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He didn’t need Force powers to sense when Kylo Ren was being a galactic fucking nuisance on board his ship. Call it a mother’s intuition if you really wanted to, but General Hux could sense the precise moment that walking calamity of a Sith Lord started acting like the eternal, insolent child he was. He could damn well feel the brooding on the other side of the Finalizer like it was something miasmic and plaguing his ship. Maybe it was. Hopefully it was. Perhaps then he could plead his case and have the insufferable bastard quarantined for an indefinite amount of time. Even better if he could jettison him out the airlock. He could call it proactive thinking. Surely Supreme Leader would buy into that, right?
Maybe not.
No, he didn’t need Force powers to inform him that Ren was taking it upon himself, such a knightly thing to do he thought bitterly, to redecorate one of the interrogation chambers with the business end of his lightsaber. That’s what the sudden influx of comm messages on his data pad were for, the jarring and quite irritating beeping of a nearby alarm signaling that a fire had broken out somewhere on the ship. Of course something was on fire, why wouldn’t it be? His cycle wouldn’t be complete unless Lord Ren managed to muck up and make his job ten times harder, so be it the ones who serve, after all.
Kylo fucking Ren.
He diverts from his typical military stance, his straight-back posture of hands clasped behind himself faltering to placing a palm flat across the console before him and lean his weight against it marginally. His other hand comes to rest at the bridge of his nose tentatively. He hopes the pressure he applies there with his thumb and forefinger will ward off the impending headache he feels blooming behind his eyes, but as the pressure increases he realizes that it’s probably all in vain anyways. Things usually were when it came to dealing with Ren.
A young woman’s voice somewhere off behind him pulls him away from his brief moments of peace. “Sir, there’s been an emerge---“
“Yes, obviously I know that. Doesn’t take a genius to deduce what all the sudden commotion is for.” He doesn’t make even the slightest of attempts to hide the vitriol in his voice. The officer that tries to implore him stands there baffled for a moment, as if she’s offended by the tone Hux takes with her, then effectively stomps off back to her post. The General is left to nurse his rapidly growing headache, but at least he’s smirking now with how the officer is tapping away furiously at her computer.
Fuck he needed a smoke. He’d quit the habit for the longest time, after he no longer had the excuse of academic stress and deadlines to be his support for such a tasteless vice. It came back with a vengeance when Ren was assigned to the Finalizer by their shared Leader. Honestly, he’d take the grueling regimens he endured at Academy over dealing with Kylo Ren anyday.
“Return to your stations at once!” Hux barked, wanting something akin to order aboard his bridge before he went off to deal with Ren. “I want a full report of the damage done to interrogation chamber 3 by the time I return.” He doesn’t need to turn around to know that his command rings crystal clear to his subordinates.
------
Hux is a man of exceptional patience, truly he is. Between the stern teachings his father embedded in him since he was but a small, malleable child, to all the years he’s spent at Academy. His own personal training and that which he’s carried over into the First Order, if only to keep his regimen up, and so many more things in between. There is far little to be gained by acting out of line, by making a fool of yourself, and those that do are often met with reprimanding consequences, as they should be. There is nothing to be gained by acting like a spoiled child besides the disdain of those around you, no. Patience has long been engrained into his Hux’s core since childhood, and it’s something he doesn’t often slip away from.
He nearly loses every single shred of it the moment his eyes lay on the Knight running nearly rampant in the halls, that ridiculous saber of his still ignited at his side but no longer shredding up very valuable, very expensive torture devices. He’s towering over something—someone, every inch the predator he so demandingly claims his is, and while the picture painted out for Hux is something almost comical, the poor bastard pressed up against the corridor wall with his hands lifted up above his head would probably beg to differ. Emphasis on the begging part. He reigns in his annoyance, the bubbling anger and exhales before starting.
“Ren you insufferable, asthmatic bastard,” Hux begins, taking precisely measured steps closer to Ren. He doesn’t fear him, not per say, but he doesn’t have a death wish either. Be that as it may, it does little to cease the words so eloquently pushed between his lips. “what the hell do you think you’re doing thrashing about my ship like some spice-crazed bastard?!”
Ren’s saber was powered down when he had approached, but it seems that Hux’s words get the better of him, if just for the moment. Always so impulsive that Ren is, a moment is always it would take for him to snap. Because that vicious red glow is mere inches from his face when Ren turns around, twirling his saber in one hand and letting it arc through the air between them, catching himself at precisely the right time, spaces away from the clean-shaven cheek of the General. Hux doesn’t flinch despite the threatening heat kept a fraction from his face, feeling the energy jump and bite at parts of his cheek but not quite breaking the skin.
