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I OP, I hope that you don't mind a 5+1 for this fill, the idea struck me and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it out. Mostly fluffy stuff. Mention of injury/blood

Titles are hard.

-

The first time it happens by accident. Poe’s rummaging through the clothes in their laundry bin looking for something to throw on quick when a BB-8 tells him that he’s needed in the hanger. It’s not an emergency but he’s in civvies and the nights on D’Qar get cold so he grabs the first sweater he comes across and throws it on.

He ends up taking the sweater off again soon after as he throws on some overalls to help Snap fix something on his X-Wing. There’ve been some stability issues and he wants Poe’s opinion and help in fixing it. Poe spends the next two hours digging around in X-Wings engine until he’s covered in grime. They get the problem fixed and Poe wipes his hands off, grabs the sweater and heads back to his and Finn’s room to jump in the fresher.

It isn’t until he gets out and slips the sweater back on, the air in the room is chilly, that he notices that the sweater feels slightly too baggy in the shoulder and arms.

It doesn’t take long for Poe to figure out that its Finn’s sweater, it takes even less time for him to decide he likes the feel of the slightly baggy sweater and to decide to continue wearing it. He curls up in their bed, snuggling into the sweater and digging out his datapad to start reading a holonovel that Jess had talked up to him.

When Finn comes in from his weekly meeting with the high command it’s to the sight of Poe curled up in a familiar black sweater fast asleep. The sight is so adorable that Finn convinces BB-8 to take a holopic of it before Finn sets Poe’s holopad aside and crawls into bed and to curl up around Poe.

-

Even when he’s in downtime Poe doesn’t dress overly casual, being a higher ranking officer in the Resistance means that he could be called to command at any time and thus he tries to always look presentable. It’s not always possible of course, especially given that he does most of BB-8 and Black One’s maintenance and care by himself, but even then he wears an old flight suit over his clothes so that he doesn’t get too dirty or look overly dishevelled.

One day he puts on Finn’s cargo pants, completely by accident of course. They’re a pair of dark sand coloured pants that are usually complimented by his jacket. It’s amazing how different they feel on him, they sag around his waist and would drop down completely if not for his hips and they’re a lot looser on his ass because Finn’s ass is ten times nicer and fuller than his own (and has Poe mentioned those powerful thick thighs his?)

The pants are just so comfortable that Poe digs out a spare belt to keep them up and spend the day walking around in them, not even caring if they make him look slightly less than put together. Plus it feels really, really nice to be wearing something of Finn’s and doesn’t Finn always steal his clothes anyway (and usually looks much better in them than Poe sadly ever could because that boy is damn fine.)

At dinner Poe is pretty sure that Finn’s noticed the pants but he says nothing, at least not verbally; the look that he’s giving Poe though screams very loudly about Finn’s opinion of the pants. Poe isn’t surprised at all when the pants don’t stay on very long after they enter their quarters for the night.

Poe is not going to complain.

Maybe he’ll have to make a habit of stealing Finn’s clothing more often in the future though.

-

Poe is not a fan of the cold, not in anyway shape or form. As someone who grew up on beautiful hot and humid Yavin IV, Poe considers himself to be an enemy of the cold. If he were an evil megalomaniac who had a desire for mass murder and owned a Death Star, or a Starkiller Base, he would make it his duty to eliminate any and all planets where snow occurred more than three days out of the year.

Unfortunately, or fortunately maybe, Poe is not a mass murdering death planet owner and thus he continues to huddle desperately for warmth as he waits for his informant to meet with him. His mood is not helped by the fact that the man is half hour later. If Poe has to stand here freezing much longer he may just have to reconsider his thoughts on the mass destruction of snow planets.

There is only one very, very, small, tiny even, ray of light to this entire miserable experience; his feet at least are toasty warm.

Before he’d left that morning he’d grabbed a pair of socks out of the dresser drawer, not realizing that they were Finn’s. Poe isn’t sure if it’s a preference or maybe something to do with being a stormtrooper but Finn only seems to own socks that are thick (even on the hot sunny planets!) Poe’s made fun of him for it but right now those very thick, very warm socks are the only thing keeping his toes from freezing in his rapidly soaking boots. (Snow is evil.)

Poe swears that he will never make fun of Finn’s socks again, and that he will show him just how grateful he was for them when he gets back. His chosen activity will also serve to warm him up as a slight bonus.

-

Finn is off on a two week mission with Rey and Poe is missing him so incredibly much that it’s started to affect his work. He still does his job so it’s not fair to say that it really affects his work, it’s more like it affects his enthusiasm. Poe just misses Finn so kriffing much, and there’s also the added element of worry because Finn and Rey are out there alone and Poe isn’t there to watch their sixes if anything happens.

