[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.]
[ 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. ]
[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.]
[ Lazily, he watches the bob of Ren's throat as he swallows, momentarily pausing his motions. The other man's stare is hungry and the expression on his face suggests he'd like to devour him.
He'd already done so, recently. With a different mood—for both of them, really. It had started out angry and aggressive, before. Hux ended up on his elbows and knees, face pushed into the pillow and fingers gripped tight on the sheets. Ren had been unforgiving as usual, large hands strong on his sides even if the sweat made them slip. It'd only encourage him to hold on tighter. ]
How long have you been eavesdropping? [ His fingers trace the outside of a bruise, a shiver running through him at the light touch. ]
[Distraction so close it might as well be coursing through his veins, Ren's dark eyes narrow at the shudder - like a predator honing in on its prey, he twitches in place; no closer to acting on impulse, but far from passive in his role as a spectator.
Another beat spent watching before he responds, another handful of seconds spent with heat crawling up to flush the nape of his neck beneath thick, pleated fabric.]
Would it flatter you to know the truth? [Yes. Or at least if nothing else, it would make this easier, Ren imagines.]
[ Ren's eyes narrow and while Hux didn't have doubts, he knows he has his attention. The intensity of his look has his pulse fluttering quick, stirring at the tension he already feels in his stomach. There's a small half motion, a flinch that betrays the other man's desire to do something.
As the pink flush colors his pale face, he lets him stare, fingertips digging into his waist again. Pushing on two bruises that have nearly fully faded but that had felt too nice a day ago. ]
I suppose it was only time before you outed yourself as a voyeur.
[ Though, Ren isn't very good at the look-but-don't-touch game. ]
[His lip curls in response, slanting the set of slight features. The accusation probably isn't wrong; Ren dislikes it regardless.]
Or you an exhibitionist.
[Dick.
Still, fleeting irritation does nothing to dull the low pulsebeat in his chest. The fact that he could, in less than an instant, topple the illusion of peace they share in this moment - a tentative truce held together by paper-thin skin. But this is, aside from the banter, pleasant.
Instead of remote observation from somewhere else, Ren is a presence that Hux is focused on. Thirsting for, even if he's loathe to acknowledge it.
They show their hands respectively in that dim, significant space.] Take off your shirt.
[ The retort is so weak he only acknowledges it with a raise of his eyebrow. After all, he wasn't the one with the Force, who could see into other people's minds. Ren had gone looking and that's how they're here now.
And with so little violence; Hux thinks this is one of the more civil conversations they've ever had. How strange it is, to be taking place in such a scenario. Though if the look on the Force user's face is indication—he's a man wanting. Maybe they both are.
Why else would he follow such a simple request without complaint? Hux sits up in his chair, shrugs his jacket off and folds it neatly. Lays the garment over the arm of another seat. There's a hesitance before he continues, tugging the under shirt up and off, pale skin completely bare as he habitually folds and sets that to the side as well. ]
Coat, off.
[ Here's the game: a slow strip, commanding on both sides. ]
[It's an odd solution to the problem of undone equilibrium that's plagued them ever since Ren thought to establish control via throwing the General down across the glossed surface of his own desk. Overcompensation, back and forth in a cyclical rhythm until-- this. Instead of craving Hux's absence, Ren strives for an indulgence only the General himself can grant. Every request met with a twin to match. Equal. Balanced.
And it means that Ren says nothing for a second as his focus pools along the narrow, muscular jut of Hux's bare hip as he turns to discard his shirt, the faded bruises still a brilliant mottled contrast.
His fingers lift to peel away the weight of his cowl, pick loose each fastener that holds the outermost layer of his coat in place. For all of Hux's extravagance when it comes to that regulation uniform, Ren's seemingly simple clothing is at least twice the endeavor to displace: overcoat, undercoat, the pleated shirt and collar that lie beneath, more than a full minute passes before he's undressed enough to match, gloves still clinging to his skin.
The look he angles upwards once it's done is nothing short of expectant. Ta-da.]
[ They'll never be on completely equal footing, but he can at least pretend they are here. Because there's an even trade off. One for one. His top half is bare and Ren is in the process of divesting himself of his layers. Hux watches, eyes following the movements like a hawk. From the unlatched clasps to the collar being pulled off. Once Ren is just as naked up top as he is, he sweeps his gaze over him, appraising.
