Work Text:
Sepulchral Bones
"You know, the ambience here almost makes you miss the Fortress." Sixth Brother hummed, his tone light and conversational. Second Sister rolled her eyes and shot him a sneer as she pushed damp hair out of her eyes. Sixth had always been like this, sarcastic and full of dry wit that definitely had no place in the Inquisitorius. Still, perhaps it was refreshing that his personality hadn't been entirely beaten out of him, unlike a few of the siblings they had the misfortune of sharing. Sixth was one of the very few she not only tolerated, but had engaged in something that might once have resembled a mutually beneficial relationship were they not tortured, lethal agents of the Empire. So despite the disgusting dry heat of Dathomir that had only grown more hot and oppressive as they had ventured underground into this Force-forsaken tomb...she was quite pleased they had been assigned this mission together.
Ninth and Seventh had completely fucked up on Bracca, letting some snivelling little brat of a Padawan slip through their fingers...and now said brat was prancing about the galaxy like a little wannabe hero, freeing wookiees, aiding partisan rebels, raiding Imperial bases and generally making a reckless nuisance of himself. He even had the audacity to be outrageously cute about it, and his boyish charm and brilliant smile were winning him, and by extension the Jedi, a lot more sympathy and goodwill than the Empire liked to see.
So Second Sister had been sent to clean up, with her favourite partner. Sixth had once been a Jedi Shadow, which had given him a variety of very useful skills. Annoyingly, not many were aiding them now. "Speak for yourself, I happen to appreciate all this decor more than grey corridors and torture cells." She hated Nur. She hated the Fortress. Anywhere was better than the place that this cursed person she had become had been created.
"I mean, fair play, it screams 'I was a really really rich evil guy', but all the dead bodies and bones feel a little bit on the nose." Sixth agreed, tone still jovial.
"I want to know what a Jedi Padawan is doing running around the tomb of a Sith Lord that died a thousand years ago." Second Sister muttered as they leapt across a yawning chasm that, as far as she could see, had no bottom. Sixth glanced down the chasm when he landed, his nose wrinkling. Second followed his gaze, then huffed a laugh. "Afraid of the void, Brother?"
"...and you're not?"
"No." She replied shortly, stalking off in the only direction available to them, hopefully following the route their quarry had taken into the tomb.
"Liar." Sixth replied softly, and she diligently trampled on her desire to spin around and cut that annoying tongue right out of his head.
"Hey, if you think that's a scary looking void, you should see what's waiting for you up ahead." A new voice cut through the hot stillness of the tomb, and Second whirled around, her lightsaber igniting as her sharp eyes and even sharper senses sought out the slender figure perched on a ledge above them. Her lightsaber left her hand and whipped in a graceful, deadly arc towards him, and to her gratification, Cal Kestis let out a startled yelp and leapt out of its trajectory. It spun back into her hand and she shot the Padawan a savage grin, enjoying the sudden tenseness of his shoulders and sharp wariness in his gaze. He was clinging to the dusty red rocks above them like the scrap rat he was, and she levelled her saber at him. "Why don't you come down, Padawan...?" She teased, challenge in her voice.
"Uh...no thanks, I'm good up here." Kestis replied, adjusting his footing as Sixth ignited his own blade next to her. He was wearing a dusty orange and black poncho over dark coloured combat fatigues and with that mop of red hair, almost seemed to blend into the dark, lichen covered rocks around him. She tilted her head, assessing him with keen eyes.
"Bring him down." She hissed at her Brother after a beat, and Sixth smirked, taking off in a run. Second watched with acute satisfaction as the shadows swallowed him and he easily made the leap across the canyon, effortlessly finding footholds as he climbed the wall with inhuman speed. Kestis swore, and scrambled back onto his ledge, vanishing into a narrow tunnel just as Sixth made it to the ledge. He landed in a crouch, then tilted his head. Second tapped her foot impatiently as he straightened, inspecting the tunnel the Padawan had vanished into. “Yeah, I’m not fitting in that gap.” He called down to Second, irritation in his voice. “I don’t know where the hell it goes, but I don’t think he’s heading for the exit.”
