poplitealqueen:

Hunny bunny, you could ask me to write a fucking novel about Spiritassassin kisses and I’d respond with, “How many chapters?”

I’m afraid I still haven’t found that wayward prompt list yet, so here’s just a random kissing scene.

***

Four minutes and thirty-three seconds. That’s how long their mouths are together before Baze has to pull away to gulp down some desperately-needed air.

Initiate Imwê whines as he does, *actually* whines, and Baze wonders again how any of the senior monks in the temple could think this man couldn’t complete a simple errand into the city on his own. He has the stamina and stubbornness of a kriffing bantha.

“We need to be getting back,” Baze says, breathlessly. Imwê only smiles impishly at him, poking his tongue out to run along his kiss-swollen lips. Baze grunts, his cock twitching at the sight. For a man born blind, Chirrut Imwê knows exactly how good he looks.

“They won’t miss us for an hour, or two.” Imwê sneaks a hand beneath the fold of Baze’s tunic, brushing his fingers over a pebbly nipple. “I know you’ve wanted this. The Force whispers it to me…”

Baze rolls his eyes and hefts Imwê a little bit higher against the alley wall. Imwê responds with a soft giggle and tightening his legs around Baze’s waist. By the Whills, Baze is sure Imwê could snap him in half if he wanted to. Chirrut Imwê, it is completely apparent, is not someone to be underestimated.

“Ten minutes,” Baze says, before pressing his face into the side of Imwê’s long neck and rolling a patch of skin between his teeth.

Imwê keens. “Make it twenty and I’ll give you a blowjob.”

Hells. That goes straight to Baze’s crotch. “And I suppose the Force whispered that to you as well?”

The muscles in Imwê’s neck tighten as smiles. “Such blasphemy from the most respected Guardian-to-be on Jehda! I should report you, but first. Do we have a deal?”

For some reason, it feels as though this promise is one that goes far deeper than Baze anticipates. Something tells me he won’t be free of Imwê any time soon.

He can live with that.

“Deal.”

baze-also-yes:

“Baze! Nng– ah!” Chirrut gasped. A hand was quickly clamped over his mouth, but a muffled moan still escaped. His head lolled against the cargo ship’s bulkhead.

“Shhht!” Baze was breathing heavily, his chest heaving against Chirrut’s. He gave the monk a stern look, but there was an amount of desperation in his eyes. Chirrut wouldn’t have seen, anyway, but he certainly felt the desperation.

“I-need-you-Baze–” Chirrut exhaled the words without a hint of voice in the whisper. “Please don’t–”

“You need to be quiet!” Baze whispered harshly.

Chirrut’s eyes were closed. He took the moment to catch his breath, unable to keep from writhing against the larger man. They were in a state of hasty undress – Baze’s coverall pulled halfway down across his chest, Chirrut’s robes opened in the front. The dim running lights along the wall caught on glistening skin – indistinct, but clearly bare. “They can’t possibly hear us over the engines!” The monk protested, surprised that he managed a complete sentence.

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erebones:

23. sated

Baze can’t seem to get a good grip. The air feels wet and heavy in his lungs, puffing hotly against the back of Chirrut’s neck, and his fingers slip against the sweaty stretch of Chirrut’s flanks as he struggles to hang on. He lurches forward like a great lumbering bear, and groans when he slips out of him. Again. 

Chirrut giggles hysterically. “Sorry, sorry! I just didn’t think–I didn’t–”

He wriggles like a fish, one of those pale, blind ones that swim in the depth of the kyber pools that Baze once dared him to catch–he’d been soaking wet when they finally pulled him out, laughing and half-drowned, with no fish in sight. But he’d been cold then, clammy like a dead thing, and now he’s hot and flushed and Baze can’t hold on. 

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