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There was no shortage of things for Poe to regret about that day on the Steadfast. Leaving Hux behind weighed on him, though. He regretted how — life or death, figurative blaster to his head — he had deemed Hux acceptable collateral damage. Through his actions, if nothing else.
They should have taken him with them on the Falcon. They should have at least offered. However, Poe didn’t expect to finish that thought with he wouldn’t have found a way to declare himself Supreme Leader if we had.
Hindsight, etcetera.
“We’re going all out, I see,” Poe says, looking around the room when he walks in.
The anteroom on the other side of the door is decorated with austere, smooth surfaces and uncomfortable-looking furniture, nothing but sharp edges and an intense unwelcoming vibe. It’s notably different inside the room. An actual effort has been put into making it seem atmospheric and warm.
There aren’t petals strewn on the bed, but there’s an implied suggestiveness to the overall aesthetic that Poe is surprised Hux agreed to. It is by far the most inviting venue the peace talks have taken place in.
It is also the fanciest place anyone has ever brought Poe to with the express purpose of fucking.
It’s midday but the room is dimly lit, mainly relying on the golden light panels across the ceiling not to fall into complete darkness. The curtains are shut, depriving the room of the one upside of ice planets: the steadily falling snow reflected clearly on transparisteel. Being able to experience the view without coming into direct contact with the cold. Outside, the sun is too weak to give out more than the impression of heat; its blue rays falling softly across the mountains of snow that cover every surface and, ultimately, anyone who stays there for too long.
Instead of the nice view, enjoyed comfortably from inside the room, Poe gets to feel his bones freeze and traipse melted snow inside as it drips from his boots onto the carpet. He gets to feel the cold outside and inside, fruitlessly seeking a way out of his body, curling around him like smoke.
“I suppose the next words out of your mouth will be something clichéd like ‘I guess crime pays,’” Hux says from the tall, wide bed. It’s big enough that they could both lie comfortably on it without touching but that would defeat the purpose.
“That would only work on you if you considered yourself a criminal, rather than, I don’t know, a brave crusader determined to save the galaxy from disorder?” Poe takes off his jacket and runs a hand through his hair, shaking snowflakes from where they cling to him. Fucking Hux and his hostile environments. Nothing can thrive in a place like this. “What I was going to say was, should I feel special or do you treat all your coconspirators like this?”
“I assumed you would be less interested in mindless chatter than in getting on with it.”
“You overestimate my interest.”
“In bringing peace to the galaxy?”
“In doing so with my cock.” Poe winces and is glad his back is turned so Hux hopefully misses the gesture.
“I guess in a way you are special,” Hux says, after a long, tense pause.
Poe watches him from the mirror, looking farther away than he is in reality. He’s the perfect picture of forced nonchalance as he sits on the bed, leaning back on his arms. His body is one long line of tightly coiled tension, his fingers flexing against the bedsheets.
“You know just how to flatter me, but don’t feel the need to strain yourself. I am contractually obligated to be a sure thing, after all.”
“I just meant, I don’t believe there are many people I have conspired with as often or as variedly.”
“You mean they don’t usually survive to tell the tale.”
“As I said, special.” Hux sounds normal, disdainful. He looks put together, but tired, tense, and hyperwary.
This is how the winning side looks, thinks Poe. It’s not much different from how he feels.
Poe lies sideways on the bed and stares at the ceiling. The glass, empty now of whatever liquor Hux poured and Poe barely tasted, rests carefully on his chest. It occasionally moves with the rise and fall of his breathing.
“Will there be hovercams in the room?” He didn’t spot any when he walked in or in the hallway outside, but there was no such thing as being too distrustful in this case.
“Of course not,” Hux says, sounding, all things considered, needlessly scandalized. He puts his glass down on a nearby shelf, its contents untouched, and moves across the room.
“We’re operating under an honor system?” Poe didn’t exactly take their hosts for voyeurs but Hux’s own delegation doesn’t trust him and he figured they would insist on it, if nothing else, to maximize his humiliation. The angle is too awkward for him to turn to look at Hux so he settles for speaking to his reflection on the floor-to-ceiling mirror. “Then we don’t have to do anything. I mean, no one will know.”
“You would know. Do you think I’m foolish enough to give you that kind of leverage? You’ll say I didn’t do my part and use that to undermine me.” Hux sits down on a low stool and jerkily takes off his boots, his movements rushed and impatient. It’s not how Poe expected him to treat his uniform. “If you don’t want to do this, send someone else from your side. It genuinely makes no difference to me.”
Everyone was willing to do whatever — and whoever — it took to stop the losses. When Finn volunteered, both Poe and Rey vehemently objected until they managed to dissuade him out of it. Rey was too determined for her own good so, unlike Finn, Poe didn’t bother trying to talk her out of it. She was rejected on account of being a known Force user, like Poe expected.
