[ As if recognizing his approach, her eyelids flutter, a gradual stirring that is not complete until he crosses the threshold fully. Only then do her limbs jerk and startle; Kylo Ren is too heavy on his feet even when he seeks to be gentle, thundering along in a manner that makes her believe he is trying to conquer world beneath his feet, and the dark cloud that follows him — more potent, now — does him no favors.
It's the latter, primarily, that does the trick in rousing her. A klaxon, in its own manner, that seeks to warn her. She hates the wide-eyed stare she must give him, vulnerable and caught off-guard in the groggy throes of waking, though not more than the feeling that those few minutes of peace have been stolen away from her.
The urge to pull up her knees is there, though not for modesty's sake. Not even to conceal the scars peppered along the planes of her back from battle, from the gunfire he had trained on the Resistance, from the blaster bolts that had nearly taken her down. Shielding the expanse of wet skin on display — more luminous now, glowing and alive rather than sunken and wan — would only be a self-defense mechanism from a man that has used intimacy to try to wear her down in the past, weaponized it and her own body against her.
Even as her fingers twitch, curling over the lip of the tub as droplets cascade over them to drip onto the floor beneath, she resists the impulse. She has no intention to make herself smaller, straightening her posture where she sits. Rey holds his gaze unwaveringly and says nothing — watchful, waiting for his next move.
Either he will prove himself to be that same desperate monster that he had shown himself to be, or he will allow her body to remain her own in that way. To some extent, it is a blatant test. ]
no subject
It's the latter, primarily, that does the trick in rousing her. A klaxon, in its own manner, that seeks to warn her. She hates the wide-eyed stare she must give him, vulnerable and caught off-guard in the groggy throes of waking, though not more than the feeling that those few minutes of peace have been stolen away from her.
The urge to pull up her knees is there, though not for modesty's sake. Not even to conceal the scars peppered along the planes of her back from battle, from the gunfire he had trained on the Resistance, from the blaster bolts that had nearly taken her down. Shielding the expanse of wet skin on display — more luminous now, glowing and alive rather than sunken and wan — would only be a self-defense mechanism from a man that has used intimacy to try to wear her down in the past, weaponized it and her own body against her.
Even as her fingers twitch, curling over the lip of the tub as droplets cascade over them to drip onto the floor beneath, she resists the impulse. She has no intention to make herself smaller, straightening her posture where she sits. Rey holds his gaze unwaveringly and says nothing — watchful, waiting for his next move.
Either he will prove himself to be that same desperate monster that he had shown himself to be, or he will allow her body to remain her own in that way. To some extent, it is a blatant test. ]