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Rog escorts her to her quarters. Hux feels like she's walking in zero-g, disconnected from the ground. The floor. There's never been anything but a thin layer of durasteel between her and empty space. Why shouldn't she feel like she's floating?

Her fiance is like a planet, generating his own gravitational force, an anchor in nothingness. She tilts her head slightly and she can smell him. There's something to him that smells like bread survival rations, and something like the petrichoric rain on Arkanis. It must be sweat, she thinks, and wrinkles up her nose. Everyone on Arkanis was crammed into dormitories, into mud and grass that seemed to go on forever, the dim promise of trees a smear of dark green on the horizon. Soap and water were mandatory. If deodorant sprays and shots ran out, everyone suffered in a haze of sweat, like canned lunch meat gone rancid. Being on the Finalizer was a revelation--a human being's skin needed so little to sustain its own ecosystem. The smell of human filled the corridors without the taint of alien fungus or microbes, rich and diverse and then almost subconscious. Hux had stopped thinking about it until Rog rocketed in, smelling like a planet. Like ground beneath her feet.

Hux waves away the stormtroopers on guard outside of her quarters. They aren't large, but she has a few rooms to herself, more than anyone except for Phasma and Kylo Ren themselves. She could have moved in a romantic partner, theoretically. But there's something more enticing about having two whole rooms and a separate bathroom to herself, all things considered.

Rog ushers her into her quarters. Hux sees the anteroom for the first time with new eyes--the sagging leather couch she sleeps on if she needs to be up late and up early. The brushed durasteel desk. Unfinished, First Order chic--when all you have is salvage, make salvage fashionable. The crude stone sculpture of a downed Imperial Star Destroyer, collected from a cargo cult of scavengers who had lived on the fat of its larder. They'd been bought off easily for a constant drizzle of the cheapest nonperishable rations the Order could find, Hux remembers. She's a little proud of how tastefully minimalist it is, and wonders if Rog will like it. A man in the field must be used to harsh quarters, might prefer something more plush, comfortable, inviting--

Hux pushes the thought away. She enjoys the starkness of her quarters, the sharp aesthetic choices. The only time she wants to wrap herself in something fluffy and soft is when she's taken a Perkium. During the occasional cycles when the close quarters and buzzing fluorescent lights make her grind her teeth and press her sharp nails into her palms, she dips into the stash of her mother's doctor presented her with as a graduation present. They don't make her sleep for twelve hours like they did when she was a cadet, but they make the edges of the world soft and kind for a while.

"You must think the place is decadent," she says, "sleeping in a barracks full of other pilots. Or do you have your own room now?"

"I was never fond of sleeping alone. You know that, Boudi." Rog smiles and rubs his thumb over her cheek. "It's bigger than any room I've ever had. You could practically raise a family in here."

"On a warship? They'd be underfoot all the time."

"True," Rog says thoughtfully. "A warship is no place for a child."

"Naturally. Isn't that why most peoples' parents sent them to Arkanis?"

Rog's face falls. "You wouldn't want to send our children away, would you?"

"For an Imperial education? It's not even a question." Hux glances into her bedroom. There's a familiar spark of anxiety in her gut. Maybe it's the rumpled sheets, the hairbrush tangled with copper frizz. The disarray, the personal touches. But won't Rog see this side of her, once they're married? What does one do with a man in one's quarters, anyway? "Would you like a drink?"

"I think I've had enough for one day. Got to stay sharp."

"I only have caf and Vitajuice anyway." Hux turns away from Rog. Her hands are still shaking, and she hides them behind her back. She'll need to take a sedative to sleep tonight. Ren's ridiculous dramatics keyed her up so badly she can't imagine being able to sleep without help tonight. The First Order standard issue sedative is an instantaneous hormone gel drop, placed on the tongue to sublimnate into the sinuses. It doesn't soothe her nerves like Perkium does. Tonight might be a Perkium night. Or...

"Let me stay with you tonight," Rog says.