“Well, it’s not about wanting, is it?” he tells Hux’s reflection, but his comment goes ignored.
The peace talks were Hux’s idea. Nothing with Hux was as straightforward as that, though.
They were orbiting above a — well, not a neutral planet, just a place Hux hadn’t bothered to impose loyalty on yet. Poe worried more about the fate of the people below them than about his own, about how smart coming to meet Hux alone was. In secret, even. Not wanting to hear the phrase bad idea equaled with pause, let alone with stop.
Hux stood with his back to Poe, his hands clasped behind his back and tightly balled into fists, as he looked out the viewport in a nonchalant manner that seemed so self-important it bordered on parody. He didn’t demand obeisance. He didn’t make Poe kneel, but he could have. Poe wouldn’t have done it and Hux likely knew better than to issue orders that he couldn’t enforce at blasterpoint.
“Like our first time,” Poe said, pointing to the star destroyer around them. It was empty but no safer or more reassuring for it. He said it as a joke, to get a rise out of him, or to get a sense of how hard he could push, but he kept coming back to that moment. He had had him within touching distance; not harmless, but probably as defenseless as Hux would get.
Now, Hux placidly explained how he was willing to allow mediation to quell the uprisings in certain parts of the galaxy. Minor nuisances, he called them. He was unchanged except in the one way that mattered most: power.
“How magnanimous of you. I almost didn’t hear the ‘or else I’ll blow up the entire system’ in there.”
“I figured the threat could go unvoiced seeing as you wouldn’t miss an opportunity to rescue what you consider to be innocent people.” In a bored tone, Hux added, “it would be faster to terrorize them into submission and show them that an unquestioned alliance is the only way to decrease further damage, but I would rather not waste the system’s resources. Or waste resources on them, for that matter. Dedlanite and steel— what keeps the machinery of war going.” He paused. “There are credits to consider and an army to put to better use.”
“Just pragmatism, right? And here I thought the crown came with a conscience attached.”
“I have conditions, of course.” He turned to look at Poe, his gaze calculating. “Assurances that I would require from your side.”
Not for the first time in the past few months — or in that day, even — Poe wished Leia were here to maneuver around Hux’s convoluted machinations. “Let me guess: you’re plotting against your people. Again.”
“They were plotting against me first,” he said, unreasonably outraged by the idea that the people he had inarguably betrayed were planning on returning the favor. “They suspect me of treason.”
Poe laughed. “And rightly so.”
“My actions were not—”
“I don’t actually care to hear you. Go back to your tried and true method of murder. Isn’t that one of the tenets of your rule?”
Hux seemed to almost deflate at that, walking until he was leaning against the desk in the middle of the room; the movement removing the barrier between them. His hands, gloveless, gripped the durasteel surface tightly. “It’s a matter of perception. I can’t rule with the Force on my side, so I have to be mindful of the image I project. This isn’t an unsanctioned military junta. I am the legitimate ruler.”
Poe almost winced. If there was a more horrifying combination of words, he hadn’t heard it yet. “Can’t have your treason traced back to you. Got it. I’m not killing people for you, though.”
Hux briefly frowned. “They’re war criminals.”
Poe stared pointedly at him, but Hux continued to look at him impassively, not a hint of recognition or self-awareness registering on his features. “Right,” he said slowly. “Well, imagine if I went around killing every war criminal I encountered.”
“I’m prepared to offer you something else,” Hux said, relinquishing his grip on the table to rest his hands over his thighs, his skin looking paler in contrast to the black fabric of his clothes.
Neither pause nor stop, Poe reminded himself. “I’m not interested in any arrangement that keeps you on the throne.”
“Then I suggest you learn the value of compromise,” he bit out. “As I have.”
What would Leia do? Be smart enough not to reject an unheard proposal, maybe. “Fine, what’s your offer?”
“Accountability. I’ll retain my role, but you can restore the Galactic Senate and the Courts.”
“Both presided by you, I’m assuming.”
Hux walked closer, still remaining out of reach, and stopped in front of a panel on the wall. He wasn’t very intimidating, but he was always taller than Poe expected him to be. “Limit yourself to the words I’ve actually spoken. They would, of course, have to recognize my legitimacy but the matter of impartiality would be up to the people.”
“And they would also have to indulge you in your executions,” Poe said, watching as Hux pressed his fingers, his naked hand, to the wall until the panel unlocked.
Hux turned to him. “It’s often a necessary measure, but it’s not a compulsion,” he said dismissively, as if that were easy to infer from his behavior. “If you include the dissolution of High Command in your terms, you can try them.”
At this point, his tendency to backstab and conspire against those who were nominally on his side was unsurprising. It didn’t really fill Poe with confidence about his own future. It was a good thing he wasn’t in the habit of letting something like that stop him.
“You’re playing the long game.” Poe supposed a willingness for peace talks, or even to allow the word ‘peace’ in his lexicon, made Hux preferable to his predecessors. A lifetime of Supreme Leader Hux was far from ideal, though.
