Stop reading here for the bittersweet albeit more moral ending. I'm serious.
"Didn't want to wake you…", he whispers. And she remembers.
The first time she gives herself to him completely freely is just after a certain planet has stopped existing. She tells herself it is not his fault, he literally wasn't there, but she knows the weapon wouldn't exist without him. And Galen. That one is just an afterthought, as she wakes up to find him still holding her hand, staring at her. Unsettled she gently tries to remove her hand but he won't let go, as he didn't in sleep.
Somehow his communication device found its way near his pillow. It seems all is fine for him, hence all is wrong for the galaxy. He smiles. I should have let him die. But she couldn't even wake him up after his injury so the odds of this happening are pretty unconvincing.
She doesn't consider he didn't wake her up because he needed to compose himself after a fever dream, burning indeed. No, he is not telling her he sent her father on his way to her grandfather's funeral still aching from their first time. He is not telling her it still makes him hard to think about that night. How her father cried then didn't cry anymore, and felt guilty for both because he is an Erso. Jyn would say this is an unhealthy way to cope, giving him a little wanted pain to drown down the worse, unwanted one but it worked . It wasn't until later, until feelings - feelings he refuses to name even in his mind - that he even considered giving himself.
"That kriffing planet was full of rebels". Maybe he thinks he has to justify it. Maybe this is pillow talk. He looks down toward the datapad. "Casualties range...". She flinches as if he slapped her and closes her eyes, shaking her head, not wanting to know, not wanting to hear, because her attraction would still be there anyway but this would make it ten times harder. He only then realizes a wife doesn't want that. This he could and did share with Galen, even while in bed. It didn't prevent anyone from performing… But isn't for Galen's daughter.
"Does it still hurt?". He knows that she isn't talking of Galen's change of heart. He nods slightly and she smiles back, either finding it appropriate that he should suffer or as a comfort. He pulls her closer and though she could absolutely resist, she leans toward him and kneels down. He cranes his neck up for a better look. She doesn't know why she kisses him. It is not right. A planet died. She gives in to her own temptations, slightly opening her mouth to him. He responds immediately and takes control. Neither willing to say some of the sudden heat is not so sudden after all, passion simmering since they dreamed. Jyn doesn't resist anymore. What if the rebellion manages to get back on its feet and they discover she has betrayed them so? The mere idea is terrifying. And at the same time, she has to deal with the current situation, she cannot stay idle and wait for a possible change. She wonders if somehow this isn't her excuse to act in such a despicable way. This cannot be allowed to go too far, she tells herself as she is kissing him back, light headed from fear and desire. Nothing is possible between them - her, the Erso girl, and him, the man who is keeping her parents as hostages of their own daughter's compliance, who maybe would kill them. I would never hurt him . She couldn't trust her husband, and he couldn't trust her either. She hopes he will push her away, because she has already used up all her self control. And yet as inappropriate as it is, isn't it part and parcel of the unwritten rules that the man who takes the king down becomes the new leader? Everything around them belongs to him, from the luxurious liquors to the most beautiful ornament under his roof. If he wants to drink it all, he can. If he wants to help himself to the rebellion's poster child, who would stop him? Surely, a gentleman would at least wait until she isn't mourning anymore, but he never liked to wait and a lady wouldn't throw herself at her friends' murderer…
No, my friends are fine, those were strangers . A dangerous path to follow but she has to.
"Jyn", he whines inside her mouth and she is lost. He doesn't smell of bacta anymore. She either imagines or detects his usual cologne, male but gaudy in a way that now turns her on. In a way her mother just had to notice when Galen came home half drunk and fully remorseful - until the next.
"I hate you, I hate you", she insists and repeats between each kiss, against his lips. It doesn't prevent her from grabbing his arm, running her hand through his hair as she clings to him and brings him closer for a deeper kiss. She doesn't know how long they kiss for. Her knees hurt when his hands leave her hair, one of them trailing down her arm to take hold of her smaller hand and bring it where he needs her. She startles as if she still finds it strange this man is human. Very much so. Though he shouldn't be hard after blood loss and pills. He presses her hand against himself, through the material.
"No, I hate you", she protests, bitter. Madly he fears this is but a fever dream again, because then she could know . It is the first time she refuses this. Not that it makes sense, as she kissed him saying just that. Burning for him in anger and desire both, she is afraid not to be able to remain committed to this decision. She goes for the jugular to discourage him.
"It is clear you need Galen to be the man. Or Tarkin, why not? It seemed you liked him watching. Why would you want to try and fail a last time, Director whatever?", she taunts. He chuckles, surprised and not at all angry though he should be. It isn't like he fails, no, but she instinctively figured that attacking a man about his masculinity would be painful especially in such circumstances, bedridden, injured - as for mocking his title, she was certain Orson could only loathe it. She knows that if she refuses, he could just take her anyway. He is strong enough for that even wounded, should wrath come into play, and she is feeling desperate enough not to even care. She doesn't imagine someone refined and educated would do this, though, she also didn't imagine that her husband would rather go to bed with another soldier. This is war. She looks at him, expecting him to react, and he doesn't disappoint. He pushes the blanket off him and his hand slides into his underwear. He watches her watch him before he starts and she gasps. It is slow and sensual, overwhelming, as she remembers she once wanted to ask him to do that. "Tarkin isn't the only one watching", he teases.
