Summary: Twice Ben Solo thinks something is coming to a boil, then finally it hits him.
Rating: M
He's woken up to pounding at his front door, the sound echoing through the apartment. So he gets up, stumbles a little in a groggy stupor, and claws the deadbolt away. It's ten in the morning so he has no excuse, but it's a Saturday after a long night of drinking, so his hangover gets full reins.
He yanks the door open with the enviable grace of an elephant to see her standing in the hallway, face cross and hands on her hips. She's fully dressed. He's in a worn out t-shirt and boxers.
"Good morning, Sunshine."
"You have some things I need."
She pushes by him without waiting for a 'come on in, Rey, it's good to see you.' At once she's tearing for his bedroom, sinking her talons into his bedding and tossing pillows about. His brain wakes up.
"Whoa, whoa, what the hell has gotten into you?"
Hand on the doorframe he's halfway in the room, panicked and a little nervous. She looks like she's got the fires of hell on her heels and her eyes are glinting with determination. Whatever she wants, she's not leaving without it.
She mumbles something, slightly placated for a disoriented moment.
"Pardon?"
"My underpants, Ben Solo, you're hording every fucking pair I own. I want them back." She's gone beet red.
"There's no possible way—"
"I just did the wash, I've got two clean pairs. Where do you keep putting them?"
He never realized he was such a panty thief.
"Oh. Shit. Um, hold on a moment."
What was happening had good intentions behind it, but his execution was piss poor. She'd come over some nights after work, they swear they'd just have dinner and get to bed, but he had no self-control around her and he'd have her bent over some piece of furniture before the end of the night (on occasion she'd have him leaning on the kitchen table begging for sweet mercy) and her underwear would always go missing. She'd leave in a hurry for work the next morning without them (he takes full advantage of these days with wandering fingers whenever she's in his office alone). He would find them somewhere, usually tossed on the floor, once or twice on the ceiling fan above his bed. He'd then throw them in with his laundry with the intent to give them back the next time she was over, but instead she just sacrificed another pair to his whorish needs.
He rustles through the one unused drawer of his dresser and pulls out an armload of clean underwear, all hers. They vary in color and pattern but are all more girlish than womanly, with frilly patterns, pastel hearts, and cute bows. Her eyes bug a bit when she sees how many he's got stashed away.
"What the fuck, Ben."
"I'm sorry! You keep leaving them here when you scurry off like the sheets will fry you if you stay in my bed too long!"
She laughs for a short moment before noticing the strained look on his face. "I thought you'd want me to leave when I got up."
"No, I want you in my bed pretending to sleep so when I wake up I can go down on you for the fourth or fifth time."
She bites her lip so slightly. He knows that's her favorite damn thing about sleeping with him, the fact that he can't stop putting his head between her legs. The sounds she makes, oh lord the sounds.
He takes a thick breath. Something's come to fruition in his rattled brain. "What are you doing tonight?"
"I was going to eat cold Chinese food in my pajamas while getting my soul wrecked by one of my mid-semester projects until I pass out on my couch. Why?"
"I have Fall tickets to the ballet—well, they're my mother's, but she's not flying out here just to see it."
She goes quiet. "I don't have any nice dresses."
"Buy me coffee and we can amend that."
"Are you…" Rey tilts her head, squinting. "Are you asking me out?"
"Bound to happen, isn't it?"
"No! I'm supposed to ask you out! I've been trying to come up with the perfect—" She stops and glares at him. "You one-up me at everything and I hate you for it."
He tosses the panties on the bed so his hands are free to slip around her waist. "I can give you the tickets and we can pretend I didn't say it first."
"If I'm taking you somewhere it's more likely a shitty bar in the Village with mason jar candles and some horrible misanthrope at the microphone."
"Perfect." He kisses her cheek, excited to finally share with her all this sickeningly sugary pent-up affection he's found buried somewhere in his chest. "Help me pick out my worst pair of jeans?"
She laughs. "You own jeans?"
They're sprawled on his couch one crisp October evening, her head in his lap, his hand down her pants (she isn't lying, he always does this the second they're alone), and she's trying her very best not to squirm and groan while they're marathoning some string of awful horror movies from the 60s. He's not actually interested in what's happening but she is, and he's doing his damnedest to distract her.
"If you wanted to really pay attention, you could have watched these at home," he says casually as he finally manages to draw a whine from her.
"I wanted to spend time with you, but this is not what I had in mind."
"I thought you wanted to come over and watch movies?"
"Watch movies, I wanted—fuck, Ben."
