[She breaks the kiss and it messes with his momentum, in spite of the fact that the echo of their belts dropping to the ground is still sounding in his ear. For a moment, he is stunned and struggling to remember what he was doing, and chooses to redirect his frustration to her actions.
His other hand goes for her wrist, and he pins that one high with the first.]
Leave them.
[They could come back to them later. SHE STOPPED KISSING HIM WONDERING WHERE HER KNOCK OFF UGGS WERE. So the second he can reach her again, he goes back to trying to devour her, in spite of the fact that he can feel his neck straining.
With the belt out of the way, he can get to the rest. His hand is big enough to hold both of her wrists if she doesn't struggle, so that's what he does. The free one wanders to her waist to undo the wrap there before he moves to her tunic.
--does he have to pull this damned thing over her head???]
[ On the one hand some part of her wants to snap back at him not to boss her around but then her lizard brain's like no, you like it. And she does. Pinned there up against the wall, staring up at him, she really, really likes it. Heat creeps up her throat, and she feels keenly aware of the coarse fabric of her clothes, how it chafes against her sensitive skin but isn't quite enough.
She whines against his lips, something needy and appreciative as her thighs clench in anticipation. Okay. Okay, she's going to let him steer. She focuses on the clack of teeth and bruising lips and — No. No she's not. He's taking too long and seems confused about how to get her sash off.
It's fine. She hadn't worn it in Drakstaden really, it's not like he'd seen the process here. It happens. This probably happens to everyone like at least once.
So she unfortunately decides she has to struggle after all. She breaks her hands free and shoves and his shoulders some to get herself room and she just pulls the sash off her shoulders. It pools around her in a really obvious way. Like a big loop. It's fine. He would have gotten there. Eventually.
And doing it this way, she strips off her tunic shirt too, exposing the tanned muscle of her abdomen and the too sharp protrusions of bone in her hips and ribs and clavicle. Bare for him but for the single band wrapped around her small breasts and the gauze wraps that line her arms. The air should feel cold, but her whole body feels like it's burning up. She can't strip down fast enough.
She grabs a fistful of his hair to pull him back in but kisses his jawline instead of his mouth, all tongue and teeth. ]
[The speed at which she removes everything and leaves him with just her abs stuns him momentarily. Its not like he hasn't seen her topless before, but there's something about her taking control back from him that turns him into a deer in headlights. Her hand ties itself in his hair and drags him downward again, and he's caught in half an in inhale when her teeth find his neck. His pulse stutters and his hover hands fall to the sharp bones of her hips.
He drags her as close as he can, pressing her into the wall again. He knows that, in theory, the rest of their clothes are going to get out of the way at some point. But he...doesn't know how to get to that point, especially not with her chewing on him like this. The harder she bites, the more of his neck that he exposes for her.
Already, he can feel a bruise threatening to form beneath her tongue, and his fingertips dig desperately into her hips. His face has begun to turn red, hair sticking to the light sweat on his brow.]
[ The most dizzying part of this, arguably, is the way the bond pulls like taffy and hums between them, caught in the steady buzz of contact. She's more attuned to him than ever, perceiving his surprise and his arousal alike emanating off of him like something tangible, as real as his hands on her hips. He's going to leave bruises. Marks that will pronounce her his for anyone who sees them.
She hums her approval into the hollow of his throat and reaches with both hands to start tugging at his tunic, trying to figure out how it comes off. ]
Off.
[ As she draws back to tell him that, she examines her handiwork, a dark red spot against his pale skin. She's marked him too. Her tongue darts out to savor the taste of the salt from his skin on her bruised lips. ]
[Kylo Ren feels her pull back and he chases her, until he realizes that he has nowhere else to go. His forehead rests against the wall, releasing a heavy breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He's vaguely aware of people walking around the corner into the lounge on the other side of the wall.
Off. Its a word that rings inside his skull that snaps him back to reality, and he scrambles to comply. His fingers uncurl from her and he reaches up to his neck to undo the clasps there, and down his chest until the tunic opens -- it is tight in his shoulders, and he leaves it there without bothering to struggle out of it. He's more interested in getting back to her.
Unfortunately, Kylo struggles to get his hands back on her now that he's trapped in his armor. Before long, he's snarling with frustration, reaching for her and turning over his wrists to show her the zippers there.
[ His tunic opens and her hands search out his bare chest, tracing the pattern of scars there, examining the dips of muscle like she's been starved of this specific moment for weeks now and — Oh. Unhappy noise. She looks back up at his face, spots the snarl, and she's surprised to find her heart jumps in her chest not with nervousness but with anticipation. It's feral and honest and unhindered and she wants more of that sound.
At least until she spots his issue. She huffs out a breath and starts unzipping him to deal with the complicated mess of his tunic. Both of them are fired for their inconvenient fashion choices at this point, but at least they're equally frustrated by them.
Once she gets his zippers open, she goes for her boots after all, yanking the zippers down to toss those aside because they're gonna be a problem soon too. ]
[She succeeds in peeling him free and he shakes the whole mess off to the floor. The gloves come with it, leaving him in only his pants and his boots. He doesn't bother with his own boots, as Rey's are off by the time he manages to unearth himself from his tunic.
Once the cold air hits his skin, he becomes acutely aware of how uncomfortable he is with his pants still on. There's nothing to hide his arousal now that the tunic is not there to shield him. They're really doing this -- he feels himself starting to freeze with the realization of it.
He needs her hands back on his body, to pull that feeling back before it flees from him.]
Rey...
[His hands move back to her waist is still bent, smoothing up to the thin scrap of fabric still covering her breasts. He wants to rip it, and the thought bounces across the bond briefly -- but another sound down the hallway reminds him that there are others close by, and he doesn't want to share this with anyone else.
