Work Text:
Crosshair likes driving. He's good at it.
He likes the quiet of the road, the scenery, and the chance to just let his body go into autopilot for a while.
And today he has some free time and decides to take the speeder out for a few hours. He fuels it up, goes to pay and as he's standing in the queue his mind drifts to thoughts of you. And he wonders if you're free too - and if you'd like to spend this time with him.
He really thinks it over. Not a man to make decisions lightly, his mind is running scenarios and his heart is just short of pounding, his stomach in little knots.
Because he'd love to spend some of his shore leave in your company. But what if you declined? The thought turns the knots to weighted lead and makes his breath catch.
But you've always got on together and you've always been happy in his company. So as he leaves the fueling station he throws caution to the wind and comms you, holding his breath to hear your answer.
Which of course is a yes. And the lead weight disappears, just like that.
And he's at your place in 10. Just like he said he would be.
You head to the outskirts and the views here are exquisite. Vibrant greens cascading down the hillsides, golden rocks and towering mesas, sparse clouds strewn across an azure sky.
And you're content to simply be quiet and still in the restful silence of the speeder. He is too. Occasionally one of you will say something, small talk, but it's comfortable and safe.
He really is a good driver and easily guides the speeder around the bends of the gently undulating road. You don't normally like being a passenger, preferring to drive yourself, but you'll make an exception for him.
With a breeze on your face and the gentle, constant purr of the engine, you soon start to feel drowsy. But he's not: as always he's aware, watchful and focussed. And stealing little glances at him makes your stomach flip. His eyes are on the road but his peripheral vision is excellent so he doesn't actually need to turn towards you to see if you're okay.
You find a quiet stretch of road and a lay-by cut into the cliffside, overhung by trees; it's more than enough space to park up in the shade and take a break. Which you happily do.
Crosshair had got some water and snacks from the garage and you both drink and relax in the green-gold dappled shade, sat on the speeder's bonnet.
You're close to him. He's close to you. Not intrusively so, but if you wanted you could reach out and touch his arm.
You think about it, but how would he react? He's never been anything other than friendly and considerate towards you. He's private and you can't gauge him as much as you'd like. Would he be alarmed if you..?-
Ironically, the same train of though is chugging through his mind. You've always been kind to him, happy and relaxed in his company. But would you be okay with more?
And both of you hesitate. The conversation was easy, up until now. The silence isn't exactly uncomfortable, but it's heavy.
He casts around for something to say and inwardly curses as he struggles for the right words, when his eyes travel upwards to the leafy canopy you're both under, where he sees garlands of flowers. Pink and peach, sort of like peonies, but growing from the branches of this tree. And he stands silently and stretches to get one. You watch him do so; he's both impossibily and impressively tall and his movements are always so precise and unconsciously graceful.
He snaps the stem of one of the blooms, freeing it from the branch of the tree and when he turns to you there's something shy in his expression. You've never really seen him like this. He is normally composed and controlled but there's something unguarded and almost vulnerable about him.
And the softness of the moment is interrupted as a fuel tanker drives past your shelter, the wake of its passage pulling a cool breeze through the trees and flowers above.
The tree limbs above you shake to shake and several blooms and cascades of petals rain down on the both of you.
For that moment, despite the heat of the summer's day and the dapppled golden light, you're in a snow of flowers, pinks, whites peaches, and he is too. And you're laughing as he turns sheepishly, brushing petals from his hair and shoulders.
His cheeks have a little more colour than usual and he sits down beside you and gives you the flower. You take it from him and in your hands the bloom is huge whereas his made it look small. It's really quite pretty, all pinks and corals and whites. You muse that he had a good eye for detail when picking this one.
His eyes have never left your face. Normally tawny and golden but in this moment they're darker with his pupils wide. When you smile up at him he briefly stops breathing.
And from there it's a little easier to just reach forward, slip your hand around to the back of his neck and press your forehead to his.
And it's not even a heartbeat before his arms slip around your shoulders, his nose bumps yours and your lips touch.
Finally.