Chapter Text
"Excuse me? Lieutenant Mitaka is a what?"
Phasma cocked her blonde head at General Hux and gave him a slow, amused smile. "You didn't already know? I thought you knew everything that happened on board this ship."
They were sitting apart from everyone else in one of the lounges set aside for the exclusive use of officers on board the Finalizer — Hux's ship. Gaining this commission, taking charge of the Finalizer and hand-picking his own bridge crew, had been one of the highlights of Hux's life so far — a life that had included precious few highlights, truth be told.
Perhaps that was why he felt himself becoming so outraged at what Phasma had just told him.
Unless his ears had betrayed him just now — and, from Phasma's knowing grin, they had not — she had just informed him that his aide Mitaka also moonlighted as something called a 'Dominant' over other crew members on board.
Hux could feel that he was turning bright pink, which he hated. He could never control his wayward capillaries, much as he wished he could. Perhaps he should start wearing a thick coat of pancake makeup at all times, to ensure his skin could never give him away.
It would also help hide the bruises that Snoke kept leaving on him, so that would be an additional benefit.
Phasma had apparently decided to take pity on him and was answering his question seriously, so Hux struggled to fit her words into his previous understanding of how his ship worked.
"People here want to blow off some steam after hours. There aren't a lot of vices on board — your austerity program sees to that — so people engage in, uh. Harder pursuits. Like power exchange. Pain play. Dominance, submission. You know — kinks. You have heard of kinks, Armitage?"
"Certainly," Hux huffed. He had no idea why people would invite more pain into their lives. Did the First Order not already provide enough of that sort of experience? But, for whatever reason, he knew and accepted that some people had these 'kinks.'
He had just never had cause to think about it before — not in a personal way, at least.
Phasma went on. "Then you may already know that I'm one of the Finalizer's most experienced and sought-after Doms. No, no — don't congratulate me."
"I wasn't about to," Hux muttered, unwilling to let that idea stand for even a moment. He swirled his drink in its glass and took a rebellious sip, focusing on the burn as it slid down his throat.
"Ouch," Phasma said, feigning hurt. "I suppose I'll just have to soothe my ego with the cries and adoration of my squadrons of submissives."
Hux took another sip. He found that his revulsion was warring with his curiosity, and the curiosity was winning.
"What do you — do with them?"
"Oh — most of 'em want me to trash them. You know — flogging, predicaments, humiliation, maybe the bullwhip. They want to leave my quarters reeling and bruised. I don't fracture any bones — at least, not beyond what bacta can heal. They need to be in fighting trim the next morning, after all."
"Why?"
"Why what?" Phasma's grin was knowing. She wanted him to state his question out loud, in words, before she would deign to answer it.
"Why do they want you to —do those things to them?"
Hux had been whipped. It was not an experience he would willingly reenact.
"Well, it's not all pain. You know how pain enhances pleasure? Takes you to an altered state? That's what my subs want — the endorphins."
Hux could feel that his face was stretched into a look of extreme incredulity. 'For the endorphins' seemed like a vanishingly thin justification for anyone to put themselves at the mercy of Captain Phasma.
"This has been going on for some time?" he snapped.
Phasma took a swig of her own drink, looking self-satisfied. "For longer than you've been a General, General."
Hux frowned down into his own drink. Could such an underground network of illicit activities really be occurring on board his very ship, with him none the wiser? And this had apparently been going on for quite some time? The entire thing seemed wildly unlikely.
Then again, Phasma was not known for her flights of fancy. He had seldom known her to say anything but the full, honest truth. She was two meters of solid, muscular soldier — admired or hated by many. Perhaps some of that — erotic potential — could manifest into her becoming the 'Dominant' in these hush-hush, after-hours 'kinks.'
But Mitaka?
Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka was Hux's loyal, right-hand aide. A shorter, younger man with soft brown hair and melting brown eyes, he had a snub little nose, a firm little chin, and a pair of hands that were always busy doing something useful on the deck of the ship. He was attentive without being cloying, foresighted without being irksome, and he always knew just when Hux needed a stim pill, a cup of caf, or an emergency food ration. More than once, he had been known to hand Hux a datapad with a small tube of bacta discreetly tucked inside the case, for him to use after one of his 'special debriefs' with the Supreme Leader, the Force-using entity known only as Snoke.
