#rexkit

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kit Fisto/CT-7567 | Rex Characters: Kit Fisto, CT-7567 | Rex, CT-5385 | Tup, CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Role Reversal, Separatist Clones | Clone Trooper Units Formally Part of Confederacy of Independent Systems' Army, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury Recovery, Complicated Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Drowning, Febuwhump 2023 Series: Part 2 of horizon beyond the heart you know best Summary:

Stupid 20 minute RexKit comic attempt that snuck into my head because of this post.  (The camera tried to eat the middle panel.  I may try to post a scan tomorrow.)

Try VOOPOO Rex kit in spring, gentle and colorful! 

Kit will freely admit he’s never before had quite this many dirty thoughts about armor.

To be entirely fair, he’s never had any, before this.

“You broke out your good suit, I see,” he teases, watching the blue-marked helmet turn towards him as he descends the stairs. The palace is echoing and empty, but there’s music from somewhere distant, carried on the breeze, and the doors and windows are all flung wide, looking out over the fields. The air is warm, like spring is coming, and on a day like this Kit could almost forget that there's a war raging beyond the Mandalore system, that he’s here in a last, desperate attempt to save those he loves and win them sanctuary. There’s a man waiting for him who’s good and kind and honorable, even if Kit has never seen his face, and Kit—

Well. He’s known he was in over his head since the first time his host picked him a rose in the garden, and the weeks since have done little to change that.

There's a long pause as Rex watches him, unmoving, inscrutable behind his helmet. Kit can't even feel the turn of his emotions, hidden away behind the beskar. That was the most unnerving thing at first, far more so than trading himself to an unknown man in return for shelter for the ruins of the Order. But—

The faint tilt of that helmet marked with jaig eyes is something startled, something caught off guard, and Kit knows him well enough to read that now.

“And you didn’t manage to lose your clothes on the way down,” Rex says, desert-dry. Kit laughs, and as he steps off the last stair, Rex offers him a hand. Kit takes it, folding his webbed fingers over the heavy armored gloves, and Rex pulls him in, around. Like they're dancing, Kit thinks, and smiles brightly, pressing a thumb to the metal across Rex's knuckles. His fingers are covered in leather, tempting, and Kit has only briefly felt them on his skin, but he wants.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to start thinking it’s a shame you didn’t lose your clothes,” Rex says, and Kit has no idea if he’s red in the face, but—he rather hopes Rex is.

“It’s always a shame when I don’t lose my clothes,” Kit counters, cheerful. “So restrictive.”

Rex's breath is rough behind the armor, rueful. Kit can't see any hint of his face, not so much as a single edge of skin, but his arm slides behind Kit's back, vambrace cool even through the cloth of Kit's shirt. The grip of his fingers is almost desperate over Kit's hip, and it gives Kit too many heated thoughts, but.

But he also thinks of the whispers he’s heard, late at night, like there are thousands of voices trapped in these halls. Thinks of the way the people of Mandalore talk about this place, and the empty fields, and the deserted city. Millions of souls, they say, trapped by a curse laid with a Sith Lord’s dying breath, and only Rex, the Mand’alor, remains, as a symbol of the curse.

Kit is here to save his people. But if he can save Rex and his people, he will.

He smiles at Rex, reaches up to frame the worn white and blue of his helmet. “Are we dancing?” he asks warmly. “I would like to, my friend.”

Rex's hands are bruisingly tight, and just for an instant Kit thinks he feels something, the edge of an emotion that’s overwhelming, as brilliant as a sun.

“Whatever you’d like,” Rex says, and pulls him into the distant strains of music coming from somewhere unseen.

“Well,” Kit says cheerfully, throwing himself down in the sand next to Rex. “They should be by to pick us up as soon as they’ve finished the mop-up. It won't be too long.”

