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It has been a few months since you last saw Rex; he has been off-world. The communication and the time between communications have begun to lag. But whenever he comms you, it is always so special. Though, every time he does, you can see a new wound or med patch on his body, his eyes weary, and the ache in his voice when you ask him how he's been and hear the same war story that makes your heart sink.
Earlier, he avoided the question because there was no other way to describe the war than frustrating and melancholic. However, on one comm, he did. You felt the casual nature of your relationship transformed into something significant as you connected with him. He was so vulnerable. There was nothing you could say to him except to sit with him in sympathetic silence, despite being lightyears apart.
Eventually, he gave you a crooked smile and asked about your days. You had felt chokingly aware of the safe little life you've created for yourself and telling him about your uneventful yet pleasant days would be such a lousy move on your end.
You wanted to understand and help him, so you resorted to making awkward jokes because you were an idiot and still are. But his little chuckle was so gratifying. Although you couldn't tell if he laughed at your jokes or at you for trying too hard to make him feel better. He's always been so kind.
He's finally here on Coruscant. He will be at your doorstep any moment. You sit in your chill apartment, all nervous and excited and... doorbell rings. You run to the door, unable to unlock it because your hands fumble out of excitement. You finally manage to open the door. Rex is standing there, smiling at you. He is in full armour, his helmet tucked under his arm, and a small cut just above his eyebrow that seems to be held together with a stitch.
"Rex," your brows furrow as you breathe his name out with a smile. You waste no time and crash into him for a hug. He takes a tumble backwards but catches you. He drops his helmet and tightens his arms around you, picking you up and twirling you around. You giggle, finally embracing his presence. The emptiness you didn't know you were feeling was filled with joy, excitement, and warmth.
He puts you down, gazing at your face like a man starved. Your eyes shifted from looking into his to the little stitch above his eyebrow. You try to keep smiling, but the smile turns into a pout as you give him a worried look. Your hand travels to caress that side of his face, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. He melts into your touch. He takes your hand and kisses your palm.
"I missed you," Rex says.
You meet his eyes again and gently hold his face with both your hands, careful not to hurt his wound, and you kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.
His hands travel under your t-shirt and roam around your waist and back, pulling you impossibly closer to him.
His kisses travel from your lips to your jaw and then your neck, where he murmurs, "I missed your touch."
Your hands carefully graze his buzzcut hair and whatever little space is there, not occupied by his armour, behind his neck.
"I missed your scent," he says as he softly bites the skin on your neck before littering kisses there.
"Rex," you breathe out a protest, "you know me, I just shower a lot."
His movements cease. He slowly retracts his face from the crook of your neck to meet your eyes. His eyebrows were all confused and furrowed, and his lips pursed together; he was trying not to laugh. He shakes his head in disapproval as his lips twist into a smile.
He finally says, "I missed your stupid little jokes," and chuckles before claiming your mouth again. He pushes you up against the door, and you can't help but giggle against his lips. Without breaking the kiss, he hooks his hands beneath your thighs and picks you up. You cross your legs around him, and he pushes you off the wall and strides towards your room.
"Don't you wanna... eat something first?" You ask him in between kisses.
"Mm mm," he doesn't seem to care about anything.
"Lose the armour, at least."
"Right, sorry."
He puts you on the bed and methodically removes his pauldron and chest plate. Your impatience is getting the best of you because he's not even out of his blacks yet, and you pull him into a kiss. He chuckles against you as he reaches for the hem of your t-shirt, pulls it over your head and tosses it away. You clasp your arms around the back of his neck and drop back on the bed with him on top of you.
"Rex," you say, and he lifts his head to look at you. His eyes are dark and gentle and focused on you. You feel a little shy, "I missed you..." you say, looking into his eyes, but the overwhelming feeling makes you shift your gaze to the side "...so much."
He brings his hand to the side of your jaw, grazing his thumb over your lip. His eyes hold the gaze when they meet yours. He quietly says, "my Lou... oh, you have no idea." My? Did he just call you his? You can feel the knots in your chest.
The look on his face is asking for your permission. "May I?" He asks. You give him a small nod. He places a soft kiss on your lips.
His hand slowly travels from your jaw to your neck and down your sternum, kissing your skin in his wake. You shift one of your hands to his shoulders, and the other travels to his face.
Everywhere he touches, he ignites a fire. Your eyes slip shut at the sensations his hand and lips are causing. His hands reach the band of your sweatpants, and... he hisses and pauses.
