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I.
If you don't return quickly, there may be nothing left for you to return to.
Ar'alani had spoken those words to Mitth'raw'nuruodo scant days ago, meaning them as a warning—a reminder of what could happen if he disappeared for another decade.
She had not expected to return to Csilla to find Csaplar caught in the throes of an all-out revolution.
"Admiral?" Mid Commander Tanik asked, very quietly. The ship was full dark; Vah'nya had come to Ar'alani in some distress and requested it. Cognizant of the powers attributed to the fallen Jedi of the Galactic Empire, powers which often seemed disturbingly close to the Third Sight, and wary based on her own intuition, Ar'alani had done so. A good decision, too; the Defense Fleet most likely had control of the space surrounding the planet, but there was no indication of which force held the surface, and the plasma rockets on it.
"Open the comm to hailing frequency, but don't transmit," Ar'alani said. "Our goal is to listen, not to speak."
The Steadfast hung back on the outer edge of the system, but its sensors were strong enough to pick up transmissions even from orbit of Csilla itself.
News from the ships of the Defense Fleet was not encouraging.
"—unknown weapons discharge in Csaplar Square—"
"—planetary shielding is down in Ch'un'ci, Torsha, and—"
"—this is the Snowbird ordering a full bombardment of the plasma rocket banks located in the Ch'un'ci Mountains, coordinates as follows—"
"Hail the Snowbird," Ar'alani snapped. "Encryption code Stormcloud. And prepare combat stations."
Her crew moved like a smoothly-programmed machine, consoles rippling in color as systems came back online, the tension on the bridge ratcheting up a notch—but tension was not necessarily a bad thing, when funneled properly into action.
"Hailing Snowbird," Wulia said from the comm station. "Encryption Stormcloud. You're live, Admiral."
"This is Admiral Ar'alani of the Defense Fleet," Ar'alani snapped. "Snowbird, I order you to stand down."
No response.
"Scans?" she asked Tanik.
"Plasma cannons are hot but not primed to fire," Tanik reported, hands flying over the console as he analyzed the data. "They're holding for now."
"Incoming transmission," Wulia broke in. "Audio only."
"Play it," Ar'alani said.
She knew the commander of the Snowbird, quite intimately, although they had never voiced their connection in public. Hopefully, a reminder of that connection would keep the commander from firing on the unprotected rocket banks—and the thousands of civilians who lived in the mountains.
"Admiral Ar'alani," the commander said, her voice silky. "What song does the snowbird sing?"
"Whatever song you ask it to," Ar'alani said, a little taken aback. She had expected a more official code, not an inside catchphrase from her childhood. But that was her sister—she stayed a captain because she never quite knew how to play by the rules, and unlike certain other Chiss with that bad habit, she did not have the intelligence to turn that to her advantage, only a sly craftiness and a certain moral flexibility Ar'alani had always tried to discourage. "Captain Sotei, report. What is happening?"
At least she didn't try to dance around the subject, like she would have five years ago.
"Ten days ago, the terrorist group Ascendancy Prime bombed House Palace," she said grimly, and there was an intake of breath around the bridge.
"How did they gain access?" Ar'alani demanded.
"Unknown, but there are suspicions it was an inside job," Sotei said. "Certain Aristocras who would normally be present were strangely absent that day—"
Ar'alani felt Khresh tense at her side. His family had notable ties with the kind of rogue capitalists associated with Prime. If Sotei called him out in front of the entire bridge crew…
"—we can discuss details of that later," she continued. "Since then, it's been chaos. Prime has control of the ground. House Nuruodo sent out phalanxes to take Csaplar but has thus far been unsuccessful. The Defense Fleet has fractured down the middle."
Her voice caught. "Ar'alani, they've burned the Expeditionary Library."
A hook caught in Ar'alani's heart and tore through it. Millennia of Chiss history, science, records…fragile things, stored on paper and chiseled into stone. Gone. She thought of Mitth'raw'nuruodo, who as a young officer had loved the library with a ferocity he had only turned towards tactics and, later, to her, in her bed. He would be devastated, although he wouldn't show it. Part of her hoped he would never come home.
"Who is in charge of the Defense Fleet?" she asked.
There was no video, but Ar'alani could picture Sotei's helpless shrug.
"You are," she said simply. "You're the highest ranking officer in the system now."
Good, Ar'alani thought. Though she mourned the likely deaths of the Csaplarian admirals, the cold part of her knew it was better to be able to take control smoothly than to wrest it from their hands. Cold, but true; it was the part of her she trusted in battle.
"Very well," she said. "What communication from the surface?"
"Encrypted," came the answer. "My people are working on it, but every time we break the encryption it changes. All we have are numbers. We don't even know what they mean."
"Send over the data," Ar'alani said. Encrypted data, strings of random numbers…she knew an expert slicer and analyst who could assist with these things. "Gather loyalist ships and rendezvous in Copero system—unless Copero is rioting too?"
"Not that we know of," Sotei said, her voice notably calmer now that someone else had come in and taken control of the situation. "Rendezvous at Copero. I'll pass on the message."
If circumstances had devolved to the point that Fleet ships were firing at the surface, Csaplar was unrecoverable for now. Better to withdraw and regroup than flail around destroying more of their heritage.
"Navigator Un'hee," she said calmly to the little girl standing at the helm. "To Copero, when you're ready."
"Yes, Admiral," she said softly.
To Khresh, Ar'alani only said, "Get me Eli'van'to."
II.
Eli rubbed his eyes and thought longingly of sleep.
It felt like decades since he'd been here, locked up in Ar'alani's private office analyzing data while she met and plotted with the other loyalist commanders on how to restore order on Csilla. Combing through endless data, trying to find patterns that simply didn't seem to be there.
Breaking the code was proving impossible in ways Eli hadn't thought it could be. The encryption was one thing—programming was programming, and Eli was familiar enough with the Chiss variant to break it. But the coded numbers were slippery and deceptive and dangerous, like trying to catch laserfire with your bare hands. Occasionally, Eli would think he had a breakthrough—only to be disappointed when the numbers were meaningless, adhering to no pattern, and then the data fed to him would change encryption again and he was stuck at the beginning.
There must be an underlying pattern I'm missing, he thought. This isn't magic. There has to be an answer.
"Lieutenant Commander," Ar'alani's stern voice came from the doorway. Eli jumped; he'd been so immersed in the data, he hadn't heard the door swish open. "Any news?"
"None, Admiral," he said with a sick twist to his stomach. Ar'alani looked wretched. The entire crew did, to be honest, but it was more worrying coming from the admiral herself, who had until now always been cool and in control of herself, with rare flashes of anger. But nothing like this bone-deep weariness she was now displaying.
"Very well," she said. "Alert me if anything changes."
"Admiral," he said, quickly, before she turned away. "Are you—can I do anything to help you?"
She stared at him for a long moment with those glowing red eyes. Not quite as intense as Thrawn's gaze, but it sent shivers up his spine regardless. The stupid animal part of his brain wanted—well, it wanted the same things it had wanted from Thrawn, and Ar'alani was exactly as inaccessible as Thrawn had been, if not more so.
