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The feeling of anguish, unmoored and without explanation, hit Armitage Hux through layers of sleep. One moment he was gratefully accepting the First Order's highest commendation for exceptional service from the Supreme Leader and the next he was on all fours, likely nude, and overwhelmed with tremendous pain. And despite his incredible suffering, despite the incredible whole body agony, he was was somehow improbably aroused. A wracking shudder shook his slight frame and Hux moaned.
This was a dream. He was dreaming.
Or, more aptly, he had been seized by a night terror, and one not his own. Even in dreams, Hux was not so depraved that he associated pain and pleasure so intimately. And there was only one person aboard his ship who had the ability to infiltrate dreams and bend a sleeper’s conscious to his will.
Anger forced Hux from the clutches of slumber, and he shot up, the covers pooling at his waist. His chest was heaving, and sweat slid coolly down his back. His pillow, Hux realized, was soaked through. Repulsive. He was not a restive sleeper. More often than not he awoke exactly where he had placed himself before sleep overtook him, and perhaps that was indicative of how short his periods of slumber were, but—regardless. Hux shivered. The cold, recycled air in his room, and his wet sleep shirt offered him no comfort. He would have to strip the sheets and change if he wished another attempt.
Damnation.
Hux checked the chronometer at his bedside and found it to be nearly time to rise. That suited him fine; the hospitality droid could see to his soiled linens in his absence. Not for the first time, Hux felt a peculiar kind of pity for the unit assigned to Kylo Ren’s quarters. His rooms were undoubtedly filthy. That poor droid must have been in constant need of service, if it were allowed to do its job at all.
Sighing, Hux dragged a hand through his damp hair. Another day would soon be upon him. He had ample time to shower and prepare before he was due on the command bridge to face it.
Lord Ren was still convalescing after the injuries he’d sustained on Starkiller. That was the real explanation for his assault on Hux’s dreams. When he was able to harass Hux in person he had no need to go slinking around while Hux slept, dragging his fingers over the surface of Hux’s unconscious mind like an overly curious child poking at a snake with a stick. At least, this was the conclusion Hux came to as he attempted to go about his day and not think of Kylo Ren at all.
There was much to be done in the aftermath of his enormous setback, and he had not seen the man since Ren’s release from medbay. Hux knew he was still in grave condition, possibly crippled. Ren had foregone bacta tank healing in a rare moment of consideration for those around him, something he'd expressed brokenly to Hux before he was knocked out and seen to.
“No—no tank,” he'd slurred. “Might not be able to control. I don't know—”
“Hush. Hush now,” Hux said, resisting the urge to touch Ren’s furrowed, wet brow.
“Hux,” Ren said, with that desperate edge to his voice that Hux had heard so much of recently. He gripped at the front of Hux’s uniform.
“Let go, you child,” Hux said, and plucked Ren’s bloodied fingers from the ruined fabric.
“Hux,” Ren repeated, his overly expressive brown eyes pleading, maybe for Hux to end him altogether. Hux would not give him the satisfaction of a mercy killing, and he passed out shortly thereafter anyway, sparing Hux any more of his wrenching need. That seemed to be the main emotion pouring off of Ren that day. And now, even half a ship apart and possibly incapacitated for life, Ren still wouldn’t leave him alone. That was his luck: he would have Kylo Ren slung ‘round his neck like a bad omen for as long as he lived, or so it seemed.
The needful feeling that accompanied Kylo Ren’s presence dissipated as the day went on, only to return that night with a wild vengeance, slipping into Hux’s mind like some smoky, formless thing, hellbent on entry and dying to be heard and known, as though Ren simply couldn't keep himself to himself in his weakened state. And maybe he couldn't—Hux wouldn't exactly be shocked. Kylo Ren had so much presence it seemed impossible that all of him could fit inside one man, that he should suffer the same limitations that all living things did, confined to one consciousness however flawed and overflowing it might be. Hux had dreamed far too few of his own dreams lately, and it was apparent that Ren clearly needed an outlet while bedridden, unable to train or violently chase away his demons as he normally would.
