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The first night, they simply refuse to do it.

They don’t make a fuss, but when the order comes through the cell’s comm system, short and terse, they only exchange a brief glance, lay back on the mattress as far from each other as possible, and pretend to fall asleep. Or maybe Ben sleeps for real—Rey has no way of knowing.

The following morning three guards come for the Supreme Leader, armed to the teeth with blasters sporting the Crimson Dawn insignia. It would seem like overkill, with Rey and Ben cut off from the Force as they are, but the day they first brought Ben to the cell she witnessed him kill five men with his bare hands. Rey really can’t blame them for being extra cautious.

They bring him back several hours later, stripped to his tank top and armguards, his limp and the deep gashes on his back leaving little doubt to what transpired while he was gone. For the millionth time in the past three days Rey tries to lash out at the jailers—crush their windpipes, steal their weapons, bend their mind to force them to leave the cell open. It’s like flexing the muscles of an amputated limb. When she gives up with an impatient gesture, Ben is sitting quietly behind her, applying a bacta patch to the back of his shoulder.

“What did they do to you? What did they say?” she asks, not bothering to whisper.

“Nothing.”

“Clearly not nothing,” she mutters, fists clenched at her sides. “Here, just—let me do it. You can’t reach there.”

She hasn’t touched him since Ahch-to, a little over a year ago. Since Snoke. They have been on opposite sides of this stupid war since then, and to be so close, so suddenly—Rey has to steady herself. Her fingers tremble as she smooths the patch over his skin, a counterpoint to the sharp intake of his breath.  

“Ben,” Rey starts, without knowing how to continue. I’m scared. I missed you. Who are these people, and what do they want from us? Why did you block the bond after Crait? And why can’t I use the Force? “Why did they order us to…?”

Ben’s eyes close for a beat. “I think you can figure it out yourself.”

“Is it because…” Rey swallows, her throat dry. “Because we’re both Force sensitive?”

He nods. “I think so.”

“And they want me to…” Rey presses her lips together and touches her flat belly, thinking of a child of Ben’s. It seems like a bad idea. It stretches her heart full of something, and then shatters it that much harder. “Is that why they tortured you? Because you wouldn’t do it?”

Ben doesn’t answer. He just moves her hand away from his shoulder and leans back on the bed, eyes closed as his huge body relaxes. “Get some rest,” he says, his voice low. “You look tired.”

Two hours later, when the orders come again, he doesn’t stir.

 

 

It goes on for days.

On the third, while she is tending to the torn skin of his left arm, Rey has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying. On the fourth, as she cleans blood from his forehead, she bites again, this time with little effect: two hot tears land on his skin, leaving shiny streaks on the slope of his shoulder.

Ben’s entire body tenses, and then relaxes. “Rey,” he murmurs with a sigh.

“I’m sorry. I—” She closes her eyes and scrunches her face. “I can’t bear this.”

“Rey,” he repeats, his tone muted.

“Maybe we should just…”

“No.”

She takes a hitchy breath and sits next to him. “Why, if—”

“No.”

“But they are going to continue—”

No.

“Tell me why, then.”

He doesn’t reply, nor does he look at her. His hand, though, his hand touches her—just his little finger stroking hers. He holds it there for a quiet moment—too long to be accidental, too brief to be picked up by the surveillance cameras. “Go to sleep.”

“But—”

“Rey.” He finally looks up at her, and what she sees in his eyes, she cannot quite decipher. “Please. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

It goes on for one week, then ten days, and then, on the eleventh, it seems like it will go on for one more. Except that this time, instead of the Supreme Leader, they come to collect the Jedi.

 

 

In the end, they are forced to take her away over Ben’s unconscious body.

There are some casualties in the commotion, but more guards come in assistance until Ben is lying face down in the middle of their cell. As they drag her away, Rey screams and throws kicks and panics like never before, even knowing that they would never kill him. To get what they want from them, Crimson Dawn needs them both to be alive.

