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The inside of Hux's greatcoat is lined in a deep purple.
No, not an aubergine, or a violet, but that velvety shade of plum that comes when a bruise has just bloomed on rosy skin. It is satin that shimmers under the harsh blue-white lights of the Finalizer, now a bright crimson, now a deep navy, and when the coat billows with every deliberate, regal stride, anyone paying close enough attention might just catch a mirage-like glimpse of the decadent fabric. It is undeniably luxurious.
It is also completely against regulation, and who better to point that out than a walking, talking, affront to every rule in the book?
The first time it happens, Ren is shivering and bloody on a transit vehicle back to the Finalizer, his face and flesh exposed to the elements. Hux has taken pity on him - like a restaurant owner might take pity on a starving mutt that loiters out back by the disposal chutes - and draped the coat around the man's (the boy's, really, with a face like that) shoulders, perching silent and quite ready to have himself a proper breakdown after the destruction of his Starkiller Base.
Ren is silent, too. At least at first. He's bleeding onto the collar of Hux's coat, and maybe he feels an inkling of contrition for what he's done, the years of work he's ruined. Maybe he can read Hux's mind and doesn't want what he sees there to come true. Either way, he lifts his face and reaches inside the coat to pull out the sorry excuse of a cowl, using it (kriffing filthy as it is) to dab at the mess on his face. They'll be back on the Finalizer soon, and Snoke's orders had been simply extraction and rescue, not emergency medical aid. Hux takes some measure of satisfaction in watching Ren wince as he tries to clean up and probably makes the entire situation worse.
It's still quiet, but Ren is clearly itching to say something, and like most children, he simply cannot keep himself from scratching.
"I've never seen this color on other personnel."
Hux pretends like he hasn't heard him. When that clearly fails (Ren is staring him down like those big doe eyes might make him offer an explanation), he plays dumb, leaning back against the chair and crossing his arms over his chest.
"It's standard black, Ren, as per regulation. Did the scavenger give you a concussion along with that lovely facial scarring?"
He can practically feel Ren resist the overwhelming urge to break every bone in his body without lifting a finger. A beat passes, tense enough to slice through, then Hux's greatcoat parts and the satin softness is exposed in full to the bright lights of their transport unit.
"And is this 'regulation,' General?"
Hux says nothing the rest of the passage and leaves Ren (sans coat) in the hands of the medical droids, disappearing before the Knight offers any more unnecessary commentary.
The next time Ren brings it up - and it is Ren that brings it up, because he does not know how to let things go, rat kriffing bastard - Hux is on the bridge. It's third shift, almost two in the morning standard time. He's been up since roughly the same time the night before, shoulders drooped imperceptibly and clear bags under his eyes.
Maker knows what Ren is even doing awake at this hour. He sidles up, in his stupid mask with it's stupid, unnecessary, voice modifier, and Hux ignores him, going over notes on his datapad until that presence - eerily still and undeniably foreboding - is too much to deal with.
"What, Lord Ren?" 'Lord,' because one must keep up appearances for the sake of their men. 'Ren,' because that is his unfortunate name.
Ren is silent a while longer, but the stillness becomes slightly less imposing, like he's well-pleased by the fact that he's been acknowledged, though maybe that's just Hux projecting. When he finally speaks, he sounds amused (again, Hux would swear up and down that he can't tell a kriffing thing with that stupid mask in the way), and shuffles a little closer, like he's forgotten about the basic tenets of personal space.
"Your coat. The lining's black."
Is that what this is about? Hux shoots him a sidelong glare, nostrils flared and brows pinched in a way that suggests he may have recently smelled something foul. "Regulation, Lord Ren."
"I liked the other one more."
And just like that, he's gone again, sweeping out in the same flutter of robes with which he'd swept in and leaving Hux to clench his teeth and hide his confusion behind another glare at the Knight's retreating back.
