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some kind of madness

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"So," says Kylo Ren, staring down at Rey. "We appear to keep running into each other in the strangest places."

She fixes him with an angry glare, that look he intimately knows as well as his own face by now: spitting fire and hopping mad, and she does not bother even giving him a verbal acknowledgment.

He glances at the troopers holding her by the arms. "Take her to my chambers. I'll deal with her. Don't let her out of your sight."

"Yes, sir," says FR-8756, and they march her off, her hair swaying slightly as she walks.

Kylo doesn't let himself watch her go. He turns and faces the viewport, hands clasped behind his back, and stares out at the pure white curve of the planet below the Supremacy.

They had found her here, of all places—Hoth, the site of one of the great battles in the Galactic Civil War. The scouting party that had stumbled across her hadn't been able to make her tell them what she had been doing, but she had been alone, and Kylo Ren had been alerted, as per his orders to the entire First Order: If that scavenger is found, detain her and alert me immediately.

So now, beyond all his wildest dreams, he has her, this girl, this nobody-who-is-somebody, and she's on his ship and he can do anything he wants to her. Anything. Not that Kylo particularly wants to do certain things—Hux had a few filthy suggestions to make on the way down, and one look from Ren had silenced him instantly—but he very much wants to decide precisely what he wants to do with her.

She looked angry when they marched her off. He doesn't want her to be angry. He wants her to understand, to talk to him like they did through the bond so long ago, when neither of them could harm each other and the only other option was to be civil.

Ren's hands tighten on each other. He had tried to peer into her mind, to see what she was hiding, but she had learned, at some point, to close her mind off to him. That would prove a bit of a hurdle.

For now, though, let her wait. The room was the most secure place on the most secure ship in the galaxy, and he had a full schedule before he could indulge himself privately.

Kylo allows himself, for a second, to think about her hair, soft and clean and dotted with snowflakes, and what it might feel like to comb his bare fingers through it, before shutting the image out of his mind and turning quickly, striding back toward the bridge.

Rey is pissed.

She'd been thrown into what looked like Kylo Ren's bedroom and left there, still shackled by the mag-cuffs, the door locking behind her with a sound of finality, and she knows the locks are beyond her skill to pick, even with the Force.

And then she'd waited for what felt like hours. Nobody came. He must be playing some game, wearing her down with anticipation as revenge for her refusing to join him. Joke's on him, though. Rey is great at waiting.

The room is large and cold and uninviting, decorated in black and black and more black. There's a low bed, a couch, a chair and a desk, a closet with an electrostatic shield over it to keep his multiple black garments safe from the tiniest speck of lint, a dresser, and a door leading to a 'fresher, which she pokes her head through and investigates.

Gleaming black counter, shower, commode. Not a towel in sight, just a dryer vent overhead in the shower. He is clearly efficient and unsentimental in his day-to-day routine. Rey wrinkles her nose and withdraws. There's not even a mat on the cold, hard floor.

Back in the main room, she tries to get comfortable, but the cuffs are digging into her wrists, and she's beginning to sweat in her snow gear. They hadn't bothered to take off her thick outerwear before cuffing her, and she's slightly afraid her hands might turn black from lack of circulation and fall off before the Supreme Leader ever gets around to coming back to his karking room.

Worse, she can't even take off the coat, because her sleeves are clamped down by the stupid cuffs. She can just barely unzip the top few inches, but that's not enough, and soon she's absolutely miserable, her hood pushed back, her hair stuck to her face with sweat. "I'm going to kill him," she tells herself aloud. She can feel rivulets of sweat trickling down her chest, her back, and her underarms. Rey's blood is up now, indignant at being dumped here, and she might just punch the next person who walks through the door, because...

The door slides open without warning, startling her, and Kylo Ren walks through. He halts at the sight of her, confusion on his face as he takes in her flushed face, her sticky-wet hair, her furious demeanor. He backs up a step.

She practically spits at him. "Get these off me!"

He doesn't answer, but waves a hand and they spring open with a little beep, the magnetic field reversed. Rey doesn't bother with a preamble before kicking them to the side and frantically pulling off her parka, her under-jacket, her boots, and her snow pants, gasping in relief as the cold, recirculated air of the ship hits her bare, slick skin and the heat escapes.

"I—" Ren looks almost angry. "They didn't take off your restraints?"