So he is more careful running the pads of his fingers under the swell of her breasts.]
[ Rey straightens when his hands find her skin, the bare skin-to-skin contact feeding the fire that's roaring in her veins before it has the chance to die down to a flickering ember. She catches his gaze, eager to glimpse his flushed face, more eager to take it in once she feels that intent. It's like nothing she's felt before, having someone else's warmth mapping across her skin, teasing the underside of her breasts. She whimpers, soft but insistent. ]
Do it.
[ She reaches up to cover one of his hands with hers, to push it further up to cover her breast. It's a symbolic gesture more than anything else because it denies her of the direct skin-to-skin contact that she's been feeding on, but she wants that aggression. Doesn't want him holding himself back for fear of getting caught.
Surely in a place like this, they'd just figure out what was happening and move right along, after all. Wetting her lips frantically, she adds softly but emphatically, ]
Please.
[ A whole sentence already feels like too much, and it's only on the heels of her plea that she realizes how close she is to just babbling desperate eager nonsense at him in hushed tones. Her thoughts are circling the same hungry thought: Mine. With a frantic companion: take me, make me yours. ]
[Is that supposed to make him feel better about it? It bounces across the bond briefly, that fear of being caught and the anticipation that comes with it. He knows what he will do if someone catches them --
But then she pleads, then her circling thoughts chase him around, and he loses the battle with his self-control. He lifts one of his hands, with her's still covering it, and bites down on one of her knuckles in warning. When his hands drop back to her breasts, its to take hold of the wrap, which he shreds in half with one yank.
He drops the wrap as soon as it is ruined and instantly grows more bold. His hands are back on her chest, nails dragging down her collar bone. He's not gentle with her breasts, feeding on her faint need for his aggression.
And then his hands drop to her hips again, to which uses to lift and press her at a more favorable height against the wall, settling her against his hips. The friction isn't quite what he wants, but--he can't stop now. He needs to feel more of her, needs to put his mouth on her -- and now that she's at a proper height, he repays her the favor and follows her lead, sinking his teeth into her neck.]
[ She might regret that later because she's just gonna be living a braless unsupported life until she can blow some townie for a bra or something but like honestly she's an A cup it'll be fine. And it's barely registering now beyond the fact that the sheer force of it pushes her to a higher peak. It's never felt like this. She's never wanted anyone like this. Not when she was drugged on the beach, not in Drakstaden. Certainly never before him, in all her time alone.
Pressed between the unyielding wall and his perhaps more solid bulk she lets out a series of whined noises of approval, coiling her legs around his waist to hold herself up. One of her hands knots in his hair, encouraging him on at her neck, her grip just tight enough to tug as he had done to her, wanting to show him how it feels, to share that. They are the same. She can see it more clearly now than ever, bleeding into each other as they are.
Her head tips back against the wall to make more room for him at her throat and she relinquishes a grunt as his teeth find purchase in her neck. She bucks against him, a desperate rut of her hips. She doesn't find him at first, has to adjust her grip around him, but the second time she bucks forward against him, the bulge in his pants grinds against the seam of hers and she's left shuddering. Desperate.
She's sure, by now, that she must be soaking through those pants. They feel so uncomfortable, pressed against her skin, chafing her because she's too sensitive, her body begging to be rid of them. But for the time being, the thought of giving up this contact is unacceptable.
She grabs one of his hands from her hips, brings it back to her chest, dragging his thumb across her pebbled nipple in implicit direction. There's not much there for him to grope at, not beside his huge hands, but she's sensitive and yearning for his touch. She wants to show him. Not just this, but everything. Wants nothing more than for him to learn every inch of her as intimately as he knows his own body. ]
[The sensations they're both chasing are completely foreign to him -- all he can do is chase them, only vaguely aware of how desperate he's suddenly become.
A pleased sound is muffled into her throat when she tugs at his scalp and his hips buck blindly in return. His tongue slides across her jawline, teeth pulling at her as he goes along. He pulls her down when he grinds, another hungry growl disappearing into her skin. Every sensation bounces across the bond with higher and higher frequency.
But then she reaches for his hand and moves it in the midst of him searching for relief. He only resists for a moment out of instinct before allowing himself to be guided. She drags his fingers across her nipple once, twice, and he takes the hint. Without the support on her other hip, he cannot grind quite as feverishly for fear of unseating her.
Experimentally, he pinches the nipple she's guided him toward, pulling his mouth from her neck to look directly into her eyes for her reaction. The academic curiosity is gone from his expression -- its nothing but hunger, and an unspoken challenge.]
[ He ruts into her like he thinks if he thrusts just right that they might find the communion they've been seeking, and honestly, his earnest almost pushes her towards the edge. It's not quite satisfying, the material of her pants too rough, the stimulation too direct, but she's seeing stars and her whole body sings to his touch.
Moving his hand breaks his pace, but she's still able to rock against him, bracing herself with one hand in his hair and her legs locked behind his waist. When he draws back to look at her, her eyes have fluttered shut in some half-pained bliss, a cry bubbling out of the back of her throat. Then her eyes widen, she blinks fast to try and swallow that reaction down, and she searches out his face, realizing she's lost the touch of his tongue against her neck.
She needs to help him. It goes smoother when she points the way and sets him loose, and she recognizes it as she meets his eyes, her pupils blown so wide and dark that her hazel eyes look black. Her face is flushed, mottled red and slick with sweat, her hair falling loose from its half-bun around her shoulders. Thoroughly fucked and disheveled and barely thinking straight. ]
Need you. [ She whispers it, somehow both hoarse and wet in the back of her throat. ] Please, Ben. [ She gasps, swallows a breath, loosens her hand from his hair to instead reach between them for the ridiculously high waist of his pants so she can start unbuttoning him. It's hard one-handed; it takes some time. But she's persistent.
