Tarsus Krenholt: Former Hoff of the Empire

The air in the room carried a stale bite, heavy with the musty trace of aged leather and aftershave that clung like a bad memory, mingling with the faint metallic tang of recycled air. Leia paused just inside the threshold, her pulse thudding hard in her temples as the door sealed behind her with a whisper-soft click, locking out the sterile corridor and trapping her in this dim space. Her eyes needed a second to adjust after the brightness of the corridor. The lights were dialled low, casting long shadows across the broad bed that squatted in the center, its sheets crisp and unrumpled, smelling faintly of starch. Her eyes adjusted slowly, picking out the figure lounging in an armchair by the window, one hand cradling a glass that caught the glow from the cityscape beyond.

He straightened a fraction as she entered, the chair creaking under his weight, and set the glass down with a deliberate clink on the side table. Moff Tarsus Krenholt. The name hit her like a gut punch, recognition flooding in hot and sour, tasting like the bile rising at the back of her throat. He was older now, well into his seventies, his face a map of deep creases and sagging jowls, framed by thinning gray hair slicked back with too much oil that gleamed under the lights. His clothes hung a little too loose on a frame gone soft with age and excess. The cut of his clothes were a little too close to the old empire uniform to not be deliberate, the Imperial insignia stripped away but the arrogance was still etched in every line of his posture. Liver spots dotted his hands, knuckles gnarled from years of signing orders that doomed planets, and his eyes, pale blue and watery, fixed on her with a gleam that made her skin prickle.

Leia swallowed hard, the salt of her own nervous sweat lingering on her lips as she licked them dry. She knew him too well, from those early days in the Imperial Senate, when she'd been a fresh-faced diplomat from Alderaan, dodging his leers in committee meetings while he schemed behind closed doors. Tarsus had been the one pushing for harsher crackdowns on dissidents, she remembered his smooth voice echoing across the senate floor as he justified purges on whole towns. Backwater moons, he'd argued, were worth sacrificing if it cut out the rot of the rebellion. He'd been complicit in everything. The **** Star projects, the **** labour camps, the quiet disappearances. And now, after the Empire's collapse, he'd slithered free, bribes flowing to the right pockets in the New Republic, his war crimes buried under layers of corruption. She'd tried to expose him once in a heated session in the new republic, but the evidence vanished, witnesses who'd been eager to speak out suddenly disappeared. Powerless then, powerless now.

"You," she breathed, her voice cracking just a touch before she steadied it, fists balling at her sides until her nails bit into flesh. "Moff Krenholt. What the pfassk are you doing here. This can't be right. You're a war criminal. The Republic wouldn't..."

He chuckled, a wet, phlegmy sound that rattled in his chest, rising slowly from the chair with a grunt, joints popping audibly. The room seemed to shrink as he approached, his steps measured and heavy on the carpet, close enough that she caught the full brunt of his scent, stale breath laced with whiskey, the sour undernote of unwashed skin beneath his cologne. "Oh, they certainly would, my dear Senator. The law doesn't discriminate, does it? Isn't technology wonderful. All those trillions of profiles, and here we are, you and I, matched like prized breeding banthas at auction, if you'll forgive the crude analogy." His lips curled into a smirk, yellowed teeth flashing, and he reached out a hand, fingers thick and veined, brushing her arm through the robe. The touch lingered, papery skin warm and slightly damp, sending a shiver of revulsion crawling up her spine.

She jerked back, her breath coming quicker, the air thick in her lungs. "You did this. I don't know how but you rigged this, and I'll prove it."

He just laughed again, softer this time, circling her with that predatory ease he'd always had in the Senate halls. "You know, I was just thinking back to your first appearance in the senate the other day. Remember those debates on Alderaan relief funds? You were so fiery, so young. I admired that spark. You're a very attractive woman you know." He paused behind her, his breath hot and wet on her neck, and she felt the brush of his belly against her back. "I'm sure that a lot of my former 'colleagues' felt the same way. Now the Republic's handed you to me on a platter. Your body, ripe for the taking. I bet that husband of yours is fuming right now, knowing an old Imperial's going to fill you up." His hands came up to rest on her shoulders. "I imagine for most matched couples the man makes his 'deposit' and leaves, never to be seen again. I have a feeling it will be different with you and I my dear. I have a feeling you'll be seeing an awful lot of me."

Leia's mind raced, outrage boiling up sharp and metallic on her tongue, but underneath it twisted something darker. Han's morning embrace flashed through her thoughts, his rough hands steady, but it faded against the reality pressing in. "This is barbaric. You're a monster. I won't let you touch me." She spun to face him, her robes swishing, heart slamming against her ribs like it wanted out.

Tarsus's eyes narrowed, amusement flickering as he grabbed her wrist, his grip surprisingly firm for his age, thumb pressing into the pulse point where her blood thrummed. The contact burned, his skin rough and callused, nails blunt against her flesh. "Won't? Princess, you don't have a choice. The door's locked and the cams are watching for compliance. Skip this, and it's prison. That pretty little life you built gets stripped away." He pulled her closer, his free hand trailing down her side, bunching the fabric, the heat of him seeping through like a fever. "But let's be honest. Part of you is curious, isn't it? Breaking all those ideals you've clung to. Betraying that smuggler with a real man's seed."

She twisted in his hold, shoving at his chest, palms meeting the give of his paunch, but he held fast, his chuckle turning to a low growl. His cock stirred against her thigh through his trousers, the outline thickening, the fabric straining. "Enough games, Leia. Strip for me. Let an old Moff see what the figurehead of the Rebellion looks like bare. I've thought about this for a long time, ironic it should happen now after your 'victory'. Slow now. I want to savour it before I bend you over." His voice dropped, rough and eager, the air between them growing thicker with his cologne and beneath that his musk, as he released her wrist and stepped back watching with those piercing eyes.