Chapter Text
“Come to bed with me?”
Caspian brushes an awkward hand down through his silver hair almost as soon as the words leave his mouth. He hadn’t meant it to come out quite that bluntly. He blames the day he’s had - another draining and seemingly endless series of meetings and discussions and making sure that the Alliance is functioning as it needs to be. Consequently, his brain isn’t doing as well as it should in maintaining his usual barriers between thought and speech.
But at least after days of dithering, and agonising, and wondering if it’s too soon, he’s managed to blurt it out; so now he can only shift his weight on the metal platform overlooking the hangar bay and stare up at Scourge as he awaits an answer.
Scourge. Cas can still hardly believe that the Sith is here with him, so close after all those years carrying the ache of his absence. He’s been drinking in the sight of the man for a week now, taking every opportunity to simply stare at him, like there’s nothing more fascinating on this whole planet than Scourge. Nothing across all of Odessen that he’d rather be looking at.
Truth be told, there isn’t.
Even as he’d approached, he’d been doing it. Studying the heavy lines of the Sith’s form, the way Scourge is leaned casually forward with his arms resting on the rail, his sharp eyes surveying the movements of Alliance personnel on the hangar floor below. He’s as intimidating a figure as ever, yet there’s a profound shift in his presence, and it draws Cas to him like the pull of a planet’s core.
Scourge looks round in response to the Jedi’s voice, his carved face giving a spasm of surprise. (A reaction to his question, Cas thinks, more than his presence. He'd learned long ago that it was nearly impossible to get near the Sith without being sensed.)
On anyone else, it would be a subtle quirk of an expression; regular, unworthy of any notice. But Cas still isn’t used to it: seeing such openness, such emotion, on features he’d previously known as nearly statuesque. And each time, he marvels at it. Wants to trace the contours of that face as they curve and contort, mapping out the mind and heart of a man who, for so long, had been unreadable.
But Cas can read him now. He watches as confusion, then consternation, then doubt, weave themselves across Scourge’s expression. Rippling through his browstalks, tightening across his cheekbones, catching on the corners of his sharp, full lips. Cas wants to kiss those lips so badly, if only to encourage further movement from them.
But Scourge’s eyes are narrowed at him now, so he refrains. The Sith stares down at him for a moment, quizzical, and then speaks lowly.
“You want us to sleep together?”
Cas isn’t the only one being overly blunt, it seems. The Jedi hastily lifts a hand to reassure him.
“Yes, but I mean - literally share a bed, Scourge, not - we don’t have to get physical with it. Not yet.” He cants his head, offering an encouraging little smile. “This is all still pretty new, to both of us.”
“I fail to see how we can share a bed if it’s not physical,” muses Scourge, after a lengthy moment of consideration. He straightens himself from the rail to fully face Cas. “Unless this is another emotion I’ve not yet become reacquainted with?”
Cas huffs ruefully. “No, I just meant we don’t need to actually, you know, have sex, we can just -“
He breaks off then, startled by a light rumble coming from his companion. He glances up again. Scourge’s red eyes are bright, and a smile - no, a smirk - curls across his sculpted mouth. Cas squints at him.
“You knew what I meant all along, didn’t you?” he accuses, but it’s mild outrage at best, taken as he is by the sight of the Sith’s quiet mirth.
“Of course, Jedi.” Scourge’s low chuckle dies away, leaving him to regard Cas in light satisfaction. “I simply wanted to see what you would say. Just because I’ve not personally experienced such innuendos for centuries, does not mean I don’t understand them.”
Cas is tempted to ask if no one had truly tried to entice Scourge, in all his years as the Emperor’s Wrath; but considering the Sith before him now, he concludes that he doesn’t care to venture down that line of speculation. Not at the moment, anyway.
“Alright, alright.” He gives a wry shake of his head and a short sigh. “You win that one.”
He reaches for Scourge’s hand. It dwarfs his own, and though it is gloved, he can feel the warmth emanating from within.
“The offer still stands, though.” He gives the other’s fingers a slow squeeze as he steps closer, and looks earnestly up at the Sith. “I’d… really like you with me tonight.”
Scourge lets his gaze rove from the Jedi’s face, to their clasped hands, and then up again. “You have changed,” he comments, almost idly. “As is right, after so much time, but in ways I did not expect.”
Cas feels his brows tilt together of their own accord as he regards Scourge. “How so?” he ventures.
Scourge offers a faint shrug of his broad shoulders. “Were I poking fun at your clear desires during our first years together, I think you would be on the floor by now, under the weight of your embarrassment. Hiding yourself from me. Now you invite me to share your bed, without shame.”
“Maybe because I’m not ashamed,” suggests Cas. And it’s true - he’s not.
Once, in what may as well be another life now, he had known chagrin over his undeniable attraction to the Emperor’s traitorous Wrath. He had shied from it, fought with it, turned his back on it - anything to keep his prevailing feelings for the man from overtaking him. And all the while knowing that his efforts to bury them would never be enough.
In the end, the best he could manage was a truce. Acknowledging that he would never fully eradicate what he felt, but by the same token, that Scourge would never want - or be able - to reciprocate.
It was remarkable, really, how quickly ‘never’ could become obsolete.
Scourge gives a deep nod of approval to this. “Nor should you be,” he affirms, the weight of his conviction clear behind the words. “It is -” He hesitates, then goes on, “It feels - right. I -”
Another hesitation. The Sith’s face scrunches irritably, and he gives a sharp shake of his head.
“I’m still unaccustomed to feeling everything I say. Or wish to say. The emotions often come before I even speak. It can be… overwhelming.”
Overwhelming, and incredibly endearing. Cas can’t hide his fond little smile.
“It’s alright, Scourge,” he says softly. “Take your time. Or leave it for later, if you want.” He smooths his hand over Scourge’s in slow, calming motions.
A muscle twitches in Scourge’s jaw as he chews on this, and then the Sith nods again. “Later, then. When I - yes. Later.”
Cas nods as well and then pauses, glancing out over the hangar. Although there is always work being done across the Alliance base, the hour is late, and so many of the personnel normally scurrying about the hangar have dispersed to their beds. Being as tired as he is, he’s rather hoping to do the same in the very near future - plus one - so he flicks a prompting look up at the Sith beside him.
“Will you join me then, Lord Scourge?” He’s never been one for titles - even ‘Commander’ had chafed on his sense of identity for longer than it should have - but this unusual touch of formality causes Scourge’s features to soften in amusement.
