There was a reason the General hadn't married younger. Lack of interest, yes, fear - he would never acknowledge it- but also his absolutely draconian demands. Girls were not holy enough to bear his heir. It had to be perfect. His red hair, perfectly coiffed, his uniform, perfectly pressed, while women were… chaos and uncertainty. In the end he had to accept what was offered, and he still wondered what he saw in that one. Their first time had been difficult, and he didn't want to think it was his fault. A husband should have been in charge. More than that.
The second time they did it, it was almost as complicated.
The third time, he decided to explore the matter. They had dined in the luxurious salon, alone, when he told her what had become their phrase.
"Remember the empire needs children". She nodded violently, unwilling to turn him off after such a long time. She also wanted it but would never acknowledge it. Of course. He led her to their bedroom, cold and impersonal, and he gestured for her to lie down.
"Remove your... underthings... before". He cleared his throat before and after. She did so, embarrassed, and tucked the offending panty under a pillow. He was carefully turned away, dramatically not having a look. This was familiar, she could do that. Except it still felt quite inappropriate to be on a bed in front of a man, alone, especially a man who had been inside her. She reassured herself by thinking that he never enjoyed this, and neither did she, not more than normal, not more than needed.
She sighed and waited, complying.
"Up", he simply ordered, the tone of a man used to obedience, and she obeyed. Hux turned toward her only after he heard the rumpling of clothes. This was clinical, clean, cold. Safe. Seeing her uncover her nakedness in front of him, at his order, this wouldn't do. He knelt on the bed, between her parted legs, and he stared. Gently, slowly, he approached, and she inhaled in surprise, almost whined, when his gloved hand found her folds and spread them, his eyes on her inside, where she had never looked at herself. His finger explored, very shallowly at first, softly rubbing along the labia and the folds. She thought she would crave real skin touching her, but this sounded sinful and then the glove made his inspection less personal. Not personal was perfect. He stared hard - she was certain he had never seen a woman like that before - and he went to retreat when his thumb caught a numb of flesh on the top of her parts and she bucked.
It was his turn to be startled, almost removing himself from the bed, suddenly red creeping up his cheeks. Tentatively he touched it again, and she decided she loved this because it made her feel.
"Sir!", she could only exclaim, not knowing whether to ask him to do it again, or to be scared from this all.
"You like that", he stated, though the lilt to his aristocratic voice was almost interrogative. "This is nauseating, disgusting. A woman cannot enjoy anything like…". She knew what she felt, and what she has felt under him, not quite as powerful as this but some troubled, disturbing sensation, growing toward… nothing. Except that first time. She assumed it would be the same there, should she allow herself to explore later on, but she had no time to chide herself for those traitorous thoughts because his finger was at it again, rubbing, trying to find how exactly to manipulate whatever it was.
She moaned and he told her to remain silent, almost snapping, though he was more flushed than when he was taking her, and this made no sense because there was no effort, or barely, involved in this. Taking her always looked like he was struggling with some demon, or waging war, with his completion as the cherished spoils - though he never claimed to get much pleasure from it either. She stayed quiet because she was afraid he would stop. He stopped anyway, afraid somehow. When he removed his hand, the tip of the glove was wet.
The next time he took her, he angled himself slightly strangely from start, and he grazed against that part where she so desperately wanted him to push, and she moaned. He slapped her thigh, though his eyes were now fixated on hers, boring a hole into her, and his clipped tone scolded her.
"This shall be silent". He was afraid of what they experienced the first time, she realized, the loss of control, the reality of it. He didn't adjust his position though and the sensation was growing, growing, it was too much especially now that their eyes were upon each other telling quite a different story - a transgression per se, she was sure - and she was afraid of what was going to happen… He finished much quicker than usual, none of the scowls, sighs, or long suffering failures to complete or to even penetrate. He bit his lip and she madly wondered if he felt something, too, prefered this way, too.
