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I got possessed by feelings late at night so enjoy this sketch made in a haze despite my crippling artblock. Don't ask me how they're nearly the same heights i guess Jaster is standing on a box.
My terrible non-revised writing for this is under the cut:
Plo allows Jaster to gently catch a hand around his nape, pulling him forward into a mirshmure'cya. For a moment, the rest of the sounds in the hangar fade away into a quiet lull and Plo lets himself breathe in tandem with his partner, sort through his worry.
He brings his taloned hands to Jaster's sides, the claw-guards clinking against the plates of painted beskar until both of his hands are resting comfortably against the Mandalorian's ribs. He shivers slightly when Jaster's gloved thumbs brush against the soft, thin underside of his head in return.
It's a show of trust they're both familiar with, an exchange they repeat each time they let the other touch their most vulnerable sides.
"I'll call you once we're back," Jaster murmurs in the short space between them, "We can celebrate together then."
It isn't voiced like a question, but Plo hears the silent inquiry anyway. "Of course, I'll be waiting for you and Jango."
He smiles softly at the wave of unaltered affection that Jaster exudes immediately at his reply.
There is a tense quality to the Force that Plo can't quite understand, but it isn't an unusual display. It's the kind of feeling that permeates the very air around them each time they have to part ways, yet this time it seems much more potent.
Jaster's grip is firm and warm, and Plo can feel how each of his heartbeats says I love you, I love you, I love you, a chant that his own echo without any hesitation.
He hears someone's modulated voice somewhere behind Jaster, he recognizes it as a call even if he can't understand all of the words. Jaster's head tilts only ever so slightly upon hearing it, listening, but doesn't let go- pulls Plo ever so slightly closer to him even.
"I'll see you soon, ner kar'ta." He promises, and lets his hands slowly slip away from Plo's nape while the taloned hands remain hooked in the creases of his flightsuit for a moment longer.
"I love you." Plo says as Jaster allows himself to linger and press a kiss to one of the many embed patterns of Plo's antiox mask.
Jaster's smile is soft as he finally lets go, but Plo sees the sadness in his eyes as he looks at his partner as if committing him to memory. Plo knows that he is. "I love you even more," he replies with something close to his usual cheekiness, Plo chuckles quietly.
Other Haat'ade warriors start to pool into the hangar, and Plo watches as Jaster puts his helmet back on, shoulders his rifle and joins his people. No one will ask Plo to leave, so still he remains until the last of the ships leave for Korda Six.
And he starts waiting.
I want to say, from the bottom of my heart: Oops?
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