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The Stark Raven	By : laloga13 Category: Star Wars (All) > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1897 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 1-The Stark Raven
- 1
The Stark Raven

I think civilian life is going to agree with me.

The first time Traxis had kissed Ares, a Twi'lek bounty hunter, was within the first hand-span of days that followed Order 66 and the fall of the Republic. It could have been passed off as an accidental brushing of lips as they hurtled through a spot of turbulence in their destination's atmosphere, the planet Basrah, which was often plagued with dangerous ion storms.

In retrospect, that first kiss aboard the Twi'lek's ship, the Stark Raven had happened perhaps too quickly. At the time, the clone felt that both of them knew the truth, which was that neither had cared to delay the inevitable result of a mutual attraction, and though Traxis realized that he didn't regret his hasty actions, he had to admit he was somewhat at a loss as to how to take things from the nebulous there to...well, whatever came next. Whatever was supposed to happen now.

After Trax's family, a motley crew of Jedi and clones of varying ages, returned to the Altisian Jedi's ship, the Chu'unthor, everyone went their own ways, most of which led to cabins and beds, as if to sleep off the trauma before they attempted to take stock of their shattered lives to try and figure out what was left.

Once he'd ensured that his younger brothers were fed and taken care of, Trax cleaned himself up and then made his way to the hangar of the Chu'unthor, searching for the coral-skinned Twi'lek in order to thank him – with actual words this time, not his mouth, no matter how much he wanted a repeat of that night over Basrah – for his assistance in the hectic days following the collapse of the galaxy.

It was the polite thing to do, really. Not that Trax had ever been overly concerned with his manners, but Ares had helped save his family, after all, which was no small feat in the scarred clone's eyes.

The Stark Raven, a medium-sized, oblong transport was at the farthest corner of the Chu'unthor's hangar, set quite a ways from the main body of the ship, and he could make out a familiar, lithe figure bent over some open panel on the top. If he listened, Trax could hear the soft clink of tools against metal, and an inhale brought him the acrid scent of the kind of grease that always accompanied anything having to do with a starship.

A strange, fluttering feeling began in Traxis' stomach as he approached Ares, but he took a breath and kept it at bay, telling himself to snap out of his nerves and act like a man, for kriff's sake. His feet increased their pace; before he knew it he was standing at the base of the craft, looking up at Ares' position – precariously balanced on one side of the vessel, legs splayed between an escape pod and a gunwell – and frowning over some mechanical thing or another.

Unseen, Trax observed the Twi'lek for a moment. Before Ares, he'd encountered few non-clones in his life that he'd been attracted to, but the coral-skinned Twi'lek was the first he'd felt such a draw towards, like his body was caught in a tractor-beam, pulling him inexorably towards the other male. Idly, the thought occurred to him that the attraction could – possibly – be more than what he was thinking, but he brushed the idea away as being overly sentimental.

Besides, he wasn't great with relationship-stuff. Trax felt that it was better to take your pleasure while you could than hope for anything long-term, and he figured that Ares – a self-proclaimed wanderer – would be of a similar mindset.

Anyway, whatever it was between them was far too new to consider such matters.

“Are you busy?” Trax winced at his own words. Why, for kriff's sake, did he say such stupid things around the Twi'lek? It was if his shabla brain took a sadistic delight in making Trax sound like a nerf-herder when he wanted nothing more than to speak with dignity and intelligence.

But Ares seemed not to notice the idiocy in his words, merely glancing over at the scarred clone before shaking his head, his lekku shifting in a rather interesting way. Not for the first time, Trax wondered what it would be like to run his hand along their lengths, and if they were as smooth as they looked.

Still balancing, Ares straightened and began wiping off his hands with a rag that had been in the pocket of his cargo pants. “Not anymore,” he replied in his lilting accent, which was another thing that Trax really, really liked. “I take it you aren't, either?”

Traxis shook his head, then frowned as the Twi'lek bent again to collect the tools he'd brought to the surface of the Raven. “Be careful. You're liable to break your neck doing that, you know.”

“It's not so far from the ground, Traxis,” Ares replied in a light voice as he clambered down the side of the vessel, tools stuck at angles within his various pockets. “Besides,” he added as his boots touched the duracrete floor of the hangar. “I am rather agile.”

Of course, Traxis had no clever or coherent reply to that, so he only nodded and tried to ignore the heat in his cheeks at the Twi'lek's crooked grin. Ares approached him, and for one terrible moment Trax was all shifting feet and awkwardness, but then he glanced up and into the Twi'lek's brown eyes – darker than any clone's, but with flecks of gold – and remembered why he'd come.

