"I see." Thrawn takes the device and scrolls. No antidote. Outside the air is yellow with Sinner's Tree pollen. "I understand Humans are... reticent to resort to sexual activity outside of their species-"

Pyrondi's cheeks turn an alarming shade, likewise her ears, and she makes a frantic sound as if everything she wants to say just had a multi-word collision. It's a struggle to keep his mind in its proper lane. He can smell her - warm and sweet, her musk unfurling as the pollen takes hold. What might Human skin feel like against his own - they're so warm.

"Perhaps you prefer your own gender, but that would be ineffective as the neurotoxins are only vulnerable to the hormones and peptides-"

Frantic hand waving and head shaking.

"Breathe. Breathe. Speak." Pyrondi is cocky at times, but a lot of that seems to be a mask. Hammerly said that she could be seemingly unsocialized and termed her a 'high grade geek' - no insult as that's what she called herself. "One word at a time."

It comes out as mumbles.

"bnbzy"

Been. Busy?

"Well, yes, it's been an active deployment and-" Wait. Does she mean? She can't possibly mean. Pyrondi is a senior lieutenant in the navy. Didn't Humans have... no. "Pyrondi. Do you mean to say that you... haven't? As in ever engaged in sex with a male? Female? Anyone? No, yourself and your hand does not count."

That is not a healthy color for a human. Chiss turn purple because they have red blood under blue skin. Humans look about to die.

"Pyrondi. Breathe."

Nah'csol. Untouched is what Humans would call it. A senior lieutenant in the Imperial navy. Should he offer her for medical study? To a museum? Humans as a rule do not have a tradition of en'rcsou'ibi ch'acevi - a friend who's older and more experienced to guide and instruct. It's a role Thrawn has no experience in filling.

Now he needs to breathe.

They sit for some minutes and then Pyrondi speaks. "Um. Home team or away team? Or not into Humans?"

"Explain 'team,' please."

"Um. Home team means you desire or 'play for' the same gender. Away team means desire for the other gender. A switch-player means desire for both." At least Humans had that! "I... I'm pretty sure I desire both. I just haven't done anything about it."

"Did... our cultures are different... was there nobody you trusted enough to try?" In that, he feels tremendous pity for her, and a rage against a culture so warped. "I am sorry to have your... we call it 'first voyage' to be not one of your choosing."

"Sir? I could have chosen a hell of a lot worse. I trust you."

What? Pyrondi, the teabksit'i'csenei - shin kicker - trusts him. So, he must do his best to be most worthy of that trust. Ar'alani would strangle him if he didn't do this well, and if he damages Pyrondi in any way he'll go home and volunteer for it. They have moved close to each other, and hip to hip her can feel her Human warmth through her uniform.

"Faro is covering for us. Your reputation will not be harmed, but the saboteur's life will." He doesn't want Pyrondi besmirched. She is, when not shooting her mouth off, an exemplary weapons officer. "He's confessed and turned his cell."

Pyrondi moves, taking off her kepi. Her red-brown hair is kept in a disciplined bun and her eyes are grey. Her expression, aside from the pink patches on her cheeks, is meditative. "I'd like to use him for target practice. When we were crashing, I've never been more scared in my life."

"You did well. You've had pilot training and it kicked in."

The saboteur knew Pyrondi would be piloting, but not that Thrawn would be in the second chair. He'd taken the opportunity to assess his weapons officer's secondary skill set. They made it down alive, with their engines barely holding on as they deorbited. Pyrondi made a yoke-and-eyeball landing on emergency power.

"Flying TaggeCo cargo donks surface to station and station to station is the same equipment under a different name. A real pilot wouldn't have barfed after, either."

Thrawn removes his own kepi, following suit as Pyrondi removes her belt and lays both aside. Her 'first' name is Maile, so her Chiss core name would be Dimai. He really is avoiding thinking about what they're going to do, and perhaps that's because he is fond of her. The brashness and cockiness that's all surface tension, her loyalty to Faro and her shipmates, a wicked wit and dark sense of humor. He calls these things up and cherishes them.

Moving with her, Thrawn unfastens his tunic when she does, revealing a three-quarter sleeve naval issue undershirt where he is sleeveless. Poor Humans are thin-skinned and feel the cold terribly despite being deliciously warm. The undershirt hides something like a breast supporter, but flattening them down more than anything else.

