Suddenly straightening, Rey stares at the back of his head and finds herself feeling rather stupid. His sentimental offering from before comes back in echo. Rey, telling him she wasn't exceptional, and Kylo insisting that she was to him.
She'd been right in placing when he'd begun to act strangely, and terribly blind to the cause. It wasn't the fight with the Vakdir. It was the fact that one of them had hurt her. That she'd been distracted by the pain and the mission didn't mitigate her sudden brush with humility, realizing she'd been pushing buttons when the answer was obvious.
Assuming it was only his worry about her felt too self-important, but there's definitely a root of it there that he'd admitting through … not denying it. That's very much a response that says 'Yes, it is different, and let's just leave it at that.' And that leaves her feeling weird enough to let it alone.
What does she do with that? Uncertainty only pins her to her spot for a minute. He might have the best idea, to just let it alone and give him a chance to process. She turns to head into the fresher without another word. ]
[The second Rey is behind the door, Kylo Ren makes it his business to put some fucking pants on. Its not easy because he's still a little damp, but he's not about to feed into this any more than he already is.
Once he is properly covered, he moves toward the bed with a dry towel, folding it up and throwing it on the nearest pillow so that he can stretch out and cover his eyes with his arms. He just. Needs a minute. Several minutes.
Was this what Loki was talking about? Not always doing what was expected of him? Was it supposed to feel this awful, or was that just because he had already mired himself so deeply in the Dark side? He exhales, long and slow, to push it all out of his mind. If he didn't examine it, then he didn't have to worry about the changes that were occurring. So long as Rey was willing to leave it alone too.
He barely resists the urge to pick his head up when he hears the refresher door open again.]
[ When she's shut behind the door, Rey hazards a glance in the mirror. Seeing her hair clinging down around her neck, the paleness of blood retreating from her skin to save her warmth, it reminds her of that place under the island. She reaches up, fingertips dragging across the glass, where fog still lingers from Ben's shower.
Down there, that place had told her that she was alone. That her answers were in herself, not in some legacy that she imagined was good, warm people who she'd be reunited with one day. That child's fantasy was gone. In replacing it, and arriving at terms with Ben, she'd found a new interpretation of that vision. That maybe it wasn't about being alone at all, but being enough on her own. Nobody, yes, but not nothing.
She takes off her magitek and leaves it on the counter, grimacing as she strips off her undergarments because it stretches the skin of her back, where the burn is and puts pressure on her ribs beneath by shifting them around with the movement of her shoulders.
That was what Thrawn had told her. She wrestles with it now because she wants to see truth in it but she also suspects that some of it at least was an effort on his part to manipulate her. In what direction, she can't be sure. And for that reason, she can't be sure whether he succeeded or not.
But Ben made her feel that way too. He valued her, against all his better judgments, all his effort to the contrary. Keith had tried to tell her, too. That she was enough. That she didn't need Luke or Ben or any of that to do right by the Resistance; that she could be that for them. Confronting it so directly still leaves her feeling out of sorts. Kind of fuzzy.
But maybe that's just the cold.
The water stings on her skin — more than usual, worse on the burn — but she doesn't flinch away from scrubbing it clean all the same. It hurts terribly, breaking through the suppressive effects of the painkillers. But it'll heal better. Infections were always worse than short term pain. Always.
And the pain clears the cotton and fog out of her head, anyway. She feels more herself when she gets out, dries off, and emerges dressed for bed. He lies still on the bed, but she can feel that he's awake without even reaching for him. She climbs onto it beside him, wet hair first settled on her pillow as she looks over at him. She doesn't pull closer yet, doesn't feel like she has enough sense for if it'd be welcome while he's so clearly grappling with something rooted in ... her. What a foreign thought. ]
Thank you.
[ She'll leave it there because she doesn't know how to better articulate that it makes her feel valued in ways that she never got from the whole lot of nobody who cared for her injuries in the past. Finn had been the only one. Ever. And that was heroic cooperation, not necessarily quiet wound care. She can't put to words that it makes her start to recognize that this is the way people treat people when they are enough. ]
[He says this from under the cover of his arms when she joins him on the bed, but the tone he uses makes it clear that he is just voicing an observation rather than complaining about it. Though really, he should be complaining about it. He even brought a towel over for himself.
After a moment, he lowers his arms and tilts his head sideways to look at her.]
They almost caught us.
[Another voiced observation, and though his expression doesn’t change whatsoever to indicate it, there is something in his voice that suggests that...he enjoyed the experience, however stressful it might have been. He lifts his hands and turns on his side to face her, propping his head up with one arm so that he can observe her better.]
