Work Text:
This was a monumentally bad idea really bad very bad no good utterly stupid ridiculous mistake it needs to stop right now or maybe five years ago yes please fuck shit damn no crap–
He and Hux hate one another. Everyone knows that. They know it. Phasma knows it. The Supreme Leader knows it. The lowest trooper on the ship knows it. The janitors who only ever work in the belly of the Finalizer know it. It’s one of those things that is universally accepted, like - like - how black holes suck, and how fresh glue is sticky, and how a knife is no good for eating soup with.
Hate. You know. On account of Hux being an uptight, punctilious, pompous, self-aggrandising little shit. And his disrespect of the Force. And his constant nasty little thoughts and comments. And how he hates Kylo for absolutely no real reason Kylo can fathom, so of course he returns the favour.
Hate.
Which. Is what’s normal. And useful. He uses Hux’s face quite often when he needs to get that extra oomph in a fight. Or his voice. His stupid, nasal voice. His nasty little eyes and the way his lips curve in a sneer, or… anything.
As Dark Side fuel. Which is good.
But this? Is not good. Hux has lost his damn mind, and has pushed Kylo into the bulkhead. And Kylo has his hand on his saber-hilt, ready to run him through. (The Leader can get another General. There’s lots of Generals in training. Less Knights in training. Even less - i.e. none - who could take Kylo’s place.) He can just insist it was essential, and Snoke will eventually agree, or just continue on.
As far as he knows, Snoke can’t bring people back from the dead, so Kylo would be rid of him at last. And he wouldn’t have to deal with him - ever. And definitely not grabbing hold of his robes in front of his chest, slamming him against the bulkhead and peering down his nose with that sneer, eyes finding his through the helmet’s visor.
Let me kill him. Please. Just one death. He’d look so annoyed before he died. It would be worth it…
“When will you stop this posturing, Ren?”
“Let. Go. Of. Me.”
“You don’t know, do you?”
The button is right under his thumb. He can press it. He can.
The hand moves from his robes, up over his chest. Over, and under the mouthpiece of his helm. Fingers drawing hot-red lines where they’d been, pushing into the soft underbelly of his throat. Up, and then down to the stiff, trapezoid that passed for a mouth. Pinched it, turned it left and right, pulled it in.
“You’ll catch up eventually.”
Hux lets go, and walks off.
Kylo, dazed, wonders why he didn’t kill him.
***
The next fight, he’s ready for him. Hux tries to pin him again, but he keeps himself out in the middle of the room. There’s going to be no trickery this time, and maybe he will just kill him anyway.
Because this is very stupid why does he keep entering Kylo’s personal space?
“Ren…”
He forgets he can use the Force to stop the man walking up to him, for some reason. Allows him to get into his space, and then it’s a matter of principle. Of standing his ground even when the ginger midget gets up and in his face.
“You’re making a grave mistake.”
Both in the field decision and in coming so close to him. Yep. Hux stalks in like a cat, low in the grass, ready to pounce on her prey. Kylo does not like feeling like dinner, and he puffs himself up bigger.
“Am I?”
Fuck him. Fuck him! How dare he come into his bubble like this? Kylo growls. Yes. Growls. His body feels weirdly ready to fight - well. No the fighting bit is normal, but it feels different to how it normally does when he’s about to cut someone in two pieces down the middle. And he doesn’t understand.
Those fingers - in gloves - up and ghost over his chest, as if feeling for the tense muscle below. Kylo grabs the wrists, and holds them away from himself.
“You’re such an oblivious little thing. It’s almost a crime.”
“Do not touch me.”
“Or what?”
He chides in a sing-songy voice, like a playground bully, and Kylo feels his ears prick hot under his mask. He shoves at him, and Hux goes off to make his dumb mistakes anyway.
***
Dreams. Dreams that get worse. Dreams of those fingers, those eyes, those lips, those words. Dreams that cover him in Hux, and break with him shaking and hard (or… damp) in their wake.
