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 corrects her, but his voice is wavering. Killing his father hadn't been easy. Coming back from it hadn't been easy either. He does not even want to think about his mother.]
It does not matter now. They are gone. And they waited until I had you to even try and come for me.
You didn't have me when your father came for you. You'd kidnapped me. [ Let's not get it twisted. ] And it's not worth any less just because he's not the only one who tried. It's not a contest for who can love you the most. You're missing the point. [ On purpose, a cynic might think. Rey chooses not to. ] Your mother is still alive. And there are other people who, if they knew you — the real you — would care just as much. But you won't let them because you think everyone is bound to disappoint you like your parents.
Yes. I kidnapped you. You were in my possession. I had you.
[Semantics, as far as Kylo Ren is concerned. But the rest -- the rest...
There are other reasons, reasons he doesn't really want to acknowledge out loud. But it all comes back to that which she demands that he fight: the fear.]
You? [He offers her the briefest of smiles -- it is sad, but no less understanding of the irony of her question.] You've had a taste of it. I imagine it might have been sweeter, if things were different.
[ It's the first time she doesn't like to see him smile. It's such a rarity, most of them only half-measures. But this one sits wrong in her chest. Rey stills. ]
What do you mean?
[ Because it sounds a lot like he's throwing it back in her face and telling her that she is holding people at a distance, afraid they'll leave like her parents did. Which would be ridiculous. She doesn't. She has people now. Maybe it takes her time, maybe she seldom lets them all the way in, the way she has let Ben in, but she has them. ]
[ She leaves it there, flatly. It hits her wrong that he seems to frame it as a fault. He thought things would be better if she were more damaged. If she looked on everyone with more suspicion. ]
People who care about me, and want what's best for me. People that I can count on to ... to show up. [ Unlike her parents. It's healing, in that way. Her jaw trembles a little before she manages to get out the crux of what she's getting at: ] I want that for you.
[ Her chest squeezes. A fluttering grip. That's the fear, but also the anticipation. It always comes when he's this close, and the way he combs her hair is familiar. Comforting. He knows how good it feels. He knows every part of her. It's deceptively effortless between them. ]
Do you mean that?
[ She so badly wants him to. A promise isn't follow-through. A maybe isn't even a promise. But it's an intent, and he wouldn't declare it if he didn't mean it. That's more than he's given her ever before. ]
[He tightens his grip on her hair slightly, enough to communicate exactly how serious he is. He holds her eyes for a few moments, reminding himself why he has cause to believe, before replying.]
[ The light tugging sensation of his solidifying grip prickles her scalp. Her breath hitches, as if the air just got a little thinner for it. Her eyes dance across his face, and briefly, she probes at the bond between them, feeling out his resolve. It's precisely as steady as she had expected.
For all his faults, Ben had never lied to her. Had never offered something he wasn't truly willing to give. She'd just been too willing to settle for less than she needed. ]
Good. [ Her eyes dart back over to the window, then up at him again. Soon, they can hope, he'll have the chance to act upon that. But not now. ] The streets won't drain for a while. A few more hours, assuming the rain doesn't come back. [ Leaving them stuck here together a little longer yet. ]
[He feels her probe and the air leaving her lungs, and it makes him bold. There is no one to watch them here -- better, there is no chance of someone coming to stop them, and they have time.
His hand untangles slightly from her hair and drops to join the other at her waist.]
We have weathered worse storms together.
[She has not yet given him express permission to get messy again, but Kylo Ren has never been particularly good at curbing his messy impulses. He'd been frightened by the rush of intimacy and everything that came with it the last time they had been this close -- but he is still coasting on the high of danger in the far off reaches of anxiety in his mind.
In response to it, he sits back down on the bed and drags her closer to him by her waist.]
[ There's something lighter in her voice to match it. A teasing jibe, not the sharp barbs she's been slinging at him. A person with better sense would consider this a bad idea, but Rey has never been one to shy away from those. Not when it feels right. She doesn't believe in withholding for the sake of withholding, and in this moment, the person that he is now, this is what she wants them to be.
Better to enjoy it.
