general armitage "wafer crisp" hux (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
exhuxperation) wrote2016-01-26 07:41 pm
exhuxperation) wrote2016-01-26 07:41 pm
xx. musebox
this is actually for donna
[ This isn't stubbornness for the sake of it, he reassured himself. He's simply exhausted and wrung out. More to the point: he isn't the one injured and Ren is, so he's allowed to sit in the uncomfortable chair as long as he likes.
Even if the temptation to lie down on the other man's bed is strong. ]
I'm being practical and attempting to keep you from bleeding all over yourself. [ Again. Hux does not want to see so much blood running from him ever again. Mentally, he tells himself it's because the sight was nauseating. But perhaps there's something else there. ]
I should be on the bridge. [ His switch in topics is abrupt, though related. Because he doesn't want to face this. Wants some sort of distraction and work is the best place to funnel that. Using the chair arms as grounding, he plants his hands there and pushes himself up.
Which has him swaying on his feet a moment later. It's possible he's more tired than he thought, if his balance is being compromised. Dizzily, he sinks down to sit on the edge of the bed, back to Ren. This feels like weakness and he hates it. Hates himself for giving in even more. ]
Even if the temptation to lie down on the other man's bed is strong. ]
I'm being practical and attempting to keep you from bleeding all over yourself. [ Again. Hux does not want to see so much blood running from him ever again. Mentally, he tells himself it's because the sight was nauseating. But perhaps there's something else there. ]
I should be on the bridge. [ His switch in topics is abrupt, though related. Because he doesn't want to face this. Wants some sort of distraction and work is the best place to funnel that. Using the chair arms as grounding, he plants his hands there and pushes himself up.
Which has him swaying on his feet a moment later. It's possible he's more tired than he thought, if his balance is being compromised. Dizzily, he sinks down to sit on the edge of the bed, back to Ren. This feels like weakness and he hates it. Hates himself for giving in even more. ]
[ His injuries are ultimately inconsequential in the face of Hux's nearly overwhelming exhaustion. He's distracted by what he picks up from the General -- perhaps the older man is too tired to shield himself against him, or perhaps he just doesn't care.
Doesn't matter.
When Hux perches on the edge of the bed, his back to Kylo, close but still a touch unwilling, he hesitates for a moment before placing a hand on his shoulder. Keeping him from bleeding all over himself? Kylo likes to think it's stone-cold practicality speaking -- it sits better with the both of them. Even so, there is time for them to recover, to lick their wounds and move forward -- the path is still ahead of them (even if the beginnings of doubt are starting to stir), and there is much still to be done.
Kylo presses his forehead briefly to the General's back at the abrupt change in topic, a silent concession before he moves away, affords the other man the space he needs to lie down. ] Your men are well-trained to be without you for a few hours.
[ He says simply, lying back and staring at the ceiling, his thoughts a whirl in his head. He thought he would be stronger after killing Solo. He's not sure if it's worked. ]
Doesn't matter.
When Hux perches on the edge of the bed, his back to Kylo, close but still a touch unwilling, he hesitates for a moment before placing a hand on his shoulder. Keeping him from bleeding all over himself? Kylo likes to think it's stone-cold practicality speaking -- it sits better with the both of them. Even so, there is time for them to recover, to lick their wounds and move forward -- the path is still ahead of them (even if the beginnings of doubt are starting to stir), and there is much still to be done.
Kylo presses his forehead briefly to the General's back at the abrupt change in topic, a silent concession before he moves away, affords the other man the space he needs to lie down. ] Your men are well-trained to be without you for a few hours.
[ He says simply, lying back and staring at the ceiling, his thoughts a whirl in his head. He thought he would be stronger after killing Solo. He's not sure if it's worked. ]
Edited 2016-02-14 10:21 (UTC)
[ Hux would disagree. Kylo Ren's injuries are severe, near fatal. If he'd been later, only just– well, he's not going to think about theoreticals. That didn't happen and now they're both alive to tell the tale.
Feet firmly on the ground, he leans his elbows on his knees, bending to formulated gravity and the weight on his mind. There's a warm touch on his back, the heat seeping through the layers of his clothes. He can tell without looking it's the press of Ren's hand. Open-palmed, loose fingered. Meant to be reassuring. It's soon replaced by something even more affectionate, however brief. That, he doesn't want to think about too closely. ]
Perhaps they are. [ If he can convince his paranoia that everything will be fine, maybe it will be. Ultimately, he surrenders, simply because holding up his own body is becoming more and more difficult. Carefully, he reaches down and pulls his boots off, setting them next to each other by the foot of the chair. His belt and coat go next, meticulously folded and placed on the seat of the chair. Just because he's tired doesn't mean he'll abide by mess. Turning, he stretches his legs out on the bed, still sitting up. From here, he's close enough to the other man without encroaching on his space entirely.
Hux glances down and then decides he doesn't want to see Ren's face after all.
