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99tech99 · 1 year ago

Text

12/10. good god. my brain is broken. fucking masterpiece.

☆ Fair Winds and Following Seas -- Thrawn x reader ☆

> title ☆ Fair Winds and Following Seas

> summary ☆ In a loosely-controlled experiment, Grand Admiral Thrawn decides to dose you with a powerful aphrodisiac and makes you go about your day as usual. This is a direct follow up to Good and Faithful Service, I suggest reading that first.

> pairing ☆ Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [6.9k] ☆ warnings ☆ aphrodisiacs; mildly dubious consent; masturbation; cunnilingus; Thrawn eats ass (very brief); PIV sex; power dynamics & imbalance; fraternization; angsty at the end

> posted on ao3 ☆

You can’t have expected anything to change with you and Thrawn. Not really. It had been one night. You had offered your help before he had ordered you to give it. Even when he’d had you on your back, even with his cock in your mouth, neither of you had put aside your ranks. You were still ‘Lieutenant’, and he was still the Grand Admiral. He was still Sir.

Except now you keep slipping. Months on, you find yourself unable to focus on much of anything. Distracted in meetings, forgetting things, neglecting the most basic military decorum.

The Grand Admiral is perhaps more lenient than most senior officers, but he is only forgiving to a point.

So when he comms you an hour earlier than normal one morning, you’re nervous. It could be a reprimand. It could be some worse, harsher punishment. He could be planning to dismiss you, have you reassigned. Between dismissal and punishment, you feel crazy for hoping it’s the latter. The thought of having to leave him, the thought that he has no use for you anymore… you mentally shake yourself. Totally inappropriate way for a junior officer to feel about her commander. You’re his aide, nothing more, nothing less.

You quickly change out of your pt clothes into the uniform of the day, and hurry up to his office, which is a couple decks above your stateroom. You press the chime to let him know you’re outside, and then he remotely keys the hatch to open for you.

Inside, his office is almost pitch black.

“Enter.” His voice calls from somewhere in the dark. You can’t pinpoint it.

You step inside, and the hatch zips shut behind you.

“Good morning, sir. Lieutenant--” you stumble over your own name, just barely managing not to yelp in surprise when you suddenly see a pair of glowing red eyes open, just a few feet away from you “-- reporting as ordered.”

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” he says smoothly. He brings up the lights without offering any comment on why he’d had them off in the first place. Strange. He hadn’t said anything about the incident with the Nevow. Not one thing. At first you’d figured he was determined to act like everything was normal, just pretend it hadn’t happened. But just as you’ve been slipping, he’s had some odd moments as well.

He gestures to the seating area where he usually entertains senior staff or high ranking visitors. There is an elegant silver caf service laid out on the low table.

You gratefully accept the cup of caf he pours and then passes to you. You sit awkwardly, perched on the edge of the chair with rigid posture, while he sits back, regarding you thoughtfully.

“Thank you for coming early. Did I interrupt your morning exercise?”

“Uh… of course, sir. And I had been just about to start. You know, unit pt down in the aft shuttle maintenance bay.” You gulp down your caf, noticing that it’s making you feel quite warm, especially in the usual chill of his office. “You started a droid-sparring trend, sir. I don’t know if you knew that.” With any other officer, this would be much too familiar. Too friendly.

The Grand Admiral just says, “indeed?”

“Yes, sir.” You finish your cup, and he pours you a second. “Thank you,” you murmur.

He sips his own, watching you with a strange glint in his eyes. Not unlike the way he had looked at you all those months ago in that hot, confined room. Your face heats at the memory, and you drink again to cover your blush.

Not for the first time, you wonder if you should be the one to request a transfer. You can’t control yourself around him. Even now, just sitting here having caf, and you’re getting turned on just from the way he looks at you. Suddenly your collar feels too tight. The temperature of his office, so cold you normally have to clench your jaw to keep your teeth from chattering-- too warm. Some time ago, you had finally given in to your fantasies, and allowed yourself to imagine him while you masturbate. It had felt so, so wrong, a violation of his trust in you, a violation of your relationship as junior and senior officers. But it hadn’t stopped you. And it isn’t the same as the real thing. You stare down at your cup, thankful that, perceptive as he is, he can’t actually read your mind.

