Archive of Our Own

Captain Phasma surveyed the wreckage of yet another control room with chagrin and a long-suffering sigh. She'd arrived quickly enough, this time, that the culprit was still there – his lightsaber was deactivated, but still in his hand, and he was still breathing hard from exertion and anger.

She used her best voice of command. “Master Ren,” she said, (they were still in public, after all), “my quarters. Now.”

He fixed her with a glare – she could tell, even with his mask – and walked past her on his way out of the room, without saying a word. But she knew he would obey. As he walked away, his stride and his body language was still full of rage and haughtiness – but there were, potentially, onlookers. She gave him a head start, so it would not be obvious she was following him, and used the time to summon maintenance – again – to fix the mess he'd made. Again.

In her quarters, different rules applied.

When she reached her quarters, she found him in her living room, not making himself at home on the furniture, but standing in his loose approximation of parade rest. Good. But – he was still in full gear, helmet and gloves included. “Ren,” she said warningly. He reached up, unclasped and removed his helmet, and set it down on a low table, followed by his gloves, neatly folded.

“Captain.”

She removed her own helmet and set it aside with just as much precision. “I am getting really damn tired,” she said, “of your tantrums, Kylo. The technical staff have better things to do than repair the wreckage when you decide that you need to break shit because you're in a bad mood!”

“Yes sir.”

“I swear, every time I see another room full of destroyed consoles I want to throw you out the nearest goddamn airlock. I'm sick of you acting out.”

His posture was becoming softer, more deferential. “I'm sorry, sir.”

“And do you know what happens when my men act out, Kylo?”

“They get punished. Sir.” With that, the change was complete. There was no arrogance or defiance in his expression, and while his posture didn't change, she could see the shift in his attitude.

With her actual 'Troopers, of course, punishment was entirely different – but this was a role, a fiction they acted out together. “And what punishment do you deserve, boy?”

“To be put in my place, Mistress.” Her 'boy' and his 'Mistress' were both a sort of code – the exchange signalled to them both that they were beginning in earnest. Honestly, she preferred it when he called her 'Sir.'

“And what is that place?” she prompted. In response, he simply sank to his knees – near her feet, but not crowding them. He looked up at her, his face neutral but his eyes betraying him; they were bright with something like adoration.

She allowed herself to slip out of character briefly and gave him a soft smile as she reached down to caress his cheek and jaw, just once. He was a completely different creature in here with her: attentive, gentle, dare she say sweet? And so very beautiful underneath the helmet he so rarely removed. His eyes fluttered closed at the touch, just for a moment. She treasured the fact that this Kylo was only for her, that no-one else in the galaxy got to see what was inside the shell of the violent, fearsome Knight.

All the more reason to take proper care of her treasure. “Safeword, Kylo?” she prompted.

“The usual,” he said. Anakin. She imagined that a psychologist would have a field day with that, but it wasn't her problem. He never referred to his grandfather by his birth name, in any context – and since he never used the word otherwise, it was a suitable choice. “Any special rules today, sir?”

“No, just the usual ones. Do you want to know what I plan to do?”

“Not really,” he replied, then when she gave him a stern look, he added, “sir.”

“Too bad,” she said. Her next set of orders would make her intention obvious, even if she didn't spell it out for him. “Take off your belt and hand it to me.” He did so, wiggling in place a little to free his coat. The belt wasn't the real issue, of course, but the lightsaber that hung from it; she'd learned early on, however, that he could get touchy about being told directly to hand it over. This way avoided upsetting him, but still kept the weapon out of her bedroom. After she took the belt from his hands, she folded it neatly and put it down beside his helmet and gloves. “Now,” she began, and deliberately paused, leaving the sentence hanging.

“Yes, sir?”

“Go to my bedroom, strip, and prepare yourself. I'll join you there shortly.”

She saw the moment when the implication of what she'd said hit home. His pupils dilated quickly, black swallowing hazel. His natural voice was a shade higher in pitch than it was through his helmet. But when he was aroused, it deepened again, just as low but warm and velvety, without distortion. When he spoke next, his voice had dropped in the way she loved. “Yes sir,” he acknowledged quietly. “Captain?”

“Yes?”

“May I help remove your armour?”

She did allow him to make requests, usually. She didn't always agree to them, but she let him ask. This request ... as he was asking to do something to serve her, something showing humility ... she was inclined to indulge him. “After, if you're quick getting ready.”

“If I use Force tendrils to prepare myself, that would leave my hands free to help you,” he suggested. “May I?”

It was one of her Rules: no use of Force unless she explicitly, unequivocally agreed to it. If he were allowed free rein, it would unbalance their dynamic too far to sustain. She had never yet allowed him to use it on her, and he had only rarely asked. But on himself ...? She had no particular reason to object. If others knew what sort of use he put his talents to, well. Other Force-users on their side of the fight probably wouldn't blink, but the heirs of the Jedi would be shocked. She didn't quite suppress her smile at the thought. “Very well, if you think you can do it properly that way. If I find you poorly prepared, it will not go well for you.”

“No, sir. I'll be thorough.”

She nodded to confirm her permission. He began to shift, preparing to stand up, and she held out her arm to offer him a hand up. The other, public Kylo would have snarled that he didn't need help - even if he did. In here, he took the gesture for what it was, a kindness and an excuse to touch skin to skin. He took her hand and pulled himself gracefully to his feet, with a quiet “thank you.” His hand remained in hers a few seconds longer than necessary, but she wasn't complaining.

