(Star Wars) Laid Out
Title: Laid Out
Fandom: Star Wars
Pairing: Kylo/Hux
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1634
Notes: Character spoilers for The Force Awakens. Spanking. For All Bingo, prompt "spanking", and a prompt at the Star Wars Kink Meme.
Summary: Kylo's presence marks Hux's mind, his hand marks Hux's ass.
Hux is lying facedown across Ren’s lap like an insolent child. His ears are already burning; there’s no escaping that this position is ungainly, undignified. If this is happening, and that is still an if because he’s not sure he’s going to allow it, Hux would actually rather be bent over a flat surface. Or perhaps on all fours, because offering himself up like a whore would still make him feel as if he had some modicum of control.
Ren yanks Hux’s pants down over his arse. There’s something faintly hysterical, like laughter or panic, bubbling in Hux's chest, because all he can focus on is the idea that his uniform will lose its carefully placed creases.
He tries to breathe slowly, because if nothing else Hux prides himself on control. Ren is the volatile one, never in charge of his emotions, always led by them. Hux won’t sink to that level, he won’t, but each breath feels more shallow and ragged than the last.
He’s already so hard.
Laid out like this, he can’t tell if Ren is still wearing his gloves. He’s not sure which would be better. Or, more accurately, worse. Ren’s still dressed, save that ugly helmet of his, the only nude skin between them the pale swell of Hux’s upturned arse. It’s absurd, the ridiculous tableau they must make, and the hysteria in him grows a little stronger.
Hux is sweating, he realises. There’s a single bead of perspiration rolling down from his hairline, sliding across the side of his face. If they’re to do this, he wishes Ren would get on with it and move.
But since he wants to cling desperately to his control, there needs to be honesty, with himself at least. There is no if, beyond a knee-jerk embarrassment at being spread out like a whelp in need of discipline. There’s no if, no question of whether he wants this, because he does, he absolutely does, and he hears the rustle of cloth as Ren finally raises his arm.
His ears grow redder; this certainly isn’t the first time Ren’s intruded on his private thoughts, but the idea that Ren’s been waiting for Hux to work his way through an instinctive denial to acceptance makes him feel as mortified as if he’d dropped to his knees and begged.
The flare of anger lasts only a moment before Ren’s hand falls across his arse with a loud crack. There’s no preparation, no warm-up - Ren clearly means to leave him bruised.
Hux grits his teeth, but it isn’t enough to stifle his gasp entirely. The skin instantly stings, heat flaring over his flesh in the shape of Ren’s palm. He has his answer to an earlier question; Ren has abandoned his gloves, his hands bare for this. Hux’s cock twitches, trapped between his stomach and Ren’s thighs, the coarser fabric of Ren’s trousers providing another conflicting sensation. His skin crawls, as if Ren is watching him everywhere all at once, as if Hux is a pinned insect to be studied intently.
Ren waits a beat, then another, until Hux is straining to hear the telltale shift of his sleeve, until he can’t hold back the thought that he’s waiting for it with eagerness, wanting it now, and that’s when the second slap lands. Ren’s hand strikes him higher, and Hux wants to push back at the invasion of his mind because he’s certain Ren is creeping around in his head still, listening, making Hux as complicit in this as possible. But he can’t concentrate on any attempt to evade Ren’s powers, the impact of Ren’s hand causing some sparking short-circuit in his head, brief but devastating.
He tries to shake it off, tries to claw back his composure. He shouldn’t be undone by this, not so quickly, so easily. Ren still waits before the next blow, but this time it doesn’t feel long enough, although there’s every chance it’s exactly the same length of pause. Hux’s hips buck at the next fall of Ren’s palm, dragging his cock down against Ren’s lap. He can feel himself leaking, and the hysteria makes itself known again in the thought that Ren’s laundry will be stained with Hux’s precome.
Ren spanks him again, harder this time. Hux can hear himself panting through his nose, jaw clenched up tight, stubbornly refusing to voice any of the noises that leap to his throat. He’s starting to recognise a rhythm now, but it’s deliberately slow, Ren waiting each time until Hux is itching for it, heart thundering in his chest. Ren hits him low across his arse, and Hux’s forehead presses down against the mattress, resisting the sudden inexplicable urge to rub his face against Ren’s sheets.
