maskormenacelogs | [CLOSED]

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WHO: Kylo Ren, Ronan Lynch, Poe Dameron
WHERE: a bar
WHEN: now
WHAT: Some genuinely hideous third wheeling action
WARNINGS: Shameless PDA and then a sharp turn into mentions of torture and living with ptsd

[ Kylo hadn't expected the evening to go this well- and so, even more so than he usually is when in Ronan's company, he's in a surprisingly good mood. What better way to cap off the success of his gamble with a few drinks?

The bar he takes Ronan to is close to the gallery housing the As In Dreams exhibition they've just come from- warm, low light, full of couples nestled comfortably in booths and groups of friends clustering around tables, leaning over the bar. It's the last kind of place anyone would expect Kylo Ren to be, which is part of the point. Part of the exercise. He's pushing at his limits in small, manageable increments. ]

Here?

[ He leans closer to murmur the suggestion into Ronan's ear, his hand coming to rest on the small of his back as he gestures with the other to an empty table... and while he's a little stiff and unpracticed, the intent is clear enough. ]

I can get us some drinks. What would you like?

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[With his mohawk and his ripped jeans and his distressed leather jacket, Ronan is no more suitable to the cozy environment than Kylo is. But unlike Kylo, he doesn't bother to be on his best behavior. He, too, is in a good mood. And Ronan in a good mood means he's feeling rowdy.]

Jameson, if they've got it.

[As he steps around Kylo to get to the table, his hand slips down, following the curve of Kylo's ass. He gives it a good squeeze and a playful slap.]

Pick something for me, if they don't.

[ It isn't a subtle gesture. While it brings a certain heat to his face he quite enjoys the slow pass of Ronan's hand-- but the mischievous smack has him utterly disarmed for a good half second, stunned into a confused paralysis.

Which, of course, is probably exactly what Ronan was hoping for. Kylo stares, blinks, and attempts a recovery of sorts, leaning over the table as Ronan gets settled: ]

...don't make me regret taking you out in public.

[ Which isn't much of an effective scolding with the corner of his mouth tugging like that. ]

[Ronan slouches back in his seat as soon as he's in it, flashing a shitty and careless grin up at Kylo.]

Or else you'll ground me?

[ Mercifully, Kylo's understanding of that particular word is limited to grounding pilots rather than anything tied to parenting. But he still gives Ronan the flat, unimpressed stare he knows full well is expected in tribute by this point, his amusement all too obvious underneath. ]

I'm sure I can think of something.

[ And with that he straightens up and makes his way over to the bar, all but disappearing into the tangle of people swarming it. ]

[ Poe Dameron was no Jedi. He was pretty sure he had no access to the force, no premonitions or sixth sense. Pretty sure. And yet, somehow, he knew the instant Kylo Ren walked into the bar. Like a shiver that ran right up his spine or someone throwing cold water over him, he glanced over from his booth and Kylo was just there. There, and-

Okay.

What the fuck.

Kylo Ren is here, and getting his ass slapped.

The confusion involved in that revelation meant that he just sort of sat there for a moment, dumbfounded, watching this scene play out.

It was not quite as world twisting as it might have been a few months ago, because Kylo Ren had been acting weird, and they both knew it. Poe had called him on it. Poe had been acting weird too, but not as much as Kylo, and this?

This was a new level.

Kylo disappeared into the crowd and Poe found himself getting up out of his booth - making apologies to the natives he'd been chatting with - and walking over to Ronan. Why? He didn't know. Was he trying to get himself killed? He didn't think so.

But there he was, suddenly standing over the table with a very somber expression on his face, looking down at this guy. ]

Are-- [ Force, the words felt dumb even as they left his mouth. ] Are you okay?

[Ronan raises his eyes slowly as he's addressed, regarding Poe with a languid tilt of his head. He's paid just enough attention to know that this guy is one of the people from Kylo's space opera of a universe, so the question doesn't come entirely as a surprise. Ronan is quite aware of who Kylo really is and what he's done to these people.

