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Rex slipped inside the darkened training room, already knowing what he would find inside.
And indeed, Fox lay there on his side, knees pulled up to his chest, arms curled over his eyes. Making sure Fox heard the tread of his feet, he knelt down beside him. “Fox,” he whispered.
“You’re not supposed to use that name,” Fox mumbled, not moving, even as Rex shifted in front of him. When Fox still did not move, Rex sighed and heaved himself over his prone form, curling up against his back. “And you’re not supposed to be here,” Fox breathed out, no bite behind his words.
“I know,” Rex said, and buried his face into the back of Fox’s neck.
For some reason, Fox always ran cold after these training sessions, when every other clone Rex knew ran hot, like the distant sun of Coruscant burned in them. But Fox was cold, his skin clammy, and Rex rubbed his cheek against the bit of his neck between the bottom of his hair and the loose shirt he wore.
Usually they trained in armor, since they were expected to fight in it, but not for these sessions. This was when the dark hooded figure came to watch them, privately, assessing if they were up to standards that only the hooded figure knew.
In the last year it had started focusing in on Fox, almost to the exclusion of anyone else. There were other clones, those marked out already for leadership, informal as that way, that sometimes had the figure’s attention, but it always came back around to Fox. It was almost like he already had a different rank than the rest of them.
Rex heard rumors that on Kamino, leadership was designated by a number, by special training. The Kamino scientists that ran Coruscant’s program talked about it sometimes, the planet they came from, where the bulk of the clone army was being raised.
But all Rex had ever known was Coruscant. He knew this underground facility, and the night runs on Coruscant’s lower levels. Sometimes, the other cadets whispered they were going to start training on the lowest levels soon, to learn how to fight monsters.
Rex wanted to point out there was already a monster inside the walls, they did not need to leave to find one.
Though, he sorta wanted to see what the lowest levels would be like, too.
Now, he lay in the dark behind Fox, and reached around to rub his arms, trying to warm the rest of him up. As he moved, he pressed his whole chest to Fox’s back, ignoring the way that made parts of him stir. It always happened when he got too close to Fox these days, his body reacting in a way that disturbed him a little, but Fox never said anything about it, about feeling Rex's cock press against his body.
Fox never seemed to react in the same way, either.
He often just lay like he did now, motionless except for his breathing.
“Are you alright?” Rex whispered to the back of his neck, eventually.
“Does it matter if I am, or not?” Fox asked.
“I’m asking,” Rex said.
Against him, Fox shuddered all over, just once, before he pulled away from Rex enough to look at him over his shoulder. In the almost darkness, Rex wasn’t sure what he saw. They were sprawled out on the mats, designed for being knocked down on, and behind Rex’s back were several of the training dummies.
Everything in the room, like so much of this underground hell, was red.
Rex had never figured out why everything was red, but he’d always liked Fox standing out against the hue, his already silvering hair bright in contrast. It’d started over his ears, a faint fade toward grey, and then moved to all his hair, despite their age.
Sometimes, he wondered if it had anything to do with why Fox was cold so often.
In the darkness, he felt Fox sigh, the breath brushing against one of his cheeks. “Not even you are worth answering that question honestly.”
Rex frowned. “Fox–”
“Stop it,” Fox snapped. “I should never have told you about that. You aren’t supposed to–”
“Use it,” Rex finished for him. “I know.” He considered his options, and the fact Fox hadn’t warmed up, and swung himself up and around, pinning Fox to the ground as he sat down on his hips and grabbed both his hands in his, holding them down.
“What–”
“I want you to be honest with me,” Rex said, like it was easy.
Fox snorted. “There is no such thing,” he said, and up here like this, Rex could make out the glitter of his eyes, the wetness he hadn’t been able to see earlier–
It almost knocked his breath right out of him, to realize Fox’s eyes were wet, like he had been crying when Rex held him. He leaned down, to confirm, and Fox squirmed unhappily but did not knock him off.
That in itself was a victory. Fox could pin Rex easily when they sparred, even now, even when Rex had been practicing the dirtiest moves he could find to get the upper hand.
“Fox–”
“Stop it.”
“Tell me you’re okay, and I will.”
