It’s nearly a month after Crait before Rey has the time as well as the time alone to herself.
Nearly a month of close quarters and alternating between sharing the beds and sharing bits of floor. Now that they’re in Naboo, everyone is two to a room; a wartime luxury. She shares with the General, who is more often than not in meetings. It’s like the woman never sleeps. And when she does, she tosses and turns from bad dreams.
But no, in this moment, Rey is alone and knows the General won’t be back for hours. She can do this, and take her time with it. Breathing out slowly, she gets her hand between her legs and sighs again to find herself wet. This was something she did daily on Jakku, not much else to do for pleasure and surely she was not going to let anyone else do this for her. On Ahch-To, of course, it was too dangerous to touch herself; he might know. He might see.
The thought of him immediately does something to her, unbidden and unwanted, and yet her fingers move faster against the wetness between her. A groan escapes her lips, and the sound seems to linger in the room. With a touch of helplessness, she gives into it because it’s safe to do so. The bond is broken as it no longer has a purpose; Snoke’s trap is long sprung. No one need know this, no one will ever know.
She imagines his hand on her ankle first, a warm touch that lights a fire in her blood. She sighs again, and closes her eyes. He would settle between her legs, his fingers sliding along her skin till a few brushed against her sex. A tease of sorts, taking the temperature, before doing what he does best: impulsive action. Sometimes and often violent in nature. Two fingers breach her with little gentleness, but she’s so wet that they slide right in. She imagines how he lingers there, scissoring his fingers briefly to stretch her further. And then his thumb finds her clit, presses in hard before a kinder familiar rub. Rey is feeling her own fingers now, a constant rhythm against sensitive skin. His fingers fuck her not too slow but just enough that she feels full with him in every thrust. Her head leans back against the pillow, a small arch in her back as the fantasy deepens, overwhelms. Suddenly his form is against her form, his body pressed against her skin, and his sex hard against her thigh. She’s gasping now, and he’s whispering something in the shell of her ear. Something like, something like-- and the words crystalize in her brain: “come with me,” she hears, and his fingers seems to twist inside of her.
And when she comes, she can hear him breathing hard; in and out and in and out. She chuckles at this. Chuckles at making him this way. She’s sweating now, and with her spare hand, she pulls off the covers and her eyes open.
Her eyes open and she sees him. He’s in the room, at the foot of her bed, watching her with a strained face and slightly opened mouth.
They stare for a moment that seems to last forever, and her mind is a blank. Adrenaline is still riding high through her system, and her fingers are still at her sex; an obvious thing. She breathes out something she’s been holding, and considers her options.
There’s an aching bitterness in her heart, something she knows that she’ll never recover from, but the body, oh how it betrays. There’s an extra flutter inside of the walls of her sex, a demand for more. So, she props up on an elbow, just a little, keeps her gaze fixed on his eyes, and her fingers continue with the very act she was previously engaged in.
She can see him shiver; no, she can feel him shiver. His anger, vast, is stunted at this scene before him. This child emperor brought to a momentary ruin by a woman with her hand between her legs, thinking of his mouth on her--
Rey gasps out, having forgotten the thread of fantasy, and projects it, now, as loud and as brutally as she can. Makes him see what she sees, him worshiping her body with his lips now, tongue and teeth. She imagines herself pulling on his hair as he kisses her down low. Rey has no good idea how this part of pleasure works, but she imagines it’s a stranger and better act with a mouth instead of fingers. How she would ride him, bucking her hips against him. Ensure that his actions were causing her reactions, and each one more and more blissful.
Breathing hard now, she continues to barrage her clit with a forceful hand and she continues to stare at his increasingly pale face. She can feel that he’s never seen this, never known a woman before. Never known a woman’s desires. This is all new and horrible and she sense, oh, she can sense how his dick is hardening despite his will against it. How he longs to lean against something, have his weight supported by something sturdy and real. But no, he must stand and take this, and this this, and take--
She can feel her pleasure rising, and decides to make everything worse by saying: “I love your mouth,” are the words whispered in the dark, and he openly shudders. “Keep fucking me with it,” she says and takes a moment to rolls her eyes back, a performative measure to illicit a response. He groans out now, and her body writhes at the sound. “Harder than that,” she says and her eyes meet his. It’s easy to see how he’s feeling now, there’s no mask on his face and he’s not holding back in the Force. His feelings are quite apparent. “I’m not made of glass,” she says, “fuck me harder.” And his eyes close, unable to hold her gaze.
Which is just as well, all she can see now is white.
Her orgasm rips through her like an unquenchable fire, and the Force is near crackling in the air of the room. She bites down hard on her lip to keep any name from shrieking out of her mouth, and any hollering cry to alert neighbors in the nearby rooms. But by all that is good, she feels lit up so bright; a radiating heat that fills the whole galaxy with her desires so uniquely met. Gaspsing, she pulls her fingers away from her recovering sex, gets up on both elbows now. Lifts her eyebrows.
He blinks and his mouth opens again, and a gasp of his own comes out. He’s trembling still, and she can sense his overwhelming shame at his reactions; that he is not an immovable force, that he is weak for her. So very, very weak.
