Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I’m not playing slaps with you!”

“Come on, you promised! Tell you what, I’ll keep my eyes closed and you can look.”

“This is humiliating.”

The mess hall is less than half full. As usual, the somewhat odd scheduling of Arrow Squad’s lunch break means that Dust will have fifteen pleasant minutes to finish his meal before the noise levels become unbearable. It also means that the voices of the troopers two tables over can reach him almost interrupted. Five brothers in scout armour – a standard recon squad, by the looks of it. Two of them are already getting up to leave, but the other three are still in the middle of their argument.

“You don’t think we’re a little old for this?” one of them says.

“Uh, too old to hone our reaction times?” the enthusiastic one protests. “I think not.”

“Alright,” the first one concedes, letting out a heavy sigh. “Kyren, put your hands over his eyes.”

The one named Kyren stands and walks around the table to stand behind his friend. They all have the same haircut – buzzed on the sides, longer on top – but the one who keeps pushing for the others to play the game with him wears the top part even longer. Before Kyren covers his eyes, he makes sure to shove his hands in those curls and mess them up further, making his friend flail and slap at him with the glove he’s just removed.

Dust can’t help but smile. They look young, like himself. He fits in well with his own squad at this point – appreciates the calm in their berthing compared to the chaos he’s glimpsed in other parts of the barracks – but his squadmates are all very experienced, and sometimes he wishes he wasn’t the only one who’s always new to everything.

A muted clapping sound brings his focus back to the scouts and their game. The one with his eyes covered has scored his first point. Dust watches as he places his hands on top of his opponent’s in the defensive position. Both of them sit perfectly still for a moment, and then the offensive player moves – and misses. Their banter continues, still clear enough in the relatively calm mess hall for Dust to pick up most of the words.

“Are we done now?”

“No! Come on, best of nine!”

“Nah,” the one named Kyren says, “Dash wins if he can score one point. Warp, you win if you can score all nine.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” the one named Dash grumbles.

The scout named Warp leans back with a shit-eating grin on his face. His eyes are still covered by Kyren’s hands.

The game continues. Warp gets progressively louder. Dust can’t even see his hands move. His ears just register the clapping sound, muted but clear, over and over, followed by Warp’s cheer at his own victories. He doesn’t sound self-satisfied in the obnoxious way Dust would expect of someone insisting to play a game he knows he’ll win. He just sounds – happy. Like he relishes so deeply in what his body can do that he just can’t contain his excitement.

Dust knows the feeling from when he breaks one of his records in the gym, or when his squad has had an especially successful run in the sim room. But Warp projects his happiness so intensely that Dust can feel it all the way across the tables between them. It makes him feel good inside.

He jumps when a voice rings out next to him.

“Alright, boys! Bring it down a notch!” Appo barks.

Dust had almost forgotten that his sergeant is seated right beside him. But his surprise is nothing next to that of the scouts. Kyren rips his hands away from Warp’s eyes and plops down on the bench so fast Dust thinks he might have just bruised his tailbone. Warp’s eyes snap open, and he looks straight at Dust.

Dust doesn’t know what he expected. Warp has the same dark brown eyes as the rest of them. But his slender frame somehow makes them look bigger. And the razor-sharp curiosity with which he looks at Dust makes Dust’s tongue feel thick in his mouth. He’s suddenly acutely aware that he’s slouching over his tray like a maintenance clone, and that the bottom front clamp of his left shoulder plate has been acting up again and tugged the plate off-centre.

Warp just keeps looking at him. Dust stares back like a kriffing di’kut.

The other clone’s face looks just as young as Warp’s. But his shaved head, with two slanted red lines tattooed just above his ear, tells a different story. Kyren nudges Warp’s knee with his own.

“Did you just have a stroke or what?” he wheezes.

Warp reluctantly lowers his eyes and throws a glance at his squadmate.

“Who is that?” he whispers.

“Who – You mean him?”

“Keep it down. Yeah, I mean him.”

Kyren gives Warp a harder shove this time.

“Since when do I know anyone you don’t?” he asks, rolling his eyes.

The tattooed clone has returned to shoving food into his mouth. This is Heron Squad’s first week on their new schedule, which explains why Warp has never seen him before this shift. He doesn’t think he’d have missed him if they’d been in the same place before. The half-empty mess hall has finally started to fill up, and everywhere Warp looks, it’s a mosaic of white armour, blue paint, brown skin, and black hair. The red tattoo above this clone’s ear stands out like a stealth flare viewed in infrared mode.

And now that he has noticed him, Warp can also see that he’s big. Not just bigger than Warp – even most other scouts are bigger than Warp – no, this clone is bigger even than his own sergeant, who’s sitting next to him.

Eventually, Warp can no longer ignore Kyren’s prodding fingers, which are pinching his hip harder and harder between his armour plates. He puts his gloves back on and throws a final glance at the tattooed clone before he gathers his tray and heads for the recyclers, dodging a slap to the back of his head from Dash.

Warp gets to see the tattooed clone again the very next shift. Heron Squad has a double break this time, which means he can remain in the mess hall until it’s the other squad’s turn to get up and leave.

“You owe us a week of favours each,” Dash tells him in a dejected voice. “I can’t believe you made us sit here and watch your stupid new fixation with you for an hour.”

Kyren makes a weary sound of agreement. Warp snorts.

“Next time I win a bet, all the spoils go to you,” he promises with a grin.

He stretches a little to catch one last glimpse of the tattooed clone before he disappears through the exit.

“You know, next time you could just go up and talk to him,” Kyren offers. “It’s not like he’s an officer or anything.”

He could, Warp supposes. But who can blame him for starting off with a bit of reconnaissance? He is an ARF trooper, after all.

“You should ask who did his tattoo,” Dash says.

Huh.

Now that, Warp must admit, is far from a bad idea. He’s been pestering Dash and Kyren with his own ideas for a tattoo ever since the three of them shipped out, but in these two months, he hasn’t come a single step closer to finding himself an artist. Taiga and Paws could probably be of help, but they haven’t been forthcoming on their own, and Warp hasn’t asked.

Taiga and Paws are the only two remaining members of the original Heron Squad. Warp, Dash, and Kyren got assigned to the vacant positions two months ago, and Taiga was promoted to sergeant. The five of them work well enough as a team, but they spend little time together off-duty. For the most part, Warp and his friends try to leave the other two in peace, and Taiga, in return, doesn’t order the three of them around more than necessary.

But ever since he stepped on board the Resolute, Warp has been longing to make more friends in the 501st. And now he’s found himself a very intriguing target.

The next shift, Warp is vibrating with excitement on his way to the mess hall. But the tattooed clone is nowhere to be seen. The rest of his squad is there, though. Warp ends up making awkward eye contact with one of the troopers – a clone with an intricate bird wing pattern shaved into one side of his head. Eventually, the man raises an eyebrow and nods sharply at him. Warp swallows a big mouthful of his drink before he stands and marches slowly over to the other table, back straight, hands held stiffly by his sides.

“Sirs,” he mumbles, nodding politely at the Sergeant, but focusing most of his attention on the man with the bird wing.

“Trooper,” the man answers, clearly struggling to hold back his amusement.

Warp feels calmer at once. If the man intended to tell him off for doing something wrong, he certainly wouldn’t look this happy about it. Warp clears his throat.

“Where’s –?”

It’s not much of a question, but it’s obvious whom he’s referring to.

“You mean Dust?” the man asks.

Warp blinks.

“Our heavy gunner,” the man clarifies, his tone a little sharper, but still not unkind.

Oh. Well, that certainly explains why he looks so big, Warp thinks to himself. Standard infantry armour is thicker than ARF armour, but a heavy gunner’s armour is thicker than both. Underneath it, he’ll have extra muscle as well, in order to carry both the armour and his blaster cannon. Kriff, Dust could probably pick up Warp and carry him with one hand.

“Yeah,” Warp says absently to the man he’s standing in front of. “Dust. Where is he?”

“Two-month health check-up,” the man says, raising his eyebrow again. “When’re you getting yours, rookie?”

“Got it last week,” Warp answers, astonished.

Dust has been deployed just as long as he has. They’re the same age. And Dust already has a tattoo. It’s so unfair.

Behind him, Kyren calls his name. Warp waves him off.

“How did he get his tattoo?” he asks before he can stop himself – Kyren having provided enough distraction for his curiosity to win over his sense of propriety.

The man with the bird wing crosses his arms over his chest with a smirk.

“Ah,” he breathes, and winks at Warp, “that’s not the question you should be asking. Not to worry, I’ll help you out. Ey, Brod! Tell the shiny here how Dust got his name!”

