sololoquy | open post

[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?

[ They don't really know what they're doing, either of them.

If it weren't readily apparent, it is now, when even the bond has failed to clarify what either of them needs from one another. A faint hint of shame rises at that, but it doesn't last. Ultimately it doesn't matter — the shift over his lap spreads her hips open in a way that eases him in deeper, makes the slide easier, and Rey's breath shudders out of her, eyelids drooping. The discomfort fades away, and it feels good. Blissful, whole, transcendent. All the ways it's supposed to feel.

So even if it hadn't been what she intended, she gives a nod anyway. This will work. ]

Yeah. [ Breathless, reedy, it comes out as if she's rallying herself, and then she manages to brace herself on either side of him, begins to rock her hips in gentle yet awkward movements. Slow at first, and uneven, inexpert, she nonetheless finds herself short of breath, a satisfied noise spilling out. ] Feels good.

[ He'd asked. Now she can give him a good answer, one that isn't discouraging or declaring failure too early. Her voice sounds thick and unfamiliar, even to her own mind. ] Full. [ The cramped space feels hotter, damper for their sweat, as she resolutely rocks onto him. ]

[Kylo's hands slowly move to grasp at her hips, assisting her in rocking over him at an angle he enjoys. He tries once or twice to rock himself into her, but the positioning simply doesn't work for it. She will no doubt feel his frustration building at the other end along with the pleasure -- when it crests, he shifts on his knees to allow one sharp thrust upward that takes the breath out of his lungs.

Afterward, he presses his forehead to her collarbone and pants softly, slick with sweat. He mumbles nonsensically against her skin, mouthing desperately until his teeth join the effort.]

Good.

[He echoes her, but groans when that feeling doesn't immediately return.]

Rey, it's--so good. More. Please.

[ The sudden stab as he lurches upward, burrowing deep into her, jolts Rey to dig her nails into his shoulders as she holds tighter to him, seeking support against the force of it. Her whimper is like an aftershock, as is the dull throb deep inside of her, in the dark space he'd burrowed to.

More, he appeals, but she hardly knows how to give it.

Except that she can feel his satisfaction pouring over into her like an overfull cup, bleeding at the edges of the bond, and she seizes upon that. Again she makes an attempt to slip one hand between them, the other hooked around the back of his neck to steady her while she moves. Her fingertips search out her clit, a gentle brush, something to rock against with each downswing of her hips as she tries to set a steadier rhythm at the angle he settles her at, which is awkward and unfamiliar.

Like before, she can feel how her body squeezes around him, the stimulation driving her muscles to clench, compressing tighter and tighter like a spring ready to pop. The pain is gone this time. The angle better, her body more relaxed, more prepared to accept him. ]

Do you feel that? [ She asks against his temple, burying her nose against his sweat-soaked hair. ]

[His grip on her tightens when she finds that rhythm, eyelids drifting shut while he tries to bury himself in the feeling it provides him. His breathing turns deep and heavy, his head rolling to rest against her's while she buries herself in his now tangled black hair.]

Yes.

[It starts as one word, breathed out like an afterthought. And then he starts to repeat himself every time she comes down on the proper angle until the words melt into groans and his muscles contract with effort. When he finds a moment to relax, he is practically boneless, and yet every few seconds, he will predictably tighten like a wound spring without fail.

The periods between the two grow shorter by the second. Something is building, but it feels -- too soon.]

Rey--

[She must feel it. He doesn't want to tell her to stop -- but he doesn't want it to be over either.]

Not yet. [ She's begging him, even as her body constricts around him. ] I'm not ready.

[ But her pleas are pointless even before they leave her lips. He's not the only one fighting against his own pending climax. Rey tries to push back against it, tries to draw that satisfaction out longer. When it's over, when they're lying in a heap together, will he regret it? Will he hate her again? Will he turn his back, like he did before? There's no way of knowing. Only this moment, and she's desperate to stay in it.

It can't last, of course. Or more to the point, she can't last. Rey crumbles, comes apart violently in a series of shuddering spasms which twitch through her shoulders. Her muscles pulse around the intrusion of his cock, a wild and rapid seizing that verges on painful. But she tries to keep moving through it, to savor that feeling. Her fingers can't coax anything else from her clit; it's too sensitive to touch, but clutching at his ribs gives her better leverage to keep moving her hips.

To ride out the feeling, clinging to him, gasping. ]

[He loses the ability to hold himself upright when her muscles clench around him, though he desperately tries to hug her close to him, digging his nails into her spine. When he collapses back, she is dragged with him, and his hips jerk one last time as his back hits the mattress. Kylo Ren's breath comes in a soft wheeze when his spend finally stops flowing, his eyes fluttering shut in a moment of vertigo.

