Chapter Text
Kylo stood in the shadow of the curtain, gazing at Hux’s tired face and trying to understand how they got there.
Now Chancellor Hux's hair was tinted with grey. His haughty features had their first wrinkles. Kylo knew them all better than he knew the maps of their Empire, better than he knew Sith and Jedi Codes, both of them be damned. He knew every flaw, every defect, every scar of this unbearable man. He had plenty of time to learn them all.
But Kylo remembered how it all started. Although with the mist of the years it was getting harder to grasp details. It had been Kylo’s idea. It must have been. He’d wanted Hux from the moment he’d seen him almost two decades ago — a stern general in an impeccable uniform, a glorious young prodigy everyone had been whispering about.
Kylo had wanted him. He’d wanted to control him, to destroy him, to get his respect, to be feared by Hux, to be wanted by Hux. All of that and everything else.
But that moment, in the throne room, when he had ordered Hux to kneel, when Hux had obeyed it hadn’t been about sex, only about dominance. Solely about it. Kylo, the newly crowned Supreme Leader of the First Order, had met Hux's eyes, a beautiful green full of hatred and disobedience. He remembered that utter feeling of losing as if he saw them only a moment ago.
Years had passed after it, but even now Kylo still wasn’t sure how they’d ended up in each other's arms that night. That didn't make any sense. In his memory Hux had stayed on his knees in front of Kylo's opulent throne, brazenly glaring at him, so Kylo had to fight the urge to put his lightsaber through his stupid arrogant, but handsome face. And in the next memory, Hux had been naked and pliant on his bed.
Their sex had also been about dominance.
About power. About debasement. But even back then, during their first time, Kylo hadn’t been sure who'd gotten more from it.
He’d been able to read Hux’s mind as clearly as a holo-letter. It'd been a well-structured holo-letter full of passive aggression, thinly veiled threats, and promises of destruction — potentially mutual destruction if it'd come to that. It hadn't helped. It hadn't stopped Kylo from craving more.
Their sex had been good.
Not good. Perfect. Wonderful. Mind-blowing. Better than fighting his enemies. Better than killing with the Force. Better than watching the deadly rays of the Starkiller. It hadn’t been good because of Hux’s skills. Not at all. With a weird gloat, Kylo had guessed that Hux had little, if any, experience before him. Kylo could have gotten a better lay in any spaceport, technique-wise. But it hadn’t been about technique, not about the holo-porn dirty talk or freaky poses.
It was about Hux.
It was about how surprisingly ready Hux’s body had been to accept him. How sweetly Hux’s mind had been trying to deny his own eagerness. How each time, when Hux had come with Kylo, because of Kylo, he’d chided himself for enjoying it. How his eyes had promised horrible and inevitable retribution, while Kylo had still been inside him. It was about how much Hux had needed it.
Then when did it all go that wrong?
Maybe, it'd gone wrong, when Kylo had spent way too much effort making Hux forget about the vengeance, covering his body with slow kisses? When Kylo enjoyed way too much that Hux was silently chanting his name inside his head like a kriffing prayer? When too tired and relaxed Kylo had stayed in Hux's quarters?
It hadn't been a problem. Kylo had been the Supreme Leader of the First Order, he could have stayed wherever he’d seen fit! That hadn’t been a big deal. They hadn’t been kids or heroes of a holo-romance, where every action holds a deeper meaning. It had been logical to stay there for the night. It had been fine to kiss Hux in the morning. Hux had been his, like the rest of the Order, and Kylo could have had him or kiss him whenever he’d seen fit!
Maybe, it'd gone wrong, when Kylo had started to spend most of the nights with Hux, even the nights when they hadn’t had sex? When he'd left his toiletries and his spare attire in Hux's room? When he'd inwardly referred to it as our room?
No, Kylo had been still in control back then.
Maybe he'd lost it, when Hux had had a nightmare, and he’d been muttering in his sleep, turning and tossing, and Kylo had been hugging him both in reality and in his dreams? Kylo had promised himself to mock Hux in the morning for it but he’d somehow forgotten to mention it.
Maybe when Hux had started speaking? And Kylo had listened? All his shocking theories for abetter life in the galaxy, his ideas about the military, but also his surprising knowledge of ancient art, and his unexpected passion for tasty food. Had there been any other creature to whom Kylo would have listened while they were giving a speech of different ways of frying fish and how it could influence fish's taste, structure, and looks?
Kylo's control had been slipping. That was for sure.
That had been painfully obvious one night when Hux had felt sick and Kylo had made him stay in bed and watch old holo shows together. It had been odd: Hux had laughed, asked questions about life in the New Republic, Kylo had explained, and they laughed even more.
Kylo had promoted him to Chancellor shortly after, gave Hux what he'd always wanted, and sent him away.
It hadn't been salvation, Kylo had hoped it'd have been. He'd found any pretext to visit Coruscant and Hux, or excuse to summon him. Over and over again.
The more Kylo had pushed Hux away the more he’d craved his company.
Suddenly Kylo had been sure that all of that'd have ended badly. That one night he would just project himself across the galaxy, over exhausting himself, just to see that foul ginger creature. Could one project themself in their sleep? Kylo hadn't known. But he'd been very close to finding out.
Kylo had run away. Nothing new. He had cut all the connections to the galaxy and the Force for one month. He’d meditated, fasted in an attempt to cure his body and mind. He’d lost weight, got a beard, and looked like a saint from old books.
And the revelation that’d come to him had been that he’d had to marry Hux.
For political reasons.
That had been what they'd told each other, after their passionate reunion. "Is it for political reasons?" Hux had had the impudence to ask. Kylo agreed as the worst coward.
Political reasons! Bonkers.
They had been marrying for damned, kriffing, and fucking political reasons, yet they'd mutually elected to keep their union secret.
"Because of our enemies," whispered Hux.
"Obviously." What else could have Kylo answered?
Had that marriage been the signing of Kylo's demise?
Or had it happened when he stopped reading Hux’s thoughts? He'd been too afraid what he could still see there, or too afraid of what hadn’t been there anymore.
Something that Kylo didn't have a name for. Something that he was afraid to name, even now, almost two decades after their first meeting in the hall of long destroyed Supremacy.
Kylo stood in the shadows and looked at Chancellor Hux, his love, his husband, his partner, his destiny, trying to understand.
He’d run away from Hux, couldn’t be with him, did the most dangerous missions himself, put his life in the line of fire, yet… he would come back there, back to Hux, to his chambers, to his bed, to the warmth of his body, to his perfect face and foul soul.
That was the only constant in Kylo’s life.