Matched

BY : HarrisHawk
Category: Star Wars (All) > AU - Alternate Universe
Dragon prints: 253
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

The little jingle, like the one one would associate a video game character jumping to, twinkled in the nearly empty townhouse. From the bathroom with the door ajar, it tweaked his ear and he already knew what it was but carried on washing his hands without overly reacting to it. Another one. Which shallow, greedy, vain individual would it be today? He cast his mind back on the prospective matches from that day, some he could remember clearly and others just barely. He’d remember snippets like an unusual name, a strange profile picture or a particularly sweet dog or cat; he always had a soft spot for cats. He had swiped right on a blonde three kilometres away; a confident, sassy looking woman of thirty with her lips puckered at the camera on what appeared to be a hen night. “Yes, you need to be purged, darling, look at you.” He inspected the following photos and from there, he deducted she was perfect. Posing with super cars, bold selfies in the mirror of an upmarket boutique; she was ideal, the male population would thank him for it.

 

Even her tagline screamed it: “I like my men how I like my chocolate: rich and dark! Hahahaha!!” Subsequent by several irritating emojis of tiaras, diamonds, kissy faces, pound signs and whatever other pictures a textbook golddigger would find appropriate to put on her Tinder profile.

 

“I’m not dark, darling.” He thought in response as a menacing smirk pulled at the corner of those pallid lips. “But I am rich. I’ll look after you.” He wasn’t the most attractive individual, he could admit that. He wasn’t conventionally handsome and out of habit, he always looked at his own profile to remind himself of how superficial humans could be. Here was he, an average looking man in his mid-thirties with a predictable profile (looking for relationship, someone to share my life with, social drinker, smoker, the usual). However, the hook for his desired type lay in his photos and in the single line beneath his profile picture: Head Surgeon at St. Snoke Memorial Hospital. An incredible post for a man of his age and it wasn’t a lie but some of the more currency hungry found it difficult to believe their luck that one of the finest surgeons in the country had been reduced to Tinder. Not reduced though, not at all even if the pale, thin frame and flaming head did seem to be somewhat repellent to the female species.

 

His photos only amplified his implied (and very real) wealth. While his looks didn’t amount to much, Armitage dressed well and only in the best, obvious to those who knew what to look for and so he chose a picture of himself in an exceptional Armani tuxedo at an awards gala with a glass of champagne he couldn’t even begin to value. That usually grabbed their attention. If that wasn’t enough, to curiously swipe on that photo would reveal a more casual photo with his prized thoroughbred Ashera, Millicent. The next on a beach in Hawaii though he only posed for it for the purpose of the picture; Hux didn’t care for the sun and the speckling of rash on his glowing white chest should have been an indication of that.

 

Finally retrieving his phone from the living room coffee table: New Match! The notification sang as he keyed the code to the homescreen and tapped the icon to open the app to find his picture and the blonde hen night girl vibrating next to each other. It’s a Match! You and Jessika have liked each other! He felt the usual stab of satisfaction when a particular favourite had fallen into the trap. Despite both swiping right, there was often a reluctance to initiate contact by both parties, purely out of nerves or fear of trolling. Hux, however…. Hux was a predator. In knowing what he wanted (and it wasn’t a golddigger, he would never find what he wanted and he had accepted that), he selected the new match and typed a charming introductory message with no hesitation whatsoever and it went from there.

 

 


 



Meet me at the Savoy at 7.30pm. See you then, beautiful. Xxx 

 

What better way to snag a golddigger than to invite her to one of the most expensive, luxurious and exclusive restaurants in the city? And she didn’t disappoint. She was everything he expected. Not wanted, expected. The giggly flirtations with the shifting of heavily pencilled and scrutinizing eyes to his phone, his watch and wallet were all commonplace among his choices, this one was no different though she seemed to get under his skin faster than the others did. Terribly irritating and all as he found her, it was ingrained into him to treat her like a lady, even if she didn’t really act like one. The trapping began with a kiss to her hand outside and intensified when the menus were placed down in front of them.

