Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Occultation: In astrology, the passage of one celestial body in front of another, temporarily obscuring surrounding light and objects from view.

The thing about loneliness is that it lies to you constantly. It lies and says it’s temporary, that it’s not as bad as you think, that it isn’t leaving the weight of your anticipation and emptiness in its wake.

When I arrived at the cabin I swore to myself that this wouldn’t be like Jakku. I wasn't being abandoned. This time it is strategic. This time they would be coming back.  

Like carving lines to count the days, I find myself completing the same rituals as before much quicker than I would like to admit. Waking at the same time, completing the same tasks, talking to the birds out of desperation, hope glimmering behind my eyes as I walk through the forest, organizing and reorganizing cupboards as if I can compel their return through a routine.

Staring at the lavender sky, I imagine their faces. Withdrawn smiles, sad lines, and apprehensive eyes. Apprehensive of me.

"I can control it. I would never say anything-" I pleaded.

"No one is worried about what you'll say. " Leia's hand brushed the side of my face, her thumb at my temple, a pained smile on her lips. We have had this conversation before.

"This is temporary, Rey." She reminded.

I didn’t tell her that his eyes were on me at that very moment, the tears spilling past my lashes. Could he see her? I didn’t ask. I didn't even look at him. He is the reason for my exile and I felt a hot burn of anger surge through me as I ignored him.

Just remembering it causes a spike of pain to rush through my lungs.

That was three weeks and two days ago. I watched their ship leave while he watched me sink to the mossy ground, surrounded by endless green. He tried to speak but I screamed over the swell of his voice and by the time my throat burned and my eyes opened, he was gone.

They didn't tell me the name of the planet they brought me to. It is water-rich - there is a lake within walking distance. I can’t see it past the trees that encircle the cabin, but on quiet nights I imagine I can hear the water. The "cabin" is a series of stone walls that disappear into a rocky set of hills. One of many safe houses no doubt, and very isolated.

Perfect.

The inside is sparse but habitable. Cupboards lined with food rations and fire starters. Extra blankets and dishware. There is running water, something I haven't experienced before. The fresher has a stone bath, no shower or sonic. My desert veins balked at the tub, but it has since become one of the only ways I feel the warmth on a planet that feels endlessly cool.

Tonight I'm standing in the kitchen area, rearranging food for the hundredth time when I feel him appear.

"I don't want you here." I snap, pointlessly.

"I know." He answers. He watches me as I move around, his eyes flickering over my shoulder and past my fingers.

"Can you see where I am?" I ask without looking up at him.

"Sometimes." He scans my face and I try to react as little as possible. I've been able to see his surroundings for days. I can feel my loneliness coat the bond in blue and I shiver as I feel it echo back as if my emptiness was his own.

After a pause, I can hear his voice, quieter than before.

"You didn't have to tell them." My eyes snap to his and I know he means I didn’t have to tell them about the bond. About him.

Even when I thought it was “closed” the bond would blip us in and out of each other’s existence. After that became apparent, I stopped trying to block him out. Hopeful that this could be the key to helping the resistance. Or in bringing him to the light. Or both. I was wrong on both counts.

"I guess that's another thing we disagree on." My voice is quiet too.

Instead of reaching a plateau, the connection between us has only become more immersive. What I thought I could use to my advantage I quickly learned is much more beneficial to him. He understands the language of the Resistance. Knows the people. Knows what to look for. Once I accepted that the connection was out of my control, I had to also accept that I had much more to lose than just my privacy.

I stop organizing the ration kits to turn and face him. His eyes are as dark as the fabric that clings to his broad form. His face looks tired, dull. Someone has been skipping his beauty sleep. As I exhale I can see him, the memory of his face emerging from the mask in front of me for the first time. I am reminded of how impossible he looked to me. Impossible that someone who wears their uncertainty so deeply etched into their skin could be capable of acting so sure.

I can't stop the surge of anger in my chest when tears prick my eyes. How fitting that he is responsible for causing this isolation. This unbearable separation. This...this is the worse thing he could have done to me. I swear he takes pleasure knowing I am far away from everyone I care about. And I know he feels the accusation and agony surging to life beneath my skin.

"I can't stop this." He asserts, a tight flick of his wrist motions to the space between us. I don’t know if I believe him.

"You could try harder." I sniff, sinking to the floor of my free-range prison. He takes a seat wherever he is, watching me.

We sit in silence for what feels like an eternity. I have nothing but time, so I let my mind wander. I can feel him. His thoughts and emotions are just out of reach, but I sense them. I focus on it for a while, curious about what I'll discover. I can't tell what he is thinking exactly until something shifts in his disposition.

He feels relief.

My eyes snap up and meet his gaze - passive and characteristically sullen.

"What do you have to feel relieved about?" I ask with venom. He balks a bit at my question and I sense him retreating, his feelings disappearing from me.

"What?" He stalls.

"You are. I feel it." His lips press into a line at my insistence.

"I didn't realize we were playing show and tell." He deflects and looks away from me. "Would you like me to tell you what I can sense from you?" He continues, a threat behind his question. I can't help but laugh.

