capnphasma (capnphasma) wrote in thegalaxy, @ 2016-06-28 22:08:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | captain phasma, general hux |
Haste leads to regrets
Who: Phasma & Hux
What: a recruitment outing goes awry
When: Recently
Where: somewhere past Kamino
Rating: PG-13
Everything had been planned out so perfectly. The weather was favorable, and predicted to remain so for several standard days. The pilot was green -- a recent graduate from the TIE/sf program -- but eager to prove himself, and had come with the highest recommendations from his commanding officer. They had taken precautions. The light freighter they had taken was carefully stripped of all insignia and identifying flash, and heavily modified to withstand or escape nearly any assault they had anticipated. They had been so very prepared. And yet they found themselves now on a barren rock not far beyond Kamino, alone with a corpse in the shattered remnants of the ship, its damaged edifice battered by the storm that raged outside. The tracking beacon had been activated, but that, too, had been modified -- only a small group of pilots they trusted would receive the signal, and those pilots had been instructed to arouse no suspicion when responding to it. There was no way of knowing when the response might come. All that remained was to wait. “I admit,” Hux said, “I expected better of him.” He looked out toward the corridor that led from cargo bay to cockpit. The pilot’s body lay beyond two blast doors, still crumpled against the control panel where it had fallen. The general sighed. He shrugged his shoulders, a lazy motion against the metal of the wall at his back. “Hindsight, I suppose,” he mused. “A poor substitute for foresight,” Phasma answered, for the first time not thinking about how it might sound like insubordination. She didn’t look at the pilot’s corpse, couldn’t face another reminder of failure. Instead, her eyes were fixed on the plastisteel barrier that showed only dark, driving rain, blown by thunderous winds. She couldn’t bear to look at Hux either. A good captain didn’t just serve, she did what was necessary to keep her commanding officer secure. Now, she had stranded him on this lifeless heap of nothing, bringing him on a mission that was, quite frankly, beneath him. Because she had been eager to work with him alone. Selfish satisfaction that was cold comfort. When had her failures started piling up? When had she started to doubt her own judgement? She had trained her people ruthlessly, along with herself, but she had missed the smaller, more telling cues that had signified a traitor, that had put too much faith in what she had built. Now Hux was suffering for her mistakes. Phasma felt as cold as if she was out in the brunt of the storm. “I’ll reconfigure the relay,” she said, ignoring the fact that she had already done so twice, in an effort to boost the signal. She highly suspected that it wasn’t able to escape the magnetic resonance of the storm, with the amount of shattering lightning they could hear, but she had to damn well try. She would get him off this tiny rock, back where he belonged on the Finalizer, where he was needed, and then….she didn’t know after that. Accept a dishonorable discharge and be done with it. “There’s no need.” Hux’s blue gaze swept over her. He could read her body language like it was his own. Her shame and frustration were written in every line of her posture. He would have taken it from her if there was some way to do so; as it was, he knew nothing he could say would ease the burden she placed on herself. “The storm will pass. The pilots will come. For now, rest.” He patted the floor next to him. “We’ll both need our strength if we do have to leave after the storm. If the old maps are correct, there is a small mercenary settlement somewhere north of us. Worst case scenario, we go there and ask for aid.” “Of course.” The answer came automatically, her tone as deferential as always, but it lacked her former conviction. She didn’t want to ask anyone for aid, she wanted to kill things until the situation was fixed. She remained looking out the plastisteel, fingers coming up to draw down over the cold moisture that started to collect upon it, condensed by the little bit of body heat and leftover engine warmth. She wanted to punch it until it cracked. Had she been alone, she would have given in to the anger that had mixed with the despair, but she wouldn’t jeopardize Hux’s safety by letting the storm in. Relenting, she stepped away from the view and the storm, and moved to the wall, leaning against the metal and sliding down so she was sitting beside him, although not close enough to touch. She didn’t dare be so familiar, not right now, even if he appeared calm instead of angry. She had unzipped the flight suit earlier, stripping it down