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Coming back to himself, he brought fingers to worry the tender bruise on his throat, sending a little ripple of pain through his nervous system. A trip to medbay would be in order. It simply wouldn't do to carry the evidence of his activities on his skin so shamelessly. Not this time.
He disentangled himself from his lover, ignoring a soft sound of protest, and reached for his carefully folded uniform. The furious red divots in his hips vanished under his briefs, the scratches along his inner thighs under his trousers, old rope burns on his ankles under his jackboots.
"You'll attend my bachelor festivities, I hope?" he asked, forcing his voice to remain even.
There was no answer from the body behind him, no movement of ivory shoulder or inky hair.
"I protested, of course, but my men made it clear they'd plan one with or without my permission. I conceded, only to ensure they wouldn't hire entertainment." The words served to bolster his effortless calm, building distance between himself and the tempest behind him. He reached for his jacket, fingers careful as he fastened it in place over the constellation of bite marks that decorated his shoulders.
"You're engaged," Ren said, shifting to his back, face unreadable.
"The Arkina Vox cartel owns nearly every foundry on Geonosis. I thought it was only appropriate that we construct the Starkiller Mark Two on the very world that birthed the Death Star, and-"
"I'll go," Ren agreed, his dark eyes boring into his own.
"I'd appreciate that," he said, reaching for his cover and masking his mussed hair.
The next time he saw his reflection, he was momentarily surprised by how smooth and white his throat was, unmarred by teeth or nails. It was how he should look, he knew, a man readying for his nuptials, but all the same, he had grown used to ruined skin.
He entrusted the wedding plans to the mother of his bride. The Arkina Vox Matriarch had selected the grandest of their facilities for the ceremony, the hangar that had once housed the kyber crystal array that had focused and magnified the Death Star's incredible destructive power. It seemed the appropriate place, and he was disinterested in further details of the event planning- a woman at the helm of a planetary industry was surely capable of spectacle. He ordered a fresh parade dress uniform, and considered his part accomplished.
Ren did not show up for their standing meeting in his quarters. He hadn't realized that he'd expected him- of course, his lover would discard him with his upcoming marriage. It was foolish for him to think otherwise. He shoved aside an urgent yearning for teeth on his throat - an irrational, animal desire to feel his skin torn open, tendons bare and every beat of his pulse forcing blood out of his veins.
The bachelor event had been on for several hours with no sign of Ren. He'd had a single drink and declined a cigar, loathe to profane his body with more foreign influence than was strictly vital. He was tolerating a lieutenant's recounting of some personal story, some jape from academy that he categorically should disapprove of, when he heard the telltale hiss of a vocoder behind him, even breaths modulated as the roar of an ocean he'd once found frigid and accepted as temperate.
"Ren," he said, interrupting the monologue. "Excuse me, Ensign, I'll be a moment." The deliberate reduction of rank put the bloviator neatly in his place, and he stepped away from the cluster of officers to the aft-facing window observing the abyss of space.
Against the transparisteel, the fuligin cloak of Ren's rank nearly vanished, his form nothing but a void of starlight. The din of the party continued, but Hux felt it fall away.
"You requested my presence, and I have arrived," Ren rumbled.
"I had hoped to ask you one further favor. It is traditional that the groom choose one of his acquaintances as, well - "
"Your best man? Surely you have a closer friend than I, General."
Hux let his eyes drift over the sea of officers in their blacks and grays, unremarkable all.
"I do not."
The empty eyes of the helmet studied him, before the answer came, "In that case. I accept. Will that be all?"
He nodded his assent, and that void in space swept away through the crowd.
There were several more formalities to observe before the nuptials, and he had interest in none of them. He made a formal offer of his intentions to the Matriarch, bowing before a holoterminal and providing his references and service history. He submitted himself to a battery of medical tests, proving the viability of his semen and the cleanliness of his blood. After his applications and records were accepted, and he received full confirmation of his betrothal, he readied his flagship shuttle with and scheduled his departure with Kylo Ren.
The Knight was silent through most of their journey. The Finalizer had drifted ever closer to the Arkanis system while he'd negotiated with the Vox clan, and it was a scant two days on the shuttle. Hux spent the first afternoon of their trip learning his formal vows, not about to personalize them any more than was necessary, and took his meals alone. The next he spent restlessly interspersing physical exercise with technical schematics that his engineers were proposing for the Starkiller Mark II, and by the time the evening cycles arrived he was beginning to burn out.
