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In the beginning
He’s being suffocated. That’s Kylo’s first thought on waking up. There’s something over his mouth, his eyes. His heart and mind feel bruised, his body burns. Pain is entwined with every fibre of his being. He’s dying, he’s certain, and he doesn’t care.
He’s in a bacta tank. That’s his second thought. Sounds are muffled and far away, but it’s still too noisy after sleep. He’s not sure where in the galaxy he is, but the minds he senses nearby are happy. Rejoicing. He remembers bits and pieces, but the fragments make little sense when he tries to stitch them together. Later, he thinks. He’ll figure it out later.
One thing stands out. And it’s the thing that makes the least sense. Because he did die. He’s sure of it. He even remembers leaving his body and becoming one with the Force. Doesn’t he? He gave his life so Rey could live. She deserves to live. Unlike him. If he’s alive, then he failed. It was all for nothing.
He hopes he didn’t kill her.
The tank is drained, birthing his body from the bacta. He feels the air on his skin again. He hates it. Noise rushes back. Beeping. Shouting. Alarms. He wants to go back. He wishes it were quiet again.
“Ben, you’re okay.” She says it reverently, like her words might break the illusion.
She’s not dead, then. And neither is he.
He’s glad she’s alive. But that’s about all he’s glad for.
Four galactic standard months later
People had been slow to trust him, and not just those who knew who he used to be. He’s not that person anymore. He doesn’t think so, anyway. The dregs of Kylo Ren were sloughed away when they’d rinsed the bacta from his skin all those months ago. He’s not entirely sure who he is now though, if he’s being honest.
Kylo Ren died, so the story goes. He can’t be him anymore. So, people call him Ben. He doesn’t feel like Ben, though. Ben died years before Kylo Ren did, and he’s not sure he can go back. Isn’t sure he wants to. But he thinks he needs to try. It’s what everyone wants.
So, he’s Ben now.
He still expects to hear Snoke in his head. He lurks in every shadow. Every night he dreams of Exegol. Palpatine. The Force lightning. Rey dying. Of her not waking up. She had woken up, though. He knows that now.
They had talked—at length—about what had happened, about what would happen next. Or, more accurately, she had talked at him, asked him question after question after question. She’d made plans and included him in them. He had just grunted and nodded when required, able to offer very little in return. His lassitude had upset her. He could see it in her eyes, could feel the disappointment coming off her in waves. But he thinks she understood; thinks she understands still. Or tries to. But he sees her watching him sometimes, grief etched on her face, mourning for people she barely knew, people she thinks he should be mourning for too.
But how can he mourn? He’s still not sure he’s fully alive. It feels like he’s watching his life pass by through condensation on a viewport.
Perhaps she’s mourning for him. Perhaps he’s dead after all.
One galactic standard year later
He still feels lost. Antsy. Smothered by the constant attention. He’s leaving soon, though. Fresh opportunities. New horizons. All that nonsense. He’s excited for the first time in… he doesn’t even know how long it’s been. Too long. Maybe it was when Han had let him fly the Falcon, that was the last time he remembers that fluttering feeling, the inability to stand still.
The announcement that the Galactic Council were setting up a unit to scour the galaxy for ex-First Order officers and ex-stormtroopers in need of reeducation and rehabilitation had arrived on the holonet over breakfast.
By dinner, he’d submitted his application.
It had largely been Poe’s fault. They’ve become close-ish in the past few months. Ben finds him less suffocating than some of the others who seem intent on remaining near him. He doesn’t coddle Ben or fear him or regard him as some curiosity to be ogled and prodded. He accepts Ben’s sullenness, weathers his mood swings, and doesn’t demand anything from him. He doesn’t understand the crushing weight of expectation Ben feels—has felt his entire life—but neither does he dismiss it.
“You’re drowning here. You’re designed for the air, for space. A flyboy like me,” he’d said with a grin. Adopted that cocky, self-assured hip-tilt-eyebrow-quirk combo that Ben will never be able to pull off. “You need adventure and this is, like, your ideal assignment. Who better to chase down those fugitives than the man who used to lead them?”
“You’re not worried I’m gonna switch sides? Again?”
“Are you?”
Ben hadn’t answered immediately. Poe hadn’t rushed him. He had shrugged. “I don’t think so. No.”
“There you go then.”
“I might not come back, though,” he’d added. A disclaimer: I’ll do this, but don’t expect me to conform, to behave. I might fuck up—I usually do.
“That’s on you, dude. All I ask is that you don’t try take over the galaxy again. You hear me?”
“Yeah, no. Not gonna do that. I just want… I want…” He’d trailed off, eyes burning, inexplicably. He’d shaken his head. He hadn’t known how to finish.
“I get it. I do.” Poe had clapped him on the shoulder after a beat. “So you gonna do it?”
Ben had applied a few hours later. He didn’t think he’d be accepted.
Eighteen galactic standard months later
He should be the one being reeducated and rehabilitated, not the officers they locate, he thinks. The same thought occurs to him every time they find a new mark and he sees how they’re living. How they’ve carved out new lives for themselves—sometimes for the better, sometimes not. His team don’t bother the ones who aren’t bothering anyone else. It’s a decision they’d made as a unit, not ordered from above. Ben skims their thoughts just in case, but if they’re not causing trouble, if they’ve got families who depend on them, if there’s no whiff of fascism, they leave them be.
The work is good, though. It’s hard, but rewarding in a way few things in his life have been. There are clear, achievable goals. He’s in a team of five, and they actually get on. Not in a ‘drinks at the cantina every night, sharing intimate secrets’ way, but there’s trust there. And understanding. They’re all, to varying degrees, solitary people. It’s why they were drawn to the assignment in the first place. They travel the length of the galaxy, following leads fed to them by their allies. Every capture gets logged. They get to rest up while they wait for the extraction team, check reports, pick their next lead.
