#darsev
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DarSev 41 kisses?
41. Kisses shared under an umbrella.
Kiss prompts
Darman is drenched.
Niner has already laughed at him, picked Kad right out of his arms and taken him away for a bath. Dar can’t even complain—Kad always does what Niner says, including at bath time. He’s some kind of child whisperer. Somehow.
Dar lingers under the overhang, dripping. The air is fresh and cool now, humidity broken and the smell of the veshok rising around them. Sev is here. He stands at the edge of the canopy and stares out into the fields. He’d watched the two of them come sprinting back to the house and Dar would swear he’d been smiling.
“Rainy season’s come early,” he says. His voice is low under the sound of the torrenting rain, on the ground, on the wood above their heads, on the duracrete roof of the house.
Darman turns and takes his hands off his knees, straightening.
Sev has his hand held out beyond the lip of the overhang. The hem of his sleeve is damp and droplets bounce and shatter across his palm. He brings it back in after a moment, shakes it off and wipes it down the leg of his trousers.
When did they stop wearing full kit all the time, Dar wonders.
He looks like Jango. Darman can see the strength of the similarities when he frowns like this. But he’s different, the shape of it is different, the exhaustion behind it is different, and after all, it’s just Sev out here with him, standing at his shoulder.
No one is coming out to join them in the rain. The forest sways and creaks on the perimeter. The heat of Sev’s body tucked up beside him protects Dar’s sodden skin from the wind, and Dar leans into it, magnetised.
Sev turns his head fractionally. He doesn’t look at Darman, just down, his lashes so close to his cheek that his eyes could be closed. Darman leans in and catches his lips with his own, soft and hovering but not hesitant. And Sev doesn’t pause to think when he tips his chin up into it.
“You’re wet,” he mumbles when Dar draws back. Dar looks down. Yes, he’s wet, but now the back of Sev’s shirt where Dar had pressed into him is, too. Grinning, Darman squeezes his hips and ducks in like he can’t help himself, kisses Sev again, less careful, entirely too sweetly.
“We should go in and get changed, then,” he suggests. Sev looks at him, both brows raised, and Dar’s grin widens.
He follows Darman into the house without comment.
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Hi friend!! It’s me (always) kindly kindly for darsev (again) (I miss them so much) with this insp tag post https://www.tumblr.com/cabezadeperro/712365374185799680
<3!
hi len friend!!!!!
established relationship, post order 66!au, T, ~600w. as always, i have no idea of what i'm doing with sev but i hope you like it ❤️
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Sev stops on the shore and breathes in: the familiar, muddy smell of the lake water coats the back of his tongue and fills his lungs. The water is cold where it laps against the sand, and he digs the toes of his foot into the cool mud, leaning more of his weight on his cane. His shoulder throbs, but it’s worth it—he stares at the dark and at the stars, at the moon’s reflection on the still waves, and the world stares back.
The wind rustles the tops of the trees, and Sev shivers. He went out without a coat, trusting the lingering heat of the day to keep him warm, and now he’s cold, the breeze damp and cool on his bare arms and the skin of his face. His shirt sticks to his back, the sweat he worked up making his way out of the house and through the fields on his own drying quickly.
Darman is a faraway shadow, his dark head bobbing up and down on the waves. He knows Sev’s there, but he’s taking his sweet time swimming back to shore. Sev settles down to wait, his hold on his cane sure and the noise of the waves soothing the prickly feeling of anxiety that shadows every single of these encounters.
Unlike Dar, he can’t say he gives much of a shit about Kal Skirata’s good opinion, but sometimes he finds himself wondering whether it is worth it: Sev’s not what he used to be, and Darman will forever be mourning the mother of his son. Sev feels at war with Etain’s ghost, with himself, with the world; with his brothers’ guilt and shame, with his own resentment and grief, with his body and its limitations.
Dar reaches the shore and stands up. He’s silhouetted in black against the water, the round moon painting his shoulders and his hair in silver. Sev’s eyes are used to the weak light, but he can’t quite tell the expression on his face. He shifts, yesterday’s half-forgotten anger waking itself up within his chest, and the now well-worn trepidation threatens to become regret.