For a moment, Fox lay beneath him, so still Rex thought he’d stopped breathing.
“I can’t.”
“Fox,” Rex whispered.
“I fucking,” and the curse fell from Fox’s mouth, heavy into the space between them, the type of thing they were not supposed to do. They weren’t even supposed to know curses, like the rest of the Galaxy used. But they were resourceful, and passed forbidden datafiles to each other in the dark of the night, stories and holodramas alike. “Can’t.”
“Fox–”
“I don’t know who I’m going to be become,” Fox whispered, and Rex leaned down, until he could feel the brush of Fox’s words against his face, like it might reassure Fox no one else could hear him. He could whisper as softly as he wanted, and Rex would still hear him. “I don’t know what I’m going to become, under him.”
“The hooded figure?” Rex asked, because he’d never gotten enough of a look at them to determine a gender, wasn’t sure he liked that Fox had.
Fox breathed out, a warm wash against Rex’s cheek, and then nodded. “We were made for him,” he said, still as quiet as he could, and Rex hesitated, before he laid down on top of Fox’s chest, pressed his ear to Fox’s mouth. He felt Fox’s shuddering breath through his whole body, and had to swallow the sound that tried to slip out.
His problem from earlier came back, starting to harden against Fox’s hip, but he didn’t move, just let Fox murmur directly into his ear. “We were made for him,” he said. “And yet I hate who I am when I’m with him. The other clones, the ones that look like us but are on Kamino, they’re not supposed to know about him. They’re not supposed to know we weren’t for the Jedi, but we can’t afford that. We have to know, to be effective. This is who we were made for, so what does it say about me that I can’t breathe when I’m around him, that he scares me, the things he asks me about. What am I going to be, if I fail my only purpose?”
“You’ll still have me,” Rex said, to the side of Fox’s shoulders, and he felt Fox’s harsh, quiet laugh.
“Oh, Rex,” Fox breathed right into his ear and Rex had to swallow past his dry throat. But when Fox brought his hands up, digging his fingers into the small of Rex’s back, his mouth suddenly wasn’t so dry, watering with the abrupt shock of want for something. His hands dug into the training mat on either side of Fox’s shoulders. “Sweet as that is, what happens if I don’t?”
Rex stared at the darkness. “What do you mean?”
“There’s two battalions, down here,” Fox said. “One is going to leave Coruscant.”
“Not me,” Rex said. “I mean, unless you do, too. I’m staying with you.”
He felt Fox tip his head back, looking at the ceiling. Something that might have been a sound had fallen from his lips, and Rex lay there, on top of him, trying not to obsess over what it might have been.
“We’ll not have a choice,” Fox said. “But–I hope you stay with me, too.”
“Do you?” Rex asked, because apparently he had not pushed enough, yet. He felt skittish, something burning under his skin like slow moving lava, the need to have Fox give him an answer.
Fox sighed, brought his hands up all of Rex’s back and to cradle the back of his head. His fingers smoothed through the short hairs on Rex’s head, the blond ones he always was tempted to just shave off, and kept short instead. Being bald would have made him stand out less than being blond did.
But for some reason he never took that final plunge. What if it never grew back? He liked the way Fox would run his fingers against the stubble, like he was right then. It never happened often, but it made something settle in Rex's chest, fragile and hopeful.
“Do you really need me to say it?” Fox asked.
“Yes,” Rex said, and Fox sighed again.
“I want you to stay with me,” Fox said.
It felt like static electricity. “Really?”
“Rex, since when have you been insecure?” Fox huffed, because Rex had whispered his name to him, the name he wanted, just the week before. He’d been watching one of the pilfered holodramas, had liked the ring of it.
Fox had only used it sparsely, like it was a secret.
Sometimes, he wondered if the clones on Kamino were picking out names for themselves, too. He wished, maybe, they had ever been able to talk to them.
“Since I don’t know what you’re thinking anymore,” Rex said.
“You’re the only one who comes close to knowing what I’m thinking,” Fox huffed.
“Seventy-Seven knows,” Rex said, because Seventy-Seven hadn’t picked a name for himself yet.
Fox paused, still running the pads of his fingers up and down the back of Rex’s head, petting the hair there. “Not like you do.”
