Chapter Text
It’s always automatic—a sort of Pavlovian response to the way the sunlight filters through the room with just the right amount and warmth, mixed with the exact frequency and volume of noise from the street, that rouses Hux from sleep. He cracks open an eye, his right arm flinging out to shut off his phone alarm that’s ready to blare at any moment before he remembers that it’s Saturday, and that he has the day off.
The phone screen lights up anyway, and he glances at it from a suboptimal angle, squinting a bit as he reads. It’s a message from Phasma—nothing hospital related, thankfully. Just a reminder that they have 12:30 reservations for brunch. Hux smiles as he thinks of Phasma and Sam; despite the size difference, their fierceness is equally matched, and Phasma insists (for real, this time) that Sam is actually the one.
He replaces the phone back on the nightstand, careful to position it just so. The top of the stand is neat, but hardly empty. His writing notebook occupies the top left corner, the product of the sketches and notes that he’s scribbled over the past two years now nearing completion. A miniature meditation rock inscribed with an inspirational quote sits beside it. It was a gift from Colleen (corny, perhaps, and definitely clichéd), but it’s appropriate in its meaning and reminds him of Kylo. There’s also an assortment of photos encased in an array of handmade and flea-market-bought frames. Hux has never been one for traditional photos when digital ones are just as easily available, but Kylo insists that there’s something about the ability to capture the emotions and textures and rawness of the traditional image that can’t be replaced.
Looking at the display, Hux would be hard-pressed to argue. The scenes jump, their context turning three-dimensional with the added weight of their history. Not just of the history of the image itself, he thinks fondly as he casts one last glance at what is still his favorite. The picture of them at Phasma’s Christmas party is slightly faded from the sun, but he can make out the small divot and uneven patch that sits to the left of his face. It’s as if someone had taken the picture out and rubbed their fingers softly over his likeness; that the memory of Hux’s hair, his skin, his smile, could come rushing back with just a touch.
Hux leans back and turns to his side as quietly as he can, but the mattress dips anyway, accompanied by the sound of a stuttered breath as strong arms wrap around his waist.
“Morning, babe.” The words leave Kylo’s mouth before he’s even fully awake, borne by love and habit. His long legs shift and slide alongside Hux’s slimmer ones as his eyes slowly open, their golden-brown color framed by lashes that are still wet and lazy with sleep.
It’s followed quickly by the quirking of Kylo’s lips into a brilliant smile. Hux’s heart lurches at how beautiful and transparent it is. It makes him want to bury himself in Kylo’s hair. To inhale his scent. To fuse himself with his brightness.
“Morning,” Hux replies as he presses forward. He smirks as he feels the undeniable and unmistakable length of morning wood. “Good morning, indeed.”
Kylo huffs out a laugh and lumbers over him. He leans in for a kiss, and there’s a brief second where Hux hesitates, to which Kylo responds with a knowing lift of his brow. Hux fights the urge to revisit what he ate last night, or to run his tongue over the inside of his mouth experimentally, then thinks, Fuck morning breath. It’s Kylo—the person who loves him with all his flaws. Besides, their mouths have been in places much worse than this.
“I know a way a ‘good morning’ can get even better,” Kylo says mischievously. He positions himself so his cock is sliding over Hux’s soft one, which begins to fill with embarrassing speed. Soon, he’s as hard as Kylo, and he rolls his hips in a silent demand that Kylo answers, to Hux’s great relief.
“Yes. Just like that,” Hux murmurs as Kylo wraps his hand around both their pricks and starts to stroke in a lazy and familiar manner.
Hux lets the feelings wash over him. He’s not in a rush to come, relishing the steady friction, the slide of their velvety skin against one another, and Kylo’s soft grunts as his hand begins to speed. He nuzzles further into Kylo’s warmth, inhaling the scent that lingers in the crook of his neck even as his legs straighten and his toes start to curl. The heat builds steadily at the base of his spine, spreading through his groin and mingling with the sunlight that’s painting his skin until it spills out into Kylo’s hands, coating them in his release.
