Archive of Our Own ^beta

Rex has been on his best behavior the whole summer. Dutifully ignoring the long, tanned legs in shorts, the shadow of cleavage emphasized by bikini tops, and generally imagining there's a bright neon sign blinking DO NOT TOUCH over the woman he's sitting next to.

And taking cold showers. Lots of them.

He's not stupid. He's been friends with Anakin for years and has known the cardinal rule of friendship even longer. You don't go after your friend's sister. She's off limits. To anyone. For the rest of time. He's honestly surprised Anakin even let her move to the city and didn't try shuffling her off to a nunnery as soon as he could. Overkill to most but that's Anakin; overprotective to a fault. Rex pities any poor soul who comes between Anakin and the person he's trying to protect.

But if Anakin ever finds out, Rex can honestly say he's not doing anything wrong. He's only sitting next to a friend. Because the fact remains that he and Ahsoka are friendly.

It just so happens that the way they look at each other is anything but.

There are a dozen 20-somethings loosely gathered in the cramped living room of Rex and Anakin's shared apartment. Beers in hand, music blaring, air stuffy, even with all the windows open. A hot, muggy summer night. The kind that makes her wish Anakin had sprung for an apartment with air conditioning.

Ahsoka can't explain it, how her eyes immediately focus in on the host, even though there are several layers of people between them. Or, she can explain it; she just thinks she might sound crazy if she said it out loud. If she confesses that it feels like there's an invisible string tied between the two of them. One that tells her at any given moment where Rex is in the room, one that tugs at the bottom of her ribs every time he moves further away, as if compelling her to go to him. Even crazier is her conviction that Rex feels it, too. It's in the way his gaze is pointedly turned away from the apartment's entrance, even though she's just walked in. Like he doesn't want her catching him waiting to see if she'll come. Like maybe—just maybe—he's been looking for her all night.

Or it's just her delusional hope that Rex feels for her even an ounce of what she feels for him. Because it's not fair, what she feels for Rex. Ahsoka's had crushes before but not like this. Like she has to sit on her hands every time they're around each other because she knows if she starts touching him, she'll never stop. It's why she never lets herself linger in his embrace, always slipping out from under the friendly arm slung over her shoulder, nearly dropping every drink or snack she hands him, and awkwardly resorting to bro-y high fives and cheesy finger guns whenever they greet each other.

Infuriatingly, Rex doesn't seem to exercise the same caution; several weeks ago during one of their movie nights with Anakin, he eased past her to get another beer, his hands lingering against her shoulders, chest pressed against her back. She can still feel the warmth of his body—his broad palms, his firm chest muscles, the crisp, clean scent of his body wash—against hers, like she's some lovesick schoolgirl. Ahsoka wonders if it's deliberate. Some intentional way to skirt past the boundaries they've silently set for themselves and touch her in whatever way he can. Maybe he aches for her the way she aches for him, curling up tightly in bed, wishing they could be together.

Sometimes she lets herself indulge in the what if's, allowing the years of their lives unspool differently. A daydream she vividly imagines whenever she feels lonely. What if she'd met Rex before Anakin did? Would they be dating or engaged or married by now? Would this be their apartment together rather than a place where she crashes on the couch whenever she's had too much to drink? Never mind that Rex is two years older and that Anakin is their sole mutual acquaintance, meaning they probably would have never met otherwise. Hoping otherwise is merely the fantasy she kindles deep within herself that meeting him first means she would have been able to do something about the way he makes her feel without also feeling like she's somehow betraying Anakin by taking his best friend away from him.

But here's the thing; although they aren't alone—although they're standing in an apartment full of people—tonight is the first time in years that they're together without Anakin, the man who both connects and separates them. And all that guilt that Ahsoka typically feels whenever her gaze lingers on Rex for too long? It's nowhere to be found.

