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The door to 79s slid open and admitted an entire herd of boisterous clones, laughing and tripping over one another as though their party had started long ago. The volume in the room rose significantly as the 501st appeared, fanning out around the bar to greet familiar faces (and immediately begin hitting on new ones) before making an eventual loop to place drink orders and settle into their corner booth. You tilted your head to the side, gesturing for your friend to take a look. She was visiting from out of town and had all but begged you to show her the raucous cesspool known as the clone bar, not mincing a single word about her desire to blow off some steam “with one or however many of those wild test tube boys”. You weren’t sure where she’d gotten her information about the clones, but weren’t one to argue, and instead were rather looking forward to tagging along for her night of shenanigans.
It wasn’t long until your table was approached by a few of the newcomers, and your friend sat up, putting on her best winning smile, and curled a long lock of hair around a finger as enticingly as she could. You wanted to try as much as her, really you did, but the soul-sucking job and realities of your less-than-glamorous life were resting heavily on your shoulders, and you weren’t one for one-night stands anyway. Well, not anymore, at least. You’d kill for some conversation of substance, but didn’t expect to find it in a dive bar for soldiers on leave, most of whom tended to have a “live hard or die trying” sort of mentality that emphasized action more than reflection. But for your friend, who had recently emerged from beneath the well-meaning but crippling guardianship of very strict parents, it was precisely what she was on the hunt for.
“Damn, is there a spaceport nearby or is that my heart taking off?” a clone that somehow looked bigger than his identical brothers squeezed between you, evoking a cringing laugh from you and a playful giggle from her.
“That is… so bad…” you breathed off to the side, gasping as another clone materialized there out of thin air.
“You’re telling me,” he said, also under his breath, as he stood beside the table, watching the flirty exchange. Your friend had wasted absolutely no time, and was tracing her fingers across the giant Republic cog tattooed across her pursuer’s bald head, gasping and smacking him on the shoulder plate after he leaned in to whisper something in her ear. You jerked your gaze up, startled by the unexpected voice of the wingman beside you.
“Ah, you get to hear this regularly?” you asked, smirking at him in the hopes that he had an equal distaste for the ridiculous games. He nodded dramatically, as though it were the burden he had to bear, and you warmed a bit inside. He tilted his head forward, resting an elbow on the table to continue chatting, and as he moved himself more under the light you could see the tattoo of a 5 on his forehead, tucked beneath his neat military crew cut. His goatee gave him the appearance of age, perhaps even of a more distinguished taste…
“So aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?” he purred, arching an eyebrow suggestively, and your little flicker of interest was quickly snuffed out. You usually played dumb, acting as boring as possible to see how quickly they could lose the patience to persist, but when it was early enough, you sometimes attempted to see just how much ridiculousness you could get away with. A quick glance at your friend gave you a decent estimate -- judging by the story she’d just embarked on, one of her early plays to put certain ideas in a man’s head, you would be here for a while.
“That’s it, actually,” you said, raising your drink to him in cheers, “I get paid to be sexy.” You took a satisfied sip before the full realization of your words, and their insinuations, sank in, and you choked on your drink over your glass, catching the eye of the two lovebirds next to you. “Kriff, I mean, not like that…” you started, gasping for air and pressing a napkin to your mouth.
“Hey babes, we all gotta get by somehow. I’ll be damned if I ever judge a beautiful woman for choosing a path of pleasure for her life or work,” he crooned, making you cough harder into your elbow. “You alright? Need some mouth to mouth?” You waved him off, laughing and spluttering at the same time now, and he chuckled along with you, mistaking your mirth for encouragement. His arms snaked around your waist, and he pulled your pack against his armor-plated chest, jokingly pressing beneath your ribcage as he went to mutter something suggestive in your ear. Your flailing was ill-placed (or perfectly-placed), and a stray elbow crashed into his nose with more force than you’d ever intentionally use. He dropped you onto your stool with a yelp, both hands rushing to his face, giving you a look of surprise with eyes that were instantly watering with the pain of your blow.
