#rc-1207

I wanted to make a rough drawing for May the 4th, but I just can't seem to draw armor in a simple way. So of course, I'm late this year again.

I started with a rough style for Sev and ended up with a cleaner one for Boss. In the end, I had to rework the characters several times so they would all look consistent.

I used Magic Poser Web to make the reference for the whole drawing. I initially planned a more classic back view of the characters, but while experimenting with the tool, I ended up liking the top view better.

For Mird, I used this nice walking dog 3D model to help with the anatomy (along with some Shar Pei references). I reused my previous design I made for it, but this time I fixed the legs so it has four back legs instead of four front ones. I tried several poses for the front leg and ended up choosing the one that felt the most dynamic. I'm pretty proud of the result.

—————————

Just like any other city-planet, meeting people on Coruscant usually meant dating apps. Swiping through faces in the middle of a war felt ridiculous, but hey, so did everything else these days. And thanks to a disturbing combination of high clone population density and terrible algorithm, at least 70% of your feed was clone troopers.

You didn’t mind, though. They were all gorgeous. Most of them were polite. Some were funny. A few of them were very hot. And then there was the commando. You had no idea what made them different until you saw his profile, a classic clone trooper thirst trap: top half in black undersuit, bottom half armoured. The man looked broader than the average Coruscant Guard trooper you passed on the upper levels, and somehow looked even meaner with the helmet off.

You matched on a Taungsday. Talked for a few hours. And by Benduday night, you were meeting in person.

He didn’t pick 79’s, thank fuck for that. It was always a bit too loud and too military for you. And, it was too likely for you to run into an ex-fuckbuddy who worked at the GAR who’d ruin the mood.

Instead, he said Qibbu’s Hut in the Entertainment District. The hotel slash bar was shadier, sure. But it was still cheap, had a good selection of drinks, and some decent private booths. You got it. Clone credits didn’t go far, and hookup dates weren’t supposed to scream luxury. So there you were with a classic Kali Cooler in hand, elbow glued on the sticky table surface, watching the man across from you size up a Twi’lek server like he might know her personally.

He introduced himself earlier, Sev. Short for “Seven,” which you guessed was some sort of callsign or designation. You didn’t ask. You weren’t here for backstories. You sipped your drink and propped your chin on your palm to force eye contact. “So?”

Looking back from the server, he raised his eyebrows, and matched your energy. “So…” he echoed.

It wasn’t awkward. Just… that particular flavour of low-stakes first date where both of you already knew how this was going to end. Not that you didn’t like each other. You just didn’t have time for pretending it was something it wasn’t. It was Coruscant, after all. You had your life, job, rent, the whole big city routine. He had war.

“Tell me about yourself,” you chewed on the blue flimsi straw. It was such a default question - a staple for a one-night stand or a long-term partner. Small talk to make the room feel a little less like a transaction.

In front of you, the crimson-white armoured trooper hummed. “I’m a sniper. In an elite unit called the Delta Squad. There’s four of us. I have three pod brothers.”

He stretched his long legs and let out what seemed like the most relaxed sigh in his day. “That’s like actual siblings, in… randomly-ejected-individual terms.”

“Randomly-ejected what?”

He tilted his head. “You know. People who weren’t decanted from the same genetic batch. Civilians.”

You laughed. “You mean people who were born?”

“Right,” he nodded. “Those.”

“So you’ve done this…”

“Often,” Sev said, finishing the last of his drink in one swallow. “Gah, please tell me you’re not one of those people who think all clones are virgins.”

You nearly choked on your straw. “Shu-shaaah, no.”

It was an actual belief, surprisingly common among people who’d never stepped foot in 79’s, never swiped through a dating app on Coruscant, never seen what clones looked like off-duty. Some thought of them as sterile, clinical government-issued products. Property of the Republic. Others exoticised the hell out of them, like they were some collectible fuck-doll line instead of actual men. You knew the type. The people that went to 79’s for their “flavour of the month.”

“I actually hooked up with a Corrie once,” you offered.

“Aha. So I’m a checklist.”

You rolled your eyes. “No. I’m not-”

“I’m joking,” he interjected, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t give a fuck.”

