#clone fox

Continuing your walk, your feet eventually tire, and you opt to sit on a nearby bench while Fox stands awkwardly beside you. “You can sit with me, Commander,” you suggest, patting the space next to you.

“I appreciate the offer, but I must remain vigilant to protect you,” he replies, giving you a nod and you can’t help but wonder what expression lies behind his helmet.

“I doubt anyone will attack me here,” you say, though Fox’s squared shoulders suggest otherwise. “...or do you know something I don’t?”

He clears his throat and gazes down at you, his eyes meeting yours through the visor. “All Senators are at risk, ma’am. However… your advocacy for Clone rights has made you a target in certain political circles.”

You shrug. “If they want to shoot me for it, so be it.”

“Ma’am, please don’t say that,” Fox winces, looking away and shaking his head. He seems to want to speak freely, but refrains.

“Thank you for protecting me,” you say gently, shifting your gaze to the vibrant flowers that soothe your nerves. “I can’t think of another Clone I’d rather have by my side to appreciate these gardens.”

Fox tenses beside you. “Y-you’re welcome,” he stammers, a rare but endearing lapse in his typical stoicism.

You both settle into a peaceful silence, though you wondered how Fox is faring. Often, you ponder whether he enjoys these quiet moments with you or would rather be back in his office. You recall the amusing sight of his brothers stuffing countless empty caf cups into a corner when you first visited him, and the strain in his voice and stiff body language betrayed his embarrassment over the discovery of his caf addiction.

You just hoped it wasn’t because he was exhausted.

“So,” you begin, snapping out of your worried thoughts, “you’ve walked with me in these gardens plenty of times now, Commander. Is there any particular plant, flower, or tree you like?”

Fox turns his head towards you, tilting it slightly, which you find unexpectedly adorable and you scold yourself mentally for thinking so.

“I’m afraid my answer will bore you.”

You give a wry smile. “I’m sorry, you probably have more important things to be doing, I’m sure.”

“Taking care of you is the most important thing to me,” he says almost sternly. The way he says it sounds almost desperate, not just dutiful. Realising this, he adds, “as it is my current job.”

Clearing your throat, you turn your gaze away, hoping he doesn’t notice the tips of your ears burning with a blush. “I see.”

He nods simply, but after a moment, he sighs slightly. “There is, uh, one flower that catches my eye every time we come here actually.”

You look back at him, surprised. “Really? Which one?”

“It’s over there in the corner to the right.” He nods in the direction, and you stand, asking him to show you.

He hesitates for a moment, unsure if you’re serious. But judging by your smile—something he has grown rather fond of—he nods and leads the way.

You stop in front of a flower bed filled with a mix of pink, purple, white, and red flowers—tall and breathtaking, and quite familiar to you.

“I believe these are Digitalis purpurea,” you say, leaning forward to inhale their delicate fragrance with a soft smile. “I can see why you like them, come to think of it.”

He nods slightly, pleased to have a name for the flower, even if he wasn't going to try to pronounce it. “Why’s that?”

“Well,” you say with a smirk as you turn to him, “it’s also more commonly known as ‘Foxglove.’”

“Oh, really?” he asks, genuinely curious, and you nod in confirmation.

“Quite the coincidence, don't you think?” you add, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

Fox seems taken aback, the irony not lost on him. “Yes, quite the coincidence indeed.” His voice is softer, and there's a hint of a smile in his tone that you wholeheartedly wish you could see.

Fox admires the flowers once more before his eyes drift to the ground where a small bunch had been either knocked or blown off. He bends down and picks them up, then without thinking, holds them out to you. “Would you like these?”

Your mouth gapes open slightly, looking at the outstretched flowers and then at him. “Oh,” you say pleasantly, reaching out and taking hold of the slightly battered and broken stems, “thank you, Commander.”

But you notice that he doesn’t let go at first, instead focusing on the way your fingers brush against his. You feel your heart skip a beat as you both look at each other, neither of you willing to let go. This had to stop. This was completely inappropriate. But yet…

“Senator, Commander Fox.” A voice interrupts you both, and you almost gasp as you quickly let go of the flowers and turn to see who has interrupted this—if you could even call it—moment.

“Thorn,” Fox acknowledges, his attempt to sound composed betrayed by the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

“You are both needed inside. I did try to comm you, but I, uh, must’ve not gotten the signal.” Thorn's tone carries a hint of amusement, and you feel a rush of nervousness and fluster. Did Fox feel the same awkwardness you did?

You glance at Fox, who gives a curt nod to Thorn. “Understood. We’ll head there immediately.”

As you walk back towards the Senate building, you can't help but replay the moment in your mind. The gentle brush of his fingers against yours, the intensity of his gaze behind his visor—it was so unlike the stoic Commander you had come to know.

“Thank you, Commander,” you say softly once the two of you were alone again, glancing at the flowers in your hand. “For the flowers.”

Fox nods, his voice steady but tone also softer than usual. “You’re welcome.”

Later that day, you receive word that you are needed on a different planet for urgent Senate business. As you prepare to leave, you find yourself thinking about Fox and the moment you shared in the garden. An idea forms in your mind, and you act on it impulsively.

Before you depart, you make your way to Fox’s office. It's empty, as he's likely out on duty. You place the flowers on his desk, arranging them neatly. Beside the flowers, you leave a small note:

‘Hopefully you will protect these like you protected me until I come back, Fox.’

And signed with your name. Not just Senator.

With one last glance around the room, amused to see his caf cups still there, you quietly slip out.

When Fox returned to his office that evening, confused with the days events and how he was feeling about you, he never realised he would experience missing someone. Yet as he reads the note you left and looks at the flowers, he does something strange. He pushes his steaming caf to the side and instead, lets the memory of you and the scent of the Foxgloves relax him.

He would not tell the others, but he could not wait for another stroll in the gardens with you.

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You sat at the small bar and signaled for the barista who took your order for a cold brewed caf. 

While you waited, you pulled out your data pad… no new messages. 

You sighed, apparently forgotten. 

“Bad news?”

You jumped at the low rumble next to you. The voice came from a figure clad in a dark coat. He was bent over the bar, arms defensively cradling his own cup of steaming caf. You couldn't see much of his face, but the dark olive skin was marred with a patchwork of light scars. The hair falling over his forehead was streaked with a generous amount of gray. 

“More like no news,”

You muttered, putting the data pad back in your bag. 

“No news is good news in my world,”

“I'm sure…”

You were eyeing your new conversational partner, his intense eyes now looking at you over his folded arm. The chiseled silhouette held familiar features, though he wore them in a haggard kind of way. 

Clone.

Any problems you had of course would dwindle in comparison to one of these men… their short brutal lives. You didn't see many of their kind in this part of town despite your close proximity to the Senate and Garrison structures.  

Your cup of caf arrived, the ice sloshing as the barista gave it a flourishing swirl before setting it in front of you. Thanking him, you waited till he was a comfortable distance down the bar before drawing a mouthful through the straw. 

You winced, smacking your lips in obvious disappointment. They had let the carafe go stale. 

The clone chuckled at your displeased expression, a low and dangerous sound. 

“You should try mine,”

He slid the porcelain cup closer to you with what seemed like an air of playfulness. 

You were suddenly very aware of how cold you were, the steaming cup looking very inviting and making you regret your choice of a cold beverage. You flicked your eyes to the man's golden brown ones, there was no hint of malice but that didn't mean there was no cause for suspicion. You had seen him drinking from the mug himself though…

Ah, Kark it. If it's drugged it's drugged. 