Still, he finds the stranger's concern for him awfully absurd. Nothing about Ronan looks helpless or fragile. People don't usually wonder if he'll be safe. They wonder if they'll be safe from him.]

Are you here to rescue me?

[ Poe's brows knit, somewhere between confusion and - oh, no, it's just confusion. ]

Uh--

[ Is that what he's here to do? Maybe? Except-- ]

No, you didn't exactly look like you needed rescuing, I just--

[ Poe, what the fuck are you doing. He frowned, wetting his lips. ] Look, I just - I know this guy. Kylo. [ Assuming that's the name Kylo gave him - Poe's pretty sure he hasn't taken a new one again, but you never know. ] And I know how easy it is for him to-- Look, I just wanted to make sure that --

[ Nope, starting over. ]

Okay, who are you?

[Ronan says nothing for a good long moment as he stares unblinking at the bewildered man standing before him. He allows the silence to drag, cultivating discomfort in the air. Finally he moves, leaning forward in a leisurely way, to study Poe more closely. He folds his hands on the table and smiles with perfect malice, and at last he answers:]

Ronan Lynch.

[ Well, the smile is disconcerting, or would be if Poe wasn't talking to a man he'd watch slap Kylo Ren's ass. So instead, the malice filled smile mostly just falls under the category of 'well, that makes sense' and vaguely annoying. It wasn't like he expected Kylo to keep good people as company, so, evil smiles seem par for the course.

But damn it, when he'd found out that Kylo and Hux were on the outs, he was really hoping for something better.

So his mind instantly switches track from Rescue to Damage Control. ]

That name means literally nothing to me, so not as helpful as I was hoping.

So, what, you some kind of Sith or something? Because I'm kind of enjoying the not murdery streak that he's been on, and I'd like to see it stay that way.

[If Ronan is at all offended by the suspicion, it doesn't show. In fact, there isn't a flicker of change to his expression. The mark of a true edgelord.

He doesn't typically entertain the demands of strangers - particularly the self-righteous variety. But something has been bothering him for quite a while about these people he's glimpsed in Kylo's memories, and when Ronan is bothered by something, he's not shy about mentioning it.]

You all say you want him to move on from his past, but you're always there, waiting to remind him about what he is. Warning people about him. Assuming the worst.

[ This is what he gets for sticking his nose in when he knew perfectly well he should leave it the hell alone. ]

So who exactly is "you all"? [ As far as he's concerned there's only two people currently on this planet qualified to talk about Ren's past life, and he doesn't count Hux as one of them. ]

Because I don't think anyone can leave that kind of past behind. So yeah. I fucking warn people. [ Not that half of them even listen to him!!! Leia!!! ] Obviously shouldn't have thought I'd need to warn you, I just like it when people know what they're getting into. And now I'm pretty damn curious what he's getting into.

[There's no need to answer that question. It's only important that Poe knows he's part of the problem.]

He's getting into poetry, mostly. Art. Construction. The act of creation. You'd be amazed what happens when you let someone write their own story instead of having it written for them.

Is that what he told you? [ Flatly. ]

What, he had no choice, huh? Don't get me wrong, I'm one hundred percent pro poetry over murder but that doesn't erase the murder. Especially not in a guy who doesn't seem to think it was wrong to do it in the first place anyway.

[ Well. Part of him knew it was wrong. And that part of him was terrified of the rest of him. Otherwise it would be a lot easier to write off Kylo as a whole. ]

[Ronan gives a luxurious roll of his eyes.]

Did I fucking say it erased anything?

[These people...]

I know who he is. I know what he's done. And most importantly, I know what he's doing. You seem to be having trouble with the last part.

Yeah. I am.

[ He had no trouble admitting that, even if the eye roll made something dark twitch in his spine. ]

And if you know what he's done - if you actually know - then you should know exactly who I am.