“Where’s Kad,” he makes himself ask. Darman starts walking, his legs cutting the waves quietly. He’s bare, his clothes in a mess on one of the heavy boulders that surround the edges of the lake.
“He’s at Atin’s,” he replies, his voice low. He sounds tired. Sev shifts his grip over his cane and waits, watching Dar while he approaches him.
Sev likes the boy. He’s clever and he’s funny and he’s very—sweet. He has Dar’s dark eyes and most of his temper.
“I almost didn’t come,” he tells Darman plainly. He needs to hear himself say it—it might be the closest he’s ever gotten to acknowledging this thing that has somehow sprouted between them, strange and fragile and wonderful and awful in turns as it is.
Darman huffs. He tilts his head: moonlight slides down his face, drawing the line of his cheekbone and his eyelashes and his jaw in silver. He crosses his arms: Sev wants to bite him, wants to sink his teeth in the muscle of his shoulders, lick the taste of rainwater and familiar sweat off his skin.
“What changed your mind?” Dar says. He sounds like he already knows the answer. He’s leaning towards Sev, swaying in the night wind like a reed.
This makes me feel like a person.
Sev shrugs. “I like swimming,” he replies instead. Dar snorts, loud and gross, and then there are wet arms around him, and Sev allows himself to be dragged under the waves, cane and clothes and ghosts and all.
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13 from bedsharing with DarSev?
MBW
:) @mandalorianbrainweasel
13. we fell asleep on the couch, watching a movie and wake up entangled with each other
Fi sometimes teases him for it, when Darman falls asleep somewhere in the middle of the day. He makes jokes about being up all night chasing monsters out from under beds, or getting too old too early, that kind of stuff. He gets away with it because he’s Fi, but mostly because he’s often conked out right alongside him, exhausted by his recovery and trauma, his excitable five year old nephew running rings around him, and life in general.
So when Darman comes-to with an effort not unlike trying to wade through tar, he sort of groans and relaxes into the shoulder he’s propped up against.
He’s warm. He’s always too warm in Kyrimorut. Parja says it wasn’t like this before everyone got back, but Dar doesn’t think much of it—he still doesn’t like it, still hates being here where he feels this foreboding crawling under his skin. Etain was here, once, he always ends up thinking.
The body under him shifts and some sharp bone digs into Darman’s side.
“Mmhph,” he says, intelligibly, and tries to squirm away from it.
“Sorry,” says Sev, because it’s definitely Sev’s voice and not Fi’s, and Darman is abruptly much more awake now he’s felt his heart drop in his chest.
“Did I wake you?” he asks. The light has gone dim in here. Wasn’t there supposed to be something on the holoscreen?
Sev’s bony knee retracts from Darman’s thigh too and Dar almost slips off his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Did the show finish?”
“I—think so.”
Sev sighs. His chest expands and collapses heavily, moving Darman’s body with it. Darman feels a little electrified: his fingers are tingly and his face feels numb.
Sev’s head shifts as if he’s looking around, and he sighs again. Darman can’t be bothered to move; he doesn’t want to.
“Do you need me to move?” Dar is sure his arm must have gone numb by now.
“No,” Sev replies. “No need.”
It’s always too warm in Kyrimorut. Niner says Darman has a habit of falling asleep when he’s warm.
He lets his eyes close again.
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Hello congrats on surviving S1!!! may I ask for 2 & darsev (I miss them)
hi len! here they are :) somehow they've turned out to be one of my comfort ships lmao
the song was t.i.w.y.g by savages. post canon, non-compliant, established but more or less secret relationship. feat. fi being annoying
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The sun’s beating down on Dar’s head, sweat running down his back under his shirt. He wipes his face against his shoulder and squints down at the speeder engine.
This is usually Atin’s job, but he’s away doing—something. Dar exhales, annoyed, and tries to remember where went what, idly spinning the hydrospanner in his left hand.
Someone whistles at his back. Dar rolls his eyes before turning to look over his shoulder at Fi. He’s leaning on his cane while he leers at Dar, looking fresh and well-rested, and he’s not alone: Sev’s with him, hanging a few steps behind Fi, staring at Dar with his head tilted. The sun’s at his back and in Dar’s eyes.
