#necroholocron!au

[perfecttimemachinestranger]

Scritches

Part I  Part II Part III Part IV Part V

Summary: Even fearsome demonic beings need to enjoy a few simple pleasures in (after-)life. For Krennic, one of them is scritches. This part concludes the story (2867 words, sfw fluff with a sprinkling of angst light).

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

Huge thanks and much love to @imperialgradients and @nspamc for letting me play with their OCs. I’ve had so much fun with them, and even if this is the final instalment of this story, I can’t promise I’ll be able to leave them alone in the future 😊

Strangely enough, Krennic wasn’t hungover the following morning, and, furthermore, appeared content to find you sitting beside him. He graciously accepted to be scratched both between his wings and under his chin. After a while, he even crept closer and laid his head in your lap.

“Thank you for allowing me to share your quarters tonight, sir.”

“This arrangement is most convenient,” he admitted with a superior drawl. “I had excellent foresight in commanding you here, although I do not recall extending quite such an intimate invitation.” He waved a clawed hand towards the bed, you, himself.

“You told me to help you undress, and I was going to leave, but Lyste ordered me to sleep here.”

“The imp issued you an order?” His wings twitched and he raised an astonished eyebrow.

“He technically outranks me, sir. And he knew I had nowhere else to stay.”

“I enjoyed having an escort; it is befitting of my station. You will continue to accompany me today.” He took your wrist and put your hand back beneath his chin for more scritches. “The present arrangement will continue as well. I am growing accustomed to a certain level of service and thus, I hereby command you to occupy this bed as a nightly occurrence.”

“Of course, sir. I will do my best to be useful.”

You couldn’t help staring as the director got out of bed; he was such a curious blend of greying soft-bellied middle age and otherworldly being. His feet, especially, caught your attention. How could they not, claws rattling against the floor with every step? And, apparently, even demons had knobbly knees.

Soon enough he was back fully dressed, stylish as ever with his cape and shiny, black boots, while you were still struggling to smooth out the creases in your tunic. Why had you let Lyste sleep on it? That question was easy to answer when the small demon peeked out from behind Krennic, flashed you a grin and looked at you with his eyes of bottomless black. You smiled back at the adorable imp, then flinched at the harsh command issued by the larger demon.

“Present arms!”  

With no other weaponry at hand than the broom, you grabbed that. Krennic eyed you critically, pinning you with his gaze until you squirmed. Then, suddenly, there was a crack in his resolve, just a hint of one corner of his mouth being tugged upwards, and the next second he was laughing loud.

“A perfect little soldier, have you seen, Lyste?” The imp straightened his back and saluted him.

“I’m trying my best, sir.”

He shook his head. “No. This looks ridiculous. You will ruin my image completely – how can the populace perceive my sovereignty when being visually attacked by such a disgrace?” He tilted his head pensively and pouted. Then he grabbed the broom and broke the stick; it snapped like a twig in his hands.

“There. Better.” He flung the broken wood into a corner. “Now, follow me.”

“Of – of course, sir.” His strength simply baffled you.

Apparently, Director Krennic could be incredibly efficient when he put his mind to it. He read reports and issued orders with astonishing speed, presided at meetings and provided comments to drawings and plans, even lectured you on the lesser-known features of the station, eyes aglow with enthusiasm.

At meal-times he reverted to demonic habits, diving into rare steaks with sharp fangs and a voracious appetite. And then, there were the naps. Without warning, he would crash to the floor and fall asleep, impossible to wake by any means. Often it didn’t matter, but now, the Grand Moff himself would inspect this section and it simply wouldn’t do to have a great white lump lying on the floor just in front of the weapons controls.

“Get him away from here,” hissed the captain in charge.

“I’m trying, I’m trying.” Crouching by the demon’s side, you gently scratched his neck feathers.

“Wake up, please, sir…” You tried scratching a little harder, but it just made him sigh contentedly. You gave a slight tug, just at the end feathers, and a single beat of his wings sent you tumbling over.

“He’s coming now,” the captain announced icily.

Desperately, you put your lips close to the director’s ear and whispered. “Tarkin!” The man twitched in his sleep and you repeated it. “Tarkin is coming, you have to get up, please, get up or he’ll have Lord Vader strangle us both!”