After he'd gone into her bedroom, she had to bide her time – she hung up her blaster, considered adjusting the temperature in her rooms but decided it was just right, and poured glasses of water for them both; all the while carefully listening. She could hear the tell-tale thump of his boots hitting the floor, the rustle of heavy fabric being removed and folded. Finally, she followed him in, bringing in the water and his gloves and setting them all aside on a side table. She found Kylo exactly as he should be: he knelt near her bed, completely bare; his hands rested on his thighs, and he was squirming in a way that suggested that he was, indeed, opening himself up without using his hands. She smiled, both at his obedience and at the picture he made. “Very good, Kylo. It's nice to know you can be a good boy when you want to be. Come help me with my armour.”

“Yessir,” he replied then hesitated. “Would you like me to start from the top or the bottom?”

“Top,” she answered, and he rose to his feet with far more grace than anyone should possess while kneeling, naked, and having an ass full of Force tendrils.

“My lady honours me,” he said, and his tone of voice was entirely sincere, but the tiniest quirk to his lips betrayed that he wasn't serious with his feudal, courtly talk. Still, she pondered, it was an interesting role reversal – the 'Knight' squiring for the infantry fighter. Well, he was a knight with no horse, and she had the more elaborate body armour, after all. This wasn't the first time he'd done this for her – but it was the first time he'd framed it in such language. Meanwhile, his nimble fingers freed her cape from the clasps holding it in place.

“Don't sass,” she said, and, “Less talking, more doing.”

He acknowledged that with a contrite, “Yessir,” as he gathered her cape into his arms.

“Lay that out on the bed, with the inner side up,” she told him. Curiosity flickered across his expression, but he didn't question her. He spread the cape out carefully, making sure it was neat and unwrinkled without lingering too long on the task. It was not going to stay that way very long, anyway, she thought with amusement. When he returned, he began removing the actual pieces of her armour, first the left arm, then the right, before moving to the torso, and so on, leaving her in the black thermal fabric underpinnings of the suit. She had a stand to hold her deconstructed armour, and as he removed each piece, he put it away in its proper place on the stand. When he reached her waist, he skipped down to her feet, kneeling again as he unfastened her boots and pulled them off; then he returned to the armour plates on her legs. “Leave the thigh plates on, this time,” she instructed. Again he looked curious, but said nothing.

When she was down to her thermals and socks – and one pair of plates - he returned to her feet again. “Socks, too, sir?” That day's socks were bright yellow. She always wore socks that were bright or had amusing patterns, a little bit of whimsy just for herself; since they were entirely covered by her boots, no-one knew that her socks weren't 'regulation.' No-one except herself, of course, and Kylo. Her socks always seemed to amuse him. These ones had gotten a tiny smile. The ones patterned with Ewoks doing acrobatics had earned a rare hearty belly laugh.

She considered it. Technically, they were not armour and therefore not part of his task, but she would get better traction on the smooth floor with her bare feet. “Yes. Socks too.”

He caressed her feet as he pulled them off, and then simply dropped them on the floor. He'd been following her standards of tidiness until now, so that was a deliberate act of provocation. As he stood up, he ran his hands up her legs, and settled them on her hips as if he needed purchase. When they were face to face again, he wore a defiant smirk. Instead of responding verbally to his challenge, she retrieved his gloves from behind her and pulled them on. As similar as they were in height, their hands were roughly the same size. His gloves didn't fit her hands perfectly, but they fit well enough to be comfortable. Even knowing what was coming, he was still smirking. She knew what he was doing. He loved being slapped, but he would never just ask her for it; instead he sassed her and broke her rules, knowing that would be his punishment.

She drew back and hit him, hard, with her gloved hand across his cheek. It was hard enough to turn his head and it immediately raised a red mark on his skin. He wasn't smirking anymore. His mouth was slack, his lips parted and his eyes glazed with arousal. And, she glanced down, he was suddenly much harder than he'd been only moments before. “That's for breaking the second rule,” she said. He did not touch her unless she told him to. She struck him again, with her other hand on his other cheek. “And that's for being a brat.” Right hand again: “That's just because I feel like it.” He whimpered a bit on a heavy exhale. She struck him one more time, with the left hand, “And that is because I like the sounds you make when I hit you.” He whined.

She gently caressed where she had slapped him, and he leaned his head into her hand, just a bit. “Thank you,” he said, voice quiet and low, but sincere; he was not just saying it from rote politeness.

“Kiss the glove,” she instructed, her tone perhaps a little softer than she intended. She didn't care which, as she'd used both hands. She expected he'd just turn to kiss the one resting on his face. Instead, he pulled both of her wrists to him, held them in one hand and positioned her hands so they were cupped together. And instead of simply pressing his lips to her palms, he licked them, as if he was tongue-kissing the concavity they formed. He knew what she'd meant, and some sessions she would have punished him for getting creative with her orders, but today she felt more indulgent. He was, after all, obeying in his own fashion, and she rather enjoyed what he was doing. And they were his gloves; if he wanted to cover them in saliva, it was his problem in the end. “On your hands and knees,” she commanded when he released her hands. “And pick up the mess you made.” She paused until he was on the floor, then added, “With your mouth. And put them where they belong.” Kylo carefully picked up her socks between his teeth. As he made his way on all fours to her laundry hamper, he smiled – or as much of a smile as was possible while holding the socks in place – as if the taste of her foot-sweat was a special treat. Who knew, maybe to him it was. Once he'd deposited his burden, he turned to face her, and she gave him his next order before he could ask. “Now, go to my special chest,” she said, “on your hands and knees, still.”

            So perhaps she liked watching him on all fours – the long, elegant expanse of his back, the sway of his ass. Could anyone blame her for that?

            Her 'special' chest was a small trunk, made of shining brushed steel. It fit in with the rest of her furnishings. What made it special was its contents. It was where she kept her tools for Kylo (and yes, also a few items she'd tried for herself). When he'd reached the chest and sat up on his knees to unlatch it, she instructed him further. “Bring me my harness, the lube, and ...” she considered, “the chrome cock. You'll need your hands, so you may walk, if you wish.” To her (mild) surprise, once Kylo had retrieved the objects she’d requested, he returned to her by shuffling over on his knees. She took the bottle of lubricant from him and put it aside on the bed.

