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weirdlet · 3 days ago

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good LORD that was delightfully hot- light on the safe and sane, and just right

Do Not Disturb

Cad Bane x Hondo Ohnaka (Banaka)

It was a rule: don’t bother him while he’s out on a job. Hondo seemed to think the rules didn’t apply to him, often breaking them without hesitation. It was his own fault for lettin’ him get away with it—but not this time. This time, Bane had deactivated his public channel, and it was only public if you knew his frequency. He had others, ones he kept to himself for the shadiest of deals—everybody had a secret or two they guarded against loved ones, didn’t they?

Notes/Warnings: This is a fic based on an already established relationship! This is SMUT. It is also CRACK and meant to be funny! Expect roughhousing, kissing, penetration, innuendos, dirty humor, and GAY OLD MAN SEX. I am using the Justifier, and Hondo is still on Florrum, so let's pretend this would happen around season 5 or 6 of the Clone Wars, hmm?

Special thanks to @allsystemsblue for helping me figure out Sriluurian curse words, for her thoughts about Hondo in general, and for being my cheerleader!

Word count: 7.2k

Ao3

THERE WILL BE A PART TWO.

In his line of work, nappin’ was a luxury. Between scores, the droid manned the ship, or the ship manned itself, set to autopilot, directed by coords Bane had personally calculated.

The mind of a Duros was built for, among other things, astrogation and mathematical computation, but at the expense of a few hours’ sleep before it could be deemed possible. Equations just didn’t solve themselves. Hell, the computer could do it for him, but Bane was a stickler for checking things twice—it was how he'd stayed alive so long, and he couldn’t afford to quit now.

Minus the loose ends that needed tidying, the Duros was comin’ down off his last hunt like a drug addict off an incredible high, his pockets lined with creds and a satisfied smile daring to linger, the man finding himself to be as smug as a rich kid on Life Day.

Sometimes, things went so well it was suspicious, though he decided to let that funny feelin’ slide, oblivious to the misfortune that was about to befall him like some dunderheaded bantha-brain, failing to reactivate his comms in a manner that was timely.

It was just as well, hyperwaves were both hard to receive and transmit in the bowels of deep space, though Bane had all but forgotten his promise in the paroxysm of his exhaustion. How many rotations had it been? How many weeks had passed since he had last spoken to the pirate? He hadn’t kept count, not while he was in hot pursuit of a bounty with a hefty price on their head, one that was as wily as they were agile, sending Bane on a wild-goose chase from one end of Giju to the other.

And Bane was a private man. Nothing had changed, even if Hondo had wished it to. Bane wasn’t necessarily an old dog, but to retrain him was nigh impossible—the Quay would tell you that himself, tell anyone who would listen, frills bristlin’ every time his lover was unreachable.

The here and now was no different in the scheme of things, the only variable being the fluctuations of a certain scoundrel’s mood. The hunter had poured himself a measure from his personal stash, taken off his duster, and demanded his droid piss off as he kicked his feet up, soon finding himself dozing at the helm of his ship.

And Todo had warned him; had told him he had messages queued, waiting; seemed adamant about their importance, but Bane was in no rush, marching to the beat of a different drum, one that was stubborn and unyielding.

It was some hours later, his hat tipped low over his eyes, shielding him from the backdrop of realspace and those damn floodlights that shone ever so brightly, when he finally yawned. Ohnaka would’ve said he looked like a took’—teeth and all—as his arms stretched wide toward the hull before drifting back down.

Blue fingers itched the Nashtah-hide at his belly, though it was pointless. Nothin’ could get through there. Bane sat in silence, reacclimating to his surroundings, finally able to recall the first of ten equations that would carry him the ninety-six standard hours toward Florrum from his place in the Colonies, having parked himself temporarily at an orbiting waystation somewhere off the Rimma Trade Route.

It was only then he figured he’d loop him in on his whereabouts—no use mentioning it before now, knowing the pirate would make a fuss about the length of his trip, askin’ questions like “when are you coming home, my darling?” or makin’ him feel guilty by stating how much he had missed him.

It wasn’t that Bane didn’t miss him; Hondo was a distraction. It was hard to keep one’s mind clear, focused and alert when it mattered most if he didn’t cut him off. He couldn’t recall how many times he’d sent him naked holos when he least expected it, thinking he might save some of them as blackmail for if the pirate ever double-crossed him.

That wasn’t even the worst of it, it was the vids, the clips of Ohnaka in his office, spread-eagle while jerkin it, whispering obscenities, thinking Bane might enjoy his crude display. They’d argued over it once or twice. Hondo felt he was doing him a service for if he felt alone, perhaps thinkin’ he might one day receive something in return.

It was only when one such holo came through durin’ a meeting with none other than that gasbag Dooku that he’d nearly given up his ghost, not wantin’ to be seen in anything other than a professional light. Not to mention, Bane knew he had a bone to pick with the pirate; it was something he refused to talk about, but he hadn’t spoken to the Quay for weeks, and his poutin’ had been plain awful. He almost rather endure a conversation with Kenobi than to go through that again.

Still, he ought to check in, not allowing for his personal life to interfere with business. Leaning forward toward his comm display, the Duros would witness a series of blinking lights, red like that of his eyes, screaming silently for him to pay attention. He had a bad feelin’ about it, and he was usually right when something didn’t sit well in his gut, staring at the rapidly flashing bulb as it winked at him; taunted him; urged him to press the button just beneath it—the one that would play back all his pending messages.

“Greetings, my friend! I have been trying tu reach you about your speeder’s extended warranty, please return my comm as soon as you are able,” the first message began, Bane rolling his eyes at the pirate’s cheap joke, though he had to admit it was a tad amusing.

The next one wasn’t much better.

“Knock, knock. Who es dere, you may ask? Why, not Bane, of course, for he has refused tu return my call! Soon, ah, my love? I impatiently await tu hear your voice once more.”

The hunter sighed, wondering just how many of these he was going to have to subject himself to, though he dare not skip through them, or it might lead to him potentially losing out on a job. Maybe someone other than Hondo had commed him, though he had his doubts, shaking his head as he took note of the Weequay’s tone. It was progressively sounding more and more bitter, as if that would make Bane want to call him back.

“Bold of you tu continue tu ignore me when so many desperately wish tu seek an audience with me. Dey cannot be blamed, nu? Yet et feels like eons since we have spoken. I am not happy, Bane, but I will excuse dis your slight. Consider yourself lucky I bother tu try—and I du know someting of luck, ah?”

Bane would have almost felt guilty had the scoundrel’s words not come out as more of a warning than a petition for his consideration. And perhaps he was lucky. Not many dared to keep his company, nor put up with his special brand of bullshit, Ohnaka being one of the few to share his table, and his bed with the Duros, Cad having found himself all too comfortable, so comfortable, he wondered if he had begun to take him for granted. There were worse things, he supposed.

