clarabeca

[perfecttimemachinestranger]

Scritches, part 4

Part I  Part II Part III 

Summary: Even fearsome demonic beings need to enjoy a few simple pleasures in (after-)life. For Krennic, one of them is scritches. (1950 words, sfw fluff)

Characters: Angel!Krennic, Demon!Lyste, Demon Squad Anon

 For some background, or simply more of the ‘charming’ Angel!Krennic, see @imperialgradients’ Necroholocron!AU masterpost

You awoke to the sound of a blood-chilling scream. Director Krennic was standing in front of you and Lyste, with his arms raised and his fingers bent, showing off his claws in a classic monster pose. His wings were standing right out and demonic hissy growl came from his throat. The reason for this display, the crewmember your bunk had been reassigned to, cast a panicked glance at him and ran.

“There,” he declared contentedly, slapping imagined dust off his hands as he folded his wings. “That commoner dared attempt to touch you.”

“Oh no,” you groaned. The poor woman had probably just wanted to help by making sure you didn’t fall asleep at your post. “Please don’t do such things! She’ll fetch someone higher up and I’ll be in so much trouble.”

“Whatever deplorable reinforcements she may muster will not encounter you here. Up!”

You scrambled to your feet, standing to attention with the broom at your side. Little Lyste opened one beady eye, then yawned and went back to sleep on top of your uniform tunic.

“You will accompany me,” Krennic stated after a casual inspection that involved correcting your pose and straightening your cap. The lack of tunic went without comment.

He looked pleased, and even hummed a little as he started walking. You followed him, three steps behind, which treated you to a fascinating view of not only his flowing cape, but his wings. They were erect, further accenting the director’s elated mood. “May I ask where we’re going, sir?”

“You may.”

“Where?”

“Officers’ mess in section 1445.”

“Pardon me, sir, but I’m not allowed in there.”

“As my escort, you are.”

To your surprise, you weren’t only allowed to take up post just inside the door, but mostly left alone in spite of the ridiculous broom and your incomplete uniform. You were even offered a delicious soft drink by a cadet, whom you highly suspicioned was a fellow member of the demon squad.

The director was in his true element. He drank with everyone, and there were many offers. He made a striking figure and was in an animated mood, always the centre of attention in any group he found himself in. Studying him, you really got it – it had indeed been silly of you to imagine this being having any need of help from you.

Suddenly you saw him veering away from his present company with a glass of dark wine in his hand. “Try this,” he told you in an almost friendly manner. “It’s an interesting vintage.”

“Sir, I shouldn’t, if I’m to be useful to you.”

“Taste it,” he said and curled his lip, showing off a perfect fang. “The corpse may have decided to poison me.”

Even the small sip made you cough and sputter, aghast that the Governor would resort to such methods. “You’re right! It tastes awful!”

“Slightly metallic, with a note of tar?”

You nodded. “Do you know this poison?”

“I am very familiar with it.” He took the glass back and took a sip, then licked his lips. “A delicious vintage. Completely wasted on the untrained palate.”

Being untrained in this sense suited you perfectly, but it was not to be.

“Now this,” said the director. At a lift of his chin and a tilt of his head, the bartender handed him a glass of liquid amber.

Your tongue curled already at the mention, anticipating the burnt, bitter taste of brandy, but when Krennic’s gloved hand put the glass to your lips, you opened your mouth and drank. Mercifully, one sip was enough to satisfy him. Your throat burned, but pleasant warmth was gathering in your belly and you were beginning to feel just a little bit dizzy. Straightening your back, you took a harder grip around the broom stick. “It’s okay,” you reported. “Not tampered with as far as I can tell. Sir!”

“The cadaver is growing lax. How disappointing.” He took a healthy swig of the brandy, closed his eyes in bliss as he seemed to swirl it around in his mouth, and then turned back to his companions.

During the evening, your thoughts wandered between watching the director with fascination and wishing you were one in his merry company of officers, and staring at the far wall or the ceiling and hoping he’d like to go somewhere else soon. Even if somewhere else was just a deserted corridor with a hard floor.