Added to the fact that the mission is radio contact in absolute emergencies only, well maybe Poe is a little more worried than the should be.

No matter what Jess says though he is not moping. (He totally is but he’ll never admit it aloud.)

If anyone were to check in on him at night while he’s curled up in his large, so very lonely bed, they would notice that he’s taken to wearing Finn’s shirts for several days at a time, or until Finn’s scent is washed away by Poe’s own. The shirts fit too loose but they feel comfortable and it’s almost like Finn’s right there with him.

Poe knows it’s a little bit sad, but he doesn’t care because it offers him comfort and helps him sleep at night. (He doesn’t care when he became so dependent of Finn’s presence but damnit he wants him back now.)

By the time Finn gets back there’s a pile of his shirts in their dirty laundry basket and only Poe’s uniform and fight suits accompanying them. He doesn’t say anything about it though, just hold Poe tightly and makes sure to spend all of his spare time with Poe, because in reality he missed Poe just as much as Poe missed him.

Maybe the two of them are a little dependent on each other, but after growing up in a world where you couldn’t even touch someone casually else without it being discipline, Finn thinks he deserves it. With all the work Poe does, Finn knows that Poe deserves all this to.

-

Poe staggers and falls to the ground when the shot connects with his unprotected side. It’s just a graze but the pain is staggering and when Poe presses his hand to the wound it comes away covered in blood.

“Shit.” That’s not good. He’s too far away from the transport to think that he can make it without help and the rest of the ground troops seem to be pre-occupied with returning fire against the First Order troops shooting at them. Struggling to his feet he sets himself against the nearest solid object and returns fire as best as he can.

Eventually they manage to subdue their attackers and Poe slides to the ground in relief, propping his blaster beside him and doing his best not to pass out. He’s not too sure how long the battle lasted but apparently it’s been long enough for him to leak a significant amount of blood on to the ground and to start to feel both dizzy and cold.

He probably passes out because the next thing he’s aware of is Finn calling him name anxiously and the sound of fabric ripping before something is pressed against his wounded side causing him to yelp and try to jerk away.

“I’ve got you Poe; we just need to apply pressure to stop the bleeding until Rey comes back with a bacta patch. We don’t want to move you until the wound is covered.”

There’s worry in Finn’s voice and Poe reaches out to pat his cheek comfortingly, of course that’s when he notices that it’s Poe’s own shirt that Finn’s ripped up to use as a temporary compress. “S’my shirt. . .” He blinks blearily, most of his side is exposed and part of his chest; he’s only got his black undershirt.

Finn chuckles at him, the sound not as sunny as usual. “Look again wise guy, that’s my shirt that I ruined, the very shirt that you stole from me this morning.”

Now that Poe thinks about it Finn is right, it’s the blue shirt that always makes Finn skin glow and his muscles pop. “I liked this shirt.” Poe says mournfully instead, words training off as a shiver runs through him. “M’cold.”

“Hold on a second.” Finn takes Poe’s hand and gets him to hold the cloth against his side as he slips off his jacket; which was once Poe’s jacket and before that belonged to Poe’s father, and slides it over Poe’s shoulders. The jacket is still warm from Finn’s body heat, and Poe feels like he’s being enveloped in Finn’s arms as the man’s scent washes over him. “It suits you.” Finn jokes, pressing a kiss to Poe’s forehead.

Poe laughs at that, wincing as the action jostles his side. He’s pretty sure the jacket still looks better on Finn, but Poe enjoys it for now.

Soon enough Rey is jogging toward them the medkit in her hands, they get Poe patched up and into the transport. He spends a day in medbay to make sure he doesn’t ‘do anything like pull the new skin and re-injure himself like the idiot he is,’ according to Dr Kalonia. Finn spends the entire time by his side; he lets Poe keep the jacket until they’re both back in their own room.

-

Clothes are flying everywhere as Poe and Finn quickly try to undress each other as quickly as possible. Neither seems to care that most of the articles they’re wearing belong to each other instead of their own; Poe’s shirt, Finn’s pants, everything is removed with the greatest amount of haste possible as they fall into bed together.

Poe moans from where he’s landed on top of Finn as the other man’s hands slip to the waist band of his boxers pausing and looking up at Poe with an expression of barely concealed amusement. “Are those my underwear?”

“M-maybe.” Poe’s answer is breathless as he rubs his ass against Finn’s erection. “Does it really matter?”