It's late, although Ahsoka couldn't tell anyone time it is. She only vaguely registers the music and chatter and general party noise steadily decreasing in volume as people make their goodbyes and head off to catch the metro or share a taxi. She and Rex haven't paid any real attention to anyone since she walked on the door. It would mean breaking their focus from each other. Nor have they touched the half-finished beers sitting next to them on the coffee table, not wanting to risk that moving might mean that someone else could slide into the open seat on the small couch. Ahsoka's not sure how they found themselves here, seated across from one another, her bent left knee grazing Rex’s right. Nor does she remember when Rex’s hand reached for hers. Only that their fingers are now interlaced, their joined hands resting between her knee and the couch cushion, where nobody can see it. 

His hand is warm and reassuring, just like she always thought it would be. 

Later, when the last person slips out the door, Rex latches the deadbolt and lets out a big sigh of relief. It's past 1:00 a.m., and Ahsoka should really be heading home but instead she helps Rex clean, dutifully gathering up beer bottles and wiping down surfaces, bringing the apartment back to a semblance of normal. Actually, even with the scattered bottles and the forgotten purses and abandoned hats that people will come to reclaim in the coming days, Ahsoka’s never seen it this clean. Anakin lives his life in controlled chaos, with gadgets and paper piles and stuff littering every surface he touches. Rex, by contrast, is neat as a pin. Not for the first time, Ahsoka wonders how the two are so close. 

“I’m hungry,” she announces to the empty room as she puts the broom back in the small closet off the kitchen. There’s a half-eaten bag of chips in the cupboard and she grabs it before perching herself atop the freshly cleaned kitchen counter. She’s polishing off the bag handily when Rex walks back in from taking out the trash and she feels a pang of guilt for eating what might be the only food left in the apartment. She holds the bag out to him. “Chip?”

There’s something about Ahsoka that always makes Rex look twice. Even now, with her hair disheveled, her forehead shiny from the lethal combination of summer heat and too many bodies in one apartment, and the remnants of salty chip crumbles at the corner of her mouth, he still can't bring himself to look away from the most beautiful girl he's ever seen.

It takes him a second to register the question, only spurred to action when Ahsoka shakes the bag at him questioningly.

"Thanks." Rex leans against the counter next to her and fishes out a chip from the bottom of the bag. Only an hour ago, they were holding hands in the low lighting of the living room, a long-kindled spark finally igniting. Now even though they're mere inches from one another, it feels like a vast canyon has opened up between them, the harsh lighting of the kitchen reminding him of reality. He wants to talk about it. Wants to confess that he wants to hold her hand and he doesn't mind staring into each other's eyes like they're lovestruck teenagers. But if Rex is good at anything, it's self-sabotage. So instead they stand there silently, trading the bag back and forth until there's only crumbs strewn across the bottom of the bag.

When she's not paying attention, more focused on funneling the last of the chip dust into her open mouth—concrete proof she's Anakin's sister even though they look nothing alike—he lets himself look his fill, staring at the long line of her neck. Not for the first time, he wonders what she would do if he leaned over and pressed a kiss directly on her pulse point. He's lost in the fantasy before Ahsoka nudges his hip with her foot, pulling his focus back to her face. She has a knowing, cat-got-the-canary smile on her face.

"Sorry," he says smoothly, faking a yawn and hoping she doesn't call him out on his staring. He pushes himself off the counter, settling for the middle of the kitchen to get some distance from Ahsoka and the way she makes him feel. "Long week."

"Tired?"

Rex nods guiltily, another yawn—real this time—threatening to emerge despite his best efforts. “They’ve got me working a different trade desk to cover vacations. I should have been asleep hours ago.”

“Stocks," Ahsoka says derisively, wrinkling her nose. "Boring! You really should find a new job. Something that doesn't require you to wear a suit and tie. Come work with Anakin and me—we'd be great bosses!"

Rex would rather stick a pencil in his neck than work at Anakin's tech startup. He already sees the man enough as it is and he doesn't relish the idea of working for someone who can't even separate his lights from his darks. This isn't the first time one of the siblings has suggested it, and Rex assumes that one day he'll cave and join them for some exorbitant salary and ample stock options. But for now, he settles on a dismissive "Eh, it pays the bills" to indicate they should move on.