Then, suddenly, the people in the room parted and an enraged Krennic came striding towards you with clenched fists and flitting wings. Your heart was near stopping.

He was beautiful in that moment, terrible and all-consuming, as if the impending impact would inevitably terminate you and you would be glad for it. Then, a fraction of a second before he bore down upon you, darkness lifted from his gaze and he smiled. It was a tiny thing, just the ghost of a smile, but it was enough. The moment he crashed into you, you were not afraid. You were pressed against the wall, and then you had a little more space, but his hands held your head in a vice-like grip and he bent his neck, and his lips –

The kiss lasted only for a moment and it left you breathless, as if he had sucked all energy out of you.

“Why?” You couldn’t help asking, your voice an astonished whisper. “Why did you do that?”

He waved his hand dismissively towards the room and now you were suddenly aware of the cheering around you. “They… they dared que-question my au- whatever. I need a drink.” As if having second thoughts, he turned around, pinned you with his gaze and slurred, “You din-nt mind.” Turning back again, he shouted for more drinks.

You groaned. Once the tasting duty was over, you had begun to sober up, while Krennic was by now unsteady on his feet. Still, it was true. You hadn’t minded that weird kiss the slightest. Even considering his fangs, and knowing he had only done it because he was drunk and riled up by some stupid bet. You sniffed the air. The potent scent of his cologne seemed to linger where he had touched you. A scent of credits and class it was, far beyond your level.

Later, as the crowd thinned out, the director’s companions leaving or falling asleep in a drunken stupor, your desire to do either of those became stronger. Krennic eventually lifted his head from the counter, looked around dazedly and then staggered to you. He put a hand on the wall for support, then lifted his head and breathed alcoholic fumes into your face before he spoke.

“I’ll... I’ll tell you something.”

“Yes, of course.”

“This-s very ‘mportant.”

“Okay.”

“You,” he said, pressing a sharp claw into your chest while he fixed his strange eyes on you, “you have no idea what they call the skeleton’s office.”

“No, sir.” You had a pretty good idea, actually.

“The Grand Moffice!” He burst out laughing, fluttering his wings and slapping his thighs, thankfully in no state to notice your lack of reaction. Nor did he appear to be in a state to rise on his own accord. You leaned forward and put your right arm around his waist, while he flung his left over your shoulders.

“Take me home,” he declared imperiously, then snickered. “No moffice today… today… eh.”

Half-dragging the drunk director to his quarters was an exhilarating task that only succeeded thanks to a petty officer who saw your predicament and came to your aid. She also happened to know the exact location of Krennic’s room, much needed knowledge as the demon himself, when asked for direction, often couldn’t be bothered even to open his eyes.

The director’s quarters were impressive. So much space, and huge viewports in every room. The design was simple, and furnishing much more minimalistic than you’d think would be his taste. There appeared to be no personal items, and very little in the way of belongings at all. The impression was almost of a place raided, but perhaps Krennic just care much about owning things, at least not in this form. The dust that covered most surfaces seemed to confirm this.

His bed was luxurious beyond imagination, broad enough for three people at least, and when you carefully deposited your burden on it, it didn’t creak, but gave way smoothly. You sat down in an effort to arrange the already half-sleeping director’s limbs more comfortably, and felt how your own exhaustion engulfed you. If only you could stay!

“Undress me,” came a haughty command given in a surprisingly clear voice. “I won’t sleep in boots.”

As soon as you had pulled them off, the next order came.

“Cape.”

You took the garment and reverently put it over a chair, recalling with fondness what an excellent blanket it made. Next went tunic, socks and trousers, until Krennic was dressed only in boxers. The old blaster scar on his shoulder was nothing you hadn’t seen the likes of already, but the inverted cross shaped scar on his front chilled you to the bone. It was just a thin line, but there was something malicious about it. It just had to be from when he was made into a demon. A sudden feeling of affection came over you, a strong wish to protect him, whether he needed it or not.

