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PROMPT POST #3 - CLOSED

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prompt post two

+ All comments except fills should be posted anonymously.
+ All prompts should focus on TFA characters. You can't post OT or PT-only prompts.
+ One prompt per comment please.
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Hopefully you're still around author!anon because I've finally posted it!
http://archiveofourown.org/works/6652651

I attempted to mash 17th century Brittany and the SW universe with this one, I don't know if OP is still here and if this is what they wanted, but I'm having fun writing this so far.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/6407350

Kylo resented the little droid after that. It was stupid, but before, being alone felt normal. Now he was acutely aware that some days he might not talk at all, and there was no point in leaving his quarters except to exercise and eat. He avoided the cafeteria during busy times, avoided the hangar altogether, giving up on possibly being helpful. His helpfulness had ended with the information he brought.

The Resistance was gearing up for an offensive attack on the First Order using that information. As everyone else in the base hustled to prepare, Kylo tried to tell himself it was good enough that he had provided it.

One morning during his run he saw Rey and Finn together, laughing and joking while they jogged on the same route as him. He passed them, and like usual their conversation died in his presence, like snuffing out a candle.

He stopped going for morning runs.

It wasn’t fair that everyone accepted Finn so easily. They both came from the First Order, but Kylo had always been different, hadn’t he? Too dark. Too scary. He didn’t belong anywhere, not even at the side of a monster.

* * *

“Ben?”

His mom knocked at the door to his quarters, and Kylo let her in. She looked up at him. “Haven’t seen you around for a few days.”

He shrugged. “I don’t have anything to do.”

Leia watched him, and sat down on his bed. “You changed how this war is going for us. But most importantly, you’re home.”

Kylo nodded.

“What’s wrong?”

Kylo stared at her in wonder. His mother would never be able to endure what he was going through—she thrived on action, surrounded by danger and, well, other people. “I don’t have anything to do,” he repeated.

“I see.” She pursed her lips. “Have you made any friends?”

Kylo snorted and held his fist in his other hand; punching the wall in front of his mom, who was so convinced he was all better, wouldn’t go over well.

“I thought I saw you with that droid a few times,” Leia said. “What’s his name, BB-8?”

“What about BB-8?” Kylo practically snarled.

Leia blinked, taken aback. Kylo paced the room, trying to calm down. It was just like when he was a kid—in fact this was almost identical to conversations they had a long time ago, about Poe. (“I thought I saw you with Poe Dameron? He’s a nice boy, what happened?”)

This was his life now—his mother interrogating him about his friendship with a droid.

“Did you do something to scare him off?” Leia asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kylo said. “BB-8 is just a droid.”

She stood. “A droid is better than nothing. Why do you think I keep Threepio around?”

Kylo swallowed. He hadn’t even considered his mom had problems with friends—she was the powerful general, unapproachable, and her family was a mess, thanks to him.

“There you go, I just gave you something to do,” she said, opening the door to the hall. “Go fix whatever you said to BB-8.”

“Why do you assume I'm the one who said something?” Kylo muttered.

She raised an eyebrow at him and saluted in goodbye.

* * *

Before Kylo dared approach BB-8, he needed to talk with Poe. Poe was the reason he couldn’t be around BB-8—he couldn’t keep hurting his oldest friend, even if that friendship could never be repaired.

He steeled himself, even calling on one of Luke’s Jedi calming techniques, and approached Poe in the hangar. Poe was working on his X-wing with Rey and BB-8. He wished Poe were alone, this was excruciating enough, but then again, Poe would probably be more at ease surrounded by support.

Kylo waited for a pause in their conversation, then dove in. “Poe?”

Poe turned to face him, smile faltering. “Ben.”

Rey crossed her arms, watching him. BB-8 spun in place, domed head facing away with a self-satisfied blat.

He didn’t know if he could do this. This was stupid. He was Kylo Ren, master of the Knights of Ren, and he was about to beg a pilot if he could be friends with a droid who wanted nothing to do with him.

“What is it?” Poe asked.

Kylo took a breath. “I wanted to ask if you would consider—“

“Is this about joining the duty roster? I think Wexley already told you we’re covered,” Poe said.

An out. He took it. He nodded. “Okay. Sorry.”

He practically ran out of the hangar.

* * *

Rey sat down across from him late that night.

He straightened in his seat. It was way past when most people had eaten. She must have been looking for him specifically.

“I could tell that wasn’t what you wanted to ask Poe earlier,” she said. “Come on. What’s going on?”

If anyone could understand loneliness, it was Rey. But talking with her was absurd. He didn’t deserve to talk to her. He tried to leave, but she blocked him.

“Ben, you feel like a black hole in the Force,” she said.