"I have nothing to hide from you anymore, Supreme Leader ." He casts a look at me, and I'm hit with a wave of defiance. Of arrogance and hesitation. Bravado and embarrassment. I decide not to comment on this particular insight into his emotional duality. He finds my eyes and leans forward.

"I wouldn’t be so sure of that." His voice isn't cruel but heavy with warning. I feel my eyebrow hitch and I turn away from him. I know he thinks I’m overconfident. Or worse, naive. And maybe I am.

"It is a shame you couldn't agree to let me teach you." He presses. "The force is strong but reckless within you." I swallow at his words.

"I'll learn on my own."

"You're used to doing things alone. But there are more effective ways." He leans in towards me and I huff at his boldness.
 
"And you think you are the more effective choice?"

"I know it." He states simply. His posture is what I think he thinks is casual. But he’s stiff and all limbs. He looks anything but comfortable.

When I don't answer him, he leans back, still studying me.

"If I'm relieved," he admits, "it is only because now I can move forward without concern that you'll interfere."

"Interfere?" I ask, but when I look up he is gone. The loss of his presence hangs in front of me and his outline is burned into my eyes, creating coloured shadows everywhere I look until I close them tight.

The bond continues to flex its muscles, revealing its reach more every day.

I play with the thin bracelet transmitter around my wrist to distract myself. Its twin is somewhere within the resistance and it will beep if I leave the planet, activating a tracking signal. I try not to think of it as a handcuff, but it kind of is.

Out of sheer boredom, I walk around outside. The birds squawk at me, circling above the treetops. I can almost hear them ask, “Why don’t you go do something?” I don’t have the heart to tell them that I simply don’t want to. I collect pine cones from tree branches and arrange the pile near the cabin. The birds call out to each other, circling the seeds.

I have been trying to apply my limited knowledge of the force in my daily exercises, but it loses its direction without guidance. Meditating is good, but it seems to trigger whatever it is that melds my world with his so I don’t do it often. Although I have felt for a while that the connection might be more within my control than it had been previously, and I am tempted to test it.

I lay out on a grassy patch near the cabin and stare up at the clouds. The weather here can only be described as constantly damp, but sunlight casts through the shadows of rain. It is almost peaceful. Okay, it is decidedly peaceful. I let myself drift in and out of sleep, barely moving when a small cluster of birds sit near me, inspecting my food offering. Their navy feathers glisten in the sun and they nibble at the ground, occasionally tilting their head at me and squawking softly.

When my eyes open next I am not on the grass. I'm in bed. Startled, I sit up abruptly, my vision shimmering and I see the green of the forest flutter before the grey of his room fills my eyes, dominating my senses.

"Oh good, you're up."  A monotone voice drawls beside me. I gasp despite myself.

"I must have fallen asleep," I answer dumbly.

"Evidently." After a beat, I kick my legs over the side of his bed and stand awkwardly in front of him. I realize quickly that he is dressed for bed. In that, he is barely dressed. His loose pants look comfortable and hang low on his hips. I look away and clear my throat.

"Why didn't you wake me?" I ask while he stares at me and I look away again, feeling too confined in his quarters. He doesn't answer, instead, my shoulder hitches and he saunters past me, picking up some papers on his desk, scribbling something down.

"I couldn't sleep anyway."

Fine. Perfectly fine. Just napping in front of your mortal enemy. I nod because I have to do something. 

"Interesting development, though. You sleeping in my bed when I'm not in it. I take it you can see quite clearly where I am." His tone is cool but I feel apprehension in his voice. I try not to focus on the tightness I feel in my chest at the way he says, "my bed."

"You being able to interact with things independent of me...that does give me pause." He considers out loud. I begin to think maybe he wasn't sleeping because he was thinking about exactly this. He continues writing something down and I shift on my feet. He turns to look at me and his dark eyes scan my face.

For the first time in a long time, I sense that he is afraid.

"I spoke too soon about you not being able to interfere." He continues matter-of-factually. It dawns on me that the tightness in the shared experience between us is vulnerability. Mine, yes,  but also his. Now things don't seem so even, him leading the First Order and me being alone in a forest somewhere I don't even know.

And how can I argue with that? Where before there was no real threat to our connection, suddenly he very much has a reason to incapacitate me. Permanently, if he had any sense, I’m sure.

I have no weapon. Although the Force doesn't seem keen to allow us to use our abilities on each other for fatal harm, there are many other options at his disposal. In skin to skin combat, I am outmatched. Quite desperately so, actually.

I cannot stop the images that run through my mind of him physically asserting his dominance where the force insists we are equal. I breathe an unsteady breath, his large form suddenly appearing much larger. How different our fights would have been if - 

I step back without thinking and he moves to step forward before stopping himself. My heart jumps in my chest, and I try to even out both my breathing and my thoughts. He knows what I am thinking, I can tell. How badly could he hurt me before I can break this connection...if I can even break it at-will?

I can see him read my face. Reading my emotions. I feel my back against a wall and I realize I have continued moving away from him. The cold hard surface makes me jump and I watch him walk towards me. He knows I'm frightened, heart hammering hard enough that I swear I can hear it.

