Sometimes, it was just so bloody hard.
Vi'as watched Theron's back as the man walked away, face impassive, but his nails digging into the palms of his hands. Forcing himself to turn away, he caught Lana's eyes, ever watchful, never missing anything.
Was that pity in her gaze?
She knows.
Good thing no one could see him blushing, since his skin was red anyway.
Blushing. Freaking hell.
The Emperor's Wrath, the Commander of the Alliance, blushing like a child, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He had carved a path of blood through the galaxy to be where he was now, on his way to seize the Eternal Throne, to become the most powerful man in the known galaxy. Nothing fazed him. He was Sith, both in blood and in calling, and he took what he wanted, when he wanted. Those standing in his way did not do so for long.
He just did not get embarrassed. Ever.
He had no fucking regrets.
And he never encountered a situation he could not handle. Or kill. Until now.
He glared at Lana, yellow eyes narrowed with anger, until she cast down her gaze with a slight shake of her head. She did not want to risk his temper, but rational Lana could not understand flirting with disaster. She'd never risk causing discord in their tight knit group. She was the most level headed, pragmatic Sith he had ever encountered.
Vi'as on the other hand had never been accused of being level headed.
Pig headed, maybe. By those who dared.
Mostly by one cute Twi'lek, currently thankfully otherwise engaged. If Lana could see his predicament, Vette certainly would. And then she'd have his hide.
He cast one last threatening look at Lana, who acknowledged it with a shrug, then stalked out of the room, into his personal, mercifully empty, quarters. Finally alone, he vented his frustration by slamming his fist into the wall, then cursed at the inevitable pain.
Stupid.
Glaring at his aching hand, he quelled the impulse to trash the room, settling for kicking a single chair, then dropped onto his bed.
This is gonna go badly.
He raked his fingers through his short red hair, hating feeling this helpless. This fucking longing was an enemy he could not kill, and it confounded him. Feelings confounded him. Except for hate and rage, those were fine, useful tools, if channelled properly.
This? Not so much.
He'd had a hard time wrapping his head around it, all those years ago, when he first met Vette. She had touched something in him he did not even know was there, from the first moment he saw her in that cage, chirping defiantly at her captor. She was caged, wearing a slave collar, at the mercy of the Sith, but she did not let that quell her sass. Or her humour. Or her sharp tongue.
Over time, she made him discover that, against all evidence to the contrary, he still had a heart to lose, and he lost it to her. He even got married, for Star's sake.
When she'd been ripped from his side by Valkorion and his ilk, he'd moved heaven and earth to find her again, but she just seemed to have vanished in the chaos of the war. Not even knowing if she was still alive, her loss had been like a festering wound he knew would never heal. Because there would never be anyone else he would want.
Along came Theron Shan.
In many ways, Theron was so much like her. Blunt, sharp tongued, shrewd, courageous, and surprisingly funny. Strangely vulnerable under that spiky shell. Handsome, too.
Vi'as found himself... wanting again. And what he wanted, he took.
Vette was gone, and by then, he did not believe he'd ever find her. Self-denial and asceticism had never been his strong suit. And for the second time in his life, the unthinkable happened. Vi'as lost the heart he did not believe he possessed.
Until...
He'd never forget that moment when Vette jumped out of that missile on Vandin. His heart literally stopped for a second. Then soared with joy.
Then fell.
Because after his scrambled brain started working again, he realised that for the first time in his life, he would not have everything he wanted.
He could not have them both. He would have to make a decision.
In the end, it was clear what he had to do. Vette was back. And, strange as it was for one like him, he truly loved her. She was the light to his darkness. The joy to his gloom. The lightheartedness to his obsession.
She was his.
Which meant he had to let Theron go. And it hurt. Fucking really hurt. He never experienced anything like that before. He hated the feeling. And he did not know how to deal.
He still did not know how he managed to let Theron walk out of his quarters after the talk. Theron had been crushed - for one moment, all that anguish and pain had been plain as day on his face, and it cut Vi'as like a vibroblade. His hands had twitched with the urge to grab the man and kiss him until that expression faded.
But then Theron's shoulders went back, his face set to neutral, and he coolly nodded and took his leave. Theron was gone, agent Shan was back. And Vi'as wanted to howl with frustration.
Could not, though. He was the Commander of the Alliance. He had a throne to conquer, and no time for this personal drama shit. Also, Vette would skin him alive if she knew.
These bloody inconvenient feelings would go away. Surely.
Only - they did not.
He loved Vette, he really did. That did not stop him from wanting Theron back so much it drove him crazy. Every time they had a tactical meeting, he had a hard time concentrating, because he was busy keeping himself from staring at Theron.
Every time Theron came to him before a mission, telling him to be careful, not meeting his eyes, guarding the emotion there... he had to clasp his hands together behind his back, to curb the urge to grab the guy, draw him near.
Every time they passed each other in the corridor, Theron's spicy aftershave tickling his nose, he could hardly stop himself from shoving the man into the next wall, kissing him senseless, losing himself in the sensation.
Vi'as groaned and rubbed his still throbbing hand over his mouth. The golden piercings in his lower lip tingled.
Theron loved to play with them, teasing them with his tongue...
He gritted his teeth in frustration as his cock hardened with the memory, a bolt of lust shooting right into his groin.
Fuck. He felt like a steam engine about to explode.
He should find Vette, vent a bit of that pressure with her. Only that felt like... cheating. On both of them, ironically.
Bloody hell. He was going insane. Moral scruples? What was coming next? Donating to charity? Opening an orphanage? When had he turned into such a sissy, letting himself be governed by bloody feelings?
There is no emotion, there is peace.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
Maybe he should have become a damn Jedi. Right now, those lines sounded awfully appealing.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He growled, furious at himself, and punched his pillow.
Maybe I should punch myself for being such a pansy.
But it did not help - he'd been fighting these emotions for months now. The pressure just kept building. And building. He felt like a volcano - and like a volcano, it was only a question of time until he would blow.
And that... would not be pretty.
Oh yes, this is fucking gonna go badly.
With a last unsatisfying punch to his pillow, Vi'as jumped up.
He needed something real to punch. Something that would punch back and give him an excuse to pummel it into a bloody pulp.
He would go into the cantina and challenge Gault to a game of cards.
A nasty grin tugged at his mouth, as he stalked through the compound with long strides, Alliance members taking one glance at his face and diving out of his way.
If there was something that could be relied on, that was Gault cheating on cards.
And then it would be on.