You found Kylo in the room. The room with Darth Vader's helmet. The last place you'd wanted to return. Just the thought of that relic inspired enough dread to draw a shiver--but being in its presence was another issue, entirely.

It sat in the center of the room, resting on a tiny, black table, centered in front of a wide-armed chair. It seemed reverent, almost, the arrangement, and it shot another chill to your fingertips. At least, that's what you thought was the cause. It could have been the air in the room--so cold that you swore your breath was ice. Beyond the helmet, something even stranger, if it were possible: a second table with a shallow basin dug into the center, filled with a layer of grey, clumpy dust. Like ash.

Kylo hadn't said a word since you'd entered his quarters, hadn't found your eyes, hadn't even acknowledged the sound of your feet. He loomed over the helmet, chest rising with gentle breath, hands curled to half-fists.

Being near him was enough to make your stomach flutter. And it insisted on fluttering over and over again into a wall of knives. Because it was stupid. After all--he didn't love you.

"What is it?"

His visor drifted between the mask and the ground. Silent, he reached up, thumbed the latches and pulled his own helmet from his head. He laid it on the chair and glanced back at the melted mess behind him. Your heart thudded in your chest--stars, his profile was gorgeous--and you swallowed, wrangling any weakness back into your stomach. Not now.

"Leader Snoke has determined that you are to stay with me," he said. "Permanently."

Your mouth dried to sand. "Um. What?"

"This is not a discussion." His voice was low. Dark. "You will stay here. You will serve my needs."

"What are you talking about?" After two entire weeks of suffering, this was his idea of reconciliation? No. No, it wasn't going to work like that. "I don't think so."

He faced you, brown eyes spearing you to the floor. "I've already informed you that there is no discussion to be had," he said. "This is a direct command of the Supreme Leader."

"I don't give a fuck what you say," you replied. "Or what the Supreme Leader says, for that matter." You shrugged. "I'm not going to do something just because you tell me to."

He frowned. "You don't have a choice."

"Okay," you said. "Watch me." Before you could turn and go, your muscles locked, your body suspended in animation. He'd halted you, sticking you with intangible tethers from his outstretched hand.

"No." He advanced on you, a predator cornering his prey. "We're not done yet."

Growling, you fought at your invisible restraints, daggers spitting from your eyes. "What is this even about, Kylo? What do you want from me?"

Head tilting, he scanned your body, something distant glowing in the roots of his irises. Silence hung between you, heavy with the weight of unrequited, reluctant love. You hated that--that even though you'd spent hours shedding rivers over the man, you still wilted at the slightest indication of affection. That even though he'd brought you here for no other purpose but to use you, an ember of hope still breathed in the pit of your chest. Stepping toward you, he spoke.

"What do you know about the Force?"

"What?"

"The Force. What do you know."

"Uh. Not a whole lot, I guess," you said. "I know you fuck around with it. Use it inappropriately."

Kylo glanced back at the helmet before stealing another step. "What do you know about that?"

That--Darth Vader? Was this a pop fucking quiz? "Uh, I don't know. I mean, even if you do understand the intentions of the First Order and the Empire, he's not a great guy, pretty fucking awful, really--"

"He's my grandfather."

Saliva and breath lodged in your throat, and you gagged, lids snapping open and jaw dropping. You dug through the canyons of your brain for a pithy response--but none came.

"W-what? He... what? Are you... Is this a joke? You're joking?"

Not a twitch of muscle betrayed him.

You blinked, eyes cast to the floor, mind flying at lightspeed while you sought to reconcile this with your reality. Kylo Ren--the Commander of the First Order, the Jedi Killer, the man, the most beautiful and incredible enigma you'd ever encountered--this same person was the grandson of the Darth Vader? You would have shaken your head--but you were stuck--so it continued to spin, continued to assault you with questions that you didn't want answers to. What did that mean? Why did you love him? How could you love him? In what universe did you have a future with him, anyway?

"Darth Vader is your--"

"Do you know the catalyst of his downfall?"

"Um. No."

