perceive it, and the fact Alex welcomes it is proof of how far they’ve come. 

Zeb brings his hand to rest over Alexsandr’s and strokes his knuckles gently. 

There’s no reason left to wait - even if Chava refuses them her blessing, Zeb will still be mated to the man he loves, no matter what anyone thinks about it.

Chapter Text

Zeb operates under the illusion that he can be sneaky when he wants to, a fact which Kallus finds rather charming. There’s always this scrunched-up look of concentration on his face, ears pointed back at a very specific angle that gives it away. To those who don’t know him, Zeb can appear brutish and unpredictable, with fits of temper to match such an impression, but upon closer inspection, even the greatest fool could tell that Zeb’s anger is quick to rise and even quicker to fade, and is most often directed at genuine threats. Garazeb never gets violent unprovoked, and even when he occasionally snaps at someone or something irritating, he is quick to apologize, ears lowered in contriteness and hand rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. 

Kallus was raised to be perceptive. It was the only way to survive in his environment. Since early childhood, he could tell that the difference between life and death (or grievous injury) often lay in keeping a careful watch; taking in every detail of his surroundings to keep himself safe. It was a useful skill; knowing which alleys were safe to traverse, and to what degree - some passages contained debris, trash, and attracted vermin of all kind; others were discreet places adults used to crowd each other into walls and grunt things he couldn’t understand. Often, they were men, human or mixed species and Kallus avoided these alleys almost instinctively, knowing that getting interrupted tended to make these people violent, even if he didn’t fully understand why. Then there were crooked, narrow streets where one was likely to get robbed or kidnapped, depending on the time of day. The safest alleys tended to be those where men and women stood around, seemingly waiting. They would always let him pass, and he occasionally even got a smile or a pat on the head from some of them. 

Rummaging through his childhood memories was a bittersweet affair, but it came easier to regard them with something other than disdain lately. 

The first time he’d stolen something because their cooler was empty, he got a beating from his father. “We don’t steal, boy!” his father had said, clearly expecting a five year old child to understand the implications of his words. It took Alexsandr years of much-avoided introspection to realize what his father had meant by it. 

A rudimentary, poorly expressed point of pride for a family that was always teetering on the edge of abject poverty and kept that way by outside forces. A rather pitiful attempt to cling to the last remaining shred of honor. 

It didn’t take long for his father to slide into self-destruction after Kallus’ mother passed. Disgusted by the man’s decline: his weakness, his inability to function and take care of basic hygiene, his neglect when it came to paying the fees to keep their power on, young Kallus sought a way out. The military academy was always in need of new recruits, taking children as young as thirteen. He faked his father’s signature by getting his chain-code when the man was blackout drunk, and just... left. Didn’t look back. Hadn’t left a note, either. 

Back then, he didn’t care what would happen to his father if he was left alone, part of Kallus quite content to imagine the drunkard dead somewhere in an alley after getting beat up by debt collectors. 

It’s only now, decades later, that Kallus feels shame. Now that he has a partner of his own, the depth of grief his father must have felt becomes easier to fathom, made accessible by years of experience and a wider perspective of the world. Sure, he was just a child and couldn’t (nor shouldn’t) have been expected to take care of an adult, but he hadn’t stopped to consider how it looked from his father’s perspective, Kallus’ own harsh reality too engrossing to allow for it. 

His father died when Kallus was in his third year at the Academy, the school administration notifying him that his last living guardian was deceased. He hadn’t asked how, hadn’t cared enough to. In an odd sense, it brought relief, to know he was gone, and that Kallus wouldn’t be expected to take care of him eventually. Plenty of children where he grew up had to - a disgusting fact of life Kallus abhorred. 

Thinking about family always seemed an exercise in futility, a maudlin waste of time. Only now, after a few months with Zeb, can Kallus say he’s starting to understand what all the fuss is about. 

Which brings him to the present moment, Zeb looking distinctly fidgety as he moves from foot to foot, ears flickering between apprehension and excitement. 

“Out with it, Zeb,” Kallus prompts with a sigh to spare Zeb the fretting. 

“H-how d’ya know I was gonna say somethin’?”

“Garazeb,” Kallus looks at him chidingly, warmth evident in his tone, “you forget I know you quite well. You’re clearly dying to ask me something, so spill.”

Zeb sighs, shoulders dropping a fraction. Then he grins and looks down at Kallus with a sheepish little grin, one of his canines peeking out in a charming manner.

“I, ah, got something to show ya.”

“Did you think I was going to say no to that? Honestly, Zeb.” Kallus rolls his eyes for good measure and is rewarded with a chuckle.

“Yeah, yer right.”

Kallus regards Zeb softly and takes his hand, their fingers entwining entirely instinctually at this point. He lets Zeb lead him forward, their soft footfalls barely disturbing the quiet of the corridor. Kallus has a decent idea about where they’re headed and what’s going to greet him once they get there, but it’s still pleasant to imagine it. 

