Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sound of a muted scuffle outside the halls of his cell roused Hux from his half-dream state. He wasn’t sure what time it was—hardly ever did ever since they kept him in here, but he was sure it should’ve been a late hour.

Surely it couldn't be another one of Organa’s goons sent to interrogate him.

Unless it was one of those separatists that riddled the Rebellion’s ranks. The ones who foamed at the mouth over the idea of diplomacy and wanted Hux’s head on a platter. One of those bleeding hearts who thought calling him Starkiller was hurtful when the reality was that Hux took it with pride—like a badge of honor.

Maybe it was a coup to get their empty justice. But Hux’s death wasn’t going to right what they thought were wrongs. It wouldn’t give them the retribution they craved. They needed him alive to share a common enemy.

Without him, they’d soon come to realize how disorganized and unfeasible their proposals for government truly were and it’d incite chaos among their ranks. It wouldn’t be long before they cannibalized their own.

They pathetically pushed ideals of life without hierarchy but it’s the very thing that maintains peace. People are inherently selfish; no matter the case, there will always be someone who wants more.

Just like Hux did.

Just like he managed to achieve as he rose through the Order’s own ranks. All until that bastard Kylo Ren threw it all away after a child promised him softness despite the fact that he was an untrustworthy, destructive, sadist.

People like Kylo Ren—Ben Solo—as he called himself now, didn’t change just because others held the illusion that he could be tamed, appealed to. A person who could switch from one side to the other in the blink of an eye were the ones who were dangerous.

Hux would even argue they were more dangerous than a Starkiller.

The dark seed in Ben Solo was borne in him, it wasn’t created. The latter was an excuse people made to place blame. There is no nurture without nature in equal parts.

The sounds were outside his cell’s door now. He wouldn’t go down without a fight, of course. But the only fight he had in him was what he learned in his academy days and he very much doubted it’d hold against a blaster to the head. But at the very least, he wouldn’t show fear.

As he held his furious resolve on his face, he watched his cell door blast open to reveal… Ben Solo?

Hux felt a wave of fury at the sight of him.

“Hux,” he gasped then. Blood covered his robes: the light brown fabric splotched with deep crimson as he heaved. The lightsaber in his hand was a bright blue and it looked unnatural—wrong in the way that he held it tightly in his fist.

“Come to do it yourself, have you? I’m surprised your little Rebel friends aren’t with you, that they didn’t beat you to it. Doubt your mother would have been so difficult to persuade when it was her precious Ben Solo asking,” Hux spat.

Ben’s eyes looked wild; Hux’s heart almost skipped a beat with how much it reminded him of someone else.

“They don’t know I’m here.”

Hux snorted even as nervous adrenaline sped through his veins, “Typical.”

Ben stepped forward and paused when Hux braced himself against his better judgement.

Then, Ben stuck his hand out towards Hux, arm outstretched, “Let’s go.”

Hux shrunk back in his cot, hands clenching around the metal, “Just kill me here, Solo. I won’t be made more of a spectacle for your amusement.”

Ben furrowed his brows, a wave of emotions passed over his face: confusion, anger, indignation. “I’m not here to kill you, Hux. I’m here to help you escape. You and me. Together.”

And Hux found his mind suddenly, strangely, emptying of thought. It was almost dizzying. “What?” he breathed. This must've been a ploy.

Ben growled in frustration, arm still in the air between them, “I’m not trying to trick you. We have to go. Now. I sense more on the way.”

Hux’s heart raced as he licked his dry and chapped lips, “Why would you want to do that? I thought…”

“Because,” Ben seethed before he took a breath, head turning as if he could hear something in the distance, and then returned to Hux with hardened eyes, “you’re the only one who knows the truth.”

Hux had the question on the tip of his tongue before he stopped himself and let himself really look at the man before him. At the way a fire seemed to ignite behind his eyes, the way his boots held him up in a stance that readied him for a fight at any moment. He found his mouth watering suddenly, hopeful. Hungry.

“You’re Kylo Ren.”

Hux watched in quiet fascination as he nodded his head, and found his own lips pulling up into a slow answering grin at the sight.

The sounds of running boots and voices sounded from somewhere farther in the building but they were coming nearer.

Hux lifted his arm tentatively between them.

Then felt an electric thrill crawl up his spine when Kylo Ren’s hand grasped his own tightly, and tugged.

Chapter Text

“Beg for me.”

Kylo Ren pulse quickens at the sight of Hux standing over the junior officer. Kylo didn’t catch his name and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he was the originator of a rumor about Hux that has been passing among the ship’s crew.

And Hux found out.

Never mind that the rumor is true and involves Kylo Ren himself.

“Wh— what?” The officer stutters. He’s clutching a blaster shot wound against his abdomen. Kylo can sense the effect of the blood-loss—how his fear and adrenaline is causing it to spill too quickly. If he doesn’t get medical attention soon, he’ll likely die from the injury.

But Hux doesn’t seem inclined to let him leave all that soon.

Hux bends until he’s eye-level to the officer, “I said: beg. for. me.”

“I—”

Kylo Ren smirks as the officer looks to him in terror. He crosses his arms across his chest to show he doesn’t plan to intervene. Wouldn’t even if he wanted to. Not when Hux is like this.

No, this is treat.

Hux radiates cold fury and his eyes almost seem to glow as his hands sit at his back, warm blaster still held tightly in one of them.

The officer swallows as he grunts in pain, “Please… please, General Hux. I didn’t mean to offend you when I told people those things—I don’t even really believe you and the Supreme Leader—”

Hux interrupts him, “What Kylo Ren and I do behind closed doors is hardly your concern; in fact, you weren’t incorrect with your little rumor…” Hux smirks as he tilts his head in mock thought, “though the positions you implied are mostly reversed.” He looks at Kylo Ren before turning back to him, “for now.”

The officer’s mouth gapes open and Hux lifts his leg to give him a swift kick in the gut.

Hux stands, back straight as the officer doubles over to the ground. Kylo sees the blood getting thicker beneath him.

The officer coughs, presses his forehead against the floor, and wheezes, “Please. I’m sorry. I’ll tell everyone I made it up. Please—I can’t—I can’t feel my limbs anymore. Please. I’m begging you, don’t kill me.” His voice trails off as he begins to hyperventilate.

Hux sighs and turns to Kylo Ren as if disappointed. He contemplates something for a moment and then rolls his eyes in disgust with another sigh.

He gestures his head to Kylo’s lightsaber, “Seal the wound, I’ll call for someone to drag him to the medbay.”

Kylo nods his head once as Hux turns away and pulls out his comm.

Kylo Ren steps over to the shaking officer and pushes his foot against his shoulder until the officer topples to his uninjured side.

Then he activates his lightsaber.

He sees the way the officer tenses and tries to turn to Kylo Ren, pleading “Supreme Leader, I’m so sorry, please—”

Kylo bends his knees as he shushes him. His voice is soft, but cruel, “I almost wish Hux would’ve killed you so I could suck him off next to your dead body, but…” he shrugs, “Hux hates having to spend more resources than necessary training replacements.”

Before the officer can respond, he presses his lightsaber against the front of the wound and closes his eyes in satisfaction when his screams fill the room. He does the same to the other side and when the officer goes silent and still, Kylo inspects his mind.

He’s not dead.

He’ll make it.

Barely.

Then he lifts his hand and channels the Force towards the vacant thoughts and removes the memory of his and Hux’s words.

He replaces them with something far more menial, but retains the officer’s own promise of telling others that he made up the rumor. He’ll also believe the blaster shot to have been a self-inflicted accident, but he’ll know he was interrogated by them.

It’s simple and boring and Kylo would rather leave it all in place, but Hux would be angry with him and Kylo Ren has grown rather fond of sharing his bed as of late.

When he feels the suggestions take root, he rises back to his feet and extinguishes his saber.

Hux’s steps sound from behind him, “Done?” His blaster is back to being concealed under his coat. Kylo Ren wants to run his fingers over the outline of it, but he refrains. 

Kylo turns his eyes to his and then nods.

Hux smirks, “Good.” He makes to step away and angles his head towards the opposite doors, “My quarters or yours?”

Kylo catches Hux’s mental image of them sticky with sweat and come against dark sheets.

“Mine,” he replies then.

“Lead the way.”

Chapter Text

Clyde was nearly done closing up the bar when Stensland burst through the door, “Clyde, come quick!”

He disappeared back outside and it took Clyde one second to process, and then one more second before he hopped over the bar and raced outside.

His heart pounded as he went out the door, expecting to see Stensland in trouble of some sort, but what he found instead was him grinning at him, arms extended to his sides before he exclaimed, “It’s snowing!”

When Clyde tilted his head up, he saw that it was, indeed, snowing.

He took a steadying breath and then another as he let that short-lived adrenaline cool down. “Scared me nearly half to death, darlin’. I thought somethin’ was wrong.”

Stensland’s eyes widened and he laughed, “Oh my god, I’m sorry Clyde,” he twirled on his feet, “but what could be wrong when it’s snowing?!”

Clyde sighed and shook his head. “Well, can’t reckon I got an answer to that one just yet.”

He then proceeded to watch Stensland continue to twirl as the snow descended down at their feet. Clyde could see the white flakes falling onto Stensland’s red hair and he couldn’t help but think it looked beautiful. But then again, Stensland always looked beautiful to him. He had that etherial type of look to him that always made Clyde’s stomach do funny somersaults.

Stensland then stopped his spins after a couple minutes, commenting that he was getting dizzy, but then tilted his head up to stick his tongue out.

A moment later, he gasped and turned to Clyde, “Look! I caught a snowflake in my mouth!”

Clyde chuckled as he stepped forward. He could see a small, melting piece of ice on Stensland’s tongue and he wrapped his arms around the small of his back before he bent his head a fraction to press his own tongue against the cool flake in a kiss.

Stensland hummed happily into his mouth as he brought his own arms around Clyde’s shoulders.

When Clyde pulled back, he smiled and reached for a loose strand of Stensland’s hair, letting a drop of snow melt between his fingers, as he looked at him, “It’s like you’re my own personal snow cone.”

After a pause, Stensland’s body shook as he threw his head back and let out a cackle.

Clyde loved it when he got to make him laugh. Whenever Stensland found something particularly funny, his whole body would get involved—it was ridiculously endearing and it made Clyde want to take his mouth in his again. So he did.

A chill over his arms reminded him he was only wearing a t-shirt and he sighed against Stensland’s lips, “How ‘bout we head home and I make us some pancakes to celebrate.”

Stensland’s eyes sparkled at that, “Late night pancakes—my favorite!” He gave Clyde’s cold cheek a kiss with his warm lips and grinned, “And we can’t forget lot’s of syrup! And maybe we can watch an episode or two of Dawson’s Creek?”

A few more tiny snowflakes fell over Stenland’s lashes and his own. He looked at the man in front of him with adoration and nodded, “Anythin’ you want, darlin’.”

Chapter Text

Ash doesn’t have memories like humans do; not in the same way, anyway—his memories came from a person who no longer was flesh and blood but continued to live through him.

He didn’t have hopes and dreams in the same way either—yes, he learned to want in ways that were for himself instead of others, but the concept of reflecting on a life that hasn’t come to pass yet was a strange thing to Ash.

He presses his temple against the bus window as the last passenger apart from himself has just stepped off.

Ash glances at the driver: Paterson. They’ve known each other for months now and Ash doesn’t believe it to be an exaggeration to say that he’s the best person he’s ever met.

When Ash had no longer been needed or wanted by his initial Administrator years ago, he expected that he would be returned to the factory where he was made, to be forgotten. He was surprised when he was given a plane ticket and bypass code (that he has always assumed was not standard procedure), to be detached from his activation point.

It had been strange at first, but he’s come to adapt fairly easily these days.

He has a job, which may not pay much, but considering Ash only truly needs money to pay for a place to stay and run maintenance on his system from time to time, it suits him fine. The small office where he works is under thirty minutes to drive by car, but current laws prohibit people like Ash to do so. But Ash doesn’t mind; in fact, he’s glad for it because that’s how he met Paterson.

Ash enjoys talking to him. Paterson has a lovely and quiet way to him that seems different to most people he’s encountered. He’s also never treated Ash any differently after he found out he wasn’t human.

There are a few things Ash knows about Paterson, like how he owns a dog that he inherited after his ex-wife and he separated ("sometimes it just happens, I guess," he had told Ash), how he loves poetry and writes some himself, how he looks at Ash as if he’s just as happy to see him as Ash is, and the way he sometimes blushes when their eyes lock over the bus’ rearview mirror.

“Do you think about the future, Paterson?” He asks now.

Paterson tilts his head towards where Ash is sitting adjacently to him in the first seat by the front bus doors, “Uh… well do you mean like the far future with flying cars and all that or a handful of years time?”

Ash considers this and realizes he didn’t know there could be more than one hypothetical, “Handful of years.”

Paterson nods as he turns a street corner, “Then sure, I guess so.”

“What types of things do you think about?”

Paterson hums as he realigns the bus from the turning lane, “I’d say maybe things like if I’ll still be doing this for work, if I’ll travel anywhere, if I’ll ever get married again—stuff like that.”

Ash isn’t sure why, but that last one bothers him somehow.

“How about you?” Paterson asks when he sees Ash just nod his head in acknowledgement through the mirror.

Ash shrugs even though Paterson doesn’t see him do it as he passes an empty bus stop, “That’s what I’m trying to figure out: what’s the point and what am I supposed to see?”

“Ah,” Paterson says then in quiet understanding. “You know, there’s a poem by this Irish poet named Louis MacNeice who writes about how when he was younger, he looked up at the stars in wonder of their brightness and then later, when he’s older, he thinks about it and says:

And this remembering now I mark that what
Light was leaving some of them at least then,
Forty-two years ago, will never arrive
In time for me to catch it, which light when
It does get here may find that there is not
Anyone left alive.”

Ash frowns, “What does that mean?”

Paterson pauses at a stop before he continues, “He meant that the starlight he saw forty-two years ago when he was a kid was a product of something long-gone, but was reaching him thousands or millions of years later. So any of the stars in his lifetime wouldn’t be visible until a far, distant future where he won’t be able to see it.”

“Seems grim.”

Paterson shrugs, “It could be, but it also shows us that our own existence is fleeting and the progression of time is inevitable—there’s beauty in living in the moment and one day you’ll be looking back at where you are now when you were too focused on something beyond your reach to appreciate it.”

“Still seems grim,” Ash laughs.

Paterson chuckles, “Fair enough. I guess the question I’m trying to get to is whether you can imagine seeing a future with something you’d like to see or have now.”

Ash thinks about it and there’s only one thing—one person he always wants to see, “I look at the future and all I see is you.”

He sees the way Paterson’s eyes widen and his cheeks bloom pink. Ash frowns, “I’m sorry, was that weird? Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“Um.”

“It was and I did.” Ash sighs, “I’m sorry.”

He’s relieved when he sees that they’ve arrived at his stop and he quickly stands.

Paterson stops Ash before he leaves, “No, Ash, please—it’s not weird, and…” he clears his throat, “it made me the opposite of uncomfortable.”

Ash lifts his brow, confused, “What do you mean?”

Paterson swallows as he looks away and back again, “I mean… well, if it’s something you’d be okay with, I might like to imagine a future with you, too.”

Ash’s eyes widen, “Really?”

“I mean one step at a time, but…” he smiles shyly, “yeah.”

