"What? No!" Finn said, but already the droids were in full communicative swing, tinny scales and arpeggios criss-crossing past him. Finn glanced down worriedly at Poe, but Poe was fast asleep, the exhaustion hard upon him.
"Why, yes," Threepio was saying in his back." I do know it is customary in mass-oriented narratives for the protagonist to jump the blaster, as you put it, by the end of chapter 2, but that wouldn’t do at all for Messenger Cor. Not if he is to be a verbal interface for…"
More beeping.
"No, BB-8, I don’t think sunbathing is an option. Not in a night scenery."
"I…" Finn closed his eyes, opened them again. He took Poe’s hand in his. This is what I’d have done if we’d had the time, if you’d agreed, if we hadn’t been kah-boomed apart on that kriffing sandball. He willed the next words from his heart, prayer-like. I hope someone will do it for you. For real. Every time you need it.
"I was thinking, if they’re near a lake, I could have them bathing first. Together Then Malko can wash Cor and show him… show him his bruises matter, he matters, and while he does, he… he feels, you know, his body feels kinda uplifted…"
"Tumescent?"
"No! Well, yeah, that too, only more." Finn looked at Poe’s hand, its weight abandoned to his grasp, like Poe was - once more - entrusting his mortality to him. "It’s like he’s never been let close enough to heal someone, to save them, it’s like Cor is giving him something that’s always been part of him only he, Malko, didn’t know. It feels…"
Poe shifted in his sleep, and Finn thought the lion’s wrinkle between the deep-carved eyes was a little smoother.
"Strictly between ourselves…," he told the droids. A prelude, an order. And a memo to himself. "The whole pack, I guess."
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The water felt lustral after the mines’ darkness and the dust and despair of their flight. When Malk walked to where Cor stood, the water up to his waist, it played between his legs and lapped at his waist, coaxing him forward until he was at an arm’s length and Cor was reaching out across the blue expanse. There stood with their hands linked, and the Sacred Lake surrounded them like another sky, stretching every way and bathed with stars, and Cor’s face at last visible in the moonlight. Malko dipped his palms in the water and raised them to wash the small wound on Cor’s cheekbone, brushing his fingers to the dark circles under his eyes until Cor was smiling, startled by the careful touch. Slowly, biting his lip, he began to do the same – letting the water pour over Malko’s neck and shoulder, down the runnel of his spine, down every curve and crack of his flesh until it covered Malko and prickled him with new, lambent sensations. He placed his mouth lightly on Cor’s wound, on the wrinkle between his eyes, on the single little bang of dark hair, and with each touch he felt his heart grow tumescent. He washed every bruise on Cor’s chest carefully, bending his head for more soft-hearted kisses where the water had been, until Cor stopped him with one hand to his hip. Then every sensation turned liquid, except for the hard claim of Cor’s mouth on his, richer, heavier bliss, and the hard, fast, epiphanic throb as they splashed across the last invisible bound and met in a full-bodied clasp.
FILL - Hyperdrive My Heart (4/?)
"Why, yes," Threepio was saying in his back." I do know it is customary in mass-oriented narratives for the protagonist to jump the blaster, as you put it, by the end of chapter 2, but that wouldn’t do at all for Messenger Cor. Not if he is to be a verbal interface for…"
More beeping.
"No, BB-8, I don’t think sunbathing is an option. Not in a night scenery."
"I…" Finn closed his eyes, opened them again. He took Poe’s hand in his. This is what I’d have done if we’d had the time, if you’d agreed, if we hadn’t been kah-boomed apart on that kriffing sandball. He willed the next words from his heart, prayer-like. I hope someone will do it for you. For real. Every time you need it.
"I was thinking, if they’re near a lake, I could have them bathing first. Together Then Malko can wash Cor and show him… show him his bruises matter, he matters, and while he does, he… he feels, you know, his body feels kinda uplifted…"
"Tumescent?"
"No! Well, yeah, that too, only more." Finn looked at Poe’s hand, its weight abandoned to his grasp, like Poe was - once more - entrusting his mortality to him. "It’s like he’s never been let close enough to heal someone, to save them, it’s like Cor is giving him something that’s always been part of him only he, Malko, didn’t know. It feels…"
"Epiphanic? Lustral? Lambent? Thaumaturgic? Wondrous?"
Poe shifted in his sleep, and Finn thought the lion’s wrinkle between the deep-carved eyes was a little smoother.
"Strictly between ourselves…," he told the droids. A prelude, an order. And a memo to himself. "The whole pack, I guess."
----------------------------------
The water felt lustral after the mines’ darkness and the dust and despair of their flight. When Malk walked to where Cor stood, the water up to his waist, it played between his legs and lapped at his waist, coaxing him forward until he was at an arm’s length and Cor was reaching out across the blue expanse. There stood with their hands linked, and the Sacred Lake surrounded them like another sky, stretching every way and bathed with stars, and Cor’s face at last visible in the moonlight. Malko dipped his palms in the water and raised them to wash the small wound on Cor’s cheekbone, brushing his fingers to the dark circles under his eyes until Cor was smiling, startled by the careful touch. Slowly, biting his lip, he began to do the same – letting the water pour over Malko’s neck and shoulder, down the runnel of his spine, down every curve and crack of his flesh until it covered Malko and prickled him with new, lambent sensations. He placed his mouth lightly on Cor’s wound, on the wrinkle between his eyes, on the single little bang of dark hair, and with each touch he felt his heart grow tumescent. He washed every bruise on Cor’s chest carefully, bending his head for more soft-hearted kisses where the water had been, until Cor stopped him with one hand to his hip. Then every sensation turned liquid, except for the hard claim of Cor’s mouth on his, richer, heavier bliss, and the hard, fast, epiphanic throb as they splashed across the last invisible bound and met in a full-bodied clasp.
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