You pulled the hot cup closer, tentatively taking a sip- 

And winced again. The swill was burnt and acrid. 

“Oh this place is just bad at making caf, isn't it?”

He laughed, a short barking sound, that complimented the gravelly rumble of his voice. 

“It might be, but it's still better than the stuff in the office,”

“That's a tragedy, I make much better at home,”

He laughed again, amusement dancing in his eyes. They were the usual shape and color for a clone, but they shone brightly in the moment, catching the light so that the soft reds and golds of the cafe lighting made them glow. 

“To rain and caf snobbery,”

He tilted the mug towards you before downing a swig. You took another gulp of your chilled drink, pursing your lips at the stale taste. 

The noise lifted as the scheduled downpour eased up. You glanced back at the man, and thought about your silent data pad. A wild and unwise idea lit through you. 

“You know, mister… uh…”

You looked over at him questioningly.

“Fox. Commander Fox,”

He offered his hand and you shook it,

“Charmed… you know, Commander, my place is nearby if you'd like to try something actually consumable,”

He arched an eyebrow, picking up his mug and downing the rest of the awful caf. The cup hit the counter with a over eager clink and he stood, gesturing with an extended arm,

“After you,”

You allowed him to guide you to the door, his hand at the small of your back warm as you stepped out onto the cold street. Though the rain had stopped, it was still windy and his long dark coat snapped around you as you turned towards your apartment. 

“What brings you down this way, Commander?”

“I like the cafes down here… no one tries to find me to put out fires, I get to take an actual breather,”

He reached into his coat, pulling out a crumpled death stick carton. Tapping it on his thigh, he bit at the protruding end before looking down at you with it hanging lazily between his lips. 

“You mind?”

“Not at all…Are you on a break now?”

A little disappointment flitted through you, thinking the handsome man accompanying you might have to leave your company soon. 

A small spark lit his features for a moment as he lit his vice, taking a long draw before releasing the smoke. A strong arm wrapped about your hips. 

“No, I'm off for the night, even more reason to be in hiding,”

He smirked conspiratorially at you, offering the lit stick. Fox held it steady as you drew the smoke into your lungs. He seemed pleased with that and you leaned into him as you led him through the streets to the building your flat was located in. That flicker of disappointment stirred into a flutter through your chest. You looked at the profile of his face again out of the corner of your eye, lit as it was by the burning embers. 

There was a prominent scar across his nose, a slight crook to it where it may have broken at some point. His chin was slightly more narrow than the clones on the propaganda posters. He flashed a smile at you, aware of your attention, giving you a glimpse of his canines- unusually prominent. You stifled a shiver as the warm glow of the light over your building's door settled over you. He crushed the spent butt beneath his boot heel as you made your way inside. 

The main floor of your apartment building was brighter than the cafe had been, and you suddenly became overly aware of your wet clothes clinging to you. The simple dress shirt stuck to your curves, leaving little to the imagination, the cold making your nip-

You tugged your jacket closed hurriedly. 

The doorman caught your eye as he took in your odd surprise guest. He narrowed his expression and you nodded at him so that he relaxed and settled back into his chair…but flashed the hand signal to call him if there was trouble. The concern warmed you a little as you made your way to the lift. 

The reality of the situation suddenly dawned on you as the doors slid shut and you found yourself alone with the commander. He was a complete stranger… you watched him out of the corner of your eye as the lift took you higher; chiming as it reached your floor.

The way his footfalls chased your heels brought an unbidden, nightmarish image of a scared child fleeing from the snapping jaws of a ghoul. You shook away the shadowy memory, the feeling of being hunted. Or at least you tried.

He was also watching you, an almost somber look of curiosity in his furrowed brow. It relaxed you a little, your pace down the hall became more sure. Not that he felt safe, quite the contrary… but you found you lacked fear for whatever danger he represented. Whatever trouble this was, you wanted it… were craving it. 

The heat of him felt intense through your wet clothes as he drew near while you tapped in the code to your door. His breath felt too close, the way it stirred the few dry strands of hair at your neck. 

Then you were inside. 

You kicked off your heels, swiping your hand up the wall panel to make the recessed lighting warm the room with soft light. 

Fox looked around at the dark colors of the flat, the dim, strategic lighting, the art spotlighted on the walls. He gave a small nod of approval. You could tell he was impressed and pride swelled in your chest, and a little giddy feeling, betraying your attraction to the man. 

“What do you do to afford a place like this?”

“It was part of my family's holdings, I’ve only moved in permanently since liquidating their estate.”

He raised a brow at that spurning you to add,

“They died,”

“Oh… I'm sorry,”

You shrugged your shoulders, 

“I'm okay, honestly I don't think I  was affected by it as much as I should've been… we weren't close.”

You took off your coat, draping it over the back of a chair. 

“If you don't mind, I need to change into something dry… then I'll get us that caf”

You turned to your bedroom, catching a soft mutter as you left,

“I mind a little…”

You smiled softly to yourself. 

~~~

When you reemerged to the living space, you found him under one of the lit paintings, the one centered to the space. It was tall, the gold frame almost reaching the high ceiling. 

He had removed his jacket as well revealing a dark red long sleeve that hugged his broad shoulders in a very pleasing way, highlighting his slimmer hips where it was tucked into the waist and of his dark denim pants. The scarlet coloring stood in contrast to the black leather gloves that gripped the back of the sofa he leaned against as he looked up at the artwork. 

“It's called, Grief of the Forceless,”

He turned, eyes flicking over the new black dress you had slipped into. The tight cut, flowing fabric shimmered like ink around your knees as you walked. You glided to his side to look up at the twisted imagery. 

The painting was a macab depiction of piled bodies, surreal, exaggerated- racked in obvious pain under a giant foreboding hand reaching over the horizon. It was all splashes of red, white lightning and burnt ashes. 

Fox nodded to himself idly. 

“I like it,”

Your lips quirked as you shared a glance with him, bemused but heavy with the question of, “what now?”

“How bout that caf?”

“Please… I'm dying to learn what a good cup of caf is like,”

The amused tone made you feel like he was teasing you, but it was hard to tell. Perhaps you simply didn't mind.

You padded over to the bar, and turned the nozzle on a line. 

“Hot?”

He nodded, now becoming engrossed with the bookshelves in the adjacent dining room. The paperbacks were expensive antiques. 

You pulled the handle, cold, rich colored liquid siphoning from a sealed canister in a fridge below the bar into the carefully poised mug. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as you lowered the steam wand into the cool drink. 

“Am I noticing a pattern here?”

Fox questioned, withdrawing a paper back, turning it to read the cover, then scanning through the list of digital titles. 

The caf in the mug started to froth. You made another cup for yourself and carried them to the dining room, offering one to the commander. 

“They’re all murder mysteries, can't get enough of them,”

“You like rather dark things, don't you?”

“Mysteries aren't that dark, Commander. They exist in a world we're no matter how clever or creative a killer is, they're always outsmarted by someone with just a little more wit and righteousness,”

He ran a finger down another book spine, nodding as he read the title,

“I suppose real life is much darker…”

“Much. Killers are rarely caught, murders go unsolved…”

“Hey now, I'm doing the best I can,”

He chuckled and you paused,

“You're with the Corries?”

You had had your suspicions but his nod confirmed them. He turned to you,

“Who were your parents? How'd they die?”

“It doesn't matter,”

“Humor me,”

“Their ship blew up on the dock, it took out the valets as well… no one was able to tell me if it was an accident or an assassination,”

“Would someone want to take out your family,”

“My father had his enemies, my mother too- though those wars were usually petty social affairs,”

He sighed,

“Sounds pretty standard,”

He took a swig from the cup you handed him, eyes widening in what you recognized as uncharacteristic delight. 

“That is good, it's so smooth,”

You smirked, pleased with yourself as you added some sweetener to your own mug from the container on the table. 

“Told you,”

He took another long sip from the mug, eyes on you as you leaned back against the table, facing him. 

The commander seemed to freeze a moment, a decision clicking into place behind his features. He moved to lean beside you, as if the morbid discussion before had awoken a sense of familiar solidarity in him stoked into something comfortable by the smooth caf. 

“So, tell me… why'd you bring me back to your place? You that proud of your brewing skills?”

His hand landed on the table next to yours, allowing him to lean into your ear as he spoke. 

“Hmm, maybe I was feeling a little reckless… and you were handsome enough to take a risk,”

“Risk? I'm the one alone in a stranger's home, how do I know you didn't spike the caf?”

His tone carried that gruff playfulness you were becoming accustomed to as his breath danced over the nape of your neck. 

“Mm, despite my interests I'm harmless, never even seen a dead body before- don't think I could handle making one,”

“Not even your parents?”

“There were no bodies to recover,”

…

“You want to?”

“Make a dead body?”

A puff of air against your neck as he silently laughed,

“See one… I can take you to HQ, I have one on hand, if it suits your… interests”

You hadn't really planned on leaving the flat, might've even been planning on convincing your new friend to stay the night,

“Wouldn't you rather stay here? Where we can get to know each other better… in private?”

His fingers moved, lightly brushing up your forearm.

“What's more intimate than looking into the face of death together?”

The offer was deranged, but the peevish look in his eyes, the smell of caf on his breath, it was tempting. You rose your eyebrow, surprised at yourself as you proceeded,

“Let me get my coat.”

“We'd better hurry,”

His voice followed you to where your jacket and heels were discarded, grabbing his own long coat from the back of the couch. 

“It sounds like they plan on hitting us with another downpour soon”

His words were punctuated by a sudden roll of thunder from above. 