He opened one eye superciliously, and then, as you mimed “Tarkin”, he flew to his feet in a spectacularly undignified manner. He looked around quickly, then strode off with his nose in the air and neck wings proudly spread.

“Ensign!” he admonished. “Are you neglecting your duties? Count yourself lucky for having such a forgiving and understanding mentor as myself.”

Days turned into weeks and you settled in well in the Krennic’s undecorated but very dusty set of rooms. Any attempt to clean was met with immediate disapproval.

“Cleaning droids? How dare you imply that I would accept such artificial service?”

“I could do it myself, then.”

“Do you consider yourself worthy of touching my divine abode?”

He was being ridiculous, but it was clearly a touchy subject and not one you cared to argue with him about. With the director’s recent bursts of energy and fondness for napping anywhere else, it was not like you spent a lot of time in there anyway,

When you did, it was usually in bed.

One evening you were lying on your side, turned away from him and drifting into sleep in the best way possible. A strong arm rested heavily over your torso, holding you close as he leaned his cheek against your shoulder, his hot breath caressing your skin. You felt him nuzzle the nape of your neck affectionately, shivers of pleasure went down your spine, and then you suddenly squeaked pitifully, going tense.

“You are no longer content,” he remarked. “You ought to be, considering the attention being bestowed upon your inferior body.”

“Sorry. Unworthy as I may be, I enjoy this a lot. Just be careful with those fangs, please.”

“You still fear me.” His contented chuckle made you smile. At times like this, it was so easy to forget that he was demon. The reminders were annoying, but very necessary. You must never trust him completely.

“I do.” You lifted your arm and ran your hand along a scaly finger down to the sharp end of a claw.

“You are not expendable.” His teeth were at your neck again, dragging gently over the skin, over and over again until you were finally able to relax.

There are feathers everywhere. It’s the middle of the night and you should be asleep but instead there’s chaos, you’re tangled in sheets and blankets and his goddamned cape that he insists sleeping with. Its familiar fragrance ought to be calming, but now it just adds to the feeling of being smothered in softness. There’s motion, too, an odd gust of wind that sends your hair flying, getting it into your eyes. You can’t see a thing but there’s a distinct impression of wings. Too many of them, and too large. Can’t he just go back to sleep!

You reach out – a downy shoulder against your palm, heaving. It stills and you edge your fingers closer to his neck. There. Just a few scritches and you can both go back to sleep. He stills, and there’s a soft sigh, but then feathers – wings – beat against your face, and you can’t reach around them, your arms are too short. There’s more flapping and the mattress shakes and the entire room seems filled with strange beings that you can’t see but you know they are there. There is growling and sniffing and shuffling of feet. A whirlwind of blankets and sheets around you and you shy away, press against the comparative safety of the headboard. It’s shaking too, the racket enough to wake the dead. The wall is solid against your hand, and then it’s not, and you can’t breathe –

Breathe. In. Out. The air is fresh. Stillness around. You open your eyes and for a moment there’s grey blur where the room should be, but then, clarity. The huge viewport calls to you, beckons you closer. Nothing there, only space. Sleep, that is what you need. And yet, your feet move towards the viewport. As you look to the right, there’s movement just outside your field of vision. Great wings beating majestically, bearing their owner closer, allowing you to admire it as it flies past. Some kind of alien bird, no, a – a man. It’s him and, at the same time, it’s not. This glorious being of wings and faces – too many of all of them and yet they seem to fit him – is Krennic. The rude, arrogant drunkard of a demon! The metamorphosis is unfathomable and yet it is a fact.

He doesn’t deign a glance at you. You wish with all your heart that he would look at you, see you, even just to acknowledge your existence. There is nothing, although you stand staring, hoping until he is just a tiny speckle of light, one star among many.

You awoke to the insistent beeping of the datapad in the main room, left there in the hope that Krennic wouldn’t wake you if he decided to get up and play games at some ghastly hour. You often woke up earlier than you needed to, but with that weird dream it was no wonder you had overslept. Staggering into the other room, you barely noticed your surroundings, but once the cursed piece of technology was silenced, you began to take in the state of the bedroom. The bed was a mess, empty but for your pillow. All the bedding was strewn across the floor, pushed up against the walls as if some giant tornado had passed through.