“Thanks.”

Ares tilted his head, his lekku bobbing behind him. “For...?”

"For your help the past few days,” Traxis replied, taking a breath. “It means a lot to me – to my family – and I just wanted to make sure you understood that.” He let the words hang in the air, then, for reasons he would never understand, even upon later reflection, added: “And for letting me kiss you.”

Neither one of them had expected the words, and for a moment Ares only looked at him with raised brows. Just as Trax was about to turn away and go find a nice trash compactor to hide in, Ares gave a quiet chuckle. “Hmm. Well, you are most welcome for the assistance,” he said with a shrug. “Rescuing Jedi is always exciting. But I believe that you are, ah, mistaken about the other thing.”

Traxis couldn't help his frown. “Mistaken, how?”

The Twi'lek shook his head, a small smile playing on his mouth. It wasn't his customary crooked one; it was one that Traxis hadn't seen before, but decided that he liked. Very much. “If I recall, it was me who kissed you. Not the other way around.”

“No way,” Trax replied, tapping the side of his head. “Perfect recall, right here.” It looked like Ares was trying to suppress a smile, the same as he was, but Traxis wanted to be sure, so he added: “You civvies can't possibly imagine what it's like.”

“Ah. Well in that case, I believe we have a problem,” Ares said, eying the scarred clone. “For you see, my memory may be that of a mere civilian, but I'm confident that I am correct in this instance.” He seemed to hesitate as he fingered the greasy rag for a moment, then glanced back at Traxis. “Perhaps we can discuss the issue over a cup of caf?”

As he said the words, he thumbed in the direction of the ship's interior, and Traxis felt that damnable fluttering sensation again. Yes, he very much wanted to do so, but his natural cautious nature prevented him from leaping without first testing the waters. Again. “Caf? Okay...unless you have some of that brandy we brought back from Volusia.”

“Ah, you want something stronger, Traxis?” Force above and beyond, he did like that accent, particularly when Ares formed the syllables of his name. Traxis nodded and Ares smiled – the crooked one, this time – and turned towards the ship, waving the scarred clone along with him. “I think that can be arranged.”

Moments later, they were in the galley of the Stark Raven, and Ares made a gesture at a small cabinet along the wall. “I believe I stowed the brandy there,” he said, then indicated another cupboard. “I have some glasses here as well.” He paused, then gave an almost embarrassed smile. “I'm unsure if I smell or look worse, after the repairs to the Raven. If you don't mind waiting a few minutes for me to clean up?”

Traxis nodded and turned to the kitchenette. “I'll make myself useful in the meantime.” He tried not to watch the coral-skinned male slip out of the room, then sighed to himself as he began rummaging through what was apparently the liquor cabinet. In the back of his mind, that warning voice that often saved his shebs in battle was rather persistently telling him to proceed with caution, that he didn't know Ares all that well, and that he should probably just leave now and avoid any unnecessary complications.

But then...some complications made life interesting. Not that his had been boring lately, but still. Besides, he reasoned, it would be bad manners to leave now, without even sharing the drink that he'd requested; it was well and good for a soldier to pop in and out as he pleased, but Traxis had a feeling that civilians – which he supposed he was now that the GAR was defunct – weren't supposed to do such things.

So Trax focused on finding two of the same-style glasses in the cupboard; he was unsuccessful, for Ares' stock seemed to be a hodge-podge of various and sundry glassware, with no two units being alike. Uniformity be damned, Trax decided with a shrug, and pulled out the two that were closest to his hand, turning to set them on the small prep-table at the center of the kitchenette. The table itself was not large but its surface was raised higher than most others – a bit taller than his waist – and Traxis figured that it was supposed to serve as a place to prepare and then consume one's meal.

The space around the table was small, with barely enough room for one adult to navigate through, but at least it was uncluttered. Not that Trax had ever been a paragon of cleanliness on his squad's ship, but it was especially difficult to manage such a feat with Crest as a bunkmate, the bald clone seemingly intent on sabotaging his efforts, so eventually he'd just given up and let nature take its course.

Two stools were affixed to the side of the table, both of which he pulled out of their clasps and set each to one end; after that he sat, folded his hands along the table, and waited. In the background, only several meters away through the bulkheads, he could hear the sound of running water from Ares' shower and for a moment was lost to idle fantasies that involved soapy, coral-colored skin and lots of steam.

In an attempt preoccupy his mind from such things, Trax adjusted the position of the bottle, then the glasses, and finally the stools, setting them at adjacent sides of the table, then moving them back to their former position, and finally back again, so that anyone seated in them would be – almost – beside one another. Just as he was about to move them back a fourth time, the sound of footsteps alerted him to the fact that the water had ceased some time ago, and that Ares was returning.