 

Drinks were first and champagne was a must. She sampled it like a pro and declared the Bollinger Vieilles Vignes Francaises of 2005 for £1,100 a bottle would do; it went without saying that he was paying for their evening together and why wouldn’t he make her last one memorable? Not that she’d be remembering it but he would. He smiled through it and reminded himself that this was payment for his sport. She certainly knew how to get her values worth when she selected the Beluga Royal Caviar for a simple starter and not the £150 for 30grams, heavens no. She would entertain nothing less than the 50g for £250; had she dined here before? The conversation was almost polite and she tended to focus on his job with the banal “It must be interesting!”, “That’s a lot of responsibility!”, “Oh gosh, I couldn’t do that!” or “You must be so intelligent!”.

 

Plates cleared away to make room for their main, she naturally started to edge into his Tinder profile, asking about the holidays, the cat, the suits; his lavish lifestyle. All the while, the pound signs in her eyes were more than prominent. Two Chateaubriand steaks (one medium well done, the other rare) at £72 each found their way to the table where they were enjoyed in moderate silence; hers had been slathered with peppercorn sauce, his with marrowbone. He watched her eat between cutting his own mouthfuls; watched her savour every chew with soft sighs and lowered, mascaraed lashes. “I won’t even need to drug you.” For an ordinary human being to have such a disturbing thought might have been alarming to them but not Hux. No, this was run of the mill. He took another sip of the overpriced champagne, finding it not quite to his taste but he’d be damned if he didn’t drink it. The semi-quiet at the table allowed him to think of what he’d need, what he had to hand at home and how he would get her there. He disregarded the last part; she’d go willingly, like a lamb to the slaughter.

 

Chocolate and hazelnut Opera cake was not enough for £9 for a meagre slice. She had to have the suggested accompanying wine for an extra £9 per glass while he opted for the passion fruit soufflé with orange ice-cream for £10.50. When the bill arrived and the time came to pay, he thanked the waiter (whom he knew by name) to ignore the overly-interested stare from across the table. The bill had come to some exorbitant sum of over £1,500; most of which she was responsible for. Would it have been cheaper to get a prostitute? Maybe but the thrill wasn’t the same if a woman expected danger. The pristine credit card was swept away and his wallet was shut before she could get a closer look inside but she was already trailing the side of her foot up and down his leg. Who needed a prostitute?

 

 


 

 

The taxi was as close as they’d gotten. Wrapped around each other, tongues warring and hands wondering; the driver did his best to ignore it. His fingers grazed the purposely thin material of her panties that were easily accessible beneath the little black dress (that he suspected did not come from Primark), eliciting a breathy groan and a twitch of her newly exposed cunt to his fingers. As he expected, the tart didn’t shy away; rather, she opened her legs wider to let two fingers stretch her. It seemed the usual trick of cabbies taking the longer way around didn’t apply tonight as the driver was eager to get the over-enthusiastic lovers out of his car before they left a smell in the backseat. While Hux paid (again), Jessika surveyed the neighbourhood with awe as if all her birthdays had come at once but the poor golddigger was yet to see that she would not be having another birthday.

 

 


 

 

The clothes on the floor more than likely came to thousands altogether as if the carpet didn’t match whatever sum they collected. The mattress sagged in different places as the two writhing bodies shifted and churned into satisfying poses of pleasure with the obscenest noises to accompany them. He was correct in his sentiments; he didn’t need to drug her nor did she resist or protest when he entered her without a condom, not that he had any intention of bowing to such petty objections whether she did or not. He assumed it would be sensible for a golddigger to be pro-choice or perhaps she was on the pill but he assumed she would have informed him for the sheer eroticism of it.

 

Pinned to the bed, she relinquished control to him but it wouldn’t have been too difficult for him to take it regardless; he was far bigger than her. The thrusts were brutal, pelvis crashing savagely with primitive grunts of effort paired with more submissive whines from beneath. Faster and faster, harder and harder with a strength and force it didn't look like he possessed; Hux's bony hips pummeled mercilessly into Jessika's slightly meatier ones, relishing the sensation of raw, aggressive fucking.

 

"Ahh.... Ahh.... Fuck.... Fuck.... FUCK YES!!! Oh God.... Right there.... Right there.... YES!!!"

 

"That's it, tramp." The thought was automatic and unregulated without disrupting the flow of his brutal movements in response to the whorish ministrations and the bounce of breasts that Hux could categorically state, as a surgeon, were not real. "Take it, you fucking bitch. You knew what the champagne would cost you."