“Yetsut (Prick)! Embibatum (Deserter)! So wicked you are, savage! A terrible boy. I should want tu have nothing tu do with you! And yet… I find myself aching en ways endescribable, both en my heart and en my loins … Hurry back, Bane, lest you find I nu longer wish tu receive you upon your return.”

Bane’s brow ridge furrowed. Of all the fibs, that one outshined all of ‘em. He wasn’t sure what he had said, only picking up on a few Sriluurian words here and there in their time together, but he thought it must equate to asshole, the Duros snorting at how ridiculous he sounded when he got all riled up over nothin’.

But maybe it wasn’t for nothin’. It was clear as day that the Quay rather lose a limb than be apart from him, so the next message that came through was really no surprise at all, except for its delivery.

“WHY DU YOU HATE ME?!”

Bane jumped back, so loud was his query that he nearly lost his hat. This time, Hondo had recorded himself, the pirate’s face so close to the emitter Bane thought he could see the whites of his eyes.

“Why du you forsake me, de man who loves you? Should I return tu Aurra?” the holo whined. Bane blinked, then squinted at the tiny blue outline; he wouldn’t dare.

The man was crying, his sniveling and the sound of him blowing his nose dominating the one-sided conversation. Hondo waved a handkerchief for what Bane assumed was dramatic effect, the Duros folding his arms, refusing to buy into his charade.

“After everyting I have done for you, you cannot simply allow me your face tu be seen, tu hear your voice, or tu witness you touching yourself tu de thought of me—et es not right!”

Bane was tempted to fast-forward, realizing that Hondo’s diatribe was likely to go on for several minutes. Listening to his pleading at twice the normal speed, while watching the erratic hand gestures that accompanied his speech, only made it all the more humorous.

“Etesclearyoudunotcareformeonebit, disinowknowwithoutashadowofadoubt, butperhapsmyprickcanconvinceyouwhennothingelsewill,ah?”

Bane almost fell out of his chair when a shot of the pirate’s cock dominated his view, catching himself just in time before he teetered backward. “Fer kark’s sake!”

Letting the holo continue to play back, Bane witnessed all manner of things, things he wouldn’t repeat outside this room, slowing the recording back down when he felt he was nearing its end.

“… I am divorcing you! And du not bother tu come back!”

Bane snorted; they weren’t even married, for cryin’ out loud! Somehow, he had expected more, for the Weequay to have changed his mind. The timestamp read this last comm was transmitted more than four days ago, and Hondo hadn’t bothered to send anything else since.

The Duros’ mouth twitched. He sat there, the gears of his mind turnin’, having dealt with Ohnaka’s mood swings on more than one occasion, they nearly trumped his own.

Had he eaten that day? Was he tendin’ to himself in his absence? Had he run out of his favorite smokes, the ones that made him feel good? Was he experiencing an especially low, low? Had he talked to his mother?

Bane sighed again, this one to excess, his lungs expanding and contracting to their full extent. He rubbed the entirety of his face in the palm of his hand, reaching for the bottle he had left out earlier.

“Better get dhis over wid,” he thought, steeling himself. After downing another two fingerfuls of whiskey, he dialed Hondo’s frequency back on Florrum.

It rang and rang, Bane growing more sour by the second. Just what kind of game was he playin’? He nearly disconnected when the pirate finally picked up, or someone did, a pair of youthful, feminine legs filling the frame before they shrank back with a giggle, disappearing somewhere offscreen.

Bane felt his temper rising, steam threatening to shoot out of his ear cavities, the Duros baring his fangs at the image of Hondo who sat like royalty, his hair loose, full, and streaming down his back as he held what looked like a small mirror within his hand.

“Oh, et es you,” he said in a bored, bland tone. His helmet was off, his goggles were gone, and his coat was nowhere to be found.

“Who de hell was dhat?!” Bane growled, pitching forward in his seat.

“Heh, et es nooo concern of yours. We both know you don’t really care,” Hondo claimed dismissively, wafting a hand.

“Ah’s werkin’, ye cheatin’ piece a shit!”

The Weequay smiled a terrible smile, his cheeky grin spreading from one ear to the other. “Come, now. You could not spare a moment of time for me? I du not see why you are so upset. Dis es what you wanted, ah? For me tu move on with my life?”

“Yer dead te me, and whoever dhat bitch is, she’s gonna be next!”

Bane heard the woman gasp. Hondo’s mood changed yet again, in real-time. It was evident he now felt he should pacify the Duros; Bane always made good on his threats.

“My heart, wait, I—”

“—No, ye wait! Fer me te get dhere! Yer gonna see just how much it’s gonna cost ye—fer when ye decide te mess wid me!”

“But Bane, I was only kidding! She es my—"

The Duros cut the comm. “—hairdress … er. Ah. Hm.”

Hondo turned his head once the holoprojector went dark on Bane’s end, looking up at the terrified woman. “Iiiii suppose et es time tu put you en hiding until dis all blows over, my dear. But.” The Weequay fluffed out his mane of hair, letting it rest against his back and shoulders. “First you oil and reset my braids, yes?”

---

The hyperdrive of the Justifier worked overtime, the assault transport having enough fuel to get Bane to Florrum without needing to stop to fill up. Todo had done all he could to quell Bane’s anger, but he didn’t want it to be quelled, he wanted to stay furious, indignant at the Quay’s behavior, but worst of all, his perceived betrayal.

And it wasn’t just that he was angry. Bane had other feelings over it, complicated ones, ones he rather not share with anyone, but that were obvious should you know him well enough—and Hondo did—jealousy being at the top of the list.

Ohnaka’s men wanted nothing to do with Bane as he landed before the entrance to their fortress home, Weequay scattering like sandflies to all four corners, though keeping a wary eye on him. Some might say their species lacked intelligence; Bane would argue against that point at the end of his blaster, but no matter what the case, they knew well enough to stay out of his way.

Fury marked his features, the bounty hunter’s duster fluttering behind him as he stormed the pirate’s den, ignoring any dirty looks; any raised weapons; any whispers that accompanied his forward stride. He had barely ventured beyond the entrance to the grand hall when he saw Ohnaka seated upon his dais, though he did not look happy, ring-bedecked fingers drumming along the surface of a table. He perked up immediately upon seeing the Duros, barring his current disposition. No doubt he thought he would be able to subjugate his sullen mood.

“Finally, you have arrived!” Hondo began, standing to sweep around the table’s edge, his arms open and hands spread as if in greeting, though Bane had made it clear as to what he should expect.

“I was beginning tu wonder if you were indeed com—”

A hand cut off the king of pirate’s oxygen supply, Bane’s lengthy fingers curling themselves around Hondo’s throat. He did not so much as acknowledge the barrels of blasters that rose to meet him, the drawing of swords, or even the aim of a slingshot, knowing none of their ilk would be any match for him.

Even so, Hondo bade them to lower their weapons with a single wave of his hand. All complied, whether they wanted to or not, the pirate forcing a smile as he was pushed back against the banquet table resting just behind him.

