gay ships (WILL BE EDITED/RETURNED TO SOON)

Thrawn and Darth Maul: The Hunt 1

EDITED

He traced the tattoos with his eyes, following every curve, every twist and pattern on the glowing data-pad. The last ones. The last of his kind, and what beauty they held. He looked over the information he had collected on Maul and remembered the exact moment he first saw him and had decided then and there, beautiful. He leaned back in his chair and thought about him.

A loud beeping noise rang off in the background and he twitched slightly. He longed to see the former sith in person. It burned him to know he couldn't trace every twist and scar. To touch and admire the living relic of art that he was.

There were a few other reasons that he reached out more to Maul than other people. More subtle reasons, simple things, curiosity, familiarity, basic desires. But they were trivial reasons. There were much more personal reasons at play, much more selfishly personal reasons.

Not many people knew he was an admirer of art, and even fewer knew he collected the best, but often smallest voices from ancient and forgotten places. And Maul was all of it. Living, breathing, art. He was a walking relic, and Thrawn wanted him.

He wanted to study him, trace his tattoos, record them, understand their meaning. And he itched to be near the man with a pencil and paper, often not used, and just draw out the patterns that adorned his skin. Memorize them.

A commander walked briskly up to him and stood at attention. His moustache twitched as he spoke, and he fidgeted with his fingers. Thrawn's glowing eyes traced the movements with his gaze and continued to listen to what he was telling him.

"We have arrived at the planet, and are ready to deploy to the surface and retrieve the target." He withheld a grimace. Recently Palpatine had given him a mission to retrieve Maul. From a planet in the Unknown Regions, with wild jungles and caves. It rained every day, and the temperatures were fairly cool, not a problem for him but a problem for the humans. A mission he was not meant to return from like many others before. A test, a punishment, a reminder.

They were trying, very hard, to get rid if him.

The man in front of him, Richard Paddington, willed his fingers to stop moving. He raised his seared eyes level to his. "Thank you, Commander, prepare the deploy team and the ship. I will be with them in a few minutes." The man nodded, and briskly, if not with stiff limbs, walked down the hallway and around the corner to the right escaping his un-nerving gaze. Unblinking, and calm. Unpredictable.

Thrawn eyed the data-pad as he walked to his quarters, steps echoing through the halls and turning heads. He could hear his brother's words sweeping through his thoughts. He heard it every day.

He suppressed a sigh and walked through his office (a large low-lit room with a desk burried under reports and art) and into the room he slept in. He stopped to admire the most recent art he had acquired. It was a statue from the ruins of Maul's ancient ancestors, prior to their race becoming slaves. The etchings for tattoos had become worn and faded. Like whispers, taunting him, just barely there. But still beautiful in its own right.

After the 30 seconds of staring, he walked on through the doorway and stopped before his closet. He leaned over and began to unlace his shiny white shoes. The damn things. They had no arch support and hurt to walk in.

He placed them in the closet and slid off his pants. They were not pants he could wear going through the jungles. He picked up a pair of skinny black pants, imperial issue of course, that wouldn't snag on things and pulled them on instead.

He then started to unbutton the shirt he had to wear, unbuttoning the neck wrap piece and then the wrist pieces. He pulled off his gloves, and then his suit shirt. He folded it, and then the pants and placed the stack on his bed.