The bathrooms at First Order Financial are always immaculate.
Hux washes his hands over the marble sink and surveys himself in the mirror. His hair is in place, his tie has the perfect dimple above its knot, and his jacket is cut to subtly highlight the trim tuck of his waist. He buttons it and gives himself a tight, admiring smile. Vanity is a sin common to most with an Air alignment, but Hux has never had much use for sin.
He looks perfect.
He strides back to his office, barking orders at quaking interns and his impassive, dour assistant. He orders an hour of undisturbed time for his spellwork, knowing that nothing short of a global catastrophe will bring Lysa knocking at his door.
This is Hux’s domain. Like his father before him, Hux had presented his Air alignment at an early age and soon thereafter his ability for magica mathematica. He’d been trained since grade school to manipulate his powers over chance and probability, to apply his will to the million moving parts of the financial machine. Control and manipulation, a deft spell on one vulnerable microtransaction, the foresight necessary to usher in a crop shortage or cobalt embargo at precisely the right moment.
Hux closes his eyes and starts his spellwork. Unlike the other alignments, Hux needs no sacred pool of water or circle of rocks or pit of fire to focus his intention. The air itself bends to his will, sending forth gentle threads of coercion and entropy into the aether. Every breath he takes is molded into a subtle inducement for the infinite web of possible events in this and all other realities. He sends a tendril to the vulnerable topsoil of Madagascar, ensuring a run on vanilla, another to the decaying mind of a Georgian mob boss whose grip on the weapons trade is slipping, another to a newly-hired journalist who will expose the child labor practices of a popular shoe company, diverting social media gold to a company with equally deplorable labor standards but much better PR.
Hux is good at what he does. He wraps up his work with the satisfaction of someone who gets to play God and gets paid richly for it.
Research is the backbone of all he does. Hux has a staff of groomed information mages, mostly Waters who can swim through the tiresome ocean of social media and the news outlets to keep him informed of every subtle current that can affect the fortunes he holds in his hand.
He heads to the breakroom for a LaCroix. It’s good for morale to mingle with the hoi polloi from time to time. He has his hand on the door when he hears voices. He hangs back and peers in through the glass panel.
“So, who do you think is going to get the new Asia promotion?”
Hux pegs one of them as a Water from his easy smile, while the other one is definitely an Earth. They’re always so drab.
“I hear Phasma’s got a dark arcana guy, if you know what I mean.” The Earth gives a knowing wink and mimes a crude sex act. As if Phasma would ever.
“No way, she’s working with a sex wizard?”
“That’s what I heard. That’s why she keeps getting promoted, no one can say no to her.”
The Water rolls his eyes.
“It’s definitely going to be Tarkin. Dude, they call him The Undertaker for a reason.”
“That guy gives me the creeps.”
Their inane gossip continues as Hux stalks back to his office.
That promotion is his. Snoke had as much as promised him Asia at his last review. He’d earned it a dozen times over.
A sex wizard. Preposterous. Aside from being illegal, most of them are worthless hustlers who can’t live up to their promises. There’s no way Phasma had found a dark arcana practitioner who was insane enough to have sex with her.
But if she had …
Hux frowns. He’d already picked out a lovely pied-à-terre in Kuala Lumpur.
With a resigned sigh, Hux swipes his phone open and texts the single shadiest person he knows. If anyone can find him an illegal mage, it’s his college roommate.
Poe’s voice rings out over the din of a bar Hux would never set foot in by choice. The décor falls somewhere between a Mexican wrestling match and an old-school Sixth Street Indian restaurant. There’s an old jukebox covered in mismatched rhinestones in one corner and the whole place is lit with a garish rainbow of string lights. A trio of waifish girls bob their shaved heads in time with what Hux could best describe as synth music accompanied by an exceptionally bored she-goat. He makes his way past a junkyard of chairs and oddly-sized tables, eyeing tall pitchers of acrid-smelling craft brew. He throws out a small vein of magic to ensure none of them will accidentally spill on his suit.
One of the bald girls, definitely a Fire, looks him up and down, narrowing her eyes at his trim, charcoal-grey suit, immaculate white shirt, and slim tie. She curls her purple-stained lip at him.
“Think you’re lost, Wall Street.”
Hux wrinkles his nose.
“Long time no see.”
Poe springs up from his seat beneath an array of luchador masks. Hux endures one of his signature, back-slapping hugs in silence. Waters are always so goddamn touchy.
Hux perches on the edge of the cleanest looking chair as Poe settles back down between the two spouse-comrades or whatever the fuck they’re called flanking his side.
“I’m sure you remember Finn.”
Hux had “regretfully” declined an invitation to whatever a “polyquad mutual commitment ceremony” is. He wouldn’t have attended anyway, but the box to “pick your own yurt partners or let us select them for you!” would have settled it even if the dinner options of “vegan”, “raw-vegan”, “grain-free”, or “warrior” hadn’t.
Finn’s as Earth as they come, solid and quiet and soft around the eyes. He gives Hux a nod and nothing else. Their single conversation at Poe’s last birthday party had turned vitriolic when Finn had declared that all Pharma corps should be not-for-profit.
“There are years of spell-work that go into those drugs. You want to see hordes of moleculars unemployed?” Hux’s point had been perfectly reasonable, unlike Finn’s endless tirade about how we should all be selfless martyrs who tap our own veins for every junkie with Fire-sensitive Hep. Idiot.
Like everyone who can afford a heavy conscience, Finn is loaded. A stereotypical Earth, Finn’s an empath with a strong vein of healing and communication. He’d used his abilities (middling ones, in Hux’s opinion) and some admittedly prescient engineering skill to make a fortune with SafeSwap, and he’s been giving it away to various absurd charities as fast as he can pick up “partners.”
Even Hux has to admit it’s a brilliant platform. One needle prick and you can vouch for the disease, drug, and dark aracana blood load of any prospective intimate partner. The CDC has credited Finn with virtually eliminating a host of sexually and magically transmitted diseases, and slowing the spread of the ones they still haven’t cured. Hux has used it before every sexual encounter he’s had for the past four years. It’s the second most-used app on his phone.
“I don’t believe you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Rose yet.”
Hux’s elemental alignment tends to fall into two camps. Many, like him, are refined, elegant, witty, stylish, and possessed of a natural gravitas. Others are better known for being bubbly, quick to laugh, demonstrative in their affection, as flaky as they are charming, and prone to excessive smiling.
Rose is the latter type of Air.
“Hi! Poe has told me so many good college stories about you.”
Hux aborts her effort at a hug with an extended hand. She laughs when she shakes it.
“Is it really true you hexed all the toilets in the Princeton dorms?”
Poe snorts and even Hux has to smile at the memory. All machinery is bound to fail at some point. He’d just nudged the ancient plumbing in the right direction.
“A little intercollegial competition keeps things interesting.”
College had been far too social for Hux, but he does miss the view in the Yale lacrosse locker rooms.
“You should have seen this guy on goalie. Anything that didn’t bounce off the frame went right into his net.”
“Helps to have a stats fairy on your team,” Finn mumbles into his beer.
Hux would have bristled at the insult when he was a child. It’s not his fault he’s delicate, beautiful, and capable of manipulating complex mathematical time-schema with his mind. Finn is a jealous earthworm who can’t even enjoy his own money.
“Can you still do the splits like you used to?”
Poe arches one eyebrow and grins into his painfully hoppy beer.
Hux looks Finn dead in the eye and vividly re-imagines the one and only time he and Poe had fucked, after a disastrous night of adulterated cloud coke and too many shots of home-brewed grappa from some shady Water who’d been giving Poe her metaphysics notes. Finn scowls. Anyone in a ten-foot radius with a drop of empath can feel Hux doing a perfect split on his husband’s dick.
Poe has more than a drop of empath. Like every Water, Poe is a ten-pound mess of emotional garbage stuffed into a five-pound sack of sex appeal. He has some of the strongest targeted charm magic Hux has ever seen, and he wastes every drop of it running some painfully sincere shoe company that donates a pair of sandals to indigent Namibian empaths for every pair of atrociously ugly sneakers he sells. He gives Hux an indulgent frown and puts a reassuring hand on Finn’s massive thigh.
“I’m flattered you missed me, roomie, but I can’t imagine you came all the way to Bushwick just to say hello.”
“As … charming as this place is, I did have a question for you, Poe.”
Hux waits for Finn and Rose to give them some privacy. Instead, the three of them stare back at him expectantly.
“This is my fam, Hugs, anything you say to me you say to them.”
Hux glances around at their compatriots at the bar. Everyone seems too involved in their own shady shit to give Hux much mind. They make Poe and his multisexual disaster harem look downright wholesome.
“I’m looking to hire someone with … special skills.”
Hux swallows, bristling under Finn’s amused gaze.
“Look, Hugstable, if you’re trying to score some more cloud coke, I told you I’m not dealing anymore.”
Poe leans over before Hux can register a protest.
“But I can get you some from a friend, I know how you Airs love that shit.”
Rose’s eyes go wide as she nods enthusiastically.
“I’m not, good Mother, Poe, I don’t need cocaine.”
Rose looks mildly disappointed.
“I can get plenty of that at work.”
“Great, so you’re all high while you get rich off the backs of child slave labor.”
Finn slumps back against their booth and gives Hux a dirty look.
“Is he always this fun?” Hux’s smile is all teeth.
Poe gives him a curt look and puts a hand on Rose’s arm. She takes a deep breath and settles back against Poe’s side. It must be exhausting to manage this many headstrong children, and the third one isn’t even here.
“I need someone who can do spell work of an … intimate nature,” Hux says, willing his eyes not to dart to the floor.
“So go get a rentboy, I hear all the good ones are in Hell’s Kitchen these days.”
Poe’s eye gleam with amusement. Asshole. He knows exactly what Hux means.
“You can probably get those at work, too, huh?” Finn adds, his smile waspish on his admittedly beautiful lips.
“Looking for a job, Finn? I know a woman who would adore you.”
Hux viciously imagines all nineteen feet of Phasma lining a huge strapon up behind a restrained Finn. Finn doesn’t look nearly as horrified as he’d hoped.
“Finn doesn’t need any more adoring women in his life. His come for free.”
Hux has to give Rose credit for her sass if nothing else. There’s a quick mind behind that sweet face. She’s definitely a mechanical of some kind, or maybe a codebreaker? She holds his gaze with steady, keen intelligence, waiting for his response. She’s probably sharp as a serpent’s tooth on the rare occasions she gets pissed.
“Nor do I. I need someone who can do sex magic, so can you help me or not?”
Hux is always sharp.
“Sex magic is illegal under the Dark Arcana Codex and punishable by a minimum of twenty years in prison or complete conscription of all magical ability.”
Every hair on Hux’s neck stands up at the clipped voice behind him.
Rey whisks past him, wearing her usual unfortunate assortment of thrift store mistakes and sensible shoes.
“Hello, darlings, I’m sorry I’m late.”
Finn, Poe, and Rose all sigh some version of “Hi, Rey,” at the same time like a goddamn chorus. Hux had always assumed Poe was the lynchpin of this farcical relationship but he’s not so sure. Rey gives them each a kiss before spinning a chair around and sitting astride it, her legs wide and her eyes alight with disdain as she looks Hux up and down like she’s assessing him for weak spots. Fucking Fires.
“Hugsy here’s looking for a sex wizard.”
Poe is enjoying this far too much.
“I’m looking for a good sex wizard.”
Hux wouldn’t mind a drink right now, if anything in this bar were worth the calories. He sighs.
“I’m up for a promotion at work that means a great deal to me. I figured Poe or at least one of you would have a connection. I know you keep your belly close enough to the ground, Rey.”
It’s an unkind dig but true. Rey had gotten tangled up in some dark arts legal trouble a while back. The only reason she’s sitting at their table and not rotting in some Ars Magica prison cell is because of Hux’s generous help with certain professional connections.
Favors owed are rarely a bad investment.
“I have some skills in that arena.”
Rey slants her fox-eyes over at Hux. Not only is she an impetuous social justice warrior with terrible taste in clothes, Rey is a multivalent. While most people roaming the earth have one magical ability under their elemental alignment, a smaller few have multiple powers. Rey’s strongest power is in martials but she’s also a telekinetic, an empath, an influencer, an engineer, and Hux is direly suspicious that she’s mildly telepathic as well. She’s one of the most powerful MVs he’s ever met.
“It’s an aspect of martial magic, for some of us.”
Hux would snap her neck as soon as look at her, but she must be fantastic in bed.
“Even if I wanted to help you, which I don’t, I couldn’t. I’m a lesbian.”
Hux can’t be blamed for the baleful look he gives Poe and Finn. Finn’s jaw juts out until Poe squeezes his shoulder and looks daggers at Hux.
“Rey and I have a romantic asexual partnership.”
