inappropriately timed force bond moments (both nsfw and humor approaches)
dream-sharing
emotional bleed/transference (from rey, involving other parties)
inappropriate force bond voyeurism on rey/poe or rey/finn
mid-conversation force bond interruption
The Rise of Skywalker- Cross-galaxy chase of the Resistance
anything related to ben solo, but especially:
snoke confessionals with family or friends of family
returning to the light
smuggler life style
jedi knight ben
resistance-fighter ben
The Rise of Skywalker- Force Ghost communications w/ Rey
anything related to supreme leader kylo ren, but especially:
fall via coup
resistance fighter reconditioning (gen or nsfw)
force ghost visits from anakin/luke/rey/leia/snoke
defeat by the resistance, and subsequent aftermath
The Rise of Skywalker- Mole Discovery w/ Hux
canto bight:
shady weapons deals
picking up prisoners
recruitment
obligatory dinner party
general casino shenanigans
beach party
basically any reason you can think of to use canto bight as a setting piece
A note on romance: I will ship all of the new trilogy characters with Kylo Ren (except Snoke/Family). But I have no interest in exploring domestic-style takes on them. Thank you for understanding.
[He adds emphasis on the word “sharing” like it is supposed to provide more clarity, but if this girl was taken as young as she seemed to be...well, he is sure Snoke did not teach his assassin about building meaningful relationships with people or about innuendo or any of that.
This is just another bed to her.]
Together.
[He is quieter when he adds that word, like it is supposed to be the glue.]
[ No, that's not right. Oh somehow gives the impression that she fully understands, and she doesn't. Not really. Not in the way he means her to, not in the way that provides clarity of the implications therein. But she understands that his nerves come from their proximity, that it's the closeness and the context which has him staring at her like he wants something.
That, she understands entirely. By itself their situation evokes a want that she can identify even without a framework to process it. ]
Don't be nervous. [ Helpful. ] I feel it too.
[ The want to be close, but also the gripping dread of allowing anyone to be there. She reveals too much of herself in saying even that, but it's the truth. Something warm in her gut makes her more aware of where she brushes against his legs, of the hair on the back of her neck, of the sound of her heart. (She'd felt it more keenly, if she's being honest, when he'd been grappling with her in the hallway. It was more primal then, less soft. But she decides not to share that.) ]
[His surprise is a strange thing. He'd kind of sensed something, but it was hard for him not to think he was imagining it. To hear Kira confirm it is...a mix of "told you" and "wait, seriously???"
No way. She probably has no idea what she's saying. Or maybe he's reading too deep into it and she is just physically thirsty and not at all emotionally thirsty. That is a little easier to digest. Assassins don't have real emotions, right?
He's devoting too much brain power to this. Ben clears his throat and shakes it out of his mind.]
I'm. Not nervous. Just--confused.
[Because like, murderous bloodhound or not, she's really hot and his track record with hot women is in the negatives.]
[ She nods, albeit a little warily. Confessing it feels like it gives him some power over her, but doesn't he already have it? She'd told him that she didn't turn him over to Snoke when she should have. He ought to have already drawn conclusions as to the effect he had on her.
Well. It wasn't as though he was the smartest man she'd ever met.
Kira leans in, her hands planting on either side of his legs as she starts to get up in his face, probing wordlessly at his fumbling. ]
Me too. [ Offering that in response to what he has admitted feels more secure. Her eyes still dart around to survey his reaction to that news. Confused, yes, was a good way to put it. She cannot put her finger to why he has this effect on her — the Force, she assumes — or what she's supposed to do with it. She's never been close to someone before. Not before him. ]
[She gets really close really fast, and he is sure that she must hear how quickly his heart rate shoots upward. The red under his collar creeps up just a little further, and Ben spends a few seconds just trying to get his reactions under control. Kira is practically in his lap, he can feel her breathing on his face, even at the distance she's established. Or maybe he's imagining it, because he suddenly wants her so much closer than she is.
He lets her come closer. And closer. There are several points where he can feel instinct telling him to stop her -- and eventually, he listens. He pulls himself up just enough to lean forward and meet her half way, close enough for them to feel one another's body heat.
This is probably a trust exercise. But if there is anything left of his father in him, its the tendency to yeet where his instincts drag him, trust or no trust. One of his large hands raises with the intent of resting on her cheek.]
Do you... [Awkward.] ...we can try and figure it out. [Stupid. He clears his throat.] I'd like to figure it out.
[ Her eyes drift shut briefly, and Kira tilts her head into the touch of his hand, savoring the warmth there. It harkens back to the half-remembered dream state wherein he'd embraced her, cradled her through panic. Her whole body sings with it, greedily soaking in the comfort. She turns her head, brushes her nose against his palm and opens her eyes to peer up at him.
Then, slowly, she nods.
Yes. She would like to figure it out. She would like to savor every ounce of this she can get. Snoke had always asserted that connections allowed for weakness, that Kira was strong because she had none, but there's a powerful possessiveness in finally having what she'd always longed for. And a certainty that she will do whatever it takes to keep it.
