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sinisterexaggerator · 2 months

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Dead or Alive

Cad Bane x Fem! Reader

NSFW / 18 + for Blowjobs, titty fucking, ejaculation, public sex acts (semi), and a bit of demeaning behavior / slight humor on Bane's part. Yes, he has two dicks.

Summary: Cad Bane is the most handsome man you have seen in your whole life. He knows that look, and decides to have some fun with you. For you, it's love at first sight. You would let him take you in any way that he saw fit; lucky for you, he's into that (you give Bane sloppy head in an alley behind a bar).

Word count: 3.1k. Short and sweet.

Notes: Haven't written for Bane for a minute. Just wanted to gush over him for a bit. He was so hot in TBB season 2 that I was inspired. This fic takes place from many points of view, but halfway through it settles into the reader's perspective. I may write a part 2 when she/you bump into him again. ;D

A raucous discordance of voices quieted to a dull roar, and then nothing – a nervous cough, the scrape of a chair – so many languages hailing from different star systems pinched off like oxygen from the lungs. Those sentient beings who absorbed the stuff found they held it inside like a scream; they harbored this bated breath, as if releasing it might bring certain doom in the guise of a figure.

A figure who wore a hat, canted downward, its wide brim shielding them from judgement, from the burn of this creature’s gaze, this otherworldly being who was half myth, half legend, half flesh and green blood, bound together by a kind of apathy that bordered cruel.

But the stories were true— time stood still once he walked into the room.

One might swear they could hear the drop of that toothpick, discarded with both absence of mind and disrespect. It bounced once across greel-wood floors strewn with sand, in need of a sweep.

All eyes, including ones that were bulbous and backlit, remained on the blue Duros, a person of sound intelligence left to ponder the notion—the implications—as to the appearance of a diminutive droid from behind his legs, only knee-high. For a hunter of such notoriety to keep a companion that for all intents and purposes seemed harmless was a mystery, almost as big a mystery as the man himself.

“Geric Zodri,” its haughty, high-nosed voice called out, little hands akimbo on his hips, both the new arrivals unaware of the woman who sat at a table just diagonal the door. Her caf cup was held stationary in a position that mimicked art, as if sculpted from marble; she dare not move, wanting nothing more than to observe the sight before her, to commit it to memory, for such a beautiful thing it was.

Skin the color of cerulean seas; eyes as red as human blood that shone like fire; fingers as long and delicate as the legs of spiders. His teeth were as sharp and deadly as his stare, two the length of dagger points, the Duros’ body as thin and gangly as the stem of a candlewick flower sold on market days.

He was covered from head to foot in leather, tubes jutting from his cheeks like extra limbs, his pants so tight it appeared he had been poured into them. The girl imagined his wide-brimmed hat to be a crown, fixated atop his head and steeping him in shadow, its artificial shade casting its dark pall across honed planes and angles, only making those stark, elliptic eyes more prominent.

Love at first sight—she might believe it, now that she had come face to face with hell incarnate, a fallen angel, a man so handsome tears threatened to fall from her eyes, her previous occupation all but forgotten.

What had she been doing? Datapad sitting idle, screen blackening to the color of pitch. She hadn’t a clue, forgetting to breathe, forgetting to blink, forgetting her own name as the soft jingle of some unidentified bits of metal clinked against one another with every graceful, slow, deliberate step of this man advancing, strolling beyond her, just to the left.

She felt she might faint; simply pass from this world into the next, to die on the spot as she caught the scent of the gunslinger who smelled like something smokey, something sweet, something not quite like anything else on this stinking planet; it was a wonder she did not spill her beverage straight onto her lap, finally having the sense to place it down upon the table.

Then, another man stood, a human, though nothing about his appearance suggested he was from any place in particular, his eyes wide like an animal ensnared, caught in the path of a hungry predator, though the droid approached him first, his gold-colored photoreceptors angling upward as he tilted his large head.