Hux's breath hitches. "I have a personal guard, Rog. You don't need to worry about me."

"And I notice they're not here." Rog's hands are on her shoulders, his lips on her neck. Despite herself, Hux relaxes into his touch. Maybe she won't need any pills tonight after all.

Hux wakes up at 0600 hours to the familiar sensation of her pillow vibrating, and to an unfamiliar dip in the mattress. She succumbs to gravity, pressing her cheek against Rog's smooth, firm back and snaking her hand over his hip. It's tempting to lie in bed with him. She's forgotten what it's like to luxuriate in pure warmth, in the freedom of a hot bath or a sauna; Starkiller is a planet of snows, and heating the Finalizer is an exercise in balancing heat costs and thermodynamic entropy. Rog always seemed like the sun, warmth emanating out of nowhere.

She's out of the sonic shower and fixing her hair, and Rog is still lying in bed. The white sheet is rumpled, twisted between his legs. Hux tilts the mirror and focuses on her braids. She's going to have to look absolutely perfect today, nothing out of place. Eye makeup, even. Her groomer droid flourishes tweezers, a safety razor, several brushes at the same time, and finally a tube of greasy, bug-tasting lipstick that Hux declines.

She opens up the small wall safe that lies behind the 'fresher mirror and fishes out a delicate pink blown-glass bottle. It's pretty and complicated and subtle, and Hux can pass it off as a gift from her mother, which it was. Mathilde Hux-Winzor had never understood her daughter's tastes, goals, or ideas, but she'd taught her everything about survival she knew. Just Hux's luck that her mother's survival tactics involved protectionary camoflague rather than total annhilation of the attacking species. Hux crunches a pearl-pink Perkium tablet between her teeth, then pops a whole tablet into her mouth and swallows the chalky substances with a swig of water.

"Come on back to bed, Boudi."

"I have to lead the tour of Starkiller, and we depart at 0800." Hux doesn't look at Rog, focusing on her wardobe. The worst thing about using an actual planet for a base is the unpredictable shifts in climate, which means that Hux needs to layer. Someday she'll build another Starkiller from scratch, and she'll create her own ecosystem on the surface. Sixty-five degrees, no rain. And no sun to orbit.

"It's not even 0630."

"Rog, I need to eat an actual breakfast and not just an energy bar, clear the perfect landing site before we even leave, and be there before everyone else so I can--"

"Eat two energy bars, let Mitaka clear the landing site, and let 'em wait." Rog wraps the sheet around his hips and saunters over to kiss her on the cheek. His stubble rasps against her skin. "You always took on too much. You're the General, Boudi. They'll wait for you." The edges of the world turn soft and warm, and Hux isn't sure if it's the Perkium starting to kick in or just Rog.

Hux manages to get them dressed and out the door by 0730, which is just enough time to see Kylo Ren in full robe and mask coming down the main corridor. When Hux sees him, he stops cold.

Rog slips his arm around Hux's waist. Hux lets him. Let Ren see that she's happy to be with Rog. Let the whole world see! Rog is perfect, and they make a perfect couple. It's all great. She pointedly ignores the phantom fingers on her shoulders, on the back of her neck.

*

Hux keeps her chin up through the whole tour. It doesn't matter that there's only a handful of people who bothered to come. It doesn't matter that there's nothing she can do about it. She needs these old men and their credits and spaceships more than they need her right now, but that's going to change very, very soon. Hux smiles widely and gestures to various pieces of machinery. She usually knows her way around the sprawling base quite well, but today she can't seem to dredge up the names of quite a few things. It's the Perkium, and it doesn't matter. Nobody on the tour cares except for Mitaka, who is taking copious notes. This is an ad for the Starkiller project, confirmation that the trillions of credits and work-hours dedicated to an improbable planet-sized destruction beam are bearing fruit. And Hux is sure they love it.

"Unlike the Death Star, we won't have to move Starkiller to orbit around any planet before we fire on it. All we need is a strategically placed star."

