Chapter Text
You'd been running sample tests from the latest specimens given to you by the away team, when the door to your small workspace (a haphazardly converted closet) was invaded with a whoosh of the door directly at your back. Dragging your attention away from your petri dish, you were met with the piercing gaze of your current CMO, Lieutenant Commander Orsa. Stumbling off of your stool, you picked yourself up and stood at attention.
“Lieutenant Commander, I was just finishing this batch of-” You started to choke out, but Orsa waved dismissively.
“Yes, fine," she said, "that’s not important now, come with me.” She'd barely gotten the words out before turning on her heels and waving for you to follow.
You stood briefly with your mouth agape like a burrafish, about to form the next words of your report, before coming to your wits. Orsa led you through the main compartment of the medbay, where you couldn’t help but overhear some shrieking over an ordeal about a “ rogue blue alien .”
Apparently, that’s what all the commotion on the surface was earlier.
The long trek continued through the ship's port side corridor, and down the other end of the maze of corridors, to the core turbolifts. This silent, stoic hike through the bulk of the ship gave you plenty of time to agonize over what was in store for you the rest of the day. You hoped it wasn’t another situation like last week, where you were made to test the entire flight crew for coughing delirium.
Orsa had you board the lift with her and you couldn’t help but notice you were headed for the same level as the brig. You swallowed. Orsa finally turned back to you once the lift began descending.
“You may have heard about a little… trouble that some of the crew had on this detour.” She began tactfully, wrist clutched behind her back like a proper naval officer.
You nodded, eyes flitting from the decreasing number on the deck level indicator and back to Orsa, not sure if you were catching on.
“We have taken aboard a new alien, and it would seem we intend to keep it.” She punctuated her words with a type of venom usually reserved for those not welcome within the perfection of the Empire. She rocked on her heels minutely and muttered under her breath. “Although I can't begin to understand why.”
Ah. So, that was it. You digested this information quickly and anticipated what would come next. “Was… it.. injured?” You cringed at the demeaning words, but not knowing the gender of the alien - or, if it even had a gender - and being in the presence of your Commanding Officer, you decided to play it safe.
Orsa balked. “Maker no, it’s the reason why there’s four moping men in medical and three body bags in the morgue! There’s three families we have to deliver devastating news to thanks to that blue beast .” She turned from you to face the door of the lift, steeling herself from her little outburst.
Your brow scrunched up in surprise. “Kriff, three people, really?”
Orsa nodded curtly and looked up at the ever changing deck level. You tried to correct your posture and expression as you digested this information like a day old bantha beef sandwich.
Historically, you’d always been open to other alien cultures, embraced them even. You’d done a semester of independent study in Xenoanthropology before enlisting in the Imperial navy. You’d debated following your father’s footsteps in Historical Cultural Exchange, but somehow an ever-present feeling of wanting to do good and help people took hold, landing you in your current commission.
Your mother had frowned at the idea and insisted you join your cousin's private practice on Coruscant, but you recalled saying “I want to prance around the galaxy with the wind in my hair and name diseases after myself and fall in love with an emotionally unavailable Admiral before settling down in a muck-stained middle-class medical practice.” Your mother had scoffed and asked you if you wanted a biscuit with your tea.
Even with your disposition to approach aliens with open arms, this one sounded like something from your father’s over-the-top wild space horror holos. You imagined an insectoid with bone crunching forearms and mandibles like Horror from Hosnian Prime and shivered.
What seemed like a blink later, the lift lurched as the brig deck reached up to greet your ankles. Orsa promptly disembarked and expected you to follow. A corridor across and four cell doors down, you met with three guard officers and a cadet, who seemed to be having their own heated conversation.
“He’s killed three of us already and injured who knows how many more, so why ain’t we just throwing ‘em out the airlock, he’s just a stupid alien anyways.” One of the guards groused, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder to what was definitely not an airlock.
The cadet sighed, clearly not pleased with the goings on. “Listen, I’m not one to question orders. And currently, my orders, from Captain Parck himself, are to see that he’s taken care of adequately.” You couldn’t help but notice the cadet’s own wild space accent.
The second guard took a step toward the cadet. “‘Ey, irregardless, I don’t see the orders, and we ain’t takin’ no flack from some prim and proper cadet, m’kay?” He was smudging a fat finger across his data pad directly in the cadet’s face.
The third guard stiffened as he was the first to notice the Lieutenant Commander’s presence. “Commander.” He greeted her with a salute. The other guards and the cadet followed suit.
Orsa, ever the conversationalist, began curtly. “I take it the alien has been processed?” She raised her eyebrow and turned towards the guard with the data pad.
