There was a noise that wasn't there before, you noticed, still half-asleep. You rubbed your eyes and sat up, noticing how unforgiving sleeping on his study floor really was as your muscles groaned, and as your spine dug into the dense carpet you could tell without a shadow of a doubt that there was hardwood floor underneath it. You propped yourself on your elbow, wincing. How in the hell your biceps in particular managed to get so sore, you weren't sure, but you couldn't put anything past Kylo anymore.
You stood on shaking legs, reminding yourself of a newborn deer, unsteady and trembling. For a split-second you searched around for your clothes but gave up the second you saw the state of the study. Articles of clothing were strewn everywhere; you weren't sure what belonged to who. Books and papers scattered lifelessly across the room, strewn on the floor, lost, from where Kylo had knocked them all down. That damned shattered frame. Lost, broken glass.
You felt your brow furrow as you stepped over the glass to exit the study. The noise, a low, muffled hissing, was coming from down the hall. You followed it, eyes still adjusting to the darkness, as you approached Kylo's bedroom.
The door was open a crack and the lights were off, you noticed, and slipped inside. Once there, the source of the noise was clear: running water. There was a dim light bathing the left side of the room. Slinking along the wall, you came to the master bath, the door opened a few inches, the sound of streaming shower droplets now completely unmistakable.
He was facing away from you, forearms pressed against the stone wall of his shower. Holding your breath, you watched streams of clear water roll down the muscular expanse of his back. He still looked tense, his head bowed forward, breath coming in uneven heaves. Your heart clenched in its cage for him, and you stepped forward. He hadn't bothered to shut the glass door, you noticed, and the water lightly misted the tops of your bare feet.
You weren't sure why he'd needed to exile himself to the shower, but he didn't look well. A part of you hoped you could fix this, believed you actually could. Your biggest fear wasn't that you'd fail. It was that you'd make it worse. Had you? And what had you expected—that you'd come over, you'd fuck, and everything would be as it was before, only better?
You stepped forward, outstretching your arm, gentle fingers, to touch the skin at the small of his back. He must have heard you coming. You couldn't imagine how that was possible; perhaps he had sensed you. It was eerie, the way you and him seemed to be connected. The way your lives seemed to be so impossibly interlaced.
"Don't," he growled over his shoulder.
You froze, only for a moment, but dropped your hand. The last thing you wanted to do was to touch him, not when you didn't know what he was thinking or feeling. Not when you didn't know how mangled he was on the inside. Not when you didn't know how bad it was.
"Kylo," you breathed. "I think we should talk."
"Talk?" he spat, nearly turning around. He stopped himself at the last minute, facing back towards the wall. You could see the way he trembled as he stood rigid and adamant and completely unyielding, as always. "There's nothing to talk about. I didn't ask to talk to you. I didn't ask you to come here."
That was enough to shatter you from the inside out.
Your lower lip trembled, but you lifted your chin nonetheless, trying to trick yourself into feeling strength that wasn't there. Had you completely misread this? You'd thought you were taking a leap. Taking your fate, your fate together, into your own hands. You knew it was a lot, how it could have come across, showing up at his house and expecting answers. But he'd done it to you, so wasn't it only fair? And wouldn't you only have come if you were positive beyond a shadow of a doubt that somewhere deep inside of him, he felt love for you? That he felt something?
But maybe "something" wasn't enough. Maybe love wasn't enough. Maybe love was impossible. Maybe nothing about this was possible. Maybe you'd tried all the cards you'd been dealt. And maybe it was time to put them away.
But then, something happened. Just as you were deciding that it was better that you left and never came back, never bothered him again, never let him bother you again either, something happened, something big enough to change everything, maybe the first step that you needed from him.
He turned. Finally, Kylo turned to face you, pressing his back against the wall but hanging his head, exasperated and tired. Thick, long locks of impossibly dark hair hung over, too, shielding his face, but perhaps that was a good thing. You didn't know if you could stomach the expression he wore.
He shook his head.
