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It’s not that Poe’s oblivious to his own physical charms -- he’s been told he has a good smile, good hair, and he tries to be upbeat, positive. He’s been in enough bars to know how other people see him, what other people think he could be for them.
But he’s never been ordered to put his good looks to work before. It makes him self conscious, hyper aware of his own body. He tugs at his jacket as he lingers outside the door to a particular Coruscant bar, shoulders tight after a day of bodyguarding Senator Organa. Plenty of people gave him a less-than-subtle once over, and she had smiled serenely at him when he half-mentioned it.
“I hope it doesn’t make you too uncomfortable, Major.” She’d batted her eyelashes at him and then laughed. “And if it doesn’t, then it’s time you learned to use all of your considerable assets.”
It did make him uncomfortable, but the Senator had asked so politely, and the plan seemed so rational that here he is, cologne dabbed behind his ears and on his collarbones, hoping he’s not radiating nervous energy.
Poe swallows, runs a hand through his hair, and steps inside. He has to consciously put the swagger back in his step as he walks up to the bar - being nervous is suspicious and a turn-off, after all. He orders a shot to calm his nerves and looks around.
The bar is divey, full of Senatorial aides, Republic recruits, and Imperial sympathizers. It’s a neutral zone, gossip central, where you go when you want a hookup that’s more tooth and nail than usual. It’s easy to pick the most vulnerable target there - handsome, but sitting alone at the bar, looking unfriendly. He’s not one of the people who tried to flirt that day - in fact, the man barely spoke to anyone outside the circle of known Imperial sympathizers.
It’s almost too obvious but Poe doesn’t want to look a gift runyip in the mouth, as his father would say, so he sidles up beside him, and leans against the counter.
The man’s wearing all black, leather gloves, and while the thought of trying to charm a fucking Imperial makes his stomach churn, there’s a little frisson of interest in his spine when he looks at those gloves, the handspan under them. Poe likes a guy tall, likes to lean for up it.
Poe can tell without a word that this guy is mean, is looking for a fight even though he’d deny it, that he’s already dismissed everyone else in the bar as unworthy of his time. Poe’s not sure how he himself profiles, but Senator Organa had told him to “act like yourself, but nicer. More pliable,” so that’s how he’ll try it.
The man sneers at him when Poe turns to say hello, and it’s so vicious that Poe has to laugh.
“And a refill for him, thanks,” Poe says, cocking his head. The bartender rolls his six eyes but complies, synthohol sloshing out of the rim of his glass.
“So, seems like you’ve been sitting alone for a while.”
“And you’re here to gently ply me with alcohol until I drop some interesting tidbit for you to scamper off and report to whatever Senator is keeping you as a lapdog.” He scowls at the drink placed in front of him, like it’s a personal offense.
“You seem pretty young to be this jaded, not to mention cranky,” Poe says, rotating his own glass. He supposes that accusation is true, but it could be true for any number of people in the bar. Everyone in this part of the city is playing some kind of politics.
“You’re not that much older than me,” the man says. “In fact, you might be younger. Hard to tell when the New Republic lets their officers go about unshaven.”
Poe lets his surprise show -- he's not in uniform -- and rubs the stubble on his chin. “Good guess.”
“I don’t recognize you from the guest lists; military’s the obvious choice.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s clear you’re nobody important here; I’d put money on you just making Captain.”
Poe laughs again, even though the dig hits closer than he’d expected. “Well, you lost the bet but I’ll take a drink in lieu of payment -- I’m Major Poe Dameron.”
He offers a hand to shake -- it’s the polite thing to do in Coruscant, after all, and waits to see if this Centrist, this Imperial, takes the bait.
Hux squints at him before taking his hand. His handshake is self-consciously tight, leather smooth under Poe’s palm.
“I’ve heard of you,” he says, considering. “Flashy upstart who thinks his gut is more accurate than orders. Equally likely to get promoted as you are to get blown up on a milk run.”
He’s not wrong about Poe’s reputation, either, and Poe doesn’t have the patience to play coy.
“It’s not polite to gossip about me before telling me your name,” Poe says, trying hard to play it cool, to not snarl at him -- there’s nothing but smooth skin and gloss under those gloves, no blood and definitely no dirt.
“Hux,” the guy says, glaring. No rank - no rank in the Republic, at least. His posture screams officer, as does the cropped red hair, the shine on his boots. He doesn’t offer to get Poe a drink.
“Name sounds familiar,” Poe says, because he’s irritated and petty and can spot daddy issues from miles away. Plus, he’s pretty sure the mission is doomed already; there’s no way in hell he’s Hux’s type, if Hux is interested in sex at all. Hux probably resents having to talk to him, as undisciplined as he thinks the starfleet is. He seems like he’s looking for someone far more prim and proper.
“You’ve probably seen my father around,” Hux says, the words strung together in a rush like he’s embarrassed. Probably wants to think he’s climbed his way up via skill and cunning alone.
But knowing his connections is a relief -- the Senator, the Princess told him to find someone with high enough clearance to know details, but not important enough to be above slumming it with someone so obviously loyal to the Republic. “I just don’t think you’ll be able to fake it, Major,” the Senator had said, and Poe had to admit she was right.
But while Hux is the son of an Imperial general, he’s at least lowered himself enough to drink at the local watering hole instead of at one of the hotel bars, full of top-shelf imported liquor. There’s a chance at getting him to slum it, at least.
