Notes: This chapter is told from Katsulas's point of view, and it deals with a point I've felt very strongly about making. In the core SWTOR game, everything is heteronormative. Everything. (The only exceptions I can think of are a spoiler in the Agent storyline, and the vaguest of one-sided implications about Darth Silthar towards Hael in the Tatooine Imperial storyline.) Knowing Bioware as well as I do, I'm willing to bet that this was due to overruling by LucasArts. Since the first expansion (and getting the green light to drop the strict heteronormativity), Bioware's shown their typical, consistent excellence in making queer characters and relationships everywhere and normal in the world.
The problem is that the damage is already done in the core game. The combination of queer erasure and Jedi repression has done a lot of psychological damage to Kat, and this is a hugely important issue. So heads-up, there's a lot of internalized homophobia (shame, guilt, fear, a gay character believing he's broken and twisted). It will get better. That's sort of the point.
Also there's masturbation at the end of this chapter. And I uh...have never posted porn on the internet before. So that's a thing that's happened. It'll get more explicit in later chapters, too, and I hope I don't embarrass myself too much with this.
An hour later, Katsulas can still feel the echo of Scourge's fingers pressing against his own. The Sith's hand had been large, strong, and warm, and Katsulas can't stop imagining those fingers coiling tightly around his wrists instead, or in the hair at the back of his head, or curling around his throat with the slightest of pressure-
Katsulas feels like a swarm of electrified butterflies has just taken flight inside his chest. His breath catches in his throat, and his dark skin helps to hide the flush in his cheeks. Katsulas draws his knees up to his chest, curling into a smaller ball-shaped Jedi in The Defender's pilot seat.
This is stupid.
He doesn't have time for this. The Sith Emperor is about to literally devour an entire planet as an appetizer. Katsulas needs to find a way to stop him without even knowing where to start or how much time he has to do it.
But he can't begin to formulate a plan until they arrive on Belsavis several hours from now. For now, all Katsulas can do is wait and watch the striated starfield through the front viewport.
And think about Scourge's fingers digging bruises into his skin.
Katsulas groans quietly and drops his face into his hands.
"Hey, you okay?" It's Kira, standing at the entrance to the bridge. She must have come to check on him, or offer to take over the controls until they reached Belsavis so that Kat could actually get a few hours of sleep in.
Katsulas doesn't lift his head up to answer. "I will be," he mumbles into his fingers.
A pause, and then Kat hears Kira's distinctive footsteps approaching. "Sorry, couldn't make that out over the sound of you trying to weld your face to your knees-oh, hells..." Kira's voice cuts off as she reaches the co-pilot's seat and sees him clearly. "Damn, you're really shaken up, aren't you?"
At first, Kat doesn't understand what she means. Then he realizes what he must look like: curled into a ball with his knees tucked in, face buried in his hands. Katsulas sighs and raises his head to look at her. "I'll be alright," he says again.
Kira is perched on the arm of the co-pilot's seat, looking at him with open worry. When she sees that he isn't crying or even overly distraught, she relaxes. "Gotta say, I never thought I'd wish the Empire would go back to just trying to take over the galaxy." Kira's fingers lift as though to mimic typing a letter. "Dear Emperor, please stop trying to put the galaxy in your mouth. You don't know where it's been. Love, Kira."
Katsulas laughs. "Right? So unsanitary." For a brief moment, he forgets about how starved for physical affection he is, about how he can't even remember the last time someone other than a healer touched their bare fingers to his skin. "Even for us, this is excessive," he says. "Remember when it was just one insane Darth trying to blow up a single planet? Man, we didn't know how easy we had it."
Kira rolls her eyes and grins at him. "If this is the reward we get for saving planets, I stand by my earlier statement that we should retire from being Jedi someday, and just have actual fun with the rest of our lives."
It had been an offhand comment then, but Kat remembers. Kira likely doesn't realize how often Katsulas has thought about doing just that. About leaving the Jedi Order, living his life free of restriction and in accordance to his own interpretation of the Code.
