4/27/1

It's a bizarre sensation. In the, as best as Rey can tell, twenty-fourish years she's been alive, she's never had a day like this, one where all she has to do is… nothing.

She just has to be. She's got nothing to build, no plans to work on, she's not studying hard to try and fill in the blanks of where her life is supposed to go, there's just… Sitting in a shuttle, waiting to get to where they're going and then… playing.

Kylo's aware enough of what she's thinking to say, "I was eight. The last holiday I went on with my parents."

"What'd you do?"

"Just stayed home." He smiles, a little, remembering it. "They were pretty much never both at home at the same time, and I was always at lessons. Math and engineering, and at least half a dozen languages, and I had to be able to read them as well as speak them, and civics, and history, and…" He shakes his head. "Anyway, they both came home, and we laid around, and went swimming in the pond, and had picnics on the beach, and…" she can feel him falling back into the memory, "we made a little X-wing. It even had a tiny R2 on it. Dad wanted it to be radio controlled, but that was boring, and I could make it fly with the Force, so… We built it up and painted the little details, and I flew it around the pond…"

"That sounds good."

"It was." He nods, staring out at the stars.

For Kylo, the bizarre sensation comes a few hours later, once they've landed at Ulinada on Naboo. It's a small city, or a very large town, between two lakes, about two thousand kilometers from Theed, and supposedly popular for beaches, old-fashioned charm, good food, and decent hotels.

It's a nice place where people from the capitol and bigger cities go to get away for a few days.

Rey figured that was pretty much everything they'd need, and Kylo… or Ben Amidala… booked a place. And it's true that all of that felt a bit odd, but this moment, right here, is just downright bizarre.

It's a vacation. And he's being just a person. And putting on Padme's clothes and packing them up, and looking like a trader going off for a few days felt a little odd, but… It's not like he's never done it before, and each time he slips into colored trousers and a light shirt and the leather jacket it feels more like him… or at least a legitimate version of him, and less like he's wearing a costume.

But there's one part of this that's giving him pause and has him staring with longing.

If he's going to be Ben Amidala off on vacation with his wife for a few days, Master of the Order Kylo Ren's lightsaber cannot come with him. So, like the boxes of currency that's mostly not any good on this planet, he's got his saber locked into a hidden storage bin under one of the seats.

When he finally realized he couldn't bring the saber, when he was tucking all of his Padme clothing into the sack they've got their gear in, he'd thought maybe he could bring the light short sword, substitute it for his usual lightsaber, but, as Rey pointed out when he was hooking it onto his belt, he's trying to not remind people of Kylo Ren, and swapping out one laser sword for another isn't likely to have that effect.

He almost brought the blaster, but… This is supposed to be a peaceful town. It's not a hangout for scoundrels and villains and scum. This is supposed to be the sort of place where the only people who carry weapons are local law enforcement.

Rey watches him staring at the seat where he's enclosed the currency she'll be taking back to Lirium and his saber. She lays her hand in the middle of his back, and nods to him.

"I don't think I could leave without it," she says of her staff. As long as it's not lit, it just looks like a fancy walking stick, and it's definitely going with them.

He nods back, and sighs a little. "I can stop blaster fire mid-air, I can kill a man with a thought, but this feels…" He bites his lip. "I've never gone anywhere I couldn't call a weapon to hand in a moment since I've been an adult."

"I know." And she does. She really does. "Come on. Sooner we're out there, the more normal this will feel."

He inclines his head, indicating he's not sure of that, but he shoulders their bag, and lowers the ramp, getting ready to explore Ulinada.

It's a very pretty little city on the shores of two moderately sized lakes. In the background, they can see high cliffs with waterfalls streaming down them.

The buildings are what Kylo thinks of as old-fashioned. They put him in mind of history lessons from his childhood.

For Rey they're entirely new. She knows wood is a thing. She's heard about it. She's seen pictures of it in some of Orlac's books. She's seen the cradle that Rose and Finn have put together. She remembers the forest on Starkiller and when she first met Kylo, but… This whole town is made of buildings with wood and…

"Half-timbering," Kylo says. "It's old. Wood frames, plaster walls, more wood for details."

"No plasteel?"

"Predates it. Though by now the insides are probably modernized, and the outsides look like this because it's pretty."

"You think it's pretty?" She's not sure if she likes it or not. It's really different.

He looks around… Half-timbered buildings, some of them white plaster and dark woods, others tinted bright pinks and blues with lighter woods, most of the windows have little boxes with flowers growing in them. He's guessing the roofs are supposed to look like tile or slate, but he can't imagine anyone still uses that. The street below their feet is carefully maintained cobblestone. He can see two crossroads from where they are, and both of them have burbling fountains in them.

It's a city, supposedly, but he's got the sense it was designed for foot traffic. There are likely bigger, more modern roads further out, but this area right here is supposed to be quaint, or something.

He thinks about it for another moment, and then answers her question, "Yes."

Their hotel, which takes them about half an hour to find, is supposed to have 'Old-fashioned charm.' And they aren't exaggerating. It's ancient, or at least a good replica of it. It's three stories of pale plaster, dark wood, a slate roof, and at each window there's a box overflowing with pink and purple flowers.

