f2020 | the d is for darkside pt 2

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the d is for darkside pt 2

WHO: Rey, Kylo Ren, Ronan
WHERE: The White Tower
WHEN: Finale, White Tower containment
WHAT: Rey makes a power grab
WARNINGS: Sexual content, kidnapping, violence

A beast had made its home inside of Rey, and it hungers for more. The deep well of her bubbling fury, control of a domineering entire empire, they weren't enough to satisfy the beast. She feels it scratching at her skin begging to be let out, begging to indulge in the chaos and ferociousness with how she had once fought. She had been wild and unrestrained, the only shackles she wore were a self-imposed fear of her own power.

She smiles, almost fondly, remembering the scavenger who was so driven by survival while she looks out the large windows of her private suite, the creeping doom halted at least for now. She was young but feral. Oh, what could they have accomplished if she hadn't been so afraid of herself? Rey is of course ready now, though, practically drunk on the idea of her own power once she's released herself of the literal shackles imposed by this world they've found themselves in.

Inopportune timing and failure of initial plans seem to be a theme of the Synod though, but it is now or never. And if Ronan doesn't make it through this then, well, that's a sacrifice Rey is willing to make. Kylo of course would be furious, but she thinks only until he feels the return of their true power. She could awaken it for the both of them, deliver it onto him like a gift. He'll know immediately when it courses through his veins, white-hot and all-powerful. It is only Kylo's foolish sentimentality that is holding them back now.

She presses a thought through the bond.

We have unfinished business. And then, after a moment, Your escort is welcome too.

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Strangely enough, sequestered away in his (temporary, thank you) accommodations in a pristine high-rise that wouldn't have felt entirely out of place back on Chandrila, Kylo too is thinking about how it might have felt to have the Force returned to him. Not this weak, pale imitation, no, but the Force as he remembers it. As he dreams it. All its infinite connection rendering the galaxy itself pliant to his will, for as long and as certain as he can hold it in place. That's what true freedom would be like.

And they had been close.
They'd been so, so close to achieving everything... but now, with the malfunction of the shielding, there's no way of knowing if the Porter building will ever be a viable location for hosting such a dream, ever again. Kylo's fingers card through Ronan's hair in a deceptively idle, self-soothing rhythm as he gazes out the window towards the threatening boundary of the Deathdome— and just as he's about to speak and break the silence, she pushes into it.

Hunger pours through the bond, wild and familiar. There's a desire— a demand more than need. His breath catches. Briefly, he wonders if they have any other kind but unfinished business, but the additional request he bring Ronan to join them soon banishes thought of anything else.

He slams back with the resultant jumble of sense-memory and a single word:

Greedy.

Then, he looks down at Ronan. Maybe they both are.

His judgement is met with amusement that she lets flow more slowly and easily than her spike of hunger-- practically leisurely compared to how he hit her back. Greedy. Like he's one to talk. She had always taken what she needed to. Guilt was for those who had the luxury of a secured survival, and even now she isn't in the business of feeling shame about taking what she wants.

Tradition, is the more concrete reply she provides, wrapping around like a tease that she would whisper into the shell of his ear, a sense that she could just tug him to her but she'd prefer he come willingly. A satisfying distraction from the imminent danger that faces her empire.

Kylo's mouth tugs towards a slight smile as he feels Rey's lazy, unashamed amusement slide over his skin like a touch. Tradition indeed. He can feel the impression of her presence layered over the reality directly around him: it's as if she's leaning over his back to murmur wicked suggestion, watching him lounging here with his escort sat faithfully at his feet, head resting against his thigh.

His fingers still for a moment before embarking on a new trajectory— abandoning the rhythmic pass through Ronan's hair to trail over his temple, following the delicate coil of his ear round to the sharp line of his jaw. Let her feel this: the anticipation stirring as he toys with his lover, remembering the way the three of them move, breathe, gasp together, the glorious overload that builds between them...

"Ronan," he murmurs, desire already dragging at the edges of his words. "We've been extended an invitation."

Ronan had almost begun to think he'd make it through this Synod unscathed. He knows what Kylo's going to say before he even says it, all too familiar with the meaning of that coaxing touch. He can read Kylo's fingers like a language, and here they're spelling out for him a warning and a promise all at once. In Pavlovian response, his skin immediately begins to warm.

He lifts his head, turning his eyes up to his master. One hand follows a slow path along Kylo's inner thigh, palm teasing the shape of his stirring bulge. "Oh," he utters, as if it's a surprise. "She didn't forget us after all."

Kylo's lips part, a slow breath escaping as Ronan begins to slide his hand inward on a familiar and promising trajectory. Ronan's touch, Ronan's voice. Ronan's eyes on his.

