He hates trees.
The early part of his childhood was spent on Coruscant, in the days before the Republic government began its constant caravan from star system to star system, dragging with it the gifts of democracy and the machinery of bureaucratic necessity. His mother had been a necessity, so they traveled, setting up home on one world before hauling everything to the next. He didn't live on a planet with actual trees until he was nine, which was the same age he discovered he has allergies. He hasn't set foot on a world with trees this grandiose since Endor.
Kylo is unimpressed with them now. Great, grey-brown trunks surround them, topped with a leafy canopy greedily soaking up the light of the star this planet circles and leaving little for the ground far below. The undergrowth here teems with the life of perpetual twilight: grotesque fungi, huge-eyed ground beasts, blind flying predators, and pale worms as long as his arm that chew on the meters-thick leafmould and convert it in their primal way to soil.
Part of him, the part that dons black each day and scowls at the mere mention of the Resistance, that part looks around himself and considers such a dark, dreary kingdom to be his due rather than the sterile lines of a Star Destroyer.
Part of him hates the smell of decay and the sounds of scurrying feet and the impenetrable, uncaring giants that stood here for ten thousand years before he came to this place and won't miss him when he leaves.
Part of him is scared.
He doesn't like that part, won't acknowledge it. He won't be some shivering child who fears the great, tall things will bend down from their cloud-like heights and scoop him in unfeeling branches and gnaw him with great, wooden teeth.
Unfortunately, that's the part she can hear.
"Not afraid of a few trees, are you?" Her mind isn't far. She's taunting him to draw out his location.
He's tracked her here, the fourth world he's chased her to since he first got word of her location. Skywalker has been with her for three of the worlds. When they split, Kylo hesitated only a moment, knowing he ought to hunt his uncle. He can't explain why he followed Rey instead.
She's valuable. She can lead him to his enemies. She has powers he can consume or corrupt. These are his excuses.
He follows her because she fascinates him. There are very few left in the galaxy as powerful as he is. She might be even stronger. The first time he knew, he flew into a rage. Now he only wants to see. To touch. To guide her. Yes.
Kylo doubts he will have that opportunity. As soon as he finds her in the midst of these horrid trees, they'll fight, and he will have to kill her.
Something moves in the deep drifts of mouldering leaves and shed bark. He tenses, crouching low to ready himself for her attack. One of the local animals wanders out, a creature half his size, young hanging along its shaggy fur. He gives it a wide berth. The last thing he needs now is a bite from a spooked mother protecting its offspring.
"You're afraid of the trees, you're afraid of the loth-cats. Not much of a dark lord, are you?"
"They're not loth-cats. Try petting one. Perhaps it will eat you."
The prickle of her mind shifted. She's moving. He casts out his senses, seeking the ripples of Force energy that surround his adversary. She can try to shield herself. He's better at this.
He tilts his head up. Of course. She's not lurking in the darkness here with him. She's far above him, creeping across the arcing limbs of the trees like some primitive mammal hiding from the sharp-toothed thunderous reptiles below. She's a dizzying height up. He could climb, or he could levitate himself. Climbing is dull.
The path up is riddled with tree limbs and he has to rise with care. Concussion would be a secondary concern if he lost focus and plummeted back to the ground. Around him, sticky insects climb the trunks like their own private hyperspace lane, living their whole lives, and that of hundreds of generations before and after them, between a space ten and twenty meters up in the sky, creating insect legends around the mysterious green sky and the hellish darkness below, telling heroic tales of those who fell off the trunk into adventures. The sheer absurdity is enough to make him wish to hover here and crush every carapace he can see with one gloved hand, but he doesn't have the time.
She's here. She could be miles away but he knows she's close. Surrounded by huge limbs, roofed by a green blanket through which he can finally make out sunlight dappling the highest branches, Kylo comes to a rest. The branches are still broad and sturdy enough to hold his weight and that of a score of Stormtroopers.