Hux stared at him briefly, his hand tightening into a fist where he was holding a comlink; clutched tightly one second, abandoned the next as he put on his gloves. “I may not have the Force on my side, but I don’t need it to shape the galaxy according to my vision. I need intelligence and patience, which I already possess.”
“And humility. Don’t forget humility,” Poe said, watching the open annoyance across Hux’s features.
Their hands didn’t touch when Hux handed over the comlink; wouldn’t have, even without the added layer on Hux’s skin.
“You want some help with that?” Poe asks, motioning to Hux’s elaborate attire. By his standards, he’s dressed down. The fancy white suit and long red cape from the negotiations are gone, but his comparatively simple black uniform still seems to have a million tiny golden clasps and some elaborate, ornamental chains flowing from the shoulders. He imagines a droid helping Hux in and out of his clothes every day and then tries to picture a living and breathing person doing it, but the idea seems wrong.
Hux is peeling off his gloves, slowly revealing long, elegant fingers, as he says, “I am perfectly capable of undressing myself. There’s no need to stall.”
As Poe watches him from the bed, he concedes that maybe Hux has the right idea. His hands move quickly and efficiently as he undoes the clasps and hidden fastenings on his uniform. The image reshapes itself in Poe’s mind. It’s something he must do every day, must have been doing for a couple of decades now. Out of one uniform and into another.
Hux neatly folds and stacks every piece of clothing, nothing threatening to tilt and fall. When he’s down to his underwear and a black undershirt, he turns to look at Poe, who has been openly staring at him and doing little else. There is a lot of exposed pale skin, more than he’s ever seen from Hux, who wears his multiple layers like impenetrable body armor.
“Come here.” Poe touches people all the time, just not recently like this, and possibly never someone like Hux. He focuses on Hux’s feet on the carpet, lifts his eyes to his knees when Hux moves in front of him, stiff and uncompromising.
When Poe reaches for him, he sidesteps him, halts the progress of his hand with a defensive motion of his arm. “Get undressed,” Hux says and kicks Poe on his leg. It mostly feels like a light tap, since he’s barefoot.
Poe tries to pull him down onto the bed, his hand wrapping around the unnaturally cold skin of Hux’s wrist, but Hux resists the pressure and plants himself firmly in place. Poe sighs and gives up, deciding that doing as Hux says will be less frustrating in the long term.
After Poe stands, Hux settles in the same place Poe just vacated, sits down with his obscenely long legs stretched out in front of him, and stares at Poe; his gaze too measuring to be called ogling. He purposely looks away after a few seconds, pretending to be engrossed in the holo display in front of them— an expansive charter of the galaxy that covers half the wall.
The sound of Poe unbuckling his belt, the clang resonating in the mostly quiet room, is jarring. It causes Hux to turn and zero in on Poe’s hands before turning his gaze to his face. Having Hux’s eyes so heavily settled on him is unnerving and he makes quick work of his clothes while they maintain a weird and uneasy form of eye contact.
Hux is tense and unyielding when Poe walks back to the bed. He resists being pushed against the mattress and balls his hands into fists when Poe straddles him. Poe hovers his hands over him, uncertain for a moment. There’s something stressful about having to touch him; it feels like the build-up to a foregone crash. His muscles tense as Poe’s fingers move under his shirt, as he bends his head to his neck, and follows a path with his mouth, breathes against his skin.
“I’m wasting my best moves on you,” Poe says, pulling away when the only reaction he gets from Hux is a sharp inhale.
“Those are your best moves?” Hux asks, making a passable impression of someone who is completely composed.
“I take requests, man.” Poe shrugs. “Might as well, right?” He leans back and, widening his eyes, says, “tell me, what does Supreme Leader Hux like?”
Hux swallows and parts his lips, his breath imperceptibly speeding up, a flush spreading down his neck. Poe looks away so that he doesn’t roll his eyes right to Hux’s face. This guy, he thinks. He wonders what does it more for him: the promise that someone will indulge his every sexual whim or being called Supreme Leader in bed.
After a moment, Hux collects himself. “I would like to get it over with.”
“Right, then. All business.” Poe curls his hands around his own knees, making sure to keep them still. He’s caught between the cool air of the room and the warmth of Hux’s body. “I don’t suppose you stopped to ask your buddies in High Command to clarify the terms, did you? I mean, it was their suggestion, but the wording doesn’t actually tell me what we’re required to do.”
It is amusing that they stoop to demanding this of them, but are too proper to talk about it in anything but the most laughably euphemistic terms. A show of unity, indeed.
“I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of asking for instructions on how to get fucked, no. Let’s do whatever won’t have you claiming you didn’t get yours.”
“Not that I would do that, but they wouldn’t side with me over you.” Poe gets it, though. Hux trusts his people even less than he trusts Poe.