            “May I put this on for you, sir?” Kylo asked from the level of her hips, holding up the harness in one hand.

            “Yes, you may.” She was still wearing his gloves and intended to keep them on. While she could manage the straps and buckles with gloved hands, it would be tricky. If he hadn't offered, she would have ordered him to do it. She stepped into the leg holes and he took over from there, affixing the dildo and then adjusting the straps with deft fingers. This time he behaved himself and didn't touch her beyond what was necessary to the task. When he was done, she moved her hips to double-check the fit.

            At the same time, Kylo stretched up to retrieve the lube from her bed. “Should I apply it?” he asked, presumably concerned about the gloves. She nodded, and he squeezed a generous amount into his hand and smearing it liberally on the prosthetic penis. The metal would still be cold to the touch, she thought, though that wouldn't last long. When that was done, she beckoned him to his feet with a familiar hand gesture, which was as effective as ordering him up with her words, and just as commanding.

            She cupped his jaw in her hand for a brief tender moment. “There's my good man. You serve me well,” she praised. There were days he would have been impatient to move on to the main event and asked her how she wanted him. But right then he was mellow, quietly waiting for her word. She dragged the thumb of the hand holding his face along his lower lip and was pleased when his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. So beautiful, she thought before drawing back. She put steel into her voice when she spoke again. “Now, bend over the end of the bed, face down, and spread your legs.”

            Kylo was quick to comply. He bent his left arm so his head could rest on his wrist; his other hand rested on her sheets. She didn't care what he did with his hands as long as he was neither touching her, nor his own erogenous areas. He turned his head to the right and asked, “Like this?”

            His position wasn't quite perfect, but once she'd coaxed his legs a bit farther apart, everything was ready. Except for one thing. Because Kylo hadn't used his fingers to open himself, he was still dry. She thought about letting him apply the lube to himself, but he'd have to twist around to do it, and she'd just gotten him perfectly positioned. After a moment's consideration, she pulled off one of the gloves. Oh well, so much for keeping them on. She covered her fingers in the slippery substance, and spread it around and into his entrance, and confirmed that he was well-prepared, open and ready to take her. And eager – the touch of her fingers made him groan appreciatively. While her hand was still bare, she took the opportunity to add more slick to the phallus – you could never have too much lube, not for this – and line herself up. She wiped her hand on her cape and put the glove back on. “Ready?” she asked.

            “Yes.” It was hissed more than spoken, but his intent was clear enough.

            So she pushed in as slowly as she could, to give him a chance to adjust. When she was fully seated, she paused. One thing she loved about her bed, and about this position – his stance was a bit wider than hers, but not by much, and they were touching from their hips down to their calves. She could feel the heat of his skin even through her pants. His breathing was a bit ragged as he adjusted; she listened and waited for it to even out before she moved. When she did, she pulled halfway out, enough that she had space to manoeuvre. Without preamble, she drew her hand back and smacked him hard on his ass. “I know your problem, Ren,” she said. And then, the other hand and the other ass cheek. “It's frustrating.” Right hand. “The world around you spins out of your control.” Left. “But then the trouble begins, Kylo.” Right. “Because when you lose control of matters,” left, “you promptly lose control of yourself.” Right. “You're out of control.” Left. “And you're too powerful to be left out of control.” Right. “It's not safe for anyone, including you.” Left. With each slap, five on each side, he made a noise, grunts turning into whines and then to louder cries as each stroke hit already tender skin. And with each slap, she could see him tensing around the dildo, and though she never desired to be a man, for a moment she wished she had a penis so she could feel that clenching. What she'd said was a ritual, a catechism of sorts that they repeated every session. Though the exact words varied, the meaning did not. She ran soothing hands over the hot, reddened skin – and it gave her some pleasure, too, to stroke that fine, firm, lovely rear. “And you know what the solution is, don't you?” she said as she pushed slowly back in.

            Kylo grunted when she bottomed out, but still managed to respond. “Yes, sir.”

She rubbed her hands up his back, pressing into his skin. “You need to give up control.”

“I already have, sir. To you.” His voice was deep and quiet.

She leaned forward, stretching out on top of Kylo's back. She brushed his long hair away from his face, behind his ear. “That's right,” she spoke quietly into his ear. She threaded gloved fingers into his long hair and tugged, just hard enough to sting. He made an involuntary yelp, but it was a positive sound. On impulse, she pressed her lips to the dark mole between his nose and his lip. She adored his complexion, the dark freckles and moles scattered all over his skin. They were distracting, but that one especially tended to attract her attention. He turned his head slightly more towards hers. He wasn't trying to steal a kiss, just turning towards her touch. “I control you,” she said. “And do you know what I am going to do with that control?”

            “I think I can hazard a guess,” he replied.

            She smacked him on his side with her free hand. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, just a small chastisement and a reminder not to give her lip. “I know you want it, Ren. Say it for me.” She twisted his hair, a little harder this time.

            That made him moan. His words tumbled out fast at first, all jumbled into one. “Ohstarsyes, yessir.” Then he took a deep breath and tried again. “I need you to fuck the fight out of me. Sir.”