"No, they did, and I decided to put them back on and sweat to death," she snaps sarcastically, and oh, he can see that, bright and sharp and clear anger through the Force. "Is this your idea of revenge or something?"

"No," he says. "Do you—there's—you can use the 'fresher if you want."

She gives him a baffled look. "The interrogation's starting with me showering?"

"This isn't an interrogation," Kylo tells her. "You're my guest."

"See, that's what you said the first time, and then you tried to hook my thoughts out of my head," she says sourly. "So forgive me for not trusting you."

"Of course," he says automatically, and takes advantage of her momentary confusion to gesture toward the shower. "It has a cold-water setting. All yours."

Rey narrows her eyes at him. "Is this a trick?"

"No," he says, and settles himself into the chair, his black cloak spread out.

"If it is," she says, standing up and steadying herself for a moment, "I'm going to be very put out at you."

"I would expect nothing less." He leans his head back and closes his eyes.

He's not even afraid of her. Rey snatches up her clothing and stomps to the shower. She shuts the door, and strips naked, hopping in the shower and forgetting her anger for a moment as the cold, fresh water hits her skin. She enjoys it for a while before her fingers start going numb, then switches over to hot water, scrubbing herself down with the cloth in the shower.

She doesn't use his soap, or any of the products in the cubicle. She doesn't want to smell like him.

Rey exits to find her clothes are gone, and that throws her for a minute before she realizes there's a tiny hatch in the floor where the cleaning and laundry droids must come and go.

All well and good, but she's stuck in the 'fresher naked and soaking wet, and there's not a scrap of fabric in here to cover herself with.

All right, fine. Let him deal with this. She dries herself off with the vent, opens the door, and walks out, hands on her hips. "I don't suppose you have a change of clothes, or a—a cowl, or a robe or something I can wear?" she says sarcastically.

Kylo sees her, stark naked, and his eyes go wide with shock for a moment before he composes himself and tears his gaze away. "I doubt anything I have would fit you," he says, and she doesn't miss the way his hands clamp down, white-knuckled, on the arms of his chair.

"Oh, so you just wanted to get me naked," she says, and now she's really mad. "I see. Clever trick. Droid takes my clothes and you conveniently have not a thing to wear for me."

"I didn't—" He's flushing now, pink at the tip of his large nose, pink on his cheeks. "Just go to the closet and pick something."

Rey walks to the closet, still sensing his eyes on her back as she deactivates the shield and pulls out a long black robe, woven, slit up the sides so that the wearer can use their arms while being covered in the front. She shrugs it on and it weighs on her shoulders, drags on the floor behind her.

She doesn't bother belting it, just walks over to the couch and sits down, glaring at Kylo Ren as he watches her move.

"So," she says, the word half-hissed.

"You're angry at me," he says. "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to be angry."

That throws her for a curve. "What do you mean, you don't—you—"

"Are you hungry?" He tries very hard to not look at the length of her exposed leg, poking out from the slit in the cloak.

"Yes," she says automatically, then shuts her mouth tight.

Kylo stands and taps something into the datascreen mounted by the door. "Hm," he says. "So. What was the last Jedi doing on Hoth alone?"

Oh, there it is. Rey leans back. "None of your business, that's what."

He sighs, and he's about to say something else when there's a knock on the door and he stands to open it. A servo-droid wheels in with a cart and goes about setting a place on the low table between the couch and the chair, and Rey doesn't move, half-curious.

The droid leaves, and the doors lock, and Kylo Ren sits back down. "Eat," he says, and she lifts the cover from her plate to see more food than she's eaten in a week. She forgets she's on the Supremacy with the leader of the First Order looking at her. She grabs the food with her hands and starts shoveling it into her face, eating as quickly as she can before he changes his mind and takes the food away.

Halfway through licking the plate clean, she catches an odd little twinge of something from Kylo and looks over to see him staring at her mouth—only for a brief second, before he sees her looking and his eyes flicker away.

Rey sets the plate down and wipes her mouth with the napkin on the table. "What?" she demands.

"Nothing," he says too quickly.

She lets her tongue poke out again, licking her fingers clean, and his eyes catch her mouth, as if hypnotized. One hand tightens on the arm of his chair as she lets her tongue curl around her knuckle. "Nothing," she says.

Kylo swallows, his mouth tightening. "Stop," he says, voice low.

"Why?" It's a challenge, her chin pointing at him, her eyes narrow.

