Kylo's hands are large. His whole body is large, but often, people are still shocked by the size of his hands. People comment on them. A lot.

During the last tour, Mikey and Banks took to reciting things they found online that fans wrote about Kylo's hands, reading them out on the bus in shrill imitations of teenage girl voices. After a week or so, Derek had told them they seemed way to into the subject and the two had shut up. Even so, Kylo demanded his own bus mid tour, and got it.

His hands do give him an advantage with playing the guitar, opening jars, and holding multiple objects at once. If he'd been athletic, they probably would have given him an advantage in football or basketball.

They do not, however, gain him any advantages when it comes to typing, drawing, or most anything that requires a certain amount of gentleness.

But, even if he were a smaller person, gentleness would never have been a strong suit.

As he walks down Bleecker Street with Rey, toward his favorite record shop, he holds her hand in his and runs his thumb along the tendons and across her knuckles. Much like its owner, Rey's hand is slight but not small, and like with its owner, he practices constant vigilance to hold it softly, to treat it softly, aware he could hurt her as much by holding on too tightly as he could by pushing her away.

He is inevitably going to hurt her. It was written the moment he decided to use her, possibly before. No matter how he feels now, nothing can erase the callous decision that lead to this.

When he met Katia, he'd been eighteen, Katia twenty-one. She'd been the one to teach him everything. Not just about sex but about meeting people halfway. About lives so far removed from his they may as well have been fairy tales. When Katia talked about her life, she often wove it like a children's story, and it was years before it occurred to him that it was the only way she could bear to talk about it.

Katia had never really wanted to be a model, but when the scout came to their apartment, her mother had convinced her it was her greatest shot at freedom. At fifteen, after walking her first shows in New York, Katia had skipped her flight back to Moscow, gone straight to the UN and declared herself a defector.

Her mother had died before Katia could get her out, two months before the USSR fell.

They'd already begun to outgrow each other by the time Kylo left Dagobah, but his willingness to cut himself off from his family had been the killing blow. He couldn't make her understand that it wasn't trivial without telling her his secret, and he knew that even if he told her, how could it compare? She had the choice of leaving her family or living under an oppressive regime. He'd fled to an oppressive regime because he was too ashamed to admit a childish mistake.

Not long after she left, he'd called her, drunk and crying, and she'd admitted that one of the reasons she'd been drawn to him was that she was tired of thinking and talking about her cold, deprived Soviet childhood, and being around him reminded her that idyllic childhoods could exist. But as she grew to know him, it became clear that his upbringing had only made him callow and entitled.

"I don't know what the answer is," she'd sighed. "No child should ever have to grow up the way I did, and it breaks my heart that so many still do, but having too much may be just as disastrous."

It should have been wakeup call, but he'd had enough people around him whispering in his ear that she was a bitch, that he was better off without her. He told himself that she hadn't tried hard enough to understand. And as his career had skyrocketed from indie darling to major label superstar, he'd wrapped himself in a blanket of accolades, shielding himself with all the people who were willing to tell him that whatever he did was right. Even people like Hux and Lorna could be bent to his will, since their financial wellbeing was dependent on him. He lived in a bubble where he could pretend he would never again be as vulnerable as Katia had made him.

And then one night, he'd plucked Rey from the audience, out of fear as much as fascination. She'd slipped through his fingers before he even understood how special she was, and then, when she'd been given back to him, he'd managed to fuck it up in the worst way possible.

There had maybe been a chance, before last night, before he'd been inside her, to come clean, at least about the beginnings of the relationship. To let her go more painlessly. At breakfast, he'd come so close to telling her. While she'd been on tour, he'd started emails to her a half dozen times, sometimes telling her all of it, sometimes only the part relevant to her.

And every time, he'd deleted the email because he was afraid, and because there has to be a way to fix this, so that he can keep her and never have her find out about what he's done.

Because, while a part of him worships how frank she is with him, how she keeps him in line, a large part of him can't get enough of the rare moments when she looks at him in awe.

The idea of that never happening again, of her looking at him in anger, or disgust, sends him into an all-out retreat from thinking of anything beyond next Friday.

He spends an hour in the record shop with Rey, helping her choose a dozen new albums, though she refuses to let him pay for them. It starts to pour again as they're leaving, so she does let him pay for a cab back to his house.

The hems of Rey's jeans are soaking wet so she sheds them as soon as she gets in the door. To Kylo's disappointment, she also unties the knot in his shirt so it hangs to her knees. To his delight, she puts on a pair of argyle knee socks.

She takes her shopping bag to the coffee table and spreads out her new records, then starts browsing through his collection, pulling out things she loves and things she hasn't heard yet and adding those to the pile.

"I can't believe you have the Harry Smith Anthology," she says as he joins her on the floor.

"My mom was a West Village folk singer in the 60s. of course she has it. What do you want to listen to?"

She sorts through the pile, her new records already getting mixed in with his, and finally chooses, sliding the sleeve toward him.