He and Rey share a glance so respectful and adoring it makes Hux want to run home and watch the most degrading, disgusting pornography hidden in the bowels of his computer.
“And Finn is bigender.”
Poe looks at him like he’s retarded.
“I fuck everyone,” Rose offers with a shrug, to nods of agreement and appreciation from everyone except Hux.
“I don’t care if you all keep a horse in that goddamn squat-house of yours and take turns fucking it. Do you know someone?”
Hux could be having a glass of wine in the comfort of his own loft and the company of his cat, like a human being. Rey drums her fingers over the back of the chair.
“Are you going to hurt any innocent people?”
Hux genuinely laughs at that.
“I am competing against a woman who would strangle an infant to get a better table at Le Cirque and a man who I am almost certain is a necromancer.”
Rey nods and pulls her phone out of her pocket.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Rose, darling, do you have a pen?”
She grabs a bar napkin and scribbles down a name and the handle for a third-party messaging service.
Finn glances at the name before Hux snatches it up.
Kylo. @ren77. Hux tucks it neatly into his pocket.
“Hugaboo, best of luck out there.”
Poe is at least prevented from inflicting another hug on him when Rose and Finn don’t get up to say their goodbyes.
“Thank you, Rey.”
“You’re welcome, Hux. I hope you get exactly what you’re looking for.”
She tilts her head at him.
“And tell him Rey sent you. I think you two will get along famously.”
Hux is on edge at work. He makes his assistant fix his matcha twice and fires someone just for fun.
He decides to text Kylo right before his barre class. Sex mage or not, it’s never bad to leave a man on read for a while.
finalux: I’d like to discuss hiring you
finalux: Rey sent me
He stretches and huffs his way through his workout, complimented on his good form as always. He towels off and takes a deep breath once he’s dressed again, relishing the good clean burn of a thorough workout. His good mood stumbles a bit when he checks his phone.
ren77: top or bottom?
Well, that’s. Forward. Hux is halfway through typing “verse” when another message pops up.
ren77: if you say verse this is over
Hux does have a solid preference if he’s being honest.
ren77: I don’t do virgins, cops, or closet cases
finalux: I’m certainly none of those things
As far as exclusionary lists go, it’s not a bad one. Hux has no desire to traffic with anyone who falls under that umbrella himself.
ren77: I need a pic and Swap#
Hux can’t blame him for asking. At least he has some standards.
The irony of using Finn’s app isn’t lost on him. In addition to being 99.99% accurate, it’s completely encrypted, untraceable, and unhackable. Hux should know. He’s had entire teams trying to dismantle and steal the source magic for years with no success.
Hux happens to know that the gym foyer has excellent lighting. He fixes his hair and takes a picture from his best angle. He sends it along with a screenshot of his Swap disease, drug, and dark arts stats: 0Di, 0Dr, 0DA. Hux is as clean as a newborn.
ren77: very good
finalux: I’d like the same in return
A moment later Hux’s phone buzzes with a snapshot: 0Di, 1Dr(marijuana, 0.25), 18DA. Eighteen? Hux didn’t know it even registered above 10. This guy must be doing some nasty spellwork or some truly amazing dark arcana drugs. He’d tested himself after one bump of cloud coke and it had been a 4. His phone buzzes again and he stops mid-step. He’s not sure what he was expecting but it wasn’t this.
He’s handsome in a way that gives Hux pause before assigning that word. Striking? Strange? He has features a painter would love, all angles and sharp edges, a messy mane of jet black hair. A Modigliani come to life.
finalux: that’s acceptable
ren77: glad I’m acceptable
Hux smirks. It never hurts to remind someone who the paying customer is.
ren77: we do this 3 days before you need it
finalux: Saturday, then
ren77: 7, my place, 5 grand, cash
The next text is an address in Williamsburg and one word, “hydrate”. Doesn’t anyone live in Manhattan anymore?
ren77: plan on taking the next day off
Hux rolls his eyes. He’s heard that promise before.
“What does one wear when seeing a sex wizard?”
Millie blinks at him, unimpressed as always. She bristles her perfectly sunset-hued neck and stalks off to mime torturing one of her Philippe Starck toys. His darling.
Hux’s closet is a softly-lit haven of muted grays and stark blacks. He doesn’t need anything competing with his hair. His whole apartment is monochrome, white brick walls and black lacquer cabinets, dove grey furniture and slick photography on his walls. He owns an original Mapplethorpe. Millie is all the color his home needs.
He picks a pair of black jeans that can only be washed with Air-sensitive molecular magic and cost more than his cleaning man made in a month, a simple white undershirt of indulgently smooth ozone-treated Egyptian cotton, and a pale gray cashmere sweater that makes his eyes look extra crisp. There’d been some protests about the way the animals were shorn or the living conditions of the workers or some nonsense, driving up the price and pocketing a cool million for Hux on a short sell. It’s divinely soft.
He opts for simple black boxer briefs, cut high on the thigh and low on the waist. He knows his best assets.
He throws a miniscule vein of magic at his kettle to make sure it’s at the right temperature. He likes his tarine the way it was intended – scalding hot and acrid to the tongue. His stomach gives a mild protest at the sharp smell. He hasn’t eaten solid food in two days. No one can accuse him of poor preparation.
He notes the time and starts his home away ritual. He wanders through his loft, spreading a tapestry of spellwork from the soaring ceilings to the endangered blackwood floors, seeping into the thermosensitive plumbing and the heuristic air filters that read his moods. Millie’s bowl overflows with imported cat snacks and the discreet water fountains in every room bubble softly for her fussy palate.
Hux chuckles and dims the lights with a swift flick of his finger.
His uber drops him off outside a nondescript warehouse on the outskirts of Williamsburg.
He double-checks the address on his phone. He’s in the right place, but he’s not about to knock on the giant, graffiti-scrawled garage door facing him. Hux frowns and turns up the collar of his coat.
There’s a door around the corner that has no number, no light, and one single cracked bell over an ancient intercom. Hux buzzes it, fiercely, vowing to leave if it’s not answered in one minute.
One minute and fifteen seconds later the door cracks open, revealing a slice of aquiline nose and a mouth that’s even more luscious in person.
“Good evening,” Hux says.
He instantly regrets how formal he sounds. It’s a strange tension in his chest, a nervous sort of excitement he tamps down the second he recognizes it.
Kylo, no mistaking him, opens the door full swing, leaning on the door frame and stretching one long arm out to occupy the entire span of the doorway. The dim light eking its way from the hall fixture is almost blocked out by the massive span of his back, the effect heightened by the oversize black hoodie covering his forehead. Skinny black jeans hang off his hips, leaving a swathe of shadowed, bare skin under the hem of an ancient-looking Joy Division shirt.
At least he doesn’t have terrible taste in music.
Hux is paying this complete stranger for sex, so he has no compunction about staring at the trail of dark hair snaking its way down from his navel. Hux licks his lips as his eyes trail down, and what was that saying of Poe’s? Thick thighs save lives?
He’s barefoot. On the stairs .
Hux is not a small man. He keeps himself slender, yes, but he’s 6’1” and has impeccable posture. Kylo looms over him with at least an inch on him, maybe more, drawing Hux’s eyes back up to find two liquid-black pools blinking at him.
“And you are …?”
Kylo’s right eyebrow has a slash running through it. It inches up as his lips purse in amusement.
“Hux,” he says dryly, drawing out a disdainful sibilant. He’s not here to flirt.
“Which you already knew.”
His SwapStats clearly state his first and last name, the mortification of which is a small price to pay for reassurance that the dick he’s about to pay for isn’t brimming with latent Air-sensitive chlamydia, even if it does like smoking weed.
“Are you going to invite me in, or are we fucking on your doorstep?”
Kylo looks him up and down before shaking his head.
“I like you.”
Down a long hallway lit with ghastly fluorescent lights and sporting the latest in “dive bar bathroom” décor, Kylo leads him around a corner and into an enormous, open space. They must be on the other side of the garage door.
The propped-open muscle car surrounded by mechanic’s tools, he could have expected. The long table piled with what could be welding equipment is also fairly in keeping.
The plants stop him in his tracks.
They’re everywhere. Spilling out from every shelf and surface, tucked under humming lights or glistening in the shadows, there’s so much riotous green Hux can barely find a place for his eyes to rest. The hothouse smell of them creeps into his nostrils, moist and not unpleasant. In the way of polarized alignments, the Earth energy dripping from every inch of this place makes Hux feel phenomenally unsettled and categorically aroused all at once.
Hux raises an eyebrow at the recognizable cluster of marijuana plants sitting toastily under a heat lamp. The emerald crystals glinting off every leaf’s surface are no act of nature. Poe would faint if he saw these. More plants inch toward the light, hollow things that look strangely hungry, veins throbbing softly.
“You want to smoke first, just let me know,” Kylo says, somewhere behind him.
“I’m quite alright.”
As if he’d take a hit off some Earth-laden bong.
Hux wanders over to a table in relative shadow. Staggered between filthy glassware and far too many antlers are mounds of crystal, glinting in blackened shades of green and red and smoky grey. This is hardly Hux’s element but even the air around them seems to hum, bidding him to touch and turning his skin to ice. They cluster onto every surface, hugging glass and root and good Mother, is that a femur?
Hux is too self-contained to jump at Kylo’s voice in his ear but his teeth still click together. He turns, a million questions on his tongue dying the second he sees Kylo.
He’s imposing even without the sweatshirt, shrouding Hux’s space with the sheer size of him, but it’s his skin that chokes off Hux’s voice. He’s covered in tattoos, running from his knuckles to disappear into the sleeves of his t-shirt. Whorls of black interlock in complex patterns of runes and sigils, and Hux doesn’t need to let out a slip of magic to feel that not a one of them is decorative. The power reserve in one of his elbows is enough to make Hux’s neck itch.
They’re not illegal, precisely, just what his father would have sneered at and called street magic. Lazy, crude, lacking the refinement and finesse he’d beaten into Hux from childhood. It’s a trick for martials and mech grunts. Rumor has it they’re extraordinarily painful and take months to heal. He’s never seen more than a handful on one person. Judging by the tendrils of black curling up the sides of Kylo’s neck, he’s covered in them.
They’re not unbecoming on him.
“You need some water.”
Kylo leads him into something resembling a living area, although there’s really no clear delineation between workspace and domesticity. Hux would pluck his eyes out if he lived like this. The wide open floor plan is fine, but there’s no order to the endless mountains of stuff everywhere. The walls that aren’t painted black are covered with unsettling paintings, old concert posters, more fucking plants, an entire wall of terrifying masks that Hux would be thrilled to never see again.
“I’m well hydrated, don’t fear.”
Kylo’s bookshelves are a cataloguing nightmare. Vonnegut is stacked on top of a cracked selection of Warren Ellis graphic novels, wedged in between the Redneck Manifesto and a biography of Jack Parsons. Classic works on elemental alignment are shelved with The Little Prince and banned arcana tomes that Hux has never seen with his own eyes. A worn copy of Little Women leans against the ominous-sounding City of the Broken Dolls and a manual on small game taxidermy. There are crystals and skulls and driftwood and a charnel house of bones and feathers crammed into every nook and cranny and Hux is fairly sure that’s moss growing down the far side of the last one.
Kylo presses a glass of water into his hand and takes Hux’s coat. He tosses it over a brass coat rack that’s teeming with enough leather jackets to outfit a biker gang.
“So, is this your first time?” Kylo asks.
“What, fucking a stranger in some derelict hipster mancave? I thought you said no virgins,” Hux says tartly.
Kylo’s quite handsome when he smiles.
“You just here to get fucked, Hux?”
“I’m here to get my money’s worth.”
Hux snakes out a vein of magic to bring his water to the correct temperature and send a chill across Kylo’s skin. He takes a sip of water and strides over to the coat rack, pulling Kylo’s payment out of his pocket. He tosses it at Kylo before settling on the ancient, oak-brown Chesterfield sofa perched between the kitchen area and what’s either a dining table or a plant hospital.
“Non-sequential bills,” Kylo whistles, shaking his head.
“I love you money mages.”
Hux kicks off his shoes and tucks one leg into his lap. He’s not here to seduce anyone but he still finds himself giving Kylo a long, easy look.
Kylo leafs through his money one last time before setting it on an overcrowded coffee table.
“Since you’re the expert, I don’t need to tell you how this works.”
Hux hopes his swallow isn’t audible when Kylo pulls his t-shirt off. His chest – which, Sweet Mother, he could probably bench press one Hux in either hand – is just as covered as his arms. The runes swirling over his pecs interlock and repeat so many times they’re as much scar tissue as black. They thin out towards his ribs, trailing off into a pattern of sacred knots and call signs Hux dimly recognizes from some high school magical theory class.
“A refresher wouldn’t be in vain.”