"I didn't—I don't—" His voice is uneven, shaky, all over the register as he struggles to find words. "I didn't bring you here for that."

"For what?" Rey leans forward and lets her cloak slip open, and that has an effect on him too: he crosses his legs at the knees and shifts, his eyes fastened on her bare chest.

"You know what," he says, sounding almost angry.

Two can play at this game. "Say it," she demands.

He meets her eyes with a very great effort. "I don't need to."

"I want to hear you say it." Rey can't quite get a lock on his thoughts, they seem to be a wash of vague feeling with no real word or intent, but they're certainly colored toward her, and very strong. "Go on. Say it."

"I didn't bring you here to—to—" He blushes as he flounders for the right term, and she suddenly realizes that in some ways, even though he's a decade older than her, he's still such a child. "To—have—to—to—"

"Oh, just stop," she says, almost embarrassed for him. "To have sex with me. Say it."

"To have sex with you," he echoes, and puts his head in his hands, as if he can't believe he just said that. "I didn't."

"Then why did you bring me here and not throw me into a cell?" she demands.

"Because I don't want you harmed," he tells her, still red in the face. "Is that really so hard to believe?"

"Yes," she snaps. "If you don't want me harmed, what do you want?"

"I just want you to not be angry at me," he says, looking uncomfortable. "And I can't even do that, because first you think I left you in here to sweat to death, then you didn't have clothes, and now you're angry that I didn't bring you up here to have sex with you, so I don't know what to do to make you happy."

"I'm—I—" Rey is baffled. "I'm not angry about that! I—you can't possibly think just giving me food and a wash is going to make me happy with you."

"No," he agrees. "But I thought it might be a start. Or just… a nice thing to do."

"Since when do you care about being nice?"

"I don't," he snaps, bristling at the accusation. Him? The Supreme Leader? Nice? "Stop asking me questions."

"I was on Hoth looking for kyber crystals," she tells him, and that hangs in the air for a moment.

"Kyber?" Ben doesn't understand.

"To repair the lightsaber. It—it smashed in half when you and I yanked it apart." Rey looks down. "I heard—I read ice planets sometimes have caves with them."

"Ilum," he says automatically. "You should have gone to Ilum. Hoth doesn't have kyber crystals."

Rey closes her eyes. Damn the man. All that time for nothing, all the wasted days trekking through snow, and now she was stuck on his stupid ship with no way off. "Oh," she says, feeling very small, and a tear leaks out of her eye, tracking down her cheek.

"Rey," he says, sounding gentler than he ever has, and she can't look at him. "Why didn't you want to tell me?"

"I don’t know," she says thickly. "I thought maybe you would think I was wasting my time, or you'd laugh at me."

"I wouldn't laugh at you," he tells her, and she can hear him moving, the robes rustling as he sits next to her, on her right side, but doesn't touch her. "I'm far too afraid of you to do that."

Rey lets out a choked half-laugh. "For good reason," she tells him, and he half-smiles, but turns his face so that she can't see the scar down the right side of his face, and she can sense some uncertainty and insecurity there, something bleak and cold. "No, turn back. Let me see."

Kylo hesitates, then turns so that both the unmarked and the marked sides face her.

Rey looks at him closely. There is a faint shadow of stubble dark under his skin. The bluish circles beneath his eyes are pronounced. His dark hair waves gently back from his forehead, down to his collar, but a stray lock curls down in front. He looks tired, and older than his thirty-odd years, and the scar on his cheek is still a thin, raised, angry line running down into his collar.

Rey wants to open his tunic and see how far it goes.

Kylo makes a small noise, a slight intake of startled breath, and she realizes rather belatedly that maybe she hasn't been guarding her thoughts as well as she should be. "Sorry," she says.

He hesitates for a moment, then reaches up and undoes the fastenings at his throat, slowly opening his black tunic and exposing his neck, the right side of his chest, his shoulder. Rey can't tear her eyes away from the angry furrow in his skin, curling around his breast and ending by his right nipple. "There," he says quietly.

Rey reaches out and presses her fingers to the old wound, and Kylo flinches slightly, but lets her touch him, even leans in to her hand a little. Her adrenaline is still running, and she wants to drag her nails down his chest, sit on him, wrap her hands around his throat and kiss him and cry and—

"Rey?" he asks, and he sounds strange, almost frightened of her, but on his guard.

