His hands are on her breasts, warm thumbing through her tugged down wrappings that makes her nipples prick up into points -- the girl laughs, a sweet uncertain sound, and he does too before he lowers his mouth. In the Force the two of them are breathlessly entwined, his leg between her knees, her hair spilling over his face in coils. Up against a bulkhead, or rolling on the floor? The perception is as clear as if they were before him -- the traitor's hands, the girl's skin, their radiant warmth enough to make Kylo Ren shiver. His own hands are cold.