"I do not know how to ask this," Thrawn says as he takes off his undershirt, noting sideways glances and pinker cheeks from Pyrondi, "Or if I should ask this, but-"

"It's a binder. Most female officers wear them. The uniform fits better and male officers don't... well... talk to your tits instead of your face."

"Ah."

"Nobody's tried in on the Chimaera. Not with Faro in command."

"I expect that is so. She'd also space him before I'd have a chance to convene a court martial."

For the first time, he hears Pyrondi laugh - a rich, warm sound. Thrawn opens his mouth and inhales, letting her scent in. He knows Eli Vanto's scent, and now adds Pyrondi's. When not muffled in their layered uniforms, Imperial Humans happily shed pheromones everywhere. A profligate species, but one he delights in. They sit, bare arms touching, both of them figuring out how to proceed. He would prefer not to brutalize her in mindless lust.

"The information in the official files says that a state of arousal can hold the harshest effects back." Pyrondi glances at the datapad, then at him. "It doesn't define that at all."

Thrawn picks it up and scrolls, reading and occasionally asking Pyrondi for clarification. Basic is an annoying language; inexact and vague when it needs to be precise and defined. Cheunh is much better on all levels. Pyrondi resorts to her own childhood dialect of Coru, translates to Basic, and understanding is achieved. If anything, understanding the process and mechanism removes much of her tension. The boots are next to come off and Thrawn's lips twitch. Lacking pockets, officers often keep surprising things in their boots. Pyrondi has a knife, a holdout miniblaster, a small multitool, and a tube of caff lozenges. The socks, however-

"Lieutenant Pyrondi, those socks are not naval issue." While they are made for standing long watches at her station, they are purple and covered in printed skulls and crossbones. Then again, people wear stranger things under their uniforms. "As you were."

Trousers.

Once the pants come off, it's a commitment.

It feels sordid.

"There's a foldout bed in the aft compartment. I'd want you to be comfortable." Not on the floor. Absolutely not. They'd found the surveillance devices when they went looking for the problem with the engines. Scorch marks delineate their former locations. "You should be as comfortable as possible."

A faint nod. "I feel a little weird, sir."

Thrawn picks up the datapad and scrolles. "LIghtheaded, racing heartbeat, nausea, dizzy?"

He leaves out the next symptoms - of which convulsions are the most innocuous - when Maile wobbles in her seat. He feels the onset, a sharpening desire and at the same time an unpleasant weakness, lightheadedness, and sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. They loop arms around each other, pull themselves up and stumble sockfooted to the rear of the shuttle. The compartment separates from the rest of the shuttle with a folding wall and a fold-down bed. At the end of deploying the bed, they both collapse on it.

"I think we need to examine the state of arousal, sir, or we're dusted." Her hand finds his, skin to skin, and squeezes. When he looks over at her, her eyes are tearing up and fearful. Death from the pollen's toxins is excruciating, as the medical entry makes clear. "I think we need to hurry."

"Agreed," he answers softly, reaching to brush the tears away. "I wish it could be different."

"I said it before, sir. I could choose much worse and I do trust you."

Maile takes his hand, cradles it against her cheek, then presses a kiss into his palm. It's warm, sweet, even kind - granting him absolution. When she cradles it against her cheek again, he draws her in. Humans kiss - her lips are hot and soft, parking for him and she teases him tentatively with her tongue. Behind his genital slit, his vez'kun is unfurling slickly and pushing with its head - wanting out.

He mimics the exploration of his mouth and she wriggles closer, letting him nuzzle her neck, to find spots that make her moan soft and low. Ne bites gently, suckles as his hands unpin her hair and let the surprising length of it loose. It's soft and fine and his fingers card through it - Pyrondi is a tooka when he rubs her scalp, nuzzles her ears and then returns to her neck. The scent of her desire is intoxicating.

Her fingers boldly insinuate into the waist of his trousers, and he pulls back a little. "There are differences. We evolved away from Humans tens of thousands of years ago as we adapted to a different climate and circumstances."

Her hands and fingers are warm against his cooler, thicker skin and she waits as his fingers slip into the waistband of her trousers. In this, he must let her lead. He unfastens hers as she unfastens his, then they both shuck them down and off. Thrawn moves slowly to take off that awful breast-binder and Maile sighs in relief. The thing leaves cruel red marks on her shoulders and around her ribs. Then she is warm against him, the heat between her legs pressed against his strained pouch as she seeks another kiss.

