Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The senator grips your arm in a way that causes your face to briefly scrunch in disgust, but there’s nothing you can do besides quickly schooling your expression back to a neutral one. Your eyes search through the crowd of elegantly dressed sentients, franticly trying to find anyone that could help get you out of this uncomfortable situation. You see your Master – Obi-Wan is all the way on the other side of the grandiose event hall, engrossed in what appears to be quite a serious conversation with Master Windu. Or, it might as well be idle chitchat about the weather – you can never tell when it comes to the Council Member.

Your eyes keep shifting through the crowd, scanning for orange-painted palstoid – if Obi-Wan can’t help you, maybe your ori’vod can. But any hope of securing help from the Commander dissolves in a second. Cody seems to be in just as bad of a situation, standing next to Rex and surrounded by a group of wealthy socialites you know they are supposed to impress – that’s the point of this whole damn gala isn’t it? showing off the Republic’s perfect soldiers and gathering more funds for this never-ending war. You catch his gaze and faintly tilt your head towards the man still holding onto your arm, allowing a barely visible eye roll to communicate you disdain. Cody’s shrugs and nods, his movements just as discreet – he knows exactly how it feels. Your attention is then caught by the same speech you’ve heard at least five times tonight.

“And she is the first Jedi Master that our planet has had in 200 years. We could not be more proud of all her accomplishments,” the senator exclaims.

“Padawan,” you correct, “I have not yet passed my Trials.” How many times do you need to explain it to this man?

“Right, of course. We’re still so, so proud.”

The mixed group of men and women nod, and a few flashes from the holo-cameras make you recoil – journalists form your homeworld, the senator explained earlier. You don’t understand why he insists on having so many pictures of the two of you taken, but you bite your tongue and play your part, praying to the Force you’ll finally be able to escape his grasp soon. You take a sip of the sparkling chandrillan wine you’re holding – you are so over this whole evening.

The Force finally seems to take pity on you – a man in expensive-looking robes calls the senator’s name and he finally releases your arm in order to shake his hand. With a curtly muttered “excuse me just a moment” you hurry away, making a beeline for the nearest balcony door. The room feels stuffy and you desperately need some air. As you move through the crowd, you slightly roll your ankle and curse under your breath – what in the hell possessed you to wear heels? – but nevertheless you carry on.

As soon as the door shuts, you lean against its coloured transparisteel, close your eyes and finally breathe out a sigh of relief. The night air is chilly, the sun having long disappeared past the horizon, and it feels soothing against your heated cheeks. You did not think you’d have to stay for so long, but the damn party just won’t end. Maybe you’ll be able to hide out here for the rest of it.

“You alright?” a deep voice startles you and your eyes snap open.

Turning your head to your right, you notice a man leaning against the durasteel railing and you feel your heart skip a beat. He is a clone – Coruscant Guard by the looks of his armor - but he’s just so…

The clone’s hair is drizzled by streaks of grey and there’s a prominent scar across the bridge of his nose. There seem to be more scars scattered on his face, but in the faint, reddish light coming through the transparisteel, you cannot make out that much detail. Smoke is enveloping him, and your eyes travel down to the lit cigarra in his hand. An empty glass sits next to him on the railing, only two cubes of slowly melting ice remaining on the bottom. Another details grabs your attention – the kama. You’re pretty sure you’re looking at a Commander. Now if you could figure out which one.

The man cocks his head to the side, an amused expression sparkling in his eyes. Right… he asked you a question and all you’ve done is stare at him – you might as well be drooling. Get a grip.

Straightening, you turn to face him better. “Yes. I just really needed some air… and to escape some unwanted attention,” you confess.

“Senator Brenko,” the clone nods, an understanding passing over his facial features.

“Yeah… how did you know?”

“It’s my job to pay attention,” he says dryly, taking a drag out of the cigarra.

Your eyes involuntarily track the movement, focusing on the way his lips enclose around it. Suddenly, your throat feels really dry, so you down the last of the sparkling wine in your glass. Maybe that wasn’t the best decision – it wasn't your first glass of the night and you’re starting to feel the buzz of the alcohol. But it’s not enough. The past hours of being paraded around by the senator have left you restless and irritated, and you’re craving something to take the edge off.

Slowly, you walk to the railing and place your empty glass next to his, then eye the cigarra which is back between his lips. You promised Cody you were done with tabac… but one cigarra every now and then can’t hurt, right?

“Do you have another one of those?”

A small smirk tugs at the clone’s lips as he reaches for one of the pouches on his belt, procuring a pack of cigarras and tilting it towards you. You take one out of the pack, bringing it up to your nose to inhale its aroma before placing it between your lips. The clone then takes out a small, metallic lighter, igniting the flame and holding it out in front if you. The normal thing to do would be to simply lean in, but for some reason, your hand gently grasps his, bringing it closer in order to light the cigarra, your gaze lifting to meet his as you do so. You’re not sure if he minds – his face remains impassive, but you do catch the way his posture slightly tenses at your touch.

“Thank you, Commander…?” you prompt, exhaling the first puff of burning smoke.

“Fox,” the clone replies, standing a bit taller.

Your eyebrows briefly lift up. The Commander Fox, head of the Coruscant Guard.

You’ve heard plenty about him from Cody – mostly complaints. Then again, Cody might still be slightly bitter about that scar on his face, courtesy of a very drunk Fox one night at the 79s. You weren’t there to witness it, but Boil has provided a very detailed retelling. The words “miserable asshole” have also been thrown around – that one was Wolffe’s description. Cody’s main grievance, however, is Fox pulling away from them for what he considers no good reason, and how impossible it is to get to talk to his brother.

Rex, on the other hand, always tries to defend Fox whenever he comes up in conversation at the 79s, especially after Wolffe has had a few drinks and starts tearing into him. You’ve heard so many contradictory accounts of the man standing in front of you, you have no idea what to make of him.

Safe to say, you are intrigued.

“Nice to meet you, Commander. I’m–”

“Cody’s Padawan. I know,” Fox interjects, his eyes giving you a once-over.

“Cody’s Padawan?” you repeat with a chuckle. “I don’t think Master Kenobi would agree with that statement.”

“Just clone-talk,” he shrugs.

You narrow your eyes. You really, really shouldn’t meddle in their relationship – it’s not your place. But Cody is important to you – he is your ori’vod after all – and you’ve seen how much Fox’s gradual disappearance has been weighing on him. What the hell. You’re feeling bold tonight anyway.

“That implies you and Cody talk, and I know for a fact you do not pick up his comms,” you jab, taking a slow drag of the cigarra.

All amusement seems to disappear from his eyes and his gaze turns cold. You don’t falter – you square your shoulders and stare him down, making it very clear you’re expecting a reply.

“I’m busy,” he mumbles.

“Cody’s busy too,” you counter, “but he still makes time to comm his brothers.”

Fox’s jaw clenches and his eyes dart to the door of the balcony. For a moment you think you’ve offended him so much that he’s going to leave, and you’re about to open your mouth to apologise, only to be stopped by a low, defeated sigh. Fox tosses the nearly-finished cigarra into his empty glass, the ambers fizzling out as they touch the melted ice. He pulls another one from his pouch, lights it, and shifts his stance, resting his forearms against the railing.

“Well, busy looks different on Coruscant,” he says, gaze lost to the skyline.

He sounds so tired and for some reason your heart breaks for him. You've seen your fair share of the ugliness of Coruscant – and if you’re honest you’ve never really liked it here. An uncomfortable feeling of guilt stirs in your stomach. You do not know this man and you do not know what he has to deal with on a daily basis. All you know is what other people have told you and their retellings are clouded by personal feelings. Maybe you were too quick to judge.

“This place does fucking suck,” you comment, leaning back on the railing.

Fox huffs a small laugh and turns his head to look at you. “Is that the kind of language they teach at that Temple of yours?”

You roll your eyes. “My master had a very colourful way of expressing herself. My first Master, that is. She died at the beginning of the war – it’s how I ended up in the 212th,” you explain, smiling ruefully at his muttered condolences. “Obi-Wan would probably have a stroke if he heard me.”

“Don’t think Cody would be too pleased either,” he adds.

“Really? Cause he’s the one who taught me how to swear in Mando’a,” you lie, wanting to gauge how well he knows his brother.

“Cody?” he asks, giving you a look.

“Yes, Cody.”

“Not a chance. I do not believe that for a second.”

You genuinely laugh and shake your head. “Fine,” you admit, “it was actually some of the boys from the 501st.”

“That I can believe,” the Commander nods. There’s a pause in the conversation as both of you gather your thoughts. Before you can find the next thing to say, he continues, “What’s your favourite then?”

You mull it over, going through the words and phrases you know. “Not sure if I have a favourite, but ‘Shab kyr’unsen’ye’ was pretty much all I had in my head earlier,” you say, gesturing to the door of the balcony with the hand holding the cigarra. “Honestly you should get a medal just for dealing with these fuckers every day.”

Fox arches a brow, that spark of amusement back in his eyes.

“Oh, sorry. Esteemed fuckers,” you correct.

The Commander laughs – actually laughs – something that, based on everything you’ve heard about him, you didn’t think was possible. “I see why Cody likes you.”

You join in on the laughter, before adding, “No but really, how do you deal with them every single day? I’ve only spent time with one tonight and I was ready to commit murder after only fifteen minutes.”

“Honestly?” Fox says, taking a long drag of the cigarra, “I tune out most of what they say.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he confirms. “They just like to hear themselves talk, they’re never really looking for a reply – it would interrupt their monologues. I’m sure you’ve noticed. Did Brenko let you get a single word in?”

“Not really,” you contemplate. “And I’ve even corrected him on something at least five times.”

“How dare you ruin his campaign?” Fox jokes.

You frown, confusion clearly written on your face. “What campaign?”

The Commander straightens, turning to face you better. “The re-election campaign. His term as a senator is almost over. I assumed that’s why he was parading you around all night – trying to imply he has the support of the Jedi.”