Stone-faced, Kylo pivoted, slow steps bringing him over to the table of ash. Under the white ceiling lamps, you saw the muscles in his back ripple, saw the tensing of his biceps--even under his robes. He meandered around the basin, staring into it and gathering a veil of dust onto a gloved finger. Then he stopped, pensive, studying his hand while he rolled the ash against his thumb, grey particles fading to motes of light.

"Sentiment."

You swallowed again. "Uh. Okay?"

"His weakness was his compassion for his son." His eyes burned holes into your skull. "Love."

The words fell out of your mouth before you could stop them. "Love is a weakness. Wow."

"Yes."

Did he just drag you into his quarters to review the fact that he didn't love you? None of what he was saying explained why Snoke allegedly ordered your presence--and every second you spent in his proximity was another pop to the stitches you'd been sewing into your heart. And yet, there was a part of you--a part you hated, deep and desperate--that wanted to drop to your knees and give him ownership of your body, give him everything and anything he asked for, as long as he'd have you. But you beat that part of you into a bloody submission, for now. He didn't deserve it. Maybe he really never did.

"Okay. Can I go?"

Frowning, he moved toward you, dragging his fingers along the rim of the ash bowl. "No."

You rolled your eyes. "What do you want, Kylo? I don't have time for this. I told you weeks ago I was tired. I'm leaving."

Raising a brow, he tilted his head. "No, you're not."

"Yeah," you said. "Pretty sure I am."

Kylo's jaw tensed, and he stared at you before he turned back to the mask, circling it, light casting a bright shimmer over the thick waves of his hair. He circled it again, his forehead wrinkled in thought, robes swaying at his ankles. Then he stopped. The room seemed emptier without the muffled scuff of his boots.

"The Supreme Leader was certain my preoccupation with you was a hindrance to my training in much the same way."

"Preoccupation," you said. "Wow."

"Yes, preoccupation. A distraction. A weakness. But my grandfather..." He paused. "His power was..." His lip twitched, as if he were remembering something. "It's possible for passion to become a strength."

You wanted to shrug, but you were still frozen. So you said nothing.

"Thoughts of you. Your body. Your voice. You..." He met your eyes, something confident inside of his gaze. "Everything is clearer. More potent."

Anxiety was coiling into a tangled ball in your belly. What was he trying to say?

Kylo turned his attention back to the helmet. His voice was stoic. Hollow. "So I discussed it with Supreme Leader. At length." Pausing, he blinked. "Passion is fuel for my power." A long finger drew a line across the makeshift altar, his eyes trailing behind it. "You will be my fuel."

With that, he released you, movement and emotion flooding back to you with equal force, chest filling with a barrel of harsh, crystal air. You cleared your throat, wiping your shaky palms on your pants, surveying your surroundings once again. He'd called you fuel. Your mouth fell into a frown, your lungs attempting to catch breath through the durasteel wall of your fear. Swallowing, you straightened your back.

"Fuel?"

"Yes." Kylo strode toward you, a black tower, shrinking you with every step. His face was flat--but sincere. "Supreme Leader has determined it. You will stay with me. Act as my conduit."

"Conduit."

"Correct." The distance closed between you in two more steps, his eyes searching your face. "The conduit to my strength."

A pause, and a laugh, stifled by disbelief. "So I'm--I'm what? Fuel? A conduit?" Then another laugh--louder, more derisive. "Kylo. Do you... do you love me?"

His face screwed in confusion, like he hadn't told you to leave when you'd accidentally, regrettably confessed. "That's irrelevant."

"What?" Your cheeks blazed, your chin quivering. "How is it fucking irrelevant?"

Kylo tilted his head again, like your question had genuinely baffled him. His brow drew low over his eyes as his gaze turned to the floor, scrutinizing the lines of tile. "Passion is a visceral, physical response. You are asking me if I retain sentiment." He cocked a brow, fixing his stare back on yours. "I do not."

Though you'd been expecting it, his response was no less of a sword through your chest, his words slicing any light of relief or rescue into tattered ribbons in your intestines, stealing every hint of air from the depths of your lungs. Of course he didn't love you. What delusion had you been maintaining?

You nearly doubled over--perhaps the sword had actually been stuck through your gut--but chose to hold firm, ignoring the temptation to let another round of tears spill from your eyes. Instead, you sucked in a breath through your nose, locked your jaw, and shrugged.

