He’d always been lean and wiry, even in the most dysfunctional, indulgent times of his life, but after Malachor, Kanan gained weight and lost a fair amount of muscle, a byproduct of his lengthy period of inactivity while he was recovering from his wounds, as well as the several months’ adjustment to being blind. It wasn’t as if he could simply go for a morning run anymore, or even walk with any degree of confidence, especially on Atollon’s hazardous terrain—and especially with those hostile spiders lurking around the perimeter of the base. He could tell he’d gained a few extra kilos just by how much tighter his trousers felt (he didn’t need eyes for that), and this awareness, coupled with his already decayed sense of body image, did him no favors when he and Ezra eventually picked up where they’d left off in their relationship.
Ezra, however, didn’t seem to mind Kanan’s thicker waistline or flabby muscles at all, even though there was a notable difference in his Master’s body since the last time they’d been intimate.
“I like it,” he purred, kissing his way down Kanan’s soft, hairy belly while Kanan panted, sensitive to every breath and brush of lips: “In fact, I love it.” And with a wicked smirk that Kanan swore he could feel through the Force, Ezra opened up and showed him just how much.