Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

Specter specter	By : Grayscrunchie Category: +S through Z > Star Wars Rebels Views: 21127 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Specter specter
- 1
Sabine met Zeb in the dimly-lit corridor outside the Ghost’s forward fresher. She slapped the door's control panel and unfurled a thin, nubby towel. An eddy of pale steam gyrated in the air behind her as the door shhlished shut. She looked up at the grumpy Lasat, smiling sweetly as she dried her crown of damp, bi-colored hair. Zeb crossed his arms over his substantial chest and frowned, his thick bulwark of a brow settling over his round green eyes.
"Did’ja leave me any water or do I have to go sonic?"
"There’s plenty of water. We just filled our tanks a few days ago, remember? Sheesh, Zeb, you must be getting old. Your memory’s going."
Zeb reached up and curled a clawed hand around one of the Ghost’s support transoms. His frown curved skyward, transforming itself into a rakish smile. "Old? I’ll have you know I'm only forty cycles. For a being with a long life-span, that’s nothing. Back home I was considered nothing more than a big kid. A deadly, good-looking, and highly intelligent kid."
The young Mandalorian woman laughed. "A modest one too, right?" She folded her towel in half and draped it over her arm. She stared at the big Lasat standing in front of her—noticing that he wore nothing more substantial than a pair of white stim-silk shorts—and out of politeness, kept her eyes trained on his chest and face.
"What’s that in your hand? Your newest stormtrooper-bashing implement?"
"This? It’s a scrub-brush. You’ve never seen one before?"
"Oh, yes, I have. I’m just not used to seeing you carry around anything except that bo-rifle of yours."
Zeb held the long-handled brush aloft. "For all those hard to reach places. Maybe one day I’ll get lucky and someone will offer to scrub my back for me." He flashed another white-toothed grin, and Sabine thought despite the fangs—or perhaps because of them—he did have an attractive smile. She returned the gesture.
"Maybe Ezra will offer to scrub it if you’re a little nicer to him." She pushed past him, patting his striped forearm as she went. He called after her.
"That’s not exactly what I was getting at!"
He watched her go, watched the gentle sway of her hips beneath her thin robe as she walked and he stroked the dark tuft of beard sprouting from his chin. He whistled a rather melodic alien tune and entered the fresher.
When he exited, damp and dark from his shower, he approached Sabine’s cabin and noticed that the door was open. Sensing his heavy-footed approach, the Mandalorian girl sprang from her berth and met him at the ingress. She held up a swan-necked bottle bedecked with silken tassels and colorful foil stamps.
"Hey, wanna join me for a drink?"
Zeb contemplated the fancy bottle in Sabine’s hand. It was prettier than most of the bottles of liquor the crew often smuggled—more expensive too. He scratched his hairy cheek. "Aren’t you a little young to be drinking stuff like that?"
"Pff. If I'm old enough to be on the run from the Imps, make their property go boom, and put my life in danger so that I can make theirs miserable, I think I should be able to have a snort once in a while."
"Ah. Good point. So, where’dja dig up a bottle of Devaronian tekquil?"
"A bottle?" Sabine’s head whipped back, one thin brow arched over a topaz eye. "Who said anything about a bottle? I just so happen to have three."
"That’s even better, but I’m gonna ask you again, where’dja get them from?"
Sabine snickered behind a raised hand. "Let’s just say a certain crime lord is probably giving his accomplices the horns for taking their eyes off that rather inconspicuous-looking plas-crate in the back of his speeder."
" You’re joking. Vizago?"
"Do I look like I’m joking? The way I figure it, he owes us a little something for that sneaky move he tried to pull last week. We bring him a big haul of Imperial MRE’s and he tries to pay us in counterfeit creds? What kind of osik is that?"
Zeb laughed, a sonic boom of mirth. "Girl, yer starting to let Ezra rub off on you."
"Yeah, well, don’t tell him that. He’ll never get it out of his head." Sabine gestured over her shoulder with her chin. "So, you gonna just stand there in your shorts and wait for Hera to come along and confiscate this bottle, or . . . do you wanna come into my cabin, play some sabacc and polish off some tekquil?"
