#fisev

“Are Omega mongrels incapable of following orders,” she demands. How did she get paired with this one of all of them? She’d thought Atin was the worst option, but she’d take Atin over this. 

Fi ducks her head under the water. When she pops back up her hair—longer than regulation says it should be on top and then cut almost to the scalp along the sides with a lined pattern shaved into it. If she was one of Vau’s instead of Skirata’s he’d have shaved the whole thing off as punishment for her vanity. Fi lays back, floating in the water, arms and legs spread out, hair floating around her.

“There’s no one home, Sev’ika. Too afraid of Vau Buir to have a little fine.” She’s got the same body as any of them. Her breasts sit flat on her chest and Sev’s eyes have never been pulled towards Boss or Fixer’s like they are to Fi’s. The nipple glints with something silver.

“Did you consider they might have security?” Fancy apartment like this, big enough to have a rooftop pool in Triple Zero? Of course they have the money for a high quality security system.

“You don’t trust Ordo to have taken care of it? She’ll be hurt.” Fi rolls out of her float, treading in place. The water laps at her chest. “It’s nice, Sev. Warm, not like the training pools on Kamino.” A strand of hair sticks to her skin over her shoulder down over her collarbone and curls over her left breast. 

“We have a job to do,” Sev says. Her shoulder still twinges from the last time Fi talked her into doing something stupid. 

Fi snorts. “Knew you Delta girls didn’t know how to have any fun.”

Sev throws her helmet down with a clatter. The rest of her armour followed right after it. Fi is struck dumb, and the expression is almost worth how much osik they’re going to catch for this, except it doesn’t last long, quickly turning to delight. 

The water is warm. Fi was right, for maybe the first time in her life—it’s nothing like the ice cold pools they used to train in. Sev floats away from the edge, kicking her feet gently to keep her head above water. The water wraps around her bare skin, so pleasant after the cling of her sweaty blacks. She closes her eyes and breathes. It’s so easy to lay back like Fi had, to float weightlessly. 

Fi’s looking at her, mouth slack, eyes wide. She looks up, realises that Sev has seen her and snaps her mouth shut.

“I told you it was nice.”

It had been. Now Sev feels more naked than she’s ever felt in her life, including standing at attention being examined by Kaminoans. Fi’s eyes crawl over her skin and… and…

The water is too hot. This, like all of Fi’s other ideas, was a bad one.

The piercings glint on Fi’s nipples and under the water her body shimmers and distorts but Sev knows. She throbs between her legs.

Sev kicks away from Fi, back towards the edge.

“You’re going to get us both disciplined," she snaps. She almost jumps right out of the water, but Fi looking at her back makes her feel vulnerable and strange. She turns but that’s just as bad. The shallow end of the pool is behind Fi.

“You just got in!” 

“And that was stupid. Get dressed. We’re going back.” She needs out one way or another. Sev puts her hands behind her on the edge and with a kick of her legs, hauls herself out, sitting on the edge of the pool, legs still in the water. 

Fi doesn’t move. “I’m not done.”

Why does she have to make everything so difficult? “You will be when I report this to Vau.”

 “I’m not scared of him.” Fi pouts, and Sev looks away.

She should be. It also shouldn’t matter. Obedience isn’t about fear, it’s about duty. 

The air is cold after the warmth of the water, and being wet just makes it sharper. She sits with her legs still in the water, unable to bring herself to leave it entirely. She might still need to physically drag Fi out after her.

They glare at each other and Fi breaks first. With a huff, she swims after Sev, but Sev’s victory doesn’t last long.

She stops next to Sev, one hand on the edge of the pool. “Just ten minutes, Sev. Have some fun for once.” 

“Get out.”

Fi grabs her. It’s just her wrist, but it sparks through Sev’s whole body. She wrenches her arm back, Fi’s hand slipping easily with the water, but that just encourages her. She flails with her other hand, grabbing Sev’s knee for stability. She glares up at Sev. She’s so close, treading water right in front of  Sev, one hand on her. Sev could kick her away, but she doesn’t want to be pulled back in.

Fi’s glare flicks down, her cheeks redden, and back up.

Sev grabs her stupid hair, and pulls. 

Fi squeaks, her face colliding between Sev’s legs. Her breath rushes over Sev’s cunt and Sev realises her mistake. Fi’s stupidity is contagious; that’s why she’s so dangerous. 

“Get off me,” she snaps.

Fi doesn’t. Fi licks her.

Pleasure shudders through Sev, Fi’s tongue running up over her cunt to her clit.  