There's an actual door.

Made of carved wood.

With hinges.

Rey's never seen one before, and it takes him a moment to remember how to use a doorknob. (He presses his palm to it, gives it a gentle pull, and is a little startled when the door doesn't open. After a few seconds, he remembers these things have to turn.)

Once inside, there's a small open area, with a few sofas around a fireplace, though, since it's summer, no fire is burning, and on the far end, there's a check-in counter and a set of stairs leading up to the second floor.

They glance at each other, and head for the desk.

A middle-aged lady smiles at them, looking them over with more interest than Kylo would have expected, and says, "Amidalas?"

Kylo nods, feeling it's the name that's got her attention, and Rey says, "Yes."

"Great, just sign in and we'll get you your room key." She taps the register as she turns to root around in a drawer behind the desk, probably hunting for the key.

The register is an actual book, of paper, with neatly lined spaces, and a pen. Kylo looks at it and almost goggles. He has a signature, a very nice one. Technically speaking, he's got two very nice ones, actually. Luke thought calligraphy was a good way for young Jedi to learn fine muscle control and meditate, and because there was nothing particularly light about making pretty letters on a piece of paper, Kylo was actually good at it from the first time he held a brush, but neither of those nice signatures is Ben Amidala.

He realizes as Rey's staring at it, that she can't write. She's never seen a pen before, never learned to form her letters. That's not rare, not in any world that lives and dies by digital, but it is something he didn't know about her.

"Aurebesh keyboard?" he asks, figuring he's better off acting like they're both from a part of the galaxy that doesn't use pens.

The desk clerk pulls one up from under the desk, and Rey looks at it, but doesn't touch it. That's when it hits Kylo that Rey can't write, period. Whatever it is the Force does that allows her to read has not resulted in the ability to make letters or arrange them into words.

He takes the keyboard and puts in her name: Rey Amidala. Reserving the rooms for Rey and Ben Amidala was uncomfortable enough, he's not about to type it now if he doesn't have to.

Fortunately, Rey Amidala brings up their reservation, and from there getting their key is easy and slick.

The check-in lady, noticing both of them staring at the key like they'd never seen one before, because neither of them have, decides to walk them up to their room.

"Getting a quick break from the capitol?" she asks.

"We're from further afield than that," Rey replies.

Kylo didn't miss the desk clerk's interest in the name they gave, so he adds, "Family history trip. We've tracked the name back to here. Hoping to learn more about where I come from."

"Oh." She holds up the key, and shows them how to put it into the door knob, and then turn it to the left. "Opens the lock." Then she turns it all the way to the right. "Locks the lock." She returns it to the neutral position, pulls it out, and hands it to Kylo.

He gets the lock unlocked, and she nods, satisfied that he knows what he's doing, and then says, "Good luck on your hunt."

He offers her a little smile. "Thank you."

It's a nice room, bright, lots of coral colors and summer sunlight streaming through gauzy curtains. And once inside, it's a lot more modern looking than the outside of the building or the public room downstairs. The bed is comfortably springy. There's more than enough closet space, granted neither of them brought much clothing. Everything they've got with them is on their backs or in the one sack Kylo's carrying. They've got their own bathroom, with a tub and shower and lots of towels. It's everything they could possibly need for a night.

The chronometer tells them that by local time, it's morning.

And it only took two hours to get here, so it's not like either of them is tired.

They look at each other and…

"Explore?" Rey says.

"Sure." He opens the bag, digs through it, finding the credit sticks, and hands one over to her, before tucking his into his pocket.

She puts their bag into the closet, and calls her staff to hand. He takes her other hand in his. And then they're off to see what's here.

It's probably, not in the great scheme of things, a huge market. Like most of this city, it's bigger than anywhere Rey's ever been, or anywhere Kylo's ever lingered, but it's not, even by the scale of Naboo, big.

It's the main market in a second tier city on an edge of the middle rim planet.

Experienced travelers would likely find it "quaint."

It's still more stuff, by a factor of at least a thousand, than Rey's ever seen at one place at one time. They spend hours roaming through it. The food stalls alone take up the whole morning. Neither of them have ever seen this many different types of fruit and vegetable and fish and meats and little cooked snacks and… And everything that looks or smells interesting, they've got to at least try.

The merchants love them because neither of them knows to bargain with them. They say a price. Rey hands them her credit stick. And off they go, nibbling on something new.

Kylo notices that maybe one out of five people really look at him, startled, so he keeps waving his hand and muttering, "Not him" at the ones who stare.

It works well enough, but after two hours of wandering, he and Rey sit down on a bench at one of the fountains, sharing a crispy pastry filled with frozen melon mush, and work their way through figuring out how to work the spell so he doesn't have to keep redoing it. They settle on shifting his do not look to do not recognize. (Kylo mutters under his breath: This is not the Master you're looking for. And Rey sniggers a bit, because she's heard that story, told by Threepio, too.) After all, he wants to keep wandering and shopping, and that won't work if they don't look.

They're not sure if it worked, but for the rest of the afternoon, no one stares at him beyond the cursory gaze given to a customer, so… probably.

Beyond the main market are streets lined with shops, and with nothing set to do, they continue to roam.