"Show me", she blurts out, out of breath. He struggles for a moment, and then his garment is pushed off and she sees his hand, adorned with his signet ring, running along his length. "Show me", she does again. He parts his thighs under her feverish gaze and his hips cant when he gives himself a harsher stroke. Both moan. She reaches out for his hair, playing with a perfectly blond strand. He whines, his eyes darting from his own cock to his wife's face. She loves that he cannot choose. But then he looks down again.
"I'm not doing that. Never", she protests, even as her hand trails down, and she touches him at last, warm and real and alive. The thought makes her whine. She wants to taunt him in turn but she just massages his length, pressing against the thick head. She bends for him before he thinks of asking. It twitches every time she kisses it. Still silent and still composed. She finds she needs him to react. She takes one of his hands and gently lets it rest on her head, encouraging him to do whatever he wants, almost as if she preferred the Krennic who orders her around. That one at least is acting like himself. There is something frightening to his passivity even though he told her that he sometimes let her father… No. Oh, but yes. She isn't avoiding the thought anymore, not if she wants this to work. This relationship. This marriage. She would have told him to shut the hell up, but now… She has decided she is living with this, living with him… I am making compromises - give in, give up, no honor , young Jyn would say- to live with the person I hate most . Living is one letter away from loving but she rejects the notion.
"So good", she says, looking up for eye contact and licking her lips. If she appeals to his ego that way, she knows him well enough to assume it could work. She still feels the burn of anger yet she wants to pleasure him.
She retreats again and uses her hand, caressing him up and down as he did, never breaking eye contact. She is going to make this last and enjoy it. She will cling to this if some day he comes back wrapped in his cape. Her eyes dart from his face contorted in pleasure, drinking in every small noise and expression, to his dick. "Come on handsome", she teases. "So hard… All this for me?", she half praises half teases, mocks almost. "And here I was thinking I wasn't good enough". The teasing is colored by some dark, more real thoughts. "So hard…". Dark also, the impulse toward getting him to talk. She tells herself it is only so he confides in her in all things, so she can intervene in his projects… Yet again what for?
"You should have told me that you liked him. Galen". She mentions him like an acquaintance. "Quite handsome… I've seen the way he looks at you, how he touches his hair like a woman and how you just get so close to him. Would that pass for a mistress in the Empire?". Maybe she is the mistress, only considered because the couple is falling apart. The new addition, the irresponsible choice, the reckless gamble. The punishment. The very word mistress burns her tongue but she reminds herself it is just a game. Just a game just a game just a game . Her rhythm picks up and he whines. Her question was a half joke yet also deadly serious, after what she had seen and how Galen had behaved a certain night... The Director reacts to him like she imagines another would to a woman, guilty, tempted, except she knows he doesn't consider women worthy of attention. Jyn doesn't have the words to discuss this type of relationship and mistress is the closest she knows to shameful, vulgar release for a powerful married man. "We could have done something about it earlier", she taunts. She isn't sure if she means to turn him on or hurt him but he is moaning constantly from her words and her hands. His gaze says, you don't have to. But keep talking.
It is one of those things the Empire accuses the rebels of, and the rebellion assumes only exists among the decadent Imperials, rumours of the Academy, caused by their disdain for weak, nurturing beings. Ironically also for strong, educated women. Wrap up a pastry for what's her face. Even her father looked at her with disgust when he took her looks in, seductive and sensual, as if she could have chosen this on her wedding day to their arch-enemy. He judged, despite… Hypocrite. It hurts to think it, but she does. Hypocrite. Worse than his Krennic. Hypocrite. Jyn gives a harsher tug for every time her heart aches, but Imperials don't shy away from this and he bucks.
She is going to drive him crazy with want and he would never look at any other woman. Or man, actually.
Her small hand is running along his length, massaging it and looking for the right spots, with only his face for clues unless he decides to tell her more. He doesn't. He feels warm and solid under her hand, and she still wonders why this is enjoyable for her. She bends closer.
"Let me handle this, gorgeous". She has only called him so once, and he was hopefully half asleep. She whispers against his manhood, peppering it with small kisses that turn more sensual, open mouthed, over time - and that frankly shouldn't be a thing at all. Nor should she be calling him gorgeous, it is just a bit too real, too truthful. She decides it isn't tender, just lustful, so maybe she can. What it isn't, certainly, is a lie. The man she married is a work of art, a masterpiece, blessed by the Force with a perfect face to make up for a rotten mind. If not for this, people would shoot first. I was never able to.
As her tongue finally finds his tip, laving it and tasting him that way without hatred for the first time, she tries hard to block any mental image of how she has to look, going down on the man she is supposed to kill. Director Krennic. Director Krennic of the Empire.
No, just don't think. Her dark eyes peer up toward him, trying to assess his feelings, and she takes him deeper, though she knows he is probably too big to fit entirely. Still, she hollows her cheeks and sucks, deciding that if he could come that way, she wouldn't have to get more intimate, and he wouldn't feel that she has for some reason grown wet and warm from pleasuring him. Jyn wants to believe the idea of finishing him with her mouth doesn't turn her on, that it is humiliating and disgraceful, though her face is burning. She is fascinated by him, unable to take her eyes off his face watching for his every reaction, her hand on his twitching cock. She tells herself she is simply drunk on power, enjoying witnessing how much she affects him. She has been quite powerless growing up and later on, unable to save her family or friends on the long term, but now... Her mind provides her with a vision, a memory - she refuses to believe it is a fantasy - of herself on her knees in front of him, his strong hand in her hair and telling her all kinds of things as she is pleasuring him. What the fuck is wrong with me, she wonders. She is fantasizing about sucking him off while sucking him off.
"Jyn, please", he begs, and she has never heard anything nicer.