A chorus of “whoa, hey” and “geez lady” and “damn Fives what did you do” echoed all around as you regained your breath, still unable to speak without sounding like a gravelly old woman, coughing between each word. “Karking hell, I’m so sorry,” you gasped, scooting back reactively when he pulled his hands away to reveal a bright smear of blood across his upper lip, with more joining it from his nose. Your friend squealed in disgust, covering her eyes and immediately beginning to hyperventilate, and her bald hero in plastoid armor scooped her into his arms as she pretended (you were pretty sure) to become faint, swooning against him with lovestruck eyes. He leaned over to his comrade for a moment, muttering something sympathetic that ended in a word you hadn’t heard before -- di’kut -- before carrying your friend across the room, stopping by a booth full of clones for a moment before finding a more private, empty table.
You continued your profuse apologies as you grabbed every napkin you could reach, on your table and the neighboring ones, offering them to him with genuine sheepishness. He pinched them against the bridge of his nose, still unable to get a word in edgewise amid your swearing up and down that it hadn’t been intentional. When another bald clone in similar colors appeared at his elbow, with a head that was similarly covered in tattoos, he rolled his eyes with a groan, swatting at the newcomer with a napkin.
“I’b find, Kix,” he sighed, his lisped speech caused by the wad of paper tightly pressed against his nostrils.
“I know,” the one apparently called Kix responded, giving you a quick nod of the head, “I just wanted to come see. You look good, vod.” His words dripped with sarcasm, and he disappeared back to the booth with an overly-cheerful wave, leaving you awkwardly sitting with the mess you’d created. You felt frozen in place -- you didn’t want to just ditch him, after what you’d done, but as he sat with his head tilted slightly up, keeping one eye on you the entire time as though you were an active threat, you wished you could be literally anywhere else.
Once the bleeding stopped, and he removed the napkin fortress with a tentative sniff and a wrinkle of his nose, he turned back to you, completely shocking you with the optimistic warmth that remained. “Okay,” he said, holding both hands up in surrender, “No further advances will be made. Message received loud and clear!”
You laughed, palming your forehead against your head, though wildly relieved at his quick return to playfulness. “I’m so sorry,” you said for the hundredth time, truly having no idea where to go from here.
“It’s alright,” he answered. “The name’s Fives,” he continued, offering a hand as if it were the most natural progression one could imagine. “I like you. Got a little bit of fire in ya, eh?” You shook his hand, unable to hide the cringe at the overt flirtation, although it was laced with an amused smile.
“I thought you said no further advances…” you began, but he interrupted.
“Advances? No no no. Just complimenting you on your backswing. But if you did feel guilty and want to do your part to help the morale of the poor boys of the Grand Army of the Republic…”
You laughed for real this time, swatting his arm reflexively. His relentlessness would normally peeve you by now, but you still felt bad, and he didn’t seem to have the pervert energy of someone who wouldn’t take no for an answer, but rather an indomitable cheerful spirit that was hard to come by these days. He gasped, pulling his arm against his chest and cradling it with the other, eyebrows drawing together as he immediately looked hurt and affronted. Your mouth fell and a chill shot down your spine for a split second before his theatrics dawned on you.
“You’re not even hurt there!” you exclaimed, laughing and considering hitting him again.
“Oh well,” he said, dropping the facade and joining you in a hearty chuckle. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners and his laugh rumbled in his chest was disproportionately endearing, and you shook your head at the entire ordeal.
“Alright… Fives…” you said, trying out his name, which sounded exceedingly odd on your lips. “Who’s got my friend over there? Should I call the police droids?” You jerked your head to the booth where your friend had disappeared beneath a pile of blue and white armor that, judging by the way it moved quite sensually, still had its occupant inside.
He followed your gaze, an almost appreciative smirk curving his lips as he spotted the two. You could have sworn you also saw the hint of a flush creeping up the side of his neck and cheeks, but when he turned back to you, it disappeared, and you wrote it off as an illusion of the many neon lights surrounding the bar. “That’s Jesse,” he answered, “And he’s alright. But if she’s looking for a real ride…” he began, making some rolling motions with his hips and sending your face into your palm again. “Okay, okay. I’m kidding. She will be given a fun time, everything she ever dreamed of, and politely left without any expectation of anything more. If she wants romance and love letters, she should find some sucker from the 212th.”