“Darling, I du not mind dis, but ef I may so say, your grip es a little tight according tu my preference.”

“Where is she?” Bane hissed, the fine points of his teeth millimeters from Hondo’s face.

“Who, my love? My hairdresser?”

Bane shoved Ohnaka back with only a fraction of his might, though capable of truly harming him should he decide to do so. “De karkin’ girl who’s gigglin’ on dhat holocall,” he growled, “de one wid de long legs!”

“Yes, dat would be—well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you. She does a good job, does she not?” Hondo flipped one freshly oiled and set braid across his shoulder, running his fingers along the length of its many plaits. “We all know what happens when someone displeases you.”

“She ain’t de only one Ah’m displeased wid!” the Duros sneered, grasping Hondo by his chin. Bane’s fingers locked tightly around his jaw, slipping between the scoundrel’s frills. Then, he hovered close, his fiery eyes nearly boring through the pirate’s goggles. His olfactory organs sensed the perfumes, the oils, and something else—another Weequay—a female.

“Lettin’ her put her hands all over ye,” the hunter snapped, glaring as much as he was frowning. It took all of Ohnaka’s self-control not to smile again, knowing that Bane wasn’t actually angry, he was simply feeling territorial, and he thought he might be able to use it to his advantage, not to mention it was a bit of a stroke to his ego to top it off.

“Not all over, just my head, my neck … my shoulders, perhaps. Ears.”

Bane glared harder, his eyes forming slits. Hondo felt a tremor run down his spine, knowing full well that Bane favored his ear’s tapered tips and loved to fondle them from time to time.

“Ye done wid me? Ye fool enough te try an’ dump me ova de comm? Knowin’ Ah’s werkin? Knowin’ Ah told ye te be patient? Dhen ye go and get a girl te touch what’s mine?”

The pirate sulked, knowing the gunslinger could hardly stand his pouting, yet he felt his sadness returning, having only said those things out of desperation to see him, to hear his voice … which he was able to do so now, but not in the capacity he wished. Of course, it was truly flattering to be told he belonged to Bane, yet his pouting continued, nonetheless.

“I dedn’t really mean dose tings …”

Bane bristled, holding onto his anger despite his confession.

“I missed you, my love. I was hurt when you ded not comm me back.”

This seemed to have the opposite effect than the one he intended, Bane dragging him up to nearer his height by the edge of his ornate collar. Hondo’s feet nearly left the floor as he dangled there, at the mercy of his grasp.

“Ye play too god damn much!”

“Everyone …” Hondo said gravely, his tone turning dark, his voice somber, “out.”

Both men waited for the room to clear, some of the pirates lingering longer than others, giving fretful glances between one another, or elbowing each other as they snickered and leered.

“Ya know they’s gonna fuck!” one Quay shouted, though neither Bane nor Hondo budged, refusing to deny or refute his claim, or to agree.

Once his grand hall was empty, Hondo placed a hand softly against Bane’s belly. It was something that normally calmed him down, the simple gesture doing him wonders in that it released a high level of Oxytocin into his system, promoting feelings of calm and relaxation.

“Forgive me,” he begged.

This time, his tactic did not work.

Hondo gasped, Bane becoming nothing more than a flurry of tongue and teeth, smacking his helmet with the wide brim of his hat. He felt the Duros’ cuspids dig into the flesh of his neck, piercing his scales, Cad latching on as if to feed.

The Weequay whimpered before his whining turned into a lecherous moan, knowing that Bane had broken skin but caring nothing of it, as it wasn’t the first time—he had many scars and marks leftover from his lover, what was one more?

“Bane…” the pirate groaned, his instincts instructing him to rest one hand on the back of his head, his black skullcap. Truth be told, Ohnaka hated the hunter’s form of dress—it was so constricting, always in his way when he desired to touch him most. He felt his toes curling in his boots, Cad’s bite one to be relished, savored, something so pleasurable nothing else compared.

His prick throbbed; he felt Bane pull harder, the Duros’ slim fingers wandering down below his belt to caress Hondo’s swollen cock through his pants. He was already leaking, his tip wet as he thought he might blow any second, but no, he would not allow that to happen. There was too much at stake—him being properly laid.

Just when Ohnaka thought he could take no more, Cad pulled away, his elongated eyeteeth coated in black, the color of the Weequay’s blood.

He forced Hondo to kiss him, pink and onyx coiling together in a provocative dance. Having marked him, Bane sought to assert his dominance even further, pressing the pirate’s back into the table once more.

“Tell me yer a liar,” Bane rasped, pushing the edge of his thumb into the Weequay’s mouth. The slut in him began to suck, twirling his tongue over blue flesh, trailing up once he reached the top of his cutoff glove.

“For you, I will be anyting, darling.” Hondo took the time to lift his goggles, placing them higher up on his head, just below the edge of his helmet. His eyes were sparkling, like radiant crystals. Bane seemed enthralled, but for a moment; he would not allow himself to be taken in by his charm, his spell.

And the Duros did not approve his answer, that much was apparent from the way he continued to bare his fangs like some wild animal. Hondo sometimes thought it difficult to know what to say or when to say it, the hunter being as volatile as he was dangerous, not to mention sexy.

Secretly, he loved to make Bane angry, at least to the point he did not fear for his life, though he doubted his love would actually harm him, but one could never be too sure. There was something about it—the unchecked fury, the rise in his temper, the deeply resonate growl of his voice—that made Hondo so inexplicably aroused. He had always been a fan of high-risk men, and women, or for risk in general—it had a bigger payout, for one, and to love someone like this Duros was at his own peril, a risk he was more than willing to take.

“Whore,” Bane sneered, manipulating Hondo’s limbs without his say-so, twirling him about-face to wrench off his coat. The pirate gave a little yelp of excitement. He wasn’t sure if he was engaging in dirty talk or actually accusing him of cheating. Whatever the case, the Weequay smiled, even as Bane bent him over, beginning to unbuckle his pants from behind.

“No one’s te touch ye, naht even yer hair. Ah’ll do yer braids from now on, ye hear me?”

Had he seen the pirate’s expression, Bane may have laughed in that adorable, honking way of his, Hondo’s mouth having formed a nearly perfect “o” before it stretched wide, curling up at the corners. His eyes joined in, almost smiling in their own right, angled slits narrowing mischievously as the reality of what Bane had just said sunk in.

What he needed now was to protest, albeit lamely. To give just enough backtalk that Bane would have his way with him, not that he wasn’t already.

“But Bane, du you even know how tu braid? Sah—” He paused, almost giving the girl’s identity away. It was too soon for that, though he supposed he might be forced to tell eventually that it was Sahmet. Hondo mostly kept her around to mix him drinks. He quickly turned the first three letters of her forename into another word, one that would make sense. “Sah … ome. Some find et … difficult. And you du not even have hair on which tu prac—”

“—said Ah’ll do it!” Bane snapped viciously, whisking Hondo’s pants down to his ankles in one fell swoop. He was rather quickly assaulted by a breeze, having gone commando this fine evening. Most evenings. He hated wearing undergarments unless absolutely necessary.

