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Syril Karn was not a man who could be ignored. At least, that was what he told himself every day when he gathered the force of his will and met his own eyes in the mirror.
Then he'd leave his tiny, cramped quarters and subject himself to the endless humiliations of life as a low-ranking intern at the ISB, and realize yet again how very untrue that was. In fact, many people found it extremely easy to ignore Syril.
Lieutenant Dedra Meero had brought him back from Ferrix and installed him in the very lowest rung of the ISB bureaucracy, as payment for saving her life. However, he rarely saw her. Dedra was busy in much higher floors of the building, talking with important people. People who outranked Syril; people whose words cut sharper than monomolecular blades. People who took politicking, conniving, and backstabbing to a level Syril never would have dreamed.
Was it all worth it? he asked the mirror, staring into his own clouded eyes. He missed that certainty, that faith he had once enjoyed, back when he believed that doing his job to the best of his ability was not only the smart thing, but the right thing.
Now, the only right thing to do seemed to be to keep his head down and chew through the endless tasks loaded upon his plate as quickly as possible.
He couldn't help but flash back, multiple times a day, to that breathless moment after he had rescued Dedra from the crowd of insurgents who clearly meant her harm. They had stumbled into a building, barred the door. They had stared at each other, breaths tangling as the mob outside screamed for blood.
If Syril had been a bit more forward, then — could he have crushed her to his chest in a kiss? If he had lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, would she have let him?
Or would she have found a blaster and ended his life right then and there?
Speculating about what-ifs was useless. Syril was here, now, and here he seemed destined to remain. Dedra must have told the security on her floor not to let him anywhere near her, because no matter how he tried, he could only catch a flash of her white uniform as she walked briskly around a corner, away from him.
Always away. Never, ever towards.
How could Syril get closer to her if she kept walling herself off from him?
So when one of his administrative tasks gave him the job of repairing some datapads meant for the higher levels, it was no wonder he did what he did.
Installing the spyware was simple enough. Syril had expertise in many things, mostly gained during that period of his life when he had been obsessed with tracking down Cassian Andor, mastermind behind so many recent acts of sedition.
Hiding the spyware was a bit more complex, but Syril felt he was at least good enough for that. In any case, the higher-ups at the ISB never thought about their lower-level counterparts. Their minds were so taken up with terrorists outside the building, their eyes refused to see the people right here, inside with them.
Seeing to it that Dedra Meero was assigned the doctored datapad was the trickiest bit of the act. Some nonsense with another requisition almost karked up his elaborately crafted sequence of serial numbers — the sequence that would assign the datapad in question to one Meero, Dedra. But luckily, Syril was a man of foresight. He was able to head off the second requisition to a rival office within the ISB on spurious grounds. By the time the correct rerouting forms had been returned, the special datapad would be in Dedra's hands.
And then, all he had to do was wait.
Syril returned to his quarters that evening feeling a bit queasy, as though he had imbibed too much strong drink. It was one thing to break Imperial protocols to chase a wanted criminal across the galaxy, or to rescue an ISB lieutenant from certain death at the hands of terrorists. It was quite another to plant spyware on her datapad for his own personal gain.
Because what other reason could Syril have for this action? He must want something out of it.
I want her to see me, the thought came to him as he entered his room and locked the door behind himself. He let his shoulders slump down in the way he only did when he knew he was alone. I just want her to see me.
Was Syril not intelligent, resourceful, foresighted, capable, clever, and respectful? Had he not pursued every lead, followed every path open to him, as well as a few that weren't?
Did he not deserve the attention of someone like Dedra Meero, with her blonde hair in a precise bun, her white ISB uniform, her piercing blue gaze? Why did she only ever look at him with scorn, as though Syril were something she had scraped off the floor of a particularly grungy bar in the Outer Rim?
She'll see me soon enough, Syril reassured himself. Once he knew what was on her datapad, what high-level matters she concerned herself with each day — then he would know how to get closer to her.
Syril changed out of his intern uniform and made himself more comfortable in a robe and loose trousers. He ensconced himself on his frankly inadequate cot, with his one ISB-assigned pillow folded up in half behind his upper back.