He feels her looking at it, and his eyes trace over to it, too. It's a dress, in a shop window, pretty and green and unlike anything else she owns, or has ever imaged owning. Apparently, local women's fashion involves a lot of flowy fabric in bright, pretty colors. Some dresses are long, covering the feet of the person wearing them, and some are short, just barely brushing thighs, but they're all in dresses.

Rey in her tunic and trousers and armwraps doesn't exactly blend here. He can feel her thinking that maybe she'd like to blend.

He smiles at the idea, and leans down, almost kissing the words on her ear, "Go buy it."

"It's probably expensive."

He shrugs. There's more than 300,000 credits in his account because his accounting department is still scouring the Supremacy for currency. And it might be expensive, but it's not six years of his income expensive. "So? You want to wear it, and I want to see you in it."

She chuckles at that. "Come with me."

So he does.

The first one is too big. She figures she's about medium-sized so a medium-sized dress should fit.

It doesn't.

And she knows it doesn't before she steps out of the dressing room to let Kylo see it. Among other things, the top is supposed to stay up over her bust, not pool around her hips. She tosses it over the door to him and says, "Small."

So he gets one.

The fabric between his fingers is sinfully soft and smooth. It's pine forest green, a mix of bright, sharp greens on a darker, softer, black-green background.

He can't wait to see it on her, and wants to take if off of her even more. Or maybe just push it out of the way. It's a dress, it's not like it's got to come off…

Well… it might not, but she has underthings and they're… He remembers what Frakes said about different underthings to go with different trousers. The dress in his hand should likely only come to her mid thighs, and she usually wears little shorts under her pants… and the top doesn't have anything that goes over her shoulders, and her normal undershirt has straps, so…

She probably needs different underthings, too, and the idea of getting them makes him glad he's carrying a dress in front of him. His trader outfit is decidedly lacking in anything that hangs down in front of him.

He bites his lip, coming to the conclusion that he may decide that he actually likes having money to spend on things, or at least on Rey, if it could buy… things… maybe little… lacy… things… for her. To put on, and look at, and maybe, let him take off… or… he shivers a little at the idea… rip off of her.

He looks around the shop as he's wandering back to the changing area, but he doesn't see anything that looks like underclothes, so… not here apparently.

He knows which of the changing rooms she's in, so he slips the lock and steps in. It's tight quarters for the two of them, just a little bigger than her shower.

"Kylo!" She doesn't cover up or anything. It's not like she's shy about being in her shorts in front of him. He appreciates the view, her, no undershirt, hair down, body soft and tan in front of him.

He bites his lip again, teasing her, teasing himself, reminding himself of the feel of her teeth on his lip, and then holds out the dress.

She holds her arms up, smiling at him, apparently deciding that if he's going to come in he might as well help her dress.

He's got to take a moment to think about how to get it onto her, but apparently it's just a soft tube of fabric, so he gets it settled. There's a small bit that goes around her neck, and she turns around, lifting her hair, exposing the back of her neck to him.

His hands shake a little as he hooks the fabric shut, setting it smooth and green into a snug embrace around her throat.

He bends, kissing just above the collar, and just below, before stepping back enough to see the dress on her.

It's fairly loose, save for a gather of tighter fabric around her neck. The rest of it gently flows over her, covering her from just about where the token would land if it weren't around his neck, to mid-thigh. It's very soft, and pretty, and he's staring down at her, thinking that what he might like better than interesting lacy underthings is knowing there aren't any underthings between him and her and… It's not particularly cool in here, but her nipples are hard, and he can see them through the dress and… Gods, this is probably so horribly inappropriate, but all he wants to do is unbutton his trousers and slip into her and feel that dress under his fingers as his body slides into hers.

He can feel her smirking at him, see it, too, along with a sense of not here.

Soon?

Yes. Now get out of here before I decide to change my mind.

His turn to smirk. You know, that's not terribly motivating to get me out of here.

She trails her fingers over the front of his trousers, cupping him gently, and his eyes slip shut as his hips rock forward. I know. Maybe I don't really want you to leave.

In a heartbeat, less, she's in his arms, crushed against his body, and he's reveling in the feel of her soft body under that fabric.

He's aware enough of the fact that they're in a shop in the middle of the day, with other people around that he doesn't groan, though he does lay his lips against her shoulder and let her feel the moan in his mind.

She's rubbing up against him, deliberately, also enjoying the feel of him through the silk. It's smooth and slippery, but not wet, and feels different but good, and… Still this is the first nice thing she's ever been in danger of owning, and she doesn't want to ruin it before she even gets it paid for.

And that's the thought that stops her cold. She's already wet, and the dress is right against her, where his thigh is between her legs, and if she soaks her shorts, which is certainly possible, or if he does, which is certain if this goes where they both want it to…

It's an act of tremendous will power, but she puts her hands on his hips and pushes him back.

Let's pay for it before we wreck it.

He mentally whimpers at that idea. Then he makes himself step back, and she can feel him forcing the control over himself. Another moment, with his eyes closed, and his shaft won't be leading the way out of the changing stall.

"Okay," he says, calm and in control again.

"Okay," she looks up at him with a grin, and then wiggles her fingers at the door, knowing that this will go a lot easier if she takes the dress off without an audience or help.

