Chapter 1: Part 1
Chapter Text
“Watch where you’re going.” Growls Commander Wolffe as I crash face-first into his chest.
I go stumbling back, before losing my balance and falling onto my rear. Almost immediately, a blush spreads across my face as I stutter, “O-okay.”
Wolffe pauses at the tone of my voice, before glancing down at me. “That’s all it takes to shut you up? A little close quarters?”
“I-I . . .”
Now he leans over me, hands on knees. “You want to tell me why you’re blushing?”
Now my entire face is flushed, and my palms are sweaty. I stumble for an answer for several moments, before Wolffe straightens up with a sharp huff that sounds almost like a laugh. Then, to my great dismay but great relief, he begins to walk away.
However, as he leaves the medbay, I hear him mutter under his breath, “ Gar jivaor catade tion'tuur gar neoioa, cyar'ika .”
Quickly, I commit those words to memory so I can ask one of the other troops to translate them later. I spend day after day with the Wolfpack, but I still have hardly picked up any Mando’a. That’s fine, though, because the other medic, Cynic, and I are good friends. I know he’ll answer my question — as long as I don’t tell him that Wolffe said that — just in case it’s something incredibly rude.
Unfortunately, I don’t get a chance to speak with the Wolfpack’s head medic until the next day.
I’m just finishing my shift when Cynic walks into the medbay. While setting a tray of food over the lap of a trooper who was injured in the last mission, I call the medic’s name.
His head snaps up from where he was typing on a datapad. Once his eyes find mine, he begins walking over. “What’s up?”
“I need you to translate something for me.”
I meet him at the foot of the trooper’s bed. Cynic shuts the data pad off, before crossing his arms and saying, “Alright.”
I shift nervously but force the words out. “The sentence is, ‘ Gar jivaor catade tion'tuur gar neoioa, cyar'ika .’ Do you know what that means?”
Faster than I thought was possible, a reddish tint blooms over Cynic’s face. Looking anywhere besides my face, he stutters through asking, “Who, uh . . . who said that to you?”
Now I blush and glance down at my feet. “Um . . . it was the commander.”
Suddenly, there’s the sound of choking. Both Cynic and I turn our gazes quickly to the trooper who is sitting in the bed with his dinner. He’s coughing and thumping his chest, trying to clear his airway. Finally, after another couple of moments, he looks up at us both and mutters, “Sorry. I just . . . uh . . . nevermind.” Then he firmly returns his attention to his food.
I glance back at Cynic, and he asks, “Wolffe said that to you?”
“Yeah. Why? Is it something incredibly rude?”
The medic’s flush only worsens. He glances over his shoulder. “Um . . . no. Not quite.”
I frown, confused. “Then . . . what does it mean?”
“Well . . .” Cynic coughs uncomfortably, and I feel like I should be catching on by now, but I’m not. “It means, well, uh . . . are you sure Wolffe said this?”
“Yes.”
“ The Commander Wolffe?”
“Yeah.”
“It wasn’t Sinker or Boost?”
I sigh in irritation. “Cynic, what are you getting at?”
He scrubs at his face with his hands, before groaning and responding, “What Wolffe said to you . . . it translates to, ‘You look gorgeous when you blush, darling.’”
Chapter 2: Part 2
Chapter Text
I glance up as the door to the medbay slides open. It’s been quiet all morning, and I was honestly beginning to think that I would simply be tidying up for my entire shift. Thankfully, I finally have something to do.
Unfortunately, one of the two people to walk through the door is Wolffe.
And he’s not wearing a shirt.
I hate how quickly I commit the picture in front of me to memory. I’ve never seen the commander without a shirt, however, and it’s really something spectacular. His shoulders are broad, his skin tan, and muscles thick. His chest is littered with scars from his many battles, and I realize that he also has a tattoo. It’s on his left side, right over his ribs. It appears to be a drawing of a wolf’s face — the same style as the one that decorates their armor. It’s in black ink, and honestly fits him so well. I can’t believe I’m actually getting to see it.
As I walk over to the Commander and Comet, I fight to keep myself from blushing. “Alright,” I say. “What happened?”
“We were sparring,” begins Comet. “And I accidentally hit the commander too hard.”
“You wouldn’t have hit me at all if you hadn’t cheated.” Growls Wolffe.
Chuckling and keeping my eyes firmly glued to any place that isn’t the commander’s face, I motion to the nearest cot and ask, “Where did you hit him?”