            And that was her cue to move in earnest. She let go of his hair and stood up straight. “I control you,” she said as she was still thrusting slow and easy. She steadily built up speed and power until she reached the pace she knew he needed – not fast, but hard and deep. “I control your body,” she said, her breath still steady. “I control your reactions.” She stopped speaking for the time being, but the room was far from quiet. As she continued to exert herself, her heart rate and her breaths sped up, but that was nothing compared to the smack-smack-smack as each thrust brought the metal of her thigh armour into contact with bare skin. The plates would leave bruises, and that was why she had kept them on today – she knew he needed an edge of pain to his pleasure, and that he treasured the secret marks she left. But Kylo was the noisiest. He had learned in the past that Phasma’s quarters had good sound-proofing. As well as his panting breaths and the grunts that she forced from him, he was not shy about being vocal, moaning his pleasure and keening when she hit his prostate particularly well. She was under no illusion that it was the only stimulation he was getting; though neither of them was touching his prick, in this position it was rubbing against the bed with each thrust. And he was by no means still. And though he knew he was not supposed to move – the whole point was for him to lie there and get fucked – he couldn't help writhing under her, trying to push back. She didn't admonish him; she didn't think he was doing it consciously. Instead she just held his hips firmly and tried to minimize his movement. Meanwhile, he'd freed his left hand from under his head and both his hands scrabbled on the bed, fisting and unclenching spasmodically on the sheets. She could keep up her pace a long time, but it would drive Ren inexorably towards his climax ... and sooner than she wanted. So when she saw that he was close, she changed her rhythm to something shallower and gentler. In that fashion, she kept him dancing on the edge for minutes, close but never quite tipping over into ecstasy.

            She did it for him, to prolong and intensify his experience. She had not been meaning to make him beg, not this time. But ... “Ohgods pleeeease, sir, I need to ...” he began, and interrupted himself with a harsh gasp of breath, almost a sob. “I need to let go ...”

            He did beg very prettily. She thrust in deep as she leaned over him. “You will give me your pleasure,” she said. It was a statement of fact as much as a command. As she picked up her pace – faster, harder, and deeper – she kept her head close to his. All the pale skin on offer tempted her, and she bit down just to the side of his nape, and it coincided with the thrust he needed to put him over the edge.

            Kylo arched his body against her and howled when he came.

            Though the position was awkward, she held him close through the initial aftershocks and gently kissed where she'd just bitten him. After a few moments she manoeuvred him up onto the bed, and sat down beside him. She ran her fingers through his hair a few times - gently, this time – then began to rub his back soothingly. He seemed blissed out and relaxed, but there was no telling what his mental state really was. “Hey Ren,” she said softly, “You doing okay?”

            He hadn't quite found his words yet and just nodded, at first, so she kept rubbing and waited for him to speak. “I'm great. But ... I don't want to be done yet.”

            So he wanted something more before they let go of their roles and ended the scene. She made sure she made solid eye contact with him. “Tell me what you need,” she said.

            He took several moments to sit up facing her. “You made me feel so good, sir, and you get nothing from it.” She could have argued that point, but chose not to. “Let me ... I want to ...” he stumbled with his words, as he realized he didn't sound very submissive. He took a steadying breath and tried again. “Pardon me. I mean, sir, may I give you pleasure also? Sir.”

            She couldn't deny that she was aroused. Mostly it was from mental gratification – it turned her on to take Kylo down and take him apart like this, to hear and see his reactions. But also – she might not have any direct physical stimulation, but even through her clothes, the dildo and its harness had pressed against her mons, and that caused some pressure and friction to her clit. Not a lot, but enough to get her started. “You may,” she replied, “But first, when you're ready to get up, you're going to drink some water.” Ren took a minute for himself, as she hadn't quite ordered, and she simply waited, patiently. She didn't need to fill the time or the silence. When he rose his legs were steady, although his gait showed his soreness. (She smirked while his back was turned, proud of her work.)

            “Shall I bring yours as well, sir?” he asked.

            “Yes,” she responded. He returned with a glass in each hand and handed her one as he sat back down. She drank several mouthfuls then rose and put the glass aside on a small bedside table.

            She unclasped and removed her harness, then removed the dildo from it. She had draped the harness over her elbow and was about to step into the bathroom when Kylo asked, “Should I clean that for you?”

            “No, I'll take care of it. Finish your water and wait for me.” She spoke with the force of an order. While she was in the bathroom to clean her tools, she took the opportunity to remove her last pieces of armour. She understood that for Kylo, wanting to do things for her, wanting to help, was part of his submission. Having denied him one task, she offered him another. When she returned, his glass sat empty beside hers and his hands were unoccupied. She handed him everything – harness, dildo and armour – and ordered him “Put these away.”

            He rose immediately to obey with a bright “Yessir.” She sat down on the edge of the bed and watched as he put everything back in its proper place.

            When he completed his task, he returned to her and sank to his knees by her feet without her needing to order it. “Very good,” she told him. She was generous with her praise when he deserved it, and he blossomed under it.

            “Thank you. For insisting on the water,” he clarified. “I didn't know I needed it. But you did. You always know.”

            “Not always,” she admitted. “But I do try.” She angled his face up with a finger under his chin, so he looked up into her eyes. “And I believe someone needed to pleasure me.”

            She was misrepresenting what he'd said earlier, she knew, and when he opened his mouth she was sure he was going to argue. Instead, he stopped, closed his mouth and took a long breath before he replied. “Yes, my lady. What would you like from me, sir?”

            “Your mouth,” she said, “And you may use your hands, but only for this task.” Meaning, no wandering hands, no random groping elsewhere on her anatomy.

            Kylo nodded his understanding. But then he asked, “May I have the use of the gloves?”

            She raised her eyebrow, but nevertheless began to pull them off. “Perhaps. Tell me why you want them.”

            “Forgive my boldness, but, because in the end they are my gloves...”

            He'd paused as though he expected her to argue or to reprimand him, but she intended to do neither. “Yes,” she agreed. “Go on.”

            She appreciated that Ren was never shy or embarrassed about his desires, however strange they might be. He didn't blush or look away, but rather locked eyes with her when he continued. “After we're done here, when I go about my day, I want to smell you on them. As a memento.”

            The coincidence was so unexpected that she couldn't help laughing. She stopped almost immediately, though, when she saw the hurt in his expression. She caressed his cheek with a now-bare hand. “Darling, I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you, I promise. You know I wouldn't.”

