This labeled as Two in the Morning. Also on my ao3 here :) My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.
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“Poe…”
Poe stirred in his sleep at the warm, familiar palm on his waist. He felt warm and safe and at peace, not sure if he was dreaming about the man next to him or not. “…Hugs?”
Poe felt Hux snuggled close against him, his cock pressing hard at his thigh. Poe’s own body quickly became aware of the situation, and he groaned at the pleasant discovery as he reached to pull Hux tighter against him.
Dream or no dream, it felt good as Hux slid hands over Poe’s bare arms and shoulders. Hux brushed his cheek against Poe’s shoulder and sighed as he was manhandled into a full body hug.
Words both needy and lusty fell from his lips. “…can we fuck?”
Poe moaned in pleasure and pulled Hux fully on top of him, meeting his lips in the dark as his body warmly came awake to the other man. “Yes yes fuck yes, mmm…. c’mere baby… ” He kissed Hux’s lips with another groan, the sounds of their heavy breathing loud in the darkness of their bedroom.
Hux ran grasping fingers into Poe’s curls, whining and slowly grinding against the thigh his legs were astride. Poe’s hands were on the globes of Hux’s ass, pulling him down onto him as he arched his hips up against Hux’s own. They were both hard, the friction between their bodies heating as Poe teased Hux’s tongue from his mouth and back into his own.
“…you wake up needing me, huh?”
“Yes…” The way Hux moved himself against Poe was answer enough in itself, but the fact that he let the endearment go meant Poe could run his mouth a bit.
“I wanna suck you,” Poe spoke thickly as he mouthed at Hux’s ear. He was rewarded with the usual shudder of pleasure as Hux moaned and grasped at him.
Poe kissed him as Hux’s hips ground down against him with want. Poe got him beneath him, kissing his neck as he stroked his cock with his hand. Hux sighed and whined at how good it felt, keeping his hands on Poe’s face, his shoulders, his hair, as the man kissed down his torso with his lips and smoothed palms over naked skin with his hands.
“Poe–”
“Mmm, Armitage,” Poe hummed appreciatively as he teased his lips about the base of Hux’s cock. Hux cried out so prettily when Poe took him into his mouth, humming appreciatively as Hux writhed beneath him. He was always so responsive. Poe loved this part. He licked and sucked and toyed with Hux’s balls as he laid between the other man’s legs. He ground his own hardon against the sheets in a lazy rhythm to the sounds Hux was making, and pulled off to stroke Hux with his hand while kissing his hip and offering praise. “Feel good, baby?”
“Yes- yes Poe please-”
“I love you.”
Hux was rendered unable to return the sentiment as Poe smiled and immediately sucked his cock down once more. Hux felt his cock hitting the back of Poe’s throat, being swallowed, and the noise he made as his legs lifted encouraged Poe’s efforts.
Poe buried his nose in the hair between Hux’s legs as he swallowed tightly around him, and Hux was coming down his throat with soft little whines and helpless sighs. Poe let him slip from his mouth and kissed the shaft once more before moving back up over the other man. Poe kissed Hux’s neck up to his jaw as Hux breathed heavily and looked up at him in a pleasured daze.
“...Gimme your hand, baby,” Poe said hotly as he nipped at Hux’s earlobe, turned on enough that he wouldn’t need much more to come, honestly.
“No,” Hux said as he caught his breath and turned on his side, pulling Poe close behind him with his hand. He kissed Poe’s palm before letting go to pull him closer behind at the waist. “Between my thighs, if you will.”
Poe moaned as the idea sent a jolt to his cock. “Fuck yeah baby.” He gave himself a few strokes that spread the leaking precum over himself, aiding in a sliding friction as he kissed Hux’s back and nestled his cock right under Hux’s balls. He was already close after humping the sheets while blowing the other man, so it didn’t take too long as he thrust his cock between the skin of Hux’s thighs to come with a groan between them.
Hux chuckled and sighed with pleasure, pulling Poe even closer behind him and making him cry out in oversensitive pleasure. They were satisfied and a little sweaty, but it was still dark and in the middle of their sleep cycle. Hux sighed again and turned his head to kiss Poe’s cheek. He was ready to fall back asleep with the other man.
“...I love this...I love you,” Hux told him sleepily.
Poe chuckled and kissed the side of his lips before kissing him once properly. Poe was still snug against Hux’s back as they laid there sleepily sated side by side. He didn’t want to move yet, though he supposed he should clean his release from the other man’s thighs before they fell back asleep.
“Let’s do it again… in the morning…” Poe spoke softly into Hux’s hair, loving the sleepy, sex-sated smell on the other man.
Hux hummed in barely-coherent response, and Poe snuggled closer for much longer than just a moment.
I’m a couple days behind as things are half-finished but this is Day 3′s FebuWhump prompt fill for imprisonment :D Good ol’ gingerpilot :) This work titled Prisoners of circumstance.
See also on my ao3 here. My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.
--
They dragged Hux away in binders while Poe fought the oxygen mask being fixed to his face on the gurney. There were hands trying to remove the collar from his neck. He was bleeding, and he knew they were trying to help, but his only concern was for Hux.
“Commander, lie still, please. You’re bleeding-“
“Hugs!” Poe felt delirious, reaching out as Hux left his immediate line of sight, roughly taken away in binders. He tried yelling out again for the man, and immediately cried out in pain instead.
“Poe, take it easy--”
There was something mixed in with the oxygen on his face; something chemically-sweet. Medicine, or painkillers. He wasn’t sure, and he couldn’t think straight as dizziness took him. But whether that was from the blood-loss, or the narcotics, he didn’t know.
“...Hugs!…” He was being moved out of the hangar, ceiling above him once more as they crossed a threshold. “H-He’s on our side-”
“Poe that’s--” Poe looked widely up at Finn as the man kept pace, a steadying hand on his shoulder far away from the wound. “You’ll be okay, just take it easy and let them help you.”
His vision was spotty-- he was going to pass out- but he had to let them know. They had to know; there couldn’t be any misunderstandings. Poe grabbed Finn’s forearm where the other man was trying to help keep him down. The ceiling was moving quickly above him. It was dizzying and disorienting. “...you can’t-- Finn!”
“I’m right here, man. Right here.” It was difficult to give him a quick pat with his free hand, but Finn tried to reassure him. “You’re safe, alright?”
Finn’s gaze was intense with concern as Poe’s eyes locked with his, his hand squeezing weakly in urgency. He couldn’t fight against the chemically-sweet air any longer, grip lessening as he barely got the words out. “...he’s… he’s our spy… a spy…”
--
Poe was disoriented when he woke up, heart-rate spiking after barely a moment as his consciousness connected with reality. Hux.
A gentle murmur reached him through the blood rushing in his ears, and Poe realized he wasn’t alone. He calmed just a bit as a hand pat his leg reassuringly over the covers; Leia at his bedside, Dr. Kalonia standing next to her.
“So you’re alive and in one piece,” Leia spoke. “You’ve got more lives than a cat, Dameron.”
Poe blinked at her.
“How do you feel?” Dr. Kalonia asked.
“...where’s Hux?” Poe croaked instead, mouth and throat dry.
“In a cell.” A look passed between Leia and Dr. Kalonia. The doctor made an excuse of getting something for Poe to drink, leaving them in a moment of privacy.
Poe opened his mouth to speak, but Leia beat him to it.
“You’re gonna have to explain this to me, Poe,” she said plaintively. “How is it the Starkiller is in our custody? What happened?”
“...he’s our spy.” Poe found the words easily enough. It was only because of Hux that he was even still alive.
“Him?”
He nodded emphatically. His mouth was dry, and he swallowed hard. “It’s been him the whole time… He got me out of there. Can’t go back. Doesn’t wanna go back.” Poe moved to sit up in his bed, wincing a little. He felt tender where they must’ve stitched the wound closed.
“You’ve been gone for weeks, Dameron.”
“I-I know.”
“How are you still alive?”
“...he kept me alive.” Poe began to get a bad feeling. “I know it sounds nuts, but it's real. Everything we’ve ever gotten is from him. He’s on our side.”
“Poe, we were told Kylo Ren took you prisoner himself...”
Yeah, that much was true. But Poe had been in disguise when the town had been rounded up, and the captives had been presented to Hux’s discretion as Ren headed after those who’d retreated into the forests.
Hux had recognized him almost immediately— had studied his face beyond mistake after the pilot had destroyed their dreadnought. Poe had thought he was royally screwed when he saw the recognition alight in Hux’s eyes.
But the general hadn’t said anything, instead observing the others who’d been captured, looking for more infiltrators. No one stood out, but he didn’t indicate Poe, either. The pilot had been processed with everyone else, giving a false name to their intake and being taken out of a cell just as soon as he’d been put in one.
He’d been brought to Hux for an interrogation, but not torture. No, he’d been Hux’s unwitting contact, caught in a set of coincidences that had placed him far too close to Ren for the knowledge in his head. He had to hide Poe. They were far from any inhabited systems already, and no way to possibly sneak him out until their course changed.
Poe was still having trouble believing it himself. From that first accusative finger Hux had pointed at him for being an idiot and getting caught and putting them both in jeopardy, Poe had realized he kind of liked the guy.
The small ysalamir named Millicent that Hux kept in his quarters was the only thing that borrowed him peaceful moments. It wasn’t quite a pet, but it’s very-real force-negating qualities earned the reptile the affectionate nickname of “Millie”, and a habitat with a warm rock.
The animal became Poe’s new accessory. It was the only way Hux could guarantee his safety when Ren was on board, the reptile curled up in Poe’s collar. He needed his presence undetected. Hux had information for the Resistance, and Poe needed to stay alive for his overall deadliness in battle.
The implication that Poe might’ve instead had his free-will affected, or his memory altered, made him frown. “I— what? Are you kidding me?” A flare of indignance and insult burned to life inside of him. Leia gave him an earnest look, but she didn’t entirely deny it. “You think I was brainwashed? I’m telling the truth.”
“It’s not like that,” she said with an earnest sort of tone. “I know you, Poe. And I know how powerful my son is… They had you for weeks, and we know what their reconditioning programs alone do. Put yourself in my shoes, commander.”
Poe had a really bad feeling about this. “...Can I see him?”
“Not right now, Poe.”
He suppressed the chill of anxiety at the base of his spine, growing as he anticipated another negative. “...Can I leave?”
“Not yet, Poe.”
So he was to be every bit a prisoner as Hux was until they decided whatever it was they decided about ‘Poe’s state of mind’. It was so laughably ridiculous it almost made him want to cry.
He told himself to remain calm, think clearly… Decided to spill his guts— he was in love with the man, he’d let them read his mind to prove it- but then Dr. Kalonia was coming in to the warning alarm on Poe’s vitals, and he was given a sedative to rest.
They’d talk about this later, and Leia promised she wouldn’t let anything happen to Hux while they figured things out. Poe was recovering from what could’ve been a death-blow; would’ve if he hadn’t gotten to help so quickly.
His body was weak right now, but Leia promised, as his vision swam and his eyes grew heavy, that he’d be up and about again soon after his body had a chance to rest and heal. They would talk about everything later, when he wasn’t freshly out of a coma.
But right now, as his eyes finally shut and he relaxed into the covers, he needed to heal.
Getting in on that sweet sweet @gingerpilotweek action yaaaas! :D I’m late for all the day’s prompts, but here’s something for Day 2: soulmates ♡
Hux and Poe have gravitated around one another many times in war without actually meeting. Every time they unknowingly come into proximity, each other's mark signaling their soulmate is near gets darker and more defined.Hux's mark solidifies itself before Poe's does. Poe is quick on the uptake.
See also on my ao3 here. My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.
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Hux’s mother and father were not soulmates. Nor was his father’s wife-- Maratelle Hux- his father’s soulmate.
Unnecessary. Foolish. It was idealist nonsense to distract from accomplishing real goals, nothing more. That’s all it was.
Soulmates were not the end-all of one’s reason for existence in Hux’s opinion, nor was it the singular drive to which he would ever devote his own life. He considered such a thing below his notice and ambitions. Foolish pursuits indeed. He wouldn’t entertain the belief of such things if he hadn’t experienced the force that Leader Snoke possessed personally. That was another lesson he’d learned; not to discount the impossible.
He wouldn’t make such assumptions quite so quickly again.
Still, the idea that he would have a soulmate was ludicrous. At thirty-two, he had no unaccounted-for marks on his body that might belong to some unknown other half, and after reaching the rank of general, he found it childish to cling to such thoughts.
He wouldn’t leave the responsibility of his future up to some force-induced nonsense anyways. Everything he had in life, he’d accomplished on his own merit. No predestination would take credit for that.
The likelihood of someone actually finding their soulmate when the universe was as large as it was bordered on an exercise in a waste of one’s life, anyways. It was rubbish, something he had no need for, and something he frankly wasn’t even sure was real, or if it was, it didn’t apply to him.