“Ah,” Poe says, “I’ve seen him around, yeah -- this isn’t my first session spent guarding senators.”
“Aren’t you Organa’s pet pilot?” Hux snaps. His eyes are bright, blue and sharp with irritation.
Poe blinks. “I don’t select who I’m assigned to, y’know, but yes, I’m on her security detail this go around.”
Hux finally takes a sip of his drink. “I’m sure you’re in high demand, then. Did she request you personally?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he says, trying not to get rankled. Poe thinks Hux might be flirting but it twists in his gut anyway, makes him wary. “I volunteer because every so often I get to play valet for some of the Senators coming in from off-world. You wouldn’t believe the kind of yachts some of them fly around.”
“What, is flying in the Republic fleet not decadent enough?”
“The Republic is downsizing during peacetime, ain’t you heard?” Poe says. “It’s not like we were ever flying Destoyers, but now I hardly go out in anything but an X-Wing.”
Hux hums under his breath. Poe thinks he might be in, that that little tidbit has given him an opening. Hux’ll be disappointed when tomorrow’s agenda lists the fleet budget, a last minute addition, but that’s not Poe’s problem.
-
Hux can’t believe he drew the short straw, meaning it’s his turn to try to slum it with the sloppy Senatorial aides in the nearby staffer bar, full with people throwing away their prospective careers for some mediocre sex and even worse alcohol.
He’s supposed to find a particularly pliable aide and plant the seeds of the First Order (what a name, he thinks) in their mind, to find out who might be willing to turn their backs on the current mess of a Senate. There are already a few in-pocket, but the First Order can never stop recruiting. Tides are already turning against the old war hero, Organa, but one can never have too many allies in one’s pocket.
Hux orders something bitter and frowns when he tastes it.
No one there looks particularly informed of anything beyond what teams are leading the Grav-Ball League this season -- a rousing game of sabaac is happening in one corner, while Dejarik game rages on holotable in the middle of the wider seating area. A few booths hold his fellow post-Imperials, people loyal to the First Order already, but this is the bar he was told to enter, so there he he sits.
And lo and behold, a target finds him, suspicious until the man winks at him, tossing back a shot before buying Hux a drink without any prompting.
The man’s name is Poe Dameron and he’s a rising star in the Republic fleet, a typical cocky flyboy with parents who were some sort of heroes in the last great war, on the wrong side, of course. The intel on him has already been collected; most notable Republic officers were under some form of scrutiny. But the man’s success was always perplexing to Hux. Being able to put the face with the name clears it up -- Poe is handsome, smooth with strangers, and looks like he might be stupid enough to actually be sincere about his belief in the crumbling Republic.
Dameron probably thinks of himself as one of the good guys. His good looks have probably covered up any glaring deficiencies he might have, including any that stem from the fact he was raised on a backwater moon, full of talking rabbits and other unsavory beings, barely sentient. The kind of place Hux has threatened to banish his troops to, in drills, if they fail.
Of course, Hux has never commanded anyone in live fire. He isn’t sure he wants to -- he prefers tactics, plans, engineering a victory or a weapon. But in training, no one knows that, they only know he can rain hellfire on them at any moment.
It burns, sometimes, returning to the ordinary world of the Senate, when he could be commanding troopers or building weapons or serving their mysterious leaders. Here, he doesn’t even have his rank. He’s a flunkee.
Poe looks like he relies on instinct and dumb luck, the way his eyelashes flutter and the golden tone of his skin. Sure, there’s some skill there, but any idiot can fly an X-Wing. He knows Dameron won’t turn, wouldn’t even think of crossing the Senator he’s working with even if it wasn’t Leia Organa, perpetual thorn in the nascent Order’s side.
But he might know things. Organa probably trusts him, that easy smile and the cocky set of his hips is reminiscent of her consort. And he probably follows her like a pet jax, waiting to be scratched behind the ears and told he’s a good boy.
This is a quality that Hux knows how to exploit. It’s always easier when someone wants to be obedient. He’ll take the bait and see where it leads.
-
“So what brings you around here? You strike me as more of a Vos Gesal hotel bar kind of guy.” Poe’s second drink is a dark and murky liquor on ice, a small fog hovering inside the glass.
“They certainly stock better liquor there,” Hux says, eyeing Poe’s glass dubiously.
“You should branch out, try some of the local specialties. Not all good things have to be from Corellia, you know.”
“I’m not from Corellia,” Hux says, and he watches Poe’s throat moves as he swallows drinks.
Poe raises his eyebrows and says slowly, “Well, I’m not from Corellia either.”
Hux orders a brandy on the rocks.
“You never answered my question. This place doesn’t look like your usual scene.”
Hux leans back and looks at Poe, sharp eyes appraising. Poe doesn’t like this feeling, being hunted -- it makes him itch between his shoulderblades when he flies and makes him uneasy on the ground -- but at least it means Hux is interested.
“I’m here to get away from work,” he says finally, and Poe laughs.
“No offense, but you look like it’s killing you to be away from a datapad. You were frowning when I got here. I mean, you’re a policy guy, right? This must be a pretty big session for you.”
“So you are here to mine me for information, then.” Hux’s dry tone gets even drier -- unimpressed.