(But mostly he doesn't want the other to see his expression as he lays back and lets the walls down). ]
What happened? [ He doesn't clarify what he means, just lets the question hang there, a note of resignation echoing in it. ]
Feet firmly on the ground, he leans his elbows on his knees, bending to formulated gravity and the weight on his mind. There's a warm touch on his back, the heat seeping through the layers of his clothes. He can tell without looking it's the press of Ren's hand. Open-palmed, loose fingered. Meant to be reassuring. It's soon replaced by something even more affectionate, however brief. That, he doesn't want to think about too closely. ]
Perhaps they are. [ If he can convince his paranoia that everything will be fine, maybe it will be. Ultimately, he surrenders, simply because holding up his own body is becoming more and more difficult. Carefully, he reaches down and pulls his boots off, setting them next to each other by the foot of the chair. His belt and coat go next, meticulously folded and placed on the seat of the chair. Just because he's tired doesn't mean he'll abide by mess. Turning, he stretches his legs out on the bed, still sitting up. From here, he's close enough to the other man without encroaching on his space entirely.
Hux glances down and then decides he doesn't want to see Ren's face after all.
(But mostly he doesn't want the other to see his expression as he lays back and lets the walls down). ]
What happened? [ He doesn't clarify what he means, just lets the question hang there, a note of resignation echoing in it. ]
[ 'Alive' is a term he chooses to use loosely. Kylo feels him shift and move, the familiar rustling of divested clothing items a familiar sound in the near-deafening silence. He's aware of Hux's habits, the unwavering dedication to neatness and order no matter the situation; which lent itself to several interesting moments in their times together.
Now, however, it serves as a strange sort of comfort. Another rustle, and Hux lies beside him. Kylo doesn't turn his head, well aware of Hux's thoughts, the fact that he's barely holding himself together. Perhaps it is kindness that he does not seek to look at him -- although he would deny such a failing. Perhaps it's something else entirely. He hears those words, soft and tired, and he feels something in him twist just a little.
He must have strength, and courage to continue. He had done what was asked of him, he had passed the test. Han Solo is no more; and with that bane removed, with --
-- he swallows the inexplicable lump in his throat. No, these emotions belonged to a younger, more foolish him. It's time he buried them with the man he killed. Even if the seeds of doubt had been sown with Snoke's intentions for Kylo, he fights to continue. A great destiny still awaits, for him and for Hux. He senses the resignation in the question leveled at him, the weariness. He knows what Starkiller meant to the general, how a part of him must have died at its destruction. ]
Han Solo is dead. [ Hux doesn't need to clarify for Kylo to know exactly what he means. The words are even, forced to be neutral. ] But the girl and her band of thieves and traitors escaped. [ His healing wound throbs dully, and he glances at Hux very briefly. He resists the strange desire to put his hand over his, but he lets their fingers brush, wordlessly close.
This is not something either of them should think too deeply about, either. ] We have not yet lost. [ He hesitates, before he asks, low and quiet. ] Were you hurt?
Now, however, it serves as a strange sort of comfort. Another rustle, and Hux lies beside him. Kylo doesn't turn his head, well aware of Hux's thoughts, the fact that he's barely holding himself together. Perhaps it is kindness that he does not seek to look at him -- although he would deny such a failing. Perhaps it's something else entirely. He hears those words, soft and tired, and he feels something in him twist just a little.
He must have strength, and courage to continue. He had done what was asked of him, he had passed the test. Han Solo is no more; and with that bane removed, with --
-- he swallows the inexplicable lump in his throat. No, these emotions belonged to a younger, more foolish him. It's time he buried them with the man he killed. Even if the seeds of doubt had been sown with Snoke's intentions for Kylo, he fights to continue. A great destiny still awaits, for him and for Hux. He senses the resignation in the question leveled at him, the weariness. He knows what Starkiller meant to the general, how a part of him must have died at its destruction. ]
Han Solo is dead. [ Hux doesn't need to clarify for Kylo to know exactly what he means. The words are even, forced to be neutral. ] But the girl and her band of thieves and traitors escaped. [ His healing wound throbs dully, and he glances at Hux very briefly. He resists the strange desire to put his hand over his, but he lets their fingers brush, wordlessly close.
This is not something either of them should think too deeply about, either. ] We have not yet lost. [ He hesitates, before he asks, low and quiet. ] Were you hurt?
[ If he can't have order anywhere else in his life, he can at least attempt to have it over his own clothing. Perhaps it's a silly gesture, but Hux needs this to keep what little sanity and thought processes he has left.
And thankfully, Kylo Ren makes no move to look at him. Instead, the two of them lay there in the silence, even after he's asked his question. It doesn't bother him that he's not getting an answer from the other man. Though he can basically feel him struggling with some kind of response. No matter if it never comes– he wouldn't blame him. And it would just turn the query into a rhetorical. Nothing is lost.
Except the Force-user is speaking up, words sounding odd. As though he's attempting to apply the filter of his mask to his regular speaking voice. That alone makes his gut twist, uncomfortable with the emotion that's being presented.
Han Solo is dead. This news does not hit him heavily, rather, sinks in his stomach like a slow weight. Hux doesn't have much in the way of knowing Kylo Ren's history, but he does know enough. Would he have been able to kill Brendol Hux? His own father? Every part of him says yes, but familial ties are more difficult to slice than anything else. Closing his eyes, he tries to block out how Ren must've felt. Is still feeling. He doesn't want it echoing around in his own mixed up feelings. ]
A shame. [ Unfortunately, he doesn't know what else to say. Would offering condolences hurt more? He opts to comment on the detail about the scavenger girl and that traitor. Another failing, though this one is shared by them both. ]
Haven't we? [ Uncharacteristically, his voice cracks on the words, reality sharp like a knife between his ribs. It's hard to breathe. Something like a sob catches at the back of his throat and he reaches up, palms pressed in on his eyes.
