Notes:
Normally, I just toss new terms in here willy-nilly and let you figure them out from context. That said, I've got some new ones popping up in this chapter, that I figured could use some explanation out of the gate.
Okay, gay/straight/bi just feels really Earth-bound and English-language-culture intensive to me. Likewise top/bottom is just... Too entrenched in this particular culture and time and power dynamics.
So... Narrow/'Verse (as in diverse). Narrow means you're into one (sex, gender, species, whatever) 'Verse means you like more than one of them. So, Kylo and Poe are both narrow (just for different things), Jon and Rey are 'Verse.
Instead of top/bottom, I'm going with Give/Giver and Receive/Receiver.
And there's your crash course in Keryl's version of Star Wars sexual-orientation slang.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
A million years ago, when Ensign Frakes was new in the Tactical Design group, he would often run into issues where the right answer was not glaringly apparent.
(He also ran into many where it was, which was generally not how Capt. Smanth wanted it done. So Jon began quietly putting his fixes into place, because he'd learned, quite well, from his mom and sisters that sometimes, you just make the changes, don't mention them, and then sit back and relax because everything is better. A few months later, having noticed how much better things were, Major Lane Keenadun, the commanding officer in charge of Tactical Equipment, decided to see why things were getting better, and… Well… The rest was history.)
And when he would run into these complicated issues, his rather clandestine boyfriend (While it wasn't, officially, against the rules for two officers to fraternize, given the massive difference between their ranks, the large difference between their ages, and that Lane was his commanding officer's commanding officer such things were frowned upon.), Major Keenadun, would tell him to put it to the side, work on something else, get a night of sleep (or not sleep), and go at it fresh in the morning.
And often, some time working on something (someone) else did clear his mind and let him see what he'd been blind to before.
Right now, he could use all the help he can get. He's not sure what his mom thinks she's playing at. Or if she's playing. Or if he's better off keeping her nearby, where, theoretically at least, he can keep an eye on her. (Though, what he thinks he's going to do with that eye is an utter mystery, because, just like she never had any luck getting him to do anything he didn't want to do, he's never seen her change so much as a single bead because someone else wanted it somewhere else.)
There's a few centimeters of wine left in the bottle, so he pours it into his glass.
He can feel himself, remember himself, at his drafting table, or here, at this table, pouring over reports, staring at them, willing himself to find the answer, and feeling Lane's hands on his shoulders, his lips on the crown of Jon's head. "C'mon, luv. Go at it fresh in the morning."
He'd look up and say, "Is that an order?" bright cheeky smile and bedroom eyes.
Lane would grin down at him. "You're damn right it is! Bed, now!"
He'd salute, hop up (after tucking his work away. This was playing, yes, but the work still needed to get done.) and saunter to their bed. Laying or reclining back on it, waiting for Lane, he'd say, "Yes, sir!"
Jon swallows half of what's in his glass, and tries, desperately, not to miss his man too much.
He makes himself not look at the photo of the two of them on the beach. It's their honeymoon, and they're both a bit drunk, on each other if not the rum and fruit concoctions they'd been downing, on and off, all day. Lane had asked the couple next to them on the beach to get a shot of them. They'd gotten several, but that was the only one where they both had their eyes open, and were looking vaguely in the direction of the camera.
He glances at the chrono. It's not that late, and it's not like the Specs ever close. He's got the credits. Between his salary and Lane's pension, he's well-off, especially by Order officer standards. If he wanted to, he could certainly hire some company for the night.
It wouldn't be the first time. Probably wouldn't be the last, either.
He stands up and stretches, rolls his shoulders, takes another sip of his drink, thinks about Unthur, his favorite of the Specs. It's been… Probably two months since he saw him last. He thinks about how busy he's been lately. Maybe three.
Five hundred credits for a night. Get a massage, a decent conversation, his shaft sucked… or ridden, been a long time since he's done that, and a good cuddle, wake up refreshed… Maybe.
He thinks about Unthar. He's tall and light, white blonde hair, ice blue eyes, slim… As best Jon can tell, he genuinely likes him and enjoys having him as a client. As a client being the operative term. He's sweet, and gentle, or not, as the situation calls for. (More often than not, Jon wants sweet.) He'll cuddle Jon close and call him love and baby, pet his hair, and… It's not real. It feels real when he's doing it, because he's good at his job, but…
It's not real. Unthar's married. To a woman. She's a Spec, too, and one night Jon paid to work with both of them. As physical sensations go, having both of them ride him at the same time was a treat, one he certainly wouldn't mind experiencing again. As emotional ones… Well, there's a reason why Jon knows he's just a pet client of Unthar's and that's because he's been between Unthar and his wife.
He got to be next to the sort of love he and Lane had, and… It just made him miss it more.
So, visit Unthar, get his tool serviced, relax a bit, and then wake up sad and lonely… Definitely.
He feels listless. He wants Lane. He wants someone he can talk to about the job, and about life, and about his Mom, someone who'll get it. He wants that conversation with diner, and kisses, and sex, fucking gods, yes, he wants it with sex, and he wants it during sex, and he wants cuddles, and he wants Lane's shaft deep inside him while he kisses him and brushes his hair out of his eyes, and he wants… wants… wants.
But wanting isn't having.
He doesn't cry. It's not that sort of ache anymore. Not… this version of it, at least. He's just… flat. Empty.
He finishes the wine. It's not helping with flat. Nothing does, not really, not for long.
And the stuff that does help… Well, it's fucking stupid, and he knows it. Yeah, two guys and one girl at the party felt good while he was doing it, but… It was stupid. He's way too old, and highly ranked, to go chasing danger for kicks.
At least he hasn't gotten bitten too badly with that. He heads to the bathroom to take his last dose of antis, shaking his head. He knows not to fuck strangers without a slick, and he did it anyway, and…
He swallows the pill. Just a mild case, caught early, and treatable. Literally fucking stupid.
Not like he hasn't had a social disease before, but he was sixteen the last time and literally didn't know any better. It's been half a lifetime, he fucking knows better. He stares at himself in the mirror, debates if he's actually going to stop setting himself on fire with idiot sex and too much drinking.
He has the sinking feeling that he might do better for a few days, or if there's enough work, as long as he can focus on that, but… He'll get bored again, sooner or later.
From this breath to my last… He remembers Lane's final vow. His, too. They'd held hands and promised to be each other's… everything… from this breath to my last.
He shouldn't be worrying about social diseases, or slicks, or any of the rest of it, because he's supposed to be monogamous. Yeah, he and Lane both had moments of temptation, but… He was happy monogamous. The eye might have (did) wander on occasion, but the heart didn't, and that kept the shaft in line.