...Until he noticed a mark on his arm the day after they captured a Resistance pilot off Jakku.
He’d written it off as a bruise of some sort, or a case of dry skin. But no amount of ointments or passage of time had made it dwindle. The possibility of what that discoloration could mean made a snort of dry mirth go through him, but he chalked it up to overuse of stims and the deadline for Starkiller to become operational. Occupational stress and all that taking it out on his body.
He’d actively kept it from his mind until almost a year later on the day they’d lost the Fulminatrix over D’Qar. Humiliation on the bridge was only added to when he noticed that evening that the mark on his arm had gotten considerably darker, and taken on a more definitive shape. It looked reminiscent of blaster fire. He’d seen enough scars on the veterans in their ranks to identify the work of a blaster, but he’d never been shot in the arm before.
Perhaps, though, his soulmate was.
He was ashamed of the hope that blossomed in his chest at the idea that he himself might have a soulmate, and yet he couldn’t entirely begrudge himself the things it made him feel in the part of himself he kept locked away.
Maybe it was true, just like the impossibility of the force itself. The one was said to have come from the other, or be philosophically related at the very least. He had no force-powers to speak of, null and void, but it didn’t mean such a force couldn’t act upon him. He’d experienced what the force was capable of firsthand.
So he very-probably had a soulmate. That was… something that required much contemplation. It made him wonder what kind of person could possibly be his other half; someone on the wrong end of a blaster, at least.
A soldier of some kind. Within the First Order, perhaps? But no, if it really was true that proximity to meeting one’s soulmate darkened the mark, then Hux’s own general presence amongst his troops would have made it stand out much sooner against his pale skin by now. The fleet was vast, but Hux had personal influence on everything from engineering to what kind of food was served in the Order; surely his mark would have shown a long time prior if his soulmate was among his subordinates.
...Which left a far less favorable option, but one which was statistically more-likely: his soulmate might be among the Resistance. With the kind of luck that seemed to favor him, it probably wouldn’t be a defector to the First Order, either, which only complicated matters and threw the whole idea of him being worthy of a soulmate back into the impossible.
The implications of such a thing haunted Hux as he considered the actual likelihood of such an assumption. The frustration that a potential partner-- and thus ally- was among the Resistance bothered him more than he should allow it. It occupied his thoughts after Kylo Ren had near-strangled him over Crait; after his mark darkened once again on the actual planet’s surface. He’d felt it when it happened. Like an itch or a twitch of the muscle, but in his skin on his arm. Not painful, just… unmistakable.
It made his heart race. Made him anxious in traitorous dreams while his brain tried to reconcile how there might truly, actually be a possibility out there that-- for someone- Hux was the perfect match. Someone meant to be with him, and him by virtue them.
On the opposite side.
It was cruel, even of the unfeeling universe. He saw no possibility of him ever abandoning his post for some unknown Resistance member, soulmate or not. And the possibility of one of their ilk defecting to the Order-- especially for him- was laughable. It was inconceivable.
As inconceivable as the First Order having any kind of future under a leader who wasn’t Hux.
Kylo Ren might’ve usurped the title of Supreme Leader for now, but Hux was patient, and he was clever.
Or he thought he’d been, at least until after Crait. Until Ren populated his new command with men Hux mortally despised.
In barely the span of a year after the incidents at Crait, Hux lost all power and influence he’d once held. He’d very quickly learned to hold his tongue before Ren, though sometimes he couldn’t quite manage it; the insult to the way his Order was being run sometimes got the better of him. The man was destroying everything Hux had worked towards, and everything he’d built.
Ren wasn’t fit for the power he’d stolen, and to prove that undeniable fact in the hopes of inspiring an uprising against him, Hux began to sabotage the force-user’s effort when he could. Little things here and there that were satisfying but likely to go unnoticed, like withholding information he knew he could get away with, or lying by omission.
Hux didn’t start actively passing information to the Resistance until after he’d woken up in the medbay following being throttled by the force hard enough to crack his ribs. He still wasn’t entirely sure what exactly Ren had done to him, only that the pain had made him black out completely, and he had neatly-delineated bruises that matched the paneling on the bridge-console as a result. The combination of bitterness and stims had made him go through with it: warning the Resistance of the foolhardy plan that Ren devised for seizing assets from one of their allies.
It gave him a small sense of accomplishment-- getting information about their operations to the Resistance- to spite Ren and leave his missions unsuccessful. It amused him as well in consideration to the mark he carried on his arm. Was this the link between him and this supposed soulmate that existed on the opposite side? Is this how it begun? The idea had been unfathomable before, yet here he was, forging contacts and unknowingly building the bridge that might bring his soulmate that much closer.
Maybe they’d even help him remove Ren from power. Now there was a fanciful idea.
Hux had been getting away with passing information for months, a perverse little thrill running through him every time a successful information drop was made. Little things here and there-- tip-offs to evacuate Resistance strongholds when a lead on their location proved correct. Political prisoners going missing due to clerical errors. Omitting key cultural facts to the point of insult by those diplomats that the First Order-- or Ren in particular- would benefit from allying with. Small things going wrong that-- on their own, were not suspicious- but together added to the headache of chipping away at Ren’s goals.
Hux was intent to bide his time slowly sabotaging this new path Ren thought he could put the Order on, patient in his assurance that the man would eventually be ousted by all of high command for his incompetence, force-user or not.
It came as a shock-- another cruel laugh from the universe- that everything Hux thought he knew, including the path his Order had been on, was based on lies.
A military might that Hux had only dreamed about now gave the man nightmares; a Sith fleet waiting in the wings to subjugate the universe; the Final Order. Force-users and mysticism; disorder and chaos.
More people like Ren who saw those like Hux as easily-crushable beneath their boot. People who regarded those without the force as beneath themselves. People like Snoke. People like the Emperor. Unnatural and frightening.
It terrified him. Men like Ren didn’t prize merit or skill. They didn’t earn their rank through dedication and hard work, and they had no respect for those who had.
It was enough of a fear that Hux sent everything he could gather on this Final Order to the Resistance. Everything that had been made available to high command, and anything else he could get his hands on with what authority he still possessed.
The fleet these sith madmen possessed would infect the universe, wiping out anyone who stood in their path. The obvious first, decisive target would be the Resistance. They’d barely been hanging on these last months without Hux’s influence and warnings for them to clear out. They’d be found and dealt with swiftly when the fleet made their move.
With the way things had changed these last months, Hux saw the mark on his arm in a different context. Maybe his soulmate wouldn’t easily escape from what was coming. The odds were staggering. But Hux could give them all the warning he could while he could. That was something he could do, giving him the illusion of some kind of control as his plans all went to hell.
The idea of not warning this supposed soulmate never entered Hux’s mind. Now that he knew such a thing could even exist-- exist for him- he wanted to protect even the slightest hope of it; protect whoever among their rank knew who and what Hux was, but was still capable of loving him anyways. Again, something he considered impossible, but enjoyed indulging in stolen thoughts about it.
Hux knew the Resistance forces were small, but their troop-to-kill ratio was impressive. They could handle themselves; survive the coming storm if they fled from known space. He liked the idea that his soulmate might survive if they were smart. There was some sense of victory in that for him, even if he never got to know them.
The Order had been over the frigid planet Kijimi when he became aware of the mark on his arm darkening. Like a tingling, static-y sort of feeling beneath his skin. He put his hand to the spot over his uniform, pressing gloved fingers over the sensation that lingered longer than he’d felt in prior instances.
It made his heart speed up as the implications hit him all at once: his soulmate was near; they hadn’t run from the warned threat. And furthermore, this planet-- at least to his knowledge- was not a Resistance-operating base, which meant his soulmate must be one of those they were currently pursuing.
His heart beat nearly out of his chest while his stomach jumped to lightspeed without him-- anticipation and the gravity of it all becoming as real as the mark on his skin. Was this how they’d meet? Was he destined to shoot his soulmate?
They were on opposite sides. He was certain of that now. Where did that leave him, though? His soulmate among the Resistance… The idea was too much to grasp.
A report interrupted his thoughts: They had Resistance members on board trying to escape with the wookie. They were in custody now, the situation handled and awaiting further instruction.
Hux touched his arm again in the spot there, considering how it looked not unlike a blaster wound, and let his feet follow the officer towards his other half.
--
This is only the first bit of this, the rest will be fond on my ao3 here if you wanna sub ;D
gingerpilot prompt, "stay safe" and "who did this?" in which hux was waiting for poe to come back from a mission (this is post tros hux survives ok) only to find him hurt and bleeding. (imagine the look on hux's face!)
Thanks for the prompt! WOO! Hux is always alive and nothing will ever change my mind on that AHAHA
This labeled as Catch and Release. Also on my ao3 here :) My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.
–
Hux pushed his way through the crowd that was gathering, eyes locked on the shuttle that had landed in the hangar bay.
It was the group Poe had taken command of, returned from a mission in which Poe was said to have been captured by a First Order battle cruiser. He had also, purportedly, been rescued, but Hux needed to see him with his own eyes before he allowed his thundering heart to slow. It was enough to keep him outwardly calm to know Poe was alive, but until he could see the man for himself, Hux couldn’t help his trepidation.
He got several elbows aimed his way as he moved through the crowd, cursing aimed at him as he jostled right back, but didn’t care. He was barely tolerated even after the serious advantages he’d given the Resistance-- strategic resources, access codes, his own personal mental-catalogue of the First Order’s few weaknesses- among his own expertise and technological ingenuity. If the Resistance won this war, Hux knew how great a part his own presence would play in it.
But he certainly wasn’t doing it all for them anyways.
Hux’s green eyes were locked on the transport ramp carrying the injured onto the deck of the hangar bay, scanning over the limping figures joining their compatriots with cheers and wide smiles. His gaze never settled on one person for long, searching for Poe among the wounded, and wondering if he’d come off the shuttle under his own power or not. He had no idea of the severity of Poe’s wounds, and was uncertain what to gird himself for.
Hux had heard that Poe’s fighter had gone down, and he’d been taken captive a very short time before being rescued by his squad. It was reported that he’d sustained injuries of some kind, but no one would tell Hux anything. Those who might’ve talked to him had gone on the mission with Poe, and those left behind avoided interacting with Hux beyond necessity.
The rebel scum that called themselves a Resistance might’ve considered Poe a friend, but Hux was not extended that privilege by association, even if they were openly fucking in a relationship of sorts, living together for months now.
It didn’t matter to Hux. None of them did. Only Poe.
The man himself was holding onto the edge of the hover-stretcher he was being carried out of the shuttle with-- sitting up sideways instead of laying back- his own eyes scanning the crowd as they made their way down and off the ramp. Poe’s eyes were hungry for the one person that had been on his mind during his captivity, and he raised a hand in signal as he caught sight of Hux’s hair.
Hux didn’t see Poe yet, trying to pick him out of the busy flight deck with a serious, unguarded expression of concern on his face. It made Poe’s heartbeat pick up a bit of speed.
Poe raised his arm and called out. “Hey! Hugs!”
Hux’s eyes immediately zeroed in on Poe, expression changing to something of utter relief and abject wanting as he moved without breaking eye contact towards him.
Poe made the two pilots carrying him hold up, a smile growing as he watched the ex-general make his way towards him. His fingers twitched where he held onto the stretcher, wanting to hold the other man and be held.
Hux brushed past someone brusquely, getting a leg out to trip him that Poe yelled out about with distaste, but Hux largely ignored the offender. The deck was busy enough with relief and celebration that they’d all made it back that he found it wasn’t worth fussing over. His main objective was clear.
Hux came to stand before the stretcher as Poe smiled up at him. Hux didn’t quite reach out, but it was very clear that he wanted to. The ex-general still felt largely uncomfortable with public displays of affection-- especially concerning the regard most of the Resistance had for him- and he wasn’t sure about crossing those bounds even now. The expression on Hux’s face said plenty, though.
Poe reached out a hand to touch Hux’s forearm-- wanting to do so much more than that- and the other man clasped it between his own with a concerned sort of frown, inspecting him as much as treasuring that he was here and in one piece.
Poe smirked at his touch. “You miss me, baby?”
“I’ve asked you not to call me that,” Hux said sourly, but he raised a careful palm to Poe’s face impatiently, inspecting the bruising around his bloodshot eye and the cut on his lip. He looked at Poe’s body at large, noting his rigid posture and other places he suspected Poe might be injured. He wanted nothing more than to strip him and personally check that the man was in one piece. “I distinctly recall telling you to ‘stay safe’, Dameron. Is that what you call doing so?”
“I missed you too.” Poe grinned, wincing a little, but held Hux’s hand. He looked at those commanding his stretcher. “Let me off, I wanna go with Hugs.”
“General, you need medical attention.”