No, he won't. He can't. This is weakness. ]
And thankfully, Kylo Ren makes no move to look at him. Instead, the two of them lay there in the silence, even after he's asked his question. It doesn't bother him that he's not getting an answer from the other man. Though he can basically feel him struggling with some kind of response. No matter if it never comes– he wouldn't blame him. And it would just turn the query into a rhetorical. Nothing is lost.
Except the Force-user is speaking up, words sounding odd. As though he's attempting to apply the filter of his mask to his regular speaking voice. That alone makes his gut twist, uncomfortable with the emotion that's being presented.
Han Solo is dead. This news does not hit him heavily, rather, sinks in his stomach like a slow weight. Hux doesn't have much in the way of knowing Kylo Ren's history, but he does know enough. Would he have been able to kill Brendol Hux? His own father? Every part of him says yes, but familial ties are more difficult to slice than anything else. Closing his eyes, he tries to block out how Ren must've felt. Is still feeling. He doesn't want it echoing around in his own mixed up feelings. ]
A shame. [ Unfortunately, he doesn't know what else to say. Would offering condolences hurt more? He opts to comment on the detail about the scavenger girl and that traitor. Another failing, though this one is shared by them both. ]
Haven't we? [ Uncharacteristically, his voice cracks on the words, reality sharp like a knife between his ribs. It's hard to breathe. Something like a sob catches at the back of his throat and he reaches up, palms pressed in on his eyes.
No, he won't. He can't. This is weakness. ]
[ The sound of Hux's words betrays something painfully raw, achingly so; and it's so unfamiliar to Kylo that he's distracted from his own clamoring thoughts. He knows how hard the general fights to betray no weakness, but in this unguarded moment they are allowed a moment of reprieve.
Kylo listens to him, the question that catches in his chest. Haven't they lost? Kylo has cut off so much today, has done the unforgivable, and there is nowhere else to go but forward, into the darkness. He doesn't look at Hux still, giving him the illusion and the space that he needs. The man just had his life's work torn away from him -- a measure of emotion, perhaps, is not weakness. He's silent for a few moments, taking Hux in before his hand comes to cover Hux's. This is not what they are going to talk about, either; not all that lies unspoken between them.
They have failed, lost far too much today, but they are still here, and there is always a chance to regroup and return with a vengeance, better than they were before. But even with these thoughts, Kylo still can't shake off the lingering grief, the look on Han's face when he ultimately kills him. He made it fast, as painless as can be, considering the circumstances, and he swallows hard.
It doesn't help the struggle, the pain of being torn in two. Hux's own pain, so powerful and so strong in the room between them, helps. It pulls him out of his head and into the General's. In their most private, shared moment, this is important. His hand continues to rest on Hux's own. ]
For now. [ He concedes quietly, the words bitter as heart-blood in his mouth. He's silent for a long moment, letting it hang between them before he asks a question, a seeming non-sequitur, a question that surely betrays Kylo's own thoughts. ]
Would you have done it? [ Killed his own father. ]
Kylo listens to him, the question that catches in his chest. Haven't they lost? Kylo has cut off so much today, has done the unforgivable, and there is nowhere else to go but forward, into the darkness. He doesn't look at Hux still, giving him the illusion and the space that he needs. The man just had his life's work torn away from him -- a measure of emotion, perhaps, is not weakness. He's silent for a few moments, taking Hux in before his hand comes to cover Hux's. This is not what they are going to talk about, either; not all that lies unspoken between them.
They have failed, lost far too much today, but they are still here, and there is always a chance to regroup and return with a vengeance, better than they were before. But even with these thoughts, Kylo still can't shake off the lingering grief, the look on Han's face when he ultimately kills him. He made it fast, as painless as can be, considering the circumstances, and he swallows hard.
It doesn't help the struggle, the pain of being torn in two. Hux's own pain, so powerful and so strong in the room between them, helps. It pulls him out of his head and into the General's. In their most private, shared moment, this is important. His hand continues to rest on Hux's own. ]
For now. [ He concedes quietly, the words bitter as heart-blood in his mouth. He's silent for a long moment, letting it hang between them before he asks a question, a seeming non-sequitur, a question that surely betrays Kylo's own thoughts. ]
Would you have done it? [ Killed his own father. ]
[ Hux fights it, fights himself and hates every second. How every shuddering breath makes it feel like he's collapsing in. Like he's no better off than Kylo Ren had been earlier in the snow–white stained red, cuts on the fragile parts of his body. He suffers from mental injuries, managing to get off of Starkiller without so much as a scratch.
And yet it digs so deep.
Swallowing, he lets Kylo's hand cover his own and after a moment, he curls his fingers around the other's palm. Neither of them put a name to this but right now it's a lifeline and he'll gladly hold onto it.
