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Thad has never been a party animal. It isn’t that he necessarily dislikes music, or dancing, or people per say- more that if he’s being expected to talk to people he’s supposed to impress, he wants to be able to carry a proper conversation and not have to yell over music or fight against a constantly jostling sea of revelers to try to hear them. Why anyone in upper management thought that a loud, club-like setting was the ideal way to encourage the different branches of the Imperial military to meet and socialize is beyond him; which is precisely why he’s halfway through his third drink of the evening, trying to fix these opinions that seem to put him in the minority amongst his coworkers. It’s been a long time since he’s been properly drunk, and a work party aboard a Star Destroyer he’s not even stationed on is hardly the place to do it, but it seems like tonight is as good a night as ever. He takes another sip; then, his gaze wanders out onto the crowded dancefloor.
Orson Krennic, his utter opposite and ever the social butterfly, is almost directly in the center of the dancefloor. It’s impossible not to notice him, engaged in a raucous conversation with another admiral, a half-full glass of Scarif slush in one hand and the other being used to emphasize whatever point he was making. Between how animated the conversation was and the fact that he was actually smiling at his conversation partner, a Chiss admiral who Thad knew him to typically dislike, Thad could probably safely assume that the man was a few drinks in. In light of the nature of the party and all of the carousing to be had, he’s forgone his typical full-bodied cape in favor of a more modest shoulder capelet and sash. It’s a look that suits him wonderfully, in Thad’s selfish opinion. Standing there, the undulating blue and magenta lights above the dancefloor hitting the white uniforms of him and the Chiss admiral, he stands out from most of the olive grey and black uniformed officers that made up the crowd, like some gorgeous leading man out of a holodrama. He’s totally in his element, and he’s been a lovely piece of eye candy for Thad to periodically check in on all night.
Since Krennic hasn’t seen him yet, Thad sips his drink and observes as a shorter man he doesn’t recognize - an ensign in the navy, by the looks of his uniform- approaches the pair. The Chiss quickly excuses himself from the conversation, and Krennic waves the two off as they retreat from the dancefloor. Now alone, Krennic sips his presumably dirty slush and languidly casts his gaze around the crowd, looking for his next mark. Thad wonders if he’ll see him. He wonders if Krennic would even consider him worth talking to, given the magnitude of Imperial authorities making appearances tonight. At this point in the night many of the more important and responsible paragons have gone home, leaving only those truly inclined towards drinking and debauchery. There are still a number of prominent engineers and admirals floating around though, surrounded by eager ensigns and adjutants hoping to catch their attention. Miraculously, despite being as important as he was, Krennic has managed to avoid accumulating his own cadre of groupies, instead systematically making the rounds popping into other people’s conversations and moving on before anyone could latch onto him. Though Thad wants to talk to him more than anyone else here, he knows Krennic’s elevated social circuit will probably take precedence- work events like this were almost always networking events first and foremost.
As if reading his mind, Krennic’s eyes meet Thad’s. The man’s lips pull into that playful, testudinal smirk Thad knows so well, and he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head to the side like he’s posing a question. He raises his glass in a toast, and with a sensible chuckle, Thad raises his as well. Then, Krennic quickly pulls his glass back down to his lips and downs the rest of it. Taken aback, Thad hesitates for a moment before deciding to throw caution to the wind and do the same. It doesn’t go over his head that this action mirrors the first drink they’d ever shared in Krennic’s office, a long time ago- Krennic seems to clearly recognize this as well, because his smirk breaks into a grin. Not breaking their eye contact, Krennic deposits his glass on the tray of a flying bottle service droid passing by overhead, suave as anything. Thad sets his glass down on the bar behind him and stands from his stool.