Your entire body tenses as a wave of anger violently crashes over you. “That… that fucking shabuir. Of course he was just using me, I should’ve realised!” Shaking your head, you let out a sharp exhale. “You know that could actually get me in trouble? I’m a Jedi, I’m not supposed to support anyone’s fucking political campaign. Fucking bastard!”

Finishing your cigarra, you throw it into the empty glass next to his earlier one. You’re already imagining having to explain yourself in front of the Council, and the disappointed looks you will receive. Why did you always have to be so polite? You should’ve said no to the holo-photos. You shouldn’t have let him drag you around and introduce you to all those people. You should’ve told him not to touch you. Your gaze lifts and you suddenly realise the Commander is studying you intently. Was your outburst too much? Heat rises to your cheeks and you quickly look away.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Why are you apologising?” Fox asks, eyebrows pinching.

“For getting so angry. Not very Jedi-like,” you laugh bitterly.

The Commander shakes his head and chuckles. “That’s adorable – you actually think that was angry,” he teases.

You swear your heart does a somersault at hearing he thinks you’re adorable and you shuffle awkwardly in place, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning like an idiot. The movement reminds you that your feet are killing you and you once again curse your decision to wear heels. You need to sit down for a moment.

Placing your hands on either side of your hips on the durasteel railing, you push yourself up to sit. Before you're even fully settled, a strong hand encircles your waist, steadying you with a firm hold at the small of your back. Your brain takes a second to process what’s happening – his hand on your lower back feels as if it's burning, filling you with a warmth that seems to unfortunately travel to your core. He’s close now, too close, and his whiskey-coloured eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“I’m not gonna fall, Commander,” you say once you regain your composure, your voice a little strained but mixed with amusement.

“Don’t want to risk it. Cody would have my head if I let anything happen to you. And that is quite a drop,” he remarks.

“Yeah, but I’m a Jedi,” you scoff playfully. “Even if I fall I’d be able to use the Force and land safely.”

“I’d really prefer it if you didn’t fall,” Fox reiterates.

His hand is still on your back, and it doesn’t seem he’ll move it away any time soon. You’re not sure why, but you want to test him. Maintaining eye contact, you allow a small, mischievous smile to grace your features, right before you abruptly push back against his hand. As expected, you barely budge.

“Don’t!” Fox warns, his voice low and commanding.

You roll your eyes, trying your hardest to ignore the dampness in your underwear. Maker why do you find him so hot?

“Fine, fine, I’ll behave,” you promise, “You can let go now.”

“I’ll let go when your feet are back on the ground,” he counters.

“Are you serious?” you laugh.

The look he gives you silences you immediately. He is, actually, dead serious. You bite your lip and look away. The warmth of his hand, even though the fabric of his gloves, is extremely distracting.

“Well then, Commander, I hope you’re comfortable. My feet are killing me and I plan to sit here for a while,” you challenge.

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” he replies. His tone is infuriatingly casual.

Silence settles over the two of you and you don’t know which part drives you more mad – his hand on your back, his thighplate pressed against you knee, his intense gaze or the way he appears completely unfazed by any of it. You try to keep your face neutral and your breathing steady, but you simply can’t help the way your breath catches in your throat when Fox finishes his cigarra and leans over you to toss it in the empty glass, briefly caging you in. For a second, you think you see his gaze dropping to your lips and you curse yourself when your own eyes wonder to his.

You shouldn’t be thinking like this – it would be wrong on so many levels. Maybe you both share the same rank, but he’s a clone, a soldier, and you’re a Jedi – it’s simply not allowed. Plus, he is Cody’s brother, and not just in the way all clones are vode – Fox and Cody were batchmates, they grew up together, their bond is different. Cody would not approve. And you’re fairly certain it’s all in your head anyway. But even if you weren’t imagining the tension, even if Fox somehow felt it too, it wouldn’t change the fact that it was forbidden.

“Would you really get in trouble?” Fox breaks the silence.

“W-What?” you stutter.

“For those holo-pics with Brenko,” he clarifies.

You jolt, pulling yourself together. “Uhh, depends how they’ll use them, I guess.”

Fox appears to contemplate something before giving you a stern look. “Do not move!” he orders.

All you can do is nod.

His hand finally leaves your back, coming to tap the comm on his vambrace. You almost whine at the loss of his warmth, but catch yourself before making a sound. Maker, what has gotten into you?

“Stone, come in,” Fox speaks into the comm.

“Yes, vod,” a voice replies in less than five seconds.

“The journalists following Brenko around – say there’s a problem with their accreditations and confiscate the holo-cams. Return them after you delete all images with General Kenobi’s Padawan,” he orders, eyes not leaving yours as he does so.

“Understood.”

Your lips part as you realise he’s about to save your ass without you even asking and a warm feeling blooms in your chest. “Are you allowed to do that?” you manage to utter.

“I’m the commanding officer of the Coruscant Guard,” he says, a small smirk breaking through his mask of professionalism.

“Yeah, but freedom of the press and all that,” you argue weakly.

“The press needs the proper accreditations. They have it to document the gala, not to participate in a political campaign.”

“Isn’t that stretching the truth?”

“That’s playing their game, cyar’ika,” Fox declares, his tone of voice bordering on teasing.

Your cheeks immediately heat up – you know what the Mando’a term means. “Thank you, Commander. You, uhh… you’re a lifesaver,” you reply with a small, embarrassed chuckle.

His eyes soften and he smiles, and this time you’re certain – he does glance at your lips. He’s still so close, he could just lean in. You want him to lean in… His eyes quickly return to yours but you saw it clearly and your heart begins to race. Without thinking, you tilt your head up, and you hear him inhale sharply.

Before either of you can make another move, a couple of raindrops land on your forehead and shoulder. You both look up. A thick layer of black clouds covers the night sky and the faint rumbling of thunder reverberates through the air. The raindrops keep falling, quickly multiplying, and Fox curses under his breath. It was already a chilly night, and with the rain now pouring down, it’ll only get colder.

“We should get you back inside,” the Commander voices.

You shake your head. “I cannot go back in there; I just can’t stand it anymore.”

His head turns to the balcony door, his eyebrows furrowing in thought. Whatever he’s thinking seems to make him tense; you notice his fist clenching and unclenching. However, any sign of tension disappears before he turns back to you, his expression carefully composed.

“Come on,” he says, his hand settling on your back again, gently coaxing you to jump down from the railing with a soft, guiding pressure.

“But–” you begin to protest.

“Once we’re in, head right and stay close to the wall. I’ll cover your flank so the senator can’t approach you again. We’ll slip out through one of the side doors and go to the Guard HQ,” he instructs, picking up his helmet from the floor and securing it in place. His voice takes on the same commanding tone you've heard his brothers use countless times during briefings.

You hesitate for a moment, considering all the implications. But what’s the alternative? Stay out in the cold rain or go back inside only to be used as a prop by the senator? Simply heading to their HQ doesn’t mean anything – he’ll probably take you to the mess hall or maybe a break room, like the ones you’ve been in countless times aboard the Negotiator or at the base here on Coruscant. You’ve been enjoying his company, and if you’re honest, you want to spend more time with him.

Deciding to trust him, you nod and follow his instructions. The heavy air hits you as soon as you step inside and the general noise of voices, laughter and music is overwhelming. You move quickly, not wishing to spend a minute longer in this large, overcrowded space, and as promised, Fox walks right beside you, blocking you with his large body from anyone’s prying eyes. His hand presses against the small of your back on a few, brief occasions, as he steers you through the crowd and towards a concealed door, which he opens with the help of an access card.

You’ve been in the Senate building before, but never walked these maintenance corridors. Fox guides you, his fingers brushing yours as he walks by your side down the stairs. Your heart races every time you feel the contact and you tilt your head to look at him a few times, but his face is safely hidden behind his helmet.

The Coruscant Guard compound sits just behind the Senate building, appearing separate but connected through a network of underground tunnels. You’ve never been here – never had a reason why – and you find yourself looking around and taking in every detail. Although, there isn’t really that much to take in, as it has the same cold, utilitarian architecture of the main base.

As you walk quietly beside Fox, you begin to feel out of place – though, funnily enough, your attire matches the Corrie’s colour scheme. The shock troopers you pass nod at their Commander but always do a double take when they see you. You’re starting to wonder if coming here was a mistake.

Fox leads you to the turbolisfts, then to one of the upper levels and down a couple of corridors until you are stood in front of the door to an office – the door to his office. He opens it and gestures for you to go in first. The room is small and very minimalist – there’s one desk and chair, one file cabinet and a worn-down couch. The desk is full of datapads and flimsi files and the sheer amount of work looks overwhelming, yet somehow everything is neatly arranged and stacked.

You pause in the doorway for a second, but your feet really are killing you, so you plop down on the couch, kicking your heels off with a dramatic sigh. You hear a chuckle as Fox walks over to his desk and takes his helmet off and you want to make a snarky comment, but the words get stuck in your throat. You take a moment to study him better, the brighter lights of his office allowing you to see more of the scars on his face, the bags under his eyes and the silver strands in his hair. You’ve always found the clones attractive, but Maker, there was something about Fox that's hitting you harder than ever before.

The Commander is also observing you and a self-satisfied smirk breaks through his mask of composure.

“Like what you see?” he teases, crossing his arms over his chest.

A “yes” escapes your lips before you can stop it and your eyes go wide at the realisation of what you just admitted. “T-The paint job,” you then blurt out, as if that would somehow save it.

“The paint job?” he repeats, thoroughly amused.

“Mhmm,” you hum, the sound coming out strained. “Cause most of the Guard troopers I’ve seen have the-the red on the chest plate and the white is-and you know, nice choice having it the other way around.” The words spew out with a rapid flow and you cringe internally.

“Glad you approve,” Fox bites back a laugh.

You give him a look before you throw your head back, starring at the durasteel ceiling and cursing the stream of stupidity that came out of your mouth.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” you nod, meeting his amused gaze again.

