[ There are bruises ringing his neck, an adornment he wears tucked under high collars.
Some have faded but others are fresh– the former would be renewed again soon, he calculates. After all, Darkling may be unpredictable in some things but with this, Hux feels like he's started to get a grasp on his behavior. The marks he's tolerated, even when they've diverted away from the thin skin so close to his pulse.
Before, he's had them on his wrists, on his collarbone (it started sharp and red, the imprint of teeth so clear). There's still one next to the first bone in his back, where his shoulders align.
Many times Darkling has left them during inappropriate moments. In interrogations, at breakfast, while everyone else was turned away, while he's been working on reports and collecting information. It seems the other man is as tireless as he is stubborn and greedy, bent on getting what he wants.
He can't say he hasn't enjoyed the slide of skin, the warmth of palms on his waist.
Still, he wonders when it will inevitably end. Neither of them are good people, possibly even less good for each other. Their relationship could be described as a game of strategy, analytical with the occasional flurry of action. Eventually, he thinks, Darkling will grow bored.
Right now isn't "eventually" though, not when he hears a soft click nearby, door latching in place. Hux doesn't budge from where he's laying on his bed, on top of the covers and propped up against the headboard. His coffee has gone lukewarm on the stand next to him. The datapad in his hand tilts away only slightly, indicating he's listening. ]
Odd choice of words. Is it really the end of your oral fixation?
good lordt
Some have faded but others are fresh– the former would be renewed again soon, he calculates. After all, Darkling may be unpredictable in some things but with this, Hux feels like he's started to get a grasp on his behavior. The marks he's tolerated, even when they've diverted away from the thin skin so close to his pulse.
Before, he's had them on his wrists, on his collarbone (it started sharp and red, the imprint of teeth so clear). There's still one next to the first bone in his back, where his shoulders align.
Many times Darkling has left them during inappropriate moments. In interrogations, at breakfast, while everyone else was turned away, while he's been working on reports and collecting information. It seems the other man is as tireless as he is stubborn and greedy, bent on getting what he wants.
He can't say he hasn't enjoyed the slide of skin, the warmth of palms on his waist.
Still, he wonders when it will inevitably end. Neither of them are good people, possibly even less good for each other. Their relationship could be described as a game of strategy, analytical with the occasional flurry of action. Eventually, he thinks, Darkling will grow bored.
Right now isn't "eventually" though, not when he hears a soft click nearby, door latching in place. Hux doesn't budge from where he's laying on his bed, on top of the covers and propped up against the headboard. His coffee has gone lukewarm on the stand next to him. The datapad in his hand tilts away only slightly, indicating he's listening. ]
Odd choice of words. Is it really the end of your oral fixation?