- clonehub -
24 đ Black đ they/them đ lesbian đ header by @cyareclonesbefore following, please be aware that i don't stan or like the bad batch. it's a racist, antisemitic, and ableist show. i only have critiques, and my account will reflect that.
likes! Star Wars (The Clone Wars, The High Republic), clones, politics, media analysis, writing, my OCsi also talk about #UnwhitewashTBB and racism and representation in Star Wars.
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Locks walks through the halls of the ship, his boots echoing against the metal ceiling. The shipâs walls hum with air current, electricity--overhead, water in a pipe gurgles past an air bubble.Locks stops, scrutinizing the ceiling. Thatâs not supposed to do that. He and Uru would have to check that out once they landed on the next planet. Lucky them they just got a decent haul on a job, so they wonât have to shortcut the fix until a bigger check comes in.Lock turns left, passing through a short hall and entering the cockpit. Uru doesnât turn upon his entering; with how big his montrals are, he may have sensed Locksâ vibrating footsteps from beyond the door.
Uru is also not a very talkative person in general, but lately heâs been quieter than usual. Normally his mood would lift the more credits they get on a job, but his mercenary partner has taken to longer and longer stretches of silence, marked by the occasional grunt or sigh. More than once, Locks has seen Uru sit as still as possible, his eyes closed.
Uru flips a switch on the panel before him before sitting back, taking his star-white lekku and flipping it over his right shoulder, the end of it slapping against the back of the pilotâs seat. Even without seeing his face, Locks can tell Uruâs got his eyes closed again--and based on how he tips his head back by just a few millimeters, heâs trying to relieve pain in his neck.âWhat?â Uru mutters, fitting a broad hand under his other lekku.Locksâ face grows warm. âYou alright?ââFine.â But Uru grunts and rolls his neck, inhaling sharply through his nose.Seeing Uru roll his neck makes Locks get the urge to roll his own shoulder. He rubs the top of it, flinching when he agitates the muscle underneath--muscle heâd pulled hauling all two and a half meters of Uru one-handed back over a ledge heâd nearly tumbled over.
Locks suppresses the shudder that wants to rack him. Uru is alive and they have the money. No sense in dwelling what could have been.
Locksâ eyes train on Uruâs struggle to relieve the pain in his neck. The cockpit isnât large; it only takes a few steps for Locks to stand behind Uruâs chair. He can feel the soft heat radiating from Uruâs montrals and lekku, a nice contrast to the cool air around them. They both tense.âI could help, if you wanted,â Locks offers.Uru seems to consider Locksâ offer for a moment before silently consenting, flipping his white lek back over his shoulder and leaning forward.Locks removes his gloves and presses his thumbs into the muscle at the base of Uruâs neck, massaging the taught mass of muscle there.
âA little higher,â Uru mutters, his shoulders beginning to slouch. Locks adjusts his position, pressing harder where Uruâs lekku start to meet his skull.Locks never realized how much pain Uru must have been in--his breathing slows and evens out like the lull of a tide, some of the gruffness leaving his voice when he guides Locksâ hands to a new position on his neck. Locks doesnât stop, even when his hands start to hurt and heâd like a break to tend to his own shoulder.
Uru reaches up to scratch his right lek, something heâs been doing more and more lately.This close, Locks can see other problems lining Uruâs lekku: a small bruise at the base of the right one, and dryness spreading over the broader parts of his lekku and montrals. With how much time they spent in exposed, un-ideal weather and how uncomfortable Uru clearly is now, Locks wouldâve thought heâd take better care of his lekku.
Locks even tried to help. Lekku oil was inexpensive if a bit difficult to locate in more remote parts of the galaxy. There are plenty of substitutes, though, so Locks acquired a bottle and placed it in the galley, where it went ignored. Then he put it on the shelf in the shower, where it went ignored again. Then next to Uruâs bed. Itâs still there, unopened.Locks places a palm on Uruâs back lek. Under his hand, he can feel both velvety smooth skin and the dry patches that have been bothering Uru for ages. âI could get the oil?â he offers, coming around Uruâs side.
