I love your work and I want your opinion on something.
If their s/o requested them to send a dick pic, which clones would:
A. Immediately pull their pants down and send a pic
B. Wait until they can get the best, most sexy shot, and then send a pic
C. Be too embarrassed/shy to send a pic
I'm just curious about your thoughts 😏
LOL. Lookin for thots this evening, are we? ;)
always happy to deliver
I feel like I always forget clones in these lists, so please forgive me if I've missed a favorite, and feel free to reblog with your own two cents! There are some that I don't know well enough, so you clone specialists can absolutely fill in the gaps! Let's get started!
First up... the Immediate Deliverers:
Jesse. Immediately. And he will be so proud.
Gregor. Because he doesn't take much anything seriously. Life's too short for that.
Hardcase. Because he doesn't have a bad angle.
Wolffe. I just get a vibe.
Wrecker. With a gleeful smile and a bellowing laugh. No reason needed.
Crosshair. Surprised me, but I think he would be like "fuck it, this is what it is and you'll like it no matter what." XD
Next, the Strategic Senders:
Fives. It probably won't be a long wait at all, but he knows the difference a slight change in lighting can make.
Kix. He would never admit it, but he's got the dick-pic down to an art with as much intricacy as his closely-shaved haircut. And that's not the only thing that's closely-shaved, because, well, he's aware of how to make visual illusions work to his advantage.
Tup. He actually surprised me here because I initially put him on the no-list. But I think this shy lil shiny has a sultry confidence that can come out in the right conditions.
Pre-Citadel Echo. You might send the request thinking he'd refuse, but then you'd receive a spicy surprise.
Howzer. Another surprise! But I can see him doing it in a very established relationship, except he would probably have to make it lighthearted somehow. Like, putting a tiny hat on it or something absolutely hilariously ridiculous like that.
Hunterrrrr. (I'm back on my shit with this man) and I'm pretty sure he would know precisely how to make it look just... drool-worthy. I'm drooling in starbucks right now just writing about it. XD
And finally, the Embarrassed Evaders:
REX. Sweet man just wouldn't know what to do. Even in an established relationship, I think he'd prefer you to see it in person.
Cody? I'm not sure about this because I'm not super familiar with him. But he seems like another straight-laced sweetie that MIGHT do it with someone he really trusts, but only with some liquid courage.
TBB Echo. I think he's got body image trauma as deep as the Mariana Trench. I just can't see him taking a pic that wouldn't have him making one of my favorite faces, aptly captured by @starqueensthings in this fun lil post.
Tech. I thought about this one for a long time. I don't think he's opposed to it on principle, I think his reasoning would be this: "While I am aware of the potential for arousal via images of such a nature, I find it more satisfying for both partners to engage in a more verbal exchange leading up to an intimate encounter." And he would be SO DAMN GOOD AT IT because the man knows words and would get that dialed in so quickly that you'd be humping your phone on your way to his place.
Eep. That got away from me a little.
Oh well, you asked for it. ;)
xoxoxoxo
I LOVE these fun random asks! ALWAYS feel free to drop em in! And I think I know who you are and I love you. ;)
Tag List? Please let me know if you actually RECEIVE the tag?
I'm back with more filth! The reaction to the first part of this fic was better than I could have hoped, thank you all for your very encouraging (and hilarious) feedback.
I meant this to be a short continuation/conclusion to the first part, and yet, here we are, at 3:45 am, with 3k words of pure smut.
Enjoy!
Words: 3.3k
Content: Hair pulling, stripping, hints of dom reader, light praise kink, piv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up lol), dirty talk, fingering, very brief fluff
Rating: 18+ (minors DNI)
Taglist (because I guess I have one of those now?? wild): @freesia-writes @wolffegirlsunite @clonethirstingisreal
Your breath hitches, too stubborn to let out the moan that tugs at your throat. It doesn’t go unnoticed: you feel Fives’ smile instead of seeing it, lips pausing on their trail down the centre of your chest, mouth twisting into a grin.
“Hit the spot, huh?” he mumbles against your skin.