"Have you heard of the practice of tuvac'eun?" she asked after a long pause.
Eli wracked his brain, tracking down the etymology. It was an old word, derived from a Cheunh dialect called Chaenh that had died out a long time ago.
"Friendship?" he hazarded at last. Ar'alani shook her head.
"Close," she said, grudgingly impressed. "Companionship. I'm surprised you're well-acquainted enough with Old Chaenh to guess."
"I like to study in my spare time," Eli explained, face heating at the backhanded compliment.
"If you are interested in the practice, and not simply the definition," she said, seeming to choose her words carefully, "I invite you to my quarters in three-quarters of an hour. Provided you feel that you can make no further progress here."
"No," Eli admitted, pushing his chair away from the console. "I think I need a break. My eyes are swimming."
"Then in three-quarters hour," she said with a nod. Then she looked at him harder, eyes narrowing. "And Commander? Bathe first."
Then she was gone, leaving Eli to stare at the doorway. Bathe?
What exactly was Ar'alani planning?
But although he was confused, he showed up exactly on time, freshly showered and dressed in his Defense Fleet blacks. Ar'alani greeted him at the doorway of her quarters, crisp in her admiral's whites, and invited him inside.
That should've been his first indication that something was going to be…strange. Not even high-ranking officers of the Steadfast were allowed into Ar'alani's private quarters.
The door swished shut behind him as he stepped inside, looking around with keen interest. The room, to his surprise, had personality: flat sculpts on the walls of soothing shots of Chiss worlds from space, a small statue of one of the ancient Chiss gods on a shelf next to her data pad, and, tucked away, what looked like the sash from a standard Defense Fleet uniform in stark blue. He wondered at that. Somehow, he'd imagined Ar'alani as having been an admiral her entire life, but that was ridiculous. Once upon a time, she was a simple officer like any of the others onboard the Steadfast, and here was the officer's sash to prove it.
"Eli'van'to," she said, and Eli focused on her. She looked tired, but still sharp. "Take this."
She pressed a cup into his hands. A strong liquor; Eli could smell the fumes from here. He took a sip and closed his eyes as the taste of berries exploded on his tongue.
"Thanks," he said, then, a little awkwardly, "You can just call me Eli, if you want."
"Eli," she said. There was something about the lilting way she said his name that made it feel like a caress. Eli shivered. "Would you like to hear of the tradition behind tuvac'eun?"
"Yes," Eli said. Companionship. He was beginning to get an inkling of what that might mean—but surely he was mistaken. The Chiss weren't the type.
"Occasionally," she said slowly, watching him closely, "a commander will take a promising officer under her wing. A protégé, you might say. And being a protégé comes with its rewards."
"Rewards," Eli said, mouth dry. He suspected his guess was right, which—he had not prepared for, emotionally.
But he couldn't deny he was interested.
"Rewards," Ar'alani confirmed. She looked him straight in the eye, pinning him with her glowing red gaze. "But while some of these rewards come in the form of tutoring and guidance, others are more tangible. And these rewards must be agreed to by all parties, with no coercion, no obligation. Do you understand, Eli?"
Eli nodded.
"Do you agree, Eli'van'to?" she asked formally.
Eli took a long look at her: Ar'alani, with her straight posture and her hard face, asking him if he wanted to join her in bed.
"Yes," he said softly, wondering in the back of his mind what other protégés she might have had in the past. Wondering if she'd taken a particular one to her bed. "I agree."
"Good." She beckoned him. "Come here."
Eli, obedient, came. She had more than a few centimeters on him, even when he was in his uniform boots with their added centimeter of height. The top of his head came to her lips. He wasn't sure what to do now. Did Chiss kiss?
Ar'alani took his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead, answering that question.
"It is the job of the mentor to show the protégé how it's done, the first time the tuvac'eun is performed," she said. "Remember, Eli, that this is a ritual, and not the simple animal lusts we may give in to in the future."
Which implied that this would happen more than once, which implied—
Eli lost track of his train of thought as Ar'alani slid a finger under his chin, tipped his head back, and kissed him firmly.
It had been years since Eli had been touched like this, so purposefully, or kissed this deeply. He grabbed onto her shoulders and clung, leaning his body against hers. Her hand against his chest—for a moment, he thought she was pushing him away, and his heart skipped a beat, but no. She trailed the hand down his chest to the black officer's sash he wore, colorless, indicating he was without House in the Ascendancy. Much like Ar'alani's sash, actually; it signified that they both were alone.
He wondered if, for her, alone was a synonym for lonely. Somehow, he suspected that was the case.
Ar'alani pulled away, just enough to speak into his ear.
"Now we take this off," she said, her breath light against his cheek, and nipped his earlobe. Eli squeaked and she laughed softly; he resisted the urge to bury his head in her shoulder, barely.
Sash, off. Ar'alani was doing the same thing, shrugging out of her uniform with the casual ease of someone who'd been doing this for decades. Eli still struggled with the strange press-closure of the Chiss uniforms, which required a very specific pressure to latch properly. He fumbled with it now, torn between the desire to look down at what he was doing, and to keep his eyes on Ar'alani, who was now topless, looking at him with tolerant amusement. Her blue-black hair cascaded down her lean blue shoulders, and as he watched, she ran a hand through it, pulling it completely free of its plait.
"Allow me," she said, stepping closer. It wasn't a request. Deftly, she pulled open the press-closure, loosening his collar, and Eli yanked the uniform shirt over his head.
"So like, and yet so unlike," Ar'alani murmured. She pressed a hand to his chest, dug her nails slightly into his skin, enough that Eli twitched. He was extremely aware of her proximity, of the way her glowing red eyes traveled over his body, appraisingly. "Your skin is the color of the desert."
"And yours is the color of the sky," Eli said, daring to wax poetic just a little. Ar'alani's eyes flicked up to his.
"The skies over the Jamironi deserts are pink," she said, and before Eli could wince, she added, "But over Csilla they are blue, blue like a Chiss."
"I hope to see it one day," he said.
A shadow flickered over Ar'alani's face, and he wished he hadn't said anything about her embattled homeworld.
"I hope you do too," she said, and drew him close again, her hands sinking down to his belt where his half-hard cock pressed against the fabric. "What's this?"
"Oh," he said, remembering several key differences between Chiss biology and human. Namely, that male Chiss genitals were prehensile, and squirmy in a way no human could imitate. Certainly not hard like a human's cock. "That means I'm aroused—or close to it, at any rate."
"Only close?" she asked. "That is no way for a protégé to be. Allow me—"
This time, when she pressed her lips against his neck and slid her hands around his ribs to his back, it was not an exploratory gesture, but one with intent. Eli broke out in goosebumps, inhaled sharply when her teeth found the spot at the base of his skull that was so sensitive it made him twitch.
"Yes," Ar'alani murmured, and dropped her hand down to cup his cock, which was more than half-interested now. "I think it is time to take the rest of these clothes off."
She stripped down when he did, taking off her clothes in the exact same order as him, watching him closely before mimicking his actions; part of the ritual?
