Chapter Text
The first time you met, it was not exactly in the best circumstances. It only highlighted the type of prejudice that the clone army faced on Coruscant.
You were working part time at a little café unimaginatively called Caf. The owner had managed to wrangle herself a good location close to the Senate building. Business was always booming due to the unlimited multitudes of bureaucrats and political aides and interns that ran about on errands for the senators.
It was a busier day than usual seeing as how there was yet another senate meeting being called. Some of the Jedi from the temple had even stopped by looking for a quick hit of caffeine before hurrying off towards the senate building. When he strode in, you immediately noticed him from behind the large espresso machine.
“Caf, black. Please,” he said, his helmet tucked beneath his arm and against his hip. In a café full of senator aides and other bureaucratic pencil pushers, he looked incredibly out of place in his red and white armour. He must have been extremely tired because he was oblivious to the side looks from the other customers or the hushed whispers that followed him. Your heart sank. Your manager was on the till, and you knew where this was going. Ignoring the other orders, you quickly made an extra large black caf even as you heard your manager turn him down.
“We don’t serve your kind here,” her manager announced, unnecessarily loudly in the little café. The clone blinked in confusion before he realised what she meant. You winced at the way he was treated, embarrassed by the behaviour of your manager, a person whom you usually respected. The red and white markings on his armour clearly showed him to be one of the Coruscant Guards who were tasked with protecting people like her, even with their prejudices.
The café tittered at the audacity the clone had for entering a respectable establishment, further adding to the humiliation. His brows furrowed in response before he nodded. You noticed the hard set of his jaw and the way he clenched his fists. Then he turned around and with a stiff back, head held high and proud, he marched out.
You shouted to your co-worker that you were going for a bathroom break. Without waiting for a response, you grabbed the black caf you had just made up and sneaked a piece of chocolate pastry into a takeaway box before you slipped out the back. You spotted him quickly. It was easy since he was the only armoured person in a field of suited and robed politicians. You hurried after him.
“Wait!” you called and not knowing his name but recognising the regalia of rank, you added, “Commander sir!” He stopped and turned to face you. His eyes clocked the apron you wore and his brows furrowed when he spotted the logo of the café embroidered on the breast. When he stood at attention, back straight and feet together, you couldn’t help but feel that he did it to mock you for the humiliating treatment he received in the café.
You held out the coffee and the little box to him. He looked down at it, a furrowed brow quirked up in question.
“I…I’m sorry how she treated you. It wasn’t right,” you told him, “I want you to know that not all of us are like that. Here, this is for you.”
He began to fumble for credits to pay for it but you hurriedly shook your head.
“Don’t worry about it,” you said with a bright smile, “It’s on me.”
Large hands took the caf and the takeaway box from you and he nodded in your direction hesitantly, unsure of what to make of your act of kindness.
“Think of it as an apology for how my manager behaved,” you added before you smiled at him sympathetically, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the tight stressed lines around his mouth, “Besides, it looks like you need the caffeine.”
Your response caused him to huff a little in amusement and he inclined his head in your direction in thanks. He was a rather severe looking man with the standard military slicked back haircut and dark hair that had started to go a bit grey at the temples. When he looked down at the caf and pastry however, you thought he was rather handsome from the way the corner of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly in what you were certain was a rare show of delight.
With a friendly wave to him which he wasn’t able to reciprocate with his hands full, you dashed back to the café before you could be missed. When you took your place beside your co-worker, she gave you a sly knowing look but had the good sense not to say anything as you rang up the order and slipped some of your own credits into the till.
After that, he slipped out of your mind. The rest of the day was a rush of orders and activity as you and your co-workers struggled to fulfill them. When the last orders went out and the machines were finally cleaned, you packed away the last of the leftover pastries for your manager, your coworkers and yourself. It was one of the perks of working in a busy little café like this, you never lacked for dessert.
You untied your apron and tossed it into the dirty laundry pile in the backroom before you grabbed your bag. With a wave goodbye to your coworkers and swiping the bit of leftover chocolate cake, you pushed the door open and greeted the cool evening air of Coruscant.
You only made a few steps before you heard a throat clear behind you.