(This is for the faint of heart and it's appropriate because it seems like his is gone). ]
Would I have.... [ Hux repeats the question quietly, voice rougher than usual. ] Yes, probably. Yes.
If it were expected of me, it would've been failure not to.
And yet it digs so deep.
Swallowing, he lets Kylo's hand cover his own and after a moment, he curls his fingers around the other's palm. Neither of them put a name to this but right now it's a lifeline and he'll gladly hold onto it.
(This is for the faint of heart and it's appropriate because it seems like his is gone). ]
Would I have.... [ Hux repeats the question quietly, voice rougher than usual. ] Yes, probably. Yes.
If it were expected of me, it would've been failure not to.
[ It would have been failure not to. In this, perhaps, Kylo has passed. It feels hollow, this victory. He feels diminished and emptied, and when Hux's fingers tighten around his palm, he exhales.
Hux is right, of course. They do what is necessary, and all others must fall to the wayside. It is weakness, this emotion, but he listens quietly to those rough words, the polished exterior of the general dissipated in these private moments. There is understanding here, an awareness that they are both striving towards the same thing, shedding their humanity as they move forward.
Necessary.
He shifts then, pulls up the blanket for them both and turns down the lights. He keeps his hand in his, murmuring quietly. ]
There will be another plan. A grander one. You're not finished.
Hux is right, of course. They do what is necessary, and all others must fall to the wayside. It is weakness, this emotion, but he listens quietly to those rough words, the polished exterior of the general dissipated in these private moments. There is understanding here, an awareness that they are both striving towards the same thing, shedding their humanity as they move forward.
Necessary.
He shifts then, pulls up the blanket for them both and turns down the lights. He keeps his hand in his, murmuring quietly. ]
There will be another plan. A grander one. You're not finished.
[ The rush of air from the other man seems to tell him how he feels about his response. It's mixed. There's tension in his fingers, in his touch. As though he isn't totally convinced.
But then, their circumstances are so different. Hux has realized over time that his relationship with his father was an exceptional kind. Not nearly close to normal. The dedication to the First Order demanded that of both of them.
It was, as he knows, necessary. Sacrifices are made so that other things can be achieved. So he can go after his ambitions, even if he's slicing his humanity to ribbons. There's no room for sentimentality at the top or the path to it.
(He can't bring himself to let go of Ren's hand, even through this). ]
We're not finished. [ A quiet correction, voice low and oddly sure. ]
But then, their circumstances are so different. Hux has realized over time that his relationship with his father was an exceptional kind. Not nearly close to normal. The dedication to the First Order demanded that of both of them.
It was, as he knows, necessary. Sacrifices are made so that other things can be achieved. So he can go after his ambitions, even if he's slicing his humanity to ribbons. There's no room for sentimentality at the top or the path to it.
(He can't bring himself to let go of Ren's hand, even through this). ]
We're not finished. [ A quiet correction, voice low and oddly sure. ]
[ Kylo says nothing at that correction, but his hand tightens briefly around Hux's. He doesn't let go of it either, this piece of unspoken sentiment that goes unacknowledged, absent from their vocabulary. To put a word to this is to risk breaking the brittle armistice between them.
With Hux here, he feels anchored, just a little less alone. After all, they walk the path that others have no heart or strength to take. They are the ones of promise and ambition, strong enough to weather this storm before moving forward. Sacrifices, after all, had to be made.
Kylo thinks of the man who had been Ben Solo's father, the warm touch on his face, and dwells on it like an open wound. How had this made him stronger? He didn't feel that way -- and in so many little ways it both poisons and frees him. He had cut out what had been tied to him, watched the light die in his eyes, and so had what was left of his own light, perhaps.
He hopes. It doesn't feel like a triumph. Hux, however, provides a strength that augments, and he simply nods. It's only a few moments before he tugs him closer, seeking more contact (wanting his arms around him).
It is not weakness. ]
With Hux here, he feels anchored, just a little less alone. After all, they walk the path that others have no heart or strength to take. They are the ones of promise and ambition, strong enough to weather this storm before moving forward. Sacrifices, after all, had to be made.
Kylo thinks of the man who had been Ben Solo's father, the warm touch on his face, and dwells on it like an open wound. How had this made him stronger? He didn't feel that way -- and in so many little ways it both poisons and frees him. He had cut out what had been tied to him, watched the light die in his eyes, and so had what was left of his own light, perhaps.
He hopes. It doesn't feel like a triumph. Hux, however, provides a strength that augments, and he simply nods. It's only a few moments before he tugs him closer, seeking more contact (wanting his arms around him).
It is not weakness. ]
[ There isn't a response. Well, not a vocal one. The tightening of Ren's fingers around his own is a response on its own and it drives the emotion deeper. Has him sealing that part of himself up more and more so he can keep it a secret. This is something that passes between them so rarely.
It shouldn't be possible to begin with, but it persists.
Ren got under his skin the moment he came on board. When he'd been assigned to the Finalizer, rankless and still so powerful. Time has flown by since that point and Hux would've laughed at himself if this was ever told to him then. That he'd be laying here, making resolutions to fight back with Ren's arms around him. Safe. In a sense, there's a semblance of control in the grasp and Hux curls into it, his own hands coming up to curl around the other man's wrists. Keeping him there even if he should push away. ]
It shouldn't be possible to begin with, but it persists.
