Blood and Snow: A Reylo Smut Story

"There," he says. "Try standing."

She complies, and she finds that she is able to walk carefully, with a limp, but without pain.

"Alright, let's go to the barracks," he says, reaching for her.

She shies away from him.

"I can walk," she says defensively.

"I don't want to have to wait for your hobbling," he says. "You can move around on your own once we're there."

Without waiting for an assent he bends down and picks her up in his arms, and she does not fight him. He holds her, to her horror, not on his back or over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, which would have been immensely preferable, but like a bride, one arm behind her back and one in the crook of her knees, such that she is obliged to put an arm around his neck. She wants to scream and wriggle free from his grasp, horrified at the sensations building in her. Worse yet, she can sense a similar turmoil within him, and tempestuous mix of revulsion and lust. It frightens her immensely.

The barracks ultimately aren't very far, and they select some thin mattresses and the most intact bedding they can find. Nearby they also locate the mess hall, which has a decent supply of foods, most of them spoiled or disintegrated, but they find a container of the hardiest and least tasteful meal rations intact. This is a great relief because it means that they will be fed for the time being; they have plenty of snow to melt for water and an adequate though utterly boring supply of calories.

After collecting these things back at the hangar bay and tending to the fire, they go in search of the medical station. Though they find it ransacked with only a handful of supplies remaining, and many of those expired, they do come away with a handful of useful medicines and bandages.

Back in the hangar bay they have a simple meal and then set up sleeping arrangements. He says they will wait until morning to discuss the plan moving forward. Finally, at the end of a long day, Rey is ready to embrace sleep, this time warm, fed, and relatively safe. At least as safe as she can feel sleeping a few meters from Kylo Ren. She lays on her thin mattress, snuggled in a pile of musty blankets, a meter and a half from a warm fire, and falls gratefully asleep.

And she has the dream.

The saber fight as usual, an eerie dance between falling snow and trees. The offer to be her teacher, and its dark implications. Then the transitions to their bodies twining together in the darkness, and the guilty orgiastic release. She wakes from it panting, the feeling of bliss working through her limbs and paralyzing them, the sight of Kylo's face, lost in ecstasy still visible in her mind's eye. Initially she doesn't remember where she is, then reality comes crashing back to her and she turns to see Kylo, across the fire, looking at her. She feels a massive surge of desire. In fear she rolls over, turning her back to him.

"You know that is not just your dream, don't you?" he asks, but it's more a statement than a question.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says, hearing how hollowly her lie rings.

He chuckles darkly. She feels her cheeks burning.

"You do know," he says.

"You're suggesting that we share our dreams?" she asks with her back to him still.

"No, not our dreams. That dream. That particular dream."

She doesn't know what to say, but she feels as though she may start glowing in the dark from shame.

"Why?" she says. "Why would we share a dream? How is that possible?"

"It happened when I interrogated you on Starkiller base," he says. "When," he pauses, a kind of resentment entering his voice, "when we entered each other's minds. Somehow a connection was forged through the Force."

"Is that why I can sense your presence?"

"Yes. And I yours."

"How do we get rid of it?" she asks, rolling over to look at him finally. She immediately regrets the decision, as looking at him only stokes the flames within her.

He looks at her, his eyes boring into her. "I wish I knew."

They stare at each other, their eyes locked. She can feel the conflict within him, just as it is within her, and then he rises from his mat. Staring at him with wide-eyed horror, he walks around the fire and comes to her. He kneels down and lifts the blankets to join her on her mat. Unable to speak the words to make him leave, she rolls over on her side, presenting her back to him.

As on the first night, he wraps an arm around her chest, cupping his body around hers, but he does nothing else. Rey's heart begins to pound and she both longs for and dreads what may come next. Still he does nothing but hug her back tightly against his chest. But as her breathing accelerates, so does his. Sleep is as far from her as it has ever been, and yet she wishes she could escape to it, escape this moment so ripe in its stillness. But her body does not want to sleep, her body craves something more and she is powerless to quiet it.

She squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself to stillness, feeling that the moment is like a large boulder set precariously at the top of a hill. The slightest breeze will send it rolling down the slope to its inevitable conclusion. She can't let this happen. Not with him, not with this monster. But her body is betraying her, gaining centimeter by centimeter in the tug of war between her rational mind and her dark carnal longings.

Before she even realizes what she is doing, she is sliding her hand down and past her hip to grab his, pulling him against her, digging her fingers into his flesh. He is clad now in only a thin undershirt and shorts, and she can feel the heat of his body through the fabric beneath her hand. He makes a sharp intake of breath as she makes a slow grinding motion against him, and she can feel him begin to harden against her. Her eyes close as all her concentration is lost to the points of contact between them.

He lifts his head to bring his mouth to her neck. As his lips move against her salty skin, he releases his hug around her chest and reaches for her leg. He runs his fingers up the inside of her thigh, his thumb leading the way. She gasps as his hand finds the place where her legs meets and he begins make slow circles with his fingers over the fabric of her garments. Then he bites her, sinking his teeth into the muscles of her shoulder, hard, but not hard enough to break skin and she lets out a cry that is half pain and half pleasure. She rolls over and slaps him hard across the face and a struggle ensues. He grabs her wrists and pins them above her head as he rolls on top of her, forcing himself between her legs.

She is angry now, eyes flashing, breathing heavily.

"You're a monster," she says, spitting the words at him.

In response, all he does is lean forward over her and grind his hips against hers in one slow circle, his eyes boring into her face. Feeling him move against her, her eyes flutter closed and she arches her head back, the pleasure of his body against hers eroding her resolve, plunging her into darkness.

"Then what does that make you?" he asks in condescending tone, mockingly repeating like a ritual words that they have never before shared in waking. Her eyes open and she looks at him hard, her face suddenly serious.

"No better," she says, just as she had in the dream, anger burning in her tone. "I am no better than a bitch in heat."

He grinds against her again and she bites her lip to stifle the moan she wants to release.

"Why?" he asks, his tone intent now, the mocking gone.

"Why?" she asks, confused, uncertain what he wants.

"Why," he repeats back to her. "Why are you no better than a bitch in heat?"

Looking into his face she searches for the answer, but it's in their strange connection that she finds it. Then she understands. He wants to hear her say it, a final humiliation, an admission of her guilt and his dominance over her.

"Why?" he asks again, bringing his face close to hers, whispering the word in her ear before taking her earlobe in his teeth.

She cannot stifle the moan this time, and she bucks against him, wrapping her legs around his, pressing him tight against her with her legs. He brings his mouth close to hers, looking at her hungrily and whispers.

"Tell me why," he says softly, but it is a command, and she can no longer deny him.

"Because I hate you," she says, unable to take her eyes off his. "And I hate myself for it, but I want you. I want you like an anim-"

He cuts her off with a vicious and possessive kiss, and she matches his hunger with her own. Releasing her wrists, his hands move to rip at her garments, and hers are on his shirt and shorts, her fingers scrambling frantically. When he exposes her breasts he brings his mouth to one, drawing her nipple into his mouth and she cries out and arches her back, burying her fingers in his thick black hair, pressing herself against him. Then he is working at the rest of her garments with a mindless intensity, soon they are both of them naked, and he pauses kneeling between her legs.

Watching her intently, he slides a finger inside of her as he takes hold of his erection, stroking it slowly. She writhes against his hand, wanting more, and he slides two fingers into her, slick and warm. But she is impatient and she tries to sit up. He denies her, using one hand to press her back down onto her back with a palm planted between her breasts, the fingers of this other hand still within her. She struggles, but he keeps his hold on her, distracting her with the movements of his other hand.

She writhes and gasps, and gives up her struggle.

"Please," she begs. "Please..."

"What do you want?" he asks, releasing her to stroke himself again, not stopping the movements of the fingers he has inside of her, teasing her.

She bites her lip, not wanting to say it again, but her impatience has grown into a beast that she cannot control. His fingers make an articulated motion inside of her and she breaks.

"I want you inside of me," she says. "Take me, please. Please."

