#jahrish

Normally, Jahrish prided himself on being fairly quick on the uptake--necessity and habit were wonderful things when they were working together. He was a good shot, a quick study, a silver-tongued negotiator--he wasn’t half bad if he was being modest, and really, who had time in life to be modest? There weren’t enough years in a life span to really justify being sad and humble all the time, so Jahri rarely was.

  Unfortunately, today was not a day when Jahri’s brain was running at a speed faster than ‘k’lor slug on a salt flat’. His mouth tasted like sadness and an Ugnaught’s back hair; his eyes weren’t entirely sure why light was a thing but they certainly didn’t enjoy it, and his head, by the Force--he whined low in his throat, tucking his face into a soft set of deep green sheets, trying to wrap his upper body in the comforter as an uncertain voice began prattling in-between the drumming of his heart in his ears and an odd, metallic hum.

  For one thing, he didn’t own green sheets, and as far as he knew, no one he knew did either. ‘Panic’ began to rear its ugly head, only to be smacked the hell down by ‘Hungover’ because worthy of worry or not, there were no sudden movements about to happen, no matter how startled he was. Jahri wriggled a little, giving a little roll this way and then that, dislodging himself from his green burrito so that he could squint balefully into the great beyond--

  And into the (rather attractive) face of a dark-skinned blond with more cybernetics than cheek. Robocheeks had a rather nice smile for someone with implants taking up most of his jaw, Jahri noted.

  “Morning, sleeping beauty. Good to know you’re not dead.” Robocheeks was entirely too chipper for being awake at the obnoxiously early hour of… three in the afternoon, if the bedside clock just over the top of his thigh had anything to say about it. “Sleep well?”

  He meant to say something--impressive, trying to fall on the right balance of suave and impressive and just caustic enough to make mister Robocheeks McLoudvoice tone it down a tick. It ended up coming out something like a gargle and a weak “it hurts” as the Gamorrean conga-line between his temples started up in earnest, and possibly in high heels. Robocheeks smiled--or maybe he grimaced, it was hard to tell because his stupid, pleasant voice remained at the same even cadence of far too damned chipper and he needed to shut his stupid pretty face.

  “Yeah, that happens when you try to outdrink the pink asshole--word of warning learned the hard way, friend; you don’t outdrink him. He’s a Zeltron. They cheat with their multiple livers--and I think they get started on drinking booze after they get off the teat...” Robocheeks scratched at his neck, shifting to sit up a little straighter against the back of the bed, peering down thoughtfully at the puddle of misery and woe that Jahri was currently comprised of. “So you’re--Jahrish, right? I wasn’t sure if that’s what Holloway called you; you guys were kind of busy fighting over who left better hickies and who did a better tongue thing. I’m kind of jealous--nobody showed me a tongue thing,” he finished with--a pout? A grin? His face was so weird.

  Jahri pulled the blanket over his eyes again, giving a little grunt and as much of a nod as he dared; the Gamorreans were napping for the moment. “Yeah ‘m… Jahri. Who’re you?”

  Robocheeks’ voice went kind of petulant and frowny. “You don’t remember? Man, I thought we were so much closer than that--hell, we skipped from sort-of names to biting my nipple in near record time. I’m hurt.” Jahri blinked, lowering the blanket just a little as he tried to access the mental data from last night; try as he might, no images of his teeth sinking into someone else’s flesh came to mind. Robocheeks’ was still smiling, eyebrows making for his hairline as he folded his hands on his stomach. “Are you a drunk cuddler or are you always that affectionate?”

  Jahri’s stomach was doing a weird little flip-flop; maybe it was the sour remnants of the alcohol talking, or maybe it was the uncertainty of being face to face with someone he had absolutely no recollection of talking--either way he was heading on a one way train to the Nausea Planet, his belly’s best efforts aside. “Why? Did we… cuddle?”