He glanced down at the pad where a new line of text blinked: Unknown Alien Protocol Intake Completed. Continue orders as directed. He cleared his throat. “Yes ma’am.”
She nodded. “Good.” She gestured to you while turning to address the cadet. “This is the ensign that will perform the medical intake.”
The cadet nodded. “Yes, Commander.” He turned to you. “I’m Cadet Vanto, the alien’s assigned translator. I will accompany you where it is necessary.”
Orsa peered over the gathered rag-tag crew meant to handle the situation and held back a scoff. She merely nodded and dismissed herself, walking briskly in the opposite direction.
Vanto’s shoulders visibly relaxed as he turned back to the guards expectantly.
The guard turned the cell lock with a code cylinder and its hatch opened. Inside, sitting on the cell’s bench, was a figure slumped forward, his elbows on his knees. This, you assumed, was the alien. From the things you overheard the injured crew saying, you thought he would look a lot less… human . In the darkness of the cell, you could just make out the hue of his skin. As they said, it was blue. A striking, deep azure blue you could swim depths in. His hair was dark and silky in appearance, the length trailing down his shoulders. The alien turned his head to acknowledge you, but as he met your eyes, you froze. His eyes were red! Not just red, but glowing as though through a kind of bioluminescence.
“Ensign, this is Thrawn.” Cadet Vanto gestured to the alien.
“Hello.” The alien, Thrawn , said. From just that one word you could hear a heavy, unplaceable accent.
“You speak Basic?” you asked, puzzled.
“Not… super well.” Vanto said, rubbing the back of his head anxiously.
The three guards stepped up to Thrawn, hoisting him up by his elbows. “Where do ya' want him?”
Thrawn peered down at the hand on his arm but did not resist.
“Take him up to the medbay exam rooms,” you said. “I want to get a full medical evaluation.” You glanced over him. He looked wild… or at least he looked like he’d been out in the wild. He didn’t smell, not from this distance but you knew he could use cleansing. “Also, he may wish to bathe.”
The lift back up to the medbay was spent in very awkward silence. It was also crowded. Between you, the guards, Thrawn and Cadet Vanto, the lift was nearly claustrophobic. The alien, Thrawn, stared straight ahead. You noticed that he didn’t carry himself like a prisoner, like someone who caused harm or was ashamed. He held his head high, his shoulders back, not unlike a soldier. Who was he before all this?
You decided to take them through the less crowded area of the medbay, not wanting to disturb any of the personnel he injured. That was the last thing the medical staff needed. Finally, you found an empty exam room.
“I don’t require protection during this exam,” you said with as much authority as you could muster. “Please, escort the prisoner in and stand guard at the door.” You eyed Vanto who looked like he was trying his best to be invisible. “Vanto, if your assistance is needed, I will call. Otherwise, stay here with the guards.”
One of the guards stepped between you and Thrawn. “Now hold on a bloody minute.” He leered down at you. “You tellin’ me you can handle this brute if he decides he don’t like bein’ jabbed with a needle?” He prodded at your bicep to prove his point.
You pulled your arm away and rolled your eyes. “He came all this way without causing any more problems, didn't he? Besides, I don’t want you in there gumming up my equipment if things do go south. I’ll call you if there’s an issue; you get in, you get out.”
Vanto stepped in to intercept before an argument erupted in the middle of the medbay. “Yes, Ma’am,” Vanto acknowledged, offering a half-hearted salute.
You had the guards position Thrawn on the exam table, his manacled hands making lifting himself up by himself an eyesore, and stood aside to wait for them to leave. They did so, but not happily.
You were now alone in an exam room with Thrawn, an alien who had allegedly murdered three of the Strikefast’s crew. An alien that was supposedly dangerous, even as he sat as calmly and still as he was now. Dangerous or not, you had a job to do.
“Hello, Thrawn.” You introduced yourself by name and rank. “I will be performing your medical examination today.” You felt a bit silly acting so professionally to a person who you had no idea if he fully understood you or not.
He looked at you with those piercing eyes. “Pleasure to meet you.” His speech shocked you, a melodic, accented sound. He’d been so silent this whole time.
“I know Basic is not a language you’re familiar with, so if there’s anything you don’t understand, please don’t hesitate to ask for clarity, if you can.” You began rummaging through a drawer for some handheld scanners and picked one you liked best.
“Understand better than speak,” he said.
You nodded. That was good, very good. “Alright, let’s get your vitals.” You motioned for him to stand on a device that resembled a holo pad. It scanned him with an array of laser lights on each side of him. The results appeared on the screen beside it. Height and weight were about what you expected, he was tall and well muscled from what you could see. But his temperature was definitely not normal for a human. What even was normal for him?