Ren leaves for a mission not five hours later, before Hux can properly corner him and demand an explanation, ask him what the kriff he'd meant and why it even mattered to him, and Hux is left alone with his thoughts and a plum-lined greatcoat, which he dons again in Ren's absence just to spite the missing man.
He does not expect Ren to return so soon.
"You remembered, General. I'm touched."
Another late shift, another wee hour spent wandering the halls of the Finalizer, checking and double-checking every room when sleep evades him. Hux has somehow made it past the barracks and into the communal wing, where Troopers spend their off-hours either in lounges or canteens or training rooms, depending on what they choose to do. Everything is logged, of course, and their preferences were predicted years ago, but it was always good to pretend like they had options.
Hux almost doesn't notice the overgrown bird that descends upon him, mask hiding a grin and gloved fingers plucking at the lapels of his coat in an effort to make it flutter and show off the flash of purple. He retaliates with a snarl, snatching the fabric away and smoothing a hand over a nonexistent crease.
"Trust me, Lord Ren. Nothing that I do is for your sake."
"That's not true though, is it?" And Hux might even believe that simper to be sincere if it weren't for the way that Ren steps closer, and then closer still, and then Hux's back is against the wall and he's not entirely sure how he ended up there, unable to defend himself and clutching his datapad like a shield. He drops it quickly, lowering his arms to his sides, but the damage is done and Ren knows he's got the upper hand here. He stops two feet away, lifts a hand and crooks his fingers and Hux is suddenly moving without his own conscious decision to do so, shined leather scraping across the tile until he's close enough to wrap up in an embrace.
Ren does no such thing. Instead, he presses his hands into the opening of Hux's coat. They're warm through starched fabric and leather, settling under Hux's ribs and for a moment Hux thinks that's even worse, because Ren is touching him and he couldn't of possibly known, mind-reading and Force powers be damned - Ren squeezes and all of the air abandons Hux's lungs, leaving him entirely without defense when Ren spins him like some marionette doll and divests him of his coat in a move that is entirely perfunctory.
Hux twists back as soon as his thoughts, previously plastered over the inside of his skull like some sort of gruesome crime scene, start to gather back in place again, but Ren is already draping the coat over his arm, certainly neater with it than he is with his own clothing. "What the hell, Ren?" He doesn't get an answer to that pressing question. Ren leaves and there is very little Hux can do about it except stand there and seethe, heart lodged somewhere between his throat and his lungs.
He does not get his coat back the next day, and he stubbornly refuses to wear one of his other ones (the rest all lined in black, for the sake of money and practicality). Nor does he get it back the day after, nor after that, and by then his patience is beginning to wear thin.
It's midnight on the Finalizer (and these sorts of things only ever seem to happen at midnight, he thinks) that Hux finds himself at Lord Ren's door. He wants his coat back, and he wants to wipe the undoubtedly smug look off Ren's face with a well-placed fist, but first order of business is getting some answers. He hardly has time to lift his hand up and knock when the door slides open in front of his nose. Hux glances up like he might spot a mounted camera on the wall (there shouldn't be one; he knows the location of every CCTV on-board), but there's nothing large enough to see so he's left to assume Ren can sense him. The thought is entirely unnerving.
For one brief, mad moment, Hux thinks that maybe he should drop this. He can always order a new coat, and who was to say that Ren hadn't already burned the thing to nothing but scraps of cloth and ashes? He banishes the thought before it has a chance to settle and steels himself. Ren wouldn't go through all this trouble of riling him up without there being some kind of payout.
Sure enough, Hux steps into the room and the coat is there, draped over the back of a chair near a workbench absolutely littered in bits of scrap metal and wiring. It occurs to him that he's never been in Ren's rooms before. In the center of this main room is a low dais, the middle sunken in like a trough and filled to the brim with dark grey ash that Hux is quite confident he does not want to know the origin of. There is nothing else worth note, barring a bookshelf against the far wall that Hux ignores in favor of collecting his coat off the back of the chair. It's in pristine condition, which is really quite surprising given what he sees of the room, and Hux swings it around his shoulders in an impressive flourish, draping it over them without putting his hands through the arms.
