#commander blanche

From the moment you’re assigned to the 343rd, Blanche knows he’s in trouble. An experienced, well trained, highly regarded captain… who just so happens to be a beautiful woman. Trouble indeed.

General Tavik told him that your previous squadron took extremely heavy casualties, and that only you and one other survived. She told him to expect the transition to a new squad to be difficult given the loss was so recent.

On the day of your transfer, Blanche made sure his brothers are spiffed up and on their best behavior. “She is a highly sought after officer,” Blanche reminded them, “at least try to make it seem like we’re worth her effort."

Upon your arrival, Blanche found that you were nothing like he expected. As weeks passed you proved to be every bit the capable and intelligent Captain the squad was promised. But instead of the broken, withdrawn soldier he’d become following his own experience with loss, you surprised him. You were vivacious and outgoing from the very beginning. You got along well with every single one of his brothers, took to your new role quickly, and seemed to make the unit function more smoothly. You were easy going, smart as a whip, funny as hell, and kriffing gorgeous. Oh yeah, Blanche was in trouble for sure.

“Commander?” Your voice rings out in the quiet of his quarters through his com device. His heart jumps, not only at the surprise of the sudden sound but at the prospect of an interaction with you.

“Go ahead Captain,” he answers after a moment to compose himself.

“The General has left me with a pile of requisition forms and data backups, looks like more than a few of them need your signature and approval. I know it’s a bit late, but if you have the time…” you trail off.

“I’m not busy,” he blurts out, “I-I mean, you can come down to my quarters and I’ll take care of you.”

I’ll take care of you? He thought, I’m such a fucking idiot.

“Great! I’ll be there in 5 minutes,” you reply happily. Oh good, maybe you didn’t notice how fucking creepy that sounded.

Just like you’d said, 5 minutes later there is a light tap on the door. Blanche calls for you to enter, and finds that he can not stop himself from staring as you walk in.

“Um… do you mind if I sit?” You ask, indicating the chair beside him.

Idiot, he thought to himself, stop staring and get to work.

“Of course,” he says.

You sit down next to him and place three data pads down on the small desk. You quickly explain what documents are on each one, and which require his signature for each.

“It must have taken you hours to file these reports,” he comments.

You laugh lightly, and continue tapping away on a fourth data pad in your lap. “The joys of command right? All the prestige and all the paperwork that comes with it."

“It’s not all on you to do this though, as the other senior member of command on this squadron these responsibilities fall to both of us,” his gaze meets yours, and he can see the slight look of guilt in your eye.

“Yes, I suppose it does,” you say quietly, suddenly dropping his gaze “I uh- I tend to take on a lot of extra work when dealing with other things."

Blanche understands this wholeheartedly, isn’t that exactly what he’d been doing for the last year and half? “Your first squad?” He asks gently, setting aside the datapad.

You smile at your hands, still avoiding his gaze. “Yes. The 242nd. They were like a family to me. I never had brothers or sisters growing up. But they were like the older brothers I always wanted." You look up suddenly. “Not that the 343rd isn’t wonderful. You’ve all welcomed me with open arms. You just, never forget your first squad, ya know?"

“I know what you mean. We had a 9th member of the squad originally. Even though we’re all brothers… he was mine. He was my little brother,” Blanche surprises himself at his own admission. This is the first time ever since losing Max he’s spoken openly about him.

“I don’t really understand The Force and all that stuff the Jedi use and live by,” you say “But, for the sake of our loved ones, I hope they’re right. I hope your brother and mine have found peace on the other side,”

“Sometimes I think he’s watching over me,” Blanche laughs. “Feels like he’s right there, urging me to step out of my comfort zone or make the right choice."

“See that’s exactly what I don’t want,” you giggle. “I don’t need my brothers looking down at me from the beyond when I’m trying to… uh… be productive” you waggle your eyebrows at him. When Blanche realizes just how close the two of you were sitting together, heat flushes his cheeks and he leans in a bit closer.

“Productive…” he muses, “Then let’s hope they’re not looking,” he dips his head down and captures your lips.

His lips are full and plush, save for the tiny scar on the left side that quirks downward and tickles just a bit in its variant texture. His large hand comes up to cup your face, just as his tongue slides past your lips tasting you.

You moan into the kiss, enjoying it immensely but craving more. You slide forward on the chair, he takes the hint and pulls you up into his lap to straddle him. Experimentally he runs his hands up and down your sides, climbing higher and higher until they’re resting on the outer curve of your breasts. He takes your continued moaning and fervent kisses to be an indication to proceed, he squeezes your breasts through the material of your thin shirt. You roll your hips against him in response, and reach back to unclasp your bra. He tugs your shirt up, over your head and revels in the opportunity to take one of your nipples in his mouth, tweaking and pulling at the other with his fingers.

