Going Through A Phase

Being in a relationship with a soldier proved its challenges most of the time.

The distance, the danger, and the imminent fear of never knowing when they’ll come back or if they ever will. However, if there was one thing that placed faith in you was the knowledge that they’re a clone. A soldier of the Republic, made to withstand and endure longer than an average natborn. Still, you couldn’t ignore the fear and paranoia most of the time. They were still soldiers after all, and they were made to believe they belonged in battlefields instead of homes.

Fortunately for you, your soldier was considered one of the best in the Grand Army of the Republic.

A member of the elite clone group, Clone Force 99, and the fiercest marksman you’ve ever met.

Crosshair.

Honestly, you never would’ve imagined even falling for someone like him. Especially when you met in 79’s after being dragged by your friends. He was cold, distant, aloof, and most of all infuriating to begin with. Your initial impression lasted in mind only because of his disinterest to converse, and when he did, it was always curt and dismissive. Alright. You didn’t think of anything from it, not everyone was as sociable as his brothers, so you moved on from his presence and focused on another.

Hunter was more than charming, but you couldn’t entertain him further after seeing your friend pressed up against his arm. Wrecker was an absolute sweetheart, but he was just too… spirited for your tastes. At least he had two of your friends on either side of him, giggling and admiring his muscles. Then there was Tech, who at least tolerated your initiative to talk.

For a while, it was going fine. 

He was informative, had a lack for humor but made up for his clever retorts, and he listened attentively when it was your turn to share something. However, as much as you could hope to connect with him on a deeper level, you could tell the setting was overwhelming him. His attention constantly drifted on his datapad again and again. His fingers twitched whenever you accidentally brushed his arm or when you leaned closer to hear him better over the music. And how he stammered on his words when you asked more questions, then he coughed into his hand before he finally excused himself.

At least he’s trying.

You thought at the time, taking a sip of your drink.

At the perfect moment, your gaze slid up and met Crosshair’s.

He was looking at you with an unreadable glint in his eyes.

Underneath the neon lights, you had trouble deciphering his expression. How long has he been listening to your conversation? Surely he wasn’t that invested. Not when he didn’t show any enthusiasm to your attempts earlier. So why was he looking at you like that?

Then it clicked.

Slowly, you brought your glass down.

Maybe he wasn’t good with words.

Maybe actions were better.

And so, with a plan in mind, you let your eyes fall—intentionally, coyly—down the impressive length of his body. Still covered in his dark armor, lean and imposing in all the right places. You took that time to actually study him. Trace the lines over his chest piece, eye the dark gloves hugging his long and lithe fingers, deliberately trailing your eyes back up—eyeing the distinct mark of his tattoo—before finally meeting his eyes again.

The magic worked.

Because the glint darkened, and if looks could kill, you’d be pierced by steel and daggers covered with heat. As though he read your mind, the sniper shifted the toothpick between his teeth, jaw clenched.

For the final drop, you smiled at him with a brow raised.

You remembered whispering an excuse to your friend beside you—need to use the refresher—without breaking eye contact as you got up from your seat.

But before you could fully turn around, you glanced over your shoulder and met his gaze again.

Coming?

The message was received clearly from the way he finished his last shot, fixing you an intense glare over the rim.

As you walked away, you felt that burning stare on you the entire time.

What followed next was a blur of events.

Crosshair had followed you shortly after, let you lead him towards the unused refreshers located far back, and kept his distance respectable even when you entered. The last thing you heard was the door sliding shut, the lock beeping to seal you both inside. The next was being pressed up against the sink with your legs around his hips, and his lips crashing down on yours. He didn’t remove all of his armor, only his gloves followed the codpiece around his groin. Then, he stuffed your mouth with two fingers while his free hand disappeared beneath the short hem of your dress.

“Quiet, or I’ll leave before you could come.”

The longest sentence he’s ever spoken to you that night, and it made you soak his fingers even more.

Half an hour later, you were stumbling out the refreshers barely upright. Hair messed up, teeth marks across your collarbones and inner thighs, bruises on your hips, and legs trembling like a newborn Eopie. 

You’d never forget the smug look on his face when he exited shortly after, retrieving a new toothpick from his pouch and giving you a wink. 

“The fun’s only beginning, Cross.”

You could only pray to the stars Tech didn’t hear everything that was happening.

Of course, you didn’t dare to continue the act after that. As much as you loved seeing Crosshair lose control every once in a while, you cared for him deeply. He placed his trust on you like a soldier offering his last weapon, knowing it was in safe hands, and breaking that trust was the last thing you wanted. Somehow, Tech didn’t come around to visit after that incident. At least without another brother besides Crosshair. And the times he visited again, it was as if nothing had happened. His demeanor never changed from the last you’ve seen him, still the same chatterbox. 

If he had noticed the subtle distance you’ve put between you, he didn’t show or comment on it. 

Though there was his silent exchange with Crosshair when they thought you weren’t paying attention. Hunter made a comment about it one day how the two possessed a “weird telepathic communication” since they popped out of their pods at the same time back in Kamino, essentially making them twins. Whether literally or figuratively, you learned that whatever was said in those brief moments, they were the only ones who knew.

With that new discovery in mind, you filed away the information in hopes to ask more from either of them.

Some time passed, and your relationship with the eccentric batch led you to get out of your home to explore a few outer worlds whenever they’re on leave. Most planets were habitable, with cantinas and tourist spots to explore while you’re docked. Rarely did they take you to dangerous places. You appreciated their time and effort to let you see a piece of their life outside being soldiers. 

It really reminded you how they were still people. Humans who get tired and chase other thrills besides war. And most importantly, they were a family. Brothers who could never truly be apart for a long time. Even with all their disagreements, clashing spirits, and chaotic endeavors, they loved each other in their own ways. A loyalty you rarely see nowadays.

But when the time came they needed to depart again, you knew you only had to wait.

And until then, you’d cling to your faith with hopes of their return.

It was another busy day in Coruscant, and you were looking forward to spending the entire night resting before your shift starts again next morning. 

The moment you got home, you half-heartedly removed every layer of your uniform while padding towards the refresher. Working in Dex's Diner sure took its toll on you. The peak hours during the busiest days never fail to run your skin to your bones. It didn't compare to serving the Republic like how the Batch did, but serving civilians—different species no less—came pretty close. After all, your energy was spent at the end of the day. Minus the danger and death of course.

After freshening up and changing into more comfortable clothes, you took up space on your couch to browse the holonet. 

Just then, a notification came through your datapad.

From: Grumpy Tooka

– About to land in an hour

– We made a stop over in Kamino

– I have a surprise for you

Perking up, a smile split across your face upon recognizing the sender. 

To: Grumpy Tooka

– well hello there, handsome

– a surprise you say? 

– care to tell me what it is? 

Not even a second after you sent the message, another response came through.

From: Grumpy Tooka

– Hardly a surprise if I tell you

– You'll like it

Now curious, you assumed it was another gift he often brought you from their missions. He'd tell you which planet he got it from, the mission they did beforehand, and other things he'd spend time venting about while you ate or lay in bed together. You always loved his gifts; they were simple yet incredibly thoughtful items that he claimed reminded him of you. You even had Wrecker help you to install a small shelf to accommodate every single thing, and hopefully, fill every space until you have to install another.

To: Grumpy Tooka

– can't wait!!

– just come inside my room in case i accidentally fall asleep, it's been a long day 

– stay safe out there, love you <3 

From: Grumpy Tooka

– Love you too, doll

– Get some rest first 

You turned off your datapad, yawning softly as you made your way towards your room. In the meanwhile, you could use a short nap before his arrival. Something told you whatever his surprise was, you needed enough energy for it.

You stirred awake at the sound of footsteps outside your bedroom door, causing you to shift from your bed to sit up. 

It took you a second to recognize the footsteps. Familiar set of thuds that have walked around your apartment many times before. 

Immediately, you relaxed against your bed and waited for your door to open. The only ones who knew your apartment passcode were some of your friends and the boys, and remembering Crosshair’s message to you earlier confirmed the identity quickly.

Before you could rise to meet him, the door slid open and the dark silhouette of armor stood at the threshold in silence. It was indeed Crosshair, but something was… off. His usual silence wasn’t weighted in exhaustion. Tense was the right word. The straight set of his shoulders gave it away. You knew all of his tales by now, and you knew damn well something was definitely wrong—the silence was too much, his posture was pinstraight, and his helmet was still on.

You paused, eyeing him in suspicion. “Cross? You okay?”

No answer. 

Not even a tilt of his head or a breath. 

There were times when Crosshair came back from a mission, as tense as he was right now, and you’d know immediately why. Pent up frustration, a hidden injury he stubbornly hid from his brothers, or he wasn’t in the mood to talk. Amongst other things. Usually, you’d get up quickly to fix him a meal. Or if he didn’t have any appetite, you’d quietly strip him out of his armor and just hold him. You wouldn’t ask him any questions, letting your presence and touch coax him to come back to you. You were aware how loud his thoughts could be that words failed him—the only thing you could do was wait for him until he was ready.

Tonight, it seemed to be that same case.

Carefully, you tried to move from your bed to assess him.

But then he raised a hand, causing you to stay seated. 

You blinked, confused from his action. “What is it—”

He retrieved something from his back, and you tracked the movement until a long slip of fabric emerged from behind. It was red, their red, and against the dim light of your lamp, it seemed eerily similar to silk. It must've cost something from somewhere. Crosshair then approached the bed, stopping right in front of you with the silk in his gloved hand. 

Without a word, he held it towards you. 

You cast a glance at it, the gears in your head turning.

“Is this your gift?” you stared up at him, smiling in amusement. “It’s lovely, Cross. How should I use—”

He answered for you. No, demonstrated.

Because before the question was finished, the silk covered your eyes, bathing your vision in crimson until everything was swallowed in darkness. The action elicited a gasp from you. A shot of thrill ran down your spine at the realization. 

Oh. 

He’s never done this to you before. Kriff, you never even imagined this happening before.  

Suddenly, with the loss of your sight, you depended on other senses in wait for his next move.

Silence. 

Pure, tantalizing silence.

You held your breath, listening to your surroundings intently.

It hitched the moment an ungloved finger met your bottom lip, his thumb, the sound of something dropping cluttered on your floor. His helmet, you assumed. You focused on the way he began to stroke your lip, the faint sound of his breathing might’ve been the loudest thing in the room amidst the quiet. Then, his thumb dragged low, tugging your bottom lip until it was parted—enough for him to slip it inside and rest against your tongue.

On instinct, you sucked softly. 

A sharp inhale pierced the air, but no word still.

Fine.

You could get him talking.

Reaching outwards, your hands found their way around his codpiece. 

Even without your sight, you knew how to unlatch each piece like the back of your hand. Already mastered from countless experiences. He didn’t stop you as you worked. Sucking on his thumb gently whilst the armor pieces fell. When you grazed the bulge straining against his blacks, palming the hardening length, another hiss came from above. He still didn’t talk or make a move to stop you when your fingers dipped inside his waistband and tugged.

His thumb gently parted your mouth wider, his free hand threading across your hair. Gently urging you forward until the hot, blunt head of his cock kissed your lips.

You moaned around him, immediately sucking on his tip and letting the taste of him coat your tongue. 

In your imagination, you pictured him watching you with that intense look in his sharp eyes. Dark, heated, and piercing. When he’s frustrated, he won't waste time and start off rough. When he felt lazier than usual, he’d let you control the pace. Right now, it seemed he was handing you the reins again, which you had no complaints over.

The same thumb that’s been inside your mouth caressed your cheek, lightly tapping to signal you to take him deeper. And without hesitation, you obeyed. Inching slowly down his base, breathing in through your nose, until the tip of him finally reached the back of your throat. Before, you could hardly fit all of him inside your mouth without gagging or tearing up. Now, it was easier to take him in. Too easy in fact.

And since when did he feel thicker?

The observation lingered at the back of your mind but before you could dwell on it, he slowly pulled away.

A shuddering sigh escaped him, and you focused on keeping your cheeks sucked in.

You took him in hand, worshipping him just how he liked. 

Tracing the vein underneath his length, swirling your tongue around his tip, before taking him in again. The more he began to release those breathless noises, the more it fueled you to move faster. The hand on your head flexed, not gripping tightly, just enough to let you know he liked that. So you continued worshipping him with your tongue, keeping the pace steady and your cheeks sucked in. When you felt him throbbing, you returned to his tip and kept him on edge. Your hand pumped loosely around him, feeling his weight and length twitch the closer he got to his release.

But even after all that, he still wasn’t talking.

It was strange now that you knew how filthy his words could become once he’s lost in pleasure. How he’s equally praising and mocking you: how pretty you were with your mouth stuffed full of him, how he’s been thinking of it the whole time he’s away. But now it’s gone, rendered silent except for hitched gasps and choked grunts. But you didn’t ponder deeper on it anymore. Not when you could feel him nearing, not when you heard him whimper for the first time, and began bucking his hips inside your mouth to chase his release.kisses while caressing your legs.

After you came down from your high, you could hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears as your mind scrambled back in place.

“Kriff,” you let out a breathless laugh, completely in disbelief. “That was new. Stars, where’d you get this idea from—”

“It was suggested by Crosshair.”

“That makes sense. He knows a thing or two about…”

Wait.

Slowly, you raised the blindfold and looked down—

Messy brown hair. Round, brown eyes. Foggy goggles.

Your eyes widened, staring in shock as the realization hit. “Tech?”

The said man only nodded. “Yes, my dear?”

My dear. 

Not doll.

An array of emotions flitted through you in the span of seconds. 

Confusion, denial, then disbelief.

You glanced down, seeing the dark armor pieces still cluttered on the floor. Crosshair's helmet with them. When you glanced back to Tech, he was in fact wearing his brother’s armor. His chest piece, his pauldrons, but without his rifle in sight. Was this a dream? Why haven’t you woken up yet? What the fuck was going on?

But before you could demand an explanation, the door to your room slid open.

And your heart dropped.

Crosshair stood there, arms crossed, wearing a knowing grin on his sharp features. For a brief moment, it reminded you of the first time he visited your apartment many months ago. The only difference was… he was wearing Tech’s armor. 

It was suggested by Crosshair.

You gaped, speechless and horrified.

He leaned against your doorway, voice thick with dark amusement. “Did you like my surprise?” 

You lay awake the next morning, processing the events that have occurred the night before.

Beside you, Crosshair slept peacefully with his arm draped across your stomach. His cheek was pressed on your forehead, breathing steady and light. On your other side, Tech snored quietly. Like his brother, his arm rested just below Crosshair’s, and his face was buried in your neck. Both were bare, marked, and equally spent. While you lay there, staring at your ceiling, convincing yourself if it was a dream or not.

How did it exactly come to this situation?

Well, you remembered staring at Crosshair after he had just made himself appear.

And after prolonged silence, it was Tech who finally broke it.

“It seems this arrangement might have upset her,” he finally set your legs down from his shoulders, his touch lingering just a second longer. “Perhaps we should explain ourselves.”

Crosshair sighed, finally entering the room with a casual flourish. “Calm down. She’s not upset—”

You sat up straight, aiming an incredulous look at them. “Not upset? Oh, I’m about to be more than upset if you don't explain yourselves.”

That caused both brothers to grimace. A tense look was exchanged between them, another silent conversation shared through their gazes alone. They must’ve thought whatever this plan was would only fly by you. Well, they thought wrong. Crosshair should’ve at least prepared you beforehand. Other than the ominous surprise he had messaged earlier, you absolutely had no clue what was happening. How long was this planned behind your back? Did Hunter and Wrecker know?

You pulled your legs up to your chest and hugged them close, lightly glaring at each of them. 

“It was my suggestion,” Crosshair muttered, finally breaking his stare from his brother. “Only because I’m aware he likes you too.”

That caught your attention quickly. “What?”

Tech cleared his throat, you fought the urge not to eye the remaining slickness staining his chin as he began to explain. “I will not deny it. My attraction towards your character has been a… problem. For quite some time now. I barely possess any knowledge on how to navigate through these unknown urges. All I know is that they are not unwanted. It is only a matter of time until Crosshair discovers and—”

“Oh, I knew all along.” The sniper remarked sardonically, rolling his eyes. “You weren’t so subtle yourself, genius. You really think I wasn’t watching every time you’re here?”

An indignant scoff escaped Tech, but you picked up on his flush deepening at the accusation.

Your brows furrowed, more confused than ever. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You didn’t know which the question was directed for, as long as you got a proper explanation. 

Crosshair shifted on his feet, letting his eyes fall on your exposed legs before averting them away.

“Because I don’t share.”

“And… what changed?”

“Because you like him too.”

“I don’t—”

“Doesn’t matter now,” the silver-haired clone shook his head dismissively. “I don’t share what’s mine. But I'm willing to do it once. Just so I can show him what he’s missing.”

Then, he was approaching your side.

You took your time studying him too. And stars, it wasn’t fair how he looked so good wearing Tech’s armor like that. Somehow, it fits him just right. You’d be lying if you said Tech didn’t look good in Crosshair’s armor too. Both of them wore the other devastatingly well, it annoyed you even more. Maybe they really were twins. And maybe, just maybe, you could let this pass with the right persuasion.

Fingers grabbed hold of your cheeks, now with the familiar rougher touch you were used to, forcing you to stare up and meet his darkening gaze. A shadow fell over his expression, irked and disappointed. As though you were the one who had done something against him.

“But you didn’t answer the question, doll.” Crosshair swept a thumb across your bottom lip. “Did you like my gift? And don’t lie.”

Your lips parted, unsure of what to answer.

Your mind told you no. 

That rational, logical part inside you screamed every single thing about this was wrong. But then there was the traitorous, curious part deep in your mind that wanted to know where this would lead to. Just once. What would it feel like to have them together? Was Crosshair truly fine with this? What’s going to happen after this—

A light tap brought you back to reality, and you only registered him patting your cheek.

When you blinked, you saw a smirk at the edge of his mouth. “Must’ve liked it. Was it so good you can’t think properly now? I always knew you were a whore.”

Tech sputtered from the foot of your bed. “Crosshair, that language is not necessary—”

But what he didn’t know was this was his brother’s language. The taunting, the mock sympathy, the cruelty. It was the language that got you thinking about him for days after that night in the refreshers back in 79’s. The same tone he used when he visited time and time again. And kriff did you miss it. The same man from that night finally resurfaced, and he was glaring down at you, waiting for an answer.

A shaky exhale slipped from your parted lips. “Yes.”

Both brothers tensed at your response.

Tension blanketed the room, almost palpable, as the three of you refused to move or breathe in fear of breaking it. 

But Crosshair saw it—that same glint in your eyes the night you lead him towards the refreshers—and he inhaled sharply. “Yes what, doll?”

His hand trailed down, grazing your jaw, until those long fingers encircled your throat. He gave an experimental squeeze, and you nearly whimpered at the pressure. His jaw clenched at the soft sound, at the way your lashes fluttered, and the pleading look you gave him. Not far from your bed, you saw movement from the corner of your eye. 

When you glanced over, you saw Tech watching you. 

Intensely, darkly, heatedly. 

“Eyes on me,” Crosshair squeezed your throat again, harder this time. “I’m the one talking. Yes what, doll?”

You swallowed your pride, and confessed. “I liked it. I liked your surprise.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did.” His face lowered, stopping just an inch away from yours. “I could hear you from outside the door. Every sound you made. Every call of my name. While another man was between your legs, I’m still the one on your mind.”

Your gaze dropped to his lips, unable to seal the distance with the hand around your neck. “Aren’t you gonna ask me the more important question?”

Hearing the challenge in your tone, his voice darkened. “That is?”

You smiled, playing with the fire now. “Did I like it better than yours?”

His whole body froze. Not even a twitch from his fingers. Not even a muscle in his jaw flexed.

Just pure, tantalizing silence. Again.

Until finally, he spoke. “Well? Was it better?”