“Can you tell me your species? I think that will make this go easier for both of us.” You asked as you pecked around the pad in your hand.
“I am…” he seemed to be considering his answer. “Chiss.”
“Chiss.” you repeated. The database in your hand turned up blank. This really was an unknown alien. “Well,” you sighed, “I have no information on what is healthy for you. Do you know your species’ average body temperature?”
He considered this again, “The…the measure. Not the same.”
“You mean the units?” You tilted your head.
He nodded.
“Well, I suppose we can just call it normal for now.” You entered the data into the pad and noted that for being called a “ savage alien ” he was being quite cooperative.
You continued the routine vital check as you normally would, surprised at some of the numbers. By human standards, he was as healthy as a tauntaun. Which is not something you’d expect from someone who’d been a castaway struggling to survive. “Can you tell me how long you were stranded?” you asked. “Or how you came to be there?”
“I was…” he started to say another word but stopped. “I was exiled.”
He said it so casually it was shocking. Exiled? Who did that anymore?
You didn’t know what to say except, “I’m sorry, that sounds awful.” And you found you meant it. Instinctively, you put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. You realized too late that this gesture of comfort may be interpreted differently by him. He flinched and turned his eyes on you, their glow intense, dangerous. You quickly pulled your hand back.
“I’m going to test your reflexes now, I will have to touch your joints, okay?” you said, trying to keep the fear out of your voice. If he reacted that strongly to a simple touch you were afraid to see how he’d deal with this test. But he took it in stride. His reflexes were fine, more than fine. And he excelled at the resistance testing.
“Okay, I have to touch you again. In your neck this time. Is this alright with you?” You gestured to your own neck with two fingers from each hand.
“Yes,” he said simply.
You moved his hair out of the way so you could reach behind his ears to feel for his lymph nodes. You tried not to look him in his eyes but it was almost impossible not to be drawn to their light. There was a deep intelligence in those eyes. He was assessing you just as much as you were assessing him. It was both intriguing and unsettling.
“So how long were you down there?” You continued your line of questioning.
“I am unsure,” he answered. But something told you he knew and just didn’t want to speak it.
You moved your fingers into the flesh of his neck, looking for anything swollen or out of place. You honestly had no idea. But everything seemed fine, healthy. You pulled your hands away and checked that part of the exam off your mental list.
You picked up another small tool and tested the button on the side, lighting up the palm of your hand in the process. “One last thing before we move on, I promise.” You stepped up to face him again. “I need to examine your eyes… although I’m not sure what I’m looking for precisely, but I might learn something.”
Thrawn eyed the device in your hand dubiously, but nodded.
“Alright, please look straight ahead, at my forehead if that helps.” You turned on the flashlight and flicked it across his left eye, then his right. He flinched at each pass, but his dilation was normal. You caught a glimpse of the back of his cornea as it glowed blue in time with your passes. Night vision? “Okay, thank you.”
He immediately clenched his eyes shut and flinched as if he was suddenly struck.
You rushed to his side in concern and tried to get him to face you. “Are you alright?”
He nodded as he wiped an involuntary tear from his cheek. “Yes. Sensitive.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, here.” You reached to hand him a tissue from the nearby desk. “Is it because of the night vision?” You blurted.
He recovered enough to look up at you. There was a hint of surprise on his face. “Partially. I can…” he said a word in another language, sighed and tried again. “I can see…heat.”
“O-oh.” You said, looking into his eyes dumbly, caught with your mouth open for the second time today. Your intrigue with him was growing, but you looked away and cleared your throat. “That’s incredibly interesting. So, that’s the initial check, now I need to check the rest of you,” You reached below the exam table and handed him a folded up gown. “You will need to remove your clothing and put this on.”
He looked down to his still-bound hands as if for the first time noticing them.
Oh.
You quickly fumbled your code cylinder out of your pocket, pausing a moment to stare between the cylinder and the cuffs, then back up at Thrawn’s blank face. You plugged the cylinder into the keyhole and the cuffs automatically released. You took a step back as Thrawn removed them and rubbed at his wrists, before casually picking up the gown.
He didn’t wait for you to close the privacy curtain. He was off the table and stripping almost immediately. You held back a surprised yelp and drew the privacy curtain a little more enthusiastically than usual. But not before you caught a glimpse of his bare chest and the way his muscles rippled as he pulled his torn shirt above his head.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen patients naked before but usually they let you give them privacy first. This one, however, was more than ready to be rid of his dirty clothing, and you found you wouldn’t mind watching the rest of the strip show. Quickly you pushed that thought from your mind.
“Apologies,” he said from behind the curtain, apparently sensing your discomfort.
“No, it’s alright, I wanted to make sure you had privacy.” You fiddled with your fingers and stared at the floor.
