“It’s about time,” hisses Hux. He’d given ‘the signal’ over thirty minutes earlier. He’d been about to find something better to do with his time, though he really hadn’t wanted to, but there is only so long that one can wait around a disused conference room for a rendezvous without just coming off as desperate. “What kept you? Couldn’t find your way around with that ridiculous bucket over your eyes?”
“I could find you anywhere,” says Ren before removing the helmet. He knows how much Hux abhors it. Even setting it gently on a conference table, it clanks loudly, weighty as it is. He begins to pull off his gloves, slowly, allowing time for the command to keep them on but this time Hux stays silent, and he places them next to his mask. “I don’t need my eyes to find you.”
“Yes, all those magical powers that can choke the life out of my men, but can’t keep saboteurs from destroying my weapon. I wouldn’t brag if I were you.”
He’s not any taller than Hux, or maybe a centimeter or two with the jagged traction of his boots, but Ren has more mass. He looms as he approaches the lither man who doesn’t cower before him, never had, not when they’d first met and certainly not now that they are lovers.
It may not be intimidating to Hux, but it still sets the short red hairs on the back of his neck on edge. There’s a powerful aura around Kylo Ren that has nothing to do with the Force and everything to do with sexuality, or maybe it’s just the way that Hux responds to him; Hux has never been anyone else so he can’t say which is true. He can’t imagine seeing the mountain and not wanting to scale it. His flagging enthusiasm for the act that he instigated resurges.
“You feel like a fire in the Force,” whispers Ren, his hand reaching to stroke at one of those sharp cheekbones. “It would be impossible not to feel you no matter where you were.”
The gentle touch is ridiculous from this monster, and Hux loves it; it takes all of his self-restraint not to lean into it like a touch-starved kitten. Instead, he slaps away the affectionate hand. “Not my face, you imbecile. There are other parts that you could be attending to.” Indeed, things had already begun to reawaken as soon as Ren approached, an unfortunate side effect of their fucking that only seems to have gained momentum. He’d intended to get Kylo Ren out of his system, not train his body to react to the man’s presence as a thirsty man near water. “Unless my cock isn’t fiery enough?” He asks, mockingly, and his hand moves to release the fly of his pants.
Ren needs no further convincing, dropping to his knees with far more fervor than he ever has for his master. But then, in a way, Hux has become a new master, offering an emotion his other masters couldn’t give, something more volatile than even his anger. Sometimes he feels like it may suffocate him. His only outlet is to pour it back into the source. He has to give everything to Hux lest he drown.
His hands shuffle with the stiff fabric of the uniform and he can’t wait to fish out Hux’s erection; he presses his lips to the bulge behind the black underwear, traces its shape with his lips while his hands work the pants down to knobby knees dotted with adorable orange hairs and pale scars. When he flips the waistband of the underwear down, Hux’s cock pops free, and though he makes no sound, Ren can feel the relief in his mind and it sounds close to a sigh, the contented sound an animal makes while sleeping.
He admires it only for a second; Hux gets impatient (and self-conscious) if he spends too long worshipping with eyes instead of mouth. He swallows the penis down until his lips touch the pushed-down underwear and his hands yank them further still, earning a reproach from Hux.
“Be careful of my balls, you great lummox! Don’t want to make me a eunuch like your former master, do you?”
It pleases Hux immensely to bring up Ren’s (or is it technically Ben’s?) family when they’re together. It puts both of them nicely in their rightful place - Ren reminded that he’s an outcast, a worthless failure of a son and nephew, and Hux reminded that he has access to information that precious few in the galaxy have. He wants to remind the force user that for all his power, Hux is the one who truly wields it. He wants to demean him. It’s the luck of all the stars in the sky that Kylo Ren wants to be demeaned.
Ren kisses the so-recently mishandled balls in silent apology, looking up with conciliatory doe eyes at Hux before returning to his task of sucking on the smooth pink flesh of his penis. It’s a perfect thing: Hux’s cock, blemished only by a freckle midway down on one side and the tiny circle of discoloration from the trimmed skin, a barbaric ritual performed on Arkanis and a few other planets in its system that is not without its merits. He doesn’t have to hold back the skin when he bobs up and down leaving his hands free to roam around whatever body parts Hux allows him access to - this varies greatly depending on the general’s mood. While his temperament is much more even in comparison to Ren’s, his capacity for receiving physical affection alternates from moment to moment.