He removes his hand readjusts himself, tilting his hips and pressing his erection into her impatiently, as though he was only moments from conceding himself. She cries out as he enters her, a surprised gasp and then a shudder. Nothing exists for her outside of this new sensation and it causes her body to spasm as it passes over her. He is on top of her now, and as he begins to thrust she is lost to anything but the hedonistic pleasure of his movements. She wraps her legs around his waist, letting him press deeper inside of her, her breasts quaking with the force of his movements. She moans and cries out as she feels the tension begin to build within her.

"Yes," she says. "Yes, oh god, oh god. Oh yes."

He kisses her mouth but she cannot respond, she is so focused on the delicious torture she is experiencing. For how long it goes on she is uncertain, it could have been hours or seconds, but time is lost as her entire focus is absorbed by the periodic contractions of the their bodies moving against each other. Then she knows she is close and she is digging her fingernails into his back.

"Harder," she says, and it's a husky whisper. "Harder."

He increases the violence of his thrusting, and her body is wracked with spasms. She arches against him and she rakes her nails cruelly down his back. The surprise of the pain causes him to lose control, and he cries out and reaches his own climax just as she is finishing hers. She opens her eyes just in time to see his face as he releases, his eyebrows drawn up and together, his lips parted.

He slumps on top of her now, the exhaustion of the day coming back to roost now that their sexual frenzy is no longer holding it at bay. They fall asleep, tangled together under the musty blankets, oblivious.

Chapter 4: Tensions and temptations.

There is no natural light in the little room, so she is uncertain what time it is when she wakes. It is the cold that wakes her, as she finds that Kylo has taken possession of most of the blankets as well as the fire naturally burning itself down. She looks at him, still asleep, his hair a wild halo around his head, and she feels desire tainted with horror and guilt. Thinking about what they have done, what she has done, with this monster, she has an urge to kill him in his sleep. And then more than anything else she wishes to bathe.

He stirs when she moves from the bed, but she refuses to look at him as she dresses, hobbled slightly by her ankle still. But she manages, including the crash suit for warmth. Taking a metal bucket they had found the day before, she still refuses to look at him directly as she addresses him.

"I'm going to get some snow for water," she says, and she leaves the room, shutting the door behind her.

When she returns he is dressed and working on the fire. He has added fuel and rigged a grill of sorts so that she can set the bucket on top for melting the snow. He doesn't look up from his work as she enters. Through their strange connection she can feel the conflict in him, the coiled rage, the lust, and the disgust, simmering beneath the surface. He doesn't show it, his face cool and smooth, but no poker face will ever be able to hide either of them again.

She sets the bucket on the grill.

"We need to discuss a strategy," he says. "We need to see what can be done with the remaining ships."

She shakes her head. "It'll take too long. We should send out a general distress call."

"You only say that because you think your Republic friends are closer than the First Order. What if the First Order answers our call?" he asks her, his tone abrupt.

"What are our other options, stay here indefinitely while I try to fix a ship? It might take months, longer, and I doubt we have the supplies to survive that long."

What she doesn't say, but that they both wonder, is do they want to stay marooned together, alone, for so long, especially after what happened last night? Neither wants to have to answer that question, and so they carefully avoid touching on the topic.

"We do both," he says, standing, looking at her from across the fire. "Distress call first, and we see if anyone listening. In the meantime, we find a ship to work on. And we should keep looking for supplies, proper cold weather gear especially. In fact, that should be the first priority."

Rey nods assent.

"I'm going to have a bath first," she says.

He snorts derisively. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," she says stonily.

"Fine," he says, throwing up his hands. "Get on with it."

She wants to ask him to turn away, but she is too proud to admit her shyness so she says nothing as she strips off her clothes. She cleans herself with a rag that she dips into the bucket, supplemented with the small bar of soap in the kit from their crashed ship. As she is cleaning her thighs she hears him rise from his seat and is forced to look at him as he approaches her. He reaches out and seizes the wrist of her hand that is holding the rag.

"What is this?" he asks angrily, furiously.

When she doesn't answer he becomes further enraged.

"Answer me!" he shouts, his nostrils flaring and his breathing uneven.