As you began to put things back where they belonged, you got a distinct feeling of emptiness that went further than the expanse of the demonic director’s quarters. Something moving underneath the bed made you jump, but an inquisitive whimper put you at ease.

“Lyste? Is that you?”

A dark hand with a perfect set of claws became visible, and soon the small demon crept out of there. He looked distinctly unhappy, in spite of holding his trademark slipper, hurt and a little confused.

“Come here?” You sat down on the bed and patted the mattress beside you. Lyste inclined his head and then came to sit beside you, and somehow you just knew what was the matter.

“He has left us, hasn’t he?” Black pits blinked. “He’s gone.” A whimper, and then the imp bumped his forehead against your arm. You put it around him and began to stroke his head as you tried to sort out your emotions. Hurt. Betrayal. Sadness. Anger – no, not that. You couldn’t be angry with Krennic now any more than you could when he was near. Yours was a weird kind of friendship, but it had been that. If one could be friends with a demon.

Lyste’s insistent head bumping interrupted your thoughts. One look at him was enough to understand why. “Sorry. I know. I still have you.” You gave him a brief hug, careful not to startle him, and then he bowed his head. “You like scritches, too.” For Lyste, it was the base of his horns that itched and you spent a long time scratching him, long enough even that the first sharp pain in your chest began to pass. Director Krennic had left and there was nothing you could do about it.

“You will leave, too,” you told Lyste, who was now smiling and showing off his tiny, sharp fangs. “Your Eli will come for you soon.” He smiled even broader, then opened his eyes and ran his tail gently along your arm. “I – I will move on also. I just need a little time. But I will remember you, and him. I will look at the stars and know that you are there, somewhere. It will be painful at first, like now, but then there will only be good memories.”

Something caught Lyste’s attention and he rose swiftly, scurrying away out the door. You returned to the previous chores, and when the bedroom looked reasonably orderly, you went to dress. As you opened the wardrobe with your things, the only one you were allowed to touch, you immediately saw it – a single white feather lying on top of your tunic. It wasn’t a downy thing like those Krennic frequently spread about when he was moulting, but an elegant, yet strong, quill. Furthermore, it was almost twice as long as any of the feathers on his neck wings had been. Reverently, you took it between your hands and sensed a whiff of cologne at the same time as black smoke whirled in front of your eyes, only to be devoured by sharp light. The feather wafted out of your hands and for a moment you thought you had dreamt it, but when you looked, it lay there again.

Afraid to lose it, you kept your eyes trained at the feather as you dressed, and when you were done, you stuck it inside the side pocket where your code cylinder would go if you ever turned important enough to have one. This seemed the more unlikely to happen as you would now have to report to your superiors of your catastrophic failure in keeping an eye on the Grand Moff’s demon.

The great man was in his office, and chose to admit you at once, almost as if he had expected you.

“I’m sorry, sir. I – I can’t explain it, but he’s gone. I – I lost him!” Shame washed over you in unmerciful waves and you hung your head, unable to look at Tarkin.

The Grand Moff was silent for a while, then uttered dryly: “Escaped, is more like it.”

You lifted your head, surprised. “I should have tried to stop him!”

Tarkin eyed you calmly. “Tell me, Ensign, would you have had a chance of succeeding?”

“No, sir. But I should have tried. I was asleep. I’m sorry!”

“He was released. Good riddance, I say.” You stared at him. “Director Krennic’s usefulness here had come to an end,” he continued. “His presence, in any state or form, is no longer required. This station is now fully operational.” He emanated pride and satisfaction.

“Congratulations, sir.”

“Thank – what is that?” He stretched out a hand towards you but stopped short of touching the feather; instead, he slowly retracted his fingers.

“I’m not sure, sir, but I think it comes from him.”

His eyes widened and he pursed his lips, then said: “You may keep it, in private. I don’t need a constant reminder of my failure.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Go, now. You can keep his quarters too. I know you’ve been staying there. Nobody else wants to go near those rooms. That entire section is cursed.”

“Cursed, sir?”

“Cursed! That wretched creature has done more damage than service to the Empire.”

