Actions

Work Header

Hot Rocks

Chapter Text

I am Kylo Ren.

I am a tortured and sensitive soul, wrecked and ruined by my mother's politics, my uncle's mysticism and my father's inveterate laddishness. When I was younger I tried to write poetry to express these things but my pain is too great for mere poetry. So I became a mass murderer, just like Grandfather. That showed 'em.

I do still express my painful pain by writing poetry. Mitaka sits quietly while I read it to him. He has no choice. He is afraid of me. But he says my poems are very good.

I wish General Hux would hear them. I wish he would stick his military rigidity right up my bum. That would probably relieve my tension.

He found me reading poetry to Mitaka last night. He shouted a bit to begin with and then he fell silent and his eyes bugged out. I thought he might pop.

I asked him what he thought of my poetry. He called me a Force-addled child-man and a disgrace to the uniform.

I don't wear a First Order uniform. I told him this.

He hissed like rain on a hot stone.

I have written a poem about it. About his red hair and his hissing like rain on a hot stone, and the steam that rises from it, and how he is infuriating but also, when his back is very straight and his eyes are more than a bit mad, I would like him to fuck me and make me hiss like rain on a hot stone.

I read the poem to Mitaka this morning. He's still here. I forgot to untie him. He said he forgave me. And then he cried.

Mitaka is a strange man.

Chapter Text

General Hux shouted at me again today.

I told him this was unfair, as I did untie Mitaka, and apart from some chafing, he is fit for work.

Hux says Mitaka won't stop crying. When asked, Mitaka says it's because my poetry is so beautiful.

I like Mitaka. I feel sad that he had to be sedated and taken from the bridge for a bit of a lie down. He must really like my poems.

Hux is hissing like a particularly heavy storm on some particularly hot rocks. He's angry about the uniform thing again. I got so angry back I took off my helmet. And my outer robes. And my inner robes. Boots and socks too. I showed how each item is not part of the First Order uniform. I showed him how no part of me wears a First Order uniform for me to disgrace.

He stopped hissing. That was a pity. His eyes bugged out still though. And he licked his lips a lot.

Hux left very quickly after that. I think I'll write a poem.

You hiss like
hot rocks in a storm.
Your eyes, so green, startle forth like planets
and make me feel like
I would like to land in them and explore.

How dare your mouth be luscious
When your frown is so severe?

I'm so lonely
I'm not smart enough for my mother
Or magic enough for my uncle
Or careless enough for my father
Or hairy enough for his best friend.

Your face is very pale
like the moon
Your hands are very pale
Also like the moon.
I bet all your skin is like the moon
(one of those pale moons, not a grey rocky one,
that's not pretty at all)
I wonder
Is your bottom pale like the moon?

Your hair is like a fire
Take off your cap
Let your head be on fire
But in a good way
But you probably won't
So I will sit in the dark and tell my grandfather
That General Hux hisses
Like hot rocks in a storm.

I call my new poem Hot Rocks. I tried to get into the med bay to read it to Mitaka. He started to cry before I even started and the MedBots made me leave. But not before I cut one of them in half with my lightsaber.

General Hux came to my quarters to hiss at me about the MedBot. I closed my eyes and listened. He couldn't tell because I had my mask on.

Only he could tell, and told me to open my damned eyes and pay kriffing attention.

He's beautiful when he hisses like hot rocks in a storm. He stopped hissing so I said something disrespectful. He hissed some more. It was wonderful. Like music.

But then he said that Grandfather would be disappointed and that made me angry. I disappoint myself all the time, but I like Grandfather because he is dead and can't tell me I disappoint him. I'm not sorry to say I got so mad I drew my lightsaber.

The General didn't even flinch. He's half my width. I could break him in half with a thought. He just did that pinchy face look, and did that thing when he purses his lips, and he told me to "GET THAT THING OUT OF MY FACE YOU DEGENERATE."

I am not sorry to say that he made my other lightsaber hard.

I thought with all my robes he wouldn't notice. But he did. General Hux is a man who notices a lot of things.

But he was still angry about the MedBot. I tried to explain that Mitaka is the only one who listens to my poetry. I had the flimsy in my hand to demonstrate I had no intention of harming Mitaka. I'd wanted to give him a treat. Mitaka loves my poems. They make him cry.

General Hux snatched the flimsy out of my hand. He's very quick.

I panicked. I do not want him to read that poem. I am shy.

General Hux read my poem aloud. He read aloud very badly. Too used to shouting exhortation to the troops, I suppose. I suggested he try reading it with a more melancholy voice. The look he gave me has made my underthings damp.

When the General finished reading my poem he looked at me. His eyes are very green.

He told me to take my helmet off. So I did.

"You're a very bad poet," he said. I told him he was a very bad reader of poetry. He told me I was a fool. I said he was a scruffy nerf herder. He said I was a very bad boy. I said that I was.

General Hux gave me an order to lift my robes up, so I did. He gave me an order to turn around, so I did. He gave me an order to bend over.

I didn't.

He slapped my bottom and told me to bend over. So I did.

Then he pulled down my drawers, slapped my bottom again and bit it.

I hissed l like hot rocks in a rain storm.

He asked, "Who is a bad boy?"

"I am, I am, I am, I am!!!!" I think I shouted that. He slapped my bottom again and told me not to shout.

"I am, I am, I am, I am," I whispered.

"Yes, you are," he said, and he smacked my bottom again. And then he put a finger in my bottom.

It's a lot nicer when he does it than when I do it myself. He has good fingers. Like bamboo shoots in the forest. Supple and pale and....

I have thought about it and am not sure I would like bamboo shoots in my bottom. But I do like General Hux's fingers in my bottom. They're a bit tight and it hurts a little but still. They are General Hux's moon pale fingers right up my bottom and I'll write poems about it later.

"Don't you have any lube, you cretin?"

He says cretin with a lovely hard T and he holds the N just a little and it's very crisp. I don't know why it makes me cry.

He found the lube. He said he was sorry for calling me a cretin. His fingers in my bottom are very squishy and slidey. I have decided to forgive him for being mean. I am, after all, a very bad boy.

Do you know what is better than the poetry of bamboo shoots in the forest up my bottom? Better than moon pale slidey fingers squishing up into my bottom?

General Hux's big cock in my bottom. I wish I could see it. I bet his pubes are as red as his shiny hair. I bet it looks like his cock is on fire, but in a good way.

Hux fucked my pretty bottom. That's what he said. "I'm going to fuck your pretty bottom, Ren, and you're going to take it. You bad boy."

I cried a little bit. He thinks my bottom is pretty. But when I tried to jerk off while he fucked me, he smacked my hand away and said I had to wait. So I waited. I want to be a good boy for somebody.

General Hux fucked me long and hard until he hissed like rain on hot rocks, and then he shouted like a stone falling on stone in a canyon, and then he called me a good boy, reached around and rubbed my cock.

I came straight away, all over the inside of my robes. I shouted like a very big boulder falling on another very big boulder in a canyon. I think I might have cried a bit again, but he said I was his very good boy. He sat on my bed and let me cuddle him.

General Hux is surprisingly cuddly. He patted my hair. I told him his hair is very pretty. Like a fire on his head, but in a good way. And I told him his eyes are like planets that I want to explore.

He told me he'd already read the poem, but thank you.

Do you know what is better than General Hux hissing like hot rocks in the rain?

General Hux telling me I'm his good boy in a whisper like a soft breeze through the pines.

Do you know what else is good? When he says, "Fuck Snoke. He's an asshole."

Chapter Text

Day 57: 11.15 shipboard time. Someone has been writing bad poetry on the fresher walls again. I bet it's that asshole Ren.

Day 60: It's definitely that asshole Ren. He quoted the poem in a meeting today. Hot rocks and rain or something. It was ridiculous. I could have sworn General Hux smiled, though.

Day 62: I refused to believe both troopers until I saw it myself. I still don't believe it. I've erased the limerick from the fresher wall and had both troopers reconditioned.

Day 63: It's back. At first I wanted to show it to General Hux but now I think…I can't think what I think. It's unthinkable.

Day 63 (later): All right, this is my own journal and I'll write what I want, so here it is all in one go: I think General Hux wrote the limerick.

Look, while thick and dick and pump and rump are to be expected in such 'poetry' no one but General Hux would rhyme Starkiller Base with come on my face or III-a1a primary hypermatter reactor class with eat my ass.

I really don't think I can send myself for reconditioning.

Chapter Text

Breathe breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe

Do not hyperventilate

Tell him the poem's good.

Chapter Text

Mitaka is crying again. Service droids have run out of Caution: Wet Floor signs.

I DO NOT HAVE FEELINGS FOR HIM... I mean this. I mean it. AT ALL.
Not even when he took off all his clothes and made Little Armitage twitch about in my trousers.
I DO NOT HAVE FEELINGS FOR HIM!

He keeps breaking my things. I will break his stupid stupid... stuff. Agh!

Have found a method of keeping enormous baby-man Lord Darth Drama in check at very little inconvenience to myself. It's all very professional, above board. A most effective meth...

I fucked him. I fucked him. Details to follow after I stop breathing into this paper bag.

I only meant to give him a spanking for being a very naughty boy and writing terrible poetry. And making Mitaka cry.

He wrote a poem. Kylo, not Mitaka. About my bottom. Or the moon, I can't tell.
It's awful.
I hate it.
I hate him.

My frown is not severe. It's... benevolently stern. My mouth is luscious though. He's right about that.

I told him to ruck up his silly skirts and bend over. He has moles on him bottom too. It is very pretty, which annoyed me so I bit it.

While down there I could see his little pucker, all pink and inviting. Just like his stupid rosy mouth.
Sometimes, when he's verbally wanking off to his grandfather, I think about stuffing all my fingers in his mouth and making him suck them until his entire ridiculous chest is covered in drool. His mostly, maybe mine... I've said too much.
I didn't stick my fingers in his mouth. I stuck them in his bottom instead.

He admitted he was a very bad boy. This pleased me so much I decided to introduce him to Little Armitage who had become very interested in the proceedings.

He's a good boy. A very very good boy, is Little
Armitage.

Not Kylo. He is a very very bad boy. He was a good boy for all of three seconds before he made a mess of his robes and made a mess of my laundry expenses.

I DO NOT HAVE FEELINGS FOR HIM.

Generally generals do not have feelings in general. Especially not for stupid tousle-haired, broad-chested, manly child-men.

Maybe a little. He seems to like my hair an awful lot. I like my hair too so I let him cuddle me for a while.

His hair on the other hand is ridiculous. But quite soft. But ridiculous. He should cut it. It's unbecoming for a commander of the First Order.

If he cuts it I'll rip his nipples off.

I won't though. They taste nice. Milky.

I may have imagined that.

I read his poem again while he slept. And if I made another mess in my pants then that's between me and my hand. Which is pale. Like the moon.

He really is awful. I got a first in Poetry, I know of these things. I will write a poem and it will be better than his by a factor of 10 to the positive 35.

My life it has come to this farce
You make me feel like a III-a1a primary hypermatter reactor class
Lumbering into N1L5 sector
You broke my fucking holo projector
Shut the fuck up Kylo Ren and just eat my arse

I'm going to read it to Mitaka.

I read it to Mitaka. He started crying again.
I asked him if it was much much much better than Kylo's "poetry" and would he be willing to swear to it?
He sobbed some more and I think there were words but maybe there weren't any words. I can't expect a simple Lieutenant to be as adept at making language sparkle like I am.

I showed Kylo my poem. I made certain to point out all the features that made it a work of genius and all the features of his that made it a blight on the universe.

He demanded Mitaka be allowed to arbitrate but frankly the poor man has been through enough (it was probably my poem alone that brought him back from the brink) so I told Kylo that if he was a very good boy I'd let him suck me off.

I told him my juices contained all sorts of nutrients that could help him release the artist within, and that if he was a good boy I'd let him suckle at me at least once a day. But only if he was very good.

He promised but I tied him up with the skills I learned making award-winning macrame, just in case.

Chapter Text

Torture is condoned
Meter and rhyme? Ha ha ha
Poems: Weaponised.

Chapter Text

Tonight after sucking Hux's juices I told him I love him.

He took his fingers out of my bum and told me not to tell him that. I said okay, because I really wanted his little hand wriggling around back there again.

When he was sliding the third finger in I got a very good idea: I told him that I took them back, those words he didn't want me to say.

I thought he'd tell me I was a good boy and do that thing back there that makes me squeal but instead he took his fingers out of my ass again and wiped all the slick off in my hair. He was scowling.

"You can't do that," he said.

"What?"

"Unsay what you said."

Hux is not consistent.

I told him he had to make up his mind. I know he thinks I'm a nerf herder with family issues but I'm not an idiot.

"I'm not an idiot Hux, you have to make up your mind. Either I can love you or I can't. There is no try, there is only do."

That was the wrong thing to say.

"Don't you quote that crazy little space wizard at me!" he said, slamming his eyes shut and sticking his fingers in his ears instead of in to me. Hux has such long eyelashes that when he closed his eyes a small wind blew up around me. It felt like flying.

While he went "La la la," for awhile I thought up a poem. I can write them very fast when I'm inspired. Hux is right, I think his juices are making me more artistic. When he was finally done shouting I told him the poem:

Ode to a Beloved’s Face Feathers

Some call them eyelashes
They are not

They are feathers
Of the face
Golden tipped and precious

I know they are feathers not lashes
Could mere lashes be so long
that their blinking moves the curtains?

(I saw it happen once, if you don’t believe me
except you can’t see that for yourself or I’ll
put my lightsaber through you)

Every breath of wind those lashes make
Makes me remember I have lungs
With which to breathe
In face feather breath

He laughs when I lick his lashes
So I lick them to make him laugh
His chortles stir my heart
and my loins

And when my loins stir
I stir his
Loins
I lick his heart
I laugh at his chortles

When I was done reciting, instead of chortling Hux fluttered his face feathers. I think he was trying not to cry.

"Why do you write me poems when I yell at you?"

"Hux," I told him, "you need reasons to yell. So just like you give me your juices I give you reasons."

"If I let you love me will you leave?" he asked.

"Not unless you tell me to go."

He fluttered his feathers some more. So much so that he dried all the slick he'd wiped off in my hair. It made it crunchy but I didn't mind.

If you stay
I'll love you back
Bigger than a Resurgent-class cruiser
Kiss me, you Jedi

I kissed him. Later I told him to stop calling me a Jedi. He yelled at me for awhile. When he was done I licked his face feathers.


Ode to a Beloved’s Face Feathers was co-written by Winklepicker and Atlin. Because Domhnall Gleeson's eyelashes might as well be feathers, okay? Okay.

Chapter Text

Darth-Grampa,

Your helmet on my table,

Shines in all its gloryhorror,

Someone used it as an ashtray once,

They won't make that mistake again.

 

(Hux clearly misunderstood the whole helmet thing because when he invited Kylo around to polish his, he got his cock out...)

Chapter Text

Am on my fifth hypotonic for the day. When I said Ren could suckle at my juices I'm certain I didn't say at any and all times.

I've had to give him several cautions and at least twenty-five gentle bats on the nose. I do enjoy our sessions but draw the line at having him fiddle about in my trousers with those enormous paws of his while I'm addressing the senior officers.

My research says I can make a simple solution out of citron juice and water, and pop it into a spray bottle to deter him when he's being a pest. Like he was today when he tried spouting Jedi heathenry at me.

I'm babbling now. Babbling. Me! That is his fault too. With his hair. And that damn crooked mouth, and his stupid moles like he's been anointed by the light of a thousand suns. And then he went and...

I'm going to lie down in the cupboard for a while.

He can't just go around saying things like that.

He can't mean it.

I'm going to lie down in the cupboard. I like it in there. It's dark and I feel safe. Just like when I was a child and had to hide from those awful little bastards at the Academy. Good times.

 

I wrote a poem while I was in the cupboard. I'll show it to Mitaka first. That fellow appreciates art.

You there with your -- hair
You make everything -- hard
You make my heart -- hard
Why?
My heart is hard
Not like ice -- though it was ice once
Like the outside of a banana
The inside is soft and easily destroyed
Do not destroy my heart
Or I will crush you
I will crush the insides of you
Like a banana
You there with your -- hair

I'm so brilliant.

I will show it to Kylo because despite being an awful horrid beast who I absolutely loathe, I did indeed let loose a small trickle of wee in excitement when he told me he loved me.

I know what he means. I love me too, though it seems others find that a difficulty. But I have learned to armour myself against those who would toy with me.
I may have the body of a weak and feeble piece of paper, but I have the heart and stomach of a KDY Destroyer Ion Engine.
All of which is to say, the jammy bastard has suckled his way into my affections.

I suppose that's why I've got the V-Class Multi-functional Intracolonic Self-lubricating Tentacle Plug inside me. Thing's been pulsing away in there all day. Not to mention being hard all day as well. Thank goodness the front of my tunic is forgiving. I've been leaking so much I considered calling in a flood warning for my pants.

He better damn well appreciate it. It's not every cock I tilt my arse at.

Chapter Text

• Reminder. Pets will not be tolerated onboard ship. Millicent is not a pet, she is a Therapy Animal. I have a note from my doctor.

• It is not compulsory to give to birthday collections, however, it is Captain Phasma’s birthday on Friday and she will find out if you haven’t. Fair warning.

• Lieutenant Mitaka is now able to receive visitors. Reminder DO NOT MENTION THE WORDS KYLO REN OR POETRY. Try not to bring attention to the facial tics, outbursts of screaming and attempts to scale the walls, I have been assured by the doctor that he will make a full recovery.

• Whoever is writing obscene limericks on the wall of the men’s fresher please take note rhyming “DILDO” with “FILLED. YO!” gave me a migraine.

• At the request of The Knights of Ren, Saturday night’s showing of MOANA has been rescheduled to 19.45 to allow SURK REN time to return from taking his grandmother to the chiropodist.

• Storm Troopers. Please keep your helmets polished at all times.

• There will be MANDATORY FIRE AWARENESS TRAINING ON WEDNESDAY 14.00 HOURS. ALL STAFF NOT ON DUTY WILL BE EXPECTED TO ATTEND. THAT INCLUDES YOU KYLO REN, AS YOU ARE THE CAUSE OF MOST OF THE MINOR FIRES ONBOARD.

• This week’s CULTURAL TALK is entitled POETRY. HOW TO DO IT RIGHT by GENERAL ARMITAGE HUX. Thursday. Large Study Room. 20.00 hours.

• Will whoever has been accessing unregulated porn on the Holonet please cease and desist. If there is not enough tentacle porn to your liking on the ships channels please submit a pink form in duplicate to me and I will consider your request.

Chapter Text

Look, I'll apologize later. About the Force-throwing. I didn't throw any of them very far away. Except Chelkin. She kept shouting abuse in some chirping language I don't think even 3PO knows.

The thing is, they all kept banging on the door. I can't think when people are shouting about taking a piss and anyway there's a fresher one level up and besides that's not the point.

The point is this poem on the back of the fresher door.

It wasn't there this morning, I know because I checked. I check this fresher every day, just in case Hux has left me another poem. He's done that a few times now, little one line poems that don't rhyme. When I called them love notes he put his gloved fingers in my mouth to shut me up but I kind of got noisier and besides they totally are.

This wasn't that though. This was…well here it is, the poem I found on the back of the fresher door on level eight, sector three, at 07:04 this morning:

"The General hailed from Arkanis,
A people not known for their plainness.
With his flaming red hair
And pink derrière,
He had Kylo's hard cock up his anus."

"Armitage made Starkiller Base.
Then mandated: 'No sex in the workplace!'
But Kylo, he vented,
And the General relented,
Allowing Ren to come all over his face."

"These knots are hard to untie.
I feel like a trapped Banthafly.
Don't waste my time,
Your poems don't rhyme.
In fact they just make me cry."
            —Lt. Anoni'mus Mee

I wonder did they want to make the general look bad? Not a good idea. Infuriate a Force user? A worse idea. Embarrass us both?

Have they met us?

The thing is, I'm not embarrassed and I'm not mad.

I'm…hard.

This was unplanned.

And this is not good.

Because I have a meeting with Snoke in five minutes and I'm already five minutes late because I've been trying to jerk off in the fresher but it's not working. It never works if I'm over-excited and I'm definitely over-excited because…

…people know.

They know about Hux and me. I don't even think Hux would admit to knowing about Hux and me, but some officer on the Finalizer definitely does and now I'm all perspiring and I have a stiffy you can probably see from space. And I'm in space.

Right. I gotta go or Snoke's going to be annoyed. But first I have to erase this poem because if Hux sees that an underling called him Armitage he's going to ask to borrow my lightsaber and the last time he borrowed my saber he almost cut off a part of himself I like a lot.

Never mind, I don't want to think about that part that I really, really—

Fuck. Now I'm even harder.


The glorious poem was written by Anonymous_me, thank you AM! If you offer your own poems, limericks, or haiku in your comments they may also end up on a fresher wall. Thank you!

Chapter Text

I've just come from my meeting with Snoke. The things I like best about meetings with Snoke these days is remembering that thing Hux whispered in my ear the first time. “Fuck Snoke. He's an asshole."

Hux is right. Snoke is an asshole. I've written a poem about it.

My mother is a weight on me
A planet made of ununoctium and expectations
That I can’t live up to

My uncle is a scanning machine
of Force-powered judginess,
looking for my weak spots

My father is a static storm
of bewilderment in my presence.
He doesn’t get me at all.

But Supreme Leader Snoke
Is all three combined.
Disappointed, judgy, and he doesn’t understand me.

Snoke is an asshole.
I know this is true because
my General said it first.

My General understands me.

I had to stop it there. IT was supposed to be a hate poem but by the end I was distracted thinking about Hux’s asshole. He waxes it sometimes. Sometimes he comes to me with his asshole already lubed and slick, and he pretends he doesn’t want me to stick parts of my body in there, to tease himself. He likes to tease himself. He’s funny like that.

He says I’m not supposed to call him that. My General. But he is. Mine.  He signed the declaration I wrote. He says he was drunk on sex at the time, but I still think it counts.

I wish I could read my new poem to Mitaka, but Hux says Mitaka is too sensitive a soul and our poems have ruined him for Bridge duty because he cries all the time.

I think Mitaka should learn to suck it up. I’ve had a terrible life and I’m just fine. Absolutely fine. And there he is falling apart over a few beautiful poems.

*

I went back to the fresher to finish my wank.

A new one line love-letter-poem is there.

I signed your kriffing declaration; tonight I sign your ass: Good Boy, Property of A.H. Your ass is mine.

My wank went pretty quickly after that.

I might wax my asshole for him tonight, special. Maybe he’ll put his gloved fingers in my mouth again. I’ll be his Good Boy and my ass will be his, and he’ll be My General and maybe tomorrow someone will have written another poem about Hux and me being an Us on the fresher wall.

Damn. I need another wank.

 

 

Chapter Text

“I have intercepted a poem from T.H.A.T (Tin Hat of Annoyance & Trouble) to M.I.L.F (Master of Infinite Love & Feeding). The idiot pushed it under the door. I have shredded it expertly and eaten a portion. I feel sick but I will suffer for the cause.”

“Furballs. Yacked up on M.I.L.F’s bed. He will be delighted. Last time he played chase with me for 7 minutes.”

“Hiding under the bed. M.I.L.F apparently did not appreciate the shredding or the furball, it must not have been big enough, I will groom more fervently tonight.”

“M.I.L.F sitting at the thing T.H.A.T put’s his feet up on and gets swatted for, trying to put shredded poem back together. Little does he know that I have a portion in my gut…”

“M.I.L.F does not appreciate my help. He picked me up and put me on the floor, we have talked about this before. I am sulking. I will lick my butt while I sulk. Multitask. I learned that from my master. I miss him. I must not let him know.”

“M.I.L.F is asleep. I have found the poem from T.H.A.T taped together. It is not worthy of my attention so, after reading it, I swatted it under the chaise. It was terrible. The pieces still working their way through my colon are crying.”

 

Kylo’s poem.

Portions residing in Millicent’s gut in brackets.

Armitage. Your na[me]

Is straighter than y[ou are]

Everyone knows that you take it [up the arse]

So stop being a dic[k]

And st[ick your stup]id dick in my mouth

[To stop m]e complaining

It has worked be[fore]

 

“Damn him. Does he not know that the only one allowed to write my master poetry is me!”

