Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The driver’s side mirror afforded him a close-up of the hair his parents said was “too long,” but which was, he knew, a principle selling point that distracted from his prominent nose. Ben pulled the wide-toothed, anti-static wooden comb from the front pocket of his backpack and ran it carefully through his dark locks, making sure they framed his face just so, and that the part was even. Early morning sunlight refracted on his windshield, tinted as it bounced off the candy-apple red hood of his BMW M3, and Sublime was blasting over the custom sound system so loudly he jerked with alarm when a shadow was thrown across the window and a fist hammered into the glass.

Ben reached over and turned the radio down while pressing the button to roll down the window at the same time. Phasma shoved her elbows in and leaned against the window frame before the glass had even disappeared into the door. Her blonde head intruded into the car, and she reached across Ben’s lap and grabbed his can of Diet Coke out of the cup holder. Before Ben could overcome his slack jaw, she already had it pressed to her lips.

“Dammit, Phasma,” he growled, snatching it back. He started to take a sip, scrunched his nose at the thought of exchanging saliva, and handed it back to her.

She smirked. “Have you got your hair perfect yet, Princess?” Her free hand darted out and ruffled Ben’s carefully ordered coif.

Ben reeled back and swatted her, leaning out of her reach to use the rearview mirror to run his comb through his hair once more. He looked at Phasma sideways, and she mercifully pulled back from the window until all Ben could see of her was her too-short tennis-skirt. He heard his Diet Coke can crunch as she finished it. 

Ben sighed, replacing his comb, opening the main pouch of his bag one more time to make sure that his Physics book was inside, along with the folder containing the first semester syllabus. He turned the key, the radio going silent along with the idling hum of the car, pushing the door open with calculated tactlessness so that it hit Phasma from behind and made her stumble forward.

She just flashed him a shit-eating grin that said she had deserved that one.

They joined the stream of students entering Bail Organa High School, flowing through the crowd to the cafeteria where everyone was filed away until the first period bell. They had just made it through the glass double doors when Mike surged toward Ben, swimming against the tide to snatch Ben’s hand and jerk him forward to swat him on the shoulder.

They peeled back from each other just as quickly, becoming rocks in the stream as they paused in the middle of the hall. “Dude, you coming to Casey’s party this weekend?” Mike asked.

Phasma hip-checked Ben; they were easily the same height, which Phas used to her advantage on the basketball team. “She’s a cute one,” Phasma said, winking at Ben when he glanced at her. 

Ben shrugged at Mike, nodding, even though he had no idea who Casey was; in his position, you showed up for the parties. “Looks that way,” he said, grinning.

Mike grunted, slapping Ben’s arm again, then turned to join them on their way to the cafeteria. Mike rambled about Casey’s older sister (who was apparently in college and would be buying some kegs for the event) and had bounced over numerous other topics to do with girls that Ben blanked out by the time they made it to their haunt in the cafeteria.

Their regular group was clustered around the long rectangular table, and Ben sank into his usual seat, noticing not for the first time that the other students who shared the table gave them a wide berth, as though they were afraid to absorb their energy.

“Morning,” Bastian said, nursing a bottle of orange juice in the seat across from him. He had a piece of notebook paper, wrinkled and frayed on one side, lying on the table in front of him, and Ben peered at the sketches. They were all squares of various sizes with phrases inside like “ Vote for Bastian and Save A Whale!” and “ Vote for Bastian, He Kicks Ass-tian.”

Ben guffawed, snatching the paper away and turning it to face him. Bastian snatched for it, jostling his nearly full orange juice and splattering droplets across the table.

“You’re not really thinking of making these for student elections, are you?” Ben asked.  “What the hell do you have to do with baby seals?”

Bastian grabbed the paper, and this time Ben let it go. “Girls love that shit,” Bastian snapped, and Ben rubbed a hand over his face, laughing.

“You have no idea what girls like,” Ben told his friend, giving him a lopsided grin.

An unopened can of Diet Coke thunked down on the table beside Ben, and Phasma dropped into the seat beside him - her usual place. “You don’t know anything about girls either, Sugar,” she sang, and Ben’s gaze shot to her.  

His grin faded immediately, brow furrowing at Phasma, who only winked and nudged the Diet Coke toward him. He took it and cracked it open, as much for a peace offering as for an opportunity to hide his discomfiture. Rey and Finn settled at the table together, offering Ben a much-needed distraction.

“You guys still raking in the votes for Homecoming Royalty?” Ben asked, earning a bright, white smile from Finn, who snaked his arm around Rey and pulled her close. She pursed her lips, sighing.

“I don’t understand the point of it, honestly,” she said, pulling a copy of Dune out of her bookbag and pretending to become absorbed in it. Finn kissed her cheek and Ben saw her try to fight a smile.

“You have to know it’s inevitable,” Phasma chimed in. “The quarterback of the football team and the class president? It’s every plebeian’s dream.” The table erupted with a chorus of laughter at the expense of their less fortunate peers.

Rey’s head snapped up. “Be nice, Phas.” Her dark eyes turned toward Ben, softened. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

Ben shrugged. “Some.” He’d noticed the circles forming under his eyes in his reflection this morning. Honestly, he’d gone to bed at three A.M. and had tossed and turned, waiting for his alarm to go off and worrying about whether he’d passed the quiz he’d taken the day before in AP Calculus. The memory inspired Ben to reach down into his backpack and pull out his Calculus textbook and scan his homework for errors. Mostly, he wanted to ignore Rey’s searching, too-sharp gaze.

His parents hadn’t been home in weeks; his mother was in D.C., and his father was...somewhere, doing whatever it was he did these days. Their housekeeper bought food and kept the refrigerator filled and Ben fed with whatever was labeled as dinner for the night; she was usually gone by the time he got home, and arrived after he left in the morning. Sometimes, Ben felt like they were both ghosts, haunting the place on different shifts.

Ben’s wandering attention snapped back to his friends when he heard an exclamation of: “Hoooooooooly shit,” and sensed everyone looking around in his peripheral vision.

Ben’s head jerked  up. Jason was leaning back on the edge of the table, a backwards baseball cap and needless sunglasses perched on his head. He was looking, beyond Ben, slack-jawed with disbelief, so Ben turned in his seat.

Crossing the cafeteria and making a line for their same table, was a tall, lanky figure that held the attention of most eyes in the room. It wasn’t just because he was clearly new; their elite high school had only two hundred people, and an unfamiliar face stuck out starkly. And this face, Ben thought, would have stuck out anywhere.

He looked too pale, like he hadn’t seen the sunlight in months, but the bright red hair haphazardly gelled in all directions made him look aflame. His nose was pierced, a ring through his septum which Ben wasn’t sure was even allowed . The mysterious creature’s pants were skin tight, the fluorescent cafeteria lights sliding over the patent leather fabric, which made Ben’s eyes go wide. Who wore pants like that to school? The shirt he wore was tight too, Alice in Chains in irregular red letters, and it barely covered the studded leather belt. The sleeves were cut off, revealing freckled arms and a jumble of tattoos that snaked down to one wrist.

Surely sensing the stares, the interloper turned his face and pierced Ben with a gaze that made Ben’s breath hitch in his throat; those eyes were an ethereal, absinthe green, limned with pale lashes and shaded in with black. Actual makeup. What kind of guy wore makeup?

Almost like he was reading Ben’s thoughts, the red-haired boy gave Ben a slow smile and winked.

It shocked Ben so much that the breath he was holding rushed out in a nervous laugh, which was immediately echoed boisterously by most of  his friends. Because they were all trendsetters, the ringleaders of behavior, laughter rippled through the cafeteria. Ben watched the new boy’s eyes narrow, his face go hard and jaw clench. Those straight, proud shoulders slouched forward as he tucked his hands under the straps of his backpack and stalked to one of the only seats left, in that vacant space between Ben’s crowd and the rest of the plebs.

They all followed his path, bodies leaning around one another, heads on swivels, and Ben was among them. Who was this guy? And what was the point of coming to school looking like that? Ben knew from experience that those who elected to stand out always ended up on the outside; sure, Ben had thought from time to time he’d rather have combat boots instead of the loafers and boat shoes his mother called “respectable,” maybe wear his favorite ratty Star Wars t-shirt instead of a polo, but one just didn’t do that if they didn’t want to get proverbially shoved in a locker.

It pissed Ben off, that this guy didn’t have to give a fuck, while Ben did nothing but worry about what people thought: his parents, his teachers, his friends, his coach, the faceless people in some cushy college office making all the decisions about his future.

“Who is that guy?” Ben mused aloud, his inner thoughts making his voice gruff.

All eyes turned to him then, their pack leader, and Ben saw the new boy turn his head too, as though feeling their vibrations, knowing they were talking about him. Their eyes met briefly, and Ben frowned. The other boy looked away, his arms crossed on the table in front of him, backpack still clinging to his shoulders.

Rey closed her book, replacing it in her backpack, her eyes darting toward the intercom on the far wall; she was like a human alarm clock, always prepared to move a second before the bell sounded. “I think he’s just transferred from another country. Like Scotland or England or something. I heard Ms. Kanata talking about it a few weeks back. His dad is some kind of military consultant.”

Mike snorted, laughing. “I’d say his ass fell pretty far from the tree.”

Again, everyone laughed, except Rey, who just scowled at Mike. Ben’s laughter was mechanical, well-honed to sound on command. He couldn’t stop staring, knowing in his gut that the transfer student, whoever he was, felt his gaze; Ben could see the way those narrow fingers were interlaced so tightly the knuckles were white.

Ben was violently startled when the guy shoved back suddenly from the table, lurching to his feet, and walked toward them. Adrenaline pooled in Ben’s stomach, but he was no more than a deer in headlights as this outcast boy came right for him, thumbs still tucked beneath the straps of his backpack. He insinuated himself into Ben’s space, knees pressing against the round, plastic cafeteria seat, making Ben spread his thighs to accommodate him.

The bell rang, and around them their peers took flight like birds bursting from a tree, heading for the doors and their first period classes. No one in Ben’s crowd moved.

“I’m Hux,” the looming boy said in an Irish accent, offering him a leering smile. “You seemed... interested.”

Ben leaned back, trying to shrink into the table, instantly hating the way he had to look up. He opened his mouth, before closing it again in short succession like a suffocating fish. He felt Phasma staring at him, her attention finally pulled from busily copying Ben’s calculus homework.

“Interested?” Jason echoed, huffing a snide laugh.

Ben smirked, getting his bearings. “More like interested in what your problem is.” It sounded hollow in his ears, but Ben managed to keep a straight face.

Ben saw Hux’s cheek twitch. “Oh I don’t think so, sugar,” he said, smiling. Hux’s fingers reached out to grip Ben’s chin, tilting his face up further, and Ben’s cheeks flamed.

He jerked his head to the side, snapping it out of Hux’s grip, Ben glaring up at him again. “What the hell are you, some kind of fucking queer?” Beside him, he heard Phasma’s breath draw in sharply, and shame settled instantly like a rock in Ben’s chest. Ben kept his brows drawn down in disdain, however, even as Hux’s face fell into a disgusted grimace.

“It takes one to know one, doesn’t it?” Hux hissed. Then he moved, lightning quick, snatching Bastian’s half-full bottle of orange juice off the table and upending the entire thing on Ben’s head.

Ben gasped, lurching forward with shock at the cold and trying to slap the liquid off his letter jacket as Hux danced backward. Mike and Jason were on their feet immediately, but Ben threw his hand up, calling them off.

“What the fuck, dude?” Ben growled, swiping juice out of his eyes, raking it out of his hair to splatter on the floor. 

“Just wanted to give you an equally warm welcome,” Hux sang, and before Ben could react, Hux darted one finger out, dragged it across Ben’s damp, sticky cheek, and then stuck the finger in his own mouth, cheeks hollowing briefly before he pulled it away. “See you around, sweet thing,” he said, offering him a wicked grin before he turned and walked away.

Hux kept his shoulders straight, mirroring that rigid posture his father always demanded in his presence, the one Brendol Hux said displayed pride and showed character . Hux wasn’t sure he wanted any part of whatever the fuck Brendol thought that entailed, but the illusion served him for as long as it took him to get through the cafeteria door. As soon as he passed it, he darted for the bathroom and wedged himself into a stall, dropping his bookbag on the green-tiled floor.

He leaned back against the painted gray surface, inhaling deeply to stop his erratic heartbeat, to ease the clench in his chest. The smell of rank piss and bleach air made him cough, and nearly double over to retch, but he closed his eyes and bit his lip against the feeling. Gradually, he calmed, and with the adrenaline drain, the reality of what he’d just done sank in.

It wasn’t that he thought he was wrong about that dark haired boy; he’d seen enough men look at him with open-mouthed lust, with half-lidded eyes. Hux had felt that magnetic pull from his seat, the way the other boy’s gaze had remained locked on him. He’d seen the way those plush cheeks had flushed so hard beneath his touch.

The problem was that Hux knew those kind of boys. The button-ups, the starched pants, the designer shoes; they were people that came from money, and Hux knew that bought status; the only kind you could earn without money was the kind Hux had garnered for himself with his dismissal of the bullshit bourgeois norms. It came with words like miscreant, outcast and slut, even though Hux knew for a fact there was little difference between them. That doe-eyed boy in the cafeteria and his lot just had more convincing paint over their cracked surfaces.  

Hux was startled out of his roiling thoughts when someone knocked on the stall, the vibration shuddering through him.

“You okay in there? Final bell was ten minutes ago.” The voice was deep, adult.

Hux parted his lips, tasting blood where he’d bitten the bottom one. “Yeah,” he croaked. “Be out in a minute.”

Shuffling footsteps were punctuated by a door opening and then clicking softly closed. Hux sighed, reaching down and pulling his bag from the floor and shrugging into it. The bottom was damp through Hux’s t-shirt, and he winced, forcing himself not to imagine the entirety of that implication.

He opened the stall door cautiously, finding himself alone, and slowly approached the sink. He pressed the metal dispenser and viscous, pink fluid seeped into his palm. Lathering his hands under warm water slowly, he spared himself a glance in the mirror. This wasn’t the boy that had left his father’s house this morning. No. That boy had worn a powder blue button up, a navy blazer, khakis, had a perfect side part tamed into place with pomade, so as to remain perfect all day.

The person that stared back at him had been born in a 7-Eleven bathroom on the way to school, discarded, regulation clothes shoved into the bottom of his bag in favor of the ones he kept in in the bottom drawer of his dresser, hidden under his briefs and socks where his father would never look.

And now Hux had probably ruined it; there was no way dumping a bottle of orange juice over the head of one of the silver-spoons wouldn’t get back to his father. Wiping his wet hands on his t-shirt, Hux brought one up to the collar and pulled it down, seeing the fading yellow-green bruises on his collarbone. He let go, the shirt snapping back to cover that secret, and then he walked out of the bathroom, head held as high as he could keep it.

There was a folded piece of paper in the diminutive pocket of his patent-leather pants, and he fished it out, laying it open to read the location of his first class: Advanced Placement Physics. He was actually excited about the class; or had been this morning, before he’d been shoved by that flock of sheep over that thin inner line that he always stood just at the edge of.

Now, he wandered slowly down the hall, until that same male voice called out behind him: “Son? You need help?”

Hux bristled, but swallowed his ire down and paused, turning to feign innocent confusion as he brandished his crumpled schedule. “Just looking for room 106. Mr. Snoke?”

The man behind him nodded sagely, crossed the space between them, and placed a hand on Hux’s shoulder, not noticing, apparently, the way Hux flinched.

“I’ll take you,” the man said. Hux noticed that the man wore a uniform, had a gun at his belt, and it startled him into speaking.

“American teachers carry guns?” His tone was incredulous, almost amused.

The man looked down at him with an indulgent smile, which Hux had noticed his Irish accent engendered, like he was somehow not quite on the intellectual level of his American counterparts.

“No, of course not,” the man said, whose silver nameplate read Calrissian. “I’m a school resource officer. If you ever need anything, you come to me, okay kid?”

Hux clenched his teeth, but forced himself to give Calrissian a tight smile. “Kind of you.”

Calrissian squeezed his shoulder, pulling Hux to a stop, and Hux’s pulse jumped into his throat, and he started to pull away. But then Calrissian let go, sweeping his hand toward a door to their right.

“This is you.”

Hux felt immediately stupid, shoulders slumping with relief. “Thanks,” he muttered, shifting past the resource office to the door. He glanced furtively over his shoulder again, but was just met with another encouraging smile. Hux returned it lopsidedly, and then shoved the door open. He slunk into the classroom, knowing he was about to be on display again, and he was right.

His first glance was to the front of the room, where a gaunt man in a tailored tweed suit apprised him with an impatient glare. Hux let the other heads that turned toward him remain in his peripheral vision, focusing only on the teacher. They stared each other down, Hux with the half-open door pressed into his shoulder, only marginally in the room.

“Well come in, young man,” Snoke called, his voice surprisingly soothing, calling Hux out of the doorway. He finally allowed his gaze to sweep over his new classmates, clustered in pairs of two at lab tables. He met the expected mix of expressions: dubious, amused, judgmental, irritated.

And then his gaze lit on another expression: gold-brown eyes round with shock, whites framed by dark eyelashes, mouth agape, wet hair that had made dark fuchsia spots on the shoulders of a pink polo. Hux’s chest caved in, teeth clenching.

“This is Advanced Placement Physics,” Snoke called out from the front of the room. “Have you come to the right place?” He, for one, didn’t seem judgmental; only impatient. Hux nodded.

Snoke gestured, impossibly, toward Hux’s cafeteria victim. “Mr. Solo’s devoid of a partner at the moment. You’ve impeccable timing.”

Chapter Text

Hux was already at their lab table when Ben arrived for class Friday morning. Over the past few weeks, that had been typical; though Ben looked for Hux in the cafeteria before class every day, telling himself that it was out of wariness, Hux had not appeared again after the incident with the orange juice.

Ben wavered in the doorway, as the classroom was momentarily empty but for the two of them. He glanced at the clock, though he didn’t really need to. He knew what time it was—fifteen minutes before the bell. His excuse to leave his friends in the cafeteria early had been that he needed to stop by the bathroom. Yesterday the excuse was that he needed to run to his locker for a forgotten book, and he couldn’t remember what he’d said on Wednesday.

The door clicked softly shut behind him, though Hux didn’t look up, concentrating instead on the rhythmic blur of his ubiquitous drum sticks against his calculus book. Ben crossed the several feet to the table, unsure why he attempted to tread quietly; it wasn’t his goal to sneak up on Hux, who undoubtedly knew he was here anyway. Sure enough, as Ben slid into his seat, peering cautiously at Hux’s face, he saw Hux’s mouth curve into a slow smile—whatever that meant. Today, there was a new piercing in the hollow between his bottom lip and his chin.

Ben’s eyes flicked from the silver stud to Hux’s calculus book, which was, as usual, closed; it seemed to serve little other purpose than a substitute drum, as Hux had yet to produce any homework or follow along in class. It irritated Ben, just like the muffled pattering of the sticks on the cover.

“Do you have to do that?” Ben complained, laying his backpack on the table and unzipping it.

Hux was nonplussed, not missing a beat. “Do you have to show up fifteen minutes early every morning?”

Ben frowned as he jerked his textbook out of his bag. “I need to check over my homework. Unlike some people.”

Hux’s smirk broadened, then dropped off, as if he’d lost interest in Ben’s presence. That, more than the drumming, irked Ben. Before he realized what he was doing, Ben reached over and slapped a hand down over Hux’s calculus book, catching the end of one stick, and then he yelped as the other stick thwacked down hard on his knuckles. Hux’s smirk reappeared as Ben jerked his hand back.

“Did you actually pass your classes in whatever Third World country you come from?” Ben growled, glaring and flexing his smarting hand as he opened his book with the other.

Hux went on drumming, not bothering to answer, and Ben finally gave up, the tips of his ears hot.

Drawing out the folder with his perfect, un-creased homework, Ben laid it across the textbook, on top of the previous day’s lesson. He pretended to be engrossed in it, though he’d checked it and rechecked it the night before while sitting at the kitchen table alone in his parents’ huge, empty house. There was a quiz today on the material from this chapter, and quizzes gave Ben that same uncomfortable fluttery feeling in chest, the same tightness in his throat that he felt before a big game, when everyone was looking to him to run the fastest, not to fall, not to let go.

“Number three is wrong,” Hux intoned, one drum stick now striking the table between them like a flat cymbal crash, flicking back and forth from the laminate surface and the book. It distracted Ben for a moment, until Hux’s words fully sank in. His attention snapped back to his homework, searching the neatly organized formulas, recalling how he’d recopied this final draft of his homework onto a fresh piece of notebook paper that wasn’t nearly transparent with the marks of an eraser.

“What are you talking about?” Ben snapped. “It’s not wrong. Newton’s Law of Universal Gravitation says ... “

“I know what it says,” Hux interrupted, drum sticks still thrumming out a steady cadence. “The correct answer is D , though. The force of Earth’s gravity varies with the inverse of the squared distance between the centers of mass for the two objects. The astronaut is three times farther away from the center of the earth, so one over three squared equal to one-ninth of the original. You didn’t square your three.”

Ben had turned to stare incredulously at Hux somewhere in the midst of this delivery, and now he turned slowly back to his homework. His stomach dropped when he saw that the three was, indeed, not squared, but the answer he’d come to was in the answer choices. He started to flip to the back of his book to review the formula, but behind him the door opened and voices poured in, one of them Mr. Snoke’s. His steel-gray eyes passed over the pair of boys sitting in his classroom as though he knew Ben hadn’t gotten the answer correct on his own.

Though Ben’s pencil was poised, unsure and eraser-down over the problem, he ultimately set it down in the crease of his book, refusing to look at Hux despite the fact that he felt the other boy’s attention finally on him. Ben ignored the huff of amusement, as well.

Snoke passed their table as the other students filed in, his spider-like fingers trailing over the edge of Ben’s physics book, turning Ben’s homework to read it. Snoke’s gaze was focused on it too long for comfort, and Ben shifted in his seat, feeling Hux watching, too. Finally, Snoke turned the page back to Ben, and flashed him a smile that didn’t light his eyes.

“And are you ready for tonight’s game, Mr. Solo?”

Ben’s jaw clenched, and he inhaled, swallowing what he really wanted to say: Tell me I did a good job on the homework I worked on until one in the morning. “I’m always ready,” he said instead, and he heard Hux laugh.

Snoke’s hard eyes flicked away from Ben, settled on Hux. “And you. Are you ready for our quiz today?”

Ben glanced at Hux, and their eyes met. “I’m always ready,” Hux mimicked, holding Ben’s gaze with one corner of his mouth turned up.

Ben frowned, and Hux winked.

Snoke grunted, sounding unconvinced, and shuffled toward the front of the classroom. Ben watched him go, grateful for something to focus on besides Hux, though out of the corner of his eye he watched him wedge his drumsticks beneath a strap on the side of his bookbag.

No time was wasted in Snoke’s class; he asked them to pass their homework forward before he’d arrived at his podium, offering no grace period for the procrastinators. Ben sent his solution sheet forward without changing problem number three, and, after hesitating for a space of seconds, he turned to Hux, holding his hand out to take his homework to pass on.

Hux was slumped toward the table, façade projecting boredom as he leaned on his elbow, and produced nothing for Ben at first; then he lifted his hand, touching his fingertips to Ben’s, eyebrows arched.

Ben snatched his hand back and looked away, face burning as he sucked in a breath. “You’re going to fail this class,” he snarled, raking the hair from his forehead.

“Am I?” Hux asked.

Ben ignored him, trying to lose himself in Snoke’s lecture, though he didn’t hear half of what his teacher said. Hux distracted him with irritating, fidgety habits: an overlong, black-polished thumbnail scraping over the pages of his closed physics book, fingers drumming on the table top, one leg swinging from his stool, foot bumping the metal base of Ben’s with his combat boot at irregular intervals. After an intolerable period of this, Ben snapped his own foot out and connected with Hux’s. Hux deftly caught Ben’s ankle with the toe of his boot, dragged the toe of it up beneath the hem of Ben’s slacks before Ben got control of the situation and shook him off.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Solo?” Snoke’s voice resounded from the front of the classroom, and heads turned to stare.

Ben shook his head, arbitrarily flipping a page in his textbook and affecting concentration. “No, sir.”

“I trust not,” Snoke huffed. “Clear your desks. Mr. Solo’s wandering attention reminds me that we have a quiz today.”

Groans mixed with the sound of slamming textbooks and shifting backpacks, but no one glared at Ben with accusation, or even made eye contact. He was in a social tier that discouraged genuine interactions, and despite his popularity, he felt like a ypariah more often than not—like a creature behind the glass confines of an aquarium, seeing alien faces examining his every action, discussing him with detachment, trying to discern how best they might market their particular connections, but never really seeing him.

For some reason, the thought made him look at Hux, whose green gaze didn’t drift. The space on the table before Hux was empty, and Ben’s brow furrowed. Why didn’t Hux care? How could he be that free?

Ben ripped a page out of his own notebook, shoved the paper over to Hux without looking at him again. When Hux made no move, Ben fished a pencil out of his bag and pushed that over too.

There was no response for a few seconds, and then long fingers plucked the pencil off the table.

Snoke didn’t quiz from a textbook; he gave his students scenarios on the chalkboard, drew pictures with lines and question marks, offering parts of a puzzle and asking the rest of his class to fill in the missing pieces. Ben was blessedly drawn away from Hux’s gravitational pull by the complexity of the problems before him, copying the images from the board and filling in equations, erasing furiously, adding more numbers, squinting at Snoke’s drawings, glaring at his own renditions. He kept one arm in his lap, curled over his belly to keep the performance anxiety in, and when Snoke finally called time, a tension headache was building above the bridge of his nose.

Snoke demanded the quiz sheets to be passed up, and Ben kept his—examining the solutions, worrying—until a piece of paper settled over his, obscuring his work. In the top right corner were the letters A. Hux , and alongside the numbered lines were no equations. Just one-line solutions.   

Ben glanced at Hux, who was twirling the tip of the borrowed pencil against the table. He started to say “ Are you sure?” but Hux didn’t look at him, or invite camaraderie, and so Ben mixed Hux’s quiz sheet into the shuffle, and sent it up to Snoke, who plucked them from the front row like a carrion crow and deposited them on his desk in a neat stack.

“Now,” Snoke said, steepling his hands just below his bowtie. “Time to put that rumor that’s been going around for the past few weeks to rest .”  

Ben’s posture stiffened, pausing mid-motion from pulling his physics book out of his bag again. The rumor had gotten started, Ben thought, by someone from the previous year’s graduating class, and he’d seriously hoped it was just that: an unsubstantiated joke.

Snoke’s eyes raked across the classroom, and the fact that he looked pleased with himself, like a wolf that’s just gotten away with the livestock, did not bode well for any of them.

Now that the professor had their undivided attention, he picked up a different stack of papers from his desk, strolling down the center row and counting out enough neatly-stapled packets for each table. He spoke as he distributed them:

“Last year, this class participated in a project with two teams.”

There were several grumbles, which Snoke silenced with a withering glance, but Ben actually felt himself relax. Teams. He could do that.

“This year, however,” Snoke continued, laying pages into the waiting hand of one of Ben’s classmates,“I’ve decided this will be much more interesting with more…competition.”

Ben’s textbook settled heavily on the table in front of him, and he ground his teeth. Competition. He had enough of that in his life: on the football field, with fellow college applicants, with his GPA.

Snoke dropped two packets on the desk in front of Ben, pausing, with his fingers perched on the top page, preventing Ben from picking them up; Ben found himself craning his head to try to read the title.

“Our task this year will be building weapons,” Snoke went on, and he continued down the aisle. Ben startled when Hux darted a hand out and snatched his own packet away, seeming, at last, to take an interest in something.

Snoke’s voice dopplered gradually as he passed toward the back of the room. “Catapults and trebuchets, to be exact.”

Ben flipped through his pages, stomach dropping. He could memorize things, apply formulas to problems on a page, but this was something else; this required creativity he didn’t have, skills he didn’t possess. His father had taught him how to sail and fly a plane, how to navigate with stars and circumvent the Port Authority, not how to use a hammer or cut wood. He instantly began sorting through and discarding who he might ask for help, how he could manage to fake his way through this without anyone knowing how inadequate he was to the task.

Snoke passed their desk again, and Ben forced his teacher’s voice back into focus. “This year, you will be partnering with one other person, and your designs will have three judgement criteria.” He reached the front of the room again and turned. “First will be the distance at which your machine hurls a projectile. Second, the accuracy of the design relevant to a stationary target and a moving target. Lastly, your analysis and presentation of performance following trials.”

There were a few excited murmurs coupled with the sound of paper being shuffled. Beside Ben, Hux was turning over page after page, folding them over the staple as he scanned the contents.

“Finally,” Snoke went on, smiling, “this project will be worth fifty percent of your grade in this course.”

That got everyone’s attention; voices erupted in protest and concern. Ben just sat there, clutching the packet, and trying to breathe evenly beyond the thoughts that poured in. If he failed this class, if he made less than an A, in fact, Stanford might withdraw their scholarship offer. He would lose summa cum laude , he’d have to face that look his mother got, which was somewhere between disappointment in Ben and confusion, as though asking herself where she had gone wrong with him.

Snoke interrupted Ben’s catastrophic internal dialogue: “You’ll spend the rest of the class having a brainstorming session with your partner, who is sitting at your table with you.”

Ben’s stomach dropped, and he glanced around just as Hux peered over the edge of his project packet.

“Well, fuck me, that’s some shite,” Hux said, Irish accent distorting the words so that Ben couldn’t really tell if he was amused or upset.

Ben didn’t answer, though his fingers tightened around his project outline. He whirled to look at Snoke again, thinking to protest this pairing, but Snoke had settled at his desk and was beginning to card through the quizzes. The last thing Ben wanted to do was make a spectacle of himself, more so than he already was. More than one head had turned toward him and Hux, laughter concealed behind palms. The story of Ben having a bottle of orange juice dumped on his head was all over the school at this point, and only his popularity kept him from being ridiculed to his face.

“What’s wrong, Princess?” Hux asked, bringing Ben’s attention back in surprise. 

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Ben snapped.

Hux shrugged, smirking briefly. “You too good to work with me?” There was something almost bitter in his tone.

“I didn’t…” Ben started, but Snoke’s piercing tone interrupted them.

“Mr. Hux,” he barked, and they both looked at him, frozen mid-argument.

“I don’t know how they do things in your native country, but here in these United States of America, we do not copy our answers off our neighbor.”

Ben’s brow wrinkled in confusion, and he glanced at Hux. Hux’s face was completely blank for several seconds, then he scowled. “Is that what you think, then?” he snapped.

Snoke brandished the quiz that Hux had just completed, which had a fat, red “F” scrawled across the top margin.

“It’s easy to see,” Snoke continued. “You’re fortunate enough to be sitting next to one the brightest students in your class. You might have gotten away with a perfect score like him, too, if you’d taken the time to copy the solutions as well.”

Hux scoffed, and Ben was embarrassed by the praise from Snoke. “Sir, I don’t think…” Ben began, meaning to defend Hux, whom Ben was sure hadn’t cheated, but Hux cut him off, fingers curled into a fist.

“You think you’ve got it sorted,” Hux growled. “Feckless arseholes that look like me wouldn’t know anything about math .” He stood up, snatching his book off the table and shoving it into his bag. Only Ben was close enough to see that Hux’s hands were trembling, and that he kept getting the book caught on the edges of his backpack.

“Mr. Hux,” Snoke began, also rising from his desk.

Hux finally got his book in his bag, jerked the zipper halfway closed, and shouldered it. His green gaze, cold and beautiful, turned on Ben. “I couldn’t think as slow as him if I tried,” Hux snapped. Then he flicked his middle finger at Snoke and stalked out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind him on a chorus of rousing laughter and shocked chatter.

Ben’s face was burning, but he had to force himself to sound amused when what he really wanted was to get up and escape this room. Thankfully, the bell rang as Snoke was still trying to regain order, and Ben slipped his own bookbag over his shoulders as he offered half-hearted smiles to the few people who weren’t actively ignoring him out of second-hand embarrassment. He had turned to leave when he saw Hux’s assignment packet still lying on the table; Ben actually made it a few steps toward the front of the classroom before he sighed, turned around, and grabbed it.

He couldn’t shake the feeling of raw stupidity that dogged his steps down the hall toward his next class. What had he been thinking by approaching that rabid psycho over the last few days? Part of Ben had been thinking that he should apologize for…something. Calling him a queer, maybe, though it felt like the public humiliation in the cafeteria had evened that score. Either way, it was ignorant, and Hux was a fucking jerk.

Hux’s second period class was in the annex across campus, and his fried nerves drove him down the stairs and out the door that faced that wing. He stood in the autumn air, chilly with overcast gray skies, and he sucked in a deep breath redolent with the smell of damp earth and pine. He shoved one shaking hand into the outer pocket of his backpack and tugged out a pack of cigarettes; the wet breeze blew out his lighter twice before the cherry bloomed, and he inhaled deeply.

Hux jumped when the door slammed open beside him; he choked on the cloud of smoke that erupted from his throat and his nose, making him cough. Rather than snub the cigarette out like anyone with a head for self-preservation might have, Hux wedged it back between his lips, steeling himself for whatever teacher had followed him out here to expel him. Not like it would be the first time.

Emerging through the door, blinking in the besmirched fall air, was not a teacher, however, but Ben fucking Solo. Hux took one step away from the door, his flight response kicking in, but he ground to a stop, shoulder pressed to the cold brick facade of the school.

“You come to fetch me to the headmaster, then?” Hux barked, blowing smoke in Ben’s face.

Ben came fully outside then, letting the door fall shut behind him. He waved the noxious cloud away, peered at Hux with brows forming an obtuse angle over his nose.

“I always walk to class this way,” Ben said, a defensive edge to his posh accent.

“You’re polluting my air,” Hux growled, taking another drag off his cigarette, then waving his hand toward the annex across the lawn, ash scattering on the wind. “Sod off.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed. “What the fuck is your problem, dude? I told Snoke you didn’t cheat on that quiz.”

That surprised Hux, but he refused to show it. “Don’t give a shit.”

Ben didn’t say anything, regarding Hux instead with those big, doe eyes. His eyelashes were obnoxiously long.

Ben rubbed the back of hand over his mouth, pretty lips twisted into a grimace. “Snoke asked me if I wanted another partner.”

Hux widened his eyes dramatically, brows lifting. “Good for you. Must be a relief.”

A flurry of white pages suddenly thumped into Hux’s chest, surprising him enough that Hux snatched at them and found himself holding the physics assignment he’d left behind.

Ben withdrew his hand after he’d planted the packet. “I told him ‘no.’ So maybe you can try not to be an asshole?”

Hux just stared, cigarette hanging from his moistened bottom lip, and before he could summon a retort, Ben was walking away across the lawn, making tracks through the dew. Hux watched him until he vanished into the adjoining building, then he flicked his cigarette into the grass, crushed it under his boot, and smiled.

Morning had dragged inexorably on toward evening, and Hux had drifted through the rest of his classes in a sort of mollified daze, the fight temporarily gone out of him. He couldn’t stop picturing the way Ben’s dark hair had started to curl in the damp fall air, the way his eyes weren’t just one color, and the way they’d definitely flicked surreptitiously down Hux’s body before Ben had walked away.

The ridiculous game Americans called football, which Hux had dreaded being required to attend, had actually been a good release of energy. Brendol had insisted that he join the ROTC, to learn to soldier like his father, so he could become another cog in the world machine, but Hux had put up a vicious fight that had earned him a black eye, a busted nose, and a half-assed apologetic compromise.

The marching band, Hux convinced him, had structure and required discipline . The snare drum had called troops to war, kept the cadence of armies. The band even had uniforms , and it would keep him busy year round, and out of trouble. That last bit was a lie, and they both knew it, but Brendol let it go in the end, relented, and signed the papers. He’d even given Hux a handful of crisp hundred dollar bills and told him buy himself better equipment than the rent-a-drum they’d given him at sign-up. Hux had dutifully bought the most expensive one he could find and pocketed the change. Brendol had never asked about it.

Hux’s uniform hung open now, the silver cords around the black wrist cuffs glinting as he closed his snare into its case and snapped the clasps down. A hand slapped his bicep and Hux jumped, nearly stumbling over the case.

Jen grinned at him, her own uniform coat slung over a shoulder, t-shirt rolled up at the shoulders; she had as many tattoos tapering down her arm as Hux did.

“You wanna hit up this party in Fairfield with us? Bring your own Solo cup.”

The words Solo cup made Hux choke out an inane laugh, and Jen raised her eyebrows. Hux recovered quickly, straightening and hoisting his drum at his side. “Nah. I’m not ready for that much excitement.”

Jen chuckled. “I hear ya, bro. Next time.” She started to cross toward the door of the band room, twirling her sticks in her hand, then paused and looked back at Hux. “Bad ass show tonight,” she said, then pointed with her sticks at Hux’s snare case. Hux smiled, despite himself, and saluted her lazily. She grinned and disappeared into the hall.

Hux trickled out the room with the rest of the band, feeling a strange sense of warmth budding in his chest as more than one of them spoke to him, looked at him as though he belonged among their number.

“Hey, Hux,” a girl said, her steps picking up to catch up with him as he lugged his drum up the stairs. She shot one manicured hand out to push the door open for him. “You want a ride home?”

Hux wedged himself through the door, glancing at her face. She wore her blonde hair in a ponytail, replete with a small black bow, and had a light jacket over a uniform that left little to the imagination. The color guard then.

“Um...sure. Thanks.” He didn’t want anyone to know where he lived, wanted there to be no chance that someone would ask to come in, but neither did he want to walk home.

She smiled, and her eyes flicked over his face, and Hux got it, suddenly. He almost laughed, but turned away before he could blurt out that she was barking up the wrong tree. That was when he saw Ben.

He was walking across the parking lot with a group of his teammates, all of them beefy jocks cut from the same mold. Boring, except for Ben. Hux watched the group as they paused by a car, several of the boys opening doors and climbing in, and he drifted automatically with the blonde at his shoulder, whose name he hadn’t caught. She was chattering amiably, leading him to a car parked a few spaces away from Ben and his friends, and Hux only half-heard her when she paused to unlock the passenger side door for him, opening the back one as well for his drum.

“Hux?” she said after a moment, pulling him from his trance. He was standing beside the car, drum case still in his hands. He gave her a cursory glance, started to turn and put the drum in the back seat, when he spun on his heel instead and yelled across the parking lot.

“Hey Ben!”

All heads turned toward them, clones in matching letter jackets.

Hux flashed Ben a bright smile. “Way to handle those balls tonight, Ben,” he called.

The girl at his side snorted and covered it with one hand, and Ben’s friends guffawed and slapped his shoulder, repeating it and cat-calling him. Hux turned away, feeling victorious, and hefted his drum to slip it into the car, when his chariot driver made a noise.

“Awww damn, you’re in trouble, boo,” she said, nodding over Hux’s shoulder.

Hux swiveled and saw Ben stalking across the parking lot toward him, posture rounded, pushing his freshly showered hair out of his face. Hux couldn’t help picturing how graceful he’d looked on the field from the stands, dancing out of the grasp of everyone who tried to take him down, like he had some preternatural sense of space and time that others didn’t.

Hux let the drum case slip from his hand down to the parking lot, squaring his shoulders and tilting his chin up. If Ben wanted a fight, Hux would give him one. He curled one hand into a fist, feeling his pulse pick up.

“What is your fucking problem?” Ben asked for the second time that day, coming to a stop right in front of Hux, managing to stare him down from perhaps two inches of superior height. Ben’s color was high, his aura wild and primal: bloodlust, Hux thought, born on the field of combat, such as that field had been tonight.

Hux shifted forward, chin still tilted up, and brought himself inches from Ben’s face, showing him he’d never back down from a challenge. “You told me to stop being an asshole,” Hux drawled, lifting both eyebrows. “Just trying to be nice.”

Ben put one hand on Hux’s sternum, and Hux almost hit him, but then Ben backed him against the car slowly, until Hux was flattened against the passenger side door. Hux could smell the threat, but there was none in his touch.

Ben kept his palm over Hux’s chest, and Hux’s heart fluttered rapidly beneath it. Ben leaned into him, lower body pressed to Hux’s, and Hux met him, canting his hips forward compulsively. Hux kept both hands flat on the cold steel of the car behind him, forcing himself not to take a fist full of Ben’s hair in his fingers.

To all the onlookers behind him, Ben looked as though he were threatening Hux, but Hux saw otherwise. Ben’s pupils were fat, his voice husky as he said, “You’re trying to be nice, huh?”

Hux smirked, shrugged with one shoulder; he might appear nonchalant, but his knees were weak, his stomach fluttering.

Ben leaned closer, nose nearly touching Hux’s, breath warm against his lips, just inches away. Hux started to sway forward, beyond caring for the consequences, when Ben stepped back, keeping Hux’s narrower body at arm’s length, trapped against the car.

“Try harder,” Ben said with a parting shove, and then he was walking away. Whatever expression he gave his friends made them burst into laughter.

Hux didn’t care. His bandmate who was still hovering awkwardly beside him had said moments before that Hux was in trouble.

Hux was pretty sure that was true.

Chapter Text

Ben slid his lunch tray down the metal rails, plastic scraping over stainless steel, stopping intermittently as he paused before the available choices to consider them. Nothing overtly caught his attention, and he picked items distractedly and at random, hardly conscious of the choices.

His mind had been elsewhere since Friday night, incessantly replaying that moment with Hux in the parking lot, when he had been pressed between the car and Ben’s body. The tactile memory of Hux’s lines and the pulse of his heartbeat beneath Ben’s palm had haunted him since. He could not stop picturing the way Hux’s eyelids had slipped half-closed, how his clear green eyes looked so dark in that moment;like they saw something that Ben did not.

“Are you listening to anything I’ve been saying?” Phasma’s voice managed to break through Ben’s looping reverie. She sounded annoyed, and Ben glanced at her sheepishly; he hadn’t been listening at all.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, taking a carton of milk from a metal pan filled with ice.

Phasma snorted, nibbling on a french fry from her plate as they continued to shuffle through the lunch line. “Where’s your head been all day, anyway? You’re like a zombie.”

Ben scrubbed a hand across his face, pressing his fingers into the skin below his eyes, which had looked even more thin and purplish than usual in his bathroom mirror this morning.

“I’m just tired,” Ben admitted. “I was up until two trying to finish reading Catcher in the Rye .”

Phasma plucked an apple out of a basket, and Ben took an orange. “You realize that we don’t have to have that finished until mid-terms, right?” Phasma asked.

Ben shrugged, reaching the end of the line and pulling out his wallet to pay the cashier. “I won’t have time during regionals or with Debate Team and Quiz Bowl practice starting in October. Plus I have Mock Trial this year.” He took his change, and hovered by the cash register, waiting for Phasma to pay.

“Did it ever occur to you that you have too many extracurricular activities?” Phasma asked, dropping her wallet on her lunch tray and following Ben to their table.

“Don’t let my mother hear you say that,” Ben warned, with a smirk in Phasma’s direction. She responded to his attempt at making light of the situation with a skeptical expression, but she didn’t press the issue.

They’d been sitting at the same table beside the east window since they’d been freshman; the only new person that had joined their group since that time had been Rey, and likely only then because she was with Finn. Ben always had the feeling that she saw something in the group of friends that she didn’t quite approve of, but was too tactful to voice. At the very least, the way she looked at him always made him feel exposed, just as it did now, as he settled into his seat across from her.

Ben’s back was to the window, afternoon sunlight magnified by the glass and instantly hot on the back of his neck. For the first time since picking up his tray, he actually looked at the items he’d accumulated.

“That’s an interesting buffet you have there,” Finn observed, and Ben almost laughed. There was a compulsion though—undeniable—that wouldn’t allow him to admit he’d done anything by accident or omission, that everything he did was by design, and that he was never anything less than completely focused. Dimly, Ben recognized that he should have a sense of humor about this kind of thing, but couldn’t find it.

“I like to have variety,” he told Finn, flashing him a smile as he began sorting his lunch. There was an orange, half a peanut butter sandwich, a turkey and cheese sandwich, a bag of sour cream and onion kettle chips, a bag of B-B-Q Lays, a diet coke, and a carton of milk. He was trying to decide where to begin when Jason slipped into the seat to his left and confiscated his Lays.

“Dude,” Jason said, ripping the bag open, “guess what I heard about that Irish prick?” He shoved several chips into his mouth and started chewing, eyes roving over his table-mates as though waiting for someone to glean the information from him.

Ben opened his mouth to tell Jason not to call Hux a prick, but he swallowed that comment, because he’d have to explain it and he wasn’t sure he knew how. “What did you hear?” he asked instead, cracking open his Diet Coke and taking a drink to offset how raptly he was tuned in to whatever clue Jason might have into his mysterious lab partner.

Jason had several more chips between his fingers, and he waved them in Ben’s direction, looking pleased that he had someone’s attention on the hook. “I heard his dad was in the I.R.A. and was in prison.That he’s some kind of anti-terrorism consultant now and they had to escape from Ireland or some shit.”

Bastion perked up, pen poised over the fourth or fifth version of his hypothetical class secretary acceptance speech. “How’d you find that out?”

Jason shrugged one shoulder, dusting reddish BBQ dust off his hand. “This girl Amy I know was talking to her friend Fiona in band, who he’s going out with or something, I don’t know. What if he builds bombs? What if he’s going to show up at school with an AK-47?”

An orange peel sailed over the table and hit Jason in the chest, making him curse as he tried to brush it off.

