Blood and Fire: A Reylo Smut Sequel

"What happened?" Rey asks, wondering desperately at the origin story of the myth that Kylo Ren has become. How it was that her dark lover became what he is.

Skywalker shakes his head, a mournful expression on his face. "I went to confront him, and he turned on me." Skywalker's eyes go vacant as he describes the night that Ben Solo attacked him, the moments that gave a bloody, violent birth to Kylo Ren. "When I came to, the temple was burning. He had vanished with a handful of my students. Slaughtered the rest. Leia blamed Snoke, but it was me. I failed. Because I was Luke Skywalker. Jedi master. A legend."

Rey has no Force bond with Skywalker, but still, she can feel the pain and the regret coming off him in waves. She can see it in his eyes when he turns back to face her.

"The galaxy may need a legend," she says softly. "I need someone to show me my place in all this." She can feel tears start to well up in her eyes, knowing what is waiting for her if Skywalker will not help her. She stands, pushing aside her fears. "And you didn't fail Kylo. Kylo failed you. I won't."

Chapter 5: Needs.

He is training again. Working himself to the point of breaking. The red blade slices through the air, ripping, screaming, blocking. He embraces the darkness, letting it pour into him and mix intimately with his rage. It makes him stronger and speeds his movements. As his wrists twist the blade whirls, moving so fast that the after-image of it blurs as though it is a shield around him.

Instead of one sparring droid, there are now three. He blocks and dodges the electric bolts in a powerful dance, at times twisting through the air as he swings the blade. Sweat pours down his bare chest, and his breathing is ragged. He doesn't know how much further he can push his body, and he intends to find out.

The dance goes on and on, the darkness goading him, his rage pressing him forward. He loses track of time, and eventually, it becomes a challenge simply to stand. His defenses become wild, then sloppy. When several bolts reach him at once, he gives the voice command for shut down and falls to his knees. His nostrils fill with the sweet and acrid scents of burned flesh and hair.

For a few moments, he remains on his knees as he tries to recapture his breath, feeling light headed. He stares into the brilliant flame of his lightsaber, feeling it thrum with power. Then he flicks the switch, and the device goes dead.

Back in his quarters, he is preparing to step into the refresher when he feels that weird sense of disorientation and suddenly, there she is. Rey appears as if out of nowhere, the Force bridge connecting them once again.

"I'd rather not do this now," she says, refusing to look at him.

"Yeah, me too," he says. But he only half means it. He still wonders about this new development, what it means, why it's happening. His mind flickers briefly to the idea of what would happen if she had caught him in the refresher, how it would have felt to pull her into the water with him...

"Why did you hate your father?" she demands, finally looking at him directly.

At last she notices his state of undress. He sees the look she gives him, the subtle way that she blushes and then diverts her gaze.

"Do you have something, a cowl or something, you can put on?"

Modesty. She is such a hypocrite. Rank with self-righteousness and her own perceived goodness. As if, after all that has passed between them, he would need to cover himself. As if she has not, more than once, been eagerly on her knees with his cock in her mouth. And now she pretends that his bare chest offends her. He doesn't move and allows her feelings to pass to him through their Force bond.

Ah. It's not simply modesty. Of course. He chastises himself for the oversight. He can sense desire swelling within her. She is wrestling with it, trying to tamp it down and shut it away. Trying to resist the pull that they both feel.

When she recognizes that he is not going to comply with her request, she looks back to him, her words hot and angry. "Why did you hate your father? Give me an honest answer. You had a father who loved you. He gave a damn about you."

"I didn't hate him," he replies.

It's true. He didn't hate Han Solo; that was why Han had to die.

"Then why?" she asks.

"Why what?"

She doesn't answer. Tears start to stream down her cheeks. She doesn't want to say it out loud. She's asked him this question before, many times in fact. It's still eating away at her, and he knows the reason.

"Why, what?" he repeats. "Say it."

He loves this game. She knows that he understands the question, and that he could answer it if he so chose. She has absolutely no reason to obey his request and to say what he wants to hear her say. This is how it always is with her. She resists and then yields. It is their relationship in microcosm, and the wait for her to say it, to do as he has commanded her, quickens his pulse.