Of course, he's seen bits and pieces before. Flashes of skin. Though dim lighting always prevented the details. Or neither of them bothered to fully undress. This is more intimate and it weighs on him in a strangely satisfying way. The other man is gazing at him, expectant, and Hux pushes himself out of his chair. Upright, he closes the small space between them, hand sliding down the outside of Ren's arm and tracing the edge of his glove. ]
Peculiar. [ Keeping them on, that is. He can't say he's necessarily against it. Contrast looks good on Ren. His fingers curl around the other man's wrists, moving to settle Ren's palms on his waist. This is what they're both here for, aren't they? ]
[An oddly earnest question, tempered by a feeling of mild detachment in the face of the reality of their situation: his fingers settled low and not unwanted across the breadth of Hux's hips, dark leather scuffing soft marks with a gentleness so uncharacteristic to Ren that it might as well belong to someone else. For all his prior craving, here, now, with everything he wanted so thoroughly within reach, Ren finds himself without impatience.
They have more than enough time to spare, do they not?]
[ For once, they have time to spare. There is no urgency to be met– he's not on duty again for at least a shift and a half. And Ren, well, he follows his own schedule for the most part. Hux could likely recall it if he had the mind to, except he doesn't. Not right now, not with the other man's palms against his skin, leather warming with their body heat.
In a direct change of their roles, Hux feels like he can't decide what he wants fast enough. ]
Mm. [ Noncommittal, because he's thinking two, three steps ahead. One hand moves to settle at the back of Ren's neck as he closes the distance even more, mouth angling over the other man's. Stepping forward, he slides his leg between Ren's, thigh pressed close. ]
[Hux is a tactician: every step he takes is with purpose (to have come so far with no innate, unnatural talent such as the Force is the truest testament to it) and Ren knows full well-- more than anyone-- just how unyielding that purpose can be. It comes with warmth across his tongue, with the pleasant, digging pressure that coaxes his own unguarded hips forward just by careful degrees.
But just as the General is predictably driven, Kylo Ren is ever a hair's breadth away from snapping without warning. Without reason at times, like a feral animal prone to unpredictable bouts of violence borne of instinct alone. A cyclical pattern that paints Ren as divided as the conflict broiling under his skin.
So where Hux decisively seeks mutual gain, something sleeping between his ribs stirs, dark and hungry and committed to those beautiful, aching bruises. The softness drains from his mouth, his fingertips; Ren's hands become a bitter vice, biting down with nearly as much force as he'd used before, teeth sharp and merciless, dragged over the General's tongue, clamped down on his lower lip to the taste of iron. He shifts his weight. Leans forward and shoves Hux backwards, not abandoning his hold, but instead using momentum to twist him on his heel— bare back to Ren, breath hot across his shoulders.
The bed is close enough; his weight, bearing down, is a wordless declaration of want.]
[ Purpose has guided him this far. It's been in every command, every decision. Everything up to and including this point. While the objectives vary from time to time, they're largely under the same umbrella. This is about a release, about giving up tension and replacing the restlessness he feels with something more languid. Or more harried. He wants to unspool the clenched feeling in his gut and there's no better person to do this with than Kylo Ren. After all, the Force-user knows all about lashing out and letting himself go. To let emotion rush through him like a tide. He's seen it again and again; it's no different here.
Because while he'd made the first move, it's Ren who completes it. This pattern that they've fallen into. There isn't softness between them, regardless of how quiet it'd been a few moments before. All it took was cutting the proverbial string and Ren has been loosed from his internal leash. The kiss goes hard, biting, teeth clicking and blood being drawn. His lip stings from it and he's still reeling from the coppery tang when things blur past one moment and snap back to clarity in the next.
No longer is he facing Ren, his back towards him, exposed. On his sides he can feel those bruises starting to reform from the other man's harsh grip. They aren't soothed by the warm gust of air along the nape of his neck, brushing down his shoulder blades. While Hux doesn't appreciate the switch as much, he knew what he was getting into. Even though predicting Kylo Ren is as easy as understanding the Force of which he uses.