You exhaled out your nose, dropping your gaze to the table. “Maybe I should find a sucker from the 212th…” you muttered, gaping up at him when you realized you’d said it aloud. “For her…” you followed quickly, but the smile that flitted across his face called your bluff.
“Maybe you should,” he said, more quietly now. “Well, it was nice to meet you, and to be beaten into submission as I was trying to save your life. If you’re looking to do any other good deeds, you can usually find me here. Can’t miss me,” he teased, slowly backing away with a grin. But as he tapped the side of his head in a mock salute before turning to rejoin his table, you committed that little 5 on his forehead to memory.
* * *
Months passed, and it became a regular occurrence for you and Fives to encounter each other at 79s. Your friend had been so enthralled with the experience and the glamorous life on Coruscant as a whole, that she had moved in with you for a while to explore this new side of life. As such, you found yourself at her side at the clone bar almost weekly, and you entertained yourself by watching Fives make his rounds every time. He was forward and playful, flirting with virtually anything that moved it seemed, and his loud jokes and swaggering “bro” behavior gave you plenty of opportunities to roll your eyes. You were grateful that he had left you alone after that initial encounter, although there was a tiny part of you that wondered if the braggadocious exterior was really who he was at the core. But it didn’t matter -- he was so busy trying to “score”, as you frequently heard him holler, that you had no reason or chance to find out.
Your own life kept your thoughts fairly busy -- you were in the exciting stages of a new relationship, and a promising promotion at work was lurking just over the horizon. You allowed yourself to cut loose and have fun a bit more, sometimes joining your friend on the dance floor but shifting away demurely when you inevitably felt a codpiece suddenly thrust against your backside. You grew used to the carousel of “regulars” -- squads of clones from various platoons, characterized by armor coloring or other details -- and grew to feel quite at home in the flashy, loud bar.
One night in particular, you made your usual move, swerving behind your friend when you felt a gloved pair of hands settle on your hips and the presence of a stranger behind you, but a sudden voice in your ear surprised you. “Wait, sorry -- just stay here for one minute,” a clone said, and you turned your head to see the familiar face of Fives, bent low behind you in the semblance of dancing, but watching across the room like a hawk, his golden eyes fixed intently on something.
“What are you--” you began, but he pulled you back against his chest, tucking his face into your hair suddenly, and you started to squirm to free yourself, alarmed at having arms around you that were not your boyfriend’s.
“Please, just a second,” he said urgently against the side of your face, “She’s almost gone.”
Your indignant struggle slowed, and you groaned aloud at his absolute ridiculousness, scanning the room for any affronted-looking women as he stayed close behind you, slowly rotating you with hands on your hips to keep you at a certain angle between him and his target.. A Twi’lek with a blazing scowl stalked across the bar counter, glaring daggers at the few misfortune clones who made eye contact with her, and your face relaxed into a smile as you watched her storm down the hall toward the refreshers.
“She’s in the freshers,” you called over your shoulder, and he stood up to his regular height, blowing your hair out of his face. But his hands remained, and his armor-covered body continued to slide along yours to the beat of the music, swaying side to side and taking you along with him. “Fives!” you yelled, voice drowned in the new song that was now blaring at full volume, and you turned around, finding yourself within inches of his flushed, glowing face, accentuated by a few beads of sweat across his brow. You were shocked by the full-body tingle that cascaded down you without warning, and pulled back with a sudden jerk. “She’s gone!” you bellowed, before spinning on your heel to find respite and solitude in the quieter upper level of the bar.
Fives found you a little while later, sinking into the booth beside you as though he were completely exhausted. The music was far less intrusive, and the walls behind the cushioned seats managed to keep a good deal of the other noise out as well. You’d ordered some fries, and you were enjoying them in peace until he joined you. But he came bearing gifts -- a drink in each hand -- and slid one in front of you as he sat next to you, using the same hand to help himself to a couple fries with a roguish grin in your direction.
“What am I, your vod all of a sudden?” you teased, trying out the word that you were pretty sure meant “friend” or “brother” or something along those lines.
“That would be weird,” he laughed, slinging an arm around your shoulders with sudden familiarity, but you squirmed it off quickly.
“I’ve got a boyfriend, Fives,” you reminded him, and he shrugged it off with equal ease.