The speed at which the man avoids Locksâ eyes surprises him. His hand flies back to the spot on his neck, but Locks hasnât pulled his hands away so their fingers brush. Locks snaps his hand back. âUnless you want me to stop--ââNo,â Uru says. âGet it--please.â
Locks is back in less than half a minute. The bottle is opened and the surprisingly sweet smell of the oil fills the cockpit. Locks wastes no time in pouring some into the palm of his hand, careful not to spill any. The oil is thick and gold-hued, but it gets a little thinner as Locksâs hand warms it ip.âDonât use too much,â Uru warns, holding out a cupped hand for Locksâ excess.Locks gets to work on Uruâs back lek, fanning his fingers out to evenly spread the oil. With almost imperceptible delicateness, Uru leans into Locksâ touch. The latter can pretend that Uruâs just enjoying the much-needed relief from the oil, but he canât ignore the small shudder that runs through Uruâs broad shoulders.âHowâs that?â Locks asks.âGood,â Uru sighs, finally sounding content. âThanks again.â He hasnât once opened his eyes--not that Locks minds.The pair spends the next few minutes in amiable silence. Eventually, Uruâs hands slip from his lekku to rest in his lap, palms turned up like he might actually fall asleep here in the pilotâs chair.Instead, something rumbles. Locks thinks it's another problem with the ship at first, so his mouth starts to twist into a sharp frown before he realizes that the sound is way too close to be mechanical.Itâs Uru. Heâs purring.Locks knows that Togrutas can purr when they feel safest and most comfortable, but the cockpit of a mercenaryâs ship is the last place Locks would have expected to draw this feeling out of him.The short purr stops as soon as it started. Locks, a little disappointed, slows the movements of his hands on Uruâs neck.Then it starts again, lower and slower but almost more confident, like Uru has subconsciously made up his mind about the cockpit, about the massage--about Locks. His purrs are a soft rumble flowing from deep inside his chest. Locks wants to ask if heâs doing alright, but he fears trying to get Uru to speak will stop the purring. Locks wonât act like he isnât thoroughly enjoying it himself, his own skin growing warm with each stretch of the purr thatâs now filled the small cockpit.Uruâs eyes pop open--not that Locks sees it. Itâs Uruâs sudden head jerk and the sharp cut of the purring that alerts him. Locksâ hands stop, a question forming on the tip of his tongue.âYour shoulder,â Uru says. âYou pulled it--is it okay?âLocksâ lips work before he can speak, his hands still resting comfortably on Uruâs neck. âItâs alright,â he says.âLet me see.âThey trade places, Locksâ face passing barely a centimeter by Uruâs chest. Beating down the skip in his heart, Locks takes the pilotâs seat, bracing his hands on his knees. âItâs nothing bad, Uru,â Locks says, straining for a casual tone and not quite reaching it.Uru just grunts, his heavy hands landing on Locksâ shoulder. He flinches, pulling a light chuckle out of Uru. ââNothing badâ, huh?â Uru teases.Locks takes a breath. âIâve been through worse.âUru silently fits his hand on Locksâ inner bicep, the backs of his fingers pressing against Locksâ ribs. The other hand rests on Locksâ shoulder. A slight nudge from Uru gets Locks to raise his arm, elbow bent--testing his range of motion. Locks flinches and hisses when his arm goes too far; Uru âhmsâ in response. A few more tests get the same response out of Locks.âItâs sprained.ââI could have told you that.âLocks gets the distinct sense that Uru didnât actually have a plan as far as medical care went--but neither of his hands have left Locksâ shoulder, and heâs finding he doesnât he doesnât mind the warm weight of them.âI could try and massage it for you,â Uru says a little stiffly. He even squeezes Locksâ shoulder as if to prove it.That just makes it hurt more. âIâm good, thanks.âUru doesnât move for a moment. âThereâs an icepack in the medkit.â
Locks has barely given the okay before Uruâs out of the cockpit. He returns a minute later with both an icepack and a sling. âIâll help you,â Uru says, planting the icepack on top of Locksâ arm and placing Locksâ hand firmly on top of it.Locks could laugh, but he keeps his mouth shut, letting his partner guide him into the sling. If Uruâs hands werenât lingering before, they are now, and they reluctantly slide off his shoulder to rest on the pilotâs seat.