“Lead the way, Jedi.”
Jedi. Scourge says it so differently now - and that, as much as his affirmative answer, makes Cas’ chest ache with happiness.
Before the Alliance, before the Eternal Empire, back when missions and goals and allegiances had been nearly black and white, Scourge had wielded the word like another weapon. It was the verbal incarnation of his lightsaber, blazing scarlet against the greens and blues of the Jedi who surrounded him. It was a reminder, always, that he and Caspian were still on opposite sides, and Cas clearly on the lesser one.
Jedi. Scourge used it in the same way he would have said blind, or ignorant, or weak. Never going so far as to cut at Cas personally, but making it clear that Cas was merely the singular, flimsy exception to his otherwise scathing views of the Order. Jedi. He took what should have been a badge of honour, of pride, and twisted it into doubt and whispered questions of why.
But where before there had only been contempt, now there is affection. Endearment. Jedi. Scourge forms the word so tenderly each time he offers it. Even when his voice is raised and riled, wrestling with the feelings he’s not yet mastered, it always falls back when he says it - Jedi. No longer a barb, but a term of respect, an affirmation of Cas’ role in all that has been accomplished.
The upshot of it all being that Cas is, strictly speaking, no longer a part of the Jedi Order. He’s not sure if he sees himself as a Jedi of any kind, these days, even a rogue one. And truthfully, he’s given up trying to figure it out. That isn’t what’s important anymore.
He keeps hold of Scourge’s hand as he turns from the railing, leading the Sith down the ramp and across the hangar floor. The few guards and workers stationed within the bay glance up as they pass, and Cas can feel the flickers of their wariness. It’s a natural reaction to the presence of such a figure as Scourge, but their commander clearly trusts him - more than trusts him - and so they return quietly to their duties. No doubt there will be continued speculation in the Alliance barracks for weeks - but Cas can’t bring himself to mind it.
He heads for the side door that leads outside, and feels Scourge give a hindering squeeze on his hand.
“Have you forgotten where your own quarters lie, Jedi?”
Cas shakes his head, tugging the Sith forward again. “Hardly,” he answers, with a rueful breath. “But sometimes I need to go somewhere else. Running this place - or at least pretending to, Lana seems to do most of it - it’s a lot. Sometimes I just need to… get away for a night. Not be in the middle of everything, where everyone knows where to find me.”
Scourge makes a soft, deep hum in his throat. “Understandable. Where, then?”
“The ship. Our ship.”
They take the turbolift down from the hangar, and step out into the open glen behind the Alliance base. Across the bridge that spans the chasm yawning at their feet, the Defender class starship glints quietly in the moonlight, at rest in its berth of verdant grass.
The night air is cool and heavy as it greets them, and Scourge pauses to draw in a long, clear breath of it. Cas turns and directs a crooked little smile at his companion.
“You remember the ship, don’t you, Scourge? The one you and Kira stole from me mid-disaster? Taking all my clothes with you?”
“You told us to,” Scourge answers mildly. He tilts a browstalk down at Cas. “You have no grounds for complaint.”
“Not having my favourite shirt to wear when I want it is always grounds for complaint, Scourge.”
Their low chuckles intertwine as the two make their way towards the ship. With the lights of the base now behind them, the night sky feels vast. Even here, near the edge of the galaxy, the stars are countless, shimmering through the quiet colours of the nebula that cradles Odessen.
“I love it out here,” murmurs Cas. He’s tilted his head back as they cross the bridge, his eyes wandering over the patterns of light above them. “I never thought I’d be comfortable living this far away from - well. Everything. But I guess it’s like you said. I’ve changed.”
“We have both changed - and been changed - irrevocably,” says Scourge, in a voice so light it’s almost lost in the flurry of a passing breeze. “But it is… for the better, I think.”
“Yeah.” Cas glances at him and smiles, teasing, “You’re actually fun now.”
Scourge purses his lips. “You should tell that to Kira,” he mutters, though his tone is still good-humoured. “She doesn’t share your opinion.”
“That’s because she doesn’t love you like I do.” Pushing himself onto his toes, Cas plants a fond kiss on Scourge’s cheek, and is rewarded by the flutter of affection that crinkles the corners of the Sith’s eyes.
They walk the rest of the way in unhurried silence, basking in the starlight and the quiet vibrations of their closeness. Scourge’s hand is a comforting weight in Cas’ own, and it’s with a pang of reluctance that he releases it, in order to unlock the hatch of the ship.
The interior of the craft is dim and still. Small pools of pale yellow light mark the lines of the floor and ceiling, like lanterns bordering the footpaths of a twilit garden. Enough to see by, but little else.
“You can’t imagine how empty this ship felt, when Theron brought it here,” remarks Cas, as he climbs the stairs to the central deck. His voice does sound strangely loud, without the ambient hum of the engines. “No crew left aboard. Just… ship.”
He doesn’t mention how later on that long-ago day, with his brain already overflowing beneath the weight of the newborn Alliance, he’d spent nearly three hours in the battered corvette. Sitting dull-eyed and despondent in a chair on the bridge, trying to cling to the echoes of his companions that lingered there, knowing they were only in his mind. Meandering aimlessly through the decks, the engines cold, the conduits lifeless, until the sheer silence was a scream ringing through his ears.
He’d gone through the ship, and he’d found the things they’d left behind (through carelessness or necessity, he never found out). Kira’s boots in a locker, the leather well worn from following in Cas’ wake, a vial of perfume stuffed inside one of them. She’d asked if he was trying to make a point, when he gave it to her, like maybe that she smelled like a nerf, and then she’d laughed at her own joke, and from then on she only wore the fragrance whenever they went to a world with nerfs, because she had to be sure to stand out, she said, lest Cas mistake her for one again.
Wedged behind a bulkhead in the engine room where it had fallen, he’d extracted a holo-storage unit belonging to T7. Upon plugging it into the nearby terminal, he’d found it to contain detailed personality profiles of dozens of individuals, none of them familiar and all of them rather eccentric. It had taken him a while to figure out that they were all, in fact, fictional characters from an impressively wide range of soap operas - the sorts of mindless dramas that the astromech would often play during long, tedious hours of ship maintenance and data analysis. Cas could remember hearing the echoes of the characters’ voices, sometimes, when he passed by the engine room - but he’d never stayed long enough to realise how dedicated T7 had been to following the productions.