Ash feels himself understanding something new, “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Andrew Henry wouldn’t say he’s a God-fearing man—not with all the things he’s seen out in the wilderness—both imagined and real—but he’s questioned whether a man could be tortured by both God and the Devil ever since he met Francisco.

Last person he ever thought he’d come to care about as much as he did was a Portuguese Jesuit priest he met at a trading camp who didn’t know a lick of English.

He’d overheard Francisco trying to barter with a man selling loaves of bread that looked just shy of being hard as rocks. The stall-owner had near looked exhausted trying to communicate that he had no interest in trading goods for prayers. Andrew didn’t even know why he interjected himself in their conversation, but he did all the same.

He didn’t know Portuguese, but he'd managed to learn himself some Spanish over the years which kept useful when expanding his trapping business. And the words coming out of the priest’s mouth sounded close enough to try, “Solo le interesa la plata,”¹ he’d said.

Francisco had turned to him in surprise and Andrew took a second to wonder if he’d been understood or if the language differences were too wide to make a difference, before he’d watch a wide-lipped smile cross his face, “¿Hablas Español?”²

When Andrew had nodded his head once, the man kept his smile in place as he spoke again, “Thanks be to God. I picked up the language myself during my early missionary days.” He’d stuck his hand into the pocket of his cassock and pulled out an array of coins before presenting them to Andrew, “Please, will you explain this currency?”

From that moment on, they ended up crossing paths two more times until Francisco deigned their serendipitous meetings as ‘God’s will.’ He took Andrew’s offer of letting him share his small cabin home for the winter duration until he was to be called away.

At the time, Andrew found himself thinking it was going to be a shame to say goodbye to the man he began to call his friend.

And now—now it felt like a piece of his sorry soul would be ripped away in a week’s time when Francisco was to go down further south where his Spanish skills would serve him well. 

And so here Andrew finds himself: kneeling by his bed, elbows resting against the down-stuffed mattress frame while his hands press together in prayer. He’s not sure if God grants things that he might call blasphemous—if the dreams he’s had since he and Fransisco shared a bed together under the pretense of a cold night, was anything to go by. But he was doing it anyway.

He had nothing else to lose. 

He’d just finished his prayer—his plead—when the cabin door opened up behind him. A gust of cold air swept in along with Francisco who quickly shut the door before turning to Andrew with a smile on his face and bundle of berries in his hand.

The smile faltered in question at the sight of Andrew. He’d been trying to get Andrew to pray with him for the better part of the time they’ve known each other and Andrew held back the urge to mutter ‘surprise.’ To play off how he felt with a joke.

To keep from admitting that the thought of not being able to gaze into those expressive eyes anymore had him kneeling like a child begging his father for something he knew he shouldn’t have.

To keep from kissing Francisco’s hands, cold from the harsh winter air and telling him, “I’d give up everything to be with you.”

But even though he doesn’t say any of that, Francisco still looks at him as if he has.

Francisco deposits the berries on their makeshift table, save for two that he palms in his hand as he makes his way to where Andrew is still helpless to rise to his feet.

He drops to his own knees gracelessly in front of him even if he’s anything but that to Andrew.

They stare at one another in silence. The wind has picked up outside and the cabin around them creaks under a howl of a current.

Andrew swallows and his heart aches when he sees Francisco track the movement with his eyes. When he lifts them towards his again, something sorrowful passes across his face.

Francisco then lifts his palm between them, displaying the two red berries pooled in the middle. Francisco picks up one with the fingers of his other hand and he waits for Andrew to do the same.

Then Francisco hovers the berry in front of Andrew’s mouth.

Andrew’s heart pounds in his chest as he opens his mouth, tongue pressing down, awaiting benediction.

Francisco’s breath hitches when his fingers sit against Andrew’s tongue—lets them linger before letting the berry sit and pulls his hand back.

Andrew’s own breaths pass through his nose loud enough that he can hear them when Francisco opens his mouth in front of him.

Lifting his hand to Francisco’s mouth, he drops the berry onto his tongue and bites back a groan when Francisco closes his lips over the retreating fingers, sucking the pads for just a second before letting them fall away.

The bittersweet juice bursts in his mouth as soon as he clenches his teeth over the soft body.

This time, he can’t help the small moan that escapes when Francisco closes his eyes in pleasure, knowing they are sharing the same taste in their mouth.

When Francisco opens his eyes again after gulping, he leans forward and presses his lips against Andrew’s forehead. Then, he bends his head, pressing a kiss to the middle of Andrew’s chest, before pressing one on each of Andrew’s shoulders.

He hesitates as he sits back up and Andrew feels his body shaking from keeping still.

At last, Francisco hovers his lips against Andrew’s and presses his words against them, “Me too.”

Chapter Text

The crash of containers that he and Techie use as makeshift storage, is loud enough that it’s almost gratifying to his ear’s.

That is, until Techie’s voice sounds out behind him in fright, “Matt!”

Matt turns around, wincing over the fact that he didn’t hear Techie come in.

“Why’d you do that for?” Techie asks, hands clamped over the hair that falls down his neck.

Matt has the presence to try to look ashamed, “Sorry, Techie. I’m just—I needed to let out some of my frustrations since I can’t do that in the karking training room because those Hutt-spawns I work with are jealous they can’t bench-press as much as I can. So they try to throw stupid insults about me about my hair or glasses, or—” he feels the fury pulse through his body again and pulls hard at his hair for a moment until it stings, before he kicks some of the containers on the ground.

“Matt!” Techie yells again.

Matt balls his hands into fists, closes his eyes and sighs.

“You know I don’t like when you do that,” Techie begins. His voice is stern but hesitant, “It scares me and I know you’d never hurt me even on accident but that doesn’t mean you should hurt yourself, either. How would you like it if I did that to myself?”

Opening his eyes quickly, Matt looks at Techie. His hands are halfway towards Matt like he’s not sure if he wants to comfort him or not, but his lips are pressed in a hard line.

Matt moves to pull Techie in a hug at that, burying his face in his neck when Techie let’s out surprised gasp from the motion, “I’m sorry, Techie.”

He sniffles and hides the sound by rubbing his face against Techie’s soft, cool skin, “You’re right. And for the record, seeing you hurt yourself would hurt me a kajillion times more. I’m just tired.”

Techie’s arms wrap around Matt’s back and Matt feels himself melt into the touch with a sigh. “What can I do, Matt? How can I help you?”

“You can’t help me. You’re the reason I’m stuck here in the first place.” He murmurs dejectedly. And then he feels Techie’s body freeze against his.

Oh. Kriff.

He tries to stop Techie from pulling away from him but when he shoves at his shoulder, Matt closes his eyes and steps back, shoulders hunching forward.

“What do you mean?” Techie asks. And he sounds so hurt and upset Matt can’t look at his eyes.

Matt shakes his head, “That came out wrong, Techie. I didn’t mean it like that.” He opens his eyes and his heart breaks at the look on Techie’s face. He can’t help it as he reaches out and grabs his closed hands in his, “I promise, it’s not how it sounds. I meant that I came to work at this sector so that I could be with you. So we could be together.”

Techie still doesn’t look any better but he doesn’t snatch his hands back, “So you regret it?”

Matt swallows the lump in his throat and pulls Techie closer, “Of course I don’t. Never.” He grits forcefully. “I love you, Techie. They’d have to throw me out of the airlock to get me away from you.” His heart clenches when he feels Techie’s body softening just the smallest bit as he lets himself get pulled against his chest again. “And even then,” Matt says, hands lifting to either side of Techie’s face, “I’d still find a way to get back to you.”

Techie’s eyes are furrowed, the dark splotches underneath his electric blue eyes seem almost darker than usual, “But…you’re not happy here, Matt. How is this any different to what we were just talking about—you’re hurting yourself by staying here instead of just transferring.”

“Techie, it’d be so much worse if I did that.” Matt sighs, “Do you think it wasn’t bad where I was before? I had the same type of jerks, just different faces. This ship is full of blaster-brained assholes.”

A small, sad smile appears on Techie’s face as he nods his head. “I believe you. It still just… it sucks,” he says, letting out a small sound in his throat as he lifts his own hands to Matt’s face.

“But I have you,” Matt says then. “Right?”

Matt sees the small uptick at the corner of his lips and feels Techie’s head nod as he presses their lips together, “Always.”

Matt deepens the kiss as he sighs happily against Techie’s mouth, letting his hands move to his back. He loves the way Techie practically melts against him like this. The way that Techie makes such soft, needy sounds in his throat like he can’t help it when Matt’s hands rub over his body—one under his shirt, and another down under the waistband to dig his nails in Techie’s soft butt.

He pulls away slightly, breath harsh in his ears, “I promise I’ll try to get better about not getting so worked up.” He sighs again, determined. “And I’ll get through it, Techie. We both will.”

Techie’s answer is to drag Matt’s body towards his as he takes a few steps backwards towards their bed.

He proceeds to take Matt’s glasses off to bring their faces closer together as he runs his tongue over Matt’s lips, “I know, Matt. We always do.”

Chapter Text

Hux stood at the doors to the hanger bay, arms at parade rest.

The hydraulic exhaust from Ren’s shuttle as it landed, hissed in a steam of smoke followed by the scrape of its hatch extending out.

A coil of agitation tightened in Hux’s gut as he watched Kylo Ren step out. Hux wasn’t completely sure, but he looked more tired than usual if the dark pallor underneath his eyes were any indication of that. As it stood, Ren’s health was the least of Hux’s concerns; in fact, he was rather disappointed to see him back so soon. He’d only been gone the equivalent of a Standard month and if you asked Hux, it might as well been a day with how short it felt.

“Welcome back, Supreme Leader.”

Ren, of course, said nothing as he stepped onto the hanger’s durasteel floors toward him. Hux expected as much, of course, but it still always grated on him.

His satisfaction, however, came in a different form—a more personal and dangerous one. When Kylo Ren finally glanced at Hux, his gaze lingered.

Hux felt that coil from earlier morph into something different when those dark eyes liquified at the sight of him, before they hesitated a fraction of a second more and turned away. It was a sick pleasure to be sure, but one nonetheless.

Hux had recently become privy to a type of infatuation Ren developed for him through small unconscious behaviors: stealing glances, his ever-present presence on the bridge, minute dilations of his pupils when they stood close enough for Hux to see them.

He still wasn’t sure what to do with that information. It was a valuable one to be sure and Hux didn’t intend to let it go to waste… he just didn’t know how he felt about it. And while feelings were often inconsequential to his decision-making, he’d be remiss to not consider them. He was, as it were, the center of the Supreme Leader’s apparent desire.

At the moment, his reservations laid with how far he was willing to let it go and whether there was more he could hope to gain from it if he… fanned the flames, so to say.

Hux let his arms fall away from his back, raised one arm in such a way that—as he feigned smoothing out his uniform top—a sliver of his wrist became visible between his glove and coat sleeve.

He bit his tongue painfully to keep from letting his lips lift in a smirk at the way that Kylo Ren seemed to pause right as he finally came close enough to him.

Just as Hux lifted his eyes towards Kylo Ren—saw Kylo’s own fixed on the revealed skin—he opened his mouth to say something… before he stopped and stilled.

There, over Kylo Ren’s shoulder towards the still open hatch of his shuttle, was a small leapt movement.

Before he could consider reaching for his blaster, Hux realized what it was and huffed in surprise, “Looks like we have a stowaway aboard our ship!”

Kylo, for his part, swiftly turned, arm outstretched and promptly seized its motion.

Hux tsk’d and stepped forward, voice exasperated, “Really, Ren, it’s hardly a threat.”

He’d often heard of these creatures—tookas—but rarely had a chance to see them himself. They were strictly forbidden from the Academy grounds where he spent so much of his childhood and adolescence. Most of his planet-side visits were often regulated to meetings and conversations inside walled facilities, so he barely saw them in the wild.

Hux watched as the feline body came back into itself after Kylo Ren released his hold. Its fur was matted from dirt and grime but Hux could see tufts of ginger-cinnamon, and beige. It shrunk back slightly as Hux approached but did not run away nor attempt to attack him.

“Hello there,” Hux said, his voice uncharacteristically softer to even his own ears.

He could hear Kylo Ren’s stomping boots as he found himself kneeling down without letting his uniform touch the ground.

“It must’ve gotten in without my seeing it,” Ren said unhelpfully when he reached his side. He sounded irritated and Hux rolled his eyes, “Obviously, Ren. I hardly thought you somehow took a liking to having a furry co-pilot like your dearest father.”

He expected the tightened warning against his throat and therefore didn’t give Kylo Ren the pleasure of reacting to it.

The tension loosened just a fraction of a second before his lungs could protest and he hid the sway of his body at the adrenaline-filled release by steading his hand on the tooka’s head.

The reaction was instantaneous as the tooka made a small chirping sound and pushed its head harder against Hux’s palm.

“Those things are nuisances. They’re feral and destructive creatures.”

“Funny, sounds like someone I know.”

Hux almost braced to feel the tightening on his throat again but was surprised when Kylo scoffed. It sounded strange coming from him; but then again, he often displayed signs reserved for petulant children.

And so he, against his better judgement, poked further with a smirk, “What, jealous of the competition?” He meant it in an off-handed joke related to his notorious outbursts, but when Kylo didn’t say anything, he gave him a wayward glance.

Ren, interestingly, looked to be staring down at the tooka with a deep frown on his face—in particular, where it seemed to be nuzzling against Hux’s gloved hand. When the tooka took a bold swipe of its tongue against the exposed strip of skin of his wrist, Hux heard Kylo make a noise he wasn’t even sure how to categorize.

After Kylo tried to hide it behind a cough, Hux grinned, “They’re also said to be excellent pest-catchers. Could be useful.”

He let his other hand join the first as he scratched under its chin, marveling at the loud, reverberating purring sound that poured from its throat.

Hux addressed the tooka conspiratorially then, “Welcome aboard.”

Chapter Text

Stensland stared at the ‘Card Error’ display on the vending machine like it was mocking him.

He hated this new town. He never should’ve taken the Soft Solutions work transfer offer. Why was it freezing? When he’d heard West Virginia, he expected… well he’s not sure what. Certainly not this. Maybe he confused West Virginia with East Virginia. Was there even an East? Surely there had to be.

Stensland considered it as the display returned to its initial ‘Swipe Card’ request.

He growled, a steam of condensation spiraling out of his mouth into the cold air in a puff.

He swiped his card again.

Then proceeded to kick it when it gave him the same error message despite furiously pressing the labeled button advertising his refreshing strawberry fizzy goodness that he needed.

“I ain’t sure that’s how that machine works,” came a warmly accented voice to his right.

When Stensland turned with his glare towards the voice, he paused and blinked in surprise.

The owner of said voice was a hulking statue of a man: all Casanova dark, wavy hair, deep brown eyes, and plush lips. Stensland wasn’t sure if he wanted to be him or let him have his way with him. Maybe both.

But then the sight of the man’s missing arm and the quick realization that they were very much alone, told Stensland neither option was on the table, as he suddenly imagined the man losing it after someone just as innocent and trusting as himself, probably stabbed it with something sharp to save themselves from getting kidnapped.

And the sun would be setting soon.

And he had no car because he left it at the mechanic, just hours ago, and had to walk home.

And he apparently had no money because he used everything he had to move here.

And the money he had left over, was currently sitting in his mechanic’s bank account. Safe as can be.

Unlike Stensland currently was.

He let out a nervous laugh and hoped it didn’t sound as forced as it was, “No, you’re right. Silly me!”

The man didn’t move, “‘Kinda cold for a can of pop right now anyway, ain’t it?”