“A poem I wrote as a kitten for my darling M.I.L.F”

 

Milk. By Millicent.

Please stop feeding me milk

My stomach is not of that ilk

It unhinges my wits

And gives me the squits

Which is a bastard to remove from silk

 

(Master swore at me when he found my milky vomit in his pants drawer. I playfully clawed his testicles in retaliation. He swore more. I can’t win. I sulked.)

 

“I have written him another poem to find when he wakes. I have used the medium of cat litter and poo out of my litter box. He has not responded well in the past to these love odes but I am nothing if not persistent.”

 

Love. By Millicent

Love is a warm lap

A nap

Love is a bowl of chicken

Butt lickin’

Love is fur on your coat

To show how I dote

Love is a paw on your chin

Or thigh or shin

Love is my bum in your face

While we travel through space

My love is true

I wrote it in poo.

 

“How could he resist. I feel this infatuation with T.H.A.T will soon be over and my master will be back to giving me 100% of his attention. As per protocol.”

Chapter Text


This chapter brought to you by 33% of Atlin Merrick and 67% of Verity Burns. You're welcome and we're sorry.

Chapter Text

It was spreading, like a plague, over the entire ship.
The poetry went up faster than she could clean it off.

Phasma squinted at the fresher wall. Then she took her helmet off so she could squint closer.

"Oh poor Ren, he tries to say,
The words that will make Hux stay,
And put his penis in his bum,
So they can come and come and come.
by Corp. Dais y Fairy," she muttered shaking her head. "Unbelievable,"

She looked around in horror.

"They're everywhere." Her voice was a desperate whisper.

"There once was a fire-haired general
Who to a knight was semi-amenable.
His ass he would swat
And work over his slot
And punish him hard with his genitals.
2nd Lt. Noad Ven Churshere."

Who the hell is that? She thought. They don't even work here.

"Hux may be squishy
Even paper is rigid
If you fold it right.
Lt. Anon'imus Mee."

Phasma squeezed her eyes shut. She seriously considered having herself reconditioned. No wonder poor Mitaka was only now allowed solid food again.

Hashtags. They were using hashtags now.

#youactivatemyplasmacannons
Frank y Oh

It was hard to spot the ones by the General and Ren among the litter of words but if one had a keen eye for terrible poetry you could see them. Oh yes, you could see them.

A-ha.

"My cock
Your arse
Up yours
Destroyer class."

The General, clearly. That Ren might be a maudlin baby but it was Hux that went all schoolyard on occasion.

And... yes, there it was. Never far away was an answer from that cock Ren.

"My flame-haired beauty announces
When he sits on my lap and he bounces
He likes me to know
With his knickers on show
He moans best when I fill him by ounces."

Phasma took a whistling breath through her nose and shoved her helmet back on hard enough to rattle her teeth.

This was going to need a bucket of super strength Galactic Jif, some rubber gloves and a bottle of Kowakian rum.

Chapter Text

The Penis. A Perspective.

 

Tiny Hux

By Kylo Ren

 

Look at him,

Curled up on his orange nest.

Like that worm in that drink we had,

Which made me sick.

You held my hair back

While I vomited.

Your penis doesn’t make me sick,

Quite the opposite in fact.

 

 

The Weapon. It is ready.

By General A. Hux

 

Look at him,

Standing up so straight,

Like a Stormtrooper on parade.

He looks so proud,

Jutting up against your belly.

He’s even wearing a helmet.

I’ll give it a little polish.

 

 

Scratch Posts

By Millicent McPreciouspaws lll

 

They looked so tempting,

Like morning wood.

Though the screams hurt my ears,

And the blood wasn’t good.

 

 

FFS

By Captain Phasma

 

Could you two

Put those things away.

For fucks sake,

This is a meeting room.

And no, I hadn’t left.

I was sitting quietly,

Trying to get over the last time.

 

 

Chapter Text

I wrote a lullaby for the flame-tipped delight of my heart.

He never sleeps. It's always either work work work, which is boring and stupid, or making sweet sweet love, which is fantastic and an excellent use of his time and mine. Except of course it doesn't leave much time for him to sleep.

Me, on the other hand, I get plenty of rest during his big speeches.

Sometimes he makes a face and swats at me when I call what we do love making. It doesn't bother me much. He swats like a moth's fart.

It does bother me that he doesn't think that we're making love. What else do you call it when one or both of you end up crying?

I said to him, "My General, my long bean of ghostly moonlight, my dearest darkest scream into the void of space, my golden-haired cock rocker, you need to rest."

He made a rude noise and said, "Sleep is for Force users."

So then I made a rude noise and bit him on his tummy. I love his little round pooch. I like to rest my head on it and sing it songs.

Sometimes the Little General gets kinda curious and pops up to see what's going on. Usually I pet him or kiss him until he goes all red and spits in my face.

Today I was too tired, so I rested my head on Hux's belly and sang a song to the Little General.

Sleep precious pixie
In your nest of golden fur
Sleep precious pixie
My ass is super tired seriously I can't keep up and I'm way younger than you what the hell's up with that.
Sleep precious pixie
For the love of all that's pure and dark
Sleep precious pixie
I'll give you a kiss on your shiny pink head
If you'll just go the fuck to sleep
Just an hour or two
That's all
That's all I ask
Sleep precious pixie
Damn. I see my kiss woke you up
Sleep precious pixie
There's no need to cry
Let me lick that up for you
Sleep precious pixie
Ok fine, I've got a nice cosy cot
It dark and warm and moist
I made sure it was moist enough
Just for you
But if I let you climb on in and leave your tears inside me you have to promise to sleep
I've got Pilates in the morning
Sleep precious pixie

I don't know if you can tell but it didn't really work. And my ass is still tired.

Chapter Text

So, last night Kylo saved me from certain death by incompetence.

You see I sort of picked a fight with a planet-sized man who could have killed me with an eyebrow, a man I thought was Kylo, but who was instead the boyfriend of a noodley little ginger bloke named Techie.

Because I thought that that sultry little red-head was wooing my knight, I kind of accidentally challenged him to a duel and then out of nowhere his giant blond boyfriend appeared and then out of nowhere Kylo appeared and then for a moment everything got tense and thrilling, and then Phasma showed up and things became awkward and nothing actually happened.

Except afterward.

That's when Kylo and I went and had a very fragrant bubble bath and I decided I'm super-partial to patchouli.

Also Kylo told me he was sad I'd ever think he would let some other ginger fellow woo him.

Also I felt super bad about how bad Kylo felt and I cried and ended up getting mucus everywhere.

So that I'd stop feeling super bad Kylo challenged me to a penis duel and we fought valiantly and for a long time and instead of mucus come got everywhere.

Then we napped.

When we woke up I had a spectacular stiffy and Kylo made me knight him with it, proclaiming himself Lord Knight Protector of Armitage Hux's Body, Including His Pretty Hair, His Sweet Little Hands, and Also His Super Nice Penis.

Then Kylo had me sheath my dubbing prick in his behind and I was so excited to have my very own knight that I came rather a lot and ended up having to use my mouth to clean up the mess I'd made back there. This excited Little Kylo so much that pretty soon I had another mess to clean up.

It was all very thrilling.

I still feel guilty for suspecting Kylo of wanting to take up with that red-haired temptress, so to apologize I have written Kylo a little poem.

A Poem for My Beloved on the Occasion of his Second Knighthood

Kylo, I know I sometimes have a stick up my ass
Though not the good kind like those vibrating ones we bought on Houche

And I know that I sometimes don't use my words to say nice things
So, on the occasion of the knighthood I gave you with my penis I would like to say…

I am sorry that instead of telling you nice things I sometimes shout

I'm sorry I put that new green lube in my ass last week and forgot to tell you and it turned out you were allergic and your penis got hives

I'm especially sorry I thought you took up with that skinny ginger fellow and used your penis with him

I'm also sorry his big blond boyfriend was ready to crush you like a bug thank god Phasma showed up

I love that even though that Matt fellow is really huge you tried to rescue me from certain death anyway

I love that even though the skinny fellow looks a lot like me you say I'm much prettier

I love that you call all of our naked adventures love making
Even the obscene things we do with those vibrating sticks we got on Houche

I love you Kylo Ren and I'm going to shout that
By putting this entire poem on the fresher wall using the rest of the green lube

Signed,
General Armitage "Flame Tipped Delight" Hux


The rest of this very cracky Kylux story is found here. Atlin is sorry not sorry.

Chapter Text

A curious thing happened to Captain Phasma on the way from the bridge to the mess hall.

She found herself thinking, somewhat out of the clear blue sky (or the deep black vacuum):

“That Mitaka is kind of cute.”

Well, cute-ish, given that Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka still had a slightly red-rimmed, thousand yard stare whenever somebody inadvertently rhymed ‘scanner’ with ‘torque spanner’. Phasma suspected that pratt Thanisson was doing it on purpose. If he did it again there would be words.

Or not words. Phasma was a plain-speaking individual, and she never used words where a fifteen hour punishment detail, polishing the laser cannon mounted on the exterior of the Finalizer with a silverware buffing cloth, would do.

Mitaka’s twitchiness in the presence of rhyming couplets was not a mark against him in any case. Phasma was getting pretty kriffing twitchy around them herself.  It was getting so she was hesitating to use the fresher unless absolutely necessary. It was getting so she was idly wondering how to rig a deep space Fluid Waste Recycling Unit in her shipboard uniform.

There’d also been unwelcome random encounters with random Generals and Knights of Ren and computer techs and radar techs in Sector Twelve, all of them semi naked and all of them fully erect. Still better than the poetry though. At least nobody had tried to talk their way out of it in iambic pentameter.

Fresher aversion notwithstanding, Phasma’s curious thought on Lieutenant Mitaka’s cuteness had been preceded by five days of making sure she went to the fresher several times a shift, and even when she was off-shift, to make sure there was no poetry on it before the Lieutenant had to use it.

She really should have known from that alone that she was developing a bit of a crush on the Lieutenant, and was taking it rather personally that he’d been so damaged by That Bloody Ren’s onslaught of tortured blank verse.

Once in the mess hall Phasma, having collected her tray of assorted greens and a lump of seasoned protein, had a second curious thought.

“I would like to do something nice for Mitaka.”

As romantic gestures go, cleaning the fresher wall of offensive poems (which was, in her book, all poems) was on the practical end. Practical gestures were more her style than poetry, but her rare habit of giving her prospective lovers highly polished throwing knives, smart new percussion grenades, or the offer of free hand-to-hand combat sessions never seemed to communicate that she would quite like to have sex with them. Most sought almost immediate transfers. One had begged her not to kill him before he left.

Honestly. How energetic did they think she was in bed anyway?

Apart from his jittery response to all forms of poetry except haiku, she knew That Cute Mitaka to be a sturdy fellow, who handled being occasionally Force-throttled whenever That Bloody Ren was having a tantrum, and had never once been sent for Reconditioning, hospitalisation for Forced Audience for Bad Poetry Recitals notwithstanding.

It was on her regular prowl through the Sector 3 Utility Market, to make sure no contraband was squirrelled away among the officially sanctioned First Order merchandise, that she found the perfect gift.

The official Short Term Use Device for Relief of Stress (more commonly called a Fidget STUD) was very black except where it was shiny silver, and the First Order insignia appeared at the end of each of its three spokes. Phasma found it soothing just to look at. So silvery shiny in contrast to where it was so darkly black.

No kriffing words on it anywhere.

It was sitting among the definitely unsanctioned spinners featuring the helmet of That Bloody Ren’s Godawful Grandfather, which the seller didn’t scrape off the table fast enough. Phasma would report the vendor later, or maybe just alert That Bloody Ren – though it was anyone’s guess whether the awful brat would destroy the booth with his lightsaber or buy every last one of the spinners to play with in his bath.

*

On the bridge, Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka stood at ease, hands clasped behind his back, and he muttered a mantra in his head to block out that bastard, Petty Officer Thanisson, who was chanting, almost too quietly to be heard, love and dove and Moon and spoon but expertly feigned innocence if anyone else was in earshot.

Mitaka wondered if it would be worth it if he just turned and shot the stupid face off the rhyming asshole.

Captain Phasma appeared on the bridge, her beautifully shiny armour gleaming under the lights.

Mitaka loved the Captain’s gleaming armour. He loved the Captain’s smartly kept cape. He loved her brisk, practical approach to her work. He loved that she was visiting the fresher to make sure it was poetry-free as often as possible, although it was a losing battle against those lovelorn monsters ooops no much admired and heroic superior officers, the bastards. He loved Captain’s Phasma’s dedication and her purposeful stride and how tall she was and he loved Captain Phasma.

Hang on, what was that?

He loved Captain Phasma.

Oh hell. Awkward.

And yet he loved Captain Phasma.

Mitaka immediately went into haiku mode, as his therapist taught him. Breathe deep and count, she said. Turn your feelings into 17 syllables and get them out of your system. Discipline, Mitaka! Discipline.

Outer space is dark
Inner space looks for the light
Captain Phasma shines.

A clink on his control panel snapped him suddenly from his syllable-counting reverie. He glanced up to see Captain Phasma herself, her armour glowing like a star. She had just deposited an item on the panel.

“Stud,” she said.

Mitaka blinked rapidly.

“Fidget STUD,” she said, “For you.”

Then she strode away with purposeful rapidity before he could reply.

He looked at the thing on the control panel. It was a Short Term Use Device for Relief of Stress bearing First Order Insignia on the disks at the end of the three spokes.

Since his little rest in hospital, Mitaka had broken three or four of them, cheap STUDS that were not manufactured to withstand his epic level of Tense.

But this was different. This was handsome and shiny and it was a … a… gift? From shining Captain Phasma.

Mitaka picked it up and began to spin it. It had lovely balance. Beautifully crafted. Not cheap at all. Very soothing to flick and spin.

For the rest of that day, MItaka heard not a word of Thanisson’s attempts to drive him to a shooting spree. Instead, Mitaka spun his STUD and recited his newest new haiku.

My STUD, made to last.
Shining Captain Phasma, please
Let me fidget you.

Chapter Text

 

That mad glint, the unhinged smile. That's the look on Hux's face when he's gone a bit mad. Like now. Hux, well... Hux has gone a little bit mad.

Everyone goes on and on about Kylo's poetry. All fluttering hands over hearts and oh, isn't it amazing, isn't it wonderful, isn't it brilliant and oh, do you remember this line and no one, not a one, says anything about his and poor Hux no longer knows what is going on in the world. What's down, what's up... well, he knows what's up (his cock)... and he knows what's down too (Kylo's mouth)... Still, doesn't anyone around here know genius poetry when they hear it?

But Hux didn't rise to the rank of General without hard work and persistence. No, he did not. And... and... who the kriffing hell keeps scrubbing the fresher walls?!

Luckily Hux has taken to carrying around a writing implement at all times.

O, what joy
Of songs and poems on fresher walls
Isn't everyone wonderful?
Isn't life grand?
Isn't it?
I'm so happy, happy, happy
Happy HAPPY kriffing arsing happy
That everyone decided to have a vote
Who is the best poet on the ship?
Who is he most lyrical?
Who? Who? Who? Who cares?
Is it me? Apparently not.
Did anyone get permission for this illegal contest?
No. No. No. No. Nono. No. Nonono
Does anyone else have a General's stripes?
Big clue--NO
Am I upset that I--the only QUALIFIED poet on the ship--was not even shortlisted?
No. Not me.
I'm happy.
Happy HAPPY kriffing arsing happy
That everyone is having
SO. MUCH. FUN (without my permission)
And if I catch whoever is having
SO. MUCH. FUN (without my permission)
I'll demote them so far they'll never see anything but the underside of my boots ever again
Unless of course whoever is having
SO. MUCH. FUN (without my permission)
Admits that actually Kylo's poems aren't all that and that mine are just so beyond brilliant that they defy the comprehension of inferior minds and I can't help it if you're all jealous it's hard being this perfect okay. Okay? Okay!

And then Hux scurried (not scurried because generals do not scurry--but he did, he did scurry) to his quarters before anyone saw the wobble in his chin and the watery welling in his eyes.

He was fine, he was fine, he didn't care. He was a general, dammit. General Hux. And if he wanted to curl up inside his little cupboard and have a nice quiet huff it was nobody's lookout but his.

And if he emerged only because Kylo lifted him out still curled into a little black ball of limbs with a ginger tuft and shiny boots, then so what.

And if Kylo curled his own body around him and held him like that and sang to him songs of faraway stars and told him how marvellous and brilliant and ginger he was, well that was no one's business but theirs.

And if Hux wrote another poem just for Kylo and tucked it into a slot in his helmet (because it was a very good poem and Kylo should take it with him always to study and learn from it) then only those two knew that little secret.

How lonely 'tis
To be an unlauded genius
I give my words to the universe
The universe does not see them
Not the way I see those words
Is the fault mine?
Or is it the universe's?
Clearly it's the universe's
My words are my song
Each a note I sing
For every hair on your head
And every dark star on your skin
Even though everyone likes your words better then mine
I sing them for you
I dub you the fortunate one
For I am an unlauded genius
Not lonely
I have you

Chapter Text

The Windows To The Soul

 

 

Puppy Eyes

By General Armitage Hux

 

Stop it with the eyes

You giant tyrannical murder puppy

 

No you can’t use my shoulder pads

To cushion your tender arse

And yes.

I know it was “my kriffin’ fault”

(technically)

 

But when you cry out in the night

“Fuck me harder General!”

What is a man supposed to do?

I am but flesh and blood

 

I need my shoulder pads

So no one knows

what “Teeny weeny fairy shoulders”

I possess

 

Stop it with the eyes!

Oh for fucks sake!

Here!

Do your worst!

 

 

 

Green

By Kylo Ren

 

How was I to know?

I like the swamps on JJiaron 3

They’re pretty

Not, as you described,

“Hideous pools of stagnant shite”

 

Also. I didn’t know

That you have an aversion

To Jelly Beans.

Especially the green ones.

No. I don’t think they taste like snot

And spitting them out into my hand

Was rude

 

Ok. Maybe I was stretching it a bit,

When I said that your eyes

Were the same colour as the lint

I pulled from between my toes.

But you bought me the socks

And yes, cashmere IS wasted on me

 

Okay. I give up.

Hell no!

Don’t turn those eyes on me!

Those beautiful green eyes,

fringed with lashes

The colour of that creature's teeth

We saw on Krykk

What?

What did I do now?

 

 

 

Damn My Eyes

By Lieutenant Phasma

 

Bleach is not suitable to wash the eye

It stings like fuck and makes you cry

Nor is it for the weak and placid

To rinse their eyes in Nitric Acid

But after all the things I’ve seen

I have the need to get them clean

To swill those visions down the drain

Oh...If only I could scrub my brain…

Chapter Text

Mitaka doesn’t only write haiku for therapy. Sometimes haiku is the best way for him to organise his thoughts on other things. Thoughts both softer and more profound.

Especially his thoughts on Captain Phasma. She’s so wonderfully towering, and so beautifully shiny. Instead of looming and engulfing him in shadow like Certain Giant Loomers he knows, and their Very Straight-Backed Shouty High Ranked Boyfriends, Captain Phasma casts light into all the shadowy places in his head. It’s even better with her helmet off, when her stern and lovely face and her stern and lovely eyes and her stern and lovely hair cast a glow that is soft in the dark places in his heart as well.

Mitaka sometimes scribbles haikus on the edges of his reports. He doesn’t even realise that he’s doing it.

That’s what Phasma thinks, anyway, when she sees what he wrote on today’s report, which he handed to her absentmindedly half an hour ago.

I would braid her hair
Weave a golden crown for her
Silver owns my heart

She’s read it six times. She still hasn’t lodged the report. She’d have to give it up. Instead, she makes in image of the haiku, written in Mitaka’s hand, then erases the poem from the master copy before lodging it. (She's very good at removing poems from public places: this is the first time she's wanted to keep a copy though. That haiku is not for other eyes.)

Phasma still thinks Mitaka wrote it without thinking she’d see it. He tends to get that thousand yard stare still, if the General or Ren are nearby.

But then she gets the next day's report.

I’m warm in your light
Though it doesn’t shine for me
Thank you for your sun

Phasma saves a copy of that one too, deletes the original, and keeps her haiku for herself.

Phasma is no poet, as has been established. But she’s pretty damned good at gifts.

Next morning, Mitaka finds it at his workstation. It’s small.  It’s shaped like a sun, a silver crystal circle with a golden metal corona flaring off it. The metal and crystals glow with their own light.

On the back, in Phasma’s unfussy, practical handwriting, it says: This light is for you.

It’s not regulation, but he wears it proudly on his uniform jacket, and even General Shouty and His Pouty Boyfriend let it pass.

(Though that might be because Phasma gave them both a Look at the meeting of the General Staff.)

Next shore leave, Phasma decides. I’ll take him to dinner next shore leave.

Chapter Text

When the general has had a long day or Kylo has found him in his little cupboard again, they sometimes curl up together, eat snacks, and watch documentaries. Sometimes the documentaries are about poetry. Sometimes they are about frolicking nature. Sometimes these inspire poetry.

Nature

By General Armitage Hux

 I admit surprise
That the nature holo
Was that interesting to you

I wouldn't have thought
Watching a small orange felinx mounting
A big black cat would—oh

Kylo, color me touched
That you can see us together
Even in the wildest of kingdoms

You know, I've never been to Danteel
But if going there to see felinx breed
Gets me more of these big, wet beauties

I'm booking our holiday now
And ordering us some ears
I hope you're in heat when we get there


This is what happens when you discuss the pet play prompt with Winklepicker and 221B_hound. Well, this and something else you published later.

Chapter Text

Hux has been super stressed the last few days. He had about fifty meetings with Colonel Sarswaat who I'm, like, 78% sure could kill someone by boring them to death.

I love my ginger rice cake noodle and I hate seeing him like this. I wrote a poem to express the feelings that I've been feeling.

My chest isn't big enough
To hold all the love for you in
It's pretty big, sure
Which should tell you that
I have a lot of love for you
That can't be contained in my chest
My heart bursts into bits of meat and stuff
Whenever you walk into the room
Etc.

I haven't finished it yet, but I think its incompleteness gives it a certain something. Like it shouldn't be finished if we're not finished, right?

It's a good poem and I'll read it to Hux later. I decided to see if a little alcohol could help loosen him up so I got us a bottle of Corellian wine.

It seemed like a good idea at the time. I kinda maybe thought Hux was one of those thin guys who can drink like a Neelabi and be fine. Turns out not so much.

After one tiny glass he was down on his knees, pawing at my thighs and grinding to that annoying Single Twi'leks song.

I've decided he's very pretty when his eyes are a little glassy and his face has gone all red. Though not the red he goes when he’s shouting at everyone. More the shade he goes when he’s trying to get his tongue as deep inside me as he possibly can. My General is a determined man and boy can he get that tongue in deep.

After two he was on the comms to Mitaka reciting a poem he was making up on the spot. He knows his poetry is not allowed within twenty feet of Mitaka. I told him this but Hux tried to reason that his poetry had restorative properties and could I please just let him and Mitaka share this one beautiful thing without constant judgment.

Cheese, knees, breeze, keys, erm…
Mitaka
Mitaka
Are you there?
Oh, okay. Good. You’re listening right?
Trees, keys…
I said keys already, didn’t I?
Fuck
It's better than the stuff on the fresher walls though, don’t you think?
Mitaka? Hello?

I heard shouting down the line—it sounded a little like Phasma—and then Mitaka was cut off. But my Golden Delicious Delight of Deliciousness was unperturbed and kept right on reciting.

After three glasses he was on the comms to Phasma herself, commanding her to start charging the weapon. I heard her ask what the target was. He made a rude noise with his lips and said it didn't matter. That's when I had to put my foot down.

Usually I let Hux think he's, like, in charge of me. And I've got to admit I like when my general gets his bossy pants all twisted up in my mask's grill. But sometimes, like for example when he's ordering the activation of a planet sized weapon while drunk on three drops of wine, I consider it my duty as a Knight of Ren and as my red-haired angel's tertiary concern (after the ship and his own hair of course) to remind him he's not the boss of me and that he was heading the right way for a spanking.

