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They knew there was something wrong with the tea the moment both of them reached for more. Their hands reached the teapot at the exact same time. Thrawn's little finger touched Eli's thumb, a split-second brush, and his skin was so hot that it gave Eli pause, made him notice the uncharacteristic flush in his own cheeks, the way his collar clung to the back of his neck and itched with sweat. Come to think of it, he'd been boiling for at least twenty minutes now, but when he checked his datapad, the temperature was still so mild that he should have been comfortable in a sweater.
And his throat was sore. Just a scratchy little tickle, a peculiar tightness in his esophagus, but combined with the high temperature ... he must be getting ill. And that was why he was so unusually thirsty. The tea didn't even taste good — too bitter, too acidic — and here he was reaching for a second cup.
And Thrawn was, too.
They made eye contact. Thrawn's eyes were especially bright. They'd turned a shade of scarlet that made something tighten inside Eli's stomach — a pretty, vibrant, natural shade of red, like the soft petals of the honeyflowers on Lysatra, the ones that lined the fields, their petals reaching vertically toward the sky. In the summer, when he was a kid, Eli used to walk down to the creek when his parents didn't need him at work. He'd swim naked, the water cool against his skin, the mud of the riverbed sucking at his feet, and he'd feel the fish nibbling at his bare thighs, at his toes. And when he was tired he'd lie on the bank of the river in the shade, waiting to dry off — and the honeyflowers would tower over him, swaying in the breeze, and he'd pluck their petals off and suck on them, and that sweet syrupy flavor would fill his mouth.
He associated it with the sight of his own bare skin, turned darker by the summer sun. He associated it with the bone-deep relaxation of lying on the riverbank — lazily cupping himself, his thumb stroking over the head of his soft cock until it thickened and filled his palm.
Those old memories flooded Eli's mind, each image so vivid that he could almost lose himself in it. He gripped his trousers tight and dug his nails into his thighs to break free from it, to bring himself back to the present. The alien dignitaries were still talking in their slow rolling dialect, and Eli did his best to look attentive. Luckily Thrawn was here; he'd be able to catch Eli up on anything he missed.
But when Eli glanced sideways at Thrawn, he wasn't so sure.
Like Eli, Thrawn sat on his knees at the low tea table, his hands on his thighs. But he wasn't listening to the dignitaries, that much was clear. There was a tense line between his eyebrows, a too-bright glow in his eyes. Lavender suffused the tips of his ears and spread over his cheeks in a pretty flush. His lips were parted — and especially colorful, and especially swollen, as if he'd been nibbling on them absent-mindedly while the dignitaries spoke.
As if he sensed Eli's eyes on him, Thrawn turned his head. They stared at each other, Eli's pupils blown, Thrawn's glowing, both of them frozen. That color again, just like the flowers, and if Eli took Thrawn's hand now, if he pushed the pad of his thumb up beneath the seam of Thrawn's glove to press into the hot and vulnerable flesh of his palm ... if he raised those delicate fingers to his lips and took the tip of the glove between his teeth ... if he uncovered Thrawn's hands, pushed Thrawn's fingers over his own bottom lip and into his mouth, if he sucked on them, felt Thrawn's rough calluses against his tongue ... would his skin be as sweet as the honeyflowers he'd sucked on as a kid? Or would it be even better: spicy, natural, subtle, pure Thrawn?
Thrawn's eyes darted down to Eli's lips. He stiffened, shoulders a straight line, hands clenched in his uniform. He looked almost startled. Had he read Eli's mind somehow? Or—
Eli glanced down. Beneath the table, under the flap of his tunic, Thrawn's cock was straining at the front of his pants. When Eli glanced up again, Thrawn's face was creased with embarrassment, but he gave a subtle nod down to Eli's trousers...where he was hard, too.
Oh.
They reached for their datapads simultaneously, with an abruptness that startled the dignitaries into silence.
"We received an emergency comm from our ship," said Thrawn, his voice tight. His fingers danced over the datapad, and a moment later, Eli's screen flashed with a new message.
There was something in the tea, Thrawn said.
Couldn't agree more, Eli sent back.
"We must be getting back," said Thrawn a little stiffly. He snatched up one of the teacups as he stood and poured himself a quick half-cup from the kettle. "Much obliged, not at all."
