I will only hurt you

I will make you feel the pain
For I am scum

Song-inspired fic, courtesy of "Scum" by Peta & the Wolves (listen while you read!)

You... a scavenger.

His own words came back to him in his dreams, stinging and probing at his most sensitive bits, burning like hot coals on his bare skin. Her hazel eyes, boring through his, the explosive grind between them, that haunted him since the moment she'd broken down his barriers. He had fixated on it, worrying it like an Rancor would a bone, stripping each sliver of flesh away, trying to polish a refined image of who this girl was, what she was. Those mysterious still remained. He did not even know her name.. but he knew with certainty that he wanted her. One word for what he wanted. Mine. But after what he had one? She never could.

The haze of the drugs was beginning to leave his system, the slow ache of the pain returning to the site of his injuries acquired months before. These pains were nothing to him though, compared to the gaping hole of his soul, stolen by a subverted guilt, which he distracted himself from, as he focused his mental energies on the scavenger girl, and her whereabouts. He nestled into her dreaming form, caressing as he infiltrated the unconscious mind, carefully untangling the thickly woven barriers to her deeper thoughts. He did not get far, but he left his mark on her, just as the scar she'd given him. The ache was mutual. He had found that she'd been consumed thinking of him as well… regardless of what she felt emotionally, he was never far from her.

He left his mark again, whispering the things he thought to her. That he would find her name, he would break it, and give her a new one, draw her close and make her his. The darkness consumed him, and it was insatiable. It was greedy. It wanted this slip of Light that the girl represented. He would swallow them both into the darkness together, and they would be too powerful to defeat.

Face to face again, finally they met on an open plain of battle, cut off once more from further reinforcements. He danced around her, carefully avoiding the blows she dealt, their peak performances not fettered by interruption or the emotional tumult of their last meeting. Their weapons shared an owner once, and now clashed against one another with the fury that raged within them both. As their blades locked, their bodies straining to their physical limits, their minds opened, spilling their mutual fears, insecurities and stray thoughts. The floodgates poured between them, and Ren saw her for the first time as what she was. Not the last Jedi Knight.

The sliver of light emanating from her was shrouded in darkness, her anger toward him had never been soothed by the Jedi ways. She wielded an incredible Force, driven by the passionate intensity one usually reserves for a lover. Her teeth grit, she has her blade at his throat, the blue light glowing against his pale skin, as his dark eyes glare into hers.

Do it. It's a challenge. And he can already sense she cannot complete it. She has not been so tainted as to break such a basic rule of combat. His blade falls to the ground, and she begins to weep, through gritted teeth and burning gaze. The blade doesn't waver, but he feels her beginning to become undone, unable to control the forces at play.

"You need a teacher."

Her anger ripples off of her, the trees nearby bursting into splinters as the blade disappears into its hilt. Ren brings his own blade back to his grasp, and with his free hand, wraps his fingers around her arm near her shoulder, dragging her toward his ship. She wrenches herself from his grasp, shoving him away from her. He turns to face her, the tempest rising within him again, and this time, instead of trying to lead her back to the ship, he pulls her closer to himself, his hand on her arm and the other reaching toward her hip, bringing her against his body, and the need roiled off of him, his mental connection to her open, eager, thrumming with a heat he couldn't handle.

He could feel her response, almost instantly her anger dimmed, and instead of her bewilderment bringing her to a state of calm, their connection maintained a certain amount of contagion, as she felt the thrumming need he projected onto her suddenly reconcile with her own fixation, the power attracting itself to another sharing such gifts. She felt disgusted simultaneously, despite the clear desire that she felt, as the heat between them began to grow, roaring to life with the same fervor as their mutual rage. Her hands against his chest, instead of pushing him away, clenched into fists grasping the front of his robes. His own hands moved up toward her face, grasping on either side as his lips met hers, biting onto her lower lip, without gentleness, taking it between his teeth and pulling her toward him before diving into the kiss more thoroughly. At the intimate contact, their bond sparked, intensifying, engaging their temperaments. She came back with her own fervor, as if trying to match his passion as if in strength, to prove her own capacities. She ripped at his clothing, pulling the cowl, loosening the tight constraints of the fabric of his robes. He groaned, as her body pressed against him, and he pulled her to the ground, rolling on top of her as he shoved his hands toward her waist, bringing it beneath the edges of her shirt, to find the ties of her trousers, furiously pulling them free as she pulled the front of his robes open, his belt falling away from him, her hands disappearing into the dark fabric. .

Both of them still mostly-clothed, he found the pointed edges of her hips with his palms, using them to anchor himself, as he drifted beneath the thick cloth of her greying tunic, the feel of her skin against his hands causing him to tremble. He drew himself closer to her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, then brought her own hands lower, to his mid-back, digging her nails into the flesh, as he pushed himself against her, feeling her grow wet from the constant teasing, his mouth devouring hers. The force bond they shared spilled over them with an acute sense of need and desire. The closer they were, the more complete he felt, and from his reciprocal understanding, the void the scavenger experienced was not so different. She craved to fill her own empty void, though he knew well enough that his own emptiness would leave her without satisfaction.

As she made his back bleed, he shoved himself inside of her, no sense of gentleness or careful caress maintained. All delicate sensitivities aside, he let the fervent desires mount on her end as well, both of them caught in the heady powerful carnal desire for the flesh of another with this kind of strength. Their primal needs mounted, and Ren's self-loathing only intensified. He became sick with himself, with her, as he fucked her against the ground, her own eyes morphing, darker around the edges, as she fought him, fucked him back, her own power to fight the aphrodisiac of their Force Bond reduced as much as his. As he separated from their locked lips, she yanked him back to her, grasping by his hair, as he came closer to climax. Growling, he wrenched his head free, meeting her eyes with the revulsion he felt toward himself, and by extension, he felt his own antipathy for her grown in turn. The obsession not a thing of love or hate, but of passion, unmitigated. One and the same. She looked as if she would spit in his face, instead she began to buck her own hips, her face contorted with contempt and pleasure, fighting her own climax. She could read his feelings as easily as he could hers. There were no more secrets.

Her climax came first, shattering their minds together, crumbling their remaining walls to dust. He finished without much ceremony, shortly after. Panting, his weight atop her, as the haze began to clear bit by bit. He could hardly look at her, as he pulled himself away from her, feeling the hot glow of their bond beginning to temper. A contingent of troopers was fast approaching now. He would not let her defeat him again. She knew it. As soon as she'd come, she'd known. He held her lightsaber in his hand, gripping it tightly.

This belongs to me.

As he projected the thought toward her, he could tell she understood the double entendre. This time, she did spit at him.

"I hate you."

He turned, the same loathing within his heart. The mask over his face settled, his stoic expression restored.

"I know."