“He damn well might now he knows we’re here.” Second hissed, folding her arms across her chest.
“...Nah. He doesn’t seem the type to back down. He’s looking for something in this Force-forsaken tomb. Foolish of him to announce his presence to us like that. I didn’t even feel him, did you?”
“No. And I doubt he’s had training, so it’s not him that’s hiding.” Second said as Sixth dropped back down beside her, the shadows chasing his heels. She started at them thoughtfully as they dissipated. “Maybe it’s this place.”
“The Darkness is…cloying.” Sixth agreed. “Even for me. Kestis must be suffering.” He pointed out. “We have the advantage, right? Dathomir is a Dark Planet, and that kid…he’s definitely not got a shred of Darkness in him.”
“Everyone falls apart under pressure.” Second retorted. “He’ll join us, or he’ll die. Grand is very keen to have a psychometric in the ranks.” She reminded, looking at Sixth askance. Grand had been very keen to have Bode Akuna brought to heel, too. The experienced Shadow had vanished into what had been Separatist space shortly after the Purge, but had misstepped soon after, and had been brought into their fold not long after Trilla Suduri had become Second Sister.
“We gotta catch him first.” Sixth pointed out. “He’s clearly slippery - I don’t like Nine or Seven but they’re hardly incompetent.”
Second let out a derisive huff. They had let an eighteen year old Padawan who hadn’t raised a blade in half a decade escape them twice. Incompetent didn’t even cover it. She didn’t respond, beckoning Sixth to follow her deeper into the tomb. Black stone arched high above them, and golden runes covered the walls - uniform at first, but becoming scrawled and chaotic the further they travelled. Some kind of fire-coloured lichen grew up the walls, clinging to the bodies and bones that littered the floor, and piles of silent ash spoke of something agonising and twisted. Sixth still had his lightsaber out, lit, tense behind her. “Do you feel that?” He murmured, a hint of wary inquiry in his voice.
She didn’t reply, but…she felt it too. Something deep and dark in the Force, vicious and hungry, reaching for them from the yawning depths of the tomb, whispering something in a sepulchral tone that seemed to both entice and repel at the same time. Gooseflesh erupted on her arms beneath her heavy duty uniform, and her fingers twitched for her lightsaber. Sixth stepped closer to her, a solid bulk at her side, and she pushed down the flicker of gratitude his actions elicited. She was an Inquisitor, there was no place for gratitude in her life.
However fucking creepy this place had suddenly become.
Still, she squared her shoulders and drew in a long breath. “Trilla.” Sixth’s voice was quiet. She tensed. He had never used her name on a mission before. Not outside of their rooms on Nur. She shot him a sharp look, and he stared her down. “I don’t like this. I don’t think we’re alone. And I’m not talking about Kestis.” He said quietly, eying the solid looking stone doors ahead of them. A malevolent presence lingered, seeping through the cracks in the stonework, the runes painting the door glowing faintly, a deep foreboding crimson. A creeping sense of dread rose around her like the swell of a dark ocean, and she took half a step back.
“...This is ridiculous. It’s a few old bones and some ancient words on a door.” She huffed, trying to exude her usual confidence.
“Yeah, Kittât words. I dunno about you but I’m not convinced about the wisdom of venturing any further into the tomb of a thousand year old dead Sith.” Sixth said tartly. “If Kestis wants to drown in whatever creepy bullshit this dead guy created here, let him. We can wait outside for him.”
“And risk him finding another rathole to escape from? We cannot return to Nur empty handed.” She hissed. “I need to know I have you at my back, Bode.” She added fiercely, and she was gratified to see him react to his old name with a flinch.
“...Yeah. You do.” He said finally, voice quiet but firm with conviction.