“And I’ll get it,” Poe said with a grin and a wink at Hux. The other man’s cheeks went slightly red at the implication, but he gave Poe’s hand a warm squeeze and nodded seriously as he looked at Poe.
Poe was squirming his way off the stretcher to enthusiastically wrap an arm around Hux’s shoulders to support himself.
“...how badly are you injured?” Hux asked softly as he wrapped one of his own arms around Poe’s waist to better support him.
“Not as bad as it looks,” Poe promised as he gave a mischievous grin, though he leaned heavily on Hux. Poe then shooed the pilots on their way, told Hux not to touch his back if he could help it, and asked the other man to take him back to their quarters.
No one gave Hux trouble with a Resistance general in his arms.
--
“‘Not as bad as it looks’, you said,” Hux repeated Poe’s earlier words with a frown as Poe held Hux’s hand and smirked up at him.
Poe sat on the edge of their bed as Hux carefully touched him, cataloguing the wounds on the pilot. He was cleaning the superficial cuts on Poe’s face with gentle fingers and little noises of concern as he inspected what had been done to the other man.
“Okay, to be fair, I am on a lot of painkillers right now,” Poe admitted, “but it’s nothing severe.”
“You were carried out on a stretcher.”
“I twisted my ankle when we escaped,” Poe confessed with a sort of chuckle. “Embarrassing, but that wasn’t something they did to me. The others wouldn’t let me walk it off.”
Hux snorted at the idea of walking off a twisted ankle, and pressed a kiss to the side of Poe’s face. “What about your back? Don’t give me that look; you mentioned it yourself.”
“Okay well… Yeah I need some attention there, but it’s fine.”
Hux huffed at the easy dismissal, and gently inspected the bruising and damage to Poe’s eye. Whoever or whatever had hit him could have taken it out had it been a more-centered injury. It looked like it hurt, anyways, but the stims he must be on were masking the pain. “I told you it would be too risky,” Hux chastised with concern as he leaned over Poe.
“I’m back, aren’t I?” Hux frowned at the grin Poe gave him, but didn’t stop in his inspection of the other man. “And in one piece, too.”
“That has yet to be determined.”
Poe smirked but allowed the careful undressing Hux did, warning of particularly-sore spots as his flight suit was peeled away. Hux’s touches were soft, open concern on his face not to cause the other man any more pain. Poe for his part couldn’t stop touching Hux, as if he was relieved to have made it back. And maybe he was.
“Who did this?” Hux spoke softly, brows furrowed as he inspected the various injuries he could see staining Poe’s clothing. He had his guesses at which officers in charge of interrogation might’ve done this to Poe, and added the names to the top of his mental list for personal vendetta. There were some dried, bloody marks on his shirt, and while he wanted to inspect the further damage done, he needed to take care in removing the rest from Poe without potentially reopening closed wounds. He met Poe’s eyes with a frown. “It looks like you’ve been beaten with human hands.”
“I’ve had worse, if you recall.” Poe wrapped his arms around Hux’s waist to pull him closer, wincing somewhat as he did it, but smiling through the painkillers still in his system from the transport. Hux softly huffed at his making light of the matter, but it hardly killed Poe’s smile.
“Yes, I do recall,” Hux replied tersely, a hand gently smoothing over Poe’s dirtied hair as he considered washing it for the other man. Poe winced, and Hux removed his hand quickly, attention focused where he’d just touched. “Do you have a head wound, Dameron?”
“Last name, huh? Still mad?”
Hux wrinkled his nose in distaste at the idea, gently caressing Poe’s cheek where he wasn’t bruised. He wanted to wrap his arms around him and hold him tight; feel how whole and safe and here he was. But without enough bacta to go around, he’d have to be patient and console himself with little touches and slow-healing instead. “...This should not have happened to you. A general is more useful in command than on the field, as I’ve told you multiple times.”
Poe was still grinning even as Hux gently moved him so he could inspect the back of his head. Poe leaned until he could press his face into Hux’s middle, ostensibly helping while hugging him tighter as the other man touched at his scalp. “...’m pretty useful,” Poe murmured into Hux’s middle, his grin felt through the fabric of Hux’s civilian clothing.
Hux ignored him as he found a raised bump with dried, matted blood around it. Poe hissed a little as Hux tried to evaluate the extent of the damage, but the way his hair stuck in small clumps, he couldn’t tell without potentially reopening the wound. Poe would need to be washed before taking care of him properly. And some of these wounds looked like they could use more attention than their simple medpac provided. “Did you lose consciousness at some point?” Hux asked as he gingerly stroked Poe’s skin. “If you have a concussion, we should send you to medical.”
“Nnmf,” Poe muttered an unintelligible denial into Hux’s middle, looking up when the other man pulled back to meet his gaze with furrowed brows. Poe gave him a smirk. “I got hit pretty hard, baby, but not hard enough. I was awake for everything.”
Hux furrowed his brows further for multiple reasons, and brought the other man back into a loose hug against his middle. Poe greedily went with a smirk, rubbing his face into Hux’s shirt. It would leave grime on it, but Hux hardly cared about the fabric. It wasn’t his old uniform, and it held no distinction of rank-- not that he’d ever be granted rank again- and there was no one who would dress him down for it anyways.
Hux bent just enough at the waist to bring his cheek to the top of the man’s uninjured head, grateful to have him in his arms, dirty or no. He was so glad to have him back, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Until the report that Poe’s ship had been brought down, he hadn’t realized just how much the other man meant to him. And now he never wanted him to leave the base again, even if he knew that was unrealistic by half.
“I wish you would send troops instead of doing these missions yourself,” Hux gently chastised, though he rubbed his cheek against Poe’s dirty hair with unguarded affection. He’d willingly climb into the tub with the other man later. For now, he wanted reassurance. “You’re a general, Dameron. You should delegate. That’s your job.”
Poe pulled back to look up at that with a warm grin, Hux’s tones clearly communicating the concern he felt even if he was still mad enough to address Poe by last name only. The pilot gave an appreciative grin. “I might be a general now, but I’m still the best pilot we’ve got.”
Hux idly pet at the nape of Poe’s neck with fingertips, his thumb stroking up and down the side of Poe’s throat. His own felt thick with emotion. “There are other pilots, Poe.”
Poe perked up at the use of his given name, but his subsequent words wouldn’t exactly please the other man. “None as good as me, Hugsy.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Hux spoke decisively, greedily, brows furrowed as he ignored the derivative nickname, “There’s only one you.”
Poe’s grin only brightened that much more, widening as Hux’s cheeks turned a bit pink under his speculation, though he didn’t care. Hux wasn’t one to wax poetic about his feelings-- boneless after a fuck, maybe, but not preceding one- so the words had that much more of an impact. The ex-general made his frown deeper as Poe beamed up at him, but it didn’t deter the pilot. “I hear what you’re sayin’, Hugs, loud and clear.”
Hux turned a shade of red and gathered Poe back against his middle to not deal with the very-pleased look on the other man’s face. Poe went gladly, palms splayed open wide on Hux’s lower back as the other man gently held him. Poe hummed at the mindful touches, and the comforting scent and his warmth after several days of being in space. He smelled like home, and Poe drank it in.
Hux was careful as he delicately continued undressing Poe, mindful of places the pilot warned he had other injuries, and gentle, pensive touches otherwise. He applied light antiseptics to some of the more angry-looking wounds, planning to fully dress them after he’d gotten Poe cleaned up. His brows twitched now and then at some of the more painful-looking bruises and lacerations as more and more of Poe’s skin was revealed to him.
Poe hissed slightly as Hux inspected a dirtied bandage that must’ve hastily been applied to his abdomen. The cut beneath it had opened somewhat, but it wasn’t too deep with all things considered, and looked clean otherwise. He discovered other hastily-placed bandages on him as well, the largest bandage on his back. Seeing it made Hux’s heart rate increase considerably, but he continued in his methodical care instead of immediately going after it. Whatever was under there had to be the reason Poe hadn’t laid down on the stretcher.
Their eyes met once more, and Hux gave a slight shake of his head as he gently touched Poe’s cheek. Poe had a lot more bruises on him than was standard protocol for interrogations, as far as Hux had structured things, and looked much more indicative of a gang-beating than efficient torture. Their way of handling prisoners had obviously changed since he’d defected, or command was lacking in discipline to ensure the best way to interrogate captives.
Regardless, Hux frowned at the state of Poe’s body. He might not have any power in the First Order anymore, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t track down the loved ones of the officers who’d hurt Poe, and make every last death a personal one. “The things they’ve done to you….”
A corner of Poe’s mouth turned up in a smile. “Hey, nothing you can’t fix, right?”
Hux’s expression turned stormy. “Their interrogation procedures were developed by me; I know how to put you back together, yes.” He knew every instrument which had made every mark on Poe’s body, aside from the meaty work of human hands that had bruised him. There were optimal methods to heal distinct injuries, and yes he knew them, but it didn’t make him feel better about it.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Poe splayed his hands at Hux’s lower back again, pulling him close until he had his arms fully wrapped around the other man’s middle. “Guilt isn’t a good look on you,” Poe tried for playful as he looked straight up, chin stuck into Hux’s chest as he sat on the edge of the bed. As Hux’s frown yet again deepened, Poe smirked and pursed his lips in silent request for a kiss. Hux didn’t disappoint him.
“You know, the whole time they had me, I mean it was kind of funny,” Poe mused as Hux had moved to press a kiss to his forehead as well for good measure. The ex-general stopped his careful kisses about Poe’s face-- which made the pilot frown- to pull back and fit him with a frown of his own.
“How in hells was it funny, Dameron?” Hux snapped, not appreciating the way Poe was clearly trying to bite back a grin at having riled him up. “I think you must have a brain injury on top of everything else. What did they do to you?”
Poe snatched back one of the hands that had left him, pressing a kiss to Hux’s palm as he was trying not to laugh both from Hux’s outrage, and genuine relief that he was safe back in their quarters with the other man. “No, come off it, I’m fine,” Poe brushed off. “What’s funny is,” he started again, “is that even when they were beating the crap out of me, I couldn’t help thinking about you.”
Hux’s frown turned into a full scowl, yet it wasn’t directed entirely at Poe. Poe smirked and stroked his thumb over Hux’s palm fondly. “Not like-- I mean in how it was different from when you had me, that very first time,” he said with a toothy grin. It only highlighted his split lip, and his bloodshot eye and accompaniment bruising. It was anything but amusing to Hux based on the look on his face, past or present selves included. Poe only grinned wider in teasing. “Standards have gone down since you left, Hugs. The whole place gone to crap,” he made light. Hux still didn’t see anything particularly amusing in things, so Poe bluntly finished with: “I couldn’t get you out of my head, anyways, while they had me, is what I mean...”
Poe truly was commenting on the difference between the first-- and this most recent- time he’d been captured, trying to make light of it now that he was safe and back. His first interrogation had been literal torture when Kylo Ren had ripped information right out of his mind, but even before that, the physical aspects had been methodical; mechanical.
This time… There’d been something brutal about being taken this time. Hands-on, beaten by actual humans where the Order had once utilized machines for maximum efficiency; stimulate the right nerves with the right electrical current, and there was no need to exert oneself beating information out of a prisoner. Ruined physical bodies made for poor slaves, besides.
Oh, they’d still used tools to inflict the map of pain left on Poe, but there had been glee in his captor’s face as fists made contact with flesh; a personal enjoyment which had been absent the last time he’d been taken. It was… different from the other times he’d been held captive. Enough that Poe had distracted himself by even noticing at all, as far as torture went.
He’d definitely been more of a thorn in the First Order’s side since his promotion to general; since Hux had more than assisted in their efforts to bring down the organization the man had helped shape. Poe assumed that the Order was gleeful to have finally caught a Resistance general-- but maybe it had been simpler than that; because of who he was. Maybe payback for the last time he’d slipped through their hands.
He was just glad Kylo Ren hadn’t gotten to him this time before his team had managed to rescue him. He was safe back at base with Hux’s arms around him, and something in him was so relieved by the fact that he felt good enough to joke, even as bloodied and bandaged as he was.
Poe’s attempt at joking about his torture wasn’t taken well regardless, and it didn’t make the frown leave Hux’s face. If anything, it got deeper, the look in the ex-general’s eyes full of unspoken things. “Someone else should have gone,” Hux stated seriously after a few moments. “You’re too important.”
Poe rolled his eyes slightly, the movement hurting a bit. His painkillers were beginning to wear off. He sighed. “Look, just because I might be a general now doesn’t make my life worth more than anyone else’s here at--”
“You are worth more.”
“No I’m n--”
“You are to me,” Hux insisted, heat in his face overshadowed by the heat in his voice. Hux didn’t stop in his gentle petting of the other man either, giving him a look as if Poe’s egalitarianism personally offended him.
The smile that grew on Poe’s face unfurled without his permission. The clear pleasure at those words was in direct conflict with the idea of someone else enduring what he had, but he couldn’t help it: he was charmed by him.
