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agoodflyting · 7 years

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Cleanup in Aisle Five - Kylux, housewife!au

Another bit of housewife!AU. I’m still deciding if I want to post this on AO3 as-is or continue it, so I’ll leave it here in the meantime.

2100 words / light M / kylux modern AU

Hux always feels like a prey animal at the grocery store.

He pauses in picking through a colorful display of starfruit and papayas to do a casual scan of the produce section. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Richard Attenborough is narrating.

The male uses his superior height to evade detection by the females of the species while foraging.

Adding a couple of mangoes to the hand basket at his elbow, he snorts quietly to himself.

It wasn’t that he was antisocial. He generally liked being around people, especially when he could be in charge of group activities. But something seemed to happen to women his age who had moved to a rich suburb and produced the obligatory 2.5 children. It came with the territory, like one of those awful minivans with the televisions in them, or an affinity for kale smoothies. They would corner him with effusively friendly offers; invitations to play tennis, to join book club, to go shopping - help me pick out a swim suit, you always have such good taste- or to come over for girls night.

We’re going to watch Magic Mike, Susan’s bringing the wine so we might get a little crazy, and I’m making these cute little fat free chocolate rice balls I saw on pinterest-

Meanwhile, Hux couldn’t escape the feeling that he was being hunted and bagged and mounted for display- the rare and elusive gay best friend to complete the appearance of the picture-perfect life for some aging California housewife.

That was better than the alternative, of course- that they were just being friendly because he was one of them. The thought makes him feel cold in a way that has nothing to do with the chilly air in the produce section.

Hux suddenly wishes that he could text Ben. Just a little hello. He was running errands with his mother today, but even just a little hi back had the power to make him smile, despite the fact that Ben couldn’t spell for shit and he put those stupid emoji things in everything.

Much as he wants it, Hux isn’t a complete idiot. His iPhone is in his husband’s name, it would be far too easy for Devon to have those records pulled if he ever found out about Ben. Phone records were easier to brush off so long as they weren’t excessive, but any contact he has with Ben through text needed to be strictly professional.

He completes his circuit of the grocery store, grabbing coconut milk and whole-grain cereal for himself, and grinding coffee for Devon. Bread and yogurt. Multivitamins and that fancy pineapple juice they both liked. Devon’s flight was supposed to come in at 7:45 that night, so he supposes he’ll need to make something for a proper dinner, although after staring blankly at a wall of organic dried pasta for several minutes without seeing it, he finally just decides fuck it, they can order Chinese.

When he heads for the checkout, he passes a little display of cheap pre-paid phones. The kind you activate by calling an 800-number and pay by the minute. He’s used them before, doing security.

He’s in line at the register, his mind half-blank, when the sound of his first name startles him out of his sulk.

“Hello, Armitage.”

“Senator Organa,” he says, turning. “How are you?”

“Good, mainly because I haven’t been a senator for three years. Unless there was an election no one told me about.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “There was, actually. Last week. You didn’t hear?”

“I must have missed it. Well, damn,” she says lightly. “I guess I have to go get my hair done.”

Hux has always respected his neighbor for her sharp wit and brash attitude, even if they found themselves frequently, vocally, at odds during her stint as head of the homeowner’s association. More than once, Hux had considered staging a coup.

“How’s Devon?” Leia asks, as she reaches past him to begin unloading her hand-basket onto the conveyor belt. “I haven’t seen him around lately.”

Another reason he liked Leia Organa. She was the only woman in their neighborhood who had never once patted him on the arm and giggled about what a ‘waste’ of a good man he was.

“In and out of Chicago supervising some corporate merger business. I haven’t been kept in the loop on the details,” he says, trying for uncaring and only barely missing.

She huffs a laugh. “That sounds familiar. It’s the secret of a long marriage, you know,” she adds.

“What, ignorance?”

“No. ...well, okay, that seems to work for some people, but not our type.”

There is something flattering in being lumped as the same ‘type’ as a woman like Leia Organa, but he cannot quite encapsulate what. Still, it makes him smile.

“I meant travel,” she continues easily as Hux moves up in line. “It’s much easier to miss some people than to live with them. The only reason my marriage has survived as long as it has is because we’re only in the same state two months out of the year. We’ve learned how to leave right when the other one is getting irritating.”

“And when is that?”

“About ten minutes after he opens his mouth, in my case,” she says, but there’s a fondness in her voice that belies the words.

“A whole ten minutes?”

“Used to be five. I’m getting soft on him.”