He pulled the curtain back open. Well, at least he put the gown on correctly.
You instructed him to lay down on the table. Now it was time for the much more awkward part. And if that glimpse at his chest was any indication for the rest of him it was going to be especially difficult for you to keep rogue inappropriate thoughts about your alien patient out of your head.
“I need to take some blood samples, just relax as best you can.” You took his right arm and wrapped a tourniquet around his bicep. “Make a fist please,” he did. You noticed his hand had long, dexterous fingers but his fist still looked strong.
The draw was quick and painless and you stashed the little vials in the nearest collection bin. You’d have to remember to tell the droid to run the next batch of tests.
You tested him for internal injuries. You could do this with a scan but scans didn’t detect pain, only the patients could tell you that. He seemed uncomfortable with being poked and prodded but otherwise didn’t react to it. Good, no pain.
“Alight, we’re done. However, if you want, you can use the bathing facilities here to cleanse yourself. The only stipulation is, I have to monitor you. I will give you privacy of course but… can’t have you making improvised weapons, escaping and murdering us all can we?”
He huffed. Was that a laugh? There was the lightest touch of a smile on his lips.
You hazard a guess, “Well I’m glad you think that’s funny, but-” You turned around from tidying your work station and Thrawn was nearly invading your personal space behind you. You glanced up at him - Maker was he this tall before?
“Where?” His eyes lit up the shadows of his face with his back turned to the light creating an eerie glow between the two of you.
Your breath hitched. Or at least you thought it did, or else you were now allergic to oxygen. You lifted a hand to point vaguely in the direction of the refresher, gaze never leaving his. “Over there.”
He peered over his shoulder then glanced back at you before making his way across the room to the hatch leading to the refresher. Your breath definitely hitched this time as you noticed that the back of the gown was not tied securely. You were afforded a very unprofessional look at his rear and thighs. You definitely did not notice how toned and tight they were. Nope, not one bit.
You steeled yourself and shuffled along in his direction after he entered the fresher. You tentatively peeked in the still-open hatchway, trying not to get caught off guard once again by his magnificent alien musculature, or worse, end up dead. If you were being honest with yourself, you were more afraid of the former.
Thrawn had obviously figured out the temperature controls as steam rolled around the half wall divider to the rest of the refresher room. He stood under the heavy stream with his head tilted down, thick rivulets of water cascading down his now-black hair and over his shoulders. You finally got a true look at him in the peace that seemed to envelop him in this moment. He looked tired, and it seemed to age him significantly. You realized you never asked his age, though Chiss may measure time differently too. It added more to the mystery of him. Mystery you hoped you’d be able to unravel after he got himself clean.
He tilted his head back and ran his hands across his ridged forehead and down the back of his head, creating a heavier splash that echoed in the room. His nose was impossibly straight and sharp, adding to the overall sharpness of his features. From his ridges to his cheek bones - the man could cut glass with a look. His eyes narrowly opened and the steam around him refracted their red glow, creating a devilish mist in the dim room. His head turned toward you a fraction as he noticed you in the hatchway.
You felt pinned by his simple glance. The idea that you were supposed to be standing guard; watching for suspicious activity, was lightyears away from your thoughts. Your mouth hung agape slightly while you took in his ethereal presence. You hadn’t had the chance to read the report of how he came to be aboard the Strikefast. But the idea that he was dangerous, that he killed and injured people, seemed absurd. His calm demeanor and cooperation was in direct opposition to the character that was described to you.
You were pulled from your thoughts when a melodious rumble filtered through your ear. Thrawn was speaking in a new language. “Hm?” You half heartedly questioned.
Thrawn repeated himself in Basic. “Would you like to-?” He gestured with an open palm to the space beside him in the fresher.
Your jaw nearly hit the floor, but you cleared your throat and shifted your feet instead. “T-Thrawn um-” Your eyes found a very interesting tile on the floor.
Thrawn stepped up to the half wall, leaning on his arms. “Are humans not… social?” He tilted his head ever so slightly.
You glanced up at him then back at the very interesting tile. “No um, we are, just, not this way.”
His eyebrows went up a fraction in realization. “Ah.” He half turned away. “Chiss clean together. There is no… uncomfort.”
“It also wouldn’t be very professional of me to, um, join you.” You added.
Thrawn has the smallest hint of a smirk on his lips. “Culture exchange?” he asked.
You choked on your own tongue. You’d done your fair share of planet hopping and culture swapping - or xeno gobbling as your sister called it - back in medical school. So it wouldn’t usually be out of the question to share a bath or other activity humans may consider odd. But this was treading on a thin line. One you were about to cross. So far in your commission, you’d only been ostracized for your interest in other worldly species, specimens, fauna, and anything else the Strikefast came upon - that was not purely for an information gathering purpose. You studied things. You learned and appreciated them. From single celled organisms to entire ecosystems, you wanted to know everything's place in this seemingly infinite universe.
