[ The vengeful, punishing thing to do would have been to cut him off completely, to surrender to the anger and hurt she felt following the Battle of Crait and make him suffer like she was. But it was petty, and his suffering would not bring him back to her. The mistake she had made in demanding too much of him too quickly was her own, and she would rather correct it than exacerbate it.
So instead, she held herself back from it. Her emotions ran too high, burned too hot — and so did his. It offered ample breeding ground for reminders, and she learned quickly how to manipulate the connection to provide them. If she listened, she could hear his aching loneliness rattling.
Sometimes, in meditation, she watched from a distance while he tried to smother it — never fully projecting, but reaching for his feelings.
Until tonight.
She can feel him, and as she reaches out to sense the edges of his loneliness, he reaches back, as if seizing upon her and rooting her there. That feels like some kind of victory, as if his will had started to bend under the weight of her warfare. Or maybe it's the Force, telling her that it's time. Either affirms her.
His eyes don't fix on her. He's somewhere else, still, opening his pants. She drinks the sight in with hungry eyes — it has been longer for her than him. Rey had not chased out shallow imitations. She doesn't say anything at first; instead she crawls closer and puts her hand on his back, her chin on his shoulder so she can look over it and watch what he does. ]
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So instead, she held herself back from it. Her emotions ran too high, burned too hot — and so did his. It offered ample breeding ground for reminders, and she learned quickly how to manipulate the connection to provide them. If she listened, she could hear his aching loneliness rattling.
Sometimes, in meditation, she watched from a distance while he tried to smother it — never fully projecting, but reaching for his feelings.
Until tonight.
She can feel him, and as she reaches out to sense the edges of his loneliness, he reaches back, as if seizing upon her and rooting her there. That feels like some kind of victory, as if his will had started to bend under the weight of her warfare. Or maybe it's the Force, telling her that it's time. Either affirms her.
His eyes don't fix on her. He's somewhere else, still, opening his pants. She drinks the sight in with hungry eyes — it has been longer for her than him. Rey had not chased out shallow imitations. She doesn't say anything at first; instead she crawls closer and puts her hand on his back, her chin on his shoulder so she can look over it and watch what he does. ]
Thinking of someone?