“Lieutenant?”

You look up. “Yes, sir?”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, sir.” You nod quickly, blushing even harder.

You’re sure he can tell that you’re lying, but he doesn’t remark on it. He lets you fidget for a moment, and then changes topic.

“Today, you will help me conduct an experiment.”

You sit up straighter, reaching for your datapad to take notes, but he stops you.

“That will not be necessary. You will be the subject, and I will… observe you.”

That was intentional. That suggestive twist he put on the phrase, the way his voice went low and soft, like he knew how it would send a shiver of arousal up your spine. You swallow hard. “Of course, I’ll do whatever is required of me, sir.”

Grand Admiral Thrawn almost smiles. You both know his authority over you begins and ends with military matters, and you’re pretty sure whatever this is falls well outside of those boundaries. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Now, allow me to explain. I have put some of the galvi root in the caf you just drank. I had to guess at the dosage, but am I correct that it has already begun to take effect?”

You nod tightly, head spinning at this revelation, though in hindsight you should have expected something like this from him.

“I see… it has affected you more quickly, then.”

“Are you-- are you sure?” At his slight frown, you continue quickly. “I think you may not have noticed it right away because you had the distraction of the ceremony. Sir.”

The Grand Admiral leans back, tapping the arm of his chair. “Yes. Yes, I believe you are right.” He pauses, and gives you an appraising look that makes you squirm.

“You could have asked me!” You finally say, a little testy.

“And you would have agreed to it, would you not?”

You nod again, flustered at how easily he can read you. As to why you would agree to it so readily— you’d rather not risk exposing your embarrassing crush on him by arguing the point.

“Therefore my asking beforehand would be unnecessary.”

You very nearly glare at him. Not like it would be the first line crossed today in terms of what’s acceptable between a junior and senior officer. Instead, you say, “I hadn’t factored in the time for this in today’s schedule, sir. If you need me to--”

“Not to worry, Lieutenant. You will accompany me for the entire day. I have arranged for your colleagues to cover your other responsibilities. As part of the experiment, we need to test how well you are able to perform your daily routine, or at least an approximation of it.”

You aren’t sure how to argue about this, if you even should, because the idea of it seems ridiculous. After all, he had been totally incapacitated by the drug within two hours and now he expects you to just go about your day. Will you be allowed any privacy? Will you be allowed relief?

He seems to be contemplating the same questions. What he says next makes you bite back a gasp and you nearly drop your cup. “Recall: you sucked my cock and I came in your mouth.”

This is the first time since that he’s directly acknowledged it, and he says it so calmly but the shock of hearing those words in his cool, modulated voice sends a visceral pulse of desire through your body. You shift, trying to hold yourself still. Can’t keep your hands from shaking. With a rattling clink, you put your cup and saucer on the table.

At that, Thrawn continues, “-- but the effects of the drug were not lessened. It was alleviated, very briefly, but then only grew stronger. It was the same when I masturbated. That is what we will test today. And your ability to withstand it.”

You have no idea what to say, other than a weak ‘yes, sir.’

For a few more minutes, the two of you sit quietly. Thrawn finishes his caf and you think on what he’s just said. Recall, was his order. How can you not? You’ve thought about it every day for months. How he had tasted, how he’d fucked you. How he had sounded when he’d come that last time, a low, almost feral growl as he’d pushed deep inside of you.

Then he checks his chrono, and it’s time to go. Nearly 0700. He’ll be expected on the bridge for the morning report.

He stands, and at the last second, you remember to do the same. Not a good sign. Protocol dictates you stand at attention whenever the commanding officer enters or leaves the room. The Grand Admiral is usually rather lax about such niceties, but if you let the little things slide, it’s only a matter of time before you make a mistake that he would deem significant.

You follow Grand Admiral Thrawn to the first task of the morning, the familiar route through the passageways up to the bridge feeling much longer than normal. This is fine, you try to reassure yourself. You do this with him every day. And it’s possible the aphrodisiac doesn’t even affect humans the way it had affected him. After all, your hosts all those months ago could have dosed you, too, but didn’t. Maybe they had known it wouldn’t really work. But-- no.

You’re here, now, at his elbow on the command walkway, already failing your duties. You’re supposed to be paying attention, and taking any notes he might need. Instead, you’re sweating. You can feel a trickle of it down your back, and where it’s beading in your hairline.