[ Of course that's what he points out. At this point, though, she's pretty sure she's immune to any incidental slight from him. For the night, at least. And anyway, if she pointed out that holding the hairdryer up would irritate her injury, she's sure he'd be saying fuck the hairdryer too.
But she doesn't say that. Instead, she nods. ]
They did catch us.
[ And then they'd still escaped. There's no denying the exhilaration of winning that kind of fight, and after a moment, her mouth turns up into a smile. They did catch us, but we still got away. ]
[The First Order would have been even more angry at the Vakdir for having caught and then lost them. He imagines the Resistance would feel similarly. But Rey hasn’t had enough failure in her life to know that.
He exhales on that note and looks down at the space between them.]
[ That anticipatory paranoia sinks in, and by now, she's familiar with it. In fact, looked at from this angle, she can see that not dissimilarly from his approach with the likes of Thrawn — and even Keith — this is almost a protective instinct, warped into something nigh unrecognizable. For now is the specter that looms over him in Snoke's place. He wants to keep this the way it is, wants to keep them alive, wants to keep everything he has because he's afraid of having it ripped from him.
She wonders just how much he feels he has lost, and how much he rid himself of. ]
'For now' is as much as we can do.
[ They don't have control over the future. They're powerful, but not that powerful. All they can control is taking the hits as they come and getting away. ]
[Until the next thing goes unvoiced. He keeps his eyes down in between them, wrestling with a desire that he can't pinpoint the origin of. His anxiety and anger are still running high, in spite of the confirmation Rey has offered: they are safe. There's nothing left to worry about. They'd won.
But he still wants something else.
Kylo Ren hesitates in reaching for her hand, but he does eventually reach out. Interestingly enough, the Force has appeared to have retreated from binding them, now that they were sharing space more often. Or maybe it was because of what Loki had done. Or maybe there was another reason.
With that thought in mind, he doesn't offer a solid grip on her hand -- more of a curious attempt to bridge the gap, a brush of his fingers across her's.]
None of this feels like a victory.
[But...he doesn't really know what a victory looks like either.]
[ She doesn't — or perhaps can't — mask the sharp inhale she draws when his skin touches hers. Her fingertips twitch as if leaning into the touch. Chasing it. But she doesn't hold him. He obviously doesn't want that, or he'd have done it. They had before, after all. Instead, she lets her fingers skate lightly against his skin. A soft, barely-there touch. ]
We got the datastick. We got out with our lives. When these people want anyone who isn't them dead or imprisoned, that's what victory looks like.
[ Their very survival, and the furthering of Rost's agenda, is subversive on its own. She doesn't consider that his framing is very different; this has always been the kind of wins for a rebellion, and for a tiny scavenger on Jakku whose survival felt like a victory every day — against R'iia, against the elements, against Plutt. ]
A rebellion isn't a war won all at once, but small battles add up.
[His fingers eventually come to rest when she reminds him that they are staging a rebellion, and a crease returns to his brow.
Yes, he hadn't forgotten. He still isn't very comfortable with what they are doing on a larger level, even if the First Order had risen in its own form of rebellion -- but against chaos, not...whatever this was. It reminds him that things didn't always exist in blacks and whites. It wasn't always obedience to rule or rebellion to upset it.]
Adding up doesn't always promise a solution.
[But Kylo Ren recognizes that he is close to this subject, so he withdraws from it and moves his arms so his head can rest back on the pillow in silence.]
[ He shifts onto his back again, and Rey feels like he's slipping out of her grasp a little bit at the same time. Every time she thinks she has him figured out, there's something running under there that she doesn't quite understand. ]
No. It doesn't. But it promises the tools for a chance at one.
[ Something in her voice holds particularly firm. That hope, the positive outlook, it's an important piece of her. Even if she recognizes the ultimate complexity of the situation doesn't mean she views it as insurmountable. She's never going to be defeatist about it. ]
And if we ever start thinking that's not good enough, that's the only way they really win.
[His eyes tilt upward to meet her own. Her optimism isn't quite at infectious levels yet, but its certainly unparalleled compared to anyone else he'd ever met. He'd call it naive, if he didn't want to avoid insulting her.
Its probably one of those things that'll never change between them. Her claim, however, makes him scoff.]
They could win in other ways.
[He's relaxing some, in his shoulders, in his overall demeanor. There's no smile on his face, but there's a sense of serenity that settles in with that statement -- like he isn't really arguing with her position, but reminding her to keep it real. Whether or not this particular rebellion lives on...it has nothing to do with either of them.]
[ Oh. The slow unraveling of his tension strikes her through the Force, and Rey finds herself lulled by it a little. She'd been so used to searching for hitches and twinges of something that she'd almost missed it. Maybe it's just instinct, now, to consider first the possibility of someone else's withdrawal from her before other explanations.
