“Hey! This corridor’s restricted to authorized personnel only!”
The familiar bark of a clone voice cracked through the still air of the Senate building. Fives looked away from the statue he’d been contemplating and took in the Coruscant Guardsman marching down the hall: kama, no pauldrons, armor painted MP red, the emblem of the senate painted over his shoulder bell. An antenna stood up on his bucket in place of a rangefinder. This would be Commander Fox, then. Fives didn't know him personally, but he’d heard a fair amount from the rumor mill, and some of it might even be true.
“Fox!” he said with a bright smile, his own helmet tucked under his arm. “Fancy meeting you here!”
“State your business, trooper.”
Fives kept up the grin. He'd lay even odds on Fox trying to kick him out or arrest him; only question was which. “Oh, I was just checking to see how long it’d take you boys to find me. Sixteen minutes, by the way—that's pretty bad.”
If Fives’s genial manner had any effect on him, Fox didn't show it. His voice was as flat and businesslike as ever. “You have two options. You return to public corridors, or I arrest you.”
Fives gave himself a mental pat on the back. “Aw, c’mon.”
“You know,” Fives said, scratching his goatee, an idea materializing before him, “you’re going about this all wrong, Commander.”
It was a gamble. Fox was reputed to be a cold chakaar, but even a chakaar had his soft spots. If Fives could find them, then maybe he could flip this encounter on its head. He kept his posture relaxed and open. Unthreatened, non-threatening. The moment stretched.
“Oh?” It came out grudgingly, as though Fox would have reached out and grabbed the word back if he could have.
Success. Fives dropped a hand to his utility belt, feigning casualness. He strolled over to Fox’s position. “Yeah, I saw it in a vid once. Perp comes in, the rent-a-cop decides to be a little more welcoming. Everyone went home happy.”
Fox’s scowl was so pronounced it was audible even through solid plastoid. “I'm not a rent-a-cop.”
Warning klaxons went off in Fives’s mind. “You're probably right,” he said aloud, then sidled in close, and never mind the way Fox stiffened at his overfamiliarity. He leaned in and murmured into the audio pickups on Fox’s helmet: “You'd blow them out of the water. Sir.”
There was a moment’s hesitation. Not much to a non-clone, perhaps, but as loud as a gasp to Fives’s experienced ear. Gotcha. Fox put a hand on Fives’s breastplate and pushed him back a half-step, but too late, damage done. Fives went with a smile that had gone toothy and sharp.
He wasn’t decanted last week. He knew that things were different in the Coruscant Guard. Fox was rumored to have an actual private apartment, for one. And Fives had passed enough downtime at GAR HQ to know that the shower culture planetside was different from what it was on the destroyers. Corrie brothers kept it discreet, if they did it at all; the privilege of privacy came at the cost of condemnation. Too many of those strange Coruscanti values muddied the water for clones to get off the way they always had: with each other.
Not that Fives objected to the occasional non-clone fling. There had been the two girls on Ryloth, and the smattering of boys at all of the Resolute’s ports-of-call. He was even on first-name basis with a Wookiee heiress, though they hadn't yet moved past flirting (soon, he promised himself). But he'd never give up sex with his brothers, for the simple reason that they always knew what they were doing with another brother’s equipment.
Even prudish di’kute like this one. If Fives could conquer the redoubtable Commander Fox, there wasn't a being in the galaxy he couldn't seduce. His cock perked up at the thought.
“So how’d you figure out I was here?” he asked, stepping off to give Fox some breathing room. “I thought I’d spotted all the cameras.” There was a security booth about four meters away, blending into the lavender-painted walls of the Senate building. Fives moseyed toward it. He wondered if it ever bothered Fox that his colors coordinated so badly with the Senate’s. Probably not; if Fives’s recon had told him anything, it was that Fox spent very little of his time in the Senate building. The CG was everywhere, and Fox was the CG.
He felt Fox’s eyes on him as he poked his head inside the security booth. Monitors up to the ceiling, and banks of servers behind. About standard, then, if a little lower-tech than some of the private security systems he’d scoped. He scanned the action on the holocams. It was a slow day. He could probably have gotten away scott-free if he’d snuck in when the Senate was in session—when thousands of bodies would have filled the building and disrupted one’s ability to track a target’s movement—but where was the fun in that?
Fox spoke as if awakening from a dream. “If I told you, then you'd learn from your mistakes.”
He was torn, Fives just knew it. If there was one thing Fives did best, it was toeing the line, and right now Fox couldn’t tell up from down. Was Fives friend or foe? Should he arrest him? Tell him off? Chat with him like a fellow redjob? The ambivalence had to be killing him.