Emerging into the small common area, he found Ren without the impersonal mask, stripped to his trousers and tank, fiddling with the intimate interior of his lightsaber. The Knight tensed when he approached, but forcibly subsumed his emotions.
"I've never seen the workings of a lightsaber," he said, an excuse to lean close. It had been weeks since he'd smelled Ren's skin.
"Very few have." The crystal nestled towards the hilt radiated a soft light even in a deactivated state, a furious crack running the whole length.
"Is it supposed to be damaged?" he asked, and was met by eyes that flashed as dangerously as the saber itself.
"This crystal was attuned to Darth Vader himself." As if in answer, the gem flickered, a strange pulse of energy that even Hux felt resonate in him.
"He did great things for the Empire," he offered, as way of consolation. "We owe him an incredible debt."
Ren hinged the coverplate back into place, and activated the infernal saber, blade crackling to life in his hand. "You do."
Hux took the seat opposite him, as a mute bipedal droid delivered a pair of trays. "After all this time amongst the First Order, you don't consider yourself one of us?"
"No. I have nothing in common with you." Ren snatched up his lightsaber and his tray and retreated.
On the initial arrival on Geonosis, a delegation from the Arkina Vox cartel met them at the recently reconstructed spaceport. A parade of guards in uniforms the gold of Vashkan honey led them to elaborately covered speeders, which departed through the desolate landscape towards the manufacturing district. The arid air was harsh on Hux's system, as it had been years since he'd breathed anything but the purified interior of spacecraft. Ren sat beside him in the transport, the two of them granted a moment alone, but the mask obscured his emotions.
The speeder stopped itself at the very heart of the newly christened Vox City, in front of the cartel's palatial headquarters. He exited the craft and climbed the stairs, the Knight at his side, and as he approached the doors opened to reveal a long nave, rows of audience pews bisected by a runner of lush fur. At the head sat the Arkina Vox Matriarch, an austere woman in the garb of an empress. As they approached, it became plain that her headdress had once been the chitinous frill of a Genonosian Queen, preserved and decorated. It was a barbaric reminder of the planet's original inhabitants, extinct at the Empire's hands.
As Hux approached her, he dropped into a low bow, and met her sharp eyes. "My lady," he said, as she stood and descended to his level.
"General Hux," she replied. "It's too soon to call you 'son,' is it not?"
The familiarity sat oddly on his shoulders, but he bore it nonetheless. "If you desire," he said, offering his arm to her.
"I may yet," she said, air in her tone as she took Hux's arm and yet led him away from the throne, into the depths of the palace. "And this is the Knight of Ren."
Ren made no answer.
"As mysterious as promised, I see. My daughter Masaille will not be joining us this evening - it is our custom that the bride be sequestered the night of her wedding. I will show you the evening's reception hall and then to your chambers."
"There is no need, Matriarch, a servant - "
"No," she said, her fingers clutching at his arm. "It is an honor to show my son around."
Up close, her high cheekbones seemed to be painted on, her eyes enhanced in color. She was of average height for a human woman, and did not tower as her throne promised.
The tour took longer than Hux had expected. The Matriarch led him through a lavish reception space set up for dining, through several wings of relics from the Clone Wars, and after some hours, to a pair of ornate doors leading to guest rooms. As she began to explain that they'd each been given a suite, Ren's vocoder crackled to life.
"The security of the General is my concern. I will not need accommodation."
He expertly hid his surprise, as the Matriarch hid hers. "We present no threat to your General, Knight of Ren," she said, an amusement in her tone.
"I understand," he said, tone measured. "You may not be the only threat. I will not be swayed."
Her eyes measured the impressive length of him, from the boots up to the cowl, and flicked knowingly to the General. "Of course. You may do as you wish. A servant will summon you to dinner, when you are needed."
He and the Knight entered the suite, escaping her sharp eyes. As the door clicked shut, Ren paced to lock it behind them, and then around to secure the windows, any adjoining doors and conduct a sweep for surveillance devices.
"You don't think my new family intends me harm?" he asked casually, pacing to the window to survey the barren Geonosian landscape.