“You’re right, they wouldn’t. They would use it to cast doubt upon both of us and nullify the treaty. Dissuade yourself of the notion that you could somehow get an upgrade in allies.”
“More like an upsizing, not really an upgrade,” Poe says with a shrug.
Hux frowns, considering him for a long moment. “You flatter me,” he says flatly.
“Oh, trust me, that really wasn’t my intention.”
Hux rolls his eyes. “Let’s just uphold our legal obligations.”
“You’re such a romantic. How could I say no to that? I mean, I literally can’t.”
Hux ignores him, reaching for him, but pausing a second before his hand connects. “Don’t jeopardize the terms with a misguided belief that killing me would solve your problems.”
“I wouldn’t.” Understandably, Hux won’t believe his reassurances, so Poe adds, “I was scanned. And searched. Thoroughly.” When Hux continues to look unconvinced, he sighs. “Where would I be hiding anything?”
Hux gives him a once-over and then pointedly stares at the only piece of clothing Poe is currently wearing.
Poe laughs. “Oh, are we playing ‘is that blaster in your pants?’ That’s cute.”
“I believe you were searched thoroughly,” he says, moving his hands to the waistband of Poe’s underwear and unceremoniously pulling it down.
“Yeah, your guys are very friendly.” He leans forward and Hux leans back, placing his hand on Poe’s side to support his weight. Their movements in sync for the brief and only-vaguely-awkward moment it takes for Poe to finish undressing without leaving the bed. “Do you fuck a lot of people who want to kill you?” Poe asks, weirdly stuck on that detail. It’s not surprising, really.
Hux laughs humorlessly, his words muffled as he takes off his undershirt; his hair falling out of place. “No, I certainly don’t.”
He doesn’t clarify what he means, though. Maybe there’s an abundance of people on his side who don’t have murderous intentions toward him, or maybe he doesn’t fuck anyone. It’s a completely irrelevant detail, but it still stays in his head, rattling aimlessly.
“I expected more freedom to rule than this,” Hux told him a week into the negotiations. They had spent all day debating disarmament terms. He sounded bitter and resentful, reluctant to voice the words, but probably unable to resist the tense pull of the barely moonlit board room or the terse intimacy in the secrecy of their meetings. They couldn’t be anyone but themselves in here. It was maybe more honest than their daylight act.
Poe rolled his eyes, but in the darkness Hux probably missed it. “I hope you don’t expect me to fall for the ‘poor tyrant’ act.” He sighed dramatically. “Your good intentions, tragically misunderstood by the entire galaxy.”
“You wouldn’t do a better job if you were in my position,” Hux snapped as he dragged his fingers over the surface of the table, the material of his gloves making an unpleasant sound against it.
“I don’t want to be in your position.” Poe was the definition of learning on the job here. Leading a squadron was something he knew how to do. Leading a movement turned out to be very different and brokering peace required a whole new set of skills that Poe was decidedly lacking. A mixture of hopefulness and cynicism that he couldn’t quite get right. “You’re not gonna walk it back, are you? Once your enemies have been punished what you consider to be a proper amount.”
Hux turned to intensely stare at him for a beat, then another. “No, I will not.”
“You’ve thought about it.”
Hux inclined his head. “Yes, in no small part because it has been outright suggested to me.”
That wasn’t surprising. Maybe he could hope Hux was stubborn enough to ignore the suggestion if it came from the wrong person. “Who suggested it?”
“People who suddenly have my best interests at heart. The interest of seeing me deposed, that is.” He turned on his chair; his gaze to the window, his elbow on the table, his ankles neatly crossed together. “It wouldn’t help with the increasing number of backwater planets and systems who suddenly crave the now-defunct New Republic’s democratic rule. As if they hadn’t been abandoned and ignored by the government for years.”
“Well, there is such a thing as negative attention,” Poe said, falsely pleasant. “Don’t you find it funny, though? That the reality rather than the threat of your rule has made them crave the old system back?”
“No, I don’t find it funny,” Hux said, turning to glare across the table. “They are only clinging to what’s familiar to them. They have a bad track record, after being used and discarded by the Empire.”
“Watch it, Supreme Leader. That kind of talk is treasonous,” Poe said, making what he considered to be a fairly good attempt at mimicking Hux’s accent.
Hux’s hand stilled, his fingers flexing once, twice, before he settled his palm flat on the surface. He turned to look at Poe. “It isn’t treason for me to say it,” he said firmly, daring Poe to contradict him. “And you routinely say far worse in my presence.”
Poe shrugged. “And you let me.”
“Could I stop you?”
Well, at least Hux didn’t delude himself about his authority and how far it extended.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tattle on you.” Poe had the urge to cross the distance and pat Hux’s hand condescendingly to really drive the point home. Hux would flinch away from the touch. Instinct, the one that always drove him to put a physical barrier between them; a substitute for the army of troopers he used to keep the galaxy at bay. “Your treason’s safe with me.” It came out a little less mocking than he intended. He looked away. “You know we won’t just go in to appease them, right? To tell them to roll over for you while you keep terrorizing them.”