Once they’re standing in front of their bedroom, Zeb pauses and takes a deep breath. With a final, somewhat skittish glance at Kallus, Zeb clears his throat. “Um, close yer eyes?”

Kallus gives Zeb an indulgent look and obediently closes his eyes. Zeb ushers him into the room, careful not to let him bump against the doorframe. 

“Can I open my eyes now?”

“Mhm,” Zeb murmurs.

Kallus blinks, allowing himself a healthy measure of excitement. The sight that greets him far exceeds his expectations, drawing a gasp from his lips. Their quarters are completely unrecognizable - draped, shimmery brown fabric covers the small window of their basement flat, cascading down the wall in waves, pinned in places as it covers most of the walls. Their cot is folded into the wall and hidden from view, leaving the room larger than it usually is, the space illuminated with dozens of flickering candles placed strategically around the room - on shelves and chairs covered with coppery fabric. The lights glimmer and glint off of several clusters of hanging vines, their deep purple leaves reflecting the warm candlelight in a mesmerizing display. All of this frames the main feature of the room, a large, messy circle on the floor that looks like a veritable mound of sumptuous fabric. From what he can see, there’s a fluffy, snowy white pelt, a colorful home-made quilt, an enormous, long pillow fit for two, and several blankets of varying thickness. 

His breath hitches at the embroidered pattern on the blanket that covers everything else.

“Zeb...” Kallus breathes the word out, overwhelmed.

“Usually, there’d be a symbol there, something that represents the partner. On Lasan, it was often a flower, or an animal, sometimes a family crest. And I don’t know if your family has somethin’ like that, but this is what I most associate with ya, so I thought-”

Kallus throws himself at Zeb, embracing him firmly. 

“Ya like it?” Zeb asks, voice tremulous and tinged with nerves. 

That Zeb would choose that image to represent Kallus…

“Can I say yes already?” Kallus mutters into Zeb’s neck. 

Zeb chuckles. “Nah, ya gotta inspect the nest. Physically.”

Kallus luxuriates in the pleasant shiver that races down his skin and pulls Zeb down for a deep kiss. Zeb groans into his mouth and trails a hand along the groove of his spine, stopping just shy of groping his ass. Zeb pulls away, reluctantly, and all but growls at him: “Inspect the nest before I lose it, ya damned tease…”

Kallus gives him a cheeky grin. “Does that mean I have to touch it?”

Zeb nods.

“Run my hands over everything?”

Zeb’s eyes are blazing in the half-light, his breathing ragged.

“I guess I better get to it,” Kallus says lightly, and shrugs out of his jacket, keeping his movements as slow as he can while maintaining eye contact. He savors the way Zeb’s chest heaves, the keen twitch of his ears, the subtle flexing of muscle in his thighs and arms. 

How hard must it be for Zeb to have his prize within reach and be denied the touch, be forced to wait as Kallus lets his jacket slide down his arms and onto the floor? The heavy, panting breaths fill his ears as he pulls his shirt off, leaving his torso bared completely. Normally, Zeb would already be upon him, tugging the rest of his clothes off in a hurry to get to his bare skin, but now he isn’t allowed to. 

“Now, now,” Kallus chides his lover, “I can’t exactly go into this lovely, carefully prepared nest with my dirty clothes, can I? That would be dreadfully rude.” The spark of danger and need in Zeb’s eyes induces a lovely frisson that skitters down Kallus’ spine. “Be patient, Garazeb.” The admonishment is almost lazy, as indulgent and taunting as Kallus can make it. “I won’t have you saying I wasn’t thorough.”

The swallow is visible through layers of muscle and fur, and Kallus carefully observes the reaction as he kneels to unlace his boots. Garazeb often complains that the sight of his back is unfairly distracting, and Kallus isn’t above using it against him. The sound that escapes Zeb is an odd amalgamation of whine and growl; a needy, possessive sound that takes root in Kallus’ core. Boots unlaced, Kallus slowly rises and then pulls them off one at a time, relishing the way Zeb’s claws come unsheathed with a helpless shudder. The savagery of that first pair of Lasat claws has been successfully over-written by Zeb’s carefully restrained touches, and Kallus actually enjoys that gentle pinprick of pain when Garazeb squeezes just a touch more possessively than he’d intended. 