Perhaps with his next meager paycheck he could purchase a more acceptable pillow.
He spun up his own datapad's master key program and typed in the code that would show him the next steps on his path to infiltrate Dedra's world.
He paused, just for a moment. If he took this step, who knew what he would find? Perhaps he could never get closer to her for some reason he could not currently foresee. Perhaps this would be yet another dead end in his life, like his short-lived stint in the Fuel Purity Department.
Courage, Syril, he told himself. Trust your instincts.
He keyed in the final command, and his datapad opened up Dedra's programs.
Syril lost himself in skimming through her files. As expected, Dedra was an exceptionally busy and energetic Lieutenant, often working late into the night, according to the timestamps Syril was able to see. Short messages between her and other higher-ranking ISB agents painted a picture of her productivity and dedication.
He felt a smile curving up one side of his mouth. If only Dedra could see it — he and she would be great together. Truly great. By uniting their energies, they could serve the Empire and root out those who sought to bring it to its knees.
If only he could make her see it — see him — for what he could be, rather than for what he currently was.
The sound of a sliding door had Syril glancing towards his own door in alarm, until he realized the sound was coming from his datapad, which he had slaved to give audio. After all, not everything Dedra did would be recorded in writing in her datapad. Surely she also had off-the-books conversations with others on her fancy level ten stories above him.
"Lieutenant Meero," a man's voice said, and Syril stiffened, because he knew that voice. That was the ISB agent who had berated him, sent him home humiliated, after the incident in the Morlani system. That was the voice of ISB Supervisor Lieutenant Blevin.
What was he doing in Dedra's quarters this late at night?
Frowning, Syril brought up the program that would give him video as well as audio. Of course, the odds were that Dedra had placed the datapad face-down, or pointing at some blank wall, instead of anywhere useful.
The video feed came up, and Syril breathed out in satisfaction. Lucky for him — the datapad was positioned in such a way that its field of vision was almost entirely taken up with a long, dark-red couch. Perhaps Dedra had been reading from her datapad while she sipped a drink, because the datapad appeared to be placed vertically on a table, perhaps propped against something. Part of the picture was obscured by a large, rounded object that Syril decided was probably a bowl.
He wondered what Dedra liked to eat out of a bowl late at night. Perhaps he could acquire more of whatever that food was. Perhaps someday he would be privileged to eat with her.
Then his mind snapped back to the present moment, because Blevin and Dedra were having a conversation that the datapad could pick up.
"I was surprised to receive your message," Blevin was saying.
"Surely it wasn't that surprising," Dedra replied.
"Considering our clashes in the past, I rather think it is."
"Would you care for a drink?" Dedra asked. Her voice sounded almost flirtatious.
Syril breathed in and out forcefully to calm himself as the two of them discussed what sorts of drinks Dedra had at hand, which one Blevin would like, and other pointless chitchat.
Then Syril heard the sound of ice clinking into glasses, and some low conversation the datapad couldn't quite pick up from across the room.
Someone sat down on the couch — Agent Blevin, wearing civilian clothes rather than his uniform. The clothes really did look very good on him, setting off his dark skin, Syril noted sourly.
Dedra sat down next to him, but unfortunately her form was almost entirely obscured by that damn bowl. Syril could only make out that she was also out of uniform, wearing something blue rather than white, and that her hair might be down.
He was filled with a sudden, incandescent need to know what Dedra looked like with her hair down.
That damn bowl! How Syril wished he could see through it — or that someone would move it.
It was maddening, being so close to seeing her, but not quite able to see her fully. Whereas he could see Agent Blevin perfectly well despite really not wanting to see him at all.
Syril was just realizing that perhaps this window into Dedra's world was a double-edged sword. Yes, he'd be able to see her — but not really. He'd be able to hear her — but only to a point.
Wouldn't it be better to continue in ignorance?
Shouldn't he turn off his spy program and return himself to his own sphere?
Syril frowned. No. If there was one thing he knew, it was that he could always trust his gut. It had led him to almost capturing Rebel mastermind Cassian Andor several times. It had led to saving Dedra on Ferrix. He could not turn away now.