~~~

He snuck you into the federal precinct through a service door after an oddly giddy jaunt through the dark, wet streets. Laughing as the rain started falling on the two of you, a lightning strike lighting your way. His hand was clasped firmly around yours, leading you with eagerness in every splashing step. 

The halls of the place were garishly bright, but mostly empty for the night. 

“The morgue is this way,”

He whispered, flashing you a grin, another glimpse of fang. His hand was still holding yours, pulling you along through the halls and it was making your heart race. The whole affair spoke of youthful mischief, sneaking into where you weren't supposed to be. 

As the two of you turned a corner, you ran into a clone decked in red armor, wings painted on the side of the scarlet helmet. 

“Fox? What are-”

The modulated voice cut short as the visor dipped over your form in its slinky dress. A growl of warning from the commander holding your hand and the soldier abruptly turned on a heel and hurried off in the opposite direction.

“Bring girls here often, Commander?”

“No, even more reason for him to leave me be,”

He led you to the end of the corridor, a marked door that he unlocked with a hurriedly typed code before ushering you inside.

The lights flicked on revealing a small, plain hallway of a room. The back wall was metallic, patterned with round latched doors spaced at even intervals. You heard the door click as Fox set a manual lock. No one would disturb you and a wave of nerves flipped through your stomach. It was one thing to be alone with the man in your flat, here was a different matter and for a moment you spared a thought as to what the kark was wrong with you. 

His hands softly gripped your shoulders through your jacket as he whispered into your ear,

“You ready? Can always back out now… if you're scared.”

Scared wasn't the word for it, and you had no interest in showing him your lack of resolve.  

“I'm fine… you sure this is okay though?”

“It's not… you shouldn't be anywhere near this place.”

He was pacing the short distance to the wall of doors. Cold lockers you now assumed. Him popping one of the latches with a loud “cachunk” as the door swished aside confirmed your thoughts. With a swift motion he reached into the cubby and pulled the drawer out. 

The metal shelf held a plasticine bag, translucent enough that you could make out the palid color of the flesh inside. He raised his brow at you as he reached for the zipper, almost as if he dared you to ask him to stop. 

As the bag came undone, you looked down at the face of the man inside. The look of death obvious in his sunken cheeks, the skin of his face and neck still bruised from whatever assault had killed him. 

“Who is he?”

“Just some low life thug… killed three of my men during a spice sting, 

Karked up thing is… my brothers were incinerated as soon as their bodies were collected. Meanwhile this shyte stain stays in our protective custody until we can confirm a next of kin. 

You know, to preserve his dignity.”

His monologue was low with anger, the contempt obvious on his features as he looked down at the dead man. His disquiet was obvious, as if this man had been plaguing his thoughts since before you entered the caf shop. He had gone tense and silent, a darkness in his gaze. You had to wonder,

“Why did you want to show me this?”

Fox blinked, and looked up at you, suddenly looking a little lost. 

“I don't know… I suppose I felt… I suppose I wanted you to see something from my world, to understand,”

He suddenly pushed the drawer shut again, slamming the door with a sharp snap that made you jump. 

“It seemed like you might…”

You wanted to say that you did, but you weren't entirely sure. Despite your own recent grief, how could you say you really knew what it meant to lose people so frequently, so… inconsequentially. 

Your feet seemed to move on their own as you approached the grim man with his back to you. You wrapped your arms around his waist, laying your head against his shoulder making his tight grip on the edge of the door slacken slightly in surprise. 

“It's all so fleeting, isn't it?”

You whispered against his coat, still damp from the rain. 

He turned in your grasp, wrapping his arms around your back as he came to face you, bringing his lips to yours. 

You could still taste the caf on him, the slight bite of smoke as he kissed you. There was desperation in the sudden action, looking for comfort in your embrace. His breath came sharp through his nose as his mouth moved on yours, sliding his tongue between your lips as the kiss became rough, frantic. 

You allowed him to move you, his hands guiding your hips to turn. A click and a swish as one of the other empty compartments was opened. He lifted you to sit on the cold, sterile metal of the drawer as he locked it in place. 

His narrow hips wedged between your knees as his hands came up to cup you cheeks, sharp teeth catching your lip, tugging at it before kissing you again and again. 

As he drew back, eyes searching for yours, you both jumped- startled by a sudden vibration humming from your purse. 

The com link inside had finally started ringing. 

You looked down at the bag, reaching for it instinctively, pausing when a heavy weight rested against your shoulder. Fox’s brow was against you, his words caressing your neck,

“Don't answer it,”

You didn't say anything, just breathed as the com buzzed. 

“Don't, just stay here…stay with me here,”

The rasp of his voice broke your heart. He sounded so tired…

You let the bag fall from your shoulder with a dull clink on the metal drawer before wrapping your arms about his neck. Reassured, his lips pressed to your pulse point, teeth dragging down the length of your neck to your shoulder and back again. The contact felt like electricity as you finally let yourself go, giving yourself to the fleeting moment. 

“Fox…”

He groaned softly against your skin before moving back to your lips, pressing against them hard. You felt his coat slip from his shoulders. He swung it behind you, spreading it over the cold metal surface. 