Kylo gives good eyebrow. He tosses his shirt on the floor (of course he does) before getting a pitcher of water and a glass for himself from the disaster zone of his kitchen. Hux’s watersports joke dies as he takes in Kylo’s back view. Spanning the considerable breadth of his skin is another tattoo, strikingly different from the others dotting his skin but no less powerful. It’s some kind of mask, unlike any Hux has ever seen. Pale strips of skin highlight the arched curve of the nose, and the eye holes stare back at him in stippled emptiness. It’s chilling.
Hux swallows and exerts his familiar iron grip on his composure. If that dreadful face is meant to intimidate, the last thing Hux is going to do is let it work.
“Just so I know we’re on the same page,” Hux adds.
Kylo joins him on the couch.
“First of all, I still haven’t agreed to work with you,” Kylo says. He looks entirely too pleased when Hux’s eyes widen.
“I don’t do this unless we’re compatible, money or no.”
“You seem like a man of taste, Hux, I’m sure you can understand.”
“And how do we know if we’re … compatible?”
First of all, no one turns Armitage Hux down, not for love nor money. Second of all, this may be Hux’s first stroll down sex magic lane but he knows when a man wants inside him. Kylo wants to fuck him. He definitely does.
Kylo smiles, letting his tongue run over his lower lip while he sizes Hux up. Hux is overdressed in his sweater and suddenly, keenly aware of how warm it is in here.
“I need to see into you.”
“Afraid I left my last CAT scan at home,” Hux quips, because he’s a quipper when he’s startled. Telepaths have always made him nervous. It’s unseemly to have someone rooting around in your head, digging for things better left hidden. He hadn’t even entertained the possibility that Kylo would have that kind of power. He’d assumed Kylo’s ability was transmutative in nature, unless …
“You’re an MV.”
Kylo inches closer to him, his eyes swimming with inky interest.
Kylo holds his glass up, keeping Hux’s gaze as the water pitcher rises smoothly into the air and tops both their glasses off. Great. Telepathy and telekinesis.
“Couldn’t have left some for the rest of us?”
“You let me in, or this doesn’t happen.”
Kylo turns to him, his eyes tracking the tiniest tremor on Hux’s lips.
“I could force you. I don’t need your permission.”
He drags his index finger down Hux’s cheekbone, blinking lazily. It’s indescribable, that jolt of feeling as Kylo pries at his mind, sends out a tendril of magic to lick at parts of him that have never been touched.
“But it’s so much easier when you let it happen. For both of us.”
The sensation recedes and Hux turns his face.
“That’s a wretched condition,” Hux says, scowling.
Kylo strokes his other cheek.
“Whatever I find in there won’t shock me, I promise you.”
Hux’s eyelashes flutter shut as Kylo continues to stroke his cheek. It should feel terrible, this menacing intrusion into his privacy. He should leave, now.
“Besides, we’re both committing a felony; it’s not like I’m going to call the cops on you.”
Hux bites his lip, strangely soothed by this reminder that he’s here to do bad things. Fuck this guy with his impossibly huge hands and that mouth . Let him see.
Kylo smiles, slowly, letting it spread his face into something different, hungry. An image of those curious, throbbing plants flashes in his mind. Hux shifts, willing his dick not to get hard yet.
“Take this off.”
He flicks the collar of Hux’s sweater.
Hux stands, relishing the return to personal space and the opportunity to make Kylo watch. He takes his time, removing one sleeve at a time, savoring the way Kylo licks his lips and shifts from his place on the couch. Hux folds his sweater neatly and lays it on the nearest flat surface that seems devoid of anything too sticky.
From Kylo’s easy sprawl on the couch, he can only mean his lap. Let him wait. Hux pulls his t-shirt over his head, lets it drag against his skin as slowly as he can. Kylo hums his approval.
Hux stands before him, spreading his legs to line his feet up with Kylo’s (which, incidentally, have no business being that large). He leans forward, bringing his hands to rest on Kylo’s chest, where he’s warm and muscled and even Hux’s hands look small. He bends one leg and plants his knee next to Kylo’s thigh, takes his sweet time bringing the other one up to join.
Kylo hisses through his teeth when Hux settles down on him. So much for not getting hard yet.
One of those huge hands comes up to Hux’s face. His fingers push into Hux’s hair, while his thumb rests on Hux’s forehead. That strange pressure returns, an itch behind his ears as Kylo seeps into his mind.
“I don’t just see what you’re thinking. I can feel it, too.”
Hux circles his hips, just enough to feel the bare stir of Kylo’s cock under him. That will do nicely.
“Think of the last time you felt pleasure.”
Hux’s weekly Reiki massage had left him feeling boneless and carefree.
“Something a little more … carnal.”
Kylo’s thumb drags down his forehead, along the bridge of his nose, skipping a beat as it presses into the cupid’s bow of his upper lip. Carnal. The last truly decent orgasm Hux had enjoyed had involved an indulgent night at home with a bottle of Veuve and three of his biggest Bad Dragon toys. Time is a greater luxury than money, and the hours he’d spent fucking himself open on that fat purple one had been an indulgence indeed. He conjures up the shuddering orgasm he’d finally allowed himself, laughing a little at the memory of Millie making her discontent at his lack of attention known right after he’d climaxed.
“Wow, dude,” Kylo says, his voice flat.
Hux hadn’t realized his eyes were closed. Kylo is giving him a look somewhere between pity and scorn.
“Kitty cat and a bag of dicks, that’s the best you can do? That’s rough.”
Kylo shakes his head and circles his thumb over Hux’s lip.
“You fucking Airs are always in your heads,” Kylo says, rolling his eyes.
“When was the last time you got fucked so hard you couldn’t think straight? When all you could do was hold on and feel your body and surrender to it?”
There’d been a Russian artist a few months ago, with big hands and an extremely generous tongue. Hux tries to summon up the pleasing curve of his cock, the way he’d worshipped Hux’s neck.
So hard you couldn’t think straight.
With a turn of his empty stomach Hux is half his size, a bony high school sophomore with a snarl on his face and two Columbia freshman on either side of him. He’d snuck into the city to see his cousin, not out of any familial sentiment. He’d wanted to go to a college party with college boys and their big, college bodies, not the closet case seniors and creepy married men he’d been working his way through in Darien. He’d found them, two Water roommates who’d taken his slightly inebriated self back to their room and used him so hard Hux couldn’t walk right for a week.
It had been horrible. Their sheets were disgusting and they were both Literature majors. They’d passed him back and forth between them like he wasn’t even there. It had been humiliating and degrading and disgusting and for fuck’s sake, they were Columbia students. Hux has standards. It had also been the first time Hux had come without a hand on his dick.
“There it is.”
Kylo’s eyes are alight when he swims back into Hux’s view. Furious, completely naked despite his pants still being squarely on, Hux rears back from Kylo’s touch only to find his hand unmoving.
“I was a teenager,” Hux spits, his lip dragging against Kylo’s thumb. His hand is so warm.
“You liked the way those boys used you. The way they traded you back and forth, how full and sore and sick it made you.”
Kylo nods even as Hux summons the words to tell him to go fuck himself. He drags his finger down Hux’s lip, digging into the fat swell of his bottom lip. His mind hums against Kylo’s intrusion.
“You fucked yourself afterwards, almost got your whole hand in. Impressive,” Kylo says, raising his eyebrows and smiling.
The blush spreading across Hux’s face is almost as hot as Kylo’s hand.
“This is going to be fun,” Kylo says, pushing his thumb down until Hux’s lower lip is almost folded in half.
Hux turns, chasing it, sucks it between his lips. Kylo’s head falls back against the curved frame of the sofa, tendrils of black hair escaping the sloppy bun at his crown. Hux slips the tip of his tongue across Kylo’s thumb, tracing over the lines of his fingerprint, willing a vein of magic to leave a cold trail in his wake.
Kylo bucks up into him when Hux bites sharply.
Hux doesn’t know what he’s expecting but it’s not winding up on his back so fast his head spins.
The leather of Kylo’s couch is warm against his back but it’s cool compared to the thrumming press of Kylo on top of him. Kylo’s bare chest hums with energy everywhere it presses against him.
“Does this mean we’re compatible?”
Kylo’s hair falls around his face, framing him in black. It looks greasy, like Kylo couldn’t accurately recall the last time he properly washed it, but it feels soft where it brushes against Hux’s face.
He smells so fucking good.
Kylo doesn’t answer him, just slots his palm against the curve of Hux’s jaw and tilts his head back. He licks a stripe up Hux’s neck, disgusting and animal and it makes every inch of Hux’s body clench.
“How do you do it?”
It’s not like Hux had been able to google “how to do sex magic.” The Magical Surveillance Association looks closely enough at his internet activity as is.
It’s incredibly hard to listen to Kylo’s voice when he’s doing that to Hux’s neck.
“Sex generates a tremendous amount of psychic energy. Especially …”
Kylo shifts on top of him, dragging a sweep of pulsing energy over Hux’s stomach.
“I don’t need a lecture on energy theory, thank you.”
Hux doesn’t miss Kylo’s pleased hum as he aggressively thinks do that again .
“Every alignment does it differently. I trap all that energy and save it in an unstable reserve that can be tapped. And if I’m feeling very, very generous, I can lace it with enough spellwork to get you pretty much whatever you want once you unleash it.”
“Shouldn’t you be ruling the world, then?”
“Who says I’m not?”
Hux rolls his eyes.
“Believe me, I’d know.”
Kylo shifts again, rolling his hips to brush enough of his dick against Hux that he wouldn’t need any telepathic skill to hear the full-body moan Hux tamps down inside himself.
“What do you use? As your … conduit.”
“Haven’t you guessed?”
A subtle shift in the air sparks Hux’s sensitivity. He follows the tug of it to the left of Kylo’s face, where a shard of pitch-black crystal hovers in the air. It’s as slim and sharp as a needle, glinting in the light as Kylo reaches out for it.
“Kyber,” Hux whispers.
Hux goes rigid as Kylo expertly pincer-holds the crystal between his thumb and forefinger.
“I make them myself, with seeds from a mother crystal and my own bl –”
“I don’t need to know.”
What must this look like from the outside, this mess of dread and arousal and anticipation whirling inside him? Hux can’t take his eyes off the crystal, even when Kylo grinds into him, shamelessly hard. The air shimmers around it, tickling at Hux’s sensitivity until Kylo’s weight on top of him is oppressive. He can’t breathe.
“I’m going to reach into your mind and ferret out every pleasure center in your body. I’m going to pierce these into your flesh and use them to corral every drop of pleasure we feel. I’m going to make you come so hard you black out, then I’m going to do it again and again until you have nothing left to give me, and then I’m going to channel it all into a conduit for your own use as you see fit.”
Hux wraps his legs around Kylo’s waist and squeezes until Kylo’s lip tugs up in a sneer. He’s not the top bitch in his Air Barre class for nothing.
“Do it, then.”
Hux is not the slip of a thing he was when he was in high school. Kylo still picks him up like he’s back in that filthy Columbia dorm room and doesn’t have thighs strong enough to strangle a man.
Kylo’s bed is tucked behind another bank of bookcases. Plants flourish around the entire periphery, a rainbow of rich greens against the tousled ivory of his sheets. Hux swallows against Kylo’s shoulder, his face buzzing with the energy from the raised, tripartite anchoring sigil on Kylo’s skin. Those sheets must be filthy.
Hux lands with a bounce when Kylo dumps him unceremoniously on the bed. What is this, 300 thread count cotton? His floors are scrubbed with better material than this. It grates against his back when Kylo rips open the fly of his jeans and pulls them off his legs like he has a personal vendetta against artisanal denim. Hux gets dragged down the bed along with the last inches of his pants.
Shamefully, all Hux can do is turn his head and breathe in the rich, heady scent of Kylo all around him. It’s intoxicating, this synesthetic sense of a green so dark it’s nearly black, a resinous pitch that envelops everything in its path.
“Look at you.”
Fixed in the amber encroachment of Kylo’s element, Hux finds himself unable to even squirm in his boxer briefs as Kylo takes in every pale, toned inch of him.
“Your skin is perfect.”
Hux pays good money to have the city’s best Water molecular exfoliate him to the brink of pain. He uses Crème de Mer on his entire body. Of course it’s perfect.
“Alabaster,” Kylo whispers, his hands sliding down Hux’s ribs to tuck into the waistband of his underwear. The span of his curled hands almost blocks out Hux’s entire waist. The runes on his knuckles flex, rippling a language that Hux is grateful not to recognize.
Lost in a forest so dense he can’t see the sky, Hux has the perverse, thrilling thought of those are going inside me.
Kylo smirks and tugs Hux’s shorts down.
