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The first time Conan takes Tiaan to one of the more lively clubs on Seswenna, it’s the summer before they enroll to the Corellia Naval Academy. It’s the summer where they are at an in-between stage of their lives in more ways than one, and it has Conan feel restless. It feels like an itch he can’t scratch because he can’t reach it, but only just.
They aren’t quite Cadets Jerjerrod and Motti yet, but also not just students anymore. They aren’t quite moved away from home yet, but have one leg outside the nest, almost ready to spread their wings.
They’re not quite as closely enmeshed as Conan would like them to be, either, and that has him feel restless most of all. That he and Tiaan are close is a foregone fact, to a point even Tiaan’s parents have given up on trying to get him to find some respectable girl.
Tiaan has spent many summers on Seswenna, and they have spent the last summer studying for their entrance exams. Conan had considered a study of a different kind, but Tiaan had come prepared, with a stack of holopads and half his personal library. Even if it had not been the summer he had intended it to be, it was still a summer with Tiaan, and that made it perfect.
He’d never pressure Tiaan on anything, and he knows this is something Tiaan needs to figure out for himself. Perhaps once they are at the Academy, truly free from the influence of his parents, Tiaan will permit himself to face what is already crystal clear to Conan.
As it stands, Tiaan will allow himself to sneak looks once they’re in the club, but only quick, fleeting glances. Conan doesn’t miss how his eyes widen when he sees the leather get-up most men are wearing, though. He has selected this club with care - it’s a classic Seswennan one in the sense that it’s the kind of rough and tumble atmosphere preferred by most men, but it has class, too.
And very few clothes.
Tiaan doesn’t outright say it, but Conan knows him as well as he knows himself. Tiaan is absolutely interested in the outfits on display, from the leather speed-straps, to the cuffs spanning thick biceps and certainly the harnesses showing off plush, hairy pectorals. They sit closely together with their thighs touching, and it’s the best night out Conan has ever had.
After that first year in the Academy, they return to Seswenna as second year cadets…and as something more than the closest of friends - even if that’s still what Jiaan Jerjerrod insists is happening. With that new status quo comes a Tiaan who is permitting himself to indulge. Not fully, of course, not yet, many years of repression aren’t unpeeled that easily. However, he has certainly blossomed, in both his studies and his personal life.
This time, they hold hands as they visit the club again. Tiaan even points out outfits of particular interest. Conan makes sure to pack his own leather speed-strap before they leave again. Tiaan flushes scarlet at it, but it makes an appearance a few memorable nights.
After the Academy, they move through the ranks with dizzying speed. Some people argue it’s because of Tiaan’s family connections, but Conan knows better. Finally, Tiaan’s brilliance is appreciated and rewarded. Not to a point where he can tell Krennic to shove his own cape somewhere, but it’s only a matter of time before that happens.
It does leave rather less time for their annual visit to Seswenna, but it’s a small price to pay, Conan feels. Working together on the Death Star project leaves them with a variety of easy excuses as to why Rear Admiral Jerjerrod and Admiral Motti are working together well into the station’s night.
On one such a working night, Tiaan is tucked against his chest, sleepily rubbing the hair around Conan’s nipple. They’ve had a rather vigorous work session, and Conan is just drifting off to sleep when Tiaan’s words have him wide awake again.
“Say, do you still have your Seswennan gear?” Tiaan traces the outline of his pectoral with one finger when he asks, leaving no doubt as to the kind of gear he means.
“Sure,” Conan says, and Tiaan’s hand stills for a moment before resuming its idle petting.
“All of it?” Tiaan’s kneading turns a little fretful and Conan brings up a hand to cover his.
“Yeah, want me to wear the whole get-up?” He gives an encouraging squeeze to Tiaan’s hand, because he twitched at the question. Something more than just the outfit, then.
“Remember that time we went to the club, after our first year in the Academy?” Tiaan asks instead. He resumes his earlier kneading with more force than before. Conan resists the urge to pretend he doesn’t know what Tiaan is talking about. Sometimes, getting him a little riled up is fun, but whatever this is requires more gentle guidance.