She's so sure she's ready until the moment she actually sees him. And then there's a flickering moment of aborted calculation in her expression where she tries to figure out if he's going to fit, realizes that kind of thinking is too complex in her current lust haze, and then abruptly decides no. The safe answer is no. He is not going to fit.
But she wants him to. Oh, she wants him to. Her whole body clenches, her thighs squeezing around his hips with anticipation. ]
[They're too deep in this for him not to follow every inch of of her train of thought. His lips come up to encourage her to continue to disrobe him, resting at the corner of her mouth. It is a moment of tenderness -- but only half-way, in the sense that he is so deep into their shared headspace that he digs into what she is looking for when she whispers his name.
He slides his hand from her chest and moves them both between her legs so that he can mirror what she is doing. Once he is certain that she is free, he leans back to let her down so that she can finish the job of disrobing.
Of course, once he steps back to admire her, he has to pause and swallow the sudden anxiety that bubbles up his throat. She's always been beautiful to him, even if he'd struggled to find the language to describe exactly what he found beautiful about her, but like this -- mussed, red, and nearly spent, he's made so very aware of how much he doesn't deserve her.
But he wants her, half way aborted between pulling himself from his pants. (Vaguely, he remembers how Jessica had picked at him for his size. There some sick satisfaction in feeling Rey's anxiety toward the contrary).]
[ Rey's legs tremble under her slightly as he eases her down, keenly aware in the pausing breath that this puts in their frantic scramble to lose themselves in each other. She feels that stab of pride, of satisfaction in him, and of anxiety too. It all just bleeds straight over. She opts to soothe the anxiety first, reaching out with a trembling hand to touch him, close her fist around him.
Well. It doesn't make her feel any better, exactly, because she gets a second dose of that is simply not going to fit once she can directly compare it to her fingers, the only other thing that's been inside her. But it does make it easier for her to soothe him, anyway. ]
You're beautiful.
[ She brings her other hand up to trace the pattern of one of the scars at his side. Both of her hands move together, a slow and appreciative movement. His skin is startling in its softness — both the scar, which is smoothed over the way scars often are, slightly bumpy and uneven but silky, and his cock. It's almost velvety, prompting her to a gentleness. It's harder than she expects it to be. Less give.
And, yeah. Definitely big enough that Lucas' warning about her first time and size is coming back to her. She can feel how wet she is; it sticks to her inner thighs, makes her panties chafe, the weave of the fabric just this side of too coarse. But stretching. ]
I want you, Ben. [ She squeezes him a little tighter, experimental. ] So much. You're going to feel so good inside of me. But I need your help first. Can you be patient with me?
[There is no hesitation when she reaches for him, and though some deep instinct tells him to stop her, he forces himself to lean into it— to feel the way her hands ghost across his skin and find purchase. And then her fist closes. It isn’t like he’s never handled himself before, but there is something very different about having someone else touch him so directly. He nearly jumps out of his skin when her hand starts to move, and he instinctively bites down a verbal affirmative that threatens to couple itself with a plea of his own.]
Anything.
[Its a deep, rumbling sound that comes out of him, chased by a hard exhale as she continues to work him over. His hands go back on her body, hooking through the top of her panties. He can sense exactly what she wants, and he wants so badly to just give it to her. She’s surely underestimating herself — he knows next to nothing about sex or women or sex with women, but in his heart of hearts he believes that this will work.
After all this, after how he can feel her working him over, it damn well better. His thumbs press against her pubic bone.]
Anything I can give—[His breath hitches when she squeezes and his pupils go wide. He amends, voice cracking with desperation:] Anything you want.
[ His correction, the way his voice cracks, it sends goosebumps across her shoulders and down her arms under the gauze wraps. She could get used to this. It makes her feel powerful in a way she hasn't before. Somehow, she does this to him. She'd never be able to explain it, but she affects him in a way no one else does. ]
Get on your knees.
[ She draws her hands back to squeeze his and help him start guiding her pants and underwear over the slope of her hips. They fell as soon as they're slack. Her thighs are muscled and lightly tanned and a thatch of dark, coarse hair affords her the illusion of lingering modesty. An illusion mostly because her shining arousal has been dragged by her panties in streaks down her thighs, sticking to the inner muscle, glinting under the light.
When he complies and kneels before her, she hitches one of her legs over his shoulder and leans back into the wall to brace her weight. Rey knots one of her hands in his hair while the other braces flat against the wall. ]
You're so big. Help me get ready for you. [ There's a gentleness in her voice, something coaxing and eager. For you, she affirms. She's warring against her own impatience here too because stars, she wants him inside of her already. Pressing her into the wall, buried in her cunt. She draws shaky breaths to keep herself patient, combs her fingers through his hair. ] Use your tongue and your fingers.
[He doesn’t rush to comply (as natural of a position it might be, there is still his pride to consider), but eventually he does collapse to his knees as ordered. The floor feels exceptionally cold, and he suddenly feels bereft for the loss of her roaming hands. There is something different about it this time, a way that doesn’t compell him to bow his head and wait for further instruction. Or perhaps he is simply too mesmerized by the fact that Rey is completely naked in front of him now — a far cry from a few months ago, when she had scrambled to cover herself. He swallows that down.
She hitches a leg over his shoulder and brings herself dangerously close to his face. He hesitates instantly, not because of anything tangible, but because of the expectation he can sense brewing within her before she vocalizes exactly what she wants. He’s never done this before, never imagined doing this before — and he doesn’t entirely understand why it is necessary. She looks ready enough for him, and he can’t help a bit of impatience until he feels her fingers carding through his hair.
