[A/N: What a good prompt, nonny. I hope this is satisfactory!]
Supplement
“The general wants to see you in his quarters at 2300 hours.”
JB-007 would never question a direct order, but he does raises his eyebrows at Captain Phasma. She wipes the sweat out of her eyes with the back of her hand and squints back at him.
JB-007 glances to the far end of the barracks, but General Hux is gone from his usual post. He often drops by unannounced in the barracks, to confer with Phasma and otherwise monitor their progress, although he never interacts with the troopers directly. “Didn’t he say why?”
“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Phasma eventually says, cryptically, before turning back to her weight training.
There’s a rumor going around that the general sometimes enjoys the company of stormtroopers. To his knowledge, it’s just a rumor. He’s never met or even heard about a specific trooper who’s had the pleasure, but there’s still the occasional whisper about what exactly it would take to wipe that perpetually sour expression from the general’s face. The general is a powerful, young, and handsome man, said perpetually sour expression not withstanding. It’s only natural that he’d become the subject of some lust.
But being summoned to the general’s quarters when he’s supposed to be off-duty doesn’t necessarily indicate anything salacious. The general must be one of the busiest men in the galaxy. His inspiring pursuit of empire is so tireless, it’s a marvel that he sleeps at all.
But a man can dream, and JB-007 sometimes does—of red-gold hair, pale skin, and thin lips falling open in ecstasy.
JB-007 arrives exactly on time—the general so values punctuality. He barely presses his finger to the console to knock, so to speak, when the door opens. He enters.
He’d expected something a little grander, but as far as he can tell, the general’s quarters are identical to all senior staff quarters, consisting of a personal office, a bedroom, and a washroom. There are a few personal touches here and there—something in a frame that he can’t identify, a piece of antique furniture, a small bust of Grand Moff Tarkin on the desk—but little else. It’s as comfortingly clean and minimal as the rest of the ship.
The man himself is seated behind his desk, engrossed in his datapad. He barely looks up as JB-007 presents himself in front of his desk.
He clears his throat. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes, yes, I did.” General Hux glances at him. He’s, unusually for him, a little flushed, as if the room is too warm. It suits him. The general returns to his datapad. “Strip,” he commands, casually.
JB-007 is too well-trained and masked besides to betray any sign of surprise, but he still has to ask for confirmation—it sounds like something out of a bad holovid. “Excuse me, sir?”
The general glances up, face patient. “The new protein supplement seems to be delivering excellent results, but I need to see its effect on the… physique.” Even that could be taken at face value, but then the general drops his eyes to JB-007’s chest and licks his lips absent-mindedly.
Ah. He smiles a little under his helmet at his good fortune. “As you wish, sir,” he says smoothly, and, rearranging his expression into something neutral, he removes his helmet.
Any trooper worth their salt can be out of armor in under five minutes. JB-007 can do it in three. He arranges the components of his armor neatly at the foot of General Hux’s desk. When he pulls his shirt off, the general sets down the datapad and comes out from behind the desk to stand in front of him a respectable distance. When he shucks the thin leggings off, the general leans back against his desk, just looking at him.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, almost to himself. JB-007 is not a vain man. He’s in peak physical condition, but so is every trooper. Among them, his only distinguishing physical trait is that his ears are a bit large. But the general’s gaze is hot and hungry on his flesh, and he feels, for the first time, a little proud of his body in a way that has nothing to do with how well it performs the tasks the First Order asks of it.
“Lift up your arms,” he commands. JB-007 complies. The general purses his lips and assesses his chest, slowly tilting his head this way and that, his hungry eyes roaming over him. JB-007 feels his cock twitch and stir to life in his regulation undergarments at the blatant attention.
JB-007 starts when General Hux reaches out and runs his bare hand over his outstretched arm, from shoulder to wrist. He runs his hand back up JB-007’s forearm to grip at his bicep, placing his other hand gently at JB-007’s waist. JB-007 licks his lips, never taking his eyes off the general. General Hux’s hands roam over JB-007’s arms, chest, and shoulders, never settling as long as he would like. Those pale hands are freezing cold, but JB-007 suddenly feels too warm. He’s getting harder by the second, cock straining against his underwear.
