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Language:
English
Series:
Part 6 of 2020 Damerey Week, Part 9 of Sinful Sundays
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Forging A New Path
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Published:
2020-11-07
Updated:
2020-12-13
Words:
1,196
Chapters:
2/3
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35
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66
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The Empress Awaits

,

Summary:

Created for Damerey Creations Week 2020 | Day 7 : favorite au - dark!Poe + dark!Rey

 

With all the galaxy at her feet, there is but one she desires; one with whom she’ll share her bed.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes and other works inspired by this one.)

Chapter 1

Chapter by

Chapter Text

     

     

 

 

the empress awaits

 

With all the galaxy at her feet, there is but one she desires; one with whom she’ll share her bed. 

By night, The Empress awaits her pilot.
The one with eyes like the obsidian of space itself.
The one with the non-regulation hair that feels like the finest of silks between her fingers, when he falls to his knees before her. 

Poe Dameron, Special Forces Tie Pilot, is as equally skilled outside the cockpit as he is impossible to kill in flight.
Only when he’s between her thighs does he allow himself to relinquish command, and utter her name like a prayer into the darkness.

 

 

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

     

The message comes as he brings the flight systems online, a cheerful ping completely at odds with the task at hand. There are bare seconds before he needs to be out in the vacuum of space, but he pauses in his preparations long enough to accept the message. A hologram blinks to life in front of him.

Her face is all angles in the blue light, sharp and feline and a little cunning with that shrewd smile playing across her lips. The face of his Empress. The face of his lover.

“Come back to me, my love. Don’t make me wait long.”

It’s a warning… and a promise. He knows what awaits him after the battle is done. All the more reason to finish the job.

When he finally reaches the void of space, it’s pure bedlam, the rebel scum outnumbering them two to one. So, a trap.

He receives the hail immediately. “Onyx Leader, this is Onyx Two. How do we proceed?”

How to proceed, indeed.

What are they after? Even in these numbers they won’t be able to take out the cruiser. So, what is the goal?

Thankfully, that’s above his paygrade. He’s here to deal with the how, not the why.

The battlefield in front of him morphs, becoming a dejarik board, the ships his pieces. He lets the scenarios play out in his head, each move imagined in intricate detail, setting and resetting until he finds a way through. Though it’s dire, not all is lost. There are still a few moves to be had. Maybe not a victory, but not out and out defeat.

He sees what has to be done. And hates it to his very core. “All fighters take out those A-wings. The X-wings won’t be able to keep up.”

As he joins the fray, he chooses not to think about why taking out A-wings would have an effect on him. The ring burns on his chest. A reminder of a man he could have been. But that’s not who he is.

Poe smiles under the helmet. He knows it’s a sharp, dangerous look. This isn’t a redemption arc, after all. He takes aim.

They may be good, but Poe is better.

As much as he hates to admit it, he likes what the rebels call him a lot better than his actual callsign. Black Death. a plague on rebels everywhere. It has a certain ring to it.

He takes out two without so much as a second thought, diving and weaving between the laser blasts to get his sights on a third. It’s almost too easy.

But not everyone is as good or as lucky as him.

Three, four, five go down in rapid succession around him. Men and women he knows. Well, knew. It’s always this way, and yet it never gets easier. The loss. But sacrifice is part of the game. A few pawns given to protect the queen.

That’s what they do here. Hobble the opposition to protect the queen. His queen. And he knows that queen is waiting for him. That knowledge carries him through the battle.

But it’s a losing one. With every passing moment their numbers dwindle, far more than the enemy. It dawns on him slowly. There isn’t much more they can do, not while they’re getting picked off one by one. They did their damage. They kept them at bay. Now it’s time to cut their losses.

“This is Onyx Leader. Disengage immediately. Return to the Finalizer.”

There’s no hesitation, just absolute obedience. And that’s how he likes it.

When they return to the hangar, Poes assesses the damage. There are more missing here than present. A high toll. A bitter defeat.

He lowers his head.

 

The Empress waits.

She can feel him out there amongst the stars, like a tether to her black and withered heart. It’s a connection she neither wants nor asks for, but such is the way of the Force. She’s long since learned not to question it.

In the distance, she sees the green and red flashes of laserbolts against the black of space. Oh, how she longs to be out there with him. Dodging, diving, fighting. Anything but this, pacing the same ten or so steps over and over again, the click of her bootheels the only sound in the room.

Finally, he comes to her in the dark, smelling of ozone and starfuel. In the black expanse of space, there’s no night or day, but it’s late. Very late. She can tell with one look who won the day.

Not them.

His eyes are dark as he takes her naked body in, hungry, the only man she allows to look at her that way. The only man brave enough to try.

“Come to me, my love.”

There is no hesitation, just absolute obedience as he walks to her bed. Out there, he’s in complete control. But here, well this is her domain.

“Stop.” He does. “Let me see you.”

His smile is dark, but the flight suit is darker. He unzips it slowly, drawing it out, revealing inch after inch of tantalizing, golden brown skin. Her hands long to touch but she lets him put on his show. It seems he needs this more than her.

So she watches. And she waits. She’s good at waiting. She’s done it all her life.

But her patience wears thin. Carefully, intentionally, she leans back. Spreads her legs.

Her pilot abandons the flight suit in an instant, completely bare as he joins her on the bed.

“How do you want me?” His words are desperate, rough. That’s exactly how she wants him.

Instead of answering with words, she pushes him onto his back. Straddles his face. His pupils blow.

He worships her, his Empress, her name the only prayer that falls from his lips.

Rey.

On his knees, on his back, with her thighs around his ears. He makes her come undone.

Much like in the cockpit, he’s methodical here, precise, no inch of her left unpraised by lips and tongue. She shivers as it builds.

He’s barely halfway through when the klaxons sound. It seems the day is not yet done. Duty calls.

It’s chaos as they make their way through the halls, no one questioning why they’re half dressed or together. They know better.

She stops a young officer, fear flashing in his eyes when she demands to know what’s happening.

The Rebels are at it again.

A smile curves at her lips. “Ready my ship.”

 

Notes:

Considering a chapter two with the more sinful images that Tumblr says is a no-no. I've already swapped in a couple, but perhaps an offering for a Sinful Sunday....

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