The terms they negotiated were generous: a hundred and fifty dollars a month for a year, by the end of which he would have a mural-size painting for the entryway of his townhouse. In addition, Hux would be allowed to select his ten favorite pieces of Ren's from that time period for himself without additional payment.

Ren had not hesitated to sign the contract Hux's lawyers had made up, but that did not stop him from defying its every clause. No, defy was too mature of a word, for it made it seem as though Ren had some well-reasoned argument for why the demands upon him were unreasonable. The man was a child about even the most reasonable requests. How dare Hux ask to see the progress being made on his paintings? It was absolutely preposterous that a man would want to know that the labor he was paying nearly two thousand dollars for was truly being completed. Every phone call ended with Hux swearing at the disconnected line, and Ren hadn't returned any of the weekly telegrams and letters he sent inquiring as to his progress.

But Hux did not employ some of the best lawyers in New York for nothing, and three weeks before his painting was due for completion, he stood outside Ren's apartment again, impatiently waiting for his appointment. Any reasonable person would think, given that Hux had essentially paid all of Ren's bills for the last several months, that the man could at the very least be on time. As was so often the case with Kylo Ren, the reasonable individual would be wrong. Fifteen minutes late already, and still no sign of him. At least a young couple – unmarried and disheveled, classless – had been kind enough to let him into the building. The apartment itself proved more of a challenge.

He had tried knocking. Twice, actually, and to no avail. More from frustration than any real hope that Ren would respond, he knocked a third time, pounding hard enough that the door bucked on its hinges. "Be quiet!" a muffled voice came from inside. Seconds later, a very upset Kylo Ren appeared. "What do you think you're doing?" There was alcohol on his breath and a slight slur to his words, but Hux had come to expect that from Ren.

"What do I think I'm doing? Showing up for the appointment we made weeks ago. The one where you so graciously agreed to show me the progress you've been making." He did not even try to keep the acid out of his voice. Hux did not require gratefulness, but a bit of respect would not be amiss. It seemed he had come to expect too much of today's artists.

Ren's lip twitched, and he waited several seconds too long before moving out of the way and allowing Hux inside. The apartment was no cleaner than it had been the first time he'd visited. The floor served as a giant ashtray for dozens or even hundreds of cigarette butts, paint boot prints tracked everywhere, and something dark was smeared over one of the walls. Hux could only hope it was paint or food.

Only a few items had managed to escape the curse of filthiness that rested over the apartment. Thankfully, one of them was the canvas he had supplied for the entryway piece. Eight feet tall, twenty feet wide, and by some miracle, it had been left pristine. Perfectly white, still, and completely untouched. "Your progress is astounding."

"It'll be done on time."

"There are three weeks until that needs to be perfect and hanging in my foyer. You've had the canvas for months." Growing up, Hux had always been more afraid when his father was quietly angry than when he shouted. Now, he found that same tone to use with Kylo. Mixing money, influence, and anger made for a very dangerous concoction.

"That's not how art works."

"And how is it that art works? Does it just appear out of nowhere fully –" He was interrupted when Ren grabbed his paintbrush and put a huge splatter of red paint onto the otherwise blank canvas. Hux's mouth dropped open as the crimson paint dripped down the canvas. After what must have only been a second, though it felt like an eternity, he snapped his jaw shut. "What are you doing?" he hissed.

Ren narrowed his eyes. "You're trying to force me. And this - " he dipped the dirty brush into another can of paint and sent more paint splashing onto both canvas and wall " – this shit is what you get when you try to force art."

"I paid for that."

"You're paying for the mastery, not the supplies." The man was drunk. He could see the half-empty bottle of whiskey, as well several empties scattered about. He shouldn't be able to keep up with an argument, much less win one.

"I am paying for your so-called mastery and your materials. My money is what keeps you alive, Ren. You would do well to keep that in mind when addressing me." Heat was spreading underneath the collar of his coat, creeping up his neck, and Hux's heart pounded in his ears. Anger, yes, but pure anger was not so invigorating. Hux was not an old man, but it had been years since he had felt young. The passion, the feeling of youth, all of it had abandoned him too quickly, but this… this was marvelous.