“Don’t say stuff like that!” Rey barked, peeling back another strip from her orange with her thumbnail.

Ben only distantly absorbed Jason’s tactless suggestion. “You said he’s dating a girl in band?”

Mike chimed in from Finn’s right, answering around a bite of his chicken sandwich: “Probably that blonde color guard girl with the big tits he went home with Friday night.”

“Dude,” Finn growled at him, shaking his head. “Do you really wonder why you don’t have a girlfriend?”

Ben interrupted this exchange: “Where did you see him with a girl on Friday night?” He felt Rey staring at him, and he realized he was squeezing his peanut butter sandwich a little too hard; he dropped it on his tray and sucked the grape jelly off his fingers.

Mike paused with his own sandwich  halfway to his mouth. “In the parking lot after the game? She was standing, like, two feet away from you when you shoved that fucker against the car.”

Ben searched his memory of that night, every detail ingrained just how he’d seen it: Hux’s disheveled red hair, just barely damp with sweat at his temples, the slight flush on his pale cheeks, the silver stud in his bottom lip that caught the light. Everything else was a blur. Background noise.

Realizing he’d been silent too long, Ben just shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. He opened his bag of kettle chips and ate one before answering.

“I wasn’t paying much attention to anything but making him shut his smart mouth.” The next chip he put in his mouth had no taste to it, and Ben set the bag down, appetite gone.

He heard Phasma snort, and he looked at her. She was busy spearing vegetables in her salad and didn’t look at him. Ben’s brow furrowed and he began to ask her to share what she was thinking, when his attention was drawn over her shoulder.

Ben recognized the curve of Hux’s shoulders as he sat hunched over his lunch tray, alone at the small round table near the industrial-sized trash bins and the dish pit. No one liked to sit there, because it was humid and it stank.

Hux sat with one elbow propped on the table, cheek in his hand, twirling a fork in the diluted, shapeless white mass that passed for mashed potatoes in their cafeteria. He had one boot propped on the seat beside him, safety-pins holding his jeans together from the hem to his calf, showing just the barest hint of pale skin beneath.

Ben’s foot twitched, and he fought the impulse to take his tray and go join Hux. He told himself that he wouldn’t be welcome; Hux had barely looked at him in Physics that morning.  His eyes had been ringed with the dark bruises of sleeplessness, much like Ben’s, and Ben could only surmise their interaction in the parking lot had something to do with Hux ignoring him. If not everything.

The conversation at Ben’s table diminished, until only the drone of voices registered, while the words themselves were absent. He tried to appear as though he was paying attention, endeavoring to turn his face more-or-less toward whomever was speaking, but his gaze kept coming back to Hux. He drank in every detail as though memorizing it for a test, plagued with questions: Why was Hux sitting alone? Where was this girl he was supposedly dating? Had they broken up? Were they ever together? Did Hux really have no friends?

For some reason, that made Ben’s chest ache and feel hollow at the same time, and he was rehearsing several mundane topics he could bring up to Hux, when he was derailed by the bell ringing to end their lunch period.

Pushing himself up, he happened to glance at Phasma, and he met her eyes.

“You’re an idiot,” she told him, and then took his orange off his mostly untouched tray. She sauntered off before Ben could demand an explanation.

He joined Mike and Jason in the line for the dish pit, answering questions about after-school football practice by rote. They were gradually getting closer to Hux, who hadn’t moved from his seat, and Ben was still trying to think of some reason to stop at the table to talk to him. He’d decided on asking Hux if he wanted to meet somewhere to work on their project after school, and he was just shifting out of the line when several things happened at once:

Mike’s shoulder jostled Ben as Jason gave him a mock-push toward Hux, and Ben watched, frozen in place, as Mike pretended to stumble toward the table and then to overbalance his tray. That it was deliberate was completely obvious to Ben, and yet he was too surprised by the unexpected audacity of it to react before everything on Mike’s tray tumbled downward onto Hux. Slimy green beans, canned peaches, broken chips, and a nearly full bottle of Coke tipped with alarming precision off of the tray and spilled down Hux’s back and across his shoulders.

Hux jerked forward, stabbing the fork that he’d been twirling in his mashed potatoes into the plate and sending it skittering off the edge of the table. One hand went to his shoulder, clawing at the sticky peach residue and pushing green beans off of himself as he whirled in his seat. Eyes that were wide with bewilderment narrowed instantly when Hux’s gaze zeroed in on Mike, who was hardly able to keep a straight face.

Ben finally found his voice as everything shifted from slow motion to fast-forward. “What the hell, man?” he growled at his friend, taking a step toward Hux, compelled to take his side. Ben didn’t have time to consider the meaning of that, because Hux lurched to his feet, fist clenched at his side, knuckles white. A dark cloud had fallen over his face, though Mike didn’t seem to register a threat.

Mike held up one hand, his now-empty tray clutched in the other. He wore a cocky grin, and behind him Jason was barely concealing laughter behind his fist. “Oh, my bad,” Mike said, “I tripped.”

Hux was still but for the slight tremor Ben saw in his arm, like he was trying to hold himself back. Ben took a step forward, reacting to the charged air. The lunch line had ground to a halt, only a handful of students disinterested enough in this burgeoning conflict to circumvent it and continue on their way to the dish pit.

“Mike, man, come on,” Ben said. “Leave him alone.”

Mike ignored him, but Hux’s attention snapped to the side, his eyes a startling steel blue beneath pinched eyebrows. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words never came, because Mike reached out and took Hux’s chin between his fingers, just as Hux had done to Ben weeks before.

Mike wrenched Hux’s face around, then patted his cheek roughly. “See you around, sweet thing,” Mike parroted.

“Fuck you,” Hux snarled, snapping his hand out to slap Mike’s arm away. “Don’t ever fucking touch me.” His accent was thicker in his fury.

Mike reacted instantly, planting a hand on Hux’s chest and shoving him backward, sending Hux tumbling toward the table, where he nearly lost his balance between two chairs. He was upright again quickly, and shifted, with a clear intent to strike at Mike. Ben reached out and snatched at Hux’s shirt sleeve because he was closer than Mike.

Ben tugged Hux toward him, closing his hand around Hux’s wiry bicep, feeling the muscles clench beneath his tee shirt. Hux tried to jerk his arm free, fully intent on fighting, but Ben wrapped his arm around Hux’s waist and held him still.

“Stop,” Ben snarled.

Hux tried to twist in his grip, tried to shake Ben’s hand off his arm. “Let go of me,” Hux spat, trying to turn his head to glare at Ben but unable to get the right angle with Ben’s arm around his waist.

Mike started to advance again, but the glare Ben shot him stopped him in his tracks. “Let it go, Mike. He’s not worth it.”

No sooner were those words out of his mouth then Ben regretted them. He felt Hux slump in his grasp, his breathing shallow, and then the air whooshed out of Ben’s lungs as an elbow slammed into his stomach. He lost his grip on Hux, who squirmed out of his hold.

“Fuck you, too, Ben Solo,” Hux hissed.

Ben didn’t have a chance to speak before Hux grabbed his backpack from the floor and stalked quickly out of the cafeteria, leaving his forgotten lunch tray on the table.

“Shit,” Ben sighed, straightening and rubbing a hand across his smarting belly while he watched Hux disappear through the crowd flowing in for the next lunch period.

Beside him, Mike was breathing heavily, vibrating with adrenaline. All semblance of humor was gone from his face. “Goddamn bastard is going to get his ass kicked.”

Ben frowned at him. “You really need to get suspended your senior year?”

Mike deflated, running an unsteady hand through his dark hair. “Whatever,” he mumbled, but Ben could tell the fight had gone out of him.

Jason slapped Mike on the back, nudging him back into the line. They started moving forward again, Ben distracted by looking over his shoulder for Hux. Through the open double doors of the cafeteria, he saw him vanish into the men’s bathroom.

Ben looked away, turning over the words he’d spoken—that Hux wasn’t worth it—when he could have said anything else, phrased it in some other way. There was no excuse for it, except that his instinct to please his friends was so ingrained that it outweighed his compassion. He’d barely known Hux for a month, but had, thus far, called him a queer, an asshole, shoved him against a car, and essentially called him worthless.

Ben’s tray clattered down on the conveyor belt of the dish pit, and without saying anything else to his friends, he hurried across the cafeteria to the men’s bathroom into which he’d seen Hux go moments before. Maybe he was still in there, and Ben could…what? Apologize for being a jerk? Take back the things he’d said? Tell him he actually thought he was fascinating and kind of beautiful?

Ben had no clear picture of what he wanted to say as he pushed the door open cautiously, as though a viper might be poised inside, waiting to strike. He started when someone pulled the door out of his grip, but it was just a couple of freshman, laughing as they left the bathroom and paying Ben no attention. When they’d passed by, Ben crept into the restroom, gaze sweeping the interior.

The row of urinals was empty, and Ben dipped at the waist to peer beneath the two drab green stalls. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Hux’s boots, the frayed cuffs of his jeans. Ben straightened abruptly, suddenly self-conscious; what was he doing stalking this guy in the bathroom?

He turned away, resolved to escape before Hux caught him, but the metallic snick of the stall lock arrested his step. Ben swiveled slowly on his heel, and saw Hux emerge and stop, staring at him.

The moment stretched into an uncomfortable silence, and it took that long for Hux’s expression to sink in for Ben. Hux looked wary, poised to fight or flee, and that, more than anything else, made Ben feel bad.

“Look,” Ben said, taking a cautious step toward Hux. “I just wanted to…”

Before he could finish, Hux advanced on him, thumping a long-nailed hand into Ben’s chest, twisting his fingers into Ben’s shirt and crowding him back against the sink. The porcelain dug into Ben’s back as he recoiled from the furious look on Hux’s face. Ben lifted his own hands instinctively to keep Hux at bay, setting one on his sternum and the other just above his hipbone.

“What makes you think I give a shit what you want?” Hux growled, edging closer. Ben’s arms bent at the elbows, helpless or unwilling to push him away.

“I’m sorry,” Ben blurted. “I didn’t mean what I said. In the cafeteria.”

“You didn’t mean what?” Hux asked, voice still low and dangerous.

Ben’s heart was thrumming rapidly, and he imagined Hux could see the vein in his neck pulsing. He swallowed. “That you’re not worth it.”

Hux continued to glare at him a second longer, and then Ben felt the fingers clenching in his shirt relax. Some of the darkness left from Hux’s severe face, and one corner of his lips twitched.

“So, I am worth beating up?” he asked.

Ben’s brow furrowed. “No. That isn’t what I meant. I just mean that you…” he stumbled, unable to pick the right words. Hux’s hip shifted beneath his palm as Hux inched forward, and this time Ben failed to lean back.

“I what?” Hux whispered, tilting his chin up so that his breath fell warm on Ben’s jaw. It made Ben’s skin prickle with electricity, the hand on Hux’s chest shifting up, absorbing his warmth before Ben stopped himself.

“You just…you’re not that bad, is all.” Ben’s voice came out small and hoarse.

“Mmmm,” Hux hummed, finally releasing Ben’s shirt and tracing his thumbnail down the center seam. Ben’s breath caught in his throat. “That almost sounds like a compliment,” Hux mused, turning his green eyes up again. Ben’s hand drifted, of its own accord, up toward the slender column of Hux’s neck, and he saw Hux’s pupils grow infinitesimally larger. Ben froze, realizing what he was doing and reeling from the way it made his head swim.

“Hux,” he breathed, the word barely registering volume. He wondered if Hux had felt this way in the parking lot on Friday night, with Ben pressed against him this same way.

Hux’s lips curved up in a smirk, and he pushed himself away with a palm to Ben’s chest. Once again, he fell away from Ben’s grasp.

Folding his arms, Hux regarded him with an expression that Ben could only interpret as pleased with himself.

“Maybe it’s you that needs to try harder to be nice,” Hux said.

Ben felt himself flush, not only because he felt ashamed of how he’d treated Hux, but because he was still slumped back against the sink, joints turned to jelly and stomach in knots. He opened his mouth to respond, somehow, when the door opened.

Mr. Snoke appeared, turning a baleful gaze on them. “Both of you,” he intoned, motioning with one spindly hand into the hall beyond. “Come with me.”

Snoke had brooked no argument, herding them out of the bathroom and down the hall. Ben knew where they were going before they got there, and was shuffled into the principal’s office with his heart in his throat. Mike and Jason were both there, and the four of them were read their proverbial rights, with Mr. Snoke, who had been the lunch monitor this afternoon, serving as the key witness.

The altercation was unraveled, and both sides came out. Ben felt compelled to tell the truth, ignoring the way Mike and Jason’s eyes bored into him in his peripheral vision. In the end, it was decided that Hux had simply been defending himself, and that Ben had gotten involved by accident. Their school, however, had a strict policy in regards to violence, so punishment was meted out. Ben and Hux got two hours of after-school detention, while Mike and Jason got a Saturday afternoon.

Despite the lenient sentence, it hit Ben hard, driving him to distraction for the rest of the day. He had anxious projections about losing his scholarship, having to tell his parents, having a tarnished school record, and being kicked off the football team. He knew that he was catastrophizing, and that it would all be water under the bridge in a few weeks, but he was still a nervous wreck by the time he slinked into Snoke’s classroom, at four in the afternoon, to serve his time.

He found Hux already there, head resting on his folded arms at their usual table. Ben approached cautiously, sliding into the seat next to him and letting his bookbag fall to the floor. Hux opened his eyes, looked at Ben, but didn’t raise his head. The gel he always wore in his hair had gone lax over the course of the day, and red strands fell over his brow and obscured his gaze.

Mr. Snoke’s voice came from the classroom doorway, and Ben turned to face him. Hux didn’t move.

“The two of you use this time to study and get ahead on your assignments. I have other matters to attend, so I trust you will be able to monitor your own behavior for the next two hours.”

Ben nodded, and Mr. Snoke’s mouth curled into a disappointed grimace that made Ben’s chest tighten. Snoke retreated through the door, leaving him and Hux alone.

“I trust you’ll be able to monitor your own behavior,” Hux mimicked in a dramatic Irish rendition of Snoke’s voice, and Ben smiled despite himself as he reached down and dug a notebook and his physics textbook out of his bag.

“Are you going to be in as much trouble as I am?” Ben asked quietly, opening his book to their evening homework assignment.

Hux shrugged one shoulder, head still pillowed on his arms. “If my dad even finds out, which I don’t plan on happening.”

Ben glanced at him. “I heard your dad was in the Irish Republican Army. Among other things.”

Hux snorted. “Yeah. He’s a dick.”

Ben wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he copied down a word problem and began to scratch out equations. “How’d you learn to do math in your head?” he asked Hux a moment later, sensing Hux’s eyes on him.

“I was born that way.”

Ben looked at him sharply, frowning at Hux’s perceived flippancy, but found that Hux was staring straight ahead with a pensive look on his face. “So, you figure we’ll make an A on this project then?” Ben said, pleased when Hux looked at him with a sly smile.

“No doubt. I could make an A in this class in my sleep.”

Ben deflated a bit, scrubbing out the equation on his notebook paper. “I wish I could say the same.”

Hux didn’t respond for a moment, but Ben could feel that Hux was watching him work, and Ben grew more self-conscious by the minute.

“You’re a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for,” Hux said, at last, voice soft. “But I think you make things complicated when they don’t need to be.”

Ben looked at him again, and found that Hux wasn’t looking at the physics assignment, but at him, searching Ben’s eyes for something. It was the look he’d given him in the restroom earlier, and Ben felt the same tingling warmth creep over his skin.

“Like what kinds of things?” he asked Hux quietly.

Hux didn’t respond for a moment, but then he raised his head from the table, and lifted a hand up to wrap around the pencil in Ben’s grasp. Hux’s fingers were cool to the touch, soft where they grazed Ben’s hand, threading their way over Ben’s fist until Hux was slowly uncurling Ben’s fingers from around the pencil. Then Hux took it away from him, leaving Ben’s nerves alight and gooseflesh peppering his arms. Hux’s eyes had never left his.

“Well, for one,” Hux said, lips turning up at one corner, “this equation.” He tapped the notebook paper with the pencil lead, and Ben exhaled the breath he’d been holding through his nose.

“Are you making fun of me now?” Ben asked, though his own voice sounded more resigned than offended.

Hux simply scooted his stool closer to Ben. “No. I’m going to make your life easier.”

“How?” Ben asked, fixated on the way Hux’s knee brushed his, and the way their shoulders touched as Hux leaned closer.

Hux gave him another coy glance. “In a lot of ways, I think,” he said, and smirked.

Chapter Text

The band room was cavernous, dimly lit only by one set of the overhead fluorescent lights. Hux sat folded between rows of time-worn music stands lining the wall, awaiting maintenance to remove them as they’d been replaced by newer, less battered versions. His bandmates had long since gone, having extended invitations for Waffle House, bowling, and a party, all of which Hux had declined with a ghost of a genuine smile; he just wanted to be alone.

Well. Mostly.

A copy of An Introduction to Didactic Poetry was propped on his knees; the same two pages had been splayed open for the last half hour, and Hux was no closer to giving a shit than he had been when he’d pulled the maltreated book out of his bag. Others in his class had dog-eared pages, highlighted sections, and were quick to answer questions on the subject matter; Hux could quote useful pragmatic philosophers like Marcus Aurelius, Sun Tzu, and Marx, but the appeal of pretentious ramblers like William Blake and Ezra Pound escaped him.

Hux let the back pages flutter beneath his thumb until he came to the strip of notebook paper tucked near the end of the book. He slid it out, unfolded it, felt its well-worn, soft edges between his fingers. There was a phone number on it, the penciled numbers faded to pale gray now.

A moment of recklessness had led him to ask for Ben Solo’s phone number during their shared detention, and in his boldness, Hux hadn’t specified what he wanted it for. He hadn’t bothered with shrouding the request in the cloak of a shared assignment or an intention to get together and study; he’d simply wanted to see if Ben would give it to him, no strings attached.

Since then, Hux had kept it on his person, shuffling it around between whichever book occupied his time at the moment, a reminder that he had won this concession from the most popular boy in school. Hux wondered if Ben had been waiting by his phone for it to ring all week, or if he’d forgotten the exchange entirely; Ben had said nothing about it during Physics class, and neither had Hux.

Hux sighed, and hid the piece of paper behind page 249 again. He had considered calling, out of sheer curiosity, but hadn’t been able to think of anything to say. Hey, Ben, your friends are assholes , wasn’t the best conversation starter, and Hux wasn’t about to go with I want to know if your lips are as soft as they look.

The heavy thunk of a door closing in the hall outside was followed by the jingle of keys, and then the band room door creaked opened. Hux could just see the top half of the evening janitor in his navy coveralls, leaning through the crack in the door with one hand on the light-switch. Their eyes met at the same moment through the forest of music stands.

“Lights out, kid. Time to go.”

Hux was already shoving his book back into his bag, and let the janitor shuffle him out the door. It was well past ten, and the din of the Friday evening game had long since faded into that eerie silence of business-hour venues shuttered for the night. Hux took the long route up the stairs from the basement level, drum case bumping against his calf as he climbed. He pushed through a set of double doors that would be chained and locked by the time the janitor finished his rounds, and felt the chill of wet autumn air on his bare arms.

The door closed behind him with a solid, metal report that echoed along the tunnel walls, and Hux took the sloped walkway up toward the halide glow of the football field. This was the second time tonight Hux had been in this tunnel, though the first time had been leading the marching band out with the drumline surrounding him like armor. The way the crowd had cheered for them still rang in Hux’s ears.

Gravel, chipped out from the track circling the field, crunched beneath Hux’s shoes, and he catalogued the trash littering the ground as he drifted toward the gate. A red, white and blue ICEE cup, partially crushed by someone’s shoe, leaking viscous red syrup across the concrete. A constellation of yellow corn chips amid a smear of orange nacho cheese. A Coca-Cola can that rolled with the breeze across his path, aluminum tinkling.

He hadn’t given much thought to how he would get home; part of him had stayed behind when numerous invitations were extended because he was loathe to see Ben keeping company with any of his loathsome jock friends. They were like a ridiculous mob of apes, with Ben being the one human among them who had to forgo his civilized nature in order to fit in. Hux was more invested in feeling pissed off about that observation than he had any right to be.

A glance to the parking lot as Hux neared the gate confirmed that he was alone. There was an 11 o’clock bus that left from the corner of Houston Street and Third Avenue, five blocks from campus, but carrying his drum and the garment bag with his band uniform, Hux didn’t think he’d make it in time.

It was much too far to walk home, especially at this time of night. Hux had no illusions about the sort of attention he was likely to attract alone on the side of the road.

“Fuck,” he growled to himself, fingers twining through the steel links of the chain fence as he stared into the empty parking lot. He would rather be tossed into someone’s trunk and carted off to a fate worse than death than call his father.

Unbidden, the slip of paper with Ben’s phone number teased at his awareness. Truthfully, it was little more than an artifact, a trophy perhaps, because Hux had memorized the digits with a solitary glance just as Ben had placed the torn notebook page in his hand.

Hux eased his drum case to the ground and draped his band uniform over it, then slid his cell phone out of his pocket. His wasn’t the ostentatious, oversized spawn of a laptop like most of his peers, sporting only a small screen and a limited number of emergency minutes. Like Hux knew what constituted an emergency to his father, or whether he’d care if Hux were to encounter one.

Hux punched the numbers in slowly, as though each one was a rung on a ladder to potential humiliation. When they were all entered, his thumb hovered over the dial button as he tried to convince himself he had other options. When none presented themselves, he depressed the key and held the phone to his ear.

It rang twice, and then the speaker filled with the cacophonous wail of hip hop music and laughter, and one voice broke through, distorted by the background noise. “Hello?”

Hux froze, throat constricting; he took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out slowly. “Ben?” His voice came out damnably small, and Hux clenched his teeth.

“Who is this?” the voice boomed, making Hux flinch.

His fingers were cold, heart beating like a rabbit’s. “It’s Hux, Ben. I was wondering if …” His question was cut off by a burst of static, and he could just barely make out the word hello repeating into the receiver. “Hello?” Hux said, one last time, and the connection went dead.

“Fucking shit,” Hux snapped, the words call ended flashing from the phone’s screen in dire electronic mockery. He stared until the display faded, then he cursed again at his own stupidity.

Hux didn’t even consider trying the call again, too humiliated by his singular effort. He was as relieved that he hadn’t given Ben his own number in exchange as he was that the connection had been bad. At least this wasn’t something awkward he’d have to live down at school on Monday morning, something Ben would joke with his goons about at the lunch table.  

Intent on hitch-hiking at this juncture, Hux stooped to pick up his uniform so he could roll it up and wedge it beneath the straps of his backpack, but before he’d even lifted it off his drum case, he was startled by a blaring ringtone.

It was a tinny version of some 1980s era keyboard loop, and Hux realized he’d never actually heard it before; he’d had this phone for half a year now, since not long after they’d immigrated, and no one had ever called him.

He recognized the numbers on the screen. He hesitated, letting it ring three times before forcing himself to press send . “Hello?”

“Hi,” the voice on the other end said, and this time it was obviously Ben. The din that had made him indistinguishable earlier had subsided, like he was hiding behind a closed door somewhere. “Someone called me from this number?”

Hux felt an irrational stab of disappointment when Ben didn’t seem to have recognized his voice moments before, or hadn’t managed to glean his identity through divine osmosis. “Yeah,” Hux confirmed. “This is your favorite lab partner.”

There was a brief pause, then Ben asked, slowly, like it might be a joke, “Hux?”

“Yes. I’m sorry to bother you but, I could use a bit of help,” Hux rushed on. He couldn’t summon the wherewithal to make small talk with his throat so dry. “I..”

Ben interrupted him. “Are you okay?” There was genuine concern in his voice, and Hux’s heart clenched in his chest. For a moment he couldn’t respond, until Ben spoke again, “Hux? Are you there?”

Hux squeezed the chain-link fence in front of him until it bit into his fingers. “Yes, I’m here. It’s just that I was hoping…”

“Yeah?” Ben’s voice had softened, sounded almost hopeful, and Hux swallowed.

“Could you maybe pick me up?” Hux forced himself to ask. “I don’t have any way to get home.”

There was another pause. Then Ben said, “Oh.”

Hux silently cursed himself at the note of disappointment in that word even as it made his belly turn flips.

“Where are you?” Ben asked, and Hux heard a door open in the background. The sound of the party Ben must be at once again pounded through the receiver.

“I’m still at school,” Hux told him, then had to shout it again before Ben heard him. Hux heard Ben saying something to another person, the words muffled like Ben had his hand over the mouthpiece. Another door closed, and Hux could suddenly hear Ben’s voice once more.

“Where at school are you?” A car started, roared to life.

“The parking lot by the field.”

“Okay. Be there in a minute.” Before Hux could say thank you , the call ended.

Hux stood for several minutes simply holding the phone, feeling like he was stuck in some bizarre dream where any moment Ben would descend down a beanstalk and they would battle dragons or some such nocturne nonsense. Then a chill, moisture laden breeze caught at his hair, tousled it, and Hux shivered as goose-flesh prickled his forearms.

Shoving the phone in his pocket, Hux maneuvered his things through the gate, setting them down on the edge of the blacktop, then he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to rub warmth into his skin as he scanned the inlet roads surrounding this wing of the high school.

Lighting a cigarette and taking a drag, it suddenly occurred to him that Ben might resent being coaxed from his after-party, and might only be on his way to Hux now out of pity or some misplaced sense of nobility. The thought made Hux feel restless, the urge to bolt creeping up his spine as he scuffed his feet against the concrete. He was seconds from snatching his uniform and his drum and fleeing when headlights winked through the trees and then rounded the corner, bright and moving toward him.

Hux took another drag from his smoke, watching the red BMW pull into the parking lot and make a beeline toward him, ignoring the lanes between the yellow-painted lines. Hux was standing just inside the well of light from the football field, plainly visible, and Ben made a loop so that when the car came to a stop beside Hux, the passenger door was facing him like a curbside taxicab.

Hux hesitated to simply toss his things in the back and climb in, and in that moment Ben opened his door and stepped out, draping his arms on the roof of the car and regarding Hux. The engine was still running, the headlights twin beacons in the fog that had begun to roll across the field behind them and spill into the parking lot.

“Hey,” Ben said.

Hux shifted, took a puff from his cigarette, then turned his head to blow the smoke more or less away from Ben. “Hey,” he said, turning back.

They regarded one another for a moment, until Ben raised an eyebrow at the silence. “You ready to go?”

Hux snapped out of his trance, dropping his cigarette and smashing it with the toe of his shoe. “Yeah. Sorry.” He bent down and grabbed his uniform bag from atop his drum case, folding it over his arm as picked up the snare. “I just need to…” he began, and then flinched as the handle of the case was suddenly liberated from his fingers.

“I’ve got it,” Ben said, not looking at Hux as he hefted the drum toward the passenger door, like he was concerned Hux might refuse to let him help.

Hux merely straightened and looked at him curiously until Ben had the snare wedged safely in the back seat. Ben held his hand out for the garment bag, but Hux moved toward the open door instead and leaned past him to lay it down. When he was upright again, he and Ben were mere inches from one another, Ben’s back holding the door open, and Hux watched the Adam’s apple in Ben’s pale throat bob as he swallowed.

“Thanks,” Hux said, shifting out of the space so Ben could shut the door.

Ben ran a hand through his thick hair. He mumbled something Hux thought might have been “sure,” and then he opened the passenger door and held it for him.

Hux had to gnaw at the inside of his lip to keep from smiling; the number of people that had ever held a door open for him numbered exactly zero. It made him feel like the ground was tilting, like he wasn’t in control anymore.

“My knight in shining armor,” Hux teased as he moved into the space behind the door, opposite Ben; Hux’s well-honed flippancy was much more familiar turf.

Ben’s eyes were on him as Hux splayed his hand over the window frame alongside Ben’s. “Are you in the habit of rescuing fair maidens from certain doom?” Hux asked, shifting as though toward the interior of the car, letting his fingers brush Ben’s on the door.

To his surprise, Ben didn’t flinch away. “Only the pretty ones,” he countered, giving Hux a tiny smirk that made his breath catch in this throat. Then Ben’s cheeks colored, like his proper, hetero-normative filter hadn’t managed to catch that slip, and he pushed at the door, prompting Hux to fold himself down into the seat so that Ben could close it.

The inside of the car was spotless, like the character Ben Solo presented to the world at large; the only piece of Ben that Hux saw as he drew his seat-belt down was a Darth Vader bobble-head, vibrating on the dashboard.

Ben slid into the driver’s seat, pulling the door closed. He turned a knob and musty heat flowed out of the vents, blanketing Hux, who realized only at that moment how cold he was. There was a sweater in the backpack he’d stuffed in the floorboard, but it was the plaid atrocity he’d left the house in this morning, and he wouldn’t put it on until he had to. He had yet to fully perfect his dual existence with such details as the appropriate replacement articles of clothing.

“You have a curfew?” Ben asked, wrapping his fingers around the gear-shift.

“Yes,” Hux admitted.

Ben drummed the fingers of his other hand on the steering wheel. “Do you always keep it?”

“No,” Hux said, smiling.

Ben returned the smile, though he still didn’t look at Hux. “Good,” he said. “Because I’m starving.” He shifted into gear, and they pulled out of the parking lot.

Hux was surprised, in a way he found intensely exciting, by the fact that Ben Solo drove like a bat out of hell. Hux had him pegged as the type that traveled five miles below the speed limit and stopped dutifully at yellow lights, and yet five minutes after leaving the high school, they were hurtling down the interstate at ninety miles per hour, heading away from their small town toward the city with Nine Inch Nails’ Downward Spiral blasting. Even that surprised Hux, having imagined that Ben would prefer whatever hip hop garbage his friends listened to over good, angry industrial rock.

It occurred to Hux twenty minutes later, as Ben expertly parallel parked in front of a small, hole in the wall diner, that he’d spent an awful lot of time lately musing about Ben Solo, from the music he liked to the kinds of movies he watched to what he thought about in the dark of night while drifting off to sleep.

Hux opened his door, scattering those thoughts as he circled the car to stand beside Ben, peering up at the blinking neon sign proclaiming their destination as Joe’s Breakfast Shack . The lights behind the S had burned out, a dubious portent for the little diner.

Thunder pealed overhead, the wind picking up, flinging pieces of a discarded newspaper off a nearby bench. Hux tucked his hands in his armpits.

“Is this a date, Ben Solo?” he dared to ask, raising an eyebrow with a smile that felt more hopeful on his lips than taunting.

Ben didn’t take his bait, and instead shrugged out of his black letter jacket. He’d draped it around Hux’s narrow shoulders before Hux realized what was happening.

Hux belatedly tried to sidestep away, but Ben didn’t let go of the lapels. “I’m fine,” Hux insisted.

“You’re shivering,” Ben countered, brow furrowed as he met Hux’s eyes. There was something protective about his gaze.  

“Are you always this bloody noble?” Hux asked quietly, then cautiously slid his arms into the sleeves. It was heavy wool, super-heated by Ben’s body, lined with satin-soft quilting, and Hux was drowning in it.

Ben just smiled, apparently satisfied that he’d saved Hux from freezing to death, and he led the way into the diner, Hux trailing in his wake in a bit of a muzzy daze. Hux couldn’t help scanning the sidewalks, wondering if a camera crew was going to spring from the shadows at any moment and proclaim him thoroughly punked.

When nothing more happened than Ben holding the door open for him a second time that night, Hux allowed himself to be ushered inside. The interior was dimly lit, most of the illumination coming from banker’s lamps that cast buttery yellow pools across each formica table-top. The floor was a tan and white checker pattern that looked as though it had been installed in the ‘40s, scuffed and cracked in places, but clean. The walls were exposed brick and copper piping; the industrial ventilation crisscrossing the ceiling was offset by winking red rope lights.

A woman in jeans and a black T-shirt that sported the restaurant’s name bustled by, wiping her hands on a striped apron. “Seat yourself, boys,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared through a set of swinging doors.

Hux jumped when he felt Ben’s hand on the small of his back, prompting him forward toward the row of booths to their left. The touch was gone just as quickly, like perhaps Ben had just acted on impulse, and Hux’s heart was hammering too fast to react in any other way than to gravitate toward the nearest table and sink into the teal and white seat. He foolishly scooted far enough toward the wall to leave room for Ben, but Ben, of course, took the seat across from him.

“I’ve been coming here since I was a kid,” Ben told Hux as Hux tried to casually shift toward the center of the table again, filling up the space he’d left for Ben.

“It’s very...American,” Hux observed, pulling the metal chain on the table lamp. It flicked off, and Hux pulled the chain again, turning it back on. “Does everything come with fries and a bucket of tea?”

Ben snorted, pulling two laminated, single-page menus from behind a silver napkin dispenser. He slid one in front of Hux. “The blueberry pancakes here are the best thing on the planet.” He smiled at Hux, a rather uncharacteristically coy expression, Hux thought. “And yes, you can get fries with them if you want.”

“Jesus,” Hux muttered, picking up his menu. Ben’s jacket was far too big for him, and the cuffs enveloped his hands to the knuckles. He tried to concentrate on the myriad choices, but he kept coming back to why. Why had Ben brought him here? Because he felt sorry for the poor, lonely waif without a way home?

“Get whatever you want,” Ben interjected into Hux’s inner turmoil. “I’m buying.”

Hux’s fingers clenched around the edge of the menu, creasing the plastic, and indignation boiled to life in his gut. “I don’t need your charity,” he growled, and then immediately flushed with shame. How many times had he heard his father say that same thing to anyone that had ever tried to help their family?

There was a long, pointed silence, and then Hux’s eyes slowly flickered up to see Ben looking at him. His thick, dark hair framed his face, the damp weather having coaxed gentle curls to life at the nape of his neck. Hux swallowed.

“There are plenty of reasons to want to buy someone dinner that aren’t entirely charitable,” Ben said.

Hux opened his mouth to ask which reason in particular Ben had in mind when the waitress they’d encountered earlier paused at their table, hands on her hips.

“Have you two had time to decide?” she asked.

Ben glanced away from her, to Hux. Waiting on him to order first. “Um…” Hux floundered, having not read anything on the menu. “Blueberry pancakes.” He looked at Ben defiantly. “And a side of fries, please.”

Ben covered his lower face with his menu, shoulders shaking briefly with laughter. “Same,” he said to the waitress. “But no fries.”

They ordered drinks then, and Ben asked for a chocolate milkshake, which appeared on the table moments later in a fluted fountain glass. Their server left a tin mixing cup as well, a third full with extra shake, its sides frosted with cold.

A red and white striped straw stood upright in the ice-cream, and Hux watched as Ben peeled the paper back from another straw and added it to the glass, facing Hux. He pushed the drink across the table toward him.

“Try this.”

Hux stared at him, wondering how much more cliche this moment could get, and trying not to blush because he was utterly charmed by it.

“I know we don’t get along, but I wouldn’t go to all this trouble just to poison you,” Ben added with a smirk.

Hux’s lips twitched as he steadfastly refused to smile, and he pulled the milkshake closer to himself and took a serious sip. He winced when the roof of his mouth froze.

“Brain freeze?” Ben guessed, grinning.

Hux shot him a withering look, breathing hot hair out into a cupped hand and inhaling it again. “So what is this really about?” he asked. “Is this an apology for your shite friends?”

Ben’s smile faltered, and he toyed with a straw wrapper, curling it around one finger. “I am sorry about them,” he admitted, looking at Hux from beneath dark lashes. “I’ve known most of them since elementary school. They weren’t always dicks.”

Hux took another drink of the milkshake, and Ben seemed content to let him keep it. “So, what? They’re grandfathered in? You could do better, you know.” Emboldened by the tone of the evening, Hux slid his foot across the tile beneath the table, found Ben’s foot with the toe of his shoe. He kept the intent from his face, so if Ben reacted poorly, it could be written off as an accident. “You’re better than them,” he added.

Ben studied Hux’s face, then moved his own foot— not away, but closer to Hux, so that it fit alongside.

“Am I?” Ben asked, face equally blank. “You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t think they know you either,” Hux countered softly, and when Ben’s forehead creased in confusion, Hux moved his other foot and caught Ben’s ankle between his shoes, edging the hem of Ben’s jeans up with one toe. “Do they?”

Hux expected Ben to blush, to pull his foot back, to deny it, but instead he just looked sad. “No,” he admitted, eyes hooded as they turned to the window. The view beyond was just the brick facade of the adjacent building. “They don’t.”  

Hux’s antagonistic streak was all but snuffed out by Ben’s plaintive expression. He pushed the milkshake across the table by the stem, and left his hand on it. Ben saw this gesture reflected in the window, and he looked at Hux, their gazes locked for an interminable moment before Ben reached for the glass. He hooked one finger loosely around the stem, the others curled on the table top.

Their eyes remained fixed on one another until Hux let go of the glass and brushed the pads of his fingers over Ben’s; Ben looked down then, tentatively allowing the contact at first, and then seeking it like a flower reaching for the sunlight. Hux held his breath, enthralled by Ben’s warmth, by the way he explored Hux’s touch, mapped the shape of his fingers with a thumb.

“All right boys, here you go,” their server said, appearing from thin air. A plate thumped down on the table, and Ben’s hand spasmed, and this time he did jerk away from Hux, wrist knocking the milkshake glass sideways. It tilted, almost spilled, but Hux snatched it, set it right.

Their waitress appeared to notice nothing amiss, laying their food out before them while Ben stared at the table, hands planted on the seat beside him. It was left to Hux to thank the server, who left them two choices of syrup on the table and disappeared with a casual l emme know if you need anything else.

Their feet were still connected beneath the table, and Hux hooked his toes around Ben’s ankle in a simulacrum of an embrace. It brought Ben’s eyes up again, and Hux’s chest twisted at the shame on his face. It made him want to crawl across the table and pull Ben to him with those ridiculous ears and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe.

“Life gets easier when you quit apologizing for yourself,” Hux told him quietly.

Ben watched him for a moment, seeming to consider his words. “Does it?”

Hux shrugged. “Mostly.” Apologies worked better with his father, were more likely to placate him instead of incite his rage, but Hux didn’t mention that.

Ben straightened, picking up a syrup tin and pouring some liberally over his pancakes. “Is that why you change clothes before you go home?”

Hux froze, his lips twitching into a frown. “How do you know that?”

Now it was Ben’s turn to shrug. “I saw you in the parking lot of the 7-11 a couple weeks ago. You looked...different.” Ben waved his hand vaguely at his own face. “All the piercings gone. Hair combed down. It was weird.”  

Hux’s fork clattered down on his plate, overcome by an acute impulse to flee. Ben must have seen it, because he reached quickly across the table and caught Hux’s finger with his pinkie. “You were still beautiful, though,” he said in a rush, apologizing for the wrong thing, and this time he did blush, the tips of his ears going rose-pink.  

His expression was so damnably earnest, like a window into some part of himself that only Hux had ever seen. Despite himself, Hux felt the panic begin to subside, and he slumped in the booth. When Ben saw his shoulders relax, he drew his hand away, picking up his fork with a cautious smile.

Hux did likewise.

The drive back across town was more sedate, the atmosphere in the car charged, with both of them seemingly content to lose themselves in the music that Ben turned up loudly enough that they had an excuse not to talk.

Ben seemed to know Hux’s neighborhood, and only needed a few pointers to find the right street. Hux sat huddled in Ben’s jacket, leg tucked beneath him in the seat as Ben pulled the car up to the curb in front of his house.

Ben turned the music down, and they sat for a quiet moment as the car idled. Hux felt slightly drunk, like he would wake up the next morning with a vicious hangover and only a partial, dream-like memory of this night.

“You should call me,” Ben finally said, head pillowed against the back of the seat as he looked at Hux.

“I already did,” Hux returned, smiling.

Ben’s answering laugh was little more than a huff of air. He looked like he wanted to say more, dark eyes drifting to Hux’s lips, but then he turned away and opened his door and stepped out of the car. Hux let go of the breath he’d been holding, disappointed, and then told himself he was foolish for it. Outside of this town, tucked in a little otherworldly microcosm where no one knew them, maybe they could be something besides mere acquaintances. But not here.

Hux opened his own door and reluctantly stepped back into reality. A light rain was falling, clinging to Ben’s wild hair in tiny droplets that glistened in the streetlight. He was opening the back passenger side door, taking Hux’s snare drum and his band uniform out.

“I’ll walk you up,” Ben said, using his knee to shut the door.

Hux didn’t have an opportunity to protest before Ben had rounded the back of the car and bounded up onto the curb. Hux followed him up the concrete steps to the top landing. The house was dark, but Hux could hear the indistinct drone of the television: international news, most likely. That, and documentaries on warfare were all Brendol ever watched.

Ben sat the snare case down before Hux’s front door, and Hux let Ben’s letter jacket slip from his shoulders. They traded, jacket for band uniform, and Hux didn’t miss the way Ben hesitated to take his jacket back.

“Thanks for...everything. Tonight.” Hux stammered lamely.

A car turned the corner down the street, capturing both of their attention as it drove by slowly, windshield wipers squeaking. Brake lights flashed red as it neared the end of the road, and then it was gone.

Ben’s face was flushed when their eyes met again. “See you on Monday, I guess?”

Hux nodded, for the first time in his eighteen years finding himself without a proper reply. And to such a simple question.

Ben bit his bottom lip, then took a small step closer until he was almost flush with Hux, and Hux sucked in a sharp lungful of air when he felt Ben’s hand on his waist. His stomach was knotted, breath shallow as Ben leaned down; their foreheads connected gently as Hux tried to angle his face up, and Ben’s big nose brushed Hux’s, and he was so close Hux could feel the heat of his breath and smell the lingering, sweet syrup on his lips.

Then the porch light snapped on, and Brendol shouted Hux’s full name from inside the house. Hux’s veins turned to ice, a feeling he knew would thaw into rage soon enough, and he didn’t want Ben to see any of it.

He stooped and snatched his snare case from the steps, wedged the screen door open enough to push inside, and then he stopped.

Ben stood there, nose red and face a mask of disappointment and embarrassment. His letter jacket hung in one hand, and Hux wanted to be cocooned within it again, to be surrounded by Ben’s smell, to feel like his possession.

Something crashed inside the house. Bottles spilling across the floor.

Not letting himself think, Hux reached out and grabbed a handful of Ben’s t-shirt and pulled him forward, balanced on his toes, and pressed their lips together. Ben made a soft sound, reached for Hux, but Hux was already backing through the door, clumsily trying to get through it with all his things before his father appeared to haul him inside by force.

‘Hux,” Ben said, eyes round and ardent. He caught at the screen door before it slammed between them.

Hux dropped his snare case on the wooden floor just inside the house, threw his garment back over it, and shoved it farther inside with his foot. “I have to go,” he whispered, but he leaned out far enough that Ben took the hint, and Hux gave him one last, fleeting kiss, touching Ben’s face with his palm just long enough to feel how hot and how soft his cheek was. Just long enough to burn into Hux’s being how badly he wanted his hands on every other part of Ben’s body.

Hux pulled away, didn’t meet Ben’s eyes again as he ducked inside his house, heart thundering in his ears and drowning out his father’s angry bellow from the living room. Hux shoved the door closed, leaning against it, and only then realized that all his facial piercings were still in, that he still had eyeliner on.

He scrubbed a hand across his face, slumping. He had his father on one side of the door, full of resentment and bitterness that he took out on his son, and on the other side of that same door was a boy too popular and too unsure of himself for Hux to ever have, despite the seeming promise in furtive touches and innocent kisses.   

Hux was, he realized, well and truly fucked.

Chapter Text

Ben hovered on the stoop outside Hux’s door, bathed in a halo of soft light from the porch lamp overhead. He couldn’t help listening, even though he felt wrong for it, like he was somehow violating a trust, pulling out the things hidden under the bed that weren’t for his eyes.

He forced himself back a step with that thought, then flinched when a door slammed inside the house, and he heard a voice that he presumed to be Hux’s father. The only word he could make out was boy , and it rang out like a curse.

There was silence after that, but Ben still waited at the bottom of the steps, only pulling on his jacket when the autumn drizzle turned into a steady, light rain. Most of Hux’s warmth was gone now from the thick lining, and Ben pulled it closer, chasing the last residual hint of him.

Ben was finally nothing more than cold, his hair plastered to his forehead, and Hux hadn’t come back to the door. Hadn’t asked Ben to rescue him from whatever darkness he’d come home to. And so he turned away, taking his time on the sidewalk, listening, looking back over his shoulder when he reached his car.

He thought he saw the blinds move on the far right window, but he couldn’t be sure.

Then the porch light flicked off.

Ben drove home in a daze, autopilot leading him into the hills overlooking the valley. He sat for a time in his driveway, the rain painting his windshield and washing away the outside world, encapsulating him with his thoughts. He took his phone out of his pocket, checking for missed calls or a text, but there was nothing.

Ben scrolled to the number Hux had dialed him from earlier that night, and saved the contact information, then he sent a text. Hey. You okay?

He waited, watching the phone’s screen for a notification. When nothing arrived for five, abnormally long minutes, Ben sighed and shoved the phone back in his pocket, pulled his keys from the ignition, and got out of his car.

His own house was easily twice the size of Hux’s, but all that meant to Ben was that there were more windows to be dark and empty. He ducked his head against the rain and hurried to the front door, unlocked it, and slipped inside, only to be greeted by a cavernous silence thick enough to swallow.

He stood for a moment with the door open behind him, just to hear the sound of the rain falling, pattering on the leaves and the concrete. Thunder rolled, sounding far away and nearly spent, and Ben took his phone out of his pocket once again, running a hand back through his damp hair when there was still no message from Hux.

