Chapter Text
"…We'll go into the city later. I need your help with something."
"Help with what?" Piett asks, caf mug suspended mid-air for a moment before he takes a sip.
His inauspicious host, Moff Jerjerrod, sits across the table from him (one of Val Denn Estate's huge, baroque dining tables). Blonde curls still unkempt from sleep and wearing a silken robe in the infamous shade of 'Tinnelian plum', a storied colour. Particularly between them, as a stolen shipment of Tinnelian plum dye was what led to their first meeting during Piett's Axxilan Anti-Pirate Fleet days. The man claims it is a 'house robe' and thus perfectly appropriate to wear in company. Piett himself is fully dressed.
Tiaan cuts his eggs and twists his head in a noncommittal, Jerjerrodian shrug. "I'd like your opinion on something."
*
By all accounts Tinnel is an exceptionally lovely planet. However in Piett's opinion even the native trees, flowers and animals manage to be pretentious. It's quite the trick, really. He always feels a bit smothered by the local atmosphere whenever Moff Jerjerrod convinces him to visit.
But perhaps his opinion of the planet at large has been tainted by the eccentricities of his host. Maybe all of Tinnel isn't quite so prim and self-important and manicured as the Val Denn estate and the cities surrounding it that Tiaan tends to keep to.
He rambles after the taller man through one of the shopping districts—foot-traffic only, pale cobble stones, brick buildings with bright, detailed trimmings—and despite Tiaan's much longer legs he has no trouble keeping up. Hands stuck in his pockets as he takes in their surroundings curiously—
Tiaan ducks to the side sharply, springing carefully up the steps to a glossy black door and twisting the handle. Piett follows him.
The bells hung at the door chime as it closes. The interior is smaller and darker than he expected, and he is immediately hit with the thick scent of fir wood and some musky tone. A decidedly masculine scent, conspicuously so. Thick drapes, dark woods, ornate and yet hollow and empty. Very spendy. Beside him Jerjerrod fidgets, the fingers of one hand drumming against each other.
Immediately there are footsteps from the other room and a short, round but very well kept man no taller than Piett enters, metaphorically tripping over himself as he rushes to the moff.
"Welcome sirs, welcome—!"
"Yes, yes, quite, thank you. Is it ready? I know we're early."
"Oh yes sir, thank you for giving me warning this morning, I was able to finish it just in time."
"Splendid," Jerjerrod answers, but his monotone delivery conflicts with the word. His adam's apple bobs and his face twitches as he walks off towards the hall that the shopman had appeared from.
Piett follows more slowly this time, still glancing around looking for a hint about what type of shop it is—
"Ah, so you are Admiral Motti? I am pleased to finally meet Moff Jerjerrod's husband," the man says.
Piett lifts a hand from his pocket, waving him off apologetically. "Oh, no, I'm only an acquaintance," then, jokingly, "I assure you if ever meet Motti he will make it quite obvious that it's him."
The man blinks at him. Swallows awkwardly and then bows and scurries off to a nearby door. Piett winces as it closes, muttering to himself in annoyance as he hurries after Tiaan's steps to wherever his 'acquaintance' has disappeared off to.
The short hallway opens up into a round foyer with two more hallways leading off to the right and left, each lined with dark, tall doors, like a miniaturised, lavish holotheater. Tiaan is waiting for him just in front of one of the doors expectantly.
"Come along now, Fir—"
"Tiaan, what is this place?" He interrupts, glancing over his shoulder and speaking lowly to avoid offending the proprietor of the shop.
Jerjerrod waves a hand at him dismissively and opens the door he'd been standing in front of. "It's a shop, Firmus."
Piett sighs as he follows after him, careful not to trip on the thick rug laid out down the center of the hallway. The room beyond the hallway opens up into an unexpectedly large space, a tufted leather couch along one wall with a raised dais and a set of three mirrors along the other, and another door leading to stars knows where.
The mirrors indicate that his initial suspicions about this being some sort of clothes shop were correct. However, something about the entire shop and the layout of the room seems suspect. Regardless he moves to take up residence on the couch, crossing one knee over the other and laying an arm over the back of it.
