In all his years aboard star destroyers, Dopheld Mitaka had never once been tasked with delivering anyone's supper. Such thrilling assignments were typically reserved for droids or, on some occasions, whichever member of the kitchen staff had lost the most credits at sabacc that week; definitely not a suitable job for a highly-skilled, hardworking and dignified Lieutenant.
Well...dignified may have be a bit of a stretch there. When he recalls the level of regard the other officers show him on the daily, Mitaka thinks this particular task might not fall that far below his rank after all. And considering the request had come from General Hux himself, he supposes he could overlook the offense.
Correction: Would gladly overlook it. Would leap out of his bunk two hours into his sleep cycle if the General had called asking for a handmade batch of flatcakes.
Whereas most would have been embarrassed to admit to half as much, Mitaka was actually rather proud of his devotion. Hells, he would have worn it on his sleeve as a badge of honor, if decorum hadn't declared it wholly and utterly inappropriate to do so.
He may as well, he grumbles to himself, readjusting his grip on the chrome dining tray. The lonely echo of his footsteps permeates the empty corridor, yet Mitaka can still hear Unamo's laughter drilling into his ears, can sense his cheeks burning with the memory of Rodinon's taunts, the scornful side-eyes that greeted him whenever he entered the officers' lounge or mess hall. At times it seemed the entire ship was aware of his transgressions; they'd all seen the stares that lingered a little too long, noticed the subtle sighs and smiles. It wasn't as if he had done an exceedingly good job of hiding it, or even felt that he'd needed to.
There was no denying that everyone on the Finalizer both feared and respected General Hux in equal measure. But Mitaka's adoration went much deeper than an unwavering sense of loyalty toward his superior. It went deep enough that he would follow even the most debasing of orders without a shred of hesitation. Deep enough to keep him occupied most nights imagining what those orders might entail, a fist around his length and a First Order-approved toy in his ass, the General's name spilling freely from his lips. Deep enough to have him foolishly optimistic over such an innocuous task as transporting a tray of food.
Sighing at his hopelessness, he clutches the tray tighter, the rattle of its lid doing little to distract him as he nears Hux's quarters. It's the perfect soundtrack, really—a droning, metallic accompaniment to the hyper squeal of thoughts racing through his head. He wonders what will greet him beyond the door, envisions the layout and lighting and decor, shelves sparkling with medals and accomplishments, tapestries hung from every wall. Digging further into his daydreams dredges up images of a large, warm bed and overstuffed furniture, along with the intense desire to catch Hux reclining in either, dressed in something much more comfortable than his standard uniform.
By the time he arrives, he's fighting off not only his vivid imagination but the throbbing start of an erection as well, head and fingers aching as he attempts to balance the tray while activating his special-issue command cylinder—something a droid could have done without breaking a sweat. As his throat goes dry, and the fabric of his undershirt clings to his back, Mitaka finds himself almost wishing he were one.
A chime dings quietly, then the door slides open and a voice from within beckons: "Enter."
Mitaka holds his breath and hurries inside, jaw dropping at the sheer size of the antechamber. His gaze darts from point to point, corner to corner, over the expansive desk and plush grey couch, the long, crimson rug leading to what he assumes must be the bedroom—all things he would hardly mind being fucked upon for hours on end.
And there, sitting at a small, square table just off to the center, is the man he would have do it all to him.
He's wearing his full uniform—as Mitaka had sadly anticipated—two fingers idly turning circles around the rim of an ornate glass tumbler filled with what could possibly be whisky or brandy. Mitaka hopes it's brandy; in his mind, it's always brandy that Hux is drinking, the flavor of it permanently soaked through his luscious lips. Those same lips that now smile warmly upon seeing him.
"Good evening, Lieutenant. I'd like to thank you for making the trip all the way down here."
"Please, think nothing of it, Sir," Mitaka replies, unable to keep from smiling back, and not entirely caring how improper it might appear. "I've brought your supper, as requested." He approaches the table and sets the tray before Hux, removing his cap and clasping his hands in front of him. He tries not to sound too hopeful as he asks his customary, "Will that be all, Sir?"
Hux's gaze remains steady, his pale eyes magnetic. "Actually, I was hoping you might join me."
"Oh." He hadn't expected such a positive response. Hells, he'd been so used to self-deprecation and disappointment, he hasn't the slightest idea what to do with this speck of optimism Hux had just tossed to him. "I—umm—" His lips struggle to make contact with his brain.
"Of course you will," Hux answers, reaching for the napkin on his tray and unfolding it over his lap. He gestures to the seat across from him. "Sit down. Make yourself comfortable."
Mitaka stands frozen for a moment, but gradually convinces his limbs to move, more terrified of disobeying orders than he is of whatever Hux may have up his sleeve. He sinks into the opposing chair and sets about making himself as "comfortable" as possible given the specifics of his situation, which amounts to little more than placing his cap on the table instead of back atop his head as he normally would. The table itself seems far too small, even for two people, and Mitaka slides in carefully, his mind panicking at the thought of accidentally brushing any part of Hux's body beneath it. Even his hands move in guarded arcs, testing each centimeter of air with the tips of his fingers as they make their journey to his knees. He presses his palms down, tries to keep his legs from shaking.
He'd always filed his fantasies away as mere folly, from the filthiest of the bunch to the milder ones in which he'd been happy simply settling down for a meal with the General. Now that the latter is slowly inching towards reality, Mitaka can't fathom what enjoyment Hux might derive from his company. Why call him now? Why here, at supper? He'd only brought one tray of food; did Hux intend to have him sit there and watch while he eats?
In the end, he decides it doesn't matter. Whatever Hux wants out of this meeting, Mitaka would do a thousand times over.
He straightens up against the hard back of his chair and stares in forced tranquility as Hux lifts the domed lid from his tray, revealing a delicious-looking filet of meat and a small side of green vegetables.
Mitaka's eyes widen, his mouth waters at the scent of it. With all the bland mush he'd consumed in his time, he hadn't thought any ship capable of producing such an alluring plate of food.
"So, I assume things are going well for you, Mitaka?" Hux asks before setting the lid aside and leaning forward in a deep, glorious inhale.
Mitaka can't decide which of the two enticing images he should focus his attention on. "Oh, well—Yes, Sir, everything is fine," he stammers, not particularly sure what "everything" is meant to encompass. Work? His personal time? The light twitch he feels in his trousers at the sight of Hux's faint smile?
Yes, everything is quite fine.
Hux hums in response and picks up his knife and fork, begins slicing into the delicate steak. "Please pardon my rudeness, but this looks so lovely, I simply can't wait to taste it."
"It does, Sir," is all he can think to say, his voice cracking with longing as the deep red at the center begins to peek through. "I—I've never seen anything like it come from the mess. You must be very lucky, Sir."
Hux gives a quiet chuckle, then looks up at him with a smirk. "Well, today is a special occasion."
"Which occasion would that be, Sir?"
"It's my birthday. I've turned thirty-three as of twenty minutes ago."
Mitaka smiles despite his nerves. "Congratulations, Sir."
Nodding his head in approval, Hux turns back to the task at hand. "And with our always agreeable co-commander off on a mission somewhere, I must admit it's been a rather relaxing one." His arm ceases its hypnotic back-and-forth and he holds up a thin slice, rotating his fork as if to admire the color. Mitaka struggles to keep his tongue in place while he watches Hux slide it into his mouth, sees his eyes slip shut and hears him release a low moan.
How he envies that cut of meat.