Bravery (or stupidity) filled your nerves as you decided to lean closer, brushing your noses together. He didn’t stop you, but his grip tightened. A clear warning not to test him. Not to add more fuel to the fire. But you were enjoying yourself now. If you were going to get burned, they’re both going to burn with you. One way or another.

“It was,” you tilted your head, breathing the words into his parted lips. “He made me feel so good. I almost forgot my own name.”

A low, rumbling growl escaped him. “Is that how you thank me in return? Tch, maybe you should be punished instead.”

“Maybe,” you then threw a glance over your shoulder, making eye contact with Tech. “Tech would be more than happy to oblige.”

You could see the gears turning in his ingenious head, the clues slowly piecing together, before he straightened with newfound intent and purpose.

“I believe a behavioral correction can be arranged,” he began moving, circling around until you lost him behind your periphery. “She certainly needs to be educated for this unpleasant attitude.”

His breath ghosted your nape, making you shiver at the proximity.

At that moment, Crosshair saw the flash of excitement on your face and decided.

“I agree.”

He pulled you in by your neck, kissing you with every frustration and long buried jealousy he has concealed for months. And you could do nothing but melt. Allowing yourself to be burned from the heat of his mouth, the fire in his tongue, and the ember in his touch. If you’d be ash by the end of this night, then let it be done by their hands. Let it be by their shared hunger and possession. And let it be done together.

Behind you, Tech's mouth claimed your nape. One of his hands snaked its way between your legs, and you couldn’t believe how easily you parted them for him. His fingers found your center again, still soaking and sensitive from earlier, eliciting a shiver from your body. He began his exploration again, more confident than before, sliding from your clit down to your entrance.

You moaned into the kiss, spurring Crosshair to push himself deeper.

“Did you like it?” he rasped, parting briefly. “When you had him in your mouth?”

You nodded, chasing his lips. “I did.”

“Did you like it when he had his mouth on you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want him inside you?”

“Please.”

Crosshair clicked his tongue, unamused. “You really are a whore, aren’t you? Wanting two men at the same time. Soaked for the both of us. Greedy little thing.”

Oh, you missed this. You missed him. This meaner and rougher version of him. The one you met that night, who fucked you hard against the refresher sink, and made you unable to walk properly for days. You loved your Crosshair, the man who made you feel loved above all else, but this Crosshair was the soldier—brutal, merciless, and lethal. And now that he’s shown himself again, you’d take the opportunity to claim him.

Tech cursed behind you, the sound strained and breathless. “Fascinating. She responds to your words exceptionally well. Her body tells me she is more aroused when given degradation instead of—”

“I know,” came his brother’s dark chuckle. “I know about her little secret. She wants to be used. Treated like a whore. Well, it’s about time we oblige. Isn’t that right, doll?”

A high whimper poured from your throat, nodding. “Please.”

A cruel smirk appeared on his lips. “Good girl.”

He pulled away from you, hands making a quick work of his codpiece. “Get her on her knees.”

It took you a second to process the command wasn’t directed at you, but at his brother. And before you could formulate another thought, Tech tugged you from behind. Effortlessly manhandling your body until your hands were on the bed and your knees were spread, reminding you that he, too, was a soldier. The display of hidden strength only aroused you even more.

Now, you had Crosshair in front and Tech at the back.

Never in your wildest dreams did you expect this to happen.

You couldn’t even comprehend how Crosshair managed to persuade Tech of all people to agree to this.

Then it clicked, remembering his words not long ago. 

“You think he’s not tempted? Pay attention next time, doll.”

Kriff, so he wasn't joking?

Before you could dwell on it further, Crosshair finally released himself from his armor and blacks. 

“You can take it, right?” The mockery in his voice should’ve humiliated you. Instead, a shot of electricity ran through your spine. “Oh, you can. Tech already prepped you earlier. Shouldn’t be a struggle if he just goes right in.”

From behind, you felt Tech—raw, hard, and throbbing—gliding himself against you. Next were his hands, holding your hips in a possessive grip, using them to move himself back and forth. But he doesn’t slide right in just like how Crosshair said. You wished you could actually see his expression, but it gave you time to focus on the sight in front of you, watching the silver-haired soldier run a fist around himself. Long, steady, and firm strokes. His eyes never left your face, darkening as soon as you met his gaze.

The scene was both obscene and thrilling. 

“Enjoying yourself, doll?” he neared himself to your lips, sighing when you kissed his tip. 

“I am,” you kissed him again. “Looks like you’re enjoying yourself too.”

Crosshair tried to retort something when you suddenly sucked on his head, the only words coming out of him was a sharp hiss through gritted teeth. “Shut it.”

Okay.

As you were about to take him deeper, Tech slowly buried himself inside you. 

The three of you moaned in unison.

You could hear Tech’s strangled breathing from behind, fingers flexing on your hips, inching himself closer until he completely filled you. Meanwhile, Crosshair had a hard time suppressing his grunts the moment he reached the back of your throat. You missed the way both brothers shared another look from above, and before you could fully adjust to the sizes, they started moving.

The moan you released was muffled around Crosshair, and he groaned loudly in response.

“That's it. Made for this, huh?”

At first, their rhythm was uneven. Tech was a little inexperienced from the way he shallowly moved, while Crosshair immediately settled on his usual pace. Gradually, through that strange connection, the two found the right pace and you were left on cloud nine between them.

“Knew you could take it,” the sniper grinned down at you. Then to Tech. “Go rougher. Since she likes it that way.”

You physically felt the conflict rippling through Tech from the way he wavered, but it didn't take long for him to recover. 

Quietly, you heard him rasp next to your ear. 

“Do I have your permission?”

Unable to talk or nod, you could only push your hips back against him. 

Tech let out another strangled breath, before his restraint vanished. In the next second, he was pulling out and thrusting in exactly like his brother instructed. Rough, ruthless, and uncharacteristically domineering. If you told yourself before Tech could fuck like this, you would've never believed the words coming right out of your mouth. But it wasn't impossible, you knew he could easily pick up on a skill with a limited amount of time to learn it. And within the time he spent with you earlier disguised as his brother, he already has your body memorized.

“Have you thought of this before?” Crosshair directed the question at you, still wearing that arrogant smirk. “The two of us? Using you as we please?”

Tech cursed out loud when you clenched around him, grunting in effort to keep himself composed.“I believe she has. She—Maker—She is tightening around me in response—”

“You're not so innocent too, Tech. You've thought of this before.”

“Why are you inquiring this at this moment—”

“No need to be shy. I've seen the way you looked at her.”

Out of all the times they chose to bicker. If you could, you would've rolled your eyes at their antics. But with the way they're both moving, Tech's thorough thrusts and Crosshair’s punishing pace, all you could do was whimper helplessly. Their words got lost on you the moment your jaw started to ache. Your elbows could barely support yourself, trembling with exhaustion, but you forced yourself upright. Your noises didn't seem to gather their attention, so you resorted to squeezing around Tech again.

As expected, his words cut off with a grunt. “Ahh— She is— Are you close, my dear?”

Crosshair finally looked down on you, his hips never wavering. “Already? But we just started, doll. Don't think I'm done with you yet.”

He wiped the tears away from your eyes, clicking his tongue repeatedly. 

“But for now, I'll let Tech have his fill.”

Then, he removed himself from your mouth, as though granting you brief mercy.

Gasping for air, you finally let yourself drop against the bed. Your arms were shaking, face buried in the sheets as more noises poured from your mouth. Behind you, Tech readjusted himself and quickened his pace. Without Crosshair in his way, he could freely use you as he wished. And some part in you loved it—to be used and desired like this—to have these men, these soldiers, at your disposal. 

“Tell her,” Crosshair's voice hissed from above. “Tell her the things you told me about her.”

What?

Scrambling for purchase, you propped yourself on your elbows and glanced over your shoulder. “What—kriff—is he talking about, Tech?”

The eye contact caused him to lose focus, releasing that whimper again as his thrusts became more desperate. “He is—He is telling the truth. I have thought about this before. Shamelessly. Wrongfully. To want you when you are already with another man. My brother. I thought it would disappear on its own but— it never did.”

One of his hands came down to your spine, tracing the curve of it in a reverent manner.

“I have spent every moment observing you. Since the night we met, you simply intrigued me. However, you made your choice when you chose him. Thus, I settled on keeping my feelings at bay. I assumed it was nothing but a carnal urge, but this is one of the rarer times I was wrong.”

His other hand vanished between your legs.

The moment he circled a finger around your clit, stars burst behind your eyelids. The coil was unfurling again, and you clung to your sheets at the pleasure waiting to snap. 

“And I heard everything,” Tech continued, voice wrecked and breathless. “Every time I came to visit. I hear everything. Those sounds haunted me many nights. An irrational part within me yearned to be the cause of them.”

His confession, raw and unfiltered, combined with the relentless drag of his cock against that perfect spot inside you, sent you spiraling. Your walls fluttered and clenched hard around him, the pressure in your core snapping like a live wire.

“Tech!” you cried out, the sound breaking into a desperate sob as your second orgasm crashed over you. 

Your thighs shook violently, back bowing off the bed as pleasure tore through every nerve. You could feel yourself pulsing, soaking him, pulling him deeper with every involuntary spasm.

Tech’s rhythm faltered, a choked groan ripping from his throat. “Maker— you feel incredible—” 

His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as he drove in once more, burying himself to the hilt. His body tensed above you, muscles locking, and then he was coming with a low, shuddering moan that sounded almost surprised by its own intensity. You felt the hot pulse of him spilling deep inside you, hips jerking with each wave until he finally stilled, panting against your shoulder.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your mingled, ragged breaths. Your body was still trembling, floating in that hazy afterglow, when you felt large hands on your waist.

Crosshair didn’t give you time to recover.

With effortless strength, he pulled you from beneath his brother. Tech made a soft, reluctant sound as he slipped out of you, but he didn’t protest. In one smooth motion, Crosshair flipped you onto your back and settled between your spread thighs, caging you in with his arms. His silver hair fell messily over his forehead, and that dangerous, predatory smirk you knew so well curved his lips.

The look in his eyes was pure sin.

“We’re not done yet,” he murmured, voice low and rough with promise. His cock—hard and flushed—rested heavy against your slick, sensitive folds. He rocked his hips once, teasingly gliding along your wetness, coating himself in the mix of your release and Tech’s.

You shivered beneath him, still breathless, still pulsing from the aftershocks. “Cross…”

He leaned down, brushing his lips against your ear, teeth grazing the shell of it.

“You wanted both of us, doll. You’re going to get both of us.” His hand slid down to grip your thigh, hitching it higher around his waist. “And I’m going to remind you exactly who you belong to while he watches.”

Behind him, you caught a glimpse of Tech adjusting his goggles, eyes dark and fixed on the two of you, chest still heaving. The flush on his cheeks hadn’t faded.

Crosshair’s smirk widened as he notched the head of his cock at your entrance, pushing in just enough to make you gasp.

“We’re not done yet,” he repeated, voice dripping with dark promise as he sank into you in one smooth thrust.

You gasped at the familiar stretch, your body still sensitive and slick from Tech. He didn’t give you time to adjust—he never did when he was like this—setting a punishing rhythm that had the bed creaking beneath you.

He took you hard and deep, one hand pinning your wrists above your head while the other gripped your hip, angling you exactly how he wanted. 

“Eyes here,” he growled whenever your eyes fluttered toward Tech. “Keep them on me.” 

You came again under his relentless pace, clenching around him as he spilled inside you with a low, satisfied groan, marking you in the most primal way.

He barely pulled out before Tech was there, gentle but no less eager. The bespectacled clone flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up so you were on all fours. Again. His hands explored your back and thighs with curious reverence as he slid back into your soaked heat, a broken sound tumbling from his chest as his eyelids fluttered shut. 

“Fascinating,” he murmured, as though he was commenting on the weather. “How perfectly you accommodate both of us.” 

His thrusts were steadier, more experimental—finding every angle that made you whimper and tremble—while Crosshair knelt in front of you, feeding his cock back into your mouth.

They found their rhythm quickly, taking turns like that for what felt like hours. Crosshair would fuck you into the mattress while Tech watched, stroking himself and offering quiet, filthy observations that only made you wetter. Then Tech would take over, slow and thorough, while Crosshair kissed you breathless or whispered taunts in your ear about how greedy you were for both of them.

At one point they had you between them properly. Crosshair beneath you, buried deep in your walls, while Tech pressed in from behind, stretching you in a way that left you sobbing with overwhelming pleasure. They moved in sync, one pulling out while the other pushed in, their hands everywhere, mouths claiming every inch of skin they could reach. Crosshair’s mocking praise mixed with Tech’s breathless analysis until your mind went blissfully blank.

You lost count of how many times they made you come—on their tongues, their fingers, their cocks. They switched positions fluidly. You riding Tech while Crosshair fucked your mouth, bent over the edge of the bed with Crosshair behind you and Tech’s fingers working your clit, pressed between their bodies in a messy, sweaty tangle as they both chased release again and again.

By the time the first hints of Coruscant’s dawn filtered through the window, all three of you were spent.

You lay in the middle of the wrecked bed, limbs tangled, skin sticky with sweat and release. Crosshair’s arm was heavy across your waist, his face buried in your neck as his breathing evened out into sleep. Tech curled against your other side, one hand resting possessively on your thigh, goggles discarded somewhere on the floor. His soft snores were already starting.

You stared at the ceiling for a long moment, body aching in the best way, mind hazy with exhaustion and satisfaction. A small, dazed smile tugged at your lips.

Fortunately for you, your soldier was considered one of the best in the Grand Army of the Republic.

A member of the elite clone group, Clone Force 99, and the fiercest marksman you’ve ever met.

Crosshair.

Honestly, you never would’ve imagined even falling for someone like him. Especially when you met in 79’s after being dragged by your friends. He was cold, distant, aloof, and most of all infuriating to begin with. Your initial impression lasted in mind only because of his disinterest to converse, and when he did, it was always curt and dismissive. Alright. You didn’t think of anything from it, not everyone was as sociable as his brothers, so you moved on from his presence and focused on another.

Hunter was more than charming, but you couldn’t entertain him further after seeing your friend pressed up against his arm. Wrecker was an absolute sweetheart, but he was just too… spirited for your tastes. At least he had two of your friends on either side of him, giggling and admiring his muscles. Then there was Tech, who at least tolerated your initiative to talk.

For a while, it was going fine. 

He was informative, had a lack for humor but made up for his clever retorts, and he listened attentively when it was your turn to share something. However, as much as you could hope to connect with him on a deeper level, you could tell the setting was overwhelming him. His attention constantly drifted on his datapad again and again. His fingers twitched whenever you accidentally brushed his arm or when you leaned closer to hear him better over the music. And how he stammered on his words when you asked more questions, then he coughed into his hand before he finally excused himself.

At least he’s trying.

You thought at the time, taking a sip of your drink.

At the perfect moment, your gaze slid up and met Crosshair’s.

He was looking at you with an unreadable glint in his eyes.

Underneath the neon lights, you had trouble deciphering his expression. How long has he been listening to your conversation? Surely he wasn’t that invested. Not when he didn’t show any enthusiasm to your attempts earlier. So why was he looking at you like that?

Then it clicked.

Slowly, you brought your glass down.

Maybe he wasn’t good with words.

Maybe actions were better.

And so, with a plan in mind, you let your eyes fall—intentionally, coyly—down the impressive length of his body. Still covered in his dark armor, lean and imposing in all the right places. You took that time to actually study him. Trace the lines over his chest piece, eye the dark gloves hugging his long and lithe fingers, deliberately trailing your eyes back up—eyeing the distinct mark of his tattoo—before finally meeting his eyes again.

The magic worked.

Because the glint darkened, and if looks could kill, you’d be pierced by steel and daggers covered with heat. As though he read your mind, the sniper shifted the toothpick between his teeth, jaw clenched.

For the final drop, you smiled at him with a brow raised.

You remembered whispering an excuse to your friend beside you—need to use the refresher—without breaking eye contact as you got up from your seat.

But before you could fully turn around, you glanced over your shoulder and met his gaze again.

Coming?

The message was received clearly from the way he finished his last shot, fixing you an intense glare over the rim.

As you walked away, you felt that burning stare on you the entire time.

What followed next was a blur of events.

Crosshair had followed you shortly after, let you lead him towards the unused refreshers located far back, and kept his distance respectable even when you entered. The last thing you heard was the door sliding shut, the lock beeping to seal you both inside. The next was being pressed up against the sink with your legs around his hips, and his lips crashing down on yours. He didn’t remove all of his armor, only his gloves followed the codpiece around his groin. Then, he stuffed your mouth with two fingers while his free hand disappeared beneath the short hem of your dress.

“Quiet, or I’ll leave before you could come.”

The longest sentence he’s ever spoken to you that night, and it made you soak his fingers even more.

Half an hour later, you were stumbling out the refreshers barely upright. Hair messed up, teeth marks across your collarbones and inner thighs, bruises on your hips, and legs trembling like a newborn Eopie. 

You’d never forget the smug look on his face when he exited shortly after, retrieving a new toothpick from his pouch and giving you a wink. 

“The fun’s only beginning, Cross.”

You could only pray to the stars Tech didn’t hear everything that was happening.

Of course, you didn’t dare to continue the act after that. As much as you loved seeing Crosshair lose control every once in a while, you cared for him deeply. He placed his trust on you like a soldier offering his last weapon, knowing it was in safe hands, and breaking that trust was the last thing you wanted. Somehow, Tech didn’t come around to visit after that incident. At least without another brother besides Crosshair. And the times he visited again, it was as if nothing had happened. His demeanor never changed from the last you’ve seen him, still the same chatterbox. 

If he had noticed the subtle distance you’ve put between you, he didn’t show or comment on it. 

Though there was his silent exchange with Crosshair when they thought you weren’t paying attention. Hunter made a comment about it one day how the two possessed a “weird telepathic communication” since they popped out of their pods at the same time back in Kamino, essentially making them twins. Whether literally or figuratively, you learned that whatever was said in those brief moments, they were the only ones who knew.

With that new discovery in mind, you filed away the information in hopes to ask more from either of them.

Some time passed, and your relationship with the eccentric batch led you to get out of your home to explore a few outer worlds whenever they’re on leave. Most planets were habitable, with cantinas and tourist spots to explore while you’re docked. Rarely did they take you to dangerous places. You appreciated their time and effort to let you see a piece of their life outside being soldiers. 

It really reminded you how they were still people. Humans who get tired and chase other thrills besides war. And most importantly, they were a family. Brothers who could never truly be apart for a long time. Even with all their disagreements, clashing spirits, and chaotic endeavors, they loved each other in their own ways. A loyalty you rarely see nowadays.

But when the time came they needed to depart again, you knew you only had to wait.

And until then, you’d cling to your faith with hopes of their return.

────────────── ★ ───────────────

It was another busy day in Coruscant, and you were looking forward to spending the entire night resting before your shift starts again next morning. 

The moment you got home, you half-heartedly removed every layer of your uniform while padding towards the refresher. Working in Dex's Diner sure took its toll on you. The peak hours during the busiest days never fail to run your skin to your bones. It didn't compare to serving the Republic like how the Batch did, but serving civilians—different species no less—came pretty close. After all, your energy was spent at the end of the day. Minus the danger and death of course.

After freshening up and changing into more comfortable clothes, you took up space on your couch to browse the holonet. 

Just then, a notification came through your datapad.

From: Grumpy Tooka

– About to land in an hour

– We made a stop over in Kamino

– I have a surprise for you

Perking up, a smile split across your face upon recognizing the sender. 

To: Grumpy Tooka

– well hello there, handsome

– a surprise you say? 

– care to tell me what it is? 

Not even a second after you sent the message, another response came through.

