An Elegant Weapon

When Obi-Wan had returned tofollowing the breadcrumb trail from Kamino after reporting in to Anakin onMandalore, he certainly wasn’t expecting it to end like this.  Not that he was complaining about the view.  Being strung up in a stasis field wasn’t exactlythe most comfortable place to be imprisoned, but he certainly didn’t mindwatching the very attractive Mando bounty hunter that had served as the genetictemplate as he argued with Count Dooku, the rogue Jedi-turned-Sith,apparently.  Looked like that file (Grand)MasterPlo had sent him on who’d been involved in the incident on Galidraan had hit itsmark.

And, beyond just his ownbenefit of sowing discord between Dooku—toward whom Obi-Wan’s instincts were screaming as the one behind most of thismess—Obi-Wan wasn’t about to let some hut’uunlachakaar hide behind an alias and use one of the last True Mandalorian’sthat Dooku’s own incompetence had near slaughtered.  Feeling the fierce glee that was rising up inhim as Jango Fett and Dooku’s argument grew more and more heated, Obi-Wan tooka moment to step back and admit he was, perhaps, more invested in the mando’ad than was probably proper for aJedi.  Good thing he and his masterseemed to never quite get a handle on that ‘No Attachment’ clause, anyways.  His attention was suddenly drawn to theargument again as Jango stormed off, leaving him with an angry, potentiallyvengeful, Sith Lord.  Kriff.

Now was probably a good time tomentally-nudge Anakin in hopes of a rescue.

~~

“Fancy meeting you here, Master,”Obi-Wan said, trying to smother his grin from where he was performing a floatingmeditation with his arms tied above his head to a pole in the middle of theGeonosian ‘Arena of Justice’.  MasterAnakin looked something like a very angry, half-drowned cat.  Possibly because the wind was picking upsmall billows of sand and dumping them down his robes.  Master Anakin always hated sand.

“See if I rescue you off adesert planet again, ungrateful padawan-mine,” Master Anakin snarked back,curling his fingers impatiently before glancing over at Obi-Wan, “And sincewhen did you get a beard?”

“Do you like it? I hear it’srather dashing. And since I haven’t had the opportunity to shave since I leftMandalore…”  Over the roars of the crowds,Obi-Wan could just focus his hearing to catch the muted hum of a small starshipengine.  He tilted his head just slightlyin that direction.  “I suppose yourbetter half is arriving with the getaway vehicle?”

“She’s not my–” Master Anakinstarted to say, stopped abruptly to reconsider that statement, before sighing. “Yes.”

“Good, because I think the showis about to start.”  As if on cue, the gatesin front of the beast pen opened to roars.

“Sometimes, padawan, I abhoryour sense for timing.”

~~

The battle honestly wasn’tlooking so good; Obi-Wan gritted his teeth and tried to support his master by hackinga hole through the flank of the droid army as his master worked and holdingback their frontal assault.

“Satine!” Anakin shouted overthe din into his ear comm, lightsaber flashing to deflect blaster bolts fromthe oncoming waves of droids.

“Yes?” Satine called back,somewhat distracted.

“Mhi solus tome,” Anakin began.

“Is now the time for this?!” she hissed, working on herding out thecivilians from the suddenly monster-and-droid-overrun arena.

“You’re not going to get abetter one,” Obi-Wan cut in over the comm Anakin had slipped him earlier and brieflyleapt up behind Satine.  He gathered hisfocus and force-pushed away several rogue droids trying to pursue those fleeingthe arena, before heading back down towards the main force.

“Mhi solus dar'tome” Satine continued under her breath.

“Mhi me'dinui an” Anakin and Satine both said, together.

“Mhi ba'juri–” Satine hesitated, as Anakin smoothly went on, “–udes’yc adate.”

“Anakin–” The pleasure inSatine’s voice was clear across the comms.

Master, that was actually very romantic, Obi-Wan sent over theirmental bond, mildly impressed.

I may have been contemplating those words for a while, Anakin sentback, mental tone wry.

Obi-Wan’s amused snort was clearover the comms, but before he could further comment his attention was quicklygrabbed by the very, very attractive beskar’gam-clad form in front of him.

