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Don't Be Shy (You've Been Here Before)

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The ding of his datapad pulls him from his meditation.


It shouldn’t. Such a small thing, a high pitched chime which cuts through the silence of his training chambers should not be sufficient enough to break his concentration. If Supreme Leader were here to witness his failure, his weakness , he would be so disappointed ( is already so disappointed).


He tries to refocus, reaches for the Force, but while he can sense it, can feel it buzzing around him like static in the air before a storm, it slips through his grasp. He digs his fingers into his side, into the burning mark of shame the scavenger carved into him, that he must carry with him forever, and imagines the Force radiating from his chest, soft, tentative tendrils of it which unfurl and spread out, connecting him to everything, everyone; invisible threads which knit his very cells together like an intricate tapestry.


He curls his fingers tighter into his still healing flesh but all it does is make his breath stutter in pain.


He sighs, defeated again, and stands to go check his datapad. His knee trembles as he walks, but he ignores it, stomps his foot down harder, the reverberations creeping from the heavy tread of his boot, skittering along his traitorous knee, sending sharp tingles through his thigh.


The notification on his datapad informs him that General Hux has requested to see him in his office at Ren’s ‘earliest convenience’, which he translates to ‘right now, Ren. I’m a busy man.’


Kylo pulls his cowl tighter around his face before he leaves the training chamber. He hopes, one day, he won’t miss his mask, will wear his scar as a badge of courage, of resilience; a sign that he was bested but shaped himself into something even better. But for now he hides as best he can. He’s seen the way people’s eyes snag on the jagged scar on his face, would tell himself it’s because it makes him look fearsome, but being a mind reader leaves little room for self delusion. His face, already homely, a mish-mash of spare features stuck to a face they don’t fit comfortably on, is only more gruesome with the scar bisecting it.


Hux greets him with “Hello, Ren,” not even glancing from the stack of flimsi which towers on his desk.


“General,” he responds, as the door slides noiselessly shut behind him. There’s a chair, waiting in front of Hux’s desk, and he glances at it with longing, his knee still twinging, his side sending twisting, gnarled roots of pain through his entire body.


“Supposedly,”Hux says, as he signs his name with a sharp flick of his wrist, “flimsi is a waste of resources and the reason we use datapads for everything. Yet somehow I end each day with a stack of the things waiting on my desk to be dealt with.” He moves a stack, puts his pen down, and stands from his chair. He walks around his desk and leans against it, long legs out in front of him in a tempting invitation to drag one’s gaze up. Kylo resists. “I said something, Ren, now you respond. It’s called a conversation. Are you familiar with the concept?”


“Did you invite me here for small talk?”


“Apparently not.” Hux makes no attempt to conceal his study of Ren, doesn’t try to distract him with words. Just looks. He tries to take a breath, feels his side pull hot, tight, pain twisting through his nerves. He’s flushed, he knows, and he needs to leave, needs to turn away, to flee, to escape, but he makes to move and his legs collapse under him, sending him forward in a graceless stumble.


He doesn’t fall.


Hux catches him, huffs in exertion as Kylo’s body collides against him, thin arms which bely strength wrapped tight around him, steadying him. He closes his eyes, feels embarrassment heat his face. “Maker, Ren. Sit.” Hux shuffles him toward the chair.


He can’t help the small noise of pleasure he makes when he sits. No, not pleasure. Just less pain . Which is as good as, a mercy he’s not even sure he deserves. He closes his eyes again.


He startles at a touch to his forehead. Hux is pressing the back of his hand against Kylo’s forehead, a frown turning the corners of his mouth down, pulling a crease into his brow. He feels the heat of Hux’s hand leaching into his skin even through the fine leather. Has a delirious thought of pressing into the touch, but no, he’s already made himself ridiculous enough in front of Hux today.


“What are you doing?”


“Checking you for fever.” Hux moves his hand, presses the backs of his fingers to the soft give of his cheek. “I called you here because I’ve been informed you aren’t reporting to medbay. If your wounds have become infected and it goes untreated it could be life threatening.” Satisfied, he drops his hand. Kylo, ludicrously, misses it. “I didn’t risk my life to save yours only for you to be killed by some damn microbes.”


“I am fine, General,” he spits. Hux’s sharp look tells him exactly what he thinks of that lie.


“You don’t feel feverish.” Strange, he can’t recall a time when his body has been so hot, the robes under his arms suddenly tacky with sweat, the hair at his temple sticking to damp skin. If he undressed he’s sure his chest would be mottled with a blush, can even feel a slithering heat trailing downward, settling deep in his groin. Oh!


Hux is still talking. “When was the last time you ate?”


“I-” he starts. Stops.


“Hmm. As I suspected.” Hux turns to his desk and picks up his datapad. He executes a few proficient taps before setting it back down. “I just ordered your dinner to be delivered. It will be ready in an hour.”


“I am not helpless,” he growls, anger flooding him. Does Hux truly think him so pathetic? “I am perfectly capable of ordering my own dinner.”


“Yes,” Hux says simply, unmoved by his outburst. “But I question whether or not you will bother to eat it. That’s why it’s being delivered to my quarters. I will see you in an hour, Ren.”


The conversation, apparently, is over. Hux sits back down at his desk, picks up his pen and focuses on the next pile of flimsi on his desk. Ren stares at the hand wrapped around the pen, the play of supple leather over joints and muscles, and remembers how the leather was heated by the hand within.


Abruptly, he stands and leaves.




He’s twelve minutes late when he walks into Hux’s quarters.


Ren’s hair is still damp, drip-dropping beads of water which roll down his neck and soak into the collar of his robes. He had returned to his quarters after leaving Hux’s office, sat on the durasteel floor as soon as he was past the door and tried vainly again to meditate, only to find his mind bringing forth the image of a gloved hand pressing against his face, the touch hotter than the sputtering blade of his saber, but bringing with it no hurt.


He heaved himself off the ground and staggered to his refresher, clawing at his suffocating layers of robes until he climbed under a spray so icy it stung hot against his skin at first. It was only when he was shivering and numb that he allowed himself to leave. He had considered not going but knew Hux would come track him down. And the idea of Hux, here, in his quarters, was unbearable.


“Ren, welcome.” Hux is framed in the doorway separating his living quarters from his sleep chambers. He’s rumpled in a way Kylo is sure he only ever is in his quarters. His hair is mussed, broken free on the pomade it’s usually slicked back with, greatcoat and jacket shed. He’s startlingly slim without the bulk of his uniform to bolster him, but there is still what Kylo doesn’t allow himself to think of as a pleasing width to his shoulders, tapering down to a narrow waist.


It should make Hux look weak, but he thinks suddenly of before (a mutinous thought), when he was younger and allowed leisurely pleasures, of climbing trees. The biggest, broadest branches were often deceptive, old and rotted on the inside. They looked strong but were brittle; would break under too heavy of a weight. It was the younger limbs, green and springy, which looked as though they would snap, would shake and tremble under his young feet, that held tight.


The door chimes. “Dinner,” Hux tells him. “Enter.” A housekeeping droid rolls in, a tray held on its arms. “The desk will do. Thank you.” The droid beeps in acknowledgment then rolls away, the door gliding quietly shut behind it.


“You’re crew is slipping, General. Dinner was late.”


“No.” Hux brushes past him, sits down. “Dinner was right on time. I knew you’d be late, so I told you earlier.” He wants to argue, but Hux is looking at him, daring him to, because, after all, Hux was right. “Sit, Ren. Eat.”


He sits. He eats. Dinner is standard First Order fare. Limp vegetables, flavorless; tough, unidentifiable meat.