“Well, I do enjoy living life on the edge,” he joked. Why was he joking with his potential murderer? He watched the corner of the man’s mouth lift in a chuckle and Stensland couldn’t help notice the strange look of curious interest in his eyes.

Actually, maybe getting on his good side would spare him.

“Well, that’s one way ta do it, I ‘spose.” He furrowed his brows as he looked at him, “I ain’t think I’ve seen ya before. You new or just passing through?”

Oh no. He wasn’t sure which answer would be worse but his mouth answered for him before he could stop it, “New in town. My name’s Stensland. Just transferred to work at the new Soft Solutions store that was just built some miles down the road.”

Oh damn it all to hell.

Stensland visibly grimaced.

The man looked at him curiously for that but nodded his head, “I’ve heard of it. Well nice t’a meet ya. Welcome to Boone County, my name’s Clyde Logan. Don’t know if ya know this, but it’s gonna get colder and you’ve got nothin’ but a vest on you. That more of you livin’ on the edge?”

Stensland cleared his throat and defensively crossed his arms over his chest, “Maybe?”

Clyde chuckled again, “Sorry, didn’t mean no offense with that.”

“Oh none taken.” ‘Good job, Stensland, keep the murderer from feeling provoked.’

“Alright.”

They stood there awkwardly then. Stensland felt a shiver going through his body. It really was cold. There was no way he was going to make it to his little shack of an apartment like this.

“Not to make ya uncomfortable,” Clyde began, and Stensland nearly snorted in laughter to tell him it was too late for that, but he kept his lips pressed closed. “But… do you need some help?”

At Stensland’s frozen expression, he continued, “it’s just I notice my truck’s the only car on the lot ‘part from the store owner’s and it’s nothin’ but a stretch of land for a couple miles down both ways.”

Well.

“I’m perfectly fine, but thank you for your concern.”

Clyde stared at Stensland with a look of hesitation, “You sure I can’t give you a ride or somethin’? I’m headin’ to my bar right now. Could at least offer ya a drink and let you get warmed up some.”

How convenient. And the very nerve! That must've been the oldest trick in the book and while he’s not worth much of anything at the moment, Stensland was at least no fool in the face of danger. “I’d rather freeze to death, thanks.”

Clyde opened his mouth in confusion and so Stensland pressed on, “As opposed to being hacked to death,” he said poignantly, “And while your face being the last thing I ever see before I died might not be the worst thing that could happen—”

“Wait t’a minute,” Clyde interrupted, both prosthetic and flesh arm rising, “I ain’t no murderer.”

“Never attempted to kill before?” Stensland asked suspiciously, arms still across his chest.

“Well…”

Stensland’s eyes widened. He wondered if he could run into the shop behind Clyde without being tackled. Maybe he could scream? The shop owner wasn’t very friendly but he wouldn’t want to live with the guilt of his death, would he?

“Sorry, I—well you see I served in Iraq…”

Stensland stopped the bellow he was gearing up to let loose at that. “Oh,” he said unhelpfully and in one quick swoop realized that’s probably where Clyde’s arm went as well. “So you’re not planning to torture me away in your basement?”

“Wasn’t on my schedule, no.” The man said carefully.

Stensland hummed.

Then shrugged his shoulders and grinned, “In that case, lead the way! Do you have anything of the strawberry variety at this bar of yours?”

Chapter Text

Ash’s hands dug into his arms even as Paterson pressed feather-light kisses down his sternum.

“Paterson,” Ash breathed above him.

“Hm?” He danced his fingers down Ash’s torso.

“You don’t always have to be so gentle with me, you know…”

Paterson lifted his head, “I—” His hand came to a stop along with him, “Do you not like it? I mean, has it not been enjoyable?” He felt a rolling queasiness in his gut over the thought.

Ash stared at him, must’ve seen whatever was on his face and pulled Paterson’s naked body up to meet his gaze, “Paterson, no, stop. That’s not what I meant. Anything we do together is amazing. I just…” he shrugged and bit his lip—one of those human mannerisms Paterson liked to save away in his mind like a treasured photograph. “You always make love to me like you’re afraid I’m going to break and we both know that’s not going to happen.”

Understanding dawned on Paterson’s face and he let out the breath he was holding in relief, “Oh.”

Ash cleared his throat, his face thoughtful now, “Does that sound like something we could try?”

Paterson smiled and pressed his lips to Ash’s, “I like everything with you,” he pulled his face back for a moment, knowing Ash was going to say more, “And yes, before you start—yes I’d very much like that. With you.”

To prove it, he opened his mouth against Ash’s in another kiss and reached down to grab Ash’s spread thighs before quickly yanking him bodily against the hard press of him.

“Oh!” Ash gasped and Paterson saw his eyes dilate—another program feature Paterson loved to see.

“How do you want it?” Paterson asked him, rubbing their hard lengths together as he sucked kisses along Ash’s throat.

Ash let out a low moan, “I want to feel you hold me down from behind to fuck me.”

Paterson gave an answering moan, hips jutting up at Ash’s words, “I’d hate to not see your gorgeous face but watching my dick push into that pretty ass of yours is a nice sight too.”

“Jesus, Paterson,” Ash said in a broken huff, “How about you let me get that monster in my arse before you make me come.”

Paterson chuckled and lifted himself carefully as Ash rolled over after pressing one last, long and dirty kiss against Paterson’s lips.

Meanwhile, Paterson dug into his nightstand for the bottle of specialized lube they’d found that was easier to clean than typical lube and simulated an additional heat that Paterson found incredible.

After he slicked himself up, he looked over to where Ash laid in front of him—knees and elbows bent against the sheets and ass enticingly lifted for Paterson’s hands to to grab. Which he did.

 “Shit, you look good, Ash.”

He kneaded the synthetic flesh for a moment longer as he heard Ash giggle against the bed before it turned into a cut-off moan when Paterson slapped his hand against one cheek.

The thumb of one of his hands pressed against his taint as his other hand poured a small dribble of the lube over it. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over it, spread the liquid and bit his lip when he watched it fluttering under his ministrations.

“Paterson, please. Fuck me. You know you don’t have to prep me.”

“I know, I just like to do it.”

Ash muffled a groan as he pressed his thumb inside and Paterson watched in fascination as he always did at how easily it slipped in.

His voice came out in a gruff whisper then, “Greedy little thing, aren't you?”

Ash’s answer was a low whine as he pressed his ass against Paterson’s finger, “Please.”

“I got you,” Paterson said as he pumped his shaft once and pressed the heel of his hand down against Ash’s lower back to better position himself. He wasted no more time as he began to press himself in. He let out a choked out groan at the easy but tight glide and Ash answered in kind.

He pulled out slightly before he could fully push in and then put his hands on either side of Ash’s hips as he slammed in.

Ash gasped and clenched his fingers against the sheets when Paterson did it again. And again.

“Like how my cock feels in you? Because,” Paterson moaned as Ash clenched around him, “you feel amazing. So tight and hot. I wish you could see how you look right now, Ash. The way your ass swallows my dick like it can’t get enough.”

Ash whined again, and he frantically nodded his head, pressing back even as Paterson’s thrusts had him sliding on the sheets and back again, “It’s good. So good. You’re so good to me.”

Paterson’s firm hold on Ash’s hips tightened and while he knew there’d be no bruises on his skin later, he wanted to make sure the feel of it was deeply imprinted in Ash’s senses so he’d feel as if they were still there later.

He felt a drop of sweat across his forehead as he continued with his brutal pace, but he couldn’t stop. It felt too good. And Ash’s moans underneath him were better than any of the most loved classic poems on Paterson’s shelf.

He could feel his release building and he shifted his stance behind Ash, the angle changing enough that when Ash began crying out at each push, he wrapped one of his hands around to grab onto Ash’s dick.

Fewer than five pumps later, Ash was coming underneath him, and the vice around Paterson’s cock as he did, sent him tumbling after him in a long, pleasure-filled grunt.

When he pulled out and dropped to the bed, gasping for air, he felt Ash turn towards him—those green eyes bright with affection, “We’re definitely doing that again.”

Paterson chucked, eyes dropping closed in satisfied exhaustion, “Okay, give me at least half an hour first.”

Chapter Text

Father in Heaven forgive him for the way his skin fevers under a man’s touch. For the way his breath catches in anticipation when Andrew presses their foreheads together, lips so close—their breaths have seemingly already intermixed before their bodies have.

It has been several months of meeting in secret in this small foreign town—of stolen glances and touches that went from friendly and good-natured, to familiar and easy; then finally, to lingering and hopeful.

“Andrew, necesitamos parar antes de que pase algo que no se pueda deshacer,”¹ Francisco whispers in a rush, accent shuffling the emphasis on some of the vowels awkwardly. He finds his eyelids closing down halfway—partially obscuring his vision from Andrew’s beautifully sun-splashed hair. He does not pull away. Feels physically unable to.

“Lo se,”² Andrew breaths back. His own Spanish is rougher than Francisco’s own—his vowels too sharp, the consonants forced through his American-English accent. And Francisco can’t help but find divinity every time he hears it from his mouth. “I know,” he insists again, “But I don’t know how. If I can.”

He’s not sure which one closes the gap between them then, but it doesn’t matter. Blessedly, blissfully—sinfully, their lips touch.

The feeling is such that Francisco can only compare it to when he places his lips against the warming wax of a prayer candle during the tail-end evenings after Mass has long ended.

A smooth moisture from Andrew’s tongue causes Francisco to shiver and he chases his mouth for more.

The kiss is so warm, so wet. Francisco is unsure where he ends and Andrew begins; perhaps, the distinction no longer exists.

And he cries in supplication for the way that Andrew tastes even more sweet than the finest wine anointed by the Lord’s blood.

When they both pull back, after seconds that hardly felt enough with a gasp, Francisco finds that his hands around Andrew’s back have turned with his palms lifted up as if awaiting benediction.

Andrew’s own are balled against the fabric of Francisco’s cassock, the grip wanting and sure.

“Just tonight, Francisco,” Andrew begs, “Just this once. We don’t even have to take our clothes off.”

He says the words as if they make a difference in the eyes of their Maker. And may he still know Heaven when he passes, but Francisco wants to pretend that it does. That they can have this with tepid judgment even as the mere thoughts that swirl between the heat of their mouths would damn them for eternity.

Already have, perhaps.

If he is damned then let there be no question as to whether he is deserving of it.

“Just tonight,” Francisco agrees then, mouth seeking Andrew’s before the words even finish forming.

Let Andrew’s hands leave their burning marks on his skin before the flames of damnation can.

Chapter Text

“My name is Finn. Some of you may know me by my former designation: FN-2187.”

A growing wave of whispers erupts on the ship at that. Techie’s ear catch some of the words: shot a general, traitor, killed a captain, Force-Sensitive.

Techie frowns as he focuses back on Finn who has begun to pace the platform even as Matt growls in anger beside him.

“I was one of you before,” Finn continues, “I know what they tell you, what they make you believe. And I’m here to tell you that you have a choice.”

Two other Rebel soldiers stand beside Finn, eyes gazing over all of them as they stand grouped together on the deck. Techie feels a shiver go up his spine when one of their eyes settle on him in curiosity.

Matt grabs his hand in his between them, lacing their fingers together in reassurance.

“The First Order is no more,” Finn says then. Another wave of murmurs: some in outrage, others incredulous.

Techie glances to the side of the deck where the ship’s senior officers stand, heads cast down but stance still rigidly held. They don’t seem to deny it.

“We have resources that can help you build a new life. And can open your eyes to the propaganda they fed you. If there are any of you who refuse to join us, we’ll still give you the chance to stand trial.”

“Yeah, right,” Matt scoffs. Techie squeezes his hand as he looks at his profile. The look in Matt’s eyes is hard and unyielding and his body is almost coiled in frustration. The hold around Techie’s hand, however, is still light and soft.

“Everyone queue up!” One of the Rebels says and Techie blinks, realizing he missed the last part.

“What’s happening?” He asks Matt as their coworkers, (or is it former coworkers?) begin to shuffle around them.

Matt has a sour look on his face, lips downturn as his glasses slide down to the middle of his nose, “They’re trying to herd us around like we’re just some Banthas.”

Techie scrunches his nose, “What does that mean?”

Matt shakes his head and turns to Techie, hand tightening around his, “They want us to decide if we’re going to join their stupid side to be assigned somewhere or else we can choose to stand up to them and get thrown into a cell while they decide what to do with us.”

Techie feels his body shake at that, “What? Well I’m not picking the second option.”

Matt pauses and looks at him, brows furrowed, “So you want to just renounce the First Order? You want to join those Rebel Scums?”

Techie bites back a retort to tell Matt they don’t owe anyone anything, but he knows how defensive Matt is over this topic. The First Order were the ones who gave him his first chance to work, who saw his skills just like they saw Techie’s.

He sighs, “Don’t put words in my mouth, Matt. I’m just saying… do you really think we’d be better off otherwise? You know they’ll separate us and… I don’t want that.”

Someone bumps into Techie’s side and he stumbles a bit. Matt pulls Techie closer to him and brings their clasped hands pressed against his chest as he shoves the person with a warning, “Watch it.”

Techie pushes Matt further into the crowd before he breaks out into a fight. There’s no doubt of where they’ll be put if that happens.

Matt glares over Techie’s shoulder at whoever it was, but then turns back to him, “Techie,” he begins intently, “Even if the worst happens, we’ll get through it together.” He sighs after a moment as he glances at him, “But I know you’re right. You always are.”

Techie fights the small pleased smile on his face at that.

“And I’m not losing you. Ever.”

Before Techie can answer back, a voice calls out: “Next!”

And then he’s pulled forward as Matt steps up to one of the Rebel men. “One at a time,” they say, looking at Techie who is trying to hide his face against Matt’s shoulder.

“Where I go, he goes,” Matt says, voice edged with a threat.

The Rebel looks at Techie again. It’s the same one who had looked at him earlier and a pensive look crosses his face again as he turns to look at Matt and back at Techie again. He then turns to one of his companions, a Rebel woman, “Are we sure the cloning program ended? I mean, do we know how high it went up or everyone involved?”

The Rebel woman looks confused and then the one in front of Matt and Techie whispers into her ear and points to him and Matt. He thinks he makes out the sound of the name ‘Hux’ and someone named ‘Ben Solo,’ but nothing apart from that.

The woman’s eyes widen slightly as she examines them but otherwise keeps her face neutral. After a moment, they both seem to come to some shrugged understanding. The Rebel man looks back to Matt and Techie, “Anyway, so what’s your choice?”

“First, we have to make sure we won’t get separated,” Matt insists.

The Rebel man notices their linked hands and then turns back to the Rebel woman. Techie notices the way her features almost seem to soften sadly at the sight of his hand in Matt’s and she whispers something to the man after she spots and reads their employee designation cards.

He shrugs again as he looks at them, “Fine. And actually, how would you two like to check out one of our bases? We could use some tech people. You’ll be able to share living quarters if you want.”

Techie steps forward to stand beside Matt, and nods, “We’ll take it.”

Chapter Text

He watches as General Hux makes pleasantries with a group of what might as well be useless bureaucrats in the meeting room. Kylo Ren had no interest in this planet-side First Order mission but he found himself intrigued when he’d picked up notes of apprehension in the general’s mind when he thought about this little scheduled appointment of his.

There aren’t many things that get under Hux’s skin that make him… troubled, in a sense; furious, irritated, disgusted, and determined—yes, always—but worry? Hux was a person who thought the galaxy needed to revolve around him simply because he believed himself to be the most capable of instructing it.

