With the jarring clatter of armor hitting the metal flooring of the base, the stormtrooper crumples to the ground, boneless. Hux watches him fall, a small crease forming between his two eyebrows. He hasn’t even been on duty for more than two hours today and already he has witnessed three instances of Kylo Ren’s temper blowing over. There’s much to be said for Hux’s patience at this point in his life, though his badges and commendations already speak to his competency and his strength of character. Supreme Leader Snoke has every confidence in him -- a fact that does wonders of easing the tension that always settles between his shoulder blades after witnessing Kylo Ren on yet another of his innumerous temper tantrums.
Hux is not an old man. In fact, it could be said that he is not yet even in his prime. But he is already developing a permanent scowl through his eyebrows, and lines near his mouth from pressing his lips together in a futile attempt to keep himself from sneering in frustration every time Kylo Ren’s temper flares in his presence. The stormtroopers are Hux’s responsibility, and while they fall under his discipline, Hux has already witnessed Kylo Ren take out more of them than the average supply run gone horribly wrong. Every time, it creates a wave of annoyance and rage that washes over him and settles in his shoulders, in his jaw, in the space between his ribs. It is tiresome. It is a constant.
But this time, as Kylo’s attention focuses on yet another one of Hux’s stormtroopers, the wave of emotion feels different, more pronounced.
“How dare you question me,” Kylo Ren’s voice slips through his mask, shrouded in untempered rage and vitriol. He doesn’t need the amplifier to make him sound more threatening, though it does, anyway. In his cape and helmet, he is tall, broad, and imposing -- a force of nature not to be reckoned with. He strides closer to the soldier and Hux can only sigh, knowing that the stormtrooper will soon join his comrade, unconscious on the ground. It is only a matter of time. Unfortunately, while everyone else in the room is making a valiant effort of focusing their attentions elsewhere, Hux cannot draw his eyes away from the spectacle before him, standing in rapt attention.
Unnecessarily, Kylo Ren raises his hand and slowly brings his fingers in, as if beginning to clench his fist. The stormtrooper begins to sputter and choke, his breathing hampered by the force. Hux knows that he doesn’t need to make the gesture to accomplish such a task, yet he does it every time. Ren’s attentions do not falter, and the soldier’s airway continues to slowly constrict. Long seconds pass. Once truly desperate, the stormtrooper’s hands finally rise to his own throat, to grasp at the invisible hands there, as if that will alleviate the force that is choking him. Truly, as Kylo Ren begins to laugh, low and deep, Hux cannot begin to grasp Ren’s flair for the over dramatic.
Unlike Kylo Ren’s attack on the stormtrooper only minutes ago, this one is not hurried. There is no impatience, no uncontrolled rage boiling over into the flare of an exploding star. No, this moment simply simmers between Ren and his current target, as the knight inches closer and presses his mask nearly against the unfortunate stormtrooper’s. Something hollow settles between Hux’s ribs, gutting him each and every time it looks like Ren breathes in one of the trooper’s pained breaths.
“Do you respect me? Do you fear me?” His fingers tighten even more, and the stormtrooper gurgles in Ren’s grasp. Very slightly, the white helmet nods, a testament to the trooper’s training. Silence settles between them, stretching for a long moment, punctuated with the uneasy breathing of the stormtrooper, fighting for each breath in fits and starts. The encounter is -- strikingly close to intimate, Hux feels, with a flare of emotion surging through him. At least it eases the hollow feeling from earlier.
The moment draws on too long.
It is as if Kylo Ren is wringing each and every breath from the stormtrooper, savoring every gurgle and involuntary whimper. Consuming all of it in greedy desire with an unending need for more. Ravenous and insatiable.
Hux begins to feel the pressing need to tap his boot against the ground and ask Kylo Ren just how many of his stormtroopers he plans on going through today, but he clenches his teeth and keeps silent. Eventually, the knight’s patience wears thin, just as Hux suspected it would. Ren huffs out an impatient snarl and clenches his fist with a violent twist. The stormtrooper drops to the ground, a near-perfect mirror image to his comrade on the other side of the room.
