Author's Note: This chapter is rated Explicit. I battled back and forth with myself on whether or not it was actually necessary to the story and decided that it provides a good frame of reference for how these two very complicated people handle personal grief. If you have been avoiding any of the previous sex scenes, you'll want to skip to the next chapter, which I'll be posting back to back in order to be fair to everyone. Possible trigger warning for rough sex.
Coping
Yavin 4
The Thunderclap
Fynta didn't release Aric's hand as they wove through the shadows towards their ship. In fact, the closer they drew, the tighter her grip became. No sooner than he set foot inside, Fynta slammed his back against the bulkhead. Jorgan barely had time to activate the closing procedure before her fingers frantically unfastened the seals on his armor.
They left a trail of beskar through the ship leading to the main room where Aric pinned Fynta to the wall in a bruising kiss. He hadn't let himself think of Verin or Cinlat, even while helping Elara make the huntress look presentable before summoning her husband. He'd forced it all down and carried on with their work as a good soldier should.
Jorgan's hands slid up Fynta's undershirt, letting his fingertips trace every shiver and pulse beneath her skin. Her life meant more to him than anything else, and Aric wasn't ashamed to admit how thoroughly compromised he was. Once, the question had been whether or not he'd follow her out of the military. Now, it was only a matter of when.
The what if's rolled through Aric's mind feverishly: What if it had been Fynta instead of Cinlat? What if his wife hadn't woken up from Corellia—at least there he'd been able to fight by her side. Verin got none of that. He hadn't even known his wife was in danger, and she'd died before he got the chance to speak to her again. Jorgan wondered what he would have said.
Aric's hands tightened around Fynta's back, crushing her against his body as if he could hold off that eventuality by his strength alone. She whimpered into his neck, and Jorgan realized he'd squeezed too tight. Loosening his hold, he ran his tongue along her shoulder by way of apology.
"Do it again," Fynta breathed, her teeth grazing his skin. Jorgan's groan of pleasure escaped as a growl of frustration. He shouldn't want to hear her beg, to wring a cry from her lungs, but at the moment, every fiber in his body demanded a dominant approach. Being the force that she was, Fynta's aggression usually quelled this desire. But, when faced with her subservience. . . .
"Verin might have injured your ribs, we can't risk it tonight," Aric rasped, hating the words even as they left his mouth. A good, solid fuck would do them both a world of good right now. His control slipped as he said them.
Fynta shoved Aric so hard that he stumbled backwards. She pointed angrily, her eyes hard. "Don't you dare coddle me, Soldier." Jorgan blinked at his wife as she yanked him against her with enough force that her head hit the bulkhead. Instinctively, Jorgan put his hand between her skull and the metal surface. "Make me forget." Aric searched his wife's face and saw the pain she tried to hide from everyone else.
"Fine." Jorgan barely managed to keep his voice steady. "But, my way." Without waiting on Fynta's answer, Aric spun her against the wall. While one hand pulled her chin towards him for a kiss, the other snaked down her stomach into the front of her pants. Fynta wasn't quite as wet as needed for what he had in mind.
Running his fingers through her folds, Jorgan delighted in the shudder that ran through his wife's body. He teased until her legs quivered. The Cathar shoved his thigh between hers and lifted it enough to force Fynta onto her toes, taking all control from her. Without fully realizing it, he understood what drove her to this reckless coping mechanism. In the far reaches of his mind, he was grateful that it was with him, this time, instead of a faceless stranger. Without warning, he delved two fingers into her depths until his palm lay flat against her mound.
Fynta's breath came in ragged puffs that fogged the bulkhead where her cheek pressed. Aric took his time, his thrusts languid in order to work her up as much as possible. He ran the rough part of his tongue down her neck, stopping to pay particular attention to whichever spot yielded the most favorable response. Jorgan pushed Fynta's braid out of the way to nip at the delicate skin at the base of her skull. She pressed her forehead against the wall, using that small amount of leverage to grind against him. He savored the feeling for no more than a minute before deciding she was ready.
Just as quickly as he'd penetrated her, Aric pulled his fingers free. With a twist of his hands, he spun Fynta towards him, ducked her annoyed swing, and scooped her onto his shoulder. As he walked, Aric tugged her pants the rest of the way down her legs and tossed them to the side.
Jorgan dropped Fynta onto the bed and proceeded to remove the rest of his clothing. He realized in an offhanded way that she hadn't made the first advance towards him. Even as she landed on the mattress, she watched without comment or action, eyes roving over his body. That small act was the sole reason he didn't put a stop to this. She wanted him, but grief weighed down her spirit. The fight with her brother hadn't been enough to soothe it; now, she needed something else to remind her that she was alive. After one particular discussion about limitations between species, Fynta had admitted to her affinity for pain. After so long, you become numb to loss and anger, she'd explained. Pain is an ever present anchor, a reminder that you're still breathing; that you still have work to do.