Hux eats mechanically. There’s no flavor, no texture worth savoring. Cut, bite, chew, swallow, as he clears his plate. He takes the opportunity to surreptitiously study Hux. The knife-sharp bend of his elbows, the bob of his throat as he swallows each unappealing bite of his dinner. The fluid way his fingers work his utensils. It’s a utilitarian motion, nothing sensual in it, but Ren thinks again of Hux’s hand on his forehead and forces himself to devote his attention to his less than appetizing dinner.


Hux primly sets his fork down when he’s finished. Kylo is nearly done too, having found an enthusiasm for the food as a distraction from Hux. “When was the last time someone examined your side?” If he had food in his mouth he thinks he would’ve choked on it.


“It’s fine.”


“That’s not what I asked. And I doubt your preservation instinct.”


He imagines it, all too clearly, Wants it, all too badly. Hux’s hands smoothing over his flank, seeking out any sign of infection, gently ghosting over the raw skin, slowly knitting itself back together. It would heal faster if he didn’t twist his own blunt fingers into it, as punishment, as a reminder, as a way to connect to the dark side.


He can’t. He can’t! He can’t let Hux see him stripped bare, can’t let Hux touch him. He had thought the General had no softness, no tenderness in him, but today, the gentle kiss of fingers to his cheek, the steadying hand on his side as he stumbled to the chair, has proven him wrong. If he is unable to escape the memory of Hux checking perfunctorily for fever he can’t bare to think how a hand on the most delicate part of him will break him.


He shoves the last bit of food still on his plate into his mouth, buys himself time by following with a sip of water. “I will have a meddroid check it tomorrow.”


Hux nods. “Fine. Be sure you do.” Hux stands, stretches in a way which seems almost intimate, only because Kylo is sure Hux never would acknowledge such minor inconveniences as a sore back in front of his troops. He stands as well, allows Hux to lead him to the door, eager to leave without feeling like it’s an escape.


Hux’s hand lands on his shoulder as the door opens and Kylo stops, frozen. “Dinner tomorrow. I expect you to be here promptly.” The hand drops and he nods, not sure he even has a voice right now.


He hurries back to his quarters, too preoccupied to even worry if anyone sees him. He goes straight to his bed, sheds his layers as he goes. His cock is hard, aching to the point it feels bruised. He gasps as he touches it, feels it twitch at the caress of leather.


He pulls his gloves off, tosses them to the ground, feeling betrayed by them. He can’t allow himself to think of black leather, pulled taught over knuckles, touching him.


He rarely touches himself anymore. Doesn’t enjoy it. Doing so only serves to remind him what he’s never had, will probably never have. If he was so ugly before no one wanted him he’s sure no one will have him now, a pathetic failure with a scar to make him even uglier. Usually he would resist, would channel the wash of unfulfilled desire into a boiling rage and pull himself closer to the dark with it, but oh, oh, how he burns, so flame-hot desperately, and he wants, he wants - no, he mustn't think it - but he can’t help it, can’t force it away. Shame and desire coil tight in his belly, binary stars which burn through his body and he wants-


Wants hands on him. Wants Hux’s hands on him. On his face, yes, he knows what that feels like, knows how good the warmth of them feels, but more, greedy, greedy. Wants them without gloves. Wants Hux’s hand on his jaw as Hux kisses him. Wants it lower, his neck, his chest, brushing the tender, pink skin on his side, sparking damaged nerve endings. He fists his cock tighter, wishes it was Hux’s hand. Hux touching his cock, cradling his heavy balls in his palm. Lower, more. Wants Hux’s fingers in him, opening him up. His breath shakes, rattles in his chest at the idea of Hux touching inside him.


He’s never felt such a thing, has never been able to bring himself to try it. If his own hand on his dick is a too harsh reminder of how alone he is, doing that, by himself, because he’s so undesirable no one can bring themselves to want him, would be unbearable. He aches at the thought of it, of being touched so intimately, taps his own finger against his rim and sobs at how good it feels, pulls his hand away. Better to not know what he’s missing than to only have a poor imitation of what he so desperately craves.


He holds his own fingers to the spot on his cheek Hux touched earlier and comes, spills over his hand as he tries futilely not to cry Hux’s name. He trembles as he imagines what it would be like to have a partner there to gentle him through this, to hold his spent penis as it softens and twitches, to turn his face up for a kiss with a brush against his jaw.


He shakes the thought away, ashamed, and walks to the ‘fresher on uneasy legs. He looks at himself in the mirror. Face splotchy with the flush of arousal, the unsettling scar a counterpoint to his already awful features. He curls a fist, almost brings it up to the glass but holds himself back.


This is his weakness, his shame. And he must not forget it.




He does as he said and goes to medbay. The droid whirrs and clicks, no warmth to it, only metal the same temperature as the chill of the room, as it checks his stitches, applies bacta and a new bandage. He tells it to send a report to General Hux.


He could go himself. Or wait until dinner tonight. Yet he hopes, pointlessly he knows, but it’s still there, that if Hux is satisfied Kylo is looking after himself he’ll cancel dinner, leave Kylo alone with his shame and his lust he knows will never be slaked. Hopes he won’t have to endure any more delicious touches that will never be what he wants.


His attempts to meditate, to center himself, are an even more abysmal failure that they were the day before; he can’t close his eyes without thoughts of Hux, his hands, stripped of their gloves, on him, working him into a frenzy.


When his datapad chirps with a message it’s a relief today.


The message is from Hux, reminding him not to be late. He goes to the refresher again, turns on only the cold water and directs it toward his cock. The near frozen spray, combined with his harshly whispered reminder to himself that Hux doesn’t want him, could never want him, cools his ardour enough he thinks he can face Hux.


If Hux doesn’t touch him again.


As he walks the short distance from his rooms to Hux’s he considers that maybe the scar on his face isn’t his true punishment; perhaps Hux, with his soft fingers and newly found concern, is.


He arrives at the door at the same time as the housekeeping droid, opens the door with a careless flick of his wrist. Hux is at his desk, perusing something on his datapad as they enter. Kylo swallows when he realizes Hux isn’t wearing gloves.


His hands are pale, finely bones with a webwork of veins tracing lightly though the wrists and palms. He inclines his head toward the chair across from him and Kylo sits, studies the meal before him. It’s different from the night before, but not in any ways which will make a difference. Still limp vegetables, still overdone meat. Still flavorless and bland, it’s only value nutritional and to satisfy hunger. Hux takes a bite and he mirrors the action.


“I got the report from medbay.” Kylo nods, keeps his eyes on his food. He was hoping they would eat in silence as they did the night before so he could simply concentrate on forcing down each flavorless bite and keeping his attention off Hux. His knife clatters loudly to his plate when Hux reaches across and brushes fingers over his hand. He jerks back into his seat.


“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He waits until Hux’s hand is safely back on his side of the desk before he returns to his plate. There’s no more attempts at conversation although he catches Hux watching him several times. He east quicker, chokes down bite after bite despite the knot his stomach has tied itself into.


He’s out of his seat before he’s even fully chewed the last bite, a quick nod before he walks to the door. Hux doesn’t walk with him tonight. “Ren,” Hux calls as the door swooshes open. He turns just slightly, one foot already across the threshold, to see Hux leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping a staccato beat on his desk, one corner of his lips quirked up in what could be a smile or could simply be a trick of the light. “Don’t be late tomorrow.”




He will end this tonight.


This distraction, this obsession , can not continue. He had attempted drills with his lightsaber today; the katas that should be muscle memory, ingrained deep within his body, were nearly impossible to run through when he kept glancing at his hand and thinking ‘this is where Hux touched me.’