Kylo Ren strides out of the room with nothing more than a swish of his robes, leaving General Hux to clean up his mess. As usual.
Years ago, when Supreme Leader Snoke had placed Kylo Ren on Hux’s base, under the General’s watch, but not his control, it had not seemed a catastrophe. The Knight of Ren had spent most of his time dwelling in the dark corners of the base, skulking around like a shadow -- acclimating to his new environment. He had kept out of Hux’s hair, kept his prying fingers out of matters that were not his own. Now? Now, Hux has to contend with the impulses and the ego of a child, who happens to also have command over the powers of the force. A truly loathsome brat .
It doesn’t help matters that Kylo Ren is the favorite of Supreme Leader Snoke, despite his childish insolence. Hux has never had confirmation, but he suspects that Kylo Ren has been groomed since childhood for whatever purpose Snoke has for him -- thus granting him just about any leniency imaginable. There is no doubt that Kylo is strong, capable, and intelligent -- but that does not discount how impulsive and immature he is, how easily he is overwhelmed by his own emotions. At a young age, Hux was taught to suppress his emotions, to corral them deep within himself and use them as fuel for his own strength. Somehow, despite his Jedi training, Kylo Ren’s rage seems to know no bounds, no containment.
This is not the first time that Hux has watched Ren choke one of Hux’s men with the force. However, it is the first time that he watched it done so intimately. Typically, Kylo Ren constricts their airways instantaneously, dropping them in a matter of seconds before going about his own business. This time, he lingered on the control, stretched it out -- enjoyed it. Had there been no mask or helmet in the way, he would have been breathing in the stormtrooper’s air, felt the heat radiating from his skin.
The thought is repulsive. It hollows out everything in Hux’s chest and makes room only for itself.
The feeling burns hot and deadly inside him - all-consuming. He hesitates to put a name on it, because despite everything, he still has some pride left. The fact that his career is slowly morphing into one of babysitting a brat of a child doesn’t do much to help, but the least he can do is not dwell on it.
He barks out a few orders and calls a cleanup crew and a team of technicians. Ren has done a considerable amount of damage, completely overlooking the growing cost of healing and replacing injured personnel. Each of his little tantrums stretches their resources thinner, though now they at least have it built into their budget. But now, someone has to smooth out all of the wrinkles -- including those in Kylo Ren himself. The task falls to Hux, who makes sure that everything here is handled and that the remaining stormtroopers know their place in the Order and know when to keep their heads down. They all know, whether or not they dare to speak it, that Kylo Ren’s temper often has no focus, and that his lashings-out take no prisoners. The two injured troopers more than likely did little to deserve their fates, though they are both lucky to be breathing at the end of the day, even with crushed tracheas.
Hux makes his way out of the room and down forgotten hallways, knowing just where Kylo Ren likes to skulk around in the shadows like a ghost. His flare for the dramatic truly knows no bounds.
It isn’t hard to follow the path of destruction. A few scorch marks on the walls here, a couple broken bits of machinery there, and the Knight of Ren is as easily trackable as a herd of bantha in the desert wastes of Tattooine. Hux’s boots click on the metal floor, his approach echoing down the hallway. He makes no attempt to stifle them -- Ren always knows when he is coming, anyway. The steady beat of his footsteps mirrors the beat of his heart, easing him into a state of calm.
He finds Ren in an empty storage room in the bowels of the base. It’s cold, and dark, and there’s a thin layer of grime coating everything. Even the cleaning droids have forsaken this place. The knight is in the corner, quietly fuming and pacing in his own rage. Somehow, during the course of his walkabout, his lightsaber has been sheathed. The room, surprisingly, is free of damage.
Hux clears his throat. The air in the room is thick with energy -- the unbridled force, the general assumes. Even if Kylo Ren has sheathed his lightsaber, that doesn’t necessarily mean that the force isn’t electrified all around him. It’s never hard to forget the imminent danger that lies under that cloak and helmet, but the way Hux’s skin tingles is an immediate reminder.
“You cannot keep throwing tantrums like a child , Ren.” If anything, Hux cannot afford to keep shuttling his men in and out of the infirmary, can’t afford to keep replacing the men that Ren kills.