Instead he keeps sharp green eyes trained on the metal detailing of Ren’s mask, as if he can stare through it and catch glimpses of the other beneath it. How many times has he played this little game with Ren, he wonders? He’s lost count truthfully, almost finds the whole ordeal terribly funny every time they share this dance, neither of them the kind of man who would yield to the other.
“Well?” Hux asks, keeping his eyes drawn on Ren’s mask, afraid that if his attention should divert anywhere else, say the young officer that Ren had assaulted earlier running away down the hall, or the electrical fire that was still burning albeit rather slowly now (and briefly Hux wonders if Ren has done something to quell it, for it burns slower than expected), the Knight would take advantage of his distraction. Of course, logically, Ren could overpower him at any point with those powers of his, but Hux would like to believe he’s smarter than that.
He doesn’t repeat his question, simply waits for Ren to answer him, and he realizes with little interest that he left his command cap back on the bridge. He’d like to have it now, feels a little less intimidating without it in terms of status. Must’ve taken it off when he was making poor attempts at stifling his headache. Regardless, he runs slender fingers through his hair, willing them back into order.
“Mind your tongue when you speak to me, General, or I shall cut it from your mouth.” Ren’s voice, Hux has to remind himself, is only threatening because of the apparatus that contorts it. Not because it holds a promise at the end of those words, that Ren could and would just as easily do just that. Not because the blade of his saber is still pulsing near the side of his cheek, a constant looming reminder that Ren’s words should be taken as more than just an idle threat. At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself, keeping his gaze hard and focused on Ren. “I am not someone to be talked down to.”
“Then quit breaking my ship and I wouldn’t have to treat you like a child. It’s not like I can dock your pay for the repairs now can I?” He’s lost all interest in this conversation already, he knows his words will fall on deaf ears, and Ren knows that he’s not some trooper he can intimidate with a few threats and magic tricks. Turning his head to the side Hux gives the weapon an unimpressed look, but beneath that, he thinks about all the details and mechanics that must be put into it. Surely it’s not all mysticism bullshit, right? There has to be something more structural to it. He wonders about the complexity behind the weapon, how resilient it is, always so fascinated by the schematics of things.
“It’s a mixture of both.” Ren begins, and for a moment there’s a perplexed look on Hux’s face.
Oh, right. “Get out of my head.”
“Your thoughts are so loud, General. And who am I to leave your inquiries ignored.” The Knight’s voice has taken on a slightly different tone now, still heavily contorted by the mask, but somehow it seems more… playfully? Surely not. He realizes that he must be scowling something fierce, because not only has Ren powered down his saber, he’s moving his hands to either side of his helm, pressing the locking mechanisms and lifting it away from his face. He tucks it beneath his arm, shaking his hair back into place.
It’s nothing new to Hux, he’s seen Ren without his mask on before, seen those dark brown eyes, those soft curls that rest along his shoulders, but it always takes him time to adjust to that face, an actual face that isn’t wrapped in metal. Sometimes, he forgets how young Ren looks underneath it all. “You’re staring.”
Hux makes a face somewhere between utter disgust and disbelief, if only to hide the fact that yes, yes he was staring. Would he admit it? Doubtful. “Absolutely not. You were saying, Lord Ren?” Internally, Hux winces. Since when did he feel the need to address him with such formalities? Maybe when Ren decided to stop being so intolerable.
“There are several mechanical components to a lightsaber, each one just as important as the next. Most are implemented into the hilt. Emitters and stabilizers. Focusers. All these components work together; they hold the crystal in place, allow it to channel through the hilt.”
“Crystal?”
“It’s a source of power.” Ren continues, and Hux isn’t sure why he’s suddenly so fascinated by all of this. Well, that’s a lie, he’s fascinated because he enjoys taking things apart, enjoys harvesting information for his own gain. Enjoys listening to Ren talk about something he’s passionate about. Immediately he wants to retract that thought, because he knows Ren is in his mind somewhere, listening, lingering, prying into his thoughts.
If he hears anything, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, Ren holds out his saber for Hux to inspect, gently placing the hilt into the General’s open hand. It’s not as heavy as he expected. There’s weight behind it, surely, but he expected something, well, different. This felt comparable to a blaster, perhaps a tad heavier. He thumbs over the black metal, smoothing over the ignition switch, tracing along twin edges near the top of the hilt. It’s cracked in certain places, primarily the center of the hilt, just below where it juts out on either side, and beneath the cracks Hux notices something reflective.
“That’s the crystal. That’s what powers the blade.”
“Does it have an effect on why your blade is red?”
Ren smiles then, and Hux feels like he’s been sucker punched in the chest; he forgets how to breathe momentarily. He doesn’t recall ever seeing Ren smile beyond wicked gleaming. This was different. Just as gently had Ren handed him the weapon, he retrieves it, gloved fingers ghosting over his naked ones as he does so. “No. The crystal is attuned to me, through the Force. It’s red now for obvious reasons, but had I followed a different path, the colors would alter to my alignments, my powers.”