"So," Ahsoka says, biting down on her bottom lip and drawing the word out in a way that reveals how nervous she is. "If you need to be up early then I'm probably keeping you from sleep?"

She is, but Rex ignores the tidal wave of sleep threatening to crash over him. Shoves away the siren song of his bed, begging him at an ever-increasing volume to slip under its covers and try to get even a few hours of sleep before he has to head into the office. But he also knows this moment is finite. That the magic will fall away as soon as they both fall asleep. That the bright light of the morning and the Anakin-shaped elephant that exists in every room they're in together will once again be between them. That they'll retreat back to the carefully drawn lines of friend and sister, never being anything more to each other. 

And more than anything, Rex wants to be something more to Ahsoka. Wants to wake up next to her, see every inch of her in the soft morning light, fuck her slowly as the sun rises, figuring out just how many ways he can make her squirm. He's just afraid to risk ruining the tenuous friendship they have by blurting out that he likes her, so he stays silent.

He peeks at the oven clock, studiously ignoring the way Ahsoka's thighs gleam in the harsh light of the kitchen, her shorts riding up even higher than earlier. It's late; 2:30 now, and she's running the risk of missing the last train back to her neighborhood. Maybe she's just been awkwardly biding her time waiting for him to offer to walk her home and instead he's been keeping her here, arguing with himself over whether or not he should make his move.

"Want me to walk you—" "Is it okay if I crash here tonight?"

They talk over each other, and Ahsoka flushes red when she registers what Rex is asking.

"Sure," Rex says, but Ahsoka's already beating him to the punch, trying to save her dignity. Of course Rex wouldn't want her to stay there without Anakin. "That'd be great!"

The flip flop throws them both off, an awkward silence causing them to both pause and figure out how to re-calibrate and get the conversation back on track. Ahsoka jumps in again, unable to bear the silence.

"I mean, it's not like I'm expecting to sleep in your room, obviously I can crash in Anakin's bed … I know the walls are thin but you won't even know I'm here, I don't snore like him. But I'll definitely need to do some cleaning—last time I helped him with his room, I found three screwdrivers and an engine part under his pillow so who knows what I'll find this time… probably a whole motorcycle wheel…" Ahsoka feels herself rambling, the train of thought not only having left the station but now fully derailing, and she peeks at Rex, who—much to her dismay—is wearing a serious look. "What? Did I say something wrong?"

"You could," Rex says, eyes focused on her, his back ramrod straight, his tone offering no hint of what he's actually thinking or feeling.

"Could what?" Ahsoka feels lost, not even remembering what she said a few seconds earlier, her awkward babbling erased from her consciousness as soon it left her mouth.

"Sleep in my bed." Rex takes a step closer to where she's perched on the counter, and she instinctively scoots back, her head lightly bumping against the cupboard. "With me, I mean."

"Oh." That's all she can manage, her heart skipping a beat in her chest, a heat starting to spread throughout her whole body at the prospect of what he's offering.

"I mean," Rex looks a little horrified at what popped out of his mouth, his hand brushing the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing a light pink. "Only if you want to."

"I want," Ahsoka says quickly before he changes his mind, her head nodding so fast she thinks it might fly off if she's not careful. "I really really want."

There are a million things that could go wrong, not least of all what will happen if Anakin ever finds out, but in this moment Ahsoka doesn't care. Not when she sees the bright, uncomplicated smile on Rex's face as he comes closer to her. Or the gentle way he nudges her legs open so he can slip between them. She's not even embarrassed by the sigh she lets out when he finally touches her, his calloused palms red-hot on the tops of her thighs.

It's not until they're nearly nose to nose that abject horror bolts through her and instinctively she puts her hands up against his chest. She doesn't push him away but he still leans back, giving her a moment.

"Too fast?"

"No, worse," she says morosely. "I have horrible chip breath."

"That's okay," Rex says with a laugh, slipping his hand under her hair and finally closing the distance between them. "I love chips."