Fox crouches down and procures a bottle or corellian whiskey and a glass from the lower drawers of the cabinet. You watch intently, your gaze following every motion as he pours the amber liquid. The Commander then walks over to the couch and hands the glass to you, clinking the bottle against it before taking a swing directly out of it. A laugh escapes your lips at the sight.

“Only have one glass,” he shrugs before sitting down next to you.

“So you usually drink alone?” you ask, voice playful. “That’s a bit sad, Commander.”

Fox huffs a bitter laugh and shakes his head. “You can drop the ‘commander’, you know?” he says instead of answering your question.

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you look away, taking a sip of the whiskey. The liquid burns as it slides down your throat and you cough – it’s stronger than what you usually drink. You really should put a stop to this.

“Alright… Fox,” you say.

You glance back at him, heart beating faster. Fox closes his eyes, almost as if he’s savouring the way his name sounded as it left your lips. When he opens them again, the look he gives you is different, hungrier, and it sets a slow burn alight in your core. You should get up and leave, take yourself out of this inappropriate situation, but instead, you shift in your seat to face him better.

“So,” you start sweetly, pausing to sip your whiskey, “tell me something about yourself.”

He takes another swing of the bottle before placing it on the floor next to the couch. “What do you want to know?”

You have no idea what compels you to do it, but your hand moves on its own, cupping his face. Your thumb gently brushes over the scar at the corner of his mouth. “How’d you get this?” you ask.

His eyes flick down to your hand, then back to yours and you can feel his jaw clenching as he sharply inhales. “Careful, mesh’la,” he rasps, “you might make me do something we’ll both regret.”

“I wouldn’t regret it,” you whisper.

“You’re drunk. You would regret it,” he insists, his voice coming out strained.

“I’m not that drunk, Fox,” you counter. “I know what I want.”

He stares you down, his expression unreadable, and your boldness begins to falter. You try to pull your hand away, but before you can, he catches it, holding it firmly in place against his face. You can almost see the internal conflict behind his eyes. Slowly, he tilts his head and presses a kiss to your wrist. His lips feel so soft, so warm, and goosebumps appear on your skin in anticipation. But then – he lets go of your hand.

The disappointment is fleeting. Fox takes your glass, downs the whiskey in one go, and sets it on the floor. Then, he moves closer, devouring you with his eyes. The look is electric and it sends a shiver directly to your core. When he cups your face, your breath hitches, quickens. You are completely at his mercy – if only he would just kiss you already.

“Please don’t regret this,” he breathes, his voice barely a whisper.

The raw vulnerability in his tone catches you off guard and your heart clenches. “I won’t. I promise.”

The last of Fox’s self-restraint finally breaks. He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss – slow, tentative, sweet. Not at all what you expected. You thought he would be rougher, demanding, but the way he takes his time, the gentleness of his lips – it’s endearing, but also maddening, and it fills you with need. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer and his other hand settles on your hip. You want more of him – you need more of him – and so you deepen the kiss. Your tongue brushes past his lips and he groans, his grip on you tightening. Somehow, he tastes like caf, even though what you expected was tabac and whisky.

The kiss becomes hungrier, more desperate, and you start to suspect that Fox needs this even more than you do. His hand leaves your hip and starts exploring your body as he guides you down onto the couch. He’s caging you in now, his large frame looming over you – it’s intoxicating really. He breaks the kiss in order to pull back slightly, finding your eyes.

“Is this okay?” Fox asks.

“Yes!” you reply, eager for him to continue.

You pull him back to you and feel him smile against your lips. The need for more pours into the kiss – you’re really worked up now – and your hands roam over his chesplate then up to his shoulders, fumbling to find the latches and get it off. It is not an easy task.

“Do you need help there?” Fox chuckles against your lips

“I need you out of the armor,” you whine.

“Maybe if you asked nicely,” he teases, his lips trailing down your neck.

You tilt your head in order to give him better access, and moan when you feel his teeth scrape on your pulse point. The feeling is so exquisite you almost forget what you wanted. However, the hard plastoid pressing down on your chest quickly reminds you of your wish.

“Fox,” you breathe, “please take it off.”

Fox smirks and sits back on his knees, his eyes not leaving yours as he expertly sheds his upper armor with impressive speed. He leans back in, more urgent this time, kissing you deeply. You immediately take advantage, gliding your hands over the planes of his chest. The fabric of his blacks feels smooth against your palms, but you yearn to feel his warm skin. Slowly, your hands make their way down to his belt, pulling at the material tucked in, and Fox pauses the kiss to assist you in taking his top off.

You take a moment to admire him, your fingers gently tracing over the scars scattered across his chest. Your eyes then land on a bruise on the left side of his waist – it's the size of your fist, fresh and a dark purple with yellowish-green edges. Concern flashes in your gaze as you meet his eyes.

“Incident on the lower levels last week,” he answers your silent question.

“Are you alright to continue? That looks painful,” you ask, the worry in your voice genuine.

“I’m fine, mesh’la, don’t worry,” he reassures you with a soft smile.

He doesn’t give you too much time to keep thinking about it – his lips crash into yours, kissing you with a renewed hunger. He then trails down, nipping at the skin on your throat and chest. One of your hands tangles in his hair, pulling his greying curls gently, an action that makes him moan. He pulls back, staring intently in your eyes as his hand comes to cup your breast. Your soft moans encourage him to continue and he pushes the material of your dress and bra to the side. Your nipple pebbles as the cool air of his office brushes against it and Fox sees it as an invitation to lean in and close his lips around it. His tongue swipes over the hardened bud, and the whimpers falling from your lips only spur him on.

You hook a leg around him, drawing him closer as he moves to the other breast. You hiss at the contact with the hard plastoid of his codpiece, your core aching with need. His hand slides on your thigh, pushing at the hem of your dress.

“You’re wearing too much fabric,” he groans, lifting his head from your breasts.

“What’s stopping you from taking it off?” you purr.

His hands find the zipper and pull it down, and you shift your body to assist him in freeing you from the dress and bra. His eyes rake over your naked form under him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. You bite your lip as heat darkens your cheeks.

He throws the garments somewhere on the floor before his mouth claims your breasts again, sucking a mark on the left one. His lips then continue down your abdomen, every kiss and bite sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you. When he finally reaches your center, you’re dripping wet, and Fox curses under his breath as he pulls your underwear to the side and sees your arousal. His eyes meet yours, silently asking for permission. You nod eagerly, not trusting yourself to speak.

His hands spread your legs a little wider and he impatiently dives in, his warm tongue sliding though your folds. A loud, needy moan sounds from the back of your throat, and your head falls against the armrest of the couch. Your eyes are squeezed shut and all you can focus on is the pure pleasure that his lips and tongue elicit as they flick over your clit. Slowly, you start grinding on his face, helping him find a rhythm that makes you head spin.

You gasp when his fingers find your entrance. He slips two of them inside in a slow, maddening pace, stopping his attention to your clit for a just a moment in order to gauge your reaction.

“Don’t stop,” you manage to whimper, not even caring how needy you must sound.

Fox chuckles – a low, self-satisfied sound that reverberates through your core. He resumes his earlier assault on your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you in a faster pace at the same time. Your hands tangle in his hair again, pulling sharply on the strands. He moans at the pain, and the sound only increases your pleasure.

His fingertips find a spot that makes you cry out and you’re desperately grinding against him. You’re so close, the pressure is building and you squeeze your thighs around his head instinctively. Pleasure overtakes your senses and it only keeps increasing with every pump of his fingers and lick of tongue. You're so, so close now – the damn is about to break.

And then he stops, swiftly pulling the digits out of you.

“Fox!” you shout, the indignation in your voice sharp as all pleasure dissipates.

“Sorry cyar'ika,” he laughs, “but I want to be inside of you when you come.”

“I could've done that after. There was no need to stop now,” you whine in protest.

“It's more fun this way,” Fox teases as he gets up and begins removing the rest of his armor.

“You are such an asshole,” you mumble under your breath.

The smirk he gives you is so disarming, you’re glad you’re already laying down. “Someone must've warned you about that before.”

“Well maybe I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt,” you bite back.

“You should believe everything you've heard about me,” Fox declares, now standing before you in nothing but his underwear. “Especially the bad things.”

Your gaze falls to the outline of his erection, lingering on the way it strains against the fabric of his boxers. The sight sends a wave of heat through your body, reigniting the desire simmering in your core. You bite your lip – he is big and you can already imagine how he’ll feel inside of you. You swallow, your mind racing in anticipation of what will come next. He pulls the boxers down, letting his cock spring free, and your eyes go wide.

“If you’re done ogling, I’d like to continue,” he taunts.

“I am not ogling!” you exclaim, a bit defensive.

“You are definitely ogling,” he says with a smirk as he climbs back on top of you. “Drooling a little too.”

You playfully slap his chest with the back of your hand, trying to give him a dirty look, but the smile frozen on your lips betrays you. It seems you do enjoy his teasing. His lips find yours again, and any indignation you felt from earlier immediately melts away. You wrap your arms around his back, nails scraping his skin in response to his erection pressing against your clit. He swallows your moans and pushes his tongue into your mouth, filling it with the unexpected taste of your arousal.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Fox pulls away to ask, the tip of his cock positioned at your entrance.

“Yes,” you nod eagerly. “I want this – I want you.”

His eyes darken and the look he gives you is almost possessive. Slowly, he sinks in, and you gasp at the stretch. You look into his eyes as he gradually bottoms out, lost in their mesmerising amber hue. A sudden wave of panic violently crashes over you – you’ve been around so many troopers before, yet you've never felt like this. It's overwhelming, terrifying... and yet, you don't want it to stop.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Fox groans, the awe in his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“You feel amazing,” you respond, the words coming out strained.

Fox pulls almost all the way out, before sharply snapping his hips back into you. The cry that leaves your lips echoes around the room and, based on the smile on his lips, gives him immense pleasure. His lips claim yours again, as he thrusts harder, faster, driving all coherent thought from your mind. All you can sense, all you can feel – it’s him. Fox consumes you completely – he is everything you taste, everything you smell, everything you see and hear.

