nightsofllyn:

Ben is 18 in this au.

–

Though Hux gets Ben into bed easily, he struggles to get him out of it the next morning.

“But why?” Ben whines.

“Because,” Hux says, because that’s reason enough. Or it should be reason enough. But Ben is willful. Willful and too big to push out of the bed, though Hux tried earlier while Ben laughed. Willful and too big and warm, draped over Hux, kissing the bruises he left behind last night. So Hux tilts his head to give him more room and decides to suffer his presence a little longer. 

“Just so you know,” he says, shivering under the light touch of his lips, “for future reference, it’s considered polite to disappear into the night after this kind of thing. Rather than linger past breakfast.”

Ben is silent for a moment, completing his lazy kissing tour of Hux’s neck, before he says, hopefully, “Breakfast?”

“No.”

Ben hums, undaunted. His breath is hot against Hux’s hair, his long fingers closing over his hipbone, “Again?”

Again. This time Hux isn’t drunk, and Ben’s not a virgin. Hux doesn’t call him names–or at least, not as many–and Ben lasts and lasts.

And lasts. Until–Hux thinks, hazily, this can’t be right–but the light from outside seems to fade from blue to orange, then black. He watches the moons rise upside down, in a kind of trance, head hanging off the side of the bed, blood pulsing in his temples. He’s soaked with sweat. The sheets cling to his back. Ben clings to his front, fucking him so, so slow.

Whatever this is it’s Ben’s fault, but he’s not immune either: his chest a map of long, red scratches, fat bottom lip split, eyes like the eyes of some village healer high on dried bantha dung, at once rolled back and half-lidded, eyelashes fluttering. It should be frightening. Hux isn’t scared.

He should be thirsty, hungry, exhausted. He’s not. He will be later. He’ll sleep the whole trip back to the Outer Rim, on his stomach, ass too tender for sitting, blue with bruises, moaning for Ben in his dreams.

But here and now he moans for Ben and Ben answers. They speak in low whispers, foreheads pressed together,  saying things Hux won’t remember later, though he’ll try.

Later, someone knocks at Hux’s door, worried. Ben pulls his fingers from Hux’s mouth to let him answer. Hux says go away.

It’s a shock. He’d forgotten there was anyone else–anyone else at all–anyone else in the universe. Ben draws him back in with rough kisses, a hypnotizing tongue, and he soon forgets all over again.

At sunrise, Ben licks come and tears from Hux’s cheeks, kneeling between his legs on the floor. Hux has hiccups, has discovered that Ben can read his mind, has lost track of how many times he came, wonders if he’ll ever be able to again.

You have to go, he thinks, once he can think again, if you don’t– But he’s not brave enough to finish the thought.

Ben says, “Okay,” and gets dressed. Easy as that. If Hux were himself, he’d say he could have used that kind of attitude a day earlier, but he’s not himself. Not anymore. And the memories of who exactly he is are returning in a trickle, not the flood he would expect.

Ben looks younger with clothes on, the hood of his robe hiding his long, tangled hair. Hux shows him out, trying not to limp, passing Phasma and the other officers, who are eating breakfast. Their conversation dies, utensils forgotten halfway to mouths. It’s the longest walk of Hux’s life, and at the end Ben turns to look him over–just a drowsy, possessive look, nothing more, nothing less–before he steps outside.

Hux stands there stunned until Phasma says, “Did you fuck a Jedi?“

But when he opens his mouth to answer, he finds he’s lost his voice.

–

Part One