Adult-FanFiction.org : Movies

Prison Food	By : cuddlesome Category: Star Wars (All) > Het - Male/Female Views: 6537 -:- 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
- 2
- 3
Kylo wishes Rey had bitten him back when he kissed her. Then he would have a mark, physical proof of the encounter. As he goes about his responsibilities on Starkiller Base, he runs his tongue and teeth over his ample lips to supplement his imaginings of Rey. He believes she would sooner crunch his lips and tongue into a pulp than truly kiss him anyway, so teeth come into play the most. The soft flesh on his mouth is puffy and peeling by now, but Kylo’s mask effectively disguises the evidence of his newest obsessive habit. He becomes accustomed to the sensation of the dried out skin tearing and producing little bubbles of blood whenever he speaks.
What he cannot become accustomed to, however, is feeling Rey at the edge of his awareness. Her presence is a brilliant sun in the Force, diffusing warmth and light on a constant basis. It disgusts Kylo, though not as much as he disgusts himself. For, despite his vain attempts at the contrary, he wishes to embrace her light.
His own Force signature is a chilled miasma of gray, bordering on complete darkness but never quite the inky black that his helmet or garb would suggest. He feels her reach out and touch him through the Force a couple of times, not sinking deep as she had during his attempt to interrogate her. It is more of a slight poke than anything else, evidence of her testing out her powers. Even so, the heated mental touch makes him start longing. Kylo finds himself reaching back, though it takes little more than a slight caress from him before her presence retreats with a jerk. Each time she pulls away, he feels stung and angry at being continuously denied what he wants.
Hours of meditation, lightsaber training, and prayers to his grandfather do not dispel his sudden, horrible hunger. Kylo craves Rey’s gutsy bravado, her wretched little body, and even the tiniest scrap of affection from her. More than that, though, he wants her to need him the same way. He crushes a datapad in his hands when he finally puts words to the sensations that have been haunting him. The glass shards are wet and slippery as he digs them out of his skin. If this is what attraction feels like, it is no wonder Han Solo and Leia Organa were always at each other’s throats.
Kylo has never been self-possessed, so it only takes a few days for what little control he has over himself to snap. In Galactic Standard Time it is more or less the middle of the night when he decides he wants to see the cause of his depravity again.
Before he leaves, he takes out the clothes he had a service droid custom fit for Rey based on her rags from Jakku. It is nowhere near as dressy as he feels she deserves, an all-black affair made from scraps of stormtrooper body gloves. A bit like his own piecemeal clothing, really. He assumes she would not accept one of the uniforms from the female officers given the First Order regalia all over them. He hopes those feelings may change with time. As an afterthought, he takes some more stormtrooper rations from the kitchen as well as a couple of pieces of fruit. Feeding her has become something he associates with his visits to her and Kylo Ren is nothing if not a creature of habit. Another line of consideration has him taking a bit of the drugged gruel in a small container in case anything goes wrong.
The sound of Kylo’s approach causes the stormtroopers on guard to snap to attention long before he gets to where they stand outside the detention block. He orders them not to disturb him before he heads to Rey’s cell.
Kylo expected to find his capelet balled up in one of the corners of the room. To his surprise, she has added it to her bedding, ever practical. Rey is curled up in a tight ball, evidence of her habit of trying to keep the most heat while sleeping, with those bedclothes wrapped around her.
She jolts awake at the sound of him taking his helmet off.
“You,” Rey says, looking angry and a bit sick.
“Me,” Kylo replies, wondering if she will ever call him by his name if he tells her and how startled she would be if he called her by hers.
She gathers her covers more thoroughly around herself, glaring. Kylo leers back, but then resolves to at least pretend to focus on something else. He crouches to the floor, places his helmet on its side, and unpacks the food and clothes he had brought, arranging it in a haphazard stack. The last item he pulls out is a crowned fruit.
Rey, for her part, does not seem interested in any of it. “Why did you kiss me?”
“Are you so eager for me to do it again?”
Kylo hopes that an uncouth attempt at flirtation, proof of his parentage more than anything else, will disguise how he has no idea how to answer her question. It will suffice for now, based on the red creeping up Rey’s neck and her livid silence as she looks away.
