Blood and Snow: A Reylo Smut Story

She cannot distract her mind from the image of Han, Kylo's red saber protruding from his back as he stands on the catwalk in the thermal oscillator. How Han, the moment before he falls, he caresses the cheek of his killer and then is lost. Rey's fury and anguish are kindled, but she remains silent, composing her face into a hard and neutral mask. But the raw emotions only feed on themselves and grow in their containment.

When they have finished their tasteless nutrient dense dinner, Kylo sighs testily.

"What is it?" he asks in an irritable tone. "You're starting to wear on my nerves."

"I didn't say anything," Rey says, not looking at him.

"You don't have to say anything," he says, arching an eyebrow.

"Maybe I don't want to talk about it," she says, still avoiding his eye.

There is a silence between them.

"You don't know what he was like," says Kylo. "You have this naive idealized picture of him in your head."

"I said I don't want to talk about it," shouts Rey, springing to her feet. "And stay out of my head!"

"I wish I could!" shouts Kylo in a violent outburst, standing as well. "But I can't! You're in here now," he says, pointing an index finger to his temple. "I can feel you. Every little twinge of angst, and moment of self pity, every soft and pathetic emotion. It would be easier to kill you!"

As he speaks her moves close to her, towering over her.

"Then why don't you?" Rey says, her breathing rapid, remembering his threat, but holding her ground defiantly, fists clenched at her sides and fortified by her anger.

"Because we're marooned on a forsaken ice moon in an abandoned system, and you're the only ship mechanic available at the moment!" he says, his words escalating in volume until they finish in a roar, his face painfully close to hers as he shouts.

"Really?" Rey responds all hot anger and rebellion. "Is that the reason?"

When she says this, she feels her heart begin to accelerate. Without thinking first, she has referenced last night and all that it represents. There is a shift in the atmosphere of the room, and she feels a twist in her stomach, revulsion and desire mixing together in a potent cocktail. She immediately regrets her words, wishing she could pull them back and keep things simple, just anger.

Despite herself she is suddenly very focused on his physical proximity, his black hair wild, looking every bit like a lion's mane. Glaring up at him she tries to focus on her anger and muster the will to resist him, to want to resist him. Loathing, slick like oil, spills over her, and she imagines it coating her skin and soaking into her bones. Loathing for him, for herself, for what it is that is happening between them, and for her inability to stop it. He is like a fire now, sending of waves of anger and lust, and she feels herself being bathed in the emotional radiation.

"Perhaps there is more than one reason," he says, bringing his hand to grip the v of her jaw as he did on the ship.

"Why did you take me?" she asks, suddenly surprised that she has not asked before.

A look of doubt crosses his face, his stern expression lost for a moment and his anger seems to soften.

"I," he starts and hesitates, "I can't say."

"Can't, or won't?" asks Rey, the edge creeping back into her voice.

"Take your pick," he says, his eyes focusing now on her mouth, casting aside the conversation.

Bringing his mouth close to hers, he brushes her lips, but does not kiss her. She feels like her whole body has been drawn taut like a string, and like an instrument she waits for the stroke of the bow. When he does it again, she feels like she will go crazy, but the only resistance she can muster right now is inaction, and she looks back at him, feeling a blush spread across her cheeks.

"Do you know what I wanted to do to you?" he whispers in her ear, his mouth close to her skin. "When I first had you in that interrogation chair?"

She shudders as a wave of heat moves through her body, and she feels her nipples harden. Her eyes close involuntarily.

"There you were, vulnerable, trapped, entirely at my disposal," he continues, his free hand beginning to caress her waist, her hips. "I could have done anything I wanted. No one could have stopped me, no one would have dared." His hand moves to cup her breast through the fabric of her shirt. "And what I wanted to do was get on my knees, and to bury my face between your legs."

She can feel herself getting wet at the thought of it. Despite herself, she reaches out to take hold of his hips and pull him against her, feeling his erection pressing against her belly. She can feel him smile against the skin of her neck as he caresses her with his lips.

"Maybe I should do that now," he whispers.

