"Less…"
"I'm here, baby. You okay? D'you want a drink or-?"
"I need you to go to sleep, darling." It seemed sleep was both fitful and fleeting on both sides of the bed; both waking intermittently, one out of pain and the other out of distress.
"I can't." The heat had woken him; not an overwhelming, stifling heat but a close, concerned snuggle that his pulverized body found itself nearly too sensitive to cope with though he couldn't bring himself to separate them. The alabaster arm that stretched across his fractured ribs and the sorrowful breaths breezing the swollen bump of his collar bone amongst other elements of paranoid affection all stemmed from one place: a fraught, guilt-stricken wife. Sighing amidst the seemingly constant wrack of pain, Armitage turned his head just enough for the cracked bridge of his nose to line consolingly with hers; despite how his nerves screamed and protested beneath his skin. "Too worried."
"You know it is in my nature to be as efficient as possible in every endeavour I set my mind to." Barely above a whisper, Nalesse had no trouble hearing; the late hour, wilderness surroundings and orders of silence in their wing made sure of it. With his (now) only eye still closed, the tranquillity of the darkness assured him he would not have long before he fell prey to slumber once again. "If I was going to die, I would have done it by now."
"Oh sure, put that in my head." She retorted in a fluster that prompted a soft huff of laughter in an aching torso.
"You will be exhausted tomorrow." He tried to reason; reason was almost futile with the stubborn creature he called Darling and he doubted now would be any different; especially with his condition and her need to fawn over him at the best of times. "Rest, love. I promise I'm fine."
"Well, that's very convenient-" Here came the iron-willed reply, haughty as the day he met her. "'Cause if I'm gonna be exhausted, bed is a good place to be, isn't it? And I'm not leaving this bed, 'cept for toilet and food, 'til you're able to get up."
"Darling, that could take months."
"Good thing we got them waiting on us hand and foot then, isn't it?" His wakeful resolve crumbled after that. Whether Nalesse slept or not, he couldn't say but the differences in then and now continued to mount. Now, he had a devoted (if secret and unapproved) wife, the woman who loved him, despite their obvious differences and priorities; she was his rock, the one who made the long absences worth it every single time. But it had begun very differently. The initial seduction had been brash, coarse and (when he thought back on it) filthy.
She had encouraged him to take her like a prostitute with little respect for their business settlement; seemingly interested in just one thing but for the life of him, the General couldn't fathom why. Then again, she was a different breed; a far lower class, why shouldn't he use her like a bitch and cast her aside when he was finished? If he even believed that; she had held the reigns from the very beginning. That carnal purpose appeared to be mutual in a pleasure-orientated arrangement as it later came to be; unfamiliar and all as that concept was, to him at least. Nalesse was far more comfortable in it and he'd noticed that from the start but all one had to do was visit somewhere like Mos Eisley to realize that behaviour was commonplace among her people.
His subconscious greeted him like an old friend; that comforting encapsulation of nothingness washed over him until a memory, like a scene from a holo-film, began to play behind the darkness of shuttered lids.
The frenzied *thumps* in the General's quarters were not amorous in nature; panic-stricken is a much more appropriate adjective. In his fluster the next morning after that mould-breaking encounter, Armitage did not notice the card on his bedside table. However, as he sluggishly began to undress that evening and took in the tousled bedsheets, something else felt out of place. His quarters were always immaculate so for his sheets to be thrown asunder and soiled not only stuck out to him but the mere concept of it also poked him with pride; even if he didn't remember much of it. With the sheets accounted for, he scrutinized his sleeping area until something else became apparent: a com card. Turning it over in his hand with his com in the other, there was no possibility that it wasn't hers. Sitting on the edge of the bed with one item per hand, he hesitated until impulse grabbed him and the numbers were punched in.
"I was wondering if you'd call."That meltingly seductive tone made his eyes drift shut and more of the night previous returned to him immediately. Like a mixture of honey and cyanide, Nalesse's voice caressed him through the receiver and somehow (perhaps it was the subtle but tell-tale quake in his words), he felt she knew she had him in a corner.
"I didn't realise you were waiting." He replied, trying to keep himself even and for the most part was successful. "I only saw the card just now, I'm afraid."
"I'm sorry I had to run this morning."Waking up alone had come with a pang of disappointment before the flurry of hysteria but he would only admit that to himself; not that he knew what it was to wake up beside someone. "Last minute job came up and the boys needed me home."He assumed 'the boys' meant her crew so he tried to brush aside that little prick of jealousy.