And it was so easy to tip confusion to a direction Fives wanted. He almost felt bad for Fox, but honestly, he was a commander. He’d gone through ARC training. It wasn’t Fives’s fault that soft Coruscant living had made Fox vulnerable to this kind of attack. He swallowed a chuckle. Poor bastard. If Fives played his cards right, Fox wouldn’t even know what hit him.
“Why are you here, Fives?”
Fives gasped and spun around, half exaggerating but half genuinely surprised. “You know my name!”
“I've heard about you, yes. It's not complimentary.”
Fives set his bucket down on the desk with firm deliberation. “See, that's where I know you're lying, sir. I make it my business to know my reputation.” He stalked over to Fox. He tried to circle behind him, but Fox turned with him, keeping him in his sights. “‘Poor respect for authority, prone to practical jokes, superior extraction skills,’ is how my file put it.”
“How the fuck did you get access to your file?”
Fives brushed off his immaculate pauldron. “Technically I didn't.”
“Why, you gonna arrest me, sir?” Fives let his gaze go heated. “Cuff me and have your way with me?”
“You're a pervert.”
He was retaliating, trying to push Fives back to a comfortable distance. Fives merely snorted. “You've been on Coruscant too long, vod. Birthers are weird about things they don't need to be weird about.”
“It's not right,” Fox said, but it was weak.
“What, that people with DNA a little closer together than usual fuck?” He got in close again, tugged at Fox’s belt, pressing his knuckles against Fox’s plackart so he’d feel it.
Fives sniffed. “Total osik and you know it. What's that even from, anyway? Evolution’s attempt to regulate birth defects in a population?” He leaned in conspiratorially. “We’re all sterile, brother. We’re not gonna be making babies any time soon.” He snorted out a laugh, reaching for one of Fox’s kama buckles. “We don’t even have all the parts. So really, who’s it hurting?”
The buckle gave with a crisp snap, and Fox’s kama sagged to one side.
It galvanized Fox. He drove Fives further into the security booth with a hand on his breastplate—taking them out of sight of the security cams, Fives would bet. It wouldn’t be proper for the head of the Coruscant Guard to get caught on camera canoodling with another clone.
Almost there. He was in the goalie box, now, and Fox hadn’t met offense like Fives before, Fives would bet his weight in credits.
“Does it get you hot?” he asked Fox’s blank faceplate. “Does it make you feel guilty, when you jerk off thinking about fucking your brothers?”
Fox shoved him back against the wall. “Shut up.”
“Come on, is that the best the goddamned Coruscant Guard can do? Don’t you eat pissants like me for breakfast, or something?” He leaned forward again, threatening Fox’s space again, and Fox pushed him back again, beside the security booth door.
“Shut up,” he snarled.
Fives could almost taste the victory. “No,” he said. “I don’t think I will.” And in one smooth movement, he swapped their places before Fox had time to react. The back of Fox’s helmet cracked against the plaster. He stared at Fives in shock.
Here was the delicate moment. Fives had to step carefully, or he’d be in even deeper shit than he would have before he’d gotten the upper hand. The further a man’s pride had to climb back up, the more brutal the backlash if things went sour. “I bet you're wondering how I got under your armor so fast,” he said, leaning his elbow on the wall by Fox’s head, crowding him in with his body and letting Fox’s own discomfort keep him pinned to the wall.
He heard Fox’s stuttering breath like repeater fire in the tense silence. “I’m not.”
Fives raised a brow. “Oh, so I did get under your armor, then?” He slipped his fingers back into Fox’s belt. Fox looked down a little to see, his silence telling, and all respect to the 104th, but Fives smiled wolfishly. Hook, line, and sinker.
He plucked at the webbing holding Fox’s belt together, let him feel the tug of it against his waist. “It’s because you've forgotten how good it can be with a brother. See, a brother knows where to push every…” His fingers wandered over to the other, still-clipped side of Fox’s kama. “Single…” He let it free, and it fell away, held up only by the clips in the back. Fives sighed and leaned back with a smile. “Time.” He gave Fox’s codpiece a solid jerk, and Fox had to steady himself against Fives’s breastplate.
“Doesn't make it right,” Fox said, his voice tight.
“No,” Fives said noncommittally. “But I'm willing to bet that it makes it wrong in all the right ways.” He nuzzled against the curve of Fox’s filter intake.
“Fucking—stop,” Fox hissed, pushing Fives half a step back. “Just stop!”
Fives raised his hands, keeping his face as blank as possible. Fuck, he’d gotten so close. “What’s the matter?”
“Why are you doing this!” Fox’s face was still hidden behind his helmet, but the distress in his voice was plain to hear.
“It’s just a bit of fun,” Fives said, shrugging. “It’s nothing personal.”
Fives pointed to the still-open door. “Door’s right there. I won’t stop you.”
Fox stared at him for a handful of tense breaths. Then he looked away. He didn’t leave.
