Pretty please submitting a request!!
Rex x Jedi reader:
Theme: angsty confessions
Rex and Reader are secretly in love with one another but haven’t ever spoken about it because of their official titles. They’re both on shore leave after a particularly rough mission and Jedi!reader convinces Rex to come out with the 501st to 79s to unwind despite the fact he really does not want to. Rex ends up getting overwhelmed by his feelings of responsibility and guilt over the last mission (maybe heavy casualties or something), and goes out to a private spot on the roof of 79s to get away from the busy bar. The 501st is super drunk and doesn’t notice he leaves. Rex is troubled by the war and his feelings for the reader. The Jedi!reader ends up following him out to the private spot and they share a joint/cigarette. Some angsty talk of war and feelings of purpose gets brought up (maybe Rex brings up his feelings of longing for more like he’s seen Cut have with his family in the past). Reader expresses the same feelings of longing for feelings of attachment, and disagrees with how strict the Order is with it. Somehow they end up making out (I’ll let you figure that out).
Honestly some smut would be amazing too (Rex is hot as hell and I need more Rex fics).
Tomorrow's Problem
Rex x F! Jedi Reader
Summary: This is one the requests from my 1,000 follower special ^ Word Count: 6.9k (nice) Warnings: Cursing, Heavy alcohol consumption, Death sticks, Mentions of death, Smut (18+ please!) A/N: Posting this at the ripe hour of 6:30am on a Tuesday morning because why does my neighbor have a whole landscaping crew out right now?! join my taglist / masterlist
Rex sat on the edge of his bunk, stripped of his armor, but his shoulders still hunched forward as if his armor was still on. On his datapad screen, columns of numbers bled into names. And for Rex, names always bled into faces.
First on the list was Del. A trooper who barely learned to calibrate his blaster during firefight before a blast took him straight in the chest.
Second was Tyne. A trooper had survived three separate campaigns just to catch a stray piece of shrapnel in the throat during the final push.
In total, there were thirty seven names. Thirty seven brothers who were breathing when the gunships touched down, and now were reduced to encrypted data waiting for an officer’s electronic signature.
Thuds echoed from the corridor outside. Rex knew it was stomps of the 501st heading toward the lifts. They were loud. They were always loud after a rough mission. It was the sound of men celebrating the fact that they were still alive. They were certainly going to 79’s to drown the mission in cheap booze.
Rex didn’t want to though. Not tonight. He pressed the palm of his hand against his forehead, and forced his eyes back to the datapad. He just needed to finish the briefing forms or replacement equipment logs. He needed to be the Captain.
The sudden chime of his private comlink broke his focus. Rex flinched, his thumb hovering over the device. He picked it up, reading the message.
General: Heading out with the boys tonight?
Rex stared at the message. His chest tightened, a strange, conflicting spike of warmth hitting his chest before discipline slammed it back down. He shifted his grip on the comlink, as he began typing his response.
CT-7567: Negative. Someone needs to finish some reports, General. Enjoy the night.
He set the comlink down on the metal crate beside his bunk, intending to return to his reports. But the device chimed again almost instantly.
General: The reports will be there tomorrow Rex. I think you should go.
Rex let out a slow breath through his nose.
CT-7567: They will be ready for the final debrief tomorrow afternoon.
There was a longer pause this time. Rex watched the little blinking indicator that told him you were typing.
General: Well consider it an order.
He let out a huff of amusement. He shook his head as he typed back.
CT-7567: This feels like an inappropriate use of pulling rank. I’m sure the Republic would not be fond of that tactic.
He waited, expecting another quick, witty retort. Hardcase or Fives would have pushed the joke and made a loud spectacle of it. But instead, the screen remained blank for nearly a minute. Rex found himself eagerly awaiting a response.
Finally, his comlink vibrated in his palm.
General: Please?
He looked back at the datapad. The thirty seven names were still there, staring up at him. His heart thudded slowly against his ribs. He didn't want the noise of 79’s. He didn't want the crowded bars or the cheap drinks.
He typed his reply before his brain could tell him otherwise.
CT-7567: Only because you asked nicely.
Step by step, Rex dragged himself to 79’s. Everywhere he looked, there were brothers. Hundreds of them, stripped of their armor, packed shoulder to shoulder, trying desperately to lose themselves in the noise.