"Miss Kenobi are you trying to seduce me?"

"Can't a girl be in the mood for Al Green without an ulterior motive?"

"Only if it's one of his gospel albums."

He takes the record but she doesn't release it right away. He pulls her toward him. Her mouth tastes like maple syrup. "I'll put it on," he says.

While he's at the stereo she moves to the sofa and he comes back to kneel in front of her, sliding his hands under her shirt. She untucks her legs and lets him find the waistband of her underwear.

"Do you like New York or LA better?" he asks as he works her panties down her legs.

"I haven't seen much of New York," she says, lifting her shirt over her head. "But I like you better here."

"Why?" He tugs at the neck of his own shirt and she helps him get it the rest of the way off.

"I don't know," she says, hands flat on his chest, working their way down. "You seem more…centered? Less angry?"

"Will you still like me when we get back to LA?" he asks, looking down as she tugs at this belt.

Rey stops, hand still on his belt buckle. "Hey." He looks up to find her quavering smile. "Of course I will." She runs her hand along his jaw. "I'll like you so much." She presses her lips to his and returns her attention to his belt and jeans.

"Do you want to move this to the bed?"

"No," she whispers, reaching into his boxers.

"I can get a condom."

"I have an implant."

He pulls back and searches her face, as all of Leia's old warnings before his first tour race through his mind.

"Really?"

"You can feel it," she says. Taking his hand, she guides him to a spot on her left arm, a few inches below her armpit. He presses lightly as he runs his fingers over her skin, feeling five ridges in the shape of a fan. Rey wrinkles her nose. "It's gnarly, isn't it?"

"A little."

"Mood killer?"

"Not even remotely," he says, taking her by the hips and pulling her to the edge of the sofa. He runs his hands up her body, over her breasts and back down underneath her, cupping her ass. Her body is out of this world, slender but solid, with this beautiful, perfectly shaped ass. He still can't quite believe that she gave him access to her body in the first place, much less that she continues to. He bends forward and takes a nipple into his mouth, testing her by grazing his teeth across it, biting lightly when she responds.

With one hand, he runs the head of his dick over her clit a few times before getting in position at her entrance.

"You sure?" he asks.

She nods. Kylo sits up, grips her hips and presses into her. Halfway, he meets resistance, despite how wet she already is, and she hisses, digging her fingernails into his forearms.

He looks down as he pulls back and thrusts into her again, slowly, watching himself disappear inside her. Watching her belly move as she gasps. He stops and closes his eyes. In his head, he goes through the fingerings for the E minor pentatonic scale. He gets to the third position before it's safe to continue.

When he opens his eyes, she's staring at him. She smiles and rolls her hips, taking him in deeper, and he almost loses it again.

"I'm not going to last very long, Rey."

"It's okay," she says, licking her hand and reaching for her clit. As her eyes flutter closed he tightens his grip on her waist.

"Stay with me."

"I am," she says, her other hand gripping his wrist.

She wraps one leg around his waist leaving the other on the floor for leverage, and he starts thrusting, snapping his hips against hers as she rises to meet him. He's never going to be able to listen to this record again without hearing the slap of his skin against hers, her sharp inhalations, his own staccato breathing. She's still holding onto his right hand and he palms her breasts with his left.

When she opens her eyes, they lock onto his and he can't look away, doesn't look away until she throws her head back and tenses around him. He slams into her, over and over and with a cry she starts fluttering around him. A few more strokes after she relaxes and he pulls out, taking his dick in his hand and stroking himself to completion. It shoots all over her, and when he's done, he lays his hand flat on her tummy, almost spanning the width of her, and rubs his cum across her belly and up to her tits, Rey's hand on top of his.

She sits up and he pulls her into a tight hug. She sniffles a bit into his neck but doesn't cry, and gradually her breathing slows.

"I think it's time for a shower," she says.

"You think?" he answers.

They talk little in the shower. He washes his cum off of her first, then she shows him how she manages her long hair, which he helps her detangle with a wide toothed comb. Then they wash his hair, Kylo stooping so she can give his scalp a good scrub. Rey passes the time waiting for the conditioner to set in by jerking Kylo off, and as soon as their hair is rinsed, he kneels, props her against the wall with one arm, throws her leg over his shoulder and goes down on her again.

Consequently, they're sleepy and sated when they get out of the shower. While Rey blow dries her hair, Kylo changes the sheets on his bed. When she comes out of the guest room wearing plaid flannel two piece pajamas, he looks her over and Rey laughs.

"Did you think I'd be out on tour with a bag full of sexy lingerie?"

"No, but I definitely wasn't expecting Ward Cleaver's pajamas. I like them, though."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, because I know you aren't wearing anything underneath."

"Like you have room to talk, wearing sweats from high school gym class."

"Get in here," he says as he climbs into the bed. She follows and he pulls the covers over both of them. They lie on their sides, facing each other.

"I don't think I've ever been more comfortable in my life," she yawns.

"Yeah?"