With his back still pressed against the wall, Kylo brought up a tense arm, fisting his balled hand against the wall so forcefully you feared his bones would shatter. The sound of the weight of his strike reverberated across the room, filling it with a sound that made you wince. From deep within the expanse of his body, he released something between a grunt and a throaty howl. His voice ripped on the way out, and it made you think of rocks and tearing muscle. You held your breath, standing frozen in your tracks. Maybe he needed to punch the wall. Maybe he needed to scream. But what could you possibly do to help him?
He shook out his fist, likely feeling the pain from punching the wall yet again. He was breathing heavily, wet strands of hair strewn across his brow and his eyes.
"I didn't fucking ask for this," he shouted. "I didn't ask for this."
You still hadn't taken a single breath as he slid defeatedly down the wall, legs and spirit finally giving out. Small streams of water sprayed across his body, his face. He didn't seem to care, or even notice. You realized the muscles of your throat were completely constricted by your own tension and stress as you watched him, heart quivering but pulse soaring. You could have sworn it was ready to give out on you altogether. He sat with one leg outstretched, the other bent at the knee, head still bowed low. Face still shielded. Rage still rolling off of him in waves but simmering lowly, now. His breathing began to even out. His voice was low and hoarse when he finally spoke again.
"I didn't ask to love you."
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you exhaled, breath nearly choking you on its way out.
You couldn't believe what you were hearing. In fact, you were sure that you'd misheard him altogether, but that was okay. He didn't need to say it again. He didn't need to clarify. He didn't need to divulge. Not right now. Not tonight. Maybe he never would.
Maybe he'd never be able to.
Maybe it didn't matter.
Silently, you took a step forward, letting the cool water of the shower bathe over you, too, slowly drenching your body. You sank to your knees at his side. He didn't lift his gaze. That was alright, too. You knew, as you drew himself to his level, so close to him, that you would defend him. You weren't sure what there was to defend. He'd exiled himself, years ago, from his own life, his own family. He'd been lost. You knew that. But you were his. Unwaveringly. Nothing, and no one, would ever harm him again.
And he wasn't fighting you anymore.
Slowly, you outstretched a palm, letting it land softly against his cheek. At a gentle, glacial pace, you drew his face back up, bringing his gaze towards yours.
You stared into his eyes, not saying anything. You didn't need to. As he stared back, eyes tired, and swimming with something that wasn't familiar on him, you knew that he understood.
You leaned in, placing a kiss on his lips with a gentleness that you almost didn't recognize in yourself anymore. You half expected him to turn away from you, but he didn't. He stayed still, as if he wasn't sure what to do. As if he wasn't sure what he wanted you to do. He was stiff at first, perhaps wanted to turn you away because not only had he not asked to love you, but that you were positive he didn't want to. But you kept your eyes squeezed shut, keeping your lips and your hand against his cheek gentle and patient.
You loved him. You didn't need to say it; you were showing him. And you waited desperately for the moment he heard you, and sank into you. Somehow, you knew he would. Somehow, you knew it was what was meant to be.
You couldn't see his eyes flutter shut like the wings of a moth, couldn't see the tension leave his body. But you felt him. You felt him sink against you. You felt his lips tremble, and then part, allowing you to deepen the kiss. You shuddered at his permission, moving slowly, pressing your lips a hairsbreadth harder against him, still not enough to be considered firm. But then he moved in, too, lips molding against yours so effortlessly it was like the way you two fit together was pure fate. His palm found your cheek too, and each of you drew yourselves closer to the other. You could have stayed like that forever: your lips pressed to his and your heart finally full of a new hope of the possibility of a future together. Not even a future—just something. You balanced on the feeling, never wanted it to leave you.
Kylo pulled away gently, resting his forehead against yours. Your eyes flickered open, staring into his from mere inches away. You took him in as he was: vulnerable and broken and sad, but strong, too, and finally, remarkably, open.
"I can't," he breathed, stroking his thumb across your cheek.
"Kylo."
"I can't," he repeated, clamping his eyes shut and shaking his head. He breathed heavily, opening his eyes again only once he was ready to look at you. "I can't make you do this. You're too good," he strained through gritted teeth, his voice coming out smoother than you'd heard it before, but still tense, still so full of pain and conflict. "You're kind, and you're patient, and you're good." His palm stroked the length of your expanse, eyes boring into yours. "You deserve someone better. And I don't deserve you at all."