Landa raises his hand. Hux recognizes his guileless expression from the "Interviewterrogation!" program at 2200 hours. She winces internally. "Ah," Landa says happily, "but Miss Hux? What happens if we don't happen to have a handy nearby star? I mean..." He waves his arm at a nearby window. "I only see the one, just now."

Hux's blinding smile is real. "What an astute question, Han," she says, and Landa's face immediately goes stony cold. "You see, Starkiller isn't just a much bigger laser than the Death Star ever was. It's not a laser at all--it's a beam of pure dark energy, which generates phantom energy without the dark matter of the sun to lock it into an energy matrix. Phantom energy vibrates at a high enough rate to rip holes in hyperspace at certain intervals during the discharge process. With our precise aiming algorithms--"

"I'm sorry, but I haven't the faintest idea what you're saying. You'll have to make it a little simpler for us, my dear." Landa bares his teeth.

"It means we can deliver a beam of pure destruction to any coordinates anywhere in the galaxy--or outside of it--from anywhere we can park Starkiller. And the khyber crystal goes two ways." Hux dares to wink at him. She feels she's winning. "While we power up, we can also steal another star system's sun just to show the galaxy that we can!" She smiles pleasantly.

Thankfully, the next question comes from Anson. "General," he says in a clipped voice. "I know your proposal mentioned 'strategically chosen planets,' but I don't think it was ever specified which stars were to be selected. Or how."

"Strategically, Admiral--as you taught me. The first target is the Hosnian system."

"The seat of the New Republic Senate. Of course." Anson nods approvingly. "And then?"

"Unless there's a more urgent need for a demonstration of force elsewhere, my current plan is to eliminate Coruscant."

There's a dead silence. Landa looks at Rog, and Hux doesn't bother to think about why. She glances at Ren and wishes he hadn't worn his mask. Who does he have to scare here? He's prince of the space pirates, or something equally outlandish.

"Why Coruscant?" It's Rog, with his sad face.

Hux hopes the whole tablet of Perkium kicks in soon. "We're striking at the Core. Coruscant is the heart of the Core worlds, is it not?"

"And the home world of the entire human race." That's Landa, frowning.

"I've never been," Hux says. "I'm sure it's lovely, but--"

"You misunderstand me. The symbolic value would be great, sure, I get it. And it would be cultural suicide. What do we have to fight for, if not reclaiming our birthright as a species in the Core?"

Hux can feel herself tearing up a little. The Perkium always does that at odd moments. The cluster of Core worlds, bright and shining with art and ridiculous old artifacts. Of course Landa would love it. "I understand that many of us are attached to Coruscant for sentimental reasons. My father took my mother on honeymoon there." Hux laughs. Should that garner a laugh? She'd rather laugh than cry. "Humanity can live without the Core Worlds, sir, and we do very well for ourselves out on the Rim."

Landa's attention slips to Rog again. "The Coruscant honeymoon is a fine tradition for a Rim couple, you know."

"So I've heard," Hux says. "But we shouldn't argue strategy here, do you think? Supreme Leader Snoke seemed very pleased with my choice, last time I spoke with him." She holds her head a little higher. She's earned it.

*

The tour ends at a stand of spiky green plants. Trees, Hux vaguely knows, although they look nothing like the fronded and creeping trees on Arkanis. Biology was never her strong field.

"A word alone, General?" Anson gestures to a stand of pine trees outside of the landing pad. The other Imperial officers seem in no hurry to board, lighting up the odd cigarra (forbidden on the Finalizer), so Hux nods and follows him. She'll let the old fool make his point, and then perhaps that will be it.

"I had family on Alderaan when it blew up," Anson says.

Hux blinks. "I'm sorry, sir."

"It wasn't the first time a planet died. Supernovas happen. Asteroids do, too. But it was the first time anyone had used a weapon to blow up an entire planet, and the galaxy remembers."

Hux winces. "The First Order doesn't commemorate that particular observance, sir."

"No, but I do. So do a lot of folks who used to be in the Empire. Listen, nobody was happy that Alderaan was destroyed. But we had to sacrifice something important to achieve order, and Alderaan had to be that sacrifice."

