inappropriately timed force bond moments (both nsfw and humor approaches)
dream-sharing
emotional bleed/transference (from rey, involving other parties)
inappropriate force bond voyeurism on rey/poe or rey/finn
mid-conversation force bond interruption
The Rise of Skywalker- Cross-galaxy chase of the Resistance
anything related to ben solo, but especially:
snoke confessionals with family or friends of family
returning to the light
smuggler life style
jedi knight ben
resistance-fighter ben
The Rise of Skywalker- Force Ghost communications w/ Rey
anything related to supreme leader kylo ren, but especially:
fall via coup
resistance fighter reconditioning (gen or nsfw)
force ghost visits from anakin/luke/rey/leia/snoke
defeat by the resistance, and subsequent aftermath
The Rise of Skywalker- Mole Discovery w/ Hux
canto bight:
shady weapons deals
picking up prisoners
recruitment
obligatory dinner party
general casino shenanigans
beach party
basically any reason you can think of to use canto bight as a setting piece
A note on romance: I will ship all of the new trilogy characters with Kylo Ren (except Snoke/Family). But I have no interest in exploring domestic-style takes on them. Thank you for understanding.
[ yes. that's very apparent from the fact that she leans in so close to his face that they're exchanging breath at this point. no. there's a warmth between them that the dark side alone could never create. it stirs now, in the bond. ]
He's gone. You have nothing to fear, anymore.
[ and that's really the crux of it. their fears, luke and snoke alike, had been eliminated from the galaxy. this should be a victory, but for the fact that they are both held back by the people those fears made them into. ]
[He almost forgets what they had even been talking about. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that what the bond was giving him was what he'd wanted all along -- someone who understood his pain, fear and struggle on the most basic level possible. She was tied to him the way that no other person could be.
The thing about fear -- it never really went away. There was always the possibility that something would rise to fill the void that had been left behind. And then there was the fear of failure -- that never went away.]
I know.
[That she isn't Snoke. As far as fear went -- that remained to be seen. But he doesn't want to talk about it anymore, so he closes the last of the breath's distance. That has become easier, the past few months.]
[ the ability to sense his intent as clearly as she can — not just the usual anticipation that the force provides, but really see it in him before it happens — means she's never surprised when he sweeps into this anymore. it lacks mystery and uncertainty, but it also leaves her feeling ... full. content.
she knows she has him, beyond the shadow of doubt, and that's something better.
her eyes drift shut — they were halfway there already — and she tightens her grip on the front of his tunic, pulling him in by it. if anything were going to chase off the ghosts, it'd be this. she whines into his mouth, her other hand pushing up into his hair. without hesitation she melts against him, finding familiar footing in this embrace.
the road had been ugly, and they'd lost pieces of themselves along the way, parts had come loose, but for this ... she would do all of it again. ]
[The bond amplifies everything, making him oversensitive to how she grabs at his tunic and pulls him even further into their shared embrace. His heavier thoughts bury themselves in a forgotten recess in his mind, and he allows himself to get lost in perhaps the most favorable aspect of the Dark side: passion.
His hands move up from her hips to hold higher on her torso, at the mid-point of her ribs while she drags her hands through his hair. It coaxes his lips to part, to invite her in with him. It speaks to the trust she's managed to wrest from him, how close he allows her with such little resistance.
Its a far cry to when they had just begun to discover this thing between them. The thoughts of failure, of the things he'd lost, of any sort of power struggle -- left behind, shed the way he seeks to shed Rey of the current burdens on her conscious.]
[ her teeth tease his lower lip. she may wear all the decorations of a regent, but she is still the feral animal she has always been, made comfortable in a life that does not really belong to her. when he opens up to her, she devours him, as though she had only been waiting for permission.
it is not an antidote to his pain, only a suppressant, but it will serve.
rey reaches up from his tunic to unclasp his cape, letting it gather on the ground around him with that sturdy thump of heavy material. it says what they aren't. what the silent space between them has implied from the moment he took her hand to guide her to this spot. there is one thing which they can always offer one another.
she starts to lean back onto the wide desk in front of the theed throne, but her own cape catches, pulls her shoulders back. a grunt comes out. she's still not used to it. it goes too. ]
[If he were a different sort, he might have laughed at her attempts to navigate regency. Instead, he is wholly focused on chasing her when she leans back, so much so that he is already looking to help lift her onto the desk even as she releases him to undo her cape. Its a perfect balance — he senses where she moves, and shifts his grip to accomodate, to make both actions once seamless motion. By the end of it, he is kicking both capes away, and reaching to push her skirts back up with her to the surface.
He fills the open space with his body, tugging on the bond for direction rather than trying to lead himself alone. His confidence had increased since he had first given himself to Hathaway. He braces one hand on either side of her, leaning down to find her lips again.
He could not find the difference between a cure and a suppressant. For now, they were the same and he was grateful for it — and trying to understand how he had gone so long without engaing in the bond this way was impossible.]