Her breath starts to even out to match his, a different instinct tugging her into sync with him. ]
Only if you think there are other ways to snuff out people's hope.
[ She doesn't. Cutting down Rost would not eliminate the hope in the rest of the people; it might make them more afraid, but it wouldn't make them complacent. Just like hacking apart the Resistance, no matter how guilty Poe felt about the losses, wouldn't eliminate the people just like her on Jakku who survived on a diet of stories of rebellion and hope against a cruel and unfair galaxy. ]
As long as there's a single light in this miserable place, they haven't won. Not completely. Because even a single light is still a chance.
[He goes quiet then, considering what she has to say. He'll never admit it out loud but...
Well, she sounds like his mother.
Unfortunately, he already knows what it is like to lose hope. Its possible, and a single match can't always light the fire. Failure provides diminishing returns. But he knows he won't convince Rey of that. More importantly, he finds himself not desiring to drag her down into the pit of misery with him.
He can't help but be a little jealous. And with that in mind, his fingers curl away from her hand -- its difficult to feel worthy of that hope. And realizing that he's suddenly feeling a twinge of guilt is a distressing realization on its own.
[ His hand recoils and she reaches out to hold it tighter for that retreat. It's impulse. For a moment, she regrets it, but ultimately, she closes her hand gingerly around it and lifts his hand to the side of her face, but her eyes stay wide open on his face in search of some discomfort while simultaneously pleading and insistent and asking permission and offering the same all at once.
If he doesn't have his own hope, he can borrow hers. For as long as he needs it. By all warrants, the Force seems to recognize that she has it to spare, and that he could use some. ]
[She grabs for his hand and moves it to her liking. There's no discomfort to be found in his expression this time. He allows himself to be guided, observing the way the Force continues to magnetize them in subtle ways.
Her hope doesn't belong to him -- he cannot accept it for himself, but it isn't the end of the world. The fact that she tries is...something. After all, it was a lonely world out there. Having just a small corner where it didn't have to be that way -- that was enough.
He takes some motion of his hand back, letting it rest more confidently on her cheek and shifting to cradle her jaw. The damp of her hair slips between his long fingers.]
[ The hold she keeps on his hand loosens, shifts, and her hand skims up his arm, palm settling against the outer curve of his shoulder. This motion exists mostly to skim his skin, maintain that contact which seems to thrum, and to shift towards a more steady embrace, but it has the added effect of drawing her attention to the sturdy bulk of his arms. Which are just really good arms to have under her palms, on the record.
Her eyes drift shut then, soothed by the willingness of his touch. It's a comfort, even if by now she knows to interpret his lapses into silence as his intent to consider her words, and not that she has said the wrong thing. Their familiarity with one another no longer feels an alien thing, but it is thrown into stark relief in this grim landscape, so parallel to their own world.
Exertion has left her body tired, but when she closes her eyes, she realizes how awake she still is. Alert and aware of him. So after a moment of savoring that touch, she opens her eyes again. ]
No. He feels sick with something. Her touch is a balm that eases its sting, but coaxes nausea in its place. He finds that there is a newfound fear in being honest, in chasing away what she’s gifted to him — once he had believed that she needed him more than he needed her.
That perception has faded some.]
Yes.
[Its not a lie, not really. But its not entirely honest either. The yearing he feels calling him, even wth her right under his palm — that is what makes him sick. Does it belong to him? Does it belong to her? Does it matter?]
[ She cannot help but feel uncertainty in him, but it's white noise at this point. Doubt pervades so many of his choices that she cannot hardly sift it from the rest. He is on uneven ground. As much as she wants to be an anchor for him, she can't force it upon him. Just be here, and steady, and wait for him to take her hand. ]
Good.
[ She slips her hand down his side to his waist and scoots in a little closer until they are exchanging shallow breath. Briefly the movement makes her wince because it means aggravating the injury beneath her, but she doesn't let it stop her. ]
We should sleep. [ A beat, then— ] Provided my hair doesn't bother you too much.
[ Mostly sarcastic. She's not going to get out of bed and use the hairdryer tbh. But maybe some wit will lighten the mood. ]
[You’re ruining his life in new and exciting ways, Rey.]
Not yet.
[Which — of course, is ridiculous, all things considered. They are settled down for the evening, they’ve both spent the whole day running away from Vakdir, and neither of them are going to leave the bed. But he isn’t ready to sleep yet. He doesn’t think he could if he tried.
In addition to feeling sick, something is buzzing up his spine now that Rey has closed the distance. His free arm instinctively moves up to cup the other side of her face. With her arms around his waist, he doesn’t quite know where to put his own and so this is where he settles. He had been prepared to follow up with some sort of bite back against her hair comment, judging by the way his fingers card through it with some difficulty.]
