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contentment-of-cats · 1 year

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For admiral-arelami - Ba’kif/Pyrondi

@admiral-arelami

I hope that you enjoy your requested fic!

Ba’kif - he still cannot think of himself as Patriarch Labaki - is no stranger to marriage. As one of the Blood, he has done his duty to the bloodline long ago before he was promoted to general and had to leave spouses and children behind. As Humans say, he walked the walk instead of talking the talk. All of his babes are grown, many with children of their own, some followed him into the CEDF, others to the UAG, more into the Stybla economic engine of trade and shipbuilding. He’s advised many, mentored more, and now heads the Stybla since his retirement.

So, courting a fierce Human warrior ought to be a simple matter.

It isn’t.

Il’yana has her own family, of which she sees herself as head. There are the demands of her culture, the demands of her military rank, and her Chimaera shipkin. Labaki has been courting her steadily, carefully, and is mindful of her dignity and ferocity. In her view, she is a woman with many wyf and clanmates and she must care for them. Thrawn is mentoring her, Hammerly, Yve, and Agral for command-line, and Ba’kif approves.

If he’s being honest, he fell in love with her the moment she shot a grenade at him, defending an injured Thrawn and facilitating her shipkins’ escape from those she thought meant Thrawn harm. The warrior fled once the vessel carrying them Thrawn launched. Il’yana fell after being shot and missing a wild leap - almost to her death. He tried to comfort her then, sending her into coldsleep with murmured words she could not understand. In her recovery and hibernation sickness, he could not stay away from her. In her delirium she would throw punches at him, hallucinate, relive events of unparalleled horror. Ba’kif would swaddle her in her bedding, then hold her fast, even rock and sing to her - easing her, calming her, purring her back to sleep.

He brings his issues to Thrawn. After all, Thrawn is not only her superior officer, but among the rank of Ilyana’s spouses and shipkin. Not all Humans have just one, though it is prevalent and enforced by Imperial law - to which lip service is given and then otherwise ignored as foolishness. Thrawn listens, and asks for time to think about this and formulate a strategy to make that last wild leap - merging the Chimaera family with the Stybla.

It is some days later that he walks with Thrawn through the building called the Chimaera Nest, prodding him for his strategy. Thrawn, in the way of such things, is unhelpful. They come to a hatchway and Thrawn speaks - finally.

“However, after consideration and discussion, I have come to the conclusion that the simplest strategy is the best one to undertake.”

Ba’kif is well aware that he’s positively testy by this point - a pusheen annoyed to his limit by a kit who needs a scruffing. “And that is-”

The door opens and several things happen at once, all of them unexpected. The first is Thrawn’s hands planting on Ba’kif’s shoulder bladed. The second is Thrawn’s foot on his ass, using main force to shove him through the hatchway. The third is the hatchway slamming shut and locking behind him.

That impudent little bastard.

Ba’kif rounds on the doorway, reaching for his comlink and rasping, “When I get out of this room, and I assure you that I will, and once I lay my hands on you, we will discuss things at length and in detail, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

And to his ears comes the sound of a mirthful Human.

It is the sound of her laughter. He has it memorized.

The room is one of the garden rooms, populated with plants and adjusted to the climate of human homeworlds. It’s cool here, the room filled with the scents of boreal forest. When he turns, Il’yana is all he sees. Not in her uniform, or the casual clothing of home, but the clothing of her origin - an embroidered tunic and leggings, beaded ornaments, and a covered basket at her feet.

“He said to trust his strategy. I had no idea that ‘push and run like hell’ was a strategy.”

“He cannot run fast or far enough that I cannot lay my hands upon him, Il’yana.” He has not been this struck by anyone in many years. and Ba’kif chides himself. “I take it you were not in on this.”

“I had my guesses.” Cocking her head, the dainty Human looks up at him with her strange brown eyes, a warm and sweet musk teasing his senses. “Ba’kif, you have been most chivalrous.”

“You are a warrior, a leader, a woman of Family. I would not give you less than my greatest respect.”

“I fired a grenade at you.”

“I choose to find it part of your charms.” He is not breathless at his age. Certainly not.