“Ah kriff!” you exclaimed as you jumped back and clutched at your chest. You stared with wide eyes at the person who had intruded on your peace and it was a familiar face and set of red and white armour that greeted you.
“I apologise for scaring you,” he said. His gruff voice sounded sincere but the small quirk at the corner of his mouth betrayed the amusement he had at your expense.
You smiled in good humour before you readjusted your grip on the piece of chocolate cake. “Hello Commander, how can I help?”
The clone looked away and scratched at the back of his head. It was a small tick of nervousness that seemed incongruous with his stern demeanor.
“My duties were finished in the Senate. I had thought ah… perhaps you would allow me to escort you home,” he said.
You tilted your head to one side as you stared back at him.
“As thanks,” he affirmed, “for the caf and the treat this morning. You were right. It was much needed.”
You chuckled. Despite his awkwardly stiff manner, you could not help but feel at ease with him. After all, the Coruscant Guards were supposed to protect the civilians and the senate on Coruscant. “If a commander is to insist on escorting me home, who am I to say no?”
His shoulders visibly relaxed at your response and gestured with one arm for you to lead the way.
“My speeder’s only a short walk from here,” you told him and he nodded. You looked up at him with some curiosity. You knew that all the clones were technically the same but he seemed to tower over you with not only his height and bulk but by the sheer force of his presence.
You tilted your head up towards him, “So… bad day at the senate huh?”
He chuckled ruefully. It was a warm rich sound that went straight to your belly and just like that, the two of you fell into easy conversation as if you had been long time friends. He wasn’t very good at small talk but you made up for it with your seemingly endless questions which he was more than happy to answer. When you finally came up to your parked speeder, you couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed that the walk was so short.
“This is me,” you said as you gestured to your fixer-upper of a speeder. He stared at it and you couldn’t help but flush a bit in embarrassment, “It’s… it doesn’t look like much. But it purrs just as well as anything.”
You could see his discerning eyes take in your pride and joy. The speeder was a project of love that you and your coworker friend had built and fixed up. In an attempt to shift his attention away from your vehicle, you opened the door and slipped into the driver’s seat.
“Have you eaten?”
He looked up at you, brow furrowed in confusion, “No… I usually eat when I return to the Guard barracks.”
“Well… would you like to come over for dinner?” you asked, not wanting the evening to end just yet. This was the most social interaction you’ve had outside of work in a long time, “I’ve got a pretty large piece of chocolate cake for dessert and a bottle of wine that I wouldn’t be able to finish myself.”
It was a bold move and after, as you went over your interactions with him, you cringed at the audacity you had. When stunned silence met you, you immediately felt embarrassed that you had basically tried to ask a clone commander over to your home after only knowing him for a few minutes.
Not only that but a commander of the Coruscant Guard as well… who could basically turn around and arrest you for illegal fraternization with a clone.
Chastened by your own forwardness, you began to rescind the invitation, “Sorry, I’m being too presumptuous… er… just seemed like we both have had a long day and I thought maybe a meal other than packet rations would be more appetising. I’m… I’m not trying to force you into anything. You look like you could use a good meal. Er… not that the GAR doesn’t feed you. What I mean to say is that maybe you’d like more than rations and cause-“ you continued to ramble until he held up a hand, palm up and you cut yourself off in mid sentence, mouth gaping like a fool. You could feel your face flush, you’re really not very good at this sort of thing.
“I have to be back to the Guard barracks tonight,” he replied and you felt yourself sag a little in disappointment. He smirked as he slipped into the passenger seat of your speeder with a grace that spoke of easy confidence and self-assuredness, “But who am I to resist a home cooked meal?”
You beamed up at him, “Well Commander, I cannot promise anything too fancy but it will definitely be more appetising than a ration bar.”
With those words, you engaged your speeder and the both of you sped off towards your apartments. He had been surprised at how smoothly and fast your speeder ran. You puffed with pride.
“My coworker is a bit of a genius mechanic. She helped me a fair bit with the engine and getting the parts,” you said, running a hand over the dashboard lovingly. He began to tell you a story about the worse mechanical jobs he had seen during his time in service and just like that, the awkwardness of the initial invitation faded away.