To my surprise, Wolffe is the one to respond. “He punched me in the side and broke one or two of my ribs.”
I glance at Comet, musing, “It must’ve been a hard punch.”
He just shrugs and smiles sheepishly.
While chuckling at his expression, I head to the cupboard to grab the things I’ll need, and that’s when it hits me. I’m about to patch up the commander. Wolffe.
Oh, kriff.
Taking a deep breath, I gather up a large bacta patch, some gauze, and a pair of scissors. When I turn back around, Comet is gone and Wolffe is sitting on the edge of the cot nearest to the door. The walk over to him feels like miles. Now that it’s just the two of us in here, I can’t breathe.
Silently, I set all the things in my hands onto the space beside him, then reach to touch his side. However, I stop right before coming in contact with his skin — and most of all, his tattoo. Almost fearfully, I look up and meet his eyes. “May I?” I ask quietly.
He smirks and nods, almost as if he knows what he’s doing to me.
Forcing my mind and body to behave, I begin to feel around gently, trying to get a feel of how bad the damage is. Pretty quickly, I’m able to tell that he does indeed have two broken ribs, and probably at least another bruised one. It’ll be painful for a day or so, but thankfully it’s an easy fix.
The silence that surrounds us is awful, and it does nothing to ease my nerves. My hands are sweaty and trembling, and when I try to open the bacta patch, my fingers repeatedly slip on the tab. With a frustrated huff, I finally manage to tear it open, and then I gently press it to Wolffe’s side.
He hisses slightly, and I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t send a shiver up my spine. After making sure that it will stay there and not slide off, I grab the gauze and begin wrapping it around his stomach, securing the patch tightly to his side.
Of all the things I’ve done in my time as a medic, this is by far the most awkward. I’m standing directly beside the cot, and I can feel Wolffe’s knee pressing into my thigh. When I lean over to bring the wad of gauze around his back, my chest brushes his shoulder almost every time. And I can’t take a single breath without inhaling his scent. He smells like sweat from working out, oil from cleaning his gun, and another distinct aroma that must be his natural scent.
It’s attractive, to say the least, and it makes my toes tingle. Part of me wishes desperately that this strange form of torture would just be over, but another part of me wants it to never end. I’ve been crushing on him for so long, and now that I know there’s a chance he may like me back . . . to be honest, I don’t know what to do.
Once his ribs are securely wrapped, I reach for the scissors to cut the gauze. I work quickly to tie it off, before gathering everything in my arms and walking back to the cupboard. On my way there, I call over my shoulder, “Would you like me to grab you a shirt? I’m sure Cynic has some in the back.”
“Is Cynic here?” Is his only reply.
I knit my brows because he didn’t answer my question, but I respond, “No, he’s on break I think.”
Silence once again falls over the room, and I take my time in putting everything away. I want so badly to say something, but I don’t know what. Besides, I’m too nervous to start a conversation with Wolffe.
Finally, as I turn back around, I say, “So, did you want —”
Immediately I shut up, because now Wolffe is standing directly behind me. His eyes are dark, and his gaze intense. It makes my stomach flip, despite how hard I try to resist it.
Laughing nervously, a blush climbs its way up my neck to my cheeks. “I, uh, I didn’t see you there. I was just asking if you want the shirt or —”
Wolffe suddenly lifts a hand to trace over my cheek, and I choke on my words. His brown eyes flick up to mine, before dropping back to study the spot where his hand is touching.
I.
Can’t.
Breathe.
His touch is like fire, burning my skin. I don’t know what prompted this action from Wolffe, but I’m not complaining.
With a smirk teasing at his lips, the commander drops his hand. Then he turns his attention upon my blown pupils, parted lips, and shocked expression. In a low drawl, he says, “I’d say yes to the shirt, but I think you’re having too much fun staring at my chest.”
I gasp, then quickly bite my lip. There’s nothing I can say to disprove that . . . because he’s right. My tone is frightened and timid as I whisper back, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Commander.”
He chuckles darkly. “I’m not blind, cyar’ika .”
Before I can think about the words coming out of my mouth, I say, “I know what that means, you know.”
A look of surprise flits across Wolffe’s face for the tiniest fraction of a second, but he schools his expression just as quickly. “Did Cynic translate for you?” He asks.
I nod, because right now speaking is just too much work.
Wolffe laughs, and I see the glint of his teeth. “Of course he did. Now tell me, darling , does he know that I was the one who said that?”