It can't be that simple, though, and the thought proves to be unfortunately correct when another door - presumably to Ren's bedroom - slides open and the man himself steps out, dressed from toe to head in dark robes with his mask quite firmly in place.
Hux can't help but bristle. "Do you sleep in the thing, too?" he snaps, "Take it off, Ren."
Seemingly to everyone's surprise, Ren does exactly that, reaching up and releasing the clasp with a mechanical hiss. He moves silently, favoring his right side and seemingly trying to hide the scar that Hux already knows is there. The helmet is set in the ash-trough, kicking up dust particulate and making Hux wrinkle his nose in distaste.
"I almost thought you wouldn't come for it."
Ren is painfully pretty. This is not news, per se, but it does strike Hux briefly contemplative while he takes the time to look the man over. He is absolutely incapable of hiding his emotions, like an open book between a soft, parted mouth and tightly-drawn brows. Hux forces his gaze away so that he can focus on something besides the pair of moles that sit above Ren's left brow and shift with every minor change of expression.
"You stole my coat and thought I wouldn't do anything about it?" Hux crosses his arms under the front paneling of the coat in question, shifting from one foot to the other, chin tipped up and annoyance in every move. He ought to leave, really. There's no kriffing reason for him to stick around now that he has his clothes back, but curiosity keeps him rooted in place.
"What the hell were you planning on gaining by pulling this obnoxious stunt, anyway? What could you possibly get out of this?"
On the other side of the table, Ren seems frozen, his body perfectly still while his face flits through several expressions that Hux doesn't waste his time attempting to analyze. Finally, the Knight seems to come to some decision, and Hux again feels himself move without permission, dragged forward by the Force and caught between the ash and Ren's body. The coat fwumps off his shoulders and right into the trough, and Hux closes his eyes in an effort to control himself. No amount of dry cleaning is ever going to fix the fact that Ren just did that.
He barely has the chance to inhale, fingers curled around the edge of the table so he doesn't end up decking the man in front of him when there's a flutter of a breath - something that he feels like it's supposed to be a kiss without the follow-through - against his jaw, and when he opens his eyes Ren is again locked in place, lashes resting on his cheeks and hands hovering over Hux like he's afraid to touch.
"Is this... okay?"
What a time to ask permission.
"You would know."
A brief flash of irritation crosses Ren's features, and this close Hux can pick out every minute movement of his brows furrowing and the corners of his mouth tucking down. Ren opens his eyes to stare at him, like he can pull the answer from behind Hux's teeth with a soulful look alone.
"Tell me."
"You're not exactly in a place to be making demands, Lord Ren." And Hux has no reason to make this easy on the other man, though the pieces have begun to slot into place and his seemingly-infinite questions are being answered faster than he can ask them.
"And you are, General Hux?" Hux doesn't like the way Ren says his title, but his scowl drops when Ren puts his hands on him again, wide palms and long fingers curling around his belt to bracket his waist. Threat, promise, warning - it could be any of those, but Hux tips his chin up and watches the fascination on Ren's face, feeling dull pressure of thumbs as they rub just above the metal clasp. Ren rids him of it some moments later, letting the belt clatter to the floor beside them.
Hux winces but says nothing when Ren reaches up, flicking his cap off his head with a boyish grin. It falls behind him and Hux scowls, shifting his grip on the edge of the table to snag the front of Ren's cowl. His patience has worn thin enough to snap, and while he does not have an ounce of strength in his arms Ren falls forward as though he weighs nothing. His chin tips up, lips purse, eyes close, but Hux leans his head back and away so that Ren ends up kissing the collar of his jacket, mouth to rough, starched fabric. Hux can practically feel his anger at that, and he hardly has the chance to feel smug before he's smothered, Ren's hands on his face and a hungry mouth against his own. It's entirely possible that Ren has never done this in his life, the way he kisses. His lips are wet, slightly parted, and his tongue moves like he's fishing, rough pad of it scraping along Hux's teeth and over his palate.