“I am aware some new policies will have to be implemented,” he said, sounding resigned, which Poe’s optimist side chose to interpret as accepting. “And I’m doing that now mostly out of necessity, anyway.”
Poe, more often than he would’ve expected, found himself laughing not with Hux but in his presence. Mostly at him, at how monstrous and completely lacking in self-awareness he was. It might not have been the right reaction, but it made tolerating him slightly easier.
“I get it. Your bloodlust is now being redirected toward those you feel have wronged you personally.”
“Inflexibility serves no one. This, on the other hand, will serve to show how committed I am to upholding the treaty. All in the name of galactic peace. I’m also happy with the knowledge that they will suffer without me having to move from the throne.”
“You certainly look it,” Poe said, noting how the undisguised glee in his tone had transformed his features, made his eyes seem brighter in the moonglow.
“You could sound more disapproving.”
“Well, I hear inflexibility serves no one,” he said, standing up and making his way across the room, to the door closest to Hux. There was still a limit to how much Poe could tolerate him and, for tonight, he had reached it.
“You might run into someone if you leave through there,” Hux called out, sounding farther away than the five, six steps it would take to reach him.
“I know what I’m doing,” Poe said, the lie sounding like an old comfort.
Poe nudges Hux’s knees apart on the mattress, making room for himself between them as he settles on the vee of his spread legs.
When Poe wraps his hand around him, Hux flinches; the movement harsh and sudden. The room is a little chilly. Poe doesn’t think his hands are cold, but he still rubs them together, warming them up before reaching for him again, carefully telegraphing his movements this time. He braces his arm on the bed and strokes Hux’s dick a little mechanically. It’s not his best technique but Hux is acting so weird that it’s throwing him off.
Hux keeps tensing up, on edge, his muscles locked into place before going loose-limbed and pliant under Poe’s hands. A delay in his reactions; it happened then, but he feels it now. He keeps his gaze averted, landing somewhere over Poe’s shoulder. It’s as stressful as Poe imagined it.
Poe sighs, defeated. “Okay, let’s stop.” They can figure something else out.
“No, wait,” Hux says and puts a hand on his chest. He leaves it there for an interminable moment, making Poe hyperaware of the pressure against his skin, near the thudding of his heart. When Poe moves back on his knees, he adds, “I’m going to use my mouth to get your cock wet.” He says it plainly and decisively, which Poe can admit heightens the appeal.
Hux pushes him farther back, bends his head down at what looks like an uncomfortable angle, and traces his tongue against the underside of Poe’s dick, from tip to base and back again. He is a little messy as he gracelessly trails his lips over him before sucking the tip into his mouth and grazing Poe with his teeth in the process. He takes him deeper, but not too deep, one hand anchored on Poe’s hip, the other around the base of his cock. He pulls off, obviously satisfied with the results since Poe is, after all, hard in his hand and drags him back down on the bed; one hand tentatively, then more firmly, flattened low on Poe’s back. He wraps his long, slender fingers around them both, driving his cock up alongside Poe’s, feeling hard and blood-warm against him.
They move together, trying to build a rhythm. It’s not without awkwardness but Hux seems a little less tense, even as he is obviously trying hard to stay detached or maybe just in control of his reactions. Poe is not good at being detached, not even at the pretense of it, and being confronted with Hux’s suppressed responsiveness makes him want to reach out, connect to him somehow.
Whatever common ground they have is extremely unstable, though; threatening to tilt in the opposite direction at any second.
“I didn’t say thanks,” he says, covering Hux’s fingers with his, rolling his hips in time with the movement of their hands.
“I’m only touching your cock. I didn’t think you would be desperate to the point of gratitude.”
Poe exhales, almost a laugh escaping his body. “I meant for saving our lives. Way back when.”
Hux scoffs. “Don’t delude yourself into thinking I ever cared about you as anything but a useful tool to help me accomplish my goals.” His words are clipped, with a defiant edge to them. The obnoxiously overcompensating act firmly in place. It doesn’t matter that Poe can feel him hard and twitching, wanting, in his hand. “I had my own agenda.”
“I’m still alive because of you.”
“And you repaid me by blasting me and leaving me to die.” The obvious bitterness in his words is undisguised even behind the breathy quality of his voice.
Poe bats his hand away and takes over, changing the grip on his cock to a loose hold before tightening it slowly until Hux lets out a small, shocked exhale. “I thought that was all part of your plan. And you didn’t die from a leg wound. In fact, you didn’t die at all.”
It is probably not the best time to be doing this. If they were going to do it at all — and there is no point to it anymore — they should have done it before bringing their bodies together in ways better designed for any other two people.
“No thanks to you.”