She moves up the rest of the way until her knees cage his thighs and she settles into his lap more definitively. It's apparent, like this, that she doesn't know at all what to do advance that intention, except more contact. She'd been young enough and her parents had been selfish enough that even his embrace had been foreign to her. Gestures of affection are outside her wheelhouse. ]
[Ben Solo absolutely needs Jesus right now. She plants herself directly in his lap and he gapes for just a moment before he catches himself. He was not sitting in a position that was prepared for another body, and so he grunts in a mixture of pain and surprise when she seats herself flush against him. His hands shoot down to her hips to lift her without thinking, just enough so he can readjust himself so neither of them are sitting on his balls.
Warn a guy, Kira. He can't hold her over his lap, of course, so he eventually just...sets her down. There's no real way to do this without making it way more intimate than he initially intended.]
Ok. Yeah. Hello.
[It's kind of...adorable. That's a weird adjective to assign a murderous assassin, but her curiosity and naked forwardness is intoxicating in its own way. He's softer in his approach, as if afraid he might take it one step too far and cause her to change her mind.
But now, with the lack of space between them, there's nothing to hide his nerves -- the warmth brewing under his skin and somewhere deep in his stomach, the feeling that makes the hair on his arms stand on end. He pulls one hand from her hip to return to her cheek -- his fingertips have started to tingle, and his skin might be a little clammy.
She's probably never even kissed anyone before. Oh boy. Pressure's on.]
[ As it turns out, she likes his hands on her hips just as much as she likes it on her cheek — in that she prefers the touch of bare skin, to her great surprise, but there's an appealing steadiness to him holding her by the hips. Her mouth feels dry, so her tongue presses out to wet her lips while she shifts her weight, trying to get an idea for how sitting in his lap is gonna go, the overall effect of which is some vague squirming. ]
Okay?
[ She's strangely invested in him approving this move for someone who'd just spelunked in his brain. But it had been hard to coax him towards that before, and as far as Kira is concerned, this is more. Much more. Pain is mundane, universal. Intimacy is scarce and precious and terrifying.
Reaching up, she mimics him. Returning the favor, really, as if to show him why it has managed to soothe the monster. She cups his cheeks in both her hands, though hers are so much smaller than his. His hand dwarfs her whole face. There's something fascinating to touching his face in this way too. She'd done it to probe his mind before. But it's not utilitarian now — it's exploratory, and she makes note of the bony prominences of his cheekbones and the galaxy of moles mottling his pale skin in a way she hadn't before. ]
[Oh god, the squirming is killing him. He makes a sound caught between a grunt and a groan as he's forced to drop his hands to her hips to -- stop her from wriggling. She can't possibly know what she is doing to him, rubbing against him like that. Or maybe she has an idea, but doesn't think it applies here. He does not need to pop a boner this soon into this exploration.
Even if his lizard brain really wants to yeet forward and embrace his inevitable erection.
As a result of that realization, he does not answer her question verbally. His eyes meet her's after she's done exploring the finer points of his face. Somewhere in between her exploration, he's tipped his forehead forward to rest on her's, momentarily content to absorb the contact.
But he doesn't stay that way long. Once he senses that she's still calm, he will eventually duck his head to search out her lips for a long but chaste kiss. It feels both the right and the wrong thing to do in that moment. But if it was definitely the most wrong thing to do, he suspects he'll find out shortly.
[ His mouth is warm and soft and distracting, which keeps her from complaint that he has stilled her in his grip. Frankly, the grip itself its welcome, sturdy and firm and assertive in a way that has heat rising in her chest. Kira's hands slide back from his face, digging into his hair to pull him in tighter, turning the soft kiss bruising without ever deepening it. Fistfuls of hair tug at his scalp as she uses it like a leash to savor the warmth of his lips.
If he's in any kind of trouble, it's only for being too unassuming, too skittish.
When Kira draws back with a long, heavy inhale, her eyes flash wide and dark, pupils made slightly bigger for the kiss. She meets his gaze, lingering close, and then searches the rest of his face, considering it. Evaluating, almost. She decides that she likes this very much a moment later, and leans in to drag her tongue lightly across his lower lip, then sucks it into her mouth to savor the taste of it and satisfy some new but burning curiosity.
As she releases, her teeth scrape along his lip, and the suction means there's a faint wet pop as his lip is freed. It's experimental almost, evident in the slight tilt of her head, in the way she opens her eyes back up to survey his reaction. ]
[When she rushes in on his lips, Ben feels his grip on his self-control slide sideways, and he scrambles to keep hold of it, to let her explore her limits at her own pace -- and maybe give him time to continue wrapping his head around this. But she's got a hand in his hair and is leading him around by it -- and he finds that he wants to surrender that control, to return to that feral sort of pawing they'd done to one another already.
The calculating look that she gives him, all hunger and lust, encourages a hungry drag of his hands across her hips that he forces himself to abort half way, fingers half-way down her thighs. The feint deepening of their kiss only has in leaning closer to her to try and chase it after she releases him -- and were she not so heavily seated in his lap, he might have tipped too far forward.
But she's caging his hips and his lap only grows warmer with each passing second. His fingers drag up her thighs again to her torso, and then he becomes bold and chases after that deep kiss again. He no longer bothers trying to hold her still, against his better judgement -- he wants to devour this attention while he still has it.]