[ a thousand tacitly exchanged feelings and thoughts make acting upon their passion a seamless enterprise. even their breath rises and falls together. it happens automatically, slipping into the comfort provided by the bond. it should feel tainted, somehow, knowing that snoke was the one who had bridged the gap, to turn this potential they had into something so all-consuming, but ...
it doesn't.
his influence cannot negate the comfort and belonging that it brought. with her skirts around her thighs, rey circles him in her legs and pulls his hips flush to hers. he's warm and sturdy there between her thighs in a way that feels like home. a scant familiarity in a strange world.
she catches his mouth in a kiss, then turns her chin up and guides him to her throat. this has always been the way of it, for them. instructive — that's a cold word for it. but a willingness to hear and meet the other's needs.
this need comes through clear as day, drowning out the doubts and fears and insecurities that threaten to drown them in distance. she needs him. needs him to show that even if this is all wrong, they are not. that he can be satisfied as long as he just has her, just as she stumbles blindly through this with him as her anchor.
leveraging the hitch of her legs around him, rey bucks her hips up against his, savoring the way the friction both satisfies and exacerbates her slow-building fever. her hands drift down to his belt to continue their work undressing him. it is a brazen confidence that allows her to no longer fear intrusion upon this, or perhaps more importantly, to know that such an intrusion would not stop or humiliate her or demand explanation. not anymore. ]
[She tips her chin and in the same beat he shifts his focus to her neck. There is only a moment of breath between the thought and the action, a seamless transition that isn’t quite comfortable for the angle of his neck. No sound or thought of complaint crosses his mind in spite of that — instead, its the opposite. He keeps in tune with the bond, eagerly looking to measure and feed off her reactions to his obedience. Like this, what he wanted and what she wanted began to mix and mingle in a way that made it almost impossible to differentiate.
Kylo Ren parts his lips when they find flesh, dragging the barest hint of teeth in a promise he doesn’t quite commit to. There is a question hanging in his mind, about how badly she wants him to ravage her. Rather than verbalize it, he moves his mouth further south and starts to close his teeth around corded muscle.
That is when he feels the lock of her legs around his hip bones, and the way she grinds against him unearths a pleasured grunt of satisfaction, mumbled into the muscle of her throat. It prompts him to release the desk instead to support her back so that she would have an easier time peeling his clothes off. He can feel the warmth rising up his neck the more he feels her hands move near his waistband.]
[ she ducks her head to whisper it into his ear as he reaches the tendons of her throat and the protrusion of her collarbone. though she can't see, she can feel — what he feels, too. not just the awareness of her fingers fumbling to unclasp the belt around his tunic and then pull it up, out of the way of his waistband and pants. (she doesn't bother to pull his tunic off here and now — there's a franticness about this that she does not want to lose.) but ... a stirring, too. heat. desire.
that unfulfilled promise lingers between them. maybe he doesn't hate her. maybe he doesn't know what he feels about all of this yet. but he has been holding back. perhaps it's not about want, then, but need, visceral and consuming, to let that out.
his tunic belt clatters to the ground, pushed off the desk by her elbow as she gets the waistband of his pants open. her hands plant on the curve of his waist and slide down inside the loose top of his pants to settle at his hips and squeeze. she ruts against him again. ]
Don't hold back on me.
[ there is, of course, no need for speech between them. that she groans this out is then ostensibly so that he can hear this almost plea on her lips. ]
[In the same beat that gives him permission and she goes to press their hips together again, he bites down. The friction she provides jostles him just slightly, and if there had been any question whether or not his attention would bruise her, there would be no longer. His nails drag against the back of her gown blunted by the material, but it is a seconary sensation to the work he does with his mouth. He pulls the skin of her neck past his teeth with a satisfied growl, and then moves on to another location at the joint of her shoulder and repeats himself. No one would be able to look upon her without seeing his marks, and he does not bother to consider how that would look to the rest of their “allies”. As far as he is concerned, their opinions are meaningless.
He maps a path of saliva and bruises across her collar bone, unable to stop himself from seeking more of that friction, more contact. Every now and then as he moves to mark her again, his hips roll in her hands. Thankfully, she already had the foresight to undo the front of his pants, as she would no doubt be able to feel just how hard he’s gotten in such a short time. His breath is cut off thanks to the fever he chases, encouraging a few deep moans to unearth themselves when he presses her further into the desk.
But there are still several obsticles in the way of satisfaction.
The bond, so close as it is, warns Rey that he is about to release her spine in favor of reaching back for her legs. She has better leverage, so he trusts her to release him long enough to reach past all of her skirts in order to continue disrobing her. Like Rey, he does not want to lose the hastiness they started this with, and so he finds the waistband of her underwear to pull it away, leaning back and dropping to his knees to better assist in their removal. In the same beat, he turns his cheek to bite into her thigh with just a touch more tenderness than he had used to ravage her collar bone.]
[ the pain sparks like fireworks, sudden and bright and overwhelming, but dulls to ember just as fast. that dim, glowing heat lingers, reminding her of everywhere he's been. she shudders, tensing and bucking into the contact instead of flinching away from it; though it hurts, it feels real. this is primal and animal, offering reprieve from the cold distance of civility, from the silent unease of his efforts to submit himself to her.
she cries out, a gasping sound that encourages him on, and when he loosens his grip on her, she withdraws her hands to support herself on her elbows so she can look down on him with dark and hungry eyes. as she helps him strip her out of her underwear, there's a sense of loss — a lack of friction that the stiff evidence of her effect on him had provided with each rocking motion — but also anticipation that tightens her gut.
and here is softness, near reverence. she reaches down to tousle his hair, to thread her fingers through it and snag and pull just a little too hard until she can feel the sting of it creeping up the back of her neck too. this is what she wants from him. that stinging attention that will take as long to fade as those bruises.
not for the first time she is struck by how beautiful he looks, crouched between her thighs, teeth bared. the galaxy be damned, it is the sense of ownership she feels over him like this that makes this worth it. he's always been a dog of the first order, but he's her dog now. tame, perhaps, but with a bit of the wolf not entirely bred out of him. she bites down on her lip and her heel bears down between his shoulder blades to draw him closer, permission and demand in the same stroke. ]
[Her thoughts brush against his own, and the faint praise makes his chest swell. Maybe it shouldn't, but there is comfort in knowing that he could still defer to someone else. The more he'd thought about it, the less appealing absolute rule at his hand seemed to be. This was better, he's even more sure when he catches how she is looking at him.
