Chapter Text
The Mirialan ambassador has been in full flow for at least an hour. Kylo is following along through an interpreter, doing his best to not fall asleep. The cultural adviser had been very clear that the best way to obtain the ore buried deep within Mirial was to ensure that the Mirialans felt honoured and respected; personally, he had been just as comfortable with the idea of going in and taking exactly what the First Order needed for its developing technology, but he had promised Rey that he would do his level best at diplomacy first.
“Supreme Leader,” says a quiet voice at his ear. He can see the grey uniform of an officer out of the corner of his eye. “You are needed in your quarters.”
Kylo gives his hand a little wave to clearly indicate: I am occupied.
“I apologise, Supreme Leader. I’m told that it’s urgent.”
The bond is calm, humming without any alarm or sense of danger, so Kylo can’t think of what could be urgent. But it’s also extremely unlike Rey to insist on his company during the day. She was, after all, the one who insisted that he had to be present for these sorts of things instead of delegating to Hux. They had fought about it until she had threatened to murder him in his sleep and take over the role herself rather than let Hux have free rein. He had decided it wasn’t worth finding out whether or not she was serious.
As he stands, the ambassador falls silent, clearly offended. Kylo attempts his best placating smile, which probably looks like a pained grimace. “I apologise. I am called away urgently and will return as soon as possible.” He may or may not actually do that, but the ambassador doesn’t need to know it.
Walking back to his quarters, he mulls over the possibilities. It has to be about Alya, but in what way? Rey had been content to wait until the end of the day for him to see the arrival of Alya’s first smile, her first day of sitting without any support, and her first stomach-shuffle-sort-of-crawl. Could she be speaking already? Perhaps she's formed her first word in all of the infant babble?
He quickens his steps to their rooms.
The guards snap to attention as he rounds the corner. He nearly bumps into Rey as he goes through the door; she is clearly waiting for him, and she immediately brings a finger to her lips with a quiet sshhhh. He cocks his head at her as she grips his arm, propelling both of them into the main room, where he can hear Alya babbling happily.
“She’s just up from her nap. Look,” Rey whispers, pointing towards the crib. They inch closer, and Kylo finally sees the source of all of this excitement.
Two blocks are floating around Alya’s head. The force hums around her, untapped but potent, holding the toys aloft. She reaches for one clumsily, burbling as she plucks it from the air and sticks a corner in her mouth to gum at it, clearly without any sense of how momentous or incredible her actions are. It is only when she feels like she’s had a proper chew at her toy that that she notices both of them watching her. The block slowly rises in the air again and her dark eyes fix on Kylo's, full of determination.
His throat feels tight. Unbearably tight. He welcomes the feeling of Rey’s fingers tangling with his, and he coughs and hopes that his voice won’t wobble when he speaks. “She’s... Strong in the force.” Just like her mother.
“I don’t think anyone is surprised,” Rey agrees. They stand and watch their little miracle until Rey breaks the silence lightly. “I’ve been thinking— I’d like to invite some other force sensitive children here, in time. To train with her.”
That gets his attention. “Absolutely not.”
“I wasn’t asking for your permission.”
He finally stops staring at Alya, now trying to eat her own toes, and frowns at Rey. She’s glaring straight ahead with a determined set to her jaw that he both recognises and doesn’t like. “You need it anyway, and I won’t give it.”
“She needs peers. It’s fine now, but what about when she’s two? Ten? Fifteen? You can’t keep us both locked on this ship forever.”
Kylo does not want to think about his daughter as a teenager. Nor does he want to think about the two of them being anywhere but on this ship, close to hand whenever he wants to see them. Rey had argued for a temporary residence on a green planet somewhere, perhaps with she and Alya spending stretches there alone, but he had absolutely ruled out that possibility. Perhaps sensing his hard line on this, Rey had backed off and never raised it again. Which is for the best, because he would do anything for her— except let her leave. “There have been two attempts on my life in the past week alone. I won’t open either of you up to that, we’ve discussed this.”
“I think the fact that we’re the best kept secret in the galaxy is not going to change if we invite some other children here to play with her.”
“You can’t know that.”
Her glare shifts to him and it immediately makes his hackles rise. “Kylo, you have four guards standing outside those doors at every hour of the day. You have spies who watch those guards. You have spies who watch those spies. You can’t let Alya be lonely for the rest of her life because something might happen.”
“I can. And if you’re that worried about her being lonely...” He takes his thumb and runs it along Rey’s jawline, letting his voice drop to a suggestive tone. “She could always have a sibling.”