It's not even fun, not to speak of the poor performance, and Hux's sense of propriety does not allow him to simply let it continue on like this. His hands move from Ren's cowl, tangle in the soft strands of his hair and pull, yank him back hard enough that Ren gasps. There's a beat of silence, Ren's gaze to the ceiling, then a sound that Hux has a feeling he will spend the rest of his life chasing after, something caught between a whimper and a moan and quiet enough to be missed were they not only inches apart. He pulls a little harder - Ren moans a little louder, gloved fingers scrambling to the collar of Hux's shirt like he might be able to strip him without looking.
He ends up cheating. Hux can feel the tug of the Force that undoes the clasps and the strip of fabric falls away, fluttering to the floor and leaving Hux with the distinct impression that if something does not change, his clothes will be quite ruined by the end of it all.
He lets go of Ren's hair in favor of pinching his chin between his fingers, drawing him close enough to kiss again - this time without tongue but with plenty of teeth to go around. By the time he's done worrying Ren's mouth into a stinging, cherry-pink, Ren is making these noises against him, desperate little gasps that have Hux painfully hard and no longer able to ignore the fact.
Ren has managed to pull off his gloves, coordinated enough for that, at least, and he brings his hands back to Hux's collar, fingers pale against the black of his sleeves and his nails. He undoes the first of a long, long line of hook-and-eye clasps all down Hux's front, hunched down and sinking lower with each inch exposed until the jacket is all the way undone and Ren is knelt on the floor. The inside is equally plum-colored, though no one sees it and Ren can't help but wonder just how far Hux's vanity goes, reaching into the part to press his hands to Hux's undershirt-covered hips.
Hux is surprisingly slim, he realizes some moments later, shoving at the jacket until the man rolls it off his shoulders. It too goes the way of the greatcoat, into the ash, though Hux seems to care a little less than he previously did. His shoulders are slim when not padded by layers of stiff fabric, dotted in freckles and sharp enough to cut a man that gets too close, Ren thinks.
He tugs at the undershirt next, lifting it just enough that he can get his first taste of the bare skin of Hux's hip. Hux doesn't seem adverse to the idea, shivering when Ren's tongue darts out to lick just below the waistband of his jodhpurs. Briefly, Ren wonders what color underwear Hux wears, and not a moment later resolves to find out, tugging at the button and zip of his trousers before easing them down. He's vaguely disappointed to find that they are a standard, steely grey, but the disappointment fades quickly once he discovers a dark stain, pre smeared into soft cotton to stain the fabric nearly-black.
Ren drags the pants down, over the curve of Hux's ass (he's honestly a little surprised that Hux even has one, the way his clothes are cut) and down to the top of his boots, leaving the trousers there more out of impatience than anything else. His hands curl under Hux's thighs, thumbs sliding beneath the hem of his briefs to toy along the soft crease where his inner thigh meets his ass, and Ren very carefully presses his mouth to the stain on the front. He has no idea what he's doing, but he hopes Hux won't notice when he closes his lips over the visible outline of the General's dick, wetting the fabric further until it clings obscenely.
Hux is flushed pink across the bridge of his nose, caught staring at the stretch of Ren's mouth when Ren thinks to glance up at him with those wide eyes glassy. His hands squeeze and Hux jerks forward, one gloved hand darting to tangle in dark hair.
"Suck it."
The order is delivered breathlessly but Ren doesn't even pause, sucking as requested. Between the rough drag of wet cotton and soft suction Hux thinks his knees might just buckle, and is vaguely grateful for the fact that Ren has him, is pinching bruises into his thighs and ass and dragging him closer like he can swallow him whole. His free hand scrambles for the waistband of his briefs, Ren yanked back so that Hux can pull the offending material out of the way, revealing the velvety-soft head of his dick, ginger pubes plum-colored flush and precome beading at the tip. They both groan, Hux from the cool air and the release of pressure and Ren from the sight of it, struggling briefly against the hold in his hair until Hux gives him silent permission.