“I remember what you said to me, even if I did not understand it at the time.” She is right under his nose, barely up to his collar bone. Ba’kif has held her in his arms many times through her recovery. “But as Yissa says, it is time to cut to the chase.”

And then she goes up on her toes to kiss him and the galaxy stops spinning.

Yis’sah told him that until Il’yana forms that emotional attachment, nothing else will happen. His arms go around her, lift her easily, and Il’yana melts on his tongue like ice cream. The heat of her mouth, the warmth of her even through her clothing makes his blood hot, and her mating musk blooms for him in an extravagant display.

“Over there.” The kiss breaks and she’s breathless, cheeks pink and eyes alight. “There’s a tent.”

“I’m still going to throttle him.” Ba’kif carries her and the basket to a small clearing and indeed there is a tent, piled with warmth and softness. “After I bless him.”

He lays her down in warmth and softness, watching her hair fall loose from her hood, teasing open the fastenings of her tunic and having words for the two extra layers of clothing under it. Poor thin-skinned Humans are sensitive to the cold. A hesitation allows Il’yana to carry out an attack on his robes, and infiltrate her hands. If she’s going to be peeled, so is he. They are warriors and do not flinch from their own or each other’s scars. Yes, he has seen her bare - getting Humans over their body taboos hurt his brain - but now he can fill his eyes with her. It pleases him that Il’yana likes what she sees, too.

And then she reaches for the little basket.

“Will you be wyf with me? Lean on me and I will lean on you? Walk beside me in our lives? Let me care for you as you have cared for me with an open heart?”

“I will, Il’yana.” That she would offer him nothing less leaves a pang next to his heart. He will not be asked to leave her for his duty.

The basket holds a small cake, and he recognizes Yis’sah’s specialty. Beside it is bottle of something green and a cup.

“Life holds bitter and sweet.” A small bite of sweet cake, a little sip of the bitter green liquor and his body relaxes, warming even more. “Let us share both.”

“Two families made one. Two people joined through all that comes. May our hearts and minds be joined. So let it be.”

A bite of cake offered to her lips, a small sip of the wine. “So let it be.”

Ba’kif tastes the wine from her lips as he eases Yana down into their nest, peeling the last layer from her.

A man who can see being in the cross-hairs of a grenade launcher as charming is charming in turn. Ba’kif was there when she went under, there when she woke up. From her hibernation-sickness delirium Ilyana remembers a deep, rumbling voice singing to her. Remembers being held in Ba’kif’s arms as sleep came and left her.

It always takes a while for her.

The connection, the growth, the trust. If it’s not there, then no spark kindles for her. It was that way with Yissa, Vanto, Thrawn, and now Ba’kif.

Oh, how he kindles her as she wrestles his underclothes off. Yes, she’s seen him as naked as a peeled hard-cooked egg. This is different. It always is. There is a lot of him. Big everywhere. Oh, but when he holds her close she can drown in his kiss, hold to him even as desire roars through her. Moreover, it seems that he is holding to her Pillow Princess status and as her first orgasm rings through her on his fingers, Il’yana is shamelessly loud about it. When it ebbs, she is soft, dreamy, open and oh burning for him again.

“Delicious.” He tastes her from his fingers, then moves in to feast.

Chiss men are all about making a woman climax. It takes work to get that ova to pop. Admittedly, Ilyana is working from a small sample size and bias besides but-

“Yes Ba’kif please oh please I need i i aiiiiiiiiiiii!”

When she’s melted across the blankets, wanting and wanton, he moves over her and into her. Ilyana’s breath hitches at the opening, the stretch of it as her back arches, taking Ba’kif’s cock into her. So much and so good she could burst from pleasure and he needs to know she’s not delicate and she won’t break and her legs barely wrap around him, pulling him in and pulling her into his thrust. Ilyana locks her legs around him, riding the crest as he starts to flare within her to find his own peak and flood her.

Chiss men are simply flattened by orgasm. The intensity and duration leaves Ba’kif atop her, smushed into the bed as she strokes the back of his neck, pressing kisses wherever she can reach. Ba’kif rolls to his back, taking her in his arms and holding her. A deep, rumbling purr weighs her eyes closed as Bakif pulls the quilts over them both.

#thrawn #fic requests #ba'kif #pyrondi #bettah run #doing the thing #admiral-arelami

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