the d is for dark side

[reydacted]

WHO: Rey, Ronan, Kylo
WHERE: Sanctum Aurorae
WHEN: The night new imPorts Arrive
WHAT: A "diplomatic" visit
WARNINGS: Probably various shades of NSFW. Alcohol, sexual content, violence.

For Ronan

Recently Rey had been testing the limits of her teleportation. Yes, always in the vicinity of Kylo but more and more she pushes it. How far is too far? There's something so... passionless about just porting directly into his bedroom really. She had been the one to yield and come to him, and he can likely already sense her presence, so she needs to have her fun wandering around his domain while he's made to wait.

The halls are largely empty, but Rey still stalks carefully in the darkness. She's traded the heels and her gala dress for light-soled boots a cloak drawn tightly around her to conceal her body with her hood up. Really she's dressed more for an assassination than a personal visit.

Despite being an outsider, she knows these halls well and finds her first stop quickly.

"Hello Ronan," she knocks on his door. "I brought you a gift."

Logically, she knows that there is really no point in bringing a god items that he can manifest himself, but she has a certain sort of affection for the Greywaren. Or as much as someone whose lost sight of almost everything except others' utility as a tool, to which Ronan was near infinite.

It's also the least she can do for the number of planes he's had to dream up to account for her theft.

For Kylo

When Rey decides Kylo has been made to wait long enough, she bids farewell to Ronan (and then maybe makes a few extra laps for good measure). Her entrance to the Supreme Leader's bedroom is much less formal, making her way in with no knock or announcement.

She swings her cloak over the back of a chaise before making herself comfortable in it rather unceremoniously. Rey's strategies at seduction have always had a rather unconventional start to them...

"I could have brought you to the White City," it's slightly more than an idle threat, but there is a reason she didn't.

Comments

[nightmarist]

Retiring to his private quarters means that Ronan is free from the ceremony of playing god. When he opens the door, he's maskless and clean of makeup, save the smudged eyeliner he couldn't be bothered to thoroughly scrub away. He's traded his religious garb for something much simpler, and if he'd thought there was even a remote possibility that a woman would be standing at his door, he wouldn't have answered. But here they are.

"Is it a knife?" he replies sardonically, though he knows perfectly well she isn't here to kill him.

[reydacted]

"A much slower means of death, I'm afraid," she holds a bottle of champagne in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other, almost casually as if she isn't carrying a literal fortune with her given the price of each. "From our private collection."

If his getup bothers her, she doesn't show it. She just a closed-lipped smile before continuing, "It was a big day, you could probably use a nightcap."

[nightmarist]

Any other female would be swiftly turned away, but this is Rey Palpatine. He has no choice but to indulge her. Stepping aside, he opens the door wider to allow her entry. His bedroom lies beyond another few doors, with several locks to keep him or anything else from escaping in the middle of the night. This room is for entertainment, at least to the extent that Ronan entertains at all. It matches the same minimalist aesthetic as everything else in the Sanctum, only there's a tree growing from between the cracks of the concrete floor, blooming strange red flowers that emit a soft glow. They provide most of the lighting in the room.

An overlong divan is the only seat available, which she'll have to share with him if she intends to stay. He settles onto it and tugs his overcoat to cover himself as best as he can manage without a belt, an oddly modest gesture for someone who has no reason to cover himself at all.

"Is that what you came here for?" he asks. "To talk about my big day?"

[reydacted]

"I came to visit." This might have been awkward once, but Rey has had years of practice walking into a room to be met with icy silence or open hostility. Really, this is probably mild among what she's encountered.

She places both bottles on the minimalist sideboard, searching for glasses. She is going to help herself to at least a taste of her gift even if he's not going to.

"We can talk about whatever you like," she smiles over her shoulder.

[nightmarist]

Ronan doesn't take his eyes off her. He doesn't think she's stupid enough to try drugging him, not close enough that Kylo might catch a whiff of the plot. Hell, she's powerful enough that poisoning would be completely unnecessary. No, he's just looking at her the way he looks at most things, studying the details.

"To your left," he says. The glasses. "If you're trying to make him jealous, it's not going to work."