Rex grimaces, not inclined to be hopeful when there's sand sneaking into every crevice of his armor. “Mop-up is going to take at least two weeks,” he says, trying not to sound dismayed in front of a general, and a general he’s had a crush on practically since Geonosis at that. but…that’s a hell of a long time to be stuck on an ocean planet somewhere in the Outer Rim.

Kit chuckles, leaning back on his hands, but his smile is sympathetic when he turns it on Rex. “Very likely,” he agrees. “But downtime in war is very rare, and we must appreciate it while we have it, no?”

“I guess,” Rex says, with rather less grace than is probably appropriate after Kit saved his life. The sand chafes, though, and he shifts uncomfortably, trying not to think about sleeping in this stuff. Their ship crashed so thoroughly that he’s pretty sure there isn't enough left to fill a matchbox, let alone make a bed out of, but he’s almost tempted to go poke around the wreckage and see.

With a sound of quiet sympathy, Kit reaches out, tapping his knuckles lightly against Rex's pauldron. “Forgive me, Captain, but I believe you would be far more comfortable without your armor. The beach cannot be a pleasant place for you right now.”

Rex pauses, almost startled by the idea of taking his armor off. He’s on a mission, or at least the disastrous tail end of one, and unless he’s on leave, he almost never strips down to his blacks. And it’s been…months, since his last stretch of leave that wasn’t cut off before it even started.

“Oh,” he says dumbly, and then flushes, reaching for the clasps on his armor. “Right, sorry, sir.”

“There's nothing to be sorry about, my friend,” Kit says gently, and offers a hand. “May I help? Monnk often complains that armor was built to go on easy and not come off.”

“If you don’t mind,” Rex says, a little relieved. Clones usually help each other with their armor, which wasn’t exactly designed with convenience of removal in mind. Rex hasn’t even had that lately, though; Cody's usually the one who helps him with it, and the 501st and the 212th have been stationed on opposite sides of the galaxy for months now.

It’s possible Kix has a point when he says that Rex hasn’t been taking care of himself. But with all the things that have happened in the last stretch of months, it’s been hard to pay attention to anything that isn't the war.

They're on the home stretch, though. Dooku is on the retreat, and since he apparently killed his Master, there’s no hope of a rescue for him. Maul is eating away at his empire from one side, and the Republic from the other, and in between all of that it looks like the war might eventually end.

It’s a shame the Chancellor got eaten by the Zillo Beast before he could see the end of the war he tried so hard to stop, but at least it’s coming to a close. Rex will take the loss and be grateful things weren’t worse.

Getting out of his armor is a relief, since the day is still hot even while the sun is setting, and the breeze off the water is balmy at best. Rex drops the plates aside gladly, deciding not to think about how thoroughly he’s going to have to clean them later, and—

Cool fingertips skim the back of his neck, and Rex gasps, the sensation ricocheting down his spine.

Instantly, Kit freezes. “Rex?” he asks. “Are you injured? I thought I had protected your head during the crash, but—”

Rex very desperately doesn’t think about the way Kit protected him, or all the thoughts he had about Kit's extremely lovely chest and how easy it would be to get his hands underneath them and turn his head and—

He’s maybe had a few fantasies over the years about Kit's incredibly beautiful body and all the things he would do to it if he ever got the chance.

“I'm not,” he says quickly, and is immensely glad that Kit isn't like Quinlan. Cody can have all the fun he wants with a guy who can read his secrets by touch, but Rex will gladly hang on to whatever dignity he has left. “Sorry, sir, you just startled me.”

Kit is silent for a moment, like he’s weighing Rex's response. Then, quiet, he says, “Kit, please. I would prefer not to be a general to you, Rex.”

That’s a bewildering statement, but Rex has no idea what it actually means. Knows what he wants it to be, but—

“Kit,” he allows, and has to bite his tongue hard to stifle another gasp as Kit's long, slender fingers hook around a piece of armor and tug gently. He can feel Kit's knuckles, the calluses from his lightsaber, and each brush of skin on his makes him shiver, brings heat cascading up through his nerves. He wants to squirm, wants to press back into the touch, but he forces himself to sit frozen as Kit carefully works at his armor.