âThanks,â Locks says, meaning it. He stands, wary of the pack on his shoulder.But Uru doesnât back up, at least not in time--Locks nearly collides with his chest. He looks up to both apologize and ask Uru to move out of the way.
Their eyes lock so suddenly Locksâ request dies in his throat. He catches sight of Uruâs pale lashes fluttering down at him, the snap dilation of his pupils--then heâs smoothly stepped aside, giving Locks the space to leave.He almost doesnât move. Feeling like heâs been let loose in outer space, his senses spinning, Locks leaves the cockpit, Uru following close behind.
Warm, smokey air filters through Urudyckâs veil, filling his nostrils with the scent of wood smoke and his own sweat. The night sky is dark enough that the puffs of smoke blend almost seamlessly with the black expanse. He pauses compulsively to look at it even though he knows the speckled galaxy above him will be distorted by the veil.Taking a sharp breath through his nose, Uru runs his hands over his lekku, from around his jaw all the way down to the rough, near-numb ends. His stomach flips, bringing with it the sharper smells of smoke so thick it clogged his lungs, of the serrated edge of apologies and prayers forcing their way out of his mouth over and over and over.
Uruâs palm stops at the end of the white lek, its color that of stars and a portender of bad luck, of inevitable doom handed to him before he was even more.That would technically make it his parentsâ fault, not his, but nobody in the colony would dare even whisper such a thought. Urudycksâ father would find out. And he would have recompense.Bile crawls up Uruâs throat, but he chases it down, forcing his hand off his white lek as though it had burned him.Shuffling quickly along the edge of his familyâs compound, Urudyck is careful not to let his heels crunch to loudly on the dead leaves the litter the ground. His veil shuffles around his shoulders and he wants nothing more than the rip the thing off, to subject it to the same fate faced by the end of his white lek--but at the same time, the mere idea of pulling it off in the open air makes him nervous.Thereâs hardly any light this far into the back of the compound, where various sheds stand against the back wall. As much as his father preferred and pursued perfection, he either did not know about or had nothing to say about the old, lopsided shed shoved off into the corner. He didnât know about the hole in the side of the shed that was just the perfect size for a teenaged pariah to slip through, veil and all.The shed doesnât smell like smoke. It smells like dust and old wood, like oil spilled from a broke maintenance machine somewhere outside his field of vision. A hole near the ceiling lets in some slivers of sharp moonlight, but otherwise it is dark. Enclosed like this, Urudyck feels safe enough to pull off his veil, tight fisted in one hand.He waits.In two short minutes, grunting and scraping can be heard from the opposite side of the shed that Uru came in through. A set of powderly blue montrals pokes into the small building from somewhere near the ground, then arms, then more grunting and swearing before a full figure comes into dim view. Locks, covered in dirt but looking quite proud of himself, carefully steps over discarded tools and machinery to get to Urudyck. He was getting broad in the shoulders and forming shorter, thicker lekku that made it all the more difficult to get into their secret hiding place.Uru has the impulse to hide the veil behind his back, but Locks already knows about it, of course--everyone in the colony does.âHi,â Locks breathes, his eyes already crinkling with a smile.They do what they always do: nestle into the space between two massive tools, arms and shoulders and legs and calves touching and generating heat between them. They talked--rather, Locks spoke and Uru listened. Uru was rarely asked to speak in his own home and so has difficulty managing more than a few words at a time. He thinks he might have dedicated more of the words in his life to prayer and apology than real conversation.âAre you alright?â Locks asks suddenly, the softness of his question jerking Uru back to the present.