They’re constantly moving and Ben likes it. Needs it. They are officially sanctioned bounty hunters—he’s practically fulfilling a boyhood dream.
Sometimes he’s recognised, which is hardly unexpected given his previous role. It’s not a problem, though. He adjusts memories where necessary. Wipes himself from them. It’s not the Jedi way, but he’s not a Jedi. He is no one.
Two galactic standard years later
They’re forced to land on a moon in the Unknown regions after receiving near-fatal damage to their shuttle. It’s a heavily wooded world. Primitive-looking. But there’s a bustling space port. It’s not on any known trade routes—too far out of the way to be convenient, and possessing nothing in the way of unique mineral deposits that would have interested either the Order or the Republic. Just a lot of trees and rocks. And a native population that look somewhere between wookie and Loth-cat. Humanoid, long-limbed, excessively hairy, and with wide sharp-toothed smiles and pointed ears. There are humans here too, but not many. Enough that Ben and his unit don’t stand out.
After making a deal with the techs at the repair station, the rest of his team go to the nearest cantina to settle in for the wait. It has rooms for the night and the menu boasts some exotic fare Ben hasn’t come across as well as a few familiar items. It’s the same sort of cantina found in ports across the galaxy and he knows exactly how the night will go: they’ll eat, pretend to get drunk, play some sabacc (or whatever the local variant is) badly enough that peoples’ lips loosen, and keep an ear out for gossip. And maybe one or more of them will find a willing body to pass the night with. Ben doesn’t feel like being cooped up in a murky cantina though. The dogfight earlier still has him feeling restless and he knows from experience that he needs to walk it off or he won’t be sleeping any time soon. His team don’t question him. They understand his need to be alone sometimes.
The outpost had seemed quite small from the air, coming in to land, smoke trailing from their main thrusters. On foot though, Ben soon realises how mistaken he’d been. The terrain is wooded and slopes quite steeply up from the hub, trees and rocks in equal prominence, shielding much of the settlement from the aerial observation. Buildings cling to the hillside, hemmed in by huge boulders and thick tree trunks. Some dwellings are cut into rock, others raised on stilts to create a level floor space. Narrow pathways wind around everything. It’s a haphazard, ramshackle layout, and looks like it had been designed by a toddler scattering blocks across a play pen, but it’s strangely pretty. As he climbs higher, Ben breathes in lungfuls of air that’s free from the usual tang of exhaust and sweaty bodies. He’s glad to be off the ship, glad to be away from the repair station and the busy dockside. His calves burn and sweat is trickling down his back, but the air on his face is cool and he feels almost… happy.
He walks and walks, scarcely paying attention to where he’s going, following meandering alleyways, traipsing up and down narrow streets, no specific destination in mind. He passes a busy marketplace, civic buildings, a few other cantinas, his presence cloaked so he won’t be stopped by hawkers. He sees stalls selling weapons and food and all manner of gadgetry. A droid depot. A brothel. Nothing is enough to stop his wandering. The niggling, unsettled feeling that wouldn’t let him stay in the cantina with his team still urges him on. Keeps him moving.
Eventually, he reaches the town’s outskirts. There are more trees than fabricated structures. A cantina sits here, nondescript. Unassuming. Made of the same rough duracrete and log combination as every other building that hadn’t been hewn directly from the landscape. It’s raised off the ground slightly, with a small veranda that looks like it’d be quite a pleasant place to while away a summer evening. Ben is about to continue past it, perhaps turn around and head back to his unit, but something about the cantina sparks his curiosity and draws him in. He’s probably just hungry, he thinks. He skipped lunch. And dinner.
He tells himself that it’s hunger that makes him open the door, hunger that drives him to an empty stool at the bar, hunger that has him staring at the menu hanging above rows of colourful bottles. But it’s more than that. The sense of right-ness that settles over him as he enters is hard to ignore. It feels like things are shifting around him, slotting into place in a way they haven’t in years.
The cantina smells a little like wet fur, but there’s a sweetness there too. Not cloying, but fresh. Fragrant pine and woodsmoke and spiced meats. It’s not the unpleasant odour he usually associates with these places. Several patrons sit hunched over their tables, filling the air with the low buzz of conversation, but it’s not busy. They stop and stare as he enters, so he projects disinterest and they soon turn back to their drinks. He’s not in the mood for trouble. Isn’t sure why he came in at all. Why didn’t he head back to get food with his team? What is it about this place?
He’s staring at the menu without seeing it, subtly reaching out with the Force to see if he can find a reason for his disquiet, when a bartender approaches.
“I was wondering how long it’d take you to find me.”
That voice—
Ben’s gaze instantly snaps to the bartender and he can’t help the way his mouth drops open. The image his mind had supplied at the sound of those polished vowels clashed outrageously with the person now standing before him: Baggy open-necked shirt, full beard, long ginger hair tucked behind his ears. Those eyes are the same, though. That sneer. That slender frame.
“Hux?”
“The very same.” Hux wipes a glass until it gleams, and then slides it onto a shelf out of sight beneath the bar. His eyes dart between Ben and the entrance; the only sign that he’s nervous.
Ben stares at him. He can’t help it; he’s finding it hard to order his thoughts. But then his mind catches up to what Hux had said. “You were expecting me?”
“Naturally.” Hux smiles. “I never could get rid of you. I knew it was only a matter of time before you graced me with your presence again.” He grabs another glass from the draining board and wipes it down with the same attention to detail he’d given the first. Ben watches, entranced by his long, pale fingers; the way the cloth twists through them as he shines the glass with exacting precision. Ben notices, then, that despite the gloomy interior, despite the curious odour, everything is spotlessly clean. The dinginess is an aesthetic choice, perfectly orchestrated. How very Hux.