He will end this, must end this. If Snoke were here to witness this, to see his failures , he would- he’s not sure what Snoke would do. Only knows he doesn’t want to dwell on it.


Hux is waiting for him not at his desk but on the long, low couch which takes up a wall. His hand, ungloved, is wrapped around the stem of a wineglass, the liquid rich and red as he swirls it around. There is a matching one on the table in front of him.


“Ren. Good. Come have a drink with me before dinner.” There, again, is that small, maybe-smile Hux wore last night. He eases himself back, drapes his arm along the back of the couch.


“I don’t drink.”


“I suspect there’s a lot you don’t do.” Hux considers him as he takes a slow sip of his wine. “Is it forbidden to you?”


He shakes his head.


“Good. Then come have a drink with me.” Hux picks up the second glass and offers it to him.


Resigned, he sits, as far away from the general as the seating allows. He resists the urge to shiver as he accepts the glass, his fingers brushing against Hux’s on the stem. He’s grateful he still has gloves on.


His first taste of the wine is sour and bitter on his tongue and he can’t help the face he makes. Hux laughs, a throaty, smokey sound. “Perhaps,” he put his glass back on the table as he tries to work some moisture into his suddenly parched mouth to speak. “Perhaps it is an acquired taste.”


“Perhaps it is.” Hux takes another taste of his then puts his glass down as well, uses the movement to shift closer. “Tell me, Ren. You don’t drink, even though it’s not forbidden to you. I know you don’t smoke. So what vices do you have?”

He rubs his hands on his knees, palms suddenly clammy, and looks at that instead of Hux’s piercing gaze. “I try to avoid anything which would distance me from the Force.”


“Does that include-” Hux cups his jaw, thumb resting on his chin, right below his too-full lip. He stops breathing, shivers at the touch, shivers in anticipation. He wants to push into Hux’s hand, wants to turn away and flee. “Sex?”


“Hux.” The name is less than a breath, quieter than even a whisper. His eyes had closed as soon as Hux touched him, overwhelmed, so he isn’t looking as Hux tugs him closer but he follows, sways forward, helpless against the pull.


“When was the last time you were kissed?” Hux is so close, he can feel the heat from his lips, so very, very near to his own. Can taste the wine lingering on his breath, feels lightheaded from it.


He shakes his head, frantic. “Never,” he gasps. “I’ve never-”


“Oh, Ren,” Hux drawls out.


And then Hux kisses him.


Hux fists a hand in his hair- a spark of almost-too-much which makes him moan, and cups Kylo’s jaw with the other one. His lips are wicked and surprisingly soft, given that the recycled air on ships tends to be drying. He turns Kylo’s head with a soft tug on his curls, coaxes his mouth open by running his thumb over the sharp hinge of his jaw. Hux kisses him for long minutes, and he finds he quite enjoys the traces of wine he can taste off of Hux’s lips.


Hux pulls back with a bite to his bottom lip and he whines.


His hands are still on his knees and he fists them in his robes. “Hux, I don’t, I haven’t,” his voice, already tight and hoarse, runs out.


“I know, darling, I know. Do you like it?” He nods, a desperate warmth blooming in his chest. Hux’s hand slides to the back of his neck, slips under the heavy fall of his curls. “Lean back.” He does, lets the hand on his neck guide him until he’s propped in the corner of the couch. Hux climbs atop him, slots them together in delicious ways, their dips and planes fitting in ways he never would’ve thought.


Hux leans in close but doesn’t kiss him, not quite. “You can touch me,” and then he’s kissing Kylo again. He can’t think to second guess himself so he lets go of his knees to cup the slight jut of Hux’s hips. He can feel Hux grin against him, trembles as Hux whispers “Precious.”


He’s a mess of nerves and fractured thoughts, unable to think past Hux’s lips on his, Hux’s fingers flexing in his hair, Hux’s whole body tucked close to his, hot enough to burn through his layers right to his core. Hux trails his kisses away, drags a meandering line of them down the soft slope of jaw he’s always hated to the fleshy underside of his chin.


His whole body spasms as he sucks a stinging kiss there, a knife sharp stab of pleasure which is suddenly too much to bear. “Stop,” he begs, twisting away. “Stop, please. I can’t take it!


“Shh,” Hux soothes, pulling away only to lean in close, nudges his cowl away with his nose so he can speak right up against the shell of his ear. “It’s okay. I’ll stop. Did it hurt?”


“It feels too good,” he gasps, takes a stuttering breath. “It’s too much. Too good. I can’t, I can’t-” he sobs. How can he explain that he had to stop it, was scared by the rising tide of pleasure, because he’s certain if he let it continue he would lose himself to it? Would burn hot and bright as a dying star?


Hux works fingers through his hair, calls him his darling, darling boy as he eases back from whatever precipice he was on. Gentles him, gives him sweet pecks of kisses which don’t crescendo as they did before until he feels settled back in his skin. His lungs steady and he can breathe deep again, his pulse calms back to a strong beat-beat-beat in his veins, and his hands stop fluttering in their shaky grip still at Hux’s hips.


“Stay with me tonight.” He feels panic band tight around his ribs at Hux’s request. If simple kisses nearly broke him how could he hope to survive anything more? He’ll be consumed by this thing he has no words for .


Hux must sense his panic, feels his body go rigid. “Too sleep.” A fluttering touch through his hair, a stroke to his cheek. “Only to sleep. I want you in my arms.”


He’s overcome with desire for such a luxury; another body tangled with his in the night. He aches for the comfort of Hux’s embrace, arms tight around his back and a slender chest for a pillow. “Yes. I want that. I want to stay.” Hux stands, holds out his hand.


He takes it in his own, and follows.




It's a feather soft touch to his face that wakes him. “Ren.” He scrunches his face, turns it away from the touch and further into the pillow. A chuckle. “Ren, wake up.”


He blinks gummy eyes against the dim light but as soon as he catches sight of Hux, resplendent as a sunrise, copper hair still untamed, skin pink from a thorough scrubbing in the ‘fresher, and a half-awake smile letting a glint of teeth peak through, he rouses. Hux curls over him, give him a kiss as sweet as milky, sugared caf. He arches off the bed to follow as Hux leans back. “I have to leave for the bridge in a few minutes. I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”


“Don’t be late,” he interrupts Hux with the words he knows will be following. Hux doesn’t smile, but he knows it’s only to avoid encouraging him. He watches Hux through the open door of his refresher as he finishes neatening his hair. Dons his jacket, coat, gloves, hat. He trails Hux out of the bedroom to the living area and watches, entranced, as Hux pauses right before his door and his already perfect posture straightens even more.


Hux casts a last glance at him. “General,” he acknowledges. Hux nods curtly then steps out into the hall with a smart click of boots.


He returns to the bedroom and collects his cowl and belt off the floor. He debates returning to his rooms and changing but the scent of Hux still clings to his robes. He had expected Hux to mock him for his shyness, to shed the role of caring lover and return to his usual ruthless self, ready to exploit any weakness stupid enough to be revealed to him. But Hux had only stepped next to him when he saw Kylo nervously fingering his belt, stilled unsteady hands with one of his own. “Only whatever you’re comfortable with,” he had said, and Ren had believed him, had allowed Hux to pull him close (as if he could have resisted; as if he could’ve wanted to resist) and lull him to sleep with fluttering kisses. If the wool of his clothes had rubbed and chafed Hux said nothing.


