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A passerby focused on their phone nearly collides with the bouquet of pink gerberas Hux is clutching close to his chest. He yanks the flowers out of the way and scowls at the retreating back of the would-be shopper as they walk through the doors of a grand department store. Hux is stood at its entrance, beneath a giant rotating clock – a cliché, perhaps, as that spot is the number one meeting point in the city, but it was also the only place Hux could think of when his dating app match asked to meet in real life. He peers at his reflection in the store window to check his hair and tie. He refuses to look in the direction of the clock. His date is late and Hux’s temper grows that much shorter by each passing minute.
It’s been a long time since his last date – he's too busy to waste his time in gouging out potential soulmates and even his one-night-stands are few and far in between. But with this one he’s been chatting for a week now and they’ve gotten along well enough for Hux to allow himself to get mildly excited. He smooths a rebellious strand of his hair back in its place and digs out his phone only to angrily cram it back in his pocket. At least the weather’s nice. Hux considers taking his date to the nearby park for ice cream after their meal. He checks the time and bites the inside of his cheek. If his date doesn’t show up soon, they’ll lose their reservation and Hux was looking forward to trying out the new Italian place he’s heard so much about.
He decides he needs to find a better place to meet potential dates as he tries to keep out of the way of the throng of people walking in and out of the shop doors while trying to avoid any contact with the filthy wall. An inadvertent glance up tells him his date is now twenty minutes behind schedule. He digs out his phone – no new messages. He opens the dating app as sometimes the notifications of new messages arrive hours late but all he can see is the good night he sent two nights ago. He draws in a breath and releases it slowly. He hasn’t had a proper date in ages and he’s not about to ruin it by educating a man he wants to impress on subjects like punctuality and communication.
Fifteen minutes drag by. An icy certainty of being stood up is weighing in Hux’s belly and he nearly bends the flowers in half when he clenches his fist in sudden fury. There’s no way he will let himself be humiliated like this, not at his age. He fumbles for his phone and searches the messages – he insisted on exchanging their phone numbers before the date, just in case and it appears he was absolutely right in doing so.
The phone rings for a long time and Hux is just about to end the call when a groggy voice answers. “Uhm?”
Hux is taken aback at the informal greeting and stares at his phone, incredulous. Was his date sleeping? “I see,” he growls. “I was going to politely ask if we’d had a misunderstanding about the date and time, but I see now I needn't bother.”
“Who is this?” The voice is a low, pleasant baritone despite the distinct egde of sleep and growing irritation.
“This is Armitage. Armitage Hux. Your date.”
“My what? Never mind, what kind of a name is Armitage?”
“The man you were supposed to meet forty-five minutes ago!”
The man mumbles something incomprehensible and then – then there’s a muffled noise in the background, someone just as sleepy asking a question and Hux’s date laughs and says, “it’s no-one, babe,” before abruptly ending the call.
Hux doesn’t scream, or cry, or even blink. He puts his phone in his pocket calmly, lets the bouquet fall from his numb fingers to the ground where it gets trampled by the busy shoppers and hops into a tram.
At home he pours himself a large glass of wine, takes his phone and one by one deletes his messages and his dating profile.
****
Kylo paces to the one end of the room, turns to cast a critical eye at the paintings suspended from the high ceiling and paces back to the other end, to repeat the process. He has done it several times now, trying to catch the smallest imperfection – as if there was anything he could do about it anyway, the gallery opens in fifteen minutes and so does his latest exhibition of art, brutally honest and dark paintings and a couple of installations of the demons he’s struggled with since his early teens.
The exhibition’s already won critics acclaim and there’s quite a throng of people milling about in the lobby, sipping champagne and waiting for the doors to open but Kylo can’t help the nerves getting the better of him as he makes one more round, tweaking a painting a millimeter to the left.
And then there’s nothing else for it. The doors open and the crowd pushes in. Kylo is immediately surrounded by hangers-on, eager for the smallest bit of attention from the man of the hour. He smiles and grinds out small talk and clutches his flute of fizzy wine, posing for the odd photograph, simultaneously hating every second of it and lapping up the admiration and the blatant sucking-up.
