Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind.” 

― Rudyard Kipling

Pellaeon isn’t even sure how or when it had started, really. By now he has been listening to Thrawn’s voice calmly giving out orders for months. They have fallen into a more or less comfortable routine, in fact. Pellaeon had stopped questioning every single one of Thrawn’s plans (just some of them, now) and Thrawn had gotten more comfortable with asking for his Captain’s guidance and opinions.

In short, they make a good team. 

Which makes Pellaeon’s current area of focus even more troublesome, because he does not want to risk ruining everything over something that he should have grown out of a long time ago. He’s too damn old for this kind of thing.

He had known he was in trouble from the first time his thoughts had wandered to Thrawn’s voice when he’d been alone for some private time in his quarters. Granted, Pellaeon had always felt it proper to think over the day’s events and prepare for the next day. It’s good practice to go over battles once the adrenaline has gone down to be better equipped to deal with them next time. Nothing wrong with focusing on the day's commands, as it were.

He also knows it’s not at all proper to get hot and bothered like some damn teenager while thinking about that voice ordering him to do quite different things. Different things that usually feature the Grand Admiral telling Pellaeon exactly what to do in a distinctly un-Imperial setting.

Far be it from Gilad Pellaeon to shy away from activities that may be considered inappropriate by the more uptight members of the Navy, of course. He’s always felt that whole rule on fraternisation is something that can be conveniently forgotten about if both or all partners are willing. He’s got a whole file full of missed promotions to make that much clear - and hadn’t Thrawn hinted at knowing about all those endeavours with an almost-there little smirk? 

That thought is not helpful in the slightest and Pellaeon grunts in annoyance. Yes, he has always been appreciative of the more, ah, physical aspects of life in many forms, but that doesn’t give him the excuse to act like some overeager cadet. He can’t allow himself this. Not here. Not now. Maybe - likely - not ever. They have a war to win, after all. Besides that, he’s nearing seventy years of age, he’s far too old to be harbouring a crush. 

And yet, if he’s honest with himself, that’s exactly what this is. It has him grunt again. 

“What’s next, old man, writing in your diary to question whether he likes you or likes likes you?” His voice comes amused in the silence of his own quarters and he takes a sip of his whiskey, taking a moment to savour its smoky taste. Yes, he’s too old for this. He suspects Thrawn is, too, though he has never gotten much out of the man when it comes to his species or age. With his hair liberally streaked with gray and the lines around those glowing eyes, though, Pellaeon has reason to suspect Thrawn is more or less near his age. One never assumes, but something about the way Thrawn carries himself adds to Pellaeon’s suspicion.

That only makes it worse. Had Thrawn been some young thing straight from the seediest kind of holonovel, there’d be no appeal in it for Pellaeon. Now, though, the entire picture put together is most enticing. 

And most of out reach, he tells himself as he takes another sip of his drink. Even if Thrawn would be receptive to that kind of attention, it’d still not be the right time for this. He’ll just need to deal with his crush and remain professional.

Perhaps a relief of tension is needed. It’s gotten more and more rare as he got older, but occasionally there’s still only one tried and true way for him to deal with stress. He has the evening off barring any sort of emergency, and he can indulge. 

Maybe if he focuses on a nice memory he can get this dealt with once and for all. Perhaps the time he spent the night with several Rodians. It had been a most pleasant evening with a lot of hands going everywhere. If he just thinks about that hard enough, surely, whatever this is will be out of his system. This is just a consequence of going without release too long. It’s only natural his thoughts with turn to Thrawn, considering how they spend most of their waking time together. 

None of this is doing anything about the small voice in his mind gleefully reminding him of the fact that Thrawn has been leaning closer and closer into Pellaeon’s personal space these past few months. He’s even casually touched him on the shoulder or the arm. And that’s not even counting the times Pellaeon had blushed - actually blushed - like some maiden in a holodrama whenever Thrawn showed even the slightest hint of approval.

No.

He just needs to release some tension. That’s all this is. He unhooks the clasps of his breeches and groans as he has to work to reach past his own gut. He’s very comfortable with being on the larger side these days, but it does make certain things a bit more difficult. 