Kylo’s lips tug against the crease of his thigh as he nuzzles into Hux’s architecturally-trimmed pubic hair. He breathes Hux in so hard Hux can feel it, skating over his skin and making his dick jump while Kylo scents him like a beast. Good Mother, who does that?
“You’re so … clean.”
Kylo licks his lips, pulls Hux’s shorts off and lets them land where they may on his bed.
His fingers burn a stripe from Hux’s hipbone to his neck.
“I never want to see you like this again.”
He grabs Hux under his jaw, hard enough to make Hux moan out loud as his dick gives a traitorous leap against his stomach.
“I bruise easily,” Hux says.
It’s a challenge, a stupid one. Hux can’t very well saunter into Snoke’s office with a black eye.
“I can heal anything you don’t want to take home,” Kylo says, smirking.
Hux tosses his head against Kylo’s grip.
“I want to take home a fucking spell.”
“Is that what you want?”
Kylo releases him with a rough push. Hux’s head lands on the bed as Kylo grabs his wrists and pulls them over Hux’s head. He pushes himself between Hux’s legs, pressing the grated, strained crotch of his jeans against Hux’s bare skin. His weight blankets Hux, trapping him.
“Maybe I don’t care what you want.”
Hux has had some truly incredible sex with Earths. It’s a fact of nature, this desire for the thing that’s so unlike him, this heavy, steady force that cuts him off and suffocates him just as it sparks every nerve in his body. Kylo oozes it like poison into his skin. His eyes are hard, unmoving as he stares down at Hux. Indifferent to desire or free will, the heart of an elemental force with no care for his well-being or ambition. There’s a reason this is black magic.
“Stay,” Kylo orders. Hux circles his wrists but keeps his arms over his head.
Kylo peels himself off Hux and stretches to his full height at the foot of the bed. He turns his back to Hux, a cheap trick as he kicks out of his pants.
Of course he’s not wearing underwear.
The tattoos on Kylo’s ribs curl down his hips and fan out over the pert, chiseled muscle of his ass. This man is no stranger to squats. The runes and knots on his sides swirl out to form stylized, interlocking leaves and vines that creep down the bulging outline of his thighs. He’s so thick .
Kylo’s shoulders shake with a suppressed laugh at Hux’s pointed turn around .
Hux rolls his eyes and lets his head sink back into the bed. Fuck him. He’s not looking again. There’s movement, the soft pad of his huge feet, an ominous clinking noise. Underneath it all is the steady presence of Kylo in his head, a phantom limb that keeps begging to be scratched.
The last thing he’s expecting are the opening bars to Age of Consent tinkling from a set of speakers perched on top of a bookcase. Self-control is useless here. Hux looks up to find Kylo holding a massive crystal and a jar of something eerily gelatinous.
“Everybody likes to fuck to New Order.”
Hux can’t even argue that one.
He’s already looking. Hux makes the most of his San Sebastian sprawl as he lets his eyes rove over Kylo’s naked body. He’s paying for this, isn’t he?
It would be nice to deprive Kylo of the satisfaction, but he can’t silence the heart-rending sigh of toe-curling anticipation he feels when he follows Kylo’s happy trail down to his cock.
“You’ll get your money’s worth.”
Kylo’s call-and-response to his private thoughts is as unsettling as it is liberating.
So earn it.
Hux turns his head to the cheap, stinking sheets and hums along. He likes this song.
He likes the noise Kylo makes when he climbs back onto the bed, too. A grunt? A growl? A groan? Hux turns to face him as Kylo kneels by his side.
“Are we,” Hux swallows, an edge trebling his voice as the air around them hums.
“Are all of those necessary?”
Kylo’s grunt hadn’t been one of arousal, or at least solely so. Crushed in his right palm are three gleaming kyber crystals. Even as Hux’s brain distantly registers that Kylo’s cock isn’t even fully hard yet, good Mother , he can’t look away from the spirals of crystal shards that float out of Kylo’s hand and hover around them. Black, green, red, some of them long and hair-thin, others short and thick as a pencil, they glint in the muted light like a thousand hungry eyes.
Kylo plucks a slim red crystal from the air.
“They’re not all for you.”
Hux brings his arms down, eager to hike up onto his elbows and watch whatever it is Kylo’s about to do.
“I didn’t tell you to move.”
The invisible push on Hux’s wrists sets his skin crawling. Kylo doesn’t take his eyes away from his crystal, as though it’s no effort at all to restrain Hux with nothing but his mind and his bad manners. Hux tests the air around him, pushes back with a vein of magic and gets a jolt of static displeasure for his effort.
Kylo smiles at that, and he keeps smiling as he pierces the crystal right into the meaty palm of his hand, just below his fingers. Hux cranes his neck, apparently the only part of him allowed movement.
Four more crystals join the one in Kylo’s palm, then more in his fingertips, the coarse heel of his hand. Kylo lets out a delicate hiss each time he inserts one, and by the time he finishes with both hands Hux’s mouth has fallen open. This doesn’t seem to bother Kylo. He plants a hand on either side of Hux’s head and crawls over him, his knees bracketing Hux’s hips.
“I can silence the pain when I put them in you.”
He leans down, another thick wave of hair slipping free from his dwindling hair tie and it’s all so much, that forest floor scent blanketing over him, rolling off his unwashed hair and fuck, even his fucking armpits smell good. It’s enough to set Hux on edge without the bizarre hum of Kylo’s skin, his tattoos and crystals arcing energy into Hux’s space without even touching him.
Those are going inside me.
“No, don’t, I,” Hux shifts, following Kylo’s hand to where it rests back on the bed.
Hux can see the crystals under Kylo’s skin as much as feel them.
“I’m curious,” Hux whispers.
Kylo smiles against his mouth.
“Yes, you are.”
His hand is shocking against Hux’s skin. Each crystal throbs like a live nerve when Kylo cups his face and turns him to look into his eyes.
“You’re sensitive,” Kylo says, pleased.
Hux jumps when Kylo presses his thumb back against Hux’s lip. He jumps again at the insistent push of Kylo into his mind. He’s taken cocks up his ass that felt less intimate.
“Let me in, Hux.”
Hux yields. It’s worth it for the long, guttural groan Kylo gives as he strokes down Hux’s neck.
“There it is.”
His hand trails down, pebbling up the pale pink mounds of Hux’s nipples. They’ve always been a weak spot for him. Hux shouldn’t be shocked when a slim, green needle of crystal floats down to Kylo’s hand.
He still hisses and bucks up under Kylo.
Kylo pinches his nipple between two fingers and twists, hard. Somewhere between wanting to kick his leg up to knee a kidney and coming all over himself, Hux lands on quivering in place as Kylo steadies the tip of his crystal against his skin.
Hux hates being told what to do. Hux is the one who gives orders. Hux isn’t some backwards heterosexual who thinks being penetrated makes him submissive.
Hux doesn’t move a muscle as Kylo slides the needle under his skin.
It hurts in an entirely different way than Hux would have expected. His toes and his fingers curl in, his breath catches in his throat, and for one long second everything goes white. His heart seems to stop, only to ramp up once the crystal that’s sticking through his nipple starts humming.
How did he get here?
“Wait,” Kylo says, his nostrils flaring.
Kylo leans in, his face inches from Hux’s as he strokes the pierced pad of his thumb over Hux’s nipple. It’s such a tender contrast to the harsh twist he’d just given Hux, not that Hux has much time to process this. The second the two crystals come into contact his eyes roll back in his head and he does kick his leg up. It’s exquisite, a head-scratch to every cell in his body, a pleasure multiplied a million times and rippling through him like wildfire.
Kylo chuckles, as immovable as a mountain on top of him.
“I knew you’d be fun.”
More more more Hux adds, just in case he didn’t get the message across.
“I can feel it.”
Kylo snatches another crystal from his floating hoard and lines it up. He doesn’t take his time, driving it right through Hux’s skin as he shakes.
“I can feel your pain.”
Kylo traces up the center of his chest, stopping at the fluttering pulse point just above his sternum. A small shard of crystal flies to his hand and into Hux’s skin.
“I can feel your emptiness.”
Kylo pierces the base of his neck, the tender spots on the sides, the soft hollows behind his jaw.
“All that control.”
The shell of his ear, the back of its lobe, pain from pleasure and pleasure flowing after pain.
“People look at you and see a clenched fist.”
Something clenches and it’s not Hux’s fist. Kylo shifts over him, spreading Hux’s legs and settling proprietarily between them. The underside of his cock brushes against Hux’s, sending a new burst of energy up Hux’s kyber-addled spine.
Kylo lurches forward, smothering Hux’s question and his chest. The crystals in his flesh singe where Kylo’s pressed against him, eliciting another involuntary curl of Hux’s knee.
“Shh,” Kylo hums, the amusement writ large on his face as Hux struggles to control his own. Hux is a grown man, he doesn’t need to be shushed.
He stills when Kylo drags the back of a tattooed knuckle over his lips. Kylo closes his eyes, smiling.
Of course he is. Kylo’s dragging a coloring book of illegal magic across his body.
The crystals that float down around Kylo’s hand are obsidian black, a half dozen of them, as small as splinters. Those aren’t …
Kylo grabs his face, his thumb and forefinger squeezing Hux into a pursed, pathetic moan.
“I like you like this,” Kylo says, his eyes darting over Hux’s pinked face.
Hux has always fought the natural flush of his pale skin. It’s a weakness, this advertisement of his mental state. It’s an ingrained instinct to pull a vein of magic, sending an icy balm over his skin.
Kylo clucks his tongue.
“That’s only going to make this hurt more.”
The needle is blinding when Kylo slips it into the soft seam of his lower lip, but it’s the way Kylo’s dick jerks against him that really settles under Hux’s skin. He arches up, tosses his head, summons another cold curl of his element to stroke over their shared space.
Kylo’s eyes harden as he drives five more needles into Hux’s trembling lips, setting four into the bottom and two astride the cupid’s bow of his upper. They ache, a molten throb that seems to melt into his flesh without ever quieting. Kylo strokes his thumb over his handiwork and wriggles into Hux’s mind, sighing.
“Do you think you’ve earned a treat?”
Kylo laughs at the wave of frozen disdain Hux throws back at him. Hux sneers, or tries to. His lips throb when they curl back from his teeth. A treat. He’s not a fucking Pomeranian.
Kylo rears back, forcing Hux to crane his neck to watch him. He licks his lips as four red slivers land in his palm. Hux squirms, half thrilled and half terrified to picture what part of him they’re destined for. He tries his wrists just to find Kylo’s tether on him unchanged.
With a sly, too-pleased smile, Kylo sticks his tongue out until it stretches past his chin. Mother of God . With the ease of someone who’s done this countless times, Kylo pierces the pointed tip of his tongue with the fattest shard of kyber. He buries two more on either side of the flat of his tongue, furling it back into his mouth before adding the final shard to the wet pout of his lower inner lip.
Hux’s face is humming, or maybe it’s just his mouth. Maybe it’s every inch of his body. He can’t drag his fingers across his lips, can’t feel if they’re bleeding or not, if they’re shaking as much as he imagines they are. How can Kylo do this to himself with such steadiness? He sneaks his tongue out to tease at one just as Kylo bends down to kiss him.
Hux has been kissed, naturally. There are better uses for a handsome mouth but he generally finds it a tolerable activity. He fancies himself fairly good at it.
It’s as though he barely knows what the word means when Kylo presses his lips to him. His body is secondary, a mere conduit for the burst of energy that sweeps between them when the kyber in Hux’s lips brushes against Kylo’s ruby-threaded tongue. Like that trite adage in his step-mother’s erotica about tongues battling for dominance, Kylo licks into him, sloppy, bellicose, the frost and reason of Hux’s element running a gale at Kylo’s emotional quicksand, the furred bite of his Earth alignment clawing at Hux’s constraint.
Hux is not a man who gasps.
“You’ll beg me for this inside you.”
Somewhere between Never and Make me , Kylo licks a stripe up Hux’s adorned neck and kisses him again. The steady push of Kylo inside his mind undoes him more than the hot press of his mouth. Hux could be split in half and never feel this open, this unshucked from the icy grip he keeps on himself.
“You’ll beg, and then you’ll beg me to stop.”
The last press of Kylo’s lips is tender. The way he pushes Hux’s legs up to his chest isn’t. Kylo inches himself down, his massive hands spreading Hux’s thighs apart like he needs any help. He keeps his toes pointed, his legs long and lean as they vee open. His cock twitches against his belly, an obscene red against the milk of his skin.
“Isn’t that pretty.”
Kylo draws down a flurry of crystals, green from the glimpse Hux gets before, all at once, they fan out over the delicate jut of his hip bones. Hux strains his neck and looks down just in time to see Kylo move his hand through empty air and drive a dozen slices of kyber into his flesh. Hux’s head collapses back, sheer muscle memory keeping his legs in a perfect arabesque as he floats. Death by a thousand cuts.