Ben chewed on his bottom lip, considering sending Hux another message and debating the difference between worried and desperate , and whether or not he was, at the moment, a mixture of both.

He imagined he could still taste Hux’s too brief kiss, could still feel the imprint of his palm where it had touched his cheek.

He dropped his keys in the bowl by the door and walked to the kitchen; it was eerily silent but for the whir of the refrigerator. Leaving his book bag on the island counter, he opened the ‘fridge and found a neatly labeled Tupperware housing the dinner his parents had paid someone else to make for him. Ignoring it, Ben reached for the orange juice and poured himself a glass.

He sat on a stool at the bar and drank two cups, his phone lying on the counter in front of him; it remained dark, no incoming calls or messages. Not from Hux, nor his parents. His mother had sent him a text earlier in the afternoon to wish him well for the Friday night game, and to tell him she’d be home next weekend. He hadn’t heard from his father in weeks. 

At half past one, he put the orange juice away and took the stairs up to his room. He closed his bedroom door, even though there was no-one to close it to.

Ben climbed into the shower moments later, still thinking of Hux, and the way his long fingers felt almost fragile twined with Ben’s against the diner’s formica tabletop. How they’d been chilled and dewy from the milkshake glass. And so soft.

Ben couldn’t help spinning that moment on the porch into something more, in which Hux’s fingers trailed from his cheek down to the thin skin of his neck; Ben swallowed, touching his own fingers to the sensitive place just below his jaw, letting them drift down to the hollow at the base of his throat. Ben would let Hux map the shape of his chest, brush his knuckles teasingly over Ben’s belly, making him gasp because it tickled and sent little shock waves down his spine.

Ben groaned, his hand pausing on his own flat stomach before he touched his cock, which was filling at the thought of nothing more than Hux’s touch. He leaned forward, planting his palms on the shower tile, feeling shame pool in his gut, mixing with the undeniable desire. He’d just left Hux at home to an uncertain fate, to a father he was clearly afraid of, and Ben couldn’t jerk off to the thought of him with that haunting his memories, no matter how much he wanted to.

He turned the water temperature dial toward blue, and let the cold water clear his mind.

Ben collapsed into bed with wet hair, and checked his phone again. When there was no message, he hesitated for only a moment before sending another text. Call me?

He fell asleep with his phone in his hand, waiting.

Hux didn’t call that night, nor did he call Saturday, or Sunday. Ben worked up the courage to call him instead Sunday morning, on the off chance that Hux couldn’t receive texts for some reason, but the number went straight to a generic voicemail. Ben hung up without leaving a message.

Ben left for school Monday morning without eating breakfast, his stomach twisted with worry. He was exhausted from nights more sleepless than normal; his imagination had run the gamut from Hux’s father grounding Hux for Ben bringing him home late, to Hux regretting the kiss that Ben has been unable to put out of his mind for more than a minute since.

Ben was earlier to campus than usual, as he’d been lying awake staring at the ceiling since the first light of dawn had seeped through his blinds. He found a parking space near the front door, letting the car idle with the heat on; students trickled down the sidewalks, their breath thin clouds of vapor on the early morning air as they chatted. Most of the morning traffic into the school would come from the west side, where the buses and cars dropped off—this was, Ben had surmised, the direction Hux would arrive if he walked from Robert Street, where the 7-11 served as his bat-cave.

Scanning the street corner for that familiar shock of red hair, unease suddenly trickled down Ben’s spine; no matter how couched in genuine concern this might be, it bordered on stalking. If Hux hadn’t wanted to talk to him all weekend, how would Ben lying in wait for him at the front door serve as inspiration?

Blowing out a frustrated sigh, Ben turned the car off, instantly feeling the loss of the warm air from the vents. He looked at his phone one more time, then grabbed his bookbag from the passenger seat and emerged into the chilly fall air.

He walked to the front door at a sedate pace, with hands shoved into his pockets. He was lost in thought, rehearsing and discarding possible things he could say to Hux during their first period class. The stream of students heading for the door flowed around Ben, giving him a wide berth, like a small bubble of remoteness was something he’d earned along with his popularity; he didn’t look up from the concrete walkway until he reached the log-jam at the school entrance.

He caught the door with one hand, his timing forcing him to hold it open for the students entering from his left, and just as he was about to slip through, something caught his eye. At first, it was just a latent recognition, his eyes passing over the boy’s form and dismissing it subconsciously, but then Ben caught his elbow hard on the edge of the door as he stopped it mid-swing in his surprise, wincing.

The red hair gave Hux away, brilliant copper-gold that Ben found utterly unique, and yet it was tamed today, combed and gelled into perfect, almost severe order. His face was bare, waxen, as though even the cold could not bring color to his cheeks; the piercings were gone, his tattoos covered by a green button-up, the same shade as military fatigues. It was tucked into sensible khaki slacks, with a brown belt and polished shoes.

The first thought that surfaced out of Ben’s confusion was that Hux looked completely exquisite, like a refined, genteel version of himself, but the expression on Hux’s face was anything but proud. That’s when Ben noticed that Hux wasn’t alone; he kept pace, like a whipped dog, next to a man half a head taller with the same shock of red hair. The other man was portly, older, with a full beard, broad chest, and a glare that made him look half-barbarian, like he’d stepped out of Celtic legend.

Hux’s eyes flicked up from the ground at the same moment Ben realized the man beside him was Hux’s father, and the look in his eyes made things tilt. Hux didn’t—couldn’t perhaps—hold his gaze, and the two of them passed by Ben without another glance from Hux as Ben continued to prop the door open in a daze.

Things fell into place rather quickly for Ben then. The steel stud through Hux’s bottom lip had been cold when he’d kissed Ben Friday night, the eyes that offered him one, last longing look before disappearing into his house had been limned with black eyeliner. Hux finding himself trapped at school and the spontaneous excursion to the diner had taken the place of Hux’s usual afternoon pit stop at the 7-11, and he’d obviously forgotten to transform back into the obedient young man his father expected him to be.

Ben’s chest twisted with empathy, feeling his stomach drop with secondhand humiliation. He dropped the door, shouldering his way through the students in front of him, ignoring the way one boy snapped 'w atch where you’re going, asshole .'

He fell into pace behind Hux and his father, his step only slowing when he realized he had no idea what his plan was. To approach the elder Hux and demand he relinquish control of his son? To grab Hux by the arm and spirit him out of the hallway so he didn’t have to feel the curious, judgmental eyes of half the school on him? Because they were staring, steps slowing as more than one paused to point Hux out to their friend, or to gape with open mouths. This notoriety was something Hux had earned; there was hardly a person at Bail Organa High whose attention he hadn’t called to himself with the iconoclasm that he’d now been robbed of.

Hux never looked up, and his father said nothing to him—only marched alongside him with shoulders as squared as Hux’s were stooped. Hux seemed to be guiding him toward a predetermined destination, and Ben realized as he followed in their wake that they were heading for Snoke’s classroom—the first period class they had together.

Snoke was in the doorway, back propping the door open as he usually did in the morning, like a hawk assessing the mice that scurried past him into the classroom. Ben’s steps slowed as Hux and his barrel of a father stopped before their physics teacher, and Ben hovered beside the lockers trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. Hux looked profoundly uncomfortable, averting his face from the interaction, looking forlornly into the classroom as though it offered some avenue of escape. And perhaps it did.

So intent was Ben on hearing what Hux’s father and Snoke were discussing that he startled badly when Phasma’s voice suddenly exploded beside him; his shoulder collided with the lockers to his right with a metal clang, and he saw Hux flinch and look back for just a moment, then turn away again.

“Wow,” Phasma murmured. “Your boy cleans up nice.”

Ben looked at her with wide eyes, exhaled. “He doesn’t look happy about it,” he pointed out, ignoring the way Phasma labeled Hux as his boy .

She looked at him sidelong, the quirk of her lips suggesting that she was not above the same empathy that Ben felt. “What happened to you Friday night? You left the party like the house was burning down.”

Ben rubbed at his smarting shoulder and shrugged. “Hux needed…” He almost said me , corrected himself last minute to, “...a ride home.”

Phasma raised both eyebrows, watching Hux and his father where they stood in Snoke’s doorway. The elder Hux was leaning forward toward Snoke as he spoke, an intimidating posture that Snoke seemed nonplussed by; their teacher was regarding Hux’s father with the same icey-blue predatory gleam he bestowed on everyone, arms crossed over his chest. Ben ached to hear what they were saying.

“That all it was?” Phasma asked, and Ben took a moment to switch gears back to that conversation. “A ride home?” she clarified helpfully.  

Ben scuffed one foot against the floor, fingers squeezing the strap of his backpack while his chest did something fluttery and his head felt suddenly, abnormally light. He looked at the floor, focusing on Phasma’s shoes. “No. I um...we got pancakes. And we kissed. Sort of.” He stopped breathing for a moment, waiting for her reaction.

She nudged him with her shoulder, and Ben glanced up, seeing her blue eyes narrowed with amusement. He went rigid, stomach dropping.

“How do you sort of kiss someone, you dummy?” she teased with a good-natured smirk.

Ben just stared at her. The bell rang, and she patted his cheek. “Do better next time,” she said, throwing him a grin over her shoulder as she flounced away to her first period class.

Ben’s mouth dropped open around a reply that he couldn’t muster in time, but then he was frozen in the elder Hux’s path. For a brief moment, he thought the man was coming for him, because their eyes met briefly; they were unlike Hux’s—a murky hazel that betrayed nothing. He swept past Ben without reaction, and Ben turned to watch him go; students and teachers alike fell over themselves to get out of his path.

He had disappeared around the corner before Ben let out the breath he was holding, then turned to approach his classroom. He realized a few steps beyond the door that he was moving cautiously, as though toward an armed bomb, and he sighed, inwardly chiding himself.

Hux was at their table, backpack on the desk in front of him and his elbow propped before him. He had his head in his left hand, fingers splayed over his forehead, covering his eyes. Ben crept up quietly, slid his own bag onto the desk.

“Hey,” he said softly. It was the shortest greeting, the least likely word to bear a tremor.

Hux didn’t look up, but Ben saw his chest rise and fall with a sigh. Hux’s right hand was tucked into his lap, fingers curled against his belly.

“You feeling okay?” Ben tried, shifting into his seat. It scraped against the floor, sounding obnoxiously loud.

Hux’s head snapped around at Ben’s question, attention fixed on him, brows drawn in an affronted angle over his nose. “Do I fucking look okay?” he hissed.

Ben swallowed, cheeks heating. “I tried to call you this weekend,” he told Hux tentatively.

Hux looked away again, some of the tension seeping from his posture; it looked more like defeat than relief. “My dad took my phone,” he said, rubbing his wrist against his thigh. His forehead creased, like the action caused him pain.

Ben sat silently for a moment, giving Snoke a furtive glance as he walked by. “What happened?” Ben whispered when he looked back.

Hux sighed, blowing the air out of his nostrils, clearly irritated. “What does it look like happened, Ben?” Hux shot him a dark glare, his prickly exterior only betraying something vulnerable because Ben remembered how to see it, remembered how Hux had looked at him in the parking lot Friday night. Like he didn’t want to be alone in the dark.

Ben almost reached out to touch him then, but remained frozen in indecision until Hux looked away. He had no more chance to talk to him before Snoke’s voice commanded attention, and Hux did not look at him the rest of the period. When the bell rang, Hux was out of his seat and out the door before Ben could get his books back into his bag.

Hux shivered, his back against the brick wall outside, not caring that the dew point was high enough that the air was like a fine mist, making his skin damp and clammy and the paper of his cigarette moist. He sucked in the acrid smoke, coughed it out, and waited for the sound of the door creaking open on its stiff, squealing hinges.

He didn’t have to wait long.

It was too gray and monotone outside for shadows, but Ben still cast a presence over Hux, making him hyper-aware, unable to decide if he wanted to shout at Ben to fuck off, to flee, or to turn toward him and hide against his chest.

Ben didn’t speak immediately; he let his backpack settle on the ground and then he leaned against the wall, side by side with Hux. The sleeve of his letter jacket brushed Hux’s shoulder, and Hux could almost feel the warmth that had been absorbed in the soft lining, how it had permeated his skin Friday night.

“I guess you saw my father,” Hux muttered, staring at his cigarette where he held it against his thigh. He flicked the ash off the tip, watched it continue to burn slowly.

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, sounding unsure what, exactly, he was sorry for.

Hux looked at him; Ben was looking at the ground off to Hux’s right, and didn’t meet his eyes. They stood in silence for a moment, and Hux took another drag from his cigarette, turning his head to blow the smoke away from Ben.

“For what it’s worth,” Ben said softly. “You look really good. Like this.”

Hux coughed again when his chest constricted with a burst of dull rage. He rounded on Ben, flicked his cigarette at his feet and smashed it with his polished fucking dress shoe. “Is that so?” he spat. “Now that I look like one of your lickarse sheep?”

Ben’s expression twisted with hurt, ears flushed and amber eyes searching Hux’s face for inspiration. “That’s not what I meant,” he tried gently.  “I mean...you always did. Look good.” He flushed, rolled his eyes skyward and looked away. “Jesus. I’m fucking great at this.”

Hux bit the inside of his lip, deflating, and he kicked Ben’s shoe, not caring if he scuffed his own. “Haven’t you ever had a crush before?”

Ben’s pretty mouth curved into a slow smile, its character painfully innocent as he looked back at Hux. “Not like this,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Hux’s stomach dropped, breath hitching in his chest. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out and pull Ben to him by the front of his shirt like he had Friday night. Not like this. Hux could relate, completely, however much he might not think it wise.

That, perhaps, was part of the appeal.

Ben’s eyes held his, like he too was weighing the wisdom of this thing between them. Hux nearly flinched away in surprise when Ben suddenly lifted his hand toward Hux’s face, thinking for a moment that he meant to do what Hux had not, and kiss him. Instead, he slid his fingers into Hux’s carefully ordered hair, combing and rifling through it until it fell across Hux’s forehead, totally disheveled.

“I like your hair better like this,” Ben said with a cautious grin. He took his hand away slowly, letting the side of his thumb trace the line of Hux’s jaw.

Hux swallowed, heart beating out of rhythm. “Careful, Ben,” he said flippantly, eyes flicking over Ben’s shoulder to the row of windows lining the annex across the lawn. “People might see.”

Ben shrugged. “So.”

Hux started to rake his fingers back through the hair Ben had made a mess of, and then gasped with pain, pulling the hand back, flexing his wrist.

Ben’s brow creased. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Hux said, too quickly, tucking his hand beneath the opposite arm.

Ben just frowned, reaching out and guiding Hux’s hand toward him, straightening the wrist, which was swollen and bruised below the hem of his shirt. He just held it that way for a moment, fingers gentle, like Hux might break. He smoothed the skin just beside Hux’s wrist bone.

“Your father did this?”

Hux shrugged one shoulder. “I tried to keep him from taking my phone away.” He pulled his hand away slowly, and Ben let him, but took a step closer to him as though to make himself a barrier between Hux and anything dangerous waiting in the wings. Hux smiled wanly, still not used to the way Ben made him feel upside down and inside out.

“Let me drive you home after school?” Ben asked, the words sounding hopeful.

Hux smirked. “You want to come home with me on our second date?” he teased, his grin broadening when Ben blushed.

Ben opened his mouth to respond to that, but then the second you’re seriously late bell sounded, and he jolted. “Fuck, I have to go.” He reached down and grabbed his bag and started to spin away. Then he stopped, turning back and edging closer to Hux, linking one finger around his.

“Meet you after seventh period? You know where I park?”

Hux just nodded. He might have said yes to anything, right then.

Ben’s smile was like the sun, lingering over Hux even as he watched Ben walk across the commons to his next class.

Ben sat folded in the front seat of his BMW, the door open to the clamor of free students on their way home. He kept looking up to scan the crowd, heart in his throat with anticipation, afraid that Hux might not show.

Ben hadn’t seen him again since just after first period; Hux hadn’t appeared for lunch, though Ben suspected he was avoiding confrontation. That just left Ben feeling bitter toward Mike and Jason, whose attempts to include him in their conversation were tuned out.

He fidgeted with his cell phone, texting Phasma between rounds of a trivia game; she was on her way home, and had demanded all the details of Friday night so she could read them at stoplights. Her only responses so far had been easy-to-type emojis: heart-eyed smiley faces and aubergines figured prominently, leaving Ben perpetually flustered.

He’d just sent her a text about his feelings on Hux’s eyes when the passenger side door burst open, startling him so badly he dropped his phone in the floorboard. He looked around in time to see Hux slide into the seat beside him and cram his book bag between his feet.

“Miss me?” Hux asked, pale eyebrows lifted just a hairsbreadth over his perfect nose.

“Where were you at lunch?” Ben asked, reaching down to grope for his phone.

“Plotting my eventual ascent to galactic dominance,” Hux quipped, pulling the door closed and tugging the seat-belt down over his shoulder.

Ben found his phone, pocketed it, and pulled his own door closed. “Don’t skip tomorrow,” he said, trying to phrase it more like a question. He glanced at Hux as he turned the vents on.

“Maybe,” was all Hux said.

They pulled away from school, Hux fiddling with the stereo. “So do you really not care?” he asked.

Ben threw him a glance, looked quickly back to the road. “About?”

“People at school knowing. About you.”

Ben sighed. “I don’t think it’s actually that big of a secret,” he admitted.

Hux made a noncommittal noise, settled on a classic rock station playing Bohemian Rhapsody. “I’ve never had anyone over at my house,” he told Ben.

Ben didn’t ask why, imagining the answer was rather obvious. They reached a five mile stretch of Jodson Parkway, and when Ben settled into a fourth gear cruise, Hux reached across the center console and twined their fingers together. It was distracting, comforting, everything all at once. 

It only took ten minutes to reach Hux’s house from campus, and they made small, slightly awkward talk about classes as though there was not an elephant riding in the back seat. Ben had a hard time concentrating on the road with Hux’s hand in his, and only reluctantly let it go when they came to Hux neighborhood.

Hux led Ben up the stairs to the front door, a strange sense of deja-vu making Ben’s skin prickle, and he couldn’t help a burst of nerves as Hux turned the key in the door. He wasn’t sure if it was because he expected Hux’s father to suddenly materialize in righteous wrath, or because he was about to be alone with Hux.

“Is your dad going to be pissed at you having someone over?” Ben asked, edging inside the house and looking around warily. The door opened into a living space, a sienna couch against the left wall, flanked by a steamer trunk masquerading as a coffee table. Ben could see all the way to the far side of the house from this vantage, past the dining room table and its two lonely chairs, into the tiny kitchen.

Hux shut the door behind them, hanging his keys on a peg. “I think as long as he knows where I am, he doesn’t give a fuck,” Hux said, circling Ben and leading them through the living area. He paused suddenly in front of a closed door, turning abruptly to Ben, who collided softly with him.

Ben steadied them both with a hand on Hux’s hip, dropped it back to his side, sheepish. Hux’s eyes were creased at the sides as he gave Ben an earnest look.

“Just don’t... judge me, okay?” he ground out hesitantly.

Ben squinted, was about to ask what reason he’d have for that, when Hux turned away again and opened the door. It drifted open quietly, and Hux stood back against the frame, waiting, perhaps, for Ben to react in some way.

Ben wanted to, but didn’t.

Hux’s room was small, with weathered but spotless wooden floors. Perfectly centered against the north wall was a twin bed with a simple steel frame, plain olive green blanket made with precision hospital corners. One pillow lay perfectly straight at the head, fluffed and arranged with such care that it looked as though it had never been slept on.

The walls were painted a crisp, unblemished white, and were completely bare. No posters, no photos, no awards or accolades. There was nothing here that spoke of the vibrant, rebellious boy that had taken Ben’s breath away six weeks before.

He felt Hux watching him, and hoped that he hadn’t lingered there staring too long; he could tell that Hux was waiting for something. Some comment. Judgment.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ben spotted something resting on the only other piece of furniture in the room beyond the simple nightstand. A desk was just perfectly opposite the bed, half hidden by the open door, and it boasted a sleek, black computer, tower blinking behind the monitor. At the corner of the desk, held up by a metal stand, was a model of an Imperial Star Destroyer.

Ben let himself be pulled across the room by this, intent on focusing on something that wasn’t Hux’s barren prison.

“Did you make this?” he asked with undisguised awe, leaning down to peer at it. The detail was exquisite, ventral cannons lining the underbelly, command viewports made of polished plastic that looked like genuine transparisteel. There were even tiny figures within, with painted Imperial uniforms.

Hux appeared beside him, lifting the model from its stand. He had a genuine smile on his face when Ben looked at him.

“Yeah.” Hux turned it in his hands, offered it to Ben, who took it gingerly. “It’s one of the few hobbies my dad approved of."

Ben declined to comment, holding the Star Destroyer up to eye level and admiring it. “It’s fucking awesome,” he told Hux, not having to feign his admiration.

“Thanks,” Hux murmured. He gently took the model back after a moment, replacing it on the desk.

Ben nodded toward the computer. “You can get online?” He was suddenly thrilled at the idea of being able to talk to Hux on Skype. To be able to see him whenever they wanted.

Hux frowned, nudging the corner of the desk with his thigh. It jostled the mouse, and the monitor flared to life. The background was a mushroom cloud flowering in a red sky. “Only for certain things. No social media.”

This time Ben could not help himself. “Why? That’s kind of...bullshit.” Eloquent,  he chided himself.

Hux didn’t respond, pulling out the single chair in front of the desk. “Want to hear something I wrote?”

Ben was confused until Hux picked up a pair of headphones that actually looked as though someone had spent money on them. Hux held them out to Ben, and tugged the chair out a little further.

Ben got the picture then, taking the headphones and sinking down into the chair. Hux took the mouse and clicked through a few commands, opening up a program that Ben couldn’t begin to decipher. The graphic was replete with dials and sliding bars with labels like note divide probability and delay intensity , a miniature keyboard in the corner.

Hux navigated through a menu and opened a file called Arkanis , and glanced at Ben, who quickly donned the headphones.

“Be right back,” Hux said, his voice muffled, and then he clicked play.

Hux vanished from his peripheral vision, and the program on the screen burst to life in greens and yellows and reds, sound-waves flickering across a stylized decibel meter. The music that filled the headphones was unlike anything Ben had ever heard—electronica that coiled up from a dark origin of growling, simulated guitar and bass to carry a symphony of reverberating, psychedelic loops and keyboard melody. There was a sample laying over it all, a female voice that drifted out of the depths, repeating one, almost familiar line: “It can’t rain all the time. The sky won’t fall forever.”

Ben was instantly lost in it, startled when Hux suddenly appeared again, scooting one of his kitchen chairs next to Ben’s. Ben glanced at him, and Hux’s eyes were openly full of hope. Not wanting to take the headphones off, but wanting to show Hux his appreciation, he reached out and draped his hand over Hux’s knee, tugging it flush to his own, needing to be connected to him some way. Ben leaned closer, and Hux slumped against him, their shoulders pressed together.

Somewhere in the second song that Hux played for him, their fingers laced together again in Hux’s lap, and Hux hooked his left foot around Ben’s ankle. Hux merely rested against him, watching the screen and giving Ben occasional, shy glances, studying his expression for, Ben guessed, his approval.

Before a third song could spool up, Hux grasped the mouse and clicked pause, and Ben slipped the headphones off with his free hand, setting them on the desk.

“Well?” Hux asked, smiling. The expression made him look young, like he didn’t carry the burden of an overbearing, abusive father and a harbor wellspring of loneliness.

“It’s incredible,” Ben told him with all honesty, squeezing his hand. “You actually made that?”

“Mmhmm.” Hux’s eyes were warm and green, the kind of look Ben thought he deserved to have. “I’m glad you like it.” Hux added softly, shyly.

Ben bit the inside of his bottom lip, trying to think of the perfect compliment. In his thought process, he let go of Hux’s hand and traced the line of his forearm to his elbow; Hux had shed his dress shirt when he’d left the room earlier, and his skin was soft beneath Ben’s fingertips.

“I like it a lot,” Ben murmured, not meaning only the music. He shifted closer, having no idea how this kind of thing went, his only real experience having happened with girls he’d felt obligated to make attempts with.

It was gratifying to feel the way Hux’s arm prickled with gooseflesh, fine, soft hairs standing up as Hux, too, drifted closer. He held Ben’s gaze, pupils swelling in the bright irises, and his eyelids only fluttered down when Ben closed the gap between them and met his lips.

Hux wasn’t insistent this time, not like the hard, quick kiss on the porch; he let Ben guide him now, and Ben took his time, trying to be careful not to fuck it up. He traced the contours of Hux’s soft lips with his own, memorizing the curves and the cupid’s bow and the way the corners dipped. Then he delicately brushed the tip of his tongue to Hux’s bottom lip, and Hux opened for him, letting Ben taste, explore the shape of his mouth, the feel of his tongue. Hux’s hand settled on Ben’s thigh, sliding in between his his legs, which Ben parted instinctively.

The only sounds in the room were the soft exhalations of warm breath through their noses, the delicate brush of lips, and the buzzing in Ben’s ears. His entire body was alight, trembling fingers finding Hux’s face and cupping his cheek, curling around his slender neck to caress the short, silk-soft hair at the base of his skull. He leaned closer, deepening the kiss, wanting to drown in it and wanting to pull Hux into his lap, but he broke off with a gasp as Hux’s hand grazed the underside of his balls, making him jolt in his seat.

Hux’s hand paused while Ben caught his breath, their foreheads resting together, Ben’s hand still curled around Hux’s neck.

“You okay?” Hux asked, his hoarse, unhinged voice making Ben’s belly do flips.

Ben tried to speak, to say yes , but all that came out was a raspy sigh. He nodded instead, and Hux moved his hand again, caressing Ben’s soft inner thigh, taking control of the kiss. He suckled at Ben’s bottom lip, hand turning to cup Ben’s balls through his slacks, thumb teasing at the base of his cock, which had been half hard already and was now filling out completely.

Ben swallowed, breaking their kiss again, which had become clumsy by this point with his arousal. “Hux,” he whispered, not knowing what else to say, and then was robbed of any potential speech by Hux’s fingers closing on the outline of his prick with just enough pressure to feel the shape of it. The tiny groan from Hux’s throat made Ben twitch, planting his feet hard on the floor as though to keep himself from melting over the edge of the chair.

Hux’s touch was alternately light, fluttering fingers outlining Ben’s length through his trousers, and rubbing pressure down the shaft. Every variation was a different tenor of electricity up his spine, Ben's thought process turning to static, until he dimly recognized that he was doing nothing but allowing Hux to pleasure him.

Ben forced his hand to move, drifting down over Hux’s shoulder, knuckles brushing over the lines of his chest, the concavity of his belly. He pulled at the hem of Hux’s t-shirt, and Hux shifted forward, like he was giving permission to touch, and stroked his hand down again between Ben’s thighs.

Ben actually bit his lip, tasting the faintest hint of copper, and maneuvered his hand beneath Hux’s shirt. His belly was so perfectly soft, fine hairs grazing his fingertips as Ben traced his shape. Ben’s face was hot, breath shallow as Hux’s lips left his own and peppered kisses across his chin, his cheek, toward his ear. Ben tilted his head, giving him all the access he wanted as he continued to trail a feather-soft touch along Hux’s torso. He felt so perfect , all smooth lines and thin frame and soft skin and flat chest with the hard, peaked shape of his nipple...pierced? His fingers fluttered over the two knobs of steel, shifted them curiously, and Hux’s hand closed, hard, over his cock as he gasped.

That was all it took. Ben came, tried to muffle his cry in Hux’s shoulder as shock-waves coursed through him and pushed out all rational thought. He felt hot, wet spend spreading through the fabric of his underwear, and Hux gripped him through it, stroking, pressing kisses to the underside of his jaw.

When he came down at last, Ben felt boneless, the tide of arousal sweeping out to be replaced by humiliation. “Fuck…” he muttered, pushing himself upright in the chair. “I’m sorry…”

Hux drew back, his eyes glazed. “For what?”

“I…” Ben began, but floundered. “Your nipples are pierced,” he said instead, stupidly.

Hux grinned. “Good catch.”

Ben swayed forward, nuzzled his face in Hux’s neck, inhaling the scent of him, wanting to pull him out of his chair and gather him close. “I could…” he started to suggest, when from the front of the house, the door opened.

All semblance of satiation fled in a surge of adrenaline, and Ben lurched away from Hux, tugging his shirt from the waistband of his slacks and pulling it down over the wet spot that had spread across his crotch. He pushed his chair across the floor, away from Hux, and then glanced at him, only to find Hux lazing in his chair like a pleased, unconcerned cat.

The front door closed, and footsteps sounded across the wooden floor. Ben snatched the headphones off the desk, trying to look as though that was all he had been doing with his hands.

Hux’s father appeared in the door, looming and radiating something powerful. He looked over them both as Ben tried to avert his face in an attempt to look more interested in the computer. Hux, Ben saw from the corner of his eye, was staring defiantly at his father.

“You are?” the elder Hux finally growled at Ben.

“Um. Ben,” he croaked, wincing at how guilty he sounded. He cleared his throat, summoning his public speaking voice. “Ben Solo.”

Hux's father looked him over, face impassive. His eyes swept to Hux, and they regarded one another for a long moment. Then his father sighed, a long, in-drawn breath he released through his nose. With one meaty hand, he pushed the door all the way in toward the room, so that it was flush with the wall behind it.

“You two keep the damn door open,” he ordered, eyeing Hux again, who managed to remain impassive even as Ben had to turn away to hide the way all the blood suddenly drained out of his face.

Steps receded further into the house, and Ben slowly turned back to find the doorway empty. He glanced at Hux, fearful that something had just gone horribly awry for him, something he’d pay for, and for a moment Hux did not react.

Then he glanced to Ben, and his lips curved up in a mischievous smile.

Chapter Text

Did you ask your dad yet?

Ben sent the text from his car, jittery with nerves that had seemed inclined to plague him in some manner from the moment he’d met Hux. Now, there was no way or reason to deny that the fluttery feeling in his belly, like it was full of butterflies, was the direct result of his very first, very real crush.

He’d liked other boys before, but as far as he knew, that had been secret admiration—he’d never acted on any of his interests, too afraid of reading someone wrong and mistaking friendliness for attraction. And there had been that older boy, Poe, that he’d been fascinated with from afar when he was in ninth grade, but Poe had been his mother’s young intern, a first year college student, and so far out of Ben’s league that his feelings were more similar to the way a favorite, wholly unobtainable musician or actor held a distant allure.

Ben’s phone dinged, and he let out a breath of relief; he’d been marginally worried that Hux’s father had caught Hux up late on his emergency cell phone talking to Ben, using unauthorized minutes for non-regulation two a.m. calls.

The Commandant has been briefed and permission to go ahead with the mission has been granted.

Ben grinned and sent Hux a smiley face and a car symbol in response, then cranked his music up and backed down the driveway. He was almost giddy on the way to Hux’s house; everything felt clearer, from the bright fall sun glimmering off his windshield to the sounds of Alice In Chains coming from the stereo. It was like Ben had at last managed to tune in to the right station, the right frequency, and now everything was hitting him in high definition.   

Hux parted the blinds with two fingers, leaning forward to peer out to the street; the sun was obnoxiously bright and his eastern facing window stared right into it. He sneered and let the blinds pop closed, turning and inspecting his room.

The bed was squarely made with symmetrical lines, and the furniture, sparse though it was, was freshly dusted. He was dressed smartly in gray slacks and a powder blue button-up, every hair in perfect order and shoes buffed.

His physics book rested on the desk where Brendol had inspected Hux’s homework a half hour earlier, frowning severely at it as though it offended him that Hux had carefully written out his wholly dispensable steps for each solution—math was a language as clear to Brendol as the written word, and was perhaps one of few things Hux would admit they had in common. 

Snoke had unwittingly done him a favor the day before after Brendol had ferried Hux along on his walk of shame; arriving at Snoke’s door, his father had appealed to Snoke’s soon-to-be-made-apparent lack of interest in the Hux family drama by ordering Snoke to report to him were Hux to arrive at school in some disreputable state of dress. Rather than agree to this, Snoke had given Brendol a pinched look and suggested to Brendol that he spend more time monitoring whether Hux did his homework rather than over-styled his hair. 

Brendol’s jaw had gone rigid at that, face just beginning to pink as he turned a glare on Hux, who was near bursting with nerves and hiding half inside the classroom, trying to appear as though he wasn’t actually the subject of this humiliating conversation. The air grew charged between he and his father and Hux sensed the forthcoming tirade, but then Snoke threw him a bone. 

“He’s one of the brightest young men I’ve ever taught. He has a gift that should be nurtured, cultivated. He has the potential to go on to great things, with the right encouragement ,” Snoke had informed Brendol.

This had immediately diffused the situation, making Hux’s shoulders slump with relief. To his father’s credit, Brendol did not act surprised to be receiving this news from Hux’s physics teacher; he merely drew himself to his full height and pulled in a deep breath that made his chest swell in some form of pride. Whether that was in Hux, or in himself for having spawned such a son, Hux couldn’t define. 

In the end, Brendol had traded them both a look and reassured Snoke by way of growling at Hux that he’d better shape up or he’d be sorry. He’d left out what kind of sorry Hux would be, and Snoke hadn’t pursued the implied threat as Brendol stalked off and left Hux in his care.

When he’d gone, however, Snoke had eyed Hux and said, “ Don’t ever let anyone get in your way, Armitage.” Then he’d swept past Hux into the classroom without another word, leaving Hux contemplating the entire bizarre and unexpected exchange. He talked to Ben about it later that day, and while neither of them was sure what Snoke meant with his cryptic advice, they both thought they might just be beginning to like the old bat.

After inspecting Hux’s physics homework, Brendol had stuffed his hands in the pockets of his dress slacks and they’d stared one another down over six feet of spartan space. Several seconds had gone by before Brendol simply nodded once and turned for the door. He’d paused in the doorframe, looked back at Hux with eyebrows drawn together, and said, All right. What do you want?

Neither Hux nor Brendol were the sort to equivocate; they both found it a waste of time. Human interaction was simpler when viewed as a balanced equation—you get out what you put in. Brendol’s expectations of his son were no mystery to Hux; they were just a set of inapplicable standards and rule sets that Hux chose to ignore because Hux got more out of doing what he wanted than he did out of pleasing his father, even with the inevitable repercussions.

This time, however, what he wanted was Ben Solo, and he’d be damned if his father was going to get in the way of that. If Hux had to bend the proverbial knee for the freedom to ride to school in Ben’s car, it was completely worth it.

Hux closed his physics book and slid it into his backpack—his father had inspected that too, making Hux hold it open to ensure that there was no change of clothes or other unapproved paraphernalia smuggled within. It hadn’t escaped Hux that Brendol only gave the bag a cursory look, not rifling through the contents that nearly filled it. Had he looked closer, he’d have found Hux’s cigarettes, his glass pipe and the eighth of weed he’d nicked off some sophomore tool who thought he was clever shite running a drug business out of his locker. The combination Hux had memorized over the kid’s shoulder had kept him stocked for weeks. 

Hux was zipping the bag just as he heard a car door slam; one part of his brain continued trying to close the bag while the other had him moving toward the window, resulting in Hux pulling the whole thing off the chair into the floor. Cursing, he caught it just as it spilled all its nefarious contents into the open. He had to spend precious seconds shoving everything back inside, skin prickling and making him check over his shoulder several times for his father, who always managed to appear from thin air at the worst possible moment. It should have been impossible for a man his size, but it wasn’t.

Just as he zipped his backpack closed and slipped it onto his shoulders, he heard the doorbell ring. He cursed again when he heard the deadbolt click and the chain scrape back; Brendol must have been waiting at the door. 

Hux made it around the corner and lurched to a stop just in time to see Brendol swing the door open, and for the briefest of moments Hux thought Brendol had just been gaslighting him, and planned to send Ben away with some choice and blistering words. But then his father reached out and unlocked the screen door, depressed the handle, and pushed it out. 

Ben intercepted it and it creaked open as Ben stepped around it and into the house. Brendol backed up, but only enough to allow Ben through the door; they were almost the same height, but despite Ben’s sturdy build he managed to look willowy in the face of Brendol’s expert looming. 

Ben, to his credit, didn’t cower like most people did. “Mister...um. Hux,” he fumbled, brow creasing. 

Hux snorted under his breath and surged forward, crossing the few steps to Ben and catching his elbow with one hand, pushing him back toward the open door. “Okay. Thanks Da.”

Brendol’s hand shot out and flattened over Hux’s chest. “Not so quick there, boy,” he grumbled, and Hux blew out a resigned sigh and he and Ben shared a furtive glance.

Brendol folded his arms, chin tilted up in a way that made his bristly red-orange beard seem stiff and at attention; he looked down his nose at Ben, and Ben squared his shoulders and offered Brendol his hand.

It was a clever move, intentional or not, because it forced Hux’s father to uncross his arms.  

“Nice to see you again,” Ben said with a chipper tone Hux had only heard him use when speaking to teachers and administration.

Brendol grunted and Hux could see the way his father’s knuckles flexed and stood out sharply as he enclosed Ben’s hand in a crushing grip. Ben didn’t flinch, barefaced with an award-winning smile. He looked like a politician greeting his constituency, and Hux’s mouth fell open slightly.

“Ben Solo,” Brendol intoned, giving Ben’s smart clothes an obvious once-over. “You come from a good family?”

Hux groaned under his breath. “Da, seriously, we’re going to be late,” he complained, managing to shift one foot before Brendol turned a withering glare on him. He froze, clenching his teeth and feeling his heart speed up with rising frustration.

Brendol still had Ben’s hand enclosed in his own, as though he wasn’t going to allow Ben to leave the house with his son if he gave the wrong answer.

“My parents are respectable people. They pay their taxes, donate to charity, serve their communities. Keep their lawn well-manicured,” Ben answered, as though he got this kind of question often and had prepared a response.

Hux held his breath as he watched Brendol’s eyes narrow, tiny weathered lines spider-webbing from the corners as he seemed to consider whether or not he was being mocked.

“My mother is a senator,” Ben said, which somehow came as news to Hux. “My father is in international shipping.”

“Politics and trade,” Brendol huffed, but let go of Ben’s hand at last. Hux saw Ben flex his fingers at his side, red imprints burned into the sides of his palms. “And you live around here?”

Ben gestured vaguely toward the west side of the house. “Alderaan Heights,” he said. “A few miles.”

“So you have money, then,” Brendol surmised, and Hux immediately wondered how he guessed that. Despite over half a year in this town, Hux knew very little about the layout or the neighborhoods beyond what streamed past through the bus windows.

This question clearly threw Ben off, because Hux saw his ears redden beneath his dark hair. Something about that made Hux want to pull him close and nibble his earlobes and feel the heat beneath his skin.

Ben shuffled his feet, caught himself doing it and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “My parents are conscientious with their investments,” he deflected.

Brendol smirked, folding his arms again. “You talk in circles,” he told Ben. “You’re either modest or a politician at heart.”

It bothered Hux that he and his father had shared such an impression. “Da, if you’re done with the third degree, here? We’re just going to school, not moving in together.”

Ben glanced sharply at him, lips parted, then looked back to Hux’s father and cleared his throat. “Right. I was going to ask, however, if you would mind if H...um, Armitage came over to my house after class. We have a physics project we really need to work on.”

Hux’s eyes widened—going to Ben’s house after school had not been a part of their discussion on the phone the night before. He reflexively backed a step away from his father, afraid Brendol would think they planned this surprise attack.

“We won’t be alone,” Ben added. “My Aunt Martine comes by when my parents are out of town.”

Hux’s eyes bored into the side of Ben’s head; this was yet another thing Ben hadn’t mentioned, and yet he sounded completely convincing. His father and Ben continued to stare one another down until Brendol finally sighed, glancing at Hux.

“Home by ten,” he growled.

“Midnight,” Hux riposted, figuring if luck was being pushed it ought to go all the way. “It’s Friday, Da. I’m eighteen, not twelve.”

Brendol’s lips pursed into a thin line, disappearing under his mustache. “You were staying out until midnight when you were twelve, too, you little shite.”

Hux sneered and Brendol narrowed his eyes and shook his head, turning his attention on Ben instead. “Midnight. Not one minute after.”

Hux was moving forward before Brendol finished talking, pushing Ben toward the door. “Right, thanks, Da. See you later.”

Ben seemed to hesitate, like he wanted to say something else to Hux’s father, but Hux didn’t give him the chance, nearly making him stumble as he hustled him out the door. Neither of them spoke on the way to the car with Brendol standing in the open door watching them. Hux’s father only disappeared back into the house when they were safely ensconced in Ben’s BMW.

“What the fuck was that?” Hux hissed.

“Really fucking awkward?” Ben answered immediately, jamming his keys in the ignition.

Hux glanced at him and saw he was a shade paler than normal. Hux bit his lip, reaching over and tugging on the fabric of Ben’s shirt. Ben glanced at him, raking hair back from his forehead.

“I’ve never seen anyone stare my father down like that,” Hux said. “Besides me.”

Ben chewed the inside of his cheek and his brow wrinkled as his eyes flicked over Hux’s shoulder toward the house again. Hux’s head snapped around too, thinking Brendol was back in the doorway, but there was nothing. Then he felt Ben’s hand on his face, turning Hux gently toward him again, leaning across the center console to kiss him. Hux’s stomach lurched, breath catching in his throat, and a quiet, plaintive sound escaped his lips that made his cheeks heat. His jaw felt delicate cupped in Ben’s big hand, and he swayed toward him just as Ben pulled back, flushed and bright eyed.

Before Hux could say anything else, Ben twisted around to tug a bag out of the backseat. It was the same cheerfully printed cloth grocery sack Hux had given him the night before, and Ben deposited it in Hux’s lap with a mischievous smile that caught on Hux’s lips as well.

They took back roads to school while Hux replaced his father’s idea of who he should be with his own. The smothering dress shirt was the first thing to go, hung neatly over the headrest behind him. Hux almost sighed in relief when he felt the worn, soft fabric of his Nirvana t-shirt against his skin, and he counted on the fact that Snoke wasn’t going to say anything to Brendol as he pulled the passenger side visor down so could put his piercings back in and carefully outline his eyes with a black pencil.

The car filled with a chemical smell as Hux rubbed pomade through his hair, and while it might have been something that seemed a trivial touch to anyone else, it was like seeing himself come alive again in the mirror.

“Thanks for doing this,” Hux murmured to Ben in a nasily voice as he threaded his septum ring through his nose. He felt Ben look at him.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Hux smiled, snapping the visor closed and toeing his shoes off, shoving them as far under the seat as he could with one foot. His fingers went to his belt, unfastening it and flicking open the button, arching his back so he could shimmy out of them.

The car swerved to the side then and Hux had to grip the door panel, falling back into the seat with his slacks around his thighs. He looked at Ben just as Ben looked away, eyes resolutely focused on the road and cheeks flushed.

Hux grinned. “Never seen a half naked boy before?” he drawled, continuing to writhe out of his pants as Ben did his apparent best not to look at him.

Clearing his throat, Ben pulled to a deserted four-way stop and rolled through it. “Not from this angle,” he said, voice hoarse.

“And what angle have you seen them from?” Hux purred, tossing his slacks in the backseat and pulling his faded jeans out of the bag, shifting into them.

“I don’t know,” Ben huffed, flustered, finally allowing himself to glance sideways at Hux as Hux got the jeans around his hips.

Hux just grinned, pulling on his boots last of all and finally slumping back in the seat with a palpable sense of relief. There was silence for a few minutes as Ben began to steer them in the direction of school.

Then Ben said, “I forgot to do my homework yesterday for the first time in my entire life.”

Hux looked at him, and Ben added, “It’s your fault.”

Hux laughed from his belly, feeling giddy. “That’s fucking rich.”

“It’s not funny,” Ben groused.

“It is,” Hux said. “Since I actually did do mine for the first time in my life last night. And that’s definitely your fault.”

There was nothing notable about school that day, except the delicious way that everyone stared at him when he got out of Ben’s car. Snoke seemed subtly amused by Hux’s appearance rather than concerned, and leveled him with a long look full of consideration when Hux turned in a completed homework assignment.

Hux skipped lunch again, and Ben found him outside and skipped it with him, both of them sitting against the brick wall in the sun-warmed grass, close enough that their knees rested together. They listened to music on Ben’s phone with the same set of earbuds, heads bent together so they could talk between songs.

They both missed half their fifth period class because they didn’t hear the bell, and were only startled off the lawn by Mr. Calrissian bursting through the back door and hustling them back inside with a good-natured grin, as though they weren’t fooling him. Not that they were trying very hard.

Seventh period couldn’t have ended quickly enough, and Hux allowed himself to soak in a few more vapid stares as he leaned against Ben’s car door, fantasizing about Ben pulling him into a kiss in front of everyone.

When Ben finally emerged from the building, Hux saw with dismay that he was bracketed by that abysmal waste of space Mike Abernathy and the tall blonde girl he was always with. Phasma, he thought.

Hux pulled his cigarettes out of his backpack and fit one between his lips, lighting it as Ben made a beeline for him. He watched the myriad facial expressions between them all as they noticed Hux one by one. Ben was first, giving Hux a small smile; he was squinting in the afternoon sunlight which glinted in his dark hair and picked out lighter strands of a paler brown that Hux had never noticed before. Phasma looked pleased with herself for some reason, her mouth set in a neutral expression betrayed only by a small upward quirk in the right corner and glittering blue eyes full of mirth. Mike, not surprisingly, was the last to register Hux, and they sneered at each other the moment their gazes locked.

“You guys have, uh...met Hux,” Ben said with a touch of amusement in his voice.

