It has been three months since the battle of Crait. Three long months since she closed off the bond to him completely. Three months of longing to know what she is thinking or feeling only to be denied when he brushes up against her side of the connection.
So Kylo has had to make do with envisioning what he’d do if she were to open it up to him again.
He is past the point of anger at her role in the Resistance’s escape aboard the Falcon. What he is left with, however, is a need...a need to teach her a lesson, perhaps. A need to show her that they are bound, whether she likes it or not. The need to prove to her again that he can help her feel less alone...that under his tutelage and through his guiding hand, she’ll blossom and grow into who she is meant to be.
Sometimes, late at night, that last thought in particular takes on a baser meaning, one that is so heady it leaves him breathless, stars in his vision, with thick ropes of his cum splattered across his chest. He isn’t proud of the direction his mind goes in these moments. Yet he hasn’t made any effort to stop them from happening. Again, again, and again. Like tonight.
In the safety of his quarters, he shuts off his awareness of his surroundings and retreats inside his head. In his mind’s eye, he conjures up a vision of her: on her bare back beneath a starry sky, her hair fanned out around a blushing face, her chin lowered to her chest so she can watch him bury three of his fingers deep inside her wet heat. You don’t have to be alone anymore, he tells her, crooking his fingers to brush against that most sensitive spot within her body. I’ve got you, now. Let go of everything else and I’ll keep you safe.
She clenches so sweetly around his fingers and whispers his name. Not the name he’s made for himself. The dead name, the one he has tried so hard to forget. The name that no one dares call him except for her. Ben.
“Let go, Rey. Give into it. Give into me.”
“Ben,” she gasps again. Her voice sounds so clear, so close, that it feels as though she is right here with him and not some figment of his imagination. He reluctantly brings himself back to reality just long enough so that he can fetch the tube of lubricant from his bedside table.
But what he sees when he opens his eyes freezes his body in place.
She’s opened the bond.
Before he can think to cover himself, before he can even fully process the sight of her wide-eyed and horrified expression - she’s gone again. Her walls of the bond are once again fully reinforced to shut him out.
The next morning, just as he’s finishing up in the ‘fresher, she’s back again. But the speechless doe-eyed Rey from the night before is gone. In her place is an enraged Loth-cat, brimming with fury as though only a few minutes have passed since she found him fisting his cock with her name on his lips.
“You sick bastard!” she yells, her voice ringing in his ears with enough force to make his steps falter. He grips his towel tighter around his waist. She got an eyeful last night and he’s not in any hurry to expose himself again so soon - she’s shot her blaster at him through the bond once before, and he wouldn’t put it past her to do it now if given the right motivation.
“It’s good to see you, too,” he murmurs, his heart racing as he takes in the sight of her. She’s wearing the same tunic and leggings as she wore onboard the Supremacy, but her hair has since grown longer. She has it braided to the side, leaving her lovely neck exposed to his view.
He knows that she can sense where his attention is focused; splotches of color bloom to the surface of her delicate skin. She swats at her neck as though her blush is an irksome insect that she can just bat away.
“Explain yourself,” she seethes.
“What is there to explain?”
She doesn’t want to say it. She doesn’t even want to think it. But her thoughts are so loud, they transmit across the bond anyway. Disgusting. Lewd. Pervert. Indecent.
“What is there to explain, Rey?” he tries again.
She squirms where she stands, her tiny hands balled into fists at her side. “You were...doing things. Last night.”
“You said my name.”
“I’m aware.” He’s more than aware. He’s committed her exact expression to memory, the ‘O’ shape her mouth made as she realized what he was doing, and the mind numbing orgasm he experienced only seconds after she’d hastily closed the bond. He makes sure to keep that last particular detail from bleeding into their shared connection.
“Why did you do it? Why did you...bring me into it?”
He shrugs. “You didn’t give me much choice, shutting me out for months on end. It gets rather lonely when you’re left with only your own thoughts again, doesn’t it?”