Mind hazed over by the steely grip, he bends to the other man's will. To what he's asking without words. Quietly, he kneels on the bed, though his hand comes to close around one of Ren's wrists, fingers drawn tight as he pulls him with the motion. ]
[For all the demands of his aggression, Ren is surprisingly amenable to Hux's insistent pull. He breathes out something low and growling, settling over his companion in what little space is left before the edge of the bed dips off into polished, imported stone. A feature that exists in Ren's own room (the pristine furniture a potent sign of luxury and rank) though there's an irony in how his quarters look dead and lifeless in comparison. Uninhabited.
More appropriate evidence for the divide between them likely doesn't exist.
His free hand abandons its seething hold, drifting lazily across the width of Hux's stomach-- contours mapped through leather, direct sensation swapped for the indulgence of his own imagination-- profile dipping low to bury between those slender shoulders, strained from nothing but the demands of a rigid posture. Like this, he's beautiful. Intoxicating. Sweat and desire, need and the fevered pulsebeat in his veins. Prey worth sinking his teeth into, snapping clean through muscle and sinew and the acrid taste still clinging to his tongue-- though he doesn't. He won't.
Another steadying breath and his palm bears down broad above Hux's waistband, wanting.]
[ Ren is pressed close and he just wants him closer. To fully feel the mixed body heat, a guard against the chill he feels starting to creep under his skin. The Finalizer is not a warm place, this he knows. Neither should this exchange be, though there's no stopping the lingering effects of the human body.
As Ren's forehead settles between his shoulders, he sighs. A breath that's taken immediately back in and held as soft leather slides across his stomach. The touch is ghosting, near teasing—not enough. Hux lets go of the wrist he'd been keeping close, allowing Ren to do what he wanted. Those bruises are starting to sting and it's sweet when mixed with the low press of the other man's palm. Anxious, his fingers curl into the bedding, grip flexing. ]
Keep going. [ Not quite a demand, as it's tempered by a rushing exhale. Still, his voice is firm. ]
[Normally it would read as a demand. It might– even in the moment– translate to one now. If it does, it fails to slow the slide of his thumb where it edges in beneath Hux's waistband, catching the clasp with ease and knocking it loose with one deft flick of his wrist.
A single inhale pierces the silence, parallels the digging warmth where his palm dips down low between Hux's legs, rising with a heavy pressure that buckles the muscle of Ren's forearm. It's not necessarily kind— but it's also far, far apart from any idea of cruelty. There's no teasing, no skirting the line between want and tolerance they way they've done time and time again in the past.
It's a gift. It must be.
Punctuated with a kiss, struck neatly across bared vertebrae.] As you wish.
[ Whatever it translates to, Hux is moderately grateful. The latch on his trousers is loosed and then Ren's hand dips low. His palm is heavy against his straining erection and Hux swallows reflexively, dry mouthed, when he digs in. When he drags back up in a long stroke. It's not enough. His back arches with the motion, trying to press as close to the contact as possible.
Logic and reason have flown from him completely. All that remains is this. Whatever it is. Because it's not the viciousness that they normally reserve for each other, no matter how much his lip had bled from the kiss. Or from the stinging bruises. No, those are willfully inflicted and taken. There's a word for this, but he skirts around it, checking it off as pure lust.
(Though the soft kiss to his spine says something different). ]
[Even with the advantage of leverage, there's little room for maneuverability where hemlines are concerned. Aside from the fact that Ren isn't small, dipping his broad hand as low as he'd like between Hux's stirring cock and those absurd trousers doesn't come easily- even smooth fabric catches across his gloves when he draws back at the tail end of each circling pull. Hux's willingness to meet him dulls the edge (spurs him on, heartbeat high in his throat) but eventually even that gentle friction can't match the wellspring of emotion coiled hot within Ren's chest in the face of obvious frustration. His grip cinches, free hand dragging Hux closer until their hips rest flush, and then-- stutters. Flexes. Unflexes.
All punctuated by a pinched noise that dies off in the base of his throat.
Were this their usual, disruptive engagement, he'd have no problem hooking his thumb between belt loops and ripping them free. As it stands, however, chances are slim that Hux would either tolerate or appreciate that solution. Meaning in the interim, he's forced to rely on exercising patience.
Or generally being a nuisance until Hux gets the idea.]
[ With every motion, there's something like a barrier. The waistband of his underwear catches on the leather of Ren's glove, strokes stuttering. There's nothing smooth about it and his frustration grows with each pass. He can't say he's close, exactly, but he isn't going anywhere with a touch that halts as much as it does. He swallows his words momentarily, though, when the other man presses close, hips flush.