He draws a knife. Rey’s gaze snaps back to him. Kylo bites his lip to keep from smiling, glad he had left his far more lethal lightsaber in his chambers. No telling how she would have reacted to that. There is a fleshy squish and a faint spray of juice as the knife cleaves through the fruit. Rey watches with suspicion as he tucks the knife into his belt, not taking her eyes off of it even as he busies himself with one half of the fruit. Kylo removes his gloves and curls the tips of his fingers into the insides, digging out some of the seeds. They shine like wet jewels in his palm. He brings them to his mouth as she watches.
Rey has lost interest in the knife for now and seems fixated on the sight of him eating. Whether she is hungry, trying to see if it is some kind of a trick again, or just likes to see his jaws working, he is not sure. Either way, he makes a show of it. As he did with the mealbread during his last visit, he makes more pleased noises than are necessary or appropriate. When he swallows, it is exaggerated as he can make it, the lump of his laryngeal prominence bobbing beneath his neck seal with harsh gulps.
He walks over as he licks the excess juice from his fingers. She recoils when he sits down next to her on the bed and looks away. Kylo crushes the fruit a little. He inhales and exhales slowly, attempting to rein in his temper. Never mind that that particular coping mechanism for anger he had learned from his uncle.
Kylo wraps a hand around her throat, bracing his forefinger and thumb at the back of her lower jaw to turn her face toward him. She stares at him with a contradictory spark of anger in her eyes and the dampness of unshed tears.
In a sudden he says—because he would rather rip out his own spinal cord than make her cry in earnest—“The First Order can take care of you. I can take care of you. You will never want again.”
“I’m not some sort of pet,” Rey says, voice remaining firm and steady, “I’d rather be half-dead on Jakku for fifteen more years than stay a single week with you and your so-called care.”
She turns her head with a sharp jerk and snaps at his fingers, though there is little heart in the action. Kylo lets go, realizing he has treated her too harshly. He sees the bruises on her neck to prove it. Gentle, he needs to be more gentle and show her that he is capable of caring. He presses his mouth to the bruises and feels her pulse pounding, compounded shortly by a choked noise.
Kylo draws back, almost apologizing aloud, then, as if to belie that thought, kisses her neck again. This kiss, like the last one, had been done out of impulse, out of his refusal to do anything more than give brief indulgence to his desire to feel her with the sensitive skin on his lips. And it feels better than he could have hoped. Even with his lips ripped up as they are, he can appreciate the feeling of the velvety skin on her neck, kept safe from the majority of the sun and sand on Jakku that might have roughened it up. He licks a wide, wet stripe up her neck, right along her pulse, covering the fresh fingerprint-shaped bruises with his tongue. Teethmark-shaped bruises almost join them; he grazes his teeth along the side of her neck in preparation to bite down. One of his hands wanders up to where she has the blankets thoroughly wrapped around herself, tugging it down a little in an effort to see how much he can toe the line. The mere implication ends up being too much for Rey. She places both hands on his chest and shoves, succeeding in getting him to pull away. Shuddering, she rubs her palm over the place where he had kissed her, over and over, smearing away the glistening evidence of his saliva. All the same, she does not move away.
Again, he stops himself from apologizing proper for startling and disgusting her. He offers some seeds from the fruit by way of apology instead. When Rey reaches for them, he closes his fingers around them. She frowns, not grasping his intentions until he lifts his hand to her mouth and opens up his fist. This time, understanding appears on her face and something more flickers in her eyes. He has little time to decipher what it is before she grabs his wrist to keep it in place and lowers her head to his hand. She takes care to keep the bedclothes wrapped thoroughly around her, clutching them in place with her free hand.
The small mound of seeds is eaten in short order. When it starts to get interesting is when there are few enough of them that Kylo can feel her mouth on his hand. Lips brushing, teeth scraping, tongue lapping. All make his palm tingle and his excitement spike. After the seeds are gone, there is still some juice staining his hand. Rey attempts to lick it up, tickling him with her slippery tongue. The blot of red juice will not come out without a thorough scrubbing in the ’fresher, but he is not about to tell her that. After a bit, she moves on to smaller blotches on his fingers. She looks him straight in the eye when she takes his middle and forefinger into her mouth. Kylo chews his lips again while he watches her exaggeratedly suckle on his fingers.
