"Kylo?"

His name was croaked in between a thick slab of sleep, before your eyes even opened to a curtain of black air. It had taken a moment for you to even speak, to even realize where you were and what was happening: Kylo Ren's bedroom. You'd fallen asleep hours earlier. And he was next to you--twitching, whimpering, his breath skipping in his chest.

Brain leaping out of its coma, you reached for his shoulder, recoiling when sweat stuck your palm to his skin--he was naked from the waist up. You went to touch him again, grasping at the veils of perspiration. Every part of him was tense--his muscles woven and locked together, tendons jutting from his arms as you mapped his skin. When he didn't stir, your heart reared into hyperdrive. You needed to wake him up.

"Kylo," you murmured into the darkness.

You received no response--only more spasming. He was shuddering the bed.

"Kylo," you said again, urgency sneaking into the edges of your voice. A tentative hand gripped his shoulder, gave it a shake.

Silence.

Frowning, you pushed him harder, wanting to rock him into reality--but he was a human stone in your hands. Even if his body was present, his mind was hostage somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Somewhere very, very unpleasant.

Blood surged through your veins, your fingers trembling as your eyes adjusted to the lack of light. What were you supposed to do? Did youwant to be on the receiving end of his anger at whatever was doing that to him? A tiny, distant part of your mind chirped up: maybe I should leave. But when he gasped in his sleep, shrinking to a ball of fear, you smacked some sense into yourself. Your heart was fracturing with the simple knowledge of his pain--it would have been impossible to abandon him in it.

So you held your breath and plugged your digits into the muscles between his shoulders, jerking him like dead weight. "Kylo." Nothing. "Kylo! Wake up!"

It happened all at once--the thunder-jolt of his body, muscles snapping like elastic as he flung himself forward, punctuated by a serrated, foreign sound, shredding its way out of his throat. It had all the qualities of a scream, but from his mouth, you couldn't reconcile it--couldn't reconcile the man you'd known with such a terrified, desperate noise.

You reached again, brushing your fingers over his arm, and he flinched, pouncing you into the bed, his hand clutching your neck, digits digging into the arteries. His lips were pinched in determination, and his eyes met yours--they were wide and empty, glazed over with a lifeless haze. Swallowing against his palm, you tapped his wrist, choking out a plea.

"Kylo, it's me," you said. "It's me."

Something inside of him shattered, and he released you, looking between his hands and your neck before scrambling backwards, snatching a pillow and flinging it into the far wall with a grunt. His back crested like a feral animal, swelling with the shallow waves of his breath. Hopeful that he'd come down, you tested the air.

"Kylo--"

Snarling, he threw himself from the bed, stalking up and down the room, mumbling to himself, before he spun, grabbing his helmet and lobbing it like a boulder, howling from the depths of his chest. It slammed the same wall, crashed to the floor, and you winced, tugging the sheets to your body. He bent at the waist, eyes darting around the room as if he'd lost his target--and then his head fell to his chest, hands to his knees. Frightened breath leaked into the silence.

"Why?" Kylo's voice was raw, laced with simmering anger. A sharp inhale, and the simmer became a boil--he roared, raking his digits over his scalp. "Why is this still happening!" A convulsion resonated through his bones, a strangled gasp wracking his ribs. Even in the blue darkness, you could see the fists in his hair tighten, thick waves coiled like wires in his fingers.

Your muscles were malfunctioning. Every movement you asked them to make died somewhere mid-synapse. A quivering chin functioned as the only evidence that you were, indeed, alive. Claws constricted your heartbeat--you wanted to reach out. To soothe him. You wanted to know the right thing to do.

"W-why is... why is what happening?" It was the only thing that would leave your mouth.

But he was wordless, catching more convulsions in his chest, sucking in air through his nose, his hands falling from his hair to press their heels into his eyes. He groaned.

"It was supposed to make things easier." Another growl. "This doesn't make sense."

"Hey, man," you said, keeping your tone soft, "it's okay--"

"No," he said. "It's not." He crumbled to his knees, hands falling to brace the ground, fingers scratching at the tile like it would bunch into his palms. "It's not. I killed him. I killed him, and nothing's changed. It didn't work. It didn't work!"