In a slow, tantalizing display, Hux licks the juices from his lips and then reaches for his napkin, dabbing it lightly against the corners. "My, this is purely exquisite," he breathes. "You simply must try it, Mitaka."
Before Mitaka can begin to weigh the integrity behind those words, Hux spears another slice and holds it out to him, free hand cupped beneath to catch any stray drippings.
Mitaka stares at it in dumb silence. Surely, the General was joking, taunting him with yet another morsel he could only ever dream of tasting. Or did he really expect him to reach out and take it? How could he when he was barely lucid enough to lift his fingers?
Regardless of what had been expected of him, he needs to act fast, lest the steak's juices should stain the fine leather of Hux's glove.
Lest he become overwhelmed by his desire to lick it clean.
He swallows hard.
"Come now, Mitaka," Hux presses, teasing the fork closer. "Open your mouth."
Well, he thinks, it's decided then.
Numb to everything except Hux's command, Mitaka edges forward and allows him to slip the offering into his mouth.
Oh. Oh, it's every bit as succulent as it had looked.
He sighs as the meat practically melts against his tongue, nearly sobs when Hux pulls the fork away, his cock pulsing with the knowledge that his lips had briefly enveloped something that had touched his dear General's only moments ago.
"Mmm...It's wonderful, Sir."
Hux beams at his reaction. "Please, eat some more, then."
The oddness of his excitement has Mitaka shifting anxiously in his chair. "I—I couldn't, Sir." But he wants to.
"Don't be ridiculous, Mitaka," Hux says, halfway to another bite. "I've absolutely no intention of dining alone." He washes it down with a drink, then gently slides the tumbler across the table.
Kriff, Mitaka isn't sure if things are getting better or worse.
His fingers twitch atop his knees as he watches the waves settle inside the glass, his trembling growing all the more noticeable when he reaches out and lifts it to his lips, taking a small, cautious sip. It is brandy. Mitaka can't help but smile as he downs a larger gulp, its warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach along with all the other presumptions about the General he'd hoped to have gotten right: His preferred brand of cigarra; his affinity for silk sheets; the length and girth of his erect—
He takes two more sips to calm himself, remembering his manners and passing the glass back towards Hux, who waits patiently with another helping on his fork.
Mitaka thinks he could get used to this.
"May I ask where the meat comes from, Sir?" he inquires after swallowing.
"There's a squat, humpbacked creature called a yat that's known to inhabit a handful of planets in the Outer Rim," Hux explains, then slips the empty tines of the fork in and out of his mouth slowly, to Mitaka's breathless delight. "Difficult to capture, yet well worth the pursuit. Like many things in life."
"Compliments to the chef as well, I'm sure," Mitaka adds.
"Yes, they seasoned and cooked it quite perfectly." He licks his lips, lowering the fork to cut himself another slice. "Though, to be frank, I prefer my meat raw." With that, he looks Mitaka square in the eye and lazily slides the piece into his mouth.
Though strange and slightly unnerving, Hux's remark is quickly forgotten, swept away by the persistent image of his tongue, a flash of pink on cool silver. All things considered, as peculiar as his General's behavior may seem, Mitaka isn't about to question it, not when Hux is dangling more meat in front of him, brushing its moist flesh over his lips as if he were kissing him.
Making his poor prick harder by the mouthful.
They pass the remainder of their meal in this fashion—bite for bite, sip for sip—polishing off the meat and then moving on to the lukewarm vegetables. They talk about insignificant things, bat their lashes and smile at each other as though flirting. Mitaka compliments Hux's sophisticated palate; Hux laughs and playfully trades him the last bit of food in exchange for the rest of the brandy. By the time Hux calls his hospitality droid to remove the tray, Mitaka is pleasantly buzzed, painfully erect, and nowhere close to being sated. He parts his thighs to relieve some of the pressure at his groin and relaxes back into his chair, sighing as he closes his eyes.
Hux's amused voice seeps through his reverie. "I take it you enjoyed yourself?"
"Immensely." In all honesty, there had been one aspect of the meal he'd enjoyed above the rest, but he's not exactly drunk enough to admit that to Hux. Instead, he drags his lids open and smiles over at him. "I don't think I've ever eaten something so delicious."
"Yet," Hux chirps, a sly grin creeping above the rim of his glass. He throws back the rest of the brandy, then examines the empty tumbler in his hand, running his thumb over the bevels and ridges in its surface. "You're still young and handsome, Mitaka; I'm sure you'll taste far better delicacies in your lifetime."
That comment doesn't make a lick of sense, and yet Mitaka swears he feels a blush rising to his cheeks at it. He can only hope Hux is too preoccupied with staring at his glass to notice. "Same to you, Sir. You're only thirty-three."
"Yes, and in dire need of some new flavor." He lets out a small laugh, lips quivering at the corners, eyes still cast downward. "I should thank you for joining me," he adds quietly. "You've made the evening interesting."
Mitaka's face is burning now, every cell in his body screaming out in joy over Hux's compliment. "Of course, Sir," he says, smiling when Hux glances up at him. "I'd join you whenever and wherever you'd like." The breathy echo of his own voice sticks in his ears, almost as shocking as the words that leave his mouth, the sudden squeak of leather, the semi-conscious slide of his foot against Hux's beneath the table.
He gasps, jerking his leg back and sitting upright in his chair.
It had been the first time they'd touched that night. The first time he'd ever touched the General—not on the bridge, not in passing, not even while handing over his reports, but right here in his private quarters after a very scintillating meal. Two seconds of contact through stiff leather and rubber.
It's all too much.
His heart begins to race again, his cock throbbing incessantly, demanding attention. Each muscle clenches tighter; each breath he takes becomes infinitely less calming the longer he gazes into the frosted glass of Hux's eyes.
Just what had he hoped to gain? A kiss? A fuck? All of his most innocent and debauched fantasies rolled into one neat and tidy evening? Even if he ended up getting everything he wanted, what cruel lie had made him believe that he was worthy of Hux's affection or his companionship or even his—
Mitaka's eyes start to sting. He'd been a fool for thinking anything could come of this. A shameful, insolent fool.
"Well, then…" Careful to conceal his erection, he slides his chair back and pushes himself to his feet. "I won't take up any more of your time, Sir."
The sharp scrape of metal has him wincing; when he looks up again, Hux is in front of him, his brows arched in either concern or annoyance, one more befitting than the other. "You're not bored of my company already, are you Mitaka?"
Mitaka shakes his head. "Sir, I—" But the words fail him as he watches Hux's lips tremble into a frown, his best intentions caught somewhere between selfishness and betrayal. He can't begin to give him an honest answer, not when he'd buried the truth so deep inside, pulling out even the tiniest scrap hurts like a blaster bolt to the chest.
He glances down at the table and clenches his fist, the shadow of Hux's smile weighing heavily on his mind. "Thank you for sharing your supper with me, Sir," he sighs. And then he turns and reaches for his cap.
He's barely grazed the brim when his hand is snatched away by a rough pull. Stunned, Mitaka pivots to face Hux, all of his questions turned to ash by the unexpected fire in the General's eyes.
"You haven't requested to be dismissed yet, Lieutenant." He smirks and tightens his grip on Mitaka's wrist, stepping much too close for comfort. "Have you forgotten yourself, or do you really want to be rid of me that badly?"
Oh, kriff, they're touching again; the realization sinks in like a smoldering stupidity. Mitaka squirms a little in hopes of keeping a more embarrassing part of himself from coming into contact with Hux. "P-Please, Sir. I—" He swallows, takes a minute to compose himself despite Hux's looming presence and the electric sensation of fingertips hovering above his waist. "You don't need to humor me, Sir. I'm sure you have more important things to do tonight."