“Can I get you anything to drink? Eat?” Hux asks, quirking an eyebrow. “Or would you prefer to continue staring?”
Ben coughs, embarrassed. He’s just tired, that’s all. And a little bit in shock at seeing his old rival. Someone who should be as dead as Kylo Ren. “Uh... Beer? I guess? I don’t know.” He shrugs, face heating. “Whatever’s good.”
“Whatever’s good? Now there’s a challenge. Taste is a very personal thing. Would you prefer something crisp? Malty? Hoppy? Fruity?”
“Uh…” Ben has never been much of a drinker and knows next to nothing about different types of beer—although in his defence, in most of the cantinas he finds himself, there’s not usually any choice. Hux could be speaking the local language for all he understands the words coming out of his mouth.
“Surprise me,” he says eventually and, uncomfortable with Hux’s scrutiny, pretends to be intensely focused on fishing his credit chip from his pocket.
“Ha! Now there’s an offer that’s hard to refuse.” Hux beams, seemingly delighted. “Why don’t you go take a seat and I’ll bring something over.”
Ben’s not sure what to make of this new version of his old rival. He’s acting nothing like he would have expected. Not that he ever expected to run into him, what with him being dead. “Uh, sure. If you want.”
Hux is already turning away when Ben answers, firing off something to the other bartender in a rumbling tongue that sounds like growling with a mouthful of gravel. He kind of wants to continue listening to Hux speak this strange language, to watch the way his lips frame the sounds. Weird. He shakes his head to loosen the idea before it sticks and turns to find a free table. Preferably somewhere out of the way in a dark corner.
*
While Hux gets the drinks, Ben fiddles with his comm. He knows he should inform his team of who he’s found but every time he goes to hail them, something stops him. He doesn’t want them to know. Not yet. Not until he knows why Hux is here.
Hux appears as if summoned, carrying two tall glasses of a frothy, deep ruby drink and a platter of food—small chunks of spiced meat and fresh vegetables, thick, crusty bread, a selection of deep fried kriff-knows-what—it smells delicious and Ben’s stomach growls in anticipation. He doesn’t question that Hux is clearly joining him.
“I didn’t order food,” Ben says, rather redundantly judging by the look Hux sends him.
“I’m aware. I was there, remember? This is my treat. It’s a selection of local specialities. It’d be rude not to try some while you’re here, don’t you think?” He sits opposite Ben and starts unloading the tray. In addition to the drinks and the platter, there are smaller dishes of dip, salad, something that looks like seeds? It’s all very elaborate for bar snacks.
“Oh, sure. Thanks.” He puts his credit chip on the table, slides it towards Hux. “I’m good for it though. I don’t need charity.”
Hux rolls his eyes, pushes the credit chip back to Ben. “It’s not charity. It’s a… a gesture. Between old friends.”
“Friends.”. Ben snorts into his drink. For some reason it’s the funniest thing he’s heard in a long while. His eyes water as he tries and fails to stifle his laughter.
“You know what I mean,” Hux replies with a grin, plucking a small plump purple vegetable from a dish and popping it into his mouth in a manner which is, quite frankly, obscene. Ben chokes on a gasp and hurriedly feigns interest in his hands. Kriff.
“Won’t your boss mind? Drinking on the job?” Ben asks after the heat in his cheeks fades. They’ve had a few minutes of weirdly companionable, though still awkward, silence while they both sip their drinks and tuck into the food—Ben with far more gusto than Hux, who picks daintily at the platter.
“I’m sure he doesn’t give two shits what I’m up to as long as the credits keep coming.” He smirks again and something stirs inside Ben.
Stars, what is he thinking? This is Hux. And he’s supposed to be kriffing dead. Ben still vividly remembers the report that passed across his datapad: General Armitage Hux, Traitor to the First Order. Executed. Pryde had pulled the trigger himself—had revelled in telling him how he’d flushed the traitor out. Quite clearly, someone had been mistaken.
“Why aren’t you dead?” Ben asks when the silence and Hux’s observation becomes too much. And because he can’t leave the question alone.
Hux pauses, piece of spiced meat halfway to his mouth. It’s a long enough pause that Ben’s mind starts running in circles, chiding him for being an idiot; for ruining the companionable mood; for opening his big fucking mouth. He thinks he likes this new Hux, odd though he is. He doesn’t want to fuck it up. Who asks such a blunt question? What was he thinking?
But then Hux laughs, pops the meat into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “Lucky, I suppose. Why aren’t you? Dead, I mean.”
Ben’s not sure how to reply. He shouldn’t have been surprised to have Hux turn it around on him. “I was. For a bit,” he says, slouching into his seat and glancing at Hux across the table from beneath his lashes. His mother would have told him off for slouching. He can’t help it. Sometimes he just wants to be smaller.
“Unbelievable.” Hux rolls his eyes, wipes his fingers on a napkin then drags a hand through his hair. “It is just like you to cheat death to spite me.”
“You… you think I’m here out of spite?”
Hux smiles, leans back in his chair, those keen green eyes appraising, taking all of Ben in. “I honestly have no idea. I’m assuming you’re biding your time before backup arrives and you drag me out of here in chains. Or perhaps you’re working by yourself and you’re going to choke me and be done with it.” It’s spoken casually enough, but Ben can hear the sharpness behind it. Is he aware of Ben’s job or was that a lucky guess? He knows Hux wouldn’t go quietly if that were Ben’s aim. It should be his aim, he reminds himself. Of all the ex-First Order operatives he’s encountered since starting this job, Hux is the most senior, the most important. Only Ben himself would be a bigger catch. Stars. Why hasn’t he informed his team yet…?