Rey thinks that they go easier on her than they ever did on Ben. Sure, it’s torture—there are restraints, and an IT-O droid, and a great deal of physical pain, but by the time a guard pushes her and makes her stumble back inside the room, she isn’t bleeding or wounded. Ben is awake, sitting on the edge of the mattress with his elbows on his knees, but he springs to his feet as soon as he sees her.

“You know what to do, Supreme Leader, ” one of the jailers spits out before locking the cell, “if you don’t want a repeat tomorrow.”

Ben stands by the bed, only a few feet from her, staring at her for a long time. Rey tries not to let herself be reminded of the last time they were like this, in front of each other, Ben holding his hand out for her. And of all the times she’s replayed it in her head, wishing for a different ending.

“I’m sorry,” he says, like it’s his fault.

Rey shakes her head, rubbing an ache in her arm.

Ben drags a hand down his face. “How are you?”

“I… fine. It’s—this is fine.” She huffs out a laugh, empty of humor. “Great, actually.”

Ben sighs. “Rey.”

“No, really. I’m just peachy. This is what I was hoping for when I left for my recon mission, to be kidnapped by a cartel that wants to use my—my genetic material —”

“Rey.”

“—and locked up with the leader of the First Order, and commanded to have—”

Rey.

She presses her fingers into her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ben. I’m sorry, I…” Rey shakes her head, letting her shoulders slump. “I know doing… that, with me, is probably the last thing you want but…” She looks up at Ben, and what she sees in his eyes, it doesn’t bear thinking about. “This is… they will just torture us forever. Me or you. Until we…”

There is a long, stretched-out silence, in which Ben and Rey take in each other amidst the whirring noise of the environmental controls.  

“I think…” He closes his eyes, then opens them—but doesn’t meet Rey’s gaze, choosing instead to look down at his hands. “I think I can make it good. For you.”

Rey exhales.

 

 

“Have you ever done this?” she asks against the rim of Kylo’s ear, voice barely audible, and just the faintest brush of her lips on his skin sends deep licks of pleasure down his spine, until it pools at the base of his groin.

It takes him a moment to collect himself, a moment before he can shake his head that No, no. He has never done anything remotely like this. But then it occurs to him that maybe she wants some reassurance—that he won’t hurt her, that he can come through with his promise, that he can really make it good.

“I have thought about it,” he murmurs against her shoulder, right above the rough cloth of her arm wrap. With you, he doesn’t add, sure that she’d be disgusted.

He asked her, after all. A year ago, he asked her and she said no, and now she’s underneath him, soft and supple and doubtlessly hating this. This is the least of two evils, for her. And for him, for him it’s—

“Are you afraid?” Her voice takes him by surprise, and he looks up from her collarbone to her eyes. They are, for the first time since they have been abducted, clear and limpid.

Yes. But not of what you think. “Are you?”

“No.” She actually smiles up at him. “No. I always thought that eventually we’d…” She looks away. “Do you think they’re watching us?”

“Yes.” And he hates it. Not for himself, but the idea of them seeing Rey while he… “Don’t think about it.”

“I don’t care.” Her hands wave through the hair at the back of his head. “I don’t care. Should we kiss? I’ve never— oh .”

He licks the base of her throat, not because he thinks she’ll like it, but because he wants to know her taste and can’t help himself. It has been there, vivid in his memories and pulsating sweetly in his fantasies, the way her hair stuck to sweat-shiny skin as she fought him on Starkiller. He doesn’t expect her to whimper or to arch her neck. He doesn’t expect for her eyes to flutter closed, or for her to hold onto him that much tighter. “Ben.”

He should tell her not to call him that. He should not be so hard already. He should—he should never have agreed to this. “How do you want to do this?” he asks into the dip of her collarbone.

“I... I don’t know.” Her lips are soft against his temple. “How you want it. How it’s done.”

Ben knows, theoretically, how it’s done. From conversations he had half a lifetime ago, he knows that he should make her wet. And relaxed. And not afraid. And he knows that he should be quick about it, and try not to go too deep.

He also knows that he shouldn’t come. Not inside her, and not at all. For several reasons. Because she doesn’t want this. Because he doesn’t deserve it. Because it would be playing into Maul and Crimson Dawn’s hand. The least he can do is not fill her with his spunk.