Coral skin freshly scrubbed, dirt and grease off of his hands, and wearing a clean, button-down shirt and loose-fitting pants, Ares looked remarkably collected, which was a stark contrast to the scarred clone's internal struggles that were attempting to manifest themselves physically. Trax gave what he hoped was a casual nod of welcome to the Twi'lek, if only to disguise the sudden, inexplicable race of his heart, and then gestured to the bottle and glasses. “You want to do the honors?”

Ares slid onto the stool beside him and reached for the brandy. It was Pantoran and strong, but – if memory served – was smooth as well. As he poured Trax a small amount, and the same for himself, Ares shot the clone a wry look. “Now, we were going to discuss the matter of who kissed whom?”

“No discussion needed,” Trax replied, taking the glass with a nod. “I kissed you. It's a pretty clear memory.”

“Ah, but therein lies the problem with memory,” Ares said, reaching forward to clink his glass against the scarred clone's just before he downed the amber liquid within. “It is entirely subjective.”

Pantoran brandy was not quite as smooth as he remembered, but Traxis found that he welcomed the burning in the back of his throat, as it gave him something to focus on and left the beginnings of a pleasant, warm feeling in his belly. The small amount had also – and he had his tweaked genetics to thank for this – given him a new, bold kind of courage, so he set his now-empty glass down, reached for the bottle and poured both himself and Ares another splash. “I remember everything about that journey,” he said as he did so, the words slipping out of his mouth as if on their own accord. “And I have to tell you...”

He lifted the glass and leaned forward, noting that the Twi'lek mimicked the movement, angling his head so that his left ear was tilted closer to Trax as he replied. “Yes?”

Traxis wasn't really great with verbal sparring, nor was he a fan of quips like some others he knew, and in all honesty he had no idea what it was he'd considered saying; once Ares was closer, once the scarred clone could feel heat radiating off of coral-skin, any words he'd intended fled his brain.

Shab. I just want to kiss him again, he thought, and after that his mind went completely blank.

So rather than speak, he tilted back the glass and felt a subsequent trickle of heat work its way to his gut, where it further muddled his awkwardness and translated more of his apprehension into desire. Now he knew that he was going to do it. Traxis prepared himself to open his mouth and spout something clever that would make Ares laugh, thereby making this whole seduction-thing easier.

Instead, he said: “Can I touch one of your lekku?”

In retrospect, he was thankful that he at least got the terminology right, as his first inclination had been to say “head-tails,” but that sounded weird and kind of offensive. Ares turned his face and studied Trax for a moment, his brown eyes a shade or so darker than Trax remembered, but that may have been an effect of the dim light in the kitchenette. For a long, long stretch of seconds the Twi'lek didn't respond, until finally he gave a soft chuckle that was accompanied by a nod. Trax felt his fingertips grow hot as Ares tilted his head again, allowing the left-most of his lekku to shift towards the clone.

“Certainly, only...” The Twi'lek paused, as if uncertain.

Trax's hand had lifted, but he froze at the hesitation in the other man's tone. “It's okay,” he said, setting his hand down in his lap and feeling a furious heat creeping – again, like his body was conspiring against him – to his face. “Don't listen to me...I'm a little drunk.”

“No, Traxis,” Ares said, placing his fingertips on Trax's right knee and meeting his eyes. “It's just, they are rather-” His mouth quirked, then smoothed over. He took a breath and seemed to be gathering his own courage, which was heartening to the clone. “Sensitive.”

“Are you saying that you want me to be gentle?” It seemed the brandy had relaxed him more than he'd reckoned, but Trax decided that he didn't much care at this point, given the way that Ares was looking at him and the way that the flecks of gold seemed to catch in even the muted light of the galley.

Again, the crooked smile that made his body respond in all manner of interesting ways. “For the moment.”

Nodding, Traxis waited as Ares turned his head again, letting the left lek sway forward around his shoulder. After one quick breath, the scarred clone lifted his hand and reached forward, towards the coral-colored skin. The lek was thicker at the top, at the place closest to Ares' skull, after which the flesh tapered down about a meter to end in a gentle point that curved gracefully down his back. Trax's own skin, a ruddy tan, contrasted with the coral in a pleasing way; he settled his fingertips against the topmost curve of the lek and began to run them down the length, slowly.

As he'd imagined, the lek was smooth and warm, but he hadn't considered that he'd feel the pulse of blood beneath the skin, as if he were touching Ares' arm or...some other place.