At the contact, he feels like he's burning up from his hairline all the way down to his stomach and lower. Muscles shift as he settles back, pulse pounding in his ears at the sensation. He wants more than this, more than their coverings will allow. Stilling, he breathes out heavily, covering the sound of a moan when Ren grinds forward, erection felt through layers. ]
[It's a familiar brusqueness. The bitter bite of Hux's demanding voice as he snaps in eager agitation. Even Ren, attempting to temper his own feral inconsistencies, is glad for the dip backwards into their typical routine: the chance to play antagonist, catalyst, rather than a patient participant. His teeth sink into the muscle of Hux's throat, scraping as his palms slide across those smooth, pale hips, petting him with a rolling pressure. Basking in the flow of shared heat.]
You should have taken these off first.
[Chastisement, parried banter - Ren being Ren. Hard to say which it truly is, but it also hardly matters. His fingers slow, fisting in soft fabric at the seamline where it runs thickest. One breath later, he's shredded it as neatly as paper, exposing the entirety of Hux's right side from the hip to just above his knee. If the General is in such a hurry, he wont mind; if he does he can make a mental note to keep his clothing away from Snoke's apprentice in the near future.]
[ This is their usual pace. Nothing soft or gentle or slow. They're sharp edges and bitten off words or sounds. And just like Ren, Hux is a creature of routine. This is something he knows and the familiarity is a strange comfort. It doesn't make his heart race, anxious for things he hasn't put names to. The bite against his skin has him breathing in quick and he shudders at the feel of those hands. At the pressure on his hips, because he wants this, wants what's next.
Cloth tears and the shock of it shakes him out of his haze for a moment. Anger flares hot until the chill air sets across his exposed hip and leg. He's left shifting, partially ashamed that he's letting this slide. Later, he'll be furious. Later, he'll exact revenge. For now he's left feeling flush all over, arms starting to shake from holding his weight up. ]
Must you always be so destructive? [ There's no sting to the words, not with his head tipped and loose, lips parted and soft. ]
[For all the viciousness shown, he's not immune to Hux's trembling arms or the flush that stains his skin: aggression is followed by uncharacteristic softness, the memory of humanity carried from a time when Kylo Ren lived under another name. His left hand settles across Hux's chest, cradling him high near the crux of his sternum, pinning him to the muscle of his own body where he kneels at the general's back. It isn't the first time he's used care with physical intimacy on the table - TX-701 was the first punch of emotional clarity to break the surface, and for months now the pilot has coaxed Ren beyond his own perceived boundaries in tangent with the broiling friction he and Hux have unwittingly fostered in its wake. So when his right hand sinks down across freshly bared skin, skirting down from Hux's hip, it's with practiced precision. Adopted care.
Tempered, not tepid.]
I would have no use without it. [The truth, as sincere as the pain that needles in under his skin at the admission. Brief and fleeting and forgotten when he tips his profile further in against the span of Hux's neck.] You of all people should know that.
[Because this time, when his fingertips bury themselves between the General's thighs to grip the base of his cock, nothing inhibits those inherently demanding strokes. Leather sliding over soft, velveteen skin.]
[ The softness has him breathing in slow, a rolling shiver running across his skin from the strange gesture. It's not wholly unwanted, though it tips the balance of their normal routine. Ren is warm, too warm against his back, the palm that's laid flat on his chest starting to heat him down to the bone. It's uncomfortable only in that the other can probably feel his heartbeat keenly this way. Even through the thick leather of his glove. Swallowing, he turns his thoughts elsewhere, a sound catching at the back of his throat when his other hand touches light over his hip. A glancing contact.
It's not a tease that lasts long, because then air is rushing out of his lungs as Ren grips his cock without reserve. His words are near drowned out, mentally, by the thrill that runs through him, all the way up his spine. He exposes his neck further, back arching into and towards the fingers that circle his erection, every stroke inciting a shift of his hips. One hand comes up to caress knuckles along Ren's cheek before he sinks his fingers into his hair and holds. ]
Of course, never the builder, always the destroyer.