"Come on, Rex!"
Fives’ voice boomed over the racket, dripping with his typical high energy adrenaline. Before Rex could pull away, Fives lunged forward, his hands slamming onto Rex’s shoulders. He gave Rex a rough shake with a beaming smile.
Rex flinched, his brow furrowing as he looked away, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Not tonight, Fives," Rex groaned, his words completely buried underneath the thumping bass of the music. "I'm not in the mood."
The grin slid off Fives' face. His grip on Rex’s shoulders tightened, anchoring Rex in place amidst the crowd. He stepped closer, allowing for his voice to cut easily through the noise.
"The brothers we lost wouldn't want you moping around like this, Rex," Fives sighed. It was a raw truth, stripped of any sugarcoating. "Del, Tyne, all of them. They’re gone. We’re still breathing. You celebrate tonight because they can't. If you spend the night mourning, the clankers win without firing another shot."
Rex swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. The words hit him right where they needed to. He finally raised his eyes to Fives, giving him a small, tight nod of acknowledgement.
Satisfied, Fives patted Rex’s chest, turning his attention back toward the main entrance. His eyes scanned the incoming crowd, passing over a group of 212th members before freezing entirely. A smirk instantly split Fives’ face. He raised his chin, nudging Rex’s arm with his elbow.
"Well, well," Fives shouted over the music, pointing with his chin toward the doors. "Look who decided to grace this glorious place with her presence! The General is here. If that doesn't cheer you up Rex, I don’t know what will."
Rex whipped his head around, his eyes locking onto the entrance.
And there you were.
You were dressed down in civilian clothes that looked beautifully out of place against the gritty backdrop of 79’s. The memory of that single word - Please - flashed across his mind, triggering a red flush to creep up his neck.
"Don't be ridiculous, Fives," Rex snapped, his voice rising in an aggressive, defensive panic as he ripped his eyes away from you.
Fives just threw his head back and laughed. He clapped Rex on the shoulder again. "Yeah, say what you want, Rex," Fives mocked, leaning back with a smug grin. "Rationalize it however you need to. But my eyes don't lie. You two give each other that look."
"What look?" Rex grunted back, his rising blush completely betraying him.
Rex glanced over his shoulder and saw that you were already moving deeper into the bar, stopping to speak with Hardcase, who was already three drinks deep and violently gesturing with his arm. You were laughing. Rex desperately wished he was able to hear it.
You looked stunning in your ripped black jeans and low cut black top. The pulsing lights caught your collarbone, casting a soft glow across your skin that made his breath catch in his throat. You looked flushed from the heat of the room, a few strands of your hair clinging slightly to your temples. He spent months looking at you across holotables, in command bridges and covered in mud on distant battlefields, but seeing you like this stole the air right out of his lungs.
If he had to stand here and look at you all night while you looked like this, he wouldn't be able to control himself. Rex made the decision to remove himself before it got any worse.
“I’ve got to go sit down," Rex told Fives, pushing past him to get to the complete opposite side of the bar.
"Rex, wait!" Fives called out, but Rex was already weaving through the crowd, aiming directly for the far, darkest side of the bar near the booths.
Back at the entrance, Hardcase was entirely oblivious to Rex’s flight. He slung a heavy, drunken arm around your shoulders, nearly knocking you off your balance as he cheered.
"General passing through! Part the seas, you kriffing shinies!" Hardcase roared at the top of his lungs, causing a dozen troopers to snap to a messy, half drunk salute. Hardcase smiled down at you, "Let's find the bossman. Captain! Look who-"
Hardcase paused, his head spinning around as he blinked at the empty space where Rex was standing just moments ago. He scratched the back of his neck, thoroughly confused.
"Huh. I swear he was just standing right there," Hardcase shook his head. He shrugged his shoulders, entirely unfazed, and tightened his grip around your shoulder to steer you toward the bar counter. "Oh well! His loss. Let’s get you a drink General! Jesse’s buying!”
Rex watched from the shadows of a far corner booth, his hands gripping the edge of a sticky table as he watched Hardcase lead you away toward the flashing lights of the main bar.