Warp looks in the direction he’s shouting and sees a clone with a blue diamond pattern on his chest – Brod, apparently – motion for him to come closer. There’s a bit of shuffling around as various squad members trade places to make room for Warp and the clone with the bird wing to sit down opposite of Brod.

Warp is more than a little stunned by how willing these men are to accommodate him. Then again, he hasn’t ever approached an infantry squad outside of training. He just always assumed they’d have no interest in talking to an ARF rookie.

“Do you have a name?” Brod asks.

“Warp,” Warp says quickly.

Brod nods and hums a little, giving him a once over. Warp throws a glance at Dash and Kyren. They’re in the process of discreetly moving one table closer, finally drawn in by the promise of a good story.

“Alright, Warp,” Brod says, “let me tell you the story of Arrow Squad’s shiniest.”

“See, up until two months ago, Hardcase was our heavy gunner. When Captain Rex lost his heavy, he took Hardcase and promised Appo a suitable replacement. Now, Appo and Hardcase never got along very well – aw, don’t look at me like that, sir – what I’m saying is, your command style and Hardcase’s, uh – personal qualities – weren’t the best of matches.

“Anyway, Hardcase jumping squads wasn’t a problem. Wasn’t even the first time. But then we found out that the Captain had assigned us a shiny. A shiny heavy for Arrow Squad. Appo was furious. Hell, we all were. Nothing personal against Dust, of course. We hadn’t even met him yet.

“Now, to make matters even worse, we receive our new squadmate the very same day we’re being deployed. Focal slapped some paint on the poor thing so we wouldn’t all go snowblind looking at him. And then we ship out and get dropped in the middle of this big, rocky desert to go up against the Seppies, who were holding down some kind of underground fortress.

“We spent some hours blasting away into a growing wall of dust, as you do, until we had no visual whatsoever. And then we were ordered to take position near this passage through a ridge. We sat there for a while – waiting, waiting some more – until finally, we received orders to proceed through the passage. We move in – and the first thing we see is a fleet of enormous tanks. Completely EM shielded, impossible to pick up on long distance sensors. Appo relays the intel, and General Skywalker himself is the one who comms him back. Our new orders, naturally, are to blow up the passage.

“Now, these tanks were karking fast. By the time we placed the last charges, we were dodging fire like you wouldn’t believe. Once we were done, we just ran for it. We got behind this smaller ridge where we’d been waiting earlier, and everyone starts doing a headcount. And one of us is missing. Takes us about half a second to figure out who it is. And then everyone is yelling at each other for losing the shiny.

“We had two detonators. Appo, being our CO, had one. The shiny, being our heavy, had the other. And those tanks are getting closer. So Appo has no choice, right? He needs to blow up the passage now. So he presses the button on his detonator. And – nothing happens. Absolutely kriffing nothing happens, because the signal from the detonator is disrupted by the EM shields on the tanks! Which means someone’s gonna have to go back down there and detonate the charges from inside the field.

“So we thought – great, we just got this new shiny and we lose him in the first battle, and now we have to lose another trooper. We were all looking at each other, waiting for Appo to make the hard choice. And that – was when the passage exploded. Whole damn thing. Utter karking obliteration.

“At first, we all assume Appo got the detonator to work somehow. But then he tells us he didn’t even press the button. Which means – the shiny did it. Somehow, he must have stayed alive long enough to detonate the charges from inside the field. He’d sacrificed himself for the mission. Or so we thought.

“We sit there for a few minutes, feeling rather bad about ourselves. But then Focal, our sniper, points at something. By now, there’s a solid wall of dust that surrounds the explosion site, but Focal keeps saying there’s something inside it. There’s a shape that grows clearer and clearer, until all of us can see it.

“Out of that wall of dust, our heavy gunner appears. He’s limping, only makes it another few metres before he falls face down in the sand. We all get over there as fast as we possibly can. No one could understand how the hell he’d survived. It was as if he’d come back from the dead.

“When we told others afterward what happened, I tried to explain what it looked like, you know, when he came out of that dust cloud. I told ‘em it was as if he’d really got himself blown to dust, and then somehow solidified back into physical form. So this idea started going around, as a joke of course, that that’s really what happened. Vod blew himself to dust, only for the dust to rearrange itself back into the vod we know. And that vod – is Dust.”

Brod smiles and gulps down the rest of his drink. Returning to the present, Warp realises that he’s literally been on the edge of his seat – the backs of his thigh plates have begun to cut off circulation to his legs. He shifts his hips and wiggles his feet under the table.

“Thank you,” he gets out. “Uh, for the story. I really liked it.”

Brod gives him a pleased nod. His squadmate with the bird wing pattern leans a little closer.

“Now, I remember you asked about the tattoo,” he says. “So – each of the stripes represents a near brush with death. One for a training accident when he was still a cadet, and one for the incident Brod just told you about. That’s why they’re red, to make you think of blood streaks.”

“Red ink isn’t cheap,” Brod adds, “but after what he did for us, we were all happy to pitch in.”

Warp has no idea how anyone gets hold of ink in the first place, let alone a tattoo machine. He’s heard rumours of the black market network inside the GAR since before he left Kamino, but he’s still no closer to understanding how it all works.

“If you want to hear about the training accident,” Brod says, “maybe you should ask him yourself.”

Warp nods vigorously.

“Thank you, I – I’ll do that. Will he be back tomorrow?”

Brod covers his mouth at that. He glances at his squadmates, eyes bright with held back laughter.

“Yes,” Sergeant Appo sighs across the table. “He’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Alright, so – I’ll see you at twenty hundred hours, then. Where?”

“Oh! Hangar C. Dash and Kyren and I like to sit on the starboard walkway when it’s not in use. You know the one?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

Warp dangles his legs from the walkway. In hindsight, he should have arrived later. Now there’s just plenty of time for him to get nervous. He glances at the small group of troopers who have claimed the far end of the walkway. Most of them are probably frequent visitors like himself, but none of them has any markers he can recognise from this distance. As for Dash and Kyren, they’re spending their evening elsewhere. Warp will have to make it up to them later.

His stomach does a wild flip when Dust finally enters his line of sight and comes marching toward him. Kriff, this is worse than grav training.

Warp left his upper armour in his berthing – Dust wears his whole kit. The entire walkway reverberates when he slams down next to Warp.

“Hi,” Warp says.

Dust nods at him. Warp licks his lips.

“You found me,” he adds.

“Yeah,” Dust agrees, nodding again.

He wears broad blue stripes down his thighs. If there’s one thing Warp envies about infantry troopers, it’s the way they get to design and paint their own armour, as opposed to slapping on a new camouflage pattern for every campaign and scrubbing it off with dethazene afterward.

“You always wear your full armour off-duty?” he asks, before biting his tongue.

Dust blinks a little.

“Uh, not – not inside the barracks,” he says. “But out here, yes. My sergeant is very – Well, he likes to hold us to a certain standard. As he puts it.”

He winces a little and scratches the back of his neck. His eyes move from Warp to his knees to the hangar floor below, where most of the 501st’s smaller ground vehicles and their transports are stored. Warp scrapes at a stain on his own thigh plate. It’s been there for days – it’s not like it’s magically going to disappear now – but that won’t stop him from trying. He throws a glance at Dust, his eyes once again landing on the two red lines above his ear.

“I’m getting a tattoo,” he blurts out.

Dust turns to look at him again, and just like that, Warp’s mind is made up.

“A black line all the way down my spine,” he declares. “Like a speed stripe. You know, like in holo cartoons, when they’re running, or flying really fast?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dust says, nodding.

His eyes drift up and down Warp’s body, and Warp suddenly feels warm all over.

“I was thinking,” he adds quickly, “maybe the artist who did yours could –?”

“Score,” Dust says. “Yeah, sure! I can comm him for you, see if he’s available.”

“Alright,” Warp breathes. “I mean, thank you.”

Dust nods again.

“Sure, no problem,” he says softly.

They both watch the hangar floor for a few minutes. A team of engineers has manoeuvred a transport onto a flip lift, but the angle is wrong for Warp to see exactly what they’re working on. He chews on the inside of his cheek.

“Which one’s yours?” Dust asks suddenly.

Warp jerks his head around to look at him.

“What?”

“Which of the speeder bikes?”

“Oh.”

Dust is looking at the long line of 74-Z’s that are stored along the hangar wall below the port side walkway. Warp clears his throat a little.

“Uh, yeah, I don’t – We don’t exactly have our own speeders. But it only takes me three point two seconds to set a Four-Zed to my specifications anyway.”

Dust looks at him.

“You time that?”

