Tag: cantina prompts

pangolinpirate:

The Dawn Comes and the Knight Goes

Kylo was thankful for his connection with the Force as he gently removed himself from under Hux’s sleep-warm arm. The motion would have certainly jostled the man awake if not for the quelling and fuzzy thoughts Kylo directed to Hux’s slumbering mind.

Slowly and quietly Kylo made his way around Hux’s quarters, deftly collecting the previous evenings discarded clothing and pulling them unceremoniously back on as he remembered the evening they had shared. The unexpected gentleness of Hux’s pale delicate hands as they roamed Kylo’s bared flesh, the way Kylo had so readily submitted to his co-commander, how Kylo revelled in the sensation of their skin sliding desperately against each other.

The sweet release.

In his reverie, it took a moment to locate his helmet, which had been kicked under the bed. Kylo took a moment to sit at the foot of the mattress to pull on his boots. Instead he watched Hux breath deeply and regularly; appreciating the young general’s relaxed features, unguarded -vulnerable- in his sleep. He’d looked too long, Kylo had to go. Pulling on his boots and replacing his helmet Kylo rose and strode to the door…. he didn’t do morning afters.

A fill for this @kyluxcantina prompt submitted by @fruhallbera!

Contagion

callmelyss:

kyluxcantina:

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Please tell me you’re a hallucination, 775 words

Hux is almost certain he’s dying. 

The illness came on him swiftly, as it had the entire crew, reducing the Finalizer to a floating sick ward in a matter of days. The medical droids have yet to identify the pathogen, let alone its proper treatment. As best as they can determine, it originated from one of six patrols returned from disparate systems in the last week.

When Hux figures out which of those incompetent wretches broke with the quarantine and containment protocols, he’s going to have them court-martialed, then executed. And executed again.

Then he’s going to kill the rest of their squad, assuming any of them are still among the living. Assuming he is.

Keep reading

grown to love

broodmother:

kyluxcantina:

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There was no reason for Hux to visit the development chambers – nothing beyond pure curiosity, he supposed, but he could hardly help himself. Snoke had been deliberately obtuse when he’d informed Hux of his new plans to create a superweapon, one that would be grown in a lab right there on board the Finalizer. Hux had assumed he meant some sort of biological weapon – and well, he wasn’t too far off the mark. 

Hux had been baffled by it at first. Obviously he knew about using clones as soldiers, something which the galaxy was still struggling to recover from, but it soon became apparent that this clone – this creature, this construction, since it didn’t grow as any clone he’d ever heard of, not from fetus to infant to man in a matter of months, but was built like some kind of organic robot – was new to the world and the annals of history, unlike anything that had came before. Snoke told him so.

“He will be the one to bring the universe to order. He will be the one to bring the First Order to greatness,” he had said, voice like dry leather and dead leaves, right in his ear like he was by Hux’s side and not millions of miles away in some unknown place, “He is to be your gift, and your responsibility.”

That had been three years previously, and as with all tasks given to him, Hux carried it out with the utmost seriousness. Beneath the military veneer beat the heart of an engineer, and he came to know that building a human (this proto-human, part-human, not-quite-human) was not really so different from building anything else – a man and a weapon, twin high maintenance machines. He spent days, weeks, pouring over his new studies so that he could better understand the reports that came from the scientists. With understanding came a certain sense of pride when the subject met or exceeded developmental targets, surpassed growth points, performed well on reflex-response tests, and with pride came burgeoning affection.

Chorded muscle coiled around heavy-set bones like snakes. Translucent skin flushed and filled with blood, feet kicked, eyes moved behind thin lids, and deep in a chest as broad as a mountainside, a heart began to beat. There was life growing under Hux’s attentive watch, and he grew with it.

Hux could remember the thin, illogical disappointment he felt when the subject’s hair began to grow, and it was not red like his own. He remember his curling smile when fingers twitched against tubes and cables at the sound of Hux’s voice as he read to him – something which had felt foolish at first, a titling suggestion from one of the ever-present doctors to stimulate brain activity, but soon became a quiet and coveted pleasure. He thought his heart was fit to burst the first day Ren – yes, Ren, because by that time he had his own name, and it felt like something so insubstantial for such a marvel of creation – opened his eyes, and they were brown and deep and aching, and tracked Hux’s pacing figure with such intensity it could have pinned him to the wall. 