He moves his hand from her face to the back of her head and takes a large fistful of hair, pulling her head back to look up directly into his face. It hurts a little, but in way that only excites her further and she opens her eyes wide to look at him.

"Would you like that?" he asks, his eyes flickering about her face, looking from her eyes to her mouth and back.

Her breathing has become heavy and uneven. She imagines his face, his eerily beautiful face, pressed between her legs and she feels another shudder go through her. She can't speak. He brings his mouth to her jawline and gently bites the skin there, then begins to leave a slowly progressing trail of kisses towards her mouth. Her hands are on his back now, fingertips sinking into his muscles. He kisses the corner of her mouth, and suddenly she opens her eyes and looks at him with fire in her gaze. Taking large fistfuls of his hair in each hand she gives an aggressive yank.

"Get on your knees," she says, all fury and lust.

His expression is one of fierce hunger as he slowly comes to kneel before her, not taking his eyes from hers. Lifting her shirt, he presses his face to her taut stomach, then his fingers eagerly work at the fastening of her pants, and he pulls them down along with her undergarments. She is breathing unsteadily, her hands still buried in his hair, as she kicks away the fallen items. He presses his face into her, taking a deep breath, drinking in the scent of her, and she arches her head back, eyes closing for a moment.

Their eyes meet again as he runs his hand up her thigh, and feels the wetness between her legs. She lets out a moan, her eyelids fluttering as he slides two fingers into her. Then he is kissing her thighs, teasing her, working painfully slowly towards her most sensitive parts. When she feels his tongue find her clitoris, she cries out with pleasure and surprise, her whole self focused on the sensation. Then she is grinding her hips against his face, hands still gripping his hair, as his fingers work inside of her. With his other hand he her grips her exposed bottom forcefully, to keep her close. He pushes her to shift her weight to her good foot, then takes her injured leg and puts it over his shoulder, bent at the knee, her foot dangling down his back.

She feels the sensation building in her, buoying her up like a balloon. Everything is hot and wet, and the rhythmic sensation of his fingers is in counterpoint with the languid teasing of his tongue, making inexorable circles, round and round, coiling her like a spring. As she tenses, so does her grip on his hair, and as she nears the peak she can tell she is starting to hurt him, but she doesn't loosen her grasp. She is breathing rapidly, but silent like the calm before the storm, and then it comes over her and she cries out loudly, shouting incoherently. Her body is wracked with spasms and her standing leg buckles, but he is ready for it and catches her.

Laying her down on the makeshift bed, he lies next to her, looking down into her face. She is torpid and still experiencing small aftershocks. He brings his hand to her face, and puts a finger in her mouth, so that she can taste herself. She opens her eyes and looks into his as she sucks gentely on his finger, her tongue tracing the shape of it curiously.

"Don't think I'm done with you yet," he says ominously, and it causes a knot of anticipation to twist in her stomach.

He stands and removes his clothes, tossing them carelessly aside and she watches him with pleasure, enjoying how his long muscles bunch and move. Then he attends to the remainder of her clothes, and she is like a limp ragdoll in his hands, heavy with pleasure. Once she is fully undressed he rolls her over onto her belly, and lifts her hips to a kneeling position, but with her chest still pressed into the bedding. He kneels behind her, looking at her exposed sex with an almost predatory gleam as he takes hold of his erection. She lifts herself up onto an elbow so that she can turn her head to look over her shoulder, and as they make eye contact he presses himself into her. Her eyes close and she moans.

He moves slowly at first, as she gets used to the size of him inside her. Gripping her hips in his hands, he moves the whole length of himself in and then almost all the way out, torturously slowly. She is digging her fingers into the bedding and making small gasps of tortured pleasure. He begins to re-enter with more force, still slowly pulling back, and then ultimately pounding himself home with almost punishing force, his hips hitting hard against her bottom. She moans loudly with each blow, the exquisite agony of it driving her mad. Slowly he increases his pace. She snakes a hand between her legs to stimulate herself, and as he accelerates she feels herself getting close again, tensing.

"Harder," she whispers, "Oh please, oh god. Yes!"