Your breasts bounce with each sharp thrust and Fox brings a hand up to cup one of them, pinching the nipple between his fingers. The extra stimulation is almost too much and you moan as you feel your peak quickly approaching. A thought crosses your mind – maybe you shouldn’t be so loud; but that is easier said than done.

“You’re… you’re taking me so well, mesh’la,” Fox rasps, voice rough with effort. “Fuck! It’s… it’s like you were made for me. So perfect, you’re perfect.”

You try to speak, but no words come to you. The tip of his cock hits that spot inside of you just right, and every thrust of his hips brings you closer and closer to your release.

“What is it, mesh’la? Use your words,” Fox teases, noticing the crease in your brows.

Your mouth opens and closes silently a couple of times before you finally find your voice. “Don’t stop,” you beg. “Please, Fox, please don’t stop.”

The sound he makes almost sounds like a growl and it sends a visible shiver across your body. Fox presses his forehead to yours, grunting as he forces himself to maintain the same pace. Your hand slips between your bodies, finding your clit, and you begin circling it with quick, urgent motions. It doesn’t take long for the coil to snap – your back arches as your walls contract around his length, and your climax washes over you in powerful waves.

Your moans of pleasure and the sight of you writhing beneath him soon push him over the edge. With a low grunt, Fox quickly pulls out, spilling his release across your stomach. He collapses on top of you, his face finding refuge in the crook of your neck, and you tightly wrap your arms around his still-trembling body.

You’re not sure how long the two of you stay like that – lost in each other’s embrace, catching your breath. It feels peaceful, natural, almost necessary. You stroke his hair, savouring the way his arms pull you closer, how he nuzzles your neck. Honestly, this might even be better than the sex. When he finally pulls away, the look he gives you is reverent, and he leans in to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

“I’ll be right back,” he says as he gets up.

Fox disappears into the small fresher attached to his office, returning shortly after with a damp towel in hand. He sits down beside you, and with slow, deliberate movements, he carefully wipes his release from your stomach. You mumble some thanks, your gaze lost to a random point on the ceiling as your mind races with a thousand thoughts.

“What’s on your mind?” Fox asks, his voice cautions.

“Uhm…” you hesitate, sheepishly meeting his gaze. “Cody’s gonna kill me.”

“You plan on telling him?” he questions. “Cause I sure as hell won’t.”

You shake your head and exhale deeply. “He’ll know – he always just knows somehow.”

“As far as he’s aware, we don’t even know each other,” Fox counters, his hand resting on your hip. “I think we’re safe.”

“Hope you’re right.”

Fox huffs a small, bitter laugh. “So you regret it then?”

Your eyes snap to him, and the resigned expression on his face breaks your heart. “No!” you exclaim, sitting up and taking his hand. “Absolutely not, that was amazing. Honestly, 10 out of 10.”

He gives you an unimpressed look. “Very funny.”

“What?”

“My CC number,” he says. You tilt your head to the side, brows furrowed in confusion. “My designation? CC-1010?” he adds.

“You’re kidding.” You try your best to stifle your laugh at the serious look he gives you. “Very fitting then,” you manage between giggles.

Fox shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “You’re terrible.”

“That’s not what you said earlier,” you tease. “I think the word you used was… perfect?”

“Get dressed,” Fox orders, trying to keep from smiling. “We’re going to the mess to get some food.”

“Yes, Commander,” you purr, earning another eye roll.

Unbeknownst to you, Cody has been trying to speak to Fox all night. Besides a brief holo-call a couple of months back and a short meeting last leave, he hasn’t seen his brother in ages and really hoped the gala would give them the opportunity to catch up. Unfortunately, he kept getting stopped by senators and wealthy donors, and pulled into long, tedious conversations. He lost track of Fox at one point, and by the time he managed to slip away, he couldn’t find him anywhere.

Cody did find Thorn, who told him that, considering how much Fox hates these events, he probably went back to his office to get some work done. So the Corrie Commander lead Cody back to their HQ, but when they reached Fox’s office, they were stopped from knocking by the muffled, yet very distinctive noises coming from inside.

The two commanders shared a look, completely shocked by what they were hearing. The fact that Fox would be fucking someone in his office – in the Guard HQ – it was unbelievable. They stepped back and leaned against the wall, trying to figure out who could possibly be inside with their brother.

A senator? Impossible, according to Thorn – Fox hates senators.

An aide? Unlikely for the same reason.

One of the waitresses? Maybe.

Thorn was curious and adamant about waiting to see who will come out of the office. And Cody – well, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get some dirt on his brother.

So unfortunately for you, the moment the door swishes open and you step outside, your eyes lock immediately with Cody’s.

His mouth falls open as he tries to process what he’s seeing – who he’s seeing.

Your eyes go wide – almost as wide as his – and you instinctively step back toward the office, only to bump into Fox. You meet his gaze, silently pleading for some help, even though you know he’s just as much in trouble as you are.

“Osik,” Fox curses, his eyes darting between Cody and the other clone.

The man next to him – another Corrie Guard commander you suppose, judging by his armor – looks confused. But Cody? Cody looks furious. His face contorts as realization dawns, and he steps forward, eyes locking onto Fox with pure fury.

“You!” he thunders.

“Vod, it’s not what–” Fox starts, trying to diffuse the situation.

“You’re dead!” Cody interrupts, his voice filled with rage. “My Padawan, Fox? Y-You… my Padawan? You’re so dead!”

“Oh shit,” Thorn whispers.

You step in front of him. “Cody it’s-I didn’t mean… w-we-”

The look he gives you could melt durasteel, and it silences you immediately.

“General Kenobi is looking for you. I suggest you leave now, before he somehow finds you here,” he hisses.

“But–”

“Go. Now!” her barks.

You can’t argue anymore. With one last glance at Fox – who gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod – you turn and make your way to the turbolifts, head hanging low. As you walk away, the sound of their argument follows you.

“We can’t talk about this in the corridor,” Fox insists. “Let’s step into my–”

“I am not going inside your office,” Cody snaps, disgust evident in his voice.

“Mine’s down the hall, let’s go there,” Thorn cuts in.

You don’t dare turn around – afraid that Fox might look back at you, or worse, that he wouldn’t spare you a second glance at all.

Three rotations later, you’re back aboard the Negotiator, en route to your next campaign in the Mid Rim. You’ve barely slept, your mind constantly replaying the events of the gala. You cannot get Fox out of your head. You’ve tried, really, really tried. You’ve hidden yourself in the Temple – mostly to avoid Cody but also any chance of running into the Coruscant Guard – and you’ve tried to focus on meditation, lightsaber training, anything to keep your mind from thinking about him. But still, Fox lingers in your thoughts.

That’s why you’re here right now, in front of Cody’s office, trying to talk yourself into going in and facing your ori’vod. You shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t ask what you’re about to ask – but you just can’t help it. You take a deep breath, press the buzzer, then step inside.

Cody greets you with an icy glare – he’s still pissed off, you assumed that much –but you walk to the chair in front of his desk and sit down, drumming nervously on your thigh. Where do you even begin?

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you start. “We just got… caught up.”

Cody shakes his head disapprovingly. “If this is your way of apologising–”

“I’m not,” you cut in. He lifts an eyebrow. “Apologising. I’m not. I don’t regret it, and I’m not sorry it happened.”

“Then why are you here, vod’ika?” he asks.

“I, uhm… I was hoping you could give me his frequency,” you say, sheepishly looking away.

He visibly tenses, your request catching him off-guard. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Probably not. But I can’t stop thinking about him,” you confess.

The silence that settles in the office is deafening. Cody is staring at you, his expression unreadable and you begin to squirm under his gaze, shifting in your seat. The reality of what you’re asking come crashing down on you, filling you with guilt and shame. You’re a Jedi – what the hell are you thinking?

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” you murmur. “I’m sure he doesn’t even want to hear from me…”

Cody sighs and leans back in the chair, his gaze finally softening. “He asked me for your frequency two days ago.”

Your eyes light up. “He did?”

“Yeah. I didn’t give it to him. But if you’re asking now too…” he trails off, shaking his head. With a few taps on his datapad, your comm beeps. “I hope you know what you’re doing, vod’ika.”

“Thank you,” you exclaim.

“Don’t thank me for this. I’m sure I’ll regret it,” he retorts.

You walk back to your cabin at a brisk pace, unable to hide the grin on your face. You cannot wait to comm him, and maybe, hopefully, see him again next time you’re on Coruscant.

Chapter Text

As much as you couldn't wait to message him when you got his frequency, you surprisingly simply... didn't. You got back to your cabin, all giddy and excited, you opened his comm channel and... you froze. You stared at the small typing bar flickering on the screen for what felt like hours urging your brain to let you do anything.

Cody said he asked for your frequency first, that meant he wanted to talk you – logically you knew this. But your damn anxious brain wouldn't let you message him.

You deleted what had to be five attempts at nice, normal greetings, scoffing at the weird phrasing. Everything you wrote felt off, as if you suddenly forgot all the Basic you've been speaking for your entire life. The words looked wrong and you triple checked the spelling on almost all of them, worried that you'd gotten the simplest ones like 'mission', 'system' and even 'weeks' wrong. It was infuriating.

After half an hour of staring at your comm you gave up, threw it on your bed and jumped in the shower, vowing to finally send a simple 'hi' once you were done.

But that was six weeks ago.

You're sitting on a cot in the medbay now, watching the clone medics milling around. The battle was long and exhausting, but it's finally ended and you're en route to Coruscant. You're not injured – you're there for moral support for Waxer, who caught a stray blaster bolt right at the end of the siege. He'll be fine, nothing major – you're actually in there to keep yourself distracted if you're honest.

You still haven't commed him. You thought about it daily, but you kept putting it off. And now you're on your way back to Coruscant where you'll spend the next seven rotations while the men finally have some much-earned leave.