Ren got under his skin the moment he came on board. When he'd been assigned to the Finalizer, rankless and still so powerful. Time has flown by since that point and Hux would've laughed at himself if this was ever told to him then. That he'd be laying here, making resolutions to fight back with Ren's arms around him. Safe. In a sense, there's a semblance of control in the grasp and Hux curls into it, his own hands coming up to curl around the other man's wrists. Keeping him there even if he should push away. ]
[ Kylo only leans closer, curving around the way Hux curls into him. It's a moment stolen out of time, privacy spared only for themselves as they lick their wounds and bide their time. Hux is a warm, wordless presence, the ambitious General likely already coming up with plans of his own to turn it to their advantage.
Hux does not stay defeated for long, not with his obsessive nature, so much like Kylo's own. Underneath the tension and the friction, Kylo understands him -- even if he likes to think he doesn't.
His entire body hurts and aches, but the pain is easily relegated to the back of his mind, his fingers easing from one of Hux's hands to trail through the other man's hair briefly, absently. ]
Stay the night.
Hux does not stay defeated for long, not with his obsessive nature, so much like Kylo's own. Underneath the tension and the friction, Kylo understands him -- even if he likes to think he doesn't.
His entire body hurts and aches, but the pain is easily relegated to the back of his mind, his fingers easing from one of Hux's hands to trail through the other man's hair briefly, absently. ]
Stay the night.
[ In a normal reality, he would be planning. Plotting, scheming, thinking about his next move. Their next move. Except right now he doesn't want to. He wants to detach from reality, from the harshness of failure. Ren's weight behind him is a comfort even if his back is exposed (the first rule of command, never show a weak guard).
The tension in all of his muscles feels like it's being warmed away. Sliding out of him like water through their fingers. His eyes flutter shut at the touch in his hair. ]
I will. [ A quiet confirmation– he's not going anywhere. If Ren needs this comfort as much as he does, he'll remain. ]
The tension in all of his muscles feels like it's being warmed away. Sliding out of him like water through their fingers. His eyes flutter shut at the touch in his hair. ]
I will. [ A quiet confirmation– he's not going anywhere. If Ren needs this comfort as much as he does, he'll remain. ]
[ There are bruises on his waist. They're beginning to fade, already a few days old. At first, he'd been careful how he got up or bent or leaned, not enjoying the wince that came from the healing spots. He could've gone to medical, but that would be admitting they bothered him and revealing that he had them in the first place. So, he deals with them as he does everything else– straight backed and unforgiving.
Except something had taken a turn in the last day or so. The marks were healed over enough not to be so painful, but just this side of mild. In his quarters, he's fallen into a bad habit of pressing his fingers against them, relishing at the sting. It makes his muscles jump, reactively attempting to clench down on the pain point. Hux only pushes harder until he's gasping, pointedly not thinking about who left them there in the first place.
(He thinks about Kylo Ren every time).
Right now he's doing exactly this, shirt half unbuttoned as he sits sprawled in a chair in his room. He's been thinking, cyclically, for at least an hour now, adding pressure and then taking it away. Soon he won't have the bruises at all and somehow, that's disappointing. Kylo Ren had given them to him so easily and he'd hated it. Hated how they remained behind, fingerprints that wouldn't be defined in a DNA test. Only he would know and it still chafes.
Most of all, he hates how much he wants it again, new points on his waist or his hips or wherever Ren decided to leave them. ]
Except something had taken a turn in the last day or so. The marks were healed over enough not to be so painful, but just this side of mild. In his quarters, he's fallen into a bad habit of pressing his fingers against them, relishing at the sting. It makes his muscles jump, reactively attempting to clench down on the pain point. Hux only pushes harder until he's gasping, pointedly not thinking about who left them there in the first place.
(He thinks about Kylo Ren every time).
Right now he's doing exactly this, shirt half unbuttoned as he sits sprawled in a chair in his room. He's been thinking, cyclically, for at least an hour now, adding pressure and then taking it away. Soon he won't have the bruises at all and somehow, that's disappointing. Kylo Ren had given them to him so easily and he'd hated it. Hated how they remained behind, fingerprints that wouldn't be defined in a DNA test. Only he would know and it still chafes.
Most of all, he hates how much he wants it again, new points on his waist or his hips or wherever Ren decided to leave them. ]
[He knows.
How simple a thing it is, when the universe is little more than a layered mass of transparent film in the eyes of a Force-user, to page through conscious thought-- intentionally or otherwise. In this case, it's both: the first echo had been an accident, he'd simply meant to pinpoint the General's location for an updated reconnaissance report that had never made it to his hands, but curiosity perpetuated it over the hours that followed. Turned it into a cyclical, obsessed habit.
Self-indulgence at its finest.
And when cognitive repetition turned to contact-- the roll of Hux's slender, pale fingers over damaged flesh-- Ren's initial estimation was that it was a medical response. Bruises, after all, could be healed to near-nonexistence with massage designed to spread out pooled blood, a fact that had been vital to understand when it came to torturing anarchists and dissenters. Ones that might have held use beyond immediate information. This, however, is not the same.
