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“It isn't possible to love and part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know by experience that the poets are right: love is eternal.”
― E.M. Forster, A Room with a View
Being a Jerjerrod comes with certain expectations and boundaries; put on him from early childhood, always present and as sure as the sun rising each day, never far from his mind. A Jerjerrod does what is expected of them, and so it has been for many generations, unquestioned, unchanging.
For Tiaan, wholly Jerjerrodish, the perfect carbon copy of his father and uncle, it should then have been a rather predictable life. Looked after by nannies, moved into his own quarters before starting home school, then sent to the most prestigious boarding school; all set up to find someone to produce an heir and a spare with before focusing on business. Exactly as it has been and will continue to be for many generations.
No one had accounted for the effect of one Conan Antonio Motti.
The signs are there, from early childhood on. Tiaan is a sickly child, prone to attacks of a generalised weakness and preferring to cling to nanny’s skirts rather than explore. That is to say, until his first meeting with the Mottis.
To be exact, until his first meeting with Conan.
From the moment his mother gives him a firm push towards the other child, Conan is attached to him, quite literally at times. He remains a constant in Tiaan’s life from that point on, always in reach.
It is Conan he goes to once he is finally free of the clutches of boarding school, under the guise of wanting to study together for the Academy exams. Even before Tiaan allows himself to truly reach, he understands on some instinctual level that this is something that does not fit in with the Jerjerrod boundaries, something he should not allow himself.
Conan peels away all those expectations and insecurities one by one, persistent but always gentle, always so very mindful of what Tiaan wants and feels. It’s an entirely new thing for him and he barely dares to enjoy it, lest Conan is scared off by his oddness, by his otherness.
But Conan stays. Through the Academy, where Conan arranges for them to room together. Through their first placement on the Executrix, which Conan has arranged. All the way up the ranks; into their position on the Joint Chiefs and even further, wherever one goes, the other follows. They are fully enmeshed, a single unit of complimentary differences, each a half of a better whole.
And now, now that Grand Admiral Thrawn has swept away the old laws on marriage, they will make their togetherness official.
It should make him feel happy, and it does, but there is a lingering unease that has always gnawed at him from the shadows.
The expectations and boundaries of being a Jerjerrod.
The issue of their entwined lives has always been a subject that wasn’t talked about on Val Denn. At some point, the not so subtle hints about available well suited girls were replaced by equally unsubtle hints about quiet men who know how to blend in, who can be present in private, but not in public.
Conan always laughed at it, waving everything away with an easy hand and causing many a raised eyebrow around the table; generations of aristocrats frowning at that larger-than-life presence that refuses to blend in.
Tiaan has never been able to wave things away that easily, and so he sits in front of the comm station in the small conference room, biting his lip and going over the words he wants to say over and over again.
He doesn’t want to comm Conan, not about this. He’d snarl and sneer, and it’d cause an incident that he wants to avoid. After a few more agonising minutes where he is just not able to punch in the number to reach Val Denn, he switches gears and presses in the frequency of someone else who might be able to put his rattled nerves at ease.
“Hello Tiaan, my most favourite Moff in the whole galaxy!” The greeting is loud and the voice sends an immediate and very noticeable flush all over his face. Piett had cared a little less about the change in law, having already bonded himself to the man currently grinning at him in some quaint little Axxilan ritual.
“Good afternoon, General Veers,” he says, in his best Moff voice. It only succeeds in making the General’s grin wider, which deepens the lines around his eyes in a most distracting way. Thankfully, he’s saved from embarrassing himself further by Piett moving into view.
“Sorry about that, the army likes to stick their nose into navy business,” he says, but there’s a warmth in his voice and he is looking at Veers in a decidedly sappy way.
Tiaan coughs politely, and Piett shakes himself almost guiltily.
“I was rather hoping to discuss some matters in private, Firmus,” he says, primly enough that it makes Veers snort. He juts his chin forward, ignoring the snort and keeping his eyes on Piett. Piett’s eyes flick over his face and Tiaan doesn’t like how his eyes narrow.
“Of course, of course,” he says, lightly elbowing Veers in the ribs. Veers quirks an eyebrow, but gets up obediently. He bends down to press a kiss to Piett’s temple and salutes Tiaan before moving out of the room without further comment. Tiaan takes a deep breath.
He is unable to stop himself from wringing his hands, white spots appearing where he is squeezing hard enough to hurt; a behaviour picked up in early childhood, honed through those awful years at his boarding school, peaked to a perpetual motion of self-soothing in the Academy years. Piett glances at it and purses his lips in the way he does when he wants to say something, but doesn’t know how to be polite about it. It sends his hands in overdrive; because now it has been noticed, he’s showing too much emotion and far too little restraint.
“Tiaan,” Piett’s voice is gentle, entirely devoid of judgement, yet he still feels scolded. He hastily sits up, willing his hands to still; gripping them together hard enough to make his joints pop. Piett’s eyes rest on his clasped hands for a few seconds more before he swallows and tries again.
“Tiaan, what is bothering you? Is the wedding planning going all right?”