But when he opens them again and finds himself staring at Rey, also spent and looking used, he gropes upward for her neck to try and coax her down to his mouth, as if that will somehow keep the momentum going in spite of their exhaustion.]

[ The warm red swell of his lips welcomes her back in, stealing her breath before she can properly catch it. Her legs catch under her, stiff and bent and keeping her crouched atop him instead of comfortably sprawled. It takes several moments of loose, aimless kissing to gather the energy to press her heels downward, to stretch out across him, careful to keep him inside of her as she shifts.

She isn't ready to separate. He's too precious.

Whining, Rey even ruts against him then, searching for something more. She should be sated. Her body is worn out, leg muscles grateful for the reprieve of extension, for respite from the steady flexion of riding him. But it's her chest that tightens, still, bottomless in its hunger for that connection. Desperate to savor the closeness she has with him.

So her teeth scrape lazily at his lip, and her sweaty body continues to writhe ambiently against his, lethargic but intent. The inevitable result, of course, is that he slips out, making a sloppy, slippery messy of them both. ]

[He makes a startled sound against her lips when she slides off of him, and there's a moment where he stiffens when he feels their bodies slide together as what is left over from their coupling smears around their hips and thighs. He can't quite decide what to do with it, and it results in a full body pause --

But, in an uncharacteristic display, Kylo Ren reaches between them to slide his hand across the nest of hair between Rey's legs, curiously probing despite the over-sensitivity he can feel on the opposite end of the bond. Once his fingers are generously coated, he drags them back up, purposefully catching one of her nipples as he goes.

Once his hand is close to their faces, he breaks the kiss to observe the viscous mixture of their fluids in an almost studious manner. And then, in a moment of daring, he lets one pass between his lips. The taste isn't quite what he expects -- but its also not something he'd actively pursue again without proper motivation.]

Thank you.

[ Watching him suck their fluids off his finger stirs her unexpectedly. Watching him savor this, she's less afraid of what might come next. She turns her head. The sticky mixture of his spend and hers has coated two of his fingers, and he has only cleaned one. She cleans the other now: a lewd, indulgent lap of her tongue. The taste is incomparable. Tangy and bitter. It tastes like communion, and makes her feel light. Then she kisses him, her tongue pressing into his mouth. So she can taste it on his lips and he on hers. ]

For what? [ She asks finally, when the kiss breaks. and her forehead is pressed against to his temple, her nose crushed against his cheek with the effort of drawing closer. In the absence of his erection, she's taking every chance she can get.

For the life of her, she can't figure out what he'd offer her gratitude for. Not when this was as much for her as him. If anything, she feels thankful--that he has finally made it possible for her to have this, when she had feared losing it. And now they're lingering in it together, rather than flinching away. ]

[When she asks him that question, he suddenly feels foolish for having vocalized his gratitude. After all, she hadn't really forgiven him for his prior reactions -- not really. It had simply been automatic, expected, even when he knew that he was the one keeping this from her. Anxiety grips his chest for being caught out on his reflex, teeth subconsciously sinking into his lip. His heart starts to beat faster.

But he has to say something, so he offers the truth.]

For permitting -- [No, that's not quite right. What was it that he was afraid of again?] -- you could have refused me. I thought you might. To teach me.

[Because that's how he's always learned, any time he happened to learn.]

[ To teach him?

She wonders at it for a moment, picks at the feeling of his anxiety in the bond. She can feel his heart pounding out of sync with hers. Not an athletic rhythm—a fearful one. She kisses him again. This time, it's urgent, trying to salvage the calm, to assuage, this one is soft.

She chases it along his jaw. ]

I didn't want to. [ Refuse him, that is. It makes the whole thing sound very simple, even though it's not at all. He'd apologized. He'd declared an intention to do better without making excuses for himself. These things matter. ] I want you to hold onto me instead of your fear.

[ The honesty of it burns her. It gives him the power to turn away from her again, to be left behind. But he's promised her that she's important to him. Over and over again, he has tried to insist it. It is only fair she should let him prove it. ]

[The distraction works wonders to calm him. He is not unlike a child in that way — so blindly seeking validation and acceptance that he leans into what is offered with his whole body. And he does as he is bid, but not for leaning down to clean her chest of the fluid he had left there. He leaves behind a light mark of his teeth upon her breast before leaning back down, wrapping his large arms aroubd hwr to press her body against his.

He has to wriggle his hips some to keep her from crushing his softening cock, now nestled just a few inches below her ruined cunt.]

I know. Sometimes, I am not sure that matters.

[One hand reaches up to comb through her hair.]

I was...taught that sometimes, that is the only way to learn.

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