He’d spent longer in Scourge’s room than anywhere else on the Defender, despite the fact that the narrow cargo bay was barely changed from the way he’d known it; the Sith had left his mark on Cas’ soul, rather than on his ship. There were fewer crates and containers clustered within, but the simple bunk in the corner was still neatly made, the single locker still shuttered and bare. The sound of the metal had grated on his ears as he opened the locker and felt around on each dusty, disappointing shelf - until on the top one, lost in the back, his fingers caught on the edges of a small box.
It was flat, only a little wider than the breadth of his hand, fashioned of a naturally ash-coloured wood and carved with traditional Sith motifs. Unhooking the clasp and raising the lid, he’d found - jewellery. Sith jewellery, of intricate, beaten silver, the sort that would adorn browstalks and face tendrils, now nestled on a scape of bloodred silk.
He’d never seen Scourge wear them, never seen him change out the simply etched rings that hung about his face for something like these exquisite ornaments. But he could imagine how fine they would have looked. And so he’d stood there, in the endless, unbearable quiet, with a dusty box clutched to his chest, and drowned in the slow agony of what might have been.
But those days of despair are gone, Cas reminds himself, lifting his mind away from these unhappy recollections. Though the ship is still quiet - he’s no longer alone.
“It was strange for me, as well,” muses Scourge, as he follows Cas towards the front of the ship. “With only Kira and the droid aboard. I had made no pledge to them, and yet I didn’t know where else to go.” Almost incidentally, he skims a hand along the brushed durasteel wall.
“We went our separate ways, after a time, as you know. It is a… curious sensation, to be here again, after so long. I had wondered what became of the ship.”
“I asked Theron where he’d found it,” Cas admits, as he turns into the short hallway leading to his quarters. “He said I really didn’t want to know. He’s probably right.”
The single cabin serving as the captain’s quarters is slightly more welcoming than the rest of the ship. A warm, diffused light wells from various panels as Cas touches a switch, lending a candlelit atmosphere to the room. It’s evident that the Jedi has taken to spending some time here; a few garments hang in the open wardrobe, and several datapads are scattered on the built-in desk alongside a half-full bottle of Corellian brandy.
Cas exhales a soft groan as he moves towards the bed, his fingers working wearily at the clasps on his coat. “I’m so tired of meetings,” he confesses. “I think I yelled at Lana one too many times about keeping details from me, now she wants me there for everything.”
“There is something to be said for simply accepting orders,” Scourge notes, watching him. “But I don’t think you could ever function that way. Not for long.”
“No, that’s probably true.” Cas drags off his coat and flops it onto the end of the bed. “I always need to know the whole picture, all the little pieces that make it up.”
He pauses for a few moments, gazing ahead at nothing in particular. Exhaustion has a way of sneaking up on him at night, and tends to bring with it all the doubts that he’s managed to push down during the day. Things are relatively stable now, within the Alliance and without, but still he can’t entirely relax. He’s become so accustomed to hurtling through one disaster after another that even a pause for breath seems only a herald for the next inevitable danger. And now, thanks to Scourge, he knows what the next one will be.
Frankly, he could have done without knowing, for a while longer.
“What troubles you, Caspian?”
Cas blinks, coming back to the present, and bites his lip. Scourge has drawn closer behind him in the interim, and he can feel the other’s keen concern.
Turning towards the Sith, he asks halfheartedly, “Who says I’m troubled?” Not that he expects this to put Scourge off, however. And it doesn’t.
“I say it. And I see it,” replies Scourge quietly. He’s slipped his gloves off, and he moves to stand before the Jedi, gently taking both of Cas’ hands in his own. “I have known you for too long. You can’t hide what you feel. From the others, perhaps. But not from me.”
“I did once,” Cas quips back, deflecting. “For quite awhile.”
“Not for as long as you thought.” Scourge is watching him intently. “By the time we departed Corellia, all those years ago, it was clear that you were infatuated.”
Despite the fact that this is ancient history, and there’s nothing left to be embarrassed about, Cas feels a slight blush warm his face.
“You never let on,” he says, surprised, and there's the faintest trace of accusation there too. “Not once.”
“There was no point.” Scourge shrugs, but the callous motion is softened by the way his thumbs press lightly into the backs of Cas’ hands - one covered in smooth, pliant skin, the other set with lines of dark metal and cold pinpricks of light. “It seemed unwise to risk encouraging you, considering our circumstances. Defeating the Emperor was our paramount concern, and there were already too many distractions. And I….”
He falters, and gives Cas’ hands another careful squeeze.
“I could not give you what you sought. I thought that with time, you would find… another path for your attentions. And you did.”
“Yeah, I… I did, but -“ Cas scrunches his face. “You know I only started flirting with Theron to try and provoke you, right? I mean, not only, but that was part of it.” He lets out a rueful sigh. “And that didn’t do a thing, did it? Because you wanted me to find someone else.”
“You needed someone else. That much even I could see.” Scourge bows his head lower towards Cas. “Now answer my original question.”
There’s something sharp in the Sith’s voice, just for an instant, that says he definitely doesn’t want to talk about Theron, and Cas can’t really blame him for that. So he nods, and drops his gaze again, considering the hands cradling his own. A long breath leaves him.
“It’s just… I should be so happy right now, with you here, and I am, but at the same time….” He closes his eyes for a moment. His voice has softened unsteadily.
“I thought I was finally, finally free of Valkorion. It was bad enough after what happened in his fortress, but to have him actually inside my mind, for all that time, trying to manipulate me, and use me, and now he might be coming back for the fuckteenth time, and I can’t -“
He stops to drag in another wavering breath, realising as he does that his grasp on Scourge’s hands has become a vise; but the Sith doesn’t pull away. Cas swallows, seeking his voice again.
“I tried to use those techniques you taught me, before, for keeping him at bay. I think it helped, but it was… so much harder, with him actually present, not just his echoes….”
And without you here, part of him wants to say. Despite their early clashes of personality and principle, Scourge had proved himself a bulwark against the darkness that tainted Cas after spending so long in the Emperor’s control. Cas is keenly aware of the irony there, but it’s true all the same. To not have that same shield, that same strength, during his struggle with Valkorion had been unpleasant at best; and on one or two occasions, nearly catastrophic, as he came close to succumbing to the manipulative Emperor’s hold. Even now, he’s hard pressed to remember darker days.
