Bankor

The corner of Cole's mouth turned up in an awkward sort of smile, "I'm not too good at sticking with my bodyguards." This time it was anxiety that caused him to push his fingers through the dishevelled blonde hair, "not since I got Private Finama killed. My team were behind me, sweeping the side rooms while I headed for the cockpit."

"Ah'm sure it weren't yer fault, and sides, those of us who sign up t' put our lives on the line fer others, we know the risks. And most o' the time we do it for more reasons than just a paycheck, we do it cause we b'lieve in what we're protectin'."

His hand went through his hair again, rubbing the back of his neck, "on Nar Shaddaa, I was volunteering my skills in the slums. A Hutt named Kidaja took offense and demanded protection money. When I refused, one of his enforcers shot Finama clean in the head. So I'd call it my fault."

Cole sighed through his teeth, caught up in recollection. "The enforcer turned up dead the next day. The one that beat me, Malto Brin, well, he didn't kill anyone that day, I suppose."

"Fuckin' Hutts," Garth cursed under his breath at the story of the fate of FInama.

"Ah sincerely hope one day they push th' people of th' galaxy too far. Sometimes ah think the 'verse 'd be a better place without their kind."

"Well," Cole inhaled sharply, "I can say the galaxy is at least short that particular Hutt." There was something dark in his eyes, something cold.

"An from the sounds of things, much th' better for it." A compassion creeps into Garth's eyes and his voice softens.

"Have y' talked to anyone about this? I mean really talked? It seems t' still be heavy 'pon yer spirit."

Cole wiped his palms on his thighs, as if they had been sweating and shook his head slightly, "there's never been anyone to tell."

"Ah ain't no professional," Garth spoke softly as he placed his hands over Cole's.

"But ah'm here, and ah know a bit 'bout loss, if y' wanna share that burden ye're carryin."

Cole's eyes softened, he was rock still as if he was afraid that Garth would withdraw if he moved. "It's nothing like that," a wry, lopsided smile curled one side of his mouth. "Most people know that I was about to wash out of basic. I couldn't shoot, couldn't fly. Brigadier Admiral Ormont," there was a sourness as Cole invoked his father's name, "pulled some strings to get me on the Intelligence track anyway."

"Medical meant not having to kill people. Turns out I knew how to do that all along after all."

Garth patted Cole's hands in what he hoped was a consoling manner.

"My ma had a sayin'. It don't much matter how the fly got in the milk, only if'n he can swim." Garth explained with a gentle smile, as if that made everything better.

He didn't know what that meant. He cut to the chase, "I know Kidaja's dead because I was the one that killed him."

"Sounds like y' did the 'verse a favor, but ah'm guessing it don't feel like that all the time. Y' have trouble makin' peace with what y' did?"

"Can ah ask why ya did it? Was it fer the good of the galaxy? Justice for Finama? Or revenge fer y'r guilt?"

Cole’s eyes moved down Garth’s bare chest and stomach, slowly. When he raised them again, the pale-blue grey irises glittered. “Fucker burnt down a free clinic and kitchen,” Cole growled. “Everyone pays,” he echoed the last words he’d said to Kidaja, the words Kidaja had said while the building in Nar Shaddaa’s slums had burnt.

"Seems like," Garth whispered softly. "Seems like some 'r still paying an' it ain't right."

"Y' were hurtin, y' still are and y' can't carry this guilt around. It'll break ye."

Slowly shifting his hands up to wrap his arms around Cole's shoulders, he pulls the doctor into a consoling hug, stroking his hair gently.

Cole stiffened momentarily, caught off guard, but Garth’s skin was warm and the surgeon melted into his strength. He could smell the masculine sweat and soap and heavy tropical air. After a long silence, “I don’t feel guilty for what I did. He got a quick and painless death, and it was better than he deserved. But there are people who know what I did, people who put me in the position to do what I did. It doesn’t sit well on me, wondering if that’s going to come back and bite me on the ass one day.”

"Let 'em come," Garth spoke softly. "We're Republic, you attack one of us, y' attack all of us. We got yer back Cap'n."

Cole nodded into Garth's shoulder, but he wondered if Command would agree with that position, when they could hang him out to dry to appease the Hutts instead. Cole's cool fingers found the pilot's other shoulder, drifting along the numb skin, he placed his hand on the back of the man's neck. He knew from his earlier examination that Garth would feel that.

Garth didn't object to the exploring fingers, his own drifted up and down Cole's back as he weighed these new feelings and ideologies that had been espoused to him.

Tethys Carrack wrote:"This 'first' has been a little too specific to plan in advance," Tethys says, retrieving her own glass with a serene air. "Besides, many things are better left to spontaneity." She almost.... almost seems like she might be about to wink at him.

Sister Mazakin wrote:“You live or die, succeed or fail. You accept it, you do not delude yourself with what could have been.”

Spontaneity....what could have been...

Eventually Garth decides, and the fingers of his other hand interlaced with Cole's, squeezing gently.

The heavy, bulky utility belt that stored Cole's implements and drugs had two quick-release buckles. Cole flicked those clasps with the same casual ease that he found the exact needle or phial he needed, jerking it away from his body and letting it fall to the floor beside the bed. That hand found its way back to Garth's hair, fingertips grazing through the short bristle, but he didn't dare raise his head to look at him.

Cole didn't need to look up, it had been a long campaign and Garth needed a moment of closeness, they both did. The heavy clunk of Cole's belt predicated a subtle movement, a shifting of limbs so that thighs touched, a gentle exhalation of breath as a hand slipped under a loose shirt.

A slow yet steady leaning as lips pressed agsinst a mop of blonde curls.

Inhaling deeply, Cole's breathing trembled, swallowing a moan. A hand wandered across Garth's strong chest, straying down his side. Fingers in Garth's hair held him close. Cole's heart was jackrabbiting nervously in his chest, breathing hotly against the pilot's skin, slim thighs pressing against muscular ones.

Garth could feel Cole's pulse radiating through him from their shared closeness, as his lips trailed gentle kisses from the crown of his bunkmate's head down to his ear, he enjoyed the feeling of Cole's hands gently tracing over his torso.

"Shhhhhh, you don't need to be so nervous." Garth whispered, trying to soothe the man before his teeth latched hold of his earlobe.

Cole gasped, his heart rate jumping another tick. Clutching at Garth’s hip, he turned his head, almost clumsily feeling for the man’s lips, kissing him with the rough urgency of a man who’s afraid that he’s actually dreaming, and the dream could dissolve at any moment.

The pressure, the heat, the intensity of Cole's kiss took Garth by surprise and the pilot pulled away slightly at the shift from passive to aggressive.

Slipping his hands into Cole's the stronger soldier leaned forward pressing insistently torso to torso, and forehead to forehead until Cole was prone upon Garth's bunk.

"Don' have t' be so forceful either. Ah think m' condition requires quite a thorough and lengthy diagnosis..." Garth breathes hoarsely as he slowly lowers himself down over Cole's body.

The possibility of resisting flashed through Cole's mind, gone before it really registered. Sure, it had been a long while, but he'd always been the aggressor during those few weeks on Coruscant, this was a new experience and he submitted to it without need for conscious thought. "Have to be certain of the right treatment," he agreed huskily, squeezing Garth's hands.