Kylo follows soon after, his strokes growing stilted as his head tilts back and he lets out a low groan. “God,” Kylo exhales loudly as his arm falls to his side and he flops onto his back. “That was perfect.”
“Indeed.” They lie there for a moment in peaceable silence. Hux inches his hand over, their fingers interlocking until Kylo eventually turns over and grins.
“Shower?” he asks, waggling his brow. He’s already bursting with irrepressible energy. Perhaps it’s the fact that he still gets up for his early morning runs, or that he can be awoken at any moment by a burst of creative energy, but it never fails to amaze Hux, the excitement with which Kylo greets each day.
“In a bit,” Hux answers with an exaggerated yawn. He snuggles back against the sheets and allows himself the indulgence of doing nothing.
“Okay. I’ll start, then. Don’t keep me waiting too long.” Hux watches appreciatively as Kylo climbs out of bed and stretches, the muscles in his back rippling as his buttocks flex. His gaze must have been burning a hole with its heated focus because Kylo turns, wiggling his ass enticingly as he throws Hux an expression that’s both cheeky and lewd.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Hux laughs. He has no intention to. There’s just something he needs to do, first.
He waits until he hears the shower running to scurry out of bed, tripping over the shoes that Kylo’s left on the floor. Hux picks them up absentmindedly and heads over to the walk-in closet. It’s decadently spacious, and one of the things that was firmly implanted on Hux’s must-have list when they were apartment hunting. It took them a while to find the right place. Relatively affordable, conveniently located, and stacked with enough amenities to be comfortable while filled with an abundance of light and space was nothing short of a Holy Grail in New York, according to their realtor (who subsequently earned every penny of her commission). It might lack the overtly domestic cheerfulness of Finn and Rey’s place (and, thankfully, the aseptic modernity of Hux's last one) but it’s theirs.
And it’s perfect.
The mildly out-of-tune lyrics that drift over from the bathroom suddenly stop.
“Babe? Don’t forget, we’re meeting Mom and Dad at Blue Hill tonight.”
“How could I?” Hux yells back. It’s practically all he’s thought about for the past week. Their friends have commented more than once that Kylo’s never introduced his parents to any of his significant others since high school.
His musings likely last a bit too long. “Hux? Don’t worry. They’ll love you.”
“Only because they think I’ve made an honest man of you,” Hux starts, his face coloring as he realizes what he’s said.
There’s a muffled laugh followed by a large splash. “Yup. Looks like you’re stuck with me forever.” There’s a teasing lilt to Kylo's tone, but it’s also filled with something else. Something that fills Hux with hope. “You coming in anytime soon, by the way, or are you going to make me beg?”
“Just a sec.” Hux places Kylo’s shoes in their cubby, then opens his dresser to select his clothes for the day. He hooks a well-worn t-shirt over his arm, then blindly reaches into the corner until his fingers close over what he’s looking for.
A slight nervousness overtakes him. There was a time, not too long ago, when the idea of burying things was problematic and self-defeating. He’s learned the value of sharing and vulnerability since then, and in this case, he thinks Kylo will forgive him.
The lid to the small velvet box pops open with a small click. A platinum ring sits inside; the outer surface of the brushed metal lies perfectly smooth, the beginning and end entwined. The inside is inscribed with those four Khmer symbols that Hux can see, even with his eyes closed. Despite the passage of time, they never fail to make his heart speed, and the thought of them laying against Kylo’s skin—of what they mean, of what they’ve overcome, of what they symbolize—nearly makes him weep.
He doesn’t think that will ever change. Not a year from now, or ten, or a lifetime later.
He rummages around once more to pull out the accompanying card. He heads over to the bathroom door and takes a deep breath. It’s plain stock, and measures only three by five inches, but its words are forever ingrained in his heart:
Will you marry me?
Check yes, or no
~Fin~