"It's blood," she says softly, looking at the floor, startled.

"What?" he shouts again, his face inches from hers.

Now she is angry too. She doesn't understand why she is being punished.

"It's blood! Alright? My blood!" She shouts it back into his face, her eyes wild and glistening.

He struggles visibly to get a hold of himself, his eyes flickering over her face and his jaw clenching and unclenching rapidly.

"Did I..." he trails off, voice leaden, "hurt you?"

"You're hurting me now," she says scathingly and she tugs at her hand in his grasp.

He loosens his grip and she pulls away her hand and the offending rag. She steps away from him with a glare.

"Was that..." he trails off, but she understands the question and to hide her blush she turns away from him, continuing her ablutions.

"That's not your concern," she says as steadily as she can, but she feels the tears welling up in her eyes, and there is a small catch in her voice. She knows he can sense her pain, just as she can feel his growing confusion and anger, but she refuses to let him see her face.

She can tell that she has wounded him, which she marvels at, but then he storms out, aggressively slamming the door behind him, and she hears crashing noises ensue from the hangar bay beyond. Tears roll down her cheeks silently and she covers her face with her hands. She lets loose a single sob, then she wipes her tears on the back of her hands, and she finishes her washing. By the time she has dressed she feels that his anger has subsided to the usual subterranean simmer and she goes to find him.

On their hunt through the base they find many useful things. One of them is a portable heater, so they can stop burning things for heat in their sleeping quarters once they find a power supply for it. From the mess hall they acquire cooking implements, including some large pots and a storage jug for water.

It is clear that some looters have been through the base before over the years, but this has more effect on their transportation options than anything else. Most of the ships remaining are in very poor condition. After examining the various ships, Rey selects two that she thinks are good alternatives because of their ordinariness. It will be easiest to find spare parts for such common models.

"In fact, we may be able to salvage some parts for them from the ship we crashed," says Rey, buried in an instrument panel in the cockpit.

"Sooner is better with respect to that," Kylo replies. "The wreckage may already be buried in the snow."

"So we need to find the cold weather gear," says Rey.

"Correct," says Kylo.

By the end of the day they have mapped out much of the base, at least the parts that haven't been made inaccessible by tunnel collapses. The last area they find appears to be quarters for high ranking officials, though they are hardly luxurious.

Kylo freezes as he goes through a drawer while hunting for warm items. He holds in his hands a pair of white leather gloves, lined with fur. Rey is digging through a closet in another room and has found a coat, and she enters holding it victoriously. When she sees Kylo's face, she stops.

"What is it?" she asks, coming to see what he is holding.

"I think this was my mother's room," he says, looking at the gloves, their small delicate fingers spread across his wide palms. "They're the right size, and they're her taste."

"She was here?" Rey asks.

"Yes," he says, and he extends them to her. "Take them."

She hesitates, looking at him, then the gloves, ultimately taking them and shoving her hands into them greedily. Holding a hand up to examine the gloves, she grins with delight.

"She has good taste," Rey says.

"In some things," responds Kylo.

The oblique reference to Han is not lost on Rey. Her smile is replaced by a hard mask, her anger flaring.

"Here," she says coldly, thrusting the coat at him. "I think you'll be able to fit into it."

It is snug over the crash suit, but it should fit alright without it. They find a motley handful of other items, mismatched gloves and hats, and at last a second coat, too large for Rey, but close enough under the circumstances. Ultimately, they find what they need to venture out into the cold, though they look absurd in their ill-fitting eclectic attire. Given the late hour of the day, they decide to set out first thing in the morning for their salvage run, weather permitting.

Rey is still stewing over Kylo's reference to Han as they arrange their sleeping quarters to accommodate their new items. The greatest boon is a battery that has survived the long winter and manages to hold some charge from a solar panel that they have used to soak up the plentiful sunlight. It is running the heater, which is warming the room more effectively than the fire, but it does not provide the same comforting light. Fortuitously they also have a stash of emergency candles which they have lit for that purpose. Looking at the room, flickering with the dim light, warm now, she thinks bitterly that it is almost romantic, and how utterly wasted it is.