He stares out at the stars easing past.
Kylo's dead are out there, somewhere. His ghosts come to visit.
"Well? You out there?"
If Lane is, he doesn't answer.
And Jon doesn't know which is worse. The idea that Lane, and all like him are just gone, or that the universe is so perverse as to allow only certain, special people the chance to see their beloved dead again, and he's not one of them.
Nothing else to do, Jon gets his shower.
Scrubbing down, cleaning up, he thinks about company. If he's not going to hire some… Well, there's usually someone, or several someone's looking for a friend, or at least a warm body, on the F-Deck.
And unlike the Specs, there's the possibility that maybe he'd really, genuinely like this one.
And maybe whomever he found would genuinely like him.
And maybe they'd fall into bed and not fall out of it, and maybe…
Speaking of things he's too damn old and highly ranked for… The idea that he can just stroll around the F-Deck, find another officer who just happens to be attractive, and attracted to him, and just happens to like him, and…
He'll be knee… shaft deep… in ass if he goes looking for it. That's always been true. That was true when he was fourteen, just starting out, and didn't know what the fuck he was doing. Golden skin, and long golden hair, and big blue eyes. Back when he was fourteen, he was so pretty more than a few of them thought he was a girl, and were in for more than a bit of a surprise when they got him out of his perfectly tailored suit, but, even back then, if he wanted someone to touch him, he had no problem finding them. And these days, nineteen years later, he knows what he's doing when it comes to pulling men, or women, or ones he's not entirely sure of but likes the looks of anyway.
The thing he doesn't know, can't, not now, is if they like the looks of him, and a good time with him, or if they're looking for good access to the Master.
He might as well stop faffing about with his Lt. Colonel rank and just take the Grand Marshall. Too many people know who he is now, so he's not exactly buying himself any room to maneuver any longer with the lower rank.
It feels odd to let go of it, though.
Feels like he doesn't deserve the higher one, not yet. Like he hasn't done anything to earn it.
Though… if he pulls off turning this flying monster into a palace, or capitol city, the kind of capitol city that has a palace in it, he'll have earned those extra stripes.
He turns off the water, turns on the air jets, and lets the refresher dry him off.
Bed. He's not exactly tired.
Not exactly a lot of things right now.
Horny.
He's still fucking horny.
For a while, a few months after the attack on the Supremacy, he'd been part of a group of officers who'd lost their mates, and some of them… He wished he'd been where they were. Some of them just lost interest in sex. They lost their mate, and their libidos rolled over and died, too.
He would have paid money for that.
He tried to pay money for that. Turns out those pills didn't fucking work. Granted, if he'd actually gone to the medbay, they might have had something that worked, but he didn't want that in his file. Just attending those meetings was enough of a risk. After all, any chink in your armor could, and likely would, be used against you.
The meetings were as far as he was willing to go. Beyond that…
No.
And to make matters worse, his personal body decided the most effective way to mourn was to dream about sex, with Lane, all the fucking time. Then he'd wake up hard, eager, alone. Sometimes wet. Sometimes soaked. Those nights were a relief, because when he didn't get off in his sleep, he'd sit there so horny he was climbing the walls, go soft, and cry. Eventually, he could stay hard, not get off, and cry. And eventually stay hard, get off, and cry.
When he could do it by himself without crying, he started to see other people, but… Yeah, that not crying thing didn't last when he added another person to the mix. (Being able to get hard and get off almost didn't happen, too, but Unthar is good at his job.) On the upside, Unthar told him he wasn't, by a long shot, the only person with that issue. Even in the First Order, having most of your loves horribly killed over the course of a week was considered traumatic.
He still would have rather just not been interested.
Everything would be easier if he weren't roaming around in this body that's constantly trying to get tuffed because it misses being loved and that's it's best idea of how to get back to being that way.
Unfortunately, having a long discussion with his shaft about how attempting to fuck anything even remotely attractive isn't going to get what it really wants isn't going to work. (Or at least, as of now, it hasn't.)
Settling into bed, rolling to the side to slide open the compartment with his toys, lube, and goodies will.
For a while at least.
Long enough to get him to sleep, likely.
He was twenty-five when he met Lane.
Eleven years after the first time he'd had sex.
And he was absolutely certain he knew all there was to know about what a human body, male, female, or somewhere in between could do.
Lane smirked at him, then smiled, called him "My pretty boy," and proceeded to blow his mind, and a few other things, too.
Apparently, there were entire vistas of sex that Jon had never visited, or imagined, but Lane was very happy to take him there.
Lane was forty the first time they met. Forty-one the first time they went to bed. Old enough to know better. Young enough to do, and enjoy, it, anyway.
And after that first time, they never looked back.
He was also old enough to have been living alone for quite a while, and to have collected an interesting array of toys. Many of which he was very happy to introduce Jon to.
And Jon may have had (did have) a whole lot more experience with people. (Women for example. That's a pool Lane never set a toe in.) He didn't have any experience with toys. He was twenty-five, never lacked for company if he wanted it, so… What was the point?
That said, Lane seemed to think there was a lot of point. And if he was interested in showing Jon the point, well, Jon was happy to get it.
And by the time Lane was celebrating his forty-second birthday, Jon knew exactly what to get him.
These days, Jon's the owner of a well-stocked toy box. Most of them were Lane's originally. Several are ones he added to their collection over the years.
He's not sure what he wants as he looks over his collection.
Okay, that's not true. But he can't have what he wants, so he's not sure what he's going to do. He glances at the dildos and plugs, but… No. Not yet. That was… with Lane. Not only ever with him, but… he hasn't touched them, or let anyone else touch him, like that, not since.
He's fairly sure he can't relax enough to enjoy it, not these days, and… That had been so good with Lane, the idea of… He can't take the idea of that being lackluster and blah.
He reaches for a slick and one of the sleeves. The green one. There are some good memories with that. Good enough to get him hard anyway.
He squirts a little lube into it, sets the temperature to human body temp, and the tightness to just a notch tighter than medium. He doesn't have a huge shaft so he doesn't need it at its widest setting. And he prefers a snug sensation, but not so tight that it's strangling his shaft.
Then he sets it to the side, settles back against his pillows, and thinks about the first time he used that, while gently stroking himself.
Lane's hand rested on Jon's ass. They were in bed. Long week done, both of them with a coinciding day off, ready to have a good time.
That hand squeezed, gently. "Have you ever… received?"
At that point in their relationship, six or so months in, Lane had been exclusively on the receiving end, and Jon on the giving. Which suited both of them quite well. After all, Lane said he preferred to get rather than give, and, at that point in time, Jon preferred giving.