Bane knew this, his frigid hand coming up and beneath Hondo’s undercarriage to cup his balls in its broad palm. The contrast in temperature was so sudden, Hondo involuntarily shuddered at the same time he moaned lasciviously, unable to control his reaction for how good it felt, no matter if Bane could crush his fragile testes like a pair of nuna eggs should he desire to do so.

The Quay gave a wry chuckle. “Careful, love! Du not ah … damage de Ohnaka family jewels, ah?”

While Duros’ sex organs resided inside themselves, Weequay’s did not. It was no wonder Cad could wear trousers that were so tight, the hunter practically poured into them, not that he was complaining about the view.

“Gonna damage somethin’,” Bane spoke low, Hondo’s breath hitching as he felt the Duros’ skinny hips press firmly against his backside.

“Hopefully… someting dat es easily repaired.”

“Ye never learned how te keep dhat mouth shut.” Hondo heard a clink, a soft grinding of metal, the rustling of fabric—and finally, the telltale sound of a thermosuit being rearranged, pried apart, reminiscent of wet rubber. He knew what would happen next, his scales teeming in anticipation.

“Dere es one way tu keep me quiet,” the pirate dared, his sexual innuendo not lost on Bane. Then, Hondo hissed through his teeth, something soft and cold fondling his ball sac, something that was saturated in a gooey, sticky substance that also doubled as wonderful lube.

“Please, darling, be gentle wit me …” The pirate wanted his back blown out.

“Ye know de werd.”

Hondo felt another something tickling his hole; the Duros had two pricks. He wondered if that had something to do with his piss poor attitude, too much testosterone, perhaps, though even so—Hondo was thankful every day.

Bane was … fun to fuck. There was no other way to describe his feelings, the Duros being a rarity among his kind for more than one reason, the ways in which they made love seeming to be endless, and never boring.

Jarring him from his thoughts, Hondo felt his neck being pressed upon as if by a weight, the Duros’ fingers lodged tightly around the pirate’s nape. He felt his face meet with solid wood, the breadth of Bane’s palm smooshed against flesh and frill to the point Hondo thought he could well be in a vise.

Then, the sound of leather, Hondo freed temporarily as the hunter’s gloves came off, Bane tossing them onto the table next to his head. Hondo’s excitement was hardly containable, a hard slap given to the fat of his rump. The pirate grunted before a sigh of longing overtook him—he ached for him—warranted by the swirling of his index finger, Cad circling Ohnaka’s rim with its padded tip.

“Du not tease, my love,” the eager Weequay scolded. Bane snickered, collecting a small quantity of his own cocks’ slick, wetting his hand.

“Do what Ah want,” he shot back, though he would not make him wait much longer, Bane’s long, lithe, lank forefinger broaching his entrance to its first of three knuckles; Duros had an extra phalanx that made this kind of thing all the more enjoyable.

An intake of breath. Hondo batted his lids before they gently closed. “Of course, how silly of m—”

Bane slid further inside before slipping back out, back and forth, the pirate left unable to speak—for once—as Bane prepped him for admittance.

Hondo felt him push lightly against his prostate. “Exquisite,” he thought.

He did not have time to think much else, Bane retracting his knobbed digit for one of his tentacular cocks to slowly begin to penetrate his ass. It slithered its way up inside him in increments, like a snake searching for something—prey—filling his rectum with an indefinable, uncharacterizable pressure a little bit at a time—a kind of pressure that he never ceased to get tired of.

Hondo dug his nails into the table’s surface, finding himself lifting his bottom as high as it would go at this vantage, even putting his back into it, wanting to wholly expose himself. Cad fit him like a glove, his body’s self-lubrication more than enough to usher him in—like an old friend he had long since missed.

“Bane.” He whispered his name this time, like a prayer, arching his lumbar region as he spread his legs wider.

“Predictable,” the Duros jeered, his sweet-smelling breath—laced with Ambrian cheroot; cloves—titillating the pirate’s ear as much as his deeply sonorous, rasping voice, “always wantin’ te get fucked.”

The Duros’ slender hips drove him forward, Bane’s malleable dick fully engorged with green blood and stretching Hondo wide, entombing itself to its base. He was admittedly careful—at least in the beginning—Hondo was thankful for that too, able to take his entire girth alongside rapid pants and salacious moans, each rib and crest of his comely cock sending a bolt of pleasure straight down through his belly toward his groin.

“Es dat what you call dis?” the bastard teased, aware of just what an insult like that might do. He was prepared to receive the consequences and then some, knowing the “and then some” might equate to double trouble—Ohnaka’s little pet name for Cad’s genitals when he was feeling in a funny mood.

The Duros sizzed menacingly in his ear, ramming his sinewy frame against Hondo’s that was more robust. Still, Bane’s legs were strong from all those acrobatics, all that training—it was nothing to shake a laser sword at, the bounty hunter having powerful muscles enough to force another lust-filled moan to spill from Hondo’s lips without much effort.

Bane thought he ought to be embarrassed.

Then, something that felt nearly like a tongue licked at Ohnaka’s taint, causing the pirate’s very bones to shiver down to their marrows, his own prick bouncing in time with every one of Bane’s violent thrusts.

It was pain and pleasure, followed by more pain as Cad sunk his fangs once again into Hondo’s throat—this time from behind. At the same time, his second cock slipped upward, just a little higher, lapping at his balls, leaving a cool, slimy trail in its wake.

“Beg yer pardon?” Bane seethed, his displeasure ostensible, the Duros’ sharp teeth raking across his earlobe next, threatening to bite there, too. Hondo was doing everything in his power not to blow his load too soon, lest he regret it forever and a day.

“I ded not realize you had already entered me, Bane,” came his snide reply, followed by a brief interlude of chuckling. “Es dat all you have got, ah?”

The pirate was playing with fire, though he wished to be burned oh-so badly.

A snarl—Hondo felt the Duros withdraw—had he gone too far? Would Bane leave him like so many times before, throwing what Hondo considered to be a tantrum? Preferable to death, of course, though Bane did not retreat, only from his innards, Cad spinning him back around so that they were face to face, and what a face it was.

Hondo grinned sadistically like the devil he was, yet he reveled in studying his love’s weathered and worn scales; his many scars; the beautiful way his eyes glinted though full of animosity; the points of his fangs. “Ded I touch a nerve?” he dare ask.

Bane threw him backward, shoving him flat onto the table by his throat. Hondo barely had time to gasp before Bane was dragging him back by the ankles, pulling his ass all the forward so that it hung off the edge.

“Oh, ho!” the pirate interjected, his smile growing wider. Bane was aware this type of thing gave the scoundrel a thrill, whether he meant to indulge him or not. And he was so much scarier than Aurra, though Bane had honor. Still, he knew even the Duros had his limits, that there were only so many buttons he could push.

