Archive of Our Own

@acrackintheshutter, 11/01, 11:38 AM

There’s something buzzing just beside his temple, a quick whistle, then silence. Kylo’s brow furrows. Again. Again.The inside of his mouth is dry and brittle like the pages of a yellowed book, his throat ash. Three more buzzes. He gives a cracked groan, swallows as he pushes his face into the crease of the sofa. One long arm fumbles back over the coffee table as his phone chimes again. He manages to force himself upright as he digs it out from between overturned plastic cups. They rattle across the glass surface of the table until the first finds purchase in a pool of spilled god-knows-what. He wrinkles his nose, balls up the edge of his shirt in one fist and wipes it away before glancing to his phone.

Two hundred notifications.

He smears one hand over his eyes to clear his vision. Two hundred. What the fuck? He swipes away the lock screen. A small circle with a crisp “206” floats over the corner of the Instagram shortcut. He taps it open, searches for the source. Swimming beneath hundreds of comments, all beside the miniaturized icon of a single photo, ahscapes tagged you in a post.

It’s been months. He’s been following him since he first got to school at the beginning of the summer, a recommendation Instagram made at his change of location. When Kylo had last checked, he’d had more than eighty thousand followers. Dozens of unique urban landscapes, streaked pastel with the liminal light of dawn or twilight, cracked here and there by a contemplative shot of the artist himself, a slender, sharp-eyed redhead. Aesthetic trash, he had thought when he’d first clicked through to the account. In fact, after first following it, he’d managed to dig up some of the locations, shot his own takes of them with real equipment and an actual artist’s eye (not, as ahscapes’s profile claimed, “amateur interest and a polaroid”). Objectively better shots. They’d treaded water with a few dozen notifications from his six or seven thousand followers here and there. In fact, he’d gained more followers from the scattered claims that he was “hawking ahscapes’s locations” than he had for the photos themselves. But this? Two hundred comments on a single shot?

He squints to focus on the image, and something in his stomach jumps. He’s not tagged in some act of petty rivalry. The shot is of him. It’s cropped low and close, the soft curve of his upper lip just barely grazing the top of the frame, the length of his neck dropping down into his shoulders a hint above the bottom. A few dark curls frame his jaw, stark against the red of the brick wall behind him. There’s a hint of a wrinkle in the shoulder of his jacket, the kind a pushing hand would raise, but his lips are quirked in a half-smile. @acrackintheshutter in the wild, the caption curtly notes. The timestamp clocks it at two in the morning.

He squeezes his eyes shut, lets out another ragged groan. He can’t even remember ever hearing the man’s real name, how the fuck does he have a picture of him? Granted, gauging by the number of scattered cups and empty cans and the few snatches of memory that remain with him from the evening before, the party had had more than a few unrecognizable guests. And maybe it’s not all bad. Interspersed with the still-growing list of notifications are the names of what Kylo estimates to be nearly a hundred new followers. The familiar clatter of the loose hinge on the kitchen door pulls him from his thoughts. He cranes his neck to glance back over one shoulder as it swings open.

There are flecks of gold where the light catches in the man’s tousled red hair. Kylo’s shirt from the night before hangs loose around his around his modest frame, a hint of mint green boxers peeking out from beneath the hem. His long fingers are wound around the handles of two coffee mugs. With a few silent steps, he crosses the space between them, perches on the edge of the couch at Kylo’s side. His lips are narrow as he sets one of the mugs among the detritus on the table in front of the other man.

Kylo tucks his phone away.

***

@ahscapes, 10/31, 10:04 PM

She knows that he hates this sort of thing. She has to know. He’s been telling her exactly what he thinks of functions like this since their first dance class in grade school. Still, Phasma is a force of nature, and in her wake, Hux finds himself following the brisk cadence of her footsteps on the pavement.

“The theatre department is hosting it.” She’s telling him as she deftly applies lipstick in a compact mirror, “Half of them can’t be bothered with any more costumes, either.”

“And the other half will dearly enjoy complaining about it, to be sure.”

She rolls her eyes, “The other half will be too drunk to notice. You don’t have to put anything on.”

“Remind me again why you have any interest whatsoever in a theatre department Halloween celebration.” He sighs.

She throws an arm around his slim shoulders, offering a rakish grin. He pinches the bridge of his nose, “Right. You’ve got that-...that stagehand you discovered during The Firebird . But must we really?”

“Midterms are finished, you haven’t got any excuses anymore. You need time to unwind.” She tells him,  “Besides, perhaps you can find a stagehand of your own.”

Hux huffs a sigh.The idea of facing another half-semester of Corporate Strategy and Entrepreneurial Finance does lend appeal to the idea of throwing himself into the middle of some sort of drunken bacchanale. And so he keeps pace with her, even when she passes through the threshold of a poorly-decorated basement apartment.

It’s roiling when they arrive, and Hux clings to the crook of Phasma’s arm as she squeezes between superheroes and scantily clad professionals towards the drink table. The hallways are packed tight enough that the Snap camera in his back pocket threatens to squirm free of its confinement, and Hux is forced to shove one hand into his pocket just to keep it in place. He’s already sweating by the time they reach the table, and the first drink disappears as soon as it hits his hand. The second and third are quick to follow, and he’s halfway through the fourth by the time he’s bold enough to introduce himself to the host, a short, tanned young woman who designs the sets for the collegiate company that retains Phasma as choreographer.

“This is some sort of affair.” He shouts above the growing din.

“Thanks, I think!” She laughs, giving his shoulder a playful nudge towards the center of the room, the evening’s de facto dance floor, “Are you planning on enjoying it?”

“Oh, I-...I don’t-” He stumbles. Perhaps in another life, one in which his father had never pulled him from class with Phasma at the first sign of enjoyment. In this one, the closest to dancing that he’s managed in years is a few particularly well-executed fiscal policy presentations.

She chuckles once more, gripping his wrist in one surprisingly strong small hand and dragging him away from the wall. He throws back the rest of his drink and aims the empty cup for the trash can as best he can. Then, she’s pulling his arms into motion. Phasma rediscovers him a few moments later, laughing as she approaches.

“Are you really?” She quips before she catches a glance over his shoulder, “Ah, Rey. I should’ve known you were behind this.”

Hux glances gratefully over his shoulder as the shorter woman waves, taking the opportunity to melt back to Phasma’s side. The blonde casts her gaze around the room, “Where’s your flatmate?”

“Ben?” Rey jerks a thumb back over one shoulder toward the opposite wall.

Hux follows the gesture to the other end of the room, where a tall, broad-shouldered man is sprawled out over the couch, his dark hair spilling back over the arm. The light of his phone screen casts sharp edges along his aquiline nose and generous mouth. Hux feels a trickle of warmth low in his stomach. He barely hears Phasma give a scoff at his side.

“Still no idea how to enjoy himself, I see.”

Rey’s brows knit, “He’s working on it.” She raises her voice to carry over the music, “Right, Ben?”

The man winces as he glances up, mouthing something that Hux can’t quite make out at her.

Rey rolls her eyes, “ Kylo. ” She corrects.

“Every good artist has a pseudonym.” He huffs once he’s swayed into hearing range. Hux can feel his lips pursing, quickly schools his features impassive.

“Kylo is a photographer. ” Rey drawls with a hint of a smile.

“What’s so funny about that?” He crosses his arms over his chest, “Art makes order out of chaos.”

“And a first year.” She adds.

A swath of red blossoms over the man’s cheeks, and he frowns, looking to Hux and Phasma, mouth already moving to retort. He pauses at the sight of the redhead.

“...Do I have class with you?” He veers abruptly, “Photojournalism?”

Hux blinks, then purses his lips, “I’m in my final year. MBA.” He clips.

The taller man squints. Hux’s mouth narrows.

“Just ask him to dance, Ben.” Rey groans, “Kylo.”

He reddens once more, and Hux feels warmth begin to grow in his own cheeks. Phasma grins, setting one hand against the redhead’s back and giving him a small push, “Oh, do.”

Hux can feel the unwieldiness in his limbs already setting in as he stumbles forward. Then, there are hands steadying him. He starts at the span of them, bleary gaze dropping down to see them encircling nearly half of his waist. The man above him lets out a short, warm breath. Hux can smell the sharp tang of liquor in his sweat. He mumbles an apology and moves to disentangle himself, but finds one of the hands winding its way to the small of his back. A brief glance over his shoulder finds Phasma grinning as she disappears into the crowd.

“...Are you as drunk as I am?” He ventures as he turns back to the other man.

“Maybe.” He replies, “...Probably.”

“I suppose there’ll be time enough for regrets in the morning, then.”

***

@ahscapes, 11/01, 11:47 AM

His entire body is like an abandoned house, creaking, hollowed-out. Hux swears that his elbow cracks when he reaches for the coffee, and the muscles at the base of his neck ache in objection.

“...You’re ahscapes.” The man at his side gapes.

“What?” Hux furrows his brow, winces at the sunlight streaming in the living room window, “Oh...yes, I tagged you in something last night, didn’t I?”

“How did you know my username?”

Hux rubs at his eyes, “You grabbed my camera, if I recall correctly.”

The dark-haired man - Ben, Hux rakes out of his addled memory of the evening (followed by some absurd pseudonym, he vaguely remembers) - is watching him, eyes wide. Hux purses his lips, then takes a long belt of coffee.

“Well, then.”

He rises and deposits the mug on the coffee table to begin searching for his trousers. He finds them - and his shirt and shoes - wedged behind the bedroom door, shucking the oversized t-shirt just beyond the door’s privacy. Once clothed again, he folds the shirt and offers it to him.

“I-...what?” Kylo stammers.

“It is yours, isn’t it?”

“...Yes.”

Hux holds it out another moment or two before huffing a short sigh and simply laying it over the back of the couch beside him. Kylo starts briefly before scrambling to scoop it up in both hands.