She swats his hand away but there’s a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Is that your solution for everything?”
“I think it’s a good solution.”
Just as quickly, Rey’s smile fades. “You can’t put your own child in a cage, Kylo.”
He can’t begin to explain how much he fears returning to his quarters one day to find both of them lifeless, glassy eyes open but unseeing. Or missing, taken for ransom somewhere by unscrupulous people hoping to exploit his greatest weakness. “I can if it keeps both of you safe.”
“I can keep myself safe.”
She’s easily the most powerful person he knows, but it’s not enough to stop the worry. “And our eight-month-old, is she meant to protect herself as well?”
“Learning how to do that would be rather the point.” Alya must be picking up on the tension, because she starts to fuss, kicking out her legs and scrunching her face. Rey swoops in to cradle her, still glaring at him. “I did not spend thirty hours giving birth to a ridiculously big infant— her size is entirely your fault, by the way— so that she could grow up without a single person around her other than her parents.”
He remembers the awful process all too well, right down to when he lost his temper and was forcibly evicted by medical staff who decided they were more afraid of Rey than they were of him. “I’m sure we can find some children of officers—”
“Oh, good,” Rey scoffs, “children who will be told by their parents to never do anything she doesn’t like. That won't affect her behaviour. She needs peers, not little servants.”
Maybe dealing with the ambassador was simpler than this. “Have you been thinking about this for while?”
Rey runs a hand along Alya’s head, stroking the downy black hair still slowly coming in. “I wanted to see if she had the force, first. But... Yes, I have.”
“Why?”
“I know what it means to be alone.” The words come with an emotion so powerful that it radiates across the bond, a grief so deep that it would destroy anyone less resilient and stubborn than his Rey. "I wouldn't wish it on anyone."
“I—” It sucks the breath from his lungs. Something in Kylo’s own heart answers to that loneliness and he sees through her eyes, the years of waiting, the isolation, scrounging around the hulking skeletons of star-destroyers—
He can’t deny her.
So he panics instead. “I should get back to my meeting. I’ve already been away too long.”
Spinning on his heel, the head of the most fearsome military organisation in the galaxy leaves the room and flees.
It takes the entire walk back to the reception rooms for Kylo to calm down; as expected, he returns to the meeting to find that ambassador is still in full-swing. Settling into his chair, Kylo can feel the irritation growing into a headache in the base of his skull as the translator turns to him and murmurs, “as you have been absent, the ambassador is offering to reiterate what was said when you were gone.”
Kylo resists the urge to visibly rub his temples. “Can you summarise?”
“The sum we are offering is too low and an insult considering the risks it entails to the integrity of their planetary surface. They have suggested a counteroffer that is nearly double the amount. Based on my knowledge of their culture, I suggest we open negotiations by starting with a 15% increase and gradually work from there—”
He definitely should have left this to Hux. The reminder of why he didn’t, as well as the sense of impotence and frustration at not being able to just hit the problem, pitches his anger even higher.
The interpreter is still talking. “The ambassador is suggesting that, as a new Supreme Leader, you may see value in examining previously negotiated deals as a reference.”
The reminder of his newness to the position and the implied lack of knowledge sends his temper, always simmering close to the surface, to bursting.
“Enough.” He snaps it loudly enough that the ambassador stops and everyone, including his own officers, look to him in surprise. “You will agree to the offered amount, or we invade. Tomorrow.” The interpreter looks uncomfortable as he relays this to the ambassador, reciting the words by rote without any of Kylo’s venom.
The silence is stunned. The ambassador splutters, finally, making a series of noises that the interpreter awkwardly translates as, “um, this is an affront, this is— bluffing has no place in negotiation—”
Kylo’s anger mounts another step. “You can decide if it’s a bluff when the First Order’s warships are at your doorstep. Or you can take the credits we are offering. Your choice.”
The ambassador says something and the interpreter mutters, “she requests a day to consider your terms.”
“She can have it.” Kylo beckons over another one of his officers. “I know we’re running behind schedule, what is next?” It’s another meeting— of course— this time something about budget reallocations from research to training. No wonder why Snoke tended to delegate and focus on expanding his power in the force. Who knew that leading an empire could be so tedious.
The ambassador and her retinue are sweeping out of the room, muttering angrily. He can feel the edge of capitulation in the force; they will likely agree to his terms. Not that he cares if they don’t. It would feel good to watch something burn. Intergalactic politics feel so much simpler than trying to negotiate with his wife.