Starkiller Base is silent aside from chattering systems, meandering droids and the distant vibration of patrolling footsteps. TX-701 is absent, having been requested for a necessary precision strike against the Resistance's scattered forces, and Kylo Ren thinks him lucky: with Snoke preparing for his ascension-- the final promise of a thousand worlds swearing allegiance to the First Order-- and with Starkiller itself primed and waiting for its first show of force against the Republic, there is little for any of them to actually do in the interim. Even Phasma's iron-clad visage seems...impatient. Restless. Chomping at the bit for a battle that lies beyond her reach at the moment.
And all of it he feels, keenly, as he strides through polished corridors on a predetermined path. Absent in his own head - thoughts focused only on the memory of heat and contact that draws him in like a moth to flame. Like breathing, with how unaware of the fact that he is until he's there, paused and silent just beyond the closed doorway leading to the General's personal quarters. It would be stupid to intrude. Unwanted, perhaps (though in the past that's hardly stopped either of them) and the middle point between succumbing to the pull of sensation that isn't his to own and maintaining some semblance of control is halting. Weighs on his shoulders like some extension of the conflict that's always raged between his ribs. A dagger pinned against his spine. What he wants, and what he should want, and being smart enough to know the difference--
Were he in his own quarters, he would succumb in a single heartbeat. Indulge himself where no one might know of it, mind pinned to those roaming fingers and the heave of Hux's chest beneath thin, half-rumpled clothing. Let his own fingers find the same markers, reclined and panting, as he's done too many times before on memory alone. But here, now, there's no excuse for it: he stands in the middle of a walkway traveled so frequently the troops might as well have painted it white with the scuffing of their boots (maintenance droids and the eagerness of young cadets keep it in check, though that only adds to the accessibility of the location itself) and surveillance alone is a promise that short of stalking through half of the base itself, Ren will find no privacy or peace in avoiding the path ahead.
His fingers hover over the controls, still for a single breath before bearing down and prompting the retraction of those sliding doors, accessible only via overridden authorization. Stepping inside, through the sectioned foyer that follows, is surprisingly easy compared to all the hesitation that preceded it; he slips-- willfully silent-- through unguarded space, until his gloved fingers rest paralleled across the soft, vulnerable pulsepoint of Hux's throat.]
How simple a thing it is, when the universe is little more than a layered mass of transparent film in the eyes of a Force-user, to page through conscious thought-- intentionally or otherwise. In this case, it's both: the first echo had been an accident, he'd simply meant to pinpoint the General's location for an updated reconnaissance report that had never made it to his hands, but curiosity perpetuated it over the hours that followed. Turned it into a cyclical, obsessed habit.
Self-indulgence at its finest.
And when cognitive repetition turned to contact-- the roll of Hux's slender, pale fingers over damaged flesh-- Ren's initial estimation was that it was a medical response. Bruises, after all, could be healed to near-nonexistence with massage designed to spread out pooled blood, a fact that had been vital to understand when it came to torturing anarchists and dissenters. Ones that might have held use beyond immediate information. This, however, is not the same.
Starkiller Base is silent aside from chattering systems, meandering droids and the distant vibration of patrolling footsteps. TX-701 is absent, having been requested for a necessary precision strike against the Resistance's scattered forces, and Kylo Ren thinks him lucky: with Snoke preparing for his ascension-- the final promise of a thousand worlds swearing allegiance to the First Order-- and with Starkiller itself primed and waiting for its first show of force against the Republic, there is little for any of them to actually do in the interim. Even Phasma's iron-clad visage seems...impatient. Restless. Chomping at the bit for a battle that lies beyond her reach at the moment.
And all of it he feels, keenly, as he strides through polished corridors on a predetermined path. Absent in his own head - thoughts focused only on the memory of heat and contact that draws him in like a moth to flame. Like breathing, with how unaware of the fact that he is until he's there, paused and silent just beyond the closed doorway leading to the General's personal quarters. It would be stupid to intrude. Unwanted, perhaps (though in the past that's hardly stopped either of them) and the middle point between succumbing to the pull of sensation that isn't his to own and maintaining some semblance of control is halting. Weighs on his shoulders like some extension of the conflict that's always raged between his ribs. A dagger pinned against his spine. What he wants, and what he should want, and being smart enough to know the difference--
Were he in his own quarters, he would succumb in a single heartbeat. Indulge himself where no one might know of it, mind pinned to those roaming fingers and the heave of Hux's chest beneath thin, half-rumpled clothing. Let his own fingers find the same markers, reclined and panting, as he's done too many times before on memory alone. But here, now, there's no excuse for it: he stands in the middle of a walkway traveled so frequently the troops might as well have painted it white with the scuffing of their boots (maintenance droids and the eagerness of young cadets keep it in check, though that only adds to the accessibility of the location itself) and surveillance alone is a promise that short of stalking through half of the base itself, Ren will find no privacy or peace in avoiding the path ahead.
His fingers hover over the controls, still for a single breath before bearing down and prompting the retraction of those sliding doors, accessible only via overridden authorization. Stepping inside, through the sectioned foyer that follows, is surprisingly easy compared to all the hesitation that preceded it; he slips-- willfully silent-- through unguarded space, until his gloved fingers rest paralleled across the soft, vulnerable pulsepoint of Hux's throat.]