Commodore Faro grimaces at you, and makes some comment about droid-sparring for pt getting out of control. You apologize to her, a hurried ‘sorry, ma’am’, and then excuse yourself because the Grand Admiral has made that vague gesture with his hand that means he has something for you to do.

But all he wants is for you to come stand by his side. Throughout the morning and the rest of the day, he insists on keeping you close, and the proximity only makes your desire flare hotter. The way he smells, and his tall, broad-shouldered frame, and the way his arm sometimes brushes against yours. His long-fingered hands, which, though he’s wearing his white gloves right now, you can still picture so clearly, blue against your skin.

You take your seat at his right hand in the morning meeting, only to fidget and shift the whole time. Every so often, he gives you the side eye, so you will yourself to stop, to be still, control yourself.

He leans over, commenting quietly for only you to hear, that your core temperature is elevated. His voice maddeningly calm as always. Raising one eyebrow at you, almost a challenge. Ask for what you need, Lieutenant.

You need him. You need his cock, you need to feel him again, don’t give a damn if it’s fraternization and every other officer in the room would see your life ruined-- both you and Thrawn-- if they knew you’re even having these thoughts. You need him to bend you over the conference table and fuck you until you can’t walk.

At last, he stands, dismissing everyone from the meeting. Except you. You check your chrono, and it takes you a moment to read it. You feel delirious, every sense flooded with overwhelming arousal. Every nerve charged.

“Forty-five minutes, Lieutenant.” The Grand Admiral’s cool, soft voice washes over you. You have to close your eyes against it. Against what it does to your fraying self control. Officers of the Galactic Imperial Navy do not think about dropping to their knees and begging their commander to make them cum.

“Until? Sir?” You only get the formality in as a force of habit.

“Since.”

Your eyes snap to his. “Since?”

He tilts his head, studying you. His gaze sweeps down your body, his lips part slightly. There’s that hunger you had seen before, when he had been the one whose desires were laid bare by the drug. “Since you took the dose.”

Your heart drops. “That’s it?!” You blurt out, and he raises an eyebrow at your unprofessionalism. “Sorry, sir. I…” You hesitate, “I’m just going to the ‘fresher real quick before our next meeting.”

“No.”

You freeze in your tracks. “Sir?”

“I have not excused you, Lieutenant. And I assume your purpose in going is to be able to masturbate in private?”

You stare at him, mortified, and unable to answer.

He tilts his head slightly. “Interesting.”

“What?”

“I have never seen a human produce so much facial heat before.”

You huff, and close your eyes briefly. “Sir, I… I can’t do this. Could I just be excused for the day until it wears off? I’ll just tell Medical I ate something weird that I bought at the last port call.”

“Perhaps you misunderstand, Lieutenant. I am permitting you to masturbate. But you will do it here.”

It clicks in your mind. Observe.

You lick your lips, and meet his eyes once more for confirmation. He lets his gaze sweep down and back up, positively indecent. It makes your pulse spike, knowing that he’s thinking about you like that.

Too fast, too eager, you pull up your tunic, unbuckle your belt and shove your pants down just enough.

“More,” Thrawn orders. He points rather lazily to your legs, and how they aren’t spread wide enough for him to see much. You obey, and then fall back into the chair, bare from hips to ankles. Thrawn is close. He stands right in front of you, regarding you with imperious authority.

The effect of the drug is powerful enough to dampen some of your embarrassment, but you are still sitting here, legs spread wide for your commanding officer. Anyone could walk in.

“Do you need more specific directions, Lieutenant?” He asks dryly.

“No, sir.” You reach your hand down and find you’re already slick and wanting. Wet enough to be fucked, your mind supplies unhelpfully, but you know he won’t give that to you. You start circling your clit, can’t stop yourself from whimpering in relief. Plunge one finger in, but it’s not enough, so you work in a second. It feels good, so good. The drug has its claws in you now, some primal force coaxing you faster, faster -- if you can just take the edge off. None of it is enough. You rub your clit, and push your fingers in as deep as you can, curling them to that perfect spot. Your climax is almost too easy to find, right there within reach--

“Look at me.”