“Aren't you the gentleman…”

You breathed against his cheek, 

“I'm no gentleman, meshla,”

His tongue dove into your mouth and you moaned around it, heat flooding your core as his posture became domineering. 

Not breaking the kiss, he dipped to lift you, laying you back on his jacket while he leaned over you. It was easy for him to run his hands over you like this, the leather of his gloves smooth as they squeezed your breasts through your dress. 

His motions became sharp; His hand snapping behind your neck to lift you, the other pulling your coat off and tossing it aside. You cringed in the sudden cold of the room, a problem quickly remedied as he hopped onto the drawer in a fluid motion. Fox's trim bulk pressed down on you, hot through his clothing. 

With a needy growl his teeth were at your neck again nipping the soft flesh under your jaw, sucking hard enough to mark you and force your breath to hiss, your gasp sharp. The pain was exquisite, and you reached up to lace your fingers in his greying locks, pulling on them to keep his fangs on you. 

Fox's hands kept wandering, down your side, along your thigh. He pushed your knees to the side, making room for his hips to wedge between your legs. The denim of his pants was rough against the soft skin as he ground his pelvis against you. 

You gasped, pulling back slightly as the feel of him, hard through the fabric. 

“Wait!”

He froze. You only managed another deep breath before he pressed his mouth to yours again, softer than before, carefully,

“You wanted me to have my way with you the second you invited me to your flat… why doubt yourself now?”

You felt your sex clench at his words. He was right of course, you wanted him; The evidence began to pool in your panties as he nuzzled into your neck. 

“Give me this… I won't let you regret it,”

He punctuated his request by rubbing the hardened bulge in his jeans against your groin drawing an undignified moan from your lips. 

You nodded, a little incoherently, pressing your cheek to his. 

“Take me Fox,”

He smiled against your throat, sucking your skin between his teeth with a groan. Your wrists were gathered and held above your head; pinning you there with his left hand, the right slid back down your body. You gasped as his fingers brushed between your legs through your silky dress. 

He used two fingers to slowly rub you through the fabric. A languid pace, up and down, slow and firm making you whimper and squirm beneath him. As the tips brushed and circled your clit you jerked, crying out from the sudden pleasure and wincing as your head thunked against the hard surface. 

“That won't do…”

He growled, sitting up abruptly to tug his long sleeve off, tucking it behind your head. The shirt had barely hid his toned visage but you couldn't help but drink him in as he leaned over you bare. Your hands now free, you reached out for him, running your hands down his chest; feeling the taught muscle, the smooth dips of blaster scars, the jagged raised bumps from healed tears. Fox leaned into the touch, sighing softly as he continued his attentions on you, rocking back on his calves to look down at you spread beneath him. 

He tugged your dress up over your thighs, eyeing the red lace thong underneath with raised eyebrows. 

“You like it?”

His eyes flicked to yours. He didn't answer, just flashed you those fangs of his as he shifted down. He pushed your knees to the side as he leaned in, biting your folds through the fabric. You let out a squeak as his teeth grazed your clit, gasping as he did it again. He nuzzled you with his nose, breathing deeply the scent of your arousal. 

“You’re so kriffing wet, meshla…”

He was right, the cold air catching the damp skin of your thighs. He blew on the glistening flesh, making the skin bump and pulling a whine of need through you. 

Fox chuckled, grabbing the waistband of your panties. He twisted his fingers into the lace and with a sharp tug the delicate fabric tore, exposing you to him. You watched the ruined article disappear into his back pocket before he pinned you again. 

His lips locked to yours, hips grinding into you as you felt his hand undoing the belt buckle and buttons at his waist. You wanted him inside you already,

“Hurry, Fox…”

He bit your lip, a jangle out of sight signalling his jeans were undone. You hooked your fingers into the waistband, helping him slide them down. His cock slapped into you as it was freed, firm and ready. Reaching for it, you felt his length, stroking him as he repositioned himself. He lifted one of your knees guiding himself to your dripping pussy. The head slid over your folds, finding the natural nook for it between your legs. 

With your thigh wrapped around him, Fox braced himself on his elbow. He watched your face as he slowly began to penetrate you. Inch, by slow, tantalizing inch he filled you; watching your expression with intense concentration. He seemed pleased with the way your brow knit as you gasped, the flush that colored your cheeks. Your nerves were on fire, able to feel the ridge of him sliding into you, every vein on his shaft. You were ready to come undone for him right then and there, quivering as he finished sheathing himself inside of you. 

He stayed like that a moment, pinning you with his hips. Leaning in to kiss you, taking his time to feel your lips against his sure and firm, almost possessive. Fox's hand on your thigh pulled your leg around his side and you obliged, wrapping it around him tightly as he started to move. 

Short, shallow thrusts. Slow, grinding into you before withdrawing again. You needed more air, pulling your lips away to bury your head against his shoulder, panting at the rippling pleasure coursing through you. 

Suddenly his hips snapped, the sudden hard thrust ripping a small scream from your throat;The wave of ecstasy that hit your brain too sudden, and you arched back, thighs wrapping around him even tighter. He smiled down at you as he did it again, slamming into you hard. 

“Fox!”

He picked up the pace, brutal thrust one right after another. His belt buckle rattled against the side of the metal shelf, the harsh clatter contrasting the soft, wet pops of his skin meeting yours. You weren't able to make a sound through the onslaught, your body seizing under him as your synapses were set aflame. 

“Cum for me,”

He growled into your ear. 

That did it.

Your sex clenched around him at the command, body going taught and rigid as a strangled cry escaped you. You're sure you ruined his coat. The com in your discarded purse began to hum again. 

You stayed at that high, feeling floaty as your brain swam in the tingling sensation. The only things grounding you to reality being the soft leather of his gloves gripping your thigh, cupping your neck, the half groaned praises in your ear, and of course his hardened shaft hammering into you. 

“You feel so good beneath me, meshla…”

He was lost in his own pleasure, whispering almost incoherently into your neck as he fucked you. 

“I'm going to… soon, I want to… inside of you,”

Your nails dug into his back as you locked your legs around him,

“Do it… fill me,”

He groaned, something low and feral, his thrusts becoming less measured. His hips snapped erratically into you, overwhelming you over another edge. You bit into his shoulder as you came again, the glove on the back of your neck urging you on,

“Harder,”

He panted. 

You flexed your jaw, putting real weight into the bite even as your muscles twitched from climax. 

Fox's hips dropped, pinning you flat as he bottomed out in your cunt. The thob of his cock and the grunt in your ear betrayed the finality of his motions. 

He held you there, still and poised in the taught throws of climax. He twitched several times, filling you till it gushed around his sheathed cock to run down your already slick skin. 