[reydacted]

She scoffs, amused, as she finds two glasses, "There are ten thousand easier ways to make Kylo jealous."

She's honestly not sure if that's an exaggeration or not, but if her only objective was making Kylo jealous she wouldn't have to make house calls only to figure out the logistics of hauling herself back thousands of miles. But just the existence of Stark and Dooku she thought were in an ever-raging competition for the top spot among all her strategies to accomplish that.

She deftly peals the seal off the whiskey and pours them each a glass. Not generous pours by any means, she isn't going to stay for that long. She hands him one of the glasses, "Cheers."

[nightmarist]

"Touché."

Ronan accepts the glass, clinks it against hers, then sips. It's tempting to knock the whole thing back like a shot, there's so little of it, but he can taste the quality. The savoring type. Why is she even wasting it on him?

"I had a dream about you the other night."

[reydacted]

"Is that so."

She sips her drink, carefully guarding the true depth of her interest. Any curiosity should be natural anyway, she thinks, and Ronan remains one of the greatest mysteries in this world although less to her than almost anyone else.

"Tell me about it."

[nightmarist]

"You were stealing my books," Ronan says, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement as he considers his drink for a beat. Then his gaze returns to her. "Picking through my library like a greedy little thief."

Of course, he doesn't have a library. He can't remember the last time he had the freedom or will to read for pleasure. He shouldn't even be wasting his time with this, but it looks like Kylo's going to be occupied tonight, which gives Ronan ample time to dream.

"I'm sure Jung has an explanation, but dream interpretation was never my thing."

[reydacted]

That's... curious. As he describes it, it almost feels familiar. Like she can visualize it in a way more clearly than she should be able to from just the short description. She leans back, her expression mildly puzzled but hidden behind amusement.

"I was a scavenger. Before." Practically in another life now. She had never explicitly hidden that aspect of her past, but she wasn't sure if anything more than rumors had escaped the White Tower, from Kylo or otherwise. It had come up less and less as she climbed the ranks within her faction because while it once made for a good campaigning point, not it was more frequently sharpened as a tool to jab at her
apparent hypocrisy.

"Taking things was often just a means of survival rather than greed," she shrugs. Arguably it's not so different than what she does now although the markers of survival have drastically changed. She's not quite sure why books either, but she's not in a hurry to guess. "You'll have to let me know if you have any more."

[nightmarist]

Ronan's sure he knows more about her than she'd like. His eyebrows lift a touch at that confession, but it's an expression of acknowledgement rather than surprise. The scavenger girl, yes. Practically feral. From what he's seen in Kylo's mind, Ronan thinks he would've liked her more the way she was back then. This cleaner version bores him.

"If only you'd leave your White Tower," he sighs. "You could be in my dreams every night."

It's impossible to tell whether he's joking.

[reydacted]

She chooses to take it as a joke.

"The Sanctum Aurorae would not survive," and although it's offered lightly it sincere. At best it would largely maintain its current form, but that would fly in the face of all the times Rey has publicly decried them.

And she is never going to abandon what she built anyway.

"Are you hoping that I'll whisk you away?" Her jokes are thankfully more obvious.

[nightmarist]

Ronan scoffs and takes another sip of his drink before answering, "It'd be fun to see you try."

What would Kylo do? That's the most intriguing question in this scenario. Ronan has no actual idea which one Kylo values more: his treasure or his woman. Fairytales with this premise don't end well.

[photophobic]

Having expected her of course, Kylo makes a reasonable show of disinterest— or at least it would be, if it weren't for the underlying hum of electricity that sparks between the two of them whenever they find themselves at close quarters. That, he has no weapon against.

"You could," he agrees smoothly, turning from his dresser to face her.

With all the trappings of state and the heavy drape of his mantle robe shrugged off and left to slump over a tall-backed chair, perhaps Kylo doesn't seem so different from the man she'd once stolen away. The path he'd chosen slides invisible as his dark eyes meet hers.

"But we both know what would happen if you did. Don't we."

[reydacted]

"I don't know what you mean," she feigns ignorance, through teeth grit around a hair pin while her hands reach behind her head to pluck out more, collecting a few of them and depositing the diamond tipped pins in her lap. "And the weather is much nicer."

