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isaut · 14 days ago

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𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒔𝒊𝒙𝒕𝒉 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓— f!reader x captain rex. 10k. ao3

you're travelling for work...previous. masterlist.

The loudness of the nightclub is not Rex’s ideal night off. Not when he could be enjoying peace and quiet, staring out into nothing. Or watching one of those nature documentaries on his data pad in bed. But someone has to be responsible, someone has to be ready when… In case anything bad happens.

Here, everyone is illuminated in a green-purple glow. The drinks are fruity or flavorless with no inbetween. Most of the patrons are in skimpier black outfits, loose and flowing or tight and constricting. No in betweens.

Rex watches from a table in the back of the club. His eyes are on the man that he's actually concerned about, Jesse, who is in the process of talking up a pretty Tholothian woman. There’s a distinct sway to his movements that doesn’t bode well for his morning.

A flash of purple light illuminates the dancefloor and sparkles back to him. It catches Rex’s attention visually, and then his breath in his throat.

It’s you.

Your skin glistens and shines in the lights, and your silver chrome dress reflects even brighter. You’re dancing on your friend, with her hands on your waist as your wiggle and boogie to the music. The friend looks over towards him, then whispers something in your ear. You turn your head, following her gaze, and a wicked grin plasters itself on your face.

More words are exchanged with your friend before you slip from her hands. Exiting the dance floor, you head directly in Rex’s direction. With each step, your hips slink and sway. Rex’s gaze is caught. As you near, a look of recognition passes along your features, and you hesitate before continuing your strides over.

You come to the edge of the table, leaning over it on your forearms with your hands clasped. Your necklace dangles in the open space. Rex’s eyes look at it, he promises, and not your chest.

Rex leans forwards and speaks first. “I see you got off Naboo.”

You grin, “Yeah, I did. Was a big girl and got on a ship. Can call me an intergalactic girl now.”

“Atta girl.” There’s a smile weaving its way across his lips. The drawl goes straight to your core. “What did you think?”

“It is quiet. I don’t know how you do it.”

“You get used to it.”

Reaching over, you place your hand on Rex’s forearm. You lean in, lips right next to his ear. “Come smoke a cigarette with me.”

Rex leaves his beer half drunk on the table. Your fingers lace with his, pulling him out of the nightclub. It’s cool out, much cooler than the club. You take a deep breath of the city air, but it doesn’t have the same kick that the air back home has. Reaching into your purse, you pull out a cigarette case and your lighter.

“Had to buy the lighter here,” you comment, bringing the cigarette to your lips. “Pilot said I couldn’t have anything flammable on the ship. My hairspray was fine, though.”

The tip of the cigarette glows orange as you take a deep breath of the smoke. It’s not much different from the air circulating between the city buildings.

Rex chuckles. “The fuel and coolant is highly flammable.”

You exhale away from Rex’s face. “Is it?”

“And the oxygen circulators. But I fly with things far more flammable than a lighter.”

“Yeah?” You inhale again. Exhale. “Don’t tell me about it.”

“Wouldn’t want to scare a pretty pacifist like you off,” Rex comments, the words leaving his lips before he can stop them. For a brief moment, shame at the flirty words rises in him. But then, he sees the little flush on your cheeks, one that isn’t painted on.

“No? Why’s that?” You press.

Rex exhales as you inhale. “Don’t know–”

“Ugh, [First], you can’t just run off like that!” You turn your head, lazily blinking at your friend who had followed you out. Jolie’s hands are on her hips, a displeased look on her face. “One second I saw you, the next you were gone!”

“Sorry,” you say, but you don’t sound too sorry. “I’m fine.” You take another lazy inhale and speak through the exhale. Gesture with your cigarette wielding hand. “This is Rex, that guy I’ve been talking about.”

Rex is more focused on the fact that you’ve been talking about him. Your friend’s eyes rake over Rex, taking him in. Her features soften. Her tone is light and airy, a bit flirty. He has something she wants. “Hey—”

“I’m going to leave after I finish smoking,” you continue, pushing right past the request on Jolie’s tongue. “Rex and I are going to go have a drink at the hotel bar.”

Rex did not agree to any other plans. He would, though. For you.

“This is a girls night out!” Jolie protests. “You’re supposed to spend time with us! I have your favorite song on as a request.”

Jolie’s been trying to get the attention of a clone with a geometric tattoo all night. She certainly hasn’t been paying attention to you.

“Oh.” This seems to sway you. Then, you wonder when she had time to do that. If the DJ even took requests. You turn to Rex, “Will you come dancing with me?”

Oh. Last time, Rex was convinced because his brothers had all left. There were no prying eyes. But now? His mind is flooded with potential ribbing.

“Wait a second,” Jolie says, interrupting whatever response was about to leave Rex’s lips. “Any chance you have another blond friend of yours you can introduce me to?”

“Uh…” There’s Bowzer, in the 198th. But the 198th is stationed on Kamino. “No…”

Jolie sighs. Flips her hair over her shoulder. “Did you come with anyone?”

“Uh, yeah. I did.”

Her eyes light back up. “Can you introduce me?”

Rex blinks. “Uh, I mean, if I—”

“Jolie,” you cut in with a sigh, crossing your arms.

“What?” She asks.

“Rex and I are going to dance for a little longer, per your request,” you say, a little harsher than you mean to. “I’m sure you can meet someone on your own.”

Then he remembers how you were dancing on your friend. Like water. He wonders if you’ll cascade over him as well.

“I’m no dancer,” Rex says.

“Don’t lie to me,” you take another, final drag of your cigarette and then squash it under the toe of your shoe. You pull a mint out of your purse, and hold the tin out to your friend. She takes one. The tin is passed to Rex. He glances at it, then at you.

Raising your eyebrow, you pull a mint from the tin and click it shut. You hold it up to Rex’s lips, and without thinking he parts them. The mint is popped in, and the tin is slipped back into your purse.

“Alright,” you decide, addressing your friend. “You have me until after my song. Then I have a drink to get.”

Your friend rolls her eyes.

There’s a brief moment on the dancefloor where Rex thinks he might be in over his head. There are people all around him, constricting him in. But his hands are on your waist, over the water of your short dress, and his thigh is between your legs.

It’s closer than he was dancing with you before, there’s less of a formula. The movements are heady— your hips roll in time with the music, playful in each sway.

Your lips are parted, there’s perspiration along your hairline. Your eyes are lidded, tonight they’re dusted in glitter that looks like stardust in the same silver of your dress.

Reaching up, you wrap your hand around the back of Rex’s neck.

“Would you kiss me right now?” You ask into his ear. You’ve missed kissing him, missed the comfort. The flutter.

Rex wants to glance around, wants to see who’s watching him. But he doesn’t want to draw his attention away from you. There’s a shimmer around your eyes, a smokiness there too, that demands his attention. “Why don’t we get out of here?”

You flash him a grin. Turning your head, you glance over at your friend, who’s busy talking to a twi’lek you don’t know. They’re getting awfully handsy…

Reaching over, you take hold of your friend’s bicep, drawing her attention to you. “I’ll see you later!” You call over the music. Turning back to Rex, you lean up to talk directly into his ear. “Do you need to tell anyone you’re leaving?”

Rex scans the dance floor. Jesse is nearby, chatting up the same woman from before, leaning into her space. Does he even need to say anything?

“Just give me a sec,” Rex says, patting your hip as he makes his way over. He claps Jesse on the shoulder, getting the man’s attention. “I’m leaving.”

Jesse’s brows furrow. “We just got here.” We in question did not just get here. “Hey, Naomi here has a friend—”

Rex cuts him off. “It’s fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Jesse opens his mouth to say something, but Rex is already turning around.

While Rex talks to his friend, you take a few moments to make sure that your other friends are still at the club. Jolie can pass the message on—

Rex’s hand finds your lower back and gently ushers you out of the noisy, packed venue onto the noisy, packed streets. The warmth from the club dissipates from the stickiness of sweat to the static humidity of an electric city. Rex walks towards the curb, which drops suddenly into the depths, and holds out his hand for a taxi. You stay as far from the curb as possible, but your fingers stay loosely intertwined, fingertips brushing against each other.