A loud snore interrupted your thoughts.

Asleep on his belly, Krennic looked innocent like a child. You stroked his hair fondly, something he’d seldom let you do when awake, then gave him a couple of long, deep scritches between his wings.  You wondered if being a demon felt very different from having a human body. Perhaps you could ask him in the morning, unless it would be considered rude. Maybe demons didn’t care to talk about their previous lives.

With so much space available, you decided to ignore the voice inside your head that said your place was outside. You lay down but sleep wouldn’t come. You shouldn’t be there. With a sigh, you rose from the bed and went to the door. Wait, what was that? A purring sound, familiar by now.

“Lyste? Are you here?”

A soft shape touched you and you jumped. The purr was interrupted by peals of laughter. Shaking your head fondly, you set out for the main door again, only to find it blocked by the smaller demon.

“Let me out,” you whispered. “Please! I shouldn’t be here.”

Nothing helped. Small form aside, Lyste was strong and you found yourself physically unable to get past him. It didn’t exactly help that he behaved as if your struggle was only for fun.

“Okay,” you finally told him. “I give up. I get it. You want me to stay, but for what reason I can’t imagine. I need sleep so badly.”

Lyste whimpered and his ears drooped adorably. Then he pointed towards Krennic’s bedroom.

“In there? You can’t be serious.”

Lyste clenched his jaw and crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking very serious indeed.

“Okay, okay.” You tiptoed back, and found the larger demon sleeping like before. The bed was so spacious; your presence couldn’t possibly disturb him.

Lyste pulled insistently at your trousers, then your shirt. Off with them. Yes. At this point, you’d do anything for a chance to get some sleep. A final glance at the smaller demon confirmed that this was what you must do. With a sigh of pleasure, you lay down, flat on your back, too sleepy to think about protesting. You felt rather than saw the blanket being placed over you. Then, sweet, heavenly darkness.

[perfecttimemachinestranger]

Scritches, Part 3

Part I   Part II   Part III

Summary: Even fearsome demonic beings need to enjoy a few simple pleasures in (after-)life. For Krennic, one of them is scritches. (1933 words, sfw fluff)

Characters: Angel!Krennic, Demon!Lyste, Grand Moff Tarkin, Demon Squad Anon

For some background, or simply more of the ‘charming’ Angel!Krennic, see @imperialgradients Necroholocron!AU masterpost

The illustration is a commission I was lucky to get from @nspamc who isn’t just a talented artist, but apparently a mind reader as well (omg! just what I imagined! it’s so perfect!)

When you came to your quarters, with nearly an hour left before you had to report for duty, the door refused to slide open. Nothing you did would open it. Cursing the faulty programming, you resolved to knocking. With a bit of luck, someone would be inside and you’d still get a much-needed nap.

 The door opened and an unfamiliar face became visible.

 “Ah, you must be the one I’m replacing,” the young woman said. “These quarters have been reassigned, didn’t you know? Anyway, I’ve packed your things in here.” She indicated a box underneath your – her – bunk. “You can pick it up later. I’m to tell you that you have a meeting in the Grand Moffice. Sorry.”

“Don’t say that. It’s disrespectful.” This reply was a purely automatic reaction. Your next one was manners and training cutting through shock. “At what time is this meeting?” You managed to sound polite and only a little shaky.

“In fifteen minutes. Sorry to bring the bad news.”

“It’s not your fault.” She smiled at that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to reciprocate.

Fear now held you in its grip. You couldn’t think of anything you’d done wrong, but that was small comfort. These days, it didn’t take much to be a traitor. The mere thought that this was how the great man, your idol, would see you was enough to bring tears of shame to your eyes. You never counted on being noticed by the Grand Moff at all, but to be called to him like this? Who knew if you’d even return? Maybe Lord Vader would be there, and you’d be executed on the spot, after having been made to confess whatever lies they wanted to frame you for. You might even just be a scape-goat, unimportant enough to be sacrificed for someone else’s mistakes.

