ICHOR // PURE

“ but the landscape of devastation is still a landscape. there is beauty in ruins. ”

                                                                                                                                           - susan sontag

independent + selective hux of star wars. est 2016. written by avery.

Attila József, “Ode” (trans. Gábor G. Gyukics and Michael Castro)

Another quick sketch.

Hux rounds the corner, and Kylo’s expression softens, even as his eyes follow the other man’s every move. Thus far, Kylo has seemed quite capable of separating Hux from the category that his meals fall into. Millicent, too, is an exception. But there is something hungry in him, something that is less pretty, kept housepet, and more feral. But Hux looks at him like a beloved thing, and it soothes him, quiets his thoughts, dampens the hunger.

For now.

When Hux reaches for him, it is easy to lean towards him, easy to offer himself up. A thumb slides to his lips, pushing at them, and the dark blood smears across his mouth. It feels disgusting. It feels perfect. His mouth yields under Hux’s, parting slightly as the other man’s tongue swipes out to taste him. He is too sluggish to fully reciprocate; such is often the case, especially in winter. He can only hope that his pliant mouth is reciprocation enough.

Hux’s fingers dip, and Kylo can feel the warmth of his fingertips through the thin, fine fabric that he is dressed in. There is a compliment in Hux’s words, though whether it is fully intended for Kylo himself, or simply for the dress, Kylo does not know. It hardly matters; he preens all the same, his lashes dipping until there are only small crescents of black to be seen beneath them, his head tipping up just a little to bare his throat to the other man, a sign of trust he would extend to no other.

Would he like that? Another pretty gown for a closet he never looks into? It hardly matters what he would like. He bears no real opinion on the sight of himself draped in lace and frills, in petticoats, in ribbons. What matters is the way Hux looks at him in them. Hux likes this one; and so Kylo would like another dress that Hux likes, so that he will perhaps have more reasons to spend long stretches of time getting him ready, slipping him into the gowns, tying them up, smoothing stockings up along his trembling legs…

“Yes. I would like that.” 

Hux’s hand closes around his own, and Kylo feels pressure against the red line on his palm. There is no pain; just the pressure, and then, that too is gone, Hux’s hand sliding to his wrist for a more secure grip. It’s just as well; Kylo’s fine motor skills are far from perfect, and the less work his fingers have to do, the better.

Kylo steadies himself onto his feet, and takes slow, slightly unsteady steps after the other man, each one nearly silent against the floor. 

“Can it be warm? I feel cold.”

It’s simple -- Kylo is dying. Slowly, certainly, but surely. Hux can extend his life for a while, but not forever. He might be able to extend his tendons, massage the muscles so they function more efficiently, but the problem is an issue of degradation. He’d anticipated that, of course. When he’d -- made Kylo, the basement had stunk of formaldehyde for months after the fact. He’d even run it through his veins, hoping the embalming properties would help to stabilize the slow degeneration of his body. It seemed to have some merit, and the thesis paper one of his students was slated to defend two months from now even discussed clinical applications of the process. They’d be horrified if they knew where the idea had originated. 

He opens the bathroom door for Kylo, and blessedly, this room is much warmer. He keeps the window taped shut, runs a humidifier when needed. Kylo likes his baths (or, rather, Hux likes to bathe him), and he doesn’t trust Kylo with open windows, especially in the summer. His wanderings weren’t necessarily dangerous, but they were bothersome, and the less people who saw him lingering near Ben Solo’s grave, the better. He understood the appeal, in a perverse way. Kylo longed for death, to return to where Hux had retrieved him from, but Hux was greedy.