Thrawn was about to resume his task, taking your silence for a resounding “no,” when you began toeing off your boots. You noticed his gaze on you as you undressed, but knew you had to become comfortable with it soon enough. You laid your uniform carefully on a stool which sat at a vanity on the opposite side of the fresher. Taking a deep breath, you revealed yourself from the half wall separating you and stepped into the hot stream of water. You hissed at the temperature at first but slowly eased yourself closer as you acclimated.
Thrawn made space for you in the stream and you dipped your head back into the cascade. You wiped your face and looked up at him. “Hi.” You smirked sheepishly, trying desperately not to look down.
He inclined his head. “Is…” he said a word but you didn’t understand, so he gestured up and down his body. “No clothing. Is this shameful to humans?”
“In certain cultures and certain circumstances, yes.” You folded your hands in front of your genitals.
He noticed your movement. “This circumstance?”
“It is not very professional. But in this case…let’s call it treatment for the patient’s mental wellbeing.”
He raised an eyebrow. “This is accepted?”
“It will have to be, otherwise I will be in trouble.” you accidentally glanced at his body. He was so well proportioned with well formed muscles that were anatomically identical to human males. You swallowed. He was gorgeous . “Big trouble.”
“You may learn something,” he countered. Kriff, was he picking up Basic just from speaking to you?
He pulled his hair back behind his shoulders. You began to notice small areas of discoloration on his skin. Were those scars? Scanning down his chest there was a larger scar above his right hip. It appeared to be a laceration scar and it was more brightly colored than the rest, newer. Did he get that on the planet? But it was so well healed he had to have access to advanced medical supplies. So, older than his recent escapades on an unnamed planet.
“A problem?” he asked.
“May I examine them? Your scars I mean.” You looked up from his side to appraise his reaction.
Thrawn’s mouth pulled into a tight line. “Yes.” He pointed at one on his left shoulder, indicating where you should start. Most of the scars seemed long since healed, almost imperceptible flecks on the skin. Either they were very old or he once had quicker access to proper medical care.
You reached a hand up to gently trace the faint line, and followed it down to another fleck of disturbed skin. You followed a trail of them across his pec to near the center of his chest, where a larger dark splotch hovered over his heart. You traced the outline where the edges spidered off and faded.
Thrawn watched you intently and held up a hand, his fingers in the shape of a pistol. “Many shots.” He briefly explained.
You glanced to meet his gaze, eyebrows knitting in concern. “Oh, were you not wearing protection?” You had moved on to examine another small scar on his opposite shoulder.
“I was.”
Your mind wandered to the type of armor able to withstand such a force and still have the wearer live to tell the tale. “I see.” As you examined him you could feel the many knots underneath his skin, and began to apply a little discreet pressure to massage them as you went.
He sighed softly as you moved down his right arm, applying the same motions. When you reached his hand you didn’t hide the fact you had abandoned your search for little scars and began massaging his palm. You turned his hand over and noticed another long thin scar running from wrist to thumb.
“What is this one from? It’s long but very small, not a major injury it seems.”
Thrawn looked away for a moment, either finding the words or unwilling to speak of it. “Small tool. Slipped.” He finally said, making a motion with his other hand as if he were digging with a trowel. Apparently he was a brave strong warrior who could withstand multiple blaster shots to major arteries, but was no gardener.
You wanted to giggle but held your tongue, and a bright smile appeared on your face instead. “So you can survive vicious battles and attempts on your life but no green thumb hm?” You asked rhetorically.
He blinked. “Green thumb?”
You giggled this time. “I’m sorry, figure of speech. I only assume you were growing your own food while you were stranded, and had no experience doing so prior. In whatever life you had lived being able to withstand all of this violence.” Your hands splayed across his chest.
“Ah. No, no experience.”
You met his gaze again, a lazy smile on your face, and a few beats passed. You broke eye contact with an intake of breath and prepared to continue your task. You moved your attention to the nasty looking scar above his hip, just barely touching the edge.
A brilliant blast of light from an explosion on the bridge had Thrawn gasping for air as his flight suit started to decompress. Chaos all around him, injured chiss calling for help, and a heavy warm weight was draped across his body. Death permeated with little oxygen he could gather into his lungs.
Thrawn flinched back and in one swift motion, grabbed your wrist, squeezing tightly. His eyes took on a faraway look. You didn’t want to scream but you doubted the guards could hear you back here. This wasn’t an outburst of violence, nor was it a reaction to pain. This was something else.