He inhales deeply and bows his head just a bit against the tug of his hair, adjusting how he kneels so that he can grab for her hips and pull her closer to the edge of the desk. Its not hard to take her cue from there, both physical and across the other end of the bond. Abruptly, the sharper angles of his face disappear beneath her skirts, arms taking hold of her thighs to keep them spread.
His tongue comes first, a slow and experimental slide between folds of skin. The taste the act leaves on his lips is unexpected, but not entirely unpleasant, given how he returns for more almost instantly. His fingers creep inward to make his task easier, his lips enveloping her clit and sucking backwards.
Everything about it is slow, maybe too slow. Her guidance from earlier tickles at the base of his ears. She'd wanted more out of him, he knows. But in the same light, given that it was new territory, he also wants to be sure. So he takes his cues from the sound she makes, and which direction she tugs him in, all while trying to hold her (mostly) still.]
[ oh stars, she hadn't expected that. the steady drag of his lips over her clit does more to arch her back and draw her to him than his efforts to pull her over to the edge of the desk had. what starts as a noise of surprise lapses into a low grunt. rey's never been good at keeping quiet (never needed to), but the sounds she makes aren't lilting and soft either. they come from the bottom of her gut.
through the bond she can taste the tang of her own arousal on his lips. it slicks the way for his fingers to slide inside the warm damp of her, spreading her open for him. the hand that isn't preoccupied with steering the back of his head reaches out to grip the edge of the table to steady herself. she needs that anchor already.
her thighs twitch with the attention of his mouth, her whole body retreating from the direct attention, but he has her by the hips and she doesn't really want to go anywhere except that it's so much to take in. her fingernails scrape against the hard underneath of the lip of the desk.
his slowness, his caution, gives her time to get used to the feeling, to accustom herself to his presence. and it creates an opportunity for a fluttering impatience to crawl up the back of her throat, something building steadily. rey tries to plead with him but the syllables come out in nonsense. it comes through clearer in feelings and impressions that share freely across their connection, but still a chaotic jumble of need and instantaneous, instinctual feedback.
she uses his back for leverage, bucks her hips to draw his fingers in deeper, to swing up into his mouth and demand his tongue back against her clit. she can't budge far — one of his arms, at least, still holds her hip securely — but it sends a message. her fingers curl in his hair, nails scraping his scalp. the kind of gesture that begs to show him the way.
the hand gripping the table loosens and lets go, traveling instead over the material still covering her abdomen, her breasts. seeking to stir something and add to that steady warmth he floods her with. can he feel it? does it roll over him, this fever, as it takes hold of her? ]
[He feels her squirm while she searches for purchase against the edge of the desk, and the heat at the base of his belly grows. Her impatience, the need and all the other feedback across the bond makes it difficult to focus, but it gives him some vague direction and map of where to go.
She yanks at his scalp and swings her hips, coaxing a half pained, half pleasured moan to press itself past his lips and into her skin. As guided, he shifts his grip and the motions of his tongue, slipping one finger inside while his mouth continues with more direct attention. Saliva and arousal slide down his chin as he tilts his eyes upward to watch her reactions -- unnecessary, of course, with how the bond links every bit of contact they make with one another.
As her hand releases the table to roam across her own chest, he finds himself forced to shift how he kneels, discomfort between his legs growing. Its the only part of him that feels cold, even with the contribution on the other side of their link in the Force. There is a deliberate way he drags himself against what little material still contains him, desperate to find that same stimulation that he lavishes her with.
He pulls against the way she tugs at his hair, not out of discomfort, but to encourage more of the same treatment and demand. All the while, his finger is joined by a second and they both begin to move until he finds a rhythm with the circles of his tongue.
There is something to be said for the way he continuously searches for ways to please her. He hadn't been entirely honest with her or with himself when they came to find power together. Sure, he yearned for the validation of being in charge, but this was what he was good at. Being commanded, following orders, and throwing all of his weight behind someone else and their power.
He leans into the bond instinctively, chasing the arousal and the attention until it loops backwards and forces him to release her with his remaining arm for a moment to finish the task of pulling himself free of his pants. The pause is brief, and he moves to replace his grip with just as much enthusiasm.
The sound of her name disappears in folds of skin, but it translates perfectly even amidst the chaos of need they pass between one another across the bond.]
[ desire hoods her eyes as she looks down at him, and though the bond makes it so that she can feel the sticky smear of fluids across his face, seeing him flushed and eager and wet with her arousal mixing into his own spit. she would have him looking like this all the time, if she could. hungry and wet with his cock out.
as sad as she is to lose his hand on her hip, she can feel how it moves, and a smile spreads across her face as he takes time only to do what's necessary for him to withstand the continued denial of satisfying her. the ache he feels come through too. she understands it.
once, she had believed him her better. that he would be the one leading the way, leading their people, leading her. but she has come to understand ben. what he needs, and what she does. ]
It's alright. [ her voice is soft with permission. ] Touch yourself.