He hit that one spot, he can tell from the look in her eyes. She's a little dazed and he knows she'll be losing her words soon enough. He leans down to steal the next moan from her mouth. "I'm sorry, what was that?"
"Please just let me sit up."
He removes his hand from her pajama bottoms and lets her up, licking his soiled fingers in a deliberately slow manner. She watches in a trance a moment before smacking his shoulder playfully and moving to sit in his lap, her head under his chin. He likes the smallness of her curled into his frame and he tucks his arms neatly around her waist before kissing the top of her head.
"Better?"
"You're such a pushover."
He bites her neck for the comment, chuckling against her skin. "I told you the first night—you make me easy."
"You said you're an easy drunk."
"I lied about the wording a bit." He's getting to be so soft around her; it's disgusting. "You are incredibly pretty though, that was the truth."
She smiles at him—grins, really—and he makes a quiet vow to burn the whole city down if someone were to take her smile away.
He's flat on his back, it's New Years—or rather, it's 11-something on December 31st—and the most beautiful thing he's ever had the pleasure to touch is perched on top of him, her skin coated with a light sheen that glows in the city lights. Her hair's an utter mess, thick with sweat and full of pins she didn't bother to remove before mounting him and driving him mad. His hands are iron on her hips and his legs are a little shaky. She's so hot around him; so damn tight that he's doing everything he can to not lose himself before she peaks again. He arches his back and moans her name louder than he ever thought he would.
"You're getting loud?" she asks through hot breaths, her thighs no doubt exhausted by now. "That's a new accomplishment for me." She stops dead and slides off him, making him whimper, hands clamped harder on her hips.
"Rey, please, don't stop."
"Moan for me."
"What?" He's not hearing her right through this lust-addled fog.
"Moan for me, Ben Solo." She dips to kiss his neck, bite his ear. "I want to hear you scream when you come for once."
"I don't—"
She's palming his balls with one hand and his head rolls back. Fuck this woman. He'd fuck this woman to hell.
With a roar, he tackles her over onto her back, pinning her hands above her head. She always gets doe-eyed when he gets aggressive and the unfamiliar submissiveness never ceases to wham him hard in the chest with sheer want and overblown possessiveness. Fuck, he loves her.
Wait.
He loves her?
Stunned by his own thoughts, she manages to wriggle from his grasp and flip them back around so her legs are caging his hips. But as he's scrambling to understand this new idea that's popped up and refuses to leave, she moves down and—
"Do you have any idea where that's been?"
"Yeah." She licks up from the base of his cock and his toes stop existing. "In me. I know where I've been."
"You can't."
She swirls around the head and he has a hard time breathing, already so fucking aroused from her riding him, her breasts swaying above him, her head back as he hit a particularly sensitive spot—
"I can." She's got one hand stroking him now and his fingers are wrapped up in the bed sheets to the point where he's afraid they'll fray. Or he would be afraid if his brain were thinking good with stuff.
"This is going to end up on your face if you don't—stop." He groans loudly and feels it hum deep in his chest. It brings her gaze up to his. If he had a little less control, he'd probably lose everything from the way she looks so pleased to have him buried in her mouth. "Get back up here, we're doing this together."
She kisses his tip after pulling him out and good god could she get any sexier? He doesn't think so, but she'll prove him wrong if he makes any comments. "This would be doing it together."
"It's New Years Eve and god dammit I want to end the year looking up at your face, not down at my cock. I can do that most nights by myself."
"Fine, fine." She returns up to him and kisses him hard before mounting him again. Her face looks so perfect in that split second each time, a look of blissful fullness. He doesn't last very long with one of her hands on his chest and he does moan her name, loudly enough that she has to kiss him to make him shut up.
She finishes herself off quickly and settles down on his chest, breath coming in heavy on his skin. "Better?"
"So much better." He's still in some wild world of white haze and he wraps his arms around her so tightly, god he could hold her here forever. "Glad we left that party?"
"I'm glad to not have to talk to Hux for a second longer. He's beyond infuriating, I don't know how you do it."
"With a lot of practice." Ben ducks his head down to pepper her cheeks with kisses, an elated feeling spilling from his ribs. He thinks he does love her—quite a lot, in fact—but they've only been seeing each other for a few months and he…he doesn't want to scare her away. So he'll keep quite for a while longer. Until then, well—
Rey giggles, tugging at his hair. "You can be pretty cute, you know that?"
"Please, I'm not half as good as you." He buries his face in the crook of her neck, biting down until she groans in pleasure.
She deserved so much better than him and he wasn't sure why she stuck around, but he was glad for it. Fuck, he was so glad.