"Why did you..." she begins, but shudders to halt.

Excitement begins to burn in his chest. More tears slide down her cheeks before she rallies herself to continue.

"Why did you kill him?" The words are hard for her, and she lets them out a gasp that is also a sob. "I don't understand."

"No? Your parents threw you away like garbage." He digs his words into her soft spot with calculated precision. He doesn't like seeing her like this, weak and weepy. He doesn't want this. He wants her fire, her anger. And he gets it.

"They didn't!" she snaps.

"They did," he says. "But you can't stop needing them. It's your greatest weakness. Looking for them everywhere, in Han Solo, now in Skywalker. Did he tell you what happened that night?"

"Yes," she says hotly, but it's the look on her face that tells him the truth.

"No," he tells her. "He had sensed my power, as he senses yours. And he feared it."

He tells her of how he woke to his master standing over him with a lightsaber raised, ready to kill him in his sleep like a weak-kneed coward.

"Liar," she says. But the reply is pitiful. She doesn't really believe it.

He hates seeing her tears and sorrow overriding her vast strength. She could be so powerful, so magnificent, if she would just quit this foolish quest of hers and embrace her darkness. But she holds herself back, trapping herself, and it infuriates him.

"Let the past die," he says. "Kill it if you have to. That's the only way to become what you were meant to be."

It was what he had done, and the only thing that would free her to be with him.

She turns from him, still in tears, and is gone.

...

The next time the bridge connects them, he sees immediately that something is wrong. Usually alert and lithe like a quick desert animal, Rey is... sagging. Wilting. Tears stain her face. Seated with her shoulders slumped, she is curled up against a wall staring at the floor.

He stands stalk still, unsure what to do. Seeing her like this... He doesn't like the feeling it inspires in him. It rises up and bubbles into his consciousness, expanding his chest. He has the urge to go to her, to close the distance between them and wrap his arms around her in comfort. To shield her from whatever it is that troubles her. He feels... compassion.

Damn Snoke. Damn him!

Torn by indecision, Kylo does nothing. He hates the softness she inspires in him. It disgusts and repulses him, but it will not leave him.

She surprises him by standing and moving close to wrap her arms around him. She presses her face into his chest and hugs him tightly. Sobs wrack her body, and he feels her quake as she weeps into him. And he cannot help himself. He embraces her, craning his neck to bring his face to the top of her head, and breathes in the scent of her hair.

He waits. She cries and cries, wetting the fabric of his clothes with her tears and spittle. The maelstrom of her emotions passes into him through their bond as much as through her shaking body. What is so terrible that she would set aside her animosity and come to him for comfort? He can't imagine.

What he does imagine instead is something he quickly wishes to forget. It is an image of them together, not in dark power ruling the galaxy... but in peace. Simple. Just them alone in the light. The image draws him in and repulses him, just as she does. He struggles with the competing emotions it stirs within him. Suddenly, he notices she has stopped crying and is looking up at him with puffy red eyes.

"Kiss me," she says. "Kiss me."

She never just asks. It's always a fight. Always. He doesn't understand. But in this moment, he decides that he doesn't need understanding. He brings his mouth to hers, and their kiss is full of need, longing, and a slowly building heat. She brings her hands to his hair, burying and tangling her fingers in its long strands. It doesn't take long for her excitement to rise to a fever pitch. It is something he savors about her: how hotly she flares and how quickly.

He breaks the kiss and watches her for a moment, drinking in her face, the blush on her cheeks and that wild look in her eyes that she gets. He deliberately holds eye contact with her as he sinks to his knees before her, pressing his face to her chest and massaging her breasts in his hands, feeling how her nipples harden underneath the fabric. The way she gasps and pulls at his hair makes his blood hot, and he can feel his erection pulsing to rigid life.

Lowering himself further to sit on his heels, he presses his face between her legs and breathes deeply. Reaching around her, he grips her backside with both hands and presses her more tightly against his face. He can smell her through the fabric. It is a rich scent, a mix of sweet and earthy, and he longs to taste her, salivating in anticipation.

Then he is ripping at her garments, pulling them off her and tearing some in the process. She doesn't seem to care as she hastily kicks off her boots.