“Yeah, you pointed out all the good outfits,” he responds instead. How could he forget that night, anyway? Finally together in the way he wanted them to be, in his favourite club with Tiaan’s hand warm in his. Tiaan’s comments on each outfit had come out in hot puffs of minty air against his ear. He’d continued his comments all the way back to the Motti villa, but they’d gotten more graphic as they got closer to bed.
Once they’d gone to bed, the comments had turned into confessions. In that same hushed voice, with the words falling over one another, Tiaan had detailed exactly how he had imagined each piece on Conan. Not on the men in the club, no, on Conan only.
There’d been one specific item, come to think of it. Something that appealed to them both immensely, but that Tiaan would never dare to bring up out of the blue. Conan lightly strokes over Tiaan’s knuckles before speaking up again.
“I remember that one piece, too.”
Tiaan’s hand stills entirely, and he has gone rigid next to Conan. As much as he wants this, and as much as he knows Conan wants it, it’s still a thing that’s taboo to Tinnelian standards. There’s no subtle metaphor to construct around it, either. Thankfully, Conan is very experienced at navigating this situation.
“I think I can get one delivered in time for our next night off, baby.” He squeezes Tiaan’s hand and waits for his petting to resume before speaking up again.
“Also, take that ruler of yours, Ti.”
Tiaan’s squeeze of a love handle is fond, and Conan feels a fluttering sense of anticipation in his belly.
~~~
Conan isn’t in the habit of feeling some sort of nervousness. He will go in guns blazing and ask questions later, if at all. Yet, standing in front of the mirror in his quarters on the research station with not a shred of clothing on his body save his black and white harness and that certain one specific item, hidden underneath his speed-strap, he feels that same flutter of anticipation as before.
There’s no doubt in his mind that Tiaan will enjoy this as much as he will. However, even to Seswennan standards, it’s all a little more out there.
Conan has always favoured a very heavy hand, so none of this is out of the ordinary. He enjoys a firm tug on a leash or a strong smack to his ass. With Tiaan, there is the added bonus of his engineering eye. He is thorough and observant, noticing every single little reaction and acting on it.
He turns slightly to look himself over in the mirror one more time. The harness is custom, of course, sized to fit him just right. It draws attention to the plushness of his chest in a way he knows Tiaan cannot resist. There’s a large D-ring in the center, and they’ve spent many a happy hour experimenting with a leash.
Which is what brings him to that one specific item, ordered from Seswenna with priority and unpacked with hands that were less steady than he wanted to admit to.
An innocent enough looking strap by itself. Once put on around its intended targets, though, it loses any semblance of innocence. Made to fit snuggly around the base of his cock with another loop fitting just as snuggly at the base of his sack, this strap is made to make his balls look fatter than normal. Once freed from his speed strap, they will look heavy, a prime target for Tiaan’s affections.
He winks at himself in the mirror, and turns to exit the fresher.
Tiaan is waiting for him already. He’s in full uniform, by Conan’s request. He’s also holding his riding crop. Conan knows his personal little ruler is sitting on the bedstand - an old-fashioned tool, but much preferred by Tiaan when it comes to plans printed on flimsi.
He’d used it for something else before, once, in a shockingly uncharacteristic but very welcome move. With one flick of his wrist, he’d slapped the ruler against Conan's ample backside to tell him off for distracting him. The resulting smack had both of them so flushed, it was a small miracle Conan hadn’t devoured him right there on the table, flimsiplans be damned.
It’s not his ass that Tiaan will be swatting tonight if everything goes to plan, and that has him feel very hot under the collar.
“On the bed, Conan.” Tiaan’s command comes as crisp and calm as always, all his earlier nerves gone as soon as he’d put on the uniform. Conan had been there to see it. With each button closed, more of Tiaan disappeared and more of Rear Admiral Jerjerrod, member of the Joint Chiefs had appeared.
Conan loves him.
“Was I unclear?” Tiaan asks, and Conan swallows thickly, revelling in that plummy baritone ordering him around. He waits a bit longer, tempted to see just how quickly he can make the cracks in that Jerjerrod ice appear.
He doesn’t even see Tiaan move and lets out a gasp when his crop smacks down on one of his buttocks. Tiaan has a very experienced hand with that thing, and there’s no doubt in his mind he’ll have trouble sitting down tomorrow.