With that, Second spun around and shoved at the stone doors. The Force roared up around them in a vicious burst of malevolent glee, and she heard Sixth shout, before darkness swept her up and curled cold claws around her, a creeping mist rolling across the floor beneath her feet. Her breath hitched and she looked behind her, and quickly forced down the swell of relief she felt at seeing her companion still there, rigid, draped in darkness and fog, his golden eyes wide with panic as he muttered, “...what the fuck…”
Second said nothing, but drew her lightsaber, igniting it, bathing the foggy ground in red. Great dark columns stretched out further than she could see, cracked stonework shifting beneath her feet. Sixth stepped up behind her and she felt the weight of his armoured back against hers as his own blade ignited as well. She pressed back against him, the silence deafening, stretching between them.
All of a sudden, images assaulted her mind, and she flinched violently as memories roared up around her. Fear. Hiding. Shouting. Screaming. Running. Then torture, violence, agony, betrayal, horror, and a screaming, screaming hatred. She panicked, stumbling through the darkness of Nur’s endless corridors, hearing agonised, childish screams, cut short by gurgling and choking. She couldn't escape it, and the cries and horror stretched for what felt like hours. The children she’d been trying to protect, dying, crushed, their lights blinking out -
She closed her eyes against the onslaught, and snarled. “Stop! Stop!”
“It will never stop, Trilla.” A sharp voice cut through the haze, and when her eyes flew open, Cere Junda stood before her, regal in formal Jedi robes, her blue lightsaber lit, bright in the cloying darkness. Hatred burned Trilla’s bones, and she snarled.
“You -” She couldn’t form words, blind with rage. Cere darted forward, swinging at her, and she screamed in fury, bringing her red lightsaber up and blocking, parrying, pushing back. Cere was relentless, calm and composed and lethal, cutting through her defence and leaving several searing wounds on her arms, slashing through the uniform and burning her skin.
“You killed those children.” Cere hissed, and Trilla howled.
“No, you did that, it was you who -”
“I gave you to the Empire because you were worthless, Trilla. A failure, pathetic, useless. You could never have protected those children!” Cere snarled at her, and Trilla screamed in fury and hatred, savagely slashing at her former master. Her blade came down, carving towards bright blue -
And the blade bled red, deep, foreboding, and the air stagnated, her nose filling with the stench of ozone, fire and tar. She gasped, her blade pressed against that of Lord Vader, his menacing figure straight from her nightmares. “N…No…” She whimpered, fear seizing her, coiling in her belly as he silently bore down on her. She stumbled back, hands shaking around her blade “Sixth Brother…Bode!” She called in desperation as the machine of a man brought his blade down again, his huge form crushing, his overhead blows smashing down over and over.
“Weak. Pathetic. As though you could ever be worthy of the Emperor’s favour…” Lord Vader taunted, that dark, mechanical voice almost sibilant, inhuman. Trilla had been able to hold against Cere. No longer. She tumbled to her knees, fear and self loathing wrapping her in tight, foggy coils, and she howled in fury and terror as that red blade came for her head.
Before it struck, brilliant bright light suddenly lit up the fog, and twin golden lightsabers blazed up in front of her, catching the red saber in a powerful cross block. The darkness shattered around her, the misty, endless hall vanishing into a thousand shards of glass. She drew in a sharp breath, limbs shaking, fists clenching and unclenching as she knelt on the stone ground, exhausted.
Cal Kestis stood over her, his back to her, slowly lowering his two sabers, their soft gold glow winking out as he turned to look at her, green eyes bright, red hair a little mussed. Despite the dusty poncho and scrapper fatigues, he looked like a Jedi. Stong, proud, quietly confident. She stared up at him, uncomprehending, her breath still coming in sharp pants. Vader was nowhere to be seen. Cere had vanished too, only the silence of the tomb remained, and a scrappy little Jedi with new lightsabers. She tried to mentally grope for the usual wave of loathing and hatred she should feel towards him. And it completely failed to come.