[ He attempts to deny himself much more than this. Some days are more successful than others, though frustratingly, he feels no gladness when he wins over his impulses. There's something wrong about the scenario; first being that he shouldn't be thinking about Kylo Ren while he's in his room. Not when he has anything other than anger to give the other man, as it had been in the past. That's shifted, slowly, like a change of course.
Now his thoughts of Ren are tinged, sullied. Anger still exists as a layer, but it's not primary. Instead, there's a warmth that blooms in his stomach, a rush of his pulse that he hates. Hux considers himself a person who knows exactly what he wants, but this wasn't something he'd ever considered before.
Today sees his fingers hovering over the rest of the clasps on his jacket, tempted to pull them apart. To shrug both layers off and leave his skin bared. He's still considering this when the door swishes open, though he's too startled to do much else other than sit up straighter in his chair. As Ren stalks in, he opens his mouth to tell him to get out, but no sound comes forth. The words die in his throat and his thoughts as soon as the other man's hand presses along his neck. Leaning back some, he turns his glower up to Ren, mouth pulled down at the corners. ]
There had better be a good reason for this.
Now his thoughts of Ren are tinged, sullied. Anger still exists as a layer, but it's not primary. Instead, there's a warmth that blooms in his stomach, a rush of his pulse that he hates. Hux considers himself a person who knows exactly what he wants, but this wasn't something he'd ever considered before.
Today sees his fingers hovering over the rest of the clasps on his jacket, tempted to pull them apart. To shrug both layers off and leave his skin bared. He's still considering this when the door swishes open, though he's too startled to do much else other than sit up straighter in his chair. As Ren stalks in, he opens his mouth to tell him to get out, but no sound comes forth. The words die in his throat and his thoughts as soon as the other man's hand presses along his neck. Leaning back some, he turns his glower up to Ren, mouth pulled down at the corners. ]
There had better be a good reason for this.
Should I tell you the same?
[Hux's fingers, after all, still linger over the hemline of his coat, telling to anyone that might know better. More than that to Kylo Ren.
No signs of expression through the solid contours of his mask, no hint of compassion or desire aside from the way gloved fingers stay too near soft skin despite Hux's attempt to gain distance. Childish, their habitual conflict, the barriers they maintain.]
You seem preoccupied, General. I wanted to be sure you weren't too compromised to carry out your duties.
[Hux's fingers, after all, still linger over the hemline of his coat, telling to anyone that might know better. More than that to Kylo Ren.
No signs of expression through the solid contours of his mask, no hint of compassion or desire aside from the way gloved fingers stay too near soft skin despite Hux's attempt to gain distance. Childish, their habitual conflict, the barriers they maintain.]
You seem preoccupied, General. I wanted to be sure you weren't too compromised to carry out your duties.
[ While he can't see Ren's face, it still feels like his eyes are on his hands. Instinctively, he curls his fingers into his palms– it's still incriminating, considering where they're placed. Hux isn't sure what the other man wants, not with hi hand around his neck and the vocoder hiding everything else. Normally, he can make out some hint but right now it's difficult.
And aggravating. ]
If you paid any mind to the schedule, you'd know I'm off-duty, Ren.
[ What do you want? ]
And aggravating. ]
If you paid any mind to the schedule, you'd know I'm off-duty, Ren.
[ What do you want? ]
[His fingers sink lower - down from the soft thudding beneath his jaw - seeping under the hemline of his collar, leather catching roughly over skin that's tacky with heat. It takes little more than a flick of his thumb to displace the clasp of Hux's coat centered just over the jut of his collar bone.
Beyond that, he does not move.]
Your attention. [A spoken answer traded for unspoken thought.]
Beyond that, he does not move.]
Your attention. [A spoken answer traded for unspoken thought.]
That much is obvious.
[ And how could it not be, with how he'd approached him to start? With his fingers at his pulse, the gloves making it even more oddly threatening than if his hands were bare. Hux remains still as those fingers trail down, undoing a clasp on his jacket. Just barely, he stops himself from inhaling sharply, shock washing over him.
This is how it starts, isn't it? Though something is different and it hangs between them, unspoken. ]
Well? [ Now that he has it, what will he do with it? ]
[ And how could it not be, with how he'd approached him to start? With his fingers at his pulse, the gloves making it even more oddly threatening than if his hands were bare. Hux remains still as those fingers trail down, undoing a clasp on his jacket. Just barely, he stops himself from inhaling sharply, shock washing over him.
This is how it starts, isn't it? Though something is different and it hangs between them, unspoken. ]
Well? [ Now that he has it, what will he do with it? ]
[Again he pauses, like measuring the arc of a strike before committing to momentum: all the animosity fostered, all the intimacy shared (if it could truly be called that when neither of them were anything but brutal and cutting - sex traded for power, for indulgence in regards to their egos time and time again) and yet this is not an edged assault. He did not enter with a demand, nor an order, nor the leverage required to inspire either.
This is, as Hux so appropriately grasped, different.
Like scratching an itch. Sating a baser, mutual craving.]
