#captainpilot

No matter the facility, Bodhi thought miserably, pressed his sleeve to Cassian’s head wound. There’s never any shortage of Imperial holding cells.

Cassian gave a hoarse murmur as he came round, eyes moving behind his lids. He coughed, dry and urgent, tried to sit up as Bodhi reached for his water flask.

“You’ve had a bad injury,” Bodhi said quickly, Cassian was shivering as he collapsed back onto the ground. “Do you feel numb anywhere? Do you remember our landing on Jedha?”

Cassian slitted open an eye, Bodhi held the flask for him to drink. He still seemed disoriented, and not two seconds had passed before he coughed again, this time spitting out most of the water he was trying to swallow.

“Sorry,” Cassian said thickly, Bodhi tried to rub between his shoulders.

“We’re in a containment cell,” Bodhi whispered, Cassian’s hands were fumbling for the pouch strapped to his ankle. Bodhi shook his head.

They’d already taken it.

Realising the same, Cassian swiftly abandoned the effort, his stare now travelling to each corner of their surroundings. Gritting his boot against the wall, he was about to make another attempt to stand when something stopped him, he narrowed his eyes.

“Are you hurt?” Cassian rasped. His gaze fell to the bandage on Bodhi’s arm, far shabbier than when they’d landed.

“No... this is the one I prepared earlier,” Bodhi offered, and to his surprise, Cassian shot him a woozy smile.

“Where’s Kaytoo?” was his next question, but to that Bodhi didn’t know. He hadn’t seen the droid since they were dragged from the ship.

“We’ll find him,” Bodhi murmured, realised he was reaching for Cassian’s hand. He hadn’t meant to say something so unhelpful- in fact, he couldn’t remember an Imperial prisoner ever finding anything except a labor camp sentence- but Cassian’s determination in the hangar had awakened in him something he thought the Empire had taken for good.

“Why didn’t you leave?” Bodhi asked softly. “There was time for you. And I’m an Imperial.”

The cool shadow of the cell seemed to close around them, Cassian’s stare didn’t falter in the dark.

“Are you?” he answered.

Bodhi blinked, the dull ache of his blaster wound felt nearer on the words. He remembered the shouts, a low, droning siren. He was back in the flight hangar, the words raid and lockdown echoing through the passageways. The emergency power had failed, he was bolting around the corners on memory alone.

And then there was the rebel, dark-eyed, unarmed, wrong turn, no time. The blaster was in Bodhi’s hand. He had every opportunity. He raised the weapon.

“You might need this,” Bodhi said quietly. “If you’re going to make it out of here.”

From another passageway, a volley of shots whizzed past. Bodhi turned, dived in front, the halogens shuddering overhead and the taste of carbon at his throat. When the lights spluttered back to life the rebel was gone, his wrist left burning and dark.

“No,” Bodhi said under his breath, louder when he knew it to be true.

He knew why Cassian looked so familiar.

“Not anymore.”

The admission stretched between them, Bodhi’s face was damp with tears. Cassian reached his hand, grazed the inside of his palm to Bodhi’s cheek. He looked more wounded than Bodhi had ever seen, and before he could guess, or think, or hesitate, Bodhi leant forward, brushed his lips where Cassian’s had gently parted. For a half-second the rebel’s eyes widened, raw and searching, his fingers trembled where they caged below Bodhi’s jaw. And then Cassian was kissing him back, his mouth warm and stinging and wet, rough as Bodhi pulled him close. Cassian kissed with a tenderness that knocked the air from his lungs, Bodhi’s hands tangled fiercely in the taller man’s hair, his flight goggles slipped to the floor. Cassian held him until his stare blurred bright and torn, Bodhi closed his arms around Cassian’s neck.

“If there's a chance, I want you to take it,” Cassian whispered, his mouth flinched to a snarl as footsteps sounded outside.

He looked surprisingly impassive by the time two stormtroopers entered the cell.

“Let’s move,” came the command, Cassian’s wrists were bound at his front with energy cuffs. Bodhi wondered why he didn’t receive the same treatment, the decision leaving him unsettled rather than reassured. They had barely marched the length of the holding cell before Cassian’s balance wavered, one of the troopers driving him forward with a shove. Bodhi saw a trickle of fresh blood leak from Cassian’s wound.

“I want to speak to Tss’uek,” said Bodhi, daring to hope the one officer who seemed fair was on duty. The stormtroopers only laughed, the sound so empty that Bodhi couldn’t bring himself to ask again.

“Do you know who he is, in the Alliance?” said the trooper holding Cassian. He shook Cassian for emphasis, and alarmingly, Cassian looked so drained that he didn’t notice.

“Where’s our droid?” Bodhi demanded, desperate for something to distract them. He had some idea that if he could only stall long enough, Cassian might only be pretending, he’d use some secret rebel move to free himself from the cuffs and disarm their captors in one.

The stormtroopers didn’t slow their pace.

There were no magic happy endings.

“Did you reprogram the droid?” said the taller one, jerked Cassian viciously when he stumbled. “I hope you had a backup at home.”

Cassian’s head rolled forward as he fought to remain conscious.

“Stop that,” Bodhi said softly, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to think.

“And do you have any idea what happens to traitors?” the second trooper said, quieter now. “It’s worse than what’ll happen to him. He’ll disappear without note. You’ll set an example.”

From somewhere faraway, Bodhi realised the words were meant to scare him. And, not so long ago, they would’ve. But right now, all he could see was Cassian, his face unflinching as the troopers shook him again, blood tracing the line of his jaw and spattering onto his shoulder. When they got no reaction, an armoured boot kicked into the side of Cassian’s knee. Still Cassian showed them nothing.

