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The first time Lonni fucks Heert, it’s more as if Heert fucks him.
It’s Centaxday night, and they’re at Heert’s place. They’ve had a few drinks. Lonni could have left it at that. It wouldn’t be too hard to come up with an excuse and leave at the right moment; he waited, instead, prompted by an urge he’d much prefer not to unpack.
That Heert would try something was as obvious as the fact Chandrila has two moons. Lonni had seen the glances Heert kept stealing at him at work and during their Benduday bar nights. They’ve become much more frequent over the last few months, the glances. Heert’s gaze would linger on Lonni as Lonni sipped his usual 1100 caf or checked his datapad in between meetings. He’d watch Lonni, mesmerized, at the COMPNOR building service entrance whenever Lonni took a drag on the occasional cig-stick he allowed himself during all-nighters.
So Lonni could expect things to lead to that. Heert making a move.
What he didn’t expect was for his breath to catch when Heert leads him to the bedroom.
It’s the Avril Heert he’s known for years, and yet it isn’t. All of Heert’s insecurities tend to disappear the moment he shrugs off his tunic. There’s an ease to the way he moves that seems to have come with practice.
Heert places his hand on Lonni’s shoulder; the gesture is reassuring in a way Lonni had never thought this man to be capable of.
“You haven't done this before, have you?”
“Not with a man.” This could have been an opportunity for irony, but Lonni’s throat goes dry when Heert traces his lips with a finger.
“Thought so.” Heert sounds almost innocent as he plants a light kiss on Lonni’s chin. “It’s best you lie down.”
He fixes Lonni with a coy yet reassuring smile as he keeps undressing; Lonni watches him from the bed, unable to say anything. He finds his own behaviour irritating: thirty-six is too old for the sight of a half-naked body to render you tongue-tied. Or to make your cheeks burn and your forehead sweat.
The only thing Heert leaves on is a standard-issue officers’ uniform undershirt. His cock, already hard and leaking, brushes at the undershirt’s hem. Somehow, the sight makes heat rush to Lonni’s face faster than the mental image of Heert not wearing anything.
“So.” Heert settles his small, lean frame atop Lonni. “Tell me what you want.”
“Mm.” Lonni brushes his fingers along Heert’s thigh: smooth skin and occasional dark hairs, unexpectedly soft. “I…must admit…I’m a bit out of my depth.”
Heert’s laughter is breathy, delighted, not a trace of the tension that usually radiates off him in COMPNOR corridors.
It’s not that Lonni doesn’t know anything whatsoever. He’s been married for eight years; he’d dated women before. In his years in law enforcement, he’s had to learn more than his fair share of things you don’t talk about in a polite society. There were madams and high-end brothel hostesses he bribed for intel on people he was monitoring, both for the ISB and the cause. He’s run raids on all sorts of places and confiscated all sorts of items as evidence.
The story of how his attendant accidentally wandered into the Corellian senator’s — the former Corellian senator’s — Federal District apartment sex dungeon during an arrest is a party classic. Lonni has mastered the art of telling it while maintaining the decorum that Major Partagaz expects of Imperial officers.
It’s just that some things he’s never had the opportunity or — later — energy to experiment with. There was a time he could have asked Daena to try something new. Before she started casting suspicious looks at him whenever she’d see him in his ISB uniform. Now she freezes every time he tries to hug her, and solving that problem might require disregarding every security principle he and Luthen established.
(It’s just that he hasn’t been touched like this in months.)
Heert shifts his hips slightly, and Lonni groans.
“What was it again?” Heert ruffles Lonni’s hair; the touch, light as it is, sends shivers down Lonni’s spine.
And here Lonni thought he was good at reading people and anticipating their next steps. Heert grabs his hand before he can answer. What Heert does then is bring it to his lips. Lonni lets out a sharp, shaky breath when Heert licks his palm. Then, without saying anything, Heert brings it to his cock.
“I’m sure this you know how to do.”
His balls are nicely warm when Lonni cups them: thin, delicate skin, not a hair in sight, slightly smaller than Lonni’s. Lonni figures it’s a good idea to start with the balls; he personally has always enjoyed that, even though Heert might have his own preferences when it comes to handjobs.
As it turns out, the balls strategy is a working one.
Heert gasps. “Look at you. Already doing so well.”
“I wonder—” Lonni clears his throat. “Is there anything you’d recommend for a first-timer?”
His voice sounds more strained than he’d hoped.
Heert grinds his hips against Lonni’s again, which makes Lonni hiss. The coy smile returns. “Oh, cockwarming, definitely. It’s all the rage back home.”
“I’m—” Lonni grabs Heert’s hip with his free hand as Heert keeps grinding. “I’m not sure I know what that means.”
He can name at least twenty blends of space he’s had to handle while working on cases, or provide a comprehensive classification of tattoos Hutts give to their sex slaves. The map of popular cruising spots by Coruscant’s district, just like that of Coruscant’s brothels and drug dens, is something he can recreate from memory at 0300.
And yet, he doesn’t know what in the galaxy cockwarming is.