He curls his hand around his soft cock and sighs, already feeling more relaxed. This, too, is a bit more difficult than it used to be. He doesn’t mind at all. The more frenzied needs of youth have been replaced by a calmer, headier kind of arousal. His cock is slow to rise, an orgasm can be hard to reach, but it’s more about the journey now. 

He forces himself to think of elegant green hands moving over him. The Rodians had been ever so keen to explore a Human, and Pellaeon had been very happy to indulge them. 

The hands in his memory turn into just two hands. Blue ones. Accompanied by glowing red eyes. His traitorous cock stirs, slowly thickening up in his hand, stirring from its own padding of fat as if actually seeking Thrawn’s touch.

Oh, to all Corellian hells with it. If his mind insists on focusing on Thrawn, then he’ll focus on Thrawn. That way it’ll be out of his system and he’ll feel much better for it. Best to get it over with now than to keep getting distracted and risk doing a bad job. Besides, a harmless little fantasy has never hurt anyone. He can be professional about it later.

He leans back into his chair, gently coaxing his cock to harden further. The thoughts, now that he allows them, come with an ease that should have him concerned. He’s sure Thrawn would have a very firm hand, here. The man is positively huge. Pellaeon knows he’s got a decently fat cock all things considered, but it’d look small in Thrawn’s hand regardless.

That has him rise to full hardness finally, and he groans. He settles into light strokes, squeezing slightly on the upward motion. He thinks of that shockingly blue hand on him, stroking, squeezing, knowing exactly how to please. 

What has him moan like some common whore, though, is the thought of Thrawn talking to him. He imagines that deep bass baritone whispering all sorts of filth and his toes curl in pleasure. He has no idea if Thrawn would even be capable of this kind of talk in Basic, but the Thrawn of his fantasy certainly is. Very much so.

He swipes a thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the slick wetness there. It’s good. Perhaps a little too good, but he’s too far gone to consider the consequences of imagining Thrawn like this all too closely. He settles into a slightly faster rhythm, with firm tugs on his cock as if he’s looking to pull the orgasm from its base. 

“Well, this satisfies my curiosity on why you would not answer your door chime.”

That’s not something the Thrawn in his mind would say. 

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Thrawn is ridiculously stealthy for someone as massive as he is. He can appear so suddenly and so quietly, some of the young lieutenants have developed a nervous twitch of the eye. 

Pellaeon does not normally have a problem with it.

However, when he has his cock in his hand and has forgotten a meeting with the Grand Admiral while thinking about said Grand Admiral in an entirely different context, he feels he may develop the same nervous twitch. 

“Not to worry, Gilad,” Thrawn practically purrs, and Pellaeon’s treacherous cock jumps at the use of his name. Thrawn smirks. “I can tell it is most urgent.” He sounds smug, the bastard. 

But Pellaeon has always been a match for Thrawn’s smugness. It’s embarrassing to be caught like this, yes, but he’s had worse. More importantly, his cock hasn’t softened in the slightest…and Thrawn is checking him out with an interest he normally reserves for the rarest of art pieces.

Pellaeon decides to act on his hunch.

He gives his cock another slow, lazy stroke and Thrawn’s eyes blaze.

“I could stop, really,” Pellaeon says, deliberately casual. Some of Thrawn’s smugness is replaced by another familiar look. He’s interested, and probably calculating a response in his usual riddles. Pellaeon is way ahead of him, though. “Or, you could stay and watch.”

Thrawn lets out a noise Pellaeon has never heard him made before. It’s delightfully alien, rumbling from deep inside his chest. He grins, meeting those glowing red eyes even as he still works his cock in lazy, lewd strokes. 

“Was that a yes?”

“Only if it is….” Thrawn’s voice trails off, and he groans. He swallows, then tries again. “Only if it is a mutual want, Gilad.”

Ah. Despite the setting they are in, that sends a wave of protectiveness through Pellaeon. 

“Very mutual,” he assures Thrawn, and he’s pleased to see those massive shoulders come down. “In fact, I’d hope it to be a more regular occurrence.”