Hux had placed his hand on the cool glass of the development chamber as he blinked up at him in muted wonder. An alarm chirped from the console, signifying a change in pressure than could compromise the seals: something inside was pushing back with invisible fingers strong enough to buckle steel. He could feel the power leaking from the tank like the charged air before a lightning strike.

“My name is General Hux,” he said, though it was a struggle to force the words through numbed lips. He didn’t know what had awoken in Ren, what carried Snoke’s promise of greatness, but Hux knew he had grown it, cultivated it. He had made Ren, and he had made him for himself – that much became apparent as soon his those eyes had opened.

Hux.

It was like an echo, or more like he was remembering something he had already heard before, suddenly pulled to the forefront of his mind from somewhere deep beneath.

“That’s me,” he said. He brought his other hand to rest on the glass too, pushed up against it like he would climb inside if he could. He brought one finger to pin-point Ren, dead-center on his chest, “You are Ren.”

Ren.

Hux smiled, nodded, and the alarm beside him increased in urgency. 

Ren. Hux. Hux?

Something like a touch brushed across his fingers, the back of his hand; the glass beneath his palm crack, a hairline fracture that began to spider-web out from the place where Ren was staring. Hux laughed; Ren wanted out. Ren was calling for him, reaching for him. He was elated, and terrified, and perhaps more than a little in love.

“Calm down, Ren,” he hushed, voice soft and low like it was when he read to him. The fracture stopped growing, the alarm stopped chirping so hysterically, but Ren was still watching him with all the unknowing of the world behind his gaze, “Soon. We’ll be together soon.”

“And we have done those things which we ought not to have done; And there is no health in us.”

stardestroyervigilance:

kyluxcantina:

Please reblog with your response to the above prompt, or submit your response to the kylux cantina!

Hux was
startled momentarily by a sudden ping on his holocron. He sighed heavily and
limped towards his desk, still unsteady on his new prosthetic foot. He dropped
himself onto his desk chair and leaned over to grab his holocron, the weight of
it heavy in his hands.

“General
Hux speaking.”

The
following response was coated in a light layer of static. “Sir, Commandant Ren’s
shuttle has just docked in landing bay fourteen.”

Ah, Ren had
returned finally. He’d been gone for weeks and the mission to D’Qar was only
supposed to be a quick two day long attack. Hux didn’t want to say that he’d
necessarily been worried, no, nothing quite so simple as that, he’d just been…
anxious. Anxious for a response from Ren on his success.

“Thank you Lieutenant.”

“Shall I
alert him of your arrival, sir?” The Lieutenant (Moors, Hux thought, though he couldn’t be sure) said.

Hux shook
his head out of habit despite knowing there was no visual to the holocron. “That
won’t be necessary. He knows where to find me.”

There was a
pause before the Lieutenant spoke. “Very well, sir.”

Hux pressed
the end call button on his holo, throwing it back down onto his desk. His leg
ached, the phantom pain from his missing left foot a prickly annoyance. He rubbed
at the spot, but felt no alleviation of his discomfort.

“Thrilled
to see me, I see.”

Hux’s heart
jumped at the voice. He knew that familiar deep crackle.

“Ren,” he
said, “It’s about time you showed up.”

Ren stood
by the doorway, tall and imposing, his mask still firmly on his head. His hood
was down, and the fabric was patterned with dark, coppery spots that certainly
hadn’t been there when he had left and looked suspiciously like blood stains.

“I know you
won’t write a report even if I asked you to so I’ll ask now – how did the
mission go?” Hux said, swinging around on his chair to face Ren. His leg was stretched
out in front of him, the pain still enough to be frustrating.

Ren stalked
closer, moving to sit on the corner of the desk by Hux’s side. There was a time
he would have scolded Ren for sitting on something that wasn’t explicitly a
chair but this time he found himself not all that bothered by it.

“She wasn’t
there.”

Hux’s
interest was piqued. “Who?”

“General
Organa,” Ren clarified, the name exiting his mouth as though he was spitting
poison, “My mother.”

Hux nodded.
“I’m familiar. Do you know why not?”

Ren huffed,
the sound bordering on a growl. “The base has moved. All that remained on D’Qar
were the few who were left to make sure nothing was left behind.”

