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I realised I never actually posted this here, my design for Crosshair's helmet. Based on the Ice Vulture from Barton IV. I love what it symbolises for Crosshair, and I think that's something he would like to be reminded of, not to mention how it is also associated with Mayday, and keeps his memory alive too!
„The most favorite dance seems to require taking off the shirt. The guests who initiated it are obviously clones, but they look a bit older and behave differently. Some kind of elite troopers, maybe Commandos. Behave like Mandalorians. Legendary first ARC troopers? Upright posture, proud, strong moves. The facial expressions part of the dance? The fierce Mandalorian beauty just joined! Great, then this is the dance I should learn first!“
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Post-Call Sign. Rizel and the men are all on a job and Mayday mentions that they’ll know their contact when they see him, says that he’s a Gungan and that he’ll be looking for them, and they’re startled when Rizel gives them this baffled look of wariness like “omg how do you know him?? weren’t you terrified of taking the job, how do you know what it’s for?? don’t they give you the creeps??” and now THEY’RE confused because “what on earth are you talking about, he’s just a Gungan, also don’t be rude, wth”
So it isn’t until some Jar-Jar Binks looking guy shows up that she relaxes and is like “Ohhh okay I see what you mean now. That’s not what we have back home.” and the men are even more baffled until they see THIS guy show up at one of the other terminals and Rizel says “THAT’S what we have”
Number 9 on the rarepairing masterlist, we have... Crosshair/Mayday! You know how it's gonna' go; it's angsty, it's heartbreaking, it's intense (even in the sex scene). It's war, and this fic tries to reflect all of those conflicts. I tried to end it in a good note, though!
Xx, Blue.
"THE POWER OF ANOTHER'S TOUCH" – CROSSHAIR/MAYDAY 💔🔥
WARNINGS: REFLECTIONS ON ABANDONMENT & LOST FAMILY, REFERENCES TO DEPRESION, MALNUTRITION, MIND CONTROL, BLOOD AND WOUNDS, TOUCH STARVED CHARACTER, PENETRATIVE SEX.
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Crosshair has developed the habit of watching the black vulture that ocassionaly flies over his outpost on Barton IV. It's a powerfull creature; with sharp eyes and claws, always silently watching and patiently waiting for the perfect moment to take advantage of. He has always been a bit like that, if he comes to think of it. He wonders if the animal feels alone too.
The vulture circles over his head, perhaps wondering if the soldier is about to drop dead. Crosshair's hand is soaked; trying to stop the gush of blood that trickles down the small space between the chest and stomach plates of his imperial armour. It's bad luck –or awfully precise– that the rebel managed to sink his blade in his body right there. Crosshair is just glad it missed his lung. With so many troopers to replace him, he knows the Empire wouldn't have moved a finger to try to save him.
He doesn't bother to go to the medbay –it doesn't hold the same warmth it did in Kamino, who would have guessed he'd miss that– but instead walks straight towards his private room. It's probably the only advantage of being the leader of his small specialized unit. He's glad of not having to share with the other men.
He's focused on that goal; on not crumbling in the middle of the corridor to soak into a pool of his own blood. He ignores the pain, the fear, the fatigue; he puts all his remaining energy into taking one step after the other, his figure remaining surprisingly stoik. No one would be able to tell he was hurt if they walked by him. No one really knew him in here, after all...
"Crosshair?" the voice almost echoes in the silence of the corridor, and the soldier's feet falter.
Except one person, though.
"Not now" he drawls, tone neutrally bored, resuming the pace of his steps towards his room.
The feet follow him; and Crosshair feels a mix of satisfaction and irritation swirling inside of him. He turns another corner and he finally enters his sleeping quarter area.
The other man stops behind him in front of his door.
"You're bleeding. You've got bacta in there?"
Mayday's voice is somewhat neutral too; but neutral feelings wouldn't have brought him to this length. No one indifferent would have followed him to his room.
"No" Crosshair's answer is short and clipped. He's not used to this. To being seen. He has forgotten how it feels, how to cope with it. "I've got needles and threads".
Crosshair unlocks his door with his code. A pretty easy system to hack into, if he's honest, Tech would have absolutely no trouble in... Crosshair enters the room and carelessly throws his sniper against the wall. Tech had abanadoned him, and so had done the rest of the Batch –Echo, Wrecker, Hunter– and they could be dead for all he knows. Perhaps they wish Crosshair to be dead too.
"I'll do it for you" Mayday offers, stepping inside as well before the door closes with a swoosh after him. "You're probably gonna' do a shity job if you try to do it yourself".
Crosshair opens his mouth to argue, to bite and snap and claw away at the man with his words; but the older clone sends him a glare and gestures to the bunk pressed against the wall.
"Shut up and sit down. The sooner we finish, the sooner you'll be able to rest".
Crosshair swallows his reply down. He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to truly rest. To truly sleep. The guilt, the anger, the sadness, the pain, are too much to push out of his mind; no matter how fucking exhausted he is.
He doesn't have the strength to argue, though; so for this time, he complies.
Mayday patiently waits while Crosshair removes his platings; sorting through the medical kit in silence. Crosshair grimaces when he tugs his upper body glove off; the blood making the fabric stick to his skin and making carefully tearing it away painful and uncomfortable. It hangs on his hips; and when he breathes a sigh of relief Mayday finally turns towards him.