Ten years is a long time to have the same argument, although their bitterness about it seems to spike less often in the year or so. She seems oddly settled in a decision she's made that she hasn't quite shared with Kylo yet.

"Come here."

[photophobic]

Kylo's eyebrows raise slightly at the command. His gaze, having drifted to her mouth, drags heavy over her features before settling back into place: his attention focused on all the unsaid things hiding in her eyes.

Perhaps he can live with following directions, if they get him closer to everything she's buried. He closes the distance between them fluidly until he's all but towering over her, but he doesn't reach out. That...

Well. That's her prerogative.

"Close enough?" he murmurs.

[reydacted]

She lets lets her head roll slightly to the side, her eyes scan over his face languidly from beneath thick lashes. She doesn't shift or shirk to accommodate for his large frame, but she also makes no move to close the lingering space between them.

Always running parallel to each other until they dip together with explosive results. Any longer than that and they may actually destroy each other.

"I don't know," she licks her lips, "Does this distance satisfy you?"

[photophobic]

He's close enough to feel how her pulse sends shuddering tremors through the air between them. Close enough to see her pupils dilate, to watch his backlit silhouette float as a shadow in reflection.

And she's close enough to feel the bite and the hunger and the promise of it when he reminds her. This is why she comes to him. This is what she craves.

"Nothing satisfies me."

[reydacted]

"Hm," she offers a conciliatory hum but still revels in his attention. She ran from it once, scared of the depth of her own power. Ten years seems to have been enough to reconcile it and make it her own, including this connection between them. Perhaps she is finally ready to wield its full potential.

"What else could you want for Supreme Leader?"

She uses his title more like it's a teasing term of endearment than one of the few that commands a weight that rivals hers.

[photophobic]

"Has getting what you want ever stopped you wanting more?" Kylo asks, his eyes steady on her face. His lips quirk, a flash of amusement accompanying the realisation: Rey doesn't have what he does. His Greywaren. His every wish, waiting to be fulfilled.

Rey doesn't know what it is, to get what she wants. Not really.

"Ah, but you haven't. Have you."

[reydacted]

Kylo may still see straight through her but she's had enough practice that it no longer unnerves her. He lost that power somewhere along the way.

Still annoying though. And always so dramatic. She rolls her eyes at him. The flair for dramatics is apparently a dark side trait she hasn't picked up yet.

"Your Greywaren can't grant you everything want," most, but not everything. Her too.

[photophobic]

"He could," Kylo replies smoothly, unperturbed by the display. He intimidates her and she defies him. it's how they work.

His voice slides into to a softer, more intimate register that simmers with hidden heat. Soft, for Kylo Ren, is not the same thing as gentle or safe.

"But I want you to give it to me."

[reydacted]

"Ask and maybe I will."

She had given him too much already by acquiescing to him earlier. It was an invitation and a command rolled into one. They tug for the reigns of power and poke at each others stubbornness. She wants a win tonight.

She pulls at the metal fastenings of her leather gloves with her teeth before nipping at the tip of a finger to pull them off. She flicks her wrist, the glove flopping against him to make the first contact.

"And then maybe I'll tell you my surprise."

[photophobic]

Is it a win if he chooses to give it over? Kylo watches her tug at her gloves— all this teasing and taunting— and then he makes his move.

He sinks down to one knee before her, gaze utterly steady. Did she think it would humiliate him? No. No, he's not ashamed. He takes her hand and lifts it to his mouth.

"Give it to me," he murmurs. His lips are softly, dangerously plush as he kisses her knuckles.

[reydacted]

She widens her knees to make room for his large form, willing to make an accommodation now that they've moved on from their requisite stubborn posturing.

There's a wicked sort of delight in watching the man who once told her he could take whatever he wanted kneel down before her. She had fought run, frightened of having-- being-- something he desired on Starkiller and again on the Supremacy. Now she counts it among her arsenal, although she hasn't tried to use it to its full potential.

Her fingertips run softly against his jaw, the callouses of a scavenger have been long lost to time and life as a politician.

"You were right. Earlier," she frames his face, tipping her head as if she's inspecting him. "The High Chancellor is struggling."

And despite their positions, it is not an innuendo.