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+ All comments except fills should be posted anonymously.
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+ One prompt per comment please.
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OP

Another Jamaal May fan! Lovely! I've gotten to see him read several times and it's just glorious. I even read a poem that made him laugh.

Look at me, gushing about poetry when I should be writing more of this!

+1 the evils expressing affection in their own way is my jam. Love that bonus a lot, because he fucking would, DAMMIT REN.

Wow, you painted quite a picture in so few words. Personally I think it stands well on its own, but if you want to expand it then go for it! I'm sure a lot of people would be interested. :)

Like another anon, I'm curious. If you did post this to AO3, could you leave a link here?

Requester Anon again and I hope you don’t mind if I continue to drop in and cheer on your efforts. Your beautiful, hilarious efforts. I love that you keep namedropping connections that I have to go google. I love that Kylo and Hux’s ongoing power struggle includes such ridiculous efforts as creating an “intern Matt” to take the blame, Hux managing to get the security footage (hmm, now I’m wondering how he stalked Poe to get the drink order and house temperature), and then they go play punishment. And Hux is multitasking on his phone. What. (Perfect.)

Also there is something surreal and otherworldly about Hux’s relationship with his cat. (““Millicent!” Hux shouted. “Can you give us one minute?” Millicent slipped back out of the door.”) What cat understands and obeys?! Evidently one that can smell conflict and hones in on it…

Loved the smoking scene where ““I won’t kill him…Because at this point I can’t even afford the quicklime.”” Gets space from a fellow Californian, but Hux tossing his cigarette butts in the stream earns him true ire.

I’m starting to wonder at Hux’s actual accounting skills though. If he can’t keep an emergency fund bigger than Kylo’s impulse purchases and impulse destructions… either he’s got expensive habits besides being married to Kylo, the real estate market’s been harder than he anticipated, or maybe he does have a secret investment account in the Cayman Islands…

You left us at a lovely double cliffhanger~

Rey, please provide evidence for Zodiac Killer Hux. (Because if he’s that old he should be able to afford a sugar baby by now, right?) Okay, so it was probably a joke.

Kylo’s parents! I am so excited.

I imagined Kylo as Tallulah Bankhead and now I have to write this.

This prompt oozes greatness so I hope I do it justice.

GGG Hux

[A/N: So playful is not a word I would use to describe these two, so I hope this is alright, anon. Enjoy!]

Yield

When insomnia strikes Hux, as it often does, he knows that the best cure is exertion. He does not waste time tossing and turning in bed—he changes into suitable gear, retires to the practice room reserved for senior officers, and exhausts himself. An hour’s worth of physical labor usually does the trick.

Tonight, the eternal, endless hum of the Finalizer’s engines offer no comfort at the end of a long day. Hux waits exactly fifteen minutes before giving up on sleep.

Even in the officers’ quarters, the halls are hardly empty. But the practice room is usually left untouched around the official end of Hux’s shifts, a show of deference from his staff that touches him.

Tonight, though, there’s somebody already in the practice room. Hux pauses at the doorway, the door sliding shut behind him. The stranger is a tall, broad-shouldered man with black hair just long enough to be tied back. He’s going through a series of movements that take him from one end of the practice room to the other, concentration evident in the tension of his muscles.

It takes Hux a moment to recognize Kylo Ren. Hisnow instinctive hatred for Ren rises like bile in his throat. Invading the Finalizer wasn’t enough—now even this sanctum sanctorum isn’t safe from his oppressive presence. He says nothing. He knows Ren knows he’s there. Instead, he observes.

He’s rarely seen Ren unmasked, let alone stripped to his leggings. The lack of clothing only serves to make him more imposing. His chest is broad and strong, his shoulders expansive. Hux feels a twinge of envy. He’s fit, certainly, but not like that.

It takes him another moment to recognize Ren’s movements as Echani. It’s a little unsettling, to see someone as unruly and seemingly wild as Ren practice a martial art second nature to everyone in the First Order. Hux feels like Ren should be doing something he’s never heard of. And doing it in his own quarters.