Damn. That
wasn’t pleasant news. The D’Qar base moving now meant the First Order had no
idea where the Resistance ran its operations from now. That was rather
annoying. It was one of the few advantages they’d had and now it had been taken
from them. Hux’s brows furrowed at the thought.

“How many
were left?” Hux asked.

Ren waved
his hand dismissively. “Fifty or so,” he droned, “Doesn’t matter. I killed all
of them.”

“Personally?”

Ren looked
at him, his expression still hidden behind the mask. He scoffed. “Of course.”

Hux smiled,
the expression awkward and filled with teeth. “Good.” Hux paused, biting his
lip. “You know, I’m quite proud of you.”

Ren’s head
tilted. “Oh?”

“You’ve
done exceptionally well lately,” Hux praised, “D’Qar notwithstanding.”

Ren sat
taller, practically glowing with the compliment. Hux loved this. Kind words had
such an effect on Ren and he loved seeing his Knight preen beneath them.

“The
Supreme Leader is wise in his guidance,” Ren said, “He has made me powerful.”

Hux barely
resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He stood, pressing his weight primarily
onto his right foot, still distrustful of his new prosthetic. He situated
himself close to Ren, slipping himself between the knight’s open legs. He
pressed a hand to the side of Ren’s metal mask, the plate cold beneath his
fingers.

“It’s not
the Supreme Leader I have pride for, Ren,” Hux said, bringing his other hand to
sit opposite his other on the mask. “It is not his power that is winning me
battles.”

Hux’s
fingers trailed to the underside of Ren’s mask, moving in search of the clasps
that kept the mask closed. He found the lock and pressed down, hearing the hiss
of the pressure being released. Hux pulled up, slipping the mask over Ren’s
head and dropped the heavy thing down onto his desk with a thud.

He turned
back to Ren, looking directly into his eyes. There was some hair that had
fallen into them, but nothing could hide the sickly yellow of the iris within
Ren’s eyes.

“See,” Hux
mused, running a finger along the veiny, blacked skin along Ren’s cheek, “Power
has made you beautiful. Everyone can see that.”

Ren said
nothing, only blinked, his mouth pulled into a self-regarding smile. The dark
side had changed Ren and Hux found himself intoxicated by it. He loved Ren’s
yellow eyes, the heavy bags under his eyes, the dark markings by his cheeks and
along his lips. His lips took a purple tint and he was much paler than he used
to be, too, his skin a sickly white. All of this was the physical manifestation
of the power kept deep within Ren. And it was all Hux’s to command and to use.
Ren was his.

Feeling
overwhelmed Hux pressed his lips to Ren’s, forceful and quick. Ren’s lips were
ice cold, something Hux found himself getting more and more used to. He pulled
away swiftly, not wishing to get too lost within Ren – which he knew he would
if he allowed himself any more time on his lips. Ren followed him as he pulled
away instinctually, clearly having hoped for their embrace to have lasted
longer.

Ren
shifted, knocking Hux’s leg and forcing him to press his weight down onto his
prosthetic leg. He winced at the sensation, still unused to the press of it against
his knee.

Ren’s eyes
flicked down for a moment. ”It bothers you.”

Hux
shrugged, turning away quickly. “It could be worse.”

Ren hummed
in agreement. “You could be dead.”

“Blunt,”
Hux replied.

Ren’s lips
were pulled into a roguish grin. “I’m not wrong.”

“No,” Hux conceded,
“No, you’re not.”

“I killed
him, you know,” Ren said, “The scum that did that. That blew your leg off. He
was still at D’Qar. One they left behind.”

Hux
smirked. “I hope he died screaming.”

“He did. I
made sure of it. I spent a long time on him. I made sure his end was slow and
painful,” Ren paused for a moment, his gaze intense. “I brought you his skull.
It’s on the ship.”

Hux felt as
though the wind had been knocked out of him with that statement. He couldn’t
have been more pleased. His mouth was agape, he knew he must look ridiculous. “Stars,”
he breathed, “I love you.”

Ren’s
laughed, the sound deep and raspy, sounding as though he’d smoked deathsticks his whole
life.

“I know.”    

broodmother:

kyluxcantina:

“If travel is searching
And home has been found

I’m not stopping
I’m going hunting”

–

Please reblog with your response to the above prompt, or submit your response to the kylux cantina!