Sustained arousal is what the medical advice says and he insinuates his thigh between her legs, holding onto his control when he finds her soaking wet. Thrawn is aware of his touch, his mouth becoming more insistent with her, but also aware of Maile's response as he brings pressure to bear against her sex. A tremble goes through her, a ragged and hitching breath as her hips move, bearing down on his thigh.

"Grind me." He reaches down, slipping a finger into her shorts, finding coarse curls, heat, wetness, and a tight little bud that wrings a desperate sound when he strokes it firmly. "You're close, Maile. I want to feel you climax. Show me how you please yourself."

She does and Thrawn would not let her go to save himself from being shot in the head. It doesn't take long, before she's crying out with eyes shut and scarlet cheeks, heat and even more wet pulsing against his thigh. His vez'kun is pushing out of his pouch, slick and dripping as desire claws his belly, Pyrondi soft against him and breathing hard, her sweat fragrant with her desire. He eases her onto her back, red-brown hair mussed and skin glowing with warmth. Thrawn catalogs his symptoms, and finds he feels much better.

"Better?" he asks.

"Mm." A rather dreamy nod with her shoulders relaxed into the bed. "S'working, sir."

"Agreed."

Her navy-issue blacks are drenched, and he tugs gently at the waistband. After a moment's consideration, Maile tugs them down and Thrawn takes them off. Red brown curls in a triangle-shaped patch give off an intoxicating perfume. It's like being punched in the scent glands with a greenhouse of flowers, being drowned in candy. Humans smell good for the most part, but this is new. There's no genital slit, and he knew that, but the clinical figures don't show the flower-shape that presents itself to his explorations.

He takes her hand, bringing it down. "Show me."

Her index finger makes slow circles of the external bud, dipping to the wetness at her entrance to smooth her progress. Thrawn adds a firm stroke down the shaft, then bends and licks her inner petals open. The response is so engaging that he does it again, watching her arch, her thighs loosen, hearing a deep sound of delight. The sweet-salt taste brings him in for another lick, then taste, then a soft suck as he puts her legs over his shoulders. It's everything he can do to keep himself in his pouch, pressing it down against the mattress.

Chiss women carry the physical structures of sexual pleasure within, and while no detailed instruction has been provided on the subject, Chiss are descended from Humans. Waiting until Maile is fully engaged with his mouth, Thrawn carefully tests her with a finger - finding minimal obstruction relieves his mind immensely. He does know from random overheard conversations that unlike Chiss women, Humans experience monthly cycles, and use devices. Curving his finger, he finds the soft complex on the anterior and couples the movements of his finger to those of his mouth.

It's even harder to think as she responds. His lust is fully engaged, and he wants her to writhe like that, to make her say his name like that. Blind need makes him grind against the mattress, and he adds a second finger into her, feeling her flutter and squeeze. Thrawn wants that around his sex, needs to be in her to the hilt of himself, to give her such delight and satiation that she will return to him-

Release. Her thighs squeeze around his head and the slow rolling pulses of her climax send a sharp jolt of heat into his vez'kun. He lets Maile come down, moving lit lie beside her and kiss his mouth to taste herself. Perhaps Humans had some vestigial ability to sense pheromones as she nuzzles where his scent glands are located, drawing deep breaths and nestling close. Orgasm has driven back the outward symptoms of Sinner's Tree poisoning in both of them. and as Maile recovers, she grows more curious about what's in his blacks.

"May I see?"

"I remind you, there are differences." The Empire segregated by genital sex, but one saw nakedness nonetheless.

Pyrondi's cocky fearlessness resurfaces and with a last nuzzle at his neck, she moves downward. It's not a fast or direct journey as she pays attention to his flecking, finds his nipples to her taste, and discovers that his navel is ticklish even at his age. A finger in the waistband of his blacks discovers the top of his straining slit, and then her warm breath melts over it. Thrawn is about to say something she licks!

Him!

Whatever was in his head never makes it to his tongue and his speech center glitches, shuts down, and then reboots. Then it's him flat on his back. In all of his years, none of his partners have ever done that. Thrawn lifts his head, looking down his body to find the face of Human mischief looking back at him. No revulsion, no judgement, just 'now what can I do with this' - the most dangerous of Human expressions.

