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.
[ 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.]
[ This time what comes out is more akin to a mewling noise of a hungry cat, and she writhes, her hips shuddering in the strained effort to sustain the contact without rocking too much to hinder his movements at the wrist.
Kira squeezes his cock harder for it, as though punishing him for taking the words out of her mouth, though the flush of her cheeks and the drunken daze in her eyes seem to tell a different story. ]
Is this better? [ She bares her teeth as she asks, scathing for how she checks that she's done it right while he mocks her. There's something infuriating to watching him be better than her at something else, quicker. Surely Darth Vader's bloodline has nothing to do with that, but — it still feels like insult to injury.
Then, the question she really wants to know as she senses that aimless uncertainty— ] Can you finish like this?
[ Because she's pretty sure she can if he just sets on doing more of that thumb action more deliberately. And she has no intention of stopping, that much is sure. But if he wants, or needs, something else then she needs to hear it first. ]
[She squeezes him enough tighter, and his smug attitude immediately drains away. He makes a muffled sound of pain that can also be interpreted as pleasure. As a result, his hand stutters and slows for a few moments as he tries to gain his bearings.
She asked him a question, after all. Was she getting impatient? Was he that terrible? How could he prolong this?]
Maybe. But--
[His head rolls back for a moment as he leans into the pain, pressing his hips toward her palm. He rolls his thumb across her clit again, this time slow and deliberate to try and keep her interested.]
I think I'd rather finish another way.
[He tries to curl one finger, just as a way of grabbing her attention toward his inclination. He's meaning for it to be sexy, of course, but he really has no idea how that is going to go over and so his facial expression leaves much to be desired.]
[ The crook of his finger presses against the spongy wall of her cunt, and her toes curl in her boots. A shiver rolls through her whole body, her jaw hanging agape, all speech leaving her briefly. It's unreal. For a girl who has known nothing but pain at the hands of others for her whole life, it's rapture. Her hips twitch forward only slightly, as though following the lure of his coaxing gesture straight toward his cock.
But when her eyes open again, and the fluttering pleasure has rolled back out, there is something sharp that fixes him to his spot in her eyes. ] Say please. [ She leans in, nips at his lip with out preamble. Her teeth scrape there. ] Ask nicely, and I'll give you what you really want.
[ What they both really want. That's the crux, really. Imagining his thick cock slotting inside of her makes her whole body twitch with anticipation. But she wants the power that comes with controlling it. She drifts towards it naturally, dependent upon it by her upbringing. ]
[He starts to pull his hand free in preparation, but her eyes pin him to the spot and make him feel small. Ben swallows the fresh surge of pleasure that comes with her biting down on him, accompanied by a wave of indignation. "Say please"? What is she, his mother?
--nope. Definitely did not want to think about his mother right now.
His forehead comes to rest against her's, a neediness in his eyes that he can't chase away.]
Please, Kira. I--want to be inside you.
[Somehow, that doesn't sound right coming out of his mouth, but its the most honest thing he has in his arsenal. He's struck with a mild bit of anxiety that it might not be good enough. So, he offers it again, with more plea this time:]
[ She drinks down what borders on desperation in his eyes, the begging, and her breathing grows more ragged for it. Her cunt clenches around his finger, a sudden twitch of muscle that squeezes a fresh sluice of arousal out of her. Kira closes her mouth over his, a softer kiss this time, as if she means to swallow that neediness and reassure it all at once.
And it's good. So good. She moans into his mouth, tongue fumbling against his sloppily before she pulls back, slipping off the bunk. The kiss has given her enough incentive to break apart from him and begin shedding the costume she had donned on Hapes. Each article falls away with a dismissive thud, starting with her boots, then the top vest and tunic, and last her pants.