Dar shushes Fi, jerking his chin at the shade under the yard’s ancient veshok. Kad’s there, asleep in Besany’s chair. He’s been dreaming again—Dar’s started letting him nap whenever he can, worried about the dark shadows under his four year old’s eyes.
“Wake him up and I’ll see if Vau lets me borrow Mird,” Dar tells him cheerfully, keeping his voice low.
“Oops, sorry,” Fi says, grinning widely, utterly unrepentant. “How’s the engine going?”
“Well. It clearly isn’t,” Dar replies. Fi snorts. “Su’cuy, Sev.”
Sev grunts; Dar smiles at him, and doesn’t take it personally. He looks good: flushed and healthy, his hair too long and curling around his neck, his arms and his face a deep brown. He’s wearing overalls, the upper part tied around his waist and his knees dusty—must have been out back, messing with the gate again.
“Niner’s back with the food,” Fi says. He’s looking between Dar and Sev with an unreadable expression on his face. “He asked me to come get you boys.”
Dar glances back at his engine and huffs. “I wanted to be done with this today,” he complains. Fi snorts and starts moving, cane digging soundlessly in the soft dirt.
“Sev can help you after dinner,” he says airily. “Come on.”
Dar raises an eyebrow and looks at Sev; Sev’s scowling at Fi’s back.
“It looks like you’ve been volunteered,” Dar comments. Sev shakes his head slightly.
“It’s okay,” he replies. His eyes flicker down at Dar’s hands, dirty with grease and general speeder muck, and he starts moving towards Kad. He’s somehow still asleep, small face relaxed and his mouth open. Sev scoops him up like it’s nothing, and Kad just sighs and keeps on sleeping, head in the space between his shoulder and his neck.
Dar doesn’t need to check: Fi’s back inside, and everyone else is either busy or in the house. He steps closer, taking care to not touch Sev’s clothes with his greasy hands, and kisses him, quick and off-center. Sev smiles into the kiss before turning away, rough hands holding Kad against his chest.
The sun’s low in the sky, painting it all in bright orange, turning their shadows into long, thin ribbons of darkness. Dar follows Sev and his son back into the karyai, thinking about Etain and his son and Kyrimorut and the family, and about choices and the careful way Sev has of holding Kad.
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5. for darsev? :3c
hi len 💕fix it, established relationship. make outs but make them psychogeography lmao. 395w. the prompt was feeling their pulse.
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Darman’s waiting for him behind the shack where they leave the speeders in the summer months: everything smells of dust and hot metal, and his face is flushed, his skin sweat-slick and hot to the touch. His bare shoulders are brown and freckled under his tank top, and his hair is in his eyes, and he looks both defiant and gleeful, dark eyes reflecting the harsh, heavy sunlight and his wide grin brittle.
He grabs Sev by the wrist, tugs at him until Sev rolls his eyes and follows him into the shade of the wall, and then Dar’s mouth is on him, on his cheek and on his mouth, still grinning, verging on manic. Sev lets himself be moved around, more than happy to let himself be kissed: he’s learned to go along with Dar’s moods when he gets like this—and it’s not like he minds.
He’s still wearing his leathers, and he feels like he’s slowly cooking to death, but Dar has always liked how he looks in them: he tugs at the zipper, pulls it down, and then his hands are on Sev’s waist, slipping under his sweaty shirt.
Sev won’t ever get used to this. Dar’s mouth, Dar’s hands, Dar’s stubborn affection. Sev crowds him against the wooden wall of the shack, making it shudder, his gloved hands tangled in Dar’s overlong hair, and doesn’t ask why or how, doesn’t point out the fact that they’re out in the open; Sev doesn’t ask after Kad or after the rest of Clan Skirata.
The noise of the cicadas is deafening. Sev ducks his head to lick at the underside of Dar’s jaw, drinking in his familiar smell and the way Dar shivers under his tongue, and lets him pull at his jacket until it drops to the ground with a dull noise.