“I-...” Hux begins, but closes his mouth once more and settles on a curt nod. With that, he turns on one heel. He hears the man behind him shift on the couch, but his pace is brisk, carrying him down the hallway to the door in a few sharp steps.

***

@acrackintheshutter, 11/04, 5:38 PM

Kylo strains his mind for memories of the evening for days, scrapes up only impressions here and there. A flash of red hair against his pillowcase, the warmth of a narrow, insistent mouth in the crook of his neck. He finds a pair of expensive black socks beneath his nightstand. Rey laughs when he asks her, can offer only that she “wasn’t going to get in the middle of all that.”

Having seen the man’s face in person, however, Kylo finds himself catching glimpses of him all over campus. Turning the corner of the business building, suede messenger bag slung neatly over one shoulder. Three ahead in the line at Starbucks, paying for a cup of black cold brew. Leaning against the wall of the theatre building with a tall blonde woman, chatting quietly through thin smiles.

New Instagram followers continue to trickle in, despite the photo falling further and further from the top of his feed. Kylo finds himself searching his list of followers for the other man’s username. Nothing. He’s fuming until his mind conjures up, vividly in the hall one morning, the sensation of the other man spread over his lap, digging his heels into the meat of his thighs to spur him on. He barely makes it to the floor’s blissfully empty darkroom before he’s palming himself over his jeans, pushing his fingertips against his own bruised flanks in time. He curses into his shoulder when he comes, pitching up into his palm.

It doesn’t stop. In class that Wednesday, he remembers the taste of sweat, desperate pleas muffled into the pillow. He shuts his eyes to chase the sudden lucidity of it and is accused of sleeping in class. That night, a shot of a plane tracing a purple streak through the pinkened sky, surrounded by street signs grasping up toward it, breaks fifteen thousand likes within its first few hours of being posted. Kylo takes to Facebook.

It takes almost two hours. He trawls the Instagram app page, public posts, Buzzfeed lists. Combs through the followers in local groups, sifts through hashtags simple and arcane. He strikes on him, finally, with a combination of tagged location and date posted in a small group for amateur photographers. Here, there’s no caption to the photo, simply the image of the distant plane.

Armitage Hux. The profile is, unsurprisingly, largely private - no photos to view except the profile picture, a fairly straightforward image of the redhead and the woman he’d seen him with earlier in the week. Kylo lets his thumb hover over the messenger icon for a minute or two, chewing his lip. Then, finally, he gives it a decisive tap.

That photo is getting a lot of attention. He types in after a few minutes of deliberation.

An ellipses pops up in the corner a few moments later. Kylo chews at his lip. It disappears entirely once or twice before a reply flashes onscreen.

I assume that this is the subject of the shot? This name is unfamiliar to me.

Kylo frowns. It’s my pseudonym. This is my artist’s profile. It’s not entirely a lie, per se - only that he’d deleted Ben Solo’s profile before coming to school.

Right. Well, “Kylo”. Is there something with which I can help you?

He takes a deep breath. I think you should let me shoot you, too.

A lengthy pause, I’m very curious as to your reasoning in that regard.

You used my likeness in public. You tagged me. Kylo types back quickly, Fair is fair.

To my recollection, the tag was entirely your idea.

If you have sponsors, you’re still benefiting from my likeness. Kylo chances.

Allow me to understand this correctly. You believe that I am benefiting financially from an image of your likeness with attribution. You assert that you are entitled to compensation for this, and request that compensation in the form of using my likeness in return?

Kylo winces. It sounds uglier, flimsier than it had in his mind. Fine forget it. He slumps back into his chair with a groan, hands over his face. His phone chimes a moment later.

If you believe that your likeness has been monetized without your explicit permission, I will consent to one hour of clothed modelling, gratis. You may then, if you so choose, publish a single attributed shot in kind. Are these terms acceptable?

Blinking, Kylo snatches his phone up once more. Tomorrow? I finish class at 4.

I am available beginning at six. Do you have a location in mind?

Photo building has studios. I can reserve one, let you know which tomorrow?

Acceptable.

He considers writing further, types up a message or two in another window to keep from letting on, then deletes them. On Hux’s end, there’s nothing further, and so Kylo slumps back into his bed.

***

@acrackintheshutter, 11/05, 5:42 PM

He’s awake the next morning before his alarm goes off, scrubbing himself off in the shower, raking his fingers back through his curls in the mirror for nearly a half hour before cramming his books into his bag. Stopping to reserve a studio leaves him late for his first class, and he ducks out of the last early to make certain it’s prepped.

The redhead arrives fifteen minutes early, in a sleek charcoal suit and thin, pine-colored tie. His hair is parted smartly to one side, and Kylo can feel heat in his cheeks as he walks in the door. Hux gives a small cough of recognition, offering a hand. Kylo pauses, then reaches out to shake it.

“Mister Ren.” Hux acknowledges him with a short nod.

Kylo gives a small huff of breath, “You don’t have to be-...Just-...just call me Kylo.”

“Kylo. You would prefer casual clothing, I assume?” The man’s tone is clipped, sterile. Kylo swallows.

“...Sure. Yes.” He agrees, casting a glance around the room, “You can-...do you want me to leave, or-?”

He can see Hux barely keep from rolling his eyes, “Just get your equipment ready.”

“...Right.”

He moves to check the lights for a third time while Hux deposits his bag on one of the chairs in the corner, drawing out a simpler polo and trousers. Kylo does his best to keep his gaze on the flash heads as the other man unclasps his cufflinks. The blazer is placed carefully over the back of the chair to avoid wrinkles, the tie and shirt folded. When Hux pulls the undershirt up over his head, Kylo nearly chokes.

A garland of scratches and bruises winds its way up the man’s back, purpled suckmarks peppering his sharp shoulders. A few discolored fingerprints crest his hips just above the hem of his trousers, and when he shucks them, a perfect impression of teeth glows an angry red on the inside of one thigh. Kylo feels a sour rush in his stomach.

“Really enjoy a good time, do you?” He huffs.

Pink blossoms along the back of the redhead’s neck and shoulders, but his eyes are sharp when his gaze jerks back, “...Excuse me?”

Kylo frowns minutely, nods towards the other man’s battered flesh, “I didn’t realize I was one in a queue.”

Hux’s nostrils flare, lips pinching as the line of his back goes rigid, “A queue?” He spits, “I’m not certain precisely how inebriated you claim to have been, but let me assure you that this is entirely your handiwork.”

Taking a step back, Kylo looks over the marks once more, “I-...What? Are you serious?” He stutters.

“To my recollection, you needed very little encouragement.” Hux seethes as he claws his way clothed once more, “Although I do so appreciate your assessment of my personal life.”

He feels his pulse thudding in his ears, cheeks darkening, as he turns quickly back to the equipment. He swallows once, twice, but the idea of sinking his teeth into the redhead’s thigh - pinning him down, devouring him until he’s whining and squirming beneath him - won’t be shaken. His lips purse, and he avoids turning back until he hears Hux still behind him.

“Shall we?” The other man sniffs.

When Kylo turns, the redhead’s arms are crossed over his chest. He notices bruises on one set of skinny knuckles, hears acutely in his mind the clatter of a hand pinned roughly against his headboard and ducks his head, “Mm.”

“I thought so.”

Kylo steps back, gaze pinned to his camera, to allow Hux to step past him onto the black backdrop. When he looks up once more, the other man’s face is impassive, limbs tight at his sides. Kylo glances through the viewfinder with a small grimace.

“Can you-...” He tries.

“Can I what?” Hux snaps.

Kylo glowers, “Just relax for a second.”

Hux heaves a sigh, rolls his shoulders back. Kylo snaps a few shots and winces, “No, like-”

“Like what?” Hux cuts him off, crossing his arms once more.

“Like maybe you don’t think you’re better than everyone in the fucking world.” Kylo barks with a scowl.

“As if I’m not the type to ridicule someone after they’ve slept with them, perhaps?” The redhead fires back.

Kylo lets out a small growl and storms to retrieve a chair from the periphery of the set. He shoves it down with a shuddering clank in front of the other man, “Sit down.”

“I’m not a dog.” Hux snaps.

“Are you going to let me shoot you or not?!”

“I shouldn’t.” The redhead snorts, “This is entirely unprofessional, this...this ridiculous attempt to coerce me into-”

Kylo bristles, “Coerce you?! You’re the one who got tons of publicity on a shot of me !”

“Which you then used to threaten to-”

“I wasn’t threatening you!” He fumes, “I just wanted to shoot you!”

Hux’s eyes narrow. He’s silent for a moment, then leans back faintly in the chair, “...Then do it.” He mutters, lips tight.

“I liked you better when you were drunk.” Kylo grumbles as he leans back into the viewfinder.

“How would you know?” Hux clips.

Coloring, Kylo works for a few moments in silence, “...Move your arm.”

“Which arm?”

“The one on your lap. It’s-...you look like you’re dead.”

Hux sighs, letting the limb drop to his side. It dangles against the rungs of the chair. Kylo groans as he steps onto the backdrop, lifts the other man’s arm and loops it around the back of the chair. Hux’s eyes are on him when his gaze flicks up to slender man’s face. Kylo’s pulse snags.

“...What?” He grunts with a quick frown.

“Am I to be manhandled all afternoon?” Hux quips.

Kylo flushes, “I’m not-...I’m not manhandling you.” He sputters.

“Forget it.” Hux sniffs, “You’d accuse me of having someone else do it the next day in any case.”

“Shut up.” Kylo growls. His face remains close to Hux’s, and he sees the corner of the other man’s mouth twitch. A breath passes between them before Kylo pushes himself back. When he peers through the viewfinder once more, Hux’s lips are parted, the small of his back just barely lilting away from the back of the chair. Kylo bites his lip and steals a few shots before Hux settles back into a frown.