He walks to the refresher to adjust his cowl and stops, startled, when he sees himself in the mirror. He had stupidly believed himself transformed by Hux’s kisses. Made desirable by the obvious display of Hux’s desire, but no, here he sees nothing but the same face which has always taunted him. Watery doe eyes with drooping lids. Fiercely cut cheekbones that clash with the softness of the jaw they slope into. Ears he had taken to hiding under long hair even as a child to try and avoid torment. A nose too large for his face- for anyone’s face.


And there, even if everything else could be ignored, is the scar, a constant remind of his failure. A reminder that for all his strength, all his training, all his sacrifice, he isn’t good enough, strong enough. Hux’s grand scheme may have failed but the man himself has not; Ren has watch him fight to keep his position, claw back respect from superiors and subordinates alike by refusing to give an inch of ground, by refusing to mourn Star Killer and bouncing right back with another, grander plan to lead the First Order to victory.


How could he be so foolish as to think Hux could want him?


He returns to the bed to gather his boots and gloves. He stills as he reaches for them. Gloves. He closes his eyes, overcome with the memory of Hux’s hands on him, Hux’s eyes bright with desire, Hux’s body wrapped around him to ward off the chill of the night.


Ren sits on the bed, hovers a hand over the sheets. They still carry a trace of Hux’s Force signature, lingering in the same way the heat of his body had, like a scent nearly faded away teasing the nose.


He closes his eyes and reaches for the golden thread of Hux’s Force mark, follows it with his mind, tracks it like a hound, easier to follow the closer his mind wanders toward Hux, until he’s standing as an unseen presence beside Hux on the bridge, watching Hux oversee his ship. His physical body sways back on the bed it still sits on as his consciousness slips away from it to hover near Hux. He watches Hux talk with a lieutenant, watches as the General accepts a datapad and goes to sign off on it. Hux pauses, and he wonders why, reaches out with the Force, lightly brushes Hux’s thoughts and suddenly slams back into his body with what he finds.


Hux had caught sight of his hand wrapped around the stylus and had remembered, vividly, curling the same hand in Ren’s hair.


Maybe, he thinks, if Hux can look at a barren planet and see the potential for a weapon, he can look at Kylo and see something worth wanting.




He stays longer in Hux’s bed, anchors himself with the smooth sheets which still smell of Hux and opens himself to the Force, to the Dark. It flows through him, fills him, and he drifts on it. His connection never ebbs, never weakens, and he lets it carry him. When he comes back to himself every object in the room is floating, held steadily up in the air. They all lower as he releases a breath, smoothly settling without a sound.


His meditations have never left him so rested.


He trains with his saber for the rest of the day, his movements fluid in a way they’ve never been, each choreographed move effortless and thoughtless. He only falters with the thought that had he moved like this while fighting the scavenger he would’ve won, but even that doubt is abandoned in moments for the memory of the sweet way Hux’s hips had filled his palms.


He changes before he heads to meet Hux, pulls on robes which smell of clean wool and opts to forgo his cowl, despite the pang of anxiety which rings deep within him at the thought of so openly exposing his face. With the easy way he has been connecting to the Force all day he struggles not to skim the thoughts of those he passes, not wanting to overhear what they think of him.


Hux, when he sees him, smiles.


Ren has never taken instruction well, accepts orders even less well. Even from Snoke, demands of what he must do chafe like a scab threatening to pull off and reopen a wound, but as Hux wordlessly walks straight into his bedroom he follows. Hux stretches wantonly out on his bed. Ren’s breath hitches at the way the light snags in the hollow of Hux’s collarbone, his once-starched collar crumpled and pushed to the side.


“Ren, sweetness,” he beckons, the word itself sweet, but not like sugar. No, like the first sharp bite of rich, dark chocolate, a tangy tartness which mellows only after it sits on the tongue. “Come here.”


The call of the Light, the call of the Dark, have never been so tempting as Hux’s hands in his hair as Hux wrangles him this way and that with only the gentlest of touches against his scalp. Hux moves him, moulds him, guides him, in the same exacting manner he does battle plans and blueprints, but with a languidness which has no place in warfare. Instead of harsh words and reprimands for failure there is only Hux whispering “shh, darling, calm down, no rush” until Ren is trembling and desperate, his hands and his mind full of Hux, Hux, Hux.




The days slip by with an easiness he’s never known before.


The Force comes to him with no effort now, drapes around him like a cape, a comforting weight on his shoulders which he carries so lightly he only notes it‘s there when he thinks about it.


He spends his days training; rebuilding muscles weakened from recovery, strengthening his bond to the Force. Meditation is so elementary to him he wonders why he ever struggled with it. With the memory of Hux’s touch warming his skin he feels the Force open to him. His consciousness slips from his body and wanders the halls of the Finalizer as an unseen spectre who goes where he pleases.


Today Hux has gone planetside for the majority of his shift to negotiate with an ore rich planet. Kylo waits on the bridge despite the uneasiness he feels spilling off of the officers at his presence. At the announcement that the General’s shuttle has safely docked he leaves for the landing bay, knowing everyone is too relieved at his departure to question his timing.


He arrives as Hux departs the ramp, a jaunty lift in his step the only sign that today has gone well. Hux is please.


“General,” he greets.


“Ren.” Hux tilts his head in not quite a greeting. “I trust everything is in order?”


“As you left it, General.” Hux nods his head in an invitation to walk with him.


“Tell me, Ren,” he begins as they pass into the hallways of the Finalizer. It’s not time for shift change, so they aren’t as packed as they can get, but on a ship of this size they are never empty. “I know you can read minds. How adept are you?”


“Taking an interest in my training, General?” Even as he asks the question he is skimming the bright spot of Hux’s mind.


“Simple curiosity.”  As Hux says it he catches the thought he’s projecting.


Meet me in my quarters as soon as shift ends. The words are wrapped in desire. He suppresses a shiver even as Hux’s quick stride leaves him behind.


He is outside Hux’s door the moment alpha shift is over, wondering if he appears too eager. Hux arrives a few minutes later and gives him a knowing smile as they step inside. As soon as the door closes Hux pushes his cowl aside and nips at his lip. “I have a present for you.”


He mewls as Hux takes a step back. Hux smiles.


He perches on the couch and Kylo follows. “These,” Hux tells him, leaning toward the low table in front of the couch to pull a plate near him, “are called stravaberries.” He plucks one from the plate. It’s red and fleshy and his lips part when Hux drags it against them. “They harvest them on the planet we visited.” He presses the fruit more firmly against Ren’s mouth. “They’re considered a delicacy.” His tongue darts out. Hux pulls his mouth open with a thumb to his jaw, slips the berry against his tongue. He bites and juice bursts out, floods his mouth tart and sweet.


He takes delicate bites until only the green stem remains between Hux’s fingers then Hux captures his mouth, licks the sticky juice from his lips. They kiss until Hux has stolen all the delicious flavor, then he picks up another of the luscious berries.


Hux feeds two more to him in the same manner, kissing him thoroughly after each one, until his mouth waters not for the ripe fruit but for Hux’s wicked tongue. Hux pauses after he picks up the third one, traces it over the fullness of Ren’s lower lip but pulls it just out of reach when he leans forward to catch it between his teeth.


“Greedy,” Hux taunts. He feels himself flush, turns his face aside in shame, unable to look Hux in the eye anymore. “Ren,” forces him to turn his head back. “I want you greedy.”


Hux is right; he has been greedy. He’s pressed into every touch Hux gives him, has opened himself to Hux’s kisses, has wrapped himself in Hux’s embrace every night. He lunges forward and catches the fruit in his teeth. If Hux is willing to offer him this- soothing touch and frantic kisses and bright berries that explode on his tongue with flavor- he isn’t strong enough to resist.


After he eats the berry he sucks the sticky juice off of Hux’s fingers.