            “Okay,” he said quietly. He no longer seemed hurt but he still seemed confused, not seeing the humour.

            “I'll explain after,” she said. “But I love your idea, and yes, you may have your gloves back.”

            She handed the gloves to him, and he put them aside. Then he raised his hands to hover by her hips, not touching yet. “May I?” The meaning was clear – would she allow him to undress her?

            “Yes, you may,” she replied. Once he'd taken hold of her waistband, she lifted herself off the bed slightly so he could pull both pants and underthings off her ass in one motion. She sat back down and pulled off her shirt and bra while he tugged her pants down the rest of the way. She poked him playfully with her big toe and when he looked up, she handed him her shirt to add to the pile of clothes he held. “You know what to do with those,” she told him.

            “Yessir,” he acknowledged, and stood up, then took them to the hamper.

            When he returned, he sank to his knees again, as always with enviable grace. In lieu of praise, she thanked him and squeezed his shoulder, then brushed her hand over to the nape of his neck and ran her fingers up his neck and up into his hair. He shivered, just barely noticeable, at the delicate touch. She scooted to the edge of the bed and spread her knees to give him access, and beckoned him closer with a pull from her hand on the back of his head. He shuffled forward and rested his head on her thigh while he reached for his gloves, though he only pulled the right one on. She wondered about that, but didn't question him; if he wanted to cover one hand and leave the other one bare, that was fine with her. Kylo laid a broad hand on each thigh and began rubbing circles there, each hand moving in a mirror image to the other, moving a little farther up with each circle. The difference in the two sides was subtle – the touch of the glove was drier and just a bit cooler than direct skin on skin. “Tell me more,” she said when his thumbs had reached the creases of her groin. “About my scent on your glove, and what you're going to do with it.” Kylo couldn't always be coaxed into talking dirty, but when he did it was worthwhile.

            He didn't reply right away, but she didn't mind, as he stroked up and down the sensitive skin of the crease several times, sometimes just with his thumbs, sometimes with his other fingers as well, sometimes firm and sometimes feather-light, always symmetrically. Finally, he leaned his face in and nuzzled there, breathing in. His hair rested soft and silky on her thigh. When he spoke his lips were close enough to her skin that she could feel his breath tickling her. “I imagine one of the lower officers giving me a report and he catches a whiff...” He trailed off, as if he was rethinking the scenario, and occupied his mouth by licking a long, wet stripe up one crease. It felt lovely, the first thing so far that really made her tingle, and she was torn between wanting him to continue licking and wanting to hear what he was going to say next. He ended with a gentle kiss on the jut of her pelvic bone. “No, better yet, I pass Hux in the corridor and somehow he manages to get a fleeting smell, but it's gone before he can figure out what it is, and he's left there irritated and thinking 'what's that smell?'”

            Phasma laughed. “I can see his face; I know that exact expression.” It wasn't hard, the expression Hux made when he was annoyed already looked like he had smelled something unpleasant.

            “I know,” Kylo replied simply, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. She was pretty sure he was visualizing the exact same thing.

            As amusing as the scenario was, thoughts of the General were the last thing she wanted lingering in the bedroom with them. “What else?”

            Again, he didn't answer right away. Instead he returned to his physical task, and licked a stripe up the right side of her groin to match the one he'd just done on her left, and kissed her hip at the end. He rested her head against her thigh again. “Perhaps this one I treasure most,” he began. He'd dropped his voice, and spoke quietly and deep, almost rumbling. And he wasn't idle; as he spoke his hands began to explore around and outside her sex. At first, he carded his fingers through her pubic hair, and she was distracted by the contrast of dark gold against the black of his glove. “I have a prisoner restrained for me in the interrogation chamber.” He moved that hand away to rest it high on her thigh, holding it to keep her legs spread. It was his left, ungloved hand that fell to trace the slit of her labia. On the next pass, his fingers traced the borders between the firm outer lips and delicate, crinkled inner ones. “When I raise my hand to his face,” he continued, “He can smell it on my glove.” His fingers continued their quest, tracing and stroking the folds of her inner lips, gradually working their way deeper. She couldn't complain about how slow it all was, because she loved that he took his time, giving thorough attention to every part of her sex. “He knows exactly what he's smelling, a woman's arousal. He thinks it is another prisoner, though, and he wonders if that is what is in store for him. First a beating, then some molestation? Or is it only the women who are so unlucky? I can sense his fear, and I can smell you. It's a good thing he cannot see under the helmet or the robes, because he cannot see my expression, or how hard I am.”

            “And do you take it out on him?”

            He switched hands, so the bare hand was holding her open while the gloved fingers explored her. He moved his head closer, close enough that when he answered his breath was warm on her exposed, sensitive folds, and she hissed quietly in pleasure at the sensation. “I don't mean to. I don't touch him, but when I probe his mind, I am too distracted, and instead of finding the information I seek, I pull forth his most erotic memories instead. All I can do to clear the prisoner's memories from my mind is to flood it with my own, to remember how it feels to reach deep inside you, to worship my queen.” While he spoke that last sentence, he (finally!) slipped his pointer finger all the way inside her, with his hand positioned so that his thumb pressed on her clit, and he rubbed it in place.

            “Oh fuck, Kylo,” was all she could manage.

            “You like that?” he asked. It was a genuine question, not smug. He withdrew his finger only to reinsert it along with his middle finger as well. She was relaxed enough to take them easily, and slick enough, especially after his story, that the leather went in with no more friction than bare skin.

            “Nnnghh. Yes, all of it,” meaning both what he was doing with his hand and the fantasy he'd shared. His fingers moved inside her, in and out, but too slowly and gently to be called thrusting. She asked, “And when you're too distracted to interrogate your prisoner properly, do you picture me on that slab?”