"Maile." Long lick. A delicate stroke with fingertips. Human mouths are hot, her tongue broadly licking top to bottom, and going to a point where his sex is pushing out. "Maile." Stubborn one. "Mai-"

The head pushes out, and into the heat of her mouth and he arches off the bed, hand groping for her head. A tentative suck, tasting and testing at the same time. Does she like this? Yes. Does he? Five hells yes. Do they have time for this? No. Will they have time for this later? Thrawn hopes that they will. Lacing his fingers in her hair, he tugs her loose, the head of him leaving her mouth with a pop.

"As much as I want to see that through, as much as you delight me-"

Maile does have a beautiful smile and humans are so expressive. He'll never get used to Hummans showing their teeth, however. "There's time."

The biochemical composition of Human, or near-Human ejaculate is the key. The male can only negate the toxin with ejaculation, the female can only survive by orgasm and taking in the biochemical 'package' delivered by the male. More of him slips from his pouch, slick and glistening until he's fully erect, testicles out, and Maile's eyes are wide.

"Thatsnotgonnafit."

"I promise that it will. I refuse to take a course of action that will bring you pain." He aches with need, but not enough to brutalize her for his own release. He is civilized, Ar'alani taught him well. "Come lie with me."

The feel of Human hair is so soft. Maile lies facing him and the output of his scent glands seems to calm her. 'Cuddling' is the term Humans use, and it's a cozy-sounding word. Kisses, he finds, are gentle persuasion and Maile for all her lack of practicum has a sound grasp of theory.

"Yes."

Thrawn smiles against her lips, dipping his tongue into her mouth. She's on her back, hair across the pillow, nipples tight from his touch and his mouth. Desire must be answered for its own sake, and he is more than ready. A nudge parts her thighs and he moves between them letting his vez'kun rest on her curls. Under his hands, his caresses, Maile's relaxed and open. Even when he presses inside her, she's slick breathing a little faster now and he bites his lip. Oh, he wants.

"I won't break. I'm tougher than that."

"You don't need to be."

Thrawn enters her slowly, carefully. The heat around him, the silken wetness, the flutters that tease his vez-kun need all his attention and control. He is her en'rcsou'ibi ch'acevi and he will not shirk that honor for his own pleasure. Maile's hips move with his, a soft gasp and moan letting him know her desire and pleasure. When he's inside her to the hilt of himself, there's no indication of pain or discomfort, and he draws back. The head of his sex starts to flare, the rings on his shaft rubbing against her inside, and his thumb resting on the hard bud at the apex of her petals. The move together, they move in counterpoint, and he can't be silent not when she's burning under him and around him.

Fluttering. Tightening. Arching. Her hands on him as he cradles her under him. Her climax comes and he takes her then, pushing her to another peak around him before he tries to pull back. Maile's legs lock around the back of his thighs, pulling him in hard and his hips jerk and he releases, flooding her. Strong legs, strong arms hold him as he holds her and he needs to tell her-

"Shhh."

Panting, he rests his forehead on her sweat-damp hair. The head of his sex flaring, locking them together and a soft aftershock from her urges him on. "Maile-"

"Shhh." She tugs him down on top of her, the warmth of her body, the scent of her one that he can't identify. "It's fine. I'm better than fine. We're all good."

Why is she the one reassuring him? Maile's face is buried in his neck, but he can feel her smile and her heartbeat. When he can draw out, Maile is wide awake, well and healthy, and cradles his head on her chest. Thrawn, for the first time in a decade, falls asleep in someone's arms.

~

Karyn has them for debrief. The whole thing's classified. Pyrondi's as happy and healthy as tooka kits in the clean laundry. Thrawn is his inscrutable self. The cell on her ship... Thrawn's ship has been squeezed productively dry, and Yularen spoke with them both. Faro had a longer, private talk with Pyrondi and is relieved not to have to space her commanding officer. Thrawn returns to the bridge and it's as if nothing happened. Vanto seems to be unaffected, but he and Pyro are gaming buddies. Something tells Karyn that this is not over.

A small smile curves her lips.

Human females are composed of durasteel, mushroom silk, and nectar. If Thrawn came late to this realization, it can be forgiven. Human women have much to tolerate, and he has no wish to add to their burdens. Hence it is that on leave, in the effort to prevent Pyrondi from hazard that such realization occurs in a turbolift, uniforms in disarray, licking the salt-sweetness from her labia and wanting more than he wants to continue breathing to enter and have her this second. 

All this over his weapons officer trying to drink a frozen, fruity alcoholic beverage larger than her own head.

It's a one-off. 