More crystals burrow into his hips, the sensitive inside of his thighs, the backs of his knees, every tingling spot that Kylo searches out with his mouth. He traces down the back of Hux’s heel, turning his cheek to the exaggerated arch of his foot as he drags his cock against Hux’s. Mother of God, why does it feel like that, like a scratch down the neck, like a battery to the tongue? Hux grinds up against it, straining against the unseen bonds on his wrists.
“You want to see?”
Kylo crawls up his body, the bed rocking back and forth as his knees sink into the mattress by Hux’s shoulders. He wraps his hand around his cock, the ink across his knuckles flexing as he strokes himself from root to tip. A clear drop of precome spills over, threatening Hux’s chin. It’s the last of Hux’s worries.
“Are they – how.” Hux’s mouth goes horrifyingly wet.
Laddered up the underside of Kylo’s dripping, heartbreaking dick are four fat bars of kyber, gleaming a dull red as Kylo strokes over them. They shift with each pass of his hand, the slightly flared edges holding them in place. Hux has a mortifying flash of the star of his “bag of dicks,” something named Nova that makes his ass feel like a lit fuse.
“Oh, it’ll be better than that, I promise,” Kylo laughs, pushing out another drop of clear liquid that almost hits Hux’s face before he chases it back with his thumb.
“You make a lot of promises.”
Even the constellation of crystals singeing his skin can’t compete with the bare, empty ache between Hux’s legs.
“Is that it, you just talk and stick me with your pretty crystals like a, like a hedgehog?”
“Is this how life works for you, Hux?”
Hux’s head is slammed back against the bed. The cords on his neck stand out as he strains to fight it, to no avail.
“You stand there, beautiful and sneering, bending others to your will?”
Every breath Hux takes stinks of Kylo. The cloying, pine-pitch smell of Kylo’s barbarized cock and his heavy, uneven testicles fills his mouth, flooding him with saliva even as he recoils. Where Hux is neatly waxed and trimmed, Kylo’s as haired as a beast, every dark curl laden with a resinous stench that makes Hux’s neglected cock jump and ooze onto his stomach.
“I don’t care who you are out there. I don’t need your money, or that brilliant, busy mind. I don’t need your approval.”
Kylo’s hand closes over his mouth just before he settles the weight of his balls on Hux’s flaring nostrils. It’s humiliating, and disgusting, the loamy taste of Kylo all around him cutting off his connection with the Air that sustains him. Something unspools within him, running out faster than Hux can catch it.
“I need what’s inside of you.”
True panic rises in Hux’s chest. Silenced from his own element he can barely twitch against Kylo’s weight. His legs shake, useless for all their strength.
“I need the filth that you keep chained up in here.”
Kylo reaches into his mind, licking into the furrows of fear and anger and humiliating, crushing arousal coursing through him. Every turn of his body grates at his studded skin, as full of dank, crushing Earth magic as he is woefully empty of Kylo’s dick.
“Mmm, that’s it.”
The gasp Hux takes when Kylo lifts off him is reedy and wheezing, the fresh air shocking him. His words come out useless.
“Show me what you need.”
Another breath and Kylo’s kissing him, heedless of the ripe scent of himself that lingers on Hux’s face. No, he likes it, drags his lips against Hux’s face and drinks it in, sparking each crystal in his mouth and Mother of God, Hux wants more.
“You’re safe here, Hux,” says the man who just strangled him, a pillow smile on his lips. He cups Hux’s face, too sweetly, that same smile gracing his lips as his eyes unfocus and he plunges into Hux’s mind. It’s like getting fucked in his ear, fucked so deep his every cell has to rearrange before it explodes. It’s useless to fight, useless to do anything but squeeze his eyes shut against the wave of raw need that pours out of him. The mossy, musky essence of Kylo all around him, ground into his skin and the sheets, poisoning the air itself, every Earthy, sticky, stinking part of him encasing Hux like a fly in amber. His hard hands and his hard cock and sharp eyes holding him down, filling him until he’s tethered in place, a plaything, a ragdoll, two holes good for nothing but –
“Fuck,” Kylo barks, releasing him like he’s been burned.
“Do you know what it’s like to touch that?”
Kylo’s eyes burn liquid black, swimming like the void inside Hux’s chest.
“Do you know how disgusting you are?”
He wrenches Hux’s hair back, jolting his head at a painful angle.
“You filthy little slut.”
He shakes Hux’s head with each word, a smile spreading across his face at the last one.
“I knew it.”
He releases his hold Hux’s hair with one final shake. Hux collapses, suddenly free from all restraint. His hands are numb when he curls them down to his sides.
Kylo bounds off the bed with far too much grace for the erection bobbing between his legs. Hux has no such problem. His arms are as shaky as a foal’s as he staggers up onto his knees.
Standing at the foot of the bed, Kylo stops him once he’s hobbled to the edge. His hand sears into Hux’s neck. His hair tumbles down from its haphazard knot to frame his face in lank, careless black. In the dim light all around them Kylo’s long, etched neck stretches out, the chiaroscuro of pale skin between his tattoos inhumanly beautiful.
“Show me which end of you I’m stuffing full of cock first.”
It takes every ounce of strength he has to keep his elbows from trembling as he draws himself up on his hands and knees, arches his neck up to Kylo. His cock is close enough that Hux could lap his tongue out and taste it, but no. That’s not what he needs.
There’s such a fine line between grace and whorish posturing. It’s not the delicate curve of his neck, studded as it is, when he draws it back from Kylo’s hand. Is it the sway of his hips as he turns around, sinew and soft skin tugging at the throbbing kyber embedded in his flesh, the sink of his shoulders as he turns away from Kylo, the arch of his back as he offers up the only part of himself Kylo hasn’t touched?
He hangs his head and spreads his legs, cock throbbing heavy, the humid air suddenly cold against his bare, lonely skin. So much of his life is spent keeping people at arm’s length where they belong. The raised dais of his office desk, the elegant spellwork in his home, the sharp tailoring of his clothes that tempts only the very brave or the very stupid to touch him – Hux weaves his way through life with only the rarefied air of his own company. He shivers.
A single touch could undo him now.
“Spread yourself open for me.”
Shame races up his spine, skittering across his skin, warping the pride Hux takes in his body into something wretched and hot. He’s had his asshole bleached by the same Fire mage who did Gwyneth Paltrow. He’s as bare and smooth as a choir boy. He taunts men with this, straddles their shoulders and makes them strain for it.
“Show me that filthy hole.”
There’s no graceful way to brace his weight across his chest, turn his face to the wrinkled mess of Kylo’s bed, reach back with his hands and spread his ass cheeks apart. He presses his lips against the sound that tries to escape.
He hears it before he feels it, a wet hock of Kylo’s lips and he can barely muffle the moan he makes into the sheets as a fat line of spit slides across his asshole and trails down the smooth seam of his balls.
“You think you can hide what a fucking whore you are with all your fancy soap and your pretty, groomed little hole, Hux?”
Kylo spits on him again and even that bare, liquid promise has Hux flexing open for him. He digs his fingers in, the cleanly-trimmed edges of his nails sinking into his skin like his own set of kyber needles.
“Poor little Hux, fucking yourself all alone like some bitch in heat.”
Kylo shifts behind him, dipping the bed with a soft groan of low-quality springs.
“Keep your hole so clean and pretty and no one takes care of it.”
Kylo’s breath ghosts over him, so close. Hux tries to strain back to look but he’s as awkward as a seal with his hands still spreading his ass open. Mother of God, please .
With a nasty laugh Kylo noses into him, mouth open as his hands dig into Hux’s hips. He tugs Hux back, bunching his knees up in the sheets, tugging Hux’s face against the shocking dampness of his own spit. He’d been drooling .
Kylo teases his tongue up the seam of Hux’s balls, the kyber-studded tip thrumming between their shared space. His chin juts against Hux’s balls as he draws in a breath so sharp Hux’s nostrils flex in sympathy and distant, vulgar delight.
“Even your asshole smells … expensive .”
Distaste drips from Kylo’s mouth even as he licks a flat, sparking stripe over Hux’s hole. He smacks Hux’s hands away just to grip them behind his back in one big, throbbing hand. Wrenching, Kylo sends a burst of sharp pain down Hux’s arms just as the sweet push of his tongue sinks inside him.
His mind can’t parse the intersection of pain and pleasure, where one radiates up from his cramped neck and crimped wrists and flows down from his kiss-starved hole. It’s all tangled inside him, murky and slick as though Kylo’s instruments of exquisite torture have dissolved into his blood and short-circuited every nerve they touch. He presses his lips together, rubbing over the humming shards in his flesh, licking at one when Kylo’s tongue spears fat and wet inside him. Even the hint of the kyber inside him twists Hux’s stomach, this poison inside him that he could drown in, more, give me more, give me more .
The air whisks past his face, leaving a trail of humming energy and desperate dread over Hux’s skin. Kylo gives his thigh a schoolboy’s kiss and it’s the only warning Hux gets before he pinches the pale mound of Hux’s taint and drives three fat shards of kyber through Hux’s softest skin.
Hux screams. He screams and he doesn’t stop until Kylo has driven three more staple-sized slivers into the throbbing furl of Hux’s hole.
One of his legs kicks back, knocking them both over until Hux is on his belly and Kylo is on his back like an avalanche. There’s no air, no light, nothing but the heartbeat of please never stop pain shorting out his brain and flaying his skin from his bones.
“I like it when you fight me, Hux.”
Kylo shoves a hand between them, inching up just enough to slide his palm over the curve of Hux’s ass.
He pinches one of the kyber shards below Hux’s hole, rolls it between his fingers with a studied delicacy. It’s more frightening that this massive monster on his back can execute such surgical precision when he chooses to. There’s a shake Hux can’t swallow, a sound he can’t suppress.
“You’re fighting me right now, aren’t you?”
Just the promise of Kylo’s finger against his hole sends Hux scrambling up the bed, toes curling into the sheets and his arms straining against Kylo’s endless, easy grip on his wrists. What few inches he gains are useless. Kylo moves with him, shushing against his ear absurdly as his cock drags blind and hot against Hux’s skin.
“I can taste how much you want it.”
Kylo drapes himself over Hux’s back, pinning him down as he takes a deep inhale from Hux’s mussed, sweaty hair. Mother of God, he’s sweating everywhere, ribbons of it down his neck and into the curve of his waist.
Kylo licks his neck and sighs.
“It’s easier when I make you, is that right?”
Hux thrashes back against him, slipping their skin together and catching the ridged base of Kylo’s cock there, yes, right there , where Hux is helpless against the sudden shock of Kylo’s magic. Helpless and above all, blameless. Free from the burden of choice for one rare moment.
“When it’s all my fault and those beautiful hands of yours can stay clean?”
Hux throbs like a wound where Kylo pries into his head. It makes his teeth ache and his cheeks numb and a dozen other things that shouldn’t make his hips itch to rise up, his stomach clench against the upcurl of his spine. He’s better than this, better than the grand guignol of ways Kylo could force his cock inside him right now that parades across Hux’s mind.
“I’m not going to force you, Hux. Show me. Show me how bad you need it, come on.”
Kylo’s sharp slap on his ass is electrifying. There, in that single moment of white-hot pain, Hux’s body shoots straight into override and arches back for more, more, please, Mother of God, more.
“Get your ass in the air.”
Kylo rears back to give him room, give him something to chase like one of his plants creeping toward a false sun. Hux spreads his legs like a slattern, chest low, hips high, the throbbing weight of his cock and his aching, kyber-strung taint sending desperate pulses under his skin.
Hysteria rises in him. Kylo isn’t even inside him and he’s wrecked.
“You paid to get fucked, didn’t you?” Kylo chuckles darkly.
Some lizard-brain bitch instinct in Hux attempts to turn Kylo’s taunt into a goad but the wet press of Kylo’s thick finger seeps everything back into non-verbal primordial ooze. Hux might be drooling, he might be praying, Sweet Mother what the fuck kind of lube is that and why does it feel so good ?
“Doesn’t it? I make it myself.”
Hux doesn’t need to know more and the ugly sound he makes when Kylo sinks three fingers into his wet, sucking hole silences any further questions. Kylo fucks into him, careless and loud enough to hear.
“Open up so easy.”
Lube drips down from Kylo’s fingers. It slides down slick and slow from Hux’s hole, seeping warmth into each piece of kyber it passes. It must be dripping down onto the sheets, puddling under him. Hux buries his face in the sheets and draws in a shaky, open-mouthed breath. Nothing this filthy should smell so fucking good and make him whine when Kylo leaves him empty. No .
“Yes, that’s it.”
Kylo’s hands wrap around him and tug him back, sending Hux off-kilter. Kylo digs his fingers into the row of crystals studding Hux’s hips, sending off a burst of toe-curling magic that seeps under his skin. It courses through him, setting his teeth on edge and every hair on his body on end.
