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It was dangerous, Hux knew, to keep him like this.
Ben Organa, previously of the Allied Resistance, sat on the floor at Hux’s side, leaning absently against the arm of Hux’s chair. His legs were clumsily splayed out in front of him, almost as a child would sit. His dark eyes were uncharacteristically glassy, his jaw slack, but it was clearly Organa – the dark, heavy hair, the ugly profile, the scar. Everyone in the room could see him for who he was, who he had been. He was even dressed in his own clothes, the ones he’d been captured in, not the standard-issue fatigues normally given to First Order prisoners of war.
Unmistakable.
Hux wanted him to be unmistakable.
The room was large and without ornament; the steel walls were bare, the equipment utilitarian. The First Order was a military organization first and foremost, and indulgence was a sign of weakness, not strength; Supreme Leader Hux needed no elaborate throne room to conduct these negotiations. He and the First Minister of Nduuat sat across from one another in the only two chairs in the room; their respective bureaucrats and aides were arrayed behind them. The room, previously abuzz with smaller conversations and the passing of information, was now silent, all attention fixed on the ex-Resistance fighter.
The First Minister stared at Organa without attempting to disguise her emotions. She’d been implacable throughout the entire song-and-dance of her planet’s official surrender; this was the first time Hux had seen the cold sneer on her reptilian face waver, to be replaced with shock and disgust. The guards had half-walked, half-dragged Organa out, and now he sat obediently beside Hux, unbound, unchained.
“It can’t be,” the Minister said finally, her long neck snapping up.
“I assure you it is,” Hux said with small, neutral smile. He let his hand drop to Ben’s head where his fingers began to toy with the man’s locks, as though by habit. Ben neither resisted nor leaned into the touch; it was hard to say if there was any change in his expression at all.
Ben Organa – war hero, folk hero, expert pilot and darling of the Resistance, the man who had nearly brought the First Order to its knees – twice, if you believed the rumours. Hux had spent much of his early career attempting to erase the rumours; now, however, he rather liked to encourage them. Rumours were powerful.
“You knew General Organa on Kanto, I believe. Friends, even.”
“Yes.”
“That was quite a while ago – you must have known Ben as a baby.” As though Hux hadn’t checked and double-checked this piece of information.
“Yes.” The Minister’s jaw barely relaxed enough to let the syllable out; the temperature in the room seemed to sink, if it were possible, even lower.
“Ben,” Hux said gently, turning his attention to the man at his side. Ben’s head pivoted slowly towards the source of the sound, so slowly that Hux reached a hand down and firmly grasped his jaw, twisting his neck so that Ben was looking at his face. Ben did not resist. “Come sit in front of me.”
At first, it didn’t seem certain whether Ben was capable of obeying – if Ben could even comprehend that Hux was speaking to him in words. But then Ben was moving – slowly, as though drunk. He shifted onto his knees, dragged his trembling weight forward like a newborn whilk, until he was slumped in front of the chair between Hux’s legs.
“Look up at me please, Ben.” Hux’s gentle words were for his own enjoyment at the Minister’s reactions; Ben was far, far beyond such things. He only reacted when Hux pulled at his hair, and then his head tilted up, mouth parted, face slack. Hux looked into his eyes. His pupils were dilated almost to the outer rims of his irises. There was no more comprehension behind those big dumb eyes than there was behind a bantha’s. Good.
“Was he this obedient when you last met him, Minister?” Hux asked, letting his hand run down the long nape of Ben’s neck. “Somehow I don’t think so. He never had a reputation for obedience, did he?”
“You’ve drugged him!”
“Of course,” said Hux. Apparently tired of the strain on his neck, Ben let his chin rest against Hux’s thigh, the way a loyal hound might have. Almost casually, Hux began to undo his belt with one hand, his other still resting gently against Ben’s cheek. “He’s escaped from the First Order before. Of course, that was under my predecessor. I decided to take some further precautions. Ben, come here.”
Ben didn’t respond to his name, exactly, but he was already so close; his breath was warm against Hux’s cock as Hux slipped it free from his pants.
There was a smattering of sounds from the Nduuati side of the room – sharp intakes of breath. Hux ignored them.
“Open.” Ben might not understand verbal orders, but he couldn’t misunderstand the two sharp thumbs at the corners of his mouth, forcing his jaw wide. Hux fed himself slowly into Ben’s slack mouth, fingers manoeuvering around the teeth. Ben’s jaw fell open, loose and wet. Hux had done this many a time, with many an audience, and by now it was child’s play to get the right angle and begin a slow, easy thrust into that sloppy mouth.