  “Quite a bit!” Robocheeks leaned forward a little, dropping a leg off the bed as if he were going to stand up. “I guess Holloway found you at the local watering hole and decided, after helping you achieve blood-alcohol nirvana, that the best place to be was back here cuddling me--you’re very huggy with people you meet when you’re drunk, in case you didn’t know. Also, bitey. Bitey’s a thing. I think I have a hickey on my back from you,” he breezed, shifting to sit on the knee still on the bed, his foot on the floor holding most of his weight. “Are you part of the crew now? I didn’t know we had an initiation ritual. I might’ve come along if I’d known something so very special was going down.”

  Jahri rubbed his face a little, swallowing around the sudden watering in his mouth. “Um. I think so? Who are you, though?” He grit his teeth together after a moment, trying to swallow back the jittery little jumps in his throat that usually heralded everything from last night forcibly evacuating his stomach. “Urm--”

  “I’m Dhlaran and please don’t puke on my bed. The droid charges to clean,” though Dhlaran was at least not taking his sweet and chipper time talking now as he produced a bucket from nowhere immediately discernible to Jahri, helping him get on his knees as the sadness cascaded out from him in a strangely neon technicolor waterfall of false promises and artificial flavoring. There was a hand rubbing soothing, wide circles over his back--presumably Dhlaran was the one murmuring quiet, gentle nonsense in between his retching, but at this point Jahri couldn’t even been a hundred percent sure Holloway didn’t have some sort of… hangover-soothing protocol droid. “Easy now, get it out and we’ll get you some hair of the dog and toast.”

  The neon-splattered tragedy bucket disappeared when the gulping stopped; Dhlaran came back with a wet rag and wiped at his mouth and his face, bustling in and out of the room in a steady cadence of footfalls as he set the emptied bucket by Jahri’s head after one trip, coming back with an unnervingly red concoction full of ice and green leafy-thing in another. “Courtesy of Mister Cheating-Livers. It’ll help everything settle and let us get some food into you post-haste.” Jahri eyed the blood-red beverage dubiously, sipping at it after Dhlaran made a few more emphatic ‘go on’ waving gestures with his hands, looking like a strange cyborg mother hen clucking over a single chick.

  The drink wasn’t bad. It didn’t taste like any of the rainbow-colored temptresses from last night, so it would do. He nursed it at a steady pace as Dhlaran came and went a few more times, subtly scooting himself to sort of sit up as a slow, sneaky pace that thankfully didn’t set the conga line to stomping along again. “Feeling better?” Dhlaran plunked back down on the bed this go-round, sitting next to Jahrish with approximately zero regards for personal space as he settled hip-to-hip with Jahri, another one of the red drinks in hand. Jahri gave a weak nod, eyes closing as he took another sip of his drink--he dared to open them just as Dhlaran gave another far-too-sunny smile. “Excellent--so, seriously, did you join our crew or did we steal you from where you belonged? ‘cause we’ve been cruising along since the captain stirred from his slumber a couple hours ago, so-o you’re a coupla clicks away from the last port we were at.”

  “S’our new mechanic, as a matter’ve of fact,” and here came Holloway, looking just as impeccable when he’d swept into the bar last night, carrying a tray of something… worrying. It looked like some sort of waffle coated in crunchy, noxious yellow clusters. Did they expect him to eat that? “An’ yes,” he enunciated, hissing against his upper teeth as he plunked down on the bed on the other side of Jahri, his yellow-food-terrors scooting slightly on their plate. “I got him t’say that before I brought’m back fer drunk makeouts.”

  “And nipple-biting?”

  “‘specially nipple biting. How y’doin’, champ?” Holloway was also entirely too chipper for hangover-o-clock, but he was cheating… Jahri gave a little nod, gulping down another mouthful of drink as he tried to think up a way to not eat the ‘food’ currently perched on the tray. Dhlaran snickered, a hand coming to rest on the back of his neck, thumb rubbing up and down his spine.

  “Yeah, it looks absolutely wretched--”

  “This is my culture’s signature hangover food, you speciesist fuck--”

  “But it tastes heavenly. Stick it into your mouth--you’ve already trusted him this far, eh? No turning back, mister mechanic!” Dhlaran was far too cheerful. Holloway let his glasses slip down his nose so that he could get a good, hard glower on at the human.

