I’ve been thinking about the Kylux fake relationship AU all morning.
Consider:
The Orgelench ruling family have an artist-in-residence who, amazed by Kylo’s beauty and grace (and very obvious homage to his Nabooian heritage in his appearance) composes a ballad to honor and mourn the life of Padme Amidala, Naboo’s most famous queen, “whose spirit so clearly lives on in the life of our esteemed guest.”
And it’s beautiful. It’s inspiring and heart-wrenchingly sad. Hux sits next to Kylo as the ballad is performed and feels Kylo’s arm pressed next to his trembling. And he is…overcome, somewhat, by the sentiments that he’s been developing over the past few days, finding out what a warm and devious and charming companion Kylo can be.
How Kylo laughed when Hux fell off his mount in the kybuck hunt, not cruelly but kindly, so that Hux did not look foolish in front of the gathered dignitaries, but approachable, human. Loved.
How Kylo guided him through those seemingly endless dances, never once wincing when Hux accidentally crushed a toe or kicked a heel. Always smiling, appearing only delighted to be in his arms.
How Kylo was so cunning when intercepting the Resistance spy, navigating the tricky social mores and niceties with ruthless charm while also ensuring the spy’s discreet removal and, later, brutal interrogation.
And Hux sees, in that moment, how Kylo needs him, if only briefly. And so he reaches out, with no political motive or machination, to take his hand. He offers up a handkerchief and sits, quietly, the rock upon which the storm of Kylo’s welling emotions may break.
yo where is my epic kylux fake relationship fic? where is it?? give it to me.
Kay hear me out:
The First Order is trying to strike a deal with some small-but-resource-rich planet from the Corporate Sector. General Hux gets invited to a series of very formal dinners and events as a representative of the First Order. Only after agreeing, in the flowery, obtuse language required by this planet’s culture, does he learn that it is a major faux pas to show up at these kinds of events without a date in tow. (Mitaka has to, very meekly, break the news. Poor Mitaka.)
And you know, Hux *would* take Mitaka, or Phasma, but gosh it just doesn’t look right to bring your subordinates out to dinner seven nights in a row. Dammit.
So here’s Hux, head in hand, nursing yet another blossoming headache because how’s he gonna solve THIS problem, this is not what he signed up for, he’s a tactician and a strategist not politician, when who should waltz in but Kylo Fucking Ren, bitching about the power of the dark side or the bitter taste of his enemies’ ashes or some shit, and Hux just cannot today, okay?
“For the love of stars, Ren, not today, alright? Just. Not today.”
Ren takes a deep breath, straightening up to his full height. You’d think the slouching would start to hurt his shoulders at some point but he’s a marathon lurker, a galactic-class loiterer. He opens his mouth to protest but Hux cuts him off. “I’ve got a backlog of troopers overdue for reconditioning, they’re starting to get antsy, and Phasma’s up my ass about the drills I canceled last week, engineering won’t stop crying about the sluggish converter on Engine 4–as if I can just fabricate a new converter out of caf and rations, do you have any idea what kind of shortage we’re working with these days?–and now Mitaka’s just informed me,” Hux thumps a closed fist on his desktop, “that the Orgelench are going to get their underlayers in a twist if I don’t show up to this blasted week of pre-negotiation buffets with some foppish date on my arm.”
Hux stares up at Ren, and realizes, briefly, that he has perhaps overstepped some boundary, vented his frustrations in the wrong direction. He’s already forming some cutting dismissal on his tongue when Ren speaks.
“Do you–” he pauses, the voice modulator picking up on the hitch in his breath. “I could do it.”
Hux chastises himself for allowing his brow to furrow so deeply. “What?”
“Your. Accompaniment. I’ll do it.”
Internally Hux blanches at the idea. “That sounds miserable. I think I’d rather just blow up the entire planet.” It’s too bad his pet project isn’t yet completed, or he might have done it already.
Ren shuffles uncharacteristically. “My mo–In my past life. Before. I am…somewhat acquainted with. Politics. The way of doing things,” he explains.