"I don't want to talk to you anymore. Come back in three weeks to collect your work."

He had no right to dismiss him, and Hux normally would have pointed that out, but the brush was still in Ren's hands, and his coat and boots were both only days old. So, he summoned up the most chilling smile he could and nodded. "I look forward to your attempts to apologize."

"And I look forward to never having to see you again."

Petty, petty. Any real opponent could do better. But nobody else he had come across made this quite so enjoyable. Life was a game of sacrifice, wasn't it?

He kept away for a week and a half. Hux was not sure what brought him back. He told himself that the reason was simple: he needed to check on Ren's progress, make sure that there would be a painting in time for the dinner party he was planning for the night of May fourth. If asked, though, Hux would not have denied that he was looking forward to another argument with Kylo Ren.

Over these last ten days, he had made a point of learning a bit more about the artist. Information on Ren was not difficult to find. Wading through the web of exaggerations, half-truths, and downright lies that surrounded the artist to piece together a basic biography was much harder. Eventually, though, Hux had managed to glean several interesting insights into Ren. He was not, as Hux had assumed, a lower-class boy just lucky enough to avoid a lifetime spent tending a factory line. Rather, Ren's maternal grandfather had been Senator Bail Organa, whose integrity in office had been unheard of both during his lifetime and afterwards. Hux may not have agreed with Organa's policies, but time and time again, he had heard people his parents' age and older speak fondly of the man's genuine caring for his constituents and unwillingness to play the games of the party. Organa's daughter had made a less-than-advantageous marriage to a suspected pirate, the result of which had been Kylo Ren. Or, as his birth certificate claimed, Ben Solo. Hux had been unable to find the story behind the name change. It must have had something to do with some sort of family infighting, for several sources suggested that the Solos and their only son no longer communicated. In any case, Ren had burst onto the art scene four years prior, a dirt-poor twenty-five-year-old with no family ties or formal training but a brilliant talent. Whether he had been sober a single day since moving out of his parents' house was entirely up for debate.

Knowledge, Hux's father had often lectured his son, was power, and armed with this new weapon, Hux raised a hand to knock on Ren's apartment door. No response came, but then, he hadn't really expected one. Even if he did happen to be in, Ren didn't seem one to welcome visitors. Respect and a firmly engrained set of social niceties made him wait a minute or two before knocking again. When the second knock went unanswered as well, Hux grabbed his pocket knife and used the blade to jiggle the lock open. Though he didn't like that his art, his investments, were being stored in such an unsecure location, it did make it easy to check on Ren's progress.

Ah, it seemed the man wasn't home. Their argument would have to wait for another day. Hux's hand froze on the doorknob when he laid eyes on the painting. It was not finished, not even close, but already, it was brilliant. Anger coiled within it, pressurized to the point where one could imagine thick, viscous rage erupting, volcanic, from the thick-caked paint. He wanted to find a better spot from which to view the work, but Hux's options were very limited, for the canvas only barely fit in Ren's apartment. Ren's lumpy mattress had been pushed all the way into the corner to make room for it, and still, there was no room to walk between the bed and the edge of the painting. Still, he moved around what little furniture Ren had, trying his best to fit the entire work into his field of vision. He could examine every detail later; for now, he wanted the full effect.

He had only just settled for standing on Ren's bed, boots still on, for it wouldn't make any difference with the mess the man had already made, when he heard the roar. Animal, furious, and certainly Ren. Every stair groaned as he sprinted up them, and Hux thought for a moment about moving away, but where would the fun be in that?

"How'd you get in here?" A lock of Ren's too-long dark hair was glued with sweat to his forehead, and his brown eyes were wide with anger.

Hux looked down at him from his perch on the bed. "It wasn't difficult to open the door. I'm disappointed in how poorly you've been protecting my investment, particularly in this neighborhood."

"You have no right to be here."

