Archive of Our Own

The Shadow Collective was a strange enterprise, all told. It was made up of several warring syndicates, a disparate mix of ne’er-do-wells, free agents and contract killers that would prefer offing the competition over working with them. But the Collective was like a cartel boss’s spice dream, not only functional but thriving. There was always work to be done, and most importantly to Cad Bane, the pay was outstanding. 

Bane had something of a history with the Collective’s leader. The Shadow hadn’t quite remembered him at first, but a few lines into their re-acquaintance had the nightbrother sneering with that familiar tattooed grimace, his fiery eyes narrowed in distaste. That was just fine; Bane could work with distaste. He had done his job all those years ago on Drazkel’s moon, fighting off the goons the Xrexus Cartel had sent after them, and Maul had kept his word and paid him for it. As long as they had an understanding, Bane didn’t care if the nightbrother liked him.

The Collective’s base was a hassle to navigate to, but it was a decent place to lay low when things got a bit too hot. The building was some old, sturdy bunker that had been upgraded to the nines when they took it over. Plenty of well-secured rooms with thick, durasteel doors. The bunks they rented weren’t half-bad either, which was more than Bane could say about any dwelling he’d had the displeasure of occupying in Hutt Space. 

Most of the Collective was run remotely as far as Bane could tell, the halls crawling with more droids than people, but there was still a small, well-stocked bar to wet a weary traveler’s whistle. It was here that Bane settled for the evening, nursing a whiskey after a particularly stubborn mark had dragged him halfway across the galaxy. 

There wasn’t much in the way of atmosphere. Not enough bodies in the room, for one, and the only music was some tinny number floating in from the kitchens. The cook, a spindly Gand, was wheezing the melody—very poorly—through her respirator. But it wasn’t as if Bane preferred the loud, filthy cantinas that he usually frequented. At least here he could enjoy his drink in relative peace, fewer nobodies to bother him, no drunken greenhorns picking fights and winding up dead for their trouble.

That didn’t mean, however, that Bane always went entirely undisturbed. Even though he'd chosen a seat with view of the door, he didn't bother looking up when it hissed open and quiet, even footsteps padded across the durasteel tile.

It amused him, how someone so big could move so gracefully. He wondered if it had something to do with being Force-sensitive. All the professionally-trained muscle that Bane knew carried their weight far more heavily than the approaching nightbrother did.

Savage Opress came to a stop next to him. Bane grinned toothily and called to the Gand for another drink.

Being quiet-footed didn’t stop the stool from groaning under the Savage’s weight as he sat down. He positively dwarfed everything around him, including the amber-filled glass the humming Gand set in front of him.

The nightbrother was enormous, built like a rancor. His long, pointed horns added to his already considerable height; a few of them had even been lopped clean off in past altercations.

Bane’d seen him in combat a few times, all muscle and raw brute force. He didn’t fight like any Sith Bane had ever seen, but as far as Bane was concerned, he didn’t have to. The few jobs they’d run together had been cakewalks. Savage knew how to fight and follow orders, and he was a great deal sharper than one might assume from his size and reticence.

It wasn’t often that Bane liked anyone. But when he had seen Savage kill some flunky who'd tried to pull one over on the Shadow with a single, unflinching punch, well, that kind of picture stayed with a man. It made an impact.

“How’re things, Smiles?” 

The nightbrother simply grunted and took his drink in hand. He wasn’t much of a talker, but Bane didn’t mind.

It was a pleasant routine, meeting here like this. A quiet drinking companion that had no reason to kill him. Someone who wasn’t quite in Bane’s line of business but still had the stomach for the kind of mayhem his work entailed. A man who was pretty good at sabacc, once Bane taught him the rules. It made the game more interesting, playing against someone with such an inscrutable resting face. Though recently, that had begun to change. A twitch of Savage’s eye, a flex of his mouth, lower lip faintly depressed by a row of mean-looking teeth. And that hadn’t been the only thing that’d begun to change.

Bane was used to people looking at him. Hell, he enjoyed it. The recognition, the respect, the fear. He knew from a single look whether someone was jonesing to fight or flee. Savage’s gaze was like a clap to the shoulder, nearly as heavy as the nightbrother himself. 