"So does Coruscant."

"The galaxy remembers Alderaan. Once they see what we've got in our pockets and what we're willing to do, it'll be over."

"It was hardly the end of the Rebellion last time. In fact, it was the end of an Empire."

Anson looks haggard in the waning light of the Starkiller's sun. "Listen to me, General. Nobody wants a war. I promise you, the New Republic remembers. And they will capitulate."

"They may," Hux says. "But Leia Organa won't."

She doesn't speak to Anson again until Rog's entourage boards their shuttle again, wishing him a safe journey. She says it to everyone, even Rog.

After Rog's shuttle leaves, Hux calls off the rest of her shift. Unamo nods sympathetically; she'll be thrilled to get command on such a big day. Hux sets her access to Extreme Priority Only (that is, Phasma calling to tell her the ship is about to crash). She puts on the second Dancers at the End of Time album, crunches one more Perkium to get her over the edge, and falls deeply asleep to the sounds of Jherek Carnelian's swirling, echoing guitar.

She wakes up to faint bars of light behind her eyes, warm air on her skin. She's naked, and a few twitches confirm that she can't move her arms or legs. Why can't she feel binders around her limbs? When she looks down, her extremities dissolve away into black mist.

There's something stroking her belly, soft and velvety against her skin. It's pleasant, invisible, and plusher than anything she's ever touched, anything she could imagine. Hux stares down at herself, trying to catch movement out of the corner of her eye, identify the phantom feeling. She digs her fingernails into the pads of her hands. It's easy enough to flex her fingers, but she feels nothing at all.

She lets go of the sparks of fear in her gut and melts into the dream. Experimentally, she wills the phantom touch to move down her abdomen, between her legs. It wavers for a moment. Then she can feel it pushing back, sliding up her body and over her ribcage, tentacles of a bodiless touch cupping her breasts.

The dream feels good, but it's disobeying her. Hux backs off, settling into her own body slowly, ready to pin down the tantalizing feeling if it shows signs of dissolving.

Hands all over her, teasing her apart, and there's something real between her legs. Leather gloves, solid fingers stroking the soft skin of her thighs. Hux knows those gloves, she's seen Kylo Ren tug them off.

Of course her subconscious would bring him up. What's in a dream besides something you shouldn't have? That's what they're for. Hux wills his form into being, ragged cloak swirling about his shoulders, dun robes like clouds around his body. Before she can even finish his mask, the clothes fade into the outfit he'd worn at that ridiculous party--the pants she'd tried very hard not to look at, the gaudy shirt that showed just a few stray wisps of black chest hair. Minus Phasma's cape.

Faces are usually blurs for Hux on the rare occasion one appears in her dreams, but Kylo Ren's face is clear and bright. She even sees the dark spots spattered on his cheeks, something she never would have bothered with in a fantasy.

"Are you afraid of me?" he whispers. "Afraid of what I could do to you?" Two glove-clad fingers play between her legs, stroking her with an impossibly delicate touch.

"No," Hux says. "Yes? Keep going."

"Is that all you have to say to me, General?" The fingers creep downwards, towards the opening of her cunt. So impossibly slow.

"Do not stop," Hux adds.

"You're...eager."

"Please?" Hux tries. "With the gloves. Without. I don't care."

One glove disappears, and Ren's big, pale hand is like fire on the delicate skin of her thigh. Hux sucks in a breath as the glow of Ren's energy leaches into her skin, as her heart beats fire deeper and deeper through her veins. It's a dream, so she can see it sparking under her skin, winking in and out the way stars do through the corona of a sun.

Hux is too fascinated with the brightness under her skin to look at Ren. She flexes her fingers, and they glimmer from within. It's too easy to get engrossed in this enchantment, and she's surprised to feel something slide into her flesh, press against the bright spot deep inside of her. She can sense the warmth within, but it's insulated. A finger clad in leather gloves. She strains at the light and warmth in it, the power, and she feels it respond to her call.