“Want a hand?” Jango asked,helmet tucked under his arm and a cocky set to his grin.  Obi-Wan replied with a long look up and down,and an equally shameless grin.

“Gedet’ye, mesh’la.”

Jango’s eyebrow rose, his facea mixture of surprise and bemusement.

“Padawan!” was Anakin’s loudvoice, yelled across the battlefield AND over the comms, in rebuke.  Obi-Wan winced at the shouting in his ear.

“Tiongar jorhaa ni ul jatne shebs, jorcu ni’cuyi Jetti?” Obi-Wanhollered back, smirking.  Jango visibly choked,while Anakin’s squawk blended with Satine’s laugh over the comm.  Obi-Wan’s grin spread wider, and he leapt infront of Jango to give him a dramatic wink before rushing forward into thefray.  All considered, today was a good day.

Translations, for the curious:

hut’uunlachakaar - cowardly scumbagGedet’ye, mesh’la - Please, beautiful [person-implied]Tiongar jorhaa ni ul jatne shebs, jorcu ni’cuyi Jetti? - “Are you saying I can’t admire [lit. take notice of] a great ass because I’m a Jedi?”

“Your loverbear is at the door!”  Dogma hollered from where he was chopping up the vegetables for tonight’s stew dinner into chunks of perfectly identical sizes.

“Fives is not a bear!” Tup yelled back as Dogma traced the thumping of his feet down from their cabin’s upstairs loft to the front door.  Dogma could easily imagine the eyeroll.

“Sure fooled me!” was his reply, trying to keep the smirk from his voice.  It wasn’t entirely an exaggeration.  The first time they had met Fives—had it really been two years, now?—he had fallen against their door, slumped and unkempt from nearly three years absent of grooming, completely sunken into the rangy bear-skin he called a cloak, the creature’s head easily covering his face.  Smacking Fives with the broom was a fair reaction to finding what seemed like a diseased bear against your doorstep, even if Tup gave him shit for it ever after.

The story made Tup smile and laugh every time he thought of it, and seeing him so honestly happy was worth it.  Fives had even forgiven him… eventually…

It was about then that Dogma realized that after the sound of the door opening, it had been suspiciously silent.  None of the loud clomping of Fives’ ragged boots, none of Tup’s excited chattering whenever the (bear) man came by for his frequent visits, no exclaiming over Fives’ gifts and smiles and stories of the world he’d travelled.

Dumping the last of the vegetables in the stew pot as though nothing was wrong, Dogma sidled over carefully to grab for the sturdy broom that had served as his trusty weapon.   He crept oh so quietly and carefully over the doorway when the sight stopped him cold. He dropped his broom.  It fell to the ground with a loud clatter.

Tup and the tall stranger leapt apart as though their faces has not been locked in a desperate battle of tongues.  Dogma could feel his face flush as Tup’s tongue darted out wet kiss-bruised lips, and he hastily adverted his eyes, shifting his gaze to instead take in the stranger.  The stranger grinned—perfect goatee and all—with absolutely no shame.

“Dogma,” the man said—dressed up in her majesty’s officer’s uniform with perfectly shined buttons (but the collar was askew; his fingers twitched to fix it)—and Dogma’s heart stopped.  That was Fives’ voice.  No wonder Tup had been… Dogma was sure he stuttered out something, but he couldn’t have told you what words left his mouth as he fled back to the kitchen.

This was… this was all too much.

He wasn’t going to cry into his seasoned-exactly-to-the-recipe stew, damn it. His shoulders hunched a moment, curling up, before he took a deep breath and shoved his complicated feelings down into his gut.  Tup was happy.  That’s what mattered.  If Tup was ever going to be happy with just Dogma he would have been a long, long time ago. This was… this was fine.

“Hey,” Fives said from behind him, and Dogma nearly jumped from the sound of Fives right behind him, whipping around and only just remembering to drop the ladle back into the stew-pot before accidentally slamming it into Fives’ face. Fives ever-present grin grew a hint more sheepish and apologetic.  “You never let me greet you, you know.”

Dogma turned back towards his cooking, trying to hide the blush on his face from the casual way that Fives shared his space so closely.