Rey plants her hands on his shoulders. She slides one knee up onto the bed, then brings the other up to straddle him, settling into his lap. The gesture is deceptively smooth, giving an impression of much greater familiarity with this kind of intimacy than she actually has. Her nose bumps against his, eyelids fluttering as she teeters at the brink of giving in and kissing him. Narrowly resisting for the answer to her question. ]
[She descends so fluidly that he very nearly doesn't answer her and goes straight for the kiss -- but he notices the way she does not take the opportunity herself. The promise of it makes something warm, low in his belly.]
I suppose so.
[He lets his hands coast from his waist down to her thighs, gripping them with as much certainty as he can manage, for all of his inexperience. He leans in to search for her lips with his own, and there is nothing to hold the relief that floods from him when he finds them again.]
[ She has missed his hands on her. Recognizing it with the way he reached at her while they stood holds no candle to feeling him pawing at her this way, like he's been starving too. The former had been gentle, sheepish. A child tugging at their mother's pant leg for attention. This is possessive and intimate.
The last time they'd been like this, he'd stopped her. She had spent her share of nights relieving her aches in the shower of their hotel room, without him, just to avoid the same awkwardness. The very same ache builds in her now, fueled by the warmth of his mouth as it presses to hers. They slot together like two pieces of the same broken artwork. Her arms lock around his shoulders, encircling him to bring their bodies flush together while Rey parts her lips and pries his apart so her tongue can press in and taste him.
She settles into his lap, a comfortable space. It feels like hers. Maybe it's the cabin fever of being cramped in here with him when the feelings they'd shared for each other never went away, or maybe it really is a logical choice following their conversation. It doesn't matter which, in the end. She won't be sorry for it. ]
[His mouth falls open a bit awkwardly once he realizes what she is doing, desperate to please and experience. Kylo Ren makes a sound into her mouth when she pulls flush against him, forcing his legs further apart to keep from crushing his balls between their bodies and the bed he sits on.
The simple act means there is little to shield his cock from the friction of their pants, and he begins to grow hard beneath her. There is the familiar flutter of anxiety on the other end of the bond when he feels it building, a moment's hesitation in how he holds her -- but unlike previous, he does not push her away or try to stop her pursuit.
Instead, he forces his shoulders to relax under the weight of her arms encircling him. His hands tentatively lift from her thighs, moving upward to explore her torso beneath her shirt while his tongue wrestles with her's.]
[ The pause draws her attention to her own rushing, and its source. His anxiety. She's trying to outrun it, keep him out of his head by sweeping him up in this with her. He's hot and increasingly firm beneath her, a stiff presence that grows as she sinks her teeth into his lower lip and tugs at it, as if she were trying to devour him.
Her shirt is flimsy. A layer of black mesh over gray muslin that would dry quickly in the rain, a choice she'd opted for following their last run-in with the Vakdir. It stretches easily to accommodate his hands, even as big as they are, and her skin crackles like it's holding an electrical current when she realizes that his palms practically span the width of her rib cage. And warm. Needy and starving, she squirms at that touch, pressing against his erection because she needs the friction.
Breaking the kiss with a strangled sound, Rey slips off her jacket, and goes for the hem of her shirt after, eager to get it off and give him freer access to her. ] It's okay. It's just me. [ Just shy of begging him not to stop. The breathy quality to her voice is the same, though. ]
[Despite himself, he chuckles. It's another brief thing, equally born of excitement and anxiety. "Just me" she says, as if their entire conversation over the past hour had gone through one ear and out the other.
His hands only stay themselves long enough to allow her to flex to disrobe herself, at which point one of them moves to circle a breast -- and where his hands are usually rough and clumsy, something tells him to be more careful here as he brushes a calloused thumb over her nipple.
His words are breathy -- dizzied, as blood rushes between his legs.]
[ The laughter relaxes her. Tension bleeds out of her shoulders, warmth trickling into her spine, pooling between her thighs. She doesn't lean back in to kiss him right away. He's distracted her. His hands are coarse with work, just like hers. Older than his boyish face would suggest. And her breasts have always been sensitive.
She whimpers out a grateful sound, spine arching to press herself into his hand. Her cheeks are pinker for his teasing, and some of that flush also spreads across her sternum. But claiming this was all the result of his touch alone would be a lie. It's a cursory exploration, at best. But his words, and the way he looks at her. Like she's something precious.