“I like where dis es going!” Ohnaka teased, pulling an irritated growl from the gunslinger amid him lifting both the Weequay’s legs. He had gathered them together at the shins in one ginormous hand, pushing them back and over Hondo’s helmeted head, locked tight together. Hondo had an unobstructed view of Bane’s stacked cocks should he peer around his own thighs, the one residing on bottom seeming to take up a life of its own.

“Dhat right?” the Duros asked with a questioning lilt, though it wasn’t meant for him to answer. Bane’s tone was beyond aggressive—livid—a sinuous appendage finding its way back into the warm depths of Ohnaka’s rectum, only this time he did not bother to graciously take his time.

Hondo felt his prick couldn’t be any more erect, almost painfully so, its head taut and shimmering, beads of precum seeping from out his slit. Bane dropped the pirate’s legs atop his shoulders, and Hondo scrambled to wind them tight, pulling him toward him as much as he was holding Bane hostage deep inside him. The Duros’ cock snaked up, up, then prodded at that small, sensitive gland just below his bladder. The feeling was almost too much for the Quay to bear.

Hondo’s eyes began to roll; Bane gave a short, obnoxious little laugh of derision, then retained his focus, his expression hardening as did the thick phallus that was interred within Ohnaka’s bowels, inch by glorious inch. Had the pirate thought he was already stretched, he groaned in ecstasy as Bane pushed him to the brink, the other half of his hemipenis staying limp; pliant, though deciding to curl itself around the base of the Weequay’s girth.

“So, did ye fuck her?” Bane asked out of the blue—no pun intended. Hondo found himself suddenly more alert contrary to wanting to give into pleasure, Bane’s backup cock like that of a boa constrictor around his shaft, his breath staggering as Cad began to squeeze.

“Wh-what?” Hondo asked, dumbfounded, not thinking Bane truly believed he had lain with anyone, well, recently. Not since before their union, least of all that Quay who had styled his hair. Even as he tried to concentrate, to center himself, the overwhelming amount of physical sensation he was experiencing was everything he could have wished for and more.

“Nu! You are crazy—”

Hondo moaned again, Bane having hit his rhythm: rough, slow, and methodical, pounding his prostate while he pumped the pirate’s prick, up and down, jerking him off completely hands-free, despite it feeling like fingers caressing him. This allowed Bane to remove a holdout pistol from the confines of his duster, his LL-30’s residing on the floor, snug in their holsters.

“Ye ain’t seen crazy—fess up!” Bane demanded, Hondo finding the barrel of the tiny blaster placed against his temple, even as Bane drove it home with every stroke.

“Bane, nothing happened! You ridiculous man!” Hondo scowled, pushing his pelvis up into Bane’s. He met him full force, the Duros’ secondary dick mimicking a piston as Ohnaka’s balls flounced beneath him, Cad rutting him into the table though the blaster moved—it now resided inside the Weequay’s mouth.

“Ain’t ridiculous!”

“Wht ar yu ding!” Hondo’s words came out muffled, his eyes wide, though they continued to turn toward the back of his head. He wasn’t sure if he should be scared, or even more turned on, perhaps both, nearly gagging when he shoved the barrel farther inside.

“Tell de truth!” Bane demanded, “and make it quick!”

Hondo decided it would be the latter, not caring one iota that Bane had arched the ridge of his brow, the Weequay sucking on the end of the weapon like it was one of Cad’s pretty pricks. He slathered it in his saliva before he hummed around it, Ohanka gazing up at the Duros who now seemed both confounded and mildly entertained.

Hondo tilted his head back, announcing something akin to “phooey!” before he glowered at the hunter who had him pinned.

“I ded! I am! I—mn,” Hondo felt he was close, too close, ivory and gold gnawing along his bottom lip before he shook his head to clear it, hoping his lucidity would last.

Bane rocked forward, shoving his legs back once more, folding Hondo in half like some cheap sabacc table. He pummeled him with thrust after thrust, still gripping the palm-sized blaster in his hand.

“Dhen—dhen ye’ll teach me how te braid?” Cad’s voice cracked. No longer angry, Hondo felt his heart melt at the very idea he even wanted to learn. Alongside the most endearing thing he could ask for, Hondo knew exactly what it was Bane wanted to hear. Far be it from him not to indulge the lovely creature, so rare was it for Bane to be doted upon. It nearly broke his heart. He was more than just a nefarious, murderous, unscrupulous hired gun. He was a man with feelings—even if he kept them buried deep inside… except when he did not.

“Of course, my heart. My poor boy, my Moon, I adore you; love you; no one else compares tu you, believe me darling—I only wish et tu be you here wit me, at all times. De only Duros en de Galaxy for me,” the pirate promised, his voice taking on notes of honey, his words causing the hunter’s mouth to flex toward a frown—what had he done now?

“De only Duros? What about de other species,” Bane argued.

Hondo would have sighed had he not felt he was about to blow his load, ring-laden fingers reaching up to pet Cad’s cheek, or what he could reach of it, hating those pesky breathing tubes; the black cap that covered half his face.

“De only being alive—no, de only being en existence, dead or among de living—” he corrected, wanting to cover all his bases, knowing Bane all too well, “—dat has my heart, dat feeds my soul, dat—dat—”

Hondo was unable to finish his sentence, his cock beginning to spurt, Bane tossing the pistol behind himself onto the floor. A shot ricocheted somewhere in the background, Bane unwinding his spindly phallus next. Then, he shoved the pirate’s twitching prick backward against his belly with the flat of his hand, the Weequay’s ejaculate directed away from Bane and toward Ohnaka’s chest, staining his otherwise pristine tunic.

“You vile, evil—”

“��Ain’t gettin’ dhat mess on me.”

“Youuuu—”

Bane shoved his tongue into his mouth, thrusting harder, faster than before. Hondo found himself hanging on for dear life, his fingers scratching into the hunter’s boney hips. The Duros hissed a low sound directly into the Weequay’s maw, releasing a gelid jet of cum straight into Ohnaka’s nether regions at the same time the pirate finished. His semen was left to sit on his stomach while his cock was still held firmly in place by Bane, squashed underneath his palm.

“Not on de leather, ah?”

Ohnaka began to laugh, to giggle, Bane sneering down at him, one snaggletooth exposed as he rode out the last of his orgasm. Bane could go again right away; Hondo would need a bit to recuperate should the Duros wish to switch, but it seemed the pirate’s quip annoyed the Duros well enough that he didn’t wish to bother with another round.

“S’expensive,” he defended, finally lifting the hand pressed down on the Quay’s deflating cock, unsheathing himself to leave Hondo feeling impossibly empty, minus the thick, viscid fluid that would soon find its way out.

“A towel, my dear?” Hondo asked. Bane eyed him, as if deciding whether to help. After some thought, he disappeared behind the bar, finding some sort of dishrag that seemed fairly clean.