[ In all ways, her efforts seem to be experimental more than refined. To that end there is no doubting he has her full attention. One of Rey's hands gives up on his hair and slides down his back, mostly blunt fingernails scraping along his spine through his vest. It's an unapologetic effort to reach more of him, as her desire grows like wildfire with the express desire and intention of consuming him entirely.
It can't be helped, really. He's fascinating. And hers, she thinks, to puzzle out as she chooses. She had known that from the moment she had resisted the notion that she might have to give him to Snoke. She'd given everything else over to the Supreme Leader willingly, but Ben? No. Never.
She sucks at his tongue when it makes its way past her lips, a messy but curious endeavor which she follows with her teeth scraping against his bottom lip, eager to use every tool at her disposal to explore him.
The stubborn rock of her hips is not designed to bring friction between her thighs — rather, it's designed to remind him to keep moving his hands, to encourage him onward, as the steady spread of that heat is more than welcome — but she notices that it does, and her breath comes out in a long shudder as a result. ]
[He makes a pleased noise behind her lips when she drags her nails down his back and when she sucks backward on his tongue. He can feel himself quickly getting lightheaded. But like Kira, it makes him want more of that contact, not less. So when her nails clear his vest, he finds himself releasing her just long enough to shrug it off his body. Unfortunately, it offers him just enough of a break in the rhythm of him ravenously oursuing her for him to evaluate with this is going.]
Kira—
[He is surprised by the strain in his own voice when he calls to her, and recognizes that he has been chasing the gyrating motion of her hips. Color creeps into his cheeks when he realizes that she’s made him hard with all of her attention. To that end, he pointedly halts her directly on tip of his erection, inexperience leading him to believe that she is less likely to notice what has happened here if she can’t see his dick attempting to tent in his pants.]
If we keep this up, I—
[God how does he even phrase this. Is he sweating? Gross.
I might have to stop if. You don’t want to go any further.
[ The noise she makes as he stills her is as undignified as it is feral. Caught somewhere between a whine and a growl, it comes from deep in her throat, both protesting and threatening. Her hands find his shoulders and her grip tightens there, though it's not immediately clear even in her mind whether she's trying to exert some kind of control over him and convince him to let her go back to it or if she's trying to rein herself in.
But she draws steadying breaths, nuzzling her nose against the side of his cheek to stop herself from diving back in for another kiss. The pressure of squishes her nose down flat.
Her heart pounds in her chest loudly enough that she has to wonder if he can feel it. They're pressed close enough, aren't they? Previously she had thought killing someone was the closest she could ever get to them. This is better. She wants further, she doesn't want to stop. She wants whatever she can get, but ... There is the matter of training him to consider. And the hyperdrive.
They're not in a position to be distracted by this kind of thing. No matter what the buzzing at the base of her skull demands. It, she thinks, is responsible for the way her underwear cling and itch. However, she doesn't get the impression that it's wasted time that Ben fears. So she drags her tongue along his jawline and asks when she reaches his ear, ] Why?
[She nuzzles at his cheek, licks along his jaw and growls in his ear. All of that in succession near ruin his ability to be even-headed. His knuckles turn white with how hard he holds her then, a few muscle spasms in his legs indicating that it is taking an immense amount of self control not to move forward.
It takes a few tries for him to be able to speak again. The first couple of attempts are just needy exhales, and then words that turn to grunts before they leave his throat.
He clears it and forces some sentences out. To accent his point and relieve some of his pent up sexual tension, he moves one hand between her thighs, running up the inside until his hand rests at her crotch between them. His finger squirms between them experimentally, to test her reaction.
He turns his head to answer back into her ear, as she had spoken to him.]
Because it keeps getting harder to stop and check on you.
[ Her lashes flutter as a feral, catlike noise comes out of her, some prolonged and keening sound that is cousin to a moan but too primal and honest to form into anything so well-polished. Kira's hips twitch, rutting into the touch of his hand in shameless spite of the flush in her cheeks and just how damp her underwear has become.
It's sweet and satisfying and just what she wants, but she's sure he can feel it. At least, it feels like her pants are damp too. That thought gets her eyes to open, her head to turn just so. She pulls back enough to try and get a look at his eyes, to see if he has found her out. As if before, it had been any secret her lust for him, and he has picked up on some carpet fiber to prove her guilt now.
She gets one hand up around his throat then, just touching, caressing, not gripping. But the threat of it remains, a steady reminder. ]
What makes you think you need to check on me? [ He looks just as tousled and frayed as she suspects she does. It's a good look, she decides as she scrutinizes him. ] What makes you think I could not make you stop?
[He can feel his heart skip a beat as fear and lust quickly rush up into his throat beneath her hand. His entire body throbs with adrenaline, and when she ruts into his hand over his lap, he is sure that his arousal must be no secret at all anymore. His eyelids flutter briefly as his neck goes straight, and he swallows a few times to try and form a coherent response.]
I don't need to. I want to.