There is no sensation on Arkanis or Ilum or the entire galaxy like Ren’s mouth. Hux’s opinion on this is not simply formed from a lack of comparison (though it’s true enough that his experience in such matters is embarrassingly limited - who has time for such dalliances?), but a conviction that a man who can cleave enemies in two with a beam of energy does not cut corners in the bedroom. The mental shields that he must erect in the force user’s presence gain transparency, patches of clear access like windows to the walls, which he’s well aware is half of Ren’s intention.
There are curse words on Hux’s lips but his mind is moaning, emotions of want and appreciation curl around Ren like smoke. Behind the facade, the stiff coldness and professionalism, Armitage Hux is shockingly beautiful. The passion inside his heart is as solid red as the beam of their terrible weapon; if he ever were to unloose it, Ren would happily evaporate before it. If he’d been born with the kind of connection to the force that Ren had, they would have destroyed each other. They may still.
“You’re projecting, you idiot,” gasps Hux. He hates when the images in his head aren’t his own. It isn’t that he hasn’t imagined himself as a lightsaber wielder before (though admittedly since meeting the Knights of Ren, it has lost the mystique), but that he doesn’t think of himself the same way Ren does, doesn’t picture himself from the outside looking in. “And I would sooner die than grow my hair out like a mangey bantha.” He tugs hard on Ren’s own dark tresses for emphasis, pulling the mouth off his cock. The fiery look of lust on Ren’s face could arouse a droid. “You are ridiculous.”
“You are amazing,” replies Ren. The pain of the pull on his scalp is delicious, but more so, he loves when Hux pulls him around by his hair, like it’s a leash. He strains his lips forward, unable to move his head, to rub them just over the tip of Hux’s dick. “Let me finish you.”
“Do you think I can get off with you sticking holos of the two of us running each other through with lightsabers in my head?” He releases his grip, disappointing Ren. “Maybe that kind of violence makes monsters like you come, but the rest of us prefer our sex blood-free.”
Ren doesn’t argue though it’s untrue on at least three levels: lightsabers don’t leave bloody wounds, Hux is absolutely the same kind of monster as he, and he knows first hand that Hux doesn’t always prefer their trysts free of blood. Instead, he smirks at Hux, unaware that it’s his father’s knowing smirk. “I’ll stop projecting if you let me eat you.” He reaches up and drags his fingertips across the horizontal length of Hux’s erection.
Only the slightest twitch around Hux’s lips indicate how good the touch feels. No major tells from the general, unless one were to count the way that his head screams, “Yes! Touch me everywhere!” but Ren is too respectful to use his powers to pad that tally. It’s the tells that he allows to slip that he counts - twitches, gasps, shivers, and once, a please, spoken softer than the air coming through the ventilators.
“If that’s your idea of negotiation, it’s no wonder the Supreme Leader uses you as a hired thug.” He loves Ren’s mouth on any part of him, but that part is so disgusting, so wrong to have a tongue shoved into it that he hates himself for how thrilling it is. He almost never permits it. “You’re lucky that both outcomes appeal to me.”
Ren watches with appreciative eyes as Hux strips down the clothing from his lower half, even down to the crisp black socks. He drapes everything neatly over the conference table, a circle nearly the size of the room with a raised seat far from the door to allow for a flow of ideas that is still governed by one person - usually Hux.
“I want to see all of you,” whispers Ren, hands reaching towards the top of Hux’s uniform. He is obsessed with the tiny pink nipples and the valley of skin speckled with sparse blond-orange hairs between them.
“And I want to carry on conversations with an intellectual equal, but we can’t always have what we want.” He’s pleased that Ren asked. His body is so markedly slight compared to the behemoth before him that it would be easy for one to feel lacking. Ren never makes him feel that way, though. Instead, he reveres how “delicate” he is, as though he isn’t 186 centimeters of height with feet nearly too large for the Order to have boots for.
Worshipfulness is as much a part of Ren as that kriffin’ temper, and though he would happily excise the latter, he’s rather fond of the former.
“Please,” asks Ren.