But he'd be giving up the Order's resources and connections if he did that. He wouldn't be able to help those in need as readily or easily. It would be selfish to leave. Better to just endure.
Besides, every time he thinks he's had enough and is ready to abandon ship, another crisis breaks out. The galaxy has a chronic case of Apocalypse, and Kat is the booster shot.
"Can't say that isn't tempting," Kat admits. "Maybe someday. If, you know, the galaxy still exists by then."
"Hey, Emperor Vomitface doesn't stand a chance," Kira says with a grin. The nickname startles another chuckle out of Kat. "And Teeseven's been calculating our chances of success. One hundred percent, he says."
Kat smiles warmly and fondly shakes his head. "Yup, that's Teeseven all right." He looks up Kira, at her warm blue eyes and easy smile. She's worried, he knows. They all are. How couldn't they be? Fuck this up, and the entire galaxy dies, and Katsulas doesn't have the slightest idea what they'll be up against on Belsavis, much less how to stop it. All they have in their favor is the word of one Sith with a three-hundred year old force vision.
And yet, Kira's still putting on an air of unshakable confidence that she doesn't actually feel, solely to help prop Katsulas up. There is no judgement, no pressure, no reminding him of a Code he doesn't fully believe in. Just irreverent nicknames, terrible puns, and unshakable friendship. She's here for him, no matter what.
Warmth floods Kat's chest with such intensity that he can't breathe. His throat tightens and the corners of his eyes sting.
In that instant, he wants to tell Kira everything. They've gone through so much together. She's one of only two friends Kat has in the entire universe. Only Teeseven knows him better, but the little astromech doesn't understand the concept of physical intimacy. But Kira would understand. Kira had been brought to the Temple at an even later age than Kat. He knows she doesn't buy into the Order's whole 'no attachments' bantha fodder, same as Kat.
He wants to tell her everything. He wants to tell her how lonely he is, how isolated and afraid he feels. How he wants desperately to know what it's like to be kissed breathless, to feel a lover's hands and lips drawing feverish patterns on his skin and pulling strings of helpless, needy vowels from his throat, before the galaxy and everything in it comes to an end.
And she won't draw the wrong conclusions, won't think he's making a pass at her, because his body language is all wrong for that and he's not attracted to women anyway-
And that's where it all falls apart.
He's not alone in his preferences. He knows this from furtive, guilty searches through the seedier sides of the Holonet. But no one talks about it. No one so much as considers the mere possibility that Kat might be attracted to other males and not to females at all. Even though he's never been quiet about his opinions on the Order's 'no attachments' rules, all the Order sees is that he's never fallen in love with a woman, never slept with or even kissed a woman, never given in to a temptation they all believe must be there, but isn't.
And they don't look any further. No one does. Kat hears it over and over and over…
-Doc saying, "You'll be up to your chin in beautiful women before the war is over," with a slimy, nauseating smirk that Kat just wants to punch off of his handsome face, but instead he just grits his teeth and declines Doc's invitation to 'go out and pick up some hot chicks' again and again-
-a man sitting next to him at the bar and shaking his head as he says, "I don't know how you Jedi do it. Don't you want to settle down someday? Find a wife, have some kids?" and it's so close to the truth while being so completely wrong that all Kat can do is mutter something noncommittal, fumble some credit coins onto the counter to pay for his unfinished drink, and leave before he blurts something he'll regret-
- "So are you married? Single? Girlfriend? Kids?" And Kat just shakes his head because even when he's undercover and pretending not to be a Jedi, those are still somehow the only options available to him-
- "So, you and Carsen seem pretty close…"-
"Hey, Kat? Kat. Kira to Katsulas, your signal's breaking up."
Katsulas startles, breathing in sharply and blinking as his vision refocuses on Kira snapping her fingers a foot away from his face. "Sorry," he says. "Thinking, spaced out for a moment."
