Coruscant Guard Week

“Looks like an explosion at the central power generator.” Stone held a finger up to his comm. “En route.”

The panicked shouts of civilians in the crowded alleyways pounded in Knox’s ears, even through his plastoid helmet. His boots hit the duracrete, thundering just behind Commander Stone and the rest of the small squad of the Coruscant guard.

Knox's helmet briefly tipped in the direction of his commander, worry shielded by his visor.

About a year ago, the criminal Cad Bane had infiltrated the Jedi Temple in search of a holocron. Since then, it seemed the galaxy had come to see Coruscant as its singular enemy.

“Bane again, sir?”

“Don't know. If it is, he didn't wait long since he was last here," responded Stone as he motioned for the squad to break apart. “Focus on searching for civvies caught in the explosion.”

Stone and the squad didn't slow as they neared the site. Knox swiftly climbed the edge of the rubble where he had already spotted civilians struggling to their feet.

Heavy breath cycling through the inside of his helmet, Knox approached a survivor and slipped their arm over his shoulder, his other hand gripping the man's waist gently as he guided him to a safe distance.

The man leaning on him was limping and bleeding - or seemed to be. With all the ash and dust coating him, it was hard to tell if it was his.

They hobbled toward the others who were hauling the injured to safety, but the man clung to Knox, refusing to let go. “My…”

A cough.

“My daughter… she's in there.”

He could barely lift his finger, pointing in the direction of the rubble.

“Please, find her!”

Knox nodded and eased the man back against the wall, careful but firm.

His fingers raised to his comm. “Commander, how far out is Hound?”

“Still en route,” came Stone’s response, ragged through the fuzzy speaker. “Five minutes, maybe more."

Knox felt his heart skip. Five minutes could cost everything. They couldn't wait that long.

“Copy,” he said, and turned his visor toward the wreck of collapsed duracrete and twisted durasteel.

He could see smoke rosing over the buildings from fires blocks away. Panic had already spread across the district. He didn’t blame them.

Without another word, Knox climbed.

The rubble was dangerously uneven, shifting under his weight with every small movement. One hand braced against anything solid, the other keeping his balance as he moved through the rubble.

When Knox crouched to peer into a dark gap between two collapsed support beams, he could just make out a faint whimper from inside.

“Got something."

He laid himself down onto his stomach, exhaling slow and long as he wormed his way into the space, chunks of scrap grinding across his chest plate. The space was tight, hot. His helmet vents did little against the choking dust, but the faint sound came again, driving him forward.

Then he saw her.

Small, curled beneath a sparking piece of the generator, her arms tight around her knees and face streaked with soot and tears. Her eyes snapped toward him as he approached, wide and terrified.

Knox softened his voice immediately, despite the filter in his helmet. He held out a gloved hand.

“Hey, I’m here. You’re okay. We’re gonna get you home, alright?”

She didn’t answer but her small fingers slowly reached for his hand. When he clasped it, he felt her tremble.

Knox, hand in hand with the little girl, maneuvered carefully as he began inching them both backwards through the debris.

Despite his muscles screaming in protest at every shift and twist, he encouraged the girl to crawl just like him. More dust rained down with each movement, but he kept his body over hers, shielding her.

Above them, he could feel the destruction beginning to shift as his squad continued searching for survivors.

“Come on,” he breathed. “Not now, not yet.”

Just as the bent durasteel screamed above them, they broke through the rubble’s edge.

Fresh air hit his vents, and he coughed, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He backed away from the rubble, the girl still clutched tight to his chest as he sat up.

Her small frame was still shaking, but she was alive.

“Medic!” he barked, already waving one over. “Minor lacerations, major smoke inhalation, possible burns."

The girl clung tighter to him as the medic approached. Knox leaned down, speaking in a low voice.

“You’re safe now. Your dad’s waiting just over there.”

Her head turned slowly in the direction of his pointed finger, and he felt her posture slump, seemingly satisfied her father was safe.