“Stop that,” said Bodhi, louder. He could sense his pulse racing, feel the roll of a sweatdrop over Cassian’s lip. He could hear the rattle of Cassian’s lungs as he struggled not to cry out in pain, taste blood as Cassian bit into his tongue.

“Stop! Stop it!” Bodhi shouted, his wrists were seized before he could lunge forward. In the same instant, Cassian’s energy cuffs flickered, opened and clattered heavily to the floor. The stormtrooper who had been shaking him had frozen. Bodhi could barely breathe.

“Let go of me,” he said slowly, felt the air prickle and seize as the second stormtrooper’s arms loosened from his wrists.

Cassian was trembling, from shock or from what he was seeing Bodhi wasn’t sure.

“It isn’t possible…” Cassian whispered.

It isn’t, thought Bodhi, his heart clawing in his chest. But I have to try.

“You will tell me the location of the KX droid,” Bodhi said clearly, fixed his gaze on the stormtrooper nearest to him.

“I will tell you the droid has been restrained on your cargo ship, awaiting inspection by the General,” recited the stormtrooper. Cassian held himself up on the opposing wall.

“And you will tell me the condition of the cargo ship,” Bodhi said calmly.

“I will tell you that the ship has been landlocked, all clearance codes erased,” answered the trooper. Bodhi felt his windpipe tighten, he shot Cassian a despairing look.

“If you get us onboard,” Cassian said huskily. “Kaytoo and I can do the rest.”

When Bodhi stared up, Cassian managed a grim nod. His eyes had come back into focus.

“You will provide us with your armor and weapons,” Bodhi addressed both soldiers, his tone left no room for question. “And afterward return to our cell. And lock the door,” he added.

“And forget you ever saw us,” Cassian said hopefully.

“And forget you ever saw us,” said Bodhi.

Cassian chuckles, and pulls his mouth away. “Your perfect attendance record…" 

“I haven’t got a perfect attendance record,” he says, perhaps a little too indignantly — it’s a ridiculous thing to say, to get vehement about, and he half expects Cassian to laugh, push him off, and never come back. Cassian just gives that strange, close-mouthed smile he favors, and leans in, pressing his lips to Bodhi’s again, more gently this time, and strangely so. 

It’s…nice. 

When he’d only known of Cassian Andor as the silent, smirking cliche in a black leather jacket, Bodhi’d vaguely assumed he’d taste like the cigarettes he always seemed to be on the verge of lighting but was too smart to get caught smoking. 

And the first time they’d kissed, he had, a bit — Bodhi hadn’t minded it as much as he’d’ve thought, had slide his hands up under Cassian’s jacket anyway, practically launched himself at Cassian, thoughtlessly backed him up against one of the bleachers’ supporting beams. Cassian hadn’t seemed to mind it: had opened his mouth to the onslaught, pulled Bodhi’s shirt it out from the waistband of his slacks and slid his palms up Bodhi’s back. 

Since then, this is about how it goes: Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, in between lunch and sixth period, when Bodhi’s meant to be in the library researching for his capstone project and Cassian’s meant to be god knows where, they’ll meet up, and…well. Kiss, sloppily and desperately; sometimes it’ll be Cassian who starts it, who grabs at Bodhi’ shirt and pulls him in, onto his lap, runs his hands through Bodhi’s hair and his tongue across Bodhi’s lips. Who tastes sweet and fresh, like he’s been chewing gum, ever since the first time. And sometimes it’ll be Bodhi, who’s still never quite sure what to do with his hands, not like Cassian is, but presses him down against the ground instead, leaving them chest to chest, with Bodhi’s elbows on Cassian’s shoulders, with Cassian’s mouth open and his hands on the small of Bodhi’s back and one of his legs sliding between Bodhi’s thighs. 

It’s not sustainable, clearly. Eventually his lack of research time will catch up with him. Eventually the gym class that meets after lunch will start using the track again, and someone will notice them. Eventually, Cassian’ll find something else to do with the time he doesn’t spend in class. 

Eventually. But not, Bodhi thinks, today. 

“The bell rang,” Cassian says, matter of fact, and Bodhi freezes — he hadn’t heard it, had been too enraptured in the feeling of Cassian’s hands on him, the way his tongue has taken to stroking at the inside of Bodhi’s mouth — and now he really will be late. Dr. Erso will be disappointed in him, which is almost worst than angry: he won’t get detention but he’ll get a casual dismissal, the next time he asks a question or wants to talk about his capstone project. 

He sits up, taking a deep, steadying breath as he goes, and casts about for where he’s left his messenger bag. Where he’d tossed it, carelessly, before practically throwing himself into Cassian’s arms. 

Cassian smiles — smug, apparently amused — and sits up as well, reaching out and dragging Bodhi’s bag over. Hands it to him with a wink; Bodhi rolls his eyes and takes it, rocking back onto his heels, preparing to stand. Cassian shakes his head, reaches for the collar of Bodhi’s shirt. Tugs the ends of it out, folding it over the neck of Bodhi’s sweater, settling it down. 

Bodhi uses the moment to run a quick hand through his own hair, combing out the tangles — glances at Cassian’s face, raising his eyebrows. Cassian cocks his head and reaches up, smoothing it down further. Sliding his hands to the back of Bodhi’s neck once he’s done, and giving him a quick, closed-mouth kiss. There, he seems to say. All right, you’re presentable. 

Cassian, for his part, remains significantly less so — tousled hair, swollen lips, flushed cheeks. A smile, when he realizes that Bodhi’s looking at him. Bodhi feels his own cheeks heat, his own blood rush. He aches to stay where he is, to get closer, to tackle Cassian back onto the soft green grass.He staggers to his feet instead, flings his bag over his shoulder, and — with a swift wave at Cassian before he goes — heads back toward the school at a steady jog.