And all of the spectacle and experience laid bare for her. Pleasure shivers through the Force.

"No," he agrees, basking in the inevitable. Rey, Ronan and himself, all their individual desires melting and merging together. He shifts his hips, already impatient for a more substantial touch. "She didn't."

The tension at this point is between a hunger he could satisfy right here, right now— he reaches to drag his thumb over the eternally open invitation of Ronan's mouth, greedy for the reminder— and the rarer indulgence he'll only receive if he can resist. Jealousy isn't quite absent, either: his touch turns possessive as he considers his perfect, beautiful prize, his most treasured, most beloved, most worshiped. Even with the promise of all he has to gain and after all this time, it's still a struggle to consider sharing Ronan with anyone.

"How could she?"

It's not only Kylo who's afflicted with jealousy. Ronan knows he's not the one who stirred up this excitement, even if he's momentarily the focus of it. Rey is somewhere in Kylo's mind, saying or doing things Ronan can't witness as long as he's in this form, which makes him little more than a toy in the play between them.

But there's nothing new about that, really. It's been the case since the day Kylo stole him. Sometimes, he wonders if that's why Kylo stole him. Sometimes he's a weapon to be used against her and sometimes he's a gift she's allowed to enjoy and at all times he is something that belongs to Kylo and not to her, enabling Kylo to exist independent of her. That infuriates her. And that fury arouses Kylo. It's a neat little game they've worked out.

Ronan hates it.

"Does she expect us to go all the way to her?" he asks, gradually applying more pressure to the massage he's working along Kylo's length, confined beneath fabric for now. He takes Kylo's thumb into his mouth, giving it a soft suckle.

Satisfaction warms her chest at the immediacy of his reaction, her grin grows as she lounges back in her chaise, the silk of her robe sliding over her legs.

She leans into his senses, mirroring his fingers on her own lips. She's not quite jealous, not yet at least. The anticipation made it sweeter for everyone, she let his hunger mix with hers and reverberate between them, snowballing with each pass.

Of course, she runs the risk of using his companion because he's more available, but she has an easy way to retrieve him if he isn't feeling particularly obedient and a knack for strategic timing.

The low, rumbling groan that falls from his mouth is a response even Kylo Ren's exceptional willpower could never keep from slipping free— Ronan knows just how to tease him, how to smooth out and prolong the delicious glide into urgency. So slow, so deliberate, so soft... Rey's thickly spreading satisfaction surging between them.

Does she expect?

"She wants us to go to her," Kylo corrects, unable to resist pushing up to chase Ronan's touch where his hand lifts and the pressure eases.

Because she knows it by now, surely. Being able to take anything she wants isn't enough and it never will be. Kylo's heavy-lidded eyes slide back into focus, watching as Ronan slowly accepts the intrusion of his thumb as if it's a gift. A privilege. His blood thumps, heavy with quickening arousal.

"Would you like to go, Ronan?" he murmurs, well aware Ronan can't reply while focused on his task: pleasing his master. "Or shall we turn down the invitation..."

Ronan takes his time deliberating while his tongue circles Kylo's thumb, leaving his master to consider everything else he could be doing with it. This isn't really a question for Ronan, of course, because it certainly isn't something he'd like to do, and Kylo knows that. This is about what he wants, and whether Ronan will grant that wish.

His lips part, releasing Kylo's thumb, though his hand continues its relentless work. "I'll allow it," he says, and he hopes Rey can hear his graciousness. "But she'll have to be patient while I prepare you for her."

As if Kylo isn't hard enough. He's not quite out of his mind with desire, however, and Ronan's mouth can take him there. Rey can thank him for that later.

Kylo knows exactly what Ronan could be doing with that mouth. He knows just how soft and pillowy the sharp cut of it becomes for him— only for him, how lavish a blessing the slow, thoughtful glide of his tongue could be. Trapped beneath far too many layers of fabric for his taste, Kylo's cock throbs under Ronan's palm. He releases a shuddering breath.

"Come here," he demands thickly, not even sure himself what he means— the words are the first ones that come to mind. More. Closer. Is he instructing Ronan, or is she? Or is she instructing him? He can feel her sliding in alongside his senses, drinking in his arousal.

"Tell me what you want, Ronan..."

She melds into his senses, a presence pressing up against his mind that she slides against as smoothly as Kylo's thumb had slipped into Ronan's mouth, oozing like honey through the cracks in his control only she knows so well.

The first few times she had felt the phantom sensations of the two of them together had been accidental and addictive, unnerving but exhilarating. Like many things, her persistence proved to be useful and she was a quick study. Of course the fact that they were so close gives her an added sense of precision and influence that she is no longer shy about wielding.

