Meet Ugly #15 - Bar Fight
2018-Dec-26, Wednesday 09:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
felicitygsThis time a gift for L. Bit late, but when have I ever been on time with any of my gifts? And if I have, don't remind me.
15. I step out of the bathroom and right into the middle of a bar fight and you punch me accidentally so I punch back on instinct - Meet Ugly #15
It is not the kind of bar that would be Hux's first choice. Or second, or third, all the way down the long list of options. It might even be one of his last choice's, but networking has taken him to worst, and besides, he is well aware these are the kinds of bars where he's mostly likely to gather the best of blackmail as well.
That's why he's here tonight--blackmail.
It's dark, smoke filled despite smoking bans, and Hux lights another cigarette and considers the reason he's here as he takes that first pull. Ben Solo, the beloved senator's son, trying (failing) to hide his anger behind thick hair; he's in a white too-tight shirt that threatens to rip across his shoulders every time he hunches in, and Ben hunches in quite a lot. Why, Hux still hasn't figured out, but it doesn't matter--Ben Solo looks like someone who can be pushed into doing something stupid, and Hux very much looks forward to the task.
Hux isn't quite sure what kind of blackmail he's looking to get. This is the first time he's actually managed to find Ben at this ramshackle pool house that calls itself a bar, and the possibilities seem endless as the person Ben's playing pool with starts swearing at Ben and Ben's shoulders just get tighter and tighter, shirt stretching ever more across those broad shoulders. The light catches off a large silver ring as Ben curls his hands into tight fists, some gaudy class ring--of course Ben would wear a class ring. Hux shakes his head, takes a sip of his whiskey.
Hux can think of a lot of things he could do to someone with that much pent up anger. Some of them even involve clothes.
But it's only the first time Hux has followed Ben, and he's in no rush for Ben to notice him yet. Hux watches as the argument starts to escalate, and he's a bit disappointed as the fight seems to dissipate. They go back to their game of pool. Hux finishes his cigarette, stubs it out, and heads to the bathroom for a much needed piss.
He can hear shouting mixing with the tacky country music when he starts to head back out. He pauses a second, but there's no point staying in this filthy excuse of a bathroom; he pushes the door open and goes.
And promptly gets punched in the face.
Hux does not think; years of school yard fighting takes over. He braces himself, shakes his head just enough to get the stars out of his eyes, then pushes off his back foot, and driving all 75 kilos of himself behind his fist; animal satisfaction blooms in his chest as his knuckles connect with his assailant's face.
It's only as said assailant staggers back Hux realizes that it's Ben.
His lip curls into a sneer; he can feel blood sliding down one cheek, likely cut by that gaudy ring Ben insists on wearing. The entire bar has gone quiet other than the creaky sound of a country singer Hux would prefer he didn't know. Ben looks up, brown eyes wide and temporarily stunned out of anger. Already, his skin blooms pink.
A quiet, tightly controlled part of Hux whispers how it's a good colour for Ben.
He can see a broken pool stick, Ben's former opponent laid out on the floor and unconscious, likely friends of said idiot standing around and ready to resume the fight, a few people sitting at the bar carefully not watching the proceedings.
"I'm going to call the cops if y'all don't take this outside," the bartender says in a bored, familiar drawl as they clean a glass with a dirty dishtowel. They shrug. "Might anyway."
"You," Hux says, nodding at Ben, "come with me." He keeps his voice unphased, his expression relaxed. He looks at the others who so clearly want to jump Ben, and there's this moment where they clearly are debating what to do about Hux's sudden involvement.
Wisely, they go to see how their friend is doing.
Hux grabs his jacket and heads for the door. He does not look back to see if Ben is following; under the click of the jukebox switching records, he can hear Ben's footsteps.
Yes, Hux knows exactly how he's going to handle Ben.
15. I step out of the bathroom and right into the middle of a bar fight and you punch me accidentally so I punch back on instinct - Meet Ugly #15
It is not the kind of bar that would be Hux's first choice. Or second, or third, all the way down the long list of options. It might even be one of his last choice's, but networking has taken him to worst, and besides, he is well aware these are the kinds of bars where he's mostly likely to gather the best of blackmail as well.
That's why he's here tonight--blackmail.