He doesn’t start right away, not so clueless to he be unaware of the benefits of anticipation. She is gentle in how she strokes and guides him, and so he is slow to move as he absorbs that energy.
He doesn’t use his fingers — one hand hand instinctively fallen between his legs, half to cover himself and half to return the pressure he was missing. The other braces against her leg as he leans in to the patch of brown. It takes him a moment to find what he is looking for (and he realizes that using his fingers would have saved his togue a lot of heartache) but when he finds soft, wet flesh amidst the nest of hair, he relentlessly pursues it with several long strokes of his tongue.
He reaches across the bond instinctively for signs of approval, not unlike a dog seeking praise and signs that will guide him to more of it.]
[ A tension bubbles up in her gut. With him so close, she's suddenly keenly aware of the fact that no one has ever seen her like this, and some part of her aches for his approval. She doesn't know what would make him judge her repulsive, she's never been around enough people to develop any idea of that.
And he's so taciturn, as ever, quiet in his compliance. She reaches across the bond, a psychic handshake that continue to scramble for each other even as her hands can't quite reach him. There's no hint of revulsion — confusion, yes. And something else. Eagerness to please. And beyond that …
He's never done this before. Not just to taste someone, but any of it. It strikes her as something which should have been painfully obvious to her before now. Of course he hasn't. He's just like her.
It processes only a moment before she feels his tongue dart through her wet folds. His tongue finds her soaked and swollen pink with need. It's unlike anything she's felt before. Warm, slick, and soft. Entirely foreign and slippery and it takes a moment for her to move past the sheer shock of someone touching her here to examine it. But the physical reaction is immediate. Rey shudders under the touch, sucking in a sudden breath and arching her back to press her hips towards him. Her eyes drift shut, but she forces them open when she feels him actively nudging at her thoughts.
She looks down, doesn't want to miss a moment of this. ]
Yes. Just like that. [ Her hand stills against the crown of his head, her thoughts too clouded by pleasure to also focus on the movements of her full hand, but she does continue to scratch her fingers against his scalp, yearning for that rhythmic contact, a way to show him her appreciation.
She tries to clear her thoughts, tries to focus on instinctual nudging to help him parse it across the bond, to push him towards the hard bud that she always worried her fingers against to bring herself over that he just keeps lightly brushing with each inexpert stroke of his tongue. ]
[He really should have kept to himself, rather than reach across the bond. He suddenly finds himself too sensitive, overstimulated more than he could have ever expected, inferring from their connection. On the bright side, it means he can let go of himself and focus on her.
On the down side, it means he has to try a lot harder to stay focused.
Her guidance isn't exactly a clear picture (nothing in the Force) was, but following the map of thoughts leads him to exactly where she wants. Its deeper, harder to reach with just his tongue with his nose in the way. Curse his father's nose.
So with his now free hand, he reaches up to help spread the swollen folds apart to allow him better access. He finds its easier to offer those long, broad strokes of his tongue this way. There's a certain dryness that sticks to his mouth, a tang he hadn't expected, and that he doesn't really have room to think about once the direct stimulation bounces back to him.
Stars, how did she even know to put him here like this?]
[ When he spreads her open, everything feels sharper. Like it's coming into focus. Heat trickles down her spine, fills her, threatens to drown her, and she can feel her whole body prickling with the keen sensitivity that comes with approaching her edge. Except he's not quite getting her there. Chasing her around it, more like. His nose nudges against her clit unreliably, each brush causing a whole-body twitch, but the tension is lost by the time it comes again.
She's going to die. This is how she's going to die, sputtering out stilted satisfied noises in the corner of some construction hallway. Her grip on his hair tightens and she tries to steer him to get his tongue against her clit. She chokes down breath like she's forgotten how to do it. ]
Your fingers. [ She whines it out. ] Use your fingers too. Inside of me. [ She's going to leave it there, but although she's the one guiding him, she doesn't feel like the one in control anymore. He's reduced her to a twitching mess, so she begs, ] Please.
[Now she wants his fingers? This could have been a lot easier if they just went for it. But he doesn't voice any of that, or let it linger in his mind for long -- he can't help it really. His cock is hanging heavy between his legs, and it only feels heavier with each passing second. Its -- making him lightheaded. Or at least, that's what he thinks is making him lightheaded. He really has no idea.
But he complies, tilting his head back when she tugs on his hair and allowing himself to be guided to -- ah, there's something there, he feels the exact moment his tongue finds her clit. He moves two fingers up to replace what is tongue had been doing, and is almost surprised at how easily they slide inside of her, even for how large they are compared to her own.
He has to shift on his knees out of discomfort, both from the texture of the floor and also the sudden sensation he feels on the other end of the bond. Experimentally, he takes that small bundle of nerves between his lips and sucks backward the same moment he drives his fingers a little deeper.]
[ Oh, kriff. She yelps, jostled slightly by his shifting. Her head thuds a little too hard against the wall behind her as she slams flat against it. The press of his fingers slipping in stretches her open and it's such a sweet, warm feeling that she's sure it can't get better. They're bigger than hers are, and already she feels full and satisfied.
But curious too. Some distant fragment of her mind can't help but wonder if this feels so good how it'll be to have his cock inside of her. It doesn't gain a foothold, though. Not really. Because then he thrusts into her again and his lips find her clit and she's shattering. It's a whole body tightness, muscles convulsing, her walls clenching down around him as she cries out.
She's overwhelmed and babbling praise. Nothing articulate. Mostly just iterations of so good. Her whole body thrashes with the sudden tip of her climax, her fist tight in his hair and her hips bucking to ride it out against his face.
