number1_himbo | [after purge, kallus]

On the way back, Kallus is quiet, thinking, wondering what in the galaxy has just happened. A strange creature from the ocean. The barista from his favourite cafe turning him into a human sacrifice. It feels absolutely absurd.

And yet, it has happened. And now he’s bleeding in a van as they speed along the dark streets. They stop for nothing and he thanks Viktor quietly, sincerely, before letting Luther bring him up to his bedroom.

“I’m a bit light headed,” he admits, sitting heavily on the sofa heaped with towels. “And cold. It’s a chilly night to have been without a shirt for so long.”

"Well, I've got a plan. Lots of plans, lots of little plans that make up a larger plan," Luther says, refusing to give in to his own looming acceptance of having wasted several fake Darrow people to keep this man alive. "Gonna get you cleaned up, you can tell me if you think we need to do stitches here, have you drink this," and here Luther shakes a bottle of blue sports drink that can really only be reported as tasting blue, "and then you can rest. Hospital won't be open for hours yet, so..."

So maybe that means a few hours where he can hold Kallus in the quiet dark and warm him and know he's safe.

...God, he's really in it.

Becoming aware that he's staring with soft eyes, he instead goes for a hand towel and warm water. "Did you know those people?"

"I don't need the hospital," Kallus responds, a little stiffly, though he forces himself into relaxation a second later. It's hardly Luther's fault he's spent a lifetime being trained to withstand pain, to show little emotion, and to keep himself from ever seeming weak. He is weak right now, his head swimming, his arm throbbing in time with the beating of his heart.

"Not really," he continues, his voice softer. "The girl with the pink hair, she's a barista at the café I like. She invited me to her Purge planning party and I declined, because it seemed absurd, not to mention disgusting and cowardly to plan hurting people. I think she was trying to get me alone the night before so they could have me ready."

"Right," Luther answers, pressing the sports drink into Kallus's good hand. "Okay, no hospital. I guess they don't hold a candle to badass space hospitals, huh." He settles into position, working on the wounded arm, cleaning it with less gentleness than he feels. "It bled enough it might need stitches, but we can do that here. Drink that, will you?"

He's quiet for a few moments, trying to wrangle his feelings and coming up short. A lot has happened in the last several hours; he can't afford to freak out about any of it.

"I don't think I killed your barista," he says, "but I broke her nose for sure. Real fucking glad you didn't go to that party."

That Luther seems to take absolutely no offense to his clipped tone makes Kallus feel more guilty and he looks down at the bottled drink, then takes a long sip. It's repulsive, distinctly blue tasting in a way that shouldn't make sense and yet does.

"Another scar for the list," he says, offhand, when Luther says he'll need stitches. He's still thinking about the rest of it, the rest of this place, what it all means, who he is within this world. Luther was expecting him and, when he didn't arrive, brought his brother and found him. It reminds him all over again of the crew of the Ghost, the rebellion, everything he hadn't found in the Empire.

"I won't be going to that café any longer," he assures Luther. He's quiet, letting himself be tended to, only wincing every once in a while. "Thank you for coming for me."

"It's a sexy list," Luther says, and then, like he hasn't already said much filthier things to him in the moment, flushes a little. He can't fully read Kallus in this moment, he finds. Not surprising, given the guy's a badass spy who was able to hold his own even while wounded tonight.

So he falls quiet too, letting Kallus process, frowning at the somewhat gaping wound on his arm. "Yeah, I'm gonna have to stitch that. It's been a while since I've done that, but I don't think Viktor or Five are any more practiced. I'll be careful."

He turns pink again as he's thanked. "You're welcome. I'd have done a lot worse to get you back here."

For all Kallus looks and sounds and still often behaves like the rich Coruscanti elite, he's spent more time in war rooms and on battle fields than he has at the mingling parties his parents would throw. He's not bothered by rough stitches, by the scars, but the reality of war mapped on his body beneath his clothing.

He nods, letting Luther know he's comfortable with anything that needs to be done.

"The Empire would never," he admits. "I didn't realize that for a long time, not until I was the one left for dead without a thought. They had no loyalty."