All the while her eyes stay fixed on his, as if that were the one point of contact she could maintain with him while getting this chore out of the way and giving them better access to one another. ]
[She pulls away from him after presenting him with a kiss that leaves him so weak in his knees that he isn’t sure if he will be able to stand if he tries. He reluctantly lets her go, but finds himself aborting the motion to stand in order to watch her disrobe. It isn’t a particularly slow process, but the lust in his eyes tells the whole story: he just really wants to see her naked.
When she finishes, that is when he snaps back to realize that he hasn’t actually done anything, and now he has to catch up to her. Awkwardly, he clears his throat and busies himself with shoving his boots off while simultaniously shrugging out of his vest and peeling his shirt off.
The struggle creates friction he doesn’t need and makes him slightly clumsy. His shirt and pants stick to sweat-soaked skin, and he has to do some crazy contortionist work to free himself before he can start on unlooping his belt.]
[ Honestly it's flattering enough to see how he wants her that she doesn't begrudge him his clueless slowness. It's not quite cute, but it's charming in its own right the way he begins scrambling. By contrast, Kira draws up patiently, with the air of a hunter, to help him get his shirt over his head. She tosses it over her shoulder. ]
Let me.
[ It is not a request. She gets to her knees before him and slaps his hands away from his belt so she can remove it. It clangs on the floor of the cabin when she drops it and then opens up his pants to start unfastening them, dragging them down his hips. She isn't gentle about it. There's no coaxing. Only a blunt, honest yank that pulls his hips up off the bunk so she can get him free of his pants and underwear.
She doesn't bother with them past his mid-thigh, distracted by his exposed erection. Her eyes go wide, pupils eating away at more of her iris. For a moment all she can think is how desperately she wants to climb him like a tree and rut against him until she chases that friction over the edge to climax. Instead, she opts to experiment while she's got him with his cock out.
Leaning over him, she spits straight onto the head of his cock, a thick blob of saliva that dangles off a thin strand that runs back to her lips until she brings up her fist to start smoothing it over his cock. Then she looks up at him, admiring the vantage. It's better lubrication, too, to let her spit dribble straight on him instead of rubbing around on her hand first, which then needed to fuss around inside his pants and probably wipe some off in the process. It's a smooth glide, and she has better range of motion to squeeze and pump along his shaft. ]
[He holds his hands up obidiently once she slaps them away, swallowing after she spits on him and returns to rubbing across his length. He groans in appreciation, pressing greedily into her hand a few times. For a few seconds, he stays quiet — but after a little bit of hungry shifting, his ragged breathing hastily tries to redirect her.]
No.
[He reaches to grab her wrist with one hand — not hard enough to stop her, but hopefully enough to get her attention. He can’t really reach any other part of her like this with her on her knees and him standing at full height. (Some part of his brain is kicking him for stopping her)
[ She goes still, searching his face. The comment is on the tip of her tongue — that she likes looking at him this way, that she prefers to be able to see him without giving him the means to distract her, but arousal is sticky between her thighs now, demanding some kind of follow-through on how he'd stimulated her as well, so.
Kira rises, straightens, and climbs back into his lap, pushing him back so they're both securely on the bunk, caging him between her thighs. Her palm goes flat against his chest, ensuring nonverbal communication that she is the one in charge, even if she has given him what he asked for. ]
How much?
[ She had liked the sweet tenor of his needy pleas before. She would rather hear them again. Kira rocks her hips, grinding her wet folds firmly against the underside of his cock, friction shooting up like sparks into her abdomen. She breathes slow and heavy, concentrating those little movements against her clit, exposing it a little more with each twitch so that the pressure gets more and more. ]
[Ben feels something low in his belly rumble with desire when her thighs wrap around his hips. The anticipation suspends when she rocks up against him, offering him only more teasing instead of the relief he seeks. He tries to make an annoyed sound, but it only comes out as a helpless, complaining moan. His arms wrap around her securely, forehead falling between the valley of her breasts. He rocks upward to seek the enveloping comfort of her cunt — he knows it is waiting for him, even of he has jo real idea what to expect.]
Kira — please.