“Not formally,” Phasma said cheerfully, sticking out a hand. “I’m Phasma. Ben’s better half since kindergarten.”  

Hux took the proffered hand, and she gave him a squeeze that somehow felt conspiratorial. Then she winked at him, and he raised an eyebrow, glancing at Ben to find Ben’s eyes on him. So this thing, whatever it was, wasn’t totally a secret , Hux thought to himself.

Beside Ben, Mike shifted a step back, face pinched. “Yeah. I’m gonna go, dude,” he told Ben while staring at Hux as though Hux were contagious.

“You do that,” Hux said, inhaling and blowing a cloud of smoke in Mike’s direction, making him cough and wave his hand in front of his face comically. He mumbled something and cast a dark gaze at Ben, receiving only a curt see ya as he stalked away. He looked over his shoulder to glare parting daggers at Hux, and Hux flipped him off with the hand curled holding his smoke.

Ben sighed, but didn’t bother trying to sing Mike’s praises, if there actually were any. “Let’s go,” he said, stepping closer to Hux where he leaned against the door and guiding him aside with a gentle nudge, hand briefly touching Hux’s hip as though to steady him. Just the brush of his fingers made Hux’s blood hot, and he tossed his still burning cigarette to the asphalt as he circled to the other side of the car, eager to get to Ben’s house.

Phasma draped her arms over the half open driver’s side window as Ben folded himself into the seat. “What are you kids getting into tonight?” she asked, her grin pearly white as if she already knew the answer to that.

“Just working on our physics project,” Ben said, turning the ignition.

Phasma laughed. “Ohhh. The one in fluid dynamics?”

Hux laughed, a delighted bark of amusement he stifled with the back of his wrist when Ben looked at him with flaming cheeks. Hux had to turn away and rest his forehead against the window for a few seconds to keep from laughing; if he had his way, that was exactly the kind of experiment they’d be doing.

Ben was tugging the door out of Phasma’s grasp when Hux looked around again, laughter contained. It slammed shut, and Phasma poked her head in even as Ben tried to roll the window up. “Ya’ll just be sure to wear your safety equipment,” she sang, and then Hux was laughing again.

Alderaan Hills was absolutely the posh part of town, and the farther they drove into the heights, the bigger the houses got. Hux stared out the window, curious, but not impressed, and thinking instead that it might be fun to cruise through and smash these fruity custom mailboxes with a baseball bat.

Ben became increasingly quiet as they wound through the streets, and answered Hux’s questions about his parents in monosyllables; either it was a topic Ben didn’t want to discuss or he was nervous about something. When they finally pulled into the empty driveway of a three story home (with an immaculate lawn), Hux thought he guessed what was perhaps behind Ben’s reticence.

“You don’t really have an Aunt Martine, do you?” he asked as Ben pushed his car door open and Hux followed him out.

Ben looked at Hux over the top of the car, folding his bottom lip sheepishly under the top one. “No. Martine is our housekeeper. She um...has the weekends off.”

Hux grinned and pulled his backpack out of the floorboard, nudging the car door closed with his hip. “You’re bad, Ben Solo,” he said. “I like it.”

Ben made a noncommittal noise and Hux trailed after him to the front entrance. “Do you think your dad will call or something? Want to talk to her?” Ben asked as he turned the key in the lock, the words a rush like he’d been fretting over a solution and coming up empty handed.

Hux shrugged. “Doubt it. He has a GPS tracker on my phone.”

Ben whirled halfway through the door and looked at Hux with an incredulous arch of his brows. “Are you serious?”

“Mmm. In case you couldn’t tell, he doesn’t trust me.” Hux slipped past Ben into the house, glancing around.

Ben shut the door with a soft click behind them. “Does he have a good reason not to?”

Hux smiled, but the expression wasn’t visible until he looked over his shoulder at Ben. “Maybe,” he said in a coquettish drawl. Before Ben could ask anything else, Hux turned and wandered farther into the house. “Show me around,” he suggested.

Ben seemed reluctant to do so, giving each room just a brief explanation from outer orbit and moving on to the next. The kitchen, the dining room, and the four season porch had floated by in this manner before Hux finally decided not to be rushed and broke away from Ben in the family den to move toward the mantle, where he picked up a framed photograph of Ben and an older man with a vicious scar across one side of his face. A younger Ben was smiling; the older man was not.

“Who’s this?” Hux asked, brandishing the picture.

Ben all but snatched the photograph away from him and set it back on the brick mantle gingerly. “My grandfather. He passed away.”

“I’m sorry,” Hux said.

Ben shrugged, shoulders stiff as he stared at the photo. “I don’t really like talking about it.”

Hux understood wanting to keep some things locked away, where they didn’t hurt. “My mother died too,” he told Ben, remembering the way she’d used to comb her fingers through his hair while he watched telly with his head in her lap. He’d been six, maybe seven then.

Ben looked at him then, and his posture sagged. “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

Hux let it go at that, drifting past Ben to a row of floor to ceiling windows obscured by drapes Hux guessed probably cost more than everything he owned in his own bedroom. He found the edge of one and pushed it back enough to peer through.

“You have a pool,” he said, giving Ben a sly look. “We could go skinny dipping.”

Ben colored and heaved a sigh. “We have a physics project to work on,” he told Hux, sounding serious.

Hux’s face fell as Ben turned away and crossed the den, looking back over his shoulder just once to see if Hux was following before he took the stairs to the second floor.

Ben hesitated outside his bedroom door just as Hux had in his own house the day before, his color high as he twisted the knob and stepped through. He took a few steps inside and stopped, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

“Don’t judge me,” he said in a small voice, thick with something that Hux couldn’t place, but that sounded like embarrassment.

If that was the emotion, Hux wasn’t sure why it fit. Ben’s room was spotless and organized, the walls a mishmash of posters and photographs of Ben with his friends. There was a framed print of Dali’s The Persistence of Time over the bed, and the bed was draped with a black duvet and red pillows. A computer desk held a laptop and a lamp and was framed by two massive bookcases filled with various books and brass-plated trophies of all shapes and sizes. Hux threw his backpack on the bed and crossed to the shelf, running his fingers over the shapes--the undulating ridges of a brain for an eighth grade science fair, an oblong football for sophomore varsity, three building-like tiers in red, white and blue for Model UN. Whatever that was.

Hux looked back at Ben, about to ask about it, and saw the anxious look on his face. Hux turned fully around then, raising his eyebrows. “What? You’re worried I’m going to judge you for being a chronic overachiever?”  

Ben flushed, tossing his backpack on the mattress beside Hux’s and shuffling toward his television. He stooped down and turned on an XBOX One, then settled on the floor with his back to the bed frame and a controller in his hands.

“I don’t know,” Ben mumbled, flicking through his home screen. “I guess it’s dumb to save that shit.”

Hux crossed to the bed and flopped down on it, elbows at the edge just to the side of Ben’s head. “It’s not dumb to be proud of your accomplishments,” Hux said, turning his face to nuzzle Ben’s hair, breathing in the subtle scent of sandalwood. “Or to want to remember them.”

Ben sighed, tilted his head toward Hux for a moment. “You got anything you want to play?” he asked.

Hux considered the screen, having no idea what to do with an Xbox, since he’d never owned one. “Nah,” he said. “I’ll just watch. As long as you’re killing something.”

Ben gave him an upside-down grin, then straightened again and clicked an icon to open a game. Music spilled from the television and the screen opened on the image of a man in a blue jumpsuit standing in a ramshackle wasteland town.

“You don’t keep all your trophies from elementary school on your walls,” Ben mumbled, and Hux watched as the character on the screen fit himself into a robotic metal suit.

Hux folded his arms on the bed and set his chin on them. “Because I don’t have any.”

Ben looked back at him with evident surprise. “Really? You’re twice as smart as I am.”

Hux rolled his eyes. “Not true. But it’s hard to win trophies for shit when you don’t try.”

Leaning his head back against the bed, Ben looked at him. “Why don’t you?” When Hux’s brows pinched over his nose, Ben added hastily, “Not that it matters. I’m just curious.”

Hux sighed, the irritation that had threatened to surface at that most age-old of questions subsiding. “Let’s just say I didn’t have the most charmed childhood, and let it go at that.” He didn’t want to tell this beautiful boy who’d only just started to open up to him about sleeping on the streets when he wasn’t couch hopping, about never having enough food to eat because his father was in prison and the family friend charged with Hux’s welfare was a mean drunk.

Ben just nodded slowly and focused on the video game again, which he began to explain at length to Hux, the words dispersing a heavy weight in the air the longer Ben spoke.

By the time the sun started to wane, they’d settled into a companionable silence only broken by Hux’s occasional questions about various apocalyptic creatures. Hux was content to watch Ben’s sole survivor flit back and forth between settlements and save the hapless residents (how they survived in the first place Hux wasn’t sure), until at last Ben had failed at the same mission three times and Hux started to get bored.

The sole survivor was running across the wasteland toward the objective for the fourth time when Hux shifted one arm so he could run the tip of his fingernail along the nape of Ben’s neck. He grinned when Ben gasped and flinched, pushing a button on the controller that made him fire his gun in a staccato burst.

He looked over his shoulder at Hux, who only smiled demurely and affected innocence. Warily, Ben turned back to the game.

Hux let him play for a few more moments, then blew a soft, warm breath through the hair on the back of Ben’s head. Ben shivered, trying to rub his neck with his shoulder.

“‘You’re gonna get me killed,” he said, grinning.

“That’s the idea,” Hux purred, draping one arm over Ben’s shoulder, propping himself on his elbow so he could lean closer.

Ben only managed to run a few more paces before Hux’s finger was tracing the shell of his ear, and this time Ben’s hands slumped to his lap, controller resting on his knee awkwardly. His shoulders moved in a stuttering sigh as Hux leaned close enough to brush his lips against Ben’s neck, just behind his earlobe.

Reaching behind him with a muted groan, Ben found Hux’s head and threaded his fingers into his hair. Hux leaned forward eagerly, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Ben’s neck as he bared it for him; his pulse was rapid beneath Hux’s lips, keeping pace with Hux’s own thrumming heart. As Hux peppered kisses along Ben’s jaw, Ben slowly turned toward him, soaking up the affection until their lips met.

The kiss, all awkward angles and spit-slick lips, was nevertheless like a dam breaking in Hux’s chest; he’d wanted this all day, wanted to lose himself in Ben’s hot mouth, as unsure and tentative as his kisses were. His stomach felt tight, like he was falling and seeing the ground rushing up toward him, and he found himself sliding off the bed and straddling Ben’s lap before he had time to register what he was doing through the fog of arousal in his head.

He felt Ben’s chest heaving as Hux buried his hands in that thick, soft hair, finding Ben’s lips again and breaking them open with his tongue, feeling Ben’s tongue slide against his. Ben rocked forward, adjusting his posture, one knee drawn up; the change in position let Hux settle more securely into his lap, and Hux squeezed his thighs around Ben’s hips, seeking friction for his half-hard dick. It had been so goddamned long since he’d gotten fucked and he was so lost in the wanting of it that he nearly let himself forget that Ben almost surely had no experience with this. That he was still innocent in a way that Hux had long ago ceased to be.

With a sigh, Hux pulled back, smiling when Ben chased the kiss with lips reddened and softly swollen.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asked, wide pupils darting to Hux’s eyes when Hux leaned too far back for him to kiss. A hand on Hux’s back tried to pull him closer, gently insistent.

“Nothing is wrong,” Hux murmured, tracing Ben’s strong jaw with his thumb. “You’re perfect.”

Ben’s ears got pink again, making Hux’s pulse flutter. This boy, despite his room full of trophies, was undone by the slightest praise. A room full of trophies in a big, empty house was like  performing a play for an empty theater.  

Hux pulled himself out of Ben’s lap, reluctantly, still hard enough that it was uncomfortable to stand with his jeans on. He saw Ben’s eyes flick to the outline beneath his zipper, and Hux almost laughed when Ben licked his lips.

In a fluid motion, Hux tugged his own t-shirt over his head, dropping it slowly to the floor as he looked down at Ben through his eyelashes. Ben’s mouth dropped open, and Hux kicked off his shoes and unzipped his pants. He had them halfway down his hips, red boxer briefs leaving little to the imagination, when Ben pushed himself off the floor and sat heavily on the end of the bed.

“Hux…” he began, eyes wide, barely able to focus on Hux’s face. “I’ve... never, um…”

Hux dropped his jeans to his ankles and stepped out of them, then walked toward Ben, putting his thumb over Ben’s lips. “I guessed,” he said, feeling suddenly and overwhelmingly protective of Ben. Like Hux wished someone had ever been for him. He leaned down, kissing the top of Ben’s head, then danced away, grabbing his bookbag off the bed as he went.

He glanced back when he got to the door, seeing Ben staring dumbfounded at him; Hux was standing there in nothing but his boxers and socks.

“Come on,” Hux said. “Let’s get in the pool.”

Hux skated out of the room and down the hall before Ben could object, careful of his socked feet on the wooden stairs. He didn’t wait to see if Ben was following, confident that he would.

Unlatching the sliding glass door behind the drapes, Hux slipped out onto the pool deck. It was tiled in blue and green mosaic, flanked by a patio set that looked as expensive as it did unused. Glancing around, Hux assessed the backyard; the back of the property was completely obscured by trees and ferns, the rest surrounded by a six-foot cedar privacy fence. Ben’s family was rich enough that they could afford not to look at their neighbors, and Hux couldn’t see anything but the top edge of one other house to the east.

Satisfied, Hux settled on the patio beside the pool, dropping his bag beside him and pulling off his socks. He fished out the ziplock back stuffed with dryer sheets that hid his weed and his pipe, then expertly packed a bowl. He lifted it to his lips and almost lit it before he thought better of that and decided to wait until Ben appeared, just in case he had some sort of strong objection.

It felt odd, to give a shit about something like that. But he found that he did.

Hux scooted to the very edge of the pool, dipping his feet in; the water was chilly, but the California summer heat was still stored in the pool like a charged solar panel, and the day had been sunny and warm. He stretched his legs out lazily, lifting one foot out of the pool to watch the water roll off it.

The sliding door hissed in the tracks again and Hux turned to see Ben step outside with two towels draped over his arm. Hux raised an eyebrow when he saw that Ben also had the necks of two open bottles of beer between the fingers of one hand.

Hux leaned back with one palm flattened against the tile, trying to see around the towels blocking his view of Ben’s body; he’d changed into black swim trunks, and actually managed to look almost shy as he shuffled toward Hux. Squatting beside him, Ben offered Hux a beer, which he accepted as Ben’s eyes took in the bowl in Hux’s hand.

Hux lifted it as Ben finally tossed the towels aside, out of range of sloshing pool water. “You mind?” he asked.

Ben sat down on the lip of the pool, dropped his legs in the water with a hiss. “You sharing?”

Hux smiled, pleasantly surprised. “If you’re nice to me,” he said coyly, touching Ben’s foot with his own under the water.

Ben smiled, then slid off the edge of the pool and into the water, beer and all. He submerged himself to his neck, eyes squeezed shut in evident discomfort, then stood up again with a gasp. “Fuck. This water’s cold as balls.”

Hux splashed him with his toes. “Wuss. I’ve swum in much colder water.” He flicked his lighter and held the flame to the bowl, watching the thick white smoke fill the glass before he took his finger off the carb and sucked it in.

Ben drifted closer to him, wrapping the fingers of one hand around Hux’s foot. It tickled, and Hux spat out the smoke, coughing.

“Where?” Ben asked when Hux finally caught his breath again.

Wiping tears from the corner of his eye, Hux passed the bowl and the lighter to him. “Where what?”

Ben wedged his beer bottle into the crook of his elbow and took the pipe, inspecting the charred pot in the bowl before tamping it down with the end of the lighter. “Where did you swim in really cold water?” He held the pipe to his lips and lit it, drawing in just a fraction of the smoke Hux had inhaled.

“Ireland,” Hux told him. “The Irish Sea. We used to go down to Kerin’s Hole at the end of every summer. Back before things were shite.”

Ben passed Hux the bowl back and Hux reached behind him to lay it on one of the towels. Ben’s hand found Hux’s ankle then, sliding up his calf as Hux looked down at him.

“What happened?” Ben ventured, pressing himself to Hux’s leg and resting his cheek on Hux’s knee, looking away toward the western side of the yard.

It was almost a tender pose, and Hux reached down to card his fingers through Ben’s hair. It was damp at the ends, curling, and Hux wrapped a strand around his pinkie as he took a long swig of beer. “My mum died. My da stopped giving a shit about anything but getting revenge for it.”

Ben looked up at him, chin on Hux’s knee. “Revenge against who?”

Hux shrugged. “The world? God?”

Ben frowned, his expression sympathetic, and Hux rubbed one foot against Ben’s side, hooking his toe beneath the waistband of Ben’s swim trunks. Ben flinched with a soft gasp, and then smiled, tugging on Hux’s ankle.

“Com’ere,” he said, and Hux obliged, slipping into the water and biting his lip to keep from cursing. The water was colder than he’d thought.

Then Ben wrapped his arms around him, and Hux forgot about the water because Ben’s body was dizzyingly warm.

“So what were you doing out at midnight when you were twelve?” Ben asked, keeping one arm around Hux as he took a drink of his beer and then guided them back toward the deeper end of the pool.

Hux let himself be pulled, not wanting to give up Ben’s warmth. “I wasn’t a good kid,” he said, feeling almost like he was just telling Ben about a dream he’d had. Not a life he’d lived.

Ben reached a depth where he was still flat footed but Hux was balancing on his toes. Still hovering near the edge of the pool, Ben set down his beer and stroked his hand down Hux’s torso. Hux’s lips parted as Ben’s palm moved lower, joined by the other hand as they both curled around Hux’s thighs and pulled. Hux got the picture, using his buoyancy to wrap his legs around Ben’s waist.

“I can’t imagine you ever doing anything bad,” Ben mumbled against Hux’s neck, kissing him. Hux laughed, knowing that for a joke.

“Oh, I was bad,” he promised, arms draped around Ben’s neck, beer bottle in one hand. “Worse than I am now.”

Ben tilted his head up, kissed the underside of Hux’s jaw while Hux took note that marijuana made Ben extremely affectionate. “What made you retire from your life of crime?” Ben asked between kisses.

Hux didn’t answer for a moment, sipping his beer as he soaked up the pleasure of being touched this way. Finally, he sighed and said, “My Da. He got out of prison when I was sixteen. Couldn’t keep me in school, couldn’t keep me away from...people he wanted me away from. Got this fluke job offer from this old military buddy half-way ‘round the world from my stomping ground so off we went.” Hux looked down at Ben, found Ben looking up at him. “And here I am.”

Ben looked into his eyes for a long minute. “So he was trying to save you?”

Hux shrugged one shoulder and took another drink of beer. “Or run away from his own ghosts.” He tightened his thighs around Ben’s waist. “Let’s talk about something else.”

Ben nodded slowly, craning his neck to meet Hux’s lips as Hux leaned down, and Ben kissed him slowly, like he had in Hux’s bedroom the night before. Like he was memorizing Hux’s mouth and the feel of his tongue. Hux found himself doing the same thing, storing away every tactile sensation and every nerve impulse that kissing Ben ignited, unable to stop thinking that years from now he would want to remember this moment.

They floated in the pool for a long time, smoked another bowl, and made out until they were both waterlogged. Then they laid on the pool deck on Ben’s expensive, fluffy towels and watched the stars while they held hands and whispered about the secret dreams they had for themselves. The ones that they didn’t tell their parents or their teachers.

Maybe it was because they were stoned, maybe it was because they were dumb teenagers high on each other, but sometime around eleven o’clock they decided they were going to somehow end up in the same place after high school. That graduation wasn’t going to be the end of this, whatever this was.

Hux decided that for just a little while, he could let himself believe it.

Chapter Text

Ben had once found school to be a fairly easy endeavor, but it had become increasingly more difficult in the past few weeks. Ever since that kiss on Hux’s front porch. Or maybe even before that.

Maybe since the day he’d gotten a bottle of orange juice poured over his head in the cafeteria.

His seventh period class seemed to have gotten longer, too, with the last half hour defying the laws of physics and expanding into infinity, forcing Ben to watch the clock and coax the second hand along with sheer force of will. His ink pen was a metronome ticking away on the edge of his English Lit text, the cadence markedly quicker than the passage of time.

“Benjamin?”

Ben flinched, eyes wrenching away from the clock and flicking to Miss Unamo, who was regarding him with one raised eyebrow and a blessedly indulgent smile.

“You have a few too many months to go in your tenure here, to be so intent on escape,” she remarked, earning several muffled chuckles from Ben’s classmates.

Ben fought back a blush and tucked his pen into the crease of his text, offering only a sheepish smile by way of explanation for his wandering attention.

This was not the first such incident over the last week. The only class he managed to pay attention in was fifth period, just after his lunch hour, just after he’d spent forty-five minutes outside with Hux. That time, filled with furtive touches and the thrill of sitting too close, was what Ben imagined an addictive drug must be like; he craved it all day, and the relief it gave him only lasted a few hours before he needed more.  

He tried to concentrate on the discussion of The Odyssey that dragged on through the end of class, but Miss Unamo’s commentary faded mostly into the background in favor of his own inner dialogue. He’d been rehearsing some way to approach the idea of convincing Hux that they should go to the school’s Halloween dance together, and had formulated arguments to counteract the expected objections, such as school dances are lame (which they were), and but won’t that officially out you (which it undoubtedly would).

Nothing that Ben had come up with so far sounded particularly inspiring in his head, because he hadn’t worked himself around to saying that he truly didn’t care what anyone thought; it was an ingrained habit, and challenging it, even in the privacy of his own thoughts, felt like stepping up to a cliff prepared to throw himself off it while trying to convince himself that he wasn’t afraid.

The bell interrupted Ben’s inner turmoil at last, and he shoved everything into his bookbag hastily and joined the throng of students escaping into the hallway. He had to bite his bottom lip not to look giddy, already feeling the tight fist that had been squeezing his chest beginning to relax.

“Hey, Ben! Wait up!”

Ben clenched his teeth and slowed down, glancing over his shoulder and only slowing his pace, unwilling to come a complete stop for the girl to catch up with him. It was Jade, a junior on Ben’s Quiz Bowl league. The first girl he’d kissed, back when he was in tenth grade and trying desperately to pretend that kissing girls was something he was just shy about, and would get used to.

“Hey,” she said again, reaching his side and curling a hand around the crook of Ben’s elbow, guiding him toward the lockers and forcing him to either pause with her or blatantly pull away.

“Hey,” he mumbled. “What’s up?”

Jade smiled up at him, her green eyes bright and looking anxious. She let go of Ben’s arm and tucked a strand of her long red hair behind one ear, and Ben realized with a start that he very clearly had a thing for redheads.

He must have been looking at her with some particular expression, because she blushed. “So, um,” she began, “I was wondering if you might feel like going to the dance. On Friday. Um. With me?” Her voice came out high at the end, and her freckles blended into her dusky cheeks.

Ben’s stomach soured. “I ah…” he stammered, trying to decide between lies or truth, when a familiar voice behind him made his heart skip.

“He already has plans on Friday.”

Ben caught a glimpse of Jade’s eyes widening just before he turned to look over his shoulder. Hux was hovering a hands-length behind him, face clouded and lips tucked into a frown of very evident disapproval.

Hux met his eyes. “Remember, Ben? We were going to pick up some wood for the project, and measure some lengths to make sure everything will fit in the back.”

Ben’s mouth dropped open, his eyes watering in disbelief.

“In the back of your car ?” Hux droned on, sounding impossibly bored.

Ben covered the bottom of his face with his palm, faked a sudden coughing fit. Through his sheen of tears, he saw Hux smirk. When he finally regained his composure, somewhat, he gave Jade an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry,” he said, thumbing moisture out of his eyelashes, laughter still bubbling in his chest. He swallowed it down. “We have this physics project...we haven’t even started it.”

Jade just nodded slowly, glancing furtively at Hux, her brow pinched delicately like she wasn’t quite sure how Hux fit into this situation. Or whether he might sprout fangs.

“It’s no problem,” she murmured, and Ben felt terrible at the embarrassment scrawled on her features.

“Maybe the winter formal, or something,” he offered impulsively, and then instantly wished he hadn’t, considering who was standing right behind him.

Jade’s eyes cleared, and she gave Ben a hopeful smile, which faded again when she glanced once more at Hux.

“Okay,” she said, backing away a few steps. “I’ll see you around then.”

Before Ben could respond, she’d skirted the two of them and made quickly for the campus doors, and then before Ben could say anything to Hux, Hux was doing the same.

Three quick strides brought Ben to Hux’s side again. “Measuring lengths?” he repeated, laughter in his voice.

Hux pushed the door open with his shoulder, glaring at Ben. “The winter formal?” he snapped.

“Oh come on.” Ben followed him out on the sidewalk. “I had to say something.”

Hux frowned. “To throw her off your scent?”

Ben squeezed the straps of his backpack, tugging them tighter over his shoulders. “I just didn’t want to hurt her feelings,” he said unhappily.

Hux stopped beside the front bumper of Ben’s car and faced him; he was still frowning, but there was something in the expression that was just briefly vulnerable. “And what about mine?” he asked. Hux’s brow creased immediately, like he was pissed at himself for saying that, and he turned away again and started toward the passenger door.

Without thinking it through, Ben reached out and grabbed Hux’s hand—not his arm, not his wrist, but his hand, and the instant their fingers connected Ben’s stomach lurched. They were standing in the middle of a crowded parking lot, and neither of them blended in, and Hux curled his fingers around Ben’s and made it impossible to let go without shaking him off.

It was suddenly hard to breathe, in a way that was thrilling and awful all at once. “Sorry,” Ben mumbled, because those were all the syllables he could muster. His consciousness was a pinpoint, registering only the way Hux’s palm was cool and soft in his and how he wanted to keep it there, no matter who saw.

Then Hux squeezed Ben’s hand and let go. “Take me home,” he said, a glint in his eyes.

Ben pulled into the 7-11 parking lot and angled his car for their usual parking space, which was out of the way and wedged beneath a row of pine trees. There was a picnic bench in the swath of grass nearby, aesthetically placed by a large trash-can housed in a stone shell and frequented by a host of squirrels. That table, built of pock-marked and faded wood, had replaced the school cafeteria, and it was where Ben and Hux spent the last couple of hours they had to be together, sharing a belated meal of junk food from the gas-station aisles.

Hux reached into the back floorboard as Ben turned the car off, tugging the bag with his Brendol-approved clothing into his lap. He had a crease on his forehead as he grasped the door handle, a determined look like someone about to swallow a particularly vile concoction for the prize money.

“Hey,” Ben said softly before Hux could open the door.

Hux turned his head, eyes a murky green made darker by the black eyeliner. Ben brushed Hux’s pale cheek with the back of his knuckles, and those eyes slipped half-closed at the touch as Hux sighed softly through his nose.

“You only have eight more months of this, you know,” Ben said.

Hux’s lips twisted. “Until what? I get a full scholarship to Stanford like you?”

Ben fiddled with the keys in his other hand, his stomach fluttering, wanting to tell Hux about all the bookmarks on his laptop that showed apartments for rent in Stanford. The Excel spreadsheet he’d made to try to figure out how he could afford to live off campus on his stipend.

“You’re going to get out of there,” he promised.

Hux turned away, looking through the windshield. He shrugged one shoulder, which was a gesture Ben had come to understand meant Hux didn’t want to talk about something. Ben watched him chewing on the bar of his tongue ring, heard it clicking against his teeth until Hux finally sighed again, pulled the door handle back sharply, and shoved the door open.

Hux stalked across the parking lot, shoulders hunched under the backpack, hands shoved in his pockets and head down. Ben let him go, an ache in his chest—it was the same hollow pit he felt every time he drove away from Hux’s house after dropping him off. It felt like putting some bright, beautiful bird back in a cage so that it couldn’t fly, and Ben hated it.

He followed Hux into the gas station at a more sedate pace, skirting a car trying to back into a pump and holding the door open for a man in blue livery hauling cases of water in for delivery. Hux had disappeared into the bathroom by the time Ben made it inside, and so he wandered into the chip aisle and stood staring at the various selections without really seeing them.

He thought back to the night they’d been stretched out on towels beside Ben’s pool, watching the stars crawl across the heavens and talking about how they’d figure out some way to stay together after graduation. It had felt real then, like something they could do, and yet neither of them had figured out how to talk about it again since.

Ben took a bag of cheese puffs off the shelf and tucked them into the crook of his arm before moving down the aisle, trailing his fingers absently along the shelving, tracing the plastic price labels. Just over two months ago, he’d had everything figured out, all the pieces in place, knew exactly where he was going and how he’d get there, and now he couldn’t stop trying to visualize how Hux fit into all of it. Because he did. He had to.

Ben rounded the corner, grabbing a pair of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups shaped like pumpkins off an end cap proclaiming them two for three dollars—they were Hux’s favorite candy. That and sour gummy worms.

Was this what falling in love felt like? Like realizing that some absolutely necessary component in one’s life had been missing, and how when that missing piece was plugged in, there was so much color that you realized everything had just been shades of gray before?

And did it always happen this fast?

He jumped, startled, when he felt something pull at the back hem of his jacket, and he turned around to find Hux standing behind him, an amused set to his pretty mouth.

“You look like you’re contemplating the meaning of life,” Hux said.

Ben felt his face heat slightly, though he immediately tried to think of anything else but what he’d actually been contemplating, as if Hux could read his mind. He grabbed two packages of Hostess cupcakes off the shelf and shoved them into Hux’s hands to distract him, trying not allow his eyes to wander too attentively over Hux’s clean-cut appearance. Ben had learned early on that Hux didn’t appreciate being told he looked nice when he was disguised this way for his father’s approval. Ben guessed that he understood, but sometimes it was hard to hold his tongue, because Hux was beautiful no matter how he was dressed.

“So, has anyone asked you to the dance?” Ben began with a teasing lilt, shuffling toward the refrigerated drinks. He opened a cooler door and pretended to study the choices, but his radar was tuned to Hux.

Hux slipped into the open space in front of Ben, blocking Ben’s view of the shelves as he browsed the selection. “Hmm,” Hux said. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Ben snorted, propping the cooler door against his shoulder. “I mean if there’s someone special, you shouldn’t say no just because we planned to measure wood.” He leaned in, impulsively wanting to nuzzle the pale stripe of Hux’s neck that tapered above the collar of his black shirt. At the last moment, he remembered where they were, and turned his head to whisper in Hux’s ear. “We can always do that later.”

Hux had been trying to tug a stubborn Dr. Pepper off the shelf, and it suddenly popped free, slipped out of his hand and hit the floor. It rolled away, filled with angry brown bubbles, and Hux’s shoulders quivered with laughter.

“Is it going to take a while? Is there a lot to measure?” Hux asked, turning his head enough that Ben could see his smile. It felt like a special victory, to make Hux smile when he had so much of his identity stuffed in a secret backpack that he would have to hide in Ben’s car.

That backpack brushed Ben’s chest as he reached around Hux to pull another Dr. Pepper off the shelf, curling his arm around Hux to press it gently to his chest. Hux groped for it with his free hand, and for a moment they were both holding it—Hux’s arm was peppered with gooseflesh, and he shivered when Ben stroked his thumb over the curve of his fingers.

“I mean, we need to be precise,” Ben hummed, keeping his face turned toward the beverage shelf, attempting to look inconspicuous even though he was standing much closer to Hux than he needed to be.

“Very precise,” Hux said, moving his pinkie to touch Ben’s hand. His skin was cold, bathed in the refrigerated air, and the plastic outer skeleton of his backpack bit through Ben’s shirt as Hux leaned into him.

Ben’s eyes flicked to the cooler door next to them, cataloging the reflections—a pair of kids their own age were walking through the door, laughing with crinkled eyes that weren’t looking in their direction. The clerk was stocking cigarettes in the bin overhead—a pack slipped out of his hand and he disappeared behind the counter to pick it up. Someone with magnificent dreadlocks was rotating an extra large Icee cup beneath all the flavors the dispenser had to offer.

Ben blinked it all away, let go of the Dr. Pepper, and pressed his palm to Hux’s chest. The buttons of Hux’s starched shirt caught at his hand as he slid it down, and Hux’s belly inflated with a sharp gasp as Ben leaned in and kissed the perfect arch of his cheek. The gasp of surprise turned into a soft growl when Ben pulled away, heart thundering in his ears.

Hux turned around in the small space between Ben and the shelving, and he moved forward, pushing Ben back with his shuffling momentum.

“We need to get out of here right now,” Hux said, and Ben’s skin felt hot at the way Hux’s pupils were swollen, his gaze predatory.

Ben smirked, pleased with himself and more than a little dazed, like all the blood had just rushed out of his head. The cheese puffs tucked in the crook of his elbow were partially crushed to orange dust, and the Reese’s in his hand were probably half melted. The two high school girls he’d seen walk into the store moved past them, and one glanced at Hux with a pointed smile.

“Looks like I’m not the only one with a thing for redheads,” Ben said in low voice as they walked to the cash register.

Hux made a face as he deposited his half of their bounty on the counter. “I better be the only redhead you have a thing for,” he grumbled, quietly, but the clerk behind the counter glanced up.

Ben’s stomach jumped, and he resisted the urge to turn around to see if anyone else had overheard that. Then the clerk was ringing up their purchases, chewing on a Twizzler and totally disinterested. Ben noticed that Hux’s nose was pink as he extracted several crisp dollar bills from his wallet and slid them across the counter at Ben, keeping his eyes on the register as the clerk piled things into a plastic sack.

Ben took the money, combining it with his own and handing it to the clerk; Hux’s contribution wasn’t much, but it was everything his father had given him for lunch for the day, and Ben had learned not to argue about who was paying for things. He guessed what had made Hux blush, though, and it wasn’t their combined finances.

“It’s okay,” Ben told him softly as the door swung shut behind them; he felt guilty, to be consoling Hux for simply speaking the words that came to his mind. Ben figured he had enough of that kind of oppression in his life.

Hux just shrugged. “I don’t really expect much else,” he said, and then squeezed his eyes shut briefly like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. As though to distract them both from the exchange, Hux pulled his bottle of Dr. Pepper out of the sack and twisted the cap off; it hissed, and Hux took a gulp, not looking at Ben.

The words settled into the pit of Ben’s stomach nevertheless; he wanted the mood back that had seemed so easy between them only a few minutes before, he wanted Hux to have more faith in him than this, even if the price of it was hearing about it at school later from someone minding more of Ben’s business than their own.

Looping the plastic sack over his left arm, Ben reached out and found Hux’s fingers, which twitched in surprise and almost jerked away until Ben threaded his own through them, heart in his throat. His own palm immediately felt clammy, the fine hairs on his arms standing up and skin tingling with the sensation of a thousand eyes on his back, but he didn’t let go. Hux’s step had slowed, dragging at Ben’s pace, and Ben could feel Hux looking at him as he led them toward their usual spot.

Then Hux stopped, and pulled Ben to a stop with him. Ben looked at him then, felt his heartbeat pulsing through the veins in his fingers where they were wrapped tightly between Hux’s. Their twined hands hung between them, almost at arm’s length.

“Forget sitting out here,” Hux said, tugging gently to draw Ben closer to him until their hands were concealed between both of their thighs. “Let’s go to my house instead.”

Hux’s face was tilted up just slightly; eyes that had been dark with lust were now soft, simmering like banked embers. Ben could feel the caress of his warm breath on his lips, and he sighed, swaying forward like he was being pulled in by a tide. Hux’s gaze flicked to Ben’s lips, back to his eyes, and then he stepped to the side, breaking the moment as he let go of Ben’s hand and turned toward the car. He motioned at Ben with a jerk of his chin.

“Come on,” he said with grin.

Ben blew out the air that was burning in his lungs, sucked in another deep breath, and followed Hux to the car, his fingers trembling.

Hux felt Ben’s body heat as he crowded against him on the top step, which was too small for them both, but Ben was radiating anxious energy and it felt like he was trying to hide in Hux’s orbit as Hux slipped his house key into the door and turned it.

He pushed the door open, greeted by the quiet; his father and he spoke little, and his father enjoyed silence, but when they were both here, that silence felt full, like a balloon stretched too tightly over too much air, seconds from bursting.

“Are you sure your dad isn’t coming home soon?” Ben’s tone was dubious, and Hux caught him glancing around suspiciously as they stepped into the house, as though Ben thought Brendol might be hiding in the shadows.

Hux shut the door and tossed his keys into the bowl, turned to face him. “No,” he said, “I’m not.” Then he pushed Ben back against the door, pressed his body along the curves of his torso, and tugged Ben’s lips to his with both hands fisted in his thick, dark hair. When Ben’s lips met his, he was instantly breathless, seeking the soft inside of Ben’s mouth like he would find the air there that he needed to live.

Ben’s soft groan went straight to Hux’s groin, and he canted his hips forward to meet Ben’s, nipping at his bottom lip, feeling it pliable and plump between his teeth. His mind was spiraling into exquisite visions of those lips wrapped around his cock when Ben broke their kiss, panting, breath making his chest rise and fall shallowly against Hux’s.

“Let’s um...go in your room,” Ben said huskily, sliding his hand along Hux’s hip, thumb kneading his hip bone, igniting nerves that arced through Hux’s gut.

He had to forcibly relax his fingers where they’d twisted up in the lapel of Ben’s jacket. His impulse was to say something clever, suggestive, but all he could do was nod.

Ben followed him into the bedroom, letting his school backpack slip off into the floor; the one that Ben had carried inside had the clothes that Hux had worn to class today, and would be replaced by the ones he’d wear tomorrow, so Ben could smuggle them out for him. It made Hux feel like it was somehow the two of them against the world, like Hux was not alone trying to claw his way to autonomy.

When he glanced at Ben, he saw that he had the door halfway closed.

“Don’t,” Hux said. “If my dad does come home and it’s closed…”

Ben froze, his eyes round. Then he pushed the door all the way open again, kept his hand on it. “Maybe we should go to my house or something?”

Hux crossed to his bed and flopped down on it, scooting to one edge. “It’s fine.” He held his hand out. “C'mere.”

Ben stared at him for a moment and Hux could read the apprehension that passed quickly across his features. Then he could see the raw eagerness, despite the way Ben tried to disguise it with deliberately slow movements in setting his backpack aside, slipping his coat off and draping it across the bag on the floor. He toed his shoes off and shuffled toward the bed, managing to maintain an aura of confidence until he sat down.

He had one leg tucked under him, perched at the edge of the mattress, and it occurred to Hux that they hadn’t actually been on a bed together before. He slid his hand along Ben’s arm, the fine fabric of his dress shirt soft under his palm as Hux traced his lines up to Ben’s shoulder.

“Lay down,” he suggested, applying pressure with his fingers, and Ben obeyed, stretching his long body awkwardly into the small space.

Hux wrapped his arm around Ben’s waist and nestled close to him, and Ben touched their noses together, nuzzling before closing the space between them to seek Hux’s lips. This, at least, they’d practiced often enough over the last couple of weeks. Hours of it in the pool at Ben’s house, stolen moments in Ben’s car, that one, quick, heady time underneath the empty bleachers after last Friday’s football game. Ben was good at it, and Hux got lost in it easily, content to have nothing but Ben’s lips and his warm proximity.

It sent a pleasant spark of surprise through Hux’s belly, therefore, when he felt Ben’s hand drift down from the small of his back to the hem of his shirt, slipping beneath it to palm Hux’s super-heated skin. Ben’s hand was cold, but Hux forced himself not to flinch and startle this as-yet timid creature, though he couldn’t help breaking their kiss to suck in a ragged breath.

Ben chased his lips, and Hux smiled into the kiss, an expression that Ben echoed.

“What?” Ben murmured, kissing Hux’s chin now, trailing tiny pecks along his jaw as Hux turned his head into the pillow to open his neck for Ben’s lips.

“You’re adorable,” Hux sighed.

Ben’s teeth grazed the pulse point in Hux’s neck, and Hux shivered. His shirt was rucked up over his hips now, Ben’s thumb tracing the curve of Hux’s lowest rib, tickling. Then Ben withdrew his hand and Hux felt fingers on the top button of his shirt.

Opening his half lidded eyes, Hux moved his hand to Ben’s waist, trailed his fingers along the hem of his slacks to the belt buckle, started to draw it open, already gauging how he could get to the condoms in his backpack without killing the mood. But then Ben’s hips jerked back and he caught Hux’s wrist.

Ben’s cheeks were flushed a rosy pink, though he looked more aroused than bashful. He let go of Hux’s wrist and moved his hand back to the top button of Hux’s shirt. He thumbed it open and looked at Hux from beneath long black lashes.

“I want to touch you,” he said, a tremor of uncertainty in his voice, like he thought Hux would refuse him.

Hux’s lips parted and he moistened them with the tip of his tongue, nodding. His breath was shallow as Ben continued to work the buttons open down the front of his shirt, both of them looking down and focusing on the act until Ben parted the shirt and smoothed his hand over Hux’s chest with a sigh.

Hux couldn’t decide where to put his own hands, and settled for rolling slowly onto his back, shoving them under the pillow. Ben curled into his side, head resting on Hux’s shoulder; his tousled hair partly obscured Hux’s view, but something about not seeing excited him, so he hid his face against Ben’s head and shut his eyes.

“You know,” Ben mumbled, drawing one finger down Hux’s center torso, through the shallow valley between his pectorals. “I don’t think I can call you Hux anymore.”

Hux opened his eyes into Ben’s hair. “Huh?”

“I mean,” Ben said, thumb continuing toward the dip of Hux’s belly. “It’s just weird. It’s like...the same name as your dad.”

Hux wheezed, caught between amusement and horror that they were talking about his father just now. “I don’t go by anything else.”

Ben turned his head up, lips finding purchase beneath Hux’s jaw. “What about Armitage?”

Hux frowned. “That’s what my dad calls me,” he said, his partially hard dick starting to flag.

Ben seemed to realize he’d misstepped, because he turned his head away again, murmuring softly, “I like your name. Both of them.” He nuzzled Hux’s chest and Hux sighed, threading his fingers into Ben’s hair. He lost himself again to Ben’s touch, arching up into it as Ben circled his navel with the side of his thumb.

“I guess you can call me what my mother called me,” Hux said with a tremulous sigh, combing Ben’s hair back from his forehead.

Ben looked up at him again. “What did she call you?”

Hux swallowed, feeling like he was about to open a box he’d kept locked under his bed, hiding all the little pieces of his past that hurt to look at. “Armie,” he said.

Ben was still for a moment, and it felt like a reverent pause, almost, like he knew what he was hearing. A secret. “Only if you want,” he whispered.

Hux didn’t speak for the space of a few breaths. “As long as it’s only between us,” he said finally. Then he groped for Ben’s hand where it lay across his belly. He felt Ben try to lace their fingers together, but instead Hux pressed Ben’s hand to his body, showing him that he needed to be touched. He’d needed that for so long, and hadn’t even known how badly until he'd met Ben.

Ben got the message and stroked his palm back up Hux’s torso, fingers splayed like he wanted to capture as much of Hux’s body in one touch as he was able. Hux slowly started to relax again, drifting back into the lull of their shared energy, the world beyond the space on this bed blurring and disappearing. His fingers were still tangled in Ben’s hair, and they twitched, accidentally pulling when Ben took the sensitive peak of one nipple between his fingers.

Hux bit his bottom lip, chest swelling with a deep intake of air that he released in a groan when Ben turned the bar piercing that nipple, rotating it slowly, like he was afraid he might break it.

“I like this,” Ben said.

Hux laughed, breathlessly. “Me too.”

“Did it hurt?” Ben tugged on it gently, and Hux’s toes curled into the blankets.

“Yes,” Hux sighed. “But now it just feels good.” He found Ben’s hand, put his fingers over Ben’s and showed him the amount of pressure he liked, shuddering when Ben pulled the bar hard enough to just hint at pain.

He could feel how hard Ben was now, the shape of his cock pressed against Hux’s leg, and Hux shifted so his thigh was between Ben’s legs. Ben made a small noise and rolled his hips to seek friction, and Hux could feel the way his breath was coming faster now, tipped over the edge of inhibition by base animal arousal. Hux was so hard now that it hurt.

Ben seemed to sense his need, or he was chasing his own, because his hand left Hux’s chest and he dragged his palm down Hux’s torso again, past his navel this time to touch the silk-soft hair above the hem of Hux’s slacks. Hux felt him hesitate, so he lifted his hips, trying to give him silent permission so they didn’t have to talk.

It seemed to get his message across, because Ben’s fingers brushed through the hair below his navel again, tickling as he felt its texture. Hux was briefly disappointed when instead of moving below his waistband, Ben slid his hand over the top of his trousers, squeezing Hux’s inner thigh with something like raw hunger, the fingers flexed and hard and betraying how strong Ben Solo actually was. Hux dimly hoped he’d be speckled in tiny bruises between his thighs tomorrow, but then all thought disintegrated when Ben guided his hand between Hux’s legs and palmed his erection. He couldn’t tell if the noise of shocked pleasure came from his own lips or Ben’s.

Ben had Hux’s slacks open quickly then, the zipper peeled open as he pushed his hand inside, beneath Hux’s boxer-briefs. Hux could feel some of the confidence wan in Ben’s touch then, and the fact that Hux was the only person besides himself that he’d ever touched made Hux’s head swim with something utterly possessive. He wanted to push Ben back onto the bed, straddle him. Fit his teeth around his neck and claim him.