He had you laughing by the time you opened the door to your small apartment and led him in. Despite his stern and gruff nature, you were learning that the commander had a very droll sense of humour and it delighted you to see this side of him.
“Make yourself comfortable,” you told him, gesturing to the couch as you padded up to the kitchen area, “I don’t know how comfortable that plastoid armour is but you can put it beside the couch if you’d like to take it off.”
“Already trying to take my clothes off are we?” he asked, an eyebrow quirked up in amusement. You stared at him, confused by his comment before you realised that you had basically asked him to strip in front of you.
You flushed, “No! I mean… that’s not what I meant. I meant that if you wanted to. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable in my home. But obviously if you’d rather –“
He chuckled as he began to unbuckle the chest plate, “It’s fine. I’m only teasing.”
You clamped your mouth shut. Then with a huff of equal annoyance and amusement, you brought him the bottle of wine and two glasses.
“Here, you can make yourself useful and open that,” you teased back, “I’m just going to change out of my work clothes and I’ll get dinner started.” You whisked into the bedroom to quickly change out of your stained and stuffy work clothes before slipping into a pair comfortable pants and a loose t-shirt. By the time you came out, the commander had removed his plastoid armour from the waist up except for his wrist comm in case of any emergency communication and had liberally poured out two glasses of wine.
You accepted one of the glasses from him before you moved to the kitchen and began to pull ingredients out from your fridge. He settled on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter and watched with interest.
You tilted your head towards him, “Is there anything that you can’t eat?” He laughed at the audacity of the question but quickly stopped when you stared at him, not quite sure what you had said that was so funny.
“Sorry,” he quickly remedied, “we’re engineered to be able to consume almost anything. An army wouldn’t be very effective with a weak stomach.”
You hummed in acknowledgement as you began to prep some of the vegetables, “What about any food that you don’t like?”
He thought for a moment before he shook his head, “Can’t say I have tried many things to dislike anything. Though I will say that I have grown tired of ration bars.”
You tutted. You always felt a little sorry for the clones. For you, food was life, the very essence of living. You resolved, right then and there, to show the commander exactly what he had been missing out on.
When it came to social cues, you might be a fumbling idiot but in your little kitchen, you were as adept as a fish in water. You rarely got to cook for anyone anymore and it made you want to impress him with even more. You decided on a quick appetizer and before his glass of wine was halfway through, you plated up something that you knew would be a crowd pleaser.
He looked at it curiously, not sure what to make of the delicate looking dish in front of him. “What is it?”
“Marinated rockfish with a warra nut crumb, seasoned with a camby berry vinaigrette,” you said before you speared one inelegantly with a fork and popped it into your mouth.
“That’s a mouthful to say,” he said before he gently scooped up a bit of rockfish and took a bite.
The way he reacted would have kept you warm for the rest of the year.
His eyes fluttered closed and the moan that slipped from between his lips could only be described as sinful. It didn’t help when his tongue darted out to lick at his lips and you could only stare, mesmerised as he methodically ate what was in front of him. Each bite he took was followed by another groan of pleasure until he was sitting there, licking his spoon clean. You could feel the flush creeping up your neck as you cleared away the plate. The little puddle you were sure that had pooled in between your legs was a little hard to ignore…
“How are you working in that café when you can cook like this?!” he exclaimed as he took a sip of his wine. You laughed in delight, “I’m glad you liked it. It’s been a while since I have cooked for someone other than myself.”
“Do they not feed you in the Senate building?” you asked as you started to boil some water up for pasta.
“They do, but not quite like that,” he reaffirmed as he thought about the type of food waste that went on in the Senate. He told you about how sometimes him and his brothers were lucky enough to receive leftovers but most of the time, meals were taken in the Guard barracks which served the same slop all clones ate that was developed for their nutritional value and not the taste. On top of that, their fast metabolism meant that they were constantly hoarding ration bars from the kitchen.
By the time you were both halfway through the second glass of wine, you were seated beside him on the counter (your little apartment didn’t really have the space for a table) with a heaping plate in front of him.