As a speeder arrives, Rex steps back in line with you. The machine settles into the designated spot on the platform, overlapping so there is no daring jump into the seat. Gently, he tugs a bit on your hand to urge you closer to him and the speeder. You take a big, deep breath, one that fills all the way to your shoulders.

“I’ll help you,” Rex assures you, voice gentle against the rush of the city. It’s so busy here, so, so busy. But Rex’s hand is warm, and solid, and calloused.

You step into the speeder, Rex’s hand never leaving yours. He settles into the seat beside you, a warm feeling expanding in his chest. Your hand grips onto his thigh, your legs crossed and foot bouncing up and down.

“Where are we headed?” The taxi driver asks.

Clearing your throat, you tell the name of your hotel and he takes off.

You don’t like technology, that’s one of the first things you ever told Rex. It’s a lack of trust in the metal and the brainpower behind it all, some part of it harkening to some primordial part of your psyche. But Rex is solid, unlike the wind whipping at you as you’re propelled through the busy lanes.

And there’s something in Rex’s primordial psyche, one that whispers in the back of his mind as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. As he presses a kiss to your head. As his other hand comes to rest atop yours, thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. As your head rests on his collarbone.

The speeder comes to a stop at the platform in front of the hotel. You raise your head, and Rex’s hand rubs align your thigh, squeezing once right above your knee, firm and reassuring. Rex climbs out first, then turns to immediately offer you a hand. You poke around in your purse for some credits, but are cut off by the driver.

“Don’t worry about it,” the driver says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Oh. Thank you,” you say, hand in Rex’s.

“Don’t thank me,” the driver says. Mutters it, more like. He mutters something under his breath, too, but you don’t quite hear it. Instead, you’re too busy focusing on the solid ground underneath you–

Rex’s arm slides around your waist, drawing your attention up towards him. In the neon hues of the night he looks not of this world, but befitted nonetheless. You want him.

“Not a fan?” Rex asks, though he already knows the answer before the words even leave his lips.

“Not a fan,” you agree, starting to head towards the hotel. “I can only think about what happens if we… fall. It must be so far down.”

“But here we are on solid ground,” Rex says. He reaches around you to pull open the heavy, glass door to the building.

The hotel you’re staying at is a grand one, scaling up into the sky for many floors. The walls are that shimmering bronze that coats the city, windows glistening more and more the closer they get to the top.

The hotel bar is dimly lit, leaving you and your companion in the haze of a quiet lamp between and above you. The corner is secluded, tucked away far from any wandering eyes. Sparkling mineral water sits in a carafe between the two of you. You ask for grapefruit, and it’s brought out for you to squeeze into the glasses.

As you bring a glass to your lips, your hand slides across the table and rests on Rex’s forearm. Your calves touch under the table. Rex leans into you.

“It’s funny how we keep running into each other,” you note. “Unless you’re following me.”

“This time you’re on my planet,” Rex points out.

“I thought you were from Kamino?”

“I am. But this is where I am for down time normally. Well, not at that club. Normally I go to this other bar, but one of my brothers, he was insistent on going out like that.” Rex takes a sip of his drink to hide his embarrassment from the ramble.

“What bar do you normally go to?” You ask. “We’re here for a few more days, maybe we’ll check it out. Run into you again.”

Rex hesitates. “You wouldn’t like it.”

“What makes you say that?”

Maybe it’s more that Rex wouldn’t like you going there. First and foremost, there’s the fact that everyone there has his same face. You haven’t brought up anything about his doppelgänger body, and he’s not sure he wants you putting two and two together. The biological fact swirls around in his stomach, licking up the sides of his ribs and festering in his lungs. It’s who he is, and something about you makes him want to squash it down all the way.

Maybe you think he’s one of those Admirals— One of the ones who run the fleets, who have mothers who breastfed them and fathers who played catch with them. Who, when they have time off, go home to their aging parents, who care for them as their memories pass.

Rex clears his throat. “It’s pretty gross in there. It’s a soldier bar,” it’s a clone bar, “So they don’t have the best drinks or the best music.”

“You’re telling me there’s no dancing?”

The only dancing is the two-step that leads to hookups. It’s not a place that he imagines you enjoying. Even if that’s all he is to you. A hook up you can’t shake.

“Not the kind I think you’re interested in.”

You pout. “So what do you think we should do tomorrow?”

“There’s lots to do here. What have you done so far?”

“We came in this morning, so we’ve just been to the hotel and then to the club.”

“You gonna go to the art museums?”

Touched by the fact he remembered you do enjoy art, you smile. “We’re going to one a day. And we’re going to the museum of space travel.”

“Oh?”

“My friend, the one you met, is obsessed with space travel. She can’t get enough of it. The entire time we were on the ship she was staring out the window.”

“And you weren’t?”

A pretty flush decorates your face. “No… I was getting sick in the bathroom.” Embarrassment seeps through your pores. What a silly thing to say, what a light to shine yourself in—

“I made myself sick the first time I ever flew a fighter.”

“Really?”

Rex nods. “Yeah, I messed up the angles and was stuck doing loops for a good minute straight. Was not fun.”

You take a sip of your drink.

“I still don’t fly if I can help it. At least in the smaller planes,” Rex continues.

“Have you been to the space museum?”

“Nah.”

“You should come with us.”

Rex pauses. He blinks once. “I can’t, I’ve got to work tomorrow.”

You sigh. Of course he does.

“You’re coming up to my room with me, right?” It’s basically tradition now.

“If you’ll have me,” Rex replies.

Nodding, you down the rest of your drink and stand up. Rex’s head tilts up to follow your movements, a bit bewildered.

“Come on, handsome, let’s get out of here. I have my own room.”

Rex scrambles to his feet.

With your back against the elevator, you watch as Rex’s fingers hover over the numbers. He glances over his shoulder, waiting for you.

“Top floor,” you reply.

Rex’s eyebrows raise, and he presses the button.

“I’m not just here for play,” you sigh. “The Senator of Naboo has asked me here.”

Rex turns his whole body to you. “The Senator?”

You shrug, running your hand over your dress, suddenly very aware of how short it was. Through your pantyhose, you can see the scar above your knee from when you were a little girl. “She wants me on an advisory council… Just for a few days. I tried to reject her, but she said she specifically needed me.” You laugh lightly to yourself. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“I don’t mind,” he says. “Must be a pretty big deal if you’ve been summoned to Coruscant.”

“I’m hoping it’s not. The Senate…” you trail off. You remember Rex is a soldier. He must have some faith in the Republic, in the Senate’s decisions. “Nevermind.”

“You can tell me,” Rex says softly.

“I don’t think we’d see eye to eye on it.” You pause. Rex doesn’t fill it. “I just like talking about art. I don’t think I’m important enough to be summoned by the senator.”

Rex doesn’t exactly understand curating art. Doesn’t get the science behind it and the hours of thought. Nonetheless, “Senator Amidala always has a reason.”

“Do you know her?”

“No,” Rex says quickly. “Not really.”

Mentally, however, Rex beats himself over the head with a stick. Mygeeto. The painting. The hologram. The fact that his mission tomorrow is to accompany Senator Amidala as extra protection. Zaakul plays in his head: Oh, what’s the worst that could happen? The worst that could happen is happening tomorrow.

The doors slide open. Lingering a moment, you look Rex up and down with skepticism in your eyes. Only after he fidgets once do you step out, fingers dancing through your purse for the hotel key.

“Well, I don’t want to talk about work anymore. It stresses me out.” The door clicks open and you push inside. “Do you want to continue our small talk?”

“I like talking to you,” Rex says. He also likes kissing you. He wins either way.

With a smile, you let Rex close the door behind him. Intentionally, you brush up against him to close the manual lock, keeping the door shut behind a titanium latch. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest. Your arms wrap around his neck, smile not leaving.