***

@acrackintheshutter, 11/09, 8:54 PM

Huffing a faint sigh into his bandana, Kylo rocks the tray with one gloved hand. The developer ripples against the pan’s edges in a hushed, steady whisper. Kylo casts a glance at the darkened screen of his phone, gives a gentle tap with his other hand to revive the display. Twenty eight seconds. He pushes his face into his shoulder to nudge the hair out of his eyes as the phone gives a gentle rattle on the desk. His gaze returns to its screen, and he nearly drops the tray.

Instagram

ahscapes started following you. 1m.

The notification is stacked atop two unread texts from his mother. He swipes them all aside to bring up his profile, hastily clicks on his followers. Maybe it’s a mistake, an accidental tap or two while opening his notifications on the photo. A momentary mishap, resolved by a quick unfollow. Kylo’s eyes dart along his list of followers as he chews on the corner of his lip. It’s buried near the middle of the list, to the right of the familiar icon of a brilliant orange sunset through a chainlink fence.

ahscapes Following

1. H.

He drags the top of the list back down and reloads it, then searches again. It’s still there when he reaches the center of the list a second time and a third. A faint grin lingers on his lips as he sets the phone back onto the desk and turns to his prints. The edges of the figures are beginning to become grainy, dense, and he curses and fumbles for the tongs.

***

@ahscapes, 12/14, 11:04 PM

Hux picks up the phone thrice before he sends anything at all. The first time is during a particularly dismal lecture in Integrated Strategic Analysis. He’s flicking through Instagram on his tablet to keep himself awake, and an angular, overexposed shot of the neon marquis of a downtown club nearly makes him snort out loud as it crosses his timeline. The second is a few days later, when the other man’s retaliatory portrait photo prompts a slew of speculative comments tagged with his username. Hux can’t keep his fingers from curling at the sight of it; his hooded eyes and tilted hips paint a picture he hadn’t expected to convey to anyone, much less several thousand faceless commenters.

He actually opens a chat window in Messenger the third time, sitting with Phasma in her favorite dive. She’s pushing his shoulder playfully and mock fussing about the noise, and he’s already deep enough in to remember broad hands yanking him into position by the curves of his hips. He taps in a sentence or two, deletes it each time, and then finally tosses his phone back onto the bar.

It’s halfway through the week of final exams when he gives in. Notes splayed over his desk, books stacked as high as his knee on the floor, and hair shoved out of shape by his own restless fingers, he seizes the phone and types in simply Come to mine. It buzzes a moment later - of course he’s up this late, he is the type, isn’t he? - and in a half hour, the dark haired man arrives at his apartment door.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Hux is already against him, fists knotted tight in his hair, dragging him inside. Hux only needs to roll his hips up against the other man’s once before Kylo has him pinned down over the sofa. Hux guides his lips with his own, savage, bruising, and he feels Kylo’s grip tighten around his wrists.

“Harder.” He grates, bucking up beneath him, craning his neck to reveal the pale length of his throat.

Kylo takes the invitation. Hux’s body jerks as his teeth sink into the tender spot just below his ear. His pulse thrills just under the skin, and he digs the sharp points of his knees into Kylo’s hips for more. The other man growls, and Hux exhales sharply and curses as Kylo drops his hands to shove his legs apart. He’s clawing at Kylo’s belt loops, tugging his belt buckle open, hips greedy against his.

Kylo splays one wide hand over the top of his thigh, forces him back down against the cushions. Hux hisses his displeasure until he hears Kylo fumbling with his zipper with the opposite hand. When he frees himself, Hux feels his own cock twitch at the sight of him. He squirms beneath the taller man’s grip to shuck his own trousers, makes it only as far as wriggling them down off his hips before he’s overwhelmed and simply twists over onto his knees. Kylo is panting against the back of his shoulder a moment later, and Hux chokes on a groan when he wraps a hand around his straining cock. He scrabbles for the side table and manages to pry the drawer open enough to fish out the small bottle he’d tucked into it on the way to the door.

Kylo is huffing something against the shell of his ear, and it takes Hux a few seconds to drag his mind verbal, “-right?”

“Nnh?”

“You’ve got-?”

“Wh-” Hux pants, “Y-you’re the one who- ghh!- who came over-”

“You don’t?”

Hux whines out loud as he ruts down into Kylo’s grip, “J-Just-” He’s panting through his teeth, shuddering. He nearly drops the bottle as he slaps it back into the other man’s palm, “...do it.”

Kylo’s hips jerk behind him, and Hux can feel the length of his cock against his ass. Nearly whimpering, he shoves one cheek against the couch cushions and lets himself arch deeper. Against the backs of his thighs, he feels Kylo shiver as he readies himself in a few quick strokes. Then he’s slick and warm against Hux’s entrance, and this time Hux does whimper, shaking and desperate.

Kylo splits him open with a sharp gasp muffled against the back of his neck, and Hux is reeling. Hot, tight, wet -oh god, what is he doing?- and he’s full, so full, struggling to accommodate him, Kylo’s hips pitching in deeper, impossibly deep. His nails claw at the fabric beneath him as the other man’s fingertips dig into his thighs. Hux imagines the skin purpling under his touch and pistons himself back over him.

“ Fuck. ” Kylo heaves.

Hux feels the tendrils of his hair whisper against his shoulders as the man ducks his head to compose himself. He seethes and leans his weight back up against him, “Faster.”

“B-but it’ll-”

Hux reaches back to dig his nails into one muscular flank, “ Hurt me .”

Kylo gives a cracked moan. Hux braces himself on the arm of the couch as the other man begins to batter him up against it. The friction of it, the drag of Kylo’s cock plunging into and pulling back from him has him dripping down onto his knees already. When he drops his forehead down, he can see a small pool of it scatter into obscene rivulets. There’s an unmistakable wet shine on the inside of his thighs. Oh god, oh god, he’s letting him raw him. He doesn’t even know his real name.

Kylo’s long fingers are around his cock again, and Hux bites down on his own wrist to stifle a cry. This is what he deserves, this-...this desecration, this base, animal ferocity. Thousands and thousands of hours spent bent over macroeconomic theory and disruptive innovation, and he’s going to let some art student he met at a drunken bender come in him. He’s panting, quivering, and, he realizes to his own disgust, begging in earnest.

“Please, please …” He’s sobbing into the throw pillows.

Kylo has him by the hair, now, and all he can do is accept it, offer himself up for the man to do as he pleases. Take his cock as hard and as deep as he wants, let him impale him on it and fill him up. Hux lets his body go pliant.

“More.” He hears himself mewl, “More, more.” Revolting. Shameless.

And then it’s happening. He feels the slick heat of it branding the inside of him, Kylo’s hips jerking flush against his ass. Hux disintegrates in the man’s grip, spatters up over his own stomach and chest as he wrenches back onto him. Hux feels him tremoring as he rides it out within him, and when he finally draws back, the redhead collapses down into his own slippery release.

For a few moments, he’s boneless, spent. Kylo lifts him with ease, and Hux goes without a fight. The taller man lets him come to rest on his chest, and the hammering of his pulse lulls Hux into a wearied haze.

***

@acrackintheshutter, 12/13, 7:28 AM

Hux is already in the shower when Kylo drags himself into waking the next morning. Kylo’s brows furrow at the first steady rush of it, and he pushes himself upright on the couch when the sound disappears a few minutes later. Shoving his hair from his eyes, he casts a glance around the apartment for what feels like the first time. Unsurprisingly aseptic, expensive but minimalist. The suits he’s seen the redhead wear around campus given architectural form.

He begins to stumble back into his clothing. What the fuck was that? Hux summoning him out of nowhere, resolute and demanding...after the shoot, he’d half-expected to never hear from him again, especially when the photo had gone up without a single reaction from the man. He sinks back down into the center of the couch, checks his phone. Scrolls his social media timelines. Glances at the bathroom door. Rearranges his tangled hair as best he’s able.

When Hux steps out, already dressed and immaculate, Kylo sees his eyes widen briefly, “...Would you-...did you want something to eat before you go, or-?” The redhead clips.

“Huh?”

“You’re-...I have class this morning.” Hux concludes.

Kylo gawks, “...You want me to just leave?”

“I haven’t the time for company.” Hux is shouldering his bag, eyes fixed on his phone, “And I don’t make a practice of leaving others in my apartment without me.”

“It’s seven thirty in the morning!”

“I have a final to prepare for.”

“What the fuck?” Kylo huffs, “Last night you’re begging for it, and-”

Hux throws him a sharp glance, “You can spare us both the salacious details, I was present.”

“Are you even-”

“Am I even what?”

“You know...” Kylo makes a vague gesture, “...safe?”

Hux’s nostrils flare, “Of course I am!” He spits, “I made certain after our last...encounter. And you are as well, if you’ve not had anyone else since.”

Kylo flushes, “...No, I haven’t.”

“Good.” Hux clips, “Then our indiscretion should have been, much to our mutual good fortune, harmless.”

There’s a note of relief in his voice, and Kylo stands, takes a step towards him, “Hux, listen, I-”

“I have to go.” He cuts him off. There’s a pot of coffee already brewed in the sleek machine on one granite countertop, and Hux swipes it from beneath the spout to pour himself a cup into a travel mug. He hesitates for a moment, and then sighs, “...Do you drink coffee?”

“...Yeah.” Kylo crosses his arms over his chest.

“How do you take it?”

“Light and three sugars.”

Hux wrinkles his nose, but pulls another tumbler down from the shelf nonetheless. Filling it, he fixes it to the other man’s specifications, then presses it into his hands as he makes for the door, “Keep the mug.”

“But I-”

Hux is already in the hall, holding the door with one foot, “You what?”

Kylo dogs after him, frowning faintly as he takes a sip. The coffee is fragrant, bold and deep. Kylo decides that he loathes it.

***

@acrackintheshutter, 1/18, 7:14 AM

Neither of them go home for the holidays. Kylo knows this because Hux messages him seven times over the course of the term break. And after each terse invitation, he’s out the next morning before he can get a word in edgewise. He learns to leave his previous rendezvous’s coffee mugs in Hux’s sink during the night, when the other man is panting silently in bed, on the couch...over the bathroom counter, once.

