“I’m going to have to punish you.”
“Are you?” She never could get her tone submissive enough, always defiance first. But then he sort of likes that. A glint of amusement and he indicates the chair. “Over there. Go sit down.”
“What, and am I not allowed to move or something?” Jyn tosses over her shoulder, sassy to the end.
“No, you can move,” he says mildly, leaning against the desk all neatly arranged with the bureaucratic paraphernalia of running an Imperial Army. She sits down, ankles apart, square shoulders and hunched over because she’s having a loutish day rather than coy. There’s that glint again. “Undo your trousers.”
Her breath catches. But he won’t continue until she obeys. He’s maddening like that. So she shoves back in the chair, aware that she’s slightly excited by this, and unbuckles her belt, unzips the fly.
He’s adjusting the cuff of one glove, focuses there for two, three seconds before his attention flicks back to her. Cool blue grey eyes and that slim serious line of his mouth. “Go on.”
“Go on what?” she says roughly.
He puts his hands down to lean on the edge of the desk behind him. “You’re going to touch yourself. Make yourself come.”
This really doesn’t sound like a punishment. But wary as she is, god yes, this is absolutely something she can do. And so much the better with him watching.
She slides the fingers of one hand under the thin fabric of her underwear, watching his eyes track her. Look at him there, all pristine and neat in his stupid white uniform and his gleaming dark boots, looking so fastidious and superior. But he is the reason her fingertips slide into curls across her sex. He’s the one who said no more shaving. One more secret between them. She grins a little at him, enjoying the feel of impossibly smooth secret skin between catches of hair, and his mouth quirks a little in response. He knows, oh yes. He sees it on her face when her fingers find the warm damp furrow of her cunt. Now she really wants it, needs to get off.
She pushes the underwear and trousers down, boots still on but that’s all right. As long as she can spread her legs enough to rub the palm of her hand right down against her vulva, enough that he can see the pale insides of her thighs and the shock of dark pubic hair and secret pink flesh.
“Open yourself up,” he says, a slight edge to his voice. Secretly delighted, Jyn slides two fingers down to part the folds over her sex. How she loves this bit, the cool brush of air on hot flesh, the sudden realisation of being so very exposed in a wide open room. He’s looking at her cunt now, gloved fingers tight on the edge of the desk, breathing just that little too fast. And this was supposed to be her punishment?
No, it’s far too much fun. She strokes herself open, strokes herself wet, the scent rising off her fingers, watching him as she does it, utterly brazen. Her skin gets so hot inside her top, nipples tight, the heat climbing up into her face. She knows what she looks like, fine hair smudged dark against her pale cheekbones, and the mouth he loves to fuck with his fingers and his cock, her mouth open and rosy, tip of her tongue against the two prominent teeth she hates but he loves. She makes it a spectacle as much for herself as for him, twisting back against the chair, both hands now, one plucking at her clit and two fingers of the other coaxing wet and wet and open. She gets on that slide up, heart fast, moans and gasps, half hearing herself and beyond caring at all because she’s so close, so close, all fire and sensation and wanting wanting --
Jyn goggles at Krennic. “What?”
“That’s enough,” he says, entirely too fucking composed and amused. He’s beginning to look diabolical to her outraged eyes. “You’re going to stop now,” Krennic says coolly. “Leave. And don’t even think about touching yourself again until I say so.”
She chokes on the impulse to hurt him. And yet that magnificent bastard.
“You complete jerk,” she mutters, pulling up her clothes. Half agony, half admiration. He goes around to the other side of his desk. She knows he has to be hard, she knows just how fast he gets up and how long it takes for him to come down. She also knows he utterly hates to get himself off, that he much prefers her hand, her breasts or her mouth.
“You’re sure?” she asks, finding her coyness now as she stands and sends him the look that nearly always works. His mouth curves, that deep fond amusement in his eyes. “You’re forgetting,” he says. “This is not about me. You need to think about what you did.”
“Oh fuck that,” Jyn exclaims, starting towards him. He raises a brow at her and she stops in her tracks. Oh, the Imperial officious scorn.
“Fuck that anyway.”
He laughs, picking up a holopad from the desk. “You’re a terrible sub. Go away now, I don’t have time to discipline you any further.”
“I hate you,” she snarls, heading for the door.
“Yes, well.” Just before the door slides shut, she hears: “That was the idea.”
The next day she fucks up again and he makes her do it again and stops her again. She throws her boot at him which only makes him laugh and not speak to her for the rest of the day. He really is diabolical like that. It’s not enough for him to just be cold and forbidding. No, he has to confuse her with warmth and humour. It’s not fair, she hates it and my god, she loves it too.
A week of this. She decides to sleep in the Death Trooper quarters just to punish him back. No cuddling together, no reading to each other before bedtime, nothing at all. It should be some comfort to know he hasn’t gotten off either but it isn’t. She wants to scream, wants to climb the walls. No, better still, she wants to climb him, knock him down, and fuck his smug mischievous face. Then she catches herself fantasising about that, of trapping his head between her thighs, and that makes it even worse.
Then she really fucks up and hurts a Death Trooper in training. It’s a flesh wound, nothing too serious, but protocol has been breached and she’s summoned to his office. Once he assures himself that it really was just a minor thing and that she’s not slacking on the job, he fixes her with an unsmiling intense look. “You know what happens now.”
This time he’s not amused at all. And this time she gets to that edge so much faster. He says, “Stop” and she, naked from the waist down, pretends not to hear him, arching and crying out, faking it so very loud and obscene. He’s across to her in a shot, dragging her bodily out of the chair. She’s flung facedown on the desk, holopads and instruments clattering to the floor, gasping as her bare legs are kicked apart, and he rams his cock hard up into her. “Fuck, fuck,” he’s snarling into her ear, “fuck your disobedient little cunt. You don’t defy me, ever, ever,” pounding into her with each bitten out word. “Ever, ever.” She’s gasping with laughter, so utterly happy and triumphant with it, holding onto the edges of the desk as he holds her down with a gloved hand in her hair and the other hard on her hip. The undone clasp of his belt is scraping her flesh, hitting her bottom every time he drives into her, painful bright painful good. She angles her hips up so the head of his cock gets her sweet spot, once, twice, three times, and then she really is coming, in rushes of wild sensation and so much heat, so much heat of his voice and his breath and his utter lovely rage.
They call him volatile but really she knows exactly how to trigger him. A little while later, he pulls himself off her and collapses into his chair with a groan. Jyn glances up and then decides to crawl across the desk and into his lap. He accepts her with a grumble, nuzzling her hair. “You’re terrible at this,” he murmurs.
“Am I?” she says, serene as she begins to undo his sleek white coat.
“This relationship is supposed to proceed along certain lines if it’s meant to be --”
“Oh, shush.” She kisses him, all soft lips in the afterglow. It’s not meant to be anything and he knows that just as well. They’re a beautiful chaotic anomaly, he told her that once in the dark twilight hours of their bed, and she’s always loved the sound of it. Now he holds her close, stroking her naked thighs and kissing her mouth in small fluttery kisses as they both come down, thundering hearts slowing to something like peace. She strokes his rumpled hair off his brow, touches his lips between kisses. If they’re smiling stupidly at each other, there’s no one else to see it.
After all, what discipline occurs in the Director’s office is entirely his domain.