“After all the times you’ve barged in, you don’t need—,” Dogma began to say into the stew-pot, until Fives finger’s gently turning his head back cut him off.

“Yeah,” Fives said, voice quieter and more serious than Dogma had ever heard it, “I kinda do.”  Both of Fives hands reached up to cup Dogma’s face, as Dogma froze, uncertain.  He didn’t know the meaning of the searching look in Fives’ eyes, or why he felt so hot and his cheeks were burning up.

Fives leaned in slowly, telegraphing all his movements, but it wasn’t until Fives’ dry lips touched his that Dogma realized it was a kiss, surprisingly gentle in a way that Dogma didn’t even know Fives could be.  For a moment he was caught in it, melting at the touch, before the situation intruded and Dogma pressed his hands against Fives’ chest. Fives broke away immediately.

“Is something wrong?” Fives asked, and he sounded so concerned and confused and Dogma could hardly stand it.  How could he?  How dare he?

“How can you… Why would you… Tup–!”

“What about me?” Tup asked, and gods if people would stop sneaking up behind him and scaring the living daylights out of him.

“I’m so sorry–” Dogma began, but Tup cut him off with a gentle finger to the lips and that bright, bright smile that Dogma could never ever say no to.

“Why?” Tup asked, before leaning in and placing his lips where his finger used to be, and Dogma’s brain helpfully decided to shut down all higher reasoning and instead kiss back.  He felt flushed and hot, the feeling of Fives as the man pressed up against his back, one hand holding his hip and rubbing at it soothingly while the other seemed to be twining with Tup’s free hand.

“Did you think we’d be happy without you?” Fives whispered into Dogma’s ear, and Dogma moaned into Tup’s kiss, soft desperate sounds as Fives lips brushed against the shell of Dogma’s ear and then lower and lower, tracing along his neck and down to his shoulder.

When Tup finally broke away, leaving both of them gasping for breath, Fives stopped his determined attack on Dogma’s shoulder, and instead leaned over it, craning his neck as Tup smirked and dove right into another kiss.  With Fives.  Dogma was glad he was sandwiched tightly between the two of them, because he was very sure he’d forgotten how to breathe.  Or stand.  Or do anything really.

Watching them was… Dogma’s mouth felt dry, and he swallowed, his eyes wide and face a deep red as he tried to take in every moment of their kiss.

When they finally broke away, soft and grinning, Dogma wet his lips as he gathered enough of his mind to speak.

“Um–” was the first thing that came out of Dogma’s mouth, and Tup and Fives both looked at him with such soft, loving eyes, that he could feel himself melt under the weight of their regard, the unfettered want making his knees even more weak than they already were. He wobbled, and Fives arms came back to catch him securely.  Dogma looked down at the floor, and then back over to the stew-pot on the stove. “—What about dinner?”

“What about dinner?” Fives asked, amused, voice deep with arousal. Dogma’s face felt like it was on fire.  He couldn’t look at either of his… lovers? as he answered.

“Should I be concerned ‘bout my virtue, my lord?” Rex asks, grinning, as the auburn-haired man presses him down more firmly into his sheet-over-a-hay-bale mattress.  He arches up and slides one of his legs between Ben’s own, pressing his thigh up firmly against Ben’s burgeoning erection.  His hands move up to slide underneath Ben’s rucked-up shirt, tweaking at sensitive nipples and drawing blunted nails along the musculature of Ben’s sides, causing the man to shiver.

“I was under the impression you were not a stuffy maiden aunt,” Ben growls, and grasps one of Rex’s wrists to pin it up above his head before leaning down to plunder his lips in what is shaping up to be a very enjoyable kiss.  Rex hums as he breaks away, slowly drawing back. He tilts his head up again to nip at Ben’s lips playfully, writhing beneath Ben to shift again until he can grind their erections together through the thin fabric of their breeches.  His other hand goes up to join the first, and Ben’s grip expands to capture both wrists with another growl and a groan that is pure arousal as Rex arches as if in a semblance of helplessness against Ben’s grip.  As though the rippling muscles of his well-toned frame and the mischievous sparkle in his eye did not belie the fantasy that he could not break from Ben’s loose hold in moments.