He couldn't take his eyes off her. She was not soft in any way, all hard muscle, narrow-hipped and slim. Eli wanted to put his hands on her, wanted to taste her.
"Come," Ar'alani said, and held out her hand to him. "Let's go to the bed."
Eli let her guide him there, and when she sat down on the bed and tugged him closer, pulled his hand away. Ar'alani's eyes narrowed.
"It is the job of the commander to show the protégé what it means to experience pleasure," she told him with a hint of censure in her voice. That pride that he'd run up against so often, now expressed in a situation he'd never anticipated. He found it erotic, here, wanted to make her composure crack, her voice shake.
"I know what it's like to experience pleasure," he told her. "I want to please you instead."
Her eyes glowed brighter in the dim light of her quarters.
"Unorthodox," she said, "but allowable. Very well then, Eli: please me."
Eli sank to his knees. Ar'alani watched him do it with an arched eyebrow that reminded him very much of Thrawn.
Not the time or place, he told himself sternly, and took her ankle in his hand, running his fingers along the inside of her calf. The muscle there twitched; she was a little ticklish. Eli followed his fingers with his lips, kissing the curve of her knee, licking along her inner thigh. Ar'alani's voice caught, and he gently pushed her legs open wider.
He knew what to expect from anatomy texts, but it was different seeing it in person: indigo and purple frills, dozens of them, all dripping with a clear fluid and quivering slightly—and there was her entrance, nearly hidden behind the frills like palm fronds.
He glanced up at her, meeting her unblinking red eyes.
"Tell me if I do anything wrong," he said, and leaned in.
The taste was sweet and earthy, like licking a salt block after doing a shot of the liquor she'd given him. Her legs twitched and he felt the frills expand against his tongue.
"Gentle," Ar'alani ordered. "Very gentle, Eli."
So he was gentle, as gentle as could be, lapping at the frills, parting them delicately with the tip of his tongue. Above him, Ar'alani shuddered, and then she fisted her hand in his hair and shoved his face deeper against her frills.
"More," she demanded. "Use your fingers inside me."
Eli's breath hitched—he found he liked the commander voice being used on him in this context—and obeyed.
She was sticky inside, textured in an intriguing way that made him wonder what it would feel like to have her slide down on his cock. Eli thrust his fingers in and out of her, and she hissed through her teeth and grabbed his wrist.
"Not like that," she said. "Use three fingers. Move them inside me."
The noise she made when he did that was unlike anything he'd ever expected to hear from her.
He felt her come, her body seizing around his fingers so tightly he couldn't move them, her hand on his head holding his face against her so he could barely breathe.
Is this how I go out? he asked himself. Do I die smothered against a Chiss admiral?
Smugly, he thought, Worth it.
Then she shoved him away so he sprawled backwards, catching himself on his hands before easing himself to the floor. Ar'alani stood above him, looming.
"Now, Eli," she said, "it is your turn."
And without further ado, she knelt above him, spread her frills, and slid his painfully hard cock inside her.
Eli choked. The texture inside was more than intriguing; it felt like dozens of little tongues licking the shaft of his cock, and when she tightened around him, it was nearly enough to make him explode. He grabbed her by the hips and arched his back, trying not to thrust—she didn't like it, after all—but wanting to go deeper, wanting more—
"Like this," she said, and began to grind her hips against him, rocking back and forth while her textured inner walls caressed him. Her hands on his chest, tweaking his nipples, her teeth nipping at his throat—
"Fuck," he breathed out in Basic, and shuddered, and came.
"Very good," she was murmuring, over and over, "very good, Eli."
Eli bloomed under the praise, weak-limbed with orgasm. Ar'alani leaned down and kissed him once more, deeply, almost gently.
"And that," she said, "is tuvac'eun."
Then she began to move her hips again, and Eli yelped.
She was far from finished, it seemed. And Eli was glad.
Eli was limp and wrung out by the time they finished, curled up in Ar'alani's bed as she rinsed off in the refresher. He dozed on and off, listening to the steady run of the water. It reminded him of the creeks of Lysatra, reminded him of home, which he hadn't seen in the last decade. Finding shells on the beaches, tracing their curves, analyzing the pattern of the golden spiral, listening to the summer wind blowing, heralding autumn…
Eli sat bolt upright.
"Seasons," he murmured. "Patterns."
He hauled himself out of bed and to Ar'alani's console, punching in his command code—not caring about the now-permanent record of him in Ar'alani's private quarters—and pulling up all the information available on Csilla's meterological patterns. He skimmed the data until he came to the list of raw numbers: degree of tilt, air and ocean currents, the percentage of the globe covered by glacier versus the percentage of arable land—
"I have it," he said, stunned. Then, raising his voice so Ar'alani could hear, "I have it!"
The shower shut off and she appeared at the doorway, soaking wet.
"You've sliced it?" she asked sharply. "Are you sure?"
"Not one hundred percent," Eli admitted, "but damn close. I need—"
He groped around for his clothes, tugging them on in a frenzy. He would smell like sex without showering first, but it didn't really matter when he might have the answer to the terrorists' code in his head.
"Go," Ar'alani said. "Report back as soon as you can."
"Yes, Admiral," Eli said automatically, and rushed to the analyst lab.
What he found made him feel hollow inside. No, not quite hollow; empty, but with anger burning inside him.
"It's the Grysks," he told Ar'alani several hours later, bathed and properly attired once more.
“Grysks?” Ar’alani’s eyes blazed. “On Csilla itself?”
“Worse than that.” He grimaced as he gave her the bad news: Grysk intelligence forces had suborned not only Prime, but had their talons in the very fabric of Chiss society: several prominent Aristocra had offered supplies and funding to the Grysk, and, if Eli’s interpretation was correct, which it was, even a few Defense Fleet commanders had given in. No names, though, only ranks and pseudonyms Eli couldn’t translate.
Which meant that whatever they were flying into at Copero, there was no telling who was an ally and who wasn’t.
“Then we can trust no one,” Ar’alani said, confirming Eli’s thoughts. “We will have to fight two battles — one of politics, and one of war.”
Ar'alani and he stared at each other for long moments. Her face was grim. It was more than one admiral and her crew could handle.
They needed Thrawn.
And he was nowhere to be found.
III.
Meanwhile, in the Unknown Regions…
Thrawn hurt.
For a moment, that was all he could think: that he was sorer and more exhausted than he could remember being in his life. Military campaigns for both the Empire and the Ascendancy had not prepared him for the sheer physical exertion that came from trying to escape a purrgil pod that had kidnapped you.
Carefully, he took inventory of his body. He twitched his hands, his feet; all seemed to be there in the appropriate place, nothing broken. There was an insistent, stabbing pain in his right torso that was indicative of a broken rib. His head ached and he felt the taste of nausea in his throat, an indication of concussion. But overall, he was better off than he expected.
He was lying in grass, or something like it, sprawled on his back like a broken droid. Opening his eyes, he was greeted by the bright blue-white glow of a sun, much hotter than the Coperan sun, or than the dozens of climate-controlled ships he had inhabited over the past few decades. He saw nothing but clear sky, tinged a faint purple, and heard nothing but the breeze and the sound of his own labored breathing. To his left and right were rolling hills carpeted in blue grass, trees on the horizon. No animals except for the piping song of avians in the sky. Safe, or close enough to it.