Wherever she is, she’s angrily pacing to and fro as she shoots him glare after glare from across the bond. “Don’t you dare blame me for this! Don’t you dare! I’m not the cause of your depravity. You’ve done this to yourself! You are a sick, twisted man and I wish this stupid connection had never—”
She stops herself short. Instinctively, he knows why. She doesn’t mean it. For all her self-righteous indignation, deep down she knows that she doesn’t regret this thing that they share. Try as she might to stamp it down, it’s part of who she is - it’s now as natural to her as sleeping, breathing, or as the force itself flowing through her.
“I’m sorry,” he surprises himself by saying, and he finds he actually means it. She was frightened by what she saw through the bond last night, and with good reason - she’s innocent in every sense of the word. He’s looked far enough into her mind to know that she’s never seen a fully naked male body before his own.
“Sorry for what?” She lowers her eyes to the ground and kicks at something. He hears a metal thud in response. She’s not on land, then. In the Falcon, perhaps?
“I didn’t mean for that to happen. For any of it to happen. For you to see...anything. This connection we share - it’s special. It means something to me. I know it does to you, too.”
She digests this in silence, her eyes still downcast and not meeting his. Finally, she asks, “Are you sorry for anything else?”
“You won’t get an atonement of all my various sins out of me.”
She nods to herself. “Not now, at least.”
She’s still holding onto what she saw when their hands touched the first time. Her vision of him turning to her side. It fills him with anger again, just as it had in Snoke’s throne room when she’d begged him to leave with her.
“Not now and not ever, Rey!” he lashes out. In no time at all, the wounds from that day that he’d thought were healed have been reopened by her unknowing hand, leaving him raw and exposed.
And now to make matters worse, his fighting words have ruined what little progress he’s made with his apology. She’s back to her old self again, gnashing her teeth in poorly contained fury. “You’re wrong!”
“You’ll succumb to me! I’ve seen it!”
“The only succumbing that’ll happen is in those perverted fantasies of yours!”
“If you hadn't barged in and caught me unaware after months of silence on your end, then you wouldn’t have even known I have fantasies!”
“How was I supposed to know when I reopened the bond that the great and powerful Kylo Ren would be...be touching himself?!” Her face is bright red, but whether from embarrassment or anger or some combination of the two he can’t be sure.
“Maybe you should try it yourself sometime, scavenger. It does wonders for built up tension. Think of me in this towel and you’ll be halfway there.”
She slams up her walls before he can taunt her any further, leaving his side of the bond wretchedly quiet again.
Enough time passes with no further contact that he decides to ease back into his nightly routine from before, no longer concerned that she’ll show up during the middle of it again. He’s a man with normal urges and it’s a healthy form of release, no matter what his forcebonded mate says to the contrary.
Then, one night as he’s well on his way to another world shattering climax, the unthinkable happens.
Her side of the bond lowers its defenses.
And what he sees there shocks him to his core.
She’s laying down on a flat surface. Her surroundings are unclear, so he cannot make out whether she’s in bed or somewhere else entirely. Those details don’t matter. What does matter is that her legs are spread wide apart, indecently so, and that one of her hands is shoved under the waistband of her leggings. It’s all too clear what’s she’s doing by the way her wrist moves rhythmically back and forth beneath the fabric.
Her thoughts do not indicate she senses him. Instead, they’re focused on her task. She’s never done this before and she’s trying to figure out what feels good. Feels right. But nothing she has done so far has eased the insistency inside of her. Instead, she’s only made it worse. Her core throbs in time to each second and she aches so bad she could sob.
That last projected thought is all the push he needs to make himself known to her. He pulls his bedsheets up far enough to cover his erection and then reaches out.
“I see you’ve decided to take my previous advice.”
Rey shrieks and clamps her thighs around her hand, shielding it from his view. Ah. So she hadn’t known the bond was open, after all. “Go away, you snake!”
“If you insist. Though I feel it’s my duty to tell you that you should be aiming a bit higher than you are. You’re stroking a weaker erogenous zone so while it no doubt feels pleasurable, the stimulation isn’t enough to bring you the release you seek.”