That night, Hux found himself plunged into an unfamiliar dreamscape and face to face with the scavenger girl he'd caught a glimpse of before the the world split and he dragged Kylo Ren away from the melting core of his life’s work. In this vision, Ren’s vision, she may as well have been a different person entirely. Her hair was done up in an elaborate headdress, and she wore the ornate, ceremonial robes and gold jewels of one of Naboo’s young, elected queens. Her fierce, small face was painted in the traditional white, and her pert little mouth had the red stripe and accent. She was beautiful and powerful, and the air around her crackled with rage, and with the Force. Hux felt a sudden, all-consuming need to kneel, to prostrate himself, and again—he was overcome by the same depraved arousal. He could murder Kylo Ren for putting him here, for forcing this on him.
“What do you have to say for yourself, creature?” demanded the scavenger queen—
And Hux woke with a start before he could embarrass himself and begin to grovel. Enough was enough. Ren was clearly seeking him. Hux would go to him, and end this. He dressed with care and marched himself to Ren’s quarters.
Hux used the override code to enter without giving a damn what awaited him on the other side. Ren had effectively summoned him; he would bear the consequences if it afforded him a night without Ren’s forceforesaken dreams. The smell hit Hux first—the stale, antiseptic sickroom scent of the languishing infirm, like the hospice where his father was spending the twilight of his life. Hux’s nostrils flared in distaste and he suppressed a gag.
A reedy voice, hardly recognizable as Ren’s, called out to him. “Is that you, Hux? In here.”
Hux tugged down his uniform sleeves and drew himself up to his full height. Their rooms were mirrors of eagh other so he knew that “in here” meant the berth—actually a rather large sleep chamber. Hux felt momentarily chagrined that he and Ren had the same relatively luxurious personal quarters. Surely Ren would be more suited to a barn of some kind. The brig, even.
“Hux?” said Ren a second time, uncertain.
Hux rolled his eyes and went to find the source of that pitiful, annoying voice.
The smell of antiseptic and healing flesh only worsened when he made his way into the darkened room where Ren lay prone, one arm thick with bandages and held aloft, immobile. His other hand was bound up and curled against his chest like a pale, dead bird. The sheets had been kicked down in agitation, and the arousal Hux had sensed from Ren in sleep was visible and sore looking, the red tip of Ren’s dick poking out from the top of his sleep pants like some alien thing.
“Hux,” said Ren, his voice much less pathetic. The charlatan. He eyed his own erection warily, as though drawing Hux’s attention to it.
“Yes, Lord Ren, I see. Is this why you've been interrupting my much needed rest?”
“It's not—”
“No, no, it's painfully obvious that you've been laid up here staring at your own hard dick like a befuddled adolescent boy. How tragic.”
“I can't—” Ren jiggled his prone arm.
“You can't,” Hux repeated, mocking. “How terrible.” He shook his head.
“I'm sorry,” Ren gritted out, the new scar across his odd features straining with the effort, “that I'm not an officer-shaped droid devoid of need or feeling.”
Hux’s temper flared. That was what Ren wanted. “I assure you, Lord Ren, that I am quite capable of feeling.”
Ren jutted out his thick lower lip. “Prove it,” he said, tilting his hips up in a way that he must have thought was alluring. It was, unfortunately. Hux was only human—he knew how finely made Ren was, despite his unsavory demeanor. And Hux had a weakness—an appreciation—for fine things. He had also been told—no, ordered—in no uncertain terms, that he was to help Ren undergo his recovery so that he might once again be useful to their cause. With that in mind, he seated himself on the edge of Ren’s filthy looking bed and licked his lips.
“Give me your mouth,” said Ren. He smirked.
“Certainly not.”
Without removing his gloves, Hux tugged down Ren’s pants with one perfunctory motion, and wrapped his hand around what was in fact a massive, impressively girthy dick.
“You couldn't handle it," Ren teased, as he relaxed into Hux’s touch. “You'd choke.”
“You're not that big.”
“Biggest you've seen.”
“You're a disgusting boy,” Hux said, even as his hand did its level best to wring an orgasm out of Kylo Ren. “Did you know that? Disgusting. A degenerate pervert with a big, useless dick.”
Ren choked back a sob and shivered.
“Well?” said Hux.
“Yes, yes I am.”
“You're what?”
“Disgusting. Unfit—”
“And a monster,” Hux added for good measure. “Putting that soiled, feral, little desert girl in your grandmother’s finery. Getting off to it.”
Ren sobbed again, his eyes squeezing shut. His dick jumped in Hux’s fist.
“I'm sorry,” he wobbled, hips canting upward, desperate all the way from his hairline down to his oafishly large feet, the toes of which were curling. “I'm sorry.”