[And as for the other thing, there is a pause while he chooses to consider what will happen if she tries to deny him an end to what they've started. He probably wouldn't stand a chance against her trained abilities, but he's sure it would be ugly -- and then he would lose, and be more miserable than he thinks he might have been since his father died.
[ Considering his response to the slide of her palm over his throat, Kira is shocked and delighted to find that he seems to relish the implicit threat. She can feel him grow solid and heavy beneath her, though the simple slide of his finger separates her from really appreciating it fully. Still. That awareness tugs at the corners of her mouth, turns them upward in an expression that is too dangerous to be a smile.
It is all lost in the face of his declaration. I want to, he says. He wants to check on her. Coddle her, she thinks at first, but even that gets embraced by some traitorous part of her that Snoke would eliminate if he could.
Her breath catches in her throat, trembling. The hold she has on his neck slackens, slips away down to his chest. No one has ever wanted to care for her before. Her parents had abandoned her, sold her as a slave rather than do it. Plutt in turn had sold her to Snoke after using her as a laborer, and even Snoke had shown her only precisely the level of nurture necessary to craft her into his tool. Beside the attention Ben Solo has given her, the so-called fatherly love she had believed Snoke had shown her was nothing.
To that end she leans in to kiss him again, both her hands slipping down between them. The teasing press of his finger has granted her permission, she thinks, to dual-purpose express her gratitude and shy away from further examination of her own feelings. It is a distraction as much as it is thanks that she slides her palm over the bulge in his pants and gropes blindly, rubbing the heel of her palm up his length along the edge of his zipper. ]
I won't. [ She says it quietly. ] I don't want you to stop.
[ All she has ever wanted is more. Quickly — too quickly, really, to the point of being abrupt and overeager — she decides that she is not satisfied with this over-the-pants approach. The angle is awkward and she cannot grip him. She starts unfastening his pants. ]
[He takes her forward dive as permission to cease his check-ins -- at least, to cease worrying about the fact that he might be going too far. Even if this turned into nothing more, stars he'd never complain as long as she kept reaching for him like that.
Ben exhales out of his nose, shaken and hungry, a moan slipping out of him as the heel of her palm generates friction between his jeans. His hips instinctually shift to seek out more of that contact, once it is pulled away from him. And then, her fingers are fumbling with his zipper. He can feel the heat and red rising up his neck, the wetness suddenly leaking out of the tip of his cock and soaking the front of his briefs.
He is no more practiced than she. While she unfastens him, he finds himself following his instincts (and what had felt good to him) and ducks his head to press his teeth to the side of her neck. His tongue slips passed them, wetting skin before he sucks it greedily back into his mouth.
It is not enough contact. He wants more, to feel her hands on his skin -- on his cock. To that end, he gropes blindly to try and release any closures holding her pants up. His fingers can only barely feel that opening of her's, which is where he knows he must be headed toward eventually.]
[ The front of his underwear are damp. Just like hers. It's an exaggeration, of course — she can only barely feel a wet spot as she pushes at the fabric to get to his cock, but the principle is the same, and there's a steady recognition in it. No wonder he doubted his ability to stop himself. If this felt half as good to him as it felt to her ... She didn't want to imagine stopping either.
Fears of Snoke had flown far from her mind, and in their place, only instant gratification.
She gets her fist around him just in time to whine into the attention he laves upon her neck. Kira's head tips and she squeezes around the velvety shaft of his cock. The skin there is softer, she notices, and elastic. She pumps her fist flat along the shaft without paying mind to the shining head, red and engorged.
But when she opens her mouth to make some comment, to taunt him with that touch, she feels his fingers brush bare skin and her hips twitch forward, a broken, unearthly sound slipping straight out of her lungs. It's miles apart from when she has satisfied her own urges in the quiet dark of her room, sparsely and with only attention to the physical need. Ben is something else entirely.
No. She's never felt anything like Ben Solo's touch against the bare skin of her abdomen. She shudders. There's a distinctive lack of pushing beyond this fumbling and groping. She has every plan to examine him, and no impetus to rush the matter further or strip herself entirely bare. It's just as effective, and more economical, to handle it like this, hands stuffed down one another's pants. ]
[Her touch stops short of where he wants her with every steady glide of her fist, but even the half-contact alone is enough to get him pushing himself up into her hand. He can’t pull her any closer if he wants to keep his hand in her pants — and judging by the reaction she gives him, he definitely wants that. In her hand, he throbs just a bit in excitement as the sound bounces off the corrider walls. A pleased smirk spreads against the skin of her neck as he continues to feast there, occassionally moving his mouth to different areas of her neck.
He’s noticed that, in doing this, he has left behind deep ourple bruises, marking her otherwise pale skin with trophies of his own. A surge of pride crashes over him. While he does that, he attempts to multitask, squirming his hand further into her pants.
He quickly realizes that he doesn’t actually know how to please anyone but himself (or, at least, people with penises). The touch alone seemed to do the job, so he awkwardly shifts his fingers around until his middle finger could glide seamlessly through her folds. It only takes a stroke or two to realize that her entrace is buried between all of that. Experimentally, he starts to slip a finger past, slow and curious.]
