#master hux

[nymeriaking]

Give me slave Kylo sitting between Master Hux's feet during an important meeting, casually resting his head in his Master's lap. Let Hux gently comb his hair for so long that Kylo falls asleep. Have the highly esteemed officials at the meeting glance over and smile softly at the lovely little bejeweled thing draped against Hux. Make all the heads at the table turn when a tired "hm?" interrupts the discussion. It's Kylo, of course, confused and still half-asleep. Hux starts petting him again, and he drifts back to sleep with an arm around his Master's waist.

[nymeriaking]

on the subject of slave Kylo...

What kind of stuff would Kylo's contract with Hux cover? Would it be for life, or a set length of time? Does it have any protections for Kylo, such as against dismemberment, death, or resale? How do you think he ever became a slave in the first place? Fun and voluntary? Raised in it? Captured? We know that he's devoted to Hux now, but how did it start?

I want answers!

[nymeriaking]

Imperial consort Ben, round 2

I don't know what to call this specific AU but that's it

Continued from this post (LJ was so perfect for this)

• • • • • • •

"Please."

The whispered plea echoes through Hux's mind once more, and he drowns quickly it with another glass of wine.

Ben had looked so sad, so desperate to be useful. He had looked almost scared, huddled down to the floor in submission as if he thought he might be hurt. He had definitely sounded scared with his voice quivering and cracking every time he looked up.

Hux was tempted in that moment. He must confess that the skin Ben had bared for him was beyond fair, a dreamy sort of pallor that implied naturalness instead of a concerted and unhealthy effort to avoid the sun. And it appeared well cared for, smooth and soft and hairless. He did not touch the boy -- truly an adult in age, but his culture seemed to prize the image of youth as something hallowed, and Hux could hardly see past it -- any more than to lift him from the floor and remove him from his private quarters.

If duty was what brought Ben to him, then Hux would not take him. Ben had acted admirably and with more honor than anyone Hux had ever seen, and to take such cruel advantage of someone so innocent would be so far past sick that Hux would rather remove his own head.

Until Ben learned what it meant to want, Hux would refrain.

Time for Ben to learn, then.

• • • • • • •

"He's unnaturally handsome, isn't he?" Phasma whispers in Ben's ear as she guides him into the large, loud hall. Ben can barely hear her over the festivities.

"Who are talking about?" he asks, puzzled. He looks around at all the men in their military dress. They all look the same.

"Your husband, of course." Her finger leads his eyes to fall upon the Emperor, standing tall and bright at the head of the hall. A fiery heat fills his belly and he pulls himself from Phasma's grip.

"It would behoove you to refrain from speaking about my husband like that," Ben hisses in the coldest tone he can manage, and he leads himself to the Emperor's side.

All through the night, Ben sticks close to his husband's side. He has a rotten feeling about their marriage, that perhaps it wasn't well thought out, that the Emperor has changed his mind, that he'll kill Ben... or worse. The only thing that chases those feelings away is the arm slung tight around his waist.

But Phasma's words have wormed their way into his brain, feeding that bit of darkness. She's been getting far too close, lately. First it was the smiles she'd give Ben, more often and much friendlier than most of his maids. Then, the touches. She helped him bathe, comb out his hair, rub the oils into his skin, and sometimes her hands would move just so and pull an odd reaction from him. It never went anywhere, just soft pleasures that left him hard and oversensitive. But he figured that as long as his lust remained unfulfilled by the Emperor -- and as long as Phasma did not go too far --, it didn't mean anything. But now that she seems to be coming for his husband, Ben can't distance himself from him any longer.

During dinner, after the second course has been served, the pair find themselves attached at the hip, no doubt due to Ben's white-knuckled grip on his husband's shirt back. Setting his fork down, the Emperor gives him a look that sets his heart racing and leans in to close the small gap between them.

"You've been exceptionally demanding all night," he whispers in Ben's ear. He tugs the young consort impossibly closer and presses his face deeper into his carefully curled locks. "Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you."

