#tornforce

The next time Hux came calling on the man, he used Ben’s stage name, in honor of his upgraded lodgings, bestowed on behalf of the entire circus because of the success of the few mystical, varied performances he had given.

It had exceeded even the ringmaster’s expectations, drawing in a larger crowd than he had then dared to hope for, and so he was positively beaming when he entered the temporary living space he had chosen, a well worn and consequently less occupied tent.

“Lord Ren.” 

Giving a small bow, he informed him,

“You can move your things into your trailer now.”

He had, apparently, rounded up some of the better supporting acts and even complete strangers to be his ‘knights’, but surely, Hux thought he would still prefer the private space, as he had previously stipulated and as they had agreed upon, after his first performance had beyond proven its worth, ensured his status, provided he followed, or at least mostly adhered to, their regulations.

On the typical star date, the general took the preventative medication before any complications or other foray into severity could occur.

This time, Hux had no warning nor the opportunity to enact such measures, therefore, what had transpired wasn’t his fault, was only the uncertainty of the galaxy at work.

However, he would still have to face the consequences, such as scurrying away from a semi-important, impromptu meeting after being forced to endure it for an entire standard hour, as if he’d been able to truly listen to its contents or, for that matter, take in anything but the searing pain on the right side of his forehead.

He knew his rapid departure was unlikely to arouse suspicion, as it was and ought to have been the norm for one of his position in the First Order.

Unless, of course, one possessed — and frequently used without the consent of those involved — the ability to read minds.

He had not accurately accounted for Lord Ren’s assessment of the situation, judging that he would deem it far beneath his notice and, thus, ignore it.

But Ren followed him, either curious or annoyed by his virtually unchanged behavior, his own feelings as always enough reason for him to act.

He couldn’t help but scowl when he noticed. He had been clenching his teeth throughout the duration of the meeting; now he didn’t think he could carry out a conversation, particularly not one as lengthy as would likely be with Ren.

“Yes?”

Forcing himself to look the man in the eyes, it took a fair amount of effort for him to produce the word cogently, and without applying any pressure to his forehead, which he was dying to do but, unfortunately, would also make his predicament obscenely obvious.

“What is it that you want, Ren?”

The ringmaster flew through the papers the circus manager had given him, as fast as he could while remaining efficient and accurate, diligent in his work.

He didn’t bother with words once he reentered Ren’s trailer, just pressed his mouth against his with enough force to communicate his willingness, the frustration of several hours ago scarcely faded, even peaked.

It really hadn’t been that long since they’d known each other’s desire for this, but it felt longer to bring to fruition, and to be disrupted in such a way — halfway — only lengthened that desire, prolonged the inevitable, the sense of rightness in its, then, foreseeable conclusion.

Which became immensely more sour than it was sweet, as time went on.

Flinging off his shirt — all he had come with on his torso — in one fluid motion, he reached to remove Ren’s clothes once again, beginning with the top and slipping beneath him with the end, taking his dick in his hands, giving it a few thorough rubs before servicing it in his mouth.

He hadn’t expected to be there at all, much less for this length of time.

He hadn’t expected to even agree to the man he’d met online’s proposal in the first place, meeting him in person — on New Year’s Eve, no less — at a somewhat expensive, reservation only restaurant about a week or so once they’d started casually chatting on an ‘intellectual’, or academia-centric website.

But eventually, through what had appeared to be carefully chosen words, he’d convinced him.

Ten minutes past the designated time had Hux texting the man, asking if he was still coming. Every time the waitstaff came around, he told them to ( please ) wait, to come back later, as there was still a chance.

At fifteen minutes without any response, however, Hux knew it was unlikely. Those at nearby tables had already begun to shoot him sympathetic looks, as if they knew, were aware of his entire situation, making his skin crawl at the presumptuous nature and shame of it all.

After a half hour, Hux knew he wouldn’t arrive. As he put his coat back on he resolved never to acquiesce to such a request again and was ready, about to get up and leave, his face burning from both embarrassment and anger, thinking it had been a brazenly stupid idea anyway when someone sat down across from him, startling him out of his — vengeful, and pointedly so, rendered incapable of gleaning the point of the wasted efforts — thoughts.

The man had dark hair and a few moles on his face, but he looked as young, if not younger than he was.

And good-looking, too.

Hux inhaled sharply.

Despite the proof of it all around him, he could hardly believe what he’d just done — this out-of-control manner of coping and/or stress relief had always been Ren’s specialty, not his.

But now, with his quarters looking as though it had been thoroughly searched, ravaged by someone who didn’t care about leaving such evidence, he'd certainly obtained more experience with it.

It had started on the bridge, one small matter led to another to find him increasingly irritable over time.

Then he’d received a grainy holo from his father, stating flatly that his mother had been killed.

He’d been angry about it, at first, and at not knowing why it had happened or who had done it which had made the mess, broken pieces of technology he’d owned or been designing personally strewn carelessly across the floor.

He hadn’t been surprised by the information, merely his behavior and reaction to the information, which made him feel worse.

When the general heard the doors behind him open with a familiar click and hiss, he picked up one of the pieces and threw it in their direction, newly angry at the interruption, aware that the barging in like so could only have been the Knight himself, inopportune as usual.

The Admiral of the Royal Navy surveyed his quarry with sharp eyes and a condescending smile.

“Well, Ren, you were astoundingly easy to capture. I do hope that your partner in crime provides more of a challenge, so that I may impress upon the King that your unsanctioned existence does actually pose a kind of threat to his kingdom, and that it is worth the expenditure of valuable resources required to snuff it out.”

Infamous, people called him, with the contrasting tone of begrudging respect. 

Thus far, however, Hux could not see why anyone would have thought the man deserving of such a thing — the mangy pirate standing in front of him with far too many glittering, awkward accessories, accessories he clearly paid a great deal more attention to than any kind of routine upkeep of his body, which was held barely upright at an angle that indicated an unfitting amount of comfort for the situation he was now in.