The hum of the GDA’s air filtration was the only sound in the room, save for the soft scratch of Cecil’s pen against a report. He didn’t look up, even though he could feel Thragg’s presence like a physical weight, a storm front hovering just inches from the edge of his desk.
"You’re hovering, Grand Regent,"
Cecil remarked, his voice dry as parchment.
"If you’re looking for the Flaxan trajectory reports, they’re in the blue folder."
"I am not here for reports, Cecil."
Thragg’s voice was lower than usual, vibrating in the floorboards. He wasn't standing tall; he was leaned over the desk, his massive hands gripping the edge of the mahogany so hard the wood began to groan. He looked like a man possessed by a riddle he couldn't solve.
Cecil finally looked up, his one good eye squinting through the smoke of a neglected cigarette.
Thragg grounded out, the word sounding foreign and bitter, disgusting even.
"I have watched your people. I have seen the way they seek this physical affirmation. Even the strongest of your heroes-...they weaken for a touch. Why?"
Cecil leaned back, a small, cynical smile playing on his scarred lips.
"It’s called affection, Thragg. It’s a human thing. Not really standard issue for intergalactic conquerors."
"I want to know it." Thragg’s eyes were dark, fixated on Cecil’s mouth with a terrifying, singular focus.
"I want to understand the leverage it holds over a soul. Grant it to me."
Cecil let out a short, raspy laugh. "...Grant it? You think you can just order a kiss like a tactical strike? That’s not how this works. You don’t command this, you earn it. And frankly? I don't think you have the temperament for it."
The rejection hit Thragg like a physical blow.
His jaw clenched, a muscle leaping in his cheek. He was the Grand Regent of Viltrum; he had burned worlds for less defiance. But as he looked at Cecil: unafraid, holding all the cards in this tiny, dim office, the usual rage didn't come. Only a hollow, gnawing Need.
"Tell me what is required," Thragg muttered. It was the closest he had ever come to a plea.
"Patience. Softness. Things you don't have," Cecil said, picking up his pen again, dismissive.
"Cecil." Thragg’s hand shot out, not to strike, but to cover Cecil’s hand, pinning the pen to the desk. He didn't use his strength, but his hand was trembling with the effort of restraint. "Please. I am... I am asking. Do not make me endure this curiosity alone."
Cecil froze. The 'please' was quiet, forced out through gritted teeth, but it was there. He looked at the Regent’s hand, the hand that had crushed skulls, now hovering with a desperate, clumsy uncertainty over his own.
"You're actually asking," Cecil whispered, more to himself than Thragg.
"I am... invested...To understand," Thragg admitted, his head bowing slightly, a monumental concession of status. "Just once. To know why a man like you is worth more than an empire."
Cecil sighed, the sound of a man who knew he was making a mistake he’d never regret. He stood up slowly, the height difference making him look like a child before a titan, but the power in the room had shifted entirely to the man in the suit.
"Fine," Cecil murmured, reaching up to grab Thragg’s collar, pulling the "God" Emperor down to his level. "But you move a muscle, you try to take more than I give? The deal’s off."
3/4Thragg didn't move. He barely breathed, his eyes wide and vulnerable as Cecil leaned in. It wasn't a grand cinematic moment; it was just a dry, brief press of lips against Thragg’s own. A tiny peck.
When Cecil pulled back, Thragg remained frozen, his eyes blown wide, the world's greatest conqueror completely undone by less than a second of contact. He looked like he had just discovered a new color.
"There," Cecil rasped, sitting back down and immediately reaching for his whiskey. "Now you know. Back to work."
Thragg stayed silent for a long time, his fingers ghosting over his lips. "It... it wasn't enough!" he whispered, demanding almost like a pentulant child, unlikely of a Grand Regent.
"Tough," Cecil replied, though his own hand was shaking as he took a sip. "That’s all you get today."
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