“Let me give you the tour,” you say with a smile, pulling back just slightly. You don’t catch the way that Rex’s eyes bounce down to your lips, since your eyes bounce the same way at the same time.

“I’d love a tour,” Rex says, breath ghosting over your lips.

“Would you?”

“More than anything.”

You don’t know why you’re hesitant. Maybe it’s because your heart growls with hunger. Any hesitancy that Rex feels melts the second his lips touch yours, melding together in the darkness of the foyer.

Most of your… conquests is the word you’ve used in the past but doesn’t feel right in this moment. Lovers feels too personal for the past you share. Either way, instead of being pressed against one of the walls, you’re pulled closer. Wide hands slide to your lower back.

When you pull away, you’re smiling. Giggling, even. Giddy. One of your hands rests on his shoulder, the other cupping the back of his neck, thumb on his cheek. Gently, you rub over his stubble, then lean up to press another kiss to his lips.

“Okay, tour,” you say, hand sliding down his arm to hold his hand. He squeezes your hand, tempted to pull you close again and kiss you once more.

It’s obvious, that desire. The two of you stand in that foyer for a beat too long, before you’re looking away and down into the room. Rex’s eyes don’t leave your face, watching as your lashes dust over your cheeks. A strand of hair has slipped to rest against your cheek, and you bring your free hand up to tuck it away.

There’s a bathroom to the left, and a kitchenette to the right, with a bed and living area separated by a fireplace. Large, glass windows are tinted with technology, that new type that allows for the patron to select what kind of exterior they want to see– the oceans of Naboo, the mountains of Alderaan, the deserts of Ryloth. Of course, there is always the transparent option, but that’s not really anything most visitors want to see.

“Do you want something to drink?” You ask, leading Rex further in. Your heels click against the floors, and Rex’s eyes linger down your figure.

“I’m alright,” Rex says.

You place your purse on the kitchenette counter, picking up the little note that rests on the counter. Droids had been sent in to tidy the area up in your absence, and restocked the mini fridge from your pre-party.

“Alright.” You rest against the counter, letting your eyes trail over Rex. Every time you’ve seen him he’s been in these black garments. You tilt your head a bit, taking him in.

Rex points at the windows, “Have you played around with those yet?”

You look over your shoulder, then shake your head. “What do you mean?”

Spurred by the chance to show you something, instead of the other way around, Rex heads towards the living area and examines the remotes on the coffee table. As he looks, you come over to his side and look along with him. He picks one up, then points it at the windows. Immediately, they change, showing a snowy mountain range.

“Oh!”

Rex turns to look at you, watching as you take a seat on the couch and one of your hands travels down to the zipper of your boots. Your eyes stay trained on the window.

“How did you know about it?” You ask, looking up at him.

“They’ve got these in the rec rooms on the ship,” Rex says. He sets the remote next to you, dropping down to a knee beside you. His fingers replace yours on the sturdy zipper of your boots. “Recognized the tint on ‘em.”

Sitting back on the couch, you stretch your arm out along the back of the piece of furniture. Rex helps you out of your shoes before taking a seat next to you on the couch. He leans over to take his own shoes off, while you pick up the remote and change the setting on the windows. A desert appears on the screen.

“This is peaceful,” you comment. It is, more so than the hustle and bustle of the unending Coruscant streets.

“There should be sound to go with it,” Rex says.

Looking down at the remote, you press a few buttons until a humming ambiance fills the room. You switch the scene again, until the windows are washed in the underwater scape of Mon Calamari. Propping yourself up, you rest your cheek against your hand, watching the water.

You’re pulled away from the scene by Rex’s hand sliding over your thigh. Humming, you look over towards Rex. The man is leaning back into your space, warm and gentle.

“This is going to put me to sleep, handsome,” you admit.

“Is it?” Rex’s hand rests on your hip.

You hum your confirmation.

“We can turn it off,” Rex says softly.

You continue to hum. “Maybe I’ll stay awake longer if I get a little kiss.”

“A little kiss?”

“A little kiss.”

Who is he to deny a request like that? Rex leans in, lips sliding against yours. His thumb slides over your hip, slow and comforting. Shifting on the couch, you open your legs so Rex has a place to slot himself between. And slot himself between your legs he does. His body presses against you, sturdy and warm.

You fall pliant under him, hands sliding down his arms, over the taunt muscles there that support him. The material of his blacks is smooth, almost too smooth and artificial under your touch. Hungry for the feeling of his skin, your fingers dip under the sleeve hems, pushing up the fabric.

Rex chuckles against your lips, pulling away. You chase after him, then stop once you realize he’s sitting all the way up. Embarrassment coats your throat, and you clear it as you sit up as well.

“Just gonna pull my shirt off,” Rex says, clasping the material and pulling it over his head.

A smile pulls at your face, almost wolfish.

“You should take a shower with me first,” you say, rising to sit on your knees.

“A shower?”

You nod, watching as Rex leaves his shirt beside him on the couch.

“I bet the shower here is real nice,” Rex says.

“It is,” you say. “There’s a really nice bath too.”

Rex raises his eyebrows. You raise yours back.

“Come and shower with me, handsome,” you say, rising to your feet.

Rex follows you dutifully into the bathroom. It’s nice. Large and marble. Echoing. Standing in front of the mirror and sink, you root around in your toiletries for makeup remover. Once it's found, you clip your hair back to keep it out of your face.

“It’s going to take me a second,” you say, glancing over at Rex. “If you turn the shower on, I should be ready by the time it’s warm.”

“There’s no rush,” Rex says, though he supposes there is. There’s just tonight– even if he has all of it. “You want to hear about this book I’m reading right now?”

“Sure,” you reply, closing your eyes to wipe the balm over it.

“It’s going real slow, been busy. But it’s about the rise and fall of this old civilization that used to be on Coruscant. Thousands of years ago…”

You listen as Rex talks about the old clans that bonded together to form the city planet. About the fights for power and the betrayals that took place as the planet began to solidify under a single oligarchy. Makeup slides off your face, washed away, and bobby pins leave your hair, amassing in a small pile on the counter.

Scratching your nails through your hair, you head over to the shower and turn it on. Rex is still talking. It’s a calm, steady story. He speeds up during certain parts, animated, and doesn’t gloss over any details he’s read.

The water is warm. It comes from both the top of the shower and the side.

You cross over to Rex, who is still speaking, and turn your back, moving your hair out of the way. His words stumble.

“Help me with the zipper,” you hum.

Rex’s hands smooth down your waist before, as if reminding himself you’re real. His fingers are large around the sturdy zipper.

Without thinking, he dips down to press a kiss to your shoulder, unzipping the garment. Your breath hitches at the gentle action.

Your dress falls into a puddle on the floor, still sparkling in the light of the bathroom. Rex’s thumbs slide down your back, hands spread as they follow the dip in your spine to the two dots. Your breathing hitches again.

Turning, you stay close to Rex. His hands hold you, splayed wide. Yours wrap around his neck.

“It’s kind of funny,” you say, breath mingling with his. “How many times we’ve run into each other.”

You’ve run into each other more times than you know. “I don’t know if I’d call it funny.”

You hum. “What would you call it then?”

Fate? Rex shrugs. “I don’t know.” The Force?

Your hand smooths over his chest, then both run down the planes to the hem of his pants.

Gently, your fingers dip below the waistband, feeling the soft skin there.

Rex’s lips move before he can stop them. “I think we’ve met more than you remember.”

You pause, fingers in his waistband still.

“What do you mean?”

Rex’s throat bobs as he swallows. “We’ve interacted when I was on duty. A few times.”

You blink at him. “What?”

Rex’s eyes dip from yours to your lips for a brief moment. “I turned you back at the shore.”

You gasp lightly as the memory resurfaces. The hard day at work, the sunset on the shore that you were so close yet so far from. The trooper with the blue, with the tally marks. Then, you’re horribly reminded of your own little tantrum, the tears in your eyes, the way you’d shrugged him off. Bashfully, you shy your gaze away. “You should have told me it was you. I would have been much more agreeable.”