He grimaced. “Thanks.”

She frowned up at him. “We don’t want you to turn back. You know that, right?”

“No one will let me do anything,” he said.

She nodded. “Well….”

“I know.” He sat back down. “I scare everyone.”

“Yeah.”

Kylo snorted; she didn’t even bother denying it.

She sat down again, too. “So you’re bored. Why go to Poe?”

Telling Rey felt like betraying Poe yet again. He bit his lip.

“Is this about BB-8?” Rey guessed.

Kylo blinked, and she shrugged. “BB-8 mentioned something a few days ago. Apparently you two had a falling out. I thought it was nice you were spending time together. What happened?”

She already had most of the story already, but he still couldn’t bring himself to tell her about Poe.

Her eyes narrowed. “Did Poe tell you to stop being friends with BB-8?”

He sighed. He couldn’t keep anything from Rey, apparently. “I’m not going to go against what Poe wants.”

“That’s horrible!” Rey stood up. “I’ll talk to him.”

“No!” Kylo sighed. “It’s stupid, don’t bother.”

Rey stared at him. “It’s not stupid. This is making you miserable. I’ll help.”

“Why?”

Rey sighed. “Because I’m a nice person. Have a good night and don’t worry about it, okay? It’s not stupid.”

Kylo watched her leave, feeling confused.

* * *

Poe relented when Rey confronted him but that left the matter of making up with BB-8.

Rey knocked at his quarters, and Kylo opened the door. BB-8 was there, still looking away.

“Oh, come on, BB-8,” Rey said. “I told you what happened.”

BB-8 beeped and rolled around, hiding behind her ankles. She sighed and stepped backwards over the droid, nudging BB-8 forward with a foot. “Go on.”

She offered Kylo a small smile and shut the door.

BB-8 refused to look at him.

“I’m sorry I said all that,” Kylo said. “I didn’t mean it.”

BB-8 let out a singular beep, inviting him to go on. Still looking away.

“You’re kind of my best friend,” Kylo said.

BB-8 finally looked at him with the little round sensor and questioned him further. Kind of??

Kylo flushed. “Fine. My best friend.”

BB-8 rolled in a circle, buzzing and squealing. Kylo caught about half of it. “Sorry about the—the void?”

BB-8 repeated the words, slowly.

“The blank? You were giving me...the blank?”

BB-8 cackled, explaining that they had resolved to ignore him until he came to his senses. Then the droid banged against the door.

“Okay, okay,” Kylo said, opening it and following.

BB-8 informed him that he had missed a very interesting development in the hangar between Jessika Pava and Snap Wexley, and Kylo grinned as they walked through the base. Together.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/6681103

Aww, I'm glad Kylo found a friend.

"None of that's going to matter soon," Rog says. "After a stunt like this, General Landa says I can have my pick of assignments." He grins at her, hopeful and crooked and beautiful. "I could even be assigned to the Finalizer. That is," he adds, "if you think you could use a Hero of the First Order on board."

He reaches out to Hux, fingers grasping, pleading. "What do you say, General?"

Hux stares at Rog's hand. She reaches out in return, almost unthinking. Something with Rog could be so easy, so comfortable. "Rog, I--"

"General." A black, leather-clad hand comes between them, catching Hux's hand.

Kylo Ren bows low at the waist and brushes his lips over the back of Hux's hand, eyes cast down low. His lips are surprisingly soft, and the sensation stays on Hux's skin even after Ren has straightened up. "Colonel Zoller," he adds, acknowledging Rog with a brief, curt nod.

"Huh," Rog says. He looks Ren up and down, lips pressed in a thin line. "Where'd you get the fancy manners, friend?"

"My mother was a deposed princess. She did manage to teach me a few things," Ren says.

"A princess. My, my," Hux says. "That makes you a prince, doesn't it?" She silently gives sincere and thorough thanks for Ren's unerring penchant for the dramatic moment.

"If she hadn't married one of the most feared pirates in the galaxy and given up her throne, yes," Ren agrees.

"Now, why would a princess do that?" Hux gives Rog a sidelong smile. Isn't this droll? Aren't you glad I'm winding him up instead of breaking your heart again?

But Ren's eyes are fixed on her, curiously intense and dark even without the shadows of his hood. "There are so many who will give up so much in the name of love. Don't you find it strange, General?"

"I try not to ponder it too much," Hux says, at the same time Rog slings his good arm over her shoulder.

"Excuse me, Mister Ren," Rog says. "But my old Academy friend and I were having a private conversation. Think you could give us a little breathing room?"

Hux holds her breath, just a little, as Ren glares at Rog.

