Such Kylo Trash

Trash

You were lying in the middle of the floor of the kitchen when Lieutenant Mitaka arrived. Apparently you were both a trip and health hazard, what with the fact that your hair was not in a net. With a low grumble, you rose and accepted the hair net from your superior. He was your personal favorite, if you had to pick anyone, on the ship. In fact, during the first few weeks aboard the Finalizer, you had fantasized about the man while masturbating. Then the two of you got to talking, and he had been friendzoned. Not that he seemed to mind. He rather enjoyed your conversations—why else would he come back for more?—yet did not press for anything further. He may not even consider you a friend, you thought, but rather a disturbed subordinate who needed checking up on.

"Commander Ren has told me he wants food with his wine, Sir," you informed the man. Lieutenant Mitaka gave a nod to indicate he was listening. You tapped a gloved finger against your chin. "But, Lieutenant, he did not say what... And every other time I brought him food, he made me throw it in the garbage. What do you think?"

"Perhaps you should make him a sandwich."

"I don't need sexism, Lieutenant," you said as respectfully as you could muster.

Mitaka shook his head, appearing rather at a loss as to what to say. You decided that a sandwich was a safe bet. What kind of sandwich though? There were so many. Different cheeses. Different meats. Condiments. Lettuce or no lettuce? Maybe no meat? Perhaps he would want jelly? You glanced towards Lieutenant Mitaka. He looked hungry. He was your string bean, and you loved him—as a friend, Mitaka! Although, you admitted to yourself as you eyed him up and down, if he wanted to have a one-night stand, you would not say no.

"Are you hungry at all?" He shrugged, stating that he would ate if you made him something. "What kind of sandwich do you want?" You made two of what he said, one for him and one for Commander Ren. "Chips with it? Should I bring a soda as well as wine? Maybe I should do something fancier."

"If he has you throw away the fancier food, I'm sure you'll be disappointed." Lieutenant Mitaka lifted the sandwich you had made him and took a bite. You watched him chew. The man was so adorable in many ways, and you hoped he never found out about your porn video.

"...yeah, that's true." Now you were starting to wonder if Lieutenant Mitaka watched porn. What sort of porn would he like? Slinking down to the middle of the floor, you stared up at the ceiling. Was Commander Ren wanting another datachip? And what if he wanted one from you? What if your neighbors did hear you? Heaving a sigh, you turned onto your side and stared at Lieutenant Mitaka's boots. "Is the sandwich good, Sir?"

"Yes, (L/n)," Mitaka said, and you could feel his eyes on you.

"Do you really think I'm high quality trash, Sir?" You looked up at his face to find that his mouth twitched. He was trying to hold back a smile, yet failed. You weren't trash, he told you. Biting down on your bottom lip, you shifted to where you were on your knees. Boy would his opinion change if he ever saw the video you had made for Commander Ren.

.

.

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You had very mixed feelings when you entered the man's quarters upon being summoned. The sandwich you had made for him was three-fourths of the way eaten. Apparently you should take Mitaka's advice more often, you thought. Some of the wine was also gone. The soda you had placed by his bedside to go with the sandwich was now empty. A few chips were missing. All in all, you had done well. You were quite pleased with yourself at this, and even more confused as to why he had summoned you there.

The door closed behind you. You half turned, feeling your pulse quickening as you twisted back so that you were again facing him. Commander Ren, sitting on the stool, gestured towards the bed. You followed the trail and discovered that there was a stormtrooper helmet on it. "If you want to hide your face," he said. Your stomach churned and your heart sank. You shuffled over to the bed and picked up the helmet. Slipping it over your head, you shifted from leg to the other.