(Not A) Date Night
a brendol hux/orson krennic fic featuring sniper!armitage
for @ourgeneralarmiehux
thank you for your support! ❤️
The sun has long since set on Arkanis, leaving a cloudy, moonless sky in its wake, but the two Imperials keep each other company in the drawing room of Brendol’s estate, the roaring, crackling fire keeping them warm from the Arkanian winter wind that blows outside.
“Another drink, Orson?”
Krennic looks up at his companion and to the almost-empty bottle of wine. Surely, he thinks, they haven’t finished another bottle, but Brendol is smiling devilishly at him, teasingly, so much so that Orson feels his stomach churn and a blush creeping up to his cheeks. Brendol Hux is an interesting man, one of intelligence and of greed, one that the Empire is proud to have on their side, and one that never fails to enchant Orson to the point where he could listen to the man talk for hours.
“I shouldn’t,” Krennic says. “I have work to finish.”
“Oh, come now, Orson,” Brendol quips, filling Orson’s empty glass anyway. “One more won’t do any harm. You wouldn’t want to leave me alone to finish this, would you?”
“I suppose not. But I still have to travel back to my accommodation.”
“Stay here for the night. Neither of us have any appointments tomorrow morning, just Armitage’s debriefing in the afternoon.”
“Ah,” Krennic nods, taking the glass, taking an elegant mouthful as he watches Brendol retake his seat beside him on the couch. “The boy is due back from his assignment in less than 12 hours, yes?”
“Indeed. The youngest ever cadet-trained-sniper to be given an assassination mission in the history of the Empire.” Brendol speaks as though riddled with pride, even putting his hand out and moving it in an arching motion as though it’s a headline on a theatre. “His initial report is that he has been successful. Ambassador Loa and her rebellious plans have been stopped.”
“Magnificent. You must be proud of him, Brendol. A Hux doing so much good for the Empire.”
“I am, but I wouldn’t tell him. Wouldn’t want the boy going soft by too much praise.”
Krennic falls silent, pondering Brendol’s words. Under his tutorage, Armitage has performed even better when praised, excelling further when being told how well he’s performing.
“I wouldn’t be certain of that,” Krennic argues quietly, shaking his head. Beside him, Brendol frowns. “I imagine most men would thrive on compliments and recognition from their superiors. It’s…satisfying.”
“I see, and are you speaking from personal experience there, dear Orson?”
Krennic chokes on his mouthful of wine, spluttering as he tries to get his breath, only to feel a familiar gloved hand rubbing slow circles into his back.
“Brendol,” Krennic gasps, still coughing.
Brendol’s voice is soft, “Come along, Orson. I’ve seen how you quiver underneath Grand Moff Tarkin’s flattering gaze. I wonder if my praise will have the same effect.”
Somehow, Krennic thinks, judging by the stirring that Brendol is already causing in the pit of his belly, this is going to be an interesting night.