He’s just finished setting a potential buyer up with his manager when a flash of red catches his eye, and he lets his eye linger on the striking hair and the lithe frame ensconced in a perfectly tailored navy suit underneath it, his back to Kylo as he stands in front of a large painting in stark contrast to the dominantly black palette. Kylo drifts closer, already composing a sketch in his mind and needing to take a closer look. The man takes a step back and turns slightly. The overhead light turns his hair into a flaming halo and casts his face in shadows, emphasizing his high cheekbones and full mouth, making him appear like some otherworldly, ethereal creature. Kylo’s breath catches in his throat. He’s getting drawn in now, caught in the spell the man has woven, there’s nothing he can do to stop himself from stumbling forwards.
“How do you like it?” he asks like an idiot, gesturing at the painting.
The man startles, gives him a once-over and clears his throat. “It certainly is, uh, striking,” he says. He tilts his head, and a tiny crease appears between his brows.
“Kylo Ren,” Kylo says, extending a hand.
“I thought I recognized you,” the man says, flourishing the pamphlet with Kylo’s face printed on the cover. “Armitage Hux. Nice to meet you.”
Something in the combination of that name and voice and accent stirs a memory but it’s vague and half-formed so Kylo lets it go and instead focuses on how Hux’s hand disappears in his grip. His jacket and shirt sleeves have hiked up, revealing a narrow, bony wrist which Kylo just knows isn’t as delicate as it looks but still, he has to forcibly hold himself from touching it to ascertain the truth.
“Nice to meet you too,” he says instead, flashing his award-winning grin and doing a bad job at hiding the victorious smirk at Hux’s flustered face. Hux narrows his eyes and purses his lips, getting himself under control.
“Are you – do you work in art?”
Hux’s nose wrinkles and his mouth twitches. Annoyance or amusement, Kylo can’t parse his mood from the reaction. “Corporate lawyer,” Hux tells him. “I got the ticket from a client and had nothing else planned for tonight.”
“Oh.” Kylo feels oddly deflated. Insulted, even. He squares his shoulders and presses his lips into a tight line. “Well. I hope you enjoy your evening nonetheless.”
“I’m sure I will.” Hux says, lifting his champagne flute to his mouth and side-eyeing Kylo with obvious interest.
Huh.
Right.
Kylo relaxes, activates his swagger. “Let me show you my etchings,” he rumbles, pitching his voice as low as he can and gesturing towards the back of the gallery.
****
“Have them call as soon as possible,” Hux snaps at his assistant and doesn’t slam his office door because that’s not what a man in his position does. He does, however, slump down on his desk chair and bury his face in his hands. Last night was a big fucking mistake but it was his mistake, and he should probably not make his subordinates suffer for it.
Going to the art thing had been a spur-of-the-moment idea, more brought on by having to face yet another evening at home with just his cat for company than any particular interest in art or the artist himself – who up until now had been a totally unknown entity in Hux’s life.
At least, up until he had found himself being pushed into a dingy back room, allowed himself to be manhandled and kissed and groped (had kissed and groped and shoved back himself, there’s no point in trying to shift the blame, some inner, lawyer-y part of him interjects). Had mewled when an obnoxiously large hand had sneaked its way into his trousers and squeezed hard enough to make his knees go weak, and just as well, because if they hadn’t given out, he might never had had the opportunity to witness the glory of the truly, horribly enormous dick springing free from Kylo’s jeans, just waiting for Hux’s mouth to enclose around it -
Hux can still taste the tangy-sweet, musky flavour on his tongue. He remembers how far his lips stretched, how his throat constricted around the cock filling his entire mouth, how his eyes had watered and how fucking hungry he had been for more, for everything Kylo could possibly give him.
Of all the things he had ever imagined for himself, blowing an up-and-coming artist during the opening night of his own exhibition and then being jerked off in return, that artist having his wide, obscene mouth pressed against his ear, such complete filth pouring out of it, had never featured on any of his lists.