I feel his resolve shift and I look up to meet his eyes. He doesn't say anything. But I feel him extend himself to me, his vulnerability gives way and I'm overcome with a rush of...disgust. Not with me, but because of me. I try to understand what this feeling is, his proximity making it hard for me to focus. I breathe in deeply, and to my horror, discover I can smell him. It is a rich masculine scent that is too refreshing for the body it stems from. Like a garden - earthy and wood-framed. Suddenly it's like an alarm going off in my body. I need to get out of here.

"Wait." He says and I listen although I feel myself heating, becoming too aware of what I reveal of myself simply through existing.

I close my eyes and focus on repressing my thoughts and emotions.

After a beat, I can feel the answer to my unasked question. Self-loathing. That is what this feeling is that he lets swell through the bond. He won't kill me because he can't. He doesn't want to. And he thinks this makes him weak. I swallow and close my eyes. 

"I need to hear you say it," I whisper, not able to look directly at him.

His voice is low when he replies, "I won't hurt you. I can’t." I want you to join me echoes through my mind and I know now more than ever I need to get away from him. Immediately.

I cannot stop the feeling of closeness that delights inside me from the bond and I want to turn it off. Being around another person fulfills so many of my missing pieces, even if he is the person. I focus on severing the tie, and nothing else. End, end, end, please Maker let it end. 

"Damn it, just wait-" He is cut off and I am alone in the clearing of the forest. My heart is beating too fast and once I know I am alone I let out a shaky breath.

I glance around me, the sky has darkened to a midnight purple and I feel a shiver through my body. I look down to see six intrigued birds staring back up at me.

"Don't make this weird." I mumble to them and head for the cabin door. After a second I hear a tiny squawk and the patter of their feet as they follow me, shaking and thoroughly rattled outline against a violet sky.

A few days pass without incident.

His face fills my vision anyways. It strikes me as odd that his dangerous and disarming demeanour is part of the reason he’s gotten to where he has within the First Order. Like a sure, immovable entity that fills any void it encounters.

I believe him. That's my weakness. I believe he won’t hurt me. I know it as clearly and as surely as I do my own name. Thinking of him now causes a cold nervousness to fill my chest. I thought this would be worse for him but now I fear it will be worse for me. Distantly I can hear my own voice remind me that I could refuse him. Block our bond. But I can't bring myself to do it.

I guess I have two weaknesses.

The day lags, and even the birds grow bored of me sitting on the grass, taking apart an old holopad and placing the tiny parts on the stone stoop of the doorway. After a few minutes I begin slowly putting it back together and they take off for the trees, my life too unbearable for them to witness any longer.

All of my spare time spent cold and wet rustling through the trees catches up to me in one fell swoop. My morning starts with a scratchy throat and by mid-afternoon, I can’t deny it any longer. I’m sick. I head towards the cabin and crash into the bed with a loud thud. Why is the world spinning? There are medical supplies in one of the cupboards in the kitchen but my arms feel like pure lead.

I can feel his force signature at the corners of my mind so I press him out, focusing on shielding myself from the bond that threatens to bleed into my very being. Not now . I fall asleep before I can take off my shoes, head throbbing.

Hours later my eyes open. My body feels stiff and aches with every breath. The birds peck at my door. I can hear them - vaguely - as my vision blurs. I can feel my skin burning, but I cannot shake the shiver that grips my body.

I’m so cold. 

The time that passes is agony. I need water, I need to get out of these clothes. I need...help. I close my eyes and beg to no one, to nothing, that I might gather the strength to sit up. My call goes unanswered, of course.

I must fall asleep again, for when my eyes open the light is gone from cracks of the door and the covered windows. I’m shivering harder - my mouth and throat feel like I’ve chugged sand. My fever must be breaking, the sweat clings to me and I feel painfully warm despite my body shaking with an unstoppable chattering shiver.

I curl in on myself, softly cursing. I focus my attention and reach out my palm, willing the force to send the half-empty pouch of water into my grip from where I tossed it by the door.

It’s all I can do to repeat my silent plea - help me, help me, help me. Despite the hum in my ears and the painful beat of my heart filling the small cabin, I hear it.

The unmistakable sound of his arrival. My eyes open, settling on a figure of black before they flutter close. I try to press away from him, but I fear I don’t move at all. He is in full regalia - cape, mask, gloves. They make my eyes burn

“You called me.” His voice holds a question and fills my head with pain at the sound of his distorted words. I want to yell. I’d never call for you. But I can’t. Instead, I let my helplessness wash over me. Too exhausted to care. Cutting through my distress I try to summon the pouch again, shaking as I lift myself up from the blankets.

The pouch jerks to life, scuttling across the floor and landing a foot from the bed. Cursing, I try to pull myself closer to the edge of the bed, wincing through the movement.

He moves the air as he comes closer to me, a bare hand touches my shoulder and I flinch.

“You’re burning.” At that he removes his helmet, the quiet sound feels impossibly loud to me.

I ignore him, reaching my hand out towards the pouch. I can feel his eyes watch me, looking out towards what he cannot quite see. I try to drag myself closer, my skin searing with every movement. I wince and accept defeat once more.

“Water.” My voice cracks and my head falls hard against the fabrics below me, eyes falling shut.

There’s a beat and then his voice, “Show me.”