"Yes," she pants, her fingers still twisted in his hair. "Yes, Kylo, please."

Her words, the sound of her voice as she pleads, puts him into a frenzy. As soon as she is free of her trousers and undergarments, he presses his face back between her legs, grabbing her backside again and rubbing his cheeks against her thighs, teasing her with the tip of nose.

"Please," she cries, her grip tightening on his hair. "Please. Do it!"

He opens his mouth to run his tongue over her, and the taste of her makes him lightheaded. All his restraint gone. He begins to move his tongue quickly. As he licks her, he releases one hand from behind her to touch the wetness between her legs. She is literally dripping, the wetness starting to run down her thighs. His erection is now painfully hard, and he imagines the sounds she will make when he plunges himself into her. But he keeps using his mouth as he slips two fingers into her. She lets free a wail, a sweet, tortured sound. He keeps circling with his tongue as he begins to thrust his hand into her. Her grip on his hair tightens painfully.

He wants to taste her more fully, so he withdraws his hand and sinks lower, craning his neck so that he can penetrate her with his tongue. He drinks her sweetness in like an intoxicant, but because of their relative heights the angle is awkward. And she is inpatient.

She pushes him from his kneeling position onto his back. Then she climbs on top of him and kneels over his face. They lock eyes as she lowers herself onto him, and it is a much easier angle for him to use his tongue. He rhythmically presses it into her, gripping her thighs tightly, and she begins stimulating herself with her hand. He alternates penetration with sucking at her, trying to drink her in, to consume as much of her as possible. All of her. He wants all of her.

He loses track of time and space. There is nothing more than Rey, kneeling over him so he can make this sweet obeisance to her. She is delicious, and he is greedy. He craves the moment when he will get to feel her contractions and hear the feral sounds she will make. She is still using her hand for stimulation and his tongue is inside of her when she begins to tense. He moves his tongue faster, knowing his jaw and entire mouth are going to be painfully sore later, but her loud cries of ecstasy as she reaches climax drive him forward like a scourge. The pulsing spasms move through her as he works his tongue into her, not stopping until he is sure it has all been wrung out of her. And at last, she goes quiet and still.

She surprises him by almost immediately rearranging herself to kneel over him facing the other direction. As she lowers herself back down to his face, he can feel her fingers working at the fastenings of his slacks. Desire, like white lightning, flashes through him. She frees his erection from his garments, and he feels her breath on his taut, sensitive skin as she grips him. He is frozen with anticipation, having forgotten even to breathe, as he waits for her to take him into her mouth.

"Don't stop," she whispers, and then she wraps her lips around his erection and begins to suck.

He lets out a broken moan, savoring the wetness of her mouth for a moment before bringing his own mouth back to her. From his angle, he stimulates her clit with his tongue and maneuvers and arm around so that he can penetrate her with his fingers. All the while she continues to distract and titillate him with what she is doing with her mouth.

Her fingers are slick now, and they glide up and down his hardness as she alternately sucks and runs her tongue over him. When she presses him into her mouth as far as it will go, all the way to the back of her throat, he moans against her and feels her gag softly. Then she does it again, but this time she holds him deep in throat and stays, gulping at him. It is all he can do to keep himself from ejaculating right then. But he's not ready. He doesn't want it to end yet.

He focuses as tightly as he can on her, moving his tongue and his fingers faster. He pushes her, feeling her body tighten again, winding her expertly, pursuing that perfect resonance to bring her to the peak. Closer and closer she goes, her body ratcheting tighter and tighter, and faster and faster he moves. It is as if her whole body is tensed now, and the bobbing of her head up and down has become erratic. The tension in her body is so great that he imagines it must be painful, when--at last--it breaks.

She bucks wildly against his face, his erection still deep in her mouth, the muffled vibrations of her moans exciting him. He holds on with desperation, not wanting to come yet, focusing with every fiber of his being on pushing her through to the very end, keeping his fingers and tongue moving even as she twitches and thrashes against him like a creature possessed.