“Nah,” Poe says with a shrug, easy, “It’s just been awhile since I’ve had some R&R.” He thinks, dumb and pretty, dumb and pretty, and hopes it’s working.
Hux sniffs, but his gaze softens, just a little. Poe orders more synthahol just in case Hux decides to keep up his questioning. Poe’s been trained to withstand torturous interrogation, but he rarely has to try so hard to entice someone. His normal methodology is to be himself, but he doesn’t want to give that to Hux, or any Imperial.
“And this is your scene?” Hux looks him up and down from his vantage point on a stool, and his gaze lingers. It makes the back of Poe’s neck prickle but he can’t tell if it’s with unease or with interest.
“It’s hookup central tonight, man.” Poe waves a hand at the room, where the Dejarik players have abandoned their game to makeout against the holotable, avatars flickering in front of their bodies.
“And you saw me, sitting at this bar, and thought, yes, he seems like a good time.” Hux raises an eyebrow. “Even if I was a good time, I doubt I’m the kind you’re looking for.”
“What is it you think I’m looking for?” Poe juts his hip and tries to hold Hux’s gaze.
Hux purses his lips, this time really taking his time in letting his eyes wander. Poe stands a little straighter without thinking about it, and then he intentionally tilts his chin to show a little more of his throat. Hux wants something here, and Poe hopes it’s something fucking normal, a little bondage instead of rancor roleplay.
He glances back down at Hux’s gloves, the lines in his shoulders, the set of his mouth, and thinks Hux probably doesn’t want an easy fuck, but also loves to think he has the advantage. It’s probably bondage. Maybe a little sadism.
Poe doesn’t want to admit his interest piques at the thought.
Hux breaks his gaze and shrugs. “I don’t know if you’ve earned it yet.”
That makes Poe’s mouth go dry. He isn’t quite sure what to say to that, so he excuses himself to the ‘fresher instead.
He takes a piss and after washing his hands, splashes cold water on his face and stares at his reflection in the mirror. Poe isn’t sure how to play this one - if it was just sex that would be one thing, but Hux wants control.
Poe doesn’t mind that, normally, but he isn’t sure he’ll like it with Hux. Isn’t sure it’s worth the risk. Hux is the definition of untrustworthy. He slips his hand into his pocket, feels the drive the Senator handed him. Just in case, she said, you get close enough to plug it into someone’s datapad.
The real problem, he thinks, is that he wasn’t lying about R&R. He feels worn to the bone, running the life of Poe Dameron, Major in the Republic Starfleet, and fulfilling his duties as Poe Dameron, the best pilot in the nascent Resistance. He hasn’t fucked, been fucked, or anything else, in a long while, and yet spending eight hours in a plush hotel bed alone sounds like heaven.
He steps back into the bar, and halts when he hears voices.
“Oh, Hux, didn’t think we’d see you out tonight!”
Poe lurks in a shadowy corner, sure the other Imperials can’t see him from where they’re crowded around Hux. There’s three of them, dressed slightly less intensely than Hux but clearly aligned to the growing First Order coalition -- black coats and gloves are the unofficial uniform. He hates how normal they look, hiding in plain sight. Just regular human-types at a bar, Centrists, like they’re normal moderates instead of fascists.
Hux looks irritated but that seems like his default setting, and Poe can’t tell if it would get charming or irritating if he had more time.
“Who’s the guy? Pilot, right?”
“He looks it. Not your usual type, huh?”
Hux rolls his eyes. “Just because you’re not doesn’t mean you know what is.”
Poe steps up and interrupts, clapping Hux and the man next to him on the shoulders. “Hey, guys. Hux, introduce me to your friends.”
Hux says, “No, I think they’ll be going now --” at the same time as one of them goes, “Phox, aide for Senator Apolin. You’re the guy with Organa, aren’t you?”
“Hey, like I told Hux here, I don’t pick who I’m shadowing for the conference. She’s alright but I’m mostly here for the ships.”
“He is a Republic pilot,” Hux interjects, leaning on the word Republic, absolutely as unsubtle as possible. Poe realizes his friends are incredibly shit-faced
“I mean, have you seen Erudo Ro-Kiintor’s ship?” Poe’s trying to remember the other names Senator Organa wanted confirmation on, but he strikes gold with that one anyway.
“I’ll tell you from first-hand experience, that baby is a beauty,” says the man Poe’s touching, and Poe lets his hand drop and leans in.
“Tell me everything - I really want to get into that cockpit.”
Hux looks like he wants to die of embarrassment. “Dameron, that’s Lindo. And she’s Irine, from Fetil’s office.”
“Wow, Senator Fetil. I hear she’s got quite the art collection.” More like a mausoleum of Imperial artifacts, but why not. Irine looks like she a drink away from not remembering this conversation anyway.
Irine looks at him dubiously.“She’s an avid antique collector.” She then looks at Hux. “Phox is right, you’re not Hux’s usual type.”
Lindo actually guffaws.
“Who doesn’t like pilots? Pilots are everyone’s type,” Poe says. Maybe he’ll get enough information out of Hux’s sloppy colleagues that he won’t have to keep this up, that he won’t have to see if Hux takes those gloves off or leaves them on.
“Pilots are far too undisciplined for Hux,” Irine says, sounding like a drunk professor. “He’s always looking for someone to take orders.”