“I don’t want you to know,” Rex murmurs.

“Know what?” Your eyes slip back to his.

Rex pauses. He doesn’t know why he pauses. It’s never bothered him before. “That I’m a clone.”

You laugh despite yourself. Rex’s ears tinge red at the tips.

“Baby, I’ve known,” you say, unable to help yourself with the pet name. “I don’t care.”

Rex doesn’t seem convinced. Your hands leave his shoulders to cup his face. “You’re ridiculous. Take off your pants and kiss me and then we can shower.”

Rex kisses you first. It’s breathless, filled with relief. You’re pushed back against the counter, cool against your back.

“So what are you doing so often on Naboo?” You ask, fingers slipping under the band of his pants. “It’s a peaceful planet.”

“Uh,” Rex’s brain works hard to keep up with the lie. Your fingers tug slightly and brush against his pelvis. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I won’t,” you assure him.

You push his pants down further, so you can see more of his pelvis. Rex goes to help you, removing his pants fully. He’s already half hard. With a small smile pulling across your face, you slide your palm down, over his happy trail, and wrap your hand around him.

He twitches.

You glance up at him. There’s a bashful look in his eyes. Slowly, fingertips grazing, you release him.

Sliding your fingers under your bra straps, you make it so they pull your breasts up before dropping back to a neutral position. Rex’s eyes follow the entire time.

You unclasp your bra. It slides off, dangling on a finger. You keep your gaze on Rex’s eyes, but his amber gaze is no longer on your face.

Nosing your way towards him, you press a kiss to his lips. Rex’s hands come to cup the back of your head, pressing under your hair. Steam curls in the air, from over the top of the shower.

With your matching panties in a pool on the bathroom tile, you lead Rex into the shower.

Picking up your soap, you look over at Rex. “I actually need to shower and so do you. Not that I think you’re dirty, but because the club was dirty. And the air. It’s so dirty here.”

While Rex agrees, it’s been trained out of him to care about dirt. Showers are a blessing he gets when he’s able, but when he’s in the field they aren’t in rotation. You produce a bottle of soap, pink, with little beads in it, and squirt a dollop onto a wet washcloth. The substance lathers all over your skin, producing a white foam.

Rex can’t stop watching the way the water trickles down on you. Over the divots and rivets of your flesh. Cutting through the foam.

You glance over at him. At his heavy gaze.

“You want to help, sweet boy?” You coo.

Rex swallows. You watch as his Adam’s apple bobs. Stepping towards him, you wrap your arms around his neck, suds slipping onto his body, and place a kiss to the protruding cartilage.

You lean back. The spray of the shower still falls on you.

“I like watching,” Rex murmurs.

“You don’t want to be hands on?”

Rex glances away from you, for just a brief moment. He does.

“It’s okay, you watch.” Raising a hand, you give his chest a little pat. His hand comes up, quick, to intercept, wrapping around your wrist and pulling you close.

“I’ll help,” Rex assures you, other hand drifting down to take the washcloth out of your hands. Your fingers brush against each other, soap transferring from wet to wet.

Dutifully, he lightly scrubs at your skin.

With the steam rising, Rex finishes his work. Soapy from your head to your toes, you place a hand at the nape of Rex’s neck, pulling him until your breaths intermingle, until lips are pressed together.

Patting his chest, you stand back out of the spray and continue to clean yourself off. Glitter is primarily what comes off of you, the haze having been applied before you left.

“Come here,” you urge, once you’re cleaned and smelling of roses and sea salt.

Dutifully, Rex steps under the spray. You give yourself time, running your hands over his chest, down his stomach, over his back. The muscles twitch generously and sensuously under your touch. There’s firmness under every touch, and you find yourself pressing into it.

Rex’s shoulders sag slightly. He lets out a little sigh.

You pause. “Does that feel good?”

“Yeah, it does.”

“Your muscles are really tight,” you say, and move to press a kiss to his shoulder, but stop yourself. You slowly remove your hands from his shoulders.

Just a hookup.

Though, as you remove your hands from his shoulders, Rex turns to look at you. His eyes linger on your own, then flutter down to your lips, then down the length of your body, before back up to his own eyes.

With a little smile that flits along your face, you run your hands back over the tight muscles, hand going over his bicep to shoulder and the other along his lower back.

“Those healing things you were telling me about must not do much for your muscles,” you note, continuing the light pressure to try and relieve some of the pent up dress there.

“The–” Rex’s words are cut off by a little sigh. Your touches hurt, just slightly, but feel relieving over all. “The bacta tanks?”

You hum. “Yeah, those things.”

“Nah, they don’t… They don’t really do much more than just… heal.”

“No massages?”

“Nah.”

“And here I am getting pissy when I go a month without going to the spa,” you lightly joke. Rex’s muscles are loosening under your touch– you’re nothing like your own massage therapist, but you’ve been on her table long enough to know the gist. “They ought to take better care of you.”

Rex runs a hand over his face, pulling away the water that rests there. Though, some remains collect on his eyelashes that he blinks away. “Probably. I don’t like to think about it.”

You give a little hum of acknowledgement, then place that kiss you’ve been thinking about to his shoulder. Wrapping your arms around his chest, you let your wet body press against his, the feeling of his back against your breasts comforting in that warm, solid way. Rex leans back against you, before maneuvering to instead face you. His hands slide over your hips, pads gripping into the soft skin.

His lips slide against yours, wanting and wet. The shower pelts rhythmically on the ground around you, hitting his back in a warm spray that leaves splotches of red against his skin.

The two of you finish with little fanfare– Rex’s hands stay stuck on your body, as if they could help remove the suds you apply alongside the water. You watch, with great interest, as Rex cleans himself off so diligently and efficiently, leaving no time to simply bask.

He shuts the water off and runs a hand over his head, knocking out the residual water there. A giddy feeling starts to rise up in your stomach, one of anticipation and warmth. Part of you– a large part of you– doesn’t want to wait, and instead wants to flip the shower back on and lower to your knees, or turn on that massive bathtub and sink right onto Rex as the warm water fills up around the both of you.

You pat yourself dry and examine the hotel lotion before using it on yourself, feeling Rex’s eyes upon you the entire time.

Turning, you lean up against the counter, offering the lotion to Rex. “Here, you do it for me.”

Rex’s hands are gentle over your body, with a care he doesn’t even use on himself. His hand follows the washcloth as it roams your body with purpose. There’s a want he taps into, one that normally goes unspoken for, as he pays attention to your body.

If only he could stay. Rex pulls you close with a firm hand on your lower back, cock stirring against your thigh. One of your hands drags down his chest, nails bumping over a nipple, nails dusting over his abdomen.

His hand holds fast around your wrist before you can touch him. He pulls away, sheepish on his cheeks.

“I’ll come too fast,” he admits.

“Oh,” you breathe, just barely. The note finds herself nearly lost in the steam. “Is that a bad thing?”

Rex swallows. A handjob in the shower feels too much like the strict, dry nature of the ship he’s oathsworn to.

“I want it to be…” Gods, vocalizing for himself causes something akin to shame to burn throughout his body.

You hum an encouraging note, thumb swiping along the side of his neck, along the tendon there. “Want it to be what?”

“Special,” Rex admits.

A wide grin breaks out across your face. That’s right, your poor, sweet soldier who doesn’t get to indulge in any vestal, any himrosian activities you take for granted. How lucky are you that some must-be-purposeful version of coincidence has brought the two of you together.

Freshly lotioned, you lean back on the bed. Examine your nails. No harm has come to them. You shift around on the duvet. Should you undo it? Leave the bed made? Was the duvet even clean?

You run your hand over the white fabric.

There’s a dip in the duvet. You turn your gaze towards Rex, who continues his pathway to rest above you. Spreading your legs, you give Rex a place to kneel between them, his hands resting on your thighs.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” you reply.

“You’re really pretty,” Rex says. “I don’t think I’ve said it enough.”

You feel your face warm, then your neck, down to your chest. “You’re flattering me.”