He’d announced that he would be joining the meeting soon after that and when Hux had tried to dissuade him, Kylo had reminded him that as Supreme Leader, it was in the best interest of the First Order that he be informed of all business.

Much to Hux’s annoyance.

He stands like a shadow in the back of the room now, arms crossed over his chest. Hux has just finished his reports of the latest First Order operations and the long list of proposals, goals, and policies he hopes to enact in the coming cycles. They’re ambitious, but he wouldn’t expect less from Hux. Not in the way that he’s come to understand him—has been peeling away each layered mask he wears.

     “Can we be assured we won’t be seeing any more of these blunders then?”

     “Of course. I also take full responsibility for any and all missteps and I won’t let you down again.”

It sends an interesting coil of curiosity in Kylo Ren to see the way that Hux’s words match his face, but not his energy—his hidden mannerisms: the tightening of his gloved hands at his back as he bends that graceful neck of his in fabricated contrition.

Hux turns to another man at his side who remarks;

     “Brendol did always comment how thin you were. I can see why you were better fit for strategy rather than force.”

A twitch of his nose and lips as they lift in feigned humor:

     “Yes, I find that I’m quite well-suited at the command of the First Order’s resources through its strength from above.”

A reluctant hand-shake to another with a slight clench of his jaw:

     “You’re young yet. You’ll come to understand these things better when you’ve been doing this as long as we have.”

     “I can only hope to be so fortunate.” Hux responds.

'Bastard son of a kitchen whore.'

Kylo’s eyes train to another: a frail stick of a man who stands with barely concealed distaste but accepts Hux’s grudging bowed acknowledgment anyway. He didn’t say it out loud, but it rings in his head as if he had.

Kylo Ren feels a ripple of anger through his body and shuts his eyes to center himself. It would do no good to make a scene here. Not that he cares about littering the room with their bodies, but the reminder of the way Hux would create a scandal over it, tires him preemptively enough to hold back.

He opens his eyes again when he senses that he and Hux are alone in the room now. Hux stands rigidly: his eyes unfocused for a moment before he takes a deep breath, smoothes down his uniform, and begins to gather his things.

“Nobody respects you.”

He sees the way Hux freezes at that and continues, “That’s the thing that worried you before you arrived. It upsets you. That they see you weak.” He moves, pushing off his place against the wall.

He watches Hux’s lips form a sneer as his eyes raise to meet Kylo’s. And there. That. The exposed rage is what Kylo had wanted to see.

“Why do you care what they think? Why do you let them speak to you that way?” He presses as he nears Hux.

Hux glares at Kylo once he stands a couple steps away, “Where do you think the First Order’s funds come from, Ren? We don’t have an infinite source of credits to our name even if you like to behave as if we do with how you destroy my ship at every chance.” He sighs and scoffs, “Our organization is powered through investors—wealthy ones that only care about pretending themselves to be useful and important outside their money. And unfortunately, in order to secure these funds, they have to be assured that the person they’re letting direct their investments is expressively grateful.” He spits the last word out and closes his eyes again to take another breath.

Kylo hums as his eyes catch something outside the room’s viewport and gestures, “And him?”

Hux follows his line of sight and they watch the frail man from earlier leaving alongside others outside. Hux rolls his eyes, “An old head from the former Empire. Near useless but still finds himself significant enough to come.”

Kylo hums again, “Did you know your mother?”

“What?” Kylo feels the quiet pause, the confused impatience, suppressed resentment; and then, “…Hardly.”

“He insulted you in his thoughts.” He glances at Hux, then adds: “and her.”

When he sees the slight shake in Hux’s frame, Kylo lifts his hand toward the window, eyes still fixed on his profile.

Hux’s eyes widen as the sounds of choking ring outside among the terrified shouts for a medical doctor.

"I can make them respect you.”

Hux turns to him then and he can see the way the black of his eyes have nearly swallowed the green, “How?”

“Fear.” He hisses.

Hux licks his lips, watches the way Kylo’s eye follow the motion and swallows.

The shouts continue as Hux asks, quietly, “And what would you need in exchange?”

Kylo closes the distance between them with a step as he angles his mouth towards Hux’s lips. He shivers with anticipation at the way they’re already parting for him as he whispers, “You.”

Chapter Text

“Stensland?”

No answer.

Clyde looks down at his phone in worry. He hasn’t heard from him all day. He knew something was wrong the moment he didn’t get his morning text from Stensland catching him up on one of his Dawson’s Creek reruns he watched the night before.

When he didn’t get his late morning call ‘just to hear his voice,’ and then the afternoon one to grab lunch together, Clyde grabbed his keys and headed to Stensland’s place.

While he agrees that it’s healthy for couples to go some days without having to talk or see each other, this doesn’t feel like one of those situations. Nor is that something Stensland would agree with. And if Clyde’s honest, well, he doesn’t right see anything wrong with it either.

He knocks again and now he feels his heart doing something awful. Like it would do back when he was overseas and he was hunkered down in a foxhole with the scent of smoke and overturned earth around him.

If something happened to Stensland, he’s not sure what he’ll do. How he’ll react. But it’s not going to be good.

He calls for what must be the hundredth time today. "Well hello there, you have the pleasure of reaching yours truly, but unfortunately…" Clyde ends the call.

He’s doing those breathing exercises he learned some years back when he’d wake up at night with the sweats, when he hears something.

It’s the sound of someone crying. Stensland crying.

It’s coming from inside his place. Clyde shoves his shoulder against the door and then takes a step back to ram it again.

The door breaks in with a crash and he rushes inside.

He finds Stensland curled atop his sofa cushions, hands clutching tissues that look as if they’ve been used to excess.

Clyde rushes to his side and kneels on the floor in front of him and asks in a frantic rush as he looks over his body for injuries, “Stensland? Baby what’s wrong? Did someone hurt you?”

Stensland’s face is splotched with tears and mucus, and his nose looks red from how hard he’s been blowing it. Just as he does now.

He shakes his head when he looks at Clyde, and inhales a choppy breath.

“Hey, it’s okay, take your time,” Clyde says as he smoothes the drenched strands of hair away from Stensland’s face carefully.

He hears Stensland’s swallowing, hiccuping, breaths as they slowly steady.

“My da died.”

Clyde’s hand freezes and he looks at Stensland’s downturned watery eyes, “Oh darlin’ I’m so sorry.”

Stensland shakes his head again, “He wasn’t even a great dad, you know? He and my mam were always fighting when I was younger, but it’s something else when they’re just gone, isn’t it?”

Clyde sighs and cup’s his face, thumb wiping underneath those sad eyes, “‘Course, Stens. He was your father. Those feelin’s can’t be helped.”

As much as it pains him, Clyde can’t help feeling a little relieved after expecting the worst, but he can understand why Stensland maybe needed some time for himself. His hand caresses Stensland’s cheek, “Do you want me to stay, or would you rather have some space? Either way, I’m here for you.”

When Stensland answers, his voice sounds so small that Clyde can hardly help how his heart clenches for him, “Stay, please.”

Clyde nods his head and immediately grabs the used tissues clutched in Stensland’s hand and replaces them with a couple clean ones from the tissue box.

Stensland let’s out a humorless laugh as he wipes his mouth and chin even as his tears still stray down from his eyes without prompting, “I’m sorry, I know I’m an ugly crier.”

“Hey now,” Clyde chastises him and palms his face again, “now that’s just not true. You’re beautiful, Stensland. Whether you’re smilin’, frownin’, giggling, poutin’, or cryin.’ You always look like the best thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh. And I can prove it to you.”

“How’s that?” Stensland sniffles and Clyde gives him a small, warm smile, “Like this:” then leans his head forward to capture Stensland’s lips against his.

Stensland wastes no time as he wraps his arms around Clyde’s shoulders and pulls him up onto the sofa.

Stensland’s lips taste like salt and something else but underneath that, he tastes like strawberries and sugar and everything Clyde can’t get enough of.

When he pulls back enough to better situate himself across Stensland against the cushions, he places a kiss under each of his eyes.

Stensland blinks and looks up at him with so much emotion that Clyde thinks he’s going to burst. Then he feels like he does when Stensland raises Clyde’s prosthetic hand to his cheek to press a kiss against the palm.

He takes a breath and searches Stensland’s eyes, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Stensland looks about ready to cry again but with a wobble of his chin, he shakes his head and rakes his fingers through the back of Clyde’s hair, “Just help me not think for a while.”

“I can do that,” Clyde whispers as he settles his body down more firmly and kisses his way toward’s Stensland’s mouth until his breathy sighs turn into quiet moans.

Chapter Text

Ash Starmer might not be human himself, but he’s grown plenty familiar with human behavior—especially Paterson’s.

They’ve known each other for three years now. Have dated for over a year of those three, and have lived together now for exactly four months and one week.

He knows the way Paterson’s eyes twitch in the morning when he’s fighting against the waking world, the way he likes to press his lips against the back of Ash’s neck while one hand sits on his hip as Ash is cooking dinner (something Paterson always tells him is unnecessary, but Ash has come to love cooking so bully for him); and the way that Paterson’s eyes unfocus with a small furrow between his brows when he’s lost in a line of a poem he’ll pen down in his notebook for later.

Paterson also lives on routine: a mapped itinerary not unlike the timed and charted stops of his bus route.

And so Ash finds it puzzling to watch Paterson puttering around the house, measuring tape in hand as he mumbles to himself about something to do with electrical currents and drywall.

“Erm, Paterson, what are you doing?”

Paterson looks at Ash as he jots down a number on a spiral notepad, “Measuring.”

Ash chuckles, “Yes I see that, but… what for?”

“I’m thinking about installing an in-home security system.”

Ash opens his mouth and closes it. He can feel the synaptic mimics of binary code in his system as he processes that, “I see,” he says then. “Why?”

Paterson jots down another number in the pad before folding it closed and placing it in his pocket with a sigh, “Been seeing news about neighborhood break-ins and I figure we can’t be too careful.”

Ash opens his eyes his surprise. Their neighborhood is naturally so quiet and peaceful. He had no idea, “In our neighborhood? Since when?” He asks.

Paterson shakes his head as he enters their kitchen. He digs into the fridge for a can of one of his light beers and cracks it open, “Nah, in some neighborhood a few counties away.”

Ash blinks.

Then Ash looks around the kitchen where there’s still a gaping hole above the stove where Paterson said he was going to install a pot-filler faucet despite Ash reminding him that it was unnecessary considering Paterson is essentially the only one who eats anyway.

The living room has a half-finished electric fireplace insert that Paterson tried to do himself, after Ash mentioned enjoying the sound of crackling fire one day when they sat sprawled together on the sofa as Paterson read them a book.

The bedroom has a leaning bookshelf that Ash is sure is going to crumble under its own weight if so much as a dust mite lands on it, and he heard Paterson musing about having a jacuzzi in the backyard the other day.

And this behavior? Ash isn’t sure what to make of it.

“Paterson…” he hedges as he watches him take a gulp from his canned drink.

“Hm?”

“What is all this?”

Paterson lifts his brow in confusion, “What’s what?”

Ash gestures to the unfinished projects around them, “This? You keep doing all these unnecessary things around the house and I just don’t understand why.”

Paterson returns the can of beer that he has halfway to his mouth and sets it down the counter with a sigh. His shoulders slump and Ash wonders if he should reach out.

“Is… everything okay?” He asks instead.

And Paterson just sighs again as he looks at him, “It’s…well it’s stupid.”

“I’d like to be the judge of that if you don’t mind,” Ash jokes and he watches as a small smile twitches at the side of Paterson’s mouth.

He nods and runs a hand through his dark hair as he leans back against the counter, “Okay, it’s just that I’ve been thinking lately about… my life, I guess. Just the way that it’s so… boring. How I’m boring.” He rubs his hand over his face and looks at Ash, “And I know what you’re thinking—you’re thinking, 'Well Paterson, you know… how can you be so ungrateful?'” He shakes his head and drops his hands to his sides, “And I’m not. Of course I’m not because I have everything I could even hope to have and more with you. But then it’s that, too. I look at you and I think about how wonderful and special you are and then there’s me. I’m just Paterson.”

Paterson lifts his hands unhelpfully, “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

He does not. “Yes,” he says.

Then he watches Paterson look at him and snort a laugh, “I’m sorry. I must sound crazy.” He looks around the remnants of renovations and closes his eyes, “I am crazy.”

He tilts his head up to the ceiling and sucks his teeth before returning his gaze to Ash, “What I mean is that I just feel like every time I look at you, I think about how amazing you are and how you deserve someone who can do and give you more than this simple boring life where I drive a public bus all day.

Ash steps over to Paterson then and pokes his finger against his chest. His very nice chest, might he add. And with as stern of a voice as he can manage, says, “You are an idiot, Paterson.”

Paterson’s mouth gapes open in hurt and Ash shakes his head, “No, you’re an idiot because you don’t realize how perfect you are. You create beautiful poems, you’re kind and thoughtful, and—” this time Ash mimics his sigh, “Paterson, do you love me?”

Paterson blinks mutely, “Of course I do.”

“Well I love you too. Isn’t that enough?”

Paterson pauses as he looks at him and Ash is relieved when he sees the way his eyes soften, the way his shoulders drop their tension, and the way his hands slowly wrap around Ash’s waist, “It's more than enough.”

Chapter Text

He’d arrived home in the middle of the night. The sight of Francisco asleep against the sheets of their bed, head buried under that dark hair of his head against the pillow, had been a God-send after the last months he had.

While their gains had been profitable, it hadn’t come without a painful injury on Andrew’s part. He grimaced now as he gently rose from the chair he’d slept in by the fireplace’s warm hearth where he wouldn’t jostle the arm he currently had hanging in a sling.

The ability to move his fingers had returned by now, but he’d been instructed not to try to test anything else besides wiggling the digits so as not to reverse any of the repairs.

Andrew sighed as he heard a different type of crack along his back as he stretched. It was early yet—he’d gotten used to getting by on short naps while out with his crew and he knew it’d take at least a week to go back to some normalcy.

And usually, that included a warm bath and a clean shave but while he might manage one, he doubted he could manage both without use of both arms.

Francisco still laid asleep, though at this point, his body had turned in bed, almost curling towards where Andrew had been sleeping as if he somehow unconsciously knew he was there.

The thought pulled at something inside Andrew and he resisted the urge to press his lips against the face of the man who sacrificed so much for Andrew already when he didn’t even think he deserved it.

It took a long time for Francisco to convince Andrew that he hadn’t damned his soul just because Andrew couldn’t let him go, and that the God Francisco believed in was perhaps more merciful than they’d believe just yet. Andrew hoped so, not for his sake, but for Francisco’s.

Careful not to make too much noise, Andrew set towards the small adjoining room where they kept their basin. He noticed with a smile that it looked halfway filled with water, as if Francisco had been anticipating his arrival. To the side, sat a larger pot of water and he reached down with his free hand to carefully lift it before stepping over to hook it above the fire.

He added a log and watched as the flames licked at the bottom of the water pot.

When he stood back up from his bent knees, he turned around and saw Francisco rubbing sleep from his eyes as he sat up in bed to light the bedside lamp, before settling them on Andrew, “¿Cuando llegastes, amado mio? No te oí.”¹

Andrew’s voice came out slightly horse from disuse as he made his way to Francisco who was standing from the bed now, “I got here in the late hours. Didn’t want to wake you.”

“You know I prefer to see you the moment you arrive whether I’m asleep or not,” he chastised softly but then his eyes fell onto Andrew’s arm against his chest, “You’ve hurt yourself.”