[It isn't a question in any true sense of the word: he doesn't expect a thoughtful answer from Hux-- one hand wrapped tight around him, feeling the fevered heat that seeps clean through as the General's hips buck and shift on some instinctive, driven path-- and he wouldn't still if they were fully clothed beneath the harsh lights of the Finalizer's forward deck. Besides, the grip at his neck is secure where Hux has found traction in dark curls, and against the infrequent grace of contact where Hux occasionally draws back into the press of his own erection, pinned tight and hot; he can't find the willpower to keep his own thoughts from wandering for it.
Conversation is little more than white noise, even if there's truth in it - perhaps that's the only way Kylo Ren could bear it.]
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momijizukamori
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Date: 2016-03-21 07:36 am (UTC)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.]
no subject
Date: 2016-03-21 07:55 am (UTC)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. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-03-21 08:18 am (UTC)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.]
no subject
Date: 2016-03-21 08:29 am (UTC)He'd already done so, recently. With a different mood—for both of them, really. It had started out angry and aggressive, before. Hux ended up on his elbows and knees, face pushed into the pillow and fingers gripped tight on the sheets. Ren had been unforgiving as usual, large hands strong on his sides even if the sweat made them slip. It'd only encourage him to hold on tighter. ]
How long have you been eavesdropping? [ His fingers trace the outside of a bruise, a shiver running through him at the light touch. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-03-21 09:39 am (UTC)Another beat spent watching before he responds, another handful of seconds spent with heat crawling up to flush the nape of his neck beneath thick, pleated fabric.]
Would it flatter you to know the truth? [Yes. Or at least if nothing else, it would make this easier, Ren imagines.]
Nothing escapes the Force, General Hux.
no subject
Date: 2016-03-21 10:45 pm (UTC)As the pink flush colors his pale face, he lets him stare, fingertips digging into his waist again. Pushing on two bruises that have nearly fully faded but that had felt too nice a day ago. ]
I suppose it was only time before you outed yourself as a voyeur.
[ Though, Ren isn't very good at the look-but-don't-touch game. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-03-22 08:24 am (UTC)Or you an exhibitionist.
[
Dick.Still, fleeting irritation does nothing to dull the low pulsebeat in his chest. The fact that he could, in less than an instant, topple the illusion of peace they share in this moment - a tentative truce held together by paper-thin skin. But this is, aside from the banter, pleasant.
Instead of remote observation from somewhere else, Ren is a presence that Hux is focused on. Thirsting for, even if he's loathe to acknowledge it.
They show their hands respectively in that dim, significant space.] Take off your shirt.
[Eloquent.]
no subject
Date: 2016-03-22 08:38 am (UTC)And with so little violence; Hux thinks this is one of the more civil conversations they've ever had. How strange it is, to be taking place in such a scenario. Though if the look on the Force user's face is indication—he's a man wanting. Maybe they both are.
Why else would he follow such a simple request without complaint? Hux sits up in his chair, shrugs his jacket off and folds it neatly. Lays the garment over the arm of another seat. There's a hesitance before he continues, tugging the under shirt up and off, pale skin completely bare as he habitually folds and sets that to the side as well. ]
Coat, off.
[ Here's the game: a slow strip, commanding on both sides. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-03-22 12:49 pm (UTC)And it means that Ren says nothing for a second as his focus pools along the narrow, muscular jut of Hux's bare hip as he turns to discard his shirt, the faded bruises still a brilliant mottled contrast.
His fingers lift to peel away the weight of his cowl, pick loose each fastener that holds the outermost layer of his coat in place. For all of Hux's extravagance when it comes to that regulation uniform, Ren's seemingly simple clothing is at least twice the endeavor to displace: overcoat, undercoat, the pleated shirt and collar that lie beneath, more than a full minute passes before he's undressed enough to match, gloves still clinging to his skin.