“I don’t think anyone knows you’re alive,” Ben says, feeling a strange compulsion to put Hux at ease. “And I’m not going to choke you.”
Hux relaxes slightly. “What happened then? I heard the Order was destroyed. But I also heard Kylo Ren was killed and I know that can’t be true, since, you know—” He gestures at Ben.
“Kylo Ren is dead.” Hux blinks and Ben realises he may have said the words more harshly than he’d intended.
“Then, who are you?” he asks, frowning.
Ben falters. No one has asked him that before. Who is he?
“It’s not a trick question,” Hux presses. He’s leaning forward now, elbows on the table. He looks genuinely interested.
“I…I don’t know.” Ben shrugs, sinks a little lower in his chair. “Ben? I guess.”
“You guess?” Hux snorts. “Ben.” He curls his mouth around the name as if testing it out.
The way he says it… Ben sits up. Hux’s voice somehow breathes new life into a name he’d felt so disconnected from, gives it new meaning. “Say it again.”
Hux raises his eyebrows, but complies. “Ben,” he says, in a lower register.
A smile spreads across Ben’s face. It sounds fresh. Enticing. Maybe he doesn’t need a new name, just the right person to say it. Something warm unfurls in his chest, spreading out to his fingers, his toes. “I like it. From you.”
“Okay, Ben.” Hux eyes him, a strange look flitting across his face. He wets his lips. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
Ben hides his grin in his drink. No one has ever given him real choice. No one has ever asked him what he wants. His whole life, he realises, has been a series of people thinking they know him better than he knows himself, using him to get what they want. ‘You should—’, ‘We expect—’, ‘If you want X, do Y’. Funny that it should be Hux to open his mind to the beauty of making his own choices. Is this what he’s been missing?
“I think more drinks are in order, yes?” Hux slides out of the booth with a grace Ben can only dream of. “Wait there and I’ll be right back with the next local speciality for you to try.”
Ben watches him wind around the tables, the sway of his slender hips hypnotic, only snapping out of his reverie when Hux ducks behind the bar. He looks over, catching Ben’s eye and his face lights up. A smile just for him.
*
“So, are you ever going to tell me why you’re here?” Hux asks after he comes back with drink number three and another bowl of snacks. Ben can’t get over how delicious the food is. He’s almost embarrassed by how quickly he’s shovelling it into his mouth. Or would have been if Hux hadn’t been looking so pleased by his enjoyment.
He takes a sip of the fresh drink Hux has brought to the table, buying himself some time. It’s surprisingly good. Fruity without being overly sweet. A bitter edge to it that perfectly compliments the deep fried…things. (He’s still not sure what they are.) (He should ask.).
“I’m just passing through,” he says. Clearly a lie. And he knows Hux knows it. “For work,” he adds, as if that makes it any better. Kriff, but he’s bad at this. There’s a reason the others in his team don’t let him take point when there’s any sort of face-to-face element to their engagements.
“Passing through for work,” Hux parrots, disbelief dripping from each syllable. “And what would ‘work’ be?”
Ben chews his lip. Why had he said that? Should he make something up? There’s not much point in lying, he supposes; what’s Hux going to do? Sell the information? He has ways of preventing that sort of problem…not that he wants to mess with Hux’s head too much. Or at all, if he can help it. Hux clears his throat and Ben realises he is still waiting for a response. How long has he been thinking? Stars. It’s getting awkward again. He needs to say something.
“I… it’s complicated.” He winces. That’s not going to put Hux off in the slightest.
“Kriff, Ben. What do you think I’m going to do? Sell your secrets to the highest bidder?”
Ben looks at him, raises an eyebrow. He’s not going to admit that yes, that was his first thought.
“Oh, come on. Give me some credit. I’m much less of an arsehole these days, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Ben snorts. “That remains to be seen.”
“Hey.” Hux kicks his ankle under the table. No harder than a friendly jostle. “Have I not been nice to you?”
“Sure.” Ben shrugs. “I suppose so.”
“Ungrateful sodding bastard.” Another kick. The light in Hux’s eyes dilutes any of the severity in his words.
They sip their drinks in silence for a few minutes. The alcohol is a warm buzz in Ben’s veins. He doesn’t think he’s drunk yet, but he’s on his way, and he can’t remember why he’d felt it important to hide his job. Would it be so bad?
“Fine,” he say, exhaling through his nose. “I guess, uh. I’m a bounty hunter? Kind of.” He winces. What a horrendously awful half-truth. Just say it, Ben, you kriffing nerf herder. “For the, um. New Republic.”
“No, what? Really?” Ben nods while Hux stares in open amazement. “Come on. Pull the other one. You’re working for them? Shitting Sith hells.” He shakes his head. Laughs. “What does it involve then, this being kind-of-a-bounty-hunter for the New kriffing Republic?”
“I’m part of a small team. We, uh. Track down people who fled after the First Order disbanded. There are others who decide whether to rehabilitate them or put them on trial.” Hux’s expression closes off as he explains and Ben hates it.
“I see,” Hux says eventually, his voice sharp. “So, when I joked about you dragging me off in chains, I wasn’t far off. How many of you are there? Did I warrant a full team, or did they trust you with this alone?” He sounds hurt—Ben wants to reach across the table, take his hand, take the distrust, the pain away. He thinks Hux might slap him if he tries.
“There’s five of us. But we didn’t come here for you. Our ship needed repairs. I honestly had no idea you were here.”
Hux doesn’t look convinced. “So what’s your plan now? Get me drunk and trick me to go back with you? Have a bit of fun at my expense before sending me off for a sham trial and hasty execution?”
“No! That’s... I don’t… I wasn’t… I’ve not told them you’re here,” Ben insists. “No one knows but me and I’m not going to tell anyone.” He’s not sure why he said that. He supposes there’s small part of him that feels guilty about effectively lying to his team. They were supposed to be able to trust each other.