Bane glanced at him sidelong, feeling his lips draw back in another crooked smirk. His infrared wasn’t as keen as a Rodian’s, but it offered him the gives that the nightbrother’s expression didn’t. Even as his hearts maintained their slow, easy pulsations, his face got just a bit warmer.

“You look like you want to say something,” Bane offered casually. 

The man continued to stare, but after a few, long seconds, he replied. “Why do you call me that?”

Bane blinked, then his smirk widened. “What, you don’t like it?”

A slight twitch of the the nighterbrother’s mouth let Bane know he was mulling over his response. Bane nursed his whiskey while he waited.

“I don’t understand them,” Savage said after a time. “Any of the… names you’ve given me.”

Bane huffed a quiet laugh over the rim of his glass. He’d taken the habit of calling the zabrak all sorts of things. Big-and-yellow, Pointy, Smiles. He’d hoped they’d elicit some sort of response, but until now, the man had only grunted at them.

“They don’t mean nothing,” Bane answered. “Just having a little fun, is all.”

Another pause.

“You know my real name,” Savage said slowly.

“‘Course I do.”

The conversation lapsed again, but the pressure of Savage’s gaze didn’t waver. Waiting. He was waiting for something. Bane had to tip his head back to return his stare. The nightbrother’s eyes were as bright and intense as they always were, the eyes of a nocturnal creature in the dark.

“You want me to call you Savage?” Bane asked. 

The nightbrother went still. Bane glanced downward, caught sight of Savage’s hearts beating just a bit faster. He remembered, then, how easily Savage had followed his orders on their missions, obeying without a single shred of hesitation. 

Bane’s smirk returned with a vengeance, as pleased as if he’d won the pot at sabacc. “Well, I can certainly do that.” 

He took another hearty sip of whiskey, enjoying the burn all the way down. Who knew that someone that could kill without hesitation could also be bashful ?

There was a harsh growl from his companion and the groan of relieved metal as Savage stood up. The nightbrother stormed off, leaving his drink—and a stupefied Bane—at the bar. 

“Hey, wait!” Bane barked, tossing a few credits down and swiftly following the nightbrother out the door. 

He was a quick bastard for his size, but Bane was quicker. He caught up to Savage as soon as he had turned the corner towards the barracks. If Savage was fleeing for the reason Bane thought he was… well, he didn’t need to be fleeing at all. Bane’s long, blue fingers curled around Savage’s wrist. 

The zabrak swung his arm back, aiming right for Bane’s head. Bane ducked, but the blow knocked his hat askew.

“Hey, none of that,” Bane growled, his grip tightening. 

They were facing each other now. Savage’s eyes were wide, searching, but he didn’t pull away.

“I don’t bite,” Bane said softly. He dragged his thumb over Savage’s pulse point. 

This time, Savage’s blush was strong enough to show through his skin. Satisfaction flooded Bane all at once. He took a step forward—

—and Savage retreated, his back colliding with the wall behind him.

“You know…” Bane murmured, advancing again, setting one booted foot between Savage’s legs. He craned back to look at him, careful of any sudden attacks. “You’re a good lookin’ fella.”

A well-calculated risk was often worth taking, so Bane took it. He leaned in closer, slid his hand around Savage’s hip. One of his fingers hooked through his belt loop, and he tugged gently.

Savage made a quiet little sound in his throat.

Bane could see the wheels turning, this seemingly unflappable giant peering down at him, gold eyes wide with disbelief. He sunk his fingers into Savage’s hip, rose up on his toes to put their faces closer together. Their chests brushed. He could smell the whiskey on Savage’s breath, see the heat spreading to the tips of his ears.

“The coy act doesn’t suit you,” Bane whispered, “so drop it.” 

He reached up, curled his hand along the back of Savage’s neck. Even here, the man was corded; his muscles jumped beneath Bane’s palm. 

“Lean down.”

Savage’s pupils grew slightly. When the seam of his mouth opened, Bane caught sight of his fangs, felt the shaky breath that passed between.

Bane’s fingers tightened against his nape, a steady pressure. “Savage,” he growled, “lean down.”