"Legally, no, but I pay for this apartment. I can come and go as I please. As much as you don't want to admit it, you need me, Ren."

"Get out!" His ears rang at the words shouted so close to his face, but he did not move.

"Manners," he scolded.

Hux had suspected that Kylo Ren's breaking point was close. He had not realized just how dangerous of territory he had entered. The board connected with his side with enough force to send him tumbling over. But years of military school had not been for nothing, and before he hit the ground, he was rolling into the fall, and by the time the next strike came, he was ready. Dodge, scan the room for a suitable weapon, lunge towards his opponent. These were the steps to their dance, choreographed for the two performers alone. And as Hux executed a swift kick, the first blow he'd landed, it came to an immediate halt. He could not have harmed Ren, at least not seriously, for he knew what a forceful kick felt like, and this had had little power behind it, but the man did not move. His eyes, though, his eyes never left Hux's. And though he knew Ren could speak, for he'd caught his leg, not his chest, the man said nothing.

"Get up so I can hit you again." The man did it without question, and Hux felt a surge of power that he hadn't since his time in the military. He waited until Kylo was straight before again lashing out, this time with a swift, solid punch to the stomach.

Ren hissed, and he clutched a hand to his abdomen for a minute or two, but soon enough, he straightened. "Another." A muscle in his jaw twitched, and Hux knew where he would aim next.

It was wrong, not what he had been looking for at all when he came to Ren's apartment the first day, and dangerous, but that made it all the more powerful. Hux pulled off his gloves and set them neatly down on the bed, folded over each other just as they should be. Ren's cheekbones were sharp against his hand, and the slap probably caused him as much pain as Ren. Watching him take the pain, asking for more, it brought up feelings that he had suppressed for years, ones that he would have been happy enough to never consider again. Hux had been lucky to get away with those times with the other boys during boarding school, and now, he had far more to lose. One could forgive a teenager, struggling with new desires, who spent their days with only other males for company. For a grown man, acceptance would be far harder to come by.

But yet, here was Ren, willing to stand there and accept every blow he gave. It was impossible not to consider what else he might be willing to take.

"Hux?" One word, quiet, but it was enough to make up his mind. Hux pulled Ren down by his hair for a kiss that was more teeth than lips, and Ren began to tug at his clothes, ignoring the buttons and clasps in an attempt to get them off as quickly as possible. For the first time in years, Hux allowed the tidal wave of teeth, nails, and skin to drag him under.

Later, once his heart rate had returned to something near normal and they had made cursory attempts at cleaning themselves up, Hux found he could no longer keep quiet. "I certainly hope you don't think you're going to be paid extra because of this."

Ren smirked at him around the cigarette he held between his lips. "We'll call it artistic inspiration." He was more muscular than Hux would have expected, and he found himself watching how Ren's abdominals tensed as the man groped around the floor by the bed for his lighter. "Care for one?"

"Yes, thank you." They smelled cheap and dirty, and at this point, he probably did too. It was freeing, to smoke in bed and not care if a bit of ash dropped onto the sheets, to be able to grind the butt into the floor when he was finished.

Kylo spread out, and Hux wasn't certain he liked the feeling of the other man's bare skin touching his own now that the need of the moment had died off. Still, he did not move. Laziness, perhaps. Possibly a lingering bit of afterglow. He chose not to consider any other possibilities, and unlike Ren, he had the discipline to abide by that decision. "How long do you estimate it will take for the painting to be completed?" Business or pleasure, never both. A rule to live by, and one he would have to hold himself to a higher standard on in the future.

Ren shrugged, and the movement of the muscles of the other man's arms against his chest sent goosebumps all the way up and down his body. "Three days? Eight? Depends."

"On?" He had to search for that hint of annoyance. Usually, it was so easy to summon.

That smirk again. Lopsided, perhaps a bit too large to be proportionate to the rest of his face, but yet, attractive all the same. "Artistic inspiration," he laughed, and Hux's stomach twisted in a way that was not entirely unpleasant.