And, with nothing to do for a few moments, Kylo wanders around the store, gathering up three more dresses, all of them fairly similarly shaped, but in different colors. Right now the idea of her in flushed pinks, and vibrant blues, and one color that he doesn't know the name of, but it's halfway between pink and orange, and he thinks she'll look like a sunset, the way he thinks sunsets are supposed to look, in it.

Maybe it took gray for them to get together, but he's thinking maybe part of where they're supposed to go is a world, galaxy, with color. He tries to imagine what Jon would do it he said he wanted some outfits, for Master Ren, in something other than black or gray. Probably have a stroke. Still… might be amusing.

The lady who runs the place is apparently no stranger to somewhat turned-on husbands roaming around her shop, so when he heads to the counter with the dresses, she smirks at him. "Having fun?"

He nods.

She chuckles. And then glances at Rey in her street clothing as she joins them. Apparently, she looks far enough out of her normal element that she asks, "Honey, do you have sandals to go with this?"

Her boots are thick, sturdy, practical, and apparently, not the sort of foot gear that goes with this. The shop lady nods at that, takes a card out from behind the counter, and writes two addresses on it. "Go visit both."

He can't read the card. Unlike him, this woman does not have a neat, tidy, formally trained in proper Aurebesh calligraphy script. She's got some local version of the letters that look, maybe, sort of, like the ones he learned.

Fortunately, he knows someone who doesn't have to actually read the words to know what they say.

He hands it over to Rey, and she has no problem with it.

As they're walking to the first of the shops, Rey says, "You can do this, can't you?"

He raises an eyebrow at her.

"Write? I mean, by hand."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you sign us in?"

"Because putting Kylo Ren into the register would have raised more than a few eyebrows." He can feel her not understanding. "Signatures are different than other words. Anyone watching would know that I don't sign Ben Amidala the way I should. I'd have to actually think about it to make it look right." She's looking at him curiously, still not exactly getting it. "The first thing I learned to write was Ben Solo. The first thing most people learn how to write is their name. I can do it with my eyes closed. Kylo Ren is just as easy. So, I could whip through the Ben with no problems… other than I don't like writing it… and then have to remember how to put Amidala together because I've never written that before."

"Oh." She thinks about it. "Was it hard to learn?"

"I didn't find it so. I don't imagine you would, either."

She nods at that. "If we see a pen and ink, I'd like to get it."

He smiles at that, and another thought springs to mind. "Brushes."

"Brushes?"

"They'll be more fun."

She doesn't know what he means by that, and he's fine with it. A little smile on his face.

Kylo doesn't find shoes nearly as inspiring as dresses. And Rey's not nearly as interested in them, either. The first pair of sandals that fit are the ones she grabs, and then they're out of there, hunting for the second place on the list.

The second shop makes Kylo wonder if the lady in the dress shop had some Force skill or was just really good at reading people. Or maybe, like Jon, she just knows how the underthings are supposed to look based on what the outer outfit is doing.

It's a place that sells underthings, for women.

He also decides that if he goes into this shop, they aren't getting out of it without him getting into her, so he gives her a long, wet kiss, holding her close, and then says, "Surprise me," before going off in search of something to amuse himself for a while.

Specifically, he goes off looking for a calligraphy set.

There are things that most people learn, more or less on their own, through trial and error, usually during their teens and early twenties.

Among these things is often a personal sense of sexy.

An idea or ideal of how one goes about looking and being attractive, not just in the conventional appreciate me as an appealing person sort of way, but in a get over here and jump my bones sort of way, too.

This would be something that neither Rey nor Kylo ever managed to do. Between lack of opportunity or interest, it's just not something either of them had ever given much thought to.

Being both Force sensitive and trained in how to use it, Kylo was at least aware of how people looked at him, but when with Luke, doing anything to encourage anyone to look at him with anything other than platonic, friendly love was frowned upon. Add in the fact that half of the students were at least mildly scared of him, he did his best not to spend too long aware of what they may have been thinking about him.

With Snoke, where he could have explored that space, he didn't. He kept the mask on most of the time. The first four women he had sex with never saw his face. (Or really, any of him except his penis. Kylo Ren hadn't sunk into his bones at that point, and he wasn't about to take him off just to get sucked.) They thought he was ugly or disfigured, and he didn't much care. For the first three years, he made sure everyone who got near him felt fear, and by then, if he noticed someone interested in him sexually, he stayed away from them. The First Order tended to attract or make people who liked to fuck monsters. He had no use for them. Eventually he rose high enough he began to attract people for his power, and they interested him more. By then, Kylo had sunk into his bones, and he was comfortable taking the mask, and the rest of his clothing, off. Most of them were pleasantly surprised when they saw that he was not, in fact, ugly or disfigured.

And he was pleasantly surprised to see that they liked his body. Apparently he'd grown into it sometime between putting the mask on for the first time, and then taking it off.

For Rey, becoming sexy was a weapon, one aimed at her throat. She didn't welcome it, and did her best to hide it. By the time her period started arriving regularly she was quick, and strong, and fairly good with her staff, but even quick, and strong, and fairly good with a staff wasn't a match for several grown men. The second time it happened, she moved out of Niima Station, to the downed AT-AT.