Crosshair does his best to ignore him. He tries to forget how the trooper's eyes focus on his bony hips and ribs; his sunken stomach, and the clear physical signs that reveal how much he has been struggling with his mental health as well. He glances to the side; unable to watch Mayday's silent concerned face, to hold the weight of his stare. He doesn't offer any excuse, any explanation; and Mayday doesn't ask them from him.
"This is probably gonna' hurt like a bitch, but you already know that" he says, dapping a small gauze in desinfectant, and placing a hand on Crosshair's side to firmly hold him in place.
Crosshair can't help his physical reaction. He trembles, brutally visible, from his shoulders to all the way down to his toes. Goosebumps erupt all over his skin; and a small sound catches on the back of his throat.
It's pathetic, really, how Mayday can pull that answer from his body when all he's doing is making sure he isn't going to move when he pushes the needle through his skin. Crosshair feels him glancing up at him, trying to read into his facial expresion; but he stubbornly stares to the opposite side of the room, still in silence.
Mayday hums and keeps cleaning the wound, resorts to stitching, and if he notices Crosshair shivering at the clinical contact of his warm hands pressing against his skin here and there he doesn't utter a thing.
When Mayday finishes and leaves, Crosshair swallows the heartbreaking need to ask him to stay. Please.
The older clone pays him a visit four days later. Just like he did with the vulpture, Crosshair wonders if Mayday feels alone in this icy planet; if he feels that cold that goes deeper than freezing the tip of your toes. There's no other explanation, really. A regular imperial soldier wouldn't have bothered with checking on him. They aren't what normal people would consider friends; but perhaps there's some sort of recognition and understanding there. Two clones, men of a past world, trapped in the Empire's claws without a blindfold over their eyes but still nowhere else to go.
Crosshair doesn't say a word. Not even a "hello". He lets him step inside his room, and then, voluntarily and without prompting, he takes his shirt off. Perhaps it's just a way of speeding up things, because he knows Mayday won't leave without making sure his wound is healing up nicely. Perhaps it's just Crosshair'd way to ask for his touch on his cold skin.
Mayday is smart enough to read into it.
He carefully grazes the corners of the scarring; and Crosshair shivers. Mayday doesn't pay any mind to it. He continues examining him, his movements perhaps too slow and exploratory to be considered purely clinical.
The older trooper finally abandons all pretense and allows himself to caress up and down the sniper's sides. His hands are gentle, and warm, and it's so unusual and pleaseant that Crosshair's body trembles violently and his eyes inmediately lock into Mayday's. It's a heavy stare; but the man stares back.
"Are you going to fight me, if I keep touching you?" The trooper quietly but calmly asks.
Crosshair stays silent, his mind spinning with the implications of those words, and Mayday interprets it as a "no". Crosshair can't say it out loud; he understands. For someone so tightly coiled as the sniper, Mayday feels like he has done a good job unwrapping the mess and intense person he is. Perhaps suffering makes you wiser.
One by one, clothes get abandon by the floor; until the two soldiers are naked as the day they left the tub, pushed into a life of slavery and repetitive heartbreak. Their hands explore and caress and claws and holds; their lips kiss and traces and suck and bite til they taste blood. Mayday takes his time opening Crosshair on his fingers; the sniper releases a broken cry when the older man makes him sink on his cock.
It's slow, intense, deep and emotional. Mayday slides his throbbing erection in and out of him while his arms close around the sniper's skinny body; and Crosshair feels trapped in a delicious way he hasn't experienced before. It's overwhelming; how his body is just forced to feel good, to shiver and moan at the little electric explosions that zig zags through his nerves every time Mayday hits his prostate.
Crosshair's knees tremble; and he has to push his hands against the wall in order not to fall. Mayday grabs his hips tigther and rutts inside of him. Crosshair's mind fly far away from the room. It's not the same way he has grown to dissociate with the mental torture the imperial doctors push him through; when he tries to escape the prision of his hurting body. It's different; this warmth, this pleasure, this human closeness, feels so good he's almost dizzy, drunk on it, his body moving in autopilot while his mind is able to finally relax and feel free.
Mayday groans and cums inside of him. Crosshair cums too after a few tugs of the man on his weeping cock. His mind quietens.
They're both breathing heavily. Crosshair slumps against the wall, pressing his sweaty forehead against it. Mayday follows, his own forehead resting against Crosshair's shoulder.
The sniper is glad that his face is hidden away like this; that Mayday can't see the silent tears that run down his cheeks.
"Should I stay?" the man asks, barely more than a whisper, the moment vulnerable and delicate.
Crosshair moves, and Mayday's spent cock leaves him. He lays down on his bunk without answering; though his body shifts to one side, a space left unnocupied on his back. Perhaps that is answer enough.
Mayday melds to his back; hugging him towards himself with an arm wrapped over the sniper's hip. Crosshair's body untenses again; his quiet worries vanishing. He tugs Mayday's arm tigther; burrying his thinner body in his warmth and tenderness. He's still afraid; because this is too nice for him to keep. Because good things always end abandoning him.
Mayday sighs his own relief, contentment and hope and pecks the back of his neck.
"Okay" he whispers, closing his eyes even if it'll take ages for him to fall asleep, memorising the feeling of the thinner, complex man against him.
Crosshair prays this won't be the last time they do this; or at least, that Mayday will continue to be close to him even without the sex.
Mayday makes a quiet decision. If the sniper doesn't take proper care of himself, he will; and if he ever leaves Barton IV, leaves the Empire, he'll take Crosshair with him.