Tiaan sniffs at him again, staring down his nose at him haughtily from just in front of the couch. "How do you know you're not meant to be the one in front of the mirrors today?"
"Because I didn't agree to it." He's humoured the moff several times by agreeing to let Tiaan dress him up and shop for him, such things aren't appealing to him but Tiaan enjoys shopping and clothes as a sort of hobby. He continues on, nodding in the direction of the way they came in through the wall, "The shopkeep thought I was Conan."
Tiaan shifts his weight from foot to foot, fingers still drumming nervously as he flashes crooked teeth in one of his pained-looking smiles, "Oh, did he—?"
"Yes. And he was scandalised when I said I was an acquaintance—"
"A friend—"
"Tiaan. What sort of shop is this?"
The moff shifts on his feet again and hmms and haws. "Well it's a… a clothes shop. For specific clothes. Speciality items, you might say."
"Might you?"
"Fir, don't be cross—"
"And what am I doing here?"
"Well, as I mentioned earlier I was hoping you would give me your opinion," a halting note and a pause as he retreats a few steps away, "My and Conan's anniversary is coming up, and I commissioned something."
Piett blinks at him, and Tiaan drops his eyes to instead study his brightly shined shoes. Not boots, he'd abandoned the boots and any other remnants of the Imperial uniform entirely after he left active duty. Unlike Piett, who had made a new uniform out of items of similar cuts, the major differences being the colours and the dress-shirt being of typical shirt length as opposed the tunics of the naval uniform.
He has observed Jerjerrod to have three moods: sneering, flustered and petulant, and various combinations thereof. Coincidentally Jerjerrod's husband, Motti, is also annoyingly prone to sneering, though in vastly different style. A shared thread of arrogance. Motti is more self-aware of the character-flaw than Tiaan is (though he wouldn't consider it such), which arguably makes it worse.
Thus far Tiaan has displayed all three since they arrived at the shop. The many is nervy but it's usually not this overt out in public, though he's liable to work himself up into hysterics over nothing in private. At first Piett had assumed he was doing it for sport and attention in private, and perhaps he does enjoy the latter side-effect to an extent, but it had become clear that the distress was genuine.
Piett is undecided if this is over some hypothetical line, some boundary. There's been surprise trips to sex-toy shops, Tiaan's overly detailed recounts of his and Motti's sexual escapades and Piett's far more vague allusions to some of what he and Vader get up to. He had been apprehensive of that direction of conversation initially, but Tiaan had bullied and goaded and eventually convinced him, and he admits being able to discuss all the unmentionables over friendly brunches has been cathartic. Particularity after so many years of being careful, less he be caught in a compromising situation and dishonourably discharged.
Finally Tiaan looks up from the floor, too-prominent adam's apple bobbing again. "This is something… new for me and Conan, and I wanted to be certain it wasn't too much. Too girlish," He over-enunciates, unpleasantly, as if the designation were a slur, "Or at least unpleasantly hoydenish, something that might put him off. If it's truly so bothersome to you I won't impose. But as you know I don't have anyone else to ask. I thought you might help. I'll leave my pants on under the outfit, anyway."
Oh sweet stars, he thinks, internally cringing already. But Tiaan's plea was genuine and he hasn't the heart to disappoint him, so he answers, "Fine, fine, alright. Get on with it then."
As soon as he agrees Tiaan pivots away from him and starts towards the door at the back of the room (a smaller, separate changing room?). The door clicks soundly behind him.
For the following few minutes Piett studies minutia in the room. Loose threads unravelling in the rug, a splotch of the wall where the colour of years past isn't quite hidden by the the top layer of paint. All the while trying not to think about what the couch he's sitting on has probably endured.
As soon as he'd realised they were at one of Tinnel's shopping districts he had assumed this would be another of Jerjerrod's little clothes shopping sprees, but he hadn't conjured visions of… what? Sex clothes? Leather, lingerie? He should have been prepared for it, ever since Jerjerrod sprung the first visit to a pretentious sex-toy shop on him years ago—
The door clicks again. First Tiaan sticks his head out, and then the rest of him follows. Another silken robe, but black this time.