Poe kept his eyes on Hux’s own; watching him watch him back as Hux’s words hung in the air. They’d been dancing about this for months, even if they slept in the same bed and fucked one another into happy bonelessness. Poe hummed before speaking in a fond tone, pulling himself close and splaying his fingers over Hux’s back. His heart beat hard with excitement. “Ya gonna finally admit you love me, then?”
“Dameron--”
“Still mad at me?” Poe asked with a smirk, holding the other man close. He grinned unapologetically, and chuckled, idly stroking Hux’s back.
Hux huffed and brushed a lock of hair behind Poe’s ear, refusing to meet his gaze. “...You’re delirious.”
“I might’ve been,” Poe said. “All I could think about was you.” His voice took on a more somber note, and he spoke earnestly, stilling his hands on Hux’s back as he looked up at him. “Getting back to you. Enduring it all ‘til I could see you again.” A smile twitched at his lips, but went unactualized. “...considered that I might not.”
“Poe…” Hux’s voice was gentle as he had both hands on the other man’s shoulders, shaking his head as if in denial of such a concept even existing. He’d entertained the idea of stealing a fighter or shuttle or whatever and infiltrating the Order to retrieve Poe when it was reported that he’d been taken, but he hadn’t made much progress in his plans before that report was updated; that the general had been rescued and they were en route back to base.
Poe’s eyes had begun to quickly fill, his lower lip clearly quivering as the enormity of the relief he felt hit him hard. He held on to Hux like a lifeline, one arm still around the other man’s back, the other moved to slide from Hux’s neck to cup his cheek. Hux immediately put his own hand over it, the other gentle on the pilot’s forearm.
The tears in his eyes hadn’t yet spilled, and Poe’s voice was thick with emotion. “I thought about what would happen to you here, if they killed me… I didn’t leave any kind of insurance policy for you.”
“Stop that,” Hux gently told him, though his voice was fond. He turned his face into Poe’s hand, and pressed a kiss to his palm. “I can fend for myself as you well know, but you should stay alive for me anyways.”
That earned an amused snort from Poe that knocked a few of those tears free. Hux quickly wiped them from Poe’s cheek with his thumb, and this time Poe held Hux’s hand to his face. “I don’t want you to have to live that way, Hugs,” Poe spoke earnestly as he looked up into Hux’s face. “And I sure as hell don’t want anyone to do anything to you just because I’m not around anymore to demote them or whatever.”
Hux bent a bit to press a kiss to Poe’s lips, tasting salt and Poe and everything he wanted out of this life. “...You put an awful lot of stock in yourself, that your orders will be followed even after.” He couldn’t bring himself to mention Poe’s death, too rattled to tempt fate.
Poe wanted to correct him; that it wasn’t orders that would keep Hux safe, but a begrudging tolerance out of respect for Poe. These weren’t soldiers they fought alongside. They were friends. Family. People who looked out for one another.
But they weren’t to Hux. And Poe didn’t even have a contingency plan for if he was killed in battle.
Poe cleared his throat once. “I want to take care of you. Even if I’m not around anymore.”
“You may take care of me by ensuring you stay alive and out of the hands of the First Order.”
Poe softly snorted, but gave Hux’s hand a squeeze. “...Can I have a hug?” Hux was quick to wrap arms fully about him again, Poe’s own arms clinging closely about Hux’s waist. He pressed his face flat into the other man’s middle, resolved on what he should do; what he’d been thinking about for a while, but always second-guessed himself. “...I think we should get married.”
Something stuck in Hux’s throat at those murmured words, his own voice a croak against Poe’s bare shoulder. “...what?”
Poe looked up, and Hux pulled back only enough to meet his gaze, but not let go of him. “If we get married, and something happens to me, I don’t think anyone would do anything to you if I’m not here anymore. Not on purpose, anyways. At least out of respect for me,” he wetly joked, though it was obvious he was serious. “I could die happy knowing you would be okay without me.”
Hux frowned, but his voice was thick with emotion. “...Just how would I be okay without you?” Hux murmured. He touched at the nape of Poe’s neck with fingertips, stroked his thumbs across his unshaven jawline, and gently pet his dirty, blood-matted hair. Poe rubbed his face into Hux’s middle again while Hux held him and focused hard on how solid he was in his arms, and just how hard his own heart was beating in his chest. He tried to ignore it, focusing on the logical part of the equation. “...A man of your rank shouldn’t be on these missions in the first place. It’s unwise for the chain of command if you wish this little rebellion of yours to succeed in the long run.” He thought for a moment and then added, “And I don’t want you to.”
“You sayin’ ya like me, then?” Poe’s voice entirely teased, trying to bring them up from the reality of the situation. He pulled back until their eyes met again, a serious expression on his face that went a bit soft the longer he looked at the other man. He wiped at his eyes, taking a bit more care with the bruised one that made him wince. His voice lacked any kind of amused tone or humor, wanting to make sure his words were taken seriously. “In case it wasn't already obvious,” he started as his heart climbed into his throat, expression earnest, “I’m head over heels in love with you, Hugs. At the very least, if I die before this war is won, it’ll keep you safe when I’m gone.”
Hux’s face was red but the tight purse to his lips betrayed the smile he was trying to bite back. Intense emotions battled for supremacy on his face, and Hux went with blunt honesty, as far as his concern on the matter went. “If you die before this war is won, I will personally have to devote myself to hunt down your killers. And that would be very inconvenient for your Resistance considering how often your fighters need my repairs. So please don’t.”
A resolute smirk crossed Poe’s face, his fingers bunching in the fabric at Hux’s back. It left his face a moment before being back in full force with determination. “I love you, Hux. I love you a whole lot. Just… look, whatever happens, regardless of anything else, it would reassure me if you married me. Just in case.”
They both looked at one another long moments, eyes still locked before wavering as Poe’s words were digested. Hux couldn’t bite back the smile on his face, though he wanted to tease the other man. As far as proposals went, it was hardly perfect, but considering who it was coming from-- regardless of the circumstances- it pleased Hux more than he could take. His voice was thick with trying to contain his pleasure. “...was that your proposal, then?”
Poe’s watery expression brightened, a toothy grin on his face that betrayed his excitement. “Marry me? Will you marry me?”
“Of course I’ll marry you,” Hux replied with a wide grin of his own, inclining himself to carefully press kisses to Poe’s lips and face. It pleased Poe of course, tugging at the man insistently until Hux was straddling his lap on the bed, legs on either side of Poe’s thighs as he held him close.
Poe’s grin was bright enough to power the whole base, and he kissed the other man perhaps a bit more feverishly than he should given the hurts to his face, but it hardly deterred him. Hux pulled away when he tasted blood, though, taking Poe’s chin in his hand and looking at him with something of somber delight and concern.
The cut on his lip had reopened, and Hux carefully wiped away the bit of blood there with his thumb. “We really should take care of this. All of it.” Poe didn’t remark on that so much as he moved his hands to rest on Hux’s ass, earning a smirk from the man. “I didn’t mean like that, Dameron.”
“Oh come on, Hugsy, it’ll be good for my recuperation. ‘Kiss it better’ and all that?”
“You’re ridiculous,” Hux replied with fondness even as he tried to maneuver himself off Poe’s lap. “Now let me up so I can take care of you.”
“Oh yeah?” Poe waggled his brows, though he winced in doing so. He needed cleaning, bandaging, and probably a hell of a lot more painkillers if the way things had started to twinge was any indication. His back in particular was probably going to need bacta so he could sleep, but he didn’t care about that at the moment; Hux had said yes. That was thrilling enough on its own.
Hux pressed a kiss to his temple, avoiding the bruising next to his black eye. He wished he could simply kiss it all better, but he’d do his absolute best in making sure Poe’s recovery was a quick one. “After you’ve been properly seen to, perhaps. Now let me get you in the tub.”
Poe offered a few more winks and thinly-veiled innuendo, but allowed Hux to help him to the refresher and give him a more-thorough cleaning and bandaging up. It exhausted him far more than he could’ve foreseen, but that made sense with the blood loss and injuries his body was trying to function with.
Hux got him cleaned and rebandaged to satisfactory levels before putting him stomach-down in their bed. The ex-general commanded the current-general to remain where he was while Hux stole away to the infirmary for supplies and bacta-patches to better treat him. Given who the supplies were for, Hux wasn’t given much grief in collecting them and spiriting back to their quarters.
Poe had fallen asleep in the short time Hux was gone, only stirring as the man sat on the bed next to him and gently applied bacta to the worst of the lacerations and burns on his back. He also had painkillers for that which took the edge off the stinging, throbbing, and heat from Poe’s wounds, relaxing him into the mattress.
Poe had a hand on one of Hux’s own, holding it while the other man tended to him. It made the going a bit slower, but Hux wasn’t about to remove it, needing the connection as much as the reassurance that Poe was still here. Safe. And officially his fiance. The idea made his pulse pick up considerable speed, blood rushing through his veins while somewhere in the back of his mind he was already making plans to enact revenge against those who had hurt Poe.
Poe drifted back towards sleep next to him, though Hux was wide awake with his thoughts in the silence.
Something inside of Hux panicked that he’d almost lost the other man without telling him how he felt. Fucking was one thing, and agreeing to marriage was another, but loving someone… It made his chest tighten with panic and excitement like some endlessly imploding star, scared to voice his actual feelings; as if doing so would somehow make it something that could be taken from him.
He knew that was illogical, but something striking Poe down was not. Looking over the damage done to the other man’s body, Hux considered it lucky that the Order clearly hated Poe enough to just play with him. Like a loth-cat did a mouse.
Poe was with him though, here, in their bed, and for that, Hux knew he couldn’t just keep things to himself.
“...I do love you,” Hux spoke quietly, bent close to Poe’s head as the other man drifted in drugged-out bliss. He took Poe’s hand where the pilot had his forearm pillowed under his head, and entwined their fingers. “...do you hear me, Poe?”
Poe gave his hand a soft squeeze in response, a lazy smile on his face with eyes barely cracked open. His body was slowly repairing itself thanks to Hux’s treatment, and the stims he’d been injected with made him drowsy, but he felt good. The exhaustion of the days prior was in full effect, but Poe was listening, even if he found it hard to focus. “...Hux…”
“...I love you,” Hux whispered closer to his ear, like it was some forbidden knowledge he was entrusting to the other man. “Keep yourself alive for me, Dameron...”
Poe’s lips raised in something like an acknowledging smirk that quickly faded with the closing of his eyes, though he still smiled and squeezed Hux’s hand again. “...Baby.”
Poe didn’t see the way Hux’s nose crinkled at the endearment, but he did feel the kiss Hux pressed to his temple, and the solid warmth of him as the other man settled close while he slept.
His dreams were fretful, disjointed things about his torture, his capture, and his worry. But every time he twitched, Hux’s firm hand, lips at his temple, and reassuring, unintelligible words soothed him back to restful sleep.
My first Kylux fic out! FINALLY. And of course we’re in omegaverse territory haha. The narrative is all over the place in my opinion but hey, what’s plot when we all know what we’re really here for?
This goes out to @thethespacecoyote, my enabler in all things tasty and garbage (ilu hahaha)
Also on my ao3 here :) My masterlist archive of bullshit i write can be found linked at the top of the blog or here.
--
“You seriously didn’t think to inform me about this?”
Ren studied the way the agitated general’s skin had gone flush, almost shining from the manner in which he’d begun to sweat inside the ancient console room. A pinkness starting in his cheeks and spreading down the other man’s neck was in complaint of sensitivity to the blooming flora, if not consequence of sunburn from their trekking to even get to this old outpost.
Truly he’d never suspect the general’s complaints to be over flowers of all things when it was the rebels that made this dropdown necessary. It figured that Hux was literally more-suited to an artificial life on a star destroyer, the simple realities of being planet-side clearly not agreeing with him. Ren found it annoyingly inefficient that this was a task the other man couldn’t have delegated to some nameless engineer in his stead.
Of course the general-- in his pressed uniform and carefully arranged hair- wasn’t suited to trekking through the deserts, jungles, or swamps that Ren himself regularly journeyed in his missions. It made the other man weak, in his opinion.
Or rather, intolerable.
“It’s none of my concern if you suffer from allergies, General,” Ren brushed-off, the area boringly secured, his task in this mission completed without incident and waiting for Hux to do his part.
“This is not allergies you incompetant--” Hux bit his tongue over a swell of fury born of the embers of lust quickly fanning his blood. Hux’s glare was locked on Ren’s own as the alpha gave him a look that dared him to complete his insult. They didn’t have time for paltry words. The clock was already ticking. “I’m going into heat.”
Ren looked at him blankly for a few moments, and Hux rolled his eyes at him, muttering something about the alpha being childish to undermine him in this way, that Ren succinctly ignored.