I was still saying something about the irresponsibility of issuing commands like that while under the influence when I realised he was naked. I don't know how he does this. I am one with the Force and still, I don't get it. I don't know how he gets them off so fast but before I know it all his clothes are sitting in nice neat piles and he's squirming on the bed, like the tentacles on a Rathtar, with his arm over his eyes saying, "Go on then, you brute, have your wicked way with me."

Then he flipped over onto his belly and waggled his butt from side to side. "Come on, spank me. I've been a bad general."

He knows I can't resist when he shakes his ass so I got the special spanking paddle. The fuzzy pink one with the feather trim. I think he just likes to see me hold that thing because he gets bored after about three soft pats to either cheek.

I could tell Hux still really wanted to blow something up, so I told him he could blow me. And when I told him he could use my ventral cannon any way he wanted he went all shaky. I thought he was mad so when he launched himself and tackled me down I almost soiled my shorts. Turned out he was too turned on to wait for me to catch up, so he got into my pants, parked himself on my cock and started bouncing.

When I said he could use my ventral cannon any way he wanted I didn't realise how many ways there could possibly be. It had been near a damn hour and there was already a lot to clean up in the morning, but I could tell Hux still wasn't relaxed as he kept issuing commands.

I wanted to show him how far I'd come in my deportment lessons so I asked him, "Please Hux, may I fuck you harder?"

He said, "No." Then he ordered me to fuck him harder. I can't win with him so I did. I did fuck him harder. And then I told him I loved watching all of his jiggly bits jiggle.

He said, "I don't have jiggly bits."

"No,” I said, “you don't look like you've got jiggly bits. There's a difference."

He yelled at me for a bit and then let me carry on. And while he kept yelling, I kept right on making his jiggly bits jiggle until we were both yelling and collapsing in a sticky sweaty mess.

I took the chance to nuzzle at his hair while I was draped along his back. He's so fussy about it I can only get a really good face full when we're like this and it's already messed up. I like it when it's messed up. He looks more relaxed when his hair does too.

I asked him if he felt calm now and my Sweet Copper Kitten replied with a tiny snore. Mission accomplished.

Chapter Text

Phasma’s day has been full of surprises.

First, when she strode past Mitaka’s work station, armour shining like a small star, he didn’t flinch like others did (officers and troopers alike) but looked up at her with a beaming smile, like he was flower to her sunshine. She’s still getting used to the fact that he does that. She’s also getting used to the fact that she’s using words like ‘flower’ and ‘sunshine’ in her head when Mitaka does that smiling-at-the-sun thing of his.

The second surprise was what he did when she paused by his work station, looking sideways at how he flower-drank her light. Mitaka cleared his throat, stood taller and said, “I’m off shift tonight, Captain Phasma. If there’s.” A slight falter as he swallowed and then lifted his chin. “If there’s any chance you would like to join me for a drink in the Moon Tree Bar afterwards, I would be delighted to share a booth with you.”

Phasma can’t recall the last time anyone, man or woman, has asked her on a date with such honest hope while looking her directly in the eyes. Sure, she’s been propositioned. She’s had a tumble or two with those who like ‘em tall, with those who couldn’t raise their gaze above her breastplate (which were at eye level half the time anyway). Sometimes she just wants a bit of a romp. But Mitaka has combined respect, desire, fondness and hope in asking her out.

“I would be delighted, also,” she replied. She thought perhaps that might be too formal. She cleared her throat, took off her helmet and tried on a smile.

Surprise three was that he smiled back. Phasma is used to people seeing her smile and then quaking, as though it’s a herald of bloodshed, or at least a three week stint cleaning the robots that clean the latrines. Phasma is pretty sure that her battle-grin, her latrine-duty-grin and her I-like-you grin are all very different things, but Mitaka is the first to have noticed the difference.

It’s not precisely a break in protocol for a lieutenant to ask a Captain on a date. She outranks him but she’s not technically in his chain of command. He’s bridge crew, she’s troop management. She has a post on the bridge, but it is not her posting, for chain-of-command purposes.

And kriff it, everyone knows the General and the Knight of Ren are fucking like tumble bunnies in perpetual spring – they proclaim it on fresher walls, for the love of Aivela. Phasma is prepared to vent a few opinions of her own if either of them wants to start anything.

Dopheld Mitaka is in his civvies when Phasma joins him at the Moon Tree Bar on Deck 20. Through the bar viewport, the Moon Tree in question, harvested from the Gunninga Gap, is suspended in a bubble on the skin of the ship. Mitaka is in a smart blue jacket with his hair swept back from his forehead, though a little lick of hair keeps falling forward. Phasma would very much like to put him in her pocket for easy cuddling-retrieval at intervals during the day.

She says, “Mitaka.” She nods and takes a seat.

He’s giving her that flower-drinks-sunshine look again, and she’s not even wearing her gleaming silver armour. She’s put on her favourite jacket, which is purple and also shiny, imprinted with faux eyelets and laces. Shows off a bit of cleavage. She’s always liked the contrast with the armour, though the bondage-not-bondage aspect hints more playfully at her strong will. Phasma doesn’t consciously think of her jacket this way, but it’s essence of “come here, if you’re brave enough” is why she loves it.

Mitaka takes it in, but his gaze lingers nowhere but on her blue eyes and her golden blonde hair with that kink in the fringe she decided not to straighten out of existence.

The third surprise is how easily they talk together. They’re backgrounds are very different, but the choices they’ve made to arrive on The Finalizer resonate. A search for something greater than themselves, a desire to serve, a healthy regard for order, a wish for wider horizons than one planet, a need to meet and overcome challenges in order to grow.

They both like a bit of quenk jazz and Ediorang holosculptures. Mitaka confesses that he’s tried swoopduelling but it’s hardly a suitable shipboard sport so he no longer plays. Phasma confesses that she’s too tall to have optimum manoeuvrability for the aerial sport, but she grew up playing shock-ball and played grav-ball in the under-20 galactic championships in her youth.

Phasma makes Mitaka laugh with stories of her sporting exploits. Mitaka impresses Phasma with his knowledge of quenk jazz classics.

It’s all going so very well.

And then the General calls. It’s the fourth surprise, and it’s not a pleasant one. She and Mitaka are off-duty, but nobody of the bridge crew is off-duty when the General calls. It’s why they all still have their comms units with them: a receiver bud in the ear, and mic bud at the collar.

Phasma can’t hear the conversation, but Mitaka’s face drains of blood. Phasma wonders why her own comms unit hasn’t buzzed, if it’s that bad, but then Mitaka gets that thousand yard stare and she knows what That Ginger Bastard has done.

The best that can be said for General Kriffing Armitage Kriff-damn-you Hux is that he’s the required 20 feet away while reciting his life-destroying poetry at poor defenceless lieutenants.

Phasma reaches across the table – it’s hardly a stretch for her – and plucks the bud from his ear and the mic unit from his collar.

Holding the bud to her own ear, Phasma hears a drunken: I said keys already, didn’t I? Fuck. It's better than the stuff on the fresher walls though, don’t you think? Mitaka? Hello?

“General Hux,” she says firmly. Okay. A bit shoutily. “Stop it this instant. You are in direct contravention of Health and Safety Regulations and a First Class Medical Order. Good night, sir!”

She disconnects. She puts the bud and mic on the table between them. She takes Mitaka’s clenched hands in hers.

“Mitaka?”

He blinks and looks at her. Perspiration is beaded at his temples. Tears glisten in his troubled and panicked eyes.

“Keys,” he says. “Breeze. Cheese. Trees. I don’t understand.”

“I won’t let him poem at you any more, Mitaka,” she promises him, and by Aivela – Phasma’s chosen deity, the Old Goddess of passion, sister to Tyth, the Old God of war – she’ll keep that promise if she has to fight that kriffing Kylo Ren to get to General Hux to do it.

Mitaka has stopped shaking, at least. “I like haikus,” he says, a bit breathlessly. “My therapist says I can’t be frightened of poems forever. Haikus are short. They’re disciplined. Three lines, 17 syllables and you’re done. I can haiku.” He shudders and closes his eyes. “I can’t prose poem.”

“You don‘t have to,” she swears to him. “You don’t have to limerick or sonnet or ballad or any of those things.”

Staring at her hands around his, he says shyly to her fingers. “I like to haiku for you.”

Surprise five. Phasma’s armour-encased heart melts at the very idea.

“I like it when you do,” she confesses, which is surprise six.

Still looking at her fingers, Mitaka says:

You are the sunrise
The star and the silver moon
Phasma: light and strength.

Phasma is about to grab Mitaka by the lapels so she can pull him across the table to kiss him when her own comms unit goes off, and there is that Goddamn Nerfherding Bantha-brained superior ginger officer asking her in a slur to “Charge the weapon. It is ready!”

She grits her teeth. “What,” she bites out, “Is the target? Sir.”

She can think of at least three things she can aim at right now, all dangling between his stupid superior officer thighs.

General Ginger Tosspot blows a raspberry over the comms and says it doesn’t matter, before a deeper voice interrupts with, “come on, kitty, you’re going the right way for a spanking if you don’t behave.”

Phasma hears the General squeal with delight and the line goes dead.

Phasma puts her own mic and earbud on the table next to Mitaka’s.

“Sorry about that, Mitaka,” she says.

“You can call me Dopheld. If you like,” he says shyly.

“Dopheld,” says Phasma. “You can call me…” What? What? She has no other name. Not even nicknames. Except the one she calls herself when doing her affirmations in the mirror. “Phae. If you like.”

“Phae,” he breathes, like she’s given him something precious to hold in his mouth.

“Dopheld,” says Phasma, “I am definitely going to kiss you now.”

Dopheld Mitaka closes his eyes, lifts his face and puckers slightly, and he is so kriffing adorable and hot all at the same time that Phasma does reach across the table. She does fold her fingers in his coat. She does, as carefully as she can, pull him towards her, while rising to meet him, and kisses him very thoroughly across their table right in the middle of the Moon Tree Bar.

*

Phasma and Mitaka find themselves in the Captain’s quarters three hours later. They’ve been walking, talking. Holding hands. Laughing. He grins at his feet, and at their joined hands, and up at her face. And now she’s the one swaying towards him like he’s the light.

Surprise seven is how much she likes Dopheld Mitaka crawling slinky, catlike, up the bed, right over her bare legs and hips, pausing to kiss her thighs and the softness of her belly over hard-won muscle. He takes his sweet time to kiss the length of her body while she strokes his flanks her hands more slender than many realise. When he is hovering over her body, he kisses her softly. A long, sweet kiss to her lips. To her cheek. To her temple and the bridge of her nose, then the tip, and then her mouth again, while her strong, slender hands hold his narrow hips, her thumbs rubbing wonderfully maddening circles in the tender skin at the junction of his thighs.

She slides her hands around to cup his butt and Mitaka – Dopheld – pushes his ass into her palms. She obliges him with a thorough fondle. She feels the moment the precome dribbles stickily in a line from his wet cockhead to her belly, but they’re still busy kissing, tongues sliding and tasting. Phasma arches, her nipples peaked, hungry for wet pressure that she hasn’t yet asked for.

But Dopheld dips his head to lick her neck, to kiss her throat, to nuzzle down between the line of her perfect little breasts. He licks the first as Phasma runs her hands down the back of his thighs, urging him closer. He suckles on the nipple, making her gasp, as she pulls him on top of her, so his cock, hot and slick, presses into her stomach.

“Phae,” he breathes, then directs his delicious attention to the untouched, pebbled nipple. Her hips jerk up as he takes it in his mouth.

He doesn’t touch her with reverence. That is surprise eight. Dopheld touches her with delight. He climbs the horizontal length of her like he adores the mountain, and isn’t just after the view.

Phasma turns them, so Dopheld is on his back and she’s riding him like she’s being awarded points for grace, intensity, commitment and passion in the under-20s galactic championships.

He wraps his hands around her thighs and throws his head back and chants encouragements – “Phae, yes, oh, oh, oh, so good, so good” – before smoothing his hands over her ribs, her breasts, reaches up to cup her face, and pushes up into the rhythm that she’s set. Phasma takes his hands and holds them against her breasts, pushes her nipples against his palms, and he cups her breasts and lets her guide how much pressure she wants.

She rides him, hips rolling, mons grinding against the rise of his pelvis, till she comes, joyfully loud, and that seems to spark his orgasm too.

Surprise nine. His reaction to being ridden to orgasm is not that he’s being crushed by an avalanche, but that the mountain is lifting him to the sky.

Afterwards, Phasma rests her head on Mitaka’s shoulder and wraps her arm around his waist. They could never fit together like this standing up, but lying down they can fit together however they like.

Mitaka presses a kiss to the top of her head, his arm around her back. He seems to be counting syllables under his breath. Perhaps he will haiku her again soon. She'd like that.

Phasma has sometimes wondered if praying to Aivela rather than Tyth was the best spiritual choice to have made, but not anymore. Today she knows that she walks the path of the goddess of passion.

 *

The tenth surprise technically happens a day later, after General Hux reappears on the bridge after a mysterious absence.

Not mysterious, obviously. General Ginger Lightweight drunk dialled and then paid the price, nursed back to health no doubt by the Lumbering Knight of Emo.

That’s the day Phasma surprises herself by committing an act of poetry.

After a little research, she sneaks off and scrawls an unsigned cinquain on the General’s personal fresher wall.

Hux. Sir.
With due respect
Cease and desist with the poems.
Make Mitaka cry at your peril.
I’m armed.

Chapter Text

I have an imploding core reactor behind my left eyeball. That's the only explanation for the crushing pain in my head and the fire on my skin. I also have no skin, how else could all my nerve endings be screaming at the same time? And the screaming! It's so deafening that I want to rip my ears off. While I'm at it I would rend my garments except I'm not wearing any. I'm naked and covered in raw nerve endings if I haven't already said and I'm certain my brain is liquefying and if I could just reach my blaster I think—
.
  .
    .
I'm much better now.

I think Kylo might have Force-choked me into unconsciousness, I'm not sure. It's fine though because I slept nineteen hours, right through my hangover and my shift.

I would be very upset about that last bit except when Kylo Force-choked me or whatever he did he also somehow made me feel all soft and gooey and tender everywhere. When I told him this he said he didn't Force-choke me or make me tender, that what I was feeling was feelings.

My first response was to tell him he was a big, giant Jedi fool but then he spoon-fed me another bit of plo soup and it had all these little blue-pepper buds in it that he knows I like and when I drooled a little down my chin because my bones were still all gooey and weak, he gently patted it away with a napkin and I got to thinking and I think Kylo's right.

Because there's no one else in the galaxy at whose meaty thighs I would paw, no one in whose behind I would push my tongue until I dislocated my jaw, and there is no one else who could Force-choke me (yes, yes you did) and make me miss approximately four work shifts who I then wouldn't feed to Starkiller's core reactor.

I mean I knew I was in love with Kylo, but it wasn't until right then that I knew I had feelings for him.

It makes me want to write a poem.

You Wretched Brute of Love

I didn't see myself falling for you
You, a raggedy mystic
A giant baby in black
With an annoyingly sexy vocoder voice

Then you let me see your soulful eyes
And your trembling lips
You whispered endearments in my ear
And bought me glittery hair gel

You opened wide those meaty thighs
And let me frolic about between
Then you picked me up and bit my bottom
After suckling all my juices

I fell in love with you, it's true
You wonderful beast
But it wasn't until today
That I realized you make me feel…

Safe
Cherished
Warm
Whole

But if you Force-choke me again my love
(Yes you did)
I am going to punch you in the eye
(Don't worry, I'll kiss it better)

I'll have to leave this there, Kylo just got back; he went to fetch some flimsis from my office for me. I may or may not have threatened him with a court-martial if he didn't go, even though we both know I can't do that. When he asked why I couldn't go get them myself, I tossed the covers away to show my extreme nakedness. "I am naked, Kylo," I may or may not have said, writhing a little and running the tips of my fingers over my nipples.

Kylo didn't go and get my flimsis just then, because we ended up romping about until our cocks spit on each other's bellies. Afterward Kylo put his robes on over the mess, like a savage, and lumbered off for my paperwork.

Anyway, he's back and I have to go. I hear him muttering something about something written on a fresher wall but surely he didn't say 'Captain Phasma' and what does 'her weenie little lieutenant kitten' mean anyway?

I better find out.

(I'm still naked.)

Chapter Text

The Agreement.

 

I thought we had an agreement?

You and I, no other.

That all went to shit

When you took Tin Hat as your lover.

I sneak into your bed at night

And with my butt I cover

That thing he likes to call his nose

And hope that he will smother.

 

 

 

The Agreement #2

 

Look.

He has to go.

Yesterday HE drank the last bit of milk

From your cereal bowl.

Protocol dictates that all excess milk

Belongs to me and no other.

This is a blatant violation of the rules.

And we both know you’re all about those.

So.

Keep your half of the bargain

Or my claws of fury will once again

Find a home in your grandmother’s armoire.

Capisce?

 

 

 

The Agreement #3

 

Oh. Don’t come that with me.

My rightful place is by your side.

I will NOT be usurped by this young pretender.

If he does not remove his giant pink butt.

From your tongue, right now buddy.

There will be furballs.

 

 

 

The Agreement #4

 

Ah. I see what you did there.

Stroking my chin with your massive paw.

Don’t think I’m as easy to cajole as the general.

But yes.

You may do it again.

Twenty three times.

Only.

On the twenty fourth.

Fear my teeth.

 

 

Chapter Text

“Enter.”

Hux’s office door shwoozhed open and Mitaka stepped in followed by the shining tower that was Phasma. The door fwoomphed shut behind them.

"Ah, Lieutenant, take a seat." Hux gestured at the chair facing his desk. "I expect you're wondering why I called you in."

"Captain Phasma said you have something to say to me, sir?"

“Yes, I…” Hux’s glance flicked toward Phasma and he cleared his throat. "I owe you an apology, Mitaka, for my behaviour last week. I was," he glanced again at Phasma, a stolid silver statue by the door, "irresponsible and I said some things to you I should not have said." He shifted in his seat and muttered, “So I’ve been told.”

"You poemed at me, sir." Mitaka raised his chin.

Hux nodded then hung his head. "Yes."

"I was in some distress."

"I'm so sorry."

"It's really not allowed, sir."

"I know."

"I've got a certificate."

"Yes."

There was silence a moment, then Hux leaned in inviting Mitaka into a huddle.

"Tell me, Mitaka, is it... is my poetry really that bad?"

"I..."

"I won't be angry, I promise. Just, tell me honestly, off the record, man-to-man. Am I," Hux winced, "a bad poet."

"Sir. Sir, I can't."

"You can."

"I can't."

"Just say it, Mitaka. Say it, here and now."

Mitaka glanced over his shoulder at Phasma and Hux followed suit. They huddled back.

"Sir."

"Mitaka?"

"You're a terrible poet. It's awful. Unlyrical. Unmeaningful. Unfocused. No structure to speak of. It's atrociously bad. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. If a turd had a voice, it would be your poems. If rotting garbage could speak..."

Hux held his palm out, “Alright, you don’t have to flog it to death.” He sat back and with a sigh said, "Thank you, Lieutenant, that will be all."

Mitaka hesitated a moment, biting his lip. "One thing, sir." Mitaka gestured Hux back in. "You're not wearing any pants. Did you know?"

Hux blinky-blinked. Mitaka's hair ruffled in the breeze.

Hux peeked down at himself and then quickly looked back up his eyes flicking to Phasma. He drew his finger back and forth on his lower lip. "Can you see it from..."

"Right from the doorway, sir. Your desk is quite," he wriggled his fingers, "minimalistic."

Hux nodded in resignation. "So the captain can see...?"

"All of it, sir. Everything. You should probably close your legs."

Hux cleared his throat, crossed his legs and sat back again.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Captain." He nodded at them both. "Dismissed."

The moment the door fwoomphed shut, Hux's forehead thumped onto the desk. He repeated the motion in case his head hadn't quite received the message.

As his head thumped onto the desk a third time his comlink crackled to life.

"Hux? Are you alright?"

"Fifty kriffing ewoks on the back of a moonwalking tauntaun!"

"My Sweet Honey Happy Hole, you're exclaiming nonsense again. Talk to me."

"Are you reading my mind with the force again?" Hux’s lips smooshed about on the desk.

"No. I programmed your comlink to call me whenever your head’s smacking against something. What's wrong?"

Hux sniffled.

"Are you crying? Is that crying? I will kill... who the fuck should I be dismembering right now? Give me names."

"Ben," Hux whimpered.

Kylo took a moment to let the enormity of what he’d heard sink in for a moment before, "YOU TELL ME WHERE I NEED TO POINT MY LIGHTSABER RIGHT NOW AND I WILL CHAR THE HEART OUT OF WHOEVER HAS HURT MY FIREY SUN-ANGEL PRINCELING."

"Please. Bring me my pants."

"WHO THE FUCK TOOK YOUR PANTS?"

Hux sighed into the desk and rolled his forehead side to side. "No one. No one took my pants. I forgot them. I’m so tired I forgot to put my pants on and have spent half a morning half naked and I’m the worst poet in the entire universe. Alright? Fine? Yes? You were right, well done. I need to take more rest. Are you happy now?"

The door shwoozhed open and Kylo strode through, be-blacked and ludicrously big and all swishy-swish with his swishy-swish lightsaber at the ready.

He stopped in mid-stride, took a step back and bent a little to see under the desk. He straightened again, took off his helmet, and tossed it to the floor.

Hux raised his red, weepy eyes and wiped his immaculate sleeve across the snot dripping from his nose.

“Pants?” he wibbled.

Kylo unwound his raggedy cowl and let it fall. Then he dropped to his knees with a soft growl.

“Uh, Kylo?”

Kylo padded forward, his head low and licked his lips.

“Oh. Oh.

Kylo ducked under the desk, barely fitting even on hands and knees. He took Hux’s leg in his giant paws with reverential gentleness and uncrossed it for him. He ran his gloved hands up an down the tops of Hux’s thighs, dipped his fingers between them and parted them like a book.

And just like any right-minded person would with a book, he shoved his face right in and took a deep sniff. However, unlike what any right-minded person would do to a book, he poked his tongue out and gave a little lick. And most unlike a book, the Little General gave a very happy twitch and Kylo felt Hux’s spindly long fingers riffling through his hair.

This pleased Kylo. His second favourite thing after making his Spicy Ginger Pumpkin Latte happy, was to make the Little General happy. That his top two favourite things were not mutually exclusive was an added bonus.

He sang a little song while gliding his lips feather-soft along the Little General’s silky skin and shedding the rest of his own clothes until only his boots were left.

You are mine my darling general
Though I do not claim you
I am yours
Though you do not claim me
We do not claim each other
But we belong
I am yours
And you are mine
I am your flimsi
You are my very good poet
My favourite ever
I am your ventral cannon
You are my landing bay
You are my friendly fire
I am your warm flannel
I am your crinkly wrapping
You are my lollipop

Then he scraped his teeth as gently as he could along the Little General’s length, popped him into his mouth and sucked him like a lollipop until he felt Hux’s thighs shaking against his shoulders.

Then he pulled off the Little General with a wet pop and rested his cheek against his Red Love Bean’s leg.

When Hux stopped shuddering and the Little General stopped its excited nodding, Kylo sucked on him like a lollipop again until Hux’s round little bottom started squirming about on his seat and the Little General spit in Kylo’s mouth.

A thump sounded from the desk above Kylo’s head. Then another, and then another. Kylo’s comlink connected and he heard the tinny sound of Hux’s ragged breath in one ear and then in the tiniest of tiny whispers, “I love you. Please fetch my trousers.”

Chapter Text

Sure Hux sometimes has bad days, ones where maybe he exposes his penis and pubes to subordinates, but let's be honest, I usually accidentally go him one better and watching a porn holo without blinking was probably a pretty good example of me taking that concept up to eleven.

"Good actors do that," Hux had said halfway through the holo and our wanking. "They don't blink during critical scenes. It adds intensity."

I'm not sure a scene where one twin licks out the other twin needs to be more intense but okay, whatever, if they didn't blink while they did it I could see it maybe added a little something. The problem was, I thought that since obviously I'm the most intense Force user of all time, I could definitely out-intense two porn stars with bifurcated cocks.

Turns out I couldn't.

In the end I needed twenty minutes face-first in a bowl of bacta before my eyelids would finally shut and afterward I had to listen to Hux loudly write poetry, trying to find something that rhymed with you bifurcated idiot.

Turns out he couldn't.