A glance showed him that the Twi'lek had frozen in his seat, even his breathing seemed shallow, his eyes were half-closed, and his lips were parted slightly. Trax cleared his throat as his hand reached the end of the lek, and his fingers toyed with the tapered tip for one moment before they dropped to rest on his own knee once more. At the motion, Ares took a breath and opened his eyes in a few blinks before he gave the crooked smile again, and Trax noted a pleasing flush in the other male's skin.

Again, he really did want to say something even remotely intelligent, but all he could manage was a soft noise of appreciation. There was a beat of silence before Ares chuckled and gave him an almost shy kind of smile, another one that the scarred clone hadn't seen before. He liked that sort, too.

“I take it you have never been this, ah, close to a Twi'lek?” Ares' voice sounded a little hoarse, but it smoothed over after a moment, and he reached for his empty glass and toyed with it as he spoke, in the manner of someone looking for something to do with his hands.

Traxis nodded. “You're the first. Well,” he amended, ignoring the part of his brain that was screeching at him to retreat from the conversation. “Not the first, but the first Twi'lek.” His own glass also empty, so he reached for the bottle and poured a measure for Ares, and then himself, though neither one drank for a moment.

The coral-skinned Twi'lek furrowed his brows and glanced from his cup to Traxis, a question clearly on his mind. Finally he lifted the glass, tipped the brandy down his throat and looked at the scarred clone in earnest. “So, you have been intimate with another?”

“There've been a few,” Traxis replied after a beat, then downed his own portion of the brandy. “And I do mean only a few. I knew some clones who got around...” He frowned, but Ares nodded in understanding. “That's not me. Never has been.” Trax fingered the rim of his cup as his memory cast itself back. “There was a fellow at my last posting, just before I took up with Shadow Squad a couple of years ago. His name was Blaze.” He grimaced and lifted the glass, remembering too late that it was empty.

But Ares didn't seem to notice, instead nodding once, though his brows knitted again, and the tone of his voice suggested that he spoke from experience. “He left you.”

“How do you know?”

“I recognized the sting in your eyes a little too well, I suppose.” The Twi'lek's face darkened and he studied the glass in his hand as he seemed to cast his thoughts to the past. “There was a Corellian man I loved very much, a number of years ago. We worked together as partners until...well.” He gave a shrug and Traxis nodded in understanding. “It was idyllic for a while, until he found another partner whose attributes pleased him more.”

Traxis studied the lithe, supple body, expressive eyes, and calmly folded hands of the male sitting beside him and gave a shake of his head, feeling anger coil within him at the injustice wrought by someone he'd never even met. “Then he was a complete di'kut for doing so, Ares. You're...” He fumbled and gave a cough through the next word so that it was distorted, so that the Twi'lek wouldn't hear him say 'perfect.' “How long ago was that?”

“About two years.”

A sigh lifted Traxis' chest and he nodded. “Same here. Guess we're more alike than I thought.”

Ares chuckled, but there was a bitterness to the sound. “Indeed. But it is a long time to be alone,” he added with a frown

There was silence for a few minutes while each male considered his past, until Traxis sighed again. “At first, I didn't mind being alone, because the thing with Blaze didn't end...well, and I got kind of burned out on the relationship stuff.”

Lekku bobbing as he nodded, Ares studied the table for a moment before glancing over at the scarred clone. “What happened with Blaze, if I may ask?”

Trax fingered the bottom of the glass, frowning at the memory. Absently, he reached for the bottle, but Ares placed a calloused hand over his and stilled him. With another sigh, Trax nodded and shifted the glass aside, stretching out his arms before him as he continued. “Since we were in the same unit, we were stationed together on the Resolute for several months, and it was nice for a while. Until he met...someone else.”

“Another male?”

Trax winced. “A woman. A technician on the ship.” Ares nodded and – unexpectedly – squeezed the hand that was on the clone's arm as he continued. “Blaze fell for her, hard. Pretty much forgot about whatever it was we had. I tried not to be jealous, as I'd heard that it happens with some clones once they get a hold of a girl after being surrounded by nothing but other clones, but I-” He frowned again and looked down. “I was angry. Really angry. One night I confronted him and called him all kinds of kriffing horrible things, and he gave it right back to me.”

Ares shifted closer, and before Traxis knew it the Twi'lek's other hand was on his shoulder; this close, the coral skin was warm and Trax could smell soap and brandy. The scarred clone inhaled once and then continued. “She left him later on, but Blaze and I never spoke after that night. Then he got blown to bloody hell on some backwater moon, and I never saw him again, either. So you see,” he added with a wry look at Ares. “It wasn't so bad when I was asked to join the captain and general in their squad, full of clones I didn't know and didn't care to, in any way. I figured I deserved to be alone, after all that.”