Confusion flickers across Hux’s face. “Oh. why?”
“I… don’t know.” He should tell them. He knows he should. He also knows he’s not going to.
Hux sighs. “Is there anything you do know?”
Ben offers him a wan smile. Shrugs. He’s no idea what he’s doing.
The silence that settles between them doesn’t feel as awkward as before. It’s quiet. Contemplative. Ben is warring with his conscience, but he expects Hux is plotting which knife he’ll use gut Ben with.
After a short while, Hux appears to come to some sort of conclusion. He looks like he wants to say something. Ben gives him time. Tries not to look too eager. He’s tempted to dip into his mind, but he remembers how much Hux always hated that, and it seems prudent to not try and piss him off again. Maybe Hux is going to kick him out or tell him he has to get back to work behind the bar. They’ve been drinking together for a couple of hours at least—why hasn’t his boss come over to chew him out for time-wasting?
“I just don’t understand why you’d do it, if this is the truth,” Hux says eventually. “Why work for the scum we fought against? Who has your balls in a vice? Was this part of your parole?”
“I wanted to do it.” His voice sounds petulant even to his own ear. How can he explain that sitting in his apartment in surrounded by people that only wanted the best for him was slowly killing him? That he could have left at any time but he’d not been brave enough to flee. That he didn’t want to let down these people who he wouldn’t have thought twice about killing a few short years ago.
Hux raises an eyebrow at him and Ben winces internally. He’d forgotten how observant Hux could be. “Things not rosy on the side of the light?” Hux asks, a smirk playing at his lips. At least he didn’t seem pissed off any more. “Or are you just filled with a burning desire to wipe the scourge of the First Order from the galaxy?”
Ben huffs out a laugh. Bites his lip. Thinks he should deflect, but then says: “The first one.” It’s the alcohol loosening his tongue, he thinks. That, and the way Hux is looking at him, the light from the setting sun playing off his hair, making it glow sunset orange.
“Oh? Please, go on. I do so love a bit of gossip and family drama.” Hux leans forward, chin in his hands, sly grin on his lips. Ben decides he likes it when Hux smiles. He wants to make him smile more.
He grins back. He feels he could reveal anything Hux asked in that moment. So, he drains his glass and gets up. “You’re gonna have to wait, I’m afraid. Where’s the ‘fresher in this place?”
He’s much more unstable on his legs than he thought he’d be, which he should probably take as a sign to slow down, but he swings by the bar on his way back to the table and grabs a fresh round of drinks anyway.
*
“Okay, your turn. Why are you here?” Ben says during a lull in the conversation. They’re still sat on opposite sides of the booth, but at some point, Hux had nudged him with his toe and then…just left his foot there. And Ben might have leaned into it a little. Possibly stretched his legs out and hooked his other foot around Hux’s. He’s a little hazy on who moved first, but the result is that their legs are now casually entwined beneath the table.
“What you mean,” Hux says, absently trailing a finger through the condensation on his glass, “is why didn’t I die like you intended?”
“I never—”
“You did. It’s fine. I admit I was lucky Pryde’s shot wasn’t fatal. He was a horrendous general and an even worse shot.”
“Did no one check that you were dead?”
“As I said: horrendous general. So up his own arse he didn’t even consider he might not have got the fatal hit he’d hoped for.” Hux looks away for a moment, his expression turning more serious. “There were a lot of people loyal to me in the Order, you know. I had help. And once they’d patched me up, I fled. Planet hopped for a bit. Finished up here. It’s not a terrible place.” He shrugs. “So, I stayed. And there you have it. There was no grand plan other than to lie low for a bit and escape notice. Obviously that part has failed.”
It’s a lot to take in. Ben thinks he should be annoyed that Hux had support in the Order, but he’s intentionally distanced himself so much from that period of his life that it’s hard to dredge up the old feelings that had sparked so much rage. He remembers the hurt at Hux’s betrayal though. That one stings even now if he pokes at it enough. “Were you really the traitor Pryde painted you as?” he asks, because of course he can’t leave it alone.
Hux shifts in his seat and his eyes drift down to the table. It’s the first time Ben has seen him visibly uncomfortable. “You have know that things are different now. My priorities have changed somewhat. At the time, though, I was driven by my love of the Order, its ideals, which you were tearing apart before my eyes. And Snoke before you.”
“So…” Ben urges. He realises he’s leaning in more, elbows on the table and shifts back a little.
“So.” Hux purses his lips and exhales through his nose, meets Ben’s eyes. “Yes. I slipped some pertinent intel to the Resistance. Even though they forced me to deal with that scoundrel Dameron—”
“Poe!?”
“Friend of yours, is he?” Hux narrows his eyes.
How much should he say? He’s reeling from hearing that Poe knew. He’d ‘dealt with’ Hux. What did that even mean? And why had Poe said nothing? “He— uh. Well. He’s kind of the reason I’m here. He’s the one who suggested I apply. And…” He bites his lip. “We share an apartment. Or did, before I left for this job.”
“Oh. Oh.” Hux goes pale and starts to pull his foot out of the tangled knot they’d made of themselves under the table. “I didn’t realise it was like that I… My apologies.”
Ben traps the escaping foot between his legs. “What? No. Stars, no. Whatever you’re thinking, stop. Poe? And me?” Ben shakes his head, laughs. “Are you… jealous?”
“Fuck off.” Hux folds his arms across his chest, pouting beautifully.
“Oh, shit. Wow. You’re jealous of Poe. This is hilarious.”
“I said, fuck off. Poe’s welcome to you, you hateful man. Now, let me go so I can get us fresh drinks. You shouldn’t have let Gerrgus choose for you last time—he has astonishingly bad taste when it comes to booze. I can’t believe I drank that filth.”