"Your cabin? I’m not setting a talon in that technicolor nightmare you call a cabin! Just looking at all that paint gives me a headache. Besides, it’s crowded. The table is too close to the berth, the seats are tiny and the alcove is too low."
"Well, excuse me for having, you know, human proportions, you big purple baby. Let’s drink in your cabin then."
Zeb’s round green eyes flashed from the bottle in Sabine’s hand to Sabine herself. He couldn’t recall seeing the Mandalorian woman wearing so little before. Granted, she was tactfully clad in a light stim-silk tank and sleeping shorts, but they did little to hide the fact that she was a fit young female, cut and curved in all the right places. Something a little like fright coursed through him, and it rankled him to no end. He was a Lasat honor-guard. Teenage girls, Mandalorian or otherwise, didn’t frighten the bravest and best of Lasan.
"What if Ezra comes back? He might get upset you know. It’s his room now, too."
"He won’t be back for a while. Kanan’s teaching him jedi oogie-boogie up top again."
"Well, alright. My place is a bit of a mess though . . ."
" Of course it’s a mess. Boys live there."
Zeb rolled his eyes and strode down the hall after Sabine. He saw Chopper trundling toward them and he uttered a curse in his native tongue. He glowering down at the droid as it rolled past him, daring it to do something unpleasant. Naturally, Chopper couldn’t resist blatting out a rude comment. Zeb swatted at the droid’s flat dome with a heavy paw.
They entered his cabin, Sabine first, and wove around a mess of small crates, fruit rinds, various pieces of armor and a sprawled kit of gun-cleaning tools and solvents. After moving more gear off Zeb’s berth, they plopped down inside it. Sabine craned her neck and looked around.
"Well, this is depressing. I think your place could use a make-over."
"Not your kind of make-over." Zeb’s frown returned. "Speaking of which, do you think you could find it in your heart to scrub that embarassin’ painting of me off the wall? You can leave the one of Ezra there. It looks just like him."
She handed him the bottle and watched him crack the lid with his teeth. "No way. The picture stays. All of it. Like I said, I paint what I see."
Zeb pulled his powerful legs inside the berth and began kneading the mat with his wide-spread toes. He took a pull at the bottle then wiped his mouth on his lightly-furred arm. Sabine settled in next to him and snatched the strange vessel from his hand. She was about to take a drink when he caught her elbow between his thumb and forefinger.
"Sorry darlin,’ I should have got you a cup."
"No worries." Sabine tipped her head back and took a swig. The Devaronian tekquil raced down her throat, cool at first, then hot as fire.
"Um. Smooth." She said, clearing her throat.
"Yeah, that didn’t look too smooth." Zeb flashed another scintillating grin. "You really don’t mind sharing the bottle?"
"No." She said, trying again. It was better the second time. "Why would I mind? Spit is spit."
"I don’t know. It’s just, most humans think us Lasat are kinda . . ."
"Kinda what?" Sabine pressed.
"Repulsive."
Sabine softened her eyes. She slipped her arm around the big male’s brawny neck, got him into a headlock and whispered into one pointed, soot-gray ear. "That’s the Empire talking, not me. You’re about as repulsive to me as a tooka kit."
He smiled at that. Recovering the bottle, he took a long swill, closed his eyes and pressed his back against the bulkhead.
"Thanks. And thanks for the tekquil. It hits the spot. A tabbak-stick would be nice too, but Hera would have my hide if she found out I was smoking in here. Hm. Sometimes, when she’s really in a nagging mood, I get to thinkin’ my mother’s come back from the dead."
Zeb opened his eyes and pivoted his head to look at the girl beside him.
" Prob’ly why I act up so much, huh?"
Sabine saw pain well anew in Zeb’s eyes. Her heart ached for him.
"Yeah. You’re a real glutton for punishment."