His former lover did not deign to answer.
The formal dinner was a dry affair. The food and wine were exemplary, of course, but aside from the Matriarch, the guests were all engineers and foundry overseers who had nothing to say on galactic politics. They talked amongst themselves, leaving the two Imperials and the Matriarch functionally alone. Ren had removed his helmet, but was as reticent as he was inside it, and Hux could not carry much conversation. He was relieved when the meal concluded and his Knight shrouded himself in his mask again.
Once they retired to the single suite, he shed his boots and jacket, hanging both in the meager closet. The Knight repeated his security sweep, as Hux poured himself a double from the decanter by the night stand, a rich honeyed spirit that he'd never tasted before.
"Do you want to taste my drink, Ren, to ensure it isn't poison?" he asked, before taking a sip.
He felt the glare through the helmet, but the Knight said nothing, taking a position by the door. Eventually he put aside his datapad and extinguished the lights.
He couldn't distinguish it from a dream, but he swore he felt Ren's near-suffocating arms around him, and it lured him back to sleep like nothing since their last parting.
By the morning, the intrusion was gone, and he was cold in the desert air. A servant wheeled in a tray laden with honeyed pastries and imported fruits, and he donned a sheer sinthsilk robe to pick at the offerings.
Ren's eyes burned on his exposed throat and chest, lasers mapping his seemingly untouched skin. "You had them removed," he threatened as he took a croissant.
He flushed in remembrance of how every private meeting of Ren left him with bruises, evidence of teeth, nails, lips, hands on his body, and in awareness of how bare he now was.
Ren's teeth tore into the pastry, and he saw it as his own flesh shredded to ribbons.
"It seemed improper to marry in that state," he said, a weak dismissal, and found he had no appetite.
The elaborate speeders bore the wedding party from the Arkina Vox palace to the wedding venue. Hux had a scant glimpse of his future bride, swathed in golden veils and borne on a palanquin. He found himself incurious about her face, and even her temperament- it was a contract, and nothing more.
Ren sat beside him, shrouded in his mask and cloak, but he broadcasted a fury that forced Hux to spend the trip with his gaze towards the featureless desert.
The caravan arrived at the hangar, and a pair of guardsmen led Hux and Ren up to a meager dressing room, Hux's pristine new uniform in a garment case. He unlocked the hermetic seal on the wardrobe and it hissed open, presenting the immaculate outfit he'd commissioned, every stitch perfect, each seam tailored for his body. It included a small draped cape over the shoulder, an accessory only given for the most formal occasions, but there were few enough officers at the higher ranks to protest him indulging in pomp.
He took his time unfastening his old jacket, one that, while clean enough, was scuffed at the fasteners from where Ren had torn it off of him after a particularly violent victory. It had been repaired, of course, but it bore the weight of that encounter like his skin once had.
Then he unfastened his jackboots, casting them aside. Once, in a particularly compliant mood, Ren had licked the tops of the leather, up along the inside of the calves, and then skipped up to his bare thighs. The trousers, too, had been casualties of their dalliances, as they were on their fourth set of new buttons.
"Do you need to wear that infernal helmet when we're alone?" he asked, as he stripped to his smalls, and then out of them, Ren's eyes searing through the opaque lenses of his mask.
"No," he said.
"Would you remove it?" he asked, his voice softer than he wished it. "If I'd wanted to bring a man in a mask, I'd have had Captain Phasma send a generic escort."
He heard the hiss of the helmet's release as he stepped into a fresh pair of underclothes, and was in his new trousers by the time he glanced back at him. Ren's face was a carefully composed mask.
"Thank you," he said, unsure why he uttered the words after they fell.
Ren set the helmet down on a small table and stepped into Hux's personal space, unhooking the new jacket from the wardrobe. He held it open, and Hux turned to allow Ren to help him into it, left sleeve, right sleeve, and then those suffocating arms were around him. He had to fight the urge to swoon into the embrace, but Ren's hands were busy at the hidden hooks of the garment, working up from his waist. It was not a lover's gesture. Even so, he felt small against him, intoxicated by his scent and size.
The gloved fingers grew less and less nimble as they traced up his chest, and he felt his head fall back onto Ren's shoulder, baring his milky throat to predatory eyes. He went still against him, hands frozen in place, and Hux felt the blood drain from his face like water retreating in advance of a tsunami.