Behind him, Knox heard the heavy gait of Sergeant Hound finally arriving and Grizzer’s snout already sweeping across the ruins.

“Glad you could make it,” Knox said, grinning through his helmet.

“Doesn't look like you need us,” Hound replied.

dividers by @saradika-graphics || @corrieweek

Knox stood, gently handing the girl to the medic. He said nothing, giving the rubble a final glance before joining the others, already scanning for the next survivor.

“Sir?”

“Ah, apologies Commander. Padawan Dume has been working on his stealth and infiltration skills recently, and this was the perfect opportunity to practice in an unfamiliar and secure, but friendly, area.”

“You are aware that this is a restricted area?”

“But I’m a Commander, and this is a clone base, so it’s fine. Right?”

Fox sighs. Did no-one teach the Jedi anything about proper military processes? Of course not.

“You are a Padawan-Commander. This gives you greater access to some GAR restricted areas. This is a Guard base. Here, even Jedi need special authorisation or an escort.”

He nods towards the trooper still standing in the doorway, then addresses the Jedi beside him.

“General, do you confirm that you instructed Commander Dume to attempt this unauthorised entry?” She had implied it, but if she just says ‘no’ now, maybe...

“I do. But really, Commander-”

“In that case I must report this breach of security to your superior. General, Commander, you must remain in custody until an appropriate authority is available to release you. Please hand over your lightsabers and communication devices, and follow me.”

“Is this really necessary?” General Windu speaks up then, tilting his head meaningfully towards the padawan. “Consider me informed, and the incident will be handled according to our internal processes.”

“General, it really doesn’t work like that. There is an official process, and as you are in custody yourself, you currently can’t authorise anything.”

Movement catches his eye, and even before General Vos speaks up Fox knows from that smile that he’s going to cause Problems.

“Well in that case, you’re in a bit of a pickle. Because in this room you currently have – let’s see, one, two, three, four, five – Council members. With Master Ti permanently stationed on Kamino, that leaves six remaining High Council members, all of whom are out on campaigns, several days travel away even if they are able to leave.”

The only salve for his sinking dread is watching Skywalker’s expression of dawning realisation shaded with equal parts horror and glee as he visibly counts his companions. But there has to be another solution. He can’t be responsible for a room full of Jedi for days.

General Fisto, despite being part of the problem, then firmly cements himself as Fox’s favourite Jedi.

“You might try Madame Nu.”

“And does General Nu have the authority to post bail for all of you?” Please say yes, please say yes.

“Madame, not General, but yes. As Chief Librarian, she holds a rank equivalent to the Council members, if with a different sphere of influence. I would direct you to Battlemaster Drallig, however he’s also off-planet for once. Besides, Jocasta hasn’t been seen out of the Archives for the last week – excessive even for her – so a field trip would be good for her.”

Fox reels slightly under the cheerful onslaught on information, but picks up on the important bits.

“Very well. Please provide me with the appropriate comm code, and I will request that she arrange bail as soon as possible.”

---

"She won't stop coughing." You rocked the pup in your arms, the poor thing spluttering and whining. A thick sweat covering her humped back, shining along the drab scales in the stiff light of the kennels. "I'm worried it's not getting any better."

Hound had been stuck here for the past week nursing the sick pups, a pile of blankets stuffed in the corner, and when he'd not come home for the fourth night in a row you took things into your own hands. Two heads were better than one after all and if you had to watch the dark bags grow any larger under his soft brown eyes you'd lose it.

"The medication should kick in soon." Hound told you, his back to you as he settled a sleeping pup beside his mother in the soft straw. Crouched beside them to run a gloved hand along the spines of her back, her content breath soothing a little of his own worry.

He ran the same hand through his snowy white curls as he stood, watching them closely for another moment, fingers ruffling the already messy strands, alert for the smallest sign of discomfort before twisting.