A whole ecosystem flourishes here. Winged insects hop and flutter across the wide expanses between trees to taste at the lush spectrum of flowers crowding the nestled corners of the tree limbs where centuries of debris have created rich mulch for wildflower gardens. He hears the keening cries of birds seeking mates, and the ratcheting croak of lizards doing the same.
"I can see you," he says aloud.
There. Rey's fear spikes through her, sending out a mental signal he has chased across the stars.
He climbs now, seeking his way through the high limbs, following the paths of the birds and the small, humming insects that zoom around him in startled clouds as he disturbs their arboreal homes. He is silence and stealth, not dislodging a single piece of bark. His footsteps and handgrabs are still, the barest noises covered by the symphony surrounding him.
Kylo sneezes. Before he can prevent it, he sneezes twice more.
There's a titter of laughter in his head, which is strange. He can hear her laughing at him, but he cannot overlay the image of a giggling girl with the dour, serious young woman he's crossed blades with so many times.
She's on the branch of a tree close to his position. He must be wary, and not focus on the itching growing in his eyes.
He hates trees so much.
One leap gets him to the next tree. Huge limbs jut out at this level. She'll be standing on one hiding against the thick trunk. He listens for her breathing over the sounds of the forest.
The click of her lightsaber is his one warning, and his is lit and meeting her as she swings. "I don't think so."
Their footsteps are precarious up here, even with the thick wood beneath their feet. He's learning the methods in her dance, more trained now than when they first met. His uncle has always been good at fighting, good at teaching young Jedi to fight. Those were the lessons Kylo took most readily from his old Master, and they will be the undoing of Luke's newest apprentice. He can anticipate her now, more than he could when her swings were new and wild and came from long practice with her staff.
They meet over the spark of the lightsabers, her face glowing an eerie lavender from the mixed light. He knows his mask gives her nothing to see.
He readies his muscles. A push and a kick and she'll fall. It's a waste, when she clearly is pliable enough to be trained.
Kylo rears back to strike and is caught by another sneezing fit, giving Rey a perfect opening. She rams him, and he tosses her, thinking she'll go over, but there are more limbs up here, and she catches one easily, landing away from him.
He removes his mask and sets it aside. He can blink through his rebelling, irritated eyes.
He reaches out a hand, hoping to grab her quickly enough with the Force that she can't fight. This is pointless, and only causes her to throw out a wave of power of her own against him. She is growing stronger each time they meet. He's been worried for some time now that she will someday surpass him in ability as well as power. Now he's worried she already has.
"You are only delaying the inevitable."
"You're not going to win. You can't even stand there without sneezing."
He glares at her and makes an instant decision. His leap takes her by surprise, more so when he intentionally knocks her off her branch and falls with her into space. He can feel Rey reach out with her powers to grasp at a branch, at anything, desperate.
She's not his better just yet.
Kylo grabs her arm roughly and easily pulls them to the side of a large trunk where they touch down on the wide, safe berth of another huge tree limb. Rey stands there, gasping, surrounded by the vivid blue blossoms that have taken over the fertile pocket at the base of this branch. He sees white feathers spread at her feet.
She's vulnerable. He could slay her easily as she recovers from the scare. She might block him in time and she might not.
It's her turn to surprise him. Rey jumps at him, and he doesn't dodge her in time. They hit the solid surface of the branch, her knocking the air out of him. Before he can recover, her mouth blocks his and he's gasping in her breath. It's intimate and awful and utterly not what he'd expected. He expects even less that his own arms, reaching for her to shove her away, instead pull her closer.
His head spins from the height, from the sparring, from the unfamiliar weight of a light girl straddling him.
Kylo sneezes again.
"You should do something about that cold."
"Allergies," he explains and that's too much talking, not with her right there to kiss, and other parts of him wanting sudden, intense attention. Her mouth is hot, scorching into his lips and breaking to press against his chin and down to where his armor reaches his neck.
"You should take that off."
