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The first time he kisses Ben, it’s an accident, a swipe of mouth against cheek, the corner of his lip brushing Ben’s as he is pushed roughly forward. Hux barely registers it over the rasp of rough carpet under his knees, the heavy, thick scent of sweat and drying spunk filling his nostrils. It’s too quick, soft, fluttering pressure like butterfly wings on his lips. Then it’s gone, though for a moment longer, he has Ben’s breath, wet, hot, ragged gasps tearing loose from his throat, before that’s gone too, the hand fisting in Ben’s hair, yanking him back.
Hux licks his mouth reflexively, tasting sharp salt before knowing it for what it is – Ben’s blood, Ben’s sweat. Ben’s tears, trickling steadily down his face, fat droplets suspended from his lashes like icicles.
It hurts. Fuck, god, it hurts, the hands gripping tightly into his hips. Sharp nails raking through the sensitive spot right over the jut of bone. The thick, blunt silicone thing – Hux can’t bring himself to call it a cock – forcing its way into his already raw, spread wide ass.
Hux clenches his jaw on a whine. Stifles it in his mouth, behind his teeth. The woman above him laughs, low, throaty, satisfied, and snaps her hips, sinking the dildo deep and jostling him forward again, into Ben, his split lip drooling scarlet over his chin, the smell of it, the taste, like brine and old copper.
Like him, Ben is on all fours, sharp knees and sharper elbows, damp hair in shaggy strands above his damp eyes, and Hux wishes he could lose count, could go back, could forget when Ben first started crying, trembling hand grasping for his, wound with rope.
Play nice, boys, the man had said, the click of his lighter loud like a shot. If you behave, we’ll all get out of here in a few hours. He’d ashed his cigarette on the floor. Crushed it under his polished shoe. Lowered his zipper. If not… well.
The man behind Ben now, the one with the scarred, tattooed arms, is the fifth. Over the knob of Ben’s shoulder, Hux can see the glisten of sweat on Tattooed Arms’ chest, the ripple of his gut as he fucks into Ben, rhythmically, slowly, making him shiver and mewl and whimper. Six, seven, and the cameraman are behind him, and Hux swallows, shudders, feels his chest constrict.
He can’t help moaning when the dildo slams into him again, screwing into his sore, used rim, driving him into Ben, their noses clashing together, their cheeks, their mouths, the salty taste exploding on Hux’s tongue.
Blood. Ben’s blood.
It hurts.
“It’s OK. It’s OK,” he whispers into Ben’s slack, swollen lips. “You’ll be OK. You’ll get through this.”
He rears up as much as he’s allowed, cradles Ben’s hot face in his palms. Feels Ben’s pulse rabbiting under his thumb as he rubs it softly under Ben’s chin.
“I swear to you,” he promises, mouthing awkwardly at Ben’s jaw, his cheek, up to the soft shell of his ear. “I swear to you, every one of them will die screaming.”
“Hux,” Ben whispers back. “Hux. Hux.”
His name. Like a prayer.
“I swear,” Hux repeats, and kisses Ben for the third time in his life.