But he let Ben move at his own pace, only allowing himself to rut up into the curve of Ben’s warm palm, shivering at the way Ben touched him so softly. Hux forced his eyes open so he could look down over his own body, seeing himself exposed where Ben had shoved his boxers down, seeing Ben tracing the tips of his fingers over the outline of his shaft, stroking the foreskin back to expose the head. Hux twitched with a breathless sigh when Ben felt the flared tip of his cock, dragged his thumb through the slit to smear the tiny bead of slick pre-come over the sensitive frenulum.

“Ben,” Hux rasped, hips straining up, seeking more.

Ben wrapped his hand around him, pushing Hux that much closer to climax with nothing but the way he almost completely fit inside Ben’s big hand with the fingers spread across the shaft. Ben gave it a few, tentative, unsure strokes, but he was easily guided into letting Hux do the work, rolling his hips up into Ben’s grip. He didn’t care that it was almost too rough without lube, wasn’t about to stop to get any, and he was only seconds from climax when Ben suddenly jerked away.

Hux blinked his eyes open, his orgasm spiraling away as the rest of the world slowly filtered through his sex-addled brain. Only at that moment did he realize why Ben had stopped. A familiar voice was speaking from the front porch, gruff Irish accent complaining about political corruption. His father was out there, talking to their neighbor.

Ben started to sit up, looking panicked, but Hux snatched his hand and pulled him back, guiding it back to his cock, which was still achingly hard.

“Don’t stop,” Hux hissed, the arousal in his belly at a fever pitch now.

Ben’s hand lay limply over him, and he stared up at Hux with giant eyes. “Are you fucking insane?” he whispered.

Hux wrapped his hand around Ben’s, squirming. “Yes. I’m so fucking close.”

Ben made a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and laughter, murmured something that sounded like Jesus Christ , and tightened his grip around Hux’s cock. Hux pulled Ben’s lips to his, kissed him fiercely—a few sure, frantic strokes and the sound of a key in the door and Hux came hard.

The front door creaked open, and Hux slid off the bed, jerking his pants up over his still hard cock, nearly falling down when his knees threatened to give out.

Keys clattered into the ceramic bowl by the door, and the springs in Hux’s bed squeaked just before Hux heard Ben’s feet hit the floor. Hux was frantically buttoning his shirt when he glanced behind him to see Ben kneeling beside his backpack, trying to clean his hand off on Hux’s Stone Temple Pilots t-shirt that was wadded up inside. Ben looked pale and guilty as fuck, and Hux couldn’t keep himself from grinning. Ben saw it, and made a face at him.

“Armitage?” His father’s voice boomed from the front of the house, just before the door closed with a thump.

“In here, Da,” Hux shouted back, a little too quickly. He tucked his shirt messily into his slacks, tried to straighten it as best he could, ran both hands through his messy hair. He turned to face the door of his bedroom just as Ben snatched Hux’s calculus book out of his bag and dropped back onto the bed with it open to a random page in the middle.

Brendol’s shadow fell across the door like a separate entity heralding his arrival, and then Brendol himself darkened the entry way. Hux plastered on an innocent smile, then realized belatedly that was probably more damning than any of the other thinly veiled evidence in the room. He cleared his throat to cover it up.

“Hi, Da.”

Brendol stared at him, his expression muddled by the thick beard that obscured the set of his lips. He looked at Ben, who was sitting with rounded shoulders like a man about to be sentenced to death. Hux stuffed his hands into his pockets. Ben had one of his tucked under the calculus book, which was, Hux noticed just then, upside down.

Brendol’s jaw jutted forward and he blew air out of his nostrils. He glared at Hux. “You know you don’t fool me for one second, boy,” he said, and Hux was surprised to hear that he sounded more resigned than angry. “You never have,” Brendol added.

Hux didn’t know what to say, so he just stood there with Ben and the rumpled twin bed between them. They faced off this way for a painfully long moment, and Hux felt his whole body quivering with tension, fists curled inside his pockets.

Finally, Brendol moved his hand and Hux flinched, only to realize his father was holding something. A parcel wrapped in brown packing paper, one end of it peeled open, unfamiliar writing scrawled across the top and plastered with foreign stamps.

“Got something to show you,” Brendol said. “So clean yourself up and come out here.” Then he turned away and started to shuffle toward the living room. He stopped after only a few steps, and Hux was still gaping at him when he turned around and came back to the doorway. This time, he focused on Ben.

“You know how to order a pizza, boy?” he growled, like he was asking Ben if he knew how to shoot a gun.

Ben stared. “Um...yes? Sir?”

“Good,” Brendol snapped. “Do it. You’ll be staying for dinner.”

Then he left them stunned in his wake as he crossed the house. A moment later, Brendol’s door banged shut and Hux heard his father’s small clock radio come to life, spilling classical music into the room beyond. The volume went up suddenly.

“What the fuck just happened?” Ben asked.

“I have no fucking idea,” Hux said quietly.

Ben sat on the front steps with Hux, not wearing his jacket, needing the chilly evening air like he needed a bucket of cold water dumped over his head to snap him out of this weird fugue state.

Hux was sitting close enough to leech his warmth, their knees pressed together as they leaned against one another. Hux was on his second cigarette; it was perched between his lips while he absently picked at the black fingernail polish on his thumb. Orange leaves skittered across the concrete sidewalk, gathering in a drift against the house.

Hux tilted his head back and blew a cloud of smoke toward the steel-gray clouds in the darkening sky. “When’s the last time your parents were home?” he asked.

Ben shrugged one shoulder. “Mom was home the weekend after you came to my house. Just for one day. I haven’t seen my dad since, I don’t know. July, I guess.” He stared at the tree across the street, watching a squirrel trying to run up the trunk with a piece of burnt toast in its mouth.

He felt Hux looking at him, felt the sudden tension that question had stirred up start to ease when Hux laid his arm across Ben’s thigh. Hux opened his hand, flexing the fingers, and Ben twined his own through them.

Hux just gave him a gentle squeeze. “Only eight more months of it,” he said.

Ben knew he’d never said anything about how it bothered him that he never saw his parents, how it made him feel lonely and unwanted and like a failure as a son, but it seemed like that was obvious enough to Hux. Ben glanced at him.

“Won’t be any better if you’re not with me,” Ben said quietly, rubbing his thumb across Hux’s knuckle.

Hux raised one eyebrow, took another drag from his cigarette and stubbed it out on the bottom of his boot. “I can’t figure out if you’re serious,” he said through the smoke, coughing.

“You need to quit smoking,” Ben grumbled, and Hux made a face at him.

“We’re not all perfect like you, Mr. Solo,” Hux said, trying and failing to mimic an American accent like their teachers.

Ben smiled, but it faded quickly. “I’m not perfect,” he mumbled.

Hux sighed. “Bullshit. And you’re too good for me.”

Ben’s brows pinched over his nose. “Bullshit.”

Hux inhaled, like he was going to argue, but then a red Nissan with a Romano’s sign on the top pulled around the corner and crawled down the street, the driver’s head hanging out the window, squinting at house numbers.

Ben caught his eye and waved, standing up and pulling the twenty dollar bill out of his pocket that Brendol had earlier pressed into his hand. Ben had gotten exactly three words out in an effort to offer to buy their dinner, stopped by Hux’s foot smashing his toes and Brendol glaring at him with narrow eyes. Why Brendol hadn’t given the money to Hux was a mystery, but Hux had seemed pleasantly amused by the situation for some reason, and it made Ben feel like he fit in. Like he was, just for this one night, part of someone’s family, even if it was dysfunctional as hell.

He bounded down the steps as the Nissan pulled up to the curb and the driver opened the door. Ben came to an awkward stop on the sidewalk when he recognized the guy—Derek Vega had been in his homeroom last year, and used to sit with Ben’s crowd at lunch before he started wearing black clothes and dying his hair and suddenly had no time for them. Or they for him, as the case had actually been.

Derek peeled himself out of the car and pulled his insulated delivery bag out behind him. “Sup, Solo?” he said, pulling the pizza out and handing it over. Ben saw his eyes flick to Hux on the front stoop then back, and the Derek dug a receipt out of his pocket.

Ben handed him a twenty dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

Derek just shoved it in his pocket, glanced at Hux again. “You over here on the wrong side of the tracks doing some tutoring or something?”

Ben wasn’t sure what to make of the little grin Derek presented that line with, but he bristled. Hux obviously hadn’t heard him, because he was still sitting silently on the steps.

“Just spending time with my friend,” Ben said, pointedly, feeling wrong about it. Not that he’d had a conversation with Hux about whether they were more than friends. Not that he knew what he’d do if they did have that conversation. “Anyway, thanks.” Ben backed up to take the pizza in the house, caught the edge of his foot on the curb and nearly tripped.

Derek just shrugged, told him thanks, cast one last look at Hux, and got into his car. It started up with a wheeze and set off down the road.

Ben carried the pizza back to the steps as Hux stood up, stubbing out yet another cigarette and slipping the butts in his pocket.

“Do you know everyone in this town?” Hux asked, opening the screen door for Ben.

Ben gave him a sheepish smile, glad Hux didn’t seem inclined to ask what Derek had said to him.

Brendol was standing in the kitchen when they came back in the house, staring out the back window with his hands in his pockets. His shoulders were slumped in a way that looked defeated, almost, which was a posture that sat as strangely on Brendol as it did on his son. He turned his head when the screen door clacked closed. The three of them stood, staring across the room at one another. Tinny, classical music streamed in from Brendol’s bedroom, volume turned down to nearly a whisper.

“Well?” Brendol finally barked. “We going to just stand here like a herd of deer or we going to eat?”

Hux snatched the pizza out of Ben’s hands while Ben was still trying to pick syllables out of Brendol’s thick Irish accent. “Sorry, Da, forgot how to have a family meal,” Hux chirped, crossing to the small wooden table and dropping the pizza box on it.

“Stow your shit, boy,” Brendol snapped, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of beer. He twisted the cap off, took a long swig and wiped the moisture off his beard with the back of his hand, then he lowered himself into one of the chairs at the table.

That reminded Ben suddenly that they only had the two chairs, and it gave him an excuse to extricate himself from this awkward family moment to slip into Hux’s room and grab his computer chair, rolling it slowly back into the common space. When he returned, Hux was sprawled in the chair across from his father, fingers linked across his chest as he stared at the wall.

Ben rolled the chair over and left it at the table, then escaped into the kitchen to look for something to put the pizza on since Hux and Brendol seemed content to just sit near it tensely, rather than eat it. He hovered, unsure he wanted to raid their cabinets, and then thankfully saw a stack of paper plates. He grabbed three and a roll of paper towels and carried them back to the table.

“This how you treat your guests?” Brendol asked Hux as Ben sat down, like this entire experiment had been to see how Hux would handle it.

“Pizza party wasn’t my idea, old man,” Hux said waspishly, but Brendol just huffed and leaned forward to open the box.

What followed was absolutely the most bizarre and uncomfortable family dinner Ben had ever been a part of, and he’d been subjected to a few in his lifetime, like meals where Han would talk to Ben or Leia would talk to Ben but neither of his parents talked to each other. Hux pretended to be disinterested in the food, but when Brendol seemed more intent on questioning Ben and leaving Hux to himself, Hux tucked into the pizza with gusto. Ben knew he hadn’t eaten all day, and he noticed how Hux kept the paper plate with his food close to his body, like he was afraid someone would take it away.

Brendol was on his third slice of pepperoni when the subject turned from Ben’s history with sports to something Ben had been dreading.

“So you do well in school, then. Always do what you’re asked. Know the value of hard work. Maybe it’ll rub off on Armitage.”

Hux’s half-eaten slice paused on the way to his lips, and Ben saw his teeth clench.

“H...Armie is a lot smarter than me,” Ben said quietly, trying to pick his words with caution. “I think I’m more likely to learn something from him.”

He watched Brendol’s thick fingers depress around the crust of his slice, bits of it flaking off onto his plate. “Armie, huh? That what he tell you to call him?”

Ben swallowed, glancing at Hux out of the corner of his eye, saw that he’d gone white and remembered he wasn't supposed to call him that in front of others. Ben took a bite of pizza and chewed, forcing himself not to wither under Brendol’s gaze. “Usually I just call him Hux, but...that got weird, recently.” He flashed Brendol his best, winning smile.

Brendol snorted, dropping his half-eaten slice on his plate and tossing the plate on top of the box. He pushed the box across the table toward Hux. “Clean this up, and bring me that parcel off my bedside table.”

Hux actually jumped up to do his father’s bidding, seeming grateful to escape. Ben started to get up to help him, but Brendol waved him off.

“He’s a big boy,” Brendol said, wiping his hands clean with a paper towel and folding it into a small square. Ben had seen Hux do that same thing with gas-station napkins. “You care about him?”

Ben was taken aback but that question, having appeared out of nowhere. He straightened up in his chair, rubbed at a spot of marinara sauce that had gotten on the table. “Yes,” he said, his voice small. “I do.” He glanced up at Brendol, felt protective, and added, “A lot,” in a tone that was a bit more of a challenge than an explanation. 

Brendol just sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Good. He needs a decent friend. Not the kind of hellions he used to run with that dragged him into drugs and all other manner of debauchery.”

There was a loud noise in the kitchen that sounded like a drawer slamming, and then Hux appeared in the doorway and stalked to Brendol’s room. Ben saw that he had a bottle of beer in his hand and he took a sip of it as he passed.

Brendol watched him, but said nothing. “He’s a smart boy,” he went on. “Always has been. Just doesn’t like to follow rules. He could have made something of himself if he’d had some self-discipline.”

Ben sat back in his chair now, unconsciously mirroring Brendol’s posture by crossing his own arms over his chest. “He is something, though,” he argued. “He’s pretty damn amazing, actually.” A tiny thrill of danger sparked through Ben’s chest, as though uttering a curse word in front of Hux’s father was the epitome of daring.

Brendol actually smiled, chewed on the inside of his cheek in a way that made his beard twitch. He seemed to be considering his next words, but then Hux reappeared and dropped the foreign package heavily on the table. Brendol shot forward in his chair and laid his hand on top of it, all his bluster replaced by something much more vulnerable.

“Be careful with this,” he said, pulling it slowly toward him.

“What is it, Da?” Hux drawled, slumping back into his chair with a cocky grin and a beer in his hand. “A bomb?”

Brendol didn’t rise to this, and instead drew another box out from within the carefully opened packing paper. It was a dark, glossy brown, like a small shoe box with a lid. He sat there gripping it for a moment, looking like he was lost in thought, then he took a deep breath and opened it.

“Your mother’s people sent this,” Brendol said, staring into the box. He looked up, facing Hux. “Her sister thought I’d want to have it. To remember her by.” Brendol took a drink of his own beer and slid the box carefully to Hux. “Except I remember her enough, and I think she’d rather you were to have it.”

With that, Brendol stood from the table and walked across the living room. He opened the front door and went out onto the porch, leaving it standing open. It was dark now, and Ben saw the brief glow of a lighter and then the red cherry of a cigarette.

Hux’s recent bravado was gone, and he sat as straight and stiff as a board, white fingers clutching the box as he stared into it. Then his hand darted out as quickly as lightning and snatched the lid, thumping it back into place and lurching from the table, taking it with him into the bedroom without a word. He left his beer bottle on the table, forgotten.

Ben followed him, head spinning with questions, and found Hux on the edge of his bed, facing away. He sat down behind him gingerly, waiting without speaking or touching him, because he could see the way tension hovered around Hux, ready to repel any unwanted intrusions.

Finally, Hux reached over and clicked the bedside light on, and laid back on the bed with the box on his chest. He gave Ben a plaintive look that erased years from his features, and Ben felt like he was looking at another version of Hux, a Hux that hadn’t dealt with years of loneliness and had struggled so hard just to survive.

Ben eased himself down beside Hux, and Hux immediately nestled close to him, laying his head on Ben’s chest when Ben slid an arm around him. The box tilted on Hux’s chest, and he steadied it with one hand, taking a framed photograph out of it with the other.

It was small, the size of Ben’s hand, maybe, and Ben instantly knew it was Hux’s mother. She had blonde hair and dark eyes, but her cheek structure was the same, and they had the same elfin chin and long eyelashes and mischievous half smile. The picture had been taken on a hill next to an old, gnarled tree, and she was wearing a white dress.

“I hardly remembered what she looked like,” Hux said softly, tracing his thumb over the lines of the tree branches. “When I pictured her it was always just colors, really. Blurry light where her face should have been.”

Ben stroked his knuckles along Hux’s arm. “I know what you mean,” he said softly, and Hux looked at him.

“I remember she used to sing to me, when I was little. She had the most amazing voice. Ethereal.” He sighed, set the picture back in the box and took out something else. A worn paperback copy of Wuthering Heights . Hux flipped through it briefly, found it full of highlights and notes. Ben caught a glimpse of the name Elise penned in the front cover.

“Was that hers?” he asked.

“I guess so,” Hux said, turning the book around to read the back. “Never read it.”

“It’s pretty good,” Ben said. “Dark.”

“Maybe I’ll like it then.” Hux’s lips turned up at one corner, echoing the photograph. He set the book beside them on the bed, and took something else out of the box. It was a necklace, a little silver star on a chain. Hux stared at it for a long time, then closed it in his hand and put the box on the floor. Ben could see there was more inside, but didn’t pressure Hux to look at it—instead, he let Hux curl into him with the copy of Wuthering Heights propped on Ben’s chest, open to the first page.

They read through nearly fifty pages together, and Hux never let go of the necklace with the star. At some point, Brendol came back into the house, but he didn’t check on them. The television came on and the house was filled with the sound of the British Broadcasting Network and reports of terrorist activity in Nigeria. Hux progressively wrapped himself more thoroughly around Ben, leg twined through his, arm around his waist, and it only occurred to Ben briefly that they weren’t pretending, right now, even with Brendol in the next room and the door open between them.

It felt good.

“I wish you could stay,” Hux murmured against Ben’s neck, his soft sigh tickling Ben’s ear.

Ben set the book down, folded open at page forty-eight. “Me too,” he said, massaging Hux’s scalp with one hand. “This day did not go as planned.”

Hux’s body vibrated with laughter. “It was kind a weird shit-show there at the end, wasn’t it?” He kissed Ben’s jaw, breath humid and making Ben want to taste his mouth again. “But it started off okay, huh?”

Ben turned to face him and Hux tilted his chin up to meet his lips. Everything about Hux felt languid, like a sleepy cat, and it made Ben want to never move.

Hux’s tongue brushed Ben’s bottom lip, but he pulled back before Ben could open for him. “Are you going to ask me to go to that stupid Halloween dance, or not?” Hux asked, blinking up at him from beneath his ghostly pale eyelashes.

Ben’s stomach dropped and his mouth went dry. He did want to, but he was suddenly overcome again with the sensation of being watched . Of a thousand eyes on his back, judging him. Shame pooled in his stomach, because it felt like betraying his feelings for Hux.

“Will you?” he asked anyway, his voice hoarse.

Hux studied his face. This close, Ben could see the scars where his piercings went, reached up to touch the two above his eyebrow.

“You’re not ready for that,” Hux sighed.

“Let me decide what I’m ready for,” Ben riposted, frowning.

Hux hummed, smiled, and nuzzled Ben’s neck. Ben laid there, heart thudding in his ears, feeling the way he’d felt the time in fourth grade when he’d failed a math test and had been required to go home and show it to his mother. It was a palpable dread of disappointing someone, infinitely multiplied because it was Hux.

Then Hux twined their fingers together, said “I have an idea,” and kissed his cheek with a grin.

Obnoxious thumping hip-hop bass bled through the walls into the hall, keeping time with Ben’s heart. The school gym was too packed with bodies, the red and purple strobe lights too erratic, his blood too hot in his veins. He hovered just outside the double doors, back pressed to the white-lacquered concrete wall, flexing sweaty palms as he tried to swallow his anxiety. It wasn’t working, and he flinched when the door opened with a metallic snap, spilling sounds and smells and too many voices out.

Then the door clicked closed again and he was alone with Phasma.

She was wearing a red dress that left absolutely nothing about her figure to the imagination, red stiletto heels and red sequin devil horns peeking out from her blonde hair. Her heels clicked on the tile floor as she crossed the hall to plant herself beside Ben on the wall.

“You’re doing great, sweetie,” she said, and Ben couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

He glanced at her, the glitter on her cheek still sparkling even in the dim light. She smiled at him, and the expression didn’t hold her usual good-natured mockery. She nudged him with one shoulder.

“You look amazing, by the way. Your boy did a good job on the costumes.”

Ben glanced down at himself, feeling like he was watching a video of someone else at a Halloween party, unable to fully connect with it. “You think?” he asked, feeling like the question sounded a little forlorn. He ran his fingers over the leather jacket, thumbed the silver studs on the sleeve. “I’d never even heard of this guy until this week.”

Phasma raised an eyebrow, facing him to adjust a button stamped with the British flag that was pinned to Ben’s lapel. “Sid Vicious? You need to broaden your horizons, honey. The Sex Pistols are right up your alley.”

Ben smirked. “I’ve listened to nothing but British punk for the last week, trust me.” He sighed, started to run his hand through his hair, but remembered how long Hux had spent with gel and hairspray to get it to stand on end. “Do you think everyone knows?”

“Knows what?” Phasma asked. “That you two are here together? I’d say that’s pretty obvious. He is posing as your girlfriend, after all.”

Ben laughed under his breath, feeling warm, and suddenly feeling like an asshole for leaving Hux to the wolves while he hid outside in the hall. “I should get back in there,” he said, peeling himself off the wall.

Phasma patted his face, not gently. “Yeah, you should.”

They walked back to the gym doors together, and Phasma held the door open for him.

Hux was in the same place Ben had left him, though he’d accumulated a number of other students in his orbit. Ben recognized some of them as Hux’s band friends and was surprised, pleasantly, to find Rey and Finn among them.

Hux glanced up at him as Ben made his way back to the corner where they’d been hiding most of the night. Ben knew him well enough to see the look of concern in his eyes, even as they peered out at him from beneath a tousled blonde wig. He’d seen Hux putting this outfit together all week, from the leopard print top and gold lamé skirt to the fishnet stockings, but it still made Ben’s head reel. Mostly it was the way fishnet showed off how long and shapely his legs were, and how fucking short that skirt was. And the way it gripped his ass. And..

“Ben, dude,” Finn reached out and thumped Ben’s shoulder with the flat of his palm. “You all right?”

Ben realized his mouth was open and he snapped it shut, and Hux finally smiled for real, looking like a devil pleased with the corruption he’d sown. Rey handed Ben his cup of punch back, and Ben gulped it down. She was dressed as Moritica and Finn as Gomez, and the costumes looked professionally made and expensive; knowing Finn, they probably were. He didn’t do anything half-assed. There was a contest for best-dressed couple, and Rey and Finn had taken the prize for that the year before.

They were surrounded by zombies, witches, devils, black cats, numerous versions of Daenerys Targaryan, half the cast from Stranger Things and at least one of every Marvel character that had ever been created. People were all looking at each other, studying one another’s costumes, trying to discern who was behind the face paint and the masks, and no one was looking to judge anyone for anything other than the quality of their costume. Or at least that’s how it felt.

Ben shifted closer to Hux, brushing Hux’s thigh with his knuckles, feeling Hux’s fingers flutter over his briefly. Ben saw Rey notice, and felt giddy when she smiled.

“So are you two coming to the after-party tonight?” Phasma shouted over the din.

“Is there alcohol?” Hux shouted back.

Phasma grinned. “Wouldn’t be a party without it, would it?”

Ben blanched at the idea of being surrounded by more people in closer quarters, of the waning inhibitions that came with getting drunk. “I think we might just head back to my house,” he said, and he felt Hux look at him.

“Oh come on,” Phasma said. “You need to play the part. Sid and Nancy knew how to party.”

Hux put his arm around Ben then, surprising him. “Yes, and if we’re being totally accurate, he’ll have to kill me later.” Then Hux leaned over and gave Ben a kiss on his cheek which turned into Hux whispering in his ear, “Let’s go get some air.”

Ben was momentarily too stunned by the kiss to react; his cheek tingled with it, and he could feel the red lipstick mark. Then Hux grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the group, who simply blended back into the crowd as though Hux and Ben disappearing through the gym doors together wasn’t anything to remark on.

Once again, the doors dimmed the music, but Hux didn’t stop to lean against the wall just outside like Ben had not long before. Instead, he continued to draw Ben behind him.

Ben’s palm was sweaty in his, and his voice was a loud whisper when he asked, “Where are we going?”

“Shhhh,” Hux hissed, and pulled Ben up the south stairs at the end of the hall. Ben couldn’t help admiring the view as they climbed.

“I can feel you looking at my ass,” Hux sang, and Ben smiled.

“I’m not sure how anyone could not be looking. It’s pretty stunning.”

Hux snorted. “I’m aware. Be quiet.”

Ben lapsed into amused silence as they reached the second floor, his confusion abating in a pulse-sharpening thrill when Hux finally stopped outside the restrooms and pushed the door open, pulling Ben inside after him.

“What are we doing?” Ben whispered as Hux tugged him into the farthest stall from the door.

Hux reached around Ben and shoved the door closed, latched it, and leaned forward to press a hard kiss to Ben’s lips. Ben groaned, wrapping his arms around Hux and trying to melt into him, hands skating down the length of his body to the supple curve of his ass. He squeezed, unable to help himself, and Hux broke their kiss with a breathless laugh.

“You’ve been wanting to do that all night, haven’t you?” he asked against Ben’s lips.

Ben smiled, meeting his eyes and touching their noses together. “Mmmhmm.” Being alone in a dark stall, an entire floor away from anyone else, made Ben feel bold, and he stretched two fingers down to catch the hem of Hux’s skirt, drawing it up toward his hips.

Hux’s hand caught his wrist, held him fast. He was biting his lip against a grin, and the moonlight that filtered through the narrow window near the ceiling glittered on the star necklace around his throat.

“I have something else in mind,” Hux purred.

He stepped back from Ben and Ben whined at the loss of contact. Hux tugged the blonde wig off his head and draped it over the wall that separated them from the next stall over. Then with deliberate slowness, he unbuckled Ben’s studded leather belt and tugged it open.

Ben’s breath caught in his throat as Hux unbuttoned his too-tight black jeans, painted nails tracing the outline of Ben’s thickening cock before he drew the zipper down slowly, keeping Ben pinned to the stall door with his unwavering eyes.

“If I do something you don’t like, tell me to stop,” Hux said. “Okay?”

Ben could only nod dumbly, earning a small smile before he felt Hux hook his thumbs over the hem of his boxers and push both them and his pants down over his hips. Gooseflesh prickled Ben’s naked thighs and his balls drew up toward his body, but Hux cupped them gently in his hand.

Ben’s head immediately thunked back into the door, his eyes closing as all the breath in his lungs left him. Hux’s touch was gentle and Ben felt his lips caressing the line of his neck as Hux explored the shape of his cock with one hand. Ben had imagined this maybe a thousand times since that impromptu hand-job Hux had given him weeks ago, tried to extrapolate how it would feel, but he’d missed the mark incredibly.

“Jesus,” Ben whispered as Hux’s fingers fluttered along Ben’s shaft.

“Not quite so pure,” Hux murmured, flicking his tongue over Ben’s earlobe, making him laugh. Ben opened his eyes, sought Hux’s lips, and was rewarded with a slow, deep kiss that made his stomach tight with lust unlike any of the other times they’d made out. Ben groped for him again, needing his hands on Hux’s body, but once more Hux slipped away. This time, Hux crouched down, eye level with Ben’s cock, and Ben finally got the picture seconds before Hux’s tongue licked a wet stripe from the base of his shaft to the tip.

Ben gasped, a sound that transitioned into a choked keen when Hux took the head of his dick between his soft lips and sucked, tongue tracing the flared head, dipping through the slit as though he was mapping the shape of him, determining how best to explore him with his mouth. He wrapped one hand around Ben’s base, swallowing him down to the fingers that gripped him, and Ben’s legs almost gave out.

“Oh my fucking God,” he whined, trying to figure out where to put his hands. Hux’s head bobbed over him, shifting into and away from the touch of Ben’s fingertips, the only sounds in the room the muffled, wet sound of Hux’s mouth on him and the way the door behind Ben vibrated in the frame as Ben trembled against it.

“Hux,” he rasped after hardly a full minute, trying to catch at Hux’s hair, “I’m gonna come.” Ben pressed himself back into the door as Hux swallowed him down again. Hux looked up at him as he reached the end of his shaft again and licked at the slit.

“Good,” he said, and the second Hux’s lips were around him again Ben did come, so intensely that his head banged against the door again, harder, and he chipped paint off the stall where he dug his fingernails into it. He felt himself pulsing against Hux’s tongue for what felt like far too long, and dimly realized through the ringing haze in his head that Hux had to be swallowing it. His knees turned to jelly and he slumped, groaning, knowing this moment would be what he thought of every time he jerked off for the rest of his life.

He barely registered Hux moving until he felt his lips again, and then he was tasting himself on Hux’s tongue, which was at once both vile and impossibly erotic. He licked into Hux’s mouth with his eyes still squeezed shut, finally getting his arms around him and tugging him close. Ben’s pants were still around his hips, his flagging cock pressed between them.

“Holy fuck,” Ben said when they finally came up for air, and Hux was grinning when Ben blinked his eyes open at last.

“You’ve made references to divinity three times now,” Hux purred, thumbing Ben’s navel.

Ben laughed, a ragged sound, because he hadn’t yet recovered his breath. He started to tell Hux it was absolutely appropriate when the outer door of the restroom creaked open and someone snapped on the lights.

Ben froze, stomach dropping as he clutched at his pants, trying to drag them back up as if whoever was out there could see through the stall.

“All right kids,” a familiar voice said. It was Lando, the school resource officer. “Don’t care what you’re up to in here as long as it’s not drugs, but you need to move this off school property.”

Hux’s lips were pursed, eyes glittering with mirth. Ben was horrified, realized Hux’s blonde wig was still draped over the stall. He snatched it, stupidly, and Hux had to stifle his laughter behind his hand.

“One minute,” Lando said, sounding bored. “That oughta be long enough for kids your age, right?”

With that, the door clicked closed again.

Ben stared at Hux, and Hux stared at Ben, and then they both burst into laughter.

Chapter Text

The squeak and scuffle of shoes on the polished court floor was almost hypnotic, back and forth from one side of the gym to the other. The hollow thunk of the rubber ball and the swish of the net, the throaty buzz of the scoreboard all blend into the animated rise and fall of voices all around him, the reverberation of the wooden risers as people stream up and down with drinks and popcorn in hand.

Hux had never thought he’d be the type to be found at a sports event, much less the American versions; at least basketball made more sense than what this country called football. It seemed, however, that Ben was involved in absolutely everything, and that Hux was doomed to these games for that reason alone. Well. And the fact that football came with tight pants and basketball with shorts and sleeveless tunics that showed off all those long limbs of Ben’s that Hux was so very fond of.

“You want some ketchup with that?” Rey asked, jostling Hux to the side as she bumped her shoulder against his.

Hux glanced at her, brow wrinkled. “Huh?”

Rey flashed her teeth in a grin. “You look like you’re ready to devour him.”

Hux turned back to the court, grinning as well. “I can’t help it,” he said. “And I might, later.” He side-eyed Rey. “Devour him.”

“Ew,” Rey whined, and a handful of popcorn sailed across her lap to pepper Hux, courtesy of Finn.

Hux brushed the puffed yellow-white kernels to the footboard, where some of them rained through the cracks to the gym floor below. He picked up the last stubborn one clinging to the threads of his torn jeans and popped it into his mouth before leaning back with both elbows on the riser behind him.

After a moment, Rey mimicked Hux’s posture. Her voice was close enough to carry over the din as she asked, “So, what’s up with you guys?”

Hux looked at her, suddenly wary. Next to her, Finn leaned suddenly forward and shouted COME ON, REF just before the blaat of the scoreboard buzzer. Hux whipped his head back to the court, saw black jerseys milling with red on the sidelines, but couldn’t tell what had happened.

“We’re friends?” Hux said, still facing forward. As though sensing Hux’s attention, Ben looked up from where he had one foot propped on the bench below, tying his shoe. Their eyes met and Ben smiled, and it made Hux feel, for that split second, like he was the only person in the gym.

“You guys don’t have to worry about us, you know,” Rey told him.

Ben had turned away now, striding back onto the court with his teammates. Looking back to Rey, Hux felt like he was caught in a web suddenly, alone with Ben’s friends and unsure what to say.

“I’m not really the one worrying,” he said pointedly, raising one eyebrow.

Rey’s shoulders rose and fell in a sigh as she looked back toward the courts below; Hux imagined she was searching for Ben, weighing her thoughts with him as her focal point.

“Even if we hadn’t all been at that Halloween party,” Rey began, leaning closer to Hux so her voice didn’t carry to the people sitting nearby. “It’s pretty obvious he’s crazy about you.”

Despite everything that had already happened between him and Ben, from clandestine kisses to backseat blowjobs, hearing that from a person outside their private microcosm made something warm and elated curl in Hux’s stomach.

“I feel the same way about him, too,” he said wistfully, then shrugged both shoulders. “But I think he’s more crazy about what people think of him.” Hux realized that sounded both sympathetic and bitter, but he couldn’t help it.

“He’s always been that way,” Rey sighed. She opened her mouth to elaborate just as Finn leaned over and pressed an oversized blue and red striped cup into her hands.

“He’s what way?” Finn asked as Rey was momentarily distracted by the half-melted Icee.

“Afraid people are judging him,” Rey said around the straw between her lips, raising her free hand to make circles in the air beside her head.

“Oh.” Finn offered Hux the bag of popcorn, but Hux shook his head; the stuff got stuck in his teeth. “Yeah he’s always been that way,” Finn said, echoing Rey. “He’s always been so worried about what everyone thinks that he doesn’t give people a chance to love the real him.”

Hux almost said the words I do , but was so surprised by the way the sentiment had bubbled to the surface that naturally that he simply stared at Finn. He wanted to ask questions like do you think he’ll ever get over that and do you think he’s ashamed of who he is , but he wasn’t sure he wanted answers from people that had known Ben most of his life, people that would know the truth.  

Rey seemed to sense Hux’s discomfiture, pushing the subject in a different direction. “So do you have college plans lined up?”

Hux turned abruptly away, scowling. “Not really. I think the whole college thing is bullshit. Spend a bunch of money for a piece of paper that won’t really tell anyone how much you know or how well you can do a job.” He kicked at the riser in front of him, scuffing the toe of his red Converse sneaker. “All it says about you is that you joined the capitalist herd marching right off the cliff into a sea of endless debt.”

The silence from Rey and Finn felt like a pressure bubble at his back, and Hux felt his cheeks warm slightly. In most circumstances, he wouldn’t give a shit what people thought of his opinions, but these were Ben’s friends. And Hux didn’t want to admit that he had no college plans because there was no chance he’d ever get in one.

Then he heard Finn chuckle, and he relaxed enough to look back at them.

“So tell us how you really feel about it,” Rey said, her voice dripping good-natured sarcasm.

“Sorry,” he said, shrugging again. “I have this bad habit of saying exactly what I think.”

“I can see that,” Rey said with a smile that surprisingly looked almost fond. “I think that’s one of the reasons Ben likes you so much.”

“Yeah,” Finn agreed. “Because he’s spent most of his life only saying what he thinks everyone wants to hear.”

Hux wanted to be offended on Ben’s behalf, if for no other reason than the fact that Ben wasn’t here to defend himself, but Finn’s words felt true. Hux couldn’t help picturing the way that Ben always hesitated before he answered questions from adults, like he was trying to decide how to tailor his response to fit the exact outlook of the person he was talking to. He’d done that with Hux’s father, slipping so seamlessly into a role designed to minimize conflict and shroud himself in a positive image. Rey was right, that Hux was almost Ben’s polar opposite, stirring up dissent and setting himself apart, but it was all from the same place for he and Ben.

Fear to let anyone close, in case they wouldn’t like what they found.

“He’s not like that with me,” Hux said, liking the way that fact felt as though it was a secret spark only he could nurture.

Finn crunched on another mouthful of popcorn while he regarded Hux. “So what are you going to do when he goes to Stanford?” he asked with his mouth half-full, shedding crumbs on Rey’s arm. Rey winced and wiped her arm on his leg.

Hux wasn’t ready for that question, felt like he’d just been dumped into the middle of a lake before he’d learned to swim. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, looking back to the basketball court and finding Ben. Hux was overcome then with wondering whether he’d ever sit on the sidelines to watch Ben play ball after this year. If the spring quarter would be the last time they ever studied together. “He said we’d figure something out,” Hux added glumly, the words almost a mantra for himself instead of an explanation for Rey and Finn.

He flinched when Rey ruffled his hair, and he ducked away to keep her from messing up his carefully disordered style.

“Ben always keeps his word,” she told him, and Hux heard the undercurrent of sympathy; he bristled reflexively, but he was glad for the reassurance.

Hux was saved any further awkward questioning by the final buzzer signaling the end of the game, nearly drowned out by the sound of raucous cheering. All around them, people were springing from their seats, feet pounding down the bleachers toward the courts. Hux glanced at the scoreboard and realized he’d not been paying sufficient attention to who was winning, since all he really cared about was Ben.

“Five in a row!” Finn sang happily, conversation forgotten as he hopped down toward the court.

Hux gathered himself more sedately, pulling his backpack onto his shoulders; it was heavier than usual, stuffed full that morning with everything he could possibly think of that he might need to stay the night at Ben’s. Three changes of clothes, his boots, toothbrush, ipod and headphones, a deck of cards. The copy of Wuthering Heights they hadn’t finished yet, his bowl, a fifth of whiskey. A bottle of lube and condoms, just in case.

Rey had waited on him, slurping the last of the Icee from her cup as she gathered up the popcorn bag Finn had left behind. “Why don’t boys know how to clean up after themselves?” she grumbled, then winked at Hux.

Hux smiled back, taking the crushed bag out of her hand so she could juggle her own backpack onto her shoulders. They walked down to the courts together, tossing their trash in a bin wedged against the bottom row of bleachers, reeking of sickly sweet, wet garbage. It was a scent Hux had begun to associate with all sporting events. That, and the smell of sweat and exertion, magnified now by the humid air and press of bodies.

The Knight’s fans were streaming out onto the court, creating a human soup of parents and students, referees and players; the defeated team was slowly trickling out the door to the locker rooms, leaving Bail Organa High School to celebrate their victory.

Hux hesitated on the sidelines, scanning the crowd for Ben’s unruly mop of dark hair; generally, he was easy to find, because he was a half a head taller than most of their peers, but not on a basketball court teeming with adults. Rey squeezed his shoulder as she passed, weaving her way into the throng in search of Finn, probably.

Hux had just begun to deflate when something collided with his side and a heavy arm draped over his shoulders.

“Hi gorgeous,” Ben said, pressing his nose into Hux’s hair just above his ear, hiding the shape of the words on his mouth.

A smile spread over Hux’s lips and he dared to snake an arm around Ben’s waist, heart fluttering when Ben’s hip swayed toward him instead of away. He couldn’t help the thrill of feeling as though he’d just collected a trophy, despite the fact that it was Ben’s team that had just won their fifth game in a row.

“You’re drenched,” Hux griped, even as he curled his fingers possessively into Ben’s moist jersey. There was something primal about the sweat-sheened skin and the heat that radiated from Ben’s body, and Hux had to quell the urge to turn his face up to nuzzle that long, flushed neck.

Ben ruffled Hux’s hair, though unlike Rey, Ben simply used that gesture to disguise the way his fingers trailed down to the shorter, softer hair at the nape of Hux’s neck, caressing the skin just above Hux’s collar with a feather-light touch.

“M’gonna go shower,” Ben said. “You excited about tonight?” He squeezed Hux tighter to his side in emphasis. Hux caught the gaze of that cute redheaded girl Ben had turned down for the Halloween dance at that moment; she was standing with a knot of her friends, staring daggers of ice at Hux with a frown twisting her lips.

“Fuck yes, I’m excited about tonight” Hux said, smiling at the girl, who turned pink and huddled closer to her friends, gossiping, no doubt . “You sure we have to have other people over, though?” He saw Finn and Rey heading toward them, Phasma and Dopheld in tow. “I kind of want you all to myself,” he added, voice suggestive and face blank.

Ben ducked his head close enough to whisper in Hux’s ear. “You’ll have me all to yourself when they leave,” he said, voice a low thrum. “All night.”

The way he said it, the fact that Ben was so blatantly and uncharacteristically forward made Hux’s stomach drop.

It must be the adrenaline in Ben’s veins, making him bold, and Hux found himself glowering at Ben’s friends...and maybe they were Hux’s friends now too... as they approached, wishing spitefully that Ben wasn’t a package deal. Or that he came with jealous girls attached.  

But, Hux supposed, that was what one got for falling in love with the most popular boy in school.  

Hux was barefoot in Ben’s kitchen an hour and half later, the tiles chilly on his soles and the refrigerator spilling cold air that made his bare arms prickle. He’d changed into pajama pants that nearly covered his toes and a t-shirt, not because he was uncomfortable in the clothes he’d worn to the game, but because it was heady to advertise the fact that he was spending the night here, with Ben, to all the people currently in Ben’s living room.

He pushed aside a carton of orange juice, smirking at the memory of the day he’d met Ben-- it seemed years in the past now, and as though it had happened to other people, or they’d just been acting out a script for some teenage angst drama. Now here they were, behind the scenes, inseparable instead of at each other's’ throats.

Plucking a jar of pickles out from behind the orange juice, Hux rifled through the crisper drawer, marveling at the way Ben’s refrigerator was four times the size of the one in Hux’s house, and yet had less food stored in it. Eyes flicking to the covered ceramic baking dish in the center of the second shelf, Hux frowned at the piece of masking tape with Ben’s name on it, scrawled beside the numbers 350F, 30m. He peeked under the lid to find lasagna, presumably prepared by Ben’s mysterious housekeeper Martine, and resisted the urge to pull it out and dump it in the trash can for being impersonal. Ben deserved better.

“What are you doing?” Ben’s voice startled him, as did the arms that wound around his waist.

Hux leaned back into his embrace, reflexively checking the door to the kitchen; he was as indoctrinated by the constant efforts to keep their relationship under wraps as Ben at this point, though not for his own sake.

“I’m being pissed at this lasagna,” Hux said, twisting the lid off the pickles and drawing one out. He took a bite, cold, green-tinted vinegar juice dripping down his chin.

He felt Ben laughing, a pleasant, warm vibration against his back. “How can you be angry at pasta? Is that an Irish versus Italian thing?”

Hux spluttered on his pickle, snorting with laughter that he swallowed quickly around his ire. “No. It’s just total shite that your parents pay someone else to give a fuck about you.”  

Hux could feel the amusement drain out of Ben, and he almost regretted saying anything until Ben’s arms tightened around his torso. “I have you,” Ben murmured, lips brushing Hux’s neck.

Eyes lidding half-closed, Hux reached up with his free hand and found Ben’s cheek, stroking the back of his knuckles over the soft skin. “I’m an awful cook, though,” he purred, turning his head to seek Ben’s lips, which were curved in a smile as they met Hux’s.

“It’s okay,” Ben said between quiet pecks. “You know how to order pizza.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang, signalling just that--a pizza delivery that Hux had all but forgotten about.

“I’ll get it,” Ben said, giving Hux one last kiss, teasing him with just the barest hint of a hot tongue before he let Hux go and shuffled barefoot to the front door.

Hux shoved the pickles back into the refrigerator and closed the crisper drawer, swiping two bottles of beer before letting the door swing shut. He stretched one arm up to tug open the cabinet above the ‘fridge, where Hux had spirited a stack of paper plates; Ben’s kitchen had been too fancy to boast such products before Hux had gotten involved, refusing to eat chicken nuggets and fries and pizza off fine china. There was a stash of fast food napkins from various restaurants now stashed in a drawer on top of the linens, and Hux gathered a handful of those to carry into the living room.

It struck him, just as he was maneuvering these things onto the coffee table surrounded by Ben’s guests, that Hux himself was more a host than a visitor in this scenario. Like he and Ben lived in this house together. It made him wonder what it would be like to live together for real, to have a cramped apartment in Stanford, just them and their paper plates and nobody’s guilt-lasagna.

“You look like you saw a ghost,” Rey said, grabbing for the napkins that fluttered off the table onto the floor when Hux tried to scoot the Settlers of Catan board over with the base of one beer bottle.

“Just having visions of the future,” Hux said, smiling and settling back on the floor, cross-legged.

“As long as it involves food,” Phasma grumbled, snatching a paper plate just as Ben returned with three large pizzas.

There was no room left on the coffee table, so the pizza boxes went onto the floor, divided up between the couples. Finn and Rey, Phasma and her girlfriend Jessika, Dopheld and Tommy Thanisson, who weren’t actually together but apparently were well on their way. If anyone had asked Hux a year ago if he’d ever be mixed up in some teen sitcom like this, he’d have cursed them, and yet here he was.

Ben squeezed his long body into the space between the couch and the coffee table, pushing the table across the rug with his foot to give them more space. “Whose turn is it?” he asked, peeling a piece of pepperoni and black olives out of a box and dropping it on a plate, handing it to Hux before he took a slice for himself.

“We can’t play Settlers and eat pizza at the same time,” Dopheld said with his mouth full. “You’ll get the pieces greasy.”

“His game, his rules,” Finn sang, sounding rather too cheerful about it.

“I thought you wanted to learn how to play?” Rey asked sweetly, leaning her head back against Finn’s shoulder to grin at him, only to get the end of a slice of Hawaiian shoved in her mouth.

“Mind your business,” Finn said, kissing her head.

“You two are disgusting,” Hux told them, sipping his beer. He didn’t miss the way it earned him a look from Ben, his dark, doe-eyes around and unsure.  