Afterwards, Hux might think that this was entirely rushed, that maybe he should've thought about it before he let Ren strip him half-way and blow him against a table full of ashes after half a kiss and some fumbling, but right then he can't get past the way the man looks on his knees, the flutter of his lashes when he parts his mouth and takes the head between his lips like this is all he's ever wanted to do in his life. Hux makes a quiet, approving noise and Ren drinks it up like drops of water in a desert, shifting on his knees so that he can better bend over Hux and swallow until he can't anymore, lips stretched obscenely over the length and warm air exhaled through his nose against the curls of ginger around the base.
He's still, again, and for a moment Hux thinks he might just take matters into his own hands, already tightening his grip when Ren eases off. He looks a complete wreck - glassy eyes and parted mouth glossy with spit - and Hux leans back, free hand planted right in the mess of ash in search of some sort of comfortable grip against the otherwise smooth table. Neither of them notice, or maybe neither of them care, and Ren leans right back in with his pink-stained face and tightly-drawn brows, the very picture of concentration as he swallows Hux's dick again. The head rubs against his palate, then further, bumping the back of his throat and forcing him to lean away or risk gagging himself. Ren at least realizes that his teeth have no business here and very carefully pulls them away until it's all wet heat and the occasional, clumsy attempt to drag his tongue along the underside.
Hux doesn't care. He's already embarrassingly close, and it really doesn't take much for him to rock his hips forward - urged by Ren's hands on his bare ass, fingers digging into the meat of it and toying down his crack - until he's managed somewhat of a rhythm. There is a wet slap, string of spit and precome that Ren tries to swallow in an unwise bob of his throat. There's no cleaning up the mess of his chin now, and his eyes are glassy when he swallows wrong and chokes, rearing back. Hux doesn't let him. He's close, and he'll be fucked before he lets his orgasm slip through his fingers. Ren looks like he might come from the rough grip of Hux's fingers alone, and he doesn't stop it when Hux jerks him forward again, whining and leaving his thighs with a thick ring of bruises.
The only warning Hux gives is a low groan some minutes later, interspersed with grunts and hisses of pleasure before he's coming. There's entirely too much. Ren swallows what he can and the rest drips down his chin, into the high collar of his robes, a few drops smearing his cheek when Hux pulls out and, perhaps vengefully, finishes the rest across Ren's lips.
If he looked like a wreck before, he's completely ruined now. Hux takes a moment just to admire him, the way Ren pants and licks his lips and fumbles with the bottom half of his robe, getting a hand down his pants without so much as unzipping them.
He comes just a few moments later, while Hux is still panting in an effort to catch his breath, his dick soft against his thigh and his undershirt dappled in sweat.
Hux dresses silently, tucking himself away into his boxers after dusting his gloves off back into the tray. He needs a shower, and every article of clothing he has on needs to be laundered, but he can make it back to his own quarters like this, at least, adjusting his collar. His belt has a scratch, and a few of the clasps on his jacket were torn when Ren had gotten a touch overzealous. He makes do with what he has, and when he is again swathed back in heavy, imposing fabric, Hux turns his attention to Ren, who finally stands, one come-covered hand hanging uselessly at his side.
There isn't much to say, really. It's a touch awkward in the aftermath, but Hux's expression is carefully neutral and it's Ren that breaks the uncomfortable stillness, anyway, swooping in to kiss him messily again. There's a bit of spit that Hux now has to rub off his chin, and the taste of his own come on his tongue. Ren leaves him with that and disappears behind another door (this one, presumably, to the bathroom). Hux does not linger much longer, just enough to pass another cursory glance around the room and rub the spit from his jaw.
He sweeps out of the room, a flicker of plum-purple and a ruffled jacket on display for anyone who looks too long.
There's no denying that Hux will be back for more later, perhaps next time with some crimson satin to compare the color of Ren's cheeks to.