With a grunt, he rolled onto his left side, taking some of the pressure off his broken rib, propping himself up on one elbow. It took him a minute to get his knees under him; his body did not want to obey his commands, most likely thanks to the concussion. Once he managed that, he took the next step and forced himself to his feet—
Only to fall to his knees again, jarring himself badly, as his stubborn body refused to hold him up.
The battle is not won by the fastest or best-armed, he reminded himself, but by the cleverest and most patient.
He would be both.
He crawled to the base of a hill, wincing with every movement, until he was able to ease himself into a hollow in the hillside, protected from both the harsh rays of the blue sun, hard on his skin, and from prying eyes—animal and sapient both. He had no idea how long he had been there. Hours? Days? From the hunger pangs and his dry mouth, he suspected the latter. But not too long—one or two days at the most. He had the vague memory of being deposited by a creek by the purrgil, their long tentacles dropping him almost gently to the ground, and of drinking from the clear water, but he had not marked the direction in any meaningful way when he had stumbled away from it.
So: no food, no water, no shelter but the hill. All he had were the clothes on his back, torn and bedraggled as they were, and his blurry mind. Still, he had been in worse situations and survived.
Except, of course, the last time he had been stranded on an alien world, he had had a plan, supplies, and backup. This time he had nothing but himself.
His ears caught the high-pitched buzz of a spacecraft, and he hauled himself deeper into the hollow. There was no way to know whether the occupants of the craft were well-disposed to him or not. Better to stay undiscovered until he could ascertain the answer.
The craft landed behind him, a few hills away. He couldn't see it from his position, which was both good and bad: it gave him less data to work with, but also afforded him more protection. The breeze was blowing against him, whipping away the chattering voices of the craft's crew. From what little he could catch, he estimated four, maybe five beings.
Their voices fell silent, quite suddenly, and Thrawn snapped fully awake. Something had happened to break up their idle chatter, and whatever it was would be a danger to him as well.
There was a prolonged silence. Thrawn's hand went to his holster, where his blaster should have been, but it was gone.
Then footsteps as the aliens marched up the hill. Thrawn stiffened and glanced around his surroundings.
He had the element of surprise, but that was all that was on his side. He was weakened, outnumbered, weaponless—but not helpless. Never that.
Gritting his teeth against the pain of it, he moved silently from a sitting position to a runner's crouch. If he was correct, the sunlight would catch the aliens' eyes right as they crested the hill, and if they were unprepared for it, they might be blinded long enough for him to make a run for the trees, or, failing that, to take a hostage.
Eyeing the distant treeline, he revised his plan. He would have to take a hostage. He couldn't run that far in his current condition.
Then suddenly they were upon him, too quickly for his slowed reflexes. He sprang out of the hollow and glanced at their diamond formation, immediately choosing the last point of the diamond to take down.
Whatever quarry they were expecting, it wasn't him; the being he tackled went down hard, and there was a brief scuffle for the blaster. The being threw an elbow back and caught him directly in the broken rib, and Thrawn huffed out a groan of pain, but did not let that dissuade him from snatching the blaster from the other being's crawling fingers, kneeing the being in the back where he hoped a sensitive organ lay, and finally standing with a foot on its neck and the blaster in his hands, his finger wrapped around the trigger.
The aliens had their blasters out, too, but they valued their companion's life enough to resist shooting Thrawn for the time being. They stared each other down, Thrawn squinting in the blue glow of the sun. These aliens were short, stub-limbed with only a few fingers per hand, and they were glaring at him with violet eyes. Each alien had two mouths, each mouth lined with small sharp teeth.
"Chiss," the one to Thrawn's left hissed.
"Vagaari," Thrawn said calmly in Sy Bisti. "My greetings to you."
He was familiar with this species, a race of nomadic slavers whose few incursions into Chiss space had met with plasma spheres and laserfire, including from Thrawn himself. They may not recognize him in particular, but from their wary expressions, they had heard enough about the power of the Defense Fleet to take him seriously.
"My request is simple," he said, pressing the barrel of the blaster harder against the Vagaari's head as it shuddered with rage. "Your ship for your lives. I will leave you the emergency distress beacon. If you—"
One of the Vagaari's eyes flicked behind Thrawn, and he knew his mistake. With his clouded mind, he had failed to account for all the voices—four, he had guessed, four or five. He spun around with the blaster leveled, but it was too late. The fifth Vagaari had a right hook Thrawn's Academy martial arts instructors could only dream of, and he was too slow to duck. The blow took him across the face; he heard a crack and an excruciating pain filled his skull.
He fired the blaster blindly.
It was not set to stun.
The Vagaari corpse fell to the side with a charred hole in its middle, and Thrawn jerked his hand down and fired another shot through the head of the Vagaari on the ground before it could rise to its feet.
"Now," he said levelly, enunciating carefully although it felt like his jaw had turned to mush. A fractured mandible, he suspected. "Take me to your ship."
He did not leave the emergency distress beacon. When he reached civilization again, he would deliver the coordinates to the proper authorities—the Defense Fleet, if all went well—and they would be sure to take the stranded Vagaari into custody. For now, there was too much risk to be had if he left it; he could be attacked, or followed into Ascendancy space.
For that was where the purrgils had left him: on the very edge of the Chiss Ascendancy, close enough to make it to the heart of the Ascendancy in a matter of hours. He set course for the Coperan system: further away from Csilla, but with a more reliable ally, given that Ar'alani was not necessarily within the Csillan system. He was certain—fairly certain—that his brother Thrass would take him in.
In the back of the ship, Thrawn tore through their supplies until he found a medpac, old enough to be a remnant of the Galactic Civil War. It contained bacta, spray-bandages, sterile gauze, and stim-shots. He soaked a sheet of gauze with bacta and held it to his face, closing his eyes as the distinctive tingle of healing flesh passed through him.
In a way, Ezra Bridger had done him a favor when he'd summoned the purrgil pod to take the Seventh Fleet, and Thrawn with it, into hyperspace. His goal had been to excise himself from the fabric of the Empire following the battle of Lothal, and he had placed enough credits in the right smugglers' pockets to find himself a ship out of Imperial territory. Bridger’s way was decidedly more dramatic, but effective.
A console beeped and flashed red. Thrawn glanced at it once, then frowned and investigated further. He could not read Grysk script, but the icon used to illustrate the function of the red light was similar to others he’d seen. Hyperdrive failure imminent.
A bone-deep exhaustion suffused him, and he was having the dawning realization that he was tired. Not simply physically, but mentally as well: all his careful plotting, his decades of service, to culminate in his ignoble death in interstellar space.
He allowed himself to brood on this for exactly one minute, then took the stim-shot and jammed it into his neck. The stimulant rode his pulse through his body and he was immediately more alert — at a price. The drug did not dim the pain — on the contrary, it intensified it — and it made his stomach twitch unpleasantly.
