He has already welcomed death, has already pictured himself swallowed up by the chasm at his feet. The earth has been torn open, and it is bleeding red, it feels so warm even though his back is pressing into the snow. He and this entire planet are about to die in the exact same fashion.
But someone is shaking him, tugging him further from the cliff's edge. Closing the door on death. Keeping him tethered to this shattered shell of a body, and he wants to weep, wants to scream no, just leave me. But his voice is gone, like everything else it has been ripped from him with one slice of a blade that should have been his.
He is being pushed, his blood is now a jagged brush stroke against white. He is forced back against one of the few trees left standing. He can't feel his own weight; balance is lost to him and now in the hands of another. The ground just keeps quaking. He wants to fall; someone won't allow him to. His chin is lolling against his chest when fingers grab and push.
"Look at what you've cost me," Hux says with a smile. And that scares him most of all. Despite the threatening maelstrom they're trapped in, despite that everything could detonate at any moment. Instead, he's afraid of this simple outline of a general, this pathetic man, whose corners of the mouth are stretch a little too wide. His eyes are shining, still reflecting the crowning moment of Starkiller's birth. Hux doesn't smile, he only shows emotions the way you want him to perceive him. So Kylo is afraid, worst of all he fears what will happen if he doesn't die soon.
An arm is looping under his, curving to brush against his back. Fingers curl against his neck. The slash against his shoulder roars to life as leather glove tips scrape against and press in. And then they sink deeper and Kylo chokes because he can't yell even though he wants to.
Hux's face is close; their lips are bartering for wisps of air. He tries to jerk his head, only managing to smack against the bark behind him. How he wishes he could shut his eyes and wake up in an earlier time, how he wishes things could have gone so much differently. Instead, he is trapped beneath Hux's shadow in an apoplectic wasteland.
He blinks. Something wetter than frost is sliding against the jagged opening on his face. The pain is searing, not quite like getting hit again but like the edges are being tugged open and peered into. Hux's tongue is tracing the path of his wound, treading and retreading. It's cold and yet the burning sensation refuses to pass.
Thoughts whirl about in his head. It feels like hail hitting the edges of his skull. Why are you here why are you doing this why can't you just let me fall, he demands, but what leaves his lips is a revelatory gasp. Hux is smiling wider, Kylo wants to fold in on himself and disappear but the grip is tightening.
Hux's movements are as jumpy as Ren's pulse. He presses in, brushing his gelid nose against his. It's an intimacy he has freshly murdered someone over just to avoid. He jerks his head to the side. Hux quickly finds an opening. He nuzzles past the charred fabric and sucks at the edge of the slash, the singed borders of flesh from which blood trickles anew. The clots melt away. Hux is relentless, as if death is a venom that he can tease out with his teeth. He makes Ren open again.
Gloved fingers scrape up and down his torso. Hux is looking for points of weakness he can purge, as he is wont to do. He finds the burn on Ren's breast and probes it until his fingertips are bloody. The traitor's mark, Ren thinks, was merely lucky, that is all, he swears -- compared to the rest, the wound is shallow, and Hux's mouth is a firm line, disappointed at the wound's lack of depth.
Another hand finds its way to the other burn on his thigh. Scavenger, he nearly mouths, but grits his teeth instead as Hux's hands scrutinize it and rake against the cavity formed. It's still emitting smoke. I tried not to kill her, she was helped by someone, the Force favored her, the excuses putter out before they even reach his lips.
There's a crooked edge to Hux's mouth when he digs the edge of his thumb there, and Ren can hear his own sounds now, and they're as pitiful as he feared. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain driving him delirious. His gloves are fisted on the empty sleeves of Hux's jacket and he supposes Hux mistakes that for permission.
Hux's wandering hand crawls upward, knuckles burying into the bowcaster wound. Ren shouts, the sound merely melts into the rustling of dead branches overhead. Hux rotates his hand, fingers stretched and slipping in between torn muscle fibers. Ren makes a feeble attempt of pushing Hux away, instead his hands are flat and weightless against the general's chest, a picture of false intimacy.
The hand leaves his side. Ren spies bloody leather fingertips. He thought Hux was clean, too clean to bask in his injuries. Too clean to unbutton his trousers, and palm his cock with that same bloodied glove. Ren barely registers the contradiction when Hux's other arm slips around his waist, bending him. arcing his spine. Distorting his natural slouch to his own liking.
There's a squelch heard over the howling wind, and unimaginable pain follows. Ren screams, fists scrabbling uselessly at the pristine uniform pressing against his chest, pinning him against the tree. In his attempts to get away, he feels his back abraded by the wood. Maybe Hux will open those scars too, he ponders dizzily as the man draws back, fist clenched around his dick like a loaded gun, and then pierces Ren again.
Help me please stop I'll do anything please please -- the phrases join the others that he'll never say. I'm sorry Father don't leave me what have I done to you no --
When he starts crying it's because of Han and he's not sure if that's worse.
Hux skewers him, he's not sure how deep the wound goes. Perhaps his internal organs are already been punctured, leaving Hux pointlessly breeching a broken dam. It figures, he realizes, that he deserves to die not stabbed through the chest but pierced through the gut and bled open like a farm animal.
But he doesn't deserve this, is his last insistent plea.
He rests his head against Hux shoulder, moaning as his knees finally buckle beneath him.
