xx. musebox

[exhuxperation]

this is actually for donna

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good lordt

[exhuxperation]

[ 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?

[unsea]

[ Perhaps it was the General's taste in high-collared jackets, finely-layered clothes and far too many buttons for one man to wear without ostensibly howling at his fellow host to do something about it. To the Darkling, it had all but been a challenge - one he had accepted, tested and met. To say that he "toys" with Hux is to strip the General of all his intellect, his awareness. He holds no false belief that Hux is aware of what is going on between the two of them, that it is a game, set up by one and matched by the other - something to pass the time, something far more enjoyable than chess, than fencing with their words and their logic.

Anything that involves even a brief moment's pleasure is far more enjoyable than verbally backhanding one another. ]

Oh, never.

[ He has the audacity to sound offended by the notion, that his mouth might never seek out someone's wrist, the length of their throat. That his teeth might not itch to bite a little harder, a little deeper - violence wound in his core, despite the gentility of his manner. He steps away from the door, approaching the bed. Shameless, as he ever is, as he braces a knee along the mattress and leverages himself onto the bed alongside Hux. A hip tucked against the other man's, there's no hesitation about closing the distance between them. No dancing around what he wants. ]

Show me.

[ Not "let me see", not "will you". An effortless demand to see the bruises he'd left behind, as he loosely gathers one of Hux's wrists into his hand and brings it to his mouth, pressing his lips over his pulse - teeth scoring his skin, but not biting down. No, not yet. ]

[exhuxperation]

[ He realized early on that his propensity for high collared shirts and complicated closures on spurred Darkling on further. There was an unspoken challenge. A whisper of come look if you can. Of course, by the time he got around to wearing lower cut shirts, Darkling had already developed a taste for his skin.

So frankly, that experiment had been moot.

Still, they both got something out of this. Hux had never been one to dally or bother with indulgence of the flesh before. As General he hadn't had the time nor the patience. Here– he has the time and the patience is a growing factor. ]

Mm, I thought not.

[ Darkling crowds his space immediately, hand circling his wrist, mouthing at the flicker of his pulse. Familiar with this game, he sets the datapad aside on the nightstand. No more work would get done, no matter how much he resisted Darkling's advances. Besides, he could use the distraction.

Tugging his hand out of Darkling's grip, he acquiesces to the demand, unbuttoning his dark shirt and letting gravity slide it off his torso. The air in his apartment is chillier without the layer of fabric and he shivers from both that and anticipation. All the bruises are there on display, including the ones that remain hidden no matter what top he wears. One is fading around a peaked nipple, its twin still more fresh and dark. ]

Well?