It didn’t matter. He would not allow himself to die here.
Locating the emergency distress beacon, Thrawn set it to a Chiss frequency and activated it. Then he slowly and steadily began to ransack the Vagaari supplies, searching for food, a weapon, body armor and clothes.
No, he would not die here.
Thrawn was perched on the pilot’s seat in the cockpit, vibrating from the stim-shot pulsing through his veins, when the call came through. A visual communication, encrypted with a Chiss code. Thrawn exhaled, settling his racing mind—the stim-shot, while his only option, was not ideal—and punched in the sequence to unencrypt the message with shaking fingers.
For a moment, he thought the woman on the display was Ar’alani, and he bit back a wave of relief; but no. This was Ar’alani as she had been fifteen years ago, her face softer, her eyes almost playful. They widened as she took him in: battered and bruised, dressed in the garb of a Vaagari slave in loose brown pants with a dozen pockets and a dingy white shirt. He did not look like an admiral, or even a respectable Chiss civilian. He looked like a pirate.
“Greetings,” he said to her, inclining his head. “I am Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Galactic Empire.” No longer, but he suspected this Defense Fleet captain neither knew nor cared. “I seek Admiral Ar’alani. Can you bring me to her?”
The captain was far from impassive; her eyes narrowed, the muscles at the base of her throat flexing as she swallowed, evaluating him.
“Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” she said, naming him with the certainty of blaster fire. Her voice held anger, perhaps contempt. Not promising. “The exile.”
Her voice dripped with loathing. No, not promising at all.
He could still save it.
“Indeed,” Thrawn said, saluting her with his right fist pressed to his left shoulder. He stiffened into a proper military posture, though it pained him. “May I have the honor of knowing to whom I’m speaking?”
“You may not,” she spat, making a gesture to someone out of sight. Thrawn felt the distinct wobble of the shuttle as a tractor beam locked onto the smaller vessel. “So you want to see the admiral?” A snort of derision. “I just bet you do.”
The Chiss were civilized; they did not clap him in binders and haul him to the brig, nor did they torment their prisoners like those in the Empire did—though never under his command.
But they did send a half-phalanx to guard him there, all of them armed and wearing body armor. Thrawn felt a flicker of amusement; how dangerous could he be in this state?
Enough to steal a Vagaari vessel and kill its occupants, he supposed, which was dangerous enough for caution.
Once he was in the brig, disarmed and successfully secured, the captain deigned to come down to meet him.
“I had expected more from you than a ragged piece of common scum,” she said with a sniff, looking him up and down. “From your reputation, I would have imagined you to be four meters tall and able to outsmart even my sister, and yet here you are, walking right back into her arms.”
So: Ar’alani’s sister. Thrawn had supposed it was so; the familiy resemblance was too strong. There was a sneer to her voice that said she knew exactly what Ar’alani and Thrawn had been to each other; tuvac'eun was sacred, but it was not without its detractors.
“So I am,” he said calmly. “Thank you for providing me with transport.”
She stared at him for a long moment, her face taut with emotion. Perhaps anger. Perhaps indignation. Perhaps sorrow.
“You think she will treat kindly with you?” she asked. “While the jewel of the Ascendancy is burning and riots are terrorizing a dozen worlds? No, Thrawn -- you escaped death once, but you will not do so -- “
“Csilla is burning?” Thrawn interrupted, voice sharp. “Riots? What has happened?”
“It’s none of your business,” she said, but she was too clearly haunted by the events to keep it in.
“Ascendancy Prime,” she continued tightly. Thrawn narrowed his eyes. She rightfully deciphered his question, and clarified, “Anti-oligarchists—we thought they were scattered cells of terrorists, but they’ve staged an insurgency.” The words spilled out faster; now there was only pain in her face. “The Defense Fleet is consuming itself and only a quarter of Chiss worlds are untouched by violence.” Her face darkened. “I wouldn’t be surprised if your Empire was behind it.”
“What do you know about the Empire?” Thrawn asked, carefully modulating his voice to keep the sharpness out of it. He was certain the Emperor hadn’t extended his reach this far into the Unknown Regions...had been certain, before Thrawn had learned the extent of the power of the Force. Now, he doubted.
“Enough,” said the captain ominously. Thrawn relaxed; a person like her would not have the self-control to keep from blurting out all she knew -- though she may well be a skilled captain, there were some who simply weren’t meant for subterfuge.
“I see,” Thrawn said, and eased himself down on the sole piece of furniture in the cell, a long bench running the length of the wall. He looked at the captain from behind the light but strong mesh, steepled his fingers, and was silent.
This frustrated the captain; she glared at him, bunched her hands into fists briefly, then exhaled harshly and relaxed.
“We’ll see what the admiral chooses to do with you,” she said, and turned, and left.
Thrawn waited until she was gone, then eased himself onto his back. The stim-shot was wearing off; and the pain was dulling as his exhaustion rose.
But he was relatively safe -- unlikely to be killed in his sleep, at least -- and there may be hours yet before he saw Ar’alani -- and Eli. Something tightened inside him at the thought. He knew what it was, but did not have time for it, and so set it aside.
Thrawn closed his eyes and slept.
IV.
Thrawn. Thrawn was here.
Eli’s pulse pounded in his ears as he waited outside the Steadfast’s infirmary, fairly vibrating with eagerness and anxiety. As a lieutenant commander, he didn't have the clearance to visit such a high-ranking prisoner—and Thrawn was a prisoner for now, thanks to Sotei's overly-cautious approach. Not that Eli could blame her; she was on edge, like all of them, and since she thought Thrawn was truly a traitor...well, Eli might have done the same thing, once upon a time.
He jolted to attention as Ar’alani came striding up the corridor, eyes blazing.
“Stand aside,” she said briskly to the guards on the infirmary door. “Commander Eli’van’to, with me.”
Then they were in the infirmary—Eli’s eyes raced over the smooth white surfaces, the medical equipment in pristine condition lurking in the corners—and then Thrawn was there, turning his head to face them, a shadow of pain on his face, healing medigauze taped to his naked torso and along his jaw.
"Eli," he said, a single exhalation of breath, and his shoulders relaxed. Eli's heart skipped a beat. It beat Good day as greetings went by a lot.
"Admiral," Thrawn added, saluting Ar'alani respectfully.
"Leave us," Ar'alani said to the guard watching over Thrawn. The guard started to say something, and she cut him off. "Mitth'raw'nuruodo is no danger to me."
The guard was tense and miserable at having to leave his commanding officer with a threat, or what he perceived as one, but he went, with a muttered, "Yes, Admiral."
"I notice you did not say I wasn't to be imprisoned," Thrawn murmured.
Eli blinked. Now that Thrawn mentioned it, that was odd. Surely Ar'alani wasn't going to keep him locked up?
"That remains to be seen," Ar'alani said severely. She took a seat, the only seat besides the medical table Thrawn was sitting on. Eli looked around for somewhere else to sit, found nothing, and ended up hovering awkwardly over the two of them. He didn't really mind, though. He was still basking in that whispered Eli.