She throws her shirt across the room. ]
Tell me I can touch you. [ That's maybe more direct problem solving, without disparaging her own significance. Permission means that she won't overstep what he's willing to give. She gives another little rock of her hips, then finally leans forward to kiss him again, messier this time. All saliva sticking to her lips. ]
[He hesitates only briefly, but that moment of hesitation means her mouth is back on his before he can reply with words, and the rock of her hips means that his groan of approval answers for him. Subconsciously, his own struggle to rise and meet her's, and his grip grows tighter on her for it. He massages at her chest with one hand and grabs for her thigh again with the other, this time on the inside instead of the out. He can barely squeeze his fingers between them, but he cannot help wanting to explore there further the more she rubs against him.
When she finally pulls away from his lips, his face has flushed down to his chest, the already thin and threadbare shirt sticking to his chest thanks to the sweat that had formed there.]
I -- want you to touch me.
[It's vulnerable and raw, like he fears being so naked with his own sudden and overwhelming desire. But he is also hot, and aching, and it feels like he might never get enough air again.]
[ Want proves to be even better than permission. Rey's body clenches around it, leaving her wet enough to feel how her damp underwear clings to her body beneath frayed secondhand pants tucked into combat boots. Grabbing for the hem of his shirt, she drags it unceremoniously over his head, discarding it flippantly over her shoulder. She presses into him, trying to lean him back onto the mattress only to find that the bed is not wide enough. She'll just knock him into the wall like this, not be able to stretch him out.
The effort, at least, puts her palms firmly on his ribcage, mapping their way up over the divots of scarred muscle. One of her fingers takes particular interest in the scar left by her, which curls down below his collarbone and traces up towards his neck. She marked him long ago. Leaning down, she follows the path of her finger with her tongue, tracing scar tissue. When she reaches his neck, Rey sucks and bites at the skin there, just where it slopes into his shoulder.
This won't work for long. They'll need to reposition. She can't get her boots and pants off like this, and she desperately wants to feel his wriggling fingers get closer to the parts of her that are presently throbbing with fever. But for now, this. She can content herself with this. ]
[He loathes to release her, but it becomes necessary for her to pull his shirt over his head. When he feels her lean, he starts to fall back, only to be halted by the way she leans in for the lightsaber wound at his neck. His breath suddenly hitches and he grabs for her like she's the only thing keeping him on the ground when her teeth find his flesh.
And with that grip, he pushes her down on his erection through his pants, dragging her slow and rough across it. His chin tilts upwards, baring that skin for her so that she can continue her work there. His anxiety is a small whisper now compared to the way desire floods him, morphed into a need to please her.
But as his thumbs find their way between their hips, he voices his discovery there aloud.]
You are wet, Rey.
[He does not know why, but it makes him even hungrier to pull her across him again.]
[ That observation makes her chest constrict. Fluttery and instinctual. He can feel it even through her pants because of how she's been rutting against him like a wild animal. That's not just wet. She's soaked. A strangled sound comes from low in her throat, muffled against his skin.
She won't be able to take it if he stops them again. She won't. But he doesn't seem interested in stopping. ]
Because of you. [ She nudges her nose against his jawline, then scrapes her teeth over the bone, drawing back slightly. ] For you. [ Reaching between them, Rey unfastens her pants, takes his hand and guides it up to her navel, encouraging him to slip down. ] Feel.
[ Please, she doesn't say. But she feels like she's going to set on fire the second he touches her.
Rey's eyes level with his, and she can see how his pupil has practically eclipsed the iris. Giving him room to reach into her pants means separating their hips slightly, but she makes up for it by palming the thick bulge in his pants. She can make out the shape and size more clearly with her hand, even through his pants. He's solid and firm under her, and she takes to kneading him. ]
[It's better this time, when she touches him. His pants are thinner than they had been the night they first tried this, and the warmth and more direct contact provide him with indescribable pleasure. He cannot imagine how it might feel without the barrier of clothing in the way.
But he knows that he's been given permission to explore the sensation with Rey's body first, and he takes it with a sort of curious but cautious energy that only intensifies the anticipation. He allows himself to be guided until he feels the waistband of her underwear. When his fingers slip inside, he is surprised at just how wet she is.
He probes a bit among the hair he finds there until his finger finds the slit where the slick comes from. And as he probes there, he watches for further reaction.]
You know--I have been thinking about this. Since the last time.
[It feels and is spoken like a confession of a sin, though he doesn't move his eyes from her's when he says it.]
