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Hay Babe, I Herd Ewe Might Be Down to Flock

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Tup is minding his own business with some Corellian brandy at the bar of 79’s when his doom is struck. 

He barely notices the vod next to him until he says, almost in Tup’s ear (and his lap), “Hey, gorgeous, name’s Wooley. I-,”

Whatever trite pickup line he was going to try is lost as Tup almost spews his drink across the bar, managing to choke instead and get it up his nose. In between coughing he asks, “who put you up to this, troop? No way that’s your actual name.”

“Fuck you!” the mohawk snarls, flipping from flirty to absolutely pissed off. He tries to shove Tup off his stool and it turns out Tup is less drunk than him, because Tup is able to spin out of the way, as well as keep the vod-no-way-actually-called-wooley from faceplanting. If he’d been sober, he’d have been able to keep his drink secure at the same time, but alas, it’s spilled, glass cracked on the floor. 

“Come on, for real?” he asks, still not believing a vod named ‘wooley’ would hit on him without it being a coincidence. 

“Don’t you fucking say one fucking more word about my fucking name, you unfairly pretty fucking asshole!” spits the trooper, who is apparently totally legitimately named Wooley, and also quite sensitive about it. 

Tup pulls him upright. “Okay, vod, Wooley, I apologize for insulting you. Your name’s valid, I’m sorry I laughed. But I need to know, who sent you my way, because now you and me need to go and insult that person. Violently.”

“Huh? No one, vod, you’re pretty enough to attract attention without anyone to talk you up, but I bet all the vode say that to you, right?”

Tup tosses his head a little. He knows he’s pretty and he likes the attention. Then he takes the time to actually look at this brother, size him up. 

“Like what you see?” Wooley preens. 

“Two-twelfth?” Tup notices the colors on a beaded bracelet around Wooley’s wrist. “Kriffing Commander Cody will have sent you for revenge then, even if you don’t know anything about it. You’re cute and all, but I can’t give your marigold bastard command team that kind of dirt on my captain. Sorry.”

“I am not intoxicated enough for that to have made sense,” Wooley ponders, scrunching his face up. “Captain…you 501st?” 

“Tup, of Torrent,” he introduces himself, and waits a long moment for his companion to put the pieces together. 

“That Fucking Shiny?” Wooley almost shouts, incredulous. Tup smashes a hand over his mouth and manhandles him further into the back.

“Shut. Up. You want to bring all the nosy kriffin’ gossip-mongers down upon our heads? It was probably too late to escape the blackmail the moment you walked your happy ass up to me, kark it! I did not need this tonight. Or ever! What a shitting mess,” he moans, thunking his head against the nearest available thing, which turns out to be Wooley’s shoulder. 

Wooley licks Tup’s hand, still loosely clasped over his mouth, then turns his head and licks Tup’s ear. “If it’s already too late, might as well enjoy ourselves, pretty,” he says, and rolls his entire body against Tup. Which, fair point.

“We gotta get out of here. Fresher windows? Yeah, let’s go,” he says, and pushes Wooley farther down the fresher hall. Hopefully if anyone did notice them together, Tup can play it off as a nameless rut in the fresher of 79’s and nothing more. No coincidence, no blackmail. 

The windows are at least ten feet off the ground. He makes a stirrup for Wooley to step on and then heaves him up and out. He backs up as far as he can (not far), runs, and leaps, hoping to get high enough himself. It isn’t enough. Wooley unexpectedly leans back in and snatches his arm in a bruising grip before Tup slides down the wall so that’s nice of him. Tup thought he’d already be on the ground on the other side. 

They scramble out and drop to the outer ledge. There’s a reason why this isn’t an usual exit, especially for alcohol-impaired humans. 

They hurry to clamber to a more stable platform, and get as far away from 79’s as they can, quickly. They end up crashing into an abandoned shell of a building when they run out of steam. They’re both sweating and breathing hard, and then abruptly Wooley slaps his hands on his knees and starts giggling. 

“That was- that was so cool! Hahaha, we got outta there alright, kriff those guys!” Suddenly he is very much in Tup’s space, still beaming, flushed with exertion and triumph and handsy as fuck, breathing, “you sure know how to have a good time, don’t you, Tup of Torrent?”

Tup should shake him off, but his reflexes aren’t firing right. ‘Fight it, fight it! ’ he tells himself. What is he thinking ? Somehow he is giggling too, and he knows in that moment that it is way, way too late for him. 

He winds his arms around Wooley, (kriff Tup is going to suffer so much for this) his newfound cyare (if this is what Kix and Jesse feel for each other, he understands so much better now) and laughs with him, helplessly, hopelessly gone.

 

Several hours later, Tup has a moment to ask, “hey, love, you do know the actual connotations of my name, beyond just ‘kriff,’ right?”

“Hmmm, what?” Wooley asks absently, “There’s more to it? I already thought it was wicked clever the way your whole cycle pulled that off. Kriffers, heh. What else does it mean, Tup’ika?”

“We-ell, people will probably think things which may or may not be true about the dynamics of our relationship, because, uh,” and Tup stammers off, incoherently embarrassed. 

“What?” Wooley coaxes, planting sweet little kisses over as much of Tup’s exposed skin as he can reach. 

Tup shoves his face into his arms and mumbles.

“Can’t hear you, sweetheart, c’mon, it can’t be that bad. Or, I mean, if it is, I’d rather hear it from you, first.”

Tup snags his commlink. “Lexical definition of tup,” he inputs verbally into the holosearch, hands it to Wooley, and hides his flaming face again. 

Wooley is quiet for a worryingly long time. Tup gives in to his mounting anxiety and peeks out of the crook of his arms. Wooley is silently laughing, his fist half-shoved into his mouth to keep his mirth contained. Tup tackles him. 

On the floor, the bracer display reads: 

TUP

noun: a ram, a male sheep

verb: slang, to butt, said of a ram

transitive verb: to copulate with (an ewe)

verb: slang, to have sex with, to bonk, etc.

noun: a heavy metal body, such as the weight of a pendulum or the head of a power hammer