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Rey slams a foot into his chest; her thigh screams at the motion, but there’s a savage satisfaction at the way the air shoves itself back up his throat. He staggers back against the wall, head cracking into duracrete. They’re in a training room on Yavin IV, the air thick enough to chew. Somewhere in the distance, birds laugh at each other.
“Come on,” she gasps, resisting the urge to rub at the echo of pain in her ribs. “We’re not done yet.”
She only realises what she’s said when he lifts his head and bares his teeth at her. Not a snarl, but a grin. He’s shirtless and sweat-slicked, hair a wild tangle of curls about his face, and his frame filled with the sort of tension that speaks of control.
Barely maintained control. His feelings roar, a riot of frustration and desire that bleeds over into her, only to hiss out against an ocean of calm. Rey is - always - sure of where she stands with Kylo Ren. Even when she works him on the knife’s edge of his passions.
She waits. Her chest heaves with the force of her breathing, and she's long since stripped her outer robes. A frisson of anticipation works through her because these moments all have a tendency to turn out the same way, and she sees the light in his gaze as it shivers through him.
His muscles twitch, a ripple of motion that she can’t help follow as it moves through his chest to his arms. He wants to lunge for her, she can feel it in the tension of her own body, see it in the way he holds himself. A second passes.
Two.
Three.
He breathes. His heart beats a million miles an hour. Hers plays a slower tune, coinciding with his at odd moments. He breathes, and doesn’t come for her. The grin is gone, the wild, frenetic energy with it. They stare at each other, mere feet apart, and something thicker, sweeter, curls in the pit of her stomach instead.
They’ve always come together in a frenzy before. Rey hadn’t realised how attractive control would look on him until this precise moment. She steps into him, and if her gaze is focused on his chest rather than his face, she doesn’t think anyone could blame her. Her palm presses to the muscle over his heart, feeling it thrum under her fingers, feeling everything in him strain towards her and--
Not relax, not exactly. He exhales, a slow and shuddering breath. His whole body trembles like it’s all he can do to stay where he is, but he does exactly that. Her mind reaches for him the same as her hand, brushes against his consciousness to find it quiet. Not - empty, and she doesn’t think he’ll ever attain that state of Jedi peacefulness that comes with just being, but soft. His thoughts murmur words of want to her, of a tangle of emotion and need that he is still working through after all these years clawing his way back to the Light.
Rey cups his jaw with her free hand, drags her thumb over his mouth to his cheek, and kisses him. There’s nothing soft about this, because it’s not just for him. They are explosive when they come together, and this is no different as her mouth closes over his, tongue tracing his lower lip, teeth tugging at it. He exhales sharply through his nose, and then his hands are on her, one splayed at the small of her back as the other drags through the sweat-slicked stands of her hair.
He doesn’t pull at it, not until she press flush against him and bites. His groan reverberates through her body and she makes a quiet sound in the back of her throat as his fist clenches in her hair. He pulls her head back, exposing the column of her throat. Once upon a time she would have headbutted him for daring, would have feared the threat of him more than craved the sensation of his mouth following that sound down to the juncture of neck and shoulder.
She’s not sure she fears anything about him now. He licks over her jugular and maybe her pulse is starting to speed up a bit now, matching the judder of his under her fingers.
What do you want? Rey pushes the thought into his mind as she pushes her body against his, wishing for a little more skin on skin contact. In response, his hands slide down over the curve of her ass to reach the hem of her tunic. She’s lost more than one outfit in this way, but he doesn’t tear this time, tugging at the material until it can’t go up any higher, caught under her breasts.
The scrape of his teeth on her clavicle is delicious, but Rey knows how much better this gets. She pulls away from him, smacking at hands that try to keep her there.
“Pants.” There’s a rasp to her voice that only comes out around him, only when they’re doing this. He hates being ordered around, but her tone makes him obey anyway, fumbling with his belt as she strips to her underwear in quick, efficient movements.
What do you want? She pushes again and a part of her wonders just what she’s trying to reach. Hasn’t control been the goal all along? Isn’t this what they’ve been working towards, a Kylo Ren with all of the power and none of the urge to ruin the world with it?
Or. Less of the urge, at least. Why can’t I let it be enough, Rey wonders, and that’s when he strikes.
It’s her back against the duracrete this time, although his hand cradles her head before it can slam back. Her breast band is just gone, stars know where, and the whimper that spills from her as his mouth closes over her nipple is obscene. Pleasure lances through her, a burning streak that settles in her belly and pulses lower. She wants to touch him, but his teeth are tugging at her nipple, too-large hand palming her tits and it feels so fucking good, she settles for gripping his wrists instead. Not guiding him, but following his movements. For now.
Control. The word flashes through their tangled minds, and she barely has the awareness to trace it back to him. The image sitting there startles a low cry from her; Kylo Ren on his knees, and is it his head bowed for her, or his tongue getting to work? The image blurs, and she feels him smirk into her skin, taking his own pleasure in her confusion and reaction both. He’s hard and hot against her thigh, but the rest of him has her too distracted to take advantage of that piece of information at the moment. Is it me you want it for? Or is it me you want it over?
He seems determined to give her both.
Even now, you’d be happy if I fell. Her short nails dig into his wrist, dragging his hand from her breast to her underwear. His head lifts, and the whole universe holds its breath as their eyes lock. TIny pricks of electricity dance along her pelvis, pushing her breath higher and higher. All this time and all this work, and you’d still turn back if I was there holding a hand out to you.
The heavy weight of Yavin VI’s air sinks into her chest. A trickle of sweat rolls down her back, and restless fingers touch under hers. She can feel every callous burning into her skin, made worse by his desire to touch her. Have her. But he doesn’t move them any lower, waiting for her to finish or give some other indication of what she wants from him. Control, indeed.