A knot tightened in the pit of Rex’s stomach. Watching Hardcase carelessly sling his arm around your shoulders made something incredibly possessive flare up in his chest. Hardcase was his brother, a good soldier, and completely harmless, but seeing his hand resting against the fabric of your shirt sent a spike of jealousy straight through Rex’s veins.
He hated how easily the rest of the boys could touch you. He hated that because Hardcase could joke, stumble into your personal space, and steer you toward the bar without a single second thought. Rex felt like he was trapped inside his own mind, forced to watch from the shadows while another brother got to stand close enough to feel your warmth. His jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his neck twitched. He had no right to feel this way, no right at all, but the envy was consuming, making the booth feel like a self-inflicted prison.
Eventually, Hardcase steered you away from the bar counter and towards the dance floor with his arm still draped around your shoulders. Before you could even wipe the condensation of the room off your forehead, Jesse slid in from the side, balancing a very full, sticky tray with neon colored shots.
"Look who made it!" Jesse cheered, passing out the shots. "A toast to the General! The only officer in the GAR brave enough to come out here with us!"
Standing right next to him, Kix was already concerned. The moment he saw the shots, he pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh. He looked up at you, "Hopefully, you don’t have anything too intensive planned for us tomorrow."
Completely ignorant to Kix’s concern, Jesse thrust a small glass into your hand. Hardcase raised his own, then shouted a messy toast before you all threw your drink back.
The alcohol burned as it slid straight down your throat and settled in your stomach. Before you could even blink against the heat of it, Jesse forced a second shot into your palm. You downed that one too, the sweetness behind this one making your head spin in a pleasant, hazy wave.
You didn't even get a chance to set the empty glass back down on the tray. Before you knew it, the tray was who knows where and Hardcase and Jesse were grabbing your wrists, dragging you into the thickest, most suffocating part of the dance floor.
You were smushed shoulder to shoulder with dozens of sweaty, laughing 501st troopers. Time began to blur under the heavy music. Within what felt like twenty minutes, but was likely closer to an hour, you found yourself holding a glass containing what was easily your fifth or sixth drink. The drink was strong, but it couldn't entirely dull your mind.
In fact, you were spending much more time scanning the room than actually enjoying the music. You were looking for a specific 501st member. You came to 79’s because he said he would be here, and the fact that his presence was entirely missing made the packed room feel completely hollow.
"Hey! What's wrong?"
Fives’ voice cut through your daze. Fives expertly maneuvered his way through a group of jumping men, leaning his shoulder against yours as he looked down at you with concern.
You pushed up on your toes, leaning into Fives’ shoulder as you shouted back over the music. "I thought Rex would be here! He should be enjoying this too!"
Fives squinted in confusion at you, certain that Rex would have made his way to you by now. Curious, chose his next words carefully. "Maybe he is enjoying himself, General! Maybe he finally grew a pair, found a pretty civilian girl, and decided to take her back to the barracks for the night!"
The comment hit a nerve. You froze, the comfort of the alcohol completely evaporating as a wave of pure jealousy flared up in your chest.
"Fives!" you snapped back, your voice rising to a panicked edge that you couldn't control, "I’m being serious!"
Fives just stared at you, his grin morphing into something words couldn’t begin to explain. Watching the blush stain your cheeks as you fiercely demanded Rex’s whereabouts, was the ultimate confirmation of every single suspicion he had harbored for months. His eyes practically danced with satisfaction. It drove him absolutely nuts how transparent you both were.
He stepped closer into your personal space. So close he was almost kissing your ear. "Personally," Fives muttered, "I’d rather see him take you home."
"Fives!" you yelled, using your most commanding tone.
Fives instantly threw his hands up in a mocking gesture of surrender, laughing. "Okay! Okay!" he yelled back, "Rex came here with us. He wouldn't just leave without letting someone know. He’s gotta be here somewhere."
He leaned in one last time, giving your shoulder a gentle nudge, "You should go find him though," Fives suggested, "Maybe you could get some light back in him."
You slipped away from Fives, leaving the madness of the dance floor behind. You scanned the dim, shadowed booths along the perimeter, hoping to spot Rex hiding in the dark. Nothing. Just groups of rowdy troopers absolutely losing themselves.
