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Hux shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to hide how nervous he felt. Around him row after row of stormtroopers in their gleaming, white armor stood in perfect, silent parade rest and Hux felt oddly out of place with his unseemly fidgeting. He would have preferred to remain in the privacy of his own office, but the Supreme Leader was about to leave for an important diplomatic mission and the protocol stated that the ranking general would have to see him on his way and since Hux would rather gnaw one of his legs off than ignore the rules and regulations when they reinforced his status and rank, he had no other option but to push his anxiety aside and pretend to be impatient rather than a nervous wreck.
The truth of the matter was that he had once again let his mouth run away with him and had said some inadvisable things to his commanding officer. Ren – no, the Supreme Leader, Hux would do good to remember that – had been getting on his nerves ever since his abrupt ascension to the throne, and three nights ago Hux had perhaps had had a drop of brandy after a grueling week (even on his standards) and Ren had just flounced in his quarters to demand something inconsequential.
Hux had quite proverbially lost it.
He had, among other things, called the man who was not only his direct superior but also in possession of mystical powers and a murderous mind a “spoiled Republican-born brat,” a “waste of potential,” and that he’d “never be a part of the glory that was the First Order,” that he was “ playing pretense at being a leader.”
Once the mist had cleared Hux had stood alone and shaking in the middle of his living room, Ren having stormed out when Hux had paused to draw breath. He had poured himself a new drink and briefly considered grabbing his civvies and his lothcat and legging it off to the furthest part of the galaxy. As that would have been just delaying the inevitable as Ren would have undoubtedly found him before long, he had resigned himself to a sleepless night followed by a swift public execution in the morning.
Three days later he was still alive and going slightly mad with paranoia.
Ren had not spoken to him since, not even to give him orders. Hux bit his teeth together and squeezed his hands into tight fists. He always knew what his enemies were up to. Always. Now he was up against an unpredictable wizard whose mood swings were legendary and his reactions to even what he perceived as minor insults were violent to the extreme.
The sudden charge in the hangar bay’s atmosphere, accompanied by the thunderclap of every single one of the stormtroopers pulling themselves to attention in perfect unison, interrupted Hux’s spiraling thoughts. He turned to face the wide double doors, his back straightening and shoulders setting into the familiar pose he had presented to his superiors since his Academy days. However, his usual greeting died on his lips, because the broad-shouldered, dark-haired man approaching him seemed to be a total stranger.
He had Ren’s stride and his face, complete with the ever-present scowl, but the rest of him; Hux’s mind couldn’t process as belonging to Kylo Ren, the Master of the Knights of Ren and the Supreme Leader of the First Order. He knew, on some level, that underneath the layers of heavy fabrics and body armor, Kylo was a large man but even in his wildest, most inadvisable and repressed dreams he could not have imagined the powerful, wide shoulders, the tapered waist, the long, strong limbs – Hux swallowed hard and tore his eyes away from the man striding across the vast hall surrounded by his personal guards.
The Supreme Leader had forgone his usual attire and chosen instead a pair of well-fitted, black trousers of some fine material Hux did not recognize, and a frankly obscene, dark red tunic which admittedly had long sleeves and a high collar but still somehow managed to leave nothing to the imagination. It clung to his well-muscled torso, the fabric stretching slightly as if struggling to cover his enormous chest. Ren’s biceps were clearly outlined in the narrow sleeves and the cut of the garment made him look even taller and wider than he actually was – for the first time in ages Hux felt being loomed over and had to physically stop his body from withdrawing into itself to make himself appear smaller in the presence of an apex predator.
After a good minute of wordless gawking, Hux’s training kicked in and he saluted crisply. “Supreme Leader,” he forced out.
“General,” Ren answered with a curt nod. “So kind of you to see me on my way.”
Ren shouldered past Hux, leaving him blinking and executing an embarrassing about-turn. He refused to jog after Ren, although he did end up lengthening his stride to catch up with his errant Leader.
“Supreme Leader!” Hux tried but got no response. “Sir! Ren!”
At that, Ren slowed down and glanced over his shoulder. “What?” he asked, the line between his eyebrows deepening.
“I... You... That is.” To his dismay Hux found his gaze drifting down Ren’s neck and shoulders and fix itself somewhere mid-chest. Hux swallowed and yanked his head up, focusing on the gun barrel jutting out of Ren’s Upsilon’s folded-up wing. As if on a swivel, his eyes began drifting down again. Hux swallowed again.
“Out with it, General. I don’t have an entire day.”
