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They're midway down the stairs to Hux’s bedroom when Kylo’s voice jolts him out of his vivisection fantasies.
“Hux, wait—!”
“What is it, Kylo?”
He averts his eyes, ducking his chin into the pink bandana around his neck and mumbles something.
Hux looks at him exasperatedly. “You know I can’t read minds. What is it?”
Kylo’s face is reddening, but he’s at least poked his face out from behind his bandana. “Hux. I know you like me, and you wanna, um, do things with me, but,” he swallows loudly, “Imnotliketheotherboys.”
“What?”
“Not. Like. The other boys,” Kylo says, nervously glancing away.
Hux cocks an eyebrow. “Of course you’re not like the other boys, nobody else at our school puts the amount of attention into making sure their hair extensions match their clothes or spends an entire period writing The Medic Droid’s discography across their arms—”
“N-no, I mean,” he stares down at his sneakers, and Hux thinks he sees tears welling up in his sad brown eyes. His voice cracks to a baby-soft whisper. “I’m…I’m a trap.”
Now Hux is really confused. He’s heard the word before, seen the pictures on /b/ of the pretty anime girls who are invariably pretty anime boys, but he doesn’t see how this applies to Kylo. Sure, he definitely has some feminine fashion choices, like rhinestone tiaras and glitter hair spray and the heinous cupcake belt, but he’s never seen him as anything but a—
Wait.
The realization explains so much about Kylo to Hux. How he gets changed for gym class in a bathroom stall instead of the locker room. How he only wears crew neck shirts and only hikes them up high enough to show off his abs in pictures. How his voice becomes unusually shrill when he’s extremely angry or scared. How he owns so much makeup and jewelry.
Kylo anxiously glances up the stairs, and Hux can see the tracks of tears outlined in mascara on his face. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand, kandi bracelets clattering together. “You probably hate me, right? Think that I lied to you?”
Hux thinks about this for a moment. He’d expected a confession that Kylo was gay (not bi) before any confessions that he had…lady parts? A mangina? Hux doesn’t quite know how to respond. But he’s not disgusted.
“I don’t, because you didn’t. I mean, you’re right. You’re not like the other boys. But,” Hux turns to face Kylo, gathering his thoughts. “You know that I’m not like most boys, either. And you fascinate me because you’re different.”
Kylo still looks uncertain. “But I can’t…I can’t do things that other boys can.” He burrows back into his bandana.
“Sure you can,” Hux says lamely. He wonders if this is the right moment to mention that Kylo’s cock wasn’t the first thing on his mind when he initiated this relationship.
“No, I can’t,” Kylo says into his bandana. “My parents are so stupid. I can’t get hormones or surgery until I'm out of the house.” He fidgets, digging his hands into his back pockets. “And also…” his voice drops down, “it’s, um, you know.”
“Know what?”
“You know, um, that time—” he turns away, burying his face into his shoulder “—time of the month.”
Oh.
Hux deserves an award for how badly he’s fucking up convincing the school’s resident scene queen (scene king?) to be his willing vivisection partner. He’s honestly not sure what to say or do and for a moment he considers going into his room, hiding the scalpels and forceps and sutures he’s laid out, and making this a platonic study session. Kylo’s insecure and unsure of himself, he’s gotten his period of all things—
Hux’s eyes widen.
“As a matter of fact,” he says, “that’s something I’d be interested in.”
Now it’s Kylo’s turn to look confused. “What? It’s—it’s dirty, it’s not what boys do, it’s blood—”
“You know how much I like blood,” says Hux, a bit too quickly. He smirks. “Come to my room. I have an idea.”
Five minutes later, they’ve gathered some bleach-stained towels from the hall closet and placed them on Hux’s bed. Hux watches as Kylo toes off his shoes, wriggling out of his jeans and tossing them into a heap. There’s a bulge in his rainbow leopard-print boxer briefs that’s wormed out in a swift motion, and a makeshift packer gets thrown onto the jeans. Kylo hesitates, hooking his fingers into the waistband.
“I just…are you sure you’re not going to be grossed out?”
Hux chuffs. “I’ve been up to my elbows in a decaying deer corpse. I can handle you.” The phrase renders Kylo bewildered, and Hux has the fleeting impression of a fawn caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. Wordlessly, he shucks off his boxer briefs and kicks them toward his pile. He looks up at Hux with a strange defiant expression.
Kylo’s crotch is covered by a dense patch of curly dark hair that glistens under Hux’s bedroom lights. All that dangles between his muscular legs is a thin white string, tinged copper where it presses into him. Hux walks up to Kylo, a smile edging its way onto his face. “You know, you really are…” and he checks himself. Is “beautiful” the right thing to say to someone who wishes they were a boy? “Handsome. You really are handsome,” he says, rubbing a hand against Kylo’s bicep and pushing him backward onto his bed.
Kylo falls back and positions himself with his knees bent. “If you could please open your legs a bit…” he says, snapping on some latex gloves. Frankly, he’s as nervous for this as Kylo must be. The entire situation feels strangely clinical. He sits down on the bed and slowly pulls the string with a pair of forceps.
The tampon glides out slickly, soaked halfway through with blood and mucus. Kylo’s sharp, musky scent hits Hux and he draws a breath as he methodically places it onto a dissection tray he stole from the biology classroom. Kylo cranes his head up, forehead creased.