His arsehole clenches tellingly after every smack; he wants to be filled.
“Say it,” Ren murmurs, and the sudden sound of his voice makes Hux flinch.
He clenches his jaw even tighter, teeth grinding together.
Ren responds by abandoning his rhythm entirely. He smacks Hux hard and fast, four times in quick succession, the muscles in Hux’s thighs tensing and trembling as he struggles not to arch back into the barrage. His arse feels red-hot, the skin aflame under Ren’s palm. He wants to feel Ren’s hips snapping against him, aggravating the rapidly-forming bruises as he pounds Hux into the mattress.
“Say it,” Ren growls, sounding like he’s gritting his teeth just as hard as Hux.
He won’t stop until Hux gives him what he wants, because clearly it’s not enough to be indulged by the Supreme Leader - Ren expects it from him, too. Hux holds out for two more slaps, his cock rubbing through the wet patch he’s leaving on Ren’s clothes, his throat feeling shredded from every swallowed noise.
He swears he can taste Ren’s impatience, as thick in the air as the scent of sex. Maybe it’s his imagination, a sensation he’s conjured to make himself feel better about the fact that he’s inevitably going to allow Ren whatever he desires. But he also knows Ren, though he never planned to, knows Ren’s impetuousness, his hunger, knows the way it is always Ren who comes to him for this and not the other way around.
Hux isn’t fool enough to pretend that he doesn’t wait with his own brand of impatience for each time Ren demands his presence like the spoiled brat he is. But denying Ren, even if it means denying himself, is its own sense of power, so he rides out those two solid blows across his arse before he speaks the words.
“Fuck me, you bastard!”
He’s expecting Ren to haul him up instantly, to swing him around and push him facedown against the bed. Or maybe shove him from Ren’s lap to the floor, where they’ve fucked several times before when the bed felt too far away, an ache in Hux’s knees the next day to add to the swollen and used feeling of his arsehole.
Instead Ren pauses, the pads of two fingers trailing from Hux’s tailbone to the cleft of his arse, but not going lower, not pushing down between his cheeks where Hux’s hole is twitching for them.
“No,” Ren mutters eventually, sounding distracted. “No, I think you can wait.”
Hux tries to push up on his hands, a snarl already on his lips. “You son of a -”
He’s cut off by another slap across his arse, Ren moving so quickly that Hux doesn’t even register it, let alone have time to brace himself. His insult turns into a groan, raw and wracked with need and utterly humiliating, his body slumping, cock throbbing, face pushing back down against the bed.
Ren hits him again. Hux’s mouth is still open, he can’t seem to shut it, and another shameful noise escapes him. His fingers pull uselessly at the sheets, hips working, grinding himself forward, sweat stinging at his eyes.
“I think you can wait,” Ren says again. Hux can feel the presence of him, lurking at the corners of his mind. “You want to get fucked.” Two quick smacks, and Hux manages to click his teeth together, but it’s only muffling the noises he’s making, not stopping them. “But more than that,” Ren continues, his voice deadly, “I don’t think you want this to stop.”
And heaven help him, Ren’s right. Hux wants more of this pain, this pleasure, this punishment, wants Ren to leave him so marked up he won’t be able to sit right for days. He wants to know if he could come from this.
“Could you?” Ren hisses.
Hux has no idea, but his balls draw up in response to the urgency in Ren’s voice. He imagines it, spilling over Ren’s lap, Ren spanking him through it as he rocks and moans, arse burning under his hand. Imagines Ren fucking him after, when Hux is boneless and weak from orgasm, body pliant beneath Ren’s considerable size. Knees pushed up to his chest, and without the demanding need to come there’ll be nothing to distract him from the way it will feel when Ren’s pelvis shoves against his bruised arse.
“You could,” Ren whispers, sounding less like he’s plucked the thought from Hux’s head, although Hux has no doubt Ren’s deep in his mind and seeing everything, and more like he’s reached his own decision.
“Make me,” Hux spits back, a challenge, a goad, an invitation.
He can’t see Ren’s face, but he can picture that rare smile, small and cruel and taunting. Hux spreads his legs, holding on to the sheets in a white-knuckled grip. Ren scarcely does as he’s told, but Hux already knows Ren will have no trouble following this particular order, and the ringing slaps across his arse that begin to fall faster, nastier, merciless, prove him right.