The Knight of Ren swivels on his heel, turning to face Hux with a hiss and a snarl, “I am not one of your stormtroopers, General. I don’t answer to you.” The shadows of the room filter over Kylo Ren, shrouding him in the darkness he so enjoys. Clearly, his feathers are still ruffled from whatever slight, whatever frustration, found him earlier. Just like he cleaned up the situation before, it is now Hux’s job to smooth everything out here.
It’s pure luck that Ren managed to hole up in such a secluded place. Or design.
Hux falls into parade rest, hands behind his back. The trick now is to let everything fall into place, to maintain his composure and his patience.“Take off the helmet.”
Kylo Ren stiffens and squares his shoulders. The annoyed huff of air he lets out is amplified through his voice modulator, making him sound more disappointed and less on edge, even though Hux knows exactly where he stands. “Did you not just hear me? I don’t answer to you.” It’s true, Kylo Ren answers to Supreme Leader Snoke, just as General Hux does. But that doesn’t change the fact that Ren also has a deep seated need to have some sort of stability and order in his life. Stability and order that don’t come from a projection, hundreds of light years away.
“The helmet, Ren.” Hux doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t even let his face twitch.
Hux is ready when Kylo Ren surges forward at him in a movement of insolent, childish rage, and it doesn’t take much planning to get a solid grip on one of the knight’s wrists. It’s a testament to how tightly wound Kylo is that he doesn’t even make a play at grabbing his lightsaber. And Hux knows that the only reason that he even got a hand on the knight is because Ren allowed him to. He’s not delusional enough to believe otherwise. The man practically vibrates under Hux’s fingers. Looking back, this episode had been building for days. Weeks, perhaps. Now that Hux thinks about it, he can’t remember the last little tantrum Kylo Ren has thrown.
Hux tightens his grip and tries again, tugging Ren forward a couple inches. “The helmet. Take it off.” Now, Hux is perfectly capable of doing that himself, but that’s hardly the point. He’s come face to face with Ren’s lightsaber before -- he’s even been burned by it a couple of times, and he knows when to back down. Now, however, Ren has it sheathed and hidden away. The tedious and juvenile outbursts have stopped, and he is trembling like a current under Hux’s fingertips without jerking away. Hux is likely safe. Likely.
The knight twitches, his shoulders relaxing by a small measure while Hux’s stay stiff and tight. But Ren doesn’t move. He just stares up at Hux, presumably glaring from underneath his helmet of his. Hux can hear his breathing, amplified and labored -- like he is attempting to regulate it, but poorly. An electric current pulses over Hux’s skin once more, a warning, but that doesn’t stop him from taking in a measured breath and releasing it. It’s all a part of the act, the game.
“Helmet.” He says it again, firmly.
This time, Ren yields. When he tugs against Hux’s grip, the general lets him go, allows him to use both hands to slide his helmet from his head. When Hux gestures to the ground with a nod, the other man lets the helmet fall from his fingertips. It rattles when it hits the dingy ground and rolls away from their feet.
Underneath the helmet, Kylo Ren’s face is tight and gaunt. He looks supremely exhausted, straight down to the bone -- dark shadows under his eyes, washed-out skin. Sweat sticks some stubborn strands of hair to his forehead, leaving him looking disheveled and bedraggled. For a moment, Hux feels something akin to guilt for not intervening sooner, but he brushes that aside quickly. It isn’t his job to save Ren from himself. If anything, he’s only doing this now because he’s tired of cleaning up messes today. And, if he tells himself that is the only reason, it makes sleep easier to find at night.
Kylo Ren relaxes visibly in front of him, in fits and starts. He is still tightly wound, but at least now he seems to have a tether to steady himself by. Something to focus on. His dark eyes search Hux’s face, though the general lets him find nothing of use. He doesn’t feel the metallic and unpleasantly warm intrusion of Ren pressing into his mind, so he knows he is safe in that regard, at least for the moment.