[ Rey's breath stutters, the soft sound of her own uncertainty filling the narrow strait between them. Reason argues in her ear that she should know better than to react in that way by now, but hope is a quiet and persistent warmth that spreads through her cheeks at his touch. The argument could be made that there's only so much he can mean to stay awake for. It's just an argument, though. It's never that. ]
Ben...
[ She searches his eyes for some indicator. Already she'd told him she wouldn't make a move until he wanted it. At what point does letting him tug at her prove to be unfair in the other direction? She had asked him for a lot, pushed him too hard, and recognized it too late, yes. But this... Well she is beginning to feel like she knows how that felt.
Even tangled as it is, the combing of his fingers soothes her, makes her want to shut her eyes and succumb to the gesture, as before. But her confusion keeps her eyes open, darting between his eyes and the soft curve of his lips. ]
What are you doing?
[ Maybe asking will break the spell, but if it can then it probably should. ]
[He had known the question would come, because he is asking it of himself. She calls him that name and something ugly churns in his stomach. Shame? Not quite, but its close.
He swallows down his answer and meets her stare, losing himself inch by inch. It would be easier if he didn’t have to feel everything all at once. Fear and shame and desire and guilt. The sense that he is taking something that doesn’t belong to him is nearly intoxicating — but he isn’t taking it anymore. She had offered, once, and he had frozen. He’d been thinking about it since it had happened, though never for extended periods, lest she catch him succumbing.
But he is succumbing now. Like a proud and ancient beast, his perch is withering and crumbling away, leaving his tired limbs scrambling to grab onto something.]
I...
[He wants to apologize, suddenly, but the words never come. There is so much to apologize for, too late. How sorry is he, really?
He doesn’t have words to describe the fear, the fury he’d felt rise when the Vakdir had wounded her. Would she be angered to know that for certain?
So many leaps he could take. He can feel her lungs and her heart stutter when his fingers run across her scalp, and the hunger grows, and grows, and grows. The voice that tells him its not the kind of attention she wants is quickly drowned out by the rushing need that runs wild in his veins.
And finally, not long after his forehead finds her’s, he ducks his chin to find her lips. There is nothing soft of practiced about the gesture — its primal, running on memory, coaxed to the surface by doubt and fear.]
From the moment his forehead touches hers, Rey goes quite still, like she's afraid of spooking off some animal, but also like she has realized for the first time that it has teeth too. Her heart thunders in her ears, and when he tilts his head to bring his mouth against hers, her whole body prickles to life.
Maybe because of the soft touches they had exchanged making her keenly aware of their contact, here in this bed and before, when he treated her wound, or maybe because she had imagined it a hundred ways since she'd first tried this, but it's like the whole world dilates around her so all she can focus on is the warm pressure of his mouth against hers and the exchange of body heat.
He's surer than she was, and it's like nothing she's felt before. Bruising and forceful and fumbling and so warm. A satisfied noise rumbles deep in her throat. It's not graceful, by any means. Neither of them know quite what they're doing. But driven on by such an urgent desire, that doesn't seem to matter much.
Rey's fingers twitch against his skin with a sudden need to be closer, to chase that heat she feels in him, and she starts to really lean into it. She follows that instinct through, pressing them into the scar along his ribs, pulling him in closer with a firm grip. The need to pull him close and hold him tight and never let go curls her fingertips so blunt nails dig into the soft skin around the old wound.
Her lips part. Some chastising portion of her mind warns her that she shouldn't give so much, but he's cracked the dam. From beyond it spills all her messy hunger, made more frantic for how she has suppressed it. Trying not to be vulnerable now would be like trying to put pack all the world's darkness into a box. And anyway, it's been a long time since he was blind to the needy and lonely parts of her. This is the way she is, with him. Exposed. A raw nerve.
But it's obvious in the way she chases the kiss that she is in this, as in all things, still a scavenger at heart: greedy from a life starved of touch. ]
[That moment he feels her freeze is a signal. He remembers freezing himself, but the difference is that Rey chases him after the shock melts away. He is grateful, even if he expected the opposite reaction.
He hadn’t actually known what to expect from this, how it got there or what to do with it, but she opens her mouth for him and he dives forward. A noise rumbles deep in his chest, suppressed by sheer force of will. The grip on her scalp grows unexpectedly tight when she pulls her body flush to his and suddenly he is too warm. Her nails dig into his skin and his heart jumps unexpectedly. He wants more of that — more of her, wanting him, more of her chasing him until there is nowhere left to turn.