If he does, she'll kill him. He ought to kill her. Right now, that's the opposite of what he wants, which is strange. Very strange. He will need to explore this odd phenomenon later. He's busy now finding the closure for her top. It's not the same hard-wearing desert garb she used to have. Her own hands aren't having any better luck with the complexities of his gear.
Rey makes an annoyed sound in her throat and kisses him instead, shoving his hands away from her shirt. She's got the fastener for her trousers off in a moment, and Kylo follows her thought.
His own armor is designed to frighten his enemies and look good, and also to protect him. He's heard the snickers from his underlings about the complicated clothes, about the little touches he's chosen for their dark aesthetic. He feels powerful in his armor and robes, but he is aware the people who work for him think he's a ridiculous child dressing up in his grandfather's clothes.
It doesn't help that Rey is thinking the same thing at this moment, her clever hands helping his undo the same closure he uses so as not to disrobe when he goes to the 'fresher.
She says, knowing he's spotted the thought, "A real dark lord doesn't have to advertize."
"I could kill you for that," he says or tries to say. It comes out as, "I coooo..." and falls off into a deep sigh as her hand grasps his shaft. Never mind. No more death threats. Just the lazy stroke of her fingers ensuring he's as hard as stone. He is, he's been hard forever, they have been up here in these stupid trees since the dawn of time, and her hand is slow.
But two can be torturing monsters, and he's got the advantage there. One hand grabs her waist. The other slides two gloved fingers up the revealed, creamy skin of one thigh. He can just spot the delightful camouflage of the black leather against her dark, crisp curls. One finger presses in, and through the glove, he can feel the wet heat of her lips parting. The second digit joins its mate, and they jiggle back and forth, scraping against her.
She doesn't have to speak. Rey's mind crackles against his, pulsing in time with the same pleasure she's feeling as he strokes her. Her own strokes are more uneven now. He needs more, but he also likes this new expression on her face, a wide-eyed, open-mouthed hedonism he would never even have considered.
"You like that."
"I hate you."
"Good." One finger keeps up its pressure while the other finds her willing entrance and pushes inside her. Her hands convulse. She's hot around him, taut internal muscles clenching as he pushes his finger in and out. He can feel her inside his mind, feel every pulse as he taps against her from without and slides within. He pauses, fixing her with what he hopes is an imperious stare. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
Sharp fingernails curl in, pinching him hard. Even the pain bypasses the correct receptors in his brain and shifts into more pleasure. She's going to scratch. He's going to bleed.
Kylo swears and feels himself sputter to a quick climax, wetting her hands and befouling his clothes. His face flushes hot, and he withdraws his hand from her, only to find Rey clamp down hard on his wrist with her own hand. "You're not done."
Her other hand, the sticky one, uses the mess to coat him, and to his own surprise, she's right. He's not done. Locking eyes with her, enjoying the rhythm of her hand, he slips two gloved fingers inside her, and relishes her moan as a third slides in as his thumb returns to where he can tell she wants him.
"Tell me what you want," he says, pushing her with a mind command.
Rey pushes back. "I want to know why this feels so good when I'd rather be choking you."
"What a good idea." Instantly he presses his thought around her, cutting off her air as she writhes. If she could shout right now, she'd be frightening the birds as she comes to the solid thick intrusion of his three leather-clad fingers.
He relaxes the Force hold, letting her suck in air, falling onto him. Her eyes are suspicious and angry. "What have you done to me?"
"You kissed me first." It's a stupid thing to say, but his brain feels slow, dragging behind the shimmering demands of his body. He wants her to touch him again, wants her. "We could go back to killing each other."
"Yes." She kisses him again, biting down on his mouth. As before, what ought to be a warning sign from his nerves instead erupts as the most sensuous thing he's ever felt. If this is a trap she's set for him, he'll gladly roll over and be caught.