“No, and don’t ask again or I’ll walk out that door and leave you pining for my arse.” He already feels exposed enough like this. He doesn’t like being naked, would take his showers clothed if he could. Armor. He needs his uniform, his hat, his coat, things that keep the outside world out and dictates the way that it sees him.
Ren takes the mention as permission, reaching his hands around to grab at Hux’s backside. Sometimes, when he squeezes the cheeks, it makes Hux’s cock twitch. He always acts like it’s beneath him, but then, he also does that for Ren, acting as though he’s mud beneath his boot. The sexiest thing in the world is seeing the cracks in the facade of hatred. “Would you get on the conference table for me?” he asks in the sweetest voice he can muster. The odds of the commander of the Finalizer climbing onto the hard metal on his bony knees is as low as they come, but he has to ask. Hux’s rejection of the idea will no doubt be scathing, full of sweetly evil insults and feigned shock at being asked at all.
“Why should I do that? So that you won’t strain this ridiculously thick neck of yours?” To demonstrate his point, Hux reaches out and grips hold of the front of Ren’s throat. He couldn’t strangle the man if he wanted to. Sometimes he wants to. Even still, he pushes hard on the jutting knob, feels it press against the webbing between his fingers. He may not be able to choke him properly, but he can create a quick gulp sound and he likes how startled Ren’s eyes look when he does it.
“Yes,” Ren answers. “If you get up high, I can get every bit of you. I’ll lick until I find your heart.”
Ren expects a scoff, but instead, Hux studies him. “If you’re speaking metaphorically, I’ve been told many times that I am lacking that.”
He may have told himself that, even, when trying to dampen strong heartbreak, rejection, fears. He reminds himself that the organ is just that, nothing more, and if it was, then it wouldn’t need to be a figurative construct. He hears what they say, even if they’re too afraid now to tell it to his face. He’s cold, unfeeling, heartless. Everyone knows it but Kylo Ren.
I know your heart Ren forcethinks at him. And it’s not lacking.
Hux releases his hand. It’s his fault for making it hard for Ren to talk. That just encourages the overly intimate brain chatter that agitates him. “Fine, but put your ridiculous coat on the table so that I need not damage my knees in your search for my organs.” He likes that he can still surprise the force user and he loves how quickly and eagerly Ren lays out his great black coat down, fluffing it in parts, trying to make it as comfortable as possible.
In his academy days, Hux had excelled in exercises of stealth and agility. He could outlast his field training opponents by staying low or in tight spaces where they wouldn’t expect to find him. Getting up onto the table is simple enough, and he trusts his body to not look foolish while he does so, however, once he’s in place, he is naked on all fours on a raised surface like some kind of kriffing sacrificial herd animal. He regrets having accepted Ren’s request until, true to his word, his mouth and tongue get to every last bit of Hux’s ass.
It’s nearly impossible to stay quiet even for him. The long lapping tongue tickling his balls and igniting the nerve endings on each tiny millimeter of ringed flesh would make any happy victim scream. He bites down on his lip, restraining the moans inside of his mouth. It’s a filthy process to begin with; Ren always cleans him out, reaching yet one more oversized organ into places where another person was never meant to go, but up here it feels worshipful and overwhelming.
Ren can sense when Hux’s thoughts become feelings. He isn’t always able to get his lover to that place where missions and assignments and strategies vanish. This does the trick more often than not and there’s something about being literally elevated that is doing things for Hux. He must remember this in the future. He’s always loved the way that Ren pedestals him; he hadn’t known it was so literal.
Hux’s dick feels heavy with artificial gravity and blood. With the things that Ren’s mouth is doing, it twitches upwards, feeling ungainly. It’s begging in its own understated way, a much different variation of how the dark side user does on occasion. Hux wants. He always wants. He was never this desperate for a fuck before he met Kylo Ren, never felt like he would tear apart if he didn’t get to come. Orgasm had been necessary bodily maintenance. Ren makes him enjoy it.
This table is just high enough… Ren doesn’t finish, lets the suggestion finish itself out in Hux’s mind. He tries not to pry, really, but it’s hard when the swirl of images is so near. It’ll be impossible if Hux assents. That physical connection always binds them. That’s why Hux has only agreed twice before.
“I don’t care…” grits Hux. “...What your tongue is busy doing. Use your words. My head is not a commlink.”