"Certainly," Ren says finally, and sweeps past them with a flowing flick of Phasma's cape. "Enjoy your conversation, General Hux."

The door slides open and then shut. Hux is once again left alone with Rog in a silent corridor, the warmth and weight of his good arm something real and solid in the middle of an airless, hostile void. She gives in, relaxing against his chest, her body remembering the way she used to fit against his side.

"Charming guy," Rog says.

"A complex fellow." Hux leans her head against Rog's shoulder. Ren has always been complicated and hard to read, his strange moods and whims impossible to predict. Rog has always been as predictable as the slow turning of the galaxy, happy when he's got his arms wrapped around her and wistful when he doesn't. "Let me think about it, Rog."

"What's to think about? You get a real live hero on your roster, and I get my girl back." Rog squeezes her shoulders. "We don't have a whole Galactic disc separating us anymore."

"It's not that simple, I'm afraid."

"Sure it is. You're a general. You call the shots. You want me, I'm here."

"I'm sure this isn't your last stop. Landa probably has a whole tour planned out--"

"Landa can--well, he can go piss out of an airlock, for all I care." Rog presses a soft kiss to Hux's temple. It's warm, chaste, comforting as a mug of steamed bantha milk. "He wants me to be in his holovids. I'm not a holo star, Hux. I'm a pilot. And I may not be the best in the galaxy, but I'm damn good at it, and I want to fly for you."

"You want me to send you to your death," Hux says. She twists out from under Rog's arm, a little too fast, a little too shaky. "That's what happens to pilots, Rog. They die."

"I know, Boudi. I've seen men go down in flames before." Rog rubs his injured arm, the motion seeming almost unconscious. "That asteroid wasn't the first time I thought I was going to die. It won't be the last."

"I can't, Rog. I can't be the one to send you on the mission that will kill you. It's too much to ask of me." Hux presses her heels to the durasteel floor. It's not a very sincere out, but it is an out. "I know you wouldn't be able to do the same in my place."

"Send the person I love to die for the Order?" Rog's eyes gleam, or perhaps it's her imagination.

Hux wants to slap herself. It's the perfect, perfect trap. Heads, she doesn't love Rog, but he'll be draped all over the Finalizer. Never demanding, never brusque, but she'll feel those sad eyes and open arms everywhere she goes. It will be too easy to give in. Tails, she loves Rog, and she has to admit it.

"Rog," she says. "Don't make me make that choice."

"C'mon, Boudi." Rog's smile is crooked. "They wouldn't have made you a general if you weren't good at making the tough choices."

"I can't do it. I'm sorry, Rog." She turns on her heel towards the door to the Officer's Lounge. Perhaps she can maneuver Phasma and Admiral Anson into a conversation; she'd rather like to see the old salt try to flirt with her fearsome corps commandant.

"I'm going to die either way, Boudi," Rog says. "Pilots don't get old. Let me do it for you. Let me be near you before it happens. That's all I ask."

Hux blinks rapidly. It's unfair of Rog to use that tone, that pleading and desperate tone. It's unfair for her eyes to prickle and water like this. She doesn't answer Rog before she steps through the door.

Arg, you're making me ship Rog and Hux. I'm going to be sad when he goes. :(

Hux seems like a practical and efficient person. I have so many differing headcanons on his 'lack' of name, so here's my list. It's either:

1) (too) long - 'Corbinian'/'Corbin', 'Cameron' or any other 3-5 syllable names
2) attention-grabbing due to: a) being a rare/exotic name -'Edric', 'Cadmus', 'Taroth' or b) more popularly used on the opposite gender- 'Ava', 'Valeria/Valere'
3) hard to pronounce correctly (and nicknames are a no-no in the FO) - 'Anguis', 'Sigmurd'
4) easy to misspell - 'Agnus' vs 'Angus'
5) plain embarrassing/named after someone else - 'Scion'/'Syra'(after Vader),'Edan'/'Brennan'(after his father)

YES. A thousand yesses!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YES. Seconded.

Not OP, but I am that other anon with the witch prompts and I am JUST. SO. HYPE. FOR THE SPACE INQUISITION. I love how Hux's superior Imperial manners smoothly keep him from bellowing "filthy savages" in the Hutt's slaver faces, but he's certainly thinking it every damn second he's there. Learn from this example, Mitaka. (Poor Mitaka, his stress always entertains me.)

I'm so looking forward to more! I can't wait for everything to get messy.

Some very minor errors I noticed:
kthem = them
"construction of and concrete"
Thannison = Thanisson

Also AO3 is being weird, saying there are 0 chapters? But... I just read the chapter? What is this witchcraft?! ~~I saw Goody AO3 with the devil!!~~

OP

Then I have succeeded \o/

What's your impression of Rog? :) Just curious. I feel like it's easy to write even AU versions of characters who have a lot of canon or fanon behind them, but it's a little harder to be sure you've hit the mark when you're writing an OC. I might use him again for something.