It had been, without a doubt, one of the best and the worst evenings of his life. He’s still not sure what came over him when Kylo appeared in his field of vision, the tormented, broody kind never having been his type, if he had a type. The broad shoulders, yes. The enormous bulk of the man, absolutely, especially the hands. His hands had definitely been something else. Strong and wide and long-fingered, thick veins showing blue under the skin. Prominent knuckles and thick wrists covered with dark hairs and the odd mole. Hux could appreciate hands like that on a man.
His private phone plings just as he’s sent his assistant out for coffee. He doesn’t recognize the number but opens the message anyway.
>I figured out who u are
Hux stares at the screen, not sure if this is a wrong number or a dissatisfied client of his client, out for literal blood. He takes a screenshot and jots the number down on a piece of paper, to give them to Phasma so that she can practice her brand of pre-emptive damage control.
>u called me the other night by accident
Hux frowns at the phone, then relaxes. A wrong number. He’s about to delete the messages and toss the phone on his desk when a new message appears.
>This is Kylo, btw. Kylo Ren. From the gallery.
Oh. Hux, slightly flustered, saves the number under the name Ren, Kylo (artist). A thought occurs.
<Where did you get my number? I can’t recall giving it to you, or any other contact information.
The answer comes after a minute or two.
>U don’t remember? U called me and yelled (v. sexy, btw) cause u thought I was ur date. I thought I had heard ur voice bfore. Had the number in my call history and had to see if I was right.
There is a pause during which Hux goes through several variations on the theme of embarrassed. Of course he remembers that day. How could he forget?
>I can delete ur number if u want. But I liked u. I’d like to see u again. And I think u were into me too.
Hux stares at his phone. He’s tempted but. There’s no guarantee that his affair would not end up in a messy break-up and even more humiliation before it’s even properly begun. Thus far that’s how his attempts at relationships have always panned out, without exception. There’s only so much heartbreak and surplus hassle a man can take. Hux’s finger hovers over the screen, then he steels himself and types.
<I’m busy.
****
Kylo circles the empty canvas set on an easel in front of him, adjusts it a bit to the left to better angle into the light, adjusts himself absently, annoyed at his wayward dick getting ideas of its own. The redhead from the gallery has not left him be, despite his curt messages a week ago.
He didn’t tell Kylo to delete his number, however. So Kylo hasn’t.
He snatches his earbuds from where they hang around his neck, wiggles them in place, connects them to his phone and turns on the music. Fifteen minutes later he has made no progress whatsoever, staring into the middle distance and reminiscing the feel of the surprisingly supple buttock under the palm of his hand when he had crowded Hux into the back wall of one of the storage rooms in the gallery.
Good times.
It’s a pity Hux didn’t warm up to him – a surprise, really, given his first reaction to Kylo’s advances and subsequent enthusiasm for a clandestine quickie – and a tragedy, because Kylo hasn’t wanted to hook up with any of his usual FWBs since that night at the gallery.
He casts a baleful look at the empty canvas and shoves one hand into his sweatpants pocket to find his phone.
This is probably a bad idea, he thinks.
But coming up with bad ideas has been the underlying theme of his very existence, so he unlocks the phone, scrolls through his contact list and stops at Hux The HotGuy.
He pauses to consider, gnaws his bottom lip. Makes a determined stab at the screen. Drops the phone in his pocket and waits.
“This is Hux.”
“Hi! Hux! It’s me. Kylo.”
There is a moment’s silence before Hux speaks, his voice sounding wary and hesitant. “Hello.”
“Yeah, uh, I just. Dunno. How are you?” If Kylo had any preconceived script of how this call would go it has all evaporated, leaving only echoing emptiness behind.
“Is there something I can do for you?”
“I. Uh.” This is not going well. “I just- I had a good time the other night. And I can totally pretend I’ve never heard of you before that if you prefer.”
Hux huffs a breath on the other end of the line and Kylo shivers at the sound. “I had a good time, too. I really did.”
“Come have lunch with me?”