He’s not bad—or, to be more honest, he wouldn’t be so bad, if he was a youth and not a grown man. Ren’s strikes are thorough, but his stance is too open. He probably thinks he’s—probably is—strong enough to counter any openings he might give away with sheer force, but an open stance encourages sloppy footwork. It’s almost painful to watch Ren brutalize his way through what should be precisely executed forms. The flaws in his form look almost natural, as if he started from a poor foundation. The Echani people value their unarmed combat as the highest form of communication—unsurprisingly, Ren is as inarticulate and graceless in this as he is in everything else.

“Your form is appalling,” Hux calls out when he can’t stand to watch anymore.

Ren doesn’t bother to glance over his shoulder. “You can do better?”

“Of course,” Hux scoffs. “I was trained personally by a member of the Emperor’s Royal Guard.”

“Let me guess—extracurriculars at the Academy,” Ren says. His natural voice is almost as deep, petulant, and unmodulated as the one the helmet gives him.

“And judging by your stance, you must have learned it secondhand in a swamp of some kind.”

Ren gives a dismissive snort. “If you want to challenge me, challenge me. If you don’t, go back to sleep.”

“You think you could give me a challenge?”

“Why don’t you come over here and see?” Ren turns around, finally and drops into a sloppy challenging stance. He beckons for Hux to come at him.

Fine. He could use the exercise, and wiping the floor with Ren will undoubtedly serve the same purpose as exhausting himself. Hux approaches Ren, dropping, pointedly, into a flawless formal Echani challenging stance.

They stare at each other for a moment, bobbing lightly, and then Ren lashes out with a kick. Block. Strike. Block. Strike. Block. Ren takes the absurd risk of spinning, exposing his back to Hux for a moment, but he’s fast enough that he bats Hux’s strike away like nothing on his return and kicks Hux squarely in the chest. Hux stumbles backwards, but does not fall.

He was right—Ren overcompensates for his poor form with his strength, and he is strong, stronger than Hux anticipated. Almost suspiciously so.

They circle and return to their challenging stances, nodding curtly at each other. Ren, at least, has some understanding of Echani etiquette. The second round goes much the same way as the first, although Hux, now little more used to Ren’s awkward technique, manages to land a handful of blows on Ren’s chest that would fell a lesser man. But Ren seems to barely register it.

“Don’t use the Force,” Hux chides, as they circle back for round three.

“Why would I waste the Force on you?” Ren sneers.

Hux lunges at him, provoked. Ren strikes him in the head, a legal but underhanded move, and Hux sees stars briefly. He ignores the pain, striking Ren in the chest. Ren grunts, and they fall into the almost soothing pattern again—Strike. Block. Strike. Block.

Strike.

Hux braces for Ren’s blow to fall on his shoulder, clobbering him to the ground, but, instead, Ren taps two fingers to Hux’s clavicle. “Yield,” he says.

The insult of Ren holding back for his sake burns Hux to his core. He stares at Ren’s offending hand and into his unfamiliar face.

Echani etiquette be damned—it’s wasted on this man. Hux kicks Ren in the stomach.

Ren staggers back, doubling over a little, and it pleases Hux to see Ren suffer. Hux tackles him, with effort. They crash to the mats, and Hux rears up to smash his fists into whatever part of Ren he can get at.

He wants to batter Ren’s face, leave him bloody-nosed and black-eyed, but he doesn’t think for one second that Snoke won’t know about this little encounter come morning. The news will go down easier, perhaps unremarked, if he doesn’t mar the visage of the Supreme Leader’s precious little pet.

Ren has no such compunctions about him, however—Hux yells when Ren reaches up and grabs at Hux’s face, nails digging into his skin. Ren jerks underneath him and they fall sideways. Ren takes the opportunity to roll them over, pressing his forearm against Hux’s throat as he crouches over him. Hux gargles in protest, although it’s not enough to actually choke him.

“Yield,” Ren demands.

“Never,” Hux grunts with an effort, and knees Ren in the stomach. Ren absorbs the blow, grimacing, and sits on him, settling his entire weight on Hux.

Hux gulps, freezing at the contact despite the heat of the room and their exertion. He’s suddenly and painfully aware that he’s hard. Achingly so.