"You're mine," Ren raged, teeth burying in tender skin, tearing a sob from Hux's chest, anguish and relief. The furious lightsaber crackled to life, and Ren sliced up the front of the uniform with the crossblade, singing through not only fabric but into flesh, an indelible brand. Then the saber crashed to the floor and Ren was tearing the jacket down and off, forcing Hux against the wall and crowding him with his hips, and it was like drowning, he couldn't get his breath. Ren was aflame.
"Yes, please - "
"Never," Ren said, hands down his trousers, ripping - "Never, will anyone else ever touch you" - and was so relieved to be nude, Ren was so hot against him - "I'll kill them, I'll kill all of them."
He whined his assent, and when gloved fingers forced into his mouth, he dug down with his teeth to strip the leather from him, spitting it away once Ren's hand withdrew and sucking fiercely at the bare digits. Ren swore against his throat as he struggled to free his cock, searing and slick against his ass. Then it was one, two fingers in him that withdrew too fast and the drooling head of a cock forced through him, too much, he was dizzy and he bucked into it all the same.
Ren's gloved hand viced his hip, birthing five deep bruises while his sharp nails tore shallow cuts up his chest. His volcanic mouth sucked bruising bites from his shoulder, along the rise of his neck and up to his ear, nearly severing the lobe. Hux could hardly accept Ren's cock as it breached him again and again, every thrust deep and fierce. His hands braced on the wall, and with every thrust of Ren's his body opened, accepting the intrusion until all he felt was the burn of fullness, the insistent cockhead battering his prostate and he was staring into hyperspace, everything white behind his eyelids.
"Ren, please," he heard himself beg, though whether for mercy or for more, he wasn't sure.
"If you ever let anyone touch you, I'll kill you too," was the reply, a furious threat. "I'll know, and I'll - "
"Yes," he surrendered, lost to the staggering sensation of being property, belonging to the knight as obviously as he bore his brand. It was impossible, delusional, and intoxicating.
"Promise me-" Ren pleaded, hips erratic as he hit the edge.
"We'll burn the galaxy if we have to," he swore, and heard Ren's distinctive choked moan against his neck as his lover spilled inside him, filling him, slicking his body.
Ren hardly caught his breath before he was turning Hux around, finally claiming his mouth, gloved hand taking his cock and in a few pulls he was coming and oh his body had missed Ren's touch, the taste of him in his mouth. He was aching and battered and relieved, and he sagged back against the wall as the kissing slowed to languorous, to a brush of lips and then to shared breath.
"I thought you didn't care," he admitted.
"And that's why you - you kriffing idiot," Ren accused. "Put your clothes on, we're leaving."
"I need to find some way to salvage relations - "
"No."
"As much as I'm enjoying our touching reunion," he said, tugging on the trousers he'd so recently taken off, "Your jealousy won't build a second Starkiller Base."
General Hux strode into the wedding venue, his hair in disarray and throat black with love bites, his masked knight beside him. "Send these people back to where they came from," he ordered, gesturing towards the assortment of foundry captains and engineers gathered as an audience. "There will be no wedding. Bring me the Matriarch."
The mother of his former fiancee stalked towards him, her insect-wing gown rustling comedically as she approached. "You're in breach of contract. You will be held responsible for the entire cost of this affair, plus emotional damages."
"I'm sure we can agree on a sum," he said.
Her fury fizzled in the face of his command. "We had begun production on your project already. I will give your weapon to the New Republic unless you grant me my demands."
"A feeble bluff," said Ren through his ominous vocoder. "The Republic will try you for profiteering. Hm, the Hutts have a price on your head. You were securing an ally."
As he spoke, she stared at the knight, swaying on her feet, gritting her teeth. Interrogating her for blackmail. It wasn't forging an alliance, but it would suffice.
"The First Order is the only client you will encounter," Hux declared. "We are formidable enough to deter your enemies. We will protect you as long as you are useful."
Her guardsmen escorted them back to the spaceport, and as Hux stepped onto the shuttle, he brought fingers up to his own throat to press at a bruise on either side, and then down over his jacket to where the brand was still warm and tender. He would not be checking in to medbay this time.