Korriban
Neo-Sith Academy Sleeping Quarters
[Two weeks ago…]
By the time Kylo reached the Academy on his short range speeder, the Time Tower's chimes sang praises for the midnight hour. He had to talk to someone about this, mostly to assess his own mental health. Someone close. Someone he could potentially trust.
Shit.
He jogged up the flight of one hundred sandstone stairs crowning the platform, avoiding anyone at all costs, and shadow-slipped into the Sith student commons. There was only one woman he wanted to see. Chest heaving and doing his damnedest to keep quiet in the sensitive and echoing blackness, Kylo moved from alcove to alcove while stealing constant glances over his shoulder. He slunk through the communion deck, conference dome, and gymnasium without incident.
Swaddled in panic after another two flights of stairs, he threw caution to the wind and burst into Darth Briarbone's quarters. She had given him the key combination in case of emergency when Snoke paired them. Plus, she had rigged the door with absorbent sensors keyed to his aura. She would know if an intruder needed her, or needed her dead.
Briarbone had a fierce love for old fashioned things—torches, sconces, incense, candles, and oils. Her chambers smelled of balsam and sweet pine. Vials in every size and array lined the shelves, somehow still uncluttered. Braizers burned on end tabled and wall brackets. Simple elegance.
"Myth!" he called as the panel whisked shut in its gridlock-swirl. That was a severe breach of protocol. No apprentice ever addressed a Lord on a first name basis.
He breezed from the foyer into the den and made a beeline for the bedroom. "I'm incredibly sorry to barge in, but—" Struck by the explicitly intimate sight before him, Kylo stopped short.
He had found Myth. Oh, he found her alight. In her sprawling black-bathed bed. Astride General Gore's hips. Thin, wondering rivets of red trailed down from Gore's neck and chest.
Mortified, Kylo whirled around and stammered for an apology.
The surreal, sweeping alabaster curvature of her, not a measure of skin unevenly toned, lay cemented in his mind… along with the way her cascade of purple-black hair freely draped over her shoulder. The tilt of her neck. The slow forward rocking of her hips and her fluid slide up and down him. The way his fingers bit into her flesh. How she arched her back.
Every formerly dormant sexual instinct in him came surging to the surface, savage and alive.
Kylo's heart lodged firmly in his throat. Would she ever see him that way? Any relations between twenty seven year old student and a Sith Lord thousands of years in the making had to be impossible if not incriminating.
The Sith had no qualms with sex. It went hand in hand with passion, and passion was always encouraged.
"Why you rotten little shit!" Gore snarled, the bed creaking as he undoubtedly began to rise. Kylo stiffened as he added, "I'm going to—!" Cut short, Gore gurgled.
Recognizing the sputtering of a man with a Force hold around his throat, Kylo stood a little straighter and let some of his tension leak out from him. Because he hadn't done it.
"Bite your tongue and choke on it," Myth's voice hissed, her words clipped with potent venom. "I value him for his talents, his potential, and his deliciously dark temper. I value you exclusively for what miracle hangs between your legs. Given the ultimate choice though, I think you know whom I'd select." Her voice warmed from glacial to late-winter. "What is it, Kylo Ren?"
"I need to speak with you about something I have seen at the temple," he uttered.
"The Temple of Testament?"
"No. Transcendence."
Silence.
Kylo felt sweat begin to bead on his brow.
"How interesting," she eventually purred. Kylo heard her release her grip on Gore's throat as he coughed and gasped. The bed began to creak in tandem with squelching sounds obvious enough to make a virgin blush.
Kylo took a quick step forward to leave this indiscretion behind him.
"You stay right there, my boy," Myth commanded. "I'll only be one moment more."
Gulping, Kylo held his ground. Gore's straggled breathing turned to grunts, groans, and gravelly moans. They escalated until the sound shuttered, softened, and died. His breath hitched. Imagination too vivid, Kylo heard her sigh… and not the sort she emitted in his presence. A sultry, satisfied kind of noise he hadn't known her capable of making.
Struggling under the weight of her command, Kylo stayed put while he listened to the bed give. Soft footsteps. A wooden chest lid open. The whisper of fabric.