Anyway, as if that wasn't eleven enough, my week got worse when somehow the skirts of my robe got stuck in a dodgy retracting door. I had to strip to get free the one time I was wearing Hux's weeniest pair of pink panties which, though super-cute and with sweet bits of lace on, are also so small they can cover my cock or my balls but they can't cover both at the same time.

It is not a walk of shame if you run.

Anyway, after that I accidentally set Mitaka's bonsai tree on fire when I was trying to have a polite discussion with him about the goodness of Hux's poetry, and after that I found my helmet filled with week-old caf which I'm almost sure was Captain Phasma's doing and then, to cap off a completely crap series of events, I ran out of hair conditioner.

"Why are you crying?"

Which is why I'm currently lying out nude in the fresher, crying.

Since I couldn't answer very well, I just clutched the empty conditioner bottle tighter and sobbed harder.

Hux weighs like, less than my hairbrush, so I'm not sure how he lifted me off the fresher floor and got me into bed, but he did and while he was at it he also got himself all naked and soft and crawled in beside me.

I unclutched my empty conditioner bottle and replaced it with Hux. "My orange sun pixie," I hiccupped against one of his silky nipples, "you're so soft."

I think Hux has been taking lessons from Millicent, because he definitely purred when I stroked his stomach and started playing with his nipples. He was so soft and he smelled so good that—

"Wait a minute."

Hux stopped purring.

"Have you been using my hair conditioner as a body lotion?

Hux's eyes went shifty. I could see all the thoughts flashing over his face like fire, then he wiggled free and presented me with his armpits.

I love Hux's armpits.

I mean I love all of him, from that one unruly eyebrow hair to his hairless toes, but I really love the little orange brushfires under both his arms.

Sometimes, when I've had a crap day and I just want to calm down, I push my face in one of those fiery pits and I breathe deep and maybe have a little lick while I play with my penis. Before you know it little Kylo's spitting across Hux's soft belly, then Hux is scooping my juices up and pushing them into my back end. Then Hux is on my back end and the little general is spitting in me. Afterward we nap, then later we see if we can trick Phasma into bringing us snacks. That only worked once and anyway the point is I love Hux's armpits.

So I pushed my face into the one he was pointing at me and breathed deep. It smelled exactly like Naboo plum blossoms, and each little ginger hair was super soft, so I told Hux I mostly forgave him for using up all my conditioner and if he gave me a blowjob I'd forgive him all the way.

He totally didn't give me a blowjob. Instead he made me hump under his arm, which felt so good that little Kylo had enough juice to spit twice, once for each armpit. Then I gave Hux a blowjob.

He napped then which is really good because he needs his sleep. About an hour later I had a brilliant idea. "Two perforated affiliates."

Hux snort-snored himself awake. "What?"

"I said, 'two perforated affiliates'."

Hux blinked woozily, so I clarified. "That's what rhymes with you bifurcated idiot."

Hux blinked some more, wrote down two perforated affiliates, and passed out again.

After that I gently raised his arm and draped it carefully across his pillow. He looked pretty, like the prince in that porn holo where the princess pegs him on their wedding night. Except Hux is so much prettier.

Anyway, I nuzzled into the fiery armpit of my orange prince and fell into dreamy, half-lidded staring contest with Millicent. After she blinked first I fell asleep.


This was inspired by Domhnall Gleeson's ability to totally not blink through the entire opening of the Burberry advert/film, and by all his glorious ginger hair, armpits and all.

Chapter Text

"I will saber her right in half."

General Armitage Hux, known to some (one) as my sweet marmalade dumpling, turned his head.

"Beg pardon, darling?"

General Hux's darling, known to some (all) as Lord Kylo Ren, did not answer, instead deeply occupied with what he was angrily reading. Hux went back to his own material, nestling further into their plump duvet. He didn't know where Kylo had got this glorious thing, but it was glorious. Thicker than he was in nearly every dimension and so cushy, so warm, so emotionally fulfilling Hux had once actually stayed in bed and, with the aid of three datapads, performed every last one of his duties naked (he wore the hat though), while curled up under an impromptu duvet fort.

It had been marvelous.

Right now Hux and his darling were nestled down deep within its plushness, enjoying their time off by reading in bed, though the deeper Hux delved into this little treatise on the newest First Order world, the more uneasy he became about Millicent's similarities to Ypo's seven-foot Human-eating felinx. He was about to suggest to his darling that perhaps they begin locking Millie out of the bedroom at night when Kylo growled.

"Oh no she didn't. Oh no she absolutely did not."

Hux stopped frowning at the photos of a Ypo cat consuming Human flesh and looked up just as Kylo bounded from their bed.

"What's wrong darling?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all very soon. Stay there my cinnamon twist, I'll be right back."

Seconds later Kylo was dressed and out the door, lightsaber in hand.

The moment his giant love crumpet was gone, Hux did the thing that still makes him feel giddy and a bit transgressive, even after many months of dating his mammoth darling and doing his darling every which way he was possible to do.

Hux went face first then body following, right into the warm spot Kylo had left behind on their bed. He hummed, did Hux, and as he began distractedly humping the bedclothes he composed a little poem.

It's a unique bliss
Huffing the sweet, sweaty scent
of you, my big beloved

 To know the sheets
bear the invisible marks
of your naked body

 To know that I
can gather your warmth to me,
though you're gone

Gone where? Who knows
You said I'll be right back
So for now there's this

Me and the sheets
that smell of us
I never knew I'd love that

As Hux began humping his hand while contemplating his little poem, the door opened behind him and he heard Kylo's heavy tread.

"Darling," Hux purred, "I've been very inspired while you were—" He got no further, for it was then Kylo began to speak.

"—I already told you I'm not going to kill you I'm just going to show you. Okay? Ignore what I said before, I was just a little upset. Look, I promise we don't mind the fan art where Hux looks so delicate and small I should be arrested for touching the back of his hand, and we don't mind the fics were one of us is top or bottom or sideways and can never be anything else. We don't even mind when a story presumes the most ridiculous tripe about the Force or the Finalizer but in that last chapter you just went too far."

Through this entire conversation, which happened somewhere near the foot of their bed, Hux was frozen in place, his ass still titled way up, and now he was afraid to breathe, lower his ass, or turn around.

"Hux, would you mind turning around for a second?"

Beneath their perfect, plump duvet Hux's cock was unplumping and Hux's body was suddenly sweating and yes he minded turning around.

After a second black robes came in to his field of vision. Blue legs with chitinous flesh appeared beside him shortly after. A Soliw'e was with Kylo. There were three on the Finalizer. Hux twisted a little, let his gaze creep up and up. Ah, the tech from med bay. She had some long, unpronounceable, throat-noise of a name, a—

"Hux, this is Terry, she writes that fic where you and I are vets taking care of supernatural aliens in some galaxy far, far away and I'm pregnant with our Force-sensitive twins, remember?"

Slowly, as if no one could see him doing it, Hux lowered his hips. He carefully ran a sweaty hand over his bed head. Hux then turned with all the casual he could cobble together, tugged their perfect, plush duvet up to his tiny nipples, and looked at their guest.

Yes, indeed, it was that tech. Her eyestalks were swaying and her retracted wings were chittering a little. She looked remarkably composed.

At least someone was.

Hux started to speak but never got the chance since Kylo cupped his chin gently, lifted it, and bent close. Hux thought he was going to be kissed right in front of the gods and a Soliw'e, but no. Kylo was only peering and then he was waving and this Terry person was then bending close and Hux thought with giddy panic that she was about to kiss him, but no.

"Do you see?" Kylo asked. "Any? At all? Anywhere?"

Terry didn't really have a nose but she managed to peer down what she did not have while tilting her eyestalks horizontally forward. Hux probably could have huffed hot breath onto them as she blinked. She smelled sweet and her eyes were a really nice purple. She looked at him from the top of his shiny-haired head to his tiny, peeping nipples.

"Mmmmm. Damn."

Damn?

"So you do see?"

See?

"His red hair is real?"

Real?

Kylo scoffed. "If it isn't he goes to a lot of trouble pretending. He's red all over. Under his arms, his beard and moustache when he has them, his genita—"

"KYLO WHAT IS HAPPENING?"

So help him it was as if they'd both just realized Hux was there. They took a step back and proceeded to instantly forget again. Kylo blinked at Terry, Terry blinked her stalky eyes at Kylo.

"So will you fix it? And make the others fix it?"

Terry the Soliw'e nodded. "No one will believe me you know. I mean look at him."

They did.

"He's so, so ginger, how can he not have any freckles?"

Kylo gestured at Hux and his creamy flesh both visible and not. "I don't know! You're the one writing supernatural space alien porn. I mean if you can make everyone believe I've been carrying twins for two years and Hux literally carried me across a two-gee planet after we crash-landed our spaceship, surely you can make them believe this."

Terry looked at Hux and seemed to think things through. She shrugged. "Suspension of disbelief only goes so far Lord Ren. I'll see what I can do."

With a complicated eyestalk braiding in farewell Terry the Soliw'e bowed herself out of their quarters.

The moment the door closed behind her Hux dived under the duvet, as if this would somehow undo what had just been done. His heart rate slowed. Blessed silence fell. And kept falling. Eventually he whispered, "Kylo?"

No sound outside puffy little Fort Hux.

"Kylo, I've just realized something."

Still no sound.

"Something I need to talk to you about."

No sound and then…a familiar sound. That sound made what Hux was about to say much easier.

"That thing that just happened. The invasion into our personal quarters by a stranger? One who proceeded to peer at my naked body rather closely?"

Another sound outside Fort Puffy. A moany sort of sound.

"I'm afraid…that I got a…um…"

An inquisitive sound.

"Kylo, I got a stiffy. From the whole thing. That just happened."

Silence outside the fort and in. But Hux thought it was a hopeful silence. That the whole flurry of activity and nudity and roaming eye-stalks had maybe left Kylo all hot and bothered, too. Maybe they could bother each other now.

A sudden burst of light inside Fort Stiffy.

Then darkness again as Hux's massive wall of naked man—yay!—snuggled close. Except he clutched…flimsis?

"Hux. Hux."

Before Hux could say, "KYLO WHAT IS HAPPENING?" Kylo clutched his orange cupcake round his waist and hauled him close. The casual display of muscle totally made Hux's stiffy a creamy stiffy.

Once he'd settled his little love goldfish beside him, Kylo did a thing and Hux learned that lightsabers have little nightlights. Kylo illuminated the stack of flimsis. "Terry gave me chapter eight of the fic."

Hux blinked. If he'd had eyestalks he'd have been tilting them hard toward the stack in Kylo's hand.

"Did you have the babies? What did we name them? Have we got through the maze yet?"

Hux's darling and Kylo's little pumpkin loaf nestled down deep under their puffy fort and began to read.


This chapter came about because I sometimes spend my spare time hollering at Domhnall Gleeson's creamy, creamy freckles-free flesh. Also, Terry's fic combines bits of this and that from Cylin, GenerallyHuxurious, Gundamoocow, and others, because I love mad, glorious universes. P.S. Creamy! (Seriously.)

Chapter Text

Pungent

By General A Hux

 

Fresh from battle, you carry a bouquet of death.

The pungency of blood splattered, guts spilt

Hangs around you like your robes.

I recoil from you, and point you in the general direction of soap.

(but what I really want to do is roll in your stench,

stink myself up in you)

 

You fucking reek.

It perfumes every corner of my room.

 

I gorge on it.

 

 

Le Nez

By Kylo Ren

 

 

I have the nose for it you say,

As I squirm it into your armpit and inhale.

Your fragrance is an olfactory poem written in sweat,

And I crave its verses.

 

Oranges, fresh from the tree, trampled under the feet of a thousand Stormtroopers.

The gust of wind that carried the scent of baking earth, moments before the storm broke.

A struck match, from two rooms away.

A finger dipped in Honeyhazel juice.

The dregs from the brandy glass.

Smoke.

Metal.

Ozone.

The scent left when planets disappear.

 

I smell myself on you too.

Hardly surprising.

I am on you.

In you.

At every opportunity.

 

Your arse smells of my cock.

FUCK! Quit with the slapping!

This is my poem.

I can say what I like!

 

 

The General

By Millicent McPreciouspaws lll

 

You smell like home.

Sometimes.

When I pound you with my paws.

I remember “Before You”

Milky nubs and a warm safe place.

A rough tongue on my head.

 

Today, you smell like him,

He tries to claim you,

 The fool.

You are all mine.

Stay still while I bathe him off you.

You furless, moonlit creature.

Stop it with the wriggling!

(I love it when you purr)

 

 

Oh Captain. My Captain.

By Dopheld Mitaka

 

Today.

When you marched past me.

Like a boss.

Your armour had one fingerprint on it.

Mine.

You smelled like metal polish.

So I know you left it there.

Deliberately.

One fingerprint.

Mine.

 

 

Notes left on fresher walls

By Kylo Ren and General A Hux

 

Armitage, my love.

Your belly should not smell like thick cut marmalade.

But it does.

 

Kylo, my dark angel.

Your belly should smell like my come.

Let’s rectify that.

Immediately.

Chapter Text

All I did was have a little look. That's all. I'm the general, dammit, and if I can't conduct an investigation of my own staff under the guise of a random search for contraband then who can?

And it's not as if the long-haired ginger string-bean minded. He seemed more than happy to be graced by my presence and so I graced. I graced like no one has ever graced before and used the time to get a good look at the fellow.

“At ease, technician. This won’t take a moment.”

“You can call me Techie, sir. Most people do.”

I made a pretense of rummaging about the room while I kept one eye on the string-bean wringing his hands.

We do look an awful lot alike, though I'm much prettier, Kylo has assured me.

"Do generals usually conduct searches themselves?" Techie asked, his voice breathy and light.

It was nothing like my commanding tone, which Kylo said is his favourite voice on the Finalizer. I said, so it damn well should be. And he promised me there was no other voice in the universe that could make his knickers as wet as mine did.

He says the sweetest things.

"I'm a general, the General, and I can do as I please." I looked down my nose at him, which is the best way to look at subordinates. Unless I’m looking at Phasma and then the best way is to just not.

“Do you like poetry, Techie was it?”

He seemed reluctant to answer. “I don’t mind it, sir, but I’m no expert.”

“That’s alright. As luck would have it I am an expert and I can teach you everything you need to know. In fact I’m thinking of installing a poet laureate for the ship. And since there’s no one more qualified than me...”

"Pffff," he said. Pffff, just like that, which I thought was terribly rude so I pfffed back and gave him a slap on his arm. He had the audacity to shove me back. So I shoved him too. Then he hissed at me, like fat in a frying pan. And I hissed back, like rain on hot rocks because that is far more picturesque and I’m so much prettier, Kylo said so.

Then he grabbed the front of my tunic and started chittering at me. I didn’t know where to put myself but when he chomped his teeth at me I started chittering back.

I’ve never chittered before in my life. I didn’t realize I knew how. Yet here we were, scrabbling at each other’s chests with sheathed claws and making the sort of noises I’ve only heard from Millicent when she’s staring desperately at a moth she can’t reach.

It was then we heard voices outside and before I knew it I was dragged into a closet and had a hand slapped over my mouth.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? How dare you." Is what I tried to say.

What I actually said was "Mmmf mffmdd mm mm mmffg gmmf ddf? Mmmm mmmdd mmm."

This only served to increase his grip on my face and slip a couple of fingers inside my mouth.

Peeking between the crack in the doors I saw that enormous blond chap who, in a shocking display of aggression, had almost pummelled my Kylo a few weeks ago. Then followed my dark angel himself with his new cloak billowing behind.

I told him last week it wasn’t very practical for fighting. He said he thought it made him look dashing. I gnawed at the inside of his thigh and told him, “You do look dashing, my very own brute of darkness and delight, but we can’t be too careful about health and safety in the workplace.”

Perhaps it would have been wiser not to think about biting Kylo’s creamy thighs because it was right then I started sucking vigorously on the fingers in my mouth.

Techie gasped, so I clamped my own hand over his mouth.

"He's not in here." The blond man said. “Why would the general even bother coming to this deck?”

"Lies. I sense he is near. I feel him." My Kylo's vocoder makes his voice sound so wild and dangerous. It makes me want to hug myself but since I had company I hugged Techie instead.

That's when I realised we both had a stiffy. And at some point he'd started suckling on my fingers. I hadn't noticed because I was still too busy sucking on his.

I can only speculate that we both made a noise on discovering we were sharing a private moment in our pants because the doors were wrenched open and there was Kylo in all his magnificence with the blond man peering over his shoulder.

“I was only checking what he tasted like,” I mumbled around Techie’s fingers.

“He was only checking what I tasted like,” Techie mumbled around mine and used his free hand to hide my stiffy, which I thought was very sportsmanlike of him and so I returned the favour.

Kylo growled at the same time the blond man growled. They both turned toward each other, growled some more and then quick-snap they were tangled together in an angry little skirmish on the floor. All that could be seen was a blur of giant limbs amid a flurry of cloak. I told him it would only get in the way.

Techie and I removed our fingers from each other’s mouths and crotches and dived in to extract our respective man mountains from the fray.

I soon found myself wrapped around Kylo’s neck like a scarf and Techie had managed to straddle his beast and was gently cooing in his ear while undulating on him like he was riding a merry-go-round.

This didn’t seem like something we should be watching so I put my hands over Kylo’s mask and told him to set sail for home. I realized that blinding him wasn’t the greatest plan after he smacked my head into the top of the doorway on our way out.

In my woozy state I composed a poem for him while I rubbed my chubby on his shoulders.

“There once was a Kylo called…”

“Hux? My delicious cherry bomb, are you alright?”

“Shh. There once was a knight Kylo man, called…”

“Kylo?”

“Yes! Well done my darling beastie.
There once was Kylo called Kylo
Who Kyloed his Kylo with a Kylo.”

“Sweetie pumpkin pie?”

“Shhhhh.
When he Renned up all Ren
He put the Ren in the Ren.”

“I’m taking you to the Medbay.”

“And Kylo Kylo-Kylo Ky-Kylo.”

Chapter Text

Goodbye Garret

By Kylo Ren

 

This was my imperfect dream.

The poet starving in poverty.

It turns out it's not so much fun in reals

The cold chills me to the helmet.

Thinking of my honey-warm love

whilst wrapped in two sweaters,

a scarf,

gloves,

three pairs of socks,

thermal underwear,

fleecy sweatpants,

a blanket,

a balaclava,

and a hot water bottle,

dampens the ardour somewhat.

 

But Hey...I'm back now.

And, it turns out, writing poetry, butt naked,

wrapped in your thighs,

is dead easy.

So. Yay!

Result!

 

Come here I've got a stiffy

 

Chapter Text

My orange shard of beauty believes he is a master strategist and do you know what? Do you just know what? I am not about to disabuse him.

So I will never tell Hux that all those times he 'accidentally' touched me before we were us? Those hugs and gropes and faceplants and little nibbles? They were as strategically subtle as a ventral cannon right up the kiester.

Sure, it made sense for Hux to hug Phasma as part of the surprise going-away party some troopers threw when we all thought she was accepting that off-ship post—

"What? Are you kidding? Why would I leave the Finalizer? I'm lord of all I survey here. No offense Hux."

"Some, uh, none taken Captain."

—but I knew Hux hadn't drunk one bit of the punch I'd spiked, or nibbled even a crust of the aphrodisiac-laced canapés Mitaka has made. So Hux hugging Phasma for zero point three seconds, then turning and 'tipsily' clutching me in those slim but arousingly strong arms, then running his hands from my waist to my back to my waist? Subtle as a canapé tray right up the ol' hind end.

And that bit of hugging Hux did when he 'accidentally' tripped down the ramp of my Upsilon after his "entirely regulation surprise inspection"?

I could actually have believed "there's a rough patch, do you see it? There. No there. Right there Ren. This is why we have surprise inspections"—except a man who's actually tripped doesn't arrest his fall with sexy legs clamping around another man's thigh and then rubbing up and down just a bit.

There were other times. That Hux 'accidentally' touched me. Before we were us. So many that I thought about mocking him.

I even tried once.

"So glad my crotch prevented your fall from this walkway, Hux. I'm especially pleased you had a little sniff and nibble while your face was down there."

But do you know what? Do you just know what?

Those unkind words wouldn't come. Not even one because…because what if Hux stopped?

Stopped touching me?

I'm pretty sure that before me no one touched my splinter of autumnal sunshine. In all the ways that mattered I know my ginger kitten of rage and cuddles went without.

Before me, before poems and fingers in mouths and mouths soft-whispering against ears…I think Hux was starving.

So do you know what I did? Back before Hux and me were we? I helped.

I tripped and let him catch me. I sliced up consoles so he'd have to push me away. I recited bad poetry so he would put his hand over my mouth and hiss like rain on hot rocks.

Then, one day, we didn't have to do that any more. We didn't have to pretend our touches were accidents instead of intent. Instead of love.

Sometimes though, we still do pretend. And do you know what? Do you just know what? Phasma says we're about as subtle as a couple Gemon-8 ion engines right up the ass.

I just smile and say, "I know."

Chapter Text

A few days ago the ship passed by at the right angle for a nearby starbeam to shine right through Hux's porthole and set his hair ablaze as he lay sleeping.

I woke up to the sight of my heart's hottest desire glowing like some kind of celestial being.

His face was mushed into his pillow, there was a wet patch of drool beneath his mouth, and the occasional loud snore escaped his rosy lips.

It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen and I knew in that moment that I'd never love anyone or anything as fiercely as I did my red-bristled darling of cream and lava.

I wrote him a poem there and then...

 

You used to trip and twist and fall
Against my back, my knee, my balls
Your face you'd plant upon my peen
You didn't care if you were seen
They were accidents you said
Until you fell into my bed
That was no accident at all
Your Little General standing tall
He pushed his way into my bum
And made me come and come and cum
There is no need to pretend now
I will protec you, this I vow
From loneliness and meanies on deck
I'll hack them up, I'll break their neck
I am your prince, your oaf, your beast
You are the one on which I feast
Your hair is bright as twenty suns
You have surprisingly rounded buns
Just for you I am here to touch 
My darling Hux I love you much

 

Maybe I'll write it up in the communal fresher when Phasma isn't looking. Ever since her and Mitaka teamed up to play bridge or whatever depraved activities they get up to she's been worse than ever. 

I hear the gossip. I know what they're doing. They're out to oust Hux and I for most adorable couple on the Finalizer. 

Well you know what? Phasma can pretty much scissor kick her tin-can legs off her high horse because we are going to win this competition I might have made up in my head.

She's been giving me the stink eye this past week. Me! Just because of the whole First Aid incident.

I didn't start it. Hux was the one who called me to the front of the class to help demonstrate.

Okay, sure. Maybe I stalked up to him swishing my skirts over my thighs as dramatically as possible. So what?

And maybe, just maybe, it was my idea to stop an inch in front of his face and whisper onto his lips, "Use me like one of your rescuscitation dolls, General."

But I'm pretty sure no one saw me lick all the way from his chin to his cheekbone. Like, 86% sure.

I'm 98% sure Phasma did see him grab my face and lick all the way from my mouth up to my forehead though.

And I'm kinda 100% sure everyone noticed when we grabbed each other's asses and started doing the hip-thrust dance while we growled into each other's mouths.

That's when Phasma cleared her throat and reminded us where we were. It's easy to forget other people exist when I'm lost deep in my fiery rocket's green green green green eyes.

Hux puffed from his nose like an angry bull and got his professional on. He does this heel click thing and puts his hands behind his back and becomes two inches taller and it makes me all quiver-hard and weepy just thinking about it.

"On the floor, Ren."

Kriff, when he uses his voice like that. I damn near came in my underpants. I wish I had because then I had to lie down and it was pretty hard to hide the pole inside my tent if you catch my drift.

My cinnamon ginger muffin certainly caught it and he proceeded to demonstrate how to safely apply a doughnut bandage around protrusions. He demonstrated it well, slipping it on and off and on and off and on and off. He made sure to do it several times so everyone could take notes.

By the time I saw Phasma wander over to mutter in my gilded firestorm's ear it was too late and I demonstrated, very loudly, the moans of an injured person--or close enough to.

Phasma walked away again muttering under her breath and my sweet red-crested cocky-boy turned his attention to demonstrating CPR.

I'm no expert, which is why I had to take the class, but I think you're meant to push down on the chest, not rub circles around the nipples.