"The Empire sounds like a bag of dicks," Luther informs him, turning on another lamp so he can thread the needle. Shit, he should have asked V or Five to do this part with their tiny little fingers, their little orphan working in a factory fingers.

He manages through sheer determination, through the focus that having to do anything with his hands has taught him.

Since Kallus seems unlikely to flinch or admit to any pain during the stitches, Luther goes for distraction as he works. "So, have you seen anything like that creature out in space? Do they have planets full of 'em?"

A bag of dicks is not an expression Kallus has heard before and he raises his eyebrows, on the verge of a laugh before the needle pierces his skin. He doesn't flinch, but the smile does melt away.

"No, nothing quite like that," he says. "Not that I've ever encountered and I've been to a fair number of plants. There are sentient species who live primarily under water, such as the Gungans or the Nautolans."

He has fond memories of a Nautolan, a brief fling, intense as it was short.

Luther tells himself he can give in to all his stupid soft urges when this is done, and instead focuses hard on making each stitch precise and even.

"Yeah? It kind of reminded me of one of my brothers," he says. "He could make these crazy tentacles come out, but he hated it." Reaching over for a clean cloth, he dabs at his work, clearing away the welling blood. "You're doing so good, Kal," and okay, obviously a badass military spy knows how to sit for this, but it's true. "What are they like, the underwater guys?"

The reassurance makes him smile slightly, a flicker at the corners of his mouth before the next stitch. There's no denying it hurts, but he's felt pain before, will again, and it's nothing compared to the realization that he meant so little in the grand scheme of things. Especially when it came to the Empire.

"They're all so different," he says, focusing on something he can, something to take his mind off the pain while Luther works. "The Gungans are amphibious, but with human-like bodies except for their bills. They had tense relations with the humans who lived on the same world. The Nautolans are amphibious, too, green skinned with enormous black eyes, like looking into the deepest waters of an ocean. They have tentacles that come off their heads, which they can use to sense pheromones."

"Huh," says Luther, with genuine interest. "What is it with the ocean and tentacles? Tentacle guys sound cool. Maybe Ben would have been happier in the ocean." He's relieved to pull the last stich through, tying the thread off and dabbing away the last of the blood.

Maybe Kallus wasn't in danger of bleeding out, but something settles deep inside Luther to have it done.

"Pretty sure V's gonna use up the hot water, or a lot of it. How tired are you?" Even as he speaks, Luther switches over to the bucket of warm water and a new washcloth, beginning to wipe Kallus down with sure, firm passes of the cloth.

"Exhausted," he admits, almost surprised to find it's true. Most of the time, he hadn't let himself feel tired or pain or... well, most things, truly. In Darrow, he's tried to keep up the same sort of behaviour in many ways, but right now he can't.

He trusts Luther. It comes as a bit of a surprise, but he does. It's why he's here at all, letting himself be taken care of, admitting he's tired.

"I'm sure I stink horribly," he says. "I'll have to shower before we sleep, but... may I stay here?"

"I've smelled worse," Luther tells him, and just barely manages not to boggle when Kallus asks to stay. He gets it, at least a little, the kind of repression that stupid Empire had pressed on the man in front of him.

So instead he leans forward, kissing Kallus despite the goo.

"You better stay," he says quietly. "I want you here, 's why I went looking. We'll shower, and then we're gonna spend the rest of this stupid night in bed." Catching himself, he flushes under the thin sheen of god-slime. "Sleeping, or resting, is what I meant. Five's out there with a rifle, we're gonna be safe here."

It's interesting, the way Luther still flushes after all they've done, the way they are together. Kallus himself hasn't sought to define it in any way, he isn't sure if he ought to, but they've been naked together on more than a few occasions.

It makes him smile. Another sign, he knows, of how he feels.

"I'm sure we will be," he agrees. "Safe, that is. I feel safe here."

"Good," Luther says, this time a little flushed with how pleased he is by that. Okay, maybe a little about how he realizes it's what he wants to hear, too. He wants to be able to keep people safe, to make them feel safe, and to give that to Kal?