            “No,” he replied. “I would never. If anything the opposite.”

            Her “oh” of realization became something else entirely as his thumb pressed her clit in a particularly good way, and at the same time the mental image fully sank in. She thought they didn't dare actually use an interrogation room, but that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy the thought. It wasn't just the concept of Kylo bound and completely at her mercy that was delectable, but also playing their roles fully as prisoner and interrogator. She closed her eyes to better imagine it and moaned. She came out of her reverie when Kylo withdrew his fingers completely and his thumb left her nub. She didn't stay disappointed long, though. He used his hands to spread her lips open, and resumed pampering her, now with his mouth. He started with light, teasing licks, like an animal lapping at water. While it was nice, it was also so light it was close to tickling, and she squirmed a little. He took that as a hint and changed technique, and she put a hand on his head, weaving her fingers into his long hair. She was ready to take control if she needed to, but for the moment she just let her hand rest. He switched to long, firm strokes of his tongue, and was thorough in tasting every part of her folds, as though he was painting them with saliva and it was important not to miss a spot. Was there anything in the galaxy as sweet as how the heat and wetness of his mouth felt on her most sensitive parts? The whole time, he focused on her labia and didn't touch her clit except accidentally. It wouldn't get her all the way to her orgasm, she needed clitoral stimulation to push her over. But she didn't object, even though he kept at it for many minutes, because it felt so damn good. It would get her most of the way to climax, and the longer he stimulated her, the better that climax would be. Besides, Kylo was enjoying himself too, judging by the expressions on his face – intent and focused, but clearly content. When he came to a part of her labia that was particularly crinkled and lent itself to being gathered into a fold, he did so. Then he brought it between his lips and suckled at it as he would a nipple. It pulled more blood into already engorged and sensitive tissue and the sensation was exquisite, just the right side of too intense. She cried out her pleasure and her hand unconsciously tightened in his hair. It made him moan quietly, and the tiny vibrations felt even better. Since it was obvious she enjoyed it, he happily sucked there for a while, until it was almost too much. Then he returned to the pattern of firm strokes of his tongue – until he found another place where the skin folded over, and he suckled again. Again, he kept at it for as long as she could take it. This time, when he let go of the fold to move on, she decided she'd had enough of the sweet teasing torment. She tugged on his hair – deliberately this time – and pulled him off so she could look him in the eye. “Enough,” she said. “You know what you need to do.”

            “I do, sir.”

            When she loosened her grip on his black locks, though, he didn't do what she expected and wanted. Instead he made a point of his tongue and thrust it as deep into her canal as he could. He moved it back and forth, making it twist and undulate inside her. She let him continue longer than she should have, as it was disobedient. The sensation was so unique, his tongue soft and supple in a way that his fingers or cock never could be. It could have been phenomenal, but the limitations of anatomy meant that his tongue could never delve as deep as she needed. She would have welcomed this technique if he had used it during the long, slow increase of her pleasure, but now it was frustrating. She yanked him away hard, and slapped him across the cheek with her other hand. He whimpered gratifyingly. “You know what to do, boy, and that isn’t it,” she growled. “Do I need to give you detailed orders?”

            “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” He turned towards the hand which had struck him, and kissed her palm.

            She took his chin, none too gently, and tipped his head up to look at him. His pupils were blown wide again, and she wasn’t sure if had meant to provoke her, or if he had simply been tempted to taste deeply. “I’ll allow this lapse,” she said sternly, “but do not repeat it. Prove you mean it.”

He didn't acknowledge her verbally but he nodded slightly. He took his first two fingers into his own mouth to coat them in saliva. She thought the precaution was unnecessary – she felt she was slick enough not to need it – but she did not begrudge him being careful. He wasted no more time and slipped the leather-clad digits into her vagina, and held her labia gently open with his bare hand so his mouth had ready access to her clit. At first, his fingers moved in and out slowly while his tongue skipped around her nub, pressing and licking right beside it. It was indirect stimulation, but stimulation nonetheless, a good beginning. He didn't linger long at that stage, though, as he was well aware of her impatience. He began to probe it softly, and then he flicked it with his tongue until she squirmed, the contact so fleeting, she unconsciously moved to chase it. A firmer hand on his head was all the signal he needed from her to move on. He settled into what she really needed: rough, lingering strokes of his tongue that pressed hard on her clit. While the stimulation of his mouth intensified, so had the pace of his fingers inside her. It reached a fast rhythm. Being vocal didn't come naturally to her, as she'd had little privacy for much of her life, but she was trying to change that. Kylo appreciated verbal encouragement. “Mmmm, yes,” she murmured, breathless but content. “That's so good, baby. Keep going.” She ran her fingers through his soft hair, petting him as he worked. He kept going steadily with both tongue and hand for as long as she needed it. To his credit, his pace never faltered. She reached that point where she knew it she needed more, and it would send her over the edge. “Harder,” she told him. He paused briefly to rest his jaw before he pulled her clitoris into his mouth, and sucked at it the same way he had done to the crinkles of her labia some minutes before. Almost immediately, her grip on Kylo's hair tightened harshly and she pulled his head roughly to her, mashing his face into her crotch, all without being really aware. Her clit had become exquisitely sensitive by then, and the pleasure it gave her was near-blinding in its intensity, especially when Ren's muffled sound of pleasure and surprise buzzed against her. At the same time, he thrust his fingers in hard and deeper than he had before, hitting her sweet spot each time. “Aaah, fuckin’ gods, Ky’,” she cried out. It took only a dozen or so strokes, along with his suckling, before she reached her orgasm. Her whole lower body tensed and her fluid rushed out, drenching Kylo’s hand and chin. He continued with a few gentle licks while she rode out her climax, only pulling away when she let herself flop backwards onto the bed, relaxed and panting.