His muscles relaxed, and carefully he settled his weight onto you, wrapping his arms under your back keeping himself firmly buried inside your pussy. He nuzzled your neck, satisfaction dripping from him,

“I needed that,”

…

“Me too,”

~~~

You laid back on his jacket as he inevitably dismounted, boots hitting the floor with a hard thump; Watching with longing as he pulled his jeans back up over his ass hiding it from the perfect vantage you had laying on the morgue self. 

Once his belt was done, he turned leaning in to give you pecking kisses as he gently took his shirt from under you. You drank in his musculature before he could hide it with the red fabric. You felt like you could fall for this handsome man, the odd melancholic look that was once again furrowing his brow. 

He felt the weight of your gaze on him, reaching to lift your hand to kiss your knuckles, your palm, teeth softly grazing your wrist. 

“What now, Commander?”

“You go home…”

He purred it playfully,

“...and I figure out a good excuse to see you again,”

“You need an excuse?”

“Oh yes, and I think I've already came up with a good one,”

He reached down to where your purse had fallen, withdrawing the com and cancelling the call that had started to come through again. You saw him type in a number, presumably sending a message to himself.

“Is that right? What little scheme are you brewing?”

“How about I pull the file for your parent's case, bring you a copy… you said they never shared their findings didn't you,”

Not in so many words, but there had been some bitterness in your exchange with him earlier he seemed to have latched onto.  

“You’d do that?”

“Not out of the goodness of my heart… I bring you the file,”

He put his pointer finger to your lips, trailing it down your neck, between your breasts down to the apex of your thighs.

“We get some caf… and we do this again,”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

-Legacy Post-

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+ Then +

Six Months Ago

 The war is over, so it makes sense for this to happen. — Fox saw this coming. He did. He did.

He saw it coming and he tried to prepare himself but it's suddenly becoming evident to him that that's just another endeavor he failed in.

It's not like he wasn't expecting it. There's a world of a difference between mid-war hookups, and some kind of relationship in the aftermath, a world of a difference between stolen kisses on leave, and something more substantial, something out in the open.

Still, he doesn't want it. Doesn't want to hear them say it, doesn't want to have to accept reality.

What he wants has never mattered though, so he doesn't expect it to start mattering now.

+ Now +

"Hey," Fives says into the silence of the room, his voice quiet, and Rex ducks his head to hide his smile, turns to the grocery bags instead. The greeting isn't for him, but his heart thumps uncomfortably in his chest at it anyway.

It's sweet. It's domestic in a way that Rex had dreamed about during the war, but never actually seriously considered to be a possibility. It's Fives.

Fives has made his heart race for years. This isn't a new thing. Force, this is a predictable reaction for Rex, one he'd see coming from miles away.

Still. It's... nice. To say the very least.

Also predictably, Fox doesn't move. Doesn't change the pattern of his breathing either. If Fives hadn't just said hello, Rex would think Fox asleep, but Fives wouldn't risk waking Fox with a greeting, so Fives must be certain that he's awake.

"It's one in the morning," Fox finally replies, voice irritable. Rex rolls his eyes at that, reaches to put the iced cream in the freezer, and Fives laughs, a clear, joyful sound. Puts his bags down on the counter, and goes over to their bed, leaning down to kiss the lump that is Fox covered with blankets on what is presumably his head.

"Good to see you too, babe."

 + Then +

 Fives feels a little like he's been stranded, marooned. Thrown into a situation that he's not prepared for, that he can't bear, and told good luck.

They all three need to talk, that's true, but— Fox is looking back at them, and he's silent, face unreadable, hands behind his back. A parody of parade rest, a perfect soldier, unfeeling, uncaring. And suddenly all Fives can feel is fear. Regret. An overwhelming desire to create a false emergency, to do something to push this conversation off.

Fox doesn't wear the truth on his face. This isn't the truth. Fives knows it's not the truth, knows Fox better than that. But Fox has seemed off since the war ended, slowly pulling himself away from them, distancing, and— that hurts. That hurts, and he doesn't know what is going to come from this conversation, doesn't know what Fox wants. Doesn't know if Fox's freedom will involve leaving Rex and Fives behind.

They need to talk about this. Need to decide how to proceed now, now that the war is over, and the GAR is no more, now that they aren't duty bound like before. And Fives is an ARC Trooper, so he won't run. He cares about both Fox and Rex, so he won't hide.

But he feels unsteady already. More than unsteady. And he doesn't know if he'll win if he chooses to stand his ground and fight.

 + Now +

 The shriek Fives lets out when Fox yanks him onto the bed is damn near the funniest karking thing Fox has heard all day, and that's impressive, considering the fact that earlier he had a comm call with Cody who decided to show him footage of General Kenobi trying and failing to befriend the zillobeast while General Windu looked on from the side.

Fox hears a snort from outside the covers— presumably Rex— and grins to himself, adjusting his position on the bed so that he's sitting up behind 80kg of flailing ARC trooper, instead of being crushed beneath him.

"You— kriffing son of a shabuir," Fives spits out when he manages to free his head from the blankets, looking up at Fox with a glare on his face. Considering the fact that his hair is a mess, and he's still wrapped up in blankets, it's not that intimidating

"I don't think my cloning vat was kriffing anyone's buir, Trooper. Do you have evidence to back up your claim?"

"I am going to shove your evidence—"

"Actually, I don't think it's possible for cloning vats to have sexual relations at all, so I'm afraid that your accusation is based off of inaccurate intel."

Rex is full out laughing now, and Fox feels his lips inadvertently twitch up into a smile. Rex doesn't laugh often enough, and prying one out of him is no small victory.

"You're the worst," Fives complains half-heartedly, flopping his head back onto the blankets. "The worst."

"You say the kindest things," Fox replies, and he leans down to kiss the pout off of Fives' face. "You planning on joining us anytime soon, Captain?"

 + Then +

 "Fox—" Rex says, and his mouth catches on the word, on the space between Fox's name and whatever the kriff he was going to have come after that, and he breaks off, let's the word die alone in the air.

The conversation has been going in circles, none of them quite managing to say what they mean, and it's exhausting. Fives is blunt in a way that Fox can't believe, and Fox says six different things with a single word that fly over Fives' head, and they've been getting better at communicating, but— better isn't enough when emotions are fraught like they are right now. Better isn't enough when Fox is clamming up, when Fives is pushing to try and get a reaction that's not cool indifference, and Rex is left in the middle, playing code breaker for them both.

Fives and Fox have never served together, and Rex knows that's part of the problem. They're weapons, born and raised for the battlefield, and their first language is the fight, is desperation and sacrifice, tough calls and the resulting remembrances. Rex learned how Fives spoke on Rishi, cemented the knowledge in the campaigns after, and he learned how Fox spoke during their training missions as cadets, during ARC training with A-17 and Vhonte, and during the early days of the war, before Fox was the lead Commander of the Guard, and therefore chained to Coruscant.

So Rex has worked with them both, knows them as he knows everyone who he's served with, but Fives and Fox don't have that bond. Fives and Fox don't have that bond, because Fox had just become the head of the Guard when Domino joined the 501st, because the 501st rarely worked with the Guard as it was. It's Rex who pulled them together, and he'll never regret it, but it's times like this that have him acutely aware of it.

They're both trying. They're both trying, and that's a lot, and Rex is trying too, and he wants to open his mouth and say a million different words and have them be the right ones, wants to bury himself in his own arms and let himself collapse, wants to take a step forward and not have Fox take a step back. He wants, and—