Ben watches him head to the bar, absolutely certain he’s put an extra swing in his hips as he goes. A certainty that’s confirmed when Hux looks over his shoulder and smirks.
*
Hux reaches over the table and tucks a stray lock of hair behind Ben’s ear. His gaze is on Ben’s face rather than his eyes. He pauses. Ben holds his breath, and then Hux brushes a thumb over Ben’s cheekbone, down his jaw, fingers trailing lightly over the patchy stubble. Ben never would have guessed Hux could be so tactile. He’d always seemed so uptight and touch-averse in his First Order uniform. More droid than man, cold and robotic, unable to express emotions, but now… he’s free with both his smiles and his touches. Both have increased with Hux’s inebriation. Maybe he’s just a handsy drunk. Maybe Ben shouldn’t be reading too much into it.
It’s hard not to read into the toe of the boot rubbing his calf and the fingers still caressing his face, but he’s been wrong before.
“What are you doing?” Ben asks softly. Hux’s thumb skates gently over his cheek. He doesn’t want him to stop, but the silence feels heavy with promise and he needs to know he’s not misreading anything.
“You’re beautiful.”
“What? I’m… What?” He blinks. He hadn’t been expecting anything quite so blunt. Also…no ones ever called him beautiful before.
“Oh hush, Ben. I can hear you thinking from here. Know when to accept a compliment.” Hux continues stroking his face. It’s like he’s trying to commit it to memory with his fingertips. “I’ve always thought so, you know.”
“Always? Even when… Even before?”
Hux hums in affirmation, a finger delicately teasing along Ben’s lower lip. “I used to watch you on the security monitors sometimes, when you were in a tizzy about something or other, stomping about my ship, and I’d imagine all the ways I could put a smile on that pouty face of yours. Such pretty lips.”
“Oh.” He thinks he should feel at least a little violated, but it’s actually kind of hot. He had wondered, back then, if there had been something behind the way Hux would glare at him… “Is that why you hated me so much? Because you were horny?”
Hux rolls his eyes. Doesn’t move away. “Not at all. I hated you because you were an imbecile. A blindingly arrogant prick who was prone to tantrums and would regularly destroy expensive equipment that I would then have to replace. But—” he says, holding up a finger to silence the protest Ben was about to level in support of his case, “But, you are an irritatingly handsome imbecile and I can’t help it if I like pretty things.”
The ‘pretty’ dropped to carelessly from Hux’s lips short circuits Ben’s brain as much as the ‘beautiful’ comment had. “Do you still hate me?”
“I think it’s fairly obvious I don’t.”
“Yeah?”
“I probably never did, to be honest.” His gaze goes distant for a moment, sadness flickering across his face, fingers still absently petting Ben. “I always felt I had so much to prove in the First Order, and my whole life, really. No matter what I did, I was never good enough, there was always some glaring failure. Getting shot and being forced to flee across the galaxy gave me some perspective.”
“You like it here?” It’s not a bad little place, but if someone had told Ben he’d find Hux happily working in a cantina in the ass end of nowhere, he would definitely have laughed in their face and called them a fucking liar.
Hux glances around the bar. “It works, for now. And the people here appreciate me, which is nice. Plus, we don’t get a lot of visitors from the Core worlds.” The and I’d like it to stay that way is heavily implied.
“You’re not… I dunno. Bored? And this is it, right? There’s no… side-hustle?”
“Side-hustle? Stars, Ben. If the rest of your unit is as good as you at interrogation—”
“It’s not an interrogation! And besides, you know I could take what I want anyway. This is just me making conversation.”
Hux grimaces. “Really? In that case, please stop.”
“You… you could make me?” Ben says, hoping to get a return to the previous playful atmosphere.
He doesn’t think Hux is going to go for it for a minute. Thinks he’s ruined the atmosphere that had been brewing steadily between them. This is the most alive he’s felt in years. If he’s ruined all chance of anything happening…
But then a lazy smile curls at Hux’s lips, he feels Hux’s boot on his calf again, the toe rubbing against his leg. And then the toe is on the move, sliding up. Up. It’s not stopping.
Ben gasps as he feels a firm pressure on his cock.
“Is this okay?” Hux asks.
Ben can only nod. Yes it’s okay. It’s very very okay. Hopefully his eyes convey this message because words are gone.
Hux presses a little harder and Ben bites his lip to stifle the groan. He twitches his hips into the sensation, exhaling shakily as Hux grinds down.
“Fuck, Hux,” he hisses. He spreads his legs a little wider and bites down on the knuckle of his thumb because, Force take him, he’s never got so hard so fast. He’s dimly aware of Hux talking. Something about the weather? It’s nonsense, whatever it is. He hears a needy whine and only registers that it came from him when Hux cups his face.
“Perfect. Absolutely perfect,” Hux whispers, a look of pure amazement on his face. “I’ve wanted to do this for years, you know.”
“Yeah?” Ben’s mind feels sluggish and fuzzy with a mixture of arousal and alcohol. He sniggers at the thought of Hux harbouring a secret desire to trample his dick.
“Mhmm. Years. You always looked so virginal. But the size of you. I would fantasise about you pinning me down, holding my wrists above my head in one of your giant hands, while you open me with the other, those gloriously thick fingers deep inside me—”
“Oh fuck. I can do that. I want to do that.” He nods eagerly and grinds up into Hux’s boot.
“Promise?”
Ben nods his head again. “Uh huh, yeah. For sure. Later.” To be fair, he’d agree to anything Hux said right now, but that? The thing he said? Definitely.
“Kriff. Ben. The things you say,” Hux murmurs, expression almost beatific.