Forced to do so, Ren stops, but he strokes at the spit-covered hole with his fingers as he says again, this time aloud, “The table is the right height…”
Hux cuts him off. “Yes, I heard you the first time, you imbecile. I just didn’t want it projected into my mind. Fine then, stop using the force and fuck me, but hurry it up; not all of us can laze about all... “ He pauses as one of the fingers wiggles inside him. It’s only one finger, yet it’s one of Ren’s so it’s stupidly large and long. Shit. He’d forgotten what he was saying.
“I didn’t bring anything. I’ll need to…”
“Just fuck me as is. Your drool will suffice.”
While Ren appreciates the enthusiasm, he knows better. He’s not endowed for lubeless quickies, no matter how much abuse Hux can tolerate. The last thing that he wants is for them to have a regrettable tryst that will put a stop to their rendezvous. It might be irreverential but he’s been relying more on the fucks to keep his sanity than his training lately. Plus, they target his abs.
“Wait just a few minutes,” he says, earning him an offended glare. “Please.”
Hux isn’t sure what he’s meant to wait for, but the tongue is back to its thorough scouring, this time working together with one large finger to pull him open. His breath huffs out in a near moan, caught by surprise at the action. He hates himself for loving this disgusting activity and for tolerating the repugnant person doing it. Strands of Ren’s hair brush against his arse cheeks. It doesn’t tickle (General Hux of the First Order is not ticklish), but it’s strangely pleasant, a feather-light sensation next to the substantial fingers and tongue.
The signs of Hux’s enjoyment are loud even while his mouth is quiet. His back is arched, cock drooping and swollen, and anus flickering in tight little clenches. He pulls it downward, trying to jam his tongue into the tiny crevice created. If he could fuck his entire tongue into Hux he would. His other hand travels lower, gripping himself self-satisfyingly. Soon, he tells it. He’s learned a lot of restraint even while discovering the madness-inducing way sex makes him feel. Hux doesn’t let him get away with doing whatever he wants.
When a second finger joins the first, Hux damn near bites his own lip off to keep quiet. Perhaps it’s for the best that Ren hadn’t just penetrated right away; that cock is ever so much bigger than a finger, and even that without proper lubrication creates a stretching burn. Everything is so well-laved, that the unpleasant is vastly overridden by the pleasure of all those tiny nerve endings being worked. “You’re doing a terrible job,” he lies. “Can’t even properly finger fuck. Little surprise there. You never were good for anything.”
Ren squeezes himself tighter as the verbal abuse edges out from the small cracks in Hux’s mouth that he trusts himself to open. The strain behind the words is nearly as magical as the words themselves, open condemnation of his failures as a person and as a useful tool. Everything bad that he thinks about himself when said by Hux rings false. The time when he believes the most in himself is when Hux speaks of him as being the least.
Hux’s surprise at the rap at the door (unnecessary for both technological and telepathic reasons) crushes Ren’s fingers nicely. Before Hux hops off the table in exposed horror, Ren holds his hips, and says, “Be still. It’s your lube.”
It’s a shame to pull out of Hux, even just his fingers but, though he intends to wipe the idiot stormtrooper’s mind of his unusual delivery, he doesn’t actually feel voyeuristic enough to have the lackey observe them in such an erotic position. He forcewills the trooper to leave the lubricant at the door, so that when he opens it, all that greets him is the small tube on the floor.
Many things make Hux furious. He likes to think that, unlike Ren, he does a decent job of swallowing that down and turning it into something more productive. At the moment, leaning back into a kneel with his saliva-slicked ass against his heels watching Ren, eyes lit with mischievousness, return with a small tube of lube brought to him by one of Hux’s soldiers using bullshit dark side hypnosis, he doesn’t do a good job at all. He’s embarrassed and vulnerable; two of his least favorite emotions and so those coalesce into a rage which he directs at Ren. Let him read Hux’s mind now; he’ll incinerate.
Ren’s smart enough not to look into his lover’s eyes in this moment. Instead, he walks around behind him, warily, like a rider trying not to get kicked by an unbroken horse. He’s all set to go at that hole some more, but his feral general is sitting testily upon it, wanting to lash out but not quite sure how best to go about it. It’s always with words, but which words is the important detail. It doesn’t matter. He could strip the skin off Ren with his words, probably more proficiently than he ever could with a blade, but there will be a tone of affection beneath it. Hux loves him, monumental flaws and all, and even his built-in sneer and unimpressed gaze can’t hide it.