She’s quiet for a long while, breathing heavy as she stares up at the ceiling of wherever she is at. She hasn’t forcibly pushed him out, though, so that’s something. Finally, she sarcastically bites out, “What zone should I be touching, then?”
He sends a mental image across the bond and she audibly gasps.
“You did ask.”
He can see that she bites at her lip, her brow furrowed in thought. “Do I have that on me?”
He blinks in surprise. She’s never looked at herself before? Even when she bathes? He must be loudly projecting that particular question because she scoffs. “Not a lot of mirrors on Jakku and the one in the ‘fresher here is filthy and broken. No wonder Han always looked scruffy. Didn’t have a proper mirror to shave.”
She’s definitely on the Falcon, then. No doubt in one of the tiny bunks in the crew quarters. Under normal circumstances he’d find himself enraged at even a small mention of Han Solo or that piece of ancient junk that still manages to fly, but tonight he doesn’t even care. Not when she’s stretched out before him just like he’d imagined, her pink lips slightly parted and her cheeks rosy with arousal. So he disregards who she’s mentioned and answers her previous question as gently as he can.
“All humanoid female species have something similar. It’s a bundle of hypersensitive nerves. Most are able to achieve an orgasm when it’s properly stimulated.” He sends that previous mental image across the bond again, helping her figure out where to touch.
She doesn’t bristle when she receives the image this time. Instead, she slowly parts her thighs again and her hand resumes its movement beneath her clothing. After a moment, she quietly huffs out a little “Oh!”, and it’s nearly his undoing.
“I should go,” he says. His cock is rock hard just from watching her and he doesn't foresee himself lasting very long if she keeps this up.
“What are you going to do?” she asks him breathlessly.
“Touch myself,” he tells her honestly, uncaring if this admission shocks or disgusts her.
It doesn’t do either of those things. Instead, she looks uncertain. Nervous, maybe. “Will you think of me?”
His heart beats wildly at that question. How could he not? She’s all he’ll ever think about, from now until his last breath. “Always.”
That was the right thing for him to say; she visibly relaxes some more, tension leaving her shoulders. “Then don’t leave. Stay...just this once.”
“Rey,” he warns. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
“I want you to stay. I want you to—” She breaks off, but not before he’s able to glimpse inside her head. She’s thinking of him, now. How he’d pleasured himself that night when she reopened the bond, how her name had sounded past his lips. She wants him to touch himself again. But there’s something else, too. He pushes a little further and he plucks the thought right out.
“You want me to touch you?”
It’s possible to physically feel through the bond. Her firing that blaster at him had been the first realization. When he’d felt the Ahch-To rain on his face, he understood he could experience her surroundings like he was there beside her. Then they had reached out and touched hands and her fingers had felt so warm against his. Though they’d been systems apart at the time, the skin-to-skin contact had felt as real as if she’d been there in the flesh. If he were to touch her now, where she’s touching herself, he knows it would feel just as real. Just as intimate.
“Rey?” he asks again, when she doesn’t immediately answer.
“...Just this once,” she repeats, her voice barely above a whisper, as though saying it any louder will assure that this will most definitely happen again.
“Just once,” he agrees, not entirely sure if he believes it either.
Her hand stills and she takes a steadying breath. She’s waiting for him, he realizes. Waiting for him to do something, or say something.
“You'll have an easier time of it if you take off your leggings.” It’s a practical suggestion, but also a selfish one. He’s certainly dreamed of what she looks like naked, but he knows nothing can compare to the real Rey.
She hesitates. “If you get to see me, I get to see you.”
“Fair enough.” He pulls his bedcovers past his thighs again, baring himself to her. He knows she’s staring at him; he can feel the weight of her gaze on his body and his cock twitches in interest. He reaches to grasp it firmly in his right hand. Carefully, drawing out the movements so she can see everything, he drags his thumb across the tip of his member to spread the precum collected there. He bites back a moan and turns his head to look at her again. She’s completely still, her dark eyes glassy as she observes him across the bond.
“Rey. Let me see you, now. Please.”