General Hux removes his hands and circles behind him, out of JB-007’s line of sight. He waits for the general to touch him again, but he doesn’t. He completes his circle, coming to a stop just a few inches from JB-007. The general’s gaze is searing on JB-007’s skin, and he finally looks him in the eyes.
General Hux grabs him by the chin and JB-007 instinctively grabs his wrist, twisting it. The general’s mouth falls open—at last, the sour expression banished—before it resolves into a hungry smirk.
“So strong,” he says, approvingly. He tugs at his wrist, but JB-007 doesn’t budge. He leans in, forcing JB-007 to tilt his head back to match his gaze. “You could do anything to me, and I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”
“I could.” JB-007 takes a step forward, and then another, until the general is backed up against his desk. He presses their hips together and—and the general is already hard, underneath his crisp trousers. JB-007 bites his lower lip and grins. “What would you like me to do to you, sir?”
General Hux clicks his tongue. “Come now, you don’t have any ideas?”
Oh, JB-007 has ideas. He’s thought about what he would let the general do to him, or what he’d do to the general, given the chance. He’s fondest of the fantasy where he’s under the general’s desk, driving him to distraction with his mouth while he’s in a meeting, lapping up his seed.
But the general seems to want something a little more strenuous. As JB-007 considers his next move, General Hux twists his wrist impatiently and almost breaks out of the hold.
In a flash, JB-007 has him turned around and bent over the desk, face pressed into the plasteel, arm twisted behind him. The general struggles, but only manages to rub himself against JB-007’s crotch—which, he suspects, is rather the point.
He leans over him to breathe hotly in his ear. “Something like this, sir?”
“More like,” General Hux breathes, turning his head to glance over his shoulder at him. “What are you going to do to me?”
JB-007 leans up a little, but slides his free hand between the general and the table, splaying his hand over his chest. “You’ve had a good look at me,” he says. “I’d like to have a good look at you.”
General Hux grins at him.
It takes some concentration, but he eventually works both the general’s jacket and shirt open. JB-007 runs his hand over the general’s chest. He’s not a career soldier, but he’s appealingly fit. He brushes a thumb over a peaking nipple, and the general shudders beneath him.
He pushes the jacket and shirt up General Hux’s back and chest, slowly revealing the curve of his spine. The general groans underneath him.
JB-007 reaches for his belt buckle next. He wishes he could use his other hand, but the general is obviously enjoying being held down and doesn’t seem to mind the wait. But JB-007 does, and when he finally manages the clasp and the fly, he yanks down the general’s trousers and underwear impatiently. He’s rewarded with a gasp.
He grins. Sliding his hand back down the general’s chest and stomach, he finally takes the general’s length in hand. His own cock is hard, precome leaking into his underwear, but he doesn’t want to stop touching the general long enough to fully strip.
There’s already a drop of precome at the tip of General Hux’s cock. He smears it into his slit with his thumb. The general tries to buck his hips, but there’s nowhere for him to go—he’s trapped between JB-007 and the desk. He rubs the curve of his ass against JB-007’s trapped cock, and JB-007 groans. He reaches farther down to gently cradle the general’s balls, and General Hux makes a breathy, humming noise that goes straight to JB-007’s cock. He grinds into the general’s ass, rutting against it.
“There’s, there’s—” General Hux pulls at his twisted arm with his actual strength, and JB-007 releases him. The general rises a little on his feet to lean over the desk. JB-007 steps back to enjoy the view—the general exposed, hips lifted as if presenting. His cock hangs heavily between his legs, red and leaking. JB-007 takes the opportunity to strip out of his underwear. His own cock springs to attention vehemently. The general is struggling with a drawer on the other side of the desk, so JB-007 reaches out to brush his knuckles against the general’s balls. General Hux almost collapses against the desk.