Kylo slinks back into their rooms many hours later, nervous about a repeat of the earlier discussion. He finds Rey sitting with a sleepy Alya in her lap, the rocking chair swinging back and forth at a lazy and sedate pace. To his immense relief, she just gives him a tired smile.
He inches closer and crouches down to look at Alya’s contented face, the spray of lashes against her round cheeks. “She do all right today? Other than clearly demonstrating that she’ll be the strongest force user who ever lived, of course.”
“We tried melon,” Rey murmurs. “I think she liked it. Had a bit of trouble with... I think it was maybe gas? Either way, there was a bit of screaming, but she was excellent in the sling when some of the techs came by— we talked about how we might incorporate the Mirialan pyronium into the new propulsor lift design. Did they agree to let it be mined, by the way?”
“They will.” No need for her to know the details of how that was negotiated.
Stopping the chair, Rey gets to her feet, hefting Alya’s weight. “Bed time for this one.” They had moved her to her own room barely over six weeks ago, which had significantly expanded the scope for some of Kylo’s preferred night-time activities. All of the walls were soundproofed, but a comm system designed to pick up any of Alya’s cries had worked to everyone’s satisfaction so far. “Your dinner is still on the table. Save some dessert for me.”
He eats mindlessly, trying to get through some of the mountains of correspondence sitting on his comm. Requisition requests, planetary policy changes, priority setting documents...
Small fingers touch his cheek. While he was working, Rey changed into one of his favourites, a little white slip that is snug around her breasts and barely hits the tops of her thighs. He can’t count the number of times she’s arranged to have it replaced, the originals torn in his enthusiasm. All thoughts of his duties are immediately forgotten, and he hums his appreciation as she moves to stand between his legs, sweeping his hair out of his eyes.
“You’re making it difficult to read,” he mutters, leaning forward to nuzzle the valley between her breasts. The new and exciting pregnancy-growth has mostly disappeared since she weaned Alya, leaving only silvery stretch marks behind. But on the flipside, he’s relieved that he can touch them again without her wincing in pain.
“I’ll get out of the way, then,” she purrs, and sinks down to her knees.
She’s an expert at getting him out of his clothing by now. He sucks a breath in through his teeth when his cock is finally free, savouring the first pass of her lips, the wet heat of her mouth.
Trying to maintain control of himself, he picks his datapad back up swipes through it without reading, steadying his hand to take a sip of his caf. It’s worth it when he glances down and spots the way that she sees it, the humiliation colouring her cheeks and making her squirm. The way that it makes her redouble her efforts. The little choking noises are like a drug; in minutes, the comm falls to the table with a thunk when he gives up on the pretence, stretching out his body to try and adjust to the liquid pleasure obliterating his thoughts.
It whites out his mind when his cock hits the back of her throat and then keeps going, tight as a vice, working around him as she valiantly deepthroats him—
“Enough,” Kylo croaks out, fisting his hand in her hair and pulling her away. It’s the most self-control he’s ever displayed in his life, but he knows where he’d rather come. “If you’re so desperate for cock, I’ll give it to you.”
“Please,” she says as he grabs her under her arms, hoisting her onto the table. “Please, Master?” His comm is knocked to the ground with a crack but he doesn’t hesitate as he pulls her legs apart and tugs the dress up past her belly button. Nothing underneath, of course. The height of the table is well placed for him to sit back down on his chair, lean forward, and press his lips to the soft wet place between her legs. “Oh,” she whispers, and then again, louder, growing in intensity as he licks and licks, focusing in tight swirls or long sweeping strokes. Especially when he presses two fingers in, until her sounds are less distinct and just one long continuous stream of moaning. He finally stops when her thighs are sticky with arousal, her cunt tightly squeezing around his fingers.
The dress is in the way. It joins its predecessors when Kylo stands and pulls on the collar until the soft fabric gives way, rending it right down the middle until it’s barely hanging off her shoulders. Reaching for the dessert, he swipes at some of the pudding with his thumb and smears it across her breasts, ignoring her indignant squirming. “That was for me,” Rey starts, breaking off to moan when he leans down to lick it off her skin. It does things to him, seeing her spit-slickened skin, nipples pulled into tight peaks. Her arousal is still on his chin— it’s all so messy, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Especially when he lifts her hips a bit higher, reaching down to grip himself and notch his cock inside her, enjoying her long, low moan as he slides forward, tight walls parting until he bottoms out. It still takes self-control and a few deep breaths to not lose his mind immediately; it doesn’t help that she’s straining towards him, arms wrapped around his neck, hands tangling in his hair, pressing little kisses to his chin, his neck, his collarbone.