And fuck, there they were again - those dimples, catching you off guard. You could already picture them disappearing somewhere below your waistline and in between your —

Nope. Absolutely not. Not now, at least. Brain, shut up.

But it was too late. The image was there now, imprinted on the foreground of your mind. Sev on his knees, those calloused hands gripping your thighs, that mouth working you up like a man starved. And you bet he’d be quiet while doing it. Judging from how you were doing most of the talking here at Qibbu’s, it tracked. Or, or worse, maybe he wouldn’t be quiet. Maybe he’d talk you through it in that low and gravelly voice, “Still responsive. Still with me. Good.”

Fuck. That didn’t make it any better. You crossed your legs tighter. Maker, you hated that turned you on so much.

“Hey.” He snapped his fingers in front of your face.

Shit. You did not just zone out

“I asked,” he chuckled, “your place or my quarters? The boys are out tonight. Or… I know Qibbu’s owner. I can probably talk my way into one of the cheaper rooms. There’s one on the third floor with—“

“My apartment,” you said quickly. “Mhm. Definitely.”

“Copy that.”

There was a moment of quiet filled in the tight space between you. Around you, the noise of the bar kept going - glasses clinking, bartenders yelling orders, electronic music blaring, someone laughing too loud from the circular booth behind you - but for that little moment, it all felt far away. You’d both just stepped into a pocket of stillness in the middle of a planet that never shuts up.

From his half-lidded gaze, you could tell he’d internally confirmed it too - that this wasn’t going to be more than one night. But for you, that didn’t mean it was meaningless. You were two people with too much noise in your lives, craving a quiet you could touch. You weren’t deluding yourself into thinking it’d be more. You weren’t even trying to make it tender. You simply craved the way city nights carve into you with its brutally cold lights, warm skin, and a stranger in your bed.

You’d probably never see him again. Or maybe you would. It didn’t matter, especially in times like these - where every day ran on borrowed hours. The same could be said for that lovely Jedi with the dreadlocks and a golden facial tattoo you’d spent the night with many moons ago, or the Coruscant Guard officer, or really anyone who wasn’t completely buried in the war machine. People were just trying to survive, and hold on to something that made them feel like themselves for five fucking minutes.

“So,” Sev asked as you slid off your barstool to grab your jacket, “you live alone?”

“Hm?” you stalled, reaching back to the table to finish the last watery sip of your drink. “Yeah,” you said finally. “Me and a pet.”

He tilted his head. “Tooka?”

“Nah,” you smirked. “Just the dog in me.”

There was a second of silence before he dropped his gaze. Sev’s lips gave way to a ghost of a smile.

“Terrible,” he shook his head. “That was terrible.”

“You laughed,” you bit back.

“I coughed. Drink was spicy.” He actually laughed this time.

You looped your arm through his as you stepped out of the bar, letting the warm buzz of your drink mix with the city air. “You’re a tough crowd.”

Everything around you was lit in a thousand colours, Coruscant never slept after all. His face, scarred around his left cheek, was briefly washed in hot pink and cyan as a massive advertisement pulsed across the building across the street. It would take a while to get to your place. A hovertrain ride, twenty minutes, twelve stops. Then another ten-minute walk through the neighbourhood. And you were prepared to fill that time with trying your best to avoid war-related conversations - until his arm slung around your shoulders and dragged you closer.

Okay. Hot was a bit of an understatement.

You could feel the shape of him. His grip was tight, and controlled. An idea about being pinned immediately brewed in your head.

“How long will this train take?” his breath was hot in your ear.

“Uh—around twelve stops.”

“Damn.”

And then he crowded you. Body flush to yours, one hand braced against the window of the hovertrain. You had no time to gasp before he leaned in and kissed you.

The kiss, like all hook up kisses, was sudden and messy - with a little too much teeth.

But fuck, you loved it nonetheless.

The train rocked as it accelerated, city lights flashing past the windows like falling stars. His mouth was on yours, hungry in a way that showed he hadn’t done this in a while. You were vaguely aware that the car was empty, Benduday night, past 23:30, contra flow. Not many people left the entertainment district this late unless they were working, or hunting, or fucking. But would you care if there were people in the car? You probably wouldn’t.