"I'm—" Rey closes her eyes and exhales. "I'm not angry," she assures him. "I'm…" She can't quite figure out how to word it properly, how to get it across, so she pulls back her mental barrier and lets him see: she would have rather had aggression to start with; she was ready to fight him, physically if need be; her blood is still up; she still wants to, but she doesn't want to actually hurt him, she wants—she wants—

"Oh," he says, sounding half-strangled. "You—"

"Don't," she warns, crimson. "I know you don't want me like that. You can barely talk about it without dying of shame. I just—I just wanted you to know—"

"I didn't say I didn't want you," says Kylo before he can stop himself. "I said I didn't bring you here for that. It wasn't…my intent." He pauses, and swallows. "Intentions, however… can change."

She pulls back, looking stunned. "Then…you do—"

"Yes," he whispers, half-terrified of the images he saw in her mind, because that can't be what people do to each other on a daily basis but by the Force he'll do his best if that's what she wants— "I do."

Rey freezes, staring at him, and then her mouth is on his before he can move, her tongue and teeth and lips all moving across his mouth like she's trying to eat him alive, little gasps punctuating it all. Kylo brings his hands up to clutch her naked back, under the robe, and tries not to come in his pants.

"Stay—stay—" Rey is yanking at his hair, frantic, almost hurting him as she closes the remaining distance and grinds her hips into his. Kylo lets out a cry and yanks the robe off her, and she rips off his tunic, then fumbles with his belt before they both topple off the couch and onto the floor.


Kylo Ren can't believe this is happening.

She's like a wild Loth-cat, bucking on top of him, making noises he didn't know she was capable of making. Rey yanks his pants off and he kicks them to the side, barely getting time to breathe before she's back on him, straddling his hips.

Both of his hands go to her breasts, and she claps her smaller hands over them and makes him squeeze harder. He obliges, and whacks his head on the underside of the caf table as he sits up to kiss her again. "Ow!"

"Stay down," she orders, and his hands are shaking as she leans down and before he can say a thing her mouth is on his neck, and she's sucking, and it hurts but it also feels good (in comparison to the welt on his head, at least) and he grips the back of her neck helplessly as she leaves another mark, then another, and another, all in a row down his neck and his collarbone and his chest, just along the scar.

"Rey," he pants. Her mind isn't thinking: she's just a roiling ball of... some kind of madness, some energy he can't place and she needs something but he can't decipher quite what it is—

Her hands close on his throat, and her hips grind against the tented fabric of his basics, and he's hit with a shocking combination of panic and deep pleasure and before he knows what he's doing he's barking "Stop!" and flinging her off him and up, onto the sofa, the Force assisting.

Rey lands on all fours, and she knows immediately she crossed a line, and the look on her face is heartbreaking. "Ben," she says automatically. "I'm—"

"Stop," he says again, trembling, and sits up, chest heaving. He's simultaneously very, very aroused and very lost. "You tell me—what the hell that was about."

She's embarrassed. He can read that well enough, even without the Force. She sits back and curls into a sort of ball. "I," she says quickly, and won't look at him. "I like—I like it to be a little rough, sometimes."

He rubs his throat and coughs. "A little?" 

Rey peeks at him out of the crook of her arms. "A lot. I'm sorry. I should have been more clear. If you don't want—if you—" She can't bring herself to finish the sentence, and he can sense her despair: I did this too fast and now he's petrified to death of me.

Kylo takes a soft breath and considers, for a moment, the odds she might actually hurt him (middling to fair) and weighs them briefly against the idea of touching her again. The latter wins out easily. "Apology accepted. Come here." He opens his arms, and she gapes for a moment, then slides off the sofa and curls into his chest, and he almost dissolves, right there on the floor. "I'm taking you to bed," he murmurs, and she shivers in his arms. 

He lays her out on the bed, over the soft black duvet that makes her hair look light in contrast. "Let me do this," he tells her softly as he shucks off his basics, leaving them both naked. "And when I'm done you can have your way with me. To a degree. Deal?"

She shivers slightly. "Deal," she tells him, lips curling into a smile.

Kylo lifts her thigh and presses soft, gentle kisses into her tender skin, all the way up to the crux of her until she's spluttering and making little noises. He kisses the little places between her legs, the small area bracketing her opening, and Rey moans, one hand in his hair. "Please," she whispers.

