Heavily and shamelessly quoting!
The Galen/Krennic and Lyra/Krennic interactions are a thing of beauty
Last chance to jump off the ship (ah) before the horrible immoral end.
"Like that?", she asks after she lets go, wrist giving a little twist. "Tell me what you want handsome". Flattery couldn't hurt. Her voice is throaty and breathy even to her own ears, a hot and heavy feeling in her abdomen.
"You love that", he chuckles. It bothers her to be so easily read but maybe it would help him to know. This should only be for someone you love, she thinks. In fact it would have been more natural for her father to service Krennic that way. It should have been for a chosen, beloved husband, one who would insist she doesn't have to do so. Don't think that because you are Lady Krennic, somehow I can't have you kneel for me.
"Hate you…". She kisses his length, tasting him before she finally takes him in her mouth starting with slow and shallow. She licks the tip, feels him pulsating every time her head bobs up and down. She wants to be disgusted, she should be... But she isn't. He trembles once, twice. Her hand replaces her mouth just long enough to speak.
"That's it my Director, you're there".
She is in shock over what she is doing but this time she doesn't feel like crying. The taunting hardly makes it less intimate. She instinctively licks a bit of precum remaining on her lip. Her hand still tugging, she leans toward his face. She kisses him, hoping he can taste himself. He is probably used to it, she thinks bitterly, both angry and aroused. She is now wondering if she could get him hard again after she finishes him, so she won't remain frustrated. She grabs him as they kiss, tongues competing for control, pushing her bosom against him.
"You still didn't prove me you are man enough. Anyone can just let things happen… You don't need Galen to show you how to come, right?". This is nasty, perverted, this sounds like the insane taunts he would give both his wife and his lover, maybe even some particularly detested subordinate he can't fire, what he can only dream of throwing at Tarking, and she hears it coming out of her own mouth. Those Imperials sure love to hear themselves talk. She suddenly fears she is going to develop an Imperial accent over years, decades, by his side. She will sound like Tarkin. She will hate like Tarkin… Her children will grow up on bloody legends and propaganda and hatred of their own kin. She has to bear him a son first, such a man would want...
"Director?". It is risky to remind him of who he is yet he is so aroused he will let it slide, let her lead, still. She takes him again, sucking him like someone she cares about, like someone who feels for her too - she has to believe it for her own sake. Maybe she just likes doing it. Which would be unspeakable. The Erso girl sucked off the Director to pay for her parents' survival. This should be for someone you love. She hopes it will both win and break his heart, not hers.
His hand searches for her hair, his fingers appreciating the silkiness. He directs her where he wants her. "A bit harder, pretty". She ponders that to many he would be closer to the definition of prettiness. This time at least, the man has no problem letting her know how he is feeling even though one really shouldn't discuss that kind of things - one wasn't supposed to do them either. It seems that they are past the puns and play on words and teasing, and for now it suits her well. He is so turned on already, so close and leaking, and this only incites her further. She gently suckles and he whines, she does it a bit less gently then, trying to pay attention to his expressions, though it is getting difficult to be concentrating while her own body is reacting to the situation.
Normally composed even under duress, he holds nothing back suddenly. He calls her as if dying and afraid she won't be there in time. She keeps her fist tightly gripped around the base, moving her hand up and down as she continues to please him with her mouth. She looks up at him then, a gleam in her eye, and even though she doesn't stop moving she seems to nod that she understands. Agrees. Her hand and lips are tight around him and he pulses and throbs as he comes. At first silent as if under shock at the violence of his pleasure, he is soon groaning and whining. Orson isn't sure it has ever been that way. The fear and the glory, the exhaustion and the blessed rest, and Jyn. She tries to take him all the way down, and her hand on his thigh is pinching way too hard. He startles when it gets painful and she does it again, just slightly less so, because she doesn't want to hurt him too much. It is a heady feeling she has as she pulls her mouth off him when she senses he is done.
She is committing everything to memory. How he looked, how he tasted, how he sounded. Because she cannot ignore that tomorrow, or the following day, or in one week, someone could take him from her, or even ironically target her. She imagines a rebel with his blaster between his teeth, sneering as he can while he silently slides toward an Imperial. I am no better than those Imperials. My side doesn't do this, she tells herself. Then she looks at her husband's face. Jyn is a risk taker sometimes, but not always.
