Through the Glass
NC-17 - for adults only!
Note to the reader: this fic is Thrawn/Daala. Yes, Daala- that
admiral. I changed things a little- as a woman and as a human being with some
brain (not too much, but still there), I'm revolted at the idea of KJA's
treatment of a character that could have been written otherwise and much, much
better. Nobody becomes an Admiral just because she or he is the lover of
somebody powerful- above all with a man like Tarkin, whose brain would have at
least interfered. Nobody sane and/or with half a decent military
education, or half a brain, takes a little task force against the whole galaxy
so openly, not even trying to set up a guerrilla (like the Rebellion, in fact,
did- no field battles at the beginning and with a small force). This said... I
changed things a little. That's all in the first paragraph. Thanks, reader- I
had to rant a little, and KJA, as always, gives us all too many reasons to.
Enjoy!
Kat
He’s strange. He’s asleep in the tank, almost naked and all too
fragile, in this state, at my eyes. I sit down on the metallic chair, alone in
this room, contemplating this peacefully sleeping form- I have nothing to do,
anyway, during the dead time of hyperspace. I try to recollect all parts of the
mosaic he himself put into my hands, moments before passing out, as my men
slaughtered the traitor, leaving me with poor whispered words and his captain,
still under shock but able to order retreat from a battle we were already
losing. He will be well in some months, or so the droids here say, and until he
regains conscience, I’m in charge here- as if it really would mean anything,
just waiting for the SSD to reach our destination. Outside, in the hall, I hear
the faint sounds of the hospital where our injured men are tended, and I can’t
help but think of the chase for the bodyguard’s companions, still amongst our
crew, wondering if the fury of betrayed soldiers is still ravaging the halls of
this escapeless ship.
Thrawn…
I was in a bit of a shock when a messenger found its way though the Maw’s
black holes, requesting for use even my small fleet of SD… thrilling as it
seemed at first to be back into the inhabited galaxy, it went day after day a
little more confusing, a little more mourning for people I lost-my world has
been turned upside down. I wasn’t that shocked, anyway, by Wilhuff's death, as
he was a warrior thus living under incessant danger- just like me, or this
mysterious alien Grand Admiral now commanding my task force. Ironic enough, of
the mighty imperial military élite, human and male, it rested only few people,
under a woman and, shame of the shames, an alien. But what a commander. He was
amazing… and now I regret not having seen him in person before the
assassination attempt. What a mind, what a genius, behind this thick embrace of
Bacta.
I stand up. Fascinating… yes, fascinating the way this body is so similar to
ours, yet so obviously not human. Through the glass I trace the scars the dagger
left his skin. Almost a caress, I catch me thinking- and now I think more with
my hands than with my head. Sudden desire springs through this touch, renewing
the hypnotical dance of passion’s memory in my limbs. My fingers warm out a
path on the transparent tank, and he’s so perfect behind my coldening touch,
his muscles relaxed, the arc of his neck exposed, vulnerable, biting its charm
into making me feel powerful and protective towards his resting form. I grow
bold and as a lover I slowly let myself wander past his waist, keeping my eyes
on his sensuous features, daydreaming of burning flesh and almost feeling his
hardness filling the tentative curve of my hand. I toy with my own senses- I
want to play this magnificent body. And- and how would he smell and taste (my
teeth grazing the sweat of his neck) and arch against my body, how would this
male lean body fit above me, around me, in me? I bit my lip at the
provocative images. How would it ring into my ears, his hoarse cry of
pleasure, how would react, my beautiful Grand Admiral-
My breath is but the mist covering the glass before my nose. I try to calm down
the fire in my body, knowing very well where would this act of insubordination
lead me. I step away, stumbling on the chair behind my knees. I blush, and
decide to leave the room, turning down the lights, denying to have been there
for too many time for my own sake- I want him…
I face a last time the dim lighted tube- in the darkness, fires burn…
disclaimer: they're George Lucas', I've made no money out of this.
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