Through my haze, I know my body is shaking and my hands clench. I consider fighting his offer. Fighting him. But I’m too desperate. Yes, this might mean the end of our limited privacy. Yes, this is bad news for keeping any remaining secrets.

Yes, I am going to do it.

I think and try to focus. I dissolve the feeling of separation in my mind and project an image of the space around me. I invite him, as clearly as I possibly can, to see what I see and feel what I feel through the force.

He’s right there waiting for me. I feel him immediately flood my sight, my mind...my senses. I hear myself gasp at feeling...him. He is tumultuous but strong and it soothes where I would have expected it to agitate.  

I try to open my eyes and watch his face. Did it work? He looks down at the water pouch and back to my shaking form.

“You’ve been holding out on me.” He says, the surprise in his voice cannot fully be masked. He brings the pouch to my bedside and sits carefully on the edge.

I hear him more clearly than ever before, “ Can you sit up? ” He is testing our bond. I’m almost thankful I don’t have to speak.

“No. ” I’m too ill to feel embarrassed. Too ill to feel anything, really.  

I can feel his arm behind my neck pulling me towards him. I don’t dare open my eyes. Not like this.

When I feel the edge of the water pouch gently meet my lips followed by the cold rush of water, I nearly jump out of my skin. It’s so cold I can feel it seeping through my body, my insides turning to ice. I can’t remember feeling this intensity of relief before.  

When the water disappears, I feel myself being lowered back down, my breathing slowing. I can feel him, as real as if he were really here. It sounds far away, but I can hear water running.

“What are you doing? ” I ask through the bond.

I receive my answer not through the force, but through his touch.

A cold cloth presses against my face and I turn into it, the fabric cooling my burning skin. Despite me making no effort whatsoever to prevent it, I’m still horrified at the breathy sound of pleasure that escapes me. His hand stills, only for a second, before he folds the cloth. He dots it against my cheeks, my lips...my neck. The cool touch is enough to still my frenzied thoughts.

“You need to get out of these clothes.” He speaks aloud, fingering the fever soaked fabric. I feel a rush of fear pulse through me and I tense below his gaze.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.” I can’t help but think of the many things he does that I don’t want him to do, and I swear I feel his mouth split into a slight smirk above me.

“Well, nothing you don’t want me to, right now .”  He clarifies. My burning skin answers for me, I think.

“Fine. Okay .” I’m so uncomfortable that I remain limp as he begins to pull the wrapped fabric around and off of me. The air kisses my arms and I sigh, the painful heat easing out of me. I can feel him remove my shoes, hands deft at their task but hesitating nonetheless. I decide I can’t bear to open my eyes and see it for myself. As if vision is the only thing separating me from my traitorous allowances. I can still feel him though. And it’s enough to know he really won’t. Do anything I don’t want him to, that is.

He continues to unwrap me, pulling at layers and tugging my pants down and off my legs. I react to that, I can’t help it. I feel myself instinctively move to cover myself with my arms. I hear my clothes land on the floor and his hands return with the cold cloth.

“Relax.” He asserts and the cool fabric runs down my arm. He lightly moves my deadweight wrists off of myself, so that they rest at my sides.

His hand ghosts my thin gauze bra and I nearly find the strength to grab his wrist.

“Don’t you dare.” It doesn’t sound as threatening as I intend.

“I wouldn’t.” He answers, and my apprehension is wiped away with the soothing cloth running down my side. As he runs it over my collarbone and down my stomach I am overwhelmed.

Finally. Relief. I let my head lull to the side, breathing softly and basking in the respite from the relentless burn.

He must forget how exposed his mind is. Or maybe he doesn’t. I can feel his thoughts and senses resting just outside of my own. I’m far too curious not to explore it. From under his touch I press towards him and I’m met with no resistance.

I can see myself through his eyes, feel the uncertainty in his movements, the carefulness as his skin touches mine.

I can also see how sheer my bra and underwear have become and a creep of embarrassment pulses through my chest. The resulting throb of vulnerability makes my eyes flutter open. His gaze doesn’t immediately find mine, but when it does I realize I wasn’t ready to look at him.

Expressive dark pools bore into me from beneath his heavy lids. I swallow, clearing my thoughts as best I can - knowing how close I am to his emotions means he’s as close to my own. Sharing thoughts? No problem. Receiving a sponge bath from an evil overlord? All good. Eye contact? Too intimate . Good to know your limits, I think to myself with a huff, eyes closing.

He pauses but slowly continues down my side, his cool touch soothing the skin of my thigh. My body thrums, satiated from the fullness of the bond around me and my rapidly cooling body.

“I don’t think I’d go as far as evil overlord .” He says, almost playfully. I feel a cold dread grip my chest.

“You heard me?”

“Yes well, you project quite effectively. And loudly.” He says it matter of fact and I pause at the confirmation. Wonderfull. How does one go about having quieter thoughts?

“It’s not a weakness,” he starts, “I prefer it. There’s no ambiguity.”

“Why can’t I hear your thoughts?” I ask, eyes heavy-lidded.

“I am certain you could if you tried. I’m also not yelling them at you which helps, I’m sure.” He speaks with a dark humour that I don’t quite share. I resist rolling my eyes. Instead, I breathe deeply and focus on...not projecting.