“Let me give you the pleasure you deserve,” says Ren, probably too dramatically, but it’s his way of atoning.
“If you think I’m letting you fuck me now, you are even more of an imbecile than you look.” How many times has this idiotic tantrum machine abused his men’s minds for frivolous errands? They have roles to play. They’re fighting a war, for Saraboth’s sake! His men and women at arms can’t waste time fetching sexual accoutrements.
Ren panics when Hux climbs down from the table. It’s not a bluff, not one of their head games, and he’s never just walked out on this before. It’s not Ren’s disappointed dick compelling him to stop Hux, but his stupid impetuous heart which fears the loss of the contempt-wrapped acceptance that only the general can give. He stills Hux with the force, just on impulse for less than five eye blinks of time, until he realizes what he’s doing, digging the grave deeper. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Hux whose hand is wrapped knuckle tight around his pants.
He releases the hold at the same moment that he hears Hux think his name like the loudest alarm in his head.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to hold you. I just don’t want you to leave.” Echoes of Ben, a lonely child’s voice aged and deepened, can be heard in his words. He hopes that Hux doesn’t hear the traces of that pathetic murdered boy.
“What you want is hardly relevant, Ren.” The strange paralysis has left, gone as fast as it came on. Hux doesn’t feel inclined to bring Ren’s accidental magic misstep more attention; he’d rather focus on the intentional one. “You can’t use my army for your whims. I won’t allow it.”
“I won’t do it again,” Ren mumbles, his hesitancy to make such a concession overt. Apologies have been more forthcoming from Ren since they’d started this inadvisable tryst. He doesn’t like them. True apologies come in the form of self-correction not in placating words. He expects nothing less than that diligence from his soldiers and would be remiss if he allowed exceptions in those he chooses to be intimate with. “I just didn’t want to hurt you.”
Hux is impressively good at making immediate decisions. When a dangerous situation arises, he has an answer, and it’s almost always the right one. Ren’s response to a problem is to crush it or exacerbate it, so what Hux can do is inconceivable to him. He watches the brief process of decision-making now, the loosening of his knuckles around his pants, the back-and-forth scanning of his eyes as though going through REM while wide awake, and the slight tilt of his chin indicating a pronouncement from a leader. Ren knows he’s not good enough for this man but sometimes when they’re alone, Hux makes him feel like he is.
“The next interrogation that I recruit you for… I don’t want any complaints. I don’t want you to disappear in your ship for two days. I want you to come immediately, scan the detainee, inform me of what you found, and then fuck off without an iota of protest or grumble.”
Ren’s often considered himself lucky that the general hasn’t exacted compliance from him in exchange for the sexual acts that transpire. Hux would be better at withholding, so used to denying himself the things that he wants, and Ren’s fervor is worn on his sleeve, a pulsating devotion like the light of a distant star. That isn’t even what this is. It’s a trade of forgiveness. Even still, it’s a big ask. He hates extracting information in interrogations. He doesn’t want to get close to people. People are shit. He wants to remain isolated and angry, to focus on his training and the orders of his master. Communion with the minds of others is threatening and unpleasant.
Hux is surprised by Ren’s hesitation; he would have thought the appeal of a fuck would be more powerful than the loathing of interrogation. Well, no matter. He’s not in the mood anymore. Not much anyway. He’s barely even thinking about how large and strong Ren’s hands feel on his hips. “Right, then,” he says, popping a foot into one pant leg with as much dignity as such a ridiculously mundane activity allows.
“Wait!” Then Ren is crouching down again, one hand on the naked thigh and lips pressed with deference to the exposed knee. “Let me, please.”
Hux nearly smiles. Games of power. One would think commanding the First Order’s flagship, overseeing the construction of its greatest weapon, and answering directly to the Supreme Leader would be enough for his ego. It never is. Nothing is ever enough to erase the deep-seated sense of inadequacy - Brendol had seen to that. They do this, feeding the unhealthy need in each other, poisoning their souls further.