It happened quickly. Bright eyes, yellow and black shapes like pieces of a puzzle, looming close. A glint of pink drew Bane’s gaze, the subtle color of Savage’s lips, gentle, hidden.

“Good,” Bane said against his mouth. Then he kissed him properly. 

Savage’s lips were softer than he thought they’d be. A lot of Savage was softer than he thought it’d be. The gentle grunt muffled by their mouths, the hesitant hands on Bane’s shoulders, not pushing or pulling, just resting. Savage kept his lower body so very still, like he was fighting against the urge to press into him. 

Bane could feel Savage’s purr when he slipped his tongue into his mouth, sliding it along Savage’s, coaxing, teasing him into reciprocation. The zabrak answered tentatively, mirroring Bane’s motions, tilting his head to allow him deeper.

This is the first time someone’s kissed him like this, Bane thought with no small amount of surprise and satisfaction. 

It wasn’t a bad first attempt, all things considered. It was warm, eager when Savage began to relax and shift into him. The hands on Bane’s shoulders tightened, the prickle of Savage’s claws notable points of pressure even through several layers of clothing.

Voices echoed down the hall, the sound of footsteps and the mechanical whir of a droid approaching. Savage twisted his face away from Bane’s, their mouths parting with a quiet smack. Bane merely smirked, watching the man intently.

“Not…” Savage swallowed. He was looking towards the source of the noise. “Not here.”

“You want to continue this little show somewhere more private?” Bane drawled. He tugged Savage’s belt loop once before letting him go. “I can certainly oblige.”

He turned away from him and began down the hall towards his room. He didn’t wait for Savage to follow, but he felt the zabrak pull up behind him as he pressed his hand to the bio-metric lock at the door.

Once inside, Bane crowded Savage again, looking him up and down. The nightbrother’s shoulders rose under the scrutiny.

“Don’t you worry,” Bane said. “I‘m not gonna hurt you… Unless that’s something you’re into.”

Savage frowned slightly, his brow furrowing. Bane traced the zabrak’s lips with his fingers, watching his focus narrow on that single point of contact. 

“No? Then maybe…” 

Bane lowered his eyes to Savage’s chest, his pulsing hearts. He placed his hand above them, unable to feel the warmth he could see through his armor, but he could imagine it well enough. He slid his tongue along his teeth, dragged his hand down Savage’s body.

There was no rush to his motions, even though Bane couldn’t deny his own prickling excitement. He’d knocked boots with a lot of dangerous people—killers, thieves, hunters—but he never with someone like Savage. Astoundingly large, seemingly untouchable… Undeniably malleable in his hands.

Bane trailed his touch lower, shifted closer, cupped the nightbrother between his legs. A groan tumbled from Savage’s lips, low and shocked. Bane smirked, feeling his own body respond, shivery little pulsations flaring from his core to his extremities. Savage was hot and straining against his hand. Bane curled his fingers around the outline of it, feeling along its length, hunger laced with trepidation. He hadn’t been sure what he was going to do when he got his hands on him, but…

“You’re big all over, huh?” he murmured. “Bet you were popular with your dathomirian sisters.” 

He wasn’t expecting an answer, but Savage gave him one. “Not… Really…” 

Bane let out an amused wheeze. “That’s alright. I don’t mind if you’re a little green.” 

He began to work at the zabrak’s belt one-handed. It took a bit longer this way, but he didn’t want to stop palming him, eager for his quiet grunts and groans. He wanted to see just how much it took to make the hands curling and uncurling at his sides rise up in retaliation.

The belt popped free, and Bane let it fall unceremoniously to the floor. He undid Savage’s trousers quickly, taking his hand off him only long enough to reach through his laces and draw his cock free.

Bane stared. It was tattooed and even larger than he’d first thought. When he released it briefly, it drooped from its own weight, heavy with tumescence. Bane wasn’t even sure he could fit it in his mouth, but that only made him want to try.

Savage squirmed and released a small, unhappy rumble. Bane shushed him with a quiet hiss through his teeth. He brought his hand up, licked his palm, and gave his cock a tentative stroke.