“Thrawn.” you said calmly, yet firmly. “Thrawn, you are here on the Strikefast and you are safe.”
Thrawn blinked and met your terrified gaze under the warmth of the streaming water. As if realizing he was gripping your wrist entirely too hard, he let go and lifted both of his palms up in a placating gesture. “Apologies,” he said, “Bad memory.”
You took a small step back as you rubbed at your wrist, willing the ache to dissipate. “It’s um.. It’s okay.” However, your voice and expression told Thrawn that it was not okay.
He slowly moved his hands behind his back.
“We have treatments for scarring.” you began, “And treatments for mental trauma.” You added, hoping he’d know what that meant.
He only nodded.
You sighed. Now that the reverie of calmness was broken, you were intensely aware you were completely vulnerable, naked to be precise, with a hulking warrior who had intense reflexes and apparent mental trauma. “Right, okay, let’s finish up shall we?”
Okay, no more scar exam. Whatever it was that gave him that one, it was worse than being shot at ‘many times’. You couldn’t imagine anything worse, but it was a big crazy galaxy.
“Have you…cleaning…fluid?” he was unsure of what he was asking but you understood. He wanted soap.
You reached for the standard Imperial issue cleanser but…for someone who had been stranded for Kriff knows how long, you could do a little better. You had a stash of herbal scented cleanser you kept here when you had a long shift and had to use this refresher or you’d walk back to your quarters smelling like blood, bacta and blaster burns. It was hard to get, especially during patrols out here and during long stretches without resupply, but you could spare some for this.
You returned to the shower with the precious bottle in hand. “Would you like help?” you offered, shaking the bottle in your hand. He stared at the bottle, then at you.
“I am uninjured,” he said. “Help not necessary.”
“I think it is. For the patient’s mental wellbeing, I prescribe letting someone bathe you according to the patient's cultural background.” You said this with the same authority you would give to any patient passing through the medbay. Thrawn was silent for a moment, his face unreadable.
“Very well,” he conceded.
You tugged at his arm to lead him out of the shower’s stream. He complied, stepping back. Taking a bathing sponge, you squeezed out some of the cleanser onto it and lathered it up. You started with his back, gathering up his hair and draping it over his shoulder. His back was as magnificent as his chest, all the muscles as clear to you as your anatomy studies. You continued down and over his glutes, trying to be gentle yet not sensual. This was just a shower and he was just your patient, your own nudity aside.
You could feel Thrawn relaxing as you worked. Gently, you turned him so his back was against the shower stream. His shoulders sagged, the rigidity leaving them as he slowly closed his eyes. Good. This was good. Lathering up his chest, you moved down to his hips, avoiding the scar. Then you moved lower to the more private area you’d been pointedly avoiding since he removed his gown. And noticed that he was half hard. Oh Kriff. You stopped scrubbing and just… well you couldn’t help it, you gawked.
“Apologies,” he said when he noticed you stopped to observe his obviously forming erection. “Not… sexual. Just relaxed.” He moved to take the sponge from you and stopped when you moved it away from his reach slightly.
You cleared your throat, your face burning. “Can I-?” You looked between his face and the very interesting ridges on his cock. You’d of course seen plenty of different alien genitals in your… ‘studies’, but none quite like this. The others all had a very different and well, alien, quality about them, so different from what humans were equipped with. Chiss, apparently, for being an unknown alien race, were eerily similar to humans.
“You are not comfortable,” he said, gesturing around his face, “Face, more heat.”
Oh no, you’d forgotten about his eyes, you were caught. Kriff again. “Y-yes, um.” You weren’t sure you thought this far ahead. On the one hand, you could do your best to ignore the very striking and handsome man who offered to shower with you. And on the other… you could indulge a little. “I want to.” You somehow managed to not melt down the drain.
Thrawn’s eyes lit up and he quirked an eyebrow. “If you wish.” He leaned back, bracing himself against the half wall.
His consent made you brave, and you reached out to grab him softly. Smirking, you drew closer and leaned against him, slotting his thigh between your legs. “Have you ever had a cultural exchange like this before?” You lowered your voice as if sharing a secret with his pecs.
He leaned down to face you, glowing eyes burning brighter. “Not quite.” He hissed through his teeth and his eyes fluttered shut as you began working him.
You gripped him harder, feeling the way the ridges massaged your hand just as much as you were massaging them. He made a soft noise and panted, his warm breath against your face. You finally took notice of his lips and wondered if his culture also enjoyed kissing. Only one way to find out. You leaned up and tentatively brushed your lips against his.