The situation shifts—he’s suddenly so aware of Ren’s bare flesh and the weight of his body that he feels himself flush. Ren seems not to notice, finally snatching Hux’s wrists with both hands and pinning them above his head to the mat. Hux tries to buck Ren off of him, but it does nothing but spur his erection on and alert Ren to his condition.

Ren goes very still, and then stares into Hux’s eyes, his own unreadable. He’s panting and he’s radiating heat like a furnace from the exertion.

He’d be overwhelming even if he wasn’t sitting on Hux’s stomach.

Hux’s mind is racing, but he’s trapped. There is no graceful way to exit this situation. The satisfying binary logic of fighting—strike or block—is replaced by another piece of binary logic—either Ren will ignore this or exploit this.

He does not expect Ren to grind, slowly, back onto him, intently watching his reaction. But then, Ren was made to frustrate binaries and the well-ordered mind. Hux presses his lips together—he refuses to give Ren the satisfaction of noise.

Ren makes his second pass even slower, and Hux feels that he’s hard, too. He groans at the thought, at the touch.

“Do you yield?” Ren asks, as lightly as if they were on the command deck, not rubbing against each other like teenagers in an unlocked room.

“What?” Hux sputters.

Ren rolls his hips more forcefully, and Hux’s back arches off the mat, traitorously.

“Do. You. Yield?” Ren breathes.

“Never,” Hux hisses. This is a fight too, he belatedly realizes, and he struggles against Ren. But it’s useless. Ren is straddling his stomach, sitting low enough that he can grind back onto Hux, but high enough that the pressure isn’t constant.

Ren removes one hand from Hux’s wrists and gathers both his wrists in the other, his palm slipping against Hux’s, briefly. Hux grimaces at the contact, at the intimacy it insinuates, but he doesn’t dare break eye contact with Ren.

Ren reaches down casually and pulls the hem of Hux’s shirt up, exposing his stomach and most of his chest. For a moment, Hux thinks Ren is going to twist the thin fabric around his fist and pull, choking him, and the idea makes his hips stutter, catching nothing but air.

Ren runs a hand down Hux’s rapidly flushing chest, still staring at him impassively. Hux’s skin burns in the wake of Ren’s touch. He can feel the back of Ren’s hand against his skin as it travels downwards. He hears skin on fabric, and then, suddenly, Ren’s—thick—cock against his stomach.

Hux swallows and grunts, but doesn’t dare look down, doesn’t dare break eye contact with Ren. Ren is still staring at him, face solemn. He grinds his hips, seemingly experimentally, dragging his cock against Hux’s stomach. Hux moans at the feeling of wet on his skin as Ren’s cock leaks precome onto his stomach, pooling in his navel.

When Ren moves, he rubs, quite purposefully, against Hux’s still trapped erection. Hux grunts. He wants to move, grind back against him, but Ren won’t let him.

Ren’s other hand returns to his wrists, as if Hux still needs to be held down when all he wants to do is grab Ren’s hips and grind against him until he comes. Hux watches Ren’s face turn red from the exertion of something, and he realizes Ren is actively trying not to make noise, grunting a little here and there when he can’t contain it completely.

He must be so loud in bed, Hux thinks, and imagines the noises Ren must make, fucking someone properly. The noises he would make, fucking Hux properly. He whines at the thought and renews his struggles against Ren, desperate for relief. The pressure of Ren’s weight on him and the heavy drag of his cock against his stomach is enough to set his nerves on fire, but it’s not enough to get him off. Hux ceases his useless thrashing and cries out when Ren pulls back far enough to barely brush against his cock.

The noise seems to push Ren over the edge. Ren makes a choked noise and comes, striping Hux’s stomach with wet, white heat. Hux whines again, stomach contracting at both the feel of it and how frustrated he is.

Ren releases his wrists and sits back, directly on Hux’s trapped, throbbing cock, sweaty, grim-faced, and, somehow, victorious. Hux could choke on how much he hates and wants the man on top of him. He presses against Ren as much as he’s able, but there’s nowhere for him to move.

Ren leans forward, his great face looming over Hux’s. Hux panics at the idea of Ren kissing him—it seems too intimate, despite Ren’s come on his stomach, despite how much he wants Ren to just let him come. Hux writhes, to no avail.

