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.