[ she wrests her arm free of one strap of her dress and pulls her neckline down to expose one of her breasts. cold air prickles her skin and she pinches her nipple until it stings. this motion she pairs with the hard yank of his hair. hard enough that she can feel it too.
with a grunt rey drops her head to the desk and arches her back, rocking back and forth in time with his fingers, with his tongue. she's able to lose herself in that rhythm. the fever inside of her starts to swell, converting to a tension that flexes her thighs and has her pulling him closer. and trembling. ]
Her permission soothes the fever burning in his belly, and the hand that had been about to journey back to hold her still instead retreats to his cock once again. The grip he takes himself in falls in time with the same moment she pinches herself and pulls at his hair, and the sound that comes from him is louder than anything that's escaped him that evening. Its a long, drawn out groan, chased by hyperventilation that is hot and heavy over her clit. Sweat from his face slides to join the other mix of fluids decorating his lips.
He feels the pain spiderweb across his own chest, and his joints grow weak. For a moment, she holds him in place only by the grip in his hair. His squirms in his own hand, dragging a rhythm that he struggles to match with the movements of his tongue and his fingers. Its all quite a lot to keep his attention on, and one is guaranteed to lag behind the other.
Still, he can feel the fever swelling within her, and as she pulls him closer, he sits higher on his knees to allow for it. Deeper and deeper he drives his fingers, straight unto his knuckles. She trembles, and he feels it run down his tongue and to his spine. He trembles with her, leaking over his hand while simultaneously chasing to keep up with every sensation that rubberbands across the bond.]
[ the erratic nature of his attention, torn between his own pleasure and hers, drags her final ascent out, leaving her softly whimpering and bucking her hips, pleading for more with every sense. that need tightens and twists the bond between them in time with the way she pulls him in by her heels. and in it, a sort of enveloping friction from the way he ruts against his palm, unfamiliar to her and yet familiar in how it reads from him.
in abstraction, it is satisfying enough to know that he had waited for her permission, to have such acute control over him as to decide even how he satisfies himself. and more than that, to be offered such apparent proof of how he loves serving her like this. but it goes deeper. he's a phantom part of her, which further stimulated leaves her gasping.
the tremor turns to a quake. she's coming undone. that certainty ripples out with the rest.
the high ceilings of the throne room catch her cries and echo them around the empty space. she yowls like an animal, thrashing under him, trying simultaneously to hold onto the contact and flinch away from how it overwhelms her. tears sting her eyes, but not from pain. it's just so much. so much that she can't pull air into her lungs.
her heels scramble along the length of his spine until finally she gets enough leverage to push herself back just enough for a moment's relief. she slumps back against the desk, gasping. slowly, her fingertips comb back through his hair, and the rhythmic, absent gesture soothes her as she starts to come down. ]
[Nothing could have prepared him for the tide that pulls him away when Rey falls over the edge. She trembles violently, as does he, unable to peel himself seperate from the phantom pleasure he feels on another level of awareness. His hand stutters and shakes, and thanks to the work he’d already put into Rey, it only takes a moment to join her, spilling across the carpet scraping at his knees. While she echoes her cries out to the high ceiling, he buries his face in her thigh when she forcefully frees herself of his attention, and a series of helpless moans muffle themselves in her skin.
It takes him longer to come down from it all, a combination of the speed at which it had all hit him coupled woth its intensity. There are tears in his eyes which he tries and fails to hide with the angle he’s chosen. He can feel an irritated mark forming across his chest underneath his tunic which now sticks to him horribly.
His breath comes in short wheezes, both spent from how much energy he had exerted, and how little he had come up for air during the whole thing. The rhythmic attention against his scalp encourages a proper breathing pattern, and chases away some of the adrenaline that causes him to tremble against the desk, completely spent and yet still eager to hold onto the stimulation they’d shared. Once he falls back into his sense of self, he finds himself cautiously searching for Rey’s expression, and the approval he so desperately and constantly yearns for.]
[ the first time she starts to lift her head, a dizziness claims her. she slides her legs against his shoulders just to feel more of the contact, to stir that warmth, to bask in the ambient glow that lingers with her ending. his head tilts in her hands and she hazards another lift of her head to look down at him.
where was the stone-faced killer he had been? he is so raw as he looks up at her now that she is struck suddenly with the contrast. his need broadcast openly for her, unreservedly. she strokes the side of his face and lets her knees slip off his shoulders, spreading her thighs wider.
dampness trickles down the curve of her body, smearing the edge of the desk as she shifts again. they have ruined this haven. ]
Come here.
[ she grasps for him with both hands, pulling at his shoulders to compel him to join her up on the desk. left behind in the wake of their frantic congress was the same soul-deep ache which has always plagued her. for warmth. companionship. closeness. for him. ]
[There is a moment after her request where his head stays cradled in her hands, a slow and sleepy blink keeping him from an open mouthed yawn as he gathers his strength and finds the will to move. He withdraws entirely, both of his hands covered in a mix of fluids as he stands, lazily kicking his clump of pants away. It leaves him in just his half-fastened tunic. Truly, he is a mess.
He doesn’t quite trust the stability of the desk to hold both of their weight, but he obliges anyway, pausing only to search for something to wipe his hands on. It only takes a moment for him to realize that he’s on his own, both hands clenched to fists to try and keep from spreading it all over their shared space. He frowns lightly, the way he often does when he comes in contact with a problem that he can’t solve.]
[ she pushes up onto her elbows first when he doesn't immediately join her. it takes no time for her to catch his meaning, glancing at his hands. logistics get in his way. she casts a cursory glance around the room and laughs, noticing then just how empty the expansive space is. not even properly decorated, but for this perpetual fixture she sits upon like a pedestal. ]
I didn't think to, believe it or not.