The smile on Hux's face broadens. "You're right, Mitaka," he says. "There are much better things I could be doing right now."
He leans in and closes the space between them, smothering Mitaka's sudden cry with his plush lips.
They're slightly moist and unimaginably soft, and at first Mitaka is certain he must be dreaming; he'd passed out from too much brandy, or—or maybe he'd never made it to Hux's quarters to begin with. Maybe he'd collapsed along the way, and was currently lying in a bed in the infirmary, waiting to awaken from a deep, blissful coma.
He shudders at the alternative.
Maybe this truly is happening. Right here, right now, the one and only General Armitage Hux is latching onto him, pulling him close while licking his way into his timid mouth. These are his hands kneading his hip and clutching at his wrist; it's his breath on Mitaka's skin, his heart pounding against his chest, his cock that juts proudly into the softness of his belly—formidable even when hidden beneath layers of clothing.
It's just as Mitaka had always pictured it would be.
He closes his eyes and releases a pent-up moan—long and wanton and desperate—welcoming the tongue that slides in alongside his. It's as rich as the meal they'd shared, impossibly decadent, and the deeper Mitaka delves into that wet, wonderful mouth, the more he comes to understand the truth behind what Hux had said to him earlier.
What he has on his lips is nothing short of a delicacy; a treat so rare, he'd be crazy to deny himself a single drop.
He pushes back against Hux's grasp, longing to lace their fingers together, to feel their palms stick and slide—glove-to-glove, flesh-to-flesh, any and every way he can have it. His erection pulses without shame; his free hand twitches just as eagerly, so Mitaka placates it by trailing the tips upwards along Hux's arm, from the bony ridge of his knuckles to his lightly-padded shoulder, his path hesitant without the blessing of permission. He could stop to ask, of course, but he'd spent too many nights dreaming of the scent of Hux's skin and the flavor of brandy on his lips that he can't bear the thought of breaking apart even for a second, no matter how noble or appropriate the reason. Grabbing a fistful of padding, he tugs Hux closer and sucks his tongue down as far as it will go, unwilling to relent even as their teeth scrape together, as his lungs begin to burn from attempting to use Hux as his sole source of oxygen.
When Hux finally pries himself away for a long-overdue breath, it feels as if he draws what remains of Mitaka's out with it.
"Oh, Sir…" Mitaka sighs it against those lovely lips, a mantra worth repeating, if not for Hux driving forward and kissing him again, open-mouthed and aggressive and hungry. The table behind him stutters backwards a short distance but stands firm under the pressure, its sharp edge cutting across the meat of his thighs. Mitaka pictures the marks forming there, the bruises budding beneath Hux's fingers, gifts that only seem to multiply once Hux leaves his mouth to nip and suck below his jaw. His teeth sink into a particularly sensitive part of Mitaka's throat, just above the collar, and Mitaka stiffens, tilting his head towards the ceiling and leaning back a little further, his ass flirting with the smooth surface beneath him.
A shiver courses through his body at the thought of easing down, lounging back atop it while Hux strips him of his boots and trousers and fucks him right then and there. He thinks of how good his General's cock would feel inside him, how the metal of the table would heat up and cling to his flesh once they start to get rough, producing an intoxicating pain, a thrilling new type of burn.
He lets his hand slip from Hux's shoulder and slowly reaches behind himself, walking his fingers over the table in consideration. It may not be the sprawling desk from his fantasies, but as his legs and brain slowly turn to jelly beneath Hux's lips, Mitaka thinks it could work equally as well. If it can hold his weight without collapsing.
If Hux doesn't mind risking the destruction of furniture that's probably worth more credits than Mitaka's life.
He bites his lip and whimpers his plight to the lights overhead.
He's still battling his indecisiveness when he picks up a subtle growl simmering below, a rumble grazing his flesh, fingers clenching in crescendo. Hux makes his way to his lips once more and kisses him ferociously—tongue swimming, teeth sharp and unforgiving. Distracting. Mitaka briefly forgets the ache at his hip and around his wrist; he doesn't notice the heat of Hux's mouth start to pull away until it's too late. Like an insect drawn to flame, he chases after him, diving headfirst into visions of soft beds and firm embraces, clothes that fall like water—a promise both assured and fleeting.
He doesn't even come close.
It all happens so fast, Mitaka merely blinks and he's being jerked from the table ledge, feet moving clumsily as he tries to avoid stepping on Hux's flawless boots. There isn't time to construct another scenario or skim through his catalogue of fantasies before the room begins to spin, shapes and colors coming to a bruising halt once he's slammed back into the table. The leather of his gloves squeals across the surface, their grip adequate enough to slow his reckless momentum.
The same can't be said for the items atop it. Jerking his head upright, Mitaka watches helplessly as both his cap and Hux's gorgeous tumbler go skidding over the opposite edge, their graceless fall accompanied by the jarring sound of glass breaking. His mind races with thoughts of running to them, but the instant he straightens up Hux is right there at his back, his breath hot on the nape of his neck, arms surprisingly strong and unyielding as they wrap around his chest and hold him in place. He nuzzles the space behind Mitaka's ear, tongue sweeping out to lick along the curve of it.
"Please," he groans, "let me taste you, Mitaka."
"Stars..." Mitaka's eyes flutter wildly, afraid if they were to stay closed for too long he'd open them again to find himself back in his quarters, cold and lonely without the warmth of Hux's body beside his.
No different from any other night.
Scraping together the little bit of courage he has inside him, Mitaka clutches either side of the table and presses his hips back, brushing his ass over the delectable hardness at his General's crotch. He trembles at the contact, and allows his head to loll against Hux's shoulder, delighted when Hux accepts the invitation and begins lapping at his neck. His tongue paints long, wet stripes from the edge of Mitaka's collar to his earlobe, teeth nibbling at the fleshy little nub. Driving Mitaka mad.
"Ah...Yes, Sir…" He mewls a proper response, in case his bold display hadn't been answer enough. "Please taste me."
He swears he can feel Hux smiling against his damp skin.
"Well, if you insist…"
His tone borders on obscene, garnished with a grazing of teeth, the hot puff of a chuckle. Mitaka isn't sure exactly what he's agreed to—hadn't they already been kissing?—but it must be something good, judging by the way Hux's hands roam the front of his uniform shirt, toying with the fabric around his nipples, pinching and scratching at the skin beneath as they steadily creep lower. A thumb snags on the lip of his belt and gives a teasing tug; fingertips trace the outline of his crotch in slow, maddening strokes. Up and down and up again. Moaning, Mitaka rocks against them, but Hux punishes his impatience with a sharp flick to his shaft and a disappointed "Tsk," reminding him just who is in control.
This had never been about what Mitaka wanted. It was only a coincidence that their goals happened to align so beautifully.
Another needy sob catches in the back of his throat the instant he feels those hands sliding under the tail of his tunic, undoing the button and zip of his fly with staggering ease. His head spins with the thought of Hux somehow being at the ready, but he quickly shuffles it away as fingers falter around the waistband of his briefs, digging into soft flesh in their haste to get beneath the elastic. A few seconds of struggling is all it takes to peel away the damp and sticky cotton; with a jolt, Mitaka's cock springs free and bobs excitedly in the open air. His crown twitches against the cold buckle of his belt, his balls throb and tighten as they anticipate the smooth caress of well-oiled gloves.
