Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Relationship: Dogma (Star Wars)/Anakin Skywalker
Characters: Dogma (Star Wars), Anakin Skywalker
Additional Tags: Past Rape/Non-con, Past Abuse, Power Imbalance, Power Dynamics, Asexual Character, Autistic Dogma (Star Wars), Asexual Dogma (Star Wars), Force-Sensitive Dogma (Star Wars), Force Empathy (Star Wars), Dissociation, Non-Linear Narrative, Minor Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Safer Sex, Unsafe Sex, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Hair-pulling, Facials, Implied/Referenced Starvation
Additional Notes: This is an authorized sequel to "right hand(s) man" by dovebox over on AO3, the short summary of which is: an AU in which Anakin and Obi-Wan returned to Umbara earlier than in canon, thus taking the campaign back over before Krell revealed himself as a wannabe Sith. Krell then gets Dogma transferred to under his command since Dogma was someone he could manipulate, gave him the job "personal aide", and used his position to repeatedly rape Dogma, who had convinced himself that everything was totally fine and acceptable and not at all a massive abuse of power and authority, as well as play him against all of the other clones under his command.
The whole fic is very interesting but also massively depressing, so I asked dovebox for permission to write a Dogmakin sequel and they graciously approved. To my knowledge, I don't directly reference what happens in "right hand(s) man" so much as allude to its established alternate timeline of it i.e. Krell surviving Umbara without revealing himself, Dogma transferring to his command, being used against the other clones, and being raped by Krell.
Lastly, Anakin and Padmé are still married in this, they just also are cool with each other being in relationships with other people as well.
General Skywalker is loud when he fucks Dogma.
His breathing is heavy in his ears and he makes no attempt to stifle the sounds of his pleasure: low, sweet moans and soft, high-pitched exclamations and Dogma, Dogma, oh. Dogma.
As in everything since Dogma's return to the 501st, it differs starkly from—previous experiences. The General makes no secret of his enjoyment when they're together like this, is vocal and demonstrative, but he doesn't take what Dogma doesn't give. He moves his weight onto one arm and reaches for Dogma's chin with the other, tracing his parted mouth with his thumb before tapping it on his top lip, gasping Can I? Please? while his hips move in short, sharp thrusts.
Dogma unsticks his throat and says, "Yes," and the General's face lights up from within.
He always kisses Dogma like he's trying to prove a point, like he's trying to convince Dogma that he's made the right decision. Dogma doesn't need convincing.
.
.
(Dogma doesn't want touch, doesn't want sex, the way most people do—or, at least, the way most brothers do.
He doesn't mind touching, or sex, but he doesn't crave it. The desire for it doesn't feel like a need; it doesn't feel like an ache; it doesn't feel like any of the alternately flowery descriptions or nonequivalent metaphors that brothers and trainers gave him whenever he would ask them to describe it.
The desire for sex doesn't feel anywhere close to hunger or thirst or breath.
When he was assigned to the 501st Legion, the first time, he had taken a moment to ask the lieutenant to describe it, as Jesse was by far the bluntest brother he'd met by that point.
He wasn't confused, he'd hastened to explain. He found out about asexuality the same time all brothers did: when their batch hit puberty and had to go through the appropriate training modules. Everything had made much more sense after the module about Human and Human-adjacent sexuality and reproduction. Everyone in Dogma's squad finally understood why he asked the questions he asked and accepted immediately that the 'attraction' so often talked about was something he'd likely never experience.
But, since he'd never stopped being curious about it and the 501st was a new group to survey, he wanted to hear the lieutenant's explanation.
"I don't know," Jesse had said, eyebrows furrowed but gamely thinking it over. "Sometimes I just see someone and my deece gets hard." He shrugged. "My heartbeat gets a little bit faster, my face gets a little bit warmer, my hands get a little bit sweatier. Lights get a little brighter, I think, and colors a bit sharper. And I just… want to touch them. And I want them to touch me. I want to hear their voice and feel their skin and get as close to them as I can. As close as they'll let me."
It boiled down to the same things he'd heard and read over and over but Dogma had nodded and thanked him and moved on.
