Kylo Ren feels her coming towards him. It's nighttime on this battlefield, but warm as summer. They are in a forest on a green planet, outside the local rebel camp. This is just a skirmish really, the inhabitants getting only token assistance from the Resistance who haven't rebuilt their strength yet.
Yet Rey is here.
The enemy defenders he was facing are down; he walks away from them, further from the battle that's raging on.
He's waiting. She finds him.
It doesn't take very long before she rushes him.
She's overconfident; she's forgotten how she won their encounter on Starkiller Base. He's not wounded now.
They spar for a moment. Long enough to find a rhythm.
"You've gotten much better," he tells her, and she is surprised at the compliment.
"You're in better shape than last time," she answers, panting with the effort of trying to overpower him.
He is merely deflecting her strikes. They circle each other, around and around, forward and backward; it's a tango.
He doesn't need to capture her this time, he doesn't want to kill her; he never did. He's not exactly toying with her: as much as he enjoys this dance, he is trying to guide her, showing her a few moves. It's a dangerous way to teach her new forms.
She notices. She steps back, looks around. The rest of the battle is so far away now, it's like they're alone. She has a choice to make.
She can run away to rejoin her mates. She can tell that he will absolutely let her escape.
Or, she can stay and continue this impromptu training session. She flourishes a salute before attacking again.
As with their sabers, the Force flows around them and within them, and the Bond connects them softly.
"Why is the Force connecting us now? We are literally in the same space," he murmurs, ever the scholar, as he parries a low swipe.
Her next moves are better informed, more precise. Her eyes widen in surprise: she has access to his knowledge.
"You're sharing with me," she answers, "I can understand your every move. Oh!"
The Force is speeding up her knowledge, pushing her to be his equal faster than normal experience would.
It's as though there is no time to waste.
With Luke and Snoke gone, and after years of hunting down the Jedi, Kylo Ren is the only known trained Force-User left in the galaxy. A feeling of inescapable dread wells up in him. There will be a reckoning.
Their blades lock. He reaches for her wrist and catches it in one hand. He switches his lightsaber off, and clips it to his belt before grasping her other wrist. He looks deep into her surprised eyes.
There, he sees it: he will be dead before the year is out. He has to pass on his knowledge to her. And something else as well: his blood.
She sees it as well. Her lightsaber switches off as if of its own volition.
They are both caught up in the same vision: one of merging minds, and souls, and now bodies. It all makes sense to him now, in a primordial, simple way: the dreams he's had of her for weeks now, maybe even before he ever saw her: the woman he belongs to. The pull to the Light.
The Force is not one for romance. Suddenly, using his considerable strength, and aided by the Force, he pushes her down onto the mossy ground.
To her credit, she does put up a fight, but she doesn't call out for help. She doesn't make a sound. She's terrified; not so much of him but of the terrible responsibility he will give her now. She didn't ask for this; she thought she would become a Jedi but the Force wants her to be everything : Light and Dark.
"The Darkness is in our nature," he tells her, "surrender to it."
"It will kill you, I feel it," she answers him. "In the end, you will come to the Light."
"I will die in the Light," he corrects.
She's stiff with fright and he realizes she's still a maiden; he curses the Force for the first time in ages. He has little experience himself, but he has enough to know he will hurt her. She starts to cry silently. He removes his dark leather gloves.
He contemplates her for a moment then rolls her onto her stomach: they are outside, she needs only have her breeches down past her buttocks for him to reach where he needs to reach her, removing only a minimum of clothing.
This way, it's not as intimate.
"Be gentle," she pleads with him.
Damn.
He roughly grabs the hem of her breeches and pulls them down, exposing her pale muscular buttocks. He can't help but caress her then, feeling how a lifetime of climbing and malnutrition have combined into hard stringy muscle. She's laid her head on the ground, hands fisted on either side of her head, eyes closed while he touches her, cheeks tightly bunched together. He manages to squeeze fingers between them to find a patch of curly hair and the split in it. She's dry as bone. She's trembling.