Mitaka was helpful, polite, assiduous. He was inoffensive. Hux could not imagine him 'trashing' anyone, or leaving them 'reeling and bruised,' in Phasma's evocative phrasing.
"And — Lieutenant Mitaka, too?" Hux finally asked. "He is also — involved in these after-hours activities?"
"Involved?" Phasma cried with a crack of laughter. "Like I said, he's the single most sought-after Dom on this entire ship. The list of people who have subbed for him is longer than your arm. And you have long arms."
"He is sought after — more than you?" Hux asked. His lips felt strange; upon giving himself a quick once-over mentally, Hux realized that parts of him were tingling — no doubt with shock. His fingers, lips, and parts of his cheekbones seemed to be the main casualties.
It was just the thought of Mitaka, standing over someone wielding a bullwhip, sneering down at them and grinding them into the durasteel floor with one of his shiny black boots — the thought was just so strange. No wonder he felt somewhat upended.
The image was analogous to imagining a cute, fluffy Porg wielding a bloody machete.
"Way more than me," Phasma assured him. "Not a lot of 'troopers can handle what I dish out. And I let them know that, too — soft, feckless weaklings that they are." Here, her voice turned almost affectionate, as though she relished the evidence that her 'submissives' needed her chastising, firm guidance.
"But there's something in it for them," she continued. "If they can take what I dish out without too much crying, then sometimes I let them hump my leg, or my helmet. Why, just the other day —"
"I do not wish to know the more personal details," Hux said, raising one hand. He was pleased to note that it was not trembling in the slightest, despite the shock of imagining various naked stormtroopers humping Phasma's armor-clad leg, or — more shockingly — her brightly polished chromium helmet.
He suddenly wondered if Mitaka let his so-called 'subs' hump his leg. The thought was disturbing.
"Well, anyway, I'm good, but Mitaka is better. I make 'em cry, but Mitaka makes them weep. Real tears, too," Phasma said. Her voice held the admiration of an artist for an even greater artist — for a master at his craft.
Hux cleared his throat. "And these activities do not pose any physical or mental harm to my crew? Otherwise, no doubt you would have informed me far earlier."
"Like I said — I may ding them up a little, but it's nothing bacta won't fix."
Hux paused.
"I cannot evaluate whether these activities should fall under the austerity program," he began.
"Armitage! I'm telling you — it's fine!" Phasma objected hotly.
Hux raised his hand again. "I cannot evaluate them — if I have never observed them myself."
Phasma's face changed from outrage to a type of sly cockiness that Hux knew well. "As it should be, General Hux. I can send you some of my own personal footage."
Hux gave a terse nod. He tossed off his drink and stood.
"Send the file locations to my datapad," he instructed his Captain. "I will review them in my quarters."
"Yes, sir," Phasma said with another one of her slow smiles. It reminded Hux of nothing so much as a shark-boar.
He still could not reconcile Dopheld Mitaka's entire existence with this kind of clandestine activity.
Still, Hux prided himself on knowing everything of import that occurred on board his ship. Now that Phasma had 'clued him in,' as it were, he must obviously acquaint himself with what his crew members were up to after hours, so that he could decide whether to continue to allow it.
The drink he'd just downed must have been responsible for the strange, fizzy feeling in his blood that he felt all the way back to his quarters.
The 'scenes' that Phasma had sent to his datapad were distressing. Hux was well versed in methods of giving and receiving pain. Such activities were not new to him.
What was new: How everyone involved was clearly eroticizing the exchange. Phasma reveled in her role as the large, strong, mean 'Dom,' humiliating and striking her 'submissives,' causing them pain, making them wail in agony. Clearly, she loved her work.
Just as clearly, the 'submissives' that Hux watched in the footage were enjoying themselves. Phasma gave them every opportunity to stop the 'scenes' and leave, but they insisted on staying. Some of them groveled at her feet quite heart-rendingly.
Hux fast-forwarded through scenes of subs tied up and taking pain; subs crying and begging her for mercy; subs wailing as they were finally allowed to come, only to have Phasma mock them for it and turn them out into the hall, dazed and stumbling and lightly scuffed up.