In this, he doesn’t have to make decisions. She reciprocates, and the fire burns hot in his belly. He hadn’t quite expected everything that was coming along with this kiss. Much like every choice he’s ever made in his life, it doesn’t quite give him what he wants: relief from the maddening need that was building within him. No, in fact, this had somehow made it worse. It doesn’t feel like enough, but he doesn’t know how to get more beyond what he is already doing.
So his fingers uncinch themselves from her hair and move over her shoulders, nails digging between her shoulder blades. Rey is not a small woman, but she is smaller than him, and it becomes more obvious when he is able to reach around her despite the hold she has on him. They’re back to clinging to one another, the Force crackling like static between their bodies. All the while, he keeps kissing her, clumsy and uncertain but no less desperate.]
[ The stinging in her scalp from the way his grip tugs at her hair stokes the fire starting in her chest in a way that Rey doesn't quite expect. Goosebumps race up her arms in spite of the stifling heat that spreads from the fire catching between them. For a moment, when she loses that grip, she's almost sad, but some twisted cousin to relief finds her when the scrape of his nails serves the same purpose.
She can't call it relief on its own. Relief would imply a lessening, and this is anything but. Something builds between them, growing brighter and hotter with no end in sight.
The newness of it all is as frustrating as it is exciting because it leaves her almost impotent in the face of the ratcheting tension in her belly. That tension grips her heart in her chest and whispers more, more, more, but doesn't show her the way to get it.
But Rey is a fast learner. In their sloppy haste, her teeth clack against his, and she scrapes them against Ben's lip experimentally when, after some time, she draws back for a breath, panting and flushed. When she looks at him like this, searching his dark eyes, she doesn't feel afraid or uncertain anymore. She can feel it in him — like calling to like. This fire is as much his as it is hers.
Most damning in her inexperience, though, is that she doesn't know how to stop, how to call it enough and mean it.
So instead she plunges back into the kiss without hesitation, blind and desperate to drink in more of him. Her hand roams over the slopes of muscle in his back, realizing that the subtle friction of simple skin-on-skin movement is feeding her desire, and this time, she hooks one bare leg around him to draw him in closer, to hold him flush against her body but for the fact that one of her arms is caged between them, palm open against his chest now. ]
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no subject
Oh.
Suddenly straightening, Rey stares at the back of his head and finds herself feeling rather stupid. His sentimental offering from before comes back in echo. Rey, telling him she wasn't exceptional, and Kylo insisting that she was to him.
She'd been right in placing when he'd begun to act strangely, and terribly blind to the cause. It wasn't the fight with the Vakdir. It was the fact that one of them had hurt her. That she'd been distracted by the pain and the mission didn't mitigate her sudden brush with humility, realizing she'd been pushing buttons when the answer was obvious.
Assuming it was only his worry about her felt too self-important, but there's definitely a root of it there that he'd admitting through … not denying it. That's very much a response that says 'Yes, it is different, and let's just leave it at that.' And that leaves her feeling weird enough to let it alone.
What does she do with that? Uncertainty only pins her to her spot for a minute. He might have the best idea, to just let it alone and give him a chance to process. She turns to head into the fresher without another word. ]
no subject
Once he is properly covered, he moves toward the bed with a dry towel, folding it up and throwing it on the nearest pillow so that he can stretch out and cover his eyes with his arms. He just. Needs a minute. Several minutes.
Was this what Loki was talking about? Not always doing what was expected of him? Was it supposed to feel this awful, or was that just because he had already mired himself so deeply in the Dark side? He exhales, long and slow, to push it all out of his mind. If he didn't examine it, then he didn't have to worry about the changes that were occurring. So long as Rey was willing to leave it alone too.
He barely resists the urge to pick his head up when he hears the refresher door open again.]
no subject
Down there, that place had told her that she was alone. That her answers were in herself, not in some legacy that she imagined was good, warm people who she'd be reunited with one day. That child's fantasy was gone. In replacing it, and arriving at terms with Ben, she'd found a new interpretation of that vision. That maybe it wasn't about being alone at all, but being enough on her own. Nobody, yes, but not nothing.
She takes off her magitek and leaves it on the counter, grimacing as she strips off her undergarments because it stretches the skin of her back, where the burn is and puts pressure on her ribs beneath by shifting them around with the movement of her shoulders.
That was what Thrawn had told her. She wrestles with it now because she wants to see truth in it but she also suspects that some of it at least was an effort on his part to manipulate her. In what direction, she can't be sure. And for that reason, she can't be sure whether he succeeded or not.