“And I’ve got a million women beating down the door to spend one private minute with me,” he returned without missing a beat, “But here I am with you.”
You laughed, accepting the drink and lifting it to him in appreciation, taking a generous gulp without sniffing it first. It burned down your throat and exploded through your nasal passages in alcoholic fury, sending you into a coughing fit reminiscent of the first time you met. Now it was his turn to laugh, and he clapped you on the back in the most unhelpful way.
“Damnit, Fives!” you gasped, swatting his arm away and stuffing your face with a handful of fries in an attempt to soothe the warm sting that lingered. Once you’d recovered, he met your gaze with the most disproportionately irresistible puppy dog eyes you had yet encountered, begging your forgiveness with a soft voice.
You’d relented then, settling to intersperse your drink with sips from a large water glass, and you also resigned that half of your fries would be sacrificed for the sake of his company. But you found yourself enjoying it, and the two of you became lost in conversation. Somehow, one topic led to another, followed by a second order of fries, two more drinks, and a third order of fries. You’d been regaling each other with tales, insights into your pasts, and mundane thoughts about the state of the galaxy for so long that you’d completely lost track of time until one of the bar employees appeared at your table to inform you that they were closing. Your mouth dropped, and you checked your own chrono in disbelief before looking up at him with equal shock. He grinned and shrugged, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“But your sweet piece of booty for the evening!” you said in mock concern, watching his eyebrows chase each other across his forehead for a second before he regained his composure.
“Bah,” he dismissed, “They’ve earned a night off. Gotta rebuild their stamina, you know… for--” his words were cut off by a smack on the arm from you, and he followed you down the stairs with his cheeks curved into that eternal smile.
* * *
You couldn’t count the number of times you’d seen Fives hitting on someone in the weeks since he’d danced and chatted with you, and you reminded yourself each time that he was one type and you were another. You’d even convinced the boyfriend to come with you once or twice, although he felt completely out of his element surrounded by clones and had clammed up so much that you’d opted for other date locations with him after that. The Playboy of the Bar, however, continued his relentless crusade, and your occasional visits with friends always included a glimpse of him leaning dramatically on an elbow in front of someone or trying to allure them into his arms on the dance floor.
Your friend from the very first visit had insisted that you come out with her on one very specific night, swearing up and down that it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it coincided with the quarterly review at your job, where the recipients of the next rounds of promotion would be announced. You’d tried unsuccessfully to contain your excitement about the prospect, but it seemed like a no-brainer -- you’d been performing above your pay grade for a while now, and there weren’t really any others in the running. You’d treated yourself to a new haircut, adding some choppy layers, and bought a sassy new outfit that made you feel like a million bucks. The day arrived, and despite your repeated and thinly-veiled reminders to your boyfriend about how much you were looking forward to it, he chose that day, of all days, to break up with you.
It had come out of nowhere, and you’d done your best to maintain your composure, but the feeling of having your legs cut out from beneath you was distractingly nauseating all day. To add insult to injury, the promotions were delivered, and you had not received one. Instead, the undeniably busty new hire had somehow gotten it in your place. The day couldn’t have been worse, and you called your friend to tell her that there was no way you were going out that night, even if the Supreme Chancellor himself had asked.
You started the water for a hot bath, gathering your smuttiest holonovel and a horde of snacks that could have provided lunch to the entire cadet academy, when you were struck by a sudden hesitation, followed by the most compelling “fuck-it-all” attitude you’d ever been hit by. The water was switched off, and you dug your new outfit out of the corner where you’d thrown it in a fit of tears, taking time to make yourself up until you felt like you could conquer the world. A few shots of liquid courage from your kitchen cupboard gave you a pleasantly warm, rummy sensation, and you called your friend back to inform her that the party was back on.
She was thrilled as ever to see you, chorusing a litany of “girl boss” encouragement that made you want to barf as you walked into 79s, but you accepted her well-meaning accolades in a haze of determination to lose yourself in whatever that night would hold. As you clapped the bottom of the shot glass onto the bar next to her, downing it in one brave swallow, you caught sight of Fives across the room, working his usual magic.