Kylo snarled once more, pounding a fist into the floor with a fleshy thud, and then he did it again. And again. And again and again and again, until you heard a crack--from his hand or the ground, you weren't sure--and he wailed in frustration, his arm quaking, elbows attempting to buckle. Your mind was a clutter of confusion and fear--behind the desire to ease his pain, you were now bombarded with questions you weren't sure you wanted answered. Even still, after his breath started to slow, you found yourself trying anyway.

"You... you, um, you killed someone?"

His face was hidden behind the sweaty nest of his hair. "Yes," he said. "It should... Supreme Leader..." He grunted, shaking his head. "Why didn't it work?"

"Who, uh, who did you kill?" You had no clue what you were doing. You just wanted to keep him talking.

The question brought a thick spread of silence, anyway. But you saw his hands kneading the solid floor, saw his chest still with motionless lungs. He was thinking. After a minute, he shook with a laugh--either pride or disgust.

"My father." His voice was duller than death. "I killed my father."

Knives speared your chest. What? How were you supposed to respond to that? "You killed your father."

Another laugh, echoing through his bones. "I killed him," he said. "It didn't work. I killed him. It didn't work." Laughter was wracking his body, now, and his elbows folded, his head burying into his arms as they toppled to the tile. His back heaved with throttled pain as he tried to bottle his cries, muffled by his own flesh.

It was a mixture of instinct and fear that had you crawl from the bed and creep over the floor before you sank down in front of him. He hadn't yet shed a tear--he was fighting back his sobs with every single red fiber of his being. Tipping him in any direction might splinter him to pieces. But you had to do something. Words were useless--so you pushed a hand into the damp mats of his hair, skimming your nails over his scalp.

He hiccupped. "Why?"

Face twisting with uncertainty, you resolved to keep petting him. While your heart was prepared to plummet from your throat into the floor, your brain was trapped in a tempest. He killed his father. Something didn't work. He killed his father? What was he talking about? What had you gotten yourself into?

"W-why what?"

Kylo lifted his head, looking up at you, eyes misted with fear and exhaustion. "I'm so weak."

Hairline webs of panic tore your heart into sharp, jagged shards, and you captured his face between your hands, palms burning from the heat of his heavy cheeks. There was nothing, now-- no hesitation, no confusion. He needed you. And you were there.

"No," you murmured, stroking his skin with your thumbs. "No, no, no."

"It's not supposed to hurt." Every new word chipped away at his stony facade. "But it still hurts."

You blinked away the water in your vision, looking into him, through him, searching for something in the black canyons of his eyes. "What hurts?"

Thousands of invisible restraints popped at once, and his face broke, lids pinching shut, mouth curling into an open, wretched frown, his cheeks crimson. "Everything," he whimpered--and then everything else broke, too. Tears raced like rivers over his cheeks, collecting in the wells of your palms, as a long-awaited, gasping sob ripped through him. "Everything!"

At the same time he went to jerk away, you pulled him forward, plunging him into the valley between your naked breasts, cradling his head as he tumbled into a pile of weeping, intangible wounds. It only took a few moments before his arms curled around you, too, his face pressing into your body as every ounce of pain tried to flee his flesh at once. Each gulp he took rattled him, air escaping only in the forms of wet, open, wails, All you could think to do was to turn your fingers to needles through his hair, and all that would leave your mouth was pointless, witless whispering.

"Shh," you cooed. "Shh..."

If he cared or even noticed that you were nude, he didn't show it. He sniffled and groaned into your skin, streaking it with tears and saliva--but you didn't care, not as long as he felt he could hold you, hook his fingers into your flesh, anchor himself to you like a ship caught in a storm. For as little as you understood, you found yourself realizing you couldn't feel more grateful that he'd chosen you as his pillar.

The moments were long, immeasurable--but eventually, his muscles trembled with fatigue, his lungs huffed with weary breath, and the reservoir of his tears had dried up. He was drained. The only things left pumping through him were blood and shame.