The look he angles upwards once it's done is nothing short of expectant. Ta-da.]
no subject
Date: 2016-03-23 05:11 am (UTC)Of course, he's seen bits and pieces before. Flashes of skin. Though dim lighting always prevented the details. Or neither of them bothered to fully undress. This is more intimate and it weighs on him in a strangely satisfying way. The other man is gazing at him, expectant, and Hux pushes himself out of his chair. Upright, he closes the small space between them, hand sliding down the outside of Ren's arm and tracing the edge of his glove. ]
Peculiar. [ Keeping them on, that is. He can't say he's necessarily against it. Contrast looks good on Ren. His fingers curl around the other man's wrists, moving to settle Ren's palms on his waist. This is what they're both here for, aren't they? ]
no subject
Date: 2016-03-24 12:41 am (UTC)[An oddly earnest question, tempered by a feeling of mild detachment in the face of the reality of their situation: his fingers settled low and not unwanted across the breadth of Hux's hips, dark leather scuffing soft marks with a gentleness so uncharacteristic to Ren that it might as well belong to someone else. For all his prior craving, here, now, with everything he wanted so thoroughly within reach, Ren finds himself without impatience.
They have more than enough time to spare, do they not?]
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Date: 2016-03-24 05:55 am (UTC)In a direct change of their roles, Hux feels like he can't decide what he wants fast enough. ]
Mm. [ Noncommittal, because he's thinking two, three steps ahead. One hand moves to settle at the back of Ren's neck as he closes the distance even more, mouth angling over the other man's. Stepping forward, he slides his leg between Ren's, thigh pressed close. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-03-24 06:36 am (UTC)But just as the General is predictably driven, Kylo Ren is ever a hair's breadth away from snapping without warning. Without reason at times, like a feral animal prone to unpredictable bouts of violence borne of instinct alone. A cyclical pattern that paints Ren as divided as the conflict broiling under his skin.
So where Hux decisively seeks mutual gain, something sleeping between his ribs stirs, dark and hungry and committed to those beautiful, aching bruises. The softness drains from his mouth, his fingertips; Ren's hands become a bitter vice, biting down with nearly as much force as he'd used before, teeth sharp and merciless, dragged over the General's tongue, clamped down on his lower lip to the taste of iron. He shifts his weight. Leans forward and shoves Hux backwards, not abandoning his hold, but instead using momentum to twist him on his heel— bare back to Ren, breath hot across his shoulders.
The bed is close enough; his weight, bearing down, is a wordless declaration of want.]
no subject
Date: 2016-03-24 07:37 am (UTC)Because while he'd made the first move, it's Ren who completes it. This pattern that they've fallen into. There isn't softness between them, regardless of how quiet it'd been a few moments before. All it took was cutting the proverbial string and Ren has been loosed from his internal leash. The kiss goes hard, biting, teeth clicking and blood being drawn. His lip stings from it and he's still reeling from the coppery tang when things blur past one moment and snap back to clarity in the next.
No longer is he facing Ren, his back towards him, exposed. On his sides he can feel those bruises starting to reform from the other man's harsh grip. They aren't soothed by the warm gust of air along the nape of his neck, brushing down his shoulder blades. While Hux doesn't appreciate the switch as much, he knew what he was getting into. Even though predicting Kylo Ren is as easy as understanding the Force of which he uses.
Mind hazed over by the steely grip, he bends to the other man's will. To what he's asking without words. Quietly, he kneels on the bed, though his hand comes to close around one of Ren's wrists, fingers drawn tight as he pulls him with the motion. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-03-24 08:44 am (UTC)More appropriate evidence for the divide between them likely doesn't exist.
His free hand abandons its seething hold, drifting lazily across the width of Hux's stomach-- contours mapped through leather, direct sensation swapped for the indulgence of his own imagination-- profile dipping low to bury between those slender shoulders, strained from nothing but the demands of a rigid posture. Like this, he's beautiful. Intoxicating. Sweat and desire, need and the fevered pulsebeat in his veins. Prey worth sinking his teeth into, snapping clean through muscle and sinew and the acrid taste still clinging to his tongue-- though he doesn't. He won't.
Another steadying breath and his palm bears down broad above Hux's waistband, wanting.]
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Date: 2016-03-25 07:29 pm (UTC)As Ren's forehead settles between his shoulders, he sighs. A breath that's taken immediately back in and held as soft leather slides across his stomach. The touch is ghosting, near teasing—not enough. Hux lets go of the wrist he'd been keeping close, allowing Ren to do what he wanted. Those bruises are starting to sting and it's sweet when mixed with the low press of the other man's palm. Anxious, his fingers curl into the bedding, grip flexing. ]
Keep going. [ Not quite a demand, as it's tempered by a rushing exhale. Still, his voice is firm. ]
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Date: 2016-03-26 08:45 am (UTC)A single inhale pierces the silence, parallels the digging warmth where his palm dips down low between Hux's legs, rising with a heavy pressure that buckles the muscle of Ren's forearm. It's not necessarily kind— but it's also far, far apart from any idea of cruelty. There's no teasing, no skirting the line between want and tolerance they way they've done time and time again in the past.