"Shirt. Off," Jorgan ordered, and was only slightly surprised when she complied without snark.
In moments, they were naked, and Aric leaned over Fynta to place kisses down her stomach. She grabbed his ears to force his head up, glaring suspiciously. "I don't want romance tonight."
"I know." Jorgan patted her hip. "Turn over."
Fynta didn't ask questions, and the lack of spark in her eyes troubled Aric. Once she'd clambered onto her knees, Jorgan realized he hadn't taken her like this since their first, tentative session after Corellia. That had been careful and slow, given that her hip had been stiff from the surgery to attach the prosthetic. Tonight, however, there would be no gentleness; no soft moans of pleasure.
Taking Fynta's hips in hand, Aric squared himself behind her. He pressed the tip of his cock against her opening to check for lubrication, then snapped his hips forward in one, violent thrust. Fynta cried out, dropping to her elbows, and Jorgan repeated the process. He set a steady rhythm at first, testing her endurance and listening for cues that he might really be hurting her.
Fynta remained stubbornly quiet, only the occasional whimper between the vulgar sounds of their bodies colliding. Once, when she let out a choked mewl, Jorgan slowed his pace. Fynta bucked against him, face buried in the mattress. "Harder, damn you," she demanded, voice muffled by the sheet.
Aric considered his wife, their differences physical stamina. "Fynta," he attempted, but stopped when her body trembled under his hands. "Alright, but tell me if it's too much." She shook her head, and Jorgan leaned back to angle himself deeper.
The first thrust wrung a gasp from Fynta, but by the third, she'd fallen silent again. At this pace, Aric feared he'd come before she was ready, and gods, he needed to. Leaning over his wife, Jorgan changed his approach. His hands gripped the blanket under her knees, allowing him to thrust deeper, though not as forcefully. He nibbled and laved Fynta's shoulders, neck, and ears. Aric felt the telltale way her hips began to roll, a sign that she was on the cusp of completion and forestalling it. He sank his teeth into her shoulder, a metallic taste filling his mouth. Fynta's back arched, her muted cry ringing in his ears. He wrapped an arm around her waist and ground against her until the world ceased to exist anymore. Only blissful lack of oxygen as his body reached heights of pleasure that surprised him every time.
Fynta's legs slid from under her until Jorgan lay prostrate on top of his wife. He came down from the high faster than normal with the knowledge that he was probably crushing her. It had been a moment of happy ignorance, but reality crashed around him again. One where Fynta's brother had lost his wife. Havoc a valued member of their team. And Jorgan, a personal friend.
Aric buried his face in Fynta's hair and focused on her scent to ground him. He tried not to think about Verin, alone in his ship. Or the terrible emptiness he felt at knowing that Cinlat would never wake up. Fynta's shoulders moved beneath Jorgan's chest, and he started to rise when she gasped one word.
"Stay."
Fynta's voice shook, and Aric realized those were quiet sobs that made it difficult for her to breathe, not his weight. "Please, stay a little longer." Her tone pitched barely above a whisper, and the pain in it terrified him.
Jorgan settled over Fynta again, wrapping his arms around her shoulders so that he could prop on his elbows. He covered her with his body as if shielding her from the terrors that lurked beyond their ship. Placing gentle kisses along the abused skin of her shoulder, Aric eased out of her, wincing when she sucked in a breath.
Fynta mumbled what sounded like a litany, or maybe a prayer. It ended with Cinat's name, and she took a deep breath. When his wife fell silent for a few minutes, Jorgan risked a gentle nudge. "Let's clean up," he whispered, brushing his lips against her ear. "Maybe a shower, then some sleep."
Fynta nodded wordlessly.
Aric pushed off his wife, relief flooding him at the lack of blood on the sheets. Helping Fynta to her feet, he supported her with an arm around her waist while they showered. By the time they finished, Fynta had slipped into a state numb of awareness that they were both all too familiar with.
As they remade their bed, Fynta sighed. "She's really gone, Aric." When she met his gaze, her eyes shone in a dramatically lighter blue. Then, she closed them slowly and nodded as if counting. Jorgan let her. Fynta was no stranger to grief. None of them were. They'd watched those closest to them die time and again. Except this time, Havoc would stand together. They would endure.
Jorgan settled onto the bed and waited. When Fynta's eyes opened again, he beckoned her closer. She curled against him, head pillowed on his arm, and wrapped her fingers in his fur. "Come home to me, tomorrow," she murmured. "I can't lose you too."
Aric kissed Fynta's head. He refused to make promises that he couldn't keep, and settled for a half truth. "I'll be by your side the entire time."