Stepping up to the bar counter, you caught the attention of a service droid and requested two of the strongest drinks it could mix. The droid slid two heavy glasses across the sticky metal, filled with a dark liquid. Clutching a glass in each hand, you bypassed the main exit and made your way to doors that led to the club's outer platform balconies.
The moment the doors hissed shut behind you, the suffocating heat and the pounding bass of 79’s were instantly cut off, replaced by the vastness of the Coruscant night.
A cool breeze swept across the open platform, biting into your skin and causing the alcohol in your system to hit you all at once. Your head swam, a sudden rush of vertigo making the endless lines of city traffic blur into streaks of brilliant white and yellow light. You blinked, drawing a deep breath to steady your feet, and looked toward the edge of the balcony.
There he was.
Rex was leaning heavily over the wide metal railing, staring out into the glittering abyss of the city. He was holding an empty cup in one hand, completely still. He was dressed down, wearing only his lower armor plates and upper blacks that molded seamlessly to his body.
You quieted your footsteps as you walked up beside him, the glass in your right hand extended outward. "Looks like someone needs a refill," you hummed, looking down at the glass, then Rex.
Rex turned his head slowly, his eyes locking onto yours. "General," he greeted you with a tired rasp in his throat. He reached out and carefully took the glass from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours for a second. Instead of setting his old cup down, he stacked it beneath the new one, staring down at the drink. "You can go back inside if you want. It's a little cold out here."
"The dance floor was a furnace," you replied, leaning your forearms against the railing next to him, "And I was looking for you."
Rex took a slow sip of the drink and he let out a breath through his nose. He didn't answer right away, choosing instead to look at the loose sway in your posture.
"How many drinks have you had tonight?" he asked, half amused, half concerned.
You let out a playful laugh, your head tilting back slightly as you tried to calculate through the pleasant fog in your brain. "I don't know, seven? Or five. Or six. Maybe seven?"
Rex froze for a split second, the specific sequence of numbers registering.
A genuine little laugh escaped his lips, the tension in his shoulders dropping slightly. He took another sip of his drink, maintaining eye contact with you as he raised his glass. “You're funny.”
His gaze with his comment made your heart do a flip. The alcohol buzzed through your blood, and as you shifted your weight to lean closer to him, your foot caught slightly on an uneven seam in the metal deck plates.
You stumbled, gasping as you tried to recover.
Rex’s reflexes kicked in. His empty hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around your arm while his other arm securely caught you by the waist, all while not spilling a drop of his drink. You were about to make a comment about his impressive feat, but when you looked up at him, the world completely stopped.
There was only the sudden proximity of him.
Rex didn't let go. You were close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his body. It was too close.
You suddenly pulled back, the absence of your clothes against his breaking the spell. Rex let his hands drop instantly, stepping back half a step to restore the distance between you. He cleared his throat, his eyes dropping to his glass as he carefully guarded his expression.
To break the sudden tension, you leaned back against the cold railing. "Fives told me you were a little down tonight," you confided in Rex. "He said you were moping. What’s bothering you?"
"It's nothing, sir.” Rex began to brush it off, “Just post campaign exhaustion. Fives exaggerates."
"You can’t lie to a Jedi, Rex,” you probed for more. “I can feel your stress from a mile away."
Rex let out a long, defeated sigh, realizing it was entirely pointless to build walls against someone who could sense his soul. He tipped his head back, finishing off the rest of his drink in one long swallow. He set the empty glass stack down on the railing and leaned over it as he stared back out into the endless cityscape of Coruscant.
To ground the restless tension, you reached into your pocket. Your fingers wrapped around the rolled death stick you had swiped from a table inside. You pulled it out, shielding it from the breeze with your palm as you ignited the tip.
The crimson glow of the tip flared to life. You took a slow drag, letting the heavy smoke soothe the alcohol buzzing in your bloodstream.
You turned slightly and offered it to him, holding it out between your fingers.
Rex cleared his throat, his eyes dropping to the death stick before tracking up to your face. His head swayed ever so slightly back and forth, knowing he should decline. So, he tried to use professionalism as an excuse.
"You already put your mouth on it, sir." Rex deflected as he tried to look anywhere but your eyes.
