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For some reason Kylo/Ben is being auctioned for some. Rey acquires him.
+ if it somehow takes place in-universe
++ smut ensues

Oh my god, like, cracky auctioned off a date night with Kylo Ren to help raise funds to build a fourth even fucking larger not-a-death-star-we-mean-it-this-time, or like for seriousness a slave auction that's hella dark? OP there's so many ways I could go with this and I want them all.

OP here!
HONESTLY I AM DOWN FOR EITHER ~~or both~~?? WHAT EVER TICKLES PEOPLES FANCY
~~as long as Kylo is oiled and shirtless at some point FOR REASONS~~

He’s wounded when they find him, shuttle gone down in the desert wastes, just past Kelvin ridge. And Jakku is a planet of scavengers, so they scavenge—the clothes and boots off of the shuttle pilot’s body, the scrap and parts from the ship, which is, apparently, not worth fixing, or too risky to fix, given the increased presence of the First Order.

They don’t care if he’s First Order, either, the dark-haired man in his torn black robes, who is pinned, groaning, barely conscious beneath the wreckage. The scavengers pull him out, not gently, and lay him on the warm desert sands just as the sun is starting to go down. And he can hear them, dimly, distantly, arguing in a mix of Basic and some kind of language he doesn’t understand over whether he’s worth trying to sell, too.

He doesn’t have the strength to fight. Or to beg that they end him, just put a blaster to his temple and pull the trigger, and let the pain end.

But instead, they must agree that he has some value, and they loop him atop the wreckage on the pallet they drag back to town.

Before this, he had always believed that the Force was amplified by pain; now, consumed by unfathomable agony—his leg is bent wrong, several ribs feel cracked, his hands, his hands are so cold—the Force is distant from him.

He wants to die. He prays, and begs, and bargains, and finally pleads with the Force, but it is silent.

Half-conscious when they drag him into town, he’s bartered to a large creature with slick, cold hands, given a shot that renders him numb and floating. The medicine burns through him, makes his mouth taste like ash, and he’s grateful, so grateful, when the darkness, at last, covers him.

When he wakes, he’s angry. There’s the familiar taste of bacta in his mouth, and a chilling, shivering wetness to his skin that tells him he must’ve been in a tank. He opens his eyes and looks around at what is plainly not a First Order medical bay, and then his anger turns to rage. His leg is better, and his wounds have healed, but when he reaches out to the Force there’s—

Nothing.

It’s like it’s not there at all.

He sits up on the rough bed, nude, save for a collar at his throat that he pulls and pulls at, but to no avail. The leather is soft against his skin, but the thought of being captured and collared, like some beast, like a slave, disgusts him.

When an attendant arrives, he snarls and curses at them. Bring me to the First Order, you will be handsomely rewarded, how dare you—But the words die in his throat when the woman presses a button on her wrist, and the collar shocks him into silence, into compliance.

“Let me be absolutely clear, boy.” The slaver says, looking down at him over her long nose, color-ink markings shifting from red to gold to amber on her skin. “Your repairs were quite a sizable investment, one I fully intend to recoup. You’re strong and healthy now, but I’ve taken down ones stronger than you, so don’t try anything. You go up for bidding next. Put something on.”

She gestures to the rack of what could charitably be called clothes, but he doesn’t move from the bed. “How dare you, slaver filth! Do you know who I am?”

“I don’t particularly care who you are.” The woman scoffs. “With what you cost me, I should keep you bare for auction. There are some who pay extra for that.”

The meaning is absolutely not lost on him. When she leaves, he stands up, ignoring the dizzying rush, and almost runs to the rack, pawing through the clothes. He’s always been so tall, and the fact that all he can find that appears to suit a humanoid is a pair of stiff green leather trousers that only go to his knees, the kind that tie up with laces at the waist, and a pair of low, worthless soft boots that pinch at the toes, it makes him grind his teeth and plan for thousands of methods of revenge. Most of which involve firebombing this whole fucking planet.