Continue, General. [It was the lure that brought him here, after all.] Far be it from me to keep you from your work.
This is, as Hux so appropriately grasped, different.
Like scratching an itch. Sating a baser, mutual craving.]
Continue, General. [It was the lure that brought him here, after all.] Far be it from me to keep you from your work.
[ Tension weighs in the air, heavy and near stifling.
He's used to this. To a similar exchange where they dig into each other. It's lust and desire and power wrapped up in their motions behind closed doors, but it has no emotional traction. The only feeling is that of anger and pride (sometimes bruised, sometimes not). Except this starts off on a different foot. Kylo Ren has invaded his personal space once more, but his responses are muffled. Quieted. There isn't the violence he expects.
Yet somehow, as uncomfortable as it is, he feels a rush. Contemplating, he unhooks the next clasps on his jacket, fingers hesitant. ]
Take off your helmet.
[ Not so much a demand, but a compromise. If he's to do something, he's getting an action in return. ]
He's used to this. To a similar exchange where they dig into each other. It's lust and desire and power wrapped up in their motions behind closed doors, but it has no emotional traction. The only feeling is that of anger and pride (sometimes bruised, sometimes not). Except this starts off on a different foot. Kylo Ren has invaded his personal space once more, but his responses are muffled. Quieted. There isn't the violence he expects.
Yet somehow, as uncomfortable as it is, he feels a rush. Contemplating, he unhooks the next clasps on his jacket, fingers hesitant. ]
Take off your helmet.
[ Not so much a demand, but a compromise. If he's to do something, he's getting an action in return. ]
Edited 2016-03-21 05:57 (UTC)
[He'd scoff out something resembling a laugh were this conversation not so charged - loaded instead with how he can feel the ebb and flow of Hux's breath beneath his palm. How predictable that the General would ask for something given in return (isn't that the root of this, after all?) but Ren complies in spite of the transparency, withdrawing only far enough to undo the latches of his mask. Air hisses through the filter as it releases; naked as he feels without it, the unobstructed view that greets him is a reward that shaves the edge of any budding agitation clean off.
A few steps forward, just off to the side, and he's setting the helmet down on Hux's personal console, pale features marked with an expectant stare: go on, General. Put on your one-man show.]
A few steps forward, just off to the side, and he's setting the helmet down on Hux's personal console, pale features marked with an expectant stare: go on, General. Put on your one-man show.]
[ The lack of mockery indicates the change in tone. He'd already acknowledged the difference, but that was akin to the final nail in the coffin. Hux watches patiently as Ren pulls away, hands coming up to take his helmet off. Latches release with a hiss of air and he's left studying the planes of Ren's face. He's pale and dark, sharp and soft. Contradictory in every way.
Ren stares back and it's his turn to hold up the end of their deal. Easily, his fingers undo the rest of his jacket, letting the weight of the fabric part. The shirt underneath is tugged up, exposing smooth skin, only marred by the healing bruises. Some are still mottled purple, but the color has faded over the days. Ungently, he presses his fingertips into the marks, breath catching in his throat the harder he pushes. Chin tilted back a little, he pulls his hand away only to do it again, having memorized where to touch. It should be awkward, having an audience, but Ren's heavy gaze just makes heat curl in his stomach, creeping down between his legs. ]
Ren stares back and it's his turn to hold up the end of their deal. Easily, his fingers undo the rest of his jacket, letting the weight of the fabric part. The shirt underneath is tugged up, exposing smooth skin, only marred by the healing bruises. Some are still mottled purple, but the color has faded over the days. Ungently, he presses his fingertips into the marks, breath catching in his throat the harder he pushes. Chin tilted back a little, he pulls his hand away only to do it again, having memorized where to touch. It should be awkward, having an audience, but Ren's heavy gaze just makes heat curl in his stomach, creeping down between his legs. ]
[It's a hungry stare that meets Hux's own. Briefly-- too briefly-- as those shadowed eyes flick down to fixate on the soft curl of slender fingers where they fall over tense, contoured muscle. It's punctuated by a shift at Ren's jaw as he swallows visibly, tongue pressed flat to the back of his teeth.
Those bruises were left in a fit: Hux's pale back pinned beneath him, a tangle of vibrant red hair slicked with sweat where his face bored down into the mattress from the strain of that maintained angle. Ren remembers it. All of it. Each mark a map of the handholds he'd kept in the midst of that untempered frenzy, as beautiful as the dizzying sensation of pitching forward into desperate, aching absolution. His hands had been there first.
And Hux craves it now.]
How long did you think you could keep this from me?
[Deceptively soft from where he's standing, barely a whisper that carries only owing to silence.]
Those bruises were left in a fit: Hux's pale back pinned beneath him, a tangle of vibrant red hair slicked with sweat where his face bored down into the mattress from the strain of that maintained angle. Ren remembers it. All of it. Each mark a map of the handholds he'd kept in the midst of that untempered frenzy, as beautiful as the dizzying sensation of pitching forward into desperate, aching absolution. His hands had been there first.
And Hux craves it now.]
How long did you think you could keep this from me?
[Deceptively soft from where he's standing, barely a whisper that carries only owing to silence.]
Page 2 of 5