Do you want me to disagree? He’s bent awkwardly over her, half-stooped. There’s moments when his physical presence,the sheer size of him, can be overwhelming. And then there are times like this, when they’re caught up in each others heads and his body seems almost too much for him to manage, all limbs and awkward angles. Do you want me to tell you that I could watch you lost to passion and anger, that I could see you become the most powerful thing this universe has ever seen, and not take whatever you deigned to give me? Hand, mouth, foot--
Rey exhales sharply, moving his hand from sheer, physical need. Impossibly long fingers slide past her underwear, and she has to let go of his hand to grip at his shoulders as he circles her clit and her knees buckle from the shock of it. She’s wet, she’s fucking drenched, and he presses a shark’s grin to her cheekbone.
“Good?” he murmurs, lips grazing her ear, and it’s the sound of his voice as well as the friction of his fingers at her core that has her moaning. She’s heard him scream in rage, gasp in pleasure, had him prostrate before her and begging, but there’s something about the cool confidence there now that slips down her spine.
“Yes, you bastard,” she gasps, scoring thick red lines down his back. The pain lances through both of him, and she feels his cock twitch against her thigh. There’s no telling if it’s sensation or reaction that makes her grind down against his hand, and right now she really doesn’t care.
One finger circles her entrance, and the absurd need to have her mouth on something overwhelms her. She spreads her legs wider, licking a jagged path over the planes of his chest, dragging her nails down lower until she’s gripping his ass. Fuck me, she thinks at him, not bothering to hide the jagged edge of desperation in her mind. Fuck--
For all their talk of control, Kylo Ren has never had the patience for teasing. Her underwear goes the same way as her breast band - stars know where - and two fingers sink inside her. He's not gentle about it and she doesn't want him to be. She wants the stretch and the burn, the feeling of being filled (the feeling of having him inside her in all ways). Two fingers isn't quite enough, even when he crooks them over that damn spot that has her squirming on his hand, but she'll take it for now.
His palm is flush to her clit because he wants to drive her insane. It only brushes irregularly over her heated flesh, setting her whole body trembling in anticipation of more, more, more. She can't reach his shoulder from this angle so she bites his pectoral instead, feels him curse and jerk against her.
Her whole body is drawn tight, electrified. She's hyperaware of every single place they touch, the drag of skin on skin, the rolling waves of pleasure that crash through her system and lap at the edges of his. He's trembling, some distant part of her realises, with the effort of holding back, and some cruel part of her thinks you could leave him like this and he would let you.
A soft grunt sounds above her, a puff of air stirring her hair. The rhythm of his fingers stutters inside her, and a laugh tears itself from her chest. He definitely picked up that thought. She grips his ass harder for a second before curling one hand over his hip, working it between them to palm his cock.
Masochist, she accuses, as her thumb smears pre-come over the head and she tilts her face up to grin at him. Rey, it turns out, is plenty good at teasing.
His mouth is parted, panting hard, hair falling in disarray around his face. In gentle contrast to her thoughts, she reaches up with her other hand to brush it back, to cup his face. His eyes are wide open, drinking in the sight of her, but they flutter for a second as she caresses his cheek. Kylo might love the hard edges of them scraping up against each other, but he craves this softness, the sentiment in her touch.
Even after all these years, Rey still isn't sure what that sentiment is. She might have a suspicion, but it's lost to the curl of his fingers in her cunt, the hard thrust of him fucking her over and over and over.
The grin falls off her face. She kisses him instead, that electricity crackling between them, a needy whimper spilling from her mouth to his and passing back to her again.
I'm whatever you want me to be. In contrast to the shaking, desperate pieces of the rest of them, his thought is rock solid. You know that. You know that.
Rey breaks the kiss with a gasp, head rolling back against the duracrete. Her hand on his cock has forgotten what its supposed to be doing, but she's about to correct that. Words are lost to her, so gives him a cascade of images instead - her legs around his waist, his hands braced against the wall, the head of his cock pushing inside her, inch by inch until she can't take it any more.
It's not nearly that slow. She hooks one long leg over his hip, looping her arms around his neck. His thumb circles over her clit in one final, sparking motion before his fingers are gone and he's slamming into her with something much thicker.
They don't last long together. The shockwave of pleasure that ricochets through them from that first thrust is nearly enough to send them both over the edge. She's not sure what tattered remnants of willpower allow them both to cling to this moment a while longer, but she grasps at them with eager hands even as she works her hips down against him. The rhythm is off-beat, staccato, and she doesn't care, doesn't care about anything except the feeling of him inside her, of his need for her, of him, of him, of him.
A low cry breaks through the haze of sex and sensuality that has clouded out the world. His hips jerk, spilling himself inside of her, and she wraps both legs around his waist to keep him there, holding him through it. She feels his mind white out, the searing pleasure pushing through her core to her limbs, to the back of her throat until she thinks she might scream from the pure need engulfing her--
And then those fingers are on her clit again, trembling and spasmodic, but enough. It's enough. Her whole body clenches down around him and he'll have scratches on his neck later, but she can't focus on that now. Can't focus on anything except the overwhelming sweetness coursing through her, building higher and higher and higher until finally she crashes down on the other side, shaking and limp and spent.
He moves to pull away from her. Instinctively, her legs tighten, and all they do is look at each other for a moment, chests heaving.
Rey kisses him. She tangles her fingers in his hair and kisses him, because she doesn't know what else to do. Doesn't know how to untangle this thing they've become, doesn't know if she wants to.
Is it really the Light, if you're only here for me?
Kylo kisses her back, because he could spend the rest of eternity kissing her back.
I don't think you care.
He's not wrong.