“I’m sorry -”
“You’re busy.” Kylo doesn’t bother to hide the disappointment in his voice. “Are you really that embarrassed for calling the wrong number? Or for blowing me?”
“What? No! Of course not.”
Kylo scowls at the studio in general. “Why, then?”
There’s no answer. Kylo sighs in defeat, his shoulders slumping. “All right. I can take the hint. I won’t bother you again. Take care.”
He disconnects the call before Hux has time to answer. He tilts his head, appraising the canvas from a new angle. The sketch is all sharp lines and overwhelming feel of urgency, and he already knows how he’s going to blend the jet black and the blood red.
****
Hux picks up his phone, puts it back down again and picks it up after a minute’s fret. He sips his whiskey and looks out of the window into the darkness of the night and turns his back on the kitchen counter where the damned phone mocks him with its existence. Rain patters against the window, running down the glass in narrow, winding rivulets. HIs own reflection glares back at him, disappointed in his uncharacteristic dithering over a simple matter.
He turned Kylo down. Twice. So where does all this regret come from? Yes, the man was a good lay, insofar as Hux can deduce from a storage room quickie, and he is quite handsome in an unconventional way with his wide mouth and broad shoulders and expressive eyes and there’s no need to bring up his hands yet again, that only leads to inadvisable moments with his hand on his cock and eyes screwed shut. Hux tries to imagine Kylo’s chest instead. It makes things worse.
But.
Every time he remembers Kylo he also remembers the humiliation of being stood up, even after all these weeks. That makes him feel stupid and not in control of his emotions and indeed his life, so really, there should be no conflict regarding his decisions.
He twirls the amber liquid in the tumbler in his hand.
His phone is just an arm’s reach away.
He picks it up, unlocks it and scrolls through his contact list.
He takes a deep breath and lifts the phone to his ear.
****
“Yeah, babe? You know what I’m gonna do?” Kylo nudges the pillows supporting his back into a better position and shuffles back on his bed. He’s leaning against the headboard, dressed in nothing but his sleep shorts, his hair pulled back in a messy bun. It’s gone noon and he’s just gotten up, diverted from his path to the bathroom by his phone ringing.
Hux groans at the other end. “Kylo, it’s broad daylight! You can’t be doing what I think you’re doing!”
“What’s that, babe?” Kylo purrs into the phone. “Tell me what it is you think I’m doing right now.”
“For goodness’ sake! I’m at work!” Hux actually sounds scandalized.
“You’re the one that called me,” Kylo reminds him gently, swinging his legs off the bed and scratching his side.
“Ah. Yes. I did. But still, some decorum -”
“All right, all right,” Kylo cuts him off. “I was about to take a shower and shave, in fact. I can’t help it if you’ve got a dirty mind.”
“Shave? Have you been sleeping this long? Are you a teenager?”
Kylo yawns loudly, just to make a point. “No, but I am an artist. I was working late.”
“Right. I should let you back to your morning.”
“Babe. I always have time for you.”
“Still. My lunch is over, anyway.” Kylo can already hear Hux distancing himself from the intimacy of the phone call, his voice getting the sharp, cold edge he uses at work. It sometimes carries long into his conversations with Kylo, only easing away when Kylo deploys his softest voice and sultriest words.
He bid Hux goodbye and tosses the phone on his bed, gets up and stretches his hands high above his head, grimacing at the audible pops his spine makes. He pads into the shower, discarding his shorts into the laundry basket and steps into the cubicle. He turns the water on and sets it as hot as he can stand. This has to be the oddest relationship he’s ever entered, and he has had some strange and downright dangerous arrangements in his youth, before he found some sort of balance and a good, thick-skinned therapist.
He hadn’t been that surprised when Hux had called him a month ago after rejecting him, he wasn’t the first to do so and Kylo knows he’s an acquired taste. But he’s been surprisingly patient with Hux’s constant avoidance of meeting face-to-face. The obvious excuses keep mounting up, but he picks up when Hux calls and keeps calling Hux himself, at odd hours, in the middle of a creating frenzy, barely letting Hux get a word in the edgeways as he pours fragmented sentences and half-coherent ideas into his ear. He can tell Hux’s moods apart by the strength of his on-again-off-again Irish accent apparent in his voice. He knows when Hux needs a break from his spiraling self-deprecating thoughts, knows that if he calls Hux at 5.45 am precisely he’ll be more than amenable to a bout of vigorous and mutual jerking off and also that he has probably told Hux more of his life and history than anyone else, bar his therapist.