Dogma doesn't want touch or sex the way most people do, and he's always been fine with that. He's been touched and he's had sex and—and it's been a spectrum of experiences, from—enjoyable to painful.
Life is full of spectrums.
It's not something he considers a problem.)
.
.
He kisses Dogma's top lip, then his bottom lip, then moans as Dogma tilts his hips slightly and the next slide of his cock goes deeper. He loses a little finesse for a moment and sucks on Dogma's tongue like a hard candy, before seeming to remember himself and pulling their mouths apart.
His free arm hooks underneath Dogma's knee and pushes his leg up, exposing and opening him up further.
The change makes Dogma groan despite himself, just a bit, and General Skywalker says oh in a tremulous voice and his hips jerk a little harder. Dogma stifles any more noise but the once was enough. The General's ardor only ever increases when Dogma forgets like that, and he always dedicates himself to trying to pull more noises out of him.
Dogma is too used to keeping quiet, though, even as he knows the General wants to hear him enjoying their couplings.
It's too ingrained in him to be silent.
.
.
(It becomes something resembling a problem—an inconvenience, at the very least—when he comes to the conclusion that General Skywalker is attracted to him. He'd even go so far as to conclude, in the privacy of his own mind, that General Skywalker wants to have sex with him.
The conclusion isn't difficult to reach: lingering looks when Dogma does absolutely nothing to draw attention to himself, light touches when he shows Dogma the proper grip for the opening form of Shii-Cho even though it's hours after he'd shown the others and Dogma hadn't meant for anyone to see him trying them out himself, the soft look in his eyes just after he presses a sweet kiss that taste like fondness to Dogma's lips (but before his expression twists).
He stumbles back, looking stricken and almost scared, and says, "I'm—I am so sorry, Private. That was—wildly inappropriate and you have my deepest apologies, I—did not intend to do that at all."
Understood, sir, Dogma says, rooted to the spot with his lips tingling. He feels both overwarm and like a shard of ice has been drawn down his spine. For some reason, he's also bizarrely aware of how often he's blinking.
And the General's expression becomes mortified and then forlorn and suddenly it feels as if they're both drowning in shame.
It's unpleasant and Dogma wishes he would stop and go back to showing him the proper way to hold the practice saber. He'd avoided the lesson proper, out of respect for the rest of Torrent, but held out hope that he could replicate the results well enough just from watching.
When the General had stepped into the room with his star-bright smile and told him that his grip was off, "Not by much, I promise. I can show you, if you'd like," Dogma had been disappointed in himself, but relieved to still be allowed to learn.
General Skywalker's expression wavers and he looks down and away, shoulders hunching.
"I didn't mean to," he whispers into the empty, barely-lit training room. He sounds distraught. "I promise I wasn't trying—I would never—" He cuts himself off, scowling to his frustration, and ducks his head and rounds his shoulders to appear smaller than he is. "I'm sorry. I'll leave. I'm sorry, Dogma."
Will you show me the grip again, sir? Dogma hears himself. He feels very calm; he doesn't want General Skywalker to leave. I didn't catch it the first time.
The General looks caught, wounded, as his eyes dart from Dogma's face to his hands and back. He approaches slowly, keeps his touch light and perfunctory as he shows Dogma the movements, steps farther away than necessary while Dogma tries to imitate what he's seen Commander Tano do.
By the end of the impromptu lesson, they both feel less like shattering.)
.
.
Dogma, General Skywalker groans not long after, prompted by nothing but his own increasing pleasure as he gets closer to his climax. You're so, you feel so, you're so good, Dogma, feel so good.
Dogma bites the inside of his lip and blinks up at the ceiling of the General's private quarters and lets himself feel. It does feel good—the slide of the General's cock inside of him and the weight of the General on top of him and the desperate kisses the General showers him with and the sticky-sweet feeling of their love-making.
The General calls it that in his head, Dogma knows. He never calls it fucking because his feelings for Dogma are soft and warm and yielding.
Just like him whenever they're together, sex or no.
He always asks, never assumes, and Dogma appreciates that—he likes that—because there are some days when General Skywalker's desire feels—familiar. Hot and possessive and curling around him greedily whenever they're near each other, driving them both to distraction, if for entirely different reasons.