“Okay, then.” He lifts himself up on his palms and looks down at her, trying to get his heart to slow down and his balls to quiet. “Okay.“

“I would like it, though” —her cheeks are rosy pink as her palm pushes on his nape— “if we kissed.”

When their lips touch, it feels like she’s reaching for him from across the galaxy.

 

 

The first thing he does is take off her clothes—her capris and her bandeau. The arm wraps stay, if only because of how pretty a picture she makes with her hands above her head as she lies there, unaware of the unspeakable things he’s imagining doing. With her. To her.

“I tried to reach out,” she whispers as he attempts not to stare at the swell of her breasts. The dip of her waist. The slit of her cunt, ripe and soft like the fruit he’d pick from trees in Chandrila as a child. “Through the bond. But I couldn’t—”

He can’t bear the way her voice sounds, hesitant and broken like he was the one who rejected her and tore her heart from her chest. He can’t bear it, so he flips her until she’s lying on her front. Her ass is a whole new hell, round and smooth and pale, and he is obscene for thinking the things he’s thinking now. He presses his thumbs inside the dimples at the base of her spine, trying not to imagine how they would look with his come pooling inside them.

Obscene, and doomed.

“I will do something now.” His hand travels from the sharp bones of her shoulder blades to the bottom of her spine, traces the curve of her buttock and then angles her until she’s on her knees and her hips are—up. Inclined, just so. His mouth begins to water, and he has to swallow. “Something to make it easier. So you can… take me inside.”  He tries to sound prosaic, but she must hear it, the catch in his voice. Still, she just nods into the mattress and doesn’t protest when his hands close too tight around her hips.

“It’s okay. You can—” A moan escapes her mouth, soft and barely audible, and for a second sound recedes and the ground shakes and his spine tingles and Kylo thinks—knows—that he will come—here, like this, inside his pants. A little because of the way her fingers are twisting in the sheets, a little because of how her cunt tastes like wine on his tongue, mostly because—she’s wet, already. Warm, glossy, drenched with it.

Kylo licks her again, a long swipe from the front to her opening, and the guttural sound from his throat mixes with her groan. He has to put one hand to his cock, hold himself to avoid making a mess of this. “You taste like—” Like you want this. Like seawater. Like I could do this forever.

“Ben.” Her voice is muffled by the sheets. “Ben, what if I— Ah.” His finger slides inside as smoothly as hot water through snow, and she squirms and pushes against him while he sucks on the lips of her cunt, thinking that maybe, maybe it was worth it. The years at Snoke’s mercy, the loneliness, the torture of the last few days. To be with her like this, right now. To have her on his tongue.

“When you’re soft enough,” he tells her, “I’m going to fuck you here.” His thumb circles against her opening. “Can I? Can I fuck you in here?”

Rey whimpers against the back of her hand.

 

 

She goes crazy, after he wedges a second finger inside her.

She’d thought she’d die earlier, when he spread her out and started doing that with his mouth, but now she’s on her back and full to bursting, the wet friction as he pushes inside and presses on her with the heel of his hand enough to empty her brain of everything but one thought.

He was right. When he said he’d make it good for her.

“You are so beautiful.”

It slips out hushed and strained, as if Ben didn’t really want to say it, as if he’s admitting it against his will. He’s above her, all pale skin and long scars and the black material of his pants and armguards, and Rey can only arch into him more and thrash her head against the pillow, that feeling of warmth like a hook behind her belly button.

Someone is looking at them, for sure. She should be embarrassed and at least attempt some restraint, but if Jakku has taught her one thing it is to be pragmatic about her body, and Ben is making her vibrate, making her forget herself as the heat spreads around her abdomen.

He bites back a moan, when she pulls him down to lick at the seam of her lips. “You have nice hands,” she gasps as the rough pad of a fingertip rubs a delicious spot inside her. “I love your hands. They make me—”

Rey wishes she knew what to do. Almost blindly, she reaches for the bulge in his pants, her palm closing around the length of him. His breath hitches and his eyes glaze and he is—harder than she’d have thought, and hot, large, and Rey begins to stroke him slowly, wanting to feel his skin and have him closer and—

Ben wraps his hand around her wrist and pins it above her head. “That’s not what this is about.”