She had spoken the truth. She never hurt them — well, there was that one man, but he had moved his hand the wrong way at the wrong time; that had clearly been an accident. Hux pulled up his medical records and verified that the fracture had healed cleanly.
He frowned at his screen. It was deep into Gamma Shift, and he should be asleep, but instead, he had spent several hours reviewing these odd Dominance and submission activities.
When it came right down to it, he supposed it wasn't doing any harm. If nothing else, having stormtroopers who were more loyal to Captain Phasma than they had been before could only be a benefit to First Order troop cohesion.
He was surprised to see that some non-stormtroopers had also availed themselves of her services — Chief Petty Officer Unamo, Petty Officer Thanisson, and even Colonel Kaplan. Presumably there were more. Perhaps many more.
Hux closed his eyes and sighed. All of this staring at men and women groveling in front of Phasma had given him a headache.
He did not want to think about what the equivalent scenes with Lieutenant Mitaka were like. And he especially did not want to think about how many more 'subs' Mitaka had 'dominated.' None of that was his concern.
Hux closed his datapad and prepared to sleep. Now that he understood the matter more thoroughly, he would put it out of his mind. He was prepared to excuse unconventional activities performed by consenting First Order members, as long as they were after hours, did not bring about serious injury or loss of supplies, and did not undermine morale.
From what he could tell, none of the above disadvantages applied. Therefore, he must be prepared to countenance these 'scenes,' now that he knew they were occurring. Still, although he would not forbid them, he devoutly hoped that Phasma would not mention them again.
Hux got into bed and attempted to make himself comfortable. But perhaps because he was so tired, he found it impossible to sleep.
What does Mitaka do to his subs, I wonder?
He couldn't stop thinking about it. Mitaka and Phasma were very different people. Could Mitaka really do all those same things — those painful-looking, humiliating things?
Did people want him to? Did he enjoy it?
Perhaps, behind that soft, sweet exterior, Mitaka was a depraved, sadistic freak — someone who enjoyed delivering pain and torment. Someone who got off on it.
The thought was far more disturbing than it should be.
But thinking about it wouldn't do any good. He had just decided that these 'activities' were not harmful; so therefore, whether it was Captain Phasma who performed them, or someone else, was no concern to him.
When he did manage to drift off to sleep, it was with strange, confusing visions of Dopheld Mitaka wearing shiny chromium armor, pointing to the floor and telling him to kneel.
The next day on the bridge was awkward. Hux could not stop thinking about Lieutenant Mitaka — his Lieutenant Mitaka — standing over faceless stormtroopers, wielding weapons at them and menacing them in his soft, sweet voice. The visions were so incongruous as to be uncanny.
What did he do to his 'subs'? Did he make them beg? Crawl? Grovel?
Phasma had said he did not make them cry — he made them weep. What was the distinction? How did the inoffensive-seeming Lieutenant achieve this feat?
Hux wanted to know, but simultaneously he did not want to know. He wanted to put the whole realm of knowledge out of his mind permanently and focus on the work. There was certainly enough of that to go around.
He's quite good at his job, Hux thought, observing the decisive yet polite way Mitaka gave direction to the staff under his supervision. He would be conscientious about whatever he did, surely.
He would not have fractured that man's hand.
Hux passed the entirety of Alpha Shift trying so hard not to think about it that it was all he could think about.
Frustrated with himself, Hux strode off to his quarters after his shift, determined to distract himself. A brisk session of exercise in the officers' gymnasium did not help. Nor did several hours spent deep in the First Order's ledgers — a pastime that he always found soothing.
Finally, Hux gave in to temptation. He picked up his datapad and sent a communiqué to Lieutenant Mitaka, summoning him to a private meeting the following day, after their shift on the bridge was complete.
He would talk this through in person. He would ask any questions he felt needed to be asked, as the commanding officer of the Finalizer, to ensure his crew's health and safety.
And then, one way or the other, he would be able to put the entire circumstance out of his mind.
The following day passed in a haze for Hux. He knew he was still performing his role as General with his customary efficiency, but a large part of his mental processing power was currently dedicated to anticipating every twist and turn of the upcoming conversation about Mitaka's after-hours 'scenes.'
But what could he learn from a simple conversation? Of course anyone, including Mitaka, would assure their commanding officer that everything was fine. How could Hux determine for certain that it was?