From: Grumpy Tooka

– Hardly a surprise if I tell you

– You'll like it

Now curious, you assumed it was another gift he often brought you from their missions. He'd tell you which planet he got it from, the mission they did beforehand, and other things he'd spend time venting about while you ate or lay in bed together. You always loved his gifts; they were simple yet incredibly thoughtful items that he claimed reminded him of you. You even had Wrecker help you to install a small shelf to accommodate every single thing, and hopefully, fill every space until you have to install another.

To: Grumpy Tooka

– can't wait!!

– just come inside my room in case i accidentally fall asleep, it's been a long day 

– stay safe out there, love you <3 

From: Grumpy Tooka

– Love you too, doll

– Get some rest first 

You turned off your datapad, yawning softly as you made your way towards your room. In the meanwhile, you could use a short nap before his arrival. Something told you whatever his surprise was, you needed enough energy for it.

────────────── ★ ───────────────

You stirred awake at the sound of footsteps outside your bedroom door, causing you to shift from your bed to sit up. 

It took you a second to recognize the footsteps. Familiar set of thuds that have walked around your apartment many times before. 

Immediately, you relaxed against your bed and waited for your door to open. The only ones who knew your apartment passcode were some of your friends and the boys, and remembering Crosshair’s message to you earlier confirmed the identity quickly.

Before you could rise to meet him, the door slid open and the dark silhouette of armor stood at the threshold in silence. It was indeed Crosshair, but something was… off. His usual silence wasn’t weighted in exhaustion. Tense was the right word. The straight set of his shoulders gave it away. You knew all of his tales by now, and you knew damn well something was definitely wrong—the silence was too much, his posture was pinstraight, and his helmet was still on.

You paused, eyeing him in suspicion. “Cross? You okay?”

No answer. 

Not even a tilt of his head or a breath. 

There were times when Crosshair came back from a mission, as tense as he was right now, and you’d know immediately why. Pent up frustration, a hidden injury he stubbornly hid from his brothers, or he wasn’t in the mood to talk. Amongst other things. Usually, you’d get up quickly to fix him a meal. Or if he didn’t have any appetite, you’d quietly strip him out of his armor and just hold him. You wouldn’t ask him any questions, letting your presence and touch coax him to come back to you. You were aware how loud his thoughts could be that words failed him—the only thing you could do was wait for him until he was ready.

Tonight, it seemed to be that same case.

Carefully, you tried to move from your bed to assess him.

But then he raised a hand, causing you to stay seated. 

You blinked, confused from his action. “What is it—”

He retrieved something from his back, and you tracked the movement until a long slip of fabric emerged from behind. It was red, their red, and against the dim light of your lamp, it seemed eerily similar to silk. It must've cost something from somewhere. Crosshair then approached the bed, stopping right in front of you with the silk in his gloved hand. 

Without a word, he held it towards you. 

You cast a glance at it, the gears in your head turning.

“Is this your gift?” you stared up at him, smiling in amusement. “It’s lovely, Cross. How should I use—”

He answered for you. No, demonstrated.

Because before the question was finished, the silk covered your eyes, bathing your vision in crimson until everything was swallowed in darkness. The action elicited a gasp from you. A shot of thrill ran down your spine at the realization. 

Oh. 

He’s never done this to you before. Kriff, you never even imagined this happening before.  

Suddenly, with the loss of your sight, you depended on other senses in wait for his next move.

Silence. 

Pure, tantalizing silence.

You held your breath, listening to your surroundings intently.

It hitched the moment an ungloved finger met your bottom lip, his thumb, the sound of something dropping cluttered on your floor. His helmet, you assumed. You focused on the way he began to stroke your lip, the faint sound of his breathing might’ve been the loudest thing in the room amidst the quiet. Then, his thumb dragged low, tugging your bottom lip until it was parted—enough for him to slip it inside and rest against your tongue.

On instinct, you sucked softly. 

A sharp inhale pierced the air, but no word still.

Fine.

You could get him talking.

Reaching outwards, your hands found their way around his codpiece. 

Even without your sight, you knew how to unlatch each piece like the back of your hand. Already mastered from countless experiences. He didn’t stop you as you worked. Sucking on his thumb gently whilst the armor pieces fell. When you grazed the bulge straining against his blacks, palming the hardening length, another hiss came from above. He still didn’t talk or make a move to stop you when your fingers dipped inside his waistband and tugged.

His thumb gently parted your mouth wider, his free hand threading across your hair. Gently urging you forward until the hot, blunt head of his cock kissed your lips.

You moaned around him, immediately sucking on his tip and letting the taste of him coat your tongue. 

In your imagination, you pictured him watching you with that intense look in his sharp eyes. Dark, heated, and piercing. When he’s frustrated, he won't waste time and start off rough. When he felt lazier than usual, he’d let you control the pace. Right now, it seemed he was handing you the reins again, which you had no complaints over.

The same thumb that’s been inside your mouth caressed your cheek, lightly tapping to signal you to take him deeper. And without hesitation, you obeyed. Inching slowly down his base, breathing in through your nose, until the tip of him finally reached the back of your throat. Before, you could hardly fit all of him inside your mouth without gagging or tearing up. Now, it was easier to take him in. Too easy in fact.

And since when did he feel thicker?

The observation lingered at the back of your mind but before you could dwell on it, he slowly pulled away.

A shuddering sigh escaped him, and you focused on keeping your cheeks sucked in.

You took him in hand, worshipping him just how he liked. 

Tracing the vein underneath his length, swirling your tongue around his tip, before taking him in again. The more he began to release those breathless noises, the more it fueled you to move faster. The hand on your head flexed, not gripping tightly, just enough to let you know he liked that. So you continued worshipping him with your tongue, keeping the pace steady and your cheeks sucked in. When you felt him throbbing, you returned to his tip and kept him on edge. Your hand pumped loosely around him, feeling his weight and length twitch the closer he got to his release.

But even after all that, he still wasn’t talking.

It was strange now that you knew how filthy his words could become once he’s lost in pleasure. How he’s equally praising and mocking you: how pretty you were with your mouth stuffed full of him, how he’s been thinking of it the whole time he’s away. But now it’s gone, rendered silent except for hitched gasps and choked grunts. But you didn’t ponder deeper on it anymore. Not when you could feel him nearing, not when you heard him whimper for the first time, and began bucking his hips inside your mouth to chase his release.kisses while caressing your legs.

After you came down from your high, you could hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears as your mind scrambled back in place.

“Kriff,” you let out a breathless laugh, completely in disbelief. “That was new. Stars, where’d you get this idea from—”

“It was suggested by Crosshair.”

“That makes sense. He knows a thing or two about…”

Wait.

Slowly, you raised the blindfold and looked down—

Messy brown hair. Round, brown eyes. Foggy goggles.

Your eyes widened, staring in shock as the realization hit. “Tech?”

The said man only nodded. “Yes, my dear?”

My dear. 

Not doll.

An array of emotions flitted through you in the span of seconds. 

Confusion, denial, then disbelief.

You glanced down, seeing the dark armor pieces still cluttered on the floor. Crosshair's helmet with them. When you glanced back to Tech, he was in fact wearing his brother’s armor. His chest piece, his pauldrons, but without his rifle in sight. Was this a dream? Why haven’t you woken up yet? What the fuck was going on?

But before you could demand an explanation, the door to your room slid open.

And your heart dropped.

Crosshair stood there, arms crossed, wearing a knowing grin on his sharp features. For a brief moment, it reminded you of the first time he visited your apartment many months ago. The only difference was… he was wearing Tech’s armor. 

It was suggested by Crosshair.

You gaped, speechless and horrified.

He leaned against your doorway, voice thick with dark amusement. “Did you like my surprise?” 

────────────── ★ ───────────────

You lay awake the next morning, processing the events that have occurred the night before.

Beside you, Crosshair slept peacefully with his arm draped across your stomach. His cheek was pressed on your forehead, breathing steady and light. On your other side, Tech snored quietly. Like his brother, his arm rested just below Crosshair’s, and his face was buried in your neck. Both were bare, marked, and equally spent. While you lay there, staring at your ceiling, convincing yourself if it was a dream or not.

How did it exactly come to this situation?

Well, you remembered staring at Crosshair after he had just made himself appear.

And after prolonged silence, it was Tech who finally broke it.

“It seems this arrangement might have upset her,” he finally set your legs down from his shoulders, his touch lingering just a second longer. “Perhaps we should explain ourselves.”

Crosshair sighed, finally entering the room with a casual flourish. “Calm down. She’s not upset—”

You sat up straight, aiming an incredulous look at them. “Not upset? Oh, I’m about to be more than upset if you don't explain yourselves.”

That caused both brothers to grimace. A tense look was exchanged between them, another silent conversation shared through their gazes alone. They must’ve thought whatever this plan was would only fly by you. Well, they thought wrong. Crosshair should’ve at least prepared you beforehand. Other than the ominous surprise he had messaged earlier, you absolutely had no clue what was happening. How long was this planned behind your back? Did Hunter and Wrecker know?

You pulled your legs up to your chest and hugged them close, lightly glaring at each of them. 

“It was my suggestion,” Crosshair muttered, finally breaking his stare from his brother. “Only because I’m aware he likes you too.”

That caught your attention quickly. “What?”

Tech cleared his throat, you fought the urge not to eye the remaining slickness staining his chin as he began to explain. “I will not deny it. My attraction towards your character has been a… problem. For quite some time now. I barely possess any knowledge on how to navigate through these unknown urges. All I know is that they are not unwanted. It is only a matter of time until Crosshair discovers and—”

“Oh, I knew all along.” The sniper remarked sardonically, rolling his eyes. “You weren’t so subtle yourself, genius. You really think I wasn’t watching every time you’re here?”

An indignant scoff escaped Tech, but you picked up on his flush deepening at the accusation.

Your brows furrowed, more confused than ever. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You didn’t know which the question was directed for, as long as you got a proper explanation. 

Crosshair shifted on his feet, letting his eyes fall on your exposed legs before averting them away.

“Because I don’t share.”

“And… what changed?”

“Because you like him too.”

“I don’t—”

“Doesn’t matter now,” the silver-haired clone shook his head dismissively. “I don’t share what’s mine. But I'm willing to do it once. Just so I can show him what he’s missing.”

Then, he was approaching your side.

You took your time studying him too. And stars, it wasn’t fair how he looked so good wearing Tech’s armor like that. Somehow, it fits him just right. You’d be lying if you said Tech didn’t look good in Crosshair’s armor too. Both of them wore the other devastatingly well, it annoyed you even more. Maybe they really were twins. And maybe, just maybe, you could let this pass with the right persuasion.

Fingers grabbed hold of your cheeks, now with the familiar rougher touch you were used to, forcing you to stare up and meet his darkening gaze. A shadow fell over his expression, irked and disappointed. As though you were the one who had done something against him.

“But you didn’t answer the question, doll.” Crosshair swept a thumb across your bottom lip. “Did you like my gift? And don’t lie.”

Your lips parted, unsure of what to answer.

Your mind told you no. 

That rational, logical part inside you screamed every single thing about this was wrong. But then there was the traitorous, curious part deep in your mind that wanted to know where this would lead to. Just once. What would it feel like to have them together? Was Crosshair truly fine with this? What’s going to happen after this—

A light tap brought you back to reality, and you only registered him patting your cheek.

When you blinked, you saw a smirk at the edge of his mouth. “Must’ve liked it. Was it so good you can’t think properly now? I always knew you were a whore.”

Tech sputtered from the foot of your bed. “Crosshair, that language is not necessary—”

But what he didn’t know was this was his brother’s language. The taunting, the mock sympathy, the cruelty. It was the language that got you thinking about him for days after that night in the refreshers back in 79’s. The same tone he used when he visited time and time again. And kriff did you miss it. The same man from that night finally resurfaced, and he was glaring down at you, waiting for an answer.

A shaky exhale slipped from your parted lips. “Yes.”

Both brothers tensed at your response.

Tension blanketed the room, almost palpable, as the three of you refused to move or breathe in fear of breaking it. 

But Crosshair saw it—that same glint in your eyes the night you lead him towards the refreshers—and he inhaled sharply. “Yes what, doll?”

His hand trailed down, grazing your jaw, until those long fingers encircled your throat. He gave an experimental squeeze, and you nearly whimpered at the pressure. His jaw clenched at the soft sound, at the way your lashes fluttered, and the pleading look you gave him. Not far from your bed, you saw movement from the corner of your eye. 

When you glanced over, you saw Tech watching you. 

Intensely, darkly, heatedly. 

“Eyes on me,” Crosshair squeezed your throat again, harder this time. “I’m the one talking. Yes what, doll?”

You swallowed your pride, and confessed. “I liked it. I liked your surprise.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did.” His face lowered, stopping just an inch away from yours. “I could hear you from outside the door. Every sound you made. Every call of my name. While another man was between your legs, I’m still the one on your mind.”

Your gaze dropped to his lips, unable to seal the distance with the hand around your neck. “Aren’t you gonna ask me the more important question?”

Hearing the challenge in your tone, his voice darkened. “That is?”

You smiled, playing with the fire now. “Did I like it better than yours?”

His whole body froze. Not even a twitch from his fingers. Not even a muscle in his jaw flexed.

Just pure, tantalizing silence. Again.

Until finally, he spoke. “Well? Was it better?”

Bravery (or stupidity) filled your nerves as you decided to lean closer, brushing your noses together. He didn’t stop you, but his grip tightened. A clear warning not to test him. Not to add more fuel to the fire. But you were enjoying yourself now. If you were going to get burned, they’re both going to burn with you. One way or another.

“It was,” you tilted your head, breathing the words into his parted lips. “He made me feel so good. I almost forgot my own name.”

A low, rumbling growl escaped him. “Is that how you thank me in return? Tch, maybe you should be punished instead.”

“Maybe,” you then threw a glance over your shoulder, making eye contact with Tech. “Tech would be more than happy to oblige.”

You could see the gears turning in his ingenious head, the clues slowly piecing together, before he straightened with newfound intent and purpose.

“I believe a behavioral correction can be arranged,” he began moving, circling around until you lost him behind your periphery. “She certainly needs to be educated for this unpleasant attitude.”

His breath ghosted your nape, making you shiver at the proximity.

At that moment, Crosshair saw the flash of excitement on your face and decided.

“I agree.”

He pulled you in by your neck, kissing you with every frustration and long buried jealousy he has concealed for months. And you could do nothing but melt. Allowing yourself to be burned from the heat of his mouth, the fire in his tongue, and the ember in his touch. If you’d be ash by the end of this night, then let it be done by their hands. Let it be by their shared hunger and possession. And let it be done together.

Behind you, Tech's mouth claimed your nape. One of his hands snaked its way between your legs, and you couldn’t believe how easily you parted them for him. His fingers found your center again, still soaking and sensitive from earlier, eliciting a shiver from your body. He began his exploration again, more confident than before, sliding from your clit down to your entrance.

You moaned into the kiss, spurring Crosshair to push himself deeper.

“Did you like it?” he rasped, parting briefly. “When you had him in your mouth?”

You nodded, chasing his lips. “I did.”

“Did you like it when he had his mouth on you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want him inside you?”

“Please.”

Crosshair clicked his tongue, unamused. “You really are a whore, aren’t you? Wanting two men at the same time. Soaked for the both of us. Greedy little thing.”

Oh, you missed this. You missed him. This meaner and rougher version of him. The one you met that night, who fucked you hard against the refresher sink, and made you unable to walk properly for days. You loved your Crosshair, the man who made you feel loved above all else, but this Crosshair was the soldier—brutal, merciless, and lethal. And now that he’s shown himself again, you’d take the opportunity to claim him.

Tech cursed behind you, the sound strained and breathless. “Fascinating. She responds to your words exceptionally well. Her body tells me she is more aroused when given degradation instead of—”

“I know,” came his brother’s dark chuckle. “I know about her little secret. She wants to be used. Treated like a whore. Well, it’s about time we oblige. Isn’t that right, doll?”

A high whimper poured from your throat, nodding. “Please.”

A cruel smirk appeared on his lips. “Good girl.”

He pulled away from you, hands making a quick work of his codpiece. “Get her on her knees.”

It took you a second to process the command wasn’t directed at you, but at his brother. And before you could formulate another thought, Tech tugged you from behind. Effortlessly manhandling your body until your hands were on the bed and your knees were spread, reminding you that he, too, was a soldier. The display of hidden strength only aroused you even more.

Now, you had Crosshair in front and Tech at the back.

Never in your wildest dreams did you expect this to happen.

You couldn’t even comprehend how Crosshair managed to persuade Tech of all people to agree to this.

Then it clicked, remembering his words not long ago. 

“You think he’s not tempted? Pay attention next time, doll.”

Kriff, so he wasn't joking?

Before you could dwell on it further, Crosshair finally released himself from his armor and blacks. 

“You can take it, right?” The mockery in his voice should’ve humiliated you. Instead, a shot of electricity ran through your spine. “Oh, you can. Tech already prepped you earlier. Shouldn’t be a struggle if he just goes right in.”

From behind, you felt Tech—raw, hard, and throbbing—gliding himself against you. Next were his hands, holding your hips in a possessive grip, using them to move himself back and forth. But he doesn’t slide right in just like how Crosshair said. You wished you could actually see his expression, but it gave you time to focus on the sight in front of you, watching the silver-haired soldier run a fist around himself. Long, steady, and firm strokes. His eyes never left your face, darkening as soon as you met his gaze.

The scene was both obscene and thrilling. 

“Enjoying yourself, doll?” he neared himself to your lips, sighing when you kissed his tip. 

“I am,” you kissed him again. “Looks like you’re enjoying yourself too.”

Crosshair tried to retort something when you suddenly sucked on his head, the only words coming out of him was a sharp hiss through gritted teeth. “Shut it.”

Okay.

As you were about to take him deeper, Tech slowly buried himself inside you. 

The three of you moaned in unison.

You could hear Tech’s strangled breathing from behind, fingers flexing on your hips, inching himself closer until he completely filled you. Meanwhile, Crosshair had a hard time suppressing his grunts the moment he reached the back of your throat. You missed the way both brothers shared another look from above, and before you could fully adjust to the sizes, they started moving.

The moan you released was muffled around Crosshair, and he groaned loudly in response.

“That's it. Made for this, huh?”

At first, their rhythm was uneven. Tech was a little inexperienced from the way he shallowly moved, while Crosshair immediately settled on his usual pace. Gradually, through that strange connection, the two found the right pace and you were left on cloud nine between them.

“Knew you could take it,” the sniper grinned down at you. Then to Tech. “Go rougher. Since she likes it that way.”

You physically felt the conflict rippling through Tech from the way he wavered, but it didn't take long for him to recover. 

Quietly, you heard him rasp next to your ear. 

“Do I have your permission?”

Unable to talk or nod, you could only push your hips back against him. 

Tech let out another strangled breath, before his restraint vanished. In the next second, he was pulling out and thrusting in exactly like his brother instructed. Rough, ruthless, and uncharacteristically domineering. If you told yourself before Tech could fuck like this, you would've never believed the words coming right out of your mouth. But it wasn't impossible, you knew he could easily pick up on a skill with a limited amount of time to learn it. And within the time he spent with you earlier disguised as his brother, he already has your body memorized.

“Have you thought of this before?” Crosshair directed the question at you, still wearing that arrogant smirk. “The two of us? Using you as we please?”

Tech cursed out loud when you clenched around him, grunting in effort to keep himself composed.“I believe she has. She—Maker—She is tightening around me in response—”

“You're not so innocent too, Tech. You've thought of this before.”

“Why are you inquiring this at this moment—”

“No need to be shy. I've seen the way you looked at her.”

Out of all the times they chose to bicker. If you could, you would've rolled your eyes at their antics. But with the way they're both moving, Tech's thorough thrusts and Crosshair’s punishing pace, all you could do was whimper helplessly. Their words got lost on you the moment your jaw started to ache. Your elbows could barely support yourself, trembling with exhaustion, but you forced yourself upright. Your noises didn't seem to gather their attention, so you resorted to squeezing around Tech again.