The zabrak’s claws scored into the door at his back, his head dipping down, a wordless exhale hot against Bane’s face.

“Just relax, big guy.” Another chest-deep growl, another warning. “Easy, Savage…” Bane corrected. 

Bane had big hands, but his fingers were only just able to curl fully the girth of it. That didn’t seem to matter much to Savage, who groaned quietly with each tug, long, deep noises that went straight to Bane’s head. 

He shoved Savage’s pants lower, brushing against the large swell of his balls as he fisted his cock. It was funny, how some species had their sensitive parts on the outside. Savage’s were impressive regardless, round and drawn tight to his body. Wound up, Bane knew, eager for release.

“Been pent up?” Bane breathed, laying into him harder. 

Savage’s cock had begun to leak, viscous slick that eased Bane’s strokes, made Bane’s motions smoother, quicker. Savage only offered a breathless grunt in reply. 

The nightbrother’s hands stayed planted on the door, though they were restless, twitching things. If Savage shifted forward here and there, he was subtle about it, thighs quaking with suppressed motion. The zabrak grew more rigid and heated in Bane’s hand, dripping continuously now, swollen and glistening. 

Bane could take Savage apart just like this. He didn’t always have to be tit for tat. Sometimes it was more than enough just for his partners to whine and whimper their way through a couple rounds, completely at his mercy.  

But Bane was hungry for more than that tonight. He tentatively slowed the clutch of his hand, then tightened his hold at the base of Savage’s cock. He squeezed a little harder when the nightbrother bared his teeth at him and uttered a chest-deep growl that was no better than a threat.

“That’s enough. You get what I give you.” Bane spat, a little annoyed, but a little endeared, too. He leaned up, planting his words beneath Savage’s ear. “Take off your clothes and lie back on the bed.”

Savage stiffened, then his whole body shivered. He nearly tripped on his way to the bed, his armor clattering to the floor. 

Bane was a little more careful with undressing; none of his equipment came cheap. He removed his weapons, setting them in a neat pile on the room’s only table. Leather creaked as he removed his clothes, leaving him in his undersuit. He felt Savage’s eyes on him all the while, could smell the change in the air even through his tubes.

Bane was at a strict disadvantage here. If Savage tried anything, well, it’d be a hell of a lot harder to fight back. He still had his tubes connected, but Savage didn’t need any Force tricks when he was as strong as he was. Even if Bane was a welcome asset to the Collective, he doubted Maul would give a bantha’s ass about him compared to his second in command.

He glanced over his shoulder. Savage was waiting for him, naked and flat on his back, his clawed feet planted on the floor. His body was arresting, tattoos and scars cut around muscles, all of it shifting minutely with his breath. Even his cybernetic arm had its appeal, another mean-looking piece of tech that spoke to the battles he had fought and survived. 

Savage’s eyes tracked him with no small amount of heat, bright and interested. When Bane turned fully toward him, those eyes snapped up and down his body before they came to rest, again, on Bane’s face.

Bane rasped out a laugh and tugged off the lower half of his undersuit.

They had pretty different bodies. Bane was all angles, smaller too, between his legs, especially when he stepped up between Savage’s thighs and saw them side by side.

Savage hadn’t lost interest; his cock even twitched a little when Bane ran his hand down his own ripcord waist, swiveling his fingers between his leaking cocks. They were prehensile, tapered, and they curled against his hand, sending little shocks of pleasure singing up Bane’s spine. 

“Like what you see?” Bane teased.

Savage’s reply was a rumble, startlingly low and immediate. “Yes.” 

Bane’s insides gave a tight squeeze of want. He leaned over Savage and dragged their cocks together. 

Savage began to purr, his whole body rippling with suppressed energy. He was hard up for it, asking with all but words. Bane let them both have a few more messy slides between them, his own quiet trill caught behind his teeth.

“Lift up your legs,” Bane growled quietly.

He bit his lip, watching that huge body shift, Savage’s hands tucking beneath each knee as he rolled his hips upward. Bane planted his hands on the underside of Savage’s thighs, pressing down until his legs were folded neatly, until Savage was spread and exposed for him. 