“Fi!” 

Was this Fi’s plan? Get her naked and exploit the weakness? It’s a weakness she shouldn't have, but one that is undeniable as Fi keeps licking. Sev is pulling Fi the wrong way, not pulling her away but closer, shaking under Fi’s clumsy tongue. It slides between her folds with obvious focus or goal, just tasting every part of Sev. Fi’s lack of experience doesn’t make it any easier to resist.

Sev  falls backwards, the tiles cool against her back, a welcome contrast to the burning in her cunt. Fi’s tongue slides between her legs, probing and then sinking just a little inside her. Sev can’t breathe. It’s only a second and then Fi’s tongue is gone and she’s mercifully empty again. Fi doesn’t go far, flicking her tongue over Sev’s clit again and again and again.

Sev’s hands tighten in Fi’s hair and drag her closer, mashing her whole face against her cunt. Fi, desperate di’kut that she is, doesn’t fight it, she just keeps licking and kissing and— 

“Ah!” Sev jerks, arching up into the awful heat of Fi’s mouth. And sucking. She’s tenser than any anger Fi has caused has managed to make her, pulled taut and desperate for release. Release that Fi’s hungry mouth promises. 

Fi’s hair leaks more water out over her fingers the harder Sev holds her, and Sev leaks over Fi’s tongue the more Fi sucks on her clit. Fi’s mouth is going to taste like her. Fi won’t be able to undo this. She’ll remember. 

Sev thrusts her cunt up into Fi’s mouth and the tension snaps. She bites her lip and the pain muffles the moan. She can’t control the frantic jerking, twitching under Fi’s tongue. Fi flicks at Sev’s tongue until Sev can’t bear it and then keeps going until Sev releases her, until Sev kicks her away. 

Fi floats in the water, staring dumbly. Sev feels dumb. She wants to stay flat on her back until she doesn’t. She rolls onto her front and scrambles to her feet. 

“Sev,” Fi says breathlessly. 

She’d licked Sev’s cunt like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted. Would Fi taste as good? Sev pulls on her armour, focusing limbs that want to tremble to be still. 

“I’m going to wait out front. You better be there in ten minutes.” She leaves without looking back. She’s not sure she would leave if she looked back.

She’s wet all over, blacks sticking worse than usual. The wet between her legs is different. Worse.

Sev lets him touch. Sev lets him take off his clothes and step into the shower to the side, stump red and hot to the touch, and Sev doesn’t look at him, jaw clenched tight and nostrils flaring now and then. He’s thin and haggard, old and scarred. His fingers are twisted, ugly things, and there’s a divot in his right bicep, and the muscle there feels too dense, wrong. 

Fi starts filling the tub in the centre of the room. He feels Sev’s eyes on him. When he looks at him over his shoulder he catches him staring from under his heavy brows, and that might be the only thing that hasn’t changed: the shape and colour of his eyes, the bitter heat in them when he looks at Fi. 

Old-Fi would have said something flirty and funny and witty, and Old-Sev would have—what? Fi thinks Sev would have insulted him and then he would have gotten all flushed and drippy and soft around the edges, and it would have been enough.

He can’t quite picture this Sev doing any of those things. He looks like something tried to have him for dinner and found him too tough, too stringy to stomach—as far as Fi knows, that might have been the case. Fi helps him up again when Sev’s done with his shower, and helps him cross the fresher towards the tub. The stairs to the side are hard to navigate, but Sev manages, jaw clenched and scowl hanging low over his dark eyes. He eyes the tub with something that’s half-way between suspicion and disdain, and then he takes a seat on the bench to the side with a bitten down groan. 

Fi watches his knotted shoulders lose some of their tension, his bowed neck wet with water and still sudsy. He could reach out, armour and all, place his hand there. 

He wants to. Five years and a brain injury later, Fi wants him so much he feels like he’s going to die from it. 

Sev turns to look at him over his shoulder, arms resting on the lip of the tub. He’s flushed and damp with steam; Fi’s sweating under his kute, and he thinks about taking it all off, leaving it on the tile, sinking in hot water and across Sev’s thighs, on his lap.

At first the grief would not let him think. It felt too big for a few hours in each other’s company, for a few clumsy kisses and an eager, sloppy blowjob in a shitty Coruscant motel, too big for his newly mended body, for his too-slow tongue and his shapeless, formless memories. When Fi pushed through the grief and into acceptance he thought he had left the want behind. 