Your eyes fly open. Your breath hitches --“y-yes. Yes, sir,” -- and you’re coming, hard and fast. You can feel your inner walls fluttering around your fingers, and you chase the feeling as long as you can, touching a bright, fleeting pleasure that has you moaning wantonly.

But the drug steals away any true satisfaction. Makes it shallow, and over too soon, and leaves a tight, twisting need in your core, verging on pain.

“Did it help?” He echoes your question from months ago, but you both already know the answer.

It made it worse. You shake your head and quickly make yourself decent. You’re about to wipe your hands on your trousers when he catches your wrist-- the hand that you’d fucked yourself with-- and licks one of your fingers. Then he sucks both of them fully in his mouth with a sinful hmm. As if he’s been waiting for his chance to taste you.

You give a shuddering whimper. Again, you have to close your eyes against the sight of him, against the feeling of his mouth and tongue. Against everything.

When he’s done, he wipes your face and hands with a handkerchief. He gives you a once-over, and straightens your rank plaque himself. Once you’re deemed presentable, he leads the way to the next meeting.

He keeps finding little ways to touch you, and you’re sure it’s on purpose. Even his hand on your shoulder makes you have to refocus your self control, exhale as the warmth of his touch makes you ache with need. After the Ops brief, he leans in close and picks a possibly nonexistent piece of lint off your tunic.

By 0930, he hasn’t allowed you to masturbate again, and you’re a wreck. “Sir…” you sway on your feet, distantly pondering the consequences if you were to simply disobey him, and sneak off to a ‘fresher. Or you could jump a random officer, get him to fuck the drug out of you for a few hours. Or… you gaze at Thrawn, not bothering to try to conceal your lust…

He regards you dispassionately.

“Sir, please…”

“Would you ever have asked me for it, Lieutenant?” His authority, his very presence seems to fill the now-empty executive conference room. “I’ve been wondering if you would. I did promise you a dose. You never added the time for it to my schedule.”

You swallow hard, not quite trusting yourself to speak coherently. “You already have so much on your plate, sir. I didn’t want to overburden you.” You know it sounds like a lame excuse.

Evidently, he thinks so too. “I see.” He brushes a strand of hair off your face, tucks it behind your ear.

You shiver at the contact, at how cool his hand feels next to your burning skin.

It’s gone all too soon. He turns away and you dutifully follow along, wondering if your lie had just cost you a chance at relief.

You endure another couple hours or so-- you only know the time because Thrawn keeps reminding you. But as the minutes tick by you feel more and more delirious, and occasional spasms of pain start to wrack your body. Somehow you manage to stay on your feet, standing at his elbow as he conducts a walkthrough inspection of the ship’s TIE Defender maintenance shop. After that, you accompany him for a brief break in the senior officers’ mess, and have to watch him as he calmly sips his caf while you squirm in the seat next to him. He makes conversation with a few other officers, but you can’t focus on anything they’re saying. Every thought you have is of him. Every impulse, the heat between your thighs, urging you, screaming at you to throw yourself at him, to bend over so he can mount you, or better yet you could ride him. Straddle him, brace your hands on his chest, feel his powerful, long legs flexing as he pumps up into you.

He glances over at you just once, and raises his eyebrow, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

The next meeting, you get through by white-knuckling the conference table and crossing your legs very tightly. Desire burns in you like a fever, narrows your awareness to just your body and the undeniable, agonizing need the drug has stoked in you.

You stand at attention with everyone else when Thrawn gets up and dismisses the meeting. And once again, you’re alone with him.

He fixes you with a dangerous look, a curious gleam in his glowing red eyes. He seems almost… entertained.

“Sir, please, I… I need to…” You shouldn’t speak first, typically. Junior officers don’t talk this way to their betters, but nothing about this is typical.

“Truly remarkable,” Thrawn says softly. “The power of this drug, and your resistance to it. You’ve done very well so far, but I fear it may harm you.”

He begins pulling his right glove off, finger by finger. Your pulse jumps in your chest. “Take off your boots.”

You barely pause to question it, though worry rattles in the back of your mind. What if someone comes in? Won’t there be another meeting in here soon? Thrawn isn’t worried. Perhaps doesn’t care.

