A/N: This story does contain some potentially triggering content. Though there is no explicit sex, some sadistic elements are present, and the relationship depicted is somewhat abusive. Some story elements are inspired by the life of Jackson Pollock. All other events are fictional.

"You said you were looking for investment works. This guy – he's something special. He's gonna be big."

Hux followed him into the gallery. "So far today, you've shown me the work of three artists, all of whom are apparently something special and certain to balloon in popularity in the next two years."

In another life, Silas Kanzer might have been a grub. Balding, with sickly pink-grey skin that looked filthy even after being scrubbed raw, it was all too easy of a comparison to make. And yet he had managed to become one of New York's premiere art dealers. One had to wonder what the world was coming to. The smile he gave Hux, revealing crooked yellow teeth. "I've been saving the best for last. Trust me." Finally, they reached the last room of the exhibit.

Stunning. Nearly three meters across and perhaps two meters high, the painting dominated the room. The others – attractive pieces, he was certain, and perhaps they showed some artistic merit as well – could not hope to compete. It… he couldn't begin to explain. Dark and deep, blue and red on black, hot, masculine, a fight played out in color. Brilliant. And like all brilliant, beautiful things, it had to be his.

"Should I get the paperwork started?" Kanzer must have smelled the sale in the air. A disgusting man, but Hux supposed he did have his uses.

He nodded, not bothering to look away from the painting. "And Kanzer."

"Yes?"

Hux dragged his eyes away from the painting to the plaque beside it. "I would very much like to meet this Kylo Ren." Though Hux had traveled extensively over four continents, the name still felt foreign on his tongue. But collectors were collectors, whether it was wine or art or geniuses, and he could not let anything as bright as Ren slip through his fingers because of a few eccentricities.

"I can arrange that."

Artists, in his experience, were poorly-adjusted creatures. Social niceties often seemed beyond their comprehension, and Hux had wondered once or twice if most of them might be happier living out in the forest somewhere as modern-day hermits. Though, he supposed, that would limit their audience. And many, possibly most, absolutely required an audience. Prima donnas disguised in suits of brilliance was all they were.

No landlady or doorman had greeted them when they rang, and nobody had come when Kanzer forced the door open and let Hux inside. Breaking and entering seemed to be hardly a punishable offense in this neighborhood. It wasn't as though there was anything to steal. The best a burglar could hope to make out with were fleas and a few otherwise-eradicated diseases. He was careful not to touch the handrail as he followed Kanzer up the steep, narrow staircase. Perhaps this was the new face of masculinity. After coming back from the war, men hadn't bothered to wipe the mud from their dungarees before settling into their new lives. Polished steel and noble honor replaced by the weapons of industrial warfare and the near-slaves who operated them. It was no wonder the world was in such sharp decline.

Standing in the landing before Ren's door, he felt quite the relic of better days long since forgotten. The intensity of the sensation only increased when Kanzer's knock was answered. What lay beyond was a jungle of open paint cans, sheets spread haphazardly to protect the floorboards, half-eaten meals left to rot on their plates, and standing before it, a dark figure that seemed as likely as his flat to fly apart into total chaos. The man was tall, at least a couple inches taller than Hux, who was certainly not a short man, and his shoulders were broad enough that he took up most of the doorway. "Who are you?"

"Ren, my boy! You haven't forgotten me, have you? I said I'd be dropping by with a friend today." Kanzer smiled, and Hux did not envy Ren as its intended recipient. The man made his flesh crawl.

A moment's confusion passed. "Is it Thursday already? I thought it was Wednesday. I thought I'd get the place cleaned up a bit before you came." Where, precisely, one could lose a day was rather beyond Hux. What had he been thinking when he'd suggested this meeting? A moment's insanity; it must have been. Now that he had found himself again, it would be simple to extract himself, to pretend as though none of this had ever happened. Art, no matter how powerful, wasn't worth this. "Come on in." An order, not a question, for Ren sounded as though he would not hesitate to fetch the kitchen knife Hux spotted on the table behind him should they choose to do otherwise. Perhaps this was the way the man always presented himself. Rather a large part of Hux suspected he did. Such idiosyncrasies did make for an interesting specimen.

A minute or two wouldn't hurt, and he couldn't very well back out now, and so, Hux found himself stepping into the lion's den. Two steps in, he stepped on a stray paintbrush, leaving blue on the bottom of his boot that he was sure would prove impossible to remove. Three steps in, he could have sworn he saw something small and black skitter between a plate left on the floor and a pile of old newspapers. "This is Brendol Hux. Mister Hux is the man who made such a generous offer on the piece in the Charles Egan Gallery."

He peeled his eyes away from the newspapers to give Ren a tight, forced half-smile. It would have been polite to shake hands, but Hux had no desire to soak his hands in bleach after this encounter.

"What do you think of the work?"

"I think it'll make a lovely decoration for my living room." A deliberate barb, and one that any self-respecting artist could hardly ignore. Ren's reaction should at least prove interesting.

"Three hundred dollars is a lot of money for a decoration." Not the type to stand down, then, even to his betters. Hux rethought his earlier assessment. Perhaps he could work with this man. If the works behind him were any indication, the risk was well worth the reward.

"I would be very interested to see what else you have been working on." Hux was more interested than he could admit to while retaining the upper hand. A rather unfortunate position, but one that with even a modicum of luck, would go unnoticed.

"I'll take you around. See if you can't find any more decorations for your living room," he sneered. "But guessing by the way you've been studying everything you can see in here, I think we all know you're going to walk out of here poorer than you walked in."

And despite Ren's hostility, he did, for the only thing that wounded Hux's pride more than being shown up was losing a masterpiece.