Slipping out of the pleasant memories, Kallus focuses on the here and now, on the subtle give as he unbuttons his trousers, bringing relief to the straining member trapped in his briefs. He knows Zeb can smell his arousal, can tell exactly how much satisfaction Kallus is deriving from this slow, carefully calibrated torture. Not yet, though. There are more steps to this dance before climax is allowed, for either of them. Kallus gets lost in the covetous gleam of Garazeb’s luminous eyes, his trousers undone but still clinging to his hips. He rakes a hand through his hair, wondering whether Garazeb is wishing at this very moment that he could be doing what Kallus is doing. Glacially slowly, Kallus trails a touch down his neck, over his collarbones and shivers at Zeb’s rumbling purrs. His fingertips map out the trail he wishes to imprint on his mate, a slow slide down his abdomen that twitches for a moment, his mind almost having forgotten that he’s the one doing the touching. Palms flatten and slip into his trousers and Zeb takes an almost involuntary step forward as Kallus pushes them down.

“Stay there, Garazeb,” Kallus asks of him, voice deeper and gravelier than he expected. He chuckles, of course it was too much to expect that he’d remain unaffected - how could he, with Zeb looking about ready to jump him? Every muscle is tense, fur rippling, and Kallus almost drops the charade altogether. 

They’ve had sex plently of times, and made love plenty more, but Kallus knows this time is special. If he accepts Zeb’s proposal, and he very much intends to, this would mark the first time they’d mate . And while he’s clearly not a Lasat, Kallus feels an incredible pull towards the concept. They are both very physical people, used to battle, used to hardship. It makes perfect sense that a more primordial expression of love would be what they gravitate towards.

The slow slide of fabric down his calves and Zeb’s spellbound gaze have Kallus’ self-restraint fraying. He steps out of his trousers and directs a knowing smile Zeb’s way before lowering himself to sit on the edge of the nest to roll his socks off. The purring noise stutters for a moment as Zeb whines in frustration. 

“Patience,” Kallus reminds Zeb, knowing that his tone is likely to inflame him further. Then, without breaking eye contact, he crawls backwards into the nest of blankets. They are soft and yielding, and comfortable as hell. When he reaches the pillow, he lets his head sink into it and his moan is quite genuine. 

“D’you-” Garazeb pants, at the very end of his patience, “-like it?”

Kallus is tempted to say yes immediately, but something in him wants to provoke Zeb further. With a tsking noise, Kallus reprimands the impatience. “I said I would run my hands through everything...and that’s precisely what I intend to do.”

On his back, sprawled on the bed with one knee bent, Kallus proceeds to test the yield of the pillow, both palms pushing into the fluff that rustles in an exquisite way - some kind of down, judging by its softness. Zeb is grunting, fidgeting in place as his jumpsuit no doubt constricts around an eager part of his anatomy. 

Kallus sits up and runs his hands over the various blankets, admiring the weave and the softness, finding no fault whatsoever with any of it. Well, if there was a flaw to be noted, it would be the fact that nothing smelled like Zeb yet, which was easy enough to rectify. He couldn’t even feel the hardness of the floor beneath him, and wondered whether Zeb had acquired some kind of material to insulate and serve as a base for the nest. Observing the entire nest with an appreciative eye, a white pelt draws his attention, and Kallus pulls it into his lap. It’s not an overly large piece, but it would probably serve wonderfully to keep their feet warm in the winter. Kallus runs his fingers through the sleek fur and admires the texture, even as his fingers itch to bury in a different, more beautiful kind of fur. 

“And if I happen to dislike something? What happens then?” Kallus asks, genuinely curious. When Zeb starts trembling, Kallus wonders whether his teasing has gone too far.

“I’d have to replace it,” Zeb responds, voice strained, “And present it to ya some other day.”

His poor Garazeb, worrying that Kallus could ever refuse his proposal...

“Well...I do see only one problem with this nest,” Kallus drawls, desire clear in his voice.

“And that is?” Zeb looks about ready to expire from frustration, so Kallus decides to show him mercy. 

“That you’re not in it.”

Zeb roars and launches himself at Kallus, who yelps in surprise, scrambling backwards to avoid the leaping Lasat. He’s not terribly successful, as Zeb lands half on top of him, pulling him closer until they are flush together. 

“Zeb, you didn’t change out of your clothes,” Kallus chides him playfully, “what if you get the nest dirty?”

“Oh, we’re gonna dirty it plenty by the time I’m done with ya,” Zeb promises, prompting a delighted laugh from Kallus. 

Any further smart retorts die on his tongue as Zeb kisses him, licking into his mouth and growling against his lips. Kallus runs his hands over Zeb’s shoulders and up the velvety fur on his neck. He savors every shudder, every kiss more scorching than the last, until he’s moaning as he sucks on Zeb’s tongue, mind filling with delicious possibilities. Zeb must be feeling supremely uncomfortable in his jumpsuit by now…

Kallus works the zipper down, revealing the thicker chest fur he can’t help but bury his fingers in. It’s coarser, almost as coarse as the long bristles of Zeb’s beard, but carding through it never fails to capture his attention and bring him comfort. A purring growl reminds him that comfort is about the last thing Zeb’s interested in right now.