There’s something about the air in Kyrimorut. Sev misses Kad, misses Dar and Fi and some of the rest, but he has never regretted leaving; he won’t ever come back. The hot summer breeze curls around his arms, dries the sweat off the back of his neck, but its embrace feels smothering, like the wind has hands and fingers and eyes. Sev closes his eyes tightly, focuses on Dar’s heartbeat under his mouth on his neck, and thinks: I hate this place. And: I’m so glad you hate it too.
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hi len!!!! darsev and 36 (lifting the other up) from the touching prompts list? (/post/686703804696166400 on my tumblr)
Hi!! <3
Dar finds him by the pond. Finds is maybe a kind word. Falls over would perhaps be more accurate. Sev supposes it’s fair—the grasses are very long, wild grown and mingling with the water rushes, and Sev had been hidden in his slouching seat on the bank.
Little fish waft around the shallows of the water. It’s so clear that Sev can pick out different shades and shapes of pebble in the sediment. Little bubbles drift and pop on the surface whenever a curious mouth broaches in search of food, and ripples bob lazily along in the wake of skating insects and the diving of one far away waterfowl.
The breeze rushes through the fronds that wave about them. It’s peaceful here.
Darman sprawls on his back in the grass. His eyes are closed and his arms are folded behind his head. His thigh is warm and pressed up against Sev’s and he, too, looks peaceful.
Sev scoops a tiny blue insect from the hem of his shirt and lets it run around the broken planes of his knuckles.
“Have you ever swum in there?” Darman asks. The shock of his voice is like a breaking window in the quiet and entirely natural all at once.
Sev shakes his head. Darman’s eyes are still closed. “No.”
Dar hums thoughtfully. “Is it deep enough?”
Probably not. Wading birds never venture far past the beach but Sev is sure the middle can’t be more than a metre deep, at best. Maybe Darman is thinking about the children.
“We should try it one day,” Darman answers himself, entirely casual. Then, swiftly and without warning, he sits up and pushes himself to his feet. “Parja asked me to get you. She thinks she’s fixed your problem with the new knee joint.”
Turning, Dar offers his hands to Sev. He does it like he’s used to it—Sev has watched him do it before, hefting his giggling son up and into the air lots and lots of times.
Sev puts his hands in both of Dar’s and lets himself be hauled up onto less than steady feet, the old knee creaking on crotchety servos and geriatric gears. Lets Dar’s fingers slip and catch between his own as if it were normal, or allowed.
“All good?” Darman asks him, and takes Sev’s taciturn shrug for confirmation enough.
And if their fingers brush again on the way back to the house, Sev’s sure Dar’s just sticking close in case he falls.
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Of the OTP things, dar/sev (I am predictable apologies) with 29. Who is the better cook?
hi len!! ❤️
29. Who is the better cook?
i think it's darman? i think he decided to learn how to cook once he started taking care of kad, and while i think that sev isn't completely useless, dar knows how to make more complicated stuff and ends up getting pretty good at it.
sev likes helping though.
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Darman/Sev + 4?
— MandalorianBrainWeasel
hi pax!!! the song was rober frost, by mal blum. 580w. dar and kal argue about kad, and dar decides to leave kyrimorut.
Now I'm looking at the ground because I don't want you to leave / I know it's co-dependent / But I think it's kind of sweet / Out of every person in this city / I could ever meet / Leaving feels like losing / But I'm learning what I need
Kad’s stuff is already in the bags by the door. Dar rubs at his mouth and looks around the small room one last time. The wide bed under the row of thin, slit-like windows; the wardrobe by the opposite wall; the place where Kad’s cot used to be. He shifts his weight and breathes in, breathes out, and then he crosses the room towards the open wardrobe doors and starts pulling out clothes from the first drawer.
He doesn’t owe that many things. A few changes of clothes, thick socks, a funny shirt Fi found somewhere. One of Etain’s soft undershirts, left in Kyrimorut many years ago, still soft, so impossibly small. It doesn’t smell like her, not anymore, but sometimes Dar likes to pretend it does.
The room’s very quiet, and so is the corridor right outside: Dar’s own sigh is so loud he fancies he can hear it echo. Everyone else is in the kitchen, or in the main room of the farm, or outside: they’re either hiding from him or from Kal.