Ren doesn’t kiss him. Instead, he rolls his hips against Hux’s and says, breath scorching against Hux’s mouth, “Yield.”

“Never,” Hux says, breathless.

“Then come for me,” Ren says, and mouthes his neck.

Hux is helpless to do anything but obey.

By the time Hux’s head clears from his orgasm, Ren is already on the other side of the practice room. Hux feels—well, sticky, mostly, but also like he’s lost. Like Ren has made clear what he’s done to him as clearly as if he’d bruised him. He feels different.

A towel lands on his face.

Hux sits up and tries to clean himself off as much as he can. He looks over at Ren, who is tugging on a shirt, broad back to him.

“You’re right,” Ren says, after a long silence. “My form is off. Come back tomorrow night.”

Hux thinks of getting another chance at this—of having Ren on his back next time, or, better yet, riding him. He licks his lips.

“We’ll see,” Hux says, but he knows—they both know—that he’ll be here tomorrow night and the night after that. When Hux finally gets to his feet, Ren is gone, as if vanished.

Hux returns to his quarters and sleeps like the dead. He does not dream. He never does.

Thank youuu this is the first thing I've posted in over a year and I was starting to psych myself out over whether anyone was going to read it! Glad you enjoyed :)

omg I imagine this ends with them roleplaying that and that is beautiful so thank you nonny

This is wonderful! I love Finn experience everything, the pilots pulling him in, his dedication to getting himself back in shape, Poe watching him (because who could blame him?!) and just...all of it. It's warm and wonderful, and then you topped it off with lovely, hot sex, too.

I loved it!

Luke hated himself. He hated himself when he pretended he didn't see Ben watching him as they bathed together. He hated himself as he pretended to sleep as Ben thrust against his hip. But nothing compared to how much he hated himself as he let his nephew fuck him.

"Master,' Ben was murmuring against his neck as he thrust into him. "You feel so good."

He arched his back, letting Ben push in deeper. He'd promised himself he'd never do this. But his mind was foggy and his stomach was tight with lust and the need to come.

It was the wine. Ben had poured him a large glass of red bitter liquid with dinner. He hadn't asked where Ben had gotten it, or why he wasn't drinking it himself. He had drank it quickly, hoping to get their private tutoring session over quickly so he could go out near the river to meditate and regain control of himself. Ben had been giving him lingering touches all day, shamelessly running his hands over any skin he could get to no matter how many times Luke moved away.

At some point he'd lost track of the lesson. He found himself focusing instead on Ben's plump bottom lip. He watched as the boy sucked it into his mouth. It was something he'd done when he was nervous since he was a child.

When Ben had pushed him onto the bed and began to undress him he'd only put up a token protest. He'd told Ben to stop when the eighteen year old boy awkwardly fumbled with the lube and begun to push into him with too wet fingers. He'd cried out when the fingers had been replaced by a long thin cock. He hadn't stopped him though. He'd rolled over onto his stomach when Ben had pushed him, and burried his face into the pillow when Ben's pace had become brutal.

"You are mine master. Not anyone else's. I don't care what the other padawans think. They're pathetic. They're not worthy. Only I am," Ben's voice was ragged as he slammed into him. Luke just closed his eyes.

He should have known then that Ben had gone over to the dark side. When he'd woken up with bruised and sticky thighs and Ben's arms wrapped around his waist he should have acted and found a way to restrain the boy.

Instead he'd put his robe on as quietly as he could and left. He ignored the ache between his legs and his burning head ache. He found two of the older padawans who were already up and meditating together and told them he had an errand to go on. And he left.

He thought some time away would allow him to be objective, to process what had happened and find a way to discourage Ben from ever trying something like it again. The message of the slaughter reached him three days into the trip.

He didn't want to believe it, but images of the dead padawans accompanied the message. Leia's recorded voice cracked as she asked him to come home, to help her go and find her son.

Luke landed on a deserted planet and hid.

He could feel Ben searching for him using the force. He suppressed his force signature. He could feel when Ben tracked him to the planet he'd taken refuge on. Ben didn't have the skill though to find his exact location. Instead Luke's communication device went off.

He almost didn't answer it.