Drunk men didn't have a problem risking getting a broken jaw or hand to grab her and hold her down. But they weren't willing to walk three miles into the desert to search for her. Not when there were other girls and boys closer.

And that was, until Rey had Chewie drop her off at the Supremacy, the sum total of both of their experience with sexy.

If you were to ask her, Rey would tell you that the reason she got a shower, took most of her hair out of its buns, put on a nice clean outfit, located some lip balm in the Falcon (she doesn't want to think about how old it was) and put it on, before stuffing herself into a shuttle pod to be shipped to Kylo, was that it was more comfortable. Laying with your hair in buns makes your head sore. Clean skin and clothing feels nice. And the air cycling on those things is just murder on your lips, they dry out really fast, and she didn't want them cracked and bleeding, and that was that.

It had nothing to do with being attractive.

And if it just happened to sort of… work… well… sheer luck or the Force at work.

And, if feeling her come, sensing her drawing nearer, Kylo just happened to get a shower, hunt down a clean tunic and shirt, and spent some time brushing his hair, and almost started to shave again before he decided that was complete overkill that was just… killing time. He had to do something to fill the two hours it took her to get there. And okay, the handcuffs were not exactly his idea but he knew they had to be part of this so he got the most comfortable looking ones he could find, and maybe he spent a little extra time deciding if he wanted the cloak or not, but…

It wasn't like he was trying to look good or anything.

Not consciously.

In retrospect, he probably made Snoke laugh. At least the fucker got one good chuckle before he cut him in half.

But here, on a pleasantly sunny summer day in Ulinada, there are no knives. No monsters. Just him, and her, and a flavor of playtime neither of them have ever explored before, and the idea of it is intriguing.

So Rey finds some pretty, little underthings to put under some pretty, little dresses. And Kylo finds that calligraphy set, and eventually, they find each other.

When they find each other again, he's very interested in seeing what's in that bag of hers.

She catches his interest, heady, like a scent on the air, and blushes, a little, and then looks to his bag. "You found a pen?"

He nods. "That, too. Brushes, ink, paper, pencils." He rolls his eyes a little. "Maybe one day Master Padme will teach the little boogers to write."

She smiles at that idea. "I thought you said you weren't going to be teaching children to meditate."

"It's not the same."

She looks up at him, amused. "Of course not."

He nudges the bag with the dresses in it. "What was that about fancy ballrooms?"

She shrugs, and then an idea hits. "Do you think there are places to dance here?"

That stops him mid-stride, getting him thinking in a different direction. "Probably." He hadn't been thinking much past getting Rey into one of those dresses, admiring it and her, taking it off of her, and then showing her what he can do with a calligraphy brush, but… Going out with her… He's got an image in his mind of her in one of the dresses, knowing that his words are written on her skin under it, and it's flushing through him, hot and urgent. "We should do that."

Apparently he projected that image, because she's looking up at him, and this time it's her intrigue that's wafting about like a scent on the air. "You want to write on me?"

He nods, swallowing hard as the idea continues to solidify in his head. "Yes." He licks his lips. "I think it'll feel good, and I know it'll look good."

They're both, without really noticing it, moving back toward their hotel.

"What would you write?"

He's not entirely certain, yet, but he's got a feeling he won't be low on inspiration if she's stretched out naked in front of him.

"Is there anything you wouldn't want me to write on you?"

Turned back at her, she's thinking about it. "Would other people be able to see it?"

"Only if you plan on taking that dress off with other people around."

She chuckles at that. "Can I draw on you?"

That thrills through him, too. "As much as you want."

"You really used to do this?" Rey asks, watching him lay out the calligraphy set once they're back in their hotel room.

He smiles, a little, dipping one of the brushes into a glass of water, and then dripping it onto the cake of black ink. "Until I was sixteen, this is what I was best at."

"Writing?"

He half-shrugs. "It's not a light skill. I was always better at meditating if I could move while doing it, and this took control and concentration, but not a particularly calm or peaceful heart. Even angry, the letters still look good. Look better, actually. I could write whatever I liked. Maybe we were supposed to be writing down Jedi sayings and whatnot, but in my own cottage, practicing on my own… I could be as angry on the paper as I liked."

That makes sense to her, except for the age part. "Why until you were sixteen?"

He rolls his eyes at that. "I got my growth late. For a while, we all assumed I was just going to be short, like Luke and Mom. I was strong for my size, and most of the rest of my… grown up bits… were grown up. I was shaving once or twice a week, but I was still smaller than you are until I was sixteen. By seventeen, I was as tall as Luke, and by eighteen I was half a head taller. And by twenty I had the reach and muscle to outfight everyone there. Luke kept saying size didn't matter and the best lightsaber wielder ever was Yoda, and he was barely a meter tall, but from everything I can see, if you are practicing against other people who can use the Force, too, it helps to have a good long reach, and once I had more reach than Luke did, I started to beat him."

Rey laughs at that, and gently bumps him with her hip. "You didn't beat me."