But Hux doesn't grant him the courtesy of a pity wank. Nor does he pause to rake his nails through Mitaka's neatly-trimmed pubic hair, like Mitaka had often hoped he would. Instead, he balls his fists in layers of half-shed clothing and yanks backwards, guiding Mitaka's hips farther from the table's edge. The heat blanketing his body begins to slip away as Hux slowly slinks to the floor, both pairs of bottoms sliding down to join him. Mitaka shivers at the scrape of fabric, the drag of leather over clammy skin, though Hux is quick to cover each budding patch of gooseflesh with his plump lips, from the backs of his knees where his trousers are bunched, up to the supple valley just below the swell of his ass. While he works, he runs his palms along the outsides of Mitaka's legs in firm, soothing strokes, fingertips pressing harder the higher they travel, as if attempting to massage away the hours, days, months worth of tension that had crept in and wound itself so tightly around him.
It's gone for all of a minute, Mitaka's muscles trembling and twitching anew as Hux wedges his face between his taut thighs and angles his chin upward, kissing the curve of his sac tenderly. The barest brush of his lips has Mitaka choking out a desperate moan, knees straining against the confines of his pants in hopes of feeling more. Taking full advantage of his wantonness, Hux presses in deeper, laving at his scrotum and sucking delicate patches of skin into his mouth bit by glorious bit. It's deliciously hot and utterly scandalous, and Mitaka simply can't get enough. He can't keep his legs from shaking, or his hips from rolling back at the slide of Hux's tongue along his perineum. He can't possibly betray how badly he's wanted this.
He gasps when the tip of Hux's nose grazes the puckered ridge of his furl, its blunt edge rubbing against him with a gentle reverence.
Oh, kriff, is he going to—When he'd asked before—He hadn't meant—
Mitaka can't bring himself to believe it, even as the words repeat in his head and the pieces fall into place around him. Even as Hux slips his thumbs between his cheeks and pries him wide open.
Cool air rushes over his newly-exposed entrance, and Mitaka tightens instantly, clenching for the lost warmth of Hux's nose, the sweetness of his lips. His face burns in embarrassment and arousal as Hux clamps down and spreads him further, apparently unsatisfied with just a peek.
"Ahh, such a gorgeous little hole," Mitaka hears him sigh, close enough to make the hairs around his rim stir. He draws the pad of his thumb down the center, catching the quivering edge and giving a light press. "So pink and juicy inside."
Then, without further comment, he shoves in and quickly sweeps his tongue over Mitaka's still-twitching pucker.
"Ah!" Mitaka's voice explodes in a breathless yelp; his hips surge forward, his body stiffens when the edge of the table scrapes against the underside of his cock. But Hux simply digs his fingers into his thighs and yanks him back, wriggling his face deeper and moving his lips from side to side as if he intends to map every solitary ridge hidden within his crease.
Mitaka bites his cheek to keep from shouting again.
Only once had he dreamed of Hux devouring him like this, but had immediately found the suggestion so shameful—so demeaning—that he'd banished the thought from his head entirely.
No, he squirms. It can't be happening. The General would never—
"Mmm…" Hux murmurs between licks, the vibrations rippling through Mitaka's limbs all the way to his clenched fingers, his toes curled into nubs inside his boots. "You taste phenomenal, Mitaka." He purses his lips and sucks hard, and suddenly Mitaka doesn't have the wherewithal to continue arguing with himself. He hardly has the strength to lock his arms beneath him, to twist his upper body around for a quick peek, if only to put his doubting mind to rest.
When he sees what's behind him, Mitaka can't help the moan that escapes his lips.
The orange of Hux's hair shines as bright as starlight, a tempting glow that calls out to him, begs him to break rank and run his fingers through it. Fighting to keep his balance, Mitaka tugs the skirt of his tunic up with one hand and cranes his neck for a better look. Hux's eyes are shut, and his nose prods the very top of his crack, dipping up and down with each kiss, each swirl of his tongue around his entrance. Quiet sighs meld with indecent sucking sounds, a melody as alluring as it is overwhelming.
Carefully, he turns back and stares at his reflection in the tabletop, imagining the color flooding his face, dusky pink swallowed up by a veil of gleaming black.
Stars, if he'd been given one million years, he still wouldn't have come close to grasping the softness of that tongue, the skill with which Hux could drive him almost to the edge in a few simple swipes. But, oh, how he treasures every second of it, despite his shyness, his determination to keep from dissolving into a mess of pants and whimpers. He wants to scream the General's name at the top of his lungs, almost does the instant Hux manages to coax him open enough to plunge the point inside—one single, shallow thrust that has him gasping and bucking his hips.
Hux pulls out and laughs, flicking the tip over his quivering rim before pushing in as far as he can go.
All the times Mitaka had worked himself open, the countless toys he'd inserted, the fingers drenched in spit and lubricant—none of it had prepared him for this, this decadent press against his walls, this slick heat burrowing into his most shameful spot. With every slide, his hole cinches tighter, making Hux fight for it, hands prying his aching cheeks to their limits. Mitaka's thighs shake with unwanted tension and his arms tremble, ready to give out at a moment's notice. With nowhere left to go, and seemingly no end in sight, he bends his elbows and allows his chest to sink to the table, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other still clinging to the ledge in front of him. Screwing his eyes shut, Mitaka rubs his face against the surface and counts his heaving breaths, imagines them fogging the space below his lips in a frantic bid to calm himself.
One, two, three seconds into his plan and he's clenching and writhing again, forcing Hux to tighten his grip in order to keep him from wriggling free. Every part of him feels sore and oversensitive: Muscles burning, chest tight, furl puckering from too much stimulation. Hux attempts to still his tremors with slow, soothing licks, but it only winds him up further, has his cock throbbing mercilessly, begging for a stroke, a touch, another scrape of the table. With a subdued cry, Mitaka slips his fingers beneath the edge and discreetly reaches back, though he freezes the instant the tips graze his shaft.
"General, Sir?" He chokes out each word as if it were his last. "May I please have permission to touch myself?"
"You may not," comes Hux's curt reply, muffled behind long, languid licks.
"Please, Sir…" Mitaka pleads with him, appalled by how strained and pathetic his voice sounds. He jerks his hips forward a bit, to show Hux how badly he needs it, and is rightfully reprimanded with a sharp slap to his cheek.
"I've already given you an answer, Mitaka," Hux growls as he pulls himself up. "Do not make me repeat myself."
Mitaka's eyes fly open, his lips stunned into silence by the crime he'd committed.
No, it can't be over. Not now. Not like this. Please, please—
"I-I'm sorry, Sir!" He blurts out. "I—"
"I'll be the one touching you tonight."
The confidence with which he declares it strikes Mitaka like a sharpened blade, disbelief gushing out in spurts and waves. He tenses at the echo in his head, pushes himself up onto his palms and gazes back just in time to glimpse Hux stripping his gloves off finger by finger. He drops the pair on the seat adjacent to him and fixes Mitaka with a heated stare, pale green eyes glimmering with the same hunger Mitaka had seen far too often in his own reflection. He's so fixated on those eyes, he almost doesn't notice the smile that creeps across Hux's face as he reaches his left hand into the pocket of his trousers and extracts a small foil packet.
Mitaka whips his head to the front again.
Hux really had prepared for this. Or was he to believe the General always went around carrying spare packets of bacta with him?
He chuckles. Of course not. That would make about as much sense as a well-respected First Order General willingly fornicating with a junior officer.