Andrew shrugged lightly, “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to. Had to help a new guy who got his leg caught in a trap—ended up getting partially snapped in myself in the process.”

He watched Francisco shake his head with a frown and then he closed his eyes, which Andrew had come to recognize as Francisco bowing his head in a quick prayer.

When he opened them again, he took Andrew in, “Is it painful?”

“Not really. It’s uncomfortable and sore, but better than it was. Doctor said not to force it much, but I wanted to wash some of this stench off me, at least.”

Francisco turned his eyes towards the heating pot of water and nodded his head, “I will help you, come.”

The morning sun had begun to peak through the crevices of their home, and Francisco lit another set of lamps before returning to Andrew who stood by the basin.

He let Francisco peel off his clothes, hands delicate and mindful of his injured arm until he stood bare.

Their eyes caught and Andrew couldn’t help it anymore as he leaned forward to capture Francisco’s mouth in a kiss. Francisco hummed in contentment and responded to it for a moment before pulling away, “Let’s get you cleaned up first, yes?”

Andrew begrudgingly nodded his head and Francisco gave him a small smile before turning to check on the fire.

Andrew had just retrieved his straight razor when Francisco returned with the pot and overturned the heated water into the basin.

After checking the water, Francisco turned to Andrew and nodded his head.

The feel of the warmed water around his body as he sunk into it was a welcome relief and he signed contently. The sling was submerged along with him but he kept it steady against the basin wall.

He found Francisco kneeling beside him with a sponge and soap in hand that he began to lather in the water before grabbing and submerging a small bowl to pour over Andrew’s head.

When he blinked back the water with a gasp, he caught sight of Francisco’s wide-mouthed smile before his soaped hands rubbed into his hair. God, he missed him.

After deeming his hair and torso clean enough, Francisco’s fingers then were light as he carefully ran the razor’s blade across Andrew’s cheeks and jaws. His dark eyes had a look of determined concentration and Andrew couldn’t wait until he could have those eyes shining with pleasure for him later in bed.

As if he had caught the thought from his mind, Francisco grinned at him beneath his lashes when he swiped the excess from the razor against the towel on his lap.

After several quiet and blissful minutes, he felt Francisco’s palms on either side of his face, cupping the now smooth skin.

Francisco sighed as their eyes locked softly on one another, “Welcome home.”

Chapter Text

“So I was thinking,” Techie huffs as Matt sucks kisses along his throat.

Matt hums against his exposed collarbone as he continues to lick at the cool skin underneath him.

“What if we… make one of those holovid recordings…”

Matt’s dick slides along the crease of Techie’s thigh and he groans, “Of what?”

“Um well, us…” Techie’s voice hesitates and before Matt can lift his head, he hears him finish, “doing… this.”

Whoa.

Matt freezes as he stares down at Techie. His glasses got discarded some minute ago so he squints, but he can see Techie’s nervous face. “You mean like a sex tape?”

Techie bites his lip and Matt wants to take it in his own mouth, but he let’s Techie speak instead, “Yes?”

That does something to Matt’s brain. A lot of somethings. Also to his current hard-on.

“If that’s too weird I mean… never mind, it’s okay forget I said—”

“Let’s do it,” Matt says.

Techie’s mouth falls open, flush spreading in a way that has Matt running his hands over the skin in wonder, “Really?” His voice sounds so small and unsure that Matt takes his lips in his and nods, “Absolutely.”

“Um. Now?”

Matt lifts his head again, “Oh. Sure. Yes,” he emphasizes, “Do you—How…”

Techie nods and begins sitting up from their bed. Matt gives him space and watches as Techie’s naked body heads to a box of his tech stuff.

After rummaging for a moment, he pulls out a small device with an attached lens. Techie lifts it in his hands with a shy smile. He looks around their space for a moment before moving a small crate by the bed and then sets the recorder on top of it to angle the lens towards where Matt is still currently sprawled on the bed.

Techie bites his lip again, “You’re sure you want to do this? It’s not just because I said it, right?”

Matt shakes his head and reaches for Techie’s hand, dragging him in, “No, I want to do it. I think it’s hot.” Techie giggles as he’s pulled against Matt’s body. “What brought this up, anyway?”

Techie shrugs as he returns to his earlier position, “I was just thinking yesterday when you were working all day and I was all alone in here… how I wish I had something so I could… you know, use to help when you’re not here…”

Matt’s eyes widen and he feels a dribble of precome leak against Techie’s stomach. He groans, “You want to watch us have sex while you touch yourself?”

“Yeah,” Techie breaths, “That.”

“Kriff, that’s super hot.”

He wastes no time as fuses their mouths together—tongue sloppy against Techie’s, but he’s told Matt that he likes it before, and so he focuses on reaching between them to wrap his hand around them both.

Techie whines a moan and pushes himself more firmly against him. Matt loves how eager Techie is when they’re together. How his touch and actions move with purpose and more confidence than he displays outside their room. And the fact that Matt is the only one who gets to see him this way.

He dips his head to lick at Techie’s nipples and is rewarded by more of his sweet moans.

He’s just about to ask him how he wants to do this, but he gets the hint when Techie begins to spread his legs between them.

Matt quickly grabs their bottle of lube after that and spreads a generous amount in hand before he begins probing down between Techie’s ass. And he’ll never get over how responsive Techie is to his touch either.

And the thought that they’ll have a holo recording of all these small twitches and jerks of Techie’s body against his body and around his cock, makes Matt speed up the process.

It doesn’t take long—not with how eager they both are. Not with the way their bodies have learned one another by now, how they welcome each other as if they were extensions of their own.

“I love you, Matt,” Techie says. And if Matt doesn’t get his dick inside him right now, he’s going to come because how did he get this lucky?

He sighs, “Techie.” Nuzzles his big nose that Techie likes despite his insecurity and begins to guide himself against Techie’s entrance, “I love you too, Techie. So much,” he grounds.

And then he’s pressing in. And it feels amazing. Too good. Better than anything he’s ever experienced and ever will. Because the way Techie is so warm and slick and tight against his cock could rival the energy of the biggest star in the galaxy, as far as Matt’s concerned.

Techie’s arms wrap around his back just as he fully seats himself inside and they moan in unison, “You feel so good, Techie. You always feels so good. So sweet for me. And I’m going to make you feel as good as you make me. Gonna make it so you can watch yourself screaming in bliss with my cock in your ass later. That what you want?”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” Techie says in a litany, fingers digging against the skin of his shoulders, “Want to watch you make me come so hard and fill me up.”

Matt groans, “Mm yeah, it’s going to be so hot.”

He’s just starting to set a steady pace when Techie suddenly pauses, “Oh no.”

Matt’s breath is coming out in long huffs as he forces himself to stop, “What is it, what’s wrong?”

Techie groans as he drops his hand over his face, “Oh, I forgot to press record.”

Matt glances over his shoulder for a moment and holds back a chuckle before he returns to look at Techie and shrugs. He returns to slowly rocking his hips, “We’ll just have to do it again.”

Techie smiles at him, eyes shutting in pleasure. Nods, “And we should probably make a few. You know, different positions and stuff.”

“Exactly.”

Chapter Text

“It has come to my attention that things may have gone on further than either of us expected and it should be addressed,” Hux said and glanced at Kylo Ren who stood glowering outside his quarters.

“Addressed, how?”

Hux stood straighter, “As in ending it.”

Then closed his eyes in irritation as Kylo Ren pushed himself inside and lifted his hand to quickly close the door behind himself.

When he reopened his eyes, Kylo twisted around to face him—typical wave of emotions rippling across his face, “What do you mean, ending it?”

“If we’re going to be going back and forth with you just repeating what I’m saying in the form of a question—”

“Just answer the question.”

Hux heard the threat and while it didn’t go past words alone, he knew how easily that could change.

Kylo Ren was like that: ever-changing at the drop of a hat—altering and contradictory in the way he viewed the galaxy and his place in it.

It was too inconsistent for Hux’s tastes. Incompatible to his own staunch and resolute way of thinking. It was as unnerving as it was exhilarating and that was the problem.

He developed something of an affliction to how much it didn’t grate him as much anymore, somehow.

“I think—I know, it would be best that we stop seeing each other outside of necessary interaction.” He looked at Kylo and then gestured to the room around them, poignantly, “Such as this one, now.”

“You mean you want us to stop fucking.” Kylo pressed, eyes narrowed.

Hux rolled his eyes, “Well, as crass as you make it sound, yes. I mean we should stop fucking. And anything else that isn’t focused on advancing the First Order operations.”

“Why?”

Hux gave him an incredulous look, “What do you mean why? Because instead of wasting our time chasing a temporary release, we could be using it to bring the galaxy to heel.”

Kylo Ren had the audacity to scoff at that, “You’re unbelievable.” He then took a step closer to Hux and seethed, “Don’t treat me like some situation that needs to be handled, General Hux.”

“And how else should I see you, Supreme Leader?”

Kylo Ren proceeded to shove Hux back against the wall behind him. Hux fought against the assault but found his feet sliding back through Kylo’s infuriating use of the Force. He swallowed the grunt from the impact as he glared at Kylo Ren in front of him.

“Ren,” he warned.

Kylo Ren ignored him. “You should see me, as the only person who can make you scream in pleasure, who can ignite your senses from touch alone. Who takes your sharp words and curses with my mouth and channels them into the parts of your body that transforms them into begging moans.”

Hux bit his tongue to fight against the unwanted reaction from his body, and curled his lips in disgust, “You mean to take us for lovers?”

He could see the way those words seemed to hurt Kylo Ren—the way his eyes flashed in on themselves and his nose twitched.

This was another thing he couldn’t take anymore: the way Kylo Ren didn’t know how to hide his emotions. The man could look and take from his mind, but Hux could do the same from his face.

Kylo Ren growled in frustration as he gripped Hux’s arms, “Why do you fight this? Why can’t you see this—us—for what it is?” One of his gloveless hands reached up to cup the side of Hux’s face, the touch gentle in comparison to the vice’d hold of the other.

Hux snapped his head to the side, away from the touch, a sneer on his face, “Don’t start with those make-believe sentiments, Ren. We both know you’re incapable of knowing what to even do with affection. Just look at what’s happened to everyone who has ever tried to look past the monster in you.”

Kylo leant forward as he grabbed Hux’s chin forcibly and brought their faces together. His voice was calm—quiet, but it made Hux’s spine chill all the same, “And what are you, Hux? What are you if not a monster, too?”

Hux felt the anger shake through his frame—a poison of fury through his blood. ‘A fool,’ a part of his mind hissed at him then.

He kept his mouth closed, a silent answer.

Kylo Ren nodded and then he stepped forward more until his knee pressed between Hux’s legs—his thigh hard and insistent against Hux’s groin, “Do you really not want this?” He lowered his mouth to Hux’s—not touching, just hovering there. “Hm? I want to hear you say the words. Tell me this is something you can live without. That you don’t need my hands, my tongue, my cock…”

Raising his hand to the back of Kylo’s head, Hux locked his eyes with his and gritted against the feel of Kylo rubbing against his growing length. He hated him. Hated Kylo Ren with everything in him.

This monstrosity of a person. 

His monster.

He clenched his hand in the thick strands of Kylo’s hair.

Hux’s words came out in a rough, angry, whisper, “I. don’t. want. this.”

Then he brought their lips together and felt Kylo Ren’s sharp teeth against his tongue.

Chapter Text

He couldn’t believe they were finally here. Clyde had been promising Stensland a trip to the local amusement park for months.

Clyde kept saying he wasn’t the amusement park type but as Stensland told him, he said that because he’d never gone with him before. Ol’ Stensland knew exactly how to maximize the fun. It was all about knowing which rides to skip, when to get snacks, and how high you could lift your hands on the roller coaster.

Which, incidentally, was their next stop.

Stensland could feel the rush from the fluffy, sugary, candy floss (or cotton candy as these Americans called it) that Clyde got him. Clyde had looked at the giant pink cloud wearily and said he wasn’t sure if it was a good idea for Stensland to eat it all, but he was nothing if not determined and promptly devoured it before Clyde could even finish putting his change away in his pocket. It was delicious. And possibly had been too much. 

They stepped to queue and Stensland was surprised to see that it was empty. When he pointed this out to the ride attendant, he shrugged, bored, “We’ve been having some issues with the ride all day. Most people have decided to go on other things.”

Stensland felt Clyde freeze beside him, “What type o’ issues we talking ‘bout here?”

As the attendant opened his mouth, the roller coaster carts appeared before them, “Never mind that, Clyde, let’s go!” He ran to the front seat quickly and stepped in. When he turned with a grin, he saw Clyde’s face in a worried frown but with a sigh, he followed behind.

Clyde was a bull of a man and Stensland found himself scooting a fraction over when their shoulders pressed together. He didn’t want to make Clyde uncomfortable and think Stensland had a big fat crush on him by leaning on him the whole ride.

Even though he did. But that was one secret Stensland was keeping to himself.

Sure, they’d been friends for a while now and sure, Stensland maybe couldn’t hide the way he practically melted every time Clyde’s chocolate chip eyes looked into his whenever he smiled, but he was done being made a fool of in the romance department.

And the last thing he wanted was to mess up his friendship with Clyde. He’d never had a friend like him. And no amount of fantasy-filled dreams about Clyde whisking him off his feet and throwing him onto the back of a horse to ride off into the sunset and make sweet love in his castle, was going to change that.

The attendant instructed them to buckle their seatbelts before he pulled down the safety bar. Clyde’s hand immediately latched on and then tucked his prosthetic against his lap.

“This is going to be so much fun, you’ll see,” Stensland said. “Whole coaster to ourselves!”

Clyde glanced at him through the corner of his eye and grunted.

And then, they were off.

Stensland’s hands immediately rose as they swung around the tracks. He could feel and hear the rush of wind past his face as he whooped and screamed for joy. “Isn’t this fun?” he yelled.

When he turned his head, Clyde looked as if he hadn’t moved from the position he was in before they set off save for the way his lips were tightly pinched.

They were climbing up the track for the big drop and Stensland was just about to tell Clyde how this was the best part, when the ride, suddenly, stopped.

Stensland’s screams died right then too. He lowered his arms slowly as he looked around in confusion. When he looked over the side, his stomach nearly dropped. “Oh wow, we’re really high up, aren't we?”

“Um.”

Stensland looked at Clyde. His eyes were wide and his grip seemed to have tightened. It looked like it hurt. “What just happened?” he asked.

Squinting down, Stensland could see the vague shape of their ride attendant waving their arms up at him and gesturing towards a cellphone in their hand and then towards the ride, and finally, them. “I believe the ride is stuck.”

“Oh.” Clyde said in a strangled voice.

Stensland swallowed when his eyes unfocused from the distance to the ground, “I guess this is what he meant about issues, earlier.”

Clyde said nothing.

Maybe it was the fact that his heart currently was beating faster than a rabbit’s from all the sugar and adrenaline and the proximity to Clyde, but Stensland realized then that he was very close to faint.

He felt the vomit of words tumble out, “Okay maybe we shouldn’t have gone on. Do you think we’re going to be stuck here forever? What if they can’t get it back on? This is my fault, I never should’ve made us get on!”

He started heaving lungfuls of breath just as Clyde’s arm wrapped around him, “Whoa there, take it easy. You’re okay. We’re both okay. They’ll get it fixed, don’t ya worry.”

“Promise?”

“With all my heart.”

Stensland looked at Clyde then and blinked, “Before we die I need to tell you something.”