As expected, his words cut off with a grunt. “Ahh— She is— Are you close, my dear?”

Crosshair finally looked down on you, his hips never wavering. “Already? But we just started, doll. Don't think I'm done with you yet.”

He wiped the tears away from your eyes, clicking his tongue repeatedly. 

“But for now, I'll let Tech have his fill.”

Then, he removed himself from your mouth, as though granting you brief mercy.

Gasping for air, you finally let yourself drop against the bed. Your arms were shaking, face buried in the sheets as more noises poured from your mouth. Behind you, Tech readjusted himself and quickened his pace. Without Crosshair in his way, he could freely use you as he wished. And some part in you loved it—to be used and desired like this—to have these men, these soldiers, at your disposal. 

“Tell her,” Crosshair's voice hissed from above. “Tell her the things you told me about her.”

What?

Scrambling for purchase, you propped yourself on your elbows and glanced over your shoulder. “What—kriff—is he talking about, Tech?”

The eye contact caused him to lose focus, releasing that whimper again as his thrusts became more desperate. “He is—He is telling the truth. I have thought about this before. Shamelessly. Wrongfully. To want you when you are already with another man. My brother. I thought it would disappear on its own but— it never did.”

One of his hands came down to your spine, tracing the curve of it in a reverent manner.

“I have spent every moment observing you. Since the night we met, you simply intrigued me. However, you made your choice when you chose him. Thus, I settled on keeping my feelings at bay. I assumed it was nothing but a carnal urge, but this is one of the rarer times I was wrong.”

His other hand vanished between your legs.

The moment he circled a finger around your clit, stars burst behind your eyelids. The coil was unfurling again, and you clung to your sheets at the pleasure waiting to snap. 

“And I heard everything,” Tech continued, voice wrecked and breathless. “Every time I came to visit. I hear everything. Those sounds haunted me many nights. An irrational part within me yearned to be the cause of them.”

His confession, raw and unfiltered, combined with the relentless drag of his cock against that perfect spot inside you, sent you spiraling. Your walls fluttered and clenched hard around him, the pressure in your core snapping like a live wire.

“Tech!” you cried out, the sound breaking into a desperate sob as your second orgasm crashed over you. 

Your thighs shook violently, back bowing off the bed as pleasure tore through every nerve. You could feel yourself pulsing, soaking him, pulling him deeper with every involuntary spasm.

Tech’s rhythm faltered, a choked groan ripping from his throat. “Maker— you feel incredible—” 

His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as he drove in once more, burying himself to the hilt. His body tensed above you, muscles locking, and then he was coming with a low, shuddering moan that sounded almost surprised by its own intensity. You felt the hot pulse of him spilling deep inside you, hips jerking with each wave until he finally stilled, panting against your shoulder.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your mingled, ragged breaths. Your body was still trembling, floating in that hazy afterglow, when you felt large hands on your waist.

Crosshair didn’t give you time to recover.

With effortless strength, he pulled you from beneath his brother. Tech made a soft, reluctant sound as he slipped out of you, but he didn’t protest. In one smooth motion, Crosshair flipped you onto your back and settled between your spread thighs, caging you in with his arms. His silver hair fell messily over his forehead, and that dangerous, predatory smirk you knew so well curved his lips.

The look in his eyes was pure sin.

“We’re not done yet,” he murmured, voice low and rough with promise. His cock—hard and flushed—rested heavy against your slick, sensitive folds. He rocked his hips once, teasingly gliding along your wetness, coating himself in the mix of your release and Tech’s.

You shivered beneath him, still breathless, still pulsing from the aftershocks. “Cross…”

He leaned down, brushing his lips against your ear, teeth grazing the shell of it.

“You wanted both of us, doll. You’re going to get both of us.” His hand slid down to grip your thigh, hitching it higher around his waist. “And I’m going to remind you exactly who you belong to while he watches.”

Behind him, you caught a glimpse of Tech adjusting his goggles, eyes dark and fixed on the two of you, chest still heaving. The flush on his cheeks hadn’t faded.

Crosshair’s smirk widened as he notched the head of his cock at your entrance, pushing in just enough to make you gasp.

“We’re not done yet,” he repeated, voice dripping with dark promise as he sank into you in one smooth thrust.

You gasped at the familiar stretch, your body still sensitive and slick from Tech. He didn’t give you time to adjust—he never did when he was like this—setting a punishing rhythm that had the bed creaking beneath you.

He took you hard and deep, one hand pinning your wrists above your head while the other gripped your hip, angling you exactly how he wanted. 

“Eyes here,” he growled whenever your eyes fluttered toward Tech. “Keep them on me.” 

You came again under his relentless pace, clenching around him as he spilled inside you with a low, satisfied groan, marking you in the most primal way.

He barely pulled out before Tech was there, gentle but no less eager. The bespectacled clone flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up so you were on all fours. Again. His hands explored your back and thighs with curious reverence as he slid back into your soaked heat, a broken sound tumbling from his chest as his eyelids fluttered shut. 

“Fascinating,” he murmured, as though he was commenting on the weather. “How perfectly you accommodate both of us.” 

His thrusts were steadier, more experimental—finding every angle that made you whimper and tremble—while Crosshair knelt in front of you, feeding his cock back into your mouth.

They found their rhythm quickly, taking turns like that for what felt like hours. Crosshair would fuck you into the mattress while Tech watched, stroking himself and offering quiet, filthy observations that only made you wetter. Then Tech would take over, slow and thorough, while Crosshair kissed you breathless or whispered taunts in your ear about how greedy you were for both of them.

At one point they had you between them properly. Crosshair beneath you, buried deep in your walls, while Tech pressed in from behind, stretching you in a way that left you sobbing with overwhelming pleasure. They moved in sync, one pulling out while the other pushed in, their hands everywhere, mouths claiming every inch of skin they could reach. Crosshair’s mocking praise mixed with Tech’s breathless analysis until your mind went blissfully blank.

You lost count of how many times they made you come—on their tongues, their fingers, their cocks. They switched positions fluidly. You riding Tech while Crosshair fucked your mouth, bent over the edge of the bed with Crosshair behind you and Tech’s fingers working your clit, pressed between their bodies in a messy, sweaty tangle as they both chased release again and again.

By the time the first hints of Coruscant’s dawn filtered through the window, all three of you were spent.

You lay in the middle of the wrecked bed, limbs tangled, skin sticky with sweat and release. Crosshair’s arm was heavy across your waist, his face buried in your neck as his breathing evened out into sleep. Tech curled against your other side, one hand resting possessively on your thigh, goggles discarded somewhere on the floor. His soft snores were already starting.

You stared at the ceiling for a long moment, body aching in the best way, mind hazy with exhaustion and satisfaction. A small, dazed smile tugged at your lips.

Your mouth moves before your brain catches up. “Simon—”

He stops, buried balls deep inside you. His eyes lift to yours from beneath the black smear of his paint. Brown eyes gone flat and dangerous.

“What?”

Your fingers swipe at his throat, and then pull back to show him your now candied fingertips. “You’re bleeding.”

For a second, he just stares at you.

Then his mouth shifts beneath the mask. “S’not mine.”

The room seems to go airless around you. For a moment, your brain does not know what to do with the words.

Not mine.

They land somewhere distant - muffled by euphoria and the heat of him still seated inside you. They should mean something immediately - they should send you upright, sober you, sharpen you. But you’re too gone beneath him, too pliant and overheated and pinned, your thighs trembling around his waist while he stays buried deep enough that every breath you take has to move around him.

So you just stare at him.

At the dark paint around his eyes, at the blood smear, at the shape of his shoulders above you. You stare long enough that the unusual details begin arranging themselves in whatever clear space you’ve got left in your mind.

His gloves, first.

They’re clean. Fresh black tactical gloves, one of them still gripping your hip as he stares down at you in pause. You can’t shake the feeling that they’re different - you know his kit. You know the worn seams, the scuffs, the little frays on the knuckles from use. These aren’t the pair he wore earlier.

Your gaze flicks lower.

His shirt, too.

Not the one from briefing. Not the one with the faded shoulder seam and the dust at the collar. This one is clean, dark, newly pulled on in a hurry. You catch a faint whiff of barracks detergent and bathroom soap with every move he makes.

He cleaned up.

The thought comes through the haze in pieces.

Simon cleaned himself up before he came here but somehow, he missed this. One dark smear beneath his jaw.

You swallow. Your voice comes out thin. “What happened?”

Simon watches your mouth form the words.

Your breathing sounds too loud now, while his somehow stays perfectly even - like he isn’t pressed into you to the hilt - like he isn’t the reason your thighs are shaking around his waist. Like he didn’t come to your room with another persons blood still drying in the place he forgot to wash. He lowers himself closer and the mattress dips beneath the weight of him.

His masked mouth brushes the corner of yours, not quite kissing you but just hovering there - dragging the rough fabric against your skin as he speaks.

“What happened was,” he pauses. “Graves opened his fuckin’ mouth.”

A cold thread winds through the heat in your stomach.

You go still beneath him, even though your cunt is still fluttering helplessly around the thick of him. The name alone does something ugly to the room. Sours the air. Pulls the world back in around the two of you.

“What—” you have to stop to breathe. Your nails dig into his shoulder. “What did he say?”

Simon’s hand slides slowly from your hip.

His palm moves over your waist, up your ribs, dragging goosebumps in its wake. He maps you like he already knows every reaction he is about to get - like he can feel the exact second your pulse jumps. His gloved fingers skim the base of your throat and settle there.

Thumb resting over your pulse. Counting it.

“He said he’d wondered what you sounded like when you begged.”

Your breath locks. You blink at him, stupidly.

For a second, you can’t reconcile the sentence with the room you’re in. With Simon above you. With Graves’s name in Simon’s mouth and blood under Simon’s jaw and your own pulse hammering against his thumb like it wants to betray you.

But Simon says it like he has had the words sitting behind his teeth for hours. Like he has been waiting to put them somewhere. Like he needs you to understand exactly what happened to the man who said them.

“He said,” Simon continues, each word dragged low through his teeth, “that a mouth like yours would be wasted on 141.”

Your nails bite into his shoulder.

“I-I—“ you whimper. “Si—“

His hips move before you can say anything else.

A slow, devastating thrust that punches the air out of you and leaves the rest of his name caught uselessly in your throat. He watches you take it. Watches your face twist. Watches the thought you were trying to form scatter completely.

“That Price needs to put you in your place,” he hisses through his teeth. “That he’d have had you on your knees by now.”

Your stomach twists.

You shake your head, but you don’t even know what you’re denying. Graves. Simon. The heat blooming under your skin. The fact that the words should disgust you cleanly, but Simon’s voice saying them like a death sentence makes something dark and shameful coil inside you.

He pulls out just to thrust in again.

Harder this time - hard enough to break the breath right out of you. Enough to make the headboard creak traitorously behind you. Enough to make your thighs tighten around his waist before you can stop them.

Simon feels it.

“Then he looked at me,” he says, voice dropping into something ruined and vicious, “and asked if I’d taught you to take orders.”

Your heart slams so hard you feel it in your throat, pulsing viscously under his palm. The room narrows to three things - Simon’s eyes, the blood on his neck, and the place where he is still holding you down.

There is blood on him.

Someone else’s blood.

Graves’s blood.

The realization comes slowly at first, then all at once.

You see it too clearly: Simon standing there silent while Graves ran his mouth. Simon listening. The moment the Ghost stops being a man in a room and becomes a consequence. You see the gloves he must have taken off. The blood on the old pair. The careful cleanup after. The way he must have washed his hands, changed, checked himself in the mirror, decided he was clean enough to come to you.

Clean enough. Except for the one place he missed.

Simon watches the realization move across your face.

“Oh God.” You force the words out. “What did you do?”

Your voice is barely a whisper.

His answer is immediate. “I hit him.”

The answer is too simple, too small for the blood under his jaw and the hell in his eyes and that is only because you know Simon.

You know the careful economy of him - the terrifying restraint. The discipline carved into his bones so deep it has become part of his breathing. Simon does not hit men because he is angry. He does not waste movement. He does not lose control unless something in him has already decided the consequence is worth it.

He ends things because he has weighed the cost and found it acceptable.

Your fingers curl tighter in his shirt. “How bad?”

For the first time, something almost like satisfaction passes through his eyes.

His hips roll in one slow, merciless stroke and your back arches before you can stop it. You spread your legs and take him deeper; helplessly, embarrassingly, betraying every sensible thought trying to form in your head.

“How—“ you try to ask again, but the question fractures halfway through another thrust.

Simon lowers his mouth to your ear. “Bad enough Price had to pull me off him.”

Your stomach flips in something stupid. Fear should come first.

It doesn’t.

It should be horror. Concern. Anger. Maybe all three. You should shove at his chest. Demand to know if he’s lost his fucking mind. Tell him he can’t do that, can’t put his hands on Graves over his disgusting mouth and a half-formed threat. Can’t turn command into a blood sport. Can’t risk his place, his rank, Price’s trust, your trust, just because another man said something deserving yet ultimately meaningless.

But what blooms under your ribs is not sensible enough to be outrage - it is hot. It is fucking shameful.

It is dark and possessive and awful in the exact shape of him.

Because he heard another man talk about you. Heard Graves put his hands on you in theory. Heard him degrade you, heard him imagine you on your knees, your mouth, your begging, and decided violence was the only answer he trusted.

Your body betrays you before your pride can stop it - a tight little clench around him.

Simon feels it. Of course he does.

He stills above you, and somehow that is worse than movement. He’s pressed to the hilt again, the pressure of him so intense now it leaves your breath caught uselessly behind your teeth. His eyes narrow in something that sees the betrayal before you can hide it.

Your face burns.

“No,” you whisper, before he even says anything.

His mouth shifts beneath the mask. “Oh.”

The sound is low. Cruel in its understanding.

Your pulse kicks under his thumb. “Simon—”

“There she is.”

Your breath stutters, caught somewhere between a moan and a denial, and you hate that he hears both. Hate that he can read you so easily. Hate that your body has already answered him before your pride can even get its feet under it.

Simon looks down at the place where your legs have tightened, then slowly back up to your face. It’s a deliberate act; he is taking inventory of every betrayal.

“You liked that.” He croons.

You shake your head, but it’s weak. Useless. Barely more than the brush of your hair against the pillow.

“N-no.”

His thumb presses against your throat, not hard, just enough to feel the wild little flutter of your pulse.

“Liar.”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. You can’t find a single defence, a single outrage. No clever thing you can throw between you and the truth and it is all because he is still inside you. Still wearing fresh gloves like he thought that would be enough to keep you from knowing. Still carrying that one missed smear of Graves’s blood under his jaw like a secret he failed to bury properly.

And now he has caught you reacting to it.

Caught the hitch in your breath. The clench of your cunt. The heat climbing up your neck. The way your whole body went soft and greedy around him the second you understood what he had done.

Simon’s eyes go darker. Hungry in a way that feels worse than anger.

“You should be pissed at me,” he murmurs.

His hips pull back an inch - just enough to make you feel the loss before he sinks back in, slow and devastating, until your hands shift to grab at his shoulders because there is no dignity left in you. No clean line of thought. No clever answer.

“You should be callin’ me reckless.”

Another thrust. Your eyes squeeze shut.

His hand leaves your throat and for half a second, you think he is letting you breathe. That is until both of his hands find your own wrists and pin them firmly above your head.

Your eyes snap open to meet his, expecting full satisfaction, but what you see is worse.

It’s all of him - the width of his shoulders blotting out the dim light, the black of his mask, the hard set of his jaw beneath it, the blood under his neck, those steady eyes watching you like he has already decided exactly how much of you he is going to take apart before he is finished.

“You should be asking what the fuck I was thinkin’,” he says, and you can almost hear the grin in it.

You swallow. “You can’t—”

He moves again, and the words break apart in your mouth.

Your back arches and your fingers curl helplessly against his grip. Your knees shift higher around his ribs, dragging him closer instead of pushing him away, because apparently your body has no interest in helping you survive this with any pride intact.

Simon’s eyes drop to your mouth, then back up to the glass in yours.

“I can’t what?” He murmurs.

You try.

You really do.

You drag the sentence up through the wreckage of yourself, but he is too deep, too thick, too much. The stretch of him keeps interrupting every thought before it can become language.

“You can’t just—” your breath catches on a thrust. “You can’t hit him because he—”

“Because he talked about fucking you?” Your whole body jolts. His eyes burn into yours. “If that’s what you mean, say it proper. Like you fuckin’ believe it.”

You can’t.

Your mouth parts, but all that comes out is a broken little sound when he grinds deeper, cockhead bullying your walls slow enough to make you feel every inch of him, cruel enough to leave you trembling closer to the edge. Any sensible thought is drowned out by the wave of bliss washing over you.

Simon makes a low sound. A rough breath leaves him.

“Too far gone to scold me now?”

You glare at him, or try to. It doesn’t land.

And it didn’t stand a chance, either. Not like this - not with your lips parted and your eyes glassy and cunt stretched pathetically around him. Not with your wrists trapped above your head and your hips still trying to meet him every time he gives you another devastating inch.

“I’m, mmff—serious,” you whisper.

“So am I.”

“Simon—”

“No.” His voice cuts low through the room. “You don’t get to say my name like that while you’re grippin’ me tighter for it.”

Your breath leaves you in a gasp.

He feels the way you clench again, and you see it hit him. See the slight flare of his nostrils beneath the mask. The way his eyes flutter for just a second. The way something brutal and possessive moves through him before he can smooth it down.

“Mhm. Yeah.” His voice drops into something rougher. “Fuckin’ problem, you are.”

Your face burns hotter.

You want to deny it - you want to shove at his chest and tell him he’s wrong. Tell him it’s just your body. Just the position. Just the fact that he has you pinned and overstimulated and too cockdrunk to think straight.

But it’s useless because Simon would know it’s a lie.

He moves again, slow and deep, and the denial dies somewhere behind your teeth.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Nothing clever now?”

“Mmff.” Your nails dig into your own palms where he holds your wrists down. “Shut up.”

His eyes flash. “There she is.”

“I mean it.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

He gives you another measured thrust, and your voice breaks around a gasp. Simon watches it happen with only the most intent focus.

“Try that again.”

You hate him a little. You want him too much for it to matter.

“You’re—” you inhale sharply when he pulls out almost all the way and then back presses in hard enough to make the mattress shift beneath you. “You’re going to get yourself benched.”

“Probably.”

“Price is going to—”

“Already did.”

You blink up at him, breathless and stupid. “What?”

His thumb drags once along the inside of your wrist.

“Read me the riot act.”

Your nerves jump at that. “And you came here?”

“Yes.”

Something in your chest tightens. “Why?”

Simon looks at you for a long second and the room almost seems to shrink around his silence. Your head swims with all of it; the blood under his jaw, the fresh gloves, the heat of him still locked between your thighs.

When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter. “Because I had to see you.”

God. You think he’s lost his mind.

“Simon—“ your back arches and his mouth falls to your neck. “That’s not—this isn’t—“

He lowers himself closer to you, folding you deeper into the mattress.

“You think I lost it because he insulted you?” You don’t answer. His thumb strokes once over the pulse flying at your wrist. “No, sweet’eart.”

His hips move again, slow enough to be cruel, deep enough to make your eyes flutter.

“I lost it because he thought about touching what’s mine.”

The words hit you low and you make a sound you do not mean to make. Your cunt pulses at the word. Mine. A catastrophic vulnerability to a word you will never ever tire of hearing him say.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “That’s what you like, yeah?”

You squirm under him, helpless. “Simon—”

“He said your name like he had a right to it.” His voice roughens. “Like he’d survive putting his hands on you.” The next thrust punches a feral moan out of you, and the pace turns to something almost vicious. “I had to let him know what mine felt like first.”