Having gotten him to laugh, she gives a satisfied pat to Hux’s elbow, the one still holding the grocery basket. “There. There’s your motherly advice for the day.”

“Thank you, I’ll keep it in mind. It’s not often I get good advice, motherly or otherwise.”

He moves up to the front of the line and waits with muted impatience, his card already in the pin reader and waiting for cashier authorization while the boy scans.

“Mom-” Hux turns.

“There you are, I was starting to think you’d gotten lost,” Leia says.

“They only had the twenty-four packs, so I just got two. Is that okay?” Ben edges his way around the people who have lined up being Leia. He’s easily holding two large cases of artisanal bottled water stacked on top of each in his long arms. “Sorry, excuse me-” The plastic containers creak in his grip.

“That’s fine, thank you baby. Watch out, don’t hit anybody-”

“Hello, Ben,” Hux says, looking at the chip machine and focusing on punching in his pin to keep the unseemly smile off his face.

The last time he’d seen Ben had been yesterday evening. Lying beside Hux’s pool had turned to skinny-dipping once the sun had gone down. His hands remember the feel of Ben’s bare skin under the water, the delicious heat of his cock pressing eagerly up between Hux’s thighs. Kisses that tasted like chlorine. Stroking each other off under the water.

When it got late, Hux hadn’t wanted to let him go. Had dragged him down on the couch as he tried to leave through the front door and blown him again, swallowing down Ben’s cock and his needy little whimpers like he was starving for them.

“Oh, hey, uh- mister Hux.” From the sound of it, Ben’s doing his best not to smile too.

And just like that, the tension that had knotted in Hux’s chest evaporates.

He steps out of the way with his shopping bag, hovering at the end of the lane while Ben hefts up the water to be scanned, the muscles in his arms and back moving easily under the fabric of his black t-shirt. Leia had forced him into clean, nice-fitting jeans and a knotted belt that Hux can just see peeking up under the shirt when Hux’s eyes are pulled down the sharp line of his body. When he lifts the water, Hux catches a flash of one angular hipbone where his jeans ride low even with the belt.

“Do you want a hand, Ben?” he asks, his tone innocent. He waits until the tips of Ben’s ears flush pink before he adds, nodding, “With the water.”

“I’m- it’s good, I’ve got it,” Ben stammers, shifting the weight. Hux is reminded suddenly of those broad hands under his thighs, lifting him up, and-

Christ, he’s got to get a hold of himself. He’s in fucking public.

Ben casts shy, appreciative little glances at Hux out of the corner of his eye while Leia pays, whenever he thinks she can’t see him. In the watery sunlight through the front windows of the shop, his eyes are a warm honeyed brown.

“So, uh- grocery shopping?” Ben says. Hux can almost see the moment he realizes what a silly line that was.

“Just a few essentials. I’ve been preoccupied lately, haven’t gotten to the store as much as usual.”

“Yeah? That’s not like you.” They are both trying not to smile. “What are you so preoccupied with?”

If they were alone, Hux would lean in close and say, your cock just to watch the way Ben stammered and blushed. It’s all he wants to do. But they’re not alone, they’re in the middle of fucking Whole Foods and Ben’s mother is five feet away, so he blurts out, “Work,” instead, and has enough time to feel stupid- this boy is actually making him stupid- before he can cover his embarrassment.

“It’s very nice of you, helping your poor mother around like this.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a crack about my height or my age,” Leia interrupts, raising an eyebrow as she joins them. putting away her pocketbook.

“I would never,” Hux insists, the picture of innocence, glad to have something to focus on besides how Ben is standing beside him and Hux can feel the warmth of Ben’s bare arm through his own sleeve. “Insult your height or your age. What kind of man do you think I am?”

“Just my intelligence, then? And I thought you were the kind who calls me an ‘aesthetically bankrupt bleeding-heart hypocrite’ because I approved the Becketts satellite dish?”

He follows them outside, blinking in the afternoon sun.

“That was friendly professional rivalry, nothing more.”

“Professional rivalry implies you’re on the homeowners board. You’re not.”

Hux shuts his mouth, bested.

“Aand I think that’s mom: one, Hux: zero,” Ben smirks as they approach Leia’s sensible black sedan in the parking lot. Hux shoots him a look that plainly says, traitor.

“Oh, it’s a lot more than one, honey,” Leia pats Ben on the arm.

“The thing’s still a damn eyesore,” he calls after Leia, with no real venom, when she climbs in the driver’s seat, leaving Ben to wrestle their groceries into the trunk.