 

 

For a second, even after he settles himself between her legs, he doesn’t enter her. He just hovers on top of her and lets her feel it, what he’s about to give her. He rests his forehead against hers and breathes the air between them, sweet and heavy.

There is lubricant on the table in the corner, and Kylo wonders if he should be using it. He has no real notion of how wet women can get, how wet is wet enough, but Rey is soaked to her inner thighs and has been making soft noises in the back of her throat.

“Why are we waiting?” she asks, voice glassy and a hand curling on his bicep, and then begins to rock up into his cock, as if trying to get even closer.

“You can still say no,” he forces himself to remind her. “You don’t have to—”

“But you said you’d fuck me?” She is rubbing against him and he—he is despicable . Because he doesn’t even take his time to—he slips the tip inside with the full intention of easing in slowly, but she is snug and slick and so fucking small and—he just plows into her until half of him is buried in her tight cunt. Kylo has done a lot of horrible things in his life, but he thinks that this might be among the very worst.

And the one that feels best .

Rey is silent, her back bowed taut like a string, neck arched back and teeth biting into her lower lip until it’s swollen and bee stung.

I am sorry, he wants to say, but the words won’t come, not with the blood rushing to pound through his head and the way the pleasure threatens to spill from him, the pressure at the base of his spine reaching a dangerous level. He should just pull out, but the friction, the walls of her cunt—they dragged against him so good going in, there is no way he won’t come going out. There is no way he won’t come if he stays there, feels her soft and small and welcoming under him, and he promised himself that he would not, which means that he needs to—

Rey whimpers.

Rey whimpers and Kylo panics and finds his voice. “Sweetheart. I am going to pull out and—fuck.”

He first feels her muscles tighten when she lifts her legs around his sides. Then, the oxygen runs out of his lungs as she braces her feet for leverage and begins to roll her hips upwards, her body pliant and supple under his.

This can’t be fucking, he thinks gritting his teeth, come churning in his balls as pleasure leaks from him. The feeling of it, it’s agonizing.

“Am I doing it right?” she asks him sweetly, and no. No, she’s destroying him, and that’s not what— “Do you like it?”

In a way, it’s like a bucket of cold water. I am not supposed to like it, he doesn’t say. But her words remind him that he has no right to get off on this—on her —and manage to steady his nerve endings until he almost has himself under control. One of his hands slides to her hip to hold her down, and once she’s not squirming anymore it’s easy, to get inside her as far as he can. Balls deep, and Rey gasps and thrashes around for a few seconds, but when he kisses her chin, and her throat, and her sternum—then she settles down and seems to re-learn how to breathe. To adjust. To absorb him inside.

“We’ll go slowly,” he says into the side of her neck. “See what feels good, and tell me. And I’ll do it some more.”

Rey nods, unseeing. Kylo pulls out as carefully as he can, and fills her again trying not to hurt her, and—

He’s halfway inside when she lets out a moan, her cunt suddenly contracting around him. The clenching seems to take her by surprise as much as him, and her eyes widen as their gazes cling together. “Am I...” Rey’s lashes drift closed and she arches her back, swept over by her orgasm.

Kylo begins to thrust in and out and in again, pulling her against himself and ignoring the knot of tension building inside him as he sees her through her pleasure. He doesn’t stop when her hand comes up to touch his scar, or when she whispers something that sounds a lot like I love you but cannot possibly be, or when her walls grip him one last time, so tight that he sees stars. He doesn’t stop when her short fingernails dig into his back, but he does when he notices that she’s wincing, that her nails are digging into his shoulder, that her pleasure seems to have morphed into something closer to pain.

He has to bite her shoulder as he pulls out of her, trying not to shoot his load on her soft belly. His hands are trembling and he wants to kiss her—he wants to take her in his arms and keep her there forever and watch her sleep and make himself come between the cheeks of her ass—but that is not what this is all about.