I just saw this in the re-prompting post and omg frustrated techs bitching about their troublesome crushes would be amazing! Thirded!

I want this AU like someone please right this. The possibilities are endless!!!

Doing this in three parts, one from each of their perspectives.

~~~~~~~
Finn is slowly but surely adjusting to his new life with the rebellion. Thursday nights are his favorite, when he, Poe, and Rey all pile onto Poe’s couch and watch holovids until everyone falls asleep. It had been Finn that first suggested holovid night, although it ended up being something far different from what he had been expecting. He had been remembering holovid nights on the Finalizer, with rows of folding chairs full of stormtroopers eating popcorn and watching the latest docudramas in perfect silence. He had been thinking about how it was the only time they got to relax, scheduled right into every week as something to look forward to. He didn’t want to give the first order credit for anything, but they were certainly well ordered, and since waking up on a comparatively discipline-free rebel base he had found himself feeling lost with no repeating schedule to stick to. So he had proposed a weekly holovid night and Poe had immediately jumped on the idea with the same enthusiasm he gave all of Finn’s ideas. Once Rey had been introduced to holovids and popcorn, she was just as enthusiastic, and together they talked the general into lending them an empty conference room where they could set up and anyone could join them. The first few weeks had had fluctuating mixes of viewers, but no one else on D’Qar craved schedule the way Finn did, and so the group had dropped off as people found new and different things to do each Thursday night. After the third week of it being only Rey, Poe, and Finn, they move holovid night from the conference room to Poe’s private quarters, and the three of them quickly settle into habits so consistent as to be nearly ritualized. It is comforting.

It’s Thursday night again, and the three of them have finally decided on the vids for tonight. His friends are already waiting on the couch while Finn fiddles with the vidplayer’s controls until the screen finally flickers to life and music starts coming out the speakers. Every time they do this, Rey offers to fix the ancient machine, or at least make a remote for it, but Poe insists it is on the to-do list and there are more important matters for her to spend her time on now. It’ll get done when he gets around to it. Finn has seen that to-do list; it’ll never get done. But that’s fine, having to adjust the vidplayer manually gives him a chance to make the last minute popcorn runs and drink refills before flicking the lights off and settling into his traditional place on the couch, squished in between his two best friends. He looks from the screen to those friends currently waiting on the not-quite-big-enough couch and feels something warm growing in his chest. He is so lucky to be here, to have actual friends with faces he can see instead of the uncaring comrades in arms he has shared his life with up until this point.

He must be staring longer than he thinks, because Poe interrupts by holding up his half of the blanket draped over him and Rey and demanding, “get over here already, you’re blocking the view.” The movement jostles Rey on the other side of the couch, and she clutches her popcorn bowl protectively. The first time the did this they tried to split a bowl between the three of them, but she is still learning to be comfortable with the idea of sharing, so it’s much easier if the guys split a bowl and let her have her own. The ex-stormtrooper smiles at the invitation and goes over to the couch to squeeze in. Poe wraps them all in the blanket again and everyone fidgets for a few minutes as the film goes into its opening credits. They’re all comfortably settled and munching on popcorn by the time the film really gets going.

Poe says this first holovid is one of his favorites from when he was growing up. The pilot has already seen most of the vids they watch, and often talks through them, pointing out his favorite scenes. This running commentary had been an annoyance to others back at the beginning, but now it’s just the three of them and Rey and Finn don’t mind at all. Poe’s pleasure at sharing memories and things he cares about with his new friends only makes the vids better in Finn’s opinion.

Rey falls asleep first, only half way through the second holovid, exhausted by her Jedi training with master Luke. As she slumps against Finn, her grip on the popcorn bowl starts to slip. Finn barely manages to grab it before it falls completely and scatters across the floor. Together he and Poe polish of what little is left of the popcorn as greedily as though they were the ones that had been starving scavengers until just recently. A cold feeling on his shoulder alerts him to the fact that Rey is beginning to drool on his shirt in her sleep.