“Just– don’t wanna be caught,” you manage to retort. “Never know who cou– mmph…” Your words dissolve into a frankly embarrassing whine as he chooses that exact moment to –the absolute devil– add a teasing little nip just below your navel. The break in your cool draws a smug little chuckle from Fives. The urge to smack him upside the head is rather dampened by the delicious buzz that his laughter sends across your skin, and the sharp, tingling rasp of his goatee. Maker, this man will be your undoing.
The two of you hadn’t lasted much longer in the alleyway outside, your fervent kisses and wandering hands quickly growing too bold to risk being seen by other students, or –stars forbid– faculty. It took all the strength you had to stop Fives’ hand on its valiant quest under the hem of your shirt, but you managed. As eager as he had been, he had pulled back the moment you moved him away, looking confused more than anything. You took a moment to appreciate those big, brown, pouty tooka-eyes before pulling him in by the back of his neck to speak into his ear.
"Wanna take this somewhere a little more… private?" And then, just to enjoy the heady glint in his eye, you’d taken Fives' earlobe between your teeth and pulled. Fives’ wolfish grin sticks in your mind, smoky like blaster fire and dripping mischievous intent. His hands were drawn magnetically back to you, unable to help himself, roaming lower to squeeze a handful of your ass. His unabashed lack of restraint had only stoked the fire in your core, flames licking up your spine when Fives gave his answer.
"Lead the way, cyare."
And here you had led him: to a block of seldom-used meeting rooms at the edge of campus. A chair wedged haphazardly under the door handle your only defence against the outside world. And as much as the growing ache in your cunt wants to let Fives continue his downward trail of kisses, licks and bites, your pride proves stronger. He’s been in control too long, and you’re craving the feeling of power you had over him during your little game in the lecture hall. Dragging a kiss-swollen lip between your teeth, you reach down to tangle your fingers in his cropped hair, nails scraping his scalp as you grab a fistful. All you intend to do is pull him back up to your mouth, to reassert yourself. You’re certainly not expecting the blissed-out look and stuttering groan Fives gives when you tighten your grip and pull. Neither is he, if his reaction is anything to go by. As quickly as his eyes had fluttered half-shut, they spring open, heat rushing to darken his cheeks. Time freezes when the two of you lock eyes.
You can’t resist.
“Oh? That hit the spot, did it?” you tease. Fives tries to scowl, to gain back any kind of foothold, but it’s hard when he still looks so dazed. You decide to take pity: instead of making him beg, you give him what he clearly wants and twist another handful of his hair in your hand, rougher and sharper this time when you pull.
It unleashes something dark and feral in Fives: the moment he’s back on his feet he’s on you, his lips bruising and his hands grabbing feverishly at every inch of you he can get. Your teeth collide as he tries to push further into you, his tongue thrusting forward to slide against yours. Clumsy in his desperation, he rucks your shirt up, barely able to drag his mouth from you for the split second it takes to tear it over your head. As soon as it hits the floor, he’s back on you, the long, firm line of his body pressing you into the wall. His thumb rubs deep, rough circles in your hip bone as he dips his head to mouth at the top of a breast, the other hand snaking underneath your bra and gripping hard, a perfect mix of pleasure and pain. You keen, head thrown back so suddenly it hits the wall with a loud thud. But it’s not enough. You want his thick, calloused fingers against your skin instead of his gloves. You want to feel him against you when you roll your hips forward, feel the throb of his hard cock against the growing wetness at your core, not his cold plastoid armour. You have to repeat yourself when you find your voice: Fives is too distracted trying to figure out how to unclasp your bra and tug your pants down at the same time.
“I said,” you pant, cupping both sides of his face and forcing him to look up at you, “strip.”
Fives comes back from whatever faraway place he had been, once again flashing that roguish grin.
“Giving orders now, eh?” he says, his accent thicker with his voice this low, still out of breath. One hand drags deep and slow across the arc of your waist, while the other trails low, twisting to cup your pussy and pushing two fingers through your clothes in just the right spot to set you gasping.
“What?” you huff, steeling your resolve even as your body betrays you to buck against his hand. It’s so good, too good, your cunt soaked, clenching with need. So empty. “Can’t handle it? You made ARC trooper. Thought that meant you were good at following orders.”
Fives laughs, bright and clean, and for just a moment, you feel something deep in your chest a lot more dangerous than lust.