"No, I hadn't noticed," Kira drawls, but she looks worried. She studies him for a moment, and then says, "It's not just Balmorra, is it? There's something else bothering you, too."
Kat sighs and scrubs his fingers over his face. "I hate the waiting," he says truthfully. "I hate sitting in hyperspace, knowing that we can't go any faster. We don't even know how much time we have, and we're burning precious seconds just getting there. We can't even plan, because we don't have enough details on what we're up against." Kat reaches up to the padawan braid at his right ear and tugs on it anxiously. It's a nervous habit he's never managed to drop. "And all of this right after...right after everything that happened on the Emperor's Fortress."
He sees Kira's jaw tighten at the mention, but there's no recrimination in her eyes. None of her anger is directed at him, but he wonders if it should be. "I don't even remember what I did, Kira," he tells her. "But I know it was bad."
"It wasn't you," Kira says simply. She hops off the edge of the copilot's seat and crouches next to Kat's chair, putting herself at eye level and pressing a comforting hand to his shoulder. "Hey, come on, it wasn't you. If anyone can say that with confidence, it's me, remember? I would know."
Kat remembers. He'll never forget hearing Vitiate's voice coming from Kira's mouth, or seeing her eyes stained bloody with a hatred not her own. "Thanks, Kira." He gives her a smile, and this time it's not strained or forced. "You're a good friend."
"That's what I'm here for," she grins. "That, and I'm a way better slicer." When he chuckles, she squeezes his shoulder gently and adds, "Seriously though, you going to be okay? Want some company? We could dust off the dejarik table."
He could tell her. He wants to tell her. They're each one of the only friends the other has, and they've held one another up through so much. Surely he could tell her about this. Having one other person in the world who shares his secrets, who knows his fears and flaws and desires and accepts all of him without judgement, would bring him a greater peace than he's ever known.
But no one talks about it. No one even considers it. It's not in the media. What if his desires are so anathema that they're unthinkable? What if this makes him some kind of perverse abomination?
And what if Kira looks at him differently once she knows?
He can't risk it. He can't lose one of the only two friends he has. He would fall apart, and the galaxy can't afford that to happen.
He has more important things to worry about. Everyone is counting on Katsulas and his team to succeed, even if they don't realize it. He can't afford to be thinking about his own damn insecurities and stupid longings. He's a fool for even considering it.
Later, once the galaxy is saved and the Emperor is nothing more than ashes at his feet, he'll re-evaluate his life.
And in the meantime he'll just...avoid thinking about Scourge. He'll interact with the Sith as little as possible and focus on the mission.
It'll be fine.
"Sure, why not," Katsulas says. He uncurls his legs and stands up from the chair. His spine pops audibly as he stretches. "It's been a while since I've played dejarik, but I don't think I'm too rusty."
"I'll thrash you across the board, twig-man, just you wait."
Kira is true to her word; Katsulas loses all but one of the matches. But he feels better afterwards, having put Scourge and the Emperor's plans out of his mind for an hour and a half. They still have enough time before arriving on Belsavis for Kat to meditate and calm his mind, or to catch some actual sleep. He decides on the latter; his mind can be calm while he's unconscious. And if he can't sleep, then he'll meditate.
He heads for the stairs down to the engine room out of habit. He's always been able to sleep better with the white noise rumble and hum of machinery filling in the space between his thoughts. He stops on the first step, however, realizing as he looks down the passageway that he'll have to pass by the cargo bay to reach the engine room.
And Scourge is in the cargo bay.
The Sith has appropriated a portion of the room to use as temporary living quarters for the duration of his alliance with Katsulas. He's in there now, doing...well, Kat isn't sure what Scourge does in his free time. He doesn't know much at all about Scourge other than what the Sith told him on their way to Tython. What has his life been like these past three hundred years? How did he meet Revan, and what put him on the path to oppose the Emperor in the first place? What was his childhood like? Did he even have a childhood? Kat's heard horrific stories about the Sith Academy on Korriban, and he doesn't imagine that those stories are far removed from the truth, even three hundred years ago. What does he do for fun? What brings Scourge joy and pleasure? The Sith are as focused around the concept of passion as the Jedi are around tranquility. What are Scourge's passions…?