[There is frustration wrapped up in his plea, and his forehead grinds momentarily against her skin before it is replaced by his lips, teeth sinking into her breast for the briefest of moments. Her question is answered with haste — he can feel the tips of his ears turning red as it all tumbles out of him.]
[ Smothering a soft whimper at the feeling of his teeth against her breast, Kira nonetheless betrays herself with a shudder. Her hands slide up into his hair, cradling him to her chest, encouraging him. His offer prods at all the right buttons to make her feel powerful and in control and most importantly needed. Kark the galaxy.
She releases her grip on his hair with one hand to reach down and steady him when her first effort to slide down onto his cock is unsuccessful, resulting in just another uneven slide against her clit. Pleasant, yes, but not fulfilling when she is aching to share this with him. She grips the base of him to keep his cock steady then notches the head against her opening and slides down.
Expectation suggests she should take him in one swift thrust, but as she starts to ease down onto him, it's not so simple. She whines her displeasure as her folds, slick but not slick enough, drag against him and slow the process. Beyond that, he's big, and while she stretches to accommodate him, her slick is not quite enough to ease the passage so completely.
Kira drops her head against his shoulder, nudging her nose against his neck as she lifts and sinks again to try and take him deeper. It's a wonderful, splitting sensation, stretching her body around his thick, hot presence. A perfect union. The second rock of her hips is marginally more successful than the first, but still not enough to get him all the way in. Her muscles squeeze against the intrusion, even as she welcomes it. ]
[Ben exhales harshly onto the mark he has left behind when Kira aborts the motion of sitting on him a third of the way through. He sees spots almost immediately with how quickly she returns, again failing to take all of him. But she is tight and pleasant, and his shoulders and arms tremble with pleasure as she continues her attempts to ride him.
He tries to babble something out, but all that comes are quiet swears and uneven breathing. His hands tighten at the base of her back as he resists the urge to try and force himself further inside.]
Kira—
[He moans out her name into her breasts, tilting his head to encourage her to keep playing with his hair as he turns to take her nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and sucking backwards. It is small enough that he can fit most of it into his mouth if he wanted to — but he doesn’t. He wants to explore her while he still has control of his curiousity, before he loses his ability to perform executive functions when Kira really starts to ride him.]
[ He holds on tight and worships her, babbling and exploring the expanse of her chest. The attention to her nipple has her shoulders prickling, goosebumps racing across her skin, and she seethes out an exhale, heavy in the crook of his neck. Oh, so good. She almost says as much, but she bites it down, afraid of the honesty, afraid of giving away how much she wants him.
Kira cries out softly as she finally gets him all the way in, a fresh surge of slick helping her along on the heels of his ministrations. Her legs practically give out, letting her slump in his lap, shifting faintly to grow used to the fit. The stretch burns just slightly, but it's good, enticing rather than discouraging. The way working out can be, the promise of muscle well-used, strained past its limits only so that it can work harder next time.
It means pulling her breasts away from his mouth, or prompting an uncomfortable bend of his neck, now that she's all the way flush against his body, but it's worth it. She's so full with him, an alien sensation that she can hardly believe. Tentatively, Kira presses one hand to her abdomen, as though she might be able to feel him there. It seems somehow both absurd and reasonable that she might, with how it feels like he fills every inch of her, but no. The muscle of her abdomen is taut.
She draws back to meet his gaze, lifts her hand to cradle his chin as her thumb swipes against his lip. Oh, he's pretty like this, flushed and needy and awed. For the first time it feels like someone is seeing her the way she wants them to. ]
You make such sweet noises. [ She tells him before, kissing him, she begins to move again. At first it's a stilted thrust of her hips, lifting and settling back into his lap — were she going any faster, it might be called bouncing, but the muscles of her legs are unused to the rhythm and the motion itself, so she is stilted and unsteady. ]
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no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
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.]
no subject
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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Kira squeezes his cock harder for it, as though punishing him for taking the words out of her mouth, though the flush of her cheeks and the drunken daze in her eyes seem to tell a different story. ]
Is this better? [ She bares her teeth as she asks, scathing for how she checks that she's done it right while he mocks her. There's something infuriating to watching him be better than her at something else, quicker. Surely Darth Vader's bloodline has nothing to do with that, but — it still feels like insult to injury.