He approaches, backing you up to the large conference table. When you come up on the edge of it, he lifts you by your waist and sits you up on it. With swift, deft movements, he undoes your belt and strips you of your trousers. He slots himself between your bare legs and you hear yourself panting. Pushing your hips closer to him, needing to rut and grind. Without asking, you reach a hand down, eager to touch your clit. He stops you, catches your wrist and you actually whine with disappointment.

He ignores this, looking down at you contemplatively, and it registers then, just how close you are, how you’d dreamed of this for months and now you’re close enough to kiss him. “Please,” you try again. “I did it for you.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But this is an experiment, not an exchange of favors.”

And with a fluid, graceful motion he gets on his knees and buries his face in your soaking pussy.

His lips immediately find the bud of your clit in a lewd, wet, open-mouthed kiss. A shuddering, throaty cry tears from your lips, and Thrawn only pauses to warn you to mind your screams. Someone could hear. At this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care. You both know the consequences were someone to walk in and see the Grand Admiral with his face between your legs. But he doesn’t take risks unless he’s confident in the odds. Or he’s just decided it’s worth it.

He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder. You can feel the cold metal of his epaulet digging into your skin. The change in position opens you to him. You fix the image in your mind, of Thrawn there between your legs. The contrast of his blue skin against yours, the alien ridges of his forehead, his lips and tongue lapping at your pussy like he’s never tasted anything better, his red eyes locked on you.

Without thinking, you put your hand on his head, stroking your fingers through his sleek, dark hair. Too intimate. Again, he catches your wrist, moves it away.

“Sorry,” you say. He doesn’t answer. He wraps his arm around your thigh, yanking you closer to his mouth, and then pushes one finger into you. More. The drug wants more. He works a second in easily and lets you ride them for a moment before pinning your hips down.

“Please fuck me.” You don’t care how desperate you sound. You’re already close, oversensitized from the drug and the hours of torturous denial.

“Not yet.”

“Why not? When?”

His eyes meet yours. “Questioning a superior officer?” He pauses, with a deliberate, slow lick of his tongue right over your clit. You nearly cry.

“Lieutenant?” He prompts you.

“N-no sir.” Your voice is breathy, broken. You can feel pleasure starting to roll over you in waves, your body responsive to every little touch.

He takes pity on you. Doesn’t tease or hold back or draw it out, at least not any more than he already has. Perhaps his way of saying thank you for what you did for him. Because you know him, as much as anyone can know Thrawn, and you know better than to expect to hear it.

The drug steals any more coherent thought, but Thrawn claims your pleasure. He is relentless, drinking it down, alternately suckling your clit and lapping at your folds with the broad flat of his tongue, his fingers reaching the perfect spot that yours couldn’t, that you haven’t been able to satisfy for months. He curls his fingers, and you’re gone, dissolving like sugar in his mouth. He lets you ride his face, keeps fucking his fingers into you as you moan and twitch, and squeeze your thighs around his ears. Again, the drug makes your release blaze bright and fast, but ultimately leaves you wanting.

At last, you sag backwards, legs wide, a wanton, debauched picture. Your tunic hangs open, and for a quiet moment you lie flat on the conference table where just minutes ago the Chimaera’s senior officers had gathered. Thrawn rises effortlessly, and when he does, you see his complexion is tinged indigo, and there is an obvious bulge in his trousers.

He’s watching you, taking in the sight of what he’s done, and you spread your legs wider. He licks his lips, eyes blazing.

“Now?” You ask hopefully.

His expression hardens, and he orders you to get dressed. He has to wipe off his mouth and chin, which are shiny with your arousal. Then, it’s back to the day’s schedule.

At least six more times, Thrawn decides to let you come, before you start to lose track completely. Rather than depriving you, he overloads you, flooding you with stimulation at every opportunity. He pulls you into a disused office, sits you up on the desk, and eats you out again. It shocks you each time he gets on his knees for you. He’ll smudge his white uniform and then everyone will know, they’ll see you together and know, Grand Admiral Thrawn is fucking his Lieutenant.