“I understand,” says Scourge. His own grip tightens for a moment, and then he eases his hands free, only to curve them around Cas’ still downturned face. “But he is gone from you now, Caspian. From your body, from your mind. He cannot - he will not - hold you again. I swear it to you, my heart. I would sooner condemn this entire galaxy to oblivion than see him lay his touch upon you again.”
There’s a low fervour to the Sith’s voice, and it sends a tremor down Cas’ spine, foreboding and enticing in equal measure. He looks quickly up at Scourge. The other’s face is wrought with conviction as he stares back. Cas’ lip wobbles, but after a moment, he summons a weary smile to still it.
“Look at you. All fired up to burn the galaxy for me. And when we started, all that mattered to you was saving it.” He turns his face and presses a kiss to Scourge’s broad palm. “I appreciate the sentiment, but let’s not go about condemning the entire place just yet. We’ve gone to far too much trouble saving it to throw it all away. And besides, I still have a few worlds I want to take you to visit.”
Scourge’s dramatic declaration has, strangely enough, brought things back into perspective (fleetingly, Cas wonders if Scourge had done it on purpose). The Emperor is gone - and whatever strange phenomenon has been unleashed by the destruction of his mortal body, it will not be enough, Cas tells himself firmly, to resurrect him. Not this time. He has to believe that.
Reaching up, he skims his hands once over Scourge’s before stepping back. “Let’s go to bed, Scourge,” he invites softly.
The Sith doesn’t say anything, but gives a small nod of agreement and releases him. With a light sigh, Cas sinks onto the edge of the bed and bends down to tug off his boots.
When he looks up again, Scourge is at work undressing as well, unsnapping the clasps of his coal-coloured armour and removing it with the ease of long practice. Gorget and pauldrons are lifted away and set by the wall, and the Sith’s vambraces and broad belt soon follow. Cas is quickly distracted. He leans forward, propping an elbow on his knee and resting his chin in his palm as he watches. He’s rarely seen Scourge in anything less than full battle gear; even when injury necessitated the removal of his armour or garments, the Sith showed little patience in waiting around to be tended, and more often than not had dealt with any injury himself (and though Cas would rather have gone another round with the Emperor than admit it at the time, he had definitely been disappointed by the missed opportunities for visual, if not tactile, appreciation).
Scourge drags his heavy tunic off over his head and then pauses with the garment still in his hands. His back is to Cas - sporting fewer scars than one might expect, given his lengthy history - but he shifts a light glance towards his admirer out of the corner of his eye.
“Enjoying yourself, Jedi?”
Cas doesn’t even try to hide the appreciative smile that smushes farther into his palm as he tilts his head. “Immensely.”
“You are welcome,” rumbles Scourge in a dry voice. He folds his tunic over one arm, deep crimson against the lighter red of his skin, and turns towards the other man, just languid enough to be deliberate. Cas’ grin widens. Scourge is a man prone to melodrama, and as cheesy as it is, Cas appreciates every moment of it.
“It’ll do,” he says archly, as his eyes roam over the scapes of Scourge’s impressive musculature. Understatement of the century.
“Good. Because this is all you’re going to get, for tonight.” Scourge’s lips give a faint twitch as he regards Cas.
“Just so long as you’re not coming to bed in your armour,” says Cas wryly, maintaining his lopsided smile. “Anything else, I think I can deal with.”
Tearing his eyes from their study of the Sith’s bare torso, he resumes undressing himself - his grey-blue overshirt and studded belt, and then the softer cream-coloured shirt beneath. He can feel Scourge’s eyes on him now, and even though Scourge has seen him nearly undressed on more than one occasion - it’s never really bothered Cas, to have his skin showing in front of others - now he feels almost shy, his eyes half lowered as he sets the shirts aside to join his coat.
This was your idea in the first place, he scolds himself. There’s no reason for feeling flustered.
Well. No reason except finally sharing a bed with the man he’s been yearning for almost since they met.
That might be an acceptable reason, after all.
Once more he glances up, expecting to see that same tiny smirk still tugging at Scourge’s face. What he doesn’t expect is the Sith’s brow to be lowered, shadowing his eyes to the colour of dark blood, all traces of levity suddenly fled from his face.
“Scourge?” Cas’ own brows draw together. “You alright?”
Now barefoot, Scourge discards his tunic and crosses the room back to Cas. “Stand up,” he says, soft yet abrupt.
Perplexed, Cas does so, rising from his seat on the bed. Scourge circles him halfway, and then reaches out, his fingertips brushing at the Jedi’s abdomen. A moment later Cas feels a corresponding touch at his back, and he realises what Scourge has fixated on.
Two marks. One for the entry point, one for the exit point.
“What is this?” growls Scourge.
Cas exhales slowly, and bites his lip. “Arcann,” he explains. “When he came after me on Asylum.”
The memory is a distant one now; the echoes of Arcann's lightsaber no longer twist inside him whenever he moves, and he’s grateful for it. Sometimes he even manages to forget, for a time, the many scars he bears thanks to the son of Valkorion. But they’re new to Scourge, new and frightening, and he can see by the way Scourge has tensed that the other man is not taking it well.
“And this.” Scourge reaches for Cas’ left hand now, turning it between his own, glaring at the Rakata-based implants embedded in the dark skin that allow the Jedi full use of the limb again. “He did this to you, as well.”
“Scourge….”
Cas can feel the storm gathering in the other man, as surely as if clouds were seeping inside and darkening the warm glow of the room around them. Scourge’s moods are unpredictable these days, and understanding this, Cas has all the patience in the galaxy for him, but still - this is not how he hoped their first night together would go. He desperately wants to head this off, the waves of emotion he can sense churning towards the surface beneath Scourge’s rigid form. But he’s not sure that he can.
He twists his head up towards the Sith. “Scourge, it’s not -” he starts - but too late.
“I should have been there!” The storm breaks, and Scourge’s voice is suddenly lashing out with enough force to be nearly palpable. The Sith dashes Cas’ hand away, pivoting to glare about the room, and Cas has the uncomfortable feeling that the other man is looking for something to throw, or crush, or tear apart with his suddenly claw-like hands.