Dar pauses. He stands there for a beat, opening and closing his fists, eyes closed and jaw clenched tight.
He hates his own anger. He isn’t quite sure if it always turned him so cold and cruel and brittle, but now it does, and it disgusts him, it scares him, it’s ugly and awful and he hates that it’s also useful.
The door hinges squeak. Dar blinks at the empty wardrobe and turns on his heel. He feels his scowl freeze and then crack in two. He tilts his head in question.
“Sev? Where’s Kad?” he asks.
Sev licks his lips. He stays by the door, big scarred hand hanging onto the frame, and shifts his weight.
“With Laseema,” he rasps in answer. Dar feels something unclench inside his chest. “They’re outside.”
Dar exhales in relief. He watches Sev while he steps further into the room, closing the door at his back with infinite care.
Atin was the first to leave; in retrospect, they all should have seen it coming.
For a beat, they just stare at each other, and then Sev looks down and away. He’s still wearing his coat, and there’s melting snow on his shoulders, and his hair’s wet. His ungloved hands are red, the knobbly knuckles obvious and scarred under the thin skin of his fingers. Dar swallows and looks away from Sev’s hands, feeling dumb and lost and young, Etain’s shirt still hanging from his own.
He carefully folds it in half with the ease of practice, and then crosses the room and places it inside his bag.
“Something wrong?” he makes himself say. Sev blinks, shrugs, scowls. He presses his lips together and tugs at his wild curls and then he’s already opening the door, already leaving, flushed and awkward, dark eyes troubled, and Dar’s black rage fizzles and dims. “Sev, what—?”
“‘S nothing,” Sev grumbles, but he stays by the door, looking out at the corridor. “Nothing important.”
Dar scowls. He opens his mouth, and Sev sighs, frustrated.
“You said you had to leave,” he reminds Darman, and he’s right, and Darman hates that he is.
“You could come with us,” Dar tells him without thinking. Sev blinks at him and then looks away, scoffing. Dar scowls. “I mean it.”
“I know,” Sev says. He smiles, tiny and there and just that tiny bit bitter.
He does, but whatever reason—his brothers, Vau, Sev’s own—he won’t.
Or: not yet.
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i’ll probably post at least some of them to ao3, but until then: a list with the last batch of prompt fics:
waxer/boil + huddling for warmth; 550w
fox/alpha 17 + flirting under fire; 400w
darman/sev + inconvenient attraction; 460w
cody/fox + fake dating (+undercover); 656w
codex + only one bed; 556w
cody/obi-wan/rex + sharing a bed; 589w
fox/echo + time loop; 565w
codex + imperial triple agent cody; 651w
fox/dogma + (bloody) snuggling; 570w
fox/echo + confessions; 463w
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chained to all the places that he never wished to stay — Sev/Darman
(So close to finishing this series besties)
Read on ao3
Summary:
The orbital station is small and busy. Darman keeps his hood up and his scarf over his nose despite the cloying humidity and keeps walking.
#managed to post this without a summary by accident#darsev#darman skirata#sev#dar/sev#star wars#cloneshipping#repcomm#republic commando#writing tag#fic post
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https://cabezadeperro.tumblr.com/post/665726380688998400 Sev/Darman & Kad? — MandalorianBrainWeasel
hi pax!!!! from this post.
very domestic vibes, established relationship, post canon au. 487w
The early morning mist is cool against the skin of his face. Sev digs his cold hands into his jacket pockets and walks after Kad, keeping an eye on him and another one on the place where the sea and the sky meet. The horizon’s hard to find—the water’s the same color of the sky, slate grey and deep blue and pink where the clouds are touched by the sun’s light. A storm is brewing far away to the north, and now and then a gust of wind blows water and foam in their faces, making Kad yell and complain and laugh.
The waves lap softly against the shore, rattling the small stones and making the sand bloom. It has very little to do with Kamino, but now and then Sev’s hit with a sudden rush of memory: hundreds of hours waiting on Kamino’s landing pads; his brothers, laughing and yelling and joking right before lights out.