Hux can’t help the look of surprise on his face. He’s really not doing well with controlling his emotions today. “Well you could have fooled me,” he says loudly.
“I don’t like it. But I know how it goes.”
Hux’s head is in his hand again. He can’t believe he’s actually considering this. “Fine,” he sighs. “Get the schedule from Mitaka. You’ll have to take off the helmet,” he warns.
A curt nod from said helmet. “I understand it is customary to eat at such affairs,” Ren jokes snidely.
“Well, let’s hope they provide something that will sustain you as well as your precious Force,” Hux snaps back. Ren is already turning to leave. “And find something decent to wear,” Hux calls after Ren as the Knight turns into the corridor. “Something that doesn’t smell like an ash pit,” he grumbles to himself, turning back to his work.
Here it is. Exactly what I want – AS A COMPLETE TEASE.
Hux gripped the tiny plate so hard his knuckles were white under his pristine gloves. He barely touched anything on his plate- everything entirely too sweet or salty for his ration-accustomed palate. He stared in contempt at the rows and rows of colorful dishes lined on tables along each wall. The Orgelench decor and attire was steeped in rich history, Hux was sure, but at the moment the high ceilings and elaborate dress were obnoxious at best. Hux himself was in his best parade uniform and still stood out as the only military man at the gala. Mitaka’s meticulously compiled list of diplomats and plans to propose to each of them sat on the edge of his mind. Hux knew he was here for a reason, that he had been entrusted with an important task for the First Order, but he did not trust his own temperment at the moment to approach a single person at this superfluous event. Not only would he have to swallow his own fury, he would have to endure the pitying glances of the race he was trying to woo for being dateless. He suppresed another fresh wave of rage at the thought. This was all Ren’s fault. No, he was the fool for ever thinking Ren could be relied on. He paced the shuttle that afternoon waiting for the idiot Knight to appear in vain. Finally, he stormed down to Ren’s quarters himself to drag him out to their dinner. There was no way Kylo phrakking Ren was going to make him late. He banged on the door and screamed at the stupid man to come out this instant or so help me-! Silence. Hux gave the door a particularly vicious kick, Fine you stupid Knight don’t come out I’ll just leave without you! I don’t need you! It was not his finest moment. And that was how General Hux found himself furiously alone and at a loss as to how to proceed. Slowly, he heard the din of polite conversation shift toward soft gasps and murmurs. He looked up from his unappetizing plate to see the eyes of the crowd pointed toward the entrance. He turned to behold a glittering figure step forward, crowd parting before it like water. The figure was pale, skin so bright and unblemished that it seemed to reflect the lights of the room. The face was even more breathtakingly white, accentuating the noble features of the figure’s facial bone structure. Hux faintly recognized the makeup, knew that it was important to this prince or king, that the red dots on each cheek and red upper lip and split bottom meant something. The figure’s striking black hair was pulled back into intricate knots at the base of their head, silver weaving in and out. A plunging black gown exhibited a strong chest beneath more woven silver strands, feathers at the end of each shoulder to broaden the figure even more. Hux instinctively knew the wardrobe elevated the figure from man to a god a war, an angel of death. Those dark eyes spelled disaster to anyone that looked into them, boring straight into their soul… The glittering creature stopped before him and Hux belatedly realized he was the object of the beautiful man’s attention. He wracked his mind for the diplomat files Mitaka gave him as he watched, breathless, as the figure took his hand, bowed over it, and kissed his ring finger. He still could not deciper who this could be as the man looked up at him through his eyelashes with a wickedly brilliant smile. He finally pieced it together when an unfamiliar voice with a familar cadence drifted up from those full lips. “The universe has brought us together on this beautiful night and it has made me glad.” Hux swallowed- it’s just a sappy Orgelench saying it doesn’t mean anything- and breathed out, “Ren?” Ren straightened with an even wider smile, “Forgive my tardiness, General Hux.” He leaned in close to the General and took his arm, whispering into his ear, “Sometimes it is more prudent to leave an impression than to be punctual. Now no one will be able to ignore us.” Before Hux could muster together a coherent response, a pair of Orgelench’s approached them and Hux tore his attention away from Ren to greet them.