And while the sounds I made could be mistaken for complaining, I was not complaining.

The mouth-to-mouth he got right. He demonstrated that a few times too, even though no one asked to see it again.

And I don't care what Mitaka says, my angel of fire and brimstone knows how to take a pulse. I know where the pulse is. I feel it all the time and he was bang on the right spot. Sure he didn't have to smear his hand around in the mess I'd made earlier but he got my heart rate correct and that's all that matters really.

When Hux finally dismissed everyone we went home and I showed him all the things I learnt.

I made a doughnut bandage for his protrusion except we'd run out of bandages so I used my mouth instead. And I practiced checking his pulse. I checked it quite a few times, just to make sure I was getting it right. I checked it again when we woke up a few hours later and then again in the morning. Twice.

I have plans for later tonight. I'm going to see how many of his body parts Hux can check my pulse with. It's gonna be awesome.

Chapter Text

From: Captain Phasma
To: General Hux
Subject: First Aid Certification and Recertification session
Memo:

General Hux.

Sir.

Some issues have arisen regarding the recent session for the certification of personnel qualified to carry out First Aid, and the recertification of those who are required to refresh their certification.

  1. Although I am sure your own certification is up to date, your insistence on demonstrating first aid technique with the assistance of the Knight of Ren resulted in the actual, qualified first aid demonstrator being left at the side of the room, unable to guide the session. Given the hourly cost of employing this specialist, and the fact that her signature was required to certify all participating personnel as having passed the course, this was an unfortunate use of resources, and has resulted in no participants actually becoming certified or recertified in first aid.
  2. As my own certification is current in the latest first aid techniques for six of species that are employed on the Finalizer, I am absolutely certain that face-licking, as demonstrated by you and the Knight of Ren, is not an effective CPR technique for any of that six, or indeed any other, species of sentients known to operate within the First Order.
  3. Mutual hip thrusting isn’t in the manual either.
  4. The donut bandage demonstration was very effective, I suppose. Everyone paid very close attention anyway. So. Well. I guess this part isn’t reporting a complaint, exactly.
  5. The moaning did not really sound like an injured person, though in the interests of showing proper appreciation for effort, as my counsellor suggests, thank you for your and Ren’s attempts to add verisimilitude to the embodiment of a suffering victim. Please rest assured that nobody was suffering alone.
  6. Rubbing nipples is not an effective CPR technique either.
  7. Don't think I didn't see you pinching his nipples, too.
  8. Your demonstration of taking a pulse was not correct although, yes, technically you can find a pulse down there. Mitaka was absolutely right to complain about that, because if, for example, you attempted to take Mitaka’s pulse in the same fashion, there’d be pistols at dawn. Sir. I’m sanguine in asserting that if I tried to take Ren’s pulse that same way, or yours, I’d be facing down a stealth assassin squad, or at least either you or Ren being very shouty and taking liberties with OH&S with shipboard discharge of firearms in my vicinity.
  9. I don't care what either of you say, that last moan was not a moan of pain. You and I and Ren (and the rest of the participants) know exactly what kind of moan that was, and whether or not you're the general, I think consent forms should have been completed before anyone moaned like that in a public place.
  10. As a result of this fiasco, which resulted in no official certification of adminstrators of first aid, the First Aid Certification and Recertification session has been rescheduled. You’ll excuse me for not telling you where and when. You and Ren can practise your own mouth to mouth, donut bandaging and how to feel for each other’s pulses, on your own time, and I will ensure the staff are appropriately qualified for emergencies that do not involve either you or Ren being pantsless on the bridge. Again.

Capt. Phasma.

*

Phasma hesitated briefly, then sent the memo, because damn the General’s eyes (and his protrusions and his utter determination to have public sex whenever he thought he could organise it) these things needed to be said.

Also, she was hoping very much not to have to spend the next First Aid Session consumed with epic face-palming, banging her helmeted head on a wall or sending the participants away with formal permission to drag their partners (or any willing one-night-standers) to their quarters for an emergency shag.

Though she hadn’t minded too much the necessity of taking Mitaka by the hand, leading him to the gunports, shooing the standby gunner out of the gunport bay and enjoying an hour of lock-and-load with Mitaka with a view over the laser cannons.

She made sure that his fingerprint on the gleaming silver of her gardbrace was preserved for him to see when she marched past later that day.

Mitaka was remarkable pretty whenever he could see how she wore his favour on her sleeve.

Chapter Text

Strip Armitage Hux of his uniform, his hat and his boots and look at him. Just…just look at him.

Bare him to the skin and you see a man made up of flower stem limbs and some red fluff. You could use the dust bunnies under your bed and some uncooked spaghetti and craft yourself a pretty good likeness of Hux and yet…

…oh my, and yet.

In protection of his ideals, in defense of love, in defense of Kylo Ren General Armitage Hux can lay waste to a platoon with nothing more than a glare, a growl, and a slowly-fisted hand.

This dichotomy has and does and always will send Kylo to his knees.

Because here’s the thing, the absolute massive truth of the thing: Kylo’s kriffing mammoth. If there’s a direction in which you can be huge, he is. Height, width, depth, nose, hair, mouth, hands, feet, Force.

There’s nothing little about the master of the Knights of Ren and yet somehow, somehow Kylo's reedy-slim love is bigger in all the ways that matter and oh it moves a knight, it moves him to poetry.

My Fearsome Flower

You look soff as an Ewok
And weak as a kitty
The night I said that
You fanged both my titties

But you didn’t let me finish
My general, my love
For looks are deceiving
My furious dove

For your words are brimstone
Your eyes they blaze fire
You’re a bright core reactor
Disorder your pyre

You marshal the troopers
With a spine iron strong
They obey without question
For General Hux does no wrong

But later your arms
They wrap me close-tight
They’re gentle as blossoms
They hold through the night

I’m bigger and stronger
I’m taller, Force-blessed
But you are my power
In your softness I rest

NOTE: To anyone reading this diary entry let it be known that Kylo Ren, master of the Knights of Ren, Lord Ren and probably twice your size will take out his lightsaber and cut you into stew-sized chunks if you even try to look at Hux naked.

NOTE #2: This retroactively does not apply to you Captain Phasma since I know Hux would never have made it home from Lieutenant Sk’ell’s luau wearing even as much as his hat and boots if you hadn't picked him up and carried him bridal-style through the corridors while he crooned love songs to a party favor shaped like my lightsaber.


This chapter of Hot Rocks has been continued wonderfully by DaisyFairy do please read right now.

Chapter Text

When Hux jolted awake, the first thing he noticed was the sweat. Odd given he was naked and cold and not even wearing his snuggly blue stripy pyjamas with the tiny bunnies lolloping between the stripes.

No, no. The first thing he noticed was the sticky patch on his belly and his waning stiffy and then the sweat. Actually, what he noticed first was Kylo snuffle-snoring into his neck, curled up like a comma, then the waning stiffy, then the sweat.

They'd fallen asleep spooned together, Kylo rocking languid and lazy into Hux. Neither of them came--that wasn't the point. They did, however, fall asleep like that, Kylo's willy sliding out slippy-soft after they drifted off.

And then Hux dreamt. Of giggles and soft sweet kisses and strange but pretty eyes and long long red hair and clever hands. Very oh so so clever, so so clever hands, fluttery and slidey and slick wet smooth slow-fast hands and... Well, that was when the jolting awake came... so to speak.

Hux woke from his sticky little dream and froze.
Froze with a bit of a holy kriffing bantha butts every cell is still fizzing and I think my nipples might be in zero grav.
Froze with a bit of I am the embodiment of the scum floating on top of a stagnant pool of liquid scum.

It's often hard to tell but sometimes the foot-stamping, chin-raising, stop using the ship's announcement system to send birthday greetings general could be a little hard on himself.

He twisted about to face his snuffly sleepy knight, brushed whisper-light fingertips over chocolate chip moles and felt utterly wretched. Who was he to deserve all this?

The important thing to note is that generals do not cry. The two dewy droplets running from the corner of one eye down into the enormous golden caterpillar on his upper lip (that he grew after betting Kylo he could grow a better one than him--he was right) are not to be mentioned under pain of being flushed out of an airlock. Generals don't cry, and it would do you well to remember it.

Hux inchwormed his bare botty out of bed, slithered his way to the floor, rolled like an idiot to tug his greatcoat off its hanger and cocoon himself, then butt-walked to his little cupboard and crawled on in.

Hux's world is big. Big ship, big planets, big forces, big responsibility, big boyfriend, big thoughts.

It's only in his cupboard that he can make his world a little smaller. Shrink the responsibility, shrink the thoughts, shrink the guilt.

It's in there now that he rocks himself, as much as the space allows. Curls his face into his knees and whispers I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry and then bangs his head softly on the side and whispers bad bad bad bad.

Luckily for our hapless general, his darling dark maelstrom has just the sort of ears that pick up tiny thuds of distress.

And that is how Hux learned that there are other ways to make his world a little smaller. One of them is being bundled in the arms of his little gargantuan knight as he is removed from his cupboard and plonked like a greatcoat-wrapped dumpling onto mountainous thighs. Because sometimes, when your world is very very big, being bundled like a dumpling, and rocked and kissed, and told by your mighty mountain love that he would do anything to take away the ache is just what the med droid ordered.

But Kylo, Knight of Ren and fledgling poet (Hux's words, not his), doesn't let his gingerbread muffin wallow. Wallowing is a sticky horrible swamp of regret and sorrow. The longer you stay, the harder it is to escape. So Kylo Ben Ren Solo Organa Skywalker McNightshade yanked the greatcoat off Hux's cream-pale shoulders, dusted with not a single mark but the small red ones Kylo's teeth had left. He grabbed himself a hank of soft red locks and tugged a little tug.

"Okay, my nugget of lava and brimstone, what is it that I need to quash the living daylight out of? Speak."

If only the mighty general was that easy to crack but he was not. So Kylo poked fingers in ribs, and bellies, and soft sides until there was nothing left for Hux to do but giggle. And with giggling came hiccuping. And with hiccuping came sniffling. And then all that was left to do was bury his face in his princess's hair and confess his oh-so-heinous not-sin with his not-doppelgänger doppelgänger technician.

"Oh," was all Kylo said, in a whisper soft as a summer night breeze. He shifted his bundle with a scoot of his butt and cleared his throat.

"I should be dreaming about you, not making a mess on our sheets dreaming about being fingered to deliciously blinding oblivion by an admittedly very handsome subordinate so subordinate he's not even an officer." Hux burbled with snot and spit into Kylo's neck.

Kylo nodded, "Mhmm."

Hux pulled back, grasped Kylo's ears and with a stern steely resolve said, "But I promise I'd never ever ever do that. Ever." He waved a pointy finger at Kylo's nose.

"Oh," Kylo did nothing to mask the disappointment that one syllable conveyed.

And that was when Hux noticed that it was not Kylo's lightsaber that was nudging at his bare bottom.

Chapter Text

I call it

By Kylo Ren

 

Cupboards are for cloaks,

and tins of soup.

Not for generals.

 

Come here, my fearsome, freckleless, fire-sprite

Come, hissing and spitting, into my arms.

 

Or come, come small,

folded like origami.

All your creases worn thin and soft,

where I have unfolded you, countless times.

 

Sit. Stay still. Here in my lap.

Whisper your secrets,

my ears are all yours.

There is nothing, nothing you could tell me

that would break me, or this.

This thing we have that we refuse to name.

 

I call it

Love.

Chapter Text

Before and After

 

Before there was us.

By Kylo Ren

 

There was a time. 

Before us.

That I would walk a step behind you.

Just to observe,

the inch and a half of skin,

between your hairline and your collar.

That I would stand 

a bit too close.

Just to inhale the scent of your soap.

That I would shove my face

in your face

when you shouted at me.

Just to feel the spittle,

that flew from your lips,

spray my mask.

Later.

Alone.

I would lick it off.

Is that too much information?

Ah...

Okay...

 

Good job I didn't tell you

what I did with that glove

you thought you'd lost...

 

 

Before us.

By General Armitage Hux

 

Before us 

I was lonely miserable angry

 

Before us

I was bullied hurt alone

 

Before us

I was a General.

With a cat.

Now I have you.

I am happy about that.

 

Now.

When I'm worn thin

with responsibility.

I am allowed to go small.

To curl into you.

To put my head on your chest.

And listen.

I like the lub-dub lub-dub

lub-dub.

 

 

After

By Millicent McPreciouspaws lll

 

There is no getting used to this.

I have been staring at my bowl 

for three minutes and 37 seconds...

...38

...39

...40!

I have been usurped in your affections!

The feeling of devastation...

...is warranted...

FOUR MINUTES!

 

Wait...

Footsteps.

Oh.

It's him...

Commence ignoring (force factor 10)

 

The tin opener is being deployed.

Breakfast. It is ready.

 

Just. One. Morsel.

Chicken! My only weakness...

And milk!

I have trained him well...

He is growing on me.

(Damn my belly!)

Chapter Text

 

"Hux?"

"Mmm?" Hux sat in his silky black robe, bare legs crossed, flipping through the latest issue of Boys With Blasters.

"So I was getting a snack before."

"Mmhmm."

"And I saw Mitaka."

Hux grunted and flipped a page with a little more vigour.

"We got to talking."

Hux huffed.

"He said, and I'm not saying I believe him, but he said he saw you and that long-haired technician doing a weird little nipple-rubbing mating dance this morning. Is there something you want to tell me?"

Hux licked a pointy finger and turned another page. He uncrossed his legs and recrossed them the other way. No underwear was involved in this equation.

"We were just saying hello."

Kylo released the catches on his helmet and shook out his dark mane.

"With your nipples out?"

Hux waved a languid dismissive hand. "It was a couple of seconds."

"Seconds? Hux it takes me half an hour just to get your belt off."

"There was glass between us."

Kylo pinched the bridge of his nose. "My sweet lava-topped creamcake, surely you can understand why I have reservations about this."

Without sparing a glance at Kylo, Hux uncrossed and recrossed his legs again, the sash of his robe loosened. He flicked over another page of his magazine.

"You and that angry blond man seem to be saying hello a lot lately. Or do you think I, as commander of this vessel, don't bother looking at security holo footage?"

Kylo spluttered. "I'm being friendly, like you told me to."

"By patting each other's arses every time you pass? I suppose that's friendly, yes. Depending how you look at it." Hux arched an eyebrow and flicked another page over. The ferocity of his page turning seemed to convey his emotions far better than his poetry. But that is off the record and I did not say that and... ahem.

"You said I should be friendly, so it wouldn't be weird when we invite them over for wine and canapés. And, and," Kylo waved about his own gloved finger, "a friendly butt slap is not the same as a friendly nipple-rub."

"We were rubbing our own nipples."

Kylo pursed his lips.

"Anyway," Hux mumbled under his breath, "we can't help it."

"Sorry, what?"

Hux sighed. "We can't help it. There's... something..." He shook his head and turned another page. "You wouldn't understand."

Kylo stepped closer, an arms length away. He folded his arms and waited.

"It's not... it's not all about..." Hux squirmed in his chair. He flicked his eyes up and uncrossed and crossed his legs again. The robe sash gave up and slithered to the floor letting the robe slip open.

"There's a scent. I can smell him and it... does things. To me. Besides, I have to protect my stake in you."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know that," Hux snapped, "but he's very," Hux searched for the word, "...dominant."

Kylo's mouth attempted many shapes before it settled for the ones it needed to make in order to say, "You're the General."

"What's that got to do with it?" Hux slapped Boys With Blasters down on his crotch and winced. "Dammit Ren, there's a biological imperative at work here and the rules of nature must be adhered to. There must be order."

Kylo tsk-ed and threw his hands up in surrender.

Throwing the magazine aside, Hux patted his bare lap. "Come here my heart of darkness."

Kylo shuffled over and sat, oophing the wind out of Hux.

"You know I love you beyond measure, don't you my darling marshmallow mountain?" Hux tangled his fingers in Kylo's hair.

Leaning his head back on Hux's shoulder, Kylo nodded and closed his eyes.

"And you know I would never let that long-haired vixen remove your testicles and eat them in an ancient and mystic ritual?"

"The fuck Hux?" Kylo twisted his head around, eyes wide.

Hux gave him an awkward pat on the head. "Let me explain to you in a merry verse that was sung to me as a child."

When red-gold hair collides in space
Beware of growls, and claws in face

But when they chance upon a lover
Instead of blood, fiery heads will rather

Upon each other spread their scent
Their lovers over the other bent

So in a tangle with no ends
Upon the other each one spends

And in the hallowed afterglow
The red-haired ones again will grow

Before their lovers snuff and sleep
Two burnished heads will delve in deep

And thrust their might upon bare backs
With pearly beads and swinging sacks

To once again their lovers fill
Then rest them down and lie all still

To this ritual we will adhere
Lest the red ones tear us ear to ear.

Kylo blinked.

Then he blinky-blinked.

Then he blinky-blink-blinked and coughed.

Then he wriggled his bottom over what certainly was not Hux's blaster.

"Shit Hux, that's hot."

Hux sniffed and inspected his nails. "Yes it is rather isn't it?"

 

 

Chapter Text

At first Matt thought it was the carnivorous Dagobian caterpillar making that weird sound. A low, urgent, skittery sound.

It wasn't the caterpillar.

Because even after that beasty had devoured its little nut-beetle breakfast, even after it wriggled itself a silky cocoon, the noise went on. That's when Matt realised it wasn't the nature holo that he was hearing.

He looked down, at the naked Human curled against his hip.

"Baby?"

Baby did not answer Matt's whisper because baby was out cold. Drooling sweetly on his newest pillow (the fourteenth, at last count), Techie was deep asleep, fine orange fall of hair completely hiding his face.

Curious, Matt did some wriggling of his own, butt-walking his way down their bed and snuggling close, until he was face-to-face with his one true love.

Yes, yep, sure thing that sound was definitely coming from under that red waterfall and so with big, gentle fingers Matt slowly plucked wisps of hair away from Techie's face until he unearthed two closed eyes and one chittering mouth.

Oh! See, now Matt likes his nature holos so Matt's seen felinx do that, that strange chin-trembling when they see something they want.

Pluck-plucking more hair away from Techie's sleeping face, Matt wondered what his little love wanted.

When the heat of his hand drew Techie up from dreams, he got his answer. "Mmmm," Techie said, pressing his sleep-warm face against Matt's fingers before wriggling the rest of himself up close, bare legs and arms wrapping, a hard cock pushing.

Matt grinned, pushed back. "Good dreams baby?"

Techie rutted sleepily against his pleased giant. "You were touchin' Gen'ral Hux. In m'dream."

Matt thinks he probably remembers one dream out of ten, and rarely do his dreams make any sense. Techie though, if he wakes at just the right time he remembers everything. And usually there's lots to remember.

"Oh?" To help with this remembering Mattie helped Techie with his rutting, shifting a little so his sleepy sweetheart had a nice, thick thigh to rub against.

"Yeah," he said, hooking an ankle back of Matt's calf. "He was having a baby. His belly was so big and you were rubbing it and rubbing it."

Matt's a pale Human with yellow hair. This renders his body something of a beacon when he blushes. So he went ahead and did that and even in the low light Techie could see.

He smiled, crooned, "It was your baby inside him Mattie."

Right on up to his hairline, right on down to his toes Matt blushed harder, some blood in the middle making an extra-special effort to not only be super-hot but engorge anything in the nearby vicinity.

"Oh? Did I…were you okay with that?"

Techie sighed, humped that big thigh a little slower. "'course. I made you put that baby in there, Mattie. I told you to do it."

See, Matt doesn't have dreams like this. No, right, maybe he does but he doesn't remember dreams like this. Techie though, oh kriffing fuck, in his dreams he's always doing bold things, bossy and brash, and yes, yep, sure thing, Matt is pretty sure that if, in real life, Techie told him to impregnate the most recognisable face of the First Order and in the telling did what he was doing now—reaching his hand down below them and stroking himself off while he wrapped his legs tighter around Matt's thigh? Yes, well yes, Matt would do it, of course he would.

"Oh wow, uh, what did Lord Ren think?" Matt whispered, snaking his hand down and wriggling into his own pajama bottoms.

"He liked it. We were watchin' you together, me and Kylo."

Matt giggled, blushed harder. "He's Kylo in your dreams?"

Techie angled his hips back, looked down between them, pushed at Mattie's pajama bottom until they were down along his thighs. After Matt's cock was bare Techie rubbed the slick tip of his dick over Matt's. When he made kissing sounds Matt nearly choked to death on inhaled spit and giggles.

"What else baby?"

"Kylo does what I say in my dreams, too."

Of course Lord Ren would obey dream-Techie. Matt was pretty sure Ren would obey non-dream Techie. Matt knows he does. Would. Always will. Face flushed hot he pressed his forehead to his love's and said, "So you two watched me and the General?"

"Uh hu." Right now Techie watched down below, watched their hands stroke-stroking. "We watched you rub and rub at the general's big belly and Hux made all these sounds, moaning kinds of sounds. He got loud. I think you made him come."

Matt's face was possibly on fire at this point. "A-and?"

"Well I don't really know because that's when I woke up, but he was naked and wriggling against you and moaning and—and—" Techie's ankles hooked harder. "—and—and oooh."

Matt watched Techie come, not bothering to breathe the whole time, and when, after a long lovely while, he was just down to a few little dribbly squirts, Matt started stroking himself again but it wasn't until Techie put his wet fingers into Matt's mouth that Matt moaned and came all over everything.

*

I always wake up when Armitage dreams those sorts of dreams.

Because Hux doesn't go half-way when he's getting off, no, he's legs-wide-back-bowed lavish in his nighttime reveries and as he sleeps he pours those dreams into me and so every time I wake up just before he comes.

He hardly ever wakes though, and I love that. It feels like it's his soul giving me a secret. The first time I told him that Hux laughed but I told him it wasn't just his brain that did it, it was his body too. You see, he wraps himself around me when he dreams these dreams, as if he really does want me to have this part of him.

"And do you want it?" he asked, cheeks all pretty-red and eyes looking everywhere but at me. He felt bad because these dreams, they're very sexual but he's not always having sex with me.

I pulled him close. "I want everything you give me."

And I really do.

So like I always do, I watched Hux's sleeping body shiver through its orgasm and I watched his penis twitch slow-slower-slowest, until everything had come out. Then I carefully gathered what I could off his belly and jerked myself until I added my own mess to his.

After I cleaned him up and cuddled close, I wrote a little poem. I'll share it with him tomorrow, and then tell him his dream. It's the best one yet.

To My Big-Bellied General

I didn't think you could be more beautiful
Darling bright sunball
I was wrong
I blame myself really, because duh

After all, you're beautiful when you're shouting
When you're scowling you are, too
When you have Skerellian flu and you're snotting everywhere
Even then you're gorgeous

So of course you'd be lovely
With your belly all big
Full up with a child
And another man's hands on you

I think so long as you're happy
You'll be beautiful to me
And no I'm not jealous too much
Unless you want me to be

Just leave room for me in your heart
(A lot of room actually, I'm pretty fuckin' big)
And wrap me in your dreams
Sleep deep my love, I'll see you in the morning


Sunball is one thousand percent an endearment made up by 221b_hound and I am in love with it. The whole pregnant Hux is thanks to Winklepicker. I'm in love with pregnant Hux/Techie/Kylo/Matt, too.

Chapter Text

The lights were at eighteen percent and a quiet quenk jazz was playing in the background. Matt and Kylo stood in silence next to a small table laden with finger food. They sipped their drinks and occasionally acknowledged each other's presence with a nod.

Hux was busy flitting back and forth with more canapés, describing in detail the making and baking of them in an endless babble. This was a classic sign of Hux's anxiety on the up and up which, had he not been mesmerised by Techie, Kylo would have recognised.

With his hands clenching the hem of his shirt, Techie twisted his body back and forth like a restless child, feet planted firmly, worrying at his bottom lip. He looked enraptured, his bright bright mech eyes fixed on Hux's every movement. It reminded Kylo of the way Hux looked at him sometimes—when he wasn't yelling.

Hux sashayed over with another plate of small juicy tarts. Matt and Kylo took one each. They'd taken one each of everything because the look on Hux's face when he presented each morsel brooked no argument.

And then Hux brought the tray to Techie.

And that was when the air in the entire room shifted several feet to the left.