“If you’re wondering if I’m grossed out yet, you’re a fool,” says Hux. He runs a gloved finger over the cleft in Kylo’s crotch, smirking as he clenches and whines. “Shhh. Relax, Kylo. I want to put my hand inside of you.” His own stomach does a flip-flop as he says this.
Hux has heard the euphemisms—slit, gash, snatch, axe wound—and decides gash is the best way to conceptualize Kylo’s anatomy. It's tinged pink and swollen like a recent incision, and when he gently presses the spot where he removed the tampon it yields against his finger, blooming bright and viscous blood. He admires the way the blood glazes his finger and tentatively licks it, taking in the taste. He slides his finger back into the fleshy softness, and wonders if this is what Kylo’s internal organs feel like. He's growing hard just thinking about it.
Kylo shifts around him, clearly getting used to the new sensation. Hux wonders if Kylo’s ever been touched by anyone, and realizes he’s probably his first.
He has another idea.
“Do you, you know, get cramps?” He lazily pulls his index finger out and runs it against Kylo’s tiny cock, eliciting a shaky sigh.
“I—ah!—I do. Only on my first day.” Kylo brings a hand down to his lower abdomen and rubs, wincing. “I hate them."
Hux repositions himself in front of Kylo’s gash, a smile on his face. He presses two fingers in to the knuckles, feeling Kylo tighten around him. “I want you to imagine I’m touching you right where it hurts. I’ve cut you open, my fingers are massaging your guts. I’m making you feel good.”
Kylo moans, a strangled thing caught in his throat, and Hux scissors his fingers back and forth. He closes his eyes and pictures Kylo cut open on an operating table, skin and muscles flayed back. He imagines sticking his hands into his cavity, working his fingers over his slick intestines. He pushes them gently to the side, seeking out the organs which cause Kylo this pain. “You know, I could take out your uterus. You’d never have to suffer another period again.”
Kylo arches his back and whines, snapping his hips forward and fucking himself onto Hux’s fingers. Hux slips out, tucking his pinky and ring finger against the other digits, and presses back in to the warmth of Kylo’s blood-soaked pelvis.
“I could cut your tits out, too, if you let me,” he murmurs, picking up the pace as he thrusts his hand in and out. “I can make you the boy you want to be.”
At this Kylo cries out, convulsing around Hux. His breathing is ragged and when Hux looks up he can see there are tears in his eyes, but he looks happy. Hux maneuvers his hand out, dragging his fingertips against Kylo’s thighs. It’s really a beautiful sight, the bloodstains that coat his inner thighs, the cherry-redness of the fresh blood in the delicate folds that surround his gash and the tiny ribbons of tissue nestled in his curls.
Tentatively he licks his index finger, tasting the sharpness of Kylo’s blood and arousal. “Taste yourself,” he says, proffering his hand to Kylo. He props himself up on his long arms and Hux watches with obscene fascination as he swirls his tongue against his fingers, slurping as he releases them. Dimly, Hux is aware of the wetness soaking through his own crotch.
“Did you pack extra tampons?” he says, wiping his gloves on a towel.
Kylo, who’d dropped back onto the bed, lifts his head up. “Mmmmh. In my book bag. Front pocket, Pikachu pencil case." Hux rolls his eyes because it’s so Kylo, but retrieves the case.
Naturally, he’s never inserted a tampon, but the mechanism is familiar, like injecting with a syringe. Idly, he wonders what it would be like to inject Kylo with a muscle relaxer, a horse tranquilizer swiped from his mother’s veterinary clinic, but pushes those thoughts away remembering his arching back and sweet moans. It would be a shame to take that away. The applicator eases out of Kylo, and Hux runs his tongue over it before tossing it onto the dissection tray. A few passes with hydrogen peroxide-soaked gauze, and Kylo’s cleaned up.
“Thank you,” Kylo murmurs, sitting up on the bed and wrapping an arm around Hux.
“Gotta plug your wounds up after taking you apart.” Hux instantly regrets his words, they’re too sentimental, but Kylo sighs contentedly and leans into him, resting his hairspray-tacky head on his shoulder.
“Did you mean that? About cutting me open?"
Hux knows what he wants to say. That yes, he’s dreamed about running his hands through Kylo’s guts since the first time he saw his pictures online. He remembers the first one he jerked off to: Kylo splayed out on his bathroom floor in a hot pink Barbie t-shirt, obviously-fake Karo syrup blood seeping through his chest and onto the tiles and trickling out the corner of his mouth. He loosely gripped a butcher knife, looking at the camera through hooded eyes. Don’t touch me, just fix me, read the caption.
At the time, he’d seen the picture and imagined taking that knife and driving it deep into Kylo, cracking apart his ribs and fondling his heart. He’d been struck by the duality reflected in Kylo’s big eyes: sweet, innocent boyishness and dark, seductive manwhore. He was too pretty for his own good; he needed to be owned, ruined.
Hux is starting to grasp the deeper meaning behind Kylo’s brand of candy-sweet gore, the nuanced reasons he gets off to the thought of being vivisected. His arm snakes up Kylo’s back, and he imagines flat pecs adorned with his sutures. Hux knows what he wants to say, and he knows what Kylo wants to hear.
“I think you look stunning covered in your own blood.”
When Kylo leans forward to kiss him, Hux accepts it eagerly, the taste of blood still on his tongue.