For a brief moment, he kind of thinks he's going to cry.

All three of them worked so hard to get here, and with their jobs it was never going to be easy, but if Rex manages to kark it up because his mouth runs faster than his brain and he forgets to double check every word that comes out of his mouth, he'll never forgive himself.

They have to figure this out. They have to. Rex doesn't want to even consider the alternative.

 + Now +

 "I was being responsible," Rex says, and Fives can't help it, he laughs. The complaint in Rex's voice is audible, and it's a far cry from his usual demeanor. "If either of you would like to help..."

"I would, but I'm kind of trapped at the moment," Fives replies, trying and failing to wiggle out of the blanket cocoon. Fox snorts, then tries and fails to look innocent when Fives glares at him.

"Since your big, bad ARC trooper has been taken down by a fearsome quilt, I suppose I can help," Fox says, untangling himself from the sheets to walk over to Rex. His footsteps are silent, and Fives flops over so he can watch the two of them, their figures barely visible in the darkness of the night. The only reason they have any light at all is because their blackout curtains are a smidge too small for their windows, allowing some of Coruscant's night light to peek in— a mistake that Fox has been complaining about since he and Thire first got and put up the curtains, yet still hasn't fixed.

It's because of Rex, Fives is pretty sure. Umbara was dark, and Umbara was a nightmare, and he's pretty sure Zygerria got pitch black at night as well, and Fives knows that Fox has noticed Rex's reluctance to make a room completely dark. Knows that, because Fox had pulled him aside one day and asked about it, back when they were Fox-and-Rex and Rex-and-Fives, not Fox-and-Rex-and-Fives. It had been the first time Fox had acknowledged Fives outside of a purely professional setting, and considering that Fives hadn't expected the Commander to even know his name, it was a memorable experience.

He'd known that Fox and Rex weren't exclusive, but he hadn't expected Fox to actually give a damn about who Rex was hooking up with when off Coruscant. From the way Rex had described their relationship to him, Fives got the impression that while Rex might've been interested in something more, Fox definitely wasn't. That Fox was barely interested in being friends with Rex, nevermind any kind of romantic relationship.

That first interaction with Fox had forced him to reevaluate that assumption dramatically.

After all, there are things that you do for hookups, and there are things that you do for people you love, and... well, Fives has never tracked down the lovers of any of his own past hookups to ask them about how to make said hookup most comfortable.

Fives watches as the shadow that is Fox comes up behind Rex, stealing a bag from his hands, and sweeping out Rex's elbow range when Rex makes a noise of protest. "I'm helping," he says, his voice sing-song as he saunters to the fridge, and Fives laughs when Rex retaliates by taking the carton of iced cream he's holding and putting it on the back of Fox's neck, causing the latter to yelp. "Hey!"

"There are more grocery bags on the counter, you didn't have to take mine!"

 + Then +

 The fact that neither Rex nor Fives are just flat out telling him that they want him gone is infuriating.

It's infuriating, because it's hope-inducing, and Fox has spent so long trying not to hope. It's infuriating, because he can take the truth, he doesn't need them to dance around it like he's fragile, like he's going to break. It's infuriating, because if it's not infuriating then it will undo him, and Fox is barely keeping his composure as it is.

They've never been good at communicating, Rex and him, have brushed up against each other's jagged edges since they were cadets and an eight year old Kote was glaring them down as they both managed to say the wrong thing, twist their metaphorical knives with their words. But— they worked at it, kept working at it, again and again and again until they could get it right, and that has to count for something. It has to.

And Fives— Fives is a wild card, but he's always been an honest one. Fives is unpredictable, has swept him off his feet since the very first time they met, but if there's one thing that's consistent with him, it's his honesty. Fives can't lie. Fox knows this like he knows his own soul.

They're both saying words that Fox can't quite process. Words that don't make sense in the sentences that they're arranged in, that leave him all twisted up inside.

Fox can't— he doesn't want to lose this. He can, if he must, he will and he'll survive it, but the very thought of having to do that hits him like a punch in the gut. Everything is cold, and he thinks he might be shaking despite the fact that he's standing in parade rest, and—

"Fox," someone is saying, their voice anxious and worried, but firm enough to break through his spiraling thoughts. "Kriff, Fox, we're not breaking up with you."

Impossible.

"Obviously!"

"No, not obviously babe." And he can identify that voice now— Fives. Fives sounds amused, for all that Fox can see the stress in the way he holds his arms. And— and that's reassuring, in an odd way, to know that this is affecting Fives. To know that he's stressed, despite all of his bluster, all his grand declarations and passion.

Knowing why exactly he's stressed is another matter, but... cadet steps, and all.

"We're not breaking up with you," the voice that is Fives repeats, and it's something out of his wildest fantasies. Something he wants. Something he can never have.

He turns to look at Rex's jaw instead. It's infinitely safer there, because Rex's jaw is clenched, and he's not speaking, not saying words that fill his heart with warmth, and his lungs with ice.

"Alright," he makes himself say. "Alright you aren't. But. But I can go."

"I'm sorry, WHAT—"

"Fives," Rex says, cutting him off. It's not his Captain voice, but it's firm all the same, and with a grumble, Fives falls quiet. Fox can barely make himself breathe. "Do you want to go?"

No, his mind cries out. No, Force no, please don't make me. "I can go," Fox repeats, because he's not selfish. "I can go, if that's what you want—"

"What I want?" Rex demands, cutting him off. He sounds furious. He sounds hurt. Fox hates that, hates that he's the one who caused it. Wants to flee so he never can cause it again. Rex is built for better things than pain. "Fox, I— we want you. The question here is what do you want?"

The statement is gutting. The question moreover. How could Rex not know? "I want you," Fox hears himself say, "Both of you. How is that even in question?"

He forces himself to look up, to meet Rex's eyes, and it's just as uncomfortable as it's always been, a prickly burn behind his eyelids as he's laid bare but he needs Rex to understand, and discomfort is a small price to pay to keep Rex in his life.

In seconds, Rex is breaking the eye contact, looking down at their intertwined hands, making a soft noise of frustration low in his throat. "No," he says, soft but firm.

"Don't karking—"

"No," Rex interrupts, and yanks Fox forward so their heads collide in a kelebe kiss. It's just on the right side of painful, and Fox winces, feels Rex's arm slide up his, a silent apology. "Don't put yourself in pain to prove your authenticity," Rex says, and it's an order despite the fact that Fox outranks him, an order that has his chest seizing up because Rex sees him, doesn't need the eye contact, to strip him bare to understand or forgive. He sees, and he understands, and he respects Fox's boundaries even when Fox won't respect his own boundaries, and Fox shudders with the wave of emotion that washes over him, tightens his grip on Rex's hand.

He... doesn't think he can speak right now, wants to but the words are crowding his throat and he fears that if he opens his mouth, he'll choke, so he simply nods against Rex's head, allows himself to sink into his lover's touch. Fox hates feeling like this, weak and wrung out and overemotional, but he knows from experience that there's not much he can do about it.

"Stay," he hears Fives say, and Fox shudders with it. "Please. If you want to stay, stay."

 + Now +

 The fireman's carry Fox throws him into once the groceries are all away is probably the most predictable thing he's done all night.

Rex still sputters when Fox does it, because Fox is an infuriating shabuir who has mastered the art of surprise, but Fox ignores that, instead carrying him across the room to the bed just to dump him on Fives. Fives squawks, just as Rex sends Fox a disgruntled look, and Fox doesn't quite laugh, but Rex knows him well enough to know that it's a close call.

Rex reaches up to grab the front of Fox's shirt just as Fives pushes Rex off him, causing Fox to come crashing down on top of them in an undignified heap.

