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the greater wrong of the right

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"Sorry, what was that?" General Hux's voice reverberates throughout the intimate chambers. All of the officers' quarters are soundproofed from the outside, but the First Order's construction aesthetic is the same throughout the entire base: echoing metal from floor to ceiling. It is such that, if a pin were to drop, one could potentially hear it in the next room of a suite, but a scream could not be heard from directly outside the door. It is frightfully convenient, at times -- if not a bit echoey when one demands quiet. 

There's that noise again, a faint and choked off gurgle from beneath him. It echoes too, but not as resolutely as Hux's voice had. After all, it is rather strained. "I didn't quite catch that, Ren. You're going to have to speak up."

Generously, Hux even tilts his head down. To ease the distance between them ever so slightly. 

It's quite a sight to behold, the image that awaits him on the floor: the fallen Jedi, Kylo Ren, sprawled out loosely in what's left of his clothes, pale limbs at odd angles and chest heaving like he's about to drown. It's not entirely inaccurate, that comparison, Hux supposes, as he shifts his weight. One immaculately shined boot presses against the hollow of Ren's throat, holding him in place against the cold and unforgiving ground. He can see a facsimile of a reflection of himself in the shine, staring back up at him, stern and emotionless. For a moment, he focuses on that, instead of Ren's ashen and gasping face. After all, Kylo Ren doesn't deserve the attention. He has hardly done anything to earn it.

But he can only watch Ren gurgle and struggle for so long before he grows bored. There is a long list of duties and tasks waiting for Hux, and this is hardly the most pressing of matters. The general shifts, toe lifting ever so slightly from Ren's larynx to provide him just enough air to speak. Not enough for the panting breath he so desires, though: Hux makes sure of that. "Speak." Like a dog. If he doesn't learn to communicate properly, Hux is going to have to kick him like one, too.

Ren's voice is wrecked when he finally speaks, words coming out like sand against his throat. Parched and weak. "Forgive me."

Hux frowns, lips curling down in a familiar expression. "Hm?" He steps down again, feeling the unforgiving bones grind underneath the sole of his boot. Ren whines -- and Hux can feel that, too.

"Forgive me, Sir." It's better with the honorific, more respectful. But nothing will ever take that impertinent, brazen tone from Kylo Ren's voice. It's hardwired in, and as much as Hux detests it, there is also something oddly appealing about it. Perhaps it is that of all the people he has ever worked with, Ren is the only one to truly square his shoulders and challenge the general.

Not that he is challenging Hux now.

"Better. But, that wasn't an apology."

As a rule, the First Order does not apologize, and neither do Knights of Ren. It's specifically why Hux wants one. The words have the muscles in all of Kylo Ren's limbs tensing in a building rage that Hux now must immediately extinguish before any impending disaster. Tedious. 

It is not his job to pacify and muzzle Supreme Leader Snoke's favorite pupil, and yet the task still seems to fall to Hux. Without any sort of discipline, Ren's temper runs rampant, spirals out of control, and eventually damages property that Hux requires to complete his mission for the First Order. An unbridled Kylo Ren is a setback that he should not have to factor in. So, Hux steps in when he feels one of these fits coming on; he's known Ren for long enough now that he is intimately familiar with the other man's rhythms. If he reigns the knight in in time, he doesn't have to deal with the repercussions, doesn't have any troublesome mess to sweep up after.

Unfortunately, Hux is not the only one who gains from these interventions. It would be much simpler if he was. More personally satisfying, maybe. Despite all of Ren's posturing, despite his destructive tantrums and his flair for the dramatics of a regime long past -- and perhaps because of all that, he craves order that he himself cannot provide. The first time Hux settled Kylo Ren with a sharp word and a brave backhand, Ren had been stunned into silence. And then, almost begrudgingly, he had slipped into something akin to peace. Hux had smiled, and finished the rest of his day in silence, taking the gift for what it was.

And then it happened again. And again. 

Now, it is routine. For better for worse.

-- Perhaps, it has also devolved somewhere in the process. 

The well-shined boot presses down again, angle changing so that Hux can see himself, and then the ceiling of the room. It is easier to focus on that, than on Ren's fluttering eyelashes, his hooded eyes, or his quivering lips. "Apologize, Ren. For your little stunt on the bridge." A stunt that had ruined three control panels and had spooked at least two technicians before Hux had intervened. 

The words finally come, strained and dripping with loathing: "I'm sorry." 

Hux could leave it at that. He should leave it at that. Ren is already more loose than when Hux had thrown him to the ground and berated him verbally minutes ago. The tension has slipped from his limbs, and the air in the room no longer drips with the acrid, metallic taste of the force that bubbles around Ren when he seethes with anger. He should stop now -- Ren is calm and Hux could finish his day out in blissful peace.

"That didn't sound very apologetic." Sometimes, Hux curses his own need for thoroughness. He can't simply leave a task half done, strategist that he is. 

It's for the good of the Order that he sits down on the edge of his desk chair, back rigid and straight, and says "Come Here," to the prone figure he left breathing hard on the floor.