“Don’t worry.” Heert thrusts into Lonni’s fist but doesn’t lose the light-hearted tone. “We have plenty of time to teach you everything. But we’ll start with something simple.”
“Simple,” Lonni repeats.
“I need five minutes to prepare,” Heert says softly, carding his fingers through Lonni’s hair. “Then you’ll eat me out. I assume that’s something you should be familiar with. And then you will rail me, and I mean, rail.”
“I’ll do my absolute best.” Lonni tries to keep his tone ironic, even though he’s so hard now it’s almost painful.
With anyone else, such a way to put these things into words — “you’ll rail me” — would have been a mood-killer. Heert makes it sound more natural than “I need a drink” at a Senate investiture party.
Later, Lonni eats Heert out for a good twenty minutes, until Heert is shaking and sobbing and fisting the sheets, and Stars, the sight does things to Lonni’s self-esteem.
Soon, Heert is on all fours; Lonni is pounding into him with such abandon his whole body will likely ache for a week. Thank the Maker these new Federal District apartment buildings have soundproof walls: at first, when Lonni hears Heert’s screams, he almost stops to check if Heert needs a pain hypo. The hiss he gets in response, though, is fairly self-explanatory.
Afterwards, as they lie beside each other, sweat-drenched, catching their breath, Heert rests his head on Lonni’s chest.
“So.” Idly, Lonni strokes Heert’s hair. “Cockwarming, was it?”
Tired as he is, he finds himself wanting to learn more.
(This — flirting with Heert, cultivating their relationship — was a thing he did to get intel. Who’d think it could make Lonni feel like he wasted years of his life. Like he had never had truly good sex in his life until today.)
“Kriff’s sake,” Heert groans. “Not now.”
They don’t return to the subject until months later.
Lonni does make his fair share of discoveries in the meantime. He now knows that his favorite sex position when he is with a man is “Avril Heert on top, riding you like his life depends on it.” With enough preparation, bottoming for Heert proves to be rather nice too, especially when Lonni is lying on his stomach, and Heert kisses his nape.
He learns two classic blowjob techniques. Three last-minute ways to quickly get rid of bitemarks and hickeys. Four dirty talk strategies that never fail to work on Heert. As a matter of fact, Lonni now has quite the talent for the latter: he can keep his voice even and collected no matter what.
So when their conversations return to cock-warming, Lonni considers himself moderately experienced already. Nevertheless.
“Are you quite sure you want to, um, watch Love Planet while we’re at it?”
Heert’s interest in a reality holoshow where a dozen of the dumbest people in the galaxy try to date each other while fighting for survival in Outer Rim jungle has to be studied.
“Of course I want to watch Love Planet,” Heert says. “There’s a krayt dragon incident, I’ve read. Most exciting.”
“Is the dragon dating someone too?”
“No, they’re saying he eats someone. But who knows.”
“There are no krayts in the jungle,” Lonni says. “It’s not a desert.”
“Then it must have been some other dragon.” Heert lowers himself on the sofa and throws one pillow on the floor. “Undress and get on your knees, please.”
There are two glasses on the caf table: a tall cocktail one, filled with Naboo gin, ice, and millaflower juice, and a Corellian whisky one. Heert takes the cocktail. He keeps his uniform on, only unclasps the belt and unzips the trousers.
The concept of cockwarming Lonni researched on his own before Heert remembered to fill that gap in his sex education. It’s hardly the worst thing he has had to look up on the holonet from a burner comm. The idea is pretty straightforward: just sit in place with a cock in your mouth. Truth be told, he only brought up trying it on principle.
When Lonni gets down on his knees and moves closer to Heert, he’s sure this will not last for longer than ten minutes, not with Outer Rim lizards roaring in the background.
He takes Heert in his mouth, trying to focus on the texture and taste of Heert’s cock.
“You’re doing so well,” Heert says.
Well. If everything else proves underwhelming, the praise thing alone should be enough to justify this, Lonni thinks.
How he loses track of time, he’s not sure. He doesn’t notice when the constant whirlwind of thoughts in his head stops; it simply does. The ache in his jaw doesn’t even register as a significant distraction. He doesn’t hear any dragon roar, screaming, fights in Huttese and Basic, or other typical sounds that accompany a Love Planet episode. All there is the weight of Heert’s cock in his mouth, the slight throb of it, the hint of salt on Lonni’s tongue. The softness of the pillow under his knees. The way Heert strokes him behind his ear. When Heert isn’t in his “Core’s most annoying man” mode, he seems to possess an almost preternatural ability to do exactly what Lonni needs.
“Are you quite all right?” Heert’s voice snaps Lonni out of that floaty state.
“Mhm,” Lonni manages, pulling back. “Yes. Yes.”
Over the years of working undercover, he’s gained enough knowledge of antidepressants to tell if Doctor Gorst hated certain officers by the choice of pills administered “unofficially” for “work-related stress”.
As it turns out, Lonni may have needed less orthodox anxiety management methods.
“You like this.” Heert smiles at him, setting aside the empty glass. “Don’t you?”
“Yes,” Lonni murmurs. “I do.”
Some things, he supposes, are all the rage for a reason.
He would prefer, however, not to dwell on what he might learn about himself next.