Series: Sort of. Falls in my Imperial timeline as a prequel to everything, including Chain Of Command.

Characters: Grand Moff Tarkin and... moi! (Hey those new to my Tarkin obsession, don't knock it till you try it... I've got several people who dig on my rendition of GMT!)

Author's notes: Have been bending my brain so much lately creating original stuff, tonight I just wanted to play in someone else's world for a few hours...)

Feedback is devoured! (it's totally un-betaed tho' so it may suck!)

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It must've been the mechanical sound of the droid's voice that woke me; that or perhaps it was the gentle whoosh of the door as it slid open and shut. I could hear the hiss of an authoritative "shh!" as a familiar Imperial Commander silenced the droid who had undoubtedly carried in his things from his transport, and a shuffling as it walked across the rug in the entryway, then exited. I willed my eyes open to look at the window and through the slightly parted drapes I could see that it was not even light outside yet. Had I fallen asleep while waiting for him to get here? The light was off, so if I did I must've roused up enough to turn it off sometime in the middle of the night. The pale glow of pre-dawn crept through the skylight in the slanted ceiling above me, and I could just barely make out the shadowy shapes of the furniture in the room.

The heavy footfalls of thick-soled boots walked along the foyer, across the living room floor of my apartment. Inspecting it, was he? I wondered as I allowed the excitement to seep stealthily into my stomach. How long had it been? Six weeks, maybe seven? I'd not been called upon for any services while he was travelling inter-planetary, and he'd not been to Coruscant for almost two months. Duty had encompassed him of late, duty to the secret weapon that he'd spoken of when pillow talk was whispered, of plans only select few were privy to, select few that surely shouldn't have included me, a mere transcriber. But certainly it wasn't my station in the fleet that gained me this position of knowledge; rather, my various positions in one esteemed Grand Moff Tarkin's bed that granted me access to secrets only a mistress has the privilege of knowing.

The footsteps came closer and I counted them as he walked down the hall toward my bedroom. The air seemed fuller once he'd entered; full with power and command, full with the presence of this man that carried an aura that fueled me like oil to a flame. He was standing beside my bed I knew, even though my face was turned away from him on the pillow. Inspecting again, perhaps? I'd fallen asleep on top of the bed, wrapped in a short silk kimono-styled robe, and it barely covered the tops of my thighs in the position I was laying in on my stomach. I felt a large, warm hand on my lower back, slipping to my side and I rolled over in response.

"Shall I say good morning or good evening?" I whispered, getting my first look at him as he stood over me. He was still in full uniform, and in the muted light from the coming dawn he was mysterious and incredibly exciting to glimpse. Even though I could barely see his eyes I knew they stared at me with the intensity they always had, steel blue and unyielding.

"You shall say neither," he replied. Hearing his voice made me tremble slightly under his caress, and his palm hooked over my hipbone, willing me to come to him. I slid my legs over the edge of the bed and sat in front where he stood and he pressed my face into his stomach, tangling one hand in my hair, the other pulling my shoulder close to him. "You shall say nothing at all."

His voice was measured, controlled and direct, quiet and low. I could never resist anything he said to me, would never think of ignoring a command either in the briefing room or in the bedroom. I kissed the fabric of his uniform, the tunic thick and rough under my lips, bit against the hard leather of his belt as my hands urgently wrestled the buckle open, undid his trousers and parted them, sliding them off his hips. The clean scent of his skin rose from his clothes, the smooth, warm flesh ecstasy to feel against my lips. The fine trail of hair that led from his taut belly tickled deliciously under my tongue as I laved it on a downward path, hooking my fingers over his briefs and pushing them toward the floor. His hardness jutted out when released, slapping against my cheek, and he pressed my face so tightly against him that I couldn't move for a minute, could just celebrate in the feeling of his cock sandwiched against my nose and lips. When he allowed me space to move away I slid my open mouth against the length of his shaft, down further to the juncture of his legs. One hand gripped his firm backside and the other toyed with the tight pendulum of his testicles, and his breathy sighs from above urged me to move along, to stop the teasing. But I knew he secretly enjoyed the teasing, enjoyed feeling himself pushed to his limits, enjoyed testing his control. It was always I who gave in first anyway, who could no longer bear to be the vixen, who longed for the ritual, the motions. I moved my head back and sunk his cock into my mouth, sheathing it deeply and he inhaled sharply, holding his breath. Slow withdraw; slow while looking up at him, feeling him knot his fist against the back of my head. Lingering, sucking wetly on the engorged tip while watching his hypnotic reaction, seeing the underside of his jaw because his head is tipped back. Setting a rhythm as his hand pushed my robe from my shoulders, looking back up to see him staring down now, watching his eyes as my tongue swirls around the swollen head of his cock, tasting a drop of his salty fluids. One hand travels down his thigh, pushing his clothing further out of the way, not losing my rhythm as I bend to feel the hard top of his boot. He is a vision standing before me in the shadowy light, his uniform tunic still in place, the pants and undergarments pushed aside, an Officer, a Commander, and a man. A man under my sucking lips, a man as he slides my robe to my waist, and I slip my arms from its constraint. An Officer, a Commander as he reaches to unbutton his own tunic, as he steps away for a moment to slide the boots off his legs, his firm, slender body now revealed to me, elegant and sinewy despite his age. His hands grab either side of my head as his mouth covers mine hungrily, he guides me back and down to the bed as he bites against my lips, my neck, urgency beneath his polished exterior. He has huge hands, they fall across my breasts as he fondles them, kisses and suckles at them and I am merely a writhing beast under his command. The slick shaft of his harness slides across my thigh, down the inside of my knee as he moves down, his mouth pausing at my navel, the bottom tip of my pelvic bone, pausing to nip, to bite with his lips. The thick, exploring flicker of his tongue flashes across my swollen nether lips, parting me, his thumbs pressing into me like he is pressing a ripe peach. His long, strong fingers probe gently, are slickened with my juices as I arch into his mouth, and he holds my hips down with one big, powerful hand. My fingers pull at his hair, displacing its neat, combed appearance, and moans escape my throat like a starving animal, unashamed and uncontrolled. His feeding lips latch firmly to the swollen bundle of nerves hidden within the burning crevice on which he sucks, a finger, or perhaps now two, press rhythmically against my inner walls, slowly, oh so slowly like torture though I'd rather have him pummel and piston like a madman. But no such ceremony with this man, this commander. His control, his rhythm. His methods. It is maddening.