Ar'alani continued, "Captain Sotei seems convinced that your Emperor has sent you as a spy into the heart of the Ascendancy, striking us at our weakest. What do you say to that?"
Thrawn's head went up and his eyes blazed.
"I have always had the wellbeing of the Chiss foremost in my heart and mind," he said with some heat. Eli wondered if that was because of the question or because it was Ar'alani asking it. "That has not changed.
And also," he added, leaning back slightly, "there have been developments in the Empire that you might find intriguing."
"I'd find the story of how you got here intriguing," Eli broke in. Ar'alani gave him a look. Eli swallowed but disregarded it. "Is that part of the developments you mentioned?"
Thrawn gave him a slice of a smile.
"Yes, in fact," he said. "I apologize for my disreputable appearance, but it was a necessity." He folded his arms, grimacing slightly as he pressed against the ribs on his right—had they been broken, and in the process of mending? Medigauze was quicker than bacta.
Then Thrawn began his story, and Eli stopped paying attention to Thrawn's body—mostly—and focused on his words. Rebels, Jedi, purrgil, some alien race Eli didn't know—it all sounded impossible. But this was Thrawn, and Eli knew he was telling the truth.
"—and then Captain Sotei followed the distress beacon to my shuttle," Thrawn finished. He spread one hand before him, as if presenting that final sentence to Ar'alani. "Thus my presence here."
"I see," Ar'alani said. "Lieutenant Commander Eli'van'to, your analysis?"
"It seems implausible," Eli said, picking his words carefully. Thrawn was watching him and Ar'alani with narrowed eyes, and Eli was suddenly aware of how easy they'd become together, how used to their physical proximity. Thrawn would notice. He definitely would notice. "But I know the legends of the Jedi, and more to the point, I've seen the patterns in the data on the navigators."
Ar'alani twitched. He hadn't delivered that report to her yet, and he winced a bit at her finding out like this. But he continued, "Even untrained and young, the navigators have much greater talents than, well, navigating. It doesn't stretch the imagination to think that a fully-trained Jedi—even an apprentice like this Ezra Bridger—could do the things Thrawn mentioned. And following that," he concluded, "I think the Emperor is a threat to the Ascendancy, given his powers. But I don't think Thrawn is his agent."
"Neither do I," Ar'alani said crisply. Thrawn glanced at her with an odd half-smile on his lips. They met gazes for a moment, and Eli was conscious of some deep, unknown history sweeping past him. "Thrawn, are you loyal to the Chiss Ascendancy, and only the Chiss Ascendancy?"
"I am," Thrawn said, straightening. He said it with such confidence; with a pang, Eli wondered if he'd ever cared about the Empire at all.
"Good," Ar'alani said. "I believe you. And we need you in the field. I do not have nearly enough competent commanders."
Thrawn gave her a faint smile.
"I am honored to be counted as capable," he said.
Ar'alani nodded at him, then turned to Eli. She rested a hand on his shoulder, leaned in close—way closer than she would have in front of anyone else.
"Don't be stupid," she said.
Eli had no idea what that meant.
Eli took a deep breath as Ar'alani exited the room. Where to start? Ar'alani clearly wanted him to tread carefully, but he didn't know why, or even what to say to Thrawn. Did he start off with a deeper interrogation? Did he explain the circumstances on Csilla in further detail, although he know Thrawn had already been briefed? (Did he tell the truth, say I missed you; did you miss me?)
"So," Thrawn said conversationally, "I see you and the admiral have begun tuvac'eun."
This was not how Eli wanted to start.
"Yes," he said, bracing his shoulders as he took Ar'alani's vacated seat right in front of Thrawn. "It's not like what you think, though."
"What do I think?" Thrawn asked, a trace of amusement in his voice. Eli both hated and loved that.
"It's not—not a romance," Eli said, struggling to articulate it properly. "She's—I respect her, and I like her, and she's—" He was not going to tell Thrawn the admiral was great in bed. "But I don't want to marry her or anything."
Marriage in the Ascendancy was focused on having children, after all, and Eli couldn't think of anyone less suited to parenthood than the two of them.
"I see," Thrawn said. "Did she not explain the purpose of the ritual?"
"Uh…yes?" Eli hazarded, now realizing that Ar'alani had not really gone into detail. They'd been distracted much too soon. "It's about mentoring a protégé." What was the term Ar'alani had used? "And the mutual rewards of such a relationship."
Thrawn nodded.
"Very good," he said, and Eli felt that warm twist in his stomach. "Did she also explain that this is considered a lifelong bond?"
"Uh," Eli said again.
"I see she did not," Thrawn said after a moment or five had passed. "For example, I myself was once the admiral's protégé, and should we choose to do so, it would be entirely appropriate for us to resume the tuvac'eun—regardless of marital status, rank, or fertility." He regarded Eli for a moment. "So you see, you are bonded much more closely than you expected."
Eli had no idea what to say to that. This conversation felt like a minefield, where at any moment he might trip over something that would drastically reshape the way he viewed the relationships in his life.
"Were it not prohibited both socially and legally in the Empire," Thrawn continued thoughtfully, "I would have initiated the same ritual with you."
The mine exploded in Eli's face.
"I—what?" Eli finally managed. His face was so hot he could feel the blood pulsing in his cheeks. He had imagined Thrawn declaring his attraction to Eli (even his love, though Eli could rarely bring himself to admit that) more than he should have, but this matter-of-fact way was not how he'd expected it.
"Yes," Thrawn confirmed. Now he definitely had a smile on his face. "I noticed your attraction to me, and given our relationship, it would have been expected among the Chiss. But in the Imperial Navy..." A gesture of dismissal. "Impossible. Not only would it have been scandalous, but your consent would have been coerced."
"It wouldn't have been," Eli said in a rush. Thrawn raised his eyebrows. Eli clarified, "If you had…initiated tuvac'eun. Or even just…even just said you wanted me."
The words were so hard to get out. This was not going like any of Eli's fantasies at all.
"Now you know," Thrawn said. His eyes held Eli's. Do with that knowledge what you will, they said.
So Eli got up from the chair, sat down on the table next to Thrawn, turned his face toward Eli, and kissed him.
He was careful, mindful of the medigauze on Thrawn's face, but Thrawn still hissed and pulled away.
"Sorry," Eli said, feeling clumsy and incredibly awkward. "Sorry—"
Thrawn put his fingers to Eli's lips.
"You do not need to apologize," he said quietly. Then his fingers drifted to brush against Eli's jaw, his thumb moving over Eli's lower lip, tugging it slightly. Eli's mouth opened and, daring, he took Thrawn's thumb in his mouth, nipped at it.
Thrawn's eyes flared.
"Let me do the talking," he said, and rearranged himself so he was facing Eli.
"And the touching?" Eli asked, his heart racing. Thrawn smiled.
"And the touching," he confirmed.
Two hands now, cupping Eli's jaw. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles on his hot cheeks.
"When I first met you," he began, "I saw potential in you. You were barely out of adolescence, but you were clever; you saw patterns others missed. Under my tutelage, you grew."
His fingers smoothed the frown crinkling Eli's forehead.