“...I did warn you.” The boy said eventually, holding out a bare hand. She stared at him, and blinked when a little BD explorer droid popped its head over the Padawan's shoulder, peeping at her warily. Before she could reply, however, Bode's hoarse voice broke in.
“You…what was that?” Trilla turned sharply to see the other Inquisitor sitting up, looking as haunted and exhausted as she felt. He scrubbed his face, and stood on wobbly feet. His hands were shaking almost as hard as hers.
Cal tilted his head towards the other man. “As far as I can tell, Kujet - this is his tomb - left a kind of…force tear, here. Something designed to trap you in everything you regret, or are afraid of, or running from. It got me once, too. I figured you’d find your own way out, but then you sorta…didn’t.” Kestis fidgeted, looking and sounding every bit the teenager he was for a moment as he scrubbed the back of his head with his gloved hand. The right one was still extended, and slowly, against her better judgement, Trilla took it, letting her help him up.
He was smaller than she’d thought. Slender, narrow in the waist and shoulders, an inch or so shorter than her. Bode, as he stepped up beside them, towered over him. He should be afraid of them, two Imperial Inquisitors versus one inexperienced Jedi.
But it was the inexperienced Jedi who had just blocked a blow from a very solid apparition of Trilla’s current Master, Lord Vader. Not the Inquisitor. Cal blinked up at them both owlishly. “...Come on. I’ll show you the way out.” He murmured, and maybe he was a little discomfited by their black, dark presence, as he kept looking over his shoulder as he picked his way back through the tomb ahead of them. Trilla glanced at Bode. This would be a very opportune moment to apprehend him, and yet…she could no longer muster the enthusiasm.
“Did he just save us?” She muttered under her breath.
“All I know is whatever that was was horrible and I don't want to repeat it.” Bode muttered. Trilla couldn't help but agree, despite all the torture and brutality she had gone through, the screams of the younglings she had once tried to desperately to defend would haunt her. “I told you we should have chucked this whole thing in.” He added, scowling at her.
She shoulder checked him into the wall.
Never had she been happier to see daylight a few minutes later, despite it being the murky red twilight of Dathomir, as Kestis led them out of Kujet's tomb. She breathed in a lungful of fresh air, clenching and unclenching her fists. She felt as though she'd been trapped in those visions for hours, she was so bone tired. Beside her, Bode cracked both shoulders with a wince, and for a few long moments, two Inquisitors and a Jedi stood together, at a strange impasse, unsure where to go from here.
“It's late. We should get somewhere safer, this planet isn't nice at night.” Cal offered. “Can you maybe just…not try and kill me? Just until tomorrow? Breaking into that tear and pulling you out was really karking hard.”
“Why did you do it?” Bode asked, his fingers brushing Trilla's elbow, which she was aggrieved to find was still trembling.
Cal blinked up at him. “When I first fell into it, it nearly tore me apart. I had to relive so much pain and sorrow and I just…I guess…” He fidgeted, utterly guileless and earnest. “I figured when you didn't come out that you two had been through a lot more crap than me. I couldn't leave you there.”
“Tch.” Trilla scoffed, though there was no heat in it. “Jedi compassion. It will undo you one day, mark my words.” She paused, tilting her head and looking the scrap of a Padawan up and down slowly. “...But not today. One night, Kestis. One. We'll even give you a head start tomorrow.” She muttered begrudgingly. He had saved them. Behind her, she heard Bode cough to cover what might have been a laugh, and she resolved to beat him up in the training halls on Nur the moment they actually finished this stupid mission.
The Padawan beamed, which both soured her mood further, and made her chest twist in a confusing mix of emotion. He scurried ahead of them, fast and nimble on the uneven ground, surefooted and more graceful than she imagined. He leaned hard into the Force, and it responded for him like a blossoming flower, though underneath that Light gentility were the telltale embers of a banked fire.
“He's strong.” Bode commented quietly as they followed him up the cliffs. “Raw, but…naturally strong.”
“His file said as much.” She retorted. “Though I would have thought five years in hiding might have muted that power.”