Hux had spent enough time on the mountain to know what it felt like to be watched. Stalked. Hunted. He was familiar with eyes on his back, the ghost of teeth on his neck; a phantom kill. He shared his territory with wolves and bears, even the occasional foolhardy cougar who came too far north following the deer, so he knew the only thing that stood between him and a death of teeth and claws was his hunting rifle and a slick of commons sense.

But this wasn’t a wolf. It wasn’t a bear, or a cougar.

It had came down the mountain with the spring melt, and whatever it was, it was smart. He had found no fur, no scat. No fresh kills, no dens or nests. When it followed, it walked in own tracks; he’d only discovered that when he doubled back after a nearly getting caught in a squall and found his footsteps still picked out in the snow nearly as fresh as when he’d left them, if a little deeper.

Like so many predators, the nights were when it was at its boldest. It never came too close while he worked around the cabin during the day, whether he was replenishing his stores of fire-wood or starting the post-winter repairs. Hux never saw it then, never so much as heard it, but he could feel the weight of a watchful gaze on all the softest parts of him. He kept his rifle beside the axe and the woodpile; somehow, it did little to comfort him, but time to worry and fret and hide away was not something he couldn’t afford.

Darkness came creeping back over the trees; the days were quickly growing longer after months of night, but the hours of light were feeble and fleeting still. Once the sun went down, the cold at that time of year could still kill a man quicker than any beast, so it was time to retire inside, to bar the door and draw the heavy curtains, and set about his cooking pot on the fire. It was a lonely life and a hard one, especially having known the kiss of luxury and power in his relative youth, but a man could learn to love the simplicity of it. A man could learn to love the loneliness, out of necessity if nothing else.

Hux snuffed out the lanterns and let the fire die down before climbed into a bed built for two, piled with a punishingly poor selection of furs and quilts. The silence of night smothered like its own blanket, and what little sound there was would be damped by the snow – dampened, but not swallowed entirely.

He had became familiar with the sound of his hunter’s uneven gait; he assumed it was somehow injured from the off-beat, almost clumsy footfalls – animals that stalked humans usually were, and so he had also assumed at first that it would either die or attack within a day or two. That had been nearly two weeks ago, and it had circled his cabin every night since. On the third night, sick of his disturbed sleep, Hux had unbarred the door and knocked it wide, ready to confront the sickly beast; he stood on his porch with rifle in hand, and watched something dark slither into the gloom of the treeline. He’d fired a single shot after it, hitting one of the pines in a shower of bark splinters.

The warning shot didn’t work. It had came back the very next night, and every night since. Hux didn’t try to catch it again; he didn’t so much as twitch the curtains. He lay in bed and listened to it circle the cabin with a belly full of ice until the meek light of dawn began to scratch at his window, and he could pull together an hour or so of meagre rest. Something had to change – and it did. On that night, the door to cabin began to rattle.

It had started with scratching at first, so light he almost couldn’t make it out at first, then gradually louder until it forced Hux to sit up in bed, eyes fixed to the sliver of moonlight that oozed under his door. It flickered, interrupted; the handle shook again with a greater violence, twisting back and forth. Hux reached for his rifle left propped against the nightstand before he got up, heart in his mouth, the short hairs on the back of his neck on end. He crossed to the door, floorboards creaking beneath his uncertain feet. For a long moment, he simply stood and watched the door shake until finally – finally, it was too much. He struck the door with the butt of his rifle, as hard as he could manage, and the commotion outside stopped instantly.

A breath hung on the wind, a soft rasping gasp that was entirely human-inhuman.

“Hux?”

Weakness washed over him like a cold wave, robbing him of his own breath. God help him, he knew that voice in just one word, though it had never been so thin and reedy before.

“Hux, please,” the voice said, “Christ, it’s so cold. Please let me in.”

“I can’t do that,” Hux said, and he fought to keep his own voice from wavering. It hurt just to hear him again, so clearly in need, “You know I can’t.”

“I’m soaked to the bone, Hux. I haven’t eaten in days,” there was another rattle of the handle and Hux readjusted his grip on his rifle. He had to pull himself together. He had to knit anger out of his hurt, “If you don’t let me in, you’re going to find me frozen to your porch come morning.”

“You’re not getting in here, Ren,” Hux said, “You better be on your way.”

“Why?”

rattle rattle

A voice like dry leaves. Like brittle twigs that snapped when trod upon. A voice he’d heard every morning, every day, every night since they’d left the world behind together; a voice that had said I hate you as often as it had said I love you, and still left Hux aching for both.