He lets out a slightly strangled sounding little laugh.
“Planning is fine, Firmus, really. It’s just, I’ve had a silly little problem. It’s nothing, really, just jumping at shadows I guess, but you know how I like to be thorough and so I have been preparing, well, making sure that I am going to do it right. I was just about to send them a message, really, just making sure I got it all together before I do so.” He’s aware he is babbling, but he can’t stop.
“Stop. Breathe.” Piett looks ever so slightly strained, though it’s hard to tell as that tends to be his standard. He makes sure to breathe before speaking again.
“I need to tell my parents that Conan and I got engaged.”
“Okay,” Piett says, shifting slightly in his seat. “And you, ah, think it’ll be a surprise for them?”
“I won’t have you mock this,” Tiaan snaps, nerves finally hitting a fever pitch, the one where Conan tends to start looking at him with very focused interest.
Piett holds up his hands in a soothing gesture and he instantly feels bad for snapping. Piett is trying to help and all he can do is let his nerves get the better of him. As always, his friend handles his lapse in control with grace.
“Do you want me to stay on the line while you comm them?”
He wants to say no. To have someone look in while he stammers and stutters through the interaction is a decidedly unappealing thought. If Piett laughs, if he tells Veers…
He looks at the smaller man and reconsiders. Piett has always been supportive. Odd in his ways sometimes, sure, but that’s a given considering his background. Their friendship has held fast throughout the years, in some way Piett has been as steady a presence in his life as Conan has been. He’s reasonably sure Piett wouldn’t laugh.
“Please,” he admits, unable to look Piett in the eye. He has resumed his handwringing, no longer attempting to stop it.
“I’ll be here then, Tiaan, no problem.”
~~~
It goes about as well as he expected, which is to say, not very well at all. His insistence to speak both of his parents at the same time is strike one. They are rarely together in the same room and the mood is icy from the get go. Keeping a subtle eye on the bottom left of his screen where he’s dragged the small window with Piett’s image, he takes a deep breath and announces his engagement.
His mother goes quiet, her lips pursing in a way that speaks of a great inner turmoil. Jiaan Jerjerrod looks like he has just stepped into something disgusting while wearing his fanciest shoes. Tiaan only manages to stop from biting his lip with a supreme effort.
“Well, not as if we can change anything about it now, can we?” his father eventually offers, and he cannot stop himself from wincing at the coldness in his voice. Piett is furiously typing something and he glances at it.
<Stick up his arse. Not your problem to fix.>
He lets out a helpless laugh which makes his mother’s lips purse together even tighter. His father’s eyebrows have raised further towards his hairline, the very picture of aristocratic disapproval. He surprises himself and, by the look of it, Piett too, when he speaks up.
“It is a rather done deal, indeed, so I will see you when we get wed.”
He cuts the transmission with hands that don’t even shake too badly.
Piett is grinning at him and he feels the spark of something that he realises is pride.
~~~
There’s a trail of clothes leading to the refresher, so it’s clear Conan has already made it back to their quarters.
“Want to hop in with me, Ti?” Conan is leaning against the ‘fresher doorframe, one hand on his hip to better show off the span of his middle, his other arm leaning against the doorframe to bear his weight. His legs are crossed lazily at the ankle, though the angle is deliberate: from this pose, his thighs look more massive than usual, and his prick is very prominently on display.
He swallows thickly, allowing his eyes to roam. He knows every dip and swell of that broad body as intimately as if it were his own. He never tires of looking. His eye for detail is unmatched, it’s what got him his position of course, and he uses it to map out every part of freckled, tanned flesh on display.
From the strong, ever so lightly stubbled jaw, down to plush pectorals with a dense dusting of reddish fluff with an even denser and darker line of hair moving down to a soft belly. He knows exactly how that delicious padding feels under his hands, in his mouth and against his face. Following the path of hair further down the belly, he moves his eyes down to where it fans out to the more coarse patch he loves to rub his face against as he inhales the sharp tang of Conan’s perspiration.
“You can have a good touch in the shower, sweetheart,” Conan says, rather smug and with a shimmy of the hips that puts the laser focus of Tiaan’s attention to his heavy cock.
If he throws his tunic in the general direction of their bed with a carelessness that is entirely unlike him, he’ll blame it on still feeling flustered from his call.
~~~
“How did it go?” Conan asks, while firmly rubbing shampoo into his curls.
“Hmmm,” Tiaan responds, wanting to savour the feeling of those strong, capable hands massaging his scalp before Conan gets angry with his parents and stops his ministrations.
“Sounds good. Great, even.” Conan’s hands have now moved to rub at his back, before they dip down lower to grasp a modest handful of flesh and squeezing.
“They are just a bit concerned that you might - Conan!” another squeeze of Conan’s hands, with clear intent.
“That I might what, corrupt their delicate little son?”
“You have been known to cause a bit of a scene at times,” he says, trying not to sound breathless as the squeezes settle into a rhythm.