Finn groans and thrusts up against Poe, “Yes, because I’m really like them and am going to miss them.” Poe doesn’t have a chance to ask what Finn means when Finn’s arms tense and the sound of ripping cloth echoes throughout the room. “As good as you look in them, you look so much better without them.”

After that there’s very little talking and only lots and lots of feeling.

I am so in love with this!

This was very adorable, and these last lines were just plain yummy <3

The clothing Ren presented him with weren’t much different from what Hux usually wore, he decided. For all of the man’s airs and his drama, he’d been expecting something bizarre and otherworldly, something that would leave him breathless – admittedly, more in dismay than in admiration.

Instead, he found everything disappointingly normal. There were three outfits laid out for his perusal, clothes spread out on a low table – trousers and shits and vests. One of them went with a jacket. The colors were bolder than he usually wore, and there was nice embroidery that he could see, but he didn’t think any of it could justify the fuss he’d been submitted to.

He ignored the look Ren was sending his way, that all-too familiar predatory smirk. “Not as impressive as you expected, Your Highness?” Where any other decent artisan would be reddening in embarrassment and stammering apologies for daring to waste their sovereign’s precious time, Ren’s eyes shimmered in self-satisfaction. “I told your people you wouldn’t be able to appreciate my work this way, but your assistant said you insisted. No live models.”

The very evening after his first meeting with Ren, Hux had been flabbergasted to receive a communication from his security detail. Apparently, they’d been asked to screen three of the people in Ren’s entourage, so that they may be let unattended inside the rooms at their next meeting. He had then asked, rather reasonably, why in the five frozen hells the famed and supposedly all-talented Kylo Ren would need three helpers for a routine fitting. Certainly, he deserved to know if he’d hired a fraud. It did not have anything to do with his wanting as few people as possible to witness the way Ren got away with routinely insulting him.

The answer, reported to him by a stone-faced Phasma, had been that Ren had brought along several models, all of them sharing Hux’s age, coloring and body type, so that the Emperor may admire how his new clothes would fit him from all angles.

“I can’t believe we paid for this – this man to fly in models all the way from Kuat,” Hux had complained to Savika, loudly. Phasma remained where she stood, completely serious – her lips didn’t even twitch. He resolved to give her a raise.

“Oh, he didn’t fly them from Kuat, sire,” Savika was quick to explain. “Those are regularly employed runway models on the fashion circuit. I asked Ren’s assistant why he would, uh, employ people who look like you, and I’ve been explained that they were especially recruited for this occasion, from all over the galaxy.” She had the good grace to look unimpressed. “We’re given to understand this is a great honor, reserved only for his most prestigious clients.”

She’d added in the last bit in a tone that made it sound as though Ren had been some high-end whore, Hux thought – then promptly wondered where that had come from.

“Does he,” he said. “And I assume we paid for that as well?” He waved off his assistant before she could further run his mood. “No, don’t answer that. What is wrong with mannequin droids? Or bloody hangers?”

He hadn’t considered aesthetic concerns to be a valid excuse for Ren’s latest whim – and so here they were, two days later, Ren smiling down at him as if he’d just proven his point.

“From where I’m standing,” Hux told him. “It’s not the lack of live modeling that makes your work not impressive. Merely the fact that I don’t see a lick of difference from how I usually dress.”

Ren rolled his eyes, all very dramatically. Everything Ren did seemed to be calculated to be as dramatic as possible. “Please,” he said, inflicting that single word with more disdain than Hux would have believed to be possible. “Not this again. As if you could even compare my work to that of the third-rate provincial moron who’s been refitting whatever clothes your assistant buys for you – I’m guessing off the rack at some expensive department store, as if that would make it any less crass – and following what must be severely out-of-date measurements. Do correct me if I’m wrong about any of that.”

Hux decided to neither confirm nor deny Ren’s guess. “I also am what your ilk would call a provincial moron, Ren, if I weren’t ruling over the bunch of them. Do mind your words.”

Ren did not. “I am sorry I hurt your delicate feelings,” he said. And then. “I’m Corellian.”

That was as close to a peace offering as he would get. “You don’t look it,” he said, not unkindly.

“Well,” Ren retorted. “You certainly don’t look like an Emperor, wearing that.”

In the end, Ren had him undress again, no dais this time, only a mere stool – and Hux had never been self-conscious, so why was he suddenly feeling this nervous under Ren’s intense gaze? – and handed him the outfit he pointed to, to try on for himself. There were no mirrors in the room that he could see, but Ren promptly shut him up when he pointed that out, and promptly started schooling Hux on the proper way to handle is creations. As if he hadn’t learned to dress himself over thirty years ago.