The evening was a whirlwind of introductions, simpering pleasantries, and the sort of coded small talk that Hux had never mastered. He preferred straightforwardness in all things, rigid expectations, orders given and received. This ridiculous back and forth might as well have been conducted in another language. Ren proved adept, however, at navigating the labyrinth of social intricacies to steer each conversation in their favor. Without Ren at his side, Hux wouldn’t have known the proper hand to shake, the right cheek to kiss, or the right style of dance to each miserable tune.
It was immediately clear to Hux that the Orgelench had appalling taste in music. Dancing, however, required a minimum of words exchanged and came as a welcome break from what amounted to political subterfuge. It was rhythm, it was muscle memory, and Hux still remembered enough from Academy formals to prove more than competent partner. Ren seemed surprised by his grace as he led them across the floor.
“Why General,” he said, his cordial tone turning sly. “It seems you have hidden depths.”
“You have no idea,” Hux replied, only realizing his mistake after the words had left his tongue.
“Is that so?” Ren asked, his genteel tone at odds with the amusement shaping his mouth.
Hux made an annoyed sound and attempted to increase the distance between them. Ren, it seemed, had other plans. The music changed, and his hand slid slowly down Hux’s side to rest at his hip.
“This requires a change of pace,” Ren advised, and Hux hoped to all the stars that he meant the music. Ren stepped back, then to the side, then back again before reaching out to take Hux’s hand. Ren turned to one side before curling back in even closer than before. The lights were low, the music awful, and Ren’s right hand just kept moving. Hux was sure it was part of the dance. It had to be.
Ren’s long fingers threaded easily through his own, and Hux began to feel dizzy. It was the rich food, he decided, or the heavy fabric of his dress uniform. Honestly, no one could blame him for feeling ill after enduring the snobbery of these well-dressed barracudas for an entire evening.
The feathers at Ren’s shoulders tickled his nose and Hux swallowed hard. His vision swam, the room spun, and suddenly there was a hand on his cheek. It was cool where Hux was flushed and he tried very, very hard not to lean into the touch.
“Perhaps we should take our leave,” Ren suggested, and – was that concern in his expression? No. Ren was probably just working out how best to use this incident to his advantage. It had likely all been a ploy, Hux realized. The entire evening, Ren’s ridiculous performance –
But Ren was already saying the correct things, making the right excuses, and towing Hux along in his wake. It didn’t sound as though Ren was very sorry at all. He plucked a flute of weak green liquid on their way out and pushed it into Hux’s hand.
“Drink that,” Ren said, and Hux had the odd sense that he was being ordered. He hesitated and Ren rolled his eyes. “You’ll feel better.”
“I don’t even know what this is,” Hux complained, leaning down to sniff at the drink. Ren fixed him with a glare and the thought filtered through his mind that dressed like this, regal and fierce, Ren could have an entire nation on its knees.
He lifted the flute to his lips and swallowed it down as directed. He hoped it wasn’t poisoned.
“You should really listen to me more often,” Ren advised with a touch of superiority.
If there had been any left in the glass, Hux might have thrown it at him. The liquid left a strangely herbal aftertaste in his mouth and the only thing Hux could think of was getting back to the shuttle, back on the Finalizer, and back to his blessedly empty quarters.
“Come on, then,” Ren said, wrapping his fingers lightly around Hux’s wrist. His elation was spoiled not ten seconds later when Ren continued. “Our quarters should be in the East Wing.”
Hux had almost forgotten that six long days of banquets and boot licking stretched out before them.
Hux squared his shoulders and reminded himself sternly that a good commander could excel in any arena. Still, he had never considered that he might meet his death in a ballroom instead of in glorious battle.
dispatches from the dumpster 