The pressure on his cock increases. Ben is achingly hard now. His mouth drops open and he grips the table with both hands. Fuck, but he’s going to come in his pants any second and Hux hasn’t even properly touched him.
“You look a little … flushed. Should I stop?” Hux pulls his foot away.
Ben snarls. “Don’t you fucking dare.” He grabs Hux’s ankle before it can slip away and presses it fully over his erection again, thrusting up as he does, the friction after so much teasing making him light headed, “Although…Fuck. I’d… prefer your hand or… mouth?” He manages a grin in Hux’s general direction.
“Would you now…” Hux looks similarly affected as he huffs out a laugh. “Never let it be said I refuse a gentleman’s request for assistance.”
He slips under the table without another word and makes short work of the laces at Ben’s crotch. Ben gasps as the air hits his straining erection. The bar is quieter than it had been earlier, and they’re in a booth in a shadowy corner, but he still feels a frisson of embarrassment at the public setting. He’s never done this before.
“Kriff. Hux. What if someone sees?” he hisses, acutely aware of their potential audience.
“Then we should charge them for the show.” He further loosens Ben’s trousers and fully frees Ben’s erection from his underwear. Wraps his hand around Ben’s shaft. “The size of you. Stars.”
Ben can’t help the burst of pride. He tilts his hips, thrusting up into the loose circle of Hux’s fist. “You like what you see?”
“I’m a little put out you didn’t reveal this sooner. If only I’d known…”
“Yeah? What would you have done?”
Hux groans under the table. His hand tightening around Ben’s cock as he continues to jerk him off. “I don’t know. I’d have thrown you in binders and ridden you ‘til you forgot your name. I’d have assassinated Snoke just so you could bend me over your new throne and fuck me raw. I’d—”
He cuts himself off and in the next instant, Ben feels hot breath on his shaft as Hux licks a stripe up to the head. He groans and hunches over the table, face in his hands, shielding himself as best he can from the other patrons. Surely, though, anyone looking over will know exactly what is happening. Rather than make him want to stop, he finds it turns him on more. Interesting.
Hux takes him into his mouth, one hand wrapped around the part he can’t fit, the other cupping his balls, slender fingers slipping further back, circling his hole. It takes an embarrassingly short while for Ben to climax, his orgasm taking him completely by surprise. Hux moans around him as he spurts into his mouth, not losing a drop. He longs to run his fingers though Hux’s hair, to drag him into his lap and taste himself on Hux’s lips, but there’s no space.
Somehow, Hux unfolds himself from beneath the table without looking completely debauched. Ben glimpses an impressive bulge in his trousers though.
“Want me to take care of that for you?”
Hux smirks. “Refresher. Now. There is no kriffing way you’re fitting your bulk under a table.”
*
Ben has another drink in hand. The drink in question is purple with sparkley bits in. There’s an umbrella too. He’s not sure if it’s a joke. He doesn’t care if it is. He’s lost count of how many he’s had now. He doesn’t even have a clue what time it is. How long has he been sat in this bar with Hux? It feels like both an eternity and a blink of an eye.
They’re sat on the same side of the booth now, Ben sort of twisted around, and Hux nestled against his chest. Their limbs are entwined, loose from orgasm. Ben teases his fingers through Hux’s hair and Hux leans into the motion, practically purring. It’s adorable.
It makes Ben’s heart ache.
“I should head back soon,” he mumbles into Hux’s hair. “Need to check on the others. Find a place to stay.”
“Stay here,” Hux says. “With me.”
“In the cantina?”
“No, you dolt. In my apartment. I don’t live in a fucking cantina.” He swats Ben on the chest.
Ben laughs. He’s been laughing a lot with Hux, he realises. “I don’t want to put you out, though.”
“You’re not putting me out if I offer. And besides, you’ll probably get lost or break your neck on one of those steep streets down to the repair station if you leave now.”
He has a point, Ben’s mind supplies. Why is he trying to fight this? At this point, a goodbye this evening isn’t going to be any less painful than a goodbye in the morning.
“And I believe that someone promised to pin me down by my wrists while fingering me…?” Hux continues.
“Shit, yeah. I wouldn’t want to go against my word. Okay.”
Hux smirks and leads him through the bar by the hand and growls something to the barman, who nods and glances briefly at Ben.
Ben can’t help but grin. The Force is humming happily in his mind. Never has anything felt so right.
Hux leads him through a small door behind the bar. There’s a narrow staircase which opens out into a spartan living space with a sofa, a small work area full of tools and what looks like a pile of electronic junk.
“Wait. You live above the bar? You mean this whole time, we could have been up here fucking?”
Hux laughs. “We could have stopped what we were doing any time you wanted,” he says, and he leads Ben through the living area and into a spacious bedroom. Ben forgets all complaints as they tumble into Hux’s bed.
The morning after
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
Ben fights against the fog to peel his eyes open. There’s something he’s supposed to be doing, but there’s a warm weight on his chest and a throbbing in his head and literally nothing he wants to do other than slip back to sleep, but that pinging is annoyingly insistent.
The weight on his chest moves.
“Ben, if you don’t shut that kriffing thing off, I’m going to crush your gonads under my knee. And then I’ll deny you caf.”
It takes a second for Ben’s brain to catch on to the owner of the voice, but when he looks down and gets a face full of ginger hair, everything about the previous night comes rushing back.
“Hux?”
Hux squirms some more, then Ben feels a pair of bony elbows digging into his chest as Hux raises himself up, seemingly with the express purpose of looking down his nose at him. “If that’s regret in your voice, you can fuck off now.”
“No! I just—” He sits up and gathers Hux into his arms, presses his face into Hux’s hair. It smells like lipana berry and he’s instantly transported back to the previous night; to burying his nose in that sweet-scented hair as he came for the second time. “Kriff. How much did we drink last night? What did we drink last night?” He groans. Hugs Hux tighter. The pinging continues.