[ His fingertip brushes past the sensitive apex, and Rey's hips twitch with it, jolting against the intensity of the feeling. He hasn't even made it deliberate contact, only cursory, probing, but touching herself could not compare to being touched. His hand is warm and coarse and thick, stretching the seams of her pants as it roots down between her thighs.
When he presses his finger to her opening, her eyes roll back a little, and she nudges her hips more deliberately into it, trying to take more inside of herself. The slide is easy, with how wet she has become.
More lewd, somehow, is the confession he makes, the heat in his gaze. Her lips part to allow for more ragged, needy breaths because it feels like she can't gulp oxygen down fast enough. She fumbles to open his fly, giving up on her patience, on her willingness to wait for him to take things slowly so she can get at him, given that admission. ]
Tell me. [ Because she thinks she may have found religion, hearing even that much. She'd thought about it, of course. But he'd turned her away, and it's a completely different sort of revelation to be wanted as much as she wants, to know that he had been holding himself back not for lack of need or intensity. More fear, she suspects. But that fear is gone. ] Tell me what you imagined.
[With the bond, it is easy for him to be guided. He does not have to interpret her body language or emotions, it is all simply there at his fingertips. And so, the next time she nudges her hips, he presses upwards inside of her with his finger, curling it to keep her there for a long moment.]
I begged for you. I imagined you taking me inside. All of me. And when I came to -- when it was only a dream, it hurt.
[He uncurls his finger and slips it out. The next time, a second one attempts to join, and though the slide is easy, he feels himself throb for how tight she is around him. And, taken by the moment, he thrusts his fingers deeper and few more times, leaning down to press his lips into the curve of her neck.
Beneath her, his cock twitches. He mumbles into her skin when he realizes it.]
I've never--
[Oh, maybe that was too honest. He trails off, painfully aware that it is no doubt obvious that he has never done this before. He huffs out a heavy, grateful breath when she manages to relieve some of the pressure by opening his pants.]
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[He corrects her, but his voice is wavering. Killing his father hadn't been easy. Coming back from it hadn't been easy either. He does not even want to think about his mother.]
It does not matter now. They are gone. And they waited until I had you to even try and come for me.
[So who, exactly, is of most import here?]
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[ Her hand pulls back. ]
You didn't have me when your father came for you. You'd kidnapped me. [ Let's not get it twisted. ] And it's not worth any less just because he's not the only one who tried. It's not a contest for who can love you the most. You're missing the point. [ On purpose, a cynic might think. Rey chooses not to. ] Your mother is still alive. And there are other people who, if they knew you — the real you — would care just as much. But you won't let them because you think everyone is bound to disappoint you like your parents.
Where would I be, if I thought that way?
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[Semantics, as far as Kylo Ren is concerned. But the rest -- the rest...
There are other reasons, reasons he doesn't really want to acknowledge out loud. But it all comes back to that which she demands that he fight: the fear.]
You? [He offers her the briefest of smiles -- it is sad, but no less understanding of the irony of her question.] You've had a taste of it. I imagine it might have been sweeter, if things were different.
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What do you mean?
[ Because it sounds a lot like he's throwing it back in her face and telling her that she is holding people at a distance, afraid they'll leave like her parents did. Which would be ridiculous. She doesn't. She has people now. Maybe it takes her time, maybe she seldom lets them all the way in, the way she has let Ben in, but she has them. ]
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["Craving love". He isn't ready to use that word. He brushes his fingers against her cheek -- he feels better, just for being able to be this close.]
I still enjoy my solitude. So long as I know the option is there, otherwise. But you...
[It is hard for him to imagine her not surrounded by people now. He might have been envious, if he were a different person.]
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[ She leaves it there, flatly. It hits her wrong that he seems to frame it as a fault. He thought things would be better if she were more damaged. If she looked on everyone with more suspicion. ]
People who care about me, and want what's best for me. People that I can count on to ... to show up. [ Unlike her parents. It's healing, in that way. Her jaw trembles a little before she manages to get out the crux of what she's getting at: ] I want that for you.
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[He lets his hand rest now, threading his fingers through her hair.]
Maybe I will understand that pleasure, before too long.
[There is doubt, but if he doesn't try -- he'll never know. And it is a clear path back to Rey allowing herself to be in his company.]
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Do you mean that?