"Di'kut," Rex feels Fox mumble into his collarbone, and he laughs, brings up a hand to stroke the top of Fox's hair. "That goes to both of you."

"You do call us the nicest things," Fives says, and he sits up, evidently having managed to untangle himself from the blankets. "Truly. 'Di'kut' is my favorite pet name."

"Oh, great," Fox says into Rex's collarbone, not protesting the hair pets, a silent victory that Rex cherishes. "Now I have to come up with a new one."

Rex snorts, and Fives huffs, but he doesn't retaliate, just readjusts the blankets, tossing one side of one of their blankets over Fox and Rex, and crawling under it next to them, laying his head next to Fox's. The request is clear, and Rex dutifully raises his other hand to pet Fives' hairs, grins at the noise of contentment he makes in return.

"Go to sleep, you two," Rex says, and he feels Fox smile into his collarbone, feels his own heart swell when Fives curls in tighter next to him.

Rex watches the shadows move as the light from Coruscant's night changes, feels Fox's breathing even out on his shoulder, feels Fives' muscles go slack, and he lets the peace wash over him, letting it take him away, until he finally feels his own eyes flutter shut.

“You're going to beg for this cock,”

You paced to the foyer. Leaning languidly against the door, you waited, breath becoming heavier with every passing second. 

A sharp rap came from the other side of the barrier. Without pause, you hit the switch to send the door swishing open. 

Fox’s eyes danced with amusement at the prompt response, your breathless visage framed in the door with your carefully tousled hair, your black and gold silk robe that matched your flats decor. 

“You alright there, meshla? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were… excited to see me,”

The last words were almost purred as he leaned into your space brushing his lips to your cheekbone. He smelled of death sticks, obviously having struck one up on his way over. Unable to resist you turned, claiming his lips to taste the bitter stain of smoke on them. His hand wrapped about your back, feeling the smooth fabric warmed by your skin as it slipped down to cradle your hip. 

He stepped in, guiding you from the entrance and shutting the door behind himself, chuckling,

“Missed you too,”

“Did you bring it?”

You were already breathless with anticipation. He smirked, reaching into his coat to withdraw a data stick. You reached for it, only for him to tug it away. 

“I think someone owes me a cup of caf first,”

It was your turn to be amused, stepping backwards to lead him deeper into the dark flat and over to the bar. 

“Hot or iced?”

A peel of thunder clapped overhead and a strobe of lightning reflected off his greying locks as he followed you with his eyes. 

“Hot,”

You busied yourself making the drinks, putting down a steaming mug in front of him where he sat himself at the table overlooking your bookshelves. He took up the porcelain, clinking his mug to yours,

“To the rain,”

“And caf snobbery?”

You echoed the toast from your first meeting and he smiled softly into his mug before taking a big swig. The taste made him moan low in his throat. 

“You do make an excellent cup,”

The mug came down with a smart tap on the glass topped table and he set the data stick down with it. 

“This case is interesting, the diagnostics of the crime scene confirmed the use of explosives on the dock, With how high profile your parents were… this should have been all over the holo waves, but I didn't find a single article addressing the explosion,”

You hummed in your throat, pulling the data stick closer to plug in into the port under the glass. The projection clicked on, bathing the two of you in a soft, blue light. 

The documents were official, stark descriptions of chemical compounds and postmortem conditions. You scanned them briefly, looking for anything that stood out. 

Under the witness statements you recognized a few names, acquaintances and a few that would be hard not to recognize if you were any sort familiar with the social elites of Coruscant. One name stood out to you though, and you tapped the link to open the recorded statement. 

The familiar face of your father's protege shimmered into existence. His brow was pinched, his expression drenched in genuine confusion. 

“I don't know what happened, We had a meeting and I was making my way down to the dock to great them when the whole place shook… I can't believe it, I still can't believe it…”

You clicked off of the recording, biting your lip uncomfortably. The low rumble of Fox's voice made you jump as it filled the heavy pause,

“Your father was an arts dealer… is that right?”

You nodded. It was a lucrative field putting him in contact with the rich and influential sect of Coruscant and the galaxy at large. 

“Not originally though, he used to be an artist until he lost his hand in a ghoul attack,”

Fox blinked, apparently knowing the grim canids that lurked in the lower levels. 

“How'd that happen?”

“No idea… they shouldn't have been where they were. It happened outside of his studio, he rented a space to work since my mother didn't like the fumes of the sealants… I was there,”

His brow knit in concern as he took in the suddenly tense set of your jaw and shoulders. 

“Didn't he get a prosthetic?”

“He did, but it only frustrated him, Even the best prosthetic… He said it wasn't the same not feeling the brush in his fingertips, That's why he switched to dealing, helping his friends make connections and taking Jognesi under his wing,”

You gestured to the data stick to reference the man that was previously projected. Fox was silent a beat.

“I still don't really get it, this case was buried down deep, Why would someone want to murder an artist… and how high up did they have to be to make sure no one looked into it?”

For that, you didn't have an answer. Only a creeping feeling of discomfort that crawled up your spine. You sighed, turning the projector off but continuing to sift the contents in your mind, looking for meaning. You weren’t even sure why you had wanted the information. Maybe you should reach out to Jognesi. The man had been like family before the accident, perhaps it was cruel to have left him on his own in the aftermath.

Fox cleared his throat and you turned to find his eyes locked on you, the soft light over the coffee station glinting off the glazed surface to look like sparks. A tightening feeling settled itself between your thighs as you remembered the com messages and imagined them in his gruff voice now that he was here seated at the table. 

“Thank you for this, Fox, I know it must have been a risk to dig this out of wherever they buried it,”

“I thought I told you, meshla, I didn’t do it out of the kindness of my heart.”

The statement was blunt, his gaze never wavering from that intense eye contact. He allowed the twitch of a smirk to change his face a moment before lunging for you. 

You yelped involuntarily as your seat titled backwards, almost toppling. Fox had grabbed your wrists holding them together behind your head. His weight leaned over you, pushing you off kilter so that you balanced on the back legs of the chair. Hot breath that smelled of caf and death sticks puffed over your cheek,

“Why don’t you thank me properly,”

You turned into him, nipping his bottom lip between your teeth. His body pressed more heavily against you as he let his mouth fall on yours, his tongue following your teeth to dive between your lips. There was a hunger to it, his mouth moving over yours, each brush of his lips becoming less graceful as your shared arousal soared. 

“Oh please, Fox, right here,”

You felt the corner of his mouth twitch his voice a low, gruff rumble that purred through his chest into yours. 

“You can do better than that.”

He suddenly scooped you up, the chair clattering as it was knocked over. The cold glass of the table cooled your rump as you were set on it, his gloves already tugging your robe open. He stripped you to nothing, roughly tugging the sleeves away and tossing the flimsy garment over his shoulder. 

Fox was knelt in front of you, weight rocked on his heels as his eyes roved over your exposed flesh. 

“Very nice,”

He reached out, cupping one of your breasts and hefted it slightly, watching the creases form as it shifted on your chest. You could feel yourself growing hot from his appraising scrutiny, but he wasn't finished. The smooth leather of his gloves stroked down your thighs, gentling your knees apart till you were fully spread, exposed. The sharp tip of his tongue darted between his lips, eyes lingering on a rivulet of arousal that dripped from your heated petals onto the glass beneath you. 

“Very nice indeed,” 