He tosses the boots aside, chooses a pair of sandals instead. Their ties wrap up his calves, like he’s some dancing boy, some pleasure-slave.

A shiver of real fear courses through him as he looks down, tying the final lace.

That’s exactly what he is.

Well, collar or no, he’s going to strangle the next person who touches him.

There’s no shirts that fit him, and he doesn’t have time to look further, because the slaver appears, finger poised over the button on her wrist. “Come on, it’s time.”

Kylo Ren, fearsome master of the Knights of Ren, one-time wielder of unfathomable dark powers, conquerer of star systems, heir to the legacy of his grandfather, Anakin Skywalker, stands pale and oiled and collared, wearing leather pants that are probably stiffer than the stick up General Hux’s ass.

They’ve got to come looking for him. They won’t leave him here, will they?

The slaver pushes him out on the stage, holding the end of a long silver chain that connects to his hated collar. She nudges him forward, and he stumbles, the leg still sore where it had previously been broken. And the assembled crowd looks up at him, Humans and Nu-cosian and Kyuzo, their gazes appraising, sneering, aroused…

And then it hits him.

The First Order isn’t coming to rescue him.

Excellent start, bookmarking to read when complete.

oohh ouch.

YESSSSSS

OP here, yesssssssssssss

He's glistening and oiled! And there's even more oiling to come!!! STAY TUNED MY FRIENDS

The girl that buys him—just that thought alone is beyond repellant to him, even though his chain is in her hands even now, even though he saw the money or… whatever it is here, change hands—is no bigger than a wisp of a sandstorm, and he hates her with the fiery passion of a thousand burning suns. She tugs on his chain. He doesn’t move.

“Look, you cost me twenty-five portions.” The girl says. “I don’t want to have to use the shock collar, but I will.”

Kylo Ren sneers at her, and stands resolute.

So she uses the shock collar.

One sharp pulse of it is enough to make him bite back a scream, damn near fall to his knees in the dust. It’s degrading, infuriating, and if he had control of himself he would reach into the Force and slowly withdraw every single blood vessel in her body, one by one, over the course of several days.

But he doesn’t. And her hand never moves from the control cuff on her wrist. Her eyes show no compassion, just guarded wariness. So Kylo gets up. He’s taller than her, easily a head above her; he could get his hands around her neck and squeeze—but he doesn’t particularly want to. And anyway, his hands are linked together now. He needs her, needs a place to sleep where cold alien hands won’t pry at him and poke and prod. He needs food. And he’s convinced that he can get her to take the collar off.

The girl tugs on the chain. He gives her a murderous look, but obeys. Better to play along with her, for now. Bide his time and be patient, just like Supreme Leader Snoke is always trying to get him to do. How bitter it is in his mouth that this is the way he’ll finally learn that particular lesson.

They walk. Out from beneath the shadowed canopies, caught up in an intermittent but sandy breeze. Kylo knows to be quiet and observant now, to watch and learn. Even if there were people here who knew him, knew of him, First Order sympathizers, they would not see him now as the docile man being led on a chain. There would’ve been none who’d seen him without his helmet on, anyway.

“Where are you taking me?”

The girls looks back at him, over her shoulder. She’s got the chain wrapped around her hand, in her fist. “To where you’ll be staying.”

“And will you be there as well?” He can’t help the taunt in his voice.

“I stay there as well, yes.” The way she twists the chain betrays her nerves, he thinks. He raises his brows at her in response and she turns back around, facing forward.

His eyes scan the sandy wastes. The sun is hot, relentless. His skin itches, oil warm and slick and streaking.

“I’ll need clothes.” He says, after they’ve gone a little bit further. He has no sense of direction in this place, and he hates the feeling. It’s just that there’s no landmarks. Well, he amends, no landmarks other than the sun. Which is currently baking its way into his skin as he walks, trailing like a pet behind her. “Better clothes.”

“I’ll find something for you.” She says, exasperated.

He’s exhausted. The cuffs on his wrists clank as he tries them, impatient. “How much further?”