“I’m ARF,” Warp says, feeling a lopsided smile creep onto his face. “I time everything.”

Dust gives him a small, curious smile back. It makes his eyes go soft and dark, and Warp suddenly has to fight the urge to lean sideways and try to kiss him. He wonders if Dust notices the shift in him, because Dust abruptly looks away again and down into the hangar.

“Do you have other speeders too?” he asks. “Other than the, uh, the Four-Zed’s?”

Warp grins.

“I can tell you about every vehicle in this hangar,” he says. “But you have to promise to smack me in the head when you want me to shut up.”

Dust promises. The smack never comes.

They keep seeing each other. Always at twenty-hundred hours, in the sweet spot between late-meal and lights out. Most often, they meet in their spot on the walkway and chat while watching the off-shift crew perform maintenance on the vehicles below. Sometimes, they wander the corridors aimlessly side by side, or sit together in one of the common rooms if there’s a holovid running. Twice, they end up playing sabacc in Heron Squad’s berthing, when Dash has managed to borrow a deck. But the rest of the time, they spend alone together, talking, learning about each other’s experiences, slowly piecing together a corner of the bigger puzzle that is the GAR.

Warp learns that Dust avoids noisy environments because he lost part of his hearing in the explosion that gave him his name. He learns that Dust’s first dip in a bacta tank took place when he was seven, after he fell twenty-four metres onto duracrete during a botched exercise. And he learns that Dust was decanted one week and a half after Warp.

Warp still stumbles over his words every time Dust looks at him. How can he forget that Dust was handpicked by Captain Rex himself, for a squad led by a commander class sergeant? Their brothers have been telling stories about him since he was fresh off Kamino. He’s made a name for himself – quite literally.

Warp is named after one trainer’s off-hand comment about his performance in a simulator. Sure, he broke the previous all-time record, set by one of the Alphas, and spent a week afterward feeling positively weightless every time anyone used his new name – an echo of his trainer’s comment that he’d warp spacetime the day he’d get his hands on a real speeder bike. But Dust is essentially a war hero.

And yet, Warp would expect someone like Dust to boast about it – at least a little. But Dust remains his quiet, thoughtful self, no matter what’s going on around him. And when he laughs at something, it’s the warmest, most sincere laugh Warp has ever heard.

On their fourteenth evening together, they’re in their usual spot on the walkway, chatting away about the various training regimens they went through as cadets, when Dust goes unusually quiet. It’s not the kind of quiet where he’s happy to sit back and just listen while Warp prattles on. Rather, he trails off mid-sentence and simply looks down at his knees for a while. Warp is just about to ask what’s wrong when he speaks up again.

“I’ve heard this thing – about ARF troopers,” he says carefully. “That their – That your DNA is, well, different in some way. That you’re more intelligent. I mean, I guess you have to be, to do what you do. The recon missions, and – and all that. But – if that’s true, I guess I just wonder, sometimes, why you’re spending so much time with me.”

He presses his lips together and rocks a little. Warp stares at him.

“Well, if that’s true, that’s the first I’ve ever heard of it,” he says resolutely. “We’re not made separately or anything. You know that! Most of my batchers are infantry like you. And I’m pretty sure I’m not smarter than anybody else. Kriff, I do things without thinking all the time!

He takes a deep breath, suddenly feeling out of air.

“Anyway,” he adds, “if genes are all that important, then how come Captain Rex is the best commander in the GAR and he’s not even a CC?”

Dust shrugs a little, but his posture already looks more relaxed. Warp smiles at him.

“I’m being serious, Dust. Trust me, I’m a total di’kut most of the time.”

“Trust me, I’m a di’kut?” Dust echoes incredulously. “Warp, that sounds more like a reason not to trust you.”

His shy smile is honest, not to mention contagious. Soon enough, they’re both laughing loudly, and Warp takes the opportunity to lean into Dust’s side. When they quiet down again, Dust carefully reaches out and puts his hand on Warp’s neck, bringing their foreheads together. His gloved fingers on Warp’s covered neck are electrifying despite the double layers of fabric between them, and the warm press of his bare forehead to Warp’s own sends a delicious shiver through Warp’s body.

“Can I kiss you?” Dust asks.

For a split second, Warp really does try to form a reply. Then he closes his eyes and simply leans in.

He’s no stranger to kissing. He’s fooled around enough times with Dash and Kyren and a few of the other brothers he’s trained with. But somehow, kissing Dust feels real in a way that none of his previous experiences did. As if every kiss before this one was only practice.

He puts his hands on Dust’s polished chest plate and slides them up, up, until he can rest his fingers against the warm skin of Dust’s neck and feel his pulse flutter underneath it. Dust’s tongue is warm as well, and when Dust slips it deeper into Warp’s mouth, Warp can’t stop a small whimper from escaping him. He fully expects to drown in his own embarrassment, but all that happens is that Dust’s breath hitches, and he pulls Warp even closer and kisses him even deeper, until everything in Hangar C but for the two of them might have been vented into space for all that Warp cares.

He never wants the kiss to end.

They get deployed two days later. Dust’s squad is shipped to the front line. Warp spends his first two rotations on Agamar avoiding the casualty list for all that he’s worth, only to change his strategy when the campaign abruptly takes a turn for the worse. Checking the list becomes the first thing he does every time he returns to camp and the last thing he does before leaving it. Two rotations later, it becomes clear that the entire campaign is a lost cause. Fortunately, the decision to retreat is made before the casualty numbers can keep rising.

Once they’re back on board the Resolute, Warp runs through corridor after corridor and into Dust’s arms. Dust has bags under his eyes, and his head and face are covered with dark stubble. He’s beautiful, and Warp wants to tell him as much, but between the kisses and the soft reassurances that they’re both alright, there’s so much he wants to say that the words all get caught in each other and nothing gets out.

He settles for trying to show Dust instead – helps him gently out of his armour and finds him his hygiene kit. Sergeant Appo scowls at him, and lets him know that this time, and this time only, he’ll get away with an unofficial warning for not following standard post-deployment procedure.

Dust comms him later that evening. Warp’s exhaustion has finally caught up with him, but he’s still too worked up to sleep. He’s lying in his bunk, squinting at pictures of Aratech Repulsor’s newest speeder model, ignoring the sounds of Dash and Kyren trading hands in the bunk above him, and Taiga hammering Paws into the mattress just across the floor. He nearly drops his pad on his face when Dust’s message pops up on it.

SCORE IS AVAILABLE, the message reads.

They get three half-shift days following their deployment. Warp’s appointment is at sixteen-hundred hours on the second one. It feels a little strange to see Dust outside of their regular meeting hours, but that’s not why Warp feels jittery as they make their way to Score’s berthing. In his hand, he’s clutching the small bag of instant caf he’s managed to trade for maintenance and cleaning favours. He’s never heard of the brand before, but it’s civilian, and the rich dark powder smells sweet and foreign.

Score greets them in his blacks. He has green streaks in his hair – something Warp has never seen before. Warp is wearing his fatigues as instructed. Score frowns a little when Warp explains the tattoo he wants. He asks twice if Warp is sure, and yes, Warp is sure. It’s not that big of a deal, is it? At least the design is simple enough.

He takes his shirt off, avoiding Dust’s eyes as he bares himself, and lies down on his stomach on the crisp clean sheets on Score’s bunk. Dust sits down on the floor next to the top of the bunk, where he can stay close to Warp while keeping out of Score’s way.

Lying down calms Warp’s nerves at least temporarily. He can’t see what Score is doing behind his back, but he can hear the sounds of equipment being prepared. A minute later, Score is wiping down Warp’s skin with something that feels awfully cold, and his heart starts beating faster again. He can’t wait for Score to just get started. To distract himself, he turns his head and smiles at Dust, who’s sitting so close that Warp can almost count his eyelashes. He has beautiful eyelashes.

“You ready?” Score asks.

Warp nods.

“Yeah!”

“Alright. Try not to move. Just lie still and let me work, and you’ll be fine, okay?”

It doesn’t take Warp many minutes to realise what an enormous mistake he’s made.

He’s in agony.

He feels as if he’s being flayed alive. Or as if Score is sticking needles all the way into his actual spine. Or as if someone has poured liquid tibanna on his neck and lit him up.

The pain spreads until the entire space between his shoulders is on fire – but it doesn’t stop there. It radiates up his neck and down into his arms, and holy kriffing hell, Warp needs to turn his face away from Dust before he starts crying, but he doesn’t dare to move. There are needles in his skin, and Score told him to stay still, and –

He blinks, and a tear rolls down the side of his nose. He shuts his eyes tightly when Dust leans forward and wipes it away, his embarrassment burning almost as fiercely as the skin of his back.