Which is not a bad idea, either. He grabs her shoulders, knocking her over with a rough shove, and they manage to roll towards the broad, inner part of their precarious bed. Rey's hair rests among bright blue blooms, Kylo laying atop her with his cock trapped between them, still hard. That's one thing to consider but her mouth is right there and he can't stop from kissing her again, even as he gets a face full of pollen, which will have him sneezing all night, he's sure.
"Blue looks good on you." That's even stupider. His brain is shutting down all higher thoughts, driven by wanton need. He's overcome. Rey wriggles beneath him, and the part of him that's come off worse in more than one fight with her readies himself to be thrown off as she struggles.
Just the thought of that, the image of her tussling with him, pushes him to kiss her more demandingly, seizing her hard at her sides.
Rey is faster, and she's playing dirty, spinning them away from the flowers and towards the abyss. Her hand is lower than his, grabbing him again, roughly shoving him between her legs until all he can do is slide wetly inside her with a growled curse.
She isn't his first, though she may as well be. When he left his old life behind, dropped his old name and his old self, his new Master insisted Kylo become a man in the traditional manner as well as with his twin baptisms of blood and fire. There was a woman whose face he'd barely seen in the darkness and a man whose face he hadn't seen at all, and after, he felt a deep disgust for them and for the messy, uncomfortable acts they pushed him through. He hasn't gone looking since. In the secret, silent place he keeps in his own heart, he's often suspected that was the point. Snoke doesn't want his prize student distracted by his own body, and intentionally instilled enough shame to keep it so.
He's losing coherence but retains just enough to wonder if he'll feel ashamed tomorrow.
Rey's body is lithe beneath him, not tugging herself away but undulating to join with him more deeply. His own senses stutter with her sheer slickness and her tight give, and her nerves echo back at him, full and aching for more. Kylo will gladly arch and bend to drive in harder.
Their mouths can't find each other now, both so intent on their own enjoyment and the stolen sweets from each other's minds. He settles for biting at her hair, tugging and reveling in the twist to her pain as he pulls out strands with his teeth. He's sweating in his armor, and her clothes are going to be ruined. The only place they are touching skin to skin is where he's inside her.
"Show me," he pushes, diving into her thoughts as deep as he shoves into her body, wanting to see the lovers she's had before this unplanned tryst. The faces she carries with her are as murky as his own memories, though covered in less self-hate, and he knows the last face well enough. "He's going to be angry with you."
The barb is enough to get the reaction he's been hoping for. Rey shoves at him angrily, reminded that this isn't what she wants, either. They're enemies, not sweethearts. She flexes her thighs to dislodge him and that's what he needs. Kylo feels the firework-flame lick up his spine and rides his way through his peak. Rey scowls at him.
"We're done."
"We're not."
She can fight now but she's not fighting. She lies there unmoving as he slows himself, watching her eyes as he settles into a deliberately slow in and out. Rey clenches her hands at his neck, but doesn't squeeze. She exudes her disdain for him, for this. Kylo doesn't stop, doesn't speed up. He's as hard as he's ever been, lights flashing in his eyes, and he can feel her body respond, feel her mind shiver with each thrust. Rey closes her eyes and relaxes her throat, and she surrenders, letting the moan she's been fighting bubble free.
Rey's wet for him, wet with his come and with her desire. Her mouth, trying to set in a disapproving line, drops open again, and he dips his neck down uncomfortably to kiss her as he swivels his hips. She screams into his mouth, her body convulsing with pleasure. The quakes inside her push him onwards. He's going to come again.
This is the third strangest day of his life.
Kylo is sure she's still tingling with her aftershocks, and doesn't expect her to flip them both as easily as she does. He bends in a place he is not supposed to bend, and the pain is enough to get through his head, but only long enough to notice she's pushed him back so his head is dangling over the edge.
"I should push you off," she says, which is true, and instead she takes hold of his still sore cock and roughly envelops him, riding him hard against the edge of the tree limb.
The weird angle of his head, the already dizzying feeling he's had ever since he set foot on this planet, these merge in an array of black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He's going to pass out from the height, from the amazing feeling of Rey's muscles clenching him as she works towards another peak, from this whole mad day. He'll fall into oblivion and his body will be found months from now by a search party who can't explain why his prick is out of his trousers.