“There’s always a risk that the constant sedation will permanently damage his central nervous system,” Hux continued, as though musing, “but you can understand that we had to take precautions. He’s your best fighter. Or was, I should say. We had to be careful.”
It was good, always so good, to have the Resistance’s best fighter as dead weight between his knees, no more than a warm hole to thrust into. Hux let one hand travel to the back of Ben’s head, tangle hard in the hair, force him to pick up the rhythm. Dumbly, Ben began to follow his lead.
“Besides, execution can be so … mythic, and the outer planets have such strange ideas about that sort of thing. I thought it would be better if you could see him with your own eyes, to really know what happened to the famous Ben Organa. Oh, I know how you must be feeling, Minister,” Hux said, looking up as Ben’s head bobbed mechanically between them. “A friend of the family, and all – but don’t look so upset. He can barely feel a thing. He’s much happier than you are right now.”
That was demonstrably true – she looked ready to spit venom.
Ben was drooling now, unable to swallow, his bovine eyes half-lidded and unperturbed. He had such beautiful lashes.
“I don’t make it a habit to negotiate in person with every conquered system – I’m a busy man. It’s only in deference to your personal connections that I am giving you my time today,” Hux lied merrily. “But you’ve agreed to our terms, and I appreciate your loyalty to the First Order. And as a token of that appreciation, I want you to know that we won’t be seeking retaliation against the insurrectionists your planet harboured.”
That was a surprise to her; her almond-shaped pupils dilated several times in quick succession. She had clearly expected more onerous punishment, and now was forced into a position of gratitude. Whatever speech of resistance she had been prepared to give, it died on her lips. She had been prepared to deal with the Order’s harshness, but not with its benevolence. The resentment and disgust was plain on her face as she watched drool and pre-cum drip from Ben’s wet pink lips, but she was no fool. Neither was Hux: executing all the Resistance sympathizers on her planet would be a waste of valuable resources and expertise. Healthy bodies were food for the machine, as long as they could be successfully re-conditioned, re-educated – as long as their spirits were broken first.
Rumour was a powerful thing. Dead, Ben Organa could be resurrected; alive, he was a symbol of the inevitability of the Resistance’s defeat.
The Minister looked Hux in the eye, and she blinked first. Her eyes strayed to Ben, heavy and limp between Hux’s thighs, suffering Hux to touch him, to use him. But Ben had no choice – and neither did she.
Hux flashed her a grin that was mostly teeth, and curled his hand through Ben’s hair, as though in praise. “The next time you see the General, please let her know that her son says hello.”
~~~
It was dangerous, Hux knew, to keep him like this – more dangerous than anyone else knew. Hux had had to exercise every executive power he had over the Council to get his way on this one, and if the Generals had known what Hux knew, they’d have executed Ben on the spot, and probably Hux as well for concealing it.
The day they’d brought down Ben Organa was a day Hux would forever remember. It was a private victory, of course; to recognize it officially would never have done. It would have been disastrous to admit that one man, the son of a small-time smuggler and a powerless politician, a gangling, sarcastic, untrained smart-ass pilot, had the power to nearly destroy the Order.
Ben had been behind the disasters at Ianto’i, and Callust, and when they’d finally caught him, Hux couldn’t help himself – he insisted on seeing him in person in the cell. Alone.
Where Ben Organa, drugged, shaking, whimpering after days of torture, had made his final move. And it had almost worked, too – nobody had dreamed that there were Force users left in the galaxy, let alone that Ben was one. Weak, scrabbling desperately for any last hope, Ben had still been able – for a moment – to summon a vice-like grip so powerful that Hux had been left gasping for air. The wounded, snarling power of Ben’s mind had slammed itself against Hux’s own, and Hux had staggered under the violence of the collision – but he’d been desperate, sloppy; even as Ben had tried to seize control over Hux’s mind, he’d shared more than he uncovered, and Hux had been able to see it:
see how Ben had kept his powers hidden, never exercising them, never exploring their potential / see how he and everyone around him had been scared of the darkness within him / how they had let him stop his training, in face of the fear / see how that fear had never left him / see how he had tried desperately to escape it, always running
If he’d been a Jedi Knight, Ben might have been able to resist – but untrained, undisciplined, on the cusp of a power he’d been too afraid to understand, he hadn’t been quite strong enough, and Ben’s drugged, quivering mind had collapsed around Hux’s iron will like a breaker against a cliff.
