runaways

lingua-mortua:

kyluxcantina:

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

‘Fuck,’ says Hux succinctly, as Kylo jams one thick thigh between his legs and shoves his face into Hux’s neck.

‘Mm,’ Kylo agrees. The deep, vibrating rumble of his voice blends disorientingly with the sounds of speeder traffic outside. Hux lets himself succumb, his eyes unfocused and staring through the city lights. The window is round, like a starship’s port hole. It seems important. Hux is light-headed.

‘I feel strange,’ he says, tongue thick.

‘It’ll wear off,’ says Kylo. Hux pulls back to look at him, the weird, abstract blur of his face. Somewhere, buried deep in a corner of his psyche, he is faintly ashamed to have to be medicated. His head feels heavy and loose on his neck, then Kylo has his hand on it, cupping the back of his skull. Hux exhales through his mouth, half-moaning, as Kylo’s mouth finds a spot right under his ear and breathes over it.

‘What if,’ Hux begins. In the next room two people are fucking, and a high-pitched voice is making rhythmic little squeals. They are hardly convincing but the sound makes Hux hard anyway. A pressure inside his brain; a tendril of Kylo’s will reading him.

‘He’ll be hunting on the other side of the galaxy by now,’ Kylo says into Hux’s collarbone. He nips. ‘I made sure of that.’ It isn’t reassuring. The damnable, shameful panic starts to rise up in Hux again, the looming void of uncertainty yawning in front of him and threatening to swallow him whole. The spectre of disorder. Hux fumbles for stability.

‘Kiss me,’ he demands, and Kylo does, roughly, and jams a hand into Hux’s cast-off trousers to jerk him off. Hux focuses on it like a drowning man reaching for a chunk of flotsam. Grabs hold. Grabs at Kylo’s hips. They stumble across the floor to the bed, roll down onto it. Hux tries to say something and Kylo muffles him with his palm instead.

‘Stop thinking.’

Hux tries to stop, and tries harder, and then Kylo distracts him with a spit-wet thumb up in him and Hux lets it happen with something approaching relief. They rub together, sweating. The street noise and the noisy girl next door and the harsh rasp of Kylo’s desperate breathing blend together and take on a sex-rhythm that urges Hux on. He fucks up into Kylo’s fist where it holds them both together. He can forget, briefly, the particular humiliation he has experienced, the sight of hundreds of escape pods expelling themselves from the wreck of his command vessel.

Kylo’s hand stutters convulsively and he comes in a rush, slicking Hux up in a delicious, warm wetness that could be a mouth or, or –

‘Suck me off,’ Hux says, not meaning to say it out loud. He is horribly disinhibited. Kylo does it anyway, without question. He slides down the bed, cramming himself into the space. The soft, engulfing cushion of Kylo’s tongue presses Hux’s cock against all the ridges of his palate, and in one-two-three slides Hux comes with a shout.

When he had imagined this, he was always uniformed and standing, with Kylo on his knees. But beggars cannot be choosers and that is not his reality any more, a fact driven home when Kylo wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and says, ‘oh, and your hair is too distinctive. We should shave your head.’

‘Like a convict?’ Hux says, appalled, sobriety creeping back in.

‘You want to be noticed? Do you want to go back and be shot for desertion?’

‘I didn’t desert,’ Hux says, rolling to sit on the side of the bed. ‘You knocked me out and dragged me to a shuttle.’

‘Captains going down with ships,’ Kylo snorts, making his way to the wash basin. ‘That’s a waste of your talent. There are a hundred things you could do that aren’t dying to prove a point. And now you can. With me.’ Kylo smiles, showing a lot of teeth.

‘I’m a decorated military officer,’ Hux says, finally alert enough to give his voice some kind of authority.

‘Not any more,’ Kylo says, gleeful. ‘You’re a runaway,’ and there is a compelling kind of anarchy in his smile.