Work Text:
Orson Krennic checked his wrist chrono. 10.2 hours until reversion to realspace over Coruscant.
10.2 hours left to convince Galen Erso to make the scientific breakthrough that would assure Krennic’s ascension to the most rarefied of upper echelons in the new Imperial bureaucracy.
All and all, Krennic thought that their impromptu, two-man excursion to view the devastation on Malpaz had gone exceedingly well. He had succeeded in convincing Erso that the destruction of the capital city had been caused by a dissident attack. As long as the promise of universal prosperity and abundance is deferred, Krennic had reminded his longtime friend and colleague, further acts of terror against our civilization are assured. The ushering in of an age of true peace through the production of unlimited, clean energy could be Erso’s legacy, his gift to the myriad peoples of the galaxy.
Of course, Erso knew (or at least suspected) that the Empire also hoped to weaponize the application of his kyber crystal research, and Krennic did not hide that he knew Erso knew. Alas, Erso still clung to his scruples; his wife’s irrational reverence for so-called “natural wonders” and the deposed Jedi Order had forestalled full exploration of every last available avenue of scientific inquiry.
He had 10.2 hours left to change that.
Good thing he’d managed to send Lyra off packing on that fool’s errand deep in the caverns of Alpinn. Celestial interference between Alpinn and Coruscant meant that Erso wouldn’t have had any comms from his wife for months, and Krennic knew he was far too busy to seek solace in the arms of a paid professional. Hells, if the rumors were true, his workaholic ways meant daughter Jyn was growing up practically fatherless.
Erso—brilliant but sweet, innocent Erso—should be feeling exceedingly confused, lonely, and sexually frustrated right about now. Perfect.
Krennic found him the starship common area, pacing back and forth along the length of the floor-to-ceiling transparisteel viewport that dominated the space. He was shirtless, wearing only his trousers, unbelted and hanging low on his hips. His handsome body was a dark shadow against the glittering hyperspace lines.
“Galen?”
“Sorry, Orson.” Erso froze in place, almost contrite. “I couldn’t sleep. Too preoccupied.” He resumed his agitated pacing.
Krennic sidled up alongside Erso. “You’ve been working very hard, and today’s revelations have undoubtedly placed new stresses on you. You need to relax, Galen.” He wrapped an arm around Erso’s bare shoulders and stopped him in his tracks. “I have some ideas about that.” The last was a hot-breathed whisper into Erso’s ear.
Erso’s eyes were wide.
Krennic leaned in and kissed him.
***
Chapter 8, Section IV of On the Color of Lightsabers:
“Jedi Master Mace Windu’s lightsaber blade is unique in the whole of the history of the Order. Some (e.g. Jinn pp. 308-11) theorize that Master Windu’s development and use of the Vaapad variation of Form VII altered the harmonic resonances of an otherwise typical blue Illum crystal. Dark side energies, even when rapidly channeled through the crystal and not stored within it, undoubtedly place tremendous stress upon its fundamental matrix structure. Indeed, it is perhaps telling that red when combined with blue produces violet in the visible spectrum […]”
***
The Jedi were mystics, not scientists, but they were nonetheless scholars after their own fashion, and what they lacked in empirical method they made up for with insight.
With my position comes the privilege of unparalleled access to knowledge. The many treatises, spanning hundreds of generations, on kyber crystals and their uses that I have requisitioned from the Archives of the ruined Temple are tantalizing. The answer to the problem is there somewhere in their Force philosophy. I know it, and I can’t quite see it.
Not yet.
The more I have read, the more I have come to realize that Lyra, in her own way, is right to revere the Jedi Order. They wielded great power and did so with restraint. The technology of their lightsabers worked in harmony with the already-existing crystalline matrices and piezoelectric resonances of the kyber; they took only what each individual kyber crystal could easily give. In our continued exploitation of the galaxy’s natural resources, we could learn from their example.
Unfortunately, the Jedi Archives are incomplete. While the Temple researchers were working to extend knowledge of the kyber, they were also working to suppress it. Their writings are littered with references to the so-called Dark Lords of the Sith, a similar Force-wielding monastic order with whom the Jedi had an ancient and poorly-understood rivalry. The Sith also used the kyber in ways that the Jedi apparently considered profane. It seems possible that much of the knowledge of these Sith was destroyed outright.
It is said that the very same kyber crystal that would glow blue or green in a Jedi’s lightsaber would turn into a crimson blade in the hands of a Sith. An inexplicable phenomenon, yet well-documented in the literature; there is no reason to doubt its veracity. So what was the mechanism of action, you ask? Excepting the occasional bit of useless poetry, the Jedi didn’t think we should be allowed to know.
Lyra would say that there must be a good reason. The Jedi, she always insists, had the galaxy’s best interests at heart.
Well, the Jedi are history. This work is about science, not superstition. And Lyra isn’t here. We scientists are the caretakers of the better and brighter future.
Aren’t we?
***
They had never fucked before.
Oh, there had been the occasional awkward, adolescent fumbling, stolen moments of hurried sexual release in droid parts closets and empty classrooms, but Krennic had indiscriminately tumbled half of their Futures Program cohort, and Erso knew it. Those didn’t count.
This one did.
Erso was as needy as Krennic could have hoped, responding to the kiss with an alacrity and violence that perhaps surprised them both. He nipped at Krennic’s lips and tongue, bit hard enough to leave marks on his shoulders and neck. He tore Krennic’s finely tailored white uniform open heedlessly, eager to access chest and nipples and cock—already unhooded and moist with desire.
They retired to the privacy of Krennic’s executive suite. They did not encounter a single soul on the journey.