“Hmm. A selection of house specialities and several untested concoctions, if I remember correctly.”
Ben groans again. Breathes in that sweet lipana berry scent. Hux moves against him in a decidedly purposeful way and oh, Ben would like to follow that through to its logical conclusion, but his bladder is uncomfortably full so he untangles himself. Hux grumbles like a disgruntled cat and burrows into the blankets.
“Do something about that infernal comm notification while you’re on your feet. And put the caf on. Oh, and put some food down for Millie,” he instructs.
“Yes, darling,” Ben replies with a melodramatic sigh as he shuffles from the room.
He finds his comm tangled up in the shirt he’d discarded in corner of Hux’s room, but doesn’t check it until he’s fiddling with the caf machine.
“Shit,” he hisses, burning his fingers when he’s distracted by the message.
“What is it?” Hux is naked in the doorway, his perfect porcelain-pale skin proudly showing off all the marks Ben had left last night. The site of the near-fatal blaster shot is still puckered, the scar tissue pink and shiny. Ben briefly wishes he could go back, stop Pryde. Stop everything. He would take Hux and flee, knowing what he does now, but he supposes everything happens for a reason. Hux hated him back then—he would never have let Ben kidnap him.
“My team. Ship’s patched up already—as good as they can do with the materials available. Should be enough to get us to the nearest big hub, get a proper service.” He should be happy, but something heavy lodges in his chest. A familiar weight, but one that had lifted during his time with Hux.
“Ah. You’ll be leaving then.” Hux’s face closes off. He turns and heads into the bedroom, his glorious naked body disappearing from view.
Ben can hear him rustling, opening and closing closet doors with a little more noise than necessary. He replies to the message. Grabbing breakfast, meet you at the ship. Not sure how long I’ll be. Laughs at the reply. Wash the sex-stink off before you get here. It’s a brittle sound, though. His eyes burn. He wishes he didn’t feel so torn. Wishes he hadn’t experienced happiness with Hux since now he has to experience leaving him behind.
When Hux returns he’s fully dressed. Ben had only managed to pull on his underwear so far and doesn’t miss the way Hux’s eyes fix on his chest, nor the blush that darkens his cheeks. He’s probably remembering the way he’d fucked Ben’s pecs. Stars, now Ben is remembering. He adjusts himself unselfconsciously, sparking another beautiful blush in Hux.
Hux clears his throat and looks away. “You probably want to dress before heading back to your friends.”
“Sure. There’s no rush though. Unless…” He glances at Hux, who is now fiddling with the caf machine, probably undoing the mess Ben had made of it. He seems to be deliberately avoiding Ben’s eye. “Unless you want me to go? Is this one of those one night stand things where I’m over-staying my welcome?”
Hux smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “It would be remiss of me as the host to not offer you breakfast first.” He walks over to Ben and trails his fingers down his chest, down to the waistband of his underwear, and tugs. Somehow managing to seem both playful and sad. “I may even let you use my shower to wash off the, um, evidence of last night.”
“Maybe you can join me,” Ben suggests. “Make sure I don’t miss any spots?”
“Mmm I’m sure that can be arranged.”
Breakfast is tense. Ben can feel the end of their time together looming. He doesn’t want to waste a second of it, but he can’t stop dwelling on what it will feel like to leave him behind. He’s sure he’s not imagining the way Hux seems to be feeling a similar way.
They fuck in the shower afterwards, Hux pressing him to the tile and pounding into him until they both climax, Hux’s teeth sinking into his shoulder as he fills Ben up. When Ben inspects the mark as they’re dressing, he refuses Hux’s offer of bacta. He wants to remember this. Wants to bear a permanent reminder of their last frantic coupling.
“You could stay, you know,” Hux says as Ben lingers by the door of the cantina. He’s given Ben a selection of local sweets he took from the cantina kitchen and Ben clutches the box to his chest like some sort of talisman.
“And do what?” he asks, even though his heart is screaming at him to say yes. Fuck everything. He’ll throw it all away after just one night of spectacular fucking.
Hux shrugs. “You could work here? I know it doesn’t look like much but it’s a life. I’m proud of how I’ve turned it around.”
“You think your boss would hire an imbecile like me?”
“I have it on good authority he had a soft spot for imbeciles. Especially when they come with huge cocks and a chest I want to suffocate myself with.”
“Wait… this is your cantina?”
“Of course it is!” He frowns. “Did you really not know?”
Ben barks out a laugh and loops his free arm around Hux’s shoulders, pulling him in for an awkward hug around the box of sweets. He kisses his head, sucks in a lungful of that lipana berry scent. Stars, he wants to stay. He wants to build a life with Hux on this tiny nowhere moon, tending his bar, getting creative with his alcohol. They could go for long walks during the day, maybe explore the system a bit when they needed a holiday…
“I want to Hux, I do, but…”
“I know. It’s not quite the fast-paced adventure you’re currently living...”
“It’s not that. I… I have to see this through, though. My team rely on me. I can’t just ditch them.”
Hux nods, pulls away. Fold his arms across his chest. Ben can see him detaching himself from the situation.
“Hey, hey. Look at me. I’m coming back, okay? I promise. I don’t know when but I will.”
Hux looks at him from beneath his lashes, a smile twitching at his lips. “I’ll believe it when I see it. Now, be gone. I’ve got to open up.”
One galactic standard year later
The cantina looks just the same as he remembers. Ben pushes open the door, his palms sweaty. He immediately lays eyes on the man he came for, his red hair even more vibrant than he remembered in the late morning sun.
Hux looks up, sees him. “You came back,” he says, running a cloth over a glass.
“Of course I did. There’s no getting rid of me.”
END