In the final stretch, K-2 has to carry Cassian through smoke-veiled corridors to the hangar bay, looping through automatic calculations — the weight he’s holding, the quantity of blood smeared across his chest-plate. Cassian aims, fires, and doesn’t stop until shuttle doors hiss closed and the lift-off sequence initiates. Then he collapses, pale, sweat-drenched, light on K-2’s shoulder.
“I suppose,” K-2 says, “that it’s my regrettable fate to end up covered in your fluids.”
“Well. We all suffer for the cause.” Cassian winces. Smiles, soft-mouthed, with a survivor’s defiance. They break so easily, organics, but this one isn’t broken yet.
*
They’re low on bacta again. K-2 uses the last of it on the worst of Cassian’s wounds, then bandages, and salve smeared on burns layered over older scars.
It is a processing glitch, the impulse to let his touch linger on those raised lines. His sensors register warmth, and a shallow, rapid pulse. Cassian has endured torture before. It cannot be easy, having an Imperial security droid working to repair him while he’s in pain. But when K-2 pulls away, Cassian grips his wrist, brings it back. His stomach rises and falls beneath K-2’s hand: steady breathing, no fear.
*
The decision to lift his other hand to Cassian’s mouth is a malfunction, certainly, but not a mistake. Not when Cassian’s lips part as K-2 traces them, opening, letting metal rest against his tongue.
It is simple to track the biological cascade, and to predict its culmination: Cassian’s body going taut, flushing slowly, sweat standing out on his collarbones. He makes a sound. K-2 will analyze its frequencies later. Currently, all processors are redirected to modulating his grip, letting him hold without hurting, and to informing Cassian that organics are very wet, but this isn’t and never has been suffering.
.
(Let me know if you have any objection to me posting this on AO3, and whether you'd like it gifted. I won't be bothered in the slightest if you say no.)
Triple-Drabble: Cassian/K-2, Rating: M, making use of several prompts
“I suppose,” K-2 says, “that it’s my regrettable fate to end up covered in your fluids.”
“Well. We all suffer for the cause.” Cassian winces. Smiles, soft-mouthed, with a survivor’s defiance. They break so easily, organics, but this one isn’t broken yet.
*
They’re low on bacta again. K-2 uses the last of it on the worst of Cassian’s wounds, then bandages, and salve smeared on burns layered over older scars.
It is a processing glitch, the impulse to let his touch linger on those raised lines. His sensors register warmth, and a shallow, rapid pulse. Cassian has endured torture before. It cannot be easy, having an Imperial security droid working to repair him while he’s in pain. But when K-2 pulls away, Cassian grips his wrist, brings it back. His stomach rises and falls beneath K-2’s hand: steady breathing, no fear.
*
The decision to lift his other hand to Cassian’s mouth is a malfunction, certainly, but not a mistake. Not when Cassian’s lips part as K-2 traces them, opening, letting metal rest against his tongue.
It is simple to track the biological cascade, and to predict its culmination: Cassian’s body going taut, flushing slowly, sweat standing out on his collarbones. He makes a sound. K-2 will analyze its frequencies later. Currently, all processors are redirected to modulating his grip, letting him hold without hurting, and to informing Cassian that organics are very wet, but this isn’t and never has been suffering.
.
(Let me know if you have any objection to me posting this on AO3, and whether you'd like it gifted. I won't be bothered in the slightest if you say no.)