When Erso pushed him, Krennic allowed himself to fall face first into his generously-sized sleeping berth. Erso climbed in on top of him, grinding a thick erection into the cleft of his buttocks. Krennic moaned his assent, and Erso shoved in. Hard. No preparation, no lubrication. Krennic yelled but did not pull away. Erso yelled with him.
It was painful for Krennic, and it had to have been painful for Erso as well…at least in the beginning. But that driving cock had torn him open wide, and soon there was a river of blood flowing from his anus to smooth the way. Erso pounded ruthlessly, mindlessly, into him, and Krennic encouraged him with a stream of lewd, loud chanting.
“Yes, harder, do it, make it hurt, overpower me, do it, harder, deeper, yes, like that, oh fuck—”
The sweat was pouring from them now, and their flesh slapped together sharply as they rutted with abandon. Krennic keened as the blunt head of Erso’s cock raked over his prostate gland with every delicious, unrelenting stroke. The pleasure was building, building, faster and faster, and Erso was reaming him so deep that he’d still be feeling it beyond the grave.
Erso was panting and sobbing into his ear even as he continued their rut. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Orson, I can’t— Oh, Lyra. Ah! So close, stars, I’m gonna—!”
He didn’t really want to be fucking Krennic or cheating on his wife, Krennic knew, but he couldn’t stop; they were lost in wildness together.
And the orgasm when it arrived was, if possible, even more savage.
***
Chapter 2, Section XI of On the Color of Lightsabers:
“Even the most colorless, un-occluded natural crystals will emit either green or blue light in the visible spectrum when properly energized. Midichlorian-rich kyber symbiotes (see Yoda p. 7), and not their mineral properties per se, are primarily responsible for this amplification […] and, like all living creatures, may be affected through use of the Force. […] Although it had long been assumed that red crystals were procured through some unknown source, Master Dooku (pp. 2971-88) is notable for having convincingly demonstrated that Sith lightsabers in fact utilized ordinary kyber crystals corrupted by the power of the dark side through a sinister process which he terms, ‘making the crystal bleed (p. 2972)’. Thankfully, this process, if it even ever existed in the first place, is lost to us.”
***
I am so, so very close to a breakthrough. There is much more power to be derived from the kyber crystals than has yet been harvested, of that I am absolutely certain. As scientists, we might not be able to use the Force, but we can—we will—compel the crystals to give us what we want. The only problem will be how to contain it. Beyond a certain point, the output becomes untamable, impossible to harness constructively. The raw power the kyber should be capable of unleashing is… Well, I have done the calculations, and if I’m right, it’s almost beyond a mathematician’s imagination.
This power could change lives. It could also destroy worlds.
Restraint. The Jedi practiced restraint. For thousands of generations, they monopolized a resource capable of providing cheap, virtually unlimited energy to the galaxy—and all they did was use the kyber to construct their pretty little laser swords.
No more. Self-restraint is folly. This is what the hard lesson of Malpaz has taught me. I have learned, Orson, how I have learned. What does the natural order of things matter when the galaxy is ready to tear itself apart? While I’m worrying about what my wife will think of our exploitation of the kyber crystals once safeguarded by her precious Jedi Order, people—ordinary beings who want only to live their blameless lives—are dying.
This is the only way. I will pretend, once Lyra comes back from Alpinn, but there will be no hiding from her in the long run. She may hate what I have to do to the kyber, I know, but no matter how much she hates it, it will never compare to how much I will hate what I am becoming.
When I come back to myself, there is blood. So much blood. Orson’s blood. On me. I did this to him.
Corrupt the crystal, and use it until it bleeds…? Is that the key to unleashing that raw power?
Lyra, forgive me.
***
Krennic couldn’t have been more pleased.
Sure enough, Erso’s infidelity had weighed heavily upon his conscience, compelled him to bury himself still further into his research and to hide his growing complicity with Krennic from Lyra.
And it seemed that he had finally gotten over those damnable scruples, using up every bit of material the Empire saw fit to provide and demanding still more whenever it wasn’t enough. Like he was entitled to it. Like the lives that suffered and the planets that were ravaged during the course of resource extraction and exploitation were an acceptable loss. Erso, it seemed, had decided that sometimes peace and prosperity for the many outweighed the pain and death of the few.
They’d fucked once, and now, whether in his heart of hearts he liked it or not, he was complicit with the ideology that conceived of the Death Star, complicit with Director Orson Krennic. He just didn’t know it yet.
It was such that, even after he ran, even after, during the course of Erso’s reacquisition, Lyra became unintended collateral damage (and Jyn disappeared), Erso never wavered. Even after the scales had fallen from his eyes and the truth of the superweapon had been revealed to him, he did as he always had: He buried himself in the work. The secret research facility on Eadu turned out to be good for him. It gave him focus, gave him purpose, gave him talented colleagues to bounce ideas off of, to assist in his kyber crystal research.
And whenever Krennic came to visit, he always made sure to give Erso release.
“Galen,” he greeted.
Erso was frowning over a datapad. He looked up, almost contrite. “Sorry, Orson. My mind was elsewhere.” He rose from his chair.
Then they fucked, right there in Erso’s office, with Krennic, trousers pooled around his ankles, bent over the desk and Erso rutting behind him like an animal in heat. As always, it was fast and dirty and painful, no gentleness, no preparation. Just spreading him wide and tearing him open. Erso grabbing Krennic’s erection and pulling on it roughly. They roared when they came, Krennic spurting onto Erso’s hand and Erso pumping him full of burning semen. Fluids white and red dripped unimpeded down the insides of Krennic’s thighs as Erso pulled his head violently up and back so that he could claim his lips.
Their kisses always tasted of blood.
END