            Ren waited patiently in his place on the floor while she caught her breath and returned to a coherent state of mind. Phasma shifted position, pulling her legs up to lie on the bed normally. “Hey,” she said softly, “Come up here.” Kylo removed his glove and gathered the other, and put them both on her bedside table before he stretched out beside her, face to face. “You did well,” she told him, and rewarded him with gentle strokes on his face. He closed his eyes and nuzzled back into her hand. “We done now?” she asked kindly.

            “Yeah.”

            “Are you okay? How do you feel? Do you need anything?”

            “Yeah. 'm good. I don't need it, but. Would you hold me?”

            “Love to.” She pulled him into her arms and he made himself comfortable, putting his arms around her too. “Do you have any concerns to raise about what we did?”

            “Nope,” Kylo mumbled into her shoulder. He got this way sometimes after sex – his 'less talking, more cuddling' mode.

            Unfortunately sometimes talking had to happen. “Okay, well I have an issue I need to raise.” She pulled back a little so she could make eye contact. Kylo had his eyes closed and was still trying to rest his head on her. “Look at me, please?” He shifted enough that he could do so and looked at her patiently. “Most of the time, it's alright for you to deliberately disobey because you want me to punish you. We both understand what's going on, there. But when you're pleasuring me and you don't do what I tell you, it's frustrating. This time, I managed to keep a handle on myself. But Kylo, I came very close to striking you in anger, and that's something I never want to do.”

            “Why does it matter if you hit in anger or for discipline? The outcome is still the same.”

            “Intent is important, love, you know that from using the Force. But more to the point, the distinction matters to me. Do you understand?”

            Ren blinked slowly and sighed. “Yes. Don't provoke you when emotions are high.”

            “Exactly.” She pulled him close again. “Come here. Hey, I'm not upset with you. It's just ... something to be mindful of in future, okay?”

            “Okay.” His response was muffled in her shoulder.

            They lay together for silence for a minute and she was aware her criticism had made him pensive. She rubbed his back comfortingly. “You're still my lovely man, whether or not you're a good boy, you know.”

            He muttered something affirmative in response. His eyes were closed and he didn't say anything for several minutes, and she began to wonder if he'd drifted off. But he hadn't – when he spoke again, he did so quietly, but she heard him clearly nevertheless. “You control my heart.”

            She swallowed a lump of emotion in her throat. She cared deeply for Kylo; they had long since moved past submission and discipline, and were intimate outside of their sessions. But they both knew that love was something that those high-ranking in the First Order could not afford. Love made a person vulnerable and complicated their priorities. So neither of them had admitted to love, not even to each other. But now he had said it, more or less. She didn't know how best to respond, so she just held him a little tighter and said “I know, sweetheart. I know.” She was surprised how thick her own voice sounded.

            Whether her response satisfied him, or he had just needed to get that confession off his chest, his mood felt lighter after that. He just seemed more at ease, and after a few moments she felt his lips shift to a smile where they rested on her skin. When he finally spoke again, it was on an entirely different subject. “You were going to tell me what was so funny about the glove?” he prompted.

            “Did you wonder why I had you spread my cape on the bed?” she replied. He shrugged and made a non-committal sort of hum. “It was precisely so you'd be lying on it while I took you, and then your come would be on my cape. On the inside of it, mind, where the stain won't be visible. And then I would be able to walk around base smelling you.”

            “You'll also be smelling yourself now, though,” Ren pointed out.

            “I don't consider that a drawback,” she replied. “And again, if any of my men notice it, they wouldn't dare comment.” She smiled to herself, then continued. “You and I had basically the same idea. I just thought the coincidence was funny.”

            He chuckled, once. “I suppose it is. Great minds think alike, they say.”

            “Or dirty ones,” she corrected.

            “Mm, and you know just how dirty mine can be,” he agreed. “Could we do that, with the interrogation chair, do you suppose?”

            Phasma groaned quietly as she allowed herself to enjoy the mental image again briefly. “Not with one of the actual chambers, no. It would be too easy to figure out that we're using them for something other interrogating an actual prisoner. It's a pity, though. I like the idea, too. A lot.”

            Kylo leaned away slightly and smiled a broad, impish grin at her. “Oh, I bet you do.”

            She could almost see the gears turning in his head. “Don't,” she warned him. “You're plotting how we can do it anyway, and just don't.”

            He made an exaggerated pout. “Fine.” Then he changed the subject, continuing brightly, “You know what else I like to imagine?”

            “No, what?”

            “Well, I like your chrome dildo. A lot.” She knew – this wasn't the first time he'd said so. “One of the things I like about it is the fact that it matches your armour. I like to picture you in full uniform, and with it strapped on. And striding around the base like it's just another piece of the armour.”

            She couldn't help it. She broke down into laughter, a deep, heartfelt belly laugh.

            “Oh my. Stars. I would. Get into. So much trouble. But I. Love it. So much.” She manages to wheeze out between gusts of mirth.

            Her hair had fallen out of its usual tight formation during their earlier exertions, and her fit of laughter had shaken it into even more disarray. Kylo was still smiling, but the expression was more fond than anything else. He brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen in front of her eye, and tucked it behind her ear. “You're so beautiful when you laugh,” he told her. Words like that should have been flirtation, but it really, really wasn't. It was clear from his tone that he was merely stating the truth as he saw it. It was hardly the first time he'd called her beautiful, but she still wasn't used to it, still hadn't come to terms with the idea that someone might find her so. She blushed, a little. Even though she didn't say anything, that reaction was enough to betray her thoughts. “You are,” Kylo insisted, fiercely, and leaned in to kiss her cheek.

            Rather than argue the point, she deflected. “Well right now I'm a mess,” she said. Her hair was all over the place and she was damp with cooling sweat (and other things, in the case of her thighs). She didn't need to explain out loud, though; Kylo knew what she meant.