He draws a hand up to dislodge some of the hair from Kylo Ren’s forehead, brushing it back, putting it into place. Tidying him up before tearing him down. He moves his fingertips down Ren’s cheek, to his jawline, bringing them to rest steadily against the other man’s beating pulse point. It is a nice reminder that even with the force, he is still a creature of flesh and blood -- and one well placed gunshot or knife wound would drop him in seconds. The gesture could be intimate, if they were different people. “Did you enjoy yourself back there? You certainly seemed to.” Squeezing each and every breath from the stormtrooper, milking him for each gurgle and gasp. The thought of it still makes Hux’s stomach twist.
Ren doesn’t have the decency to look embarrassed by the accusation. It is written clear and apparent on his face that he did enjoy himself -- and that he is well aware that Hux had been watching with rapt attention. He doesn’t hide the sneer from his voice when he speaks, lips curling up in a self-satisfied smile, “But you didn’t enjoy it, did you, General?”
It’s not difficult to forget that Kylo Ren’s control of every situation is absolute. It’s even harder to forget it when Ren sees through him without even trying, seeing what Hux is feeling before he is even aware that he is feeling it. He doesn’t dignify the question with an answer; he doesn’t need to.
He fits his fingers around Ren’s throat in a slow movement, feeling the warmth from the other man’s skin. The knight is an imposing figure, and he is muscular everywhere. There’s something gratifying about holding Ren and all of his strength underneath the palm of his hand, even though he knows Ren is the one allowing the gesture, that he could end it whenever he so chose. Hux doesn’t jump to tightening his fingers -- no, he simply holds his hand there, fingers wrapped loosely around Ren’s muscular neck. He can feel Ren’s pulse beating steady against his fingertips, and he can feel his own beating hurriedly in return. He focuses on it for a moment, slowing it, even though the damage is done; Ren knows his pulse is racing, knows he is hungry for this, just as the knight is.
“Jealousy is so unbecoming.” Ren’s vocal chords vibrate under Hux’s thumb. He can’t tell if it’s the sensation that has him tightening his grip, or the words that were so clearly meant to taunt. “What would the Supreme Leader think?”
All Hux wants to do is wipe that self-satisfied smile off Kylo Ren’s face, but it’s difficult when the knight stands a couple of inches taller than him already. So, Hux hisses and tightens his grip yet again and pushes downward, forcing Ren to his knees on the grimy floor while also roughly constricting his breathing. It’s a testament to how much Kylo Ren actually wants this treatment that he slowly drops to his knees and doesn’t lash out at Hux with the force. He looks amused, like he’s just waiting to see what Hux is going to do next. Amused -- but the dark desire behind Ren’s gaze is unmistakable.
Hux lets him go for the moment, and simply looks down to admire the sight before him. With orders, and a reason to focus, Kylo Ren is far more controlled and poised. The anger slowly seeps out of his shoulders with every second. It’s a pity Hux cannot keep him like this, on his knees at Hux’s feet, attention focused entirely on the general like a well trained dog. There’s something almost beautiful about his sharp angles, the way the dim light of the storage room hits him from above.
“What would the Supreme Leader think, Ren, of you on your knees for me like this?” The second the words pass Hux’s lips, he regrets them. Not because they make Ren bristle in embarrassment, the air around them spiking again with angry electricity, but because it becomes all too clear to Hux that he has no desire to share this private image. No, this is his . He is the only one who gets to see the favored Knight of Ren like this, who gets to have such a powerful being beneath his hand.
Ren shifts, perhaps in embarrassment, but keeps his attention on Hux. The metal floor must be murder on his knees; a fact that Hux cherishes even more, knowing Ren has yet to remark on it.
Hux takes a breath, watching Ren’s movements carefully. He’s still full of anger, muscles primed with it, but he’s far less deadly once he’s let some of it out against either the base or the personnel on it. Just because he’s relaxed slightly, unwound a bit, nothing stops him from opening his smart mouth, “Your men are incompetent. They lack respect, Hux.” He stops and licks his lips before smiling up at the general, “Perhaps it’s that they have a terrible example in you.”