Hux picks up another, feeds him a bite. “The people who grow the berries claim that they have aphrodisiacal properties.”


He’s shocked to stillness for a moment until he feels wetness drip from the corner of his lip and he rushes to wipe it off.


He knows what follows, has felt the press of Hux’s cock against him although Hux has never mentioned it. He recognizes hunger- how could he not? It has been constant, an empty gnawing he has always known which has only begun abating with each soft touch Hux gifts him. He knows what they’ve been building to, yearns for it and dreads it in equal measure. What will he do when Hux decides he wants someone in his bed who won’t need to be taught how to kiss, how to bring pleasure? How can he return to a life without this in it?


“Greedy,” Hux whispers again, “but still so very shy.” Hux drops a kiss at the corner of his lips where liquid has caught in the creases. “We had them tested. The berries have no such properties.” Another matching kiss to the other side. “I won’t force you, Ren.”


“But you must- you have to want-”


“I want many things, Ren. Several of them involve you. But for now, I want to feed you stravaberries and have you fall asleep in my arms.” Hux plucks another off the plate, the fattest, ripest, brightest one. He closes his eyes when Hux slides it past his lips.


“Delicious,” Hux whispers.




It’s with a start he realizes he’s on the bridge. He’s unsure how long ago he left Snoke’s holochamber, had wandered trance-like and aimlessly after he was dismissed.


He likes being on the bridge. Since his connection to the Force has strengthened he can now sense the mood of an entire room while still picking up individual feelings. He stands in the corner and absorbs the overwhelming sense of pride the officers all project at serving under such a general. The destruction of Star Killer has not lessened Hux in their eyes; if anything they respect him more. To watch his life’s work be destroyed and to step out of the ashes unburned and unmarred, as determined as ever, only adds to his reputation as a fearsome leader.


“General,” he interrupts Hux as he speaks to a petty office. “I need to speak with you.”


“As does Officer Unamo, Ren. She, however, was speaking to me first.” Despite their newfound civility, their affection, Hux is still Hux, and his tolerance for Ren’s antics doesn’t extend outside of the privacy of his quarters.


“It is urgent. I’m being sent on a mission.”


“Excuse me, Officer Unamo. We’ll continue this later.” She gives a sharp salute and turns on her heel. “Lieutenant,” he calls to an officer whose name Kylo can’t remember looking curiously on, “you have the bridge. Come with me, Ren.”


They walk side by side toward Hux’s office. He swears Hux’s hand, whisper soft, brushes against his lower back in a fleeting kiss of contact as they walk through the door.


“When do you leave?”


“Tonight. There have been reports of a small Resistance base in the Outer Rim. If so, I need to eradicate them. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” Hux nods in acknowledgement. “If I didn’t have to go, if I could stay-” he says, voice suddenly shaky.

“Nonsense,” Hux interrupts. “Your duties to the Order must take priority over all else.” Kylo looks to the ground, studies his boots, chastised. “Ren,” Hux chides softly. “Look at me.” He drags his eyes up. “It doesn’t mean I don’t want you here.” Hux steps forward and lays a hand against his cheek. He cups it with his own larger one, pressing it close, hoping to absorb the memory of its warmth to ward off the chill of the small, empty bunk waiting for him on his ship. “I would keep you with me always,” he whispers fiercely. “But you are strong, and you are brave, and you’d chafe against such a cage. You will go, and you will return to me a victor.”


“Hux.” Barely a whisper.


Hux stretches up and kisses him, sweet and slow. “For good luck,” he murmurs against his lips.


When Hux tries to step back Kylo fists his hands in his immaculate uniform and pulls him close. Hux grins like a predator anticipating the chase of long awaited prey.


“My sweet boy.” A kiss. “My fierce knight.” He darts under Kylo’s chin, pushes the cowl aside and bites into the tender juncture of his neck, a blooming hot spot of pain which feathers into pleasure and makes him stumble against Hux’s arms, wound tight around him, as he presses his teeth deeper, harder, releasing just as the skin threatens to break. Hux soothes the sting with a cool breath of air which makes him shiver.


He clings to Hux, trembling as Hux pets his hair. “I want you to return to me by the time the mark fades.” He nods against Hux’s neck, allows himself a few more moments of comfort before he straightens. “I’ll see you at your shuttle before it departs,” Hux tells him.


Hux, true to his word, is there as he climbs the ramp to his ship. “Good luck,” he wishes him again, voice strong and clear and entirely professional, but his eyes are stuck on the spot where, beneath his cowl, a bruise has already blossomed, a deep purple, blood hot, which pulls and strains when he turns his neck. A reminder of what he has to return to.




The mark is faded to a faint, sickly yellow-green ring when he docks on the Finalizer. It’s well into Delta shift and the usually lively ship is subdued by the late hour. He makes his way through the corridors and pauses outside of Hux’s quarters, gently pushes out with the Force. Hux’s ever-whirring mind is present, still awake but on the verge of slipping into sleep.


He debates leaving- it’s not as though half a shift will make a difference. He’s been away from Hux for nine days. Nine long days and longer nights spent restless and adrift, fingering the fading bruise just to feel his blood pound in his veins and his pulse ratchet higher. To feel desire pool in his groin and his cock harden, aching for touch, for Hux.


He stays.


Hux answers the summons of his door bleary eyed and and with his hair a wreck. His shoulders relax when he sees it’s Kylo. “Ren,” he says around a yawn. “Come in.”


He steps in quickly, eager to slide in before Hux realizes the late hour and sends him away.  Hux sits on his couch and blinks sleepily before shaking his head, eyes sharpening with alertness.


“I trust everything went well?”


“Yes.” He sits. “I wanted to thank you.”


“Oh? What for?” He swears Hux is suppressing a smirk.


“For what you, for the-” he swallows, feels his face heat. His hand moves up to press on the spot, a habit he developed to anchor himself. Hux’s eyes track the movement and he pauses, remembering Hux calling him brave and strong; an often sought comfort while away. He wants to be worthy of the praise. “For marking me.”


He pulls the cowl off, casts the drape of black fabric to the side. He’s unsure if Hux will be able to see the still lingering bruise in the dimmed light but his fingers brush unerringly against the spot, sending a chill racing down his skin.


“I did as you asked. I came back to you, before it’s gone.” Hux smiles and rests his thumb against the strumming pulsepoint in his neck.


“I never doubted you would.” Hux kisses him and he melts into it, feels the tension of knotted muscles ease away. “It’s late,” Hux says when he pulls back. “I’m sure you’re tired.” He’s not, not really, still riding on adrenaline, but the thought of sheets which smell like Hux and a warm body to burrow close to during the night, of hands in his hair, soothing him into sleep, is too tempting a thought to protest after days bereft, so he lets Hux lead him into the bedroom.


Hux crawls back under the sheets while he undoes the belt around his robes. He hesitates. So far he’s kept his robes on while they sleep, the thought of so much skin on skin maddeningly overwhelming. But Hux is soft-eyed with sleep and he has missed him since the moment the ramp on his ship closed and blocked Hux from his sight.


He pulls the robes off and lets them puddle messily on the floor, sits on the edge of the bed to work his boots off, leaving him in a simple shirt and loose fitting pants. Hux says nothing, only scoots over and raises the covers so Kylo can join him.


Hux shifts over him, crosses his slender arms on Kylo’s broad chest and rests his chin on them.


“I missed you,” he confesses. The words sound so close to what he wants to say.