“Never been my forte, actually,” he says. It’s your turn to laugh, a sly little sound as you take one of his hands in yours.
“Hmm… Shame,” you sigh. Bringing his hand up between you, you lean forward, heavy-lidded eyes locked onto his, and seal your lips around one gloved finger. You taste blaster smoke and synth-leather as you sway your head forward, taking his finger down to the knuckle before pulling back. Your teeth catch on the tip of the glove, dragging it off Fives’ hand and letting it hang from your lips for a moment before it’s tossed aside with your shirt. “If you’d been good for me, I would have made it worth your while.”
Like a loth-wolf on the hunt, Fives’ breath rumbles in his chest, dark eyes blown wide. Before you know it, you’re off the ground, hoisted with strong arms under your legs. You’re set down on the large desk in the middle of the room, one last appreciative pinch to the sensitive spot at your upper thigh before Fives’ hands retreat.
“Well, when you put it like that,” he purrs, “I could be convinced.”
Fives bites down on his remaining glove, wrenching it off quickly. Warm fingers ghost across yours, a feather-light kiss at the base of your neck as he reaches behind you and, finally, frees you of your bra. He traces an agonisingly shallow touch around your ribs from your back to cup your breasts, shivers breaking out across your skin from the cold air and his teasing touch. Suddenly slow and almost reverent, he bends, coaxing you gently back so he can take one nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it once before giving the same treatment to the other.
“Good,” you breathe. “That’s it, that– hmm, that’s perfect.” The praise has instant effect: Fives redoubles his efforts, kneading harder at your tits and biting down on your nipple, suckling eagerly.
Your hands grip tight, digging crescent-shaped marks in the top of your thighs, arching into his touch. Interesting. You’ll have to file that reaction away for later.
Some time later he seems to remember his promise, standing, as reluctant to leave as you are to lose his touch. On his way up, though, he takes your hands, guiding them to your chest. You pick up where he left off, palming your breasts and rolling your spit-slick nipples in your fingers. Fives groans appreciatively at the display, before he sets to the task of removing his armour. Each plate that clatters to the floor reveals more broad, corded, rippling muscle. You lose yourself in your own touch, spurred on by every twist and flex, grinding your thighs together with building desperation. Fives watches with shriek-hawk eyes, letting out low, appreciative sounds whenever you make yourself gasp or whine.
“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, voice ragged around the edges. His codpiece falls to the floor, and you moan out loud before you can stop yourself at the sight of the bulge straining the fabric below. Fives chuckles, the sound more growl than laugh.
“You really are a dangerous one, aren’t you, adenn?” The Mando’a still goes over your head, but sweet spires of Coruscant, it makes your insides turn to hear him say it anyway. He’s down to his blacks at last, and neither of you can wait any longer. You let out a quick, heated breath.
“Get over here and find out.”
This time, he obeys the order without protest. Looks like he can be tamed after all, you think with a grin, not a moment before the two of you collide again. The weight of his body on yours was delicious before, but now, free from his armour? It’s downright heavenly. He’s big, with inches of thick, soft flesh packed over dense muscle, and you grab greedily at whatever you can reach.
“Kriff,” you utter into your mouthful of his neck, when you finally get under the waistband of his blacks to grope a handful of his ass. Fives’ chest seems to swell under the reaction.
“Glad I’m living up to your expectations,” he quips.
“You should not keep that thing hidden under the kama,” you shoot back, a beat of silence before you both dissolve into a fit of giggles. You make the mistake of leaning back to meet his eyes, and there it is again: the tiny hint of something small, fragile and disorienting. Why, of all the sordid things you’ve done so far, this should be the moment that makes you want to run, you don’t know. Before you can think too much of it, you pitch your hips forward, rolling against Fives’ groin and bringing you crashing back into your body.
The rest of your clothes are quickly shed, added to the scattered mess over the floor. Every nerve in your body is attuned to how suddenly hungry you feel when you first see Fives’ cock. Thick and firm as the rest of him, it arches up to his stomach, the tip leaking thick, pearly fluid. Instinctively, you lick your lips. The seam of Fives’ mouth splits into a smug grin as he crowds in close and eases your body back, until you’re resting fully against the table and he can drape himself over you. He whispers sweet, drunken praises into your flushed skin, licking a line between your breasts and venturing further down, down, down, until he’s kissing over the mound of your cunt.