Rey gave Hux a look that could only be described as unimpressed. “I have an idea,” she said, sucking grease off her thumb. “Truth or dare.”

“Oh my god, are we twelve?” Hux asked, laughing.

“Aww, your accent is cute when you get riled up,” Phasma said, making a faux pouty face at Hux. She exchanged a look with Rey that Hux didn’t understand, distracted by the way Ben’s foot touched his beneath the coffee table.

“You know I’ll kick all of your asses at the dare aspect of this, right?” Hux muttered around the lip of his beer bottle.

“Mmmhm,” Finn said. “Truth or dare, Hux. Go.”

Hux smirked. “Truth.”

Ben laughed and leaned nearer to him, his shoulder slumped against Hux’s; it made Hux feel warm, lulled by the way Ben was relaxed enough to be this close. Beer still in one hand, he slipped the other between their thighs, brushing Ben’s leg with his pinkie and hoping for his hand.

Finn considered for a moment, chewing his lip, then brightening with an idea. “Have youuuuu….ever cheated on a test?”

Hux huffed. “You mean, one of the six I ever showed up to take in my life?” This earned him a round of laughter, even though likely none of them knew it wasn’t so far off from the truth. Or it hadn’t been, before he’d met Ben and gotten inspired. “No. I’m a fucking genius,” he added, and felt Ben’s fingers twine through his. “My turn?”

They went around the circle for a solid half hour, the questions graduating from inane to personal, with Phasma, Finn, and Hux the only ones that went in for the dare option. Rey made Hux drink pickle juice, Ben made Phasma lick the bottom of her shoe, and Hux sent Finn out to toss himself into Ben’s freezing swimming pool.

“Last question,” Rey said, rubbing Finn’s back through the towel he’d wrapped around himself like a hooded cloak. Hux could see he was shivering beneath it, now wearing a borrowed pair of Ben’s track pants and a t-shirt while his clothes dried in the downstairs shower. “Ben Solo, truth or dare.”

Phasma tossed a crumpled napkin over the table at Ben. “Come on you chicken.”

Hux squeezed his hand where they were still linked together, had been the entire time, minus the pickle juice.

“Fine,” Ben said. “Dare.”

Hux saw Phasma grin, then saw it echoed on Rey’s face. “All right, Ben. You have to kiss the person closest to you for ten full seconds. On the lips!”

Phasma snickered, and Rey looked quite pleased with herself, and with a twinge of amusement and surprise, Hux got it. This had been the plan all along, the reason for that conspiratorial look the two girls had exchanged at the beginning of this drawn out, manipulative dance. Well played, he thought, biting his bottom lip and glancing at Ben.

Ben’s cheeks were predictably pink, and Hux could tell from the way he was staring at Rey with the hint of a smile on his mouth that he’d reached the same conclusion about the purpose of this juvenile game. He let go of Hux’s hand then, and for the briefest second, Hux thought he was going to get up and leave the room because of the way he shifted on the floor, but then Ben turned toward him and leaned closer. His eyes were shy and unsure, his posture awkward just like it had been on Hux’s porch the first time they’d kissed, his expression seeming to say please don’t let me drown here .

Hux leaned forward slowly, eyes open and a smile playing on his face, waiting for Ben to be the one to ultimately make the move; that felt like the whole point. When they were perhaps no more than two inches apart, Ben finally closed the distance and met his lips.

It was a decidedly chaste kiss, soft and warm, just a lingering of lips against one another in a silent room, and Hux allowed it for half of their assigned ten seconds before he snagged a fistful of Ben’s t-shirt, just like that night on Hux’s front porch, and tugged him closer. He nipped gently at Ben’s plump bottom lip, and when he gasped softly in surprise, Hux slipped his tongue between his lips and drew Ben into it slowly.

He resisted at first, tensing as though to pull away, the kiss clumsy even though they’d had more than enough practice, but then something seemed to snap, something taut and nervous relaxed and Ben sighed through his nose and opened his mouth fully for Hux. Distantly, Hux felt Ben’s hand on his thigh, and might have crawled into his lap right there in front of everyone, heart hammering and blood hot, if a sudden round of applause hadn’t shattered the moment.

Surprisingly, Ben didn’t jerk away, but their kiss dissolved because Hux smiled and it made Ben laugh. When they finally drew back, Ben looked as flushed as Hux felt, his eyelids half closed, attention seemingly riveted to Hux. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable, a haze that took a moment to clear before Ben finally turned away to look at Rey.

“Happy now?” he asked.

Rey’s answering smile was bright and self-satisfied. “Very,” she said. “And after seeing that spectacle, I think it’s time for us to leave you two lovebirds alone for the night.”

Hux saw Ben’s cheeks color more, but he didn’t protest as Rey pushed herself up from the floor and held her hand out to pull Finn up with her.

Twenty minutes later, after combing the living room for Finn’s shoe, looking for a missing game piece Dopheld insisted he find before leaving, and shutting the door in Phasma’s face as she told them to “remember to use a condom,” Hux and Ben were finally alone in house.

Hux flopped down onto the couch, nerves tingling with anticipation as he watched Ben distract himself from his own anxiety by attempting to clean up the living room. Hux could tell that he was less concerned about the mess than he was nervous about the possibilities inherent in Hux sleeping over; rather then actually getting rid of the clutter left over from the party, Ben was just moving it around, stacking boxes and soda cans on the table and making a pile of used napkins.

“Ben,” Hux said quietly, fighting a smile.

“Hmm?” Ben answered without looking at him, pushing the coffee table back across the rug with his knee.

Hux stretched out on the couch on his side. “C’mere.”

Ben circled the table slowly, glancing at the front door, which Hux knew was locked. The last of the headlights from his friends’ cars had faded, leaving nothing but the front porch light peeking through the slats of the front blinds.

“What are you nervous about?” Hux asked, even though he knew the answer. “C’mere.”

Ben shuffled closer and sank down onto the couch; Hux scooted closer to the back of it, making room to pull Ben close.

“That was a lot,” Ben mumbled, hiding his face beneath Hux’s chin, cheek pressed to his chest.

“In a bad way?” Hux asked, making runnels through Ben’s hair with his fingers.

“No. Just...not the way I imagined that going. Like. Everyone at once, you know?” He turned his face up and Hux shifted so he could meet his eyes. They were brown-gold and warm beneath his long, dark lashes.

“Are you glad?” Hux asked.

Ben smiled, and Hux could see he was starting to thaw around the edges, the shock of coming out to his friends beginning to fade. He kissed Hux’s chin, lips warm. “Mmmhm. I think everyone knew, anyway.”

“I told you that, didn’t I?” Hux reminded him, nuzzling his forehead.

Ben nodded, his lips now grazing Hux’s neck. His breath was hot when he spoke, making Hux’s eyes flutter. “Yes. My boyfriend is wise and all-knowing.”

Hux tilted his head, opening his neck, already feeling himself starting to harden with the way Ben’s thigh had found its way between his legs. “Is that what I am now?”

Finding Hux’s earlobe, Ben tongued the piercings, making Hux shiver. “Aren’t you?”

“I’ll be anything you want if you keep doing that,” Hux purred, sighing when he felt Ben’s hand snaking beneath his t-shirt, thumb brushing skin.

“But only if I keep doing this?” Ben whispered, teeth closing with the gentlest pressure on his earlobe, sucking. Ben was holding his breath so the only sound Hux heard was the wet caress of his lips.

Hux whined, trying to roll onto his back, but they were a tangle of limbs. “There are lots of other things you could do,” he sighed, arching his back when Ben’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, finding his cock and palming it. His touch wasn’t hesitant, had been growing bolder and more sure over the last month, and Hux was gradually needing to offer less guidance as Ben learned just how to take him apart.

“Like what kinds of other things?” Ben asked, long fingers stroking Hux’s length.

Hux’s hips twitched upward reflexively. “Things we can do upstairs?” he offered, his voice reedy. “In your bed?” It was the first time Hux had suggested it aloud, having let Ben set their pace so far, but a month of sucking each other off and hand jobs had led, last weekend, to a Saturday afternoon on Hux’s bed, both of them with their pants pushed down past their hips, cocks pressed together, rocking against each other until they came. It had been one of the most incredibly hot moments of Hux’s life, and he wanted more. A lot more.

“Did you bring stuff with you?” Ben asked, making Hux’s heart skip.

“Yeah,” he said, embarrassed that the word came out hoarse.

Ben withdrew his hand from Hux’s pants slowly, running the flat of his palm along the curve of Hux’s side. “Okay,” he whispered.

Hux shivered at the way Ben’s breath tickled his neck, suddenly cold as Ben pulled away to sit up. Hux had to remain there on his back a moment waiting for his erection to wilt before he let Ben pull him off the couch with one hand. Suddenly, stupidly, Hux was nervous, like he was picking the anxiety up from Ben, or they were magnifying it in each other. They were halfway up the stairs to Ben’s bedroom before Hux realized what was different about this, why it made him tremble with nerves. He’d had sex before, and not just a couple of times, but he’d never done it with someone he felt this way about. Someone he wanted to be perfect for.

Ben flicked the light on in his room, paused, and then flicked it off again, turning on the lava lamp on the bedside table instead. The glow was tinted red through the bubble of wax at the bottom, bathing the room in a soft glow that made Ben’s hair and eyes look black and his skin almost pink.  

After turning the lamp on, Ben hovered, chewing his lip and surveying the room like it would offer him some clue as to what he should do next. They were back in uncharted territory, Ben’s ship floundering until Hux took the few steps between them and kissed him.

Ben sighed gratefully, returning Hux’s kiss much more surely than he had with his friends watching. His hands found Hux’s face, framing it gently, one thumb stroking down over Hux’s pulse point. Hux relaxed into the familiar shape of Ben’s mouth and the taste of his tongue, waiting until he felt Ben’s shoulders loosen beneath his palms before he slid his hands down to the hem of Ben’s shirt.

Somehow, the way Ben shifted back and let Hux pull the t-shirt over his head felt erotic, like they were committed to this now. Letting the shirt fall to the floor, Hux wasted no time tugging his own off to toss behind it, wanting Ben’s hands on his bare skin.

“You’re like a furnace,” Hux murmured, wrapping his arms around Ben’s neck to press against him, resisting the urge to move faster than Ben wanted to. If he had his way, they’d already be naked, on the bed, with Hux straddling Ben’s hips.

Ben’s breath was warm in his hair, lips pressed against his scalp as he traced the curve of Hux’s spine with the fingertips of one hand. “You’re so soft,” he sighed.

Hux hid a smile, rocking his hips forward so Ben would be sure to feel the erection barely restrained by his clothing. “Hardly.”

Ben vibrated with laughter, the hand on Hux’s back smoothing over a hip, sliding around to cup the meat of one buttock. He squeezed weakly, as though unsure how much pressure to apply, and Hux forced himself not to laugh at how utterly adorable it was. He moved his own hand over Ben’s hip, hooking a thumb in his waistband and dragging at it slowly, making it a question.

Ben seemed to take it as guidance instead, because he mimicked the placement of Hux’s hand, thumb coaxing Hux’s pajama pants over his hips until they slipped off, pooling at his feet. Despite wanting it, despite the various states of nakedness they’d been in together, it left Hux feeling almost dizzy and exposed. Especially when Ben’s impossibly huge hands closed on his hips and Ben looked down, taking in the his first glimpse of Hux’s completely nude figure.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Ben murmured, knuckles gliding over one protruding hip bone, tickling the hair between Hux’s legs.

Hux shivered, biting his lip to once more contain awkward laughter. He pulled away, regarding Ben with lips pursed against a smile. “Strip. Bed,” he commanded, trying to wrench any sort of control back before he melted.

It was Ben’s turn to be on display, and as he shucked his own pajama pants, Hux realized how Ben had just been so entranced; despite having seen almost every part of each other before now, somehow the full picture was completely different. Though Ben didn’t stand still and allow Hux to look, once he’d spread himself across the bed, propped on his elbows, Hux found he couldn’t move for staring. Ben was perfect, every plane and angle something Hux wanted to worship with fingers and lips, to map over and over until he had all of him seared into his memory.

Only when Ben shifted and started to sit up again did Hux realize he’d stared too long, had made him self-conscious. Before Ben could pull the blanket in his hand over himself, Hux was crawling onto the bed and into his lap.

“You don’t need to hide,” Hux murmured, finding Ben’s fingers and coaxing the blanket out of them before he guided that hand to his hip. Hux leaned down to kiss him, trying to concentrate on that more than the way his cock brushed against Ben’s, every slightest motion of their bodies sending sparks along its length.

Ben’s tension gradually drained away, his body turning pliant beneath Hux and convincing him that they could move on.

“Just going to grab my bag,” Hux said, trailing little kisses over Ben’s collarbone.

Despite the warning, Ben still whined and grabbed for him when Hux slid off his lap, stretching his arm over the end of the bed to tug open the zipper of his backpack. He let Ben hang on to the fingers of his other hand while he pulled the roll of condoms and the lube out of a side pocket and tossed them onto the bed.

Ben was propped higher on his elbows, watching him, and as Hux righted himself on the bed, Ben sat up. He picked up the condoms, smirking at them as he glanced at Hux coyly.

“Seven, huh? Think that will last us until tomorrow?”

Hux flushed all the way to his toes, but he grinned as he straddled Ben’s hips again, needing his warmth in the chilly room. “I mean, maybe? Depends on how much you like my ass.”

Predictably, that made Ben blush, suitable retaliation. Cheeks rosy, Ben tore one of the condoms off the strip. “So it’s going that way, then?” he asked, giving Hux that look from beneath his eyelashes that was being rapidly perfected into an expression that made Hux’s knees weak.

The question also surprised him, and he paused with his thumb on the lube bottle’s lid. “Did you...have a different preference?” he asked, raising both eyebrows.

Ben shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

Hux’s mouth fell open briefly, thinking that he would be absolutely fine with a boyfriend willing to do anything. And yet. “I think maybe this way, your first time,” he said, uncapping the tube and letting some of the viscous fluid run into his palm. “It’s um. More intuitive.”

Ben let out a small huff of laughter, but Hux thought he looked relieved. “Intuitive is not really a word I’ve ever thought of to associate with sex.”

Hux reached behind himself, parted his cheeks with two fingers and breached his entrance with the tip of another. “Why?” he said, breath raspy as he pushed in slowly. “We’re animals. It’s just instinct.” He swayed forward to kiss Ben, sustained it until he felt Ben’s hand close loosely around his wrist.

“Let me,” Ben said against his lips, coaxing Hux’s hand away. “Lay down.” He shifted his hips beneath Hux, as though to push him off and onto the bed.

Hux went willingly enough, butterflies in his stomach. Ben followed him, settling on his knees between Hux’s legs, slicking one hand as he stroked the other one over the inside of Hux’s thigh. Then he cupped Hux’s balls, making room for the finger that circled his entrance before pushing carefully inside.

The expression on his face was intent, studying the way Hux took him in with lips parted, and Hux felt heat spread down his chest when Ben’s eyes flicked up and met his. That dark gaze was asking Is this good? Am I doing well? It made Hux’s cock twitch and he pressed his hips down, seeking more.

“You don’t have to go too slow,” Hux told him in a breathy voice. “I um. Have things under my bed you haven’t seen yet.”

Ben raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk on his pretty lips. He didn’t argue though, and drew his finger out to replace it with two. “What kind of things?” he asked, grazing Hux’s prostate and making Hux twitch back against the mattress. “Sorry,” Ben said, pausing. “Did that hurt?”

Hux let one knee fall toward Ben, nudging him. “No, silly. Feels good. I’ll... ahh ...have to show you.”

Ben looked unsure, but responded to Hux’s needy little thrusts. Like everything they’d done together, Ben picked this up quickly, served well by his attentive nature. Hux was close to the edge when he finally wriggled away, pushing at Ben’s forearm to make him stop. He’d only just breached him with the third finger, but Hux felt his climax starting to build to a point he wouldn’t be able to pull back from.  

“Enough,” Hux said shakily. It wasn’t quite enough, not with how big Ben was, but it would have to do.

Ben looked unsure, like he didn’t quite believe him, but he also didn’t have enough experience to argue. Hux was just able to reach the edge of one condom, snatching it off the comforter and holding it out to Ben. He took it, awkwardly turning it in his big hands looking for what Hux realized suddenly was the right way to open it. His wild, dark hair was a curtain over his forehead as he peeled the foil package open; Hux resisted the urge to offer his assistance, figuring it would only embarrass him. Eventually, he’d show Ben how to put them on with his mouth, but that was for another time.

By the time Ben managed to get the condom in place and slicked with lube, he looked thoroughly uncomfortable, but he let Hux coax him down with fingers on his chin until they were pressed together chest to chest.

“Kiss me,” Hux murmured, one hand finding its way into Ben’s hair while the other slid down the planes of his muscular back.

Ben’s kiss was tentative at first, like the threads of his evident anxiety had stretched into even the familiar interactions, but he relaxed into it slowly. Elbows propped on either side of Hux’s head, Ben’s body was heavy and warm against him, and the way it made Hux feel small was heady and filled him with a desire to be possessed.

Wrapping his long legs around Ben’s hips, Hux shifted until he could feel the head of Ben’s cock pressing against his perineum. When Hux lifted his own hips to bring him into position, Ben seemed to intuit how to move at last, reaching between them and lining himself up with only a minor bit of fumbling. He gasped softly as he pushed inside, and Hux had to bite down on Ben’s shoulder to keep from crying out at the stretch, which was just on the verge of being too much.

By the time he was fully sheathed, Ben’s whole body was quivering, his face pressed into Hux’s neck.

“Okay?” Hux asked, a spike of worry stealing over him that, in the end, Ben might not actually like any of this. It had crossed his mind more than once, knowing Ben was a virgin. Had never even kissed a boy before this.

“Yes,” Ben breathed, his lips hot and wet against Hux’s ear.

Hux turned his head, wanting to kiss Ben, only find the side of his forehead and catching hair in his mouth. “Move, then?” he suggested, lifting his hips.

Ben grunted, shifting enough to manage a shallow thrust. Hux, eager for more, pushed up to meet him the next time, bringing their hips together hard and feeling Ben’s fingers make a tight fist in his hair.

“Hux,” he breathed, “I can’t…”

“You can,” Hux said, biting his earlobe, thinking he meant that he wasn’t good at this, when Hux knew he was going to be. If he would just let go. Rocking his hips again, he dug the fingers of his hand into the swell of Ben’s ass. “Don’t stop.”

Ben managed two more weak thrusts before he shuddered with a deep, muffled groan. Hux’s lips fell open in a silent exhalation when he realized what Ben had meant by I can’t . Last. Which of course he couldn’t.

Hux didn’t know what to say, but he ran his hand gently up Ben’s back, kissing the side of his head again. Ben didn’t move for a moment, body slack with his release, but he levered himself up with his hands pressed to the mattress the second he recovered. Hux hissed when he pulled out, the bed dipping beneath him as Ben adjusted his weight, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and onto the floor so he wasn’t looking at Hux. Hux caught the motion of his arm as he peeled the condom off, and heard it hit the inside of the trashcan.

Hux sat up, drawing his knees to his chest and reaching out to touch Ben’s shoulder. Ben still didn’t look at him, face hidden by his curling hair.

“Sorry,” Ben muttered.

“Don’t be,” Hux said, wrapping his fingers around Ben’s bicep, just above his elbow. “Come suck my dick.”

This brought Ben’s face around, his expression surprised at first, then crumbling into relief. “Good thing you brought seven condoms, I guess,” he said sheepishly.

Hux couldn’t help laughing at that. “Shut up and come here,” he said, pulling on Ben’s arm.

They didn’t manage a second time that night, but neither of them went to sleep unsatisfied. Hux, in fact, was near boneless with peaceful exhaustion and a fantastic orgasm that Ben drew out of him with his mouth and his increasingly talented fingers. Hux didn’t remember falling asleep, except the dim realization somewhere in his animal brain that he’d never felt safer than he did with Ben Solo wrapped around him from behind, naked body warm and enveloping and solid.

He woke the next morning with Ben’s cock hard against his thigh, and decided to take control of things. Pushing Ben on his back, he climbed into his lap and rode him, learning his tells, taking his time and drawing out his climax.

Hux was curled in his arms again afterward, basking in the intense afterglow, listening to Ben’s still ragged breathing against the back of his neck.

“Think your dad will let you spend the night again?” Ben asked hopefully, and Hux almost laughed at the raw lust in his tone.

“Because you want to snuggle on the couch and watch movies?” He nudged Ben, earning himself a kiss and a quiet rumble of laughter.

“I mean. Yes? Netflix and chill?” Ben’s hand slid down over Hux’s belly to tease at the hair between his legs.

Hux snorted, rolling back and trying to get closer. “Think you can go again?” he asked, canting his hips into Ben’s touch.

“Mmmm,” Ben purred, propping himself on one elbow so he could reach Hux’s lips with his own.

The kiss was sweet, and Hux twined an arm around his neck, stroking fingernails lightly over Ben’s scalp. Hux sighed into it when Ben’s fingers began to coax his spent cock back to life, so lost in it that he didn’t hear the echo of footsteps on the stairs. Neither of them did, and when the door of Ben’s bedroom flew open, it startled Ben so badly his hand closed bruisingly hard over Hux’s inner thigh, making him yelp.

“Yo kiddo,” a voice boomed from the doorway, and Ben’s first instinct, apparently, was to hide, because the sheet was suddenly over both their heads, morning sunlight filtering through it and making the space a dim cavern.

Hux, eyes wide, pressed close to Ben’s chest, realizing that both their hearts were racing. Ben’s skin had gone instantly clammy. The sheets flicked back, but only over Ben’s head.

“Hi Dad,” he said in obvious discomfort. Hux got it, all of a sudden, and had to stifle laughter by pressing his face into Ben’s shoulder.

There was a long pause, then the unfamiliar voice spoke again. “Your mom’s downstairs. Thought we’d surprise you.”

“Good job, Dad,” Ben grumbled.

Another pause.

“Why don’t you and your, um. Friend. Come downstairs? Your mom’s making breakfast.”

“Go away, Dad,” Ben said, sounding tired and resigned and utterly like a teenager.

“Right,” Ben’s father said, and a moment later the door clicked.

Ben flung the sheets off them, lying there silently for a long enough moment that Hux thought things were about to get extremely awkward. He was contemplating how he’d crawl out the second floor window when Ben finally turned his head on the pillow and looked at him with eyes that were, thankfully, filled with mirth.

“So,” Ben said, lips curling up at one corner. “Ready to meet my parents?”

Chapter Text

Ben made no move to get out of bed, despite the bravado he’d attempted to summon in the face of Han’s unexpected and highly unwelcome incursion. The lopsided smile on his mouth, plastered on for Hux’s benefit, began to slip as the reality of the situation began to take on a tangible shape. He was lying naked in bed, sheets around his waist, the room unnaturally cold despite the shared body heat that had been so comforting to wake up to. His skin prickled with a crawling sensation that was both chill and a very primal alarm, like he was a beast of prey trying to hide in the face of its impending doom.

Hux shifted beside him, edging away so that he could take in Ben’s expression. What he must have seen there drew a line between his eyebrows.

“I can go, if that’s better,” Hux mumbled, and Ben heard an edge to it that seemed to imply that the offer came with consequences. Disappointment. Hurt.

Anxiety and humiliation were the counterpoints in Ben’s chest, and he couldn’t help weighing the two options against one another: allow Hux to slip out the front door with a promise of meeting Ben’s parents later, or stop trying to conceal the real Ben Solo from his mother and father.

Tentatively, Ben slid a hand across the mattress, touching Hux’s hip, finger skating up over the sharp bone to the soft skin of his waist. The slightest pressure there had Hux burrowing against his chest again, face hidden in the hollow between Ben’s shoulder and chin. It struck Ben suddenly that if Hux was craving comfort in this moment, then he must feel vulnerable as well. It felt like being trusted with a secret, and one that he would do well to treasure.

“I don’t want you to go,” Ben told him, having decided completely. Whatever faced them downstairs was much less unpalatable than the idea of hurting Hux.

Hux had draped his arm over Ben’s waist, and he gave Ben a gentle squeeze. “Doesn’t seem like your dad was too upset.”

Ben chewed on the inside of his bottom lip, picturing Han’s shocked face, not terribly dissimilar to a deer in headlights. Ben imagined that would be the sort of expression worn by any parent suddenly exposed to such a situation, but he didn’t want to suggest to Hux that Han had simply not gotten a good view of the details--that for all Han knew, there had been a red-headed girl under those sheets. Ben couldn’t even say why he was so afraid that his parents would object to the fact that their son was gay, except that he barely knew them, and Ben had a terrible fear of the unknown.

“Do you want to take a shower or something first?” Ben suggested, the offer sounding tremulous.

He felt Hux shrug. “Only if it’s with you.”

The thought made Ben’s eyes go round. “My parents are home, though. If…”

Hux pulled away before Ben could stumble through the rest of his objection. There was a devious smirk on Hux’s lips, though the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m just kidding,” Hux said, and then Ben gasped as Hux’s hand slid up his thigh to cup Ben’s soft cock. “I wouldn’t mind more of this before we go, though.”

Ben laughed wheezily and he made a weak effort to pull away that ended with a groan as Hux massaged him gently. Despite the potential catastrophe waiting downstairs, his body responded to that touch in a way that made him lightheaded. Drugged. He wanted not to care about consequences, wanted to feel alive.

Instead of pushing Hux away, which is what he should have done, Ben leaned into him, nipping his neck and earning a soft chirp of surprise. When Ben’s lips closed on his earlobe, Hux shuddered.

“Lock the door,” Ben whispered in Hux’s ear, and hearing himself say this irresponsible thing aloud was dangerously thrilling.

It clearly took Hux off guard, and he looked at Ben and blinked. There was a split second between that surprise and the moment he realized Ben was serious, and Ben’s stomach dropped when Hux’s pupils dilated, making thin rings of those bewitching green irises.

Hux didn’t give him time to change his mind, He rolled out of bed and moved silently to the door of Ben’s bedroom, turning the lock in the center of the doorknob. His profile was narrow, willowy and perfect, and Ben’s eyes were drawn to the way Hux’s cock stood out from between his legs, pink and full.

By the time Hux made it back to the bed, Ben was fully hard, his elevated pulse making him throb almost painfully, and he reached for Hux before he’d even settled fully on the mattress.

Their lips met in a breathless kiss, Hux pressing his tongue into Ben’s mouth hungrily as Ben rolled onto his back and pulled Hux with him.

“We have to be quiet,” Ben whispered between kisses.

Hux nodded, bumping their noses together. “You’re bad, Ben Solo.”

Grinning, Ben ran a hand along Hux’s thigh, squeezed his hip. “It’s your fault,” he said, reaching with one arm over the nightstand where the remaining condoms had ended up not much earlier that morning. He swiped them quickly, tugged one off the roll with his teeth, and the rest slipped off the bed and fell in the floor.

Hux took over, taking the condom out of his hand and tearing it open. “Do you think they’ll come knock again if we don’t come straight downstairs?” he whispered with an impish grin.

“No,” Ben assured him. “I would guess my dad wouldn’t want to risk a repeat of that awkwardness.”

Hux leaned back now, shifting his hips enough to free Ben’s cock from where it was pinned between them, and Ben watched Hux roll the condom onto him.

Still gripping Ben loosely at the base, Hux looked to the nightstand. “Where’s the lube?”

Ben squinted at the table, frowning, then pictured the way Hux had been holding that bottle in one hand earlier, while he’d taken his time with slender, slick fingers between Ben’s legs.

Ben pushed a hand beneath the blankets and patted the mattress until he felt cold plastic, then dragged the bottle out. It was slimy, would have grossed him out in other circumstances, but he wedged it against his side for purchase while he flicked open the lid. He thrust the bottle at Hux, pouring it into his palm when Hux offered.

“Fuck,” Hux laughed when the lube filled the cup of his hand and overflowed onto Ben’s stomach.. “That’s enough.”

Ben tried not to laugh, tossing the bottle away again and flinching when he realized he hadn’t sealed the cap. It rolled off the other side of the bed and hit the floor with a dull thud, and he could only imagine the hassle that would be to clean up.

Hux tilted his hand and let the lube spill like molasses over Ben’s shaft, then wrapped his fingers around him to coat it fully.

Ben winced when he felt the sticky excess that had spilled seeping into his belly-button, and he swiped at it, fingers coming away slick. He glanced up at Hux, thought of last night when he’d worked Hux open slowly, and had a moment of panic that there was no way they had time for this.

“Hux,” he said, starting to voice his concern, but then Hux was rising onto his knees and shuffling forward over Ben’s hips. He had Ben’s cock lined up, the head pressed against his entrance, before Ben found his words again.

“Don’t we…” he said, closing his hand around Hux’s thigh, “...need to. Don’t you…”

“It’s fine,” Hux reassured him, smirking. “We just fucked like, an hour ago.”

Ben blushed, but fell silent, mouth agape and lips wet as he watched Hux sink down onto him, every inch disappearing smoothly into Hux’s body. Hux’s head dropped back, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, and Ben watched a flush spread down Hux’s pale chest. His pert nipples were dusky red, pebbly, and Ben slid a hand up Hux’s soft torso and tugged at the silver bar in the left one.

Hux cried out sharply, then slapped a hand over his own mouth, blinking down at Ben with wet eyelashes.

Ben’s heart was hammering and his stomach in a giddy knot. All his senses were heightened, fight or flight response vying with his sexual arousal, and he suddenly understood what Hux got out of their half-naked rutting in those moments just before Brendol got home from work, where any deviation in his father’s schedule could mean they would get caught.

“I thought you said we had to be quiet,” Hux hissed, leaning down to press his tongue into Ben’s mouth.

“Mmm,” Ben responded with a muffled hum, then broke their kiss with a gasp when Hux lifted his hips and rolled them back again.

Hux found his lips again, and Ben could feel him smiling. “You could pick me up, fuck me against the wall instead. We could just tell your parents we were moving furniture.”

The image of that stirred a well of desire that flooded Ben all the way to his toes, and he felt his cock twitch inside Hux. He wanted to do just that, to have Hux’s pretty, long legs wrapped around his waist, their hips grinding hard together. Ben’s eyelids fluttered shut and he took a steadying breath, trying not to come yet despite the fact that they needed to be far quicker at this than they had been already. He wanted Hux though, wanted to spend all day in bed with him sating every desperate need that had awoken in his body. And his heart.

Ben promised himself they’d have that soon, knowing his parents would be gone again as quickly as they’d appeared, and he and Hux would have this house to themselves again, like it was theirs.

“Come on,” he whispered to Hux, sucking at the hot metal through Hux’s bottom lip. “We have to be fast.”

“Mmm,” Hux purred, lifting his hips slowly again before sliding back down Bens shaft with languid ease. “How fast?”

Ben bucked his hips up, trying to find a rhythm, but Hux didn’t meet him. “Faster than this,” Ben said, hands closing over the juncture of Hux’s thighs and hips, trying to guide him. When they’d done this earlier, Hux had insisted on doing all the work, ordering Ben to keep his hands buried beneath the pillow under his head.

Hux sat back, looking down at Ben with both hands on Ben’s forearms. “Show me then,” he said, eyes bright.

A spark of anxiety warred with Ben’s need for completion, but he tried to shake his terrible performance the night before from his mind. He was a good student, if anything, and he’d been completely attuned to Hux’s every movement and sound this morning.

Hesitantly at first, Ben began to press his hips up from the mattress with shallow thrusts, but Hux was being playfully stubborn and didn’t reciprocate. After a few frustratingly long seconds of this which nearly wound Ben into a panic, fearing his parents would be knocking at the door before he got this right, some instinct took over and he tucked his hands more fully under Hux’s thighs. The next time Ben drew out, he guided Hux up, then pushed down again, and their hips met with a soft clap of skin. The devious grin on Hux’s face was replaced by slack lips parted in pleasure, and Ben knew he’d done something right.

Hux let him control the rhythm entirely at first, rising over Ben’s cock and dropping down on it at the guidance of Ben’s hands, but then when Ben tugged Hux’s hips slightly forward to get a better angle, Hux gasped and his fingernails dug into the meat of Ben’s belly.

“Fuck, Ben,” Hux hissed. “Right there.”

Ben wasn’t sure what he’d done, but was too drunk on the feel of himself buried in the heat of Hux’s body. He didn’t need to seek clarification either, because Hux showed him what he wanted then, grinding down on him at that particular angle until he was bouncing hard in Ben’s lap, panting, eyes squeezed shut. All Ben could focus on was the wet sound of their coupling, the slap of flesh on flesh as Hux’s ass met Ben’s thighs, and the little high pitched, whining noises that escaped past Hux’s lips.

“I’m so close, Ben,” Hux groaned under his breath. “Harder.”

Their hips met with more force this time, the rhythm becoming lost to desperation, and Ben felt his climax building like a tickling fire in his gut. It was nothing like the way an orgasm built when he was pleasuring himself—it infused his whole body, made his skin burn and his eyes water.

“Touch me,” Hux said at last, and Ben let go of Hux’s hip and wrapped trembling fingers around Hux’s cock. The moment he did, Hux clapped his own hand over his mouth and bit down on the meat of it and came so hard that he shook, spasming around Ben, the walls of his ass clenching.

Ben didn’t have time to cover his own mouth before he came, too, and there was no way his parents couldn’t have heard the cry of ecstasy and relief torn from his throat. Endorphins flooded his brain and drowned out his ability to care, though, and all he could focus on was the way Hux felt, loose and slack now around his spent cock.

Hux’s come was pooled on Ben’s belly with the drying, sticky lube, and Ben tugged Hux down to kiss him with shaking hands. The mess was smeared between them both then, but Hux didn’t seem to care as he panted against Ben’s lips.

Ben looped his arms around Hux, one around his waist and the other over his shoulders, holding him close as he nuzzled into Hux’s messy hair. It smelled like pomade and sweat and some kind of bohemian shampoo that Ben hadn’t been able to identify yet.

“I can’t believe we just did that…” Ben whispered, like saying it quietly made it a secret. There was no telling what his parents might have heard, especially there at the end.

Hux sat up again, which was a good thing, because otherwise Ben might have laid there holding him until Han was banging on the door.

“We did,” Hux said, smirking. “And we’re going to do it a lot more.”

For some reason, that made Ben blush. “Well, not right now,” he murmured, a sort of nervous, fluttering feeling springing to life in his chest as he considered what they did need to do right now. What was waiting for them in the kitchen.

Hux was blessedly done teasing him for the moment, or he was just well-sated, because he slipped off Ben’s lap without objection and climbed off the bed. When he stood up, Ben couldn’t help but notice that he seemed a bit wobbly on his feet, like his knees were jelly.

“What’s our cover story?” Hux asked, reaching down to sift through the various bits of clothing tangled on the floor.

“What do you mean?” Ben asked, swinging his legs out of bed and peeling off the condom. He tied it off and tossed it in the trash beside the nightstand, then blanched and shoved the trashcan under the bed. He opened the nightstand drawer and scraped the unused condoms into it.

“About why it took us fifteen minutes to leave your bedroom,” Hux clarified.

Ben looked wildly at the clock, having thought that everything that had just happened had taken no more than five, because it felt like a whirlwind. Fifteen minutes. What excuse was there, really? His stomach knotted unpleasantly, like it was trying to digest a rock.

“Um...I guess we should take showers? I mean…” he nodded his head toward the en-suite, necessarily, since Hux of course knew it was there. “Mom knows I take forever in there.”

Hux was holding the jeans he’d worn the day before in one hand. “I’m not meeting your parents with wet hair,” he said, frowning severely.

This summoned a bark of laughter from Ben, and he stood up and moved toward the bathroom. “Well, I’m about to take the fastest shower of my life,” he informed Hux, then glanced back at him from the bathroom entrance. “You can do your rapid transformation thing.”

“My rapid transformation thing,” Hux mimicked with a smile, pulling on his jeans, sans underwear. “Got it.”

Ben couldn’t tear his eyes away as he watched Hux slide the zipper up over his naked, soft cock, and knew the fact that he was going down to breakfast like that was going to be an awful distraction. He almost opened his mouth to suggest Hux maybe rethink that, for Ben’s sake, but realized at the last moment how that would probably sound to Hux--like Ben was telling him what to do the same way his father did.

Ben did take the fastest shower of his life, and Hux’s transformation was indeed rapid. By the time Ben had vigorously toweled his hair dry, Hux was dressed and applying black liner around his eyes, and by the time Ben struggled into a pair of pressed slacks and a polo, Hux was leaning against the wall beside the bedroom door, waiting for him and looking perfect.

Ben was debating putting on socks and shoes when he glanced at the state of the bed--the sheets were in knots, wrinkled, and he could only imagine how they’d smell to an outsider. It made him warm all over to picture how they’d gotten that way, and he couldn’t afford to think about that. Not now. Quickly, he tugged everything into place, trying and failing to get the duvet to lay evenly.

“You’re terrified, aren’t you?” Hux asked, making Ben jolt.

Ben didn’t acknowledge that at first, focusing instead on crossing the room again to pull a pair of socks out of his dresser drawer. He went back to the bed, sat down on it to pull them on.

“I’m fine,” he said finally, though his voice came out pinched.

“There’s still time for me to leave through the window,” Hux said, and Ben couldn’t tell if that dark undertone from the first time Hux had suggested that was still there.

Socks in place, Ben stood up and crossed to Hux, leaning in to kiss him. He couldn’t help feeling unsure about it, like Hux would sense the fact that he had no idea how to be someone’s boyfriend, or introduce someone to his parents. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done so; Ben had been friends with most of the people in his life since childhood, and nothing new ever happened to him. Not until Hux.

“You’re not going out the window,” Ben said firmly, reaching around Hux to unlock the door. He opened it and held it that way for Hux to go through. “You’re going downstairs to meet my Mom and Dad.”

Hux hovered there near Ben for a moment before he moved, and only when he unfolded his arms did Ben notice the white indentations in Hux’s pale skin where the pressure of his fingers had constricted the blood flow. Just before Hux turned to slip out the door, Ben saw him swallow, and his jaw tensed.

“Do you think we’ll all sit around the table and awkwardly eat pizza?” Hux asked quietly, shuffling down the hall in his socks.

Ben laughed nervously. “It will probably be more like a cross-examination with a side of bacon.”

Hux’s answering laughter was sharp, echoing in the stairwell, and Ben saw him quickly clap a hand over his mouth, like laughing wasn’t acceptable. Ben wanted to say something to make Hux feel less anxious, but he couldn’t find the words before his mother suddenly appeared at the bottom of the staircase. Hux froze, and Ben collided with him, and Hux dipped forward dangerously before Ben caught him with a steadying hand.

Gaze fixed on his mother, Ben saw her glance first at him, then focus on Hux. The way her eyes briefly widened left Ben with no doubt that Han either hadn’t realized his son had been in bed with a boy, or he hadn’t thought it an important detail to mention.

The look of surprise on Leia’s face was gone almost as quickly as it had manifested, and was replaced by a smile that Ben thought almost looked relieved.

“All right,” she said, stepping back so that she wasn’t blocking the descent. “We’re not doing this in the stairwell. Out.” She gestured, and Ben had to gently nudge Hux to prompt him to move again.

Even so, Hux didn’t move quickly, like he was trying to stay as close to Ben as he could without them getting tangled up. Somehow, the fact that Hux was so clearly nervous sapped Ben’s own anxiety with a desire to comfort him. They reached the bottom landing and Ben was about to reach out and twine their fingers together, but Hux abruptly shoved his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched forward.

Ben saw his mother take in the gesture with a tiny line between her eyebrows; he could tell she was deciphering Hux’s body language and deciding how best to approach him. She did that same thing with dissenting people from her opposing political parties. Hux was looking at her with round eyes, defensive, like Ben had seen him get just before his father came home.

Leia reached out and pulled Ben to her with an arm around his waist. She gave him a quick, familiar smile before she kissed him on the cheek, balancing on her toes to reach him even when Ben leaned down. “Hi, baby,” she said, keeping her arm around Ben’s waist as she reached out to put a welcoming hand on Hux’s upper arm.

“He’s cute, Ben.”

Ben blushed, nose prickling with heat and mouth agape, and he couldn’t manage to speak before Leia held her hand out to Hux, palm up.

“I’m Leia Organa,” she said. “Since my son is currently too tongue-tied to introduce you, how about you introduce yourself?”

Hux seemed just as stunned as Ben, and remained unmoving before he finally twitched, like someone had turned the lights back on upstairs, and he tugged his hand out of his pocket and tentatively grasped Leia’s.

“Hux,” he murmured. “I um...go to school with Ben.”

Leia nodded as she gripped Hux’s hand warmly, seeming content to allow this to be the extent of the explanation for the moment. “Well, it’s lovely to meet you. I hope you two are hungry.”

She didn’t wait for an answer before spinning about and heading for the kitchen, leaving Ben and Hux frozen in the hallway. Only then did Ben realize he’d been holding his breath, and let it out slowly. His head felt like a balloon that was moments from drifting off his shoulders.

“I guess...that went well?” Hux asked, looking at Ben, the need for reassurance clear on his face.

“I have no idea what just happened,” Ben whispered. Indeed, he’d been expecting his mother to be shocked, to complain that Ben was her only son and that there was no way he’d have a political career with a gay relationship in his closet, or lament grandchildren, or...any number of things. The reality had been so anticlimactic that it felt fabricated.

“Well, whatever,” Hux said, sounding like he’d rather dismiss any negative interpretations. “She seems nice.”

“Yeah,” Ben said, starting to move toward the kitchen. Hux shuffled along in his wake.

Leia was leaning down and looking into the open oven when they entered, and Ben’s stomach rumbled at the smell of homemade biscuits. They were his grandmother’s recipe; Ben could eat his weight in them, and Leia always made them for Ben when she felt guilty about something. Which was most of the time when she came home.

She closed the oven door and took off her glasses, wiping condensation off on the end of her soft cotton apron. She put them back on and smiled at Ben and Hux in turn.

“I sent Han out for orange juice,” she informed them. “There’s milk, in the meantime,” she added, crossing to the refrigerator.

“I’m good,” Ben said, sinking onto a chair at the island counter. Hux dragged a stool a little closer to Ben, and sat down beside him.

As though she hadn’t heard Ben, Leia took out a carton of milk and then took three glasses out of the cabinet. She brought the glasses to the island and stood across from them while pouring for each of them, then she set the milk in front of them both and picked up her own glass, taking a sip.

“So, tell me this story,” she said with a smile of encouragement.

Ben wrapped his hand around the glass of milk, his skin feeling clammy against the cold glass. “Um...we met in school.”

Leia’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “I think we’ve established that. I want to know the behind-the-scenes stuff. Was it love at first sight?”

Hux snorted and leaned closer to Ben, their shoulders touching. “We shared some orange juice one morning before class. And things kind of went from there.”

Leia narrowed her eyes playfully. “There’s more to that, I’m sure. Do you have classes together?”

Ben leaned into Hux, needing to feel grounded, then hesitantly reached out and brushed Hux’s thigh with a pinkie. Hux found his hand instantly, and linked their fingers.

“We’re in physics together,” he told her, some of his apprehension starting to drain with the solidity of Hux’s palm against his. “Mr. Snoke gave us this project we’re supposed to be working on.”

“Supposed to?” Leia asked, setting her glass down and crossing to the oven again. It saved Ben from having her see the way his cheeks heated again, because he and Hux absolutely had been doing everything but the project they were supposed to be working on.

Leia turned the inside light on and peered at the biscuits again. “When’s it due? Have you made an outline?”

Ben heard Hux take a breath, as though he was about to step in and explain the project, when Han’s voice rang out from behind them.

“Quit interrogating them, Leia.”

Ben’s mother turned and looked at Han over the top of her glasses. “You mind your business, Han.”

There was no venom in their banter, though Ben looked at Hux to see if he read them correctly. He was glad to find a small smile on Hux’s lips, like he was amused.

Han dropped a hand full of plastic sacks on the counter, rifling out a jug of orange juice. He sidled close to Ben and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing Ben against his side and ruffling his damp hair.

“Hi, kiddo.”

“Hi, Dad,” Ben muttered, cheeks still hot. The fact that Han seemed to be pretending that they’d not shared that humiliating greeting upstairs earlier somehow made it feel even more awkward.

Han stretched his free hand across Ben, offering it to Hux. “Han Solo,” he said, when Hux twisted around to grasp it, unwilling to let Ben’s hand go.

“Hux.”

Han nodded, letting go of Hux’s hand casually. “Nice hair. Ben always did have a thing for redheads.”

“DAD,” Ben said, glowering.

“What?” Han mumbled, moving off toward the refrigerator.

Leia set a dish of butter on the island as the smell of frying bacon began to fill the kitchen. It crackled and popped from the stovetop as Leia regarded the two of them, seeming to debate something. Ben studied her face, recognizing the moment she decided what she wanted to say.

“I don’t like making assumptions,” she told them, which Ben already knew. His mother was nothing if not painfully direct, and he tensed for whatever was forthcoming.

“Are the two of you an item?”

Ben was staring at Leia, but in his peripheral vision he saw Hux turn to look at him. He felt a twinge of shame that Hux was deferring to him instead of answering, like Ben would deny they were together.

“Yes,” he said, meaning it to sound confident, but there was still a note to it that betrayed his fear of judgement. He squeezed Hux’s hand tighter, and Hux squeezed back.

Leia nodded. “And you’re gay.”

Ben’s heart skipped a beat, because he hadn’t been expecting this to be so forward. As though he ever could have just eased into it.

“I…” he began, then just swallowed and nodded. He could hear his pulse in his ears.