How did it even stay upright? How did this little bot balance when it was so top heavy, defying the laws of physics? Questions she asked herself as she watched the scene unfold; they were all members of a theatrical audience, her and the other patrons, seated on the edges of seats, cramped in corners to make themselves small, heads bent low with hoods drawn, others smiling wicked smiles of twisted delight.

“Ah, there you are! There is no escape, I am afraid,” the droid said with certainty, joined by an air of pretention that was almost comical. Maybe this woman would have laughed had not all the other people surrounding her been so adamant to keep their silence, a few others daring to inch toward the door in hopes of a subtle escape.

The Duros paused as his target’s eyes shifted, mapping out possible exits, his heartbeat so loud he was positive it could be heard over the eerie quiet that had descended upon this little cantina like an ominous cloud. The gears of his mind were practically visible, turning in the direction of the blaster on his hip, the perp’s arm lifting incrementally in such a fashion as to make everyone aware he planned to draw.

“Naht smart, what yer thinkin’,” the creature’s voice announced, low and husky, words drawled in absolute indifference. So calm and cool, like a tall drink of water served ice cold; he rushed for naught, the girl thinking she would pay all the credits in the galaxy just for him to read aloud to her.

“Whaddeye say ye come quietly, save me a heap a trouble.”

Something akin to fear bristled down her spine, though the threat had not been directed toward her. Worse yet, it wasn’t as simple as that, the tingling of her loins accompanying a heat that spread like wildfire from her groin up to her cheeks.

God, he was perfect in every sense of the word. The tilt of his hip, the drumming of his fingers against his gun belt, the scars that not marred, but complimented his rugged visage. She realized she wanted to kiss him, touch him, worship the very ground he walked on, and she did not even know his name.

“Cad Bane.”

His quarry had spoken, eyes narrowing to match the width of the Duros’, constricted into tapered slits at either end. The girl had only spared him a glance, returning her attention to the rough and tumble nerfpoke whose hand idled over blasters of a kind she had never seen before.

“Supposin’ ye know why Ah’m here, dhen,” the hired gun offered, though his droid perked up, easing himself back into the conversation as if he enjoyed the act of provocation, no better than a sentient who fed on drama.

“For the sizable bounty on your head, of course!”

Cad Bane, the bounty hunter, the girl recited soundlessly. Only known by name, she had never once laid her eyes on him—not that she had desired or ever expected to.

The hunter’s upper lip lifted in a partial sneer, revealing the point of one elongated tooth more clearly. How might it feel for it to press against her flesh? How might it feel to be bitten?

“Dhat’ll do.” The droid needed no other encouragement, backing up to a safer distance as its master stayed put, seeming to know better than to interfere with what was about to occur. The one called Bane never once looked away from his mark, and the girl never once looked away from him, the way in which the Duros carried himself exuding a reptilian-like patience that preceded his species, yet this was something else entirely.

It was a standoff, like those kinds she witnessed in holofilms, but she found herself rooting for the villain—was he the villain? What had this man done to warrant being hunted down like vermin? She would not contemplate the possibilities, too engrossed in the here and now, eyes trailing from boot to brim; she thought she caught a sideways glance in her direction, causing her to dip back in her seat—had he looked at her?

That was the moment a shot rang out, followed by the smell of Tibanna gas and gasps from all around. Another followed suit, within milliseconds, echoing the first. Bane had sidestepped, his reflexes like that of an agile nexu—the human male had tried to take him out and failed.

“Ah’d say better luck next time,” the hunter quipped. The butt of his joke need not be stated, the point of it obvious—he was deader than a starship rivet, hitting the floor like a sack of Corellian potatoes, no one seeming to want to acknowledge this fact as they returned to card games, to gambling, to drinking caf.

But the girl—she would continue to stare, lip nearly chewed to shreds as she bit her tongue to keep from spurting off nonsensical things such as “I love you,” or “please fuck me within an inch of my life.” It was as if he could read her mind, another glance cast with the accompaniment of a smirk.