You moan, eyes shut. Helpless and needy as a whore.

He pauses again. One hand leaves your wrists and grips your jaw. “Look at me.”

You do.

“Another man touches you like this,” he whispers, a lethal rasp through his teeth, “and I’ll break every finger he owns.”

You shiver. His eyes flick down over your face, your mouth, the wrecked shape of you beneath him.

“And if he talks about you like that again?”

You barely manage the whisper. “What?”

Simon presses his forehead to yours. “I won’t stop at his face.”

For a long second, neither of you moves. Then he rolls his hips, and the whole world narrows back down to him - his body over yours, his hand at your jaw, Graves’s blood drying on his neck, and the awful, devastating tenderness in the way Simon kisses you like he is still trying not to become the worst version of himself.

One of your hands slip out from under his to touch the smear of blood again. Simon catches it and pins it back beside your head.

“Leave it.”

Your breath trembles. “Why?”

His eyes darken. “Because I want you to remember what happens when a man forgets who you belong to.”

And in the back of your mind, you think maybe you should argue. Maybe you should tell him you don’t belong to anyone or that this is crazy or that he’s going to get you both transferred - but then he does what he always does and starts fucking you deep and hard and mean - and your body reacts before your pride can save you.

Simon huffs a quiet, humorless breath. “That’s what I thought.”

Then he kisses you - filthy, possessive, furious, and fucks you like Graves is still in the room and Simon needs the whole world to understand it.

Hunter took over, laying it out in his steady, matter-of-fact way: a heavily guarded resort on Corellia, a contact who only worked with “registered guests,” the cover being a couple in a hotel suite.

“So, will you do it?” Echo asked, leaning on the bar.

“No,” you said instantly with a scoff. “Just because I know him doesn’t mean I want to spend an entire mission holding hands and pretending we’re madly in love. And did you even ask him if he’s okay with this?”

“Oh, he already agreed,” Wrecker said with a big grin.

Your head whipped toward Crosshair. “You what?”

He shrugged one shoulder, unbothered. “And hey,” Wrecker then added, “he cleans up real good.”

“Not the point,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face.

“It’s good money,” Hunter reminded you, knowing exactly how to push.

You groaned, glaring at each of them in turn. “Fine. But if this blows up in our faces, I’m blaming all of you.”

“Atta girl,” Wrecker said, giving you a pat on the back that nearly sent you into the bar.

The others drifted off to start planning, leaving you and Crosshair alone. He finally pushed off the bar, sauntering past you as he pulled the toothpick from his mouth.

“Don’t worry,” he drawled, his voice low and mocking, “I’ll be a good husband for you.”

You opened your mouth to shoot back, but he’d already walked away.

This was going to be interesting.

When the Marauder settled down in the landing bay at the location, you and Crosshair stood side by side at the open hatch, bags in hand, both wearing expressions that could curdle milk.

“Maker,” Wrecker said from behind you, grinning in amusement, “You two’ve got faces like a slapped arse.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response as Crosshair just gave him a long, flat look that said Wrecker was lucky they were on a timetable.

The hatch closed behind them and the ship began to lift away, the sound of its engines fading as the Marauder disappeared into the hazy Corellian skyline.

You let out a quiet huff, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “Well,” you muttered, “guess we’re doing this.”

Without waiting for him, you started up the paved path toward the resort. At least the place was nice. More than nice, actually.

The white stone gleamed in the sun, balconies lined with planters spilling over with flowers in deep reds and golds. There was even an elaborate fountain glittered in the courtyard. It was the kind of place you could almost enjoy if you weren’t here to play pretend.

You were halfway up the front steps when Crosshair’s voice stopped you.

“Wait.”

You turned just enough to give him a questioning look. “What?”

His brown eyes scanned the building like he was sighting a target. “You remember the plan?”

You rolled your eyes and resumed walking. “Yes. Do you?”

“Just making sure.” He replied, his mouth twitching in slight annoyance.

The two of you were… sort of friends. He was quiet, moody, and impossible to read, but you’d learned to tolerate him. In his own prickly way, he seemed to tolerate you too.

Crosshair fell into step beside you, lowering his voice as you reached the ornate glass doors. “We’re here to meet Sabaz Trill. Dinner with him tonight, part of some couples’ mixer the resort is hosting. You smile, you nod, you make it look like we belong here.”

“And tomorrow?” you prompted as he maps out the plan again just for reassurance.

“That’s when we get the intel on the spice shipment,” he finished. “Clean, simple.”

You gave him a side glance. “With us? There’s always drama.”

He snorted faintly but didn’t argue. You reached for the buzzer beside the grand glass doors when Crosshair’s hand landed lightly on your upper arm.

“Wait.”

You froze mid-reach and turned your head toward him, irritation slipping into your voice. “What now? The sooner we do this, the sooner it’s over.”

His eyes flicked past you toward the courtyard. “We need to act like a couple,” he murmured, his tone low enough not to carry.

You frowned but then followed his gaze. Right. All around you, other guests strolled hand-in-hand or with arms linked, smiling like they were in a holonet romance. Every one of them screamed we’re in love and on vacation. You and Crosshair on the other hand…

You bit your lip and nodded. “Right. Okay. Uh…”

The pause dragged, the two of you standing stiff as statues. You could probably fake coupledom with someone like Wrecker which would probably be more easy and natural. But Crosshair? Tall, quiet, and perpetually unimpressed? It felt like trying to warm up to a wall.

“Should we hold hands?” he asked finally, rubbing the back of his neck and looking very uncomfortable.

You hesitated. “Uh… no.”

His gaze dropped, not offended exactly, but definitely unreadable.

Guilt gnaws you, so you quickly held out your travel bag instead. “You could carry my bag for me, though?” Your smile was a little sheepish, a silent peace offering.

One dark brow arched at you, but then his mouth curved into the faintest smirk. “Fine.”

He took the strap from your shoulder in one smooth motion, slinging it over his own like it weighed nothing. Somehow, that small shift of just him holding your belongings made the whole act feel just a little more real.

“Better?” he asked, the corner of his mouth still twitching upward.

“Better,” you admitted, trying not to overthink why his smirk made your stomach swirl.

You both walked up to the reception desk, where a young, overly-joyous man practically beamed at you like the sun itself had possessed his face.

You tried to match his enthusiasm with a polite smile. Crosshair, of course, did not. His expression screamed I hate every second of this before the poor man had even spoken.

“Hello, and welcome to Under the Hearts Hotel! How can I help you?” the receptionist chimed.

“Hi,” you begin, doing your best impression of a cheerful tourist. “We have a room and meal booked for tonight?”

“Perfect! What name is it under?”

You froze. Right. The names. No one had told you what cover identities you were supposed to use.

For a heartbeat too long, your brain went completely blank. Then, mercifully, Crosshair leaned in ever so slightly: “Eres.”

You let out the tiniest breath of relief, glancing at him with a quick, grateful nod. He didn’t acknowledge it, eyes fixed on the desk clerk like he was ready to shoot the man for smiling too much.

The receptionist’s fingers tapped away at the monitor, his grin never faltering. Honestly, you were starting to wonder if it was painted on. Then he looked back up, eyes positively sparkling.

“Ah yes, here we are! The honeymoon suite — booked and ready for you! Rose petals on the bed and champagne on ice.”

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

You turned slowly to Crosshair, who looked equally frozen. Neither of you had been prepared for that particular detail.

The receptionist chuckled lightly at your strained expressions. “Oh dear, trouble in paradise already?”

Crosshair’s brow furrowed instantly. “Is that any of your business?”

“Cross!” you hissed under your breath, snapping out of your horror long enough to act. Quickly, you slid your arm through his and plastered on a sweet smile, tightening your grip on him — not a reassurance, but a don’t you dare warning.

“Sorry about him,” you said brightly, practically grinding your teeth through the smile. “We’ve… well, we’ve been traveling a long way to get here. Just need to put our feet up for a bit. Don’t we, my love?”

Your grip on his arm tightened enough to make the point.

Crosshair closed his eyes, jaw tight, then forced the stiffest excuse for a smile you’d ever seen. “Yes. Sorry. Long day.”

“Of course, of course,” the receptionist chirped, undeterred. He slid the room fob across the counter, still smiling that terrifyingly wide grin. “No worries at all. Our jacuzzi baths will wash that stress away in no time!”

You snatched up the fob like it was a lifeline. “Wonderful, thank you,” you utter quickly, already tugging Crosshair by the arm toward the lifts before he could open his mouth again.

Once you were safely out of earshot, you released him with an annoyed huff, spinning to face him. “So much for acting like a couple, Cross.”

He arched an eyebrow at you, unimpressed. “What? He asked, I answered.”

You threw your hands up at his lack of care. “Fantastic. Just fantastic. At this rate, they’ll kick us out before we even make it to dinner. Great job, husband.”

He smirked then, sharp and smug, clearly enjoying himself now that you were wound up. “Relax, sweetheart. Nobody’s buying the ‘happy couple’ act if you keep hissing at me like that.”

“Oh, don’t you start—” you groaned, stomping into the lift as soon as the doors slid open.

It’s not long until you get to the suite and as the key fob beeped and the door slid open with a smooth hiss, you both stepped inside and instantly froze.

The room looked like something straight out of a holovid romance: soft golden lighting, a massive circular bed in the center draped with pristine white sheets, rose petals scattered across the duvet, and a bucket of champagne on ice by the bedside table.

You blinked once. Twice. “...kriff,” you muttered under your breath.

Crosshair didn’t say anything, but you felt the shift beside you. His usual scowl faltered into something halfway between disbelief and annoyance. He let out the faintest exhale, almost like a laugh, before muttering dryly: “Subtle.”

Your eyes landed on the bed again, and your brain screeched to a halt. One bed. Of course it was one bed. It was the honeymoon suite. But at least there was a loveseat just at the end of it.

You didn’t point it out. Neither did he. The both of you just stood there, staring at the sheer lavishness of it all, like maybe if you ignored the obvious, it’d disappear.

You tugged at the collar of your shirt, suddenly aware of how warm the room felt. Or maybe that was just you. The whole setup—the petals, the champagne, the bed that looked entirely too inviting—was making your skin tinge in the worst possible way. Heat crawled up your neck, and you quickly turned toward the bathroom.

“Maybe I’ll, uh… check out the shower,” you said quickly, voice a little higher than intended. “Y’know. Before the dinner.”

Crosshair quirked an eyebrow at you, as if he could hear the nerves bleeding through your tone. He glanced toward the large jacuzzi tub visible just through the bathroom’s frosted glass door and gave a faint snort.

“Not good enough for the roses and bubbles?”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. “I’m thinking cold shower.”

The shower hissed to life, steam curling around the refresher stall as you stepped in. The hot water poured down your shoulders, washing away the travel grime and some of your stress. Eyes closed, you let out a soft sigh and tilted your head back.

But as the room filled with steam, another thought nudged its way in, uninvited. You hadn’t locked the door. Crosshair could come in at any moment. And for some reason… the idea didn’t repulse you.

It intrigued you.

Your pulse spiked at the thought of him stepping through the fog, his sharp eyes narrowing as they trailed over you, water dripping down your skin, steam sticking hair to your face. Would he hesitate? Or would he… join you?

You caught yourself sucking in a breath and immediately bow your head under the spray. “Get a grip,” you hissed at yourself, flicking water from your lashes. Maker above, what was wrong with you? Crosshair wasn’t someone you ever saw in that light. He was moody, sarcastic, aloof. Hardly your first thought for a lover. And yet… now, in this ridiculous hotel room, with only one bed and all the pretending you’d have to do…

No. Stop.

With a sharp twist, you turned the dial colder. The shock of icy water stung your skin, snapping you out of the fantasy as you scrubbed your face. By the time you shut the refresher off, the steamy images were shoved firmly to the back of your mind.

You dried quickly, wrapping yourself in one of the plush white robes—ridiculously soft, of course, because this was that kind of place—and wrung a towel through your damp hair.

When you stepped back into the room, Crosshair was leaning against the balcony railing. His posture was casual, but his eyes were distant, scanning the horizon like he always did. Always watching. Always wary.

“Like the view?” you asked, attempting something lighthearted as you rubbed at your hair.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he turned his head toward you and stilled.

Not long. Barely a heartbeat. But you caught it: the way his gaze flicked over you in that robe, the way his jaw tensed. It was gone almost immediately, his expression flattening back into its usual disinterest.

“It’s alright,” he muttered, eyes snapping back to the balcony. His voice was just a touch lower, rougher. “We’ll be safe here tonight.”

“I should hope so, if the client booked us,” you chuckled, padding over to the bed and perching on the edge. The mattress dipped under you, petals shifting with a faint rustle. It was ridiculously comfortable.

You tilted your head at him. “But I bet you brought your sniper anyway. Didn’t you?”

Crosshair’s lips twitched at the corner smugly as he moved back inside. Without a word, he crouched by his pack and unzipped it, pulling out the long, gleaming rifle like it was an extension of himself.

You let out a short laugh. “Figures. Romantic suite, rose petals, champagne… and you’re cuddling your blaster.”

He glanced up at you with that smirk which again made your stomach swirl. “At least it doesn’t snore.”

You scoffed, tossing the towel at him. He caught it one-handed, but instead of throwing it back, he just set it aside, unbothered. Somehow, that smug little win of his only made your chest feel hotter.

Crosshair disappeared into the refresher with a muttered, “Don’t touch my rifle,” which gave you just enough time to get yourself sorted.

The dress slipped smoothly over your skin, the fabric hugging in all the right places without being too much. Knee-length, off the shoulder—simple, elegant, and just enough to look like you belonged in a place like this. You dried your hair, styled it with a little extra care (because Maker forbid you look out of place next to a table of polished couples), and added a touch of makeup for good measure.

You’d barely finished adjusting the hem of your dress when Crosshair reappeared. His damp silver hair had been combed back neatly, and he’d traded his blacks for a crisp white shirt and fitted black slacks. And for a second, you forgot yourself.

He stood at the mirror, tugging at his collar and you just couldn’t stop your gaze from dragging over him. Simple, understated, but undeniably… handsome. You swallowed the thought down and busied yourself with your earrings, pretending you weren’t staring.

Neither of you said much as you left the suite. The quiet stretched between you as you moved through the elegant halls; both of you so out of place with the expensive décor. Crosshair walked with his hands tucked behind his back, eyes flicking here and there, ever alert.

Then, almost without thinking, your arm slipped through his. The movement was instinctive and you found yourself leaning closer, your shoulder brushing against his as if it had always been that way. He stiffened for a moment, but he didn’t pull away.

By the time you reached the dining hall, it was already in motion. A long, polished table stretched across the room, covered in glittering glassware and plates that looked far too pristine to ever eat from. Couples mingled and chatted with easy smiles. You had expected Sabaz Trill. You hadn’t expected all of this.

Crosshair leaned down, his voice low in your ear. “Didn’t realise we’d be dining with the whole kriffing hotel tonight.”

You gave his arm the faintest squeeze. “Smile and nod. Let me do the talking.”

He shot you a look, dry as bone. “Wasn’t planning on anything else.”

Together, you approached the table, sliding into your seats that were the only ones available. The schmoozing began almost instantly. Other couples introduce themselves, complimenting your dress and asking about “your story.” You smiled, laughed, told little fabrications as if you’d been rehearsing them for years. Crosshair played his part the only way he knew how: quiet nods, forced polite smiles. If you're lucky, he will push out the occasional one-word reply.

Then Sabaz Trill himself turned his gaze on you.

“Ah, there she is,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying over the chatter. “My dear, you look radiant tonight.”

Before you could reply, he lifted a bottle and poured wine into your glass—only yours.

The crimson liquid swirled in the crystal, catching the candlelight as you blinked at him, a polite smile plastered onto your face. Crosshair’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly on his napkin, but his expression didn’t change.

You raised the glass lightly in thanks, meeting Sabaz’s eyes with the same warmth you’d given everyone else. “You’re too kind. I should be careful though,” you added with a playful lilt. “A few more of these, and I might embarrass myself in front of the table.”

The other couples chuckled politely. Sabaz didn’t. He only smirked, his gaze lingering on you just a beat too long before shifting back to his plate.

Crosshair’s jaw ticked. You felt it more than saw it.

You smiled at Crosshair, soft and sweet and the way a woman in love ought to. But his eyes were elsewhere, distant. It made your chest pinch a little.

Slipping your hand beneath the table, you let your fingers brush his knee before resting there with the lightest pressure. It startled him just slightly, meeting your gaze.

“Are you okay, my stars?” you murmured.

The words left your lips in the same careful tone you’d used all night but this time, it didn’t sound like part of the act. Not to him, anyway. For the briefest moment, his chest tightened.

“Fine,” he answered steadily. “Just taking it in.”

You didn’t believe him, not entirely, but you didn’t press. Before you could, the couple seated across from you smiled warmly, drawing you into conversation.

“So,” the woman leaned forward, “How did you two meet?”

You let out a little laugh, your hand still ghosting Crosshair’s knee as you launched into the story you’d rehearsed.

“Oh, it’s hardly romantic,” you said, feigning modesty. “We met when I was visiting Coruscant for work. I was lost and asked him for directions. He was polite, but very blunt. I thought he was the rudest man I’d ever met.”

The table chuckled, and you reached for Crosshair’s hand on the table, lacing your fingers through his.

“But,” you continued, glancing at him with that same staged fondness, “I ran into him again two days later at a café. He bought me a caf to make up for being so… well, him. And we’ve been together ever since.”

The woman sighed, clearly enamoured. “That’s wonderful. Fate has a way of working, doesn’t it?”

Her husband, however, leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “And have you given him any children yet?”

The question caught you so off guard you awkwardly laughed aloud, shaking your head quickly. “No… not yet. We only recently got married.”

“Well,” the man chuckled, lifting his glass, “give it time, eh? And I assume you don’t have to work, not with a husband like that. He looks like the type who brings home the credits while you get to lounge about. Lucky thing.”

Your jaw ticked, but you forced your expression into one of pleasant neutrality. Beside you, Crosshair set down his knife with deliberate care.

“I don’t know about luck,” he begins, his voice calm but carrying an edge sharp enough to slice the air. “She does more than her share. I’d be nowhere without her.”

The man faltered, clearly not expecting such a clean rebuttal. Crosshair didn’t flinch or waver, just leaned back with the ghost of a smirk tugging his lips.

“I’d suggest you don’t underestimate her,” he added smoothly, raising his fork to his mouth. “Wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself.”

The table chuckled again, but this time the sound was thinner, laced with unease. You, meanwhile, found yourself fighting a different reaction entirely. The sudden, overwhelming urge to drag him back upstairs and–

Okay, stop.

Leaning in, close enough that your lips just barely brushed the shell of his ear, you whispered, “Thank you for that.”

Crosshair didn’t so much as twitch, though you felt the faintest tilt of his head toward you, like he was subtly indulging the warmth of your breath. “No need. I’m just saying the truth.”

Your chest gave an odd little pull at that, but you covered it with another soft smile as you sat back, reaching for your knife and fork to focus on the meal placed before you. You ate in silence for a few minutes, letting the rich flavours distract you, until Sabaz’s voice broke through the murmur of the table.

He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. “Tomorrow,” he said, “we can speak of… private matters. No need for heavy words tonight. But I trust you understand what I mean.”

His words were subtle enough not to draw suspicion, but clear enough for you to understand. You inclined your head smoothly, lifting the delicate glass of wine to your lips.

“Of course,” you replied. “Tomorrow.”

Sabaz’s eyes glinted as he watched you drink. “And? How does it taste?”

You couldn’t hide the small hum of approval as the flavour lingered on your tongue. “It’s… honestly the nicest wine I’ve ever had.”

His mouth curved, amused. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Turning, you nudged your glass toward Crosshair. “Want some?”

He shook his head without hesitation. “Not my thing.”