Fandom: Star Wars
Pairing: Kylo/Hux
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1634
Notes: Character spoilers for The Force Awakens. Spanking. For All Bingo, prompt "spanking", and a prompt at the Star Wars Kink Meme.
Summary: Kylo's presence marks Hux's mind, his hand marks Hux's ass.
Hux is lying facedown across Ren’s lap like an insolent child. His ears are already burning; there’s no escaping that this position is ungainly, undignified. If this is happening, and that is still an if because he’s not sure he’s going to allow it, Hux would actually rather be bent over a flat surface. Or perhaps on all fours, because offering himself up like a whore would still make him feel as if he had some modicum of control.
Ren yanks Hux’s pants down over his arse. There’s something faintly hysterical, like laughter or panic, bubbling in Hux's chest, because all he can focus on is the idea that his uniform will lose its carefully placed creases.
He tries to breathe slowly, because if nothing else Hux prides himself on control. Ren is the volatile one, never in charge of his emotions, always led by them. Hux won’t sink to that level, he won’t, but each breath feels more shallow and ragged than the last.
He’s already so hard.
Laid out like this, he can’t tell if Ren is still wearing his gloves. He’s not sure which would be better. Or, more accurately, worse. Ren’s still dressed, save that ugly helmet of his, the only nude skin between them the pale swell of Hux’s upturned arse. It’s absurd, the ridiculous tableau they must make, and the hysteria in him grows a little stronger.
Hux is sweating, he realises. There’s a single bead of perspiration rolling down from his hairline, sliding across the side of his face. If they’re to do this, he wishes Ren would get on with it and move.
But since he wants to cling desperately to his control, there needs to be honesty, with himself at least. There is no if, beyond a knee-jerk embarrassment at being spread out like a whelp in need of discipline. There’s no if, no question of whether he wants this, because he does, he absolutely does, and he hears the rustle of cloth as Ren finally raises his arm.
His ears grow redder; this certainly isn’t the first time Ren’s intruded on his private thoughts, but the idea that Ren’s been waiting for Hux to work his way through an instinctive denial to acceptance makes him feel as mortified as if he’d dropped to his knees and begged.
The flare of anger lasts only a moment before Ren’s hand falls across his arse with a loud crack. There’s no preparation, no warm-up - Ren clearly means to leave him bruised.
Hux grits his teeth, but it isn’t enough to stifle his gasp entirely. The skin instantly stings, heat flaring over his flesh in the shape of Ren’s palm. He has his answer to an earlier question; Ren has abandoned his gloves, his hands bare for this. Hux’s cock twitches, trapped between his stomach and Ren’s thighs, the coarser fabric of Ren’s trousers providing another conflicting sensation. His skin crawls, as if Ren is watching him everywhere all at once, as if Hux is a pinned insect to be studied intently.
Ren waits a beat, then another, until Hux is straining to hear the telltale shift of his sleeve, until he can’t hold back the thought that he’s waiting for it with eagerness, wanting it now, and that’s when the second slap lands. Ren’s hand strikes him higher, and Hux wants to push back at the invasion of his mind because he’s certain Ren is creeping around in his head still, listening, making Hux as complicit in this as possible. But he can’t concentrate on any attempt to evade Ren’s powers, the impact of Ren’s hand causing some sparking short-circuit in his head, brief but devastating.
He tries to shake it off, tries to claw back his composure. He shouldn’t be undone by this, not so quickly, so easily. Ren still waits before the next blow, but this time it doesn’t feel long enough, although there’s every chance it’s exactly the same length of pause. Hux’s hips buck at the next fall of Ren’s palm, dragging his cock down against Ren’s lap. He can feel himself leaking, and the hysteria makes itself known again in the thought that Ren’s laundry will be stained with Hux’s precome.
Ren spanks him again, harder this time. Hux can hear himself panting through his nose, jaw clenched up tight, stubbornly refusing to voice any of the noises that leap to his throat. He’s starting to recognise a rhythm now, but it’s deliberately slow, Ren waiting each time until Hux is itching for it, heart thundering in his chest. Ren hits him low across his arse, and Hux’s forehead presses down against the mattress, resisting the sudden inexplicable urge to rub his face against Ren’s sheets.
His arsehole clenches tellingly after every smack; he wants to be filled.