“I, uh. I wanted to wish you good luck on your upcoming mission. Sir.” Hux felt like a lowly cadet, nervous and fidgety while being dressed down in front of their classmates. Ren glared at him, grunted and turned abruptly to stomp up the ramp to his shuttle, blissfully disappearing from sight soon after. Hux’s shoulders dropped an inch and for a moment he feared his knees would give out from underneath him. He folded his hands behind his back and settled in his most comfortable and familiar pose, remaining still until the shuttle had taken off and it was time to dismiss the honour guard and return to work.
****
Three days later Hux had almost put the strange incident behind him. He had come to the conclusion his nerves had gotten the better of him, expecting a punishment which Ren had, strangely enough, not dealt out. Combined with the mild shock of seeing the Supreme Leader in some new clothes it was no wonder he had reacted less than professionally.
He cast an approving glance over the bridge, taking in the gleaming floors and his hand-picked crew. It was a place of order and efficiency where everything was precisely in its place, and everyone was performing their duties to their best abilities. Hux allowed himself one deep breath of contentment before addressing the message he had just heard arriving in his inbox. He thumbed the message open, read it and then read it again, because the first attempt had yielded no satisfactory result.
It appeared that the Supreme Leader had arrived from his mission before his allotted time and without letting Hux know. This certainly was his privilege, but Hux couldn’t stop a small, unfamiliar pang lancing through his body. He scoffed and stuffed the datapad back into his pocket. So what if Ren had decided to put Hux back in his place by being petty? Hux had certainly endured much worse punishments, at least with Ren giving him the silent treatment he’d be free to do his work as he wanted to.
Soon after he settled into the familiar routine of his shift, Ren and his peculiarities were quite forgotten. He was just about to give orders to plot a course to their next rendezvous point with a supplier – since Ren was already onboard, there was little reason to remain in this starsforsaken system – when the bridge doors hissed open, and the entire crew jumped on their feet and saluted as one. Hux suppressed his desire to draw in a steadying breath. Instead he bit his teeth and turned around smartly to greet the Supreme Leader who had apparently decided to grace the bridge with his presence.
A stunned silence was all he managed when he saw the attire Ren had donned this morning. Once again there were no signs of tatty, singed robes or heavy, quilted tunics. The only vaguely familiar item of clothing on Ren's body were the combat boots he seemed to favor. Hux heard his dry throat click when he swallowed. What he initially had thought of as jodhpurs were actually some type of flouncy trousers made of some smooth, shiny black material that billowed out from below a wide sash Ren had tied around his waist and hips, and narrowed down right below his knees before disappearing into the tall boots. The silken sash slung dangerously low on Ren’s hips, revealing his belly button and the vee of his lower abdomen. Hux felt his mind go blank when he realized the reason he could see so many details of Ren’s anatomy was because while he was wearing a shirt, it was more like a sheer dark green vest, fastened with two straining buttons over his chest and leaving his midriff totally bare.
Ren stalked down the walkway and came to a halt right in front of Hux. His mouth was moving but Hux was too preoccupied with Ren’s subtly painted lips and the faint shimmer of gold he had dusted over his temples to hear what was being said. Ren had also brushed his hair into glossy, smooth waves that framed his angular face, the tips brushing against the powerful shoulders. Ren had taken a thin, golden chain and woven it in his tresses. One strand of hair was tangled in the tiny links and Hux’s hand was halfway up to Ren’s head to fix it before he caught himself and snapped back to the present. He pulled his datapad out of his pocket and clutched it to his chest, as if the modest device could shield him from Ren’s overpowering presence.
“Supreme Leader!” he almost wailed. “Welcome back. I trust your mission was a success?”
Ren narrowed his eyes at him and tilted his head to the side. Hux caught a whiff of some exotic, heavy perfume. His head swam.
“It was, General, thank you.”
Hux should have started his status report by now, Ren was probably expecting to know how his fleet and flagship had fared in his short absence. He shouldn’t keep staring at Ren’s full, wide mouth, or his dark hair, or the long line of his neck. He should definitely keep his eyes away from Ren’s shoulders and the way the flimsy material of his vest was draped over his collarbones and how the plunging neckline drew his gaze down towards the muscular, wide chest and invited to take a glimpse of the taut stomach -
Something cracked and shattered and Hux only realized he had broken his datapad screen when Ren grabbed his wrist in his enormous hand and held it up, an alarmed look on his face. Hux looked at his ruined glove and the trickle of blood seeping out from one of the cuts in the soft leather and tried to pull his hand free from Ren’s clutches. He failed miserably.
