"Like any lover, he desired to please; suffered agonies at the thought of failure."
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.

"My faithful friend, there where you sleep or rise,

Sleep you no more; in safety lift your eyes.

Far Orient, the morning star stands gleaming

Leading the day that drives us all from dreaming

And soon outshines all dawn's light.

My faithful friend, I sing what you must hear

So sleep no more".

Guiralt de Bornelh, cca. 1165 AD, Reis Glorios (Alba song of the Troubadours).

He makes his way up to her lips. The sensation is otherworldly (and in Outer Rim Worlds he was, and seen so many things of strange beauty that tested all his senses and reasoning, but this is something new and something far more exhilarating). He doesn't know exactly what he is doing, nor does she – at least not on the rational level. But somehow and very quickly, they synchronize. He is completely absorbed in that simplest of human responses – the kiss. Lips locked, he feels her body reacts to him intensely and truly. It hums and that humming turns to downright singing to the very cellular level. Her warm hands embrace his neck from the behind and he feels immense gratitude and joy for being able to hold her in his arms like this. Joy and gratitude – it's like opening a sealed room after years and years of neglect; opening the windows, letting the fresh breeze of the morning and the sunshine to rush in.

He moans her name again: "Rey".

Ahch-to, the moment she came back from the Dark Side to tell him about it. So alone and of sunken heart – her sadness giving her the sort of beauty he never witnessed on anyone or anything. Her small hand feels raspy, warm, reassuring and strong even in the face of her utter disappointment, so much so that he doesn't know who is comforting whom – or maybe it's absolutely mutual, like this long and passionate kiss. Her lips are indescribably tender and her tongue is all velvet and passion and timidity. He could remain like this forever had that music of her body not drawn his attention. It is concentrated in one single place and he reaches out for that place almost instinctively.

She touched it already this morning, he remembers. It's almost like they touch it together again, in perfect unison.

He leads her hand under his, urging him to show him.

She blushes all over with embarrassment and pre-orgasmic build up, but complies. Exactly like in his dream, she again pleads with him to go easy, to be gentle.

I know you can.

Her fingers go inside, and his hand is only there to cup hers. She strokes herself and moans directly into his mouth. So soft, so warm – it sends jolts of energy down his spine. He pushes only one finger alongside hers and she yelps, but soon accommodates. She lets him in. She lets him feel it for himself.

Soon, she leaves him there and locks her hands around his neck and his shoulders. She marvels at his features. She licks the scar that she made and then she kisses it some more. She fought him before, but only now realizes how strong and tall he is. Was it really him? Was it really her? His taste is one of salt and something else, something uniquely his.

She leaves her eyes open so she can see him – although the haze that descends on her is so strong and so alluring, that she wants to shut everything off except for the sensation of his intense presence near her. She wants to forget everything except his hands around her, in her; his thighs rubbing gently but passionately against her own; his slick tongue against her own. There is slight clumsiness to his behaviour, but he is inquisitive and attentive of her every reaction. There is a roaring tension bellow his waist, but he controls himself not to release it too early, primarily for her own pleasure. She has to show him that she's capable of the same. That she is strong and in control. That he can rely on her in every single segment. But his eyes transfix her. How changed they are. This is not just mere physical reaction, it's something more. He's changing. That gaze she remembers from Ahch-to morphs from apprehension and yearning to supplication and mad longing in the Throne Room. But now, it's soothed. It's gentle and vibrant. There is softness to that gaze that makes her love him even more. Just another night like this and he'll yield. She opens him petal by petal and she will never crush him. He was never so open and so vulnerable to anyone before – she can't betray this moment. His tortuous life prevented any kind of connection to another human being. The obscene and depressing scenes of his erratic releases come and go like a bad dream. It's exhausting to him and it leaves him numb, not satisfied. A demonic sneer greets him. A demonic creature knows his every move and his every weakness and he resigns to the darkness, convinced there is no way to escape. Not a moment of peace or intimacy. Rey shudders but there is no disgust – only immense compassion. She kisses him deeply and tenderly, tangling her fingers in his hair. Softness and hardness, vulnerability and strength; she moves a bit further, a bit more forward and her muscles accommodate around his fingers. It's dizzying for her and it encourages him.

On his part, he's learning quickly and finds his way to her arousal.