But Ben made her feel that way too. He valued her, against all his better judgments, all his effort to the contrary. Keith had tried to tell her, too. That she was enough. That she didn't need Luke or Ben or any of that to do right by the Resistance; that she could be that for them. Confronting it so directly still leaves her feeling out of sorts. Kind of fuzzy.
But maybe that's just the cold.
The water stings on her skin — more than usual, worse on the burn — but she doesn't flinch away from scrubbing it clean all the same. It hurts terribly, breaking through the suppressive effects of the painkillers. But it'll heal better. Infections were always worse than short term pain. Always.
And the pain clears the cotton and fog out of her head, anyway. She feels more herself when she gets out, dries off, and emerges dressed for bed. He lies still on the bed, but she can feel that he's awake without even reaching for him. She climbs onto it beside him, wet hair first settled on her pillow as she looks over at him. She doesn't pull closer yet, doesn't feel like she has enough sense for if it'd be welcome while he's so clearly grappling with something rooted in ... her. What a foreign thought. ]
Thank you.
[ She'll leave it there because she doesn't know how to better articulate that it makes her feel valued in ways that she never got from the whole lot of nobody who cared for her injuries in the past. Finn had been the only one. Ever. And that was heroic cooperation, not necessarily quiet wound care. She can't put to words that it makes her start to recognize that this is the way people treat people when they are enough. ]
no subject
[He says this from under the cover of his arms when she joins him on the bed, but the tone he uses makes it clear that he is just voicing an observation rather than complaining about it. Though really, he should be complaining about it. He even brought a towel over for himself.
After a moment, he lowers his arms and tilts his head sideways to look at her.]
They almost caught us.
[Another voiced observation, and though his expression doesn’t change whatsoever to indicate it, there is something in his voice that suggests that...he enjoyed the experience, however stressful it might have been. He lifts his hands and turns on his side to face her, propping his head up with one arm so that he can observe her better.]
no subject
But she doesn't say that. Instead, she nods. ]
They did catch us.
[ And then they'd still escaped. There's no denying the exhilaration of winning that kind of fight, and after a moment, her mouth turns up into a smile. They did catch us, but we still got away. ]
no subject
[The First Order would have been even more angry at the Vakdir for having caught and then lost them. He imagines the Resistance would feel similarly. But Rey hasn’t had enough failure in her life to know that.
He exhales on that note and looks down at the space between them.]
For now.
no subject
She wonders just how much he feels he has lost, and how much he rid himself of. ]
'For now' is as much as we can do.
[ They don't have control over the future. They're powerful, but not that powerful. All they can control is taking the hits as they come and getting away. ]
We're safe. We won.
no subject
But he still wants something else.
Kylo Ren hesitates in reaching for her hand, but he does eventually reach out. Interestingly enough, the Force has appeared to have retreated from binding them, now that they were sharing space more often. Or maybe it was because of what Loki had done. Or maybe there was another reason.
With that thought in mind, he doesn't offer a solid grip on her hand -- more of a curious attempt to bridge the gap, a brush of his fingers across her's.]
None of this feels like a victory.
[But...he doesn't really know what a victory looks like either.]
no subject
We got the datastick. We got out with our lives. When these people want anyone who isn't them dead or imprisoned, that's what victory looks like.
[ Their very survival, and the furthering of Rost's agenda, is subversive on its own. She doesn't consider that his framing is very different; this has always been the kind of wins for a rebellion, and for a tiny scavenger on Jakku whose survival felt like a victory every day — against R'iia, against the elements, against Plutt. ]
A rebellion isn't a war won all at once, but small battles add up.
no subject
Yes, he hadn't forgotten. He still isn't very comfortable with what they are doing on a larger level, even if the First Order had risen in its own form of rebellion -- but against chaos, not...whatever this was. It reminds him that things didn't always exist in blacks and whites. It wasn't always obedience to rule or rebellion to upset it.]
Adding up doesn't always promise a solution.
[But Kylo Ren recognizes that he is close to this subject, so he withdraws from it and moves his arms so his head can rest back on the pillow in silence.]
no subject
No. It doesn't. But it promises the tools for a chance at one.
[ Something in her voice holds particularly firm. That hope, the positive outlook, it's an important piece of her. Even if she recognizes the ultimate complexity of the situation doesn't mean she views it as insurmountable. She's never going to be defeatist about it. ]
And if we ever start thinking that's not good enough, that's the only way they really win.
no subject
Its probably one of those things that'll never change between them. Her claim, however, makes him scoff.]
They could win in other ways.
[He's relaxing some, in his shoulders, in his overall demeanor. There's no smile on his face, but there's a sense of serenity that settles in with that statement -- like he isn't really arguing with her position, but reminding her to keep it real. Whether or not this particular rebellion lives on...it has nothing to do with either of them.]