It's a gift. It must be.
Punctuated with a kiss, struck neatly across bared vertebrae.] As you wish.
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Date: 2016-03-26 09:06 am (UTC)Logic and reason have flown from him completely. All that remains is this. Whatever it is. Because it's not the viciousness that they normally reserve for each other, no matter how much his lip had bled from the kiss. Or from the stinging bruises. No, those are willfully inflicted and taken. There's a word for this, but he skirts around it, checking it off as pure lust.
(Though the soft kiss to his spine says something different). ]
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Date: 2016-03-27 11:31 am (UTC)All punctuated by a pinched noise that dies off in the base of his throat.
Were this their usual, disruptive engagement, he'd have no problem hooking his thumb between belt loops and ripping them free. As it stands, however, chances are slim that Hux would either tolerate or appreciate that solution. Meaning in the interim, he's forced to rely on exercising patience.
Or generally being a nuisance until Hux gets the idea.]
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Date: 2016-03-28 03:36 am (UTC)At the contact, he feels like he's burning up from his hairline all the way down to his stomach and lower. Muscles shift as he settles back, pulse pounding in his ears at the sensation. He wants more than this, more than their coverings will allow. Stilling, he breathes out heavily, covering the sound of a moan when Ren grinds forward, erection felt through layers. ]
Get on with it or get out.
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Date: 2016-03-28 06:49 am (UTC)You should have taken these off first.
[Chastisement, parried banter - Ren being Ren. Hard to say which it truly is, but it also hardly matters. His fingers slow, fisting in soft fabric at the seamline where it runs thickest. One breath later, he's shredded it as neatly as paper, exposing the entirety of Hux's right side from the hip to just above his knee. If the General is in such a hurry, he wont mind; if he does he can make a mental note to keep his clothing away from Snoke's apprentice in the near future.]
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Date: 2016-03-28 07:14 am (UTC)Cloth tears and the shock of it shakes him out of his haze for a moment. Anger flares hot until the chill air sets across his exposed hip and leg. He's left shifting, partially ashamed that he's letting this slide. Later, he'll be furious. Later, he'll exact revenge. For now he's left feeling flush all over, arms starting to shake from holding his weight up. ]
Must you always be so destructive? [ There's no sting to the words, not with his head tipped and loose, lips parted and soft. ]
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Date: 2016-03-29 12:31 pm (UTC)Tempered, not tepid.]
I would have no use without it. [The truth, as sincere as the pain that needles in under his skin at the admission. Brief and fleeting and forgotten when he tips his profile further in against the span of Hux's neck.] You of all people should know that.
[Because this time, when his fingertips bury themselves between the General's thighs to grip the base of his cock, nothing inhibits those inherently demanding strokes. Leather sliding over soft, velveteen skin.]
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Date: 2016-03-30 07:47 am (UTC)It's not a tease that lasts long, because then air is rushing out of his lungs as Ren grips his cock without reserve. His words are near drowned out, mentally, by the thrill that runs through him, all the way up his spine. He exposes his neck further, back arching into and towards the fingers that circle his erection, every stroke inciting a shift of his hips. One hand comes up to caress knuckles along Ren's cheek before he sinks his fingers into his hair and holds. ]
Of course, never the builder, always the destroyer.
[ And isn't this just another example? ]
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Date: 2016-03-31 08:49 am (UTC)[It isn't a question in any true sense of the word: he doesn't expect a thoughtful answer from Hux-- one hand wrapped tight around him, feeling the fevered heat that seeps clean through as the General's hips buck and shift on some instinctive, driven path-- and he wouldn't still if they were fully clothed beneath the harsh lights of the Finalizer's forward deck. Besides, the grip at his neck is secure where Hux has found traction in dark curls, and against the infrequent grace of contact where Hux occasionally draws back into the press of his own erection, pinned tight and hot; he can't find the willpower to keep his own thoughts from wandering for it.
Conversation is little more than white noise, even if there's truth in it - perhaps that's the only way Kylo Ren could bear it.]
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