“Well?” Tiaan sniffs the word, as if it’s all the same to him, and Conan’s speed-strap feels far too tight. He shuffles to the bed and lies down on his back. He means to cross one leg over his knee, to draw the focus to the fat bulge in his speed-strap, but Tiaan doesn’t give him time to do so.
“Without your underwear, Conan, I thought I had told you that.” There’s so much aristocratic disdain of the Jerjerrod variety dripping from his voice, Conan feels his mouth go dry. His hands are slightly shaky and clumsy when he pulls down the speed-strap. It’s nothing Tiaan hasn’t seen before, but he has never seen this particular get-up.
He can’t help but groan in relief when he gets his cock freed. Fully engorged with blood, the ring ensures it looks even fatter than normal. His balls feel tight and heavy already, and he’s constantly aware of the pressure coming from the ring around the base of his sack.
He glances at Tiaan, and any remaining apprehension on whether or not Tiaan would truly enjoy this flies out of the airlock. His gaze is focused, razor sharp, between Conan’s legs. His pupils almost swallow up the green of his eyes, which has gone darker, almost to a dark moss colour. There’s a quick peek of tongue as Tiaan wets his bottom lip. Conan lazily follows the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.
Tiaan seems to have some trouble going back into his Rear Admiral Jerjerrod role and Conan makes sure to grin at him, with his usual easy-going confidence. “How do you want me, baby?”
The tension is taken out of the air with that, and Tiaan’s shoulders come down somewhat. He even smiles, showing delightfully and perfectly crooked teeth.
“As you well know, Conan, dear,” Tiaan responds, sounding a little breathless but otherwise very steady again.
Conan does know. They discussed at length what would be the best position for what they want to try tonight. He might be tempted to see if Tiaan would give him detailed instructions, but not tonight. Perhaps, there will be a repeat of this, and they can expand. For now, Conan obediently turns over on his belly.
He gets on his hands and knees, before dropping down his front and resting on his elbows. He makes sure to spread his legs a bit more, enough to give Tiaan a perfect view of his target. He peers over his shoulder and winks.
“Still an attitude, I see,” Rear Admiral Jerjerrod says, and Conan grins.
“Always a bad boy, Ti, you know that.”
Tiaan’s crop comes down with expert precision again and Conan moans shamelessly. The other cheek this time, a matching mark to the earlier swat.
“Yes, Father told me those Seswennan boys require a firm hand,” Tiaan says, sounding almost thoughtful. Conan does not have a chance to tease him about Jiaan Jerjerrod getting involved, because the crop comes down again, harder this time, dangerously close to his inner thigh.
Dangerously close to his sack, and that has his cock twitch, pulling the ring even tighter.
Conan groans.
The groan peters off into a moan that’s distinctly breathy and more high-pitched than usual, because Tiaan has grabbed hold of his balls, gripping with considerable strength just around the strap still snugly tied around their base. He tugs, with a flick of his wrist that has enough force to be considered a yank.
“Just like that, Ti,” he grunts, and Tiaan tugs again, with the barest hint of a twist this time that has Conan moan loud enough to be thankful for the carefully designed soundproofing. His cock is jutting out against the swell over his lower belly, slick and matting the hair there with pre.
“Noisy, too, those Seswennans,” Tiaan says, moving his hand to weigh Conan’s balls in his palm, rolling them around. Conan feels distinctly appraised in the way only Tiaan can make him feel, and he arches his lower back, wanting more.
“I rather think the lesson hasn’t sunk in yet,” Tiaan goes on. There’s another squeeze, another dribble of fluid from his already overstimulated cock, and then Tiaan’s hand is replaced by the crop. He uses the synthleather lip at the end of it to stroke over the sensitive skin and Conan can’t stop his thighs from trembling.
There’s the barest hint of a tap from the crop, ghosting over his skin, increasing the shaking of his quadricep. Not from the force of it, but from the promise of that tap, from the reminder that he is entirely at Tiaan’s mercy with the most sensitive parts of his body on display.
On display for Tiaan to do as he sees fit.