Sabaz’s chuckle was low, a little too warm. “A shame. It suits her, don’t you think? Expensive tastes…”

You thought nothing of it, brushing off the remark as idle banter, but Crosshair’s jaw twitched almost imperceptibly. Sabaz was clearly referring to himself and as the meal stretched on,

Sabaz’s comments came in trickles. Harmless, on the surface. But Crosshair’s eyes tracked every word and every look.

Finally, after one particularly lingering comment about how “gorgeous” you looked in the candlelight, Crosshair snapped.

“Tell me,” he drawled, tone calm but carrying steel. “Do you flirt with all the women who are married, or just mine?”

The words silenced the table around you. You turned wide-eyed at him, stunned, your knife clinking faintly against your plate.

Sabaz chuckled, leaning back with the relaxed confidence of a man who already knew more than he should. “Married, are you? Mmm. Perhaps you’d give her more attention.”

Your eyes drop to your half-eaten grub, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. You can’t have tonight screw up over some… some… jealousy? Was he?

Crosshair, however, didn’t flinch at his words. He leaned back as well, long fingers drumming idly against the table, his gaze cutting through the man opposite him.

“She has all the attention she needs,” he responds coolly, voice like a blade sliding free of its sheath. “From me.”

The way he said it was utterly possessive and you can’t help but feel the heat curling low in your stomach.

Sabaz only chuckled again, raising his glass in mock salute before turning the conversation back to lighter topics. But you could feel it—the tension buzzing under your skin.

You left the dining hall together a little later on, the heavy atmosphere of the meal clinging like smoke. Another couple joined you in the lift, chatty and smiling, and you forced yourself to match their tone, your hand looped neatly through Crosshair’s arm. But the second the lift doors slid shut after the couple exited on their floor, your hand dropped from his arm like it burned.

The silence stretched for a beat before you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Want to tell me what that was about?”

Crosshair didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed straight ahead on the lift’s closed doors. His voice was calm, as if nothing had happened. “What’s the issue? We’re still meeting him tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” you huffed, sharp and low. “Thanks to me. Because I had to apologise to him after the meal for the way you acted.”

Crosshair’s eyes flicked to you then, narrow and unimpressed. “The way I acted? You didn’t notice him? The way he kept looking at you? Talking to you?” His lip curled faintly. “I didn’t like it.”

Your jaw tightened, heat pricking the back of your neck. “You didn’t like it? We’re not actually married, Crosshair.”

The silence that followed was thick, humming with all the unsaid things between you. Crosshair’s expression barely shifted, but his shoulders set, rigid under the crisp fabric of his shirt.

The lift pinged. Doors opened. Neither of you moved at first, locked in that silence. Then you both stepped out, footsteps echoing too loud against the plush carpet of the corridor.

When you got back to the suite, you didn’t even glance his way as you made a beeline for your travel bag, pulling out the little bundle of satin nightwear you’d tucked away earlier. Without a word, you slipped into the bathroom and shut the door behind you with a soft click.

You perched on the edge of the jacuzzi bath, hands braced on your knees, and just breathed. Maker, tonight has been… a mess.

Crosshair had been jealous, there was no other word for it.

And yet… stars above, you’d never found him more attractive than when he’d calmly cut down that other man’s sleazy sexist little jabs at dinner.

It made your thoughts twist in knots. Jealous Crosshair was frustrating. Protective Crosshair was devastatingly sexy.

You rolled your eyes at yourself, muttering something under your breath that this whole place felt like a huge aphrodisiac. Soon you stripped out of the dress, letting it pool on the tiled floor. The satin nightwear slipped over your skin with a soft sigh, the fabric clinging in all the right places. The colour brought out the warmth in your skin, and though you weren’t dressing for anyone’s eyes but your own, you couldn’t help but imagine what Crosshair might think if he saw—

You stopped that train of thought before it could wind you up further.

A splash of cold water on your face dulled the day’s makeup, you tied your hair up, loosening the strands around your face, and studied your reflection for only a heartbeat before flicking the light off and stepping back into the suite.

Crosshair was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, still fully dressed and deep in thought.

“Do you want some caf?” you asked quietly after a moment, nodding toward the sleek caf machine gleaming on the dressing table.

He shook his head, then looked at you. The sight of your satin nightwear hit him like a blow, pupils dilating before he could stop it. His throat bobbed with the faintest swallow as he cursed himself silently and dragged his gaze away.

“You should get some sleep,” he muttered, voice low.

You tilted your head. “I could say the same thing about you.”

Your bare feet padded across the carpet, rose petals soft beneath your toes and you stood directly in front of him. He looked up, sharp eyes catching yours for a charged moment before closing them.

Crosshair pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll take watch.”

You frowned, confusion flickering. “Crosshair, the door is locked. We’re safe here.”

He didn’t meet your eyes, just reached for his rifle and moved toward the small loveseat at the foot of the bed. “You can never be too sure.” He gestured at the bed with a tilt of his chin. “Get some rest.”

There was so much more you wanted to say, but you swallowed it down. No good would come of pressing him tonight. Not when everything already felt odd.

So you slid into the left side of the bed instead, sinking into the impossibly soft mattress. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender and something warm and expensive. You didn’t even bother to remove the rose petals.

The lamp across the room threw a faint amber glow over Crosshair where he sat, long legs stretched out, rifle propped against his thigh. A sentinel in the half-dark, sharp eyes fixed on some distant threat only he could see.

Your body melted into the mattress, the exhaustion of the evening tugging at you like a tide. You watched him for as long as your heavy eyelids would allow, the image of him—silent, watchful, stubborn—burning behind your eyes until sleep finally dragged you under.

You stirred, rolling onto your other side with a groggy sigh, only to find the chair opposite the bed still occupied. Crosshair sat there like a shadow carved into the half-light, rifle propped against the armrest, a toothpick twiddling absently between long fingers.

Your eyes flicked to the chrono on the wall. Only two hours had passed.

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you tilted your head as you sat up and whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, “Cross… come get some sleep.”

His eyes lifted, shadows and conflict tangled in his gaze. He shook his head once. “No… I can’t.”

You frowned softly, leaning forward. “Why not?”

The sound he made was halfway between a scoff and a tut, quiet but sharp. His jaw flexed. “I can’t sleep in the same bed as you. It’s…”

Your brows arched. “It’s what?” You pulled the duvet back and shifted onto your knees. The simple movement snagged his attention; his sharp gaze lingered, “It’s just me.”

Crosshair drew in a long breath through his nose, pressing the heel of his hand over his eyes as if that might ground him. “I don’t want to bother you,” he muttered, voice rough. “I’ve already done that enough tonight.”

For a moment, you said nothing. Then slowly, you crawled toward the foot of the bed, knees sinking into the mattress until you sat back on your heels, steadying yourself.

Your hand extended, palm open, reaching across the small distance between you. “Come to bed.”

His amber eyes locked onto you. He watched you as though weighing a hard decision, gaze running over your face, your hand and the space you’d made for him.

“We need to act like a couple, right?” You prompt and that’s when he finally, with the faintest exhale he flicked the toothpick into the bin and rose to his feet.

He crossed the few steps to the bed in silence. He stopped just before you, the mattress dipping faintly under your shift forward.

Your lips parted, breath caught, as you tipped your chin up to look at him. He loomed above, gaze tilted down, unreadable except for the faint storm flickering beneath.

You straightened, sitting taller on your knees, and without hesitation placed both hands flat against his chest. The warmth beneath the fabric hit you instantly, as did the hammer of his heart pounding against his ribcage. It made a small smile tug at your lips, your eyes softening as you whispered, “You can’t sleep in this shirt…”

His breath caught with an imperceptible hitch.

Your fingers curled into the fabric at his chest, tugging gently. He hesitated, but only for a moment, before his arms moved, allowing you to peel the white shirt away from him. Inch by inch, the fabric slid over his shoulders, revealing lean muscle and skin mapped with faint scars.

Your eyes went wide, breath catching as you pushed the shirt down his arms and let it fall to the floor. A sound, no, an almost moan, threatened to escape you, but you swallowed it back. Still, your hands had a will of their own and began trailing slowly up and down his torso.

You felt the hard ridges of his stomach, the steady rhythm of his breathing. His reaction was immediate, his eyes fluttering shut as his jaw tightened. The bottom lip caught between his teeth betrayed what he was trying to suppress.

The sight made a heat coil low in your stomach, your own breath turning shallow.

Your gaze drifted lower, tracing the line of his abdomen until it landed on the waistband of his black slacks. He seemed to sense the shift in your attention, because his voice came low, rough, like gravel dragged over velvet.

“Do you want them off, too?”

The rasp sent a shiver racing down your spine.

You blinked, meeting his eyes again, a laugh slipping from your throat, “If it will make you comfortable… yes.”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a faint smirk, but his gaze burned steady on you as he reached for the latch of his trousers.

You swallowed hard, watching as his long fingers hooked into the waistband of his trousers and pushed them down. The sound of the fabric sliding over his legs seemed louder than it should’ve been. When they hit the floor, he straightened, standing there in nothing but his briefs with hs hand not-so-subtly shielding the hard outline straining beneath the thin fabric.

A hot pulse bloomed deep inside you, your arousal pooling between your thighs as your breath caught. You broke your gaze away, feigning innocence, though the ache in your chest gave you away. “See? Is that better?”

Crosshair’s eyes dragged over you with open hunger, the sharp angles of his face softened by the shadow of want. “Much…” he breathed, like it was the only word he could find.

Your pulse stumbled, your eyes drawn back down before you could stop yourself. His hand shifted just slightly, enough that you caught the movement of the deliberate, slow palm against himself. Your heart stalled, then thundered.

You licked your lips, your voice almost breaking into a whisper as you shifted back. “Like what you see?”

“Do you?”

Your head tilted, eyes half-lidded as your fingers danced at the band of your satin shorts, teasing without quite committing. “I do,” you murmured, letting your body arch ever so slightly, the pose dripping with invitation as you leaned back on your hands. “Now tell me, do you… husband?”

His eyes narrowed, studying every subtle shift of your body. His jaw worked, and then he gave the smallest of nods, voice rough and quiet. “A lot.”

The words sent your skin prickling with awareness. Your hand slid from the band of your shorts to your thigh, fingertips tracing upward, grazing your skin softly as though demonstrating exactly what his stare made you crave.

His eyes followed your movements, darkening as though he were fighting to keep control.

You raised a single finger, crooking it toward him. A wordless summon.

Crosshair’s gaze burned hotter, but he obeyed without hesitation. His long, lean frame shifted forward as he planted both hands on the mattress for the first time, the springs dipping beneath his weight as he prowled closer. When he reached you, he hovered over your body, his face so close you could feel the warm graze of his breath against your lips.

“What do you want?” he asked, low and rough, his voice scraping like gravel, like he already knew but needed to hear it from you. He dipped his head nearer, inhaling deeply, his nose brushing your temple as though memorising the scent of your skin.

Your lips parted, your tongue darting out to wet them, every nerve in your body trembling as you leaned in, close enough your mouth brushed his. Your voice broke into a heated whisper, “I want you to fuck me.”

The words detonated between you.

A sharp hiss of need left him and before you could second-guess yourself, his mouth was on yours, scorching and demanding.

His lips moved with bruising force, teeth catching your bottom lip as though he’d been starving for the taste of you. One hand slid from the bed to your waist, gripping and dragging your body flush against his until there wasn’t an inch of space left. You could feel every inch of his arousal pressed against your belly, hot and unyielding.

You gasped into his mouth, fingers tangling in his short hair that soon became unkempt as his tongue swept past your lips, claiming you with a hunger that made your head spin.

When he broke from your mouth, it was only to trail searing kisses along your jaw, down your throat. His breath was hot, uneven, his teeth scraping sensitive skin before his tongue soothed the sting. “You have no idea…” he rasped between kisses, “…how long I’ve wanted this.”

You blush intensely, arching your back into him, craving more of that heat, that weight. His hand dipped lower, spanning your hip, fingers digging into the satin of your shorts as though he could crush the fabric away.

Your lips brushed his again in a soft, fleeting kiss. You pulled back with a mischievous glint in your eyes that made Crosshair chase the contact immediately but you giggled and tilted away, planting a kiss instead against his cheek.

“Tch,” he mutters, but you only laughed again, moving lower. You kissed along the sharp cut of his jaw, slow and deliberate, feeling the subtle twitch of the muscle beneath your lips. He exhaled through his nose, trying to keep control, but you knew you had him wound tight.

Your mouth hovered at his ear, your words a sinful whisper. “You like fake dating me, then?” you teased, lips brushing the sensitive skin just beneath. “Is this how you’d treat me if I was yours?”

He groaned under his breath, his hands clenching against your hips as though debating whether to hold you still or let you drive him mad. His chest heaved against yours, hot and solid, and when you kissed lower down his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

And then, almost in the same breath, you were pulling at each other’s clothes, the tension too much to keep contained. His hands fumbled your satin vest before he pulled it over your head meanwhile you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his briefs, tugging impatiently. He then stripped you of your shorts as you shoved his last layer down.

When his lips crashed back onto yours, your words slipped out between ragged breaths, needy but daring: “It was sexy… watching you defend me at dinner.”

Crosshair froze for only a moment, pulling back just enough to smirk down at you. “Sexy, huh?” His voice was a rasp of sin. “Did it turn you on?”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a verbal answer. Instead, your hand slid boldly between your bodies, fingers wrapping around his rigid heat. The sound that left him was a low, primal and guttural groan that vibrated in his chest and into your palm. His head dropped against yours, lips parting as his eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in his body shuddering under your touch.

Your smirk was wicked as he whispered, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Confidence blooming inside you, you gave him a little push that made Crosshair fall back into the mattress. His long body stretched out beneath you, skin lit faintly by the bedside glow.

You straddled him, your bare skin sliding against his as you pressed down into the lines of his chest and abdomen. Lower still, the thick weight of him rested against your thigh, hot and heavy. His eyes tracked you like a predator and yet… there was awe in them too, something reverent, almost disbelieving.

It made you ache.

“Cross…” you purred, dragging your palms down his chest, tracing the scars and sharp dips of muscle, before raking your nails ever so lightly across his stomach. He hissed, the muscles flexing beneath your touch, his fists knotting in the sheets.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest before sliding lower.

Your hand wrapped boldly around him then—thick, hard and burning against your palm. His whole body jerked at the contact, a sound low in his throat. You gave him a slow, deliberate pump, feeling him twitch against your hand, and his breath hitched.

He bit his lip, sharp eyes flicking away as he tried to choke back the groan threatening to break free.

Now that wouldn’t do.

You leaned down, lips brushing against the swollen head of his cock as you looked up at him. “No,” you whispered, sultry and commanding. Your tongue flicked out, teasing a slow lick across his length, tasting the salt of him. His hips bucked despite himself. “Don’t hold back from me. I want to hear you, husband.”

That broke him. His marriage kink unable to be tamed any longer.

A guttural moan spilled free, raw and gravelly, vibrating through his chest as his head tipped back into the pillow. His long fingers shot into your hair, not forcing, but clutching like he needed to anchor himself.

“Fuck…” he rasped, eyes squeezing shut as you stroked him firmly, your tongue teasing at his tip. His voice dropped lower, almost desperate now. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

You let your lips ghost over the head of his cock, just enough to make him twitch. His sharp inhale was music, the kind of sound that made your pussy ache. You opened your mouth slowly, letting him slide past your lips inch by inch, your tongue flattening against the underside to savour.

Crosshair’s body went rigid, another deep groan breaking from his chest before he managed to stifle it behind his teeth. His hand clenched tighter in your hair, the other curling into the sheets so hard the fabric threatened to tear.

“Stars…” he hissed, voice gravel rough. His eyes cracked open to watch you, his pupils blown wide, jaw tight as he fought for control. “You’re—.”

“Mhmm? A good cock-sucking wife?” You hummed around him, the vibration making his hips twitch up involuntarily before you slap his cock against your tongue.

He cursed again, raw and breathless, as you then sank lower, taking more of him into your throat with a languid patience. When you finally pulled back, strings of saliva connected your lips to him. You stroked him with your hand, pumping lazily as you licked your lips, gaze never leaving his.

“Sloppy enough for you, sniper?” you teased, your voice husky.

He swallowed hard, chest heaving. His eyes darted to your mouth, wet and swollen, then back to your gaze. “Fuck—don’t tease.”

You smirked and slid him back between your lips, this time messy, unrestrained. Your spit coated him as you bobbed your head, tongue working every sensitive ridge. The wet sounds filled the room were obscene and echoing.

And Crosshair lost the last of his composure.

His hips thrust up, shallow at first, testing your tolerance. When you moaned around him in approval, he swore viciously and gave in, driving himself into your mouth with snapping thrusts. His groans grew louder, unfiltered now of pure need.

“Fuck—sweetheart—you feel so—” His head tipped back, tendons straining in his neck as he lost himself in the wet heat of your throat. His grip on your hair was tight but not cruel, guiding the momentum. “Don’t stop… don’t you dare stop.”

Your eyes watered, spit dripping from your lips and chin as you let him use your mouth, the sight of his unraveling making you slick between your thighs.

The more he thrust into your mouth, the less control he had, his rhythm breaking into jagged, needy snaps of his hips. His jaw slackened, head tipped back and his voice dropped into a low, desperate growl.

“Stars—” his hand fisted your hair tighter, his thighs tensing under you, “I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You hollowed your cheeks and moaned, and that did it. Crosshair groaned in pleasure as he spilled hot and thick into your mouth, the taste of him flooding your tongue. You swallowed around him greedily, gulping down every drop, your eyes fixed on him while his face contorted with the kind of pleasure he’d never let anyone else see.

When his hips finally stilled, his chest heaving, you pulled back slowly, breathless, lips shining. A stray strand of saliva clung to your chin as you licked him clean and swallowed the last of him with a shaky exhale.

Crosshair stared at you like you were a miracle. In a blur, he sat up and pulled you into him, his mouth crashing onto yours. The kiss was searing, teeth and tongue, his taste mingling with the faint salt still lingering on your tongue. His hands framed your face like he couldn’t get enough, like he was starved for you.

Then he was easing you down onto the bed, his body covering yours as he grabbed a pillow, slipping it beneath your head with an odd, almost tender care. His lips broke from yours only long enough to mutter against them, voice rough and hungry:

“My turn.”

His breath fanned hot over your lips before he started kissing lower—your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. His hands roamed as though he had to touch every inch of you, his mouth trailing fire down your body.

When he finally reached the edge of the bed, Crosshair settled between your thighs, his sharp gaze fixed on your glistening pussy like it was the only thing in the galaxy worth worshiping. His lips parted, his breath hitching audibly, and he muttered low—more to himself than you—

“Fuck… you’re perfect.”

Crosshair didn’t dive in straight away. He hovered, eyes locked on your pussy as though the sight alone could undo him. His lips curved into a lazy smirk, and he dragged two long fingers down your inner thigh, stopping just short of where you needed him most.

“Maker…” he murmured, “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

Your breath hitched as he finally let his fingers ghost over your folds, feather-light, so teasing you nearly whimpered. He let them trail lower, then flicked—just the faintest tap against your clit. The jolt of sensation had your hips twitching and a broken whine slipping from your lips before you could swallow it back.

His smirk deepened. “There it is. Thought you were gonna keep all those sweet little sounds from me, hm?” Another tap, deliberate this time, making your thighs clench around him.

“Cross…” you gasped, tangling your hands into your hair in frustration as he refused to give you what you wanted.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he drawled, his breath ghosting hot over you as he leaned closer. “Gonna take my time with you.”

And then, instead of another flick, he pressed his lips to your pussy. Not a lick. Not a graze. A kiss—slow, tender, as if he were kissing your mouth. His nose brushed your clit as his lips molded against your folds, and your back arched helplessly.

“Oh, stars—” you whimpered, every nerve alight.