Some days later they met in a corridor, and she blushed at the memory. He did too, there was no mistake. He was ashamed, angry, and yet he pounced on her and pushed her hard against the wall, his body pinning hers there like a fragile butterfly as his hand sought something under the floor length skirts. He pushed the underwear to the side, and he was the one gasping as he found it. He massaged her all over her sex, rubbing at her slit, opening her while she didn't know if she was resisting or parting her thighs for him to finally give her what she needed. He was inexperienced but intelligent, a very quick learner, oh Force maybe he thought of it… He pressed where it made her shiver and soon he found a rhythm against her pearl, pinching, rolling and flicking. She was so wet, she burned all over and though it is a sin, she clung to his back, the rough texture of the uniform barely satisfying, she whined against his chest, mouth agape, her hips bucked and she clenched around the void, around where he should be. She couldn't stand without his strength, she couldn't handle this wave of delight. He gave her some more circling and she just exploded, exclaiming against him and opening her thighs as much as she could because she wanted him just there. She felt embarrassingly wet and feared this would be sweat, or worse.
It was only when he removed his hand and she shuddered from overstimulation that she realized his other arm was cradling her.
"General, what…?". He didn't know what to reply. He didn't know why he wanted this. Why this made him so hard... He thought himself incapable of enjoying much of the act, his completion no more satisfying than a sneeze, certainly less than a victory over rebels. Night after night after night, he came to dread even trying, nightmarishly thinking he might be a degenerate after all if he couldn't even possess an objectively attractive woman; and here he was, more ready than ever, just from… This thing he was afraid to experience and yet wanted to. His grip and his gaze hardened. He basically grabbed her and forced her toward the bedroom. He pushed the door open, led her to the bed and his wife lied down, staring up toward him, expectant of some action or speech.
He didn't move for a moment, then he approached. He pushed up her skirt and pulled down her underwear, she wondered if he wanted to rub her again but no, he undid his zipper and this time, she stared. He was hard, huge, leaking. He shivered and moaned when he touched it but didn't put an end to it. She didn't remember hearing this the other times, ever. The sound aroused something primal inside her.
He climbed on her, his hands trailing along her legs, touching her stomach and her breasts and suddenly he nudged against her slit. They were both wet and they just slid together. She had never been that stretched, he had never been that heavy and thick. He thrust a few times, using words definitely not befitting his rank, and she thought she could get this insane peaking just from feeling and from watching. But as if it was not enough, he angled his penetration so that he stimulated that place again. She couldn't help it, she gave in and she embraced him. The eye contact was seering. He looked unhinged, close to angry but it wasn't so - General Hux's wife would know angry. She accommodated him between her legs, thrusting back and looking for friction where she liked it. She was still sensitive and it almost hurt, he was grabbing at her, touching all those places on her body, almost pleading for her not to protest. Her womb was alive and alight, she clenched around him and he grunted every time she did. He was breathing hard, his grasp hurt but it was good. She suddenly thought, what if it was over before she could… Without shame, way past it, she grabbed at his uniform jacket and pulled him up, hard. He barely moved but that was enough, he was hitting it just right. She was vaguely aware she kept repeating his name and he didn't tell her to be silent. One hard thrust, painful almost, she was grinding against him so brazen and she keened, close to crying, as she felt him coating her inside. He who always prided himself on being cold and silent, was repeating some ungodly word and pulling at her hair. They were going to be ashamed, for sure.
He didn't remove himself even though he should. She kept staring at him. He finally seemed self conscious and tucked himself in before even standing, so she wouldn't see him. It was ironical after he touched himself in front of her. The memory made her shiver.
He was now trying to save his mess of a uniform, pushing his hair back into their perfect shape. But sin was visible on him. She noticed a twitch in his too red mouth, too sensual for a man of power, probably inherited from ancestors who didn't shy away from desire and dirt.
"The Empire needs children", he added, as if to plaster some morality and control onto what had happened.
"Yes, dear", she smiled.