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Kylo’s eyes are obscured by that damnable mop of dark curls, but Hux can see the hitch and stretch of his ribs in time with each silent sob, knows in his heart that Kylo’s eyes are squeezed shut from the pain and that tears – had they done this in front of those Knights in the very chambers that had allowed for that girl’s escape, well –
Perhaps he’d hold his head up, defiant in front of others, his so-called subordinates as he is their so-called Master. Perhaps he’d let Hux see their glistening trails, the glossy marble of his pathetic emotions writ so cleanly, so vulnerably.
Just thinking about it burns him.
The heels of Hux’s boots click sharply against the floor as he circles Kylo’s decumbent form. Gloved hands clenched, Hux aches for type of power that surges through Kylo’s mind, the way it might spark or simmer, light a burbling, singeing trail through his veins and into the surrounding air.
The Force.
“Unworthy,” Hux says evenly, clenching his fists as he slows to a stop. “You are so clearly unworthy of the title ‘Master.’” He takes one step closer, the toe of his boot nearly pressing into Kylo’s bruised knee, something Kylo must’ve refused to have healed. Beneath the swath of robes and the ridiculous black bucket, there’s a pale, fragile thing, brimming wild with dynamic potential and a panoptic need for control. He needs this. “You lead a squadron of Knights and yet you fail at every opportunity. Perhaps a demotion is in order after this most recent…stunt. Are not ashamed?”
The barest of whispers leaves Kylo’s lips, spoken to Hux’s boots and lost beneath the hum of the Finalizer’s ambient noises.
“Speak,” Hux orders.
“Yes,” Kylo says, voice so much deeper than his thin, lithe frame warrants. “I am ashamed.”
“As you should be,” Hux bites out, louder than he intends. He grinds the toe of his boot into a bruise just to hear Kylo hiss, to see the judder of his hips. “How must it feel to be the direct descendant of Sith Lord Darth Vader and know in your heart that you will never measure up to him, to the order he created within the Empire? To know that with every chance you’ve been given, you’ve failed the First Order and the Supreme Leader?”
Kylo sobs, bitten.
“By all means, there is no need to stay quiet on my account.” Hux steps onto Kylo’s bruised knee, grinds his weight into it, and revels in the whimper it earns. “I’ve received word of your most recent tantrum. Pathetic.”
Though he won’t admit it aloud, Hux is impressed. Kylo hasn’t moved an inch; his head is still bowed, and his chest still heaves with the force of each choked back sob, but he remains folded on his knees, hands anchored together at the small of his back. It’s a degree of control Hux hadn’t thought Kylo capable of attaining. At least not with his current level of training.
Aside from that – that tiny measure – Kylo is broken. And it’s up to Hux to weld those pieces back together, hopefully to forge something stronger.
Without warning, Hux forces Kylo’s head down, reveling in the arch of his neck and shoulders, the sight of him prostrate against the floor and so, so beneath him. “Lick them,” Hux orders. “Clean my boots and perhaps I’ll be able to deem you worthy of a greater task.”
There is sadness, raw and consuming, asserted across his features. No amount of bodily pain or pleasure has thus far been able to wipe it out, but Hux enjoys a challenge.
Of course, he doesn’t feel it when Ren proceeds with the task, but the wetness glares over the steel beneath the harsh lighting in Hux’s personal quarters. There are also deep, dark circles beneath Kylo’s eyes as though he’s had as many sleepless cycles as Hux. Though he won’t admit it, Hux feels a deep satisfaction in that and – combined with the pressure of Kylo’s tongue carving a path up the instep of Hux’s boot – it heats Hux’s blood and bones down to its barest components.
“Stand,” Hux commands.
Kylo does, slowly.
Hux circles him again, feeling his chest pound with each predatory step, breathing life into the sick, jealous, sadistic part of him that wants to tear Kylo Ren into even smaller shreds.
With gentle, misleading hands, Hux cards his gloved fingers through Kylo’s hair before gripping it tightly and using it to drag the boy to Hux’s bed. “Place your hands there,” Hux directs, guiding them to either post at its foot.