“Under all those nice things you’re just a greedy little slut, aren’t you?”
Kylo’s cock makes a wet smack against Hux’s hole and there’s nowhere for it to go, nowhere for the Earth magic tainting his blood to run except straight to Hux’s open, empty hole.
“Oh, and Hux?”
Kylo leans over him, his lips brushing wet-hot against Hux’s ear.
“This is gonna hurt.”
Soft, sweet blackness. All around him, buoyant as a salt pool and rich as ink. Hux swims, blissful, blank.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
Hux moves to bat it away, this intrusion. He can’t lift his arms. Ah, well.
“Wake up, Hux.”
Pain sears across his scalp and suddenly everything is too bright. Hux gasps for breath.
“That’s it, there he is.”
Kylo . Kylo’s on top of him, Kylo’s laughing softly and pulling his fucking hair and how –
“You passed out on my dick.”
Kylo’s still inside him.
The hot drag of Kylo’s cock inside him strangles his words. He’s flat on his belly, legs splayed awkwardly apart. Kylo can’t even be this deep from this angle but every thick inch of him sends waves of dark lust through Hux’s body, hit after hit making him tremble like he’s high on a drug he can’t metabolize.
“You make better noises when you’re awake.”
That’s one of Hux’s skills, his silence. “Unnecessary demonstrations” had been intolerable to his father and Hux had learned to hold his tongue before his fifth birthday. It unnerves people, his quiet and his bloodshot stare, makes them ramble and trip over their own tongues until they’ll say yes to anything he asks just for the honor of hearing his voice.
Hux moans for Kylo when he hauls Hux back with one arm and roots him on his cock. His sweaty chest slips against Hux’s back, his hair hanging down to brush Hux’s shoulder as Kylo mouths along his neck. He holds Hux up like he’s nothing, braces an arm the size of Hux’s own muscled thigh across his chest and he’s so fucking big it’s all Hux can do to slump against him, his mouth slack and his cock slapping against his taut belly.
“Don’t you fucking come.”
Kylo’s rough tug on his nipple does nothing to help. Hux arches back, twists his neck and rolls his eyes like trapped prey. It’s unbecoming, it’s coarse and bestial and glorious and it’s not until Kylo kisses him silent that he stops moaning please, please, please .
“Beg for it.”
Air rasps through Hux’s throat but no sound comes out.
“Beg for my come in that sweet, slutty little hole.”
Just the image leaves Hux boneless, jolting like a puppet with each sharp thrust of Kylo’s cock over the crystals humming inside him. It’s like speaking underwater, bubbling nonsense over the cloying Earth magic pouring off Kylo and pooling in the kyber glowing in Hux’s flushed skin.
“Please, please, do it, make me, fuck,” Hux gasps, choking on the rising tide of Kylo pounding into him. He’s never touched this much power. He tilts his head back, searching out Kylo’s hot, wicked mouth with his own. His lips are shaking like he just did a rail of cloud coke.
Kylo doesn’t sound human when he growls. He shoves Hux’s face down into the mattress, his huge hand spanning Hux’s neck to fix him in place. He murmurs something indecipherable under his breath, in rhythm with his snapping thrusts and the steady, maddening burn of the kyber in Hux’s skin. His hips stutter against Hux, once, twice, and then he’s buried deep as a thousand-year oak and Hux can’t fucking breathe.
Kylo keeps chanting as he comes, his hand bruise-hard over Hux’s neck. It’s like breathing tar, each breath a struggle. Hux can’t move, his mouth fish-gaped open and his body swaybacked to take every sticky, pulsing inch of Kylo inside him. He’s choppy with the need to come, his cock butting against the sheets not nearly enough contact and painful all at once. He cants his hips as much as he can, chasing the studded press of Kylo’s dick against his sweet spot.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Kylo bends over him, his teeth closing over Hux’s earlobe in a bite that has nothing to do with love. Hux stills, earning himself a pleased grunt against his neck and another throb of Kylo’s cock. Mother of God, how is he still coming?
Hux has taken enough loads to know this isn’t natural, this palpable flood burning his guts and swelling him with Earth magic until it could burst from his mouth.
The noises his body makes when Kylo pulls out are repulsive. Sloppy, that was always one of his father’s greatest insults. Sloppy clothes, sloppy magic, the sloppy way Hux ate his breakfast when he was four. Kylo’s come leaks out of him where he’s flexed and whorishly open for the ghost of the best dick he’s ever had in his life.
“Your whole life? I’m touched.”
“I’m still young.”
Hux shifts, risking a glance over his shoulder. Kylo’s smiling, dangerously.
Kylo tsks his tongue and drags two fingers up the come-streaked wreck of Hux’s taint. These sheets should be burned.
“This is how you thank me, Hux? Like taking my dick so much and then you waste all of this.”
It would hurt without the shards of dark magic pierced into his flesh, but Hux has to fight for consciousness when Kylo slaps against Hux’s aching hole. Another rope of come leaks out of him as he jumps.
Kylo’s voice is almost too fond for a snarl. Hux braces himself for another stinging slap and makes a sound he didn’t know he was capable of when he gets Kylo’s tongue instead.
Somewhere, beneath Hux’s lax, leaking hole and the desperate ache in his balls, an old disgust creeps up to blush Hux scarlet down to the piercings in his nipples. He’s never let a man do this, certainly not one who roots inside him and sucks on the tender rim of his hole like he could turn Hux inside out. It’s sickening, the wet slurp of Kylo’s filthy mouth drawing his own come out of Hux’s fucked-out hole. Mother of God, he’s going to come, he’s –
It’s so quick, the way Kylo flips him onto his back, his eyes glinting black and his lips impossibly plush where they’re pressed together like he’s –
Kylo crawls between his legs, pins Hux down with his body and the pressure’s almost too much. Hux writhes beneath him, turning his head to the side and scraping his raw, overhard cock against Kylo’s hard stomach, so close.
Stars light up the sky above when Kylo slaps him backhanded. Hux gasps in shock, a trickle of his own blood bursting salty onto his tongue. Kylo forces his tongue between Hux’s stunned lips and pushes out the runny, salty remnants of himself. It’s so much, Mother of God how is it so much. Hux chokes, splutters, swallows what he can and grimaces when some of it stings his nostrils.
“Now you come.”
Kylo grabs for his hair, wrenches him back, grinds himself against Hux’s freely leaking dick with a smile. He licks into Hux’s mouth, hot and musky and curiously sweet with what must be lube.
“Come while you lick the taste of your greedy fucking ass out of my mouth.”
Hux shudders, his hips curling up at the sheer vulgarity of it. He slides his cock through the slick pool of his own precome smearing Kylo’s stomach, blanching with shame at how wet he gets.
“Fuck, that’s so good.”
Kylo’s smile is chilling, animal, bearing down on him before he kisses Hux again, deep and vicious. Hux arches up to him, humping against what feels like a fucking eight-pack, denied even the dignity of a mouth or his own fucking hand. He sucks Kylo’s lip between his teeth, pulls the taste of come and spit and every nasty thing he can get off it.
“You taste so good,” Kylo says, his hand cupping Hux’s cheek just to squeeze his mouth open the next second. He spits, wet and nasty and directly into Hux’s mouth and if Hux could speak he’d thank him for it. Kylo’s lips move in silent spellwork as Hux swallows.
“Come for me, Hux.”
Hux was always a small child. At six, he’s the second-smallest boy in his class and even his studied, surgical cruelty to the pathetic Thomas Manders can’t wash the taint of inferiority off him.
His father can sense it.
Even the schoolyard sadism of his classmates is better than the endless, appraising chill of his father. Brendol is as broad as Hux is slim, with more blonde than strawberry in his hair. Hux has never seen a smile reach his eyes.
Hux hasn’t eaten since yesterday.
He barely likes oatmeal. His mouth fills with saliva at the smell of it, the sweet curl of honey his father had dribbled over the top before he’d set it to boiling.
He doesn’t even look up from his paper. Over a Times headline proclaiming “Dark Arcanics Implicated in Armenian Earthquake”, Brendol sends out a vein of magic to bring Hux’s breakfast to a steaming boil.
His stomach rumbles.
Hux swallows the spit in his mouth and concentrates. It’s so hard to grasp at the air around him when he’s walled in by his father’s oppressive attention, when his stomach makes appalling sounds at the smell of singed oats. He pulls, seeking out the microscopic drops of water suspended in the air, parsing and pressing his complementary element in a cool burst against the bowl. The steam dissipates and a rim of frost appears.
Hux picks up his spoon. If he moves too fast, his father will simply burn the metal.
He’s so close. A single drop of honey hits his tongue, so sweet it makes Hux dizzy. He closes his lips, mouth wet and his eyes drooping in pleasure, please .
He jumps at the hissing burn against the roof of his mouth. The scant food on his tongue turns molten, sending steam out of Hux’s mouth as he chokes.
Hux’s spoon clatters to the floor.
“If you can’t control yourself when you’re indulging your appetites, you’re as good as defenseless.”
The blister on his palate is raw. A single tear runs down Hux’s cheek as he clumsily pulls at the air around him, trying to cool it.
“Now, clean that up.”
Hux unfolds his napkin and obeys. He mops up the mess he’s made and returns to his seat.
“You’ll learn, Armitage. You’ll learn.”
Hux stares down his porridge in silence. It will be hours before he eats it, and years before he learns to tamp down the tears in his eyes as his father makes a man and a mage of him, decades before he watches his father’s corpse exposed to the air with cool composure and a look of sorrow that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Come back to me, beautiful.”
There’s a hand under Hux’s head and a dull ache in his throat. He blinks against too much green.
Kylo’s bed is so warm. Hux nuzzles against it, turning his head into the firmest, dampest pillow he’s ever felt. Black swirls of ink swim into focus. He turns, his face coming away damp and his hair matted from Kylo’s chest.
“Come on, drink up. You just came hard enough to power a small city.”
Kylo presses a warm mason jar full of something cloudy into his hand. Dear Mother, please let this be a human beverage and not something Kylo made himself. Kylo snorts.
“It’s just miso.”
“Do you have to listen to everything I think?”
“You think loud.”
It’s surprisingly good miso, delicate and salty and suddenly exactly what Hux needs. He takes a deep sip and leans against Kylo’s chest, where he’s not exactly uncomfortable.
“Do you always dream about your father?”
His soup turns cold in his mouth.
“I’d rather –”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t –”
Kylo waits for him to finish his soup.
“I do, too.”
Kylo shrugs. He takes the empty jar and replaces it with a fresh glass of water. He sighs when Hux sips it in silence.
“He’s wrong, you know,” Kylo says.
For all of Kylo’s tattoos and snarled hair, he can look incredibly boyish sometimes.
“There is so much power in indulgence, Hux.”
Kylo turns his chin, tilts him up and kisses him. This would be worth the humiliation of Kylo’s dreamwalking even without the kyber in his lips stirring his cock and his sore, abused hole to interest.
“And you have so much inside of you.”
“I want more,” Hux says, meeting Kylo’s eyes and finding them gleaming.
“Which end of you is getting fucked this time?”
Under aching muscles and come-crusted skin, Hux rolls over, drawing himself to his full, elegant length as he wraps his lips around Kylo’s dick.
“One more, Hux, you can give me one more.”
“Can’t, I –”
Hux’s voice is a throat-fucked shadow of itself. His lip has fattened up, making it a pretty matched set with his asshole. In and out of consciousness and his body he’s lost count of how many times Kylo has fucked him. He’s been bent into positions he would have thought impossible and may have caused permanent brain damage. He’s bitten and bruised and covered in enough semen to impregnate an alien planet with a new race of broad-shouldered, ginger babies.
Kylo kisses along his calf, the closest thing to his face where Hux is bent nearly double on his back. Kylo can’t possibly have anything left in his balls but he’s pumping away like they haven’t been at it for hours. Has it only been hours?
Dimly, Hux catches the bridge of Temptation . How are they still listening to fucking New Order?
Up, down, turn around, please don’t let me hit the ground.
“I’ll take it from you if I have to.”
Kylo smiles at the surge of sick delight that races through Hux’s mind. Yes. Do it .
Kylo kisses him just to bite at his split lip, sucking a fresh drop of blood to the surface. Hux’s ass is so slick and used even Kylo’s painfully thick cock can’t seal in all the come inside him. Hux is in a puddle and everything stinks like sex and salt and the warm, musky scent of their own bodies. Hux hasn’t been this dirty since he was born.
“Give it to me, Hux.”
Kylo curves his massive shoulders down and closes his mouth over Hux’s nipple, sucking and teasing at the crystal with the tip of his tongue. Every deep thrust of his cock grazes over Hux’s sweet spot, as swollen and oversensitive as his mouth.