“You’re doing great,” Dust whispers.

Warp’s eyes snap open. He looks at Dust, searching for signs that he’s mocking him, but Dust’s face remains as open and honest as ever. Warp wants to say something – anything – but the shock of the pain seems to have fried every neural pathway in his brain.

“Do you want to hold my hand?” Dust asks, and the fire along Warp’s spine suddenly pales in comparison to the bright flame bursting out in the pit of his stomach.

He can’t speak, and he doesn’t dare to nod. All he gets out is a high-pitched whimper, but as it turns out, that’s all Dust needs to lean in, pry Warp’s cramping fingers from the edge of the mattress, and take his hand in his own. Dust’s palm is warm and his fingers are strong, and Warp holds on for dear life.

Score’s hands still, and the needles move away from Warp’s skin. Warp draws a shaky breath. Breathing hurts too – his ribs feel like they’re seizing up.

“You hanging in there, vod’ika?” Score asks. “Afraid I can’t give you any longer breaks if you want this done in one session, and I don’t know when I might be able to fit you in the next time.”

Warp works his dry tongue against the top of his mouth and swallows hard.

“Give him some of that water,” he hears Score mumble.

Moments later, Dust is holding a bottle in front of him. Warp slowly shuffles onto his elbows and takes a few sips before falling back down onto the bunk. He finds a cool patch on the mattress and presses his cheek against it.

“Please continue?” he whispers, finding a small part of his voice again. “I – I can handle it.”

“Alright,” Score says. “I’mma stretch my legs for a minute. Then we’ll start back up. I want you to work a bit on your breathing, vod’ika. Remember your training.”

Warp has never been more grateful to be taken on his word. He doesn’t know what he’d have done if Score had decided to give up on him. The mere thought makes him bury his face in the mattress, until he remembers he’s supposed to breathe. He blinks a little when he feels a warm hand on his cheek, and looks up into Dust’s eyes.

“Hey,” Dust whispers, “I’m here.”

Warp finally manages a deep breath.

“I’m fine,” he gets out.

Dust frowns a little.

“I want you to feel safe with me,” he says slowly. “I don’t like it when you’re scared.”

“Mm – ‘m not scared,” Warp slurs. “I’m just – You’re so –”

He swallows, but then Score is back again, and so is the buzzing of his machine. Warp winces as Score finds another nerve he promptly wishes he didn’t have, and the pain flares up again, and grows, and continues to accumulate.

“Tell me later,” Dust says gently, stroking Warp’s cheek with his thumb. “I’ll be here.”

Of course, Warp doesn’t tell Dust anything later. Words become a waste of time. Dust walks him back to his berthing, wraps him in his blanket, and kneels in front of him. He puts his hand on the back of Warp’s head, well above the starting point of the fresh tattoo. And then he leans in and presses their lips together, kissing Warp in front of his entire squad. Miraculously, neither Dash nor Kyren comments on it – perhaps Warp’s red-rimmed eyes and wobbly steps when he entered were enough to make them think twice about it. The tip of Dust’s tongue probes at Warp’s own, and Warp suddenly doesn’t give a flying osik about what Dash or Kyren thinks about anything.

They kiss until Warp is getting lightheaded again, and then they crawl into his bunk together before they kiss some more. Dust holds Warp close for as long as he can, touching him with gentle hands, mindful not to disturb his sore back. In the end, he takes a page out of Warp’s book and sprints back to his own berthing with only minutes left before lights out.

“Are you two gonna kriff, like, ever?”

Dash pops his head over the edge of his bunk and squints at Warp and Dust where they lie tangled up in each other’s arms below him.

“What, you think they’re gonna do it in front of you?” Kyren snorts from somewhere behind him.

“At this rate, they’re not gonna do it at all!”

It’s been a week of heated touches – of stripping out of armour and crawling under the blanket together, trembling at the smooth slide of blacks against blacks. In Warp’s case, jerking off frantically into a towel after Dust has left for the night. He doubts Dust fares much better. The rigid line of Dust’s hard-on against his own thigh has become a constant of their time together.

They still meet in Hangar C, but with every day, they seem to spend less time there before they make their way to the barracks. They end up in Warp’s berthing most of the time, usually because it’s closer. Warp still can’t quite believe any of it. That Dust wants him – not just his company, but his touch, his body. As for Warp, he wants Dust so badly it incapacitates him. Leave it to Dust to reduce him to such a useless, panting mess that he can’t even muster the courage to take things further – and Dust is far too gentle to push.

Above them, Dash is pouting.

“I wanna see Dust naked.”

Warp rolls his eyes so hard he almost gives himself a headache before he shoots Dust an apologetic look.

“Maybe we should try my berthing,” Dust says under his breath.

“Yeah,” Warp hisses, side-eyeing Dash, who sticks his tongue out in reply.

Warp takes a deep breath, slowly summoning the strength of will to take his hands off Dust’s body. Dust presses one last kiss to his lips and saves him from the struggle by climbing out of the bunk first. Warp helps him with his armour, eventually gathering whatever parts he can simply carry and shoving them under his arm.

“You know Warp really is fast in everything, right?” Dash says to Dust. “He’s gonna shoot in three seconds flat from the moment you touch him.”

Warp carefully refrains from turning around to look at the obnoxious grin that’s sure to be on both Dash’s and Kyren’s faces. But denying the truth will hardly preserve his dignity in the long run. He stares at the wall behind Dust and keeps a perfectly straight face when he replies.

“At least I’m also a fast reloader.”

Infantry squads are twice the size of recon squads. Warp has been in Arrow Squad’s berthing several times, but it’s still hard to get used to how large it is compared to his own. When they enter, Brod and Focal are sitting cross-legged on one of the bunks, sabacc cards strewn between them. Brod greets both of them with a cheer, while Focal turns and winks at Warp.

“Hey,” Dust mumbles. “Uh, do you mind if we –”

He gestures vaguely toward his bunk with the hand that’s holding Warp’s. Focal immediately perks up and stands.

“Come on,” he says to Brod, “let’s give the kids some space.”

Brod hums in agreement and helps him gather up the cards. Before they move out, Focal turns to Dust again.

“You know where I keep my slick and plasts, right?”

Dust nods. Warp wants to sink through the floor. Somehow this is worse than the teasing. But maybe it’s just because he knows Dash and Kyren better.

“Oya,” Focal exclaims with a smile.

He claps Dust on the shoulder before following Brod out the door.

Warp helps Dust with his armour again and waits while Dust stacks it the way he wants it. They strip down to their underwear silently, standing a little apart from each other. And then Warp takes a deep breath and lets himself look.

And kriff – Warp knows Dust is big. He’s touched him enough through his blacks to know the shapes of his body by heart. But this – this is different. Dust’s smooth, brown skin is striped with stretch marks and subtle scarring from the injuries he’s survived. His arms and his thighs are thicker than those of any other clone Warp has ever seen naked. Dust’s pectorals are so round his nipples almost point downward, and Warp is itching to touch, to taste –

He doesn’t know what Dust sees when he looks back at Warp. As far as Warp is concerned, he isn’t much to look at. But Dust’s eyes still linger on his body, his mouth falling open. Then he crosses the floor and pulls Warp in for a deep, desperate kiss. Their bodies press together, and Dust’s bare skin is warmer than Warp thought possible. He radiates heat to an almost shocking degree.

Damage to the heat shields is one of the most common thruster malfunctions in the field, and therefore a recurring theme in the training scenarios all scouts must complete. For a brief moment, there’s an unexpected warning signal going off in Warp’s head. He almost laughs at his own reaction, which prompts a curious look from Dust. Warp immediately leans back in and kisses it from his face.

His lips travel from Dust’s mouth to his jawline to the base of his neck. He sucks at the skin above Dust’s collarbone, and then he can’t resist baring his teeth and biting lightly into Dust’s shoulder. Dust draws a sharp breath and tightens his hold on Warp’s back.

Between the heat of Dust’s skin and the way his firm shoulders feel under Warp’s groping hands and greedy mouth, it isn’t long before Warp struggles to breathe. He feels lightheaded and weak – like he should probably sit down. So he starts pulling Dust with him toward Dust’s bunk.

He flops down on the edge of it and keeps pulling at Dust, wanting him closer, needing the press of Dust’s body against his own to keep him from floating away. But instead of climbing onto the bunk, Dust kneels in front of him. He shuffles in between Warp’s knees and looks up at him, stroking Warp’s thighs gently with careful hands. Slowly, he slides them upward, until his fingertips rest on the waistband of Warp’s underwear.

“Can I –?” he whispers.