“Commander.” Your hot breath tickles the shell of his ear, as you roll your hips again.

“Tell me what you want,” he pulls his head up, releasing your breast, and drops his hands down to grip your hips, stopping you from your ceaseless teasing. “If you want something, you have to ask for it."

You whimper at the loss of sensation, how ever little of it you had given all the layers of clothing separating you. “Touch me."

“You’ll have to be a little more specific,” he nips at your neck, teasing you back. You whimper at the attention but can’t find the words to express what you want.

“Fingers,” you manage to get out. “I want you to use your fingers."

He suddenly stands up, bringing you up with him. “Hmm, good girl,” he growls in your ear. He takes the few steps necessary to get to the bed, and drops you down onto it a little more roughly than he had intended. He leans back over to continue kissing you, as he works your pants and underwear off.

Your mouth falls open as his large hand palms your bare cunt, the pad of his thumb sliding between your folds to circle your clit.

“Is this what you wanted, sweet girl?” He purrs, dipping his first finger down to tease your aching hole, pleased to find you already wet.

“So wet for me, aren’t you? But you’re still so tight.” His words send waves of near painful arousal straight to your core. “Think you can take another finger sweet girl?”

“Yes, please, Commander,” you gasp out. You can tell he likes that, being referred to by his title, evident by the stiff tent in his pants rubbing against your thigh.

He slides a second deliciously thick finger in and begins pumping them deftly as you get closer and closer to the edge. He changes the rhythm he’s using to circle your clit, and you’re done for. You come hard and fast, clenching around his fingers.

“Mmm, good girl,” he whispers darkly, you smile up at him and drag his hand up to your mouth to suck his fingers clean. You bat your eyes at him as you swirl your tongue around his fingers, teasing him further.

“You want something else?” He pulls his fingers from your mouth and readjusts them to tilt your head up at him.

“I wanna suck your cock, Commander,” you say sweetly. He grins, loving the thrill of this little game and thoroughly excited at the prospect of it continuing. He moves to lay back against the pillows while you push yourself up to get on top of him. He rids himself of the top half of his fatigues, tossing it somewhere into the rest of the room.

Before you really think about it, you’re reaching out to run your hands over the sunburst tattoo decorating his muscled shoulder. Down over the particularly large scar on his chest. He watches your curious eyes, as they hungrily explore the well defined muscles of his chest and abdomen. Your fingers dip down to the waistband of the bottom half of his fatigues, and pull down.

His cock springs free, curving up towards his stomach. You can’t help staring a little bit as you finish working his pants off of him. You figured he’d be big given his stature, but he is… impressive to say the least.

But you’re feeling brave and up to the challenge so you look up at him. Without breaking eye contact, you take him in your hand, run your tongue up the underside of his shaft and wrap your lips around the head already dribbling precum. He breaks eye contact first, tipping his head back and trying to stifle a moan. Encouraged by his sounds of pleasure you take him further into your mouth, wrapping your hands around what your mouth can’t seem to take.

“So good,” he whimpers, “just like that." You hollow your cheeks and suck a little harder, dropping your other hand down to cup his balls. He’s getting close, the sight of your mouth stretched around him is almost too much for him

“St-stop,” he gets out. Quickly you look back up, and release him from your mouth. “Need to last long enough to fuck you, sweet girl."

With that he flips you over so you’re laying back down against the mattress. He ducks down to suck a mark on your collarbone. “You’re being so good for me, sweet girl. Think you can take this cock?”

“Yes,” your voice is light and breathy, “please Commander, want your cock."

He guides his cock to your entrance, rubbing the head up and down your soaking slit. Carefully he pushes into you, feeling your walls flutter around him. Your hands slide up his back and around his shoulders, feeling yourself stretch around him. It burns just a little, but in a pleasant kind of way that makes you crave more. He pushes in further, sheathing himself inside you.

He stills when he feels that he can’t push in any further, giving you time to adjust to the feeling of complete fullness. After a moment you give his shoulders a gentle squeeze and roll your hips up into him, encouraging him to start moving. He takes your cue and starts a steady rhythm, matching the upward thrust of your hips.

You shift slightly, hitching your leg up over his hip to change the angle. You smother the cry of pleasure that escapes you by burying your face in his neck when he hits something deep and wonderful inside you. He grabs you at your hip, and continues pumping into you.

“Blanche,” you moan out, “I think- I think I’m gonna-“ He can feel you starting to contact around him and he works hard to keep up his pace, fucking you through your impending orgasm.

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he snarls out, feeling himself getting close too. Your body goes rigid for a moment, digging your nails into his back as blinding white hot pleasure tears through you. Your cunt spasms, squeezing him impossibly tighter. A few more good thrusts, and he wrenches himself backwards, out of your grasp and pulls himself out of your wet heat.