“Oh dear, I am rather afraid I am indeed going to cause a scene, Tiaan,” Conan says, in a perfect imitation of the plummiest of Core accents. He steps closer, forcing Tiaan to step back. He gasps as his back comes in contact with the cold tiling and Conan sniggers at it. He leans even further forward, putting his hands flat against the wall, one on each side of Tiaan’s face. Their noses almost touch and Tiaan watches, mesmerised, as drops of water slowly drip down Conan’s chest, over dark nipples, down to where he wants to touch.
“I’m going to kiss you right on your pretty little mouth, baby, until you’ve gone all red and flustered, right there at the altar in front of everyone,” Conan’s voice has pitched deeper, to a dark bass-baritone. Tiaan shudders at it and moans as Conan gives a thorough demonstration on what he means with broad strokes of his tongue. It's the kind of claiming kiss that makes his jaw ache and that has him weak in the knees. Conan shifts his weight and pulls him close with two broad, solid arms until they are pressed together stern to stern.
“Gonna show everyone you’re mine, and there’s not a damn thing they can do about it,” Conan whispers before taking his lower lip between his teeth and lightly tugging on it. At Tiaan’s answering moan, he starts sucking on it, ensuring it’ll be red and swollen, visible to anyone and leaving no doubt as to the evening’s activities.
“I’d let you,” he croaks, as Conan’s teeth scrape over his neck with a maddening, barely there pressure. “I’d let you cause such a scene, I’d cling so tight, they’ll never be able to get us to move apart.”
Conan grunts in appreciation and pulls them together again. Tiaan revels in the feel of getting entirely consumed by Conan, both by his aggressive kissing and the way he crushes Tiaan to himself. To be held like this, conquered like this; shown off as being fully Conan’s in front of his family, not by the exchange of rings, but by having all his senses overwhelmed by Conan…
He realises the loud moan came from him as he hears Conan’s deep belly laugh.
“That’s right darling, let me hear how much you like it,” he slides a hand down between them and takes both their pricks in hand in a smooth, practised movement.
“Look at us, Ti. Look at how well your perfect cock fits with mine in my hand.”
Tiaan looks.
It is a sight he’s seen many times before, yet it always sends a thrill through him. Everything about Conan is large, and his cock is no exception. Fat and straining, it is a heavy heat against his own slightly smaller cock. They are a contrasting image, brought together as pieces to a puzzle in Conan’s large hand.
He moans again as Conan increases the pace, adding a light squeeze on the upwards motion of his strokes. He puts his arms firmly around Conan’s waist to squeeze at the padding there in return. It’s not enough and he whines with his face pressed against Conan’s neck, mouthing at the skin there as his prick leaks on its fatter counterpart.
“All right Ti, I’ve got you,” Conan rumbles, slightly out of breath now. He moves his free hand to the back of Tiaan’s neck, gently guiding his face down to his chest.
“C’mon then sweetheart, gimme a kiss.”
He doesn’t need further encouragement and feels the twitch of Conan’s cock against his own as he closes his mouth over a nipple, swirling his tongue around it, the hair tickling in his mouth. Conan lets out a deep, unrestrained moan as Tiaan starts sucking, alternating with broad swipes of his tongue and even going as far as to graze his teeth over the nub.
“Good boy.” There is a definite tremor in Conan's voice and that sends him over the edge.
He comes with a muffled cry as Conan’s hand on his neck tightens, keeping him in place as he spills in great bursts.
The speed of Conan’s strokes takes on a more frantic edge. He adores this, the almost-too-much stimulation of his own softening prick, rubbing against Conan’s contrasting hardness. Conan has buried his face in wet curls, breathing hard.
"Gonna let you cling, Ti, they're never pulling us apart. Never." His breath hitches on the last word and Tiaan gives in to his desire to cling, tightening his arms around Conan's sizeable waist as much as he can, holding onto him as tightly as possible and lazily rubbing his face against his chest.
He notices the telltale tightening of the hand on their pricks and moves to bite down on a mouthful of hairy pectoral, making sure to exert enough pressure to leave a lasting mark.
Conan’s howl has him very grateful he designed the soundproofing of their quarters himself.
~~~
He’s unable to ignore the blinking comm panel when they go to bed. He assures Conan he’ll be right there before padding over to his desk. There’s a message from uncle Riaan. His heart beats uncomfortably fast as he opens it.
<Dearest Tiaan and Conan,
I was most happy to learn of your engagement! I thought to myself, what would be a more appropriate gift than to offer you the use of one of my clubs? I daresay your friends would like to throw you an engagement party, Tiaan. Let’s say they do it at the Maroon Sailor on Tinnel? I will have a selection of delightful little nibbles delivered and some fine champagne, it will be no trouble at all.
Conan, my boy, I am elated to welcome you to the family officially, though I must politely remind you that I cannot allow you and your entourage back in the Maroon Sailor after The Incident. I trust in your creativity and have the utmost confidence you will find a location to your liking.
I wish you both all the best and I look forward to receiving my wedding invite.
Your uncle,
Riaan
Tiaan: There is a new darling little shop on the main road selling the most amazing silks, so I do hope it will be a summer wedding.>
He goes to bed smiling.