"I would have had little time to give you, even if you had stayed." With the com in one hand and the other working to loosen his boots to ease them from his aching calves, it wasn't long before the sigh of relief echoed on her side of the com. "I was late to the bridge as it was."
"And when was the last time you were late to the bridge?"
"I have neverbeen late to the bridge."The resolution in that unwavering declaration gave Nalesse another peek at the redhead's dedication to his position; as if their initial meeting hadn't been enough. He took his role seriously with seemingly every ounce of his being poured into it, save for the night previous and that morning when she decimated that dedication; all it cost her was a few hours and a condom.
"But you were today."She reminded him coyly which provoked an internal squirm in his overly regimented body.
"Unfortunately."
"Ah but... Was it worth it?"Hux stalled at the sly inquiry. To deny it was would be a lie and to admit it would be an assault on a value system that had been essentially bred into him. What did that system mean to him though? He had seen potential matches on Arkanis; each one more pathetic than the last and the very idea of being in a room with one was painful, let alone being married to one. But it was expected of him. He could only fight off the matches for so long, his father was already questioning his intentions (and his sexuality) with that constant line: "The Empire needs children!"
Nalesse was not thorough bred, she was not of an Imperial family (he assumed) and she was not a dainty lady by any standards. Nor was she obedient, gentle or servile; he assumed she'd rather die than be those things, any of them. That's what fascinated him: she was forbidden. But forbidden and all as the smuggler was, he'd had a taste and he suspected that taste was only dipping his toe into an ocean of twisted morals and an unpredictable psyche. She promised an infinitely more intense and memorable experience than any of his matches, even if only for a short time.
"It was worth it." The rigid confession incited a mischievous hum from the receiver, one that made him swallow and dig for strength within himself. Boots removed, pale toes freed and flexed to ensure circulation (however poor); he poised his hand over the fastenings of his tunic as if afraid their clicking would cause him to miss something from the other end.
"And what are you doing now?"
"Undressing." He answered innocently, unclasping the top three latches beneath the seam on his chest and pausing again lest the noise distort her. "I plan on retiring to bed at the earliest opportunity, it has been something of a strange day with an even stranger beginning."
"It's funny you should say that." How could his curiosity not be roused by that taunting susurration for his ears only? "I'm just outta the shower; lying on my bed, all wet'n'naked…." He froze. "I like your accent, y'know…. Helps when I'm touching myself; like now." Armitage had never indulged in anything worth salivating over…. Until now. The more he listened and languished in the vulgarity, the more the luscious form of the smuggler crept into his brain to the barely noticed sensation of blood rushing south.
The conversation stalled as the image materialized in the dark of eyes shut by temptation; he could spy her just as clearly as if she were there before him, drawing mostly on what he remembered from the night previous. Raven locks strewn carelessly across the pillow, creamy skin exposed to the maximum with little left to the imagination, sheets tossed in revelation, those burning eyes whittling him and pallid fingers plunging into a sopping cunt just for him…. It was no wonder he abandoned undoing his tunic to fumble with his trousers instead and seizing a firm grip on the engorged length inside.
"I'm so wet..."He didn't doubt it and the mere image of such debauchery spurred him to squeeze tighter in a deliciously painful attempt to milk himself. The soft bleats from the com from her own self-pleasure entwined with his as his hips bucked and his tip started to weep; masturbation had never really held any appeal until that night and he now put that down to imagination or lack of it.
"You're fucking yourself, I can hear you." Her own voice trembled as if on the verge of unravelling though the sly, knowing edge prevailed. His answer was little more than a groan as the dribble of self-made lubrication did its job; facilitating the gliding of his fist over his cock with little resistance. "I'd love to fuck you again."
"Come back!" The reply was instantaneous, almost embarrassingly so but the desperation somehow fuelled the now furious pumping while he fought to get the words out through scrambling breaths; the eroticism of it surprised him and he embraced it.
"Can't." The flicks of his wrist slowed but didn't stop out of despondency while it seemed she was already spent by the glaze of satisfaction in her voice. "I had too much trouble leaving this morning so kudos on your security." A beat of anti-climax until…. "How soon can you get to Seregar?"
"Seregar…." He repeated, mulling the possibility while his brilliant mind calculated the answer; manhood still in a vice-like grip. "After a shower, securing my shuttle, making the jump to hyperspace to the outer rim-"
"Fuck the shower." He wasn't the only one who could display tenacity and that riled him to gradually recover his throttling. "Shower after; how long will it take you?"