There was quiet for a moment and he wondered if he'd perhaps gone too far, too quickly, if his past was too tangled and could never be smoothed out. However, Ares' hand never left his shoulder; moments later, the Twi'lek leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the clone's, so that their eyes were on each other. “Everyone deserves happiness, Traxis,” he said, brandy on his breath and a shivering lilt in his voice while his lips were so close.

“Do you really believe that?” Trax couldn't keep the bitter tone from his words.

In response, Ares closed the rest of the gap that was between them and for a moment, Traxis was lost to the kiss. It was softer than their first one had been, gentler. There was an element of uncertainty behind the press of Ares' mouth to his, as if he was still unsure if the advance would be welcome.

But in Traxis' veins there was fire, whether from the brandy or from his own arousal, so he decided to show the Twi'lek just how welcome he was. He shifted forward and deepened the kiss, opening his mouth a little more than he'd even planned; a tremor passed through him as he felt Ares' tongue dart across his lips once, and he returned the action. After a moment he raised his hand and brushed the left lek again, only a little less gentle than he'd been before.

The effect was immediate. Ares made a soft noise in the back of his throat, then reached his right hand forward to twine in Trax's short hair at the nape of his neck. That action was also welcome, so Traxis again lightly skimmed his nails over the lek, taking the time to trace invisible patterns on the length of flesh, and grinning when he felt Ares shudder in response. “You do like that, don't you?” he managed to say when they parted to take a few, heavy breaths.

“For someone with, ah, no experience with Twi'leks.” Ares replied, his cheeks flushed crimson. “You manage rather well.”

Traxis couldn't help himself as he reached for the other male again. “I'm a quick study.”

“So I'm learning.”

This time it didn't seem to matter who initiated the kiss, only that it had happened. Moments later the stools were slid to the side, the scraping sounds echoing in the small room, and Traxis found that the small of his back was being pressed into the edge of the prep-table as Ares' hands moved to grip his waist. It was as if every effort to be close, closer, then as close as possible was being made, and Trax welcomed the sensation of his own body pressed against Ares' from hips to chest. The Twi'lek's kisses were fervent, insistent, and Trax knew that his own control was slipping as well. Part of him also knew that it was too fast, much too fast, considering they'd met barely a tenday ago.

Another part of him, larger and more insistent, told that first part to just shut up and relax.

Traxis raised his hands and caressed the back of Ares' head, where the lekku joined to his skull, and smoothed his fingers across the subtle ridges of skin. The Twi'lek, in turn, continued running his fingers through Trax's hair – caught somewhere between the ubiquitous flat-top and shaved close, like the captain's – and made another noise of pleasure before lifting his mouth from Trax's and working his way down the scarred clone's jawline and throat, pushing him harder into the table's edge.

That action brought about a dull kind of pain in Trax's lower back, but at that point such a sensation was small in the wake of everything else that was happening. He tilted Ares' face to his and took a flash of pleasure from the realization that they were nearly the same height, and another at the feel of the Twi'lek's corded musculature as the clone moved his hands down to grip at broad, coral-colored shoulders. When he felt the hard press of Ares' length against his own through the thin fabric of their clothing, that was nearly Trax's undoing, and all thoughts of the edge of the table digging into his back fled his mind along with the very last of his hesitation.

So he slid his hands around, caressing the Twi'lek's angular jaw before pausing at the first of the buttons on the front of Ares' shirt and attempting to undo the topmost of them, all while kissing the other man as deeply as he was able. There were a few fumbling moments as the buttons, worn smooth with age, refused to cooperate and Trax considered ripping the garment apart, a small part of his brain wondered if Ares would mind.

As if sensing Trax's frustration and heading it off before he lost a perfectly good article of clothing, Ares pulled back and lifted his own hands to undo the fastenings with a nimble fingers, giving Trax his customary crooked smile as he did so. The shirt fell to their feet with a soft noise, but the scarred clone paid it no heed because he had something far better to draw his attention.

He'd spent his life surrounded with uniformity, with sameness, with men who shared his face and body – if not his sparkling personality – so it was something of a relief to look upon Ares and see something different. Coral-skin, flushed almost crimson with desire, covered a sinewy, lean form that was surprisingly well-defined, considering the fact that the Twi'lek was – to Traxis' way of thinking – a civilian. Traxis made a noise of approval and traced a line from Ares' collarbone to his navel almost absently, for a moment lost in the act of seeing. However, his hand paused at the waist of the Twi'lek's pants and he remembered that he wanted to do more than 'see.'

