Work Text:
Gilad Pellaeon could not remember the last time he went on a date. He was certain there had to be some sort of prelude to the many sleepless nights of his youth, yet no matter how hard he tried remembering, nothing came up. Perhaps the dinner and dancing had been that uneventful in the face of silk sheets and skin against skin.
He supposed his and Thrawn’s current situation could pass as a date, if not by the grand admiral’s standard, then his own.
What had started as a simple scouting mission had turned into five days of navigating flash floods, being stalked by Vronskr during all hours of the night, and only being able to consume a handful of flush berries regularly as Onderon’s harsh climate provided few other viable food sources.
But nevertheless, they had survived.
Sinking into the untouched ivory sand, Pellaeon discarded his shredded, water-logged boots as he let the ocean’s salt bathe his feet.
Wordlessly, Thrawn sat beside him, peeling off his own tunic as the overcast skies parted before them. They sat in silence as Pellaeon’s ungloved hand slowly inched towards Thrawn before his palm came to rest atop the grand admirals.
Thrawn didn’t look at him as he gave the captain’s hand a soft squeeze. It was funny how intimate such a simple gesture felt, especially in the face of their nights huddled in a single sleeping bag for warmth.
Letting the ocean lick his crimson cuts, Pellaeon didn’t bother hiding his smile as the weight of Thrawn’s head melted into his shoulder.
The captain knew things between them would be different now, and yet Pellaeon wasn’t sure he minded.