“I know,” Hux says with a smile. “I supposed I missed you too.” Hux shifts himself up, leans close as if to kiss, but instead trails fingers over his lips, traces them up the curve of his cheekbone, slides them over the generous curl of his ear and behind, to the sensitive spot at the hinge of his jaw which makes Ren shiver and his cock stiffen. “My beautiful boy,” he praises. “My strong knight, so bold and brave.” He trembles as nimble fingers stroke across the hollow of his throat. “And so very sensitive, ” Hux whispers against his lips before catching them in a kiss.


Hux maps his face, the rice-paper skin of his eyelids, the broad line of his nose, the too-sharp ridge of his cheekbones and the too-soft line of his chin. Calls him beautiful, exquisite, a masterpiece. He wants to argue, to tell Hux he’s wrong, he’s none of those things, but everytime he starts to speak Hux silences him with a kiss.  


He fists his hands in the sheets to resist cupping them around his cock. He’s hard and throbbing, pressed snug against Hux’s hip. Shame burns sun-flare hot through him at his reaction to simple touch, desire running thick through his veins. Hux kisses the fleshy, pale underside of his chin, hums against the skin and tremors quake down his body, his hips rolling up, seeking pressure, without thought.


“I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” thrashes his head back and forth on the pillow even as his hips thrust up again.


“Lovely,” Hux whispers, and draws him into a fierce kiss with both hands, teeth catching on Kylo’s kiss-swollen lip.


“Hux!” He cries out as he thrusts up once more, claws at the sheets with one hand while the other flies up to grasp Hux’s, desperate for an anchor as his orgasm tears through him with blinding force. “I can’t, please, I’m sorry,” he pleads as come pulses out, flooding his pants with sticky wetness. “I’m sorry,” he gasps again, holding tighter to Hux’s hand.


Please don’t leave, please don’t leave.


“Oh, darling boy.” Hux shifts his hand so he is the one holding Kylo’s, pulls it up and sweeps kisses over the knuckles. “My perfect, darling boy. You’re beautiful when you come.”


He turns his face to the side. How can Hux be so cruel, taunt him so? He knows, he knows, what an embarrassment Hux must think him now. He’s inexperienced, not naive, he knows how undesirable he already was, but now, now, Hux has seen him come undone from a few simple touches; watched him spill into his pants, overwhelmed and unable to control himself, like some youth. Even if Hux could overlook his unfortunate face no one could possibly want a partner who unravels at the slightest of contact.


“Don’t mock me,” he spits, fighting to keep the tears from spilling. He tries to push Hux off so he can go punish himself in the privacy of his own rooms for wrecking this with his eagerness, but Hux has a determined strength, wrought into him through long years of having to fight for all he wants, and holds tight.


“I’m not mocking you, Ren. I enjoyed that. Immensely.” He rocks his own hips down and Kylo feels his answering hardness. “You were breathtaking, falling apart under my hands.” He looks back at Hux, finds nothing but truth in his eyes. Hux raises the hand he still holds, lays Kylo’s fingertips against his temple. “If you don’t believe me, see for yourself.”


He projects the Force through the connecting points of his fingers, feels it flow out and Hux’s mind opens to him, the memory at the front of his thoughts. He unfolds it, suddenly seeing himself, laid out on the sheets, through Hux’s eyes.


If he weren’t the only Force-user in the room he’d be certain Hux’s thoughts had been tampered with. Hux has called him beautiful, and while he’s basked in the praise he’s always know it was a lie, had told himself that perhaps Hux meant his strength, his powers, were beautiful. But while it’s him Hux is looking down at it’s not a version of himself he’s ever seen before. The Hux in the memory thinks his sharp nose is stately, his overgrown ears endearing, finds no fault with his weak chin or expressive eyes. He registers the scar, sees it and accepts it, but doesn’t linger on it. He feels Hux’s desire for him, Hux’s satisfaction as he feels Ren harden beneath him, knows now that Hux had wanted to reach down and cup a hand around him but resisted the temptation because his darling, precious, strong, brave, beautiful boy is still so bashful.


He pulls back, blinks to reorient himself and sees Hux’s startlingly green eyes flutter open.


“I want you, Ren, never doubt that.”


“Kylo,” he says, suddenly emboldened. He grazes his fingers through Hux’s copper hair, pulls him forward for a kiss, for the first time entirely certain Hux is only too happy to fall into it. “Call me Kylo.”




Hux is still in bed, curled behind him, when he wakes up. The lights, set to steadily brighten as Hux’s chrono counts down the minutes to his alarm, are still turned low.


He’s hard in his borrowed sleep pants, a little too short and straining around his broad waist, but all they could manage after he peeled his own soiled ones off last night.


“Mmm, good morning,” Hux greets. He mouths at Kylo’s neck as his hips roll firmly against Kylo’s backside, his own morning hard on obvious.


“Morning,” he says back as he feels his blood flow south to his already heavy cock. He shifts back with a gasp to meet Hux’s next thrust, groans when Hux pulls him back even more with a hand on his hip. Hux pants against his ear, breath warm and moist.


Hux’s hand slides forward, hovers over his cotton-clad dick, waiting for permission. “Maker, Hux, please, touch me.” Hux cups him through the pants, heat seeping through the thin material as he rubs at the damp spot already leaking through. His hips stutter, unsure whether to seek more friction from Hux’s hand or grind back against the dirty-wrong-so-so-good sensation of Hux’s hardened cock riding the curve of his ass.


“Gorgeous,” Hux praises him. “My beautiful, lovely boy. I want to wake like this every day.”


“Please,” he begs, eager for something he never knew could feel so good until now but he’s certain he can no longer live without. Feels the white-hot tension build, desperation clouding his thoughts.  “Please, Hux, it’s so good.”


Hux pulls him closer as he furiously works his cock, squeezes him tighter and tighter. “Hux, please. Don’t tease me ,” he sobs, choking on his pleasure.


“Kylo.” Want makes Hux’s voice heavy, honeyed and slurred. “Come for me.”


Hux latches onto Kylo’s neck, sharp teeth a fiery counterpoint to mounting pleasure as he rubs over the sensitized head of his cock. He whimpers as his muscles tense and release, spurt after spurt of come milked from him while Hux still holds him, only letting go when he shivers in too-much sensation.


“Someday, when you’re ready, you’re going to come while I’m inside you. I’m going to make you see stars, Kylo.” Hux, he realizes, is still lazily rubbing up against him.


“Do you,” he stops, tries find the words. “Do you want-” he trails off.


“Eventually,” Hux promises. “When you’re ready.” Hux turns his head toward him to snatch a kiss.


“You could do it yourself,” he offers. “Touch yourself. And I’ll just be here beside you.”


“Yes, yes, kriff, yes,” Hux moans and rolls onto his back. Kylo turns to his other side, eyes on Hux as he slides his pants down, his cock springing free of the waistband. It’s surprisingly thick, given Hux’s slim frame, with a slight curve. Mouthwateringly pink with a darker, wine flush to the head, standing tall and proud in a nest of coarse auburn hair.


Hux strokes it, and he tries to memorize the movement, the pace, the twist at the head and the tighter grip at the base. He’s hypnotized by the flex of muscles, the fat, pearly drops which leak from the head that Hux catches to further slick his way.


“Hux.” He shuffles closer until Hux’s side is a strong line of heat against him. “You’ve marked me twice now. Can I, am I allowed-” he gives up on words, asks his question by brushing fingers against the pale curve of Hux’s shoulder.


“Fuck, Ren, Kylo, yes, yes.” He leans it, fits his mouth around the flesh and bites. Not hard, not like Hux, not to bruise, but satisfied that the imprint of his teeth will linger in Hux’s freckled skin for much of the day.


