Rey's passionate kiss goes on and on, her tongue sliding against his as her feelings for him swirl and dance along their bond; there's just too much to understand it all. He has the giddy realization that there's no urgency to discerning all their colors and textures—he has a lifetime to discover her mysteries.
She turns in his arms until she's settled herself in his lap, distracting him from the overwhelming intensity of their shared emotions. The berth is almost too small, but that's fine—the less space between them, the better. Hmmm. She's so warm and they fit so perfectly together. Her scent, her soft skin, the way she keeps rolling her hips make his head swim.
Groaning at the thought of all the things he wants to do to her, her to do to him, he begins to respond to having a lapful of Rey. Just a handful of moments ago, all he'd wanted was to hold her close as they sunk into oblivion, but now he wants to quench an altogether different need.
Touching her, sensing her hope, basking in her love—the way it all blends together … she's rewriting everything. Once she'd walked through his defenses like so much smoke, he had begun to feel—really feel. Emotions he thought he understood, at least in theory—passion, desire, want—now riot through him with unfathomable intensity.
He can't even really claim to have known lust before finding her. All those faceless vessels for his release had simply been another weapon he'd use to punish himself. Somehow, perverting human connection had given him just a meager scrap of false atonement.
Whimpering into her mouth, he lets the tides of their ocean gently push all of that away. Having her legs across his lap, her face above his, it makes him feel cocooned in the bliss she spins out of his anguish.
Knowing that she loves him back has tripped something ancient within his heated blood. Since her eyes first seared into him, he hasn't allowed himself to imagine much beyond the idea of her skin against his, and even those moments had been fleeting, swiftly replaced with dreams of holding her.
Is it possible that he could be with her without that hollow sense of shame? Could it be sharing instead of stealing?
Rey presses against him and they twist and tangle until she's on her back with his body sheltering hers, looking down on her delicate face. While every instinct he's ever possessed demands he slide his hardness along her clothed folds, as close to her center as their garments allow, his last shred of rational thought keeps his weight supported by his knees and elbows.
Slow, slow, slow.
And not just for her.
Softly, reverently, he strokes her cheek with his fingertips, suddenly unsure of what comes next. In all the ways that matter, this is entirely new to him—he knows nothing of making love. Besides, she must have questions and he shouldn't expect either the bond or their feelings to mean further intimacy. But she blinks up at him slowly then lifts her face to his, inviting him to continue kissing her.
"Rey …" he breathes out as his head descends to capture her lips again. This at least he knows, even if they've only just learned together. The way her sipping caresses wind through his body makes his core throb in time with the heart she brought back from the brink. So much confusion as he's caught between wanting to touch her everywhere and fear that to even attempt more would hurt her.
Because she's been so badly used … perhaps she'll never want that. Be able to want that. And so he pulls away gently, rolling on his back as he carefully drapes her across his chest. Tenderly, he draws his fingers through her hair as he consciously slows his panting breaths.
It's going to take time to learn the finer points of the twin rivers of their feelings, the fragmented thoughts that churn to the surface, but he can tell that she's not as content as she'd been in his lap. At least none of the fear from before pushes through.
She repositions herself, sliding to her side then crossing her arms along his chest, giving her a place to rest her chin. As she gazes at him, her expression confirms that she's unsettled. He just doesn't know what to say. It's ridiculous that the very Force in their veins has bound them together, yet he's worried he shouldn't pry, that he already knows more than she would have shared, if she'd had the choice.
"You can ask me anything," he murmurs, hoping she'll match his attempt at openness. Ben wants nothing between them—no shields, no vestigial walls built out of anger and betrayal. They must forge this shared life out of trust and honesty.
Eyes widening, she swiftly hides her face from his sight. Ben sighs deeply. Creating space for her to feel safe enough to speak freely might take some time. All her life she's had to live behind a facade, hoping the dregs of Jakku wouldn't discover that she'd not been beaten down completely. He's intimately familiar with that knife edge.
Tightening his embrace, he kisses her just at the hairline. "It's all happened so quickly, but I know you. And I think you know me, too. Otherwise, you never would have let me touch you—and here you are, in my arms." She nods, with a small smile, but she keeps her eyes averted.
"But, that doesn't change that we've spoken little. I've never felt so close to anyone… and yet … I've no clue what you enjoy, dislike … any of those … sorts of things," he finishes awkwardly with a helpless shrug.
