Contrary to Hux’s initial impression, the teachings of the Knights of Ren do not forbid its followers from carnal pleasure.
But Kylo Ren, Master of the Knights of Ren, follows the old ways, denying himself sexual companionship as the Ren of old did in service of the Dark Side.
He follows the old ways to the letter.
On the narrow bed, Ren squats down onto the black phallus, biting his lower lip with effort as he takes it in slowly, inch by inch. When it’s fully sheathed inside of him, he squeezes his eyes shut and groans, precome dripping down down his hard, red cock.
Hux, in the uncomfortable chair next to the bed, is here to supervise, as he has been every night since he caught Ren fucking himself on this toy on the security feeds. He’s as close as he dares to the bed. If he reached out, he could touch Ren. Sink his teeth into his flesh.
But he won’t. If they’re not touching, then this is not sex, no matter how much his cock strains at his fly. If Ren isn’t touching himself, then this isn’t pleasuring himself, no matter how hard he fucks himself. If Hux isn’t not touching himself, then he’s just watching, no matter how much he wants to do more.
The old ways, according to Ren, are very clear on these matters.
Ren’s hand slides from its place on his knee up his thigh, thumb brushing dangerously close to his cock. “No,” Hux warns, softly.
Ren meets his eye and nods, inhaling sharply. He raises the offending hand and carefully places it flat onto the bed, into the space framed by Hux’s knees. Hux licks his lips. Ren’s brow furrows in concentration, and his eyes slide shut with a gasp as the toy, seemingly self-propelled, thrusts into him.
Hux, despite his distrust of all things mystical and unquantifiable, is reasonably sure that the elders of Ren did not intend the Force for such usage. But he can’t care, not when Ren is making the most delicious noises, panting and grunting and whining, meeting the fake cock thrust for thrust. Hux digs his fingers into the armrests to avoid temptation himself—he can feel his cock straining uncomfortably against the fabric of his underwear, leaking into it.
Ren pounds the fake cock into himself, aiming one thrust so violently that he falls onto his wrists and then to his elbows. Over the rise of Ren’s long, broad back, Hux can see the hilt of the toy, seemingly moving of its own accord.
Ren whines, and Hux realizes that the side of his head is pressed into the thin mattress, almost directly between his knees. Hux leans forward, head hovering over Ren’s, and it’s the closest they’ve ever been. He can count every one of Ren’s moles. More than that, he can smell Ren—both the strange, scorched scent of Ren himself and the musky, unavoidable scent of his sex, tinged with the clean smell of the lubricant—and almost taste him, like an echo.
Ren cries out, and Hux can feel the heat of his breath. His cock throbs and he can feel his balls tightening—a sure sign he’s close. He crosses his legs against it, but the friction just makes it worse.
“You’re going—you’re going too fast,” Hux says, carelessly. He feels like he can’t get enough oxygen, as if Ren is sucking it all out of the room with his obscene, breathy noises.
Ren grunts in effort, but the toy stops moving. It’s this that makes Hux’s mouth go dry and his cock throb painfully—Ren struggling against his own desire, his own instincts, in this exquisite way.
Ren’s breathing slows, and he rises, hair almost brushing Hux’s face. Hux sits back as if scalded at this possible violation of the old ways, but Ren is too far gone to have noticed. He rises to his knees and stares down at Hux with his grim eyes, panting, sweaty, untouchable. He doesn’t break eye contact even as the toy begins to move again inside him, judging by the furious throb of his leaking cock.
“I wish,” Ren says, thickly, “I wish that you could do this to me.”
The concept goes to Hux’s head. He can see it so clearly: Ren snapping, finally crossing the distance between them, climbing on top of him, the toy forgotten. Snaking his gloved fingers into Ren’s stretched, wet hole just to hear him wail. Ren’s mouth descending on his as he comes, messily, onto Hux’s impeccable uniform.
Hux comes in his pants, hard enough that the world goes black for a split second. When his vision clears, Ren is still at it, furiously drilling himself with the toy. Hux can practically hear it vibrate with the effort. Before he can decide whether or not to say anything, Ren screams, the same scream that got his attention on the security feeds so long ago, and comes furiously, shooting so hard it almost hits Hux’s knee. There’s a dull thud as the toy slides out of him with nothing to keep it in place, and he falls, inelegantly, backwards onto the bed.
“I pass the test,” Ren mutters to himself. Hux shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
He wonders if Ren will ever give into temptation, ever ask for his touch. He wonders if it would feel anticlimactic—if it’s the impossibility of desecrating Ren’s flesh that keeps him coming back night after night. Or perhaps it would feel like justice, eliciting those sounds from Ren with his own hands.
But that is not his line to cross.