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You hear the door open. Hear him enter, shutting it behind him and calling out for you. But you don’t respond. You can’t. You can’t do anything but lay there, staring straight ahead.
He calls out again, slight worry in his voice. You don’t move. Finally he finds you, curled on your bed, curtains drawn, eyes open, staring at nothing.
“Oh, cyare...” Hunter comes closer, sitting on the edge of your bed. Your eyes flick to him. It’s hard to see in the dim light, but you can tell he’s unarmored, long hair pulled up into a bun. Civi mode, you called it. His voice is gentle and quiet.
This isn’t the first time he’s found you like this, and it won’t be the last. He knows what to do for you.
He leans down, brushing your hair back and placing a tender kiss on your brow. Your eyes close at the contact, savoring the feeling of his soft lips on your skin. The bed creaks as he shifts, crawling over to lay next to you. He pulls you back against his chest, pressing his face into your hair with a sigh. Your body reacts on its own, shifting closer, craving his touch.
His hands glide up and down your side, brushing down your hips and thighs, then back up to your shoulder, again and again. His lips place gentle kisses on your hair, and occasionally he presses his forehead against you, nuzzling at your shoulder or neck. You can feel your body relaxing, the tention and stress melting away under his touch.
Hunter had that magic, that gentleness that soothed you. He never judged you, never asked anything of you when you were like this. He was only ever understanding and caring.
He sighs into your hair, breathing you in and pulling you even closer. But he hesitates, reaching up and taking a lock of your hair in his hands. He runs his fingers over it, brow furrowing.
“When was the last time you showered?” He asks softly. You give him no answer, shame coursing through you. But when he sits up, he brings you with him. He leans you against his chest and looks you in the face. “Alright mesh’la, come on.” He smiles, fingers brushing your cheek. “Let's get you clean.”
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You let him guide you into the fresher, waiting silently as he started the water, checking the temperature. Once he is satisfied, he pulls his own shirt off, then his pants and undoes his hair, letting it fall around his shoulders. Normally, the sight of his bare body would turn you on, but you are too out of it to do more than admire him wordlessly.
His chest is toned and tanned, spotted with scars and the continuation of his trademark skull tattoo. It continues all the way down to his hip bone and down his left arm, ribs, pelvis, and arm bones all printed in black ink. Dark hair is scattered across his pecs, stopping at his stomach, then resuming below his belly button in a treasure trail. His shoulders are strong and broad, a contrast to his shapely waist. His arms and legs are large and powerful, but right now, they are only gentle.
He steps towards you with a smile, eyes flashing a bit of cockiness at your gaze. He presses a kiss to your cheek, his stubble scratching against you. His hands settle on your waist, slowly moving up your body and coaxing your dirty shirt up over your head, leaving your chest bare.
He continues to pepper your skin with kisses, down your neck and onto your shoulder, as he slowly eases your shorts and underthings off of you. Once they fall to the floor, he pulls you forwards, prompting you to step out of them. He keeps a gentle hold of your hand as he guides you into the stream of hot water.
You close your eyes, a contented sigh escaping your lips as the water glides over you. Hunter is right there with you, his chest against your back, kissing your neck and shoulders tenderly. His hand appears on your waist, a soapy cloth held in it. He drags the soft fabric slowly over your skin, never stopping his gentle assault on your neck.
He washes you slowly, gliding over your hips, legs, stomach and back. Eventually he turns you to face him, pulling the cloth across your chest and neck. He kisses your lips.
Your eyes close instinctively, not quite returning the kiss, but definitely not resisting. You let his soft tongue push between your lips, brushing over yours lovingly. He pulls away just enough to speak.
“Keep your eyes closed cyare...”
You do as he says, soon feeling the soft touch of the cloth on your cheeks. He takes great care washing your face, not letting any of the soap near your eyes or mouth. Finally he brushes his wet hand over you, wiping away any leftover suds.
You open your eyes.
His smile is heart wrenchingly soft, his fingers hovering mere inches away from your cheek. You can’t find it in you to return his smile, but you press yourself against his palm, kissing it softly. He very nearly grins at your return of affection. His thumb strokes your skin, dark eyes warm.
“Turn around for me, ner cyar’ika?” He asks gently. You obey easily, turning your back to him once more. Seconds later you feel his fingers sink into your hair, massaging shampoo gently onto your scalp.
Your eyes flutter closed, lips parting in a silent act of pleasure. His fingers move gently, working the soap into your tangled locks. There isn't even a twinge of pain as he untangles it expertly. You lean into his touch, breath hitching at the soothing sensation.