“Uggh, gross” he groans as he pushes her off to slump against the sofa arm instead. Poe laughs and mumbles something about cooties, whatever those are. He is drifting off too, empty popcorn bowl transferred to the floor in front of them. It’s not long before the pilot is also asleep, feet in Finn’s lap as he cuddles up to his own sofa arm. Something explodes on the holovid screen, making both sleepers twitch and almost wake up, and Finn decides he and Rey will need to go behind Poe’s back to get a remote made sooner rather than later. He wants to turn the sound down with without having to get up and disturb their rest. They both need it so much, after working so hard for resistance all week.

Warmly wrapped up in the easy comfort of their presence and the fleece blanket they are sharing, Finn leans his head back against the couch cushions and lets his own eyes fall shut. The holovid drones on in the background as he quietly revels in the warmth that is so much more than he had ever known he could hope for. They’ll have to watch this one first next week since they’ve all missed half the film now. Finn drifts off to sleep while making plans and the end credits roll on screen, ignored by the three sleeping heroes.

Filled here: http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/4576.html?thread=9961952#cmt9961952

Awwww......so cute/sweet.

I saw that part 10 is up on AO3 if any other anons are following this fill!

http://archiveofourown.org/works/5959048/chapters/15317542

Ahh, I love how Hux was relieved to have Ren barge into a private conversation just so she didn't have to deal with Good Guy Rog™. Like, "Oh thank god, some Ren nonsense to side-eye, haha this guy amirite?" but nope he just increased The Tension.

And ohhh I love The Tension. Maybe it's because I know the prompt and where this fill is going, but this is like watching Final Destination: Rog -- I am 100% here to see this man die in a glorious mess of his own creation. The more he pushes to be with Hux the more I'm yelling, "Don't go in there, Rog!" totally on the edge of my seat as he essentially pries open the doors to the abandoned haunted slaughterhouse and wanders around talking about how defenceless he is.

Let me be near you before it happens.

*evil cackling* Well... if you insist, dude.

Hehehehe thank you :D I'm really enjoying streeeetching it out. The more Good Guy Rog™ (LOVE IT) barges into Hux's life, the more dead he is...

ADORABLE!

This was outstanding. I hope this goes on Ao3 eventually.

Just....wonderful work!

Now on AO3:
http://archiveofourown.org/works/6796309

[A/N: Nonny, I am sorry this took so long! Blood from a stone, etc, but it’s done and we’re here. <3 Gosh, I sure hope you like Hux calling Kylo a slut.]

Coin

“For the last time, Ren, no. You can’t be spared.”

General Hux doesn’t even have the decency to look Kylo in the eye—or the visor, as the case may be. He simply continues to tap away at his datapad, occasionally pausing to consult the paperwork on his desk. Kylo fists his hands and suppresses the urge to pick up the small bust of Grand Moff Tarkin on the edge of Hux’s desk and hurl it into something. Kylo takes a deep breath to calm himself, a sound the mask turns into a growl.

“You are thwarting the will of Supreme Leader,” he reminds Hux.

Hux scoffs. “The Supreme Leader’s will is that you find Skywalker, not that you chase after each and every premonition and aching joint you think you feel.”

This is stupid. Kylo doesn’t have time to argue about this. By the sunrise after next on the planet below, the Force signature he can sense will be gone. It’s been fading exponentially ever since they came into orbit. He wishes, not for the last time, that he could simply reach into Hux’s head and make him do what he wants. But Supreme Leader has been more than clear—Hux’s mind is off-limits. Kylo can only utilize what Hux unwittingly broadcasts.

And what he broadcasts is… enlightening. Kylo assumes that Hux’s conscious mind must be as orderly, dull, and bloody-minded as the man himself, but his much-vaunted control does not extend into his dreams. On more than one occasion, Kylo has walked by his quarters in the dead of ship’s night and caught the outline of Hux’s dreams—relived childhood traumas, clichéd power fantasies, and the singular object of his lust.

It’s always so strange to see his own face unmirrored before Hux comes on it.

Kylo pauses his pacing and reevaluates Hux. He’s been meaning to spend the coin of Hux’s lust for him ever since he discovered it. He wanted to spend it on something far more spectacular than his right to leave the Finalizer in his own shuttlecraft. But coin, especially of this currency, is meant to be spent, not hoarded. If it gets him even one more step closer to Skywalker, it’s worth it.

And if he enjoys himself in the process, then so be it.

Hux stands up and crosses the office to consult the larger console, summoning two personnel files to compare. “What if I gave you something?” Kylo asks, approaching Hux carefully.

“Aren’t you monastic types supposed to give up worldly possessions?” He finally glances at Kylo, raising an eyebrow loftily at him. His pale face is stained blue by the glow of the screens. His eyes narrow as he turns to face Kylo. “What could you possibly give me?”

