still crying over clone wars

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But he isn't, and you know it. A few weeks ago, he'd left for a mission on the planet Saleucami, intent on tracking down General Grievous and bringing him in.

That night, the night he left, was the first time he kissed you.

You're taking your relationship with Rex slow. Trying, despite everything he makes you feel, not to get too attached in case something happens—in case there's a mission Rex doesn't come back from.

You know that over every mission, every goodbye, looms the threat of never seeing Rex again. Every time he leaves he promises he'll come back, but those promises are more often than not empty.

They're just reassurances, said to make you feel better, usually accompanied by a hug—or, in the case of last time, a lingering kiss that makes your heart flutter every time you think about it.

But really, how could he know? Rex is no Jedi, and despite how little you know about the ancient religion of warriors, you know that their ability to see the future is rare. To cheat death, even more so.

Rex is mortal.

You wish, selfishly and horribly, that he wasn't.

The memory of your first meeting flashes before your closed eyes. A cafe on the upper levels of Coruscant, open windows bathing the tables in sunlight, warm summer air wafting in through the open door. You were working on your datapad in the far corner, absently sipping your coffee, when a gaggle of identical soldiers walked through the front door.

"Is this seat taken?" Rex asked, then, and you were so starstruck by his sharp features, his gentle smile, his shock of blond hair—that all you could do was shake your head and stare.

He still throws you off your guard. Still makes your heart skip a beat with his smile. It's effortless for him but oh-so-beautiful to you. You smile sadly, eyes still closed as you imagine him carding his calloused fingers through your hair, making your tight bun come loose.

Cyar’ika, he calls you. Beloved.

"Cyar’ika?" asks a voice, and you can't help the gasp that escapes you, because you think you're dreaming—you must be dreaming.

Maybe you wished him into existence, you consider as you whip around in your chair to see a bleary-eyed Rex standing in the doorway to your bedroom. But no, Rex really is there, wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a simple grey t-shirt—both of which you bought for him, along with several other civilian outfits. Just one of the many things you did at the beginning of your friendship to make him feel like he belongs.

"Rex," you breathe in disbelief, standing up to meet him. His arm is in a sling and his cheekbone is bruised purple. "How—how long have you been here?"

He smiles, and though it's lopsided and half-asleep, it makes your stomach do backflips. You choke back a relieved sob and throw yourself into Rex's arms, not caring that your tears are wetting his shirt.

"Oof," he coughs out, tensing slightly. "Ow—cyar’ika, my arm—"

"Sorry, sorry," you say hurriedly, pulling away. Staring up at Rex now, you feel the sudden urge to kiss him with everything you have. You look down at his arm sling and frown. “You’re hurt.”

“I’ll live,” Rex says flippantly. “It’s not too bad.”

“If you’re sure,” you say quietly.

"I’m sure," he whispers into the quiet, uninjured hand coming to rest hesitantly at the nape of your neck. "I missed you."

Smiling widely, you stand on the tips of your toes and press a soft, chaste kiss to Rex's cheek. Just as you're about to pull away, though, you feel Rex pull you back against his body in another warm hug.

His injured arm is pressed underneath your chest, but his other hand is now on your waist as he buries his face into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply, sending chills all down your spine. Despite the shift in his mood, you huff a quiet laugh.

"What?" Rex asks, voice slightly hoarse as he pulls away to raise an eyebrow at you.

You swallow and shake your head, curling a strand of hair behind your ear. "Nothing, it's just—" you shake your head. "I've never seen you like... this."

And, you think happily, it's a pleasant surprise. You bought Rex clothes and gave him the code to your flat several months ago, long before any feelings were made clear—but you've never actually seen him in civvies, much less his underwear. You glance down, and feel your cheeks burn when you realize that they're not so much boxers as they are briefs, somewhere in the middle of skin-tight and loose-fitting.

You clear your throat and look away. "Anyway... yeah."

Rex's fingers under your chin, coaxing you to look up at him, make you blush even more-if that's possible.

Your face feels like it's about to burst into flames.

"I should be sorry," he says quietly, honey-brown eyes searching yours. "I didn't mean to put you in an uncomfortable position."

Rex's gaze is tender and soft, like sunlight spilling over a field after dawn. You can't help but bite your bottom lip briefly before replying, "No, no, you didn't. I’ve told you a million times that what’s mine is yours. I’m glad you’ve finally listened.” You pause. “I just... I had no idea you had the legs of an underwear model."

At this, Rex laughs, voice low and gravelly. His cheeks are flushed too, now, a pleasant pink color that makes you feel warm all over.

"Careful," Rex chides softly, smirking, "or you might overinflate my ego."