"I'm clean, and my hair smells good, and you smell good, and my stomach is full and I don't have to worry about paying my rent and this bed is so comfortable and it's raining outside and I'm inside. And you're inside with me. And I've had like six orgasms in the past twenty-four hours."

"That is…" he starts. "I'm…really comfortable, too."

Rey smiles and brushes the tip of her braid over his nose and mouth. "I have a very important question for you."

"Go for it."

"Are you ever going to tell me what physical feature you associated with me to remember my name?"

"I don't remember."

"Yes you do. That's the whole point of the whole thing. To remember."

"Okay," he says, burying his face in the pillow. "Rey with the mermaid hair."

"What was that?"

He turns his face back to her. "Rey with the mermaid hair," he enunciates.

"Really? My hair was up the second time you saw me."

"Maybe you made an impression beyond your hair." He rolls over to his back. "Now I have a question for you."

"Okay."

"Did you have the hots for me when I was in Dagobah?"

"No!" she laughs.

"What?"

"No. I was a kid and you weren't my type. At all."

"Did you have the hots for any of us?"

"One of you."

"Which one?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out." She gets up on her knees, sitting back on her feet. "I have another question for you."

"Okay."

"What did you mean last night, when you said you don't just do this with anyone attractive? Like, you just aren't into casual sex?"

"I guess, though it's not like I ever made a conscious decision, or that it's hard to avoid."

"You're a rock star. How could it be easy to avoid?"

"I just rarely meet anyone that I'm attracted to that way."

"So you have really high standards?"

"No, I know when someone's pretty, and I find all kinds of people beautiful. I just don't want to fuck them. And I've never wanted to have sex with someone I didn't know pretty well."

"Oh."

He takes her hand and tugs so that she lays down, head on his chest. "I don't judge people who do. I know I'm the weirdo."

"So you've never just seen a hot person and wanted to have sex with them before knowing their name?"

"Never."

"Not even when you were a teenager?"

"No. Honestly, my ex-girlfriend was the first and only, before you.

"Should I be flattered?"

"Obviously," he says, kissing her on the top of the head. He listens to the rain, her breathing, the soft scratch of his callouses catching on the fabric of her pajama shirt as he runs his hand up and down her back. "I have another question for you."

"Okay."

"Why don't you hate me?"

She looks at him, resting her chin on his chest, and for a second she looks fearful, before settling into sadness.

"Why would I hate you?"

"You haven't told me a whole lot about your life, but I know you didn't really have a family. You didn't have a choice. I pushed mine away. On purpose."

"I don't hate you for that. I don't understand it and I think it makes you a royal asshole but I want to understand it." She shrugs and lays her head back down on his chest.

"Maybe someday I can figure out a way to help you understand."

"I'd rather you figure out a way back to them," she says. "I'm in a bit of an awkward position right now."

"You wouldn't be in that position if you'd signed with First Order."

"What makes you think I was going to sign with First Order?"

Kylo's hand stills on her back. Shit.

"Well, Finn Storm left First Order and signed you immediately. It's pretty obvious he intended to sign you before he decided to leave. Right?"

"I guess so. Leaving worked out for him, though. He got a promotion. I'm happy for him even if we probably won't work together after this record."

"Well, I hope he shows more loyalty to Resistance than he did First Order."

"Oh come on," she says, looking at him again. "He had good reasons for leaving. And it's not like you're totally happy there."

"Yeah but if we were on the same label it'd be easier for us to collaborate."

"You'd want to collaborate with me? Musically?"

"Why not? I don't know, it'd be cool but when there's two labels involved, you can't even work on anything until they battle through all the legal shit and by the time they're done, your enthusiasm for the project is all gone."

"I mean, we can always just write together, secretly."

"Hmm," he says. "We'll see."

"Okay, one last question," she says, settling back into his chest.

"Sure."

"What exactly is on your tour rider?"

"Basically what you saw on my table backstage."

"I want you to tell me, though. I want ideas, if I'm going to get one someday. Though I'd also put in there that my leftovers have to be donated to charity."

"Okay let's see. There's the vegan cheese. Don't make that face."

"You can't see my face."

"I can feel you grimacing."

"It was gross."

"Anyway, whatever fruit is in season. But also bananas and oranges. Um, cashews, pistachios, almonds. Chocolate soy milk."

"You know what I'd want? At a wedding once they had these mini quiches, and I ate so many and they were the best. I'd want those, as many as I could eat."

"So, a table full of mini quiches."

"And cheese. Real cheese. And croissants. And apple juice."

He nudges her and she looks up at him again. "This is turning you on, isn't it?"

"Maybe a little."

"You're never going to be hungry again, you know."

She stares at him, eyes going shiny. "You can't promise that," she whispers.

"I can be pretty damned sure of it."

"I can't be that sure of anything."

Cupping the back of her neck with his hand, he urges her toward him and kisses her, because he has no other language for everything he's feeling. She ignites like a bonfire, and for the rest of the morning and into the later afternoon he's lost, bathing in her glow.