She shakes her head against him, making a huffing sound of consternation. Rey is a cautious thing, unused to her needs ever being considered and certainly never being respected. It's one of the many things they share. At least he thinks it is. He shouldn't press her, shouldn't rush her.
After a while with no response, just her fingers kneading mindlessly at his tunic, he wonders if they should just go to sleep. There's all the time in the galaxy to chart this strange, sublime, healing sea that's opened up within them.
His eyelids are fluttering closed when she whispers, "Why did you stop?"
A dull scrape of insecurity abrades along their connection and he's not sure what she means. "Stop?" he prompts.
"Stop kissing me," she says in a small voice. "Have I misunderstood? Don't you, uhm … like it?"
Closing his eyes tightly, he suppresses a desire to beat his head against the bulkhead. Idiot. He needs to learn to open his damned mouth and talk to her. That she would interpret him pulling back as rejection was almost inevitable.
Force knows, he doubts she could want him, even though her actions have painted a clear picture. Holding onto that, however, is another matter entirely when he has any doubt about what she wants or what she's thinking. It's so familiar to assume he's just being used. It has to be even harder for her.
"Rey, of course I do. It never occurred to me that I hadn't made that obvious. I just don't … I don't want to hurt you. Not after … Jakku."
Gods, why can't he speak plainly? He knows she'd been taken against her will. Repeatedly. The stark, sickening thought that's been stalking him, that he'd come so close to being one of those men—that he had been to some of her friends—almost gets purchase in his mind, but he won't let it in. She deserves all of his attention, without having to soothe him, too.
Oh, how he'd despised that clawing compulsion to warp each chance at a pale moment of companionship into something devoid of even a scrap of humanity. Ben Solo was always scratching at the door to his cage. But it had been his choice to keep returning, to salt the barren land of his heart.
Not for her. She hadn't even been afforded the illusion of choice. Night after night, her body invaded by whomever Plutt decided to grace with his prize … what would that even do to a person? He wants to ask, to know everything that was forced on her, like some perverse hope that if he just understood, he'd have the tools to fix it. Can it even be fixed?
That thought makes something deep and righteous flare where the last of his light lives. Rey does not need to be fixed. Ben has no idea what he's doing, but he does know that. She's like a tree that grew up through the duracreet, wrapped around modernity. Nothing could stop her magnificence.
As the silence between them grows thick, she shifts farther away, still on her side with her arm bent, supporting her head with her hand. Cautiously, he again attempts to capture her gaze. This is difficult ground, for both of them and she finally rewards his persistence by granting him her eyes.
But what he finds within their swirling depths is a sadness so profound it makes him breathe in sharply.
"So … kissing … it's not enough for you," she accepts with a heartbreakingly bleak tone. Before he's able to truly understand what she means, she's already continuing with an impossibly young voice. "I-I could … uhm, I could probably let you—"
"No!" he bursts out, dawning horror blooming in his chest. "Never, never that." Not precisely knowing how it happened, he has them both on their sides, facing each other.
Frantically, he wraps his arms around her, his throat tight and his eyes clenched shut against her offer to force herself to let him … let him ... "Please, please," he begs, not even certain for what. Just anything but for her to finish that sentence.
Gulping for air through the choking revulsion, he gasps, "Never, I never need that from you. I just want you in my arms, in my life."
Shrinking back from his intensity, her eyes blink warily; whispers of feelings that make no sense shudder along their shared awareness. Doubt? Shame? An odd sort of resigned acceptance has him turning in circles.
"Never," she confirms with a perplexing desolation.
"Yes?" he almost asks instead of answers, his confusion only growing.
"Just holding, kissing," she murmurs, her shoulders dropping.
"I don't understand." It would be so easy to despair, assume he's failing her, but he refuses to let his storm take him.
"You said you never need … that from me. But what do you want?" she asks with surprising intensity.
Sifting quickly through what he can sense from their bond, he's left with only the impression that his answer is important. This will define something essential between them. Letting out a long breath, he buys himself just a moment more to think. "Do you mean in terms of the future?"
Her lips thin, but he can't tell if in frustration or anger. "I mean … physically."
Wait, is she … is she blushing? She's usually so matter of fact—that discussing topics of a sexual nature makes her uncomfortable is oddly endearing. Rey has lived through so much, but she can't be older than 19 or 20. It's easy for him to forget that—she's so strong and capable. He realizes this is another reason he must be careful with her; under her stunning strength is a young woman, not the fierce, hardened mask she hides behind.