“Heat.”
“Yes, Ren. Heat.”
“That’s impossible.”
“As you’ve neglected to inform me of the bloom warning in effect for this planet, I assure you it’s quite--”
“That only affects omegas,” the alpha stated dumbly, as if Hux were a simpleton.
Hux gave him a look as if he were mad. Ren gave it right back. Again, Hux felt a hot swell of what he presumed to be anger or annoyance-- or most likely both where the other man was concerned- wash over the back of his neck. His uniform began to feel stifling. “What part of this are you not understanding?”
The moment that Ren connected what Hux was saying with what he meant became apparent on the alpha’s face as he gave the general a disbelieving look, staring at him silently.
Under any other circumstances, Hux might’ve been amused. Perhaps even mildly flattered to not be taken for what he was, and all that implied. Whether Ren had truly not known, or just didn’t care to, hardly concerned him, but to not be associated with the weaknesses of his kind pleased the omega general.
Which, in this moment, was another kind of particular danger.
Hux’s voice was probably more smug than it should have been, given his current position, but Ren was avoiding his eyes now, and it was some small victory he wanted to savor before his mind was reduced to blubbering sheer instinct. “You never noticed?”
“The endotypes of others hardly concerns me,” Ren quickly deflected, keeping his distance as his eyes observed the other man through a new lens; Hux’s flushed skin, the shine of light sweat as his temperature rose, the scent he began to get whiffs of. Hux was an omega, and the local flora was wreaking havoc on his body, and no matter how he looked at it, this was definitely his fault. “Only their competence or lack thereof.”
Hux found himself to be of the same sentiment to be perfectly honest, though it was hard to separate the meathead-alpha stereotype from the identity of the man who regularly destroyed his ship standing in front of him. Even if he considered it classic alpha-arrogance to have not compiled an all-inclusive report of even minorly ‘unimportant’ things, the body language of the other man alone was enough to show honest contrition at such an important mistake.
It was something Hux found, at least, to know that all their antagonistic years spent working together wasn’t steeped in unnecessary judgment from his own designation. Though that of course meant Ren’s antagonism towards Hux was founded in personal dislike-- or stars forbid- that he found Hux’s commanding of his ship to be incompetent enough to deride him ...though not by any fault of his being an omega.
Whether it was the damn pollen or his own sense of pride, Hux chose to file that concern away to fight with the man about later. If anyone was to be accused of being incompetent here, it was the fool of an alpha who let him land on a planet in the midst of an omega-bloom without proper bio-precautions being taken.
Hux didn’t need to voice such an opinion, as the quick-glances and downcast looks away from his person bespoke Ren’s own culpability, and furthermore, his awareness of what was happening to Hux. He could feel the fever taking him over little by little, aware of the way Ren’s own alpha-musk was pleasurably pulled in through his nostrils, and he understood he’d have very little coherence left in tens of minutes at best.
It left very little time to strategize, though there were really only two options available. It was lucky, then, that his personal preference aligned with the more-efficient choice.
“Well, Ren, here we find ourselves in the conditions of your own making with a time-constraint that will end favorably for the rebels if we don’t solve this.”
“I did no--”
“It hardly matters now that you didn’t know I was an omega,” Hux huffed, his patience thinning even at the confused, almost-guilty disbelief on the other man’s face as Ren most certainly could smell the proof of what Hux was. His uniform felt stuffy, skin overly-hot, and his mind kept getting distracted by thoughts he maybe only indulged in after a tumbler of whiskey and a particularly trying shift. He tore his gaze from the larger man, considering their options. “The fact of the matter is, I am, and I need to fix that beacon and have our forces coordinate to move out as soon as possible.”
He was beginning to breath harder, and his pulse was coming faster. He undid the buttons at his collar to alleviate some of the heat trapped within. It didn’t escape his notice the way Ren’s nostrils flared, or how the alpha quickly turned away to hide a face that was red with the knowledge of something it liked.
Hux preened a little at that, flattered and calculating; well that would certainly help.
“How long will it take?” the alpha asked, still turned away from Hux’s own form. The other man’s scent was beginning to fill the old control room, and though Ren clenched his fists and tried to find a calm center, there was no blocking the needy scent Hux’s body was putting out… Nor ignoring just how much he liked it.
“The repair should take two-hours, perhaps less,” Hux spoke, undoing further buttons that allowed cooler air to kiss his flushed skin. Pleasant goosebumps rose on his arms at the minor relief, and he felt a craving for more. He was shrugging his outer dress-uniform shirt off before it even occurred to him, eyes keen on Ren’s turned back. Hux could feel his nipples hardening with the quick temperature change, and he bit his lower lip, savoring the feeling before remembering that he was definitely drifting into heat-brain.
Cock already hardening in his pants, Ren realized just how grave a mistake his miscalculation here had been. He’d never assumed someone like Hux could smell so good, let alone have this kind of effect on his well-trained body. And an omega to boot? This wasn’t a scent oft-encountered on the ship. People took inhibitors or time-off to deal with their cycles in a very orderly and efficient manner as dictated by First Order practice. An unexpected heat simply wasn’t a thing.
...Unless Hux’s own co-commander was an idiot of an alpha who’d exposed him to an omega-bloom without a second thought.
Ren deserved the discomfort of a willful erection for the time it took Hux’s body to metabolize the effects of the plants. It was a suitable punishment, as well as an exercise in control, and one he surely wouldn’t forget. “And you can hold off for that long?”
A puff of a laugh made Ren turn, and the alpha felt a lump form in his throat. Hux had removed his outer jacket, pale skin flushed pink and dog-tags worn over a black regulation tank bared to Ren’s eyes. It was the most casual he’d perhaps ever seen the other man-- even if Hux still kept himself at parade rest, watching him a little too-sharply- and it threw Ren straight into fantasy and wordless silence.
Hux exhaled sharply through his nostrils, his own observations concerning the alpha moving away from his failings and more towards his more amiable attributes. “The effects of the pollen either needs to be properly metabolised, or a hard-reset to the endocrine system to invalidate its effects. We do not have the twelve hours it would take to wait this out. The chemical imbalance causing a false heat requires a… flushing out.”
Ren’s mouth went dry. Hux couldn’t possibly be insinuating what Ren was thinking, as the alpha knew his own thoughts were straying due to the general’s scent pervading his every inhalation. Hux was... maybe trying to diplomatically inform him that he’d need some private time? “So you’re just gonna…?” He felt stupid making even a slight pass of his hand in gesture, understanding relief would reset the other man-- and further shocked that they were even having this conversation- but here they were.
Hux laughed again, and the sound almost made Ren lose the force-hold he was keeping his own hard-on contained with. These were new experiences with the general, and Ren found himself intrigued by every one. His laugh, his scent, his humanity when dressed down and wanting-- even when that want was the effect of plant-life and not particularly born of desire for him- it was captivating. Ren was sure Hux would laugh at his own want for the omega, but he didn’t care.
Hux was already tenting his own pants as far as Ren could tell-- in his efforts to not look, anyways- but it wouldn’t be nearly as easy to ignore Ren’s own alpha cock if he lost his control on fantasies of trailing his fingers over that pale skin, or dragging his nose up his throat.
Hux met Ren’s eyes, the request bald on his face. “For that to work, it has to be from an alpha.”
Ren frowned as he simultaneously blushed at the idea of getting the other man off. That’s what he meant, right? That he couldn’t just quickly jerk himself back to clarity, but an alpha had to do it?
That logic hardly seemed sound, and his expression must have communicated that because again came that soft laugh-- and when had Hux ever laughed like that before?- and the omega general brushed it off with far more good humor that Ren thought he himself was capable of at that moment.
“The hard-reset requires biological-agent from an alpha to register. I can’t trigger it on my own, no matter how enthusiastic.” Hux honestly couldn’t help the smirk on his face. The situation they were in was poetically funny, and the more he felt his body taken over by familiar heat-indicators-- false-heat or not- the more-amusing and less-annoying he found their predicament.
It helped, of course, that aside from the exasperating personality, Ren fit the more physical-aspects which Hux’s taste in alphas tended to skew; bigger than him, broad, and a bit too full of himself, undeniably male in scent and demeanor who could probably match his own stamina. He’d wondered more than once what it might be like to be manhandled by Ren’s large hands, or to press his nose into the other man’s neck to get a better scent on the one Ren was currently giving off in response to his own heat-pheromones.
Hux knew what needed to be done, and there was no reason to necessarily fight the impulse so long as Ren was willing. To be honest, Hux wasn’t completely opposed to the idea of their coupling anyways, as there had always been something curious about his co-commander that only direct-involvement would satisfy. Ren was powerful, most certainly passionate by definition of sheer wanton destruction. It appealed to him in every way privately that he professionally loathed. Something he wanted to taste at least once to be fully informed. Hux would press his advantage.
It was easier in some ways to have this conversation than some of their heated exchanges on the bridge. He knew what he needed in order to stay on schedule with their plans. This was a necessity, and therefore nothing to be ashamed about proposing, should anyone ever discuss. Hux’s voice was earnest, looking the other man in the face with expectation of easy cooperation. “You have to fuck me, Ren.”
“...I have to do no such thing.” Ren’s words sounded weak and pitiful even to his own ears. There was no part of his body that didn’t want to fuck Hux right now. There was so much bare, pale skin on display just waiting to be marked up, and the general looked so different-- so much more delicate in his tank that showed off collarbones- that Ren could almost feel the texture between his teeth.
He could easily drag his nose from Hux’s throat down to his shoulder, suck marks just low enough that the general would be wary for days about anyone catching some wayward glimpse. The general would certainly be walking around with Ren’s reminders littering his skin, if the alpha had his way. Hux looked less imposing with his layers removed, and Ren knew his hands would fit perfectly around that trim waist if the other man pressed himself against him. Having the general beneath him-- atop him?- would be unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
Ren quickly turned away again as his thoughts were most certainly being broadcast on his face if the other man’s keen observation of him was any indicator. Hux’s own eyes were becoming glazed with a clear need, and he fidgeted slightly where he stood. So slick. But the thought wasn’t Ren’s own; the barriers around Hux’s mind were coming down. Loudly. The omega general’s own quickly-dwindling control being taken over by observations about the alpha’s own scent and breadth and images of what he was definitely hoping might happen were drawing Ren in like a tractor beam he didn’t want to fight.
The alpha stayed rooted in his spot lest he grab the general by hands or force or both. “...We can alert medical, see if--”
“It took us hours to get through here,” Hux pointed out, though his tone was less antagonistic; Ren forbid himself and his cock of entertaining the thought of Hux’s voice begging him. The plea in the other man’s voice to just give in was clear as day regardless. “The mission has already been compromised enough.”
Ren turned from him again, cock achingly hard and not entirely positive this was something he could-- or wanted to- fight against. Hux, for all his speeches about Ren’s incompetence, and his general distaste for the alpha, was putting off the best scent he’d ever smelled in his life. And moreover, the man wanted him to deal with it. Personally.
He was the only one around who could deal with this, of course, so naturally it would fall to him, yet still... He’d have to watch his back if they did this, as Hux would surely hold it against him once he was back in his right mind. This wasn’t something they could easily just forget and carry on in their usual manner towards one another. His brain told him No, this was not a smart thing to do. He could hold out. Call medical, arrange a drop of inhibitors from a droid or something. Hux would just have to be extra attentive through the repairs and think through the fog in his brain with the help of suppressants.
All Ren’s efforts to stay strong, however, were easily annihilated with a single, softly enunciated word:
“Please.”
He turned back, and Hux was surely at his wits’ end if the hot-faced look and desperation to that utterance was anything to go on. He looked like he was holding himself to the spot on sheer willpower alone, his body language defiantly exposing his longing to indulge with the alpha before him.
It may as well have been begged with desperation for all the effect that one little word had on Ren’s resolve. He’d do this, and he’d do it well, and because he wanted to, he decided, above all. Not just because of duty. He was interested in the other man; dressed down, skin against his own, how he might look or sound taking his knot. The thought made the alpha groan. “We don’t have the time to spare,” Ren stated, and he could see the relief on Hux’s face as it became clear to the other man that the alpha was giving in. He was bolstered by the expression there, much more confident that this was the right course of action.
“Yes, yes there’s no time,” Hux agreed quickly, green eyes shining with heat and want both as he moved towards the other man in triumph. Why was this taking so long? Why were they both still wearing clothing when it was so damnably hot? The solutions to all the general’s problems were all wrapped up neatly in the package of his co-commander, and Hux eagerly wanted to unwrap him. Maybe then he could think straight again.
As Hux’s hands found their way to Ren’s chest, tugging but also flattening in appreciation of the alpha’s breadth, his scent fully enveloped Ren’s senses, and Ren held his hands around that lithe waist to find them fit just how he’d expected. “For the good of the mission,” Ren stated weakly, frankly not giving a single damn about anything that wasn’t more of his hands on more of Hux’s body.
