Work Text:
“Change of course, captain. We’re going to the Kuat Orbital Shipyards.”
“Yes, sir.”
You cursed as your comm beeped, hitting your head accidentally in the cramped space you were currently wedged in. Before you could reach to your toolbelt and retrieve the offending piece of technology, it went mute again – only to start anew a few seconds later. “Kiss my asteroid, you nerf-herder,” you spat, trying to concentrate on your current task again.
“Hey, Y/N! Somebody’s looking for you!”
“Send whatever grease bucket it is away! They fucked up this poodoo real bad and I still need to fix half of it!” you called back. Your comm went off an umpteenth time. You finally reached for it, but it slipped from your greasy hands. “Kiss my asteroid three times over,” you huffed, wiggling your way out slowly while searching for the damn thing blindly.
Unable to hear the others’ scurrying footsteps, you couldn’t know that your workstation got deserted.
“That’s very unladylike,” a voice you knew too well purred behind you. “Although this particular asteroid in question seems rather nice from this angle. Even through the unflattering attire, might I add.”
You froze in the spot, craning your neck.
There were military-issued black boots right behind you, and a white cape swirling around them.
Gripping the edge of the compartment, you finally freed yourself. He watched you like a hawk, and you stayed lying at his feet ungracefully for quite a while, collecting the pieces of your brain that seemed to evacuate on the spot once hearing him. He looked both amused and disgusted at the same moment, his jaw working, his eyes taking in your stained self.
“Can you explain why you’re buried ankle-deep in a discarded hyperdrive core while obviously ignoring my calls, wife?” he almost spat, breaking the momentary silence.
“Not here,” you groaned, looking around before you scrambled into a vertical position. Grabbing a piece of cloth to somewhat clean your hands and the found comm device that had slipped from them, you motioned for him to follow you. Not really glancing back, the only confirmation that told you he did so was the sound of his steps right behind you rattling the grilling of the platform.
His Deathtroopers fell into step, flanking him on slightly wider corridors outside the maintenance workshop. Their radios constantly going off with electronically distorted feed unnerved you, and the few people that were unfortunate enough to cross your path were scurrying away in haste.
All but slapping the console at a certain point and leaving a stain on it, you invited him inside once the doors opened with a hiss.
“How did you –“
“You weren’t waiting for my arrival, as I instructed you to do specifically,” his voice was threatening while his pale blue eyes bore into you. At least he managed to berate you behind closed doors of your office.
“I have a work to do,” you threw your arms around, indicating that he was currently in your kingdom. “Surely someone of your capacity understands this.”
Krennic turned away from you. “You should have considered the offer from Sienar. They are severely lacking someone with your talents,” he eyed the holoprojection if Imperial-class Star Destroyer with your calculations on its core efficiency. “I thought you were working on smaller spacecraft,” he frowned, turning back to you. “I like your starfighter design more than the current TIEs they produce, even though your proposal for a scaled-down version of hyperdrive to accompany it is a bit… over the current possibilities.”
Stopping at a sink in a corner to clean yourself, you snorted. “I’m only tuning the hyperdrive stats for these behemoths.”
“And tweaking with one in that hangar. Still, a waste of time for you, Y/N.” His tone softened.
“Scaling that design down for a comfortable use in starfigters is impossible with the materials used for construction, and I don’t have many alternatives left with the Empire strip-mining the worlds of their mineral deposits. Those end up elsewhere. For now, I’m quite content with my current situation, Orson. My work for both the KDY and Kuat Systems Engineering meets my needs.”
“You can always work for me,” he smirked.
“That would end in a catastrophe with cataclysmic consequences, and we both know it.” Without thinking twice, you shrugged out of the greased coveralls. Standing in front of him in just your undergarments didn’t bother you in the slightest – he had seen you in much less –, and you kicked the stained heap of fabric with your feet carefully before reaching for clean set of clothes.
He drank you in, frowning at a few bacta patches covering your recent injuries, before your KDY uniform concealed you from his hungry gaze.
An entry request chimed, and you skirted around him to reach the door again. “Kriff off, I’m busy!” you shouted, activating the ‘do not disturb’ indicator.
“Your work ethics is admirable,” Krennic smirked.
“My work ethics? You mean not intimidating my underlings? By now, they’ve probably pissed themselves at the sight of your two puppets wrapped in black plastoid,” you grumbled, making a beeline towards your desk overflowing with piles of files, scattered calculations and such. Before you could pass by him, his pristine uniform creating a stark contrast to your chaos, his arm lashed out.