There’s another tap to his balls, still very light, but enough to make him gasp again. He wants more, he craves more. Tiaan had been a little apprehensive about this, initially, but Conan had assured him he could take it. And if he can’t, even a hint of their safeword will make Tiaan stop immediately. He has always trusted Tiaan fully, unquestionably.
Tiaan trusts him, too, but he has some trouble trusting himself. Always concerned with getting things just right, he occasionally gets lost in his own head too much.
It makes the slightly harder tap to his balls that much more erotic. By itself, the feeling is amazing: just on the right end of giving a slight sting, without being so overly painful that it overwhelms. However, it’s the fact Tiaan is doing it that makes Conan feel dangerously close to coming already. That’s his Tiaan, his tidy, proper Jerjerrod, using his crop on his tied balls and enjoying himself.
He arches his back even more, and muffles his groan into the pillow as Tiaan raps the crop over his buttocks for good measure. There’s a flurry of movement behind him and then Tiaan shows just how much he is enjoying myself. The ruler comes down on the fat mounds of Conan’s ass with precise, overlapping strokes, smacking lewdly through the room. Tiaan’s free hand reaches between his legs, fingering the wet head of his aching cock. He hasn’t taken off his gloves, and the synthleater adds a delicious layer to it - illicit, Tiaan would call it. A reminder of their positions and what is at stake here.
The first touch of the ruler to his sack is tentative, or rather, explorative. Tiaan has the keen eye of an engineer, and so even the slightest, barely-there twitch is noticed and then catalogued away for further study in that beautiful mind. Conan had asked for a really firm hand, and he knows Tiaan is carefully building up to it.
The first outright rap with the ruler has him howl in a combination of pleasure and pain exploding inside him in equal parts, feeling like he might burst with it. The sound of it will haunt his dreams: a lewd smack of wood on flesh, leaving no question on what Tiaan’s precious antique ruler is being used for.
Tiaan’s free hand closes around his cock with exactly the kind of pressure he craves, so radically different from what Tiaan himself prefers. Here, too, they are perfectly complimenting contrasts. Tiaan's strokes are rough, and he squeezes his hand on the upward motion, rubbing the foreskin over the head to spread the pre evenly.
There’s another swat of the ruler and his balls are on fire, aching and feeling tight with the need to spill as well as the continued pressure from the strap. They hang low between his shaking, spread thighs, red from Tiaan’s spanking.
“Gorgeous,” Tiaan whispers, and down comes the ruler again. Conan moans out in pain and pleasure.
“Perfect, Conan, what a good boy you are,” Tiaan praises, and with another thwack of the ruler and a particularly hard squeeze of his hand, Conan comes. It hurts, but it hurts in a way that makes him feel he’s giving Tiaan everything he has got, and then some. He loses track of time, only aware of Tiaan’s hand on his cock and the ongoing praise as he shudders and moans through one of the most intense orgasms he’s ever had.
When he comes down from it, Tiaan is half draped over his back. The gaberwool of his uniform feels rough against his skin, and there’s no doubt he’ll sit oddly tomorrow, maybe even walk oddly.
Conan is always ready for another round quite quickly, but not today. His legs feel weak, and even his biceps shake with the effort of holding himself up.
There’s an extremely gentle touch to his spent cock, and Tiaan removes the rings with steady movements. One long-fingered hand cups his still slightly stinging balls, and the other gently rubs over his cock, making him hiss from the overstimulation of it all.
He tries to move, to help Tiaan out, but Tiaan makes a shushing sound and then presses a kiss to the back of his neck.
“No, darling, no need. It already, ah, happened.” He gives a final much more gentle squeeze to Conan’s cock and makes to move away, but Conan is quicker.
Fuelled by that whispered confession, he turns over and grabs Tiaan around his narrow waist. He buries his face against his flat tummy and breathes in deeply, savouring the scent of his detergent (Tinnelian lavender) and, below it, the scent that’s uniquely Tiaan.
One of Tiaan’s hands runs through his closely cropped curls, grounding him further with each stroke. With a few more deep breaths, he sits back, wincing slightly at the burning sensation from his backside.
Tiaan gently tilts up his chin with one gloved hand and smiles.
“Very good boy, Conan.”
It’s rare for Conan to be lost for words, but Tiaan manages.
And he wouldn’t have it any other way.