Orson probably couldn't remember the last time someone did that to him with such enthusiasm. Maybe never. He stares at his wife, kneeling at his side, near the bed. His wife. Jyn still half worries that he is shocked, will freak out and judge her more fit to be a harlot than a wife, send her away because of this... She doesn't really think he would go as far as that and tries to subdue the shame. I wanted it.
She licks her lips, not hiding this time, erasing any trace in case there still is some and showing him she loved it. She maintains eye contact. Dreading and begging for comment, for anything.
It would be hypocritical to pretend she did it because it isn't real sex for her or not really betraying the cause. She certainly isn't celebrating his victory, but… The truth is that she is a traitor now, and she has fallen way down, way low. So why does she feel on such a high? She smiles, not nicely, and he twitches at the sight as if he could read in her mind as those Jedi knights are supposed to do; or were before they all but disappeared. They go for it at the same time, she touches his dick and he grabs her hair, and their mouths meet mid-air. It doesn't take much, he is hard quicker than he thought realistic. I am alive. I am alive and she wants it. Jyn Erso, Jyn Krennic. His ego is so inflated he feels he rejoices more about the second statement than about his survival. Maybe he doesn't really believe he is mortal. He is hard any way, without caring to analyze anything for once. While he ponders if he has enough energy to throw her onto the bed, she pushes him back not unkindly when he tries to sit up. "No", she roughly protests. He only smiles when she rises, slowly lifting up her skirt, staring straight at his eyes, glacier and brazier.
"Show me", he repeats what she said, and she complies as he did, his self control cracking from all the recent events. He half heartedly works on not showing it, but his parted lips glisten and his torso heaves. He is fully hard without touching himself when she finally settles down and he fills her. He could control this, too, but he really doesn't and she thrusts long and slow, then quick and harsh. She grabs his wrists, pinning him down. He chuckles to hide his trouble. He is so stiff it hurts her just a bit, just the right side of too much, perhaps a punishment for her sin. She bucks and utterly takes him, uses him, as she imagines he took her father. She hardly balks at the idea… That pain is even lighter now. She feels it start quick and hot inside her, where he fills her, and she fails to slow it down even a bit. Can he finish like this, without what he normally needs, without even the power of the position, of impressing a rhythm? She circles and thrusts, tries to do what helps her own pleasure along. She ponders the possibility that he won't come and that she should just find her peak and then give him her mouth or her fingers, something less involved he can imagine anything, anyone, during. But she notices he barely restrains himself so she goes on doing the same, just quicker. It works. It works, Jyn. This carefully controlled man is thrusting up, unable to maintain any type of rhythm, because of little her. His grunts turn into moans and there is surprise, arousal and some kind of almost displeasure on his handsome features. She wonders if her father often led, or took him only once, and how he handled it. He didn't give her any detail, for once. She would know if she was a Force-user to read into his mind, perhaps it is great she is not one. "Come for me", she wants to tease but it comes out like a plea. Only, only for me. If he minds he doesn't say: he deserves the jab. "You're there, just…". Keep doing whatever you do, let yourself have this, give us a chance. Jyn circles above him, moaning, she doesn't think and her fingers go for his red lips, his fair cheeks, his hair. Molten gold, a honey crown. "My sweet…". He stifles a gasp. Immediately he thinks to bring her down, to be the one on top, but he wants to see her come so he grabs her hips and pulls her toward him as he often did with his first Erso. There is just enough surprise for her to startle and keen when he reaches something inside her. She peaks, blinded by light, wondering if this is what those planet dwellers last saw, and she cants her hips madly until he is there too, unable to help it. She is so light-headed he has to make sure she doesn't fall off him, she is soaked when he eases her down into his embrace. It is definitely not all him. He tells himself he got her so wet and the delicious revenge is second to the satisfaction of her desiring him. She instinctively nestles against him, listening to his heart beat.
"Well?", she asks, almost somberly. Where were we? What was this? There is no reply, as she expected. She used to let it go but not anymore.