“Hux!” Ren exclaimed. “You’re hurt! Let me take you to the medbay.”
Hux yanked his hand back with more force and this time Ren relinquished his grip. “No,” Hux squeaked. He cleared his throat. Somehow he was feeling both hot and cold at the same time. “I mean, no thank you, sir. I can see to this myself.”
Ren glared at him silently, working his jaw. “You will go to the medbay, General,” he said eventually. “That is a direct order. Go now, I will take over for the remainder of your shift.”
Hux opened his mouth to object but being confronted with an order from his superior officer, in full view of his crew and several recording devices, was left with no other option but to offer a perfunctory salute and extract himself from the bridge, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left.
*****
The next three days were by far the most horrible of Hux’s adult life. He had done as the Supreme Leader had ordered, of course, and had gotten his hand patched up by an unamused med tech who had picked out a few shards of glass and applied bacta, just like Hux could have done himself and not drained the precious resources on something so trivial. He had commissioned a new datapad and had promptly used it to connect into the bridge security feed to – and this is where he actually needed to pause to find a reason he could acceptably tell himself – to monitor the Supreme Leader commanding his flagship, in case he fell short on some aspects and needed Hux’s guidance.
It was not to keep tabs on how many times Ren had to hike up his ridiculous trousers because the weight of his weapon kept pulling them down.
It was fifteen, by now, and on one memorable occasion Ren had been facing the camera and Hux had gotten a glimpse of the dark trail of hair under his navel and had replayed that bit seven times before he caught himself and gave himself a light slap on the cheek.
The bridge crew, to their credit, remained admirably professional in the face of such a profane ensemble, although Hux did notice a furtive glance here and there. He only hoped the Supreme Leader, completely disregarding the rules and regulations regarding proper attire, would not be taken as an invitation to copy his example. The younger officers especially could be so easily swayed, starstruck as they undoubtedly were of Ren.
Armitage Hux was, thankfully, made of sterner stuff.
He had held on to this belief until he had come across Ren on a corridor outside of the gym he preferred to use. Hux had been on his way to his weekly workout, dressed in his tight-fitting gym kit when Ren had sauntered out of the dressing room door wearing only soft shoes, loose sweatpants and a towel around his neck. His hair was still damp from a shower, and it hung in wild curls around his face, the thin towel soaking the errant beads of water from the tips of his dark locks. He must have used a week’s allotment of hot water judging by the way the skin of his unnecessarily wide chest was still pink. Curiously, it kept going a deeper shade of red as Ren paused to acknowledge Hux’s presence and gave him a once over followed by another, no doubt wondering why he wasn’t in his customary uniform.
He watched, wide-eyed, as a single droplet of water detached from a strand of Ren’s hair, missed the towel and dropped on his collarbone. It slid down the edge of it, glistening under the harsh light, until it reached the hollow of Ren’s throat. The droplet hesitated for a bit, then, as Ren exhaled, freed itself and tumbled down into the valley between Ren’s ample pectorals, eventually reaching the plains of his abdomen and disappearing under the waistline of his sweatpants. Hux felt an abhorrent flush rising up his chest and neck, saluted smartly, made a sharp about turn and walked right into the closed gym door because like the idiot he had suddenly become, he had forgotten to open it first.
He stood stock still, afraid to move a muscle lest he embarrassed himself further, balling his hands into fists and bracing for the cruel laughter and mockery that were sure to follow. Instead, the door slid open with a quiet swoosh, seemingly on its own. Hux slipped through it as soon as it had opened wide enough to admit his frame and beat a shameful retreat through the locker room and straight into the refresher where he remained until he had regained control and was fairly certain Ren had moved away from the corridor. He marched out of the cubicle and for his own benefit made a small show of receiving an important but completely imaginary message that demanded his personal attention.
It seemed he used his datapad more for hiding than for actual work, but for once he was grateful for the cover it provided as he made his way back into his own quarters scowling at the dark and silent device in his hands.
This had to stop. Ren had to stop whatever it was that he was doing, because if the Supreme Leader could not be trusted with putting a shirt on, what hope was there for the rest of the galaxy?
Hux paced around his quarters, several times almost tripping over Millicent who kept trying to wind around his ankles, asking for attention. Finally he picked her up and held her close to his chest, hissing in pain when she sank her claws into his skin to show her love and affection. She was soft and warm, solid and heavy in his arms, and he felt instantly much calmer. He took her to the kitchenette and refusing to let her go, awkwardly with one hand wrapped around a squirming beast, fished out a can of food. He had to put her on the floor to open the can and upend the stinky contents into her bowl.