The air around them is thick, humid with energy, with the force. Every breath Hux takes is full of it, and it only heightens his annoyance and his desire to see this through to the end, spurning him on. His fingers twitch at his side, accidentally brushing against his regulation blaster. He does not need to make a fist, he has already given too much of himself away. But after a moment, he brushes his fingertips over the handle again, feeling something close to courage -- and desire. The idea that forms in his head is unwise. It’s fucking foolish. But common sense doesn’t stop him from drawing his blaster anyway, from pointing the muzzle at Ren’s previously smirking face with a steady hand.
“Perhaps you should show some respect, then.” He smiles, “And show me how it’s done.” He primes the trigger, the gun powering up with a delightful hum.
While Ren could deflect any blast easily with the force, the threat of a gun pointed so close to him is maybe what causes the instinctive flinch and clenching of Ren’s muscles. Even wielders of the force can’t always fight instinct, especially one as untrained as Kylo Ren. He fumes and frowns, but he does not move and his temper does not flare into an explosion. Hux’s smile broadens when it becomes clear that Ren isn’t moving, and he brings the barrel of the blaster closer, to run it over the knight’s cheek in something like a caress. “I’m waiting.”
Hux watches the other man swallow, watches him flinch at the foreign touch of the gun. There’s still anger in the air, but somehow Hux can feel it focusing on the gun. Intensifying.
Kylo Ren looks up at Hux with those big, dark eyes of his. He appears to be stuck somewhere between surprised and intrigued at this recent turn of events. There’s no real danger to him -- there’s more of a danger to Hux, as usual. But that doesn’t stop Hux from feeling both pleased and proud that he somehow managed to do something that Kylo Ren wasn’t necessarily expecting. Slowly, Ren presses his cheek into the caress of the gun and simultaneously tilts his head down with it. His movements are fluid and elegant, and once he stops moving, his head is angled into a perfect bow. A genuflection -- to Hux himself.
It’s beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that Hux drops his free hand to run his fingers over Ren’s hair in praise. “Very good.” He can’t keep the amusement out of his voice, even though he knows they are both playing roles, now. Evidently, Ren finds some delight in playing along.
Despite the fact that Ren knows that he is playing a role, he does not laugh like he normally would, and instead leans forward until his forehead presses against Hux’s thigh. It’s surprising -- but everything about Ren is surprising to some extent, either in one wild extreme or the other: Kylo Ren never does anything by halves. “Ah,” A breath escapes Hux’s mouth, pleasantly surprised, “ Very good.”
This is exactly the kind of respect that Hux should have. A Knight of Ren kneeling at his feet. Bowing before his blaster.
Before either of them moves, Ren speaks, but his words are muffled against Hux’s regulation trousers. Hux sighs, cards his fingers through Ren’s hair -- and then pulls him roughly backwards by it. Despite how oily it often looks, it’s soft under Hux’s fingers. And it makes a good tether for moving Ren’s head to Hux’s will. “Speak up.”
But, instead of yielding, a smirk finds its way to Ren’s face once again. “I said: if you are pleased with that, your expectations are astonishingly low.” And then he laughs, hair pulling against Hux’s grip each time his shoulders shake with it.
Anger flares in Hux’s chest, hot and fiery, eating away at his lungs, as if he inhaled smoke. How dare Kylo Ren. It helps none, knowing that Ren is only pushing his buttons, trying to rile him up into some sort of clumsy and furious crescendo so that Ren can tear him back down again, viciously. But Hux isn’t going to have any of that. He isn’t going to accept Ren folding himself into the familiar position of brat again today.
“You insolent child .” Hux tightens his grip on Kylo Ren’s hair and tugs upwards, at the same time as he backhands him across the cheek with the gun. Ren grunts and startles, huffing out what sounds like a surprised gasp of pain. His breaths are measured and long, and sure enough, when Hux catches his eye, Ren is looking up at him with an amused expression. While his thoughts on the matter would be illuminating, Hux also doesn’t want to give him another chance to talk. “That mouth on you, Ren. It’s going to get you into trouble one of these days.”
The idea blooms and blossoms inside him suddenly, and it hits him like a well-executed punch. The second he conceives it, he must have it -- he becomes hungry for it. Starving.