.
.
(General Skywalker stops looking at Dogma quite so much after the night in the training room, when he'd kissed Dogma like they were in a holo-novel. It reminds Dogma of the ways cadets learn not to look at things they want.
A lot of things the General does reminds Dogma of his brothers.
Maybe that's why he walks up to him and the Captain during latemeal and asks if he can join them. Because high-ranked officers aren't supposed to join the lower ranks for such frivolous activities. The Captain looks surprised and the General looks overjoyed.
Dogma stays quiet for the meal, moving steadily counter-clockwise around his tray as he eats. He's surprised when General Skywalker asks his opinion, between the end of one cycle around his tray and the beginning of another, on combat modifications for the Tribunal's complement of droids.
He looks between the General with his bright eyes and the Captain with his soft smile, swallows, and gives it.
General Skywalker likes it when Dogma voices his opinions.)
.
.
When the General's feelings turn hot and greedy like that, doesn't try to touch Dogma at all anymore. He had kissed and touched him only the once.
And it had been good.
Dogma had enjoyed it, but—it had made him feel odd, as well. Almost disconnected from his body, as he kissed the General back and pulled the General on top of him and spread his legs for the General and said, "Yes," to everything the General had asked.
When General Skywalker had finished and started kissing his way down Dogma's chest, though, he'd been upset to find that Dogma was soft. Dogma had reflexively worried that he'd done something wrong.
Then there had been that wash of shame that wasn't his and he'd understood better.
So, he's grateful that the touches stay gentle; the kisses are sweet and questioning. They don't make Dogma's head go quiet and still, so he can enjoy the skin and sweat and sounds of his General making love to him.
His General loves him.
.
.
(The meals together continue, sometimes with the Captain and sometimes without.
General Skywalker will sit with him if Dogma reaches the mess first and always smiles. Neither of them discuss that they have no one else to sit with. The General is too highly ranked, and a Jedi besides, for anyone besides the Captain to approach him; Torrent knows better than to give Dogma another chance.
Besides leaving once already, and only coming back after General Krell's death, some of Torrent are other transfers from General Krell's former command. They've no doubt warned everyone about Dogma's treacherous nature: willing to hurt brothers to remain in favor with a General.
Dogma won't be surprised when other troopers start interrupting the meals, trying to keep him away from General Skywalker.
Something about Dogma makes Jedi worse.
Until it starts, until Dogma is pushed out and away, they eat together. They talk together. They train together, sometimes, with the practice saber while the lights are dimmed and after the others have had their turns.
General Skywalker doesn't ask why Dogma doesn't join the groups.
He thinks maybe he doesn't have to ask; the investigation after General Krell's death had taken a long time to conclude. Many of his brothers had been pulled aside by the Jedi and talked for long hours; Dogma had been left to himself, to do what he could to prepare for the breakup and various transfers.
Nobody had asked him a thing, not even where he'd like to go.)
.
.
Dogma can always tell when General Skywalker is getting close. His breaths get shallower and he nuzzles at the side of Dogma's face and works his hips in deeper, harder thrusts, desperate to wring some sound of pleasure out of him. Dogma doesn't need these tells to know how close his General is.
He bites his lip and tries to melt into the bed, pushing his head back into the pillows. It feels good.
It feels very good to do this with General Skywalker.
Every touch and noise pushes him higher, swept up in the General's wake, and when he falls over the edge, the General is always there to catch him with soft words and loving touches. He never leaves Dogma unsatisfied—determinedly so—and always asks him to stay as long as he can, as long as he wants. There's always another kiss to give him, another offer to use his hot water rations or sleep under his blankets, another reason to tarry a few minutes longer.
Dogma doesn't stay every time, but he finds himself accepting more and more. So often he doesn't want to make the long, slow trudge back to his cold, empty cot in the barracks.
The General's bed isn't even much thicker or more comfortable, but at least it always has the General in it. He's always happy to have Dogma around. Even when they don't have sex, even when Dogma goes still and quiet under his touch until the touching ceases and the General pulls away with a bashful smile and offers a little treat or trinket instead, Dogma is always welcome.
Conversations don't go quiet at Dogma's proximity in the General's quarters.