He holds on, but barely. When the tempest passes, she pulls her mouth away and it makes him shiver. She gasps for air. She seems limp, drained. But he hasn't had his yet, and he intends to take his fill. A savage hunger grips him, and he will not be satisfied until he has driven himself into her long and hard.

Pushing her forward onto her hands and knees, he gets out from under her. She doesn't attempt to move from her all-fours position, as though she has read his mind and knows what he wants. He kneels behind her, placing his knees outside of hers. Then he takes hold of his erection and angles it so that he can press himself into her. She shivers and lets out a soft cry as he slides in, and he bites the inside of his cheek, still so excited that just entering her would be enough to make him explode.

Squeezing his thighs inwards, pressing his knees tightly against hers, he grabs her hips and begins to thrust into her. Her breathing goes wild almost immediately, and she moans, urging him to go harder, wanting him to be forceful. He happily obliges, railing her hard, tapping into his anger and letting it flood him. His fingers dig into her, and though he plows her with almost brutal roughness, she is still begging for more. He bites his cheek harder still to hang on.

She is stimulating herself again with her hand between her legs, fingers moving quickly. He can tell from the speed of it and from the way her body is winding again, that she is already close. He gives it everything he has. Sweat runs down his face as he feels her tightening, beginning that final assent. He is grunting with effort as his hips slam into hers, their bodies making a loud rhythmic slapping, and then she cries out.

"Yes! Oh, fuck, yes! Ben! BEN!!!" and she goes over the falls, the tight contractions of her muscles flexing around his erection making him lose all control.

He embraces it, going with her, tumbling into oblivion as he thrusts himself into her erratically, any semblance of rhythm obliterated by the sweet, torturous ecstasy as he ejaculates into her, pulsing wildly. And for that moment, there is nothing but her.

When it passes, and he regains a sense of reality, they are both still, panting, their breath gradually slowing and synchronizing. He withdraws from her and stands to remove his clothes. She has collapsed to the floor, and he gently maneuvers her out of her remaining garments, limp and obedient as a ragdoll. Lying down next to her on top of their pile of clothes, he pulls her against him and shivers as he presses his skin against hers.

They lie like this in silence for several moments.

Then, at last, she tells him what happened.

About the dark place underneath the island. The one where Skywalker told her not to go. But it had been calling to her. After many days, she could no longer ignore it or stay away. She sought out its dark heart, and in its depths, she had a vision. Herself, suspended in crystal with a thousand, a million, reflections of herself extending into an infinite darkness.

"I should have felt trapped or panicked," she says, her arms around him as she stares into the distance, seeing her vision once again. "But I didn't. It didn't go on forever. I knew it was leading somewhere. And at the end it would show me what I came to see."

But the vision disappointed her, revealing nothing but her own reflection.

"I thought I'd find answers here," she says, pressing her face into his chest, as though she could hide there. "I was wrong. I've never felt so alone."

"You're not alone," he says softly, running his fingers over her skin.

She raises her head and looks him in the eye for the first time since beginning her story.

"Neither are you," she says. "It isn't too late."

Her face is flushed, tear stained... and everything to him. He feels his heart do something strange within his chest. Has it stopped? That image comes to him again. He feels it more than sees it, that idea of them together, alone, in a simple, bright peace. And he knows she feels it too.

Their attention is arrested, heads swiveling suddenly as Skywalker appears. The tired, weary expression on his face transforms into horror as he takes in the scene, the two of them naked and entwined, lying together. He yells and there is a loud crashing sound.

Kylo finds himself alone.

Chapter 6: Reckonings.

Rey looks around her in disbelief at the ruined hut, destroyed by Master Skywalker in a blast of rage. He is using the Force again!

She is naked, but she doesn't care. She can barely feel the rain drops hitting her skin as she rises slowly to her feet, a fierce determination simmering within her.

"Is it true? Did you try to murder him?"

Skywalker's face is rigid with anger. "Leave this island now!" he snarls then turns and storms away.

She chases after him, reflexively picking up her staff as she goes. "Stop!"

He keeps walking, ignoring her.

"Stop!" she demands again, and when again he doesn't respond, she strikes him in the back before she even realizes what she has done. Skywalker grunts and falls to the ground. When he turns up to look up at her, she has the butt of her staff pointed at him.