When he wakes before the redhead, the marks left behind are bare in the steel of predawn, stark against the pale luminescence of Hux’s skin. Kylo runs silent fingers over them until he sees Hux stir, and then he makes certain to fall still and shut his eyes. Once, just before the end of the break, Kylo feels Hux press back down into the mattress after he first sits up, sculpt his back into the warmth of Kylo’s chest. The dark haired man lets a breath or two pass before he drapes an arm over him. Hux tenses briefly, then exhales. Kylo waits for a soundless half hour before Hux wakes once more and slips out of bed.

“Hux?” He murmurs as he rolls up onto one side.

The slender figure freezes in the door to the living room, “...Yes?”

Kylo muddles a hand back through his hair, “...Are you coming back?” He tries.

“What?”

“To bed.”

Hux takes a step into the living room, one hand on the doorframe “I need to shower.”

“You don’t have class.” Kylo notes.

“I’m filthy.”

“...Can I come with you?”

Hux arches an eyebrow, “Into the shower.”

“I mean, if you’re dirty, so am I.” The taller man offers.

A minute frown, and Hux’s cheeks color faintly, “It’s too small for two.”

“Do you want breakfast?”

Hux rolls his eyes, “Are you announcing your intent to use my kitchen, or asking for permission to do so?”

Kylo lets out a small groan and sinks back into the pillows, scrabbling one over his face, “Forget it.”

“Besides, I’m certain you’d rather the comforts of your own home for your morning routine.” Hux suggests.

“Maybe I want to use your shower.” Kylo huffs.

“What?”

“Your shower. Maybe I want to use it.”

“What on earth for?” Hux snorts.

Kylo shoves the pillow aside and pushes himself upright, “What is this? All this?” He questions.

Hux freezes.

“You message me twice a week.” The taller man continues, “You have me come here and- ...and demolish you, and then you just-”

“There’s no need to be vulgar.” Hux snaps.

Kylo frowns, “Oh, like it’s not?” He spits, “You say things- ”

Hux cuts him off again, “Are you attempting to humiliate me? Is that what this is?”

“No!” Kylo groans, “I just-...what is this? What do you want from me? Can I...can I take you to dinner or something?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Hux leans back, “Absolutely not.”

“What?!” Kylo clamors,  “I- ...why not?”

“This is-” Hux purses his lips for a moment, “...This is strictly a matter of mutual gratification.”

Kylo draws back with a grimace. His gaze falls to his discarded clothing on the floor, “...Fine.” He grunts as he begins to shuffle it up onto the bed. He dresses in silence, mouth tight.

“Am I to take it that this dissatisfies you?” Hux drawls thinly.

Kylo grits his teeth and yanks his shirt down over his head, “Don’t fucking call me again if I can’t even take a shower here.” He growls.

“Fine.” Hux retorts, then steps back, sweeping an arm in the direction of the door.

Seizing his bag, Kylo storms toward it, “Fine!” He barks.

He can hear Hux sigh as he slams the door behind himself.

***

@acrackintheshutter, 02/08, 3:56 PM

Kylo watches a dozen photos go up on Hux’s Instagram the next weekend and the next, chipped statues through bridge cables against flushed early morning skies, the edges of boarded-up shops strewn with graffiti peeking into dying sunsets. Hundreds of comments, thousands of likes, short, sterile responses from the man himself. Kylo shoulders cases upon cases of equipment, storms to locations and takes tight, blown out shots of tail lights cutting glistening streaks along rain-slick pavement for a handful of notifications.

Nothing passes between the two of them. More than once, Kylo scrolls through the scattering of Facebook messages from the redhead, all curt, to-the-point invitations. Every time, he flings his phone down onto the couch as the datestamp from the last message crawls further and further into the past.

After a week in which Kylo skips nearly all of his introduction classes, the semester begins in earnest. He throws himself into projects, drags himself through first year color theory workshops, checks Hux’s Facebook two or three times for a week and finds it just as empty as ever. The other man’s settings, save for his name and profile pictures, are almost entirely private, and Kylo can’t imagine friend requesting him now.

February brings with it a persistent grey. Bleary, cold rain floods the gutters near the photography building each morning, and the chilled, soggy sensation that is always grasping for Kylo’s clothing never seems fully shut out by the studio doors. He’s still wringing out the cuff of one sleeve during his first class when the professor clicks to the final slide of her powerpoint.

“As many of you know-” She begins, “-our first semester interdepartmental exhibitions begin this week. This is a list of dates that your first semester’s work will go up in the downstairs gallery. On the first evening of your scheduled dates, there will be a small meet and greet reception for those of you showing in that exhibition. Questions?”

Kylo huffs a sigh and glances up at the screen. Ten days. He’d known he was supposed to be matting and framing over the break, but the weeks had grown quickly and unexpectedly complicated. He’d be cutting mats every night between today and the reception to fill up his space. He lets his forehead fall onto his desk.

***

@ahscapes, 02/18, 7:49 PM

When he’d noticed the exhibition announcement in the monthly flyer the school had sent for February, Hux had made the easy decision that he was absolutely, one hundred percent not going to be in attendance. It would be, he had reasoned as he shoved the flyer into the wastebasket, absurd to show up for such a tiny gallery opening and claim no previous awareness of its curation. A pathetic, desperate contrivance. And besides, he had no interest in the man. He had made that perfectly clear on their last morning together, now nearly a month and a half prior.

There is no reason for him to be here. And there is certainly no reason for him to be wearing a tie. None of these art students are. Of course they’re not. They’ll be wearing ripped jeans and paint-spattered tank tops at every back alley gallery opening they manage to squeeze into for the rest of their lives, judging by the look of them. Chunky, neon glasses frames, enormous plastic earrings and bangles, oversized and underwashed sweaters dragged from the dingy racks of some downtown thrift shop. They’ll be back in their parents’ houses in the suburbs by twenty five.

He imagines the high rise flat and corner office he’ll earn instead. Keeping his mother in comfort, his father’s voice finally quieted in both of their minds, silence bought and paid for by endless hours at his desk. He shouldn’t be here, he should-

Kylo is behind him. When he darts a glance back to confirm this, he sees the taller man’s hand jerk back partway to his shoulder. Kylo flinches.

“Oh.” Hux drones, voice tight, “You’re-”

Kylo frowns, “It’s my exhibit.”

Blood rushes in Hux’s ears, and he crosses his arms, “...I see.”

“I-...are you telling me you didn’t know it was my opening?” Kylo snorts.

Hux struggles for purchase. A derisive huff. A frown, “Forgive me, I’ve only just now been informed that I’ve been deemed persona non grata at art department events.”

“No, no, you-” Kylo lets out a quiet growl. He looks back over one shoulder for a moment before crowding in on the slender man, one long hand splaying against the wall at Hux’s side, “You’re not doing this.” He hisses.

Hux lifts his chin, “Doing what?”

“ This. ”

There are dark circles beneath the broad man’s eyes, splashes of livid color spreading over his pallid cheeks. Hux inches back, finds his heel already against the baseboard.

“Would you care to elaborate on the antecedent of ‘this’?” He quips.

“Would I-... what? ” Kylo’s jaw is clenched, “You know exactly what this is. You come and find me when you want something, and then when you get it, you-...you pretend like I’m just inconveniencing you, like you never wanted anything in the first place! But you do, you always do! So just tell me what the fuck it is!”

“Perhaps I simply came to see a gallery opening.” Hux snaps.

“Bullshit.” Kylo grates, “ Bullshit. Tell me you don’t want anything from me. Tell me you don’t want anything to do with me.”

“I don’t want anythi-” Hux starts as one hand grips his waist, “...Stop it.”

“No.”

“ Don’t touch me. ” He snarls.

Kylo growls, withdraws once more. “This-” He jabs a finger towards the framed print on the wall beside the redhead, “-is mine. You know that this is mine. So why are you here?”

Hux frowns deeply, falls silent. Kylo leans in once more.

“I’m going to kiss you.” He tells him.

“ What? ” Hux balks.

“I’m going to kiss you. If you don’t want me to kiss you, leave.”

“We’re in public- ”

Kylo bows in. Hux feels himself exhale, short and complete, as if by force. The other man’s lips find his. Hux is motionless but for the slight curl of his fingers. It’s soft, careful, only a moment, and then it’s over. Kylo draws back, and they watch one another.

“Take me out somewhere.” Kylo says plainly.

“...What? Where?” Hux stammers, schooling his mouth into a frown once more.

“I don’t care.” The dark haired man replies, “Just out.”

Hux sniffs, “...Fine. You can come on a shoot with me. Saturday. Eight, at mine. Don’t be late, I won’t wait for you.”

Kylo blinks, then gives a minute nod. A smile pricks at the corner of his lips.

***

@acrackintheshutter, 02/20, 7:55 AM

For what he imagines is one of the first times in his life, Kylo is five minutes early. Hux is already standing outside the front door of his apartment building, mug of coffee in hand, the collar of his peacoat tugged up around his throat.

“Good.” Hux gives a curt nod before slipping past the other man, “Come along.”

Kylo blinks, shifts the weight of his gear bag on his shoulder, and stumbles after him. The heels of the redhead’s oxfords click against the pavement, and Kylo finds himself half-jogging to keep up with him.

“Do you always start this early?” He asks.

“Usually earlier.” Hux tells him, “It’s best that way.”

“ Earlier? ”

“Five or six, generally. I didn’t imagine that you were the type.”

Kylo frowns minutely, “The type to what? Make it to a shoot at weird hours?”

“The type to wake up while it’s still morning.” Hux sniffs.

The taller man rolls his eyes, “Right. Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“No.”

“What? Why?” Kylo huffs, “Because it’s some kind of secret place that you go to shoot? You don’t want me to know where it is?”