"Master. Where are you?" Ben's voice sounded the same as aways. He didn't know why he'd assumed what he'd done would change it.

"I'm not going to tell you that Ben. What you've done," he breathed in, voice cracking, "Ben. Why?"

"I go by Kylo Ren now Master. And I did it because it had to be done. You'll understand one day. The use of the force must be limited to those who are worthy," he said.

Luke shook his head. "They were your friends Ben."

"They were nothing to me," Ben said. "But that's not all you're mad about is it Master? You weren't there because you left. You left me without even leaving a note. Why?"

"What happened was wrong Ben," Luke said but was cut off by an angry snarl on the other side.

"No. No it wasn't. I know you wanted me, I could see it in your mind. You were too afraid of what others thought, but you desired me as much as I desired you. I know you were awake during the nights when I'd rub against you. I understand why you pretended to sleep, you knew the others would judge you, judge us. But they can't anymore." Kylo's voice became earnest, "There's nothing holding us back now. I have seen powers far greater than any the jedi way could offer. Together we can do more than even Vader did."

Luke had failed. He had failed to protect his students, and he had failed to protect Ben. "I'm sorry," he said, voice rough.

He could feel Ben's mind reaching out to him, "Tell me where you are master," he demanded.

"No." Luke turned off the communication system. He refused to let Ben, no, Kylo, hear him cry.

He snuck off the planet. He needed a different place to hide, one with enough life to hide his force signature. He could not return to Leia, he couldn't meet his sister's eyes knowing what he'd allowed to happen.

He turned instead to Maz. She gave him a room hidden deep within the fortress she called her home. She helped him when he needed it, but for the most part gave him his space. He spent hours trying to meditate, to connect with the force. Instead he found himself staring at the stone wall until he cried or fell asleep. His connection to the force had been severed. Occasionally he would feel it inside of him, but he could not gather the will power to control it.

He did not eat, but his stomach began to grow. At first he ignored it, too caught up in his own misery. Then the vomiting began, each morning at the same time. His suspicions were confirmed when he was laying awake at night and felt the beginning of something growing inside of him, small, but powerful.

He knew he had to leave. If people realized he was pregnant they would talk. The only reason he was able to hide in plain sight was because no one knew they were supposed to be looking for him. If Ben was still looking for him, he was doing it quietly. But people would take notice of him if they realized he was carrying a child. The news might spread and get back to Leia, or worse, Ben. The other man would stop at nothing if he knew Luke was carrying his child. He'd always been obsessed with the purity and legacy of the Skywalker line.

Luke packed his items and said goodbye to Maz. She watched him leave with sad knowing eyes.

Being pregnant was uncomfortable. His back ached, his ankles hurt, his mouth was always dry, and his body got rid of water quicker than he could take it in. He avoided looking at his bulging stomach as he dressed and undressed.

Luke went from planet to planet, following old Jedi maps him and R2D2 had been studying since the end of the war. The further he travelled the more apparent it was that something was wrong.

The baby was close to being due when Luke collapsed. He woke up on the ground, covered in sweat and shaking. He'd read before that when force users were common a child of two users would draw upon their parents' combined energy as a fetus. But Luke was alone and unable to give the child the energy it needed. It kept trying to draw more though, not realizing that it's actions were killing it's father. Luke stood up, he needed to get it out of him.

Maz was waiting for him at the back entrance when he arrived. She didn't look surprised to see his large stomach, instead she gripped his wrist and led him back to the room he'd been staying at. Three med droids were waiting for him there. They gave several concerned beeps as they scanned him. They confirmed what he'd known, he'd have to have the baby taken out immediately. The child was fully formed, if small. It's chances of surviving were better than Luke's.

He was given a shot to put him under. When he awoke the room was silent. Every part of him hurt, but he was alive. A tiny swaddled baby was laying in a crib next to his bed. He avoided looking at it, not wanting to see Ben's nose or his own eyes. He put on the clean robe that was laying on a chair next to him and left.

He'd made it out the back door and several feet towards his ship when a voice came from the shadows, "You can't run forever Luke, there are only so many places in the galaxy to hide."

He turned and looked at Maz who was standing at the door. He walked back over and knelt before her. "I can't do this. The child will be better off without me. You'll find it a home, won't you? Somewhere no one will find it?"