"You don't say 'much obliged' and 'not at all,'" Eli hissed as they hurried out, leaving the dignitaries behind. Thrawn gave him a flustered sideways look.
"We have bigger problems than my Basic, Ensign," he said. He was practically jogging down the hall, but Eli could tell he was keeping his stride deliberately slow so Eli could keep up. If he weren't here, Thrawn would probably break into a sprint ... and knowing him, he wouldn't spill a single drop of tea. "I suspect the Harvia cooks might have neglected a crucial difference between Harvia anatomy and Chiss...and humans," he added as an afterthought.
"We've been poisoned?" asked Eli, aghast ... and why did that thought make his cock twitch? In his mind's eye he saw Thrawn laid out nude on a medical cot, he and Eli alone in the shuttle, both of them stripped down, their muscles slick with sweat — Thrawn shivering, helpless to sit up, and Eli touching his feverish skin, combing his hair for him, helping him drink water, giving him a sponge bath...between his legs...over his cock, his balls, his...
"Ensign?" Thrawn said.
Eli's face was so hot he thought he might implode. "Sir?"
"I said I doubt it's poison," said Thrawn. "And then I seemed to lose you."
"Sorry, sir."
Thrawn cast him a sidelong look. His eyes tracked down Eli's face to the vulnerable expanse of his throat above his collar, to his pulse point. Then, for inexplicable reasons, Thrawn's cheeks turned an intense shade of purple and he looked away.
"If not poison, then—?" Eli started.
"Likely a local root vegetable, ground finely and mixed with the tea leaves for a hint of spice," said Thrawn, his voice rushed. "I'm sure you could taste it."
"Sure, but—"
"Popular local root vegetables include near-relatives to Lysatran ginger," Thrawn said. "Lysatran ginger, also known as..."
Eli froze in his tracks. Thrawn made it a few steps further before he stopped and turned.
"Yes," said Thrawn heavily.
"No," Eli breathed.
"I'm afraid so."
Lysatran ginger. Also known as "The Love Root."
(An unfortunate name. But accurate.)
Eli forced himself to take a deep breath and kept walking. If the Harvia had something similar — if that root made it into their tea — it explained everything. The Harvia weren't humanoid — it wouldn't affect them the same way. But for people like Thrawn and Eli ... it would explain the intrusive fantasies that kept overwhelming Eli's senses. It would explain the sudden heat flash that left him sweating underneath his uniform; it would explain why he could feel his cock trapped against his thigh, searing-hot and thick, every step dragging his underwear tight over the head and sending a rush of electricity up to his gut.
Fuck.
"We need to get back to the shuttle," said Eli lowly, his voice trembling.
Thrawn's only answer was a tight, nervous nod. They hurried down the winding passageways of the alien palace and out into the worryingly-public square, where both of them did their best to keep their heads up and their expressions normal. Their tunics would cover their erections ... hopefully. Their confidence would cover the rest. Nobody looked twice at a confident Imperial.
But a blushing Imperial...
And an alien Imperial who kept stumbling and shivering as he walked...who also happened to be carrying a full cup of tea...
Well, at least they were fast walkers. Thrawn muttered orders into his comlink, and by the time they made it to the port, their shuttle's ramp was already down and the engines were heated, everything ready to go. Eli hustled up the ramp and buckled himself into the harness, trying not to think of the way the belt brushed against his erection or the surge of friction-based heat that coiled between his legs at that brief touch. Thrawn marched straight to the cockpit, a grim look on his face, and returned only after he'd given the pilot orders not to disturb them once they made it past the atmosphere.
With a furiously straight face, Thrawn collected a small handheld device from the storage component overhead. He dipped the end of it into the tea and poured the contents of the cup down the fresher drain shortly after. It beeped just as he was on his way back to his seat.
"Just as I suspected," Thrawn said. "Harvia ginger root, a cousin of Lysatran ginger."
"Oh," said Eli, his heart sinking.
"Oh, indeed," said Thrawn dryly. He seemed to have recovered somewhat, Eli thought with a hint of jealousy. Nowhere near as flustered as he'd been a moment ago, not blushing quite so hard. Then Thrawn buckled himself in, too — as far from Eli as he could possibly sit without plunging himself straight out the shuttle door — and as he tightened the belt over his hips, the back of his hand brushed his erect cock, and his eyes squeezed closed and his lips parted, and a soft shivering moan fell from his lips, and he shuddered in his seat, tensed hard—
"Sir?" Eli squeaked.