You kissed him back, hungrier. His hand stayed where it was, caging you in. The other gripped your head to keep himself - or maybe both of you - grounded. The train screeched on a turn, and you used it as an excuse to lean into him harder.

“You’re a menace,” you whispered when you pulled back for air.

“You want me to stop?”

“Mmm no. But maybe to wait?”

He kissed you again anyway.

Next thing you knew, your back hit the bed, Sev’s weight settling over you - heavy, warm, and solid like his armour. His hands moved over your body as if your body was a battlefield and he’d been trained to navigate every inch of it blindfolded.

You expected silence. Maybe a growl. Definitely something primal. Because that’s what they were, right? That’s what you heard. One of your girlfriends once bragged about hooking up with a commando and wouldn’t shut up about how rough and broody he was. The way she described it over drinks felt like you were being forced to listen to live commentary on a fucknasty holofilm - like The Senate Aide, that raunchy underground hit about the Zeltron assistant who became her boss’ submissive. You were both impressed and kind of wanted her to shut the hell up. Listening to your friends’ sex life in surround sound was never as fun as how Sex and the Ecumenopolis portrayed it on screen.

So no, you didn’t expect him to murmur, “I read a manual for this.”

You had no idea what to say to that. “I—sorry, what?”

He was hovering over you, eyes trained on your mouth, waiting for it to do something again. “There was this weird intimacy training manual back on Kamino. I skimmed it. Some of it stuck.”

“You skimmed—”

“Most of it was terrible,” he added quickly. “Outdated. Weirdly mechanical. But the anatomical diagrams were... useful. I didn’t know why I said it. I’ve done this many times before. Just popped up in my head,”

His kiss swallowed the laugh that was about to come out of your mouth. Then, the sniper started slowly kissing his way down. Past your jaw. Your neck. You felt the slight scrape of stubble and let your head fall back into the pillow. “Adjusting course,” he murmured.

His hands ghosted along your sides, pausing at the hem of your shirt and glanced up as if he might ask permission again, but instead he knitted his brows and said, “You know,” he swallowed, tone turned deadly serious, “Scorch once hooked up with a Zeltron during a mission on Zeltros. Said she made him go for at least five rounds.”

“…Okay?”

“He wasn’t functional the next day. Total systems failure. Just laid in the nest like a broken droid. Good thing it was a surveillance op.”

You stared, on your way to yet another breathless laughter. “Is this foreplay?”

“No. This is a warning.”

He leaned down and kissed your sternum.

“If I fall apart tomorrow, it’s your fault.”

You bit your lip. “So I’m the Zeltron in this situation?”

“You’re worse,” he muttered. “You flirted terribly and made me laugh.”

“Mm did I win something?” You teased, laughing. Which turned into a moan as his mouth moved lower, trailing down your stomach while his fingers hooked under the waistband of your trousers. He kissed just above your hip, breath warm against your skin, a set of brown eyes psychologically undressing you through those lashes.

“I have a week-old protein bar somewhere in my armour over there,” he jerked his thumb toward the pile of gear dumped near your bedroom door.

“…What?”

“I’d offer it as a prize. It’s chocolate flavoured.”

“Sev.”

“What?” Teeth grazing your hip. “You said you wanted something memorable.”

You threw your head back against the pillow and laughed. Truly, helplessly laughed until the sound melted into a gasp because he started peeling your trousers inch by inch, kissing every new patch of skin. And when he finally settled between your thighs, he looked up to you again and added, “Besides. I’d rather eat you.”

And just like that - goodbye, sanity.

You barely registered the sound of your trousers hitting the floor. Too focused on the warmth of his mouth around your core. He kissed the inside of your thigh, and mapped you with the same care he probably gave to his well-maintained Deecee. And the first deliberate stroke across your cunt had you arching up with a broken gasp.

“There it is,” he quietly murmured - more to himself than to you. “Responsive.”

Wrapping his hands under your thighs, Sev steadied your reactive body. With each pass of his tongue, you felt your grip on the moment slip further. He moved like he had no war to go back to. No brothers waiting. Just this bed. This night. You.

