[He realizes before too long what Rey is looking to pull from him, and his hand gliding across his length comes to a brief halt when she presses her fingers to him. On contact, his muscles instinctively tighten and he exhales his anticipation outward. It takes some effort to force himself to relax, shoulders once again sinking into the bed beneath him.
One hand moves to his mouth briefly, to trace the path Rey had left behind, to erase the strange sensation that her figers should still be there. They retreat before long, when he hears her question.]
Tell me what you want.
[Would he follow her lead? He has a sense that she’s doing this on purpose, to call forth the reminder of how much he regrets that they’ve been driven so far apart by the war — but its hard to resist when every bit of contact feels as solid as if she’d been sharing his bed all evening.
And he would be lying if he didn’t admit some pleasure in watching Rey take charge, even if he’d never give her that power by saying it out loud.]
no subject
One hand moves to his mouth briefly, to trace the path Rey had left behind, to erase the strange sensation that her figers should still be there. They retreat before long, when he hears her question.]
Tell me what you want.
[Would he follow her lead? He has a sense that she’s doing this on purpose, to call forth the reminder of how much he regrets that they’ve been driven so far apart by the war — but its hard to resist when every bit of contact feels as solid as if she’d been sharing his bed all evening.
And he would be lying if he didn’t admit some pleasure in watching Rey take charge, even if he’d never give her that power by saying it out loud.]