“Ah, but–” Rex’s voice cuts off with a moan as Ben grinds down hard, bringing their erections together, even as the man tries to shimmy out of his breeches. “–shouldn’t, oh, all young maidens be worried for their marriage prospe– Shit! Ah gods, Ben…” During Rex’s playful speech, Ben finally frees himself from his breeches and shifts between Rex’s legs, forcing them apart and up with his bent thighs, before curling his body down to unlace the ties of Rex’s breeches with his teeth and then suck the head of Rex’s very interested and very hard cock into his mouth.  Ben just grins as Rex starts to curse, and after very firmly pressing Rex’s wrists down in an unspoken request to keep them there, Ben releases them and brings both hands down to grasp at Rex’s hips in an effort to start going down on him properly.

With one last twirl of his tongue around the tip of Rex’s precum-leaking cock, Ben swallows him down halfway and inhales, letting his throat constrict tightly around the head of Rex’s cock.  Rex gasps, and the firm grip of Ben’s hands keeps him from fully thrusting up into the warm heat of Ben’s throat.  Rex chokes on his moans as Ben starts to hum, but keeps his hips still as he can, his hands above his head gripping at the worn sheet. Once certain Rex won’t thrust up and choke him unexpectedly, Ben releases his hips and brings one hand up to grasp around the base of Rex’s cock while his hand reaches towards a small jar of oil.  With fingers dripping, Ben brings the hand back and slips it into Rex’s breeches, first toying at his ballsac with slick fingers, teasing as his cries grow more and more breathless and desperate, before sliding down lower along his perineum to tease at the pink ring of muscle.  Ben draws back off of Rex’s cock, and Rex keens at the loss, panting hard before curling up, contracting his core muscles to look down at Ben with a glare.

“If I’m gonna be deflowered on a glorified pile of hay–” he pants, trying to maintain a façade of ire even as Ben’s fingers continue to tease around the rim of his hole, “–I think you at least owe me to not ruin my best pair of breeches.”  Ben laughs, but breaks away from teasing Rex to help free his legs from his breeches, tossing the unwanted item somewhere near the extant clothing puddle.  Ben grasps for the jar of oil again, and tugs Rex’s up until his ass is resting easily on his upper thighs.  Lifting one of Rex’s tanned legs high, Ben scrubs his short beard against the tender skin while hiking it up to rest over his shoulder. With the other hand, he upends the jar of oil over Rex’s exposed perineum, before discarding the near-empty jar, scooping up the slick oil to tease and slide overly-slick fingers into Rex’s now well-oiled and dripping hole.  The first two fingers slide in easily, Rex’s arousal and trust helping him relax.  The intrusion is a somewhat strange feeling but not unpleasant, and just when Rex is about to open his mouth to ask what is keeping Ben, the man’s fingers brush against a bundle of nerves that make his vision white out and see stars.

Rex’s surprised moan seems to be the signal Ben was waiting for as Ben then begins to scissor the two fingers around before adding a third, relentlessly grazing against that spot inside that has Rex biting back groans.  Just as Rex is on the cusp, Ben grips around the base of his cock with the free hand, and draws out the fingers in his ass, gathering up the excess dripping oil.  Ben spreads the oil, and his own precum, over his cock, and carefully lines up with Rex’s stretched, slick hole.

“Ready, fair maiden?” Ben asks, grinning like a fool, and Rex is caught between a scoff and a groan.

“Hurry up, you lordling bra– oh,“ Rex cuts off with a groan.  Ben’s cock is a stretch much more than fingers, a slight burn just on the edge of pleasure-pain as Ben eases the head of his cock in.  Rex moans at the sensation of it, and Ben begins to slowly tug at his cock, keeping Rex relaxed and pleasured as Ben slowly thrusts in deeper. Once Ben is fully seated, he waits a moment, before beginning to tentatively thrust in and out; it takes Rex a moment to realize that Ben is searching for that pleasure spot inside him. Ben finds it, and Rex sharply inhales. The next moment, Ben is thrusting against it with deep, hard thrusts, hammering against the bundle of nerves inside Rex that make him bite his lips to keep from screaming.  He doesn’t last much longer than that, especially as Ben starts to tug at his erect cock with more strength, brushing the thumb over Rex’s slit and teasing at a second bundle of nerves just beneath the lip of the underside of his cock.  As Ben lightly grinds the pad of his thumb against Rex’s slit in tandem with a particularly strong thrust, Rex comes with a shout, spurting between them.  Ben carefully withdraws as the aftershocks of Rex’s orgasm clench down around his cock, and once the tip of his cock is free of Rex’s hole, it takes only a tug more for him to come as well, spurting between the two of them onto Rex’s bared stomach.