“Stensland, I just told you we’re—”

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted.

Clyde froze, “… I beg your pardon?”

Stensland nodded frantically, “I’ve been in love with you for a while now—probably since the moment I met you and I’ve been too scared to tell you because I know you don’t feel the same and I completely understand why you don’t, I’m not—”

His words were cut off then by the feel of lips against his mouth. Clyde’s lips! And oh, that felt nice. Really nice.

Stensland pulled back in a daze, his lips fuzzy with warmth.

He watched a small smile creep over Clyde’s face, and just as he did the same, Stensland heard the sound of the coaster turning back on.

Their cart clicked over the curve of the track a fraction of a second, before they tipped over.

Chapter Text

Paterson pulled out his small notebook from his breast pocket and slid the thin pencil from behind his ear.

Ducks quaked along the lake in front of him as he stood from the park bench after writing the words, “the sun’s glistening light scatter like stars along the lake’s silvered ripples like whispered caresses between two old lovers.”

He closed and returned the notebook back into his pocket after that and walked along the dirt path.

He noticed a patch of construction a few steps ahead and placed his hands in his work jacket's pockets. As he began to make his way to an intersecting makeshift bridge to the other side, he heard a voice call out.

“Excuse me, is someone there?”

Paterson blinked as he turned his head for the source. He was, for all intents and purposes, alone at the park’s lakeside from what he could tell.

“Can you hear me?” The voice, accented, called out a bit louder.

Paterson stepped towards the construction area, noticing a wide dirt hole by the plywood bridge. When he stepped towards it, he peeked his head over and froze.

“Oh thank goodness,” the voice—the man, said from where his prone dirt-covered body laid. Two large rocks, boulders even, were pinning his leg and arm against the hole’s ground.

“Oh, shit!” Paterson gasped in surprise at the sight “Wow. Are you okay? I—shit.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets quickly, snatching his hand back in irritation when a loose thread caught his hand as he did so. Paterson scrambled, “I’ll find help. Just hang on, okay? You can do this.”

“Er, do what exactly?”

Paterson hesitated as he turned away and blinked again, “Um. Right, yeah I don’t know. I think that last part was directed at myself.”

“Oh, okay.”

He glanced back down at the man. The hole wasn’t too deep, but it was deep enough that Paterson could probably barely graze his fingers over the rocks if he bent enough.

The man’s red hair was covered in loose brown dirt and he looked as if he had a couple dark scrapes along his cheek. “Are you in pain?” Paterson asked. It seemed like a dumb question, but he wondered if he should call emergency services instead.

“No, I can’t actually feel any pain.” The man said matter-of-factly. He sounded for all the world like they were having a pleasant conversation.

“Uh, is that because you’ve gone numb or is that some philosophical answer.”

The man smiled and Paterson berated himself for thinking he looked captivating, almost poetic, when he did so even among soil. “Neither. I wasn’t programmed with pain sensors. I could technically get them installed but hard to argue for them, especially in situations like this.”

Paterson had become familiar with some news of a breakthrough technology a few years back about this, but after Laura passed, he didn’t really make time to keep up with, well anything other than work, really. “You’re… an android?”

“Sure am. But I’m also Ash.” He smiled again and that knowledge that he wasn’t human didn’t diminish that pull Paterson felt in his gut any at the sight. “My name is Ash, I should clarify.”

“Paterson.” He said automatically, thoughts still trying to catch him up with the fact that there was an android who looked eerily human in a construction hole.

“Pleased to meet you Paterson. I’d shake your hand, but it’s otherwise occupied or well—hang on…”

Paterson watched as the android—Ash—reached his free left arm up.

“Oh, um…” Paterson cleared his throat and kneeled onto the ground, holding his balance with his right hand to keep from dropping in and stuck his arm down. The length was just enough for their palms to touch.

Paterson noted with some surprise that Ash’s skin felt completely human, if not softer.

Then he felt Ash’s grip tighten around his own and realized Ash was using him as leverage to attempt to pull himself up.

“Wait—” Paterson said nervously, “Don’t want you to hurt yourself more. I should go get help.”

Ash sighed, “No it’s fine. It’ll be a nightmare to reapply the synthetic skin all night, but…” he grunted as the rock against his arm shifted.

Paterson fastened his own grip and began to pull back.

With a strong tug, Ash’s arm was free and Ash gasped.

Paterson let go of his hand, afraid to see it detached from his body, but with some relief, he saw that wasn’t the case. Ash then bent forward with his now two free hands and rolled the rock off his leg. It had ripped his jeans but that seemed to be the worst of it.

Then Ash sighed in satisfaction, and Paterson found that to be such a human response as well. He wondered if Ash did it on purpose or not. But then he wiped the question from his mind when Ash turned his head back up to him with that smile of his again, “Care to give me another little tug up?”

Paterson reached down with his dominant hand this time and did just that until Ash managed to crawl onto the ground beside Paterson.

When he stood up, he unhelpfully dusted himself off. “Thanks so much, Paterson. I was beginning to wonder if I’d be here all night.”

“It’s no problem… can I ask how you fell in the first place?”

“I got distracted.”

“Heck of a distraction.” Paterson replied with a chuckle.

Ash shrugged, “I was looking at the ducks on the water.”

Paterson nodded, “They are nice ducks, I’ll give you that. I was watching them myself earlier.”

“Lucky for me that we both like ducks, then. Maybe next time I come out here I should make sure you’re around again.” Ash said playfully.

Paterson felt a small easy and warm blush moving up his chest, “Let me know when and I’ll be here.”

Chapter Text

There’s been many experiences and lessons in his life that Francisco gives thanks to God for.

Chief among them: the winds that brought him to the Americas. While he misses his home country and the foreign land of the fierce samurai warriors with their gentle streams and quiet ways, Francisco has found that these new countries are like a blended canvas of history.

He gives prayer over the stories of the wars that men have waged among their own and of the ones that were told to him by the Native people who spoke of ships full of disease and weaponized fear.

He’s seen the glory of structures both new and old that cross lands and cultures—of the spoken and shared languages that were either forced or forged among people who came from the lands, and others who migrated to it.

As Francisco has gotten to know the people—welcomed by warm hands and warm hearts, few are as notable as one: Andrew Henry. The military man who brings hides and meats from expeditions that Francisco is always enraptured to hear about.

They were introduced not yet a year ago when a harsh winter passed and the people of this small town called for warm furs to line their backs and beds.

And in walked Andrew Henry, whose hair shone like the sun and whose eyes glistened like a sprout of leaves from the barren land.

When Francisco had tried to explain that he not yet knew the American-English language, Andrew had simply smiled and said, “¿Y por casualidad sabes Español?”¹

That’s when Francisco had come to learn that Andrew once lived and worked in lead mines in an area that was once a Spanish province, and had learned the language there.

From that moment on, and despite Francisco now having learned a few American-English words and phrases, they spoke together in Spanish—“a private language for us to share” Andrew had said to him once.

And Francisco didn’t know why, but that comment had made him feel as he did every morning when he thanked God for bringing a new day to his door.

Andrew has been very kind to him and Francisco finds himself excitedly anticipating his arrival every other month.

Just as he is now.

Andrew is due any one of these days with a group of his men to sell and trade from their business. Every time he comes, he stays a week’s time that goes by in such a flash, that Francisco often finds himself on his knees once it has come to pass, pleading God for penance over his sin of greed for wanting more.

Currently, Francisco is bent over his bible, rosary threaded through his fingers as his thumb combs over each bead in prayer, when he hears what sounds like hooves and wooden wheels drawing closer on the roads nearby.

His heart leaps from his chest and he finds himself jolting from his prayer. He wants to berate himself for being so callous—especially with something so holy in his hand, but in that moment, his mind only pictures that easy smile that Andrew gives him every time they see one another.

He forces himself to take care in bundling his things away as the traveling sounds outside have stopped outside his cabin.

He hears the jovial but tired words between men outside as Francisco’s heart races in his chest. He frowns at himself when he finds himself smoothing down his growing hair. Vanity should have no place for him.

The then clopping steps of horses and wagon moving away is followed by a small knock at his door. His mouth goes dry as he reaches for the door with a dizzying speed to reveal that face he’s come to cherish.

He sighs, “My dear friend Andrew, it is so good to see you.”

Francisco isn’t sure if it’s just a shameful hope or not, but Andrew’s eyes almost seem to light up when they find his. “Francisco. It always feels like too long between the days we see one another.”

Francisco bites his lip to fight the warmth through his chest at that and steps aside, “Please, come in. You must be tired from your journey, I will fetch you some drink and stew.”

“I’m not imposing, am I?” Andrew asks as he steps inside even as he begins to remove his thick coat from the warmth of the fireplace that has been warming Francisco’s pot of food.

“Never.” Francisco says easily, “You make every day brighter just by being in it.”

He reaches for Andrew’s coat and doesn’t miss the way that Andrew’s eyes seem to fasten on him with a look that makes Francisco’s blood feel like warm molasses—even when the lingering touch he receives from Andrew’s fingers as he takes the coat in his hand, causes his skin to shiver at the same time.

“As do you, my beloved Francisco.” Andrew says, and his voice is so soft that Francisco believes he must’ve simply not heard or missed the easy term of ‘friend’ between his name and the term of endearment. 

Amado ²—he isn’t sure if they’ve ever referred to one another with that before. But it’s all he can focus on now. Even as he shuffles hurriedly to set Andrew’s coat away, sneaking a small inhale from the fabric in his hands before replacing it with bowls he had set aside.

When he turns around, he nearly yelps when Andrew is there so closely in front of him. He looks pensive and Francisco worries he was caught—that he was seen, that the truth that he hides is laid so bare on his face when viewed by the very person he yearns for.

But Andrew simply looks at him and then takes his hand in his, “Come let us sit and eat while I tell you of the adventures I had. I have an amazing story to tell you about a towering bear.”

Chapter Text

Techie tightened the sheet over his head when he heard the door to his quarters hiss open. There was only one other person on the ship who he allowed access to the system’s authorization, but even then, Techie felt a spike of anxiety seize his body.

“Techie?” Matt’s voice was gentle, coaxing, even underneath his usual gruff tone.

Techie’s answering whine was followed by a sigh in the air above him.

“Techie, don’t worry. Everyone knows it wasn’t your fault.”

The words gave him the slightest reassurance but he still didn’t release his hold or otherwise respond.

Matt sat his hand down over the sheet, landing on the curve of Techie’s shoulder, “This okay?” came his voice from above.

Techie let the warmth from his touch begin to steady his shaking body and he nodded his head before remembering Matt couldn’t see him. “Mhm” he managed instead.

They said nothing for a few moments until Techie felt the slight dip on the mattress as Matt sat down, his hand still grounding and stable.

After his heart evened out and the tremors in his body subsided, Techie slowly began to loosen the grip of his fingers and pulled the sheet down slightly.

A small ache pulsed through them from how strongly his muscles had stiffened, but he didn’t focus on them—not when his bionic eyes quietly whirled to settle on Matt’s face.

His bleach-blond patched hair, was just as disorganized as it always was. Clumped strands poked out in different directions like it always did from Matt’s habit of fisting his hands through it whenever he was agitated—which was too often, unfortunately.

As was life on a ship that had no lack of enemies in the galaxy.

“Hi,” Techie said quietly then, the sheet draped across his neck.

It was always fascinating to watch the way Matt’s face changed whenever it was just the two of them. When he looked at Techie as if he was the only thing worth letting his body soften for. “Hi, Techie.”

Matt hesitated only for a moment before he added, “You okay?”

“No.”

“That’s fine. I get it.” He squeezed Techie’s shoulder a bit before smoothing it back to rest at the nape of his neck. Techie held back a shiver—Matt’s touch always did that.

“I have to tell you something and I need you to promise me you won’t freak out.”

Techie huffed at that, “Easier said than done.”

“I know. But just tell me you’ll try.”

“Okay.”

Matt took that as answer enough and then sat up, his thumb swiping lightly against Techie’s skin before he sighed, “They need you to go in person to make a report.”

Techie froze, ready to protest but Matt continued quickly, “You’re the only one who can explain what happened that night.”

“But- but I told you about it, can’t you just—"

“I tried,” Matt said, cutting him off. He sounded irritated but Techie knew it wasn’t towards him, “I told them that you already told me, that I could give them a report for you but they said it needed to be you.” Matt’s face pinched in anger, “Assholes. I wanted to wipe the stupid look off their faces when they waved me away.”

Techie bit his lip into his mouth, thoughts going to the night before last.

He had been asked to fix a main console that had apparently been glitching for a few days. He had been alone at the time—as was his preference—when he came across a code in the system that shouldn’t be there.

Digging deeper, he found that it seemed to be a linking IP channel to a region in the Outer Rims. He managed to trace it to the planet D’Qar and that’s when he realized it was spy software. As soon as he tried to scrub it from the system, a message had appeared on screen: “Techie. We can help you. Do not remove network connection.”

When he freaked out, wondering how they knew his name, he had immediately engaged in a system wipe. But doing so triggered some type of failsafe from whoever created the spy link and all the consoles immediately burst at once.

Techie could still remember the feeling of shards scrapping across his face, the sound that roared, and the bright sparks that filled his eyes.

Techie made a small sound of fear in his throat just remembering. Whoever was on the other side, had tracked his credentials when he was signed in at the time.

He was scared.

But seeing Matt’s anger beside him—the anger that was on his behalf instead of Matt’s own—gave him a small comfort. A re-shift of his own fear. So instead of hiding away again, he reached his hand out to rest against Matt’s knee in comfort. For him.

“Thank you for trying, Matt.”

Matt’s face softened again almost immediately. It made him feel good to know how healing his own touch could be—that a touch could be healing at all.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Techie wanted to say yes—it was on the tip of his tongue to do so, but he knew it probably wasn’t a good idea. Matt always got so defensive on Techie’s behalf around others and the last thing he wanted was for Matt to get in trouble for him. “No, it’s okay. I should do this myself.”

He forced himself to lift up from the bed, taking Matt’s hand in his when it fell free from his shoulder, “But will you wait for me here until I get back?”

Matt’s hand clasped tightly against his then as Matt pushed his ridiculously large glasses up his nose with his other hand and leaned forward intently, “Of course, Techie. I’ll always be here for as long as you want me.”

A small blush heated Techie’s cheek as he pushed a stand of hair behind his ear, “Good.”

Chapter Text

“No, no, you’re meant to put the tinder underneath the kindling and then feed the larger logs and branches as fuel after the fire catches.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were an expert in everything.” Kylo Ren grits between his teeth. “And if that’s the case, why didn’t you say anything before? You literally watched me put the branches down first.”

Hux shrugs with his arms over his chest as he sits hunched down on the balls of his feet, “I mistakenly thought there was some method to your madness but I was wrong.” He pokes at the haphazard pile and watches it topple over, “And I’m sure one doesn’t have to be an expert to know something so simple—I’d argue, actually, that it’s common knowledge among even the youngest of—”

“Just—all right I get it!” Kylo yells, scattering the pile of wood and dry leaves he had gathered earlier, “Sorry I was too busy training under Snoke to learn how to build little campfires as a child.” He growls at Hux when he hears him scoff and mutter something about being melodramatic, that follows into his chattering thoughts, “And why do you have to think so much? It’s bad enough you can’t get enough of the sound of your own voice but then I have to deal with how loud you’re always thinking, too. I don’t know why you don’t just shield your mind.”

"What good would that do me? You already know I wish you were dead. I hardly see anything wrong with hiding that fact.”