“I’m being serious,” Rex says.

You want to quip back about how he’s only saying that because he doesn’t see women very often. The mean part of your brain throws out that he really only sees himself everyday.

But he looks reverent.

Rex’s hands smooth up your body to rest on your hips. His thumbs smooth over the skin by your belly button. He looks up at you.

“What is it?” You ask quietly. There always seems to be something, with Rex. Some underlying hesitation. Something you can’t quite place.

“I was just thinking…” Rex trails off. “I was just thinking about how many times we’ve seen each other. I just can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t… I don’t get it.”

“I think you should thank the universe for giving us this chance,” you hum. You want to be crass. It’s a good fuck. It’s one of the best you’ve had. You won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

This feels like more than just a good fuck.

“Yeah, I probably should, shouldn’t I?”

You nod. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer.

You want to kiss him some more. You want to kiss him until you can’t think of anything else. There’s a churning, burning feeling deep within you. Carefully, you continue pulling him closer, until he has nowhere to go but to lean over you, hands by your shoulders.

Raising your hand, you gently cup his cheek, thumb rubbing against the skin there. A little stubble slides under your digit, and your lashes flutter from his lips to his eyes. The amber catches the lamplight, and your desire to kiss him trickles away as you dip into his irises.

Slowly, he closes the distance between the two of you. You feel as the muscles of his shoulder tense and ripple as he lowers the few centimeters to gently nudge his nose against yours, giving you enough warning to close your eyes and slip your lips against his.

His cock rests, burning hot, against your mound.

Both of your breaths hitch in your mouth. One of Rex’s hands braces himself by your head, and his hips twitch, shifting forward just enough that his balls press against your core. Warm against warm.

“Let me see if I brought condoms,” you say, pushing your hand against Rex’s broad chest. Rex settles back, letting you slide out from under him.

Crossing the room to where your suitcase is, you dig through your luggage. Most of your clothes have been hung up already, the ornate finery Naboo women are expected to wear for formal business occasions.

You’re coming up blank. You head towards the bathroom to check your toiletries bag, and come up blank again. The last place to look is your purse, which holds nothing in it but your ID, your lip combo, and a rollerball of perfume. Closing it and setting it on the desk, you speak as you turn back around.

“How good is your pull out?”

“My what?” Rex’s brows furrow in confusion. He’s settled back against the pillows, legs strewn out in front of him. Cock half hard.

“You just have to pull out before you come.”

“I can do that,” Rex says. He can do as he’s told. As he’s requested.

Nodding, you come back to the bed. You straddle yourself across Rex’s abs, hand gliding up his chest.

“Good.”

Rex looks up at you, hopeful. Slowly, you lower yourself until your lips are brushing up against his. Lips seal together with a soft pass, with a relieved sigh. Rex’s hands slide up and down your back, eliciting a shiver to travel up your spine.

Air escapes your lips into his mouth.

“Sorry,” he whispers against you.

“It’s okay,” you whisper back, unwilling to break the quiet. Then, your lips are back on his, tongue swiping against his, chest to chest. Gently, subtly, your hips roll against the flat of his stomach, the contraction of the movement providing friction to your wanting core.

Continuing their path down your body, Rex’s hand shamelessly grabs at the thick of your ass, kneading the muscle and flesh there. His hand presses up, until it’s sitting splayed on the back of your hip, gently pressing you closer.

As if you could get any closer.

Your hips roll, slowly and purposefully. Wanting. Searching for a little more friction, like a seam of a pair of rough denim jeans, or a firm cock or—

Rex’s hand slides, wanting and curious, back over your ass to find your slit. Hot, wet, wanting. You sigh relief directly into his mouth.

“I wanna eat you out,” Rex’s words are mumbled, lost on spit slicked lips.

Smiling, you pull away just barely. “You wanna eat me out?”

Rex nods. His eyes leave yours to glance down your body, ending where you’re pressed against him, burning hot.

You rise up onto your knees, lifting your core from Rex. “Move down a little.”

Rex slides down a little, until his head is on the mattress, until you sit back down on him, showing that he’s gone far enough. You straddle across his chest this time, back curved slightly.

“C’mere,” Rex murmurs, shuffling his shoulders to give you space for your knees to go.

Hand on the headboard and cunt right above his mouth, you slowly lower yourself down until you’re millimeters away. Rex’s inhale is audible. His hands hold your hips, gently tugging you to meet his wanting lips.

Warm and wanting.

Broad strokes with his tongue help him get acclimated. Help him situate to the warmth above him. His hands slide from your thighs to your lower back, giving you extra support to balance with.

When Rex eats you out, he always starts with exploring, using his tongue to find every little spot, everything that he’s missed emotionally or missed physically.

It’s not long until you start rolling your hips back against him, careful not to let yourself fully rest against him. Glancing down, you watch his closed eyes and relaxed brow, nose buried into you. A breathy little moan leaves your lips, raising in pitch when his tongue swipes through your folds, separating them to grant him access to your core.

His tongue is warm, moving easily to lick up as much of your essence as he can. Once satisfied, he tilts his head slightly and begins moving his mouth as if making out with you. Open mouth, swiping tongue. Teasing at your hole. Swirling at your clit. Exploratory and sure.

Ceasing the wide movements, Rex’s lips press a suckering kiss to your clit, eliciting a shuddering moan as your thighs twitch, full weight sinking onto him.

The sudden pressure causes Rex to moan deeply into you, hands shifting to tighten around your hips and hold you there.

A swear slips from your lips. You hold onto the headboard the best you can, but it’s nothing like your wooden one back home where you can easily wrap your hand around wood. Instead, you clutch at the plush canvas, falling forwards.

You try your hardest to lift a little off Rex, to try and give him some breathing room, but it’s to no avail. His hands grip tight onto you, and a huff leaves his nose straight into your mound.

He mumbles something, lost into soaking wet flesh.

Part of you wants to inquire about this, but most of you, all of you is suddenly lost to the feeling of the top of Rex’s tongue circling your hole.

And you lean into it. Sit back up straight and sink down on it with a slow, satisfied moan. Rex joins you, the vibrations sending sparks up your spine, straight from your core.

One hand leaves the headboard, reaching behind you to rest on top of Rex’s hand.

You’ve never been largely vocal. It’s a skill you’ve picked up over the years to get what you want, typically a fast pace.

But here, right now, the feeling of Rex’s tongue pressing into you, swirling and curious, the moans come easily. Float out of you, as your hips rock back and forth for more and more.

Casting a glance behind you, you’re met with Rex’s legs bet at the knees, feet planted firmly into the bed. And he’s erect, he’s erect, tip smearing all over his stomach.

You turn back around, glancing down your front to meet Rex’s lidded gaze. He blinks at you, slow and content like a lion before shutting them fully once more. Then he’s sucking once more, lips around your clit and you’re both hands on the headboard doubled over.

You haven’t come like this— hand and head on the headboard, core to mouth— since you were in college.

“Don’t… stop,” you breathe out. That heat that’s building in your stomach shakes in your thighs, in your arms, in every part of your body held taunt.

You don’t even realize you release until suddenly it’s all too much. Until suddenly you’re resting on your forearms, touching the wall to catch your breath. Rex’s lips have left your clit and are swiping along your folds, cleaning up the little mess you made.

Rex rubs a hand over your thigh, and you slowly lift it to let him slide out from under you. He lays on his side, watching intently as you catch your breath. Slowly, you slide down the bed to face him.

There’s a dopey, cocky smile on his face. You return it with a bashful one of your own, covering your eyes into the crook of your arm.

“Stop that.”

“You’re so beautiful,” Rex says, unable to keep himself from you. He moves towards you, hand sliding over your hip, lips pressing against yours. It catches you off guard, the sudden warmth, the sudden tang, the sudden love.

—Love, as in the action of lips pressing against lips. Of kissing. Of kissing being a lover’s activity that is sometimes commodified by two people when making— when having sex. When taking a romp through the sheets. When—

Rex’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip and you open yourself up to him. Tangle your tongue with his, moan lowly into his mouth. He tastes like you, he tastes like him, you want nothing more than this feeling all the time.