“Garlic yobshrimp noodles with a burnt butter sauce,” you explained as you both tucked in. He wolfed the first portion down and was almost embarrassed to ask for another but you waved your hand to the serving dish and told him to finish what he can because it would save you having to clean up.
It was a joy to watch him eat. Sometimes, he would stop between bites and close his eyes as if to commit the experience to memory. He ate with gusto, not like many of the political aides you have met who simpered and nibbled. When you saw how much he enjoyed himself, a great sense of accomplishment settled in the pit of your stomach and warmed you from the inside out.
Once you have finished eating and cleared away the dishes (waving him away when he tried to help), you both settled on the couch with a groan.
“That was delicious. I’m glad I chose this over paperwork,” he said and raised his glass in a toast. You laughed as you raised your own glass and clinked it against his.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I rarely get to do this anymore and I miss it,” you admitted, taking a sip from your glass. He glanced at you and smiled lazily. Your heart gave a stutter as you took in the unguarded look on his face.
“Be careful what you wish for. I might have to start patrolling this area more.”
You shrugged and gave him your own shy smile, “You are more than welcome to. I wouldn’t mind having a test subject for my recipes.”
He chuckled darkly. “You might come to regret that decision, having a clone coming in and out your apartment at all hours.” You knew it was a self-deprecating dig at himself for being a clone but you refused to rise up to the bait.
As you both digested your food over the last dregs wine from the bottle, you slipped back into an easy conversation. You told him of your experience working in the café, how annoyed you get with your manager, and the stories of your coworkers. He told you about his brothers in the Guards and shared stories of the ridiculous things that senators often demand from them.
Once you both felt that you had sufficient space for dessert, you sliced the piece of chocolate cake from the café in two and handed him one of the halves. It turned out that the commander had a serious thing for chocolate.
“I was surprised by the chocolate croissant in the box,” he told you, “That was the most decadent thing I have had in ages.” Then he winked at you, “Until you made me dinner.”
You waved him away dismissively with an embarrassed laugh, “It was nothing. Honestly.”
“No, it is not nothing,” he insisted as he placed the finished plate down on your coffee table. His hands came up to rest on both of your shoulders and he peered down at you, brows furrowed and eyes intense. You stared up at him, brain hardly functioning as you stared into his amber eyes.
“You give yourself too little credit,” he told you, hands tightening ever so slightly. His mouth opened and then closed as he struggled to piece together what he wanted to say.
“Not many would afford such kindness towards us,” he continued hesitantly “And those who do, usually want something back. Even in matters of er… temporary relationships, we are used and discarded… like things.”
You licked at your dry lips, not sure what to say or how to respond. It hadn’t crossed your mind to see or treat him differently from any other person when he was sitting there and evidently made out of flesh and blood. You suddenly felt a little self-conscious about your own intentions. Did you even any? You hadn’t really thought about it past wanting to make him dinner.
You caught his eyes flickering down to your lips and your throat felt dry.
His gaze softened as did his voice, “But… You did not hesitate to apologise the actions of your superior. You went out of your way to show me some kindness at your own expense with no expectations that you would see it reciprocated.”
“It was just caf,” you whispered, trying to lighten the heaviness of the conversation.
“No, it wasn’t just caf. Not to me,” he murmured lowly, the gravel in his voice making your stomach dance. He was close enough now that you could feel the breath and weight of his words. His large warm hands on your shoulders skimmed down your arms where his thumbs rubbed patterns into your bare skin.
Your brain was going slack at his closeness. He smelled wonderful. Something woody and citrusy with an underlining musk of ozone and gun oil all at the same time. You could feel your face turn red but you weren’t sure if it was because of the wine or from how close and how warm he was.
“And when I tried to pay you back for your kindness, you go and do this,” he huffed in amusement, gesturing to your small kitchen. He was close enough that you could see the way his warm amber eyes crinkled at the corners, the shadow of stubble along his jaw, and evidence of being overworked by the tight darker skin under his eyes.
You opened your mouth to respond but he beat you to your own words, “No, don’t say it was just dinner.”
You closed your mouth as you stared back at him. Your thoughts were running a mile a minute and your heart was beating about twice that. Though it felt like you were moving in molasses and that your brain had short-circuited, your mind was busy filing away all the details of the moment for late perusal.