It was a tantalizing position, perfect for Bane to fuck him with his cocks. Savage certainly wouldn’t need much prep; Bane’s body provided plenty of natural lube, and his cocks’ tapered tips would stretch him easily, but—Bane wanted something else.

There was a clench of nervousness in his own belly, but an eagerness too, an oft ignored hunger begging to be satisfied. He grabbed Savage’s cock again, stroked it once, savoring Savage’s answering growl. Then Bane angled it downward, pressed it under his own cocks.

Duros had flexible, adaptive bodies. They were both wet too, a heady, pheromone-laced mix that coated slick and generous where they had rutted together. With the head of Savage’s cock kissed to his own opening, Bane still had to coax himself into relaxing, into yielding to such blunt, rigid pressure.

After several moments, he managed. The head of Savage’s cock popped inside, forcing a wave of raspy chirrups from Bane’s throat. Savage snarled too, a hand snapping forward, claws sliding along his hip as if to grab him—

“Hands off,” Bane hissed, his voice gravel-rough and breathless. “I call the shots.”

The tension drew. Bane bared his fangs, and Savage did too, for a moment. Bane wondered at it, Savage grabbing him properly, lifting him from his feet, taking his hips in his hands and using him like he was instinctively wanting to do. 

Bane wasn’t sure he’d fight it.

He snaked his tongue over his teeth and fucked forward, forcing more of Savage’s cock inside him, feeling breathtakingly full with only half of it. 

Savage’s hands finally retreated back beneath his knees. Bane could see the tension in the grip, bloodless, unbelievably strong. Again, Bane snapped his hips, swallowed more of him, edging close to the precipice of pain, though pleasure kept pace just as stubbornly. 

He could see resistance in every line of Savage’s body. The nightbrother wanted to move, to be active, to control. But he didn’t. He watched with those sunfire eyes and that clenched jaw, his claws carving crescent moons into his skin. Bane drank it all in, the subservience, the power, the blood-hot pleasure, as he stuffed the rest of Savage’s cock inside him.

It wasn’t the longest one Bane’d ever taken, but it was the thickest, punishingly so. His muscles attempted to flex around it, but there wasn’t any room. He was speared wide, balanced precariously on the razor edge of too much, and he relished it.

A scent flooded the air, picant, familiar: his own pheromones expelled. It was a useless reflex for one like Savage. To a Duros, it would be incriminating. It would reveal just how much Bane was enjoying this, enjoying it enough to give off a mating scent. Bane’s fingers flexed against the zabrak’s thighs, and he trembled on his cock, still waiting for his body to adjust, to give in already, to let him move.

And still, Savage’s nostrils flared, took in the change in the air, the pungent, dry smell of him. Those gold-ringed pupils dilated, and Savage stared at Bane with newfound understanding, the faintest hint of endearment that made Bane sneer. 

He could growl and trill and deny it, but that would only prove the nightbrother right. Instead, Bane moved, his hips jerking back for a moment only to slam forward. 

The sensation was incredible, tugging at his insides; the motion stimulated parts of him that weren’t meant to be touched. That in itself was intoxicating enough, the wrongness of it, when every other sensation screamed that it was good, better than good, actually.

Bane forced himself to keep moving, making up something akin to a rhythm. It was hard to focus, but he didn’t let himself slow down. He wanted to watch Savage break, wanted him to take everything Bane was giving him. There it was, that fracturing of restraint—Savage’s hips shifted, moving in tandem with Bane’s thrusts. A chirp lodged in Bane’s throat. 

The friction eased as Bane grew wetter, discomfort coalescing into pleasure. He pumped his hips faster, watching Savage’s chest heave and his mouth hang open on an unending whine, wondering if the zabrak was close, wondering if he’d have the guts to pump him full.

Bane latched onto the idea with startling immediacy. Being filled up, getting nice and fat and satisfied while his partner came helplessly beneath him. It set Bane’s jaw tight. He groped across Savage’s body, his stomach, his chest, wherever he could reach. Then he pressed down on him hard, leveraging his thrusts.