Taking her hand, he strokes his thumb along her skin as he tries to find the words to explain what he hopes for them without making her feel she's under any obligation to sate his desire for her.
"Rey …" Now he's the one to look away, too ashamed to meet her eyes. "Obviously you know my history, that I would visit Plutt's … establishment," he acknowledges with distaste, glancing up briefly.
"Yes … I asked. The other girls, about you." He doesn't need their connection to sense her displeasure. The spike of jealousy, though, that surprises him.
"And what did they tell you?" Much as he'd prefer to never think about his life before finding her, he won't hide how he used to conduct himself. But if she already knows, he wouldn't mind skipping over this quickly.
"Uhm … that you probably visited other, uhm … places. Not just … us. They said you'd been coming for a while, years maybe. But you only showed up every few months and never stayed longer than the … necessary time. Most of them thought, since you obviously didn't enjoy them like the other, uh, customers, that … that … that you-you-you …" she trails off and stares hard at the bulkhead behind him. He's about to press her when in a low, nervous voice she continues, "That you liked it, that we were nothing."
His first instinct is to correct her immediately, that she's as far from nothing that he can imagine. But there's obviously more to this, a thread of insecurity he can't discern properly.
It's startling to realize that the women would discuss their clients, even as it's blindingly obvious that they would. In that line of work, information can mean the difference between a hefty tip and a black eye.
How did he ever become so numb?
He's still struggling with himself when she turns her face fully from him, almost rolling onto her back. A burst of desolate cold whips through him.
If he hadn't been so close to her, he scarcely would have heard her next halting words. "They said men … men like you … that you probably visited other brothels, nicer, cleaner … better. Most nights, some assumed. Or you… you…" For only a moment she catches his eyes then miserably says, "You must have a mistress—or two—stashed away."
He gulps, thrown completely off kilter. He'd anticipated questions about his peculiar, reserved behavior, perhaps even uncomfortable questions about his history with her friends. But no, it's so much worse. Has she thought that … that she has … competition? That she's just one of many? The idea is so at odds with reality that he struggles to bring it into focus.
Taking her shoulder, he coaxes her back until she's again fully facing him. "No, Rey, no," he soothes.
Slowly, he reaches up, drawing his fingertips along her jaw until he's able to urge her to meet his eyes. "There's never been anyone but you," he proclaims softly, infinitely.
Her expression is bewildered, woven through with caution.
Smiling gently, coaxingly, he cups her cheek before saying, "I meant in my heart. You know I've been with women before you." She nods, waiting for him to continue. "But all I ever felt was empty at best, disgusted at worst. It's why I was not a … frequent visitor. There's never been any mistresses, no long list of Pleasure Bars."
The surge of her relief that washes over him makes it clear that this fear went deep. Rey deserves to understand just how singular, how precious she is. "You … before you …" Suddenly the future without her spins out with alarming clarity. What he would have become.
Shuddering, he shakes his head, needing to dislodge the idea. "I was so lost, trapped … Plutt's … it was one of the ways I punished myself. I knew I didn't deserve any softness."
"That's not true," she argues, her brows knitted together. Drawing her fingers along his jaw, she surprises him by pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.
Somehow, she always knows how to burrow even deeper into his heart. "I need you to understand, Rey. With you … touching you … it's nothing like …" He doesn't want to compare her, what he feels with her, to anything before she set him free. It's not even possible, not really. She's Rey, it's as simple and as infinitely complex as that.
"The best way I know how to explain is that what we have—" A surprising tightness in his throat makes him have to take a few deep breaths. "What we have now, being able to touch each other, sense each other, it gives me so much. More than I knew how to dream of."
Rey nods, a strange tangle of disappointment and solace flowing along their connection. "So … you don't want … what other men want."
"No. Never. I refuse to ever remind you of that," he growls darkly before reminding himself not to be so damned … him. Sighing, he continues more gently, "If going further than we already have would make you feel, in any way, like they did—well, I'd hold you and kiss you silly and be grateful for the privilege. You owe me nothing."
That his words are met with a fiery glare has him immediately wrong-footed. Swiftly, she pushes away from him and pulls herself into a seated position. Her inarticulate grumble of impatient irritation reminds him uncomfortably of his mother.
