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1.
This is a bad idea. The fiasco in Snoke’s throne room is still recent enough that the cut on Rey’s arm hasn’t healed yet; it stings under Kylo’s grip as he pushes her backwards into one of the Falcon’s dusty bulkheads. (It feels smoother than it should when her palms make contact – smooth like the sleek, modern interior of a First Order Star Destroyer – but Rey doesn’t dwell on that. There’s no point pretending any part of this is about understanding their Force bond better. A wall’s a wall.)
Kylo’s kisses are a blood sport, all teeth and tongue and rage. Rey aches with the memory of his hand brushing hers, of his gentleness, of her own awed yearning mirrored in his eyes. Now she’s one more name in the litany of people he believes have wronged him. One more piece of the past he wants so badly to kill.
As killing techniques go, this isn’t great. As sex, it’s … honestly, also not great. He doesn’t give Rey much time to get wet, let alone to wallow in her own feelings of betrayal or rejection. She’s too tangled in her leggings to get her legs properly around his hips. He fucks her hard and deep, with more aggression than finesse, and she’s only just managed to reangle her hips in a way that feels good when he comes inside her with a short, sharp whine.
For a few moments more he just stands there pressed against her, breathing the tail end of his pleasure into the crook of her neck. They don’t attempt eye contact. Don’t speak. He doesn’t check in with her about birth control or reassure her that things are taken care of on his end, and forget all the angst about their starcrossed love gone bad, that’s just rude.
Then he lets the Force bond go, and she’s alone in the bowels of a battered old freighter with cum dripping down her thighs and a disconsolate throb in her untouched clit.
It’s such a bad idea to get involved with him again. She could tell anyone, any of her few precious friends aboard this last surviving ship of the Resistance, and they’d all say the same thing: nothing good will come of this, you’ve tried already, he’s a lost cause, cut the bond at all costs. And they’d be right. She knows they’d be right.
So she doesn’t tell anyone.
2.
‘I know you still think about them,’ says Kylo.
Apparently they’re on speaking terms today, instead of just sex terms. Rey wishes they weren’t.
‘You still, still can’t stop needing them,’ he says, hooking her leg up over his shoulder to deepen the angle. His cock is thick and long and he didn’t warm her up enough first – he never does – but she kind of likes the way it feels, like a good, cathartic beating from the inside out. Or at least she would like it, if he weren’t so hellbent today on spoiling what passes for the mood with his half-baked efforts at emotional manipulation. ‘They’re a gravity well you can’t escape. A drain on your true potential. If you’d just let me teach you how to use the pain of their abandonment–’
‘Kylo,’ says Rey through gritted teeth, ‘stop talking about my parents.’
He thrusts harder, pinning her wrists to the mattress as he bears down on her with all his weight, cock hitting a place inside her that makes her feel like she’s about to pee all over him. It would serve him right. ‘Why shouldn’t I? You’re the one who refuses to leave them in the past. There’s a part of you that’s still waiting for them to come back, even though you know they’ll never–’
‘Your mother’s doing well, by the way,’ Rey says loudly. That’s the worst part of having sex with Kylo (okay, aside from literally everything else about having sex with Kylo): he has this way of dragging her down to his level. ‘I saw her a little while ago. She’s agreed to oversee my Jedi training, though of course, she’s not up to much in the way of lightsaber sparring these days. Arthritis is starting to set in, you know.’
Kylo stops thrusting and gives her a disgusted look. ‘Ugh. Point taken.’
‘She’s always saying her pelvis never quite realigned right after she put it out of joint birthing you. On bad days she gets pain that radiates from her tailbone all the way up to–’
‘All right, all right,’ says Kylo. The burning stretch in her cunt has eased; he’s going soft inside her. ‘I won’t bring them up again.’
In the end he doesn’t manage to bring anything up again. When the Force bond fizzles out a short while later, her last view is of him tucking his flaccid cock away, looking grumpier than she’s ever seen him before. And he’s given her plenty of material to compare with.
3.
He doesn’t even get her off half the time. On the long list of Kylo’s faults, being a selfish lover should be too far down to matter, but it’s the petty sting on top of a much more grievous injury and it drives Rey mad. She doesn’t think he even ignores her pleasure on purpose. He’s just not great at delaying his own gratification – go figure – and orgasm makes him all sleepy and distracted so that the Force bond slips through his fingers before he means to let it go. More than once he’s disappeared just as Rey was getting close, leaving her stupidly humping thin air that just moments ago used to be his thigh or fingers or semi.
She’s not having it today. ‘It’s my turn to use you for once,’ she tells him firmly once she’s climbed on top, hands braced on his chest. ‘You lie there and take it.’