Who's he kidding? He'll be eaten first. Modesty preserved by insect.
Kylo laughs, a high, air-tight sound from the compression. Rey ignores him, pushing on. He can feel her resentment colliding with a need she can't explain as she impales herself. There's the self-hate clouding the edges of her consciousness.
"You get used to that."
"Shut up."
On one hand, he's happy to let her do all the work. On the other, he can wring out more pleasure of his own if he plants his feet and thrusts into her, and the pleasure wins. His back hurts from the way they're positioned, relief dislodging the prickles from his muscles as he pushes up and in, hitting some spot inside Rey that he can feel across the tenuous connection of their minds. He pushes more, his own mouth open, and then he can't stop. He's coming again, and she's coming too, seizing his pleasure and multiplying the sensation with her own, her hand dropped to where they meet, rubbing herself to another peak and another. He feels each one reverberate inside her against his cock, and inside his own brain.
It might be the second strangest day.
They manage to get their clothes off, using his cape as a makeshift sheet between them and the rough bark. Rey stands against the trunk of the tree, his cape behind her, and this is a whole new angle for them. He crouches to reach the right height, bangs his knees against the tree, does not care one bit. He hasn't stopped being hard for her, for this, for what could have been an hour and could have been weeks. His feet crush the flowers as he stands as steadily as possible. The scent of the bruised blossoms fills his head with a sickly intoxication.
"Rey," he says, grunting her name over and over into her ear as she wraps her legs around his waist. Her fair skin is bruising in the best ways, with his hand prints everywhere. His skin is raked with slashes from her nails and blooming red marks that will purple up in a few hours.
"Harder." It's all she can say. Her own mind is barely functional, dwindling down to the basest of her needs. He could plant anything in the empty, open fields of her mind right now, dig into her with the seeds of the darkest flower and wait for them to grow inside her.
The last sane part of him worries that's not the only thing he'll leave within her. Even as he thrusts harder, seeking his next release, he feels how full she is with him already. He's heard of the Force coercing lovers together this way before, a dark magic even when sought by the Light, to encourage a stronger bloodline rich in destiny. This doesn't feel like the Force moving him. He can't be certain.
"It's the wrong time," Rey thinks, sweat on her face and body straining to join with him even more completely. He dips into the memory she's pulled for him, with dates and notes and calendars. Things he's never needed to concern himself with. "You wouldn't. I do."
He thinks but doesn't share that if the Force did want them to mate like animals here in this forest, it would see to it her calendar was as useless as a paper condom.
Without her clothes, he can reach everywhere, using his power to hold her up as his hands clutch at her breasts. His mouth fixes on a spot on her throat he's worrying into a blood red bloom with his teeth. He wants to keep her just like this for the next year. She's wet and tight and she's making a noise that tears into him as she comes again. He's almost there.
Kylo pulls out, which is the hardest thing he's ever done, but he has a plan. He spins Rey around, and for a moment, she's not with him, twisting in his arms to escape. A moment later her eyes darken. She places her hands flat against the tree, bent over. He's got to crouch lower and he does not care. That's the angle, nestling himself so deep within her he's ready to come out the other side. She's moaning again, and through the link they're sharing, he can feel her discomfort at his current position and how her awareness of the pain is muted by the transformation into further desire. If he cut off her hand, she'd come again. If she cut off his, he'd never stop.
"Tell me I'm dark. Tell me I'm awful and evil. Tell me you hate me."
"I do hate you," she grits out, grinding back against him. "You are evil and ridiculous."
It's enough. He crests another peak, thick and stupid with the pounding lust in his head. Rey is gasping, unbelievably close again. He keeps up his pace until he feels her spasm.