Following obediently after him from one part of the ship to another, you can feel how wet you are, your constant arousal dripping down your legs, you can feel your pussy slick as you walk. After the evening Intel brief, he backs you into a dark corner in a passageway, slips his hand down your pants and permits you to come on his fingers. There isn’t even the assurance of a hatch between the two of you and anyone who could come along, and yet you thrust and grind shamelessly against his hand, unable to keep quiet. He almost smiles when he tells you, really, Lieutenant, I expect you to at least attempt to control yourself. He kisses you, sealing his mouth over yours, swallowing down your keening cries. The one thought you can grasp, through the haze of lust, is that he’s achingly hard, pressing his erection against your hip as if he’s just barely holding back from touching himself.

Each climax tightens the drug’s feverish hold over you, and by the evening you can hardly stand for the desire boiling in your veins. Your uniform is a mess, rumpled and with an odd stain you hope is caf but you can’t remember how it happened. You imagine your face must be worse. Thrawn again straightens your rank plaque, and makes sure your cover isn’t askew.

His nearness makes you tremble.

He leads you back to the bridge once more for the evening report, and finally-- your heart leaps when you recognize the familiar path-- to his quarters.

The room is cold. Always cold, the way he likes it. You have wondered often what his home planet is like. Freezing, you assume. Somewhere icy and hospitable only to his people. You’ve wondered why he would ever leave it, when he so clearly doesn’t fit in here. The Empire has an ideal, and as brilliant as he is, Thrawn is not it.

He leaves you standing there in the center of his art collection, and dims the lights.

You wait for him as attentively as you can, though you’re shivering, standing at a tense parade rest.

After a stretch of silence he speaks. “Could you say ‘no’ right now, Lieutenant?” His voice is silky. His eyes seem to glow brighter in the dark. The sudden question puts you off balance.

“It-- it would depend on what’s being asked. Sir.”

“Imagine I were not your commanding officer, but a stranger. Or an enemy. And at this very moment, I am promising you relief from the effects of the drug, in exchange for classified information.” He circles behind you, and you turn to look at him but he stops you. “Eyes forward.”

Your pulse jumps, and you stand straighter at the command. A reminder of your rank, of your position, and Thrawn’s. “I would never do anything to compromise the Empire.” But your voice is too breathy to be convincing, and Thrawn steps closer, pressing himself against your back.

“But I’m offering.”

You make an inarticulate, desperate sound.

“Do you think you’d be able to refuse…?” He uses your given name, knowing exactly the effect it will have on you. The drug makes you dangerously suggestible.

“I would--” You understand his point. But there’s only one way to answer. “Yes, I would uphold my duty.”

“Your resolve is admirable. But I do not appreciate lies. Especially when they are so obvious.” He crowds you forward, so your hips hit the edge of his desk. The desk you’ve stood next to many times, attending to the Grand Admiral and whatever he asks of you. He puts a palm between your shoulders and forces you down face-first. His tone goes cold. “So I will allow you one more chance to answer. If I were anyone else, would you be able to control yourself?”

The only saving grace allowing you to reply at all is being able to hide your face in the crook of your arm, and not look him in the eye. “If it had been anyone else trapped in that room, I wouldn’t have offered in the first place.”

He stills. “I see.” Quietly, deliberately, he strips you of your service belt and your boots, pulls your trousers down to your calves. You whine in anticipation, shaking with need. It’s an effort not to lean in to every little touch.

You watch, fascinated, the scene in the dark, shadowy reflection of the transparisteel viewport. Behind you, Thrawn going to his knees. His hands opening your body to his inspection. Then, with no warning, his mouth is on your cunt again. His tongue licking hot and wet up your slit, one broad stroke, higher, no hesitation as his thumbs dig in to your flesh, holding you open and then he swirls his tongue around your asshole.

"Thrawn!" you squeal in surprise and embarrassment, completely forgetting his rank.

“Hmm.” He says. “You don’t like it?”

“I… ah…” You’re drooling on his desk. Like and dislike are beyond understanding. There is only need. You raise your hips, seeking contact. He gives it to you. He licks your hole again, flicking his tongue over and over until you’re panting, before he places his fingers there. He massages them gently around the sensitive, puckered skin, teasing you with penetration but never quite going in. You moan when you feel his tongue drag over your clit, reaching for the exquisite, building pressure, enslaved to the whims of the drug.