"I am not a mind read magician, a Jedi or whatever your Empire denies still exists. You have to tell me. Tell me. Tell me!". There is despair in her plea. He doesn't, but he caresses her. He seeks her bare skin. He tells himself he deserves the pleasure, and she thinks she deserves the pain of experimenting it. He is taking off her clothes before he realizes, his hands at her buttons, hating that he chose such complicated garments, unsure other women clothes are better though because he never had the occasion - sought out the occasion… He wishes he could reply something clever, cutting, something Krennic. This affair… No this arrangement with Galen. It was nothing. Years of nothing. Decades of nothing. Hatred and tears and kisses over nothing. He doesn't really believe that. The Grand Moff had been right for once, right in his assumption that Jyn would build him as much as she unmans him.
"Well". His voice is quite breathless. "It was worth getting injured just for this", he teases.
"No", she protests too quickly, then understands it was a joke. She finds just enough energy to crane her neck up and her eyes brim with tears when they meet his as if her soul is crying for both of them.
"Jyn", he suddenly says, and she fears he is delirious when he goes on. "Did he ever give you that stormtrooper doll I bought for you?".
"What?". Then she remembers. The gap between them, age the least significant of it. "Oh, yes. I didn't keep it for long", she adds sheepish. "Mom thought there was a tracking device inside". She says it as if Lyra is crazy. Maybe she is.
"She was right", he replies somberly. They had always fought for Galen, maybe more than for ideology. "So this is why…". This is why he couldn't track them down. Until he did. "When your father left…". He won't tell her he literally shouted for Galen in public. He won't tell her he broke his datapad, the one with dozens of blueprints and sacrosanct lists. He seems lost in a nightmare too, as she had been, somewhere between past and present. She puts an all-knowing hand on his shoulder.
"They would bicker about you. Even years after. Well, mostly…". Mostly mom. "She said you were jealous, that you were obsessed". Galen you're in his blood. "He defended you". Krennic sneers, refusing to believe. "He did! Until the very end, until it was impossible". She doesn't know why she feels the need to speak for her father. To comfort his jilted lover she has just fucked and gotten off.
"She won in the end", he complains, and she crushes an urge to hit him.
"You took everything from her". Her freedom, her dignity, her daughter. "And she doesn't know exactly how much". Lyra will never learn the details of their marriage. Never never please.
"She took Galen". He only then realizes who he is talking to. He sighs. He wishes he could be sorry, but guilt is not productive and doesn't make anyone feel good. "I never wanted all this. She threw herself at him, he was afraid to hurt her. He was never interested before he met her, he barely looked at a woman until...". She won't comment. Let him play victim. Perhaps the Director figures out it is low even for him to be discussing this with Galen's daughter that he forced into marriage. He falls into silence as some fall into despair. Jyn doesn't comment on the fact that for all his distaste for Lyra, he ended up willingly marrying and fucking Lyra's daughter. Maybe this is actually why he drops the subject.
"As you say", she states flat, no poison left to seep through her words. It is one step above a 'whatever'.
"We could have them for dinner one night". He must be delirious. Her gaze seeks him out and finds him apparently conscious. "Not too often", he warns, roughly. "If that would please you". Jyn has to think. It does please her, but she is afraid to face either of them for various reasons. But yes.
"It would. Please me". He doesn't comment on the awkwardness and she remembers his confessions about his parents, and more: what he didn't mention. She wonders if he will shame her, shame them, as on the holocalls, at the family table, open for me, sweetness. If they will share this strange domesticity she picked up when her father was literally in the middle of them.
A young couple hosting the in-laws, except the groom is allowed to decide everything and tried to kill at least one person he dines with, maybe two of them - threatened all three. He also fucked two of the people that would be present, and even ignoring the fact, this would be quite inappropriate an event. But Tarkin will not be there to glare.
"They will want to see you, both of them", he tries, unusually perceptive even for a man who lives on lies and high-level security. "Nothing in this… pitiful story, is your fault. I'll be there for you". The last sentence is slightly slurred, shaming him more than apparently everything else. This would have been enough to reduce her to tears once upon a time, now there is just dry relief. She has no idea he made a similar oath to her own father and might still be thinking he is being there for Galen. In another world, troopers shot Lyra dead, Galen refused to cooperate and she could have been Orson Krennic's ward. He has no idea how I feel. He has no idea I betrayed already.
"Maybe, you know". He resists an urge to tense. There it is. She is going to ask for some impossible favour. She will bring up her parents. She doesn't. She sounds young, much too young, for such power games. He finds it both utterly disturbing but also in the end, entirely expected, that a girl would develop some kind of obsession on him. He lives for that. He doesn't even fuck them, the girls, he just feeds off the fire he kindles in their soul and leaves them deadened. Yet this is more. If he could have remorse, if he could consider apologies, it would be now.
