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Prison Food	By : cuddlesome Category: Star Wars (All) > Het - Male/Female Views: 6540 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: If I owned Star Wars these two would be confirmed canon thrice over by now. However, I do not own Star Wars or its characters; Disney and Lucasfilm do. I make no money with this piece of work.

Chapter List
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When Kylo enters Rey’s cell again, it is only his Force sensitivity that allows him to dodge the bowl lobbed at his head. The projectile would have bounced off harmlessly off of his helmet had it connected, but he would not relish getting the gruel off of himself. Instead it hits the frame of the door and then drops to the floor with a clatter and a wet slap of the contents. Kylo shakes his head. One more bowl of rations spilled in this room that Rey had not eaten. Still, from what he had heard from the guards’ reports, she had started eating again with the advent of them offering her undrugged food. She even managed to keep from throwing it back up in the toilet in her cell. Probably in the hopes of not hearing from him anymore. Too bad for her, though. He is here today to reintroduce her to solid food.
Kylo had sent in stormtroopers to clean up the mess from the other spillage from their last encounter. They were also tasked with the job of stripping Rey of her old clothes and bathing her just before he arrived. He noticed in their close quarters last time just how filthy she looked, though his mask spared him from the no doubt equally reprehensible smell.
She stares at him, eyes full of contempt, from where she sits in bed with the thin blanket wrapped around her. The stormtroopers cleaned her up very meticulously, from what little he could see of her exposed arms, upper chest, and head where her blanket does not cover. Her skin is shiny and pink, evidence of a thorough scrubbing. In addition, the three greasy buns are gone. The troopers had washed, brushed, and presumably dried her hair until it shone like a polished chestnut. All the better to make her more presentable to Kylo Ren. Still, Kylo has trouble disassociating the hair buns from his mental image of her; her hair hangs past her shoulders when it is down, further than he expected. He has the most irrational wish to take his gloves off and run his fingers through it. He could, if he wanted. The rules while handling prisoners are lifted from him. Once someone can get inside their victims’ heads and lay waste to their minds, physical harassment pales in comparison.
He spares Rey of his fanatical sentiments for now, though. He has business to attend to. The meal he has for her is tucked in a nondescript bag he had tied to his belt. It is nothing extravagant, just some leftovers from the mess hall, but everything looks better after the slop that served as prison rations.
She stays huddled in the bed, not springing up with the intent to fight him like last time.
Even so, she bites out, “Keep away.”
Kylo grows suspicious. Had she managed to get a weapon and when the troopers came to clean up that she now concealed from him? He skulks nearer. Rey finally gets out of the bed and draws the blanket further around herself, biting off warnings for him to stay away in higher intensity as he gets closer and closer, cornering her once more. Her mind is oozing with thoughts of keeping hidden. What is it she has to hide? He closes the distance altogether and rips the blanket from her with a snarl.
Rey gasps, then bares her teeth in a snarl of her own. For a long moment, Kylo stands stagnant with the blanket dangling from his fist. The stormtroopers had obeyed his orders to strip and bathe her, yes, but they had neglected to clothe her again. Rey clamps one arm around her chest and the hand on the opposite arm to her sex while she glares acidly at him.
He gets an eyeful of tanned skin, birdlike delicateness thanks to Rey’s recent brush with undernourishment, and the rangy muscle that had not completely wasted away under that abuse. Kylo’s ears and cheeks burn. The muddled combination of embarrassment and lust is surreal. Mixed in with his mental state is the main feeling pouring off of Rey: resentment, which he understands all too well.
Kylo turns his back to her, uncaring that he is leaving himself vulnerable to attack. It would not do to violate her trust any further than he already has.
He untwists his capelet from around his neck with his free hand. Despite its shredded nature and tears, there is a substantial amount of cloth to wind over and over around his wide shoulders, more than enough to cover her. He holds the capelet out to her, still facing away.
There is a short pause, then: “I don’t want any of your reeking clothes.”
Too late he remembers every article of clothing he owns stink of ashes and electrical burns and sweat, leaving them unenticing at best. Notwithstanding, he does not retract his substitute covering, nor does he even consider leaving.
“It will keep you much warmer and better covered than this.” He shakes out the blanket.
“Stop it,” Rey says, voice hard but brittle. “You may have a human face under there, but you’re still a creature. Stop pretending otherwise.”
Anger, his best enemy and his most hated friend, makes him start to tense.
Kylo fists the material in both of his hands, growling, “If you would prefer to be naked, that is your mistake to make.”
Rey puts a hand on the arm holding the capelet. Kylo’s head twitches as he turns to look back at her. When had she gotten so close?
Her hand does not even begin to fit around the swell of his bicep, especially bulging with tension as it is. Rey looks down at the point of contact as if she is surprised to find her hand there, too, but then she sets her jaw and looks back up to gaze at his helmet.
“Give it here,” she instructs, indicating his capelet with a jerk of her chin.
She removes her hand from his arm and reaches around to take the capelet. He drops the blanket to the floor, then waits what he believes to be a fair amount of time after hearing the shifting of cloth against skin stop before turning to face her.
Rey has twisted the capelet around her body as one would dress a wound with a bandage, tucking the loose ends in at the top. Kylo spends a moment enjoying the sight of her wearing something of his. Any remaining traces of his anger dissipate as he takes in the sight of her still-exposed thin arms and legs.
Her mind is still sealed up tight as she can make it.
After a moment of thought and a longer moment of hesitation, he reaches up and presses the unlocking mechanisms on the sides of his helmet. He half expects her to take advantage of the moment of vulnerability, kicking his legs out from under him while he takes off the heavy helmet, but she does no such thing. He lets it drop to the floor with a clunk, knowing the durasteel will live up to its name and keep any real damage from coming to it.