  “Listen here, y’ laser rave rejectamenta--” Though the tone it was said in was far too familiar and friendly to actually be angry; a grin tugged at the corner’s of the Zeltron’s mouth as the tray surreptitiously slid its way into Jahri’s lap, bringing him closer to the newest pile of bad ideas in his life.

  “Oh, bite me.” Dhlaran stuck his tongue out. Holloway said something like ‘gladly’ and lunged with a scary pink quickness, grabbing the blond by his shirt and dragging him in for said bite… and then more, if the bob of both men’s throats and Dhlaran’s hand going from the back of Jahri’s neck to brace his weight between his legs were any indication. At least he got a show with his impending gastrointestinal pain, right? He canted his head slightly to the side, delicately picking one of the encrusted waffle-shapes between his fingers, sniffing at it uncertainly and squinting at it intently--was it glittering? What the hell was on this thing? By the time he looked back up, Dhlaran was sitting back on his knees, rubbing his mouth with the side of his hand even as a grin curled at the corners. Holloway’s glasses were back to their usual position--but he was definitely staring at Jahri now.

  “What? Y’gonna listen t’him without even givin’ it a try? I slaved over a hot stove fer ya, put my blood, sweat, an’ tears inta somethin’ that’d help you feel better--”

  “That sounds really gross unless Zeltron blood, sweat, or tears are actually some sort of secret hangover neutralizer.”

  “Listen here, ya Two Fat Hutts watchin', epicure pretendin' sumbitch--” And Jahri squeezed his eyes shut, taking a bite of what was going to be his stomach’s newest temporary resident before Holloway could get going and the two of them would start fighting with their mouths again, chewing reluctantly on the Zeltron cuisine… which actually wasn’t half bad. He took another bite, gnawing his way through between sips of his drink, leaning into--Holloway’s?--shoulder as the captain and his crew?-life?-mate settled in against him, burying the hatchet for a little while to (presumably) give Jahri some peace and quiet.

  … until Dhlaran just couldn’t help himself (which, Jahri was beginning to notice, was a bit of a thing). “As a sidenote, you kinda kicked Fetch when Holloway brought you on ship. Do you have a will set up? How do you feel about freehand drawing a picture of Holloway to throw as payment while you run for higher ground?” And again with the noxiously cheerful tone; Jahri squinted up at the blond, taking a petulant chomp of his waffle-thing and giving it a long, thoughtful chew. Holloway scoffed, fingers carding through Jahri’s messy hair in a rhythmic sort of back and forth.

  “Fetch ain’t that bad.”

  “Fetch loves you and only you. There is no room for mercy for the rest of us in his black little heart--do you know he charges me for cleaning my sheets? I should get a discount since you’re the reason they’re dirty half the time any damn way.” Dhlaran’s voice had a very rhythmic cadence to it when he wasn’t straining himself to be noxiously cheerful. Jahri’s head lolled a little into Holloway’s shoulder as he crunched through another bite of his second pastry.

  “What he charges now is with the discount, man.” Dhlaran made a noise and Jahri winced, opening his eyes at a squint so that he could give the other man the nastiest glare he could manage as the Gamorrean conga line began to stir at the klaxon-like quality of his voice. “What? He does good work. Deserves t’be paid more than he charges anyhow.”

  “We’re not doing anything in my bed anymore--it’s either gonna be on yours or on a surface I don’t have to pay to clean. I’m already in debt to that little trashcan bastard.”

  “... I? Fail t’see how this causes any sorta issue for me?” And that familiar, comfortable tone was back, warm and teasing and full of affection--or maybe Jahri was just getting way, way too into the steady back and forth of fingers through his hair. He swallowed what he had in his mouth and hunkered down, not really paying attention as someone took the remnants of his drink from his hand, not awake enough to notice as a hand skimmed up his spine and a soft chuckle rumbled in the air.