He knows that Hux has a cat, that he lives downtown, in a top floor apartment of some flashy newbuild in a sought-after post code – unlike Kylo who’s quite proud to inhabit a loft in what used to be a rope factory and therefore has more than enough space for his projects without having to commute between his studio and his home. Besides, he likes the crumbling brickwork and the slightly haunted atmosphere of hipsters past, this neighborhood long ago having lost its trendsetting status. Hux has a father he doesn’t get along with, something that he shares with Kylo, although something tells him there’s much more to that story Hux hasn’t told him yet, and that he has a stepmother he’s indifferent towards and birthmother and possibly a brother he falls silent about every time Kylo broaches the subject.
Ah. What would the world be like without dysfunctional families?
He leans his head back, letting the hot water wash away the last remnants of sleep. He wonders idly how he’s managed to get himself involved in a long-distance relationship with someone who lives in the same city as him.
****
Hux slows the treadmill down and stops it. He wipes his face in the small towel he had draped over the handrail and drinks greedily from his water bottle. For once his mind is blissfully empty, not even the hit music mix blasting from the gym’s PA system manage to irritate him. He steps down, rolling his shoulders and neck, relishing in the way drops of sweat roll down his neck and back. He contemplates making a detour at the freeweight corner before heading to the showers, takes five steps in that direction and nearly drops his bottle and towel in shock.
It can’t be.
There’s a tall, large man with dark hair doing a combination of squats and an overhead presses with a kettlebell clutched in each hand. Hux, to his eternal shame, ducks behind a corner and tries not to look like a creep while craning his neck to see the man’s reflection from the large mirror on the opposite wall. The man has his hair pulled into a messy bun to the top of his head, but his nose and ears are unmistakably Kylo’s. The button-down and jeans he wore on the night they met did very little to hide the width of his shoulders and the shape of his legs but Hux is completely unprepared for the truth revealed to him by Kylo’s gym shorts and loose, sleeveless top. He ogles, eyes bulging and cheeks pinking, worrying the towel in his hands and forgetting to breathe. Kylo’s legs are powerful , muscles bulging and shifting as they lift his bulk from a low squat to his full height, feet planted firmly to the ground, the rhythm of his movements never faltering. Hux can see his sides widening and contracting in time with his steady breathing, tries not to imagine wrapping his arms around Kylo’s midsection, pressing his chest against the strong back, or maybe they would be face to face, so that Kylo could return the hug, and Hux would never want to leave the embrace of those massive arms and beautiful hands, now lifting the heavy kettlebells effortlessly high above his head, his entire body straightening and seeming unstoppable and unshakeable. There are a few strands of his hair sticking to the side of his neck and Hux wants to walk over and gently brush them free -
A loud giggle jolts him awake from his daydream. Two young women walk past him carrying yoga mats, the other showing something from her phone to the other. They laugh again, delighted, and continue towards the yoga studio at the back of the gym. Hux shakes himself and slinks to the dressing room before he can make a total fool of himself. He doesn’t dare to take a shower here, partly because he can’t be sure when Kylo will finish his routine but mostly because he’s nursing a semi and changing into his regular clothes is mortifying enough as it is.
In the end he crams his running shoes and his clean clothes into his gym bag, throws his coat over his sweat-soaked gym garments and with his car keys in his hand bolts out of the gym and down the stairs to the garage like a wilderbeast running from a lion.
In the safety of his own home and his own shower he lets himself panic properly. He’s sure Kylo did not see him, otherwise he’d have let Hux know he’d been spotted. He’s well aware he could have gone over himself, to exchange how-do-you-do's or handjobs in his car, whatever it is that people do in these circumstances. He doesn’t know why he ran. He does know that what he did was not sane, on any level, and that he’s been stupid to let himself get this deeply involved with Kylo, even though their relationship has been conducted via phone thus far and Kylo has been remarkably patient with his oddities.
