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As far as basic medical science and anatomy were concerned, what Monnk was currently looking at shouldn’t be possible. The newly formed and named Sea Dragon Company, led by Jedi Master Kit Fisto, were currently running simple exercises to showcase the basic formations and tactics they were taught on Kamino, using their home turf to demonstrate. It was an unusually pleasant day with strong winds and only a partially cloudy sky; it wouldn’t stay that way for very long, but at least the fair-weather would last for a few hours.
The usual effects of the Planet happened to be on their side, yes, however, there was one glaring issue, no, minor distraction at hand, no the issue at hand was that their Pure and heavily Religious General seemed to be awfully fond of stripping, and being a tease. The worst part about all of this is, despite being amphibian, and despite being an obvious male of the Nautolan Species: the General appeared to sport an impressive rack.
Now, for the Clones, it wasn’t very unusual to see a “build” such as their new General’s. Occasionally one of the boys will get distracted and fall out of line, but it was really nothing that Commander Monnk couldn’t nip in the bud. It was exactly the type of thing their Trainers had mentioned, along with the rudimentary Heath Classes given by some of the more “kind” Kaminoans. To be honest, however, these were closer in build to the type of build seen on the Alpha Variants rather than the more curvy Trainers.
General Fisto’s type was closer to the Alpha’s pecs of pure muscle except more. They wobbled slightly when the Nautolan moved, and if the Troopers didn’t have their helmets on, the General would be sure to realize they weren't exactly looking at his eyes. No, Monnk could almost guarantee that every-single-trooper was looking right at the Be’Jetii sizable chest and the way the pecs squished together when the General crossed his arms. Little Gods, there had to be more than a handful on each of those puppies, perhaps more than two each. If Monnk got his hands on them would they wiggle like water balloons, or would they be firmer, something that would make a satisfying snack?
“Hellooooo, Commander?” A soft knock on the crest of his helm snapped Monnk out of his daydreaming. O H GODS, his General had been trying to talk to him this entire time and all he had done was stare at his tits! Monnk’s face was burning under his helm, any stiffy that had been trying to form under his codpiece instantly died and marched on, something the Commander wished he could do right now.
“I-h-ah I’m sorry, Sir, I was, um.” Oh No oh no o h n o, what does he say, WHAT DOES HE DO? “I n-uh.” Monnk was tripping over syllables faster than they were being uttered making him an incomprehensible puddle of embraced trooper. What definitely doesn’t help is when Fisto lifts an eyebrow at the poor Commander and places his hands at his hips, filling his field of vision with nothing other than Kit’s rack and biceps, and that lovely, horrible, teasing look of his.
“Was there something else on your mind, Commander, or should we get back to those attack patterns?” The General shifts his posture again, crossing his arms just under his chest in a way that not only squishes his pecs together, creating excellent cleavage, but also forces them up like an offering to the Commander.
“I JUST REMEMBERED I NEEDED TO GO GET YOU SOME CLOTHES!” The sudden outburst makes the Nautolan blink in surprise, and he looks downright stunned when Monnk quickly moves past him and absconds off of the diving platform. Not that the Commander would be aware of that because he doesn’t once look back as he practically runs away, barely curbing his momentum enough to stop him from slamming into walls and he turns through the halls.
Later that night, if his thoughts were filled with anything other than material reports or lovely sea creatures, that would be his business to sort out. Away from the embarrassing gazes of others.