Sev bites his lip and watches Dar’s kid. They had breakfast and then Darman shooed them out of the house, saying he wanted to get some stuff done before Fixer got there.
Sev doesn’t scoff, doesn’t laugh out loud, though he wants to, and he tries to keep the bitter, ugly snarl of feelings deep inside his chest, where Kad won’t be able to find it, but Fixer’s been saying he’ll visit for months.
Scorch is half-way to moving in with them, and Boss visits once or twice per week, but Fixer—Sev hasn’t seen his brother in three months, hasn’t spoken to him in years. Not really.
He won’t come. Sev knows he won’t. He turns his face and scowls at the sea.
It’s better that way.
When Kad’s tired himself out, Sev offers him his hand and they walk back to the little house Dar decided to make theirs after leaving Kyrimorut. It’s smaller and poorer than Skirata’s grand project, but it’s his—it’s theirs. Once they get there, Dar points his son towards the fresher, to wash his hands and change out of his outside clothes, and then he turns to Sev, already smiling, dark eyes warm and knowing and just a bit sad.
He grabs Sev’s hand when he tries to step into the hallway behind Kal, pulling him in, and Sev lets himself be hugged, hiding his face in Darman’s neck and closing his eyes. He smells warm and familiar, caf and skin and the soap they share.
“He called,” Dar says, his voice a quiet, deep rumble Sev can feel in his chest. “He’s on his way.”
Sev doesn’t ask who called. He doesn’t look too hard at the way it makes him feel. He swallows.
“He could have called me. I’m his shabla brother,” he says instead. “Chakaar.”
Dar snorts. They stay like that for long, precious seconds, and then Sev goes to make sure Kad isn’t messing again with the bathtub on his own.
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here they are! last weekend’s prompt fills!! again: i will probably post some of them/most of them to ao3 eventually.
ordo/maze + gaslamp fantasy (G, 520w)
sev/darman + pulp fiction (G, 563w)
codex + firsts (feat. obi-wan) (G, 500w)
fisev + casette futurism & glitch (G, 527w)
fox/echo/fives + glitch (fives lives!au) (G, 450w)
fives/hardcase + nuclear power (G, 480w)
cody/fox + cyberpunk dystopia (T, 520w)
cody/maul + dieselpunk (T, 450w)
maulrex + occult (T, 450w)
alpha-17/fox + cyberpunk noir (T, 560w)
#alt history writing prompts#cloneshipping#codex#foxteen#maulrex#codymaul#darsev#fisev#fiveshardcase#ordomaze#repcomm#im forgetting one for sure lol#codyfox#there it is lol#maría writes
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Sev/Darman + pulp fiction
(563w, G, tried to go for some kind of uncharted/hellboy vibes and failed, sorry u,u)
The train rattles, threatening to teeter off the tracks, plowing along and cutting the air like a sword. Sev blinks snow from his eyes and holds onto the back of the seat in front of him with numb fingers, snow and sleet hitting him in the face, getting into his eyes.
He can see the front of the train. Sev clenches his jaw and drags himself up again. His leg threatens to give out under him, but he grits his teeth and locks his knee.
His gun’s so cold in his hand it burns, and his hands still bleed where he managed to grab onto the train seconds before its back half fell down the chasm on both sides of the tracks. He’s so cold and so tired he feels half-delirious, but stopping isn’t an option. He can see the front of the train, and that means—that means he’s almost made it.
It was supposed to be an easy job. Get in, grab the artefact, get out. But then—but then, Darman and his team had to get involved, and now Sev’s in a runaway train, holding a gun with half a clip, and Darman is trapped in the engine room with a madwoman and a cursed fingerbone.
Sev swears, loud and furious, and gets moving.
He should have followed Scorch and the rest off that train. It’s what he told Scorch he’d do.
But then Darman—kind, stubborn, clever Darman, with his child and his dead wife and his smiles—decided to stay.
Sev swallows. He’s been left behind once. It was—he understands. He really does.
Darman isn’t like him—he doesn’t deserve it. Sev will get him out of this train if it kills him.