And getting the biggest slap in the face of his life.

"You sure?" Your brows knotted in a worried little pinch, the sick pup clutched in your arms like a babbling tubie, gently rocking him against your chest.

Clothes looking soft as … in the light and hugging all the right places, a small ribbon tying the wild hair back from your pretty features. By the Force, Hound knew you were a stunning creature, prettiest he'd ever seen, but nothing could've prepared him for this. The stiff overheads bathing you in an angelic glow as if you were born from the celestial plains of Iego and not the seedy underworld of Coruscant. Barefoot in the straw as if you belonged there, nursing the sick pup as if you'd been born to it. To take care of dangerous things like him and his boys.

Force, you were practically glowing and Hound's throat bobbed as he swallowed. Heat rushing somewhere it absolutely shouldn't, gushing in a downward spiral and his eyes widened as the relieved smile broke across your lips.

"There you go, sweetie." You crooned, the pup finally taking to the little bottle you clutched with delicate fingers.

When you lifted that smile to him—bright and so kriffing beautiful—he short-circuited, crashed out like the test droid after too many stun bolts during training. His mind a one track holotrain, thoughts plummeting straight to the gutter.

Rocking the chubby, sticky pup gently in your arms, cooing like some divine fever dream sent to taunt him. The kind that left him nursing morning wood so stiff it pained him to take care of, body weak and begging for you.

Then—as if the galaxy hadn't scorned him enough—you lifted the pup higher to give his scaly belly a comforting rub as reward, and spoke so sweetly his entire soul left his body.

Done. Hound's done, he's six feet underground pushing up daisies. "Karking hell." He groaned under his breath, the pieces of his armour pinching in all the places it shouldn't and he's planning his own funeral already.

"Cyare?" He prompted, working the moisture into his mouth. "You ever think about it?" He shuffled closer when you shot him that adorably confused quirk of your brow, hands finding their way to your hips as he jerked his head to the pup.

He swore the wide eyed, doe eyed look you gave had him staggering—kriffing staggering—like a love-struck cadet who'd never spoken to a woman in his life.

"You want a pet?" You smiled and Hound silently groaned as his question went straight over your head, pressing himself into the crook of your neck. "Does the army even allow that?"

"Not pets." He smiled, pressing himself against you—all of him—and you briefly tensed.

"Oh." The breath left your lips softly, slowly, and Hound released the tiny growl that had been eagerly working up the back of his throat. "Oh."

You twisted around to face him, the wriggling massif a barrier between you and Hound eased the bottle from your hand, smirking away as you stared up at him slack-jawed. Setting the bottle aside.

Kriff no, someone call security. The pup yipped, the quietest noise, tiny clawed paws squirming in your arms, and you bounced him in your arms, unaware the ailing pup was the only thing keeping him nailing you to the wall like a flimsy poster.

"You mean?" Could you even say it?

Hound's gaze snapped to yours, eyebrows raised an inch, waiting to see if you would as he slipped the pup from your grip carefully and you let him.

"With you?"

Hound paused with the pup, his claws tickling across his arms as he squirmed, protesting the shift, missing your warmth and the clone couldn't blame him. Hound missed it too but his gaze dropped flat.

"I mean, of course with you." You spluttered sheepishly and amusement softened his features. "Have you ever thought about it?"

Oh, cyar'ika, you've no kriffing idea. Hound opened his mouth but nothing came out. Only a whistle screaming in his head as if someone left the caf machine boiling too long, every survival instinct kicking in at once to keep himself blacking out from sheer desire. Brain screaming at him to be normal, be himself, when something animalistically primal begged to put you on your back right kriffing now.

The pup squirmed again and the last tether in him snapped. Setting him down gently with the rest of the litter. Running his suddenly clammy hands along his thighs as he straightened.

"You alright?" Your brows lifted as Hound returned to you.