It's dark, smoke filled despite smoking bans, and Hux lights another cigarette and considers the reason he's here as he takes that first pull. Ben Solo, the beloved senator's son, trying (failing) to hide his anger behind thick hair; he's in a white too-tight shirt that threatens to rip across his shoulders every time he hunches in, and Ben hunches in quite a lot. Why, Hux still hasn't figured out, but it doesn't matter--Ben Solo looks like someone who can be pushed into doing something stupid, and Hux very much looks forward to the task.
Hux isn't quite sure what kind of blackmail he's looking to get. This is the first time he's actually managed to find Ben at this ramshackle pool house that calls itself a bar, and the possibilities seem endless as the person Ben's playing pool with starts swearing at Ben and Ben's shoulders just get tighter and tighter, shirt stretching ever more across those broad shoulders. The light catches off a large silver ring as Ben curls his hands into tight fists, some gaudy class ring--of course Ben would wear a class ring. Hux shakes his head, takes a sip of his whiskey.
Hux can think of a lot of things he could do to someone with that much pent up anger. Some of them even involve clothes.
But it's only the first time Hux has followed Ben, and he's in no rush for Ben to notice him yet. Hux watches as the argument starts to escalate, and he's a bit disappointed as the fight seems to dissipate. They go back to their game of pool. Hux finishes his cigarette, stubs it out, and heads to the bathroom for a much needed piss.
He can hear shouting mixing with the tacky country music when he starts to head back out. He pauses a second, but there's no point staying in this filthy excuse of a bathroom; he pushes the door open and goes.
And promptly gets punched in the face.
Hux does not think; years of school yard fighting takes over. He braces himself, shakes his head just enough to get the stars out of his eyes, then pushes off his back foot, and driving all 75 kilos of himself behind his fist; animal satisfaction blooms in his chest as his knuckles connect with his assailant's face.
It's only as said assailant staggers back Hux realizes that it's Ben.
His lip curls into a sneer; he can feel blood sliding down one cheek, likely cut by that gaudy ring Ben insists on wearing. The entire bar has gone quiet other than the creaky sound of a country singer Hux would prefer he didn't know. Ben looks up, brown eyes wide and temporarily stunned out of anger. Already, his skin blooms pink.
A quiet, tightly controlled part of Hux whispers how it's a good colour for Ben.
He can see a broken pool stick, Ben's former opponent laid out on the floor and unconscious, likely friends of said idiot standing around and ready to resume the fight, a few people sitting at the bar carefully not watching the proceedings.
"I'm going to call the cops if y'all don't take this outside," the bartender says in a bored, familiar drawl as they clean a glass with a dirty dishtowel. They shrug. "Might anyway."
"You," Hux says, nodding at Ben, "come with me." He keeps his voice unphased, his expression relaxed. He looks at the others who so clearly want to jump Ben, and there's this moment where they clearly are debating what to do about Hux's sudden involvement.
Wisely, they go to see how their friend is doing.
Hux grabs his jacket and heads for the door. He does not look back to see if Ben is following; under the click of the jukebox switching records, he can hear Ben's footsteps.
Yes, Hux knows exactly how he's going to handle Ben.
(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-26 03:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-26 11:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-26 11:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-27 12:06 am (UTC)It feels like a fine line to walk tbh lmao
(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-27 06:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2018-12-28 12:02 am (UTC)The other thing, the main thing really, is Hux strikes me as someone probably somewhere on the ace spectrum, and I hate that he's so thoroughly on the side of wrong at the same I desperately want to explore how that plays out/what it means to him. There's some real, uh, thirsty Hux stuff that floats around, but personally it's the possibility of him being aromantic/asexual that keeps drawing me back--and thus doing AUs, where I can more easily pick and choose which bits of him I want to keep (the work ethic/obsession, the barely contained violence, the a-spectrum stuff) and ditch the shit bits (facism, facism, and facism).
That has it's own issues too, I admit. I really do need to try and noodle out my thoughts on writing Hux at some point, even if I'm the only one it's for. I get people who are like 'it doesn't matter they're all fake!' but (especially) in the current social/political climate, combined w/ my own thoughts about writing, it feels deeply irresponsible to not consider what message (even unintended) my writing might have--even for fanfiction.
I don't know, this is a lot of words, and clearly I've got a lot of pent up thoughts about it.