"Yes, you would have grown on your own. But you would have been content with your lot in shipping and supply, if it were not for my influence. Is that not so?"
"You're right," Eli said. Thrawn's voice was hypnotic and his hands were enticing, lulling him to a state of arousal that was probably not what Ar'alani had had in mind when she'd left the two of them alone.
"If the tuvac'eun was acceptable in the Empire," he continued, "I would have proposed it when you first received your promotion to lieutenant commander. You were incandescent, Eli."
Oh stars.
Eli raised his hands to grip Thrawn by the wrists. He drew his hands down and cradled them in his lap. He was hyper-aware of Thrawn's movements, the slight hitch in his breath as Eli squeezed his wrists reassuringly, the lowering of his eyes as Eli entwined their fingers.
"Thrawn," Eli said, "I would really like to kiss you right now."
"Be gentle," Thrawn said, with a tone of command that was quite neutralized by the purple flush rising on his neck.
Eli was gentle, so gentle, just the barest brush of his lips against Thrawn's. His pulse jumped. Everything in the world was narrowed down to this, just skin against skin, the way Thrawn exhaled and shivered and leaned into him as if he had finally realized he had a safe harbor waiting for him.
Eli rubbed his nose against Thrawn's, conscious of his injury but wanting more. The corners of Thrawn's mouth curled up.
"Gentle enough?" Eli asked.
"Yes," Thrawn said. "You are very gentle, Eli. Thank you."
But then nothing came of it.
The kiss, the confession—none of it seemed to mean anything, because from the moment Eli was hustled out of the infirmary by a medic to now, several days later, listening to Thrawn and Ar'alani consulting in Ar'alani's command room, Eli was swamped with data—from the Grysk forces on Csilla, from his navigator research, from the Imperial data Thrawn had stored on his code cylinder—and he had no time to talk to either Thrawn or Ar'alani about tuvac'eun.
But Eli had developed a plan. And, he thought, watching the two Chiss commanders, Thrawn glacially calm and Ar'alani seething over Prime's latest incursion on Copero, this might be a good time to put it in action. Stars knew they all needed a distraction.
So, as Thrawn crossed his arms, his now-healed ribs finally not making him wince, and Ar'alani turned away in quietly contained fury, Eli cleared his throat.
Two glowing red gazes pinned him to the spot, which was a little intimidating. There was something about the intensity of Chiss eyes—maybe just the sheer alienness of them—that was discomfiting, and, with these two particular Chiss, rather erotic.
"Do you have something to contribute, Commander?" Ar'alani asked acerbically.
"Yes, actually," Eli said, ignoring her tone; he'd seen the flicker of regret on her face after she'd said it. "I think we're all a little too tense right now, and I have an idea of how to defuse that a little."
Thrawn caught on before Ar'alani. Eli saw his eyebrows rise and a small smile flash on his lips before fading back to his usual neutral expression.
"What is your idea?" Ar'alani asked, less acerbic and now more curious.
"You gave me the idea, actually, Admiral," Eli said, watching her face closely. Her eyes narrowed and her lips parted; she'd made the connection. She glanced from him to Thrawn, then back again.
"So this is a conspiracy," she said.
"On the contrary," said Thrawn, "I had no idea Eli was going to do this."
"I prefer to think of it as an ambush, anyway," Eli said cheerfully. He had them both, and they both knew it, too.
So it was with confidence that he strode to Thrawn, caught his chin in his hand, and kissed him with the reckless intensity he'd wanted to use in the infirmary.
Thrawn more than matched him, parting Eli's lips with his tongue and grabbing him by the waist, pulling him flush against Thrawn's body. In comparison to Ar'alani, Thrawn wasn't that tall, but he towered over Eli, and he was considerably broader than Ar'alani, who was Eli's main frame of reference when it came to sex. His hands were strong, and he held Eli with ease, stroking his fingers up Eli's back, sending shivers down his spine.
Then he heard Ar'alani move, and felt her presence behind him before she twined a hand in his hair and pulled gently upwards, until Eli was forced onto tiptoes, clutching Thrawn's shoulders. He broke away from Thrawn, panting, but Ar'alani held his head firm while Thrawn kissed him again and again, small kisses on his forehead, then his cheeks, then once more on his lips, deeply. All while Ar'alani held them close, for Eli noticed dazedly that she had her hand on Thrawn's back, pressing him against Eli. Not that either of them were complaining.
"Yes," Ar'alani said, her voice much changed from earlier. "Yes. I like this."
"As do I," Thrawn said, and gently pushed Eli in Ar'alani's arms. "Her, now."
So Eli kissed Ar'alani, aware of Thrawn's eyes on them. He knew exactly how she liked it by now, with teeth and tongue and her hand buried in his hair and his gripping her jaw hard. She, bolder than Thrawn was, or maybe just more confident in her judgment of his body, slid a hand down his chest and between his legs, where his cock was already stirring with interest.
Eli gasped as she palmed him, breaking the kiss, his head tilting back—right against Thrawn's shoulder, for he'd crowded Eli against Ar'alani and had fenced Eli in between them, with Thrawn's hands on Ar'alani's hips, tugging them flush against Eli, trapping her hand between his leg. Thrawn nipped at Eli's ear, making him squeak, then said to Ar'alani, "Like old times, then?"
"Plus one alien," she responded, and then they kissed above his shoulder. Eli couldn't really see it from his angle, but he could hear it, and more importantly, he could feel Ar'alani's hips cant closer against him, and the hitch of Thrawn's breath as she grabbed him by the nape of the neck with her free hand. And, Eli realized with a thrill flashing down his spine, he could feel the slight squirm of something against his back.
Prehensile, he thought, which immediately led to thoughts about how that would feel inside him. That thought happened right when Ar'alani squeezed his cock, still trapped in his uniform trousers, and Eli moaned.
"Ah," Thrawn said in interest.
"It's nice, isn't it?" Ar'alani said, and did it again. Eli made the same noise, this time a little throatier.
"What do you want, Eli?" Thrawn asked, his breath hot against Eli's ear. "Tell us."
"Yes," Ar'alani said. "Tell us."
Their combined attention was frankly a little overwhelming, and Eli was loving every minute of it.
"I want us naked, first of all," he said, feeling a little bossy but not particularly caring, "and then Thrawn, I want—"
He faltered.
"You want me to fuck you," Thrawn said, in his most clinical voice, enunciating the final consanant of the word. It was the first time Eli had ever heard him swear, and for some reason, it was this that hammered home to Eli that this was really happening; that he had both Ar'alani and Thrawn, together, and they were waiting to hear how he wanted to be pleased.
It was exhilarating.
"Yes," he said to Thrawn. "I want you to fuck me."
"Good," Ar'alani said, and stepped back just enough for her hands to go to the press-closure of Eli's uniform. As if in sync with her, Thrawn dropped his hands to the buckle of his belt and unhooked it, tugging his trousers down until they fell around his ankles.
"Wait," Eli said, suddenly self-conscious. "I wanted all of us to be naked—"
"We will be," Thrawn assured him.