The sparks flicker out, the warmth is gone. Hux drops back into a stolid awareness of her body. There are no hands on her skin, nothing between her legs. Ren's dark eyes and pale face float in front of her, everything else swathed in a veil of black mist.

"Succubus!" Ren hisses, and the black mist rolls over his eyes.

Hux's eyes fly open to a faint glimmer of light. Her legs are tangled in sheets, her body clammy and damp. She gropes on her bedside table for her leather gloves and frantically pulls one on.

"Repeat track four," she barks to her datapad. The fuzzed-out wail of "An Alien Heat" sinks into her ears. Hux closes her eyes and returns to the fantasy. Body restrained, leather gloves between her thighs. There was something else, but it fades from her mind as she slips her hand between her legs.

Mild guilt itches at her heart, and she tries to imagine Rog. She can summon up his face, but the fantasy never gels; Rog would never wear gloves while he fingered her. He'd never ask her if she was afraid of his touch.

With a sigh, Hux succumbs to the fantasy of Kylo Ren's flashing eyes and floating hair. She's never masturbated with a glove on before, but it's easy enough to find the familiar angle to slip two fingers in, the right spot to press her thumb against her clitoris.

A fantasy version of Ren sneers and works two fingers in and out of her cunt. She struggles and wails without words. It's one of Hux's old go-to scenarios when she'd needed to calm down quickly and didn't care if she felt grimy afterwards; being held down, exposed, forced to orgasm. Hux's hips jerk up and she presses her nail against her clit, gritting her teeth.

"Are you afraid of me? Of what I could do to you?"

Hux is never sure if she's really afraid in these particular fantasies, but she says it anyway. "I'm so afraid. Please, have mercy."

"I won't," says her fantasy Ren, and Hux comes neatly with three quick jerks of her hips. Her legs are still a little wobbly when she steps into the 'fresher before her shift starts.

That was really hot! I'm still enjoying your fic immensely and I'm always delighted to see where you take it next.

aww thank you!!!

"General."

Hux turns left out of her quarters and nearly collides with Kylo Ren. At least he has his mask on. She doesn't think she could bear to look him in the face. "Lord Ren. Excuse me, I must be on the bridge."

"I am needed there as well." Ren's ragged robes keep pace with her quick strides.

"Good. I'm glad you're where you're supposed to be." Hux consciously focuses on her datapad, flicking through her morning's mail. Two holos from Rog already? He must have not slept much. They're not marked priority, at any rate; they can't be that important.

"I see you jettisoned your fiance."

"I sent Colonel Zoller back to his duties, I didn't throw him out of an airlock."

"You don't wish to be around him?" Ren's helmet turns to face her. Hux doesn't look up; she can feel the weight of his attention on her. "You don't wish to lie in his arms, night after night?"

"I don't have time for these games, Ren. Colonel Zoller is assigned to another ship, under another commander. Removing him from his duties for sentimental reasons would be unacceptable. That is all."

"Nobody would have challenged you."

"It would have been unacceptable to me. Are we finished with this conversation?"

Ren is silent until they have almost reached the bridge. "Did you want to send him away from you, or from me?"

"Fine. So we're not finished." Hux slams her datapad down on the nearest console. "A moment in private?"

*

Dim bars of light slant across Ren's face; his helmet looks like a set of ethereal eyes, angry and empty. The old interrogation rooms had drains in them, for the blood; Hux likes to think that they've advanced past such barbarity. The right cocktail of drugs and visual stimuli can do more to crack a man's mind than all of the shiny, sharp interrogation droids in the world.

"You thought I would kill him, didn't you?" Ren sounds smug through the vocoder.

"My decision had nothing to do with you, your antipathy towards my fiancee, or your ridiculous outbursts--and what is your objection to Colonel Zoller, anyway?"

"He reeks of the Light."

It's not remotely the answer she'd expected. "The Force?"

"What other Light is there? He is suffused with it. It is in his nature."