“That is Vanthra silk,” Ren scolded him. At some point, he’d dropped even the last pretense of addressing Hux properly. “It’s a tactile experience, you heathen, it’s made to be revered, not manhandled.”

Hux glared at him, but didn’t punch much effort into it. It was, he had to admit, a very high-quality cloth, soft and incredibly smooth under his fingers, and at the same time it felt more resistant that he had ever expected silk to be. The cut of the clothes was also very obviously excellent, the dressmaker’s ability evident even to Hux’s unexperienced eyes.

Not that he would admit that where Ren could hear. Or at all.

“Would you unbutton the damn thing.” Ren’s voice took on a reprimanding note as Hux tried to slip on the shirt after unbuttoning the first three buttons. He didn’t see the point of it – if it was large enough for his head and his shoulders to fit in through the neck, why unbutton the whole thing?

Ren had other ideas.

“I can’t believe you rule over a third of the known galaxy and don’t know how to put on a shirt,” he said. “Do you have any idea how much that cloth costs?”

Hux grimaced as he smoothed the shirt on his chest, feeling the softness of material under the pad of his fingers. It felt like brushing water, or light.

“I assume I’ll find out very soon,” he said, closing it up. The shirt was a deep crimson, and its neck dipped down lower than anything he could remember wearing. Hux could feel the air of the room on his collarbones. “And what do you mean, a third of the galaxy, Ren? The Empire extends to sixty-two percent of the known planetary systems, are you truly as ignorant as you look?”

Ren passed him the trousers. “I assume you know how this is done,” he said. “But in case you aren’t aware, you put them on a let at the time.”

Hux took them without commenting, least he encourage him any further. The trousers were a dark navy color, almost black, and when he put them on he noticed they went higher on waist was higher than he was used to – and quite tight as well, especially around his hips and ass. He looked down at his feet, frowning.

“They’re too short,” he said.

“No, they’re not,” Ren replied. “You are getting rid of those heavy boots before my eyes start to bleed – you stomp around in a palace, sire, not a battlefield.” It figured the only time Ren would deign to use his title he’d be mocking him. “You’re going to wear those untucked, and the hem is the perfect length. Unless you’re still hoping you’ll grow up some more, at your age?”

Next on was the coat, black and heavy – more so than the jackets he usually wore and about the same weight as the greatcoat he’d worn as a general, although considerably longer and less rigid, more snug around the shoulders and the upper arms. The interior felt as smooth and sinfully expensive as the rest of his new clothes, but the exterior was made of heavy wool. There was a ring of embroidery running around each of the long sleeves, a few inches above the hem, about two inches wide and made of silvery thread, beautifully intricate. Hux passed his fingers above the pattern, touch featherlight. It truly was an excellent work; he couldn’t believe he’d taken Ren only three days to make all of this.

Said man was currently staring at looking smugger than ever, and Hux was quick to plaster a scowl on his face.

“Isn’t this a little too heavy?” he asked. “I feel like I’d suffocate if I put it on.”

Ren’s knowing smile said he hadn’t been fooled. “It may come as a surprise to you,” he said. “But a coat is actually outer wear. The beauty of it is that you can indeed take it off when it gets too warm.” Hux could feel himself flush, but he forced himself to held Ren’s gaze without looking away.

“And I’ve had help,” Ren added.

“What?”

“Making these,” Ren said. “I do have people working for me, you know. Plenty. They mostly do the sewing, I shout orders and look pretty.”

The situation felt incredibly surreal all of a sudden. Was Ren actually being nice?

“Right.” Hux swallowed, and put the coat on. As he’d suspected, it felt snug around him but not oppressive, hemline falling right under his knees and sleeves barely an inch above his hands. His fingers immediately went to the buttons.

“Wait,” Ren said. “You wear that open, otherwise you’ll just look drab all in dark like you usually do. You wouldn’t believe how much all the pallor ages you.”

“Ren,” Hux asked. “How do you even have any clients? You’re an insufferable asshole.”

“And you should fix that collar, it looks awful.”

Hux’s hands went to his neck. “If I had a mirror–”

“That’s nothing to do with mirrors,” Ren cut in. “Can’t you feel the collar’s all rumpled? Or well, I supposed you wouldn’t considering your usual attire. But that is supposed to be raised, and left open wide…” and, before Hux had time to do anything, Ren had moved over to him and was busy untucking his collar from where it had twisted into a crumpled mess around Hux’s neck, fussing and smoothing until he was satisfied with the result.