“Ya damned tease,” Zeb murmurs between kisses and torturous nips down the length of Kallus’ neck, “I’m gonna pay ya back for that…”

Kallus hums in pleasure, every nerve alive from Zeb’s touch. “Is that a promise?”

“You bet yer fine ass it is.” Zeb rumbles possessively, one hand gripping Kallus’ hip.

“Why don’t we get you out of these restrictive clothes, Garazeb?”

“Who’s impatient now?” Zeb grins before squeezing his hip, claws unsheathing and pricking him just enough to smart the way Kallus likes it, without actually breaking the skin. 

“You expect me to be patient with such a good-looking man in my bed?”

“Flatterer,” Zeb mutters against his lips and kisses him again. 

Kallus loses himself in Zeb’s scent, in the fervent exploration of his hands, in the alluring softness of his fur. Kallus strips him as fast as he’s able, eager to caress every last bit of him he can reach. Zeb cooperates, shucking his jumpsuit off like a reptile getting rid of old skin, before turning the full attention of his burning gaze on Kallus. 

He observes the desire and the love on that expressive face and wonders whether Zeb can read the same in his own. The candlelight brings out the stripes that wrap around Zeb’s arms, legs, and torso, and the contrast is impossible not to appreciate. 

“I love your stripes, did I ever tell you that?”

Garazeb purrs, smile turning sultry. “Heh, I am pretty good-looking by Lasat standards.”

Kallus likes giving Zeb compliments, because whenever he does, his love puffs up with pride - so genuinely happy to hear it that Kallus really has no choice but to keep finding new things to praise. 

“Oh? And how do I fare by Lasat standards?”

“Well, ya don’t really have Lasat coloring...or stripes,” Zeb murmurs, like he’s ticking off a list. “And yer kinda small - no offense - but yer a formidable warrior, and ya got pretty great facial hair, so…”

Kallus snorts. “So, you’re telling me I’m a runt, and my only saving grace is that I can occasionally knock you on your ass? And that I have a nice beard.”

“And ya smell nice,” Zeb murmurs.

“Scent matters to Lasat?”

“Oh, yeah. A strong scent is a sign of virility.”

Kallus fails to suppress a grin. What would Bridger say if he knew he’d been bunking with a Lasat hottie? 

“Why don’t you demonstrate some of that virility for me, hmm?” Kallus taunts Zeb, who stares at him like he’d very much enjoy eating him. 

“If ya keep that up, I won’t be able to control myself,” Zeb warns him - chivalrous to the end. 

“That was the entire point,” Kallus sighs in exasperation. “I can handle it, Garazeb, you know that.” When Zeb gives him a skeptical look, Kallus runs a thumb across his furred cheek. “This is me saying yes to your proposal, Zeb. I want everything you can offer, and I will prove to you that I can handle anything you throw at me.”

“The only thing I’m likely to throw at you right now is myself,” Zeb says wryly. 

“Come here, you incurable romantic, you.” Kallus embraces Zeb and they melt into the embrace, Zeb sighing in contentment.

“So...ya like the candles?” Zeb asks, almost timidly. 

“Why wouldn’t I like them?”

“Well, I asked Sabine for advice on what a human would find romantic, and she suggested candles for the mood? Can’t say I understood why…”

Kallus ponders his answer for a moment.

“Lasat have superior low-light vision so you wouldn’t need candle-light, and humans evolved by using fire to keep ourselves safe from predators. For the longest time, it was our greatest weapon.”

Zeb huffs. “That’s supposed to be romantic?”

“Well, humans would have used fire to ward off dangerous, powerful beasts that lurk in the shadows, circling their nests…”

“I’ll give ya dangerous, ya pest,” Zeb growls and nips his neck. Kallus gasps, grasping Garazeb by the shoulders and laughing at the reaction to his teasing provocation. His love is so easily riled and so endlessly warm. 

Kallus allows his fingers to speak of his love, as he consecrates the hallowed body of his mate with every means of devotion at his disposal. Lines are drawn on his body, pale and pink, and loving bruises branded into his skin. Every nip of teeth, every rugged gasp, every slide of skin against fur is precious.

No one said it would be easy, loving another, but they manage all the same - entwined and breathless, rushing, at last, to a common goal.

And as they lie in the nest, utterly spent and cooling from their exertions, Kallus rubs the delicate filaments in the embroidery of his new blanket. The Fulcrum symbol glints in the candle-light, flickering as effervescently as the holographic interfaces he once used for his transmissions. 

A symbol of duty, loyalty and honor. 

A mark of forgiveness. 

And even if his misdeeds will never vanish, he has the rest of his life to make better choices.

He mutters words of affection to his sleepy mate and nestles closer to bury his face in lavender fur. Garazeb holds him closer, rumbling incoherently, a dopey smile on his face, and Alexsandr exhales, long and soft.