He finishes himself off by pumping himself in his fist, cumming over your tits and stomach with a final grunt. He collapses down next to you, breathing heavily. You turn your head to look at him, admiring his gorgeous face. His eyes are closed, but the smile spread across his face as his breathing returns to normal is enchanting. When he does open his eyes, he takes in every feature of your perfect face. If he thought he was in trouble before… there’s no denying it now.

Eventually he gets up and brings a warm washcloth to clean you up. It feels nice, being taken care of like this, not all men are as considerate as Blanche. He comes back to the bed after tossing the washcloth back in the fresher. He leans over you again, and gives you the gentlest kiss on the top of your head.

“Can I get you anything?” He asks. You’ve never seen such tenderness from him, but it’s a welcome surprise.

“Will you just lay with me for a bit?” You reply. He smiles warmly, and pulls you in to cuddle up to his chest. After some time, just lying comfortably in each other’s presence, you guide his hand down to your hip and trace his fingers over the little protrusion in your skin where your contraceptive implant rests.

“Next time, I want you to come inside me,” you whisper to him. He gives your hip a light squeeze, and he slides his hand back up your waist and around your back, keeping you close.

“Next time?” He asks with the barest hint of a chuckle in his voice.

“I hope there’s a next time,” you say honestly, “that was too good to only happen once."

————————————————————————

In the months that follow, it’s almost like that night never happened. At least that’s what it looks like to everyone else. In front of the men you remain friendly but stern given your placement in command. You lead well and interact normally with Blanche. The squad is none the wiser. But when night falls, and everyone else is asleep there is nothing in the galaxy that can keep the two of you apart.

In his quarters or in yours, at times in riskier places if you’re feeling brave. It’s fun keeping a secret, trying to be quiet, exploring each other’s bodies and desires. It doesn’t need a label, it doesn’t get the teasing or scrutiny of the public eye; it’s unspoken and exciting… until one night something changes.

In the pitch black of your quarters, you’re splayed out on your back working to catch your breath and running your fingers through his thick curls that rest on your tummy.

“When this wretched war is over, we’re getting a bigger bed with a stronger frame,” you laugh. He laughs too, but something tugs at him.

When the war is over.

The thought turns over and over in his mind. It’s not like he doesn’t want the war to end. But who knows when that will actually happen. And who’s to say that either one of you will actually live to see the end of it. He feels guilty, laying there in your bed, running his hands down your sides. He’s let this go on for months. Pretending there’s nothing going on between you during the day, and fucking you like his life depends on it at night. All the while knowing either of you could be sent to die without a second thought on any given day. He feels selfish, slightly ashamed, and wrong about the whole thing. This can’t possibly have a future that doesn’t end in tragedy.

This has to stop, he thinks to himself, I can’t do this again.

You notice quickly that something has changed. Just days after that night, he’s acting differently around you. He doesn’t come to your room as often, or ever really. In briefings he makes no effort to include you in strategy planning, or decision making. You’re offended and hurt, but you know it is not your place to make a scene.

Instead, you pull away too. You stop all attempts to com him after hours, you lock the door to your quarters at night when you never used to, and you don’t spend time with him or the Squadron at large if he’s present. Instead you spend time with other members of the Squadron you’re friends with, or more often you spend your free time alone. In a word, you’re miserable. He is miserable.

He tells himself it’s for your own good. He’s doing you a favor by stopping this before you can get hurt. But it’s too late for that, you’re already hurt. You wonder what you did wrong. Why relationships, even ones without titles, have to end this way.

You try to push these thoughts and feelings away, by doing what you do best, burying yourself in work. There’s a very big important mission coming up in tandem with another battalion, the 410th, who are notorious for being difficult to work with.

The night before the mission, you lay in your bed tossing and turning, overcome with anxiety. When there’s a quiet knock at your door. You wonder briefly if you’d imagined it. But it comes again. You get up and go to answer it.

There he is, standing in the doorway looking at you with those beautiful eyes you’re hard pressed to look away from. You know what he wants without him having to say it. And you know you should say no, but you find that you can’t. Because you miss him so much, and you are longing for some kind of closure.

“I’m sorry, I hmmff” he doesn’t get the words out before you jump up, capturing his lips before he can say anything. He catches your legs as they wrap around his hips. He steps inside, and shuts the door with one hand.

This time is different from the others. He’s sweet and gentle, but still reaches that something deep within you that makes you fall apart in the best way possible. It’s like he’s desperate to know every inch of you. He rasps the sweetest praises into your skin, and sucks marks that are sure to stay long enough to make you miss him again.

Instead of falling asleep afterwards, like you know both of you should, you lay awake with your head tucked under his chin. Neither of you speak for the hours and hours that stretch by. Finally, the time comes, he has to leave before the others wake up to get ready for the mission.