“The Order, yes,” Hux murmured halfheartedly, pulling himself close to fit his nose in Ren’s neck, inhaling with an unapologetic groan of relief that he was getting what he needed, and nothing else took a higher priority.
Ren abandoned all attempts to keep his hard-on suppressed, pulling the other man hard against him and getting a whimpered moan unlike any sound he’d ever heard the general make before. He wanted to see what other sounds he could wring from the prim man, and decided to test the limits Hux would allow in pressing a sucking kiss to the junction of his shoulder and neck, tasting scent and flesh both. It made his belly and cock lurch with want.
“Kriff,” Hux gasped hotly with clear-surprise, his fingers digging into the other man’s tunic. He threw his head to the other side to allow Ren’s mouth more space to work, and the alpha slid one hand down his back to cup his ass through his jodhpurs as the other held him closer to better nip at aroused skin. One taste wasn’t hardly enough for either of them.
Hux’s scent was intoxicating. It had to be some function of the pollen making it more potent, or his own senses extra sensitive to the general’s need because surely no one normally smelled this good. Hux’s scent had never been more clear, more him than Ren could scent at this moment. The man rubbed up against him without shame and Ren worked his thigh between Hux’s legs, wanting everything at once and too greedy to take it slow.
It wasn’t often that Ren delved into the general’s mind; frankly the man’s mental walls were impressive and the rigidity with which he composed himself on the daily also comprised his inner mind. But Ren knew the usual aura of the other man; the constant-planning and plotting, and the ever-ready organization of a brilliant tactical mind. Right now, that was all gone in a single-minded pursuit to satisfy the thing inside him.
Hux was awash in sensation, his only plot being the great goal of getting Ren’s pants off and getting whatever the other man had hard against him inside him. Ren held him as Hux ground himself against his thigh with breathy little sighs. The alpha claimed Hux’s mouth with his own, surprised when the general turned out to be a greedy kisser in turn. He wouldn’t stop to let Ren remove his tunic, nor did Ren necessarily want to break to remove Hux’s own tank.
Hux caught Ren’s bottom lip between his teeth, eliciting a growl from the alpha that only made the omega slicker and needier with want.
“Hux, give me a moment,” Ren spoke gruffly, grabbing him by the back of the neck and almost smirking at the indignant expression there; Hux’s fury that the alpha would stop kissing him even to undress them.
Hux surprised him again when he surged forward to nip at Ren’s own neck, his hands busily stripping the alpha with purpose. “Ren,” Hux’s breathy voice came, half plea, half threat, shocking the alpha he was still even this coherent with how good he smelled, “if you aren’t kriffing inside of me soon--”
“I’ll warn you not to threaten me, General,” Ren growled into the other man’s ear, though Hux’s desperation and sigh of Ren’s name proved the warning to be anything but a deterrent. The alpha was pleased despite himself. “Strip.”
If he were of his usual mind, Hux might’ve resented how quickly he jumped to obey that order. His hands clumsily reached for his own belt, shaky and uncoordinated with need as he removed his boots and pants in a messy pile along with his dog tags and tank. The sharp-look he aimed at Ren to make sure the other man was similarly undressing proved unnecessary; the alpha’s tunic lay on the floor at his feet with his belt and cowl, gloves tossed aside and hard-on sticking out obscenely from the front of the leggings that were still on. Hux felt his knees go weak, eyes glued on the prize, and felt the last of his resolve melt as he reached for the other man.
Ren greedily touched and scented the omega, so much pale skin on display he wasn’t quite sure what or where he wanted to kiss and bite and lick first. The general stood only in regulation-black underwear, the material doing very little good as it was sodden with slick and pre-come both, the omega’s cock jutting out from the material creating a wet-spot Ren wanted to drag his mouth over.
The headiness of Hux’s scent was making the alpha nearly dizzy, and the low-growl that escaped him as he slid his hands from Hux’s waist to underneath the material got a moan in response from the general. When he took handfuls of his ass, nose buried in Hux’s neck while the omega clawed at his back, Hux made a sort of strangled whimper as his hips thrust against Ren’s own. The general was panting, whimpering through the aftershocks, and Ren didn’t have to be a mind-reader to know he’d just come.
“How do you like it?” Ren asked, not surrenduring the grip he had on Hux’s asscheeks, but pulling his face from the general’s neck to look into a pleasure-dazed face. It momentarily occurred to him that Hux was right: a simple orgasm wasn’t enough to bring him back, nor to burn the induced-heat out of him. The man’s gaze was locked on him, but eyes wild and glassy with want. He felt guilt again at having exposed his co-commander to this state, but he couldn’t feel too bad as he found the solution to be worth whatever price may follow.
Hux was clinging to him, unable to keep the whine from his voice as he just repeated please, please Ren. He was quite far gone, needy, and his carefully-styled hair was becoming loose with the efforts of their exertions and the heat consuming his every thought.
Ren touched his forehead to Hux’s own, trying to establish some sort of connection with the other man’s own preferences. He was still in there, fully enjoying the ride he’d been thrown into if his thoughts were any indication, and while there were a great many ways the alpha would like to take him, he realized that once stuck together, a coherent-Hux might take issue with perhaps being taken up against a wall, or bent-over the ancient terminal needing their attention. He wanted to act accordingly.
“Hux,” Ren spoke softly, and they looked one-another in the eyes-- glassy green to bottomless black fathoms- and Ren tried to latch on to that quick flash of awareness to chase it to some form of communication. “...how do you want it?”
Images both delicious and creative flitted through Hux’s own mind: the idea of letting Ren have him bent over the bridge, of riding him facing the viewport of the alpha’s TIE Silencer, or perhaps most deliriously of them all, on hands and knees of what the alpha understood to be Hux’s own bed in his personal quarters of the Finalizer.
Ren groaned as he closed his eyes in a sort of feverish pride; the omega found him suitable enough to let the alpha fuck him in his own bed. It was charming as hell, and maybe just a fantasy, but even the intimacy that would need to be involved for such a thing to happen made Ren preen. Did Hux often picture their relationship differently, if only to fantasize about Ren in a role far-different than their current interactions with one another?
Trusting one-another enough to invite into a space that personally belonged to them was another kind of fantasy all together, and it made the alpha decide then and there that he was going to make this really good for Hux; as apology for not making his report on the planet more thorough; in gratitude to be allowed to scent the man and touch him, even if there weren’t exactly other options around; most of all, because of the thought of how utterly wrecked the Hux in the general’s mind had been. One of Ren’s arms wrapped under the omega as he took him from behind, his other hand stretched out to spread over Hux’s own, their fingers entwining to hold while the alpha lazily pumped in and out of him.
Never in any of Ren’s own fantasies, sexual or otherwise, did he ever picture himself in such a sentimental role. He didn’t think himself capable of it, frankly, but seeing himself through Hux’s own fantasies… It was sweet. Something which Ren definitely wasn’t by his own account, yet there it had been. Minor details to a larger fantasy about being fucked, yes, but that was what made it so charming.
It made him reexamine their entire professional relationship, along with any ideas and opinions he might’ve thought about the man in some spirit of rivalry that wasn’t based on much but incorrect assumption.
...Did Hux actually like him in some way, despite their apparent disdain for each other? Hate-sex wasn’t unheard of between rivals, and who didn’t have fun, dirty fantasies about sexually dominating their coworkers? Hux’s fantasy hadn’t been of that brand, though. None of them really were. It was soft, intimate, and the way the omega clung to him now, it felt trusting. He wouldn’t just let Ren have him in such a vulnerable state if he didn’t on some level trust the other man. Far more Hux-like to barricade himself in one of the other empty rooms and ride out the symptoms if he truly hated him. The last thing Ren wanted to do was somehow violate the tentative trust being given to him.
Working Hux’s underwear down past the globes of his ass, letting Hux’s omega-cock spring free in the action and wiping the mess with unsullied material, Ren took to a knee to have the omega step out of them before he tossed them aside quickly. It was out of impulse, not disgust, in order to stop himself before he could do anything… embarrassing… Like bringing them beneath his nose in desperation to drown in Hux’s scent.
He could always snatch them for later appreciation after.
For now, Ren was face to face with the general’s still-hard omega-cock, framed in neatly-scaped hair the same color as the strands sticking to Hux’s flushed face. He could smell the slick on the other man, arousal so musky and delicious that he licked his lips in anticipation. The motion got a twitch of Hux’s hips towards his face, coupled with a whimper of need as Hux’s hands landed on his shoulders, tugging.
Ren didn’t need him to ask twice, sighing as he first rested his head to the omega’s torso to scent glistening skin, steadying his raging heartbeat as he allowed himself to nose about the other man’s coarse hair before lifting off to easily suck down his cock in one go. Hux’s hands immediately relocated to the alpha’s dark hair, fingers hanging on and tugging deliciously, eyes fluttering closed.
“Ren… Oh Ren…”
The lightly-gasped words went right to the alpha’s cock, and he immediately wanted more of those breathy sighs. He wrapped his arms around Hux’s thighs to pull the other man by the ass in encouragement to fuck his mouth, breathing through his nose in harsh exhales. The sound that touch wrung out of the omega was going to feature heavily in Ren’s own fantasies from now on, the taste of the other man another new facet of sensory treasures the alpha refused to allow himself to forget.
Ren was gentle in his movements, monitoring Hux’s own scattered thoughts as his hand cupped the omega’s ass, simultaneously sucking him off. Ren moaned deep in his throat as his fingers encountered slick, and he slowly followed it to the source, gentle in his probing as the pad of one of his fingers pressed against the general’s hole. The reaction was instantaneous.
Hux’s cry came out of nowhere, fingers tangling in the alpha’s hair as his hips surged forward in the other man’s mouth. The paltry release Ren tasted moments later was a pleasant surprise, and he hummed in his throat in pleasure as the other man was bent over him, effectively hugging Ren’s head and enveloping the other man in his scent.
Hux’s legs shook where he still stood, and the alpha pulled off him to gently tug the general down to kneel on his shed cowl. Hux was catching his breath, leaning now in Ren’s arms as the alpha held him to him-- cock so hard it actually hurt- and the omega put a hand on the other man’s shoulder, looking up plaintively; desperate. “Please, Ren… I need…. need...”
Ren moved some of the hair stuck to Hux’s sweaty face to behind his ear. He knew what the omega needed, and he wanted to give it to him, and so much more. He cupped his cheek with his hand, stroking the heated skin with his thumb. He might have certain opinions about General Hux his co-commander, but Hux the omega who needed him heat drunk? He only wanted to be good to him. Nice. This wasn’t even a real heat, so who knew how much Hux would remember at the end of it all or not, but he wanted to be that version of himself from the fantasy; the one who Hux wanted at his back and holding his hand atop his own bedsheets.
The needy growl of his own Ren couldn’t completely suppress from his voice, but Hux shivered and gratefully sank to hands and knees at Ren’s own instruction, presenting his ass with an impatient sort of look behind himself as the alpha tried to reign in the lust he was feeling at such a sight. Easy, start easy.
His hands cupped Hux’s ass, squeezing appreciatively and getting a noise out of the man that made his chest swell with pride. He pressed kisses up the general’s back, enjoying the discovery of barely-there freckles, and smoothing his big hands over and around the other man’s body to pinch both nipples. Hux arched back, pushing his ass into Ren with a moan as Ren’s hands continued their exploration of his skin, down his belly, over his cock, and around his thighs to again land on the man’s ass.
Hux whimpered when the alpha spread his cheeks with his thumbs, swiping one of the digits over his hole to gather the slick there. He then reached his hand beneath Hux to wet the omega’s cock with his own slick, hand sliding over the general’s length. It got breathy whines and thrusts from the other man that made the alpha smirk.
Ren moved his hands back to spreading Hux’s cheeks again right before he delved his tongue onto Hux’s hole.
Ren felt himself drunk on Hux’s heat-scent. Properly and utterly under its spell. The general’s usually-commanding voice was instead soft around sighs. Hux spoke his name in breathy pleasure instead of baleful scorn. It was everything. It was perfect. Ren had to have him.
He couldn’t wait any longer with the sweet way the other man earnestly and unashamedly begged him for more, and he nipped Hux’s left ass-cheek before sitting back up to work his damn leggings down his thighs. He wasn’t going to waste any time standing to fully remove them, just taking his aching cock in hand with his leggings pinned under his knees, and teased the rim of the omega’s hole with just his cockhead.
Ren’s groan echoed Hux’s own.
He was so slick, so hot, and the alpha wanted to ram on home more than anything, but he went slowly, kissing Hux’s back and licking salty skin as he held his hip with one hand, his cock with his other. “...let me in, General,” Ren whispered softly, kissing up below Hux’s ear while the omega sighed out. Hux pressed back towards him impatiently, and Ren slowly breached the other man with a strangled sort of moan. It was through sheer willpower alone he didn’t come immediately.