For better or for worse, this was his path.
"The dispute over the shipping routes," Blevin started. "Is that why I'm here?"
Dedra leaned a hair closer, and now Syril could see the edge of her face. She appeared to be gazing at Blevin in a way that set his teeth on edge.
"No," Dedra said, and then took a sip of her drink. "You're here because I think we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement."
"And what arrangement might that be?" Blevin asked. From his smug air, Syril could tell that he thought he held all the cards.
"In the past, we've clashed over our respective territories," Dedra said. "But really, as ISB agents, the entire Empire is our territory. Petty turf wars between us should not impinge on Imperial security. Wouldn't you agree?"
"A lesser man might say that you're grasping at straws, knowing what just happened on that shipping route," Blevin said, raising his eyebrows in a most insufferable way.
Now dig in the knife, Dedra, Syril mentally cheered her on. Hit him where it hurts — where he didn't even know he was weak.
He was excited to see Dedra Meero, master manipulator, at work — without her even knowing she had an audience — an audience of one person: her number one most devoted acolyte.
"I certainly didn't ask you here to grasp at straws," Dedra said, lowering her voice. Her hand snaked its way onto Blevin's lap. "Not when there's something at hand that's a far more pleasing size."
Syril's eyes bugged out and he sucked in a breath. Was that —
-- was she groping him? Sexually?
"Why, Lieutenant Meero, I'm surprised at you," Blevin said, that abominably smug look redoubling on itself. Syril would have summed up his expression as 'Oh, yeah. She wants me.'
What an insufferable pig of a man!
Blevin continued, "Fraternizing within the ranks is frowned upon."
"But not strictly forbidden," Dedra returned. Syril's eyes were glued to her hand, which was currently squirming atop Blevin's crotch area in a way that had to be maddening. "And in the service of Galactic harmony..."
"Yes, I've long been a proponent of Galactic harmony," Blevin agreed, his voice thicker than before.
Then Dedra was climbing onto his lap. Syril's mouth hung open as he finally got a view of what she was wearing — a filmy, wispy light blue robe that did little to hide her body.
Blevin's dark fingers were running up and down her back and tugging aside the neck of her robe so he could apply his white teeth to her shoulder. His eyes were pinched closed in response to whatever she was doing with her hips — which, from Syril's point of view, seemed to be unnecessarily enthusiastic.
Why would Dedra do this? Was her taste in men truly this terrible?
Dedra gave a breathy sigh. "I'm sure our respective portfolios will be able to merge — mmm — if we learn to come together."
Her hair was down. It flowed slightly lower than her shoulderblades — which Syril was now getting a good look at, because Blevin was pulling her pale blue outfit down and off her body.
Syril's mouth went dry. This was far, far more of Dedra than he had expected to see — at least, not so soon. He had, of course, hoped that after a year or two of sedate courtship, he might be allowed within the sanctity of her bedroom, but this —
This was unbridled snogging on a couch.
He could see her back — her entire back, including a scattering of moles and a single scar that he couldn't immediately identify. Her lower back nipped in at the waist in such an enticing way that Syril's hands twitched with the need to place them there and feel that curve. And then, the glorious swell of her pale buttocks —
Syril realized he was achingly hard.
Apparently he was not the only one. Blevin was grunting and fumbling between them both.
"Did you say 'come together?'" he asked, giving Dedra a look that he no doubt meant to be sultry. To Syril, it just looked constipated.
"Why yes," Dedra said, shifting off his lap and settling herself on her knees between his legs. "But perhaps not just yet. I'm hoping for your feedback on my oral arguments."
Syril couldn't see Blevin's cock — mercifully. Her blonde head obscured it. But from the motions she was making and the way Blevin's head fell back against the dark red couch behind him, he knew exactly what she was doing.
Syril reached down and grabbed his cock. It wasn't the same as having Dedra Meero between his legs, sucking him off — not even close; nothing would ever be close to that. But he couldn't just watch Blevin receive that unearned gift and not try to participate himself — even though it would never, could never be the same.
