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It’s not often that Fox gets a moment to himself. He is always surrounded, be it by brothers, duties, or threats, and there is little chance or reason that he can find to make a dedicated time to just be alone with himself.
The showerhead sprays warm water down his back as he stares at his feet. Pink-tinged water bends around his feet before disappearing down the drain next to him.
The memory of General Vos catching him by the ankle when they first met resurfaces without him permitting it to, and makes him briefly wonder if his GAR brothers touch or spar with their Generals, or get into genuine physical altercations with them. General Vos looked uncomfortable with touching a clone at the time (he seems much more comfortable now), even with armor and clothes separating them, which was expected, but Fox has since learned that he can’t make generalizations about Jedi unless it is in regards to their self-sacrificial nature, and even then, that is nuanced.
He doesn’t wish to fight General Vos. Aside from the fact that he would lose, there is also another issue: he is slowly beginning to like the man’s company.
They don’t speak of it, but Fox knows what’s going on. They’re playing a game, one that seems to be fun for the both of them despite how it’s never planned and how unrealistically specific the circumstances have to be.
General Vos is a complicated man, but ultimately, he is just a man. He wishes to be just that all the time, but that is impossible with his status, powers, and his religious duties in the war. Fox is a complicated clone, not a man, and that distinction is crucial to remember. He wishes for things above him near constantly, just as the General wishes for everything below him. It is only natural, he has been told, to want for what you don’t have.
The water begins to cool.
Together, he and General Vos, they release their desire upon each other. General Vos is just Quin, and Marshal Clone Commander Fox is Fox. Two average men with nothing better to do but explore this new and interesting situation. And when they are apart, they can at least have their little game of pretend to look forward to.
Well, the General can. Fox doesn’t need anything to look forward to. He was created better than that. He wonders if General Vos truly understands that, or even knows.
Fox runs his hands down his sides slowly, following the shape of his waist down to his thighs. Quin doesn’t touch him unless Fox allows it, but he hovers his hands around areas he wants to quite often. It’s fun. He’s no stranger to being wanted in such a way, as much as he would prefer he was, but he’s yet to find a way to discourage such thought or action in anybody else. He’s also yet to find the correct response for turning down propositions despite being on Coruscant for nearly a year now, all he can do is sigh and deny with the excuses and reasons he was taught. It yields mixed results.
He doesn’t even know what those others see in him. He has the body of any other clone, albeit with slightly more height, width, and muscle, but this should hardly matter to anyone besides another clone and a Kaminoan. His body serves him, and it serves him well despite the less than stellar conditions (such is the life of a soldier, however), so he in turn can serve this Republic to no end besides death. That is it.
He doesn’t see what Quin sees, is what he’s saying. Quin has called and told him many things that are usually seen as flattering, from what he’s observed. Comments about his body, ones he doesn’t usually understand or have much feeling toward, but leave him contemplating the thought process behind nonetheless.
Fox focuses his gaze on his hands, slowly lifting them up to cup his chest. Quin liked… well, “like” might be a very generous term, he isn’t actually sure if that’s the case. Quin frequently acknowledged the size of Fox’s chest being bigger than he expected, and liked to playfully goad him into removing the entire top half of his armor to be in only his blacks, or on nights where Fox is feeling more daring in the comfort of a seedy motel, the top of that too. Just for a few moments. Fox has only allowed Quin to touch him there exactly twice, and both times left him feeling nothing while the other man grinned and muttered to himself. He mentioned kissing the scar right in between his pecs, which Fox quickly shot down. He remembers them both smiling as he quickly pulled his top back on.
Fox looked that up later after the first time, and discovered that he was supposed to enjoy the stimulation. Really enjoy it. That’s probably why Quin didn’t seem that eager to touch him there anymore? Whatever fantasy was running through the man’s mind got his hopes up too high.
That’s fine. Fox wasn’t created for enjoying pleasures like that, and it isn’t like he’s going out of his way to chase it or fake it. Not with Quin.
He lets his hands trail down his abdomen, lightly poking at the abs that Quin tends to remark on-- usually paired with a pleading look in his eyes, or a feathery light touch if Fox allows it. Which he has. Only once. It was a very vulnerable part of the body, he can’t just let some random civilian get such easy access.
Fox smiles. Some random civilian. The thought almost makes him giddy.
The smile quickly vanishes when he remembers Thorn and Thire’s reactions when he told them where he disappeared to sometimes. They both dislike Quin regardless of the persona he puts on, Thorn outright hating the man and confessing to Fox, in the secrecy of their bunks, that he would kill him if given a reason. Thire was definitely hiding his true feelings on the matter, but all he let show was mild irritation on the rare occasion that Vos was anywhere on base or near him.
“I could stop it at any time,” Fox had told Thorn to soothe him, holding his face between his hands and trying to calm the anger that was seeping out of his brother’s eyes. “He hasn’t forced me--”
Thorn growled, lights flickered, and Fox felt a sharp pain go through his skull. “Then stop. Don’t go to him. Stay here with me . With us.” It was a saying Fox knew all too well, and one Thorn must have been exhausted repeating. He was just scared for his safety and confused as to why Fox would repeatedly put himself in a situation they’ve always fought to avoid before now. And with a General, of all people.
When he had told Thire, the young Commander had looked up from his datapad for a few long seconds, seemingly unimpressed. He took a sip of caf that wasn’t his, and went back to focusing on his datapad. Fox expected more snide remarks in the moment, but he should have known better-- this was Thire. All the pettiest and most irritating parts of Prime shoved into one genetically modified body. It could never be easy and predictable, because then it wouldn’t be Thire.
It goes without saying that there’s no way he could have told Stone. He wonders why the others didn’t either, but he shouldn’t-- what’s that natborn saying? Look a gift… some sort of animal, he shouldn’t look it in the mouth.
Now, with cold water hitting him long enough to feel lukewarm, and nothing pink-tinged in sight, Fox stops letting his mind be dragged back to moments that ultimately were not helpful. Stopping the water, he goes to dry off, careful of the small cuts on his back.
He had a date tonight.