And you're terrified.

Has he thought of you at all these past weeks? Does he still want to see you? You'd know if you'd managed to kriffing comm him… But your anxiety and insecurities didn't allow it. And well, there was also the other issue… the small, impossible-to-ignore issue of, you know, the fact that you’re a Jedi. You’re not supposed to form attachments. Not supposed to get involved with a clone. Not supposed to be hiding in the medbay, unable to focus on anything around you because all you can think about is seeing Fox again.

Will you even run into him? You don't really see how your paths might intersect – you have no business in the Senate, he has no business in the Temple.

Maybe at the 79s? But he's rarely there. In all the times you’ve been there with Cody, Rex and the other troublemakers of the 501st, you've never seen him in.

No... you doubt you'll run into him unless you actually pick up the comm and send him a message.

But it's been so long. Six standard weeks of no contact. And after what? One single night of drunken mistakes? One amazing night that you can't get out of your head... But who are you kidding – the odds of him clinging to it the same way as you have are slim. There's no way he's still thinking about you.

Fox watches the stream of troopers pour out of the transports, his eyes scanning for any sign of Jedi robes among the orange-painted plastoid.

He’s not really supposed to be there. He happened to be on patrol in the area, noticed the transports coming down, and decided to wait for Cody since he'd not seen him in a while.

Well… that’s the story he'll give him and anyone else who asks what he’s doing at the main Base. But the truth is he'd arranged his schedule this way. He wanted to be in the area, knowing that the 212th was returning on-world.

He wanted to run into you.

Fox had tried a second time to get your frequency from Cody – a couple of days after his vod had refused to give it to him – and he learned that you've also asked for his. And Cody gave it to you.

So Fox waited.

And waited.

And waited…

The first rotation passed as it usually did, with Fox dealing with the banthashit thrown at him by various senators or the Chancellor. He’d not even had the time to check his comm until the evening, and when he finally did, he was disappointed to see there was no message from you. He hadn’t even realised how much he’d been expecting it…

The next rotations were spent checking his comm increasingly often. At first it was a couple of time throughout the day, but as the days turned into weeks and you still had not reached out to him, Fox began to check it constantly… obsessively.

After four weeks he caved and sent a comm to Cody.

CC–1010: Are you sure you gave her the correct frequency?

His brother’s response came excruciatingly slow – the 212th was in the middle of a siege after all.

CC–2224: I did. She hasn’t messaged?

CC–1010: Oh she has, we’ve been talking all day, every day, and I’ve commed you for no kriffin’ reason.

CC–2224: Don’t take it out on me, vod. She probably came to her senses. It sucks, I get it. But she’s Jetti. You’re a GAR officer. I suggest you follow her example and snap out of it.

CC-1010: Thanks, vod. Always such a pleasure speaking to you.

He hated this. Hated that he expected something from you. That a part of him – the part that should’ve known better – kept hoping you hadn’t forgotten what it meant, even if it had only been once. You’d been his moment of warmth in a never-ending sea of anxiety, pressure and political nonsense. You’d been the first real connection he’d felt with another person in way too long.

And he thought you’d felt it too.

Cody was right, however. Fox had to snap out of it. He had to get his head back in the game. He was the commanding officer of the Corries. He had a duty to the Chancellor, to the people of Coruscant, to his vode. He had to focus on that. He had to get you out of his mind.

And yet, every time the comm lit up, he checked it.

And every time, it wasn’t you.

To his credit, Fox really did try to let it go. He tried to focus on anything else – even on the conversations of senators he usually tuned out. But you wouldn’t leave him. You haunted his dreams, your face appeared clear as day in front of him every time he closed his eyes. It was pathetic, infuriating. And it was really getting to him.

His mood had soured more than usual, his patience even thinner than before – he actually made a couple shinnies cry at one point. The others noticed. Thorn, Thire, Stone, even Hound – they all tried to figure out what had happened, their worry for their vod growing.

But Fox was Fox. The more they tried to reach out to him, the more he pulled away. Especially from Thorn, who knew about that night. Knew about you. Knew what to imply with his questions.

His vod tried, but Fox refused to speak about it. Every time Thorn approached him, he would find something that needed his attention, some place he needed to be. He didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to name it. Because once he did, it became real – and real things could be lost.

You asked Cody for his frequency. You had the means to contact him. So why didn’t you? Why even ask for it if you weren’t going to use it? You must’ve wanted to send a message – Fox was sure of it. Was it a rejection? Was that why you hadn’t commed yet –were you going to reject him, tell him that it couldn’t happen again, but you didn’t know how? Were you going to tell him it had meant nothing to you, or worse, that you did regret it?

All these questions swarming in his mind – it was driving him crazy.

You were driving him crazy.

So when he learned that the 212th was returning to Coruscant, Fox decided he needed to see you.

So now he’s here, stiffly stood at parade rest in the hangar of the main Base, as if he’s preparing for a thorough inspection.

Ideally, he wants to talk to you – but he knows he shouldn’t. Because what he really wants is to ask if you’d thought about him, if that night had meant anything to you. He wants to ask why you haven’t commed.

He wants… he just wants to be in your warm presence again, hear the melody of your voice – even if only for a moment.

It’s embarrassing, really, how much of an effect you had on him.

Fox steps to the side to let the medics pass, eyes briefly scanning the injured troopers laid out on hover-stretchers. The first transports are always filled with the wounded – those being moved from field medbays to proper infirmaries, or even to the GMF if the damage is bad enough. He’s actually relieved you weren’t on any of them…

He counts the LAATs that have already landed. He’s read the casualty reports – he knows how many transports should be allocated for the injured.

Then come the officers.

If he estimated correctly, you should be on the next one.

He squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath, the exhale filtering loudly through the voice modulator of his helmet. The transport is approaching. His left hand balls into a fist before he flexes his fingers a couple of times, trying to shake the nerves.

He shouldn’t be this nervous – it makes no sense. He’s never nervous. Not when chasing dangerous criminals through the lower levels. Not when dealing with temperamental, vindictive senators who throw a fit if they don’t get their way. He’s always calm, collected, in control.

Hell, he wasn’t even this nervous that night. He was the one in control – you allowed him to be. Sure, he was also emboldened by the vapours of alcohol, but there’d also been something about you – an openness that encouraged him to let his guard down, to flirt and tease. To be himself. Not a clone. Not a commander. Just–

“Fox?”

The voice almost makes him flinch.

Fox turns, seeing blue-painted plastoid approaching from behind him. His eyes then lift from the tally marks scratched into the vambrace to the bleached buzzcut of his little brother.

“Rex,” he greets with a nod.

Rex’s face lights up. “Didn’t think you ever left the Senate,” he says, clearly pleased to see his ori’vod. “What brings you all the way out here?”

 “Saw the transports coming in, figured I’d catch Cody,” Fox replies casually. “Haven’t seen him in a while.”

Rex pauses, giving Fox a quick once-over. “You alright?”

“Still breathing,” Fox says, then hurries to change the subject. “I didn’t know you were on-world.”

 “Special assignment with Skywalker,” Rex answers. “Redeploying tomorrow. It’s why I’m here actually. Was gonna ask Cody to join me at the 79s tonight.”

The hiss of the repulsorlifts draw Fox’s attention and he glances over in time to see the doors of the LAAT swish open. He swears his heart stops for a moment.

But the first to jump off is Cody.

Fox can pinpoint the exact moment his vod spots him. Cody’s walking beside his general, gaze scanning lazily across the hangar – until he freezes mid-step. His helmet snaps toward where Fox and Rex stand. And he just stares.

This isn’t ideal…

Fox hoped he’d manage to get your attention while somehow avoiding him.

Cody, who will immediately see through his lie and know the true reason he’s there.

Cody, who thinks of you as a little sister and is fiercely protective of you.

Cody, who he’d never seen furious – properly furious – until that night outside his office.

Their last interaction had been that comm exchange two weeks ago. It didn’t exactly end on a friendly note.

“– so you’re coming, yeah?” Rex’s voice cuts in, clapping a hand to Fox’s shoulder.

“What?” Fox blinks, only now tuning back in.

“To the 79s,” Rex grins. “You’re coming with us.”

“Uhm… sure,” Fox mumbles, his gaze already moving back to the 212th’s Commander.

Cody is marching towards them, his helmet now off, eyeing Fox with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. Fox straightens instinctively, his posture going rigid.

The uproar of the chaotic hangar fills the gunship as soon as the doors open, momentarily drowning out the noise of your anxious mind. You’re among the last to disembark the transport, hovering around Waxer despite his protests that you have no reason to fuss over him. But you need something – anything – to keep your mind busy. To keep your mind from thinking of–

Him.

Hard plastoid hits your chest as you walk straight into Boil’s back, knocking the wind out of you for a second.

“Sorry,” you mutter under your breath. You bring your hand up to the left side of your sternum and rub what will undoubtedly become a new bruise – as if you didn’t already have enough after the siege.

“You alright, vod’ika?” Boil asks.

But you don’t even register his question. Your eyes lock on a figure you didn’t expect to see here.

Commander Fox – talking to Rex and Cody.

His scarlet armor is glistening in the iridescent light of the hangar and he is standing tall, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders squared. He looks just as imposing and maddeningly confident as you remember. As if nothing happened…

“I wonder what he’s doing here.” Waxer unknowingly voices the question buzzing in your mind.

Well… one of the questions anyway.

“Eh, can’t be anything bad” Boil comments. “No other Corries in sight.”

Their conversation doesn’t quite reach you – it’s like you’re listening to it from underwater. Plus, the sound of your heart thudding loudly in your ears seems to muffle all noise of the busy hangar.

You don’t know what to do.

Should you go over there and say hello? Risk embarrassing yourself – blurting out something idiotic, or worse, admitting you’ve been thinking about him nonstop for six weeks?

Or should you bolt?