“Fear is a great tool,” he brought you to himself with one forceful tug. You collided with his broad chest. “You can achieve great things when people are intimidated by your mere presence,” he muttered into the crown of your head. “You can bend them to your will, do your bidding, serve you. Unlock their full potential.”
“Like you’ve done to me?” you jabbed at him.
“You are special, Y/N,” he smiled wolfishly. “You have been able to keep your freedom – to a certain extent, of course. Without me, you would be no one.”
His words stung, even after the years. Nevertheless, you let him shuffle you towards the desk, submitting to his demand automatically. Once there, he let you know why he had sought you – as the expanse of his body was pressing you into the edge of the furniture, his cologne and faint whiff of musk engulfing you, you felt his groin stirring at your proximity. Attacking your lips, he initiated a battle to assert his dominance over you. Too soon he started rutting against your thigh in search of momentary relief, and you widened your stance just to let him in between your outstretched legs. Your body craved him being physically close, singing in tune to the gentlest of his petting touches.
For him, though, it wasn’t simply enough. With a careless sweep of his hand, you winced at the sound of your meticulously hoarded treasures tumbling to the floor. Your husband wouldn’t grant you a moment to protest – you yelped, suddenly losing purchase in the ground as he lifted you onto the cleared edge. When Krennic nested himself firmly in his rightful place, buckling directly against your core and swallowing the keening sounds that were flowing past your lips, only then he was satisfied.
It served the beast inside him for long enough to contemplate his next course of action, however.
All but tearing the sealing strip of your jacket open, he again glimpsed the simple camisole supporting your chest. Large hand bound in black leather resting at the base of your neck, fingers just below your pulse point, he shoved your torso down. You winced when the hard edges of whatever had been left on the desk dug into your back, hitting the fresh injury just above your hip hastily covered with a bacta patch instead of a proper treatment at the medical centre.
“Comfortable?” he asked mockingly.
“Not really,” you hissed, wiggling a bit to adjust your position, “but I can’t really complain when it comes to you, Orson, can I?”
With his other hand, he tossed the openings of your jacket aside. “Depends,” he mused.
“But you have every right to claim what’s yours. In the end, I signed it willingly.”
“Precisely.” Amusement flashed in his eyes. and he started dragging his hand from your throat over your breasts, fondling each briefly over the plain material. Then his fingers traversed your navel, coming torturously close to the place where kindling sensation started a fire. Opening the front of your slacks, he then traced the hem of your rather utilitarian underwear, humming in thought. “You could at least make an effort and wear something nicer for me.” At this point, he was just toying with you.
The feeling of his gloves was making things impersonal to a degree, and you would prefer different circumstances, completely oblivious to his devious plan.
Grabbing your spread thighs, he slid you down the table until your clothed core collided with him, and you dragged yourself eagerly along his throbbing length straining against its confines. “You minx,” he rasped, his breath hitching in his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped.
“Is there a problem, director?” you asked innocently, biting at your finger.
With one fluid motion, he yanked both your trousers and knickers down, and you toed off your unlaced shoes dangling in the air awkwardly – only one trouser leg came off completely before he assumed his position. You watched him palming himself, biting on the tip of his glove to take it off. Once it was his bare hand that landed on your thigh, a jolt of electricity traversed through you. He noticed. “Impatient, my love?” he arched a brow at you.
“I’m not the one sporting the massive hard-on here, Director Krennic,” you snarked back.
“Perhaps not,” he smirked, squeezing himself through his black pants. “But,” his fingers probed around your entrance until your hips buckled, seeking more friction, “I somehow doubt that it was tweaking that scrapheap what made you so wet.” Without further preamble, he shoved two fingers in, struggling with the resistance a bit. Pumping them in and out a few times, he then showed you his prize glistening in the low light of your office, smirking triumphantly.
You huffed as he returned to his ministrations, scissoring you and letting you ride his hand at your own pace. Squeezing your eyes shut for a split second, you gathered yourself enough for your next intended words to be coherent. But the moment you were ready to voice them, he robbed you of the privilege by curling his index finger against the most sensitive part of your cunt – you could only arch your back off the surface, moaning in pleasure.
The other glove disappeared, the sound of his fly opening making you snap your eyes open again. Retrieving his hand from your adequately drenched pussy, he guided himself inside with a groan.
“Oh, kriff!” you exclaimed breathlessly.
He fixed you with a ravenous look, as if devouring the feast in front of him in a single bite. As he stilled, sheathed inside your warmth, his bare hands wormed their way underneath the camisole, making the material ride up your torso as they sought those delicious mounds concealed within. “We should do something about that dirty mouth of yours, hmm?” he gave you a lopsided grin.