"Okay then, dude," you said, turning. "I'm going to go."

A large hand seized your arm, pinching the flesh, and he whipped you around to face him, his eye twitching. "You cannot go."

You growled, trying to jerk away, flames spreading down your neck. "The fuck do you mean, I can't go? I can do whatever the fuck I want, asshole."

"Your purpose has already been decided."

"Fuck you," you sneered, yanking back, but to no avail. "I don't have a fucking purpose! Now let me go!"

He scowled, squeezing you tighter, tugging you toward him as he hissed your name. "This is what you wanted."

"What I wanted?" You scoffed, rolling your eyes again. "To be fuel? A conduit? No." Glaring, anger and pain coalesced to a black, sticky ooze in your heart. "I'm still nothing but a fucking object to you, Kylo. And that's all I'll ever be." A long, solemn breath left your lungs. "Now let. Me. Go."

His fingers burrowed into your muscles. "No."

Your struggle evolved in a full-on flail, your limbs flying in the air as you tried to throw yourself into the wall just to loosen his grip. But every inch of progress you achieved seemed like a voluntary concession on his part, all the while perspiration built under your arms and your muscles ached from exertion. He was an anchor, cementing you in your place, hand like a cuff around your arm. Wild, almost spitting, you caught his gaze, teeth bared in a challenge--but he was impassive, like he was waiting for you to expend what little energy you had. And you knew he could outlast you, too. There was no contest there.

"How long do you intend on doing this?" he asked.

Panting, you stilled, free hand pushing away the sweaty tendrils of hair that had stuck to your forehead. "Tell me you love me."

Kylo was silent, chest falling in a soft exhale, eyes sweeping your body. He blinked, and his fingers released your arm, peeling from your flesh one by one. His hand floated back to his side, face empty. Blank.

"No."

Rage flashed over you--so bright and so hot that it made your hand crack his cheek, leaving your own skin stinging. Your shoulders rose with shocked breath, wide eyes piercing his, your lips furled in a snarl. He didn't respond, his face still inscrutable, the only indicator of his anger the spasm of muscle under his nose. But that wasn't enough. You needed a reaction. A real one.

"Don't be mad." You smirked. "I know you like that shit."

Leather scrunched in the dead air when his fists tightened, his eyes narrowing while he inched his foot toward you.

"If I'm not mistaken," he said, "so do you."

Heat wiggled into your belly, born of mischief, spite, and arousal--the very same culprits responsible for the words that left your mouth.

"I fucking dare you."

Before you even saw his hand, pain ripped through you, starting at your cheek and echoing across your face, your head wobbling while you fought to recover from the intensity of his slap. When you regained focus, the room merging back into one, solid image, you grinned, wiping the dribble of drool from your chin. Kylo's eyes were red with lust and wrath--and against your better judgement, a pulse of longing resonated between your thighs.

"Asshole!" You wound back, aiming for his other cheek, but a large, leather hand snatched your wrist mid-air--and you grunted. "Fucker!" You tried again, swinging your other arm, but he was too quick, gripping you in a vice, crushing your joints as he wrenched you to his body--warm and firm and strong.

At first, you thought the swelling at your breast was you, breathing too hard and too fast. But then you saw his chest huffing, and looked up to see his nostrils flaring, his pupils swallowing his irises--and before you could spit for him to let you go, Kylo twisted your arms behind your back, scorching your lips with a hot, furious kiss.

He'd thrust you into the fire, and your body crackled to life, skin sparking with golden cinders while your muscles and nerves drank in his desire. His tongue was aggressive, fighting its way past the rim of your mouth, and you snapped your head away, cutting his lower lip between your teeth, biting until you heard him hiss in pain, his hips jerking into yours. Growling, he gathered your wrists in one of his large hands, his other hand winding in your hair and tearing it back to expose your throat.

"You will obey me," he growled, and smothered your skin with his mouth.

You whimpered and squirmed while he nipped at your neck, teeth raising rows of flesh as he dragged them down your heartbeat. He grunted, latching onto you and sucking broken capillaries to existence, littering you with his possession. His hips rocked into you, the bulge between his legs becoming more noticeable with every passing second, sending tiny bolts of lightning up your thighs. Another grunt, and he moved to the other side of your neck, hungry to consume any inch of your skin his eyes could catch.