Kylo snorts as he begins to separate the piles of campfire materials again, “Oh really? And what do you call those thoughts you had earlier when you were watching me bathe in the river?”

He sees Hux glare at him from the corner of his eye, even while a soft pink pallor flushes on his face that Kylo finds enticing.

“Cognitive impairment brought upon by dehydration, hunger, and exhaustion.”

“We gathered plenty of drinkable water from the stream we found the night before and you’ve been gnawing away at that ration bar you have in your coat pocket that you think I don’t know about,” Kylo replies in a bored voice.

Hux sniffs dismissively after pressing his hand against his pocket to make sure the remains of his ration bar are still there, “Then I’m clearly developing psychotic episodes after being in nothing but your company for so long in this backwater planet we’re stuck in.”

Kylo Ren rolls his eyes and mutters, “Forget it.”

They fall silent again and he watches as Hux mutters something back about doing it himself the right way as he grabs their pile of tinder and then proceeds to create an arched housing over the pile with their sticks of kindling.

Satisfied, he turns to Kylo, “Well, go ahead, amaze us with your mystical abilities.”

Kylo bites back a retort. It’s cold and he’s tired and the sooner they light this fire, the sooner he can fix one of those issues.

He concentrates as he lifts his hand and closes his eyes. He can feel the push of the Force around him zeroing in where he needs it and then, a small breath of a gasp that is hidden away when Hux feigns clearing his throat.

A small spark of fire has lit over the tinder and they watch as it quickly begins spreading towards the thin sticks like an energy hungry to consume everything in its path.

Hux grabs one of the larger branches and carefully bends his neck to blow against the small housing.

Kylo Ren swallows back at the sight of Hux’s exposed skin and tears his eyes towards where Hux is setting down a heavier piece.

As soon as they’ve added on enough wood to sustain the fire, they both sit back on their haunches and let the warmth slowly seep against their cold hands.

When Kylo tries to reach out to Hux’s thoughts after he’s fallen so silent, he freezes when he realizes he’s closed off his mind now. He finds it upsetting.

“So now you don’t want me to hear you anymore?” He asks and it sounds petulant to his own ears but he doesn’t really care.

Hux’s head swivels to his quickly. He pinches his lips and shrugs, “You’re the one who was apparently so bothered by it. Forgive me for trying to show you some kindness.” He says the last word mockingly.

Kylo hovers his hands near the fire, clenches them when he sees a slight nervous shake, “Yeah well, maybe I’m experiencing a psychotic cognitive—”

“It’d be cognitive psychosis.”

“…” Kylo sighs, “Maybe I’m experiencing some cognitive psychosis myself and I don’t like how quiet it is without your screaming thoughts now.”

“Even the ones where I hope a giant creature leaps from the trees and swallows you whole?”

Kylo Ren snorts, glances at Hux and nods, “Even those, I guess.”

Hux hums and then slowly, Kylo feels the way Hux’s mind opens to him again— catching the quick pass in Hux’s thoughts of the sense of feeling pleased about it. 

When Kylo Ren tries to hide a smirk by returning his eyes to the fire, he hears something drop at his feet.

Gazing down, he sees a piece of split ration bar.

Chapter Text

Clyde doesn’t know how a person with a family who’ve gone through enough shitty situations in their life to label it a family curse, can be this lucky now.

Did life finally decide he’s paid enough of his dues, that its giving him something that can make it all seem worth it? What’s that thing called—karma?

As it stands, Clyde hopes to God or the Universe or whatever has been pulling the strings that this is him cashing in on his karma.

That this delicately thin, squirmy—incredibly flexible—red-topped body in his arms that’s looking at him with glossy green-colored eyes, can be called his.

“And after you come in my mouth, you can bend me over and stick that wet tongue of yours in my arse.”

“Jesus, Stensland,” Clyde says then, eyes pinching shut against the feel of Stensland’s mouth against his ear.

He can’t think straight and the smell of alcohol seems to coat every one of Clyde’s senses.

They’re currently in Clyde’s bar: Duck Tape. Clyde’s holding Stensland up from his perch on one of the bar stools where he nearly slipped his whole body off from moments ago. And if it weren't for the filthy things Stensland’s been telling him for the past five minutes, he’d have a steadier hold on him.

But as it stands, Clyde’s head is swimming with alcohol himself, and the lovely, lovely images Stensland’s been conjuring up in his head of the two of them.

Clyde is just relieved there’s no one around to see him. Not that he’d take too kindly to anyone hearing the things Stensland’s been saying either. These are words for Clyde alone.

He’s the bar owner, for gosh sakes. He’s suppose to be the sober one.

It started off well enough: Stensland came in a couple hours ago upset about being overlooked for a promotion at his job.

They’ve been dating for a couple weeks now—weeks that Clyde would argue have been some of the best in his life and so Clyde, being the good… well, they haven’t actually made it official yet but there’s not a thing in the world that could make Clyde not want to be known as Stensland’s boyfriend.

And maybe someone more than that one day. But as it stands, he wants to make sure he’s there for Stensland in the good and bad.

And boy does Stensland attract a lot of bad himself. Maybe that’s why it works for them—maybe the bad luck they both have, cancels out when they’re together.

So when Stensland came in, eyes red-rimmed and pink sniffling nose, Clyde didn’t think twice about agreeing to help him drown his sorrows in drink as long as he could keep an eye on him.

But then Stensland pointed out how insecure he was about drinking alone and Clyde was forced to match Stensland’s drink just for the chance to see that smile on those lips.

Too many shots later, here they were.

“Do you remember those tootsie pop advertisements?” Stensland slurs then and Clyde blinks down at him, “Uh, I think so?” He’s having trouble keeping his eyes steady. “Sumthin’ about how many licks t’a the center.”

Stensland giggles and grins up at Clyde. His chin has come to rest against Clyde’s chest and his arms have snuck up in the back of Clyde’s shirt in a way that has him straining against the seam of his jeans.

Clyde’s own arm is resting between the back of his shoulders and he’s struggling not to move it to the nape of Stensland’s neck to crush their lips together. But he knows there’s no way he’ll be able to stop once they start.

“That’s the one,” Stensland says, biting that plush bottom lip into his mouth, “I know what you’re thinking—you’re thinking: so well how many licks of your dick it would take me. But what if,” he giggles again, “what if I ride you? And it’s how many times I can bounce on that cock of yours before I get that creamy center instead.”

Clyde takes it back—this might be a curse too.

A curse because he needs Stensland something bad, but they’ve barely even gone past heavy petting since they’ve been dating and they’re not sober enough to make these types of decisions.

“Stensland,” he says and his voice sounds more strained that he wishes it’d be.

“Hm?” And there goes those pretty eyes of his. He wonders how they look when Stensland comes. Do they go brighter? Greener? Does he shut them or do they roll in the back of that gorgeous head of his?

“We’re too drunk for this.”

He feels rather than sees Stensland shake his head against Clyde’s chest, “‘m not. Just want you.”

Clyde closes his eyes and sighs, hand coming to hold Stensland’s arm back, “Darlin’ trust me the feelings mutual—if not more so… but how ‘bout a deal?”

Stensland let’s out a little excited gasp, “What is it?”

Clyde pulls himself back and away from Stensland as much as they allow each other so they can look each other in the eye.

“As soon as we’re both sober, we can do every dirty little thing you ever dreamed of.”

He can see the way Stensland eyes’ shine, dilate, and Clyde swallows audibly, “But ’til then, how about you let me call my sister Mellie so she can pick us up ‘n drop us off at my place so we can sleep it off.”

Stensland looks ready to protest but he frowns and takes a deep steeling breath, “Okay.”

He sways a bit and Clyde steadies his hold against his back again.

Stensland grins at him then, hands skating to cup Clyde’s ass, “Let’s seal the deal with a kiss first.”

Chapter Text

The drip of the kitchen sink is grating on Ash’s simulated nerves.

It’s loud in the quiet of the kitchen. It louder even than the jittery tapping of Ash’s fingers on the kitchen table. He stops and stills his hands, glances at the time glowing from the stove’s display clock. 10:15PM, it reads.

And still, Paterson isn’t home.

He’s been gone from home far longer than usual for what feels like weeks now. At first, Ash thought nothing of it. Maybe there was construction being done on a busy road which meant he had busier or longer routes these days. Maybe, the problem road was the one that he used on his way home in his own car and he had to take a long alternate route before he could come home. Here. To Ash.

But Ash has already done an internet search and did not find any updates about city or county road work. From that day forward he’s told himself that it’s a clerical issue.

Drip. Drip.

He stares at the dripping tap in anger. He should fix it. He’d left it, hoping that Paterson would notice—that he’d realize something was wrong just as Ash has noticed something is wrong. But he hasn’t.

Still no Paterson.

He’s kept his worries to himself, of course. He knew Paterson would sooth them away if pressed, but it doesn’t answer where he is. Why Ash would have to ask him.

They don’t keep things from one another. Not for a long time. Not from the moment Paterson found him on the side of the road after his shipping box had fallen off a carrier trailer.

Even after he learned what he was.

Drip. Drip.

Ash places his head in his hands: a mannerism programmed into him from the person Ash was modeled after.

Where is he?

Where is the impossibly gentle man who has made Ash feel equally impossible things?

Paterson has grown tired of him. He knew he would, eventually. Knew what they had, had a time limit. There were advancements though—options that would allow Ash to synthetically age alongside him.

He thought it would be enough for Paterson. That Ash could have this despite never having been created to want as much as he did.

But he did. Whether it was a flaw in his programming or some type of miracle, Ash didn’t know. But he didn’t care. Paterson was everything to him.

Drip. Drip.

The sound of the door unlocking pulls Ash’s attention immediately. He swallows involuntarily, needlessly.

Then Paterson steps into view. He looks tired.

“Please tell me this isn’t the end. I need you.” Ash knows he sounds shrill but he doesn’t care.

Paterson freezes at the kitchen entrance, work jacket hanging over his arm, “I—What?”

“What did I do wrong, Paterson? Please, whatever it was, I’ll change. Just don’t leave me.”

Paterson stumbles on his way to the chair beside Ash’s and takes his hands in his, “Hey no, wait. What is this?”

Ash’s brows fall inward, he can feel the artificial tears filling in their ducts, “You’re breaking up with me.”

“I am?”

Ash finds himself angry at that question, at the confused look on Paterson’s face. “How else do you explain why you’ve been gone so much longer these days? It’s Saturday today if you weren’t aware! Saturdays are your day off. Clearly you’ve found someone else. Someone with blood under their skin instead of—” the tears blur his vision then and he’s grateful for it.

“Ash, sweetheart,” Paterson says softly. And the way he says the endearment so easily pains him even more.

He knows it’s coming.

“I’m not breaking up with you.” He says, tone still gentle.

What.

“What? Then—”

Paterson sighs and closes his eyes, “I’m sorry. This is my fault. I should’ve—I didn’t think about what this would look like…” He opens his eyes and places his hands over Ash’s face, wiping the tears away with his thumbs, “I’ve been doing overtime shifts. A lot of them. As many as I could.”

Ash’s brows furrow, “Why?” They don’t have any money issues.

Paterson bites his lip. He looks hesitant and nervous but he shakes his head, “It’s… well I’ve been saving money to get you something.”

“I don’t need anything, Paterson.”

Paterson sighs again. “I really wanted to wait until I had it, but…”

And then Ash watches in surprise as Paterson slips from his seat, kneeling on the floor beside Ash as he pulls his small poem notebook from his pocket. His hands are shaking as he flips to a page.

He glances up at Ash nervously before clearing his throat and begins to read:

"In the quiet hum of streets of home,
Where days are fleeting, yet feelings have grown;
I find a road that speaks your name,
Ash Starmer, in you, a quiet flame.

Your touch is trusting, my hands on your thighs,
With every glance, a world in your eyes.
The echos of laughter, a wonder you brought,
A jumble of feelings, in heartstrings caught.

With ink on paper and silence between,
I ask, with love, from your eyes saline;
Not only as a poem in fleeting rhyme,
But as my forever, for endless time.

So here, in this verse, with all I am,
I ask for your heart, to hold in hand—
Not only for a moment, but for all the days,
Will you marry me, in your quiet ways?"

Paterson carefully closes the notebook and looks at Ash, “I uh. Well I don’t have that ring yet like I was trying to explain but—”

Ash grabs his face between his in a rush, “Yes,” he whispers, “Of course, yes.”

And presses their lips together.

“Really?” Paterson asks shakily when Ash pulls away, grin on his face.

Ash laughs and nods his head.

Drip. Drip.

Paterson blinks and turns towards the kitchen faucet, face still in Ash’s hands, “How long’s that been broken?”

Chapter Text

He’s drunk. He knows he’s drunk. Even if there’s not much he can do about it now except let it exit his system the natural way.

He should sleep.

Andrew stumbles onto his cot. He never should’ve drunk this much. But he and the men were celebrating one of the crew’s near-death experiences against a herd of buffalo that ended up getting them a fair share of meat and fur for their troubles, and how could he resist?

Especially when he’s been struggling lately with something that has been eating away at him something awful, and the chance to bury those thoughts in the haze of alcohol through his veins was a welcome respite.

And now that brings his thoughts back to it. To him: Francisco.

The Portuguese Jesuit priest they found wandering the woods with nothing but a rosary and bible clutched in his thin, malnourished hands. They took him in and fed him though he didn’t speak a word of English, and half of them couldn’t even find Portugal on a map. But he knew Spanish, he’d said; lucky for him, Andrew and a couple others had picked up the language themselves.

That had been coming up on nearly three months ago now. Francisco took to his stay with them with curious ease. He leads prayer for those among them who believe, volunteers in the retrieval of water, and even helps in fur-cleaning from time to time. He’s diligent and thoughtful and smiles even when he doesn’t understand what’s spoken to him.

He also has dark eyes that twinkle like stars in the sky whenever he talks to Andrew. And slightly jagged teeth that he sometimes dreams about running his tongue over.

Christ, he needs to sleep.

Andrew smiles to himself as he imagines how Francisco would reprimand him for using the Lord’s name in vain. The way a line would crease between his eyes and those softly chapped lips of his would downturn in disappointment. Andrew freezes when he realizes he’s cupped himself and has started rocking into his palm.

Turning onto his back, he sighs. There’s gotta be a special place in hell for men who lust after a man in cloth, right?

His head swims as he stands back up from the cot. He’s not going to get a wink like this.

Maybe some fresh air would help.

He steps out of his private quarters and heads out into the open camp. He can still hear the singing celebrations coming from the building they’ve made into a bar and kitchen, as he walks down further the opposite way.

The world here is still and quiet. If they’re not among those drinking, they’re asleep.

Like Francisco likely is.

They got him his own small cabin away from everyone so he could talk to God and say his Hail Mary’s in peace or whatever it is priests like him do.

It’s not much, but Francisco never complained. Never complains about anything, really. Thinks everything is a blessing.

Andrew wonders if that means Francisco was brought to Andrew as a blessing himself.

On nights like this when Andrew’s feet can’t help but pull him towards Francisco’s door, he wonders.

It’s quiet. Andrew sets his head against the closed door and closes his eyes.

What’s he doing here?

He takes a steadying breath, hands pressing into fists against the smooth wood.

And then, he nearly stumbles when the door pushes inward.

A hand steadies him, catches him before he falls.

He’s dizzy and can hardly see past the moonlight and the soft candles in the small space before he rights himself.

He turns to Francisco who stands there looking at him in worry. His hair looks slightly mussed against his cheek and he looks like he just woke up from bed.