He runs a bare hand through Ren’s hair, gives a tug.
“You really are such a pathetic creature, Ren. Begging on your knees for sex. You do realize there is a galaxy’s worth of pleasure men that you could buy off?”
The mocking is perfect, the tone realistic in its dismissal and revulsion. Ren hadn’t fucked up everything. He’s not losing his lover today. With careful slowness, he pulls on the pant leg that Hux is holding and he nearly sighs with relief when the general allows it to drop. He kisses the freshly uncovered knee. “They wouldn’t be you. It needs to be you.”
“You’re just afraid they’d turn your money away once they saw your ridiculously ugly face. Was your father really Han Solo or an inbred Kowakian monkey-lizard?”
Ren doesn’t mind the theatricality of the insult; it’s amusing, actually. He takes Hux’s limp cock back into his mouth. It feels so different when it’s like this and it never lasts long but he appreciates it in all of its forms. When it goes from hard to slack it oozes, the juices still trickling, but Hux’s dick doesn’t produce much of anything when it goes the opposite direction. That’s quite different from Ren’s own which enjoys attention with a drooly enthusiasm.
The large mouth doesn’t make any bobbing movements, but Ren’s tongue does shift slightly from side to side like a balancing act. It’s so very warm and wet. He makes a mental note to have him do this for an extended period of time someday. He’ll just let his cock sit cozily while Ren’s jaw and knees begin to ache. It’s a terrific idea, but he’s already been kept waiting too long. “My dick doesn’t need to be hard for you to fuck me, you gigantic idiot.” He tugs on the long dark strands of Ren’s hair, pulling the man off of him. Some saliva drips down Ren’s bottom lip, creating a clear path down his chin. He’s entirely too sexy for anyone’s good. “I suppose you still want me on the table?”
Ren catches the appreciation for his appearance before Hux manages to tuck it away. It highlights the wide chasm of difference between words and thought, titillating in its two-faced nature. He nods, absolutely still wanting to be deep inside Hux, to have him offer himself up on all fours in this room meant for planning soldier training exercises. He is, after all, not the only one abusing military resources, no matter how high and mighty Hux acts. There’s so much acting there. No one knows Armitage Hux like he does, no one in the galaxy.
“Fine. No more stunts.”
With the same ease he’d used earlier, he gets up onto the table, knees shifting Ren’s cape around on its slick metal surface. The only way he could be more exposed than this, ass up in the air level with Ren’s belly button, would be if his upper torso was also naked. He probably looks more ridiculous leaving it on, but he needs some armor and he’s not about to don a bucket over his head like his partner. The first touch of Ren’s hand on his hip makes him jerk, somehow not expecting, and he feels the gooseflesh break out in that area. The pause behind him is long enough that he half expects that foolish and greedy tongue again, but no, the first touch is wet fingers that stroke like a paintbrush over his asshole, coating it in the lubricant. They work inwards, burrowing shallowly past the gripping ring of flesh to deposit the slick product. Despite its utilitarian necessity, it feels good. He likes opening up on Ren’s fingers, likes how close he can come to loosening up with him, even if it’s only in the most physical of ways.
“You look… beautiful,” says Ren. Hux looks like art up here on the table, like a fuckworthy sculpture, his cheeks smooth and balls dotted with the sparse fragile orange hairs that curl invitingly.
“Beautiful,” snorts Hux, his hole clenching as he does. “Just fuck me, you sentimental moron.”
Ren rubs the lube onto his cock. It’s excessive. Hux would be happy enough just to dry fuck, regardless of tearing, but that’s because he has practice ignoring pain in all its forms. He places the head of his cock against his intended target, and he was right about the table. He doesn’t have to bow his legs or stand on his toes. Yet another perfect thing about Armitage Hux - his fuck height on his knees. “Tell me… tell me you hate me.”
The price of sex with Ren is no price at all. Spewing vitriol is the easiest request a lover has ever asked of Hux. That he twists it and turns it into something else in his disturbed sith brain is of no consequence. Hux lets him have what he wants. “Of course I fucking hate you. You’re loathsome and you can’t fuck worth a damn. I don’t know why I bother…”
Then Ren is pushing in him, slower than he should, because he knows that Hux prefers it all at once, a phallic rip of the bandage, but maybe he wants to punish him for his words. Either way, he feels every stupid centimeter. Ren used too much lube and it goes so smoothly, his body not even bothering to fight against the trespasser. Instead, he does what he shouldn’t clenching at it, urging it as best he can to hurry it up. He wants. He always wants these days. He’s becoming a creature of his id. Too much time spent with Ren.
