#cdr fox

He just needs more kisses!

The follow up!

immediate thoughts: coruscant rush hour traffic and watchman bent bullet trajectories, kennedy conundrum, parkour

aaaaand i just realized this said SGT fox dammit dammit dammit OK u get a bonus (under the cut), while I go write the right Fox smdh@myself

“I know 501st is our companion battalion and all, and I do want to see those yahoos again, I do, but at the cost of having to hot-bunk? Sheesh, haven’t had to trade off a bed with a brother in a hot minute.”

“Oh, quit your bitching, Longshot, because if the logs officer hears you he might assign you to share with someone who farts uncontrollably, or wets the bed or something,” Trapper teased loudly, grinning. “Oh look, it’s your turn. Wish ya luck!” With that he gave Longshot a shove up to the billeting window.

The logs officer, who had a side-shave and a little neutral symbol tattooed on their face peeping out from the fall of curls across their other cheek, glanced up at him and passed a smaller-than-usual stack of bedding out of the window. “Your five-oh-first partner has the rest and is already in residence,” they intoned with the air of having already said it a hundred times and planning on scores more. “3-76 in ba—hang on—“

But Longshot had already snatched up the auto-printed tag of flimsi. “3-76 in bay 22, what’s the matter with it?” he inquired with an edge of suspicion.

The logs officer sat on their hands and looked like they’d been dared to shoot the extremely salty, sour undiluted electrolytes from a ration packet. “Nothing,” they said tersely, impatiently.

“Uncontrollable farting? Pees the bed?” Longshot pressed, and the logs guy bit back a smile in spite of themself. They’d definitely heard Trapper giving him a hard time.

“So…?”

“Nothing,” they repeated. “Just, ah, recognized my own bunk number—I promise I’m not some yahoo who makes a mess, don’t worry. You’re not weird or gross or anything either, are you?”

“Depends,” said Longshot flirtatiously, leaning on the window’s pass-through ledge, “on just what weird kind of mess you mean.” He winked reassuringly.

Behind him Trapper groaned.

“Hm,” the trooper said, noncommittal.

“You got a name, new bunkmate?”

“What’ll it take for you to turn that tag back over to me?” they countered.

“Your name,” Longshot insisted, pushing his luck.

They stared at him for a moment, considering. “You’re holding up the line,” they finally said, prim as anything. “I’ll find you later, I’m sure. Move along.”

Smirking, Longshot stepped off. “Well, you know where I sleep.”

Hot-Bunk, Bunkmate 🔒 https://archiveofourown.org/works/51632134

Bonus (cdr fox):