Rey looks at his face with more or less the same poorly disguised curiosity she had the first time he showed her. Under her scrutiny, Kylo gives her a crooked smile he knows that Ben inherited from Han Solo and he hates himself for it.
Finally, Rey breaks the silence and starts to ask why he took his helmet off.
He does not answer. She starts to ask something more, then trails off. She should know. She had said that she wanted to see his face the last time, even in a drug-induced stupor from her food.
Kylo grimaces. Here he had been concerned about her state of undress that he entirely forgot his duty to feed her.
He walks forward to sit down on the bed, tries to ignore the way Rey flinches at the momentary closeness between them, and pulls out the leftovers from the bag at his hip. He had lifted the typical diet for the stormtroopers: bland meat imported from a nearby moon, a loaf of mealbread, and a small canister of numian cream. It is simple and in small portions, but more than enough to suit his needs.
Rey watches as he unpacks the food. “If you expect me to eat that, I want insurance it’s not drugged.”
Kylo takes a bite of the meat, chews, and swallows in short order, wondering all the while whether or not her stomach is knotted up in pain watching him eat. He does the same with a chunk of bread, groaning at the taste—which is, in truth, subpar at best—just to spite her. After slipping off his right glove, he gets a glob of numian cream on his pointer and middle finger. The look on her face as he licks it up with deliberate slowness makes the chalky taste worth it. He slides both fingers into his mouth to get off the last of the cream, sucks obscenely, then retracts them with a pop.
“Satisfied?” Kylo swipes his tongue across his plump lower lip for good measure.
Her unsteady connection to the Force nudges inquisitively at his mind like a child poking a half-dead, rabid body with a stick. She still does not believe the food is safe. He shoves back, assuring her his mind is quite sober, and savors her wince.
Still Rey questions him, suggesting that he built up a tolerance for the drugs in the food. Tsking, Kylo breaks off another piece of the mealbread and holds it out to her.
Is it really so hard to have a little faith? He had never lied to her, not once.
Rey falters, looking torn, but ultimately reaches out to take the bread. She chews it up with a look of bliss that Kylo hardly feels is warranted for such insipid food.
Kylo does not extend his arm for the second piece, instead keeping it very close. She squints at him. He is debating on whether or not to simply drag her to him with the Force when she finally edges forward. The position of sitting hunched over on the bed makes him appear to be beneath her, which in turn seems to make her more confident. His face is on level with her belly, the loose folds of his capelet disguising how sunken in it is… but only just.
Rey grabs the second piece of bread and eats it. Before she can back a safe distance away again, Kylo reaches out to touch her hipbone. It sticks out like a broken piece of machinery. Rey swats his hand away as if burned. He offers her the whole loaf of mealbread as consolation for her discomfort. Rey snatches it away and goes to the opposite end of the room where she sits down, never once taking her eyes off of him. She eats voraciously, sinking her teeth in with gusto and gulping down unchewed bites with noises Kylo can hear from across the room. He threatens to take it away from her if she does not slow down. He does not warn her about getting the pace making her sick, though. No doubt she already knows.
When Rey finishes off the bread, he is looming over her with the meat and numian cream in hand, swathing her in his massive shadow.
“I’m full,” she says as she stands.
There is plenty of room left. Kylo knows this for certain as he probes her abdomen with his free hand, uncaring that she sinks her nails into his wrist through his pleated sleeve a moment later.
Kylo takes a step forward, backing her into the wall. Rey lets go of his wrist in favor of shoving against his chest. Disappointed as he is to not be flush against her body, Kylo finds he more than likes the feeling of her tiny, bony hands against the broad spread of his chest.
The strips of meat are room temperature at this point, but he covers them in numian cream and presses it to her lips all the same. Instead of wedging her mouth open again, he presses his thumb and pointer to either side of her jaw. From there it is a simple matter to slide the meat into her open mouth and release her long enough to chew. Kylo likes to think he does not force the food down her throat this time; it is something more akin to gentle coercion. Rey fights him every step of the way, beating at his torso with each mouthful of meat, but it seems more for show than anything else. She paces herself better than with the mealbread, presumably to irritate him but only managing to draw out the amount of time Kylo stays in close proximity to her.
As she eats, he gives a cursory examination of her mind. The shoddily constructed but thick mental walls hiding her secrets from before are still up, but he could slip between some of the cracks at this point. Just like her body, her mind still will not completely accept him, but she is more open than before. Hope bubbles in Kylo’s guts, but he knows it is premature. Getting her to let them crumble completely will be the real challenge. Not wanting to attract her attention to his mindreading, he refocuses on the task at hand.
Kylo watches her start to eat out of his hand without him forcing her mouth open, though her pretend-struggle otherwise continues. Her lips and tongue brush his ungloved hand more than a few times, velvety and slimy. Her teeth only graze his fingers once in a nip that is almost like an afterthought after she finishes the last of the meat. On impulse, he returns her gesture with a quick connection of their mouths, half kiss and half bite. He takes a hold of her lower lip between his teeth for long enough to nibble and suckle it. Rey pulls back and looks at him in astonishment, not even mustering up the sense to hit him again. A mere half second later, all the mortification that comes along with kissing a prisoner and a scavenger and a would-be student set in.
Before Rey has an opportunity to so much as open her mouth, Kylo knocks her out with the Force. She crumples, limp, and he sweeps her into his arms. Kylo lays her down on her bed, feeling a sickening sense of déjà vu, and leaves the cell with the intention of finding the most expensive-looking piece of electrical equipment on the base so he can lay total waste to it.
Though the events had played out differently, even tenderly, at times, what had happened still amounted to a jailer feeding a prisoner and having dissolute feelings for her.
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Prison Food