“Because I don’t know.”

“...What?”

“I don’t know where we’re going.” Hux repeats.

Kylo blinks, “How do you not know where you’re going to shoot?”

“At present, we’re headed towards the metro station.” Hux explains, “When we reach it, we’ll be boarding the first train that arrives. We will then ride that train to its terminus.”

“...But you don’t know where that is.”

“No. It doesn’t matter where it is.”

Kylo’s brows furrow, “How do you know if there’s even something worth shooting out in... wherever we end up?”

“Do you always ask this many questions?” Hux clips as he begins descending the stairs to the station.

Kylo snorts and follows behind him, “That depends, are you always this pretentiously opaque?”

Hux pauses on the stairs, glancing back over his shoulder, “...Are you coming or not?”

Kylo freezes, falling silent with a quick nod.

“Good.”

Beyond the turnstiles, Kylo can hear the shriek of a train coming to a staggering halt. A rush of warm air sighs up from beneath it. Hux already has his pass out, is through the turnstile and halfway onto the train before Kylo manages to fumble out his own card. The doors are nearly closed by the time he clears the gate, but they jerk back momentarily as he tramples sideways between them.

Hux leans into the pole with one shoulder as the train lurches to life once more. Kylo watches his green eyes scan over the car, hungry, jaw still tight, but slowly relaxing once the train crests fully into the darkness of the tunnel.

“So?” Kylo asks.

“So?”

“So, where are we going? Are we just going to set up a shoot when we get there? Find something interesting?”

Hux shakes his head, “No. We’ll be coming back. There will be things worth shooting along the way.”

“What, in metro stations?”

“I don’t use the metro to get back.” Hux tells him.

“Then what do you use?”

It’s the first time he sees the corner of the redhead’s mouth twitch up into what might constitute a smile, “I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” Hux continues, “I take the metro all the way out, and then I find out how to get back again. Walking. Hiring bicycles. Pedicabs. On the way, I take photos.”

Kylo gawks, “That’s going to take forever .”

Hux picks at a thread on the cuff of his jacket, “All day, generally.”

“...How often do you do this?” Kylo asks slowly. His thoughts are pulled toward the constant flow of material that the other man produces, the dozens of shots that flood his instagram on any given week.

“Each weekend, once there’s no schoolwork left.”

“Both days?”

Hux’s cheeks color faintly, “Mm.”

Kylo watches him for a long moment. When Hux feels the other man’s gaze lingering on him, his lips tighten, and he shoots Kylo a small frown from beneath furrowed brows. Kylo blushes, hastily shoves a hand back through his hair and leans back against the armrest on one side of the door. After a period of silence, he manages to look back up to Hux once more.

“Why?” He asks.

Hux sniffs, “I imagine that you can certainly conjure a reason or two to find photography enjoyable, isn’t that your area of supposed expertise?”

The dark haired man bristles, “Fine, be an asshole.”

Hux crosses his arms over his chest, says nothing further. The next four stops pass by with Kylo’s sullen glare fixed on his battered combat boots. Hux gives a few thin, scattered sighs.

“...It’s diverting.” He finally admits.

Kylo meets the redhead’s gaze once more, “What, running all over the city?”

“I-...it provides adequate occupation for my thoughts.” The disclosure may as well be a fish hook for the way Hux struggles to wrest it from his mouth.

“...Oh.”

“Besides,” Hux continues quickly, “There’s more interesting material off the beaten path, in any case.”

Kylo gives a slow nod. Hux picks determinedly at something beneath one nail.

“Did you eat breakfast?”

“No.” Kylo confesses.

“I’m certain we can find something along the way. You don’t only speak English, do you?”

***

@acrackintheshutter, 02/20, 9:14 AM

            Kylo doesn’t ask where Hux learned impeccable French and Spanish. He doesn’t ask how he manages meaningful shots with just a Polaroid. He doesn’t ask much of anything, because once Hux is moving in earnest, Kylo hardly has a moment to catch his breath.

Hux’s cheeks are ruddy with the morning chill the first time Kylo watches him shimmy over a chain link fence in an alley. He’s already scaling a fire escape on the next block by the time Kylo has hauled himself and his equipment over the barrier. When Kylo catches up, Hux is on the roof of the building, snapping shot after shot of cramped duplexes washed pink by morning light. Then he’s off again just as quickly as he’d arrived. Grunting as he descends, Kylo realizes that most of his lighting setup isn’t going to make it out of his gear bag.

Just before midday, when they hit a lengthy strip of newly renovated blocks, Hux pays to hire each of them a bicycle. Kylo’s knees barely scrape beneath the handlebars. Hux rides standing, leaning forward, breathless.

“Every weekend?” Kylo pants as he matches his pace.

“Yes.”

“And you’re doing all this again tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you ever get tired?”

The redhead shrugs minutely, “I suppose.”

“I mean, aren’t you some kind of MBA or something? When do you even sleep?”

“You have literally seen me sleep.” Hux points out.

“Only when you’re exhausted.” Kylo retorts.

“That is generally the most common course of action when one is exhausted, yes.” Hux quips.

Kylo frowns faintly, “You know what I mean.”

Hux’s bike skids to a stop outside a bodega, “I’m quite certain I have no idea.” He glances back over his shoulder as Kylo draws up behind him, “Will you be eating lunch?”

“Wha- ...yes. But talk to me for one fucking second.” Kylo huffs.

Hux is already pulling the door open, “I was under the impression that we were already talking.”

“Jesus, do you always do this?”

“Do what?” Hux pushes two salads and a sandwich from the refrigerated shelves into Kylo’s hands.

“Just- you know, this-” Kylo shuffles the food to make room as the other man adds two glass bottles of iced coffee to the load,  “...Just cutting people off to make them feel stupid.”

Hux pauses, “...What?”

“I mean, you-" Kylo begins setting the objects on the counter as Hux reaches for his wallet, “You make it sound like whatever someone else just said is stupid to shut them up.”

“Have you considered that this might simply be a reflection of the quality of your statements?” Hux shoots back.

“That.” Kylo points out sharply, “That. You just did it. You just want to shut me up.”

Hux takes the bag with their lunch from the counter, slinging it over one shoulder, “I certainly can’t argue that.”

Kylo growls, pushes out the door after him, “I’m not stupid.”

Hux sniffs. Kylo watches him lean back against the brick wall of the store and pry the lid off of one of the salads. He lets the bag of food drift down from his elbow onto one narrow wrist, which he extends to Kylo. The taller man hooks his thumb beneath the handles to slide it off. Not a moment later, Hux is stabbing a fork into his food, medical, wordless motions calculating the minimum distance between utensil and mouth. It may as well be a cadaver on a surgical slab.

“...You can’t stop.” Kylo muses.

A bite hovers midway to Hux’s lips, “...Mm?”

“You can’t stop.” Kylo repeats, “You think about things if you stop.”

Hux’s brows crease, and he leans back from his food a bit, “Charming. I do so thank you for the armchair psychoanalysis. Please do continue, this is exactly how I was hoping to spend my Saturday afternoon.”

Kylo rolls his eyes, “It’s okay, you know, I’m not going to call your Dean and tell him you’re unfit to serve or something.”

“No, no, please, tell me more about myself.” Hux snaps, “Perhaps I’ve been missing the perspective of a first year art student .”

“Jesus.” Kylo breathes, shaking his head faintly, “You’re a fucking mess, aren’t you?”

“I’m not the one who’s so desperate for popularity that he copies someone else’s photo locations.” Hux retorts.

Kylo scowls, “No, you just want to be left alone so you can run from feeling anything because you’re so fucking ashamed .”

Hux’s eyes widen. Splotches of color splash up into his cheeks, and he slams the lid onto his half-eaten salad so firmly that his thumb nearly punctures the plastic, “This was a mistake.” He seethes, “I-... letting you come with me, this- all of this, this entire wretched affair was a mistake.”

Kylo groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Hux-”

“No. Don’t.” Hux lashes as he crams the salad into the wire mesh basket of his rented bicycle, “Don’t say anything. Anything at all. I am leaving. Don’t try to speak to me again.”

“Why are you so scared?!” Kylo exclaims.

Hux wheels on him, jabbing a finger towards his face, “I am not scared. I simply have no time to stand here and listen to your ridiculous, sanctimonious-” Kylo catches his wrist, and Hux snarls, “ Let go. ”

“Listen to me.” Kylo spits, “This is insane. This- the way you treat people, the way you treat yourself, it’s fucking preposterous.”

“I don’t give a damn what you think about me.” Hux barks, “I don’t give a damn about you .” He struggles in the other man’s grip, “And I don’t-” Kylo’s other hand is in the small of his back, now, and Hux’s breath quickens, “You-”

“Listen.” Kylo murmurs, “Hux, listen. ”

Hux squirms, grits his teeth, “What?” He spits poisonously.

“You don’t have to be like this.” Kylo tells hims, “You don’t-...I-...just slow down a second.”

“Do you expect me to stand here and spectate while you insult me?”

“No, I-” Kylo cringes, sighing, “Just-”

And then his arms are around him, tight, one set of long fingers carding through the red-gold of his hair, and Hux finds himself panting - no, no, no, not in the middle of the street, not in front of him, of all people - and swallowing against the lump in his throat. At his sides, his fingers curl, the line of his back obstinate in the other man’s embrace.

“...I just want to take some more photos.” He pleads quietly.

“That’s fine.” Kylo murmurs against the top of his head, “That’s fine.”

Hux chokes down another swallow, gives a nod, and steps back. Kylo ducks his head to watch him go, but the smaller man avoids his eyes as he settles back onto the seat of his bicycle once more.

“The last docking stand for these is about two kilometers that way.” He says quietly, motioning east along the street, “We needn’t hurry.”

Kylo nods slowly, retrieving the bag of food from the crook of his arm and slinging it over one handlebar, “Lead the way.”