“Double the dose,” Hux had ordered when he left the cell, hand still massaging his throat.
The techs resisted at first: “With respect, sir, that will kill him. No human mind can withstand that level of dose.”
“No it won’t.”
“Supreme Leader – ”
“I take full responsibility. Do it.”
A Force-capable.
And Hux alone knew.
It explained so many things, explained Hux’s horrible luck wherever Ben Solo was concerned, explained why for so long, the terrible might of Hux’s military machinery had been stymied and his entire campaign had narrowed down to the singular pursuit of catching a fucking backwater rebel.
Back in Hux’s quarters, however, Ben had never looked less like a threat.
In the wake of the Nduuati’s departure, Hux had a thousand things to do, but he could spare a few moments for Ben now.
The guards had dumped him on the bed. He had managed to sit up, but that was all: he sat with his legs dangling off the bed, shaking a little, curled in on himself. He was blinking blearily, furiously, but his head still lolled.
He looked up at Hux as the door shut, and while there was no reaction on Ben’s face, Hux felt the softest, weakest brush of something at the front of his mind. Ben could sometimes manage trembling forays with the Force into Hux’s mind, but they were always fuzzy, mere kitten-licks of connection. Ben still felt the pull of the Force, impulses that he sometimes characterized as light or dark, depending on how much he transmitted to Hux, but Hux knew he was fearful of both.
A small alarm activated on Hux’s comm band, but he didn’t need it to know that Ben was past due for a dose. He got twitchy like this when it was nearing time. Normally a tech was responsible for it, but when they were alone, Hux liked to do it himself. A small indulgence. Sometimes, between doses, Ben appeared aware enough to know that something wasn’t quite right. Sometimes there was fear in his eyes, though never recognition. Hux sometimes tested himself, wondered if he was afraid of the possibility of Ben regaining control, how far he was willing to let Ben get before inviting disaster.
Hux approached the bed, touched his palm to Ben’s forehead and Ben leaned forward into the warmth, already more responsive than he’d been in the Negotiation Room, more aware of his surroundings. Hux was never quite sure if Ben knew who Hux was, if he could connect the man who stood before him and touched him gently with Supreme Leader Hux of the First Order.
Point: Ben had been pumped through with chemicals for so long, it was likely impossible for him to access his mind the way it had been before.
Counterpoint: Ben didn’t need to know who Hux was to kill him.
But Ben was sweetest like this, when the fog was threatening to lift, when he responded to Hux’s coos with something like affection, mingled though it was with confusion. As much as Hux enjoyed his humiliating stupor before an audience, when it was just the two of them Hux preferred him this way.
Ben closed his big, soft eyes, let Hux stroke his cheek.
“Did they feed you, darling?”
“’s.”
“And you’re washed?”
“’s.”
“Good boy. Take off your clothes for me. You remember how?”
Ben nodded slowly, limbs moving slowly to buttons and zippers to obey the command.
There was always the risk that Ben was more in control than he appeared. It was possible. Hux should probably just shoot the man and have done with it.
And yet.
Hux helped Ben pull off his clothes, his sleepy limbs almost useless, until he was naked and stretched out on the bedspread. His muscles had begun to atrophy in this chemical captivity; he was smaller now, more breakable.
Hux knelt before him on the mattress and unbuckled his own pants for the second time today. He might have had Ben suck him off with an audience, but he wasn’t about to let his enemies and subordinates watch his release. That was a little too intimate a game to play.
Hux grabbed the lube from the bedside table, slathered some on himself as he shifted Ben’s legs to rest on either side of his waist. He didn’t warn Ben before he breached him, just let himself slide into the waiting warmth of Ben’s body and let his brain struggle to keep up. It wouldn’t have made a difference.
Hux shifted up, leaned over him so they were face to face as Hux fucked him. Ben’s face was beautiful like this, despite the scar – mouth still slack, doe eyes peaceful. He was clearly confused by the sensations but not doing very much to try and figure them out. He reached up with one lanky, tired arm and brushed his fingers over Hux’s lapels, trying to make sense of the body moving over him.
“You did well today, Ben,” Hux murmured. “You were so good.” He leaned down and kissed that slack mouth. Ben was unresponsive at first, belatedly curious. Hux let him try it again, kept their lips moving against each other’s, soft and sweet, even as he fucked him with increasing vigour.
Ben made a noise of discomfort or confusion, Hux couldn’t tell which.