“I think that’s how I heard you ask for help so clearly.” He runs the cloth down my leg, and I shiver.

“But I didn’t-“ I start.

“I know. You didn’t mean to, but you did.”

I know it’s the truth. I don’t want to say it, so I think it - I’m sorry. Thank you. I can hear his breathing break its rhythm but he doesn’t respond right away. I let myself sigh but it sounds far away as he continues to run his large hand over my skin, the thin cloth separating us.

“I need to hear you say it.” His voice is too soft as he repeats the request I had made only a week ago. I can’t help the smile that threatens to pull at my lips. My eyes crack open, his face is deceptively passive but the bond fills in the gaps.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe out before my tone softens, “thank you.”

Two nights later I am awakened by the sound of rain and pressure between my legs. It’s enough to make me gasp - loudly - and I throw back the blanket, eyes searching for the source. My heart hammering fast beneath my ribcage, I jump out of bed as I realize the pressure is not my own. Oh.

Well this is new. I step back and try to pull myself away from the bond. Less for his privacy and more for my sanity. The swell of pressure inside of me blooms, a hot current running through my veins and I nearly gasp at the sensation. Okay, I just need a second to-

Suddenly the bond is flooded with images and sensations that I can’t turn off.

It’s... me . He is thinking about me. About us. I can see myself underneath his towering form, face twisted in ecstasy as one of his hands runs down the side of my shaking body. His desire is so strong it clouds over my senses.

“Say it.” He growls into her ear, my mirror image’s breath hitches and turns away from his darkened eyes. His hands move over her neck before cradling her face.

“I won’t.” She whispers, arching under him. I can see her flushed cheeks, parted lips and dewy skin redden under his weight and I feel my own body clench with need. He pulls back, trailing hot kisses down past her hips until his mouth captures her body in a way that I have never been kissed. I can nearly feel the touch of his mouth at my center, becoming hot and thrumming in time with the bond.

His mouth presses greedily between her legs, causing her to let out a cry she had been resisting.

“Don’t fight me.” His voice clings to my thighs and vision-me whines , her hands reaching for him, tangling in his hair. His tongue slices upwards on her sensitive skin, the vulgar image makes my legs shake and I know my counterpart feels the same. Her breathing is erratic, her hands desperately grasping at him, lip between her teeth. She moans and tries to tug on his moving arm, earning her a low laugh from the dark figure just outside her grip.

“Do you want me?” His voice is low and demanding and grating on my nerves in the most undeniable way. I press a hand into my underwear, heat rising in my cheeks at how wet I feel. The pressure of my hand provides instant relief. I know, distantly, that my emotions have been overwritten by his wanting. I would never in a million years-

“Yes.” She breathes after a beat, her face marred in anguish and he lowers himself between her legs, crooked smirk and dark eyes burning.

“I need to hear you say it.” He commands, rubbing his ready cock against her.

“I want you,” she submits , “please.”

“Again.” He pants, the undeniable need for her - for me - exploding through the bond.

“Please.” She whimpers, reaching for him.

Hearing him roar with desire, I balk and to my horror hear my own breathless voice leave my lungs like a strangled moan. Suddenly his created fantasy disappears from my mind and I am standing in front of his bed, hand in my panties as he throws the sheets over himself, his face stricken and white as he takes in my presence with a loud curse.

For a painful minute I cannot react. Too stunned to move or even think.

He blinks and my mouth opens to speak but I cannot form a word. All too quickly I spin on my heels, facing away from him and I rip my hand away from myself as if it were a weapon.

“I am sorry. I didn’t see anything, this isn’t whatitlookedlike .” My head spins so fast I can barely hear myself over my heartbeat. Obviously he knows that every word I said is utter nonsense and lies. I can feel my face heat unbearably and I. Want. To. Die. Immediately . I have no sense of how much time passes when I hear him behind me.

“Rey.” His voice is steady and calm, as if he was just out for a leisurely stroll and not beating himself raw to the thought of me pleading for him. When I don’t respond, because I can’t, he tries again.

“Rey, look at me.” I cannot fathom a single thing I want to do less than turn and face him. After an uncomfortably long pause, I turn slowly. My face burns and I wish I had more clothing on than a thin sleeveless shirt and my drenched underwear. Maker.

His face is passive but I feel him - his self-control - working in overdrive through the bond. Can he feel me? My shame, embarrassment. My twinning desire? Yeah, quite assuredly he can. I concede this fact to myself but I can’t bring myself to look at him. I try to repress everything I’m feeling but I fear it makes it worse.

What feels like eternity mercifully ends when his voice fills the room.

“I’m sorry.”  He says, and it catches me so off-guard that I look to him as if he grew a second head. I take a moment to try to find a response, but I can’t. I’m sorry. Sorry? I quiet my thoughts and focus on him. Rolling waves of his apology fill me, and beneath it, regret.

“I’m sorry that you saw that.” He speaks again, clarifying. “My thoughts...got away from me.” He explains cooly and I nod, brain empty.

“Is that how you picture me,” I ask before I can stop myself, “begging you?” I want to pretend that I don’t feel the ripple of desire that shoots through me at the word, the memory of him craving my desire so vivid behind my eyes.

He has the decency to look flushed, thank god, so I am no longer the only one red and vibrating.