You didn't pull your hand back. Instead, you took a step closer to him, staring at the side of his head. You dropped your hand closer to his, "I don't mind if you don't Rex"
Hearing his name fall from your lips so gently shattered his composure. That combined with the casual intimacy of sharing something that had just been pressed against your mouth absolutely derailed him.
Rex swallowed hard, his eyes dropping to your fingers before he slowly reached out. His fingers wrapped carefully around the death stick, his skin brushing firmly against yours as he took it from you. The brief contact sent a jolt of heat straight through his veins, making him flush as he brought the death stick to his lips.
He closed his eyes and took a long, deep drag, his chest expanding as the smoke rushed into his lungs. Rex desperately leaned into smoke’s effects, trying to calm himself. But the heat blooming beneath his skin had nothing to do with the liquor and the smoke, and he knew it.
When he opened his eyes, his gaze was immediately seeking yours through the exhaled smoke.
He didn't hand the death stick back to you right away. The space between you seemed to actively shrink, the cool night air drawing you both closer together until the physical boundary between general and captain became dangerously thin. You reached out to take the stick from his hand. His thumb brushed firmly against the back of your knuckles. It was lingering contact that made your pulse spike.
The death stick, combined with the lingering heat of the alcohol, finally cracked the vault of Rex’s mind. "Thirty seven," Rex muttered,"Thirty seven names on my datapad tonight. All I see are their faces. I see them looking at me on the transport, waiting for an order. Waiting for me to tell them to die."
He took the death stick from your fingers again, the contact longer this time, his hand trembling. He took a short drag, the crimson tip flaring brightly in the dark.
"We're built for it though" he continued. He leaned his forearms heavily against the railing, the smoke curling from his lips as he spoke. "But sometimes the truth of that feels suffocating."
Rex paused and stared down at the glowing ember between his fingers, his eyes darkening with a memory he had kept buried deep in the classified logs of his mind.
"I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but a while back I had a mission on Saleucami," he began, the confession slipping out like a secret he was terrified to speak aloud. "I was shot and I woke up in a barn. A barn owned by a clone who left the war. His name was Cut."
Rex hesitated, dropping his head between his arms, then turning his head to look at you, “Promise me this stays on this platform?”
You let out a huff breath, looking straight into his eyes without a single hint of hesitation. "Honestly, Rex, I should be offended you even feel the need to ask."
Rex took a deep breath, shaking his head. “He had a family. A wife and two kids who called him dad. He built a quiet, simple life out in the middle of nowhere, with someone who loved him just for exactly who he was. Even though there are a million other men in the galaxy that look just like him."
"I didn't get it then," Rex added, his voice cracking slightly under the guilt of the admission. "I thought he was a coward. I thought he was a traitor to the Republic, to his brothers. But tonight, I think I finally get it."
He stopped, his chest heaving as he dropped his hand. The combination of the five or six drinks from inside and the chemical haze of the death-stick caught up to you in a single wave. You blinked a few times, your eyes wide and slightly glazed as you tracked the smoke leaving his mouth.
"You get what?" you coaxed, taking the death stick from his fingers.
Rex didn't look away this time. "I get wanting that life," Rex admitted, "The quiet. The freedom. The simple existence that Cut built out there for himself. Waking up because the sun is up, not because an alarm is blaring."
He paused, his fingers turning the glass on the railing, before his voice dropped even lower, becoming a private whisper that felt like it was only meant for you. "Over the recent months, I've actually allowed myself to think about it."
You leaned closer into his space, your shoulder brushing against his. The movement was entirely natural, driven by the alcohol and a sudden urge to bridge whatever distance was left between you.
"I understand, Rex," you admitted, looking up at him, "You and I are far more similar than you might think."
You gestured vaguely out toward the Jedi Temple in the distant flashing city lights with your glass, "It’s not like it’s easy for a Jedi to have those thoughts, either. We’re given away as children. We’re raised on a strict code of emotional detachment, forbidden from holding onto anything or anyone. We're told to love the galaxy as a whole, but never to love a single soul within it."
You paused, trying to find the best way to convey your thoughts despite your drunken state, "But the code doesn't stop you from being human, Rex. Sometimes you meet the right person, and your mind just wanders anyway. No matter how hard you fight it."