Jon nodded at Lane. "Uh, yeah. A few times."
Lane looked expectantly at him.
"I don't know. I had one really good time with it, but all the rest were pretty blah. Either uncomfortable or just not… good. Some of them didn't hurt, but… It wasn't like giving."
He stroked Jon's back, up and down his spine, soft, gentle, hand landing on his ass again. "Tell me about the really good time."
"Why?"
Lane kissed his shoulder. "You want to have one again?"
"I thought you didn't like that." Lane would, very happily, let Jon suck his shaft, or stroke it, or well, pretty much anything he wanted to do to it, but when they got to fucking, he wasn't even remotely vague about who he wanted where.
"It's not that I don't like it, it's that I prefer being on the other side. Still, variety is nice, and… I was thinking some guys who only like to give… They only like to give because they've never got it good, so… If you'd be game to switch it up?"
"I…" Jon remembered the one really good time, and the several lackluster ones. "Could be."
Lane grinned at him. "Excellent, love. I'm going to make you feel so good. So, tell me about the good time."
"Uh… Gods… I was… seventeen, maybe."
"You really did get around… You'd have been my every wet dream if you'd been near when I was seventeen."
Jon kissed him at that, and didn't mention that he was two when Lane was seventeen. "You're damn right I would have been." He shifted so he was straddling Lane's lap, facing him. "I'd have been there when you jerked it to sleep at night, and woke up stiff in the morning, and sucked it in between."
Lane kissed him hard, wet, lips between his. "I love your mouth." He stroked his fingertips along Jon's lips.
"I know it, baby."
"Now use it to tell me about how some sweet thing made you feel really good."
Jon kissed Lane's fingertips. "It was slow. Bride's second cousin and I snuck out before they finished passing around the hor d'oeurves. So, we had hours before either of us had to do anything with the wedding.
"I'd never done that before, and… Well, I wanted to, but… Heard about. Knew it was a thing. Usually, I didn't have the time or place for it, you know?"
Lane nodded. He knew. They certainly didn't do it every night, because between prep, and proper playtime so everything's relaxed and open and ready, and clean up… Anal wasn't on the list for quickies. Or for tired nights when they just wanted to get off before falling asleep.
"And, we were at his place. So… everything he or I needed was there. He told me what I needed to do, and I was nervous and excited and… I probably rushed through that. And then did it again because I was mortified at that idea of not being clean enough."
Lane smirked at that. "We've all been there."
"You, too, a million years ago with your first time?"
Lane kissed Jon. "Six months ago, with our first time, and yes, a million years ago with mine, too."
Jon rested his forehead against Lane, and spent a moment just breathing with him.
"So…" Lane said.
"Ah… Okay, got out of the refresher. Hard and naked and eager."
"There's a pretty picture."
Jon grinned. "Oh yeah. I had long hair back then. Wore it past my shoulders. And it was a wedding, so I had on some cosmetics, too. Dark lashes, little lip gloss. So pretty you'd have choked on it."
Lane kissed his neck and shoulder, and ran his fingers through Jon's hair. "Tease."
"Always."
"Would you… do that for me?"
"Grow my hair long?"
"I was thinking dark lashes and lip gloss. I know long hair isn't going to fly." It was against First Order regs.
Jon grinned at him, a plan forming in his head. "Let me take you dancing, and I'll get dressed up."
"Oh luv, you don't ever want to see me dance. It'll shatter all of your illusions about me being something like put together and sexy."
Jon kissed him. "Never baby."
"You haven't seen me dance." Lane winked. It turned out that he really was a bad dancer. And he never did get the chance to get better. That said, he did like to watch Jon dance. And Jon liked dancing for him. "Story time?"
"Right. Like I said, we had time, so… A few glasses of wine. More than I usually had, so my head was a bit spinny, but… Alcohol relaxes muscles, so…"
Lane nodded. "You want a drink tonight?"
"I'm good."
Then Lane was really staring at him, concerned. "How much of it do you remember?"
"I didn't have that much wine. I've got stories like that, too, this isn't one of them."
"Okay. Party boy."
"Not recently. Though, maybe if we ever get another day off, together, I'll show you some tricks, old man."
Lane's smile was wide and genuine. "I'd like that. Like to hear more of this story, too."
"Okay… Wine, messing around… Kissing, a lot of kissing. More kissing than I think I'd ever done at that point. Petting… Uh… I was kind of splayed out on the bed, feet on the floor, and he sort of slithered down me, kissing his way down, until he had my shaft in his mouth," Lane shifted position, so that Jon was lying on the bed, face down, and began kissing his way down Jon's back. Licking along his spine, hands kneading into the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms. "Mmmm… Yeah… Like that, but down my front."
"I'll get there."
"I'm sure you will. He was sucking me off, and I was pretty keyed up, about to shoot, and then his finger was slowly easing in, and… It was tight, and slick, and burned some, enough to pull me back from the edge."
"You start to go soft?"
"A little. I mean, seventeen."
He felt Lane's smirk against his back, and then his breath against Jon's ear, and his teeth scraped the shell of his ear. "I remember seventeen. Not quite a constant bone like fourteen, but anything and everything would set it off."
"Yeah. He stopped sucking my shaft, and started on my stones, while slowly, gently sliding that finger in and out of me, and when I was thrashing around, about to shoot off again, he slid the second one in."
"And toned you down again?"
"Yeah. The second one was rough and fast, and it dropped me back to just turned-on, fast. Yanked me off of the edge."
"How old was this guy?"
Jon shrugged. "I don't know. Older than I am now, probably younger than you are. No gray hair."
"Old enough to have some real experience," Lane added.
"Yeah. Or he was inordinately talented."
"Experience is how you get to inordinately talented."
Jon lifted up and twisted some to see the spark in Lane's eyes. "You going to use your experience on me?"
"I certainly intend to, love." He slid a bit further down Jon's body, and began rubbing his lower back and ass. "Gods, this is so gorgeous."
Jon wiggled a little for him, then looked over his shoulder. "Gonna kiss it for me?"
"I'll do more than that. I'll spread you open slow and easy, and rock into you deep, steady, until you're dripping, writhing, begging me to come." He kissed the dimples to the right and left of Jon's spine. "And then, maybe, if you're good, and if you finish the story, I'll let you."
Jon moaned, face pressed into the mattress, hips rising off the bed, inviting Lane.
"Yeah, pretty thing, you want it, don't you?"
Jon raised his hips up a bit more, grabbed Lane's hand, and put it on his very hard shaft. "Yes!" hissed out of him.
Lane stretched up, bit the back of his neck, teeth trailing over the skin, raising goosebumps. "Then finish the story."