Sighing, you seized his face in your hands again, pulling him up, angling his gaze toward yours. You saw evidence of the kindling for his rage, doused by the waterfall of regret and hopelessness. They'd left puddles behind--pools of shadowed anxiety lingering in the backdrop of his reddened, watery eyes.

"You're strong." You ruffled a section of mussy hair. "It's okay."

He blinked. "No."

You weren't going to play this game. "Yes." His forehead was cold when you kissed it. "Yes."

"N-no." He was relenting. Almost.

Nodding, you pressed a kiss to his nose. "Yes." Then you pushed your own nose against his. "Yes."

His eyes barely focused on yours, now, they were so close--but neither of you broke the stare for even a nanosecond. "No," he whispered. You felt his breath on your lips, the movement of his mouth, millimeters from yours. "No."

"Yes," you insisted, and brushed your sensitive lips over his. "Yes."

Kylo closed his lids, shivering. "Yes."

And then his mouth was on yours, soft and swollen, his body shifting while he rose to his knees. You rose with him, his hands gliding up your back to grip the sides of your face, to hold you in place as he worked your lips with a deep, slow, deliberance. He wasn't just hungry. He wassuffocating--every kiss breathing life into his lungs.

He moaned, moving from your mouth to allow you some air, lips lining kisses down your neck, wet prints drying on your skin, until he found your breasts. When he reached them, he pulled away, admiring them like you'd stolen his innocence. One hand slid from your face to your tit, pushing and prodding at the pliant flesh. When your nipples hardened in response to his touch, he swallowed, and dove in, sucking one of the stiffened buds into his mouth.

Air hitched in your throat, but you hummed in satisfaction, combing through his hair, watching him while he kneaded your breast and suckled your nipple until it was fat between his teeth. His tongue teased the tip, another moan escaping him when you mewled in response.

"Kylo," you purred, biting your lip when his eyes flicked to yours.

But something made him stop when he gazed at you, your plump peak falling from his mouth--he inhaled shakily and faltered again, whimpering as he pressed his warm cheek to your sternum. His hands gripped you like you'd evaporate, the muscles in his shoulders hardening to steel while he beat away another round of sobs.

"I-I don't..." He staved off a shudder. "You're still here."

You nodded, tracing whorls into the topography of his back. "I am."

If you were being honest, you still had no inkling of what you were supposed to be doing or thinking. You wanted to just exist--for him--but a part of you couldn't shake the notion that he'd killed his father. The thought sunk like a brick to the bottom of your heart.

His fingers bit your skin--he'd heard you. Fuck. Might as well not waste time pretending, then. You sighed.

"W-why... why did you, um. Do..."

Kylo sniffled, leaning back, his brow furrowed as he forced you to meet his gaze. "He was a coward." A long, slow exhale left him. "He hated who I was." His throat bobbed when he swallowed, suppressing another breakdown. "I thought... I don't..." He growled, driving the heels of his hands back into his eyes. "It didn't fix anything!"

Before he gave out, you grabbed him, yanking him back against your chest, ghosting digits through his hair as you shushed him. He vibrated as he corked the dam of sorrow inside of his chest, and clutched your flesh in his shaking hands.

"I am," he muttered. "I'm a monster."

"No," you replied, the word shocking you as it left your mouth. You realized, then: yes, he'd made mistakes. Many of them. But seeing him like this--you didn't care. You wanted to forgive them all. "You're a man."

He peeled his face from your chest, staring up at you. Blinking his glossy eyes, his brow knitted in confusion. "Say it again."

"A man," you said. "A man. You're a man."

A long pause, his gaze piercing you, studying you, waiting to catch a hint that you were lying. But you knew what he was hearing--because it was in your head, too. And you knew he was coming up empty.

"Say it again."

You swallowed. "A ma--"

Kylo's lips smothered yours, his kiss desperate and needy, his hands groping at your breasts and sliding down to your ass, caressing and massaging every exposed expanse of skin they could find. You groaned into his open mouth, pushing your tongue past his teeth, pressing your palms to his chest as you pushed him into sitting on his heels. The room was emptied of any noise but the slick smacks of your lips and the quiet grunts of your mounting arousal.

Gasping, he pulled away, lips shining with spit. "You... why..." He glanced at the floor, eyes flooding again. "I don't understand."

