"Now take off your lipstick", he orders, not even trying to sound authoritative because he doesn't expect disobedience ever. He had avoided her eyes during the dance, and behaved almost humanely for the rest of the night, but it was now near dawn, and they were in his apartment, her new home, with not even a droid on.
"Why?", she asks, tense. Does he mean to kiss her and not sully his face? She imagines him with a scarlet mouth. She doesn't think anyone would like it, not her, not him, not her father - the last idea is immediately discarded.
"Take off your make up", he repeats, actually rummaging through a small table for a tissue to pass. She takes it but she pauses. It is not exactly the same demand.
"Why? So I look younger?". Defensive much. He seems interrogative, not hurt.
"What? ...No…?".
She had assumed he prefered her sophisticate. Her cleavage certainly wasn't… girlish. But it isn't so and he isn't into the young thing either. The man, forever a mystery.
She didn't think not obeying would get her a reply but it does.
"I can see your face better without all that". Almost moody. He doesn't like expressing this. Interesting. Krennic would much more easily confess to liking her looking like a harlot, or even like a teenager. She takes the half compliment that must be hiding somewhere and pushes back the idea that most people he is interested in do not wear make up, including… Yeah. No.
He seems to remember something, and heads for his office. She follows, afraid to remain alone for some reason. Nothing can happen to Lady Krennic, nothing else than Director Krennic. In the room, he tampers with some machine - a state of the art holo-recorder, she acknowledges. He clicks his tongue, annoyed. It isn't easy. Everything gets in his way: the fancy cape, the medals, the dress cap, the silvery sandy hair swept to the side and refusing to remain. But he is motivated and soon he has made sure it is working.
"You're holocalling your parents, first thing tomorrow morning. Your father dearest was so sad when we left, he will want some news.First thing". It could have been cute, even gallant, but Jyn knows better. No one will enjoy such a thing, not so soon after… Of course Galen had looked "sad". He pressed Jyn's shoulder. He didn't try to help because there was no way to make it better for either of them and his daughter probably did not want to hear about his feeling on her losing her maidenhood to his -ex- lover.
The aforementioned ex lover doesn't even look at her as she's trying to wipe the lipstick off to keep occupied, facing down to hide her burning cheeks. He is now standing on front of a window, staring out.
"There used to be indigenous, strange species on this world. Endemic. They would sacrifice their own to some martial god…". Jyn listens, searching for whatever lesson this contains. "You have to be pretty daft to kill off your own. It is all in some journal up there in the Library. My ancestors were among the founding fathers". She still doesn't find it.
"Did they go extinct because of that?", she asks, grasping at straws.
"No. They went extinct because we needed the land".
We? Mmmm. Yes, humans. Humans mess up everything. Still, the we is odd. She imagines an olden times Krennic, with a rudimentary cape, ordering the slaughter. He had to be married for the actual Krennic to exist. Did he go home and eat delicacies and fuck his wife? She sighs. She shall probably never know what he meant to tell her. Genocide tales may be his idea of small talk. Or it is a warning, Don't mess with the Krennics. This is who she will be carrying babies, heirs, for, this lineage she will be mixing her own blood with. She shudders as though she thinks they may not be fully human.
He turns toward her, as if on cue. Searches for something on her face, in her eyes. A response to the story maybe, judgement, disapproval, sadness, horror. Pity? Before she can school her features he is staring at her lips. Jyn hopes the story didn't put him in the mood. The man always liked power. He has to like the idea of leaving such an imprint on history, on a planet. Men cannot carry life but certainly death is the next best option. Whether the tale turned him on, or he was reminded of it somehow because he was aroused, he is now standing much too close because she can feel his breath on her skin. There is still some color on her mouth, a tissue not quite enough apparently, and it contrasts with her pale cheeks. He sighs before bringing their lips together. She barely feels the touch. She moans and immediately takes a step back, hating and afraid of her reaction.
Krennic's hands catch her shoulders not ungently, more to ground her than to physically force her to remain.
"What is wrong Jyn?"
She has no word for everything that is wrong at the moment… To begin with, the mere fact that he asks.
"Is this about what the Grand Moff said?". She wished he didn't bring this up, this awful, awful man assuming she was actually going through all this willingly. Not that she would want to consumate this marriage without this last incident.
"Yes. No. Yes... maybe".
"It was better to have him think… No worry. They all know you swore to kill me. Apparently one of my men heard it". He chuckles. He doesn't seem fearful.