The sight makes Andrew’s chest ache and he closes his eyes from the wave of desire.

The hand steadies him again—strong, sure, and warm.

“Andrew, amigo. ¿Ha pasado algo?”¹ Francisco asks, the words so quiet that Andrew questions if he even heard them at all.

He clears his throat as he grounds himself—until Francisco’s handsome features settle in front of him. The words are out of his mouth before he can process them, “I can’t sleep, can I stay here?”

Francisco just looks at him then. And Andrew is feeling too foolhardy from the drink to have the shame of looking away.

And by some miracle, Francisco doesn’t throw him out with a short word of contrition over the stench of alcohol he’s brought into his sacred space. What he does instead, is soften those features on his face and nod his head, “of course.”

He leads Andrew towards his bed. It’s bigger and more comfortable looking than Andrew’s cot and he thinks about how he’s glad—Francisco should always have everything he needs. Whatever will keep him from looking like he did that day they found him.

Francisco helps him out of his boots and it’s all Andrew can manage before he falls face-first onto the sheets.

He makes out the sound of Francisco shutting his door and then the small hesitant steps back towards him.

Several moments pass and Andrew starts to worry, but then he stills when he feels Francisco slipping into the bed beside him.

Once he’s settled, everything goes quiet again.

All save for Andrew’s pounding heart.

His brain feels suddenly half-sobered up as the present reality catches up to him.

Carefully—slowly—he shifts and lifts his head, only to feel his breath catch when he sees how close Francisco’s face is to his.

He’s looking at him with that soft look of his. Those twinkling eyes.

Braved by liquor, Andrew lifts his shaking hand to touch one of the moles on Fracisco’s face.

He nearly gasps when he feels Francisco seemingly press against the pad of his finger.

Then, with a smile that lifts Francisco’s lips enough to catch an edge of his tooth, he whispers, “Good night, Andrew.”

Chapter Text

Matt throws the device in his hand down against the rocky shore in anger. “Kriffing nerf herding idiots,” he seethes. He should’ve never listened to his coworkers. He should’ve known they were playing a prank on him.

'Come planet-side with us', they said. 'We’ll get some drinks that you can pay for and then when you head to the ‘fresher we promise we’ll be here waiting so we can get on the shuttle back to our ship.'

Matt clenches his fists and then sighs dejectedly. He was the idiot.

Currently, a lost idiot.

With some reluctance, he picks the device back up. The location indicator blinks once and then fizzles out. Sithspit.

Matt feels the first prickle of tears behind his eyes and nose as he stands there, the ocean waves beside him rolling slowly as if they pity him, too. He rubs the heal of his palm into his eyes roughly. He won’t cry. He doesn’t deserve to feel sorry for himself.

Besides, he reminds himself. It wasn’t like ship command won’t realize he’s missing and come find him, right? Sure, no one likes him much but he’s good at his job. The best.

Yeah, he just needs to suck it up for a day or two at most and they’ll be coming down to pick him up. And they’ll make his coworkers pay for making them waste their resources.

Matt snorts as he imagines someone like Kylo Ren slashing them all down with his super cool lightsaber. Matt has some note suggestions for him about it to make it stronger. He just hasn’t had a chance yet. Which he gets—Kylo Ren is kinda busy what with being Supreme Leader and all. But maybe after they come pick him up, he’ll get a chance to speak to him in person. An apology gift on behalf of the First Order.

Matt sighs, resolved. Yep, that’s exactly what’s going to happen. But first, he needs to figure out where he’s going to sleep.

He’s been walking for so long he can’t remember where the bar is anymore.

And it’s not like he wants to go back there. For what? So everyone there can find out how much of a loser he is when they hear he was left stranded? Plus, his last known position from his location transmitter before it broke has him here so he can’t really go far anymore.

The sound of squawks by some birds flying overhead has Matt shading his eyes when he looks up and then he watches some dark clouds forming overhead. Great. It’s going to rain soon and he’s got nowhere to go. 

Adjusting his glasses onto his face, he scans the area and sees a cave nearby.

Better than nothing. At least it’ll give him some cover.

It’s not until he’s nearly at the entrance of the cave when he hears some muttering and the sound of someone tapping away on console keyboard.

That’s…weird?

“Hello?” He calls out and then pauses when the sounds immediately stop.

He feels a drop of rainwater hit his shoulder.

When he looks up, another one falls onto the lens of his glasses.

Kark it.

He shuffles inside and freezes again when he hears a sharp intake of breath.

There, inside the cave is a human, or at least he thinks he’s a human but he’s got really bright blue eyes that seems to be whirring rapidly. It’s a sharp contrast against his marred white skin and shock of bright shoulder-length hair. 

Pretty shouldn’t be the right word for him but that’s the only one that comes up in Matt’s head.

He puts his hands up to placate him like a spooked animal, “Hey, sorry. I won't. I mean, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m lost. And well, it started raining so I came here.”

He takes a moment to take in the sight of a whole computer console installed against the cave corner hooked up to a power generator which is pretty impressive. There’s a crate of what look like snacks beside it and a small roll-out sleeping mat.

Matt turns to the man who is still looking at him in fear, “Do you live in this cave all by yourself?”

The man’s lips wobble and Matt kinda wants to scoop him into his arms to calm him down. Which would be weird to do. So he won’t.

“No. I mean yes technically I’m here by myself but this is just where I work.”

“You work in a cave?”

The man shakes his head, “No? But also yes. My work has a building but well… everyone is so mean and I just… I’d rather be by myself so I made this space. Ma-Ma let’s me do it as long as I check-in with her and don’t you know, make her regret letting me.”

Matt doesn’t know any Ma-Ma but he nods his head anyway, “It’s okay, I get it. My coworkers are jerks, too. They left me stranded here.” He rolls his eyes and mutters, “Karking Stormtroopers can never be trusted.”

“Oh. I’m sorry?” The man says then. He doesn’t look that scared anymore and it makes Matt feel better.

“You don’t have to be sorry, you didn’t do anything.”

“Well no, but. Well, still.” He clears his throat and gestures to his crate, “Would you um like something? I have some moss chips?”

Matt considers it and shrugs, “Sure.” He steps forward and then straightens his spine before shooting out his hand, “I’m Matt.”

The man cautiously places his own hand in Matt’s. It’s really soft and cool. And feels nice. “Techie,” he responds.

Matt nods, “Hi Techie. I hope it’s okay for me to stay here with you for a while until the rain let’s up. Or they come pick me up.”

Techie’s bionic eyes move over Matt’s face and body for a moment before they settle and a cautious smile lifts his lips, “I think that might be okay, um. Matt.”

Chapter Text

• Your name is Armitage Hux
• You were a former General of the First Order
• You took a blaster shot to the chest by Pryde’s hand
• No one knows you are alive
• Except Kylo Ren
• Your memory resets these details when you sleep

Hux blinked at the note in his hand. He'd woken up, disoriented in an unfamiliar room.

Then he’d found a note at his bedside nightstand. The words were clearly written in his script, at least.

Those written details, however, were strangely empty from his memory. Logically, the second point was made obvious by the third and fourth.

But the fifth point caused the small hairs along his arm to stand.

How?

When he stood from bed, he noted the simple clothes he wore—pieces he didn’t remember owning.

The room was basic. A small viewport along one wall showed him that he was planet-side. The landscape look surrounded by ocean and Hux struggled to determine which planet this was from that alone.

A small door led him to a refresher where a simple sonic was nestled to the corner along with a toilet and sink. When he looked at himself in the mirror above the tap, he inspected himself—a light stubble ran along his jaw and cheeks, his hair was slightly longer but still only fell past his ears. He either hadn’t been here long or he did minimal maintenance.

He stepped back out into the bedroom and saw another door leading out. Just as he was going to go out the door, something caught his eye. There, on the other side of the bed, was another nightstand. Kylo Ren’s lightsaber sat on it. It’s also when he realized that side of the bed also looked slept in.

His heart hammered in his chest.

He ran back into the refresher.

Peeling down his sleep pants revealed marks on the skin of his hipbones that, upon further inspection, were slightly tender. Lifting his tunic revealed two reddened marks on his chest that horrifyingly looked as if made by a mouth.

He quickly righted his clothes.

This was impossible.

It must be a mistake.

He must be dreaming.

Yes, this was a nightmare.

Splashing water over his face and smacking his cheeks left him staring at himself in the mirror, just as he was moments ago.

Not a dream.

What happened? A sick thought entered his mind then: what if this was Kylo Ren’s doing?

Leaving the refresher, he became attuned to the sound of someone puttering about outside the door to the room. Kylo Ren.

Hux scanned the room for a weapon. He considered the lightsaber but he’d likely harm himself just turning it on.

But. There: a blaster in his bedside table—one thing that he seemed to retain from his alleged former life.

He carefully walked out the door then, careful not to make any noise as he followed the sounds. Hux then turned a corner to what seemed to be a kitchen. Kylo’s back was turned as he stirred something on a stove.

Hux aimed his blaster.

“I bet you last night you were going to do this.”

The blaster flew through the air out of Hux’s grasp.

Kylo caught it and slipped it in the waistband of his pants, then turned to Hux, “you owe me five credits.”

Hux seethed, “What—”

“No, I’m not the one who is resetting your memories. You’re alive because someone on the ship—you think Mitaka—placed your body in an escape pod after you were shot. I sensed you leaving the ship and I followed you, thinking you were defecting. I healed you. It’s been nearly 5 Standard months on this Inner Rim planet: Iloh. We’re still trying to figure out how to stop your memories from resetting.”

Hux opened and then closed his mouth in intervals. “How did the memory resets begin?” he pressed.

Kylo nodded and grimaced slightly, “It was an effect of my healing your body. The Force was used to heal your injuries and those memories, we assume, were interlinked to it. The Force essentially overdid it.”

“Why do I forget my own name?”

Again, Kylo nodded, “Our working theory is your sense of self was so tightly entwined to who you were, that the trauma, for lack of a better word, affected that, too.”

Hux’s head felt swimming with information. He wasn’t sure if he even believed him, but… he stopped, a slight flush on his face, “How do you account for the marks on my body?”

“That… is new.” Kylo said softly.

Hux narrowed his eyes, “How new?”

“Last night was the first time.”

Hux stared at him, “You really expect me to believe we’ve developed some sort of relationship? How is that even possible when I can’t kriffing remember past a night?”

“I know it’s… strange…” Kylo sighed again with a shake of his head, “this is why I have you make holo recordings…”

Kylo then lifted his hand as a datapad floated into the room. He tapped at the screen and handed it to Hux.

The holo was a recording Hux had made of himself. In it, he detailed what had been on the paper, but also other details: ones that outlined and reiterated what were clearly months worth of developments in edited-in portions. He spoke about the theories and experiments in holding onto his memories, of news of the collapsing rule of the First Order under Pryde; but notably, of Kylo Ren: what he did, how their relationship shifted over months.

The last entry showed Hux, a soft look on his face as he looked at someone off-camera.

Hux’s hands clenched and he stared at Kylo afterwards for several moments.

He let all his thoughts coalesce for long, quiet few minutes before he turned on his heel and went back into the bedroom, decision made.

Grabbing the note on the nightstand, he took a pen from a drawer and added another line:

• You share your bed with Kylo Ren

Chapter Text

He feels it now. They’re gone. All of them.

Anyone and everyone who thought they could help him. Those that thought there was still a chance to save him from the dark.

But there’s no salvation for a person who doesn’t want it.

And yet.

Something in him can’t help but mourn the loss in some way. There’s a sense of loneliness in the Force—a stilled silence. He wonders how long it’ll take before he finds relief in it rather than unease. 

“Heavy is the heart that wears the crown upon his head.”

Kylo Ren turns to Hux as he stands before him in the chamber. He’d been so lost in his thoughts as he sat there, that he hadn’t sensed him come in.

His hands sit behind his back and he’s looking at Kylo with a raised brow, “Isn’t that what they say?” he finishes.

“Do you believe that?” Kylo Ren asks, half-curious.

Hux sighs, “I think,” he steps towards the throne Kylo sits on now, each click of his boot echoing around the walls.

Kylo Ren spreads his legs against the seat as Hux somehow manages to look graceful as he straddles his thighs and rests his arms over Kylo’s shoulders. “That they must have weak hearts.”

Kylo wraps his hands around the small of Hux’s back, let’s one of them go down lower to squeeze Hux’s ass closer towards him, “And do you believe I have a weak heart?”

He feels Hux’s grin against his jaw, and then shudders as its followed by a hot, wet trail along the jawline from Hux's tongue. He drags his mouth up towards Kylo’s ear, then nips at the lobe, “That depends.”

Kylo swallows a groan as Hux grinds down against him, “On what?”

“On who it beats for,” Hux breaths, stifling a moan himself when Kylo quickly moves to suck at his throat, the pressure hard enough to bruise.

Kylo Ren reaches between them and makes quick work of opening and peeling down his own slacks, “And what if I said it was you?”

Hux grabs his chin with his fingers after Kylo let’s his filling dick free, and locks his gaze with his own, pressing down almost painfully with the rough fabric of his own still clothed body.

He revels in the way that Hux studies him—as if Kylo Ren's a constantly changing puzzle. Untrustworthy. Except when it comes to one thing. To one person.

And Hux knows it—smirks vainly at him when he sees it.

Then, Hux slants his head down to chase the exposed vulnerability with that self-righteous mouth.

He opens his mouth against Hux’s lips, savoring the remnants of the bitter tea Hux must’ve drunk before coming here. The kiss is messy and too wet but he can see that it’s how Hux craves it right now, how he wants it to feel as chaotic and overwhelming as drowning. Hux always needs them to feel as if they are on the brink of destroying one another. But Kylo has long since given up fighting him. He just wants now: to take, to give.

When Hux pulls away, Kylo can see the glisten of saliva against his reddened lips and he tries to tilt his head for more, but Hux stops him by lifting his hand. He bites his glove off with his teeth and then turns his hand, palm up. He smirks at Kylo Ren again as he spits onto his cupped hand, and then in a quick motion, uses it to wrap around Kylo’s cock.

He groans at the feel, hands squeezing Hux’s ass harder before dragging one of his hands to thread into Hux’s hair. Kylo shifts himself into Hux's hold as he briefly closes his eyes in pleasure knowing he's disturbing Hux's carefully regulation-stylized hair. Corrupting his very image of the perfect First Order senior officer as he sits on his lap. 

“If it beats for me…” Hux huffs against his mouth then. And Kylo barely registers the words, let alone that it’s a continuation of their conversation, but he leans forward to bite Hux’s chin anyway when he feels his grip tighten around him. “Then your true weakness is not knowing that I hold the crown.”

Kylo huffs a broken laugh, “Maybe.” He groans as he lets Hux begin an agonizing pace around his shaft, helpless against his touch. Hux's need to show that he's in control even like this pulls a hungry growl from his throat and he grips the strands of Hux's hair in his fist. Whether as a show of defiance or approval, Kylo isn't even sure himself—never is, not when it comes to Hux. He then takes a steadying breath, “And yours?” He shifts his face towards Hux’s mouth again, voice strained, “Who does your heart beat for?”

Hux simply looks at him.

His eyes stare through him as if he can will the Force through gaze alone. He squeezes his hold around Kylo punishingly for a moment.

Leaning forward, Hux presses their chests together until Kylo can almost feel the palpitations of Hux's heart against his own; the thumping an endless mirrored synchronization between them. And then, Hux answers him by licking into his mouth, letting his tongue imprint the words for him.