Dreams he fucking hates so fucking much he does not like Hux like that and it’s probably that Hux is having wet dreams about him and Kylo is hearing them and that’s not fair and why doesn’t he just–
***
That’s why he’s outside his door. And why he’s over-ridden the controls.
Hux is asleep.
How fucking dare he? Kylo is angry, and Hux is asleep?
“Stay the fuck out of my dreams!” he yells, and then leaves.
***
Kylo avoids him all day. All day. Because he’s still angry. And because he also did invade his room in the middle of the night, scream like a witch, and then leave. Which is not the highlight of his life, when all is said and done.
He’s going to ask the Leader to move him off this ship, or Hux. One of them has to go. They hate one another, but sexually harassing him in his sleep is one step too far. Even Snoke has to agree that it’s beyond what’s permissible.
Hux finds him, despite everything, and Kylo is so fucking tired of this dance that he just spins on his heel and glowers.
“Ren.”
“Hux.”
“…are you going to explain why you thought it was fine to storm into my bedroom like a raving madman in the middle of the night?”
“Are you going to explain why you thought it was fine to storm into my dreams in the middle of the night?”
“How, exactly, do you think I was doing that?”
“You know!”
“Evidently I don’t.” Hux’s head tilts. “What was the nature of these dreams?”
“Don’t you dare try to play coy.”
“As you’re fond of reminding me, I do not have the Force. Any intrusion will be on your end, Lord Ren.”
Nope. Not true. Absolutely not true. Why would he– he wouldn’t– and–
Hux rolls his eyes. “You’re such a prude. Ren. Your body knows what is good for you, even if you don’t.”
“Don’t you–”
“I could take the edge off, for you. If you’d like.”
“Fuck off.”
“Not… quite right. I think you’re forgetting a pronoun, there. ‘You’ would suffice, or ‘me’, if that’s more to your liking…”
“I’m–”
Hux steps closer again, and Kylo’s hair prickles over his neck. No. No. Fuck. No. All that… physical proximity. The too-close behaviour, the touches, the looks, the…
Hux… wants to… with him? (And he wants to do it, too?) He can’t even think of the word, let alone the act. And yet, he’s painfully aware that Hux has been leaving overt breadcrumbs for him, has been grating on nerves he didn’t know existed. Has been making him distracted and distractable.
“That’s not–”
“Oh, Ren. You foolish child. You don’t have to love me.”
“I don’t.”
“And I don’t have to care one jot about you.”
He doesn’t.
“…but we can still have fun together.” Hux smirks, and grabs Kylo’s mask again. Pulls him forwards, almost over-balancing, and holds him near his lips.
It’s almost a kiss, if the mask wasn’t there. It’s so very, very wrong. Kylo’s whole body blazes with uncomfortable awareness, and the thunk of his heart dropping lead into his cock. Lead, heavy and poisonous, which somehow makes it rise despite the weight. Makes it press against the fabric, makes it tent upwards in a salute for attention.
This is bad, bad, wrong.
“You’ll feel better, Ren.” He kisses his mask, and then lets go.
Turns. Leaves.
Kylo crumples into the wall. He’s furiously turned on, and furiously - well - furious.
Hux does not get to win this war.
***
The next dream is more involved. More detailed. It has specifics, and Kylo wakes up with his hand around his cock. Shame makes him abuse himself, and shame gets him off fast and hard. All over his hand, over his belly, over the sheets. Shame and hunger and why didn’t he just continue to hate him and nothing more?
He still smells of it when he opens Hux’s door.
This time, the General is not asleep.
“Don’t say a fucking thing, understand?”
Hux mimes something, but Kylo can’t–
“What?”
“How can I answer that I understand if I can’t–”
“Force’s sake, you never heard of nodding?”
Hux nods.
Kylo glares.
“We never talk about this. Not ever.”
He’s stripping his gloves, the mask, the outer clothing without even looking for confirmation. He doesn’t need it.
He knows Hux has been waiting.
He hates him.
He hates him very decidedly and devotedly, with hands, mouth, saliva, teeth, thighs, cock, and ass. Until they both pass out in a tangled mess.
In the morning, he’s going to hate him some more.