“How can you possibly eat that,” he muttered for the thousandth time as he placed the bowl before the purring cat. He gave her one last stroke and watched her happily devour her snack. He probably should get a meal, too, but felt much too agitated to even consider eating.
In the end, he fell for his familiar routine of working until his eyes fell shut on their own, and then stumbling into the refresher for his evening ablutions and then to his bed for a few hours of dreamless sleep.
****
Hux gathered his courage for one more day before marching back to the stage of his most recent humiliation. The gym would be empty save for Ren, he was sure of that as no one apart from Hux would want to remain there in his presence. Hux stopped outside the door, straightened his jacket, running his fingers over his rank stripes for comfort, then with a determined gesture keyed the door open. He stepped inside, words of veiled admonishment ready on his tongue, but none came out as he finally spotted Ren and opened his mouth to speak.
Ren was – Ren was half naked, it seemed, clad only in a black, short, sturdy-looking kilt and his combat boots, going through his lightsaber forms with a wooden sword, an utterly focused and serene look on his face.
His legs were long and strong, moving his body with dancer’s grace and warrior’s brutality as he twisted and struck air, the practice blade a living extension of his body. He had tied his hair up in braids, revealing the large ears that Hux ought to have found laughable, but which he suddenly wanted to caress gently. The voluminous hem of his kilt flew in the air around him, revealing the top of his legs and even the lower crescent of his buttocks in tantalizing glimpses. Hux drew in a long breath through his nose and released through his mouth.
“Supreme Leader,” he said, wincing at how hoarse his voice sounded. He was a trained orator, for fuck’s sake, how had he lost all control of his voice when Ren was involved?
Ren froze mid-strike, the deep breath he took expanding his ribcage and belly, and with one perfectly controlled movement lowered his sword, laid it on the mat and turned to Hux. “General,” he said. “What brings you here?”
He started to stride over the mats towards Hux and with every step that brought his bulk closer Hux felt he was shrinking, the very fabric of reality twisting under the pressure of Ren’s presence. He shook himself and drew himself to his full height. He was a General of the First Order, and he had a task to perform. Not a pleasant task, to be sure, but an unavoidable one, and everything would be better once the unpleasantness had been dealt with.
“Sir, I have come to request a favor from you.”
“A favor?” Ren looked genuinely curious. “You never ask for favors, Hux. You either swindle or blackmail when you can’t outright order someone to do your bidding.”
Hux pursed his lips and widened his stance. “Yes, sir. A favor.”
“Well then. Let’s hear your request.” Ren’s curiosity was giving way to amusement. Hux allowed a tiny flare of relief. He had calculated correctly and had caught Ren in a rare good mood.
“I am– that is, I fear your, uh, display is a distraction for the crew.”
Ren crossed his arms across his chest, pushing his pecs together in the process. Hux had to look away. He could smell the fresh sweat on Ren’s body and bit his teeth together before he found himself doing something as inadvisable as licking it off his skin.
“A distraction?”
“Yes, as it were, your, um. Your body, sir.” Hux couldn’t bring himself to say it, and settled for “It would be good for the morale of this ship if you’d adhere to the proper dressing code, sir. The younger officers in particular are impressionable and maintaining a proper atmosphere of, of discipline and military conduct are vital to the success of our campaigns. And, in the long run, the very survival of the Order and our attempts to purge the Galaxy of -”
“I see. And what if I don’t want to?” Ren rumbled, releasing his hands to hang at his sides and gearing up for a loom. Hux swallowed but refused to back down.
“I would strongly recommend -”
“No,” Ren said with a finality in his tone. “You yourself told me that I’m no part of the military, that I do not belong in the First Order, so there really is no reason for me to play by your silly rules. Also, I am the Supreme Leader, so I can do whatever I want.”
“Sir,” Hux gritted out. One day he’d take his blade and slit that insufferable oaf’s throat. When he least expected it. Then Hux would rule and everything would be just as perfect as he had designed.
Ren scowled at him, then turned to walk back towards the mat. “Oh,” he said airily once he reached his sword. “Did I drop this?”