to her waist as fire had damaged it, and so she turned her attention to her bare arms a moment, assessing damage among the soot-darkened and reddened patches. “You should stay here,” she added, after a long moment of quiet. “I’ll go to the settlement, bring back what is needed. The pilots will return here to this location.” She wasn’t about to take a chance that some mercenaries would harm him. “I do hope that’s not an order,” Hux teased. “If you go to the settlement, I will go with you. This isn’t a negotiation, Phasma.” He leaned up from the wall, turning where he sat to better assess what injuries she had suffered. It was to the pilot’s credit that neither of them had been particularly hurt in the crash. Hux had noted this, and resolved to make a point of mentioning it to the fallen pilot’s CO. His hand circled loosely around her bicep. His thumb passed over soot and ash on her skin, rubbing it gently away as he stroked hard muscle beneath. “The med bay was well stocked,” he said. He brushed over a small, shallow abrasion. “We can tend to this while we wait, if you feel it necessary.” A proposition to which he already knew the answer. She was stronger than this. She was harder to shake than she currently seemed. And he intended to remind her by whatever means necessary. “It’s not necessary,” she answered, still in automatic mode, dismissing the shallow wound with a spare glance. Under his thumb, her muscles were tight with strain despite the fact that she was sitting at rest. At the same time, her head dropped forward a little, to hide color high on her cheeks, at the touch. It seemed out of place here. He should have been furious with her. “I should go alone,” she finally added, a thread of frustration in her tone. “You are vital to our missions, and you need to be back on the Finalizer. I should never have taken such a chance on this trip. You could have been killed.” That would have been the end of her, one way or the other. “And I could be on the Finalizer as well,” he said. “I could have been on the Starkiller. Yet here I am. I’ve been off the front lines for some time, I know. But I’m not made of spun glass, and you’d do well to remember that.” His head canted to one side; he watched curiously the color that flooded her cheeks. “I think you’d be more comfortable if you were in front of a tribunal right now. Honestly, whatever punishment someone else could mandate for you is inconsequential compared to what you’re putting yourself through. We’re alive and unharmed. The mission will continue once rescue arrives. This changes nothing.” Phasma didn’t disagree; she would have gladly faced a firing squad at this point. “You were very nearly destroyed along with Starkiller because of me, but I let that go,” she pointed out, abrupt, although she was not looking at him. “On Sullust, I knew I wouldn’t let any of them close enough to kill you, but I still encouraged that mission. You are far too important to risk on a lowly recruitment to Kamino; that’s what I am here for. And yet I could have… you could have been lost because of this trip. I have been reckless with your safety. That’s not the actions of a dedicated captain. I wanted you here with me for purely selfish reasons.” “I am capable of deciding where I go and when,” Hux said. At last his tone turned hard. He straightened up, still facing Phasma, though his hand withdrew from her. It took a great act of will; her admission echoed in his mind, reflecting his own true motivations. But he could not back down. “I am not your subordinate to be given assignments or commanded to stay obediently at my post. I chose to be here. And should I choose to accompany you on further missions, I will do so, and I will not tolerate you sulking about as a result. Understood?” “Yes, General.” She regretted the faint warmth of his hand retreating from her, but she had needed to say the words, to have him understand what they risked; what she foolishly risked because she craved these times with him. The price this time was dangerously close to being too high. However, she finally looked at him as she continued, “Hux, you understand what I am saying. If something happened to you when I could have prevented that, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.” He smiled softly. “I know,” he said. “But we must both allow ourselves an occasional moment of humanity. Besides, it's nice to know someone desires my company, rather than simply being forced to endure it.” He slid back into place, his back pressed to the cool wall. He closed his eyes and listened to the howl of wind and rain outside. “It’s a shame that it takes a crash to get a moment’s peace and some time alone together, isn’t it.” Although she had not smiled in response, her expression softened, her eyes losing the angry spark from before. Her gaze