Mitaka smiles a little and lowers himself back to the table, his thoughts drawn to the squelch of lubricant, the swish of Hux moving into position. Eyes closed, arms folded in front of him, he presses his cheek to the smooth metal and waits, raising his hips a bit in a show of encouragement.
An unexpected tickle along his back has Mitaka's flesh prickling through layers of fabric. He arches onto his toes, groaning when that same palm—bare and velvety-soft—slides over his tailbone and under the hem of his tunic, pushing both it and his undershirt up as far as the taut leather of his belt will permit. One hand holding his clothing in place, Hux slowly traces slick fingers over the bumps of his spine. He swirls them around and around, lower, closer, almost there. With each milimeter traveled, Mitaka finds his breathing growing shallower; he's practically panting by the time Hux finally reaches his crease and dips a teasing digit inside.
He chuckles at Mitaka's little moan, and starts to rub him in close circles, painting his pucker until every wrinkle is soaked to the depths with lube. A renegade droplet manages to break free and trickle down his perineum, only to be captured by Hux's thumb and firmly massaged back into place. Impatient, Mitaka shivers beneath his incessant circling, knowing that even the lightest press on his rim would be more than enough to breach him, if that was what his General desired.
He wants it for himself, though. Longs to feel the breadth of Hux's fingers pierce him to the knuckle: Two, three, four at once. Kriff, Mitaka would take his whole fist if that was what he—what Hux—needed to satisfy his hunger.
He's close to convincing himself to move—ready to blame whatever happens on coincidence or nerves or pfassking gravity if that's what it comes to—when Hux drags his thumb away and quickly replaces it with another slippery finger, pushing at the center so the very tip breaks through. Mitaka's greedy hole takes care of the rest, sucking him in until the entirety of it is nestled comfortably within his warmth.
"Oh, kriff!" Mitaka gasps. His lips drag across the tabletop, spit spreading in a trail below his chin. Behind him, he can hear Hux humming pleasantly while he stirs his pulsing walls with light and delicate strokes.
"Hmmm...so soft and warm. Just the way I like it." Hux falls silent for a breath, the squelch of lube overpowering his quiet musings. "Although..."
He pulls out so fast, Mitaka's entire body shudders from the loss. His hole spasms around nothing, his throat contracts in a pitiful whine before Hux plunges in again, plugging his emptiness with two well-needed fingers.
"You're opening up rather easily," he continues above Mitaka's cries, "considering how tightly your lovely little pucker was clenching around my tongue earlier." He leans down and speckles the bare skin of his back with moist kisses. "And here I believed you were innocent."
Quite the opposite, Mitaka thinks. He's trash, close to getting off on just two fingers. Even more so when Hux curls the tips, brushing that tender spot within as he murmurs against his skin: "Tell me about all the other officers that have been inside you."
"Ah! I haven't—" Mitaka writhes around him. "I mean, I don't sleep with other officers." Even if he wanted to, he'd never give them the satisfaction of having yet another vice to hold against him. "It isn't—ah—professional, Sir," he lies, knowing full well how ironic his words must sound given his current position: Bent over a table with his General's long, elegant fingers thrusting into his ass.
Hux pulls his mouth from Mitaka's back and laughs. "You expect me to believe you've never shared this sweet warmth with anyone on ship?"
"N-No, Sir. Never." He downs a gulp of saliva. "O-Only myself."
"Oh, so you like to play with this, then?" His voice oozes with filthy amusement; he presses harder against Mitaka's prostate, huffs at the little whimper it produces. "Don't lie to me, Mitaka."
"Y-Yes, Sir. I do. S-Sometimes."
"And have you ever tasted yourself?"
"Ah—oh, pfassk—n-no, I haven't." It isn't so much a lie as it is something Hux doesn't need to know right now. Or later. Or ever.
"Hmph," Hux snorts, sounding a bit disappointed. "Perhaps we should have tried that before I'd gone and coated myself to the wrist in bacta. Though I suppose this will have to do…"
He uncurls his fist from the tangle of Mitaka's shirts, grazing knuckles over his ribcage and stomach, down to where his leaking prick twitches against the front of his tunic. The fabric there is soaked through to his skin, and Hux plucks at it excitedly before moving lower, brushing a fingertip across the sticky flesh of his frenulum.
"Oh, Mitaka, you're so wet," he croons as he smears a fat glob of precome around his swollen crown. Fingers slither to his base, coiling in a loose circle. "Nice and long, too. Thick." He tightens his grips and gives a lazy tug.
Mitaka squeezes his thighs together, locks his knees to keep himself from rocking between Hux's hands. He knows he won't last much longer. His embarrassing mess of a prick—however fond of it his General may be—is already close to gushing, each shameful droplet wrung out with expert precision. A few more glides of that silken palm along his length, another twist or two around the head, and Mitaka's blissful evening could very well be over.
"Sir, please—" he whines, a plea for both Hux's ears and his own pulsing enthusiasm. "I—I'll come if you—"
The rest disappears in a mumble, words trapped beneath the weight of three of Hux's fingers.
"Hush, Mitaka. I'm not finished with you yet."
With the most indecent-sounding "Mmph," Mitaka folds his lips over his teeth and suckles at Hux's sopping digits, weaving his tongue between each as he laps up the taste of himself. He's been down this road too often to count, spent so many nights drunk on his own sweet musk, it's become almost as vital to his existence as water. But underneath that familiar flavor lies something deeper. Something slightly...off. It seeps in subtly, a saltiness that builds to a tantalizing burn in the back of his throat.
Spurred by desperation, he swallows Hux's fingers to the point of choking, putting on a wanton show of what he intends to do to his cock, if only Hux would give the word. He wants to please him so badly it hurts; is so pained for his own release, he clenches around the pair still buried knuckle-deep inside his ass, encouraging them to move faster, Hux's hands graceful yet sadly uncoordinated. Perhaps he'd never been with someone as lewd and needy as Mitaka.
Mitaka gurgles out a stream of spit-drenched thoughts, uncertain if he should feel pride or embarrassment at that prospect.
He's toying with the idea of stretching his mouth around Hux's pinky as well, when he feels the three currently crammed inside him start to twist and turn. They scrape against his cheeks and tongue, push his already aching jaw to its limit, but Mitaka refuses to yield, not even when Hux scolds him with a soft, hollow-sounding Tsk.
"While I appreciate your ambition, Lieutenant, I'm afraid I must ask you to stop. Otherwise we may both drown."
Only once that comment settles in does Mitaka become uncomfortably aware of the slimy mess pooling on the surface beneath his cheek. He immediately ceases trying to consume Hux's hand and allows his jaw to relax, attempts to atone for his insubordination by pushing at Hux's fingers with smooth undulations of his tongue. Hux hums calmly and draws them out the rest of the way, causing even more saliva to dribble onto the table as he traces the curve of Mitaka's bottom lip.
When he wraps his hand around his prick again, Mitaka can feel every raised line and wrinkle kissing his shaft, sodden fingerprints leaving little doubt just who it is that he belongs to.
He sobs quietly while Hux strokes him, unable to shake the impossible hope that he should matter enough for the General to consider keeping him as his own, beyond shared suppers and awkward chatter and tables stained with shameful fluids. Further than even his dreams had taken him.
What a fine time to be selfish, Mitaka tells himself, when here Hux is doing all that he can to spoil him—lavishing his cock with languid pumps, running fingers over his slit, filling his head with one titillating compliment after another.
"You make such a beautiful mess, Mitaka." He squeezes his dripping prick once more before letting it slip from his fist. Mitaka's shaft twitches from the loss of heat; his heart thumps so loudly in his chest, it almost drowns out Hux's subtle groan, the scandalous sound of lips smacking together.