“Say it,” Ren murmurs, and the sudden sound of his voice makes Hux flinch.
He clenches his jaw even tighter, teeth grinding together.
Ren responds by abandoning his rhythm entirely. He smacks Hux hard and fast, four times in quick succession, the muscles in Hux’s thighs tensing and trembling as he struggles not to arch back into the barrage. His arse feels red-hot, the skin aflame under Ren’s palm. He wants to feel Ren’s hips snapping against him, aggravating the rapidly-forming bruises as he pounds Hux into the mattress.
“Say it,” Ren growls, sounding like he’s gritting his teeth just as hard as Hux.
He won’t stop until Hux gives him what he wants, because clearly it’s not enough to be indulged by the Supreme Leader - Ren expects it from him, too. Hux holds out for two more slaps, his cock rubbing through the wet patch he’s leaving on Ren’s clothes, his throat feeling shredded from every swallowed noise.
He swears he can taste Ren’s impatience, as thick in the air as the scent of sex. Maybe it’s his imagination, a sensation he’s conjured to make himself feel better about the fact that he’s inevitably going to allow Ren whatever he desires. But he also knows Ren, though he never planned to, knows Ren’s impetuousness, his hunger, knows the way it is always Ren who comes to him for this and not the other way around.
Hux isn’t fool enough to pretend that he doesn’t wait with his own brand of impatience for each time Ren demands his presence like the spoiled brat he is. But denying Ren, even if it means denying himself, is its own sense of power, so he rides out those two solid blows across his arse before he speaks the words.
“Fuck me, you bastard!”
He’s expecting Ren to haul him up instantly, to swing him around and push him facedown against the bed. Or maybe shove him from Ren’s lap to the floor, where they’ve fucked several times before when the bed felt too far away, an ache in Hux’s knees the next day to add to the swollen and used feeling of his arsehole.
Instead Ren pauses, the pads of two fingers trailing from Hux’s tailbone to the cleft of his arse, but not going lower, not pushing down between his cheeks where Hux’s hole is twitching for them.
“No,” Ren mutters eventually, sounding distracted. “No, I think you can wait.”
Hux tries to push up on his hands, a snarl already on his lips. “You son of a -”
He’s cut off by another slap across his arse, Ren moving so quickly that Hux doesn’t even register it, let alone have time to brace himself. His insult turns into a groan, raw and wracked with need and utterly humiliating, his body slumping, cock throbbing, face pushing back down against the bed.
Ren hits him again. Hux’s mouth is still open, he can’t seem to shut it, and another shameful noise escapes him. His fingers pull uselessly at the sheets, hips working, grinding himself forward, sweat stinging at his eyes.
“I think you can wait,” Ren says again. Hux can feel the presence of him, lurking at the corners of his mind. “You want to get fucked.” Two quick smacks, and Hux manages to click his teeth together, but it’s only muffling the noises he’s making, not stopping them. “But more than that,” Ren continues, his voice deadly, “I don’t think you want this to stop.”
And heaven help him, Ren’s right. Hux wants more of this pain, this pleasure, this punishment, wants Ren to leave him so marked up he won’t be able to sit right for days. He wants to know if he could come from this.
“Could you?” Ren hisses.
Hux has no idea, but his balls draw up in response to the urgency in Ren’s voice. He imagines it, spilling over Ren’s lap, Ren spanking him through it as he rocks and moans, arse burning under his hand. Imagines Ren fucking him after, when Hux is boneless and weak from orgasm, body pliant beneath Ren’s considerable size. Knees pushed up to his chest, and without the demanding need to come there’ll be nothing to distract him from the way it will feel when Ren’s pelvis shoves against his bruised arse.
“You could,” Ren whispers, sounding less like he’s plucked the thought from Hux’s head, although Hux has no doubt Ren’s deep in his mind and seeing everything, and more like he’s reached his own decision.
“Make me,” Hux spits back, a challenge, a goad, an invitation.
He can’t see Ren’s face, but he can picture that rare smile, small and cruel and taunting. Hux spreads his legs, holding on to the sheets in a white-knuckled grip. Ren scarcely does as he’s told, but Hux already knows Ren will have no trouble following this particular order, and the ringing slaps across his arse that begin to fall faster, nastier, merciless, prove him right.