Hux takes a breath and steadies himself. The blaster is still humming in his hand, primed and ready to fire. In one fluid motion, he presses it to Kylo Ren’s lips, “Let’s see if we can keep you quiet for a little while.” He smiles, “Open.”
Ren’s eyes widen in surprise at the press of warm metal to his bottom lip. For a moment, neither of them moves, eyes locked on one another. Briefly, Hux thinks that this is perhaps the most ill-advised action he has ever taken in his life and that this is where Kylo Ren will finally end him, in a dirty storage room in the bowels of the base. And yet, he does not retreat.
After an agonizingly long moment, Ren yields, crumbling to Hux’s will. Or, perhaps, he is simply playing the game. Regardless, his beautifully plump lips open to welcome the barrel of the blaster while Hux watches, transfixed. He can still feel the weapon in his hand, familiar and steady, thrumming with power and potential. And there is Ren, sliding the barrel to the hilt of his lips and back again, never letting his eyes lose contact with the general’s. The barrel becomes slick with saliva, and after a few moments, Ren’s lips grow wet with spit as well. Hux watches a line of it drip from Ren’s mouth and land on the floor.
“Good,” He murmurs, and takes his time with it. There’s no need for Ren to do all the work when Hux can explore the knight’s mouth with the barrel of the blaster on his own terms. He begins gently, slowly sliding it along Ren’s tongue, feeling phantom pleasure from the slick movement. The glide is easy and Ren is so pretty on his knees. But after a few moments he cannot contain himself; he presses the blaster in far, dragging a choking sound from the other man, before he slides it over his teeth, relishing the clink clink clink of metal against enamel and bone.
He should not be getting away with this. But he is -- and that means that Ren approves of the orchestration of this all. When his fist drives the blaster deeper into Ren’s mouth, the tip nudging invasively against his throat, Hux is not entirely sure he was the one in control of that action. It doesn’t stop Ren from choking, doing a valiant effort of attempting to keep up with Hux’s demands. Or, perhaps, his own.
If Hux focuses on it -- a difficult task with such a beautiful and distracting picture in front of him -- it almost feels as if there is another hand wrapped around his own, striking up a brutal pace of fucking the blaster into Kylo Ren’s mouth.
There is warmth snaking all over him. He can feel it in his limbs, in his veins, even in his teeth. When he steps one foot forward to press his leg between Kylo Ren’s knees, he knows the action, the movement, is not his own. There is an urgency to it that is unfamiliar. It doesn’t lessen the pleasure of feeling Ren begin to rut against his leg, doesn’t stop him from savoring the depravity of the action, but it does prove a stark reminder to who maintains control at all times. For a brief moment, Hux is shaken, but his concentration wavers only momentarily. His focus sharpens once again on Ren’s eyes, on his lips around Hux’s blaster.
Ren’s teeth click against the metal in his urgency as Hux thrusts the gun into his mouth. Ren lavishes attention on the blaster when given a chance, though Hux does not give him too long to play nice with the extension of himself.
In quiet retribution for the slight that started it all, he fucks the gun down deep, without reprieve. Ren gags and sputters, unable to quite catch his breath with the gun so deep. The hunger within Hux flares again into pride and satisfaction as he chokes the other man, cutting off his airflow with a primed and ready regulation blaster. It’s filthy. Depraved. He pulls it out slightly, watches Ren gasp and pant for three seconds before pushing it back down his throat.
It’s hard to forget Ren’s urgency, his enjoyment, when he is rocking against Hux’s leg and groaning with each effort. His little sounds, his moans and groans and gasps, are all small reminders to how much the knight is enjoying this. It’s frustrating. It should be punishment , and yet it feels more and more like a reward.
It feels less and less like Hux is in control.
His head is spinning, his skin tingling with the electricity in the air, and he is achingly hard in his own trousers. It’s getting harder and harder to focus on the wanton sight below him, as much as he tries to. His vision swims with white and black when Ren shudders and shakes against him, gasping out loudly around the gun with his climax. It’s the most obscene image Hux has ever had the pleasure of witnessing. Saliva drips from his blaster to the ground and his skin crawls with the need to move, to at least distance himself from Ren’s kneeling figure.