His bed is no more opulent than perhaps Captain Phasma’s, but bigger than those of the nameless and faceless troopers. It makes him wonder as to the size of Kylo’s bed, if its size compensates for the lanky limbs and spanning ego. He wonders if it can truly shoulder the weight of all of Kylo’s burdens. Perhaps that is why he hasn’t slept; he would suffocate.
“Legs apart.”
Bare like this, trembling, Kylo Ren is a shadow of himself; it pleases Hux.
He watches the shiver of fear climb Kylo’s spine. There’s a red blossom where his hands had been resting just above the slope of his ass. Once his legs split and his heels are anchored to the flooring, Hux is privy to the gentle swell of his sac; it’s tighter, higher than Hux had been expecting, which means that Kylo truly does get off on the humiliation.
Good.
The metallic tinkling of Hux’s belt latches against the freed buckle sends a fresh wave of shivers over Kylo’s body and, mindlessly, Hux shushes him. That fear will do him well. Belt in hand, Hux says, quietly, evenly, “Endure the punishment you deserve.”
Operating outside of the First Order grants the Knights of Ren certain liberties that Stormtroopers do not and cannot attain. They are allowed major infractions without reconditioning or any other semblance of reining in the chaos, something that physically sickens Hux to the point that he came to Ren, proposed a solution that would remain between the two of them so that Hux can (just barely) stomach the idea of working with such a complete and utter failure.
Un-cinched, Hux’s belt dangles from his gloved hands. The leather creaks the harder Hux grips it.
The very first crack of Hux’s belt to Kylo’s backside clearly surprises him if the strangled shout is any indication. Hux drones, “Quiet,” and then gears up for another hit across Kylo’s other cheek. Red swells to the surface and – Hux releases a quick breath and then hits Kylo again. The strap creates lines in parallel, bringing order through discoloration to the disorganized smattering of dark freckles that cover his skin.
“Breathe,” Hux instructs.
It’s a torrent, trembles and thick sobs and the threat of collapse. It’s ruin and sweat and humiliation and everything that Kylo has needed.
It’s delicious.
Hux keeps count of each time his strap hits Kylo’s skin, watches carefully, and sees it the moment Kylo breaks. He full on whimpers, but it trickles off into silence, and not another sound escapes Kylo as Hux continues to strap patterns pink and red until they’re purpling, so deep and dark and pure that even Hux can’t deny their beauty. He gently palms the darkened skin, can feel its heat even through his leather gloves.
Kylo doesn’t so much as hiss. He stands still, head bowed and ribs heaving.
“Move and I will strap you again,” Hux informs him, watching for any sort of response.
It’s a surprise that Kylo doesn’t disappoint: “Yes, sir,” he says quietly.
“Oh,” Hux croons, squeezing his handful harshly, “So polite, Master Ren.” He hears Kylo’s breath stutter. Reaching around, Hux fists Kylo’s cock, unsurprised to find it so hot and so full as though it was competing with the agitated skin. He gives it a handful of strokes just to hear the broken noise Kylo makes.
There’s a moment where Kylo breathes deeply – and then he goes boneless, finally giving himself over to Hux completely.
“There you go,” Hux says, opposite arm quickly banding across Ren’s chest, pulling until his back is pressed along Hux’s front, his own cock nestled into the heated valley splitting Ren’s ass. “Give all of that pain, all of that rage, all of that weakness to me. I can keep it for you.”
It’s relief of the purest kind whenever Kylo comes all over his own thighs, body still slumped against Hux’s. Though he’d have liked to see it, Hux is just as content to feel the shudders of it run through Kylo’s body. Hux strokes well past the point of completion until Kylo goes dead-weight and Hux lets him fall to the floor, watches him curl in on himself to stave off the pain and sensitivity.
In his mind, Hux feels the pulse of Kylo’s consciousness, the Force moving through him in a static sort of hum. Shivering on the floor, naked and spent, Kylo laughs (his scarred face so open and bright) and slurs, accusing, “You’re proud of me.”
“And yet you broke three rules,” Hux points out in return, calm and even. “Therefore, you continue to disappoint me. Stand.”
Kylo does, standing tall but relaxed in the way that only orgasm can bring.
“That’s three more to go with that bruising you’ve already received.” Satisfied with the way the smug grin immediately vanishes from his face, Hux circles Ren again, guiding his shaking hands to the bed posts once again. “Every thought you have, Ren… You’re a stupid, beautiful, shining example of what not to be. You disgust me.”