Leia reached across the island and patted his face. “Quit looking like you’re going to faint, sweetheart. I’ve known that since you were ten.” She smiled, and Ben finally placed that look of relief he’d seen when she’d met them at the foot of the staircase.

Han set an open jar of strawberry jelly next to the butter dish and eyed Hux. “You’re going to be good to my kid, right?”

“I’ll keep him out of trouble,” Hux said, tone serious, and Ben burst out laughing, frazzled nerves and tension giving out all at once and making him feel woozy, like he was seconds from melting off his stool and onto the floor.

Han smirked at Hux, like he’d seen right through that. “Just keep the trouble below the radar,” he said.

“Always,” Hux promised, squeezing Ben’s hand again, and it was the only thing that kept Ben from passing out with relief.

“Good,” Han said. “Now let’s eat.”

Breakfast turned out to be remarkably casual, and Ben gradually began to feel normal again as he cleaned a plate of eggs, bacon, buttered biscuits and jam, drank two glasses of milk and a cup of coffee. Hux ate slowly at first, but started to visibly relax when nothing more serious arose in the conversation than the upcoming Quiz Bowl competitions. Afterward, Ben offered to help his mother clean up the kitchen, but she shooed them both off. Only after they’d gone back upstairs to Ben’s room to charge Hux’s cell phone, did Hux realize he’d missed a text from his dad.

“Damnit,” he muttered. “He wants me to come home.”

Ben closed the door, thought about locking it, and decided against it. “Did he say why?”

Hux snorted. “Of course not. He thinks ‘because I said so’ is sufficient to explain everything.”

Ben sighed, sinking down onto the bed. He reached out and caught Hux’s belt loop with one finger and pulled him down to sit beside him. He leaned his head against Hux’s shoulder.

“I think he’s mad, though,” Hux sighed, showing Ben the cell’s screen and displaying the wording: ‘I want you home. Now.’

Ben frowned. “What would he be mad about?”

Hux shrugged one shoulder. “Who knows. Maybe the wind was blowing from the east instead of the north this morning when he got out of bed.”

Ben laughed, then felt bad about it and bit his bottom lip instead. He flopped back and pulled Hux with him, the cell phone temporarily forgotten somewhere between them. Hux rolled onto his side and laid his head on Ben’s chest.

“So, are you okay?” he asked Ben, peering up at him while he played with the hem of Ben’s shirt, rubbing it between his fingers.

Ben thought about it for a moment, picturing the way his friends had seemed so delighted the night before when he and Hux had kissed in the living room, and the way he’d just sat in the kitchen having breakfast with his parents like the fact that he had a boyfriend now was completely ordinary. Even though it felt like a lot more to Ben.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he told Hux, realizing it was true. “More than okay, really.”

They regarded one another for a moment, Hux searching his eyes like he was trying to decide whether Ben was telling him the truth. He finally smiled, and angled his head up for a kiss. Their lips touched softly, and Ben sighed.

“I don’t want you to have to go home,” he told Hux. “Like, ever. I wish you could just stay here.”

Hux looked away, hiding his face against Ben’s chest. “Me, too.”

Ben stroked the hair at the nape of Hux’s neck, ran a thumb over the knobs of his spine. “You have to come with me to Stanford,” he said, and it sounded almost pleading. Maybe it was, in a way, because the thought of being without Hux felt like a hollow in his chest that he desperately needed to fill.

Hux sighed, his breath warm through Ben’s shirt. “And do what? I can’t get into that school, Ben. You know that.”

“You don’t have to,” Ben insisted. “You can get a job or something, find a different school you want to go to. We can get a place together.” Ben knew the likelihood that they could afford a decent apartment on Ben’s stipend and anything but a professional salary was slim, but he didn’t care. He’d live in a cardboard box if it meant he could be with Hux.

Hux turned his face up again and looked at Ben with a sober expression. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean, okay? I’ve had enough of that in my life.”

Hurt stabbed at Ben’s heart. “Why would you say that? Of course I’m serious.” He shifted onto his side, rolling Hux back so they were facing each other.

Silence stretched between them while Hux chewed on his tongue ring before the skeptical look in his eyes transformed into something more akin to hope. He opened his mouth to speak, but his phone trilled and vibrated where it was wedged half-beneath Ben’s side.

“Fuck,” Hux groaned, pulling it free and glaring at it. “It’s my dad again. I need to go.”

Disappointment settled heavily in Ben’s chest, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to have to say goodbye to Hux for the last time. But it had felt like that every time they’d had to part from one another for months now.

Hux’s brow was creased, and Ben couldn’t help wondering if there was something Hux wasn’t telling him about his father.

“Maybe my parents could call your Dad or something,” he suggested softly, running his hand along Hux’s bare arm, trying to be soothing.

Hux looked at him with wild eyes. “And say what?”

Ben shrugged one shoulder. “Let him know they’re home? Maybe he’ll let you stay, then.”

Hux struggled to sit up, shifted to the edge of the bed so his feet were on the floor. He reached down and grabbed one of his boots, and Ben knew he’d lost that argument. Ben sat up as well, stared at his own socked feet in silence while Hux laced up his boots. When he was finished, Hux sat silently as well, and Ben had the feeling that they were both steeping in discontent at being forced apart, and concern over whatever future awaited Hux.

Reaching over, Ben rested his hand on Hux’s back, stroking the slope of it before curling his arm around Hux’s waist from behind. “I meant what I said,” Ben told him, trying a different tack, since bringing up Hux’s father had been met with a stone wall.

Hux’s posture was stiff, and he didn’t turn to look at Ben. “About?”

“Us staying together. You coming to Stanford with me. All of it.”

Hux’s shoulders rose and fell as he sighed again. “It’ll never work,” he said.

Ben tried not to deflate. “It will, too,” he assured him, as much for Hux as for himself. He steeled himself for Hux to argue, frantically trying to piece together a reasonable rebuttal, but Hux turned his anxious, pale eyes on him and Ben’s throat tightened.

“You promise?” Hux whispered, searching Ben’s face.

Ben touched their foreheads together, brushed his nose against Hux’s. “I promise.”

Hux took a deep, shuddering breath, and Ben thought his eyes glistened, but couldn’t be sure. The expression faded quickly and transformed into a cautious smile. Hux kissed him, and there was something so tender about it and so unlike Hux’s usual bold manner that Ben’s heart ached.

“All right,” Hux said when they parted.

Ben brushed their lips together one more time. “Six more months until we graduate. Then we’re out of here. I swear.”

“Okay,” Hux whispered against Ben’s lips. “I believe you.”

Chapter Text

The look on Ben's face could best be described as forlorn.  He stood on Hux's front stoop, leaning against the edge of the screen door, his wide shoulder keeping it closed despite the fact that Hux had his hand on the latch.

"I could come in for a little while," Ben said, pitching his voice low. "Maybe it'll defuse your dad. Or make him think before he acts."

Hux sighed. They'd already had this conversation on the way back to Hux's side of town. "We were lucky enough that he let me stay at your place last night. We shouldn't push it." The words sounded foreign coming from him, complacent. Pushing his luck was a way of life for Hux, but his time with Ben wasn't something he was prepared to risk for the satisfaction of disobedience, even if that was a cheap drug.

Ben chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes dark with concern, and for a moment Hux thought he might not be ready to let it drop.  Then Ben edged forward, scuffing his shoes on the concrete and reaching out to gather a fist full of Hux's t-shirt just above the waistband. A gentle tug coaxed Hux closer, and he went.

"You have to call me as soon as you can," Ben insisted, earnest. He pressed his nose to Hux's, nuzzling him gently. That was, Hux noted, quickly becoming a habit, a tender gesture meant only for him.

With his free hand, Hux found Ben's waist within the letter jacket he wore. He pulled Ben closer and held them together, allowing himself to hide his face in Ben's neck for just a moment. He smelled so good, like warm, clean skin, shampoo, and his subtle, expensive cologne. It made something in Hux's chest squeeze tight when he pulled back and the early winter air seeped back into the space between them.

"I'll call you," Hux promised him.

Ben's hand was still on Hux's hip where it had come to rest when Hux embraced him, and he slid it to the small of Hux's back now, trying to close the distance between them again.

"Do you think your dad will try to take your phone away again?"

"Probably not," Hux said with a shrug, even though nothing about Brendol was really predictable. He was like a forest fire, his rages changing course with the wind. "If he does, I'll send smoke signals."

Ben snorted, lips twitching in a smile. "Smart ass."

Hux smirked. "You love it."

Ben's smile faded at that, his eyes growing both soft and serious as he studied Hux's face. "I do," he said, the words barely above a whisper.

Hux's stomach flipped, and he shivered. "I have to go," he said. "Hopefully he'll still let me go to that party with you next weekend, and stay over after." There was a house party at one of Ben's friends' place, and the night before, lying in bed, Ben had shyly suggested they go together.

"We don't have to go," Ben said.

"I want to," Hux said, even though he wasn't sure he did. Ben's close friends, like Rey and Finn and Phasma, were tolerable. Fun, even. But the rest of Ben's circle were vapid, self-centered fools, more concerned with their social media presence than their actual human interactions. It was the worst kind of fake.

"It'll be our first date as boyfriends," Hux said, leaning in to nip Ben's bottom lip. When he drew back, it wasn't difficult to recognize the look of suppressed anxiety. "We don't have to tell people," he added.

Ben deflated. "I want to," he said, though it sounded more wistful than sure.

Hux just smiled and gave Ben a quick kiss, knowing that if he savored Ben's soft lips like he wanted to, if he let Ben hold him, he would never be able to make himself go inside to face his father.

Ben let him go, dropping his hand from Hux's waist and shoving it in his own pocket like he had to restrain himself from holding on.  He took a step back from Hux, giving him space.

"If you need me..." Ben started, trailing off and glancing  at the window past Hux's shoulder.

Hux turned, following Ben's gaze, and saw the curtain flick closed. The sound of his father's heavy tread Dopplered across the floor, grew louder as it approached the door, but then faded away again after a short pause.

Hux let out a breath, pressing the thumb latch on the door and tugging. "Gotta go," he told Ben.

Ben nodded. "Okay. I'll have my phone on me all day."

"You're on the door," Hux told him gently, tugging on the handle again and rattling the frame that wouldn't budge with Ben leaning against it.

Ben jumped like he'd been stung, then pushed off the door and hopped down to the first step. "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

Hux didn't trust himself to say anything else; he'd never felt as though anyone, in his whole life, had ever wanted to protect him, and now this boy would very clearly be glad to stand on his porch all night just to be close if Hux needed him. He wasn't sure how he deserved Ben, or if he even did.

Instead of another goodbye or another promise to call, Hux wedged himself behind the screen door and unlocked his house, forcing a small smile onto his lips for Ben's benefit. Then he slipped inside and pushed the door closed gently. He left it unlocked, feeling like he was somehow closer to Ben that way.

Hux's father was not looming in eyesight waiting for him, which was both relieving and disconcerting. Hux clutched the straps of his backpack, scanning the open space before him. The hardwood floors were scrubbed clean, but pocked with the scratches and dings of age, the view beyond the kitchen window was a drab, pale gray, the walls bare. The silence almost felt corporeal, like it was something that had lurked here alone so long that it was desperate to reach out and grasp anyone who came through the door and tell them its story of the disparate lives within that coexisted but didn't speak, of people close enough to touch but who are strangers to one another, of families who are like ships passing in the night.

Hux imagined that's what Ben's house felt like when he was alone, when his parents were off doing whatever it was they did that was more important than being there for Ben. It was the thing Hux was determined not to let him feel anymore.

Sighing, Hux shuffled past the couch and toward his father's door, a question forming on his lips and dying there as he peered in and found no one within. Brow furrowed and a sense of unease clinging to him, Hux spun slowly in place in the empty doorway.

"Da?"

"In here, son."

The baritone voice issued across the house from Hux's bedroom, and Hux felt the color drain from his face. He remained rooted in place for a moment as a frantic mental calculation ran through his mind of what his father could possibly be doing in Hux's bedroom. Had he found the stash of clothes and makeup and piercings in the backpack that Ben affectionately called Hux's secret lair? Had he left one of his bowls somewhere that his father could come across on one of his routine search and seizures? Worse yet—Hux flushed—what if for some reason Brendol had turned up the mattress and found the lube and condoms and...other things...that he stashed there?

Hux glanced at the front door again, heart thumping erratically and adrenaline rising, urging him to run. Maybe Ben was still there. Was probably still there, just where Hux had left him, the white knight outside his castle.

But no. That would end up only one way; Brendol wasn't above calling the authorities to bring Hux home. He'd done it back in Ireland when Hux refused to be under his roof, too used to the streets to trust the stranger that his father had become during his years in prison. There'd been months of family counseling, unwanted visits by the Child and Family Agency, a fucking grief support group to deal with the death of his mother that everyone had told Hux he 'hadn't moved past.'

He was supposed to be  better  now, and if he showed his father that he wasn't, if he couldn't obey the one cardinal rule of being under this roof when he was told to be, then what freedoms Hux had with Ben would be gone.

Hux squeezed the straps of his book bag even tighter, heartbeat thundering as he took tentative steps toward his own bedroom. Halfway there, it struck him that while there was a chance Brendol had found something in his room, there was a guarantee that he would if he looked through Hux's bag. He came to a halt again, palms clammy, and thought of chucking the bag in the corner, or leaving it outside the bedroom door, but Brendol wasn't stupid. He knew suspicious behavior when he saw it, which was how Hux had come to make an art-form of it.

"Fuck," he muttered, taking a deep breath.  He reached the open doorway in four strides.

Seeing his father seated on Hux's narrow twin bed was alarming in a way that felt like being punched in the gut; the last time Brendol had initiated a conversation this way was the night he'd coaxed Hux down beside him to explain that his mother was dead.

Brendol looked at at him, and Hux thought he seemed so much older, suddenly remembering how his father had appeared that night over a decade ago. His beard had been a thick, vibrant red, eyes clear and green; now both were faded.

"Have a seat, Armitage," Brendol said, though this time he didn't pat the mattress beside him like he had years before.

"I'm okay to stand," Hux told him, a tremor beneath the words. He waited for Brendol's face to contort, for him to raise his voice and demand Hux do as he was told, but his father only sighed, rolling his eyes upward toward the ceiling as though pleading with the Lord for patience.

"There was a phone call today," Brendol began, lacing his thick fingers in his lap, "from a solicitor back in Dublin. Says she's got papers saying..." The words choked off at the end, and Brendol cleared his throat, scowling at Hux. "Will you just sit  down , dammit? I can't do this with you standing there staring at me like a blasted gargoyle."

Hux was well and truly freaked out, and it took him a moment to process Brendol's request. Finally, he slunk across the room and let his backpack slide off his shoulders where it thunked heavily to the floor. He eased himself down on the bed, pressing his back to the narrow frame and folding his long legs up to his chest, like making himself smaller would prevent the damage from whatever was coming.

Once Hux was settled and things had gone still again, Brendol sighed. It shifted his big shoulders and swelled his chest, making him look bigger, but then he deflated and slumped forward, hands on his knees. His fingers were flexing and curling in, knuckles going white and then pink again. Hux watched, waiting for him to speak.

"I know you remember Maratelle," Brendol began again, at last, still facing the empty door to Hux's room.

Hux's pulse spiked and he ground his teeth together. Silence was the only answer he provided.

Brendol glanced at him, and seeing Hux's face, he gave a short nod. "The solicitor says that she passed on. Had the cancer, like your mother."

Hux's nails dug into his calf through his jeans. "She was nothing like my mother." He hardly remembered her, but he  did  remember Maratelle. She'd been the well-to-do widow who'd employed Hux's mother as a cook, and she'd swooped in like a carrion crow after Elise's death to comfort Brendol. It infuriated Hux that he could still picture Maratelle's face, while he couldn't see his own mother's.

"No," Brendol said, shaking his head just once. "She was not."

They stared at one another. Finally, Hux said, "So you needed me to rush home so you could tell me she bit the dust?"

His father looked away again. "It was a raw time, you know," he said. "I didn't intend any of it. It just happened. I really did think she cared for me. Thought she'd take care of you, too."

"I don't want to hear this, Da," Hux snapped, starting to unfold from the bed to flee the room, but Brendol's hand darted out and clapped down hard onto his leg to stop him.

"I need you to listen to me, son," he growled, and Hux froze, wide-eyed, as much because the hand on his thigh made his heart rabbit hard in his chest as because he'd never heard his father sound pleading like that. Like he needed someone to hear his confession.

When Hux made no further move, Brendol's hand relaxed and then withdrew with a single, gentle pat.

"I don't think you ever forgave me for her," his father said, then shrugged one shoulder and looked away again. "And maybe you shouldn't. Maybe if I'd focused more on what you were going through after Elise died instead of how I felt..."

Now Hux looked away, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip. He hardly remembered how it had felt to have a mother, but he remembered the rage he'd felt toward Brendol for replacing her. He remembered how he had refused to unpack his things in his new room in Maratelle's house, and how one night he'd stuffed a backpack full of clothes and biscuits and run away. It was just the first of many times.

He felt his father looking at him, but refused to turn and face him.

"I know you won't believe me," Brendol said. "But that's the reason we went back to the old neighborhood. Why I left there with you. Because I didn't want to lose you, too." Hux heard him sigh. "But I guess I did anyway."

Hux fixed him with an icy stare. "You left me on the fucking streets, Da."

Brendol's face darkened. "I went to prison, Armitage. I assure you that was not by choice."

Hux remembered coming home one weekend day and finding his father simply gone. Brendol had been detained at the factory where he worked, and no one had thought to inform twelve year old Hux. The neighbors didn't know anything, and there was no family to speak of. Hux had stayed in the flat alone for two weeks, lying to the landlord and saying Brendol was just away on a business trip until rent came due. Rather than wait around for the authorities to get involved in evicting them, Hux had run away again.

"I thought you were dead," he told his father.

Brendol's  expression softened. "I'm sorry, son. By the time I could get them to let me speak to anyone to tell them to go get you, you were gone. I didn't think about anything else for the next two years. Just about getting out, so I could find you."

"And I'm so fucking glad you did," Hux snapped. "Is that what this is all about? You need absolution for being a fuck-up? Fine. You're forgiven. Now will you leave me alone with this shite?" His hands were trembling, so he tucked them under his knees.

To Hux's surprise, Brendol let that outburst go. "Maybe one day you'll be ready to forgive me," he said. "And maybe not. And I don't blame you if you never do."

"Good," Hux said.

Brendol went on as though Hux hadn't spoken. "The reason I'm telling you this about Maratelle, is because when she passed on, she left a will. In it, she...named me."

Hux shook his head slowly, not understanding what a woman from the distant past like this could leave in her will that would merit this kind of somber discussion. "She named you as what? The next king of England?"

No humor crossed Brendol's face, and he tensed, shoulders squaring. "She named me as the father of her daughter."

For a moment, Hux felt nothing. Just a blankness. Then a cascade of feelings started to seep into his chest: cold shock, betrayal, confusion. The easiest one to grab onto, as always, was anger.

"Well congratu-fucking-lations, old man," he said. "What the hell does this have to do with me? Why couldn't just keep this shite to yourself?"

Brendol's mustache twitched as his jaw worked, like he was trying to find words and couldn't settle on the right ones. "It concerns you, because I'll have to go back to Ireland to take custody of her. She's nine years old, Armitage. We'll wait until your classes are done before we relocate, but after..."

"I asked you what this had to do with me," Hux nearly shouted, lurching off the bed. He walked to the other side of the room, pressed his back to the wall beside his desk, folding his arms. His stomach felt like it had rocks in it, bile burning in his throat, and he had to force himself to breathe through his nose.

His father had the audacity to look apologetic. "What it has to do with you, son, is that when I go back to Ireland, you're coming with me."

"I am  not, " Hux said. "I am absolutely fucking not."

Brendol blew a sharp breath through his nose, seeming to be making an effort to control his temper. "You're here on a condition of my visa, boy. You can't be employed. How would you support yourself? You have shite grades. You think McDonald's is going to sponsor you to stay in the country so you can flip fucking burgers?" The moment the words were out of his mouth, Brendol squeezed his eyes shut and sighed, then he stood up and took several steps toward Hux.

"Son, we'll get a chance to start over as a family," Brendol tried. "You have a sister. We..."

"I don't give a shit," Hux said, trying to shrink back into the wall. "I'm not going anywhere. I have friends here. I go to school here. I have..." He almost said  'I have Ben,'  but just like that, everything he'd hoped for was being snatched away. Just like he'd known it would. He felt tears welling in his eyes, and when Brendol reached out to touch him, Hux slapped his hand away hard. "Don't fucking touch me. Get out."

"Armitage..."

"Get  out! " Hux did shout this time, seething, and he curled his hands into claws, ready to fight if Brendol made another effort to touch him.

They faced off against one another for a long, silent moment, and then Brendol nodded shortly, his face resigned. He turned away and walked out of the room, his tread heavy. He pulled the door shut behind him with a soft click. Hux stood there slumped against the wall, heart pounding in his throat. Only when his fingers closed around the sharp angles of the model of the Star Destroyer on the desk beside him did he realize he was groping blindly for something, anything, solid. He dragged it off the table with trembling fingers, held it limply, then threw it with all the force he could muster across the room. It struck the door through which his father had just left and shattered, pieces of plastic and metal exploding against the wooden frame and skittering across the floor.

After that was silence, heavy and full.

Hux didn't know how long he stood there, staring at the broken bits of the model he'd spent months building, but his shoulders were tense and fingers aching from squeezing them hard into fists at his sides. When he finally uncurled them, he could feel the half-moon indentations in his palms.

His book bag was laying on the floor beside the bed, full of the evidence of the life he'd tried to carve out for himself here, evidence of the fledgling creature that had been slowly emerging from its shell. Inside the bag was a book for his English class that he'd finished reading before the deadline. There was a notebook with homework completed for his Monday classes, drumsticks for after school practice, a schedule for the Quiz Bowl league Ben was trying to get him to join.

Ben.

Hux wanted to snatch the backpack and run away again. He wouldn't have to go far—just far enough to hide from Brendol and then he could call Ben, and he'd come pick Hux up and take him somewhere safe where he wouldn't have to go back to Ireland.

He felt a tear drip from the corner of his eye, tickling as it rolled slowly down the side of his nose, perching in the crease beside his left nostril before slipping down to his lips. Hux tasted salt—and belatedly, copper—just before the pain registered. He'd chewed through the skin of his bottom lip, split it open from the inside.

Hux wiped the tear-track off his face and peeled himself away from the wall, shuffling zombie-like to his bed. The blankets that he'd carefully tucked the morning before with their hospital corners were wrinkled and there was an imprint from where his father had been sitting.

Hux yanked the top blanket off the bed and left it hanging over the end of the frame, still partially tucked, then he curled up on top of the sheets and shut his eyes, trying not to think of all the tentatively formed dreams he'd had for a future with Ben, trying not to think of the past and of Maratelle and of this fictional sister whose first act upon entering Hux's world was to bring it all down around him.

He woke up to twilight outside his window and his cell phone buzzing in his pocket. The vibration sent little tremors through his hip bone, and he had to roll over onto his back to fish the phone out. For just a moment, everything felt normal, and he almost smiled to see that it was Ben calling, but then everything came rushing back.

Hux stared at the caller ID, thumb poised over the button to accept the call, but he laid there in a state of torpor until it disconnected. A few seconds later, a little icon shaped like a cassette tape popped up in the corner of the screen.

He felt numb and outside himself both. He knew there should be something there—rage, sorrow, regret—but there was only a headache spiraling out from his temple, a stuffy, raw nose, and a hollow in his chest that felt too deep to crawl out of.

His phone buzzed again, and Hux realized he was still holding it aloft, having stopped seeing it minutes before. Blinking, he pressed a key to open his text message inbox to find several messages from Ben.

Ben (1:13pm) : I know I just left but I miss you. Hope everything's okay.

Ben (2:30pm) : My parents said you should spend Christmas with us.

Ben (3:30pm) : I'm not trying to be annoying but I'm worried about you. Send me a smoke signal or something.

Ben (5:36pm) : If I don't hear from you by 6 I'm coming to check on you.

Hux read the last message twice, glancing at the time at the top of the screen. It was 5:45. He thumbed a reply slowly, eyes burning.

Hux (5:46pm) : There's no point in you coming here. I won't be around.

By the time he hit 'send,' Hux's vision was swimming. He shoved his phone under his pillow, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

Ben stared at Hux's last message, frowning. He replied, asking Hux what he meant by  I won't be around,  and then he waited anxiously for a response. While he did so, he sat curled up on couch, peripherally paying attention to an episode of  Jeopardy!  and imagining all the scenarios that would result in Hux not being at home were Ben to go looking for him.

Maybe he was going out for groceries, or maybe his dad had suggested they go bond over a pizza or something, since that seemed to be a thing. Or he could have band practice he'd forgotten to tell Ben about.

By 9:00 pm, Ben had convinced himself that Hux had probably gotten home and simply fallen asleep after forgetting to respond to his text. A quick phone call went straight to voicemail, and Ben hung up without leaving a message.

His parents were a merciful, if nagging, distraction. Having not seen much of Ben in months, they seemed to feel entitled to catch up on his life all at once, and the only story he'd really enjoyed sharing was how he'd met Hux, and everything about him. Ben was exhausted with the strain of the parental interrogation and worry by the time he dragged himself to bed at midnight.

By Sunday afternoon, when Hux still hadn't texted or called, Ben had mentally sorted through all previous mundane and harmless possibilities until he'd graduated to the truly catastrophic ones, like Hux was in the hospital or was suddenly moving back to Ireland. He'd started to picture what it would be like to show up at Hux's house on Monday morning to find it empty, leaves scattered across the barren floor where they'd blown in through the open door, left ajar as Hux and his father fled in the middle of the night with everything they owned, never to be seen again.

Ben was opening the front door of his house just after 2:00 pm, car keys digging into his palm, when his phone finally buzzed. He was so wound up with worry and hypothetical solutions to how he'd either save Hux or follow him to wherever he'd gone that he jumped when the phone went off, letting go of the door so suddenly that it swung shut on his leg.

He kicked it back open with a curse, tugging his phone out of his jacket pocket with shaking fingers.

Hux (2:02 pm):  i'm ok, sry. don't feelgood. not going to school tomorrow see you tuesday maybe

Ben stood there wedged in the crack of the half-open front door to text Hux back.  What's wrong? Do you need anything? I can bring you food or something? What did your dad want?

He waited, the chilly November air damp on his cheeks, moisture clinging to his hair. Inside, he heard his mother call his name, but Ben didn't respond; he just stood there, bouncing his foot on the porch, staring at his phone. He felt someone approach him from behind, but he didn't turn around.

"Hey, kid," Han said. His tone was slightly wary, like he thought Ben had perhaps gone off the deep end, standing there half in and half out of the front door. "You okay?"

Ben wagged his hand back and forth, holding his phone aloft enough that Han could see it over his shoulder. "Waiting for Hux to text me back." He glanced over his shoulder and gave his father a worried look. "I think something's like...really wrong. I don't know."

Han reached out and grasped the door, pulling it back and off Ben's shoulder. "Wrong how?"

Ben shrugged, hesitating to reveal any of Hux's secrets. "He just, I dunno. Stuff at home isn't that great for him, I guess. His..." Ben trailed off when his phone dinged again.

Hux (2:11 pm) : no thx i'll see you ltr

Ben deflated. "He won't talk to me," he told Han, feeling sick at his stomach. "Should I go over there? To make sure he's okay?"

"Did he ask you to?"

Ben shook his head forlornly. "No. He said he doesn't feel good."

Han hummed knowingly and opened the door wider. "Then he doesn't feel good, kiddo. You're just like your mom, making mountains out of molehills. Come back inside and hang out with us cool folks. Your boyfriend'll call you when he's feeling better."

Ben blushed. "I guess," he said. It was heady to know that his father wasn't teasing him, and that he didn't have to deny that Hux was his boyfriend. Even if it didn't quite feel real.

Han gave Ben an affectionate pat between the shoulder blades and then tipped his chin toward the interior of the house. "Come on. Game's on, got the grill heating up to cook some steaks in a bit."

Ben glanced down at his phone again, biting his bottom lip and trying to think of what he'd say if he was to text Hux again, but he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound like he was begging Hux to talk to him.

He sighed, made sure that the vibrate and ring settings were both turned to max, then he shoved the phone into his pocket and followed his father back into the house.

Hux indeed did not come to school on Monday, even though Ben texted him to see if he'd changed his mind and needed a ride. It felt strange to drive to campus alone for the first time in seven weeks, and all morning he dragged himself from class to class weighted down by the feeling that he'd forgotten something—forgotten to complete a homework assignment, left a book at home that he needed, wasn't remembering a quiz or a test or an after school obligation. Except it wasn't any of that. He was just missing his other half, and everything was out of balance.

Ben sat alone in their spot outside during lunch, despite the chilly weather. He texted Hux a picture of a bird with a gum wrapper in its beak, then remembered that Hux's phone couldn't receive pictures.

Later that evening, while Ben was trying and failing to concentrate on his homework, Hux sent a text saying he would probably be out all week. He offered no explanation, and he didn't respond when Ben checked on him the next morning.

The days dragged on, and by Wednesday, Ben was exhausted, sure that he hadn't slept more than a handful of hours the whole week. He skipped his Quiz Bowl practice after school and sat in his car for two hours, typing and deleting messages to Hux that progressed from  I'm really worried about you , to  Are you sure you're not mad at me?,  to  I love you.  He left those last three words on his screen the longest, thumb hovering over the send button, but he was too afraid, in the end, that Hux wouldn't say it back.

Friday became the first day since kindergarten that Ben didn't go to school. He knew he'd miss a perfect attendance award, but that was the sort of thing that had mattered to him before he'd met Hux. Before he'd realized that no achievement and no number of awards would assuage his bone-deep loneliness.

He'd turned his alarm off and laid in bed with his face buried in the pillow Hux had slept on; it still smelled like him, and the scent made Ben analyze again that last day they'd spent together. He'd replayed the sex they'd had that weekend so often in his mind, looking for something he could have done wrong, that the memory had lost its allure, and in his mind's eye, Ben had become ungainly, clumsy, laughable. Imperfect.

He didn't bother showering before shuffling down the stairs to the kitchen in his pajamas, clinging to his cell phone like a lifeline, despite the fact that he hadn't heard a thing from Hux since Tuesday. He found his mother at the kitchen table, her laptop open and papers fanned out around her. A cup of coffee was steaming at her right hand, and the smell of it made Ben's stomach turn.

"I thought you'd gone to school already," Leia said, sounding surprised.

Ben pursed his lips, walking to the refrigerator. "My car is in the driveway," he grumbled, tugging the door open hard enough that the condiments inside rattled.

He  felt  Leia's heavy pause, which sufficed to make him feel instantly ashamed at his tone. He kept the refrigerator door open between them, staring into it as though trying to decide what he wanted even though the orange juice was right in front of him.

"You should eat something," she said at last. "You haven't had anything since yesterday morning."

"I don't feel like eating," Ben sighed, annoyance flaring to life in his chest. He had no patience for being mothered right now. He grabbed the orange juice and shoved the door closed with his elbow, then he opened it and drank straight from the bottle, back turned to his mother.

He heard Leia snort. "Come sit down," she said, tone gentle rather than authoritative. "Talk to me."

Ben thought about refusing, about carrying the jug of orange juice up the stairs and cloistering himself with it, but he felt anxious, like he was going to fly apart at the seams, and he didn't know how to hold himself together.

Setting the bottle down, he opened a cabinet and pulled out a box of Pop-tarts. He tore open the wrapper and fit them into the toaster and started it, staring at the heating coils as they slowly turned orange-red. Leia allowed the silence between them to linger until Ben had the Pop-tarts on a plate and had slumped down into the chair across from her.

"What's going on?" his mother asked, closing her lap top.

The gesture surprised Ben, who was used to having conversations with her that involved a screen between them. He met her eyes briefly, then turned his gaze back on the Pop-tarts cooling on his plate.

"Hux still won't talk to me," he mumbled at last, breaking off the corner of one of the pastries and crumbling it. He glanced at his phone when he said it, but there were no new notifications.

"It seemed like everything was fine when you two left here on Saturday," Leia said, picking up her coffee and taking a sip. She was looking at Ben over the rim of the cup, thoughtful. "Did something happen on the car ride over there?"

Ben propped his elbows on the table on either side of his plate, putting his head in his hands. "No. He said he'd call me...he kissed me goodbye..." Ben blushed, saying that, and looked shyly up at his mother.

"Have you gone over there?" she asked.

Ben shook his head. "Dad said I shouldn't. Since Hux didn't ask me to."

Leia rolled her eyes, though it seemed like a fond gesture, coupled with a small half-smile.

"He's been around his politically correct wife too long. Your father is the type that would have found a white horse to carry him over there with a bouquet of flowers, and then he'd have stood outside the window reading unsolicited poetry. Don't let him fool you."

Ben couldn't help a smile at that image, but it faded quickly as he imagined showing up at Hux's house only to be rejected, metaphorical white horse or not. "I'm worried about him," Ben admitted. "And worried I did something. Like I'm not..." He blushed harder this time. "Like I don't know how to be a good boyfriend."

Leia set her coffee down and reached across the table, touching the tips of her fingers to Ben's hand. "You're good at everything you do, Ben. I'm sure that's not it."

For some reason, his mother's touch made tears prick in Ben's eyes. He looked back down at his plate, pulling his hand away in the guise of picking up one of his Pop-tarts, but all he did with it was break it in half and watch the steam rise out of the blueberry filling.

"I can't think about anything else," he admitted. "I forgot a take-home quiz that was due yesterday." It sounded like a small thing, but both Leia and Ben knew that for him, it was telling. Ben looked at his mother sheepishly, waiting to be reprimanded, but nothing of the kind was forthcoming.

"You've really got a thing for this boy, huh?" she asked, giving him a sad smile, like she understood Ben's pain and joy both. Maybe she did.

Ben finally bit into his Pop-tart so he wouldn't just blurt to his mother that no, he didn't just have a  thing , it was everything. He nodded instead, the food in his mouth tasting like nothing.

Leia's smile quirked up at one corner. "Then go tell him."

Ben chewed slowly, his mouth suddenly almost too dry to swallow at the thought of actually going to Hux's house, like Leia voicing her support lent a necessary validity to the compulsion Ben had fought off all week. He grabbed the orange juice bottle, took a drink, then winced at the clashing, saccharine flavors.

Tiny laugh lines sprang to life in the corners of his mother's eyes. "You'll always regret the chances you didn't take," she told him. "Any one of those risks could be the one that changes everything."

Chances and risks weren't concepts that Ben had dared explore until he'd met Hux, and hearing Leia say that made him realize that if he'd played everything safe, he would have missed so much already that he wouldn't trade for anything.

"You're really not mad at me for skipping school?" Ben asked suddenly, as though Leia's answer would be the final bit of permission he needed to be impulsive.

Leia took another sip of her coffee. "You make me miss being young," she said with a tired smile, and it managed to call Ben's attention to the paperwork and the laptop before her on the table. "Go on."

Ben hesitated for just a few seconds, then he pushed his chair back from the table and bounded up the stairs to take a shower.

He was all nerves by the time he got into his car, fingers trembling as he tried to fit the key into the ignition. The orange juice in his stomach was an acrid burn that bubbled up to his chest, and he had to roll the windows down while he drove across town just to keep himself from being sick. He drifted toward Hux's house at ten miles below the speed limit, lost in envisioning scenarios that all resulted in Hux rejecting him when he showed up uninvited at his house.

Despite his thorough imagination, Ben was not ready to turn onto Hux's block and see him sitting on his front steps.

Ben took his foot off the gas pedal, slowing to a creeping pace and was actually considering turning around when Hux turned his head and Ben knew he'd been seen. He coasted slowly down the street, concentrating on finding a parking space between the other cars along the road.

As he turned the ignition off, he forced himself to look through the window at Hux, almost afraid to find that in the time it had taken him to find a parking space, Hux had fled back into the house.

He was still there, slump-shouldered on the second step, cigarette between his fingers. As he met Ben's eyes, he put the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag, his brows creasing over his nose, eyes narrowing.

Ben swallowed, but when Hux didn't move, he forced himself to get out of the car.

The hinges of his door creaked when he opened it, the near-vintage metal in need of oil. It sounded unnaturally loud when he pushed it closed, and Ben flinched and dropped his keys. He blew out a frustrated sigh as he leaned down and swiped them off the ground, biting his bottom lip hard. His heart was hammering as he straightened, unable to make himself move from that spot, staring across the street at Hux and waiting to be judged for coming here.

They stared at one another, separated by the one-lane street that might have been an ocean until Hux blew a cloud of smoke in Ben's direction and said:

"What took you so long?"

Everything in Ben unwound suddenly and he sagged with relief, throat going tight. He had to swallow around the lump that formed there, cutting off his ability to speak, and he gripped his keys hard enough to dig into his palm as he walked across the road. Hux watched him as he approached, green eyes almost fever bright, wary like a cat. Angry, but not at him, Ben thought.

A score of retorts skittered through Ben's mind, like  why couldn't you text me , and  what about the smoke signals you promised , but in the end, he made it to the steps and just sank down beside Hux, as close as he could get without putting his arms around him.  He was almost light-headed with a riot of conflicting feelings.

"You're not at school," Hux observed, voice muffled by the end of his cigarette. Ben was watching him intently, unable to look away from his pale face, but Hux seemed determined not to look at him.

"First day I've missed since I was five years old," Ben said, and instantly felt stupid.

Hux flicked the cigarette butt onto the step below him and smashed it under his boot heel. He crossed his arms over his chest, and Ben realized suddenly that neither of them were wearing jackets. Hux's pale skin was dotted with goose-flesh, and Ben had to tuck his hands in his armpits to keep from pulling Hux close to him to share his body heat.

"Aren't you going to miss the test in Snoke's class?" Hux asked at last, still staring at the house across the street. He sounded tired, voice thin and raw.

Ben shrugged one shoulder. "He'll let me make it up."

"What if he doesn't?"

Ben hadn't thought of that, his already frayed nerves reverberating with familiar anxiety, but the moment was short-lived and insignificant in comparison to the way he'd felt for the last week.

"Fifty percent of our grade in that class is our project, anyway," Ben said. "I know we'll get an A on that."

Hux's jaw stiffened, but he didn't respond. Ben let the silence linger for a moment, then he unfolded his arms slowly, like Hux was a wild animal and Ben was trying not to spook him. He tentatively touched his knuckles to Hux's leg, opening his hand.

Hux pulled his leg away abruptly. "Don't."

Ben's stomach lurched and he jerked his hand back, stuffing his hands between his knees. His heart in his throat, he forced himself to ask: "Why are you mad at me?"

Hux's shoulders dropped and he bowed his head, raking his hands back through his messy, unwashed hair. "I'm not mad at you, Ben," he sighed.

"Then..." Ben trailed off.  Then why can't I touch you? I need to touch you. Nothing feels real without it.

Hux let his hands fall to his knees. "I just..." He turned his eyes skyward, like he was looking for the right words.

Ben's anxious mind filled in the rest. "Do you not want this anymore?" he asked. "Us?" Because why would Hux want someone like Ben, really? Hux was rebellious and exciting and unique. Ben was...ordinary.

Hux looked at him fully for the first time since Ben had arrived. His eyes were more blue-grey then green, red-rimmed. His translucent eyelashes were clumped together with moisture.

"That's  all  I want, Ben," Hux said quietly. "Nothing else. But..." He looked away again.

Ben was too confused to feel relieved. "But what?" he asked, the words sounding shrill. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Why haven't you called me since last weekend?"

Hux shook his head and stood up, then turned away to step heavily up to the porch, moving like his body weighed a thousand pounds. Ben twisted around to watch him, a protest on his lips as Hux opened his front door, but before Ben could put words to his bewilderment, Hux turned his head and said quietly:

"Come on." Then he left the door open behind him as he disappeared into his house.

Ben scrambled to his feet, following him inside mutely, feeling a strange sense of vertigo like he was tumbling down the rabbit hole in the Hux's wake. Hux was already vanishing into his bedroom as Ben shut the door behind them, and Ben shuffled after him cautiously.

He came to an abrupt stop at the threshold of Hux's room, mouth falling open as he saw the haphazard pile of gray plastic and metal pieces that had once been the Star Destroyer model Hux had kept on his desk. Shock was his first feeling, replaced quickly by anger.

"Did your dad do that?" he asked.

Hux had crossed to his nightstand and was picking up a glass of water, facing away from Ben. He shook his head before taking a drink. "No. I did it."

Ben looked from Hux to the wreckage on the floor, brow pinched in confusion. "Why?"

He heard the glass clink against the wooden nightstand, and Hux sighed. "Shut the door, Ben. I don't want to talk."

Ben glanced at him again, but then turned to close the door as told, careful to shut it quietly even thought they were the only ones here. When he turned back, Hux was facing him, bottom lip tucked between his teeth and eyes searching Ben's face. He looked sad, like he was on the verge of saying something, but instead he crossed the small room and put his hands on Ben's chest. He slid them up until they framed Ben's jaw and then Hux guided their lips together slowly, carefully.

A small, desperate sound escaped Ben's throat and he tugged Hux close to him, one hand on his face and the other at the small of his back. Hux's fingers were cold on his skin, but his mouth was warm as he opened for Ben's tongue. The kiss was tender, like it was the first time they'd done it in years or like it was the last time they ever would, and the way Hux's body swayed into into Ben's and the way his thin arms draped heavily over Ben's shoulders felt as though he needed Ben to hold him up. It wasn't like Hux, who was always the spark that set the fire between them.

Ben broke the kiss, lips only parting from Hux's enough to whisper against them. "What's wrong? Tell me."

Hux shook his head, chasing Ben's lips and sliding his hands back down Ben's torso until he got them beneath the hem of Ben's t-shirt. Ben tried to pull away, recognizing the distraction for what it was, but then Hux's soft lips were on his again and Hux's fingers were unbuttoning his jeans.

Ben's stomach dropped and his head filled with static and before he pieced together a coherent objection he had his own hand under Hux's shirt, needing the contact with his body. All he could think about was that Hux was here, Hux still wanted him, it wasn't over, Hux was okay; it was a litany playing over and over in his head until Hux's t-shirt was on the floor and Ben's jeans were tangled around his ankles, kicked off as Hux drew him toward the bed.

They had sex without words, the few times Ben tried to speak cut off by Hux's mouth on his, his teeth on his bottom lip. Hux seemed not to want anything from Ben but to be pressed beneath him, to have his legs around Ben's hips while they rocked against each other almost desperately. There hadn't even been time between falling into bed and Hux guiding Ben inside him for more than two fingers stretching him open, and there was no condom, and Ben came inside Hux so hard he stopped breathing for a moment—Hux came right after him, hot on Ben's stomach. Ben had to bury his face in Hux's neck and suck in ragged, gasping lungfuls of air and clench his eyes shut to keep from crying.

They stayed pressed together that way for a long time, and it wasn't clear which one of them was trembling, or if they both were. It was finally Ben that shifted, muscles starting to cramp, but all he did was roll to his side and pull Hux against him. Hux molded easily into Ben's spooned body, and moved only enough to kick at the blanket at their feet until Ben got the hint and caught it with his fingers to drag it up and over them.

It seemed to take hours for Ben's heartbeat to return to normal, and he laid there wrapped around Hux with his nose pressed to Hux's neck, breathing in his scent. He felt off-center, despite how much he'd needed this intimacy. It was like he'd gone without sustenance for days and had suddenly overdosed on it, and it had left him woozy and muddle-headed.

"I missed you," Ben whispered, kissing the nape of Hux's neck, nuzzling the soft hair drowsily.

He felt Hux sigh, so deeply that it moved his whole body against Ben's and escaped Hux's lips with a shudder. He didn't reply except to nudge Ben's hand until Ben twined their fingers together. Ben didn't speak for a while, hoping Hux would say something, would offer some explanation for the week of ghosting him, but he didn't. So finally, Ben asked again.

"Are you going to tell me what's been going on? Did something happen with your dad?"

There was a long pause. "Sort of," Hux said at last. Then, firmly: "I don't want to talk about it right now."

Ben sighed through his nose, frustrated, then chewed his bottom lip trying to decide whether he had any right to press the issue further. He'd almost worked himself up to it when Hux moved, untangling himself from Ben to sit up, as though he sensed more questions coming and was trying to put space between himself and anything Ben wanted to ask.

"I'm starving," Hux mumbled. "I don't even remember the last time I ate anything."

A fresh stab of worry pricked Ben's chest, and he levered himself up behind Hux, tucking his legs beneath him. He kept the blanket in his lap, impulsively modest, but Hux seemed unphased by his own nudity as he stood up and began picking his clothes up from the floor. He pulled his shirt on first, the collar dragging his hair across his face and obscuring it.

"We still going to that stupid party tonight?" Hux asked then, raking the hair out of his eyes.

Ben blinked, surprised by the questions; Bastion's house party had been the furthest thing from his mind. "I thought you didn't want to go to that."

Hux swiped his jeans off the floor, pulled them on without his underwear. "I thought I told you I did." His tone was just shy of waspish.

Ben was silent for a moment, not sure if  he  wanted to be around anyone else but Hux tonight. But he didn't want to argue with him. "Okay. If you want to."

Hux threw Ben's t-shirt at him. "Come on. I want to get out of this fucking house."

Ben clutched the t-shirt in his lap for a moment while he watched Hux sit on the floor to pull his boots on, but then Hux pierced him with an impatient stare that wrenched Ben into action.