Warp’s breath stutters.

“You – You can do whatever you want!” he gets out. “Please, Dust, just touch me before I lose my mind!”

Dust bends down and presses a kiss to the inside of his knee. Then he hooks his fingers in Warp’s waistband and pulls. Warp sits there uselessly for a moment, before he gets himself together and helps Dust out with an awkward wiggle of his hips. He can’t keep from groaning when his cock springs free, bobbing rock-hard in front of Dust’s face. He stares down at himself as a bead of precum bubbles up from the slit at the tip and makes a trail all the way down his shaft. When he looks at Dust, he sees that Dust is staring at it too.

Dust’s eyes flicker upward to Warp’s face for the briefest of moments, and then he leans forward and licks at the wet trail, following it with his tongue all the way back up to the tip. Warp’s entire body jerks forward, and he only manages to stop himself at the last moment from thrusting his dick straight into Dust’s face. He grips the edge of the mattress tightly.

“S– Sorry,” he pants.

Dust looks up at him again with heavy-lidded eyes. Very carefully, he takes the head of Warp’s cock between his lips. He doesn’t suck on it – just flattens his tongue against the underside and shifts it in small, wet movements. Warp moans and lets his eyes fall shut.

Dust keeps the pressure light when he eases his lips down Warp’s shaft. His hands on Warp’s thighs are equally tender as he slowly takes Warp into his mouth, showing more patience than Warp has ever done in his life. It makes Warp’s chest go tight with warm feelings and his stomach clench with need. And it’s torture. Dust’s mouth feels incredible, and Warp reaches out blindly to grab his hair, make him go faster –

His eyes snap open when his hand lands on smooth skin instead of the curls he’s used to. He ends up awkwardly patting Dust on his shaved head, because he needs to do something with his hand now that it’s there. Dust looks up at him questioningly, and Warp is caught in the depths of his soft, dark eyes. And that’s all he needs. He comes without warning, jerking and spilling pulse after pulse on Dust’s tongue. Dust’s eyes roll back in his head. He surges forward and sucks harder, and Warp lets out a broken curse.

“Sorry,” he hisses as soon as he’s got his voice somewhat under control again.

Dust just groans and keeps sucking, until Warp’s thighs are shaking so hard he can’t feel the floor under his feet. At that point, Dust helps him lie down on the bunk and covers him carefully with his body.

“Good?” he whispers, dragging his own erection not too discreetly against Warp’s thigh.

Warp pulls him in for a sloppy kiss.

“Karking amazing,” he mumbles, before he finally takes Dust’s hot, hard length in his shivering hand.

The sex, like most things, improves with practice. And, oh, they make sure to practice.

Warp gets better at not coming within the first minute of Dust putting his mouth on him. As for Dust, he’s perfectly happy as long as he gets to swallow, and that takes some of the pressure off as well.

Dash and Kyren never quite stop teasing them.

“I’m so glad you two met,” Kyren tells Dust one evening, a devious smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t think there was anything that could wear Warp out, but now that you’re kriffing him all the time, we finally don’t have to deal with him always rambling or finding new ways to break his own neck. He’s so calm now.”

“He tried to free climb the hangar wall once,” Dash adds helpfully. “That was the same week we first saw you.”

Dust puts his arms around Warp from behind and kisses the spot on his neck where his tattoo starts.

“Di’kut.”

They’re not wrong about him. Warp can admit that much, at least to himself. He’s sleeping better than he has since they left Kamino. His logical reasoning score is above average for the first time in his life. And Taiga has finally warmed up to him, even if Paws may be a lost cause.

But it isn’t so much about the sex, Warp thinks, as it is about Dust’s presence in his life in general. Dash and Kyren aren’t exactly a picture of serenity themselves. The three of them have always seemed to feed off each other’s energy. With Dust, it’s different. He makes Warp feel at peace in a way he’d never thought possible. Sure, sometimes Warp still needs to blow off steam by talking about everything that pops into his head, or by sucking Dust’s cock until his jaw is cramping or riding his fingers until he comes untouched. But often enough, he’s happy to just exist with Dust in their own little world.

Then Dust gets deployed without him. Warp has known since day one that Dust and his squadmates are only one step away from Captain Rex’s personal elite squad, but the news that Torrent Company is about to deploy on its own still hits him like a shock bolt. At lunch the first day, he can’t even look at Arrow Squad’s empty table. Despite Kyren’s attempts to lift his spirits, he ends up letting Dash finish his meal for him.

When Arrow Squad returns, they’re two troopers short. Warp thinks he should perhaps feel more guilt over his happiness that Dust isn’t among the ones missing. He’s not entirely sure what he should be doing in this situation, but Dust’s remaining squadmates seem to have it under control, so Warp simply tries his hardest to give Dust space.

A week passes before they have sex again. Warp politely ignores the tell-tale signs that Dust shares Focal’s bunk during the sleep cycles.

They get another two weeks together before every trooper on the Resolute is deployed into battle again.

It gets harder every time to be apart from each other. Warp has heard the same cautionary lectures on personal relationships as everyone else, and chosen to ignore them just as much as everyone else. He has no regrets, but he does understand it better now – especially the part about getting close to someone in another unit. Warp has transferred half of his heart to someone who will always fight half a battlefield away from him.

There was a time when he didn’t think he could love anything more than the feeling of soaring across a landscape on a 74-Z at top speed. The way his adrenaline starts pumping when the transport approaches the ground, when the red light switches to green and he counts to three before disengaging the mag clamps just as the hatch opens. When he’s out, soaring free, breathing through the pressure of acceleration, dodging whatever obstacles the landscape tries and fails to put in his path. He knows it’s dangerous. Kriff, what in their lives isn’t? But there’s also joy – and his joy has always been greater than his fear.

But now – if he had to give it all up just to know that Dust is safe, the choice couldn’t be easier. He’d choose Dust's soft eyes and rumbling laugh and caring, gentle demeanour over everything else the galaxy has to offer.

The battle lasts four rotations. In theory, it’s as straightforward as a battle can be. Thousands of troopers on one side, thousands of clankers on the other. But everything is slowed down by the harsh terrain and weather conditions. The woodland is hot and humid, and when the rain starts to fall, it’s acidic enough that the green and brown paint on Warp’s armour begins to flake.

Heron Squad is one of the ARF squads tasked with cutting off enemy reinforcements. On the first day, Warp’s AT-RT is shot down under him, and he has to crawl out of the wreckage and return to the staging area on his feet. He gets bacta for his burns, is issued a new AT-RT, and returns to the same area on the following day. If it were up to him, he’d be supporting the front line where Arrow Squad is. Where Dust is. But those are not his orders.

Fortunately, the acid rain proves to be just as much of a problem for the clankers. When the pale sun rises over their camp on Corvus for the fifth time, they pack up and return to the Resolute victorious.

They’re still exhausted by the end of the day, but it doesn’t stop them from making love in Dust’s bunk, surrounded by the soft sounds of similarly intimate activities. They work slick fingers into each other’s bodies like they’ve done a dozen times before, until Warp rolls Dust onto his back and hovers above him. Dust’s eyes widen before he pulls his knees up to his chest and nods desperately. Warp lines himself up, presses the tip of his cock to Dust’s slick rim, and then he’s inside, tight heat engulfing him. He rocks his hips on instinct and comes with a loud gasp before he’s even halfway inside, but Dust pulls him close and kisses him as if he’s pulled off his most incredible stunt yet.

As far as orgasms go, it’s a weak one, not even enough to make Warp go soft afterward. He keeps thrusting experimentally, rocking deeper into Dust’s body, spurred on by Dust’s rough moans. Dust has never been this loud before. And it’s Warp who draws those sounds from him – it’s Warp inside him. Warp is inside Dust.

He never imagined it would be so easy. If he’d known, he’d have done this weeks ago.

He stares down at the point in space where their bodies meet, watches himself slide in and out, captivated by the pull of Dust’s rim around him. Dust’s hand is on his own cock now, stroking it in time with Warp’s thrusts. If Warp could come again this soon, he’s not sure he’d survive it. But eventually, overstimulation gets too much, and he pulls out and looks down at Dust for a moment, shaky and out of breath, before getting another idea.

He gently brings Dust’s legs back down onto the mattress and straddles his hips. Finding the tube of slick, he drizzles a hefty amount into his hand and coats Dust’s cock with it. Dust moves his own hand out of the way. When he looks up at Warp, his expression is filled with such awe and adoration that Warp has to lower his eyes. He’s proud to note that his hands are only trembling a little when he touches the blunt head of Dust’s cock to his rim.