So he melts into the bed that's not much thicker or warmer than his own cot but for the General's presence. He lets his body relax and lips part and the tiniest noises escape his throat. It feels good.
General Skywalker feels good.
.
.
(He doesn't have to accept, the General assures Dogma, when their leave on Coruscant begins and he asks Dogma to have dinner with him. When he asks Dogma to go on a date with him.
"I promise, I swear to you, I completely understand if you don't want to. 'No' is always an acceptable answer." The General is unusually anxious as he says this. His face is stained red, and the red moves down his cheeks and jaw to cover his neck as well, the longer he talks. He moves his shoulders inward to appear smaller and his left hand has a fine tremor in it. "And if you want to go without it being a date, that's fine, too!"
He looks very nervous, putting more and more distance between them in the hangar, shuffled inches at a time. Dogma tilts his head at him
So… is it a date or is it not, sir? he asks, reasonably certain before, but now there are more than two options. General Skywalker is attracted to him, but might be talking himself out of it.
"That's—it's up to you, Private. Dogma, I mean," the General hastily corrects. Then he blanches, and begins to backpedal again. "Or—I can call you 'private,' if you prefer, of course. If it's not a date, I mean. If it is a date, I'd prefer we drop our ranks, but if me dropping ranks otherwise makes you uncomfortable then—"
The General may be panicking. Dogma's only seen him this red and squeaky when Commander Tano asks pointed questions about his relationship with Senator Amidala.
"Then, yeah, that'd… be okay," he finishes, looking pained.
Dogma thinks very hard before saying, I would like it, if it was a date, sir. The words feel strange in his mouth, like they should have a taste.
Bittersweet, maybe.
The General looks relieved, then unsure, then conflicted, in rapid succession. "I—would like it, too… Private?"
Just 'Dogma' is fine, sir, Dogma says firmly and heads for their scheduled transport.
General Skywalker clearly struggles with speaking during their flight, but refrains with so many brothers around them. When they touch down on Coruscant and begin to make their way towards the eatery where their date is supposed to commence, he looks nervous again.
"Would you… feel comfortable just calling me 'Anakin,' Dogma?" he asks, chewing on the inside of his lip. He really is just a cadet fast-tracked into a command role.
Dogma frowns, wishing he'd brought his helmet along, and says, I'll… try. Anakin?
The General smiles, nervous but still warm, and when he kisses Dogma after they've eaten, he has no such reservations. He whispers Dogma's name against his lips over and over, in tones Dogma has never heard his name said before, making him shiver.
It feels good.)
.
.
"Anakin," he breathes, when he can feel the General is just moments away, "please kiss me."
The sound the General makes is pure relief.
He crushes them together, chanting Dogma's name like it's the only word he remembers, and works his cock into him in deep, grinding thrusts. His flesh hand cups and strokes Dogma's cheek like he's precious as he presses kiss after sloppy, desperate kiss to his mouth.
It's sweet; it's good. Dogma feels his eyes crinkle as he smiles into it, letting himself be swept away.
.
.
(They don't have sex that night. They don't have sex during that leave. They don't even have sex that month.
Dogma thinks for several seconds that maybe the General may simply be fucking the Captain in the meantime. He has no personal aide like General Krell did.
Not that, he ruefully acknowledges, General Krell having a 'personal aide' was normal. Dogma may learn slowly but he does learn; the investigation into General Krell's defeat had taken so long for a reason, after all. Separatists don't ambush Republic forces and take out a Jedi when there are no Separatists in the sector.
He eventually decides to ask General Skywalker about it directly.
The General looks hunted when he finally does.
"I—was under the impression that you're asexual," he says, caught out as they eat their rations in his quarters. "Not that—I know that that doesn't mean you can't or anything. It's just—when I asked Rex, he said that you've never displayed any interest. So I figured… I wouldn't bring it up?"
Dogma blinks.
I don't mind sex, he says mildly. Do you not want to?
If anything, the question makes General Skywalker look even more uncomfortable.