“You taste so good,” Rex breathes, earnest and millimeters away from your lips.

Your eyes flit from his open, wet and kissed lips to his eyes, brown and endless. Helium burning and fusing.

“I could make such a good life for you on Naboo,” is your response.

Rex grins. His lips reconnect with yours, as if it masks the fact that it’ll never happen. To apologize for the state of the world, for the state of his being, for the adrenaline in his veins.

Most men, when they’re kneeling between your thighs, loom. Tall and imposing, and normally it turns you on. Rex, however, never looms. He rolls over on you, lips against your skin. Your palms press down the expanse of his back, and he presses against your front at the pressure.

He kisses down your front, laving over soft and stiff nipples. His fingers make their way down ahead of his lips, hands running over your thighs, pressing them further apart. He cups your cunt, middle fingers dragging between the slick folds.

You sigh happily. Raise your arms above your head to pull yourself taunt. Rex sits back, hands dragging from your hips to the inside of your thighs. He exhales, eyes going soft.

“C’mon,” you urge.

“Give me a minute,” Rex murmurs, his hands following his gaze as he trails them up your stomach, then down to your knees. His lips then descend, over the smattering of moles on your tummy, on your thighs, over your hips. Each touch is reverent– it’s been weeks on weeks, bloodshed on bloodshed, since he last saw you. He presses his lips to the inside of your knee, taking a breath.

Seafarers miss the Earth, desert-dwellers enjoy the oasis, soldiers though… find themselves enjoying, missing if they’re lucky, soft beds, soft skin, soft hearts.

When he slips in, there’s no resistance. Your legs fall open further, letting gravity pull them into where Rex’s hands dent into your flesh. And the look on his face– shock, bliss, a short circuit. Everything is warm and wet and pulsing– is that him or is that you?

Both.

“Feels good,” you breathe. Sensitive. Twitching. Leaky. You don’t know if you can ever go back.

Rex just nods. Hoists your hips, till you’re pressed flush against him. Your legs wind around his waist, squeezing him just slightly. Oh, if only you could take a picture of him right now.

Leaning over you, Rex gently begins to move. Savoring every inch that pulls out, groaning with every push inwards.

“Feel good?” You repeat, this time as a question.

Rex nods, bottom lip bit. Bringing a hand up, you gently use your thumb to pry the chapped muscle from its confines. Balm spreads across his lips, from yours to his. His hips still as your tongue works into his mouth, and he delightfully groans into your mouth as your nails, long and fresh for your trip, scratch against the back of his head.

“Just like that,” you breathe, pulling away. Saliva connects between the two of you. “But out loud. Turns me on when I can hear you.”

Rex chuckles, breathless and a little embarrassed by the forwardness.

But you’re so warm, so inviting, so comforting, that Rex can’t help but let those huffy moans out. They mix with yours, deep and high pitches combining in the air to a perfect tune. The air conditioner whirs to life, trying to keep the room at a comfortable temperature, but to no avail. Sheens of sweat have begun to cover both of your bodies from the constant rhythm the two of you form.

Rex’s high reaches him before yours– everything feels so good but you can’t focus enough on your own pleasure. His fingers are sloppy against your clit, not quite what you need, his lips not firm enough against yours or your body.

“Are you close?” Rex asks, brows furrowing slightly.

Hesitating, your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip. Before you can lie, Rex nods. “What do you need, sweetheart?”

You bite your bottom lip. All of the movement has stilled. “I don’t think you’d be into it.”

“Try me,” Rex says.

You take a deep breath for confidence. “Wanna get fucked from behind.”

Rex pauses. His lips fall open a bit, his eyes searching yours.

“But this is fine too!” You say quickly. “I just– it feels good! I’m feeling good! I just–”

Rex pulls out of you, nodding both to you and himself. This is the preferred method of his brothers, which he’s heard much about from caffeine and nutrition ingestion around campfires.

“Yeah. I got you,” Rex says, leaning over and pressing an open mouthed kiss to your lips. His cock, wet from your essence, slides and smears across the velvet of your pussy. “I got you,” he repeats, lips millimeters away from you.

He can feel as your eyelids flutter up to meet his gaze. Warm and nervous against brown and heated. He pulls back and you sit up a bit, leaning over to futz with the lights and both warm and dim them. Immediately, you’re both bathed in an orange huge, caressing over your tans and divots.

To his credit, he gently rolls you over. Gently helps your hips up, slides a hand down the length of your spine.

“So soft,” he says to himself, hands kneading the soft of your ass.

“You can just put it in,” you say, resting your head on your hands.

Rex hums. He lowers himself down, until he’s once more eye level with your pussy. Wet and warm, his tongue carves through both your pre. Immediately, you sink further, arching your back even more. He spends time there, lavishing your pussy to the point your heart skips a beat that he might pay attention to your other hole, but the moment never arises.

You relax more when you feel the head of his cock nudging back into you.

“Be loud,” Rex murmurs, hands on your hips. “Can’t see you from back here.”

The angle is perfect. You stretch for a pillow, wrapping giddy arms around it as he picks up the pace again, back to that rhythm that’s a remix of your heartbeats. Here, he has better access to your clit, hand coming around your waist and rubbing purposeful circles around the swelling bud. You press further into the mattress, nipples dragging delightfully against the sheets with each thrust. The moans are punched out of you, each thrust in your throat.

“Faster,” you say, though it’s mostly lost into the sheets.

Rex gets it though. He’s heard muffled orders before. Bringing a foot up to steady himself, he quickens his pace– your eyes roll back. Bless the universe for sending you a man that understands the difference between harder and faster.

A slew of swears leave your lips. Rex’s head tilts backwards, as if looking towards the heavens would stave off his own impending orgasam. Just until you’ve come. Just until. And he can tell you’re close. The pulsing. The squeezing. He can’t pull out too far or he’s scared you’ll push him completely out.

With no warning but a deep, relieved moan, cream rings around his cock. The breaths are still punchy, unable to catch your breath. Rex takes, just a bit more than he should, before pulling out and fisting his cock.

“On me, on me,” you say, truly breathless.

Spend paints creamy streaks over your ass, trickling their way towards the dimples on your spine and your puckering hole. Rex takes three labored breaths to pull himself back to reality. He looks at his artwork, his cock stirs, and he reacts on instinct.

His tongue swipes a broad stripe first over your pussy to eat up the creamy mess there. Dips between your folds, swirls in your hole. Just to make sure he gets as much as he can.

Then he’s upwards. Licking his own cum from off your puckered hole, which twitches from the attention. You gasp, immediately sitting up on your forearms to look over your shoulder. He meets your eyes, tongue swiping further over your tailbone.

You laugh, breathless and in disbelief.

“You’re dirtier than you look,” you comment. Licking your lips, you hum. “I like that.”

“Yeah?” Rex asks. His swipes his thumb through more of his spend, and you dutifully open your mouth, extending your tongue slightly. Leaning forwards, Rex sets his thumb on your tongue, and you wrap your lips around it, giving it a swirl before slowly pulling off.

“Alright, handsome. Go get a washcloth.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You rest your head against your bicep, hips slowly lowering back down to the bed. Rex disappears into the bathroom, finding one of the neatly rolled up washcloths. It’s water-warm on your back. Humming, you let his hands work over you, cleaning you up enough for the night.

“Will I see you again while I’m in Coruscant?” You ask, once you’re both under the sheets, lights turned out. There’s that hope in your voice, though it’s measured to try and distract yourself from the want.

“Maybe,” Rex murmurs. “Don’t want to keep any promises I can’t keep.”

Smiling in the dark, you reach a hand out to cup his face. Your thumb explores over his cheeks, careful as if he was marble. “You’re a good man, you know that?”

An unusual lump forms in Rex’s throat. He closes his eyes to your touch. He’s not a good man by what he imagines your standards are: philanthropy, fatherhood, kindness to strays.