“Tear it up, sis,” your friend yelled over the music, and you ordered another shot, swallowing it just as quickly, before heading out to lose yourself on the dance floor. Being significantly inebriated brought a whole new level to your clubbing experience though, and everything seemed to “make sense”. You no longer shook off the random clones who would come up to dance on you, instead writhing your body in total abandon, enjoying the way the music seemed to match everything perfectly, carrying you along in the rhythmic sensation of your body grinding against another. One of them started getting particularly handsy, and you took that as your cue to take a break, tottering to a stool at the counter and sliding onto it with the infinite amount of concentration it required to avoid toppling off the other side.
“Hey… you… alright?” came a familiar voice, and you looked up to see Fives bending over you with an uncharacteristic look of concern on his face. But you weren’t in a state to read the room quite so well anymore, and hollered a response immediately.
“Ohhhh fuckoff, Fives!” you shouted, not even sure why on earth you would say such a thing, but everything just felt so damn funny, and consequences weren’t something that existed in your brain at that moment. You missed the undeniable flash of hurt that crossed his face before he gave you a feeble salute and disappeared into the crowd again. As you ordered something ridiculously sweet and fruity, you felt a tap on the shoulder. You turned to face a pair of clones that were both grinning at you in such an idiotic way you found it endearing.
“You look like a smart lady…,” one of them began.
“WRONG,” you yelled, dissolving into laughter at your own utterance.
“Okay, well…” he continued, clearly thrown off but still amused. “People seem to have a lot of trouble telling us apart,” he gestured to his brother and himself, “And we were trying to see what it is exactly that makes us different from one another. We were thinking you might volunteer your services to see if it’s how we kiss, because that seems like the only remaining possibility.”
Your friend joined you then, hand in hand with a clone who looked impressive in a gray dress uniform, and you welcomed her jovially as your drink arrived. “Look! These guys think I can’t tell em apart by the way they kiss,” you accused, sloshing your drink toward both of them. “Kriffin’ shinies,” you muttered, slumping to your feet, slamming your glass on the counter, and throwing yourself at the nearest one. His eyes flew wide open as your arms wrapped around his neck and you buried your face in his, planting a sloppy kiss on his mouth. He settled into it quite quickly though, bringing his own hands to your waist and leaning into you to slide his tongue along your lips. You were quite enjoying it, but a sudden awareness of the copious amount of spit all over your face made you pull away with a loud smack as your lips parted.
“Too messy!” you declared, thrusting a finger into the air as though you’d discovered the theory of relativity, then just as quickly, before his poor partner could react, you flung yourself at him, scooping him into your arms and crashing your lips against his. He tasted like alcohol and salty food, and the jury was out on whether that was a good thing or not as you began to kiss him more and more passionately, hands roving around his chest and one digging into his hair, leaving him a tousled mess when you were all of a sudden tugged away by a firm hand on your upper arm. “Heyyyy!” you whined, wiping your mouth with your sleeve as you turned to see the stern face of Fives, honey brown eyes blazing. Or was it the lights?
“Come on,” he said, pulling you away from the somewhat shellshocked pair of shinies as he leaned over to talk to your friend for a moment.
“Oh yeah?” you laughed, blowing them a kiss goodbye, “Are we finally gonna do it? Am I your little treat for the evening?” You addressed your words to him, slumping against him to slide a heavy hand up the side of his face, ending with a little trace of the number on his temple. “I kriffing love this,” you murmured, bringing your face toward his suddenly. But he dodged your advance and instead scooped you into his arms, nodding to your friend as she finished speaking and turning to head toward the door. His armor was hard against your skin, jostling you and totally harshing your vibe as the cool night air hit your face. Your memory from that point onward was spotty, with only flashes of things that may or may not have happened, as far as you were aware.
Holy kriff, Fives, you’re a creep! How do you know where I live?
hahahaha I’d totally sleep with you but I don’t want to catch any diseases, you know?
OHMYGOSH how did you get inside my door?!
Sweet baby Hutt-spawn, this bed is the kriffing BEST. Come here, you gotta try this.
Ohhhh, taking me to bed eh? kinkyyyy... hey what’s the trash can for?