“I should never have let you board Marr’s ship on your own! I should have gone with you, and protected you, and ripped Vitiate from the Eternal Throne with my bare hands! I would have killed him then and there, and his children as well, and then none of this would have happened -”
Cas’ eyes are wide. He’s never felt Scourge like this - and logically, he knows full well why - but still he’s reeling beneath the intensity of the Sith’s fury, so much so that his breath is suddenly catching in his chest and his heart is crumpling - not from fear, but from the anguish radiating from his lover.
“Scourge, please -” he tries, but the other man is spinning away amidst the torrent of emotions he still cannot fully control.
“I should have listened to Kira from the beginning, and gone searching for you! But no, my focus was on Vitiate, as it always has been.” Scourge gives a sharp shake of his head, and a self-deprecating snort of a breath. “And while I fruitlessly sought his rotting remains, you were left here, on your own, to be endlessly tormented by him and his treacherous spawn -”
“Scourge - ”
But words are no longer enough of an outlet for Scourge, and with an animalistic snarl he snaps forward and drives his fist into the nearest wall. The metal crunches under the impact, showering the air with sparks, and still Scourge isn’t satisfied, as he continues to rage - at Arcann, at the Emperor, at himself.
“I should have been there!” he seethes again, his voice guttural. “At your side, through all of it -”
“Scourge, stop. Please.”
Cas is in front of the Sith before he even realises he’s moved, desperate to do something, anything, that will soothe Scourge’s self-recriminations. He presses himself on tiptoe to Scourge’s heaving chest, reaches up, catches that contorted face between his hands, strokes his fingers repeatedly over the shapes of his sharp pureblood features.
“You’re right, you’re right, you should have been,” he whispers, because he knows that platitudes are as good as lies here, and will do nothing for a man like Scourge. His own voice is shaky as he breathes the words into Scourge’s skin - his nose, his cheeks, his lips. “I wanted you there, more than anything, and it hurt me every day, every year that I waited, and waited, and you never came back to me, and I had no idea if you were even still alive -”
Every hard exhale that Scourge makes is harsh against his ears, and the Sith’s body quivers with the effort of staying in place, but still Cas leans into the inferno - touching him, caressing him, trying to calm this eruption of frustration and fury.
“I went through so much without you. And it’s okay to feel upset about that. Even when it wasn’t your fault.” He strokes his hand over Scourge’s cheek. “But that part of it is over. You’re here now, and I’m here, and we’re together, and I promise you, Scourge, that’s all that matters. The only thing I care about, right here, in this moment, is you.”
He draws back, just enough to meet Scourge’s gaze, still dark with furor. Carefully, Cas settles his hands around Scourge’s face. His thumbs brush slowly back and forth, back and forth, across the skin below the other’s eyes, where it’s tender and smooth and the tendrils that adorn the rest of his face don’t reach.
“I know it hurts,” he whispers, over the rough hiss that slides from Scourge’s lips. “I know you don’t know how to deal with that yet, because you haven’t had to for so, so long. But you’ll figure it out. And I’ll be here to help, whenever you need it. I promise.”
Scourge blows out a breath, blinking hard, and at length he grunts out a meagre nod. He doesn’t speak further, but gradually, his rigid stance eases.
After another minute or so, his hands come up and fan out slowly across Cas’ back. His fingers find the lightsaber scar again, circling it once, and then they travel outward, a gentle exploration of each hill and hollow from the nape of Cas’ neck to the base of his spine.
Cas relaxes into the touch, letting himself fall back onto proper footing. He leans his head against Scourge’s collarbone, his eyes half closed and his fingers drifting lightly over the other’s chest. Focusing on the Sith’s body, reaching out through the Force, he offers his own steadiness to Scourge.
“It’s okay, love,” he murmurs, and he feels the way Scourge’s breathing slowly settles, and his heart resumes a more regular rhythm, deep within his cavernous chest.
Cas has no idea how much time has passed when he feels Scourge shift more noticeably against him; he’s been adrift on the now-quiet sea of their closeness, and wouldn’t have been altogether upset if he never moved from this place again. But the Sith’s voice, barely more than a breath across the top of his head, still cuts through.
“For all your talk of taking me to your bed, Jedi, you have yet failed to do so.”
“You keep distracting me,” murmurs Cas, but with a small noise of reluctance, he levers himself from his resting place against the Sith, and feels the other’s hands fall away as he moves.
“You’re so warm now,” he goes on earnestly, and with the Sith somewhat calmed, he can’t resist leaning in again to press his lips to Scourge’s skin, as though drinking in the heat of his existence.
“So you have said,” Scourge responds patiently. And indeed, it’s not the first time Cas has made a similar remark during the past few days. But he can’t help fixating on it.
Scourge had always felt unnaturally cold, before, on the few occasions where Cas had found him near enough to touch. An effect of the Wrath’s immortality, lifetimes spent in the Emperor’s shadow where warmth was as alien as light. Once or twice Cas had even tried to use that as an excuse, as he talked himself away - again - from his growing feelings for Scourge. Why would he ever want to get close to a man who was about as comfortable to touch as a block of stone frozen in the ground?
(It hadn’t proved to be an effective deterrent. Most of his related arguments back then were the same - impressively logical and totally useless.)
So now he finds himself wondering at it, the way the shroud of indifference has been pulled away from Scourge in body as well as mind. The Sith’s presence in the Force, too, has been drastically altered - a rich surge of colour where before there had only been a steely void. It’s as though Scourge is finally, fully existing in this galaxy again - no longer a statue locked in time and purpose, but alive and bright and burning. Everything that had been hidden under the ashen cloak of immortality.
Cas takes a step back, studying the other man for a moment. “I like it,” he compliments, looking up at Scourge with a small smile. “Touching you is… nice, when you’re warm like this.” He glides a hand across Scourge’s chest in demonstration.
A light shudder rolls through the Sith, and he catches at Cas’ hand - not to still it, but simply to bring it to his lips.
“Touch me, then,” he says, in a voice like gravel. It’s both a command and a request, somehow, wrapped around a plea for distraction - a feeling Cas knows well enough himself. The need to be tugged away from his ceaselessly churning thoughts, if only for a brief time.
“Well… if you insist, I suppose,” says Cas, his tone coy, and he gently draws Scourge towards him.
At last, they make it to the bed. Cas presses Scourge back against the pillows and follows on hands and knees, then sits back to take in the view. But Scourge is having none of it; apparently through being admired from a distance, he wastes no time in setting his wide hands around the Jedi’s waist, and tugs him close again.