In her innocence she’s oblivious to the concept of teasing or seduction, so she doesn’t make a show of slowly peeling off her leggings. Instead, she roughly yanks them from her hips and kicks them the rest of the way off her legs until she’s fully nude from the waist down. Then she clamps her thighs shut again, sealing off her sex from his view.
“Rey,” he coaxes her gently.
“What?” she huffs out.
“We just made a deal. We both see each other or not at all.”
She makes a fuss of tucking her blushing face into her shoulder, then slowly spreads her legs apart.
Her sex is perfect. Her outer lips are flushed a pale pink from her unpracticed ministrations from before. Her pubic hair is sparse, no doubt an effect of growing up in a hot climate, but it’s still there for him to see. He wants to rub his face against it, to feel its texture against his cheeks. He tells her this and if it’s possible for her face to turn even redder, it does.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why? It’s true.”
“Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you should say it!”
Far from her prudishness dissuading him, it has the opposite effect. She’s endearing herself to him more and more by the second, and she isn’t even aware of her influence.
“Touch yourself for me. Let me see. You watched me, now let me watch you.”
Her hand, tremulous and impossibly small compared to his, searches between her legs until she finds her clitoris as she did before. She gently rubs her pointer finger back and forth against it, sighing sweetly across the bond.
“Tell me how it feels. Show me.”
She projects her feelings to him and he doubles over from the strength of it, squeezing his cock so he doesn’t instantly come. Force, he needs her. Needs to touch her now. He can’t wait any longer. He lets go of himself and reaches out with both arms until he can sense her more clearly, until he can feel the warmth of her body against his hands. He can see and feel her now, and he’s never been more spellbound.
Slowly, he introduces her body to his touch, running his hands up along her spread legs, then down again towards the apex of her thighs. His fingers just barely brush against the slick of her sex and she’s already bucking her hips up like the desperate needy thing that she is. “Ben,” she practically sobs. “It's like you're right here with me.”
“I know. Tell me what you want, sweetheart. I’ll give it all to you.”
“I want you, Ben.”
It’s all he’s ever wanted to hear from her. He knows she only means it in a strictly physical sense right now, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to tuck those words away to be examined later in private, once she inevitably closes the bond on him again.
“You have me, Rey. I’m yours.”
He brushes her hand away from her body, replacing her finger with his own to resume the pace she’s set. She’s sensitive and so very wet. He dips his finger just barely into her entrance to feel the liquid heat collecting there and then returns to her taut little bundle of nerves, spreading the slippery evidence of her desire along the hood of her clitoris.
“Oh!” she cries out, tossing her head back and forth. “Oh, keep doing that!”
He kisses the feverishly hot skin of her thigh. “I’ll keep doing that and something else, too. But only if you watch me.”
That gets her attention. She locks her eyes with his, her pupils blown wide with lust.
“Watch,” he reminds her. He resumes his attention paid to her clit. Then he slowly slips the pointer finger of his opposite hand inside her, sheathing it to the first knuckle. It’s a tight fit already, even tighter when she clenches her walls around him. But she’s so eager and willing to take it all that she bears down against him, burying his digit further inside of her.
“Stars, Rey,” he says, “It’s like you were made for me.”
“Keep going,” she begs him. “Please.”
He runs his middle finger along her slit to lubricate it, then carefully inserts it into her heat as well. Rey sharply inhales at the added stretch of another finger inside of her. He rubs her clit in leisurely circles, silently willing her to relax her inner muscles. When she’s settled, he begins to move both of his fingers in and out of her body, watching her carefully for any sign of discomfort. But she’s giving every indication of pleasure; happy breathy sighs, biting her plump bottom lip, and continually meeting each thrust of his fingers with a jerk of her hips.
“You’re magnificent,” he marvels.
She smiles shyly at his praise, but her gaze never falters from his ministrations. Just as he’d asked.
When he feels she’s ready, he uses three fingers to pleasure her. With her like this, splayed out for only him with his fingers encased in her tight cunt, he’s once again reminded of how similar she looks to the fantasy image he’d used on the night she reopened the bond. She has the same blush to her cheeks, her hair surrounding her face like a dark halo...but fantasy pales in comparison to the real thing. Because a fantasy is just that - a fantasy. But right now, through the bond, he’s able to watch Rey experience her first taste of pleasure at his hands. And that, he thinks, makes the long nights spent without her worth it.