"But do you want me?!" she exclaims.
Why would she ask that? Of course he wants her. How could he not? Her soul is the most exquisite thing he's ever beheld—that she's breathtaking as well makes her nearly unfathomable to his needy heart. Just having her near makes him grateful for his long tunic. It's nonsensical for Rey to not already know—
Oh.
Oh.
She doesn't know. Just as her feelings for him go against everything he believes about himself, she has no place to put untainted desire. His caution has felt like disinterest.
Carefully, he swings his legs over the edge of the berth, sitting next to her. Taking in her panicked eyes and how tightly she has her arms wrapped around herself, his stomach sinks straight down to the durasteel beneath them. In his efforts to protect her, he's obviously gone about everything in all the wrong ways.
While he'd like to hold her, or at least her hand, she's still guarded and wary. Sighing, he suggests, "I think, perhaps, we should stop assuming that we already know what the other wants."
Her expression doesn't change, but she does nod slightly.
"I want you, Rey. Never doubt that for even a moment," he rumbles. "I didn't even know what it was to want until you." Her head cocks in query and he huffs bemusedly. Why is it all so clear to him until he tries to put it into words? She reached inside him with both hands, tore down so, so many walls—where once he was hollow, he's now filled with an almost constant throb of passion and adoration.
Gingerly, she unfolds her arms, her hands now resting in her lap, but she still gives the impression of a feral loth-cat—ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.
"I've tried to shield you from how intensely I desire you, but you must have felt what you do to me?" he asks.
Her eyes cloud with confusion. "I'd never been close to a man before Plutt's—"
"Then let me enlighten you," he interrupts, not wishing to lose the thread of this deeply essential conversation. "I have never, in all of my life, reacted to a woman the way I react to you. Not even close."
The little 'O' she makes with her lips as her eyes widen almost comically might be the most adorable thing he's ever seen.
Careening forward, he proclaims, "Rey, I cannot even begin to express how desperately I want to make love to you." 'There. The words are out. He's admitted to both of them that he wants everything, all of her. He'll accept whatever she wishes to share of herself, but it does no good to pretend he doesn't crave to discover all of her secrets.
Now that he's given words to how he hungers, how she ignited something primal in his bone and sinew, he needs to curl his trembling hands into fists to keep himself from just grabbing her to show her.
As his words sink in, he keeps her caught in his heated gaze. Her lips part and she begins to breathe in more rapidly. Fear or desire? There's no way to tell without taking the risk of her rejection.
Shakily, he asks, "And you, Rey, do you want—"
"Yes!" she gasps, leaning towards him, her eyes now simmering with answering fire. But then the flame flickers. Loss, helplessness, anguish, they all move across her face. "I just don't know how," she shudders out.
He reaches for her hands, waiting for her to complete the connection. When their fingers tangle together he lets out a long breath. "I don't know either," he offers, with a slight smile. "But I think we could find out … together?"
A little burst of hope gleams in her gaze. "H-how—how would we start?"
Now he smiles crookedly. "Slowly, I'd imagine."
The roll of her eyes pushes back the past's long shadow. "Well, obviously."
More seriously, he says, "I know neither of us have ever felt safe sharing … well, anything, really. But I do, with you."
"Me, too," she says sincerely.
"Then I think we need to relearn this, what it should have been." Holding her eyes steadily, he leans forward slowly before kissing her with all the tenderness she inspires. Then he cups her face with his hands, leaning his forehead against hers. "Please, Rey, let me court you."
She winds her arms around his neck and presses against him, hiding her face in his hair. Matching her, he embraces her fully, dragging her back into his lap. Right where she belongs. Rey doesn't need to answer right away; as long as she's by his side he can be patient.
After a long silence while they simply soak in the feeling of being close, she pulls back just far enough to catch his gaze. He sees tears gathering under her lashes, but he's sure they aren't from sadness.
"I would like that very much," she murmurs then gives him a small smile.
He knows for a fact he's never grinned so broadly.
A/N: Thank you, beautiful ArtemisBare for your always marvelous insight!
Thank you, Readers! Happy New Year! I know it's been hard for the entire planet, so everyone take a moment to feel really good about yourself. You're still putting one foot in front of the other, or maybe today you managed to brush your teeth-no matter what, you're still in the ring. And that is something to be proud of.
I love you all.