“Not far.” She says. “I have a transport, but we’ll have to find a way to fit you on it. I’m not exactly comfortable having you ride behind me with those cuffs off.”

He doesn’t disagree with her there. They arrive at her speeder, a huge clunky thing that makes his lip curl. The girl sees this, and for the first time there’s a flash of fire in her eyes. “I repaired this myself, you’re in no position to judge it, unless you want to be dragged behind it.”

Wisely, Kylo keeps his mouth shut. He lets her lead him around, hating the exhaustion that lays heavy on his limbs. She motions him to climb up on the seat, and then buckles his cuffs onto a metal rivet along the side. He’s so tall he has to bend over, uncomfortably, and the girl frowns at him as he sits there, thighs heating up from the metal beneath him, back bared to the sun.

“No, that won’t do…” She mutters. “Here, let me—“

She reaches for his cuffs, but he flinches. With a scowl, Kylo watches her unclasp them, but all the rage and fight within him is gone, exchanged for a bone-deep weariness. She secures him onto the speeder again, one arm to either side of the seat. It’s only marginally more comfortable—but has the added bonus of encasing her waist and backside in his forearms when she mounts in front of him.

That’s… unexpected. The arousal that fills him, even as the dusty, dirty scent of her fills his nostrils. Female, sweat and musk. Clean enough for out here, he supposes, but nothing at all like the sterile-clean of the First Order’s halls. She seats herself back on the speeder, her body grinding against his, only for a moment. Unconsciously, he’s sure of it.

Options, options, he thinks. Even without the Force he can tell the girl is frightened of him, intimidated. He doesn’t doubt for a minute, though, that she can take him down. Especially in the state he’s in now.

The engine kicks over, and then they’re off. He hates how he has to struggle to hold on, legs clamping around the speeder, around her, hands wishing he could grasp her and hold on. For all his rage and spite he feels as weak as a newborn. Hair plasters to his sweaty face as they fly, and he’s unable to swipe it away. Sand stretches out in all directions around them, disorienting, hazy, hot. And Kylo growls even as he lays his head down against her back, even as she flinches. He feels like he’s going to pass out.

“Hey,” She nudges him awake, uncuffing him from the speeder. When did they stop? Kylo blinks and glares into the sun, which seems lower on the horizon now. As she looks up at him, he straightens up—then, almost immediately, groans in surprise and pain.

The girl looks at him as she crosses behind the speeder. Her hands are deft and sure as she unclasps his other wrist, helping him—controlling his fall, really—down off the speeder.

“Steady, c’mon, you can get up.” She’s less exasperated with him now, more worried.

“I suppose I’ll be quite the investment on you if I die out here…” He slurs, arm slung around her wrist, delirious.

“You’re so dramatic.” The girl sighs. “You’re clearly not from this world, or else the heat wouldn’t affect you so much. Get inside.”

It’s cool inside the shelter she’s brought him to, he thinks. She sets him down, face-first, on a low, hard pallet. Even half-aware he knows she’s securing the chain to the wall. His chain. But he’s too weary to fight her.

“You’re sunburnt.” She says. He doesn’t respond.

She goes and rummages around, by the sound of it. Comes back to him and smears something cold and wet on his back. More bacta, by the smell of it. He flinches, feeling murderous at every tender touch.

“Stay here.” She says, after she’s done and tossed the packet in the trash. “I’ll make some food for us.”

Us, he thinks. What does that even mean, Us? Out here, where he is owned by her? Some common possession, some pack mule. He is nothing like her. And she is most definitely nothing like him. That he knows for certain.

Not for the first time, Kylo Ren wishes he’d died when the ship had gone down. He sleeps, but his sleep is filled with dark and sticky dreams.

(op again) ahhhhh the plot thickenssss *eats popcorn*

feeling murderous at every tender touch.

Oh Kylo.

Awesome, I am so camping out for this! *pitches tent and grabs popcorn*

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PROMPT POST #3 - CLOSED

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Rey/Kylo Ren, Auction Fic

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