He pushes his own breeches down and pulls his cock out of it's own tangle of dark hair where it was constrained. At least the thing is willing, judging by how it nods at him. He places himself over her, spreads her legs as far apart as he can with his knees and starts pushing into her.
Her head snaps up and she bites her fist, still silent. He is amazed at her courage.
It's a no go. He feels her pain through the bond and as used to suffering as he is, this is something else.
She needs moisture. He pulls back and spits on his fingers and spreads it on her opening. Adds more. He strokes her gingerly with his fingers, at least spreading her a bit so he can find her better with his cock. He places himself over her again.
This time his cockhead slides between her lips and wetness transfers her heat to him. The sensation is intense, making him almost lose his balance. He'd forgotten about the pleasure. He tries to push a little further in but she's dry inside. She cries out, curses him, clutching at the ground around her, trying to crawl away from the pain, but he's got her pinned down, holding her by the throat, and she's not going anywhere.
He could just force his way in. He should, in fact: by the feel of it, he would be done in very little time, shortening this… this assault .
This rape is anathema to him. The Knights never invited him again after that second time. They told him he was an embarrassment. And when Snoke forbade him from taking women any other way than by violent subjugation... he had fasted. Until now.
This primordial pressure is compelling him. It is not the passing on of the family name that pushes him. It is not the domination of the female under him, Jedi or no. He was drawn to her, like the proverbial moth to the flame. It is beyond irrational. It is the merging of the Dyad, into the product of their merging, a power like life itself, the power of life itself. It's almost the survival of the species. It feels like he is being torn apart by this Force, like those insects that die after pushing their seed into the female, tearing it out of their body in some mortal wound...and yet go through the act anyway. And he must, because this woman under him - this Rey, this Orphan - is the only woman that can take him.
There's no way he can explain all of this to her. There's no time to wait for the end of the war, and then ask her on dates and woo and seduce her.
He hardens his resolve and pushes into her in three short thrusts, feeling her rage as the resistance stretches and finally snaps apart, and he is suddenly hilted within her. She roars and he is hit with the unfairness of this struggle between them, like his body is the only one with a weapon naturally part of it.
She sobs under him and he is damned for all eternity, as much if not more than when he killed his father. He feels the last flame of Light in him - so small and dirty right now - and he tries to move so he can push it inside her, knowing it will grow in her as a darkness.
She is so dry and clenched tightly around him he can barely move and when he manages to pull out a bit he smells the iron tang of blood - and it is fitting that blood is the lubricant of their union. Blood, and spit as he adds more to the mix.
He moves slowly, almost gently at first, until the path he is breaking into her becomes smooth and her muscles relax, unable to continue the fight.
The pleasure is intense but tainted with shame and despair. He is joined in the flesh with his Dyad-half, but every thrust into her pushes them further apart. What should have been lovemaking is hateful instead. And yet he must reach the end.
He thrusts inside her, his motions clumsy from inexperience, apologizing when a movement makes him bump painfully inside her.
Rey tilts up her head and stops crying. Was that an apology? She pushes her hips up slightly, feels he's let loose some of the hold he has on her. She pushes herself up on all fours, and he adjusts himself over her, holding her hips and the change of angle gives him more reach inside her. Her breeches slide down revealing her thighs and her tunic rides up her back and he can see more of her golden flesh. He instinctively reaches to touch her, tentatively at first, and then caressing. His motion changes as well, becomes less mechanical.
There is no cruelty, no malice coming from him, but a feeling of terrible purpose, like Kylo Ren has no more control over this joining with her than either of them has over their Force-Bond. Like this is an extension of it.
She feels him pump inside her and for all his panting and heaving he's unable to reach his release. He drives harder into her but another bad move - and a whimper from her - and he slows down again, groaning in frustration.
Why is he doing this? Snoke is dead.
"Stop...stop," she tells him.