He hates himself for failing again. He really thought he could do it. If tomorrow went even half as badly as he was anticipating, he might as well bare his soul to you. He thought he was gonna be strong enough to tell you how he feels. He’d practiced what he wanted to say. Spelled it out while he went down on you. But when it came down to it, he just couldn’t get the words out.

————————————————————————

The mission is a complete failure. Leave it to the 410th to fuck over a mission this badly and drag every other battalion and squad in the vicinity down with them. Blanche is seething, no less than four members of his squad are critically injured. Void already had his hands full keeping Blue and Jaws stabilized on the transport back to the ship, he had to enlist the help of Bruiser to hold down Fuse as he writhes in pain from his injuries. Leaving Blanche to hold an already saturated rag to the profusely bleeding wound on your abdomen.

You grip his blood stained hands, grounding you through the throbbing pain. Your skin is growing paler and clammier by the second. He holds your gaze, begging you to stay focused on him. The intensity in your eyes is fading, and your jaw goes slack.

“Captain,” he barks, pressing harder still. Your head lulls a bit and your eyes refocus on him for a brief moment. “Don’t you let go. You hear me? Don’t let go."

You try. You really do. You cling desperately to his rough hands on your stomach, and do everything you can to keep your eyes locked with his. But it’s too much, it’s beyond your control. You can feel yourself blacking out. The last thing you’re aware of his Blanche whipping his head around and screaming for Void.

You spend hours in surgery getting your perforated organs repaired, and longer still suspended in a bacta tank to get your tissues to heal. Finally you’re cleaned up, and laid down in a private recovery room of the GAR hospital on Coruscant.

Void looks like shit, but if he looks bad, Blanche looks worse. Dark circles under his eyes, unshaven, he hasn’t slept or showered in days. He’s too worried to eat, too scared to sleep.

Void slips out of your room, to find Blanche sitting on the ground just outside the door. Head in his hands, mumbling something under his breath.

“Blanche,” Void says gently. Blanche’s head twitches up, wild eyes searching for answers. “She’s stable now. She’ll be okay."

Blanche nods, trying to make it seem like is just relieved a member of their team is recovering. It’s not like that isn’t true. Void places a hand on Blanche’s shoulder.

“You can go see her. I’ll make sure no one goes in,” he said in a low voice. Blanche narrows his mismatched eyes. Void knew? How long has he known? Does it even matter right now?

He chooses not to think about it for the moment. Instead he hauls his miserable ass off the cold linoleum floor, and pushes open the door.

You look so small and pale laying there in the uncomfortable hospital bed. He approaches slowly, forgoing the guest chair at the foot of the bed. Instead he stands right next to you, gingerly picking up your hand. You open your eyes, despite how heavy your lids feel. His other hand moves to brush back some of your hair. Neither of you can find words, you’re lost in each other’s teary gaze.

He settles one leg on the bed, coming to sit with you and continues stroking your hair. He can feel his breathing getting shorter, and the tears in his eyes beginning to well up. He couldn’t stop this if he tried. The tears spilled over, and he winced.

“I can’t stand it,” he says shakily through his tears. “I can’t fucking stand it”

His hand stills over your cheek, a firm but gentle grip that commands your attention and grounds you in this moment. Your brow furrows in a silent question.

“I can’t stand the thought of losing you.” He’s just barely able to get the words out, his chest aches as he tries to hold back the ugly sob working its way up into this throat.

Both of his hands cradle your face, thumbs wiping away the tears that steak down your cheeks. He takes another shuddery breath, and whispers your name. “I love you,” he says. “I love you so much it hurts sometimes. I need you. I need you in my life. I don’t feel whole without you. I can’t stand the thought of being without you,” he cries, tipping his head forward to rest against your forehead. “Please, please, please, tell me I’m not alone in feeling this way”

“Blanche.” Your voice is gravely and hoarse, and just saying his name causes you to cough. He helps you sit up, and holds your shoulder while you work to clear your throat.

“I love you too,” you whisper. “You mean everything to me.” You snake your arms under his and settle your hands on the backs of his shoulders, drawing him into you.

He envelopes you into his body, careful of your sore abdominal muscles. His tears still flow, but they are tears of joy. That you’re alive. That you love him back. That there’s a chance for the two of you when this is all over. Maybe one of both of you wouldn’t make it to that end, but being with you for whatever time there is left is worth it.

“You’re mine. You’re my girl. You’re my baby,” he whispers, punctuating his statements with the tiniest of kisses. The familiar warmth of his body, the easy rise and fall of his chest, makes you feel safe. You can feel yourself slipping back into sleep. But you don’t fight it, you know that you need to rest.