Kylo takes a step into the circle of Hux’s personal space. One of Hux’s hands flies up between them, to ward him off, but it falters and curls when Kylo slides his hand over Hux’s clavicle, touching his gloved fingers to the exposed flesh of Hux’s neck. “What you want,” Kylo says. He says it calmly, neutrally, but the mask lowers his voice to a growl that has an obvious and immediate effect on Hux. His pupils dilate imperceptibly and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“What I want?” Hux repeats, but he’s not asking what he wants, just repeating Kylo. He seems stunned at the opportunity to get it. Kylo leans in, watching how Hux’s eyes track him, and—

And there’s a sudden knock on the door. Hux twists away from him, as if scalded. “Sir?” comes a timid voice from the other side of the door. “I’m so sorry, sir, but it’s quite urgent.”

“One moment!” Hux calls out in an unaffected voice. He turns back to Kylo, eyes suddenly sharp. “My personal quarters, an hour from now,” he says quietly, quickly.

“As you wish,” Kylo says, and, satisfied, withdraws.

When Kylo arrives at Hux’s quarters exactly an hour later, fear of missing his window of opportunity making him punctual, Hux is in his refresher. “Get on the bed,” he calls out through the door, over the sound of running water.

Kylo surveys Hux’s quarters with distaste as he passes through them. They look, for lack of a better term, haunted. Someone clearly lives here, but there are no personal details, just clean, cold order.

Perhaps that is the personal detail.

The bedroom, at least, looks a little more lived in, out of necessity. Kylo places his helmet formally on Hux’s side console before settling on the crisply made bed.

In Hux’s dreams, Kylo is naked, although the body Hux imagines for him is too lithe and unscarred to be his. So Kylo strips, casually, tossing his garments onto the floor. Once he’s naked, he sits cross-legged on the bed, rubbing a hand idly over his leg. The sound of running water ceases from the refresher. The door opens and Kylo looks up to find—

Hux, still in his uniform. He smirks nastily as he rakes his eyes over Kylo’s body. “Eager, aren’t we?”

Instead of joining Kylo on the bed, Hux pulls the armchair from the corner of the room to the foot of his bed. He drops into it as casually, as if it were his throne. His smirk sharpens. “You’re a whore, Ren.”

The space of an hour has made Hux bold, erased the stunned look from his face and, apparently, his memory. “Excuse me?” Kylo asks.

“Trying to trade sexual favors for material gain.” Hux folds his hands in his lap, affecting an sarcastically innocent expression. “I believe that’s the textbook definition, isn’t it?”

Kylo rolls his eyes.

“So go on,” Hux urges, eyebrows dropping into his usual condescending sneer. “Show me how much getting your way is worth to you. Show me how the Master of the Knights of Ren pleasures himself.”

“But that’s not what—”

“Not what, Ren? Am I misunderstanding the terms of our agreement? You give me what I want and you get to go off on your wild bantha chase. Am I not correct?”

Kylo glares. Of course Hux can’t take what is being willingly given graciously. Of course he has to try and debase Kylo in the process. That’s probably why Kylo is his fixation, instead of anyone else more appropriate—Kylo is the only person, barring Supreme Leader, who ranks with him. There’s a much more direct route to the debasement that Hux seeks, one that Kylo had been planning on and even looking forward to, but if he pushes for it, he may tip his hand. Hux can’t know that Kylo can see his dreams—he might take measures against it and rob Kylo of his only access to Hux’s mind. It’s too tactically useful to risk. He drops his gaze to Hux’s chest. “Correct,” he mutters.

“Glad we cleared up that up,” Hux says, settling further back into the armchair. “So. You said you’d give me what I want. And what I want is to see you make yourself come. That won’t be too difficult, will it, Ren? I’m sure you’re well-practiced at it.”

Kylo shakes his head as he lurches onto his knees, exposing himself casually. He smirks when Hux’s eyes snag on the size of his slowly stirring cock. Yet another incorrect detail in Hux’s otherwise elaborately embroidered fantasies.

Kylo looks down at his body, running the wrist of his right hand down his torso before taking himself in hand and beginning to stroke himself. Theoretically, this should be even easier than sucking off Hux and letting him come on his face, but pleasuring Hux by pleasuring himself feels counterintuitive. He can only work himself up halfway, too aware of how Hux is watching him like a hawk. Kylo loosens his grip and twists his hand counterclockwise, but his cock seems cowed by Hux’s directive.

Hux softly clicks his tongue—a sound that would be neutral coming from anyone else. Kylo suddenly feels the need to prove that derisive noise wrong. He shoves the index and middle fingers of his free hand into his mouth, sucking. The quality of Hux’s gaze changes, and Kylo glances up to find Hux’s head tilted, eyes transfixed on his fingers in his mouth. He pushes them in farther than he needs and pulls them out slowly, showily, hoping to stir some half-remembered dream in Hux. But Hux just watches him.

It occurs to Kylo that Hux might not even remember his dreams.