"An hour, possibly less."
"Fine, meet me at The Crosswinds Saloon in the Storrd Township; a friend owns it, we'll be undisturbed there."
"Crosswinds Saloon?!" He practically spat, indignant at the very thought; there were whispers of gambling, drugs and prostitution despite the clean front the owner managed to keep for his own dealings. "Surely there is somewhere else we can-"
"What?!" The dissection was merciless. "You want somewhere cosy in the middle of the fucking Hosnian System?! I'm sorry, and there was me thinking you wouldn't want to be fucking seen and recognized!" She was right.
"Very well." Not one to usually concede to defeat or superior logic, the General found it bitter to the taste but would stomach it nonetheless. "Seregar in an hour. I will ensure all my vaccinations are up to date."
Reputations are reputations for a reason and while Armitage had never ventured to the Crosswinds Saloon before, he had a rough idea of what to expect from said reputation. That reputation superseded itself even before he set foot on the property when he was watched by the small, beady eyes of the Klatooinian bouncers as he disembarked from his shuttle. Did it sit right with him that an inferior species was better armed than him? Not especially when they eyed him with dislike, their body language hostile and their demands snarled in broken Galactic Basic. They out-manned him, out-gunned him and, whether he liked it or not, dictated the order in this…. earthy establishment; all before he laid eyes on the interior of the Saloon.
It was more or less what he expected; a half-hearted projection of splendour that had lost motivation somewhere along the line in the peeling of paint and stains on the carpet. A chandelier hung over the main open space by the bar with glass droplets missing while the bar in question had become dull in its woodwork and the varnish spotted from years of spilled drinks and careless elbows. Regardless of the patchiness and shabbiness, he could see that the place was indeed clean. He decided a drink was in order; given the circumstances and his surroundings, he would need his strength and once settled on a worn high-stool, he could take in the (questionable) selection.
"Something I can get for you, sir?" The barman, a Rodian, simpered to the plain-clothed General though Armitage suspected he would have been treated no differently in uniform; this place would serve him as a dictator or a liberator as long as he had credits.
"Whyren's. Double." He ordered with little empathy for the barman and his sentient status, he was there to serve and Armitage was there to take advantage of that fact; well, maybe his presence revolved more around a certain female. The dusty bottle from a high shelf was retrieved and the glass tumbler filled but the redhead's restlessness and subtle glances around the vicinity did not go unnoticed.
"Are you looking for someone in particular, sir?" The green-scaled barkeep probed wily, easily the most friendly creature he had encountered so far; his speech slow, possibly out of habit due to serving beings from all corners of the galaxy. "Or are you looking for someone but do not care who they are?" He could only assume he was referring to a prostitute. The General cast one more look around before he graced the Rodian with an answer and was sure he could trust it; having felt more threatening gazes on him than the icy blue one warming his face just then, he continued his menial duty unfazed.
"I am looking for Nalesse Du Sade." The barman's (inhuman) features betrayed him as they morphed into brief but definite recognition; the General's curiosity (and envy) bubbled. "Do you know her?"
"Most round here know her, sir." He replied knowingly though Armitage couldn't be sure of the context as the glass was slid across the tired counter. "The clever ones fear her; those who do not, live in blissful ignorance until they are given reason to. And she is just one of four though the most volatile by far."
"Hmm…." Hux mused with an ill-mannered grunt and a swallow of whiskey that was almost too matured, and not in a good way. "She mentioned a crew but I know nothing about them."
"There is a Devaronian-" An image of a tall, red, horned beast-like creature entered his head; the entry from the galaxy's index of species, at least. "An Abyssin-" A green-grey cyclops that could live for hundreds of years if given the chance to heal. "And her brother, Mort." A human, he assumed. "Mort…." The Rodian began with something akin to fondness. "Is an oaf. Kind, as kind as he can be but an oaf nonetheless." He nodded to a large sign near the front door, a sign warning patrons against drawing blasters with a consequence of immediate execution on sight; a fair warning. "Up until recently, that sign only had three blaster holes. Mort added the fourth and fifth last week."
"And the result?" By the reasoning of the sign, he should have been shot upon the drawing of his blaster but he had clearly put the scorch marks there somehow. By the way the Rodian spoke, Mort was still among them.
"Mort is a danger enough on his own, placid moments aside but put Nalesse into the mix and that sign becomes meaningless; despite the order is has kept for decades."