That gets an epic eye roll from him followed by a somewhat harder bump back, enough to push her a half-step back. He's not angry, just snarky, and looking to put into perspective exactly how much bigger he is. "Yeah, you beat me. I'd just killed my father, and been shot in the side, and slashed in the right arm, slashed in the leg, and stabbed in the shoulder, sliced through the face, the planet we were on was ripping apart, so more than a million First Order men were panicking, and Snoke was screaming in my head, and so were you, and I was trying not to hurt you, so, yeah you beat me. Try it again when I'm not dying inside, and see how it goes. Luke's teachings on that were wrong, size does matter."

She sticks out her tongue at him, but doesn't challenge that, because, honestly, no she hadn't forgot that, and having seen him go up against the Praetorian guard, she knows that in a straight fight, both of them at full strength, she can't take him down… or at least, she can't keep him down. Like on Starkiller, she could probably knock him down, but he'd keep getting back up. She's not sure if he's a better fighter than she is, but he can take more pain then she can. Chewie shot him, Finn got him in the right arm, she got him in the leg, and then through the left shoulder, and he was still strong enough to almost fight her to a standstill before she dropped him with the cut to the face. And he was getting back up for another round when the planet spit apart between them.

He's got the training to pull off of his pain, use it as fuel, and she doesn't. And if it ever came to straight fight between the two of them, that's where he'd win.

He nods, feeling satisfied to see she's not challenging that, and then picks a little ink up on the brush, and begins on the paper, fingers deftly slipping along. It's been a while, but this still feels good, familiar. Under his brush, black swathes begin to form, and Rey can see what he means about even angry the letters would look good. They're made for fast, deft strokes, and calm or not, they'll work.

He fills the paper fast, not really thinking too much about the words, just the feel of the brush in his hand and on the paper.

She's seeing the marks on the paper, actually seeing them for once, before switching over to reading. Apparently, this is him thinking about what he liked about this.

As a Jedi, we never created anything. We were there to 'preserve' the Force or the 'balance.' To protect the light. The First Order was supposed to create, but it didn't. Action was about pain and tearing things down. But this, brush in hand, is about creating something, even if it is only black ink on white paper.

She moves around to his left side, and kisses his left shoulder, so as not to bump his right.

"Creation comes about in the balance."

He nods. "Can I put that on you?"

She's pulling off her belts. "Yes."

Tunic, pants, and shorts follow quickly. She's about to take off the arm wraps, but he shakes his head.

"You want me to keep them on?"

He nods. "It'll look good."

She's not sure about that, but doesn't mind indulging him. She's standing next to the bed and looks from him to it and back again.

"On your stomach." He's working the water into the block of ink, wanting the liquid extra black, and a little thicker than normal, and then taking most of it off the brush. He's not sure how long it'll take to dry on skin, but he doesn't want a wet, drippy mess. Then he pulls off his shirt, knowing he's likely to get some ink on it.

Rey settles on the bed, laying on her belly, looking over her shoulder at him. She wiggles her hips at him, saying, "Coming?"

His eyes are warm as they trail down her body. "Yes!"

He sits next to her, his fingers lightly stroking the path of her spine. The dress covers the nape of her neck, bares her shoulders, and then covers from just below her shoulder blades to mid-thigh.

He starts at the crest of her left hip, and follows the line of it, across her buttock. His letters are tidy and flowing, sliding across her skin, and he can feel the way Rey wants to wriggle at it.

He lays his lips at the bottom of her spine, kissing lightly before saying, "Too tickly?"

"No. It's… wet and intense and… different."

"Good different?"

"Good different."

His brush isn't made for fine detail work. The Aurebesh glyphs don't need that, and, to his eye at least, look better with a fuller stroke. So, with this brush, he can't do a proper symbol of the Maji. He can't trail the white and black into each other, lines thinning into gray. He can curl his black ink into a dot, and then pull the ink into a thinning tail, spinning it around the same shape of negative space. It's not perfect, but given what he's got to work with, he likes it.

"Circles?"

He nods. "Might be easier if you just watch through my eyes."

He feels her shift, the sudden presence in the back of his mind. And then he's alone in there again.

"Problem?"

"Looking at myself through you is just… weird."

He smirks at that. And then strokes her right hip… "What goes here?" He lightly strokes the blunt end of the pen across her hip, and she wriggles at that, too. His lips follow, light nipping kisses. Then he writes: Life began in the gray on her other hip.

He blows gently across all of the words, working on drying them.

She moans at that, and he grins.

He shifts around her, so he's facing her feet, and begins just above his not quite Maji circle. Luscious, gorgeous, delicious Rey, spreads up her spine, and she does her best not to shiver while he's writing.

He lays his pen on the holder, and blows on her back again, laying soft kisses between black words.

He's feeling a little naughty, a little playful, so he gently bites the soft curve where left butt cheek becomes leg, and then writes nip and matches it with kiss on the other side.

"What did you just write?"

He smirks, giggling a little. "You know, if you don't look through my eyes, you'll have to use a mirror. I wonder, can you read backwards?"

He feels her roll her eyes, and then gasp, as he gently strokes the insides of her thighs, between his latest words. "According to you, I can't read at all."

"I've never said that. Just that whatever it is you do with your books, it's not reading."

