knuckle/finger kiss with fives please!!
a/n: regencypiningregencypiningregencypin-
(from here!)
79’s is loud and bumping this evening, packed to the brim with both civilians and soldiers, dates and friends. The music throbs, and you stumble back from the bar, weaving through the crowd and towards your friends.
Clone bars are not your scene. It’s not that you have anything against clones or bars, it’s just typically, your head sees this as a mainly clone environment. And you are decidedly not a clone.
And for the most part, 79’s is filled with clones of all types tonight. But your friends pulled you along, swearing 79’s has the best alcohol.
It does, you have to admit, reasoning it comes from an attempt to make the GAR’s finest as content as possible in small ways.
The pulsing music slows, then switches to a cheesy slow piece, sung by one of the many pop stars Coruscant’s given rise to. You watch as couples pair off.
There’s a tap on your shoulder.
You turn, expecting to see one of your friends. Instead, it’s a clone trooper. He’s attractive, devastatingly so, with a number five tattooed on his temple.
“Um, hi?” You say, surprised when your voice doesn’t come out as a squeak. He smiles then, one eyebrow raised.
“I think I need to call the Coruscant Guard,” he says, and your heart jumps to your throat. Why? Are you doing something wrong? “Because you just stole my heart.”
It takes a beat for the rest of his words to hit you, but when they finally do, your mouth drops open in surprise.
Oh.
Your nose scrunches up, and you laugh, biting your lip when you see his confusion.
“That is the cheesiest pick-up line I’ve ever heard,” you tell him. He rubs the back of his neck, then shrugs, smile returning.
“But it’s true. Wanna dance?” he asks. You roll your eyes.
“Why not?” It is very nice, dancing with this trooper. He seems to know what he’s doing, and when he doesn’t he’s good at making it up. He has you laughing, and by the time the song is over, you’re actually a little disappointed.
He walks you back to your spot when the music has returned to its regular, ear-splitting schedule. You can see your friends in the distance, ready to head out.
The trooper takes his hand in yours, lifting it to his mouth. He presses a gentle kiss onto the knuckles, lips lingering.
“Name’s Fives,” he says, eyes soft. You swallow hard, glancing between your still-tingling fingers and his gaze.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say. He smiles gently, squeezing your fingers one more time before letting go.
“The pleasure is all mine.”