He plays there, thumb on her pearl. He curls the tips of his fingers and rubs her soft crevice, observing her reaction. She arches up and that music of hers becomes a thunder. Very good, at least this I'm doing right, he thinks. She was never touched like this. Powerful images come his way. Loneliness. Brutality of her existence. Instinct as the last resort when waiting and longing feel too much.

At night, desperate to sleep.

On the other side of the galaxy, he has already broken from the Jedi. He is already a Jedi killer. Fear and destruction follow him wherever he goes and create a halo of emptiness around him.

Lonely. Both of them. But there is hope for her in the future she doesn't even know of, and there is nothing for him – except for her.

His dream is an idealized version of this, and this is so much more raw. He finds the end of her cavity, but the hymen is almost completely broken – physical effort, constant physical straining. Doesn't matter to him – actually, it makes him feel even more for her. It reveals all her vulnerability and all her stamina in a single point of her body. He wants to make it up for her.

Her music comes to a crescendo.

She is so tight down there and so longing – he wants to soothe that place, to kiss all that strain away. His fingers stay there, but his tongue is on her pearl this time. It surprises her, it scares her even, but she clings onto his hand that pins her chest gently down and presses harder. He loses his breath for a moment as his teeth meet her tenderness.

She is done. The music weakens and starts dissipating into millions of longing but growingly non-melodic tones. Stimulating her further would only turn the pleasure into pain and frustration, he realizes. He wipes off her fluids from his face and asks her:

"Do you want to go on your belly now… like you did this morning?"

Belly – tummy – stomach – goddamn abdomen, hands and knees: he's talking to her like she's a kid, and a kid she's definitely not.

He is flushed with embarrassment now. (He hasn't felt that warmth in his face since what feels like forever.)

That is her safe position and it suits him well. He doesn't want to go aggressively against her. She already knows why. It almost breaks that moment, but she knows who he is. What he's done. She saw all of it already onboard "Finalizer", and still she came to "Supremacy" to reason with him. Stupid girl – foolish girl full of undying hope and trust and light – a true Jedi: Snoke didn't lie that time.

He almost thinks she relinquishes her Jedi memories too easily, but there is a resounding echo of: there is no death, only the Force. Gods, it comes back at him again, and it comes from her. The Jedi apprentices loyal to Luke - they have all declined his offer to join him and have showed an admirable degree of opposition. They fought desperately, even though they were convinced Luke has died and that all was lost, making their effort even more valiant and agonizingly frustrating in his eyes. They were worthy opponents and he would gladly welcome them as the Knights of Ren (probably much more than those that actually jumped at the opportunity as soon as it presented itself). But he couldn't leave them alive, as much as they couldn't spare his. It was a point of no return for every one of them and they all knew it. And now, they are one with the Force. They made peace with all there is. And he is left to his own hell with only one Rey of light.

Thank you, he murmurs. But she is sunken already too deeply to hear him. He is just a beautiful static to her by that point.

He falls backwards with his hand still on her chest, leaving her some time to turn over and to let him do what needs to be done. What he needs to be done – what she asks him to do.

Her delicate hands are cupping his and it looks almost like a promise, like a betrothal – I won't leave. She left that ring on her finger – probably forgot about it – but now he's glad she took that token into this bed with him. Her heart pumps the blood strong under his palm and he wants to be buried in that place forever, in the very heart of her hearts.

She is his for the taking, erasing the Throne Room from his memory, emphasizing Throne Room, refining all that raw strength released there, all that passion and all that suffering. She allows him to be used by him, and solely by him.

I won't leave, she speaks again. Can she hear him after all? The vision of him, wounded and passed out, comes like millions of fine threads penetrating his mind with outmost tenderness. She feels sorry for what has happened – not for the fight, but for the tug of war they had after and that sends him into this state of weakness. There is no single murderous thought in her at that moment, although she is quite capable of finishing him off with his saber. Only sadness, confusion, anger and vast disappointment. Who knows what Hux will do the moment he finds you. But she has no time. It's a point of no return now and it's as dangerous to her as it is to him. The vision wobbles and goes slightly back in time. It takes a lot for her heart to be broken, and she is now at the very brink, but pulls herself together for the Resistance's sake, for Leia, for Luke, that deflector and the whole galaxy. How strong she is. She cannot accept what he offers. He pleads with her and millions of voices scream at her to succumb and to try and to negotiate; while other millions scream at her to get out, get out, get out. Take the saber – he's not to be trusted – you did it already on the Starkiller Base – it will yield again to you. But it yields to him as well this time. Ben, can't you see what it means? It yields to him in a perfect half, in a perfect symmetry. Stop it. Let it go. Please. But he doesn't hear her then, deafened by his own rage and the pain of inner wounds that are again burst open.