Against anything that made sense, you blushed. "Kylo..." You took his chin in your hand. "Lie on the bed."

He paused--you were afraid you'd said the wrong thing--but without a word, he rose, pacing over to the bed and spreading himself on top of it. You drank in his every move, not failing to notice the massive tent in his tight bottoms. Grinning, you pulled yourself to your feet, climbing onto the mattress and straddling him, pressing your already wet cunt onto his bulge. He groaned, bucking his hips--he must have felt it, too--and you planted your palms onto his broad, strong chest.

Kylo's quaking hands circled your wrists. His face was pulled tight with fear. "You're so beautiful." Tears slipped down to his ears, his lips quivering.

"It's okay." You broke from his grip, wiping away the streams that had sullied his cheeks. "I'm here."

You bent down, cupping his cheek in your hand, gracing his nose with a kiss, and then shifted to his mouth, your lips touching once, twice, three times before you locked together, sucking in air through your nostrils as you melted into him. He whimpered, clutching your head, holding you to him as he thrust his tongue over yours, seeking to steal your words and brand you with desire. Moaning, you braced against his chest, rocking your pelvis, grinding down onto his covered cock, and he held you tighter, meeting you stroke for stroke, swallowing your kiss like he needed it to breathe.

With one hand still caressing his face, the other slithered down his chest, over his flat stomach, to the top of his clothed dick. Grunting, you popped the top of his length out from his bottoms, and he groaned into your mouth, the strain having been relieved. Your digits pinched and squeezed at the tip, smearing precum around the slit and under the ridge of the head, heart flitting when he twitched in your grip. Kylo pushed you off, gasping, eyes falling straight to your tits.

His large hand skated over your skin, back to your breast, rolling it in his long fingers. "Beautiful." He examined the supple give in his palm, the response of your nipple, and met your gaze. "I want you..."

You grinned, leaning over, guiding his head toward your chest. "Then have me."

When the pad of his finger grazed the bud, you squeaked, and that was enough for him--he jerked you forward, sealing his lips around it.

Heat flooded your body, now, and you moaned, digits returning to his hair, chest arching into the firmness of his hands, the wet warmth of his mouth. His lips were a vacuum, his digits pushing into your flesh, like he'd draw something from your tit if he suckled and kneaded hard enough.

"That's it," you whispered. "Don't stop..."

Your words emboldened him, and he pinched your nipple between his teeth, flicked it with his tongue, trying to suck it into the back of his throat, earning him a string of squeals. He was becoming more aggressive by the second--one hand was bruising your breast, the other growing roots into your thigh as he snapped his hips up into yours.

Every twitch and jerk of his cock made you clench, and your fingers started to pull the rest of his length free, your hand running over his hot, smooth skin as you revealed it, inch by inch. You wrapped your digits around it, rubbing, and he finally released your tit with a groan.

"Lie back." You pumped his cock faster. "Let me take care of you."

Kylo whined your name, his head plopping onto the pillows. His dick was pulsing, throbbing in your palm.

"Shh," you said. "Doesn't it feel good to just let me stroke you like this?" You swirled your thumb around the tip, painting more precum down his shaft. "Don't you like letting me play with your cock?"

He nodded, whimpering your name again, thrusting gently into your fist.

"You're so good..." You gripped him tighter, pushing the skin to the head, twisting your wrist. "You're so hard for me, so big." A smirk pulled at your lips. "I bet you want to slide this cock into my pussy, don't you?"

His lids shut tight, and he nodded again, his hands grasping at your hips as he groaned.

"Yeah?" You jerked his dick faster. "You want me to clench around you? You want to feel how wet and tight and warm I am?"

"Yes," he finally admitted, grimacing in pleasure.

You were panting, now, pounding his cock. "You want to feel me clamp down on your cock when I cum? Want me to fuck you until you cum inside of me?" His shaft was slick and loud with his own fluid. "Is that what you want, hm? To fill my pussy up with your cum?"

He cried out in frustration. He was close. "Yes, yes!" More than anything, he didn't want to cum. Not yet. Not in your hand. "Please--please!"