They get the cloak down before they settle on the branch. She's enamored with kissing, and he doesn't mind, plucks one feather from her hair and strokes her cheek with it, tasting her shiver. He wants to taste all of her, spread her bare skin wide and consume her with fingers and tongue. He rubs against her just considering.
"I'll trade you," she thinks at him, and before he can form a reply, Rey turns herself, and her mouth is on him, pulling him and tasting herself all over his cock. She shoves his shoulder, reminding him he's got a task of his own.
He takes his time reaching his target, enjoying her work and giving himself time to nuzzle at her scars before he reaches into her mind to see precisely where she wants his mouth. She's raw and needy for him, flushed pink with eagerness and red in places from their energetic activities. He kisses her at each sore spot before loving her clit with his teeth. She screams as he bites, and his arms hold her in place, licking at her as she's surging in his mind. He can't hold on, either, and doesn't bother with a warning before shooting onto her palate.
Rey pulls off him. "What's wrong with your feet?"
That is not at all a question he was expecting, and it's enough to take his head away from her. "Nothing."
"I mean it." Rey scoots away from him, sitting up. Kylo is distracted by the motion of her small, pert breasts. She has to grab his head and force him to look at himself. Ugly red welts have formed on his feet and up his ankles. Smaller red lines twine up from Rey's soles.
"Stepped on something. Doesn't matter." He takes her hands and pulls her in for another kiss. She gasps under his mouth, but as her eyes shut, she shakes her head.
"Something is wrong."
"Nothing is wrong. Nothing has ever been wrong." He leans back, resting his head on his cloak and staring up at the leafy green cover above them. "We should stay here forever. I love trees."
Rey frowns. She reaches up above his head and grabs something. He expects her to yank his hair, yank his head over to her. She comes back into his line of sight with something green. It's a vine.
"I thought I saw it move," she says, looking a little embarrassed as she drops the green frond. It's fine. Kylo's not sure of his perceptions of reality right now either. He takes her hand and kisses her palm, and sees fine, pink lines mar the skin. He presses his lips over them, and feels another delightful wave in his mind. Her hands are amazing. He strokes his tongue across her heartline.
She's watching him. He can feel the tension in her mind, feel her want to push him down against the thin blanket of his cloak and ride him until she can't think.
Unable to resist, Rey swings her leg to straddle him, then leans over, giving him a very nice view of those breasts as she reaches past him. She snaps off a blue flower, and holds it under his nose. He glares at her, expecting to sneeze but instead he's filled with more desire. Without waiting, he lifts her hips and tries to guide her onto him, unsuccessful in his motion until she reaches back with her free hand, guiding him in. His mind is filled with her, with the cloying scent of the blue bloom, and he ruts as she strokes a soft, yellow dust from the center of the flower, then slides her finger into his mouth.
There's nothing but her skin, there is no need but to thrust and push, as dark, green spots float in front of his eyes, dazzled by the spears of stray sunlight from a star whose name he's forgotten.
She rests her face against him, letting him lift her with every push. "It's the flowers."
"I love flowers."
"You are losing more of your dark lord credentials every time you speak."
She's moving her hips slowly, much more slowly than he is, and she reaches past again. She pulls a handful of green foliage to him. She drifts the green leaves over his chest in a graceful movement. Her eyes trace the motion of her own hand, and then her mouth follows, pattering kisses as he twists his hips, aiming for another orgasm, another moment of pure bliss.
"We have to stop," she says, and tosses the greenery to the side as she disengages. He hurts falling free of her, and grabs at her, but she bats him away. "Use your hand and finish yourself."
He can't stop now. He's sopping wet from her, and he knows how good it feels to touch himself. He watches her watching him as he pushes himself over, covering his own belly with a mess. It's not as good as coming inside her, and as soon as he can breathe again, he's going to grab her by the waist and drag her down here again. Make her see reason. Make her see stars.
"Where did all these feathers come from?" she asks, kicking at them. As her feet approach the nest of flowers, he sees green tendrils climb delicately towards her.
"The birds. There are birds."