“You’re still not on the board.” she calls back before shutting the door.

“You shut up,” Hux says to Ben, who had started to snicker.

“What? It’s funny.”

“My complete assassination by your mother isn’t funny.”

“Yeah it is.” He’s smiling, leaning one hip on the trunk of the car, and Hux has the worst urge to kiss it off the corner of his mouth. “You guys both like to argue way too much. It’s funny.”

“I don’t like to argue.”

“See? That’s- you’re doing it right now.”

“Am not,” Hux says, just to make him duck his head and laugh.

He swallows and looks away, sun-blinded by Ben’s smile. “Come over later,” he murmurs, glancing to see if Leia is paying any attention to them, comforted that they are mostly blocked by the open trunk of the car.

It was only twelve-thirty. Devon’s flight wouldn’t be in until nearly eight.

He’s never been an addict. His father drank, his mother smoked, but nothing has ever stuck to him that way. The lack of something has never made him desperate, not unless it was recognition and even that was more out of spite than desire. But every time he tells himself it’s going to his last with Ben, something in him scrabbles, frantic to eke out just a little more.

Ben swallows. “I can’t.” His eyes are on Hux’s neck, his shoulders. He sighs, a loud frustrated rush of air, “My parents are- they have shit for me to do all day. I have to clean out the stupid garage.”

Something uncomfortably like disappointment blossoms in Hux’s chest. He hates it even more because every inch of him knows that what he’s asking is stupid and pathetic- neither terms he’s ever wanted to associate with himself. “That’s alright.”

And because he is spiteful in his disappointment, he pitches his voice to a low murmur and adds, “I’ll just have to keep myself busy.”

The barb hits home. Ben bits his lip, clearly picturing Hux panting into the pillow as he fucks himself with his largest toy, Ben’s name on his lip, which of course had been Hux’s intention.

“Hux...”

The car horn honks and they both jump, suddenly aware that they’re lingering.

“I gotta go,” Ben, unhappiness in every word, and it’s almost enough to take the sting off of Hux’s disappointment. He shuts the trunk.

Hidden by the bulk of the car, Ben runs his hand- just the backs of two fingers, over Hux’s arm. The touch is like sunlight, soft and a little warm on his skin. Ben tangles their fingers together briefly as their hands part. “See you later though, okay? Tomorrow?”

He doesn’t move, unwilling to budge until Hux responds and for the first time, Hux hates this. Leia hits the horn again.

“Yes, alright, alright. Bye. Go away, before your mother runs me over.”

And that is all it takes to put a warm grin on Ben’s face. “Bye, Hux.”

He forces himself to move, not the stand there and watch Ben fold his long body up into Leia’s little car and drive away. The sun is beating down on the back of his neck. He still has his little bag of groceries in one hand- had held it like an idiot all through that desperate little play. When he reaches his car- an SUV, more because he enjoyed the feeling of driving something big than because he needed the space- he tucks his solitary bag into the empty hatchback, wedging it into a corner so it won’t spill as he drives. He pauses, one hand on the hatch to close it, before going back and fishing something out of the bag.

The car starts with a quiet hum. It was less than a year old and still faintly smelled it.

It had been a Christmas present from Devon.

Hux sighs, sitting there in his silent car in the parking lot, but really he had made this decision ages ago. This was just... seeing it through.

Reaching over to the passenger seat, he grabs the pre-paid phone he had bought inside and begins to open it.

#kylux #kylux fic #housewife au #housewife hux

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ecotone99 · 4 years

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{SF} The Spoilers Ruin Everything

{SF Satire} The Spoilers Ruin Everything

By DWG

Since the Spoilers had come, everything kind of sucked.

They wore long fuzzy white robes and purple plush hats that were pompous and had a smooth velvety feel to them. They smelled like pimp juice and had Star Wars TV shirts on but they were always full of puns like: I AM THE DARK SIDE with a picture of James Earl Jones instead of Darth Vadar or C3PO FOR GAY ROBOT RIGHTS with R2D2 painted like a rainbow flag. They even had their very own Miley Cyrus dogs on a leash. They all had a male dog’s body with Miley Cyrus heads with the tongue hanging out and all they did was suck their own balls all day.

We don’t know where they came from. Did they crawl out of the basement abyss? Did they all live with their mother? Was it even possible to have that many fat overgrown late forties white men smelling like Burger King in one city? Soon they spread across the mid-west and a few Spoilers were in Canada. They loved to go around and tell people things. It was as if they could read your mind.