It stings at first, just like Dust’s fingers still do sometimes when he puts two of them inside Warp at the same time. But once the pain fades, there’s only pressure and fullness, and a pleasure so new and intense that Warp immediately is out of breath again. He rolls his hips, taking another inch of Dust’s unyielding length, making another flare of that glorious sensation light up inside him. He catches himself gasping Dust’s name, and then Dust’s hands are on his hips, stroking him and steadying him.

He comes a second time on Dust’s cock. Dust follows him straight over the edge as Warp clenches around him, shaking and sobbing, feeling utterly overwhelmed and invincible at the same time.

He falls asleep on top of Dust and stays there until the shift alarm goes off the next day.

Appo still doesn’t write him up.

When Warp is called in for his six-month health check-up, he can hardly believe it. He’s no longer among the youngest troopers in the GAR. It’s been six months since he left Kamino – since he became an ARF trooper in Heron Squad of the 501st Battalion. And it’s been four months since he first got to know Dust.

It feels like an eternity ago that he first met Dust’s eyes in the mess hall, having drawn his attention by being his usual chaotic self and annoying the crap out of his own squadmates in the process.

He tells Dust as much that evening, when they’re curled up together in a corner of one of the common rooms. There’s a holovid running, but neither of them has been paying attention to the story for some time now. Warp is gently scratching the back of Dust’s neck, avoiding a rather large purple mark from last night, while Dust plays with Warp’s slightly too long curls.

“There was a debate on whether I’d be allowed to see you at all,” Dust says with a smile. “Appo wasn’t impressed. But Focal, Brod, and Siles convinced him not to be such a – Well, you know.”

Warp snorts.

“He’s grown fond of you,” Dust adds softly. “Unlike me. I still think you’re a di’kut.”

Warp laughs out loud this time, prompting a hush from someone who’s clearly still invested in the holovid.

“You never thought I was a di’kut,” he protests more quietly.

Dust grins.

“Only in the best of ways.”

He presses a kiss to Warp’s temple.

“Hey,” he whispers. “I love you.”

Every gear in Warp’s head grinds to a halt. He blinks a few times, fingers resting motionless against Dust’s neck.

“I love you too,” he says slowly at length, not quite managing to erase his frown from his face. “You – You knew that, right? Should I have told you sooner? Kriff, Dust, I –”

Dust stops him with an open-mouthed kiss. Warp seals his hand to Dust’s neck and deepens it in record time, moving his tongue against Dust’s, slipping into the rhythm that’s become as natural as breathing. When they part, Dust gives him one of those soft smiles that make Warp feel like he’s accelerating.

“Yeah, I knew,” he whispers, stroking Warp’s hair. “Of course I knew.”

When their next deployment is announced, it’s not the usual in-and-out mission. Heron and Arrow Squad are both about to get stationed on Sullust. The preliminary plan has them remaining planet-side anywhere between three and five weeks. It’s going to be the longest time Warp has ever spent on a planet other than Kamino.

Their temporary home is far from ideal. Warp misses the comfort of the Resolute’s barracks – his spacious bunk, the water showers, the life support that’s perfectly tailored to suit the needs of its human users. On Sullust, the weather is either too dry or too wet – and always, always too hot. But they’re all located in the same camp, and for the most part, they’re allowed to move freely inside it, which means that Warp can see Dust almost every rotation, if only during the few minutes when their schedules align.

His nightly recon missions take him far across the planet’s surface – from plains crisscrossed by seething lava rivers to hills surrounding tranquil, temperate lakes. He tells Dust about everything he’s seen while Dust wolfs down his breakfast ration and squints against the sunrise, before he heads back to his tent to catch a few hours of sleep.

Halfway through the third week, just before dawn, they get confirmation that the Separatists have been pushed back. One last full-scale offensive and they’ll all get to go home early. Warp shares an elated hug with Dash and Kyren and kisses both of them. Taiga pulls him close and reminds him to stay focused, but his voice betrays his own relief – as do his actions when he finally gets his arms around Paws.

When Dust wakes up, Warp runs into his arms and kisses him too. He almost kisses Focal on the mouth while he’s at it, but settles for a quick peck on his cheek. When he pulls away, he sees his own smile reflected in that of Dust’s favourite squadmate.

They’re almost there.

They’ll be alright.

Dust awakes slowly to a low-pitched thrumming sound. He knows he recognises it, but it takes him some time before he can place it.

It’s a medical droid. He’s in a medbay.

When did he get here?

Maybe he never left. He knows there was an explosion on the same day he joined Arrow Squad. Maybe everything that happened afterward was a dream.

But no.

It can’t be, because –

Because that would mean Warp isn’t real.

Dust opens his eyes.

He’s in a medbay, alright. The glaring overhead lights are unmistakable, and now he can also recognise the smell of bacta and the short-sleeved gown that leaves his arms bare even though the air is far too cold. The droid next to him chirps.

“You have regained consciousness,” it announces. “Your assigned medic will be present shortly.”

Dust closes his eyes again and drifts away while he waits.

When he opens them again, it’s to the sight of a brother in a white uniform. Dust doesn’t recognise him.

“Cee-Tee-Six-Four-Six-Eight,” the medic reads from the datapad in his hand. “If you would tell me your name, please?”

“D– Dust,” Dust mumbles, and finds that it’s surprisingly easy to talk.

His throat doesn’t hurt the way it’s done in the past after he’s been intubated during bacta immersion.

“Thank you, Dust,” the medic says. “And how are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Dust answers truthfully. “Numb.”

The medic asks him a few more questions. Dust recognises most of them and answers each one to the best of his ability, though he’s a little too out of it to determine if he’s doing a good job.

“What happened?” he asks quietly when the questions have finally stopped coming.

The medic spends another moment focused on his pad. Then he turns back to Dust.

“You had an accident during our last battle against the Separatist forces on Sullust. You handled a detonator that went off while you were still in the blast zone, and you were struck by debris. Does any of this sound familiar?”

Dust repeats the medic’s words in his head, trying to form an image that might jog his memory. There were rocks and smoke – jagged cliffs and dark, molten rock. Green water, but no vegetation, and the sun was –

The sun was very bright, but the shadows were very long. He’d kept switching his HUD between anti-glare and twilight mode. He had two charges left. He was about to – No, they were –

“Brod!” he says with a gasp. “Did Brod make it?”

The medic’s face remains far too neutral for Dust’s comfort.

“Brod was your squadmate who set the charges with you?”

“Yes,” Dust whispers.

“Then he made it,” the medic says, smiling faintly for the first time. “No members of your squad were critically injured during the campaign.”

Dust closes his eyes in relief. But the moment he can’t see the room anymore, the cot starts tilting and rotating under him, like it’s a sentient creature trying to dislodge him from its back. He opens his eyes again after only a few seconds. The room steadies again.

“Can I see the casualty list?” he asks. “There’s – I need –”

“I’m sorry,” the medic sighs, “I’m not at liberty to give you access to the full list. But if it’s just one or two names, I can look them up for you.”

“Warp,” Dust says immediately, his breath hitching.

The medic shifts the bag by his side and produces another pad from it.

“His number, please?”

“Nine-Five-Five-Seven,” Dust gets out so quickly he almost stumbles on the words. “He’s ARF.”

The medic hums softly while he inputs the data.

“Ah,” he says at last. “Nine-Five-Five-Seven, Warp that is, reported in without incident.”

Dust has seen brothers cry with relief on more than one occasion, but until now, he’s never felt the impulse to do so himself. He blinks hard and swallows.

“Now,” the medic says, shifting back to the first datapad, “let’s talk about you, Dust. When your squad medic examined you after the explosion, you were already unconscious. No head trauma, but you’d lost a lot of blood. You had a foreign object lodged in your body, entry point between your right thigh plate and your codpiece. Your medic identified it as a piece of metal from the hull of the tank that exploded. He chose to keep you sedated to make sure you wouldn’t start thrashing around and worsen your injury. That’s why you can’t remember anything from the time after the accident.”

The medic pauses, and Dust takes a moment to process the information.

“How long was I out?” he asks eventually.

“You spent one rotation sedated on Sullust, followed by one cycle here on the ship. The treatment of your injury had to be done in several steps, which took some time. To stop the bleeding, your medic chose to seal the damaged tissue around the foreign object, rather than risk removing it in the field. The removal was done later, in the camp on Sullust. And once you were back here with us on the Resolute, you went into reconstructive surgery. A surgical droid and a real surgeon operated on you to wire your muscles and nerves back together.”

Dust frowns.

“No bacta?”

The medic looks confused for a moment. Then he shakes his head.