“There you go,” Ren said. Hux noticed, suddenly, that his eyes were on a level with Ren’s lips, rosy and pouty and undoubtedly smooth, and his shoulders were very wide. And that Ren’s cologne smelled as good as one could possibly expect from someone who worked in fashion; Hux found himself taking in a deep breath.

“All done,” Ren said, stepping back. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?” And then, before Hux had time to reply, or even think about what strange phenomenon was currently happening to his brain – could he possibly be getting sick? – Ren snapped his fingers with a resolute look on his face.

“Right,” he said. “Shoes first. Then mirror.”

“So you do have a mirror, somewhere,” Hux pointed out. “And here I thought I was just going to have to take your word that I look good.”

“Oh,” Ren said, and had his voice always been so – so sultry? “But you do look good.”

In a roundabout way... yes

So glad you like it, OP :)

Kylo's background check turned up clear, actually. *Too* clear, when you look cloesely at it...

Note: Character ages have been tweaked around a little to fit this AU-verse

--

A long time ago, in a system far far away…

There was a series of planets called the Ileenium System, ruled by the royal Skywalker family.

Queen Leia Organa rule with grace alongside her King consort, Han Solo. Her brother, Luke, was head of the Jedi Order, a special sector of people who utilized the power of the Force, an ancient power that flows through the galaxy.

They had a son, a force-sensitive young prince.

And so, the kingdom knew peace, and they bore it well.

What happened next started off was something no one could have foreseen.

It began with the joy of birth: another royal child was born. A child who, through a series of complications at birth, was blessed with an additional power: the unconditional power to heal.

And, while most of the kingdom remained unaware of this power, there are some who knew about it, and schemed to have the power at their own disposal: A fountain for unlimited healing.

At the age of three, the royal child was kidnapped. Stolen away in the dark.

The kingdom mourned for the lost child, and for the grieving royal family. They sent a ship into the sky and release colourful flares every year, hoping that it would guide their missing child back. It would go on for ten years, until the royal family themselves were in trouble, and the flares just stopped coming.

It started with Luke.

Luke, hoping to find the missing child, took a search party out into the stars.

Then Luke vanished.

Han and Leia waited years for any news, any sign, of Luke, of his search party, of the lost child. Finally, Han, taking matters into his own hands, decided to reach out to his old contacts from his smuggling days pre-royalty, and set out to find their lost family members.

Han didn’t vanish, but neither was he having success at finding anything. He started spending time further and further away from Ileenium, and soon was not coming back at all.

Queen Leia forged on, but she soon became aware of a new threat: one of their royal viziers, Snoke. There were rumours that he had grander visions of the throne, though no one knew who his co-conspirators were.

When the queen took one of her many short diplomatic trips out of the castle, a group of insurgents struck and took over the castle. They brought in a new court, and the First Order Troops replaced the Royal Army.

Queen Leia and her followers were forced to flee from the system entirely.

And as the dust settled, a mysterious being named Kylo Ren was now on the throne, with Snoke behind the scenes of power, and the Knights of Ren established as the ruling power base in all the planets of the system.

The Ileenium System was now cloaked under the rule of dark powers, and it has stayed that way for the next fifteen years.

This is when our story begins.

It starts in a little village, a distance away from the capital city, on the main planet of D’Qar.

THis looks really promising so far, I can't wait to see how it goes!

Awww thanks! Already working on the next part as we... type...

~~I am not smooth~~

Yay!

Ahhh, this is so good! Ren is such a bitch, I love it!

Finally!! I've been waiting for this since the first story of Poe and Kylo.
Can't wait to see what'll happen with the now pregnant Poe, Leia's reaction, Poe's all alone in the alien planet (bet he'll be pampered by the royalties) and his friends reaction when they get to know.
Will this be the only intimate time between Poe and the Emperors? (or any Flaurion? :D)

Lol damnn..the underwear-ripping at the end..
This is so sweet, they're really crazy for each other.

OP here..
I'm already loving it and can't wait for more!!

“So you do have a mirror, somewhere,” Hux pointed out. “And here I thought I was just going to have to take your word that I look good.”

“Oh,” Ren said, and had his voice always been so – so sultry? “But you do look good.”

Only the many, many years of practice keeping a blank face reporting to the creature he wanted to murder allowed Hux not to shiver at those words – and even then, it was damn close.