[ She so badly wants him to. A promise isn't follow-through. A maybe isn't even a promise. But it's an intent, and he wouldn't declare it if he didn't mean it. That's more than he's given her ever before. ]
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I do.
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For all his faults, Ben had never lied to her. Had never offered something he wasn't truly willing to give. She'd just been too willing to settle for less than she needed. ]
Good. [ Her eyes dart back over to the window, then up at him again. Soon, they can hope, he'll have the chance to act upon that. But not now. ] The streets won't drain for a while. A few more hours, assuming the rain doesn't come back. [ Leaving them stuck here together a little longer yet. ]
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His hand untangles slightly from her hair and drops to join the other at her waist.]
We have weathered worse storms together.
[She has not yet given him express permission to get messy again, but Kylo Ren has never been particularly good at curbing his messy impulses. He'd been frightened by the rush of intimacy and everything that came with it the last time they had been this close -- but he is still coasting on the high of danger in the far off reaches of anxiety in his mind.
In response to it, he sits back down on the bed and drags her closer to him by her waist.]
What's one more?
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[ There's something lighter in her voice to match it. A teasing jibe, not the sharp barbs she's been slinging at him. A person with better sense would consider this a bad idea, but Rey has never been one to shy away from those. Not when it feels right. She doesn't believe in withholding for the sake of withholding, and in this moment, the person that he is now, this is what she wants them to be.
Better to enjoy it.
Rey plants her hands on his shoulders. She slides one knee up onto the bed, then brings the other up to straddle him, settling into his lap. The gesture is deceptively smooth, giving an impression of much greater familiarity with this kind of intimacy than she actually has. Her nose bumps against his, eyelids fluttering as she teeters at the brink of giving in and kissing him. Narrowly resisting for the answer to her question. ]
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I suppose so.
[He lets his hands coast from his waist down to her thighs, gripping them with as much certainty as he can manage, for all of his inexperience. He leans in to search for her lips with his own, and there is nothing to hold the relief that floods from him when he finds them again.]
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The last time they'd been like this, he'd stopped her. She had spent her share of nights relieving her aches in the shower of their hotel room, without him, just to avoid the same awkwardness. The very same ache builds in her now, fueled by the warmth of his mouth as it presses to hers. They slot together like two pieces of the same broken artwork. Her arms lock around his shoulders, encircling him to bring their bodies flush together while Rey parts her lips and pries his apart so her tongue can press in and taste him.
She settles into his lap, a comfortable space. It feels like hers. Maybe it's the cabin fever of being cramped in here with him when the feelings they'd shared for each other never went away, or maybe it really is a logical choice following their conversation. It doesn't matter which, in the end. She won't be sorry for it. ]
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The simple act means there is little to shield his cock from the friction of their pants, and he begins to grow hard beneath her. There is the familiar flutter of anxiety on the other end of the bond when he feels it building, a moment's hesitation in how he holds her -- but unlike previous, he does not push her away or try to stop her pursuit.
Instead, he forces his shoulders to relax under the weight of her arms encircling him. His hands tentatively lift from her thighs, moving upward to explore her torso beneath her shirt while his tongue wrestles with her's.]
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Her shirt is flimsy. A layer of black mesh over gray muslin that would dry quickly in the rain, a choice she'd opted for following their last run-in with the Vakdir. It stretches easily to accommodate his hands, even as big as they are, and her skin crackles like it's holding an electrical current when she realizes that his palms practically span the width of her rib cage. And warm. Needy and starving, she squirms at that touch, pressing against his erection because she needs the friction.
Breaking the kiss with a strangled sound, Rey slips off her jacket, and goes for the hem of her shirt after, eager to get it off and give him freer access to her. ] It's okay. It's just me. [ Just shy of begging him not to stop. The breathy quality to her voice is the same, though. ]
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His hands only stay themselves long enough to allow her to flex to disrobe herself, at which point one of them moves to circle a breast -- and where his hands are usually rough and clumsy, something tells him to be more careful here as he brushes a calloused thumb over her nipple.
His words are breathy -- dizzied, as blood rushes between his legs.]
There is no "just".
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She whimpers out a grateful sound, spine arching to press herself into his hand. Her cheeks are pinker for his teasing, and some of that flush also spreads across her sternum. But claiming this was all the result of his touch alone would be a lie. It's a cursory exploration, at best. But his words, and the way he looks at her. Like she's something precious.