You flicker your eyes open to look at him and gasp. It seems you had grazed your hand too close to the stitch above his eyebrow, and it broke. Blood slowly streamed out of his cut.
"Oh - oh my goodness," you look at him, terrified thinking about what you had just done, "Rex, I - I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." You sit up, propping him up as well.
"It's okay," he says, an array of humour displayed across his face.
You are horrified at the stream of blood travelling down his jaw, "wait a minute," you say as you remember the bacta spray and med patches you have in your bathroom.
You get up from the bed, and his hand catches yours, "breath," he says with a chuckle.
"This is not funny, Rex. I just hurt you so bad," you escape his light grip and rush to the bathroom.
You wear your robe because you are met with your apartment's chill temperature. You come out with the bacta spray, gauze and med patches. You look at Rex, and you feel guilty. You lay it all before him. Taking the gauze, you wipe the blood off this face.
"Lou," he says, his entire facial expression relaxed but his eyes still screaming a 'this is not your fault' look.
You click your tongue as you put the bacta spray and clean the excess blood off his face. Then you put a med patch on it. The situation is under control for now, but he must see a medic. You look down at the first aid supply on your bed and say with a pout, "I'm sorry, Rex."
He exhales and brings his fingers under your chin to lift your face, so you can look at him. He smiles, "it's alright..." You meet his eyes. "You can never hurt me," he says.
His words' gentleness and how he regards you make your heartache. He brings your head to rest on his shoulders as he says, "thank you," gently stroking your back.
In a moment, he cheekily says, "shall we continue what we were doing."
"How about you eat something first?" You sigh.
He breathes a laugh, "okay, let's eat."
---
You both lay bare on the bed after an electric night, feeling absolutely enamoured and drowning in euphoria. You lay on your stomach, your head resting on your hands. He's facing you completely, with one arm propping his head up and the other stroking the skin on your side. The night is not ready to be over, neither you want it to be.
You are just enjoying being in his presence, catching up on the lost time and unfinished conversations. Basking in the glow of his rugged yet innocent, just handsome features only adds to his charismatic disposition.
You talk about everything, the war experience, the clones, the jokes, the beauty of the galaxy, the calm moments between the stresses of life, the moments that feel absolutely miserable, the moments unfathomably delightful. The more you exchange stories, the more you want to exchange stories. It's so easy to talk to him. His aura is so comfortable, and he's just so lovely.
However, he always keeps part of his stories out. They consistently linger on his lips, and he tries to hide them, but his doleful eyes give them away. You don't want to pressure him, but you wish he didn't hide it. So you give him space to relax and talk at his own pace. And you feel he is more open tonight, more comfortable, and more vulnerable. He's telling you a war story. The kind that is just gruesome.
"Hmm, I understand that," you say. “But... how does it really feel?"
"I just told you," Rex replies.
"No, how do you feel about it?"
He exhales, "Well, it's unkind... unfair... unending."
You just look at him. He shifts his gaze to the bedsheets.
He continues, "night after night, I dream the same dream, and when I wake up, I relive the same nightmare."
You feel your heart anxiously picking up its pace at his words.
"My life has no purpose except to serve in the war effort. And it is not even a significant one."
The furrow in your brows grows tighter, and your frown deepens; probably that's why he shifts the conversation.
"I mean, don't get me wrong, every moment I'm breathing, I'm grateful for it. And outside of the war, there are moments that make me forget its cruelty: when my brothers joke around and make fun of our generals, drinking..." he lets out an awkward chuckle.
This is not funny.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before opening them again. He gives you a crooked smile. Shyly, he continues, "and well...," he brings his hand to your face, caressing it, taking in the view of you.
You appreciate the implication of his gesture, but that did not ebb the seriousness of his words.
He loses his smile and looks past you, eyes in deep thought. "But the reality is," he says, "my brothers and I are all engineered for one purpose. And we shall serve that one purpose: to receive an honourable death on the battlefield."
You move your hand from under your face and hold his face, "Rex," you breathe. You can feel your eyes welling up.
He twitches the side of his mouth, giving a 'that's just the way it is' look, "they created clones and made us expendable."
Your heart sinks. Your eyes widen at his comment and at his sorrowful expression.
"Wha- what did you just say?" You cry at his distressing declaration, daring him to repeat it again.