[ But he's got a good feeling Kylo wouldn't even think of the torture part as something requiring confession. ]

[What Kylo may or may not deem worthy of confession is irrelevant in this instance. It's Ronan who's overlooked Poe's existence, one of a hundred tortures he's glimpsed in Kylo's memories.]

Maybe you're just not that important.

[ Judging by the look on Kylo's face as he reappears through the crowd holding his and Ronan's drinks, Poe's fairly important.

Where Ronan is loose and irreverent, Kylo is tightly coiled with power held at bay, ready to be tapped into. Poe's not a threat in almost every way that matters- but in one that does, he's intensely dangerous.
Because Poe knows.

And Kylo knows Poe can feel him there. He can feel the hairs rising on the back of his neck as if they were his own. ]

Dameron. [ Slow. His voice is low and smooth despite the twist in his gut, his gaze flicking between the two of them, heavy with curiosity. ] I see you've met Ronan.

[ That dark twitch had pulled tighter, Poe's expression already shutting off. Yeah, he didn't have time for--

He felt it before he heard it, like his heckles went right up for no reason, and then boom, sudden giant looming Kylo Ren right behind him. Fucking damn it.

He turned on his heel, spitfire defiance already in his eyes. ]

Yeah. Sure. Let's call it that. [ He gestured with a thumb at Ronan. ] You're having fun, huh?

[Ronan smiles again, a considerably warmer expression when it's directed at Kylo. He's having fun, that's for sure.

Whatever it is Kylo's worried about, he doesn't have to be.]

[ Kylo's expression slides into cool, unsettling intensity without easily readable parameters, the unblinking stare of a creature that can't be worried or rattled. It's a face he keeps for people like Dameron. He is still and poised, all of his potential for violence rising to the surface, waiting just beneath his skin. ]

Is that so hard to believe?

[ Or is it an insult Dameron can't let pass. Kylo Ren, having fun, unburdened by the weight of everything he's done.
Kylo suspects he knows which it is. ]

[ There's no need to suspect. The answer bleeds out of him into the air, the righteous fury licking at his eyes. He should have just walked away. He knew better. He did. But he couldn't help himself. ]

No. [ Bluntly. ] It really isn't. He even suits you.

[ He certainly had the whole irreverent flippancy toward human life down pat. ]

And apparently he knows everything about you, which is an amazing feat. You must've been busy. This one turn up before or after you dumped the genocidal maniac?

[ Kylo hardly moves, letting Poe say his piece and even leaving room for the words to breathe. His stare remains completely steady, though his lip tugs slightly somewhere in the middle of all that posturing.

Busy.
It's an interesting angle of attack coming from Poe Dameron. ]

I'm surprised to hear you suggest it should take more time. To learn everything about me.

[ He leans in, placing the two glasses down on the table, and straightens up again. No reason Ronan should be deprived of his Jameson. ]

I don't think you know everything about you. [ He said flatly. ]

Force knows you ignore chunks of it.

This how you been "finding yourself"? Find someone who can roll their eyes hard enough that you don't have to think about remorse?

[ A pause, and then, suddenly, ripped from his mouth with the not-helpful nature of his powers: ]

What the hell would you even write poetry about, anyway?

[Ronan takes up his Jameson and sips it, his eyebrows raised in dark amusement.]

Monsters. [ His lip twitches. ] It's published. You can read it, if you're interested.

[ Please don't.

He glances across to Ronan, then resettles his gaze on Poe's face. ]

You might learn something. But no. You won't find remorse in anything I have written. Anything I have done. How could you? It isn't what you want. It wouldn't satisfy you, to find it. It wouldn't give you what you need.

[ Poe had never read a book of poetry in his life, and yet: ]

Sure. Why not. That doesn't sound like a torturous evening. I'll send you my critique.