No matter. Kylo reaches down and tucks his wet fingers behind his balls, pressing against his perineum to get at his prostate externally. It takes him a moment to find the right angle—he normally does this on all fours, if at all—but he finds it. He hums and closes his eyes at the different, finer, and no less pleasurable sensation of it, rubbing a slow, wet circle against his skin. His cock pulses hotly in his hand, stiffening slightly, and he feels a faint, absurd glimmer of pride at having found a way through.

He startles as Hux rises to his feet, but his sudden hope of Hux being tempted enough to join him on the bed—where he could flip him onto his back, suck him off, and then be on his way within the hour—is dashed when Hux instead walks over to the side console, pulling something out of a drawer. He returns to his chair and settles back into it with a sigh, throwing whatever he’s retrieved at Kylo. It lands squarely on his chest before falling to the mattress.

It’s a small jar of oil.

“I’ve changed my mind, Ren,” Hux declares imperiously, threading his fingers together. “You’re not a whore. Whores provide a valuable service. You, on the other hand, can’t even get it up without something shoved up you.”

Kylo starts to protest—he hadn’t even been touching his hole—but Hux continues. “You’re just a slut. A lazy, selfish, stupid slut.”

Nobody’s ever called Kylo that before, so he’s completely unprepared for how it makes his face burn and his cock stiffen to full attention. He grimaces and grunts. Something about Hux finally just insulting him outright makes a perverse heat coil under his skin. He lets go of his cock and pulls away from his perineum to pick up the jar and unscrew the top. He glances at Hux slicks up the already wet fingers of his left hand. Hux’s lips are pursed, but his lofty expression hasn’t changed. The jar is small enough that, for Ren, it’s single use, so he empties it. He drops the top and jar onto the sheets, where they drool oil onto Hux’s bed.

Hux makes a face at the mess, and Kylo feels a little thrill of triumph at that. He tucks his dripping fingers behind his balls again, and then pushes farther back. The feel of cold oil against his puckering rim makes him moan.

“Look how much you want to be fucked,” Hux taunts. “Though I can’t imagine why anyone would want to fuck you when they could fuck that pretty mouth of yours. I bet you’re terrible at it.” Kylo swallows a retort. That’s objectively not true. Admittedly, his sample size is in the low single digits, but Kylo has never had any complaints. He’s even had requests for encores.

“You probably gag and choke until tears run down your face, but you don’t let up, do you? Who knows when someone else will take pity on you and let you touch them? You probably get so hard from it, from being misused…”

The effects of Hux’s words are both instantaneous and powerful. Kylo finds himself half in his body, dealing with the mechanical challenge of working a finger into himself, and half elsewhere, in sudden thrall to Hux’s filthy imagination. His mind conjures up fits and snatches from his limited, furtive experience to supplement Hux’s words—hands in his hair, his own hands braced on hips, the thick press of a stiff cock against the back of his throat.

“Just because your face is wet doesn’t mean they’re getting off, Ren,” Hux hisses. Kylo gasps as his cock throbs. His face is burning, but the idea of it—of choking hard enough to gag, mouth and throat stuffed full of someone’s cock—makes his head swim. “And maybe after you’ve choked yourself on enough cocks, someone will pity you and give you the fucking that you so obviously need.”

Kylo gasps as his questing index finger slips into his slick entrance. He presses in, groaning, until his knuckle bumps against his rim.

“I want to see,” Hux demands suddenly. “Get on your back.”

Kylo spreads his legs until he can drop his hips onto the bed without removing his finger, awkwardly untucking his legs from under him. He rolls onto his back, bending his knees and pressing his heels into the mattress. He tilts his hips up, and can’t resist pressing deeper into himself, grunting a little at the sensation. He can feel his body start to relax, warmth suffusing him. It’s easier to touch himself like this, lying on his back, staring at the anonymous ceiling of Hux’s quarters. He takes a deep breath and presses his middle finger against his slick rim until it slips in to join the first.

“I bet you’d take anyone. They don’t even have to be human, do they? Doesn’t matter what they’ve got, just as long as it’s thick enough to fuck you with.”

The derision in Hux’s voice sends an electric current through Kylo’s body. He squeezes his eyes shut just to focus on the topography of Hux’s voice—the clipped consonants, the crisp vowels, the tremble of lust hidden inexpertly behind his carefully careless intonation. Kylo begins plunging his fingers in and out of himself in earnest, but that won’t be enough, that’s never enough. He wraps his free hand around his leaking cock, sliding his hand from the tip to the base to spread precome down his shaft. He seeks blindly for his prostate and hits it unexpectedly. He chokes out a gasping noise, face burning.