He hasn’t seen you yet. You could make a run for it and catch up to Obi-Wan who’s heading toward the shuttle that'll take him back to the Temple. But he’s just given you permission to stay behind after you said you wished to remain with the men a little longer. If you suddenly change your mind he might figure out that something’s wrong.

No… the risk is too high – you don’t trust yourself to properly mask your emotions right now.

Maybe if you stick close to Waxer and Boil until you’re and out of the hanger… then head straight for the infirmary. There’s bound to be more than enough for you to do there. Help the medics. Focus on the walking wounded. Take the minor cases and lose yourself in the work.

Long enough for a certain Commander to return to the Senate where he belongs.

But you don’t get to make a decision.

You glance back toward the three men–

And your stomach lurches.

A shiver jolts through your body. He’s seen you. Fox is looking straight at you.

You’re sure of it. Even through the dark visor of his helmet, you can feel it. Your eyes meet – you know they do.

For a few moments you don’t move. You can’t – it’s as if you're frozen in carbonite.

Then, after what feels like an unreasonably long time of just staring, your brain kicks back into gear and you realise how ridiculous you must look. And how ridiculous this whole situation is. You are a Jedi – a damn good one too – and here you are, freezing like an Alderaanian deer in the headlights at the sight of a man you slept with once. Get it together. You’re supposed to be better than this.

Unfortunately for you, the others can see that something is wrong.

"Are you okay?" Waxer asks. "You look a little out of it."

"Uhh... fine," you manage to croak. You swallow hard, then start walking without another word.

Every step you take feels heavy, like wading through water. Your hesitance is impossible to hide. He's not making it easy either. The only sign of tension is the slight stiffening in his shoulders – barely noticeable, but you catch it. Though you don’t know what it means. He still stands tall, still looks unbothered. Calm. Collected. It makes your stomach twist.

Because a small part of you – a tiny, treacherous part – hopes that maybe, somehow, he’s here for you.

And that scares you. You’re worried that if you let that seed of hope take root in your heart, it’ll just be crushed. You can feel the heartache before it even takes place. Maker, you wish you’d bolted when you had the chance.

Captain Rex notices you approach, and warmly says your name.

“Captain,” you reply with a slight curl of your lips.

It’s a rehearsed smile – the kind that doesn’t quite reach your eyes – but it’s the best you can manage right now. Too bad Cody knows you so well – you really wish he didn’t look at you with such blatant concern written all over his face.

“How’d the siege go after we left?” Rex asks, glancing between you and Cody.

“Believe it or not, we can actually handle a few of droids without the 501st,” you sigh, rolling your eyes with theatrical flair. “Careful, Rex – it sounds like you’re letting Anakin’s overconfidence get to your head.”

“Never,” the Captain chuckles.

Next to him, Fox shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The slight movement catches your attention, and without your permission, your eyes glance his way again.

“Do you know Commander Fox?” Rex asks. “He’s–”

“We’ve met,” Fox cuts in.

His voice hits you like a physical blow. It’s not cold. It’s not bitter. Just…  impersonal, completely devoid of any emotion. No wonder some troopers joke that the Corrie Guard Commander is secretly a droid – he might as well be, speaking and standing so damn rigidly.

 Actually…

You look at him – really look at him. He’s too rigid. His voice is too emotionless. Not at all how you remember him from that night. He’s… different. Apprehensive. Maybe even anxious?

That little seed of hope stirs again in your heart.

“Yes,” you confirm. “We met at the fundraising gala.”

Your voice is lighter now, and the small smile you offer is more genuine. Maybe you’re reading too much into it – analysing the smallest movements – but it seems to have an immediate effect on him. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders and there’s a slight tilt of his helmet your way. Like he’s waiting. Like he’s hoping you’ll say more. Acknowledge that night in some way. You need to think of something quickly.

“The Commander actually saved my shebs,” you blurt out. Heat rushes to your cheeks as both Cody and Rex turn their heads to look at you. Maker, why did you open your mouth? “The Senator of my home planet he… uhh – there were these-these journalists taking photos – and, uhm, anyway I could’ve been in trouble.” You wince. “Still think that was abuse of power though,” the conclusion is accompanied by an awkward laugh.

Your eyes drop to the floor and you bite your lip, cursing your heart for racing and your mouth for spewing out incoherent nonsense. And yet, it worked.

“Brenko lost the election,” Fox says, voice steadier. “The new Senator actually seems decent.”

You glance back into the black of his visor, hoping that your eyes meet – it feels that way anyway. That sounded… more like him.

“Good. I couldn’t stand that fucker,” you chuckle.

A quiet, amused huff crackles out through his voice modulator. He laughed – sort of.

And just like that, that seed of hope is a flower in bloom.

“You were planning his murder if I remember correctly,” Fox says, the edge in his voice softening into something almost cordial – maybe even a little teasing. “Bold of you to admit that to the commander of the Guard.”

Definitely teasing.

“I said I was considering it, not actively planning,” you shoot back, slipping easily into the banter. “Don’t twist my words, Commander. That won’t stand in court.”

Another small huff escapes his lips and you can’t help the bright smile that lights up your face. Fox seems more at ease now – the tension in his shoulders has melted away and he finally releases his hands from behind his back.

“I could probably fabricate some evidence,” Fox continues, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’ve already established I’m not above abuse of power.”

“I knew the Coruscant Guard was corrupted,” you exclaim dramatically.

Next to him, Rex frowns slightly, shooting Fox a quick, confused look. He’s not actually… flirting, is he? The confusion deepens when he glances at Cody – who is glaring at Fox. His jaw is clenched, and the helmet is gripped so tightly, his knuckles must be white under the glove. So Rex isn’t imagining it. Cody sees it too – and he’s clearly not thrilled.

Rex takes half a step back – he’d rather not be standing between the two commanders right now. But the movement startles both you and Fox, breaking the spell. You glance around the hangar, then at Rex, whose eyes flick between his brothers, suspicion written plainly across his face.

You feel it now – the ripple in the Force coming from Cody. Not as furious as that night outside Fox’s office, but still… very much not happy. You swallow hard and risk a glance. Just as you expected, an annoyed grimace darkens his face.

Fox sees it too, and his posture instantly goes back to rigid.

The uncomfortable silence that settles over the four of you is deafening, and as much as you’d like to talk to him for longer, you need to escape the tense atmosphere. You cannot deal with Cody right now, and you can basically see the wheels turning inside Rex’s head – he’ll figure it out if you don’t dissipate the tension soon.

“I uhh…” you start quietly, pausing to clear your throat. “I should head back to the Temple.”

Fox’s helmet dips toward you, then shifts ever so slightly to Cody. His left fist clenches and unclenches by his side a couple of times as he quickly runs a few scenarios through his mind. It can’t end well – he knows it – but he still wants to do it. He wants to be close to you just a little longer.

“I can give you a ride,” Fox offers. “I’ll drop you off before I head back to the Senate.”

Cody inches closer to you, in an unspoken plea for you to decline. But nothing he could do or say right now could stop you. Not when your heart is racing with anticipation and butterflies are fluttering in your stomach. All at the prospect of spending more time with him. Alone.

“Thank you, Commander. That’s… really kind of you,” you reply with a small smile.

Fox stands a bit taller. A warm flicker of pride swells in his chest every time you smile because of him. His eyes linger on you just a moment longer before he turns his head toward his brothers.

“Rex. Cody,” he nods at them before he starts walking.

“Bye guys,” you say as you move to follow. But your steps falter as you make eye contact with your ori’vod. “See you later, Cody?” you add timidly.

Cody exhales hard, shaking his head with a loud, disappointed sigh. “See you later, vod’ika.”

You mouth a silent “sorry” before jogging to catch up with Fox.

Rex’s watches the two of you disappear out of the hangar. “What… was that?”

“Don’t ask,” Cody replies flatly.

The BARC speeder wasn’t designed for two people, so you feel a little cramped sat behind Fox. At first, you try to give him space, gripping the seat's edges instead of him as the two of you leave the military compound, but Fox is having none of that. He lifts the bike up and accelerates sharply, then veers into a higher traffic lane, swerving around a transport like he’s in a podrace. A tiny squeal involuntarily leaves your lips, but you still don’t do what he wants.

“You’ll fall. Hold on to me,” Fox orders over his shoulder.

You don’t immediately comply, so Fox switches traffic lanes even more abruptly. This time, your arms fly around his waist, anchoring you tightly to him so you won’t slip. You hear him make a satisfied grunt and the bike significantly slows.

“Were you flying like a lunatic on purpose just to get me to do that?” you exclaim.

“You were being stubborn,” he deadpans.

“You… you are such an asshole,” you mumble.

A low chuckle comes through the voice modulator. “We’ve already established that, cyar’ika.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks at the Mando’a pet name – you’d forgotten how much you liked it when he called you that. Thank the Maker he can’t see your face; it’s probably the same shade as the paint on his armor.

You tighten your grip around his torso and lean forward, pressing yourself against his back and resting your chin lightly on his shoulder. You look around; Coruscant doesn’t look so bad from up here.

The durasteel buildings gleam under the harsh midday light and the colourful speeders flying around in all directions paint a chaotic picture of life. You close your eyes, enjoying the feel of the cool wind on your heated face. Then you breathe in. Underneath the smell of fuel that is ever-present in the busy traffic of the city, you can make out the clean, familiar scent of GAR-issued soap… with just a hint of bitter caf. His scent.

Fox hears your content sigh and turns his head slightly – but the sunvisor of his helmet makes it impossible to catch even a glimpse of your face. However, he can see ahead, and in the distance, the Jedi Temple already looms, tall and imposing. The end of the line. Another goodbye with no promise of tomorrow. No resolve, no clarity… no reassurances.

You see the Temple too. He can tell by the way you straighten, then let out a deep, defeated breath. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, like you're trying to get as physically close to him as possible. The hard plastoid must be digging into your skin, but you don’t seem to care. You just want to savour the fleeting moment for as long as you can.