[ His touch elicits a low groan. She rocks her hips down into his touch, helping ease him in a little more decisively, her eyes flaring wide as his digit stretches her open, just barely. His finger is bigger than hers. Thick and long and made for this. She realizes too late that squirming her hips too much will only make the angle of his wrist uncomfortable, and with a whine she tries to realign herself, holding in a position where he can more easily fumble his hand down her pants.
It would be better, she thinks, to just strip her pants off entirely, but that would mean disconnecting from him, that would mean starving herself of the sounds he makes as she tugs at his cock, the way it twitches against her palm. She can't break contact, even for that.
So instead she redoubles her efforts. Rey's palm brushes over the head of his cock, then her thumb presses against it while she drags her fist back down. She wants to reach every inch of him. Her other hand delves further into his pants, a stiff and uncomfortable position that's nonetheless determined to feel around for his balls below, handling them without any gentleness. ]
Is this what you want? [ She murmurs it against his ear, quiet, finally feeling steady enough in their fumbling to ask the question, or even to tease him. ] Tell me.
[Ben's jaw drops open against his will when her hand starts to pass over the head of his cock. His head turns against the crook of her neck, a motion aborted half-way, harsh breathes coming out of him the faster she shuttles across his length.
He makes it his business to angle his wrist as best as he can, even with her squirming. No doubt he will have a cramp no matter what he does. The sounds she makes, the expressions that show her discovering an entire new world of sensations make it all worth it. He imagines that he looks much the same --
At least, until her other hand enters his pants. She attaches herself to his balls and he jerks, more precum leaking from the tip of his cock, eyes wide and a harsh exhale quite suddenly turning to a keening whine of both pleasure and pain. His forehead drops to her shoulder, his back arching away from her as he sees spots in front of his eyes.
Stars it hurts. She has his balls in a vicegrip, and it makes his forehead warm and his voice high. The dry friction combined with the pressure -- he might pass out.]
Oh god--yes. More.
[He forces it out, face red with effort. He curls his hand until his wrist cracks with the effort, digging his finger deeper, burying his thumb between her folds to try and do -- something. He isn't sure what. But he can't really thrust his finger, and this is what instinct tells him to do next.]
You're so wet, Kira. I need that.
[But his hand is trapped inside of her, so he can't even really make use of it even if there was enough of her arousal to go around.]
[ For a moment she flatters herself with thinking he just wants to be inside of her. She may not be experienced in the particulars of seduction and romance, but she does recognize how the biology works. But no. She can feel the twinge of pain mixed in with pleasure. Her palm is soft, yes, but not slick.
In thinking through it, her eyes dart across his face and she wets her lips. That's what gives her the notion. She pulls her hand free and spits into her palm. It's not terribly much saliva to work with. She spits into her palm again and stuffs it down his pants, wiping the spit over his cock as she starts to pump him again, experimental.
The glide is smoother, this time. She keeps her strokes exploratory, slow, as though soothing the previous chafing. ]
Does that— [ And then she trails off, her voice collapsing and losing its form to an unintelligible sound of pleasure as his thumb brushes against the hard nub of her clit. ]
[He forces himself to freeze when Kira makes that sound, eyes snapping open and muscle memory tracking the last few movements he's made. Its hard to think past the movement of her hand or the way his hips want to press upward into the warmth that fails to surround him the way he needs, but his thumb is careful and teasing in how he probes, searching for that hard nub he had accidentally brushed not moments ago.]
Does what?
[He has a feeling he knows what she had been about to say, but there is a husky quality to his tone of voice that is searching for that reaction again and not necessarily the answer to his question.
Some part of Ben's mind is becoming aware of the fact that both of them are just making this difficult on themselves by refusing to disrobe further. This close-quarters, shoving hands down each other's pants deal is ... something, but they're going to be chasing the feeling forever if they keep it up.
The worst part is how appealing that sounds to Ben personally.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[He adds emphasis on the word “sharing” like it is supposed to provide more clarity, but if this girl was taken as young as she seemed to be...well, he is sure Snoke did not teach his assassin about building meaningful relationships with people or about innuendo or any of that.
This is just another bed to her.]
Together.
[He is quieter when he adds that word, like it is supposed to be the glue.]
no subject
[ No, that's not right. Oh somehow gives the impression that she fully understands, and she doesn't. Not really. Not in the way he means her to, not in the way that provides clarity of the implications therein. But she understands that his nerves come from their proximity, that it's the closeness and the context which has him staring at her like he wants something.
That, she understands entirely. By itself their situation evokes a want that she can identify even without a framework to process it. ]
Don't be nervous. [ Helpful. ] I feel it too.
[ The want to be close, but also the gripping dread of allowing anyone to be there. She reveals too much of herself in saying even that, but it's the truth. Something warm in her gut makes her more aware of where she brushes against his legs, of the hair on the back of her neck, of the sound of her heart. (She'd felt it more keenly, if she's being honest, when he'd been grappling with her in the hallway. It was more primal then, less soft. But she decides not to share that.) ]
no subject
[His surprise is a strange thing. He'd kind of sensed something, but it was hard for him not to think he was imagining it. To hear Kira confirm it is...a mix of "told you" and "wait, seriously???"