You let out a short giggle and feel the sudden urge to kiss him, but your relationship is still so new, so tender and uncertain. Yes, he kissed you before he left for the mission on Saleucami, but it was rushed and spur-of-the-moment.

And you've never kissed him. It's only ever been the other way around.

But as you look up at Rex's honey-coloured eyes, you start to build up the courage to initiate the kiss yourself this time—but he beats you to it.

Because the next second Rex is cupping your cheek with his uninjured hand and pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss seems to last forever. When Rex pulls away, he leaves you breathless and blushing, heart beating faster than you knew it could. After a moment of disbelieving silence, you smile widely and move your hand to the back of Rex's neck, pressing your forehead to his in what he once taught you was a kov'nyn—a Keldabe kiss.

"Thank you," you whisper, breath fanning onto Rex's mouth.

He cards a hand through your messy hair and chuckles softly. "For what?"

You pull away and press a soft, chaste kiss to Rex's lips before smiling widely at him. "For coming back."

"Always, cyar׳ika," Rex whispers. "This is the only place I want to be."

"Really? This dinky apartment?" you ask.

"With you," Rex clarifies. He takes a step closer, pressing your abdomens together, and kisses the corner of your mouth quickly. Then, expression suddenly turning almost apprehensive, he says, "I... I hope it's okay I spent the past few hours here."

You blink. "What?" you ask, taking Rex's hand and leading him to the kitchen. "Rex, why wouldn't it be okay? I keep telling you—I didn’t give you the code for no reason.”

In the several moments of silence it takes for Rex to answer, you hop up on the kitchen table, legs swinging back and forth. Rex is still holding onto your hand with his uninjured one, and it strikes you that you haven't even asked him what happened.

But then again, he rarely enjoys talking about his missions.

A throat clear from Rex makes you frown. He's blushing again. "Well, I just..." he trails off, hesitating. "I kind of fell asleep in your bed without meaning to. I wasn't thinking that maybe you're not comfortable with—"

"Rex." You lay a hand on his jawline. "It's okay. Really. I told you—I keep telling you—what’s mine is yours.”

He looks doubtful. "If—if you're sure..."

You nod. "I am. I promise." There's a long silence; Rex is searching your face like he’s waiting for you to change your mind. You smile reassuringly. "In fact, I’m so sure that… I was thinking of extending the offer to tonight."

Rex blinks. "Tonight...?"

"As in," you hesitate, swallowing your nerves, "I was going to say you could just sleep here tonight. My bed is big enough for both of us, and it's okay if you don’t want to stay but you really shouldn’t have to take yourself home in this state—I mean, you’re hurt—”

A small crease has appeared between Rex’s brows. His cheeks are flushed, his honey-coloured eyes blown wide. You frown and start to pull away, disentangling yourself slowly from Rex’s grasp.

“But,” you continue hurriedly, stumbling over your words, “but I’d completely understand if you’d prefer to go back to your barracks—if you don’t feel comfortable taking that step yet—”

Rex’s uninjured hand, large and firm and steady against your back, moves to take your smaller hand and draws it to his chest. Breath stolen, you stop talking abruptly.

“I do,” he says softly, voice firm but gentle. “Feel comfortable, that is. Here. With… with you.”

You inhale sharply, and move your free hand up to his cheek to run the pad of your thumb across his face—over the bridge of his nose, across his cheekbone, to the slightly-longer-than-regulation blond buzz of hair. "Really? You're sure?"

"Absolutely," Rex breathes. He squeezes your hand and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Your bed felt empty without you in it, you know."

"Hm." You return the kiss, this time on his lips, and it feels more than right. "Well, why don't we fix that?"

“Er,” Rex says.

You clear your throat.

Rex says nothing.

You are standing shoulder-to-shoulder in your bedroom, facing the door to your refresher with your backs to your bed.

Since the beginning of your friendship with Rex, you have always felt uncommonly comfortable with him. Only now that there is something new between you—now that there is a definition for this thing that you have finally decided to act upon, and now that you are faced with the real possibility of intimacy—you are overcome with nerves. It seems that Rex is, too.

“This is—” your voice cracks embarrassingly, and you clear your throat, drawing the sleeves of your work uniform shirt further down past your fingertips. “This is a lot more… intimate than I was expecting.”

Rex turns to you, looking somewhat panicked. “I can go, if—”

“No!” You say hurriedly, turning to face Rex, then feel your face heat up. Don’t sound so desperate. “No, it’s alright, I’ve just never… well, you know I’ve never really done anything like this before—or been with anyone in… in that way…” your voice is trailing off, growing more hushed as you continue.

“It’s—don’t just say that you’re okay with me being here for the night if you’re not,” Rex implores, taking a step closer to you. He reaches out with the arm that is not in a sling as if to take your hand, then seems to think better of it and steps back. “I’m just as lost here as you are.”