He should ask for footage similar to the files Phasma had sent. Hux had absolutely no interest in participating in one of those painful scenes he'd seen Phasma perform. He had experienced enough pain and torment for one lifetime by the time he was ten; he had no need to create opportunities for more.
But, if that was what these 'scenes' entailed, he ventured to guess that he would be superlative at bearing one.
He had to admit that he was intensely curious about this other side of his timid-seeming Lieutenant. He had only seen Mitaka snap at someone once, and it was when an instrument tech on the bridge had made a completely elementary mistake that had been about to draw Hux's own attention and anger. Mitaka had turned to the offending tech and, never raising his voice, had eviscerated him so thoroughly that he had fled the bridge without a word, his shoulders shaking.
So he does have an edge, Hux thought, dragging his eyes away from Mitaka's neat, orderly shoulders. His eyes immediately snagged on Mitaka's hat, and how it sat over his soft-looking brown hair.
Does he keep the hat on?
It was just as difficult to imagine that he kept it on as to imagine that he took it off. Quite frankly, Hux could not imagine it either way.
He scoffed at himself; he was being ridiculous. Soon, Alpha Shift would be over and he could have a simple conversation and lay these pointless thoughts to rest permanently.
"Sir," Mitaka said, entering his office and saluting.
"At ease, Lieutenant." Hux regarded him from behind his desk. He had wondered, dozens of times, how to open this rather odd conversation. Finally he had decided to just come right out with it.
He cleared his throat. "It has come to my attention that you are one of the most sought-after Dominants on board this ship."
Mitaka's eyes went wide.
"I have looked into the practices that I understand you are... performing... with your crewmates," Hux continued. "I must admit, I have concerns."
Mitaka was watching him closely. "What kinds of concerns, sir?"
"Well..." Hux sat back, trying not to appear petulant, and waved one hand. "The beatings, the floggings — the tears. People really want to engage in these activities? For fun?"
"Many people find release that way, yes. Taking control over the pain in a safe, controlled environment can help people build up the metal fortitude to deal with the pain of real life."
"Hmmm." Hux had not previously considered that, and to be honest, it seemed unlikely to be true. But this was Mitaka, who would not lie to him.
He stood up and came out from behind his desk, stopping a few feet from the Lieutenant.
"Phasma injured several stormtroopers in situations such as these," he pointed out. "She fractured one man's hand."
"Yes, sir — I know of that incident. It may not convince you, sir, but I have never injured anyone. I regard the safety of my subs, in-scene, as my highest priority."
"But you derive pleasure from these 'scenes' yourself?" Hux asked, frowning. "You are hardly unbiased."
Mitaka drew himself up to his full height, giving an impression something like three outraged Porgs stacked atop one another and stuffed into a First Order uniform.
"Sir, would you risk the lives of all on board this ship for a momentary flash of pleasure? No. You are far too dedicated, too professional for that. I have that same fervor, the same commitment to the sanctity of my role as a Dominant partner. My subs trust me. The work I do creates safe environments for them to foster their own personal growth. I take that extremely seriously."
Hux stared at him. From the certainty of his words, he certainly seemed to be telling the truth. But the words seemed strange. Trust? Safe? Growth?
None of that was similar to what Phasma had been doing in those videos.
Should he ask for footage so he could compare? Yes, that would be for the best.
But Mitaka seized the initiative, speaking first, before he could gather up a sentence and string it together.
"If you would like, sir... you could ensure that I'm telling the truth." He swallowed. "By experiencing a scene yourself."
Hux stopped, arrested by the thought. True, he had already decided that what Phasma had to offer would be dreadful. But would it be similarly horrid from the hand of his efficient, thoughtful Lieutenant?
Then he could see Mitaka's other side first-hand. If Hux had any inclination to engage in these activities — which honestly, he was almost certain he did not, but life had a strange way of surprising him — then there was probably no better person to deliver the experiences than someone he already knew.
Perhaps it would be worth doing, so he could evaluate whether Mitaka was posing a hazard to the 'subs' he 'dominated' on a regular basis — a list of subs longer than Hux's arm, he remembered Phasma saying.
The thought made him feel somewhat sour.
"That is — only if you're interested, of course, sir. I do not mean to imply any offense."