“There is nothing muted about that kid. At all.” Bode replied immediately, and she rolled her eyes.
“You sound like you admire him.”
“What's not to admire? Kid kicks ass, I've watched the footage. Ninth got absolutely spanked on Kashyyyk, and the security tapes from the refinery were kind of a fun watch.” Bode admitted. “I get that he's the enemy, the Jedi need to be exterminated, Empire rules supreme, yada yada. But you gotta give Kestis his due, for a skinny little scrap rat he punches the fuck up.”
“Hm.” Trilla responded, non-committal. They'd find out how much he punched up soon enough.
****
Cere was going to be furious with Cal. This was a phenomenally bad idea, taking in two Inquisitors - two unknown Inquisitors - on only their word that they wouldn't hurt him. Tonight. After that, he assumed it was all fair game again, but he had rescued them, he had to trust their honour at least for a few hours.
He wasn't sure what had prompted him to go in after the pair when the Force had rung out like a deep bell, chiming ominously from the depths of the tomb. Cal considered himself very in tune with the Force since Ilum, and he had just sort of…followed its direction, and stumbled on Kujet's trap ripping both Inquisitors to pieces.
Intervening had been a spur of the moment decision, a deep, instinctive desire to help, to protect, to be the Jedi he had never quite felt like, at least until forging his new golden lightsabers deep in the crystal caves.
And now they were sitting next to the fire he had made, just outside a quiet and unoccupied cave, both of them watching him with their predator-yellow eyes like a pair of hunting hawks. He blinked at them both, tilting his head. “So you're Ninth Sister's replacements.” He ventured, if only to start a conversation. Beedee let out a chastising series of quiet bleeps, making it very clear what he thought of this entire situation.
“A clean up squad.” Sixth Brother - the only name the man had offered - agreed, his voice low and a little gravelly. “Bit beneath us, but you have been more of an annoying shit than I guess the brass anticipated.”
Cal grinned, leaning back on his elbows, more at ease than he'd expected to be in this strange company. “Oops?”
Sixth grinned back, all sharp teeth and hawk-eyes. “Cocky little brat. You're lucky Second granted you a reprieve, or I'd beat you into the dust and give you oops.”
“You could try.” Cal shot back, narrowing his eyes in open challenge. It was reckless, goading a man whose aura was drowning in dark shadows, a black, angry ocean shored in by ferocious control just waiting to be set loose in a tsunami. In comparison, Second Sister, a tall, forbidding woman who was entirely lean strength and sharp angles, felt like lit oil, dark, almost invisible flames flickering across an inky iridescent pool. Of the two, he imagined Sixth to be the brute strength, and Second to be the more cunning and deadly.
Not two people he really wanted to cross, especially if Cere's speculation about what the Inquisitor's numbers meant was true.
“There's still a little daylight left.” Second drawled. “If you two want to get into a dick measuring contest, fight it out. I could use some entertainment.”
“I'm down.” Sixth grinned savagely, golden eyes alight with enthusiasm.
“Wait, what?” Cal yelped as a sharp tug from the Force yanked him to his feet. Beedee screeched something that sounded very much like I told you so from his shoulder, and he stumbled, hand flying to his hip. “I thought you were leaving me alone?” He blinked rapidly, looking between them and feeling very pinned all of a sudden. Sixth was between him and the safe way off of this cliff, and Second, for all she was sprawled against the wall with an arm draped over her knee and relaxed shoulders…she looked ready to pounce, her feline face twisted in a lethal smirk.
“This is just for fun.” Sixth drew his lightsaber, igniting a single blade, bathing his black uniform in red and setting fire to his eyes. “Unless you're all talk, Padawan.”