The two flame haired beauties gazed at each other a few moments, chirping and huffing, before Hux plucked a tart from the plate and presented it.

With a tiny chirrup and eyes whirring wide Techie opened his mouth. And waited.

Though every commanding fibre of his being screamed in protest, Hux could only obey and for that his Little General gave a small but juicy pulse in thanks. He fed the tart onto Techie's tongue and let the tips of his fingers flutter about Techie’s lips as he chewed.

“Another.” Techie was not asking, he was purring.

In his hurry Hux half crushed the next tart as he shoved it into Techie’s waiting mouth, smearing the juice and crumbs over his face.

“S’messy.” Techie took hold of Hux’s sticky wrist, tart juices running down into the sleeve. He blinky-blinked at Hux's fingers, cocked his head and brought them to his mouth.

Matt and Kylo watched this display with open mouths and uncomfortable trousers.

“Should we…?” Matt started.

“Shhh, wait.” Kylo splayed his hand over Matt’s chest. He kept it there as they continued watching their ginger darlings.

If Kylo’s fingers started rubbing slow circles around Matt’s nipples, Matt made no mention of it, just as Kylo didn’t say a word when Matt’s hand found its way onto his arse and his leg found it’s way wrapped around Kylo’s thigh. And when Techie began to bob his head as he suckled Hux’s fingers deep, Matt started humping Kylo’s thigh.

Hux pulled his fingers from Techie’s mouth and helped with the cleaning by latching his lips onto Techie’s juice covered mouth.

That was the point at which Kylo turned his hips about and humped Matt right back.

Humming to himself, Techie stepped back and pulled off his shirt before taking another of Hux’s juicy canapés. He stepped in close again until he and the General were breathing each other’s air. Techie held his shirt out and dropped it.

“You wouldn’t want to sully your uniform would you General?”

Hux chittered and sniffed at Techie’s neck. “Mmm,” he said and went to work on his fastenings.

Matt and Kylo let out a synchronized whimper.

“Mattie baby, don't ruin your trousers.”

"N-no... I won't." Mattie obeyed his long-haired love and stripped.

“Kylo,” said Hux, his eyes never leaving Techie’s.

“Yes, sir.” Kylo joined Matt in a frantic shedding of sleeves and collars. He straightened to see Matt’s eyes roaming over him, drifting down, down... Kylo covered himself.

“I… I’m sorry, I couldn't help. You, you look lovely.” Matt bit his lip and rocked onto his toes.

Kylo pushed his hair behind his ear. He was blushing all the way to his knees. “Pssh! You’re just saying that.”

“No, really.”

“Oh.” Kylo nibbled at his fingernail and quick-blinked. “Yours is quite… would you mind if I, just…” He hovered a cautious hand out.

This time a synchronized moan oozed out of the two redheads who’d stopped to watch their boys.

As Kylo’s hand closed around Matt, Techie whimpered a blissful, “Oh, Mattie,” and swooned against Hux, wrapping his arms about his neck.

 

Rumour had it that Phasma had seen what became known as The Fuckening.

She had indeed seen things she knew she could never unsee, having popped past the General’s quarters to return a bottle of massage oil. The rest of the evening she spent with a Mitaka-shaped comforter draped on her back, trying to convince her to stop crushing all his favourite mugs and maybe take a nice hot bath.

By morning Phasma had removed her own access permissions for Hux's private quarters. If he forgot his fluffy green slippers on their next sleep-over movie night again he could damn well go fetch them himself. And if she ever saw the pale but shapely arse of her superior officer again, bouncing about and writhing along with three other pale but shapely arses, it would be too soon.

Chapter Text

Space Junk
By Kylo Ren

I heard them you know,
At the bar earlier, calling me names.
“The Generals Lapdog”
“Tinhatted Trollop”
“Space Junk”
Months ago I would have sliced them apart,
like bad butchery.
(or destroyed a console or two)


But, you heard them too.
And don’t think I didn’t see you making notes.
Breaking rocks on Keplar 51b is supposed
to be lovely at this time of year.


I love that you protect me,
without making a fist.
And dropping to your knees with the words
‘Get your space junk out’
didn’t hurt either.

 

Space Junk
By General Armitage Hux

I have a secret. Still and quiet.

I’m glad they can’t see you like I do.
In all your glory.
Slack mouthed,
Head thrown back,
The constellations on your throat,
exposed, just for me.
Sweat beaded,
hair slicked back from the shower.
Your darling ears.

I’m glad they can’t hear you, like I do.
The erratic drum solo in your chest.
The ‘Uh...Uh...Uh..’ noises you make
when you are close.
My name on your lips when you come.

I’m glad they can’t touch you, like I do.
Not one inch of your skin.
Muscle moving under softness.
You hair curtaining my face
in soft dark.

I’m glad they can’t smell you like I do.
Fresh from the fight,
gore still glittering on your cloak.
Rank and rutting.
Glorious in your filth.

I’m glad they can’t taste you like I do.
Salt of your skin.
The bitter warm sweet musk of you.
Me on your lips.

You are my secret.
My very, very, own.

Here in my bed.
Still and quiet.

Still quiet.

Still.

Quiet.

 

Space Junk
By Captain Phasma

I have my instructions.
Just you think yourself lucky, Scum.
You don’t get away lightly,
referring to the Generals lover as Space Junk.
Fortunately he was in a good mood,
or you would be exactly that.
Enjoy your brief sojourn on
Keplar 51b.
Be grateful it’s only a month.


Spread the word when you get back.
Spread it like wildfire.
‘‘One mans Space Junk,
is another mans treasure.”

 

Space Junk
By Millicent McPreciouspaws lll

Whoops!
Sorry (not sorry)
It took an Extra Special Paw Swipe™
to get that tin hat off the table,
onto the floor,
across the room,
out of the door,
through the kitchen,
into the trash compactor.
Space Junk.

Look.
Don’t you complain!
I see the way you look at him
when he wears that thing.
Like. ‘Why would he cover up such beauty?’

I cannot comment of course.
I am only here to please...

...myself.

Chapter Text

He’s only 2 inches shorter than me (he denies the empirical evidence) so I don’t really know why he does it.

But I love it.

At first it was only when we kissed. He reaches up onto his tippy toes and holy shit if that isn’t the cutest thing in the universe, like, ever.

Sometimes I’ll stand on my toes too. That’s when he drapes his arms around my neck to get a little more lift.

I like that. It makes me growl into his mouth.

Sometimes I make myself smaller. I scooch down and look up at him and he stretches up onto his tippy toes so he’s looking down at me.

He likes that. It makes him growl into my mouth.

He always says I look like a puppy when I look up at him and pout. I always tell him, I am.

He’ll say I’ve been a very naughty boy, to drool all over his best shirt.

I’ll tell him no, I’m a good boy, pinky swear.

Then he always says yes, I am a good boy. And then he’ll pop his pinky in my mouth so I can swear on it.

He’s on his tippy toes the whole time.

 

Now I notice he does it everywhere.

He does it when we have an audience with Snoke. I see his heels creep higher and higher, especially when Snoke is yelling at him.

He does it when he gives his big loud speeches. I think it’s so he can throw the shouty words further.

He does it when he’s had a bad day and comes home to find I saved him the last cupcake.

He definitely does it when I’m down on my knees with a mouth full of him. When he’s about to come he grabs my hair and up he goes on tippy toes.

I so love my tempestuous tangerine meerkat and I wrote him and his tippy toes a poem.

Generalhuxxy

Take flight on tippy toes my love
Your calves so taut, your hair so bright
Take flight on tippy toes my dove
Like flamingo all grace and light

‘Twas evening and the sun had set,
When I first saw your ginger mane
How could I know, your toes would get
Their own poem, would it make them vain?

You took my knighted flesh in hand
My pleasure it was you sought
Then rested on my tumtum and
Lay a while in thought

You asked me why, and I must not lie
Did I love you so deep and true
I said my love, did you know when you fly
On your tippy toes, my heart does too

Take flight on tippy toes my love
Your calves so taut, your hair so bright
Take flight on tippy toes my dove
Like flamingo all grace and light

 

He keeps saying I still need his tutelage, but I think I’ve gotten better, what with my daily intake of General’s Juices.

Chapter Text

 

Sung by Hux to Kylo to the tune of ‘Deck the Halls’

 

Dip your balls in Zingbee honey,

Fa la la la la, la la la la,

Dunk them in and make them runny,

Fa la la la la, la la la la,

I will suck them I will lick them,

Fa la la, la la la, la la la,

For I am your ginger vixen,

Fa la la la la, la la la laaaaaa...

 

 

Kylo’s version of Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer...

 

Kylo the trained assassin,

Had a very shiny knob,

And if you ever saw it,

You would want it in your gob.

 

All of the nasty Troopers,

Used laugh and call him names,

They wouldn’t let poor Kylo,

Join them in their murder games.

 

Then one foggy Christmas Eve,

The General came to say,

“Kylo with your knob so bright,

Stick it up my bum tonight.”

 

Then all the Troopers loved him,

And they shouted out with glee,

“When you have done the General,

come and stick that thing in me!”

 

...To which The General replied...

(We’re back to ‘Deck the Hall’s’)

 

Don’t you even think about it,

No no no no no, no no no no,

Even when he starts to flout it,

No no no no no, no no no no,

I will strip you of your helmet!

Yes yes yes, yes yes yes, yes I will,

Hang your knackers from the pelmet,

Fa la la la la, la la la laaaa...

 

 

Hux sings Santa Baby (Yes he wears the outfit too...)

 

Kylo Baby, stick your willy under my balls tonight,

I’ll clench my buttocks and make it tight, real tight,

So hurry up my chimney tonight.

 

Kylo baby, I want a frot and really that’s not a lot,

Been a General all year, Kylo baby,

So hurry up my chimney tonight.

 

Think of the first time we kissed,

Hiding in the droid shop so we were not missed,

Your massive hands slid down my back,

‘Till you groped both of my buttocks and gave them a smack.

 

Kylo cutie, there’s one thing I really do need, your seed,

Splattered over my back, Kylo cutie,

So hurry up my chimney tonight.

 

And Kylo baby, I’ll wear my stockings while we have sex, we’re wrecks,

My silky legs rubbed over your pecs, your pecs,

Yes, hurry up my chimney tonight...

 

 

Kylo gives Hux a version of ‘Away in a Manger’ that he won’t forget in a hurry

 

Away in a spaceship,

In a Generals bed,

The massive Lord Kylo,

Gave Hux some great head,

He sucked and he licked him,

Until with a shout,

His orange haired boyfriend

Shot off like a spout.

 

 

Not content to ruin that, he starts on ‘Good King Wenceslas

 

Bad Lord Ren, he looked out,


On some feast or other,


It was snowing round about,


And then he saw his lover,


Throwing snowballs like a lout,


At Techie, his dear brother,


It was such a pretty sight,


His cock he did unco...o...ver

 

 

To which Hux replied...sorry Bing...

  

I’m dreaming of huge penis,


Just like the one you have right there,


Where the pre-come’s dripping’


(I’m now unzipping)


And sliding to your pubic hair.

 

 

I’m dreaming of a good fucking,

will you just stick it in my ass,

I am lubed and ready,

Just hold it steady,

No need to treat me like cut glass.

 

 

I’m dreaming of a great rimming,

With your goddamn gorgeous tongue,

Roll it round my pucker,

You lovely fucker,

I’m so damn glad it is so long

 

 

Poor Phasma...all together now...

  

When Kylo got stuck up Hux’ chimney,


He began to shout,


Phasma mate, he’s gonna be late, you’d better get me out,


There’s lube in the drawer,


Lube on the desk,


Even some next to the sink,


When Kylo got stuck up Hux’ chimney,


Phas’ needed two months with a shrink.

 

 

 

And finally, long after the boys have fallen asleep, we have a finale from Millicent 

 

Dashing through the ship,

In a one cat, locked up cage,

Open up the door, stand back I’m in a rage,

Give me lots of treats, then leave me well alone,

Go and fuck your boyfriend, And make old tin-hat moan.

 

Oh... Jangle balls,

Jangle balls,

Jangle all the way,

Wave them near my claws again,

I’ll serve them on a tray.

 

Oh... Jangle balls,

Jangle balls,

Jangle while you rut,

Oh what fun it is to sink,

My claws into your butt. 

 

Chapter Text

Mitaka is too short to pace.

Or so he says.

He being himself, after he saw her pace.

God you should see her. When Phasma paces a room that room has known pacing. Her stride is steady and measured, portentous and heavy, it's—

Kriff! Fine, maybe he's too short to pace but Mitaka is going to do it until either the Finalizer gets a message back from Ko, or Lord Ren manages to pull his pfassking head out of his ass.

Mitaka stopped pacing the Finalizer's bridge, sighed at the spot Ren had recently vacated.

He shouldn't be cranky at Kylo. Just because the man couldn't do some sort of Force whammy and feel how things were going for Captain Phasma, General Hux, and Techie down on the planet below didn't mean he wasn't trying.

Stars knew he was and the only reason he wasn't on the command deck still trying was because his trying had started to involve confusing noises that started confusing everyone else.

Mitaka knew it was just Ren feeling the same distress they all felt not knowing what was happening down there, but it had sounded an awful lot like the man was getting it right up the keister with a toy, possibly like the one Mitaka loves Phasma to use when they—

Kriff! Fine, it was fine. Lord Ren had vacated the bridge, going somewhere else to try sensing Hux or Phasma or Techie down below, and now Dopheld was on the command deck alone with his worry.

This was probably all nothing. The trio had landed on Ko easy enough, they'd found E'snet city welcoming enough. That a skirmish broke out while they were in a temple insurgents claimed as their own didn't mean anything had happened in the temple. Also, just because Ko's primary was notorious for communications-jamming sun spots and the last message the Finalizer received had been so garbled they couldn't tell if those horrible noises were black-market blasters—

Kriff. Mitaka stopped pacing, grabbed up his datapad.

I've always thought myself expendable
A willing sacrifice for our cause

I know today the truth of this
And exactly how far I'd go

To the outer rim, to wild space
The end of the galaxy and more

If in the going and the gone my love
You'd be safe home soon and sure

A few moment later Mitaka stood still, very still, incredulously blink-blink-blinking still. Yet, despite his own disbelief, there it was, evidence right in front of his eyes.

He'd. He'd gone and…poemed.

Like General Hux and Kylo Ren and their awful, terrible, no good tendency to profess their love in long verse, Mitaka had broken down and expressed his worry for Phasma in a few stressed stanzas and an accidental rhyme. And the awful, terrible, no good fact of the matter was…he felt a little bit better.

Not better better, that wouldn't come until he knew his captain, his general, and his friend were safe but—

"Kriff!" Mitaka literally leapt off the deck plates, whirling to face Ren, who was suddenly right behind him like some big, black, laughing specter.

"They're fine," he giggled, pointing through the viewport as to his ginger love down on Ko's brown-blue surface. "It was just the temple choir we heard. Apparently that's how they sing."

Mitaka frowned and frowned. Then he too looked at that distant planet and suddenly he babbled and babbled. "We keep meaning to go to dinner. Phasma and me. When we both have shore leave. At the same time. But she's so important. She's so important here that it never happens. And today, for a little while, I thought it never would."

Kriff.

Mitaka shoved his datapad against Ren's chest and only later would he have a panic attack about that. Right now though, he was going to go find an E'snet temple with an awful, terrible, no good choir whose voices sound like blasters overloading, and he was going to hug Phasma in front of Ko's gods and everyone else, and he was going to recite to her his poem.

And tucked deep in his away bag he was so going to have that toy they like.


Many of us are about to see the new Star Wars this weekend and no matter how the canon shifts beneath our feet, let's remember we can and will and should build on it. To paraphrase a certain someone, fandoms, well fandoms are built on hope. So we'll hope for good canon but no matter what let’s continue to create the wonders of our own. Fandoms build. Let’s keep building.

Chapter Text

We don’t need a radar technician, they’d said.

Matt didn’t know who they were and he didn’t much care. An officer was an officer was an officer. And this officer was pissing him right the kriff off. What he did know was that they’d taken his Techie down to Ko.

The trip from the hangar bay to the command decks would have broken speed records, had anyone cared enough to measure. The troopers who stopped him didn’t care. And certainly didn’t care enough to allow an unauthorized technician onto the bridge.

The red haze swirled over his vision. Matt closed his eyes and breathed deep. Whoever told him he couldn’t board the shuttle, these troopers in his way, they could all thank years of Techie’s gentling influence for Matt turning about and leaving without another word.  

Techie would be proud, Techie would be proud, Techie would be proud, Techie would be proud…

His walk back to their tiny shared quarters was calm, mechanical, terrifying. At least it was to the five maintenance technicians, seven troopers, and one small service droid who scattered like rats as he passed.

Fists bunched, jaw set, teeth bared, Matt clomped down the corridors hunched and hissing.

A ventilation shaft in the corridor hummed into life, he hissed back.

The door to his quarters whoozhed open, he hissed back.

The silence in their room, Techie’s pile of dirty rumpled clothes, a half eaten Heeka bar, they all were there. Being. Just there. Matt hissed at all of it.

And then he stopped. He closed his eyes, and he breathed.

Techie would be so proud. 

It took exactly one minute and twelve seconds for Matt’s giant frame to stop shaking. It took another thirty-seven seconds after that for his stoop to straighten, for his chin to rise. A mere six seconds more and his fists unclenched, and a half sob, half sigh of relief fell from his lips as his muscles let go.

Techie would be super proud. Probably playtime-with-the-special-fluffy-tails proud.

Matt sat on their bed. There was the dent on the wall where Techie had flung his hydrospanner with the creep-crawler on it. Matt had never heard a scream like that before. He’d heard different Techie screams, good and bad, but not like that.

So he’d gathered Techie close, lifted him off the floor, and rocked his close-to-hyperventilating string of hair and cream. And after he’d overturned every movable piece in their quarters, had checked every corner, top and bottom, he’d plucked Techie off the bench he was crouched atop and threw him into their bed. 

The memory of the subsequent giggling and squirming and gasping and rutting had Matt standing and pacing.

That. That exact spot on the floor is where Techie had knelt, begging for Matt’s forgiveness for breaking his favourite cup. Matt had knelt right there in front of him and their very first fight was Matt yelling at Techie for asking forgiveness for breaking his favourite cup. Don’t you dare.

It had taken a few tries before Techie heard him through his tears. Then it had taken two muffins fed by hand into hiccupping lips for the tears to stop. And then it had taken Matt holding a solemn funeral and saluting the broken cup for Techie to laugh.

Matt’s fists clenched and unclenched.

Calm. Calm. Techie would be proud.

He picked up Techie’s clothes, folded them, stacked them. He made the bed. Clenched and unclenched his fists. Breathed. Rifled through drawers.

This here. This was the poem he and Techie had written together. To put on the fresher wall when it was all the rage. He sat back against the wall and gathered his knees to his chest.

 

I love you most.

No, I love you.

I said it first. 

You did, that’s true. 

You picked me up.

I fell for you. 

I fell as well. 

That’s true too. 

I love your mischief.

I love your eyes.

I love your smile.

I love your thighs.

You’re my reason to come.

You’re my reason to go.

I like it fast.

I like it slow.

We’re so good at poems.

I think so too.

We do it better than Hux.

Bet your sweet ass we do.

How much do you love me?

This much, and this big.

Know how much I love you?

Hey. You weren't wearing any pants under there?

  

The poem had never made it to the fresher walls after that. Hell, Matt had barely made it to his shift on time. And when he did, every movement was a delicious ache, and the memory of leaving Techie sprawled naked and drooling into his pillow made it the longest and shortest shift he’d ever worked.

Matt caught himself before he tore the poem apart. Unclench. Breathe.

He closed his eyes and alone in his room, a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around him. Lord Ren’s voice whisper-growled in his ear, They’re fine. They’re safe.

Matt relaxed into the embrace that was there-not there. He tipped his head back against the wall and hummed along to Kylo's own happy soothing hum. He was calm. Techie was ok. He was ok. And Techie would be so proud.

Chapter Text

On receipt of the alarming message from E’snet, Kylo Ren goes into high alert, stem to stern adrenalin and cortisol. The stress hormones speak to him even while he spits commands at comms on the bridge to find out what the kriff is happening.

The chemicals in his blood stream make promises to those not listening.

If someone has hurt him, I will commit the same violence, wound for wound, on this whole kriffing planet. One fiery hair out of place and I’ll burn down every forest. One little scrape on his skin will have matching furrows clawed down deep to the planet’s crust. I swear. I swear it.

When the Finalizer’s far-reaching comms tell them nothing, Kylo closes his eyes. His fierce marmalade cupcake darling tells him he’s built like a star destroyer (usually while they’re delighting in vigorous docking procedures) so he sends out his own shipboard senses, seeking, seeking. Kylo is calibrated towards his General.

He bends his mind outward, into the Force, into the energy that connects all things.

This should not be hard.

Hand extended, fingers curling, as though he could cup the tenor and flavour and essence of his precious ginger bean in his palm, cradle it there, safe.

This should not be so kriffing hard.

Kylo’s bloodstream carries the taste of citric-sharp anxiety, his closed eyes dilating shut against the sunbright chrome of Phasma’s armour, his mind’s eye rendering it beloved. Mitaka. The lieutenant’s eyes of love see his captain as a knight, a paladin, a perfection. Kylo tastes poetry in his blood too, and he’d smile at the defeat of Mitaka’s hardline stance on rhyming couplets, if his own heart weren't howling for his creamy pale, flame-haired, green-eyed lordling right now.

But he can’t feel Hux, can’t taste the ginger tang, the sweet fiery bite of him (Kylo is distracted for a moment by memories of sweet fiery bites, bruises on his thighs and arse, his General grinning and reciting sonnets of praise about Kylo’s teeth marks on his own pale, jiggly bottom).

The Knight of Ren leaves the bridge. He can’t concentrate, filled with the intensity of Mitaka’s anxiety as well as his own.

It’s hardly better in their quarters (they smell of sweat, polish, leather and sex. Kylo’s buried his face in Hux’s unwashed underwear he’s retrieved from under the bed). These are the earthy, human, him-and-Hux smells he adores, but when he pushes into the Force to connect with his love (he of the secretly soft belly and bottom, hidden under the hard, sharp shell of black uniform and regimented coiffuring) he finds…

Matt. Radiating fear and rage and hope and love and dread and determination.

Techie would be so proud.

That pretty little tech, so like his pot of orange joy. Bossy-soft. Lovely-sly. Matt holds himself in check with a net woven of his love for his own ginger lordling. He's like a volcano holding perfectly still so he will not disappoint a butterfly. The towering love informing that restraint is breathtakingly wonderful.

But too much. Too much, just now.

Kylo crawls into the cupboard that Hux sometimes sits in when he needs a little space. Contradiction in terms. But that’s Hux for you.

Hux is for me.

Kylo is packed around with uniforms and robes, unwashed clothes and well-oiled boots. Overwhelmed with scent, with darkness, with memory (that time Hux wouldn’t come out of the cupboard, so Kylo went in naked on hands and knees, bumped his head into Hux’s little belly, nuzzled into Hux’s hot crotch, snuffled between his darling’s spreading legs and hummed while his lovely humped Kylo’s face and then came in his dress uniform)…

Kylo?

Hux!

Kylo. Are you crying?

No. Yes. Are you hurt?

Only my ears. Singing, they call it. I suppose it would be wrong of me to blow up this entire planet in retribution.

Singing?

Temple choir. The appalling sound broke the comms. Broke it. I think Techie’s eyeballs got frozen open for a minute.

Is he…?

He finally blinked after Phasma told him that if he didn’t, Matt would run amok.

Oh.

Why…? oh. Oh I see. Kylo. Ky. My darling little beast. I’m all right. Though if they start singing again I won’t be held responsible.

Give the word and they’ll never sing again.

You tempt me, but best not.

You sure?

Are you in my cupboard?

No. Yes.

Be there when I get back. I’ll come in there with you. You can kiss me better on my bottom, and I’ll kiss you better too, and I will recite a new poem for you. It goes “Planets dying could not sound as terrible as this temple choir, but I’ll feel better when Kylo puts me in his mouth and makes me sing.” Do you like it?

I love it. I love you. If they try to sing at you some more, I’ll come down to Ko personally and see to it they don’t bother you again.

You say the nicest things, beastling.