“Fives…” you groan in warning, throwing an arm across your clenched eyes, bracing against the flames that threaten to engulf you completely. “Don’t make me wait, I–”
“Patience, adenn’ika.” The vibration of his words against your pussy have you keening, back arching and hips thrusting, coiled so tight you might snap. Thoughts swimming, head lolling, hands gripping Fives’ hair until your knuckles blanch. He inhales deeply, hot breath fanning over your clit when he lets it out with an indulgent hum. With lips that paint exquisite torture, he presses a kiss against the wetness of your folds that has your hole fluttering, clenching around nothing.
Your body feels like one big wound, exposed, raw and sensitive. So lost to your own want that you barely notice when Fives appears at your lips again. You definitely notice when you feel pressure at your entrance. Fives’ arms brace either side of your head. The strain in his muscles is clear – he’s as strung out as you, his toes over a precipice, leaning forward and ready to fall. Barely disguised, he sucks in a cinched breath as he drags his cock through your folds, gathering wetness before pressing his swollen, flushed head against your cunt. Still, despite how he seems to shake with the effort, he restrains himself.
“Well?” he utters into your ear, voice frayed thin and coreless. “What are you waiting for? Give the order.”
Your heart stutters in your chest. Lifting your legs to hook around his waist, you cup his chin, pulling him in for one final, sloppy kiss before meeting his eyes.
“Fuck me, Fives.”
Your vision whites out. Molten gold floods your veins. The entire world seems to throb with your pulse as Fives enters you, stretches you, fills you gloriously. It’s a tight fit, a slight burn, verging just on the right side of painful, but Fives takes it slow, face buried into the crook of your neck. His hips rock gently, pressing just slightly further with each small, seeking thrust, until finally, you feel his groin pressed flush against you. For a small eternity you stay like that, the only sound both of your laboured breathing as you grow accustomed to the stretch. Soon enough, and all at once, the feeling goes from too much to not enough.
“Back with me, cyare?” Fives breathes when your hips give an experimental twitch forward. “Sure you’re ready?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear from the tone of his voice that Fives was actually checking in with you, and not just teasing. Either way, you give your answer: drawing your hips back and driving them forward in a circle, drawing out a deep-throated groan as you feel Fives drag against your walls. Fives grunts at the stimulation.
“Give me the best you’ve got,” you say, and wildfire flares in Fives’ dark eyes. Moving slow, luxuriating in it, he draws almost all the way back, just the head of his cock remaining at your entrance. There’s a single moment of pause before, without warning, he thrusts, sheathing himself again in one fluid motion.
He sets a brutal pace, hips snapping rhythmically. Technicolour stars dance in your vision, limbs heavy and clumsy when you drape your arms around him, nails scratching sharp lines in his back and holding on for dear life as pleasure alights on every nerve, curling your toes and singing your fingertips. You can’t help the sharp moans punched from your lungs, and from how they seem to spur Fives on, you don’t want to. He’s beautiful like this: sweat-slick skin shining in the weak, blue light. Brow pinched, focus shifting deliriously from your face to your cunt, watching himself disappear into you with every thrust, breathing sweet, filthy words that seep through your skin and dance on your nerves.
“So good… So tight, taking me so well… Kriff, mesh’la, feels so kriffing good…”
When one of your hands leaves his back to tangle in the peppering of hair on his chest, he dives forward and smothers your lips with his, kissing you deep and messy.
“‘M close,” he murmurs, when his hips begin to lose their rhythm, growing unsteady and frenzied, shallower as he tries to pull back. “Where do you–”
You dig your heels into the small of his back, hauling him back in close. You can’t bear to lose the feeling of him splitting you open, and there’s no way you could deny either of you what you desperately want.
“Inside,” you demand, and Fives moans brokenly, hips twitching forward just from the one word. “You’re so good. Fill me up, Fives, please. Cum for me.”
With one last animalistic growl, Fives thrusts hard, once, twice, then fucks himself as deep into you as he can get, forehead pressed to yours. With a whine, you feel him swell, warmth spilling into your abdomen and filling you in long, luxurious pulses.