****
After three days of harnessing his intelligence and the might of the First Order’s surveillance equipment to avoid Ren and his horrible body, Hux was sat in his customary chair by the long conference table in the Finalizer’s war room. Ren was scheduled to attend the meeting, but since he was notorious in skipping everything not directly related to him or what he found boring, Hux felt fairly confident he’d be a no-show today, too. He went over his notes and skimmed through his presentation, sipping occasionally from his full glass of water. The other officers began to file in, and Hux nodded his greetings as they took their places. Ren’s chair remained empty. Good.
Hux was just about to start the meeting, when the door swooshed open and with a dramatic swirl of black fabric and darkening atmosphere, in strode Ren. In the space of five seconds Hux went from panic to relief to a whole new, hitherto undiscovered level of horror, because while Ren wasn’t shirtless – the cause for Hux's initial panic – he wasn’t wearing his bulky tunic and ratty cowl either.
Yes, he was covered from nearly head to toe in black, voluminous robe with a high collar and tight sleeves so long they came down to his knuckles, but the material of the garment was so fine and thin Ren might just as well skulk around completely naked.
The shiny, flimsy fabric clung to the contours and planes of his torso, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and the length of his arms. The robe was cinched around his waist with a wide sash, tied to an elaborate knot by his left hip bone, the long ends of the belt stretching down to his ankles. Ren had cut an intimidating figure in his battle gear and helmet, and while this robe was luxurious and impractical, the effect was nevertheless exactly the same.
Ren was regal and ethereal and enchanting, his movements fluid and controlled and steady. He was the Dark Force embodied, tempting but destructive, and getting trapped in his orbit would mean either high rewards or inevitable destruction and right now Hux couldn’t think which way he was heading, only that he would welcome either outcome if only he was allowed to remain here for another moment.
The legs of Hux's chair made an awful noise scraping across the floor when he jumped up to his feet to salute the Supreme Leader, but the noise was thankfully drowned under the clatter of the rest of the attendees following his example. Ren sat down next to Hux, graceful and dignified, and nodded to the assembled officers. He ran one massive hand through his – shiny, brushed, thick, lustrous, Hux couldn’t help but notice – hair and gestured for everyone to settle down. Their backsides were already touching their chairs when Hux's brain shifted into gear and commanded his knees to buckle. For one, horrible moment he felt the backs of his thighs hit his chair and push it away from under him. He tried to stop his descent but had already gone past the point of balance. His mind slowed down, playing a rerun of the present and a prediction of the immediate future on a never-ending loop. Just as he expected to tumble to the ground, his rapid descent was interrupted by something firm and unyielding surrounding his body and suspending him in thin air while his chair inched back in its proper place. The feeling evaporated slowly and vanished completely when Hux was firmly seated and in an upright position. He glanced over to Ren, who appeared not to pay any attention to him, but whose open palm was pointed in his direction under the table.
Hux reached for his water, but his hand was shaking so he pulled it quickly onto his lap. A heavy scent wafted into his nostrils, something musky and smoky and expensive – it had to be the perfume Ren was wearing, he realized. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, he willed his hand to remain steady enough to grab the glass and bring it to his lips. He gulped the contents down and felt minutely better. He took a steadying breath and collected his thoughts, realized everyone was staring at him and remembered he was supposed to start the meeting.
It was a disaster. A complete and utter waste of everyone’s time. Hux kept losing his train of thoughts, managed to switch off his datapad twice, show a short clip of Millicent pouncing on a mouse droid, and generally make a fool of himself. Ren kept casting strange looks at him, but thankfully remained professional, ignoring all of Hux’s antics and only commenting on the issues at hand. The other officers seemed to follow his lead, although Hux was certain he’d be the butt of many jokes in the officer’s mess that night. He gritted his teeth and decided there was nothing he could do about it. He’d endured much worse scorn in his life, getting caught in something this petty and small would serve him no good.
One thing had to change, however.
Hux wrapped the meeting up sooner than scheduled, and as the room was emptying, murmured, “A word, Supreme Leader?” to Ren before he could escape.
Ren raised his eyebrows but settled back down on his seat. Hux waited until the door had closed behind the last dawdling colonel and then opened his mouth. Closed it again, shifted in his seat, made another botched attempt at speaking and stood up, circling the large table to distance him from Ren and his enticing wiles.
“Why are you doing this?” he demanded, putting his hands on the high backrest of the chair in front of him, and gripping it hard enough to make the leather of his gloves creak. “Why do you insist on behaving like a -” Hux struggled for a word, “like a spoiled child?”
“I beg your pardon?” Ren splayed his large hands on the table and leaned forward, a frown creasing his brow.
