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Kylo Ren woke up from a dream.
He was drenched in sweat, his shirt was damp and so was the towel which covered his mattress. The blanket — barely more than a sheet — clung to his skin, so he needed several attempts to free himself from it.
He sat up, turned on the light, and stared at his lap.
“Stars,” he cursed. It’s been the third night in a row and it’s getting worse.
He rubbed his eyes with his palm, black and white spots flashed behind his lids. The dream already faded, but he didn’t need those pictures anymore, didn’t he? Because he had something far better than that after all.
A memory. A faint touch which left his fingertips burning and his mind swimming. A swallow as he pulled down the waistband of his pants. A sharp breath — then a twitch — as his hot flesh got kissed by fresh air.
"This can’t be real.“
But the evidence was clear, already drying on his skin and undergarments. Yet he didn’t feel any sweet relief. If anything, he got harder with every waking second, to his own growing discomfort. Somewhere in the back of his head, a familiar voice stated:
Pathetic.
As if he needed a reminder.
It’s not her strength that is making you fail.
As if he possibly could forget.
I know.
I know.
He remembered, that’s all he ever did since the day they met, since the day she held out her hand, since the day they touched, since the day she wanted to touch him and it should have been impossible, but it wasn’t and he could feel her, like she were flesh and bones, like she were right beside him, warm, wet and reaching for him.
What’s even worse, he could see.
A future for both of them, so bright, so solid, so clear it made his blood sing.
It’s your weakness.
His skin was in flames. He stared at his hand, trying to put out the fire by the sheer strength of his will, but in the end he dropped back into bed, defeated. Again.
The memory of a touch was enough. It tormented him like a broken holo record, haunted his mind in an endless loop, cruel and with morbid obsession, over and over, observing each angle, each breath, each twitch—
Neither are you.
— every word and how it’s been vocalized, as if he could’ve missed something, as if he could discover something that had escaped him in the heat of the moment.
Just a touch.
Desire pooled inside his belly, so strong and all-consuming, hitting him hard and fast.
Pathetic.
I know.
Just you.
He turned off the light, for it was easier to surrender himself to darkness and find comfort in it. That’s were he belonged after all.
Your weakness, said the voice with venom dropping from it’s fangs.
“Shut up,” he pressed through his teeth, shoved down his pants and reached between his legs. A moan, a soft sigh. He bent his spine, opened his legs, pushed his hips forward and clawed at his own flesh.
Oh, this pain was sweet and it lingered.
There was light in the darkness, hazel eyes piercing his soul.
His breathing went flat, he pressed his heels into the mattress, pushed his hips forward, pressed his palm against the silky skin of his exposed cock. Only once, only briefly.
Weak.
A helpless groan escaped his mouth and he immediately bit his lip, suppressing a curse.
You are a monster.
He was close, so very close, already leaking, dripping wet, creating a sticky mess. He bent his spine again, thrusting his hips up in his hand, the hand she ignited with her brief touch.
His heart missed a beat, he gasped for air, completely out of rythym, but he came anyway. His vision blurred and suddenly the darkness became bright and shattering.
In his dreams she called him by his name. His old name. His dead name. In his dreams she doesn’t look at him with disgust and livid tears in her eyes.
In the weakest, most vivid moments of his dreams, she smiled because of him.