Aoba is going to die, but goddamn what a fucking way to go.

Shisui's breaths feel too loud in the quiet of the room, like they’re coming too fast. It’s like he’s panting, like he can't get enough air, and it makes his head spin. His whole body is shaking, overheated, burning up from the inside, and he has to catch himself on the edge of the sink and lean there, gasping for air, acutely, exquisitely, awfully aware of every inch of his skin. Behind him, a page turns, crinkling, and there's a quiet hum.

“One more,” Alpha decides, and beneath him Jon can't do anything but moan, hitching and ragged.

Boba attempts to set his father up with someone interesting. It would probably go a lot smoother if that someone wasn't a Jedi. And if there weren't monsters all around the town that were about to make themselves a problem.

“Oh,” Jaster manages, and it cracks right in half.

“’M supposed to be on duty,” Fox manages, and that argument probably would have worked better an hour ago, when he was being frog-marched out of his office as Thorn waved a solemn and mocking goodbye. It definitely doesn’t carry a lot of weight when he’s pinned between Thire and the tiles, real water running down his back and endlessly hot.

One inch sideways on Alpha’s bunk and Quinlan slams face-first into the memory of Obi-Wan in the same position he’s in right now.