“Fox,” Rex said.
“What are you really trying to figure out?” Fox asked.
“Why,” Rex started, and then threw caution to the wind, grinding his hips down against Fox’s. It was easier than using his words, to ask what grew between them, or why only he seemed to feel a certain way.
Yet it surprised him, when Fox’s back lifted barely off the ground, thighs shaking under Rex’s spread legs. A breath fell from his mouth, right against Rex’s cheek.
“And why you never, you know, respond back,” Rex said, and Fox pulled his head back, like it was in disbelief.
Which was when Rex realized he could, in fact, feel an answering hardness stirring between Fox’s legs, Fox tilting his hips back up to his. “I just never let you know,” Fox whispered, tremulous and uncertain, like he still doubted the wisdom of Rex finding out now.
“Why not?” Rex demanded hotly, the loudest either of them had been, and Fox hissed in displeasure. “Sorry, sorry, why not?” he repeated, quieter.
“Because it’s dangerous,” Fox said, and his voice sounded thick, as he tipped his hips up again, and Rex realized he could shift down at the same time.
He suddenly wasn’t just a little hard, he was burning with the arousal that motion caused. Before, his cock had felt like a strange and perplexing thing to him around Fox, but now it seemed like the world tilted, like it made sense. They were supposed to be doing this. They were supposed to be grinding against each other, slow and careful and yet desperate and clinging too.
They were made for the hooded figure, for a war that had not come yet, but maybe they were made just a little for each other, in addition. Every leader like Fox would need a second, after all, and Rex planned on it being him.
Still under him, Fox shook, before he repeated the motion.
“I don’t care,” Rex decided.
“I do,” Fox said. “We’re already,” but he trailed off, a bitten off sound escaping him.
“What?” Rex asked, desperate for more honesty from the sneakiest, meanest bastard in their whole cohort.
Under him like this, Fox didn’t seem much like either of those things, even if his training scores proved he was.
Suddenly thinking about how cold Fox had been, Rex raised his shaking fingers, brushing them along Fox’s cheeks. They were warm, like they were flushed, and even the back of Fox’s neck felt hot under his fingers.
All the cold had finally been chased out of him, his hands on the back of Rex’s head pleasantly warmed too.
“We’re already risking too much,” Fox gasped, still arching against him. “Sharing names, being friends. The fact you come looking for me, it’s already–to add something like this–”
“Looking at you makes me want to die, sometimes,” Rex pressed into his cheek, nuzzling against it just to feel the blood rise to the surface of Fox’s skin.
“We look the same,” Fox said, almost just an exhale.
“We really don’t,” Rex said, tangling his fingers up in Fox’s hair, meeting Fox’s undulations, because now that they had started, they seemed unable to stop. “I want to–I want to kiss you.”
“Kriff,” Fox hissed.
“When we’re training, sometimes, I almost miss a shot because I want to kiss you–”
“Your mouth is right there, Rex,” Fox said, almost a snarl, but it wasn’t angry.
Rex had honestly almost forgotten, so close to the thing he’d wanted for so long. Immediately, he turned his head, slamming their mouths together with no grace. He shuddered, Fox’s moan shockingly loud inside the confines of Rex’s own head.
“Please, Rex,” Fox panted against his mouth. “Don’t let me forget who I am–”
“Never,” Rex promised. “Never, ever, I’ll remember for you even if you can’t,” and he was lost utterly in the feel of Fox’s mouth, the secrets Fox spilled out in the darkness, the heat of his open lips.
For a moment it almost distracted him from the twisting desire in his gut, building tighter and harsher every time they ground together, his cock slipping alongside Fox’s, hot through their training uniforms.
“I want,” Fox whispered, broke off with another moan that Rex did his best to swallow.
“What?” he asked, fingers scrambling at Fox's hair, his shoulders, the mats below them.
“I want to stay with you,” Fox said, and when Rex kissed him again he opened his mouth, like he would swallow Fox's breaths entirely. It shocked him, when his tongue met Fox's, a whole different sensation to the hot and wet and now slick feeling of kissing him.