***

@acrackintheshutter, 02/20, 10:38 PM

The scratched roof of the pedicab transforms the light of the streetlamps into spiderweb-thin ley lines above them. Kylo watches them fall over the angles of Hux’s sharp cheekbones and brow as the smaller man leans back into the seat, eyes already half-shut. The redhead murmurs his address to the driver, then recedes, exhausted, into the folds of his jacket as Kylo climbs in beside him. The pedicab lurches forward, and Kylo, limbs all suddenly overlong, folds his hands in his lap.

“Are you going to sleep?” He asks the man at his side.

“Nnh?” Hux’s eyelids flutter open once more, “No, no.”

“You don’t have to stay awake, you know.”

Hux pushes himself upright in the seat, watches the other man for a few long moments, then shakes his head.

Kylo shrugs, “All right.”

Leaning one elbow up against the rail of the cab, Hux lets his chin come to rest in one hand. Kylo spends a few mute seconds letting his eyes wander over the jut of his chin, the soft curves of his mouth.

“Can I-...” He begins.

Hux glances over to him, “Can you…?”

Kylo feels warmth in his cheeks as he taps a few fingers against his camera in inquiry.

“What, of me?” Hux’s eyebrows cant, “Why?” Kylo gives a shrug, and Hux huffs a sigh, “...Go on, then.”

“Not now.” Kylo tells him, “Just...sometime. During the ride.”

“Do you win many hearts with this sort of awkward, vaguely threatening type of repartee?” Hux drawls.

“I mostly just end up going out with uptight, pedantic grad students.” Kylo swipes back.

“Truly, I’m wounded.” Hux yawns into his scarf and leans back into the rail.

Kylo slants back against the seat, long fingers resting over the camera now perched in his lap. He allows a minute or two to pass uninterrupted before lifting it and giving the shutter release a single tap. Hux’s gaze, hazy, flicks over to him at the sound.

“That’s all, you know.” He chides.

“That’s all.” Kylo reassures him, then unzips his gear bag to tuck the camera away.

“No latergramming.” The redhead presses.

“None.”

Hux nods, and the motion soon droops into the crook of his elbow against the window.

Kylo chews his lip a moment, “...Hux.”

The other man lifts his head once more, “What is it?”

Kylo has one hand in his hair, tilting Hux’s face to his own. He sees, for a flash of a second, Hux’s lips part in surprise, and then his mouth is pressing down against his. Hux stiffens against him, and Kylo eases the other palm up beneath his coat to the small of his back. Long fingers splay out over Hux’s skin, and Kylo feels his muscles begin to cautiously loosen. He urges him on with his lips, his teeth, the tips of his fingers steady against his back, and Hux is unwinding, gripping him by the lapels of his coat, worrying at his lower lip with small, sharp nips.

Kylo pulls him close, until Hux’s chest is flush against his own and he can feel the other man’s breath coming short and shallow. Narrow arms slides up over his shoulders, and one skinny fist knots in his hair. When he pulls back for a breath, Hux’s green eyes are fixed on him.

“I suppose I could let you stay at mine tonight.”

***

@ahscapes, 02/21, 12:16 AM

Hux can’t remember the last time that he shared a bed without having given himself over to the other occupant beforehand. Kylo’s arms are long, looping easily around his waist and trailing up the length of his chest, where his hands rest over Hux’s pectorals. Against the other man’s warmth, Hux’s back is stiff, shoulders tight, doubly so when Kylo tucks his chin over one of them.

“I-...” The redhead begins quietly.

“It’s nice.” Kylo murmurs.

“What?”

“This.” He repeats, “It’s nice.”

Hux gives a small huff, “You don’t- it’s not-...don’t get ahead of yourself.” He shoots back.

Kylo rolls his eyes almost audibly, “I’m not asking you to marry me.”

“It is entirely possible that I may not be offering whatever else you’re asking for, either.” Hux clips.

“Look, I get it. You’re scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

“If you’re not scared,” Kylo begins, “-then why don’t you give yourself another inch on the leash, for once?”

Hux frowns, “Excuse me?”

“Let me make you breakfast tomorrow.” The taller man offers, “I’m a good cook.”

“I fail to see why the fact that you’re here now should have any implications for tomo-”

“Scared.”

“I’m not. ” Hux protests,  “I simply don’t have time for this sort of ridiculous-”

“Are you going to make excuses all night?”

“I had hoped that perhaps I’d be permitted to sleep at some point.” The redhead grumbles.

“Then go to sleep.” Kylo counters, “I’ll be here in the morning.”

Hux sighs, presses back into the other man’s touch nonetheless, “Has anyone ever informed you of just how infuriating you are?”

“You should hear my parents.”

***

@ahscapes, 03/17, 2:35 PM

It’s too much, too close, and Hux finds himself sinking deeper and deeper with every attempt to scramble away. He refuses to give the other man his phone number. Kylo peppers him with messages on Facebook. He’s too busy to meet for coffee. Kylo brings it to his apartment. He sits on the far end of the couch. Kylo leans back into the opposite arm, long hands resting on his chest. Hux lasts all of a half hour before his thighs are wrapped around the larger man’s waist, toes curling into the cushions as Kylo rocks steadily up into him. Afterwards, while he’s panting, slick with sweat and draped over Kylo’s chest, Hux feels the other man’s fingers begin carding through his hair. He doesn’t move.

Having two people on his shoots (he prefers to call them escapes, but nearly gags at the idea of revealing this to his companion) changes the fundamental flow of the days. Suddenly there are stops along the way, lunches and exhibits and the park grass, dew-heavy and soft around their bodies. Near the end of March, Kylo catches Hux by the shirtsleeve and winds a hand into his as they walk. Hux feels static bristle up in his temples, goes stiff. Kylo is resolute. Hux allows him seven blocks.

He washes and folds the band t-shirts and torn flannels that Kylo leaves on the floor of his apartment, then finds them crammed into the top nightstand drawer after Kylo leaves the next day.

Am I to assume that you are giving me your clothing, or are you conveying your intent to use my flat as a hotel? He messages him late that evening.

Four days this week, Kylo responds when his class - Antique and Alternate Processes, Hux recalls, much to his dismay - is finished, Might as well have something to wear in the morning.

Hux wrinkles his nose and sets his phone aside. Except for some minor refolding, he leaves the clothing where it is. Within two weeks, it begins to cycle in and out of the top drawer, and then the drawer below that. By the end of the month, the entire nightstand is lost to threadbare ripped jeans, and Hux finds himself waking up entangled in the other man’s long limbs more often than not.

Phasma needles it out of him early in April. They’re leaning back against the wall beside the stage door just after one of her rehearsals, dancers chattering animatedly as they stream past. Phasma takes a long drag, lets the smoke trail into the darkening evening for a few moments before speaking.

“It’s a bit warm for a scarf, isn’t it?”

Hux feels warmth begin to prick up in his cheeks, but manages a small snort, “You’re never cold.”

“You’ve been wearing one all week.” She remarks.

“And?” He huffs minutely.

Phasma’s eyebrows cant, “ And being coy about it. Who is he?”

Hux lets out a groan, “Oh god, must we really? It’s not like- it’s not that it’s any sort of, you know-...it’s not serious .”

“If you let him leave marks above the collar,” She points out, “I would say it’s fairly dire. What’s his name?”

“Absolutely not.”

“And demure about it as well. Grave.” She clucks, one eyebrow arched.

“It is not grave.”

“It’s not a professor, is it?” She asks.

“What? No!” His cheeks redden further.

She purses her painted lips, “Spoken as if you’ve never been one for older men.”

“It’s not a professor.” He groans once more, “It’s that-” He wrinkles his nose, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the arts building.

Phasma’s eyes widen, “...You can’t be serious. Is it really?”

Hux winces, pinches the bridge of his nose, “If you’re going to berate me, I can promise you, I’ve already thought worse.”

She covers her mouth with one hand, choking a laugh behind it, “From the party? The-...Rey’s flatmate? The artiste? ”

“He’s an idiot.” Hux sniffs, “I don’t know why I bother. Absolutely loathsome.”

Phasma grins, “Oh, you quite like him.”

Hux hisses, “ Phasma. ”

The woman raises her hands, “I hardly intend to get in your way. Who knows? Perhaps it’ll do you some good.”

“It will do no such thing.” Hux seethes, then drags the scarf closer around his throat.

***

@acrackintheshutter, 04/08, 1:09 AM

Drifting in the space between consciousness and sleep, Kylo feels the weight of the other man’s body as Hux crawls into bed beside him. With a blurred murmur, he lifts the covers, reaches an arm around the redhead’s slender waist and melts up against his back. Hux gives a stilted shiver, and Kylo pauses at the tension in his body.

“...S’wrong?” He slurs as he inches closer to waking.

“Nothing.” Hux clips.

Kylo feels Hux’s breath still for a moment against his chest, then carefully smooth out. Brows knitting, he frowns. His gaze flicks to the clock. It’s been nearly an hour and a half since Hux, bent over a stack of papers with his phone cradled against his ear by one shoulder, had waved him off when he’d gone to invite him to bed.

Kylo leans up, supporting his head with one hand, “Did something happen?”

“I don’t know why you even bother with me.”

Blinking, Kylo cranes his neck to get a look at the smaller man’s face, “What?”

Hux’s jaw is set tight, lips thinned, eyes focused on the wall, “I’m such an idiot.”

“What are you talking about?” Kylo gapes, “Did I do something?”

“No.” Hux lets out a soft breath, “Nevermind. This is...this is pathetic, nevermind.”

“Hux.” Kylo pushes himself upright to slide a palm over the redhead’s shoulder, “What did-..." He pauses, chewing his bottom lip, “...Who were you on the phone with?”

Rolling his eyes, Hux allows himself to be cajoled onto his back, “My father.”

Kylo watches him for a long moment, “...He’s an asshole, huh?”