"Mmm...so good," Hux breathes. "I wouldn't mind getting my mouth around that delicious thing between your legs. Watching you break as I drained you dry."
Mitaka can't stop himself from picturing those words falling from lips that glisten with his precome. He runs his tongue over the parched roof of his mouth, the taste of Hux still lingering in the crescent-shaped grooves his nails had created. "Pfassk, Sir…"
"Ah, but maybe we'd both enjoy it more if you straddled my face instead. Rubbed that fragrant, savory pucker over my nose and lips, until my chest became coated in your slick..." Hux's voice trails off, and Mitaka imagines him pausing to lick at his fingers again, letting out a quiet sigh as he turns them over in the light. "Yes…There'd be so much we could share it." He grasps Mitaka's hip and bends down, flicking the tip of his tongue over the very top of his crease. "Don't tell me you wouldn't like that, Mitaka."
Kriff, of course he would. In the swirling cesspit he called his mind, Mitaka never could have begun to believe Hux capable of such pure, unabashed filth. But now that he'd caught a glimpse of it, he craves even more. More of those moist lips dragging across his lower back. More raunchy intentions murmured against his skin.
"I wonder which pretty shade of pink your nipples are," he muses. "How hard they'd grow when I sink my teeth into them." His nose reaches the edge of Mitaka's belt and grinds into the silken fabric beneath; at the same time, he begins to work his fingers in and out of his ass again, thrusts as rough and deep as his voice. "I think I'd like to bite that soft stomach, too. Mark you where no one else can see."
Mitaka yelps as he's bitten through his tunic, Hux's bottom teeth snagging on skin in their struggle to grasp the hem. After a few more deliciously painful tries, he succeeds in pulling the material down over Mitaka's back.
"I should have stripped you bare. Laid you out somewhere I could fully admire you." He straightens up, jabs ruthlessly at Mitaka's prostate. "But you had to try and run from me."
"Ah...Please, Sir…" Mitaka is shaking so much, even the table below him seems to rattle and titter, its creaks laced with ridicule, screaming at him to move already. On the verge of losing his sanity, he gives in to temptation and shoves back hard, whining at the stretch that greets him.
"Eager, aren't we?" Hux laughs. He slides his fingers out and lays a third against Mitaka's hole, drags all three downwards in a teasing stroke. "Would you like another? Or are you ready for my cock?"
"Your cock," Mitaka gasps. "Please fuck me with it."
"My, how vulgar." His voice pitches in exaggerated offense, betrayed by the chuckle that creeps up beneath it. "I should wash that filthy mouth of yours with my come. Though I've a feeling you'd prefer it elsewhere..."
Hux taps his pucker with the tip of one finger.
"Y-Yes...Please." Mitaka isn't sure if he should say anything else, if he should beg or cry or reveal to Hux just how long he'd dreamed of being filled to the brim with his release. How he'd fall asleep to the thought of it trickling down his thighs, or dampening his britches as he limped back to his quarters after a round of illicit and highly inappropriate sex.
Another soft chuckle blossoms behind him, and the warmth of Hux's fingers leave his skin.
There's a hurried rustle of clothing, a jingle of metal. Mitaka calms his breathing and forces himself to keep perfectly still, refusing to let his restlessness take control again.
Until he hears the sweet, unmistakable echo of a zip being lowered.
He scrambles onto his forearms, mind inundated with thoughts of Hux's cock—the shape and thickness of it, the flush that darkens its crown, the moisture gathering around the slit—images so captivatingly beautiful they're well worth whatever punishment his brashness may incur. But before he can turn his head, Hux claps a hand between his shoulders and shoves him back down.
"I won't risk you running again, Mitaka."
The words rush out in an angry hiss, as if Hux were gritting his teeth or holding something tightly between them. He grunts, and a moment later Mitaka feels the tickling sensation of fresh bacta being drizzled over his crack. His furl puckers hungrily, grateful when Hux rocks forward and ruts his slick length against it. As he draws back to nudge at his entrance, he slides his hand from Mitaka's shoulders and wraps his fingers around the base of his neck, tightening his grip while he slowly pushes inside.
The pressure of the crown alone is enough to make Mitaka's breath hitch, but the burning stretch that follows as Hux eases in to the root is so good it's almost indescribable. Mitaka can feel his brain congealing into mush from merely searching for the adjectives, what little remains of his wits churning over a bottomless slurry of Is this real? Is this happening? despite the glaring evidence, the very persistent reminder of Hux's prick throbbing in his ass. Despite all that had come to pass since he'd settled down at Hux's supper table and bitten into that delicious sliver of meat.
He whispers a wordless thank you to the warm metal below his lips.
"Ah…" Hux sighs and lays a clammy palm on his waist. He wiggles his hips a bit, the bristly scratch of his pubic hair causing a delightful itch to bubble across Mitaka's skin. "You feel so much better than I'd imagined."
So do you, Sir.
Mitaka's heart nearly stops when he realizes how dangerously close he'd come to saying it aloud. Embarrassed, he covers his misstep with a throaty groan, then quickly bites his tongue to keep from blurting out something equally as stupid, like asking Hux just how long he'd imagined being inside him like this. Had it started with his fingers or tongue, their first kiss? Back before all of that?
Hells, does it really matter? Call it luck or circumstance or stone-cold fate, he finally has the General exactly where he's always wanted him. Hux isn't even moving yet, and Mitaka can already feel his hole fluttering and his thighs trembling, every part of him burning white hot over something as simple as the sound of his name spilling from Hux's lips.
Each note echoes low and seductive, accentuated by the gentle drumbeat of fingers on his neck. Hux plucks at the edge of his collar as though finessing a delicate instrument; his hand trails lower, over stiff muscles and skin his teeth had marked, until it locates a vacant spot on his waist. Gripping both sides tightly, he begins to tempt Mitaka with a series of sharp yet shallow thrusts.
"Still enjoying yourself, Mitaka?"
"Ah—yesss—" He chokes attempting to round out the "Sir," unable to comprehend how Hux still has the lung capacity to form complete sentences. "I—oh—" He tries again in vain.
The table rocks back and forth as Hux falls into a steady rhythm, its poor, abused legs creaking in unison with his soft grunts, Mitaka's staccato gasps. Under the graceful guidance of those hips, their symphony continues to intensify, peaking in a deafening squeal once Hux digs his nails into his flesh and starts to pull away—one torturously long slide separating Mitaka from complete emptiness.
Mitaka doesn't think he can whimper any louder, every ounce of breath squandered in his struggle just to keep the head of Hux's cock inside. Its thick, sumptuous ridge tugs teasingly at his swollen rim, and he clenches his cheeks harder in defiance, his desperation turning to sweet relief when Hux takes heed and gradually eases back in. He traces calming lines along the outside of Mitaka's thighs with the tips of his fingers, gives his hip a light pat before clamping down and drawing out halfway, swaying from side to side as if trying to position himself just right.
The first thrust brushes Mitaka's prostate perfectly; the second barrels in with such force, stars seem to explode behind his eyelids. He can taste the tang of metal on his tongue, feels the tingling in his fingertips, the sounds that vibrate deep in his throat as Hux slows to a pleasurable roll—each tiny sensation piling upon the next until they grow too massive for his body to contain. He wishes he could open his mouth to let some of it out, to writhe and shout and throw his head back so Hux knows how amazing it all is. But even the simple task of cracking an eye feels insurmountable, like wrapping his arms around a planet, or trying to number the threads in Hux's trousers while his balls rub up against them. Everything from his knees to his neck, his taint to his leaking tip shivers uncontrollably, the tremors increasing tenfold as Hux gasps something too soft to decipher and quickly loops an arm around his waist.