“My fishmonger needs an apprentice,” you say quietly, filling Rex’s lack of acceptance. “He’s getting old, and his son’s left him for some girl he met on the holonet in Alderaan. Do you like fish?”

Rex chuckles, though it’s a weird one. That lump still hasn’t left. “I’ve only ever had it dried. Or in cans.”

“Tinned fish is all the rage. Sounds much classier when you say tinned instead of canned,” you say, smile on your face.

“I’m sure yours is much nicer than mine.”

“I could share.” Anything and everything.

Your hand slips from his face, over his jaw until it lays in the space between the both of your bodies. His hand slides up, taking yours in his. With the leverage, you roll over and bring his hand with you, so you’re all wrapped up in his embrace and the heavy, cool duvet.

There’s a lot Rex wants to say here, but it’s all trapped under that lump. He can speak, yes, but he can’t describe what he’s thinking. These thoughts are out of his lexicon, not of carnage and carrion. He’s never typed these feelings into a datapad. Though they stoke at something within him, something that feels distinctly him and of someone else at the same time. Some previous iteration.

“Goodnight, gorgeous,” Rex says.

You simply hum your response.

#captain rex x reader #star wars x reader #anyways enjoyyyy <3 <3 <3

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fag4dykestobin · 2 years ago

Text

yesterday, i wrote a little snippet of a steve coming out scene that had been living in my head for a bit, and i thought that that was it. and then i kept writing little snippets until this was nearly 3k words long <3 so. enjoy!!

Steve looks up at the popcorn ceiling, heart beating, beating, beating, nearly out of… his… chest. Steve doesn’t look at Robin, but… he… knows that Robin is looking at… her?

“Feel like we should be in the bathroom for this,” Steve croaks. Robin huffs out a laugh.

“We can move in there, if you want. My parent’s probably won’t need to use it, they’re in bed already.”

Steve shakes… her…? his. His(/her?) head. “No. I feel better in here.”

“Okay.” And then it’s quiet, between them, and it’s up to Steve to fill that silence. Awesome. Steve can do that. Well, Steve could do that, usually, but unfortunately there is something in Steve’s throat that is blocking everything and anything from coming out of it. Maybe Robin will just let him(/her?) sit here in silence forever, until they both fall asleep, and then when they wake up in the morning they can go along with their lives like there’s nothing building up in Steve’s soul, clawing and raging and desperate to come out.

Robin shifts, so that their feet, propped on the wall in front of them, are touching. It’s enough to get Steve going.

“You know when we were in the Russian base, and you said the thing about your life being one big error?”

Robin made a noise of affirmation.

“Were you talking about, like, being gay?”

Robin sits with the question for a few moments. “... Mostly,” is the answer she decides to go with. Steve waits for her to elaborate.

“I guess it was like, well. Some of it had to do with how we ended up in the Russian base, right? It didn’t feel real. Or like it was supposed to happen. But it also felt like just one more thing in my life that went wrong, and I kinda connect all the bad things that happen to me with me being a lesbian.” There’s a beat of silence. “Which I know isn’t really good. But I’ve been doing it for a while, so it’s hard to stop.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you feel like that? About being, um, half-gay?” The term they’ve landed on for Steve’s sexuality is kind of ridiculous, but neither of them could think of anything better for it. And it’s not like they really refer to it by name outside of hushed and rare conversations like this one.

“I guess?” Steve thinks on it a little. “Not really. Not like you, at least. It’s, like…” Steve lets himself(/herself?) brush against the problem in his(/her?) brain. Think about it for more than a fleeting moment.

Terror envelopes him(/her?)(cut that shit out pick one and stick to it). Steve tries to think through it, but it’s kind of hard to breathe.

“It’s more about, um. I don’t know. I… It feels stupid.” It feels wrong. It feels criminal.

“I won’t think you’re stupid,” Robin says, so earnestly, like she believes it. Oh, that’s horrible to think about her. Steve screws his eyes shut. Steve screws her eyes shut.

Pick one. (pick he.) And stick to it.

“Sometimes I… mmm. Sometimes I… Robin, if you—” Steve cuts himself off. This feels evil, what he’s about to say. Maybe more evil than what he is. “If I what?” Robin sounds concerned. Like, worried concerned. It makes Steve want to stop everything and wrap her up in a big hug and never talk about this again. Besides, what was Steve even going to say? Robin, if you hate me after this… what? What does he want her to do? Robin, if you hate me after what I say, please don’t.

If Robin hated Steve for this, he might just die.

“Steve? Are you okay?” Robin takes her legs down from the wall and sits up, leans over Steve, trying to get a good look at his face. Steve covers his eyes with his hands.

“I don’t know. I don’t— eugh.” Steve gulps in a big breath, “Robin, if you— hate me, um—”

“No! No no no no no! No! Steve, look at me! Right now!” Steve wants to, but that might make him actually cry. Steve digs her palms into her eyes. No. His palms, his eyes.

God.

“Steve, Evie, please. Please.” The nickname makes Steve’s eyes water. He swipes at them to make them go away, but they keep flowing. Okay, this is going a bit disastrously. The most important thing to do right now is keep his eyes closed and not look at Robin, or else he might shatter into a million little pieces.

“No, I— let me just— I don’t want you to—”

“I won’t hate you, ever. For anything. Are you okay?” Robin sounds miserably anxious. You can’t promise that, Steve wants to bite out. He swallows it. Steve has to trust Robin, because if she can’t, maybe she truly isn’t meant to be like this. Maybe Robin won’t hate him, maybe Robin will help him fix it.

“Sometimes I think about being a girl.”

The words sit heavy between them. Steve kind of wants to throw up about it.

“... Okay.” Robin says. She sounds a little breathless. Steve tries to imagine the look on her face, but can’t imagine it through the fuzz of terror. And like hell will he open his eyes.

“... Okay?” Steve croaks, after Robin fails to elaborate.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” She still has that breathless note in her voice, but it’s more like an aftermath-of-anxiety breathlessness than still-actively-anxious breathlessness.

Steve worries that he’s(.../she’s?) downplayed the problem here. Steve swallows, mouth dry, throat dry.

“No, I, I don’t just think about it, I like thinking about it. I like it when, um, the kids make fun of me by calling me, a, a mom, and I like when you or Max or El paints my nails, and I, I think about stealing your clothes sometimes and it makes me want to kill myself but I can’t, I can’t stop, I…” Steve is now hyperventilating.

Robin tackles Steve, and Steve’s horrible, traitorous mind wonders if she’ll wrap her hands around his(/her?) throat and kill her(/him?) rather than let him(her?) leave this room.

Steve opens her(/his?) mouth to, who knows, tell her that it’s okay? That he(/she?) understands? That she(/he?) loves her? But nothing comes out, and after a second, Steve realizes that it’s a hug. Obviously. And then Steve starts sobbing.

It takes a few minutes for Steve to stop losing… his? her? God, the thought of either makes Steve want to puke. It takes a few minutes for Steve to stop losing Steve’s mind. And Robin strokes Steve’s hair the whole time, and holds Steve the whole time, and whispers that it’s okay and that she loves Steve, the whole time. It kind of prolongs the sobbing, in a way, because Steve just can’t believe it. But Steve does eventually calm down.

“Steve,” Robin whispers.

Steve sniffles and swallows thickly. “Yeah?”

“It’s fine. You’re fine.”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Well,” says Robin, and then she pauses, like she’s thinking. Steve lets her. There’s a headache brewing in Steve’s temple, and the silence is nice, in a way.

“Well,” Robin starts up again. “I don’t think you’re weird, or messed up, and I definitely don’t hate you. We’ve seen bad things and bad people. And you’re not bad.”

“Well, I… if I’m not bad, or weird, for this, I don’t know what I am.” Steve can hardly believe how well Robin is taking this. It really shouldn’t surprise Steve at all, because Robin is so, so good, but this is something that Steve hates, and they’re usually a united front on that, when it really matters.

So… maybe Robin is right.