A day-- months’ of pent up need swells all at once and begins to overflow. Distantly, you hear yourself wail, feel yourself rocking against his face, no concept of anything except this sweet relief and him, between your legs, bestowing it upon you. At last, he pushes one finger in, and closes his lips around your clit, sucking slowly in time with your pulse, not stopping even as your legs shake. Your mind goes completely, divinely blank as pleasure sweeps over you, drowns everything else, wave after wave after wave…

It is a very different position in which you awaken, you don’t know how much later. You’re warm and cozy cocooned blankets, totally naked, in a stateroom you don’t recognize. It’s much bigger than yours.

Thrawn. You sit up with a jolt. It has to be his room. His bed. Turning, you bury your face in the pillow. It smells like him, though not strongly.

The galvi root has worn off. You only feel exhaustion, and uncertainty. Here, in Thrawn’s quarters, in his bed, a decision solidifies in your mind. You know what you have to ask him. Across the room, you see your uniform, neatly folded on an armchair. You ignore it. You lie back down, pulling his scent around you, and stay like that for a time, gazing out the viewport at the dark field of stars.

When you’re nearly asleep again, the hatch opens. Thrawn. You don’t know how to act around him anymore, which military courtesies to show him, but the idea of jumping out of his bed, naked, and coming to attention seems ridiculous.

“Did you get the data you needed?” Insofar as what you did today could be called an experiment, and a flawed one at that.

“I did.” He glances at your folded uniform on the chair, and comes around to stand at the side of the bed, his back to the viewport.

So many times you had dreamed of getting closer, of Thrawn letting you in. And now you’re going to distance yourself. “Sir, there’s something I need to--”

“I’m recommending you for promotion.” His tone is cold, his posture stiff and formal. Very much the Grand Admiral, and nothing of the man beneath, the glimpses you’d caught of sly humor, of tenderness, of want as strong as yours, kept under rigid control.

You sit up, blood rushing to your ears. He holds up a hand, and you fall silent.

“To Commander. You’ll serve as First Officer aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Carnage.”

For a second, you’re too stunned to speak. Jumping ranks was almost unheard of-- Thrawn had done it, of course, multiple times, but your service record in the Imperial Navy is nothing like his. And First Officer aboard a Star Destroyer-- people worked their whole career to earn a position like that and he’s just handing it to you. “I’m not… that’s…”

“If you are going to protest that you’re not qualified, I’ll remind you that you have spent the better part of three years aboard this ship, serving by my side. You know the requirements and duties of an admiral and a Star Destroyer better than most, so you will be well-equipped to excel in the role of First Officer. As long as we are not in combat, you could probably run the ship in my absence. Or Commodore Faro’s, for that matter. I have complete faith in you.”

“Are you recommending me because of this? Because I slept with you?” You wince. It sounds so sordid and cliche. It wouldn’t be the first time ranks and promotions and choice assignments had been exchanged for favors.

He looks mildly surprised, as if it’s a question he hadn’t anticipated. “No. I already put in the recommendation a few weeks ago. It has nothing to do with our…” he pauses, showing rare discomfort “...association.”

You look down at your lap for a moment, chewing your lip, unsure what to say. A great emotion swells in your chest. You have to swallow it down. You aren’t sure whether it’s better that you didn’t have to ask for a transfer. “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“The drug’s gone,” you tell him, as if he doesn’t know that. “I feel better now.”

He fixes you with a piercing stare. He is dark in silhouette in the unlit room, with only the starscape behind him.

You don’t want to leave. You don’t want to have some of your last experiences with the Grand Admiral tainted by something beyond your control. Feeling brazen and reckless, you let the covers fall, leaving your breasts exposed in the cold air. You look up at him, and lean back against his pillows, as leisurely as you please. His eyes flash and the air in the room seems to have gone very still. Have you angered him? Of all the lines crossed today, and the time before, was this the one too far? Is this a mistake?

You throw the covers back, and don’t miss the way his hand open-flexes and then closes into a tight fist. You slide out of bed, to your feet, standing in front of him. Close. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t even move. He is tempted, you think, but hiding it well. He’s thought about this, like you have, but never imagined giving in to it.

Heart pounding, fully expecting that he’ll catch your wrists again, you reach for his belt. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t stop you. You pop the catch, and let it fall into your hands before tossing it on the bed. His collar clasps next. These take a moment. You get them undone, but it’s always harder on someone else. Finally the sealing strip of his tunic. You peel it back, he slips his arms out, and you fold the white fabric carefully.

