[It's the moan— throaty and humming— that coaxes a more tangible reaction from Ren: has him seizing up with a clipped noise that's entirely involuntary. Devoid of any semblance of control. His jaw shifts beneath it, working to shove hissing breaths between cinched teeth. His vision feels strained when he blinks, spine arching upwards towards the ceiling, dizzy in a way he's never quite known before— not acutely, anyway.
Because it's different than the adrenaline rush that comes from choking the life from his marks, and different still than the pressure of his own fingers over vulnerable contours, alone and desperate, seeking more than the incessant, cyclical rhythm of his every fear and doubt. Ren's knuckles twist where they grip Hux's hair - painfully so. If Hux was ever searching for a sign that he was on the right path, this certainly seems to fit the figurative bill.]
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Because it's different than the adrenaline rush that comes from choking the life from his marks, and different still than the pressure of his own fingers over vulnerable contours, alone and desperate, seeking more than the incessant, cyclical rhythm of his every fear and doubt. Ren's knuckles twist where they grip Hux's hair - painfully so. If Hux was ever searching for a sign that he was on the right path, this certainly seems to fit the figurative bill.]