She doesn't feel like that's much different, but his fingers caress a little higher, just barely brushing her muff, banishing that thought. She rocks her hips at that, spreading her legs a little wider apart. He blows lightly on her back and legs, hoping this is helping it dry faster. He wants her on her back, wants to trail more words all over her skin, wants to trail his skin all over hers.

He blows again, and she squirms against it, arching into the sensation.

He smiles, enjoying this, a lot.

One of his fingers stretches out, gently rubbing the last senth in kiss. It doesn't smear. "Flip over." His voice is lower than normal, softer, and he likes it that way. Likes all of this, gentle touches, teasing strokes, soft sounds, pretty, pretty, pretty Rey spread out before him covered in his marks.

He's hard, probably has been the whole time, but he knows this is way more in his head than in his shaft. Everything about this makes him happy, and his body's going along for the ride the best way it knows how.

He sets the brush down, and kisses from her jaw to her hip. Light, gentle caresses of his lips against her skin.

"Going to mark each one?" Rey asks.

"Nope." He shifts again, knees against her hip, and calls the brush to his hand. He touches it, just the tip, to right above her delta, and writes, "Leth, isk, forn, ekt," in a curving half circle up to her navel, and then on the other side, mirroring it back down, "Leth, osk, vev, ekt."

"Life and love?"

He gently lays his lips in the center of the circle, looking up at her, eyes warm and playful. "One day?"

She strokes her fingers through his hair. "One day."

His lips slide into a wide, exultant smile, and he kisses her again. Then he's up on his hands, kissing her lips, and she traces her thumb across his chin, smiling at him. "You've got some ink on your chin."

He starts to laugh, giddy, bubbly feelings pouring out of him.

Joy he writes that on her hip, wild vibrant letters, his hand loose and easy. He spent so long in the dark, that bright feeling like these are still alien, foreign territory to be explored, but as he traces peace across her ribs, and ecstasy below it, he feels like he's starting to get the lay of the land.

Lady Ren he teases that across her belly.

Beloved circles her left nipple.

"Kylo."

It takes him a moment to realize she's telling him what to write next, not just getting his attention. That flushes through him, like any reminder of her seeing him, as he truly is, and accepting it.

"Where?"

She touches her naked breast, and he glows with the idea of that.

"Krill, yirt, leth, osk." The letters are swift, fluid, well-practice and elegant on her skin.

"And if I wanted my name on you?"

He hands her the brush. "Pick a spot," he says, pulling off his trousers and shorts.

She kisses his upper thigh, thinking that looks like a fine spot to have her name. He gently rolls the brush in the ink, blotting off the extra and writes it, saying, "Resh, eskt, yirt." He's doing it upside down, wanting it right way up for her, so this isn't quite as fluid or well-practiced, but the easy swipes of black ink on pale skin look nice.

She blows on his skin, helping the ink dry a little faster, and then takes the brush from him. "Do you mind if I can see it even if you've got a shirt on?"

"No."

"Good, lay back."

He does, and she takes his right hand in hers, stretching his arm to the side. She's not sure if she wants to start at his shoulder or his hand, and spends a moment stroking her fingers up and down the inside of his arm.

He can, to a degree, feel what she's thinking, so he says, "Elbow. You'll have an easier time spacing it out if you start in the center and work your way out."

Then he closes his eyes and relaxes as she settles next to him. The brush is, of course, cool and wet against his skin. Even wet, he can feel the bristles are soft, but that's intentional, he always preferred a soft brush to a stiff one. It'd give him less control, but more expression on the page.

It tickles a little, especially as she moves up his arm, closer to his armpit, and he's having a hard time not wriggling around.

She gently nips his shoulder. "Uh huh… Yeah, staying still is hard."

He laughs at that, and looks over to see what she's doing. He can't tell by feel. Just long wet strokes up the inside and outside of his arm.

It's an organic shape, curving and flowing across his skin. A vine of black ink creeping toward his shoulder. And while his calligraphy has a supple fluidity to it, it's very obviously the creation of the hand of man. This could have grown along his arm. A statue, hand out, slowly being reclaimed by the plants around it.

He absolutely adores it. "I'm never putting a shirt on again."

She laughs at that. "You'd distract your men."

"Probably." He grins up at her. "It certainly distracted you that first time."

She rolls her eyes, kisses his left nipple, and then shifts around, so her hip is next to his shoulder, and starts to work her way down his arm. She makes a little half-sigh, half-exasperated sound, and then presses her toes against his palm. "You are huge."

He laughs at that, too, also realizing his arm is a centimeter or two longer than her leg.

He drifts through her doing the lower half of his arm. Soft, wet touches, the dry heat of her breath, occasional bits of conversation, mostly though he's just feeling… both the physical of his body, and the contentment in his head.

She kisses the tip of his middle finger, and says "Done."

He holds his arm up, and gazes at black vines tracing from his chest to his nail on his right middle finger. "It's beautiful."

He's not entirely dry yet, so she doesn't touch, but she's looking, eyes hot, at his arm and the words he's covered her with. "It feels good. Seeing you with my marks on you."

He half smiles, sitting up, wrapping his legs around her kneeling body. "You see that every time you look at my face."

She strokes the scar. "Maybe I want to mark you without pain, or anger, or rage."