Waiting to be let into the legendary man’s office, you tried to collect yourself. Even if he thought badly of you, you would be brave, and, if it came to that, meet your fate with dignity.

“Enter.”

You did so on shaky legs, willing yourself to meet the Grand Moff’s steely gaze, if with great effort. He spared you only a fleeting glance, before turning his head towards the figure in white kneeling by his side. Director Krennic looked extremely uncomfortable. He twitched as if he was trying to get up, even seemed to hover a little. Tarkin’s withering glare made him crash, his knees hitting the floor with a thump. He was clearly furious now, colour rising to his face.

“So,” Tarkin said, leaning forward over the desk and stapling his fingers, “this is the ensign that thinks me unable of handling my own creation.”

As painful as it was to be on the receiving end of your highest commander’s disdain, you felt relieved. This was not about alleged treason after all. “No, sir,” you replied, “I –“

“Quiet. You have facilitated my demon's lazy behaviour.”

Had you? That’s not how you thought about it. “I - I can explain, sir.”

“Can you?” He quirked an elegant eyebrow. “Regardless of any explanation you wish to offer, you have neglected your duties in favour of catering to said creature's whims.”

“Governor, sir, I’ve only ever used my spare time, I promise. Please believe me.”

“Be that as it may, what have you done to my demon? The creature refuses to state the precise nature of your ministrations.”

“It's just scritches, sir.”

This time, both eyebrows lifted, and for a moment the grey eyes that met yours stared blankly, before determination was back. “Demonstrate.”

The great man nodded and you cautiously approached the kneeling demon. Krennic’s arms were behind his back, but you couldn’t tell if he was restrained or only instructed to keep them that way. He might very well bite, that's how angered he looked.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered and tentatively dragged your hand through Krennic’s hair, down behind his ear to his neck. At first, his jaw twitched and you reared back, but moving your fingers seemed to make both of you relax, and after a while his cheek was leaned against your forearm.

You slid your gaze sideways and saw Tarkin watching with his head tilted. His expression was inscrutable. Encouraged, you began petting Krennic’s neck with your other hand, rather demonstratively. You both deserved a moment of joy.

“Enough.” It was an order and you stopped immediately, letting your hands fall to your sides with an apologetic glance at Krennic.

“I see,” Tarkin said. “This may be useful for increased productivity. In limited doses. And there will be no public displays of such behaviour.”

“Of course, sir.” This was going quite well.

Tarkin held up a warning digit.

“Since you enjoy meddling in the affairs of your superiors, you are now responsible for my demon doing his work.” He crooked his finger and Admiral Motti stepped forward, wretched broom in hand. “You will carry this with you,” Tarkin continued, “and whenever you encounter Krennic loitering, you will use it.” His voice had taken on a steely tone, one that it took all your courage to question.

“But, sir, scritches will do fine. I’m sure -”

One glare from the Grand Moff made you want to kneel for him, too.

“Thank you, sir, I will use the broom.” Any other response was out of the question.

You left the Tarkin’s office without another glance at Krennic. The feeling of relief for being alive quickly transformed into one of shame. Not only were you disgraced in the eyes of your superiors, but you had caused suffering for the being you had wanted to help. Disheartened was how you felt, and very expendable.

Dragging your feet behind you, you returned to your quarters, remembering only just before you arrived that you were no longer staying there. In fact, you weren’t staying anywhere, which was apparently someone’s idea of a fitting punishment for showing disrespect for your superiors’ organisation of matters by offering housing for a being in need. Now it was your turn to roam the corridors in search for an abandoned area where you could rest for a few hours. Maybe, tomorrow, you could start looking for someone with opposite shifts from yours, perhaps trade some favours… unless that would put them in trouble as well. Perhaps the best course of action would be to just wait it out. And do your best with the damned broom. Prove that you could be trusted.