He is pounding her now, rapidly, and she feels all her body contracting, tensing, and the idea that it's him, that it's Kylo Ren inside of her, with all his beauty and evil, is the last push that brings her over the edge and she comes like an explosion, her face pressed into the blankets, muffling her cries. Then she sags, limp. But he keeps a hold of her hips, and he keeps going chasing his own climax. She is groggy and immobile, and the pleasure of the sensation and the slap of his body against hers as he becomes increasingly agitated causes her to make small animal sounds. He is close now, and then he finishes losing his rhythm at the end, letting out a sharp cry and slumping forward on top of her.

They are panting in unison, and then he lifts himself off of her and rolls onto his back next to her, as she comes to rest on her belly, her face turned to the side away from him. She is floating, relaxed in a bubble of fading ecstasy. But as her body calms and her breath becomes even, it dissipates and is gradually replaced by remorse. Regret. Recrimination. There must be something wrong with her that she wants a man that she despises to do these things to her. Not a nice man, not someone who she can trust, but a homicidal monster, someone beyond redemption.

"Will you stop that," Kylo says, his tone of annoyance dulled by the fruits of his exertion.

She rises from bed without a word, her face hard set. She dresses.

"I'm going for a walk," she says.

"On a wounded ankle? You can't get far enough away to dull the bond at all. It's a waste of effort."

"Shut up," she says, putting on her boots, wincing as she disturbs her ankle.

She stomps out of the room and slams the door, immediately regretting abusing her ankle to do so. She is being childish, and she knows it. But the chill air of the hangar bay soothes her. She limps to one of the ships they have selected for repair and she climbs inside. In the back of her mind, as she goes through her inspection of the ship, she can feel him. His emotions are calmer than usual, less angry, and he's tired, but it seems he hasn't fallen asleep yet. She wishes he would, so that she doesn't have to deal with him when she returns.

Sighing heavily, she shakes her head as she digs through the wiring of the ship's hyperdrive, mentally making more notes on what components she may need. Focusing on the ship soothes her, but she knows that she needs to rest for their trek tomorrow morning, so she gives up after about half an hour, and limps back to the room.

To her relief he is asleep, on his own mat. She contemplates him, lying on his back with his head turned to the side and one leg askew. He looks so young. Sad, and young. Looking at him she wants to cry, and she doesn't understand why. Tears form and roll down her face, and she wipes them away angrily with her sleeve. Removing her warm garments she makes order of her mussed bedding and lays down to sleep. This night she does not dream.

Chapter 5: On the edge of the abyss.

The next morning they make the trek out to the ship, this time he is pulling her on the sled to save her ankle. He would have gone by himself, but she wants to make sure that he didn't miss any of the items on her list. Plus there might be useful items she hasn't thought of. They make decent time, having found proper snowshoes for him. They use the navigation device to reverse their journey. While the ship is largely buried, fortunately there hasn't been a big storm and they are able to dig and find some of what they are looking for. Mostly they need any parts of the sort that go bad with time and cold: batteries and capacitors mainly. Much was destroyed in the crash, but they save what they can. As they are nearing the end of their task, the weather begins to take a turn for the worse.

"We need to get moving," says Kylo, looking around at the darkening sky.

"How much time do we have?" asks Rey, looking at the horizon where it is darkest.

"None," he says. "Abandon it. Now."

She complies and they load up the sled with their retrieved items.

"Should I walk for a while to lighten it?" she asks as he pulls.

"No," he says, "your ankle will only slow us down."

So she lies there on the sled as he trudges through the snow, watching as the sky becomes ever darker. A wind begins to blow, gently at first, then more aggressively. Small icy snowflakes begin to fall, whipped around by the wind, stinging bitterly any exposed flesh. Soon, the snow is falling in great heaping arm loads, the high winds whipping it sideways, visibility sinking to nothing, just a blank angry white.

They've come most of the way, but she can sense him struggling. His pace has slowed as the cold has ambushed them. Their gear is warm, but they are not prepared for this level of storm. She can feel a sense of alarm and anger growing in him, matched by her own. But what can she do? Wounded, trapped on the sled, she is a liability. She shudders in the cold, frustrated. Then she thinks about the saber fight in the snow, and how after the crash she drew strength from Kylo. Could the process not be reversed?