The air whistles with the force of the belt whipping through the air, cracks sharply once it makes contact with Kylo’s bruised backside – but he takes it. “That’s one.”
He hits him again, savoring the minute twitching in Kylo’s thigh muscles, the way his breath pauses and then quickens. “Two.”
Hux uses his full strength to deliver the third blow. “Three.”
Kylo does nothing but breathes heavily, shallowly, and Hux is almost angry at how well he’d taken the additional punishment.
“Come here,” Hux orders sharply. “Undress me.”
Silently, clearly biting back some scathing comment, Kylo turns and shakily steps forward, starting with the clasps at Hux’s waist, then his shoulders, before bending (with a hiss) to…hesitate, then tug at Hux’s boots.
“What is it?”
Kylo quickly answers, “Nothing.”
Very nearly rolling his eyes, Hux says, “I don’t need to be Force-sensitive to know you’re lying to me. What is it that you want?”
The bob of Kylo’s throat is…distracting. He blinks twice and then stands, returning to his task in removing Hux’s General regalia. “I like the boots,” Kylo says.
As though it’s just that simple.
“You can spit shine them again later,” Hux practically drawls, skin humming with anticipation as he’s made bare. He crawls onto the bed, slinking with sinuous motions of his hips, smirking even before he catches the droll, dumb look on Kylo’s face. Against the pillows, Hux breathes comfortably for the first time since this began. “Come.”
Kylo doesn’t quite scramble, but he does look ungainly in any event.
Hux settles his hands on Kylo’s hips and forces him to settle atop his thighs. He ignores Kylo’s hiss, watching his facial muscles almost twitch into a grimace as the heat radiates from him and seeps into Hux’s cooler skin. The temperature difference must hurt.
It’s a pity, Hux thinks as quietly as he can manage, that I can’t give your face or your chest the same treatment. You would wear my marks so beautifully. He thumbs at Kylo’s lip, noticing now the blood that’s welled up and – oh. “You bit through your lip trying to keep quiet for me.”
Nodding, looking so serene with his eyes closed and tearstains on his cheeks, Kylo whispers, “Yes.”
In a tight, controlled movement, Hux rolls them so that Kylo is beneath him. He barely takes a moment to slick himself up with wetness gathered from Kylo’s thighs before he pushes in and in and in, eyes on Kylo’s all the while. He fists a hand in Kylo’s hair, pulls Kylo’s head to the side with it and bites as he pulls out and thrusts right back in with every ounce of power he has.
“Pfssak,” Kylo screeches – and he’s. He’s pushing up into it, both hips and neck. His nails rake down Hux’s back, so Hux bites down harder, feels the tang of iron hit his tongue while Kylo claws, rives his skin.
Hux wants to destroy him.
He wants all of these broken, burning noises spilling out of Kylo’s mouth.
He wants the slick clench of Kylo’s body to sate the aching need for constant, consuming order.
He wants ¬–
Hux descends, briefly, into the sweetest moment of chaos, coming so hard his breath stays suspended until he feels as though his lungs are going to burst. He clutches at Kylo’s body, keeps him still until Hux feels wasted away and completely consumed.
The moments after, clarity – the simplest, most elegant structure takes root and twines, freeing him.
Hux presses a single kiss to Kylo’s throat.
Extracting himself, getting up and out of the bed proves to be more arduous than usual. It’s not like him to want to return to Kylo’s embrace, to feel the places their skin touches and savor it. There are no tender words between them, barely any tender touches, and – it is exactly what works for them.
And Hux can have this again. No one needs to know. This is something safe between him and Kylo, Force be damned.
He spares a glance at Ren’s blissed, lazy sprawl before heading to the bathroom.
At the sink, Hux takes in his reflection. The lines of tension seem to have disappeared, at least for now, and he knows it’s due to what he’s done for Ren. He opens the cabinet, retrieves a dermal regenerator for the wound on Kylo’s neck and those on his own back. They sting, sweetly, a pulsing reminder, and Hux considers, for a brief moment, of pulling on a shirt and insisting he’s fine.
Instead, he allows himself to smile, only faintly, at his own reflection before he pulls his shoulders back and returns to the bed and to Kylo.