He slows and pauses, momentarily. Then he starts up again: "I can't," he tells her, "I have to do this."
"Why? Ben... why ?"
"We have to do this," it comes out as a plea, and his mental barrier comes down.
She sees the truth of it: this terrible purpose. It's a clear vision of a child, a boy-child. Dark-haired and big-eared and clinging to his mother's leg.
Memories of Ben's childhood surface in a surge of emotions: his mother's love, that one spot of Light on his soul that Snoke could never extinguish.
She sees Kylo Ren's death.
So this child is not him. It is her child.
The pain from the friction burns and she doesn't know how much more of this she can take. She tries to relax, to change her angle so he finishes quickly but he's having a hard time of it and she bites back a hysterical laugh. She also silences the rebukes and reproach that want to scream out of her. He can feel them anyway. It's probably what's blocking him from climaxing.
She can think of only one thing that will help him finish.
"Come, Kylo Ren. Give it to me."
He misses a stroke. Slows, then picks up the pace as he finds his rhythm again.
"Touch me again. Be gentle, I know you can, Kylo. Then you can come."
"Rey…" he breathes softly, a whisper. He slows again, lets go of her hips to wrestle his tunic open and then bends over her, caressing her back before making skin contact with her. He wraps one arm around her, the other resting in a fist on the ground beside hers, so she doesn't have to support his weight. His head resting beside hers, he breathes her in and exhales in a sigh.
She almost turns to him to kiss him. Damn this war, Snoke, Luke, the Sith, War-mongers, the Machine that keeps them apart when they could have been lovers.
Now even the Force is complicit in their pain.
He is moving slowly now, and the pain has lessened, there is even a slickness that wasn't there before.
"You are so warm," he whispers in her ear, "so beautiful."
Her body throbs on him and he turns his head, kisses her neck. There is one more thing she will get from this interaction:
"Say it, Kylo Ren." She knows what price to ask for the sacrifice the Force asks of her. "Say it, Ben Solo. Say what I will tell your son."
There's barely a hesitation, just the time it takes for him to process her demand.
"I love you, Rey of Jakku."
And everything inside him releases, all at once. He heaves and shudders, great sobs tearing from him as she feels him fill her with a torrent of seed.
She lets herself lay forward on the mossy forest floor again, and he follows closely, unwilling to pull out just yet. He kisses her neck softly; she can feel droplets of moisture run down to her throat. He's making quiet noises behind her, hiccups of grief.
She will never be a Jedi. She will not teach the ways of the Jedi. She will teach another way. There is emotion.
When he finally rolls off her, she pushes herself up to put some order back into her clothing.
He looks away from her as he does the same, his head heavy with shame.
Now is the time for reproach.
"Fuck you Kylo Ren. It's not even my time."
He looks at her, dumbfounded and his face turns an ugly crimson, hot and sputtering like his crazy light-saber.
"Wh- what?"
"Next time, you will come to me as Ben Solo. Kylo Ren is a dead man walking. Leia's son is alive. You will keep him alive."
She marches off, back towards the battle.
She wakes to the unmistakable feeling of being very aroused. She lets the sensation course through her body, her insides pulsing with a pleasure she feels seldom enough with all the work and the battles and the sudden evacuations. The pain she received a few days ago has faded and this new sensation is welcomed.
When she opens her eyes she finds him there, face buried between her legs, gently laving at her. He's trying to make up for his earlier assault. He realises she's awake now and he pauses, looking at her pleadingly.
He still doesn't get the notion of consent but at least she knows why he's doing this. She sighs and puts her hand on his head, gently caresses the dark curls away from his forehead. He gives her another, tentative lick and she tilts her hips up slightly, spreading her legs enough to give him more access. He closes his eyes and hums a bit, and resumes his ministrations.
Rey lays back and enjoys this pleasure he gives her as he gently brings her to an intense, satisfying climax... before fading away, asking for nothing more than to be forgiven.
And to be allowed into her graces.