Jon groaned, frustration, and the feel of Lane behind him, nudging his legs apart, kneading his ass.
"Uh… I was on the bed, and… Gods… He must have had the strongest jaw on earth. He just kept going and going, wet and slow, light, too light. Enough to make everything light up, not enough to get me off. I think I was babbling. I don't remember. I remember how I felt, so… Ready… Then he slid another finger into me and started… Curling them? Something. He was hitting that spot over and over and I was just about hovering off the bed I felt so good."
He could feel the way Lane was grinning at him. Feel open and exposed, too. In a way he just normally wasn't. Lane reached over, grabbed the lube, and he heard the click of the bottle opening, and then his fingers, slick and cool, ghosting over the sensitive skin between his butt cheeks.
"He stopped sucking me, and pulled back to look. I was… I must have been sweaty and flushed and just… wrecked. Laid out, boneless."
"Almost boneless. I bet you had at least one."
Jon chuckled. "Almost boneless. One of 'em really wanted to get buried deep into someone."
"Did it get there?"
"Not really. He was kneeling between my legs, and scooted me down the bed a bit, so my hips were a little lower, and then he just slid right in. Slow and steady. Took my breath away. He wasn't touching my shaft then, though his belly was pressed against my stones.
"Once he was fully in, he was still for a moment. I was, too, just… feeling it. You read about it, and hear about it, and wank to the idea a million times, but…"
Lane nodded, and patted Jon's ass. "Butt. It's really different. Especially if you don't have a well stocked toy-box."
"I had about a half-dozen slicks, and some hand lotion, and that was it."
"That sounds a lot like seventeen, too."
Jon smirked at that, and wiggled at Lane a bit more. He went back to kneading Jon's ass, placing little, soft kisses on the plump curve of it.
"Eventually he gets moving?"
"Yeah. Eventually. Or I did. I don't remember who moved first, just that it happened, and… It felt like he was fucking me through my shaft, you know?"
Lane's voice dropped, and he ran both of his hands up Jon's spine. "Oh, luv, I know. There's a reason I like taking better than giving."
"And, I felt like I was going to burst. Like, I was so close, but couldn't quite get there. I was reaching for my shaft, going to give myself a hand, but he pinned my wrists to the bed, and was rocking in and out, though he shifted a bit, so his belly was rubbing over my shaft each time he moved."
"Was it enough?"
"Yeah. It didn't take long. A few hard thrusts, and… my vision went white. Spurted so hard, I got his chest and my chin."
Lane laughed at that. "Oh that must have been a pretty picture."
"I imagine it was."
Lane held him close, for a moment. "And let me guess, the next guy who had ten spare minutes, you tripped into bed, and were horribly disappointed?"
Jon didn't pout, but it was close. "I really was. And the guy after that. And the one after that. And… by that point, I decided it was a fluke, and stuck to being on the giving side of it. One of my girls did me with her fingers while blowing me, and that was really good, too, but… It was always a gamble, and when it didn't go off well, everything else soured, too, so…"
"So you stuck with your shaft and the certain good thing."
"Pretty much." He turned so he was facing Lane. "So, you going to break my run of bad luck."
Lane kissed his neck. "I'm going to make you forget you ever had it." Then he reached for the drawer next to his bed, opened it, and pulled out a green cylinder and a slick.
"Uh…" Jon looked at the slick. "I…" he blushed a bit, feeling self-conscious, "know how to clean myself up. You won't need that."
Lane kissed him, hand on his ass and gave him another squeeze. "I know you do, luv. That's for you, not me."
And with that Jon went from slightly embarrassed to curious. "Lane…"
Lane tapped the cylinder. It was about the size of the tube Jon's hair conditioner came in, in a bright, green crystalline substance. He grinned at Jon, bursting with good humor, and then said, "Put a slick on, close your eyes, and you can't tell the difference between this and the real thing."
Which certainly sounded… appealing… probably. Jon just wasn't entirely sure what this was.
Lane kissed his neck, and shoulder, and wrapped his arms around Jon, pulling him snug against his hips.
"Trust me. You'll like this." There was some sort of dial at the base of the thing, and Lane twisted it. There was a button the middle of the dial and he pressed that a few times, too, and then set the thing to the side, on the bed. "Go, clean up. Everything you could need is in the refresher. Then come out here, and I'll make sure you love it."
When Jon got out, Lane said, "See, my jaw can't go for hours, and I want to hold you while I do this, so…" He picked up the green thing, and squirted a little lube into it. That's when Jon noticed there was some sort of opening in the one end. A… snug, wrinkled opening. "See, it's got settings from nervous virgin to good time boy on his fourth client of the night. As tight or loose as you like it, and…" He settled back against the side of the bed, pulling Jon into his lap. "Grab the slick, love."
Jon did, cracking the pack, tossing it aside, and slipping the sheath over his shaft.
"Close your eyes."
Jon did, and Lane must have moved the thing, because the next thing he knew there was the tight, slick, hot, snug sensation of slipping into a well-prepped asshole.
Jon moaned, loud, at it.
"See, I told you you couldn't tell the difference. Without a slick, you can, but with one…" Then he gave it a twist around Jon's shaft, and Jon shuddered. "Granted, real people generally can't do that." He grabbed Jon's hand, and put it on the cylinder. "Hold it, baby."
Again the sound of the bottle of lube clicking open. A wet, squirting sound, and then Lane's fingers slipping between his ass cheeks. "Do it slow, luv, easy. I don't want you spurting, okay? Just keep your shaft happy."
Jon made a choking sound. He barely moved it. Generally, especially with a slick, he had awfully good control, but… Here, in Lane's lap, with his fingers just stroking right now, but knowing where they were going, and this… thing, on him…
"Gonna have me coming and going at the same time," he managed to say.
Lane kissed his neck. "That's the idea, baby. I'll open you up nice and slow, and then fuck you deep and hard, and show you what it means to receive." And with that, the first of his fingers stopped dancing around, and began to ease into Jon.
Glide. He figured out how to play with the tube, so it wasn't quite so snug. And Lane held him, slowly fucking him out of his mind with his fingers, until he decided that Jon was ready. "Up baby. Over me."
It took Jon a minute to figure out how to orient himself, but eventually he got his feet under him so he could move.
And Lane got his shaft under him, so all Jon had to do was sink down.
He grabbed the cylinder, and said, "Right now, you set the speed. As you ease down on me, I'll ease it down on you."
Jon whimpered at that, feeling the head of Lane's shaft just rubbing against him, and the small dimple of the hole in the cylinder stroking over the head of his shaft. Then he began to ease himself down, slowly, letting his body adjust, and Lane followed it with the cylinder, taking him higher and higher with each centimeter.