His tongue flicks out and licks her experimentally, then delves in closer, tasting her: salt and musk and something else, something deeper and earthy. Rey groans and he can see one of her hands clutching the bed, the tendons standing out. "The top," she manages. "Do that at the top."

Kylo obeys, and presses his mouth to the top, where he can feel a little fleshy nub beneath her delicate skin, and gently works it back and forth with the tip of his tongue. Above him, she goes tense. "Don't stop," she whispers. "Don't stop."

He can't answer verbally, so he squeezes her thigh and does as he's told, and it's not long before she's groaning, shuddering and coming, slickness coating his mouth and chin.

Kylo raises himself up, and looks down at her, splayed out and boneless, panting and flushed. "I'm not done yet," he tells her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and she nods, looking up at him from under her eyelids, before he shifts his body over hers and softly, gently, begins to touch her.

He kisses her hands, sucks on her fingers, traces the lines of her arm with his hands. Her breasts get special attention, his tongue and lips and teeth working across them until she squeaks and wriggles. Her collarbone, her throat, her cheeks. He does what he's wanted to do since he brought her on board, and runs his fingers through her hair, clean and soft despite the rough cut of it, and softly breathes in the scent of her, untouched by his soap, untouched by him—only her, only Rey.

Kylo kisses her on both freckled cheeks, then her nose, tender and careful, and brushes his mouth across hers before going back down to her chest and past it, running his hands across her flat, hard stomach, her flanks, her legs. His fingers find the sharp edges of her pelvis under the skin of her hips, and he marvels at her fragility, the size of her, so small and slender and strong.

Both his hands cup her backside and squeeze, then shift down to her thighs. Rey's eyes are closed and she's flushed, mouth open, clearly enjoying this. Kylo's hands find the curve of her calves, and he lifts her legs so they're bent up, and kneels between them, bent over; both hands making their way under her back, cradling her close before he lines himself up.

Yes, he knows what he wants. This is simple, the oldest communion in the galaxy. Rey's in his arms, safe and close, and she's wet and open and hot under his skin, and that's all that matters.

Kylo eases himself home, fighting the urge to slam into her and giving himself time to breathe.

Rey lets out a terrific gasp and clings to his shoulders as he bottoms out, unable to push further. "Ben," she chokes, and that, that is the name, the name only she can call him—the man he left behind, the man she hopes he still is—

Kylo begins to thrust, slowly and steadily, as gentle as he can force himself to be. "Easy," he gasps, as Rey's nails dig into his skin. "Shh." She's wet and hot around him, and he's not a small man, and the sensation of her, so tight and slick—it's all he can do to pace himself.

"Please," she moans, and he reaches up, pushes the hair out of her face as her eyes find him. "Ben."

"Am I—" He's barely holding on. "Hurting you?"

"No," Rey pants, shaking her head. "No—don't stop—"

So he doesn't. He keeps the rhythm, which thank the Force is just a little too slow and steady for him to come, and within seconds she's pitching over her second climax, clenching down around him and crying out into the curve of his shoulder as her whole body tightens.

Kylo pulls out quickly as soon as she goes slack, desperately trying to hold off his own orgasm. His cock is an ugly thing, thick and swollen and flushed red with blood, the veins standing out. He doesn't look at it like this much if he can help it. "All right," he says. "Your turn."

Rey's eyes light up, and he finds himself on his back again, and she's holding him down by the wrists, her mouth on his nipples, and he groans, his cock throbbing where it's trapped between their bodies. "I want to ruin you," she whispers, and he really should not find that as arousing as he does, but he shudders, and Rey's little hands have let go of his wrists and she's leaning back, letting his cock spring free, and her hands are on his—

Kylo jerks almost a foot off the bed with a hoarse shout, but in the next instant realizes she's only running her fingers around the exposed, glistening head, the tender tissues there delicate and oversensitive. "Rey," he manages to spit out. He doesn't want her touching it like that, he doesn't want her pretty little hands on his ugly—

"No, it's beautiful," she says, and his eyes find hers. Rey slips both her hands down around his cock tightly, tip to base, still slick from her body, and his eyes almost roll back in his head from how good it feels. "Ben. Say it."

I can't, he thinks, ashamed, and grips the duvet as she repeats the action, a groan escaping his lips.

"You are not ugly," she informs him, and tears come to his eyes at this unexpected softness as she brushes her hand across his bare stomach, fingers combing through the dark, coarse curls at the base of his cock. "Say it and I'll let you in me again." She tweaks his nipple and makes him yelp.