"We- I am expen-"
You furrow your brows and quickly place your palm on his mouth.
"Don't say that!" You exclaim. You really don't want to hear this word coming from his mouth. You are equal parts furious and saddened by his claim. "Maker, Rex, that makes me so sad you actually believe that. And I hate it. I hate this word." You choke up.
He brings his hand to yours on his face, shifts it a little to kiss your palm, and moves it to rest on the side of his face.
"I've heard this sentiment from my Generals and Commander, but it is true. This is what I was created for." He shrugs; there is no emotion on his face. He is stating a fact. You can hear your heart breaking at his words and how he regards himself.
"Ugh, this Republic propaganda, I hate it," you say. You are getting more frustrated than sad at this situation, "they're playing with the lives of sentient beings. Funds that could be allocated for progress are being put into the war."
You bring your hand from his face to your forehead, massaging the stress lines and temples with your index finger and thumb.
"It is truly so frustrating to think about the Republic without thinking of corruption and bureaucracy and their ineffectiveness. They do not care... at all... about the poverty and crimes in the galaxy, let alone this planet. Just power and the war.
“Hell, they raised an entire military of people, and they treat you like property... like slaves. Rex…, that shows support for the subjugation of people...
“And don't even get me started on the Chancellor. This person receives emergency powers and overstays in office long after the term ends? Where are we leading... to some kind of dictatorship?"
Rex raises his brow, "don't you sound like a seppie right now?"
You look at him and frown. Taking a deep breath, you say, "just because I criticise the government doesn't make me a separatist.”
"You know," you continue, "the Republic has many flaws. But I also know some hopeful senators still exist: Amidala, Organa, Mothma. You know, Senator Chuchi also gives me promising vibes. She's still young; let's see…
“That speech Senator Amidala gave a few months ago, tributing her aide - Teckla Minnau - was really something. It was humane and grounding. It was for the people. I actually felt my faith in democracy restoring." You let out a chuckle.
Rex looked at you with his slightly furrowed brows and a faint smile on his lips, a disquieting look, to say the least. It felt as if he didn't want to comment. You twist your lips to the side, raising your brows, waiting for him to say something.
He shifted his gaze to the space between you and the pillows and then back at your face.
"Now that you've mentioned Senator Amidala," he says, a little humour in his voice, trying to dissipate the tension. You appreciate the gesture, but until when can this escapism last for him? "Do you wanna hear a secret about the Senator and my General?"
The question came out of nowhere, and it caused you to chuckle, "Nah, don't tell me secrets," you shake your head, "I can't keep a secret even if my life depended on it." You both laugh the tension away.
But unsaid and unsettling feelings return when you look at the med patch over his brow that you put earlier. You pause for a moment, "I'm just trying to tell you that I-" you sigh. You want to tell him that you worry about him, that being a soldier of the Republic is a dangerous job with no security and that whatever the nature of your relationship is, it is anything but casual for you. You want him to take care of himself, so he can return home to you...
Rex smiles at you, "you don't have to worry about me, sweetheart."
You blink. He... knows? He knows.
You exhale, and your body relaxes. The worry just drains out. Not because you stopped worrying about him, but because the space occupied by worry is replaced with understanding, warmth... and then desire. The desire to understand him better, the desire to hold him closer. You want to tell him how perfect this is, how excited and grounded he makes you feel when he's with you. You want to tell him... And suddenly, you are overly aware of this man's hold on you.
You brush your knuckles on the side of his face before letting it travel to his shoulder. You push him backwards, getting on top and straddling him. Your hands are on either side of his face. He is caught off-guard. His wide eyes almost make you giggle, and you say, "hi."
His eyes soften, and he brings one hand to your face while the other trails up your thigh. His fingers gently trace your face travelling from your forehead to your ear, committing every contour to memory. He moves his fingers along your jaw and lightly holds your chin. He makes your heart flutter just by looking at you. He pulls you in for the softest kiss. "Hi," he says, lips barely grazing over yours.
You pull back, and the slightest loss of closeness makes him almost sit up. His hand reaches your collarbone. Instinctively, you put your hand over his hand and slide it down over your heart. You bring your other hand on top as well to hold him there. His eyes are fixed on your movements. You can feel your heart thumping as you gaze at him and softly say, "it belongs to you."
His eyes flutter, and he finally looks at you. You're unsure if it is the lighting, but it is almost as if you can see dew in his eyes.
(To be continued…)