"Of course I do!" he yelps, then turns bright pink, sets his meal aside, and buries his face in his hands. Dogma can faintly make out, "I wasn't even this bad with Padmé," between noises of frustration and embarrassment. He takes a deep breath and sits up. "That is to say—I'm allosexual, and I like you very much, in pretty much all of the ways that I can like you, so. Yes, I would like to have sex with you, but no, I wasn't going to bring it up because I didn't want you to feel pressured."
Dogma thinks this over for several minutes. The General doesn't interrupt him, even after he's calmed himself down.
You asked Captain Rex about me, sir?
The General winces at the return to ranks, then straightens his shoulders and takes a deep breath.
"I did, yes," he says, looking braced for something unpleasant. "I—really, really like you, Dogma. Obviously." He says it with a roll of his eyes and some pink returns to his face, but not as much as before. Self-deprecation, Dogma thinks, because his attraction had been fairly obvious to someone watching for it. "But your personnel file listed that you're autistic, so, yeah, I asked Rex. Just for any information he might think was appropriate to share."
He anxiously searches Dogma's face, as if worried about his reaction. Dogma smiles. It doesn't make him look very reassured.
"Anyway, he said that it's pretty well-known that you're asexual, and you also hadn't expressed any interest in romantic relationships, so I. Wasn't planning on saying anything about… any of it."
Dogma nods. That makes sense. You kissed me in the training room, he points out. And we've gone on dates. We're on one right now.
He doesn't think the General's forgotten, exactly, but it's worth pointing out.
"I wasn't planning on kissing you," General Skywalker wails, covering his face again. Dogma isn't worried about the dramatic reaction, since he's said as much before, much more quietly and calmly during one of their early meals together. "You just—you're just so pretty and it was late at night and you had a practice saber and it was just all so romantic because I'm a sucker."
Dogma nods again.
So, you think I'm pretty and you'd like to have sex with me… Anakin?
The General pulls his head out of his hands to stare. "Y—yes? That's—accurate. That is an accurate summation of events, yes."
Then we should have sex, he says, because it's the obvious conclusion.
He doesn't know why the General looks so taken aback, but he likes the sappy smile on his face when he says, "Okay," with something very much like reverence. "I'd really like that."
Good. That's good.)
.
.
General Skywalker comes with a high and breathy moan, flexing his hips a few more times until he shudders to a stop. Dogma likes this part best, especially when he's on his back with the General between his legs; there's something pleasant about being weighed down by someone so thoroughly satisfied.
It's the same well-earned exhaustion of a hard training session mixed with the ease and familiarity of a cuddle-pile. It's nice.
The General moans again, heavy and sweet, and presses more kisses to Dogma's face and sweaty hairline. He gets his weight underneath his arms again and pulls back to smile dopily down at him, rubbing the tips of their noses together, then resting his forehead against Dogma's.
"Okay?" he asks, sounding sleepy and blissed out, his voice rough with exertion.
His flesh hand hasn't stopped stroking Dogma's cheek once. Dogma turns his face to nuzzle at it, letting his lips catch at the delicate skin as he whispers, "Good."
The General's smile widens. "Is it okay if I get you off?"
Dogma hums, eyes drifting shut; the General's orgasm makes him nearly as tired as his own would.
"Hand or mouth?" he murmurs into the quiet space between them, and huffs a laugh when Dogma slurs, "Dealer's choice."
He pulls away from a moment to dispose of his plast.
When he returns, he kisses Dogma, deep and radiating happiness, before drawing his mouth down his chin and throat, then his chest and belly. Dogma likes that the most the General has ever insisted upon anything was their use of plasts, but sometimes he ignores his own rule when it comes to using his mouth on Dogma .
The wet slide of his tongue on the underside of Dogma's cock makes Dogma squeeze his eyes closed and press his head back into the pillows again.
A metal hand curls carefully around one of his own and brings it down to the back of General Skywalker's head, who rumbles out a pleased moan when Dogma slips his fingers between the sweat-damp curls and gives a firm tug. He drags his tongue and spit-slick lips up and down Dogma's shaft for several moments; it feels like a tease, meant to coax some sound or plea out of him after being hard for so long, but Dogma knows it isn't.
General Skywalker likes pleasure, his own and his partners'. He doesn't use pleasure to trick, or to punish, or even to reward. It just is, for him.