“They wouldn’t even have to prepare you, would they? Not if you have to finger yourself loose just to rub one out.” Hux’s breathing is growing more labored. Kylo’s almost curious to see what he’s doing, but he doesn’t want to break the spell—he’s close, so close that he forces himself to loosen his hand, ease back his fingers. “They’ll just slide right in,” Hux coos nastily. “Nice and easy, and treat you exactly how you deserve to be. Just a warm, wet, willing hole.”

Kylo cries out, torn between driving himself to orgasm and delaying it. He ends up squeezing himself to last a few seconds longer and plunging his fingers as deep as he can. His lower back arches off of the bed.

“And I bet,” Hux continues, as loftily as he can manage, “I bet you’d find a way to be terrible at that. You’d just lie there uselessly, moaning like the whore you are, while they hold you down and use your body for all it’s worth. Do you think they’d let you come? Do you think they’d even care?”

Kylo’s been fucked twice, and both times have been reverent, not rough. But the idea of being fucked like that, being used for someone else’s pleasure, being left wet, sore, and wanting, makes him shudder bodily. He can almost imagine it. Hands digging almost painfully into his hips, a cock being driven into him at a punishing pace that will leave him sore for days, cruel lips, perhaps even teeth, on his neck, all as he fists his hand in short, red hair in a futile effort to just hang on as Hux fucks him like a savage beast—

Kylo lets out a low, sighing groan as he comes, hips snapping upward as he stripes his stomach and chest with his own spend. He pumps himself empty, before sagging back into the mattress. His heavy breathing is a roaring noise in his ears. His cock slowly softens in his hand, and he pulls his fingers out with a slick noise. After a few moments, he opens his eyes.

Hux is still perched in the armchair in the same position, eyes glittering maliciously and hands tensed into claws on his knees. Combined with his ghoulish pallor, he looks almost monstrous—or would be, if it wasn’t for the obvious, embarrassing tent in his pants. His eyes are still focused on Kylo, but they’re faraway, distant, as if Hux has reached some internal impasse, unable to follow Kylo over the edge he shoved him over. Kylo may be naked, but he feels like Hux is much more exposed than he is.

Kylo’s disappointed. At the very least, Hux could have masturbated to him.

“Hux,” Kylo says, rubbing his nose with his dry hand before sitting up. “Hux,” he repeats, when Hux doesn’t respond. Hux only snaps out of his reverie when Kylo lurches to all fours on the bed, nearly between his knees. He looks startled, confused. Kylo snorts. “You’re wrong,” he says, casually. “I’m not terrible at it.”

He shoves his head in Hux’s lap, pressing his crown to Hux’s stomach, and Hux does nothing to stop him. Kylo makes short work of Hux’s belt and fly before reaching in and tugging out Hux’s cock. It’s red and leaking precome. Hux must be achingly close. Kylo presses an open-mouthed kiss to its base before running his lips up the shaft. The head of Hux’s cock brushes against his cheek, smearing precome against his cheekbone. What’s left at the tip, he licks off showily, before swallowing Hux to the hilt.

He expects Hux to call him a whore again for that, but when he glances up, Hux is just staring at him, transfixed, as if he’s seen this somewhere before but can’t quite place it. Kylo swallows, muscles contracting around the hot cock in his throat, and Hux gives a soft, startled moan. Kylo pulls off smoothly, bobbing his head back to cradle the head of Hux’s twitching cock with his tongue.

Hux makes a hoarse, gasping noise, as if Kylo’s punched him in the stomach, and comes. Hux tastes bitter, much more bitter than anyone who’s come in Kylo’s mouth before, and Kylo grimaces. He closes his lips and dips his head a little, just enough to let Hux stripe his face in white. He stares, unflinchingly, at Hux, and continues to do so, even when the last, weak spurt catches him almost across the eye.

Hux sags in his seat, boneless. Kylo watches him for a moment before pulling back. He grabs a fistful of Hux’s sheets to wipe his face and chest clean. He’s almost tempted to avail himself of Hux’s refresher, but time, now that he’s been reintroduced to the concept, is of the essence. He listens to Hux’s breathing even out as he dresses. As he pulls on his boots, he says, “If you would like me in your bed in the future, I suggest that you don’t get in my way.”

It’s a bet, one made with currency he’s already spent. Hux doesn’t respond until Kylo rises to his feet, shrouded, once more, in the mantle of the Master of the Knights of Ren.

Hux stirs, tucking himself back into his pants slowly. “Why bother,” Hux asks, pale eyes flicking to Kylos visor, “when getting in your way seems to yield the same result?”

But the way Hux’s eyes snag on his form as he leaves for his shuttle tells Kylo something different. When it comes to Hux’s attraction to him, there’s still plenty of coin left to spend.

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