[ a not insignificant part of her reasons that, well, they've already soiled the thing, why worry about clean-up now. but then she has an idea.
rey reaches to take his hands in hers. there's a steadiness about the way she takes her time, though her intentions come clear through their link well before. at first, just a purpose, an intimacy. and perhaps a hint of playfulness. she brings his hands closer. they smell like salt and tang and something she can't place.
she meets his gaze as she sucks at his knuckle, and the same quality of that scent floods her mouth. the noise she makes to savor her own taste on his hands is, perhaps, exaggerated, a fact which would be clear in the space between them. she's tasted herself before. a mere curiosity, then, now something for her to leverage against him to entertain a reaction. ]
The hand she reaches for goes a little limp in her grip, but the other becomes a fistful of his own fluids as he clenches it reflexively in response. To an onlooker, he hardly as any reaction at all, but Rey has the benefit of being right in front of him. The concentrated furrow of his brow, the way his lips purse and then contract as he resists the urge to bite them, and the way he swallows down the flush that abruptly rises up the back of his neck.
Aside from all of that, she has the bond at her disposal, twice amplified thanks to their lack of distance between one another. She demands all of his attention with one simple gesture, and when he feels the pull of her on his own tongue, the finger attached to her knuckle of choice spasms slightly.
[ she takes her time drawing her tongue over the length of his finger before she wraps her mouth around it. perhaps if he weren't so responsive, it wouldn't be worth the effort. but she has learned to appreciate the nuance of ren's reactions, and that alone is worth savoring.
his next finger brushes against her cheek, leaving a sticky trail there, but she doesn't look bothered.
then she pulls back, saliva briefly bridging the gap between her lips and his fingertip. she pushes his hand back towards him. she's shown him what she wants, and now she expects he'll execute obediently.
her attention, meanwhile, turns to coaxing his other fist open. there's a bit of fire in his reply. were she less invested in scratching this particular itch, she might turn him away to teach him a lesson about biting back at her. instead, she has to take another route to the same destination. ]
I gave you permission to touch yourself. [ she drags her finger through the salt spilled into his palm. ] Not to finish. [ she leans in and her teeth scrape the heel of his palm. bad dog. ] I wasn't done yet.
[A piece of him is wishing he hadn’t bothered to worry about the mess. One thing he has learned about Rey is that she’s a dreadful tease. When she finally finishes with his hand, he is eager to reach up and finish the job, if only because it keeps him from making an even greater embarrassment of himself through displays of arrousal that he doesn’t quite have a grip on. It also gives him the opportunity to reach up and smear some of the excess from around his mouth, using the finger she had already licked clean. The taste of salt is still sharp on his tongue, but he mirrors her motions without complaint in spite of the raw feeling still sticking to his lips.
That is, until she scolds him for finishing without permission. It was not as if he would have been able to resist, between the bond and the more direct attention he’d been allowed to give himself. Thankfully, with his fingers pressed inside of his cheek, it keeps him from arguing, but there is no mistaking the indignation on the other side of their link.
She drags her teeth across his palm, and his fingers (forcefully opened) curl slightly in anticipation. But he also knows that if he doesn’t say something to acknowledge her displeasure, than she might simply walk off and leave him to deal with this himself. He forces himself to swallow, and pulls his hand out of his mouth to reply unbidden.]
Sorry.
[He has never particularly mastered the art of the apology, but a part of him is genuinely rankled by her disappointment even if he would not admit it verbally.]
[ the scrape of her teeth turns soft, lips pressed to his palm, reassuring. she can feel the edge of resentment building. she doesn't want that, not least of all because she has no use for resentment. she has seen what it can do, left untended in kylo ren. that kiss turns all tongue as she cleans his hand of any evidence of that transgression. a clean slate. ]
You can still make it up to me.
[ said as though such an opportunity were generous, forgiving, and not entirely rooted in her own desires. his hand is damp with her saliva now, but she still turns it to cup the side of her cheek as she gazes up at him.
rey gets up onto her knees on the desk so she can lean in and tell him, ] I'll help you. [ and at some point, disguised by all that movement, she releases his hand to allow hers to drift down his chest to where the end of his tunic half-covers his flaccid penis. ]
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[ yes. that's very apparent from the fact that she leans in so close to his face that they're exchanging breath at this point. no. there's a warmth between them that the dark side alone could never create. it stirs now, in the bond. ]
He's gone. You have nothing to fear, anymore.
[ and that's really the crux of it. their fears, luke and snoke alike, had been eliminated from the galaxy. this should be a victory, but for the fact that they are both held back by the people those fears made them into. ]
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The thing about fear -- it never really went away. There was always the possibility that something would rise to fill the void that had been left behind. And then there was the fear of failure -- that never went away.]
I know.
[That she isn't Snoke. As far as fear went -- that remained to be seen. But he doesn't want to talk about it anymore, so he closes the last of the breath's distance. That has become easier, the past few months.]
no subject
she knows she has him, beyond the shadow of doubt, and that's something better.
her eyes drift shut — they were halfway there already — and she tightens her grip on the front of his tunic, pulling him in by it. if anything were going to chase off the ghosts, it'd be this. she whines into his mouth, her other hand pushing up into his hair. without hesitation she melts against him, finding familiar footing in this embrace.
the road had been ugly, and they'd lost pieces of themselves along the way, parts had come loose, but for this ... she would do all of it again. ]
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His hands move up from her hips to hold higher on her torso, at the mid-point of her ribs while she drags her hands through his hair. It coaxes his lips to part, to invite her in with him. It speaks to the trust she's managed to wrest from him, how close he allows her with such little resistance.
Its a far cry to when they had just begun to discover this thing between them. The thoughts of failure, of the things he'd lost, of any sort of power struggle -- left behind, shed the way he seeks to shed Rey of the current burdens on her conscious.]