It caught her off guard somehow. Despite the fact that she'd been circling around it for some time, despite the fact that she'd been chasing that pleasure, she'd thought only in terms of getting herself ready for him. Not getting off. Whatever part of her had heard the concerns about first times and wondered if it would be enjoyable, worth remembering, it's gone now. Blown clear away.
Her straightened leg, braced on the floor, starts to buckle. ]
[Well. That happened. He did something right -- is doing something right. Something in his mind (that "something" is probably her, he realizes dimly) tells him to keep up the attention until he feels her sliding down the wall, buckling. That is the moment where he slides his hand free from her and pulls his mouth away to observe, slightly startled by the sudden increase of weight on one shoulder.
Granted, its not like he can't support her, even dead-weight. He just--wasn't expecting it, and its enough to shock him out of sharing that bliss with her.
Something good happened -- but now it was over, and he can feel their hearts hammering. But where her's has started to slow down, his has not. She's riding down from a high, and he feels like he's watched her jump off a cliff without him. He can suddenly feel every slight breeze, and feels the urge to crawl out of his own skin.
He doesn't know what to do with it. So he grabs for her other leg to keep her from collapsing entirely and stays where he is. His mouth is dry, and getting drier despite the fact that his lips shine with her arousal.]
[ She takes to stroking his hair as he drags his fingers from her, though each brush of his knuckles against her cunt has her twitching in the pulsing aftershock of her climax. Even her chest tightens with it, pushed out, while she just sort of spends a moment panting and undulating and squirming and trying to come back down to the land of reason and like any thought process at all that isn't cotton.
Her name snaps her attention back down to him from where it has drifted and she spots him pulling away slightly, his mouth and chin slick and shining with her. His face is still slightly flushed with his own arousal and she's tangled his hair into a moppy mess around his face and he's never looked better.
Still shaky, she eases her leg off his shoulder to get her weight back where she's supporting it. She sways, plants her free hand on his shoulder while the other uses his hair to drag him back up to kiss her hard on the mouth. He tastes like something tangy and musky and slightly sweet and when she realizes that the taste is her own fluids she groans into his mouth.
Counting on him to support her as he gets to his feet, she gives up holding his shoulder and lets her hand instead find his cock again. It's an inexpert touch, fumbling and not entirely satisfying, focused more on taking in the shape of him and assuring that she hasn't forgotten about him in her own pleasure.
She breaks the kiss. ]
Pick me up. [ Desperation rushes her words. She should be satisfied, and in some ways, she is. There's that gooey, bone-softening warmth flooding her, a pleasant numbing tingle, but her inner walls clench around nothing and she's so sensitive that she can't help but chase more. ] Pick me back up. I'm ready. I want it.
[He'll realize later (when he has context for things that arouse him) that he's extremely into this habit of her dragging him around by his hair. He meets her lips easier than he has in the past, swept up in everything going on and the speed with which it is taking him. It all feels like it is happening too fast -- or maybe they're just that eager, after years of nursing this strange thing between them.
He isn't quite lost in the kiss, nor in her discovery that she's tasting herself, but he's still surprised when she reaches for him again. The skin-to-skin contact causes him to moan into her mouth, to pursue the kiss more greedily, and twitch briefly against her palm.
But then she breaks it, and he barely hears her request. Fortunately, she repeats it.
She wants it -- and he has enough of an idea where to go from here, even if he's as useless as a baby duckling in terms of how to get there. So he picks her up as she's requested, bracing her against the wall so that she can help in guiding him to where he needs to go. There's no room for doubt now. All he can do is trust Rey to know what she wants -- and she always seems more sure than him, in that area.
So he waits until she's found him and allows her to slide down on top of his cock. The space is tight, and there is nothing to stop the restrained groan that squeezes its way out of his throat. Oh that's a lot. He can't even tell how much of him that she has taken -- but he knows he can go farther.
He's got her pressed to the wall, guided by both instinct and desire. Now that its happening, he knows what he wants -- more. It requires shifting how he is holding her, requires her to hold on to his shoulders so that he can twist her hips to a better angle for himself.
He pulls back once he's got her there, and presses in a little more confidently, feeling the easy way he slides to hilt this time -- and the ease of it encourages another husky, heavy, and pleased sound to come from his chest.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
His other hand goes for her wrist, and he pins that one high with the first.]
Leave them.
[They could come back to them later. SHE STOPPED KISSING HIM WONDERING WHERE HER KNOCK OFF UGGS WERE. So the second he can reach her again, he goes back to trying to devour her, in spite of the fact that he can feel his neck straining.
With the belt out of the way, he can get to the rest. His hand is big enough to hold both of her wrists if she doesn't struggle, so that's what he does. The free one wanders to her waist to undo the wrap there before he moves to her tunic.
--does he have to pull this damned thing over her head???]
no subject
She whines against his lips, something needy and appreciative as her thighs clench in anticipation. Okay. Okay, she's going to let him steer. She focuses on the clack of teeth and bruising lips and — No. No she's not. He's taking too long and seems confused about how to get her sash off.
It's fine. She hadn't worn it in Drakstaden really, it's not like he'd seen the process here. It happens. This probably happens to everyone like at least once.
So she unfortunately decides she has to struggle after all. She breaks her hands free and shoves and his shoulders some to get herself room and she just pulls the sash off her shoulders. It pools around her in a really obvious way. Like a big loop. It's fine. He would have gotten there. Eventually.
And doing it this way, she strips off her tunic shirt too, exposing the tanned muscle of her abdomen and the too sharp protrusions of bone in her hips and ribs and clavicle. Bare for him but for the single band wrapped around her small breasts and the gauze wraps that line her arms. The air should feel cold, but her whole body feels like it's burning up. She can't strip down fast enough.