Ben lifts a hand to cover his mouth -- something he vividly remembers being taught never to do -- and breathes a single word.

"You."

• • • • • • •

Okay @bandvn and @armoredsuperheavy, y'all's turn.

[nymeriaking]

OH MY GOD okay a quick idea before sleep

Hux's slave, Kylo, is not only for pleasure. He serves another, secret purpose. Kylo is fluent in a dozen of the most common languages in the galaxy, conversational in a couple dozen more. But looking at Kylo -- half naked and always decorated, clearly no more than a pet -- no one would ever guess it. They all assume he only speaks Standard, if that. They carelessly speak aside to their kin in their own language, completely unaware that anyone is listening. With Kylo at his side, Hux has altered at least a score of deals with knowledge no one expects.

[nymeriaking]

More Imperial Consort Ben - 3

I'm allergic to long posts, so I'm continuing from here

• • • • •

In the Emperor's absence, Ben becomes acquainted with his closest handservants.

He still doesn't trust her, but he allows Phasma's touch to wander further, then more purposefully ignite certain desires within him. She brings him to climax on more than one occasion.

Dopheld is gentler and quieter, almost shy in his touches. Where Phasma is teasing and playful, Dopheld is all sincere sweetness. Ben has never dreamt of kissing Phasma, but he does place a soft kiss to Dopheld's lips once.

"I urge you not to waste your time on pleasing me, Your Majesty."

"Nonsense," Ben murmurs and kisses him again. "Though you serve me, I would not have the balance between us be unequal. It is not a waste."

"But it is a waste, Your Majesty," Dopheld insists, eyes round in earnest. "I had such essense taken from me when I was a boy. I have no desires such as yours."

A eunuch, then. Ben sighs heavily and reclines on the bed. No men around to truly fill the gap the Emperor has left. He really is cruel and clever, and he seems to mean every word of what he said that night.

Dopheld's hand finds its way back to Ben's thigh, carefully tracing up the slit in his long skirt.

"Do you still want me to help you tonight?"

"Oh, Dopheld," Ben murmurs, grabbing him by the hand to pull him onto his lap. He's still hard, but he doesn't care much for it anymore. "Do you know what it means to want?"

• • • • •

Ben grows restless.

No, not restless. Hungry? Tired? Empty?

He still sits with the Emperor at dinner, still engages in proper conversation and the correct touches, but it just makes him angry.

He hates looking at that stupid crown, the stupid hair it rests on that frames the stupid face that asked him, 'Do you know what it means to want?'

He thinks, this is it, this must be it. I want him.

He also thinks, this can't be it. This can't be all it means to want. Is wanting just being angry all the time?

So he waits, just as his husband instructed.

And waits.

And waits.

• • • • •

"These are really piling up, you know."

"I know, Phasma."

"I apologize for wasting your time, Your Majesty. However, something must be done with all of this. It can't stay in this closet forever."

"Just throw it out."

"And then explain to His Majesty the Emperor why so much finery has been discared?"

Ben huffs petulantly. He hasn't looked at a single one of the gifts since his husband told him to fuck off. Phasma just wants this closet to be cleaned periodically.

"Find a bigger closet," he tells her.

• • • • •

Ben keeps doubting himself. What does it mean to want?

• • • • •

Later, when he's informed by a runner that the Emperor is in the infirmary, and a knot forms in his stomach, he thinks he might have figured it out.

• • • • •

But no, that was just the Byrabian Crab he'd had for lunch. The Emperor was fine; he just had too much drink.

• • • • •

It was at a rather boring affair, actually, that Ben began to suspect he may finally know what it means to want.

Some high general and his wife are visiting for the day. He's in time-sensitive talks with the Emperor, something about a military strike somewhere. Or threatening one, maybe. It hasn't held Ben's interest long enough for him to figure out exactly what's going on.

The general paces the room -- one of the libraries, with real books -- while the Emperor stands at the window that looks out over Ben's garden.