No way. She probably has no idea what she's saying. Or maybe he's reading too deep into it and she is just physically thirsty and not at all emotionally thirsty. That is a little easier to digest. Assassins don't have real emotions, right?
He's devoting too much brain power to this. Ben clears his throat and shakes it out of his mind.]
I'm. Not nervous. Just--confused.
[Because like, murderous bloodhound or not, she's really hot and his track record with hot women is in the negatives.]
no subject
Well. It wasn't as though he was the smartest man she'd ever met.
Kira leans in, her hands planting on either side of his legs as she starts to get up in his face, probing wordlessly at his fumbling. ]
Me too. [ Offering that in response to what he has admitted feels more secure. Her eyes still dart around to survey his reaction to that news. Confused, yes, was a good way to put it. She cannot put her finger to why he has this effect on her — the Force, she assumes — or what she's supposed to do with it. She's never been close to someone before. Not before him. ]
no subject
[She gets really close really fast, and he is sure that she must hear how quickly his heart rate shoots upward. The red under his collar creeps up just a little further, and Ben spends a few seconds just trying to get his reactions under control. Kira is practically in his lap, he can feel her breathing on his face, even at the distance she's established. Or maybe he's imagining it, because he suddenly wants her so much closer than she is.
He lets her come closer. And closer. There are several points where he can feel instinct telling him to stop her -- and eventually, he listens. He pulls himself up just enough to lean forward and meet her half way, close enough for them to feel one another's body heat.
This is probably a trust exercise. But if there is anything left of his father in him, its the tendency to yeet where his instincts drag him, trust or no trust. One of his large hands raises with the intent of resting on her cheek.]
Do you... [Awkward.] ...we can try and figure it out. [Stupid. He clears his throat.] I'd like to figure it out.
no subject
Then, slowly, she nods.
Yes. She would like to figure it out. She would like to savor every ounce of this she can get. Snoke had always asserted that connections allowed for weakness, that Kira was strong because she had none, but there's a powerful possessiveness in finally having what she'd always longed for. And a certainty that she will do whatever it takes to keep it.
She moves up the rest of the way until her knees cage his thighs and she settles into his lap more definitively. It's apparent, like this, that she doesn't know at all what to do advance that intention, except more contact. She'd been young enough and her parents had been selfish enough that even his embrace had been foreign to her. Gestures of affection are outside her wheelhouse. ]
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Warn a guy, Kira. He can't hold her over his lap, of course, so he eventually just...sets her down. There's no real way to do this without making it way more intimate than he initially intended.]
Ok. Yeah. Hello.
[It's kind of...adorable. That's a weird adjective to assign a murderous assassin, but her curiosity and naked forwardness is intoxicating in its own way. He's softer in his approach, as if afraid he might take it one step too far and cause her to change her mind.
But now, with the lack of space between them, there's nothing to hide his nerves -- the warmth brewing under his skin and somewhere deep in his stomach, the feeling that makes the hair on his arms stand on end. He pulls one hand from her hip to return to her cheek -- his fingertips have started to tingle, and his skin might be a little clammy.
She's probably never even kissed anyone before. Oh boy. Pressure's on.]
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Okay?
[ She's strangely invested in him approving this move for someone who'd just spelunked in his brain. But it had been hard to coax him towards that before, and as far as Kira is concerned, this is more. Much more. Pain is mundane, universal. Intimacy is scarce and precious and terrifying.
Reaching up, she mimics him. Returning the favor, really, as if to show him why it has managed to soothe the monster. She cups his cheeks in both her hands, though hers are so much smaller than his. His hand dwarfs her whole face. There's something fascinating to touching his face in this way too. She'd done it to probe his mind before. But it's not utilitarian now — it's exploratory, and she makes note of the bony prominences of his cheekbones and the galaxy of moles mottling his pale skin in a way she hadn't before. ]
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Even if his lizard brain really wants to yeet forward and embrace his inevitable erection.
As a result of that realization, he does not answer her question verbally. His eyes meet her's after she's done exploring the finer points of his face. Somewhere in between her exploration, he's tipped his forehead forward to rest on her's, momentarily content to absorb the contact.
But he doesn't stay that way long. Once he senses that she's still calm, he will eventually duck his head to search out her lips for a long but chaste kiss. It feels both the right and the wrong thing to do in that moment. But if it was definitely the most wrong thing to do, he suspects he'll find out shortly.
So yeah. Yeet.]
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If he's in any kind of trouble, it's only for being too unassuming, too skittish.
When Kira draws back with a long, heavy inhale, her eyes flash wide and dark, pupils made slightly bigger for the kiss. She meets his gaze, lingering close, and then searches the rest of his face, considering it. Evaluating, almost. She decides that she likes this very much a moment later, and leans in to drag her tongue lightly across his lower lip, then sucks it into her mouth to savor the taste of it and satisfy some new but burning curiosity.
As she releases, her teeth scrape along his lip, and the suction means there's a faint wet pop as his lip is freed. It's experimental almost, evident in the slight tilt of her head, in the way she opens her eyes back up to survey his reaction. ]
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The calculating look that she gives him, all hunger and lust, encourages a hungry drag of his hands across her hips that he forces himself to abort half way, fingers half-way down her thighs. The feint deepening of their kiss only has in leaning closer to her to try and chase it after she releases him -- and were she not so heavily seated in his lap, he might have tipped too far forward.