“Rey,” he mutters, trying to set any rhythm around her squirming, “hold still or I will tie you down.”
“Maybe I want you to,” she breathes back, grinning up at him.
He gives her thigh a slap for that bit of insubordination, which breaks off her giggle into another moan. Ignoring her disappointed sound when he slips out of her, he turns her onto her front, pressing her cheek to the table. The remains of the slip become the bindings for loosely wrapping her wrists together, quickly checking that it’s loose enough for her to slip out of if she needs to. He fucks back into her with enough speed that she jerks on the table and squeaks. “There,” he says, planting one hand and curling the other into her hair, tugging her hair back so he can speak directly in her ear. “That enough for you, greedy girl?” He can see her ass jiggle with each thrust and it’s mesmerising, the way that she swallows him in, his cock glistening and wet each time he withdraws. “You’re grateful, aren’t you?”
“Yes, thank you, thank you, Master, tha—”
He wants to reward that sort of enthusiasm. So he drags her a little further back and pulls her hips up again, high enough that her toes barely hit the ground, reaching around and under to swirl his fingers at her clit. He’s not sure that he’ll ever get over the heady feeling of being able to feel the point where he slips in, where she’s split around his cock; never mind the tightness and wet heat of her, leaving every in of him feeling hot and taut. It’s pure will that lets him ride out the minutes until she tightens and wails, babbling out incoherent and thanks and crying, her fingers clenched so tightly in her bindings that the knuckles are white.
Kylo almost thinks he might be able to coax another one out of her until she twists her head and he sees the tear tracks down her cheeks, the bitten and swollen lips. “Please come in me,” she whispers, and that is it. He gasps and slams his fist into the table so hard that probably bruises his knuckles, coming for what feels like eons, all of that pleasure concentrated in one hot welter.
It takes him a few seconds of learning over her, panting and twitching, before he collects himself enough to tug her wrists free. Hooking an arm under her knee and her shoulders, he gently scoops her into his arms to carry her to the bed. Rather than set her down, he just flops and ends up half on top of her as she yelps in surprise. “Hey,” she protests, squirming and poking his shoulder with a stern stab that slips into a laugh, “you’re crushing me.”
“Gimme... minute,” he mumbles, purposefully becoming a dead weight as she laughs harder, trying to shove him off. Eventually he relents, rolling onto his side, propped up so he can stare his fill. Her hair is a bird’s nest and she has the dreamy, content look that she gets after a particularly good orgasm. Perfect.
Stretching, she relaxes into the mattress and rolls onto her stomach. “What?”
“Nothing. Do you want me to get your sleep shirt?”
“Mmph,” she mutters, shaking her head into the pillow and wriggling under the sheets. “It’s fine.”
She takes up so much of the bed. He’d even arranged for a delivery of a bigger bed, just so she has the room to spread out as much as she’d like and still leave room for him. She tends to wriggle away from him if he gets too close, complaining that he runs too hot and makes her sweaty, but she likes it when he leaves his palm splayed across the small of her back or curved over her hip. Tonight, she wraps her fingers around his wrist and brings his palm to her lips, planting a delicate kiss there before guiding it to the slope of her neck, resting just under her ear.
And then she smiles. And Kylo’s heart hiccups at the sight of it, the easy grace of it. The way that he gets to have that, all for himself, forever.
She curls her fingers over his. “We’re going to talk more about finding some company for Alya, right?”
“Absolutely not.” But the resigned way that he says it must give him away, because Rey’s smile just broadens.
“Mhm,” she hums, sounding like she doesn’t believe him for a moment.
He is so doomed. He always has been. “I’m serious, Rey. No.”
Her eyes are closed now, clearly ready to drift to sleep, but the smile still lingers. She mumbles her answer in an irritatingly sweet sing-song tone that should annoy him but somehow doesn’t. “I know you are.”
It is only much later that evening, on the very edge of sleep— in that fragile moment right before waking consciousness slips away— that Kylo can admit to himself that Rey will possibly, maybe, probably end up getting her way.
And graven with diamonds in letters plain
There is written, her fair neck round about:
Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.
- Excerpt from "Whoso List to Hunt", by Sir Thomas Wyatt