“Looking is not touching,” he growls, and Cas chortles, just a little.
“Hard habit to break, when looking was all I could do, before,” he responds flippantly; but seeing that Scourge’s eyes have narrowed, he smiles and relents. “Touching, right….
He bends low over Scourge, hovering a breath above him, dragging his hands over the Sith’s smooth-shaven head, and then takes the other’s mouth with his own. Their kisses are slow but eager, savouring each taste of their lips and the primal way their tongues intertwine. Scourge can’t seem to get enough; each time Cas lifts his head a fraction to find a breath, the Sith emits a deep, fluttering whine of protest and kisses him harder. Cas can’t blame him - for his own part, he’s never fully appreciated how parched he’s been, how starved for this, until now, when he has Scourge burning against his lips and inside his mouth.
He parts from Scourge with a soft gasp, the other’s teeth catching on his lower lip as he draws away. He trails his hands down the Sith’s taut neck and over his well-muscled chest as it swells and falls. Scourge’s eyes flurry open again, and after a moment he moves one hand from Cas’ waist and reaches for the Jedi’s face.
“I didn’t realise… how much I had forgotten,” the Sith says huskily. His sharp eyes are glistening like crystals in the low light of the room. “I knew I could not feel, as I once did, but this… had I truly remembered what it was I lacked… these sensations, these colours….” He traces his finger over Cas’ dark cheek, and gives a wry shake of his head. “I might not have had the patience to wait for you, for all those years.”
Breathing quickly, Cas smiles and leans down again, resting his forehead against Scourge’s for a few moments. “It wasn’t easy for me, either,” he mutters, with a rueful huff. “Thinking of all the things I wanted to do with you….”
It’s admittedly taking a fair bit of self control to keep from stripping the remaining clothes from both of them and acting on a few of those fantasies. Sometime in the future - the very near future, he hopes - Cas is certain that he’ll find himself sprawled next to Scourge, sleepless and sore, his throat raw and his muscles crying out in consternation; and he’ll be delighted to lie there with nothing but a sheen of sweat between himself and his lover, and bask in the carnal elation of their defiance. But neither of them is ready for that, not yet. Though their feelings are open now and undeniable, they both still need some time to figure out exactly how to share them with each other.
So for tonight, Cas is focused only on giving Scourge as much simple intimacy as he can. Helping him to remember what it feels like to be close with someone. To be alive, and to be loved.
Scourge’s head strains upward, and his lips reach for the Jedi’s again, greedy for more; but Cas meets them with his fingers this time, tracing the outline of Scourge’s mouth. “Lie down,” he urges softly, “relax -” and the Sith settles back again, a flicker of curiosity tempering the need in his eyes.
Cas starts at Scourge’s jaw, his fingers stroking lightly at the tendrils on one side as he brushes his lips over the other. Scourge arches his head back, groaning quietly beneath the line of slow kisses that proceed down the side of his neck. Cas can feel how the Sith is straining against something that’s no longer there; so accustomed, still, to the unyielding chains worn by the Emperor’s Wrath, that to simply be Scourge, unfettered and without restraint, is like pushing against empty air. Nothing to brace against; nothing to fight.
Cas lifts his attention from the broad curve of the Sith’s shoulder. “Easy, Scourge,” he murmurs, as Scourge’s hands clamp around his back. For good measure, he leans up again and presses a comforting kiss to the other man’s chin. He stays there for a moment, considering Scourge’s face.
“Is this alright?”
Scourge’s eyes are little more than catlike slits of rapture as he gives a brusque nod. “Yes, Jedi,” he breathes heavily, and taking this cue, Cas returns to his ministrations, caressing his hands and mouth over the bare swathes of Scourge’s skin. “It is - far more than ‘alright’. That I can feel this way - that you make me feel this way - I never thought such pleasure would be mine again….” A long, shuddering breath rolls through him, backed by a muted growl of delight. “It is worth even the aggravation of all my other emotions….”
Smiling - maybe even smirking a little, by this point - Cas sits up a bit. “Close your eyes,” he suggests, and reaches to lay his hand across the Sith’s gaze until he feels the lids fall closed. Even blind, Scourge’s hands follow the Jedi’s hips as Cas shifts to straddle him.
Bowing forward again, Cas fans his hands out over Scourge’s chest as he presses down against him, and proceeds to bathe the Sith’s skin in attention. It’s a ridiculous notion he has, that he can somehow make up for the years of neglect that this magnificent body endured. Centuries without knowing sunlight or a soft breeze, let alone the warmth of another person’s touch. When Scourge first explained this to him, Cas had felt an unanticipated pang of something he could only place as pity, accompanied by a vague sense of anger on the Sith’s behalf. He couldn’t imagine existing as Scourge had, traversing the galaxy on the Emperor’s orders and being unable to truly experience… well, any of it.
Cas wants to give it all back to him now - every taste, every touch. He wants Scourge to drown in it. And judging by the guttural gasps of ecstacy emanating from the Sith beneath him, Scourge has few objections to this.
Still with his hands spread wide over Scourge’s chest, Cas lowers his mouth to the valley between his pectorals, where a line of hard, V-shaped ridges juts up beneath the skin. He’s fascinated by this feature of pureblood physiology, and he traces each one with his tongue, following the angle down and then up and then down again, a little lower. Scourge shudders, and pushes his fingers through the curtains of Cas’ silver hair, now draped against his blood-hued skin.
Cas’ breath dissolves into short, shallow pants as he continues to pleasure the Sith, spurred on by Scourge’s soft growls of encouragement. Despite the boundaries set between them, Cas can feel his body becoming more needful by the moment; so it’s probably for the best when Scourge abruptly reaches for him, grasping at the Jedi’s face with both hands.
“Enough. Enough, Cas, let me breathe.”
Scourge does sound like he’s in dire need of air. Immediately - if a tad reluctantly - Cas sits up to allow him space, but he still gapes a bit at the other man.
“You called me Cas,” he pants, the astonishment of this a helpful distraction from the way he still wants to squirm down against Scourge. “You’ve never called me that before. It’s always been Caspian.”
Scourge has sagged back against the pillows, his mouth half open as he sucks in deep breaths, and his face alight with bliss. “Ohhh, Jedi….” he rasps out, his eyes still closed as he fumblingly touches at Cas’ shoulders. “You are… exquisite. I….”
