Warnings: sex work, past rape/non-con (none in the present story line)
.
.
Chapter One
.
.
Smoke clouded the bar, making everything soft and indistinct. Just one more layer of cover in a place where no one wanted to be seen. Skellig's was certainly not a respectable haunt for a galactic senator, and that was why Ben had no intention of being spotted.
He waited at a corner table, sipping Port in a Storm cut with pomegranate juice. The only person Ben knew to drink it straight was Chewie, but if the liquor was diluted he could handle it. Although the barkeep hadn't asked him questions, he could see the doubt on her face when she'd set his drink in front of him. It wasn't seemly for a senator to order alcohol that could be used as a cleaning agent, but it had been the sort of day Ben would rather forget.
Krastos finally showed up at quarter to midnight. An hour later than Ben had expected him.
"You're late," Ben said.
Krastos scratched at his cheek, right over one of the tattoos that Zabraks were so famous for.
"I had a long day," he said.
Ben snorted. "Not as long as mine, I promise."
"I heard."
Krastos laughed and pointed to the screen in the corner, which was replaying footage from today's vote. Skellig's wasn't a politically inclined establishment by any means, but this was the sort of news that would play all over the galaxy. Thanks to the Populists—thanks to his mother, really—the New Republic's military budget was about to be cut by a third. And it seemed there wasn't a single place on Hosnian Prime where Ben could get away from the vote he lost.
"Well?" he asked. "Did you find anything on Tai-Lin Garr?"
Krastos slid a flimsi folder across the table. Hard copies were nearly unheard of on Hosnian Prime, but hiring an investigator to spy on a political opponent was the kind of thing that could get Ben banned from the Senate and prosecuted. Every precaution was necessary, and a digital trail was too dangerous.
Ben flipped through the folder. Krastos had at least been thorough. It was all here: financial reports, transcripts of personal comm conversations, pictures of Senator Garr all over the city, medcenter records and more.
It was all here, and it was frustratingly unhelpful.
"There's nothing," Ben said, slamming the folder closed. "The man's clean."
"Squeaky," Krastos agreed. "Total waste of my time and your money—which you still owe me, by the way."
Paying Krastos wouldn't be a drop in the bucket of his wealth, but Ben didn't like to be reminded of debts. Especially from a criminal whose work had been utterly useless.
So he drew upon the energy in this bar, the balance that strung together every lowlife here, and tipped it in his favor.
"You've decided to do the work for free," he said, rounding his voice with calm authority. "You'll leave this place right now, then destroy all the information you gathered on Senator Garr."
Krastos blinked, a slack, dazed look settling over his face. "I've decided to do the work for free. I'll leave this place right now, then destroy all the information I gathered on Senator Garr."
He watched Krastos walk out, the flimsi folder hidden inside his coat once again.
A cold, satisfied hum played under Ben's skin. It had been some time since he'd used the Force in this way, and he'd missed it. The power that exerting his will on another creature gave him, the grounding sense of control it granted him when he so often felt unmoored.
He finished his drink, shuddering; even cut with a sharp juice it still tasted like fuel. But the Port had done its job. Ben felt calmer, the tension in his muscles loosened.
That sense of liquid peace didn't last long, because there was a sudden ripple in the Force. Like a stone being dropped in still waters, resounding and disruptive. Ben knew the feeling well, but it only crept up on him when he was around his mother, Luke, or one of his uncle's Jedi apprentices. The presence of another person sensitive to the Force.
The girl was young, but then, most courtesans were. Even poor ones fishing for customers in the slums of Republic City. There was no mistaking her profession, not with her upper lip colored pale purple, makeup that both advertised and shamed her. She straightened as Ben approached her. Her tongue darted out to touch lightly at her lip, as if tasting to be sure her lilac lipstick was in place.
She was a pretty thing, somehow elegant and raw at once. Tall and slender with brown hair and sun-kissed skin. Her white dress showed off long, shapely legs that could be opened for a price.
It was as sad as it was absurd, that this girl—desperate and lovely, working the lowest corner of the city—was Force sensitive. But she was. He could feel it all over her.