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Her breath starts to even out to match his, a different instinct tugging her into sync with him. ]
Only if you think there are other ways to snuff out people's hope.
[ She doesn't. Cutting down Rost would not eliminate the hope in the rest of the people; it might make them more afraid, but it wouldn't make them complacent. Just like hacking apart the Resistance, no matter how guilty Poe felt about the losses, wouldn't eliminate the people just like her on Jakku who survived on a diet of stories of rebellion and hope against a cruel and unfair galaxy. ]
As long as there's a single light in this miserable place, they haven't won. Not completely. Because even a single light is still a chance.
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Well, she sounds like his mother.
Unfortunately, he already knows what it is like to lose hope. Its possible, and a single match can't always light the fire. Failure provides diminishing returns. But he knows he won't convince Rey of that. More importantly, he finds himself not desiring to drag her down into the pit of misery with him.
He can't help but be a little jealous. And with that in mind, his fingers curl away from her hand -- its difficult to feel worthy of that hope. And realizing that he's suddenly feeling a twinge of guilt is a distressing realization on its own.
What the hell is happening to him?]
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If he doesn't have his own hope, he can borrow hers. For as long as he needs it. By all warrants, the Force seems to recognize that she has it to spare, and that he could use some. ]
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Her hope doesn't belong to him -- he cannot accept it for himself, but it isn't the end of the world. The fact that she tries is...something. After all, it was a lonely world out there. Having just a small corner where it didn't have to be that way -- that was enough.
He takes some motion of his hand back, letting it rest more confidently on her cheek and shifting to cradle her jaw. The damp of her hair slips between his long fingers.]
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Her eyes drift shut then, soothed by the willingness of his touch. It's a comfort, even if by now she knows to interpret his lapses into silence as his intent to consider her words, and not that she has said the wrong thing. Their familiarity with one another no longer feels an alien thing, but it is thrown into stark relief in this grim landscape, so parallel to their own world.
Exertion has left her body tired, but when she closes her eyes, she realizes how awake she still is. Alert and aware of him. So after a moment of savoring that touch, she opens her eyes again. ]
Do you feel any better?
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No. He feels sick with something. Her touch is a balm that eases its sting, but coaxes nausea in its place. He finds that there is a newfound fear in being honest, in chasing away what she’s gifted to him — once he had believed that she needed him more than he needed her.
That perception has faded some.]
Yes.
[Its not a lie, not really. But its not entirely honest either. The yearing he feels calling him, even wth her right under his palm — that is what makes him sick. Does it belong to him? Does it belong to her? Does it matter?]
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Good.
[ She slips her hand down his side to his waist and scoots in a little closer until they are exchanging shallow breath. Briefly the movement makes her wince because it means aggravating the injury beneath her, but she doesn't let it stop her. ]
We should sleep. [ A beat, then— ] Provided my hair doesn't bother you too much.
[ Mostly sarcastic. She's not going to get out of bed and use the hairdryer tbh. But maybe some wit will lighten the mood. ]
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Not yet.
[Which — of course, is ridiculous, all things considered. They are settled down for the evening, they’ve both spent the whole day running away from Vakdir, and neither of them are going to leave the bed. But he isn’t ready to sleep yet. He doesn’t think he could if he tried.
In addition to feeling sick, something is buzzing up his spine now that Rey has closed the distance. His free arm instinctively moves up to cup the other side of her face. With her arms around his waist, he doesn’t quite know where to put his own and so this is where he settles. He had been prepared to follow up with some sort of bite back against her hair comment, judging by the way his fingers card through it with some difficulty.]
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Ben...
[ She searches his eyes for some indicator. Already she'd told him she wouldn't make a move until he wanted it. At what point does letting him tug at her prove to be unfair in the other direction? She had asked him for a lot, pushed him too hard, and recognized it too late, yes. But this... Well she is beginning to feel like she knows how that felt.
Even tangled as it is, the combing of his fingers soothes her, makes her want to shut her eyes and succumb to the gesture, as before. But her confusion keeps her eyes open, darting between his eyes and the soft curve of his lips. ]
What are you doing?
[ Maybe asking will break the spell, but if it can then it probably should. ]
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He swallows down his answer and meets her stare, losing himself inch by inch. It would be easier if he didn’t have to feel everything all at once. Fear and shame and desire and guilt. The sense that he is taking something that doesn’t belong to him is nearly intoxicating — but he isn’t taking it anymore. She had offered, once, and he had frozen. He’d been thinking about it since it had happened, though never for extended periods, lest she catch him succumbing.
But he is succumbing now. Like a proud and ancient beast, his perch is withering and crumbling away, leaving his tired limbs scrambling to grab onto something.]