 

"Let me try something." The sinister purr in her ear was far more amicable than the snarls she was now more acquainted with though the consent was an illusion. He withdrew to a whimper of both relief and disappointment while his knees found his own weight and the sheets permitted a shuffle towards hers until his cock met her mouth. She took him without complaint while he rooted in the bedside drawer, the exercise was not born of pleasure; it was simply to keep her quiet while his mind started to calculate. Her mouth milked him or tried to, he wasn’t giving her that just yet but the benign suckling encouraged movement in his lower quarters once more and a slight growl as he retrieved what he had been looking for. The propulsion of his loins continued while a white, silk scarf snaked around Jessika’s wrists with professionally careful hands and bound them tight while her head still glided ever so respectfully, the warm wet enveloping him in the most sacred way possible. The restriction didn’t seem to bother her; judging by the haughty (if muffled) giggle the upgrade in bedroom spice was welcomed and somehow he doubted she was a stranger to it.

 

Despite the sweet tickle, he ejected his shaft and resumed his previous position but slower and more careful than before. When he leaned his face close to hers, Jessika poised and readied herself for another heavy session of invasive kissing but instead found him watching her facial expression and….. tightness.

 

“What…. What’re you doing?”

“Ssshhhh….. You’ll like it.”

“Ar….Armitage? What’re yoggggguuuuuhhhh…..” The curtailment on her hands left her helpless though she did try to rub them together as if one might slip from the silk but to his sick delight, panic had taken over. In a new wave of arousal, his hips kicked back into action with another bout of hostile thrusts; fuelled by the thrashing beneath him and the beautiful shade of reddish-purple her face was beginning to turn from the slow tightening of the scarf. With an end looped around each fist and a shrinking amount of material on her throat, Hux continued to pull slowly until Jessika’s alarm was reduced to gasping wheezes and a weakening of her resistance. He counted the seconds; five, six, seven…. But his fucking into the almost unconscious woman was still relentless. However, he refused to allow himself release until he was sure Jessika was well and truly dead.

 

“Now, now, Jessika.” The scolding taunt came from the weak thumping of her bound hands against his chest; they were more of an irritation or an inconvenience than a problem. “Be a good girl and it’ll be over soon. Think about the wonderful evening we had.” His breath was beginning to shorten but in a very different way to hers; they were both close but to very different things. The adrenaline surged through his system with testosterone as he pulled the scarf to such a degree that her neck became scarlet and his knuckles a delectable shade of ivory. Her noises and struggles became frailer, the spark started to die in her eyes and her eyelids started to flicker; all the while, Hux’s maintained his violent rammings that caused the bed to creak.

 

In his mind, he combed through everything her body was being subjected to. He revelled in the idea of her trachea being crushed, the blood vessels bursting and the hindered flow of oxygen to her brain that, when her head lulled to the side, seemed to have cut off. Unconscious but not dead, his genital nudges slowed but didn’t cease in a bid to monitor her breathing and pulse. Inhales barely there and forced; he kept his hold but refused to tighten it. She wouldn’t be waking up again and the mere concept of it sent him spiralling into overdrive once more while the craving for an orgasm clawed at him. The mattress protested under the utter harassment, the headboard slammed repeatedly to the wall and his own carnal howls became central to the debauched scene; even more so (if it were possible) when Jessika’s body finally went limp. His ear tilted to her mouth but felt no tickle, even with the heaves of his own pants.

 

“Thank you for a memorable night, Jessika.” The last demanding impels to the dead woman’s opening came to a stuttering halt as he emptied his contents into her; respect for the dead was by no means a priority. His choking came from pure exertion while he tried to compose himself but without removing himself from her. Rather than coping with his orgasm, he wallowed in the glorious aftermath with little consideration for if his partner was alive or dead. He rolled off to the other side of the king size bed, the corpse had served her purpose. He would use her again before he disposed of her but for now, was complacent enough to sleep beside her. Before he did that though, he seized the packet of cigarettes lighter and his phone for the usual post-coital ritual. His breathing had still to regulate but his lungs still dictated a cigarette to soothe his jitters and while he sucked on it, Tinder was opened once again. He swiped left on several; too boring, too modest, too sweet.

 

But then he found something else, something not quite of his norm. He took in the immaculate hair, the mysterious eyes, the cocky smile; magnificence at its finest….. Lecturer at First Order University. That twigged his interest. Yes, the intelligence was there, he could see it. Out of sheer curiosity, he swiped right and immediately, the ding! delighted him.

 

It’s a Match! You and Y/N have liked each other!



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