Rex collapses back into the hay bale mattress, finally bringing his arms down from their position over his head to cup the side of Ben’s face and draw him down into a kiss.  Once they break apart, Ben draws his dirtied shirt over his head and uses it to wipe them both clean—an action that makes Rex retroactively very grateful he does not wear his shirts out to do field work—before tossing the shirt to the side and laying down beside Rex to spoon up against him.  Ben nuzzles at the junction between Rex’s shoulder and neck as Rex strokes a hand through Ben’s pretty auburn hair.

“You have now been quite thoroughly deflowered by a dashing rogue,” Ben mumbles against Rex’s skin, and Rex chuckles quietly as Ben seems to drop off into a doze.  Rex continues to card his fingers through Ben’s hair, easing him into sleep before he sighs, softly.

“I suppose things didn’t turn out so bad,” Rex mused quietly to himself. After he’d been stripped of all markings of his rank down to the very clothes off his back and then cursed to not tell a soul of his royal status, Rex had not been sure how he’d fare.  Despite the inauspicious beginnings, however, Rex is finding fieldwork hard but satisfying, and—frankly—he can’t find it in himself to mourn a betrothed prince he’d never met when he has a perfectly wonderful lover, even if Ben is a minor lordling brat.

“Mph?” Ben asks, more of a sleepy response to noise than any sort of solid acknowledgement of words spoken.

“Beats marrying a stuffy prince,” Rex mumbles with finality.  He is about to shut his eyes to nap himself when Ben stiffens in his arms and bolts upright, turning to stare at Rex with wide eyes.

“You’re Brexton Fett?” Ben nearly shouts.  Rex’s heart almost stops with fear, and before he can scramble together some sort of excuse or explanation, Ben ducks down and kisses him more lovingly and passionately than even a man who had just fucked him near-senseless had any right to be.

“Um…” Rex begins, when he can finally pretend to breathe again.  “Care to explain that?  Not that I’m, ah, objectin’.”  Ben smiles at him, equally breathless, and there’s a slight flush to his cheeks and the tips of his ears, even as his eyes sparkle.

“I, ah, may have been... not entirely straightforward, when I said I owned the town.”  Rex raises an eyebrow, somewhat confused as to where this was meant to be going.

“So, you don’t own the Anchorhead fief?” Rex asks, propping himself partially up on his elbows.

"You're alone?"  Obi-Wan's voice over the comm is warm, honeyed, with the hint of something teasing.  Rex immediately stands and triple-locks the door to his quarters.  Unless they entered a Prime-Code emergency, he wouldn't be disturbed.

“I, uh, I am now.” Rex knows his voice has dropped to a lower register, rougher, and deep.  There is a soft groan on the other end of the comm-line, and if he hadn't heard it before, Rex would have never caught it now.  Wouldn’t have thought it anything more than the occasional crackle of the connection.  It sends a shudder through him, the memory of another night: Obi-Wan's lips pressing that sound against his shoulder as hands unclasp the hinges of his plate armor and slide up along the under-suit, searching for catches to peal Rex out of the black that acts almost as a second skin.  He’s already half-undressed as it is, the larger parts of his plate shed in preparation for catching some sleep, but suddenly it’s still feeling like far too much clothing.

“Could you do something for me?” Rex almost nods, before realizing that, on the private lines like this, they don’t have the same visual capacity, and that a verbal confirm is required.