She’s leaning into Hux now, and Poe can’t understand how she got one part of Hux so right and one part so wrong. She thinks he’s crying out for a stronger hand than his own.
Hux says, “Yes, thank you Irine, that’ll be enough out of you.”
“Hey, I just want you to have a good night, buddy, kriff knows you need it!” She bats her eyelashes at him.
“It hurts watching you waste your time with yokels from the Outer Rim who don’t know what you’re looking for,” Phox says, and Poe wonders just how high ranking Hux is, for his colleagues to be this brazen in their attempts to curry his favor.
“We do just fine in the Outer Rim, thanks,” Poe says, raising his new drink in a salute. How thoughtful of Hux, he thinks, ordering him some mid-range brandy on an aide’s salary.
“Take care,” says Lindo, as he firmly starts moving them toward the door. “We’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”
“You too,” Hux says stiffly, not waving back as they pour out into the cold air outside.
“I don’t know why you Centrists seem to think I’m some kind of rogue,” Poe says after they leave. “Following orders is what I do.”
Hux hmms and studies him.
Poe recognizes the look in his eyes. Under different circumstances, maybe -- in a different bar, if he wasn’t plotting to undermine the Republic -- Hux might be an interesting dalliance. Poe likes challenges, likes to see how far he can push his X-Wing and himself.
Hux is crowding him a little, leaning over to grab his drink. Those gloves on his hands meet glass, and Poe thinks Hux is almost there.
“You seem like the type to go rogue,” he says with a sniff.
Poe runs his hand through his hair for maximum effect and grins crookedly, tries to go from dumb and pretty to pretty and needy. “I’m sure I’ve gotten some complaints, but deep down I’m really a people pleaser.”
He licks his lips and waits for Hux to realize he knows, and he wants. He’ll get that datapad. He’s never failed Leia before.
Hux just takes a drink and shrugs. Time for a practiced maneuver, then.
“I’m going to get some air,” Poe says, leaving a stack of credits on the table to settle his tab. “You should join me.”
Poe is already outside when Hux does, wrapped in a heavy black coat. It’s cold outside, Poe’s breath mixing with the cloud from his vaporizer.
“Aren’t you a little old for deathsticks?” Hux asks, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
Poe inhales from the little cylinder in his hand, the tip glowing for a brief moment. Hux is staring at his mouth when he exhales so Poe licks his lips for extra effect.
“Lighten up,” Poe says with a wink.
-
Hux can’t believe how stupid his colleagues are. They weren’t trained in shit, just sycophants in cushy bureaucratic roles. If there was a war, they’d be lost, adrift and hoping to cling to the nearest strong hand.
Just because he slept with them didn’t mean he had to like them. Poe was at least a distraction of a different kind, and he wasn’t subtle about what he wanted, once he thought he figured out what Hux wanted.
But Hux isn’t quite sure what he wants from Poe - he’s never sure until it’s actually happening, until his partner is right there and ready to be taken apart. But Dameron is so collected, so cocksure, that he knows he doesn’t want to do anything nice. He doesn’t think Dameron knows what he’s asking for - he’s a pilot, drawn to danger by instincts that override sense. There’s a reason pilots are the hardest ‘troopers to cultivate.
He still thinks Dameron wants someone to praise him, but he doesn’t think Dameron will say no if that’s not what he’s getting, either.
It’s not the worst way to wrap up the night’s mission.
He lets Poe stand outside by himself for a bit before pulling on his coat and joining him in the cold street. He’s smoking a deathstick of all the stupid things he could be doing, and Hux can’t help but be disappointed. The drug was mild, sure, but it dulled the mind worse than alcohol and regular users were just so dull.
Poe doesn’t take criticism well, and catches Hux staring at his mouth.
Hux imagines that lower lip split open, what Poe would look like a little bruised, a little more apologetic. Thinks about him on his knees.
“Lighten up,” Poe says, taking another hit. The vapor has a hint of herb in it, a of botanical high rather than the usual, then. A light buzz on top of the synthohol shit he was drinking, probably. Poe was looking to get fucked up.
He’s perfectly pliable now, clearly terrible spy if he even was one at all. It really does seem like he’s out to get laid and it makes Hux wonder again, briefly, why Poe picked him.
He adjusts a glove and reassesses.
Poe offers Hux the vaporizer wordlessly and Hux smacks it out of his hand, huffing, and Poe lets it happen.
“You should quit.”
He just stares at it on the ground, and looks over at Hux. His eyes are dark, heated, and he has to tip his head back to make eye contact.
“What makes you think you’re what I’m looking for?”
“You’re looking for a fight tonight,” Poe says.
It’s not a question and Hux snorts. He bends over, tosses the deathstick back at Poe, and then leans in.
The slap is light, testing, and Poe doesn’t startle, just closes his eyes when Hux’s hand connects with his cheek. His nostrils flare before he opens his eyes again, wide and deep and staring up.
“I think you’re the one looking for something,” Hux says. This is a power play, and he is winning, he thinks. He knows he must be flushed from the cold, but the pink spreading over Poe’s face isn’t from the wind or the booze.
“Is this what you do at bars, then? Find men who’ll treat you badly?” Hux doubts it. This is a step out for him, a dare. A challenge.
Poe unclenches his jaw, says, “Where would men like you be without idiots like me?”
Hux presses two fingers under his chin and Poe lets him, lets him tilt his head up, lets him bare his neck.