Thrawn crossed his trembling legs and collapsed back into his seat. He looked almost like he might burst into tears.
"Did you just—" Eli said.
"I suspect there was—" Thrawn started.
They both trailed off and gestured for the other to speak.
"Er..." said Eli.
"Well..." said Thrawn.
There appeared to be a wet spot on the front of Thrawn's trousers. It was hard to tell from this angle, but the sight of it — brief and possibly imaginary — made Eli lean back in his seat, shivering uncontrollably, his cock so hard he couldn't bear it. His uniform cut into his cock head, fabric teasing at the slit, pre-cum soaking through his underwear as he tried not to squirm.
"I think... it's safe to say..." Thrawn tried, his voice a bit ragged.
"Yeah," Eli agreed. He didn't sound much better. He'd discovered that if he crossed his legs, he could pinch his cock between his thighs for a... rather... interesting sensation...
"...Are you listening?" Thrawn said.
"Oh, yes," said Eli vaguely, rubbing his thighs together. Thrawn's eyes darted down to Eli's lap and then, looking distinctly uncomfortable, he shifted in his seat. "Er, for the Lysatran variety..." Eli started. "...I don't know if you've ever taken it, sir—?"
"When would I have taken it?" said Thrawn, sounding nonplussed and breathless at the same time.
"Right. Sorry. Of course not."
"But you have?" Thrawn asked, his eye glow intensifying.
Summer bonfires. His classmates chasing each other in the field, everyone laughing, shirts discarded in the grass. Warm, sweat-slick skin against his — laughter turning into panting breaths, keening gasps.
"I've tried it," said Eli weakly. "Once or twice."
Thrawn's lips parted, his eyes a little too wide, a little too glassy. With a certain strange sort of primness, he pressed his hands down into his lap — a cross somewhere between a businessman clasping his hands and a child trying desperately not to pee. A second later he shuddered, his hips jerking up subtly to press his cock into his palms.
"Are you...?" Eli started, his voice raspy.
"No," said Thrawn, his face frozen.
"Sometimes it causes...vivid fantasies..." Eli forced himself to say.
"Oh?" said Thrawn, voice strangled.
"I keep seeing my old classmates," Eli said. Across from him, Thrawn swallowed hard, the column of his throat shifting. "All of us in the meadow together, back in school, before I joined the Academy... we..."
He trailed off, his tongue thick, his mouth flooding with saliva. Thrawn nodded as if he understood.
"My superior," he started raggedly. "When I was a cadet, when he ordered me to—"
He shivered, an intense full-body shiver that left his lips parted and his eyes closed. Eli rather suspected he'd just come in his pants for the second time. It was the way he held his breath, then suddenly gasped for air, chest heaving — the flush on his cheeks, the flare in his eyes, the sheen of sweat on his skin. And he couldn't stop his hips from rocking, just a little, as he came into the palm of his hand. It was all subtle — relatively — the sort of thing he might even be able to hide if it were someone else here, someone other than Eli, someone who wasn't going through the exact same thing. But the fact that Thrawn couldn't help himself, that he was sitting there so obviously aroused, touching himself through his trousers in full view of Eli — and coming so fast, so hard, from just that touch—
Eli shuddered. His cock swelled, so hard now that it ached — and when he shivered, his thighs tensed, clamping down on the head of his cock, and—
"Mmgh," Eli said, blushing so hard his ears burned.
"Agreed," said Thrawn from the other side of the shuttle. He'd buried himself in his datapad while Eli was lost in his thoughts. "It says here the effects last only half an hour. We've spent twenty minutes already, perhaps twenty-five. My—" His voice faltered. "My sense of time is ... a bit impaired..."
He looked almost more embarrassed by that than by the fact that his pants were soaked with cum.
"Don't worry about it, sir," said Eli. "It's brain fog. It comes with the drug. It'll fade along with everything else, so long as we don't..."
Thrawn kept his gaze on his laptop. When he uncrossed his legs, there was a massive wet spot just below his belt, and he was already hard again. But he cleared his throat professionally and kept reading whatever local article he'd found that dissected the effects of Harvia ginger.
"The effects last longer if subjects engage in, ah, any sort of intercourse," Thrawn read.