She grabs a fistful of his hair to pull him back in but kisses his jawline instead of his mouth, all tongue and teeth. ]
no subject
He drags her as close as he can, pressing her into the wall again. He knows that, in theory, the rest of their clothes are going to get out of the way at some point. But he...doesn't know how to get to that point, especially not with her chewing on him like this. The harder she bites, the more of his neck that he exposes for her.
Already, he can feel a bruise threatening to form beneath her tongue, and his fingertips dig desperately into her hips. His face has begun to turn red, hair sticking to the light sweat on his brow.]
no subject
She hums her approval into the hollow of his throat and reaches with both hands to start tugging at his tunic, trying to figure out how it comes off. ]
Off.
[ As she draws back to tell him that, she examines her handiwork, a dark red spot against his pale skin. She's marked him too. Her tongue darts out to savor the taste of the salt from his skin on her bruised lips. ]
no subject
Off. Its a word that rings inside his skull that snaps him back to reality, and he scrambles to comply. His fingers uncurl from her and he reaches up to his neck to undo the clasps there, and down his chest until the tunic opens -- it is tight in his shoulders, and he leaves it there without bothering to struggle out of it. He's more interested in getting back to her.
Unfortunately, Kylo struggles to get his hands back on her now that he's trapped in his armor. Before long, he's snarling with frustration, reaching for her and turning over his wrists to show her the zippers there.
He did it backwards. Whoops.]
Please.
no subject
At least until she spots his issue. She huffs out a breath and starts unzipping him to deal with the complicated mess of his tunic. Both of them are fired for their inconvenient fashion choices at this point, but at least they're equally frustrated by them.
Once she gets his zippers open, she goes for her boots after all, yanking the zippers down to toss those aside because they're gonna be a problem soon too. ]
no subject
Once the cold air hits his skin, he becomes acutely aware of how uncomfortable he is with his pants still on. There's nothing to hide his arousal now that the tunic is not there to shield him. They're really doing this -- he feels himself starting to freeze with the realization of it.
He needs her hands back on his body, to pull that feeling back before it flees from him.]
Rey...
[His hands move back to her waist is still bent, smoothing up to the thin scrap of fabric still covering her breasts. He wants to rip it, and the thought bounces across the bond briefly -- but another sound down the hallway reminds him that there are others close by, and he doesn't want to share this with anyone else.
So he is more careful running the pads of his fingers under the swell of her breasts.]
no subject
Do it.
[ She reaches up to cover one of his hands with hers, to push it further up to cover her breast. It's a symbolic gesture more than anything else because it denies her of the direct skin-to-skin contact that she's been feeding on, but she wants that aggression. Doesn't want him holding himself back for fear of getting caught.
Surely in a place like this, they'd just figure out what was happening and move right along, after all. Wetting her lips frantically, she adds softly but emphatically, ]
Please.
[ A whole sentence already feels like too much, and it's only on the heels of her plea that she realizes how close she is to just babbling desperate eager nonsense at him in hushed tones. Her thoughts are circling the same hungry thought: Mine. With a frantic companion: take me, make me yours. ]
no subject
But then she pleads, then her circling thoughts chase him around, and he loses the battle with his self-control. He lifts one of his hands, with her's still covering it, and bites down on one of her knuckles in warning. When his hands drop back to her breasts, its to take hold of the wrap, which he shreds in half with one yank.
He drops the wrap as soon as it is ruined and instantly grows more bold. His hands are back on her chest, nails dragging down her collar bone. He's not gentle with her breasts, feeding on her faint need for his aggression.
And then his hands drop to her hips again, to which uses to lift and press her at a more favorable height against the wall, settling her against his hips. The friction isn't quite what he wants, but--he can't stop now. He needs to feel more of her, needs to put his mouth on her -- and now that she's at a proper height, he repays her the favor and follows her lead, sinking his teeth into her neck.]
no subject
Pressed between the unyielding wall and his perhaps more solid bulk she lets out a series of whined noises of approval, coiling her legs around his waist to hold herself up. One of her hands knots in his hair, encouraging him on at her neck, her grip just tight enough to tug as he had done to her, wanting to show him how it feels, to share that. They are the same. She can see it more clearly now than ever, bleeding into each other as they are.
Her head tips back against the wall to make more room for him at her throat and she relinquishes a grunt as his teeth find purchase in her neck. She bucks against him, a desperate rut of her hips. She doesn't find him at first, has to adjust her grip around him, but the second time she bucks forward against him, the bulge in his pants grinds against the seam of hers and she's left shuddering. Desperate.
She's sure, by now, that she must be soaking through those pants. They feel so uncomfortable, pressed against her skin, chafing her because she's too sensitive, her body begging to be rid of them. But for the time being, the thought of giving up this contact is unacceptable.
She grabs one of his hands from her hips, brings it back to her chest, dragging his thumb across her pebbled nipple in implicit direction. There's not much there for him to grope at, not beside his huge hands, but she's sensitive and yearning for his touch. She wants to show him. Not just this, but everything. Wants nothing more than for him to learn every inch of her as intimately as he knows his own body. ]
no subject
A pleased sound is muffled into her throat when she tugs at his scalp and his hips buck blindly in return. His tongue slides across her jawline, teeth pulling at her as he goes along. He pulls her down when he grinds, another hungry growl disappearing into her skin. Every sensation bounces across the bond with higher and higher frequency.
But then she reaches for his hand and moves it in the midst of him searching for relief. He only resists for a moment out of instinct before allowing himself to be guided. She drags his fingers across her nipple once, twice, and he takes the hint. Without the support on her other hip, he cannot grind quite as feverishly for fear of unseating her.