“Mmm,” he hummed against you, his lips moving in lazy, wet kisses over every inch of your cunt, the sound obscene and intimate all at once. Between each press of his mouth, he whispered filth in that low gravel of his:

“So soft…” kiss.

“So sweet…” kiss.

“Mine…” another kiss, deeper, his tongue teasing past his lips just enough to taste you.

Your thighs trembled around his shoulders as his hands held you steady, his kisses reverent and filthy all at once. The sensation was maddening, tender enough to make you shiver but edged with hunger that had your body straining for more.

When he finally let his tongue part your folds and give one long, deliberate lick, he groaned into you like he was the one unraveling. “Fuck, you taste better than I imagined.”

And then he was back to kissing, savouring and making you whimper and writhe with every press of his lips.

Your breath hitched when Crosshair finally gave in to what you’d been silently begging for. His lips parted and his tongue slid between your folds, slow at first and deliberate. He pushed deeper, tongue-fucking you with unhurried precision, dragging every needy whimper out of your chest.

Your fingers fisted the duvet, crushing a rose petal or two between them as your back arched off the bed. “Baby—” your voice broke, strangled, your thighs trembling against his shoulders.

He groaned low, the vibration making you gasp, before his tongue left you only to wrap his lips around your clit. He sucked once, hard enough to make you cry out, then let it go with a wet pop, smirking up at you with his mouth glistening.

“That’s it,” he cooed, voice soaked in lust. His grip shifted, long arms sliding under your thighs so he could pin your hips down, your body useless against his strength. “Such a good wife, taking it just like that.”

The filthy words made your pussy clench, heat flooding you in a new wave, and you let out something between a whimper and a moan. “Fuck…Crosshair…”

He chuckled against you, the bastard, and dragged his tongue back through your slit before sucking your clit again, longer this time. Your body jolted against his hold, toes curling, fingers grabbing fistfuls of bedding and petals alike.

“I’m so glad it’s you who volunteered,” you gasped, words spilling out broken, your thighs tightening around him. “So glad it’s—ah—fuck!”

His chuckle was muffled against your folds, his tongue relentless, before he pulled back just enough to mutter against your swollen pussy:

“The others wouldn’t treat you like this.” His teeth grazed your clit, playful, making you shudder. “They wouldn’t know how to worship you.”

Then his mouth sealed over you again, sucking hard, tongue teasing, his hands keeping you caged and helpless as he devoured you.

Crosshair pulled back again with that maddening pop of his lips leaving your clit, strings of spit shining between you. He didn’t go far though—just hovered, breath hot against your swollen flesh, and you swore the sound of him inhaling your scent was almost louder than your whimpers.

“Maker, look at you,” he murmured, thumb coming up to flick your clit once, twice—sharp little sparks that made your hips buck against his unrelenting grip. “All puffy and dripping for me. For your husband.”

“Cross—” you tried, but it came out as a broken moan, your thighs twitching around his shoulders.

“You like this, don’t you?” His tongue darted out, giving a light, taunting lap over your slit before moving away again. “Being spread out like this, my mouth on your sweet cunt, making a mess of my face.” He chuckled, low and dark, and flicked his thumb over your clit harder, making you cry out. “Bet you’d let me keep you here all night if I wanted.”

Your hands tangled in your own hair, pulling at the strands, desperate. “Please—” you gasped, voice shaking as your body jerked when he suddenly tapped your clit with his fingers, light but fast, like he was testing how far he could push you. “Fuck, please!”

He groaned, sounding almost feral, like your begging was better than any victory he’d ever had in battle. His teeth grazed you again, soft nips that made you jolt. “Not yet,” he rasped, giving your clit another sharp flick that made your whole body seize. “I want you begging properly first.”

You sobbed his name, hips fighting his hold as he alternated between sucking you into his mouth and pulling away with those obscene, wet pops that echoed in the quiet room. Each time he left you empty you wanted to scream, and each time he came back it was too much, your orgasm building like a storm he refused to let break.

“Tell me,” he drawled, lips brushing your clit, not giving you the pressure you craved. “Tell me you want to come for me. Tell me no one else could get you this way.”

Your head thrashed side to side against the pillows, sweat beading at your temple. “I—fuck—I want to come for you, Cross. Please. No one else—no one could—just please let me—”

He hummed in satisfaction, mouth closing over you again, sucking slow and deep while his fingers tapped in time with your racing pulse. “Good wife,” he muttered against your soaked heat, “that’s my girl…”

Your whole body tightened, teetering right on the edge, held hostage by his mouth.

Crosshair must have the way every muscle in your body went taut beneath his grasp. How your breath came in sharp little gasps like your lungs couldn’t keep up. He groaned into your cunt, and then mercifully gave you what you’d been begging for.

His mouth sealed over your clit, sucking hard and steady, tongue flicking in relentless little strokes that pushed you right past the edge. His grip on your thighs tightened, locking you down as your body jolted violently against him.

The orgasm ripped through you like fire, so sharp it almost hurt, and you cried out his name in an almost a sob as you broke apart as your vision blurred.

Crosshair didn’t stop. He groaned against you, drinking every drop of you down, his lips and chin slick as he worked you through it. “That’s it,” he rasped between licks, voice ruined but steady. “Good girl. Come on, give it to me. Give it all to me.”

You were shaking, trembling uncontrollably under his hold, pleasure crashing in waves so strong it left you breathless. He eased the pressure only when you began to whimper from overstimulation, his kisses softer now, soothing little laps that felt almost adoring against your swollen clit.

When he finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistened and he tenderly kissed the inside of your thigh before crawling up the bed. His body caged yours in, the hard weight of his cock pressing heavy against your hip as he gathered you into his arms.

You were still gasping, chest heaving, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity of it all. He brushed damp hair away from your face with surprising gentleness, thumb swiping at the sweat along your temple.

“Good girl,” he whispered again, voice gravelly, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. “You did so well cyare.”

You hummed weakly against his mouth, lazy and sated but achingly aware of the thick length pressed against you. He groaned as your thigh shifted, brushing it on purpose, and his hips twitched forward helplessly.

“Fuck,” he muttered, forehead pressed to yours, his cock throbbing now and resting against your stomach.

He kissed you slowly as though you hadn’t just come undone screaming his name minutes before. His tongue brushed yours, unhurried, while his hand slid down your hip, anchoring you. “More,” you moan beautifully into his mouth, “I want more.”

When he shifted, rolling halfway onto his side beside you, you felt the slick head of him glide down against your folds. You gasped, shuddering at the sudden jolt of sensation as your pussy was still swollen and tender from his mouth. He didn’t push in, though. Just stroked his length along your soaked slit, letting the tip bump your clit in maddening, teasing drags.

Your hips did a desperate little roll that had his lips curve into that infuriating smirk. “Still sensitive, huh?” he rasped, the gravel in his voice betraying just how tightly he was holding back. You tried to answer, but all that left you was a breathy whimper as he dragged himself down and back up again, coating his cock in your wetness.

“Look at you,” he murmured, gaze locked to your face as his hand tilted your thigh open wider. His tip nudged right at your entrance, circling but not pushing in yet. “So fucking ready for me.”

He then lowered his head, lips kissing your shoulder so tenderly that your heart melts. You caught his eyes when he finally lifted his head. Neither of you spoke, but the air between you thrummed with silent consent, the kind that left no room for doubt.

His forehead brushed yours, lips hovering as he rasped low, “I’ll go slow.”

And then, slow but steady as he promised, he started to press forward. His breath stuttered the second his tip pushed inside, the blunt head parting you inch by inch.

Heat—wet and velvet-tight—closed around him, and Crosshair almost crumbled then and there, his body trembling faintly as he held himself back. “Ffff—” He bit off a curse, jaw tightening.

You whimpered softly, the initial stretch making your walls flutter around him. It wasn’t painful. Just thick and slow. A fullness that made you gasp. Your fingers clutched at his arm, nails grazing the skin as you whispered, “Cross…”—your voice shaky, needy, urging.

His cock twitched deep inside at the sound, his hips rolling forward another careful inch. “You alright?” he rasped, voice breaking low.

You gave a quick nod, looking down as his cock disappeared inside you with every slow movement.

He didn’t slam, didn’t shove. He inched forward, then drew halfway back, then pressed in again with a rhythm of patience. The drag of him pulled a breathless moan from your throat.

“Breathe,” he muttered, his lips brushing your temple as if grounding you as much as himself. He let you cling, let you adjust, every tiny movement deliberate. “I’ve got you, mesh’la.”

The way he said it made your heart lurch, like it wasn’t just about sex…like he meant all of it.

And when you finally tilted your hips, just slightly, letting him know you were ready for more, his control frayed. He sank in deeper, a low moan slipping out of his throat at the way your body welcomed him.

Crosshair bent close, lips brushing over the shell of your ear as he murmured, voice roughened with memory, “When you called me ‘your stars’ back at that meal…” His hips pressed deeper, making your body jolt against the mattress. “…Maker, I wanted you then and there. Didn’t care who was watching.”

Your mouth fell open, breath catching, a whimper spilling out with the way his words wrapped around you as intimately as his body did. You tilted your head back, enough to find his lips. The kiss was soft, slow, your tongues brushing as his cock slid out and then back in with a steady glide.

Each thrust melted into the next, your body clenching around him instinctively as you clung into his chest. His groan rumbled against your mouth, and when he broke away, his forehead pressed to yours. “Feels so good like this. You, wrapped around me, taking me slow.”

The pace wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t about release. It was about every inch of him inside you, every shiver of your body responding, every sigh and moan you gave him like it was for him alone.

He kissed you again, even more gentler this time, lips brushing yours in little whispers of touch before pulling back to watch your face twist in pleasure as he filled you over and over.

His rhythm stuttered for a moment, pulling all the way out of you with a slick, obscene sound that made your body twitch in protest. The sudden emptiness tore a desperate whine from your throat, your hands clutching at the sheets.

“Shh,” he rasped, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Already needy, aren’t you?”

Before you could form a reply, he shifted up, long fingers curling under your thighs. In one smooth move he lifted your legs and hooked them over his shoulders, folding you open for him as he sat on his knees. You gasped at the change and at how vulnerable it made you feel… owned.

And you fucking loved it.

Crosshair smirked, eyes gleaming as he angled himself, the fat head of his cock nudging back against your soaked entrance. “Yeah,” he murmured, dragging it through your folds, coating himself in you. “That’s it. This is where you want me, isn’t it?”

You nodded helplessly, breathless. “Yes—fuck, yes, Cross—”

He slid back inside with a single, deliberate thrust that made your vision spark, filling you to the hilt. A strangled moan tore from your throat, your back arching against the bed. He groaned deep in his chest, bending forward so your calves squeezed tighter against his neck. “Shit, you feel so good. So fucking tight. Like you were made to take me.”

The pace changed—no longer slow and sweet, but harder, sharper, his hips snapping against yours with wet, slapping sounds that echoed in the suite. Every thrust pushed you further up the bed, rose petals clinging to your damp skin.

Crosshair turned his head to the side, his lips brushing your calf before biting lightly, sending another shiver racing through you. “Look at you,” he muttered against your skin, voice dark and possessive. “Spread out for me. Letting me fuck you like you’re mine.”

Your nails clawed at the duvet, head tipping back as the words spilled out of you before you could stop them. “I am yours, Cross. No one else—just you.”

The admission made his hips slam harder, a ragged growl leaving him. His hands wrap around your legs, holding them tight to his body, keeping you pinned. “Say it again,” he demanded, amber eyes burning into you as he drove deeper, harder.

“I’m yours!” you cried out, voice shaking, tears stinging your lashes with the force of it. “All yours, Crosshair!”

He smirked, satisfaction dripping from every thrust as he fucked you rougher, his possessiveness unraveling in every movement. “Good wife,” he groaned, bending lower so your thighs framed his face, “my perfect fucking wife.”

He didn’t even pause to catch his breath, just gripped your hips and dragged you to the edge of the bed. With a swift, fluid motion, he flipped you onto your stomach, and you gasped at the sudden change of angle, the cool sheets against your bare skin.

“You like it when I take control, don’t you?” he rasped, one hand landing hard on your arse, sending a delicious shock through your body. You grinned, breath hitching, letting out a low laugh that was part pleasure, part defiance.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, sliding himself back inside you from behind.

Your legs instinctively spread wider as he pulled you closer, his hand tangling in your hair. He tugged sharply, bringing your head back so you bounced against his cock with each controlled thrust. “That’s it, bounce for me. Show me how good it feels, wife,” he growled, every word thick with control.

You cried out, loud and unrestrained, the bed creaking under the force of him driving into you. “Oh, Cross—yes! Harder! Please—don’t stop!”

He chuckled darkly, leaning over you so your cheek pressed into the sheets, his lips brushing the back of your neck. “Good girl,” he praised, hand slapping your arse again, rough and loving at the same time. “So fucking good for me. Look at you, taking me so well.”

Your chest heaved, legs trembling but you kept bouncing back, your body obedient and desperate, lips parted in a moan that didn’t care who could hear.

He angled himself just right, hitting deep and slow at first, then snapping his hips faster, letting you feel every inch. “Maker, you’re perfect,” he groaned, voice low and commanding. “So wet, so tight… all mine.”

You pressed your face further into the sheets, moaning around the muffled sounds, your body arching up instinctively. “Crosshair! Oh—yes! I’m yours! Always yours!”

He responded by tugging your hair harder, his cock driving into you with relentless force, hand roaming over your hips and arse, marking you with every movement, praising and claiming you at once.

You turned your head just enough to catch his burning eyes over your shoulder. Your lips curved into a wicked grin even as your body shuddered with every rough slam of his cock.

“Look at you,” you moaned, voice sharp and sultry, “losing yourself inside me. You can’t help it, can you? I’ve got you wrapped around my finger just as tight as I’ve got you wrapped inside me.”

His thrust faltered—just for a second—as if the words themselves had tripped him. His eyes narrowed, mouth falling open, but the sound that came out was a raw and pathetic whimper betraying how undone he really was.

“You love it,” you taunted, rolling your hips back against him with a delicious grind that had him growling through clenched teeth. “My good husband, falling apart because of me. Cockdrunk.”

“F-fuck—” he hissed, the word tearing out of him. His pace grew erratic, desperate, like he was chasing something he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Then suddenly he hauled you, panting and trembling, onto your back again. Your legs spread wide as he pressed himself flush against you, cock sliding right back into your soaked heat without hesitation.

The air punched from your lungs as he buried his face in your neck, breath hot and ragged, his weight pinning you down deliciously. Your nails raked down his back, dragging red marks into his skin while he drove into you with merciless force. The headboard slammed rhythmically into the wall with every thrust, each clap of wood-on-wall punctuated by your screams and sobs of pleasure.

“Yes—yes, Crosshair, please—” your voice broke, cracking under the relentless pace. Your body arched under him, sweat slick between you, every nerve ending aflame as his hips pounded into yours.

“Where—” he groaned into your throat, biting your skin like he needed to anchor himself, “where do you want it, baby? Tell me—fuck—where should I come?”

Your head snapped back, eyes wild, desperate tears clinging to your lashes. You clutched at his back, pulling him tighter, legs wrapping around his waist to lock him in place.

“Inside!” you cried, voice shaking, pleading. “Please, Cross, come inside me. I want it, I need it—fill me with your hot cum. P-please!”

He groans like a man possessed, hips snapping even harder, his control shredding as he buried himself deeper and deeper.

Crosshair’s movements became almost frantic, hips stuttering as he drove into you with a desperate rhythm. His hand slid down between your bodies, fingers landing squarely on your clit, rubbing with perfect pressure and speed, coaxing you closer and closer to your edge.

“Come for me, right now, right now,” he growled, his teeth grazing your neck as he slammed his cock into you. “I’m going to fill you up, good girl—come on my cock.”

Your body convulsed at his words, every nerve screaming as your climax hit with a white-hot force. You grabbed his face, forcing your lips to his, biting his lower lip as you panted hotly into his mouth, gasping, moaning and utterly undon. .

“Baby…” you whispered between ragged breaths, your fingers tangling in his hair as your body shuddered uncontrollably around him.

Crosshair’s groan deep as he tensed, shuddered, and finally spilled inside you. Warm and overwhelming. You felt him pulse inside you, his hips stuttering with each breathless thrust, as your own climax trembled out against his hand, still pressing your clit with maddening rhythm.

Even after he came, he stayed buried deep, hips rocking slightly, his chest pressing to yours, letting you feel every lingering pulse of him. He nuzzled against your neck.

Crosshair let out a low, almost inaudible sigh of relief, his forehead resting against yours as you melted into his side. His hand lingered soflty on your waist, fingers tracing lazy circles over your hip.

There was a small tension as you saw him look down where his hands had been on you. You use your finger to angle his face back to you and say reassuringly, “you didn’t hurt me.”

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you rasp, voice trembling slightly from exertion and lingering arousal.

He hesitated for a moment, the usually unshakable Crosshair sounding almost vulnerable. “Do… do you regret it?”

You cupped his jaw with one hand and silenced any doubt with a slow, deliberate kiss. And when you pulled back, your eyes softened.

“Definitely not, my stars,” you said fondly, voice carrying sincerity. His lips twitched, almost a smile, though he’d never admit it outright. Relief settled into his posture, the tension leaving his shoulders, and for the first time since the two of you had been tangled together, he seemed… at peace.

Your fingers brushed over his chest, tracing the rapid rise and fall of his breath. “You feel… amazing,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse beneath your lips.

He let out a low hum, nudging you closer with his shoulder. “So do you,” he murmured, still holding you like he was afraid to let go.

The two of you lay there, sweaty, sticky, and utterly spent, yet somehow more connected than ever.

You do eventually shift, muscles sore but tingling from the aftermath of everything, and groan quietly as you attempt to tug your nightwear back over your body. Crosshair watches you with a glint in his eyes, “You look ridiculous like that,” he teases.

You shoot him a mock glare, though your cheeks betray the flush of heat and lingering pleasure. “Oh, and you don’t?” you retort, finally wriggling into your nightwear.

He hums, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Maybe not,” he admits, voice edged with amusement, “but I think we’ve earned a bit more… relaxation.”

Your brow quirks, intrigued. “Relaxation?”

Crosshair tilts his head, smirk growing. “The jacuzzi,” he says simply, climbing off the bed. “Warm water, bubbles… think you can handle that after an hour like this?”

You let out a breathy laugh, the soreness in your thighs reminding you just how much fun you’d had. “I think I could manage. Maybe,” you tease, still rolling your shoulders to loosen the tension.

He steps closer, eyes tracking your movements, and reaches for your hand. “Then come on,” he says, dragging you toward the bathroom. “Let’s make the next hour… just as enjoyable.”

You let him lead you to the jacuzzi once it’s filled, the scent of soap and warm water filling the room. And as you both sink into the bubbling warmth, the world outside ceases to exist.

Crosshair leans back, one arm draped across your shoulders, and you curl against him, feeling both soothed and mischievous as you ponder just how long you two could stay here.

Silence stretched comfortably between you. He shifted after a moment, reaching for a bar of soap resting at the edge. Without a word, he lathered it between his hands, then pressed his palms gently against your back, his fingers smoothing over sore muscles. He was careful as he washed down your arms, sliding his touch from your shoulders to your wrists. Every stroke was accompanied by a quiet kiss to the back of your head, your temple, the damp strands of your hair sticking to his lips.

“You’re spoiling me,” you teased softly.

“Good,” he muttered against your crown, fingertips tracing over your skin like he was memorising it.

A sly smile pulled at your lips. “You know, you enjoyed calling me your wife a little too much back there.”

You felt him stiffen almost imperceptibly, his hands faltering just for a second before resuming. “…You noticed.”

You turned your head, grinning up at him. “Hard not to. You sounded like you meant it.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, eyes fixed on the water, jaw tight. But then his shoulders relaxed, and he exhaled, lips brushing your temple once more. “…That’s because I did.” His voice was low, almost grudging, but the truth in it made your heart soar.

