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He loves it when Hux fucks his face like this.
Fingers tangle in his hair, twisting and kneading until it hurts, though the pain is pitiful compared to the delicious burn that sets his throat aflame each time Hux plunges deeper.
Granted, Ren had been resistant the first few times. Hells, he would have snapped the bastard in two had Snoke not commanded full compliance as part of his ever-evolving training. But he's come to find an odd comfort in relinquishing control, in allowing himself to be degraded and used up, branded a mere tool for pleasure. He can't deny the thrill that surges through him whenever Hux summons him to his quarters, whenever he orders him to strip, shoves him to his knees, or bends him over the nearest piece of furniture. It’s not unlike the excitement he’d felt the first time he was tempted by the Dark Side.
And yet, it's completely different; a call unheeded until now.
A new form of addiction.
Ren could spend hours like this, in all likelihood has at one point or another: Arms heavy at his sides, knees numb against the cold floor, mouth stuffed so full of cock he feels he’ll split at the seams. Hux’s gloved hands grip him tightly, guiding every thrust. And though Ren takes it all without complaint, Hux will still find something to gripe about afterwards: Ren is lazy, Ren makes him do all the work, Ren should really beg for it, Ren needs to earn his keep aboard Hux’s ship. But even if Ren hadn’t been able to sense the unadulterated satisfaction rippling beneath that practiced facade, he wouldn’t have cared.
He likes it here. On this ship. With the General. Kneeling dutifully before him.
In this position, Ren is generously permitted to grant himself the luxuries Hux often denies him: He can tease his nipples, touch his aching cock, rake his nails over the bruises lining his thighs, reliving the fond memories of Hux’s teeth. Sometimes when he’s feeling particularly suggestive (and if there happens to be lubricant nearby), he’ll reach back and work himself open with dripping fingers, rolling his hips and making a tantalizing show of it in hopes that Hux will take pity and give him what he really needs.
He always needs.
Today, though, he jacks off as if it’s a chore, too focused on the taste, the weight against his tongue, the soft grunts and subdued moans that drift overhead as Hux struggles to retain his composure. An easy battle for him, like snuffing out a Resistance cell with the simple press of a button.
“Mmm...good boy,” Hux purrs, the slight tremor in his voice dampened by the rustle of fabric. “Such an eager little slut. So hot for your General’s cock.” He reeks of sex and confidence; it crackles through the air like lightning, making Ren’s exposed flesh prickle.
Ren mumbles an “Mmmph” of acknowledgment and flicks his tongue faster. It's enough to draw a gasp from Hux’s lips, to make him bite down to avoid any further lapse in control. His lips are full and moist, stunning when drenched in blood, but Ren has little time to reminisce before Hux starts rocking his hips mercilessly, slamming every centimeter of himself into the back of his throat.
Ren gags. He feels his eyes begin to water and snaps them shut, quickening his strokes to meet each brutal thrust. His teeth briefly catch the underside of Hux’s cock, but aside from letting out a strangled growl, Hux refuses to alter his pace. He’ll be punished for that later, Ren thinks; Hux will flog him until he’s a bloody mess, pour cheap brandy onto his wounds and then slowly lick it off, maybe even put out a few cigarettes on his chest before fucking him so hard everything up to that point will feel like a scratch.
If he’s lucky.
It's that stubborn image of Hux lording over him, lit cigarette dangling between his fingers and crimson teeth bared in all their menacing glory, that tips Ren over the edge. He comes with a muffled cry, quickly cupping his hand over the head of his cock to catch his release. It isn't enough to satisfy him, though, so he continues to work his sore and swollen shaft with his slick palm until his entire body seems to shake and the last of it dribbles out of him. He’s nothing but a heaving, sputtering mess now: Nose running, tears streaming down his cheeks, shoulders beginning to sag from exhaustion. Yet Hux holds him steady, pounding away.
“Ahh...good,” he hisses, faint encouragement seeping between tightly-managed gasps. “Swallow all of it now. Every...last…”
The words disappear in a groan; Hux’s fingers tense, his hips snap forward one final time and he erupts inside Ren’s mouth with all the fury of a surging tide. Like a good pet, Ren does as he’s told, slurping hungrily until he’s certain he’s milked every last drop, until Hux’s thighs stop twitching and his hands slip from his face. Then, Ren relaxes his jaw and slowly sinks back onto his heels.