He was leaking rather copiously from his tip, and he smeared that around and smoothed it down the shaft so he could jerk himself more smoothly. Feelings of bitter shame rose up in him, inculcated since childhood — shame at needing this type of release, shame at who he was, at what he was.
Shame at never being good enough.
Even now, Agent Blevin was getting sucked off by the apparently extremely talented mouth of Dedra Meero, and Syril wasn't good enough to even watch. But he was watching. Oh, yes, he was watching. He memorized the way her head moved, the way her shoulders tensed as she bent forward more — taking him deeper. He watched for flashes of her graceful hands. He stared at the top of her pale shoulderblades.
If he were there, behind her — if he entered the room unseen — he could jerk himself off and splash his seed all over her shoulders. Or he could bend down and hoist her up and plunge himself into her hot cunt as Blevin fucked her mouth.
Blevin's face was rapidly changing expressions. He looked close to having some sort of out-of-body experience.
"Uhhh," he moaned, the pitch of his voice getting higher. "Dedra — I'm close."
She pulled off with an audible pop, and Syril moaned, stopping his hand.
He would only touch himself when she touched Blevin.
That way, it would be like it was happening to him, instead.
"I'm glad you like it," Dedra said, and Syril was horrified to hear that her voice was audibly different from having his cock down her throat.
"I can think of a few other things I'd like," Blevin said, and then he was standing up and stripping.
Dedra stood up, too, but she must have hit the coffee table, because the datapad that Syril was using to spy on them fell over onto its face, losing his picture.
"No!" Syril shouted as his screen went dark.
But it was no use. Wishing that they would put the datapad back into place had no effect. His vision was cut, and there was no getting it back.
He still had audio, though.
Syril listened, closing his eyes as he heard the sounds of their bodies settling back onto the couch.
"Mmm, you're warm," Dedra said.
Blevin chuckled. "And you're hot."
"Why didn't we think of this before," Dedra said. "Oh — well, look at that. Hello there."
"It's all for you," Blevin said in a lower, rougher version of his regular voice.
"All of that for me?" Dedra asked in a teasing tone. "I'm not sure it will fit, to be honest. Have you considered having it shortened?"
"I looked into it," Blevin said. "Turns out there's a waiting list."
"I'll be on the waiting list for what you have right there," Dedra said.
"You don't have to wait."
The sounds of Dedra breathing out, then giving a slight moan, had Syril desperately grabbing his cock again.
"Feel good?" Blevin asked.
"Ohhh --" Dedra moaned. "It's so big..."
"You can take it, though," Blevin said. "I've seen you take a shafting bigger than this, when Partagaz was on the warpath."
Dedra gave a high, breathy laugh. "This is far more pleasant. Is there more?"
"It's about halfway in," Blevin said.
Syril clenched his eyes closed. Halfway in? It had been that many seconds, and Blevin was still only halfway in?
"Keep going," Dedra moaned, and Syril could imagine her face, imagine her loose, unbound hair snaking across the red couch as she thrashed her head back and forth while Blevin sank his cock inside of her inch by torturous inch.
It was worse not to be able to see it. His imagination was running rampant — imagining Dedra flushed and panting, receptive to Agent Blevin in a way she would never be to Syril Karn, who was beneath her.
He was far beneath her, in the same building — but he may as well have been a galaxy away.
"Yes, that's good," Blevin was saying. "Tilt your hips up. There. That's all of it."
Dedra moaned. "I always knew — you had it in you to fuck me over," she commented.
"And I always knew that if I tried, you'd fuck me right back," Blevin returned.
"Touch my nipples," Dedra said, and then added, "Harder. Roll them between your fingers — uhhh, yeah, like that."
"You have gorgeous tits," Blevin commented, and Syril was enraged, enraged that this pompous asshole of a man was looking at them, touching them, and referring to them so casually. Dedra Meero's breasts, her body, were a temple at which Agent Blevin was unworthy to worship.
"Mmm," Dedra said again, and then there were wet, sucking sounds.
They're kissing, Syril realized. He's inside her with his huge cock — he's touching her breasts — and now they're kissing.