You smile, then, and feel a warmth settling over the two of you, and think that perhaps the fact that there is something new between you doesn’t have to make what the two of you have any different.

You take Rex’s hand. “Alright,” you say quietly. “That’s good to know. And I wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t mean it.”

Rex huffs a laugh, his hand trailing up your arm to cup your cheek; it makes you shiver as warmth trails up your spine.

“Well… we can take it slowly,” he murmurs, and there is something reverent in his amber eyes, like he can’t bear to ever look away. He smiles, then, and it fills you with more warmth than you ever thought possible. “And anyway, I sort of just want to sleep.” He pauses, hesitating for a moment, then tilts his head slightly and drops his hand. “Preferably with you in my arms.”

You cannot help the smile that pulls on your lips or the flutter in your stomach. “I think that can be arranged. But first—I need to shower.” You roll your shoulders back, stretching out your spine. “It’s been a long day.”

On impulse, you lean forward and press another chaste kiss to Rex’s lips; his uninjured arm all but chases your body, drifting to your waist as he leans into the kiss—but you pull away almost immediately, giggling at his disappointed expression and flushed cheeks.

Rex sighs. “Don’t laugh at me. It just gets more addicting every time.”

This only makes you laugh more, walking over to your closet to pull out an oversized sleep shirt and a pair of clean underwear, along with a towel for the shower. You palm the control pad next to the refresher door; the door slides open, and at the same time the bedroom lights wink out, throwing the space into a cool darkness. A sliver of golden light from the refresher spills out, bathing you in warmth, and when you smile over your shoulder at him, Rex is gone.

“Get back in bed, okay?” you say. “I’ll be right out.”

You disappear into the refresher, leaving Rex alone in the quiet of your bedroom.

For a long moment, he simply stands there, listening as the sound of you pattering around in the refresher reaches him from the other side of the closed door. It hums softly around him, in a symphony of simple domesticity—the air filters circulating, the conservator humming from the kitchen, distant traffic whirring outside in the late Coruscant night. He has always loved your apartment, despite it being so different from the constant mechanical drone of the Resolute or the restless noise of the barracks.

In the beginning, the quiet—your quiet—left him disoriented. Now, it is all he waits for on long campaigns.

Carefully, slowly, Rex sits down on the edge of the bed. His injured arm still aches, wrapped up and bacta-slathered though it is. Not for the first time since leaving Saleucami, he thinks of Cut and Suu—of the love they share, and of the line they crossed. Rex wonders if, one day, the two of you might cross that line too.

The mattress dips beneath his weight as it did the first time, just hours ago when he found his way to your bed as you told him he could. He still feels guilty—for coming into your home while you’re not there, despite you explicitly stating that he can.

He runs his uninjured hand over one of the many plush pillows and inhales deeply. The faint scent of your shampoo lingers on the sheets.

What’s mine is yours.

Your words, unconditionally kind and so painfully you, echo in his head.

Rex glances toward the refresher door when the sound of running water begins. This, too—the fact that you have a running water shower, not a sonic, something he hadn’t experienced until you told him he could come to your apartment after campaigns—is a novelty. He imagines you standing under the spray, shoulders relaxing after the long day you endured at work, hair darkening with the water and trailing down your back. The thought makes his chest ache with something he can’t quite name.

Maker, how he’s missed you.

Without really meaning to, Rex lies back against the pillows. He blinks up at the ceiling above him; it is plain and unremarkable—but it isn’t a durasteel bunk above his head, and it isn’t the cold open sky of a battlefield. It’s yours.

Rex’s eyes drift shut for a moment—you did say to get back in bed, after all—but just then, the refresher door slides open with a quiet hiss and pulls him back to awareness. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, blinking sleepily towards the doorway, and watches as warm steam spills out into the bedroom, curling lazily in the air.

Then you step out.

Your hair is damp, the ends darkened with water, and the oversized sleep shirt hangs loosely off your shoulders, one side slipping just enough to show the curve of your collarbone. The hem brushes the tops of your thighs as you walk, toweling at your hair, face flushed from the hot water.

And despite your unreal beauty, Rex wasn’t staring before—he’s gotten better about it, since first meeting you. But now… now, he definitely is.

You catch the look immediately. Your brows lift, and a small, amused smile tugs at your mouth as you continue drying your hair.

“Enjoying the view, Captain?”

Rex startles like he’s been caught doing something illegal, sitting up suddenly and tucking one leg underneath himself. He clears his throat, willing his face to stop burning, and fiddles awkwardly with his arm sling.

“I—what—no,” he says quickly, voice rough. He clears his throat again and attempts a recovery. “I mean—I wasn’t staring.”

You’re smiling at him like you know something he doesn’t. “You were absolutely staring.”

“I was not.”