"You said he was an oaf."
"Are you telling me someone brainless cannot be dangerous?" It was a valid point; the General sometimes had to question Kylo Ren's intellect but still, he would not cross him. "Especially when he works under Nalesse's thumb, devious and all as she is."
"Speaking of Nalesse." The glass was beginning to empty and with no sign of the Huntress, it meant she was either late or already there but he did not wish to pay out for another glass of stale whiskey. "Where might I find her?"
"Upstairs." He answered, rendering the rest of the conversation somewhat pointless but some snippets of information would be filed away in that brilliant mind. "She knew you would ask me."
"And how did she know I would ask you?" Armitage interrogated with a taint of suspicion; to be spoken about and not to was maddening.
"She did not." The Rodian assured. "It is a gravitational thing, if you like. You see, the barman soaks in everyone's problems, fears, celebrations and achievements; we cannot do that unless you tell us. We are just someone to talk to." He doubled over the rag and set it neatly aside; perhaps another reason for the fading varnish was over-cleaning. "And if we are listening or not, depends on what you say; some information can be valuable." Even the barman was in on a scam. The Rodian turned away to serve someone else, someone he clearly knew and so Armitage was cast aside to entertain himself. However, the abandonment seemed to be impeccably timed as a random glance towards the balcony was rewarded by a familiar bundle of ebony locks (a few of which he had plucked off his pillow that evening) and a wolfish smirk that observed him from above with the intention of being seen.
He followed and by the time he reached the room she had disappeared to, she had already stripped to the bare essentials and was sprawled enticingly on the bed awaiting his arrival. With a far soberer mind than the night previous, he could appreciate the near nakedness and specifically, each carefully sculpted tattoo with awe; each coloured flower, each mysterious design, even the patch of branch leopard spots on her hip. Basking in the admiration, Nalesse allowed him to study her from afar for a few moments more until she grew bored of only his eyes flitting up and down her.
"Well?" She broke his visual fixation on the under bust tattoo (though it was easy to mistake that fascination for something else in the immediate area). "You just gonna stand there or are you gonna help me put this fucking bed through the wall?" Needing no further persuasion and in a record time he could never remember matching; Armitage Hux disrobed in a flurry of banal and unofficial clothing with little regard for the self-consciousness of the unimpressive specimen his usual uniform hid. The Whyren's may have been stale, the air trapped in the bottle may have spoiled it and the length of time on the shelf may have soured it but one thing was sure: the alcohol was still present. How did he know that? The fearless and commanding way he roughly forced his lips to hers with no apprehension of rejection.
The deserted semi hard-on began to revive itself as he became more adventurous and opted to push himself in doing the instinctive things that his almost-virgin status prevented him from doing on their last meeting; touching her, letting his lips pepper the intervals of ivory skin on her neck…. With her chest support tossed aside, the creamy flesh of her breast and the sweet, rosy nipple became a new source of intrigue; so much so, that he had to taste it. The delectable pressure of suckling was not quite what nature had intended them for (not from a grown adult, at least) but Nalesse whimpered nevertheless and crossed an arm behind his shoulders as if to hold him there.
His unclothed length ground insistently against her thinly guarded heat, eager to resume certain illicit activities so she took him in hand; literally. The General's initial moan bounced off all four walls and back to the ears of a delighted smuggler as her hand proved to be a much better preference to his own. With a wipe of her hand from the back to the front of her slit to collect her own arousal, she used it in conjunction with his to make the pass of her fist over him smoother; it worked as a lubricant and to stimulate him though she suspected that would not have taken much.
His newly found adoration for her chest was not hindered (much) by the attention below his waist; the suckling evolved into nips, grazes and lasting siphoning but as the minutes ticked by, the need to move on became prevalent. Condom secured, the General made to move in as he had done the night before but instead (and he still wasn't sure how), found himself on his back with his favourite female straddling his lap and imposing on his line of sight.
"Oh no you don't." She chided in a silky purr that sent shivers down his spine, a purr that spelled trouble. "Fair is fair; it's my turn now." He didn't have time to ponder it for it soon became self-explanatory when the increasingly regular sensation of envelopment within another human being induced another moan of pure hedonism. Her hips moved slow; teasing, tantalizing, torturing much to the savour of the military genius beneath her. Their height difference prevailed in the most wonderful way; while she worked her pelvic witchcraft, he was able to sit up, gather her torso closer and re-immerse himself in her chest. Buried in the utmost comfort of her breasts, he could acquaint himself with her scent; another detail he had overlooked of this beguiling creature before but would know anywhere by the time they were finished.