She lays back and closes her eyes, focusing on the strange intangible connection they share. He is tiring, not yet exhausted, but not far from it either. She tries to broaden the connection, open it further, like a channel. The sense of him becomes clearer, his emotions and physical exertion more distinct. A sense of irritation arises from him as he responds to her efforts, but then she is trying to pour her strength into him, trying to buoy him as he moves. Initially he seems ready to fight it, to resist her, and she remembers what it was like having so much of him within in her, how she felt as if she had in some way become him, his blood and anger flowing through her veins. He is probably disgusted by the lightness in her, but then he understands and stops resisting, and she feels him begin to draw upon her untapped strength. She can feel his pace steady, then increase as he begins to move forward through the snow. The sense of alarm dwindles.

Finding their entrance is hard once they arrive. It has been covered over by snow again.

"We should have marked it with a flag," he says irritably, though not with his usual fury.

She is moving around, feeling for it.

"Don't fall in again and injure yourself further!" he yells over the gale of the wind.

She breathes a sigh of relief when she finds the handle.

"I've got it!" she shouts, and they pile everything into the entrance, frantic in the gale of ice and snow. He enters first then helps her down, she rests on his shoulders as she shuts the hatch behind her.

"We made it!" says Rey as he sets her down, relief in her voice.

"Yes," he says, looking at her with an unreadable look, something almost a smile. He kisses her then, almost tenderly and she is taken by surprise. Then abruptly he picks up the items and walks away, leaving her limping behind. She frowns at his back, furrowing her brow, and follows.

In the hangar they assemble all of the parts and equipment they have found. It's a decent amount, and Rey is cautiously optimistic about the possibility of repairing one of the spacecraft. But first they begin work on setting up a distress call. For that they need more power. Solar ends up being the solution, though the small panel they are using to charge the battery for the heater isn't enough by itself. They find several more panels intact and once the storm clears, they are able to install two on the exterior with rough hewn scaffolding, setting them at an angle to prevent snow accumulation. There's no additional battery storage available, which means the signal will only be able to operate during the day and when the weather is good. But it's better than nothing, and they are able to get a signal running in the last rays of daylight.

"We'll have to go out each morning to clear the snow," says Rey, stepping away from the panels. "But hopefully this will be enough to attract someone's attention."

"I would rather have a functional ship," says Kylo, with his typical brooding. "Let's go."

They climb down through the access hatch and helps her down to accommodate her ankle. He turns to leave, and Rey follows, taking the satchel of tools under her arm. She is silent as they walk, looking at him for a moment debating her words.

"Where were you taking me?" she asks. "Or rather, where do you plan to take me if we do get a ship working?"

"You're assuming they are the same destination," says Kylo, matter-of-factly.

Rey is surprised.

"You've changed your mind?" she asks, puzzled, glancing at him as they walk.

He is moving at a slower gait now to accommodate her, and glances over at her in annoyance.

"You're too slow," he says, and he reaches for her. He takes the satchel over one shoulder and scoops her up in his arms, carrying her again as he had before, against his chest like a bride.

She knows he is avoiding her question, trying to distract her, but still it works. The proximity to him is intoxicating. She can feel her body responding almost immediately, the rush of blood and the tension beginning to coil in her like a serpent. Through the bond she can feel him begin to shift gears as well, active and predatory. It is a high, this feeling, a drug. It brings on a light sensation of dizziness. Unable to stop herself, she rests her head on his shoulder, her face close to his neck, and she can smell the salt of his skin. The scent of him makes her head swim.

"Why is this happening?" she asks, almost to herself, but aloud.

"Don't be afraid of it," he says.

"How can I not be?" she asks softly. "You're dangerous. I should be afraid of you. I am afraid of you. You abducted and threatened to kill me. And you meant it. This is... sick."

Even as she says these words, she feels her desire for him building. She is horrified at the perversity of her body, of her attraction, but she is powerless to stop it. She is already imagining him stripping off her clothes, and a small shudder passes through her.

"I'm powerful. Strong," he says. "You're strong too, and it draws you to me. You could be so much more powerful if you would let me train you. Let me show you the power of the dark side."