Star Wars - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Impulse ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: AndBeAVillian 
Non Anime: Star Wars - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama | Type: Vignette | Uploaded On: 03.01.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 2.7K | Status: Work In Progress
Non Anime: Star Wars - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama | Type: Vignette | Uploaded On: 03.01.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.2K | Visits: 2.7K | Status: Work In Progress
Hands covered in lubricant, carefully maintaining his weapons as he'd been trained, Clone Commander Bly was frustrated. He hadn't seen this one coming, didn't know how to react. It bothers him more than he'd ever admit to anyone.
When she pushed him hard against the wall he thought she'd sensed another one of those damn droids, the place was rigged, something threatening and lethal. The odd intent predatory look on her face was one he'd never seen her wear, not even in the heat of battle. Had it been anyone else he would have fought. But this was General Aayla Secura, who hadn't led him wrong yet.
In his mind its that, The Event, it. Not knowing what it meant is like an itch he almost but just couldn't quite fucking scratch. Logically, he knew it was 'sex' which was supposed to mean something but that something was different, depending on the situation.
Bly was almost sure this situation hadn't ever happened before. It wasn't in the clone manual or even mentioned during his training. Sex had barely been covered. He wondered if sex with a Jedi was different somehow, special. It had felt different than anything else his body had demanded of him.
The familiarity of gun cleaning is comforting. His trainer Alpha had once said “Serve your weapon so it may serve you” and he's never forgotten it. No matter what else is going on Bly will always clean his guns.
Had he done something? Was she angry? What did she want? Why didn't the normally talkative Jedi say anything? The relief he felt when she discarded her weapon with his own evaporated when she'd gone for his armor. Then he started to struggle. She could damn well explain what she wanted.
He had hoped she'd explain, shed some light on what it meant with her Jedi wisdom. But she'd been subtlety avoiding him. Had he done something wrong? Missed some kind of training? From what he knew attachments were forbidden for Jedi, but this...fling with a clone might not count. Clones weren't people after all. Though he'd never heard of anything like this from the other Commanders.
What was he not understanding? Was he defective somehow? Would he be terminated for it?
A batch of clones had been culled for having less than 20/20 vision once. Even now defective clones were removed from the ranks. Bly isn't too attached to this life, created as he is for the battlefield but he has no intention of rushing to death either.
Oh. She wanted his body. The thought was dim, hidden somewhere in the mess his thoughts were. She tasted like blood and flowers, mouth hard against his own. Bly made sure he kept completely still, not sure how to react, unsure if he really wanted her to stop. His body felt strange, alive in a way it hadn't before.
Not thinking about it is almost impossible. A smell, a taste, a sight, something would remind him of it. The scenes would flash through his mind, make his body react. It was...bothersome. Distracting. Bly was very sure his men had noticed his inattention. Some idiot was going to say it was because he had upset General Secura somehow.
He half-suspects the same himself. That bothers him too.
A gun will never bother him this much, never be this unpredictable. As he starts putting the pieces back together Bly swears he'll only depend on his gun and his brothers. Them he understands.
Whatever she was doing was scrambling his brain. His mouth was latching on to hers without his consent, a thing he probably would've been disturbed by if he could have formed a coherent sentence. He was hyperaware of every touch, but didn't know if he wanted more contact or less. She didn't seem to have the same problem, touching whatever skin was within reach.
It was going to drive him mad if she ignored it. That would mean it was unfinished. Bly hated not finishing things. Part of him wanted to go demand answers. The rest of him pointed out he had no right, no say. A clone was replaceable where a Jedi was not. He could demand nothing.
Hell, clones were identical. He might just have been a handy body. Available. Disposable. It was like a dog and a bone, he couldn't seem to stop worrying at it. Obsessing over it like he obsessed over tactics and strategies, going over past battles again and again to find what could have been done better.
The contrast between his tan skin and her blue was oddly mesmerizing. He couldn't seem to look away, fascinated by how she moved as she rode him, by the small sounds she made. By how she said his name. Her nails left bloody wounds in his skin. His skin felt like it was too tight, his whole body too sensitive. It did not last much longer. Bly didn't know if he was relieved or disappointed.
She had murmured his name though. Multiple times. For her attachments were forbidden, for him they were outside his nature. Bly didn't mind that, but he didn't want to simply be a convenient body for her to use. Yet he'd rather she use him than another. That thought leaves him slightly nauseated, hands clenching on the half-finished gun.
He doesn't know what he wants, but he knows what he doesn't. They'll be working with her old master soon. Rumor has it the Counsel thought them too close and separated them. Bly doesn't like traitors and now he'll like this one even less.
When he woke she was gone. He half-hoped it had all been a dream but the bite marks and scratches showed it had been very real. Despite the injuries a large part of Bly wanted to repeat the experience. Just to feel the intensity he knew wouldn't come from anything else.
Dwelling on sex like this had to be abnormal. He'd heard plenty of civilians and non-clone recruits talking like it was nothing.
He was so preoccupied he jumped when the clone messenger pushed the door open.