Experimentally, he pinches the nipple she's guided him toward, pulling his mouth from her neck to look directly into her eyes for her reaction. The academic curiosity is gone from his expression -- its nothing but hunger, and an unspoken challenge.]
no subject
Moving his hand breaks his pace, but she's still able to rock against him, bracing herself with one hand in his hair and her legs locked behind his waist. When he draws back to look at her, her eyes have fluttered shut in some half-pained bliss, a cry bubbling out of the back of her throat. Then her eyes widen, she blinks fast to try and swallow that reaction down, and she searches out his face, realizing she's lost the touch of his tongue against her neck.
She needs to help him. It goes smoother when she points the way and sets him loose, and she recognizes it as she meets his eyes, her pupils blown so wide and dark that her hazel eyes look black. Her face is flushed, mottled red and slick with sweat, her hair falling loose from its half-bun around her shoulders. Thoroughly fucked and disheveled and barely thinking straight. ]
Need you. [ She whispers it, somehow both hoarse and wet in the back of her throat. ] Please, Ben. [ She gasps, swallows a breath, loosens her hand from his hair to instead reach between them for the ridiculously high waist of his pants so she can start unbuttoning him. It's hard one-handed; it takes some time. But she's persistent.
She's so sure she's ready until the moment she actually sees him. And then there's a flickering moment of aborted calculation in her expression where she tries to figure out if he's going to fit, realizes that kind of thinking is too complex in her current lust haze, and then abruptly decides no. The safe answer is no. He is not going to fit.
But she wants him to. Oh, she wants him to. Her whole body clenches, her thighs squeezing around his hips with anticipation. ]
no subject
He slides his hand from her chest and moves them both between her legs so that he can mirror what she is doing. Once he is certain that she is free, he leans back to let her down so that she can finish the job of disrobing.
Of course, once he steps back to admire her, he has to pause and swallow the sudden anxiety that bubbles up his throat. She's always been beautiful to him, even if he'd struggled to find the language to describe exactly what he found beautiful about her, but like this -- mussed, red, and nearly spent, he's made so very aware of how much he doesn't deserve her.
But he wants her, half way aborted between pulling himself from his pants. (Vaguely, he remembers how Jessica had picked at him for his size. There some sick satisfaction in feeling Rey's anxiety toward the contrary).]
no subject
Well. It doesn't make her feel any better, exactly, because she gets a second dose of that is simply not going to fit once she can directly compare it to her fingers, the only other thing that's been inside her. But it does make it easier for her to soothe him, anyway. ]
You're beautiful.
[ She brings her other hand up to trace the pattern of one of the scars at his side. Both of her hands move together, a slow and appreciative movement. His skin is startling in its softness — both the scar, which is smoothed over the way scars often are, slightly bumpy and uneven but silky, and his cock. It's almost velvety, prompting her to a gentleness. It's harder than she expects it to be. Less give.
And, yeah. Definitely big enough that Lucas' warning about her first time and size is coming back to her. She can feel how wet she is; it sticks to her inner thighs, makes her panties chafe, the weave of the fabric just this side of too coarse. But stretching. ]
I want you, Ben. [ She squeezes him a little tighter, experimental. ] So much. You're going to feel so good inside of me. But I need your help first. Can you be patient with me?
no subject
Anything.
[Its a deep, rumbling sound that comes out of him, chased by a hard exhale as she continues to work him over. His hands go back on her body, hooking through the top of her panties. He can sense exactly what she wants, and he wants so badly to just give it to her. She’s surely underestimating herself — he knows next to nothing about sex or women or sex with women, but in his heart of hearts he believes that this will work.
After all this, after how he can feel her working him over, it damn well better. His thumbs press against her pubic bone.]
Anything I can give—[His breath hitches when she squeezes and his pupils go wide. He amends, voice cracking with desperation:] Anything you want.
no subject
Get on your knees.
[ She draws her hands back to squeeze his and help him start guiding her pants and underwear over the slope of her hips. They fell as soon as they're slack. Her thighs are muscled and lightly tanned and a thatch of dark, coarse hair affords her the illusion of lingering modesty. An illusion mostly because her shining arousal has been dragged by her panties in streaks down her thighs, sticking to the inner muscle, glinting under the light.
When he complies and kneels before her, she hitches one of her legs over his shoulder and leans back into the wall to brace her weight. Rey knots one of her hands in his hair while the other braces flat against the wall. ]
You're so big. Help me get ready for you. [ There's a gentleness in her voice, something coaxing and eager. For you, she affirms. She's warring against her own impatience here too because stars, she wants him inside of her already. Pressing her into the wall, buried in her cunt. She draws shaky breaths to keep herself patient, combs her fingers through his hair. ] Use your tongue and your fingers.
no subject
She hitches a leg over his shoulder and brings herself dangerously close to his face. He hesitates instantly, not because of anything tangible, but because of the expectation he can sense brewing within her before she vocalizes exactly what she wants. He’s never done this before, never imagined doing this before — and he doesn’t entirely understand why it is necessary. She looks ready enough for him, and he can’t help a bit of impatience until he feels her fingers carding through his hair.
He doesn’t start right away, not so clueless to he be unaware of the benefits of anticipation. She is gentle in how she strokes and guides him, and so he is slow to move as he absorbs that energy.
He doesn’t use his fingers — one hand hand instinctively fallen between his legs, half to cover himself and half to return the pressure he was missing. The other braces against her leg as he leans in to the patch of brown. It takes him a moment to find what he is looking for (and he realizes that using his fingers would have saved his togue a lot of heartache) but when he finds soft, wet flesh amidst the nest of hair, he relentlessly pursues it with several long strokes of his tongue.