For a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe in a kinder galaxy, this wasn’t a one-night thing. Maybe in that parallel universe, he’d come home to you. But Coruscant did not leave room for fantasies. There were only flunking wartime economy, tired mornings, and lovers who didn’t text back. So, of course, you quickly sweeped the fantasy out of your headspace.

Down there, you could feel your fingers involuntarily tightened around a fistful of his overgrown curls as he sucked on your clit, and the moan that left your throat felt ripped from somewhere deeper than lust. A quieter, lonelier place.

“Good?” Sev took his time to ask.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “So fucking good.”

The clone commando nodded, dipping his head back down without another word. Leaving the room with nothing but the sweet sound of your moans and the distant buzz of the ecumenopolis outside the window. Oh, and the wet sound of his mouth, generously devoted to you.

As if it wasn’t good enough, his thick digits joined in. One. And then two. Careful, steady, slow. Slipping in deep and curling just right, just fucking right, and you weren’t prepared for how much it would undo you.

“Fuck,” you whimpered - not realising how wrecked you already sounded. “Sev—”

“Still good?” he asked again, you swore you could hear him grinning against your pussy.

“Don’t you dare stop.”

A smug little chuckle burst out of him before he returned to what he was doing. He continued working you up faster, gradually building the eventual explosion inside you. You could feel it coming in your belly, and then slowly rolled out in waves, swelling and sweet and all-consuming. Your back arched, your mouth opened - though no sound came out of it. Nothing but a silent gasp where your brain short-circuited under his touch.

And then, maker help you, you laughed and moaned at the same time. Not because it was funny. But because it felt that good. That someone had touched you like that, and it was him, of all people. A late night - almost drunken decision - you swiped just a few days ago. It must’ve been a while since you let yourself go like this.

The stress. The suffocating anxiety. The grind of surviving on a city-planet that never slept, in the middle of a galaxy-wide war that was slowly eating people alive - you hadn’t even realised how tightly you’d been holding on until he unraveled you.

Sev pulled back to look at you. His beautiful face, the one he shared with millions of other men but somehow still uniquely his - flushed and glistening with your cum, resting between your thighs. “You laughed,”

“That was. Fuck. That was not funny,” you breathed, trying to adjust your vision back into focus.

“You did laugh.”

“I didn’t know I could come that hard,” you flustered. “Shut up.”

He rested his chin on your thigh, expression unreadable except for the tiniest pull at the corner of his mouth. Those fucking dimples again.

“SITREP,” he said. “Subject responsive. Outcome: extremely effective. Reaction: uncontrolled laughter. Will continue for further analysis.”

You groaned and chucked a pillow at his face. Sev caught it one-handed, and threw it back behind him. Something clattered on the floor - probably one of those cheap plastic decor you’d impulsively bought just to feel something. You’d never even bothered to untag them.

Oh-Seven climbed back up and kissed you hard. As if he hadn’t just had his mouth on your cunt. As if the past ten minutes hadn’t ended with your orgasm hitting so hard you laughed.

You could feel how hard he was through his blacks, how tightly he held himself together, savouring the moment before he lost control.

“You still with me?” He rasped.

“Fuck yes.”

“Good. I need you to actually stay with me this time.”

And that was the moment everything changed. His earlier playfulness, that chaotic warmth, folded and replaced by a rough intensity. He stripped the rest of his blacks off, and stars, you barely had time to process before his cock sprang free, thick and flushed and fuck. Yeah. That tracked.

This man was solid muscle, scarred and freckled, in a way that was not delicate. Sev was designed to be a weapon for maximum damage. And right now, all that force was for you.

You reached for him, but he caught your wrist and pinned it above your head. “Let me,” he commanded.

Sev stretched you open in one slow thrust - deep enough to knock the air out of your lungs. You tried to hold yourself back, planted yourself in your bed, and he held you there to adjust, forehead pressed against yours. Not moving, not speaking, just feeling it with you.

“Shit. Sev!”

“I know,” he whispered.