[ Fucking monsters, indeed. At the comment about what he needs, he puts his hands on his hips and this time he's the one to visibly roll his eyes. ]

Not this again. No. I wouldn't be satisfied, because it would be a load of bantha shit and I know it. [ This time he looks over at Ronan. ]

Watch. In like two seconds he's going to ominously say "I know your mind, Dameron", and then say something else uselessly cryptic. You wanna know why he thinks he does? Because he ripped it out of me, once, after - fuck, I don't even know how long they tortured me. [ A look back at Kylo. ] How long did you guys torture me? Actually you know what, I don't actually care. I don't think anyone here but me thinks it's important, anyway.

[If this is any kind of news to Ronan, it sure doesn't seem to surprise him. He sets his glass down and circles the rim with his finger, his eyes narrowing as they settle on Poe once more.]

And this is your revenge? Ruining our date?

[He sighs irritably, his hand drifting from the glass to massage his temple.]

Poe Dameron. He didn't torture you for long, if you can even call it that. It wouldn't have hurt if you hadn't resisted, but once he was there, it only took a few seconds to find what he needed.

[ Ronan's defence is that strange blend of expected and unexpected that disarms Kylo every time- but it sits uncomfortably as he watches Poe's face, as he feels the incredulous disbelief rising up.
He doesn't like the way Poe is thinking about Ronan, because he's wrong. ]

He was tortured for hours.

[ He says it slow. His voice is a level, steady thrum, rhythmic and determined as a pulse. His gaze slides to Ronan's face. Kylo won't hide behind Ronan's defence of him. If the truth disqualifies him, it always should have. ]

The First Order has its own methods. They had him for hours before I used mine. And I did. I tortured him. I ripped through him and tore out what I wanted. I had no intention of being gentle. But I could have. It wouldn't have mattered. Because it isn't what I did to you while you were in that chair. It isn't how I broke you that haunts you. Is it.

[ He draws his attention back to Poe, dark eyes searching his for the familiar spark of defiance swimming in horror. For the sick, twisting hate of knowing himself owned by a moment locked forever in the past- an inescapable anchor.
Does Dameron see it? Does he see the fight for escape velocity, blazing back at him in reflection?
His voice drops low, intimately quiet. This isn't intended as a performance. ]

It's that I can take you back there. Any time. Without doing anything to you at all. Without it doing anything to me.
You don't want remorse. You don't want reasons. You want this, and I will give it to you.

I know. I know what I did.

[ The flare of disbelief and incredulous rage was right there, right under his skin, licking at his lips and waiting to be snapped out, all remaining patience gone, replaced by a raw, open wound. But before a sound left his mouth, Kylo cut in first. The rage still boiled, spreading out through all his nerve endings as if they were on fire.

He didn't interrupt, but when Kylo's voice dropped he turned his back more firmly to Ronan.

For a long minute, he didn't say anything, glaring at Kylo unblinking. The only outward signs of his distress registering in the slightly-too-rapid rise and fall of his chest as he sucked in air; in the fluttering pulse at his throat.

Seconds passed, hard eyes assessing, and then finally he broke off, clicking his tongue. ]

No. You don't. You can't. Not until someone does it to you. And I don't actually wish that on anyone. [ He took a step backwards, pulling his jacket tighter around him, hard eyes locked on Kylo's. ] Not even you.

[Ronan doesn't argue with Kylo's corrected version of the events. If anything, he looks awfully pleased by it. Not by the torture session in question, of course, but by Kylo's confession.

He takes another sip of his whiskey, leaving the two of them to hash it out.]

[ Remorse, revenge. Ultimately, neither will cut either of them free, and it's that knowledge that boils and burns at Kylo's core, the relentless, churning fury driving him on and on.
Kylo lets Poe search his face for evidence without offering anything further- there is nothing more.
Because Poe's right. There is no other way Kylo could know. But he does, and the truth of it is in his eyes, if Poe has the ability to see it. ]

Edited (all that space wtf) 2019-01-18 00:01 (UTC)

[ He was waiting for the self assured retort, the twisted words to make this somehow about Poe rather than about him. He wasn't expecting the open stare, and honestly it made something squirm in Poe's spine.