Hux’s moans were obscene as Ren slowly, slowly sank into him, the omega’s hole not nearly as unwelcoming as Ren might’ve thought; no uncomfortable resistance, warm and wet and loose for him.
The prim, ever-plotting general was lost to pleasure and selfishly chased more, pressing back urgently to try and get more of Ren inside him faster. His forehead was pillowed on his forearm as he moved his hips, and Ren steadied him with grunted, whispered words to pace himself. Whether or not that was actually a chuckle or a stitled sound of pleasure that left Hux didn’t matter, because Ren was solely focused on the way Hux’s body pulsed hotly around him as it accepted him. Hux kept asking for more and whining his name.
By the time he was fully sheathed and shallowly thrusting, the untethered general was regularly moaning into the cowl bunched beneath them, pushing back to meet every thrust the alpha pounded into him while drowning in his scent-thick clothing. Hux’s moans reached new pitch whenever Ren dipped to nip at his skin or jerk his slick omega cock.
Ren wanted to come so badly, holding off just a bit longer, just a bit more, willing his knot away even as it was already threatening to swell. Hux could feel it too-- the knowledge that the alpha was going to knot him- and the anticipated-thought spilling over from the omega is what tipped the scales for the alpha.
“Fuck, Hux!” Ren reached out for the hand Hux was gripping Ren’s cowl with, entwining their fingers as he could feel his knot beginning to swell with the crest of his orgasm. He was pounding haphazardly into the other man as it felt like his cock grew to even greater proportions, tugging on the omega’s hole until it could move no longer. Hux cried out, coming untouched and dry as Ren’s own orgasm took him. The alpha released inside the omega, their bodies snugly connected for the time being, finally sated with relief.
Ren’s heart was beating wildly in his chest, still feeling Hux’s body pulse around him and beneath him as he fully collapsed atop the general. Hux made a noise of discomfort, and Ren maneuvered the two of them to their sides, holding the general in his arms and scenting indulgently up his neck. The alpha could feel Hux’s own heartbeat return steadily over time, the pair’s breathing calm, and mood lacking any hostilities. He didn’t let go of the omega’s hand.
Hux slowly came back to himself as they lay there in comfortable silence, the chemical imbalance in his brain smoothing out to usual levels; nature had gotten to ‘run its course’ on him, so to speak.
Ren was sniffing about his neck with genuine fondness that he didn’t feel like hiding-- not after what they’d just shared- and not wanting things to revert back to their antagonistic state. He fought it with soft touches and gentle hums, lightly chuffing over the omega’s skin as if to say it wasn’t just the hormones; he hadn’t only fucked him out of a sense of duty nor responsibility.
He could sense clarity inside the other man’s head; an understanding of some kind. Hux’s mental walls weren’t up to their usual guardedness, though it wasn’t as easy to sneak about there as it had been during the heat-state, but Ren sensed a feeling of contentment growing that didn’t necessarily diminish the longer they laid in place. Hux’s opinion about the pleasure over their coupling was very much in line with his own; satiated, content, safe.
Ren was still holding his hand when Hux finally chose to break the silence between them. Gathering his courage-- Ren could feel, as the omega didn’t have the benefit of the force to sense the alpha’s own mind behind him- Hux cleared his throat just a bit before broaching the silence. The alpha pressed fond kisses to messy copper hair regardless, waiting.
“...figures you’d have a cock the same size as the rest of you. I’d never have been able to take that if I wasn’t in that state.”
An indignant snort took the alpha in surprise, pausing him in his attempts to learn what hair the color of Hux’s tasted like. Hardly the words Ren had expected. A cursory glance of the general’s face surprised him again as he realized Hux’s mouth was turned up in amusement, little quick looks over his shoulder at the alpha as if to make sure he knew he was in on the joke. He was teasing him, but it wasn’t mean-spirited. Not at all.
Ren could feel the pleasure radiating off of Hux. Astonishment, and oddly motivation as well. The general was having sudden issues controlling his face, looking away with smirking embarrassment that the aftermath of this… incident was going so well. Ren only cuddled him that much closer, as if Hux had instead accused him of only being a means to an end. He pressed a kiss to a pale shoulder, and dragged his nose over the skin with a shuddered exhale.
The general huffed, purposely-overdramatic, with a look down his body to where Ren’s clothed-leg was possessively over his own, bodies fully entangled in the mess of all their other clothing.
“...you seriously didn’t even fully undress to fuck me?”
“I was impatient,” Ren stated honestly, unapologetic as he turned a cocky smirk on the other man, sensing the pleasure Hux got even in making that statement.
Hux quickly turned his head away again, a genuine smile he was trying to hide as he chastised his co-commander. He was pleased by the desperation to fuck him that those damn leggings represented, no matter how he may try to frame it. “How utterly discourteous of you.”
Ren felt his heart speed up at the theater of what Hux was doing, and again felt charmed by the other man. There was no fighting thinking this was just a fluke. They would do this again. And again. And most certainly again.
Ren spoke words of promise against Hux’s skin, hoping he’d accept him. “I’ll strive to do better next time.”
Hux’s body squeezed Ren’s cock, and the alpha groaned and pressed his head hard into Hux’s shoulder. The back of Hux’s neck grew red, refusing to look at him as he curled into himself, but the pure pleasure radiating off of him was no mistake.
Hux was thrilled at those words, his co-commander taking him by surprise more times today than through their previous years working together. Hux was now privately praising Ren’s idiocy for not knowing he was an omega, and enabling them the fledgling opportunity to have… this. Whatever it might be.
There was time to explore that for what it was later, but just such an opportunity made Ren himself excited; seeing behind the whole General-facade to the person who wanted his hand held while in the throes of passion. There was nothing weak in it, and nothing to be ashamed about wanting it. Ren’s own intentions of a repeat were clear, and Hux was willing to entertain that as soon as they had the time in their schedules.
Hux brought the hand Ren held up to his lips, not quite kissing, but brushing the other man’s knuckles with his lips. The alpha held him closer and pressed a kiss against his neck. His knot had shrunk between them, no longer forcing their closeness, but neither moved, and Ren wanted to savor being inside the general for as long as possible.
“We should… take care of that beacon…” Hux proposed a few moments later, speaking against Ren’s fingers with hidden sentimentality. “Every minute we waste is another minute for the rebels to get further from our reach.”
But Hux didn’t get up. Not immediately, anyways. A little peek into the general’s mind found a bone-deep contentment there, and it warmed something forgotten inside Ren’s chest to know he had the power to make another human being feel that way. He wanted to explore the feeling just as much as the other man did; to find out what, such as in Hux’s fantasy, might potentially be there.
They eventually got up, making their best attempts to clean their garments to something presentable enough to return to the Finalizer with, and Hux set to work on the complicated repairs for the signal that would rally their forces.
Thoughts of continuing this new liason back aboard the Finalizer weren’t just in Ren’s head alone, and it was with that same anticipation that Hux worked towards making the repair in a fraction of the time, the blush on his otherwise smug face certainly not one from concentration.
Ren wore his own smile without pretense, watching the general work.
This will be my fic archive for my Fallout 4 fanfic :) (I’ve also got a borderlands archive here). I write under penname Poisonjack on my Ao3. Just starting Fallout fic :)
I’ll regularly update this post as I write and add new work. If you’ve saved an older version of this post, the original/updated one is always found here.
→ I also have a Star Wars fic archive on my other blog found here.
→ I also have a Borderlands fic archive on my other blog found here.
First fallout fic whut uuup. Also on my ao3 under penname PoisonJack here. Chapter 2&3 can be found there :) (leave me a comment too babes! :D)
My fanfic archive masterlist post found here.
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There hadn't been any actual discussion of what was happening between the three of them.
Nora knew that the path they were headed down would eventually meet at a crossroads they'd eventually have to properly acknowledge. Or maybe not, if things went where she assumed. The playful flirting; the casual, affectionate touches reciprocated by all parties. Lingering, less-than-innocent touches and knowing-looks. They were all going to end up in bed together at some point.
She just didn't expect that it would be after a firefight.
Nora rolled over to Deacon’s side of a crumbling wall, Mac on the opposite as they were on the second floor of a dilapidated apartment building. She ducked before lining up her shot and taking it, blowing a raider’s head clean off. She ducked down low again next to Deacon, and they shared an energetic grin.
She liked battle. She liked the power of a good, battle-hardened sniper rifle in her arms. The knowledge that the raiders attacking her settlements wouldn't harm peaceful folks trying to make a decent damn living in this messed up world. She liked the way her heart raced and adrenaline surged through her body. Knowing she was here and alive and not taking things lying down even if her world had been turned on its head. That she wasn’t alone. She liked it all.
But what she liked most was having the both of them with her at once. The safety in numbers, the banter as they walked the Commonwealth, the jokes and shared stories, and the warped sense of humor that battle seemed to bring out of her.
Deacon had taken an especial liking to this side of her that opened up during firefights. He had his secrets, and she had hers, but they kept it light during the darker times.
“What a headache” as a raider’s brains were blown out. “He sounds just like my ex did in bed” as a mutant’s enraged scream echoed off high rise buildings. The jokes made life-threatening situations damn near worth looking forward to.
It was important to enjoy your job, after all, and Nora had descended on the filth of the Commonwealth like it had less to do with her title as General and more a personal vendetta.
Maybe it was.
Mac had been with her for some time before she took up with Deacon, and despite everything, they worked really well together. Really, really well together. The mercenary knew his way around a gun and his guileless attitude plain-spoken ways made him an interesting character to be around.
Deacon wasn't surprised Nora was sleeping with the sniper-- the open road was a lonely place, after all- but the frequent times she'd made passes at him, especially when Mac was traveling with them, he was sure he was mistaking the teasing for more than it was.
Oh how wrong he was.
His confusion about her advances wasn't so far fetched. She didn't flirt with Garvey this way. Didn't tease Cait with a deeper look of want in her eyes and long-lingering touches. Maybe she was this familiar with Hancock, but the ghoul mayor always laughed things off with her right there with him, everything kept overtly friendly even when over the top. None of her flirting took quite the same form as it did with Deacon, and it mirrored exactly she treated Mac.
She and MacCready were an Item with a capital ‘I’ as far as he'd observed. A proper couple; probably a far cry from what she was used to in terms of pre-war life, but Deacon understood it. He kept the flirty teasing light, ignoring sexual overtones even if she watched him almost hopefully; as if she could see his eyes right through his sunglasses.
It was during one of their little post-battle exchanges that Mac rolled his eyes and asked Deacon if he thought he was too good for Nora. That he saw the way the other man looked at her-- that he'd seen feral hounds drool over fresh meat less than Deacon did Nora- so what gives?
That had been a shock, but one he’d needed.
Deacon had had the decency to actually blush-- couldn't remember the last time he genuinely had- and was grateful Mac had said something after Nora had stalked off to roll corpses for loot. The spy was certain he must have heard Mac wrong, but no. The mercenary thought it was mean that Deacon was stringing her along but not following through. He was hurting her feelings playing with her.
Mac, bless his heart, had been offended on her behalf. And it was as wholeheartedly confusing as it was endearing.
The younger man had elaborated in annoyed, low tones that the spy needed to nut up or shut up where she was concerned. It was Deacon’s business about who he slept with blah blah blah, yeah, Mac got that-- and if Deacon didn't like her and wasn't actually interested, that would be one thing. Mac could respect that. They all could.
But for being a spy, Deacon was pretty transparent when it came to the vaultie, and the sniper made his opinions on the matter clear: don't tease Nora like that if he wasn't going to follow through when she was obviously interested. Tone it back if he didn’t want her. She didn't deserve that, and if Mac had to reassure her that it wasn't her one more time, that she wasn’t imagining his obvious interest, he was going to punch Deacon square in the nose.
It was as if the weeks on end of sudden hostility from the mercenary suddenly made sense.
Mac wasn't jealous. He didn't own her any more than she owned him. And right now Deacon was on his shit list for being an obstacle to that end instead of a participant.
After their little talk, Deacon got bolder under this new information, testing the waters. Post-battle kisses to the cheek became kisses to the lips. Hugs suddenly involved a lot more of the body. For the little he put in, he was getting a lot back. Mac was right.
If Nora had a spring in her step, they all knew where it had come from. Mac’s ‘special mercenary-frowns’, as Nora called them, lessened for the spy. The tension between them went back to an easy rapport. Jokes and playful shoves and affectionate prodding returned full force to their little group and barriers were broken down again.
Deacon’s post-battle ass-slaps to the pair of them had resulted in outraged squawks and snickers, followed by a month-long game of grab-ass on the road until distraction nearly caused one of them to eat a bullet to the face.
Life was good. Snuffing out raider life together was better.