traveled over him, moreso as his own eyes closed and he rested against the bulkhead. She took in the rich color of his hair, the feathery-light eyelashes against his cheek, the line of his jaw, usually so harsh but relaxed now. Finally, she said, quietly, “I always desire your company.” Hux felt her eyes on him. He wanted to look at her, but did not want to lose the weight of her gaze, the strange pleasure of her voyeurism. His smile deepened at one corner of his mouth. “I’m very glad to hear that,” he said. His voice was so quiet it nearly disappeared beneath the torrential rain. He reached out one hand, his fingertips skimming over her bare arm. “It’s true.” She didn’t know why she emphasized that again, other than the wry curve of his mouth. For some reason, she wanted him to believe it, that she wasn’t here simply out of duty. Her skin shivered slightly under his fingertips, and she almost reached out and covered that hand with her own, but she didn’t wish him to stop. The better part of him believed her. She had never lied to him, had never exhibited even an instant of hesitation when allowed to speak her mind. In their rare moments alone she had shown him an honesty of body and mind, a desire he trusted was unfeigned. It was only a small sliver of his mind that told him it was all temporary, all a show -- or worse, something into which he had coerced her. His smile faded. At last his eyes opened. He traced her arm once more. “Your selfishness would appear to have been rewarded,” he said. “Now you have me all to yourself. How do you suppose we should make use of this time?” “I thought we were supposed to be conserving our energy.” Phasma’s gaze had not moved from his face, watching the small play of expressions over his features. There was something worrisome there, that had shadowed and drawn away the smile, but it was gone before she could identify it. This time, she did capture his fingers with her own, bringing his up to her lips so she could brush a light kiss against them. “I don’t wish to deplete your strength.” Of course, she wished to do exactly that, but even as she teased, she couldn’t shake the hollow pain that she had still put him in danger. “Some exertion is worth the cost,” he said. His gaze traced the lines of her mouth. “And I suspect it would be good for morale. Mine, at least, is flagging a bit.” He chuckled. His thumb stroked over her skin, a subtle promise and question in one small motion. “Mine is as well,” she admitted, a rare casual remark rather than her usual brisk, sharp speech. Her gaze had softened, the blue darkening, before she brought his thumb to her lips and gently sucked on it. As she did, she slid a bit closer, so that now their bodies were brushing against one another. He went still, but only for a moment; beyond that, the temptation was simply too great. He pressed against her, no longer content with fleeting touches. Whatever insecurities he felt in her attraction to him melted quickly -- if temporarily -- against the heat of her body and the pass of her tongue over his flesh. He sighed, and moved against her, so he could press his lips to the bare plane of her arm. Lightly, she worried his thumb with her teeth, even as she let out a soft breath when he moved flush against her side. She knew he held her blameless for the crash and everything leading up to it, but she had feared coldness or rejection. Instead, he was warmth, sharp heat as his mouth brushed over the exposed skin of her arm. She turned so that she was facing him more fully rather than sitting beside him, tentatively sliding her other hand over his leg, moving along his thigh. Every part of him responded readily. His lips found a patch of raw, reddened skin, and he pressed a kiss to it as though absolving her of the guilt he knew continued to eat at her. If he could not bring her to forgive herself, he could at least distract her. He took her hand in his and pressed it to the hard line of his arousal. With his other hand he reached for her, pulling her closer, guiding her into his lap. Bringing her with him, he settled back against the wall, his hips rolling as he found relative comfort beneath her. At once his mouth moved to the hollow of her throat, kissing and biting greedily, all pretense of restraint falling away. There was no hesitation in her touch as she stroked her fingers along his length, under the urging of his hand; she only left off when he tugged her towards him, so that she could straddle his lap. Now, the heat of her body replaced her touch, and she slid herself against him, her thighs squeezing his hips as she moved. The clothes between them were maddening, but she was too preoccupied with his mouth on her throat, closing her eyes as she tilted her head back. Her fingers nimbly unfastened his shirt just by feel, seeking his skin