“Sir, General Secura requests your presence at 'the barn'. She said you'd know where, Sir.”
Well, he might be getting answers after all. At least it wouldn't be unfinished, but he rather hoped it wasn't over.
Bly made sure to finish with his gun first. The Jedi woman might be a new obsession but his gun is his life.
When she pushed him hard against the wall he thought she'd sensed another one of those damn droids, the place was rigged, something threatening and lethal. The odd intent predatory look on her face was one he'd never seen her wear, not even in the heat of battle. Had it been anyone else he would have fought. But this was General Aayla Secura, who hadn't led him wrong yet.
In his mind its that, The Event, it. Not knowing what it meant is like an itch he almost but just couldn't quite fucking scratch. Logically, he knew it was 'sex' which was supposed to mean something but that something was different, depending on the situation.
Bly was almost sure this situation hadn't ever happened before. It wasn't in the clone manual or even mentioned during his training. Sex had barely been covered. He wondered if sex with a Jedi was different somehow, special. It had felt different than anything else his body had demanded of him.
The familiarity of gun cleaning is comforting. His trainer Alpha had once said “Serve your weapon so it may serve you” and he's never forgotten it. No matter what else is going on Bly will always clean his guns.
Had he done something? Was she angry? What did she want? Why didn't the normally talkative Jedi say anything? The relief he felt when she discarded her weapon with his own evaporated when she'd gone for his armor. Then he started to struggle. She could damn well explain what she wanted.
He had hoped she'd explain, shed some light on what it meant with her Jedi wisdom. But she'd been subtlety avoiding him. Had he done something wrong? Missed some kind of training? From what he knew attachments were forbidden for Jedi, but this...fling with a clone might not count. Clones weren't people after all. Though he'd never heard of anything like this from the other Commanders.
What was he not understanding? Was he defective somehow? Would he be terminated for it?
A batch of clones had been culled for having less than 20/20 vision once. Even now defective clones were removed from the ranks. Bly isn't too attached to this life, created as he is for the battlefield but he has no intention of rushing to death either.
Oh. She wanted his body. The thought was dim, hidden somewhere in the mess his thoughts were. She tasted like blood and flowers, mouth hard against his own. Bly made sure he kept completely still, not sure how to react, unsure if he really wanted her to stop. His body felt strange, alive in a way it hadn't before.
Not thinking about it is almost impossible. A smell, a taste, a sight, something would remind him of it. The scenes would flash through his mind, make his body react. It was...bothersome. Distracting. Bly was very sure his men had noticed his inattention. Some idiot was going to say it was because he had upset General Secura somehow.
He half-suspects the same himself. That bothers him too.
A gun will never bother him this much, never be this unpredictable. As he starts putting the pieces back together Bly swears he'll only depend on his gun and his brothers. Them he understands.
Whatever she was doing was scrambling his brain. His mouth was latching on to hers without his consent, a thing he probably would've been disturbed by if he could have formed a coherent sentence. He was hyperaware of every touch, but didn't know if he wanted more contact or less. She didn't seem to have the same problem, touching whatever skin was within reach.
It was going to drive him mad if she ignored it. That would mean it was unfinished. Bly hated not finishing things. Part of him wanted to go demand answers. The rest of him pointed out he had no right, no say. A clone was replaceable where a Jedi was not. He could demand nothing.
Hell, clones were identical. He might just have been a handy body. Available. Disposable. It was like a dog and a bone, he couldn't seem to stop worrying at it. Obsessing over it like he obsessed over tactics and strategies, going over past battles again and again to find what could have been done better.
The contrast between his tan skin and her blue was oddly mesmerizing. He couldn't seem to look away, fascinated by how she moved as she rode him, by the small sounds she made. By how she said his name. Her nails left bloody wounds in his skin. His skin felt like it was too tight, his whole body too sensitive. It did not last much longer. Bly didn't know if he was relieved or disappointed.
She had murmured his name though. Multiple times. For her attachments were forbidden, for him they were outside his nature. Bly didn't mind that, but he didn't want to simply be a convenient body for her to use. Yet he'd rather she use him than another. That thought leaves him slightly nauseated, hands clenching on the half-finished gun.
He doesn't know what he wants, but he knows what he doesn't. They'll be working with her old master soon. Rumor has it the Counsel thought them too close and separated them. Bly doesn't like traitors and now he'll like this one even less.
When he woke she was gone. He half-hoped it had all been a dream but the bite marks and scratches showed it had been very real. Despite the injuries a large part of Bly wanted to repeat the experience. Just to feel the intensity he knew wouldn't come from anything else.
Dwelling on sex like this had to be abnormal. He'd heard plenty of civilians and non-clone recruits talking like it was nothing.
He was so preoccupied he jumped when the clone messenger pushed the door open.
“Sir, General Secura requests your presence at 'the barn'. She said you'd know where, Sir.”
Well, he might be getting answers after all. At least it wouldn't be unfinished, but he rather hoped it wasn't over.
Bly made sure to finish with his gun first. The Jedi woman might be a new obsession but his gun is his life.