“Let’s go,” Hux says, and Poe blinks at him, eye contact steady, jaw set.
Hux is going to make him cry.
-
Hux leads him through the halls of the Voes Gasel hotel with a firm hand on the back of his neck. Poe isn’t sure he can sublimate that into the erotic -- it makes him anxious, itchy for a blaster he’s not packing, but he goes along with it anyway. There’s really nothing else he can do - he’s committed, thrown himself at Hux and caught easily.
“So what’s the scene you’re looking for? Do you want me to be good?” Poe asks as soon as they’re in Hux’s room. Hux shrugs off his coat and starts unbuttoning his cuffs, neatly rolling up each sleeve. His forearms are slimmer than Poe expected. “Or are you looking for someone to punish? More of an authoritarian, maybe. Your friends certainly seem to think so.”
Might as well just get it out in the open -- Hux seems like he enjoys the drama of a long drawn out introduction to basic shit like being tied up, and Poe is antsy already. He busies himself by hanging up his jacket and pulling his own shirt off, leaving him bare-chested except for dog tags.
“Some foreplay,” Hux says, but he doesn’t sound upset at all. “I expect you’ll require punishment regardless of how good you try to be.” What he does sound is certain and Poe rankles at that a little.
He leaves his gloves on, though, and that makes him a little bit interested. The deathstick might have been a mistake -- his body feels languid and he isn’t sure he can trust his reflexes quite yet. He weighs his options.
“Depends on what your rules are -- stubble aside, I am an officer in the Republic Starfleet. The Starfighter Corps, even. I’m not all that bad at following orders.”
“What an abysmal excuse for military standards the Republic has, if a slut like you could get in.”
Hux says it casually, doesn’t even hesitate at the slur, isn’t even looking at Poe to see if he flinches or burns with shame.
What Poe does is shrug, even though he can feel his face heat up with shame he didn’t even know he still carried. “Doesn’t matter who I fuck so long I can still fly.”
He sits down on the bed and starts unlacing his boots. Keeps moving.
“Unless you want them on?” he asks, trying to flirt, maybe, but more desperate to stall than anything.
“No. Strip,” Hux says, and that tone makes Poe pause, fingers stilling for a second before his muscle memory kicks in. No rank but there’s something there, something beyond just a bedroom game. He’s heard rumors of secret academies, but dismissed them all as implausible.
“Sure. You’re the boss,” Poe says, and he hopes he won’t regret it.
“Strip and then get on your knees.”
-
Hux thinks about what the Republic fleet academy must be like. They must be a pit of undisciplined teenagers, running around and fucking like wild woolamanders, howling and sloppy.
No discipline.
Poe shifts on his knees, trying hard not to sneak a quick glance up at him. Poe talked big earlier, but it’s like he only knows some of the rules he should here, like it’s been theoretical thus far to take even the simplest orders, in or out of the bedroom.
Hux crouches down, leaning on his knees to get their faces closer together.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asks. He hopes not, suddenly, hopes that Poe is miserable. Wants it to be real for a second, to look into Poe’s eyes and see that he’s in over his head but he’s too proud to cry mercy.
“Yes...sir?” Poe isn’t sure, hesitation in his voice, and god Hux wants to ruin him. Hux buries his hand in Poe’s hair and pulls, baring Poe’s throat just like he had in the bar. Poe makes a noise and Hux tugs again.
“The rules are simple. Do what I tell you. If you don’t, you get punished. If you do, you’re rewarded.” Hux nudges at Poe’s cock with his boot at that, the hard toe tapping against his thigh. Poe swallows hard.
“Yes sir,” Poe says, and it’s still uncertain. Hux lets his hair go and starts unbuttoning his pants. He pulls off his own boots, strips off his pants and boxers, peels off his socks. He leaves the shirt on, and stands, the bed behind him. He’s half-hard and Poe isn’t at all, and he thinks maybe Poe is afraid.
He normally tries to gentle a new partner into these things, but he isn’t feeling generous. After all, Poe isn’t changing allegiances, so he better make this worth his time.
“Come over here.”
He starts to stand, and Hux clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes. “On your knees, idiot.”
Poe frowns, clearly doesn’t like that, but he shuffles himself awkwardly until he’s between his legs, staring down at Hux’s rapidly growing erection.
“Do you know what I want you to do?”
Poe licks his lips and looks up at Hux, and there’s a heady thing -- his eyes are dark. Poe might not like him, but he likes the idea of blowing him. “Yeah, I think I got the idea.”
“I want you to stay still.” Hux grabs his hair again and Poe stiffens, just for a second, and then he opens his mouth, leaning forward until Hux slowly slides his entire cock into it.
Poe’s mouth is hot and wet and he chokes almost immediately, throat spasming around the head of Hux's dick. It's delicious the way Poe tries to take it, over-eager.
What’s better than the enthusiasm is the struggle, the way Poe’s hands go up to Hux’s thighs and how he pushes at them like he isn’t sure if he actually wants Hux to stop, how his eyes start watering and his nostrils flare. Hux counts silently, and lets Poe come up for air after a good thirty seconds.
“Hux-” he croaks and Hux yanks on his hair, getting a moan in return.