“Good ‘nough,” Bane smirked, worrying about himself now, tucking things back where they belonged as the pirate sat up to watch.

“I knew you’d cum—come—” Hondo grinned, “you cannot resist me or my siren’s call.”

“More like ye won’t stop commin’ me,” Bane retorted, moving to zip up his fly.

Hondo’s lower lip protruded. “Well, ef you would answer once or twice—maybe … maybe next time du not wait so long,” he said in his most petulant tone.

Bane would be hard-pressed not to feel some sort of guilt, giving Ohnaka a look as he refastened his holsters around his waif-thin waist. “Maybe next time ye don’t threaten te divorce me! Fweh … we ain’t even hitched,” he mumbled.

“Es dat something you…” Hondo hesitated, “dat es tu say…”

“Ah need a drink,” Bane flatly responded, wishing to avoid the topic altogether.

“We could be,” the Weequay offered, trying to sound as casual as possible.

The Duros gave an amused guffaw as he began to walk back toward the bar. “Ye couldn’t afford te keep me,” Bane chided.

Hondo glared daggers from across the room, muttering under his breath. “Du not tell me what I cannot afford, bounty hunter... Youuuu would be surprised…”

“Shot?” Bane asked, holding up a bottle of his favorite poison—Hondo kept it around for his sake.

The pirate gave his most alluring smile, forgetting any ill feelings and forgiving Bane his past transgressions, just as he always had and always would.

“Smoke?” he questioned in return.

“Sure.”

“Eh … Make et a double.”

Then, a thought. Hondo was not done pestering him, determined to get another little something of the Duros while his mood had not yet soured. “Won’t you indulge me next time? Just a little bit?”

“What are ye goin’ on about,” Bane grumbled, retrieving two clean glasses from off a shelf.

“De holocall… ef you ever miss me, perhaps you can show me just how much?”

Bane stared at him, as if Ohnaka had grown an extra head. “What.”

“You don’t ever miss me?” The scoundrel frowned, his shoulders mildly drooping.

Bane sighed. “’Course Ah do.”

Hondo perked right back up, as if he were but a marionette and Bane controlled his strings. “Den might you? For me?” he asked pitifully, gazing at him with soft, gray eyes.

Bane’s forehead scrunched in irritation; the Weequay did not waver except to poke his bottom lip out. “Fine!” he snapped, deciding to take a swig right from the bottle.

The pirate beamed as brightly as a main-sequence star, clapping his hands together so that they might hold each other atop his lap. “Excellent,” he said, “you will not regret et—may even enjoy et!”

Cad rolled his eyes as he poured Hondo a drink, not so stingy as to leave him empty-handed. It was his liquor, after all, wondering what he had just gotten himself into. “Here’s what Ah’d enjoy—ye cahn get dhat girl te clean up our jizz,” Bane snarked; Hondo knew he was serious.

“Of course, my love…”

Hondo would get Gwarm to do it; what better job for his second in command?

#cad bane #hondo ohnaka #banaka

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weirdlet · 3 days ago

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The Jedi's Gambit - Ch 16

Pairing: Cad Bane x Obi-Wan Kenobi

Series Warnings: Explicit sexual content, violence, medical procedures, Force shenanigans, enemies to lovers

Chapter Summary: After enough push and pull, something has to give.

AO3

When Obi-Wan awoke, he had a moment of confusion, expecting to be back at his room at the Temple. But even through the near-pitch black darkness, he quickly realized where he was, and the circumstances that had led him here.

He sat up, his half-asleep mind conjuring images of Maul’s return, but the stab of pain at his side made him slump back against the bed. Cool fingers kept him there, wrapped around his shoulder, and Obi-Wan immediately relaxed.

“Tryin’ to ruin my good work?” Bane complained in a mumble, those fingers drifting to the bandages at Obi-Wan’s side.

“Isn’t it too dark in here for that?” he asked when he felt those fingers tug at the bandage, removing it as Bane prepared to replace it with a fresh one.

“I can see just fine.”

Right. Obi-Wan remembered their time in the Box when they’d been plunged into complete darkness. Obi-Wan had the benefit of night vision with his helmet, and Bane had also been able to see thanks to his unique Duros biology.

He also sensed Bane had stayed by his side, moving away only to replace his torn clothing. The body suit was gone along with the breathing tubes, and the vest had been replaced by a pale linen shirt with buttons up the middle. Something both warm and breakable formed in Obi-Wan’s chest at the thought of the bounty hunter watching over him as he slept.

“How does it look?” he asked, and some of that warmth filtered into his words. Bane peered at him suspiciously, as if this tone was an indication something might be wrong with him.

“You’ll live. Gonna leave a not-so-pretty scar.”

“I’ll add it to the collection.”

Bane didn’t find that statement funny, and Obi-Wan could sense his frown deepening in the dark.

“And what about you?” Obi-Wan tried again. Now that he was no longer bleeding and in shock, his earlier concern sharpened. “What did Maul do?”

“Told ye, I��m fine.”

“You didn’t look fine.”

The bounty hunter’s mouth twisted into something unpleasant, and he growled, “I had it handled.”

Whatever Obi-Wan had walked in on, Bane hadn’t been handling anything. It looked like he’d been hanging on by a thread, and he honestly didn’t know how Bane was able to fight afterward.

But he also knew that Bane wouldn’t say a word about it if he kept pushing, so Obi-Wan simply stared at him, a long pleading look that eventually made the bounty hunter sigh.

“He wanted the jewel. I wouldn’t tell him where it went. He did what folk tend to do when they’re desperate and backed in a corner. It got ugly.” His frown deepened into a scowl. “Don’t give me those porg eyes. Ain’t the first time someone’s tried to crack me open fer information, as you well know.”

Obi-Wan winced, and he knew Bane was using his guilt over the Jedi’s interrogation to force him to drop the subject. But he wouldn’t, not for this.

“Your clothing was torn,” he said, carefully phrasing it as a statement and not a question.

“He thought the jewel might still be stuffed in my oil sac.”

“It… looked like more than that.”

Bane shrugged and said nothing.

“Bane…”

“Shit like that happens.”

“To you?”

There was a hint of teeth behind his lips now, but Bane focused on cleaning the wound rather than meeting his eye.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“All right.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway.”

“…I would argue it does.”

“Drop it, Kenobi.”

“As you wish.”

He said it softly, but he sensed the agitation that couldn’t quite be hidden behind Bane’s mental barriers.

“So…” Bane eventually broke the tense silence. “He killed yer old master? And some kind of duchess?”

When Bane wanted to change a subject, he really changed it.

“He did. She was the Duchess of Mandalore.”

“Heard somethin’ about that. She an old flame of yers?”

Obi-Wan winced, and Bane slowed, perhaps thinking his hands had caused it rather than his words.

“We were… important to each other, grew close in our youth. Maul… executed her, and delighted in making me watch. He did the same to my master when I was a Padawan.”