"But Thrawn has yet to see you unclothed," Ar'alani said, tone practical. "It's only polite to give him a look first."
Thrawn chuckled, and Eli had the feeling he'd either heard some unexpected Chiss humor or stumbled into an inside joke.
But it didn't really matter when Thrawn's hand was sliding down his bare back to palm the curve of his ass. Eli shuddered with pleasure and leaned into the touch, but Thrawn pushed him away, after a good squeeze, and guided him to lean against the table, facing the two of them, his hard cock bobbing in the air.
Then Thrawn went to his knees, which was just—Eli couldn't quite process it. He kept his eyes on Eli's as he did, that penetrating gaze striking him to the core as Thrawn ran a finger up his cock, making it twitch, and leaned forward and took the head in his mouth.
Eli's jaw dropped and an embarrassing noise came out, which turned into a full-throated moan as Thrawn took him deeper. His back arched and he gasped. Thrawn's tongue was working around his head, making Eli's thighs twitch; Thrawn's hand encircling the base of his cock and squeezing, Thrawn sucking Eli's cock—
Tension was beginning to grow in Eli's groin by the time Ar'alani, now gloriously naked, grabbed Thrawn by the hair and pulled him off Eli's cock.
"Humans can only come once," she said rather severely. "Don't ruin him before it's time."
"Only once?" Thrawn asked, casting a speculative glance at Eli. "Have you ever put it to the test?"
Eli licked his lips, and said, "I, for one, am completely fine with being put to the test."
"Then we shall," Thrawn said. "For the sake of scientific advancement."
Ar'alani gave a raspy chuckle, and Eli realized he'd never really heard her laugh. It softened her face. Eli liked the sound.
"First, though, boots off," Thrawn said, using his commander voice again, which had Eli automatically bending down to take off his boots.
"And second?" he asked, once the boots were off, turning to face Ar'alani.
"Second," she said, taking him by the shoulders and turning him around, "you take a look at what you're getting into. Or perhaps what is getting into you."
Thrawn was sprawled in the chair, also spectacularly naked. He had scars both Eli and Ar'alani lacked, and muscles too. Stars, he was strong.
And between his legs, his cock, deep indigo, textured with rings of concentric circles, dripping with fluid, and flexible, was squirming. Eli swallowed.
"If it it uncomfortable for you, I can hold it still," Thrawn said, which Eli thought was rather considerate.
"It's definitely not going to be uncomfortable," Eli said. "I think."
"Let us find out," said Thrawn, and Ar'alani pushed Eli forward until Eli was leaning over Thrawn, bent over with Ar'alani's commanding hand in the small of his back. He glanced behind himself and saw Ar'alani with her hand between her legs, heard the distinctive sound of her fingering herself.
"Eyes on me," Thrawn said, and Eli snapped his head back around to stare into Thrawn's blazing eyes. Thrawn cupped the back of his skull and drew Eli's forehead against his own, watching him closely—
As Ar'alani took it upon herself to prepare him for Thrawn's cock.
Using her fingers slick with her own fluids, she ran her finger around the rim of Eli's hole, a gentle caress that made Eli suck in a deep breath.
"Relax," Thrawn whispered.
"He's never done this before," Ar'alani said over Eli's head. "Give him a moment. Kiss him."
Thrawn obeyed, sinking his hand into Eli's hair and deepening the kiss right as Ar'alani slid one finger inside him.
Eli moaned into Thrawn's mouth and arched his back, unintentionally pressing himself against Ar'alani's hand. She steadied his hips and said, "Do human males enjoy thrusting?"
"Dunno," Eli panted, resting his head on Thrawn's shoulder. He bit back a whimper as Ar'alani curled her finger inside him. "Oh! That—that felt good."
"This?" She did it again.
Eli shuddered all over and gasped, "Yes."
Thrawn was laughing softly as Ar'alani fingered Eli and Eli melted on his shoulder, steadying Eli with one hand. Each time Ar'alani curled her fingers, something happened inside Eli that made him go on his toes, tense with pleasure like a plucked quetarra string.
"Like that, Thrawn," Ar'alani said. Eli couldn't see, but he thought she might be demonstrating.
"I see," Thrawn said, and then they were turning Eli around so his back was pressed against Thrawn's chest, and Thrawn's squirming cock was pressed against his hole—
He was just so big compared to Ar'alani's fingers. Eli was panting, his cock so hard and straining it brushed against his belly. Thrawn's hands on his hips guided him down, Ar'alani watching with smug satisfaction.
Then he was seated completely on Thrawn, who asked if it felt good—but Eli's head was swimming with pleasure; he could barely think, let alone talk—he just made a garbled noise that he hoped sounded like a yes.
"Yes," Ar'alani said, or perhaps translated. "Like that."
Inside him, Thrawn's cock moved like that, and Eli cried out.
Ar'alani stepped forward, ordering Thrawn to continue, and pushed Eli back so he was pressed against Thrawn's chest. Thrawn's arms came around him, holding him tight. Eli thought he was going to lose it.
And then Ar'alani straddled him, sliding his cock against her frills and then inside her, and Eli did lose it. Hips bucking, he came with a shudder and a shout inside her. But neither of them stopped.
"Wait—" Eli gasped.
"We're putting you to the test, remember?" Thrawn murmured in his ear. "Do you want us to stop?"
"Hell no," Eli said with the last coherent thought he could have, and Ar'alani started grinding against him, her inner tongues pulsating against him, and Thrawn's cock began to curl inside him—
It was overwhelming, overstimulating, driving him crazy as the two of them found their rhythm and rocked together, Eli pinned between them. Eli was whimpering, begging, saying whatever came to mind—oh please fuck me harder, Thrawn, don't stop, I want to make you come too, Ar'alani, oh stars don't stop—
He felt Ar'alani shudder above him, her strong thighs flexing. Thrawn's arm became durasteel across his chest and he bit Eli's shoulder hard. Then Eli's back arched, his eyes squeezed shut, and everything whited out as he came a second time, his orgasm ripping through him.
They didn't stop for some time, riding him until all he could experience was the sound and taste and scent of the two of them; he'd long since closed his eyes and lost himself to sensation. But they did eventually stop.
Eli sagged out of Thrawn's lap and was caught by him, guided gently to the floor. Ar'alani slipped down gracefully next to him, petting his hair almost absent-mindedly. She liked to do that when they were done, combing her fingers through his hair. Thrawn slid his fingers under Eli's chin and tilted his head up.
"Was it good?" he asked quietly when they had made eye contact.
"What do you think?" Eli said, his speech slurring a little. Thrawn smiled.
"I think," Ar'alani said, "that it is time we bathe. And then—"
"And then we address the problem of the Grysk infiltration again," Thrawn finished.
"Oh," Eli said. Just like that?
"But first," Thrawn said, and leaned forward and kissed Eli deeply, tongue delving into his mouth, then handed him off to Ar'alani, who did the same. Caught between the two of them, Eli thought, This is bliss.
They would have to address the Grysks soon, and the Empire being eaten from within by rebels, and the matter of the navigators—but for now, Eli was content with his companions, and they with him.
The rest could wait.