"It should be easier, now, if we play our cards right," the old man says.

"I expect nothing less than full cooperation. We have the money and the firepower."

"Of course," he agrees. "All it takes is expressing to them that we know what they need. Carefully. And now that you control the Hydian Way, I think we can do that without words."

Ben's eyes shoot to his husband's tall form, silhouetted against the daylight. He turns around as if he somehow knew he was being closely examined. There's something proud and leering in his eyes.

He's truly something to be feared, Ben is starkly reminded. He's strong and clever, and he never told him about this campaign and victory. He is truly a player. Ben can admire that, but...

"You control the Hydian Way?" Ben's voice brings everything to a stop. It vaguely registers that he just interrogated the Emperor and cast him in a shameful light. His husband glances carefully over at his general before sliding smoothly back to Ben.

"Forgive my not telling you. I've been gone too long on business," he apologizes, more for the small audience than for his consort. His words sound sincere, but his eyes are tricky. "We'll soon be reacquainted."

Oh.

Oh.

That.

That's want.

[nymeriaking]

On the other hand, slave Kylo can be quite naughty...

One day, Hux and his advisors pass Kylo in the hallway, and Hux notices Kylo's neck is bare.

Bare...

Kylo isn't wearing his collar.

Half of Hux wants to stop Kylo right then and show everyone -- everyone -- who Kylo belongs to. The other half tells him to do it later, when he's not so busy. He waits.

That evening, Kylo's place at dinner is not on the floor at Hux's feet; that would be too lazy. Kylo is acting out, testing Hux, playing at something dangerous. If Kylo wants to toy around with the idea of being free, being anyone's, then the ever-so-gracious Emperor Hux will let him have a taste.

Kylo's new place at dinner is at the center of the table, bound and stuffed like the usual decorative fowl. Breast up, of course.

None of the officials present that evening are rude enough to comment on it. They simply watch Kylo squirm and test the ropes, listen to his muted cries from behind his gag. If any of them find his nudity to be offensive, no one is any the wiser.

[nymeriaking]

Slave Kylo gets bored and lonely while Master Hux is away on business, so he resorts to using his own hands on himself

Hux finds out and is torn between ordering a fine set of toys to be made for him, or taking his young slave along on his travels

He asks Kylo which he'd prefer, and Kylo (spoilt little brat) asks, "why not both?"

[nymeriaking]

Sweet slave Kylo who bats his eyes and looks innocent and perfect and sits at his Masters feet. Hux goes to private meetings with his boy submissively beside him, but the second someone tries something Kylo has them in a force hold tight enough that it could break their ribs and the blade of a knife against their throat. No one is going to hurt Master when he’s there.

I love this so so so much 💕

Kylo isn't decorated just to be pretty or to show off wealth; it's done so that he is underestimated.

Hux can't just take his uniformed security detail everywhere. It would be tacky, of course, and private information would be far too unsecure, and it would make him look weak. But there are many situations where he would do well to stay protected, to have someone he trusts watching his back. A pretty little plaything would never be expected to leak information or to be a trained combatant.

But the comb that holds Kylo's hair up is painted with poison. He's got six blades on him at any given time. He's probably spent most of his life studying and perfecting his space pencak silat (I imagine like Acehnese because he's so fast and strong and knifey).

And that's not including the Force, which only half a dozen souls know about. He hasn't had much formal training, being mostly self-taught, but he's allowed it to grow and flourish within him, and using its influence is as simple as instinct. After looking a man in the eye and telling his frozen form to get out (he did, and through the fifth floor window, at that), Kylo becomes somewhat of a legend around the palace. If you look him in the eye, you'll turn to stone. If you think traitorous thoughts, he'll crawl through your mirror to kill you at night. If you think about his body, phantom snakes will crawl up your legs and strangle you to death right where you stand. They sound like the typical scary story made up to scare kids into being good, but as far as anyone actually knows, he's only ever killed a traitor or two with a knife. He's just Hux's pet, one with a bite.