You gently probed further, tilting your head up. "What does it see, Rex? When your mind wanders, what does that life actually look like for you?"
Rex turned his gaze back out over the endless traffic lanes. He couldn’t look at you a second longer without completely losing himself. You said his name too many times tonight, and the repetition was working on him like poison. He could handle his name on your lips on a battlefield, but he couldn't handle the way his name sounded when it was in such a new, intimate setting.
"I think about having a home and where someone is waiting for me at the end of the day just because they want to see me. I think about raising children and watching them grow up without a blaster in their hands. Teaching them how to be happy instead of how to survive."
Slowly, Rex turned his head back to you. "What about you?" Rex asked, lifting his hand off his glass, "What does that dream look like for you?"
You let out a giggly laugh. "Well," you started, the alcohol making you sound delightfully unbothered, "assuming the Jedi Order collapses because it's completely corrupt."
Rex raised an amused brow at the wild statement. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
You just waved your hand dismissively, smiling brightly as you shrugged your shoulders, "I'll save that conversation for another time."
Leaning in closer, your thoughts drifted back to his question, the warmth in your chest guiding your words. "But if I could have anything? I think I'd want pretty much exactly what you want, Rex. A place where I don’t need to constantly don’t have to worry about being blown up. Specifically, a small house with one of those wrap around porches. Those look cool. Somewhere I could just wake up, make a pot of caf, and look out at a field.”
As the words spilled out of your mouth, Rex threw his head back and let out a groan.
You pouted slightly, crossing your arms over your chest as you looked at him defensively. "What? What's wrong? I thought my dream sounded nice. If anything, it sounds almost exactly like yours!"
Rex lowered his head, looking down at you with a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion. "Exactly," he whimpered, "It just sounds too damn nice to think about."
He leaned down slightly, his eyes burning with a sincerity that made your pulse race. "I would take on a full squadron of clankers by myself right now if it meant just being able to live free like that for even only a single night."
You matched his energy, tilting your chin up. "Yeah? Well, I'd take on two."
Rex’s smile beamed with instant amusement, a playful challenge sparking in his gaze. The heavy grief of the night completely vanished, replaced by an intoxicating heat. He leaned in even closer to you. "I'd take on three."
You looked straight up into his eyes, completely eliminating the remaining space between your bodies until you could feel the intense, radiating heat pulsing off his chest. You winked at him, dropping your voice to a dangerous whisper that completely sealed it for him.
"Four."
The word barely left your lips before Rex lost all restraint.
The soft collision of your bodies stole the remaining breath from your lungs. Before you could even gasp, Rex leaned down, his mouth crashing against yours with a desperate hunger that had been building over months of silent glances across holotables and muddy trenches.
The kiss was consuming and laced with the sharp taste of liquor and the lingering sweetness of the death stick smoke. His fingers dug hard into your back, pulling you against his chest as if he were terrified this was all a dream. Yet, beneath the desperation, there was a gentleness to the way his lips moved against yours. Your hands shot up, your fingers intertwining behind his neck, pulling him even closer until there was no air left between you.
When he finally broke the kiss, he didn't pull away. Rex kept his hands locked tightly around your waist, his forehead resting heavily against yours as you both drew in shaky breaths while reaching the silent agreement that the line had been crossed and there was absolutely no going back.
“Kriff,” he exhaled into the small space between your mouths. It wasn’t a curse of regret, but one of awe. “I’m sor-”
You didn’t let him finish the thought. You pressed forward, silencing the incoming apology with another kiss.
When you parted again, your lips were swollen, glistening under the city lights. You were both still drunk and still hazy from the death stick, but this felt like the most lucid moment of either of your lives.
“No,” you whispered, “You absolutely should have.”
A shudder ran through him. He leaned in again, but this time his mouth found the corner of yours, then trailed a searing path along your jawline to the sensitive spot behind your ear. You gasped, your head tilting back to give him better access as he lifted you slightly so your feet barely brushed the floor.
“You have no idea,” he confessed against your skin, “No idea how long I’ve wanted to do that. In the briefing room, I would watch your hands on the holomap and I think about what they’d feel like on me. On the battlefield, when you deflect a bolt meant for me, all I can think is that I’d rather take the shot than live in a galaxy where you’re not in it.”