Before you can stop it, the tears are falling.
A sob racks your chest, your arms coming up to wrap around yourself as you cry. Hunter calmly turns you back to face him, pulling you into an embrace. You let yourself fall apart in his arms.
“Shhh, ner mesh’la,” He whispers, his voice low and soft against your ear. “Udesiir, cyare. Ni juaan gar.”
The Mando’a sends pleasant shivers down your spine. He has taught you enough to know what he is saying to you.
“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum” He murmurs, pressing his lips to your temple. You wish you could return the words, but your voice had abandoned you long ago. Instead you raise your head from where it rests on his shoulder, and press your lips to his.
He returns the kiss gently, but steadily. He doesn't even flinch when you sob against his mouth, taking your face in his hands and wiping away tears with the pads of his thumbs. You press your body to him, craving the comfort of his skin against yours. He obliges easily.
Finally you pull away. Your tears have stopped, and your shoulder-wracking sobs are few and far between.
Hunter places one more tender kiss to your lips, before tilting your head back gently, into the stream of water. He washes the soap from your hair without a word, fingers scratching against your scalp, making you feel like you’re floating.
A soft kiss on your jaw brings you back down to earth. Your eyes meet his.
You don’t think you will ever get over how beautiful his eyes are. The deepest of browns, so rich and warm. You have seen his eyes alright with laughter, or burning with a fierce protective rage, darkened by lust and sparking with cocky mischief.
But all you see now is pure, unfiltered, unconditional love. It’s enough to make the tears start again.
This time he kisses them away, soft and slow. His hands graze up and down your body, feeling your hips, your back, your arms. You shiver under his touch
“Mesh’la...” He murmurs softly. “Ner mesh’la.”
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An hour must have passed by the time Hunter shuts off the water and guides you out of the shower. He wraps you in a robe, and himself in a towel, then pulls you gently by the hand into your living room. He sits you on the couch, kissing your temple before disappearing into the kitchen.
You are just starting to get antsy when he returns, carrying two bowls of steaming soup. He sets them on the table, sitting next to you and pulling you close. You nestle against his still bare chest, placing your cheek against his heart. You can see him smiling down at you out of the corner of your eye.
“I know you’re tired, cyar’ika, but can you eat?” he asks gently, brushing his fingers through your drying hair. You nod softly. He smiles widely, picking up the soup and handing you a bowl.
You almost wish he would feed it to you, but you weren't incapable. Besides, he needed to eat as well. But he did stay there, pressed against you as you ate together in silence.
He takes the bowls when you are both done, then returns. He crouches in front of you, gently guiding your chin to look at him.
“Do you want to sleep?” His thumb brushes your bottom lip as he speaks.
Pausing for a moment, you think. You are tired, you are relaxed, but you do not want to sleep yet. You shake your head. He smiles softly.
“Alright. Holovid?”
You nod. You don't care what you did, you just want to spend more time with your head tucked against him, his fingers in your hair.
You both lay out on the couch, Hunter pulling you atop his chest. You can hear his heart beating steadily under his ribs, the sound lulling you into comfort.
For the first time in the day, your lips curl into a small smile.
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You may not want to sleep, but sleep doesn't care what you want. When you wake you are back in your bed, Hunter's arms wrapped around you, eyes closed and breathing even.
He wakes easily when you stir, always a light sleeper. He smiles when you meet his eyes.
“Hey mesh’la.” He mutters, voice heavy with sleep. You return his smile.
“Hey cyar’ika.” You reply. Your voice is croaky from lack of use, but he doesn't seem to mind. His close lipped smile splits into a grin.
“Feeling better?”
You nod, snuggling against his chest. He pulls you impossibly closer, breathing you in. You are both on the edge of falling back into sleep, but Hunters touch roams your body, just feeling you. He caresses your skin, grazing his fingertips up and down your side, massaging if he finds tension. You sigh, melting under his hands.
His touch becomes slower, lighter, as his eyes start to droop. You take his hand in yours, stilling him. His lips twitch in a barely there smile.
“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum” You whisper, repeating the words he had taught you so long ago. The Mando’a comes easily to you now.
“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner mesh’la cyare.” He whispers back.
You press your lips to his, softly, tenderly, hoping to convey all the love and gratitude you have for this man.
He returns the kiss sleepily. By the time you break apart, he is unconscious.
You whisper into the dark.
“Thank you, ner cyare.”