âFine,â he says hastily. The veil, wrapped tightly around his knuckles, cuts circulation off from his fingers. Looking at it fills Uru with a sudden burning rage, one that constricts his chest until he feels heâll crack. HIs fang dips into his lower lip, drawing forth pain that normally breaks Uru out of these sudden rushes of adrenaline and hatred.It doesnât work. The veil gets so tight Uru stops feeling his fingers entirely--the awful fabric isnât choking his knuckles, itâs cinched his fatherâs neck, pulled taught against the jugular till all that can be heard are the pops of hard-fought air, as sluggish and desperate as cracks from a doused fire--Locks hand closes over Uruâs fist, once again dragging him back to the present. Uru canât breathe. Locks works his fingers into Uruâs fist until he relents, relaxing his grip--then locks pulls the veil away, tossing off to the side somewhere. Their fingers fit together.Warmth floods Uruâs hand, spreading from his fingertips up his arm through his chest, replacing the burn that had been there. Uru refuses to remove his eyes from their entwined hands--the blue against white, the way Locks hands are softer than anything heâs ever felt.The hitch in Locksâ breathing forces Uruâs eyes up--forces a new slam of his heart against his ribs.To Uruâs dismay, Locks breaks their hands apart, leaving it bereft and cold again. His palm comes to the left side of Uru's face, hovering just before making contact.Dread consumes him. âDonât,â Uru says. âYouâll get hurt.â Locks would be stained and then the only person in this entire colony who cared for him would be a pariah as well.
Locks is silent a moment, his dark eyes running of the whiteness of Uruâs montral, his lek, the side of his face. âNo I wonât,â he murmurs. âYou could never hurt me.âHis hand rests on Uruâs face--on the pale side, on the cursed side. The side that was always regarded with revulsion.But Locks holds it with a tenderness Uru had only seen reserved for newborns, his thumb tracing Uruâs brow and sweeping down to his cheekbone. Uruâs heart clatters up his throat.Locks comes in close enough for Uru to feel the heat radiating off him. Their foreheads brush, their noses touch, and just when Locks is able to relax enough, they kiss.A soft shiver sweeps under his skin. The taboo of their kiss pounds against the back of Uruâs skull, but so does excitement--so does the sense of freedom in this stolen moment.When Locks finally pulls away, his dark eyes wide with an emotion Uru canât name, he puts his hand again on the white side of Uruâs face. Uru finds he doesnât mind its presence.A little dazed, Uru leans back against the shedâs wall, folding his lips in. Locks takes his hand again, curling up close to Uru and pressing their heads together. His eyes flutter closed; the shed falls silent.
He purrs.
Uru almost jerks, but he controls himself because he knows a sudden movement will stop the purr. It sits low in l\Locksâ chest, emanating out of him like light from the sun.
It rolls through Uruâs montrals, bringing a rush of calm that drags the tension from his shoulders. Just beneath his sternum, the muscle there loosens, an almost shy purr coming forth.
Locks purrs louder, encouraging him. The vibration in his montrals alone is enough to open Uru up to a purr thatâs just a tad quieter than Locksâ. His head filled with the sound of Locksâ comfort, Uru isnât hiding in a shed in his fatherâs compound. There is no fire, no smoke, no heat save for the soft warmth of their lekku slowly twining together.
It's just them and the open sky above them.Normally the sun would feel like an overbearing eye on their brows as they trekked out into the semi-wild, but with Locks' arms around Uruâs waist they both feel a different type of heat.Two weeks beforehand, the stranger named Locks had appeared on Uruâs doorstep, old boots caked in dirt and his flimsy hat clutched between his hands. Heâd walked a mile from the outermost fence just to offer to fix it for nothing--a place to sleep and a hot meal.Uru had gotten the sense the stranger would have slept on the dirt pile beside his porch. Uru himself isnât a man of hot meals, but something about this manâs face compelled him to break out the skillet the way the sun is compelled to arc across the sky and scorch the earth.