So he glanced up to see Ares' dark brown eyes studying him, a question on his face. Traxis grinned and reached forward, gently tugging on Ares' right lek to bring him closer and trying to think of something clever and reassuring to say.

However, Ares beat him to it. “That grin of yours,” he said beneath Trax's mouth. “Traxis, if I didn't know better, I would say that you seem to think that you are going to get, ah, lucky.”

“Never thought I'd get this lucky,” Traxis replied without a thought, and slid his hands lower, to the curve of Ares' seat, which turned out to be about as perfect of an ass as he'd ever had the pleasure of knowing. Most clones just weren't as endowed in that area as Trax found that he preferred. The Twi'lek gave a small groan and pushed against him even more, causing the table's edge to dig harder into Trax's back, but – again – he tried to ignore it, as he had both of his hands lowered, while continuing to kiss Ares.

Moments later, he felt something tugging at his own shirt, and he reluctantly pulled back so that the Twi'lek could remove the dratted thing and they could be rid of it, hopefully for a very long time. A cool brush of air from a nearby vent slid across his skin, but he hardly noticed as Ares ran his hands along Trax's chest and arms, his expression conveying nothing so much as interest and admiration. Trax leaned forward to kiss the other male again, but paused when he saw the look on Ares' face; there was a light, incongruously tender touch against his forehead which slid down across his jaw to his neck, before ending at his collarbone.

“Your scar...” Ares' accented voice was soft, and his brows were furrowed.

The clone's entire body was aching with unspent need, but the word 'scar' was enough to cause him to lean back and frown at the Twi'lek. “What about it?” It was a painful reminder of his first time in combat, and he didn't like to speak of the incident. Disappointment flared within him, for if Ares found the scar distasteful, well....that would be the end of that, for there were plenty more where that one came from, all across his body.

Indeed, Ares' gaze had dropped, taking in the clone's torso, many parts of which were riddled with pale scarring, remnants of battles where bacta was too far away or in short supply, and so had done him no good. “There's more than those, too,” Trax said after a moment, jaw tight and breathing still a bit ragged. “But otherwise I'm in one piece.”

Still the Twi'lek said nothing, but his hands had dropped to trace over the worst of the scarring, at Trax's left pectoral and then again close to his navel, two pink, jagged ribbons of flesh that mirrored the one along his face. Neither memory was pleasant, and Traxis wondered if he was about to have another kind of pain associated with them both.

Finally Ares looked up at him, and reached for the nape of his neck, pulling him close and kissing him as though both their lives depended on it. When they parted, Ares' usual lilt was more solemn. “They are a map of your life, Traxis, of the places that you have been and the things you have survived and I'm...” Here he gave a tight swallow, then took a breath before placing both of his hands on either side of the clone's astonished face. “I am a little humbled.”

“Humbled?” That was unexpected, to say the least, and Trax didn't really know what to make of the word in this situation.

“Yes,” Ares replied with the crooked smile that made Trax's stomach do a bizarre sort of flip that reminded him of the fluttering from earlier, only more so. “That you chose to share that part of yourself with me, and that in return, I can do this.” With that, he dropped to his knees and began nibbling on the scar around the clone's navel, the one that trailed down...

Oh, right.

Traxis' lower back was nearly numb from leaning against the table, and it was a good thing, too, for it allowed the rest of his body to erupt with sensation as Ares gently undid the fastenings on the clone's pants and boxers, pulling the clothing down to pool around his feet, while at the same time managing to kiss and nibble on the sensitive scar tissue.

For a minute Traxis was torn between tilting his head back and shutting his eyes to bask in the sensation of Ares' mouth alternately nipping and sucking the base of his shaft, and watching it happen. He chose the latter. There was a brief pause while Ares considered the clone's erect member, a slight smile on his face, then he glanced up at Traxis and gave another of his crooked grins, wider than Trax had ever seen. “I believe it is I who am the lucky one, on this occasion.”

Trax was saved from having to think of a reply when he felt Ares' tongue flick across the tip of his length; actually, pretty much all thought fled from his mind at that point. The Twi'lek settled on his knees, resting upon his own shirt and Trax's discarded pants, and proceeded to very gently lap at the head of the scarred clone's member. The movement was tentative, querying, but all Trax could manage to say in reply was a groan, followed by a few choice words of Mando'a as his hands gripped the edge of the table.