No one tried harder to cage their personal demons than Garazeb Orrelios, whose people had all but been made extinct by the lethal hand of the Galactic Empire. The nightmares weren’t as frequent now as they were when Sabine first met him, but they still visited occasionally, and they were still just as potent. She recalled a time after one such dream when she witnessed a roaring Zeb pounding down the Ghost’s dark corridors, his eyes wild and his striped hide slick with sweat. Kanan had used the force to sooth his terror-wracked mind, but even so, it took the Lasat two sequestered days to recover from the ordeal. Sabine traced the thin, purple-gray stripes on Zeb’s jaw and cheek with a fingertip and he reacted to her tender touch by nudging her palm gently with his nasal ridge. A sharp, hot breath blasted from his nostrils, which Sabine recognized as the Lasat version of a sigh.
"No tabbak-sticks for you. Now that I think about it, I probably shouldn’t even be giving you alcohol."
"It’s alright. I don’t have an addictive personality or anything like that." He tipped the bottle back once again then handed it to her. She drained the small amount that was left and smacked her lips.
"Looks like we killed that one. So, while we’re on the subject of health . . ."
" Ah no. A lecture. Not you too?"
"Yes, me too. You’ve been getting careless Zeb. Rushing a squad of stormtroopers before your cover arrives? Not very smart."
"You talking about that little riot at the sterilization clinic?"
"You know I am."
"That was all fun and games, darlin’. They were green troops, nothing more."
"A whole lot of green troops. With Blas-Techs and stun wands and other nasties."
The Lasat searched the Mandalorian’s face for signs of humor and found none. He growled.
"I saw red, ok? It ain’t nobody’s business how many cubs a rodian or gotal or ithorian has. Kriffin’ imperials, putting their ridiculous restrictions on us non-humans. If I could, I’d go around making hundreds of Lasat cubs."
"And I don’t doubt for a moment that you could—unless of course you’re dead—which you will be, if you keep on being careless."
Zeb’s ears lay back. He reached over and ran his clawed fingertips through Sabine’s violet and orange hair. "We’re all dead, Sabbie. You think we can keep this up forever? Remain on this ship until we’re old and toothless? I’m going to rebel against the Empire as long as I can, but I refuse to be the last one standing. I’ve lost so much . . . too much . . . I can’t bear the thought of losing this family too."
Sabine twisted to face him. She knelt over his now-slumped form, her eyes only inches from his. "You’re underestimating us. I’m not going anywhere, and sure as the oversoul, neither are a crack pilot and two jedi. Well, one jedi and one padawan. Sure, this can’t go on forever, but while we are still breathing we’ve got to do our job to the best of our abilities. And that means not letting our feelings for each other get in the way of a mission. You’re an important part of the team, Zeb. Don’t end yourself before your time. Think about those hundreds of cubs that need to be born."
There was wisdom in Sabine’s words much older than her seventeen years. Zeb sat up, his mouth hanging slack. He wanted to argue with her, as arguing was his forte, but the words just wouldn’t come. Instead, he swept her into his arms, pulled her close and hugged her tight. Sabine felt the air rush out of her lungs and she squeaked out a Mandalorian curse. Zeb’s massive arms threatened to crush her like a meiloorun fruit, and the fine hair covering his body tickled her nose, making her sneeze. Sabine noted that his fresh scent was a distinct, musteline-like one, mellowed by water and soap and not altogether unpleasant.
"Let me go, you pointy-eared rancor! Let me go! Ahhrg, I ought to rent you out as a trash compactor!" She shouted as she squirmed against him.
"Trash compactor? Ha! You know what that makes you, right?"
"Oh no you didn’t . . . You are SO in trouble . . ."
She wriggled free of his arms, leapt on top of him and attacked him with her fingers, jamming them into his armpits and prodding his ribs. The Lasat bucked and howled, laughing maniacally until tears came to his eyes.
"Alright, stop! Stop! You’re ending me here!"
"Say Sabine is the most awesome spectre on the Ghost!"
"Garazeb is the most awesome spectre on the Ghost."