The noises and the movement became more free-flowing as exploration continued for the General; first, the new obsession with her tattoos, then her breasts and now, a position where he was more or less powerless when she rode him to her liking. Cunt swallowed cock then ejected it again as the thrusts between the two became mutual; aggressive, loveless and callous but very much appropriate as this kind of arrangement could expect. Her keens were muffled to his ears, any clear words distorted while the wild beating of a wicked heart engrossed him in the odd pillow of a bosom; an indulgence never considered before.
"My father warned me about women like you." Surfacing from the devotion-inducing crevice, the redhead's pant triggered a puff of laughter from the woman in control.
"Oh did he now?" The hiss was malicious and Armitage savoured it; feeling chills for the second time. To drive his thrill, the General opened ecstasy-heavy eyes and found her savagely amused gaze already upon him. "Beware the girl with the tattoos, she might just show you a good time?" Less concerned with mirth, Armitage's now bruising thrusts met hers in the middle but it irked him that his mind had been automatically drawn to his father and the pleasures he'd forbidden him; she was correct in her mocking statement.
"He said a real woman is unmarked- agh! Obedient…. Ladylike…. Well-trained… Oh Gods….." Pale, dry lips claimed to prove a point, the redhead returned it with no hesitation; quite the opposite.
"And to think-" Nalesse thrummed with deviant undertones while Hux fought to keep his orgasm at bay a little while longer until she began to show signs. "Given the choice, you'd rather be here with me than putting a baby in some poor, vanilla Imperial girl that got the seal of approval from daddy. 'Cause, let's be honest; that's all you're marrying her for, isn't it? What she can pop from between her legs and what her father can do for your father?" Again, she was painfully accurate to the white noise of lustful lamentations on both sides.
Excitement heightened steadily throughout and with it, the pair morphed more and more into one pulsating entity. Thrusts collided, exclamations got louder, skin slapped off skin and a window would soon need to be opened. Sweat dripped, lips fought, springs creaked and no doubt, their encounter was not as private as they believed with their disregard for the noise-level.
"And what d'you think daddy would say if he could see you now?" She taunted in a breeze of goading, finally beginning to unravel as evidenced by the shortness in her breath and the hammering of her pulse that matched his.
"Difficult to say…." He professed through a laboured wheeze, it would take more than this and the night previous for his body to truly acclimatize to such rigorous activity; an activity that was unfortunately coming to an end. "I cannot decide if he would commend me or…. disown me but either way, it is not his approval I seek…."
"You know your own mind, your own body." She affirmed as if she was about to impart wisdom but she chose to divert into trademark uncouthness instead on the razor's edge of cumming. "And you choose to fuck filthy bitches he'd detest; the ultimate 'fuck you'."
It happened in a split second; like someone had taken a lightsaber to whatever was holding both resolves together amid the thrashing of hips, loud whines and sobs of undeniable rapture and satisfied glee. He came first as he had been itching to do, emptying his contents into the well-worked rubber but prolonging it with a few exhausted bucks to carry her on and she shortly followed. The aftermath, in his green opinion, was the real challenge; the coping as they heaved to drench oxygen-droughted lungs once more while unsticking from each other to stare at the ceiling and ignore romantic obligation as casual flings dictated.
The blood in his over-heated length started to re-distribute itself among the common stream; as if it had not been responsible for the tribulations of some of his other organs and went about restoring him to a pre-arousal state. Shuffling himself down in the bed, the need for sleep had become overwhelming in an instant and it was imperative he obey his body clock to be on form for command the next morning. Without a "good night" from either side, it seemed Nalesse's sentiments were similar which only enforced the practicality of the arrangement.
He woke in unfamiliar surroundings, in a foreign bed and (which piqued his curiosity most of all) with company; he couldn't see her but the heat of a second person was blatant when one always slept alone. Checking his com, his body clock (despite the strange circumstances) did not fail him; he woke when he always woke, a little before dawn though some of his pre-duty rituals would need to be sacrificed to return on time. Carefully and subtly, he peeled back the covers and began to dress until….
"Go to the bar." Came the soft, sleep-clogged murmur from the tangle of blankets that made him pause his dressing though she was too well tucked away to be seen properly. "Ilgo will still be cleaning up; there's a cup of caf and a breakfast muffin waiting for you."
Why did that unnerve him? Kindness? Consideration? How strange…..