Before he loses consciousness, he feels sticky fingers in his hair and hears a tutting quiet voice. "Poor creature. Snoke will be far worse."
Re: Hux/Kylo - woundfucking FILL: Second Intention Healing
But someone is shaking him, tugging him further from the cliff's edge. Closing the door on death. Keeping him tethered to this shattered shell of a body, and he wants to weep, wants to scream no, just leave me. But his voice is gone, like everything else it has been ripped from him with one slice of a blade that should have been his.
He is being pushed, his blood is now a jagged brush stroke against white. He is forced back against one of the few trees left standing. He can't feel his own weight; balance is lost to him and now in the hands of another. The ground just keeps quaking. He wants to fall; someone won't allow him to. His chin is lolling against his chest when fingers grab and push.
"Look at what you've cost me," Hux says with a smile. And that scares him most of all. Despite the threatening maelstrom they're trapped in, despite that everything could detonate at any moment. Instead, he's afraid of this simple outline of a general, this pathetic man, whose corners of the mouth are stretch a little too wide. His eyes are shining, still reflecting the crowning moment of Starkiller's birth. Hux doesn't smile, he only shows emotions the way you want him to perceive him. So Kylo is afraid, worst of all he fears what will happen if he doesn't die soon.
An arm is looping under his, curving to brush against his back. Fingers curl against his neck. The slash against his shoulder roars to life as leather glove tips scrape against and press in. And then they sink deeper and Kylo chokes because he can't yell even though he wants to.
Hux's face is close; their lips are bartering for wisps of air. He tries to jerk his head, only managing to smack against the bark behind him. How he wishes he could shut his eyes and wake up in an earlier time, how he wishes things could have gone so much differently. Instead, he is trapped beneath Hux's shadow in an apoplectic wasteland.
He blinks. Something wetter than frost is sliding against the jagged opening on his face. The pain is searing, not quite like getting hit again but like the edges are being tugged open and peered into. Hux's tongue is tracing the path of his wound, treading and retreading. It's cold and yet the burning sensation refuses to pass.
Thoughts whirl about in his head. It feels like hail hitting the edges of his skull. Why are you here why are you doing this why can't you just let me fall, he demands, but what leaves his lips is a revelatory gasp. Hux is smiling wider, Kylo wants to fold in on himself and disappear but the grip is tightening.
Hux's movements are as jumpy as Ren's pulse. He presses in, brushing his gelid nose against his. It's an intimacy he has freshly murdered someone over just to avoid. He jerks his head to the side. Hux quickly finds an opening. He nuzzles past the charred fabric and sucks at the edge of the slash, the singed borders of flesh from which blood trickles anew. The clots melt away. Hux is relentless, as if death is a venom that he can tease out with his teeth. He makes Ren open again.
Gloved fingers scrape up and down his torso. Hux is looking for points of weakness he can purge, as he is wont to do. He finds the burn on Ren's breast and probes it until his fingertips are bloody. The traitor's mark, Ren thinks, was merely lucky, that is all, he swears -- compared to the rest, the wound is shallow, and Hux's mouth is a firm line, disappointed at the wound's lack of depth.
Another hand finds its way to the other burn on his thigh. Scavenger, he nearly mouths, but grits his teeth instead as Hux's hands scrutinize it and rake against the cavity formed. It's still emitting smoke. I tried not to kill her, she was helped by someone, the Force favored her, the excuses putter out before they even reach his lips.
There's a crooked edge to Hux's mouth when he digs the edge of his thumb there, and Ren can hear his own sounds now, and they're as pitiful as he feared. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain driving him delirious. His gloves are fisted on the empty sleeves of Hux's jacket and he supposes Hux mistakes that for permission.
Hux's wandering hand crawls upward, knuckles burying into the bowcaster wound. Ren shouts, the sound merely melts into the rustling of dead branches overhead. Hux rotates his hand, fingers stretched and slipping in between torn muscle fibers. Ren makes a feeble attempt of pushing Hux away, instead his hands are flat and weightless against the general's chest, a picture of false intimacy.
The hand leaves his side. Ren spies bloody leather fingertips. He thought Hux was clean, too clean to bask in his injuries. Too clean to unbutton his trousers, and palm his cock with that same bloodied glove. Ren barely registers the contradiction when Hux's other arm slips around his waist, bending him. arcing his spine. Distorting his natural slouch to his own liking.
There's a squelch heard over the howling wind, and unimaginable pain follows. Ren screams, fists scrabbling uselessly at the pristine uniform pressing against his chest, pinning him against the tree. In his attempts to get away, he feels his back abraded by the wood. Maybe Hux will open those scars too, he ponders dizzily as the man draws back, fist clenched around his dick like a loaded gun, and then pierces Ren again.
Help me please stop I'll do anything please please -- the phrases join the others that he'll never say. I'm sorry Father don't leave me what have I done to you no --
When he starts crying it's because of Han and he's not sure if that's worse.
Hux skewers him, he's not sure how deep the wound goes. Perhaps his internal organs are already been punctured, leaving Hux pointlessly breeching a broken dam. It figures, he realizes, that he deserves to die not stabbed through the chest but pierced through the gut and bled open like a farm animal.
But he doesn't deserve this, is his last insistent plea.
He rests his head against Hux shoulder, moaning as his knees finally buckle beneath him.
Before he loses consciousness, he feels sticky fingers in his hair and hears a tutting quiet voice. "Poor creature. Snoke will be far worse."