He blinked, his mind a trembling mess. Was Ren coming on to him? They’d spent the entirety of their acquaintance, short as it was, arguing the whole time. But that certainly wasn’t stopping Hux’s own stupid self from finding Ren attractive, so why couldn’t it go both ways? Then again, it was Ren; Hux had perhaps never met anyone as self-observed as the man standing in front of him. He’d probably meant that his clothes made Hux look good – yes, that must have been it. He’d been complimenting himself.

Ren, meanwhile, had the gall to keep staring at him with a crocked eyebrow and a half smile on his lips. Good to know someone was having fun.

“Now, you should put one of these on,” Ren said, pointing to the display table. There were three pair of shoes arranged next to the remaining clothes – a pair of black ankle boots, much lighter and smaller than the military-inspired model Hux often wore; and two pairs of elegant dress shoes, one polished black and the other a brown so rich it shined mahogany under the morning light streaming in from the suite’s big windows.

“They’re all store-bought, I’m afraid,” Ren continued, mouth turning as if he’d tasted something foul. “But the size should fit you. I brought along a shoemaker, of course, but considering you still haven’t made time to see my hair stylist – ”

“I didn’t have time to meet with your hair stylist, Ren, I’ve got an Empire to run –”

“Are you going to put a pair of shoes on, or shall I do that for you?”

Hux’s mouth snapped shut and he was transfixed by the mental image of Kylo Ren putting Hux’s shoes on – he would have to kneel down for that, wouldn’t he? That long back arched, bright wide eyes looking up at Hux from under that nest of curls, soft-looking mouth twisting around some cruel jab or the other.

“I can do that myself, thank you,” he snapped at Ren. “Go fetch that mirror from wherever you hid it, I don’t have all morning.”

Ren laughed, a deep, rich laugh that made something inside him tremble a bit. “As you command,” he said and, Oh, stars, he must be doing that on purpose, the dirty fucker.

Hux’s first instinct was to put on the ankle boots – familiar, comfortable-looking, utilitarian enough that he wouldn’t feel like a complete fop wearing them. But Ren would certainly make a comment about it, something harsh and utterly disrespectful, and Hux decided not to give him the chance. He put on the black dress shoes instead, and they fit perfectly, store-bought or not.

Ren came back from whatever side room he’d disappeared in with a full-length mirror on a large wheeled platform, a huge, obnoxious thing with a golden plated frame, covered with an azure cloth that looked fancier than the curtains in Hux’s personal bedroom.

He thought it was a bit excessive. Then he saw Ren bring his hands to each of the mirror’s side and stretch – and it wasn’t a mirror, but rather six of them, slid one behind the other and joined at the sides with hinges for maneuverability. It was so over the top, Hux thought as he watched Ren take out each mirror and wheel them around to create a perfect hexagon. It was so over the top and yet it made perfect sense that Kylo Ren would have his own portable dressing room with the mirror frames plated in gold. And he’d had it flown it over from Kuat, on Crown money.

“How sober of you.”

Ren shook his head slowly, mustering a suitably sad expression. “You really have no taste.” Then he walked out from the only opening, pushing the mirrors closer together on their wheels as they went, leaving only a thin crack and Hux inside it, his own image reflected around him to infinity.

“Oh,” Hux said.

He knew, objectively, that he was a good-looking man. He had other qualities he valued more, but he’d long ago learned that most people found him aesthetically pleasing, and used that accordingly. As resourceful as he was, it was in doubt he’d have risen as quickly as he had, had he not learned to use his looks for his own means at a young age.

Hux knew he was handsome, but he’d never seen him looking quite so put together – not even in his uniform, his polished look altogether too artificial compared to the easy charm of the figure in the mirror. He looked – sharp, he supposed; the clean, elegant line of the clothing, the way the rich colors made him stand out, variety and taste at the same time. He looked imposing and he looked effortless and he looked attractive; he looked like he could fit anywhere.

He looked regal.

Well, he thought, and then he caught sight of Ren through the crack between the mirrors, watching him watch himself.

“You like?” Ren rumbled – and he was gloating, the bastard, amused and smug and annoyingly arrogant as always.

Hux felt himself go red in the face – he saw himself going red in the face, from all angles, thanks to the stupid bloody mirrors. “Will you stop staring at me?”

Ren met his reflection’s eyes. “I don’t see why.”

“Ren.”

“Hux.”

Now he was being mocking. “That’s Your Highness to you,” Hux reminded him. Not that he held much hope that Ren would show any manners, not anymore.

Predictably, Ren laughed. “Do I look like someone who cares for authority?” Hux kept looking at him in the mirror, taking notice of the small creases around his eyes when he smiled, the way they captured the light like dark pools.

“You really don’t,” he heard himself saying, and he almost sounded fond.