Cas’ comment appears to catch up with him then, and after a moment he cracks his eyes open, squinting up at the other man.
“I… am rather distracted right now,” the Sith defends himself, between sharp breaths. “Perhaps I’m not - entirely myself -“
“Or maybe this is the real you,” Cas suggests, tilting his head. He grins faintly. “Maybe all that formality is just an act -“
“Bite your tongue, Caspian. ” Scourge gives him an admonishing little glare, one that fades the instant Cas leans forward again.
“I’d rather bite yours,” the Jedi retorts cheekily.
“Come and get it, then,” comes the challenging reply, far too serious for this situation. Cas lets out a quiet laugh as he accepts, hunching down to kiss Scourge deeply again. It’s only when his lips encounter the etched metal hanging near the Sith’s mouth that he remembers -
“Oh, hang on. I’ve got something for you.”
Pulling back, Scourge quirks a browstalk at the other man. “A gift?” he queries curiously.
“Sort of. It’s…” Cas levers himself up again. Each time he draws away from Scourge, it’s with a shiver of regret at leaving the heat of the Sith’s body. He twists around towards the wardrobe. It’s a long, long way across the room from his comfortable perch atop his partner, so he does something rather out of character for him - stretches out a hand and gives a light tug through the Force, merely to retrieve a small, flat box tucked away on one of the shelves.
The ash-coloured coffer floats easily into his hands. He turns it around, and presents it to Scourge by simply laying it on the other’s chest.
“…How?” Scourge has recognised it instantly, and he sits himself up enough to quickly unlatch the clasp on it. “I’d assumed this was lost with the ship, or stolen from it long ago.”
“I’m not sure,” admits Cas, shuffling back a bit to let Scourge lift the wooden lid. “But it was here when Theron brought the ship back. A lot of things still were, it didn’t look like anyone had ransacked the place or anything.” He watches with a fond smile as Scourge rolls his fingers across the rows of glinting silver jewellery.
“I’m very grateful to you, Caspian,” Scourge says evenly. He glances up, holding the Jedi’s gaze. “After three hundred years, I have few relics left of my family. Adornments such as these might be passed down through a dozen generations or more. They are only things, but… they cannot be replaced.”
“I’m glad I could return them to you, Scourge,” replies Cas earnestly. There’s a quiet elation rising in him, seeing the gratitude written clearly across the Sith’s face.
Scourge continues to fiddle with the various pieces in the box, his brow lowered and rather pensive. After a few moments of contemplation, he lifts the coffer away from his chest and moves to push himself upright with his free arm. Taking the hint, Cas slides himself off the other’s hips and onto the mattress beside him.
Scourge removes one of the pieces from its bed of silk - not so much a ring as a cylinder, suited for the longer tendrils of the face. The markings etched into it are nearly worn away with age, but the metal itself still gleams.
Scourge sets the box to one side. “Keep still,” he says softly, and he tilts forward towards Cas. His fingers brush over the Jedi’s face as they pass by, and then catch within the drape of his hair.
Cas feels a whisper of the Force hanging about Scourge’s hand. Nearly holding his breath, he watches as, under the Sith’s will, a small section of his hair twists and tightens into a thinner, spiralled strand, and threads itself through the silver-dark band between Scourge’s fingers. There are two tiny clasps, one on each end of the piece; Scourge slides the ornament a little higher and then fastens each clasp in turn, securing the metal in Cas’ hair.
“Now you are mine, Jedi,” whispers Scourge. It should be something of a threat, coming from a Sith, but to Cas it’s the most thrilling, romantic declaration he’s ever heard.
“Thank you, Scourge,” he says hoarsely. There’s a wonderful ache in his eyes, and in his throat as well, but he manages to force the words past it. He reaches up to touch at his new adornment. It’s a bit out of place next to the gold of the smaller, simpler beads scattered through his hair, but how it looks is the last thing on his mind, because it feels like everything.
Leaning forward, he captures the Sith’s mouth in a fierce kiss; but it’s barely a moment before he’s pulling back again, working his own fingers at his hair this time, until one of the golden beads comes free. Holding it between thumb and forefinger, he considers Scourge, and then frowns. Scourge glances at the bead, and lets out a quiet chuckle.
“You did not think that through, did you?”
“I did,” says Cas defensively (it’s a blatant lie, and they both know it). He hastily searches over the Sith’s features. He can feel himself blushing now under his lover’s amused gaze, but after a few agonising moments he lets out a noise of triumph and leans over to wriggle the bead onto the very end of Scourge’s right browstalk.
“There. Now you’re mine, too.” The feigned haughtiness in his voice gives way to a pause as he sits back again. “Wait. Does this mean we’re engaged?”
Scourge gives a throaty hum of consideration as he adjusts the bead slightly. Looking quite pleased with himself, he answers, “No, not yet. In order to be truly betrothed, one of us must draw blood by biting the other on the wrist and opening the vein there.”
Cas’ lips part soundlessly as he blinks once, then stares. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” he ventures after a lengthy pause, keenly aware of the fact that his face has gotten even warmer. “I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time, but also Sith do have some really…. unusual customs.” Another pause, during which he gives Scourge a narrow look. “Aaaaand you’re not going to tell me which it is, are you?”
Scourge merely gives him a small, placid smile. Cas groans, letting his head flop back.
“You’re infuriating.”
“Yes,” Scourge agrees calmly, and Cas closes his eyes for a moment, shaking his head in resignation.
“Right. Well, I guess I knew that already.”
He releases a happy sigh as he toys again with his new accessory, but soon finds he’s stifling a yawn. Even their light exertions have quickly caught up with him, and after an already exhausting day, all he wants to do now is rest.
Touching a hand to Scourge’s chest, he gives the Sith a questioning look. “Enough?” he asks. “For now?”
Scourge exhales deeply, and nods in agreement. “Enough.”
“Alright then, in that case, move over,” Cas says wearily, giving Scourge a light nudge. He crawls forward without waiting for the Sith to shift positions - which is unfortunate, because Scourge doesn’t actually move at all, and Cas finds his path towards the oh-so-enticing pillows barred by his partner’s broad form. Cas pauses and blinks.
“You’re in the way,” he tells Scourge, squinting.
“Mmmm,” hums Scourge thoughtfully. Instead of making room for Cas, he lies back against the pillows once more, seeming to take up as much of the bed as he can - which, considering his girth, is quite a lot. “Is this better?”