He felt rather than heard Ares chuckle, the vibration sending ripples of pleasure through him; moments later the Twi'lek's lips parted a little further and he took more of Traxis' length within his mouth. The sensation of light lapping shifted to one of being surrounded by something very warm and wet, which caused Trax to let out another incoherent string of phrases and his grip on the table to tighten further still as the Twi'lek intensified his ministrations. Firm, calloused fingertips sought the base of the scarred clone's shaft and slid down lower to ply the skin of his inner thighs, then the sensitive tissue of his scrotum, and Traxis sucked in his breath, letting out another curse, though he was able to choke out Ares' name this time.

Again he felt the Twi'lek chuckle, and some portion of Traxis' brain confirmed what he'd known since the first time he heard the sound – that it would be his undoing.

However, at this exact moment in space and time, he didn't give a kriff.

In Trax's past, such instances of pleasure had generally been fleeting and harried, stolen moments between battles or in the isolated sections of the barracks while the others were asleep; there had never been time for the kind of languid finesse with which Ares seemed to be experienced, and Trax realized that he had no idea what he'd been missing out on. His entire body was shuddering with the intensity of the sensation; at some point his hands had loosened themselves from the table and he'd gently taken hold of the back of Ares' head, not pushing the other man forward as he very much wanted to, but simply because he needed to feel the Twi'lek's skin against his own as much as possible.

There was a quiet murmur of approval from Ares at this action, which greater spurned Trax's own pleasure, and he knew that he was reaching the brink, in part due to the fact that his hips were thrusting forward of their own accord. Realizing this, the Twi'lek worked him harder, running his tongue across Traxis' length and fingering the surrounding areas with dexterity, until every morsel of cogent thought was pushed from the clone's brain and his body spun itself into a release. He cried out Ares name even as he filled the other male's mouth and throat with his seed, and his hands tightened around the topmost, curving arcs of the coral-colored lekku that were bobbing before him.

The very instant that he could move, Trax reached down, hauled the Twi'lek up to him by his forearms and kissed him soundly, unconcerned with the taste of himself on Ares' tongue. When they parted, he couldn't help but goggle at the coral-skinned male, who was regarding him with a mixture of amusement and utter arousal. “Holy kriffing hell,” he managed to choke out. “That was...you're amazing.”

Ares gave him a lazy smile, though Trax could see that beneath his pants, the Twi'lek's own shaft was rock-hard and extended towards him. “You are most welcome, Traxis,” he replied, the lilt of his accent somewhat roughened by desire.

Taking the opportunity to step away from the edge of the shabla table, Trax again glanced down at Ares' length before raising a brow at the Twi'lek, and allowing a slow smile to appear on his face. “I hope I can return the favor even a little bit as well as you.”

With that, he reached out to skim the left lek again, chuckling as Ares' eyes closed and he let out a soft hiss of breath; Trax pulled him closer and kissed the other male once more, feeling his own body reacting to the feel of Ares' mouth beneath his, to the supple weaving of muscles under his hands as his fingertips smoothed down the coral-colored torso to tug at the drawstring pants, and – oddly enough – to the salty taste of himself on Ares' tongue that blended perfectly with the sweeter remnants of the brandy.

Traxis urged the Twi'lek several steps backward so that the other male's back was against the wall of the kitchenette, just beside the doorway, ensuring that he'd be more comfortable than Trax had been with the kriffing table, while also helping him step out of the pesky pants. Ares' length was fully erect and Traxis decided that it was just as nice as his ass, quite possibly more so, and he felt a little bit overwhelmed at the realization that he had a tough act to follow.

But he'd never been one to shy away from a challenge, and certainly wasn't going to start, now.

Not for the first time, Ares seemed to catch onto the clone's train of thought, for he gave that odd, soft smile and gripped Trax's hips with strong fingers, pulling him close enough for their lengths to press together, which caused Traxis' to stiffen again. “I want you, Traxis,” Ares said at last, meeting the other man's eyes. “As I've heard it said, everything else is just icing on the uj cake.”

“And you say I'm a fast learner,” Traxis replied with a chuckle, irrationally pleased at the Twi'lek's use of the Mando'a phrase he'd undoubtedly picked up from the clones.

Ares cleared his throat and ran his hands along Trax's seat, pausing as if to savor the curve that he found. “There are few certainties in this galaxy, Trax. But I know right now that I want you, all of you, in any form or in any capacity that you choose to give.” Even as he said the words, there was again that flicker of uncertainty behind his voice, as if he was afraid of being pushed aside now that Traxis had taken his pleasure.