You wandered listlessly until it was time to report to your workstation, skulked along the walls and tried not to be noticed. Thankfully, your colleagues reacted with understanding rather than ridicule, and one even suggested that the broom duty could be seen as a sign of the trust the high command put in you. You knew better, but them seeing it as an honour helped slightly. It wasn’t like you could make the hateful thing invisible anyway.

Work done, dinner over, you resumed your shameful patrolling of the areas where you had previously seen the director. Now, there was no sign of him, but the sight of a smaller, cuter, demon gave hope.   “Where is he, Lyste? Do you know?”

The small demon hugged his slipper closer, a blissful expression on his little face.

“He protects you, doesn’t he?” This was answered with a purring sound. “Then, can’t you show me? I’m not going to do anything bad to him. It’s just that I have to –” you sighed “– I have to try and do my duty. You understand about that, yes? They say were a lieutenant once.”

He frowned and you couldn’t resist scratching the base of his horns a little.

“Okay, you prefer this form? But think about Commander Eli, then. You want to do what he says, right?”

A moment of hesitation, then a nod and vigorous tail-wagging.

“That’s what it’s like for me, too. Not that I precisely want to, all the time, plus I have to take orders from people even if I don’t like them, but still?”

Another nod, and a friendly but very blank stare.

“So why don’t you want to show me where he is?”

The demon tilted his head and gently dragged a set of small, but very sharp claws along your tunic.

“Stop that! It’s imperial property!”

He did it again, gentler now and with a high-pitched, pitiful sound that was clearly some sort of question.

“You want it?”

He sat back onto the floor and patted the area beside him. He really was too adorable to get mad at. You removed your tunic and spread it on the floor. Lyste curled up on it, hugged his slipper and shut his eyes. You stood guard beside him for a short while, torn between wishing Lyste would wake up and help you find Krennic, and wanting to lie down beside him for that long overdue nap. Settling for the golden middle, you slid down and sat on the floor with your arms around your knees.

The familiar sound of boots against durasteel woke you from your slumber. Rhythmic steps, striding confidently although lacking in energy. An officer no doubt, and possibly one in a bad mood. You needed to get up, but as the officer came into view, your foggy mind hadn’t gotten any further than thinking about it.

It was Director Krennic. Relief washed over you, efficiently replacing the anger and frustration from before. You had been tasked with shadowing him and now you could fulfil your duty.

“Satisfactory,” he remarked, glancing from the sleeping Lyste to you. His gaze then went to the broom, and with a vicious kick of shiny black boot he sent it rattling across the floor. You scrambled to your feet, but a hiss stopped you. “Don’t.”

Okay. You would still have to pick it up before anybody noticed the mess, but not with an upset demon watching.

Krennic looked exhausted, apparently having exerted the last of his energy reserve by taking out some frustration on the broom, and now he laid down on his side beside Lyste with his arm under his head and his cape like a blanket. His wings were neatly folded. The demons looked so peaceful together; how could you wake the director now?

Not even thoughts of Governor Tarkin could call you to action, and maybe, just maybe, Krennic’s duties for the day were over, just like yours? You did not dare ask him, but the idea made it a little easier to relax. Sitting like that was still uncomfortable, though, and even chilly without your tunic. You sighed and hugged your knees tighter.

In the corner of your eye, you saw a flash of white – Krennic raising a flap of his cape.

“You will warm my back,” he stated imperiously while holding up the fabric. You slowly edged closer. Did he really mean – ?”

“Now.”

You cautiously laid down behind him, as close as you dared. The cape was a bit awkward, but when you moved a bit lower, it covered enough of you. Krennic’s back felt pleasantly warm against your front, too. He didn’t protest when you snuggled closer and pressed your nose into his tunic, nor when you put your arm around him. If anything, he seemed to enjoy it; he pushed back against you, if ever so slightly. You could sleep like this, even on the floor.

“Thank you,” you whispered, half-asleep already.

“Sleep,” came the somewhat groggy answer. “Your inferior body requires rest or you will be of little service to me later.”

Acid remark aside, simply holding him felt divine.