“Suck it,” Hux says, “No hands.” Poe is hesitant as he wraps his lips around the head of Hux’s dick, tongue darting out to meet his slit and hands staying in place on his thighs. He does suck, cheeks hollowing as he takes more of Hux’s dick into his mouth, tongue flexing on its underside. The pressure is decadent, and he loosens his grip on Poe’s hair enough to let him take the lead, bobbing up and down his cock.
Poe’s eyelashes flutter, eyes watery from before, but he’s actually a great cocksucker. Hux should have known -- he hadn’t meant to call Poe a slut, not really, but it’s probably true if the way his tongue swirls around his length is any indicator. Poe sucks, takes him until his cockhead bumps against his soft palate. Poe swallows, instinct, and Hux groans.
Hux lets him set the pace for a bit, the slick slide of Poe’s mouth sending warm waves of pleasure up his spine. This is better than the fast face-fuck he’d been planning and it makes him furious -- but not so furious as to interrupt. Poe’s tongue is talented and he knows how to set a steady pace, never deviating. Hux doesn’t have more than average girth, but his dick is long just like his legs, proportionally unwieldy.
But Poe manages, doesn’t choke when he takes his time to take Hux into his throat. It’s like the tension of the whole day melts the harder Poe tries to appease him -- he’s careful of his teeth even as Hux practically grinds his nose into his pubic hair, pulling out just an inch and slamming hard, just as a warming, just to make Poe's hands tighten on his thighs.
Poe groans from somewhere in his throat and that’s nice too, the vibrations traveling up his cock and making his skin break out into goosebumps. There’s no hurry to this and Hux wonders if he’s losing his edge -- he tugs on Poe’s hair sharply just to remind him who’s leading this endeavor. It's so good, though, the pleasure heady.
Poe responds by sliding his tongue all the way past his lips, nudging at Hux’s balls as he swallows. It's the best deep throat Hux has ever had, tight and hot and sloppy wet. He grips Poe’s hair and says, “Stay,” and Poe does, lets Hux pull out of his mouth slowly and slowly slide back in.
Poe’s eyes are watering, face flushed.
It’s so much less hurried than a normal fuck that Hux feels drunk with it, the alcohol in his blood molten hot and the pleasure running up his limbs and spine. Poe grunts, groans, but stays still until Hux slides all the way out, dick obscenely connected to his lips with long strings of spit.
He lets go of Poe’s hair and Poe’s head drops, and he leans on his thighs.
“Fuck,” he says, and the spit is running down his chin, tear tracks on his cheeks -- it’s disgusting, so untidy and so unbelievably erotic to see Poe so clearly in disarray. His hair is in a curly mess on his head and his chest and neck are pink to match his face.
“Yes,” Hux says, and he slides his fingers into Poe’s curls again, but this time to soothe over his scalp. “You’re doing so well,” he croons, and Poe shivers.
-
Poe’s hard.
He realizes it as he’s choking on Hux’s dick, panic fluttering but ignored in his chest as Hux holds him still with a deliciously tight grip on his hair, pain in his scalp a counterpoint to the ache in his throat, his jaw. It’s a rush.
When Hux praises him, scratching lightly at his scalp, Poe shivers all over, overwhelmed and light-headed. It’s nice, it’s so nice, and he realizes again that he might be too fucked up for this mission after all. He feels adrift, disconnected, turned on.
“You’re so good,” Hux says, and Poe suddenly wants so much that he groans, letting his weight sag in Hux’s hands.
“Oh, do you want something?” Hux grins down at him. “You’re not even close to earning yourself an orgasm, Dameron.”
Hux stares at him, dick dripping with spit and precum, and Poe isn’t sure what to do with himself. He’s not shy about his body but he doesn’t like the detached air Hux has, isn’t sure what he's looking for. Poe takes the time to glance around the room -- the datapad’s on the nightstand, predictable, easy.
“What am I going to do with you?” Hux asks himself, and Poe takes in deep breaths. He likes sucking dick, is great at giving head, and Hux isn’t letting him finish it off. Poe wants to get off but he also wants to leave.
Hux says, “Stand up,” so Poe does, and Hux walks around him in a slow circle, staring. Poe feels his face go hot, even though he’s sure he’s still bright red from being choked.
“What do you think you’re here for?”
“I think you probably want to smack me around some, and then fuck me, and then probably never see me again,” Poe says, voice rough. He's a little too drunk to be coquettish, but at least he stays on his feet.
“Well, we will probably run into each other again, but other than that you’re not wrong.”
Poe crosses his arms over his chest. "So hit me."
"I think I'll make you cry,” Hux says, voice cracking, and Poe realizes he’s not in control at all. Hux’s face is blotchy red, he’s breathing heavy, and he’s hungry.
“Um,” Poe says, because he’s not sure how Hux is going to achieve that, but his own dick is heavy and hot.
“Lean over the bed,” Hux says, voice hoarse, and Poe almost, almost doesn't.
But then he does, because what else is there to do. There’s rummaging behind him but he pays it little heed, getting comfortable as he can with the edge of the bed digging into his stomach.
The gloves are on his hips, rubbing at his lower back, squeezing his ass, and Poe lets himself relax. This is fine, this is easy, this is --
Hux slaps him, hard, and the pain shivers into something like pleasure as it radiates through his body.
The leather cracks against his ass again and this time he can't keep the moan back.
"Oh, Major, you're a treasure," Hux breathes, and Poe can't answer because Hux hits him again.