He just likes to use his mouth.
.
.
(The General is more nervous about having sex with Dogma than Dogma is about having sex with him. It's funny.
What do you mean 'what do I like'? Dogma asks after he stumbles his way through the question. Isn't it just sex?
"Well, yeah, yes," the General concedes, staring up at the ceiling. He'd moved off the bed and onto the floor several minutes prior, claiming, "You're very pretty and it's making me very nervous. It's like I'm seventeen again."
Dogma hadn't pointed out that he's never been seventeen, but only because he was pretty sure the comment was heard, regardless.
"But—okay, how about I go first? I like going down on my partners but I don't like having my mouth covered or restrained otherwise... How about you?"
Dogma thinks hard about the question, trying to come up with an answer without actually remembering any specifics. I… don't think I want to use my mouth on you, he says haltingly. With—before, it had been preferred because it had been relatively simple. He doesn't think he wants to do that with General Skywalker, though.
He doesn't want to approach them the same way; it feels… bad, to him, to do that.
General Skywalker makes a noise in the back of his throat that Dogma thinks is meant to be encouraging; when he glances down at him, he's propped himself up on his elbows and has an open, interested expression.
And—I don't want to grow my hair out.
He blinks at that, then tilts his head as he clearly re-examines the careful buzz cut that Dogma has maintained ever since his return to the 501st. "Well… it's your hair," the General says after a while. He seems accepting, if also a bit nonplussed. "Not my business what you do with it. Is there… anything else?"
Dogma scowls and looks at the ceiling. Do I have to decide right now—Anakin?
He doesn't have to be looking at the General to know the way it goes soft around the edges. "Not at all, Dogma," he says. "You can tell me anything, anytime, and you can always change your mind. If you're not sure about something, then you can decide to try it out, or not; if you decide you don't like it, then we won't do it again. And if it takes a while for you to decide one way or the other, then that's okay, too."
The other side of the bed dips when the General climbs back up, carefully giving Dogma space.
"Nothing is set in stone, Dogma. None of it. What's okay with you today might not be okay with you tomorrow." General Skywalker drags his flesh hand through his hair with a huff. "Force, what seems like it would okay when you agree to it might not actually be okay when you get down to it. And there's nothing wrong with stopping at any time, Dogma. "
Okay, Dogma whispers to himself and takes a deep breath, okay. Can we have sex now, then?
The General laughs from his belly and flops back onto the mattress, nearly jolting Dogma from his place at the edge. He smiles at Dogma and says, "If you want to, yeah," spreading his legs a bit and stretching his metal hand palm-up towards Dogma—an offer.
He smiles wider and relaxes more fully into the bed when Dogma accepts and moves, carefully, to sit across his thighs. He tilts his head up in a silent request that Dogma has learned to recognize as wanting to kiss, and sighs happily when Dogma obliges him.
They do end up having sex, that night, in that bed.
Dogma decides he doesn't enjoy 'riding' General Skywalker.
The General laughs when he says it and agrees that Dogma had seemed very nervous. He offers to be the one to ride Dogma next time and, frustrated, as well as slightly panicked at the thought of being in charge of giving pleasure, Dogma asks why the General won't just fuck him like normal.
His laughter peters out as he stares up at Dogma, pupils blowing wide.
They end up having sex again. It's much less stressful.)
.
.
Dogma lets himself groan when General Skywalker takes his cock fully into his mouth.
He lets himself be noisy when the General does this for him, because he can't find any rationalization not to be; the General derives pleasure from it, in his own way, but the act is specifically meant to pleasure Dogma. It only makes sense for him to make noise .
The General is good at it, too; at least, from Dogma's perspective, he is.
His body is familiar with the movements and he's very—patient—with Dogma, when he accidentally thrusts up into his mouth, making him gag. He always insists, after, that Dogma doesn't have to just lie beneath him. He'd been concerned, after the first time he'd done it and Dogma had remained as still as possible throughout the whole thing.
As a compromise, Dogma tightens his grip in the General's hair and provides stimulation that way. It isn't as if letting him suck Dogma's cock any way he wants is some kind of burden.