"Maybe, during the day, you could ask your assistant to send me a message just so I know you… everything is fine. He could just send one or two words?". He searches for the taunt or the joke, doesn't find it. She is vaguely hoping he will retire early, not resign, certainly not defect but… But. No way. Would it even be safe? His victims' loved ones would still wish him dead and she understands, because the very idea jolts her out of her reverie. There is more quiet despair than protective anger when she asks: "Why weren't you more careful? How I am supposed to ever sleep again?". She brings up a light hand adorned in heavy jewelry to his bruised arm. Now that he knows, now that she knows, she doesn't care to hide anymore. "You're not one of those men who dies for the cause". Once upon a time, it would have been a taunt, but it is a plea, as she feels him warm and alive against her, inside her, leaking.
What can he say and not lose himself forever? He wants to speak, for the first time. Words choke him. He didn't know it was a thing. Nevertheless there is no way he will tell her he managed to talk himself into fucking her only during the wedding ceremony. There is no way, but he whispers it. That he almost chickened out several times. That even when he decided he wanted to, he was unsure he could, at all. How she was wet and pulsing around his fingers when he figured he was hard enough and he should give it a try because it possibly wouldn't happen again. This was why he constantly taunted and insisted and didn't want to delay, ironically, more because of his reluctance than hers. She looks at him as if she doesn't know him, and maybe she doesn't though there is no one closer to doing so in the universe. Some cultures call it carnal knowledge, she heard, and now she understands.
He doesn't say it, but he remembers thinking the father had been his first, did he really want the daughter as his other kind of first time? He had felt her lips already, maybe he could just get her to relieve the tension, or forget about it entirely, forget her crying out in pleasure. But he went for it and now, he is not regretting it. He realizes she has to know. It works Jyn, I never thought it would. It looks like he confessed before she did and just only reinforced this certainty. He sighs, his hands on her breasts, not wanting her again yet but accepting a distinct possibility, now that he has tasted it.
"Why didn't you tell me?", she asks, desperate, "Why?". Her eyes shine like a thousand suns, like an image of beauty, like laser beams, like death coming for him.
"My Jyn". This doesn't sound like pure possession, like my droid or my servant; he all but begs her not to tread this path. This uncharted territory is scarier than the unknown regions. Every word, every gaze is a ticking time bomb. There is something physically preventing him from taking a full breath. He doesn't know it is terror. Jyn mistakes his silence for more.
"What are you doing?...", she mutters, anxious. He gives a breathy laugh.
"It is not what it looks like. It always looks worse… Actually when it does not, that is when to worry and…". Jyn interrupts the first year cadet speech with a harsher rub against his shoulder, bruised and tender. She wants to kiss it, to hurt him further. "Not dying, if that's the concern".
She rolls her eyes too dramatically. "As if I would care". He smiles gently now. He looked older when she first treated him but now there is an openness on his face that could only come from the pills or something unmentionable. Even getting him off isn't enough of an explanation. They married as enemies, hurt and hateful as only an embittered family friend can turn and rage and tear apart. They went to bed as a married pair, which does not mean much love-wise in the Empire except that she isn't supposed to physically fight him off -though she assumes it is a regular occurence. They would get up as lovers.
The Director stares into Jyn's eyes. Taking care of a pesky rebel is nothing compared to this internal inferno. He is the first to break eye contact, strikingly, his long and golden lashes fluttering once. She is sure he never averted his gaze shooting a blaster or blowing up a planet, she knows because she saw. There is a surge of anger and hatred at the memory. It doesn't wash away the previous emotions she felt for him. Jyn can sense he is afraid and it only makes sense in this situation. Jyn would be afraid too, maybe she is, but she has grown used to it, she has grown up with it. She doesn't force him to look at her. She holds him, caressing him slowly as if she never touched him before. "I am here. Nothing will happen to you", she breathes fierce. She doesn't know if she means to protect him from her people, from his own or from himself. I swore to kill him. What if I have to kill for him. She shouldn't even consider… She tries to summon up shame, regret, indifference even. She gives a silent sigh.This is Director Krennic. Force. Force forgive me. I can't like him, but I love him. I'm in love. With him.