Hux leans over him, his long body more than enough to cover Poe's. It's not affectionate.
"I think you like this a little too much," Hux says, sliding his hand up to pinch at Poe's earlobe.
"Just the right amount," Poe mumbles, shifting his hips to rub against Hux's erection.
Hux steps back and then hits him again. He spanks hard, the whole of his palm connecting. Poe wonders if he should be wanton, if he should act hurt, but then Hux keeps it up, a steady clip of smacks and hits and Poe can't do anything but be himself. He bends his back a little, just barely lifting up to match the hit. There's the sound, the sting, the throb it leaves behind, the way each hit melts into the other, a spread of warm pleasure and pain that rolls into him. Poe gasps and moans and grabs at the sheets, and Hux keeps hitting him until it tips into a deeper, darker pain.
"You're here to please me," Hux snarls, and the tone of voice sends a shock of pleasure down Poe's spine just like the hits did.
"I promise I will, if you hurry up." Poe wriggles his ass.
He gets a hard slap for that, one that makes him gasp, and then he feels those gloved fingers moving to the cleft of his ass.
"Finally," he says into the sheets, flexing his fingers, and Hux hits him, and hits him again. He can already imagine the bruise, purple blossoming under Hux's hand. It's less sharp and more throb now, more pain than tease, and Poe leans on the balls of his feet to take it.
"You've got a mouth on you," Hux says and he shoves fingers into said mouth, and Poe sucks at them hard, chasing the taste of leather. The pull out with a pop, and Poe can hear him snap open some lube.
"You weren't complaining earlier," Poe says, and earns himself another brilliant hit. His whole body is lit up now, wrapped in the heady haze of the booze and the drugs and the endorphins. He wonders if it would hurt more with or without the gloves, if it would still feel good if Hux kept going. There's a zing of anticipation slicing through the pleasure.
Nothing's even touched his cock except the hotel sheets.
Hux is exacting, forceful, and the pressure of two fingers is overwhelming for a moment, stealing Poe's breath right out of his throat. It builds until there's a slick breach of muscle and Hux twists his wrist in a way that makes Poe tremble. It's always more weird than wild pleasure for Poe, at the beginning; he hasn't had a regular lover in years and always needs to remember.
"Been awhile?" Hux asks and Poe can imagine the sneer on his face without haven't to look and see it. "I'm shocked."
"You're the one with the assumptions," Poe says, shifting as Hux slides his fingers in and out of him. The leather adds bulk, adds a texture that's unlike human skin, and Poe kind of wants to get hit again while full of fingers.
The slap comes just as he hoped -- weak, right-handed, his dominant hand busy sliding around. Poe jerks and tightens and he hears Hux catch his breath.
Hux hits him harder, shoves his fingers in hard, skirting over Poe's prostate over and over until he lets out a broken moan. His fingers are long and feel so good -- he'll take more even if it means hearing Hux chatter more.
Poe cants his hips when Hux slides his fingers all the way out, spreading Poe's legs with light kicks to his ankles. He wishes they were all the way on the bed, that his legs were a little bit longer, that Hux was somebody he could respect, but mostly he wishes Hux would get on with it. He's chasing it now, the warm blank pleasure of being used, being taken.
He looks over his shoulder and watches Hux roll a prophylactic on, relieved he didn't have to say anything. Hux strokes himself up, those gloves a harsh contrast to his pale, freckled skin, the copper curls of pubic hair, the pinkness of his dick. Poe licks his lips, thinking about it in his mouth again -- the heavy weight, the silky skin. Hux is lanky and mean and honestly, just what Poe likes sometimes, which makes it worse; he wants and knows he shouldn't. If he thinks about it too hard he'll feel sick with it, wanting an Imperial like this.
Hux settles him with one palm on his shoulder, pressing him into the bed, the other guiding his dick. The pressure is worse this time, Poe can feel it in his throat, the angle is wrong and Poe thinks, there wasn't enough prep, that it won't fit, that --
and then the angle's right and Hux is inside with a shocky thrust and Poe groans. His dick is hot inside him, heavy and just wide enough that the stretch is a good burn, the pain curling right into pleasure.
Hux drops his weight onto Poe, leaning heavily onto him. He pulls out with a hot rough drag and the shove back into Poe is good, so good his toes curl into carpet. He's caught it again, the slow good feelings in his body, melting over the straining tension in his thighs, the tight grip he has on the sheets. There's a deep buzz of pleasure as his cock rubs against the bed.
“The only rule here is that you don’t come until I tell you to,” Hux says, and suddenly his elbow is hard in Poe’s back, his hand tight in his hair, and Poe gasps, rolls his hips until Hux slams into him again.
"Y-yeah," Poe stutters out, and Hux grips his hips with a bruising hold, the leather digging into his skin. He shoves himself deep, grinding his hips against Poe's ass, the bones sharp against the earlier bruises.
Poe closes his eyes and relaxes into his body, chasing the heat of the alcohol in his blood, focusing on the growing simmer of pleasure in his stomach as Hux fucks. Hux is fast, hard thrusts that keep Poe's breathing shallow, and he's got Poe's hips trapped in his grip so he can't even press back to meet him. Poe feels good, it's been so long since someone has just taken him, filled him up. It's a mission but thinking is harder and harder, and worse, he'd rather not. He just wants to feel it.