Then, the question she really wants to know as she senses that aimless uncertainty— ] Can you finish like this?
[ Because she's pretty sure she can if he just sets on doing more of that thumb action more deliberately. And she has no intention of stopping, that much is sure. But if he wants, or needs, something else then she needs to hear it first. ]
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She asked him a question, after all. Was she getting impatient? Was he that terrible? How could he prolong this?]
Maybe. But--
[His head rolls back for a moment as he leans into the pain, pressing his hips toward her palm. He rolls his thumb across her clit again, this time slow and deliberate to try and keep her interested.]
I think I'd rather finish another way.
[He tries to curl one finger, just as a way of grabbing her attention toward his inclination. He's meaning for it to be sexy, of course, but he really has no idea how that is going to go over and so his facial expression leaves much to be desired.]
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But when her eyes open again, and the fluttering pleasure has rolled back out, there is something sharp that fixes him to his spot in her eyes. ] Say please. [ She leans in, nips at his lip with out preamble. Her teeth scrape there. ] Ask nicely, and I'll give you what you really want.
[ What they both really want. That's the crux, really. Imagining his thick cock slotting inside of her makes her whole body twitch with anticipation. But she wants the power that comes with controlling it. She drifts towards it naturally, dependent upon it by her upbringing. ]
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--nope. Definitely did not want to think about his mother right now.
His forehead comes to rest against her's, a neediness in his eyes that he can't chase away.]
Please, Kira. I--want to be inside you.
[Somehow, that doesn't sound right coming out of his mouth, but its the most honest thing he has in his arsenal. He's struck with a mild bit of anxiety that it might not be good enough. So, he offers it again, with more plea this time:]
Please.
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And it's good. So good. She moans into his mouth, tongue fumbling against his sloppily before she pulls back, slipping off the bunk. The kiss has given her enough incentive to break apart from him and begin shedding the costume she had donned on Hapes. Each article falls away with a dismissive thud, starting with her boots, then the top vest and tunic, and last her pants.
All the while her eyes stay fixed on his, as if that were the one point of contact she could maintain with him while getting this chore out of the way and giving them better access to one another. ]
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When she finishes, that is when he snaps back to realize that he hasn’t actually done anything, and now he has to catch up to her. Awkwardly, he clears his throat and busies himself with shoving his boots off while simultaniously shrugging out of his vest and peeling his shirt off.
The struggle creates friction he doesn’t need and makes him slightly clumsy. His shirt and pants stick to sweat-soaked skin, and he has to do some crazy contortionist work to free himself before he can start on unlooping his belt.]
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Let me.
[ It is not a request. She gets to her knees before him and slaps his hands away from his belt so she can remove it. It clangs on the floor of the cabin when she drops it and then opens up his pants to start unfastening them, dragging them down his hips. She isn't gentle about it. There's no coaxing. Only a blunt, honest yank that pulls his hips up off the bunk so she can get him free of his pants and underwear.
She doesn't bother with them past his mid-thigh, distracted by his exposed erection. Her eyes go wide, pupils eating away at more of her iris. For a moment all she can think is how desperately she wants to climb him like a tree and rut against him until she chases that friction over the edge to climax. Instead, she opts to experiment while she's got him with his cock out.
Leaning over him, she spits straight onto the head of his cock, a thick blob of saliva that dangles off a thin strand that runs back to her lips until she brings up her fist to start smoothing it over his cock. Then she looks up at him, admiring the vantage. It's better lubrication, too, to let her spit dribble straight on him instead of rubbing around on her hand first, which then needed to fuss around inside his pants and probably wipe some off in the process. It's a smooth glide, and she has better range of motion to squeeze and pump along his shaft. ]
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No.
