AN: Who knows where this one came from… Faerie legends apply. Also, why not virgin!Ben? Also, bumping the rating to Mature, because of the sex.
Name
I think about you all the time
But I don't need the same
It's lonely where you are, come back down
And I won't tell 'em your name.
- Name, Goo Goo Dolls
He was lost in the desert. Stranded, trying to find his way, but all the hills looked the same. The red sand, the heat. He did not have much time left.
There.
Shimmering in the distance, an oasis - a patch of green in this devastating environment. Ignoring the sweat stinging his eyes, he moved forward.
Finally, he smelled it - water. In a most ungentlemanly manner, he lurched forward, and dropped himself in the liquid - forsaking all knowledge of threats, his training, focusing on that which was the most important.
Forcing himself to pace his intake, he sat up, drunk on the life-giving water he'd just consumed. Looking around, he saw palm trees and, if he wasn't mistaken, the remains of some long abandoned vehicle, its technology hopelessly out of date. Still, he'd look it over to determine if there was anything useful.
If only...after a brief nap.
Crawling towards a tree to find some respite from the shade, as well as protecting his back, hand on his saber, he falls asleep sitting up.
Coming to some indeterminate amount of time later, he looks up - into the face of a young woman, freckles gracing soft cheekbones.
Simultaneously off guard and full of other emotions he cares not to recognize, he fumbles with his sword, dropping it into the sand. The woman, beautiful in her own way with delicate features and cunning hazel eyes, merely blinks.
Does she speak his language?
"Hello," he rasps, his voice out of use from days of inactivity, hands clasping around the sword.
She does not respond, but does not move away. If she is afraid of him, she does not show it.
Pointing to himself, he says, "Kylo Ren."
Her eyebrows move up and she shakes her head. In a voice deeper than he expected, she answers, "That is not the name given by your father."
Kylo recalls legends, tales of the power of names. Of faery and magic and ancient times. Shaking his head, he asks, "And what was the name given to you?"
This is the wrong question. She is equal parts angry and sad. He has offended her on a deep level. She moves to walk away, and as she does, Kylo swears he sees the water and lush vegetation dissipating around him. Taking a deep breath, he says, "Ben."
It is a name he has not spoken in years.
She turns and offers a half-smile. His world instantly brightens. Whatever trade he has agreed to, whatever fate lays before him, he accepts.
"And how did you come to this place, Ben?" Her voice lilts, dropping on the syllable of his name.
"I…" There was a crash. An accident. Lives were lost. "Where am I?"
"Jakku." She answers, not breaking eye contact.
"Impossible." He knows Jakku. It's leagues away from where his ship was bound.
"And yet, here you are."
Ben blinks. "Am I dead?"
"I suppose that fact matters on a few things. You have partaken from my oasis without asking permission. I have provided you shade and protection."
He looks up.
"What else do you have to barter with?"
"I… My name?"
"You've given me both."
Ben grips the sword in his hands. His grandfather's, passed down through generations. Ben realizes his life his in the balance, and lifts it up - an offering to the beautiful woman. She shakes her head. Letting the sword fall into the dirt, he answers, "I have nothing left of value. My ship is crashed. My crew is dead."
Her hazel eyes widen and she tuts gently in his direction. Standing fluidly, she walks silently in the sand. Dressed in swathes of a white material he cannot define, the garment floats and sways to reveal tanned, lithe skin underneath. "Your virtue."
Pale as his skin is, he feels color drain from his face, then a fierce blush paints his cheeks. She smirks at his response and continues, "So strange that a man of your age, and," she pauses to look him up and down, "stature, would have lived his life without the touch of a lover."
He refuses to break eye contact. To explain himself. To tell her the ways of the code he's lived by. She moves closer, and with a light touch, caresses his face, then his hair. Even if he's never been intimate with someone, his traitorous body does not know the difference. His trousers grow uncomfortably tight.
She lets loose a low laugh. "What do you say, Ben? Will you give me your virtue, freely?"
With some difficulty, he swallows. If death is sleeping with a beautiful woman, then he supposes it's a better fate than dehydration. In response, he loosens his cowl, then removes his shirt.
"You have to say the word." Her eyes glitter dangerously, sweeping over the muscles of his chest and abdomen.
"Yes," he whispers.
The word is barely from his lips, when hers crash into his and she licks hungrily at the seam. He opens for her, groaning, wondering why he waited for so long. Without fear, she straddles his lap, her legs astride his, grinding her heat upon his length. And then her hands are upon him, under his pants. In all his years, he never dreamed the feel of fingers other than his own upon his cock, and almost immediately spends himself in her hand. As if sensing this, she giggles slightly to herself and moves to kiss his neck. Finally finding a rhythm, he allows his hands to explore, and upon doing so, realizes there are no small clothes under her silks. Nothing standing between him and…
Oh…
He begins making sounds he's never made before, that he did not know he was capable of. The sensations are almost too much and… Her hand stops and she rocks back on her ankles. Placing her hand over his, she guides him to her core. He follows her guidance and soon her hand drops away, and she's riding his hand, groaning against him. He puts another finger forward, spurred on by instinct and before long she shouts out, resting her light weight against him.
Eyes glassy, she looks at him and lowering herself to his ear, asks, "Are you ready?"
He can only nod, as she slowly peels away his trousers, then lifts the coverings around her body.
She is perfect.
Once again sliding above him, Ben is wholly unprepared as she settles down on his cock - wet, hot, and a thousand other feelings. She hums in satisfaction, slowly moving, using his broad shoulders for balance. He moves with her. Forgetting his name, his code, everything he's lived for until this point.
When she calls out, "Ben," he realizes she has done so at great peril. His name, given back to him, earned by way of innocence. His orgasm is powerful, shaking him from tip to toe, as he spends himself inside this beautiful woman. However, this faery creature in front of him does not seem to mind, and she lazily rolls back, sated and spent.
Ben too, finds his eyes growing heavy.
When he awakes, he is alone. The hour grows late. Covered by his cowl, she is nowhere to be found, but Ben sees lights of a city in the distance, and a pack next to him. Not wanting to press his luck any further, he gathers his clothes. Pausing at the edge of the oasis, he whispers, "Thank you" and moves away.
This day will never be forgotten.