They neaten their uniforms, the lift saturated with the scent of their coupling. 

A one-off that lasts two-point-seven-five Chandrilan days, but still a one-off.

Fingers in her hair, his mouth at her neck as he makes her cry out in delight and release. 

Not going to happen again.

In the lift after change of watch. It's not calculated. In fact, aboard ship, nothing has changed. Thrawn is dedicated to self-control, refusing to let his impulses ruin a subordinate's promising career. He's made that mistake once already, the wound of Eli's absence still fresh. 

It's not going to happen again.

Until it does. 

They dodge each other's gaze, speaking of the growing insurgent movements and the billeting of ISB agents on naval vessels. When their eyes meet, they locked. Pyrondi's lips move silently, forming 'yes.' His reply is 'not here.' An hour later, their clothing and boots lie in a trail from the air vent in Thrawn's lounge to his bed, leaving Thrawn with great appreciation for Pyrondi's problem-solving skills. 

He likes her helpless with pleasure, lying back to take all he gives her. He wants her melted, wants her heated cries as he brings her to climax, wants her heat around him, open and slick. She wants him, meeting him lust for lust, legs wrapped around him, urging him deeper, harder. Her second release pulls him to the edge of his own, and Pyrondi moves to exploit that weakness, grinding against him as she flutters, then pulses around him. Thrawn falls to his own need, the head of his cock flaring to lock them together as he floods into her, lost in the tides of sensation, relief, and release. 

Eli and Ilyana have him pinned down and are either joining forces or taking turns and he is busy. Too busy to think, only able to react and to fill his senses with his Humans. Think skin, heat, and initiative. Excellent problem-solving. He’d like to hear better, but Ilyana’s thighs are muffling his ears and Eli... oh Eli’s heat around him, sinking down on him makes him arch off the bed, lifting Eli’s knees from the mattress as Ilyana drowns him in salt-sweet slippery wetness.

He got the hint and Rynn is happy about it. It's also a good thing that the cottages are well spread out because she is loud. How can she not be? Thrawn's mouth and fingers bring her off fast, and then he settles in and eats her like a starving man. He eats her until she's swollen, streaming, begging for him to get in her, to fuck her, to lock her. Thrawn slows, tongue circling her nub.

The bastard smiles.

"Humans do not die on the spot from having to wait. You have climaxed several times," he chides and then laughs when her heels drum on his back in frustration. "Tiny human. Delicate."

"Nerfshit," Rynn gasps, his fingers building her next orgasm. "I'm average sized and tough as my boots."

"Mmm. Compared to me - tiny, delicate, and burning hot." 

It's true - his skin is cooler, thicker, designed to retain heat. He gets to his knees, and this pouch opens to let his genitals out. Smooth and hairless, a glistening and slick darker blue. It looks almost human until one sees the ripples at the base, and the wide head. Rynn is spread open, flat on her back as his hands spread on her thighs, caress her hips and belly, span her ribcage, cup her breasts. Thrawn's thumbs tease her nipples and stars in glory whoever taught him is in her prayers of thanks. When he sinks down onto her, pressing her into the bed, he sinks into her as well and Rynn writhes without shame.

Yes. This.

There is a lot of him, and Thrawn fills her until she's certain she can't take a bit more, but when he pulls back those ripples stimulate her inside. Rynn is already at the edge, and the press against her cluster sends her into a frenzy. Now she wants now as he cradles her under him, open and soft and burning for his thrusts and the moment he loses himself in her heat. She comes, again, the waves of pleasure clenching her around his cock and making him moan something she can't understand.

A little victory for her when Thawn loses his Basic, when his breaths turn ragged, his rhythm uneven and urgent. Oh, the stretch as he starts to flare inside of her, and Rynn uses her thighs to pull herself into it. Faster, yes hard and her head falls back on the pillow, seeing stars from how her orgasm is wrung from her as he flares fully, locking inside of her and pulsing a flood of come into her. Chiss men come copiously, and Thrawn is clenched around her, lost in it. Even after he's wrung dry, he's still inside of her and won't subside for ten or fifteen minutes.  

Rynn takes the time to stroke the back of his neck, tease the chaotic curls that the hair product can't tame. His breathing evens out, body going heavy and relaxed atop her. Thrawn fights sleep as she strokes him, grumbling that he's not tired, he doesn't want to be rude-

"Shh." He softens, the flare easing, and Rynn kisses him tenderly. "Sleep. We have five days."