“I mean – why are you so intent on tormenting me? Sir.” Hux added hastily as Ren rose from his chair and began to circle the table to get to him. “If you want to punish me for what I said, congratulations, you’ve succeeded in making me the laughingstock of this entire ship.”
Ren stopped mid-stride, one hand on the backrest of a chair. The Finalizer was on an orbit of a friendly planet, to restock her supplies, and they were slowly gliding over to its dayside. A long, golden beam of sunlight appeared from the viewport, limning Ren in fiery halo. He took a step forward, eclipsing the sun with his impenetrable shadow and crossed over to Hux in three long strides.
“What I choose to wear has nothing to do with you,” he intoned deeply. “Well, maybe a little. But I am the Supreme Leader, and I present myself as I wish.”
His perfume engulfed Hux, the bulk of his body blocked out everything in his field of vision, his power distorted the very air around him like a heat haze over a landspeeder engine, and Hux felt he was simultaneously drowning and floating, his only tether to reality the chair he was still clinging to. He had a sudden, overpowering urge to trace the line of Ren’s lips with his thumb, to slide his hands over Ren’s chest and shoulders, hook them behind his neck and pull him closer -
Hux jolted himself out of this strange trance and took half a step back. “What are you doing to me?” he whispered, trying to quench the wave of panic building up inside him. Ren backed away also, his eyes wide and lips parted, a pink flush rising over his cheeks. He swallowed, and Hux could not turn his gaze away from the bob of his throat.
“I- “ Ren began. Started again. “You said I wasn’t a part of the First Order. But I want to be. And I want you to want me to be.” He ducked quickly, before Hux could react in any way, and touched his lips on Hux’s cheek briefly, a feather-light, dry peck of a kiss, but which remained burning on Hux’s skin long after Ren had departed in a swirl of billowing robes.
****
Hux hated these events. Yes, establishing a rota of yearly celebrations was his idea, and a good one too, both to erase some old Imperial holidays no one cared about anymore, and to solidify unity and camaraderie within the rank and file of the rising Order but they were still tedious, dull affairs filled with forced small talk and overly long speeches.
Although the Finalizer scrubbed up well, he had to admit. One of the seldom-used hangar bays had been turned into a facsimile of a ballroom and Hux was satisfied with the results. He had touched a bulkhead when he first arrived at the scene, overcome with some silly sentimental urge to soothe his precious ship, to reassure her that this was only a temporary indignity and that he was proud of her. He sipped from his glass of sparkly wine, imported from one of the first Core worlds that had joined the long list of systems now under the Order’s control. He nodded at the dignitaries from nearby systems milling about in their finery, returned the salutes of his subordinates and tried to maintain the attempt at a smile he had carefully plastered on his face. It was only a matter of time before some self-important diplomat would slither in his vicinity and start buttering him up for a favor.
Ren had not made an appearance yet. Hux was both grateful and annoyed at him for this. He had not seen or heard from Ren since the odd incident in the conference room a week ago and had lacked the courage to march up and confront him which only made him even more frustrated at the situation and at himself. He eyed the room, made a quick calculation and a risk assessment and avoided three approaching enem- visiting diplomats with one masterful evasive maneuver.
The orchestra someone had managed to rustle up stopped playing abruptly, and silence fell as the hangar doors opened and with purposeful gait and intense glare, in marched Ren, his entourage trailing behind him. Hux very nearly snapped the stem of his champagne flute in half in shock.
Ren was magnificent.
He was wearing a uniform. A full, perfect, bespoke First Order uniform. The cut of the jacket flattered his long lines and wide shoulders, the jodhpurs he was wearing did not hide the strength of his legs, his boots were polished to utter perfection. Crimson rank stripes stood out from the solid black of his sleeve, as did the three precious metal clasps over his left shoulder. His hair was carefully arranged to frame his face in dark locks and he had once again lined his eyes with some dark substance. Hux drank in all the details of his appearance as if he’d be tested on them later. Hux swallowed and shivered, something deep in his belly coiling tight and pulsing hot. He took an involuntary step forwards but made himself stop, standing there with one foot hovering in air for a beat. Ren must have nodded or said something because the music and the chatter picked up again but Hux could not relax from his tension.
Ren had stopped still and was scanning the crowd, his face breaking into a huge, genuine smile when he spotted Hux. He started to move again, unstoppable, striding towards Hux, brushing aside several dignitaries and a servant carrying a full tray of drinks.
“General,” he greeted from afar, his voice booming across the vast hall. He extended a hand and Hux found his own arm rising to meet it. “I fancy a dance. Join me.”
