[He only has a moment to brace himself, but no amount of bracing would have prepared him for how Rey drives forward.
The rubberband snaps so heard that the vision itself trembles with clarity. Kylo instinctively tries to hold back his reaction, but there is no ledge for him to grab. His elbows and his shoulders lock with his spine, and then they all abruptly, helpessly crumble. The sound that comes from him starts as a breathy huff, but escalates to a naked cry as he tries and fails to curl in on the warmth in his belly. His shout echoes off the wall of his room for a moment, silenced when his face finds the mattress. For a moment, he simply lays there, upper body contorting some when she twists the toy and trembling hands desperately reaching to grab — something, anything.
Fuck. Fuck.
She pulls and shunts again, and another sound comes out of him — a whine, shorter, weaker, but equally desperate and helpless. He is at her mercy, even the demands she makes of him seem insurmountable. He is already leaking from the failed effort of holding himself back. The dark song she weaves draws a heat in his chest that he nearly loathes — its impossibly attractive, as much as it himiliates and pokes at his resolve. He wants to bite back — she can feel his intent through the Force, but it never vocalizes.
He does as he’s told. He reaches to touch himself, but its not what he wants. He shifts the placement of his knees and heaves into the sheets. The whole thing is a sensory overload — the split of his attention actually slows the tide that threatens to pull him out.]
Again. Please.
[The beg bubbles out of his throat, wet and hungry, drowned in excess saliva that he had not swallowed.]
no subject
The rubberband snaps so heard that the vision itself trembles with clarity. Kylo instinctively tries to hold back his reaction, but there is no ledge for him to grab. His elbows and his shoulders lock with his spine, and then they all abruptly, helpessly crumble. The sound that comes from him starts as a breathy huff, but escalates to a naked cry as he tries and fails to curl in on the warmth in his belly. His shout echoes off the wall of his room for a moment, silenced when his face finds the mattress. For a moment, he simply lays there, upper body contorting some when she twists the toy and trembling hands desperately reaching to grab — something, anything.
Fuck. Fuck.
She pulls and shunts again, and another sound comes out of him — a whine, shorter, weaker, but equally desperate and helpless. He is at her mercy, even the demands she makes of him seem insurmountable. He is already leaking from the failed effort of holding himself back. The dark song she weaves draws a heat in his chest that he nearly loathes — its impossibly attractive, as much as it himiliates and pokes at his resolve. He wants to bite back — she can feel his intent through the Force, but it never vocalizes.
He does as he’s told. He reaches to touch himself, but its not what he wants. He shifts the placement of his knees and heaves into the sheets. The whole thing is a sensory overload — the split of his attention actually slows the tide that threatens to pull him out.]
Again. Please.
[The beg bubbles out of his throat, wet and hungry, drowned in excess saliva that he had not swallowed.]