Thrawn grins, actually grins. He’s never done it before and Pellaeon sees a flash of very sharp incisors. 

“Then how may I…assist you, Gilad?” Thrawn asks, slowly stepping closer. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of Pellaeon’s cock and Pellaeon decides to go all in.

“Talk to me,” he says. “Tell me what to do.”

There’s a spark in Thrawn’s eyes at that, and another quirk of his lips. “How forward and how familiar, Captain.”

“We’re both too damn old to act coy,” Pellaeon grunts. Thrawn grins again, neither denying or confirming the suggestion about their ages matching up. 

“Very well, but you will begin with taking your tunic and undershirt off,” Thrawn says, surprising him. He’s not sure what he had expected, really, but not this. The surprise must show on his face, because one side of Thrawn’s mouth quirks up. 

“I wish to look at you, Gilad, I rather suspect I will enjoy what is underneath your uniform there.”

Pellaeon feels a heat colouring his cheeks. He may be too old to be coy, but there’s something about the darker undertones rather like arousal colouring those polished tones that has him feel hot and bothered. His hands shake slightly as he undoes the clasps of his tunic. He throws it a bit carelessly, but Thrawn doesn’t even twitch. His shirt meets the same fate and then he leans back in his chair again.

Thrawn’s eyes move over his torso slowly. Pellaeon knows exactly what Thrawn is seeing. The once very tight pecs, now sitting heavily on top of his large gut. His chest hair has gone fully gray, moving down in a dense line over the big swell of his belly. He’s always liked a good meal, and has allowed himself to indulge in old age. He’s filled out, quite a bit in fact, but it seems to be just what Thrawn wants. He looks halfway ready to jump Pellaeon and that has him feel even warmer.

With a deep breath in, Thrawn steps forward with calm, measured steps. Each step is deliberate, silent, very reminiscent of a large predator stalking its prey. Pellaeon never found Thrawn’s glowing red gaze intimidating and he doesn’t think so now, but it sure feels heated. Close to intimidation, but not quite in the same way Thrawn uses it to his advantage on less than keen Moffs. It’s hot and heady, and he can’t help but idly toy with his cock again, caught in that heavy stare.

“You will wait,” Thrawn says, coming to a halt just before him. Close enough that he could touch, but he doesn’t. “You will do it as I say. You will not climax. Not until I permit it. Do you agree?”

Pellaeon swallows thickly. He’s not a stranger to this kind of play. “Yes.”

Thrawn lifts an eyebrow, the same way he has done a hundred times before. “Yes, what?”

Oh. He wants it like that. Well. Far be it from Pellaeon to complain about the details. “Yes, sir.” 

Thrawn leans even closer, close enough now that Pellaeon feels the heat rolling off of him. Close enough to smell him, always the same kind of minty freshness combined with something more wild, like a pine forest in the deepest and darkest of winter. “You breathe too fast,” Thrawn observes, as if they are talking through a strategy. “You are already trembling. I have have yet to do anything but speak, Captain. Is my voice truly that effective?”

Pellaeon knows an answer isn’t needed. He lightly fingers the head of his cock again, catching the fresh beads of pre. Thrawn smirks. “I see.”

He starts circling around Pellaeon, with his hands clasped behind his back. He looks a vision of absolute control in his pristine uniform, not a hair out of place. Those red eyes track every single centimeter of Pellaeon’s body, as if it was an art piece he had yet to come to understand fully. He’s as calm and exact as ever, and it has Pellaeon shudder in pleasure. He’s rarely been so observed as this, so watched, and it’s intoxicating. He struggles not to stroke himself off, and only barely manages.

“You keep leaking,” Thrawn says softly. “I do not recall granting permission. Do you?”

Pellaeon gives a full body twitch at that, and he doesn’t miss how Thrawn’s eyes immediately snap to everything on his body that jiggles with the force of it. His cock pulses in his hand, but he doesn’t dare stroke. His sac feels tight and full, aching as if it is begging to be emptied. Still, he waits. He’d do whatever that voice tells him to. Even this. Perhaps, especially this.