Jon reaches for the cylinder, and pulls himself out of that fantasy. He's hard now, eager, and knows that if he lets himself finish with that memory, all he'll do is end up frustrated and sad.
Someone else… For a second, he thinks of Kylo, but… He's felt wrong about wanking to Kylo since he's met Rey.
(Well, felt wrong about it since Kylo told him about not wanting to want anyone else. He didn't stop doing it until he met Rey. He felt even more wrong about wanking to Rey, so he only did that twice.)
Kylo and Rey… Well… That'd… be… Shit… A lot of images go cascading through his mind. Kylo on his own is just… And Rey on her own… Gods… It'd taken every ounce of will power he'd had not to say yes when she asked him to measure her naked. (Which was pretty much why he had to wank to her. She more or less asked him to spend time with her naked.) But, no. It'd be like Unthar and his wife. He'd get to be next to that sort of adoration, not part of it. More sad and frustrated.
Unthar… He can imagine what they'd do… He might as well have paid for it then.
Porn… He's got a datapad, and access to everything… But… No, he wants this here, now, in his own body and mind. He doesn't want to pretend to be anyone else.
He's slowly stroking the masturbator sleeve ("It's got a terrible name," Lane had said. "I call it a wank rocket.") over himself, letting his brain wander around.
It's in danger of drifting back to Kylo and Rey, and then he realizes why. It's going to Kylo and Rey's house. And Poe.
He grins. Excellent-wank-fodder Poe.
Narrow as a filtration tube, never kissed a boy, easy with the girls and likely shagged a million of 'em, Poe.
It should be illegal for narrow-for-women guys to have an ass like that. Bloody things don't know what to do with one, and women, generally speaking, aren't equipped to take care of them… And it's just a shame.
But… Well… There's an idea.
Been a long time since he played with someone who didn't know what his body could do…
And that would be… He can see Poe in his head, looking a little nervous, and a lot intrigued.
Maybe, once, a long time ago, he kissed a guy, on a dare or something, and decided he liked it a little too much. Maybe, maybe he let some guy pat his ass and thought about it, a lot, later, but… No. Men like women, and Poe likes women, so he just… occasionally… like maybe when he was right on the verge of spurting, thinks about the guy who patted him, and then banishes those naughty thoughts and fills his head with large, round breasts and dripping, wet cunnies, and…
He'd just… be narrow. Because it's easier to be narrow. Really easy to be narrow for women, and moderately easy to be narrow for men, but… Just stay on the straight and narrow path, charm women left and right, who knows, he was wearing that ring on the leather thong with his Maji toaken, maybe he'd been serious about one, once.
But maybe one night they'd be working together, on something, late. Too late. So late they'd get tired, and move through tired to silly, and after that late, they'd be hungry, and a shared bowl of noodles, and a few glasses of… Vodka probably. Poe could certainly put it away at Ren's; he'd be game for a drink (or three) with dinner.
A few drinks, a good meal, whatever it is they're working on done for the day, and a look.
Jon sighs, he can feel that look. He pumps the cylinder a bit faster. His eyes hot; Poe's… hot, but wary. Hot, but unsure.
Hot, but about to leap off a cliff and uncertain if he wants to stay on the safety of the edge.
He can feel himself smiling at his imaginary Poe, reaching out, gently slipping his index finger against his wrist, and tugging his hand toward him. "Come on. If you don't like it, just say stop, and I will."
Poe flushes, and licks his lips. "Never done… this… before."
Jon's grin grows wicked, and his eyes spark, "Well, I've never done you before, either. It'll be a learning experience for both of us." He stills his hand, just holding himself. Letting the tension build as the drags out this moment of the fantasy.
"And… are you going to… do me?" Poe asks, voice adorably nervous with a veneer of calm and self-assured on top.
"If you want me to."
"I… might."
Jon cups his hand around the back of Poe's neck. They're a few centimeters away, watching, breathing each other in. He can feel the heat of Poe's skin, smell… He thinks about it… hand stilling as he remembers. Real Poe. Poe in Kylo and Rey's house. There was… soap, a bit of some sort of mechanical scent, a little sweat… Like he'd gotten a shower recently, not more than a few hours earlier, but done some real work between then and now, too. As the night wore on… his own musk, a bit sharp, a little sour, very male. The kind of scent a lot of men who go for women try to hide with cologne or deodorant. For a second that perks Jon up, but he decides that might be a Rebel thing, though. Kylo doesn't cover his scent with cosmetics, either, and he's so bloody narrow for women individual hairs would have a hard time slipping through his trench.
Back to Poe. Leather jacket. Good leather, well worn, warmed by his body over and over, molded to it. Trails of brandy on his breath and skin. He'd have probably tasted boozy and sweet from the drink and cookies.
His hand begins a slow up and down again.
They're standing close, so close. Poe's hairy. He's got to be. The stubble went almost all the way down his neck. And… He's a good Resistance… Resister… whatever. Republican, though, apparently, he wasn't, just not from the same direction Jon wasn't. Anyway, poor boy's likely never even met anyone who waxes, let alone done it for himself.
Jon's fingers slip down his chest. Four weeks since he did himself last, and the hair is coming in fine and short.
There's an image. Grabbing Poe, shaving him clean, rubbing him all over with lotion or oil and slipping all over him. Jon grins at that one, giving himself a nice, long pull. Yeah…
Granted, he knows how that feels when it grows back, and that sort of crushes that fantasy. Again, poor boy'd likely never speak to him again if he had to have a full body of hair all grow back at once, based on Jon's recommendation that taking it off would be fun.
But it would be fun. And it's a fantasy, and…
Real Poe. Poe in the kitchen… Poe in the kitchen has hair, and it's real and it's him, and real Poe pops back into Jon's mind.
Real naked Poe. He's short and compact and has hips and thighs to die for, and a high, firm ass, and maybe he's not exactly cut around the chest or tummy, but… Jon doesn't need that. He's got the kind of muscles you'd expect from someone who does real work with real ships, lugging things around, maybe tossing heavy bales of whatever it is the Faviers eat around.
There's an image. Poe, sweaty, lugging around heavy bales of hay. A loose, unbuttoned shirt. Trousers hanging low on his hips. His skin is slick, glistening, hairy, yes, but good hairy. The kind Jon wants to nuzzle his face against, and lick.
Faviers have a stable. Right? They have to.
"You good at riding these?" he asks Poe.