Bane’s movements stopped altogether, and he spoke one word.

“Sorry.”

It took a moment to register; Obi-Wan was fairly sure Bane had never apologized to anyone in his life.

And then Bane’s voice returned to its usual low annoyance as he growled, “Stop lookin’ at me like that.”

“I can’t even see you.”

“Yer still lookin’.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and turned his gaze to the ceiling, though he couldn’t see that either. He didn’t mind. There was something intimate about it, secretive, having a conversation in the dark, fully trusting Bane with his injuries while he couldn’t see.

“I assume Maul was swiftly removed from the station?”

“Yeah. Sent Todo on a sweep to make sure he didn’t leave any tracking devices behind, not that it matters much. The integrity of the station ain’t at full strength, so we gotta sit tight until it’s repaired, which is more trouble than it’s worth.”

“I suppose we did make a mess.”

“This’ll be the second time I’ve had to ditch a station because of you.”

“Oh, I see, so this is my fault—”

With the bandages changed and in place, Obi-Wan wasn’t expecting the finger that prodded him in the stomach, not hard enough to hurt but startling enough to make him inhale sharply.

“Damn right it’s yer fault. I told ye to stay away.”

“And if I had? What then?”

Bane shrugged, an inappropriately cavalier gesture considering they were talking about Bane’s life and probable death.

The bounty hunter rose to his feet, but Obi-Wan grabbed his wrist, accurate and true even without his eyesight. He sensed Bane’s unblinking attention on him, and Obi-Wan tugged him down.

Bane went with surprising willingness, pulled onto the bed as Obi-wan drew his hand down to his face. And then, without thinking, he pressed his lips to the middle of Bane’s palm.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked softly.

Bane growled.

“You better fuckin’ not.”

And then Obi-Wan’s lips were crushed, consumed, and Bane crawled on top of him, careful of his wound as he straddled his hips. His lips, his teeth, and especially his tongue sought to claim Obi-Wan’s mouth, and Bane only broke the feverish kiss when he sat up to unbuckle his belt and unzip his trousers, followed by the unbuttoning of his fresh shirt.

Obi-Wan reached up to help, or he tried, but Bane grabbed his wrists and forced them next to his head. Bane didn’t want him to strain himself it seemed, even though Obi-Wan’s need to touch him was almost as vital as breathing.

Once Bane was confident Obi-Wan would remain still, he released his wrists and went back to undressing himself. He removed his coat and shirt completely, showing bare skin beneath, and Obi-Wan stopped caring about his wound entirely. He ran his hands up Bane’s slim waist to his chest, the muscles lean and surprisingly defined against his skin. Perhaps a little too sinewy and thin, but he suspected Bane was built that way. Or maybe he didn’t take very good care of himself, something Obi-Wan had suspected for a long time.

“Karkin’ impatient,” Bane growled, even though he yanked off his own trousers with quick movements. “Thought you Jedi were—”

Obi-Wan pulled Bane, now entirely naked, down against his chest, silencing his commentary with the hunger of his kiss. Obi-Wan grabbed the waistband of his trousers, but when he tried to tug them down, the twinge in his side forced him to stop with a wince.

“I can’t—”

“I got ya.”

Bane lifted himself just enough to pull Obi-Wan’s trousers the rest of the way, tossing them carelessly to the floor. Obi-Wan was so hard that every brush against Bane’s stomach made him groan, and he knew he was smearing precum all over the both of them.

Obi-Wan wanted to kiss him again, but Bane pushed against his chest and moved up until he was perched on his hips, trapping his cock in place. He groaned in frustration, pushed up with his hips, and then groaned again as his side spasmed in pain.

“Fuck’s sake, Kenobi, stop squirmin’.”

“Bane.”

He flushed at how it sounded more like a whine than a complaint, but then Bane was dragging his hips along Obi-Wan’s shaft, and he didn’t care what he sounded like when the bounty hunter felt that good.

“Don’t worry. Ye just gotta lay there.” Bane leaned up on his knees and reached between his legs, grabbing Obi-Wan’s cock in his hands. “I’ll do all the work, sweetheart.”

He didn’t know which was a bigger punch to the gut: the endearment, or Bane suddenly pushing down on his cock—no, it was definitely Bane sliding down on his cock.

Obi-Wan released a choked noise, his fingers digging into Bane’s hips hard enough to bruise as he tried not to immediately burst. It was too much, too fast, and he worried he was going to hurt Bane. He hadn’t even had time to reach over to find the medpac and hopefully some bacta to use as lube.

But Bane’s growl sounded more like lust than pain, and the flesh that enveloped him wasn’t dry and tight. Well, yes, it was indecently tight, but it was also silken, and soft, and… wet?

“What…” was all Obi-Wan could get out, his brain completely gone as Bane’s hips sat flush against his. He never would have known this amount of pleasure was possible, especially from someone like Bane.

“Already prepped myself,” Bane panted, his hands still braced against Obi-Wan’s chest. “Fuck, ye feel better than I imagined.”

Obi-Wan’s brain was still somewhere between liquid and mush, so he couldn’t offer more than a groan and his fingers flexing around Bane’s hips. He just felt so breakable in Obi-Wan’s hands.

But it was Obi-Wan who thought he might break when Bane began to move, testing his range of motion with a roll of his hips, and once satisfied with that, he rode Obi-Wan like he was a fathier and they had a race to win.

No leading up to it, no letting Obi-Wan adjust with a gradual climb. Bane wanted to ride him hard right out the gate, and Obi-Wan couldn’t say he preferred it any other way. His hands traveled wherever they could reach, Bane’s sides, his chest, down to his ass where Obi-Wan squeezed hard and pulled him in a downward thrust.

Bane snarled, but judging by how he rode him faster, he liked it. Obi-Wan tried it again, thrusting up automatically, and not even the pain in his side could discourage him from sinking deep into Bane’s inviting flesh.

He was going to come soon, he couldn’t hold off any longer, and it was a miracle he’d made it this long. Obi-Wan gripped his hand around Bane’s cock, strange and unfamiliar with its ridges and textures. But it worked like any other cock, because with Obi-Wan’s hand squeezing and stroking, Bane cursed something in his native tongue and grew unbearably tight.

Obi-Wan bit his lip, refusing to come before Bane, and finally, finally, Bane’s pace stuttered, and he let loose a feral snarl as fluid spurted from his cock, covering Obi-Wan’s chest in the cool liquid. He would have been satisfied to lay there and catch his breath, but Bane continued to move, rolling and grinding his hips now, making Obi-Wan see stars.

He tilted back his head, his balls tightening and drawing upward as he grew close. And then Bane laid flat against his chest and clamped his teeth on the muscle between his shoulder and neck.

It was as if the bite had a direct line to his cock; Obi-Wan yelled, thrusting up into Bane at the same moment he pulled his hips flush against him. He came so hard his ears actually rang, and he continued to spill into Bane an embarrassing amount. It was as if he hadn’t orgasmed in years rather than days.