Eyes scrunched tight, she eases down until she’s flush in his lap with his cock buried up to the hilt inside her, then rocks her hips in a slow rhythm that’s more drag than thrust, grinding her clit against his pubic bone. It feels good. She can definitely come this way. But when against her better judgement she opens her eyes to look down at Kylo, she finds him flushed with an arousal more intense than she’s ever seen from him before, eyes black and and unfocused with lust.
Digging her nails into his chest doesn’t help either. Not even when she draws blood. Apparently Kylo likes pain, and likes the idea of her using his body for pleasure.
Again: go figure.
So once again Rey finds herself masturbating alone once he’s gone, cunt fluttering around the disappointingly slim girth of her own fingers. She doesn’t bother swearing to herself that this is the last time. It’s a promise she’s already broken more times than she cares to count.
4.
‘You have the Corellian clap?’
Rey doesn’t mean for her voice to crescendo so high, but she’s not sorry for the way it makes Kylo cringe – reflexive embarrassment, even though no one on his end can possibly hear her. ‘Look, I had no idea I was contagious, or I wouldn’t have…’ He trails off, frowning and ducking his face away from her glare. A bitter laugh bubbles in Rey’s chest. The closest he’s ever come to an apology, and it’s not for the bloodshed or the tyranny or for all the endless heartache but for exposing her to some stupid sexually transmitted infection. ‘There’s a prophylactic that’s fairly effective, if you get onto it fast.’
‘And what exactly,’ Rey snaps, ‘am I supposed to tell everyone I want with an anti-clap prophylactic? I haven’t been anywhere near Corellia.’ As Kylo should know full well, since it’s his military blockading the system.
Kylo shrugs. ‘Tell them you met someone tall, dark and handsome at a bar.’
‘We’re in the middle of a war, Kylo. I don’t have time to hang out in bars.’
‘Really? I find time.’
‘So I can see,’ says Rey. She has no good excuse for how much it hurts to picture him seducing some stranger over drinks on the other side of the galaxy. ‘So kind of you to bring me a souvenir from whatever seedy booze hall you’ve been wasting your nights in.’
‘It’s not like that,’ says Kylo, way too quickly. Like the thought actually upsets him. Like he owes her some kind of loyalty; like the thought of having that questioned is as irrationally uncomfortable for him as it is for her. ‘There’s no one else I ... I mean.’ He looks more embarrassed than ever. ‘There was an uprising on a Corellian satellite station. I got blood all over me while I was dealing with the rebels. I guess one of them must have been infected.’
‘Oh, well, if it was only murder you were committing then I guess that’s fine,’ says Rey. She refuses to dwell on the fact that it does, in fact, make her feel slightly better. This is yet another reason why sleeping with Kylo is such a catastrophically bad idea. (As if the kriffing clap weren’t bad enough.) The emotions cloud her moral judgement. Everything would be so much simpler if he was just another enemy.
Silence falls between them.
‘Is it … bad?’ Rey asks after a while.
‘Itches like hell,’ says Kylo morosely. ‘I can’t see myself being good for much till the treatment kicks in.’ He gives her a considering look. ‘I can use my hands, though, if you still want to…’
It doesn’t work when it’s not the heat of the moment. When it’s not his greedy, angry desire overwhelming her. The thought of letting him take charge of her pleasure – of admitting that she might actually want him, and not just the mutual self-sabotage he represents – ‘I’ll pass,’ she says as coldly as she can manage. ‘I have to get myself to medbay. Some sleemo has given me the clap, you see.’
Kylo looks deflated.
5.
Given how little control either of them seem to have over the Force bond, the only real surprise is that this hasn’t happened sooner. Kylo is dressed to his version of the nines when he appears in front of her, standing upright in clean boots and a neatly pressed tunic with his long black cloak arrayed meticulously over his shoulders. He flicks his eyes briefly towards her without moving his head, then returns his attention to whatever important meeting she’s interrupted.
If only Rey could see his surroundings instead of just her cramped little bed nook on the new Resistance base. Then at least this ever-looping conveyor belt of bad decisions could yield some intelligence value.
Espionage may be off the table, but sabotage isn’t. With a little thrill that Rey tells herself is strategic and not at all sexual, she closes the gap between her and Kylo and trails her lips over his jaw. His breath hitches minutely but his posture stays alert and formal. He doesn’t lapse when she runs her fingers through his hair – that must look weird to whoever’s with him, a strange breeze localised just to Kylo’s head – nor even when she sinks to her knees in front of him.
She’s never done this before. Knows exactly how badly he wants her to: she’s forever seeing herself sucking him off in the flashes of shared thought that pass unpredictably through their Force bond. Fragments of his dreams, his fantasies.