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it is not an antidote to his pain, only a suppressant, but it will serve.
rey reaches up from his tunic to unclasp his cape, letting it gather on the ground around him with that sturdy thump of heavy material. it says what they aren't. what the silent space between them has implied from the moment he took her hand to guide her to this spot. there is one thing which they can always offer one another.
she starts to lean back onto the wide desk in front of the theed throne, but her own cape catches, pulls her shoulders back. a grunt comes out. she's still not used to it. it goes too. ]
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He fills the open space with his body, tugging on the bond for direction rather than trying to lead himself alone. His confidence had increased since he had first given himself to Hathaway. He braces one hand on either side of her, leaning down to find her lips again.
He could not find the difference between a cure and a suppressant. For now, they were the same and he was grateful for it — and trying to understand how he had gone so long without engaing in the bond this way was impossible.]
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it doesn't.
his influence cannot negate the comfort and belonging that it brought. with her skirts around her thighs, rey circles him in her legs and pulls his hips flush to hers. he's warm and sturdy there between her thighs in a way that feels like home. a scant familiarity in a strange world.
she catches his mouth in a kiss, then turns her chin up and guides him to her throat. this has always been the way of it, for them. instructive — that's a cold word for it. but a willingness to hear and meet the other's needs.
this need comes through clear as day, drowning out the doubts and fears and insecurities that threaten to drown them in distance. she needs him. needs him to show that even if this is all wrong, they are not. that he can be satisfied as long as he just has her, just as she stumbles blindly through this with him as her anchor.
leveraging the hitch of her legs around him, rey bucks her hips up against his, savoring the way the friction both satisfies and exacerbates her slow-building fever. her hands drift down to his belt to continue their work undressing him. it is a brazen confidence that allows her to no longer fear intrusion upon this, or perhaps more importantly, to know that such an intrusion would not stop or humiliate her or demand explanation. not anymore. ]
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Kylo Ren parts his lips when they find flesh, dragging the barest hint of teeth in a promise he doesn’t quite commit to. There is a question hanging in his mind, about how badly she wants him to ravage her. Rather than verbalize it, he moves his mouth further south and starts to close his teeth around corded muscle.
That is when he feels the lock of her legs around his hip bones, and the way she grinds against him unearths a pleasured grunt of satisfaction, mumbled into the muscle of her throat. It prompts him to release the desk instead to support her back so that she would have an easier time peeling his clothes off. He can feel the warmth rising up his neck the more he feels her hands move near his waistband.]
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[ she ducks her head to whisper it into his ear as he reaches the tendons of her throat and the protrusion of her collarbone. though she can't see, she can feel — what he feels, too. not just the awareness of her fingers fumbling to unclasp the belt around his tunic and then pull it up, out of the way of his waistband and pants. (she doesn't bother to pull his tunic off here and now — there's a franticness about this that she does not want to lose.) but ... a stirring, too. heat. desire.
that unfulfilled promise lingers between them. maybe he doesn't hate her. maybe he doesn't know what he feels about all of this yet. but he has been holding back. perhaps it's not about want, then, but need, visceral and consuming, to let that out.
his tunic belt clatters to the ground, pushed off the desk by her elbow as she gets the waistband of his pants open. her hands plant on the curve of his waist and slide down inside the loose top of his pants to settle at his hips and squeeze. she ruts against him again. ]
Don't hold back on me.
[ there is, of course, no need for speech between them. that she groans this out is then ostensibly so that he can hear this almost plea on her lips. ]
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He maps a path of saliva and bruises across her collar bone, unable to stop himself from seeking more of that friction, more contact. Every now and then as he moves to mark her again, his hips roll in her hands. Thankfully, she already had the foresight to undo the front of his pants, as she would no doubt be able to feel just how hard he’s gotten in such a short time. His breath is cut off thanks to the fever he chases, encouraging a few deep moans to unearth themselves when he presses her further into the desk.
But there are still several obsticles in the way of satisfaction.
The bond, so close as it is, warns Rey that he is about to release her spine in favor of reaching back for her legs. She has better leverage, so he trusts her to release him long enough to reach past all of her skirts in order to continue disrobing her. Like Rey, he does not want to lose the hastiness they started this with, and so he finds the waistband of her underwear to pull it away, leaning back and dropping to his knees to better assist in their removal. In the same beat, he turns his cheek to bite into her thigh with just a touch more tenderness than he had used to ravage her collar bone.]
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she cries out, a gasping sound that encourages him on, and when he loosens his grip on her, she withdraws her hands to support herself on her elbows so she can look down on him with dark and hungry eyes. as she helps him strip her out of her underwear, there's a sense of loss — a lack of friction that the stiff evidence of her effect on him had provided with each rocking motion — but also anticipation that tightens her gut.
and here is softness, near reverence. she reaches down to tousle his hair, to thread her fingers through it and snag and pull just a little too hard until she can feel the sting of it creeping up the back of her neck too. this is what she wants from him. that stinging attention that will take as long to fade as those bruises.
not for the first time she is struck by how beautiful he looks, crouched between her thighs, teeth bared. the galaxy be damned, it is the sense of ownership she feels over him like this that makes this worth it. he's always been a dog of the first order, but he's her dog now. tame, perhaps, but with a bit of the wolf not entirely bred out of him. she bites down on her lip and her heel bears down between his shoulder blades to draw him closer, permission and demand in the same stroke. ]
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He inhales deeply and bows his head just a bit against the tug of his hair, adjusting how he kneels so that he can grab for her hips and pull her closer to the edge of the desk. Its not hard to take her cue from there, both physical and across the other end of the bond. Abruptly, the sharper angles of his face disappear beneath her skirts, arms taking hold of her thighs to keep them spread.