She purses her lips and grins as if she is pressing them to the back of his neck. She would settle behind him, her chin tucked over his shoulder while her fingers drag up and down his abdomen, helpfully demonstrated by the light and teasing touch she mimics across her own skin.

The thought slips in so easily, so familiar that it's not clear who it belongs to and what it's speaking of: Mine.

Ronan moves closer, on his hands and knees as if in supplication before Kylo, though he's not the one who's begging. "I want you to use me," he says, tucking his face between Kylo's legs. "I want you to remember why I'm the one you treasure, the one who gives you everything."

He presses his mouth over the outline of Kylo's erection, refusing to free him just yet, saliva soaking into the fabric.

"Let her feel it. I want her to know what I do to you."

He knows she's there already. There's always something subtly different about Kylo, when she inserts herself into their lovemaking. As Ronan reaches up at last to loosen Kylo's pants and drag his cock from its confines, he might as well be touching her, too.

She hums through his head like intoxication, mingling and mixing with the lust native to his blood as Ronan slides between his legs— his rightful place. Ronan may be serving, his every move designed to heighten Kylo's arousal and please him, but it's never clearer than it is now which of them is the god bestowing undeserved blessings. Kylo worships Ronan. Every shivering breath confesses it. Every curl of his fingers, useless where he fights the urge to grasp hold. This is what Ronan does to Kylo: he inspires complete and utter devotion.

Open devotion, too. Kylo isn't ashamed, as much as Rey likely believes he should be. He lets her share in every shuddering moment of waiting for Ronan to grant him his wish, because that is what Ronan asked of him. Is there anything he wouldn't do, if Ronan asked? How fortunate Kylo is, that all Ronan wants is to satisfy his every desire...

The sensation translates and echoes through the bond as Ronan finally draws him out. Rey gasps with his mouth— perhaps he gasps with hers.

"Give it to me," he breathes— encouragement, command and plea rolled into a message for the both of them.

Gladly, Ronan does.

As he bows down to answer that prayer, the barely-there touch of his fingers directs Kylo to his mouth. He wets his lips before brushing them over the smooth bulb of Kylo's head, a soft and maddening tease. His tongue drags a slick ring around it, then his mouth captures it again.

It's easy to know what this does to Kylo. Ronan has pleasured him in a thousand ways, in dreams and out of them. What he understands far less is the other half. He can't tell how much of Kylo's arousal is actually for him, or whether Kylo is even fully here. When it's Ronan who's possessing Kylo's body, they share everything but their will - Ronan entirely under Kylo's command, but so entwined that they exist as a single consciousness. Is it the same with Rey? Is she inside him? Does she feel Ronan's mouth on her, coaxing and indulgent?

Her mouth drags open across her arm, flung up over her head. The pleasure of the sensations is strange, she had been unable to explain it to Stark when it had tangled up the four of them and she is not sure Kylo could put words to it either. She can feel Ronan's, warm and wet and inviting, on her body but not. The senses are real and physical, but she's not sure if her groan or the way her legs splay further open to accommodate a body that isn't there is really her own.

She can see how Kylo might get so drunk on Ronan's service, but he was still thing, a means to an end.

Or is it perhaps just jealousy? How easily an outsider slid into Kylo's arms, mind, and bed while the strings of fate that bound them together often felt more like thorns digging into each others skins or shackles they'd grind down their teeth on trying to gnaw off.

It strokes her own possessiveness. They will never be free of each other, and each day he plays this game is just another day he denies the inevitability of where he truly belongs. For all that Ronan is, he will never be Kylo's other half. She slips her hand between her thighs fingers drawing agonizingly light circles to remind him of that.

The sound he makes is far from dignified. Tension ripples through the muscles of his stomach, his thighs— he falls back heavily into the echo of her arms, the arch of her back.

"Yes," he breathes, the word trembling at the edges. Ronan's mouth feels so good, so perfectly promising— the whisper touch of his lips and the glide of his tongue an exquisite torture Rey can't seem to help but make her own, too. His fingers dig bruises into his thighs as he struggles against the urge to let his hips buck up. He could. Ronan would let him, he knows. But Rey?

Rey wants him dragged along the knife-edge.

Ronan can feel Rey's influence behind Kylo's restraint. When it's just the two of them, Kylo never holds back, because Ronan's entire purpose is to permit the monster his brutality when everyone else would deny him.

This is good, though. It gives Ronan the chance to savor Kylo in ways he can't ordinarily, with hands tangled in his hair, forcing him down for a violent invasion. If he didn't despise Rey, he might even thank her for being the reason he can enjoy Kylo at such a leisurely pace. He takes every inch of Kylo into his mouth, but he has the opportunity now to do it slowly, tongue and throat working together to favor him with a pulsing massage.