"Can I buy you a drink?" Ben asked.
She canted her head, her lips curving slowly. "You know you don't have to do that," she said, her voice low and breathy.
He didn't smile back.
"I know."
The girl looked up at him, seeming very small sitting while he stood. "Yes. You pick."
Ben got Corellian rum for both of them. Normally he'd ward off a workday headache by drinking water as well, but he'd probably catch something if he trusted the water here.
"I'm Ben," he said. "What's your name?"
She blinked as if caught off guard by his name. He didn't understand that; Ben was an ordinary enough name for a man.
"Rey." Their drinks were set down and she held up her glass in salute. "To your health, Senator."
She was forward, he'd give her that. Probably a necessity in her line of work.
Ben raised his glass as well, returned the sentiment, and took a healthy drink of his rum. It was harsh, cheap like the liquor his father preferred.
He wasn't sure what he wanted from this girl. The right thing to do would be to deliver her to his uncle for training, but Ben would rather eat sand than see Luke again. And after his own failure trying to follow the Jedi way, he couldn't honestly recommend that path to anyone.
So he simply asked, "Where are you from?"
The girl offered him a beautiful, empty smile. "Nowhere."
"Nowhere? I find that hard to believe."
Rey smiled pleasantly. "I'm from Jakku. Care to revise?"
Ben laughed, his first in days. "Jakku? I suppose that is close enough to nowhere."
Rey laughed with him, though the reality of it wasn't at all funny. She took another long sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving him.
When she set down her glass, she said, "I don't have to ask where you're from, of course. I might ask how you ended up here. And what I could do for you during your visit."
Ben bit his lip, then made himself stop. It was one of his tells, a sign of nervousness that his first campaign manager had not quite trained him out of.
He shouldn't even consider her unsubtle offer. Rey—if that was even her name—was no more than twenty, a desert peasant who somehow fell into sex work. Political suicide in a very pretty package.
But he could feel her presence in the Force, and it was like crowding close to a bonfire, being bathed in light, heat, shadow.
"You could get dinner with me," he said. "Do you know anywhere around here that's discreet and decent?"
Rey considered him for a long time. Ben was close to taking back his offer when she reached for her napkin and dipped it in the melted ice at the bottom of her cup. She wiped off her lipstick and stood.
"There's a noodle house a block and a half away. Intimate and a little scruffy, but very good food."
.
.
Scruffy was a generous description of Niro Noodles, but Rey knew she was right about the food. Ben ate slowly, like it was something he'd practiced. Likely he had, given what she could vaguely remember of his background. A senator, and royal lineage to boot. Rich all his life and dressed far nicer than anyone on this entire street. None of the ornamentation she would expect of the representative of Naboo, however.
Rey ate like a heathen, not even waiting until she'd swallowed one bite before she'd shove another in her mouth. She knew this about herself, and could reign it in most of the time. But it had been two full days since she'd eaten much of anything, and if it put Ben off, so be it. At least she got a free meal out of this strange transaction.
She finished well before he did, which made her feel unsteady for just a moment. Then he signaled their waiter and ordered her another bowl. He waited until it arrived and she was tucked in again before speaking.
"So, Rey from nowhere."
Rey glanced up from her noodles and found him watching her intently, dark eyes serious.
"I know you're probably busy. What should I pay you to keep me company for the rest of the night? Just to talk, not anything else."
Rey chewed her lip, looking this man over. Pretty, in an odd, inconvenient way. Reserved, but of course he was. Confident, because he asked what he should pay rather than what he could pay.
Lying about something, but what politician wasn't?
"I don't do the entire night," she said. That wasn't entirely true—this was just the first time she'd been offered.
"Play pretend that you do. How much?"
Politician.
"A thousand," Rey said. It was a fun number to play with, far and beyond what she'd ever brought home in a night. She hoped it made him laugh again, not walk away. She liked his crooked teeth.
"Done," Ben said easily.
Rey blinked at him, her joke apparently not landing. Her lips pursed.
"A thousand credits." That was her month's rent, and then some. "Just to talk to you."