with hungry hands. Hux pressed up to her, shrugging his shoulders to slide his shirt free more quickly. The cloth had barely left his skin before he was clutching her close again, his arms circled tight around her back, fingers splayed to touch as much of her as he could. He bowed her back beneath his hands as his teeth nipped at the tendons on the column of her throat. His hips shifted below her again, a soft groan escaping him at the pressure and force of her shape above him. Tossing his shirt away, Phasma gave herself permission to enjoy the skin she had revealed, stroking her hands over the interplay of muscles across his back and shoulders. Already, the cold, dark space was growing warm, and she felt the heat radiating off of him. He groaned against the hollow of her throat. His hands moved to her suit, passing rough and demanding over every inch of exposed skin. Naked hunger was in every touch, every press of his lips to her. He pulled her down and took her mouth, thrusting his tongue over hers. He shoved aside cloth, fingers fumbling and unsteady, need overtaking all else. "Such a shame," he said, "that we must always be hidden away from each other." He squeezed her tight. "You are so beautiful." He kissed the line of her jaw, a smile on his lips. "But I suppose without your armor you'd be too much of a distraction for your men." Shocked at the compliment, Phasma stilled for a moment, caught completely off-guard. She opened her mouth to reply, but no words came to her lips, and she was distracted once more by the feel of his lips on the sensitive flesh of her throat. Her fingers had loosened in his hair, but she closed her hands into fists again, enjoying the liberty of mussing the fine strands. “You think I’m beautiful,” she finally spoke, a quiet observation more than a question, although the novelty of it echoed in her tone. "Mm." He bit gently at the soft place beneath her ear. "I always have. From the first time I saw you at PT, running drills." He chuckled, muffling the sound against her skin. He sucked lightly at her earlobe, his hand squeezing her tight again. "They're all so afraid of you." Despite the fact that she was already sitting on his lap half-naked, his simple words were the catalyst for color creeping up her throat and across her cheeks. The first time she had seen him at a training session had been years prior. Even then, he had seen her as something desirable? She had stopped moving against him quite so frantically, processing this new awareness of him. Beautiful. It made no sense. Certainly, it was not the first adjective that anyone else ever ventured when first meeting her, nor the second or third time. Not disputing that the troops feared her, she only managed, “That was a long time ago.” It wasn’t what she wished to say, but it was all that would come forth. His lips traced the rising flush on her skin, basking in the fresh heat that flared under his mouth. His hands slid down her sides, stopping to curve around her waist. His thumbs traced the hard lines of her hips, the taut shape of muscle beneath smooth skin. He rolled his hips, his hard length grinding into the seam of her flight suit, as though to assure her of the truth of his claim. "It's like yesterday to me." The words sent a shiver over her, but it only furthered the flush that now spread across her chest. “No one has ever said that,” she admitted, even as she tilted her head to allow him better access to the curve of her throat. She had nearly forgotten her grip in his hair until he moved his head, and she slowly released him, skimming her palms down over his shoulders once more, mapping the edge of every muscle there. Her touch had grown oddly tentative, as if she did not trust herself. "I told you," Hux said. "They're all afraid of you." His grip tightened where hers went lax. He pushed her flight suit farther down, pressing impatiently at the layers still between them. His biting kiss followed the curve of her throat, gladly taking what was readily offered. He sighed, his hands sliding down her back, farther still to grip her backside. A small laugh bubbled up from her throat, rusty and unfamiliar. “Fear isn’t what keeps them from saying something like that.” She regretted the self-depreciation, solely because she didn’t want him to regret saying the words to her, and instinctively, she wrapped her arms tightly around him, afraid for a split second to let go. If he retreated now, she didn’t think she could handle it. “Thank you,” she said, quickly but quiet, breathing the words into his hair. Lust reasserted itself, with the intimacy of his hands exploring her, and she ventured, “I don’t think you’ll be able to get this flight suit off this way.” "Then you'd better start helping," he said, "instead of wasting time contradicting your superior officer...." |