            “It looks good on you,” he retorted. “You look ... not well-fucked, that's me, but ...” he paused as he grasped for the right word. “... well-satisfied?” That wasn't quite right either, but she understood what he meant to say.

            “Nevertheless, I am a mess, and so are you, and we both need to return to duty.” As she spoke she extricated herself from their embrace and sat up. Kylo didn't cling, though she suspected he wanted to, and limited himself to catching her hand in his own. “Do you want to use the 'fresher first or shall I?”

            “We could wash together,” he suggested slyly.

            “No, and you know better, Kylo. You know where that would lead, and you know my rules.” There were always times after their scenes when she was taking care of him, when they took time to just relax together, and when they were cleaning up and dressing to go back into the world. During those times, they were still in close physical proximity and still emotionally intertwined and the temptation to fall back into sexual intimacy was strong. When they first began their ... arrangement, she had wanted to confine sexual contact to within the scene. Later, when their relationship evolved, she needed to draw a strong line between the kind of sex they had in-session, which was about Kylo's submission, about taking away his control and calming him down, and the sex they had other times, without that dynamic. And the way she drew that line was by forbidding anything that could lead into sexual territory after the scene was done until they parted ways. She was pretty sure he didn't understand why she needed that boundary, but he abided by it. He'd push, yes, by suggesting things that crossed that line, she'd tell him no, and that was fine. Cuddling, gentle affection and chaste kisses were fine; deep kisses and bathing together were most certainly not. And besides, there was a practical consideration, too; they did both need to get back to work, and doing other things in the bathroom than showering would only delay them more.

            “In that case, you can go first,” Kylo replied.

            “Alright.” She gave his hand a brief squeeze before letting go and standing. As soon as she stood, he nuzzled into a pillow and wrapped her blanket around himself. She understood, then, why he was letting her clean up first. Yes, some of it was a few more minutes of relaxation. But the way he buried his nose in her pillow gave him away. It was her bed, after all, and the bedding smelled like her; and clearly, if he couldn't have a few more minutes cuddling with her, he'd spend them cuddling with bedding that smelled of her. She smiled fondly at the thought, though he couldn't see it.

            When she returned several minutes later, Kylo was still. Not truly asleep, she discovered when she sat on the bed near him, but rather he was shallowly drifting in and out of awareness. She gently squeezed his shoulder and leaned over to kiss his forehead. His eyes fluttered open and he blinked away his disorientation. “Your turn,” she prompted him. He nodded.

            She watched him, unabashedly, as he stretched and rose and walked into her bathroom. After all, he was lovely and still gloriously nude. Kylo noticed, of course, and called back over his shoulder, amused. “See something you like, Phasma?”

            “You know I do!” she replied, raising her voice so he could hear her through the door when it closed behind him.

            Kylo generally took longer in the shower than she did. She dressed in fresh underwear, socks and thermals, then put on her boots and began the long task of putting all the pieces of her armour back on. She had just completed the task when he emerged from the bathroom. He had one towel around his hips and was drying his hair with another. When he saw that she was nearly ready, he draped the second towel on his shoulders to free his hands, and gathered her cape from the bed. “May I?” he asked. She nodded, and he shook the garment out to rid it of the worst wrinkles before he draped it over her shoulders and clasped it in place. He smoothed the fabric out some more with his hands. All that movement spread around the heady scent of sex from the still-damp areas of the cape. She smiled broadly when she smelled it; that had been the point, after all. The last few items – her gauntlets, helmet and sidearm – were in the main room, so she headed there and Kylo followed close behind. Once her gauntlets were on her hands and her blaster was at her hip, she tucked her helmet under her arm and turned to face her lover. “Before you leave ... may I kiss you?”

            It might have been unlikely to lead anywhere with her in full armour, but Kylo had been pushing a fair deal, today, and she thought he might push and make the kiss a heated one. Besides ... “Do you think you've been good enough today to deserve it?”

            “No. I was disobedient.” He looked down.

            She tipped his face back up to her with one careful finger under his chin. “But you may kiss my cheek,” she suggested. It earned her a small smile. He put his arms around her, apparently not bothered by the hard, cool armour against his bare skin, and kissed her cheek softly.

            He didn't pull back right away, instead he rested his cheek against hers, and his breath was warm on her skin when he spoke. “When can I see you again?”

            She'd anticipated the question and had considered her schedule while she dressed. “Tenth-day evening,” she replied. “If you manage to behave yourself until then, including the afternoon officers' meeting.” It was afternoon of Eighth-day, so that was two days away. She thought he could manage two days without losing his temper. Kylo groaned quietly. “I know, I hate them too. That is the last thing I have scheduled, so I'll be all yours for the rest of the evening.”

            “That's fair.” He kissed her cheek once more, then let go.

            “When you leave, make sure ...”

            He interrupted, not unkindly. “Make sure no-one sees me. I know.” There was nothing else she needed to say, so she donned her helmet. Ren touched her shoulder briefly. “See you day after tomorrow,” he said, his voice soft and a little wistful. She nodded, and he stepped out of the line of sight of her doorway before she left.

            Of course, when they discussed when they would see each other next, they meant when they'd see each other socially. It didn't include chance encounters during the day. The following morning, they passed each other as she left the commissary after breakfast. Ren paused, so she stopped as well, and her cape rustled behind her, even though there was no air current. His Force trick, no doubt, but it was so innocuous it didn't bother her. That certain fragrance wafted up to her, and she could smell it even through her helmet's filters. “Good morning, Master Ren,” she greeted him.

            “Captain. Likewise,” he returned. And then he saluted her, which was odd. But then she realized it brought his right hand – the one with the 'soiled' glove – close to his face, in a way that would not look suspicious to onlookers. And then, just as abruptly as he had stopped, he resumed walking.

            She couldn’t know for sure, but she thought he was smiling under his mask.