Mitaka was looking somewhat miserable. A pink flush had risen to his face, and Hux could tell he was distressed. He was probably agonizing about overstepping with a superior officer.
Well, Hux would set that to rest. He still did not particularly want to engage in one of these painful 'scenes,' but he could bear it once, learn some valuable information, and then decide to either put a stop to these activities on board the Finalizer, or allow them with a clear conscience.
Hux gave a brisk nod. "Fine."
Mitaka gaped up at him. "Fine?" he said, almost in a squeak.
"Yes. Fine. I accept, or — concur, or whatever is commonly done."
Mitaka blinked rapidly. "You won't regret it, sir."
Unfortunately, Hux already did. But now that he had given his assent, he could hardly take it back the next moment.
He returned to the chair behind his desk and settled down into it. "You will send me the details. Shall we say — in two days' time?"
Mitaka cleared his throat. "Sir, you will need to fill out my standard pre-scene questionnaire."
"A quesionnaire?" Hux asked in surprise.
"Indeed, sir. I have a standard form."
"Of course you do."
"It can prove very helpful in designing a scene for each individual sub."
"Hmm." Hux raised his eyebrows in surprise. Phasma hadn't mentioned anything about designing different scenes, and he had a difficult time imagining that she sent out pre-scene surveys, or would let her actions be guided by a document at all. But clearly, Mitaka ran his side of things differently.
"Very well," he finally judged. "Send it over and I will go through the standard process, whatever that may be."
"Yes, sir," Mitaka said.
"Dismissed."
"Sir," Mitaka said again, snapping into a salute and withdrawing.
Hux let himself slump back into his chair. His back was already tingling from the imaginary lash marks that he assumed Mitaka would shortly be delivering, and he shuddered. Brendol's ghost was never too far away from his shoulder, and willingly engaging in physical punishment seemed to beckon it several steps closer, when all Hux wanted to do was banish it forever.
How Brendol would have jeered and mocked at him for choosing to submit at all. Brendol was of the opinion that a Hux belonged on one side of the whip only — the handle side. Of course, that had never stopped him from putting young Armitage firmly on the other side of it, beneath him.
If it's Mitaka, it won't be so bad, Hux assured himself, pouring a cup of tarine tea and turning it in his hands. He stared out of his viewport at the stars.
He quite honestly doubted that his shorter, smaller Lieutenant could deliver significant amounts of pain. Certainly, his childhood training at Brendol's hand should have toughened him up enough to bear whatever Mitaka could dish out.
Hux took a sip of tea, fortifying himself mentally for what lay ahead.
In any case, I'll just bear it once, so I know what it's like. Then I'll be able to put it out of my mind and carry on as usual.
Hux frowned at the spreadsheet that was blinking up at him from his datapad. He needed to fill this out for Mitaka's standard intake process, but he found himself poised between hesitation and the urge to delete it and inform Mitaka that he had changed his mind.
The document was far more elaborate than he had surmised. It included a long list of different actions that he was meant to either accept or refuse.
There was an umbrella category titled 'Impact Play' that included items such as flogging, caning, whipping, paddling, spanking (gloved), and spanking (bare-handed), but was by no means limited to only those.
Hux had no interest in bearing pain, but if that was what he needed to do in order to participate like everyone else, then he supposed he could do it. He was rather good at it, and after all, it would be a pity to waste his talents.
He marked all of the lines under 'Impact Play' with the sigil that meant "Accept."
There was another umbrella category called 'Insertables' that had Hux scrolling past it quickly, but not quickly enough. As he flicked his way down the screen, his eyes snagged on words such as 'dilators,' 'ginger,' and 'anal plugs (extended wear).'
That last one gave him pause. Were his bridge staff sometimes completing their shifts while holding a plug internally? During the entirety of Alpha Shift?
The thought made him wonder who around him had done that, and how often. Did Mitaka have people wearing plugs for him on a long-term basis? The thought made him frown. The practice could negatively affect his crew's performance.
How many subs had Mitaka done this with? Did he have any current partners exchanging hidden glances with him, perhaps even on the bridge, while he was attending to his duties and making sure Hux had whatever he needed as General?
He did not like that thought at all. Somewhat petulantly, he marked all of the lines with "Accept," as well. He refused to entertain the thought that someone else on board was doing these things with Mitaka and that he would cry off. If someone else was doing it, then he would agree as well.