Then, without warning, Krennic swings one arm up over his head and towards Thad, miming the action of reeling him in with a fishing rod with his other hand. It’s a truly stupid dance move that Thad has only ever seen executed in cheesy holodramas- and yet, in this moment, it’s somehow the most devastatingly charismatic and sexy invitation he’s ever received in his entire life. All at once, his stomach fills with warm, writhing black eels- whether it’s mortification or arousal, he’s unable to discern- and he’s hit with the overwhelming urge to break Krennic’s gaze and go do anything else, anywhere else. Instead, he takes a breath to steel himself, shrugs off any remaining dignity he has and begins to hop towards Krennic. Mimicking what he’d seen in those old holodramas, he holds his wrists at his side and his shoulders shimmy like a writhing Tenooan channelfish. To his horror, his colleagues on the dancefloor take note of this almost immediately- but if they make any comments, he can’t hear them above the music. With a few amused smiles and one spirited smack on the back as he passes, the officers miraculously manage to coordinate their drunken revelry in such a way as to clear a path for Thad to make it to Krennic unimpeded.
Of course, this whole sequence is too perfect to be true. He’s quite proud of himself, on his last few hops, opening his mouth to deliver some clever, quippy one liner about fancying seeing Krennic in a place like this, when he suddenly loses his balance and trips over his own two feet. Luckily, he’s falling forward, and Krennic manages to catch him. A rare, genuine cackle of surprise and delight escapes Krennic as Thad faceplants into him, his arms snapping around Thad to support his weight and then help him back to his feet.
Mostly, what hits Thad when he regains his footing is how hot he feels. Maybe the air is just warmer on the dancefloor, or maybe he’s embarrassed about tripping, or maybe it’s just the alcohol- but as his hands grip Krennic’s forearms to steady himself, he can almost feel the heat radiating off of himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the thought registers that for all the time they’ve spent together in an office setting, this is the first time he’s ever actually touched Krennic. A pang of panic materializes in his chest, but the apology it produces dies on his lips when he sees the precious, uninhibited joy lighting up the man’s expression.
“My god, it’s good to see you! You know, I could’ve sworn you said you wouldn’t be drinking this evening.”
Even though they’re standing as close together as they could feasibly- or appropriately- be, Krennic has to raise his voice to be heard above the music. He leans in close so that they’re cheek to cheek, his mouth next to Thad’s ear, his lips brushing ticklishly against the skin when he sways slightly. That self-conscious panic flutters through Thad’s chest again, although this time it’s infused with the excitement of the man he’s still hanging onto. Krennic pulls back to look him in the face, eyes shining with mischief, and before Thad can think to suppress it, a nervous giggle erupts from within him. His abdominal muscles contract and he folds in on himself, his grip on Krennic the only thing keeping him steady. He tries to compose himself, but when he looks up to address the man, Krennic’s grin is too contagious and he collapses into another peal of laughter.
“I’m- I’m so sorry!”
“Sorry? Don’t be sorry, I was waiting on you!”
“I wasn’t supposed to! I- but- I wanted- you were waiting on me?”
“Obviously. I only came to this sorry little soirée in the hopes I might bump into you.”
Thad doesn’t have time to process this; a diplomatic hand snakes its way around his waist, and suddenly they’re both moving. Any remaining anxiety Thad might have had about dancing melts away; Krennic is a confident leader, and it’s easy to lean into him and find the rhythm he seems to follow so naturally. Along with the fear of dancing goes the fear of touching him, assuaged by the way Krennic pulls him close. Suddenly, given permission and encouragement, it’s impossible not to touch him. In theory, he should have been horrified to be touching him like he was- not to mention the thought of their coworkers witnessing such an unseemly act- but between the miracle of the alcohol that plied their bodies and the fact that all of their coworkers were lost in a similar kind of trance, Thad couldn’t bring himself to care.
“I feel stupid. I saw you earlier, but I thought I was being good and staying out of your way all night.”
“You’re not stupid,” Krennic says, his tone distracted, like he hasn’t fully processed the statement. Upon realizing what Thad had actually said, he hastily adds: “We’re all too karked for networking at this point anyway.” Then, one final quip, spoken low and directly into Thad’s ear: “You can certainly stay in my way for all I care.”