The sleeve of his uniform shirt rides up over his wrist, flesh and fabric searing a path towards Mitaka's crotch. Mitaka's skin feels sensitive enough to blister, his cock so slick with precome, Hux doesn't need to waste another drop of bacta. He takes him in hand and strokes him slowly from root to tip and then back down again, smearing the mess he'd gathered over his sac and slipping two of his fingers into the space behind it, pressing down hard as he grinds his hips against him. All of a sudden, Mitaka finds the strength to moan again—a real good one, nice and long and loud—and even wiggles his toes a little when Hux starts to increase his pace. As it builds to a punishing drive, he pumps Mitaka faster and faster, though his movements are choppy and irregular. Mitaka can hear him struggling to breathe, listens through his own panting and whimpering for the subtle strain in his voice, the way each syllable seems to stick in his throat when he finally speaks:
"You should know—" he sucks in a quick breath "—next time I plan to take you properly. On a bed—ah—for hours."
Mitaka had been teetering on the edge for most of the night, but it's those very words—that sultry promise of next time—that ultimately do him in. He comes then like he always does: With the sound of Hux's rank in his ears and the smallest trace of guilt coiling in his gut, his tender hole spasming around something that probably had no business being there in the first place. Only this time, the labored wheezing at his back tells him he's not alone.
He twitches in both satisfaction and shame, his aftershocks sweets echoes of all that he'd ever longed for.
Twisting his wrist gently, Hux coaxes the last trickle of spunk from his prick. "Filthy boy," he tuts, and wipes his soiled hand on the inside of Mitaka's thighs.
And then, he does something Mitaka really hadn't been expecting: He bends at the waist and carefully drapes himself over his body.
His chest bears down on his back, chin prodding his shoulder and sweat-damp hairs kissing the exposed skin of his neck. With one hand braced by Mitaka's side and the other still grasping his hip, he proceeds to pound him fast and hard. Relentless. The table wobbles violently beneath them, pushed well beyond its intended use. Mitaka can sympathize with it in a way, his ass sore and overstimulated and incredibly full. But he clutches at Hux nonetheless, crying out in disappointment when he feels his hips stutter and his cock pulse against his rim. Hux signals his completion with a groan and a handful of slow, easy thrusts that eventually stop altogether, until the only movement Mitaka senses is the heaving swell of his chest; the only sound he hears the quiet melody of his gasps. Holding their hips flush, Hux leans in closer and turns his head, the point of his nose brushing Mitaka's earlobe in a soft, affectionate gesture.
Mitaka licks his lips at the taste of Hux's breath on his cheek. It isn't tenderness, he tells himself. The General is just resting for a moment, tired from all his hard work. What other reason would he have for staying like this? After what they'd done—
He opens his eyes and squints through a blinding stream of light. Across from him, a beautifully embroidered First Order tapestry hangs on the wall; an abstract statue gleams beside it, a comfy-looking chair sits with a datapad on its arm. This is not his room. This is not his mattress beneath him, or the wall of his bunk pressed to his back, or even one of his many toys buried deep inside of himself. No matter how he looks at it, this—this—is the reality he's stumbled into.
His body feels like it's been pushed through a sieve and put back together in clumps. His joints ache. His muscles are sore. Insides stuffed to the breaking point. But oh, he would shoulder all the discomfort the galaxy had to offer if it meant they could stay here like this for as long as possible. If Hux never asked him to leave.
He will, though, his common sense reminds him. As soon as Hux recovers, he'll be dismissed, made to hand over his command cylinder and instructed to return to his quarters as discreetly as possible. Told to never speak of this night again. Mitaka doesn't know why that idea hurts so much, but he squeezes tight around the softening cock in his ass, delaying the inevitable for as long as he can.
After another minute spent beneath the heavy beat of his heart, Mitaka feels Hux start to push himself up, though his arm shakes and his hand skids on the table, slick with something Mitaka isn't sure he wants to think about right now. He wedges it between their hips, gripping the base of his shaft as he painstakingly withdraws.
"Hold still, Mitaka. I'll be back in a moment."
Mitaka listens closely as the hurried click of his heels fades into the distance. Though he doesn't think his body presently capable of such an elaborate movement as standing or walking, he counts his exhausted slump as an order obeyed regardless. He flexes his fingers against the tabletop just to prove that he still can, picturing how happy he'd be if he could melt into its surface and become a more permanent fixture in the General's daily life: Naked, sturdy and indispensable.
The thought is so ridiculous, Mitaka would laugh if he could catch his breath. He was but one of many officers on this ship, skilled at following orders and executing his duties with the utmost care and precision. What use would Hux have for him otherwise? He wasn't anything unique or special. Kriff, he can't even manage to hold onto his commander's spend, his loose pucker pushing it out in thick globs that trickle down his thighs. One of them has almost made its way to his knee, when he picks up the sound of Hux's footsteps dashing back across the room.
"I've brought you a clean towel," he says, his voice a touch hoarse, as if he'd been the one screaming all night. Mitaka lets out a tiny grunt and slides his hand from under his chest, but rather than wait for his tired limbs to respond, Hux gingerly lifts the edge of his tunic and begins tidying up himself, wiping at the cooling film of sweat that had formed along his lower back, the trail of lubricant that clings to his spine. He drags soft linen between his cheeks and over his sopping hole and slick perineum, down to the rear of his sack, his inner thighs. Mitaka can feel his prick start to ache again, wanting to swell to fullness under Hux's gentle ministrations.
"Ah—It's alright, Sir," he gasps and quickly reaches behind him, palm held upwards. "I can take care of that."
He hears a quiet hmm, and then Hux pulls his hand from his legs and places the towel in his grasp. Mitaka does his best to ignore the sudden dizziness, the stabbing pain in his extremities as he lifts himself to standing height and mops up what little semen Hux had missed. Once finished, he brings the towel around to his front and dabs at the sticky mess at his crotch, craning his neck to fully assess the situation. There's a large, damp patch staining his shirt just below the belt, and when he carefully bends to pull his trousers on, he can't help but notice how crumpled they are. He smooths them over with his palms, but no matter the number of passes, their disarray stubbornly remains far below what regulation permits. Even so, he thinks he might be able to make it back to his quarters without anyone noticing, if he moves fast enough and takes one of the lesser traveled corridors.
He's still staring blankly at the shambles of his uniform, tracing each wrinkle as though navigating the hazards of his return, when he hears Hux clear his throat behind him.
"Is everything alright? You're awfully quiet."
Mitaka stiffens and rushes to fasten his forgotten fly, finding the job that much harder with a spunk-encrusted towel balled up in one fist. In his search for a fitting place in which he can dispose of it (the thought of returning something so soiled with his shame to Hux's hand simply appalling), Mitaka's gaze chances on two discarded packets of bacta on the floor to his right, torn open and left to glisten in a haphazard arrangement. He swallows and looks to his left, the scene there much neater, a single chair with Hux's gloves laid atop it. No, he can't drop it here; he would never forgive himself. The floor would have to do.
He's halfway towards aiming for the empty bacta packets—best to keep his refuse to a pile, so as not to appear rude—when his eyes lock on the edge of the table in front of him. There, staining the sleek ridge of black and the lip beneath it, is a long streak of dried come. His come.
