my very late @huxloween fill for the bonfire prompt: nsfw, soft kylux, pwp, tarot, demons, no content warnings, thank you to @eralkfang
Ren wakes up with his nose buried in hair that smells like smoke and looks like fire. “You’re still here,” he murmurs against the smooth, pale skin of the man’s neck, hot beneath his lips as if he fell asleep kissing it.
Ren trails his fingers down the long, ghost-white back to where the sheet winds around slim hips. The stranger shifts. Then shifts again, sinuous, rutting back against Ren’s cock. Ren’s chafed red and raw but hard all the same from waking up tangled with someone so sweet-smelling and warm.
Ren grabs his slim hip to still him with a groan. “Bad,” he scolds, then trails his hand up to brush the pad of his thumb back and forth across his peaked nipple, kissing and nosing up his nape to smell his tangled hair again.
“Torture,” the man complains, arching his back for more.
He’d appeared, the night before, out of the fire itself–like a witch stepping casually down from the pyre. Then again, it was late and Ren was drunk and bleary and exhausted, having built the bonfire by himself on some strange, itching impulse. What he saw could’ve been a trick of the light.
Yet he’d come straight to Ren as if called, wherever he came from, and stood over him backlit and smirking. They hadn’t spoken much as Ren led him home.
“I’m gonna fuck you in the shower,” Ren murmurs now, against his bright hair.
“No,” he whines, arching his neck to be bitten.
“No?” Ren bites him, closes his eyes at the gasp and squirm, “Don’t you want to get clean and soapy and wet–”
“No!” half-sitting up in bed, panicked green eyes wide. Then, quickly, as if embarrassed, relaxing back down to curl, hot, at Ren’s side, blinking up at him. “I want to be dirty,” humping his hard cock against Ren’s thigh.
“No, never enough.” Lazily, he climbs onto Ren’s lap, draping the thick blanket over his shoulders like a cloak. He’s slender all over and bruised purple from the night before. He looks as if he wants to be stern but can’t quite keep himself from smiling, “What’s your name?”
“B–” Ren catches himself, “Ren.”
“Ren?” a surprised laugh. He bends all the way down to press his hot cheek to Ren’s chest and laughs and laughs until he chokes and coughs.
“I knew a Ren,” the words are muffled against Ren’s skin.
“You knew a Ren?” The name was brand new to him, assigned by his teacher under a full moon.
Sitting up to smirk, “He thought he was special, too.”
Ren doesn’t like this other Ren, so he topples the man to the mattress to interrupt his fond memories. “And what’s your name?” He asks, nose-to-nose.
“If you’re Ren,” he says, reaching touch the mole above Ren’s mouth, expression sobering, “I’m Hux.”
“You’re strange,” Ren says, high praise.
“Yes,” Hux says, “Kiss me.”
Ren kisses him, closing his eyes when they start to sting from the heat between them, the sharpness of Hux’s canines nipping at his bottom lip, the visions of snow, black boots, red blood. Hux presses up against him, so Ren wraps an arm beneath the twisting small of his back, trapping their bodies together tighter. He kisses the tip of his chin, the soft space between his collarbones, his pretty shoulder, his bicep, the crook of his elbow, then stops, pulling away.
“What’s that?” he asks, feeling faint. He’s seen such marks in a rare, coverless book, his favorite book, a dangerous book he keeps wrapped up in a drawer. Hux hides what he can with the sheet but Ren knows in his soul the five scars on Hux’s forearm, marching toward his wrist in a neat line as if someone had put out the red tips of five cigars on his fine skin, one by one.
“Nothing,” Hux says, then shakes his head, “Something I did a long time ago.”
“No, Ren,” Hux says, quiet, a warning, and Ren’s skin crawls, suddenly goosebumped, “It was a long time ago–I’m just not meant to forget.”
“Okay,” Ren says. “Fine,” though it’s not, and he wonders if Hux is an escapee, drawn to Ren’s fire from some much colder, darker place. “Are you in trouble?” he asks.
“Yes,” Hux says, then fixes Ren with a pout, white lies brimming in his green eyes, “But you’ll let me stay, won’t you? You were always,” he draws a finger down Ren’s chest, tracing the line of an obscure tattoo, “always good to me.”
“I’ll let you stay,” it’s out of Ren’s lip at once, though his heart is pounding with some unknown fear.
Hux heaves a great, shuddering sigh, and nods, eyes brimming this time with something more real.
“You must have a fever,” Ren says, to say something–caught between belief and denial. He sits up, his eyes skipping around the room for a dizzy moment, searching for something to help–herb bundles, crystals, books, candles, sword, cup, coin, and wand, and settle on the table where he’d cast his last spread the day before, just before the itch to build a fire began. Two cards had fallen to the floor last night, when Ren had fucked Hux over the wobbling desk, the world red behind his eyes as if looking right into the sun. In the weak morning light the room is dim but he knows the shape of the Devil and seven of swords. He swallows. He’d wanted this very much.
He leans down to kiss Hux’s hair, draping his own body over Hux’s, and feels for certain that he would destroy himself to protect his prize. “You’re burning up,” he says.
“Yes,” Hux says, tucking his face against Ren’s chest, “Always.”
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