“Good?” Ben managed. He could usually get to double syllables before it was time for a new dose, though it wasn’t clear he knew what he was saying.
“So good,” Hux repeated, running his fingers through Ben’s hair, then gripped Ben’s hips with both hands and began to fuck him harder, pulling himself out to the hilt before thrusting back in. Ben was soft between them, as he usually was; the rough fabric of Hux’s uniform jacket caught and pulled him as Hux worked in Ben.
“Are you in there, Organa?” Hux wondered aloud, fucking him deep. “Are you still in there? Do you know who’s fucking you right now?”
Hux felt trembling paws at the front of his mind, and let them in – Ben was never strong enough to go very deep, could only skim, could make little sense of what he found. Hux, he found himself thinking, come on, you bastard, say my name. You know it’s me who did this to you.
“Hux,” Ben whispered. Hux paused in his rhythm and stared down into the wet brown eyes. They were staring back, uncertain, perhaps a little less docile than they had been a moment before.
“That’s right,” Hux agreed, lifting Ben’s leg around his waist and pushing back in, to the tune of a breathy moan from Ben. “Hux.”
“Hux,” Ben echoed, his voice a grating whisper, shifting a little restlessly beneath him, but making no move to resist.
“That’s right, it’s me. I’m the only one who’s ever wanted you like this, aren’t I?” murmured Hux, remembering what Ben had shown him. “Wanted you, knowing what you are. Not afraid of you. And you want this, don’t you? Want someone to want you. Is this – are you getting hard, Ben? Are you hard for me?”
Hux slipped a hand between them, assured himself that yes, that was Ben’s dick filling awkwardly between them. Probably not a good sign. But since they were both so close … Hux swiped a little more lube, wriggled his hand back between their bodies. He gave Ben a tight squeeze just beneath his cockhead and the man groaned, eyes rolling back into his head.
“Good boy, Ben,” Hux whispered, jacking him in time with his renewed thrusts, “you failed at so many things, but you’re so good at this. Just lie there, darling, you’re perfect. That’s all you need to do.”
Ben was whimpering now, slightly more aware of his body and his surroundings, but his eyes were squeezed shut, and Hux could feel the confused echo of Ben’s thoughts in his own head:
Hux? I –
Oh fuck, feels so good, I’m so tired – kriff –
I failed, I failed, I failed, I –
“Good boy, just lie there, darling, darling – ”
General –
Hux – hand – please, please –
Ben’s mind was weak and trembling as it nudged up against Hux’s, but when he came it was like stars shooting across Hux’s vision. The soft, yielding clutch of Ben’s body was perfect as he writhed in rare orgasm, and Hux came with a grunt, spilling himself inside Ben Organa’s ass.
“Good boy,” Hux whispered into his ear. Ben moaned, struggled to get his breath back, tears on his cheeks.
Hux slipped from Ben’s ass and a rivulet of cum followed, smearing between Ben’s cheeks and wetting the bedspread. Ben’s arms looped around Hux’s chest, hungry and searching for warmth; Hux let Ben pull himself closer, nuzzle blindly.
There was nothing Hux would have enjoyed more than to stay spooned up like this, but the woozy flickers of Ben’s consciousness were worrisome – Hux had left it too late already. With a groan, he disentangled himself and stretched out towards the bedside table to grab the hypo from inside the drawer.
Ben recognized it, and his eyes widened – for a moment, Hux thought he might be capable of putting up a fight. But Ben folded as Hux spooned back around him, giving in to the warmth and the gentle touch.
“No,” he moaned, but quietly, as though he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. “Don’t … don’t want …”
“Isn’t this better?” Hux whispered, kissing the protesting lips. “I’ll put you back under. There’s no Force where you’re going. No light or dark. You’ll be safe.”
Hux laid Ben back, head resting on the pillow, and looked into his eyes, checked the dilation of his pupils. It probably wasn’t possible to say if Hux was speaking to the “old” Ben right now – but that Ben didn’t matter any more. Here, in the murky swamp of faded impressions that Hux had made of his mind, Ben still felt the call of the Force – but neither the Light nor the Dark had any power over him any more, at least any power that was greater than Hux’s.
You could have had greatness, was the lingering whisper of his home.
“But you never wanted to be great,” Hux reminded him, slipping the needle into his skin. “You would have hurt the ones you loved. And you knew it. This is better.”
“This is better,” Ben parroted with a sigh – perhaps comprehending, perhaps not – before leaning up to kiss Hux in his last few moments of lucidity.