He frowns at the mark and tosses the towel on the table instead. Hux would probably want to clean the whole thing anyway. Or burn it.
"Sorry, Sir," he mumbles to his creation, "but I seem to have made a mess of your table."
"And I've made a mess of your arse, so I suppose we're even."
Mitaka chuckles along with him, briefly forgetting his budding anxiety and the embarrassing state of his clothing. He fixes his fly, smoothes his tunic and his hair back into place, and turns to Hux.
The General greets him with another warm smile, as he'd done when Mitaka had first entered his quarters, seemingly ages ago. He stands at arm's length, head held high, hands resting comfortably on his hips. He'd long since tucked himself away—to Mitaka's chagrin—his uniform sharp and unwrinkled, and his hair perfectly sculpted. Mitaka would be inclined to believe Hux always looked this tidy, were it not for the uncharacteristically pink shade of his cheeks, or the thin coat of perspiration on his forehead. An almost unnoticeable spot of white mars the bottom hem of his tunic; otherwise, he appears as if nothing at all had transpired between them.
Well aware of how inappropriate he must look with his eyes glued to his superior's crotch, Mitaka hurriedly lifts his gaze, though staring into Hux's face proves equally as uncomfortable. He focuses on the bridge of his nose and tries to return his smile, but his lips feel stiff and unwilling, the voice in his head that tells him he should be grateful for even a moment of Hux's generosity too far-off and insecure. Unable to fight it, and reluctant to let Hux see, he turns to seek refuge in the chaos they'd caused—the stains and the rubbish, the chairs and table knocked askew. On the surface of the latter, he can make out the oily imprint of his cheek, the dried puddle of drool; on the floor past lay his discarded cap, the last shred of his honor resting on its crown beside a glittering constellation of glass. As he glances from one point to the next, he thinks of Hux standing untouched behind him—thinks of his hands, his mouth, the taste of his skin. He thinks of waking tomorrow in his own quarters, of feeling him in his every step, seeing him on the bridge and remembering instantly. Never being able to forget.
He parts his lips and exhales an uneasy sigh.
"Oh, don't fret over it," Hux interjects. "I'll have my droid sweep and scrub everything." He laughs. "I wish I could say the poor thing hasn't seen worse."
Mitaka faces him slowly, hoping the tears that glaze his eyes aren't noticeable.
Head tilted slightly, Hux lets his arms fall to his sides. "Come now, Mitaka, don't look at me like that." His voice titters beneath a nervous chuckle. "It's not as if I make a regular habit of doing this. And certainly never on the supper table."
Whether it had been intended as a joke or condolence or just another reminder of his grand insignificance, once all's said and done Mitaka knows it won't really matter. Everything will eventually melt together and bleed into his brain, slithering up again at 0400, or during his morning shave, his third cup of caf, his recreation time. When he's finally finished second-guessing his actions. When he thinks he can't possibly despise himself any worse.
A small part of him wants to ask Hux if he meant what he'd said in the heat of the moment, about taking him for hours on end. Wants to believe beyond all doubt that he could spend another night in his company, a day, several days. But his mind fears the answer, too selfish to accept anything other than what he'd convinced himself he could never have, the hope that had been fed to him in small, cruel bites.
Sniffling, he straightens his shoulders.
"You're General, Sir," he says, words thick as phlegm and just as uncomfortable to dislodge. "You can do as you please."
The smile that had thrived throughout their encounter begins to flicker like a candle under Mitaka's breath. Hux helps it along by inhaling through his nose, releasing it in a quiet "Well." They stand there staring at each other while the silence unfurls around them. Mitaka counts the passing seconds, the number of times Hux swallows before opening his mouth again.
"While that may be somewhat true…" He briefly glances away. "I hope you didn't feel compelled to indulge me tonight simply because I happen to outrank you."
There's a sadness in his tone that lunges at Mitaka, wrapping its fingers around his throat and squeezing out the words before he can think to stop himself. "What? No, I..."
"You don't need to lie to me, Mitaka," he replies softly. "I—I would have stopped."
The corners of Hux's mouth finally cease their stubborn plight. Gone is the icy glimmer of authority from his eyes, the confidence, the sly sensuality that had dominated the better part of the evening. Everything from his lashes down to his lips seems to twitch and tremble; he presses them tight and blinks a couple times in an attempt to hide it, but Mitaka has seen enough.
Maybe he was right in believing himself undeserving of Hux's companionship. While it's true that Hux may have invited him in, plied him with food and drink and coaxed him into spreading his legs like however many that had come before him, he wasn't truly responsible for this. That blame had always been Mitaka's to bear, from the moment he'd curled up with thoughts of his General and stroked himself until he could think of nothing else. He can't fault Hux for feeling this way. And deep down, he knows he can't continue picking at the scabs in his mind, still hoping that someday they might heal on their own.
He takes a deep breath.
"Sir, I would never—What I mean to say is, tonight was—" A dream come true? The best he'd ever had in his life? "It was wonderful. I—"
He pauses, watches the light dance across Hux's face.
"I enjoy being in your company, Sir. I always have." Another pause, another sharp intake of breath. "And I always will. That is, if you'll have me."
All the stress and anxiety Mitaka had caused himself had been well worth the pain, if only to see that smile creep back in, bright with boundless possibilities. Hux laughs and gives his head a quick shake, locking eyes with him once more before stepping closer. He reaches up and sweeps a loose strand of hair behind Mitaka's ear, his fingertips warm and calming as they curve over his cheek. He thumbs gently at the edge of his lips, until Mitaka finds himself cracking a smile as well.
"In that case," Hux begins, his hand gliding down Mitaka's chest and coming to a close around his waist, "perhaps you'd care to spoil me a bit longer by staying? I've had a cake prepared for the occasion."
"And which occasion would that be, Sir?" Mitaka teases.
Hux leans in, drags his lips toward Mitaka's ear and whispers, "The one where I take my new lover to bed and see how much louder I can make him moan."
"Ah…" He gasps when Hux's fingers tighten and pull him close, his mouth hungrily seeking out that sensitive part of Mitaka's neck again. "I—I think I may be able to oblige you, Sir. In fact, it would be my pleasure."
A curious idea wheedles its way into his head just then. Driving back his hesitation, Mitaka lifts his hand and cautiously brings it up towards Hux's face, surprised when Hux catches his wrist and guides him the rest of the way. He places Mitaka's palm against his cheek and presses gently with his own, holds it there for a breath before allowing his fingers to slip away.
When he draws his head back, Mitaka follows along, drinking in the alluring contrast of dark leather on Hux's pale skin. He grins as he watches Hux lick his lips.
"Good," Hux replies with a smirk. "I'll have you know I've never been one for sweets, though after such an incredible meal, I can't help but find myself craving—"
Kriff, please don't say it.
Mitaka can't recall which of them breaks into laughter first, but he swiftly puts an end to it by burying both hands in Hux's hair and kissing him, Hux's mouth soft and pliant beneath his tongue, as though it had always been waiting for him to make his move. With his beloved General's breath slowly melting past his lips, Mitaka lets go of his doubts and reservations, relinquishing each of the stories he'd created, the images compiled and scenarios amassed—the sum of all he'd come to cherish before he realized what true satisfaction could feel like. One by one, he allows Hux to swallow them down, until nothing remains but a vacant space eager to be filled with new memories and experiences, with cake and conversation, skin blushing on dark sheets, early mornings spent beside the comfort of another.
He smiles to himself and kisses Hux harder.
He'd finally tasted the most delicious thing in the galaxy. And pfassk if he isn't going to savor it until the very last bite.