Without thought, he wrapped his arms around Bane, warmth and bliss weighing his limbs. The bite didn’t even hurt, and he hadn’t bitten hard enough to break the skin. So, it was strange how Bane lingered on the spot, actually licking it, and maybe Obi-Wan should have been more concerned about that, but he felt too damn…

Huh. He was happy.

As if Bane sensed he was thinking nice thoughts about him, he pulled off of his softening cock, and Obi-Wan winced at the strange feeling and the sudden cold exposure of air.

Against his expectations, Bane didn’t go far; he sat on the edge of the bed and bent down to look closer at Obi-Wan’s side.

“Thought I smelled iron. I told ye to lay there and not move.”

Perhaps something was wrong with him, because all Obi-Wan could focus on was the fact Bane could smell his blood, and the odd twisty thing it was doing to his stomach.

“Yes, well, seems that was asking for the impossible.”

Bane snorted, then mumbled something about a Force-fucked idiot as he pulled off the blood-stained bandage and retrieved a fresh one.

“I believe you had more to do with that than the Force,” Obi-Wan said, knowing he had a big stupid grin on his face and unable to help it. “You don’t have to change those bandages, if you don’t want.”

“I know that,” Bane grumbled as he continued to replace the bandage. “Think I’d be doin’ this if I didn’t wanna?”

Well, he had a point.

Obi-Wan hummed and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of Bane’s fingers and their careful touches. It was so rare for Bane to be gentle with him, and he was going to relish it.

“When, ah, exactly did you prepare yourself?”

Obi-Wan’s curiosity drove him to ask, but Bane gave a huff, and he could hear the smirk he couldn’t see.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Yes. That’s… why I asked.”

“Maybe I did it when you were distracted and I was sittin’ on ya. Or maybe I did it before you even woke up.”

Obi-Wan made some kind of noise as his spent cock made a valiant effort to show interest. Because he was very interested in the idea of Bane still fully clothed but having slicked up his hand and fingered himself just on the off-chance—

And he was hard again.

Bane chuckled, the sound very attractive but also very alarming.

“Need help with that?”

“It-it’s fine. It’ll go away on its own.”

“That’d be a shame.”

“As much as I would… perhaps like to continue this line of conversation, I could use more rest, and I know you could, too.” Obi-Wan looked at him, and he could actually see Bane’s faint outline now. He frowned. “I’m sorry, is that your hat?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you wear it the entire time?”

“…Might of.”

Before Obi-Wan could let loose his exasperation, Bane leaned in and slotted their mouths together, giving him the slowest, deepest, filthiest kiss he’d ever received in his entire life.

As Bane slowly, achingly broke the kiss, Obi-Wan knew he was absolutely ruined. It didn’t matter what the bounty hunter did from this point forward, he would willingly follow him to the ends of the galaxy if asked.

“All right,” Obi-Wan said, “I like the hat. Love it, even.”

He felt that smirk as Bane teased his lips, almost biting the lower one before he pulled away. Obi-Wan was glad he hadn’t tried such tactics earlier in the war. If only someone could have informed Count Dooku that all he would need to win a war is to send in a bounty hunter to seduce the Republic’s lead general.

That thought sobered him a little. Bane had retreated to the attached refresher, wetting a hand towel before bringing it back. Obi-Wan held out a hand to take the towel and clean himself, but Bane ignored it and cleaned him instead. It would have been a sweet gesture if not for the way he purposefully lingered too long on Obi-Wan’s leaking cock.

“Virile fer yer old age, ain’t ya?”

The teasing tone certainly didn’t help combined with the way he dragged the cloth along his tingling skin.

“Yes, you’ll have to be careful with me,” Obi-Wan said flatly. “I might shatter a hip.”

“Havin’ my way with you, ye might.”

Bane finished cleaning them both, and Obi-Wan tried to think about literally anything else to will away his erection. Nothing worked, and maybe Bane only did it to be difficult, but he crawled into bed, still naked, and pulled the covers over them both.

Like the cold-blooded creature he was, Bane gravitated toward him immediately, draping his arm over Obi-Wan’s chest and hooking his leg across him until he was melded against his side.

He expected to feel Bane’s cock against his hip, even if it was soft, but instead he felt…

“Bane. I don’t know how to ask this.”

“Hmm?” He sounded halfway to sleep.

“Where did your penis go?”

Bane was silent for half a second, and then he barked a laugh that could have scared off a rancor.

“Back inside. Don’t sound so worried, Kenobi, it’s still attached.”

“I wasn’t worried.” He’d been a little worried.

“Thought ye would have known more about Duros anatomy by now.”

“Well, it’s not as if our… I haven’t had much opportunity for… study.”

Bane made a noise between a purr and a rattle.

“That what ye wanna do to me? Lay me on some surface and pick me to pieces? Spread me open and see what makes me tick?”

The lewd image that filled his head was exactly that, which had been Bane’s entire aim.

“That—that is—crude.”

“I’m not the one with a hard-on for explorin’ other species and their weird dicks.”

“Well, neither am I!”

“Just a hard-on for me?”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, but his brain went blank. Bane nuzzled against his cheek, a hand reaching up to run fingers through the ends of his strands. His hair was getting long again, his attention elsewhere the last few days, and both his hair and beard could do with a trim. The bounty hunter didn’t seem to mind.

“Good answer,” Bane drawled, low and gravelly. The chance of Obi-Wan falling asleep while hard as a rock was next to none. But he slowly relaxed, Bane’s weight against his side and the touch in his hair a gentle comfort, one he didn’t expect he would ever have, especially like this.

After a couple of minutes of peaceful quiet, Obi-Wan said into the dark, “I don’t want this to be the last time.”

Bane’s voice answered, sluggish with the sleep he’d started to fall into.

“Then don’t let it be.”

“How do you mean?”

“This? It’s up to you.”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, more awake than he was a moment ago. But Bane simply curled around him and buried the flat of his face in Obi-Wan’s neck. Just when he was almost the rest of the way into unconsciousness, Bane mumbled, “But ye can’t. Ye won’t.”

The last was said with a kind of woundedness that Bane would never expose while fully awake. Well… that wasn’t entirely true. He’d shown a shocking amount of vulnerability all those months ago on Takobo, where Obi-Wan had witnessed Bane breaking in a way he feared the bounty hunter couldn’t recover.

It was what had truly started all of this. Perhaps, it was time Obi-Wan gave something of his own. He didn’t know if Bane could still hear him, but he needed to say the words.

“I will.”

Bane said nothing, passed beyond where he could hear Obi-Wan. But Obi-Wan kept it for himself, a promise. An oath.

And for that reason, Obi-Wan knew he could no longer stay.

He had to leave the Order.

#kenobane #cad bane x obi-wan kenobi #cad bane #obi-wan kenobi #the jedi's gambit

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