Your heart clenched for him, breaking at the knowledge that he didn't understand, that he didn't know he was worthy—worthy of love, of happiness. And in truth, it wasn't about what either of you deserved. It was about the truth—that you would love him, unconditionally, regardless of what either of you thought you were deserving of.
You cupped his face with both hands and closed your eyes, holding him against you as if you could wordlessly transfer everything you were feeling, every complex sensation, every agonizing moment you'd experienced without him over the past months, all without saying anything. You pictured all of it, all of it, as if you could pass it on to him.
"You deserve love," you whispered, voice shuddering. "And I love you."
He was silent and still. You shook your head too, forehead still pressed against his.
"You don't have to say anything. I don't need you to say anything else. I just need you to know. I need you to know that you deserve to be loved, and to feel it."
His fingers moved, then--gentle fingers that brushed your hair off your forehead and stroked the side of your face.
Then, he pulled you in again, lips touching yours with more force this time, like kissing you was a release, a cure, home. You sighed against him, twining your fingers in his hair. Finally, you noticed how much more relaxed he felt against your body. And you noticed that you had a chance of happiness together. That finally, the two of you had hope.
Steadily, you swung one knee over his hips, lowering yourself into a straddle on his lap. His hands twisted in your hair, and you moved yours to wrap your arms around his neck. His lips were soft but eager, chest pressed against yours. You felt your heartbeat quicken as you felt his growing stiffness pressed against you. Your pulse skyrocketed, and you shivered, eliciting slow movement from Kylo. He brought his hands down to stroke the length of your arms, as if trying to warm you. You sighed against the kiss, parting your lips to let him kiss you closer, deeper. Gently, his tongue slipped into your mouth. You shivered again as you felt him drag it against your lower lip, swiping inside, swirling with yours, making you go dizzy. If you didn't feel so secure in his arms, you couldn't have been sure you wouldn't have faltered, collapsed.
You lifted your hips to shift against his growing erection, grinding against him with slow, rolling movements. He sighed into your mouth, the vibrations whispering against your tongue. You felt yourself growing flushed and hot. But the water spraying your back was cooling and calming, and Kylo's hands kept you steady.
You deepened the kiss, reaching a hand in between your bodies to wrap your fingers against his length.
"Is this alright?" you whispered against his lips.
Curtly, Kylo nodded, inhaling sharply through his nose as you curled your fingers around him. He was fully hard, but seemed so unlike himself. It was intriguing and filled your heart, and you wanted nothing more than to just exist with him.
Your breath hitched as you lifted yourself up, chest at level with his eyes, as you held him firmly in your hand and lined up the head of his cock at your entrance. You stared down at him. For a moment, his eyes were dead-forward, focused on your breasts, but then, remarkably, he lifted his gaze, focusing it on your face instead, and you looked down at him—lips parted, pupils blown. It took your breath away. His hands were on your waist now, gently driving upwards, stroking up the length of your ribcage.
Your eyes fluttered shut as you rubbed the head of his cock against your pussy, readying yourself. You noticed how his breath hitched as you did so. Your heart fluttered at the little details.
At last, you sank yourself downward, his cock sliding into you with ease as slowly, you lowered yourself down to the base, sheathing him completely, sighing at the sensation of his size filling you. It never grew old, or tiring. Every time seemed to be better than the last.
Your chest expanded with breath as you inhaled, savoring the feeling of your walls stretching around him. His hands, wide, expansive palms, gripped you on either side of your waist, fingers so long that his thumbs rested on your ribcage. You began to move, slowly lifting yourself back up his cock, and he helped you, supporting your body as you gradually found a rhythm, riding him gently to adjust to the sensation, and to ensure that it lasted. Because you never wanted it to end.
Kylo exhaled hotly, air fanning across your face. His fingers tightened around your skin. He helped draw you up and down on his cock. It was pure perfection, pure bliss, and you couldn't help but quicken your pace.
You moved your hips against him while keeping as little distance between your bodies as possible. You wanted to touch him at every angle, every inch, and you didn't want a single sliver of skin to be parted from his. You moaned lowly, heart swelling, as you thought, over and over again, you're my home. Please let me be yours.