“Give me everything.”
The air around Hux trembles. Kylo draws a shard of kyber to his hand so large it sets Hux’s heart racing. It’s bigger than one of his step-mother’s gaudy cocktail rings, bigger than Kylo’s thumb, a fierce red that glows in Kylo’s palm.
Sweat-soaked as he is, every hair on his body stands on end when Kylo starts chanting in that strange, thick-tongued tone again. He lays the crystal on Hux’s chest, presses it into his sternum with the flat of his hand. With his fingers spread Kylo can almost span him from nipple to nipple, where the crystals piercing through him hum and tug under his skin.
There’s a gleam in Kylo’s eyes, a hint of red that makes him look inhuman. He doesn’t stop mumbling as he fucks into Hux’s spent, fevered body. Every syllable sends a pulse of heat that races through Hux’s piercings and zips toward Kylo’s hand, a homing beacon for the energy roiling under his skin. Kylo presses into his mind like he can fuck that, too, eyes glinting at the trip-wire of pain and desperate pleasure that Hux is almost choking on.
Kylo’s hand wraps around his dick, more cruelty than favor. Each rough stroke makes him hiss, the angry red of his skin barking back as Kylo jerks him in time with his own pace. An orgasm and a nervous breakdown are vying for Hux’s spine when there’s an invisible hand at Hux’s neck.
It’s so like his own power. The air around Hux disappears, heedless of his instinctive reach as pressure closes in like a noose. His nostrils flare, horse-huffing for air that can’t help him, nothing can, nothing but Kylo who’s staring him down and dripping black magic from his smiling, swollen mouth.
Blackness creeps into his vision, a perfect halo for Kylo as he twists his palm and whispers into Hux’s gasping mouth. Every crystal in his body sings and surges toward his center, sweeping him up in something so far from coming. Hux is buried alive, brought low by the sickening rush of black magic sucking all the air out of the room. His cock jerks dry nothings onto his stomach as Kylo fucks him through it, through it and past it and over the crest of anything Hux’s body can take. His eyes roll back and he’s free.
Hux is embalmed in amber, an extinct thing for future species to find.
Water. Cold, just the way he likes it. He can barely move his lips. Hux swallows, rolls his eyes, does it again.
Hux sinks back into blissful quicksand.
Hux’s teeth are mossy.
He starts awake, disoriented until the sex-sap scent of Kylo’s bed creeps into his consciousness. He’s still here. Mother of God.
He barely gives Kylo’s sleeping body a glance as he staggers out of his bed. It’s warm in Kylo’s place but he needs heat, searing heat, a steaming mug of tarine and a blistering, three-hour shower to have any hope of feeling human. He needs his phone.
Swiping past a dozen work-related notifications, Hux opens the most-used app on his phone: Petcube.
Millie is curled on top of his pillow, looking generally displeased with everything around her. Her bowl is full and every water fountain is bubbling away. Hux breathes a sigh of relief. She’s fine.
Relief gives way to shock as Hux glances down at his naked body. He’s a map of bruises and strange marks, his hips spanned with purple in a handprint slightly larger than his own. Angry red circles dot his skin. The crystals in their place are gone, all but the large red one that hovers just above his sternum. It hums when he presses against it. He has to piss so bad it hurts.
Kylo’s bathroom has a skylight, plants bursting from every surface, and an axe leaning against one wall. Naturally, there’s no door.
Hux washes his face in the sink before he looks in the mirror. It’s not much of an improvement. First of all, Dear Mother does he need eye cream. What his father used to call his “rabbit eyes” stand out in stark relief, the rims limned in an angry pink. And his mouth. Hux touches two fingers to the fat bruise welling up on his right lip, poking at the tenderness and unnerved by the sense memory that shivers over his whole body.
“I can heal those for you,” Kylo says, appearing behind him.
Hux is used to living with a cat but he still jumps.
“Have you heard of privacy?”
“I ate jizz out of your asshole, like, at least three times last night.”
“Was it that many?” Hux asks, sneaking a glance at Kylo in the mirror.
He’s just as worn out as Hux, if slightly less bruised. His lips are especially plump as he presses himself against Hux’s back, smiling. Even without the sex-haze of last night, Kylo is offensively, imperfectly handsome. Hux’s back itches with magic when Kylo presses against him.
“Lost count,” Kylo shrugs. His hand wraps around Hux’s front, tattooed fingers skating over the crystal in Hux’s chest. All the kyber shards are gone from Kylo’s hands. Are they inside Hux? Is that part of it?
“Is it always,” Hux shifts against the sink, flushing from his swollen lips to his sore, sticky thighs.
Kylo stares at his reflection.
“I could teach you so many things, Hux.”
“I imagine how to use this will be at the top of the list.”
Hux lays his hand over Kylo’s, sensing the throbbing power encased in his skin even through Kylo’s fingers.
“I’ll give you the spellwork before you leave. It’s fairly simple, especially for a stats mage. You just craft it, crush this,” Kylo circles the warm pad of his index finger over the crystal, “and you’re good to go.”
Hux isn’t sure how he’s supposed to survive the next 48 hours with this thing vibrating in his chest. Just the stroke of Kylo’s fingers has his ass clenching.
“You might want to do it in private,” Kylo smirks, an expression that’s far too pleasant on his face.
“Well. I should, it’s getting late –”
“Let me clean you up.”
There’s a warm thrum of magic and Kylo raises his fingers to Hux’s lips, heat radiating as he brings them to the tender red of Hux’s wound.
Under the marbled line of Kylo’s arm, the riotous bruises on his skin stand out in stark relief. There are teeth marks and the perfect intaglio of Kylo’s hands, punctures and pinches and scratch marks skating down his sides. What will they look like tomorrow, in a week, in a month, as his body absorbs his pain and the poison of Kylo’s magic?
The warmth in Kylo’s hand is blistering as he grabs Hux’s chin and turns him around to kiss him.
Backed against the sink, Hux presses into the filthy warmth of Kylo’s mouth, molds himself to the ink-flecked mesa of his chest. He hisses when the crystal in his chest collides with Kylo’s skin.
Yes. Of course. He’s here for business.
“I should go, Kylo,” Hux says softly.
There’s a brush of Kylo’s power against his mind, as close to a kiss as anything Hux has ever felt. Kylo releases him with a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his dark eyes.
Hux should have brought spare clothes. He winces at the crusted mess of, well, everything below his neck. His skin itches as he gets dressed.
Kylo gives him a spell on a piece of notebook paper and makes him promise to burn it when he’s done. As if Hux would leave it lying about his desk. Kylo walks him to the door, Hux in his fine, buttoned-up coat and Kylo in nothing but a pair of black boxers that hardly seem up to the task of containing him.
“Well, that was … quite satisfactory.”
The promise of fresh air outside should be temptation enough to move Hux from the doorway. He pauses, his tongue tracing over the copper split of his lip.
Kylo arches an eyebrow and reaches for something behind the door frame. With the same slender delicacy that had left Hux so undone, Kylo tucks a fragrant, elegant stem into his lapel, adjusting the spray of emerald leaves and the strange, pointed black of a bloom Hux doesn’t recognize.
“I hope you get everything you want, Hux.”
The air outside is fresh and cool. Hux turns his collar up against the chill.
Two days later, the swell on his lip has bloomed into a rich violet that brings out Hux’s eyes and his natural sneer. The color suits him.
Hux stretches, rucking up his black undershirt to expose the jut of his hips. The wounds from Kylo’s crystals have settled into a fan of scabbed mauve, while the deep, tender bruises from his hands have fanned from mottled aubergine at the fingerprints to a faint green at the heart. Hux straightens his shirt.
Hux doesn’t get nervous but he can be forgiven some shaky excitement. He’s carrying a weapon between his tits and if all goes well, he’ll be managing precisely one-third of the world’s entire wealth. He combs his hair carefully into place and touches his finger to the soft red humming under his skin.
It’s been leaking into his dreams. He’ll do well to be rid of it.
He brews a blistering cup of tarine and sits at his kitchen island, absently swiping through the news reports he knew about before they were published. Millie tolerates his scratching behind her ear, her eyes never leaving his chest. It’s all she’s looked at since he came home.
“Daddy’s going to make you very proud today,” Hux says, indulging in the baby talk that eclipses even his recurrent dreams about Kylo calling him filthy names for Hux’s most debased secret. He touches the soft tip of her nose and rises to dress.
Kylo’s flower sits in a slender, obsidian stem vase on his dressing table. The sharp green of it fills the air of Hux’s vast closet, tickling at his nose as he pulls out the worsted grey suit he’d bought especially for today. It was disgustingly expensive and tailored with three kinds of magic. Hux closes his eyes, breathes, quiets himself until there’s nothing but the rich hum of magic in his chest. He puts the suit back and smiles.
Today, Hux will wear all black.
“There is no such thing as esth-ethical consumption under capitalism.”
D.J., or was it C.J., smiles and spreads his hands as though he’s just won some sort of argument. He leans back against Poe’s ratty couch-arm and grins, picking his teeth with a Metrocard.
“I don’t care what your friend told you about cryptocurrency, you’re far better off investing in real estate.”
Hux touches a delicate knuckle to his nose. D.J. is the sort of guest he’d expect at Poe’s birthday party, a preposterously good-looking manchild with unkempt facial hair and a hat so shitty-looking it must have been expensive. He’s the kind of grown man who stills calls himself an elemental objectivist and lets his mother pay his rent. Hardly worth Hux’s time, but he’s tall and he has really, really good drugs.
Hux itches at his nose again.
“The entire financial system is controlled by the reptiloids, man, everyone kn-knows that.”
He’s got a slither in his speech that makes Hux wonder what else he can do with his tongue, although he’s not laying a finger on Hux without showing his Swap stats. He zones out of D.J.’s continuing tirade about Water-sensitive fluoride poisoning the drinking supply and forces his jaw to relax. That last bump of cloud coke had put him in a positively splendid mood.
Poe et al’s apartment is a sprawling industrial space in what might be Queens. He’s not even sure this neighborhood has a name. He should tell D.J. to buy something here. Wheresoever go the lesbians, so goeth the market.
The sheer wasted potential of it is appalling. What could be soaring ceilings and clean, open space is chopped up into dozens of smaller rooms, all of them made out of mismatched scrap wood. The throngs of people drinking and dancing and making out all over the place blend in with the mismatched furniture, the plank-wood swing hanging from a chain in the ceiling, the fifties dinette set crammed into one corner, the popcorn machine, the disco ball, the old Buick bumper that’s been filled with cushions and currently houses the birthday boy himself. Poe’s wearing a tiara and gracelessly trading kisses with Rose and Finn between pulls off whatever sickening Water hooch he’s getting drunk from.
Hux should do more blow.
He pulls the little bag he’d bought off of D.J. out of his blazer pocket and leans toward the well-used glass coffee table. Just a little more, that’ll do that trick. Hux plucks D.J.’s Metrocard and stacks up a trim pile of deliciously pure cloud coke on the least-scratched up section of table he can find.
His neat line is blown off the table by a burst of magic so strong it could singe his eyebrows.
“Oh, shit, fight!” D.J. cheers, like a man who didn’t just lose a perfectly good rail. Hux rolls his eyes and tucks what’s left of his stash back into his pocket. Inevitable, really, when you throw this many people and this many illicit substances under one roof. He follows D.J. to the commotion by the door.
“You got some nerve showing your face here.”
Hux can just see the backside of a massive man with a wild mane of brown curls. He’s got one hand raised, the air above it shimmering with impressive Fire magic. The guy drips martial.
“This is gonna be good,” D.J. hisses in his ear, living up to the Water flair for dramatic spectatorship. This is going to get the police called. Hux eyes the exit and buttons his jacket.
“Rey invited me, asshole!”
Hux knows that voice. He draws every atom of icy cool to himself and plunges through the crowd. There are too many voices around him, every one of them grating on his ears. The men at the door shout, talking over each other between Rey’s furious interjections of “Stop it, Uncle Chewie!” and “Ben, put down that fork!”
He hipchecks a slack-jawed Earth girl out of his way just as a burst of flame erupts from the huge man’s hand and a halo of sharp-looking shit hurls through thin air.
“Mother help me, I will suck your lungs out the back and titty-fuck you from behind, Ben,” the huge man roars, fire crackling in his palm. Kylo sneers, the makeshift knife cloud hovering by his head vibrating.
Hux’s nostrils flare as he takes a rough pull of magic and fashions the fastest spell he can think of. He has several factors in his favor. Hux doesn’t have a drop of empathic ability but even he can tell that they’re both emotional disasters. Emotion makes messes of us all, even strong fighters like the two before him. The threads of probability that they’ll both fuck something up are fat enough for Hux to sink his fingers into.