Hux’s eyes trace over the ceiling, “I suppose that one could argue that.”

“What did he want?”

“What else does he ever want?” snorts Hux, “A full report on precisely how I’ve made certain to maximize the output of every moment.”

“What, he keeps track of you at school?” Kylo questions.

“No.” Hux replies, “He merely makes contact with me on a regular basis to remind me that I am not yet acceptably exemplary.”

“I think you’re exemplary.” Kylo tries.

“Oh god.” Hux huffs.

“I do.” He insists.

“Shut up.”

Kylo crosses his arms and sniffs, “Fine. Be a tightass about it.”

The room falls silent. Hux’s lips part, linger for a moment before speaking, “...You can go home if you want.”

“What? Why?” Kylo’s gaze returns to him, “Do you want me to?”

Hux exhales, “You don’t have to stay with me.”

“Why wouldn’t I stay with you?” Kylo asks.

“I’m not-" Hux swallows, “I doubt I’m pleasant company at present.”

Kylo snorts, “So, for you it’s Tuesday?”

Hux throws a short glare over his shoulder. The dark-haired man offers a crooked grin in return.

“Irredeemable.” Hux manages to huff.

Kylo slides an arm back around the redhead’s middle, pulling him back against himself once more, “You like it that way.”

“I most certainly do not.” Hux grumbles as he squirms to meet Kylo’s body with his own.

***

@ahscapes, 04/15, 6:49 PM

There is, Hux supposes, no accounting for taste. He’s not certain why Phasma bothers with all of these dance majors outside of simply choreographing them. He imagines that, as in any group perceived as “elite”, there is a necessary social capital to accrue in order to retain their respect. He had hoped, with his last ballet course with Phasma nearly a decade in the past after his father’s stern disapproval, that this would preclude his attendance to gatherings like these, but Phasma is insistent.

“Are you going somewhere?” Kylo’s brow furrows as he watches Hux cycle through shirts in front of the mirror.

“A few of Phasma’s friends are getting together this evening.” Hux sniffs, “I’ve been told that my presence is required.”

“Can I come?”

Hux blinks, “What?”

Kylo tries a faux-careless shrug in return, his broad shoulders only serving to further exaggerate the motion.

The redhead turns back from the mirror, “Why?”

“Phasma knows.” Kylo points out, “Wouldn’t it be weird to go alone?”

“You’ve met her thrice, and she isn’t even hosting this affair.” Hux huffs, “There’s nothing strange about my going and your not.”

Kylo leans back against the headboard, frowns. Hux heaves a sigh.

“It isn’t as if it’s going to be particularly entertaining.” He adds, “Drunken gossip and the like. Besides, you have nothing in common with them.”

“How do you know?” Kylo grumbles.

Hux rolls his eyes as he turns back to the mirror to button his shirt, “I know.”

Kylo is on his feet, and in the space of three long, loping strides, Hux feels his long fingers anchored against his hips.

“You’re awful, do you know that?” He breathes as Kylo nudges the collar of his shirt aside to worry at the spot where his neck meets his shoulder with gentle scrapes of his teeth, “You won’t even like it.”

“You could stay home.” The taller man murmurs against Hux’s skin.

Hux gives a minute groan, “I can’t.” He replies, “Phasma will go mad if I’m not there.”

“Then let me go with you.” His arms are looped around Hux’s waist, now, and Kylo can feel the faint pressure of the other man doing his best not to lean back into his chest.

“Fine.” Hux finally hisses, “Don’t blame me for your lost evening.”

***

@ahscapes, 04/15, 8:19 PM

Hux is willing to admit, a glass or two in, that at least the sight of a wine glass dwarfed in Kylo’s grip does serve to mollify his overall annoyance. Phasma, across the table from the pair, catches him taking in the sight once or twice, cants her eyebrows with a thin quirk of her lips. He’s not precisely sure where the conversation has wandered in the meantime, although he’s not entirely surprised when he finds it centered around the various goings-on at a party the previous evening.

“She’ll sleep with anyone when she’s fucked up enough.” One of the dancers, a short, slender brunette, is snorting, “Which might as well be every weekend.”

Hux leans back in his chair, traces along the stem of his glass with his thumb. When he feels Kylo’s fingers attempt settle on his knee, he flinches, brushes them away with his other hand. From the corner of his eye, he can see the other man give a sullen sigh.

One of the other dancers offers a coy grin, “Oh, didn’t you know? She’s going to find the love of her life at some undergrad bender.” He jokes.

“We met at a party.” Kylo offers.

Hux stiffens as he feels the eyes at the table fall first on the taller man, then on him.

“...Oh. That’s...that’s cute, I guess.” The first dancer’s lips are pinched around a smirk.

“Charming.” Hux breathes.

“What kind of party?” The second dancer quips as he leans on one elbow.

Kylo hesitates for a long moment, and Hux cuts in, “The result of one of Phasma’s no-doubt infamous pursuits.” He supplies with a glance at the woman, “How did that end up working out for you, mm?”

Phasma arches an eyebrow, “Rather promisingly, as I recall.”

The chatter at the table turns towards Phasma’s exploits, and Hux sinks back in his chair once more. He passes a brief, hard glance over the dark haired man at his side, looks to his nails when Kylo’s cheeks darken faintly in response. Beneath the table, one of Kylo’s calves nestles up against his. Hux shifts and crosses his legs. He can feel Kylo’s eyes on him, can see him glowering at the periphery of his vision. A few seconds later, Kylo gives a small huff as he rises, seizing his jacket off the back of his chair and ducking out onto the apartment’s cramped balcony. The brunette dancer starts as the door swings shut in the next room.

“Jesus.” She sniffs into her glass, “Issues much?”

Hux watches her for a long moment, jaw tight, “Excuse me.” He grates, stepping up from his own seat. They’re already whispering in the kitchen by the time he’s finished passing through the living room and onto the balcony.

“What-” Hux hisses as he shuts the door delicately behind himself, “-in God’s name was that?”

“Oh, now you’ll look at me.” Kylo grunts.

Hux stares, “...Are you earnestly making a scene because I’ve not paid enough attention to you at a social gathering?”

“It’s not- look, it’s not about paying attention to me, okay? I’m not some kind of kid.” Kylo groans, “It’s about-...you just- you won’t even let me touch you!”

“We’re not in private.” Hux tells him.

“Oh, so you only want to acknowledge me in private?”

“This is ludicrous, I’ve allowed you a more than reasonable amount of public affection.”

Kylo growls, “What, you’ve let me hold your hand twice? Three times? It’s so generous of you to be seen with me.”

“You are being patently ridiculous.” Hux tells him as he crosses his arms over his chest, “This sort of behavior is-”

“My behavior? My behavior ?” Kylo marvels, “Who the fuck put you in charge of my behavior? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Clearly someone who cares more for his dignity than you do.” Hux retorts.

“Because I’m so far beneath your dignity, right?” Kylo snarls.

Hux throws his hands in the air, “What on earth do you expect me to say to this?” He sneers,  “Really, I’m just terribly sorry that I can’t give you the parental validation you’re so clearly screaming for.”

Kylo recoils. Hux takes a measured breath, thin and tight, and stands his ground.

“You know what?” Kylo’s voice is low, feral, and his fingers are fisted so tightly into his jacket that his knuckles have begun to go white,  “Fuck you. Fuck you .”

“Oh, is that the extent of your need for public displays?” Hux hears the blood rushing in his ears, feels his lips continue to move even as something in his mind sours at the sound of his voice, flat and iron, “You need to act like you own me so that people think you can control something in your life?”

“Shut the fuck up!” Kylo snaps and slams one fist down on the railing. It gives a clang of complaint.

Hux’s nostrils flare, “Stop.” He orders under his breath, “Now. This is insane.”

“You’re so obsessed with what people think of you!” Kylo rails onward, “Your whole life, you just- you need people to see you, to treat you like you’re special, but it’s all bullshit, all of it. You don’t even know what you’re really like.”

“I do not have to stand here and listen to this.” Hux grinds, “I trust that you know where the door is, although your ability to use it like an adult is, I’m certain, questionable.”

With heat thrumming just beneath his skin, he pivots on one heel.

“Fine!” Kylo is shouting behind him as he passes back through the balcony door.

He reaches the bathroom, hears the front door of the apartment slam a few moments after he’s safely inside. His back thuds back against the door, and Hux claps a hand over his mouth, clenches his teeth into silence as his chest begins to heave. Stupid, senseless, ridiculous-... He allows himself a moment or two, clenches his shoulders to keep himself from jerking back against the door. Enough. Enough. This is enough. He gasps in a shuddering breath.

Hands braced against the sink countertop, he throws the cold tap open and lets it run. When it’s cold enough to whine softly in the pipes, one hand dips under the spray, hovers there. Then, Hux traces a chilled fingertip just underneath his eyes, forces the rhythm of his breath thin, even. Swallows once, straightens the collar of his shirt, snaps the tap off with one mechanical jerk of his wrist. A final check in the mirror, a few swift rakes of his fingers to put his hair into place, and he’s on his way back to the kitchen, jaw set. He makes it into his seat at the table without meeting the eyes of any of the other occupants. With a thin smile, his clasps his fingers around the stem of his glass.

“What did I miss?”

***

@acrackintheshutter, 04/30, 6:20 AM

It takes two weeks for Kylo to stop reaching out in bed, just at the edge of consciousness, sliding his fingers over an expanse of sheets that goes on too long, too cool before he finds himself at the edge of the bed. Each morning, he berates himself for the hint of a sigh that escapes him as recognition sets in. His dirty clothes are a whirlwind, on the floor, hanging out of the overflowing hamper, kicked beneath the bed. He hasn’t showered in three days.

He isn’t answering. At first, Kylo had expected it, had sent scornful rebukes when the “read” notification lingered at the bottom of his Messenger screen unanswered. Then, when nights alone churned the anger into desperation, he’d asked to see him. Nothing. Twice. Apologized. Still nothing.