Only after you nodded did he begin to move. He started slowly, taking his time to feel your warmth, before it gradually turned deeper and relentless. Every thrust of his hips dragged a moan from you. Every grind sent heat down your spine. He was watching you the whole time, not looking away for one bit.

You tried to close your eyes or even look away from his intense gaze, but he cupped your face.

“Eyes on me.”

You managed to refocus your sight.

“Good. Stay with me. I want to see you.”

And fuck, he did. Sev saw everything. From the way your body shuddered underneath him, the way your walls clenched around him with every deep, brutal thrust. The way your mouth parted before you begged - faster, harder, don’t stop. The way your sweet moans unraveled into messy whimpers and feral cries the deeper he fucked you.

Sev didn’t look away. Not once. Not even when your legs coiled around his waist and your nails marked a long line down his back.

He leaned down and devoured your mouth through it all - swallowing your cries, your shaky breath, your everything - like he needed it to stay sane.

Because he did. Because this was his, too.

He didn’t just want to make you come or make himself come. He wanted to fuck you so hard the shared loneliness between you didn’t stand a chance.

And gods, you could feel it in the way his thrusts started to falter into an uncontrollable rhythm. He was right at the edge, and so were you. You felt your entire body tightening, shaking, bracing for the fall. To unravel together.

You knew this would be the kind of orgasm you’d come back to later. Maybe in the shower. In the dark. Whenever the city got too loud or the silence got too suffocating. You were filing it away, storing the memory in that little corner in your mind where it could stay warm.

Sev buried his face in your neck and groaned your name repeatedly like a prayer. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, holding him through it, legs trembling as his heartbeat pounded against yours - and you both came hard. A quiet, yet planet-shattering orgasm.

Before you knew it, Sev dropped his full weight on top of you as if you were the only safe place left in that wide galaxy. Neither of you said anything. You let the silence grow, filled only by the distant wail of a CSF siren a few blocks away. The loud tooka next door started meowing again. Somewhere down below, the 24/5 noodle bar buzzed with life - the sound of metal chairs scraping, speeder doors slamming, someone yelling over delivery mix-ups. The usual noise of Coruscant after midnight.

The city glowed outside your window, bathing your tangled naked bodies in the faintest cerulean light. Letting the moment suspend, you shut your eyes.

“You took it well,” Sev said eventually as he settled beside you. He reached over to brush back your sweaty hair and tucked it behind your ear. “You deserve that week-old chocolate protein bar.”

“Ew.” You giggled, still feeling the warm leak of him between your thighs. “We even forgot to use protection.”

“Shiiiiiit,” he burried his face into your hair for a second before kissing your forehead. “I got tested recently though. Clean. And I requested… you know. The GAR clearance.”

You raised an eyebrow. “The clearance?”

He nodded. “Yeah. No risk of anything… sticking.”

“I’ve got an implant too. Don’t worry.” You laughed.

“Hmm.” Sev hummed, hand gently tracing down your back like he was still trying to memorise the shape of you.

“I’ll get you water.”

————————

The last thing you remembered from that night was both of you eating cup noodles. You, only in your knickers, wrapped in a blanket. Him, still shirtless, stabbing through the seasoning packet and aggressively sprinkled the content into the cup.

He told you about that time he ran a mission on a ghost ship and almost died. Told you about Scorch, the clown of the squad. About Boss, their sergeant, apparently the one who cussed the most. And Fixer, the quiet one, the slicer, the nerd, the one who called Sev “unhinged” every five seconds.

Somewhere along the way, your vision went dark. You remembered mentally telling yourself that he’d be gone by morning. And it was fine. It was always supposed to be that way. That’s how this city worked. One night. One warmth. One lover gone before the sun.

But then you woke up to a death grip around your waist and a snore. Turning your body slowly, you squinted against the harsh Coruscant sunlight peeking through your blinds.

Sev was still there.

He was still wrapped around you. Barely moving. You thought about waking him. About doing the usual morning-after ritual - a kiss. A joke. A breakfast offer. A “call me later” even when you both knew it probably wouldn’t happen. A clean-up. A goodbye.