* * *
You woke up beneath a pile of pillows, gasping for air as you emerged, body slick with sweat. You’d apparently decided to pull on every maker-forsaken blanket you owned throughout the night, and you hauled yourself to your feet to escape the Mustafarian lava pit you’d created. But the sudden motion was far from welcome, and you reeled in disgust, feeling waves of hunger and nausea wash over you simultaneously. There was a gnawing hole in your stomach, and yet the thought of eating anything was positively repulsive, so you moved toward the refresher, kicking a wastebasket that had been placed next to your bed. The loud noise and unexpected obstacle caused you to yelp, and as the plastic trash can went flying across the room, another figure sprang up out of nowhere in equal surprise.
The deafening sound that filled the room was definitely not human, and it certainly didn’t come from you, as you reacted in a jolt of fear and flailing backward onto your bed. But the figure on the floor reacted just as much to the noise, pressing his hands over his ears and scrambling to his feet in alarm, and as you clapped your hand over your mouth, cutting it off, you realized it was indeed you who was squealing like a keeradak in labor. The silence that fell immediately after left you reeling, as you stared in utter shock at Fives, who was standing at the foot of your bed, clad head to toe in form-fitting black base layers, eyes wide as he held both hands up to you in an attempt to soothe.
“WHAT are you--” you began, but clamped your mouth shut when you felt a heave, going deathly still to avoid provoking the digestive dragons any further. Fives was rubbing his face, which was adorably soft from sleep, and he looked back up to you, wincing at the obvious stiffness he felt as he moved.
“You were a mess last night,” he began, precariously taking a seat at the very edge of your mattress. “I brought you home -- your friend told me where you guys lived,” he interjected in response to the question brimming on your lips. “But I didn’t know she didn’t have a bedroom… Once I got you settled, I went to leave, but she was… busy… on the couch out there… So I waited. And waited. And I guess I fell asleep.”
“On the floor?!” you asked in disbelief, feeling even more horrible now.
“Yeah. I gotta go see who that is out there. Trooper deserves a kriffing medal for that kind of stamina…”
“I am so sorry,” you breathed again, chuckling at his words but stuffing down any further mirth as it made your stomach lurch. “You didn’t have to--”
“What happened?” he asked, looking at you with sudden intensity. “I’ve never seen you like that…” You filled him in on The Day From Hell and its role in leading to The Night of Bad Decisions, appreciating the appropriate expressions of sympathy that shaped his handsome face. When you finished, you insisted that he let you take him to breakfast -- to do your part in lifting the morale of the poor boys of the GAR. His sleepy smirk made your heart do a flip, as did the way he held the door open for you as the two of you tottered into a local diner. You’d assured him repeatedly that their “kitchen sink omelet” was a tried-and-true hangover cure, and as two heaping plates were slid onto the table in front of you, his eyes widened at the sheer amount of gravy that covered whatever else was lurking beneath it.
“So uhh,” he began suddenly, after you’d been idly chatting about nothing throughout the slow process of consuming the greasiest breakfast in the galaxy, “How long have you wanted me so badly?” You snorted, bringing your caf mug back under your mouth for fear of the sip you’d just taken exploding right back out again.
“What?!”
He twirled his fork over his plate with a jaunty air of smugness as you gawked at him across the table. “You might have been grinding on anything with legs and kissing random shinies last night,” he purred, causing you to grimace at the thought, “but you weren’t mincing your words when it came to trying to get me in your bed.” He waggled a brow at you, a little glimmer illuminating the flecks of gold in his honey brown eyes, again causing that wave to course through your veins.
“Oh geez, Fives,” you exhaled, rubbing your forehead with one hand as you stabbed a piece of sausage with particular vehemence. “I get absolutely crazy when I drink too much. I’m sorry,” you apologized, shaking your head, “It’s like a different person.” You leaned down to scoop the bite into your mouth, sparing yourself the heartwrenching way his face fell at your words. But when you brought your gaze back up to his, covering your food-filled cheeks with a napkin, his sharp features were carefully arranged into nonchalance.
“Mmm,” he grunted knowingly, “Yeah…” He fell silent for a moment, pondering the potatoes on his plate as he pushed them side to side with his fork.
“I can’t believe that’s two nights you’ve wasted on me now though,” you said, offering a return to the lighthearted quips you two were so used to sharing. “I feel like I owe you some kind of… I don’t know. What kind of escapade have you not had in a while?” You chuckled breezily, although the thought of him like that twisted your stomach in an odd way. Or maybe it was the hangover.