He should be content. This already was more than he’d expected. He didn’t think he’d even get to talk to you, let alone have you so closely pressed against him. This is more than he could’ve hoped for.

But it’s not enough.

A few soft words policed by his brothers’ presence are not enough.

Your arms around him for half the duration of an already short speeder ride are simply not enough.

Fox needs more. He wants more.

And Maker help him – he hopes he’s right to think that you do too.

He veers sharply.

The sudden change of course startles you, and you look up as the speeder bike starts to descend. The Temple fades from view, swallowed by the skyline as the tall buildings rise around you. You’re getting closer and closer to the surface. You can’t pretend you’re not relieved.

“Are you kidnapping me, Commander?” you ask sweetly.

“Yes.”

You chuckle at his curt response, soft and amused, then rest your chin back on his shoulder. You have no idea where he’s taking you and, truthfully, you don’t really care.

Fox steers the speeder deeper into the planet. Sunlight fades, giving way to neon lights and flickering holograms as you enter the lower reaches of the Uscru District. But Fox doesn’t stop. You ride past glowing shopfronts and loud clubs, catching fragments of cheers and bursts of laughter. The nightlife of Coruscant is always awake this deep within the planet.

But he keeps diving lower. The light dims, the streets thin out, and the architecture grows more industrial. You’re somewhere in the mid-levels now – right on the border of what most would consider the lower levels. It’s not a place you’ve ever been before. The streets are rougher, more dilapidated – the kind you wouldn’t walk alone, even as a Jedi. But you’re not scared. You feel completely safe.

Because you’re with him.

The speeder glides to a stop on a narrow street in front of what looks like a warehouse. Fox dismounts and offers his hand to help you up. You accept, timidly curling your fingers around his. There’s no fireworks at the touch – just warmth and grounding steadiness. The kind that melt your insecurities away and encourages you to be at ease in his presence.

He doesn't let go once your feet are on the ground. Instead, he keeps your hand in his, tracing the back of your palm with his thumb. You take a breath in and step closer, looking up into the dark visor of his helmet. You wish he would take it off already.

Fox gently squeezes your hand, then let's go, his gloved fingers settling on the small of your back, applying tender pressure.

“This way.”

“You know, regular people go to a caf shop on their first date, not to dodgy industrial areas in the lower-levels,” you say half-teasingly.

Fox freezes for a second – is this a date?

He clears his throat. “We’re in the mid-levels. And uh… I’m not a regular person.”

You glance down at the floor and bite the inside of your cheek to temper your grin. He didn’t argue with the ‘first date’ part.

Fox guides you to the entrance of the warehouse, pulling his hand away from your back in order to pry open the control panel and start messing with the wires.

You chuckle at the sight. “Are we allowed to be here?”

“Abuse of power, remember?” he shoots back. You let out a soft laugh that makes his chest tingle.

The door half-opens with a mechanical hiss, just wide enough for a person to slide past. You glance at it, then at Fox, who gestures for you to step inside.

The lights begin to turn on one by one once you’re past the threshold and activate the motion sensor. You take a couple steps in–

Then you stop, eyes wide.

The room is large; you count at least two dozen support pillars lined in two parallel rows. But the size is not what captures your attention.

There’s grass on the ground. Actual grass – wild and unkept. The ceiling panels show images of blue skies and clouds – scattered with dark patches of faulty screens that keep glitching. There are large planters with purple-leaf bushes and even a couple of trees – you recognise the species as one native to Chandrila, although they’ve definitely seen better days. In the centre there’s a shallow dip in the floor – you can only assume it’s meant to hold a pond.

You’re speechless. You did not expect to encounter a corner of nature this deep in the heart of Coruscant.

“It was supposed to be a community garden,” Fox answers your unspoken question, coming to stand by your side. “There was an issue; something about permits, funding – whatever. Got tied up in red tape, so it’s been sitting like this ever since.”

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

“I thought you’d like it,” Fox quietly mutters.

The small comment wasn’t meant to reach your ears – but it does. You look up at him and find his helmet tilted your way. He’s clearly startled that you caught him. Fox clears his throat and abruptly looks away, then with a couple hurried strides he’s by the side of one of the duracrete pillars.

“There used to be bird songs too,” he says, pointing to the speakers mounted at the top of each pillar. “The sound system broke a while ago.”

“So you’ve been coming here for a while then?” you ask, slowly walking until you’re leaning against the pillar, facing him.

“Yeah,” Fox admits with a long sigh. “It’s a good place to clear your head.”

“And you come here a lot? As in…” you continue sweetly, “if I wanted to accidently run into you, would this be a good place you try?”

Fox turns to face you better, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you want to run into me cyar’ika, you could just use that frequency you asked Cody for and comm me.”

You straighten from the pillar, feeling your stomach drop and chest fill with embarrassed panic. “Y-You know about that?”

“I do.”

The garden suddenly feels too hot. You stare into the dark visor and swallow hard, even though your throat feels as dry as Tatooine.

“Oh…”

Your gaze drops, idly fixating on your boots. Silence settles around you, broken only by the low hum of the overhead lights and Fox’s breathing, filtered out through the voice modulator. But then – a hiss cuts through the air. You lift your eyes and watch as Fox finally pulls his helmet off.

He looks just as gorgeous as you remember – and just as tired. The bags under his eyes are still there – an ever-present part of him – but now there’s also a thin layer of stubble all across his jaw. His silver-streaked hair seems a bit longer as well. His duties must’ve kept him busier lately.

And, Maker, those whiskey-coloured eyes… your knees feel weak just at their sight. You could easily get lost in their amber hue. But the way he’s looking at you? It takes your breath away. There’s a longing in his gaze, a quiet hunger. And underneath all that, a softness you hope he holds just for you.

The corners of his lips lift into a small smirk and Fox cocks his head to the side. “You’re staring.”

“Maybe I missed your face,” you say in a kittenish voice.

“You've been surrounded by my face,” he snorts.

 “No” – you shake your head – “not by yours.”

Fox studies your expression, his eyes lingering on your lips for a brief moment. Then he inches closer, voice dropping low as he utters the question that’s been tormenting him for weeks. “Then why didn’t you comm?”

The question is not accusatory. It’s not angry or disdainful. It’s raw, vulnerable – more vulnerable than Fox ever allows himself to be with anyone else. There’s a gentleness in his voice that stirs something in your chest.

“I…” you start, words eluding you at first, “I was worried you didn’t really want me to.”

Fox reaches his left hand and tenderly cradles your cheek. “I did, mesh’la.”

And then his lips are on yours.

It takes a second for your brain to catch up with what’s going on, and by then, your hands are already grasping his chestplate, fingers hooked at the base of his neck. Fox moves his lips against yours in a slow, deliberate pace, taking the time to reacquaint himself with your sweet taste. Your eyes flutter closed, melting at the way his thumb delicately strokes your cheek.

You shift a hand, lazily sliding it around his neck, until your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his skull. It’s soft – softer than you remembered – and just long enough now to start curling at the tips. Maker, you’ve missed him; and from the way he’s kissing you, it seems like he’s missed you too.

When you tentatively slip your tongue past the seam of his lips, something in Fox snaps.

There’s a faint thud as his helmet slips from his grasp, landing in the grass by his feet – but he pays it no mind. His right hand comes to tightly grip your hip, pulling you flush against him, as his body presses you firmly into the pillar. The hand that was cradling your cheek slams against the duracrete just above your head, caging you in.

The kiss deepens, turns hungrier. His tongue enters your mouth, sliding around yours in a desperate dance of needy intimacy. It’s so soft, and there's that taste of caf again, dark and earthy. Him. Oh how you missed the taste of him.

You match the frantic movements, your heart racing in your chest. It feels so good that you can’t stop the whimper that sounds from the back of your throat.

 Fox breaks the kiss and pulls back, taking a moment to admire your heated cheeks and slightly swollen lips. A self-satisfied smile tugs at the corners of mouth.

“Am I moving too fast?” The question is half-genuine, half-laced with teasing.

“N-No,” you answer. You’re breathless, panting for air, but Maker, you do not want to stop.

“Good.” Fox leans back in. “Normally I’d be more patient,” – he moves his lips along your jaw, then start trailing down your neck – “but you made me wait, cyar’ika,” he murmurs into your skin. “I don’t like waiting.”

You gasp when you feel his teeth sink into the base of your neck. Fox chuckles, a low and dangerous sound that travels straight to your core, causing tingles of anticipation to shoot through your body.

Then his hands move, quickly travelling to your chest and sliding your overtunic aside as much as possible. His mouth returns to yours as his left hand cups your breast through the fabric of the undertunic. But his right hand trails lower and lower.

“We're technically in public,” you break the kiss to whisper against his lips, as if anyone could hear you in this desolate garden.

“We are.” His hand doesn’t stop, and it finally reaches the waistband of your trousers, fingers toying with the button. “If you want me to stop just say so.”

Your ragged breathing is the only sound you hear as you meet his gaze. His pupils are blown with lust and desire – and you know yours must be too. You want everything he has to give, and you want to give him everything you have in return.

“I... I don't. Don't stop, Fox. Never stop,” you pretty much whine.

“That's what I thought,” he leans in to rasp in your ear.

Fox unbuttons your trousers and slips his hand between your thighs. His fingers graze over the fabric of your underwear, moving back and forth in a slow, maddening pace. Your breath catches lightly every time they slide over your clit and without thinking, you start grinding into his hand, trying to build up that delicious pressure. His eyes are studying every shift in your facial expression, every crease of your brows and parting of your lips. But just as you think he’s about to slip his fingers underneath the thin fabric – he abruptly pulls his hand away.

“No! Why–” you start, your eyes snapping to meet his.

But you don’t finish your complaint.

