firstorderqueercoalition:

Ooooohhhh SHIT anon I love this idea so much. Like everybody loves Hux in a corset but WILL NOBODY THINK OF KYLO’S TERRIBLE POSTURE? It’s okay because Hux will. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Ren broods on the bridge of the Finalizer, watching as they approach some poor Outer Rim planet they’re about to neatly conquer and incorporate into the First Order’s system, one hand gripping at the safety railing (in case of a total loss of power/gravity, okay?). This will bring them one step closer to the Supreme Leader’s goal of galactic domination, soon he will stand at his Master’s side and bring the galaxy in line with their vision. Order can only be achieved through control, he remembers, his shoulders unconsciously hunching as his jaw clenches, remembering how often as a child he watched the rabble of New Republic politicians through his mother’s eyes, frustrated with their inability to coalesce voluntarily into any sort of productive cooperation. Their vision was too limited, they were unable to see the need for a strong guiding hand, but soon, soon they will come under one united rule. He grips again at the railing, muscles tense, preparing himself for whatever easily won battle he’ll engage in today–

–when suddenly there is a small pressure between his shoulderblades, a warm, firm touch. He did not hear the General approach, so focused on fulfilling their vision. “Careful, Ren,” comes Hux’s soft, dangerous voice, and he straightens up, both in response to the touch and the slinking, curling tickle that voice sends up his spine, straight into his hindbrain. “You’ll hurt yourself if you don’t stand up straight more.” Ren doesn’t have to look over to the General’s face to know the curve of his smirk.

It’s the same smile he allowed Ren to see when he caught Ren leaning too far forward over a data console as he sat, puzzling over intel. Hux had slid his slender hands over Ren’s shoulders, pressing in with his gloved fingertips and pulling his frame back and down, gently stretching the taught muscles of his back and neck. Hux had leaned over him, his body hiding from the rest of the bridge crew the way his thumb nudged up, just under the edge of Ren’s helmet, pressing at the bundle of nerves at the base of Ren’s skull and making his head tingle. Ren had barely suppressed a moan, though the click and crackle of his voice modulator had belied his stoic manner to the General. Ren had observed the General’s reflection in the display screen, jaw dropping a little behind his mask as he watched the wicked twitch of Hux’s lips. “Sit up straight,” Hux had reminded him in a low whisper. “Better posture, better performance, how often do I have to remind you?”

Until it stops feeling good, Ren says to no one but himself. It never will.