Hux did not want to go to Bastian's party, but he wanted to stay home even less. He'd made himself a prisoner there for the entire week, as much because he couldn't stand to face Ben as because he was inviting the stand-off with Brendol, waiting to see how long the old man's guilt would compel him not to try to force Hux into doing anything he didn't want to do, like go to school.

Brendol had tried to talk to him a couple of times, but Hux had been teeth and claws from the moment his father had dumped his dirty laundry at Hux's feet. Mostly, the two of them had existed in different dimensions since the previous Saturday, ghosts in the same house, unclear who was haunting who.

It felt good to get out from under his father's roof. What little part of that house had begun to feel like home had turned into something vile and oppressive, the very walls rebounding with memories and thoughts they both projected and neither wanted. Hux felt adrift, like he truly belonged nowhere—not with his father, who was picking some faceless child over him, not in Ireland, which was just a memory of cold streets and loneliness and hunger, not in this country, which wouldn't shelter him because he had nothing to offer.

"What are you thinking about?"

Ben startled Hux out of his dark thoughts, and Hux turned away from the wet, autumn landscape passing beyond the window. It was dark outside, the evergreens and grass glinting with dampness in the streetlights.

"Nothing," Hux sighed, forcing himself not to flinch away when Ben reached across the center console and laced their fingers. Hux had thought forcing himself to close the distance he'd put between he and Ben would thaw him, but the frantic sex earlier that afternoon had only made him feel emptier. Everything was circling the drain, and being with Ben only brought that into sharper focus.

Ben squeezed his hand; Hux could sense that Ben wanted to pry into his obvious elusion, but he remained silent, and Hux was grateful for it.

"Is there going to be alcohol at this party?" Hux asked, steering the topic in a direction he was much more interested in.

Ben sighed inaudibly. "I'm sure there will be."

They were pulling onto a block in the same ritzy part of town that Ben lived in, and Hux groaned inwardly to find it swarmed with cars. They lined the street for at least half a mile, and it was easy to tell which house belonged to Ben's friend. It was a massive, three-story Georgian, and every light inside must have been on, the door flung open and vomiting out vapid teenagers that Hux suddenly had no desire to be around. He almost told Ben to keep driving, but the alternatives were less inviting; Hux didn't want to talk. He wanted to get drunk and forget.

The music pumping from the house was audible through the windows of the car, as was the laughter and shrieking of kids high on a night of freedom.

"How are the neighbors not calling the cops?" Hux asked curiously as Ben rolled down the street slowly, looking for a parking space.

"Bastian's parents own half the town," Ben told him.

Hux rolled his eyes. "Think I'll be the only person here that isn't a spoiled, rich brat?"

Ben didn't say anything for a moment, then mumbled "I guess so."

Hux snapped his head around, looking at Ben's glum face. "You know I don't lump you in with them."

Ben swerved into a free stretch of curb that appeared suddenly between two cars, turning off the ignition. The din of the party had faded a bit as they'd gone almost a block past, looking for a space.

"Do you not?" Ben asked, glancing at him, holding the car keys against his knee.

"I'm sleeping with you, aren't I?" Hux teased, watching Ben blush. It almost made him smile, but he didn't want to, so he leaned closer and pulled Ben to him with a fist in his t-shirt. He was only a breath away from pressing a kiss to Ben's lips when he felt him flinch back. It was subtle, arrested immediately, but it was enough to make Hux realize what he was doing and he stopped.

They were in public now. People could see them. The boy in the car with him now was Ben Organa-Solo, the most popular kid in school. Not Hux's boyfriend.

Hux drew back, even as Ben caught the front of his shirt and tried to pull him back.

"Hux," he began.

"It's fine," Hux mumbled, turning away and pulling the door handle roughly to let himself out of the car. Ben followed him a moment later, looking at him over the roof of the BMW.

"We don't have to..." Ben started, but then someone down the street screamed his name, jubilant, and Ben's attention was wrenched away as two girls Hux had never seen before came toward them at a skip. One linked her arm around Ben's and the other had her arm about her friend's waist. Hux stood alone on the other side of the car as the two of them chattered at Ben about the party and about class that day.

Hux watched for only a moment, chest tight, then he took off toward Bastian's house, ignoring Ben when he called his name.

The hip-hop music spilling from the house set Hux's teeth on edge, and he ignored the blatant stares he garnered from the party-goers on the lawn. He wound his way down the crowded front walkway and up the steps to the door and was about to step across the threshold when a hand shot out to connect with the door-frame, blocking his way.

Hux looked up, found a kid he only vaguely remembered from the cafeteria giving him a snide look.

"I don't think you're on the guest list, prick," he said.

Hux's brows drew together over his nose and he tensed, then flinched in surprise when something connected with his back. Before he could turn around, Hux felt a familiar hand on his hip.

"He's with me," Ben said, the inflection in his words a mix of challenge and self-assurance. He was nudging Hux forward before Hux could protest that he could take care of himself, and the little shite blocking the door jerked his hand away promptly, holding it in the air repentantly.

"My bad, Solo," he said as they passed.

Ben's hand dropped away from Hux's hip once they were inside, though the crowded foyer kept them close to one another as they made their way to what seemed to be the heart of the party. It was dark inside except for the flickering blue and green strobe lighting that seemed to pulse in time with the pounding music. When Hux hesitated in the dim hallway, trying to find the alcohol, Ben slipped around him, reached back, and grabbed his hand.

It was little more than two fingers caught around two of Hux's, pulling him along in the direction of a table along the far wall, and Ben let go as soon as Hux was following. Nevertheless, it made Hux's heart jump, and he couldn't help searching the faces they passed to see if anyone had noticed, but everyone was distorted by the club lighting.

Ben found the alcohol, which turned out to be three kegs and a table littered with liquor bottles of every shape and size. There were stacks of red Solo cups, a plate of sliced limes, plastic bowls full of chips and nuts and miniature candy bars. Hux was staring at the spread wondering where to begin when Ben thrust a cup into his hand. It was full of pale, watery-looking beer that sloshed over the rim when Hux grasped it.

"Sorry about Adam," Ben shouted at him over the noise, turning away from filling his own cup and maneuvering the over-full beer to his lips for a careful sip.

"Who the fuck is Adam?" Hux yelled back, taking a long drink and almost gagging. It was not much better than horse-piss, but at least it was alcohol. He eyed a bottle of vodka on the table.

"The asshole at the door," Ben said, pressing himself closer to Hux and leaning in so Hux could hear him.

Hux rolled his eyes. "I'm used to your friends being dicks," he said, draining half the beer. He'd only picked at the sandwich he'd ordered at the deli after leaving his house earlier, despite telling Ben he'd been starving, and the alcohol settled warmly in his stomach.

Someone lurched into the table beside them, making the bottles rattle amid raucous laughter. Ben backed away, plucking at the back of Hux's shirt and pulling him along until they were wedged against the wall, out of danger for the moment. Hux was taking another mouthful of beer when he felt Ben's knuckles tracing the curve at the small of his back. It made his stomach flutter.

"Sorry about the what happened in the car, too," Ben said into his ear, close enough that Hux could feel the moisture on Ben's lips.

Hux shrugged. "It's fine."

He felt Ben pull away and glanced at him, only to find that he was refilling his cup at the nearest keg. When he returned to Hux's side, he'd brought Hux a refill as well.

"You slammed that pretty fast," Hux observed, raising an eyebrow.

"I need confidence," Ben said, drinking deeply, pale throat working.

Hux guessed what he meant. The little hesitant gestures like taking his hand for a few seconds and the intimate touch in the dark corner were Ben's way of working up to taking a plunge Hux suddenly didn't want him to take. What was the point? Hux would be gone in a few months anyway, and not only would Ben have pushed himself to come out in front of everyone in his school, but he wouldn't have a boyfriend to show for it. And Hux certainly didn't want anything Ben had to get drunk to offer.

"Ben," Hux said, glowering at him. "You don't need to, okay?"

"I know," Ben told him. "Listen, I'm going to go try to find Phasma. Wait here?"

Hux shrugged again and nodded, then watched Ben weave away through the crowd, holding his beer at shoulder level to keep from getting it spilled on him.

He waited for what felt like hours, nursing several cups of beer until to the cheap swill actually started to taste good, and then he finally needed to take a piss. He shouldered his way through the milling throng, swiping a third of vodka off the table on his way past.

The farther he went into the house in search of a bathroom, the more everything started to seem like an alternate dimension. He didn't know anyone here, realizing that he'd managed to drift through the last four months without opening up to, or even really  seeing , anyone but Ben. Ben would be the only thing he really had to leave behind when they went back to Ireland. Just one person, but that still felt like everything.

He tossed the Solo cup on a coffee table as he passed it, sucking now from the vodka bottle as his head started to pulse with the music. It felt suddenly like all the booze in the world wasn't going to drown out the crushing loneliness in his chest, made all the worse by the faceless crowd.

He found a hallway that looked hopeful and made his way down it, chest unwinding a bit as the obnoxious music dulled in volume. He tried a door to his left, had it part way open before someone inside shouted at him to close it. Hux caught only a glimpse of two people on a bed inside before he slammed it shut.

The next door was locked when he turned the knob, but he heard a toilet flush and flattened himself against the wall to wait. The door opened a moment later and Hux dove inside, not caring that he jostled aside the person that had just emerged.

There was blessed silence inside, and Hux locked the door behind himself, setting the vodka bottle on the counter and staring at himself in the mirror. His eyes were ringed with kohl, piercings in his nose and lips and brow. He had on a ratty Black Sabbath t-shirt and his fingernails were painted black. His hair was gelled into a messy mohawk. Everything about the person in the reflection was someone that his father hated, a son that wasn't good enough before and would be even less wanted in comparison to a nine year old sister that was the perfect blank slate for Brendol to start over, to get things right like he hadn't done with his son.

Hux leaned over the sink, gripping the counter tightly and closing his eyes. Rage bubbled in his chest, mixing heavily in his belly with sorrow. He wanted to tell Ben. He wanted to believe what Ben had told him—that they could find a way to be together.

Someone hammered against the door, making it vibrate in the frame.

"Hurry the fuck up in there!"

Hux pulled himself away from the counter, unzipped his pants and took a piss, then jerked the door open and shoved his way past the people waiting their turn.

He was going to find Ben.

Ben was trying to find Hux.

He'd found his way back to the table where the kegs stood, where he'd left Hux a half hour before, but he wasn't there. It had taken Ben longer to locate Phasma than he'd expected, having been stopped every ten feet by friends from school who wanted to know where he'd been today and whether or not he was okay.

"He probably just went to the bathroom or something," Phasma said, reading Ben's panic. His best friend had listened to him agonize over Hux's refusal to return his calls and texts for the last week, and now she was letting Ben tow her along as support for what he planned to do tonight.

Ben pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking to see if Hux had messaged him while taking another drink from his third cup of beer. "This is some bad fucking deja-vu," he told her, spinning around to scan the crowd.  Please don't be gone again.

"Come on," Phasma said. "Let's check outside. Maybe he went to get air."

She tugged Ben behind her with a hand around his bicep while Ben clumsily tried to type a message to Hux with one thumb. He lurched to a stop when another hand caught his elbow and made him drop his phone. Whirling around, thinking Hux had found him, Ben felt the hopeful look on his face crumble when he found Jade looking back at him instead.

"Hey, Ben," she said, smiling. "I was hoping you'd be here."

"Hey," Ben mumbled, bending down to pick up his phone. She probably hadn't even heard him over the music, but was still smiling at him when he looked up like he'd sounded happy to see her.

"Listen, I'm looking for someone right now," Ben said, trying to dismiss her, but she just leaned closer, balancing her her toes to speak into his ear.

"There's a room open upstairs," she purred, and Ben could smell the alcohol on her breath. She stroked a palm along his arm. "You wanna go up with me?"

Ben flinched away. "You're drunk," he said.

"Not too drunk to have a good time," Jade insisted, wrapping her fingers around Ben's arm again, thumb caressing his skin.

Ben's stomach turned and he shook her off. "You're not my type, okay?" he said shrilly, the beer he'd drunk making his tongue loose, just like he'd wanted it to. He didn't wait for the shocked look that settled on Jade's elfin face to be translated into words, turning and weaving through the crowd with Phasma at his side.

"I saw her hanging on Mike earlier," Phasma yelled into his ear. "Hand on her ass and everything."

Ben stopped at the sliding glass door to the back deck. "Well, she can go back to that," he said, pushing the door open. Cold air blasted his face, welcome on his hot cheeks.

"I think I love this side of you, Ben Solo," Phasma said as she spilled out onto the deck with him. "You're getting feisty just like that red-head you love."

Ben just smirked, took another drink of his beer while he looked over the people that were milling around outside. "Where the fuck is he?" he mumbled, then typed a message on his phone, telling Hux he was out back. He'd wait here a few minutes and cool off, hoping Hux would find him.

"Hey, Solo!"

Ben turned around abruptly, seeing Mike shouldering his way through the open glass door.

"What's up, Mike," Ben said, trying not to grimace. What fondness he'd felt for his childhood friend had evaporated once Mike's true colors had come out. It rankled that it had taken Ben so long to see him for who he was.

Mike's gait wavered as he crossed to Ben; he was clearly drunk, or well on his way to it. "Dude," he said. "What'd you do to Jade?"

Ben wasn't expecting that question, and stared dumbly at him for a moment. "What are you talking about?"

Mike took a drink from a bottle of Budweiser, wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "She came up to me crying and said you called her a whore."

"What the fuck?" Phasma snapped, stepping closer to Ben. "That is not how that conversation went."

Mike sidled closer, glaring at Ben. "She's had a crush on you since fucking seventh grade, and you're too dumb to see it."

"I'm not too dumb," Ben growled. "I'm just not interested."

Mike's scowl transformed slowly into a gross leer. "Ohhh. I see." He pointed at Ben with his beer bottle. "She's not your type, huh? I think I know what that means."

"Go to hell, Mike," Phasma said.

Ben's eyes flicked over Mike's shoulder to the lawn, hoping to see Hux, wanting to escape where this conversation was going. Tonight wasn't supposed to go like this.

"Oh I won't be the one going to Hell," Mike drawled with an ugly smirk.

That wrenched Ben's attention back fully. "What happened to you, man?"

Mike's face fell, the smirk wiped away. "You used to be my friend until that little red-haired faggot came along. Now you don't give a shit about any of us anymore—people that have had your back since we were kids."

Ben's vision clouded with anger. "You call this having my back? You're an asshole." His fist clenched at his side where he held the Solo cup between thumb and forefinger, and he heard it crack.

"Makes sense, tho," Mike went on, face brightening again with dark glee. "Why you've never had a girlfriend. Why you don't even look at knock-outs like Jade who basically throw themselves at your feet." Mike's hand moved, fingers cupping the bulge of his own cock. "You can't get it up for ladies, huh?" He laughed, then reached out toward Ben, like he was going to grab Ben's crotch. "I bet you can only get it up for the boys."

Ben jerked back, dropping his cup as he collided with Phasma

"Oh come on," Mike laughed drunkenly, still reaching for Ben. "Let's prove it once and for all."

Mike didn't get any closer. A hand caught his outstretched arm and wrenched him around toward the house, and then Hux's fist connected with Mike's face so hard that Ben heard his nose crunch. Blood spattered onto the deck and Mike howled, dropping the beer bottle as his hand flew to his face.

Ben's eyes went wide as the people around them gasped and went quiet and then exploded into shocked murmuring. Hux was staring at Mike with his fist curled at his side, knuckles smeared with blood and face pale with fury. Ben's childhood friend took a wild, clumsy swing at Hux, and Ben lurched forward to grab Hux and pull him away before Hux broke his jaw. He wrapped one arm around Hux's torso and shoved Mike back with the other hand.

"Hoooooly shit," Phasma sang, not bothering to disguise her glee.

Mike glared at them over his bloody palm. "You're finished, Solo," he said in a nasal whine.

Cell phone cameras were out all around them, but Ben didn't care. Hux was trembling in his arms, rapid heartbeat pulsing under Ben's palm.

"Finished with your bullshit," Hux snapped, trying to tug away from Ben to go for Mike again.

Ben held him back, pressing his cheek against the side of Hux's head. "Shhh," he murmured into his ear. "Let it go."

Hux's fingers closed around Ben's wrist like he meant to pull him off, but then just held on tightly.

Mike spun around, looking at the faces of the other students gathered around them, filming everything. With a start, he lurched away into the house without another word.

Ben didn't let go of Hux, even when the violent tension began to seep out of him. Instead, Ben curled his other arm around Hux's waist and held him, closing his own eyes as he kept his cheek pressed against Hux's head. Gradually, the sounds of the party—music, chatter, laughter—filled the stunned silence around them, and when Ben finally opened his eyes, no one was looking at them but Phasma.

She grinned. "That will be one for the yearbook."

Ben laughed, expelling nervous energy. He slowly uncurled his arms from around Hux, moved his palms to Hux's shoulders. He squeezed gently. "Come on," he said. "Let's get out of here."

"No driving," Phasma warned them.

Ben nodded mutely, then reached down and clasped Hux's uninjured hand.

Hux looked at him, dazed, and let Ben lead him off the deck. Ben felt eyes on them as they walked, but he was too numbed by what had just happened to give a shit.

The gate at the bottom of the stairs opened onto a tiled patio surrounding a pool, and Ben didn't let go of Hux's hand until they were on the far side of it, and only then so he could sink down onto an outdoor lounger under a striped awning. He pulled Hux down beside him, leaving no space between them.

Silence hung there, heavy, both of them staring back toward the house. Hux's face was stone, mouth set in a frown and a line between his eyebrows.

Finally, Ben reached out and tucked his hand between Hux's knees. "That was hot as fuck," he said.

Hux didn't react for a moment, but then his forehead relaxed and his lips quirked up at one corner. "I'm happy to provide a repeat performance."

Ben laughed, feeling lightheaded. "Maybe not tonight."

Hux slumped back against him, drawing one knee up and propping it on the lounger cushion. He sighed.

"I'm sorry about this week," Hux said, putting his hand over Ben's. Blood oozed slowly from a split knuckle.

"It's okay," Ben said, turning his palm over so their fingertips touched.

"I have something to tell you," Hux went on.

Ben's stomach knotted, feeling the proverbial hammer about to drop. He'd waited all week for Hux to come to him with something life-altering, and now here it was. He swallowed.

"Okay," he said, voice sandpaper-dry.

Hux didn't speak for a moment more, and Ben imagined he was trying to find the right words to let him down easily. Then Hux turned his head and met his eyes.

"I love you," he said.

Ben's heart stuttered in his chest. He felt like parts of him...all the dark parts born of loneliness...had suddenly broken off and were floating away. "You love me?" he whispered. 

Hux nodded tiredly, and Ben caught his chin to bring their lips together. "I love you too," he said. "But you scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry," Hux mumbled, stroking his fingers softly down Ben's leg, leaving them to rest on his knee.

Ben kissed him again, almost shyly, like this new admission raised things to another level, and he had to be better at this. "That's really what you wanted to tell me?" he asked when he drew back again. Despite the giddy joy in his heart, something still felt off.

Hux looked at him for a long moment, and Ben saw the clouds in his eyes.

"That's all I want to think about right now," Hux said at last, then swayed closer, touched his forehead to Ben's, and closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

Every so often, Ben saw someone glance toward them from the back porch of Bastian’s house, and then they’d turn back to their knot of friends and resume their conversations. He couldn’t hear them from the poolside lounger, but Ben couldn’t help imagining what they were saying.

Gradually, the people that had been witness to Mike’s drunken assault on Ben and Hux subsequently breaking Mike’s nose began to filter back into the house. It was like watching a virus spread, Ben thought. Those who’d seen what had happened on the porch would spread the news to those inside who hadn’t, and it would go from there until it became who-knew-what by Monday.

The warm buzz of alcohol had started to fade, and with it the lowered inhibitions; it made way for reality to set in, and Ben was paralyzed with indecision. Part of him wanted to get out of here, but part of him didn’t. It felt like a band-aid had been ripped off, leaving a part of himself that he’d tried to conceal, even from himself, finally exposed to the world. Running from it now felt like trying to put that band-aid back on. It felt like going backward.

Hux shifted beside him. Ben squeezed his hand and felt him wince.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, unlacing their fingers gently and turning Hux’s hand over to look at his knuckles. The skin was split across two of them, but the blood was starting to congeal. And his index finger was starting to turn purple. “You sure you didn’t break something?”

Hux’s fingers twitched and he pulled his hand away, splaying it in the air before himself. He made a careful, loose fist and then opened it again. “Nah. It’s fine.” He looked at Ben and gave him what felt like a brave smile. “Not the first time I’ve hit someone.”

Ben wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he just leaned closer to Hux, tucking his own hand between Hux’s knees. “I wonder what Mike’s going to tell everyone,” he said.

“I guess it doesn’t matter, since about ten people had their phones out,” Hux reminded him.

Ben pictured that, trying to place how many he’d seen and who had been holding them. “It’s probably on Youtube and Facebook already,” he sighed.

Hux made a disgusted noise. “I didn’t miss this kind of shite growing up.”

“They don’t have cell phones in Ireland?” Ben joked, squeezing Hux’s thigh to show he was teasing. It surprised him to feel Hux stiffen and sit forward suddenly, elbows on his knees and head bowed.

Ben floundered, unsure what he’d said and feeling skittish--Hux’s disappearing act the past week had taken a toll on his confidence in this thing between them. After an overlong hesitation, he decided on sitting forward as well, mimicking Hux’s posture so they could see eye to eye.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asked.

Hux was silent for a long minute, staring vacantly across the back yard. Finally, he shook his head and sat back, scrubbing his hands against his jeans like he was trying to warm them with the friction.

“I need more alcohol,” he said. He turned his head and looked Ben in the face. “You up for going back in there?”

Hux’s expression was shuttered, and Ben couldn’t tell whether he was asking out of care for Ben’s feelings or if this was a direct challenge. Knowing Hux, it could be either, but if it really was a test, Ben didn’t want to fail it.

“Yeah,” he said, throat dry. “We can, if you want.”

Hux stood up, turning his back on the house and looking down at Ben. His face softened. “You sure?”

After a second’s pause, Ben nodded. It took another moment for his body to catch up with his mind, and by the time he made himself stand up, anxiety was starting to curdle his stomach. Hux kept his eyes on Ben’s face even when Ben was staring at the house and the kids on the porch; it felt like Hux was waiting to see if he’d crack and change his mind, and fear of the consequences of that solidified Ben’s decision.

He looked at Hux again and gave him what he hoped seemed like a sincere smile; Hux gave him a cautious, lopsided one in return, and Ben’s chest clenched a little at the way Hux’s soft eyes looked hopeful too. Before he over-analyzed anything else, Ben twined his fingers through Hux’s uninjured ones and started for the house.

One thing about being popular was that people that recognized you and looked at you like you knew them weren’t always familiar faces. In a way, that made taking the stairs up to the back porch as this new version of himself a little easier. It wasn’t as much of an effort not to give a shit what they thought.

Forcing himself not to look at his feet, Ben met the eyes of a few of the kids, and to his relief, those few simply offered a smile. Honestly, Ben wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Open-mouthed shock? Ridicule? He certainly wasn’t expecting the person perched on the railing to speak.

“Hey, Hux!” the guy said.

Instinctively, Ben tugged on Hux’s hand a little harder and quickened his pace, just wanting to get inside without a confrontation. But Hux seemed to welcome them, and he slowed, twisting around to look at the teenager who’d addressed him. It left Ben several paces ahead, and made the fact that they were holding hands much more obvious.

The kid, who Ben was vaguely beginning to recognize as the younger brother of one of his quiz bowl teammates, slipped off the porch railing, and for a split second, Ben’s heart was in his throat, thinking things were about to get ugly again. Hux might have had the same thought, because his hand twitched.

Then the kid was kneeling by a blue, plastic cooler that Ben hadn’t noticed, opening it, and pulling a bottle of beer out of the slushy ice inside. He twisted the top off and held it up to Hux.

“Nice job on busting Woodward’s nose,” he said. “Dude’s always been a fucking prick.”

Hux didn’t move for a second, like he was assessing whether this was a joke, then he huffed a laugh that sounded startled before taking the beer.

“Glad I’m not the only one that noticed that,” Hux said, and Ben felt the tension in his body relax, replaced by a gentle pull toward Hux. Come here , it said.

So Ben quit trying to pull away, shuffling closer to Hux cautiously. The kid who’d just handed Hux the beer offered one to Ben, too, and just as Ben took it, he remembered the boy’s name.

“Thanks, Jay,” he mumbled, trying on a tentative smile.

Jay grinned, hopping back up onto the porch railing with his own beer, settling his feet on the cooler. In the course of that short exchange, several other kids had drifted closer, clustering around them. For the first time since climbing the porch stairs, Ben actually really looked at them, and recognized more than a few after all. Cody from student government and Abby, who edited for the school’s literary magazine. There was Dinesh, who was on the math team, and Randy, who Ben had played Dungeons and Dragons with way back in elementary school, before he was popular. And there was no judgment on any of their faces.

Gradually, Ben started to relax, eventually boosting himself up onto the railing beside Jay. When Hux made to settle back against the rail between Ben’s knees, Ben let it happen. When no one even gave it a second glance, Ben hooked one leg around Hux’s torso, his foot resting on Hux’s stomach, and by the time Ben had finished his beer, his free hand was resting on Hux’s shoulder, thumb absently ruffling the soft hair on the back of his neck.

For once in his life, everything felt right.

Except that it wouldn’t last. Of course it wouldn’t.

Despite the fact that they’d talked on the phone about it the night before and texted this morning, Ben still felt a twinge of worry as he turned down Hux’s street at 7:08 A.M. Monday morning.

He recognized that his ability to have faith in others was fragile, full of all the holes his unreliable parents had punched in it over the years, and Ben didn’t want to feel that way about Hux. Ben didn’t want that to be the feeling that underscored how incredibly, intoxicatingly, irrevocably in love he was. He just wanted the happiness, the feeling of being high and having wings--not the cautious anxiety that had him studying Hux’s front stoop from the very end of the street, trying to catch a glimpse of him to be assured that Hux wasn’t going to disappear on him again.

But Hux was there, standing on the sidewalk with his dark gray peacoat collecting fat flakes of puffy, wet snow. The cigarette he was smoking seemed to bloom with more smoke than it should as Hux’s breath turned to vapor on the air. He was wearing gloves, and a pale strip of one slender wrist peeked out from beneath as he held the cigarette to his lips.

Belatedly, Ben realized that Hux might have those gloves on to hide his bruised, swollen knuckles from his father.

Hux turned his head when he heard Ben’s car, flicking the cigarette into the gutter. Ben watched him tug something out of his pocket, and he realized as he pulled up to the curb that it was a peppermint that Hux was awkwardly trying to unwrap with gloved fingers. When he popped it into his mouth while hopping down from the curb to cross to the car, Ben realized it was to hide the taste of the smoke, which Ben had finally gotten up the nerve to tell Hux he didn’t like.

Eating a peppermint before getting in the car meant Hux planned to kiss him. It was simple and it was silly that it made Ben feel giddy and like he was somehow special, but it did. He had a boyfriend.

A blast of moisture-heavy, cold air gusted into the car when Hux opened the door. He dropped into his seat quickly, closing it and rubbing his hands together. His cheeks were a pretty pink and his nose was running.

And then when he turned his head to look at Ben, Ben saw there were purplish smudges under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept since Ben had dropped him off late Saturday night.

Ben leaned back against his seat, looking at him. “You feeling okay?” His immediate thought was that Hux had gotten into something with his dad.

Hux shrugged one shoulder, tucking his hands beneath his arms. He turned away again to look out the windshield, chewing on his tongue-ring. “Can we skip today?” he finally asked.

Ben wasn’t expecting that question. He opened his mouth to tell Hux that there was a chance of a pop quiz in Snoke’s class that morning, that his mother would be pissed if he skipped another day and that people would probably talk, after Saturday. But then Hux looked at him again, and there was a haunted kind of hurt in his eyes.

“Okay,” Ben said quietly. “You going to tell me what’s wrong?” A thousand things were going through his mind, worries clamoring to be voiced, but he stuffed them back down.

Hux had turned his attention to pulling his seatbelt down and buckling it, and that was when Ben noticed that Hux didn’t have his backpack, like he’d planned things this way the whole time.

“Let’s just get out of here, okay?” Hux said instead, reaching forward and angling one of the air vents to blow toward his face.

Ben chewed on his lip for a moment, trying to decide whether to just drive or try to get something else out of Hux, but decided the thin-lipped scowl on Hux’s face wasn’t encouraging. He thought for a moment--going back to his house wasn’t an option, since his parents were still home. He was sure he’d hear from his mother about skipping school, which was bound to get back to her. It was too cold to sit outside anywhere.

Then inspiration struck. “Did you eat breakfast yet?” he asked Hux.

Hux shook his head, attention focused on peeling his gloves off one finger at a time. Whatever was going on with him, he didn’t want to look Ben in the face. It made a knot of fear settle in Ben’s stomach.

“Okay, then,” Ben muttered, frustration creeping into his tone. He put the car into gear and headed for the interstate, letting Hux stew in silence.

He drove them back to the little diner they’d been to the night they’d first kissed. It seemed like a hundred years ago, and like it had all happened to another person. That’s how different Ben’s life felt now--like he’d unfurled from a cocoon as a new kind of creature. It was still a sort of limbo, where he hadn’t quite figured out where he belonged and where he didn’t. The only thing he knew for sure was that he wanted to be with Hux, and yet he couldn’t stop feeling like a strong enough wind would blow this whole thing away. That’s how anxiety worked--always kept a person looking over their shoulder and afraid of bends in the road ahead.

Hux didn’t say anything on the drive to the city, which triggered a whole cascade of catastrophic thoughts in Ben’s mind. They were so jumbled that he couldn’t pick just one single worry out, and so by the time he pulled into a curbside parking place, his brain was static and he’d chewed a raw spot on his bottom lip.  

He hesitated after turning the car off, glancing at Hux and trying to decide if he should say something now, if he should try to get him to talk about whatever was bothering him before they went inside, but Hux took that decision away when he popped the handle on the door and got out. Ben took a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing his heart to stop racing, then he stepped out of the car as well and joined Hux on the sidewalk.

Hux glanced at Ben when he paused beside him, and Hux gave him a weak, lopsided smile. Ben wanted to be relieved by it, but couldn’t help analyzing whether that smile was reflected in his eyes, and what it meant that Hux didn’t say anything, and didn’t take his hand before walking into the restaurant.

It was busier inside than it had been the first time they’d come here; the place was bustling with a full service staff, stuffed full of business suits in for a pre-work breakfast. There was a hostess this time, and Ben tried not to frown at the way she looked at them like she wanted to ask what they were doing there instead of being in school. She didn’t, though, and led them across the busy floor to the same booth by the window.

Ben slid into the seat across from Hux as the hostess gathered up the two extraneous place settings. “Coffee?” she asked cheerfully.

“Yes, please,” Ben said, forcing himself to smile. Both he and the hostess looked at Hux expectantly, but he was staring at his hands where they were laced on the Formica table. Ben nudged Hux’s ankle gently with the toe of his shoe.

“Do you want coffee?” Ben asked when Hux looked up at him.

Hux’s gaze swung to the hostess and he seemed to just realize she was still there. “Yes, thank you,” he murmured.

“Coming right up,” she said, walking away and weaving through the tables to the far side of the restaurant.

Ben leaned forward across the table, laying one arm across it and curling two fingers over Hux’s. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Hux’s fingers were cold and they twitched when Ben touched him, like his impulse was to pull away, but he didn’t. “Just didn’t feel like dealing with people today,” he said. He looked up from the table slowly and met Ben’s eyes as though he was making a conscious effort. His fingers curled in, locking Ben’s against his palm.

Ben didn’t have time to ask any more questions just then, as their coffees arrived. It was someone new that set the thick, white ceramic mugs on the table, and she deposited a small tin bowl full of creamers between them.

“Morning, boys,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “It’s a cold one out there, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ben agreed with a smile, absently rubbing his thumb over Hux’s knuckles. “Can we have a few minutes?”

“You got it. I’m Jamie if you need me.” She didn’t linger, leaving the two of them alone together.

Hux was looking out the window now at the view of the brick building next door. The chill of the winter morning bled through the glass, and Hux looked paler than usual in the wan light. He’d wrapped his free hand around the steaming cup of coffee and scooted it closer to himself.

“I’m turning you into a delinquent,” Hux said, and his expressionless face left Ben unsure whether he found that tragic or amusing.

“Maybe I’ve had a rebellious side this whole time,” Ben countered, unlacing his fingers from Hux’s so he could peel open a creamer. He poured it in his coffee, watching it plume a milky brown.

Hux picked up his own mug and blew across it, scattering the thin steam. He took a small sip, covering a smile.

“Your parents are going to catch on,” he said. “Realize I’m a bad influence and not let you see me.”

Ben snorted, lacing his fingers around his cup while he waited for the coffee to cool off. “I think they feel too guilty for that. It’s kind of a trump card.”

“You’re too good to use it.”

Ben raised both eyebrows. “Am I?”

Hux searched his eyes. “I found out I have a half-sister,” he said. “Speaking of guilty parents.”

Ben’s lips parted in surprise. Was this what Hux was so morose about this morning?

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked cautiously.

Hux shrugged, turning his gaze down to stare into his coffee cup. “It is when it means I have to go back to Ireland.”

Ben went cold, like all the blood had drained from his extremities to keep his heart beating. He just stared at Hux, waiting for him to look up and admit that was just a cruel joke, but he didn’t.

“Why?” Ben croaked at last.

Hux looked up at him, eyes flashing beneath pinched brows. “So we can be a goddamn happy family together. My Da, his new kid, and his old one that he fucked up with.”

Hux’s voice had risen when he said this, and a man in the booth behind him craned his head around and looked at them. Ben glared until he turned away again.

Ben pushed his coffee away, feeling too sick at his stomach to contemplate drinking it. “You’re eighteen,” he reminded Hux. “Just don’t go.”

Hux gave him a disapproving frown. “You should know it’s not that simple,” he said. “I’m here on my Da’s work visa. He goes, I go.”

The gears in Ben’s mind creaked into motion as he tried to work through his shock. He had never thought past the fact that Hux must be here legally since he was going to Ben’s school. But Hux was right...nothing about immigration policy in the U.S. was simple, and a lot of it was unfair.

“What are you on, an H-1?”Ben tried, piecing together what he remembered from the internet and from snatches of conversation with his mother over her years in office.

Hux huffed a loud sigh and looked out the window again. “I don’t fucking know. A ‘you-can’t-work-here-so-you-can’t-support-yourself’ visa.”

Ben stared at the table for several seconds, sifting through his memories until something came to him. “So...you get someone to sponsor you, right?” he said, looking up again.

Hux took his hands off his coffee mug and planted them on the seat beside himself, shoulders tense and lips pursed into a bloodless line. “Right. I’ll just find one of the business owners that I’ve impressed in the last year to vouch for me.”

Ben flinched at Hux’s harsh tone. “I can help you,” he said. “Maybe my mom or my dad could hire you for something.”

Hux gave him an incredulous look, eyes wild. “So, your politician mother is going to hire her gay son’s foreign national boyfriend for some kind of bogus cover job to help him stay in the country? I’m sure that will go over well.”

Ben opened his mouth to protest, and then shut it. Hux was right. Maybe in another administration it could have been a symbol of something good, a gesture of friendship between the people of their two countries, but with Trump in office, it would put his mother in a very bright spotlight. Ben changed tactics.

“My dad, then. He owns a shipping company. Maybe you could help with the accounting or something. You’re good at math.”

Hux slumped back in the seat and folded his arms across his chest, hands tucked beneath his arms like he was trying to make himself smaller. In that moment, he did look that way--more like a lost kid than the fierce thing that he was on the outside.

“I don’t need your family’s fake fucking charity,” he said.

“It’s not fake charity ,” Ben challenged, hearing the desperate note that was beginning to creep into his voice.

“Then what is it?” Hux snapped.

“A fucking solution.” Ben sat back as well, his chest tight. “Don’t you want to stay?”

Hux’s eyes widened, brows lifting sharply. “No,” he drawled, voice full of sarcasm as he leaned forward, speaking only loudly enough for Ben to hear. “I want to go back to fucking Ireland and live with my arsehole father and some brat I’ve never met instead of be here with the only person I’ve ever really loved.”

With that, Hux lurched out of the booth, hitting the table with his hip and sloshing coffee over the rim of his cup. He was halfway across the dining room by the time Ben’s brain caught up with the present, and Ben shoved his hand into his pocket and tugged his wallet out, almost dropping it in his haste. He threw a twenty dollar bill on the table and hurried to catch up with Hux.

Ben’s long stride brought him to the door just as it was swinging shut behind Hux, and Ben caught it with his shoulder and pushed his way out into the cold. Hux was already half a block away, hands in his pockets and head down. Going where, Ben had no idea, but he jogged to catch up with him.

When he drew close, Ben reached out with the intention of grabbing Hux’s arm to stop him, but he aborted the idea at the last instant. It was the sort of thing it seemed like Brendol would do.

Instead, Ben shoved his own hands in his pockets and walked beside him, breath pluming in the cold air. It was snowing in earnest now, the white dust of it eddying on the sidewalk and clinging to Hux’s hair and the shoulders of his coat. Ben could see the glisten of moisture beneath Hux’s eyes.

“Hux,” Ben breathed, his heart feeling constricted. “Please stop.”

Hux didn’t stop, but after a moment, he did slow down. They drifted closer to each other until their shoulders touched, and several blocks went by in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Finally, tentatively, Ben brushed Hux’s side with his hand, splaying his fingers out in invitation, and after a few seconds’ pause, Hux drew his own hand slowly out of his pocket and gave it to Ben.

Ben squeezed it tightly, relieved when Hux matched him.

“I don’t want to go,” Hux said quietly, sounding as forlorn as Ben felt.

“I don’t want you to go, either.”

There was quiet between them again while reality attempted to solidify into something they couldn’t escape, but Ben’s mind wouldn’t stop working. The idea of his father sponsoring Hux had been impulsive, and it wouldn’t work, probably, for the same reasons that applied to his mother. Leia Organa’s family reflected on her, and that had always been a sort of guiding factor in Ben’s life. Han wouldn’t admit it, but he’d fit himself into the same kind of mold: fly straight, be successful, be a model husband. Ben was tempted to ask anyway, to play that guilt card he had up his sleeve, but he knew he wouldn’t forgive either of them when they said no.

“Maybe I could go with you,” Ben suggested, trying to inject enthusiasm into his voice.

Hux let go of his hand, making Ben think he’d just made things worse, but he’d only let go to fish his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He pinched one between his lips and cupped a hand over the flame of his lighter until the tip glowed red. The pack went back into his pocket, and Hux gave Ben his hand again.

“And do what?” he asked Ben, turning his head away to exhale a cloud of vapor and smoke. The wind caught it and whisked it away.

“Be with you?” Ben answered tersely. He wanted that to be enough. He didn’t want to have to map out logical plans.

“Right,” Hux said. “You could give up your scholarship to Stanford and come live in some shithole flat where we wouldn’t have enough money left to eat after I paid the rent with whatever crap job I managed to get.” He gave Ben a sidelong long. “Or maybe we could both live with my Da. That would be fun.”

Ben clenched his teeth around the indignant response that tried to bubble up out of the well of pain in his chest. He swiped his hair out of his eyes and raked it back.

“At least we’d be together,” he finally said.

Hux plucked the cigarette out of his mouth again and blew the smoke out in a rush. “I can really see you being happy downgrading from the patrician class to the plebs,” he said drolly.

Ben’s eyebrows drew down. “I’m not a fucking snob.”

“Didn’t say you were.” Before the argument could take on steam, Hux sighed, squeezing Ben’s hand. “Maybe I can come back and visit. Get some other kind of visa.”

Ben felt tears heavy in his eyelashes and his throat was threatening to close up. Every burgeoning, bright dream he’d had of the future started to turn gray when he pictured it without Hux. The freedom of university, his first apartment, the career he’d imagined himself in as an adult...all of it suddenly felt flat and pointless.

He didn’t know what to say. All he managed to do was cling to Hux’s hand as they walked. Their pace had slowed to a sort of sluggish crawl, like if they moved any faster, their time together would come to an end sooner.

The world around Ben took on the sharp relief of grief--cars passed with a soft, Doppler whir of engines, traffic lights blinked green and yellow and then red, turning the fine snow into glitter. A seagull, out of place in the middle of the city, stood obstinately in their path until the last moment, when it took off with a squawk in a flurry of wings. Ben watched it circle overhead and then swoop across the street to land on a bright blue mailbox.

The buildings they passed were growing taller, joining with the increasing throng of business people on the sidewalks and the heavy clouds to hem the two of them in. For some reason, it made Ben feel smaller and more alone, like the world was too big and too indifferent.

He scrubbed the cuff of his coat across his running nose, glancing up at the sky just in time to catch a snowflake in his eye. He blinked it out, then came an abrupt stop.

Hux kept going for a few steps, then paused to look back at Ben. He’d thrown his spent cigarette away some time ago, and now he shaded his eyes from the swirling snow. The tips of his fingers were flushed red from the cold.

“Ben?” he asked.

Ben was staring at the building across the street. It was a dull granite, its flat facade and uniform spread of plain, square windows broken only by a massive portico. Thick Doric columns framed the rounded steps that led up to incongruous, modern glass doors. That glass was emblazoned with the state seal in gold, which winked in the light as someone pushed the door open from inside.

Ben pulled on Hux’s hand, drawing him closer.

“I have an idea,” he said.

They must have been walking for hours by the time they found their way back to Ben’s car. Through the windows, the diner looked deserted. It had been ten blocks since either of them had spoken, but when Ben finally let go of Hux’s hand to unlock the car, his fingers were stiff from how hard Hux had been gripping them.

Ben slid into the driver’s seat and popped the lock for Hux. Snow showered off the door and flurried into the car as Hux climbed inside.

The interior was a dim cocoon with the doors closed and the windows all obscured by a layer of snowfall. Gray light filtered through the windshield to turn the snow a sort of bluish color that looked especially cold, but Ben left the defroster off when he turned on the heat. He wanted to feel like the rest of the world wasn’t out there. Like it was just he and Hux.

Hux hugged his arms around his torso, cheeks flushed with cold, and Ben thought he looked alive for the first time since he’d picked him up that morning. Ben himself had a low-level tremor just under his skin that had started on the street outside the courthouse and wouldn’t let go.

“This is nuts,” Hux muttered. It was a variation of a number of things he’d said since Ben had voiced his plan to keep Hux in the country. “It won’t work.”

“It will,” Ben said, turning his large body as well as he could to face Hux. “I mean, I need to do a little more research, but there’s no reason you can’t get a green card this way.”

Hux scrubbed his hands over his face, leaving them there. “We’re eighteen , Ben,” he muttered from behind them.

“Which works in our favor?”

Hux made a weak sound, half groan, and dropped his hands to his lap. He looked at Ben, and even framed with the dark circles of exhaustion, Hux’s green eyes were bright.

“My Da will kill me. And your parents will disown you.”

Ben reached across the center console, pinching the sleeve of Hux’s coat and tugging his arms loose so he could twine their fingers together again.

“So we don’t tell them until it’s too late.”

Hux chewed on his bottom lip. “My Da says we’re going to Ireland over winter break to meet this kid and decide on where we’ll live once we move back…” He trailed off and took a deep breath through his nose. “Winter break is in two weeks. I’m going to have to go.”

Ben knew what he meant. There wouldn’t be time for everything they needed to do to make this work, and especially not to get it done behind their parents’ backs. And Hux’s implication was clear--if he went to Ireland with his father over the break, there was a good chance he wasn’t coming back.

It made Ben’s stomach turn, and that contrasted unpleasantly with the fluttering nerves. “I can still play the guilt card with my parents,” he said, then clarified when Hux looked at him quizzically. “We have a cabin in Lake Tahoe. We go every winter. I’ll get my parents to let you come with us.”

Hux shook his head. “My Da will never go for it.”

“I thought you said he’s basically been letting you do whatever you want since he told you about having a sister.”

“Yeah, but this ?” Hux’s voice rose on the last syllable. “I don’t know.”

Hux might not know, but Ben suddenly felt a flame of hope in his chest. “I’ll get my mom to ask him.”

Hux snorted. “He doesn’t like her politics.” He sounded serious, but a ghost of smile hovered on his lips.

Ben let go of Hux’s hand and flicked on the windshield wipers. The sheet of snow blocking out the afternoon light was pushed aside, making an arc of clear glass. While they’d been talking, the whole city had turned white.

“You might be surprised at how convincing my mother can be,” Ben said, cranking up the front and rear defrosters. He glanced back to Hux. “Otherwise interpreted as she does not take no for an answer.”

Hux still didn’t look entirely convinced, so Ben leaned over, touched two fingers to the underside of Hux’s chin, and guided their lips together in a brief kiss before he whispered against Hux’s lips.

“Trust me, okay?”

Hux sighed. “You keep asking me to do that.”

“Because you can,” Ben said. He brushed his lips to Hux’s again, meeting resistance at first, but then Hux made a soft sound and let Ben kiss him. Hux’s mouth was warm, and Ben suddenly wanted to be somewhere he could have his hands on every inch of Hux’s skin.

“Is your dad at work all day?” he asked, voice thick with his sudden need.

Hux drew back enough to look into Ben’s eyes. He smirked. “Yeah.” Then he shook his head. “See? I’ve turned you to the dark side.”

Ben just smiled, settling back in his seat and putting the car into drive.