A Silent Party

"Goodbye, Father"

Despite what you believed, you were tired enough to fall asleep again, even with Hux's arms around you. As far as you could see, he slept before you, and didn't move while you were awake.

The next morning came cold and grey. The light entering through the transparisteel wall touches your face, and you shiver. But you don't need to close your eyes to realize your current position is not the one in which you slept: you turned on the bed, and now your head rests on your husband's shoulder, your face touching his warm skin; along with it, there's his own scent, blended with soap and body lotion. It takes a moment for your nostrils to notice the scent, which means you got used to it during your sleep. You need to admit our bodies do weird things when they want to. But right when you think that's all, you move a little, and realize your breasts pressing his chest and your legs entwined with his; his arm surrounds your waist, keeping you close.

Now you can't stand still. You know you'll probably wake him up if you leave your place, and there is no way for you to do it without being face to face with him, but staying here takes such an effort... or not. You don't have logical reasons to leave the bed right now. You are comfortable the way you are. You close your eyes again, and the feelings that grew inside you last night return: you feel warmed and relaxed, unworried... The rest can wait...

You sense something, but it's so slow, subtle that you're convinced it is just an impression: you think his hand is stroking your back. You wait a little, and understand it is not your imagination; that's exactly what's happening: you feel his fingers rubbing upon the fabric of your gown, sometimes curling the ends of your hair. Maybe he doesn't know you're awake, or maybe he's doing it unconsciously, but whatever the case, you can't stand up.

And you don't want to.

You're trapped but, in fact, you like it. You crave it; you sense your arousal returning, and you do nothing about it. You didn't plan this situation; you didn't ask for it. The truth is that you never imagined something like this could happen: you've worked hard to not be defeated by this man in your words and principles, to establish yourself as an equal to him, but you weren't counting on being disarmed by a single stroke.

It's too soon to be subdued. You should not let it happen; you should not be manipulated by your own feelings like this. The girl in you might want to be spoiled and caressed like a pet, but the Senator's daughter cannot give this man a chance to brag about how easy it was for him to put the princess on her place.

While you're trying to convince yourself of this, your cheeks burn and a subtle hardness surround your breasts. This is the last thing you want him to notice; so, despite the probability of having him awake, you lean on your hands and slowly pull away. He doesn't move. For a moment, you are upon him; you stop and stare at his face.

Armitage is, in fact, a beautiful man. Apart from what he is when he's awake, you must recognize that. He's not just as pale as the holoimages and his black uniform made you think: even without the direct influence of the sunlight, there's a rosy shade covering his lips, around his nose, eyes and ears; his orange eyelashes cast a delicate shade on his cheeks at the soft morning light; even when he seems as relaxed as can be, his jawline doesn't lose its appearance of strength, with some orange dots growing out of his skin pointing the need of having his beard shaved. It is tempting to touch it with your fingers, to hold his chin and place a kiss on his lips.

You pull away, sitting on your side of the bed and looking away. Your eyes burn, and you pass your hands on them to keep them open. You notice a movement beside you; he's waking up. You bend your knees under the sheets and adjust your gown; since last night, you regret not finding something else to wear, for the fabric of this one is as thin as paper and shows everything, including the evident shape of your nipples.