He can manage himself when Kylo is only a voice on the phone and an image in his head. It’s not like he’s in a real relationship then. The flesh and blood, solid, living proof that Kylo is a human being and that he’s real hit him hard.
He knows should grow a pair and end this stupid charade before Kylo sees him for what he truly is and does it for him. It’ll hurt less this way.
****
“What?” Kylo’s fingers are going numb and his skin is tingling. A roar fills his ears, and his heart is jackhammering in his chest. “Run that by me again.”
He did hear what Hux said. Heard him loud and clear but is having trouble understanding the words. Or rather, the reason behind the sentences he just had delivered to his unbelieving ear.
“I just feel that we’re- we’re not compatible. We should - “
“Yes I heard what you said. Why, Hux? Why now?”
“I- “ Hux hesitates. Kylo can hear it in his voice, the uncertain wavering, the way he forces himself to speak. “It’s just. This isn’t working.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“I- “
There is a sudden wave of fury crashing over Kylo. “Why are you such an asshole, Hux?”
“I beg your pardon!” Hux has no right to sound so affronted. He’s the one who started this in the first place.
“You string me on with for, what, a couple of months with your calls and promises and shit and now you just decide you’ve had enough? You don’t get to do that. You fucking don’t get to do that. Not to me.”
“Kylo -”
“Don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare, Hux!” Kylo screams. There’s a stack of sketches on a side table. He grabs them, crushing the thick paper in his fist, and throes them to the floor. “Fuck you!”
“Enough.” Hux has that sharp edge to his voice again, and something else, too, as if he’s holding back some emotional outburst. Kylo is beyond caring. “Enough!”
They both fall silent, drawing shuddering breaths.
“We need to stop doing this, Kylo.” Hux says, all sensible now, as if talking to an obtuse underling. “You must understand this.”
Kylo glares, seeing nothing. In his mind a storm is rising and he’s unable to stop it now. “Fuck you,” he snarls once more, disconnects the call and throws the phone into the brick wall so hard it shatters. He paces around his flat like a caged animal, then grabs his keys and leaves, slamming the door on his way out. He intends to run as far as his legs can carry him and only return when he’s too tired to cause damage to his work.
He’s three blocks away when he realizes he didn’t take his wallet with him but it’s probably for the best as otherwise he’d just march into the nearest pub and end up arrested.
Fuck me, he thinks. It shouldn’t be possible to anyone get under your skin after one admittedly mind-blowing blow job and a handful of calls.
Stupid, really.
So he keeps on running.
*****
Hux slides his desk drawer open, closes it and opens it again after three seconds’ worth of agonized dithering. He rummages through the contents until his fingers close around a rectangular piece of paper. He rolls his lips and holds his breath, as if the paper could suddenly explode in his grip. He draws it out, places it on his desk and absolutely refuses to look at it.
It contains Kylo’s address, which he had Phasma to find out along with a cursory overlook on his past – Hux tried telling her it was not for his control issues, only an expression of common sense. She had merely raised one perfect eyebrow at him and handed over a slim dossier. There really wasn’t anything there Kylo hadn’t already told or at least hinted at during their nightly conversations but Hux felt better holding the papers in his hand.
Fifteen minutes later he had felt like shit and stuffed the cardboard binder in his top desk drawer, with the full intention of feeding the lot through a shredder as soon as possible and never mention it ever again to anyone.
Obviously, he hadn’t gotten around to do it and so was in possession of Kylo’s home address.
He gnaws his bottom lip, pushing the paper in a circle over the polished desktop, trying to make up his mind.
“Just go there, kiss and make up.” Phasma leans back on her chair, the one Hux has placed in front of his desk and deliberately set low enough to make even his lanky frame appear more intimidating. In Phasma’s case, the cheap tactic fails miserably. As far as Hux is aware, she’s not intimidated by anything or anyone, with the possible exception of her slip of a girlfriend.