"Yeah." Once again, Eli was transported back home, to the taste of honeyflower wine on his tongue, to the boys from his school and their warm hands on his stomach, on his thighs — and the way they all avoided each other's eyes the next day. He cleared his throat. "Perhaps you could start a timer, sir?"
Thrawn fiddled obediently with his chrono. The flush was back, spreading from the tips of his ears to his cheekbones and across the line of his nose. Maybe he'd liked Eli telling him what to do. Maybe he would like to be dominated, or at least ordered around. Back home they said that Lysatran ginger brought out all your deepest secrets, your most well-hidden sexual desires. You could always tell who was submissive; you'd ask them to grab you a water from the cooler and they'd practically fall to their knees. Could he do that to Thrawn? Order him to kneel — to open his mouth — to touch himself while Eli watched — to—
Eli spasmed in his seat, his hips jerking out of his control. "Nngh— Thrawn—"
"Two minutes," said Thrawn hastily. He was breathless, his hips shifting in his seat, out of his control. Eli could see his left hand twitching as he resisted the urge to grab himself through his trousers. And that fantasy was right on the tip of Eli's tongue, and he could almost taste it with every panting breath he took, and—
"Touch yourself," Eli gasped.
Thrawn met his gaze with wide, confused eyes.
"That's an order," Eli said.
It didn't sound like an order. It sounded like a plea, like a whine. But a high-pitched keening noise escaped from Thrawn's throat, and he was fumbling with his zipper even as the timer went off. The beeping sound went on unimpeded, Thrawn's long fingers wrapping around a thick, dark blue cock, the head shining purple and glistening with slick. Eli couldn't resist, either; he threw open his trousers and bucked into his own palm, tension knotting every muscle, making his abs clench and his hips lift from the seat until—
—until simultaneously, he and Thrawn froze, their erections flagging. The glassiness was gone from Thrawn's eyes. He looked, abruptly, as calm and in-control as ever, even with his softening cock in his hand.
"Oh," Eli said.
Thrawn clicked the timer off with a delicate tap of his index finger and tucked himself away. He grimaced down at the sheen of cum on his trousers. "Thirty seconds off," he muttered.
"Yeah," Eli said. "Not bad, all things considering."
His underwear was cold and sticky against his cock. Soon it would start to itch. He couldn't help but shift in his seat and grimace.
"Luckily, I packed spare clothing for both of us," said Thrawn, his voice distant. He clasped his hands in his lap, purely professional this time. "I must apologize, Ensign."
Eli's cheeks burned. "No need, sir," he said, bowing his head. "I think we can both just claim extenuating circumstances and leave it at that. It's not like we actually... you know..."
Thrawn was silent. Eventually Eli looked up and caught the thoughtful look on Thrawn's face.
"Fortunate we didn't," Thrawn said absently. "As that would be a breach of regulations."
"Yeah," Eli said.
"Sexual relations are forbidden while under the influence of alien drugs or chemicals," Thrawn continued. "Imperial Military Code Section 92-a."
"Yeah," Eli said again. Thrawn picked delicately at the wet spot over his cock, his eyes hooded. The glow coming from beneath his eyelashes was calmer now — cooler — but no less attractive. It didn't remind Eli of honeyflower, or of home, but he liked it anyway. It was Thrawn: pure Thrawn.
And then Thrawn unbuckled his harness with a ghost of a smile and said, "Of course, now that we're not under the influence of alien drugs ... I did rather like being ordered around."
"Sir, I really don't think I can go again—"
Thrawn sank to his knees. He bowed his head, his forehead almost touching the floor, his hands outstretched with his wrists crossed, like he was waiting to be cuffed. His hair fell over his eyes. It was deferential. Submissive.
And Eli's cock responded at once, like he hadn't just come in his pants three times already.
"Fuck's sake," Eli muttered, unbuckling his harness.
"Two hours and forty-five minutes until we return to the ship, sir," Thrawn reminded him cheerfully, head still bowed.
"Fuck's sake."
He wasn't sure whether to be grateful to the Harvia ginger or to curse it to his dying days. All he knew was that the sight of Thrawn on his knees just might ruin him ... and he was still hesitating, his fingers brushing over his erect cock, when Thrawn tilted his head a little and looked at Eli from under his eyelashes, blushing and soft-looking, a little vulnerable, almost scared without the ginger root affecting him.
"Please?" he said. "Order me?"
And how could Eli say no to that?