He barely gives himself a moment to relish his own relief before he’s moving again. Still buried deep in your cunt, he slips a hand down to where you’re joined together, swiping his calloused thumb through the wet mess and pressing it to your clit. You clench at the unexpected pleasure, and Fives huffs out a sharp breath at the overstimulation. It doesn’t slow him for a second, his soldier’s resolve showing through. He makes slow circles with his thumb, his other hand back at your breasts, grabbing, twisting, caressing. The touch at your clit quickens, switching between running teasing rings around it and pressing roughly against its centre. It’s maddening. His cock had taken you close enough that you’re already near your limit, lungs failing you, leaving you gaping, open-mouthed, white-hot and beginning to unravel.
“That’s it,” Fives coaxes, pressing kisses around your nipple, his goatee scratching electrically over your sensitive skin. Your praises turn incoherent as you hurtle towards your peak, thighs gripping tighter and tighter, fingers scrabbling for purchase on any surface you can find. Your words have left you, until all that remains are the breathy refrains of ‘yes,’ ‘Fives,’ and ‘more.’ You cum with his mouth at your neck and two of his fingers bearing mercilessly down on your clit, dissolving into oblivion screaming his name. Maker knows how long you drift out there, body rolling with the aftershocks, writing in slow motion, before you come back down out of hyperspace, vision still clouded and ears still ringing. You feel it when Fives finally pulls out, whining with overstimulation and wincing when you feel the mess leak onto your thighs. The laugh Fives gives is soft, venomless.
“Hey, you asked for it.”
You giggle dumbly and swat at his chest, still trying to regain control of your body. You’re pretty sure the grin on your face is beyond goofy. You can’t bring yourself to care.
Neither of you seem ready to leave, even after you’ve cleaned up as best you can and redressed. You’ve both slid down to the floor, leaning beside one another against the wall, facing forward.
“That was…” you trail, clearing your parched throat. A blur in the corner of your vision, Fives nods.
“Yeah.”
Silence sets in. For one terrifying moment, it seems this will end like some of your past flings: with both of you guiltily avoiding eye contact and hurrying along your separate ways. But just when your afterglow is about to be ruined by your own rumination, Fives’ head tips to rest on your shoulder. The weight is a comfort, and he lets the silence linger before he speaks.
“Next time, we should really go back to your apartment. Much easier to clean up.”
Your chest warms, and you twist your head to look down at him.
“Next time?” you say, the smile clear in your voice. Fives picks his head up, but keeps it close to yours, close enough that you can pick each golden fleck in his earth-brown eyes. He leans in, presses a slow kiss to your forehead.
You're a student at Coruscant U. The boys of the 501st are guest speakers for a class on galactic politics. But one particular ARC trooper gets more than he bargains for when he starts checking you out...
My first time attempting anything close to smut, hope y'all enjoy! Lmk if it's good enough that you'd want a continuation ;)
This also may be partially inspired by a dream i had oops
Words: 1.9k
Warnings: eye-fucking, teasing, showing off, making out, hints of both dom reader and dom Fives, suggestive ending
Rating: 18+ (minors DNI please)
Credit for the Fives divider to @freesia-writes with helmet art by @lornaka !
You have to stifle a yawn as you settle into your desk, stretching out heavy limbs. Your last lecture after a long day of classes. Galactic Relations and Conflict wasn’t really relevant to your major- you’d picked the elective on a whim, but it had proven to be your most interesting class this semester by far. Today promised to be no different: your lecturer had pulled some strings and arranged for some pretty interesting guest speakers.
You hear them before you see them: boisterous laughter echoing down the hallways. Then, the boys in blue file through the door. The one in front corrals the others into order as they come to stand at attention at the back of the hall. Five in total- two ARC troopers, two lieutenants and their Commanding Officer. Armour proudly polished where it isn’t scuffed or dented, painted helmets slung under their arms. Two things hit you in quick succession as your eyes cross the five identical faces. One: these clones are nothing like the carbon copies you’ve seen on your holoscreen. As alike as they look under their haircuts and tattoos, they’re individuals, plain as day, from how they style themselves to the way they stand and speak. Two: one of them is looking your way.