She throws her shirt across the room. ]
Tell me I can touch you. [ That's maybe more direct problem solving, without disparaging her own significance. Permission means that she won't overstep what he's willing to give. She gives another little rock of her hips, then finally leans forward to kiss him again, messier this time. All saliva sticking to her lips. ]
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When she finally pulls away from his lips, his face has flushed down to his chest, the already thin and threadbare shirt sticking to his chest thanks to the sweat that had formed there.]
I -- want you to touch me.
[It's vulnerable and raw, like he fears being so naked with his own sudden and overwhelming desire. But he is also hot, and aching, and it feels like he might never get enough air again.]
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The effort, at least, puts her palms firmly on his ribcage, mapping their way up over the divots of scarred muscle. One of her fingers takes particular interest in the scar left by her, which curls down below his collarbone and traces up towards his neck. She marked him long ago. Leaning down, she follows the path of her finger with her tongue, tracing scar tissue. When she reaches his neck, Rey sucks and bites at the skin there, just where it slopes into his shoulder.
This won't work for long. They'll need to reposition. She can't get her boots and pants off like this, and she desperately wants to feel his wriggling fingers get closer to the parts of her that are presently throbbing with fever. But for now, this. She can content herself with this. ]
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And with that grip, he pushes her down on his erection through his pants, dragging her slow and rough across it. His chin tilts upwards, baring that skin for her so that she can continue her work there. His anxiety is a small whisper now compared to the way desire floods him, morphed into a need to please her.
But as his thumbs find their way between their hips, he voices his discovery there aloud.]
You are wet, Rey.
[He does not know why, but it makes him even hungrier to pull her across him again.]
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She won't be able to take it if he stops them again. She won't. But he doesn't seem interested in stopping. ]
Because of you. [ She nudges her nose against his jawline, then scrapes her teeth over the bone, drawing back slightly. ] For you. [ Reaching between them, Rey unfastens her pants, takes his hand and guides it up to her navel, encouraging him to slip down. ] Feel.
[ Please, she doesn't say. But she feels like she's going to set on fire the second he touches her.
Rey's eyes level with his, and she can see how his pupil has practically eclipsed the iris. Giving him room to reach into her pants means separating their hips slightly, but she makes up for it by palming the thick bulge in his pants. She can make out the shape and size more clearly with her hand, even through his pants. He's solid and firm under her, and she takes to kneading him. ]
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But he knows that he's been given permission to explore the sensation with Rey's body first, and he takes it with a sort of curious but cautious energy that only intensifies the anticipation. He allows himself to be guided until he feels the waistband of her underwear. When his fingers slip inside, he is surprised at just how wet she is.
He probes a bit among the hair he finds there until his finger finds the slit where the slick comes from. And as he probes there, he watches for further reaction.]
You know--I have been thinking about this. Since the last time.
[It feels and is spoken like a confession of a sin, though he doesn't move his eyes from her's when he says it.]
I couldn't stop thinking about it.
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When he presses his finger to her opening, her eyes roll back a little, and she nudges her hips more deliberately into it, trying to take more inside of herself. The slide is easy, with how wet she has become.
More lewd, somehow, is the confession he makes, the heat in his gaze. Her lips part to allow for more ragged, needy breaths because it feels like she can't gulp oxygen down fast enough. She fumbles to open his fly, giving up on her patience, on her willingness to wait for him to take things slowly so she can get at him, given that admission. ]
Tell me. [ Because she thinks she may have found religion, hearing even that much. She'd thought about it, of course. But he'd turned her away, and it's a completely different sort of revelation to be wanted as much as she wants, to know that he had been holding himself back not for lack of need or intensity. More fear, she suspects. But that fear is gone. ] Tell me what you imagined.
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I begged for you. I imagined you taking me inside. All of me. And when I came to -- when it was only a dream, it hurt.
[He uncurls his finger and slips it out. The next time, a second one attempts to join, and though the slide is easy, he feels himself throb for how tight she is around him. And, taken by the moment, he thrusts his fingers deeper and few more times, leaning down to press his lips into the curve of her neck.
Beneath her, his cock twitches. He mumbles into her skin when he realizes it.]
I've never--
[Oh, maybe that was too honest. He trails off, painfully aware that it is no doubt obvious that he has never done this before. He huffs out a heavy, grateful breath when she manages to relieve some of the pressure by opening his pants.]
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