Internally, Fives was spinning cartwheels. Externally, he kept it cool, and got back into Fox’s space. Slowly, though. He didn’t want to scare Fox away from his own acquiescence. He traced his fingers up and down Fox’s thigh plate, like soothing an eopie. He’d never seen an eopie in person, but he’d seen vids of trainers soothing them. Gentle movements and calm confidence. He could do that.
“You’re carrying a lot of tension, sir,” he said quietly, keeping it intimate. “I can help with that. If you’ll let me.”
“Out of the kindness of your heart,” Fox spat back.
Fives shrugged. “The kindness of my heart, the hardness of my dick…”
“Proudly,” Fives said with a sunny smile. “Just so we know where we’re standing, Commander.” He dipped his fingers down to brush the narrow strip of undersuit between Fox’s cuisse and codpiece, and Fox jumped like he’d touched a livewire.
“Shit,” he breathed.
There were times Fives was glad for their codpieces. They could be a pain, but it was better to suffer the occasional pinched skin than to get your gett’se blown off by a grenade. Now, though, hearing Fox come undone under his hands, Fives wasn't glad for it at all. He was as hard as he could get, a throbbing, blood-heavy weight squashed against solid plastoid. He imagined Fox’s cock, trying desperately to get hard but thwarted by its own armor, all of five centimeters away from his fingers.
“Got a nice, strong femoral pulse, Commander.” Fives dug his thumb into the sinews of Fox’s thigh. “I killed a man this way. In Coronet City. He bled out before he even realized I'd cut him open.”
Fox’s hips rocked up at that. Just a little. Just a faint pressure against Fives’s hand. The silence between them was deafening.
“Don’t have a knife on me, this time,” Fives continued. “What do you say, Commander? You wanna be the… Separatist to my Grand Army?”
There was a beat, then Fox tilted his helmet accusingly.
Fives grinned cheekily. “No? Guess I’ll have to try harder.” He ran his fingertip over the top of Fox’s codpiece, tracing the etching, then down, to the narrow strip of blacks over Fox’s other thigh.
“I’d rather keep you alive, anyway. What do they call it on Alderaan? The Little Death, that's it. Killing you softly.” He stroked Fox through his blacks, riding out the shudder that ran through Fox’s body. “Not too softly, though.”
“You've got more hot air than a compressor coil,” Fox gritted out.
“Aw, that's the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Fives dragged his fingertips back to hover directly over Fox’s codpiece, tempting him with proximity, keeping the pressure too light to get off.
“Come on, you bastard,” Fox gritted. “Shit or get off the pot.”
“I’m hurt, Commander. You know I take remarks against my parentage very seriously.”
“How about against your inability to follow through? How do you feel about those?”
Fives made a low hum in the back of his throat. He tilted his head and looked down at his hand, rubbing small circles over the plastoid. “Maybe I should think about it a little longer. I mean, that’s a complex issue. What seems like indecision from one end could be a careful timetable from another.”
“For fuck’s sake—” Fox grabbed at Fives, but before his fingers made contact Fives slammed his wrist against the wall by his head.
“Don't disrupt the timetable, Fox.”
Fox’s breath caught audibly.
“There we go,” Fives said softly. “Are you hard, Commander? Are you trying?” He slipped his thumb under the edge of Fox’s glove, tracing the tendons and tender veins of his wrist. “It's such a close fit. There's plenty of room if you're soft, but sometimes things get a little…” He slipped his thumb up, to press against Fox’s palm. “Out of hand.”
Fox’s fingers twitched. He let his head thump back against the wall.
“Hey now, eyes front, sir. Can't hit a target if you can't see it.”
“I'm about to hit you,” Fox muttered, but he dutifully raised his head. Fives couldn’t see his eyes, but damn, he could feel his glare.
“Nah, you don’t really want that,” Fives replied, letting Fox’s hand go. “That would be counterproductive. How about instead…” He lowered his own hand again and cupped his palm against Fox’s codpiece, his fingertips brushing the blacks over Fox’s perineum. Fox let out a ragged breath and gave a very shallow, very restrained roll of his hips.
Fives curled his fingers under the edge of the codpiece, nudging against Fox's balls where they were drawn up tight against his body, against the line of Fox’s cock where it was awkwardly wedged into the cup of his armor. Fox gave another aborted twitch of his hips, this time with a whimper. An actual whimper, swallowed and barely audible, but as close as Fives was to Fox’s annunciator, of course he heard it. He was driving Commander fucking Fox out of his goddamn mind, that’s how good he was. “Still want to punch my face in, sir?”
“Yeah,” Fox managed.
Fives pried apart the mag clamps keeping Fox’s codpiece attached to his plackart. It dropped with a heavy thud to the floor, and Fox's knees buckled. Fives caught him before he could fall, pressing him back against the wall. He pressed a birther kiss over the audio pick-ups of Fox’s helmet before resting his forehead against Fox’s faceplate. “How about now?”