He can’t swallow without his throat objecting, can’t move without his joints popping and screaming. He wipes at his face with his cleaner hand, but can’t avoid smearing the snot and tears and whatever other bodily fluids have seen fit to bless his skin this fine day. He's a disaster, and Hux's eyes devour every bit of him.
Hux only likes destruction when he's the cause of it; Ren tends to forget until he finds himself sprawled out on some random surface, painted with blood and bruises, lube and come—a masterpiece of chaos displayed proudly for his creator’s delight.
If Ren listens past his own ragged breathing, he can hear Hux humming appreciatively as he tucks himself away, fastening fly and belt with all the finesse of a man who hadn’t just had his dick sucked dry before the end of lunch hour. He takes a moment to adjust his gloves before reaching into his pocket and retrieving a slim cigarette case. The metal glimmers when he opens it, and Ren can’t help but hold his breath in anticipation as Hux’s nimble fingers extract one, and—
Hux pauses suddenly, cigarette halfway to his lips. He wrinkles his nose at something below and huffs, “Ren, look what you've done now.”
Ren doesn't need to look to know that whatever he’s done is probably wrong. As far as Hux is concerned, everything he does is wrong, whether it's slashing up a command console or not spreading his legs wide enough when Hux wants to fuck. And since he’ll be punished regardless of where he chooses to look, he sets his attention on Hux’s face and silently waits.
Hux’s eyes shine an icy turquoise; his exasperation is almost palpable as he scowls and jabs his index finger towards the ground. “You spilled your filth all over me. Clean it up.”
Hux truly detests having his time wasted. It's almost a pity Ren is so skilled at it.
Piece by exquisite piece, Ren picks apart the sight before him, his gaze dripping downward over the lips he’d long to bite, the pallid neck peeking above a stiff collar. Past the pristine uniform jacket, the shimmering belt, the crisp trousers unwilling to betray the beast hidden within. Down to those long, toned calves sheathed in immaculately-polished boots—
The boots.
There, just above the toe and slightly off-center, he sees it: A small, creamy splotch adrift in a sea of deepest black.
“Ren!”
There’s a lustre to it that catches the light beautifully, and Ren wonders how he'd missed it before, is actually glad he’d missed some; it makes such a lovely accompaniment to Hux’s formal attire.
His mark upon the General. All his. Order disrupted by one tiny drop.
“REN!”
A sharp, searing pain claws any lingering dream of possession from Ren’s mind, thrusting him headfirst into the cold reality of Hux’s glare, the gravity of Hux’s fingers clenching tighter, threatening to rip his hair out by the fistful.
“Clean it up this instant, or so help me I’ll rip your balls off with my bare hands to see that it never happens again!”
Hux yanks again, hard enough to force a whimper, and before Ren knows it he’s being shoved backwards, hitting the floor with a wet slapping of skin.
Everything in this room belongs to Hux. From his flesh to the parts of it left behind. Hux had told him as much, with both mind and voice.
By the time Ren manages to make it back onto his knees, Hux has finally taken pause to light his cigarette. He indulges in a long drag while watching Ren carefully.
Ren feels his pulse quicken and instinctively puffs out his chest. He expects a reprieve for his eagerness, but Hux takes no notice, only waves his hand in a circular motion, cloud dissipating in exhale. “Well?”
The ‘fresher can’t be more than a few meters away. If he hurries, he can make it back with a washcloth before his spunk starts to crust, faster if Hux would allow him to use the Force to retrieve it. He considers asking permission, but decides it would be just a further waste of time; the stain has already begun to spread, jostled loose when Hux had bent to snatch him by the hair.
He’s gorged on enough of Hux’s anger for one day.
Ren moves as fast as his tingling legs will allow. He’s got one foot planted on the floor, and is in the process of adjusting his balance when Hux barks:
“Wait—”
He stops mid-rise and looks up. Hux’s lip quivers, the edge of the filter flirting with its supple curve.
“Use your tongue.”
Ren feels his face flush, the words echoing with each thump in his chest. He exhales and presses his knees back to the floor, palms in front. Then, without further order, he bows his head and flits his tongue over the very tip of Hux’s boot. It’s a timid lick, much like the way he’d tasted Hux’s cock for the first time, before Hux had hooked his thumb into his mouth and roughly pried his jaw open.
His muscles clench at the memory. He lifts his chin and peeks up at Hux through strands of sweat-slick hair. Hux stares as if in a trance, eyelids drooping, mouth agape. Next to his face, his neglected cigarette bleeds a wispy trail of smoke.