The cockpit was quiet and peaceful when you were the only one awake. Scorch never liked the silence. He had told Sev that when he was still and alone, his thoughts grew too loud, but Sev didn’t mind being the one up late to make sure the ship stayed on course without incident. Sure, he was tired and his muscles ached from being in the heat of battle for days without end, but Boss would be up to relieve him soon. For now, he got to cherish his time alone and enjoy the view that being in hyperspace gave him.

The door behind him hissed open.

“Trouble sleeping?” Sev asked. Boss wasn’t supposed to be up for another hour.

“How can anyone sleep with Fixer snoring louder than the engines?”

Sev turned to look, not at Boss, but at Scorch. His brother crossed his arms and leaned against the control panel. Fixer’s snores were as annoying to Scorch as Boss’s gravely cough had been to Sev the last couple of missions. At least gargling bacta could keep their Sergeant’s coughs at bay for some time. Fixer’s sinuses didn’t care if he drank the entire container, his snores weren’t going away anytime soon.

“Plan H240.” Scorch shot a mischievous smile at his brother. “I’m doing it.”

“He’s going to kill you.” Sev shook his head and fought down the smile trying to creep onto his face. Plan H240 had always just been a joke, but he couldn’t say that he hadn’t thought about seriously doing it himself.

“You can keep my helmet to remember me by,” he snorted and headed for the door. “What do you think would be big enough to use?”

Sev cast one last look out the viewport to make sure everything still looked fine before following Scorch. This was something he didn’t want to miss. He could already hear the sound that elicited Scorch’s loathing before they had even made it to the bunks. The almost perfect repetition of it echoed softly around them. He almost felt bad for his older brother. It wasn’t like Fixer was doing it on purpose, and sleep was such a rare and precious thing to all of them, but his curiosity to how it would all play out kept him from stopping what was about to happen.

Scorch rummaged around as quietly as he could until he pulled out a medium sized jug that he waved in the air triumphantly then headed for the ‘fresher. Light spilled across the floor as the door opened. Boss shifted in his sleep, his breathing hitching for just a moment before resuming it’s steady, deep pace. Sev shot a quick look at the two sleeping Commandos as the sound of water flowing from the tap whispered its way toward him. Waking any Commando suddenly was dangerous. Waking them this way was unfathomable…. And they called him psycho. They all needed to take a harder look at Scorch.

Water sloshed over the edge of the jug slightly as Scorch moved silently across the room. Sev felt like he was watching a large beast stalk its prey through thick underbrush. He hesitated as he loomed over Fixer’s sleeping form. His eyebrows knitted together. His teeth dug into his bottom lip. For a moment, Sev thought that Scorch had changed his mind.

Until the water made contact with Fixer’s face.

The Commando jolted upward, his head hitting the top of the bunk. Scorch jumped back instantly. Sev inhaled sharply through his teeth.

“Kriff!” Fixer shouted, grabbing his forehead.

“What’s going on?” Boss was awake.

Fixer stood up, water dripping from his body and falling to the durasteel floor like rain. Sev knew that Fixer was just as lethal as the rest of them. He had seen his brother kill on several occasions, and he also knew that Fixer preferred hands-on combat with a melee weapon better than anything else, and right now, Sev found himself grateful that Fixer was only in his blacks.

“What the kark is wrong with you?” he shouted when spotted the empty jug in his brother’s hands. Fixer slammed his palms roughly against Scorch’s chest. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

Boss stepped between the two and nodded toward the ‘fresher. “Go dry off.”

His tone left little room for argument, but Fixer didn’t move instantly. He only stood there glaring into his younger brother’s eyes as if trying to rip out his soul through his eye sockets. Boss stood unwaveringly between them until Fixer turned away and disappeared through the door of the ‘fresher before turning to look at the smug grin on Scorch’s face.

“What the hell possessed you to do that?” Boss asked, folding his arms across his chest. His face was set in the ‘no-nonsense, serious boss’ look that he used mostly when dealing with Jedi.

Scorch shrugged. “C’mon, Boss. Don’t act like you’re not tired of his snoring too.”

Boss narrowed his eyes. “You won’t have to worry about his snoring because after you clean up the water, you get to keep watch in the cockpit for the foreseeable future.”