Robin climbs off of Steve, lays down next to Steve again. But instead of propping her legs up on the wall, like Steve for some goddamn reason is still doing, she curls next to Steve, facing Steve. Looking at Steve. Still holding Steve’s hands.

“We’ll figure it out.” She squeezes. Steve squeezes right back, and keeps the grip tight.

“Okay.”

They sit in silence, and Steve just… breathes. Tries to will the headache away; not happening, ugh. Drops the legs from the wall. Steve plays with Robin’s fingers, not even trying to process what had happened yet. That can wait til later.

After a few minutes, Robin speaks up again. “Are you okay with questions? If not, that’s fine.” And Steve knows she means it. She will totally drop it for the night and let them settle down and watch a movie or three. But Steve doesn’t really want that right now. Steve wants to stay in this space where, at least for now, what Steve is feeling is fine, and alright. Steve’s never had that before, for this.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “They’re okay.” Maybe they can do the figuring out thing right now. Maybe all of Steve’s problems will be solved tonight. Wouldn’t that be a relief? Robin pulls her hands away, and Steve hears the rasping of her shirt material being rubbed together between her fingers.

“So… do you want to be a girl?” The question doesn’t sound harsh leaving Robin’s mouth, but the words are heavy. It makes alarm bells ring in Steve’s head, forbidden question! Don’t think about it! Don’t think about it! Years of routine repression make it hard for Steve to even consider the question, but Steve tries. Slowly and agonizingly, Steve thinks about it. It genuinely takes a few minutes, but Robin can clearly sense that Steve is thinking about it, so she doesn’t interrupt. Steve loves her so much.

“Kinda,” Steve whispers. “It’s… I don’t know. Really. It’s stupid.”

“Nuh-uh. No stupid stuff right now. Just say how you feel.”

“I kinda wanna be half-girl. Like how I’m half-gay.” It feels stupid. It feels evil. It feels way too indulgent. Even in a perfect world, it’s one or the other. Steve can’t, like, hog them both. They cancel each other out. Right?

“Uh-huh?” Robin is prompting Steve to go on. Oh God.

“Um. Like. I still… like the guy parts of me, you know? I still like being a guy.” That feels really important to emphasize. Steve feels kind of insane, talking like this, actually getting Steve’s thoughts out into the real world. But Robin is still listening, no judgment. It kind of makes Steve want to cry again, but that would make the headache worse so, no thanks. “But I… I like the girl parts, too. I like when you call me Evie, but I don’t want you to stop calling me Steve.”

Steve can feel Robin shift, like she’s nodding. “Okay,” she says again.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. You can… you can be a half-girl, half-guy.” And it sounds simple and a little obscene, when she says it. Maybe not obscene. Maybe more like tantalizing.

“I don’t know,” Steve whispers. “Is that, like… allowed?”

Steve finally turns to look at Robin. Her eyes are big and full of thought. It feels stupid, thinking like that, but there’s nothing else to describe it. Steve can see the thoughts dancing around in her pupils and irises and whatever else is in an eye. It’s so beautiful. Steve loves her so much.

“... I think that you can do whatever you want,” Robin whispers back. “And be whatever you want.”

Steve’s face crumples, just a little bit. Not enough that it means tears, but enough to bring the idea to mind. Steve pinches Steve’s nose. “It can’t be that simple, though.”

Robin tilts her head in a way that can only be described as birdlike. She hates when people compare her to birds, just because of her name, but it fits right now, in the secrecy of Steve’s brain. She looks serious and intent. “Why not?”

“Nobody has ever done this before. I think.”

“Nobody that we know of. We live in Hawkins, Steve, we know like, 500 people. There are probably people in New York, or Chicago, or whatever, that feel exactly like you.”

Steve can’t reconcile with that. It feels so lonely, being like this. It feels inherently lonely.

“And even if you are the only one in the world that feels like this… Well, that’s fine! You can be whoever you want! Especially around me.” Robin grabs Steve’s hands in her own. Her hands are always so cold. Steve loves to hold them and feel them warm up bit by bit. It’s grounding, especially right now.

“I don’t want you to hide yourself. Not from me. I hid for so long, around everyone else, and it was killing me.” Robin’s eyes bore into Steve’s. “And I didn’t know it was killing me, but looking back, it’s like, wow, I was going to die.” Her voice cracks, just a little bit, and Steve makes an involuntary noise. Holds her hands just a little tighter. The warmth is already equalizing between them. “And, I don’t know. I don’t want you to get there. Or, if… you’re there already, I don’t want you getting any further.”

Sometimes it astounds Steve, just how much Robin gets things. This isn’t one of those times, though. It feels deeply right, and deeply sad.

“Alright,” Steve says.

“You won’t hide this from me? After this?”

A shake of the head. “No.” And it sounds so easy, promising this. Maybe it can be easy. Steve hopes it will be easy.

“I love you,” Robin says, and she pulls Steve into a hug. Steve melts into it. Robin gives very bony and kinda twitchy hugs, minute movements every few seconds, and Steve loves them. Robin, a while ago, maybe a couple months after Starcourt, had expressed anxiety about her hugs being ‘godawful uncomfortable,’ her words, but Steve had denied that fiercely. Her hugs were God’s gift to mankind, and if everyone else hated it, fine. More for Steve.

“I love you too,” Steve says into her chest.

They lapse into silence again. Steve thinks about asking for some water, but that would mean one or both of them leaving this room, and all possible configurations seem worse than the lack of water, right now. Steve presses closer into Robin.

“Another question.”

“Yeah?”

“So, you like Steve and Evie, and you’re a girl and a guy. Do you like he and she?”

There’s the dreaded question. Steve can’t hold back a groan. “I don’t know,” Steve says into her chest. “I’ve kinda, thought about it a bit, but… both of them feel weird, by themselves. I guess I like both, but only when they’re next to each other. I can’t really decide on one.”

Robin hums in consideration. “I mean, we’re making all this up as we go. If they don’t feel right by themselves, then why do they have to be by themselves?”

Steve thinks about it. “It feels like they’re supposed to cancel each other out,” Steve says, voicing a thought from earlier.

“They clearly don’t, at least in your case.” Robin presses her cheek to the top of Steve’s head, flattening the hair there. “Don’t think about how things should be. Think about what you want.”

What Steve wants. Okay.

He thinks about he. She thinks about she. And how, apart, they really only feel like half of himself, but together, they feel like they tell the whole story and show the whole picture.

Steve can’t help but think about those optical illusions Dustin had shown her a while back. The one with the two faces. If you concentrated, you see whichever one you wanted at will. And they seemed so opposed, yet so intertwined, and you couldn’t have one face without the other. Maybe he’s an optical illusion. It’s better than being evil.

“Okay. Yeah. Both are good.” Steve can feel Robin smile into her hair.

“Do you want me to use them both?”

Steve feels a flash of panic. “Um— augh. Not… not around other people, um, but—”

Robin squeezes him closer. “Oh, God, obviously!” she says, and Steve is so grateful that they’re on the same page, like, 90% of the time, and that this falls into that 90%. “I can sneak them into conversations between us. Pronouns don’t really pop up in conversations between two people, but maybe if we got a cat or a goldfish or a turtle I could talk to it about you in front of you. Or is that weird? Hm. It might be weird.”

Steve can’t help the smile dawning on her face. Maybe everything will be okay. “It’s kinda weird. But we should do it anyway.”

Robin laughs, and Steve still has his face buried in her chest, so he can feel it. “Yeah,” she says fondly. “I guess that hasn’t stopped us before.”

#steve harrington #robin buckley #stobin #trans steve harrington #genderqueer steve harrington #bigender steve harrington #stranger things #little by little. everyone will believe in my vision of bigender steve #and okay this wasn't really 'edited' or whatever the kids are saying these days but thats fine i'm still proud of this :)#i just love them so much <3 steve and robin figuring things out...#do not know how to write them without having a sappy ending its kinda just inherent in the stobin of it all #anyway ENJOYYYY me and my girlfriend are gonna go out and have a date day :)#quincy.txt #my fics

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