Work Text:
The door closes behind them and for the first time in over 5 damn years he feels like he can breathe again.
Sian is here. He’s not dead. By some sort of miracle he still wants Theron, and now there’s finally no faction lines to get between them.
Sian’s not a Dark Council member, Theron’s not a Republic spy.
They’re just them.
He turns back to see him already reaching for the back of his rebreather, unlocking the clasp in a soft hiss of pressurized air. It stays for a moment, as Sian take one more good breath, before pulling it off completely and baring his face.
He looks like hell, to be honest. The bags beneath his eyes are so dark they look like bruises, and there’s a sallow tinge to his blue skin. Unsurprising, since he’s still recovering from being stabbed with a lightsaber.
His chest still goes tight when he thinks about it, as if HE was the one with bad lungs.
Sian’s lost weight he didn’t really have to begin with too, so now he looks frail, and the spurs near his eyes cast deep shadows over his sunken cheeks.
Fingers twitch at his side as Sian puts his mask on the table.
He just- He wants to-
“Theron?”
The low rasp of his voice startles Theron out of his thoughts and he shakes himself.
Sian is standing there, exhausted, still healing, but alive.
Alive.
His skin is warm when Theron crosses the distance and cups his cheek. Just like it was on Rishi, on Yavin, that brief touch on Ziost.
Those red eyes flutter shut with a soft, unsteady breath, and Sian leans into his hand.
One of the most powerful sith in the galaxy and a man who values his privacy above all else, ducks down a bit to rest his forehead against Theron’s. Bare faced. Trusting he’s safe, that Theron won’t try to hurt him while he’s vulnerable.
He’d rather die than cause him pain.
Tilting his head is easy. Just a bit. Just enough.
Their lips brush together and he can feel the way Sian shivers.
A breath. A pause. Then he’s leaning in too, hand at the back of Theron’s neck, pulling him in that last tiny bit of distance.
He can’t help the stupid little noise that comes out. Doesn’t really care much so long as Sian keeps kissing him, and the low groan he hears sets his blood on fire.
All of a sudden he can’t get enough. Can’t touch enough.
Sian’s silky hair, tugged free from its high ponytail to cascade down his back and tangle around Theron’s fingers.
His skin, a beautiful blue scattered with spurs and ridges from his sith heritage. Unique. Him.
His heartbeat, thundering away, pressed against Theron’s chest as he pulls him close. As close as he can because stars, he’s alive and I almost LOST him-!
Clawed fingers scrape across his neck as Sian gasps and pulls back, turning his head away to take uneven, almost painful sounding breaths. He immediately gets a more secure grip on him in case he falls, but tries to avoid putting pressure on his already overtaxed lungs.
“Shit! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”
Sian makes an irritable noise and waives his apology off before letting Theron take some of his weight.
“Six years I’ve lived with this. You’d think I’d know better,” he grumbles as he slowly wrangles his breathing back under control. “Help me over there.”
At his gesture, Theron walks him over to his bed and carefully sits him down before retrieving his mask and handing it over. He winces when he settles before giving up and laying down, hand placed protectively across his injured abdomen while the other holds the rebreather to his face to take slow even breaths.
He’s been stabbed, you idiot. Now’s not the time for-
“Whatever you’re thinking right now, stop,” he says from the bed, eyes closed, breathing still slightly labored. “I’m not made of glass.”
“Maybe not, but you’re in no condition right now for, uh… anything.”
Sian groans petulantly and rubs a hand over his face, “Remind me to make Arcann suffer an extra minute for every one I have to wait because if this damned wound.”
He laughs, relieved. If Sian’s joking than he must be reasonably alright.
“You probably want to rest now, I… guess I should leave you be, unless you need anything?”
He’s honestly not sure what he’s hoping for. He doesn’t want to intrude if Sian wants to be alone, but he’d really rather stay here with him, both to reassure himself that Sian’s okay and because he’s still processing this whole ‘us’ thing, scared he’d dreamt it up.
Either he read Theron’s thoughts somehow or he’s thinking the same thing, as Sian soon reaches out with his free hand and tangles their fingers together.
“Stay?” he murmurs as he removes the rebreather.
Theron smiles softly, and tightens his grip.
“For as long as you want.”