It lacks his usual finesse but it does the trick. Chewie’s ball of fire only manages to singe Kylo’s heinous sweater before landing in the ice bucket, and most of Kylo’s enraged cutlery lands in the door frame with a heavy thwunk. A fork quivers above his left eyebrow, held in place by a thick snarl in his hair.
“Stop this! You’re acting like children,” Hux barks. Kylo’s cross-armed sulk does nothing to ameliorate this.
Rey steps between them, her fury made only slightly less intimidating by the strange, floppy tulle dress she’s wearing.
“You both behave or you’re leaving.”
She glares between Chewie and Kylo.
“Uncle Chewie, I know there’s a lot of history but, I just, I’m trying to mend fences. He’s family,” she says softly, glaring at Kylo like she means it.
She makes an aborted slap at Kylo’s hand.
“You can’t just lose your temper and, and try to stab our uncle!”
Hux raises an eyebrow. What a mess. Thank the Mother everyone in his family is dead.
“I wasn’t gonna stab him in, like, an organ,” Kylo mumbles, frowning at the singed fabric of his hideously oversize sweater. Is that a cowl neck?
“I wasn’t going to set you on fire, I mean, not all the way,” Chewie says, stuffing his enormous hands in his pockets and frowning down at the floor. An incongruously cheerful World Wildlife Fund tshirt sporting a family of chirping puffins sags as he rolls his shoulders down, contrite.
“Good Mother this is tedious, can we please get back to fornicating and doing drugs?”
Hux’s words are met with littered applause and a few cheers. Rey gives him a tight smile as she leads Chewie to one of the many tables littered with alcohol. The crowd disperses back to, well, fornicating and doing drugs, leaving Kylo staring down at him.
“Hey,” Kylo says, the tips of his tattooed knuckles just peeking out from his sleeves.
“Uh, thanks –”
Hux stops him, aware of his own jaw in the most curious way. He’d been having fun. Mostly.
“I couldn’t have your chest-pounding ruining a perfectly good party.”
Hux picks at the melted hole in Kylo’s sweater. It’s a massive cocoon of a thing, with an open stitch and a pendulous, folded neck that only make Kylo look broader over the scandalously tight jeans he’s wearing. It doesn’t even feel like wool.
“Although that man would have done us all a favor to incinerate this thing, where on Earth did you get it?”
“I know the guy who knits them. We go to the same gym.”
Picturing Kylo at the gym does nothing for his composure.
“It stings,” Kylo says, poking at a patch of visible skin on his side.
Hux doesn’t strictly need to touch Kylo to send a soothing wisp of cool air over his skin.
Surely Kylo could heal it himself. Hux lets his fingers linger, stroking up and buzzing when he touches the faint scar of one of Kylo’s bigger tattoos.
“Aren’t you going to ask me about my family?”
Our uncle . Hux opens his mouth with something clever and stops as he looks up at Kylo. He’d seen it before, that softness around his eyes. Boyish.
“It seems complicated and painful and, frankly, like none of my business. Family is hideous, isn’t it? We’re thrust upon these strangers and expected to love them even when they’re cruel to us. It’s sadistic.”
Hux presses a thumb to his left nostril. His face is buzzing.
Kylo’s lips are just as full as he remembers, not like they haunt Hux every night when he’s trying to rub one out and get some sleep. Kylo’s opening his mouth to say something when someone slides an arm over Hux’s shoulder.
“Nice work!” D.J. leans in close enough for Hux to smell his last sip of grappa.
“I love you s-stats fairies.”
D.J. claps him on the back and extends his hand to Kylo.
“What’s up, man, I’m D.J., it’s short for –”
“Leave us,” Kylo says, his eyes not leaving Hux for a moment.
Hux values good manners but the sight of D.J.’s mouth opening and closing in confusion is delicious. Hux gives him a small shrug and waves goodbye as Kylo moves them closer to a somewhat empty cluster of stools underneath what’s either some of Finn’s “art” or an indoor treehouse.
“Were you going to fuck him?”
“I was going to let him eat my ass and see where things went from there but it was a distinct possibility, yes.”
Hux blames the coke for the rabbit pulse of his heart. Is Kylo jealous?
“That guy sucks,” Kylo says, scuffing the toe of his motorcycle boot against the stool leg.
“He has great drugs,” Hux whispers, grinning as Kylo rolls his eyes.
Jealous . Hux reels, his heart skipping in his chest. He should do a little more coke to calm himself down. Yeah. He pulls what’s left of his stash out of his pocket and looks for a flat surface. His neck goes fuzzy at the gentle lap of Kylo into his mind. He’d forgotten how queerly pleasant it is.
“You are coked up out of your mind,” Kylo says, looking delighted. Out of his mind, please . No, he’s not. At all. Maybe a little.
“Mildly. I’m an adult.”
Hux keeps an iron grip on his appetites. He won’t be shamed by a sex wizard with a burnt sweater.
“No, I’m into it,” Kylo says, offensively bemused as he smiles down at Hux.
“I’d offer you some, but.”
Hux shrugs a shoulder. At best, the cloud coke would have little effect on Kylo’s Earth-sensitive system. At worst, he’d be hallucinating and bleeding from his ears. Hux turns to one of the empty stools, which is flat enough to suit his purpose.
Kylo presses against his back and oh . That could drive a man out of his mind.
“I can feel it through you.”
He plucks the little bag out of Hux’s hand and dumps most of it onto the broad web of his thumb. He tucks Hux against his chest, wraps his arm around him and brings his hand up to Hux’s nose.
Heavenly . Hux snorts as delicately as possible, vaporizing the powder on Kylo’s hand until everything is brilliant and bright and so very alive and bursting with possibility and promise and –
Hux is thrilled to be the one standing firm on his feet while Kylo sways.
“That is amazing.”
Hux’s eyes are glittering, or maybe it’s just the way Kylo’s looking at them. He turns around and rocks up onto the balls of his feet, where he’s almost as tall as Kylo.
Kylo’s eyes are wide, dazed, a dim reflection of an expression Hux has seen before and called back to mind with his cock in his hand and something unsatisfying in his ass. He grinds his teeth, laughs when he sees Hux doing the same.
“It goes away,” Hux says.
There’s a cheer from the makeshift dancefloor. Poe is breakdancing, because Poe cannot abide not being the center of attention for more than five minutes. It’s probably why he needs three wives or whatever the fuck Finn is.
“The music always sucks at these things,” Kylo says.
“I don’t listen to anything written after 1992.”
“What an effete snob you are,” Hux says, not bothering to hide the admiration in his voice. Hux’s father had enforced the same rule, minus a century. Does Kylo know his Chopin as well as he knows his new wave? There’s a scream of applause from the dancefloor as Poe finishes his peacocking.
Kylo closes his eyes, his lips moving. The inky hum of his magic has Hux staggering happily to sit. Hux smiles at the opening warble of an old Echo and the Bunnymen song.
“I like this song.”
“I know,” Kylo says, brushing against his mind and his knee. He pushes between Hux’s legs, staring down, something in his eyes leaving Hux naked even with his sport coat on.
“Huxicle to the rescue!”
Poe is as heedless of personal space as ever, knocking Kylo to the side to give Hux a sweaty hug.
“Thanks for coming, roomie, and thanks for dealing with –,” he makes a dismissive wave at Kylo “– that.”
“You’re quite welcome.”
Hux gives Rose a polite smile where she’s wedged under Poe’s arm.
“And happy birthday. I put money in that … bowl by the dining table.”
“Awesome! We’re donating it all to a charity for displaced manatees.”
“You know, I like this,” Poe says. He gestures at him and Kylo, a sly grin on his face.
“They make a great couple, don’t they, Rose?”
“Yesss!” Rose vibrates under Poe’s arm.
Hux may be mildly altered but Rose is clearly rocked off her ass.
“We’re not –”
“I would never –”
“How dare you –”
“Fuck off, Poe,” Kylo says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Ren,” Poe says sharply, and how many fucking names does Kylo have?
“Nice to see you’re still doing your –” he wrinkles his nose at Kylo’s sweater “– Addams Family thing.”
Hux has to hide a laugh at that. Poe is always an incisive satirist.
“Real glad you could make it, and look.”
Poe leans in, his smile turning sharp.
“If you so much as put Rey in a bad mood, I will fucking kill you. Got it?”
Poe points at Kylo’s chest.
“And call your mom, asshole.”
“Great to see you too, Poe.”
Kylo’s smile is just as acrid.
“Mother of Godddddd, put your dicks away and go make out with Finn.”
Rose tugs Poe’s arm and rolls her eyes. She still kisses him before he does some mangled electric slide to another group of people, presumably with less murder on his mind.
“Seriously, though, he’ll fucking kill you.”
Rose smiles brightly, her eyes lighting up when she spies what’s left of Hux’s cloud coke on an empty stool. Before Hux can even object she takes a key out of her pocket and takes a bump.
“Ok, ok, yeah, that’s ok, ok, seriously, don’t fuck with Rey, she’s, fuck, she is so strong, like, I bet she could, she could probably use me as a bench weight, you know, I bet.”
Rose stops, her mouth falling into a perfect O.
“I’m gonna see if Rey can squat me.”
Rose dashes off, screaming for Rey and snorting indelicately.
“Mother of God,” Kylo whispers.
Hux nods in agreement.
“I can’t imagine living like this,” Hux says.
“I can’t imagine living with anyone,” Kylo says, knocking his knee against Hux’s and giving him a keen look.
“It sounds terrible, doesn’t it?”
Hux thinks it often enough but saying it out loud is strangely thrilling. He can’t imagine anyone polluting his sacred private time any more than he can imagine someone wedging themselves into the weeds of Kylo’s home.
“I don’t think Rey and Poe even have sex.”
“Well, yeah, Rey’s a lesbian, so.”
Kylo looks at him like he’s slow. Hux rolls his eyes.
“It’s just, what do they get out of it?”
“Fuck if I know,” Kylo says. He smiles as chants of “Squat! Squat! Squat!” kick up across the room.
“She can do it, easy,” Kylo says, the fondness in his voice almost wistful.
Hux stands up to get a better view.
In the middle of a cheering crowd, Rey hoists Rose onto her shoulders with a look of gleeful determination. Even Hux has to admire her form as she executes a perfect squat, then does it again while everyone erupts with applause.
“I want a pony!” Rose screams, before she kisses Rey and the rest of her motley family. Kylo smiles.
“Rey and I got arrested in Bangkok one time, and she broke this guard’s arm in nineteen places.”
“You got arrested in Bangkok?”
“It’s, uh, complicated. Sort of caused some family strife.”
Kylo flicks his ruined sweater.
“Have you ever been to Kuala Lumpur?” Hux asks, not eager to dwell on complications.
“I love it there! I know this great place to see cockfights, and there’s this dumpling place that makes these, like, black dumplings –”
“Black pepper dumplings, yes. They’re delicious.”
Hux’s new apartment has a magnificent view of the city from the hot tub. And a huge bed.
“You haven’t asked me if your spell worked.”
Hux swallows, his mouth suddenly wet at the rich memory of their one and only night together.
“Didn’t need to.”
Kylo’s fingers brush over the ghost of his crystal in Hux’s chest, landing on the precise spot Hux had crushed before he’d marched into Snoke’s office and walked out with Asia, a vote on the board, and his own company jet. He has a fucking plane.
“I was hoping you’d be here.”
Kylo crowds him, backing him up against the laddered rungs of Finn’s presumptive tree house. Hysterically, all Hux can picture are the piercings studded through Kylo’s magnificent cock.
“You are the last person I expected to see.”
“It gets me sort of hard when you try to lie to me,” Kylo says, his voice thick. He rolls his hips to grind himself against Hux, where anyone could see. There’s that press, inching into Hux’s mind. His scalp tingles.
“I’ve, hm, I’ve barely thought about you at all.”
Kylo hums, his cock fattening and his breath warm over Hux’s ear.
“Not even once.”
Underneath all the raucous party noises Hux’s heartbeat comes into stark relief, thumping steadily in his throat.
“Never played with that pretty dick, thinking of me?”
“No? Didn’t fuck yourself with any of those nice big toys of yours? Did they fill you up, Hux? Make you feel good like I did?”
“I could make you come right here, in front of everyone.”
Kylo finds him where he’s hard, grinds his palms against Hux’s dick and smiles.
“Show them what a slut you are.”
His lips are close enough for Hux to kiss.
“I thought about you, Hux. I thought about what a sweet, greedy whore you are every night.”
Kylo’s eyes are softly brutal as he kisses Hux gently.
“Can we go fuck in the bathroom now or do I need to keep flirting with you?”
Hux brings himself to his full height, setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders. He gives Kylo the iciest look he can summon, plummeting the temperature around them as he buttons his jacket. Turning, he holds his head high and walks across the room, every step focused on one thought.
Make me beg.
~ the end ~