Veins pulsing with enthusiasm, Ren dives deeper, sweeping the flat of his tongue across the spot again and again, savoring the salty bitterness of himself, the chemical tang of polish and leather. He moans like a Wookiee in heat, ruts his nose against Hux’s ankle, licks sloppy circles along the sides of the boot, the sharp line above the sole. Beads of sweat trickle from his hair, and he takes care to lap those up as well, thrumming with a desire—a need—to consume every solitary drop.
When at last he’s sated, Hux’s boot glistens as brightly as before, polished to perfection by the fog of Ren’s breath and wiped clean with his saliva. He sits back and licks his lips.
“Up...On your feet.” When Hux speaks, he sounds a touch breathless, like he’d been the one on his knees all this time, taking various objects into his mouth. Ren complies, wincing as his legs gradually straighten. He’s face-to-face with Hux again, though Hux opts to direct his attention elsewhere, turning his foot to examine the body of Ren’s work.
“Well…I’m impressed, Ren.” His voice is a stilted whisper; his fingers skirt the border between “unsteady” and “wrecked” as he brings the cigarette back to his lips, holds the breath for as long as he can before blowing a cloud of smoke in Ren’s face.
He coughs, “Thank you, General.”
Hux snorts, the closest to a laugh for him. “What a surprise. The lumbering man-child really is capable of cleaning up after himself.” He sighs and tips his head in consideration. “I suppose I might be persuaded to give you a reward...” Slowly, calmly, seductively, Hux runs a hand through his fiery hair.
And then he leans forward.
Ren’s eyes flutter closed at the first brush of skin, the gentle press of noses; his mouth opens longingly when he feels Hux’s lips drag across his own, so light, so soft he wonders if they've touched at all. He can't be certain of anything right now, not with the weight of the room holding him in place and time slowing to a crawl as Hux edges so close their heartbeats seem to fall into step, one beside the other. Even the air around them feels heavy and stagnant, save for the heat of Hux’s breath flooding his mouth.
No, he can't possibly be certain of what is happening; all he knows is he wants more. More of those plush lips, more of that smoky, sweet taste on his tongue.
More than he could ever hope for.
In a rush of cool air, it's gone. Hux may as well have snatched the breath clean from his lungs, the way Ren mewls and jerks his head forward, desperate to recapture the warmth of Hux’s lips. But Hux is out of reach.
He's always been.
Ren hears the rapid clicking of heels, the whirrr of a droid racing in to mop up the remainder of his fluids. When he opens his eyes roughly two seconds later, Hux has already reached his desk at the far end of the room. He pauses in front of it, trailing his fingers over the smooth surface, the bumps of items in his way: Datapad, glass tumbler, Ren’s helmet and cowl—the only pieces of his clothing that hadn't spilled onto the floor in his haste to undress. His General’s hat sits adjacent to Ren’s things, and he gingerly picks it up and places it on his head.
“Like I said, I might be persuaded to reward you...If you can make it through the day without causing yet another mess.” Hux’s voice dances with amusement, all poise and pomposity like he's delivering another of his well-rehearsed speeches. He turns and leans back against the desk. “But we both know you'll find some excuse to fail.” His lips split into a grin as he toys with the frayed hem of Ren’s cowl. “Isn’t that right, Kylo?”
The sound of that name, the eloquence of it rolling off of Hux’s tongue, sends a shiver down Ren’s spine. The droid bumps against his toes, but he doesn't flinch, doesn't look down. Hux is everything in that moment: A captor, a savior, an emperor reclining majestically upon his throne. Ren blinks, and a vision streaks across his mind:
Night. Inside his room. Hux is stalking through the door, greatcoat clutched tightly around him. There’s a devious smile playing across his face, bright even in the shadows. He stops in front of Ren and allows the coat to slide from his shoulders, his arms, slowly exposing the tantalizing flesh beneath. He’s wearing his boots and nothing else, and he keeps them on the entire time—throughout the teasing and foreplay, the biting and kicking, even while he forces Ren onto all fours and fucks him from behind, leather squealing as it grinds against slick skin. And once he’s spent himself inside of Ren, Hux pulls away to nuzzle the tip of one against his sore hole, chuckling over the mess Ren will have to clean up this time.
Ren doesn’t need to skim Hux’s thoughts to confirm his intentions; the answer is right there on his face, reflected in the heat of his gaze, the way he drags his teeth over his bottom lip.
He knows. They both know.
Hux smirks and stubs his cigarette out on the top of Ren’s helmet.
“Now get dressed and get out of my sight.”