“I try not to.” He offers, and it is so honest that it's hard not to accept the answer.

“The bond - it has become too connected. I have tried to avoid this.” He explains. I know what he means, even if it isn’t a good enough. My legs ache, desire pooling deep within me and I wish I could disconnect from him so I could just take care of this feeling.

“You and me both.” He replies and I redden further, if that were possible. The images he created keep popping into my mind, and much to his discomfort, I know he knows I am still thinking about it.

“Let’s just agree that these things happen and there is no reason for...” I drift off, unable to even finish the thought. The memory of his face, dark and focused on me...delighting so completely in my submission, it stalls my senses.

“There’s no reason for…” I try again, but my brain hits a wall and I realize I’m clenching my legs. I hear a huff come from the bed and I look up to see the corner of his mouth lift at my struggling speech. He’s laughing at me.

“No reason for what?” He asks, his voice taking on the same tone he did when he was between “my” legs. I swallow, annoyed that my body is betraying me this way in front of him. Looking at him now, he is the picture of undisturbed. Basically lounging and finding humour in my inability to regulate my emotions. I shoot him a look of annoyance.

“There’s no reason for you to stop .” I finish, and I am rewarded by his look of shock, surprise and desire as his eyes narrow on me. He knows that was not what I was going to say.

I meet his gaze, feeling more stable now that he’s unsettled. His eyes shine with mischief, a dangerous feeling fills my veins as he analyses the situation in front of him. His head tilts, observing me. He’s too calm for my liking.

“Ladies first.” He drawls, motioning to my useless panties. A flood of heat fills the bond and I am for the first time tonight - very much afraid of Kylo Ren. His face says what the bond confirms. He doesn’t think I am capable of walking the talk. I am not sure if it is my audacity or his (it is definitely his) but I feel a surge of confidence I have no business entertaining.

“Okay. Come to me, then.” I say with more authority than I feel. I pull myself back into the cabin through the force, the connection still flowing through me. I step towards the bed when I feel him appear and my heart skips and skips again.

I face him as I sink into the burning mattress beneath me, the sheets suddenly feel like lava, my body boiling under his gaze. His face is a sight to be seen though. Jaw slack, eyes heavy-lidded and predatory as he walks closer to the bed. I can’t help the smile that appears on my face at his reaction. I move before I can change my mind.

My hand sinks into my underwear and I gasp at the touch of my sensitive skin, eyes fluttering closed. I hear him start at the sensation. I don’t want to admit how good it feels to finally touch myself, but I’m nearly trembling the moment I start. Maker, why did I agree to this? Because it feels right. Unavoidable. I answer my own question. I can feel his eyes on me and I relax into the bed, blood rushing through me at an alarming rate.

I picture us the way he pictured us, his looming presence over me, dark hair falling into his eyes. I am not as experienced as he is, so it's hard for me to picture it quite as explicitly as he was able to. But I can try.

I picture his hands - so much bigger than my own, pulling my arms around him, his mouth capturing mine in a painfully slow drag that sets my body on fire. He’s gentle but not completely patient - restless hands fist into my hair as he devours my mouth, his free hand pressing down between my legs and hissing at the wet folds that exist for him.

I can’t pretend that his fantasy didn’t ignite something in me. The power I have over him simply by wanting him...how hard he must get thinking about me giving him permission . The groan that springs from his chest causes my eyes to open, his standing outline shaking slightly at the foot of my bed.

He likes hearing me say it. I can do that.

His loose pants showcase his arousal in a deafening display and I touch myself harder, eyes closing as I picture his hands replacing my own.

“Can I touch you here?” I imagine him asking, large hands scaling down towards my center.

“Yes,” I whisper, pressing against the heat and depth of his broad form. His fingers brush against me before pressing slightly, testing my resistance. I moan into the cabin air, my imagined mouth moaning with me.

“How badly do you want it?” I picture him asking, and I grip him tighter, the need to be filled by him overwhelming me. I can feel the bed shift, his real-life laboured breathing closer than it was before.

“I want it.” I gasp. “His” fingers, long and sure, press against my too-sensitive flesh.

“How much?” I imagine him insist, my fingers working faster as I picture his blazing eyes, dominant without force.

“More than anything.” I whisper and my vision of him presses a finger into me. My head falls back, a hiss on my lips as I imagine him claiming where no other man has been before.

I hear him utter a dark, “ yes ” that fills the cabin. I open my eyes, the movement on the bed too disruptive to ignore. He’s kneeling between my legs, his cock is in his hand, and it makes my stomach drop. Like the rest of him, it’s big and commanding and it scares me. I feel him swell at my praise, and the sight of him touching himself to me makes my body burn. I can feel the bond buzz around me, singing with the mutual pleasure between us.

I picture him lift his swollen lips from mine, bracing himself above me. “What do you want?” He asks, his mouth lowering to my throat.

“I want to feel you inside me.” Even imagining the words makes my heartbeat quicken, my fingers finding that spot that makes me -

He nearly growls at my thoughts, and suddenly my fantasy changes to his, a reflection of him kneeling between my legs as I touch myself before him, eyes shut as I allow his vision to fill my sight.

