sololoquy | open post

[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.]

What's one more?

Is that hope I hear?

[ 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.]

There is no "just".

[ 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.]

I couldn't stop thinking about 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.]

[ A wobbly moan slips out of her, and her eyes flutter shut as he presses a second finger into her. How many times has she stuffed her fingers inside, wishing it was him? But his hands are bigger, his fingers thicker, and just two makes her body sing under the pleasant and novel stretch. Her knees spread wider, opening her hips to him, but also tightening her pants around her crotch and limiting movement in a frustrating way. ]

Neither have I. [ She's quick to offer this, feeling his nervousness. Breathless and increasingly feverish, the words rush out of her. Hurried and frantic and distracted. ] Before you, there was nobody that I—

[ But he knows this, of course. They both know it. They have been starving from birth. She nudges her nose against his, closes a kiss over his mouth. Hungry and probing and slow as she fishes his cock out of his pants with both hands, admiring the thick, solid weight. The skin is velvety compared to the rest of him, soft despite how rigid it is. She squeezes and palms at the head with one fist, mimicking the penetration of his fingers.

Then she draws back just enough to say, ] But I want to. I want to feel you inside of me. [ Everywhere. They're already so tangled in one another, this is almost just a ritual of communion, making the psychic physical. In that way, it feels inevitable that they should. She looks down between them, to how his ruddy cock juts out from his otherwise pale body. ] Look how deep you'll go. [ The comparison of their abdomens stirs something inside of her and her inner muscles squeeze around him in anticipation. ]

[It's just a tease. Having someone else grab at his cock is an entirely different sensation than doing it himself. He makes a soft sound against her lips when she kisses him, one hand curling into a fist in the worn mattress. He continues working his fingers inside of her, until she takes her hands off of him.]

No--no, don't stop.

[It was so nice -- better than anything he's ever felt. The break causes him to stumble mentally, though he never stops working at her. Still, he looks down as he's bit, and something tightens anxiously in his chest. What if he hurt her?]

Will it fit?

[He regrets asking as soon as it tumbles out of his mouth. What a dumb question.]

I know a way to find out.

[ The steady thrust of his fingers feels good, the burn of being stretched open pleasant. But it also makes her greedy and overconfident. Rey has never accepted impossibility, so even staring at the fact that his cock head presses above the line of her underwear, near her navel, she's not discouraged. If anything, she carries herself with the energized surety of a scavenger who's just found an untouched star destroyer to strip.

She coaxes his fingers out of her then, regretfully. On the way out of her pants, his hand brushes that spot again, making her hum and bite down on her lip, savoring the jolt of pleasure for how different it is from the satisfaction of him breaching her.

Rey slides off his lap, taking up the space next to him on the bed, and arches up, showing her ribs and flattening her breasts. But she gets her pants out from under her hips, shoving them down her legs. They catch around her boot cuffs, which by then are dangling near his hip as she stretches out along the length of the bed instead of crowding on the edge in his lap.

She's all leg. Long planes of lightly tanned skin, paler for how long they've been in Drakstaden, leading up to the clef of her thighs, where she is dark pink and shining with arousal beneath the wiry nest of hair. ]

[He is momentarily distracted by the task of watching her undress. It's a studious, awed sort of stare, like he can't quite believe what he is witnessing or looking at. As a result, he is late undressing himself in return. Getting his clothes off is a bit more of a task for how he is proportioned. He kicks his last boot off with such force that it collides with a loud THUD against the opposite wall. And then he is there -- broad, freckled, and pale, save for a line of red that starts at his collar, fades in his chest area, and starts again near his abdomen.

He places one hand on each of her knees as he climbs back on the bed, slotting himself between her legs. However, he hesitates again upon observing the difference in length between them. His hand drops to the nest of hair, curiously prodding again amidst the arousal -- just to keep contact there, somehow.]

If you're sure--

[He's clearly more nervous about this than she is, given how he pauses when he lines himself up. There's no measure for how this is going to feel -- or if its even going to work.]

[ Oh. Getting him to fit between her knees is a futile and frustrating exercise with her pants still bundled around her ankles. Her rushed half measures, while full of eager passion, leave something to be desired in the logistics. Frantic stripping is not for those who wear combat boots around, apparently.

So he gets close and she's breathing in to brace herself. Ready for it. Before she relent and huffs her exhale, sitting up more. ]

Wait. [ And she goes through the motions, leaning closer to him as she does, of stripping off her boots and then one leg of her pants. She hesitates there like she might be too hurried for this again, but then thinks better of it and tosses them off the bed entirely. ]

Okay. Now I'm sure. [ She settles back on her elbows, hips squirming, and drags her cunt against the head of his cock. It feels good. Hot. Solid. She helps guide him to her entrance, and Rey lifts herself up to help him press inside initially. His fear meets her certainty. Only the tip is in, but the stretch is already immense in a way that has her legs tending, toes curling.