The confession was more intoxicating than any drink. You captured his lips once more, your tongue sliding against his in a hungry dance. The empty glasses on the railing rattled with the force of him pushing you back against the metal.
His hands moved from your back, one sliding up to cradle your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. The other hand drifted lower, settling on your hip, his fingers pressing into the curve as if he was trying memorizing its shape.
He broke the kiss, breathing heavily, his forehead once more resting against yours. His eyes searched yours. “Where do we go from here?” he asked, the question barely audible.
You brought your hands up, framing his face, feeling the stubble along his jawline, “We can’t go back inside,” you panted, your tone leaving no room for argument.
“Barracks it is,” he decided. The risk was astronomical. The entire 501st was either in the club or passed out in barracks. But the one luxury of being the leading clone officer in the 501st was the private quarters.
The speeder ride to the military sector took less than ten minutes, but with months of mutual pining coming to an end, the ride felt agonizingly long. Every pause you caught in the traffic grid felt like a personal insult.
When you both arrived, he keyed open the door to his personal quarters, ushering you inside before quickly sealing it behind you. The room was dark, illuminated only by the constant glow of the military outskirt flood lights from a narrow viewport.
For a moment, you both just stood there in the dark. The reality of where you were, what you were about to do, finally coming over you both.
Rex moved first. He reached out, his hands finding your waist again, but this time his touch was different. It was slower, almost hesitant.
You reached out, your palms pressing flat against the fabric of his top. Slowly, you began to run your hand down his clothed chest before stopping at the hem. You tilted your head up.
"Just so we're clear, Rex. I have absolutely no intention of giving orders tonight."
A delightful shiver ran straight down Rex’s spine at your words. The absolute surrender of your authority to him completely undone him. "Yes, sir.”
He didn't wait another second. He gripped the bottom hem of his blacks, pulling it over his head and tossed it blindly into the dark. His hands then went to the bottom of your top. He drew the fabric up and over your head, letting it join his on the floor.
He walked you backward until your knees hit the edge of his bunk. With a gentle but undeniable pressure, he guided you down onto the thin mattress. He followed you down, bracing himself above you on his arms, his face hovering inches from yours.
“Tell me this is real,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “Tell me I’m not going to wake up alone.”
You propped yourself up on your elbows and reached behind you, unclasping your bra and tossing it aside. It took all of Rex’s remaining restraint to not look. You grabbed one of his hands and guided it up to your chest, cupping his hand around your breast.
“This is real.”
The moment his palm settled against your bare skin, a shaky breath tore from his throat. His thumb brushed over your nipple, feeling it peak instantly under his touch. He watched your face, the way your eyes fluttered shut and the soft gasp that escaped your lips. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
He lowered his head, his mouth replacing his hand. His tongue swirled around the sensitive peak before drawing it between his lips, suckling gently. You arched into him, a low moan vibrating in your chest.
He moved to your other breast, giving it the same attention. His free hand roamed down your side, over the curve of your hip, and slipped beneath the waistband of your jeans. His fingers traced the line of your underwear, dipping just beneath the fabric to stroke your skin. Every touch felt like he was mapping a sacred terrain he could only dream of.”
He sat back on his heels, pulling you up with him. His fingers went to the button of your jeans, fumbling only slightly before popping it open. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your jeans and your underwear together and pulled. You lifted your hips, helping him as he slid them down your legs and off, tossing them into the growing pile of discarded clothing.
He just stared, his chest heaving. “Kriff,” he whispered again, the word full of reverence. “You’re perfect.”
You reached for him, your hands going to the fastenings of his lower armor plates. You worked the clasps with ease. You’d seen the clones do it a thousand times. The pieces fell away, clattering softly to the floor. Then you went for his blacks below his waist.
He caught your hands, stilling them, “I’ve got it.”
He stood up from the bunk, towering over you for a moment before he pushed the remaining clothing down his legs. He kicked them aside and knelt back on the bunk, crawling over you until he was caged above you again.
The heat of his body engulfed you as his hard length pressed against your inner thigh. He lowered his head, capturing your mouth in another deep kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, the taste of your last drink making you dizzy.
His hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding the heat at your core. He groaned into your mouth as he felt how wet you were for him. He circled your clit with a blunt fingertip, causing you to jerk against him.