My wanton twin is right there waiting for me. For him. A delightfully wicked smile takes over his face as he crawls up her body, his hardness hitting against my very real thighs.

“Are you sure you want to give yourself to me?” He asks, real hands already palming the light material of my underwear. I shiver at his touch, arching towards him.

“Yes.” She answers.

“Beg me for it.” He asserts, stroking himself against my underwear-covered entrance, the sensation nearly enough to push me over the edge.

“Please.”

“Please what?” He demands, stroking himself faster against me, the friction causing my hips to buck against his movements, a dark moan filling my ears.

“Please take me.” She cries out, and I’m desperate to feel him fill the unimaginable ache inside of me.

“More.” He grinds out, working himself against me, my body clenching and aching with a rapidly approaching release.

“Please fuck me,” She gasps, “take me. Take everything, I’m yours.”

The fantasy fully dissolves, and I’m suddenly very aware that he’s exactly in the position that his imagined-self was, tight against and above me, my body shuddering and twitching at the pressure he applies to my center.

“Who do you belong to?” He asks aloud, and a rush of pleasure rolls into me. I know he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t know how I’d answer. We are close, I can feel it. The bond fees like pure electricity and I gasp beneath him. I can feel that he’s restraining himself and it makes me shiver with need as he achingly presses himself against the cotton that separates us.

“You.” I groan, and he makes a strained sound of pleasure. The touch of his body fills me with impossible heat. I don’t dare try to touch him, my hands gripping the sheets. As he strokes himself he makes sure his knuckles rock over my ignited skin. His fingers hit against me with a rough and deliciously painful ache that I roll my hips into.

“Who do you belong to?” He grinds, his fingers moving fast against me as he strokes himself. I feel my body tighten and contract as his movements hit that spot over and over and over .

I know what he wants to hear. He wants me to say his name. I’m only willing to meet him halfway on that request. I feel the unavoidable clenching inside of me and I am exploding beneath him.

“I belong to Ben Solo.” It comes out as a strangled breath and a gasp and it echoes through the bond. My orgasm hits me harder than it ever has. Wave after wave of blinding completion and relief fills me.

Distantly, I feel wet ropes splatter against my thighs and the soaked fabric of my underwear as he finishes with me.

My breathing is so laboured and my heart is beating so hard that for a moment I feel submerged underwater - hearing only the sounds of my own body. His shoulders drop above me and he shifts, collapsing at my side. The connection between us feels warm and relaxed and as I open my eyes, ice-cold reality stares me in the face.

Ah, kriff. What have I done?

I feel the bond hum as we catch our collective breaths. I know he’ll feel it, but I can’t stop the wordless flow of shock, uncertainty... self-consciousness that fills my lungs.

It takes a few beats but finally he is the one who breaks the symphony of breath that fills the cabin.

“What happened here is because of me.” I hear him project through the bond. I most definitely do not ask him to say it out loud.

His force signature is wavering, clouding with the same darkness that always seems to haunts him - what I now recognize is self-loathing. I turn to look at him, brows creased. The movement causes me to feel the discomfort of the sticky wetness he left on me. I should really clean myself up.

“Wait.” He says out loud, his hand pressing me back down into the mattress by the hip. His eyes rake over me, and despite himself, I can feel the burning satisfaction he feels at marking me - even if its temporary. His eyes are dark when I catch them, my own are surely hesitant and scared. There's a low rumble from within his chest as he runs his hand from my hip down over the fabric he’s defiled. The image is almost surreal.

Kylo Ren. Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order. Running his hands over my body, dark desire emanating from every pore of his skin. His scar strikingly vibrant against pale skin and illuminated by the low light of the cabin. He’s not thinking clearly enough for me to hear him except for the blooming warmth of... adoration. My breath stalls, unable to look away from him.

Suddenly his body freezes, and he looks back at something I can’t see.

“I have to go.” He mutters, his eyes burning through me. Suddenly I am alone and the snapping cold that bites at me nearly takes my breath away. I could follow him, but I don’t. I pull back from the bond, scared he will hear the stream of worry and doubt that I can no longer push out of my mind.

After I bathe, hot water searing my skin, I walk back to the bed. The movement of my sheets causes his scent to reach my nose. Heavy and intoxicating. I get into bed and don’t have time to think about how terrible this all is before I am pulled into a deep and dreamless slumber.

After three days of radio silence from him, I begin to feel the panic rising in my veins. He has purposefully closed himself off to the bond, and it aches where his presence normally strums. I try to go about my routine with confidence and a sureness that I do not feel. I practice forms at the edge of the forest, talk to the birds, stare in frustration at the broken lightsaber resting on the kitchen counter. I toss and turn in the dark, unfortunately, distracted by the image of his face, softly rearranged in passion. His large hands on me as his heart beats fast in time with my own.

Of course, I’m horrified. It isn’t sane or explainable. The bond has...done something. Where there is a question, there is an answer. Where there is doubt, there is faith. Where there is confusion, there is a certainty. Balance. Total balance. It feels like a wholeness I didn’t know I could feel and the fact that it stems from such a dark source is auto-corrected by the light around him. My light.

I watch the suns set, one behind the other, and the sky’s violet hue glows against the green of the forest. Distantly I hear thunder rumble and I turn back to the cabin as I feel the first drop of rain.

