His thoughts were his only refuge.

Escaping to various, meticulously detailed depictions of feats never to be accomplished flickering in his mind's eye were all he had as diversion for so long. The truth was that he was tired. He would never admit to it, but he often felt the drain, the utter lack of appreciation, pressing down on him from all sides, like a vice, or maybe it was more like a black fist encased in leather, squeezing.

Distraction was what he desperately needed from a day of rebuke and beratement and invention was his cure. What began as fleeting thoughts throughout the day, soon became nurtured fantasies, stories he would add to as he crawled into his bunk and closed his eyes until his mind drifted to sleep. It was therapeutic, combatting desires that would only serve to have him executed rather than accomplish anything of true, lasting importance, if enacted.

Hesitant before, he sought them out with relish now that Snoke was dead. Fearlessly, he conjured pictures that began as victorious – power, glory, splendor - then violent - bathed in the blood of his humiliator – and eventually evolved into something else entirely, troubling and yet so very, very satisfying. The longer he allowed these particular thoughts to seep into his mind, as if crawling quietly from the darkest of corners, the easier it became to indulge in them. What was once shocking became empowering, and what once was tentative touch to his hardening cock in the darkness, became biting his lip to bruised as he rocked his hips upwards into his hand in sure, rough strokes.

It was nearly always the same.

Black leather. A forgotten mask tossed aside. That insolent mouth on his cock, sucking him until he spilled, learning his proper place for bloody once.

Pride, in this case, was perhaps his downfall. It hadn't occurred to him that even with Snoke gone, he wasn't safe in his thoughts. He was treated no differently than before, simply the same old dog to kick, while the new Supreme Leader barked orders like a petulant child. His behavior was so unaffected, he truly thought he had gotten away with his particular brand of escapism and so he continued.

The night had started similarly as usual. He had pictured ordering the other man to his knees as was a favorite fantasy, but something about it just hadn't sat well with him. His day had been horrendous and the tension was more than he was used to feeling, his anger just a bit more visceral tonight. The fantasy changed abruptly, without particular permission, to the man naked, hands tied behind his back. This was exactly what he needed - true submission. He imagined striking him, the man just taking it, shaggy hair falling over his eyes and blood shimmering at a newly split lip. God, yes, this is much better. It was just as the first thought of fucking him entered his mind, that he felt the crushing strength of an invisible fist clench around his throat like it meant to snap it in two. Usually calculated and slow, this time, the feeling was abrupt, squeezing to the point of pain and then releasing in a swift, graceless blow that left him choking.

Hux sat up abruptly, a soft cry of fear escaped with his desperate gasps for air. Pain emanated from his throbbing throat as he strained his eyes in the darkness, searching. Where is he? His heart pounded in his chest, blood quickly being redistributed from the other regions it had previously occupied as he waited for something, anything. He scrambled for light, and even then, the room was as empty as it had been when he had arrived.

Nothing.

There was absolutely nothing.

No Ren. Certainly no Snoke. Not even the hum of power he usually felt when someone used the force against him physically. Simply nothing but dangerous, still, silence, these all the more terrifying than the thought of a masked figure in his doorway.

Had he imagined it? The pain told him that he hadn't, but could Ren really be-

"Do you think there is anything in your mind that I can't see, General?"

Ren's voice mused the words casually into his head, so clear and present that he almost didn't recognize as coming from his thoughts at all.

"S-Supreme Leader," he mumbled the words aloud, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

He made an attempt to mentally gather his wits. What use that would be with someone in your head, he couldn't be certain, but Armitage Hux wasn't a man to easily leave them behind no matter how nonsensical the situation. He opened his mouth to speak, but the familiar voice cut him off in a calm, curious tone that scared him far more than any shouted temper tantrum on the bridge.

"Is there something that you need-"

"Quite the opposite, General, it was your call I heard."

Hux sat up straighter, a mockery of a standing attention, chin tilted upwards slightly. He straightened the blankets over himself neatly. He knew that this was possible, but he had never experienced anything quite like this with Snoke. Could Ren see him or was he simply in his thoughts?

"I could do so many things to you like this…all without even touching you. I could press until your neck snapped without even leaving my bed. Efficient, don't you think?"

"Oh? Is the Supreme Leader's schedule so full, he no longer attends his own executions?"

Hux only barely managed to keep the tremble out of his voice, pleased with his cheek even now, but he did not succeed in sounding anything less than breathless.

"I'm sure I could make an exception for yours."

Hux swallowed thickly, feeling a sore pang that he was certain wouldn't ease before morning. The silence was deafening as he waited – for death, for more words.

"Be careful of your thoughts, General. They could get you into trouble."

And once again, Hux was alone.

The End

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