“Todo.”

The droid was alert and ready to serve, somehow wishing she was he, or it, at his beck and call and then some, never once assuming she could be jealous of a thing that had no soul, made of ones and zeros.

“Get de repulsor,” he commanded. “And ye,” he faced the girl, “come with me.”

---

The coiling of a single digit easily persuaded you, your heartbeat a separate entity set out to betray you; it was felt as a persistent throb below the belt, your cunt clenching as you stood. You were unsure of what the hunter wanted from you, but it did not matter, all thoughts fleeing to be replaced by unconditional obedience.

It would have been unwise to turn him down regardless, apparent from all eyes now set upon you, none wishing to be caught in your shoes. Had he felt disrespected by your ogling? Had he set out to punish you? Would you wind up like the man inside the bar?

You would not see his face again in the span of time it took for him to travel the path laid out before him, unconcerned by your lagging behind, finding you to be no threat. Despite your predicament, you were eager to discover what he had in store, pausing when Cad Bane vanished beyond the mouth of a narrow alley.

Now would be the time to run, to flee for your life, but instead you were stupid, enamored by the way he walked, the way he talked, the clothes upon his back, the color of his pretty scales.

You took a breath, turning the corner. He was waiting for you, thumbs hooked along the waistband of his trousers. Once he was sure you had not abandoned him—and he did allow you your own freewill—he advanced, arriving at a more secluded portion to which he pointed with a downward turn of his index finger.

You bravely stepped forward, aligning yourself with the wall. Bane positioned himself in front of you with a curious tilt of his head, towering above. And while you felt intimidated, you did not outwardly express it, keeping a straight face notwithstanding the trepidation you harbored, meeting that piercing gaze head-on.

Then, he angled his hand, pointing again, this time toward the ground with that same finger, a smug look of callous amusement registered by only a small quirk of his thin lips.

Slowly, thoughtfully, you lowered, drifting to your knees before him as your gaze stayed trained on his gaunt face. He wanted you humbled in supplication; you held no qualms, holding his red eyes with an expectant look for as long as he allowed.

You could get drunk off them, like sanguine-colored wine, your own reflection mirrored back to you; your own desperation; your own indecency, assuming what might come next, yet your expression could only be observed as eager. The Duros’ lithe fingers branched out like twigs as they curled beneath your chin, a hint of a thing most heavenly stretching languidly in an upward curve.

It was a smile, or the beginnings of one, dastardly in effect, Bane all too entertained by your lack of self-respect, perhaps. Yet you obeyed when he pried your lips apart with the pad of a cool thumb, exposing your teeth—nothing like his and dull in comparison—your instinct to wet his scales as your tongue gave a tentative lick, mouth closing around its blue tip.

You sucked, not once breaking eye contact, drowsy with desire as you mimed fellatio, moaning sweet sounds that caused the man to hiss, as if somehow unprepared.

You watched as his free hand unzipped his fly below where his belt fastened, leaving his holsters intact about his tiny waist. It took more than that to partly undress himself, realizing there was a hidden panel made of some extruded, matte material that sealed him off from the outside world; it was like a second skin, only black.

Bane’s bulge pushed against it, as if the thing behind it demanded to be released. Like a snake, it—they—slithered out to your surprise, his thumb abstracted to be replaced by not one, but both his cocks.

Awestruck, your eyes widened; you never would have imagined that what his species packed would be anything quite like this. Coated in a sheer slime that tasted divine, these flexible appendages glided down your throat as if a liquid, bypassing your uvula to delve toward the deepest part of your oropharynx, barely giving you space to breathe.

But you found you could, inhaling through your nostrils as you sat up on your knees, finding his flavor to be enticing, lulling you into a more relaxed state of mind. You were receptive, more than perhaps you ought to be, puckering your lips for better suction, the Duros’ gloved hand finding the back of your head.