[He reaches to grab her wrist with one hand — not hard enough to stop her, but hopefully enough to get her attention. He can’t really reach any other part of her like this with her on her knees and him standing at full height. (Some part of his brain is kicking him for stopping her)
I want you.
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Kira rises, straightens, and climbs back into his lap, pushing him back so they're both securely on the bunk, caging him between her thighs. Her palm goes flat against his chest, ensuring nonverbal communication that she is the one in charge, even if she has given him what he asked for. ]
How much?
[ She had liked the sweet tenor of his needy pleas before. She would rather hear them again. Kira rocks her hips, grinding her wet folds firmly against the underside of his cock, friction shooting up like sparks into her abdomen. She breathes slow and heavy, concentrating those little movements against her clit, exposing it a little more with each twitch so that the pressure gets more and more. ]
How badly do you want me, Ben?
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Kira — please.
[There is frustration wrapped up in his plea, and his forehead grinds momentarily against her skin before it is replaced by his lips, teeth sinking into her breast for the briefest of moments. Her question is answered with haste — he can feel the tips of his ears turning red as it all tumbles out of him.]
I need you. Use me. Let me inside.
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She releases her grip on his hair with one hand to reach down and steady him when her first effort to slide down onto his cock is unsuccessful, resulting in just another uneven slide against her clit. Pleasant, yes, but not fulfilling when she is aching to share this with him. She grips the base of him to keep his cock steady then notches the head against her opening and slides down.
Expectation suggests she should take him in one swift thrust, but as she starts to ease down onto him, it's not so simple. She whines her displeasure as her folds, slick but not slick enough, drag against him and slow the process. Beyond that, he's big, and while she stretches to accommodate him, her slick is not quite enough to ease the passage so completely.
Kira drops her head against his shoulder, nudging her nose against his neck as she lifts and sinks again to try and take him deeper. It's a wonderful, splitting sensation, stretching her body around his thick, hot presence. A perfect union. The second rock of her hips is marginally more successful than the first, but still not enough to get him all the way in. Her muscles squeeze against the intrusion, even as she welcomes it. ]
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He tries to babble something out, but all that comes are quiet swears and uneven breathing. His hands tighten at the base of her back as he resists the urge to try and force himself further inside.]
Kira—
[He moans out her name into her breasts, tilting his head to encourage her to keep playing with his hair as he turns to take her nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and sucking backwards. It is small enough that he can fit most of it into his mouth if he wanted to — but he doesn’t. He wants to explore her while he still has control of his curiousity, before he loses his ability to perform executive functions when Kira really starts to ride him.]
You’re so tight. So good. Kriff.
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Kira cries out softly as she finally gets him all the way in, a fresh surge of slick helping her along on the heels of his ministrations. Her legs practically give out, letting her slump in his lap, shifting faintly to grow used to the fit. The stretch burns just slightly, but it's good, enticing rather than discouraging. The way working out can be, the promise of muscle well-used, strained past its limits only so that it can work harder next time.
It means pulling her breasts away from his mouth, or prompting an uncomfortable bend of his neck, now that she's all the way flush against his body, but it's worth it. She's so full with him, an alien sensation that she can hardly believe. Tentatively, Kira presses one hand to her abdomen, as though she might be able to feel him there. It seems somehow both absurd and reasonable that she might, with how it feels like he fills every inch of her, but no. The muscle of her abdomen is taut.
She draws back to meet his gaze, lifts her hand to cradle his chin as her thumb swipes against his lip. Oh, he's pretty like this, flushed and needy and awed. For the first time it feels like someone is seeing her the way she wants them to. ]
You make such sweet noises. [ She tells him before, kissing him, she begins to move again. At first it's a stilted thrust of her hips, lifting and settling back into his lap — were she going any faster, it might be called bouncing, but the muscles of her legs are unused to the rhythm and the motion itself, so she is stilted and unsteady. ]
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