But he cannot.
His body will not move.
“Do you feel less jealous now, Hux?” Ren wipes his lips with the back of his palm, though it does little to ease the redness and swelling of his lips. With easy grace, he pushes himself up and off the ground, standing at his full height in front of Hux. He is only inches taller, but he seems to tower over Hux, now. “Why don’t you put that away. Now that we’re done with it, anyway.” Hux finds himself sliding the fouled blaster back into his holster, notices his arms crossing behind him into parade rest once again.
The skin on Hux’s neck tingles, prickling with pain. “Stop.” He manages, though his teeth hurt as he speaks.
Ren only smirks, his eyes searching Hux’s face for something. The general wishes, for a moment, that Ren would simply slip into his mind to find whatever it is that he is looking for. At least then, he could pride himself on not being quite so easy to read. But it doesn’t feel like Ren is rummaging around in his head.
“Still jealous? Oh, Hux.” And then, Hux can feel the familiar feeling of warm fingers on his neck before he registers Kylo Ren’s hand closing slowly in front of his face. A phantom touch -- but more real than any other he has known. “You should have spoken up. I hate to deprive you of such a weakness.” The fist tightens, and so does the constriction on his neck.
“Ren,” He grits out, but the rest of his words fall into a gasp for more air. He can’t move, can’t breathe, can barely think.
The Knight of Ren simply hums and steps closer, though he makes no move to physically touch Hux’s throat. It’s somehow beautiful, just as Ren on his knees was gorgeous. Kylo Ren towering over him and bending Hux to his will is similarly beautiful, Hux feels, his vision swimming and blurring around the edges. Or -- maybe that’s simply a projection. Maybe Hux is repulsed and Ren is the one who finds him beautiful. It’s hard to see the line, anymore, when everything is fuzzy and muddled in his head.
Hux is granted a momentary breath, which he takes with a quick and pained, “ Please ,” while staring into Kylo Ren’s eyes. Asking for freedom, for absolution, for relief.
The force around his neck tightens again, and he feels a similar press against his aching length. Of course Ren wouldn’t deign to get his hands dirty -- the free one is probably clasped behind his back as well, tucked safely out of the way. Yet, Ren grips his length and slides the force over it and back again, all the while keeping varying amounts of pressure around Hux’s neck.
Hux whines. He would squirm, if he could, would buck his hips against the only thing providing him the relief he so desires. But the general is at Ren’s mercy.
Kylo Ren tightens his grip around Hux’s throat until his vision swims and his consciousness begins to slip away, fading quickly at the edges. With no warning, Ren lets go of his throat with the force, barks out a bored “ Now,” and does something devilish to Hux’s cock with the force. The orgasm knocks into him painfully and suddenly, and he is left to fall to the ground on his knees, a gasping mess.
As he comes back to himself, Hux takes a hazy stock. His trousers are still on his body and intact, which is unsurprising. There is little stopping Ren from being limited by clothing, so why remove it at all? His come is rapidly cooling against his undergarments and his throat feels bruised and tender. Thoughts swim and shift in and out of focus, murky and distorted. He looks up, unsurprised to find that Kylo Ren has donned the helmet once more and is staring down at him, looking bored and unamused. Completely un-disheveled.
Briefly, Hux wonders just how much of their encounter was orchestrated, how much was his own idea -- and how much of it belonged entirely to Ren.
“You’re a mess, General. Clean yourself up.”
With that, Ren strides out with his usual flourish of billowing cape and grandeur, looking far better than when he arrived, leaving Hux kneeling on the dirty floor behind him, fractured and in disarray.
[...] and with this bullet
lodged in my chest, covered with your name, I will turn myself into a gun, because
it’s all I have,
because I’m hungry and hollow and just want something to call my own. I’ll be your
slaughterhouse, your killing floor, your morgue and final resting, walking around with this
bullet inside me
‘cause I couldn’t make you love me and I’m tired of pulling your teeth.
an excerpt from “wishbone” - richard siken