[ that insecurity is like a venom that taints the space between them. it lurks like a shadow, spilling over into the warmth of his reverence. because really, it's not reverence if he's only trying to draw attention away from himself. rey shuts her eyes, sighing in satisfaction of the attention to her breasts for only a moment before those dark eyes snap open and fix on him.

that gaze probes into his vulnerable places, and her fingers lift to chase them, following pocked scars like a starmap. let her fingertips press upon the injuries that she did not leave him with. her palm settles over his ribs where chewie's bowcaster humbled him.

her lips meanwhile find the small circular patch of scar tissue, pink and irritated, which rests near his shoulder. she had given him that. a jab. her tongue laps out to soothe a forgotten injury. then she reaches around him with her other hand, her fingertips caressing the path of her own lightsaber, able to track it in the angry burn that survives their animosity there.

they are gentle touches. assuring. enveloping. and yet glancing and short lived. ]

If you're touching me, I want it to be because you want me. [ she would never presume to ascribe love to this thing. she's still wary to suggest that kylo could even feel something like that, still. but want? need? hunger? yes. all this, and more. ] Not so you can hide. If you can't do that, you can keep your hands to yourself.