A groan slithers up out of him as he turns over onto his elbows and drags his phone out from beneath the pillow. No new notifications. He’s not sure why he expected anything else. Bleary, he flicks away the lock screen and taps the Instagram icon. Maybe there’ll be new pictures. Last weekend, when the first grouping of new shots he’d been absent for had cropped up, he’d thrown the phone beneath the bookcase, cursed. Now, he hurries as he types Hux’s handle into the search bar. He pinches his lips as he waits for it to hover upward in the results, then pauses.

A few similar usernames fill the top results, but Hux’s is nowhere to be found. Kylo checks his spelling. He taps the search icon again. Switches over to his browser and manually types in the address.

Sorry, this page isn’t available.

The link you followed may be broken, or the page may have been removed.

He stares at the screen for a long moment. He’s been blocked before, and this isn’t what it looks like. But Hux wouldn’t have-

Kylo chews on his lip and flicks to Messenger.

Did you delete your Instagram? He sends.

A moment later, the return buzz of the phone in his palm nearly makes him jump.

Yes.

He scrambles to open the chat bubble, quickly follows up with, Why?

Sitting up cross-legged over his phone, Kylo watches the screen. An ellipses dances at the bottom of the page, then disappears. Flashes once more. Vanishes. Then, nothing.

Kylo grits his teeth and groans, “What the fuck?!”

He lets his face fall into one palm, hair spilling forward. Then, he curls a hand into it and yanks.

“ Fuck! ”

“Ben?” The voice drifts out of Rey’s bedroom across the hall, a note of sleepy concern at his sudden exclamation.

“I’m fine!” He barks back.

“You sure?”

“I said I’m fi -" He pauses, “...Do you have that blonde girl from the Halloween party’s number?”

***

@acrackintheshutter, 05/01, 10:01 AM

I just think something’s weird. Kylo is typing to Phasma the next morning, chewing his lip as he taps at the screen, It’s how he keeps going, I think. When he doesn’t want to think too much.

He is more than capable of caring for himself. Phasma replies a moment later, Whether you believe that or not is inconsequential to his actual health.

Kylo scowls, Fuck, I see why you’re such good friends, you both love hearing yourselves talk. And don’t bother being pedantic and saying that you’re typing. I just want his number.

Insulting me is an interesting way to attempt to get it. The response flashes on his screen.

He catches himself a hair’s breadth before launching the phone across the room, drags in a breath, He never stops, he can’t , and then he suddenly just does it out of the blue? You’re not even a little worried?

The possibility that his ex is a stalker does seem cause for concern.

I’m not his ex, Kylo types, then winces, deletes it, and sends, I’m not stalking him, I just care about him, okay?

A trio of dots appears and disappears for a few moments before Phasma’s reaction appears, I’m not giving you his number. If you feel he’s earnestly at risk, we can meet this evening outside the arts building and I’ll allow you to use my phone. No callbacks if he hangs up on you. His choice.

Fine. Kylo taps back immediately, Just tell me where and when.

***

@acrackintheshutter, 05/01, 6:02 PM

The phone only rings once before he picks up.

“I’m giving you fair warning, there is a distinct possibility that I’m a bit pissed.”

“Please don’t hang up, Phasma said I could use her phone but if you hang up I can’t call again and I just want to know that you’re alright.” The words rush out of Kylo in one swift exhalation.

The other end of the line goes silent, then, “...Kylo?”

He lets out another held breath, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.”

“...What do you want?” The sound of glasses clinking, people chattering, fades away in the background. Kylo can hear Hux’s uneven footsteps as he makes his way out of what Kylo can only assume is one of the bars downtown.

“You wouldn’t just-” Kylo bites his lip for a moment, “You wouldn’t do that, just give up on getting out of-...out of all of it, even for just a little while. You wouldn’t just throw that away like that.”

“What does it matter to you?” Hux retorts, “You don’t even-...you don’t think I’m even a person.”

“What?!” Kylo shoves a hand back through his hair, “I never said you’re not a person, Hux.”

“You always do, you always say that I’m-” Hux groans, a wavering, guttural exhaustion, “You always imply that I don’t know myself.”

“You don’t act like it.” Kylo shoots back.

“Shut up.” Hux slurs, “You haven’t got the faintest idea about me, either.”

“I know you’re tired.” Kylo urges, “I know you hate yourself for wanting to feel things.”

“That’s preposterous.”

“What happened? Why did you do it?” He asks.

“Do what?” Hux grunts.

“You know exactly what I’m asking.” Kylo snaps.

Another groan, “It was-...it was a waste of time. Time I could be studying, could be networking, could be-”

“Bullshit.” Kylo snorts, “Even you can’t fit in a box that tight. Something happened.”

“And what if it did?” Hux sighs, “What would it matter to you?”

Kylo casts a brief glance at Phasma, lowers his voice, “It matters to me. You have to know that it matters to me.”

“You’re absurd.” Hux tells him.

“I don’t care what you think about it.” Kylo replies, “It’s how I feel.”

“It’s childish.”

“How the fuck is that childish?”

There’s a moment of silence, “...That sort of thing, that’s-...it’s ridiculous, it’s not sensible, it’s-”

“You think you couldn’t possibly matter to anyone.” Kylo cuts him off.

“God, you’re infuriating, do you know that?” Hux grumbles, “I don’t know where you get all of this pious, self-righteous certainty that people are exactly as you want them to be, but I-”

“Please let me pick you up.”

“What?”

“Hux. Please.”

Kylo hears the redhead sniff, “I can take the metro, I don’t need a chaperone .”

“I know you don’t need a chaperone.” Kylo replies,  “Please. Just-...please.”

A long pause, “...Fine.”

“Good.” Kylo breathes, “Good. Just tell me where you are.”

***

@acrackintheshutter, 05/01, 7:04 PM

When Kylo’s cab pulls up to the bar, Hux is a slender, dark slash against the outside wall, face and hair faintly illuminated by the cherry of his cigarette. Kylo holds up one finger to the driver as he slides out of the back seat. He can see the flecks of red and orange in Hux’s eyes shift as the other man catches sight of him.

“Well, then.” Hux murmurs.

“Are you coming?” Kylo asks, one hand still perched atop the door.

Hux rolls his eyes, flicking his cigarette to the ground and grinding it out with one wingtip, “I suppose.”

Kylo steps to the side to let Hux into the cab. Once he’s inside, the taller man sinks back into the seat beside him. Muttering Hux’s address to the driver, he leans back, lets out a long breath.

“Well?” Hux clips, voice as small and tight as his state allows.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Kylo questions.

Hux huffs, “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

Picking at his nails, Hux purses his lips, “...My father found out.”

Kylo frowns, “And you just gave up, just like that?”

Hux spares him a brief glare, “You clearly underestimate the sisyphean nature of  attempting to sway my father.” He spits, “It’s not unprecedented, you know. I don’t dance anymore, either.”

“I didn’t know you-”

“How do you think I met Phasma?” Hux sniffs, “We were in the same classes until I was a teenager. But of course, by then even my mother couldn’t protest that it wasn’t a waste of time, so that was that.”

“Is that what you call everything your Dad doesn’t approve of?” Kylo presses.

“Because you know so much about how to live up to one’s family’s expectations.” Hux snips, “You couldn’t even stand being in the same country.”

“I’m saying you don’t have to!” The taller man protests, slumping up against the window with his forehead in one hand, “You don’t have to do what they tell you to do.”

“Yes, I imagine that would be easy to say from thousands of kilometers away.”

“You’re not your dad.” Kylo pushes, “You don’t have to be your dad. You don’t even want to be your dad.”

“There are certain things expected of me.” Hux glowers, eyes fixed on the window.

“Fuck them.” Kylo snaps.

“Would that I had the luxury.”

Sighing, Kylo lets his limbs unspool, “I like you.”

Hux glances over to him, “...What?”

“I like you. I think you’re an asshole, yeah. But I-...” His brows furrow, “You’re more than they expect you to be. Better.”

“I doubt that very much.”

“I don’t.” Kylo insists, “And I think-...I think you could use a little extra room on the leash. A little space to rebel.”

Hux arches an eyebrow, “I take it you’re suggesting that I come to you as that rebellion?”

“No, I-...well, I mean, I-...” Kylo feels his cheeks darken, “I’m just saying that-...that I’m here if you want somewhere to be more like yourself.”

Hux watches him for a long moment. Then, slowly, with a deliberateness that pushes the breath from Kylo’s chest, he presses his face into the crook of Kylo’s neck. The dark haired man shivers, lifts one long hand to slide his fingers up into the other man’s hair.

“You’re an idiot.” Hux mutters after a few seconds as he nestles closer.

“Yeah.” Kylo chuckles softly, “Yeah, probably.”

***

@acrackintheshutter, 05/29, 1:18 PM

“That had better be the last one.” Hux glances back over his shoulder from the pile of boxes set along the apartment wall, “I don’t intend to buy another wardrobe just to fit your mess.”

“It’s the last one.” Kylo pants as he sets the box down with its fellows, “Besides, it’s not even that much.”

“It’s certainly enough.” Hux sniffs.

“You’re acting like I moved a whole truckload in here.”

Hux rolls his eyes, “Warm enough that it seemed it.”

Kylo leans an elbow up against one windowsill, peering out into the late May haze, “I guess that’s fair.”

“I’ve arranged the wall in the bedroom.” Hux notes.

Kylo looks back, one corner of his mouth quirking, “Let me see.”

“Come along.” Hux instructs, beckoning.

Kylo trails along behind him as he moves to the bedroom - their bedroom - and motions to the wall opposite the bed. Drawing in a slow breath, Kylo wraps his arms around Hux’s waist as he takes in the redhead’s work. Along the length of the wall, in clean, angular black frames, paired photographs -each different perspectives of the same locations- come together to form a small gallery.

***