Fox lifts his hand to his mouth, gaze locked on yours, and pulls off his glove with his teeth. The motion is fluid, controlled – intimate in a way that punches the air from your lungs. You swear your brain short-circuits. That was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

You gasp when he swiftly returns it to your core, this time slipping it underneath all layers of fabric. His fingers glide through your folds, gathering your arousal before gently circling your clit. He repeats the motion, slowly dragging his fingers from your apex all the way to the edge of your entrance and back, but every time he reaches your sweet spot, his touch turns so featherlike, you can barely feel it.

Fox crashes his lips back into yours to keep you from objecting to his teasing. The kiss is deep and hungry, but you can feel the way he’s smirking against your lips. He’s very much enjoying the small vexed whimpers you’re making and the way you try to grind down on his hand. His codpiece feels uncomfortably tight, but he is determined to see you fall apart on his fingers before he does anything else.

“Fox…” you whine, breaking the kiss. “Please.”

“Please what, mesh’la?” he asks.

“Please stop teasing.”

“You want me to stop teasing?” he repeats between the kisses he’s planting along your jaw.

You respond with a nod, unable to form any words as you feel his fingers glide closer to your entrance. He pulls back to look at you, eyes darkening.

“I’ll stop teasing.”

And with that he pushes two fingers inside.

Your sharp gasp turns into a moan as Fox sets a rapid pace. His fingers pump in and out, curling just right along your walls. You can’t help the way your nails dig into the back of his neck, while your other hand is still holding on for dear life to the rim of his cuirass. His lips frantically return to yours, kissing you with a speed that matches the motion of his fingers. Then he trails his mouth lower, licking and nipping at the column of your neck. Your head falls back against the duracrete of the pillar, eyes fluttering closed.

“Don’t stop,” you beg.

The pressure is building, Fox can feel your muscles tense, clenching his fingers tightly. He keeps up the speed and brings his thumb to brush against your clit. Your eyes snap open, meeting his burning gaze. The determined look alone is almost enough to make you come. He’s not just trying to pleasure you. He wants to ruin you in the best possible way. To remind you exactly how good he can make you feel.

With just a few more thrusts of his fingers, Fox gets his wish. You squeeze your eyes shut as the pressure releases, and cry out his name. Pleasure spreads like electricity all over your body, surging through your veins in warm, rapid pulses. Fox doesn’t slow the relentless drag of his fingers until he feels your walls relax.

You’re panting heavily and your knees feel weak, like they might melt away at any second. But before you can even catch your breath, the world spins – and you find your front pressed against the cold duracrete pillar. Fox is right behind you, his body molding to yours, the hard edges of his plastoid armor biting into your back. Not that you mind – the pain quickly reignites the desire in your core.

His hands roam your sides, greedy and unrelenting, before one of them slides up to grope your breast. His mouth returns to your neck, the kisses now desperate. You can feel how worked up he is by the intensity of his movements. A hiss escapes your lips as he gets carried away and sucks on your neck a little too hard.

“Sorry,” he whispers, soothing the sting with the slow drag of his tongue.

“I don’t mind,” you breathe. “But I wouldn’t make them too visible if I were you. You’re the one in trouble if Cody sees them.”

Fox grunts. “Let’s not bring him up right now.”

Your giggle is cut short by Fox suddenly yanking your trousers and underwear down in one fluid motion, exposing your bare ass to the chilly air. There’s another small thud as something hits the ground, but before you can identify the sound, his hard length presses against your inner thigh. You arch back, encouraging him to slide through your folds and coat himself with your arousal.

“Kriff,” he mutters under his breath, hands tightly gripping your hips.

The tip of his cock catches at your entrance and your entire body tingles with anticipation. Then, without waiting any longer, he sinks in, accompanied by an incoherent Mando’a curse falling from his lips. You press your forehead to the cool duracrete as you adjust to the sting of the stretch, taking a couple of breaths. Fox pauses, buried to the hilt inside of you.

“Are you ready for me to move?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Just start slow please.”

Fox leans in and plants a gentle kiss on your cheekbone. “Alright, mesh’la.”

He begins to move, rolling his hips slowly and listening to every small whimper that leaves your lips. The painful sting soon gives way to pleasure and you start pushing back to meet his thrusts, letting him know he can move faster. Fox groans and buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. He can’t tell whether it’s perfume or shampoo, but whatever it is, it’s intoxicating – and his new favourite scent. His grip on your hips turns vice-like.

You reach your arm back, curling it around his neck, and you tilt your head against his shoulder in a silent invitation. Fox immediately complies, crashing his lips to yours in a messy, uncoordinated kiss. His hips pick up speed, and his armored chest slams against your back with every unforgiving thrust, knocking the air out of your lungs. You almost laugh – he’s quite literally taking your breath away. You squirm, trying to make room for your ribs to expand, and he notices. Shifting slightly off you, he braces one forearm against the pillar and leans to the side. The new angle is exquisite for the both of you.

“You feel so good,” Fox mumbles in your ear. “So… so tight. So good.”

You moan his name as a response, your vision starting to blur around the edges. The tip of his cock is hitting that spot inside of you perfectly and you can already feel your second orgasm approaching. He is not too far behind. More incoherent mumbles fall from his lips as Fox gets lost in chasing his pleasure. At one point you think he says “ner mesh’la Jetti,” and your heart skips a beat.

You probably misheard. But the thought alone? The thought of being his? It’s enough to push you over the edge.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, pulling firmly at the strands, and you arch back into him. He groans, but you can barely hear it over the loud moans that leave your lips as the climax ripples through you. Fox keeps the rhythm steady as you ride out your high, not changing a thing until he feels you melt into his grasp. Then his hips pick up speed, the thrusts turning harsh, unforgiving, frantic, as his low grunts fill the air around you. He slams into you a couple more times before going rigid, his cock the only thing still twitching inside your walls, filling you with his warm release.

His head falls on your shoulder and his ragged breath feels hot on your skin. The hand on your hip wraps around you, holding you tightly against him. You bring your own to his, interlacing your fingers together as you simply stay there and breathe. The moment stretches on in comfortable silence and you savour every second of it. His armor is still digging into your skin – there will definitely be some bruises tomorrow – but you can’t bring yourself to break the spell. Not when his other arm wraps around your chest. Not when he’s holding onto you like you’re a rare sunny day, shining after weeks of cold, unrelenting rain. Not when you can feel how much he needs the closeness – how much he needs you.

But your body betrays you – the chilly air of the abandoned garden makes you shiver. Fox notices immediately and slowly slides out of you, tucks himself back in with two quick motions, then helps pull your trousers up.

“Thanks,” you say as you turn to face him.

The sight that greets you is one you want to carve into your brain. There’s a soft smile frozen on his lips and his eyes are bright, pupils still a little blown. A thin layer of sweat glistens on his forehead and the hair you ruffled during the act looks wild and messy. But the most striking thing is that he looks so young, so relaxed. It won’t last long – you both know it – but just for a moment the two of you and this garden are the only real thigs in the galaxy.

You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of seeing him like this.

Without thinking, you reach your hand to smooth down his hair. Fox closes his eyes, a small hum slipping from him on the next exhale. It’s such a small, natural gesture, yet it fills his chest with a warmth he’s almost afraid to name. He opens his eyes and finds you watching him, your gaze soft in a way that stirs something deep inside. But there’s something else behind your eyes – something he can’t decipher.

“You okay?” he asks gently.

“Better than okay,” you chuckle. “That was amazing. Ten out of ten.”

“Maker,” Fox groans. “That joke was terrible then, and it’s still terrible now.”

“Too bad,” you grin, a little smug. “I’ll make it after every time.”

His brain short-circuits for a second. Every time. That implies a next time. A next time he’ll get to have you in his arms, to hear you moan his name. ‘Every time’ implies a future he’s never allowed himself to dream of. But now? Now that it’s standing in front of him, wearing your smile, he wants it more than anything.

He recovers fast, and arches a brow as he steps closer.

“Every time? So we’re doing this again?” he teases.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. “W-Well, I do-I’d like to” you stammer. “If you want to of course, I can’t demand-I-I’m not assuming you want to because it-it is against the rules and–”

Fox silences you with a kiss. Searing, but slow. Passionate, but careful. His tongue moves around yours in measured, deliberate motions, fully demanding your attention. It tastes dangerously close to a promise.

When he pulls away, you feel weightless, and can’t stop the bright smile that spreads across your face.

He plants another small kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Come on. I need to actually deliver you to the Temple before they send out a search party.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to show your disappointment. You knew you couldn’t stay here forever – but that doesn’t mean leaving won’t sting.

Fox reattaches the codpiece and picks his helmet up, then frowns as he looks around.

“Where the hell is that glove?” he mutters.

You both look around the pillar, but it’s like it vanished into thin air. After a few minutes of sifting through the tall grass, Fox gives up with a resigned sigh – he’ll just get a new one – and the two of you leave the garden behind.

The ride back flies by in comfortable silence. You hold onto him tightly, smiling the entire time. He doesn’t go to the hangar; instead, Fox pull up on a street close to the Temple entrance, but just out of sight from any Jedi that might walk past.

“Thank you, Commander,” you purr, sliding off the speeder. “It was so kind of you to give me a ride.”

You can’t see his face under the helmet but you can just about imagine his unamused expression – and the slight shake of his head confirms it.

But before you can leave, he catches your wrist.

“Don’t make me kidnap you again,” he says, his voice a low growl.

“You say that like it wasn’t the best kidnapping I’ve ever had,” you laugh.

“I mean it, mesh’la,” Fox continues. “Actually comm me this time. I… I want to see you again.”

There’s a slight anxious edge to his voice, one that immediately sends butterflies to your stomach. He wants to see you again. Whatever this is blooming between the two of you, he feels it too, you’re certain now. You gaze into his visor, briefly wondering if he can feel the racing pulse in your wrist.

“I will. I promise.”

His hand lingers a little longer, thumb gently stroking your skin.

“Good.” He lets go.

Then he’s off, revving the engine of the speeder twice before disappearing into the Coruscant traffic.

You walk away, still feeling the warmth of his fingers on your skin. You’re already planning the comm you’ll send tomorrow.

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