His tongue comes first, a slow and experimental slide between folds of skin. The taste the act leaves on his lips is unexpected, but not entirely unpleasant, given how he returns for more almost instantly. His fingers creep inward to make his task easier, his lips enveloping her clit and sucking backwards.
Everything about it is slow, maybe too slow. Her guidance from earlier tickles at the base of his ears. She'd wanted more out of him, he knows. But in the same light, given that it was new territory, he also wants to be sure. So he takes his cues from the sound she makes, and which direction she tugs him in, all while trying to hold her (mostly) still.]
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through the bond she can taste the tang of her own arousal on his lips. it slicks the way for his fingers to slide inside the warm damp of her, spreading her open for him. the hand that isn't preoccupied with steering the back of his head reaches out to grip the edge of the table to steady herself. she needs that anchor already.
her thighs twitch with the attention of his mouth, her whole body retreating from the direct attention, but he has her by the hips and she doesn't really want to go anywhere except that it's so much to take in. her fingernails scrape against the hard underneath of the lip of the desk.
his slowness, his caution, gives her time to get used to the feeling, to accustom herself to his presence. and it creates an opportunity for a fluttering impatience to crawl up the back of her throat, something building steadily. rey tries to plead with him but the syllables come out in nonsense. it comes through clearer in feelings and impressions that share freely across their connection, but still a chaotic jumble of need and instantaneous, instinctual feedback.
she uses his back for leverage, bucks her hips to draw his fingers in deeper, to swing up into his mouth and demand his tongue back against her clit. she can't budge far — one of his arms, at least, still holds her hip securely — but it sends a message. her fingers curl in his hair, nails scraping his scalp. the kind of gesture that begs to show him the way.
the hand gripping the table loosens and lets go, traveling instead over the material still covering her abdomen, her breasts. seeking to stir something and add to that steady warmth he floods her with. can he feel it? does it roll over him, this fever, as it takes hold of her? ]
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She yanks at his scalp and swings her hips, coaxing a half pained, half pleasured moan to press itself past his lips and into her skin. As guided, he shifts his grip and the motions of his tongue, slipping one finger inside while his mouth continues with more direct attention. Saliva and arousal slide down his chin as he tilts his eyes upward to watch her reactions -- unnecessary, of course, with how the bond links every bit of contact they make with one another.
As her hand releases the table to roam across her own chest, he finds himself forced to shift how he kneels, discomfort between his legs growing. Its the only part of him that feels cold, even with the contribution on the other side of their link in the Force. There is a deliberate way he drags himself against what little material still contains him, desperate to find that same stimulation that he lavishes her with.
He pulls against the way she tugs at his hair, not out of discomfort, but to encourage more of the same treatment and demand. All the while, his finger is joined by a second and they both begin to move until he finds a rhythm with the circles of his tongue.
There is something to be said for the way he continuously searches for ways to please her. He hadn't been entirely honest with her or with himself when they came to find power together. Sure, he yearned for the validation of being in charge, but this was what he was good at. Being commanded, following orders, and throwing all of his weight behind someone else and their power.
He leans into the bond instinctively, chasing the arousal and the attention until it loops backwards and forces him to release her with his remaining arm for a moment to finish the task of pulling himself free of his pants. The pause is brief, and he moves to replace his grip with just as much enthusiasm.
The sound of her name disappears in folds of skin, but it translates perfectly even amidst the chaos of need they pass between one another across the bond.]
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as sad as she is to lose his hand on her hip, she can feel how it moves, and a smile spreads across her face as he takes time only to do what's necessary for him to withstand the continued denial of satisfying her. the ache he feels come through too. she understands it.
once, she had believed him her better. that he would be the one leading the way, leading their people, leading her. but she has come to understand ben. what he needs, and what she does. ]
It's alright. [ her voice is soft with permission. ] Touch yourself.
[ she wrests her arm free of one strap of her dress and pulls her neckline down to expose one of her breasts. cold air prickles her skin and she pinches her nipple until it stings. this motion she pairs with the hard yank of his hair. hard enough that she can feel it too.
with a grunt rey drops her head to the desk and arches her back, rocking back and forth in time with his fingers, with his tongue. she's able to lose herself in that rhythm. the fever inside of her starts to swell, converting to a tension that flexes her thighs and has her pulling him closer. and trembling. ]
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Her permission soothes the fever burning in his belly, and the hand that had been about to journey back to hold her still instead retreats to his cock once again. The grip he takes himself in falls in time with the same moment she pinches herself and pulls at his hair, and the sound that comes from him is louder than anything that's escaped him that evening. Its a long, drawn out groan, chased by hyperventilation that is hot and heavy over her clit. Sweat from his face slides to join the other mix of fluids decorating his lips.
He feels the pain spiderweb across his own chest, and his joints grow weak. For a moment, she holds him in place only by the grip in his hair. His squirms in his own hand, dragging a rhythm that he struggles to match with the movements of his tongue and his fingers. Its all quite a lot to keep his attention on, and one is guaranteed to lag behind the other.
Still, he can feel the fever swelling within her, and as she pulls him closer, he sits higher on his knees to allow for it. Deeper and deeper he drives his fingers, straight unto his knuckles. She trembles, and he feels it run down his tongue and to his spine. He trembles with her, leaking over his hand while simultaneously chasing to keep up with every sensation that rubberbands across the bond.]