He lets you undress him. One final act of service under the intensity of his gaze. He seems to understand that you like tending to him. That it means something to you. He sits so you can pull off his boots. You unfasten his trousers and pull them down, listening to the sound of the fabric and his breathing in the dark.

Your body thrums with arousal, so potent it’s making your hands shake, every brush of your skin against Thrawn’s electric-charged with the knowledge that you’re choosing this and so is he.

Then he’s finally bare, completely, and gathering you in his arms.

His lips hover over yours, he whispers your name and then he kisses you, sweet and soft and you feel like you’re falling. You moan into his mouth and he pulls you closer, answering your need. The momentum of it carries you down to his bed together and you wonder distantly how often he even uses it. More times than you can count, you’ve come into his office to find him asleep at his desk. Something in your heart aches for him, a feeling so fragile and incomprehensible, you shove it far, far down, almost enough to extinguish it.

The quiet makes your touches measured and slow. Not wanting to rush anything. Not wanting to betray that you’re suddenly nervous, without the structure and expectations of rank between you. The Grand Admiral. That’s all you’ve ever known Thrawn as, and now he’s kissing your neck, leaving a bruise high enough that your collar won’t cover it.

You gasp his name, and he huffs a quiet laugh, as if he’s been caught at mischief. He kisses lower, your breastbone, covering your breasts in his hands, his fingers plucking at tightened nipples.

He watches you closely, riveted, pinning you with the same intense focus you’ve seen when he’s studying a piece of art, or commanding the Chimaera in battle. Except now you’re at the center of it, arching to his touch, so turned on you can hardly breathe, you want him so badly.

You can feel his cock achingly hard against your stomach, he’s rolling his hips, so you lift to him. He’s shaking as he enters you. He braces himself on his forearms and rocks in slowly, inch by inch. You whimper at the stretch, at how kriffing good his cock feels filling you up.

He chases your mouth, like he can’t kiss you enough, swallowing down each tender little sound you make. You can almost taste when his resolve begins to slip. You’re so slick and hot around him and this is the last time and anything after this doesn’t matter.

He fucks you deep and steady, grinding his hips and you move with him. He takes in the sight of you beneath him, something to keep for later; the light sheen of sweat, tendons going tight in your neck and you start to moan at every thrust. Both of you holding back, trying and failing to draw it out, all the tightly-held control swept away. Thrawn presses forward, hard, his thick length splitting you open over and over.

Clinging to him with a longing cry, you come, pulsing and tight, riding the pleasure as long as you can, not wanting it to end. And Thrawn is there with you. He’s trembling, his abdomen tense with the climax building in his body, just driving in until he comes with a harsh moan, burying his face against your neck.

Two weeks later, you’re wearing the rank plaque of a Commander of the Imperial Navy, and things are going relatively smoothly aboard the ISD Carnage. Thrawn had not attended your promotion ceremony, nor had you asked him. You’d only been his aide, after all, and it would have looked strange for a Grand Admiral to show up for a subordinate so far beneath his rank.

You wish he would’ve been there to pin the new rank on your chest. It would have been easier, at least, with him there, instead of being by yourself to weather the suspicious, jealous glares of other officers who were wondering what exactly you’d done to get the promotion. But you’ve assumed the post of First Officer aboard the Carnage all the same, and now you try not to think about him too much.

You check your terminal one morning, and find, among the frankly disgusting number of messages you get every day, one from [GADM THRAWN] with the subject [PROPOSAL (OPTIONAL)].

You can’t click it open fast enough.

Commander,

I hope you are settling into your new assignment comfortably.

The Chimaera is scheduled for a port call at Brentaal IV at the same time as the Carnage will be granted shore leave on the neighboring Chandrila. I propose a meeting to continue experimentation with the galvi root extract. Specifically, it would be beneficial to run additional controls without the drug. If you are amenable, contact me on my private frequency--

You still know the one. Know it by heart. You can’t help smiling to yourself.

--and we will discuss logistics.

V/R

Grand Admiral Thrawn

ISD Chimaera, 7th Fleet

//end.

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Also tagging a few others who had expressed interest in a part 2 :)

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