“Use this,” General Hux drops something on the table, and JB-007 picks it up. It’s a discreet tube of lubricant.
It’s half-empty.
JB-007 is suddenly seized, not by visions of the general getting fucked over his desk by other stormtroopers, but by an image of the general sitting alone at his desk, unable to stop working, but still desperately needing release, working himself open with one hand and tapping away at a datapad with the other until his hands shake. He grunts.
He squirts some of the lubricant onto his fingers and sets the tube down. He braces one hand on the general’s hip and runs the wet fingers of the other up the cleft of his ass—the general moans at the touch—and, carefully but briskly, works his hole open. When he brushes against the general’s prostate, just to orient himself, General Hux’s back arches so beautifully and he makes the most gorgeous strangled noise.
He’s barely gotten a second finger into the general when he fucks back onto his fingers with a strangled noise and orders him to stop.
“Sir?” He’s not under any illusions about the size of his cock, but surely the general needs more preparation than a finger and a half?
General Hux looks over his shoulder, flicking his hair back. “I want to feel you tomorrow.”
JB-007’s head briefly swims with the concept—General Hux on the bridge of The Finalizer, ass sore and aching from his cock. He removes his fingers and lines the dripping cock in question up with the general’s well-oiled hole. “Sir,” he promises, “you’re going to feel this all week.”
General Hux hisses in approval and JB-007 slides into him as slowly as he dares. He watches the general’s face as he sheathes himself completely. When the general’s nostrils unflare, JB-007 takes a slow, experimental thrust.
“Harder,” General Hux orders. “I can take it.”
JB-007 obediently pulls back and slams into the general. General Hux arches his back and moans again.
“You’re so tight, sir.” JB-007 punctuates the formal address with a slow roll of his hips that makes the general thrash underneath him. “You’re going to feel this all week.”
“It’ll drive me mad,” General Hux gasps out. “I’ll have to sneak off to touch myself, wishing it was you.”
The image of the general fingering himself roughly, trying to approximate his cock, makes JB-007’s head spin and his cock leak inside of the general. They both gasp at the sensation. “Well, sir,” JB-007 purrs, “you know where to find me.”
For a few moments, the only noises General Hux makes are grunts and moans, and JB-007 almost loses himself in the pleasure of how warm and tight the general’s hole is around his cock, the privilege of satisfying the general’s appetites. But then—
“Choke me,” General Hux commands.
“As you wish, sir,” JB-007 says, and slides his right hand around his neck. He squeezes, not much at all, and General Hux clicks his tongue in disapproval. He squeezes harder and the general clenches down around his cock. JB-007 groans. He’s so close.
He sets a relentless, punishing pace, squeezing the general’s throat as he slams into him. The general’s grunts and moans are cut off, and he’s holding onto the edge of his desk for dear life. JB-007 slides his left hand around the general’s hips to wrap his hand around his erection. He pulls General Hux closer to him by his cock and his neck, pressing their sweaty bodies together. He twists his hand around the general’s dripping length, and General Hux comes with a hoarse scream onto his desk.
Despite how close JB-007 is, he stops moving. He slides his hand from the general’s neck to his shoulder. JB-007 grunts when the general clenches down on him and hisses, rolling his hips to work JB-007’s cock, “Who told you to stop?”
JB-007 resumes relentlessly pounding into the general. His ass feels different, softer, now that he’s come. The general keeps clenching down on him unpredictably. It’s not long before the general clenches down hard enough to make JB-007 come, grunting and panting heavily.
He pumps his come into the general’s stretched hole until he’s empty. He takes a deep breath and pulls out, softening cock heavy against the general’s ass and takes in the debauched vision before him. General Hux, first of the First Order, disheveled, sweating, exposed, and well-fucked. JB-007’s eyes snag on his own come, dripping out of the general’s stretched hole and down his thighs.
“Well,” Hux says over his shoulder, stretching his sweaty back nonchalantly. “I think the supplement’s up to snuff.”
