nightsofllyn:

Hux’s bright eyes burn with shame and hate and something more than hate–hate tipping toward something that raises the hair on Kylo’s neck.

His breaths come ragged, past swollen, bloody lips. His cheek is scratched. He wants to keep glaring at Kylo but can’t, eyes drifting shut–such strange, long lashes–then snapping open.

Hux had kicked and spit and bit. He’d fought dirty. He’d lost. Cornered, now, he shifts his weight against the wall, big coat falling from his slight shoulder like a broken wing. Kylo can’t remember how the fight started.

“Surrender?” he asks.

Hux heaves a breath, straightens up, tries to yank the coat onto his shoulder. It slides down further. He shakes his head, hair a mess. He swallows, “No.”

Kylo shouldn’t be proud of him. His heart shouldn’t swell. Another thing he can’t remember–growing fond of this sneering stranger. His easy way with cruelty. His vicious angles.

Kylo steps closer. Hux shuts his eyes, ready to be beaten further. He jumps when Ren touches his jaw. Keeps his eyes squeezed shut and ducks his head, as Kylo’s fingers trace over the cut on his cheek. Shame rolls off of Hux and, also, something more than hate.

“What should I do?” Kylo asks, “if you won’t surrender?”

Hux’s eyes burn, “Just kill me,” he says, but doesn’t mean it. Like how their fight was never a fight at all, but more an excuse for touching. So Kylo leans in to taste his torn lips, then licks the salt from his jaw, from his neck, from the tender place where his collarbones meet, until Hux breaths, “Ren,” and pulls him closer.

~

Based on this because it ruined my life @first-disorder