"You will stay," he murmured, words almost lost between his busy lips.

You swallowed, feeling the knot in your throat bob against his mouth. "Fuck you."

"Still so stubborn." Kylo kissed his way up your neck, nibbling at your lobe, his voice rumbling in your ear. "But I know what you like, slut."

A shiver crested over you, and you suppressed the traitorous moan in your chest. "Fuck. You."

He snickered. "If you insist."

His hands released you, but before you could shove him off, he'd captured your lips with his, drawing a breath through his nose while he ripped open your shirt. When the buttons clattered to the floor, you gasped, prying away from him.

"Jackass! Now what will I wear?"

"Don't care," he replied, kissing his way back to your mouth. "Want to keep you here."

Grumbling, you dodged his lips, writhing as you drove the heels of your palms into his shoulders. You grimaced, trying to summon adrenaline to your aid, but you were fruitless, your movement only succeeding in making it easier for him to tear the last of your top. Your torso now revealed, leather hands sought to grapple with every bit of bare skin, printing goosebumps into your flesh while his tongue wet a line to your clavicle.

"Ugh!" You grasped two fistfuls of his hair, tugging at his scalp, eliciting a stifled moan from his throat. "Get the fuck off!"

To your surprise, he listened to you, and pulled back with a wet smack. His fingers drilled into your sides, his eyes fixated on yours, and his ribs expanded with needy breath. He was watching you, waiting for your next move, cheeks tinged pink. Your desperation for him sunk like claws into your heart, choking you with its heat, urging you to submit, to strip yourself of your dignity, to leech whatever affection you could from his lips. But he'd said it again. He didn't love you.

"Fuck you!" you said, striking him across the face. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" Every curse was accompanied by a blow to the cheek--blows that didn't seem to faze him, but left his skin redder, and his breath faster. Your palm prickled from your efforts, and you bit your tongue. One last slap. "Fuck you!"

Pain needling your hand, you stopped, strained air panting through your parted mouth. Kylo was still silent, his jaw tense, hands shaking as he crushed your sides. You didn't love him. You hated him. Hated his stupid, beautiful face, his well-muscled frame, his pretty lips and amber eyes. You hated his strength, his warmth, the soothing roll of his voice, the solid safety of his body. You hated that he made you smile, that he made you weak, that he infiltrated your brain and overrode every sensible inclination you had. Most of all, you hated that he'd left you like this--shattered, seething, and so, so alone.

You couldn't play this game anymore--you felt it in the bed of your soul. Yet the longing for him was undeniable. If you were going to do this, you figured, you might as well make it on your terms. Even if it did make things more difficult.

"Fuck you," you said, and pulled his lips to yours.

Both of you raked over the other's scalp with fervent fingers, his hands nearly enveloping your face, returning your passion. You groaned, fisting his hair, your teeth scraping and clacking, seeking to devour each other. Tongues wrestled like snakes, his mouth hot and wet and moaning into you as your bodies moved in unison--he was walking you back, back, your mind too intoxicated to count the steps, until your butt hit the rim of something hard and cold.

Before you could see what it was, he grabbed your thighs and hoisted you onto the edge. His hands found your hair again, tightening around two handfuls before jerking your head back, his hips pushing open your thighs as he wedged his way between your legs. Groaning, you entwined your calves around the backs of his knees, and he huffed.

"I'm going to make you cum so many times that your filthy mouth won't be able to say anything but my name."

You sneered. "I'd love to see you try."

Kylo leaned over, purring his baritone into your ear. "Keep taunting me and I'll make it hurt."

"Go ahead," you said. "Do it."

He growled, unhooking your feet from his legs, and he clutched your hips, flipping you over and pushing you down, smashing you face-first into the ash pile. So that's where you'd been sitting. Dust clogged your lungs when you inhaled, and you panicked, trying to scramble off. But Kylo held you still with a hand pressed to your back, his other hand working your hips into the air. You tried to push off again, but he was too strong--so you sneezed, spurting a cloud of ash out across the table.