“You were never immersed in bacta, no. You’ve only received local treatments – that’s bacta injections and patches. While bacta is good for many things, it can only be used to speed up your body’s natural healing process. It can’t tell which parts are supposed to go together. With damage as extensive as this, it was necessary to first put everything in order – manually, as it were.”

Dust nods slowly. That makes sense, he supposes.

The medic’s pad chimes softly.

“Ah,” he exclaims, shooting Dust a brief smile. “That’s an approval on your transfer to the regular ward. An assistant will move you within the hour, and your sergeant will be informed as well.”

He steps closer and puts a hand on Dust’s shoulder in what would surely have been a hearty clap, had Dust not been lying wounded on his back. As it is, Dust gets a gentle squeeze.

“You pulled through, Dust,” the medic says, his voice noticeably warmer than before. “Oya.”

“Oya,” Dust repeats with a yawn.

When Dust wakes up again, he’s already been moved. The new section of the medical wing is structurally identical to the one he left, but the room is no longer crowded with machines and equipment. Several of his brothers in the cots around him are in fact sitting up on their own and having a meal. Dust suddenly finds himself famished.

Slowly, he wiggles himself into a half-sitting position. He pulls at the blanket covering him until it comes loose and he can look down at his feet. He curls and uncurls his toes, then rotates his ankles. After that, he tries bending his knees a little. His right hamstring is weaker than his left, but other than that, both his legs feel the same. Everything seems to work the way it should.

With one exception.

His nether regions still feel numb. From his pubic bone to the inside of this right thigh, there’s a tingling sensation that flares up every time he disturbs the blanket, as if there are electric currents crawling under his skin. It’s where he was injured, he reminds himself. He’s never received a local nerve block this thorough – neither of his bacta immersions was followed by any residual pain to speak of – but his squadmates have talked about them.

They were right that it’s not a pleasant feeling. Still, he can imagine it’s preferable to the pain.

He keeps wiggling his toes while looking around for a medic or an assistant, in the hopes that it’s not too late to receive one of those meal trays. He doesn’t want to be a bother if he can help it, but he really is hungry. After a few minutes without any luck, he gives in and presses the comm button on the side of his cot.

The medic who appears is another softshell in a standard white uniform. Dust gives him his name and answers his questions and almost forgets about the food again. The medic laughs when Dust finally gets around to asking about it.

“I’ve actually got quite a bit of information to fill you in on,” he says. “Would you mind listening while you eat?”

Dust shakes his head.

The food appears a few minutes later. It’s some kind of potato mash with little pieces of green in it, topped with a classic pile of the GAR’s own protein-enhanced salthia beans. On a normal day, Dust is fairly sure he’d find it disappointingly bland. Right now, it’s a feast.

The medic checks his datapad while Dust digs in.

“Alright,” he says after a while. “You’ve received a preliminary rehab regimen for the next four weeks. It starts from your first shift after you’re discharged, but you should be able to access the file already. You’ll have weekly check-ups, and you’ll also receive booster injections to speed up the process. In the beginning, you’re going to notice that your right leg is weaker than before. But if you follow the instructions – and I know you will, Dust – then you’ll be back in full capacity when those four weeks are over.”

He gives Dust an encouraging smile before he continues to check Dust’s file.

“Ah, and it says here you’ve got an implant now.”

Dust stops chewing.

“Hm?” he gets out.

“You’ve got what’s called a CUS. That’s a cybernetic urinary sphincter. It’s a fully automated model that responds to your body’s signals just like the real deal. But it hasn’t been calibrated yet, so you’re going to have to stay here until the calibrations are done. After that, you won’t even notice it.”

Dust doesn’t know what to do with this information. He lowers his eyes and puts another forkful of potato in his mouth. The medic taps a slow rhythm on the back of his pad.

“Any questions so far?” he asks.

Dust quickly swallows the bite.

“My squad,” he gets out. “They know I’m alright?”

“Yes,” the medic confirms with a smile. “Your sergeant has been informed of your progress. In fact, I think you may have a visit to look forward to.”

Dust stabs the last few salthia beans with his fork. A droid takes the empty tray from him as soon as he’s done, leaving him to wonder where it came from. He pushes the question out of his mind and turns to the medic again.

“There’s, uh – There’s someone–”

“Let me guess,” the medic says, “You have someone special in another squad, and you’re wondering if he can visit too?”

Dust nods, trying to fight the stupid grin that’s suddenly about to break out on his face.

“Wasn’t a fair game,” the medic confesses. “Your critical care medic made a note of it. Warp, eh? Nice name.”

Dust gives up and lets himself smile like a di’kut.

“As long as everyone behaves, there’s no reason not to allow you visitors,” the medic says. “We’re really just waiting for your CUS to get calibrated. You’re off the meds, and everything looks good so far.”

Dust blinks a little.

“What about the nerve block?” he asks.

“The nerve block?” the medic repeats, frowning. “There’s nothing in your file –”

He trails off as he checks his pad again. Dust licks his lips.

“Oh,” he says. “Uh, I just assumed –”

He falters. The medic looks back up at him.

“Can you describe what it is you’re feeling?” he asks gently.

Dust describes the numbness and the incessant electric tingling, gesturing vaguely at his groin. When he looks up again, the medic’s face is stricken with sympathy. Something cold travels up the back of Dust’s neck and tears into his flesh like claws.

“I’m sorry, Dust,” the medic says slowly. “I truly am. But – I think this is how it’s going to be for now. The surgeon couldn’t repair all the damage. Nerves can regrow and reconnect themselves, given time. It’s most likely going to get better. But there’s no way of telling how much better.”

“So, I can’t –”

Dust looks down at himself.

“I can’t –” he repeats uselessly.

The medic shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Look. I’m just a medic. I’m not a real doctor, not like the nat born ones. None of us are. All I can say is, you might be able to do most of the things you used to do. It’s just going to be – different.”

He clutches the pad in his hands, looking just as lost as Dust feels.

“Tell you what,” he says at last, “I’ll check the medical database, see what we have on injuries like yours. And then I’ll give you access to whatever I can find. Is that – Would that help?”

Dust isn’t sure what he answers – if he answers. It all blurs together.

Dust’s first visitors arrive as soon as their shift is over. Judging by the time, they must have gone straight to the medical wing from whatever their last assignment was.

Appo enters first, followed by Focal. The latter looks like he’s struggling not to bounce on his heels once he’s come to a stop next to Dust’s cot. Appo clasps his hands together.

“How are you feeling, trooper?”

Dust carefully schools his face into the blank expression drilled into him since the day he was issued his first practice blaster.

“Good, sir,” he lies.

Appo doesn’t question him further.

“I’m glad you’re still with us,” he says warmly. “I’m very proud of you, Dust. You handled yourself admirably throughout our time on Sullust.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Dust doesn’t think he did any better or worse than usual. He always tries his hardest to stay focused in the field and to take proper care of himself during downtime, just like he’s been trained to. But his sergeant is satisfied with his performance, and that’s all that matters.

Appo nods at him and steps to the side, allowing Focal to pass. Focal, in turn, sits down on the side of Dust’s cot and takes Dust’s hand in his own.

“We’re all very happy, vod’ika,” he says softly. “It was touch and go there for a while.”

He squeezes Dust’s hand tightly before lifting it and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. After a moment, he reaches out and strokes Dust’s cheek as well, but his hand stills as he studies Dust’s face.

“What’s wrong, my vod’ika?”

Dust swallows hard and shakes his head. He can’t do this. Not now.

He whips his head around at the sound of boots rapidly hitting the floor.

“No running!” a muffled voice calls from somewhere down the hallway.

Focal jumps off of the cot with a lopsided smile that almost, but not quite, masks his worry.

“Come on, sir,” he says to Appo. “Our time’s up.”

In the next moment, Warp enters the room. Dust looks him up and down. His armour is still covered in the grey and black paint he wore on Sullust. He looks like he’s about to vibrate out of it just from waiting for Focal and Appo to vacate the space next to Dust’s cot. Once they’ve backed away, it’s only seconds before Dust finds himself with an armful of scout.

Warp presses himself to Dust’s chest and shoves his face into his neck. He snakes an arm under Dust’s shoulder and hugs him in silence for so long he almost has Dust worried. But then he pulls back, nuzzles his nose against Dust’s, and sniffles.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

He sits up and runs his hands carefully over Dust’s chest and arms, as if checking that he didn’t bruise him with his armour. Dust can’t do anything but look at him. His wide eyes, the little crease between his eyebrows – the cracked, swollen part of his lower lip where he must have chewed it raw with worry.

“You’re going to need another stripe,” Warp whispers and presses a kiss to the two red lines on the side of Dust’s head.