Thrawn stops in front of him again, still looking calm and put together. It could be Pellaeon’s fevered mind wanting to see things, but he does think Thrawn is breathing a bit faster than usual. When Thrawn speaks again, Pellaeon’s suspicion that he’s not as unaffected as he seems is confirmed. His voice dips, still as even as ever, but with a dark edge swirling underneath. Something different tugs at those polished Basic tones, something sharp that has him catch slightly on the r’s. 

It makes that voice even better.

“I have always felt Humans lack discipline, Captain,” Thrawn says. “You do not truly understand control and command as Chiss do. Always so impatient to indulge, never truly holding back. Even you, with all your Imperial experience, even you have your Human limits.”

Pellaeon does not have time to process the fact Thrawn just told him his species’ name, as Thrawn leans down, so close that Pellaeon feels his breath against his ear as he whispers. “And now, your body is trying to betray you, is it not?”

A low, desperate sound escapes Pellaeon’s throat at those words. He’s not speaking, not quite. But it’s close enough that Thrawn straightens up and growls at him. The sound goes all the way to Pellaeon’s cock and he desperately squeezes the base. It takes much more time to come these days, but Thrawn has him on the edge just by giving him all that focused attention and talking.

“Careful, now,” Thrawn says, with an odd click to the c. “I did not say you could speak.”

Pellaeon clenches his jaw hard enough that he thinks he’ll feel it tomorrow. His thighs quiver, and his cock drips as if he’s an eager young lad again. The need to thrust into his hand is so powerful, it takes every bit of fifty-odd years spent in the Navy instilled in him not to move. He wants release, he wants to kiss Thrawn right on the mouth, he wants to fuck him like they’re both cadets.

But Thrawn only gives him words, and it’s one of the most erotic things Pellaeon has ever experienced.

“You must wait,” Thrawn says, saying it as if there is no doubt in his mind that Pellaeon will do so. “You do understand, don’t you, how rare it is for me to indulge in this kind of play? Yet, I found myself unable to walk away. You make a most enticing sight, Gilad. Well-fed, rounded and soft. There is so much of you, and I wish to explore all of it. I will taste every part of you and drink you down until you have nothing left to give to me.”

Another sound breaks from Pellaeon’s throat, more rough this time. He grits his teeth, willing himself to hold on.

“But not yet,” Thrawn goes on. “No. Now, you will hold it for me. You will feel how close you are, but you will hold. You will endure it, for as long as I will have you. You will only release once commanded to. That is what I need of you.”

Pellaeon’s cock throbs against the overhang of his belly, smearing the soft skin there with pre. He bites back a groan. 

Thrawn stops behind him this time. “You want to come, don’t you?”

Pellaeon nods, and there’s a dark chuckle behind him. “Yes, I can see that. You want to spill until you come dry.” 

Pellaeon nods again. He wouldn’t be able to speak now even if he were allowed. He feels almost faint.

There’s a hint of movement behind him and then Thrawn’s huge, ungloved hand closes over his cock. As he thought before, the sheer size of Thrawn’s hand makes his cock look small. It throbs in Thrawn’s hand like it has a mind of its own, and Pellaeon damn near whines. Thrawn is gripping his cock with some considerable strength, and the pressure is sitting on just the right side of too much. 

“Now, Gilad.”

It takes two, maybe three strokes of Thrawn’s hand with that same intense pressure and then Pellaeon spills with a broken gasp. He shudders through it, moaning shamelessly as he dribbles seed all over Thrawn’s hand. It looks shockingly lewd against the cerulean blue of his skin. 

Thrawn moves back into view, smiling serenely. He studies the mess on his hand, then brings it up to his mouth to calmly lap it all up. Pellaeon can’t look away, and Thrawn smirks when he catches his eye.

“I believe you said it was a mutual want, Gilad.”

Pellaeon finally crashes their mouths together. Oh yes, it’s a mutual want, and he’ll make sure to make Thrawn feel exactly how deep that want runs. They did set this appointment for the whole night, after all.