She shrugs. "Maybe we could just ignore each other". She would rather not have to actually slaughter anyone, especially since she fears she won't be able to really hurt him. And if she could avoid a disgusting ordeal…
He huffs.
"What do you mean? You knew I expect you to be my wife in all aspects". He is trying hard not to lose his temper so soon. He wants a wedding night, not some half rape. Jyn has to let him have his way if she won't participate.
"I mean… When did it get that way?". He looks puzzled, so she adds. "Between my parents and you. You were friends, and I understand there was a... falling out? Of sorts? But…". She may be dooming herself saying it outloud, though she needs it to be out in the open. "I don't know if you would rather have us all disappear from your life. Or if you would… be talking with my father instead of me" - she prays this is subtle enough - "But in any case it doesn't make sense".
He takes off his cap, and examines it, perhaps to give himself a countenance. There is no immediate anger or denial. Of neither option.
"I am known to take rash decisions sometimes", he snaps, as if it explained. It may explain the wedding, the falling out, anything really, so it explains nothing.
"I told your father I would take somewhere else whatever he would refuse. I don't mind this though", he mutters too rapidly, almost a confession of sorts. If by this he means her, it is obvious as the wedding was his idea. He throws the cap toward his desk, knocking down a little statue. Clearly he's not the one keeping his desk tidy and she has already seen he doesn't care for the servants.
"I am surprised though. You were much more enthusiastic before we were married". His trademark smirk is back. She never managed to unsettle him for long. "Maybe you prefered when we were strangers to each other". She does, but not in the way he says it.
"Now, things can proceed as they normally should, or not". He takes a small step toward her, his cape royally billowing though not quite as much as when they danced. What if she sent humiliatingly him back to her father? She cannot do that to her mother, she thinks, and she is disturbed at the realization that Galen could probably live with one more such night of betrayal.
"Don't think that because you are Lady Krennic, somehow I can't have you kneel for me. How nasty should things turn for you?". He sounds like he is asking her about a hologame. She is thankful, through her fog of nerves and uncertainty, that he treats it as a punishment. That he, at least, remembers she cried and threatened suicide, though he didn't relent, just made sure the durasteel was solid. Still she wants to run away, even looks toward the door over her shoulder, her hands wringing above her finely designed dress. She can't run, can't fight. Her eyes rack over his form, wishing looks could kill and it would hurt him, until she spots his pet blaster at his decorated belt. Possibly the gold threads distracted her attention from the real interest of the contraption. Her heels and gown can't prevent her from shooting, right? At worst she can throw it at his unfortunately handsome face and decide she doesn't regret marking him. There will be blood on white by the end of the night, she swears. She owes it to herself.
His glacier eyes follow and find what she has been looking at. He snorts, and chuckles, looking much younger. "Oh Jyn, that bad, really? I just figured it was worth the wait. Does Galen know what he raised?". His hand grazes against the pistol at his belt and he looks proud of both the weapon and the wife. Yes, he has taken some rash decisions, but most of his choices have turned out interesting at least.
Orson Krennic is surprised. This isn't a common occurrence that he had seen nothing coming. He extracts the pistol from its holster and all but starts bragging.
"Custom, as you can see. Or not. Anyway. This is a historical piece I had modified. It took the lives of hundreds, possibly more, rebels, even before it joined my collection. Every mark is a lowlife, see? The more interesting ones. Others did not deserve". He grins mentioning the dreadful trivia. Jyn should have guessed he collects blasters.
"Really? It suits you", she throws as an insult. But he smiles and actually nods a thank you.
"Do you think it would mind blowing your pretty head off?", he asks not expecting an answer. She wants to comment on the fact that he speaks about the pistol as if it had a will of its own. Maybe he even gave it a name, as some would their cock according to gross banter she unfortunately overheard during her captivity of sorts. "Let's find out", he whispers.
He points it straight on her, then gestures with it for her to approach. Counterintuitive as it is. But she obeys. Maybe she only needs to see him as a monster, to think she has no choice, to give in to something she really wants.
"Now you kiss your husband, Jyn". She treads closer, her heart in her throat. She tilts her face up, allowing him to make the final step, but he doesn't move.