"Wrong!" She dug her fingers into his flesh again.
Zeb caught both of her hands by the wrists and held them firm. She tugged and twisted, but couldn’t free herself of the Lasat’s duranium grip. Suddenly, in a panting-breath moment of quietude, Sabine realized where she was—her thighs wrapped around Zeb’s muscular torso—and her cheeks flushed the same color as her Mandalorian beskar’gam. Zeb looked at Sabine’s messy mane, her molten-topaz eyes and her parted mouth, and felt a familiar stirring deep inside him. He released her hands and she fell against him.
"I’m sorry, Zeb." She scrambled to sit up. "I didn’t mean to get so—
"Don’t be sorry." He cradled her head in his hands and brought his mouth up against hers.
Normally, this type of bold action would have earned an overzealous male a painful kick in the crotch, but Sabine felt no such ill-will toward Zeb. Cannon fire exploded behind her closed eyelids and a ball of red-hot plasma danced in her lower belly. She parted her lips and his tongue—large and thick and plush as combed velvet—thrust itself inside her mouth. She returned his kiss, sucking at his broad lower lip and plunging her tongue deep into his cavernous maw. He was alien and delicious, a wild essence tempered by the sweet tekquil. Zeb’s big hands roamed over Sabine’s body, eliciting gasps of pleasure from her with every stroke and squeeze. Though she didn’t look like a female of his kind—she was too short, too small, too hairless—he appreciated her anatomy nonetheless. Human females were enough like Lasat ones as far as their anatomy was concerned, and they were almost as pretty too. He lay her down on his mat and pulled her tank-top up over her breasts, then kissed his way down her throat to her armpit. He lingered there for a moment, nuzzling her with his flat nasal ridge, then moved to her breasts. Her caramel-colored nipples hardened at the touch of his velveteen tongue. Moving beneath him, Sabine slid her shorts down to her knees and kicked out of them. He could smell her perfume now—again, not quite as alluring as his own kind’s—but appealing in its own way. He stroked the small, rectangular thatch of dark hair on her mons and whispered against her belly. His voice was thick with desire.
"I guess this is what Kanan meant when he was talking about carpets not matching curtains."
Sabine laughed. She reached down, grabbed the tips of his fuzzy ears and elevated her hips.
"Less talking, more licking."
Zeb obeyed. He gripped her buttocks and plunged his tongue into her juicy breach. She was honey-sweet, her shell-pink labia tasting of ripened fruit and ocean brine. He was quick to find her nub and he flicked at it with the tip of his textured tongue, creating a most pleasant friction. Every pass of it drove Sabine closer and closer to climax. She moaned and thrust against his mouth, panting his name to him and lapsing into whispered bursts of Mando’a. She planted her heels against the mat and pushed herself up and away from Zeb’s dexterous tongue just in time.
"Show me what you’ve got in your shorts, big guy."
The Lasat gave Sabine’s inner thigh a cursory lick then withdrew. He raised up above her like a predatory beast and looked down at her, his jade eyes burning bright. Sabine saw the enormity of his excitement straining to free itself of its stim-silk prison. Zeb fumbled with the fly of his garment and Sabine shot up to catch his hand.
"No. Take them off. I want to see all of you."
Zeb smiled shyly. His embarrassed face looked as sweet as a kit’s. He hooked his thumbs inside the waistband of his shorts and tugged them down.
Sabine’s eyes widened. She leaned forward to examine the Lasat’s generative equipment.
"Now that’s what I call a beautiful work of art."
Zeb offered himself to Sabine. His sizable testicles, round as spaceship bearings and brindled all over with vibrant purple stripes, crowded the palm of his hand. A light fur covered them, as it did his sheath, which was also decorated with the same wild streaks of color. His penis was a thick, silvery rod, extending well beyond his navel. Small angulate protrusions on the top and bottom of the head had expanded, preparing the Lasat male for an encounter with a breeding-readied female.