Sev makes it to the front of the train. The door’s locked from the inside, but he has a gun and steel toe boots and he’s running out of tracks, out of time, so he kicks at it until it breaks.
The engine room is dark and warm, a dry, searing heat that makes Sev curse and take a step back. His boots slip on the frozen metal grill in front of the door, and he grabs for the train, grips its metall walls with frozen fingers.
He heaves himself inside and looks around himself. In the white, snowy light that comes in through the open door he can see—Darman, on the floor, eyes closed but chest moving. His leather jacket is damp with snowmelt and blood—not his, please, nothis—and his goggles are cracked.
The finger is gone, and so is the woman who tried to steal it from them: in their place there’s a mess of blood and bone and viscera. Sev gags and looks away.
When he kneels at Dar’s side, blood soaks his trousers, but he ignores it. He cradles Darman’s cold face in his even colder hand, bites his lips.
Darman opens his eyes with a gasp. Sev helps him sit up, and when Darman throws his arms around his neck, Sev feels himself thaw and then melt. He breathes him in, hiding his face in the crook of Dar’s shoulder, and holds him tight.
“We need to leave,” he mutters. Darman nods. He swallows and leans away.
He pats one of his jacket pockets and smiles: it hurts worse than getting shot.
“I’ve got the finger,” he says. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
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For the prompts 👁 👁 inconvenient attraction Darman/Sev?
darsev and baking, 460w
“Are you done with that one?” Darman asks. Sev blinks and shakes himself. He looks back at him and nods. Darman smiles, a flash of dimples and freckles and white teeth, and Sev feels his stomach do something weird and uncomfortable.
He lets Darman slide the round, smooth ball of dough from under his hands and bites the inside of his cheek, keeping his eyes low, on the bowl by the corner and the big oven tray on the cold range.
Usually this is Ordo’s job, but he’s out on a hunt with his brothers, so Darman offered to do it instead, despite Kal’s disapproval.
Darman’s big hands finish balling up the last piece of dough, and Sev watches him place it carefully on the tray, along with the rest of them, the muscles on his forearms tensing when he grabs it—it’s big, almost half a meter wide, and the shun’ikase are dense, the spongy, elastic dough weirdly heavy.
“And now they need to rest for another half an hour,” Darman is saying to himself, his eyes fixed on the datapad with Ordo’s instructions. He cuts a glance at Sev; he folds his arms, doesn’t miss the way Darman’s eyes flicker to his shoulders. His face feels warm—the kitchen is very hot—but he raises an eyebrow. Darman’s smile turns crooked, sweeter; it turns dangerous. “Can you do the thing? With the—?”
Yes. The towels. Sev fishes two clean, synthcotton rags from the drawer under the sink, wets them, wrings out the excess water. He can feel Darman’s eyes on his back.
Darman crosses the kitchen and stops at Sev’s side. They cover the shun’ikase, their shoulders touching now and then. Sev looks at Darman’s hands, his arms, the careful way he tucks the towel under the tray, the play of the bright afternoon light on the sparse hair on the back of his hands, the burn scar on the jut of his left wrist and the way his skin shines slightly with sweat and water and the oil they used on the dough.
Everything smells of spices and leavening dough and sugar and citrus, but somehow Darman’s smell—clean sweat, the soap they all use to wash their clothes, something else Sev cannot name but recognises—is stronger and distracting. Sev scowls down at the tray and flexes his hands before moving away and starting towards the door to the yard.
“Sev?”
Sev stops. “What.”
He doesn’t turn to look at Darman, because then he’ll stay, and he wants it too much.
A frustrated sigh. “Nothing.”
Sev thinks about: Darman’s hands on him, Sev’s hands around Darman’s wrists, the feel of oil on skin, cinnamon and oranges on the crook of Darman’s neck, under his jaw.
He grunts something back and then leaves.
#fisev#repcomm#maría writes#cloneshipping#tropes ask game#the shun'ikase are fogasetas/monas#the name is a literal translation of fogaseta too (fogaseta means little bread rolls in valencian more or less)#it's a kind of spiced sweet bread a bit similar to challah#that's eaten in southwestern spain during easter
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