You drop the towel over the back of your desk chair and turn to face him fully, arms crossing loosely over your middle.

“Oh, really, now?” you ask sweetly.

Rex rubs the back of his neck with his good hand, looking everywhere except at you now—the floor, the wall, the ceiling, the nightstand. Anywhere but the oversized shirt that somehow manages to make his brain stop working. He wants to look back at you, but he knows that if he does, he’ll surely embarrass himself, either by being struck dumb and unable to look away or by succumbing to the insatiable urge to touch you. Which would be rather—well, improper.

“I was… observing,” Rex mutters. It sounds unconvincing even to his own ears.

You snort.

“Observing,” you repeat. “Right.”

Despite your teasing, warmth spreads through Rex’s chest, and he gives in to the desire to look at you again—and he truly cannot look away. The sight of you like this, hair damp and mussed, wearing sleep clothes, more skin bared to him than he’s ever seen—

It feels strangely domestic. Strangely right.

You move toward the bed, towards Rex, and nudge him gently to his feet. As he watches, you pull back the covers he’s been sitting on and climb in; it exposes more of the soft skin of your thighs, along with a quick glimpse of your underwear. Rex files that sighting away to think about later. In this moment, you deserve all of his focus.

“C’mon,” you say softly, scooting to the far side of the bed and fluffing the pillows. You hold out a hand. “Get in.”

Rex takes it—and then hesitates. You notice immediately.

“What is it?” you ask.

“I…” Rex swallows. “You’re sure?”

You frown and scoot closer to him, taking both of his hands.

“Of course,” you murmur, kneeling on the bed so that you’re at eye level with him. You move your hands to rest on his clothed chest, warm and small compared to his unforgiving, obtrusive bulkiness.

“Okay,” he says softly.

You lean in to press a soft kiss to his stubbled cheek, then pull away and look at him with your impossibly beautiful eyes, smiling slowly. “Okay.”

In the quiet, it’s easy to get lost in you—in your flowery scent, in the softness of your knees against his thighs, in the warmth of your presence. He leans in, drawn to you, and whispers, “Cyar’ika—”

You cut him off with a kiss, and this time, it’s different. Before, they were all soft, careful, almost shy—but this one lands with intent, like you know what you want.

For a heartbeat Rex freezes, startled that you were the one to close the distance, but then he feels something in him shift. His hand at your waist tightens of its own accord, reveling in the warmth of your skin even through the fabric of your shirt, and he leans into the kiss with a low inhale. You make a small sound against his mouth that he feels more than hears, and it sends a shiver through his entire body that makes the pain in his injured arm all but disappear.

Your hands move from his chest up to the nape of his neck, toying with the short blond fuzz there, and Rex cannot help the sigh that he releases into your mouth as his lips move against yours.

“Stars,” he whispers in between kisses, breathing the air between your mouths, “You’re so—so soft—”

You deepen the kiss without a word. Rex’s movements are still careful—he is always careful with you—but his hesitance from earlier melts away. His mouth moves against yours with a growing certainty, slow and thorough.

He feels you shift closer on your knees, and seizes the opportunity that comes to him as your balance wavers just slightly. Rex reacts on instinct, sliding his hand from your waist to the dip between your shoulder blades, and guides you back towards the mattress, shifting you so that your head is on the pillow.

Slowly, Rex lowers himself to lie beside you, careful of his bad arm, and props himself up on his good elbow. He turns to look at you, and the sight that greets him is dizzying—your hair, draped across the pillow, is haloing your face; your eyes are bright; your lips are flushed and swollen from kissing. As Rex stares, you smile and reach up to run your knuckles across his cheek.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi,” Rex says softly.

He reaches down to pull the covers over the two of you, and you shift closer to him, moving to lie on your side as he turns into his back. Your arm snakes across his stomach and around his waist, while your leg tangles with his.

“Is your arm alright?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbow to look up at him.

Rex nods, reaching up with his good arm to brush a stray curl from your face. “You have a way of taking the pain away.”

“I thought about you for weeks. About being here with you,” he says. “Out there, it was… it was all I thought about.”

You hum softly and trace circles over Rex’s chest; it makes him shiver.

“Well,” you murmur, “you’re here now. With me.” You’re talking so quietly that it’s only because of how close you are that he can hear you at all.

“Yeah,” Rex whispers. “It does look that way, doesn’t it?”

With a soft hum, you lean down, kissing him with a kind of reverence that makes Rex’s breath catch. It is the kind of reverence he kisses you with. His hand moves from your cheek to your waist, pulling you a little closer to him as the kiss lingers.

The world outside your apartment fades from his awareness—the city, the galaxy, everything but the warmth of you and the feel of your body against his. For the first time since he left for Saleucami, the war feels very far away.