“I think this piece is jammed,” Kit says after a moment, a touch of humor in his voice. “Though not on this mission, judging by the age of this blaster hole.”

“Oh,” Rex says, chagrined. Right. He’d meant to get that seen to, but then Anakin had had a mission, and then Ahsoka had gotten into trouble, and then he’d been sent off with Kit to meet an envoy from a Separatist world that wanted to negotiate a reentry into the Republic. And then—

Well. Forced vacation. Rex has had better weeks.

Kit laughs. “Oh,” he repeats, and puts a hand on Rex's shoulder, then shifts around behind him and rises up on his knees. “Forgive me,” he says, leaning forward. “This might take a moment.

Rex freezes as slender green tentacles fall over his shoulders, curling against the battered blue of his armor. Kit hardly seems to notice, fingers still working at the damaged part of Rex's armor, and Rex has to grit his teeth as silk-soft skin drags over his throat and cheeks. Kit's skin is a pretty green, cool and bright, and from this close Rex can see faint silvery markings on his tendrils, the leather wraps he’s tied around some of them. They curl just a little against Rex's skin, and he can't help but twitch, a sound jarring from his throat as his nerves practically light up.

Again, Kit's hands still. “Captain?” he asks, concerned. “If I'm making you uncomfortable in any way, my friend—”

“No, no!” Rex says quickly, and raises his hands. “It’s just—I haven’t. haven’t taken off my armor in a while.” He swallows, not wanting to look back at Kit's face, and says, “We usually get leave, or I—with someone from another legion. Since I'm the commander, technically. But…”

“But this war has been hard on all of us, in many ways,” Kit says gently, and sits back on his heels. The feeling of his tendrils sliding over Rex's skin makes Rex kind of want to whimper, but he contains himself and turns to face Kit.

“Sorry,” he says helplessly. “I don’t—you don’t have to help, if it makes you uncomfortable. I can get my armor off.”

Kit's smile is warm, sweet. He leans in, and Rex's breath tangles hard in his throat as Kit very deliberately strokes the backs of his fingers down Rex's cheek. It makes Rex's breath hitch hard, and he catches Kit's wrist. Instantly, Kit stops, watching him carefully.

“There is no part of this that is uncomfortable for me,” Kit says, and his smile takes on a wicked edge as he tips his head. “I'll admit, Bly sometimes suffers the same thing, after too long on the front. Aayla and I have eased him through it before.”

Rex might actually whimper at that. The idea of kriffing Bly, in bed with Aayla and Kit both, two of the best generals in the Order and two of the most attractive, makes him see green for just an instant. Or maybe that’s just the image of Kit, naked and beautiful, stretched out and touching Rex.

“Is that an offer?” Rex asks, rough.

Kit hums. “If you would like it to be,” he says easily. “I would not pressure you, my friend, but…” He turns his hand to catch Rex's fingers, then lifts them to his mouth. The kiss is light, chaste, but it still makes Rex sink his teeth into his lower lip to hold in a groan. It’s so little, but it’s too much all at the same time, and he wants to reach out, bury his fingers in Kit's tresses and topple him back to the sand, but—

“Get me out of my armor first,” he says, hoarse, “and then I'm all yours.”

“As you wish,” Kit says, sly, sweet, and leans in, reaching for Rex's armor again.

It’s impossibly easy for Rex to pull him in just that little bit more and take his mouth in a desperate kiss, the feeling of Kit's hands on his skin like heat lightning in his veins. He hauls Kit closer, up onto his thighs, and feels Kit's wicked smile against his mouth.

“Patience, my friend,” he teases. “We have weeks to ourselves, remember.”

Suddenly, a forced vacation doesn’t sound entirely bad.

It’s tomorrow, and here is the scan.  Better photo of this post.  You can actually see the shading in the middle panel now.