Back in your home, you set to cleaning. Lyste’s presence slowed down the process, but his playfulness lifted your mood. The amount of dust on every horizontal surface was just astounding. The feather found its place on the narrow shelf opposite the bed, and while cleaning, you also discovered a portrait that fit the empty hook on the wall above it. It was a bit weird that someone would decorate their bedroom with an enormous portrait of themselves, but somehow that seemed to catch the essence of the handsome director.

“He’s insufferable, but we like him anyway, don’t we?” Lyste purred.

There were more surprising treasures to be found in cupboards and drawers, nothing neatly stowed, everything crammed in as if in a sudden fit to get rid of it all. Clothes, of course, among them an astonishing number of socks with pierced toes. A ring with the insignia of the engineering corps. A set of ancient-looking instruments, presumably for drawings. More clothes. The impressive DT-29 the director had claimed not to know the whereabouts of – that would have to be turned in to your superiors, later. And, perhaps the most surprising find of all – two full wine bottles, in addition to the numerous empty ones.

Work well done, you opened one of the bottles and poured yourself a glass. You draped Director Krennic’s cape around your shoulders and sat down in a comfortable chair by the viewport, from where you could both see the portrait and look outside. The soft fabric was so slinky it kept slipping through your fingers, but it still carried his scent. You lifted your glass towards the portrait and looked deep into his eyes. Cheers, Director. The once bitter taste of rich red was almost sweet on your tongue. Cradling the glass in shaky hands, you turned towards the stars again and soon had to wipe your eyes to be able see through the haze. Gone. Another sip, and fond memories flooded your mind, making you smile through tears. He is free now.

 THE END

[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.

[perfecttimemachinestranger]

Scritches, college edition

Just a small thing for @imperialgradients and anybody else who needs a little break from studying. Not part of the main fic. Sfw, fluff.

A sob disturbed the silence in Krennic’s vast quarters. You really tried to hold back, but because of how empty the rooms were, the smallest sound echoed. The mere prospect of drawing the arrogant director’s attention and getting his acid comments added to your finals misery made you sob again. How was it possible to work on a paper for hours and still not getting more than a paragraph done? Hearing the feared steps approaching, you wiped your eyes and hid your face in your hands.

“The surface is wet,” Krennic noted with a curious glance at the desk. “What is the reason for this?” He put a clawed finger in the fluid and brought it to his mouth, then eyed you suspiciously.

“I’m crying, okay? Just leave me alone!”

“That would be most counter-productive.” He bent his neck and peered at the screen. “Your intellectual capacity appears adequate,” he remarked, “although this opus manifests obvious signs of subpar energy levels and deficient concentration.”

“I know! I need to have this done by tomorrow! I’m such a failure!”

He flinched visibly. “Such a word should not be attributed to any being.” He sounded slightly offended, but his voice was lower now, almost mild.

As he stood behind you, you felt his hands settle onto your shoulders – a pleasant heaviness, although a little unsettling at the same time – and then a claw dug into your skin hard, just behind your ear.

“Owee! What are you doing?!” You did feel pretty worthless, but your life was still dear to you.

“Scritches?” He looked so sheepish with his lopsided, apologetic grin and wilting wings that you smiled through tears. “This appeared to be a suitable moment to reciprocate.” He quickly became his usual, haughty self. “If, however, my ministrations are undesirable, I shall take my leave.”

“Please don’t go!” You wiped at your eyes again, touched by his uncharacteristic selflessness. “I appreciate that you tried. It’s just that my neck is rather sensitive. No feathers, you know?”

“Inferior bodily constitution.”

“Whatever.” You sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m just so badly stressed out.” You stared listlessly at the screen until your vision became foggy.

Then, you were suddenly in the air, being carried. Too exhausted to protest, and too surprised to do anything but hang on to his tunic.

As soon as you lay on the bed, you felt how your body grew heavy with fatigue. If only you could lie like that forever, splayed on your back, and never have to move a limb again! A soft, thin sheet settled over you, and a half-open eye vaguely registered that Krennic had removed his cape. He laid down himself, put an arm around you and snuggled close. His breath tickled against your skin when he spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

“What you require is rest. I have found frequent naps a superior remedy for exhaustion.”

[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.