After brief deliberation Piett decides to stick him with a bit of teasing in retribution, "Sweet stars man, a new robe? Conan will be horrified—"
"Oh, stuff it Firmus!" Tiaan snips back at him, looking uncomfortable as he makes his way to the dais and gingerly steps up onto it.
It occurs to Piett that the pitch of the man's nerves are high, even for him, particularly since Piett has already agreed to go along with this. Perhaps apprehensive of Piett mocking him?
The disrobing is done somewhat awkwardly, Tiaan first shrugging the robe off his shoulders and then undoing the tie and letting it drop from his arms.
Ah, so it was lingerie then. Oh dear. So this was why Tiaan had been so concerned about it being too 'girlish'… but really, he shouldn't have been.
The design of the adornment looks more modern than anything he might have imagined. Black on black, thick bands of elasticised, opaque material interspersed with transparent blocks, hints of lace detailing in amount and pattern that manages not to undermine the bold simplicity of the skin-tight ensemble.
It does cover more than he expected it too, at least. Black straps under the heels, keeping the legs in place to cover everything down to Tiaan's feet, and likewise long sleeves with thumb cut-outs. Somehow the outfit manages to be tasteful. With a layer for modesty added underneath it wouldn't look out of place in one of Coruscant's fashion shows (or at least it wouldn't based on the cursory glances he's given news articles and advertisements).
He ignores the Tinnelian plum underpants visible through the transparent portions. Though they cover more than some of the swimwear Tiaan has subjected him and others to, with the swimwear he'd hadn't been expected to look. Much less in close quarters, in a private room, in front of mirrors and with a poor scandalised shopkeep somewhere on the premises.
Tiaan gazes down his nose at him expectantly, and motions vaguely to himself as he says, "Well?"
Piett finds he's lifted a hand to the side of his jaw, chin resting against his palm, his other arm crossed in front of himself and wrist tucked under his elbow. An obviously discomforted gesture, but too late to undo it now.
"It's not purple—"
"Plum, Firmus!" Jerjerrod chides him, again unbearably petulant and sneering.
"Bloody plum then! I thought you got all your underthings in that colour?"
"Not all. Hmm," Tiaan turns around to regard himself in the mirrors, hands smoothing over his own flanks. Piett catches an eyeful of the transparent material shaped over his buttocks and averts his gaze. "I admit, if I had known I was going to ask you to check it beforehand I wouldn't have chosen your inamorato's signature shade." The man's lip twists in disgust.
Piett snorts, shaking his head. Conan and Tiaan's derision of the dark lord is an amusing constant (though admittedly founded and less amusing from their perspective, but still). At some point Piett's knee-jerk offence at such statements from them had dulled. Now only the remarkably foul things from Motti and cruel things from Tiaan manage to actually get under his skin and warrant a response.
After a bit more preening Jerjerrod turns back to him.
"So it's alright, you think?"
"It looks fine, Tiaan." He says it very sincerely, and means it to reassure the man without fawning (which Tiaan would know was faked from him), but as soon as it's out of his mouth he realises it's probably not what Tiaan wants to hear. "It's… quite nice. Demure."
Tiaan's features scrunch towards the middle of his face in that terribly unflattering scowl he has. Piett winces.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well, I mean, it's not as…" Piett gestures, flapping his hand stupidly. "Frilly as this stuff usually is, I suppose."
Tiaan considers this. Straightens, looks aside at the far wall in concentration. He turns back to the mirrors again, twisting and considering his reflection. Then he scowls again, shoulders hunching up into a shrug before he stoops to pick up the robe and walks back to the adjoined changing room.
The unceremonious exit worries Piett.
"Jerjerrod—"
"That was all, Firmus, thank you," He peeks his head out before shutting the door, expression unfazed and not hinting at any upset. "We'll go to lunch after."
Tiaan pulls his head back and the door clicks shut.