Why did Cal get the distinct feeling he had been maneuvered into this? He glanced between them again, and slowly drew his own saber, the golden glow combining with the red to match the fire of Dathomir's setting orange sun. He had barely even settled his feet into a stance before Sixth moved, and Cal thought he understood how to use the Force to quicken his steps, but the speed with which Sixth closed the gap between them was frightening. He fell back, blocking instinctively, eyes wide as Sixth was suddenly everywhere at once. This was nothing like Ninth's brute force or Seventh's tricks - this was pure, lethal, pinpoint accurate speed.
He swore, dodging and blocking, utterly unable to get a strike in of his own. He could feel a dark satisfaction radiating from the Inquisitor, but underneath it there was almost…a kind of playfulness that felt jarring and out of place in amongst the dark miasma that was Sixth's presence.
…Time to get creative.
Cal rolled under the red blade and drew on the Force, knocking Sixth off guard with the strongest Slow he could muster, muting all that hideous speed into a tightly coiled freeze. For a moment Cal froze too, his eyes locked on all that taut muscle vibrating beneath black leather.
“Outstanding.” Second Sister purred, breaking him from the split second stupor and bringing him back to the present. He threw his hands forward and Sixth went flying into the wall of the cave behind him, growling as he landed heavily on his feet, eyes flashing. A flicker of rage rippled through the Force, but it lasted only a moment before Sixth corralled it into a new strike, and their sabers clashed again. It was all Cal could do just to keep up - but…he was keeping up. With an Inquisitor who was clearly very technically superior to Ninth and Seventh in terms of his duelling skill.
A flicker of pride caught in his chest as Second stood slowly, just in his peripheral. “Six.” She purred. That was all Sixth Brother needed to immediately back off, stepping back, his blade glowing, held aloft. It lent even more credence to the idea that Second outranked Sixth, the immediate way he just obeyed her. Or…was it something else? Ninth held clear derision and zero respect for Seventh, so why was Sixth so quick to defer now…? Cal panted hard, heart pounding, joints aching, eyes wide as she prowled closer. “Well well, Padawan.” Did her voice have to sound like that? It was like liquid velvet, soft and sibilant and dangerous. And distracting. Cal shifted warily, a slight tremble in his arms. “You have some skill after all.” She drew her own blade and ignited both ends, and Cal took several steps back.
“W…Wait, I didn't - ”
He didn't get a chance to protest before both Inquisitors launched into a pincer movement, and all Cal could do was draw his second lightsaber in a desperate effort to hold them both at bay. Luckily, it became clear very quickly that this was still just a spar, they weren't trying to take his head off, but if he'd thought Sixth was fast, then together they were pure insanity. His muscles screamed as he blocked blow after blow, steadily pushed backwards towards the edge of the cliff. The two of them moved in perfect synchronicity, clearly the result of hours spent training together.
It also spoke of a level of trust Cal wouldn't have considered possible for Inquisitors.
With a yelp, the ground under his left foot crumbled, and for an awful second he thought he was about to fall, Beedee screaming on his shoulder.
The Force coalesced around them, and he let out a very undignified squeak as Second lifted him into the air as easy as breathing, that cat-like smirk still on her face as she twitched her fingers, dragging him back from the edge of the cliff. “Watch your step, little Padawan.” She teased, and Cal swayed as he was set down on his feet, deactivating his lightsabers and panting hard, tense and vibrating with adrenaline.
For a moment the air was still, and charged, two sets of golden eyes still watching him, lined by dark shadows. Then Sixth bared his teeth in a slow, sure smirk. “Come here.” He commanded, voice deep and gravelly. There was no physical action behind it, no subtle Force suggestion, just words, and yet Cal couldn't help but obey, approaching the two Inquisitors, wary eyes flickering between them. They shared a glance full of meaning, but before Cal could ask, Sixth Brother caught him by the collar and dragged him close, pressing Cal's slim body into the taut lines of his own.