“Hux, why?”

scratch scratch

“I thought you loved me Hux.”

“I did love you,” Hux blurted, teeth clenched. He’d meant to ignore it until dawn chased him away again and he could make a break for the nearest town. It was more than a day’s hike away but there would be no choice, but even that chance was looking slimmer by the second, “That’s why I put you in the ground myself, Ren, so the birds wouldn’t get you. The cold took you that winter and I dug your goddamn grave with my own two hands. So no, I won’t let you in.”

Hux pressed the barrel flush to the wood of the door. It shook and jumped beneath it.

rattle rattle

scratch scratch

The Ante – IrisParry

irisparry:

Relationship: Kylux
Rating: Explicit
Words: ~4300
Archive Warnings: None

Three days on the moon, four nights, too many drinks and a couple dozen hands of sabacc, and Kylo had got to thinking it was all a test. It was like a story he once heard from a dead boy, and he knew Snoke had heard those stories too. They’d say you should know when you’re winning too much, quit while you’re ahead, kid, and that was why Kylo was pushing back his chair and bidding the table farewell, credits in his pockets but not more than anyone had to spare, and some of them gone on a round for losers with blasters on their belts. Kylo was waiting for orders, and it was better to be a gentleman tonight if he was going to come back and take their money again tomorrow.

What started out as a short fill for @eralkfang‘s prompt @kyluxcantina – He’s the one bet you lost.

The Ante – IrisParry

You’ve never had a melody.

eralkfang:

kyluxcantina:

Please reblog with your response to the above prompt, or submit to the kylux cantina!

Even through the ever-present helmet, Hux can feel Ren’s eyes on him. It’s like a physical pressure on his back, between his shoulder blades. He’s never been sure if it’s some side effect of the Force, but he suspects. Ren wields it the same way he does his saber, which is to say, with maximum brutality. But Hux doesn’t allow himself to notice it properly until they’re out of orbit and he reaches up to flick the autopilot on.

“What is it?” He snaps, looking over his shoulder. The pressure lifts from his shoulders as Ren suddenly straightens up in the jumpseat.

“You-” Ren starts, voice thick through the vocoder, but he stops to pull his mask off, revealing a sleepy face and mussed hair. He rubs his eyes with his gloved fingers, and Hux mildly hopes there’s something filthy enough on them to give him an eye infection.

“You fell asleep,” Hux says, pointing out the obvious. Which means Ren must have been thinking about him in his sleep, which is something Hux doesn’t want to think about too closely. “Do you always dream so loudly?”

“You have no melody.”

It has been years since one of Ren’s mystical non sequiturs has actually distracted him; Hux has learned it’s usually best to not get involved, when it comes to the Force. Ren lifts one of his hands to his temple, knitting his brows. “You—you’re quiet.”

“That’s the best time I’ve ever been accused of being quiet,” Hux says. The autopilot beeps gently in the background. All is well, it says. All is safe.

“In the Force,” Ren says.

Hux turns in his seat. Despite himself, his curiosity is piqued. “Am I not supposed to be?”

Ren exhales, face settling into an unsettlingly serene expression. It’s an expression he often wears when speaking of the Force. “Most sentients in the galaxy have a Force signature. Like a call sign. I hear them. Constantly.”

“These Force signatures… they sound like songs?”

Ren shakes his head minutely. “Not all of them. Supreme Leader sounds like a single, clear note. But most.”

“Then the Finalizer must be a cacophony for you.”

“Not when I’m with you,” Ren says, and glances away to stare out at the expanse of stars ahead of them.

Despite Ren’s shifting gaze, Hux still feels overly seen. “Because I don’t have a Force signature?”

Ren almost nods, but reconsiders, biting on his full lower lip. Hux glances away to the command console—paying attention to Ren’s mouth always makes him feel a little unseemly. All is well, it indicates. All is safe.

“I think your Force signature is silence. It’s… comforting. I sometimes seek it out.” Ren glances back at him, and Hux feels scalded by his dark eyes. He had no idea Ren thought of him as anything other a cocommander at best and an obstacle at worst. The idea that Ren finds any measure of comfort from his presence makes his face feel hot.

He’s staring.