“Was that what you wanted? You wanted to tag along?” Poe punctuates his words by thrusting against him, jostling Hux up on the bed, as he slides down. He jerks Hux closer until the slick head of his cock is rubbing against Hux’s thigh, tracing the curve of his ass. “You wanted me to take you?”
“I would’ve said no,” Hux says firmly, parting his legs wider. The movement’s inviting, at odds with his words.
He digs his fingers into the back of Hux’s thigh, pushing his leg up toward his chest, until he can feel the head of his cock brushing, almost insistently pushing, against Hux’s ass. He rears back, tries to untangle himself from Hux, but it’s too late and the desire to fuck him has fully materialized in his brain.
“Keep going. Don’t hold back,” Hux says.
He presses the heel of his hands into his eyes and shakes his head. “No, that’s not—” Poe can’t forget what this is, or more importantly, what it is not.
Hux tightens his jaw. “Spare me your emotional turmoil. You can’t even get the job done.”
“You’re not gonna goad me into fucking you,” Poe says, feeling very much provoked. Knowing full well that Hux could, in fact, goad him into it. “If you want it, ask for it.” He nods to himself. “Yeah, go ahead and ask me.”
“Fuck me,” Hux says, his words sharp and clear.
A breathless feeling forces its way to his chest, but Poe firmly believes that when you start something, you follow it through. “Fine. Let’s do that.”
They’re renegotiating the terms as they go along.
Hux goes tense and tight around him as Poe pushes forward and brings their bodies flush together. “Relax,” Poe says against his back, though the entire concept is probably foreign to Hux.
He traces the bumps of Hux’s spine, feeling his skin warm, delicate, and vulnerable; nothing like body armor. No amount of layers could cover him right now. The way he restlessly moves under Poe gives him away. He pulls Poe closer until there’s no space between them, parts his thighs wider, lets out a long, breathy sigh, and then buries his face in the pillow, trying to silence himself.
After a moment, Hux pushes back against him, making their bodies sway together. Poe spreads him wider on the bed, presses him against the sheets with one hand on the small of his back and a tight grip on the inside of his thigh, pulls almost all the way out, and eases back into him. Maybe they can get through it quickly and unmemorably. It would be the best case scenario and he's sure Hux would appreciate the efficiency.
Hux moves with him, but his silence makes Poe feel completely alone in this. He wants to blame Hux for talking him into it but, in this, he didn’t need any enabling.
Poe trails his hand down until he’s gripping Hux’s cock. It’s hard and hot and brutally perfect in his hand, eager as Hux strains into his touch.
Hux groans, frustrated, as Poe takes his hand away and changes his pace, moving slowly and carefully in and out of Hux’s warm body. He curves his hand around Hux’s shoulder this time, only to have it roughly shaken off. He wants to go harder, make Hux’s knees skid across the sheets, leave him with a nice set of bruises, bite marks, and vivid hickeys marring his pale skin; finally get a reaction from him. Instead, he makes himself slow down until he’s barely grinding his hips against him.
“Come on, talk to me.” It comes out a little less strongly than Poe intended; less seductive, more like he’s looking for reassurance. He doesn’t feel like they’re bringing peace to the galaxy or even respecting the terms of the accord. This feels like something else entirely. Like he’s doing something that could leave these walls. Something less than temporary, than strictly necessary.
“I was thinking that you must often aggravate your sexual partners if this is how you like to fuck,” Hux says, moving against him ungracefully, his breath hitching a little with every shift of his hips.
Poe’s open to feedback and Hux’s complaining is better than his silence. “Are you feeling frustrated right now?” He stills his hips and pulls out, which must add to Hux’s frustration.
He rolls Hux over easily, bends one of Hux’s leg toward his chest, and pushes his cock back inside him in one smooth thrust. The clinging feeling of Hux’s body makes them both groan, makes Hux grab at him, press his fingers into the flesh. He tilts Hux’s hips up and drives into him hard and fast like he wanted to, moving Hux’s leg over his shoulder and bearing down, keeping him pinned and open, stretched and full, until the room is filled with nothing but the sounds of the headboard rhythmically tapping against the wall and the meeting of skin on skin.
The new angle works for Hux. He gasps and curls a finger around the chain of Poe’s necklace, dragging him closer until they’re panting against each other’s mouths. Poe snaps his hips faster, encouraged by the noises Hux fails to suppress.
“Hey, hang on, you wanna cover our bases?” Poe says against his jawline, breathing hard against the side of his neck. He brushes the back of his left hand over Hux’s cock, wraps his fist around it for a moment. “You wanna fuck me?”
He remembers only a second too late that he hadn’t meant to include the word ‘want’ there.
It was funny, Poe supposed, that they had gone through all the trouble of keeping their meetings a secret only to be bound together in unwanted intimacy like this.
The room where he found Hux, like every other room in the building that was serving as a summit site, was austere, sterile, and void. Poe let the door slide shut behind him with a deafening and too-loud hiss of air.