But she's caging his hips and his lap only grows warmer with each passing second. His fingers drag up her thighs again to her torso, and then he becomes bold and chases after that deep kiss again. He no longer bothers trying to hold her still, against his better judgement -- he wants to devour this attention while he still has it.]
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It can't be helped, really. He's fascinating. And hers, she thinks, to puzzle out as she chooses. She had known that from the moment she had resisted the notion that she might have to give him to Snoke. She'd given everything else over to the Supreme Leader willingly, but Ben? No. Never.
She sucks at his tongue when it makes its way past her lips, a messy but curious endeavor which she follows with her teeth scraping against his bottom lip, eager to use every tool at her disposal to explore him.
The stubborn rock of her hips is not designed to bring friction between her thighs — rather, it's designed to remind him to keep moving his hands, to encourage him onward, as the steady spread of that heat is more than welcome — but she notices that it does, and her breath comes out in a long shudder as a result. ]
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Kira—
[He is surprised by the strain in his own voice when he calls to her, and recognizes that he has been chasing the gyrating motion of her hips. Color creeps into his cheeks when he realizes that she’s made him hard with all of her attention. To that end, he pointedly halts her directly on tip of his erection, inexperience leading him to believe that she is less likely to notice what has happened here if she can’t see his dick attempting to tent in his pants.]
If we keep this up, I—
[God how does he even phrase this. Is he sweating? Gross.
I might have to stop if. You don’t want to go any further.
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But she draws steadying breaths, nuzzling her nose against the side of his cheek to stop herself from diving back in for another kiss. The pressure of squishes her nose down flat.
Her heart pounds in her chest loudly enough that she has to wonder if he can feel it. They're pressed close enough, aren't they? Previously she had thought killing someone was the closest she could ever get to them. This is better. She wants further, she doesn't want to stop. She wants whatever she can get, but ... There is the matter of training him to consider. And the hyperdrive.
They're not in a position to be distracted by this kind of thing. No matter what the buzzing at the base of her skull demands. It, she thinks, is responsible for the way her underwear cling and itch. However, she doesn't get the impression that it's wasted time that Ben fears. So she drags her tongue along his jawline and asks when she reaches his ear, ] Why?
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It takes a few tries for him to be able to speak again. The first couple of attempts are just needy exhales, and then words that turn to grunts before they leave his throat.
He clears it and forces some sentences out. To accent his point and relieve some of his pent up sexual tension, he moves one hand between her thighs, running up the inside until his hand rests at her crotch between them. His finger squirms between them experimentally, to test her reaction.
He turns his head to answer back into her ear, as she had spoken to him.]
Because it keeps getting harder to stop and check on you.
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It's sweet and satisfying and just what she wants, but she's sure he can feel it. At least, it feels like her pants are damp too. That thought gets her eyes to open, her head to turn just so. She pulls back enough to try and get a look at his eyes, to see if he has found her out. As if before, it had been any secret her lust for him, and he has picked up on some carpet fiber to prove her guilt now.
She gets one hand up around his throat then, just touching, caressing, not gripping. But the threat of it remains, a steady reminder. ]
What makes you think you need to check on me? [ He looks just as tousled and frayed as she suspects she does. It's a good look, she decides as she scrutinizes him. ] What makes you think I could not make you stop?
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I don't need to. I want to.
[And as for the other thing, there is a pause while he chooses to consider what will happen if she tries to deny him an end to what they've started. He probably wouldn't stand a chance against her trained abilities, but he's sure it would be ugly -- and then he would lose, and be more miserable than he thinks he might have been since his father died.
Voicing all of that seems unnecessary. Instead:]
I would be -- very unhappy if you made me stop.
[Please don't is not vocalized.]
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It is all lost in the face of his declaration. I want to, he says. He wants to check on her. Coddle her, she thinks at first, but even that gets embraced by some traitorous part of her that Snoke would eliminate if he could.
Her breath catches in her throat, trembling. The hold she has on his neck slackens, slips away down to his chest. No one has ever wanted to care for her before. Her parents had abandoned her, sold her as a slave rather than do it. Plutt in turn had sold her to Snoke after using her as a laborer, and even Snoke had shown her only precisely the level of nurture necessary to craft her into his tool. Beside the attention Ben Solo has given her, the so-called fatherly love she had believed Snoke had shown her was nothing.
To that end she leans in to kiss him again, both her hands slipping down between them. The teasing press of his finger has granted her permission, she thinks, to dual-purpose express her gratitude and shy away from further examination of her own feelings. It is a distraction as much as it is thanks that she slides her palm over the bulge in his pants and gropes blindly, rubbing the heel of her palm up his length along the edge of his zipper. ]
I won't. [ She says it quietly. ] I don't want you to stop.