"You're saying my fiancee is a Jedi." Hux rolls her eyes. "I am not that gullible."

A chuffing laugh from Ren. "I would have killed him already if he was. There is Light and Dark in all of us, and some more than others. Zoller is all Light. And you and your Order, you rely on the Dark Side to guide you--do you see why he's of no use to you?"

"He's a Hero of the Order. I think your point is invalid."

"He will betray you."

"If you're quite done accusing a Hero of the Order of treason, I think we're very done here."

"You doubt me."

"Very much so. I think you're jealous, and frankly, it's pathetic." Hux's throat tightens up; for a moment, she thinks it's Ren. She's never been on the receiving side of one of Ren's choking tricks. She's seen him do it to prisoners, seen Mitaka's bruises. "I was trying to simply be civil, and you seem to have taken it as some kind of encouragement. There is nothing between us. There never will be."

"Never say never, General."

Hux's fingernails bite into her palms. Games, she tells herself, stupid little head games for dominance. She doesn't have the time for it, she can't afford it. "What do you think would happen if you killed Rog? What do you really think would happen?"

"He would be dead," Ren says, like it's obvious. "Probably bisected."

"And after that," Hux says. Ren is silent, breathing. "Well? Do you think I'd suddenly fall into your arms? Ren, do you think that's the kind of person I am?"

Ren raises his hand. Hux braces herself, sucks in air. But there's no squeeze around her throat, no broken glass in her lungs, just Ren's hand curling in on itself and something smooth and warm stroking her cheek.

"Are you afraid of me?"

No, no, no, no, no. Hux feels her body split within itself, like a glitching holo. Her bones stumble backwards, muscles freezing up. She forces her hand up to her face and feels herself smacking Ren's hand away, sees the shower of red-white sparks where they connect; she sees her arm hanging by her side, as stiff with fear as the rest of her, hand shaking with adrenaline and too unsteady to hit anything at all. It's over in a moment, gone like fireworks.

Hux is alive, but her lungs still feel like they've had the life squeezed out of them; every breath is broken glass. It's the adrenaline, the wash of shock throughout her system. She's never done well with that sort of thing, the aftermath of excitement. Her traitorous legs wobble, and she puts a hand out to steady herself against the wall. At least Ren looks nonplussed, backing away from her like a cat sprayed with water. "Am I?" she rasps, trying not to let her shallow breaths show. "Read my mind. You can, can't you?"

Ren shakes his head slowly, hesitant, makes a sound that might be "No" or "Don't." Hux can't tell. There's blood singing in her ears, blood pounding in her veins.

"I know you can. You can get into people's minds." Hux barely notices the bite of her fingernails against her palms. "Tell me, Ren, was I ever really afraid of you?"

Ren's hand goes to his hip, where Hux knows he keeps his lightsaber. He doesn't draw it, but the threat is there. "What are you?"

Hux stares at him, breath cooling in her chest. The question doesn't seem to have any real meaning, any context. "What do you think I am?" She wanted to sound scornful, haughty. But it comes out broken somehow. What am I? What's happening? Why me?

"Tell Snoke nothing of this," Ren says at last. He stalks out of the interrogation room, ragged cloak swirling behind him.

Hux counts to twenty-five and then leaves, determined not to dream of Kylo Ren that night. She does not dream of anything.

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PROMPT POST #3 - CLOSED

This post is closed to new prompts! Go here

Fill: Colder Than the Moon (11/?), Kylo/Fem!Hux, Hux/M!OC

Fill: Colder Than the Moon (12/?), Kylo/Fem!Hux, Hux/M!OC

Fill: Colder Than the Moon (13/?), Kylo/Fem!Hux, Hux/M!OC

Re: Fill: Colder Than the Moon (13/?), Kylo/Fem!Hux, Hux/M!OC

Re: Fill: Colder Than the Moon (13/?), Kylo/Fem!Hux, Hux/M!OC

Fill: Colder Than the Moon (14/?), Kylo/Fem!Hux, Hux/M!OC