“You feel amazing,” breathes Ren once he’s completely engulfed within the warmth of Hux. It’s more than just the physical sensation, the grip and the heat and the moistness, but he’s also in Hux’s head. He feels the arousal and the love, the respect (how angry he would be if he knew!) and the need. Words, separate from context, echo in the space between their joined minds. Images, unbidden memories and fantasies and thoughts, flit scattered by. It’s unlike anyone else’s. It’s like a home he’s never had.
I want to stay here forever.
Dammit, Ren, get out of my head.
I can’t. You’re everything.
“Fuck me, you idiot. Don’t just sit there thinking dreamy thoughts at me.”
“Yes, General.” It’s a little mocking, but he hopes that Hux will let it slip, because he’s also obeying. He grabs Hux’s hips tight just like he likes, and pulls them back to meet him at the deepest point, starting this timeless erotic dance. If he doesn’t hold Hux in place, he’ll buck backward, which while enticing, means that Ren isn’t the one hitting the good angles. This is the only time that Hux lets him be in control, and he wants it. He needs to be the one doing a good job, using his mind powers to hear when he does something right so that he can do it over and over again. “Hux…”
There’s sweat behind Hux’s knees which he shouldn’t be able to notice, not with the fluid leaking from his ass onto his balls, but he does because he’s hyper-aware of his body. When Ren is inside of him, it’s the only time that he allows it attention. The rest of the time he’s telling it that it doesn’t need food or sleep. Here, he is only his body and the strange nebula of psychic energy. He could probably feel his toenails if he tried.
“Oh.” He can’t stop the tiny sound when Ren’s dick finds a delightful spot and he bites down hard on his lip, angry at himself. Ren follows that same path, one that seems to move around whenever they do this, chasing after Hux’s pleasure like a hound dog after its quarry. The fingers shifting his hips bite deliciously. He loves seeing the purple dots that fade to yellow after a few days, and he tries not to analyze what it is that he likes about it. Once or twice he’s even held his hand over the spot, comparing their hand size - very similar. “You’re worthless,” he utters, attempting to correct for the fondness of his thoughts. “A miserable excuse for a person.”
They’re connected too intricately for the lie to bear any harsh resemblance to reality. Ren hears his hopes that the bruises will stay longer this time and his admiration for Ren’s technique, his dogged determination to be everything that he needs. Those withheld kind thoughts and feelings swirl around him, make him dizzy with their power. He doesn’t deserve how Hux feels about him but he’s desperate to earn it.
“You are without flaw,” he says, perhaps overdoing it. “I worship you.” His strokes are steady, neither too fast nor too slow. The sensations make him shut his eyes occasionally, but the lovely sight of his dick vanishing inside the grip of Hux’s ass keeps him re-opening them. His vantage of Hux’s mind is impactful in a different way; he senses the denial of the praise from the deep parts of his brain. Hux is no egotist; he knows his strengths and his limitations. Regardless, the profuse compliments soothe, drop one-by-one into a deep well of emptiness left by his upbringing. One day, he’ll fill it as completely as he does Hux’s ass.
The upward trajectory of their pleasure is slow but sure. His knees on the table are starting to complain and, because he’s wired wrong, it only adds to that build-up. The three points - knees, hips, and ass form a trifecta of stimulation, two pain and one the direct electricity of being fucked, nerve endings rubbed into provocation. He wants more.
“My neck, Ren.”
Are you sure?
“My neck, you disobedient…” his words are cut off as an invisible vice wraps around his neck. Yes, good. That’s what he’s looking for. The response of his body to the restriction of air flow is natural, primitive. His sympathetic nervous system ratchets up the adrenaline, increases his focus, and announces in non-verbal words that he’s not safe. It’s a dichotomy; he could very well be in danger from Kylo Ren but he is also safest here with him, too. He’s the one being choked and fucked but he’s the one calling the shots. His lover might be just as happy with sweet words and gentle caresses. If he wants that, he came to the wrong person.