First it was small things like they just knew what TV shows you were into, they were television psychic. If you were a Game of Thrones fan, they would ruin the show for you if you hadn’t read the books. If you hadn’t seen a movie that just came out, they would tell you how it ended and why it sucked before you had a chance to see it. Then they got personal, they seemed to know intimate details about our lives. An acne-crated Spoiler in a pimp hat with a neon overcoat wearing a Yoda shirt that said: BRINGING SEXY BACK, AM I? came up to me and my friend Diandra at the bus stop. He told me, “Your mother never forgave you, she died thinking you hated her!” and then he turned to my friend Diandra who had been dating the same guy for eight years, “He is never going to propose to you, he is cheating on you with your sister Rhonda”. I flew into a rage and grabbed the fat bastard by his shirt and flung him into traffic, he smelled like old cheese and pit sweat. A bus came by and—SPLAT!

We were covered in lard and internal organs. A dozen undigested cheeseburgers from various fast food joints filled the pavement and a homeless man grabbed them and began eating. The smell lingered grotesquely like cat urine burning my nostrils.

I prepared myself to be arrested for manslaughter but instead the people at the bus stop began to applaud. They said things like, “Way to go! About time somebody stood up to those assholes! They told my daughter that Justin Bieber was really created in a test tube to be a pop star, I knew that but she liked that lesbian,” I smiled, Diandra patted me on the back.

That was when we decided to kill all the Spoilers.

We started a movement.

Occupy Comic Con.

We called ourselves the Secret Keepers. We wore shirts with pictures of Nostradamus shot in the head that said, “WE DO NOT WANT TO KNOW THE FUTURE!”

A man came out as a Spoiler and was crucified by the media.

He went on Twitter and outed gay celebrities before they had a chance to out themselves on the cover of People and Binge and Squeal like a Kardashian magazine.

He told people who was going to win the Super Bowl that year. He said he was chosen by God to spoil things and he had visions of the past, the future and TV show finales. His name was Tom Cassandra. He told us about books, movies and TV shows that were still in preproduction years in advance, what the trends would be for the next 20 years and what the next controversy would be. What celebrities would die year by year. We tore him limb from limb and cannibalized him on Skype to an adoring audience. The revolution had begun! Operation Occupy Comic Con was under way.

The first rule of secret keepers is that we don’t know where the secret keeper meetings are held until the late minute which makes commuting a bitch. The second rule of secret keepers is that we cannot use our real names, we have to have code names. I called myself Wolverine, Diandra called herself Cleopatra and we were lead by Giant Boner of America. He was a wise old Buddhist monk who had come out of seclusion and broke his vow of silence to help us take down the spoilers.

“Fuck those know-it-all, motherfuckers!” he said, “Enlightenment can only be achieved by shutting the fuck up! So let’s kill these nerds!”

We quickly learned the behavior of Spoilers. They liked McDonalds, Burger King, Taco Bell and occasionally Wendy’s. They rode those electric carts at Walmart and farted as they passed you in the aisles. They went to Comic Cons, a lot. I mean, A LOT. They were into hentai tentacle porn and only liked Asian girls. They travelled from city to city to get all the best swag and then sell it on Ebay. They always bought ten issues of the same comic book and then spoiled the ending by publishing the last page online.

We set up the bombs shortly after noon that Friday the 13th. Two furries were fucking behind a dumpster while a guy in a Chewbacca costume was jacking off a guy dressed like Nick Fury. A group of Whedonites were talking about Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Firefly and how they were the best shows that had ever existed since the beginning of time. Before we knew it there was an explosion and screaming and a decapitated Chewbacca head spinning in the street. I was surprised they hadn’t seen that coming.

Then things got really ugly.

As hard as we fought back against the Spoilers, they got more vicious. They weren’t just fucking with people’s entertainment, they were fucking with people’s lives.

In Chicago, a fat guy wearing a coat made of green monkey fur approached a young couple and whispered to them how their first child would die. The man pulled out of a knife and stabbed him to death. The cops came but refused to arrest him. It was as if we had all made a silent pact to kill all the Spoilers and we would not let anyone stop us. The Spoilers just couldn’t help themselves though, they started to dress in disguise so we didn’t recognize them. They wore FUBU clothes and NorthWest jackets and even L.A. Raiders shirts to blend into the crowd.