“Ugh,” he said, pushing his plate away and lifting his brown eyes to yours with a disarming focus. “I’m a fraud,” he blurted out, shaking his head as he maintained your gaze. “It’s all a front. Jesse is out there climbing onto whatever or whomever strikes his fancy… And I’ve got this whole image… But it’s all a lie…” His admission ended with an eyeroll that led his eyes back down to his plate, hanging his head like a scolded child. You were reeling at the revelation, though, with countless emotions washing over you so quickly you couldn’t begin to identify any one of them.
“Why?” you asked finally, tilting your head in genuine confusion.
“I have no kriffing idea,” he answered, one cheek curving up into a half-smile as he looked back up to you. “I haven’t even kissed anyone,” he muttered with a shrug. You felt as though your illusion of him had been shattered, and the unguarded, honest, adorable man in front of you was so different than the swaggering fast-talker you’d grown accustomed to. A small part of you gloated loudly in the back of your mind -- I told you so -- confirming your initial suspicions that there was more depth to him after all. Your conversations had revealed as much too; he was wildly intelligent and creative, with razor-sharp critical thinking skills and more philosophical reflection on life than you’d ever have expected.
Your own smile grew larger, and you reached a hand across the table to place it gingerly over his fist, causing his eyes to jerk back up to yours again. That goatee did make him look more distinguished after all, you decided, as you brushed your thumb across his knuckles. You wanted to drop some kind of snarky joke or wise-sounding platitude, but there was a merciful peace between the two of you that suggested understanding without the necessity of further explanation. The arrival of the server droid with a fresh carafe of caf gave you both a distraction, and by the time the mugs were refilled and appropriately doctored up, the conversation was off and running about everything and nothing again.
When the two of you emerged into the harsh Coruscant sunlight on the sidewalk outside the diner, stretching and groaning your simultaneous satisfaction and over-stuffed-ness, it felt as though you had taken some kind of new step together, entered some foreign territory of closeness. You rather liked it, you decided, as you turned to walk toward the train stop. But he caught your hand, surprising you as he pulled you back to face him.
“Hey, um…” he began sheepishly, shifting on his feet but maintaining a steady gaze in your eyes that made your knees feel weak. You prickled with anticipation, instantly feeling as though something were about to happen, and very much wanting it to. “Can I try something?” he asked, rushing onward in response to your puzzled expression, “Close your eyes…”
You gave him a suspicious squint, heart skipping a beat at the small burst of joy that it painted across his face, and then closed your eyes, standing stock-still on the outside but coursing with adrenaline and eagerness within. You could feel him getting closer, whether it was some kind of external proprioception or your own wishful thinking, and the hope was confirmed when you could feel the warmth of his face right in front of yours, blocking out the sunlight and filling your nose with the scents of caf, gravy, soap, and something spicy and musky. Parting your lips slightly, it took all your willpower to keep your eyes closed and stay still, but your patience was rewarded a split second later.
Warm hands grazed your cheeks, settling around your face in a deliberate yet gentle hold, and the faint sound of his quiet exhale sent another thrill through you. And then his lips met yours, unfathomably soft and painstakingly tender. Your arms snaked around him immediately, hearing his sharp inhale of excitement in response. He didn’t move except to gently press his mouth a bit more, fitting his face against your own as his nose smushed into your cheek. The tingles reverberating through every inch of your body were intoxicating, and you never wanted it to end, as you leaned your body into his. And then he retreated, slowly and gingerly, as though any quick motion would shatter the impeccable beauty of the fleeting moment. His lips pulled away with a quiet smack that lit fireworks of joy in your soul.
Your eyes flew open, and the sight that met them was one you wanted to commit to memory forever -- his blissful face, eyes still closed, lips curved in a soft smile. He lingered there for a split second before lightly resting his forehead against yours and lighting up the day with his amber eyes that fluttered open to find yours with undeniable warmth. You were blown away by the unfathomable delight of kissing him for not only the first time, but his first time. You wracked your brain for something… anything… to say, but there was nothing that could fully capture the thrill and ecstasy. So instead you grinned at him like an idiot, basking in the glory of his soulful gaze and adoring smile.