“So we’ve both been ready, huh?” he hummed, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down your neck. “So, so, long.”
He pressed a finger inside you, slowly, watching your face. Your back arched off the mattress, your nails digging into his shoulders. He added a second finger, curling them, finding a spot inside you that made you see stars. He continued to pump his fingers, his thumb maintaining a steady, maddening pressure on your clit.
“Rex, please,” you begged, your hips rocking against his hand.
He withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. He positioned himself at your entrance, the broad head of his cock nudging against your folds. He braced his arms on either side of your head, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding back.
“I thought you weren’t giving orders,” he reminded you, bringing one of his hands up to brush stray hairs out of your face.
You opened your eyes, meeting his intense gaze, “Yes, sir.”
And that snapped him.
He entered you in one slow, inexorable thrust, sheathing himself into you. The feeling of him filling you stole the air from your lungs. A choked sob escaped you in a sound of relief.
He froze, buried deep inside you, his forehead dropping to yours. “Oh, stars,” he gasped. “Oh, kriff.”
You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles around his back, pulling him even deeper. He began to rock his hips in a slow rhythm that was almost torturous in its intensity. Each drag of his cock inside you was a revelation. He set a pace that was relentless and thorough, each thrust hitting that perfect, deep spot that made your toes curl.
The room filled with the sounds of the slap of skin, the creak of the bunk, his ragged grunts, and your escalating moans. He dropped his mouth to yours again, sucking hard on your lip. You cried out, the dual sensations driving you toward the edge.
He felt you tightening around him. He lifted his head, his pace becoming faster, harder. “That’s it,” he growled, “Come for me.”
His words shattered your control. Within seconds orgasm ripped through you. Your vision blacked out as you convulsed around him, his name tearing from your throat.
Feeling you climax around him was all he needed. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself as far as he could go and came with your name on his lips. His hips jerked erratically as he emptied himself inside you. He collapsed on top of you, his full weight comforting as you both spiraled down.
Slowly, he rolled to the side, taking you with him so you were curled against his chest, your leg thrown over his hip, him still buried inside you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then your lips. The kiss was a soft brush that was a world apart from the desperate hunger of before.
Rex held you, his arm locked around your waist pulling you so close against his bare chest that you could feel the steady thud of his heart against your palm. For the first time since you had known him, lustful tension between you was entirely gone.
"Your quarters are exactly how I pictured them," you whispered. You glanced around the bare durasteel walls, "Completely void of any personal joys."
Rex let out a half laugh that vibrated against your cheek. "I didn't think I'd be hosting company."
"Clearly," you teased gently, rubbing your thumb along his jaw, "I'm a Jedi and even I have a few cool rocks I’ve taken from deployments."
"Rocks," Rex echoed, a genuine smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He reached for your hand, kissing your knuckles before resting his palm flat over yours against his chest. "Good to know the high and mighty Jedi collect rocks."
"Don't mock the rocks, Rex! They add character," you mumbled sleepily, sliding your foot down his calf, "Seriously though, not even a few spare ration packs?"
Rex fingers tangled with yours as he pulled you closer. "If you happen to find a particularly interesting one on our next deployment. I suppose it could look nice here."
You let out a soft laugh, tilting your head up. "Is that your final order for the night?"
“Yes,” Rex yawned. “But only if you'd be willing to personally deliver it here."
“Yes si-”
You never got to finish your playful response. The unmistakable racket of the barracks main doors sliding open cut you off.
Down the corridor, a chaotic chorus of rowdy voices, and clanging armor echoed through the durasteel walls. The rest of the 501st was officially back from 79’s, completely obliterating the quiet peace of the barracks.
You and Rex both froze. He let out a defeated sigh, his forehead dropping heavily against yours as the realization set in. The halls were now swarming with nosey brothers. Any chance of a stealthy midnight escape was now impossible.
"Well," Rex shrugged, pulling the sheets over your shoulders. "Figuring out how to get you out of the barracks unseen is definitely a tomorrow problem."
You smiled into his chest, letting out a soft, sleepy hum of agreement as you melted him, your exhausted breaths drowning out the noise outside as you both drifted off to sleep.
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