#brasso

Thank you for the prompt! This one got a little long for Tumblr so you can find sex drugs and dirty bathroom floors over on ao3, featuring reckless Cassian, and Brasso somewhat out of his depth but doing his best <3

Pairing: Brasso/Ruescott Melshi, Brasso/Cassian Andor, Cassian Andor/Ruescott Melshi (implied)

Tags: Hate Sex, Degradation, Jealousy, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Proxy sex, Hurt/No Comfort, Emotional Constipation, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Resolved Sexual Tension, Masturbation Interruptus, Bad Sex, Under-negotiated Kink

Summary:

He considered himself a generally patient man. Enduring. It came hand in hand with being and staying friends with Cassian for as long as he had, he supposed. Unfortunately, when it came to the order of beings he had the capacity for patience for, for those at the end of that list, patience had become a scarce resource. Ruescott Melshi ranked very close to the end of that list, and there wasn't anyone Brasso could imagine wanting to see less right at this moment.

ahhhhh hmmmmm okay I uh. chose violence.

(against myself)

(I have been theorising ever since s02.e03 aired that Brasso didn't quite stop breathing until Cassian was holding him, so....)

---

K. On the edge of consciousness.

Brasso's never liked flying; he's never liked fighting.

At least he's not airborne for long - initially it feels like the speeder's engine has just kicked up a notch, like he's getting away faster, as with an almighty slap in the back he's launched forwards and loses his grip on the handlebars.

The pain doesn't catch up until he hits the hard-packed soil of Mina-Rau, angling in shoulder-first, too fast to get an arm out to try and break the impact - or maybe his arm doesn't respond, because once he's settled in, face-down and raw among the crushed rye, he realises his legs aren't answering either.

Pain spreads like a stain from the centre of his back, itching, burning bright, and he hears something that might be himself groaning, the sound of metal twisting under strain - he smells the animal warmth of earth and battered stalks, but beyond that the ozone of blaster bolts, melted speeder parts, and, sickeningly, burnt flesh.

He's never liked to fight - always preferred to talk his way out of trouble, or to run if he had to, thundering down Ferrixian alleys after Cassian's shadow, never looking back, never letting up until they'd shaken whoever was following - but he manages to blink his eyes open in surprise at how quickly he's been backed into a corner here. He's cold already, the disorienting absence of his limbs offering respite beyond the pain throbbing in his back, but he's not going down without a fight this time, not when they've left him no other option.

That TIE Interceptor - he knew, he knows there was hope in it, and he knows how hope moves in cycles with Cassian's comings and goings; always has. His ears are ringing but he'd bet that Interceptor has dealt with the garrison at Kellen's store by now, that Cassian came back, just as he always does, right when he's needed.

Brasso will hold them at bay for as long as Cassian needs - that's how it goes when he is forced to fight.