Cas purses his lips in an unamused expression. “Fine,” he says curtly, “if you want to do it that way -” And he simply crawls on top of the Sith again, draping himself across Scourge like a human blanket. He feels another soft rumble reverberate from the other’s chest, and gives it a light swat.
“Stop laughing at me.” He can feel right off that it’s directed at him.
“But you are so easy to manipulate, Jedi,” chuckles Scourge.
“Only for you.” Cas mumbles the indignant words into Scourge’s skin. “Everyone else has had to work at it. Even bloody Valkorion.”
“That is true,” the Sith concedes. His voice shifts into a tone of quiet pride. “You resisted him where no one else could. Not even me. Remember that, Caspian. Where all others broke and bowed before him, you did not.”
A wan smile quirks Cas’ lips, and he gives Scourge’s arm a squeeze. “Not for long, anyway,” he murmurs.
Scourge languidly lifts a hand, brushing at the empty air, and the warm glow of the light panels dims around them. The Sith settles himself against the pillows, his hands resting atop Cas’ bare back. After a short interval of silence, he speaks into the darkness.
“You are feeling better now. About Tenebrae.” It’s not so much a question as an observation.
Cas draws in a slow, deep breath and exhales it again, the air skimming across Scourge’s chest. “Yes.” He closes his eyes briefly, stretching out his awareness. “And I think you’re feeling better, too. About… a lot of things.” He feels the slight movement of Scourge’s nod.
“Yes,” comes the quiet echo of his own answer. Scourge shifts beneath him, pensive even in the pause that follows.
“As Kira said… it has not been easy. Particularly after we destroyed Tenebrae’s body, and you his spirit, and I felt my senses returning to me. It… none of it… was what I expected.”
Cas’ eyes are half closed, but still he tilts his head up towards Scourge. He can barely make out more than the faint outline of the Sith’s features. “How so?” he prompts softly. He feels the thoughtful rise of Scourge’s chest beneath him as the Sith considers his answer.
“Ever since his death, I have felt strangely… exposed. Vulnerable, even. I no longer have the shield of detachment afforded by my immortality. Every sensation I experience seems to pass directly through my armour, my clothing, my skin. As though it’s not even there.” Scourge kneads his fingers briefly into Cas’ back. “It’s not always unpleasant - but it is unsettling, at times.”
“It makes sense,” Cas tells him. “You’re not used to it. But just give it some time.”
Scourge nods slowly. “You are right, of course. But this feeling of… uncertainty… is more than just physical.” He pauses again as he ruminates.
“I thought my life would be complete, when Vitiate was dealt his final end. That I would know some sense of satisfaction. But instead I felt a… a profound emptiness. I’ve spent so long with my life’s focus on him, and him alone, that I didn’t know what to do, what to be, without it. Even all the new emotions rising within me were not enough to fill that void.”
Scourge spreads his warm hands out across Cas’ back, and caresses him gently.
“Only you, Jedi - Cas - are able to do that. You… complete me. In a way I had thought lost to me forever.”
Startled by this confession, it takes Cas a moment to react. But then he smiles and lays another slow kiss on Scourge’s collarbone.
“You have no idea how happy that makes me, Scourge,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted this for so long. For both of us.”
“I think I have some idea,” says Scourge, the words weighted yet still touched by amusement. “I can feel the way it radiates from you. Bleeds from you, like the flares of a burning star.”
Not for the first time, Cas is taken aback by the Sith’s eloquence, and he blushes - unseen in the darkness, but he wonders if Scourge can feel the warmth of his face as he lays it against the man’s chest again.
“And now that we are together… I will not leave you,” Scourge goes on evenly. “This time, not even if you tell me to.” He moves his hand, threading his fingers deliberately through Cas’ hair, and his voice mellows. “You are everything to me, Jedi. I’ve learned from my mistakes - I won’t lose you again.”
Cas stays where he is, though a tiny frown puckers between his brows. “You realise I have a lot of responsibilities, right?” he reminds Scourge. “Between the Alliance and Task Force Nova… I’m going to be in a lot of different places. Even you can’t be with me all the time.”
“Watch me,” says Scourge flatly.
Cas doesn’t know whether to be exasperated by this, or deeply touched. As flattering as it is to be the sole object of Scourge’s focus now, he’s already anticipating some… difficulties, that could arise from such a singular mindset. He resolves then and there to figure out other ways for Scourge to invest in his new existence - because simply shifting attention from one purpose to another isn’t going to be enough. Not when Cas has already committed himself to so many others across the galaxy.
“Scourge,” he mumbles tiredly, “you’re a hopeless drama-romantic, and I love you for it, but we’re going to have to work on finding you at least one hobby.”
“I have a hobby,” retorts Scourge mildly. “Protecting you.”
“I mean, besides that.”
“After we have dealt with Tenebrae’s plague, there will be nothing besides that.”
“I think you’ve made my point for me, actually.” Cas wriggles himself further up along his Sith mattress, so that he can tuck his head against Scourge’s cheek. It takes him a few moments to find a comfortable spot, given the angular spurs adorning the other’s face. He gives a low sigh. “But I’m too tired to argue about it now.”
“Then sleep, Jedi.”
Scourge folds his arms around Cas again and releases a long, placid breath. His presence in the Force has eased - still strong, and forever unmistakable to the Jedi - but calmer now, no longer a tempest of unrestrained emotion. Cas cuddles close, basking in the sense of him as he closes his eyes.
“Thank you for coming back to me, Scourge,” he breathes across the Sith’s ear, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt as right, as complete, as he does in this moment.
“Sleep, Caspian.” Scourge hushes him by way of pulling the Jedi’s head more tightly against him, and massaging briefly between the other’s shoulder blades. “I will be here when you wake.”
Comforted by this, Cas has every intention of obeying; and he’s nearly drifted off before, inevitably, another thought surfaces. Fighting the waves of sleep trying to engulf him, he stirs against the Sith.
“Scourge?”
“…Yes, Caspian?”
“If you can feel things again, and sense things again… does that mean you can dream again, too?”
He feels the brush of Scourge’s lips against his brow then, and the quiet rumble of contentment that passes from the Sith’s body to his own.
“I have no need for dreams, Jedi. I have you.”
(Beautiful accompanying art by skullinacowboyhat on tumblr)