Hux’s asshole clenches tight as he gulps for air and Ren’s hips hesitate. The sensation is momentarily too good. He’s failed to get the general off before, twice, and while he’s glad he did - the antagonism about his inadequacies had provided potent fodder for humiliation - he doesn’t want it to become a regular occurrence. He wants to satisfy Hux to the point that he seeks no others. He takes a deep breath, steadies his mind. As disturbing as it is, it’s one of the few occasions where his jedi training has come in handy. He continues, sliding true each time into the depths of General Hux. The quivering grows stronger and he can sense the panic rising in his breathless partner. The slight easing of his hold won’t allow for a breath, but it will keep the man conscious. Hux doesn’t like it lighter, so in compensation, he increases the thrust of his hips, letting the impact of his body cause ripples in the barely-there fat of Hux’s cheeks.
Hux is reaching that sweet liminal space, his worries lost to pleasure and his body voraciously seeking its end. If only he could stay this way, ass full, body shaking, and mind millions of parsecs away. Strangely, even with the distance between head and body, Ren is there, a nebula in the space between his ears. You’re everything . Ridiculous. He doesn’t mean anything to anyone, never has. I see you… Armitage…
“No!” It comes out as a gasp. He doesn’t want to be seen, doesn’t want to be found, and he doesn’t want this fiend, this powerful, obnoxious, talented, reckless, infuriatingly unique man to know his name, to know the real him. But it’s too late. Ren does know him and he hates and loves it. His cock loves it too, and he tries for breath as the orgasm hits him, ass milking Ren for he’s worth, but there’s still that magic binding around his neck and his vision goes white.
Ren stands no chance of outlasting the pull on his cock, especially not with Hux falling apart before him. He pummels him briefly before he starts to spend too, holding those amazing alabaster hips with flexed tight fingers that lurch and eventually release as he loses his balance and nearly falls over. It’s Hux who has almost passed out, but their minds are too interconnected and he shares the faintness, the dizziness, even the high-pitched whine in his ear.
“I shouldn’t... have held so... tight,” he says, panting.
Hux is incapable of disagreeing right now, even if he wanted to. He’s collapsed fully against the hard cold table with its insufficient Ren-garment padding and he’s waiting til he can’t feel the rotation of the galaxy. He can breathe now, and it helps, each breath restoring some of his vitality and stability.
Ren went too far, he worries. He rubs his hand up the knobs of Hux’s spine under his top. “Are you alright?”
After a long pause, “Of course,” hits his ears, but it’s with the tell-tale sign of faked indifference - General Hux’s voice not Armitage Hux’s. No, he’s not ready to go back to that. His dick is still squeezed tight and warm and the love is still flowing wide like a tide back and forth between them. First, he extracts himself, and then he’s lifting the limply heavy body against Hux’s protests, pulling them both to the floor, his back supported fully by the wall. His strength is one of the few things about himself of which he’s proud. He shouldn’t be able to cradle a man nearly his size, but he does it anyway, and without the need for any special ties to the force.
“This is ridiculous,” Hux says, but he doesn’t move. “I’ve got things to do. I can’t just sit here.”
“Just for a bit,” whispers Ren. His eyes roam over Hux’s features; they make him feel self-conscious, that is until Ren kisses him. It’s sweet and soft and he feels strangely protected. It’s infuriating.
He cuts off the kiss, instantly missing the tender pillowyness of the large lips. “There will be none of that!” he snaps, cold and angry, like Millicent when he inadvertently touches her belly. “It isn’t bad enough that you’re holding me like I’m an infant. I won’t stand for you kissing me. I’m no romantic adolescent girl.”
Ren smiles. “I agree.”
“For once,” says Hux, rolling his eyes. “I’m dripping out, Ren. Seriously, we can’t keep…”
“Just for a bit,” Ren repeats. “Pretend this didn’t happen, but let me have it, just for now.”
For some reason, he does.
Theirs is a strange push and pull, give and take. Neither of them are givers, but they can be with each other, if only for these brief moments. They are two of the most powerful men in the galaxy. They shouldn’t need validation, but they do. They shouldn’t need each other, but here they are. Two grown children striking a balance between what they think they deserve and what they actually do. Just for a bit, they’re complete.