“You couldn’t have mentioned this clause at any point in the past few weeks?” Poe said, trying to appear unfazed and collected. He had nothing on Hux, who appeared only mildly inconvenienced. He must have had a lot of practice taking personal slights with steely determination.
Hux leaned back against the wall, a solid invincible barrier between them raised by his demeanor alone. “I’m not happy with its inclusion, but I see no reason to get rattled. I just need to outlast them. Think of it as a game of flinching back.”
“So that’s why I didn’t see you object to it,” Poe said because he was rattled. By seeing the statement of intent neatly and plainly spell out — in Basic and a dozen other languages — a future of order and union for the galaxy, if nothing else.
“Neither did you. You are smart enough to tell the terms of the treaty are too good to dispute. They are willingly signing their death certificates.”
“Not literally. They’re not literally signing their death certificates,” Poe reminded him.
Hux moved away from the wall to the other side of the room, the movement looked purposeful but ended somewhere in the area of pacing. “I still fail to see why you care. Eleven fewer war criminals in the galaxy.”
“Hey, you don’t have to take out the competition like this. You’re still number one for me.” He tracked Hux with his eyes, his progress around the room. It was exhausting. “This came from your guys, from your delegation. You know that, right? They’re forcing you into this because they know your plans.”
“I am aware of their desperate attempts at exercising power one last time.” Hux paused. “But I’m not being forced to do anything. I am doing this out of agreement, out of desire to avoid another long month of squabbling being passed off as diplomacy. Out of respect for this place’s traditions,” he added like an afterthought. He sounded like he believed it. Or at least like he had rehearsed it.
“Traditions that they wouldn’t have forced on that guy from your side— the extremely and disturbingly vocal supporter of these new terms.”
Hux tensed his jaw and walked to the door; his steps faltering for a second near Poe before purposely brushing against him on the way out. “Well, you’re lucky you’re getting me and not Enric Pryde.”
“Yeah, you’re much prettier,” Poe called out, but it didn’t feel like poking fun at Hux. More like poking at a mutual wound.
Hux stoically holds out at first, keeps himself still, stays quiet, waits for the achingly slow way Poe lowers himself onto him, the way he opens his legs, bracketing his hips.
Poe kneels up when Hux thrusts upward and tries to pull him down. He moves until Hux almost slips out and then does it again; rising on his knees, dragging himself up on Hux’s cock, and sinking down fast against Hux’s bony hips, tired of his own teasing. He clenches around him, wills his body to adjust as quickly as he wants it to.
“I can only get you to kneel for me like this,” Hux says, his breathing labored and his hand trembling a little where the pads of his fingertips dig into Poe’s hips.
“Stop ruining the mood.” Poe rolls his hips, tries to move, but Hux holds his hips still, his grip hard enough to bruise the flesh.
“I thought I was overestimating your interest,” Hux pants, sitting up, grabbing the edge of the mattress in a white-knuckled grip. The tendons of his arms stand out. Poe could trace his clearly defined veins if he wanted to.
He looks like he’s barely keeping it together as his hips snap a little into Poe, the movement beyond his control.
Poe leans down, their faces close together. “And I thought you wanted to get it over with.” He pulls Hux’s head back by his hair, seals his mouth under his jaw, and bruises the skin there with his lips. It’s high up enough that Hux will have to put some effort into concealing the mark.
Hux pushes him away with a hiss and his hand goes to the newly-marked skin. He glares at Poe, but it’s half-hearted at best. The skin must feel tender, because he presses his fingers hard against it.
Poe shoves him back against the sheets and Hux goes easily, plants his feet on the bed and bends his legs, bringing Poe closer and sliding deeper, making Poe really feel him. The angle is better even if it throws off Poe’s rhythm. He balances one hand on Hux’s chest, feels his racing heartbeat, as frantic as the rhythm of his thrusts. He puts his hand on the mattress, next to Hux’s head, instead.
“Tell me how it feels,” Hux says, making a valiant attempt at sounding commanding. He ends up sounding somewhere closer to pleading.
It feels good. There’s no reason it shouldn’t feel good just because it’s Hux. Their bodies are ignorant of whatever personal misgivings exist between them. He’s not going to give Hux the it feels amazing to ride your galaxy-ruling cock feedback that he’s after, though.
“Hey, no more talking,” Poe says and plants one hand on the headboard for leverage before moving it to Hux’s collarbones. His thumb rests on the hollow of Hux’s throat, the skin soft and tender. Like the bite mark Poe left on him. Poe trails his fingers until he can press them over the blooming bruise; makes Hux arch his head back, bare his throat. The mark stands out in sharp contrast against his pale skin.
We should’ve never brought want into the equation, Poe thinks.