[ All she has ever wanted is more. Quickly — too quickly, really, to the point of being abrupt and overeager — she decides that she is not satisfied with this over-the-pants approach. The angle is awkward and she cannot grip him. She starts unfastening his pants. ]
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Ben exhales out of his nose, shaken and hungry, a moan slipping out of him as the heel of her palm generates friction between his jeans. His hips instinctually shift to seek out more of that contact, once it is pulled away from him. And then, her fingers are fumbling with his zipper. He can feel the heat and red rising up his neck, the wetness suddenly leaking out of the tip of his cock and soaking the front of his briefs.
He is no more practiced than she. While she unfastens him, he finds himself following his instincts (and what had felt good to him) and ducks his head to press his teeth to the side of her neck. His tongue slips passed them, wetting skin before he sucks it greedily back into his mouth.
It is not enough contact. He wants more, to feel her hands on his skin -- on his cock. To that end, he gropes blindly to try and release any closures holding her pants up. His fingers can only barely feel that opening of her's, which is where he knows he must be headed toward eventually.]
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Fears of Snoke had flown far from her mind, and in their place, only instant gratification.
She gets her fist around him just in time to whine into the attention he laves upon her neck. Kira's head tips and she squeezes around the velvety shaft of his cock. The skin there is softer, she notices, and elastic. She pumps her fist flat along the shaft without paying mind to the shining head, red and engorged.
But when she opens her mouth to make some comment, to taunt him with that touch, she feels his fingers brush bare skin and her hips twitch forward, a broken, unearthly sound slipping straight out of her lungs. It's miles apart from when she has satisfied her own urges in the quiet dark of her room, sparsely and with only attention to the physical need. Ben is something else entirely.
No. She's never felt anything like Ben Solo's touch against the bare skin of her abdomen. She shudders. There's a distinctive lack of pushing beyond this fumbling and groping. She has every plan to examine him, and no impetus to rush the matter further or strip herself entirely bare. It's just as effective, and more economical, to handle it like this, hands stuffed down one another's pants. ]
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He’s noticed that, in doing this, he has left behind deep ourple bruises, marking her otherwise pale skin with trophies of his own. A surge of pride crashes over him. While he does that, he attempts to multitask, squirming his hand further into her pants.
He quickly realizes that he doesn’t actually know how to please anyone but himself (or, at least, people with penises). The touch alone seemed to do the job, so he awkwardly shifts his fingers around until his middle finger could glide seamlessly through her folds. It only takes a stroke or two to realize that her entrace is buried between all of that. Experimentally, he starts to slip a finger past, slow and curious.]
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It would be better, she thinks, to just strip her pants off entirely, but that would mean disconnecting from him, that would mean starving herself of the sounds he makes as she tugs at his cock, the way it twitches against her palm. She can't break contact, even for that.
So instead she redoubles her efforts. Rey's palm brushes over the head of his cock, then her thumb presses against it while she drags her fist back down. She wants to reach every inch of him. Her other hand delves further into his pants, a stiff and uncomfortable position that's nonetheless determined to feel around for his balls below, handling them without any gentleness. ]
Is this what you want? [ She murmurs it against his ear, quiet, finally feeling steady enough in their fumbling to ask the question, or even to tease him. ] Tell me.
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He makes it his business to angle his wrist as best as he can, even with her squirming. No doubt he will have a cramp no matter what he does. The sounds she makes, the expressions that show her discovering an entire new world of sensations make it all worth it. He imagines that he looks much the same --
At least, until her other hand enters his pants. She attaches herself to his balls and he jerks, more precum leaking from the tip of his cock, eyes wide and a harsh exhale quite suddenly turning to a keening whine of both pleasure and pain. His forehead drops to her shoulder, his back arching away from her as he sees spots in front of his eyes.
Stars it hurts. She has his balls in a vicegrip, and it makes his forehead warm and his voice high. The dry friction combined with the pressure -- he might pass out.]
Oh god--yes. More.
[He forces it out, face red with effort. He curls his hand until his wrist cracks with the effort, digging his finger deeper, burying his thumb between her folds to try and do -- something. He isn't sure what. But he can't really thrust his finger, and this is what instinct tells him to do next.]
You're so wet, Kira. I need that.
[But his hand is trapped inside of her, so he can't even really make use of it even if there was enough of her arousal to go around.]
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In thinking through it, her eyes dart across his face and she wets her lips. That's what gives her the notion. She pulls her hand free and spits into her palm. It's not terribly much saliva to work with. She spits into her palm again and stuffs it down his pants, wiping the spit over his cock as she starts to pump him again, experimental.
The glide is smoother, this time. She keeps her strokes exploratory, slow, as though soothing the previous chafing. ]
Does that— [ And then she trails off, her voice collapsing and losing its form to an unintelligible sound of pleasure as his thumb brushes against the hard nub of her clit. ]
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Does what?
[He has a feeling he knows what she had been about to say, but there is a husky quality to his tone of voice that is searching for that reaction again and not necessarily the answer to his question.
Some part of Ben's mind is becoming aware of the fact that both of them are just making this difficult on themselves by refusing to disrobe further. This close-quarters, shoving hands down each other's pants deal is ... something, but they're going to be chasing the feeling forever if they keep it up.
The worst part is how appealing that sounds to Ben personally.]
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