Dust ducks his head, but allows Warp to lift his chin a moment later and press their lips together.

“I missed you,” Warp says.

His voice is hoarse. He keeps touching Dust’s face as if he needs to make sure that Dust really is there – and that he won’t suddenly disperse into atoms. Dust feels a little worried himself.

“Stay,” he mumbles. “Talk to me.”

Warp tilts his head.

“What do you want to hear about?”

“Anything. Just wanna hear your voice.”

Warp swallows.

“The, uh – The new speeder model –” he begins haltingly.

Dust nods and summons the most encouraging smile he can manage.

“The GAR signed a new contract with Aratech,” Warp says softly. “So, we’ll be getting their new model, after all. But they’re making another change to the stabilisers, I think. So there’ll be – four main upgrades from the Four-Zed, instead of three. The first one is –”

Later, when Warp has been chased out by the medical staff, Dust lies back and centres himself. When he feels sufficiently calm, he slowly lifts his blanket and slides a hand underneath it. He places it on his stomach and keeps it there for a minute, feeling his lungs inflate and deflate. Then, even more slowly, he slides it further down, until his fingers reach the area where everything feels different from before. He continues downward until his fingers meet the edge of a dried-up bacta patch. It’s large and bulky and doesn’t itch like it’s supposed to. Dust yanks his hand away and puts it back by his side on top of the blanket.

After three near-death experiences, Dust should be used to getting poked and prodded by medics and medical droids. But the calibration of his new implant has him struggling for all that he’s worth to stay calm. He watches the medic remove his catheter – registers the hand on his skin, but not the tube moving, and the lack of discomfort is suddenly devastating. He closes his eyes after that and tries to ignore the rest of the process. He focuses on his breathing, on containing the anxiety swelling in the pit of his stomach, even when it feels like it’s burning a hole straight through him.

He wants to push the medic away from him and slam the assisting droid into the durasteel.

He breathes and remains still.

He’s discharged the following day and makes his way back to Arrow Squad’s berthing with Focal supporting his weak side. His entire squad is there to greet him. Dust can’t help but smile when they give him a silent cheer, tapping the backs of their hands together in front of their chests. When he looks around, he finds that his armour is on its rack, all cleaned up and polished.

Like most of the 501st, Arrow Squad is on half-shifts. With the victory on Sullust and their last squadmate joining them again, the mood is nothing short of festive. It’s only minutes before Warp, Dash, and Kyren show up as well. Appo ushers the entire group out of the berthing and into one of the common rooms, where Siles gets a sabacc tournament started. Dust and Warp opt out in favour of lying down together on one of the corner sofas.

After a little experimenting, Dust finds that he’s still the most comfortable on his back. He stretches out with his head on one armrest, and Warp slots himself into his good side. He rests his head on Dust’s shoulder for a minute, before propping himself up on his elbow.

“Too loud?” he asks quietly, nodding toward the nearest group of sabacc players.

Dust shakes his head. Warp sighs and cups his cheek.

“When are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, cyar’ika?”

Dust brings him closer and kisses his forehead, his nose, his lips – futile attempts to buy himself time.

“I want to tell you,” he whispers. “It’s just – hard.”

Warp gives him a gentle kiss in return.

“Do you want to go back to the berthing?”

Dust closes his eyes and nods.

They curl up on Dust’s bunk much in the same way they did on the couch. Dust places a hand on his stomach and slides it down until it reaches the area where the pressure of his fingers starts to feel wrong.

“Here –” he says, moving his hand down his side to the part of his thigh where his own touch begins to feel less jarring again, “– to here.”

He swallows.

“It’s different.”

“Different how?” Warp asks very quietly.

Dust fights the impulse to try to cover himself with his hand, wishing he’d thought to peel back his blanket instead of lying down on top of it.

“I have nerve damage,” he says at last, spitting the words out as if they might burn his tongue. “Medic said it might get better. Or it might not. Point is, I – I can’t feel – At least not like I used to. So – yeah. I’m all kriffed up now. I’m sorry.”

Warp sits up abruptly and stares down at him with wild eyes.

“Don’t you dare,” he breathes. “Don’t you fucking dare. I love you! Don’t you dare apologise for being here and alive. I found out about the accident when I came back from patrol. I thought you were dead! I thought you’d – you’d just marched away while I was out there, away from you. My first instinct was to take right back off and run my speeder into the nearest wall of rock. Dash and Kyren knew what I was thinking, of course they did. They wrestled me to the ground and sat on me until I promised I wasn’t gonna do anything stupid. And then – I heard you were alive, and – and you were gonna make it. And that was the best thing that ever happened to me. Don’t you dare make light of that, ever.”

Dust stares back at him.

“Why would you –” he whispers brokenly, before he draws another breath and his voice turns frantic. “I don’t want you to do that! Warp, you have to promise me you’ll never do that! Promise me you’ll never hurt yourself. Promise me.”

His voice breaks into a sob.

“I love you,” he whispers, before he finally pulls Warp in for a clumsy kiss.

When Warp sits back up again, his face is stained with both Dust’s tears and his own.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, wiping away another tear as it trails down his cheek. “But the point is – I’m gonna spend every last shitty moment of this war right beside you. Because – Because you’re everything, Dust. I don’t give a karking fuck if you lose both your legs and get assigned to vent scrubbing for the rest of your life. I love you. I’m always going to love you.”

Both of them jump when there’s a soft knock on the door and Focal sticks his head inside.

“Sorry to interrupt, but uh, Captain Rex came by to trade a few words with Appo. There’s something he’d like to say to you, Dust, if you’re up for it.”

Dust quickly wipes at his face and tries to regain his composure while Warp helps him sit up.

“What does he want, exactly?” Warp asks anxiously.

Dust must look as mortified as Warp sounds – though in his case, he’s more startled by being caught in his present state than he’s bothered by the idea of seeing the Captain. Focal gives them both a reassuring smile.

“Dust did a good job on Sullust,” he tells Warp. “The Captain just wants to say so and wish him well.”

Dust suddenly remembers that Warp has never really met Captain Rex. And the Captain has never met Warp.

“Can Warp come too?” he asks.

Focal raises both his eyebrows in surprise. Then his smile broadens, and his shoulders start to tremble minutely. He stares down at the toes of his boots as if trying desperately to maintain his composure.

“Yes,” he says finally, breaking into laughter, “Warp can come too.”

Warp’s back is so arched it looks like he’s about to break in two. He’s straddled across Dust, writhing on his fingers, gasping with every stroke and moaning desperately when Dust presses into the sensitive gland inside him.

For now, at this moment in time, it’s just the two of them. The berthing is empty – Dust being the only one left behind while Arrow Squad is off on some mind-numbing escort mission with the rest of Torrent. He’s never been happier about a twisted ankle in his life.

“I’m ready,” Warp breathes.

He makes a stuttering whine when Dust curls his fingers again.

“Fuck, Dust, I said I’m ready!”

“The hell you are,” Dust murmurs softly. “You know I’ve gotta make you come first, or you’re never gonna last.”

“Then make me come.”

Dust carefully slides his fingers out of Warp’s wet hole and wipes them off on the towel next to his pillow. Then he pushes Warp off of himself and gets to his knees, scoops Warp up in his arms, and drops him unceremoniously on his back in the middle of the bunk. If Warp had any objections to being thrown around like a dead weight, there’s no chance in hell Dust would be fast enough to even grab him in the first place. But Warp just stares up at him, mouth open and pupils blown – waiting for more.

Dust bears down on Warp’s hips, trapping him under his weight, and sucks Warp’s leaking cock into his mouth in one smooth motion. He presses down harder when Warp instinctively bucks up, and gets a broken whine in return.

“Gonna make you come so hard after this,” Warp pants, his voice so harsh it sounds like he’s making a threat rather than a promise. “Gonna touch you just the way you like it, cyar’ika. Gonna make you – make you come so hard it’ll – it’ll register on the ship’s sensors –”

To Dust’s great satisfaction, those are the last coherent sentences to come out of Warp’s mouth. Within the next few seconds, he’s whimpering and trembling under Dust’s weight. Soon enough, he starts to shake and spasm, until he can’t hold back any longer and the thick spurts of his climax spread across Dust’s tongue. Dust swallows Warp’s load like he’s been starving for it – like Warp hasn’t been giving him this over and over for close to a year now.

He eases off of Warp’s thighs and strokes him slowly now, milking out the last few beads of cum and lapping them up.

“Alright,” he breathes at last. “Yeah. I think you’re ready.”

He gets to his feet and holds his hand out.

“Come on, cyare. Let’s go see Fives.”