“You make it sound so easy. You forget it was me who broke up with him.”
Phasma rolls her eyes. “Like that would matter. You’re miserable and a terror to be around. Even your cat thinks so.”
“I thought in this line of work it’d only be of advantage. And you know nothing of cats. Millie is perfectly happy.”
“There are limits to everything, Hux,” she says, her voice surprisingly gentle. “You seemed more balanced and whatever passes for happy in that twisted mind of yours when you were with this guy. Go apologize to him. Grovel. Offer to perform unspeakable things upon his person. If he kicks you out, I will take you to a bar crawl like you’ve never seen before and we’ll curse his existence together. But go. I’m asking as a friend.”
Hux does not need this. His chest tightens and his eyes sting, and all he can do is to nod and not look at her. He hears her sigh, and then the chair creaks as she gets up and walks towards the office door. “Go,” she repeats before slipping silently through the doorway.
Hux glances at the paper still trapped under his index finger and abruptly draws his hand back, as if burned. He sniffs and stares into nothing for a second, the with great determination pushes all thoughts of Kylo out of his head and focuses back to work. Important things must not be delayed.
An hour and forty-five minutes later he’s standing in a dimly lit stairwell of an old industrial building before a steel door with grey paint peeling from it in sad, large clumps, feeling decidedly out of place in his sharp suit and wondering if he should have stopped to buy flowers on his way over. That’s what people do in these circumstances, don’t they? He regrets not figuring out what he’s going to say, regrets listening to Phasma, this entire sorry affair.
He raises his hand to knock, thinks better of it and turns to leave. He’s two steps down when the door slams open and Kylo appears, brandishing a baseball bat and screaming.
“Get the fuck outta here or I’ll - Hux? Shit, sorry, don’t go, shit, Hux. Hux! Wait!”
Hux freezes and flattens himself against the wall, eyes wide and heart beating out of his chest. Kylo throws the bat aside. It falls down the stairs, the loud clatter echoing from the dirty white brick walls.
“I guess I deserved that,” Hux says, smiling faintly and trying to gauge the depth of Kylo’s anger. He doesn’t seem furious, only wary, stuffing his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans and eyeing Hux from head to toe. He’s barefoot and shirtless, his hair a messy crow’s nest atop his head. Hux stares his paint-stained fingers. That seems the safest part of his body to focus on.
“No,” Kylo says. “Well, yes, sorta. But I didn’t know it was you. I’ve been having trouble with these kids who think the place is abandoned and - anyway. Come on in.” He gestures towards the open door behind him. Hux follows him into the cavernous apartment, all open space and large windows, with only a carved wood screen to separate the sleeping area from the rest of the space. Kylo has music playing, some old, scratchy recording by a singer long since forgotten. Hux isn’t sure what he expected but it’s not this modern, sleek and minimalistic décor. There seems to be only two other doors besides the one Kylo’s closing behind them. One Hux guesses is the bathroom, the purpose of the other escapes him as Kylo obviously doesn’t believe in bedrooms.
“My studio,” Kylo says, noticing Hux looking and nods towards the mystery door. “I don’t like to waste time commuting.”
Hux doesn’t know what to say to that, so he nods, still feeling dumb for showing up at all.
“Did I interrupt your work?” he asks, once again taking in Kylo’s dirty hands and disheveled appearance.
Kylo shrugs. “Doesn't matter,” he says when Hux starts to apologize. “I can pick it up later.”
Thay stand there in awkward silence, Kylo with his hands in his pockets and Hux scratching his fingernails against the palms of his hands until he forces himself to stop, clears his throat to mask his fidgeting and feels even more anxious. “I- “ he begins. Draws a breath. Tries again. “I came to apologize for my behaviour.”
“Oh?” Kylo tilts his head but does not react in any other way.
“Yes. It was irresponsible and immature of me to – to do what I did. And for that I apologize.”
Kylo narrows his eyes at him. “Are you sorry for breaking up with me or are you sorry for what we had?”