Cal yelped, and jerked back, only to find Second in the way, pressed in behind him and effectively trapping him between them. He squirmed as Sixth cupped his chin in a leather gloved hand and tilted his face up towards him. “Uh…” he croaked. Sixth's grip on him was firm and unyielding, and he let out a very undignified squeaking noise as Second wound an arm around his chest and leaned in to rest her chin on his shoulder, her teeth grazing his jaw right above Sixth's fingers. He was now very, very pinned between them, with very little wiggle room, two very warm, beautifully built bodies wrapped in black leather pressing up against him. He could feel heartbeats and taut muscle, and somehow it made this demonic pair human.
“We said we wouldn't hurt you, Padawan. Not that we wouldn't hunt you.” Second purred, and he could hear the grin in her voice. Impossibly, he felt the strangest little shiver of trust, despite his vulnerable position between them. This wasn't about hurting him anymore, was it?
Still, he tried valiantly to rally, his breath coming in short, sharp pants as a confusing swell of fear and desire shot through him. “Is there…a difference?”
“Absolutely.” Sixth laughed. “Although, your little droid buddy there is staring at me like he wants to electrocute me, mind telling him to back off?” He didn't sound like an Inquisitor, his voice playful and cocky, though Cal searched his handsome face for deceit regardless.
“...Sure.” He replied, drawing on every shred of bravery he had in him, trying to force it into his shaking voice. “If you tell me your real names.”
Beedee screeched at him, and Sixth hummed, considering. He leaned in close and squeezed Cal's jaw just a little, his breath warm on the smaller man's face. “I'm Bode. She's Trilla. Lose the droid.” His voice was pitched low, the tone commanding, his eyes dark and unyielding.
Trilla. Cal stiffened just a little as the soft chime of a warning echoed in his head. He recognised that name, but in the heat and intensity of the moment the significance slipped away - and all thought was chased away by her lips on his neck anyway. He gasped out instructions for Beedee to stand down and recharge, and though the droid was clearly and vocally furious about it, he did as he was told, albeit after calling Cal stupid five different ways in binary.
The moment the imminent threat of an electro prod to the face was gone, Bode and Trilla were on him, pulling off his tac vest and yanking the collar of his shirt open. He winced as something ripped - he didn't even own that many clothes, it'd need repairing. The intrusive thought was chased away quickly, and he yelped as Trilla pinned his arms behind his back, holding him still with one hand as Bode pressed biting kisses to his jaw and collarbone, pushing his torn shirt aside so he could get to pale, freckled skin. A leather covered hand was in his hair, and he wasn't even sure who it belonged to at this point, only that the firm tugging was making him squirm.
He writhed in their grip, gasping and desperately trying to draw in air. “Easy, Padawan.” Trilla gentled behind him, kissing his flushed neck and stroking his trembling stomach through his shirt. “You fought so prettily, let us reward you for it…”
And Cal had thought the Purge Troopers were freaky.
He let his head fall back on her shoulder and she hummed in satisfaction. “Good boy. That wasn't so hard, was it? You'd be such a fierce Inquisitor.” She teased, her fingers fiddling with the clasps on his belt. “But I almost think you're better like this. So sweet and pliable. The Empire would beat all that right out of you, wouldn't it, Brother?”
“Hm.” Bode agreed distractedly, his gloved hand already shoved down the back of Cal's combat pants. The Jedi let out a breathless huff as thick fingers kneaded his bare ass under the fabric.
No-one had ever touched Cal like this before. He'd flirted a bit, sure, but nothing in the galaxy could have prepared him for being the sole focus of two very demanding Inquisitors, who had clearly perfected working in synchronicity for this as well as in a fight. He surrendered, letting out a quiet whine as his legs gave out beneath him, and he was absolutely powerless to resist as they maneuvered him down onto the poncho he had been using as a blanket.
They wouldn't hurt him. The Force was telling him that much. The build up of tension, fear, adrenaline and anxiety that had been mounting since his discovery on Bracca melted away beneath their hands and lips, the heavy weight of his mission fading into the background. And even if this was just for the one night, even if they'd be enemies again in the morning and they would pursue him relentlessly in the name of the Empire, right now, Cal Kestis was going to let himself have this.