Biting my lip hard, I nod again. “Another trooper knows, too.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know.”
At some point in this entire conversation, Wolffe’s hands have drifted to my hips, and all the air in my lungs vanishes when he lifts me up and sets me on the counter. There’s not a lot of space, so I’m careful not to accidentally bang my head on the cupboards above.
Slowly, Wolffe steps between my legs, which instinctively part to make room for him. The commander’s eyes are now dark and mysterious. In a low tone, he asks, “Why are you so nervous around me, Lana?”
Before I answer, I bite my lip. My name coming out of his mouth just did something to me, and now I’m desperate to hear it again. Quietly, I respond, “I’m not.”
“I’m not going to argue with you. Answer my question.”
I shake my head.
Wolffe stares at me for several seconds with a calculating look on his face. Then he begins to back away. Automatically, my legs wind around his waist and pull him back towards me. It happened so fast that I couldn’t even think of stopping myself.
Gasping at my own audacity, I exclaim, “I’m so sorry! I-I don’t . . . really, um . . . I’m sorry . . .”
As I ramble on and on, a smile spreads slowly across Wolffe’s face. One of his hands comes up to cover my mouth. “Shut the kriff up.” He growls.
Once I stop, he removes his hand, but instead brings it to cup the side of my neck. His thumb brushes over my pulse point, and even though he’s not a medic, I know that he can tell it’s faster than normal. When he smirks, I can’t help but sink my teeth into my bottom lip yet again.
At this, Wolffe’s eyes drop to my lips. I watch as he studies them for a couple seconds, before he says, “If you bite your lip one more time, Lana, I’m going to do it for you.”
His gaze doesn’t leave my mouth as my jaw drops. I watch as his pupils slowly expand, and I feel his hand on my neck tighten slightly. His other hand squeezes my hip, eliciting a gasp from me.
At this sound, Wolffe growls, “Or maybe I’ll just kiss you anyways.”
I can’t help letting a whimper escape, and this clearly breaks Wolffe.
He surges forward, pressing his lips to mine.
It’s so sudden that it takes me a moment to fully respond. The sensations floating through me are better than any of my daydreams. His lips are soft, his touch is controlling and almost harsh — but not hurting me in any way.
After getting over my shock, I slowly begin to kiss him back. His hand on my neck slips into my hair, while my own hesitantly come to rest on his shoulders. My legs are still locked around his waist, holding him in place. There is nothing in this galaxy that could get me to let him go now.
All of a sudden, Wolffe tugs on my hair. My mouth opens in a gasp, and he takes this as the opportunity to slip his tongue through my parted lips. I groan into him. He tastes like literal heaven. Well, mostly like caf . . . but there’s a bit of heaven in there, too.
The kiss only continues to heat up, and all conscious thought flies out of my mind. My body takes control, and its first order is commanding me to wrap my arms around his neck and never let go. I do just that. One of my hands reaches for his hair, and I let my nails lightly scratch his scalp. Now it’s Wolffe’s turn to groan.
For this entire time, we’ve been breathing each other’s air, but now I’m running out. So, reluctantly, I pull away. My eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand pounds, and it takes several seconds for me to be able to open them. When I finally do, I find Wolffe watching me smugly.
Through my gasping for air, I ask, “What?”
“Nothing.” He shrugs innocently. “I’ll take that shirt now.”
I let my eyes slide down his face, past his neck, and come to rest on his chest. Then, glancing up at him through my eyelashes, I say, “I’m not sure I can allow that, Commander.”
He sneers, but behind his careful mask, I’m able to see that he’s rapidly trying to regain control over the situation. I smirk and decide that that’s not going to happen.
Slowly, one of my hands slides from behind his neck to his chest — directly over his heart. It’s pounding like he just outran a LAAT. I lean forward ever so slightly, whispering, “What’s wrong?”
He grunts. “You know, when I kissed you, I didn’t think you’d stand against me so much.”
“Is that why you kissed me? Because I’d bend to your will?”
“Of course not.” His gaze shifts to my lips, and now I’m the one who’s breathing heavily. “I liked you long before I knew your personality.”
“So you kissed me for my looks?”
Wolffe smiles, flashing his canines. “It was a mix of both, cyar’ika .” Then he leans forward to bump his forehead against mine.
A Keldabe Kiss.
Even I know what this is.
I gasp lightly, then — against my best judgment — bite my lower lip. Wolffe notices this immediately. The corners of his lips curl up as he leans in for more.