He grins, warm and open. "Let me go check on the shower," he tells Kallus, and heads off down the hall to ensure the bathroom's clear.

When he confirms they can have it to themselves, he heads back to his room. "C'mon, shower's open, and I think we can both fit in there, make sure we get hot water."

Kallus wouldn’t have thought himself capable of arousal at the moment, but perhaps he’s been at war for so long that he’s learned to take what is offered when it comes. Because Luther says they should get into the shower together and he feels a surge of heat, despite his exhaustion.

“I’m convinced,” he says with a tired smile as he follows Luther to the bathroom. With the door closed behind them, he begins to disrobe, finds himself hoping Luther’s tall brother, the thin one, has left some clothing here, because his own clothes are ruined.

So maybe Luther had really, truly meant it when he swore to himself tonight was not a night for funny business. Sure, he'd thought sexy thoughts about tonight before the kidnapping; he just figured it wasn't something he should push afterward.

But near death experiences are kind of hot and while, again, he'd had good intentions with the shower proposal, by the time they're naked and in close quarters, hot water beating down-- well.

It's a good feeling. He's never done this before.

"Let me take care of you," he half-murmurs, reaching for a washcloth and the soap.

It's not something he's allowed much of in his life, the need to be cared for. He had been in the Imperial Academy from the age of twelve, trained in military drills before he'd even had his first kiss. Being such a high ranking ISB agent at such a young age had been a thrilling accomplishment and for a long time he'd truly thought it was the only thing that mattered. Order. Stability. He was delivering these things to the galaxy, bringing them to safety.

He understands now, there's a level of safety in chaos, too. The ability to do whatever you like.

And, for tonight, the ability to let someone else care for him.

He nods, smiling faintly at Luther as he lets the warm water wash over him. It sluices through the blood and grime coating his torso, the symbols on his chest beginning to wash away.

Luther falls quiet, letting himself become absorbed in the task at hand. Not only, after all, does he have the chance to further check for any injuries, but he has a free pass to linger on every part of Kallus's body. Lathered up washcloth in hand, he gently scrubs Kallus clean-- his face, his neck, extra attention to where those fucking symbols had been on his chest.

In the small space of the shower, it's easy to forget there's even a world past the steam.

He shifts them both, with equal parts ease and care, so that he can drop to his knees, scrub Kallus's lovely torso, his powerful thighs. It's fucking meditative, though he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel heat and want bubbling up inside him.

"You know," Kallus says as Luther sinks to his knees and his cock begins to thicken in response. "I really hadn't thought myself capable of anything, not with how tired and sore I am. And yet..."

Well, Luther can see for himself, he's sure.

It just feels nice, having someone care for him. Someone who cares about him. Kallus had never had much of that in his life, so few people who cared whether he lived or died, fewer still who would miss him.

"Yeah?"

His face lights up a little, his broad palms coming to rest on Kallus's thighs already. "I want to take care of you," he says, repeating himself, his face heating up a little even under the steady trickles of hot water. "Let me, please."

And now that he's very politely made his intentions clear, he leans forward, mouthing at the line of Kallus's hardening cock, little licks and sucks until he reaches the head. "Fuck," he sighs, contented, and opens his mouth, sinking down.

With a sharp inhale, Kallus presses one hand against the shower wall behind him, needing to hold onto something. He's still feeling weak, he's exhausted, he's lost a fair bit of blood, but he wants this.

He wants Luther.

His fingers curl through Luther's wet hair, stroking down over the back of his scalp as Luther's warm mouth sinks down over his cock. Kallus moans, still holding himself up with one hand behind him.

If pressed, Luther would have to admit he hasn't given as many blowjobs as he might have liked.

He's definitely never given one to someone he cares as much about as he does Kallus.

Here in the little cocoon of the shower, where it's just them, it doesn't seem to matter. Kal is thick and hot, heavy on his tongue, pushing further and further into his mouth, and from the way his hand finds its way into Luther's hair, Luther knows Kal wants this as much as he does.