I hear you now, he utters and the grip of her hand tightens as she climbs on her elbow to look at him.

"You know what it means", she utters, her eyes set ablaze with the new hope. "You waged a victory there. It wouldn't come to you have you not waged that victory – on your own, without my help. You did it on your own free will".

But the diabolical machinery of his mind finds him even in that secluded moment and prevents him to accept the whole meaning of her words.

It grinds him and it's vehement.

It wouldn't take much to destroy her in this state.

Rule galaxy with me? Yes.

Go with me on a war campaign and drink the enemy's blood with me? Yes.

Few nights like these and just basic dark training and everything she was would be destroyed, like he promised to Luke Skywalker. She would be his.

Bridle her, the darkness whispers ominously. Lock her in. Cover her with lavishness. Make this her gilded cage forever. Drain that energy out of her like Anakin did to Padme. You know what happened, historian. You know what happened in this place to every last detail and you can make it happen again.

You would become invincible.

And he would be dead.

But she startles him. She's done observing whatever it is she sees in him and she is undeterred. She understands. She is fearless and that darkness in him subsidies in front of her stubbornness. The sickness won't go away so easily. She goes against her impetuous nature and far beyond to reach out to him.

"No", she whispers, but her voice is passionate and determinate now. "That is not you. I want to see you".

She rises up to her knees and gently removes the tangled hair from his forehead. She's little unsteady on her legs, which he notices with immense pride – he made her knees into water. She is so fragile it makes him want to grow stronger for her. He leans in and kisses her again on her lips. She takes him back and bites him slightly on his lower lip. He responds with a small, surprised roar. She is testing him, but it's a welcome test and he is under strong impression he passed it with flying colors. His arms encircle her waist and her wet and hot core rubs against his leg. He'll lay her down again. His hand wanders to her perineum and she quickens.

"Slower", she murmurs. "Gently, my love".

The expression, so common and so natural for her, confounds him and he goes back to look at her. Love. Said in a moment of passion? True confession? Bed side colloquialism?

And as he is still trying to wrap his head around this, she tackles him over, landing herself on top of him. He almost loses it. His swollen pride hits the rough linings of his pants.

He moans. Again, he underestimated her. He almost wants to giggle at the circumstances that led to his misjudgement.

"Did I hurt you?"

Even with all her wonderful Jedi insights, she is still so ignorant. Then again, this isn't something covered by the actual Jedi teachings either.

This is something uniquely theirs, exclusively theirs – if he was to die now, he'd die a happy man. She pulled him out of his half-death that he called life.

"No", he says and pulls her gently up, pulling his trousers down at the same time. "I'll lead you. Don't be afraid".

By the looks of her, she likes what she hears. She's fearless, but she appreciates gentleness – and especially his.

He draws her chin to his face and kisses her again. Her lips are now hotter and drier and her tongue goes deeper. She descends on him, following the trail of his arousal. Her pupils dilate. The sensation is strange and this is something that obviously goes over her Jedi head. Her simple astonishment makes him want to giggle, so he pulls her face to his again. No need to embarrass her or insult her. They kiss deeply and longingly until she gasps.

We can stop.

No.

No, we can't or no – I don't want to?

Both.

She mounts him, boldly, slowly and completely. There is a painful twitch on her face as she rides him almost to the end of both of their limits, and her hands tense around his neck, but she is fierce and she is wanting. She rides him beautifully. Her music is now strong symphony pouring all its energy into him and he almost completely dissolves in it. Through the pain, she reaches her pinnacle first and he lets her have it. Her head leans forward and their foreheads touch – she's hot and her sweat has her scent. Her muscles flex and he feels the grip is gradually loosening, to some of his disappointment. He'll just release himself later. But as he tries to dismount her gently, he is met with a shocked gaze.

No. Stay.

Rey.

I know. Stay.

As soon as they finish each other, she falls on his side, nesting her head in that place between his shoulder and his neck.