He never takes his clothes off. Ren's used to it by now; whenever they fuck, Hux remains resolutely booted and trousered and belted, his coat and cap on, never a hair out of place. Ren's the one who strips, which he does uncomplainingly, delighting in showing off the beauty and strength of his body. His pale muscled thighs, his slim hips and flat belly and powerful chest. When Hux draws him close and kisses him, he feels cool stiff cloth against his skin. He feels Hux's admiration and envy; Hux's worshipful thoughts make his heart race.
Ren pays his own tribute to Hux, on his knees. For Hux, and only Hux, he's ridiculously easy; a vague wisp of a summoning thought, the barest intimation of a command, and he comes crashing down, mouth open and pressed to the loosened fly of Hux's trousers, leather-gloved hands gently cradling his face. Hux teases him for being so eager, blames it on his youth, though they're only a few years apart. Ren endures with as much patience as he's capable of, and Hux never stops singing his praises.
“Why do you take this from me?” Hux asks him one night. “Is it simply that I'm the first man to pay you the slightest bit of attention? To find you worth bothering with?”
“Say what you intend to say, General. Tell me I'm a slut.” Ren's on his knees again, his face buried in Hux's sharp-creased trousers. “I have no use for your outdated notions of virtue.”
“My mistake. I thought you were some sort of ascetic. Isn't purity something you aspire to?”
“Purity of intention. The flesh may be trained, and shaped, but is impossible to purify.”
“Convenient.” Hux laughs, stroking Ren's hair with something that could be mistaken for fondness. His glove slips, revealing a soft white half-moon of skin that Ren longs to press his lips against. He kisses the bulge in Hux's trousers instead, opens and closes his mouth, slowly wetting the stiff fabric. His own prick is beginning to swell between his spread thighs.
Re: Kylo/Hux- Song fic FILL
Ren pays his own tribute to Hux, on his knees. For Hux, and only Hux, he's ridiculously easy; a vague wisp of a summoning thought, the barest intimation of a command, and he comes crashing down, mouth open and pressed to the loosened fly of Hux's trousers, leather-gloved hands gently cradling his face. Hux teases him for being so eager, blames it on his youth, though they're only a few years apart. Ren endures with as much patience as he's capable of, and Hux never stops singing his praises.
“Why do you take this from me?” Hux asks him one night. “Is it simply that I'm the first man to pay you the slightest bit of attention? To find you worth bothering with?”
“Say what you intend to say, General. Tell me I'm a slut.” Ren's on his knees again, his face buried in Hux's sharp-creased trousers. “I have no use for your outdated notions of virtue.”
“My mistake. I thought you were some sort of ascetic. Isn't purity something you aspire to?”
“Purity of intention. The flesh may be trained, and shaped, but is impossible to purify.”
“Convenient.” Hux laughs, stroking Ren's hair with something that could be mistaken for fondness. His glove slips, revealing a soft white half-moon of skin that Ren longs to press his lips against. He kisses the bulge in Hux's trousers instead, opens and closes his mouth, slowly wetting the stiff fabric. His own prick is beginning to swell between his spread thighs.