Perhaps Rey thinks she gets some sort of petty revenge on him by doing this. If that is her plan, Kylo does not think it works to her advantage. His blood is hot and his heart is pounding. Even when she bites him—little, controlled nips rather than the bloodthirsty chomp he had planned on giving her neck—he only feels awash with pleasure. So much so that he does not notice her hand slip from where it holds her blankets in place to his belt until she is holding the fruit knife to his throat.
Before he can do much more than register the threat, she uses the hand she had held onto his wrist with to shove him down on his back with a surprising amount of strength, no doubt aided in part by the Force. He fully expects her to kill him, then, or at least bargain for a way to get freed.
Instead, Rey reaches for the food he had unpacked earlier. The clothes continue to go ignored. Kylo savors the few seconds of staring at her petite breasts and almond brown nipples before she covers them up again. She sits down on his stomach, the blanket and his robes not quite thick enough to disguise the press of her vulva and petite rump. He stays still in an effort not to give away that the Force she had exuded on him did not result in something as carefully concentrated as a Force freeze.
Rey holds a piece of mealbread to his mouth and demands he open it. Out of surprise more than compliance, Kylo does. The end result is the same: she shoves a hunk of bread inside and then jams his lower jaw up to close his mouth around it. He chews and swallows at her stern urging, then has another piece jammed in his mouth. The same follows for the next piece. And then the next. Once the two small loaves are gone, she grabs some meat, not bothering to make them bite sized but shoving multiple large pieces at once into his mouth.
It does not take long for him to grasp what she is doing. Much in the same way she had read his mind right back as he tried to interrogate her, she is now force-feeding him so he knows how she felt. And, also similarly, she is being a lot rougher with him than he had been with her during the process. She is giving him too much too quickly.
More than once, he chokes. Rey always halts whenever this happens, staring down at him with what he would like to believe is concern. She smooths her fingers over his throat and helps him swallow, though she always contradicts the tender motion with a small increase in her grip. No doubt he will have bruises on the skin of his pale neck to match hers. Kylo’s stomach begins to ache after a short time between being stuffed full, his tight belt, and Rey’s pelvis bearing down on it. He had stints of undereating, reasoning that the constant hollow pain would aid him in his pursuit of the dark side. Rey happened to catch him right in the middle of one of his fasts, making the amount of food seem insurmountable.
And then, suddenly, it is all gone. All save for the container of the drugged gruel. The look Rey gives him is scathing. She drops the knife when she goes to grab it. Kylo fails to take advantage of this opportunity for attack for reasons he will not be able to explain to his master later. He bites Rey, just a little, when she prizes his jaw open, so he can at least say he resisted. He gives up completely when she starts to pour the gruel in. It is even more chalky and thick than numian cream, sticking to his tongue and the back of his throat. He hacks and coughs up some of it.
“I bet that you’re regretting what you’ve done right about now,” Rey says, no small amount of satisfaction in her voice.
Kylo, thoroughly chastened and starting to feel the effects of the drugs, turns his head to the side. Rey asks him how it feels and he can only muster up enough coherent thought to moan in response. A trickle of drool slips out of his mouth as his eyes glaze over.
How had she managed to stay coherent as long as she did when he gave her a double dosage? She must be even stronger than he gives her credit for if he cannot outlast her when it comes to both the Force and the suppressants.
The last thing he sees is her controlled, hard expression twitch a little into one that resembled something close to pity. Kylo’s upsweep of anger is only tempered by his bout of unconsciousness.
When he wakes up, she is long gone, along with the small knife, clothes, and his access card. Kylo’s reaction is to howl a slew of obscenities, then crawl partially off of the bed and empty the contents of his stomach. He dry-heaves for a long while, slamming his fist repeatedly into the bed. She had the courtesy to not only not kill him—a decision she would live to regret—but to also leave his capelet behind. He makes a point of ignoring it as he struggles to his feet.
Kylo dispels the stinging tang of vomit in his mouth with the few juicy seeds clinging to the inside of the fruit that had been discarded on the ground before exiting the prison cell. He hopes, viciously, that Rey's choice to try to escape on an empty stomach will leave her weak and sick in spite of knowing that she is more than used to starving.
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Prison Food