It was becoming more and more difficult to draw steady breath, you realized, inhaling on hitching air as you worked yourself up and down on top of him, and he rolled his hips upward to meet you halfway. And with your hand fisted in Kylo's hair as you jerked your hips, and with Kylo grunting, face buried into the crook of your neck, it became clear to you in an instant that the droplets rolling over your shoulder weren't from the shower.
Your breathing stopped altogether when you heard him inhale sharply and release on a sob. You tightened the arm around his shoulders, holding him firmly against your body, and the fingers in his hair grasped him tighter, curling around his locks, twitching violently from pleasure but attempting to stroke him gently despite the way your body was losing control.
You quickened your pace, working your thighs to fuck him harder, drawing yourself away only to drive the hair out of his eyes with stuttering fingers. Cupping his cheeks, you pressed your forehead to his, thumbs brushing away the tears on his face as you fucked yourself up and down on his cock, moaning his name as you felt his arms, at last, encircle your waist and pull you closer.
His face pressed into your neck as you continued to ride him. You still felt the wetness of tears against your skin, and lazy kisses against your collarbone. You felt your pussy flutter, and your fingers curled into his hair once more, holding him against you. You pressed your cheek to the top of his head as you worked your hips, heat pooling throughout the entire lower half of your body, moans and gasps tumbling from your lips completely unchecked as the sensation began to overwhelm you. Every time his breath hitched, every time he whimpered, you drew him more tightly against you. There was no amount of crying, no amount of tears or pain that would come close to keeping you from him. You let him burrow his face, hide away if that was what he wanted, what he needed. You had this handled. And that was enough.
"I have you," you whispered. "I have you. I have you."
He groaned, lips knowing no rhyme or reason, no process, as they dragged and trailed against your skin, kissing sporadically, warming your neck. His arms tightened around your waist. His cock throbbed and pulsed inside of you. You knew that he was close. You knew that you were close, only inches from spilling over.
You whimpered as you felt an impossible warmth drench your entire body, a sizzling that enveloped you, and your legs began to tremble, throat releasing a long moan as you rode him as quickly as you could, chasing your release, and chasing his.
"Kylo," you breathed, just as you fell over the edge.
You jaw dropped open as it finally hit you—a wave of pleasure so overwhelming that all you could feel was a hot whiteness, Kylo's lips pressed against your tear-stained neck, and his cock that pulsed and released inside of you. Ropes of cum spurted from inside your cunt, and somewhere in the mindless pleasure, you heard him groan, low and loud and raw. Fingers, nails pressing into your skin. Warmth, everywhere. You trembled through your orgasm, releasing a shattering cry as pleasure wracked your body in shudders. His arms were still around your waist. You realized your movements had slowed. Your breathing was hitched and heavy, perfectly in time with his. His fingers trailed along your back as everything slowed, as everything simmered.
You were lost in pleasure, but he brought you back. The familiarity of his fingers trailed your spine. Finally, you settled against him, relaxing your screaming muscles, every slight movement making you wince, every bit of your body sensitive from your second orgasm of the night.
Your eyes fluttered open. Kylo was already looking at you. His eyes were gentle. His cheeks were wet. Your chest was still heaving, but you brought up your hands to cup his cheeks again, thumbs brushing away the wetness.
Then, you leaned in, kissing his cheeks, kissing his eyes, kissing everywhere the tears bad been, to tell him he shouldn't be ashamed, shouldn't hide. Your body was still shaking. He noticed, hands roaming up the span of your back. Both of you—wet and cold to the touch but ignited with warmth on the inside, sat there together, your body still pressed against him, no part of you wanting to move.
He was so close, you realized that you could feel his heart beating against your own chest.
"Your heart's racing," you breathed, placing a kiss under his ear.
"Yours is, too."
You hummed softly as his fingers skimmed downwards against your skin, grazing your lower back. You relaxed against him, resting your face in the crook of his neck. You didn't need to stay like this long, but you also didn't need to move. Not yet.
Your fingers laced back into his hair, stroking him gently, so he knew you were still there. So he knew you weren't done protecting him.
But the truth was, you'd never be done protecting him. You'd protect and defend him—always.
He wasn't in exile. Not anymore.