“Of course, sir.” Normally, Rex would forgo the honorific. The dynamics between them were tenuous enough without a reminder of the power-imbalance they could not escape for so long as the war lasted.  But his lips curl around the word like a prayer and an invitation, low and rough and barely a hair above a growl, and the sudden exhalation of breath on the other end of the line reassures him that it was the right choice.  When Obi-Wan speaks again, his voice is a little strained.

“Undress for me.”  Rex immediately begins to shed his vambraces, and his shirt is half-tugged over his head when he hears Obi-Wan’s voice again, this time sounding somewhat amused “Slowly, Captain.”

Rex halts, and he moves to slide his hands out from the long sleeves, tracing his hands down the front of his chest to where the hemline is brushing beneath his pectorals, and proceeds to peel the rest of the shirt off, letting his fingers linger along his skin in an echo of the gestures he knows Obi-Wan would were the man here.  When he brushes over his nipples, he takes a moment to tweak at them, roughly, biting back the muffled groan.

“Looking for a show, sir?” Rex asks, slowly moving to unsnap the cuirass and greaves that make up the main portion of his leg armor, and allowing his hand to linger.  He takes the extra time to stack the duraplast-like plates neatly before shimming out of the lower leggings.

“I would reciprocate, but I confess I have long been devoid of any clothing at all.”  The strangled noise that leaves Rex throat can’t possibly be human. “Very impatient of me, I know.”  Obi-Wan’s tone is almost conversational, the underlying heat subtle.  The larger clue to Obi-Wan’s state is the soft sound of his panting breaths in between each of his sentences.  “You’ll have to forgive me for the head start.” There’s a quieter sound, then, like the sloshing slick of lubricant being rubbed between his palms, and the shuffling of movement.  And then, Obi-Wan starts to narrate in between steadily louder moans:

“You know that-” a muffled groan, through bit lips “-thing that you do, with your thumb?” Rex knows. The way he curls his hand around Obi-Wan’s erection when he is pressed flush against Obi-Wan’s back, and brushes his thumb over the slit at the tip of his cock, tracing it lightly with his thumbnail. “I think I might give it a go. Won’t you demonstrate it for me, first?”

“It’s simple,” Rex begins, voice rough, as he takes his own erection in hand, and firmly secures the comm earpiece-and-transmitter.  “You start by drawing your thumb-pad over the tip, slow.”  Rex doesn’t bother trying to muffle the groan that leaves his mouth, the slight snag of his calloused, unslicked finger-pads as he draws them against the skin through the precum leaking from the tip of his erection. “Then you crook your thumb and run the edge of your nail, feather-light, just along the vein and up…” Rex breaks off with a moan, before finishing “…and along the slit, careful.”  He lets out a shuddering breath, and does it again, firmer. “If you like that, press a little harder next time along.”

Obi-Wan’s breathing has been growing very harsh over the line, and as Rex settles back more comfortably in his cot, he grins, drawing one hand loosely down the length of his cock while the other fishes for the lubricant tube on the bedside drawer. “Have been good and following directions, sir? Or do you need another demonstration?”

“No I…”  Obi-Wan begins, faintly, and Rex can just hear the moan he swallowed down “I think I have the concept, thank you, Captain.”

“I’ll need proof, sir. I want to make sure you know how to do it properly.”  Rex’s grin only grows wider as Obi-Wan lets out a strangled groan.  He slicks up the hand curled around his cock, but leaves the other mostly dry.  Instead, he begins to carefully drag his nails along the inside of his spread thighs, and up over his groin and over the muscles of his torso.  “Talk me through the steps as you perform them, sir. First…”

“I draw my thumb slowly over the- fuck” Obi-Wan moans, before continuing, “-the tip of my cock.  Then I-” Obi-Wan’s voice is strained as he talks through his groans, but he does make it through the whole lesson.

“Very good,” Rex replies, and tweaks one of his own nipples as his hand passes by.  “I can just imagine you, sir, sprawled out on the bed. Legs spread wide,” he lets his arousal bled through in his voice, unashamed as he shuts his eyes to focus better on the image his mind presents him of his lover.  “Just enough space for me to crawl between them.  Take that lovely cock of yours into my mouth, sir. So thick and hard already.”  The sounds of thwarted arousal that Obi-Wan makes only inflame him more.  “I love the weight of it in my mouth, sir, teasing along the vein with my tongue as I swallow you down.  You would like that, wouldn’t you, sir?”