There’s a cool confidence in his demeanour, an effortless assurance to his movements, and he’s not at all embarrassed to be caught looking: though he’s still in conversation with the others, his eyes don’t waver from yours for a moment. It gives you ample time to take in the view, and what a view it is. The angle of his brow highlights the tattoo at his temple, and from there you follow the sharp cut of his jaw down to the well-kept goatee at his chin, up to the inviting curve of his mouth. Solid, square shoulders shift when he laughs at something another clone says. There’s a stray curl falling over his forehead you want to tangle in your fingers. You fight the urge to bite your lip as your eyes venture lower, sweeping down a broad, thick chest to his deliberately cocked hip. You force yourself to look away. Can’t be caught ogling the trooper, like the self-proclaimed “bucket fuckers” you see on your social media feed, lining up at 79s every weekend. You’re not that desperate. Subconsciously, though, you realise you’ve straightened in your seat, pulled your shoulders back. You’re even toying with your hair.
You cringe internally, chastising yourself for looking so eager. Calm down, you think, it probably doesn’t even mean anything that he’s looking. The lecture isn’t due to start for another ten minutes, and among the smattering of early students, you’re the only one in the front row. He’s just getting a look at his audience. But when you chance another look up at the ARC trooper, you find his gaze still locked onto you, even as the clone beside him continues to speak. Cockiness is a trait you usually find irritating. But much to your dismay, instead of scoffing when he arches his brow and quirks his mouth in your direction, you feel your pulse quicken and your skin heat.
He winks, and your mind is made up in an instant, caution thrown to the wind. It’s been too long since you’ve taken a break from your studies and had this kind of fun. If he wants to play the game, you’ll play. And you’re not going down without a fight.
You bring your eyes back down to your desk and pretend to be deeply focused on laying out your datapad for taking notes. Hot as blaster fire, his gaze still burns on you, but you refuse to give in. You’re no stranger to this dance, and you’ve gotten pretty good at it, even if you do say so yourself. Your lecturer enters soon after and begins the talk, introducing your guests. You get your first taste of the ARC trooper’s deep, gravelly voice when he steps forward in turn, as well as his name. Fives. It loops in your mind as you wrap your lips around it, trying it out. As Captain Rex takes the podium, you make your first move. Slowly, deliberately, you cross one leg over the other, and lean your elbows on your desk, shoulders pulled proudly back. The stars must have aligned for you this morning: you’d picked one of your lower cut shirts, and it frames your cleavage perfectly. A few carefully counted seconds later, you tilt your head away from the podium back to Fives.
Oh, yeah. You’ve got him.
He’s looking. He’s staring. His gaze has darkened, intensified. When his eyes roam down low and creep back up, you feel it like it’s his fingers on your skin. Your body warms under the stare, liquid heat pouring over you, pooling at the top of your thighs. Not wanting to seem too self-satisfied, you allow yourself a small, restrained smirk. A twitch of your eyebrow, just to gloat. Such a small gesture, but it lights a fire in Fives’ eyes. You’re enjoying the game, but you want to stretch it out, so you leave him hanging, and go back to listening to Captain Rex, your stylus working across your datapad, dutifully taking notes like you’d been paying attention the whole time.
You don’t let up on Fives, though. As his brothers each take their turn to answer questions from the cohort, you pull out every trick up your sleeve. Mussing your hair, adjusting your top. You swear you see his upper lip twitch into a growl when you shift your legs, gliding one foot up and down your calf. He has his arms folded now, the end of a thumb jammed into his mouth, chewing on the tip in a way that makes you hungry to replace that thumb with your lips. He makes no attempt to hide his want: he’s undressing you with his eyes, and you’re quickly getting drunk on the power. The killing blow comes when Fives has to wrench his attention from you long enough to take his turn at the stand. You can see him struggling to keep his focus on the rest of the lecture hall and away from you. At first, you feign innocence, letting up the act for a few short minutes, playing nice, giving him a reprieve. And in truth, it’s not hard to actually stop and listen to his words: he speaks with confidence, cracks a few corny but endearing jokes, and answers the audience’s questions with a thoughtfulness and insight that catches you off guard. Shit, you think, swallowing down the flutter in your chest, he might have the edge on you.