Myth swept around in front of him, draped in glossy stark green. The robe hung open. Kylo's heart thundered madly. His eyes trailed down her body, the inner rounds of her breasts and the sculpted flat of her abdomen naked before his eyes. Her navel. Her… Oh, sweet, unholy fuck.
Milky fluid dripped down her inner thigh. No longer barefoot, dangerous looking stilettos adorned her feet.
Putty. Kylo felt like fucking putty.
Meanwhile Myth's hand shot out, caught his wrist and, with strength that belied her delicate and lithe figure, yanked his hand up.
"Is this blood?" she hounded, eyes darting from the stains in his uniform to his face.
"I…" he tried hoarsely. Lying to her seemed pointless, and he had forgotten to clean up. "Yes."
"Focus, child mine," she prompted. "If you can't stand the sight of seed where it belongs, spilling blood might just curdle your ambitions."
Kylo's mouth worked, but no sound came. Turning his head, he checked the bed for the General's wrath.
"He's asleep," she assured velvetly. "I have him unconscious for now."
Through the heady fugue of his throbbing skull, Kylo recounted the events of earlier to her. He watched her expression change while he spoke: wintry indulgence to smoky disbelief to incredulous acceptance. She began to eye him like she hadn't before—silken black, surprised, and curious.
When he finished, she tugged him into the den and sat him down in one of her plush lounge chairs. With an effortless movement of her wrist, she positioned her favorite chair to face his. Wordlessly too... because it drove him nuts under the weight of his worry, while she glided around the chamber fixing two drinks. To his surprise, she tucked one into his hand. As Myth finally sat down, she crossed her legs. Her robe still hung open.
He swallowed hard.
Hooking her hair behind her ear the way God curved a rainbow, she asked, "Does anyone else know about this?"
Kylo struggled not to stare at her breasts. "N—no. Just… us."
"Good. Let's keep it that way," instructed the Sith Lord with a flirtacious smile.
Kylo, unable to find footing on the slippery slope of desire, couldn't speak. It was as though this silent moment dragged on forever. His insides felt too big for his body.
Then, Myth uncrossed her legs and gradually spread her feet apart.
Feeling his mouth drop open like an idiot, Kylo gawked.
With inhuman grace, she stood and shed her robe. He watched the garment flutter down from her shoulders as her hands began to peruse her body. "Kylo."
"Y—yeah?" he choked. "What?"
"You say you've seen the Dark itself." Her nimble fingers dipped down to her inner thighs, caressing.
Struck stupid, he could only reply, "I… I don't know what I saw."
With a melodic sway in her hips, she crossed to him and bracketed his hips with practiced grace.
Kylo, practically paralyzed, hardly dared to believe what he was seeing.
"I want you to take me to the old temple tomorrow night," her sly, succulent lips said.
Dumbly, he nodded. Absolutely. Without question. Incontestably. He'd take her. He'd show her. He'd do anything.
She smiled and traced his lips with her finger. "And I want you to show It to me."
Anything…
Bursting from the mental fog, Kylo sat up like a shot, naked chest heaving. Frantically searching his surroundings, Kylo realized he was in his own quarters, in his own bed. Pale sunlight shone through the crack in the drapes. His robes hung over the back of his courtesy chair and his mask sat on his bureau. Relieved, he dropped back onto the mattress. He scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair.
"That was so fucked up," he sighed out. "Sweet Snoke... No more all-nighters for a week. Ever."
He felt as though he had drank his weight in lager and then ran halfway across the planet.
Checking the time, he realized he had missed morning meditation and training. Snoke and Briarbone would be pissed. He dragged himself out of bed and into the shower to scrub away the lethargy and night sweat. With the room still thick with steam, he stumbled out of the shower and swept his hand over the mirror's clouded surface.
Kylo froze.
An unfamiliar scar lay etched across his neck… and a second across the right part of his abdomen.
The feral cat flashed like Force Lightning through his mind.
He touched the distorted skin with shaking hands.
Soundlessly, the bathroom door swung open. Myth stood beneath the frame, bare as he remembered her the night prior, wearing only a barbed smirk. "Good afternoon. I was wondering when you'd wake up."