They’re waiting for them. Gilamar’s on his way to the yaim to take a look at Sev, and Fi can hear his brothers’ voices through the locked fresher door. Fi shifts his weight on his feet, watches Sev watching him. It occurs to him that he could walk away from this, from them, from this thing they never were. He kind of wants to. 

One day, allegedly, Walon’s moving back. Once he retires. Spar and Jaster and Jango all always roll their eyes at that.

So Fi and Sev went to visit and now Walon’s on a business trip and Spar kicked them out of the house so she could sex up her Scottish doctor “friend” (read: Fi is pretty sure they’re going to announce their engagement soon judging by that rock on Spar’s finger).

Sev is the one who suggested they go Arizona.

Fi takes a quick snap of Sev as he helps Mird out of the back of the car, acting casual when his boyfriend looks up again.

“Where’s the overlook?” Sev asks.

Fi points up the trail marker for going up to Hopi Point. “Four kilometres thataway.”

Sev huffs and Mird huffs along with him, but they start that way, leaving Fi to grab the pack with the bottles of water and a bowl for Mird and lock up the car. The hike isn’t bad, really, compared to some of the ones they’ve done on vacations from university. When Sev’d first wanted to go visit Walon, Fi’d kind of mourned that tradition, since they’re graduating soon. But Sev’d been right, and this trip to Arizona wasn’t their first hike.

And Walon’d tossed him a pack of kodak cameras and grinned at him.

Well, Fi can take a hint.

As they get closer to the overlook, there are way more people they’re walking around. Mird gets plenty of attention, because he’s a delightful old dog, even if a lot of the other tourists are giving the two of them the side eye. Sev doesn’t notice, excitement growing as they come up to the edge.

Mird takes control, dragging Sev up to the edge.

Fi gets the camera up just in time to snap a shot of Sev looking out at the Grand Canyon with the biggest eyes he’s ever seen him make. And that includes the time—well.

He also gets one of Sev grinning as he turns to him.

“Get over here, Fi,” he calls, eyes glittering.

Fi can’t help but smile too, before he’s hefting the pack higher and going to join his boyfriend.

Footsteps stop right inside the room. Boss blinks down at his datapad and then sighs. When he looks up, Sev’s there, watching him with his eyes very wide. His hair is a mess, and there’s the mark of a pillow on his face. Boss manages to stop himself before he turns to look at the empty bunk over Scorch’s, right in front of his. He shifts on his own bed, mattress creaking, and very slowly puts his ‘pad down on his lap.

Sev is still looking at him with wide, dark eyes. He’s chewing at his lower lip in that way he has, one of those tells he has never managed to shake off, and the flesh looks red and tender. 

He looks down at his own feet, brow furrowed and big shoulders bowed, and Boss—Boss doesn’t sigh, or curse, or resettle on the bed, though he knows what’s coming and he hates it. But he’s Sev’s sergeant, he’s Delta’s sergeant, and that means… something. Right? That means something. 

So Boss stays where he is, sitting crosslegged on his bed, and he keeps his eyes on his brother, and he waits for what he knows it’s coming.

Sev opens and closes his mouth. His frown is now a black, awful scowl. He tugs at his messy curls, too long, greasy at the roots, and then he steps all the way into the room and closes and locks the door at his back with a hand that wants to shake.

Boss watches him, bare feet cold and hands on his own thighs. He’s tired: while Sev’s been fucking Omega’s medic, Boss has been making sure the rest of his squad behaves, he’s been working, he’s—he’s tired. He just wanted to finish his shabla novel in place and then take a nap. 

But Sev’s his brother and Boss is his sergeant, so he keeps his mouth shut and his face blank, because that’s what Sev expects, that’s what Sev thinks he needs, and Boss is in charge for a reason.

It could be worse: Sev could have gone straight to Vau. Boss resolutely does not think about what Sergeant Vau might have done to his brother if Sev told him about his thing with Fi.

Boss centres himself. He puts his exhaustion and his muted, well-worn grief away, and lets himself become the things he knows he has to do, and then he carefully places his datapad on the bed and stands up; Sev doesn’t flinch, but he doesn’t look up either.

“Something to say, Sev?” Boss makes himself ask. One of these days, all these words he doesn’t want to say will leave him tongueless and with a mouthful of blood.

Sev steps into the cockpit and checks the autopilot, numb fingers moving thoughtlessly over switches and screens. They’re hiding in the dark side of an unnamed planetoid, one of the many shards of metal, glass and rock caught in its orbit. The planetoid itself is a darker shadow floating in the void. Sev finishes checking the ship’s systems and then blinks sleep out of his eyes and watches it all, alone in this ship he isn’t that sure he wants.