Next was a section for 'Bondage." Hux highly doubted that Mitaka would dare to truss him up like an animal for slaughter on some Core world. The Lieutenant almost never touched him. A few times, their fingers might have brushed as one of them handed something to the other. But Mitaka did not seem at all likely to put his hands on Hux personally. No doubt he would stay back, behind the end of the whip. And if he did try to tie Hux up, Hux could simply order him to let him go. They both knew he was the General and would remain firmly in charge, so there was no reason not to allow it.
Hux marked all that section 'Accept' and moved on.
The next umbrella category was titled 'Power Exchange.' The items in that section had to do with reversing the natural flow of command; stipulating what terms the 'sub' should use for the 'Dom,' how the 'sub' would obey orders, and so on.
It went against First Order protocols to reverse the chain of command this way. Hux paused, weighing how to mark these lines.
He reflected that Phasma was clearly mixing her domination with the First Order chain of command, seemingly without ill effect. As long as the superior officer did not allow the 'scenes' to influence their real-life actions towards the subordinate, it would not negatively affect the subordinate's career.
Hux resolved that would be scrupulously professional, even after engaging in this type of activity. He would not let anything that occurred behind closed doors influence his judgment of Mitaka as an officer, or intrude on Mitaka's chances for advancement.
Truth be told, he had already recommended Mitaka for promotion several times, but the Lieutenant kept on turning down the opportunities, claiming he would prefer to stay on the bridge of the Finalizer. Hux knew he was lucky to continue enjoying Mitaka's competence at his elbow every day, but it was only a matter of time until he finally accepted a promotion and moved to his own command.
After Mitaka was gone, Hux would no longer have the chance to experience these mysteries.
He marked all the lines under 'Power Exchange" as "Accept." If Hux wanted to participate, he could do far worse than asking the Lieutenant. Asking Phasma would be far, far worse.
Another category for 'Mental Play' was confusing at first, but upon examination, held items such as humiliation and types of role-playing.
Again, Hux had no idea why anyone in the First Order would voluntarily sign up for yet more humiliation; did real life not offer them enough of that particular torment? Perhaps, if Mitaka's other subs were lacking in this area, they should merely look around themselves as they went about their job; someone nearby would no doubt step up to humiliate them if they merely waited five minutes.
At least, from experience, Hux assumed that was the case for everyone else. It had certainly been the case for him, before he had managed to claw his way to a command position and force the whispers about him from out in the open to behind his back.
He could not mark all the other sections with "Accept" and leave out only this one; it might give something away — he was not sure what. But in any case, the thought of Mitaka trying to humiliate him was actually rather amusing. What on earth would Mitaka say?
They had years of history of Hux being the superior officer and Mitaka the Lieutenant. Year during which Mitaka had trotted along behind him, fetched him his things, served him his tea. What on earth could Mitaka possibly say that would perturb him? Cast aspersions on his choice of gloves, or imply that Hux had not run the latest battle simulation with optimum efficiency?
Hux knew that Mitaka regarded him highly. Anything he said would be a sham, and they both knew it. He had nothing to fear there.
He marked all of these lines with "Accept," as well.
A sixth section had the header 'Sexual Activities.'
Well. He would go ahead and mark all of those "Accept," just so that Mitaka knew his General was no coward.
Next there was a freeform field: "Briefly explain what you are seeking in your session."
Hux frowned. The field was required, so he could not simply skip it.
Finally, he entered "I am curious and seeking to learn." That seemed fairly safe.
He sent off the form to Mitaka's inbox without checking it over. Going through it once had been bad enough; he did not need to go through it a second time, second-guessing all of his decisions.
Now his part was done, and he merely had to wait two days, then grit his teeth through whatever experiences Mitaka chose to inflict on him.
He knew himself well enough to realize that he was nervous. Willingly putting himself into a subordinate position was difficult, after the childhood he'd been forced to endure.
But, Hux reassured himself, if there was one person on board the Finalizer he could reasonably trust not to harm him, that person was Dopheld Mitaka.
Now all he had to do was get through this. It might not go easily, but Hux was mentally strong. He would endure; he was sure he had endured far worse in the past.