It was not unexpected; actually, it was all-too familiar. “I'm right here, Ares,” he murmured. “And I'm not planning on taking off. Matter-of-fact, you'll probably get sick of me, soon. I can be a pretty obnoxious di'kut.”

“Ah,” Ares replied in a solemn voice, nodding a few times, his face a breath away from Trax's. “Then in that case, I suppose we should enjoy ourselves now.”

“Copy that.” With that, Trax dropped to his own knees before the Twi'lek, grinning to himself as he ran his hands along Ares' upper thighs and regarding the other man's swollen shaft. Twi'leks were – he was learning – almost entirely hairless, save for their eyelashes, and for a moment all he cared to see was Ares' member, swollen crimson with arousal. It was only a brief moment of appreciation, though, as he was anxious to feel Ares' length in his own mouth, so he reached forward and gave an experimental flick with his tongue along the tip, as Ares had done with him.

At the movement, Ares sucked in his breath and leaned back against the wall, twining his hands in Trax's hair and murmuring something in Ryl that Trax had no way to translate.

However, he figured it out well enough when he swirled his tongue around the head of Ares' shaft and skimmed his hands along its base, which was when Ares groaned and his hips shifted forward, as if he were attempting to plunge himself deeper into Trax's mouth. Again, the scarred clone grinned to himself and after a few more moments of toying with the curving head of the Twi'lek's length, he opened his mouth further and took in as much of Ares as he was able, alternately sucking and smoothing his tongue across the swollen skin while his hands worked their way towards Ares' scrotum, reaching for the narrow, sensitive spot of flesh behind.

Traxis may have been rough around the edges, less imbued with technique and finesse, but he knew damn well how to get another male off, which he figured was what ultimately mattered at this stage of the game.

The action caused Ares to let out a gasp and Trax felt the strong, slender fingers tightening in his hair, so he knew that his method was being met with appreciation. That was heartening, to say the least. In response, he made a soft growl of pleasure, the sound erupting from the back of his throat; with the sound, he hoped to mimic the feeling of vibration against Ares' sensitive length that he'd experienced earlier. He thought that worked, for in the next moment he heard the Twi'lek groan again, heard a soft thud as Ares' head fell back against the bulkhead, and felt the other male thrust his own body forward, further into Trax's mouth as if he just couldn't help himself.

Ares made a choking sound that transformed into – of all things – Traxis' own name, and the scarred clone realized that a release was forthcoming, so he increased his pace and his pressure along the shaft and the patch of skin behind Ares' scrotum, urging the other male into his orgasm. Indeed, moments later he felt it: the flood of hot, salty fluid that tasted just a little of brandy as it filled his mouth. Above his head, Ares cried out – and it was a shout, not just a loud flare of speech – Traxis' name again, the sound of which caused Trax to feel his own length stiffen once more.

It was likely going to be a long night.

Not that he minded in the least.

As Ares shuddered, Trax was careful to savor every drop of moisture that he could, lapping his tongue along the coral-colored shaft before rising to his feet, licking his lips and trying to catch his breath. When he was able to speak he gave Ares an appraising look, taking in the Twi'lek's flushed skin and panting breath, noting the fact that he must have done something right, for all Ares seemed capable of was leaning back against the bulkhead with his eyes half-closed. “You okay?”

Why, why did his kriffing, shabla, di'kut brain continue to push these idiotic strings of words from his mouth? Hopefully Ares was still to muddled from his orgasm for them to register.

However, Ares peered at him from beneath his lids and started laughing outright; it was not the mocking laughter that Trax had been wary of. It was, in a word, delighted. Reaching forward, it was the Twi'lek's turn to pull Traxis close and kiss him, hard and strong, such that the clone felt his member twitch in response.

When they parted, Traxis cocked his brow at the Twi'lek. “So...you did like it, right? Because I wasn't sure...I've never been with anyone like you, Ares. A Twi'lek, I mean. Us clones aren't usually as thorough.”

“Thorough,” Ares replied, still a little breathless. “That is one word for you, Trax. I could think of a few more, but I would rather do other things with you right now.”

Grinning, he slid his hands around Trax's back and gripped his ass, a gesture that the scarred clone happily returned, and before too long they managed to maneuver their way out of the kitchenette, towards Ares' cabin, which was where they spent the rest of the night. It was also where Trax learned one of the other things that he really, really liked about the coral-skinned Twi'lek: despite his casual attitude, his enthusiasm was boundless.

Upon his awakening the next morning, when he rolled over to see Ares sleeping peacefully beside him, Trax decided that – if this was a regular facet of civilian life – it was something that he could definitely get used to.
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The Stark Raven