“I’m - I feel so…”
“Don’t fight it. Give into me,” he urges.
She writhes around as he continues to push her towards the breaking point. It is the bond’s influence on his perception, he knows, but he can hear the wet sounds his fingers make as they enter her body, and he swears he can smell her arousal in the air around him. His cock throbs painfully and he can feel the muscles in his abdomen tense. He’s going to come too, he realizes, just from this. From contact with her across the bond.
“Ben,” she chokes out, and then her body convulses with the sheer strength of her orgasm. She clamps down on his fingers and her eyes roll to the back of her head and suddenly, he too can feel everything she does. Unknowingly or not, she’s pulled him into her own ecstasy across the bond, and the sensation is so intense his vision whites out completely. He comes on a silent scream, and the only thing he can hear past the pounding in his ears is Rey chanting his name over and over again.
When he comes down from the high she’s still there. The bond hums at a low, pleasant frequency and all he wants to do is hold her close in his arms and never let her go. But the lust clouding her judgement is leaving, because he can sense her conflict already. He sits up ramrod straight, the afterglow of his climax forgotten.
She doesn’t answer immediately, but he instinctively knows what she’s going to say. Yet it still doesn’t make it hurt any less when she actually does.
“This was a mistake.”
He can’t breathe. He can’t properly think. He’s all at once aware of how physically alone he is. He may have just touched her through the bond, but he’s the only one in his quarters. She’s not here.
“I’m sorry, Ben—”
“Why’d you do it? Why’d you ask me to stay, only to say that this was all a mistake?” he interrupts.
“I thought - I knew I wanted you, but...I’m not ready.” She’s silent for a time, then adds something else, almost too quiet for him to hear. “This scares me. You scare me.”
This is worse than her rejection on Starkiller after his offering to teach her. Worse than her refusal to join him after defeating Snoke. Because tonight he’d been stripped physically and emotionally bare, all for her to consume, and she’d taken what he had to offer - only to now throw it back in his face.
“Leave me,” he tells her simply, his calm voice belying the rage swirling inside of him. “If this was a mistake, then leave.”
Her voice is quiet, gentle, tugging at that traitorous place in his heart that he knows he’ll never be able to keep hidden from her. So he finally gives in to the anger, lets it consume him so he can’t feel anything else anymore.
“Get out!” he roars.
He can hear her crying, trying to say something else to him, but he doesn’t pay any attention to that. He just keeps screaming at her, over and over, until the bond is silent again and he succumbs to darkness.
He returns to his senses after an indeterminable amount of time. But he knows it hasn’t been too long. His ejaculate hasn't yet dried on his body or bed sheets, and the fingers on his right hand are coated with a thin, clear substance. He brings his fingers to his mouth and tastes them. Salty, musky, unmistakably feminine. Her.
He’s lost her again, all because he’s incapable of controlling his wounded pride. But he’ll win her back. With the power he has now, he could raze planets to the ground or place the entire galaxy at her feet. But he knows that isn’t what she wants. Tonight she told him, through the bond, what it was she wanted. Or rather, who.
“Tell me what you want, sweetheart. I’ll give it all to you.”
“I want you, Ben.”
“You have me, Rey. I’m yours.”
At the time he’d misinterpreted it as a purely carnal expression of want, but now he understands what she’d meant. Ben Solo. She wants Ben Solo, not Kylo Ren. In order to truly keep her by his side forever he would have to denounce this way of life, leave the First Order, and join her in the Light. Or if not the Light, at least in the Grey.
He doesn’t know if he has it in him. He doesn’t know if he will be able to leave this life behind and live to tell about it. But he feels it again, the fleeting unfamiliar thing he experienced when Rey had called out his name amidst the embers and carnage of the throne room, before his anger had taken over. The feeling is weak and wavering, but it’s there. For her, and for only her, he will hold onto it:
A willingness to try.