He suddenly moves away. I groan loudly in protest, sway my hips toward him as he leans up on the bed. My eyes, heavy lidded, look down to see him moving up the length of me, watching the top of his head as he slowly sucks and bites my stomach, again the stiff shaft brushing against my thighs. My leg wraps around his, moving under him so that he will move into me. His face nestles into my shoulder, biting hard, His fingers claim one nipple, the other hand holds my head to his liking, moves it so he might kiss my mouth. His cock slides against my slippery folds, parts them with its swollen tip, and I thrust up to catch him inside me but he thrusts away, above me, grinding hard into my pelvis. I clutch his head, move a hand to maneuver his hips against mine, to sheath him within me, but he strategically keeps his distance, teasing me still. With a calculated move, he slides himself beneath me, and at once has both hands on my hips. My back arches as I lean to sit astride him, place my palms flat on his thighs behind me. Perfectly in sync with one anther, my hips buck slightly forward as his hips arch under and I am filled with him, the length of his shaft delightfully intruding, like his hands, long and strong and powerful. I shudder at the depth, at how he maintains his control for a savory moment, a moment when our bodies reacquaint themselves to being joined, little spasms of pleasures quivering through my thighs and groin. Then his hands begin to move me.

In seconds, it is a riot of feverish thrusting. Somehow he is moving me, causing my legs to pump furiously against the bed as he slams my hips on and off of him, meeting my downward thrusts with his upward ones. His mouth is slightly parted but his eyes are focused, focused on my face, on my body, moving one hand off my hips to slide across my belly to squeeze one quaking breast. I slide my palm along his inner thigh, moving my hand between his legs and stroking his sac in rhythm with our lovemaking. In seconds I am accustomed to our maniacal pace and my muscles clamp on his thrusting cock on each stroke. He is close. With my free hand I stroke his chest, gently pinch a hardened nipple. Cries of pleasure escape my throat, escalate on every plunge his stiffness makes. He too is captured in the moment, groans of ecstasy and unbridled lust rising with my own.

As my body stiffens I cry out to the sky, gasping loudly as the shudders wrack my limbs, my thighs convulse with heat. Pulsing warmth washes through me, and with a swelling, Tarkin groans long and deep, impaling me and pushing my hips down hard against him, the thumping twitch of his cock erupting with his thick, sticky climax. Rocking slowly together, riding the final throbs I reach to pull his hand from my hip, kiss it and press my face into his palm. His other hand pulls my shoulder down, wraps around the length of my hair and draws me to him. Straddling him still, our mouths meet, feed lazily and languidly on one another. As he softens, I clench to keep him inside me, enjoying the intimacy of our physical connection. He tastes familiar, like himself, like me, and the warm, lined skin of his face is comfortable against my cheek. His jaw is hard, hard with age, hard with the stability of his command. His eyes are closed, luxuriating in the deep kisses that I plant across his forehead.

"Is there something you wanted to say?" he asked quietly, taking me somewhat by surprise.

"Mmm..." I hum against his ear. "Welcome back. I'm very pleased to see you."

"And do you treat all your guests that you're pleased to see in this same manner?"

"Only the Imperial commanders of genius caliber."

"Well then," he whispered. "That narrows it down considerably." His tongue rolled on every 'r' and I smiled as I rested atop him.

"Some might say it narrows it down to one."

"Ah, sweet words." His eyes were still shut but he opened them as he began to speak. "I suppose you think your tongue will lure me into disclosing all sorts of military secrets."

"I only suppose from past experience." His fingers absently stroked my shoulder as he looked at me.

"The Emperor has discussed with me a grand opportunity," he began, then turned his gaze to the skylight above my bed, staring through it to the fading stars. "Would you like to hear about it?"

"Absolutely," I said, and settled against his bare chest as he began to tell the story...

*fin*