Hound steadied a breath, it did nothing. Ran his hand through his poorly dyed curls again, reminding himself the roots were showing, distracting himself just to get through the next few minutes with some of his dignity intact.

"Hound?" You repeated his name again, concerned, "What's gotten into you?"

"You're not wearing anything fragile?" He gave you a once over, your confusion digging in deeper at the question, and he decided you weren't. "Nothing sentimental?"

You slowly shook your head, eyes narrowing as Hound entwined his fingers with yours, steadily tugging you into the little antechamber meant for the officer on duty. Nothing more than a sleeping mat, a small crate for a lamp and an adjoining refresher, meant to entertain the drained, exhausted ARF troopers like himself but Hound wouldn't be surprised if it hosted nastier thoughts like the ones he was having.

Cause as soon as he had you behind closed doors, he wasn't wasting time with buttons or force damn zippers. Not when the image of you bouncing a squishy, tiny version of you on your hip consumed his entire being. Taking off everything—and Hound meant everything—the second the door clicked locked behind him.

Hot lips on your neck, your cheek, your collarbone, anywhere Hound could reach as the sound of torn cloth filled the tiny room, a beautiful background to the shocked gasps you released. Murmuring soft praise, anything to sweeten you up, as his callouses grazed your silky skin and you shivered beneath him.

"Need you, cyare." He pleaded, his voice long gone, sacrificed to the primal want blossoming in the pit of his stomach. "Need you full of me."

You stroked perfect nails through his imperfect curls and a pathetic whimper dropped from his tongue, dragging it along your breast. Sucking, licking until he brought your nipple to a stiff peak and you were arching into him. Whispering his name like pure sin. Working his sloppy kisses down until he settled.

Gripping your thighs tight, hoisting you against the wall like you weighed nothing at all. Hips bucking into yours as your legs wrapped instinctively around him. Everything about him hot and pure and undeniably wanting.

Opening you wide for him with sultry words, refusing to rush himself, to draw this moment out. Let it saunter and simmer and prowl between you, thoughts consumed of filling you until you couldn't take it anymore. Burying himself deep until it took. Working himself up harder, hotter, and when he finally rolled his hips, sinking into your welcome warmth, he knew he'd damned himself.

"Feel that?" He rasped, pupils gone, busted, lips ghosting up the curve of your neck as he burrowed deep inside you, so deliciously warm around him. "Gonna make you mine, mesh'la, gonna ruin you, claim you."

Every thrust sharp and unrelenting, chasing a desperate need that slammed into him harder than any blaster bolt or tightly coiled fist. His imagination running wild with thoughts of you swollen with him, full of him and his little tubie. Making sure everyone knew you were his, only his.

"My good little girl." He groaned, voice gravel-rough. "Gonna fill you proper, huh?" Your nails dug into his skin, thrust beneath his collar to grasp at his neck, claw at him, and a sinful smirk lined his lips. "You'd like that, wouldn't ya?"

Your moans turned to cries, putty in his hands, and Hound didn't stop, didn't even slow down when you clenched around him. Milking his cock as Hound buried himself as deep as he could, stuffing you full, hips still jerking as you tried to squirm away from him. Sensitive and spent.

"It's okay, cyar'ika." Hound panted, stroking along your waist, slowly pulling himself out and you whimpered.

He settled you back onto the mattress, crawling down the length of your body with soft kisses, goading kisses, melting you under his touch until he ran one rough finger through your tight heat and you barely functioned. The sweetest moan hovering on your tongue.

"Maker, you're beautiful like this." He cooed, watching his milky release try to drip out onto the sheets and catching it with his fingers, stuffing it back inside you.

Working his fingers slowly, purposefully and when your brows pinched he stroked a hand across your sensitive skin. "Gotta make sure it sticks, mesh'la." He shushed, peppering your soft thighs with kisses.

Teasing you open again with his touch, his thoughts already returning to the gutter because Maker knew he wasn't done with you. Not yet. Not until he had you full of him.