FILL: Hux/JB-007, muscle/strength kink
Supplement
“The general wants to see you in his quarters at 2300 hours.”
JB-007 would never question a direct order, but he does raises his eyebrows at Captain Phasma. She wipes the sweat out of her eyes with the back of her hand and squints back at him.
JB-007 glances to the far end of the barracks, but General Hux is gone from his usual post. He often drops by unannounced in the barracks, to confer with Phasma and otherwise monitor their progress, although he never interacts with the troopers directly. “Didn’t he say why?”
“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Phasma eventually says, cryptically, before turning back to her weight training.
There’s a rumor going around that the general sometimes enjoys the company of stormtroopers. To his knowledge, it’s just a rumor. He’s never met or even heard about a specific trooper who’s had the pleasure, but there’s still the occasional whisper about what exactly it would take to wipe that perpetually sour expression from the general’s face. The general is a powerful, young, and handsome man, said perpetually sour expression not withstanding. It’s only natural that he’d become the subject of some lust.
But being summoned to the general’s quarters when he’s supposed to be off-duty doesn’t necessarily indicate anything salacious. The general must be one of the busiest men in the galaxy. His inspiring pursuit of empire is so tireless, it’s a marvel that he sleeps at all.
But a man can dream, and JB-007 sometimes does—of red-gold hair, pale skin, and thin lips falling open in ecstasy.
JB-007 arrives exactly on time—the general so values punctuality. He barely presses his finger to the console to knock, so to speak, when the door opens. He enters.
He’d expected something a little grander, but as far as he can tell, the general’s quarters are identical to all senior staff quarters, consisting of a personal office, a bedroom, and a washroom. There are a few personal touches here and there—something in a frame that he can’t identify, a piece of antique furniture, a small bust of Grand Moff Tarkin on the desk—but little else. It’s as comfortingly clean and minimal as the rest of the ship.
The man himself is seated behind his desk, engrossed in his datapad. He barely looks up as JB-007 presents himself in front of his desk.
He clears his throat. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes, yes, I did.” General Hux glances at him. He’s, unusually for him, a little flushed, as if the room is too warm. It suits him. The general returns to his datapad. “Strip,” he commands, casually.
JB-007 is too well-trained and masked besides to betray any sign of surprise, but he still has to ask for confirmation—it sounds like something out of a bad holovid. “Excuse me, sir?”
The general glances up, face patient. “The new protein supplement seems to be delivering excellent results, but I need to see its effect on the… physique.” Even that could be taken at face value, but then the general drops his eyes to JB-007’s chest and licks his lips absent-mindedly.
Ah. He smiles a little under his helmet at his good fortune. “As you wish, sir,” he says smoothly, and, rearranging his expression into something neutral, he removes his helmet.
Any trooper worth their salt can be out of armor in under five minutes. JB-007 can do it in three. He arranges the components of his armor neatly at the foot of General Hux’s desk. When he pulls his shirt off, the general sets down the datapad and comes out from behind the desk to stand in front of him a respectable distance. When he shucks the thin leggings off, the general leans back against his desk, just looking at him.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, almost to himself. JB-007 is not a vain man. He’s in peak physical condition, but so is every trooper. Among them, his only distinguishing physical trait is that his ears are a bit large. But the general’s gaze is hot and hungry on his flesh, and he feels, for the first time, a little proud of his body in a way that has nothing to do with how well it performs the tasks the First Order asks of it.
“Lift up your arms,” he commands. JB-007 complies. The general purses his lips and assesses his chest, slowly tilting his head this way and that, his hungry eyes roaming over him. JB-007 feels his cock twitch and stir to life in his regulation undergarments at the blatant attention.
JB-007 starts when General Hux reaches out and runs his bare hand over his outstretched arm, from shoulder to wrist. He runs his hand back up JB-007’s forearm to grip at his bicep, placing his other hand gently at JB-007’s waist. JB-007 licks his lips, never taking his eyes off the general. General Hux’s hands roam over JB-007’s arms, chest, and shoulders, never settling as long as he would like. Those pale hands are freezing cold, but JB-007 suddenly feels too warm. He’s getting harder by the second, cock straining against his underwear.