His brows were dark and seemed to be permanently furrowed despite the way he smiled gently at you. He was greying at the temples but his dark hair was slicked back with some strands that had escaped during the evening. They fell forward in stray bits which gave him a roguish dishevelled look. From beneath his full lashes, his amber eyes seemed to glow golden under the light of your living room and the way the corner of his lips quirked up in a smile made you feel things.
He was beautiful.
“It wasn’t just dinner to me,” he murmured as he looked at you, “You showed me kindness.”
His callused hand cupped your right cheek and its warmth spread all the way down your neck to the depths of your belly, “You gave me dignity.”
You opened your mouth to protest but no sound came out.
And the commander, being a military man, was well versed in seizing opportunities.
You were sure your brain actually did short-circuit when he leaned forward and slotted his lips against yours.
You couldn’t remember if you had kissed back… but when he pulled away, you couldn’t help the small whine of protest at the loss of his lips. You blinked as you looked up at him, eyes half-lidded and dazed as his dark eyes searched yours. Your left hand had found itself to his chest where the muscle was warm and firm beneath your fingers.
“Did… Did I misread your intentions?” he asked hesitantly as he looked at you.
Did he? You had invited him to your home after all… and made him dinner… was this what you had intended? You certainly hadn’t planned for it to be the case…
Reading your hesitancy in your eyes and actions, he pulled away with a frown, “I apologise. I will see myself-“
You blamed it on the wine. You really did.
There was no logical explanation for why you would start a highly illegal dalliance with the Commander of the Coruscant Guard of all people… but you tightened your hold on his black undershirt and pulled him forward towards you to clumsily crash your own lips against his.
Everything was a blur of teeth and lips after that.
His large warm hands slipped to your hips, gripping them hard enough that the thought of him leaving bruises sent a thrill down to your core. He delved into your mouth clumsily though you were too high on the taste and smell of him to care about the intricacies of kissing.
He was a feast.
Your hand trailed up to bury into his hair at the back of his neck and when you gave a small experimental tug, the growl at the back of his throat was intoxicating. Your other hand trailed up to cup his cheek before it continued up past his forehead to card through the greying hair at his temples. You tugged again so that his head tilted back.
You broke the kiss as you pulled back a little to look at him.
It gave you a little thrill to see him with his head pulled back and his neck exposed to you as if you were the predator and he was prey. You could feel the way he was coiled against you, his muscles tensed in anticipation of your next actions as you continued to observe him.
You shifted, bringing yourself closer and throwing a leg across his lap so that you straddled him with your knees on either side of his still armoured thighs. His hands slid up from your hips and underneath your loose t-shirt teasingly slowly.
You hissed when his hands made contact with the bare skin on your waist. He was so warm.
With his head still tilted up, you met his lips, tentatively tasting him with your tongue. It was a heady experience to hear him keen lowly in the back of his throat as you held his head in place and plundered his mouth. You could still taste the remnants of chocolate and wine.
His hands continued their journey up your waist to your rib cage before he slid them to your back. You felt them travel up between your shoulder blades before his fingers hooked onto your shoulders and dragged you down so that your body was flush against him.
You gasped and he took the opportunity to regain some of the control you took from him.
The hard plastoid of his crotch piece rocked deliciously against your core and you whimpered into his mouth. You felt him smirk against your lips. Another delicious grind and you released his hair, using your hands to brace yourself against his shoulders instead. The hard plastoid was unforgiving against you and you felt your hips responding in kind as you mewled nonsensical things against his throat.
He shushed you with a growl, nipping at your exposed shoulder, “You’re going to make me finish if you keep making sounds like that.”
You giggled breathlessly against his neck, “I wouldn’t mind seeing what you look like when you cum.”
The sharp intake of breath was all you had in warning before you were spun around and your back was pulled flush against a firm chest.
“You’ve got a filthy mouth on you mmmm?” he murmured darkly. A slow warm tongue traced the shell of your ear and you shivered at the sensation. A hand wrapped around your hair and he tugged your head back gently.
His breath was hot against your ear. “I think we can fix that.”
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