The fence was mended and mended well. The sun had just begun its dip beneath the horizon, the earth releasing heat when Locks came back, hat in his hands again. He washed them by the water pump and absolutely devoured the small meal Uru set out for him.He had the look of someone who needed three times as much as heâd gotten, but he thanked Uru like his belly was full. Then he looked out at the barn.âThe barnâs got a hole in the roof,â Uru had said. âSupposed to rain tonight, too.âLocks only gave him a uniquely humorous smile, flashing the hat.
âMat and blanket are in the chest next to the door,â Uru said without looking at him. "Fire in the hearth's died down by now, but it's better than nothing."Locks paused only a moment before he passed by him; he carried a smell of ash, and when Uru looked closely, he could see small holes where embers had burned through parts of his shirt, black like the sky at night.
The stranger hadnât asked anything of Uru, and Uru would do the same of him.Two weeks. The fence, the barn--then the water pump, a porch step, and then the migration.Locks was not from anywhere nearby. Uru spoke little, but the man who was becoming less a stranger and more of something else easily filled the gaps. The first night, heâd given one detail about himself: he was not trying to return from whence he came. He had plans to leave in the morning.Uru did not sleep.The pair amble their slow way across the plains now, companions only to the sun and sky, the cattle, and each other. Uru has one horse, whoâs gait Locks has to work get used to.The stranger keeps both arms wrapped comfortably around Uruâs waist, something that he had to learn quickly if he favored avoiding falling off the horse. His arms tense with the intermittent uneven jolt, but otherwise he sits comfortably behind Uru, his chest and stomach close to Uruâs back.Uru had hauled him up one-armed since Locks clearly didn't know how to get on. Uru took secret pride in the impressed noise of surprise that came from the strangersâ mouth.The sun dances directly above their heads before contemplating its descent below the horizon. Behind him, Uru hears the pop of the water can and the light swish of the liquid sliding out.They stop for the night. Locks accepts Uruâs proffered hand to get help stepping down. Once his boots hit the ground, he curves back, yawns, and pops all the joints in his shoulders.âRiding will do that to you,â Uru says. Locksâ forehead had pressed against Uruâs shoulder on more than one occasion, the sun and long hours of silence dragging it down until it rested comfortably against his shirt. Uru still feels the ghost pressure of it, the empty weight of where Locksâ hand would rest against his stomach while he used the other to drink.
Locks wordlessly starts the fire. Its glow plays off his skin, warming it. Uru is a safe distance away, elbows braced on his knees and attention focused on the stars hovering just above the horizon. Thereâs barely a wind to stir the dust and dirt that surrounds them, barely a sound to accompany the crackle of the fire and the two men.âWhere are you from?â Uru asks.
Locks stares into the fire; its smoke is dark, curling into the sky and blending seamlessly with the black expanse. His hair almost resembles it, dark curls with no distinct beginning or end. He throws in a twig.âFar.âUru knows better than to pry. They dip into companionable silence again, Locksâ chin dipping past the border of his broad shoulders, his hands steepled before his mouth.
He speaks--not about where heâs from, but about anything and everything. He only makes as much noise as dry grass blown by the wind, his voice blending with the edges of night around them.Uru pulls out a flask. The heady scent of whiskey fills his nostrils, its burn sharp. He lets the bitterness sit on his tongue, his head turned away from the fire. Its metal opening rests momentarily against Uruâs lips before he tosses the flask to Locks, who catches it easily.âHow long you been by yourself?â Locks asks, twisting the cap off the flask contemplatively. He sniffs it.âA while.âUru knows the answer isnât enough to satisfy him.âAny friends?ââDepends.âTheir eyes meet, Locksâ dark and openly unreadable. He takes a long draw from the whiskey flask, unflinching at the bitter taste, his lips lingering on the opening like he was tasting more than just alcohol.The sky is open, the lopsided moon a dull eye starting down at them. Uru unfurls his mat. Locks unfurls his right beside him.