Nore felt alive again, and it bled out into even firefights. A playful look would alight on her face, and she'd tell Deacon private things-- about herself or Mac- but only mid-battle as their down time was kept casual. He caught on fast to these shifts in mood, didn't bring things up on the road, but the sly little look on her face told him all he needed to know about this little game.
Like right now, she told him how Mac liked being bit just below his left nipple, or how his O-face was the same one he made after getting a good head-shot. It annoyed the shit out of her because she'd get turned on in the middle of a gunfight and that only upped her desire to kill. It made Deacon cackle as he watched the sniper shoot a raider right in the face.
That self-satisfied, pleased little smirk wasn't hard to imagine under different context.
“You better not be telling him about the mutfruit,” MacCready called over as they returned fire over the crumbling building wall, his own little library of Deacon facts-- small though it was- a great source of entertainment.
“Oh, I gotta hear about that,” Deacon laughed out as he gave Nora’s ass a playful pat before moving past her for a better vantage point.
Mac took advantage of the lull in the shooting to scramble to Nora’s recently vacated side, out of breath and a judgmental smile on his face. “...Does he know about the mutfruit?”
“He knows about your secret sea captain’s hat fetish,” Deacon's voice teased as he lobbed a grenade over the broken roof from just a bit above them.
“Don't even start, Deeks, Mac knows about your little tongue trick, and I’ll have you know he's improved on it.” The grenade exploded as raider screams filled the immediate aftermath. The barrage of bullets paused in the dust and pained cries.
Mac grinned at the praise and kissed her in the momentary lull of the volley, nipping and sucking at her lips; flicking his tongue to drive home the point.
They didn't have time for this-- needed to pick off the remaining raiders- and the promise of his mouth was going to have her on edge until she could get him alone some place safe and hopefully soundproofed. But it was good just the same.
She sighed into Mac’s mouth while she could hear Deacon’s appreciative laugh from above.
“That trick is legend, I feel honored! It's the only thing that can stop the chattering!”
“So damn smug…” she muttered to herself as Mac took his position back up to scope out the remaining maimed raiders. An amused grin was on the sniper’s face as Nora yelled back at Deacon. “Don't test me Deacon. I'll tell him just how cute you think his butt is in those old army fatigues!”
Mac snorted as he took out one of the jet heads trying to get to his gun with clearly crippled legs. The chem-head probably didn’t even know he was messed up. Dam- darned raiders. “The army fatigues, Deacon?” Mac called up with a teasing laugh as he reloaded. “I'd have thought it was the leather pants with the way you< stare.”
“You wish I spent that much time looking at your ass,” he called back in amusement. “You would know I'm simply working out how much longer leather takes to peel off than army fatigues. It's tactical observation. Leather is a bad choice.”
Nora snorted and cursed as a grenade shook the building from the outside. Some of their remaining targets were more lively than the others. She peered out with her scope. “Geez guys get a room why don't you?”
“We can't, you lost all our caps to Hancock’s poker night!” Deacon groaned.
They made short work of the few remaining raiders, rolling the bodies for anything worth selling or keeping before heading off to Goodneighbor. They had to slaughter their way through a few super mutants to get there-- which would have been easy without their weighed-down packs- and it was a messier affair than Nora would have preferred. First puddle of water they encountered and she was cleaning herself up.
“I think I have guts in my hair.”
“If you went my route you would never have that problem again,” Deacon told her with a smirk from under his sunglasses. “Only thing to worry about is sunburn.”
“I think I'll risk it,” she laughed, giving him a playful shove.
“Shoulda worn a hat,” Mac told her with a smug look that she was ready to kiss or smack off his damn smiling face. She made a grab for his own hat that he easily dodged.
“A sea captain’s hat?” Deacon asked, leering at the young mercenary. “I do love a good hat.”
“Okay you guys can shut up,” Mac said with a light blush staining his cheeks.
There was a bit more teasing about what other kinks might be hidden behind those red cheeks, and chuckles and suggestions were put forth. Nora was superiorly telling them that she knew about things that frankly didn’t exist in the Commonwealth anymore, but would have made the pair of them blush redder than a tato. Life pre-war in the Commonwealth had been a true thing of leisure and experimentation.
“-and stuff would be delivered right to your front door in nice discreet packaging.”
“Maybe that’s your new calling in life! Revive the industry! We need to talk to Tinker Tom, he can build anything.”
“I’m not letting anything he makes anywhere near me or my… delicate areas after that little battery-acid injection,” Mac said sourly.
“Yeah, on second thought, maybe the Commonwealth doesn’t need to know about this stuff,” Nora said with a smirk. She gave Mac’s cheek a little pat. “Poor baby.”
“You guys have no sense of adventure.”
“The only adventure I want is finding out what’s at the bottom of a nice cold beer,” Nora told him with a snort.
“Yeah, I’d kill for a beer. Come to think of it, I have.”
“Wow, remind me to never hold out on you,” Deacon told him, adding a wink that made Mac shake his head and chuckle. “I’m selling those leather pants of his if we don’t have enough to go around, boss. I'm not getting shot over 200 year old fermented grain-water.”
Nora suggested he sell Mac’s spare army fatigues if things were that dire, but Deacon told her no situation would ever be dire enough to warrant such drastic measures. Their laughter echoed off the old concrete and bombed out rubble as they picked their way through the city.
Their banter had them all in a great mood by the time they reached the gates of Goodneighbor, very eager for that 200 year old fermented grain water Deacon loved to hate on.
They got cozy at the bar in the Third Rail after bartering away most of the goods they'd picked up with Daisy, pockets stuff with caps and packs much much lighter. With the haul from the trip, they were able to afford the good stuff Hancock kept behind the bar just for when Nora was in town, and loaded up with several beers apiece, they moved things to the VIP lounge to relax.
The three piled onto a couch next to one another, cracking open beers and drinking deeply; laughing over the simple pleasures of a day well spent and another survived. Mac had his feet up on the worn coffee table while Deacon sprawled out in the couch corner, Nora between the two of them looking wistfully at the bottle in her hands.
She told them about drinking games she used to play in college, and how there used to be more than one variation of Gwinnett brew to enjoy at the end of a hard day, and bemoaned the idea of what was left ever running out. Now there was a scary idea.
One beer turned to two, two turned to three, and they got a little more than handsy with one another as they sat and laughed and joked around prodding and hanging on each other playfully. It got to the point right between tired and drunk where everything was funny, and the fact that they were sitting in the VIP section sipping on warm, 200 year old beers amused Nora in ways the other two didn’t quite get, but chuckled along with anyways.
Mac pointed out how he'd still be in this exact spot if it wasn't for Nora walking into his life, and Deacon pointed out that they were still in the exact same spot regardless of that fact, and fixed Nora with an exaggerated accusatory look from over his sunglasses.
It had her in hysterics, and she said it was as good a reason to drink the good stuff as any. “I’m getting a bottle of bourbon from Charlie,” she told them as she peeled herself off the couch, wobbly on her feet. “I'll be right back. Be good.”
“Oh come on, when have you known me to cause trouble?” Deacon asked with a mischievous grin and a cock of his head.
Nora smirked right back. “I was talking to Mac.” She gave the younger man a wink and then waggled her brows at Deacon.
The sniper gave her a deceptively innocent look and busied himself with draining the rest of the bottle in his hands, though his cheeks were heated. She laughed and disappeared around the corner to pester Charlie for another round as Deacon gave him a wicked look, ready to start trouble.
“So…. sea captain’s hat, huh?”
Mac couldn't stop his crooked grin, though he still blushed hotly under the booze heating his face as Deacon smirked. “You're one to talk, army greens.”
“I appreciate a good uniform,” Deacon laughed, drinking his beer and scooting closer to the mercenary, speaking in exaggeratedly serious, confidential tones. “What would you do if I told you I had a sea captain’s hat in my bag right this very minute? That I could be wearing it as we speak? Hypothetically, of course.”
Mac’s face was still red, and he swallowed before answering the teasing with a smirk. “I’d say put it on and see what happens.”
Deacon chuckled, not about to surrender so easily. “Don't threaten me with a good time.”
Nora came back to Mac’s snorting laughter, a hand on his face and another on Deacon’s thigh to steady himself while Deacon asked if he had the army fatigues with him.
“Okay there lovebirds, make room. Move it. Move it move it,” she said as she tried to retake her place between them less than gracefully. She ended up sitting in Deacon’s lap with her legs in Mac’s, cradling a bottle of the good stuff in her arms. “...You guys make a crappy couch.”
“You're impatient,” Mac told her, though bothering to make room now was out of the question, and he grabbed her legs with one hand. She was already trying to recline, the grin she gave entirely unrepentant as she handed the bourbon bottle to Mac to open.
She smiled up into Deacon’s face as the bottle was opened with a pop, lips breaking into a grin on that flushed face. The invitation there was obvious, but she puckered up in supplication just in case. He grinned back before kissing her lips, and she chuckled against his mouth to tell him that Mac still had his little trick beat.
“If you’re really nice, maybe he’ll show you,” she said as she was passed the bourbon from the smirking mercenary, taking a sip and grimacing before holding it up under Deacon’s nose.
He smirked, giving Mac a wide grin, voice challenging, testing as he quirked his brow. “Yeah? Tricks of the trade need to be kept secret. Think the Rexford has a room right now?”
“If they don't, we can just stay here,” Mac told him, snatching the bottle back from Deacon to steal the man’s sip with a challenging look of his own. He nearly choked at Deacon’s next words, and Nora nearly fell off them laughing.
“Didn't know you liked an audience.” Mac’s face went beet red as he sputtered, and Deacon’s expression lit up like it was Christmas, crowding closer to the sniper to give him a bump of the head. “Oh I am filing that away for a rainy day.”
Nora squirmed in Deacon’s lap, making the older man suddenly gasp as she made contact with a most interested part of him indeed. She bit her lower lip and entwined the fingers on one hand with Mac, the other wrapped about the back of Deacon's neck. She squeezed them both with a slow, suggestive smile on her face as she looked between the two.
“...didn't it look like it might rain today?”
Mac snorted, though his grin was toothy as he squeezed her hand back. Deacon looked between the two of them with an equally calculating quirk of the lips. She bit her bottom lip with a hopeful smile, cheeks hot from the alcohol and her awareness of them both. She wasn’t the only one with blood rushing south.
Deacon swallowed and nodded in agreement. “Like it would pour, yup. Absolutely stormy.”
Mac chuckled and slowly extricated himself from Nora’s legs, getting to his feet only slightly off balance. He readjusted himself shamelessly and then offered her a hand as he stood there with a grin aimed at both of them. “Better check on getting some cover, then.”
He pulled Nora up onto wobbly legs, laughing as she realized how good-- how excited- she felt, and wrapped both arms around Mac’s middle to rub herself against the man with a dirty, happy grin.
The mercenary extended the same service to Deacon with what had to be the most obvious look of interest he'd ever seen, the spy's hand firm in his that he didn't relinquish even after he'd pulled him to unstable feet. Deacon's heart was pounding even harder, pants that much tighter as the sniper’s eyes seemed to pierce his sunglasses, pinning him in place.
Mac brought their grasped hands up to his lips, but only spoke against them with a crafty smirk like he was sure he'd gotten the high ground. Deacon wasn't sure he hadn't.
“Hope you're a quick learner.”
That got a bark of laughter from the spy, Deacon shaking his head and squeezing the sniper’s hand. “That's my trick in the first place, captain.”
The teasing only made Mac’s grin grow. “Yeah, but you have to test out with this,” Mac inclined his head at Nora, the vaultie rubbing her cheek against Mac’s shoulder as her hands had migrated to the mercenary’s ass.
“I resent being a ‘this’,” she said in shooting him a glare that lacked any heat. He laughed and let Deacon’s hand go to gather up their packs and the bottle of bourbon. She gave Mac’s ass a squeeze before latching on to Deacon instead and purring up at him. “He's good though Deeks he's sooo good.” She pressed against him with a promising smile, humming as his hands came to rest on her ass and give a squeeze.
“Hey lovebirds,” Mac chuckled, carrying their stuff with a rare good humor as he echoed Nora’s comments. “Get a room.”
Deacon swallowed as he looked between them; the more-than-tipsy grins on their faces that both wanted to eat him alive. He wet his lips with his tongue, nodding at the merc with an expectant smile. “Well lead the way then and we will.”
Nora’s snorting and snickering didn't cease as they left the VIP area, attached to Deacon’s hip for support and handsy to boot as they ascended the stairs of the Third Rail. Mac had retaken Deacon’s hand in his, placing a kiss on the knuckles before dragging them after him with an eager smirk and reassuring glances back. His impatience was commented upon with snickering and leers.
Mac only laughed, not denying it, and told them he hoped they could keep up.
He got a coordinated smack to his ass from both Deacon and Nora.
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Chapter 2&3 (THE SMUTTENING) are on my ao3 here. Haha :)