This wasn’t good.

“Right,” Ren said. “Now turn around, please.”

“What?”

“Turn around,” Ren repeated, stepping inside the hexagon of mirrors – and now he could see all of Ren’s angles too, so oddly imposing and endlessly fascinating.

“This would’ve been much quicker if you’d let my models into the room, you realize, but we will have to do,” Ren was mumbling. “How do you think you look from behind? ”

Hux decided to take the question as purely analytical and not at all as the bad one-liner it could’ve been misinterpreted as. He looked over his shoulder, taking note of the way the coat fell on his ass and tights.

“Fine.”

“Fine, he says. Get on the stool, please.”

He got on the stool, waiting patiently as Ren circled him with his tongue between his teeth, muttering to himself. He made Hux roll his shoulders and raise his arms above his head, then told him to hold it as he looked him over once again.

“Too tight on the shoulders,” Ren decided. “Could be tighter on the chest. Get down and sit on the stool, it should be the right height. How does it feel?”

“Fine,” Hux said.

“You’re absolutely useless.”

He then made him take off the coat, taking it off Hux’s hands with exaggerated carefulness, then made him repeat the same motions, even though both the shirt and the trousers fit perfectly.

Ren made him unbutton his shirtsleeves and roll them up, which he insisted looked better – in fact there was a button hanging from a thin string just under his elbow, which went into a tiny buttonhole hidden in the cuff, so that he could roll up the sleeve have it stay that way. Kylo Ren, Hux found out, was ridiculously fastidious when it came to shirtsleeves; he kept complaining Hux was being too messy and wrinkling the cloth.

At one point he snapped and took Hux’s left arm in his hands – rather large hands, he noticed, watching them rigorously roll up the cuff and smooth the fabric until it looked like it’d been pressed. Once, twice, three times. Ren’s warm palms pressed against Hux’s naked forearm, and he tried his damnest not to react.

“Done,” Ren said. “I only hope you can learn to dress that by yourself at some point. Or do you have people for that? Because in that case they’re doing a shitty job, and I can recommend someone else.”

“You can always tuck that shirt in, you realize,” Ren told next. “In fact, you should if you’re not planning on wearing the coat, or taking it off. It’d look better that way. And if you are going to wear something over it, just untuck the front of the shirt but leave the back in. Trust me.”

Hux blinked, trying to decide if Ren had just made a comment about his ass. He might have wondered longer, had the man not immediately cleared it up all by himself.

“Bend over,” Ren said.

Hux turned to look at him, back straight and face perfectly blank. “Excuse me?”

“Bend over,” Ren repeated, matter-of-factly. “Or crouch, walk around a bit, see if any of that comes hard to you. Those trousers are pretty tight.”

“I don’t really plan on doing much bending over in the near future, Master Ren,” Hux told him, as evenly as he could. Ren’s eyes widened, and he laughed. “And you are breaking about five Imperial laws right now.”

“That didn’t come out right,” Ren conceded – and was that a hint of disappointment Hux felt? He forced all emotions away from his face, tried to relax the line of his shoulders. “Not that I much care for Imperial laws,” Ren went on, conversationally, as if he weren’t speaking to the embodiment of said Imperial laws as if they were good acquaintances and not a sovereign and his insolent subject. “But I swear, Your Highness. It’s all in your head.”

Did Ren meant for that last statement to sound as ominous as it did? Ren himself looked somewhat amused by the entire conversation, and Hux hated feeling like he wasn’t on the joke.

“We are almost done for today, you know,” Ren said. “The rest of the clothes are a similar cut; they should all fit like these did. You’ll only have to try them up to see if you like the model and the colors – which we could have already done if that tall shiny captain had let me bring in the boys from Stellar Modeling...”

Stellar Modeling. Hux almost shivered at the thought, and resolved to give Phasma an even larger raise.

“I’m assuming you like these?”

“Yes,” Hux said, perhaps too earnestly. He cleared his throat. “Very surprisingly.”

“That is the color schemes we’re going with,” Ren told him, as if Hux had more of a vague idea of what a color scheme even was. “Three colors, solid, rich hues. A few different shades. Blue, red, green. Also white – bright white, not that off-white horror of a shirt you had on last time – and some black, either shirts or outer wear. No black trousers, no grey, open collar.”

It didn’t sound so bad, Hux decided. Much more reasonable than he’d expected, given Ren’s reputation.

“Naturally, this is the everyday wear – we should have it done in a few weeks. Then we’ll start on the occasion wear for important meetings and dinners, ceremonial robes first of course, and then casual wear for last.”