Sabine gripped Zeb’s member and enveloped the head with her warm mouth. He pushed himself further in, laying a trail of slick, sweet, fore-come on her tongue. She played with his striped testicles, amazed by their incredible weight, then worked her hands up and down his shaft. Pressing closer, still going down on him, she captured him between her breasts and allowed him to thrust between them. He issued a frightening growl, feeling an all-encompassing, gut-ripping need for release.
"I want you in me, Zeb." She said with some difficulty, as her mouth was filled with tumid Lasat malehood.
" Are you sure?"
"Yes."
The air felt cold when Sabine released him. She lay back on the mat, her body writhing like a honey-colored serpent. She licked her lips, still savoring the taste of Zeb’s organ and opened herself to him. Her pink rift blossomed like a delicate nightflower. Zeb gripped the girl’s shoulders with his hands and one of her ankles with his foot, then turned her onto her side. She cried out when he positioned his body behind her and hiked up one of her legs.
"Mushish tah emberr san lasa . . .Tonight, we exile the desolation in our hearts." Zeb whispered into Sabine’s ear before kissing it. He adjusted his organ so that it nestled against her womanhood and prepared to enter her.
A soft chiming tone sounded seconds before the door to the cabin clunked and yawned open. A quick-thinking Zeb grabbed Sabine and rolled her toward the bulkhead, stowing her between it and his body. He turned back over and glared at the intruder, his ears flat, a snarl frozen in place on his wide mouth.
There in the doorway stood Ezra Bridger. The boy’s eyes were wide with shock. He squeezed them closed and covered them with his hands for good measure.
"Gahh! Zeb! Why are you naked? I’m gonna be blind for at least ten cycles! No, fifty!"
Zeb pounded the bottom of his berth with a giant fist, creating some rather substantial dents. "Karabast! Can’t a Lasat ever get some kriffin’ privacy around here?"
"I thought you locked the door." Sabine popped up from behind him. She had slipped back into her shorts and was yanking her tank down over her bare midriff.
"I did!" Zeb roared. "He must have tripped the lock with the force!"
If Ezra could have looked more horrified at the moment it would have been surprising. "What the—? Sabine!?"
"Yes, Sabine!" She snapped at him, her voice ripe with rage and frustration. She climbed over Zeb’s body and jumped to the floor. Ezra saw bruise-colored love bites on her neck and felt ill.
"But . . . with him? Smelly, nasty . . . him?" His jealousy was more than evident.
Garazeb Orrelios rolled over onto his stomach and laughed. The sound of his mirth was comparable to a saw cutting through permacrete. He was enjoying the fact that Ezra was having a hard time with this.
"I can’t believe you’re having a love affair with Zeb!" The boy shouted, a little louder than he had originally intended to. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the scantily-dressed Mandalorian, as if hoping to instill some sort of guilt in her.
Sabine raised her hands to her hips." Love affair? Why you stupid little nerf-brain. Why do you automatically assume it’s a love-affair? People get lonely, Ezra. Sometimes they just need each other . . . y’know? Maybe when you grow up more you’ll understand."
She pushed by him and stormed from the cabin, her bare feet patting the cool metal deck as she went. They heard her cursing as she made her way back to her own cabin. Zeb pulled on his shorts, jumped out of his berth and stalked for the door.
"Where are you going?" Ezra demanded.
The Lasat turned his stony face on the young human boy.
"I’m gonna take a cold shower! Where do ya think I’m going?!"
"Over to Sabine’s cabin."
Zeb rubbed his bearded jaw, pondering. Would she be too angry to continue where they had left off? He narrowed his eyes and his mouth formed a devious smirk.
"Hmm. Good idea kid."
He gave Ezra a thumbs-up gesture before exiting the cabin and trotting down the corridor. Ezra could do nothing but stand there and watch him go. He sighed and shut the cabin door, then looked over at Zeb’s combat suit hanging in the wardrobe. He smiled, remembering that he had saved some hot uizu-spice he purchased in town for a special occasion.
"I do believe this is a special occasion." He said to himself, picking up the container and shaking the entirety of its powdery contents into the suit.
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Specter specter