He floats, nothing but the shove and drag of Hux's cock, the circles of his hips, the bite of his hands, and then Hux has fingers in his hair and is jerking his head up from the mattress. Poe's back bends like a bow and whenever he closes his eyes he sees sparks behind his eyelids, each one a little countershock of pain to pleasure of being full like this.
"Take it," Hux hisses, and Poe does, doesn't have anywhere else he'd rather be, and Hux pulls his hair hard enough that he whimpers.
Hux pulls out and the suddenness is chilling and weird. Poe's arms are shaky when he tries to push himself up but Hux grabs his arm and flips him. That's awkward, bent over backwards, but Hux grabs his knees and Poe gets the picture, pushes himself up the bed until Hux is kneeling on the mattress in between his thighs. Poe wishes idly that he could have stretched before being bent like this, Hux heaving his legs over his shoulders, but once his cock is back inside Poe doesn't give a fuck about the twinges in his muscles.
Here, each of Hux's pistoning thrusts hits his prostate dead on and he reaches up, hands scrabbling against Hux's slim shoulders.
"Fuck, Hux, let me," he says, panting with the effort of not grabbing his dick. The speed and sharp pleasure is overwhelming, his chest tight.
Hux looks down and sneers. "Keep your hands to yourself," he says, but he's out of breath and his hair is damp around his eyes.
"Hux," Poe whines, arching his back and bending his knees just enough to pull Hux closer. Hux slows, pushing slowly back into the tight clutch of Poe's body, and it's perfect, a slow steady slide. Poe keeps opening up and closing around him, and he wants so much it burns in his belly.
"Just touch me," he says, and Hux drops a hard slap onto his thigh, making him yelp.
Hux rolls his hips and slaps him again, and again, and presses deep into him. Poe tightens around him, wants Hux to cum so he can cum, wants something to touch him. Hux doesn't, just fucking him leisurely now, his eyes glinting dangerously.
This is worse, because this is better -- Poe feels wrung out all over again as Hux plays him, the thrum of pleasure overwhelming every ache in his body.
A gloved hand slides down between them and circles Poe's cock loosely, the drag of leather almost too much. His hand is slow, even slower than his hips, and Poe can feel it, the hot throb of pleasure rising fast in his gut while the rest of him twists in Hux's hold.
"Fuck," Poe says, and Hux leans onto his legs, bending him even more. His joints protest but the ache blends immediately with the glow of arousal Poe's swimming in, heat rising with each torturously slow stroke of his hand. "Please let me cum!"
"No." The word is a harsh pant.
Poe tightens, muscles gripping Hux's dick even tighter than before. He wants.
"You just want someone to treat you right, don't you?" Hux croons, and then he cums, face tightening. Poe squirms when Hux leans heavy against his legs, still inside him but not moving, hand motionless.
"Hux," Poe says after counting out a slow five seconds. "Hux! "
Hux straightens, pulling out and letting Poe's legs hit the bed. Poe's been more blindingly desperate than this, but that's with people he's loved, he's trusted, this is different. He was warm before, burning up with it, but the need now is sharp and anxious, and he starts jacking himself off almost in earnest as Hux returns to reality, wiping sweat from his brow and peeling off his sweat-soaked shirt.
His gloved hand grabs and stills Poe's wrist tight and Poe is suddenly flooded with the urge to grab his arm back, to wrestle him back down to the bed and make him finish, but he holds it back, goes limp.
"Let me," Hux says, and the leather is good, slick enough with precum that it doesn't drag against his skin, just hot pressure. He swipes a thumb over the slit and slaps Poe in the face.
"Please!" Poe's voice cracks. He can't grab him so his hands are balled fists and Hux flips him over again, arms and knees, and his body is a hot fucking weight on his back. He's jacking Poe slowly, slowly, and he bites at Poe's neck. "Do you think you've earned it?"
Poe is going to break, shatter into pieces before he gets to the release. Hux rests his other hand on Poe's throat, fingers a light presence and a dark promise, and Poe bucks, held still only by the bulk of Hux's body.
"You don't deserve to get off," Hux snarls and Poe whines, trying to thrust his hips into the circle of Hux's fist. "But you may, anyway," he says with a twist of his wrist.
Poe would never say it, but when he shoots he almost sees stars.
-
Dameron has decided he's staying and Hux doesn't have the energy to divest him from that notion, but his manners are intolerable.
“Don’t do that in my room,” Hux says as he watches Poe take a deep inhale on his vaporizing pen.
“You can’t deny a man his after sex smoke, Hux.” Poe makes a smoke ring and watches Hux watch his mouth. Poe blinks at him, unimpressed, but Hux has already had him - why wouldn’t he stare?
Hux pulls the covers up, already cold even though Poe's radiating heat next to him.
“Try it, you might like it,” Poe says, holding a button and pushing it into Hux’s mouth. He inhales, mostly out of curiosity, and the taste is light, minty and airy. It’s nice.
He’s very tired.
-
Poe watches Hux’s pale eyelashes flutter and his body slump as the drug hits him. Leia told him to have a backup for his backup -- if you can’t charm, then you steal. He likes smoking but he really likes gadgets, and a tranq hidden in a drug pen is a great one.
He pulls out his drive and docks it with Hux’s, charging on the nightstand. He’ll break the encryption later, but the transfer is what’s important.
He takes a pair of black leather gloves as a final fuck you.