“Crosshair—”

“You’re… marriage material,” he cut in, avoiding your gaze as you tilt your head back, as though the words embarrassed him more than any of the filthy things he’d whispered between the sheets. His thumb traced circles absently on your shoulder. “Don’t ask me to say it twice.”

You blinked, stunned into silence for a moment before a soft laugh slipped free. The sound made him glance down, eyes narrowing like he regretted saying anything at all—until you leaned up and pressed your lips against his.

“Good thing I only need to hear it once,”

I’m not like you. I never was. 

Grounded, that was how his kin’s voice made him feel, a reminder of what was but mostly what might’ve been. But not this time. This time, it rang like the prelude to a very somber memory. Maul sensed the vision his mind’s eye was about to conjure before it fully materialised. An inevitable tragedy, one he had seen unfold many times before. First on Mandalore, and then regularly in his slumber, like a perpetual haunting.

Savage lay in his arms, the yellow in his eyes fading into a warm ocean green. He looked like a boy, the brother Maul thought he remembered from his past. Yet the recollection was so distant that he wondered if he may have fabricated it entirely. 

Behind him rose a wretched and sickening sound: the cruel laugh of his master. Taunting and mocking him as he had so many times throughout his training. That voice, sinister and venomous, reminded him just how unworthy he was, how feeble, in body and mind. 

Remember, the first and only reality of the Sith: there can only be two. And you are no longer my apprentice. You have been replaced

That was the final humiliation. The last deliberate step by which Sidious stripped away what remained of his humanity. He was not even good enough to serve as a tool, cast aside without a second thought. But it was not simply dismissal. The monster wanted him dead. Maul had forgotten his station and overplayed his hand. Even from the shadows, his master had sensed the betrayal, the challenge implicit in Maul’s relentless pursuit of vengeance against all those who had wronged him. What a mistake it had been to try and fool a master of deceit. He would pay a hefty price for it. 

It didn’t matter how many times it had happened; each strike of his master’s lightning hurt as much as the first. Begging only made it worse. It didn’t matter what he would beg for, mercy or death, there was no difference. Of all things, Sidious despised weakness above all else, and he answered it with punishments born of such cruelty and malice that they defied comprehension. For the moment, however, Maul’s tormenter satisfied himself with basic discipline.

Have mercy. Please. Please!

After years of excruciating training, Maul had become a very powerful being. There were few things he feared, and even fewer people. But when it came to his master, none of it mattered. In those moments, he was the child he had once been on his home planet: scared, innocent and helpless. The only difference between then and now was that he did not cry anymore. He knew what happened when he cried. There was only one man who got to see him at his most vulnerable—broken, on his knees, stripped of all pretence of strength. Only one man who could instil such dread within him. But one was enough, and unfortunately for Maul, Sidious very much enjoyed it.

There is no mercy.

On the modest couch of your apartment, Maul felt the electric current course through his body ceaselessly, frying him from the inside. He felt every single burn vividly, as if the events were unfolding in real time. He was still deeply asleep, but his body reacted to the imagined assault. He wanted out. His head thrashed violently from side to side as if to shake himself awake. All the while, Sidious’s incessant cackling went on.

Living alone had many perks—namely, the ability to notice when something was off. Whether it be a suspicious sound or a misplaced object. In this case, though, you suspected that even the most oblivious person in the galaxy would have noticed. 

You nearly fell off your mattress as the first scream tore through the night. Without even bothering to turn the lights on you rolled out of bed, bare feet hitting the floor as you rushed to the living room in long strides. The large windows bathed the space in the neon glow of the commercial panels outside, casting enough light for you to see clearly.

What you saw was a man in agony. His body spasmed as if possessed, hands clawing at nothing, and his horns had pierced through the blanket you had given him earlier. You had seen nightmares before, occasionally experienced them yourself, but this was sheer terror, unlike anything you’d see before. Maul seemed to be speaking to someone, pleading or begging, but you didn’t sit around to find out. After barely dodging one of his flailing arms, you gripped his shoulders with steady hands and started shaking him hard. 

Sweat poured out of him, his teeth bared as he kept screaming. You had suspected the man carried demons—whether he was running from them or chasing them—but you had never imagined it was that bad. In addition to your vigorous movements, you started calling out his name, although you were unsure if he would actually hear you over the sound of his own voice. It took several attempts before your efforts finally paid off . 

Maul jolted awake, but before you could even catch your breath or ask him if he was okay, his hand shot out, seizing you with force. His fingers dug painfully in your collarbone, and a pained grunt escaped you, suddenly aware of just how brutally strong he was. His eyes were glowing in the darkness, piercing through you like daggers. However, it was not anger that filled them. Only fear. Whatever he had faced in his nightmare had left its mark, and Maul had not completely snapped out of it.

You wrapped both hands around his wrist and tried to pry him off. To no avail. Even half-awake, he was much stronger than you.

"Maul," you managed, your voice strained with pain. It didn’t reach him. His gaze was fixed on you without really seeing, as if in a trance.

"Maul," you tried again, more urgently. "You have to let go." Panic began to rise in your chest. If he didn’t release his grip soon, you feared he might just snap your clavicle. 

Then, something shifted.

His eyes flickered, as if he finally registered what was happening and where he was. The fear dissipated from his eyes, slowly replaced by recognition. He released you immediately. You stumbled back, clutching your collarbone where his fingers had been only moments ago. Maul instinctively went to reach for you, then seemed to think better of it. His hand hovered awkwardly in the air for a brief moment before curling back into a fist at his side. He doubted you wanted him anywhere near you after what just happened. 

"I’m sorry," he said quietly, a hint of shame in his voice. "I didn’t mean to." 

You were still catching your breath, a little under shock, the ache in your shoulder throbbing when you pressed against it. 

"Are you alright?" he asked with genuine concern. You nodded, and the movement made you wince. 

"I’ll be fine." It wasn’t a lie. Actually, now that you were free from his grasp, you found yourself more worried about him. "You okay?" 

Maul hesitated, then gave a short nod. Evasive, as always. You didn’t press for now, it would be a slow process for him to open up, if he ever did. 

He looked around the room. Most of the pillows had been knocked down, and the cover was ruined, torn and ripped. He grabbed it and looked at you apologetically. 

"I—"

"It’s fine, it’s just a blanket," you said honestly. "At least the couch survived." You offered a small smile to ease the palpable tension and keep him from dwelling on what he had just done. The nightmares clearly weren’t new to him. Despite how disoriented he had been upon waking, he had regained control rather quickly, all things considered. What he was troubled about was what came after, how he had hurt you. It was so easy for him to inflict pain on people, he was very gifted at that. He may even enjoy it under the right circumstances. Sometimes he wondered if he was capable of anything else. Sidious had nurtured the hatred inside him, but the violence… it might have always been there in the first place.

At this very moment, hurting was the last thing on his mind. He wanted to help you the way you so often did for him, to soothe the ache he had caused. To touch you gently, instead of violently, if you would even allow it now. The thought of frightening you bothered him deeply, especially after the trust you had slowly built between one another. He had hurt you, and even if you had waved it off, it would very much stick with him. 

The most frustrating part, though, was that despite all his powers, there was nothing he could physically do to for you right now. Of all the abilities the dark side had granted him, healing was not one of them. Ironically, he almost envied the Jedi for that. Almost.

You saw the cogs turning in his mind, he was angry with himself, that much was obvious, and there was probably very little you could say right now to make him feel better. It was wiser to give him a minute to collect himself. Besides, you needed to tend to yourself anyways.

"Don’t worry about the blanket, really. I’ll… I’ll be back." You cast one last glance at him before making your way to the bathroom. Maul remained where he was, silent and brooding, but you missed the way the hand that instinctively reached for you flexed uselessly at his side, as though mourning the feel of you there.

You let out a long breath as you leaned over the sink. Life certainly was never dull with Maul around. Without preamble you pulled your nightshirt over your head and examined your reflection in the mirror. A sizeable crimson bruise had already begun to form across your skin. You grimaced and grabbed a flask of bacta gel from the shelf. It came in handy when you injured yourself at work, which happened more often than was probably reasonable, judging by the half-empty container. You spread it thoroughly over the bruise and the tender skin around. It wouldn’t erase the mark entirely but at least it would dull the pain. 

As the gel began to take effect, you thought back on the events of the night—to the fear, the confusion, the look in Maul’s eyes when he hadn’t recognised you. There was no point sugarcoating it. For a moment, you had feared for your safety. But fear was not the feeling that had prevailed. It was concern. If anything, you wished to know how he felt. Something terrible must have happened to provoke such a violent reaction from him. If only he could help you better understand what troubled him so much that it followed him into his nightmares. You didn’t even need the details, just a little insight would do. 

The sound of Maul’s durasteel legs echoed in the corridor, growing closer and closer. He stopped somewhere behind you. You didn’t bother covering yourself, didn’t feel the need to. Instead, you looked up in mirror and found him standing in the doorway, head lightly tilted as he observed you in silence. He wasn’t staring in the crude sense, nor did he seem embarrassed by your state of undress. His eyes roamed the expanse of your back and shoulders, as if searching for additional damage he might have caused. 

Maul had always had a very practical approach towards you, which is why this situation didn’t strike him as odd. You had seen him shirtless countless times before while patching him up. Now the role were simply reversed. Still, you found that you liked being watched by him, even if his attention stemmed from curiosity rather than want. There was something strangely intimate about it.

He looked different when survival wasn’t hanging over him. Whenever you had cared for his injuries in the past, he had always maintained a stoic facade. Even when the pain broke through, he worked his hardest to appear completely unmoved. Now the harsh lines of his face had softened. You had no idea how old he was, but he certainly looked younger like this. And his golden eyes, which had looked so menacing earlier, were now so kind and caring. And they were watching you.

A little reluctantly, you cleared your throat, breaking the moment before addressing him.

"Do all Zabraks make a habit of staring at half-naked people, or is it just you?"

Maul blinked slowly. 

"I was…waiting to see if you required assistance." The sincerity of the answer pulled a genuine grin from you. His species must have had a very different perspective on nudity for him to miss what you were getting at. His brow furrowed and an almost child-like confusion passed over his face.

"Have I offended you?" There was that uncertainty again in his tone. This was more than casual conversation to him. Your relationship was still fragile, unfamiliar ground. He seemed perpetually afraid to say or do the wrong thing.

"No, Maul," you shook your head. "It’s just… you’re staring at me while I don’t have my clothes on." Better to speak plainly.

His eyes widened in realisation. Truthfully, it had never once occurred to him that the situation was strange, or even unusual. He had never thought anything of being undressed around you either.

"Right." He rubbed the back of his neck, considering your words. Before coming up with a rather interesting conclusion.

"Would it help if I removed this?" He suggested, vaguely gesturing at the top of his tunic. You genuinely couldn’t tell if he was serious or humouring you, but as your eyes met his in the reflection, you realised he was absolutely sincere. 

"You’re a strange man, you know that?" That only deepened his confusion. He felt like he was losing the hold of the conversation, somehow making everything worse. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand how uniting the biggest crime syndicates in the galaxy had felt less complicated than this.  

"I can leave if you pref—" You raised a hand to stop him.

"That’s not what I said." You turned around slowly, and not a single of part of you felt uncomfortable doing so. His gaze immediately fixed on the nasty bruise, the lines of his face tightening once more. 

"I can tell that you’re settled on the belief that I’m afraid of you." That was not a question, and he didn’t deny it.

"I hurt you." He said matter-of-factly

"You didn’t intend to," you countered, and he smiled bitterly.

"It does not change the fact." 

So he wanted to be stubborn. Fine. You could work with that.

"You’re right. So, what should we do about it?" He didn’t have an answer. This was not the kind of problem-solving he was skilled at, and it was beginning to unnerve him.

"You talked about trust earlier," you said, deciding on a different approach. "Come here."

He stared at you questioningly, already considering refusal. Yet against his better judgment, he took a step forward, then another, until he stood only inches away from you. 

Progress. 

Without a word, you slowly reached for his hands and guided them upward. You waited for him to get the hint and open his palms. When he did, you placed them carefully on your shoulders, so that one of them covered the bruise. 

Maul’s entire body tensed up. He had not expected this at all—not you allowing him to touch you again so soon. Deep down, he hoped you were not forcing yourself through this, carrying the burden of reassurance for both of you. You had already showed him more kindness than he thought he had ever properly earned, let alone returned. 

"You won’t hurt me," you said with certainty. "Not if you can help it. And that’s enough for me. Because I trust you." You squeezed his wrists reassuringly before sliding your hands under the length of his arms, all the way to his chest. You placed them flat where his tunic parted, over his twin hearts. You lingered there, breathing together. 

The air in the room shifted. What started as an attempt at reassurance turned very intimate, you both felt it at the same time. Maul’s eyes drifted downward, taking in the rest of you below the neck. But this time, it was clearly not the same look as before. A pleasant sensation ran through his entire body. He may have not been particularly experienced in matters of intimacy, but it wasn’t his first day on the star system either. He recognised the feeling for what it what. 

Desire. 

Not the gentle sort. This was want. Need. Oh, yes, he was very much staring now. The way you started tracing the black ink down the column of his neck did nothing to ease the hunger building inside him.

You were deep in his personal space now, foreheads nearly touching. With quiet satisfaction, you noted the tension had finally left his body, the weight of his arms resting comfortably against you. Your gaze dropped to his mismatched lips—the upper one black, the lower one red. You leaned in closer, pulled in by the urge press your mouth against them. Maul not puling away gave you the last bit of courage you needed. 

The kiss was a bit clumsy at first, just the time for him to reciprocate and move in sync with you. He moaned appreciatively against your mouth as his hands came up to cradle the back of your head with surprising gentleness. It didn’t take long for his tongue to come pushing insistently between your lips, and you gladly let him in. On your end, your fingers had slipped beneath the soft fabric of his tabard, exploring the smooth skin of his chest. You found that he was already running hot beneath your touch. Maul pressed you flush against him, his teeth grazing the side of your neck, alternating with slow licks and kisses. 

By the time you broke apart, both of you were breathless—and nowhere near satisfied. Maul needed no encouragement when you led him silently to the bedroom. He was already stripping off his gloves and gauntlets as he crossed the threshold, letting them drop to the floor. Next he undid the magnetic clasps of his large utility belt and sash. Once they came off, the rest of the layered tunic parted naturally, and he slid it down his muscular arms. You reacquainted yourself with the familiar scars on his chest and stomach. Some you recognised as wounds you had personally treated, others older, though there were so many that you couldn’t tell them all apart.

Maul watched you watch him with hungry eyes. But he was nothing if not disciplined, and waited for you to decide what came next. You made quick work of your night pants and stepped out of them, now completely bare. His gaze darkened instantly.

You claimed his mouth again and savoured the feel of his now bare hands on your skin. One of them wandered across your chest, rough fingertips brushing your nipple in slow circles making you gasp in his mouth. He squeezed your ass and pressed his hips against you firmly enough for you to feel something hard against your front. You held him at the waist, tracing the surgical scar where flesh ended, then lower still over the matte durasteel already visible over the hem of his pants. 

"May I?" you asked between heated, open-mouthed kisses.

"Please," he breathed against your lips, the word rough with need. "Touch me." 

The trousers came off and Maul kicked them unceremoniously towards the pile of clothes on the floor. Then waited.

You paused for a moment, openly observing—admiring—what had just been revealed to you. As expected, everything below was a blend of durasteel and carbon-weave plating, bordering on artistry. And between his legs lay a cybernetic cock, unmistakably machine yet sculpted to mimic the appendage of an organic body. The durasteel was seamlessly merged into red synth-flesh and threaded through with faint bioluminescent crimson veins along its length. You tried not to stare too long, but it was difficult not to. From a mechanic’s perspective alone, the craftsmanship was exquisite.

When you wrapped your fingers around it, you found that it was warmed to body temperature, likely through internal coils. You shook your head, that was enough cataloguing. Instead you focused on Maul. His jaw hung open in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut, confirming that his prosthetic was very much functional and sensitive. 

He obediently let himself be pushed onto the bed, and grabbed your hips as you straddled him. You moaned in unison as you started rubbing your slickness against him, the friction deliciously novel. Maul surged upward to hold you closer as the heat started to build up.

"Please," he panted in your ear as he rolled his hips desperately against you, trembling with restraint. "Let me in. Let me make you feel good."

You didn’t need to be told twice. You aligned him to your entrance and sunk down slowly until he was fully buried inside. You started riding him at a slow pace, feeling every inch. Instinctively, your hand slid up the back of his head, your fingers spreading carefully between his sharp horns to hold him close. Maul buried his face in your neck, breathing hard against your skin as he thrust up to meet you. 

You kept this rhythm going for a while, enjoying the deep and intimate drag, before seeking more intensity. None too gently, you shoved him back against the mattress, and pinned his wrists above his head. Part of you was curious to see if he would resist, but Maul was surprisingly pliant. He had no issues letting you take control; as a matter of fact, he would have let you do just about anything to him right now. 

This time you quickened the pace, chasing you own pleasure, though you couldn’t ignore the rough edges of his cybernetic hips and thighs digging into your soft skin. Maul watched you with fascination, his yellow eyes reflecting the neon lights that danced over your skin as your body moved on top of him. His head eventually fell back in pure bliss at the new angle. He was, you realized, impossibly beautiful like this. Neck corded, veins standing out as strained whimpers spilled from his lips. 

You cursed as you thighs began to get sore from the constant friction against durasteel. Observant as always, Maul noticed immediately. In one smooth motion, he flipped you over as if you weighed nothing, handling you with gentleness still. 

"Let me," he murmured, voice low and rough. He guided your legs further apart. "That’s it… just like that."

He slid back inside you from behind. Slow at first, watching the way you stretched perfectly around his cock, completely transfixed. After a few measured thrusts, you begged for more, and Maul obliged. He pulled you back flush against his chest and fucked you like this, with one strong arm wrapped securely around your midsection, his other hand reaching between your legs. It didn’t take long for you to come apart in his hands, clenching hard around him. Not long after, your felt his cybernetic cock pulse inside you, the internal circuits growing even hotter than before.

Maul caught you before you could collapse on the bed, easing you down with him so your head rested on his chest. You both lay there catching your breath. Beneath your ear, you could perceived the twin rhythm of his hearts beating fast.

"How was that for a show of trust?" you asked, nuzzling into his neck. You felt the vibration of his chuckle.

"Quite convincing," he replied as he kissed the top of your head. "Thank you."

You tilted your head up to look at him. "You know that’s not the only reason I slept with you, right? I wanted this," you needed him to hear it. "I wanted you." 

He nodded immediately, his fingers tracing slow patterns along your spine. "I know. I know, I simply…" he paused, searching for the right words. "I’m aware I can be… difficult. Thank you for seeing past that. For trying. Not many do." You squeezed his hand and pressed it to your lips.

The two of you talked more afterwards, the conversation circling back to his earlier concerns about involving you too deeply in his dangerous life. You were both reasonable enough to understand the reality of things. Whatever existed between you was not going to be some everlasting romance, and neither of you needed to pretend otherwise. Still, Maul knew there were pieces of himself he couldn’t keep from you. It would take time, but one day, he promised, he would tell you more about the nightmares, about his life. About the man who had taught him everything and successively taken everything away from him. 

But for now, he would enjoy the warmth of your body against his, counting the steady rise and fall of your chest as you drifted off in his arms. And tomorrow, he thought with a small private smile… well, tomorrow, perhaps he would stick around, maybe even brew you a cup of Cassius tea. The idea sounded almost absurdly domestic, and it didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Well, there you go, hope you enjoyed this little story! Thank you so much for reading; as always, don't hesitate to let me know what you think :)

(And thank you for all the love you guys showed for part 1, it was truly unexpected <3)

Banner by @carnally-mauls !!