He gnaws on his lips as the General brings him closer and closer to his own orgasm, his breath coming in harsh pants in the low lighting of the room. General Skywalker makes enough noise for the both of them like this as well. He moans and groans as Dogma alternately pulls and pets his hair, and sighs through his nose when Dogma scratches his short nails against his scalp.
When Dogma feels himself getting close, he gasps, "Anakin," and pulls sharply on the hair in his hand.
The General moves off his cock easily, looking rosy-cheeked and glassy-eyed, his mouth a bright red mess of saliva and pre-ejaculate. He looks blearily up at Dogma, then grins and mouths at the head of his cock while his flesh hand strokes his shaft.
Dogma comes quickly after that, painting the General's face with his spend and wanting to curl up and hide when he sees, even though it's hardly the first time.
General Skywalker strokes him through it and then massages the inside of his thighs when he goes soft and sensitive. His hands move up Dogma's hips to his belly and chest, then back down again, fingers spreading wide and pressing firmly against the different points of flesh. Dogma stares up at the ceiling and enjoys the soothing motions and pressure.
"Dogma?" he calls quietly, however many minutes later. When Dogma marshals himself and peers down at him, he crooks a smile up at him and says, "I just realized you've gained a lot of weight. What does Kix think?"
Dogma blinks.
"He says I'm back up standard," he says, trying not to stare at his own spend drying on General Skywalker's face. "And to submit myself for examination if I start losing it again."
Not that he will, Dogma thinks; the 501st's supply chains are better off than General Krell's ever were, it seems, and the General never cuts their rations as punishment. He would have gained the weight back even without the extra rations that he and all the transfers from General Krell's command had been assigned.
"Good," the General sighs, feeling bright and bubbly with relief, then rolls off the bed and heads to the 'fresher. After taking a few minutes to clean his face and mouth, he returns and crawls up next to Dogma, pulling him close and pressing kisses to the top of his head. "You were so skinny when you came back," he says through a yawn, then snuffles. "I was worried."
Dogma huffs. "You always say it like that."
"Say what like what?"
Dogma wriggles in his arms so that they're chest to chest and looks up at him. "You always say I 'came back,' like my transfer was always just temporary. It—obviously wasn't permanent but it's not like I was being loaned out to—to General Krell's command."
General Skywalker moves the back of his fingers up and down the line of his spine while he considers his reply. "No, I know—" He swallows. "I know you weren't happy here, with us. I'm sorry for that." His other arm tightens its grip around Dogma when he opens his mouth to respond; the fingers don't stop in their caresses. "Rex and Fives told me after we left Umbara that they hadn't agreed with— Krell's methods, and that you weren't very popular when you didn't agree with them. So I understood when you put in for a transfer to his command."
He takes a deep breath and snuggles closer.
"But I was still disappointed to see you go, and I suppose I always just hoped that you might decide to transfer back. Why do you think I earmarked your file?"
Dogma swallows the rush of saliva that fills his mouth. "My file?"
The General snuffles again and uses his legs to shove the blankets down so he can pull them over the two of them. "Yeah, I had Rex earmark your file to automatically accept any transfer request?" he says, clearly expecting Dogma to know what he's talking about. "That way if you submitted for a transfer back to us, you didn't have to wait for a manual review? I thought that's why you came back after… what happened. Am I missing something?"
Dogma feels strangely aware of how much he's blinking.
"No," he says. Because Dogma is the one who never bothered looking at his own file while taking care of so much flimsiwork. Because Krell was the one who'd told him that the General and Captain would never want him back after he'd left. "Yes, that's… why I came back. Because I knew you'd want me."
He can feel and hear the General's chuckle against his chest. "Of course, I'd want you," he says easily, his fingers still stroking. "I'll always want you. You're… wonderful."
Dogma cranes his neck and takes in General Skywalker's expression, pleased and confused in equal measure. He looks down at them both, wrapped up in each other, naked and sticky. His General's lips are still a little red and swollen from when he'd sucked on Dogma's cock like it was a fruity frozen treat.
He rolls them slightly so that he's sitting across his General's thighs and kisses him as well and deeply as he's learned how.
They end up making love again. Dogma moans as loudly as he wants.