“I don't think you are,” Hux said. He twisted his wrist expertly and Ren moaned. “I think you'll take your release and go right on being your wretched self.”
“Please, Hux,” Ren said. Please— he said, directly into Hux’s mind.
Hux pulled his hand away.
“Out. None of that. You've done quite enough of that already.”
Kylo Ren opened his eyes and glared at him, his mouth a sullen, mulish pout. Even so far gone he still had the wherewithal to maintain his horrible personality. Even brought low, begging Hux to let him take his pleasure, Kylo Ren was unmitigatingly Kylo Ren, and Hux found something—fortifying in that, in that ugly seed of normalcy amidst so much that was yet unknown. Even as his gloved hand was wet with Ren’s precome, there seemed a possibility that they could come back from this, both from this indiscretion and the massive, world-shattering failure that had brought them here.
“Don't stop, you miserable sadist,” Ren said.
Hux sighed and Ren followed suit, hips stuttering off the bed and following Hux’s hand like his touch was the only keeping him from suffocating on his own want. The complete lack of self-control on display was intoxicating, but Hux’s own erection remained a forgotten, shameful thing in his trousers, heavy against his thigh and likely to be ignored well past this…session. He did not relish knowing that touching Ren in this way had an effect on him. Using his other hand to tug lightly at Ren’s balls, he realized that he preferred to think of himself as some kind of perverse nursemaid, immune to the eroticism of the task at hand, and certainly immune to the sight of Ren, sweaty and undone, his mouth open and wet and surely amenable to the addition of a dick in it.
“Make me come and I'll do it,” Ren said
“No mindreading.”
“You’re practically—drooling—at the thought of my mouth. Come on, finish this and take—what you want.” He grunted and Hux’s hand sped up of its accord.
Ren licked his lips obscenely and tilted his head back, exposing his pale, unprotected throat. Hux could picture the bruises he’d leave behind. With Ren’s bandaged, prone shoulder caught up in a sling, and the cast on his hand, he had a sinful, false helplessness to him. Even the raw-looking scar down the center of his uneven face was a sluttish new pink, like the hidden parts of the human form. Hux wouldn’t mind rubbing his dick on it before taking Ren’s mouth.
“Do it,” Ren hissed, clearly privy to Hux’s thoughts like the insidious brat he’d proven himself to be time and time again. He loosed a long, low groan from somewhere in his midsection and emptied himself over Hux’s fist, his big ungainly dick shooting ropes of milky-white come up over his stomach while Hux looked on in disgusted satisfaction, jerking Ren through it to the point of discomfort, until Ren told him repeatedly to leave off, his voice a broken, sorry thing.
Finally, pleased with his work, Hux tucked Ren’s spent dick away, wiped his hand on Ren’s sleep pants and stood. Ren regarded him with heavy-lidded eyes that were all pupil in the dim, his overall facial expression more relaxed and smug than Hux had seen him in a long time.
“Well?” said Ren, a tendril of the Force licking up Hux’s neck like a tongue. He raised one of his demon-wing eyebrows.
He could do it. He could unsheath himself and fuck Ren’s mouth until his wound had come unknitted and he was crying, begging for another go, begging for Hux’s come on his face, or in his ass, because Hux could tell—Kylo Ren was exactly the kind of needy slut whose refractory time was too short, and who had likely discovered sex late in life due to being largely impossible to be around.
Instead, Hux adjusted his glove and dragged two of his fingers through the come pooled across Ren’s abs, then he brought them to Ren’s lips.
“Here,” he said, “as though I’d debase myself completely with your filthy mouth.”
Ren sucked at his fingers lewdly, attempting to show Hux exactly what he was missing out on.
You’ll think of me, Ren said, voice in his head. You’ll be back.
“Perhaps,” Hux allowed, reclaiming his fingers and wiping those off on Ren as well. “But you’ve been indulged enough for one night, I think. Go to sleep.”
“Can’t.” Ren was petulant.
“Sleep, damn you, lest you run what remains of this regime into the ground by proxy.”
Ren looked stung. He frowned. “Fine.”
“Good.” Hux huffed a long breath. His erection had taken renewed interest in a quelled Ren and his agile tongue; it seemed he was just as hopeless, and he suspected Ren could tell. Ren could always tell.
“Til next time, General,” Ren singsonged at his retreating back, infuriatingly well-sated.
He did not give Ren the pleasure of a reply. Ren already knew he’d return.