Ren paused, frowning, then spoke up again. “Sorry. Casual wear for second to last. Sleepwear after.”

“Hang on,” Hux told him. “What?” He’d thought Ren had been making him ceremonial clothes to begin with – wasn’t that why he’d hired him in the first place? – And robes. His mind immediately went to one peach-colored monstrosity he’d seen the Nubian ambassador wear, with carmine-red flowers embroidered all over it, like the many gaping wounds that had opened in Hux’s very soul from the awful sight.

“Sleepwear?” he asked Ren. “Whatever for?” It wasn’t as if the courtiers of Coruscant would ever see him in his bedroom, at least outside of his nightmares. “And what even is casual wear?”

“Well,” Ren began, as if he were talking to a child. “You must take time off, relax. Do you exercise, or read in the gardens with your holopad. I hope so, for your mental health, and that is what casual wear is for. Also, I was commissioned a full wardrobe, which does include sleepwear.”

Hux was about to cut into Ren’s ravings and explain that yes, he did exercise but certainly wasn’t going to require Kylo Ren’s fancy tailored clothes to sweat in, but Ren went on before he could. “And before you ask, this does not include undergarments. We have a contract with Idyllic Intimates here on Coruscant, and they do provide our clients with high-quality underwear as part of the package – though I’m suspecting in your case they’ll do it for free. Publicity, you know.”

Ren looked too straight-faced to be anything but thoroughly amused under that unbearably calm façade.

“You’re insufferable,” he told Ren.

“Did you do something to your hair?” Ren asked.

These two are amazing, and I have never been so happy to see an -ish added to something before, if only because it means MORE than was originally anticipated~ So good!

I'm glad OP likes it!

WHY DOESN'T HE EVER ASK HOW THEY COME OUT THOUGH

THAT'D BE MY FIRST DANG QUESTION

Oh, hello there previously-undiscovered kink. Poor Poe, he's been having such a rough time :( I hope those Emperors plan to spoil him rotten for the gestation.

Pilots are apparently slightly more likely than average to father girls- I assume the host doesn't have any impact on Flaurion babies genetically speaking, but I wonder...

I'm filling the first one, if you're still there! Thank you for the request rec!

Love, love, love. Great writing, lovely kink, fantastic characterization. Eagerly awaiting the update! Also, I love how lovely and gentle and nice and respectful they're being. Not what I expected from an oviposition story, esp not following your first fic.

and I want to be clear that I LOVED your first fic too, but this is another kind of awesomeness.

(Picture Kylo's face: "Yeah, so I did end up doing that whole Flaurion egg-carrier thing. Easily less creepy and gross than you, Ben, not even a contest. I'm basically a member of the imperial family now. My baby-daddies gave me starfighters as a push-present...")

OP here. Sorry for the late comment. Glad to hear your brother is ok. Food poisoning is no joke.

So happy to see another update. And what a relief to see Ben in good health and recovering too! And yes Ben, that's exactly what Moa meant.

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PROMPT POST #4

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[Finn/Poe] Unbutton Your Clothes [1/1]

Re: [Finn/Poe] Unbutton Your Clothes [1/1]

Re: [Finn/Poe] Unbutton Your Clothes [1/1]

Fill: The Emperor's New Clothes, 3a/4-ish

Re: Fill: The Emperor's New Clothes, 2/4

Re: Fill: The Emperor's New Clothes, 2/4

Re: Fill: The Emperor's New Clothes, 2/4

[FILL] AU: Tales Apart [Prologue] [1/?]

Re: [FILL] AU: Tales Apart [Prologue] [1/?]

Re: [FILL] AU: Tales Apart [Prologue] [1/?]

Re: [FILL] AU: Tales Apart [Prologue] [1/?]

Re: Fill: The Emperor's New Clothes, 3a/4-ish

Re: A House Built Out in Space [1b/2]

Re: [Finn/Poe] Unbutton Your Clothes [1/1]

Re: [FILL] AU: Tales Apart [Prologue] [1/?]

Fill: The Emperor's New Clothes, 3b/4-ish

Re: Fill: The Emperor's New Clothes, 3b/4-ish

Re: [FILL] AU: Tales Apart [Prologue] [1/?]

Re: A House Built Out in Space [1b/2]

Re: A House Built Out in Space [1b/2]

Re: Sunrise Highway

Re: A House Built Out in Space [1b/2]

Re: A House Built Out in Space [1b/2]

Re: A House Built Out in Space [1b/2]

Re: FILL: Ghost in the Machine [17/?]