She bites the flesh of her palm, stifling her own groans, and drags her teeth across it as if it's the meat of his shoulder. She twists their bond around him like a constrictor, and she'd willingly deny herself to exert control over Kylo, to test him, to push him to the cusp of breaking, tugging on his consciousness threateningly.

These encounters were much smoother way of working out her supposed hatred of him, and depending on how her plan shakes out perhaps it would be mutual.

Kylo's breath stutters, his whole body saturated with the sensation of being taken in. The throbbing heat of Ronan's mouth, his throat, Rey's possessive hunger coiling tight— between them, they have him captive in a way nothing else could.

Because he doesn't want to be freed.

The awareness that he should want to lingers as the racing beat of his heart, trembling resistance as Rey digs in her teeth. Isn't it better, when he lets her have him? And it is. He can't deny it. It is. He was made for her, she for him, and if he would just...

"Ronan," he gasps, reaching blindly for his anchor. His hands scrabble and grasp, his thoughts, his will— Ronan knows what he is when he is not a part of her, and the more he allows himself to be submerged, the tighter a hold he needs on that tether.

Ronan reaches back, his hands climbing to seize hold of Kylo's hips. He's here, right where Kylo wants him, and he'll be here until Rey succeeds in seducing or stealing him away.

...Which will be any moment now, he knows. They're in her domain and this is the tradition, their annual renewal of friendship. If she can't make Kylo hers tonight, she'll take him from the Sanctum instead, and it'll be an uglier affair.

Until then, Ronan presses forward. His eyes sting with tears as he takes Kylo deeper, stuffing down as much of him as he can. He's trained enough not to choke, in spite of the strain, and controlled enough not to force it too quickly. As much as he would love to drink Kylo down, it's not supposed to be Ronan who receives him today. All of this is for Rey.

Her hold tightens, shuddering waves to echo his run through her. She's drunk on the feeling of their consciousness blurring. Never has it been more obvious that they are two that are one, and the raw potential of their power together as it should be-- real and realized --is thrilling to her as he slips deeper into their bond. Yes she seems to croon in his mind as he edges closer into losing himself in it, in her. He doesn't know the full potential of what they could be together, doesn't know what it felt like to be truly in sync as their sabers cut through the flesh of the praetorian guards. Their bond as alive as both of them like a livewire running through their veins. This pale imitation will never match it, and the reality of it is beyond his wildest dreams.

He could know it if he let her show him. If he just stopped holding on.

But Ronan's name rings loudly and clearly and it infuriates her. Like a rubber band pulled taut, she snaps. She forced him to face his master in the move that gave him the galaxy. She stole him from the barbarian that gave him his arctic empire. And now she will cut the tether that holds them both back from achieving real greatness.

But first she will just pluck him from his suite, just a few floors difference that Ronan will be safe making his way alone while she is ready to face the wrath of her monster.

Kylo is, predictably, furious. Being snatched away at the very edge of bliss would be more than enough in itself— he aches with the sudden loss of Ronan's patient ministrations— but it's her decision to override his autonomy that has his breath hissing past his teeth. He rediscovers himself in Rey's sumptuous suite, the trembling sprawl of his abruptly untouched body spread out beside hers. He's been stolen. And as angry as he is at having been taken against his will right in front of his chosen one, it's a deeper fury that has him twisting and lunging in a clumsy effort to pin her down.

He hates this wild thrill of pleasure that comes only from being so dangerously, desperately desired.

Ronan sits back on his heels and takes a breath. There's no urgent need to move now that he's been left alone. The two of them will have plenty of frustration to work out between them before his assistance is required.

Not that it's ever truly required. He's superfluous in every scene. The set dressing.

He does need to catch his breath, though. While he was choking on Kylo, he couldn't get any air, and his lungs are burning. Inhale. Exhale. He pats his face dry with his sleeves, wiping away tears and saliva and sweat. Inhale. Exhale. He combs his long hair back with his fingers so that it stops clinging to his skin. Inhale. Exhale.

He leans forward, like a diver, and loses his form. Not a second later, he's in Rey's suite, too. But he draws no attention to himself just yet. They can keep doing what they're doing while he slowly peels off his clothes in the periphery.

Rey laughs, haughty and loud, as Kylo pins her. She deeply enjoys this game, saving her power for the most satisfying and infuriating and impactful moments. She wraps her legs around his hips to wrench him closer to her.

"So wild, Kylo," she croons, pleased with the reaction she and Ronan collaborated on. "Like a beast."

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the d is for darkside pt 2

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