He starts to struggle with composure when she presses her mouth to his clothed groin. He folds his arms, bringing handfuls of cloak with him so that the garment closes around Rey like a privacy curtain. She gets his fly open easily enough in the dark – that part, she’s practised. A hoarse little noise, quickly stifled, escapes his throat when she wraps her lips around his cock. Rey has no real idea how to do this, but she doesn’t get the sense that she’s playing to a particularly critical audience. It’s not so bad on her end. A bit too big for her mouth. Tastes of sweat. She swallows him down as deep as she can until her tonsils hurt and she can no longer breathe through her nose, then pulls back, then does it again, and it doesn’t take very many repetitions before Kylo starts to shake like a leaf.
He manages to stay still and more or less silent when he comes, which is more self-control than Rey expected of him – this meeting she’s interrupted must really matter. Of course, she can’t speak for what his face is doing. He’s never been particularly good at controlling his expressions.
She spits out his cum on his trousers – let the mess be his problem – and is about to carefully extract herself from her little cloak-dick-cubbyhouse when she hears footsteps behind her. Someone has just entered the dorm on her end. Distracted, Rey pulls back and spins her head around, and Kylo’s cloak flaps wide open. The last thing she sees before she severs the bond in confusion is him scrambling to pull it back around himself.
The interloper turns out to be Rose looking for her toolbelt. Glad for the diversion, Rey joins the search, and tries not to wonder how many First Order officers just caught an eyeful of their Supreme Leader’s cock dangling out of his open fly.
+1
In the wreckage of an ancient Sith citadel, far beneath the debris of a fleet-shattering space battle, Rey draws in lungful after lungful of air that tastes of death and life and miraculous triumph. She shares each breath with her miracle-maker – Ben, her Ben, the man she thought was gone forever, the man she never quite managed to give up on – and their mouths move against each other in effortless concert. This is how it should have been all along. Their bodies fit together perfectly and the connection feels right.
‘Ben,’ she murmurs over and over again, for sheer beautiful love of that long lost syllable. She moves in his lap, still clothed but not for much longer, the warm, hard heat of his groin reaching her through the fabric and setting her core alight. She needs him. Needs him inside her, needs him all around her, needs him as close as physics will allow. ‘Ben. Ben. Ben.’
‘Rey,’ he breathes back. They’re alive. They’ve survived. Palpatine is dead, the Sith fleet gone, and there’s nothing else left to keep them apart. Nothing, except a few millimetres of fabric and – ‘Oh,’ says Ben. ‘Oh, ugh.’
Rey pauses halfway through the hickey she was making on his throat. ‘What’s wrong?’
Ben pulls away from her, grimacing. ‘I don’t think I can do this,’ he says, with as much genuine remorse as she has ever heard from him before. ‘Not here. Not with him.’
‘With who?’ Rey goes to ask, but then she follows Ben’s gaze and the answer to her question becomes obvious. Unignorable, even.
One of the Snoke clones has rolled out of its vat and is lying a few metres away from them, right in Ben’s line of sight. Naked, drenched in stasis fluid, its lifeless eyes stare back at them as if it knows what they’re doing and thoroughly disapproves.
Once that unpleasant little atmospheric detail has pierced her bubble, the rest flood quickly in after it. Bits of crushed Sith cultist peek out from under rubble. There’s blood of unknown provenance all over her, and Ben, and the floor beneath them. Flakes of funeral ash swirl in the air around them – all that’s left, Rey realises with a sick, sinking feeling, of her late grandfather.
Oh, ugh is right.
‘I wish you hadn’t pointed that out,’ says Rey, pulling a face. ‘Now I can’t, either.’
Ben laughs. The frank, beautiful sound makes short work of Rey’s disappointment, as does the chaste kiss he leans in to place on her wrinkled nose. ‘Let’s go somewhere else,’ he suggests.
‘Where?’
‘Anywhere you like,’ Ben says earnestly. ‘I’ll follow. As long as I’m by your side, I don’t…’ He breaks off with a wince. ‘That’s pathetic, isn’t it? I mean, I’m serious, but let me try to make it sound less embarrassing…’
It’s Rey’s turn to laugh. ‘Ben,’ she says, cupping his face, relishing the way he leans into her touch. The adoration in his eyes, wiping away every last trace of Rey’s bitterness and disappointment like it was never there. ‘We’ve spent the last year trying to destroy each other in open warfare. Also, you gave me the clap once. I think we’re a bit past embarrassment.’
Ben leans in to kiss her again. Baulks again at the last moment, eyes drawn inexorably back to the Snoke thing. ‘Somewhere else,’ he repeats.
‘Yeah,’ says Rey with feeling. ‘Definitely somewhere else.’
She’s been waiting a long time for sex with Ben that doesn’t suck. She can wait a little longer while they find themselves a proper bed. She has a pretty good feeling that this time, it’s going to be worth it.