General Hux removes his hands and circles behind him, out of JB-007’s line of sight. He waits for the general to touch him again, but he doesn’t. He completes his circle, coming to a stop just a few inches from JB-007. The general’s gaze is searing on JB-007’s skin, and he finally looks him in the eyes.
General Hux grabs him by the chin and JB-007 instinctively grabs his wrist, twisting it. The general’s mouth falls open—at last, the sour expression banished—before it resolves into a hungry smirk.
“So strong,” he says, approvingly. He tugs at his wrist, but JB-007 doesn’t budge. He leans in, forcing JB-007 to tilt his head back to match his gaze. “You could do anything to me, and I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”
“I could.” JB-007 takes a step forward, and then another, until the general is backed up against his desk. He presses their hips together and—and the general is already hard, underneath his crisp trousers. JB-007 bites his lower lip and grins. “What would you like me to do to you, sir?”
General Hux clicks his tongue. “Come now, you don’t have any ideas?”
Oh, JB-007 has ideas. He’s thought about what he would let the general do to him, or what he’d do to the general, given the chance. He’s fondest of the fantasy where he’s under the general’s desk, driving him to distraction with his mouth while he’s in a meeting, lapping up his seed.
But the general seems to want something a little more strenuous. As JB-007 considers his next move, General Hux twists his wrist impatiently and almost breaks out of the hold.
In a flash, JB-007 has him turned around and bent over the desk, face pressed into the plasteel, arm twisted behind him. The general struggles, but only manages to rub himself against JB-007’s crotch—which, he suspects, is rather the point.
He leans over him to breathe hotly in his ear. “Something like this, sir?”
“More like,” General Hux breathes, turning his head to glance over his shoulder at him. “What are you going to do to me?”
JB-007 leans up a little, but slides his free hand between the general and the table, splaying his hand over his chest. “You’ve had a good look at me,” he says. “I’d like to have a good look at you.”
General Hux grins at him.
It takes some concentration, but he eventually works both the general’s jacket and shirt open. JB-007 runs his hand over the general’s chest. He’s not a career soldier, but he’s appealingly fit. He brushes a thumb over a peaking nipple, and the general shudders beneath him.
He pushes the jacket and shirt up General Hux’s back and chest, slowly revealing the curve of his spine. The general groans underneath him.
JB-007 reaches for his belt buckle next. He wishes he could use his other hand, but the general is obviously enjoying being held down and doesn’t seem to mind the wait. But JB-007 does, and when he finally manages the clasp and the fly, he yanks down the general’s trousers and underwear impatiently. He’s rewarded with a gasp.
He grins. Sliding his hand back down the general’s chest and stomach, he finally takes the general’s length in hand. His own cock is hard, precome leaking into his underwear, but he doesn’t want to stop touching the general long enough to fully strip.
There’s already a drop of precome at the tip of General Hux’s cock. He smears it into his slit with his thumb. The general tries to buck his hips, but there’s nowhere for him to go—he’s trapped between JB-007 and the desk. He rubs the curve of his ass against JB-007’s trapped cock, and JB-007 groans. He reaches farther down to gently cradle the general’s balls, and General Hux makes a breathy, humming noise that goes straight to JB-007’s cock. He grinds into the general’s ass, rutting against it.
“There’s, there’s—” General Hux pulls at his twisted arm with his actual strength, and JB-007 releases him. The general rises a little on his feet to lean over the desk. JB-007 steps back to enjoy the view—the general exposed, hips lifted as if presenting. His cock hangs heavily between his legs, red and leaking. JB-007 takes the opportunity to strip out of his underwear. His own cock springs to attention vehemently. The general is struggling with a drawer on the other side of the desk, so JB-007 reaches out to brush his knuckles against the general’s balls. General Hux almost collapses against the desk.