Poe’s breath is being driven out of him with the force of their not-quite-in-sync movements, the chaos of their bodies. It jolts his body forward until his thumb brushes Hux’s throat. Like this, Poe can feel his fluttering pulse under his fingertips. He digs his fingers on the side of Hux's neck and tilts his head back until his thumb presses under his chin and the curve of his palm covers Hux’s throat. For once, Hux follows him, his pulse jittery.
It feels like a living, transmissible thing, an extension of how Poe feels. He keeps pushing Hux’s head against the bed and feels him swallow under his touch. He leans in again until the heel of his hand rests solidly against the column of Hux’s neck. He holds him there.
Hux gasps. He covers Poe’s hand with his, feeling around the pressure points before he trails his hand up to Poe’s wrist and holds on. He jerks under Poe’s hand, not struggling against it but straining into it. The more Poe tightens his fingers around Hux’s neck, the more erratic his thrusts get; grinding Poe harder onto his dick as Poe rolls his hips down faster. He is alive and out of control under Poe and all the better for it.
When Hux’s breath starts to come out loud, fast, and panicky, Poe loosens his hold, stills his hand. He moves it away quickly, feeling as panicked as Hux had sounded. Not wanting whichever part of himself seamlessly allowed a working friction with Hux to manifest. Let alone like that.
Hux pulls in breathless gasps, his chest heaving, and sinks his nails into the sensitive skin on the inside of Poe’s wrist, over his veins. He places Poe’s hand back against his neck, his grip turning bruising until Poe applies pressure.
He does so lightly at first, keeps his thumb pressed against Hux’s pulse point, can feel it turn unsteady. Poe focuses on the delicate skin of Hux’s throat; the long, exposed line of his neck, the way his throat flexes under Poe’s hand. He thinks about how fragile bodies can seem, how prone to hurt, how much pain they’re able to take.
Poe leans down and kisses him slowly, tenderly, their lips effortlessly coming together. He senses the rhythmic sound of Hux’s pulse, knows he’s stealing the air from his body, restricting his airflow.
Poe stares at the star chart on the wall as he leaves the bed. The display seems brighter; seemingly adjusting to compensate for the room’s muted light. He didn’t notice that before.
“I think that satisfied the terms,” he says, hastily redressing. The room feels, if anything, colder. He feels the joints of his hands ache and has to flex his fingers a couple of times before he can do the buttons on his shirt.
Hux is resting with his back against the headboard, staring at him. He bruises easily, Poe notes before averting his gaze. He looks deceptively vulnerable without his multiple layers too. A trick of the light. “I agree.”
“And people say we can’t use sex to solve our problems.” He should’ve followed Hux’s lead and folded everything neatly, he thinks, as he fumbles for the rest of his clothes; they’re strewn in a mess all around him.
“It’s supposedly meant to test the likelihood of successful long-term cooperation. A test of diplomacy. How willing both parties are to be in each other’s presence and operate as a real partnership,” Hux says placidly.
Poe pauses, his quest temporarily abandoned. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s the kind of thing that can be determined through a one-time fuck, but I can see through a flimsy excuse when it’s been fed to me.”
“Perhaps a more long-term arrangement would be a better way to test and achieve mutual understanding,” Hux says.
A choking, hot feeling burns up his throat as he processes Hux’s words. “Don’t go and suggest that to them.”
“I was suggesting it to you.”
Poe looks at him incredulously. “What is this? I didn’t fuck you so well that I got you reconsidering your life choices.”
“This might be the first time you’ve ever been humble,” Hux says without the expected condescending sneer. He sounds exhausted, like Poe feels.
He moves closer to Hux, wills himself not to remember the way he moved Hux’s body, arranging it to better fit against his, how Poe molded himself to better suit the spread of his thighs. Their knees knocking together, his foot brushing Hux’s ankle. “So what? You want to schedule me between one indoctrination speech and an occupation planning session?”
“Occupation is preferable to war,” he says automatically, like a fact and not a stance. He’s not answering Poe’s question but his words run true and deep, a principle he can apply to every facet of his life.
Poe sits on the edge of the mattress, with his back to Hux, facing their reflection on the mirror. He had successfully ignored its uncomfortable and pointed position in the room until now.
When Hux shifts his legs, he moves closer, places his hand on the bed where it brushes the outside of Hux’s bare thigh. The sheets are not cold now. The warmth that their bodies provided sinks back into Poe until his joints stop hurting. Hux’s body has gone completely rigid now but hasn’t pulled away, momentarily allowing that small amount of contact between them. A different kind of negotiation.
“You should apply that principle to yourself,” Poe says, turning to look at him. He doesn’t think about what lies beyond these walls, beyond this moment. What awaits tomorrow. What Hux will do, what Hux can do. What they could do to or for each other.
Hux opens his mouth but rethinks whatever he was planning on saying, his gaze sliding past Poe and landing on the glowing display screen of the galactic chart, his eyes tracing its neatly color-coded political borders.
Poe sets his hand firmly on top of Hux’s knee, waits for whatever he might do next.