Oh, he thinks again, feeling as though he should say something but not exactly sure what to say. So he says nothing at all; he isn’t good at damage control. At the thought of damage however, Hux lets his attention fall to the various panels and binding equipment that has been damaged. The fires have gone out, though he isn’t sure when it happened, quite frankly doesn’t care. He should assess the damage, but he reckons that the reports he expects from his officers back on the bridge will be just as adequate. He really doesn’t want to deal with that right now.
Still could really go for that smoke though.
No sooner than he thinks it, there’s the familiar humming sound of Ren’s lightsaber coming to life, though this time it’s at a considerable distance from his face. Taking the hint Hux reaches into a pocket of his greatcoat and procures a silver case, opening it up and pulling out one deftly rolled cigarette. He uses the end of Ren’s saber to light it, uncaring if the smoke lofts through the air. There was already smoke in the air from the fires, why not add a bit more. He was in command of this ship anyhow, he could do as he pleased.
He takes a long drag on his cigarette. It’s somewhat relaxing, despite the harshness it brings him, the burn that lingers in his throat. It’s been many years since he’s smoked, but it’s not an unpleasant feeling at all. Somewhat nostalgic, if he’s honest. And of course it does wonders for his nerves. He lets the smoke gather in his lungs, relishing in the feel, the bitter taste, then exhales slowly through his nose. He’s trying to get a read on Ren who stands off to his side, saber switched off and resting at his hip again, but the Knight simply stands there, glancing over him.
“There are more effective methods of relieving stress than smoking, General.”
Hux smirks, tapping away some of the embers and taking another drag. “Is that right? Dare I ask where you’re going with this?”
Ren matches his smirk with one of his own. “To my quarters, if you’d like. Preferably my bed should we make it there.”
“How presumptuous of you, to think I would ever consider being in your quarters, let alone your bed.”
“And yet you’re not adverse. You haven’t even told me no.”
Hux’s lips twitch so he wraps them around his cigarette again, takes another long drag of it and lets the smoke accumulate in his lungs once more. And without preamble, he closes the small gap between Ren and himself, seizes the Knight by the front of his robes and draws him closer, pressing his lips against Ren’s own. Open your mouth, don’t just stand there, he thinks, hoping Ren can hear him as much now than any other time.
And Ren does. He feels those lips move against his own, feels Ren’s tongue come out to lap against his mouth experimentally and Hux exhales the smoke he’s gathered in his lungs out slowly, passing it along to Ren, letting him inhale at his own pace. It only then occurs to him, when Ren does his best not to cough or pull a face of disgust that the poor bastard has probably never smoked in his life, and this must taste bitter as fuck to him. Even still he carries on, passing the little bit of smoke left to Ren who tries his best to inhale it back in, exhales it out through his nose.
When Hux begins to draw away, however, Ren surges closer, presses their lips together once more and kisses him, full and hard on the lips, quite messily at that, tongue chasing after the bitter residue left behind on the General’s lips. He indulges him, kissing him back feverishly, unaware that Ren has discarded his helm until he feels both of his gloved hands gripped tightly at his hips, pressing him backwards, back into the wall where Hux is effectively trapped, aligning their bodies together. Hux should be ashamed at himself for thinking they fit so well here, like this, but the stars don’t care and neither should he.
Ren kisses with just as much force and aggression Hux expects he fights with. It’s eager, it’s messy, needy with just enough desperation threaded into it, and fuck does Hux want to feed into it, wants to see where this will end up, but he’s got a ship to command, he’s expected back on deck anytime now.
They’re fine without you, he hears in the back of his mind. Come back to my quarters with me. God if he could only let himself believe that. “Ren.. Ren I can’t. Not right now.” He doesn’t even recognize his voice at first, it sounds far too breathy.
To his surprise, the Knight heeds his request, obeys and moves aside, and Hux can hardly believe the faint traces of pink dusted across Ren’s cheeks. He traces from one mole to another across his pale skin, shaking his head lightly at him and murmuring. “You impossible child.” And then frowns slightly when he catches himself. “I didn’t mean—“
“I know. It’s fine. Deserved.” Ren leans down to retrieve his mask, tucks it back underneath his arm again and leans down to give Hux another kiss. “Consider what I’ve said.” He works his helm back over unruly curls, locks it back into place and begins to pace away.
“Fine, fine yes whatever." Hux calls out, "Go. Be catastrophically annoying somewhere else. Preferably on a ship that isn’t my own!” Hux runs his fingers through his hair again, working the strands back into place and begins to make his way back to the bridge. But not before he catches Ren igniting his saber and working it into one last panel on his way out.
I fucking hate you.