But in the end, he will get no mercy from you. The third time he gives in and glances in your direction, he finds you with your stylus poised at the corner of your mouth. Your pulse throbbing, you grind your thighs together, making a show of it. Your tongue darts out for just a moment and, soft and delicate, you press the stylus past your lips, teasing the tip. The effect is instant. Fives chokes on his last word, stifling a groan that quickly turns into a string of coughs. His eyes are blown wide, his cheeks several shades darker as he tries to regain his composure and remember what he had been saying.
You win.
You back off for the rest of the lecture, content to enjoy the feeling of his eyes on you and the playful glances you exchange from the moment he leaves the podium. He takes your little trick in stride, and even gives back what he gets, a sway in his hips as he walks back to rejoin the other clones, taking it slow to give you ample time to enjoy the view from behind. All too quickly, though, the talk ends, and so does your fun. You shoot Fives one last wink as he and his brothers leave the hall, and he fixes you with a cutting smile that’s equal parts charming and dangerous. You gather your things and leave with the other students, with full intention of returning to your apartment to take care of the ache between your legs alone. The memory of Fives’ gaze lingers on your skin, drawing an involuntary shudder.
The train home is going to be torture.
But you don’t make it to the station. You don’t even make it off campus. You’re rounding the corner away from the lecture hall when you hear him. He clears his throat, and your nerves thrill when you turn to see Fives leaning heavy against the wall, one hand propped on the inviting curve of his hip. The pathway he stands in is seldom-used, small and quiet, and the shadows from the towering buildings throw his face into shadow. His voice is pitched low when he speaks, thick and sweet, dripping like syrup.
“Quite a show you just put on,” he purrs, and the words go straight to your cunt. “What’s your name, gorgeous?” You give him your answer, careful to keep your voice in check while the rest of you quivers with anticipation. Fives repeats it, the sound rolling heavily off his tongue.
“Thought this gig was going to be boring,” he muses, “you certainly proved me wrong. Thought it would only be polite to return the favour. Show my… appreciation?”
The curling grin on your face is all the answer he needs: a thick hand on your waist pulls you into the alleyway, cold brick at your back and hot breath on your neck. You’re trapped in an instant, bracketed by his arms on either side. His lips hover an agonising inch from your skin, sparks of honey-sweet electricity dancing along your shoulders and down your spine.
His body is still angled away from yours, yet the tiny, twitching roll of his hips draws an answering thrust from you all the same. The lack of friction tears a tiny groan of frustration from your throat before you can stop it, and Fives’ chest rumbles with his answering chuckle. The end of your rope dangles so close. It would be so easy to just give in and let him win. Your defences weaken further when the warmth against your throat sharpens, searing breath giving way to the scorching wet heat of his lips at the top of your jaw. The dizzying thrill of finally feeling him against you is what gives you the strength to regain control. A firm hand at his cheek shifts his mouth away from your ear and onto your lips, kissing him hard and merciless. He moans when your fingers dip low to scratch teasingly through his goatee, and the sound sets your every nerve singing symphonies. In an instant you know you’d do anything to hear that sound again, to feel the high of him melting under your touch. With dwindling patience you reach out, grabbing at the belt of his armour and trying to pull him flush against you. He resists, breaking your kiss just barely and tutting against your lips.
“No need to rush, mesh’la,” he taunts, settling a warm, gloved hand on the swell of your hip. He’s firm but gentle, coaxing you back into the wall with just enough pressure to tease you. You recognise the Mando’a, though you can’t quite place its meaning. You find you don’t much care- not when Fives is kneading at your waist and mouthing at your collarbone.
“We’ve got plenty of time Besides…” With one fluid movement, he forces your legs apart, pressing one thick thigh between your own. It's your turn to moan, trying to shift your hips, though Fives' grip keeps you maddeningly still. ”You gave me a whole lot of grief back there. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
You swallow thickly, the shifting column of your throat catching against Fives’ teeth and making you gasp. This one might be harder to win than you thought. A devilish grin slides onto your lips.
Asking for reasons 100% unrelated to the kinky clones advent calendar I'm getting ready (if I can tackle the 20+ drawings before December), which one of the boys I should put in lingerie? (except Hunter, because he's already wrapped in a very pretty leather harness/shibari straps)