It is only a moment before Kylo Ren is struggling upright and moving slowly toward Hux on bare feet. The general watches him move, listening to every strained and ragged breath slip from his lips. Ren is a large man, full of muscles and strength, but when Hux commands him like this, he moves with the fluid grace and submission of an escort on one of the moons of Lothal. It's fascinating, the detachment he has from his body, at these times.

"Strip." He says, with a little wave of his hand. He could focus on his data pad, sitting forgotten in his pocket, to pass the moment by, but this is one show that he will watch appreciatively. Kylo Ren, de-vesting himself of the tattered remnants of his clothing, his normally ungainly limbs finally moving with something akin to elegance. Even a blind man would appreciate this, Hux tells himself. Not that he needs an excuse. He is only protecting his job, making sure that everything runs smoothly on his ship.

Once Ren's clothes are in a haphazard pile on the floor, he steps forward. His face is light and free of shame, only looking patiently at Hux for further instructions. It's a pity he can't always look like this, can't always be at the mercy of Hux's every whim. Kylo Ren is full of tremendous power, and it is intoxicating to know that it can rest at his fingertips, can be at his beck and call. Even now, pale and nude and prone, Ren's body still screams potential. 

He pats his lap, "Come here." One foot in front of another until Ren is moving to sit on Hux's lap -- and Hux can only put one hand up to stop him and laugh. The noise echoes, stark and pitying, as if Ren was too slow to understand his meaning. "Like this, Ren." Hux moves him until Ren is pitched forward, bent over Hux's lap with his ass in the air.

It's a beautifully debauched image, Kylo Ren bent over his lap like a lowly servant. All that power, and not one lick of it in the air around them. Hux can feel the shame, though; he doesn't have to be force-sensitive to feel it coming off Ren in waves. His naked form radiates the heat of it, and the general can't stop himself from drawing an appreciative palm from the nape of the knight's neck to the small of his back. Beautiful -- but only when he is like this, under Hux's hand.

Hux lets his fingers trail down to Ren's ass which is propped into the air over the bulk of Hux's thigh. The skin of it is pale and perfect, and impressively smooth to the touch. When he lets his fingers curl around it and grab with a fervor he had been hoping to avoid, the muscle underneath the flesh is obvious and unyielding to his grasp. It's not surprising, but he lets himself indulge in it anyway, grabbing both globes of the knight's ass with his hands, squeezing until Ren lets out a noise.

"Sometimes, apologies are not sufficient, Ren." He lets his fingers still on the small of Kylo Ren's back, a courteous gesture to hold him in place, though Hux knows he needs none. If anything, it is for Ren's mental benefit. The structure.

Without warning, he brings his other hand down on one of the fleshy cheeks in a painful, echoing slap. The pale flesh shakes and reddens immediately after the force of the impact. When Ren jerks, surprised, against his leg, Hux merely presses his fingertips against the other man's spine and hushes him. "Say you are sorry."

The words spill from Ren readily, unlike before. His voice is pinched with need and hoarse with desire. His eyes are trained on the floor.

Hux slaps him again, favoring the other cheek this time. Hard. 

"Again," And Ren greedily answers him with another 'I'm sorry', barely even missing a beat. He has always been good at figuring out exactly what Hux wants and providing it, at least in times like this.

Easily, Hux finds a rhythm. Each slap has a beautifully debased groan accompanying it, and each has an apology following promptly after. It devolves beautifully into a symphony of Ren's noises reverberating around Hux's private quarters, warming the air around them both. 

Ren's hips slant just so against his thigh, and Hux can feel the unmistakable hardness of Ren's length rocking up against him. It isn't surprising, the way the knight's hips shift with a growing need for friction. He lets himself admire the movement, watching the way the muscles in the other man's back and ass move with every hiccuping and stilted movement, with every swat of Hux's palm. The flesh of Ren's ass is now embarrassingly red and tender from all of Hux's efforts, and he cannot stop himself from running hungry fingers over it, feeling the heat from the skin.

With one final, violent swat, the general declares himself done. After all, the rocking of Ren's hips is getting a bit frantic with need, and the culmination of that will not do. "Up you get." One last grab of that perfect, crimson ass, and Hux is pushing Ren up to his feet. The other man looks at him with glazed eyes and a dizzied expression, a whine escaping from low in his throat. Pained. Confused. Hux spares a glance at Kylo Ren's throbbing length, taking a fair amount of pleasure in seeing just how close the other man had been, clearly.

"Get out." He waves a hand in the direction of the door, already leaning back pulling out his data pad to glance over the innumerous messages he has gotten since his last login.

Ren's eyes linger on him for a moment -- Hux can feel his gaze without looking up. He can feel Ren's need, too, lingering in the air. But, the anger in the room doesn't flare and Ren doesn't fall into a tantrum. He just stands there, waiting. Emotionally spent and coiled up at the same time. "Did you not hear me? Apology accepted. Now, get out." 

He gestures at the door once more and refuses to look up, busying himself with supply reports and troop movement updates.

When Hux looks up again, Ren and his pile of clothes are gone. Everything is quiet and orderly -- and perfect.