He nodded solemnly. "Just to talk to me."
Rey suddenly wished that she had brought her staff with her this evening. She was about to make a foolish decision, and she was afraid it might be the first of many.
"All right."
Hosnian Prime was a pretty planet, as urban worlds went, but this was the black district. It was underground, three levels beneath the surface, lit by pale green lights that gave the whole place a spooky air. Here you could find whatever you wanted: spice, unregistered courtesans, F-class animals, banned weapons, organs, slaves. A nightmare for the Hosnian police.
Ben kept the hood of his grey robes up as Rey led them to a nearby hostel. The chances of being recognized here were low, but Rey supposed a senator could never be too careful. It wouldn't do to be caught on holocamera by anyone.
Rey walked slightly ahead of him, leading the way. She wore her hair up in a bun, showing off her back, which this white dress left entirely bare. She could feel eyes on her, she always could when she was dressed for the evening. But most of all, she could feel Ben's stare. Tracing her lines as if stroking his fingers over her skin.
He wasn't acting as if he only intended to talk with her.
"Here we are," Rey said. "This place is my favorite. Hardly any rodents." She smirked, enjoying how her joke made him squirm.
Ben checked them in for the night, which got a raised brow from the clerk. He wasn't used to the whole night being bought, either.
Rey led the way to their room, a clean but small set-up, with a bed large enough for mischief and soft enough for sleep. Rey wondered if she'd get either tonight.
Ben was poking around the room, obviously nervous and Rey just sat on the bed to watch. He'd bought the evening, so he could do what he liked. What he liked, apparently, was scoping out the dimensions of the closet.
"Do they do room service here?" Ben asked, after opening and closing the closet door a few times, and fiddling with the hinges.
"We just ate," Rey said. "And...no."
Ben pulled the hard metal chair away from its matching desk and dragged it closer to Rey. It looked uncomfortable, but it gave him somewhere to sit besides the bed. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging for only an instant before yanking his hand away. Likely someone had told him that this gesture made him look nervous all over, had trained it out of him so he could stand in the public eye.
Rey smiled softly at the idea that she made him lose his composure.
"You're something else," Ben said.
Rey snorted. Such meaningful conversation. She only uncrossed her legs, parting them a bit, and said, "Am I?"
Ben breathed deep, trying not to look at where her thighs were parted. He was interested. It was written all over him, in every nervous twitch of his hands and the careful aversion of his gaze when she spread her legs another inch. Definitely interested. Then why wasn't he doing something about it?
Rey reached down, pulling off her boots and socks, flexing her toes and pointing her feet. Long and narrow, she knew that clients in the past had been quite interested in her oddly elegant feet.
Ben only blushed.
"I know what to do if you want me to take charge, you know? I can make you feel good, make you feel less nervous."
He wavered, hesitating in his seat. Rey was certain that if she moved his hair from his face and laid her lips at his temple, she'd taste the bitter salt of an anxious sweat.
Then he jerked, stood, shrugging out of his robes and pulling his tunic over his head.
"I've had contraceptive and prophylactic shots. You?"
Rey smiled kindly. She was earning her keep after all.
"Yes. I have my charts on my holo if you'd like to check them. I'm up to date."
"No," he said. "I don't… that's okay. I believe you."
That was a weird thing to say.
Rey stood, plucking at the buttons at the neck of her backless dress. She pulled the garment down, baring her modest chest to Ben.
He looked at her, a ruddy stain stealing over his cheeks before he averted his gaze yet again, working on the falls of his trousers.
Rey bit back a chuckle. It was almost endearing to see someone so nervous to pay for sex, so unsure and outright polite. It tugged at places inside her she thought long dead.
Apparently her girlishness was only buried beneath the sand, corroded and barely passable for scrap—but not dead. She wasn't dead yet.
.
.
Notes: I'm co-writing this story with Next to Something, aka ReyloTrashCompactor over at AO3 and tumblr. Thanks so much for reading. We'd love it if you let us know your thoughts, so please take a moment to leave a comment below. :)