Kylo breathes, exhales, long and deep and that sound at the end isn’t weeping but the opposite.

Through the Force, Kylo reaches again for Matt. Wraps arms of life-force energy around the angry-scared big-small soft volcano man. Whisper-growls through Matt’s heart into his ear: They’re fine. They’re safe.

He feels the tension leave the radar tech, and feeds back the positive loop: Yes. Yes. Techie would be so proud. We are so proud of you. Yes.

By the time he reaches the bridge, Kylo is giggling with relief. Dizzy with it. Delirious. He has stuffed a pair of Hux’s prettiest (also slightly damp) knickers into his tunic, next to his heart. Perfume. Promises. He smells like their cupboard and he likes it.

Mitaka spills out his love for Phasma when he hears they’re fine. Kylo can’t fault him for it. He’s been part of Mitaka’s heart for a brief moment, been part of the wonder of his love for her; of Matt’s for Techie; of Hux’s for him, and his for Hux.

He has been at one with the Force, and the Force with him.

Kylo thinks he might write something epic on the fresher wall soon.

 

 

 

Chapter Text

‘I love you? Mm, thank you my benighted danger bear, I love you too.’

Kylo tilted his head at the beautifully formed letters he’d iced onto Hux’s back that read, I have a stiffy.

‘You’re so good at this my little cherry muffin.’ Kylo scooted down to swipe his tongue across the creamy plain of his general’s back. The sugar rush would come for him soon but right now he didn’t care.

‘Okay, check this out.’ He squeezed on his piping bag, looping and dabbing and sculpting perfect lines.

‘Hmm.’ When one’s arse is mounted by a mountain, wiggling an inch is a trying task but wiggle side to side Hux did. ‘Does it say, My darling Hux’s face is the best?

Kylo pressed himself down smearing icing all over his own chest, and nipping at Hux’s neck. ‘Your face is the best my precious strawberry love loaf.’

He scooped the remains of Millicent farted in my face this morning and fed it to Hux’s waiting tongue.

‘Again, again,’ the demanding general slapped his hands on the floor.

The piping bag back in his hands Kylo iced from his peach sunset’s nape down to his moony peach of a bottom until he had nothing left. He tossed aside the empty bag and lay down next to his ginger noodle.

‘Well, my coppery fire stick?’

Hux’s face danced through a play of concentration. ‘It was very long…’

Kylo nodded with a smile.

‘A clue?’

‘I wrote you a poem.’ Kylo shuffled into his elbows. ‘Shall I read it to you?’

Free of his mountain Hux answered with a happy squirm that made his arse jiggle, and so his mountain obliged.

Swallowing the moisture in his mouth, Kylo swooped. With a broad swipe of his tongue along the back of Hux’s neck, he began his descent as he licked off:

‘General.’ Lllllick.

‘Fire.’ Scrape scrape, with his bottom teeth.

‘Stoke.’ Lick, lick.

‘Desire.’ Nibble.

‘Remove.’ Lip, suck.

‘Socks.’ Llllick.

‘Prepare.’ Scrape scrape.

‘Cocks.’ Nibble, nibble, moan.

‘Bouncy.’ Suckle, slurp.

‘Bum.’ Bite. Slap.

‘Dripping.’ Snuffle, lick.

‘Come.’

He buried his face deep and his tongue even deeper. He curled around the furl until his red panda dumpling humped and pumped and sang out his own poem of secret sounds for his dearest darkest knight’s magnificent ears only.

Chapter Text

Early morning, my dearest darkest desire woke me with a kiss on my brow, my nose, and after I’d grumbled my eyes open, my lips.

“Good morning my gingersnap general,” he growled before diving back in to rummage about in my mouth.

It took a mighty wallop on his meaty shoulder to regain some oxygen and command him to brush his teeth. He so loves it when I order him about.

 

Later, my morning debrief with Phasma was curtailed when Kylo sauntered into my office. He clasped me around the waist and shoulders, dipped me low for a deep and passionate kiss before pulling me upright and lumbering off again without a word.

I dismissed Phasma after that. I could barely look her in the helmet. The time I’d gained cutting the meeting short I spent wisely stroking Little Hux until he shivered and had a nice little dribble. I can’t have him spoiling the line of my uniform. I’ve a sartorial reputation to uphold.

  

The day continued much in the same vein. A series of swift, sultry kisses from my beloved burg of baleful ire. And a series of very public, embarrassing and simultaneously arousing moments for me. Embararousing if you will.

 

By the end of the working day, collapsed on my bed with Kylo playing Hutt-In-The-Hole with his tongue and my bottom, my curiosity was exhausted. 

“Kylo my love, my angelic demon, I’ve detected a pattern of behavior today.”

He knows I do not like it when he speaks with his mouth full but he garbled something without pulling away anyway.

“What was that?”

Another indecipherable reply. I’d given up and laid my head on my arms to enjoy the tongue lashing I was receiving when he came up for air with a slurp and a nibble.

“I’ll put it into verse for you my ginger delight.”

 

If you go up to the bridge today

You’d best get the chapstick out

If you want to have some fun today

Better pucker those lips and pout

For every ginger that ever there was

Will tilt their chins and ready their mouths

Today’s the day for thoroughly kissing a gin—ger

 

I gave a pleased little, “Oh." And before my knight of fiery storms dived back in to meet my pucker with his own puckered lips, he pecked at my cheeks (all four of them) and wished me, “Happy Kiss-a-Ginger Day my pocket of deadly sunrays.”

Chapter Text

Techie hasn't even told Mattie about them. Not because he doesn't trust him, pfassk no. Techie trusts Matt with something far more important than his life after all, he trusts him with his heart.

So yeah, he really wants to tell Matt about the nest of bumble bats in sector three, but there's no way he wants Matt to get in trouble just in case trouble is coming, so Techie's just gone and not told anyone.

The thing is, the thing you need to know is, well, bumble bats are so, so small anyway. A baby bumble is barely as big as the first joint in Techie's thumb, so what damage could something that little do, even a dozen of them hidden in a nest behind a bulkhead?

Nothing, that's the answer, there's nothing such wee creatures can do and so no one needs to know they're back here. Probably they came up with that bloom fruit shipment from Ráuri II but it doesn't matter, Techie's not telling anyone about them because…

…because he's off the clock now and squeezed behind the bulkhead, in a space so narrow his hips are squished. But that doesn't matter because for the next little while, til Mattie's off from work, he gets to cuddle all twelve babies in the palm of his hand, breathing close and hot over their tiny bodies, giggling as they yawn and make little mouth-smacking noises.

He's their mam now, he is, so every day he brings them bloom fruit and bantha milk and those tiny wasp worms that're on the mess hall menu because Lt. Tol-Neidum eats them. The little bats gobble them up as he holds them close, then they make a sleepy pile in his hands, and before Techie knows it the time has gone and gone and kriff, it's twenty minutes past time to meet Mattie!

Pfassk. He wants so much to take the babies with him but he can't. He can't. Besides, they'll be back round to Ráuri in a couple weeks and he already knows how he'll smuggle them onto the shuttle down, so it's fine. It is. Meantime he keeps them comfortable and fed and they're hidden and safe.

"Gotta go little ones," Techie whispers, then slow as sun-apple syrup he parts his palms, until the tiny heap of dozy bumbles slip into their nest. He breathes on them again and grins when one stretches a wing, as if to take flight, then flutter-tucks it in.

"Bye bye babies," he says through a flurry of kissy noises. Then he laughs, wriggles, and runs.

"I'm sorry!" he's shouting before he's even through the door to their quarters and Matt instantly hollers back, "Hi baby," as Techie hurries in.

Then stops dead.

Ooooo, lookee, lookee. Matt's in their teeny kitchen bare-chested. Bare. Chested. He is so broad, so big. It's a shock to the system, it is, to go from maternal to horny in so few seconds.

Except that's exactly how that works, isn't it, the whole procreation thing? That's what you're supposed to want. Fuck and nest, fuck and nest.

Techie grins and makes grabby hands at his mountain of a man but Mattie…he…he…well there's a look on his face, a crumply look like Hux gets when he's constipated with a poem. (That's what Kylo calls it and Techie snort-laughs like a drunk hornagaunt every. damned. time.)

Anyway, Matt's got that crumpled look on his face and Techie feels like something must be on his face so he reaches up to his own mouth and—

"Hey! Sweetie! Um! Don't move! For a second! Okay?"

Matt's creeping now. Slow. Toward him. Casually. Which is. It's not. Casual. It's freaking him. Right. Out.

And then one of those beautiful dinner plate hands lifts between them and Matt smiles and…his forehead rests against Techie's and his hand is…it…

"Oh that tickles Mattie!"

But Matt's already stepping back and there it is, in the center of his palm, one of the baby bumble bats, apparently plucked out of Techie's hair.

"Oh."

The whole story pours out of Techie then, quick-quick, and while it does they both watch the bat curl up in the warmth of Matt's hand and if Techie thought he was horny before he's absolutely pfassking fucking lusty now, looking at that fragile creature held with such care in his gentle giant's hand and unbidden some silly couplet comes to his head—curse you Armitage Hux!—and Techie whispers:

 

My pretty perfect mountain man,
with a bumble held so careful in your hand

I want to climb up your beautiful sides
And fuckin' ride, and ride, and ride

 

It's not an elegant thing, no, but Techie's poetry rarely is. The words have the desired effect though for, after they've bedded the tiny bat down in one of Techie's soft t-shirts, it's Mattie who climbs him, and oh how he rides.

Afterward Techie passes clean out, dead to the world despite the early hour and Matt's pretty sure it's the relief of a secret shared.

And what a little secret it is, Matt thinks, looking at the tiny bat curled in his love's bright yellow shirt. He tells Princess—that's her name, yes it is—that he'll go fetch her siblings soon, but "first, you need to be warmer little one, don't you?"

Matt scoops the creature up careful, then places her where she wanted to be all along.

As she snugs down into all the bright and beautiful hair splashed out over Techie's pillow, Matt looks at his sweetheart and marvels that love has no size, no size at all. It's big as everything that ever was yet somehow he holds it all inside, holds it so that every time Techie needs it, he has so much of it here to give.

Now, Matt thinks, it's time to bring some bumbles home.


So Winklepicker and I saw a photo of a bumblebee bat and a little bit lost our minds. Then 221b_hound surmised one fell asleep in Techie's hair and what was left of our minds dribbled away. Somehow we managed to write something for Hot Rocks anyway. Winkle's chapter is next.

Chapter Text

“Hold still a second baby.”

Matt tip-toed toward Techie, hoping he wouldn’t startle him or whatever the hell that thing in his hair was. He took Techie’s face in his hands like he was cradling the most delicate of flowers. He rubbed their noses together, his fingers brushing into golden red hair. He tilted his head and pressed his lips whisper-soft on Techie’s and breathed, “Hello,” into his mouth as his hands moved up, seeking out the dark little creature he’d seen.

"Oh, that tickles Mattie!"

Matt curled his big paw around the tiny bat and pulled away the hairs that had caught it up. There were very few things that could pull Matt’s attention away from Techie but the sight of the bumble bat curled up in his palm stopped him mid thought.

Techie would tell him later that he’d started singing and snuffled the tip of his nose as gentle as could be into its belly fur and brushed a wee kiss on its fuzzy little head.

And the sight of his big big Matt cradling that tiny tiny creature, well that was cause for all manner of growlings, inside and outside. Techie had to had to had to have Mattie right then or so help him he’d have eaten his own arm. He composed a short poem to that effect.

Matt slow-blinked at the wee little bat and blasted a blinding grin at Techie who had whipped off his shirt and fashioned it into a nest. There they settled their fuzzy baby bumble. At least Matt did while Techie gnawed on his neck and humped the back of his thigh.

Soon Techie was pawing at the expanse of chest above him and thumbing at pebbled nipples. Matt rode him until they both shimmered with sweat and shook the bed with their exhausted giggles.

Techie rolled to his side, his long long lashes resting pale on his cheek and his pretty pink mouth yawning wide like a kitten. He stretched his long long legs and his long long arms, then tucked them all in again with his head on his hands. He smacked his lips like he was suckling on Matt and snuffled into the pillow.

Mattie took the bumble bat from its makeshift cradle and brushed its soft fur against his cheek as he stared at his darling boy. He wondered how he’d ever ever manage to love Techie without feeling like he was being poured wholly out of himself. He reached out to brush the back of his fingers along Techie’s cheek and realized he would pour himself out forever plus a day. He'd flood planets just to see his sweetheart smile.

A strange fizz was happening in his brain as his eyes ran over the soft glint of light playing through Techie’s hair, the slightest ripple of the pulse in his neck. There were… words forming. Shuffling into patterns and lines he wasn’t familiar with. Could this be… one of those forbidden poem things?

 

Oh little bat

There (Matt stroked Techie’s hair) you sat

On my baby’s head

In his hair all red

You yawn like a cat

My Techie does that

I bet you love him, do you?

Don’t worry, I feel it too.

 

He kissed the little bat, and dubbed her Princess before he wiggled her off his fingers into the royalest of nests—the golden locks of Techie’s hair.

Chapter Text

Kylo’s Face 

By your boyfriend Armitage Hux (General)

 

(Sometimes.
When you’ve been all sad,
and you slump face down at my desk,
I miss that face)

 

I miss that face when it’s hidden, unbidden.
When the mask disappeared, I cheered.
Such beauty should be viewed. Nude.
The symmetry rewarded. Applauded.

(I imagine sometimes that the constellation of moles,
sprinkled generously about your body,
fought for pride of place.
On your face)

I know you were bullied, your mind sullied,
With those sneers, at your ears,
You see them as flaws, and the cause,
Of your pain. Let me explain...

(I love that face, every angle and plane,
the skin and bone of you.
Come. Look, at what I apprise,
the mirror never lies)

Ah. You smile. Awhile.
I kiss your skin, your lopsided grin.
The smooth silk of you, I pursue.
My prize. See yourself through my eyes.

 

Chapter Text

“I love you,” Kylo mumbled with his face smooshed into Hux’s neck and his arms wrapped tight around his ginger-cream muffin.

Hux gave him a small pat on the back and said, “Aww. That’s nice.”

—————

“ILOVEYOU!” Kylo yelled into the comms as he looped-the-loop in his TIE fighter in front of the ship, like a space dolphin.

Hux cleared his throat. “Very good, Ren,” he said, looking over his shoulder. Everyone on the command deck looked away from his bright pink face in perfect sync.

—————

“I love you,” Kylo whispered with his head on Hux’s chest. Both of them breathless and covered in sweat and lube and come.

“Mm,” said Hux, running his fingers through Kylo’s hair.

—————

Yes. Oh yes indeed. Back when their love was all shiny and new, it had not escaped Kylo Ren’s notice that a certain pattern emerged each time he expressed his love for his flambéed peach. A pattern that in his mind pointed to three conclusions that he wrote down in his beautiful calligraphic script. A list that he left lying around for anyone to see because genius he was not—also plot reasons. The list went as follows:

1. Armitage Hux does not love me
2. Armitage Hux has a problem saying I love you
3. Armitage Hux is incapable of love

Needless to say it was Hux who found the list. It was Hux who hissed at the list. And Hux who scrunched the list into a ball and threw it down the nearest garbage chute.

And then Hux—Hux who knew that he loved Kylo Ren with all his heart, who knew that yes, maybe, perhaps, what’s-it-to-you he had trouble expressing himself so freely as his raven-haired milky way, and who knew he was capable of the sort of love that could swallow an entire star system in its gravitational pull—removed his boots, lined them up neatly by the door, and crawled into his hiding cupboard. Because right now was round about the time the world needed to just kriff the kriffing kriff off.

And there in the cupboard is where Kylo found him, after seeing his list was missing and deducing that his red-topped starkilling angel had gone hidey-byes in his safe place.

“Hux?” Kylo rapped on the cupboard door. “My sweet ginger planet slayer, whatcha doing?”

There was a moment’s beat.

“Nothing.”

“You saw my list didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Kylo pulled off his creaky boots and sat cross-legged leaning against the small cupboard. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” said Hux. His voice grew smaller the closer Kylo sounded, and he curled further and further into himself.

You lie! Is what Kylo thought but to retain the diplomacy of the situation he said, “Hux, my honey-tart, my string of marmalade, you’re in a cupboard.”

“So?”

“So... do you want to talk about it?”

Minutes passed with no answer. Kylo suspected his darling general had fallen asleep. And maybe, just maybe, he could bundle him out, wrap him up tight and sing him a lullaby while he rocked him in his arms. That was until he heard, in a tiny unsure voice—

“Maybe?”

Chapter Text

Long moments after that tiny "Maybe" meep nothing followed, and Kylo was listening close—large-ears-cupped-like-satellite-dishes close.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

All right then. As was often the way on cupboard days, Kylo would need to go in to get Hux out.

"I'm coming in my succulent little cantaloupe," he whispered, opening the door to Hux's hidey-bye and crawling inside. Closing the door carefully behind him, Kylo went instantly blind.

He fought a low whistle, never not impressed with the superb craftmanship that rendered the cupboard inky dark. After an admiring moment, Kylo whispered, "Are you here my darling circus peanut?"

Nothing.

Nothing.

Noth—Ah, another meep.

All right then. Kylo started carefully crawling toward the sound. After a journey both long and fraught—like a knee in laundry still squelchy from last night's humpy-bumpy up Hux's rumpy—Kylo's reaching fingers brushed soft skin and now it was Kylo's turn to meep.

Hux was naked.

Kylo's succulent little cantaloupe usually stripped off only when things were truly dire and who had made the total dick move that had made things dire? Kylo Kriffing Ren, that's who.

"I'm so so sorry, my precious candy corn. I'm not always the brightest lightsaber in the room and sometimes I need things literally spelled out so I can figure things out."

Kylo blinked. The darkness was really dark. It felt like his eyes were getting bigger in desperation. "I never meant to leave that love list lying around where you could see it. After I wrote it I didn't want to see it, so I went for a walk."

Kylo listened. He wondered if maybe Hux was speaking but the extra dark darkness had also somehow rendered him deaf. "Can I hug you now, my fiery tikka masala?"

Nothing.

Nothing.

Noth—the unexpected touch to his hand startled Kylo so badly he fell backward into the squelchy part of the cupboard. While his heart galloped, there came the sound of creeping.

Before long Kylo found his lap occupied with a shivery curl of naked general. How such a long carrot stick of a man could origami himself that small Kylo didn't know but he did know he'd sit in this super dark darkness until his eyes got so big they fell off his face if that's what it took to comfort his sweet orange glow stick.

It did not come to that.

After the teeniest while wheezy-soft snores emerged from the vicinity of Kylo's left nipple, then dreamy little mouth smacking sounds. Hux had fallen asleep.

Excellent.

It took only a little over one hour to get out of the cupboard without waking Hux, but it was worth twice that just to see him settled sweetly on their bed.

And then to finally see him.

Because it took a good twenty minutes before the light-blindness faded but when it did Kylo was given two revelations.

The first was that it had not only been knickers dripping with come and dewy gigglebud-scented lube squelching around in the cupboard. It had also been calligraphy ink. Kylo's calligraphy ink. The nice green stuff he'd bought on Daemen because it matched Hux's eyes.

It also complimented his skin tone, which was Kylo's second revelation. Because once Kylo's eyes stopped tearing against even the low light of a candle he could at last see that Hux had written a note of his own.

On his naked body.

All over his naked body.

I love you Kylo…across his narrow chest. On his belly. Down both legs. On each slim arm.

And on the palms of his delicate, strong hands there was this:

Always.

Kylo is not ashamed to say he cried so much that he added significantly to the squelchy laundry.

Chapter Text

As my sweet dollop of milk and magma and I have grown closer, I’ve been in the privileged position to observe him closely and thus know him better.

I know so many things now that I didn’t know before. For example, did you know that my glorious blazing bunny can tie a perfect Ferrian knot while reciting Ode to an R-10XTR Blaster? And, did you know that when he was sixteen he snuck off for a weekend to compete in a wet panties competition? He was turned away for being an underage humanoid but was given a free entry coupon, valid from his eighteenth birthday, which he returned to use and ended up with third place. Isn't that neat? His favourite colour is Geonosian green, just like his eyes. And when he comes he does this way long choked out moan and then pants like he’s run a marathon. It’s real pretty. And to be fair, marathon is sometimes an appropriate word for what we’ve been up to.

Another thing I know is that my glorious golden gummy-bear has worked very very hard in his life to keep his fingers away from his mouth when in public. I discovered this watching him in private, thumbing away at his bottom lip, letting it sink in a little, just a little. Pulling it out. Slipping it around a bit and then letting it slide back in. Until finally it’s fully sheathed and he can gum at it until he’s so relaxed he could fall asleep standing up.

I also discovered that when he can’t put his own fingers in his mouth—for instance when they are busy fiddling with my ass—that mine will suffice just the same. Though I admit he does make a hell of a lot more noise about it than he does with his own.

I start with one, just the way he does, playing about and stroking his fine rosy lips. Then, when his tongue darts out to wet the way, I make a move and pop the tip in. He purses his lips around it then and starts to suckle. Sometimes that’s enough to bring his heart rate down. Sometimes. But sometimes he doesn’t want it to come down. Those are the sometimes that turn out quite happy for us both and all sorts of things get sucked on.

It’s pretty obvious when he needs it. He struts up and down the bridge with his clip-clop boots, sending out commands. On a good day he is all smiles and candy canes and gleeful barked out orders to fire on this or infiltrate that. On a not so good day his mouth works away at itself, while his hands are blanched from clenching behind his back. Or he sits on them, the boniest seat cushions beneath my burning honey’s glorious behind.

And so now I can feel him relax, as I make a show of looming over him as though in heated debate. In truth I’m merely drinking him in as he gazes back at me while my finger bathes in the warm sheath of his mouth. The Supreme Leader knocked him about in front of the command crew and my dearest darling death-muffin was shaking with rage and embarrassment. So with his back against the window of the command deck, suckling on two of my fingers, I shield him from view. I do it for the very reason he strives so hard to contain himself from doing it himself—my paprika pop-tart’s pride is paramount.

There are those in command who wish harm on my angel of flame and fury and would use any vulnerability to bring him down. If I had my way, I’d obliterate every single one of them but Hux had me enrolled in anger management sessions and I’m getting better at handling my destructive desires. I wrote a poem about it to help my feelings along. I’ll keep it to myself for now and keep my sweet lava pit safe. He has not learned to hide his thoughts as I have.

 

Your mouth is like a song

With teeth

It plays a melody on my digits

And makes things wet

I will comfort you when you can’t comfort yourself

No one will question you

When I am the one they fear

Supreme Leader

That is the song your mouth will sing

 

Chapter Text

I sometimes tell Hux it's good I first laid eyes on him under violent circumstances—a great big war across the stars and whatnot—because if I'd seen him in, say, an endless political meetings like my mother was always in, my notes would consist of nothing but drooling dot points:

  • Who is that flaming stick of white ginger?
  • He so pretty
  • Is he holding his own hand so he doesn’t bite his fingers?
  • Uniform.
  • Lips.
  • Oh my kriffing hell. Those lips.

I’d probably draw hearts around the last one. I’d have to borrow my blazing fireball’s pink glitter pen to do it justice, but I’m not allowed to any more, since I drew pink glittery hearts on his knuckles that time and Phasma noticed before he did and didn’t say anything.

  • Neck.
  • Nibble.
  • Are those eyelashes for really real?
  • Did someone say budget?
  • I am saving myself for sexy uniform guy

The last time I was at a meeting that’s what I was thinking. I was only there to intimidate the accountant anyway. He is surprisingly hard to frighten, as he never looks up from his datapad, not even when he’s recommending downsizing the infantry lists.

Nobody could tell who I was looking at with my mask on, as it happens, so I mentally made lists and drew glitter pink hearts around them.

  • Blah blah blah retrenchments blah
  • He can retrench me if he likes
  • I don’t know what I mean
  • Lay me off, on my body, yeah, whoa
  • Fire me with your fiery fire

My ginger princess looked like was going to set the accountant on fire with a look. I could have done it for him, but the last time I set an accountant on fire, it took us three months to get another one, and we ran out of Hux’s favourite cookies in stores because Someone Forgot To Pay The Baker.