He inhaled sharply but didn’t pull away. He seemed to consider, glancing between your eyes and your lips, then returned the kiss with fervor. He groaned into your mouth, a sound that seemed to surprise even him. With the way he moved to meet your lips, his want was becoming evident. He gripped the top shelf of the half wall and was trying to keep his hips from thrusting into your hand. He was holding back and you realized why.
You pulled away from his soft lips for a moment. “It’s okay.” You reassured him. “You can touch me too.”
As soon as you’d given your permission, it was as if a starved man was given a free buffet. His hands flew to your waist and he thrust up into your hand as he forced his dark blue tongue into your mouth to meet your pink one. He nipped at your lip and took a step forward, towering over you further. You strained your neck up to reach him and if you stood like this for long, you were going to break your neck. Soon, he applied gentle pressure to your sides to lead you up against the cool wall of the shower. His hands wandered up your body, exploring every dip and curve available to him before pulling back to take in the view. His eyes roamed over your body hungrily.
You still had him in your grip and he had since become fully hard. The ridges were even more pronounced now and he moaned softly when you ran you hand over them. The sound of his pleasure made you grind into his leg harder. You started to return to working him but he stopped you.
“No, you,” he said. He pulled his leg back and a small whimper escaped your throat. Reaching with nimble fingers, he tentatively dipped between your folds. He experimented, applying pressure until the tip of his index finger swiped over your clit. You gasped and jerked involuntarily.
He made a huffing sound again, his version of a laugh. “There?”
“Yes, there,” you confirmed, your voice breathless.
He drew gentle circles around your sensitive nub, drawing more little whimpers and gasps from you. He leaned down to capture your lips to help silence you. You took to lazily stroking him in time with the pleasure he brought you. It was almost as if you were chasing your high through helping him reach his own orgasm. He bucked against you gratefully, but then reared back to still your hand.
He whimpered against your lips. “No, you first…” He insisted. He trailed his fingers from your clit down, seemingly searching for something else he expected to find. Your wetness greeted him and he slipped two fingers inside you easily.
You tilted your head back to moan into the air. “Yes that’s…that’s…yeah.” Your affirmations drove him on as he searched for the spot that would drive you insane. Finding it, he drove home again and again and again making you wail into his chest.
It had been weeks since you had any down time for yourself, so this ordeal didn’t take long. At all. You were clutching his muscled arm tightly as you unraveled and pulsed around his fingers. He devoured every sound you made as he kissed you and slowly rocked his hand to work you through your orgasm. It was only after you started to come down that you noticed he was holding you tightly against him with his other arm.
You pulled away to catch some fresh air and blinked up at him. “Have you done that before with a human? Because…”
He openly huffed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You are similar to Chiss.”
Well, he was right, you did in fact learn something about Chiss. But you didn’t think you’d personally be the test subject. As he slipped his fingers out of you, your attention moved further south on his body as you realized you were still clutching his throbbing cock. “You liked that didn’t you?” You smirked back at him.
He had the audacity at this juncture to turn a lovely shade of purple. So Chiss could blush too, it turned out.
You easily picked back up where you left off, adding a twist to your wrist that had him panting all over again. “It’s your turn,” you purred. You ran your other hand up his arm that was holding you close and tangled your fingers in his hair. You found a nice little spot on his collarbone to nip and kiss.
He gasped and moved to hold you against him with both arms. One hand on your lower back, the other on the back of your neck; encouraging your bombardment of kisses across his chest. He laid his cheek on your head and held on for dear life as the finish line approached. A melodious language filled your ear as he began muttering between heavy breaths.
“Mar… ttis'ah.” he said in a pleading tone, “cseo bun…k’ir…nah k’en..”
Thrawn’s voice could have been enough to make you come all over again but you kept going, encouraged by his desperate breaths and speech. He held you tightly and began rutting into your hand, chasing his high until it reached a fever pitch. He moaned into your hair and tensed as he finally came. White ribbons covered your hip and hand. He moved lazily within your grip and shuddered from the sweet overstimulation before you gave him one final stroke.
The two of you stood like that for a moment, holding each other. His grip on you remained firm, as though you were his only lifeline to reality. He finally sagged in your arms and sighed. Moving his hand up from your neck, he tangled his fingers into your hair as he leaned back to look you in the eye.
“Thank you.” He whispered simply. The glow in his eyes had faded into embers, but the intensity was still there.
You moved to cup his cheek, wondering if somehow this was too intimate a gesture even after what had transpired between the two of you. “You’re welcome.” You smiled up at him.
He shifted away and bent to retrieve the discarded sponge. You watched as he lathered it up again and motioned for you to turn around. He did the same as you did for him, moved your hair to the side and gently scrubbed at your back and further down. He gently caressed you, your sides, your hip and therefore his mess, down your arms and hands, and you couldn’t help but sigh and relax into him. How was it that you felt so… safe?