He pushed you forward; you did not resist, his slender hips thrusting into you as his reedy fingers coiled into your hair. You aided him, seesawing your neck back and forth, adopting a frictionless speed that caused his grip to tighten, the Duros shamelessly fucking your face like you were a common whore, yet he was not paying you.

His genitalia seemed to be hardening, which was unexpected, making it difficult for you to obtain the oxygen you sorely needed, yet you found to be starved of air was worth it, instead your nostrils filling with a most addicting aroma, none like you had ever smelled before.

Today seemed to be a day full of firsts; your hands found the hunter’s small, yet muscular ass. He did not stop you, though he could if he had the mind, your tongue roiling across and between his members as if imparting a passionate kiss.

What was that? you wondered, your human brain only comprehending it as pheromones, you heart beating faster as you drooled on yourself, spittle leaking down your chin to fall against your breasts. The hunter yanked you backward by your locks, stealing his cocks from you; you panted, gasping, yet you were indignant, tongue searching them out in a pathetic display worthy of embarrassment as you whined in dismay.

“Human girls would choke dhemelves te death,” he commented, tone mocking, allowing the reinsertion of one, while the other slid down the front of your top to fondle a pebbled nipple, slipping beneath the fabric of your brassiere.

He was right; you had not wished to stop, only now noticing how dire the situation had been. As if hypnotized, or seduced by his scent, in that moment you would not have cared if you asphyxiated, so avid was your zeal.

You moaned in earnest, enlivened further by his attention to your tits, however unconventional, moving your hand to grip his interred cock’s sleek base. You gorged on it, one of the Duros hands finding purchase against the wall behind you, propping himself up as you deigned to never be forgotten, feeling privileged to have even gotten this far.

You changed your mind; you went hands free, smashing your breasts together, creating a snug crevice between your cleavage for him to fuck. You continued to slather his first cock in your saliva, deepthroating him to the root of his tentacular shaft, putting your whole body into motion, your tongue ebbing and flowing, cheeks hollowing, coaxing him to bust.

He produced a gruff, throaty sound that nearly caused you to cum untouched. You would have played with yourself right then and there, but his pleasure was the thing you sought, keeping your tits level as he drove his secondary cock between them, droplets having formed at its head; the sticky beads of precum leaked out onto your chest.

“Give a Rodian a run fer dheir creditsss…” he praised, your underwear thoroughly soaked; you relaxed your throat as he face-fucked you harder, though his movements slowed, his strokes deeper, longer, more succinct.

“Get ready,” Bane warned; you felt born ready, squeezing your tits around him at the same time your mouth hugged his every inch. He came, a torrent of ejaculate pumping itself down your gullet and into your belly, the other spreading its seed all across your breasts and neck, spurting as high as your chin.

You were covered, inside and out, verbalizing your ecstasy by way of a happy purr, though you were quickly disappointed when his snake-like dick wriggled right out of you to join its twin, both dripping with remnants of his sperm.

You licked them clean, begging for more, a plaintive whine escaping you as you gazed up with sorrowful, pleading eyes, so sad that it was over.

Bane stuffed himself back inside his suit, his trousers, and awkwardly adjusted, waiting for the moment his dual dicks would retract inside himself, making his pants all the more comfortable to wear.

He pat your cheek; it was a demeaning gesture, yet you ate it up, nuzzling your face into the bowl of his palm for those few seconds, like an eager kitten who craved attention, finding yourself to be devastated when he broke physical contact, your mind swirling with thoughts of him and only him, Bane knowing that look all too well.

“Thanks fer de head.”

The hunter tipped his hat, turned, and moseyed back the way he came, the way from which he had ushered you minutes prior, his droid drifting by with the body of the man Bane had shot laid out on a hover-stretcher, leaving you to pine away for him as he knew you would, walking out of your life just as quickly as he had arrived— oh to be his bounty, dead or alive.

—-

Cad Bane masterlist

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