"I said, kiss me". It will shame her more if she is active. It is risky. If she really doesn't want it, she can jump at him to steal the pistol from his grasp. If she really wants to die, she just has to pretend to begin an attack. While Krennic, worryingly, is not entirely sure he could kill her with his bare hands, he assumes he would shoot in a heart beat. He has killed so many foes, younger ones too, and he doesn't regret it because they had found fit to play grown up. Jyn would haunt him, and he really would rather fuck her and parade her to his ex lover before he pulls the trigger, but he absolutely will put his life first, always, even if he has to hold her dying and jerk off to the memory.
Jyn plunges at him indeed, but she pays no attention to the gun. She goes for his lips and kisses him open mouthed, like it matters and it is true. Her right hand reaches up into his hair and she moans before he even reciprocates, exposing herself to potential ridicule. He wants to throw the gun away and grab her, wrestle her to the ground and fuck her forever until everyone on his team worries because he is missing in action. But maybe that's the goal, so he makes sure not to lower down his guard as slips his tongue into her mouth and they fight for control in this too. What is going on? she thinks when his arm snakes around her slim waist and she doesn't resist being pressed straight against him. She wishes she could just not give a shit, not know who he is, or not care. But she is not that way, she will never be. Not even with her two hands in his hair, her tongue tasting him under the strong sting of liquor, her stomach pushing forward onto his visible erection. She doesn't realize she grinds against him and whimpers every time she feels it twitch.
Suddenly he steps back and they look at each other, wondering what the hell has happened. They both hope they don't look as undone as the other. Jyn wants to cry, to laugh. This feeling, it isn't love, she tells herself, the taboo word making her frown.
"You have just remembered you hate me?", Orson reacts to her face. The little bitch. He can't believe he was on the verge of dropping the blaster. Instead he runs the muzzle against her cheek, pushing off an errant curl with it. He grazes over her lips, now shiny and wet, imagining something else. He could have her suck it and then him, take a holorecord, send it to the happy parents… Even just the first part. It would be suggestive enough. Galen would wonder which Erso he prefers, and Lyra would finally find out what her husband stared up at so, so many times. It was worth not separating them just so they see the raw pain in each other's eyes. The idea makes him incredibly hard.
"Look what a harlot your raised. Your fault Galen, for marrying that lowlife".
"Please Orson", Galen would say, his dark sad eyes filling for him. No. "Please Sir. Please Director". Better. But no, again. Galen has made his choice, and it wasn't rash. Which means there's most probably no coming back, especially once Jyn bleeds on his cock. She better be good enough.
His hurt feelings shame him even like this. "Go on, bitch", he snarls and she startles, the vulgarity shocking from him. His blaster now trails over her curvy cleavage though his eyes are on her face. He is trying to determine whether she looks more like her mother or her father and what to do about it. If only she was an Imperial. If only she wasn't Galen's daughter.
He doesn't expect her to kneel down, as he hadn't expected it the first time, not really. The muzzle plays in her curls, over the virgin veil. When she doesn't move, Orson presses the blaster to her head, not enough to be painful, but a reminder she cannot ignore. Her gown is spread around her, a vision of beauty. He almost wants to shoot and give a call to his frenemy, show him. But his thoughts are brought back to Jyn who isn't untucking him, just running a finger over his head. The material is wet, he feels it when she does so. What he doesn't know is that when she touches the stain she realizes she is just the same, ready for him despite or because everything. Suddenly he cannot handle the vulnerability and he pulls her up. Let her mistake it for a chivalrous act.
"So after this interesting… interlude. You didn't really reply. What do you want?". Jyn has to reflect quite a bit to remember what that was about. Oh yes. She assumes normal wouldn't take place in his office, with a blaster to her head. Jyn will hurt and bleed, she has accepted it. No, what she fears, is how it will make her feel.
"Are you going to kill me?". She doesn't ask before or after. "Was it deactivated or something?". After all, a weapon could be for show. He sighs and finally puts it down on his desk, but doesn't answer. The man probably has enough self control to not pull the trigger when he comes. Imperial training aside, she still is grateful that he didn't make her suck him off like a prisoner from the battlefield, on her wedding night.
"I will be gentle".
This could actually refer to fucking, or killing. Not hurt her more than absolutely necessary. "This time". Trademark sneer again. First option then. She lets out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding in. This is more consent than he needs. She looks down and as she expects he is still hard.
"To bed, then", he whispers, leaning in. She tries not to summon any image, any memory of when she pictured this moment, white on white until there is red, and she lets him lead her out of the office. Even those memories, though, are better than the cold hard fact: she hasn't made one single attempt at grabbing the gun.