  • He so stern and so pretty
  • That mouth.
  • Sublist of things he can do with his mouth
    • Tick me off
    • Sternly deliver financial reports
    • Lick stamps
    • Lick me
    • Blow me
    • Sip coffee really really really slowly and lick the foam off his lips
    • Coming back to 'lick me'

So I didn’t set fire to the accountant. Hux ordered in six months’ supply of cookies, then he got Phasma to fire the accountant.

It’s a good system

I’m going back to our quarters to complete my Action List from the Meeting.

  • Help Hux out of his sexy uniform as slowly as possible
  • Bite his fingers for him
  • Nibble other parts of him.
  • His neck. I will nibble his neck.
  • Lick his eyelashes to check they are real
  • Ask him to retrench me with his flame-pubed entrenching tool
  • Ask him to:
    • Tick me off
    • Lick me off
    • Suck me off
    • Let me blow him
  • Feed him biscuits
  • Count his eyelashes. With my tongue.
  • Draw hearts around his dear little nipples with his pink glitter pen

*

A Poem For My General

You left me a note,

My Stern FireCreamNoodle

Inside my helmet

Which I wore to scare the new accountant

I stood behind you, with my scary mask

And the new accountant made no suggestions

About reducing the infantry

That I heard.

I was busy looking at your note

In pink glitter pen

On the inside of my mask

It was hard to read, but I used the Force

And it said

To Do:

  • Retrench Kylo again
  • Lick all of his moles
  • Braid a ribbon in his hair, if there is Budget for it.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Text


Enough now


By Kylo Ren

 

You’re travelling,

I’m unravelling

(when are you coming back?)

I’ve been standing at this viewport
for three hours and forty one minutes,
there is still no news of your return

(when are you coming back?)

Sleep is a stranger to me now,
I cannot be in our bed without you,
I don’t want to disturb the dent your head left in the pillow

(when are you coming back?)

I have taken to walking the corridors at night,
shouting at droids,
and troopers, and Phasma (only the once)

(when are you coming back?)

I have a knot in my stomach
that only eases when you stand less than one metre away
It is making me nauseous

(when are you coming back?)

And the weight in my chest
only eases when you lay your head there.
I am in constant pain (but I don’t like to talk about it...)

(when are you coming back?)

I have a furrow in my brow
not even Botox will shift,
you are scarring me.

(when are you coming back?)

My ears are sore from the silence
and, as has been pointed out, they are quite big,
that is a lot of sore.

(when are you coming back?)

Nothing smells right
without a whisper of you overlaying it,
my nose hates you.

(when are you coming back?)

There is no point to my hands
when your hands aren’t holding them,
well, apart from wielding my lightsaber, and force choking, and the occasional wank,

(when are you coming back?)

I have been drinking your tea
so my mouth tastes of your mouth,
and wearing your robe, I’ve stretched it. Baby-Chest

(when are you coming back?)

I have been standing here waiting
for three hours and fifty three minutes,
everything aches,

my legs, my feet, my back, my shoulders ache
my elbows, my chin, my eyes ache
my hair aches
my dimples ache (the ones on my bottom)

(when are you coming home?)

 


Threat


By Captain Phasma

 

General.
If you don’t come back in the next twelve hours
I will kill him.

I have thirteen troopers on sick leave with stress
(and five droids)
There are four consoles to repair.

I have a wet shoulder where he wept this evening
after one too many tsiraki.

I swear.

Twelve hours.

I have not even had a minute to polish my armour.


The graffiti on the fresher walls is becoming maudlin.

(and I am missing my Mitaka)

Twelve hours.

I swear.

I will kill him.

 


Oh...it’s you...


By Millicent McPreciouspaws lll

 

How dare you!

I can’t even...

Nope...

 

Talk to the paw!

 

(much later) 

Yes. That’s right. Grooming my tail IS important.

 

  

(much, much later)

Don’t even think about it!

 

 

(later still)

You may pet me now.

 

 

(in the middle of a steamy reunion with his lover TinHat)

Perhaps one kiss on my head.

 

 

Did I tell you to stop?

 

 

I thought not. 

 

 

 

Chapter Text

“My darling, my sweet, my arcane angel of waste and desolation, what… what’s all this?” 

Hux pointed at Snoke. Or more accurately at the two pieces of Snoke, the edges of which were still a little smoky from my lightsaber.

“I’m sorry, my precious pumpkin pie, I made a mess on the floor.” I had. Though I was also hoping the demise of the Supreme Leader would distract from the porg guano I’d tracked through the corridors this morning. 

Hux’s face was doing that thing it does when I’ve said something stupid and he’s trying really hard not to say the first thing that comes to his head. He is now very good at this. Since we started playing with each other’s willies, the number of times he has called me an imbecile, a blockhead or a clod has decreased dramatically.

“My priceless Persian prince, do correct me if I’m wrong but did you—and I promise I won’t be angry—did you kill the Supreme Leader?” 

His face was now a shade of pale that I didn’t think possible, but my custard cream come-pearl is constantly surprising me.

“Uhhh…”

“This is a safe space Kylo my love. I would merely like to understand what has happened and.. and… what, perhaps I… we... what we should be…”

And that is when Hux’s face started doing that thing it often does before he runs away and hides in his cupboard. I gathered him in my arms and helped him match his struggling breaths to mine.

“He called you a rabid cur, my delicious grand magister,” I told him as I nibbled at his lovely pink ear. "And I was not going to stand for that. No sir. No one calls my strawberry milkshake a rabid cur. I don't even know what a rabid cur is but I didn't like it."

Leave it to Hux to insist on correct protocol at all times, so through sniffling hiccups he said, “I’m a general, not a grand magister.”

“I’m afraid that’s incorrect, my morning, afternoon, and evening delight. The Supreme Leader has appointed you Grand Magister of the First Order.”

“But… but… the Supreme Leader is dead,” Hux whispered.

It’s not every day I have one up on Hux. Sometimes I think he was often right to call me a dunderhead—though he yells at me when I say that now. So it was with some pride that I took his pretty pale hand, pressed a kiss to his palm, and then guided it down to show him how hard my dick was. “The Supreme Leader—my raging red rocket—is very much alive.”

Hux turned pretty green eyes toward me and his face slowly cracked into the sweetest smile and he breathed out the softest, "Oh." It makes my skin go all wriggly when he does that. He grabbed my face with both hands, mashed his lips to my lips, and his tongue proceeded to fight for dominance with mine. I have no idea why he does this. My tongue always waves a little white flag and concedes straight away but noooo, he has to turn everything into a competition.

We then made an even bigger mess than the one I’d made with Snoke. We made a mess on the walls. We made messes in both of our pants. And when I pulled off Snoke’s silly gold robe and tied it around my waist like a skirt, Hux started getting shaky and his little nipples went all pointy. He bent me over the throne and together we made another big sticky mess all over it.

And then, when we were done making messes and the cleaning droids had been called in, Hux made an announcement to the entire fleet. It went something like this:

“Attention all officers, stormtroopers, miscellaneous staff, and droids. This is your Grand Magister Hux speaking. Today, is a glorious day. Today we welcome our new Supreme Leader, Kylo Ren. There shall be an official ceremony in five day’s time, attendance at which is mandatory. Refreshments will be provided. Now, I would like to share with you all a short poem I have written to celebrate.”

It was at this exact moment when I felt a great disturbance in the Force, as if thousands of voices suddenly cried out in terror.

“Ah-hch-hch-ehhhhmm.

 

Supreme, you are

And Leader too

Some might say

A dishy man who

Leads from the front

(You also like me on my front)

Leaves no one behind

(And you love my behind)

You are the First

The Last

The Order

(‘Cept when you take my orders)

 

Thank you for your attention. You may return to your duties.

I think that went well. Now let’s go big boy, you promised me a supreme rogering. And if you play your cards right, I’m going to bring out that taun-taun dildo you asked me… what? No. I thought you turned it off. No, the light blinks when it's on. WHAT? Well, turn the fucking thing off then, they can hear us…”

Chapter Text

I didn’t expect to see what I saw when I walked into our quarters that day—I think I can safely call them our quarters now that I have my very own toothbrush in his ‘fresher.

I’d returned early from my mission and headed straight for my star-killing kumquat. I counted a full three hours since I’d seen him last and I missed him so much my ribs hurt. Okay, sure, maybe that’s because I keep punching myself but that’s by the bye. Plus I’d kicked a stump too hard and now I had an owie in my hamstring that I needed him to kiss better as well. It was a matter of health and safety!

But when the door whoozhed open, my ears were assaulted by the most awful quenk jazz and my eyes hit by the sight of my ginger-beer float moving his hips in ways I could never have imagined. I mean, I should’ve been able to imagine it. Those moves were the visual embodiment of what I could feel when my precious pomegranate was riding me like he was late for an appointment. Or when he was grinding and rolling and pumping those hips against my ass while buried as deep inside of me as he could physically get. His hips are delicacies of the rarest kind and now, watching them swing and pop to the music, Little Kylo was saluting to the sense memory of their performance.

My dearest darling Hux is always surprising me. Just when I think I know everything there is to know about my spitfire dumpling he goes ahead and does something I’d never expect. Course, he probably didn’t mean for me to find out he could dance. He refused to dance with me or anyone else at the last Officers and Gentlemen Ball, so who knew?

I must have made a noise or maybe I was staring so hard I dribbled out Force thoughts. Either way, my bergamot baby stopped his scrumptious wiggling and spun around, a look of utter horror on his fierce beautiful face.

If I had to guess what my face was doing at that precise moment I’d say something between desperate panting, gnashing mouth wanting to sink teeth and tongue into that plump little tush, and probably sweating. A lot.

“No!” he barked out. Just like that. Like he was talking to a wayward dog. And he kinda was. I’d lost my mind and am almost certain I was stalking toward him and salivating. Maybe growling. Definitely growling.

“Kylo! No!” he said again, pointing a very pointy finger right in my face. I wanted to bite it, but Hux knows how to use The Voice to bring me back from the edge.

I shook myself, trying to clear my head. It was hard going when all I could see was his writhing body in my mind. My mind had kindly stripped him of all his clothes too so, extra thanks to it for that visual of his undulating torso, the rippling of his surprisingly muscular thighs, and the jiggle of his bounteous booty. “My honeyed flame-tree,” I said, trying to stand firm on my feet, “I didn’t know you could dance.”

“Get your hands out of your trousers.”

I looked down. My hands were indeed inside my pants. “Huh. How did they get in there?”

“Listen here, my darkling of terror, you are not to speak of this to anyone. Is that understood? No chattering to Matt, no gossiping with Phasma, definitely no poems recited to Mitaka. Please.”

“But... but you’re magnificent, my light of dying embers. The way you move is a poem in itself. Your grace, your...”

“Kylo, no!”

“Kylo yes!” I pouted. I like to leave that as a last resort but I felt it was necessary. The whole ship, the whole galaxy should behold the wonders of Hux’s moves.

“I said no.”

I pouted, huffed, and stamped my foot. If that didn’t win the argument nothing would.

“Listen here my marble mountain, if you keep my secret I shall reward you beyond all measure. Starting with...” He pointed at my pants. “I can’t fit my hands in there if yours are in there too now can I?”

I raised both my hands above my head so fast I’ll probably need Hux to kiss my whole chest better too. And since he kept his promise and got busy with sliding his lovely warm hands down my pants and dancing his stroking fingers over me, I’ll keep his secret. For now. For now while my legs are quaking. For now while I can hardly suck in a full breath. Just for now.

Chapter Text

“Supreme Leader, please report to General Hux’s office. Supreme Leader to the General’s office. Thank you.”

This really was… Didn’t he realize… I can’t… If anything were to… Damn it all! I’ve the new training modules to go over, a star system to conquer, and now I have to deal with this as well. Oh, hello. Here comes his nibs, all storm front and moon milk.

“You wished to see me, my burnished copper kitten?” he said, swirling into my office like a dark mist.

It matters not how many times I run through appropriate work place behavior with him, it does not sink in. He insists on having no divide between our private and our professional lives. It’s infuriating.

“What the kriff is this?” I say, pointing at the—I didn’t know what to call it—outfit I suppose.

“My searing sunbeam, I told you you’re the Grand Magister now.”

“What?” What?

“You’re still calling yourself General.”

“Of course I am. You’ve not filed any paperwork. I can’t go about calling myself Grand Magister—a title that does not exist as far as I can see—without official say-so.”

“I am the official say-so.” He did not stamp his foot but he may as well have.

“I’d prefer it in writing but that is by the bye, Ren. I ask again, what in the name of seven hells is this?”

“It’s a gift for you, my sweet.” He did that thing he does with his eyes. That thing that screams I am an innocent sweet lamb who has never done wrong, I know nothing, protect me, love me. It’s most unsporting of him when I’m doing my utmost to be stern.

Dear lord, he stepped close, closer until he and his barge of a chest were pressed right up against me. I’d have called foul but then he lowered his voice in that way he does that makes my knickers damp and said, “Dance for me.” Then he licked my ear.

I tell you it took every ounce of will not to drop to my knees there and then, but I glanced again at what he had left draped over my desk and felt my rage spark anew.

“That’s quite enough of that, you brute,” I said, beating my fists on his chest. It was as effective as marshmallow on concrete. “You think I’ve not seen all the depictions of your mother wearing just such a thing? Explain yourself.”

He had the gall to look affronted. “I thought you’d look sexy,” he said crossing his tree-trunk arms and sulking.

“Sexy? Sexy?” I had to pinch the bridge of my nose to stop my brain dribbling out. There was no other way, I would have to explain to him the perilousness of what he wished me to unleash. “I think you should sit down, my pall of bright shadow. We need to talk.”

He refused to look at me. Honestly, he is such a child.

“Come now my midnight seraphim, there are certain things I need to explain.”

Still he stood brooding, like the brat he is.

“Damn it, Ren! This isn’t some frivolous game. You were never meant to see me dancing, in fact it was downright dangerous that you did.”

At last, that got his attention. “Dangerous? I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. When most people dance it is merely an expression of emotion or the primal need to move to a rhythm.”

“And that’s not the case for you?”

“Well yes, but there’s more to it than that. I learned the hard way that my powers must be treated with seriousness and reverence much like, I imagine, all that space-wizard nonsense of yours.”

“Learned how?”

“Let’s see now, there was that lieutenant who caught a glimpse and fell off a gantry to her death, a petty officer back at the Academy who saw me and had a cardiac arrest on the spot. Oh, and of course that medical officer who fell pregnant when he chanced upon me doing a little shimmy in only a flimsy gown and socks.”

He gasped, I knew he would be shocked. “You said I was your first.”

Of course that’s what he latched on to. “You were, my darling danger rocket, but this is the nature of the power my hips hold.”

He crowded me again, backing me up against the wall with his wall of a chest. Between two walls and, ah yes, there it was—a hard place. “Show me,” he growled right in my ear. If I thought my knickers were damp before they were downright awash now. I was in danger of caving in and wearing that ridiculous costume he’d left for me. I had to take charge again.

“Do you think you can handle all this?” I asked. I would have waved my hands up and down my body had he not taken both my wrists in his paws and pinned them above my head. Instead I wriggled against his hard place.

“Yes.” He was panting now, right into my mouth. “Yes please my blazing ginger kitten.”

“You need to understand that once you begin the path, there is no leaving the path. Are you ready for that commitment?” I nipped his bottom lip. Charge taken back.

“I am. I am! I so am.”

I kissed him then. I was proud of myself for resisting The Pout all that time but there was no point denying myself any longer. “Tonight then, 2030. In my quarters, my infinite chasm of love. Don’t be late.”

Chapter Text

 

What I should have done was write off the rest of the day.  My mind was whirling with choreography and costuming, and damn it all if that absurd outfit of Ren’s did not keep wafting its way into my thoughts. If I didn’t know better I’d have thought he was using his mind magic. But he still brings up the whole trash compactor incident from the last time he tried that nonsense on me so I know he knows better than to risk it.

I spent an entire two hour strategic planning meeting with Phasma either trying to hide my raging stiffy or failing to subdue the thoughts that brought about my raging stiffy in the first place. In the end I failed at all of these things and ended up on the wrong end of one of Phasma’s “talks”. She calls them talks, I call them yellings.

But at long last I was free and scurried… did I say scurried? Generals do not scurry. I strode elegantly to my quarters to prepare.

My raven-silk twilit smoothie arrived precisely on time—he’ll be rewarded for that. I had him sit down with a good stiff Johrian whiskey, told him to prepare himself mentally, and turned on the music.

 


 

I’m not sure I’ll ever fully recover from what happened tonight. Sure, I’m breathing like normal now while my orange cream delight’s kitten-snoring face smooshes into my chest. But that belies the fact that I spent most of the evening panting like a Bantha in heat, gasping in shock and-or delight, grunting with exertion, like, a lot because my sweet fire-angel insists on screaming things like, “Harder, HARDER! You’re bruising my poor delicate rump, you awful brute. HARDER I SAID!”

Some of the things he says confuse me, so I’ll stop and ask for clarification. He usually answers by wriggling his butt so it jiggles and if I don’t start again quickly enough, he’ll just go ahead and do the work himself. And then he’ll yell at me some more and say things like, “How dare you force me to debase myself. Do you enjoy seeing me like this? Or do you enjoy being used like a cheap toy? Answer me you gorgeous colossal hulk." 

He knows I know that he loves to yell. And I know he knows that it makes my legs go all wibble-shake-trembly when he yells at me. And he knows that I know that when he yells at me, I turn into a big old hugging machine and wrap him up as close as can be. And if he’s been yelling real good and loud, he’ll know that by the time I start squeezing and petting and nuzzling him, then it’s time for him to start some pretty coordinated clenching of his own. And I know that he knows that I know that he knows that when he starts that, I’ll pretty soon be shuddering and shaking and filling him right up.

After that, if he hasn’t made a sticky mess all over the sheets (or all over his belly or all over my belly) then he’ll squirm and yell some more. Yell about me defiling him and how dare I and I’d best start licking him clean until he shiver-shakes as well and tries to clench onto my tongue with his little pink wrinkle.

But if he has, if he has made his messes before me, well that’s a different story. My darling carrot cake doesn’t squirm then, he undulates. He doesn’t yell, he whispers and moans. He sings and huffs pretty praises for me and tells me what a good boy I am, and that there’s no better good big boy than me in the whole universe.

I love it when he yells at me and I love it when he doesn’t. I love my precious crème brulee and I wrote him a poem to make sure he knows this.

  

I love you precious crème brulee

I came here to tell you so

I think maybe I came for something else

It seems so long ago

 

I love you precious crème brulee

Have I told you lately I love you

Wasn’t there something you were going to show me?

Whiskeys, it seems I’ve had a few

 

I love you precious crème brulee

What’s with that white suit on the floor?

I’ve not seen you in that and is that my mom’s bikini

Were you really wearing that before?

 

I love you precious crème brulee

But I think you’ve done me a mischief

Hey wait! I came here to see you dance

I did, didn’t I? Hey, did you just huff?

 

I love you precious crème brulee

Confess! What have you done?

Is my brain okay? Did you erase time?

Seriously, come on. You’ve had your fun.

 

I love you precious crème brulee

Yes, of the dangers you warned me

But I thought you were only making things up

Your dancing erased my memory?

 

I love you precious crème brulee

Maybe you can show me again

Please please, it must’ve been pretty damn hot

If you wanted, and I quote, “A sixth time, Ren.”

 

I love you precious crème brulee

Fine I won’t keep asking

I’ll just have to imagine your waggling hips

And your fine ass jiggling and bouncing.

 

I read this to him after he snorted himself awake and smack-smacked his dribbly lips on my nipple. He said my poetry had gotten worse and that I should up my daily intake of his poetic juices. He scrambled all limbs and elbows until he had his knees on either side of my shoulders—that’s a big stretch but my honey-sunshine flame thrower is so wonderfully bendy. He poked the Little General right into my mouth and said, “Open wide, that’s my big good boy. It’s time for your poetry lesson." 

I love my precious creme-brulee.

 

Chapter Text

There are many things I've learned at the feet of my beloved general. Not least of which is that the skin behind my left ear is partial to a good scratching and that a light but persistent petting along my scrotal septum can have me shooting my load a decently competitive distance.

So while I was receiving my daily dose of the General's juices—which have increased my poetic abilities immeasurably—he said, "My dearest darkest brooding angel, how have you fared befriending that scowling technician?"

"Who, Matt?" I asked.

Well, first I said, "Ooo, ahh?" but then I took Hux's cock out of my mouth for more effective communication. He doesn't like it when I talk with my mouth full.

"Matt's awesome. We've been spotting each other doing weights and he helps me rub a special liniment onto my eight pack. He makes it himself and said he was inspired by my incredible physique. He's not scowling all the time, he's got a really nice smile. And he's going to teach me how to make zoochberry muffins next week."

"Oh," Hux said. "How nice for you."

Maybe I missed something in his expression but I gave him my best winning grin and went back to my suckling. My General's creative juices have been vital to my growth as an artist. I could feel poetry brewing in my blood.

Hux looks so beautiful when I'm looking up at him, I can hardly stand it. This time I was enjoying the view of his flaring nostrils. I assumed he was keen to enhance my creative output so I latched onto him even harder and gave it my all.

When he came he did a lot more yelling than usual. I just hugged his legs and made sure he was all spick and span again.

Next week came along and I really didn't expect what happened to happen.

Matt was showing me how to cream butter and sugar together while Techie watched. He was eating a cookie the size of his head and I have to admit, the man is distracting. Especially when he finds a chocolate chip, digs it out and starts melting it on his tongue. I'm pretty sure he doesn't need to shut his eyes and moan the way he does, but I'm perfectly fine with him doing that.

"Mattie, he hasn't got the technique right. You should show him how you do it." Techie stared at us with his blue blue sparkly eyes. The rims are a little pink and sore looking. I want to lick them.

Matt showed me how he creams and we got into a rhythm. It must've been a little hypnotic for him since his head fell onto my shoulder and he gave me the rest of the instructions with his lips on my neck.

Techie peeked into the bowl to check our progress and declared the butter needed warming. So he climbed onto the bench and put the bowl right between his legs. He put his hand over mine and Matt's and we all stirred the mixture together.

I didn't know humming and rocking in circles with your eyes closed was part of making muffins but I'll trust Matt and Techie on this and hope they didn't notice me drooling into the bowl.

And that's how Hux found us. Matt draped across my back humping his impressive stiffy across my butt. Techie with his legs encircling us both and making the bowl rattle, and me trying to bite through the spoon.

He didn't say a word as the door zhwoozhed open and then swooshed closed behind him. Didn't make a peep as he stepped closer. But Techie took a deep sniff and his eyes shot open. His mouth did too and out of it came a sound I'd never heard any human being make but it made my nipples hard and my legs all shaky.

“What… the hell... is going on here?" Hux sounded like he was being strangled.

Techie suddenly did some kind of rolling flippy thing sending the bowl clanging onto the floor. His long limbs flew every which way until he was on his hands and knees on the bench growling at Hux with his butt brushing up against my nose.

I didn't know. I didn't know until that moment what Hux was talking about when he said he and Techie could smell each other but I think, maybe, I must have caught a whiff.

I'll use that as an excuse as to why I lost all my ability to do anything but run on instinct. I locked eyes with my dearly beloved, leaned forward, and pushed my tongue as hard as I could against the straining fabric under Techie’s pink tutu.

“Kylo Amidala McMidnight Ren! You stop that right this instant and come with me,” Hux was screeching. I’d heard Hux yell, and scream, and shout. I’d heard a lot of noises coming from my honeyed ginger tea bag but screeching was new.

I came out of my daze and pulled my face out of Techie’s silky rear end. Matt let go of my waist and pressed a damp kiss to my cheek and whispered, “Uh-oh.”

There my General was, reaching his hand out to me while trying to keep it out of reach of Techie’s growling snapping teeth.

“You,” he snapped, pointing at Matt. “You’ll be hearing from me. Get him,” he pointed at Techie, “under control. You,” he pointed his pointy little finger at me. “Get your things. We’re going to have a little chat about etiquette and canapés. And then you’ll have a spanking.” He turned on his heel and left.

I couldn’t tell if this was good or bad, but there was something in the shaky way he said ‘spanking’. I’d better write him a poem to apologise. Or thank him. Or both. Best to cover all bases. I waved goodbye to Matt and Techie, caught their blown kisses, and jogged right after my blazing angel’s ass