You jumped as he suddenly stood. Fox pulled his sweater over his head to drop on the floor. His boots were kicked off next, and after a brief fumble with his belt buckle, his pants and briefs were yanked down and discarded with the rest leaving him naked all for the leather gloves. 

Your eyes took him in now, the lean, chiseled form of a clone commander in his prime, speckled with slashed scars and healed blaster wounds from the line of duty. You felt yourself pause at the erect, bobbing shaft that pointed in your direction. The vein under the velvety skin raised and throbbed slightly as his cock twitched under your gaze. 

“I'm gonna make you beg for this cock,”

You shuddered as a wave of lust crashed through you at the remembered words. 

“Please, Fox,”

“No… you're not desperate enough, not yet.”

He gripped your shoulder, pressing you to lay back, tugging your legs to dangle off the side. You sighed at his rough grasp, the shivers of anticipation rocking through you as you were manhandled into the desired pose. You watched as he knelt back in front of you, his body visible through the table seeming almost clearer framed by the glass. 

His breath ghosted between your thighs, and you whimpered, wanting more. As you watched, his gloved hand closed around the base of his shaft, and he started pumping himself at a slow, languid pace. You glanced at his face, framed by your thighs as he hovered over you, blowing gently against your clit. He shook his head as your eyes met,

“Eyes on what you want, pet,”

You stifled a moan at the tease, shifting your gaze back to watch him stroking himself. 

Without warning, his tongue pressed against you, licking the length of your slit to flick against the pleasurable button at its apex. You gasped and arched against him as he squeezed his cock under you, a bead of precum welling from the tip. 

The tongue against you moved faster, swirling the flesh that guarded your clit. His hand pumped, his tongue flicked, and your twitching sex clamped down on nothing growing hotter and more desperate to be filled. Fox pulled back, spitting a liberal amount of saliva onto you,

“What do you want, pet?”

“You, Fox,”

“What about me do you want?”

“I want your cock,”

You grew hot at the real pleading tone coloring your moaned confession. 

He chuckled, harshly growling,

“No.”

…before diving back, sucking your tender flesh between his lips to gently nip between his teeth. 

You cried out at the harsh stimulus but he clamped to you, alternating suction and nibbling as you squirmed. His other hand found you, a finger tracing to your entrance and gently applying pressure making your muscles clamp again. 

“Please, oh please, Fox!”

He didn't stop, nor give into you, keeping you pinned with his mouth as you desperately tried to buck against his fingers for relief. His tongue moved in sync with his hand, circling your clit as the gloved pads of his fingers massaged circles around your dripping entrance. 

The pressure in your pelvis swelled and your thighs trembled in climax, hips thrusting involuntarily. Fox rumbled a pleased moan into your quim, lapping at you as your bud became more sensitive. He was slowly thrusting into his own hand, your vision of him becoming blurred as he continued, setting your senses aflame with incoherence. 

“Fox, please, Fox it's too much,”

He ignored you, licking roughly with ever increasing pressure till your legs clamped around his cheeks and fluid gushed down his chin, splashing the table top. 

“Fox, just kriffing… Kriff me Fox, I need you… please!”

…

“That's a good girl,”

He stood, flipping you to lay with your stomach on the glass. You arched your back, wiggling your rump in anticipation as he positioned himself behind you. His weight shifted and you whimpered as his heat drew away, only to sigh as his lips brushed a soft kiss on your ass cheek. He trailed them, kisses against your flesh; your tail bone, up your spine, brushing against your shoulder blades until he reached the nape of your neck. He kissed your neck repeatedly, the length of his body pressing against you, the weight of his cock resting in the cleft of your backside. 

You whimpered, pressing into him,

“Now, Fox, I can't wait any more…”

He buried his nose in your hair with a groan,

“You… someone like you begging for me…”

You felt his hips move, his firm length trailing down to catch at the apex of your thighs. 

“What do you want, pet?”

“I want you to Kriff me,”

“Again,”

“I. Want. You. To. Kriff. Me,”

The response gritted between your teeth and a tingling ache settled in your loins, the tip of his cock pressing at your entrance feeling hot and tantalizing. 

He rutted forward, piercing you so that your back arched and you groaned. Only half way before withdrawing, grabbing your hips firmly and standing properly over you. A firm thrust and he was sheathed, the soft weight of his balls thumping against your clit with the swing. Your walls tightened around him and you moaned in relief, full with him. He ground his hips against you, the head of his cock pressing as deep into you as your cunt would allow. 

“Kriff you feel good,”

His voice was softer, clouded in his own ecstasy as he began to move. Short, swift thrusts deep into your heated pussy. Your body shuddered with each thrust, nipples brushing against the cool glass to send tingles through your brain. You pressed back against him greedily, helping him bury his cock deep inside you. 

Fox's hips bounced off your ass as he fucked you, the lewd slap of wet flesh echoing around the cavernous living room. Your voice rose to add to the din, the sound of pleasure coming out in harsh screams as you were taken roughly from behind. 

His palms flattered onto the table to your sides as he humped at a faster, frantic pace. You grabbed onto the edge of the glass surface, scrambling to brace yourself against the onslaught, accidentally activating the holo projector so that blue light enveloped you, highlighting your curves in the darkness. 

Fox moaned as he ravaged you, and you turned to look at him over your shoulder. His eyes glowed, reflecting your silhouette against the shining light. His lip was curled in a feral snarl, and sweat glistened on his forehead from excursion but he didn't slow, he didn't lose focus. His muscles bunched and flexed under his skin as he repeatedly thrust himself into you. 

Your head began to buzz, every firm brush of his cock against the tight muscles of your quim sending a shock through your brain till you seized. Back arched and stiff, you threw your head back in a silent scream as orgasm ripped through your synapses. 

A firm hand grabbed hold of your hair, keeping you pulled back into a contorted bend. Fox's elbow collapsed next to you, his slick chest pressed against your back. He moaned with the movement of his pelvis, guttural growls of a man lost to his instincts till he finally stiffened. He became clumsy as he sheathed himself to the hilt in your slit. A cry escaped you as his teeth sank into the flesh of your neck. Your sensitive flesh gripped at his twitching member, milking out every tingle, every ounce of pleasure that remained as he filled you. 

He slumped over you, gasping, letting his body relax slightly. You took the opportunity to shift yourself. Carefully tucking your leg so as not to dislodge him, you turned to face him. Wrapping your legs around his hips to draw him closer, you gently cupped his face, kissing his cheeks softly till his lips found yours and you were once again flattened to the surface. 

He held your hands as he kissed you, not daring to move and let the moment end. 

You're not sure how long you stayed like that. Wrapped around each other on your dining room table. The storm still raged overhead, the rain a soothing backdrop to your soft, mingling breath. The blue light of the projection glinted off his skin as it pressed against yours. His lips against yours. 

“If you want, I can be yours,”

His whisper soft, and full of dreamy wonder that you might want him, all of him,

“Mine?”

“All yours, if you'd have me,”

“... I think I'd like that,”

“ Then say it,”

“You're mine Fox..”

And he was kissing you again. Hands scooped you up, lifting you into his arms as he cradled you to him. 

“Where's your shower?”

“Through the bedroom, that way”

You pointed weakly, a little disbelief settling into you as you nuzzled the soft hair that whisped over his chest. 

He pivoted to turn in that direction before stopping abruptly, his body suddenly rigid. 

“What? What's wrong?”

His head was turned to the table, the images that had clicked on from your enraptured fumbling. 

A face hung in the field of blue, no longer obstructed by your bodies. 

The suspended features were that of an older man. You recognized him from social gatherings but you didn't know his name. 

“Was that man associated with your father?”

“I think he was a friend of my mother's… why? Do you know him?”

“... You could say that.”

Chapter 3

-Legacy Post-