With a quiet rumble in his chest, Luther does his damnedest, head bobbing up and down, hands curling around Kallus's hips for leverage. He nudges against Kal's hand, urging a firmer grasp, eyes heavy lidded and his cheeks pink.

There are plenty of species in the galaxy on the larger side, Zeb among them, but Kallus has always been one of the larger men in any given room. He's tall, broad, with strong legs and a wide chest. He's used to being bigger, using it to his advantage, being intimidating and also being too much for someone smaller to take on.

It's not like that with Luther.

He sags against the shower wall, barely keeping himself up as Luther sucks his cock, and he holds tighter to Luther's hair as he gasps. "You're so... so knifing good at this." And he's so close, so much closer to the edge than he imagined he could be tonight.

Luther groans around the cock in his mouth, eyelids fluttering at the tug on his hair. And Kallus calls him good, which-- one way or another-- is the only thing he's ever really wanted to be. He's determined to be so good for Kal, to Kal.

He pulls off with an obscene slick pop, blinking up against the trickle of hot water.

"You can," he says, voice rasping, "you can come in my mouth. If you want. I mean, I'd like that." And then before he can say anything stupid, he swallows down Kallus's cock with an eager sound.

"Kriff," Kallus breathes, ragged and possibly too loud, even over the sound of the shower. Luther's brothers aren't fools, they know exactly what's going on behind this closed door and he doesn't care. Can't care. He doesn't have the capacity for it when Luther speaks to him like that and when he's already so close to coming as it is.

Luther sinks down onto his cock again, pulling him deep, and Kallus couldn't stop himself if he tried. His fingers curl against the slick shower wall, they curl into Luther's hair and he's coming hard and sudden, shocked by the force of it, by how good he feels, despite his wooziness, despite any lingering pain.

In the safety of Luther's head, he thinks all sorts of possessive, heated things, about how it's his man coming down his throat, and how anything in Darrow that wants to take him away can just fucking try.

He sucks until there's nothing else, and his own cock throbs between his thighs as he rises.

"Jesus," he murmurs, grinning. "That's a hell of a lot more what I was thinking tonight was gonna be like."

Kallus laughs softly, breathlessly, leaning back against the wall, into the water. He knows Luther must still be hard and while he doesn't think he has the physical capacity to get down on his knees for Luther tonight, there are less taxing options available.

"Do you want to fuck me?" he asks, blinking his eyes open. "We can go slow."

They'll have to. Perhaps he can lie on his side, Luther behind him, a position that won't hurt the wounds on his body.

"Do you want that?" Luther murmurs, watching the sheen of the water on his face. "I'm never gonna say no to that, but I just sewed you up. You don't-- you don't have to. Which I'm sure you know, just."

Feeling sheepish as soon as he says it, he adds, "I can handle myself."

“I do,” Kallus answers. “You’ll be gentle.”

It’s an odd thing to realize, but he trusts Luther. It would be difficult not to, after tonight. Luther’s brother, too, but in this moment he doesn’t matter at all. It’s only the two of them, looking at one another, and Kallus feels safe.

He leans in, kissing Kallus in response.

"C'mon then," he murmurs, quiet and happy. Giving himself a quick scrub and both of them another rinse, Luther's got them out of the shower in a few minutes. He peers down the hallway, ensuring the coast is clear before they head back to the bedroom. Thankfully, there's no signs of lingering brothers.

He towels them both before nudging Kallus back onto the bed-- the warm, cocooned feeling hasn't disappeared, and what's more, he's been given the green light to be gentle, just like he's been wanting. Standing there, he lets himself feel a deep crashing pleasure at seeing Kallus, naked and cared for, in his bed.

"Hey," he says a bit dumbly, smiling.

Kallus is still moving carefully, but he's been injured much worse than this, had to fight still in worse states, and so when he lowers himself to the bed and moves back to settle, he's pleased to realize he's not quite as sore as he could be.

They'll still have to be slow, but he thinks that may also be exactly what he needs.

"Hello," he answers, then curls a hand toward Luther in invitation.

[after purge, kallus]

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