“Like?”
Under different circumstances, he would have shoved his cock into your mouth and gladly fuck down your throat, but today it was your cunt he had come chasing after. He glanced around for a moment before he dangled one of his discarded gloves in front of your face, instructing you to bite into it to muffle your sounds with this makeshift gag. “I would love to tie you up, but your office seems lacking the means for me to do so,” he murmured, caressing your chin fondly.
If your glare could throw daggers, he would be dead on the spot.
On the other hand, his remark made you even wetter – if that was actually possible. He smirked at the revelation, teasing you with shallow thrusts. His grip on your thighs hardened as he arranged you to his liking. “Now, dear wife, hold on tight,” he whispered, the only warning you got prior to –
Oh, Maker.
Your arms flailed around in a mad search for a purchase; one eventually latching onto the edge of the desk beside your naked bum. The other couldn’t simply reach it over the clutter.
The power behind his movement seriously rattled the table that had been bolted to the floor as a safety precaution – in a rare case of artificial gravity generator malfunctioning, nobody wanted the heavy furniture to float around. Your jaw went slack, eyeballs rolling into your head, and the moan reverberated through the space, even though there was that damned glove in its path.
Krennic increased his pace, grunting with the effort of fucking you thoroughly.
In your own office.
You wouldn’t be able to look at it with cool indifference anytime soon.
Tension built at the pit of your stomach quickly, with the coil of your pleasure snapping abruptly. Your orgasm surged through your body violently, running down your spine and further into your toes, leaving your thighs trembling in Orson’s hands. You would swear the intensity of it made you see stars being born in some distant nebula.
The evidence of your peak reached coated him liberally, and he chuckled at the sight in between his groans coaxed from his chest with each contraction massaging his cock. He didn’t last, burying himself as deep as he could go and collapsing on your heaving breasts for a moment as he spilled liberally.
You couldn’t get enough oxygen into your lungs, and you spat the glove out weakly.
Eventually, he slipped out of your cunt, and as he was coming to, he left a soft kiss burnishing the sweaty skin between your breasts.
“That wasn’t hard now, was it,” he murmured, cradling your face. “Although next time, I would suggest more comfortable setting.”
You gave him a weak nod, gulping, while he stepped back to admire the debauchery between your legs and wiped it gently with a handkerchief. Nevertheless, you jolted at the contact of it with your oversensitive area, even though the sensation of his seed slipping out of you was soon gone – or at least the excess of it that had leaked out already.
Helping you down from the desk, he grinned at your knees buckling under your own weight – he couldn’t help himself, smooth motherkriffer that he was. “My my, you’re pretty like this,” he teased you, enjoying the fact that he had made you speechless for a moment. Then his expression hardened, and you froze on the spot, unsure why his anger should be targeting you now.
He was not looking at you directly, though. Instead, his eyes were fixed at something behind you, and you followed his stare uncomprehendingly.
There was a smear of blood where you had laid.
“You need a fresh bacta patch,” he hummed, the storm in his pale eyes passing.
“Uh… there should be some in the first aid kit.”
Krennic was quicker, taking the kit from its storage beside the sink and bringing it back to the table. When he opened the box and started rummaging through it, you tried to assure him that you could tend to it alone.
“Nonsense,” he snorted, pushing you gently to turn your back to him. He tore down the soaked bacta patch without warning, and you bit your tongue hard not to yowl with pain. He then dug his fingers around the wound, the area bruised badly, inspecting it, disinfectant in hand. “You need to see a medic, get a proper treatment, Y/N.” The tone of his voice was not scolding.
“I will,” you muttered.
“I know you will, I’m dragging you to the medical ward personally, I just need to patch it first, so you don’t bleed out on our way there.”
“W-what?”
“You heard me, wife. It’s not up for discussion,” he grumbled. “Seriously, it looks like you’ve sold your kidney, and it will very likely leave an ugly scar –“
“I didn’t sell my kidney, Orson!” you started turning towards him, hissing like a pissed-off loth-cat, but his firm grip stopped you. You could only slump against the table’s surface. “It was a kriffing accident, I didn’t plan to impale myself on a loose hull plating.”
“You WHAT?!”
“It was just a SCRATCH, Orson!”
“A scratch? I could stick my finger in it and it would swallow it WHOLE!” he seethed. “I’m impressed you can actually stand, let alone walk with this.” He put a fresh bacta patch in place before continuing berating you. “If it was up to me, I would drown you in a bacta tank, you foolish woman!”
“Before or after you fuck me brainless?” turning your face to him, you furrowed your eyebrows in irritation.
“Don’t tempt me.”