Nope, Katsulas thinks, and turns back around. That is a dangerous line of thought. He's supposed to be avoiding Scourge and all of the frustrating, unwanted desires that rise in him whenever he's near the Sith.
Kat tells himself that he's not running away; he's just not going to invite distraction. He's being practical, that's all. He'll try to sleep or meditate in his own disused private quarters.
He closes the door behind him and strips down to his underclothes. He removes the brace from around his right knee and puts his leg through a series of gentle strengthening exercises. It's been several months since the injury, but he's not sure he'll ever get full mobility back. He'll always need the brace, unless he opts for a full cybernetic replacement. Despite his fondness for robotics, Katsulas has no desire to replace any of his own parts with cybernetics. When he's finished, he curls up on the bed and tries to lull his mind towards sleep.
But his bed is a little too soft, the room a little too quiet, and the air lacks the comforting, sharp tang of metal oil he's used to. Katsulas shifts fitfully, not quite able to drift off. He reaches for the Force to calm his thoughts, but the instant he begins to sink into meditation and spread his awareness out, he senses Scourge in the cargo bay below.
Scourge is a sharp red spike in the Force: a tight, controlled knot of heat and power that lodges itself in Kat's brain like an aneurism waiting to happen. He can't ignore it now that he's sensed it.
He can't stop his thoughts from wandering back to that brief contact outside the Council Chambers, either. His imagination picks up where it had left off on the bridge earlier: strong crimson hands tight enough around his wrists to bruise, fingertips digging into the sharp points of his hips and holding him down, teeth at his throat and a warm mouth pressing a fever into his pulse point.
Kat groans and curses as a pang of heat spikes low in his belly, just as sharp and unignorable as Scourge's force presence in his mind.
He needs to get this out of his system. He's alone with a few hours to himself before they arrive at Belsavis. There won't be a better time or place. He'll work his frustrations out, and maybe he'll even be able to sleep afterwards.
Before the guilt can come creeping back, Kat draws his mental shields up and pushes his leggings down to his knees. He closes his eyes and curls a hand around his swelling cock. He pictures Scourge above him, his mouth curved into a smirk and his red eyes darkened with desire. He pretends that Scourge is holding him down to the bed, and that those are Scourge's fingers pumping his cock. Kat's breath hitches and he bites his lower lip as heat blooms in his chest and white-hot fire drips from his belly into his groin and thighs. Everything else dissolves away. There is no room. He cannot feel the sheets beneath him or hear the quiet sounds of the ship over the hammering of his own heart. He imagines fingers tightening in his hair and pulling his head back, opening him to possessive nips and hot breath on his vulnerable throat.
Katsulas shudders and curls inward. His hand quickens around his cock and his hips jerk with sharp, uneven motions as heat tightens his balls. He imagines his legs wrapped around Scourge's waist. Kat's breath hitches in his throat, and he slows the stroking movements of his fingers as he reaches around with his other hand and presses first one, then two fingers into himself.
Kat moves his fingers-both sets of them-and tips his head back. He fucks himself and pretends it's Scourge fucking him hard into the mattress. Kat's lips part and his eyes are squeezed shut so tightly he can see the entire galaxy flashing against his lids. His senses are dissolving into a roar of white fire. Lightning curls in his groin and his muscles burn with tension as he clenches tight as a coiled spring. He comes with a strangled noise, his hips jerking and cock twitching as he pulses all over his moving hand and the sheets beneath.
Kat lies quiet and still afterwards, trembling and spent, as his heart rate and breathing slowly return to normal. His hands are shaking. His inner thighs ache. The room is quiet. He is alone.
He presses his face into the pillow as guilt and shame rise to swallow him whole.