"I'd like that. Wear you on my skin every day." He strokes his words on her skin, now dry. "Do you… Is…" He's not sure how to form the question in his mind.

"Yes." But she feels it, that he wants some claim on her, something tangible, visible. "I liked… having the desk clerk see us together, and the shop keepers, and walking with your arm around me, and… just… being married."

He leans in and kisses her. "Me, too. You know there are people who do this every day?"

"Us?"

"We've got a ship and 200,000 credits in currency. We could leave here and start over… be… anything."

They both hold that idea for a moment, knowing it's not going anywhere. Amidala, Padme… they're just sounds to blur reality for a bit, a way to shift scrutiny and give them space to enjoy being with each other.

Ren. That's reality. Her fingers trace over Kylo and Lady Ren. His eyes follow them.

Burn his black, shred her tans, shed the skin of gray holding them together, and join together in color… It's not going to happen, but for a moment… it's a golden idea, and for a moment, they share it, and then drop it.

"Did Finn and Rose do something to mark being married?" he asks, going back to the main idea.

Rey shakes her head. "Not really. Not physically. He added her name, and she's pregnant, but, that's not what you mean, or at least that's not what I'm thinking."

"No." He strokes the black ink on their skins. "Something more like this." He touches the Maji token, on his throat today. "Or this."

"Did your parents have anything?"

"If they did, I don't remember it." He thinks back, trying to remember married people. He knows it's a thing. Knows it happens. Knows that if he or she had had anything even remotely approaching a normal life, they'd both know scores of married people, but normal life was stolen from him before he was born, and from her shortly after.

"Lando… He and Annilie… They gave each other rings at their wedding. It was a tradition from her home world. They both wore them… as best I know… for the rest of their lives."

Rey rests her hand against his. "I could wear a ring."

He smiles at that. "So could I." Then he kisses her, soft, easy, playful. There's heat there, hiding behind playful, and after this morning, after painting each other, it only takes a moment or two for the heat to overtake playful.

She twines her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to her, straddling his legs.

He nudges her up a little, so she's kneeling above him. His hands find her bosom, squeezing, softer, then harder, as his lips and tongue find her nipple. He's careful to avoid her artwork, and more careful to get the kind of touch she likes. The soft, wet, dragging sensation, his lips and teeth just sliding across pink skin, lighting a shower of sparks across her nerves, drawing her body high and tight.

He can feel her smile, feel her hand tightening in his hair, hear her moan.

She lifts his face to hers, scooting herself down, flush on his lap, and kisses him again. Lip to lip, her sucking on his bottom one, as his tongue flicks her top one.

She breaks the kiss. "I thought you wanted to see what was in my bag."

He groans, a lot of skin-heating images in his mind, but that'd involve her getting up, and… "Later." He grinds against her, and she rolls her hips against him.

He kisses her shoulder, brushing her hair out of the way, and then kisses her neck and notices…

She makes a little surprised squeak when they both hover a handful of centimeters in the air, twist a little, and then slide over a few more centimeters. "Kylo!"

He nods toward the wall. They're in front of the mirror now. They can see each other in front of each other easily enough in any position, but now, with a quick glance to the side, they get another view. Her in his lap, arms around his shoulders, naked save for her arm wraps and his black ink. Him, sitting with his legs spread out, his hands cupping her bottom, his arm and chest covered in her black ink, flexing each time she rocks against him.

"It was too pretty not to share," he says by way of explanation for moving them.

She kisses him, still rolling her hips, and when her lips move back she says, "A picture for one of my books."

He grins at that. "Might have to get a camera, too."

Her eyes go wide. "You'd…"

"Love to take pictures of this." His hand cups her bosom again, and he lowers his face, tucking it in the crooks of her neck and shoulder. "Look at us, Rey, can you imagine how gorgeous this would be in black and white?"

She tugs his hair, lifting his head so he's face to face with her. "Only if you don't hide your face like you just did."

He feels the smile spreading across his lips. He hadn't realized that's what he was doing, but… as soon as she said it, he knew she was right.

He spans her head with his hands, tips of his fingers resting from her temples to the nape of her neck, and looks up into her eyes. "How about this."

She's smiling back down at him. "Almost." She rolls her hips again, canting them just enough, and he shifts his hips just a bit, knowing what she's looking to do without breaking the contact of her hands on his shoulders.

His jaw clenches, and he pulls in a swift, shivering breath, but his eyes don't close, and hers don't, either, as she slides down on him. "There. That's what I want a picture of. You looking at me like that."

He nods, knowing his voice isn't going to be solid enough to make a coherent word.

Her lips find his again, and again, and again as their bodies' rock against each other. Not a lot of motion between them, not this time. Soft, easy, little gestures. Her body, rising and falling slow and languid in his lap. His hips, curling a little with each stroke.

The wave between them builds slowly as afternoon slips into evening. One stroke into another and another as the light stretches and shifts, yellow to orange to dying sunset pink. It crashes down, washing both of them in tumbling, clenching pleasure, as pink bleeds into twilight gray.

In the artificial light of the bathroom, after a long cuddle, and a short nap, they wash the ink away. Most of it flows around them, draining out of the shower, but ghosts of the marks linger on their skin, even after soap and water.