As her lips curve up into a cruel smile, she considers that if she was his dark queen, oh, how their days would be full of this, this act but real, and with flesh against flesh. The thought is mirrored inside of him, and she breathes in. She is his distraction, and there is power in that.
“Next time,” she says, and he flinches. “Think about touching me next time.” And she wipes her wet fingers against her bare leg before rolling over and pulling the covers over her. “Good night,” she says and her eyes close.
She feels his appearance vanish immediately, but his presence lingers until she falls asleep.
After that, she begins to build a wall in her mind against him; brick by brick, layer by layer, of a warding shield against him. She is mindful of her emotions, having now realized that the bond gripped them together in moments of vulnerability or depression.
After that, she begins to spend her days working as harder than ever to defeat the First Order; work, eat, sleep. Getting on the comms to state her intentions, showing potential allies what she can do, and performing miracles as needed for the cause.
After that, she knows that he will try for a kind of revenge and she must be ready for it.
The moment she feels the glimmer of his presence, she lifts her hand. It’s untoward, of course, but the situation calls for it. She can apologize later. “Get out,” she says with the underlying power of the Force resonating in the room. The techs present scatter, leaving her alone. She walks carefully to the door, and twist the lock. Breathes in, squares her shoulders, and turns around.
She’s in his room and he’s - and she swallows - he’s naked. Rey keeps her eyes northward. “Took you long enough,” she says as droll as she can.
“I can break anything you build,” he replies and she knows his hand is on his dick. There’s a touch of disgust in her before she gets a hold of her emotions. Takes a step forward.
“You didn’t welcome me here to talk shop,” she says, “You--”
And the flood of images sail into her mind’s eye; such explicit and shocking things. A series of compromising positions, the plaintive cry of her voice, the harsh bite of his teeth. It’s meant to destabilize her, but she’s ready for him.
Her hands ball into fists as her mind focuses on his, and her thoughts merge with his own. And what he sees: Rey is wetting her fingers with spit, is bypassing his dick for the space behind it, is carefully circling his rim with her fingers. The Kylo Ren of her thoughts moans when it happens, cries out when her fingers make purchase, pressing inside of him. Her gaze sharpens and she can see him sweat.
“Do you want more?” she says quietly, taking another step closer. He looks at her with something like hate. In her thoughts, she shoves her fingers in that tightness harder. He gasps out.
She’s close enough to touch, but she wouldn’t dare. Not at this point. She does, however, take a good look at him; his fist around his gnarled sex, and it jerks once as if her gaze penetrates. Rey’s never seen an aroused dick before and her interest is, she hopes, healthy. Her eyes flick back up to his and there’s a hunger now in his gaze. She gives him something of a supportive nod and his hand begins to stroke in earnest.
Now, she thinks of him on his back, somewhat uncomfortable for him as she gets more than three fingers deep inside of him. Fucks in with a lazy sort of rhythm as he lets out sigh after sigh after sigh. In the quiet of reality, he glares at her for this but keeps up his work on his dick. She allows him one of his own thoughts to emerge out of the space in which she has compressed them, buried them from view: Rey straddling him with her legs around his hips and her mouth so close to his.
“Is this what you want?” she says and allows this fantasy of Rey to grind up against him and mewl out something desperate sounding. And he just speeds up his efforts below. She alternates the visions; her sex grinding inertly against his own and her fingers fucking him into the mattress.
He tries, on occasion, to adjust the fantasy but her will is stronger.
It’s messy when he comes. She wonders if he’s not used to coming this hard, how his dick pulsates in his hand without reason. Her nose wrinkles when he looks up at her, his emotional state raw and horribly shamed. “Again,” she says but he shakes his head.
“Can’t,” he wheezes out. And she imagines reaching out to touch his dick now, almost fully spent. He flinches hard, and shies away from her despite the fact that she’s not moved a muscle. He looks wrecked, a sheen of sweat on him and he’s still a mess below. A lost boy in the stars.
At her full height, she look down on him and wishes to flex her power, wishes to make him--
And something breaks in her shield as his thoughts raid into her mind. Nothing offensive this time, nothing disturbing. Nothing but the thought of her lips crashing against his own, of her mouth devouring him. She kisses the way she fights, to brutally vanquish her opponent. And he does not show her any mercy of course, that is not his nature. With all his might, he kisses her back with lips and tongue and teeth and sighs until they’re both gasping and pink cheeked and lips swollen.
Her mouth opens and air comes out slowly. This, this is unfortunate, she thinks. Because his thought perfectly mirrors her own.
But when a touch of triumph colors his expression, she impulsively reaches out and cups his face. The touch is electric; her phantom skin against his. They both shudder as one, and Rey feels a heat rise in her. “You’re a fool,” she says, “You--”
“I’m done with you now,” he says tersely, snaps his fingers, and she’s back on the base.
Her arm is still outstretched. She lowers it to her side. “I’m not done with you,” she whispers into the air. Squeezes her legs together and wipes her mouth from the kisses that never happened.