Oooh, I’d love some soft, secret touching. Maybe one guiding the other by the small of their back…

callmelyss:

Sacrum, 255 words

The first time it happens, they’re both on the bridge: Hux overseeing maneuvers, Ren doing…whatever Ren does when he isn’t damaging Hux’s ship or stalking dramatically down its corridors. Brooding probably.

Hux normally wouldn’t be standing there with his arms folded, but this squadron is a mess. 

Not to mention he’s trying to avoid the sizable bruise on his lower back where Ren may or may not have bent him over his desk yesterday.

He almost jumps out of his boots when he feels the first cautious brush of fingertips there, just around the edge of where he’s tender.

“Does this hurt?” Ren asks. Not menacing. Curious, even through the mask.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Hux hisses in an undertone.

“Stop panicking. They can’t see,” Ren rumbles. Amused. 

It becomes a favored spot for him after that, especially when they’re standing side by side: monitoring an operation, reviewing a report, addressing the troops. Once during a particularly fraught meeting with the admiralty, all of them berating Hux–his job to stand at attention and take it. He’s not even sure why Ren’s there, except Ren is always there lately, looming in his space more than usual. And touching him.  

The sweeping cut of his robe hides the gesture now, that pressure just at the base of Hux’s spine. Not hesitant this time. Sure. Maybe even calming–comforting–as seems to be intended by the soft stroke of Ren’s thumb, although Hux would never admit it, even under torture. 

He does not lean into it, not at all.