Poe drops the bale, and glances at him… Wipes the sweat from his brow. He's eyeing Jon, in his perfect, tidy uniform. Then he pulls off his shirt, to… mop his brow again, apparently. Sure, why not? He tosses the shirt behind him.
"Never tried. You?"
"Not one of these."
"That implies you have ridden something." He's stepping closer to Jon.
Jon's looking down at him. At his chest, nipples peeking out through the dark hair, and the token he wears, and the ring on the string with the token, lower, his belly, lower yet, the dark hair getting thicker as it vanishes under his trousers. Then back up to Poe's eyes. "Someone." He bends a little closer, brushes Poe's hair out of his eyes. "But, I prefer to be the one to give the ride."
Poe licks his lips. "Uh huh. So, you saying you want someone to straddle you and ride away."
Jon yanks Poe to him, hips to hips, bodies flush, and kisses him, deep, hard, lots of tongue, his hand on the back of Poe's head, keeping him steady. He lets himself roll in Poe, in his scent and the feel of him and his mouth sucking around him, and…
"Fuck yes!" slips out of Jon's mouth. He speeds his hand, increasing the tightness on the sleeve just a bit.
Poe's sliding his hands over Jon's body, cupping his ass, grinding into him. "I've been wondering what's under this uniform."
"Good." He drops his coat, and begins to undo the belt around his jacket. "Because I've been dying to show you."
His body is tightening, stones drawing close, heart rate picking up. His hand speeds a bit, too.
Naked. They're naked. In his bed. Poe's on him. He's on his back, and Poe's straddling him, like he said he would.
And this is new. Poe's never done it before. But he wants it. Wants Jon to do it for him. He's… just rubbing right now, working on letting his weight shift, and "Ahh… Yeah… There you go sweet thing, just ease on down. Does it feel good?"
He slows the hand with the sleeve, matching his imaginary Poe.
Poe's not talking. He's breathing hard, eyes closed, fist clenched, body slowly easing down Jon's shaft.
"I know it does. Just take it nice and slow. Get comfy, and I'll make this so worth your while." He wraps his hand around Poe's shaft, and he shudders at the feel of it.
Poe starts to move. Slow at first, but more confident, find the pace he likes, and Jon matches it with the sleeve.
"Yeah… Just like that. Gonna hit all those sweet spots inside you, and stroke you 'till your mind whites out… Gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby…" He's babbling. He wants to babble, wants to say soft, sweet things, and mean them.
Gods, he wants to mean them.
More than that, he wants to roll over, wants to feel hot breath on his shoulder and neck, wants sweet words in his ears while a warm body that adores him slips inside, planting kisses along his back and tells him how good he feels and how perfect he is and how much he loves him and…
He flips the fantasy, lets himself go there, in his mind at least. On his stomach, ass in the air, Poe between his legs, kissing along his shoulder, hands curled around them, rutting into him.
"Force, you want it, don't you? Been craving this, needing it." Poe says, his hand is drifting, slowly, from his shoulder to his shaft, pausing to play with his nipple.
Hot, wet kisses on his neck. "Just relax, baby, I'll give you everything you need. Always."
His head is pressed into the mattress, hips high, craving the feel of a shaft deep in him, arms around his body, a warm chest against his back.
"I've got you, Jon, just feel it, love. You feel me, inside you? I'll get so deep into you, you'll never get me out."
Poe hand closes around his shaft. "Feels so good in my hand, mouth, ass. I love this. Love you. Love you. Love you." He's timing his thrusts with the stroke of his hand, kissing sweet words to Jon's shoulders.
It's building, sweet and deep and warm inside of him. Jon yanks off the sleeve and uses his hand instead. It's his hand, but he can pretend. Pretend he's on his elbows and knees and a pretty pilot's behind him, loving him, fucking him, touching him all over.
"I've got you, baby. Just a little more. Wanna feel you ripple all over me. Take me over the edge with you, with that sweet ass clenching on me…"
His hand tightens as his hips snap, motions getting erratic. He's so close. He slips a hand behind himself and presses a lube slick finger in. Not deep, he's not prepped and anything more will burn, but just the hint of it, the idea, a little friction, and that's enough. His head is spinning, body thrilling, spurting, over the edge.
Jon pants, breathing hard, body quivering as he relaxes for a moment.
He rolls over, pulls off the slick, ties it, and tosses it in the direction of his waste basket. The splat sound of it hitting the floor tells him he didn't actually get it in. Won't be the first time one of them didn't quite land where he'd aimed it.
He can get it in the morning.
Sleep's pulling at him, tugging his eyelids shut, and making his limbs heavy and loose.
In the morning, as he finishes cleaning up, he's pleased to see he was right about Poe being excellent wank fodder.
Bloody fucking shame he's narrow for girls.
He's sipping his morning tea, in his pajamas, not necessarily feeling clearer about any of this, but… He is starting to get an inkling about what may have happened to get his mother so on board with all of this. It's not impossible that she and Ellie Kinear had a heart to heart and her opinion shifted, but… There's someone else who knows that he'd rather like to be getting along with his mom, and who very much wants him to be happy, and he had mentioned his mom was causing troubles, trying to get him to leave, and…
Well, Kylo likely would try to fix it for him.
And given exactly how bad his personal history of dealing-with-mom is, he likely doesn't actually know how to fix it, and…
Jon's not exactly sure how well his 'Don't Force people without permission' lecture penetrated, or if Kylo would file this under: "It's good to be the king."
Sigh… He checks the chrono on his pad. If he gets dressed fast, he can likely catch Kylo before all of his meetings, and maybe, if he's lucky, Kylo can… undo whatever the hell it was he did to Mom.
Sitting on the tram, churning across the F-Deck, Jon's well aware of the fact that his mom isn't wrong. The transportation system on the Supremacy is slow. It's mostly designed for vertical transport. They try to stick people above or below their stations. So, up and down is fairly efficient, but lateral is a nightmare.
As best he can tell, he's fourteen klicks from the elevator that'll take him to Kylo's rooms, and that takes fifty-five minutes. He pulls out a datapad, and writes a note to himself to locate whoever's in charge of transportation. They've got empty, or mostly empty decks, so there's got to be a way to stick higher speed lateral trams on them for people who need to make longer trips.
In a palace, people walk. Everything is contained and central. In a city… And this fucking thing is a city, it's just… right now… a much too empty one. But, in cities, people need a way to get from one side to the other with some sort of speed, so… Lateral, high speed trams through the storage areas, or something like that.
Finally, in the elevator that will take him all the way down to the AAA-Deck, where Kylo's personal rooms are, Jon thinks about the space above Kylo's rooms. He adds two stops to his trip.