"And all that are left are the feathers. Think with your brain for one minute."
He tries, cheating by listening in to her thoughts. "It's a trap."
She nods. "The flowers draw animals in. The rest of the plant digests them while they're busy mating."
The two of them been very busy for however long they've been here. "It's trying to eat us?"
"We don't notice because even the pain feels good."
Really good. Astoundingly good. "You're right. It's trying to kill us. We should get down from here."
"Yes."
"But we should have sex again first."
"Yes."
Rey scoots to the far end of his cloak, which isn't very far. Kylo has enough presence of mind to reach for his lightsaber. A few strokes are enough to fight back the worst of the plants without damaging the tree trunk. The destruction releases the flowers' aroma everywhere.
The scent fills him, intoxicates him all over again, and he drops the lightsaber carelessly, reaching for her again. Rey's mouth is already on his, her fingers stroking the red place across his chest where she tested the sap. He may scar in the shape she's drawn, the crude letters of her own name. He ought to punish her. Instead, he pushes her down to the flat surface of the branch.
It's disturbing but expected when, hours later and only a little red from further encounters with the dying vines, the pair of them are forcibly separated. Kylo knows the feel of this power, but he's too far gone even to consider fighting. He can't think past getting back to Rey.
"Enough," says his uncle, trapping him in one place with the Force. "You two have no idea how much I'd prefer to keep my eyes closed right now. Get your things if you can. If you can't, leave them." His voice is muffled through a filter mask covering his mouth and nose.
Rey's a little saner than Kylo is. She picks up her clothes and her own lightsaber with slow, stupid hands. Kylo can't make his arms work. Rey grabs his cloak, much battered and stained.
"Leave it," Luke says, his eyes registering a mix of disgust and amusement. His ship floats close by, and it's all the effort Kylo can expend to move as he's shoved less than gracefully inside and falls to the hard floor. "I was not expecting to take prisoners today. Forgive me if I don't tie you up." His uncle bends down and rubs a thumb over Kylo's eyelids, checking his pupils. He does the same for Rey, then sighs as he goes to the controls.
As soon as they're in space, Luke finds the med kit and mutters about broad spectrum anti-toxins and stupid kids who don't perform their environment checks. "You're lucky I had that tracker on your ship," he says to Rey, who tragically has donned her clothes. He injects her with something. "You're going to sleep for a while as this works but I think you'll be fine. We can come back for your ship later."
He turns to Kylo. "You'll sleep for a while, too. I wish I could say you'll be better when you wake up, but I hate lying to you." Kylo tries to kiss him, desperate for contact. Luke doesn't push him away, allowing the fumbling brush against his lips as his hands move deftly out of sight. The injection hurts, which feels good for a moment before the sting settles into real pain. Kylo's head starts to clear of the sensual fog even as the sedative dulls the rest of his senses.
Kylo is in a shuttle with two of his worst enemies. He's their prisoner. And he's naked.
"I have no idea how to explain this to your mother when we rendezvous." Luke places a hand on Kylo's head. Many emotions pass through the touch. There's anger, and there's grief, and there's so much more love than he deserves that Kylo's throat closes uncomfortably.
"Sleep, both of you." Luke points out the small bunk in the back. Rey's already climbing in. Kylo joins her.
Luke returns to the cockpit, leaving them in peace back here. Rey is warm beside him, tired and bruised, drowsy from the anti-toxin. Kylo should be anywhere else when she wakes up, remembers she hates him, and understands what's happened. Before he can figure out where he could possibly hide in such a small ship, her hand takes hold of him, and her other hand reaches into her shirt. She pulls out a crushed blue flower.
Watching his eyes, Rey rips the blossom into pieces. She places one blue petal in her mouth, and he parts his lips for her to press another into his. She follows with a hungry kiss. For a fraction of a second, he hesitates, thinking this can't end well, thinking they have to stop.
The grains of pollen dissolve on his tongue with a sparkling fire.
Everything is a shimmer, and nothing hurts.
end