Savage’s grip faltered, shifting from his knees to Bane’s hips, behind his back. The sensation of his claws itched along his skin. A swear on Bane’s tongue that never made it out of his mouth, a choked grunt that he couldn’t quite swallow.

Maybe Bane wanted it, to egg him on, have Savage take what he wanted. But Savage stayed on his back, submitted to the torture of it, trapped under Bane’s every thrust, begging with his eyes and hands.

He was good, so good—maybe Bane said it aloud, or maybe Savage just knew, with that freakish power that all Force-wielders had. The nightbrother clung but didn’t push, let Bane jerk his hips and curl over him as his cocks writhed and pulsed, slicking the space between their bodies with a burst of wet heat. 

Bane’s legs felt jellied and useless, but he kept himself upright, kept his hips grinding in short, brutal snaps, a steady ache rising inside him. He swore, knowing he didn’t have much fight left in him, but he wanted it. Wanted Savage.

“C’mon, come already, Savage,” he commanded raggedly.

The nightbrother’s head snapped back, both of his hands wrapping behind Bane’s waist, pulling him close. His growls and purrs rumbled through Bane’s body, but that was mere background noise to the hot, overwhelming rush flooding him. Bane swore something mean then, his own hands clutching uselessly at Savage’s thighs as he started to fill him.

It was so intense Bane’s own body wrenched dangerously close to another orgasm, insides twinging, clenching, greedy for it. He ground his teeth, focusing on the fullness that kept steadily building. He looked at Savage, but he wasn’t looking back. Savage was staring at his torso, his lower lip clutched between his fangs.

Bane looked down, then he sucked in a shattering breath. His flat stomach was distended he was so karkin’ full. Shakily, claws curled around Bane’s hip and tugged up his undersuit, exposing flushed blue skin. Savage pressed down on his bare stomach, feeling his cock, his come, hot in Bane’s guts. Savage’s purr rose to a fever pitch. Then he pressed harder.

Bane swore furiously, reaching down quickly to clutch his own cocks. He tugged and palmed them, and they thrashed wildly, letting loose another gush of slick as Bane moaned.

“Fuckin’ stars,” Bane wheezed when some of his senses had returned. 

He was sore and tingling and wet. He knew he’d pay for this later, that his body would ache for days after. Worth it, he thought.

He shifted back slowly, gingerly; Savage’s claws ghosted across his hips. The rush of fluids was expected, but it was also gratuitous, coating the inside of Bane’s thighs and legs, running quickly to the floor.

Savage’s cock gave an interested twitch.

“You’ll have to take care of that yourself, lover boy,” Bane groaned. He tried to take a step and nearly fell over. Savage reached to steady him, but Bane swatted him away. “’M fine.”

He hobbled around to find an old shirt, wiping away the worst of the mess before tugging the lower half of his undersuit back on.

Savage was still sitting on the edge of the bunk completely naked, watching him. For all that the nightbrother had been bashful, he looked perfectly at ease now.

Bane collapsed onto the bed with a sigh. He didn’t know what Savage expected from him, but he was tired and fucked out. He closed his eyes.

“You can stay, if you want,” Bane mumbled. “But if you hog the bed, I’m kicking you out.”

The bunk groaned as Savage stood up. Bane heard him shuffling around, a little less light on his feet than before. Dressing perhaps, angling to leave after their little engagement. 

Just as well, Bane thought. That’s all it was, after all.

The mattress dipped again. Bane was surprised at first, then thankful that the material displaced weight evenly, else Savage’s bulk might’ve launched him right off the bunk.

He cracked a single eye open. Savage was staring back at him, eyes faintly narrowed, questioning.

“What?” Bane asked tiredly.

A few long seconds passed.

“Can I… hold you?” 

Bane opened both eyes to look at him. The nightbrother returned the look impassively. Finally, Bane shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes.

“Just a little. Your kind runs too hot for me.”

Savage breathed quietly as he settled into bed. Several minutes passed, but he didn’t touch him. Bane almost forgot he was there as he began to doze.

Then, slowly, gently, a huge hand settled on his chest. It was hardly an embrace, but it was a dense pressure, grounding, warm, like a blanket piled all in a heap.

Bane hummed pleasantly and fell asleep.