He shoved himself down, grinding in one long motion and Fox yelped into his open mouth, arching his back. For a second Rex couldn't figure out what had happened, until the rush of something wet against his hips registered, and he could only gape down at Fox, as he shuddered and panted beneath him.
For all that he hadn't even thought Fox returned whatever this feeling was, he had somehow been the one to do that, to take Fox's composure and drive it off one of the landing platforms, tumbling them both into the depths of Coruscant’s lower levels. He'd done that, he had, and the giddiness bubbled up inside him, made him kiss Fox all the harder, until their teeth clinked together.
Fox whimpered, and pressed his fingers to Rex's hips, urging him on.
But despite the flickering elation inside him, it wasn't until Fox caught his lower lip between his teeth and bit down that Rex came.
He lost track of things for a moment, coming down to the way he clawed at Fox's shoulders, Fox's mouth gentling against his as he eased him down, ignoring the sweat and mess between them, to cradle Rex in his arms.
Collapsing in a sprawl on Fox's chest, he focused on breathing again.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” Fox said, far too quickly for Rex.
“I know,” Rex agreed, without any power behind it.
Fox huffed, fingers running up and down Rex’s cropped hair again, almost like what just happened hadn’t. “The more you have to lose,” he said. “The worse it will be when you do.”
“Not gonna lose me,” Rex muttered, mutinous, and he felt Fox’s grin when he turned his head to press it against Rex’s cheek.
“Maybe not,” he allowed, which felt like a monumental capitulation from him. “But only if you don’t take stupid risks.”
“When have I ever?” Rex asked, and Fox didn’t bother to reply to that.
Eventually, they pried apart, slipping through the quiet nighttime halls to their little berths, built into the walls of their training ground.
And Fox let Rex pin him to the wall, for one last kiss before they had to part for the rest of the night, already risking too much if they were found out of bed.
Despite all his protests, the next handful of weeks were some of the most precious of Rex’s short life, because he felt like he had more than he’d ever expected. Maybe it wasn’t everything yet, because they still didn’t go outside, and they were still run through endless drills, preparing for a war that the rest of the Galaxy didn’t know was coming. But he had Fox’s warm palm pressed under his own, and Fox’s mouth to kiss whenever they were alone.
Which meant, he should have expected Fox to be proven right.
But when the trainer, a tall and severe man informed him he would start studying the command structure of the clones on Kamino, he made the mistake of asking, “Will One-Zero-One-Zero also join those classes?”
Next to him Fox tensed, but he didn’t do anything as dramatic as turning his head to look at Rex in disgust.
The trainer hardly looked impressed. “No,” he said, looking at Fox for a long moment, Fox lifting his chin but not looking back. The rest of the line of clones in the room was doing their best to not notice what little disaster had just occurred.
That night he crawled into Fox’s bunk, Fox grabbing his shoulders and shoving him back, like he was going to push him out.
Rex twisted his hands around the back of his neck and held on.
“This doesn’t guarantee anything,” he whispered.
“Doesn’t it?” Fox ground out.
“The war hasn’t started yet,” Rex said. “I’m not leaving yet.”
Fox closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. His hands shifted, rubbing his fingers back and forth along Rex’s cheekbones. “The war hasn’t started yet,” he agreed.
“Anything can happen between now and then,” Rex said, and Fox nodded, slowly, achingly.
Rex did his best to believe it, all the way through the end of their training, the months of learning Kamino culture with a group of others, so they might be able to insert themselves into the larger clone structure when the time came.
Fox and the others did not learn those lessons, because they were never planned to work that closely with the Grand Army of the Republic. They were going to stay here, on Coruscant, and as the months slipped by, Fox’s kisses got more desperate, like he would imprint himself like a scar on Rex.
All the way until Rex boarded the transport to Kamino, to start his ARC training–a program created exclusively by those clones of the Grand Army–he hoped something in his orders would change, and he would stay instead.
Even though he came to see him off, Fox didn’t react on the landing platform itself. He stood there instead, and watched Rex without twitching a muscle. They had said what counted as their goodbyes the night before, but Rex still made the mistake of wavering on the ramp of the ship.
He had to jump, to avoid it closing on top of him, his last sight of Fox his chin tilted back and eyes empty.