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“Hands where I can see them.”
The words rolled off his tongue smooth and collected, just like they were meant to in the heat of battle. There's an air to his voice, one that he uses when his hands are attached to the trigger of his weapon, aimed to kill.
Only, his nimble fingers were wrapped around a new trigger, one hand weaved into your hair, twisting until the tears that pricked at the edges of your eyes had begun to fall.
You could not plead with words, not in any way that mattered now. A soldier, Crosshair was engineered with little sympathy at a moment’s notice. He could flip it like a switch and your good word meant nothing, all that mouth was good for anyways was being filled.
You had tried to even the playing field, that's what had forced his hand, made him interrupt his unrelenting rhythm and use his words. From its shameful place between both bent knees comes your free hand, fingertips glistening with guilt. Good girl. You do what he says, not out of fear, but of reverence. Of awe at how you know those fingers will move on you, against you soon.
After all, this was a gift.
⊕⊕⊕
How did Crosshair know everything?
Maybe Tech told him, it's likely he had your file uploaded onto his holodpad the day he saw you sneaking out of their room on Kamino.
With that smug grin of his, something told you he had found out all on his own.
“ You didn't tell me it was your birthday. ”
You figured it shouldn't be a big deal, not with someone like Crosshair. He didn't celebrate much, not when the batch came back from successful missions, nothing of the sort.
So you didn't tell him.
“ Not for a few days. ”
You rolled over to face the glaring yellow clock in the dark of your room. Nearly five, you'll be up soon. Chances are the Kaminoans will have you working deep in Tipoca City, far from the rest of the batch, from Crosshair.
He made no move to fill his hands with you. For a moment, you imagine he’s fallen asleep, that he’ll stay like this just a few seconds longer.
“ We're leaving in a few days. ”
⊕⊕⊕
He was close, and making damn sure you could feel it. Too afraid your hand would slip beneath his line of sight once more, you grasped for purchase on the lean muscle that ran down his hips. Your unexpected touch has his quick fingers shooting to grab hold of you, squeezing tightly.
Beneath your fingers you could feel his muscles strain under blacks he neglected to take off before the whole ordeal started, merely shoving them aside. Your dutiful hand had kept stroking the base of his cock, the part your willing mouth just wouldn’t reach. He was moving in earnest now, pressing that back of your head just enough to keep his length engulfed in the wet heat of your mouth.
Any other man might lose his composure, spew curses until climax raked its electric fingers through their spine to come down to earth just as fast as they left.
Not him.
He was stone cold and strict, even about his own pleasure. wouldn’t allow himself to get loud, to truly show you all the ways you drove him wild.
“Don't stop, now.”
The strained tendons in his neck muddled his words, like a damper to an instrument. Your knees began to sting with abrasion, the sensation fuel to the inevitable flame that began to lick its way between the two of you.
His dark brows drew together to a point, every muscle in his body follows suit in tension, stiffening as the dam breaks, the flood disintegrating his resolve as he fucked himself as far as your sweet mouth would take him. Reflexively, you swallowed around him, taking him for all he was worth.
His joints finally began to thaw, creaking back to life in slow motion; only then did you begin to ease off of his length.
Neither of you said a word for a moment. Both too occupied catching up through gasping breaths, calming a heartbeat that thrummed out of control. He plucked your hand from its place on his body and dropped it unceremoniously back into your lap. The same one came to rest underneath your chin to direct your gaze back on him rather than the mess you just made.
“You did good.”
Three words of praise, not unique by any means, but the tenderness with which he regarded you nearly brought you to a different kind of tears. His hands were gentle as they wiped some of the mess off, there was no getting completely clean without ruining the soft sort of moment you two currently shared.
But this was Crosshair you were dealing with.
“Best be getting to bed, Birthday Girl.”
He tipped his head in the direction of the yellow clock. 12:03, Crosshair was right.
In rare form, he helps you to complete your nighttime routine, even going so far as to clean and treat the burns on your knees with bacta gel.
If you weren't paying such apt attention to him at all times, you would've hardly noticed the kiss he planted on the top of your head just before the lights went out.
He had left before you awoke, it seemed, like he always does.
And, like he always does, he waited until the last minute, until he was sure the insistent beeping of his comm was going to wake you up, until he could practically hear his sergeant spitting at him to get over here, now!
They’d been called out in the early morning hours, Crosshair didn’t have time to explain. The sun hadn't even risen, not that you could see it well if it had. Rain still steadily splattered against the solitary window. Maybe ten minutes you had to yourself?
Ten minutes to compose yourself like Crosshair hadn't just been whisked away, once more yanked into the heat of battle solely because of his skill as a marksman and his band of brothers.
Didn't they know he was human too?
You inhaled deeply through your nose, hand reaching blindly for the alarm button you knew would be screeching for your attention in a few moments when you brushed past a foreign object atop the nightstand.
Curious.
The light of a small bedside lamp reveals a long, slim, black box embossed with a minuscule silver insignia.
“Oh.” It came out softly.
Sitting in the plush velvet lining was a thin silver chain. Delicately, you hooked a finger under the clasp and let the piece hang in the crude lamplight. Dangling from the end was a little silver circle with a delicate cruciform directly center. A crosshair.
One that, when fastened behind your neck, would hang over your heart, always.
He would be home soon.