“Use this,” General Hux drops something on the table, and JB-007 picks it up. It’s a discreet tube of lubricant.
It’s half-empty.
JB-007 is suddenly seized, not by visions of the general getting fucked over his desk by other stormtroopers, but by an image of the general sitting alone at his desk, unable to stop working, but still desperately needing release, working himself open with one hand and tapping away at a datapad with the other until his hands shake. He grunts.
He squirts some of the lubricant onto his fingers and sets the tube down. He braces one hand on the general’s hip and runs the wet fingers of the other up the cleft of his ass—the general moans at the touch—and, carefully but briskly, works his hole open. When he brushes against the general’s prostate, just to orient himself, General Hux’s back arches so beautifully and he makes the most gorgeous strangled noise.
He’s barely gotten a second finger into the general when he fucks back onto his fingers with a strangled noise and orders him to stop.
“Sir?” He’s not under any illusions about the size of his cock, but surely the general needs more preparation than a finger and a half?
General Hux looks over his shoulder, flicking his hair back. “I want to feel you tomorrow.”
JB-007’s head briefly swims with the concept—General Hux on the bridge of The Finalizer, ass sore and aching from his cock. He removes his fingers and lines the dripping cock in question up with the general’s well-oiled hole. “Sir,” he promises, “you’re going to feel this all week.”
General Hux hisses in approval and JB-007 slides into him as slowly as he dares. He watches the general’s face as he sheathes himself completely. When the general’s nostrils unflare, JB-007 takes a slow, experimental thrust.
“Harder,” General Hux orders. “I can take it.”
JB-007 obediently pulls back and slams into the general. General Hux arches his back and moans again.
“You’re so tight, sir.” JB-007 punctuates the formal address with a slow roll of his hips that makes the general thrash underneath him. “You’re going to feel this all week.”
“It’ll drive me mad,” General Hux gasps out. “I’ll have to sneak off to touch myself, wishing it was you.”
The image of the general fingering himself roughly, trying to approximate his cock, makes JB-007’s head spin and his cock leak inside of the general. They both gasp at the sensation. “Well, sir,” JB-007 purrs, “you know where to find me.”
For a few moments, the only noises General Hux makes are grunts and moans, and JB-007 almost loses himself in the pleasure of how warm and tight the general’s hole is around his cock, the privilege of satisfying the general’s appetites. But then—
“Choke me,” General Hux commands.
“As you wish, sir,” JB-007 says, and slides his right hand around his neck. He squeezes, not much at all, and General Hux clicks his tongue in disapproval. He squeezes harder and the general clenches down around his cock. JB-007 groans. He’s so close.
He sets a relentless, punishing pace, squeezing the general’s throat as he slams into him. The general’s grunts and moans are cut off, and he’s holding onto the edge of his desk for dear life. JB-007 slides his left hand around the general’s hips to wrap his hand around his erection. He pulls General Hux closer to him by his cock and his neck, pressing their sweaty bodies together. He twists his hand around the general’s dripping length, and General Hux comes with a hoarse scream onto his desk.
Despite how close JB-007 is, he stops moving. He slides his hand from the general’s neck to his shoulder. JB-007 grunts when the general clenches down on him and hisses, rolling his hips to work JB-007’s cock, “Who told you to stop?”
JB-007 resumes relentlessly pounding into the general. His ass feels different, softer, now that he’s come. The general keeps clenching down on him unpredictably. It’s not long before the general clenches down hard enough to make JB-007 come, grunting and panting heavily.
He pumps his come into the general’s stretched hole until he’s empty. He takes a deep breath and pulls out, softening cock heavy against the general’s ass and takes in the debauched vision before him. General Hux, first of the First Order, disheveled, sweating, exposed, and well-fucked. JB-007’s eyes snag on his own come, dripping out of the general’s stretched hole and down his thighs.
“Well,” Hux says over his shoulder, stretching his sweaty back nonchalantly. “I think the supplement’s up to snuff.”