It’s always cold. Sev knows that’s how space is: cold and quiet and lonely. He shivers and wraps his arms around his torso, eyes snared in the slow dance of the space debris in front of him. 

They’re alone. Too close to the expansion region to be of interest, too far away from the closest inhabited system to be a danger. Ignored by the Empire, forgotten by pirates. They’ve been there for three days, sleeping and working out and keeping watch, always keeping watch, waiting for—something. It’s very much like the army and not at all.

He watches two asteroids collapse into each other soundlessly and closes his eyes: he can hear the echo crashing around the inside of his brain, can feel it in his jaw, in his belly.

“Sev?”

Sev stiffens. He opens his eyes and finds Fi watching him in the reflection of the transparisteel viewport. He’s naked as the day he was decanted, shameless and shivering where he stands in the open door. 

He ignores Sev’s scowl and steps into the cockpit, feet nimble on the metal plating. His eyes are sharp when he flicks a glance first at the panel, then at the asteroid field, finally at Sev. He has this way of looking at Sev that’s like no one else’s: he sees through him, into him: he sees all of Sev, eyes soft and hot.

Fi steps into Sev’s space like he belongs there, hands warm and slightly damp through the thin fabric of his shirt, crowding him against the back of the seat, and Sev lets himself be pushed, licking his lips.

“Not in the cockpit,” he reminds Fi. Fi just laughs, that snicker-snort that hasn’t changed in the decade they have known each other.

His back hits the back of the seat, and Fi slips warm fingers under his shirt, into the waistband of his sleep pants, blunt fingernails scratching at the skin of the small of his back, and Sev can feel himself melting, giving in. Fi licks into his mouth and Sev sighs and lets him, hands ensnared in his curls.

Omega’s medic, sniper and resident funny man was pacing the narrow balcony, peering at the night lights and scowling at the skylane. He looked younger in his fatigues, the long sleeves rolled around his elbows and his hair messy, frizzy with the perennial lower levels damp. He had some kind of sweet in his right hand, something bright red and round and hard stuck on the end of a pale plasti stick, and now and then he popped it in his mouth, tongue swirling around the tough candy. Its smell filled the room, winning the fight against Qibbu’s familiar and dense stink of grease and shitty spice and sweat, and it had left his lips bright red, wet and sticky.

Scorch’s hand, heavy and warm, gripped Sev’s knee. Sev huffed, nudged him with his shoulder in apology, and went back to poking at his bowl of—something.

It wasn’t too bad: Laseema, the Twi’lek girl who worked in the kitchen, wasn’t a bad cook. It was better than rations, that was for sure, and Sev had found he rather liked the way the sauce made his tongue go numb.

He scraped it against his front teeth, finished shovelling what was left of it into his mouth, and then rubbed his lips with the back of his hand: they tingled slightly, and they were hot, warm to the touch. They felt like Fi’s looked. 

Scorch’s hand slipped from his leg, and he went back to his fiddling, too-long curls falling into his eyes. Sev left the dirty bowl on the counter and then crossed the room towards the balcony. Fi glanced at him and away, bare arms on the pitted durasteel of the railing. The lights of the passing speeders and the neon ad boards hovering in front of the building washed him in ever-changing colours, pink and blue and green.

“What’s that?” Sev asked. Fi blinked and turned to look at him. Sev cleared his throat. He shifted his weight and jerked his chin at the sweet still in Fi’s mouth. He had been able to smell it from his seat, chemically sweet and tangy and fruity.

Fi smiled around it. It moved inside his mouth, the hard ball pushing against his cheek, distorting the soft skin of his face. 

It wasn’t a nice smile. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he replied, and then he went back to staring at the Coruscanti night life, shoulders stiff and sullen. 

Sev blinked, wrong-footed. He scowled and turned away, ready to go back inside. 

“Wait,” Fi’s voice caught him by surprise, and Sev paused despite himself. He looked at him over his shoulder, still scowling, face flushed.

“What.”

Fi stopped in front of him, sweet in his right hand. He was smiling again, wide and cheerful and awful, and Sev tilted his head, suddenly uncomfortable under his knowing gaze.

“Open your mouth.”

Sev felt his scowl deepen. “Wh—?”

Hard, warm candy, sweet and sour at once, wet with spit.

Fi snorted, mobile mouth tugging up on one side, and then there was one hot, sticky hand on Sev’s face, slapping him lightly, and he was stepping around him, fearless and cheerful and baffling.