WIP It's-Been-A-While Wednesday
I want to get back into doing more WIP posts as I've got so much that I've been working on , especially in my long fic, that is written but waiting on other bits to be posted as a chapter.
So here, without further ado, assorted snippets including some of my favourite bits, in no particular order:
Tarre began to laugh, massive, gasping, body shaking laughs, tears brimming up in their eyes. The sound of it filled the room up and Jaster’s heart too, bouncing off of the walls.
Jaster laughed along with them, both of them chuckling until they were then silently wheezing with breathless, hysterical mirth. In a pragmatic view, both of them were needlessly worrying medics: Tarre clutched their head, face twisted between a grin and a grimace with each outburst, and Jaster’s vision swam concerningly as he was forced to let the back of the bed support his weight.
“We—- we need to figure out—-“ Jaster tried as he and Tarre attempted to sober up staring at the ceiling.
Jaster accidentally caught Tarre’s eye, glancing over to check up on them only to find them looking back and him, and it all began again.
The blue light from the datapads deepened the purple under [Jaster's] eyes and the grey cast to his skin. It drew lines between the crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes from smiling and frowning and living. He looked younger though, more lost and tired than he let anyone else see outside his helmet during the day.
He glanced up and blinked at Tarre. His eyes were warm though, deep brown Tarre could sink into in calm moments, when everything else went quiet. Jaster checked his chrono and winced.
Tarre approached, stepping behind him so they could draped their arms around his neck and cuddle close. He wasn’t bothered by the ‘saber they still clung to, gripped in reverse where if ignited it would only be going through their own wrist. Jaster tipped his head back to rest against their stomach and they leant down to brush a kiss to the crown of Jaster’s head then rest their forehead upon it.
Xanatos choked on his own gasps for breath. He was frozen here with feet that felt like they were stuck to the floor. Everyone was right, here he was skulking in a hallway thinking about all the ways he could doom them, he was a traitor and Feemor was too trusting and it was only a matter of time before he failed his padawan brother too—
Feemor wasn’t even his padawan brother anymore either, Qui-Gon had seen to that when he repudiated them both. The familiar flare of anger-hatred searing through his veins so strong he couldn’t catch his breath. But it strengthened him, though it was dark and it hurt, because he knew this, it was all he’d been left with after— after everything, even as it couldn’t stop the tears that spilled over and ran down his cheeks.
He smeared them away with the sleeves of his sleep shirt. They kept coming but he tried even though the action was as useless as he now was. He settled for pressing a hand hard over his mouth to muffle his sobs so he wouldn’t wake anyone up. His shields were an utter mess but he yanked them tighter around him anyway so Fee wouldn’t sense he was upset even unconscious. He didn't need any of them, he was used to being flung between nightmares and insomnia every night by now.
In Jaster’s silence, Feemor sat down on the floor with him and held his arms out welcomingly. Jaster leant back, or more fell into them. With Feemor’s warm body solid behind him, one of Fee’s hands splayed over his stomach, the other curled around his chest, Jaster nearly wanted to cry.
Tarre knelt in front of him, neatly slotting between his and Fee’s outstretched legs. They then tucked their feet to the side beneath themself in a gesture that was so Tarre that Jaster’s heart hurt, before they reached out to cup Jaster’s face. Jaster dropped his own hands away and raised his chin to let them.
Feemor’s armour collided with the wall behind him as he let Tarre push him up against it. The impact of it reverberated through his body, taking his breath. He pulled Tarre tighter to him with his hands that were already tangled in their tabards.
He could feel their triumphant grin in the Force as a spark of emotion where he could not see it through their infuriatingly opaque visor. Feemor’s Guard’s Mask wouldn’t show anything either, but his open shields laid his desire bare before Tarre. Tarre’s presence oozed confidence, that same shiny purple-black as their armour, shot through with giddy delight in a wave of sunset orange.
They tilted their head in the exact same way as they would before kissing him deep enough that all he could see was stars, they leant in, Feemor instinctively opened his mouth--- their helmets clacked together. He panted.
Feemor rested his head on Tarre’s chest, right over one of their hearts. He could hear both of them beating in rhythm, calm and steady. Tarre wore one of Jaster’s worn out t-shirts; soft under Feemor’s cheek, it smelt of both his partners. He nuzzled into it.
Tarre made an adoring noise and kissed the crown of his head. Jaster hummed, sweeping Feemor’s hair out of the way to tuck his face into Feemor’s shoulder. Loosely curled along Feemor’s back, he was a comforting presence to lean into, as both of them seemed to have the same idea of stroking Feemor’s hair, gentle hands carding through the waves.