Obi-Wan’s response is a heated moan, and sounds of rapid activity; Rex can only imagine Obi-Wan with his legs splayed, stroking furiously at his erection as Rex narrates exactly how he would suck his cock.  Rex begins to stroke along his own cock, slowly speeding up with the increased noises that Obi-Wan makes, when an idea strikes him.  He brings his free hand up, and loudly sucks his first two fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them with lewd sucking noises right next to the comm’s receiver. There is a sharply indrawn breath from the other side of the comm before Obi-Wan keens as he comes, a desperate sound that makes Rex shiver.

Rex quickly finishes himself off after that, jerking roughly at his cock and taking his spit-slick fingers to twist at his nipples.  He comes with the muffled shout of Obi-Wan’s name through bit lips and spends a moment just enjoying the sounds of their breathing together.

“Rex,” Obi-Wan finally breaks the silence.  “Can I…” He trails off, and there is a pause.  “Is there something you would– that I could do for you?”

“Talk to me.”  And Obi-Wan does.  He talks about simple things.  The weather where they are.  A memory of Anakin’s padawan antics.  Cody working with the new shinies.  A beautiful sunset that reminded him of the color of Rex’s eyes.  He feels so warm, the sound of Obi-Wan’s voice and the way his affection shines clear.  The smile he can imagine on Obi-Wan’s face as the Jedi speaks, little hints of an upward curl at the corners of his mouth, matching lights in his brilliant blue eyes. Rex realizes he’s drifting off, and when there’s a brief lull in Obi-Wan’s narrative he stops him.

“I’m gonna try and get some rest.  Goodnight, General,” Rex yawns.  Obi-Wan chuckles at the othe end of the comm.  

“Good night, Captain.”

“Love you.”

He had been brought to the hut as a little boy form a land far away, of great deserts and never-ceasing sand.  A weathered old traveller had found him and his mother, and brought them away from the slavery and toil and trouble, to his peaceful home near the sea.  It was on a scattering of great rocks just off the coast, a well-loved old hut with a porch that lead out to a dock along the water.

And the old traveller taught the little boy to fish, and to respect the many creatures who lived in the ocean’s waters, big and small, kind and cruel, and to never doubt the good a smile and a kind heart could do for a little sea magic.  And their nets were always full, and the light of the heavens would glint of the water, and leave them a-sail in a sea of stars.  And, if the little boy could see a smiling face beneath the waves, watching them and guiding the fish into their nets... well, surely that was a little sea magic.

But then, one day, when the little boy was no longer so little, he and his mother and the old traveller set out to fish in the deep sea.  A great storm came up, brought upon by a deep-water evil of red and black, and anger and fear and hate.  Their boat was tossed to the waves, and shattered with the mighty strike of the sea beast, and just when the young man thought he would surely drown, strong arms wrapped around him and brought him back to shore.

The young man never did see who saved him, but for a flash of glittering blue scales and hair red like the sun, but in the manner of the old traveller (who had become like his father) and the kindness of his mother, the young man always gave his thanks to the sea. He left out little trinkets of shiny things, or tasty bits of food out onto the rocks to find them gone the next day, and in their place would be colorful shells, or beautiful sea-flowers, and the young man’s nets were always full.

And so the young man grew strong, and healthy, and each week he would go into town to sell his fish at the market. In town was a young woman, strong and gentle and kind and fierce.  When the young man had first gone to town, she was working as the mayor, but now she was mentoring those who followed her into being the town’s best mayor, concerned for all the people in it.  And every time he went into town, they would meet, and talk and spend the day together, the former-mayor and the fisherman, and they would always part with smiles.

And oh man, did he love her.

One day, he takes her to his house by the sea, nestled within the rocks.  And one day, too, he sees a smile and bright eyes to match with blue scales and red hair (it is her doing, of course, for she is much wiser about those sorts of things, coaxing out the best of others).  And for ever after that there was happiness, in that old hut by the sea.

But for now, it is just a young man, with a wishing heart, a dear lovely friend, and a guardian, and just a touch of sea magic.