Hux slumps down on Kylo’s black sofa, uninvited, and buries his face in his hands. He rubs his cheeks and runs his fingers through his hair, not being able to muster the energy to care about his ruined coiffure. “I don’t know,” he confesses. “I mean, I’m not sorry that I met you, and I’m not sorry for the gallery. I guess – I guess I couldn’t give you what you wanted.”
“Did you ever ask what I wanted? Or did you just draw assumptions?” Kylo’s tone is carefully neutral, but Hux can hear the simmering emotion underneath. Irritation. Anger. And something else he can’t quite decipher. “You say you strung me along – and you did, yes, but at least give me the credit of being capable of deciding for myself who I want to be tethered to.”
Hux wrinkles his nose and lifts his gaze to Kylo’s face. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
“I don’t think I tethered you in any way.”
“That’s entirely your loss. I look exquisite trussed up.” He grins at Hux. “And you look cute when you’re flustered.”
Kylo pads to the other side of the room where his laptop is perched on a small sideboard and presses a button. The music rises in volume. It’s an old tango, a classic tune which Hux ought to be able to recognize. Kylo walks to him now, in confident, sweeping strides and extends his hand.
“Dance with me.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I know you are. But you didn't come here to break up with me all over again. Come on. Take my hand.”
Hux blinks up at him in confusion, but eventually takes the offered hand. Kylo pulls him up, and to his body, wrapping one strong arm around his waist, engulfing the entirety of Hux’s palm with his other hand.
“I don’t know how-” Hux stammers, already out of breath at Kylo’s proximity.
“Right foot back,” Kylo says and is already moving forwards, gently pushing Hux to take the first step, and then another. His body is warm and solid and so very alive under Hux’s touch. He can smell the sweat and the paint and the remnants of Kylo’s cologne, feel his muscles move under the soft skin, and the beginnings of his interest growing at his crotch. He’s a growing tide, an unstoppable force and all Hux can do is to move with him, take one step after another, backwards and to his side, again and again, to the sway of the music. Kylo’s nose presses against his temple and his hot breath ghosts over Hux’s skin.
Hux is overwhelmed and helpless in the face of Kylo’s desire, but this time he doesn’t balk and snarl but lets himself be swept away with the tide.
*****
Kylo wakes up in the early hours of the morning. It’s the height of summer and the bright, yellow light of sunrise won’t let him sleep any longer. He swings his legs from the bed, starts towards the bathroom but swerves to the kitchen at the last moment, to get the coffee started. He stretches and yawns, trying to locate pants of any description to put on. He takes his time with his morning ablutions and manages to find sweatpants that pass his perfunctory sniff test. He surmises the coffee is done and follows the enticing scent to its source.
“Good morning to you, too, Millie,” he whispers to the enormous orange cat who has hopped on the kitchen counter to headbutt him, purring like a broken chainsaw. “I’ll get you your food, don’t worry.”
He fills the cat’s bowl before pouring coffee for himself and takes the first sip leaning against the counter, looking out of the window and feeling at peace with the world. He considers his options, then grabs a sketchpad and a pencil and carries them and his coffee to his makeshift bedroom. He stashes the pencil behind his ear, balances the pad and his coffee cup in one hand to move a chair next to the bed and sits down carefully. The drinks half of the coffee while he considers angles and lighting, and once satisfied leans over to put the cup on the nightstand and takes the pencil from its perch, opening a fresh page on the sketchpad.
His coffee has gone cold when he looks up from his work. The sketch is all soft curves and the sense of slow awakening, his model still slumbering half burrowed in a blanket, his naked, long limbs relaxed, and his fiery red hair haloed by the sunlight. Kylo’s smile morphs into a grin as he crawls across the bed to nuzzle the sleeping man awake and is rewarded by a sleepy, indignant huff and a half-hearted swat which he dodges expertly.
“Morning,” Hux says once he’s blinked his eyes open and shuffled and squirmed until he’s turned to lie on his back under the cage of Kylo’s arms and legs.
“Morning,” Kylo murmurs, diving down for a kiss.