I...
[He wants to apologize, suddenly, but the words never come. There is so much to apologize for, too late. How sorry is he, really?
He doesn’t have words to describe the fear, the fury he’d felt rise when the Vakdir had wounded her. Would she be angered to know that for certain?
So many leaps he could take. He can feel her lungs and her heart stutter when his fingers run across her scalp, and the hunger grows, and grows, and grows. The voice that tells him its not the kind of attention she wants is quickly drowned out by the rushing need that runs wild in his veins.
And finally, not long after his forehead finds her’s, he ducks his chin to find her lips. There is nothing soft of practiced about the gesture — its primal, running on memory, coaxed to the surface by doubt and fear.]
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From the moment his forehead touches hers, Rey goes quite still, like she's afraid of spooking off some animal, but also like she has realized for the first time that it has teeth too. Her heart thunders in her ears, and when he tilts his head to bring his mouth against hers, her whole body prickles to life.
Maybe because of the soft touches they had exchanged making her keenly aware of their contact, here in this bed and before, when he treated her wound, or maybe because she had imagined it a hundred ways since she'd first tried this, but it's like the whole world dilates around her so all she can focus on is the warm pressure of his mouth against hers and the exchange of body heat.
He's surer than she was, and it's like nothing she's felt before. Bruising and forceful and fumbling and so warm. A satisfied noise rumbles deep in her throat. It's not graceful, by any means. Neither of them know quite what they're doing. But driven on by such an urgent desire, that doesn't seem to matter much.
Rey's fingers twitch against his skin with a sudden need to be closer, to chase that heat she feels in him, and she starts to really lean into it. She follows that instinct through, pressing them into the scar along his ribs, pulling him in closer with a firm grip. The need to pull him close and hold him tight and never let go curls her fingertips so blunt nails dig into the soft skin around the old wound.
Her lips part. Some chastising portion of her mind warns her that she shouldn't give so much, but he's cracked the dam. From beyond it spills all her messy hunger, made more frantic for how she has suppressed it. Trying not to be vulnerable now would be like trying to put pack all the world's darkness into a box. And anyway, it's been a long time since he was blind to the needy and lonely parts of her. This is the way she is, with him. Exposed. A raw nerve.
But it's obvious in the way she chases the kiss that she is in this, as in all things, still a scavenger at heart: greedy from a life starved of touch. ]
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He hadn’t actually known what to expect from this, how it got there or what to do with it, but she opens her mouth for him and he dives forward. A noise rumbles deep in his chest, suppressed by sheer force of will. The grip on her scalp grows unexpectedly tight when she pulls her body flush to his and suddenly he is too warm. Her nails dig into his skin and his heart jumps unexpectedly. He wants more of that — more of her, wanting him, more of her chasing him until there is nowhere left to turn.
In this, he doesn’t have to make decisions. She reciprocates, and the fire burns hot in his belly. He hadn’t quite expected everything that was coming along with this kiss. Much like every choice he’s ever made in his life, it doesn’t quite give him what he wants: relief from the maddening need that was building within him. No, in fact, this had somehow made it worse. It doesn’t feel like enough, but he doesn’t know how to get more beyond what he is already doing.
So his fingers uncinch themselves from her hair and move over her shoulders, nails digging between her shoulder blades. Rey is not a small woman, but she is smaller than him, and it becomes more obvious when he is able to reach around her despite the hold she has on him. They’re back to clinging to one another, the Force crackling like static between their bodies. All the while, he keeps kissing her, clumsy and uncertain but no less desperate.]
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She can't call it relief on its own. Relief would imply a lessening, and this is anything but. Something builds between them, growing brighter and hotter with no end in sight.
The newness of it all is as frustrating as it is exciting because it leaves her almost impotent in the face of the ratcheting tension in her belly. That tension grips her heart in her chest and whispers more, more, more, but doesn't show her the way to get it.
But Rey is a fast learner. In their sloppy haste, her teeth clack against his, and she scrapes them against Ben's lip experimentally when, after some time, she draws back for a breath, panting and flushed. When she looks at him like this, searching his dark eyes, she doesn't feel afraid or uncertain anymore. She can feel it in him — like calling to like. This fire is as much his as it is hers.
Most damning in her inexperience, though, is that she doesn't know how to stop, how to call it enough and mean it.
So instead she plunges back into the kiss without hesitation, blind and desperate to drink in more of him. Her hand roams over the slopes of muscle in his back, realizing that the subtle friction of simple skin-on-skin movement is feeding her desire, and this time, she hooks one bare leg around him to draw him in closer, to hold him flush against her body but for the fact that one of her arms is caged between them, palm open against his chest now. ]
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