Kylo draws a breath and grips her thighs. "I'm not ugly," he repeats, and she twists gently with her hand, doing something that makes him whimper, tears falling. "I'm—beautiful. Rey. Rey—"

"Good boy," she says softly, and warmth spreads through him (when was the last time someone told him he was good?) before she rocks her hips forward and back again and her body swallows him in, and he's making noises he didn't know he could make, choking, almost drooling from how good she is, she feels, tight and warm and close and—

Rey holds his wrists by his head as she moves, nearly flat against him. "Do you trust me?" she pants, and he can read that want again, but he knows this time she won't hurt him, she'll be careful.

"Yes," he gasps, and she releases his wrists, and her hands close on his throat, not cutting off his air, but making him go a bit dizzy, and she's using his throat as an anchor to fuck herself on him, violent noises pouring out of her throat.

He can sense she wants more, wants to feel like she's using him, like she's in control here—and maybe she is: if he's being entirely honest with himself at this point he'd gladly let her hold a blade to his throat and press the edge in; he'd let her tear out his heart if she wanted, anything, anything at all just as long as she kept moving on his cock. "Use the Force," he gasps, his hands scrabbling for purchase on her waist. "Choke me."

Her eyes find his, startled, and her mind darts into his: Are you sure?

"Yes," he confirms, and she gathers the Force, and he cannot inhale or exhale, his breath is gone, his vision is slowly going black and he can feel her hands leave his throat and she slaps him, and the unexpected pain pushes him over the edge and he's coming harder than he's ever come in his life, convulsing, silent for lack of air, hips pushing up into her—and she's groaning out her own climax, hot and wet on his skin, and the Force lifts and air fills his lungs again with a strangled gasp as Rey finishes and collapses beside him, panting.

It's not until a minute later when she reaches up to touch his face that he realizes he's crying. "It's all right," Rey croons softly, and strokes his hair. "Shh. You're okay. I'm sorry. You're okay."

She keeps stroking Kylo's hair, getting up on her knees to look him over, to make sure she didn't hurt him. There on his throat and chest are the love-bites scattered over his pale skin, one as high up as his jawline; there are the tiny crescents dug into his shoulders like so many moons (and she is sure there are marks on his back). His hair spreads out around his head in an inky halo on the bed, and his cock is softening, sticky with both their body fluids. He doesn't look injured, just wrung out and well-used; all his edges gone soft, all his muscles relaxed.

But he is crying, and that can't be good. He is silent, mostly; tears leaking out from behind his closed eyes as his swollen lips move without speaking. She'd left a reddened handprint on his left cheek from where she'd slapped him (and what in the galaxy had possessed her to do that?) so Rey presses the back of her hand, cool and soft, to his cheek. "Kylo," she says. "Can you open your eyes?"

His eyes open, the lashes tangled with tears. "You said you wanted to ruin me," he murmurs, and his face is wet, his voice low and liquid and soft.

"Did I?" she asks, and lets her fingers cup his cheek.

"Yes," he whispers. "From the first time I saw you. Yes. I—will you—" Kylo presses his lips together and closes his eyes again, but she can read what he needs through the Force, his mind open and easily touched. He wants her to hold him.

She doesn't speak, just lies down on her back and pulls him to roll into her arms so that he's lying on his chest, his head under her chin, both his arms tucked in over her chest, and her arms close tight around him. His body, normally bulky and strong and all coiled tension ready to spring, has gone as loose and pliable as wet string, and he practically melts into her.

Rey strokes the curve of his shoulders, gently rubs at the marks she gave him, combs through his hair. His breathing begins to slow, hot and damp on her neck. The chill of the room raises the hair on her arms, but she doesn't pay attention to it—just to Kylo. Rey puts her chin on his head and feels her head move with him as he breathes in deeply and evenly, a great heaving sigh.

"What am I going to do with you?" he whispers against her chest.

"Whatever you like, I suppose," she says into his hair, closing her eyes. She's drowsy now, her initial worry for him worn off and exhaustion from the long day she's had taking over. "You're the Supreme Leader. You tell me."

"Hm. I'll think of something, then," he tells her, voice a low rumble against her ribcage. "Later."

"Mmm," she mumbles, and drifts off to sleep, Kylo Ren ensconced firmly in her arms, where nobody but her can touch him.