“Are you okay?” he asks against her ear, and he cannot see her eyes, only feels her small nod. He lets his shaking fingers trail against her hip one last time and then pulls back, ordering his heart to stop trying to beat out of his chest. “You are…”

That’s it. It’s done. He has fucked her, and it was... wrong, for sure. No matter that it felt…

The air in the cell is cool, and Kylo first covers Rey with the a thin blanket, then tucks himself into his pants, trying not to grimace at the sudden lack of contact, the frustration of not being inside her anymore. He lies back on his side of the mattress, chest heaving, and for a moment he closes his eyes and lets himself pretend that no one forced them to do this—that Rey really wants him. That she never said no to him. He thinks of the things he’d do to her, of the pleasure he’d pull out of her body for himself. He’d go so deep inside her, until he’s molded her to his shape, and he’d come all over her and nibble on her sharp little hipbone and lick her clean and—he’d kiss her endlessly, knowing that she’s his, and take her away, as far away from—

“You didn’t…” He opens his eyes and finds Rey staring at him with wide eyes. She looks around the cell, as if suddenly remembering that they are constantly being observed, and then rolls closer to him, her lips an inch from his own as she rises on one elbow and whispers, “Did you… finish?”

“It’s okay.” He can’t help himself, and pushes a tendril of hair behind her ear. “Go to sleep.”

Rey frowns. “But you didn’t—”

“They don’t know.” He keeps his voice low. “They think I did. It’s fine.”

“Ben, I—”

“You need to get some rest.” He closes his eyes again, trying to empty his mind. Willing his cock to soften. She needs to get away from him. She is—distracting.

“Is it… Is it because of the Resistance?”

It should be. It should be all that matters, because even if now there is a more pressing enemy to deal with, ultimately—they are on opposite sides. But. “No. Go to sl—”

“Then it’s because you don’t want me. My body.”

It’s all he can do not to open his eyes. Not to yell at her to just look at him, at the mess she made of him. Kylo presses his lips together and clenches his jaw, and then forces himself to relax. To soften his voice and soothe her. “Sleep now, Rey.”

When he feels the mattress dip, he thinks that she must be rolling to her side, away from him. And then, before he can do anything, her slight weight is on top of him, warm and soft and wet where her cunt spreads above his abs.

“No,” she breathes against his ear, her arm coming between them to undo his pants. “I’m not going to sleep.”

Her hand is small and cool as she slides him inside her, pushing down until her thighs are flush to his hips. She lets out a quick intake of breath when he’s fully seated, and the little smile of pleasure on her face—it’s by far the most erotic experience of his life. He wants to tell her no, that she doesn’t need to, that he doesn’t deserve this, but he’s only aware of the pleasure rushing through him like a freight train, his hands clutching her to himself as he does what he’s sworn to himself he would not do. Fill her up with his come.

He’s still gasping for breath when his vision returns and he can see it, Rey’s grin as she holds herself above him. “Did that feel good?” The space between them is growing wet and sticky and delicious. “It looked like it did, but—”

She melts into his kiss like butter in the sun, her arms coming to wrap around his neck. The tightness of her, the way she looks down at him, it’s—astonishing. Exquisite. Kylo has just come but he’s still hard, getting even harder, and when his fingers begin to press on her hips, a silent plea to move around him, she begins to rock up and down in gentle, tilting motions that make pleasure shoot through him and squeeze his heart dry. The rise and fall pushes him beyond words, beyond the ability to ask whether this is okay, whether she’ll hate him for this tomorrow. On the downstroke of a rolling motion his eyes meet hers, and they hold for a moment.

“You, inside me,” she says against his lips, and that—that’s it for him. Kylo’s cock expands and jerks, and his orgasm ripples until he’s shaking with the force of it, long pulls melting his spine and liquefying his brain. His hands tremble as he hides his face in Rey’s neck, wondering if this is what will split him to the core. Wondering what will be left of him after this moment.

He is licking the salt off her skin when he hears it, almost drowned by the pounding of his heart.

“I have a plan. To escape.” He feels her cheek curve into another smile. “And you’re coming with me.”