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in abstraction, it is satisfying enough to know that he had waited for her permission, to have such acute control over him as to decide even how he satisfies himself. and more than that, to be offered such apparent proof of how he loves serving her like this. but it goes deeper. he's a phantom part of her, which further stimulated leaves her gasping.
the tremor turns to a quake. she's coming undone. that certainty ripples out with the rest.
the high ceilings of the throne room catch her cries and echo them around the empty space. she yowls like an animal, thrashing under him, trying simultaneously to hold onto the contact and flinch away from how it overwhelms her. tears sting her eyes, but not from pain. it's just so much. so much that she can't pull air into her lungs.
her heels scramble along the length of his spine until finally she gets enough leverage to push herself back just enough for a moment's relief. she slumps back against the desk, gasping. slowly, her fingertips comb back through his hair, and the rhythmic, absent gesture soothes her as she starts to come down. ]
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It takes him longer to come down from it all, a combination of the speed at which it had all hit him coupled woth its intensity. There are tears in his eyes which he tries and fails to hide with the angle he’s chosen. He can feel an irritated mark forming across his chest underneath his tunic which now sticks to him horribly.
His breath comes in short wheezes, both spent from how much energy he had exerted, and how little he had come up for air during the whole thing. The rhythmic attention against his scalp encourages a proper breathing pattern, and chases away some of the adrenaline that causes him to tremble against the desk, completely spent and yet still eager to hold onto the stimulation they’d shared. Once he falls back into his sense of self, he finds himself cautiously searching for Rey’s expression, and the approval he so desperately and constantly yearns for.]
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where was the stone-faced killer he had been? he is so raw as he looks up at her now that she is struck suddenly with the contrast. his need broadcast openly for her, unreservedly. she strokes the side of his face and lets her knees slip off his shoulders, spreading her thighs wider.
dampness trickles down the curve of her body, smearing the edge of the desk as she shifts again. they have ruined this haven. ]
Come here.
[ she grasps for him with both hands, pulling at his shoulders to compel him to join her up on the desk. left behind in the wake of their frantic congress was the same soul-deep ache which has always plagued her. for warmth. companionship. closeness. for him. ]
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He doesn’t quite trust the stability of the desk to hold both of their weight, but he obliges anyway, pausing only to search for something to wipe his hands on. It only takes a moment for him to realize that he’s on his own, both hands clenched to fists to try and keep from spreading it all over their shared space. He frowns lightly, the way he often does when he comes in contact with a problem that he can’t solve.]
Don’t suppose you brought a towel.
[He doesn’t really want to wreck his cape.]
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I didn't think to, believe it or not.
[ a not insignificant part of her reasons that, well, they've already soiled the thing, why worry about clean-up now. but then she has an idea.
rey reaches to take his hands in hers. there's a steadiness about the way she takes her time, though her intentions come clear through their link well before. at first, just a purpose, an intimacy. and perhaps a hint of playfulness. she brings his hands closer. they smell like salt and tang and something she can't place.
she meets his gaze as she sucks at his knuckle, and the same quality of that scent floods her mouth. the noise she makes to savor her own taste on his hands is, perhaps, exaggerated, a fact which would be clear in the space between them. she's tasted herself before. a mere curiosity, then, now something for her to leverage against him to entertain a reaction. ]
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[oh. So much for banter.
The hand she reaches for goes a little limp in her grip, but the other becomes a fistful of his own fluids as he clenches it reflexively in response. To an onlooker, he hardly as any reaction at all, but Rey has the benefit of being right in front of him. The concentrated furrow of his brow, the way his lips purse and then contract as he resists the urge to bite them, and the way he swallows down the flush that abruptly rises up the back of his neck.
Aside from all of that, she has the bond at her disposal, twice amplified thanks to their lack of distance between one another. She demands all of his attention with one simple gesture, and when he feels the pull of her on his own tongue, the finger attached to her knuckle of choice spasms slightly.
That works.]
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his next finger brushes against her cheek, leaving a sticky trail there, but she doesn't look bothered.
then she pulls back, saliva briefly bridging the gap between her lips and his fingertip. she pushes his hand back towards him. she's shown him what she wants, and now she expects he'll execute obediently.
her attention, meanwhile, turns to coaxing his other fist open. there's a bit of fire in his reply. were she less invested in scratching this particular itch, she might turn him away to teach him a lesson about biting back at her. instead, she has to take another route to the same destination. ]
I gave you permission to touch yourself. [ she drags her finger through the salt spilled into his palm. ] Not to finish. [ she leans in and her teeth scrape the heel of his palm. bad dog. ] I wasn't done yet.
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That is, until she scolds him for finishing without permission. It was not as if he would have been able to resist, between the bond and the more direct attention he’d been allowed to give himself. Thankfully, with his fingers pressed inside of his cheek, it keeps him from arguing, but there is no mistaking the indignation on the other side of their link.
She drags her teeth across his palm, and his fingers (forcefully opened) curl slightly in anticipation. But he also knows that if he doesn’t say something to acknowledge her displeasure, than she might simply walk off and leave him to deal with this himself. He forces himself to swallow, and pulls his hand out of his mouth to reply unbidden.]
Sorry.
[He has never particularly mastered the art of the apology, but a part of him is genuinely rankled by her disappointment even if he would not admit it verbally.]
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You can still make it up to me.
[ said as though such an opportunity were generous, forgiving, and not entirely rooted in her own desires. his hand is damp with her saliva now, but she still turns it to cup the side of her cheek as she gazes up at him.
rey gets up onto her knees on the desk so she can lean in and tell him, ] I'll help you. [ and at some point, disguised by all that movement, she releases his hand to allow hers to drift down his chest to where the end of his tunic half-covers his flaccid penis. ]
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