[Oh, and Kylo knows it. Even in his unmoored state, he feels it-- recognizes the frailty in Hux's voice as it pinches in his throat-- muscle and flesh strained from more than just the cold. His own leg buckles as he turns, yanking back against the general's grip at first with sheer momentum and then something else. Something harder. Rage as frigid as that dying world clamped down around Hux's throat without restraint.
Misdirected, perhaps, but for everything he's done and lost today, this would be nothing close to the worst.]
Will you. [All the times he could have left Hux broken and bloody, picked open his skull like a lock, watched him weep without wanting to-- all of it kept in line by a promise too far out of reach in the moment, and for once, he's filled with sickening, cloying satisfaction at the idea of being so unchained.]
no subject
Misdirected, perhaps, but for everything he's done and lost today, this would be nothing close to the worst.]
Will you. [All the times he could have left Hux broken and bloody, picked open his skull like a lock, watched him weep without wanting to-- all of it kept in line by a promise too far out of reach in the moment, and for once, he's filled with sickening, cloying satisfaction at the idea of being so unchained.]