He gave his own cock a savage twist at the top of every stroke. The pain would help keep him from coming too soon.
The voices coming over the datapad devolved into moans and pants, and a tiny scream from Dedra, as well as more sucking sounds. There was a rhythmic thumping sound, and then a wet squelching sound, like boots being sucked out of mud.
Syril coordinated his strokes with those sounds. He wanted to hang on. He wanted to come when Blevin did — so he could pretend, just for a second, that it was him upstairs on that red couch, pounding down into Dedra's pale, willing body. He wanted to pretend that it was his fingers rubbing her nipples, his hands holding her face in place so he could plunder her mouth.
Why can't it be me? he thought in a craze of lust. Why is it never, ever me?
Blevin's voice came through again. "Uhhh — Dedra. Fuck, yeah," he said. The pounding sounds were getting faster. "You're so tight. I always knew — heh — you had a stick up your ass."
"That's not a stick," Dedra said in a sultry voice, her voice punched out of her with every downstroke Blevin was making. "And that's not my ass."
There was a pause.
"That is, though," she gasped. "Oh — oh yeah, put your finger up me. Fuck, that's good. I'm gonna — I'm gonna come --"
Syril moaned — he couldn't help it. Blevin was sticking a finger up her ass while he was fucking her, and now he was about to hear her orgasm.
If only the datapad hadn't fallen over! If only Syril could see her — could see her face when it happened, when she came!
A tiny, punched-out gasp from Dedra, and then a long, shuddering moan from Blevin, and then the rhythm broke as he must have thrust himself inside of her one final time —
Syril let his orgasm spiral up and out of himself, holding onto the end of his cock and pressing in on the sides, to make the release longer, as well as a touch painful.
It seemed Dedra came almost silently. That was a bit disappointing — Syril had hoped she'd be a screamer.
Then again, perhaps it was better this way. He could fantasize about her in so many more scenarios now that it turned out she could come quietly.
For instance, he had long enjoyed an unrealistic fantasy of hiding himself under the large circular table in the ISB Conference Room, and licking between Dedra's legs while she was trying to give an accounting of events in her sector. He knew this was a completely improbable scenario. There were far too many people in the room for him to remain hidden. Still — it was a fantasy, and one he knew he'd be indulging in more frequently in the future.
His orgasm finished with a last spurt. Syril felt the aftermath of pleasure wash through him, alongside the ever-present shame.
He listened to them slowly prying themselves off of each other and off of the couch. Listened to a few more inane platitudes from one to the other. Nothing of importance was said — no valuable intel about Dedra, about her life, about why she had chosen Blevin, of all people, to grace with her favors.
Did Dedra not know that Blevin was a back-stabbing political tool of a man? Did she just not care?
Or was this all part of her scheme?
Syril's mind seized on that. Yes. No doubt this entrapment — for now that it was over, he could see that Dedra had led Blevin into her spider's web of seduction — was all part of a greater plan to take him down. Perhaps she would accuse him of sexual impropriety, even of forcing her, and have him removed from the ISB. Perhaps this entire event was according to her design.
In that case — Syril's evidence from this tryst could be used against her. And naturally, he had been recording the entire event.
Syril thought very hard as he washed his hands and backed up his data to a secure location.
In the event that Dedra attempted to move against Blevin, Syril could subtly — subtly — let her know that he, Syril Karn, could refute her accusation.
How would it look for a Lieutenant of the ISB to lure another agent into an inappropriate situation and then turn around and accuse him of forcing her, in order to gain that agent's portfolio under her own? That type of underhanded, self-serving trap was done, of course, but the cardinal rule was that one must not be caught doing it.
If she were caught — Dedra would be cast out, humiliated. Just as Syril himself had been after the Morlani system.
Perhaps, in such a situation, Dedra would do anything to make that recording go away.
And if that meant Syril and Dedra could collude to take the abominable Agent Blevin down — well, his humiliation would be a happy side effect. A very happy side effect.
Syril smiled again as he fell asleep.
Yes — if things went well in the future, Dedra Meero would see him — she would finally, truly see him.
He would see to that.