For the first time it strikes her to give him the credit of wondering: what if it really doesn't fit? They'll work it out. Certainly. They can satisfy each other in other ways. But what's the recourse for, well, getting there? She doesn't know. But she's a mechanic, and she knows lubrication is half of any battle with friction.

So she brings her hand down between her thighs and skims her fingertips across her clit. Her breath is short, lungs tight, when she says: ] Keep going.

Edited 2019-08-02 05:07 (UTC)

[Kylo Ren takes a shuddering breath when he enters her. He barely even hears her tell him to keep going -- sitting like this is painful, and so he tries to inch closer just to get that first feeling back. It's a slow process, but is driven by need.]

Tight.

[He breathes it out, fists curling into the mattress. The tightness now goes straight to his head. The inhale that follows is slow and indulgent, one hand moving up to brush the hair away from her face.]

How does it feel?

It's --

[ She can't just say 'good' or 'painful.' The feeling meets both definitions. As Kylo makes a space for himself inside of her, Rey's muscles stretch and burn to accommodate him in new ways. The wet helps. The slide stays easy and steady as he sinks deeper, and the bond between them shares a flicker of panic when he's only partway inside that maybe he'd been right, that maybe he won't fit. That maybe she is defective, somehow, and that's why it hurts.

It's not what she had expected. That's what it is. She breathes. Harsh, quick, but getting deeper a little at a time. With her free hand, she covers one of his fists, anchoring herself in that intimacy for a moment before tugging. ] Touch me. Please. [ She needs to relax. Her other hand abandons her clit; the attention there is only making her squeeze tighter, anyway. Instead she reaches up for his shoulder, pulling him down over her more, closer.

It opens her hips up some, alleviating at least a little of the tension and helping him press deeper inside. That draws out the first grunt that sounds in the family of a moan. ]

[The anxiety that flickers over the bond prompts a concerned sound that doesn't quite form a word. His pleasure on the other end is palpable, so pure in its existence that he's momentarily lost for words, but the sentiment is easy enough to decipher: he is nervous about pushing too hard, while desperately needing more of this combination of sensations he is experiencing.

It means that there is no hesitation to comply with her request. He adjusts himself some on top of her to accommodate the closeness she craves while one hand, the one covering his fist, is dragged up above her head and pinned there. With that, he's able to press his lips back over her's, a grateful sound echoing into her mouth while his remaining hand gropes for her chest, rolling a nipple between calloused fingers.

And then, he tries moving again -- slow, bit by bit, and not too far for fear of hurting her. But it means that when he does press back into her, he continues deeper and deeper, centimeter by centimeter.]

[ Something almost fearful flutters in her stomach as he pins one of her hands overhead. She allows him, all the same. A timorous form of trust, extended gradually. The ensuing vulnerability prickles her the back of her neck. Her breath comes shorter, even as she relaxes incrementally to let him deeper, the distraction of his mouth on hers and his fingers at her breast allowing for it.

This continues until, with a whine, she starts to rock her hips with his. It starts with a squirming. A minute back-and-forth, micro-movements which ease the stretch and glide of his gradual thrust. But then he is seated within her, and Rey is left breathless, amazed that he has fit after all, but also quickly realizing that stillness is the enemy of her arousal.

She needs friction.

Coiling her legs around him, Rey tries to seize some kind of control, nudge him forward. She doesn't know how to give the reins over to him entirely. If she's not moving, if she's not doing, then she'll get bogged down in all of the things that Rey tries so hard not to slow down long enough to think about. That's the fear, at least, which drives her instincts. She tries to rock back and forth along him, but she can't get much wiggle room. Not pinned under his weight. Not with such a thin and unforgiving mattress.

The nature of their joining demands she actually speak instead of just acting. It's probably good for her. But it's uncomfortable and foreign. ]

Do you want to move? [ She hedges behind soliciting him for that. ] You can. [ She's red in the face. A fraction of it is embarrassment, but mostly it's arousal. She tries again. ] I want you to. [ Anxiety has started to tremble at the boundaries of her mind, the urgent hope that it be good for him too as the pain starts to lessen. ]

Move?

[He is moving. He doesn't understand. There's a look in his face that says it, even if not for his confusion on the other side of the bond. But it only takes a second of breathing and another pointed thrust for him to key in on the problem.

He is too big, but not in the way they had feared. She can't help with him pinned beneath him like this. And for a moment, he perhaps makes it worse, hesitating in trying to figure out a solution before he starts to pull back moving his hands to instead reach down for her. He does not pull out entirely -- truthfully, he feels something uncomfortable when he does, like their bodies aren't quite ready for the separation, and it ramps up his anxiety.

But then Kylo Ren sits and rests Rey on top of him, his own thighs now pressed into the mattress. It's not entirely comfortable, and he has to shift to make sure he isn't sitting on his balls, but he is hoping it will give Rey the room to move that she needs.]

Is--this better?

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