Hux doesn't recall when he first noticed it; by the time he actually stops and gives it due consideration, it seems like it's always been there. A sickly wet-hot stench staining the usually immaculate artificial atmosphere, humid as a swamp, so thick he could practically choke on it. It's the unmistakable scent of heat, and he knows who it belongs to because it's always accompanied by a very recognizable presence. Ren's presence, seeming, for once, somewhat abashed and unsure, never lingering for very long, but Hux knows that Ren can see and feel him reacting, is attuned to the chemical responses of his body when he pauses in private moments to draw the familiar scent into his nostrils and over his palate; savoring it slowly, allowing himself to fantasize about savoring Ren the same way.
Of course it isn't long before someone else has the same idea and Hux unavoidably catches wind of it. One evening in his quarters, Ren's presence comes to him stronger than usual, but harried and frantic, grasping for something, and Hux feels it trembling in his temples, his whole head ringing like a helmet struck with some heavy blunt weapon. He doesn't know what he expects to find when he pulls on his boots and coat over his loose nightclothes and follows the stricken feeling in his head down corridor after corridor to the place where Ren's scent and presence are both overwhelming, but it probably should have been this: Kylo Ren himself, half-stripped and kneeling and surrounded by pairs of armored boots. Gloved hands grasping his throat and his hair, helmetless faces leering and mocking. Hux draws himself up to his full height and squares his shoulders and scatters the flock of them with pointed elbows and promises of vague but terrible retribution- court martials, firing squads, life imprisonment-- and finally he stands over Ren himself, the scent of heat weighing heavy on his tongue, his cock hard and leaking in his thin pajama trousers.
“You've been careless,” Hux says. Ren looks up at him balefully, eyes dark and wet and rimmed with red. His full lips are bitten raw, his usually bloodless complexion a riot of heat-flush and fresh fingerprint-shaped bruises.
“Hux.” He nods almost cordially, as if to acknowledge his utter loss of composure, then lurches forward to press his cheek against the shaft of Hux's spit-polished boot. “I don't have the strength for this anymore. I need-- you can stop this. I need you to help me.”
“Throwing yourself on my mercy, little prince?” Hux twines his fingers in Ren's sweat-damp hair and hauls his head up; Ren closes his eyes and breathes through gritted teeth. “You want me to mount you here, Ren? Where's that pride of yours now?”
“Enough. Stop talking.”
“This could have been avoided so easily. Not much dignity in being bred like an animal, is there?”
“I don't want you to talk.” Fair enough. Hux pulls his trousers down and palms his swelling cock, and Ren watches him, openmouthed and drooling. He lets out a small sound that Hux would be comfortable calling a whimper, and Hux is all but overwhelmed by the waves of scent and heat rolling off Ren's body; basking in it, moving closer cautiously, as if Ren is a small and especially volatile sun.
Re: Kylo/Hux - A/B/O, attempted non-con - FILL
Hux doesn't recall when he first noticed it; by the time he actually stops and gives it due consideration, it seems like it's always been there. A sickly wet-hot stench staining the usually immaculate artificial atmosphere, humid as a swamp, so thick he could practically choke on it. It's the unmistakable scent of heat, and he knows who it belongs to because it's always accompanied by a very recognizable presence. Ren's presence, seeming, for once, somewhat abashed and unsure, never lingering for very long, but Hux knows that Ren can see and feel him reacting, is attuned to the chemical responses of his body when he pauses in private moments to draw the familiar scent into his nostrils and over his palate; savoring it slowly, allowing himself to fantasize about savoring Ren the same way.
Of course it isn't long before someone else has the same idea and Hux unavoidably catches wind of it. One evening in his quarters, Ren's presence comes to him stronger than usual, but harried and frantic, grasping for something, and Hux feels it trembling in his temples, his whole head ringing like a helmet struck with some heavy blunt weapon. He doesn't know what he expects to find when he pulls on his boots and coat over his loose nightclothes and follows the stricken feeling in his head down corridor after corridor to the place where Ren's scent and presence are both overwhelming, but it probably should have been this: Kylo Ren himself, half-stripped and kneeling and surrounded by pairs of armored boots. Gloved hands grasping his throat and his hair, helmetless faces leering and mocking. Hux draws himself up to his full height and squares his shoulders and scatters the flock of them with pointed elbows and promises of vague but terrible retribution- court martials, firing squads, life imprisonment-- and finally he stands over Ren himself, the scent of heat weighing heavy on his tongue, his cock hard and leaking in his thin pajama trousers.
“You've been careless,” Hux says. Ren looks up at him balefully, eyes dark and wet and rimmed with red. His full lips are bitten raw, his usually bloodless complexion a riot of heat-flush and fresh fingerprint-shaped bruises.
“Hux.” He nods almost cordially, as if to acknowledge his utter loss of composure, then lurches forward to press his cheek against the shaft of Hux's spit-polished boot. “I don't have the strength for this anymore. I need-- you can stop this. I need you to help me.”
“Throwing yourself on my mercy, little prince?” Hux twines his fingers in Ren's sweat-damp hair and hauls his head up; Ren closes his eyes and breathes through gritted teeth. “You want me to mount you here, Ren? Where's that pride of yours now?”
“Enough. Stop talking.”
“This could have been avoided so easily. Not much dignity in being bred like an animal, is there?”
“I don't want you to talk.” Fair enough. Hux pulls his trousers down and palms his swelling cock, and Ren watches him, openmouthed and drooling. He lets out a small sound that Hux would be comfortable calling a whimper, and Hux is all but overwhelmed by the waves of scent and heat rolling off Ren's body; basking in it, moving closer cautiously, as if Ren is a small and especially volatile sun.