He will turn. I can see it. Now more than before I can see the outline of his future taking shape - and its bathed in light.

The lightning starts to hit the forest and I can hear trees break and crash into each other, rain beating down so hard I can hear nothing else. I walk aimlessly around the cabin and sit in the center of the sitting area. I want to know what he’s thinking. How he feels. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t explicitly want to know how he feels about what happened.

We need to talk. Focusing on the unmistakable outline of his features, I close my eyes and reach for him.

“Ben,” I whisper into the force and search for him, picturing his tall shape in front of me. He remains out of my sight and senses and it causes my face to crease as I focus harder. The gait of his walk enters my vision and I feel his presence, faint and resisting my own.

“It’s been days - are you still upset with me? ” I ask, and I know he hears it, I can feel him, rejecting the link. I can’t stop the feeling of fear that sweeps up inside my chest. He is moving quickly, wherever he’s going, and I consider backing off. But I need to know.

“Ben, I’m sorry. Please talk to me -”

“Maker, you don’t know when to quit.” I hear him bark through the connection, and I find myself standing in his quarters as the door slides shut with a loud thud. He ignores my presence and heads over to his desk, looking for something.

His body looks heavy, his eyes are bloodshot.

“What’s wrong?” I ask quietly.

“Hux is planning a revolt.” He speaks plainly, but I feel the spiking of fear behind his voice. His face is drawn into a look of distress, his movements lacking the fluid grace he normally possesses.

“A revolt...against you?” I ask, my own fear seeping into the connection between us.

“Yes. I don’t have time for this.” He says, looking at me as if I were a faceless stormtrooper - without identity or meaning. His eyes are heavy and I feel him hiding from me as I stand in front of him. He means, “I don’t have time for you.”

“Are you leaving the First Order?” I ask, and his eyes shift to me while he turns back to the task at hand.

“Why do you ask? So you can send an urgent message to your friends?” He speaks with superficial lightness.

“No,” I sputter, shocked at his accusation, “so I can help.” He ignores me, and I feel myself get more frustrated.

“If you would just talk to me-” I start but I am interrupted by his voice.

“There is nothing to talk about.” The snapping finality of his voice throws me.

“I disagree.”

“Well, colour me surprised.” He is gathering materials and writing something into a book, its paper pages crinkle with his movements.

“I am trying to help.” I continue.

“The only way you could possibly help me is to leave.”  The sting of his words bite at me and I feel the tight and painful sensation of tears that begin to swell in my eyes. I refuse to cry.

“Fine. Be alone then.” I pull myself away from him and I feel my surroundings correct itself to the cabin, the storm outside raging beyond control.

My body vibrates with emotion...is it my anger or his? I can’t tell so it is probably both.

Breathe, I tell myself. Just breathe and stop caring. Simple, right?

A long minute passes and I feel the airflow in and out of me at a leisurely tempo, unhurried and calm. I open the door to the cabin, the rain beating the ground mercilessly. I slide down the door frame as I inhale, imagining the dessert of Jakku in the place of the soaking landscape in front of me. The quiet, relentless tug on my heart that they are never coming back resettles in the familiar spaces between my veins and I shiver, seated and still at the stone doorstep.

“Rey.” His voice is behind me and I am motionless, eyes on the rain. I hear him move closer towards me and I breathe deep, eyes falling shut. I can feel him bend to his knees behind my form, his mass shifting the air around me.

“Rey.” He tries again, and I let my eyes flutter open.

“Yes?” My voice gets lost in the blanket of rain but I know he hears me.

“I can’t share what I don’t know.” He explains and I turn to face him. His eyes meet mine and I am the first to look away. His unwavering stare too much for me to stomach as I try to piece together his meaning.

“I don’t know what I am going to do. Yet.” He answers and I feel a weight dissolve from my shoulders.

“Okay.” I answer simply, too tired to anything other than accept. I feel a hot streak across my cheek and I realize too late that I’m crying. Damn it. I face away from him, my hand already erasing the hurt from my face. The bond aches between us. Discontent and uncertainty clings to my every thought and I feel a physical heaviness I’m unable to maneuver around. He must sense this - through the bond or otherwise - and all too quickly I am being lifted off the ground.

The warmth of him engulfs me, my body all but melting against the black on black layers of his clothes. I try not to let his scent fill my lungs but it's impossible. His touch silences the lingering scream of loneliness and the bond is flush with balance. By the time I feel myself being lowered onto the bed I am sighing despite myself. He lays next to me and it takes me by surprise. The side of his body is flush with mine and his heat lulls me to state of calm.

Suddenly my vision floods with a familiar image of Kylo Ren and other masked figures the dark. Their bodies moving around each other with an awareness I recognize. The dark blue of night is cut by the red blooming light from his saber. I have seen this before.

“Who are they?” I ask.

“The Knights of Ren.” His wordless answer comes through the bond. I can see his thoughts flutter past the vision, back to the Jedi training base that he and six others left to ashes. I can feel the loyalty and...ownership he feels over them seep into my thoughts.

“Where are they now?” I press, and I feel his hesitation even though the answer spills past him anyways. “Preparing.”

“Preparing for what?”  

“For my next order.”