Hux comes with a gasp, mouth open and back bowed taut as he spills into his cupped palm, the liquid milky and iridescent as it pools. He turns his head, kisses Kylo, tongues open his lips as a tremor fizzles through his body, his groan low and hot and sweet against Kylo’s lips.




“Supreme Leader,” he begins, “I have cleared the Resistance base off of Ceti Alpha V, as you directed. Soon there will be no place left in the galaxy for them to hide.”


He has been sent on several of these missions since the first, has torn through the Resistance and their meagre defenses and returned victorious from each one, splattered in gore which Hux sponges away from his face, his robes singed and reeking of smoke as Hux helps him shrug their heaviness off, all while Hux praises him, calls him his brave knight, his fierce warrior, his beautiful, darling boy, between tender kisses and sure fingers that work the knots from his muscles, the tangles from his hair.


Before he departs for each Hux is sure to mark him, ever since he shyly confessed that it gives him a center, an anchor, something to focus on when he needs to pull the Force closer. The back of his neck, the slope of his shoulder, the hollow of his throat. Once, even, the inside of his wrist, Hux’s teeth sharp against the life-giving veins which run so close to the surface, so very careful not to press too hard. A beautiful bruise had flowered, inky as the space Hux’s ship cuts through. He had pressed his lips to that one countless times over the course of twelve days, certain some essence of Hux still lingered on the spot.


“You have done well, my apprentice,” Snoke commends. “You have grown stronger with the Force. I can feel the Dark Side growing in you. Continue with your training. Return with General Hux in five days time. We will plan our next move then.”


“Yes, Supreme Leader.” The hologram cuts out, leaving him dwarfed by the empty, cavernous room. He exits, his footsteps echoing until he reaches the door and steps out into the hallway. It’s late enough Hux has already left the bridge and returned to his rooms to work on plan for the successor to Star Killer. He hasn’t seen the plans, ‘not yet,’ Hux had told him, ‘but soon. Oh Kylo, it’ll be a triumph.’ He has no doubts about that, has skimmed snatches of blueprints he doesn’t really understand from Hux’s mind, has seen the furrow between Hux’s brow as he works on it, radiating pride and greatness, confidence that this, this will be so grand that it will erase the defeat of Star Killer from memory.


Hux is sitting at his desk as he expected, a stylus tucked behind one ear, a cold cup of caf, half-drunk then forgotten, at his elbow and his datapad in hand. He is, Kylo thinks, a vision. Jacket off and shirt cuffs pushed haphazardly up his forearms, his eyes so fiercely bright as ideas spark in his brilliant mind.


“Kylo,” Hux says, turning his attention away from his datapad. “What did Supreme Leader have to say?”


“He’s pleased with my success.”


Hux stands, prowls to him. “Of course he is, Kylo. How could he not be?” Hux lays a hand on his cheek and he tilts his head, trapping it between his shoulder.


“Hux,” he breathes.


This man, this man . This brilliant, unstoppable man. Who touches him tenderly and marks him roughly. Who has made him strong and beautiful by calling him strong and beautiful. Who held him tight this morning, panting into Hux’s neck as he ground himself against his thigh, rhythm faltering as Hux boldly slid a hand under the hem of his shirt, palm hot against the small of his back as he came with a cry, Hux’s lips shaping the words ‘darling, darling, oh my darling’ against his temple.


He wants everything with Hux.


“Hux,” he murmurs again, finding the courage Hux promises he has. “I want you.”


“Kylo,” he says, carding his other hand through dark curls, “you have me.”


“I want you inside me,” he whispers, dizzy with the thought of Hux’s hands, perhaps Hux’s mouth, laying claim to untouched skin. The thought of Hux inside him.


“Yes, yes,” Hux hisses before kissing him.


Hux leads him back to his bedroom, yanks off his cowl and loosens his belt, drops the cumbersome robes to the ground. His hands clench and relax into fists at his sides as Hux starts to work open his pants. “Sweet thing,” Hux calls him, releasing the waistband to wrap Kylo’s hands in his own. “Don’t be so shy. I want to see you.” Gracefully Hux slips to his knees, transfers Kylo’s hands to his shoulders. “I want to taste you.”


He shouts as Hux mouths him through his clothes. He knows the heat of it is deadened by layers of cotton and suddenly can’t imagine how he’ll survive without the barrier of cloth. Surely, surely Hux’s mouth will light him ablaze from the inside out, will tear through him until he’s nothing but a burnt out husk. But oh, oh, oh, it feels so very good, like nothing ever has before, and his cock twitches, already so close, and he digs blunted fingers into Hux’s shoulders.


He wants, more, more, more. “Please,” he begs. “Please, Hux, please,” already flayed to the bone with desire at the sight of the general on his knees.


Hux works open the fastenings on his clothes with nimble fingers and pushes them down, over his hips until they fall to his ankles. “Sweetness,” Hux croons to him, “I’m going to suck your cock.”


Hux sweeps his tongue under the flared ridge of the head before taking the crown in his warmsweetwet mouth, braces a hand against Kylo’s side when his hips try to jerk forward. Hux sucks on the fragile head and he tries, he tries to hold back, to fight down the rising wave of pleasure, but he’s helpless against it; his balls draw up tight, his stomach clenches and his orgasm roars violently through him so suddenly he can’t even warn Hux.


Hux swallows it all smoothly, just holds the head of his penis in his mouth until he softens then releases it to flop against his thigh. His chest is still heaving, fighting for breath, when Hux begins gifting gentling kisses up the crease of his thigh, hands sliding down to support shaky knees. “My perfect, perfect boy,” he soothes.


After the corded muscles in his legs steady Hux stands back up, pulls him into a kiss. He thrills at the unfamiliar salty tang of it.


“Get on the bed,” Hux directs as he begins finally divesting himself of his own clothes. Kylo shucks off his boots, pants, peels away his shirt and props himself on the bed so he can take in Hux’s slowly revealed body.


There’s nothing seductive in the way Hux strips, precise, economical movements which are only alluring because they’re so very Hux. Watches the buttons fall open beneath clever fingers, feels his mouth water at the metallic sound of boot zippers being parted. When Hux opens his fly with a precise flick of his wrist, skims black twill down his long, slim legs, he wonders how he ever looked at Hux with anything less than feral hunger.


Hux’s cock is swollen, sways softly as he walks to the bed, presses a line of heat against Kylo’s belly when Hux climbs into his lap. He groans, closes his eyes to revel in the sensation of so much bared skin as Hux claims another kiss. He’s never been so close to another person, never knew what it felt like to skim fingers along a pale thigh and feel the catch and drag of body hair, never knew that his hand fits so perfectly against the curve of lower back ( Hux’s , he thinks, only Hux’s was so perfectly molded to fit his hand. )


But he’s greedy, so very, very greedy. Wants more, wants all Hux will give him, wants all only Hux, he’s certain, can give him.


He lies back and Hux follows, shifts so he’s lying atop him, his neglected cock riding the juncture of thigh and torso, pressing against tendons and his femoral artery in a manner he never would’ve guessed so could be so delicious.


His own cock, lying spent against him, twitches with interest, and Hux smirks. “My darling, precious Kylo, patience,” he drawls out. “We have time.” Hux runs a hand down his side, curls it around his thigh and tugs it to wrap around his hip. It presses the planes of their bodies together in ways which seem sinful. “I’m going to devour you,” he promises.


Hux thumbs at his nipples, barely scrapes a nail over one until it tightens and Kylo moans, buries his head in the pillow and wraps his hands in his own hair to try and wrest back some control of his body. “Good,” Hux tells him. A shiver at the the tickling trail of fingers barely skimming his side (and he’s grateful, so grateful, beyond words, beyond any means he can express, that Hux doesn’t hesitate at the puckered, gnarled flesh of his scar) earns him the praise of “Wonderful.”