The YY-Deck is, just like it was when he set it up as a staging area before the Last Night party, mostly empty. They've cleared out the party features he put in, tables, chairs, a bar, and put it back to the storage space it had been.
But, from here, right in front of the elevator that goes all the way down… He can see from one side to the other. It's a vast, cavernous space. Maybe three klicks long and half a klick wide.
One floor down, ZZ-Deck. Again, mostly empty space. He can't see the edges of the deck, because it's mostly empty. When they're in fast transport, this is a hangar deck for fighters. Get them inside the Supremacy so they don't have to try and keep up. Right now, they're just ambling along, so a lot of the fighters are out on training and patrols, but not all of them. Because it's one below YY, and one above AAA, he knows the general shape and size it's got to be. Just a bit smaller than YY.
One more down. Jon's got access to the whole ship, but to make the button that will give him access to AAA light up, he's got to insert his ID chit.
Technically speaking AAA is five separate platforms along the underside of the Supremacy. They were the personal landing bays of several generals. To the best of his knowledge, the other four are still in use. And all of them are carefully designed to only be accessed by ship or by the one, single, elevator that goes all the way down to them.
The elevator opens into Kylo's not-a-throne-room, which had been, in its previous life, General Ulnitor's landing pad. It's big enough for the General's command ship. Now, if Kylo so desired, his personal shuttle and TIE could rest here, with room to spare, but that's not what he uses this space for.
Jon spends a moment just looking. Black durasteel, black plasteel, black pillars, and black walls, and black floors, and more black space beyond…
It doesn't have to be black. Just getting the paint taken care of would go a ways toward making this space more conducive to working. Get some comfortable seating, and… artwork… something, anything in here… Even if it takes a while for the garden to get into place… It'd be better.
AAA, ZZ, and YY… They could be a palace. A spacious palace. Meeting rooms, functionaries… ZZ especially, like any landing deck, it's open to the skies on one side, so that too could be gardens, or parks, interspersed with flats and meeting spaces… Hell, he could keep some of that space as landing pads, let people who have business with the Master, from outside the Supremacyland there, near him…
All he's got to do is find the people to put into it.
And the funds to spruce it up for them.
And Jon sighs, walking toward Kylo's office, ready to see if he can maybe get the man to fix what he did to his mom.
It's early. Too early. Kylo's still sipping his coffee and getting ready to deal with his meetings when he feels Jon stride into his office.
He doesn't even have to talk to C8; Kylo just gets up and opens the door.
He also doesn't get a word in, his mouth is almost open when Jon says, "What did you do to my mom?"
Kylo blinks.
"Oh shit, you did do something, didn't you?"
Apparently, he must have looked guilty when he blinked.
"Did you magick her? I thought we went over that. No Forcing people without permission, and she sure as shit didn't give you permission to mess with her mind. Did you think I'd like this, or…"
Kylo blinks again. This time he manages to get out, "Uh…"
"Kylo! Look, I appreciate you attempting to make things better for us, but… You overshot better by a light year, and now… Can you… put her back the way she was or…"
Kylo blinks again, and this time manages to say, "I… didn't cast a spell on her, or anything like that." He gestures to his conference table. "Here, sit down."
Jon's eyes narrow. "You did something. There's no way she's just… like this… on her own."
Kylo flushes a bit.
Jon's eyes are wide. "Kylo, what the fuck did you do?"
"I… uh… She came to see me… And… You know she's not happy about my parents, right?"
"Everyone who's ever met or heard of her knows that. What did you do to her? Did you tell her you killed your father or…"
Kylo looks disgruntled at that. "No. I… well… She was talking about my grandmother. Apparently, back in the day she and Ellie got together to…" he shakes his head… "I don't know what. I think they were trying to put her and Skywalker into the position of the Empress and Emperor."
"Wait, what?" It's Jon's turn to blink. "She's a dressmaker, Kylo."
Kylo can feel a lot of pieces dropping into place in Jon's head, as he says, "And apparently a fuck ton more than that besides. Both of us should have known something was going on when she and Ellie knew each other."
Jon thinks about that for a moment, and sighs. That actually… makes a lot more sense than he wishes it did. He thinks a little more… The fact that he and his sisters kept going off world to work on different dresses is suddenly making more sense, too. Now, he's wondering what the hell it was they did while he was having a good time at parties. "Wonderful." Apparently, he's got another fun conversation coming up with Mom. "So…"
"So, have I told you the story of Vader… He was still Skywalker then, and Amidala?"
"No."
Kylo goes and pours Jon a cup of coffee, tells C8 to hold his meetings, and then offers the cup to Jon. He gets settled and then tells the story. "Anyway, apparently, your mom and Ellie were trying to work them from an entirely different angle, and… well, as your mom put it, it was going great until everyone died horribly."
"And… so, it's not just your parents, it's that she's already backed one Amidala who failed horribly at this empire thing."
"Something like that. So, she's questioning me, making sure I'm up for the game, and I mention that I don't intend to play the game forever, and—"
"Wait…" That draws Jon up short. They haven't talked about the eventual successor to Kylo, but… "What do you mean by that?"
"You know I don't want to do this… Be the Master… the rest of my days."
"Uh, no. I didn't know that. Speaking of things you need to tell people. Again, I can't read your bloody mind, Kylo."
Kylo sighs. "Okay. I do not want to have to do this forever. I thought that was abundantly clear. I'm doing this for as long as I have to make sure that me and mine, which most certainly includes you, are safe. Hopefully, at some point, Rey and I get to leave, go off, just, be us, and…"
"You want to retire at some point?" Jon's feeling like that's not actually a shock. Just, it would have been nice for Kylo to flat out say it.
"I really hope so. That's a policy right? Eventually, Masters retire and a new Master gets voted in?"
Jon blinks. "That's a policy, but…"
"So, your Mom was horrified by the idea that I might not want to do this forever, because she's sure that if I try to leave, everyone, meaning you, will end up horribly dying, and I told her that if this requires me personally to run it, then everyone, meaning you, are going to die horribly anyway, because I'm not fucking immortal, and… If we do this election thing, then… Well… Maybe one day, you might want to run this thing, and… Uh… Who'd be better placed to win an election to Master than you? I think she kind of fell in love with, well, not me, but the Order, because she's really involved in the idea of you running it."
Jon's not sure if he wants to bang his head against the table or scream.
He's not sure if he'd be screaming in horror or relief.
This is possibly the only thing worse Kylo could have come up with than magicking his mom.
He's not sure if he'd want to get anywhere near being The Master. Let alone his mom trying to turn him into the Master.