Hux turns back to the console. “Well, if it helps you sleep,” he says, business-like and a little too loudly. He busies himself rechecking coordinates he’d already double-checked before they left and sending another reminder to the pilot meeting them at the rendezvous point.

He doesn’t dare turn around. At least, not until he feels the weight of Ren’s unconscious attention at his back again. He looks back to find Ren, asleep, mouth open and looking, for once, at peace.

runaways

hollyhark:

kyluxcantina:

Please reblog with your response to the above prompt, or submit to the kylux cantina!

(they’re 18 here)

*

Ben did the charming
while Hux did the thieving. As much as Hux would have liked to laugh
at the thought that Ben Solo could ever charm anyone, Ben’s father
had trained him in con artistry, and he could be convincingly human
and even likable when he wanted something. This was part of the
reason Hux was slipping a package of hot dog buns under the hem of
his baggy sweatshirt in a convenience store off of Interstate 15,
just outside of Vegas: Ben had wanted something, Hux had opened his
legs, and now here they were. Partners in petty crime.

“I couldn’t find
lube,” Hux confessed while they walked together back to their camp
in the desert, Ben having successfully kept the old man at the
counter occupied with his sob story about needing to use the land
line to call his mom. The suggestion that Ben would ever speak to his
mother again was the height of irony, but Hux didn’t mention this
when Ben chose that as a cover.

“You could have at
least grabbed some lotion,” Ben said. His gaze was on the horizon,
and every now and again he checked back over his shoulder.

“We have lotion,”
Hux said.

“Yeah, a kind that
sucks. You’re the one who’s chafing.”

“I’m not
chafing!” He was, though. Hux knew he should stop letting Ben fuck
him, but at night, under the stars, there was nothing else to do. And
it felt good, chafing or not. “I got Vaseline,” Hux muttered.
“And band-aids, for your feet.”

“What I need is
new socks.”

“Well, they didn’t
have socks! Maybe we should move camp.”

“Yeah.”

They were tired
after the long walk, Hux sweating like mad even as the temperature
dropped, the sun sinking. Instead of moving camp, Hux tugged the
sweatshirt off, spread the loot out on top of it and sat bare-chested
on the ground, watching Ben make a fire and cook the hot dogs on a
stick.

Hux was so sick of
hot dogs. But at least they had buns tonight. He ate three and then
felt sick, crawled into the tent to moan and shiver in his underwear
as night came on and the coyotes started up in the distance. Ben
howled back at them like an idiot.

“Stop doing that,”
Hux said when Ben came into the tent to drape all over him, smelling
like hot dogs and smoke from the fire he just doused.

“Doing what?”
Ben licked Hux’s neck. They were both filthy, but both appreciated
the stale taste of each other’s dried sweat. There wasn’t much
flavor in their current lifestyle otherwise.

“Howling,” Hux
said. “I won’t help you when they show up and attack. It’s what
you deserve.”  

“They won’t
attack me, they’re my friends.”

“You’re so– ah, wait.”

Hux rolled onto his
back and looked up at Ben, not sure what he was asking Ben to wait
for or what either of them were ever waiting for or even doing
anymore. He only knew that he couldn’t face Brendol yet or maybe ever again, and that he never saw
Ben’s eyes like this at home: alive, unafraid, dangerous with
overspilling, unrestrained joy.

“Tomorrow we
should hitch back toward the strip,” Ben said. “I have an idea
about that girl with the monkey.”

“You’re going to
rob the pathetic monkey girl?”

“She’s not so
pathetic. She’s got a monkey, doesn’t she? I’m only going to
steal her tips. Not the monkey.”

“Then what?”

“Then we shower in
a motel and start working on bigger marks.”

Hux moaned at the
thought of showering and let Ben lick and nip at his throat again.
All of this was folly but it was an adventure, maybe the only real
one Hux would ever have. Eventually he would return home and join the
Air Force to get away from Brendol. That was the real plan, which he
didn’t tell Ben, because he knew Ben had no similar escape route.
Because he didn’t want one.

Ben wouldn’t go
home. He’d run off with the coyotes. Hux would see him someday,
maybe, from across a casino floor, but Ben wouldn’t recognize him.
He’d have gone feral by then, without Hux to hold him at least
adjacent to civil society by way of his body. Meanwhile, Hux opened
his legs again, still planning to keep Ben squeezed between them for
as long as he could.