Hux touches him, teases him, worships him, granting each reaction praise.


Hux buries his nose in the unruly curls at the root of his freshly hardened cock, breathes deep the musk of sex and the earthy smell of wool which Kylo carries on all of his skin. “Perfect.”


“Hux,” he implores, hands still tight in his own hair as Hux works him into a churning frenzy of need. “Please.” He sobs the word.


“Of course,” Hux relents, kisses a path back up Kylo’s chest to his mouth, drops a peck there. “Of course, my darling.” He stretches over to his bedside table, opens a drawer and pulls a bottle of clear liquid out.


“Have you ever done this before?” He shakes his head and Hux grins at the blush which blooms all the way down his chest. “You may have heard it will hurt,” Hux says as he kneels back between Kylo’s thighs, props his legs open, bent at the knee, arranges them to his satisfaction. “Those people are wrong,” he continues as he pops the bottle and coats two fingers. “I will not hurt you,” he vows, with the same hard edge to his voice he had when he gave the order to destroy a planet.


Hux reaches his dripping wet fingers down and he tenses in anticipation. But Hux doesn’t breech him, just rubs a finger back and forth, applies only a hint of pressure until just the pad of his finger parts him, then eases off.


He whimpers and Hux kisses the bend of his knee. “Patience, sweetness. My lovely boy.” With his free hand he hitches Kylo’s leg over his shoulder, his heel bouncing against Hux’s back, spreading him wider, opening him more to the scrutiny of Hux’s hungry gaze.


His breath hitches when Hux finally, after what he’s certain is an eternity, eases the tip of a finger inside, feels the tight clench of muscle unfurl around Hux’s finger. “My sweet, untouched boy,” Hux murmurs. “You were saving yourself for me, weren’t you?” Hux works his finger in deeper, the pressure never reaching pain but on the tipping point of too much when Hux suddenly twists his wrist and rubs against a clump of nerve endings which have him gasping, stars collapsing into nothingness beneath his eyelids.


He tries to call Hux’s name, chokes on it when Hux repeats the motion.


“That’s your sweet spot. Did you know it would feel so good?” Hux asks.


He shakes his head. He didn’t, had no idea, didn’t know his body had the capacity for such pleasure.


His cock bobs desperately as Hux works a second finger into him, the stretch of a third has him open-mouthed and gasping at every little touch, intentional or not, to that exquisite little spot inside him which makes him shiver with want, with the need for it to be Hux’s cock rubbing against it.


Finally, finally, Hux slips his fingers free and slicks up his cock. He pulls Kylo’s legs more firmly against his chest, lifting his hips up off the bed. Hux presses the head against the crinkled, loosened ring of muscle and eases inside, painstakingly slow.


There’s no pain to it, as Hux promised. A slow, burning stretch he relishes, panting hard as the flared crown spreads him open. “Alright?” Hux asks, and he feels the tremor running through Hux’s hips as he fights his instinct to thrust, to take, to claim.


“Yes, yes,” he says. “It’s feels so good. It’s so good, Hux, I want, I want..” he trails off to a whine.


“What do you want?” Hux curls over him, whispers right into his ear.


“More,” he grits out, the word nearly lost to a cry as Hux thrusts forward, a slow, undulating roll of hips that drags the head of his cock over that perfect spot buried up inside him. Hux draws back then pistons forward with a force that nearly makes him choke, his own hips jerking up in an answering counterpoint.


Hux fucks into him at a leisurely, steady pace, his cock dragging against the bundles of nerves which ignite desire in his veins hotter and brighter than the core of Star Killer, a perfect torture he wants to never end.


“Kylo,” Hux gasps, and he realizes for the first time how ragged Hux’s breathing has gotten, feels his steady rhythm falter. “Say you’re mine,” he pants, face and chest red with exertion. He wraps a tight grip around one of Kylo’s wrist where it lays on the bed. “Tell me you’re mine.”


“Yours.” He reaches, winds an arm around Hux’s shoulder and tugs his close. “I’m yours now. Yours as long as you’ll have me.”


Hux rears back, hoists Kylo’s legs over his shoulders and bucks forward. “Touch yourself,” he commands, and Kylo obeys, pulls on his cock as Hux presses forward ever-so-slightly deeper and finds release with a cry, his open mouth pressed against the meat of Kylo’s thigh as he paints Kylo’s insides with his come.


He works his hand furiously, overcome with the need to reach his peak with Hux still inside him. Hux fists around his hand at the same time he snaps his teeth into the spasming muscle of a thigh slung over his shoulder like the spoils of war.


He comes in a great spurt that splatters onto his chest, pools in the cradle of his hips, feels his insides flutter around Hux’s softening cock. They stare at each other, panting. Hux releases his mouthful of flesh and instead presses his lips to it, the kiss a soothing balm.


He winces as Hux slides out, concern instantly on his features, seeking fingers pressing against him, checking for any tearing. “Did I hurt you?”


He shakes his head. “No, I just feel,” he works the lump of embarrassment lodged in his throat back down. “I just feel so empty .”


Hux lowers his legs, crawls up beside him and nuzzles their faces together. “My perfect, perfect Kylo.”


“It was good for you?” he asks nervously, suddenly, ridiculously, shy again.


“Exquisite,” Hux responds.


He lays there, cozy with the warmth of Hux’s body so close, Hux’s fingers brushing through his hair. He feels sleep pulling him down when Hux speaks again.


“You never asked me what changed.”


“Hmm?” Hux tilts his head up with a finger under his chin so they’re looking at each other again.


“Our hatred for each other was legendary. I expected you to want to know what changed.”


Hux is right. He’s never questioned Hux on his convictions. Has nearly convinced himself he didn’t deserve it, had at one point thought it was a test, perhaps something to be granted to him then sharply jerked away to see how much he can bear before breaking. But for all he has refused to accept his good fortune, has almost talked himself out of being deserving of this gift, this blessing, he has never wondered about Hux’s shift in attitude.


Hux smiles, taps his temple then tilts his forehead until they’re pressed together.


He slips into Hux’s memories, briefly remembers Hux’s promise of “I will not hurt you” , echoes it back through the link.


“I know.” He can’t tell if Hux says it or thinks it, but he’s already stepping into Hux’s mind, sifting through his thoughts until he finds the ones Hux wants to show him.


The destruction of Star Killer, the ground splintering beneath Hux’s feet as he searches for Kylo. He pauses when he sees him, blood staining the snow. But that’s not what stops him. It’s the hand the poor boy is twisting into his side, gore glistening on the leather of his glove as he howls out his pain.


Dragging Kylo back to a transport ship, the boy begging to be left for dead. “A failure. I’m a failure. I’m useless,” he argues as Hux ignores him.


Hux standing over his prone form in medbay, cataloging the damage. Impressed with the tenacity it must take to sustain such wounds and still fight. It’s there he notices the striking arrangement of Kylo’s features.


Watching him train. Something in Hux is stirred as he watches his dedication, his single-minded commitment to bettering himself, to making himself worthy and overcoming his failure.


“That’s when I saw you, Kylo. My strong, courageous knight, so determined to prove yourself. My darling, beautiful boy, so in need of someone to tell you all that’s right about you.”


“I love you,” he says, unthinking but with no regret.


Hux pushes one more memory to him. No, not a memory. A thought, a dream, a vision. A future .


Hux, seated on a throne, a golden crown on his head. Emperor. And Kylo, seated right beside him, a crown of silver ivy on his own.