You noticed he stopped and looked over to see that he was inspecting some of the bottles on the small fresher shelf. “Hair?” He asked simply, picking up a bottle and squinting at the script. The little picture of an imperial officer with long shimmering hair under her cap on the bottle helped the translation.
“Oh! Yes, that one will work.” You moved to take the bottle from him but he copied your maneuver from earlier, keeping it from your reach, before popping the cap and squeezing out a healthy dollop into his palm. He leatherd his hands up and reached for your head unceremoniously. He gathered your hair on top of your head and began working the lather in, taking his time massaging your scalp once it was worked in. You couldn’t help but moan at the sensation. He turned you and dipped your head back into the now cooling water and chased the suds down towards the drain with his hands.
You wiped the water splash from your face and couldn’t help but giggle a little. “So how am I going to reach all that mess on your head, hm?” You reached up to run your fingers through his scalp but it was an odd angle.
Without preamble he kneeled. The man - warrior man to be precise - who only hours before, had killed three men. The warrior man who came into your care and promptly made you come. The warrior man who melted into your arms was now open and kneeling before you like an akk dog waiting for a treat.
His hair was so inky black now that it was wet that adding the suds from the shampoo reminded you of the swirl of distant galaxies. Thrawn sighed under your touch as you worked the shampoo in, scratching his scalp and rubbing behind his ears. Even though you’d just shared a rather intimate moment this one seemed more so somehow.
“Here, we can use the sonic dryer. Wouldn’t want to give the guards any ideas of what happened in here.”
“It will be trouble?”
“Hopefully not if we remove the evidence.”
He looked amused. “I see.”
The business of drying wasn’t nearly as sexy as you would have wanted but it got the job done. Now that Thrawn’s hair was clean it was glossy almost to a shimmer. What even was Chiss hair? It still fell around his shoulders in a mess.
“Let me see about getting you some fresh clothes. Stay here.”
The medbay had a stock of fresh uniforms for when patients were discharged. Sometimes uniforms had to be cut off or came in damaged in some way, usually blaster burns. The problem was finding a set in Thrawn’s size. You found the closest approximation you could find but were fairly sure the pants and arms would be too short but it was much better than what he had.
Thrawn saw the uniform and his face lit up, mostly his already glowing eyes. You handed him the folded up uniform. He held the bundle and stared at it, feeling the fabric under his thumb. It was like he was remembering something.
“Is this okay?” you asked him, breaking him out of his moment.
“It will do,” he said, “I am grateful. Smells clean.” he seemed to be genuinely happy, “Thank you.” he added.
He tried the trousers on and just as you thought, too short.
“I’m sorry, that’s the longest we have.”
He examined their shortness, wiggling his toes a little. He finished dressing and it was worse than you thought. The uniform was ill-fitting. You figured if Parck wanted him to look like an enlisted man, he could get the fabrication department to fix it. For now, he would just look awkward. Gorgeous…but awkward. There was just one thing left.
“May I comb your hair?” you asked. “I could braid it or put it in a tail for you.”
“There is no need.” but the look on his face told you otherwise.
“Thrawn,” you placed a hand against his jaw, “I don’t know what they are planning to do with you after this. This may be your last chance for human…er…for contact. Please let me do this for you.”
Thrawn sat in front of you while you sat on the stool. Between his time in the wilds and the shampoo, his hair had collected some tangles. You tried to be as gentle as possible, raking the tangles out with the comb. Once those were out, you went in with a brush. His hair grew silky and shimmery and you almost wanted to bury your face into it. Instead, you massaged his scalp. He gave a small, happy growl as you did.
You decided you’d pull it back in a fishtail braid. Weaving the strands together, you took your time getting the hair as tight as possible so the braid would stay and he wouldn’t require more done to his hair. When it was done, you let him examine your work with a mirror.
“This will do well,” he said. “I appreciate your hands.” You weren’t sure what he meant but probably between his exam, the braid and the uh…enhanced showering experience, the words made sense.
“Well, I guess it’s time,” you guided Thrawn back to the door. You couldn’t help but stare up at him. From here, what would become of this stranger? Would they execute him? Would he be put in an imperial prison never to see the light of another star? You reached out and laid a hand on his forearm.
Thrawn leaned down, folding his tall form to grasp your chin and pull you in for one last kiss. It held some kind of finality to it and you savored it. You wanted to hold this moment in your memory forever. He broke away, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Thank you, for your kindness,” he said, “I am ready.”
“Good bye, Thrawn,” you squeezed his hands, “I hope …I wish you well,”
“May warrior’s fortune smile on you,” he said. Then, you opened the hatchway.