A Spoiler in a porkpie hat approached an elderly woman at a Walmart and told her the exact month and day and hour of her death, she pulled out a knitting needle, stabbed him in the eye and then drove away on her electric powered cart. An employee shouted, “Cleanup on aisle 6! We got some human garbage over here!”

The Spoilers took to the internet and spoke of being persecuted, they said they were modern day Jesus types and that it was all part of a government conspiracy to suppress the truth. They said JFK was an alien, they said Elvis was still alive, they said James Dean was really black and that Obama could shapeshift into Taylor Swift on weekends. We knew they were just making shit up at this point to throw us off their trail. It wasn’t until a Spoiler named Arthur McFadden III Jr. spoiled a terrorist attack plotted by a Norwegian militant named Sodarnmadatjerall that things took a strange shift.

Suddenly a spoiler had saved thousands of lives. He had spoiled a major disaster and saved a country from another 9/11. We were screwed.

He was given the Congressional Medal of Honor.

That was when things got weird.

The President put a no kill policy on spoilers.

Spoilers have the right to spoil, just don’t listen or read the paper or go on the internet, he said, it is your own choice to allow yourself to be spoiled.

Angry protestors lashed out at the President. Amanda Billingsworth of the Anti-Spoilers Society of America or A.S.S.A. said, “The President is asking us to exercise self-control and make informed decisions, I don’t know about you but that is not the America I grew up believing in! I expect immediate gratification and people to bend to my personal likes and dislikes!”

The audience cheered.

Some people didn’t want to listen and were arrested for dragging a Spoiler behind their car for five miles in Alabama and then hanging him from a tree.

Crosses were burned on the lawn of a family of Spoilers in Louisiana.

Suddenly people were fighting for the rights of Spoilers, there was even a Million Spoiled March of people walking hand in hand with Spoilers. It was catered by McDonalds who spoiled the secret of their own food by making their new trademark: Our Food is Awful and Will Slowly Kill You. Stop Loving it! But that only made people want it more. After all, people wanted the happy meal toy even if that meant plumping up their children into butterballs. After so many years of eating nothing but fast food, a person’s skin would get greasy and yellow and their transformation into a Spoiler would begin.

After the Spoiler Rights Act of 2018 passed, no one could do harm against another Spoiler.

On a daytime talk show a woman reunited a mother with her Spoiler son who had a falling out after he spoiled her relationship with her ex by telling her that the man didn’t really love her and fantasized about dolphins during sex.

They made an entire movie about Spoilers.

It even said how much it would make in the ads for it, the reviews were written by critics who gladly spoiled the ending and every aspect of the film but people still went to see it and it won the Academy Award that year. The Spoilers walked up to the stage before the envelope was opened because they knew they would win.

IT IS OKAY TO BE SPOILED, Oprah screamed on the cover of Rich Bitch magazine. Once Oprah says something is true, no one else can oppose her. (There was also a great article on 2000 ways to jack off your man with inanimate objects but I digress).

We knew then that we were defeated.

Now we live in a world without surprises.

I don’t get angry when some guy at the bank tells me when my car is going to break down or what happens on my favorite TV show that night. I realize now that nothing matters. Every single aspect of our lives is mapped out now, there are no surprises. We have no free will anymore. I met my wife at a rave because a Spoiler came up to us and said, “You two are going to get married one day.” I smiled and introduced myself.

Before we moved in together, the realtor turned out to be a spoiler woman who said, “The place is horrible and smells funny but it’s really all you can afford, anything else you look at they will reject you because you have shitty credit so you might as well sign up now.”

We did.

Our doctor told us the sex of our child before my wife even knew she was pregnant, he left it on her voicemail and said he was sorry but it just came to him in the middle of the night.

So we weren’t surprised when the barista at Starbucks told us what the name of our child would be. We told him to hold the whip and thank you. We named our child Leviathan in case you are interested.

After a while it’s comforting to live in a world with no surprises, where free will and destiny are essentially meaningless.

As I cross the street today, I do it knowing that today is the day I am going to die, I was told this seven years ago. A lesser man might try to avoid this fate but others have tried and they end up dying in other ways that are even more horrible and painful. You cannot be unspoiled. If you try to be unspoiled or ignore your Twitter feed or don’t go on Facebook they will find you and spoil you somehow.

When the car hit me, I knew the face of my killer, it had been spoiled for me.

It was the same guy who did my taxes. As I laid there bleeding in the street, feeling the life drain out of me I heard a fat kid on his mother’s lap eating a cheeseburger say, “He’s going to die in the ambulance, Mommy.”

And guess what? I did.

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