"I will. But someday you will have to look your child in the face Luke," she said.

Luke didn't respond, he couldn't. Instead he grabbed his lightsaber from his belt and handed it to her, "Take this. I no longer want or need it. Perhaps some day some one else will find a use for it."

She reached out with one hand to take it and used the other to cup Luke's face. "Life sometimes takes dark and terrible turns Luke Skywalker, but know this, there has never been a night that didn't end," she leaned over and kissed his forehead.

She watched him disappear into the shadows with a sign, "May the force be with you Luke, even when you don't wish it to be." She headed back inside, she had arrangements to make.

On a distant planet Kylo Ren knelt before his new master. "I felt a disturbance in the force, brief but powerful. It felt familiar, but I couldn't place it. What was it Master?"

Snoke gave him a long look from where he sat silently on his throne. Eventually he spoke, "A child was born, one strong with the force. Do not concern yourself with her, if she survives you will meet her someday."

GOD BLESS YOU ANON, NOT OP BUT OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

I don't know much about house flipping but I know a fair amount about kylux and i read a lot of fanfic and this is one of THE BEST
I mean all the wine and bitchiness and millicent possibly understanding human speech and hux probably being the zodiac killer and MATT, MATT THE INTERN, AHHHH

yaaaaaaaaaaaaasssssss

Fucking hell this is so scorching hot. Unf. There's an anon who goes around capslocking "BRAVO!" at fills and I'm gonna steal their bit for a sec, because BRA-FUCKING-VO.

Hux could choke on how much he hates and wants the man on top of him.

That's it. That's the essence of Kylux for me.

OP HERE AND OMFG YES YES YES TO ALL OF THIS
THIS IS PERFECT AND WRONG AND SO RIGHT
Of course Ben would think himself the only one worthy of Luke.
Of course Luke would go to Maz.
Of course Rey's birth would cause a disturbance in the force.
LIKE
EVERYTHING IS PERFECT THANK YOU SO MUCH
I can't even tell you how pleased this has made me

(http://tinypic.com?ref=34xg6ck)

This was beautify written and just the sort of adversarial, contradictory dynamic that really sparks my interest.

There were a lot of little moments that really made this piece for me. For example, Ren not wanting to "waste the Force" on a confrontation with Hux. I also loved the fact that Ren compensated for lack of form with strength because it felt really in character and even the little touch of Hux's underlings keeping the training room empty for him was honestly sweet.

You also wrote amazingly hot sex. The balance between physical sensation and character responses was spot on. The whole theme of "yield" was fantastic, especially because Hux never gave in. I suspect if he did win the next time, Ren would be equally stubborn about not surrendering.

Ayrt

Something like that, but I purposely left it open to reader interpretation. Maybe it's cock-sucking, maybe it's sexual domination, maybe it's knitting and Hux really wants a scarf! ;)

Daaamn.

Let the wank die please. The wanker stopped once the OP spoke up, you should too.

OP, potential filler here. Do you mind if I include hair washing too?

Had to get it started somehow. This doesn't do justice to this prompt, it's so good.

---

Before Hux even reaches the tucked away apartment, he hears the distinct sound of wood clashing violently against the wall.

Probably a chair. Maybe the end table. He hopes it's not the ottoman.

He loiters near the door of apartment 7F, waiting patiently for the sound of shattering glass and rough, muffled shouts to cease. The door opens and a man--around 40 years old, balding, the professional type, probably married with two kids--rushes out, pantsless with a bundle of clothes in his hands.

"Fuck you, you little piece of shit! How dare you!" The disembodied voice still in the room is getting louder as it approaches the open door, presumably ready to throw another object, "Go home to your damn wife, you irresponsibly little toad!"

The phantom appears at the door just as the businessman scurries down the hall towards the elevator, frantically pressing the down button and hopping on one foot trying to redress himself. The man who has just emerged is holding an ornate vase in his hand, ready to strike. The storm on his face doesn't dissipate upon seeing Hux.

"What the hell do you want?" He hisses, lowering the vase as the frightened man finally enters the elevator, "You don't have an appointment."