“Fives,” he whispered, his voice shaky.
That wasn’t the only part of him shaking. A fine tremor had spread through Fox’s body, barely noticeable, held in check by Fox’s rigid control. Fives felt it through both their breastplates, he felt it in the too-tight grip of Fox’s hands against his rerebraces. It was a peculiar sort of vulnerability, to be fully armored but for your codpiece.
“I’ve got you,” Fives said, smoothing a hand over Fox’s hip. Fox glanced to the open door. Fives followed his train of thought as though Fox had messaged it straight to his HUD. Anyone walking by could see them. With his cod armor dropped, there went any plausible deniability Fox could have had.
“Better make it quick,” Fives said. “Are you close, brother?”
He knew he was, but it was still a thrill when Fox nodded, almost looking bashful.
“Good.” Fives slipped a hand down and, light as featherdown, pulled aside the gription seals holding Fox’s cock inside his blacks. Fox’s cock fell out, thick and drooling, and Fives caught it in his gloved hand. Stroked it gently. “Almost ready to pop,” he said, pressing his thumb against the nerve bundle just under the head.
“Gods,” Fox breathed. Panted, really, his fingers squeezing restlessly against Fives’s upper arms.
“Let’s take care of this, huh?” Fives took his hand away, ignoring Fox’s wordless whine, and pressed his own codpiece forward in its place. Gently, though—misjudging the pressure against a delicate cock would make this venture un-fun real damn quick. He raised his arm to set his elbow against the wall and bracket Fox’s head, and pressed Fox back until their armor creaked. He could make out Fox’s eyes through the lenses of his helmet, now, just in time to see them flutter closed. Blindly, overcome, Fox reached for Fives’s hips and fucked up against his codpiece.
“That’s it,” Fives said, his own breath starting to come a little ragged. “Take what you need, Commander.”
Fox whimpered and picked up a rhythm, laying sticky trails of precome against the pristine white of Fives’s armor. Fives rocked with him, letting him set the pace, biting his lip at every half-choked whine. Fuck, he wanted to kiss Fox. Not just clone-style, but like birthers, with their mouths and tongue and teeth. He wanted to swallow the low noises coming out of Fox’s annunciator, wanted to feel his breath against his skin, taste the salt of the tears he could see leaking out of Fox’s closed eyes. Was it emotional overstimulation, or just physical? Fives was on the sharp edge of it, himself, the pressure against his codpiece sending flickers of white-hot pleasure-pain through his groin, but it was sweet, so sweet, because Fox had all but lost situational awareness as he humped himself up against Fives’s armor.
When Fox came, it was with a broken cry, jagged and staticky through his annunciator. He pressed himself flush against Fives, so hard and tight that Fives could feel it, could feel the thrusts tightening forward until his hips locked and his cock started twitching. He couldn’t see it, but for a wild moment Fives pictured it anyway: Fox’s come striping his codpiece, tender bare flesh against rigid plastoid, vulnerable, his balls clenching as he spent himself. Fives’s own cock spasmed in thwarted want. Surges of goosebumps wash over his back and chest, tightening his nipples into aching knots. But he didn’t come.
Fox came down jerkily, his whole body wracked with aftershocks. It looked like it had been a hard and ugly orgasm, painful in its intensity. Fives wondered how long it had been, since Fox had let himself get off. He reached down and gently pried off Fox’s helmet, setting it aside on the table next to his.
Fox gulped for open air, almost sounding like like a sob.
“Hey,” Fives said softly. “Hey, hey. I’m here.” He smoothed a thumb over Fox’s cheek, before pressing his face in to take its place. “Shh, I’ve got you.”
Eventually, the tremors subsided, and Fox lay draped against him, his face buried in Fives’s neck. He just breathed, and Fives just held him, until he worked through whatever mess Fives had blown through his regulation-perfect head. When he pulled back, his expression was almost as blank as his helmet.
That just wouldn’t do. Fives dragged him in for a birther-style kiss, deep and messy and satisfying, and Fox pressed back, kissing with a hunger that surprised Fives. He let it go for a while, testing Fox’s skill—not bad, for a Corrie prude—then pulled back, licking his lips. He ran his gloved thumb down the soft, flaccid curve of Fox’s cock and smirked when it twitched, and Fox hunched, at the overstimulation.
“That was with our armor on, brother. Just think what it’ll be like with it off.”
With that, he gathered up his helmet and walked out of the security booth. He looked back, just for a second, to see Fox, disheveled and dumbstruck, his cock hanging out of his blacks and come smeared over his breastplate. Fives gave him a crisp salute, then turned and walked down the hall. He forced himself not to limp.
There was a ‘fresher a couple hundred meters ahead. He could jerk one out and clean up his armor there.