Kylo lets him set for a while, steaming in emotions, before quietly saying, "I… I wouldn't mess with your mom's mind. First off, I respect you too much to do it. Second of all, she'd put up a fight. I'd win, but… She'd know something had happened. She's got too much of her own Force to go down easy, so…"
Jon decides to latch onto that. Too much Force. That's very much a safer topic than… the House of Frakes ruling the galaxy. "Too much of… Kylo?"
"She's Force sensitive, too. Very mild. Completely untrained. The Jedi wouldn't have been looking her up, or anything like that." He shrugs a bit. "Seeing it in her, I could recognize the barest touch of it in you, too."
Jon just stares at him.
Kylo shrugs at that, too. "You've been telling me hints of it all along. Making people want what's good for them. Knowing what people want. Managing people. Hell, everyone likes you. It's a skill, too, but… It's a skill you've got an easier time with than most other people, and your Mom has a much easier time of it. You've probably got a great-great grandparent who had a fling with a Jedi back when Coruscant was crawling with them."
Jon shakes his head at that idea. "I… didn't think that was allowed."
"Jedi could fuck all they liked. They couldn't get attached, want, or be passionate. A casual one off with someone you enjoyed would likely be the kind of sex they approved of."
"All of my family were… married… when they had kids. That was a big deal on Coruscant."
Kylo's nonplussed by that. "Well, if you were looking to have a non-attached fling, a married partner is likely the best way to go. Or maybe not. I don't know. The magic runs in my family. It didn't run in Rey's. Maybe your mom just has a bit more than average and passed a tinge of it onto you."
With that, Jon decides now's the time to start banging his head into the table.
Kylo just stares at him while he does it, and then says to C8, "You remember what kind of vodka he likes?"
"Of course."
"Bring the bottle."
That gets Jon to stop, but when he raises his head, he says, "I don't want to get drunk at an hour after second shift begins. I don't want to need to be drunk an hour into the day. Just… Kylo, she's fucking moving in. She's never going to leave. She's building up a new branch of the business here, because the House of Frakes has always been at the heart of the Empire, and she's decided that's here, now."
Kylo winces a little. "Err…"
"She's going to build this fucking empire in her image. Gods… She and Ellie Kinear and Thea Schiff…" He rubs his head. "We're going to be the toys in their play."
Kylo thinks about that for a moment. Then he says, voice steady, "Jon, honestly… Seriously, you here, now, in front of me. Just the two of us. Do we have a fucking shot of this on our own?"
"We…" He looks at Kylo, looks out at the stars beyond them… and sighs, loudly. They don't, just the two of them, have the connections. Kylo's got the power, probably, and he's got the eye for it, maybe, but… They don't know where all the bodies are buried, or even where to start looking for them, and…
On top of that, when it comes down to it, neither of them, reallyknow how to play the game.
And, Thea Schiff, Ellie Kinear, and apparently, Mirina Frakes do.
Kylo nods. "Exactly. Look, I let Snoke write the fucking play for me, and he wanted a considerably less pleasant future than your mom and Ellie Kinear do. Best I can tell, they're going to try and resurrect some sort of shiny version of the Empire, and stick us at the top of it. Assuming we keep with our principals while were up there…"
Jon sighs at that. "Assuming… It's not like she's got bad ideas, but…"
"Yeah, I know. I know all about having a mom with ideas you don't necessarily love. And look, we're going to let them set the stage, give us ideas, help us shape the message, but… When it comes down to it, they aren't in charge, we are."
Jon's laugh is awfully bitter at that. "Spoken like someone who's never had to deal with my mom."
Kylo inclines his head. "Spoken like the man who was supposed to be Leia Organa's son, but I left her. Who was supposed to be Luke Skywalker's scion, but I left him, and destroyed everything he built. Who was supposed to be Snoke's enforcer, but I cut him the fuck in half, killed his guards, stole his empire, and am reshaping it in my image. I know I don't know how to make this… look nice; your mom does. So, let her. And if it gets too much…" Kylo shrugs a bit. Then he says, "If it ever does get to be too much, my Force will beat hers."
Jon looks at him, and then says, "You promise? She'll… I know how it'll work, everything will always sound reasonable, and right, and… Next thing you know you've turned into the Emperor."
Kylo shakes his head. "No. I won't."
Jon nods, at him, feeling the promise behind that. Then he smirks. "You know when we started this, I had significantly fewer images of nattering old ladies running things from behind the wings."
"You and me both, but… If they're good at it…"
Jon sighs. "Yeah. Wait until you see what she's going to start doing."
"As long as drive you completely around the bend isn't on the list, I'm looking forward to it."
"Yeah, well… She was talking to me yesterday, and… again… it's not like she's got bad ideas… Well… She likely does. Scratch that, she definitely does. That said, it's not like her plans for how to turn this place into… a palace, or capitol city, or Coruscant mark II, or whatever, it's not like those are bad, but…"
Kylo can feel the wave of… it's not pain, but… tiredness… maybe… exasperation… that's in there, too… futility… some of that… and a few more he can't name because he doesn't think Jon knows what they are, all go roiling through him.
"Jon, if she's ever… anything… more than you want to deal with, say the word and she's gone. Hell, speaking of saying things out loud, if you just think it loudly, I'll do it. I'm the fucking Master of the Order, and literally no one will say anything if I ask a few people to escort a woman off my ship and return her to her home. Besides, she already doesn't like me, so me getting into a snit and booting her off won't ever reflect back on you."
"You say that now. Wait until she starts being useful to you."
"If there's anyone on this ship who is going to be sympathetic toward you not wanting your mom around, it's going to be me." And Kylo floods Jon with as many of the feelings he's got toward his own mother as he thinks Jon can take. "And I don't care how useful she is, I value you more."
Jon nods. "That's reassuring."
Notes:
One of the many very overlooked bits of Ayn Rand's writings is a line that goes something like this: "Show me what a man desires, and I'll tell you everything about him." And yes, she's talking specifically about sex. I'm not quoting in verbatim, and of course, the old girl would have an aneurysm at the idea she's been quoted in a *fanfic* but the point remains, and it's one that has informed a lot of how, and why I write sex scenes instead of just fading to black. (That, and, of course, I just like doing it. ;)
So, what do we know about Jon we didn't know before? Hopefully a decent amount.
And, I don't know if this is cheating on the slow burn or not, but... It felt useful, especially for framing what Jon's looking for at this point, and likely giving you some hints for why this'll be a slow burn.
Okay... I've also got a companion post to this one, with a few more things I'm thinking about Jon, and what happened here. keryl raist.w ordpress 2019/ 01/26/ thoughts-on-jon/ (take the spaces out.)
Happy Saturday everyone! I hope you all have a good one.