"I thought you could squeeze me in, Ren."

"Don't get fresh with me," Ren replies as he motions for Hux to enter.

Hux hated Ren's apartment. It was too decadent, too elegant for the angry mess of a man in front of him. A rococo chaise lounge, a couch patterned lavishly in navy, red and gold, a full-size reprint of Klimt's The Kiss, a gilt bronze timepiece, a crystal chandelier. The wallpaper had probably been picked out when the 20s were still roaring, a dizzying burgundy and gold Art Deco design. The place was cluttered but cozy, the lights always low and casting shadows. A room right out of an old film.

"What did he do to you?" Hux finally says, flicking a thumb to the battered chair and fragmented lamp near the door.

"Fucking asked me to run away with him," Ren growls, "His damn wife just had a baby, too. That little subhuman piece of trash..."

Hux settles onto the sofa as Ren stomps off to his bedroom. As usual, Ren has surprised him. Hux didn't think the younger man would care or even know about the domestic aspects of his customers lives. Then again, it probably has to do more with trying to turn a quick fuck with Kylo Ren into something more romantic and melodramatic. Ren was cut and dry--you pay him then he does his thing then you leave.

He's not cheap, not even the best fuck Hux's had, but Ren has an animal quality to him: feral, defiant, unattached. Half the satisfaction is in trying to pin him down and shutting him up when he's spitting venom. Once your satisfied, once you pin him and fuck him senseless, he regains his composure and tells you to leave unless you have enough money for the next hour.

That's the quality that has Hux coming back.

"Oh." Hux shrugs as Ren re-enters the room.

"What do you want?" Ren frowns impatiently. "Blowjob before work, Mr. Bigshot? It's the usual fee, upfront, plus a no appointment fee."

"Fine." Hux says as slowly as he takes out his wallet and hands the money to Ren, who counts it before sticking it in his pocket. "Wait."

Ren has positioned himself between Hux's legs already, his eyes furrowing in irritation at being interrupted. "What is it now?"

"Just don't. I actually had something else in mind." Ren is still between his legs, still irritated, waiting for Hux to finish. "Listen to me till the end: I need you to pretend to be my fiancée..."

"You're kidding?" Ren interrupts, really looking up at him now with his mouth agape. "What do I look like to you? I am not fucking Pretty Woman, Hux. I'll blow you, I'll fuck you, I'll let you come on my face but I am not running around playing pretend with you."

"I'd pay." Hux responds with a shrug. "Per diem plus meals."

"No." Ren is getting up now, shaking his head. He stops and turns around, "But I'll take the bait. Why do you need a fake fiancée?"

"Dear old Dad died last night." Hux sighs, sarcasm seeping into his voice. "In the hush of night, the bloodsuckers I call family called up the family lawyer to get their rightful piece." Ren listens attentively and Hux thinks he may be considering. "I thought I was going to inherit the company."

"You aren't?"

Hux's face twists in anger. "That's the thing, I did. But with the stipulation that I get married."

Ren laughs. "That's what you get for relying on old money."

"Of course Father dearest would find a way to antagonize me in death." Hux grinds his teeth then looks intently at Ren, "I don't want a fucking spouse, Ren. I want a business partner, someone who understands it's a transaction. We play it up as fiancées, get a quicky marriage then I get the company legally. You can live your life and we'll divorce quietly three months later."

Ren's mouth moves in thought. "Fine." He slaps his hands onto his thighs, "But I want per hour pay, the standard fuck rate. Plus food and expenses. Nothing before 10AM and nothing after 11PM. Maximum three events a week and I reserve the right to not go to any event. I will not call you by a pet name, you may call me 'darling' only, and no kissing beyond the cheek." He huffs and extends a hand, "Deal?"

Hux blinks in disbelief. "Deal."

He has a husband.

OP

I find this enticing. Please, by all means!

Yo, so this the first time I've ever heard of Echani and now I need about 500+ more fics about these assholes communicating through space-martial arts and all the sexy physicality that comes with it. A++

God, it's exactly everything I ever wanted from a fake relationship fic. Plus, I love the way you describe Kylo's ludicrous apartment. He must be a very good prostitute or know an antique furniture dealer who pays with home decor.

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