He couldn't say exactly how he knew it. Whether it was Kylo's look or the memory of Ben's fear or just his own logic finally grinding through the conclusion. But it occured to him, suddenly. Kylo had to learn that from somewhere.

His eyes finally slid away with a hard breath.

He didn't know what to do with that. ]

The last thing you need is an apologist. [ He said finally, but the rage had ebbed away. Poe just felt tired. He zipped up his coat. ]

I'll read your damn poetry. [ Was what he finally said, half a growl, half an olive branch if one squinted very hard.

He glanced back at Ronan, clearly unimpressed, then to Kylo as he moved to walk by him and head out into the night. ]

[Ronan, as someone all too happy to play the antagonist in any situation, seems entirely unbothered by Poe's disdain. He returns that look with the sympathy of a pit viper, his mouth curved into a knowing smirk.]

[ Kylo doesn't move. Not until Poe takes the secret he's been offered and stalks out the door with it, his presence diminishing step by step- and even then, he is slow and stiff as he wrenches his attention back to the moment.

His date. Their date.
He'd almost missed that, in the rattle of crossfire.

He snatches up his glass, knocks back a mouthful harsh enough to twist into a grimace and folds himself seated, everything unsaid crackling under his skin. ]

Did he.

[ But Ronan can't follow Kylo's thoughts. He remembers that, a second later, and adds the missing context, eyes lifting from his glass to Ronan's face. ]

Ruin it.

[By the time Kylo's sitting with him, Ronan's face has softened once more. He leaves his own glass alone, shifting closer, reaching out to run his fingers through Kylo's thick, dark curls.]

Like I'd give him the fucking satisfaction.

[Of course it isn't ruined. In fact, nothing about the entire altercation has changed Ronan's mind about Kylo in any way. He's never been blind or naive about his troubled lover.

He leans in, brushing a kiss to Kylo's jaw.

Apologist.

So what if he is?]

[ Kylo doesn't surrender his discomfort so easily this time, though he does lean in closer, letting his eyes drift shut for a moment. He can feel it still- Poe's fury at the very idea of Kylo Ren cut loose from his sins.
And Ronan may not mind playing villain, but Kylo hates his shadow painting Ronan into the dark. He hates it so violently it trembles at the edges of every inhale, just that little sharper than necessary. ]

Not us.

[ He clarifies it because he feels Ronan should know he believes him, and the word... he hears it, once it's free, and he wants to say it again, and again.
Because whatever else, and under everything, there is an us, between them. It's not a question. There's no doubt. The idea that Dameron could touch it, let alone ruin it- it's an absurdity. ]

Our date.

[Ronan scoffs at the idea. He lays a few more kisses to Kylo's throat and drapes his arms around Kylo's shoulders, hanging off of him in a loose embrace.]

You tell me.

[None of it involves Ronan's trauma, after all. His threshold is rather high, anyway, considering he doesn't tend to let even attempted murder spoil a date. Kylo could strangle him and Ronan would answer it with poetry.]

[ He relaxes by slow degrees, enjoying the loose, easy weight, the solid certainty of Ronan's choice soothing the tension. He murmurs something soft and wordless, his hand sliding over Ronan's back, and decides that no. No, nothing's been ruined. ]

I hadn't planned much further than this.

We don't need a plan.

[They'll drink and they'll stumble home and they'll fuck. It might not go in that precise order, but they have a certain pattern of behavior these days, the two of them.]

[ They don't need a plan, Ronan's right. He doesn't really understand how or why, but there's welcome waiting for him at the end of this evening. And not just this evening. There's been welcome waiting for him every time he's looked for it. Sometimes, when he hasn't.

It's a warm thought, a comforting thought, one that he chooses over the lingering twist of discomfort humming underneath, following the simple truth of Ronan's existence pressed against his.

His fingers curl, just a fraction, transforming the slow stroke of his hand into the very beginnings of a grip-- and then the moment passes. His lips tug with amusement. ]

Such faith.

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