alpha-hux:

techiehux:

Techie spills himself all over the front of his underwear with a harsh exhale, biting his words back to keep Armitage’s name off his lips. His entire body goes slack and he buries his face in the pillow once more, wishing it was his brother’s skin he was pressed against. How badly he needed him! Cuddled up together in bed, soft and sweet from sex, whispering honeyed words into each other’s ears until dawn.

Once the endorphin rush wore off, Techie sat up on the bed on shaky legs. Had he really just rut on the bed like a hormone-addled teenager? Well… yeah. Hot shame rose from the pit of his stomach to his chest and constricted his throat. Techie checked the bed for any cum (to his eternal relief, he hadn’t gotten any on the mattress) and then stripped out of his briefs.

Damn. He needed a shower, and STAT. Where was the bathroom? Techie picked his pants off the floor and wrapped them haphazardly over his waist, like a makeshift towel. Once he unlocked the door and opened it a smidge, Techie peeked out into the living room and blinked to adjust to the darkness. Was Armitage awake?

Hux couldn’t sleep. He tried, a few times, but became restless. He kept thinking about his brother, of Techie laying in his bed. In his imagination Techie was naked, his pink skin against the sheets and his cock hardening against a nest of ginger curls.

He couldn’t hold back anymore, emboldened by his imagination he slipped his pants down and wrapped his fingers around his hard cock. He moaned through his teeth, trying to stay quiet as he began pumping faster. Eventually he was panting, imagining his brother was stroking him instead of his hand.

“Fuck…yeah…like that…good boy.” He murmured under his breath, spurred on by the image of Techie sucking his cock.

He was so lost in the fantasy he was unaware of his surroundings, or if Techie was awake.

Hux’s unmistakably sexual sounds hit him in the gut like a speeding sports car. I’ve intruded on his personal time, Techie thinks, head spinning. He’s dazed, lurching forward to grab with pale knuckles at the edge of a coffee table for stability, too tight inside his overheated skin.

There’s no innocent explanation for these sounds; even in the darkness Techie comprehends exactly what those movements and moans mean. His legs falter despite his death-grip on the table and, on instinct, he flails around for something to hold onto, knocking a picture frame face down.

Techie goes utterly still. He takes in a shaky breath and says, “Armie. D-don’t worry… It’s j-j-just, um, me.” Before he can regret what he’s about to say, Techie continues on, “Sorry…f-for…interrupting.”

The need to offer his “help” is overwhelming! Techie’s getting hard again, despite his orgasm not five minutes ago. The minute he opens his mouth again, Techie’s sure he’ll say something straight out of porn. Perhaps wisely, he clamps his mouth shut and bites the inside of his cheek.