He reaches across the bond instinctively for signs of approval, not unlike a dog seeking praise and signs that will guide him to more of it.]
no subject
And he's so taciturn, as ever, quiet in his compliance. She reaches across the bond, a psychic handshake that continue to scramble for each other even as her hands can't quite reach him. There's no hint of revulsion — confusion, yes. And something else. Eagerness to please. And beyond that …
He's never done this before. Not just to taste someone, but any of it. It strikes her as something which should have been painfully obvious to her before now. Of course he hasn't. He's just like her.
It processes only a moment before she feels his tongue dart through her wet folds. His tongue finds her soaked and swollen pink with need. It's unlike anything she's felt before. Warm, slick, and soft. Entirely foreign and slippery and it takes a moment for her to move past the sheer shock of someone touching her here to examine it. But the physical reaction is immediate. Rey shudders under the touch, sucking in a sudden breath and arching her back to press her hips towards him. Her eyes drift shut, but she forces them open when she feels him actively nudging at her thoughts.
She looks down, doesn't want to miss a moment of this. ]
Yes. Just like that. [ Her hand stills against the crown of his head, her thoughts too clouded by pleasure to also focus on the movements of her full hand, but she does continue to scratch her fingers against his scalp, yearning for that rhythmic contact, a way to show him her appreciation.
She tries to clear her thoughts, tries to focus on instinctual nudging to help him parse it across the bond, to push him towards the hard bud that she always worried her fingers against to bring herself over that he just keeps lightly brushing with each inexpert stroke of his tongue. ]
no subject
On the down side, it means he has to try a lot harder to stay focused.
Her guidance isn't exactly a clear picture (nothing in the Force) was, but following the map of thoughts leads him to exactly where she wants. Its deeper, harder to reach with just his tongue with his nose in the way. Curse his father's nose.
So with his now free hand, he reaches up to help spread the swollen folds apart to allow him better access. He finds its easier to offer those long, broad strokes of his tongue this way. There's a certain dryness that sticks to his mouth, a tang he hadn't expected, and that he doesn't really have room to think about once the direct stimulation bounces back to him.
Stars, how did she even know to put him here like this?]
no subject
She's going to die. This is how she's going to die, sputtering out stilted satisfied noises in the corner of some construction hallway. Her grip on his hair tightens and she tries to steer him to get his tongue against her clit. She chokes down breath like she's forgotten how to do it. ]
Your fingers. [ She whines it out. ] Use your fingers too. Inside of me. [ She's going to leave it there, but although she's the one guiding him, she doesn't feel like the one in control anymore. He's reduced her to a twitching mess, so she begs, ] Please.
no subject
But he complies, tilting his head back when she tugs on his hair and allowing himself to be guided to -- ah, there's something there, he feels the exact moment his tongue finds her clit. He moves two fingers up to replace what is tongue had been doing, and is almost surprised at how easily they slide inside of her, even for how large they are compared to her own.
He has to shift on his knees out of discomfort, both from the texture of the floor and also the sudden sensation he feels on the other end of the bond. Experimentally, he takes that small bundle of nerves between his lips and sucks backward the same moment he drives his fingers a little deeper.]
no subject
But curious too. Some distant fragment of her mind can't help but wonder if this feels so good how it'll be to have his cock inside of her. It doesn't gain a foothold, though. Not really. Because then he thrusts into her again and his lips find her clit and she's shattering. It's a whole body tightness, muscles convulsing, her walls clenching down around him as she cries out.
She's overwhelmed and babbling praise. Nothing articulate. Mostly just iterations of so good. Her whole body thrashes with the sudden tip of her climax, her fist tight in his hair and her hips bucking to ride it out against his face.
It caught her off guard somehow. Despite the fact that she'd been circling around it for some time, despite the fact that she'd been chasing that pleasure, she'd thought only in terms of getting herself ready for him. Not getting off. Whatever part of her had heard the concerns about first times and wondered if it would be enjoyable, worth remembering, it's gone now. Blown clear away.
Her straightened leg, braced on the floor, starts to buckle. ]
no subject
Granted, its not like he can't support her, even dead-weight. He just--wasn't expecting it, and its enough to shock him out of sharing that bliss with her.
Something good happened -- but now it was over, and he can feel their hearts hammering. But where her's has started to slow down, his has not. She's riding down from a high, and he feels like he's watched her jump off a cliff without him. He can suddenly feel every slight breeze, and feels the urge to crawl out of his own skin.
He doesn't know what to do with it. So he grabs for her other leg to keep her from collapsing entirely and stays where he is. His mouth is dry, and getting drier despite the fact that his lips shine with her arousal.]
--Rey?
[??? Help??? Please advise.]
no subject
Her name snaps her attention back down to him from where it has drifted and she spots him pulling away slightly, his mouth and chin slick and shining with her. His face is still slightly flushed with his own arousal and she's tangled his hair into a moppy mess around his face and he's never looked better.
Still shaky, she eases her leg off his shoulder to get her weight back where she's supporting it. She sways, plants her free hand on his shoulder while the other uses his hair to drag him back up to kiss her hard on the mouth. He tastes like something tangy and musky and slightly sweet and when she realizes that the taste is her own fluids she groans into his mouth.
Counting on him to support her as he gets to his feet, she gives up holding his shoulder and lets her hand instead find his cock again. It's an inexpert touch, fumbling and not entirely satisfying, focused more on taking in the shape of him and assuring that she hasn't forgotten about him in her own pleasure.
She breaks the kiss. ]
Pick me up. [ Desperation rushes her words. She should be satisfied, and in some ways, she is. There's that gooey, bone-softening warmth flooding her, a pleasant numbing tingle, but her inner walls clench around nothing and she's so sensitive that she can't help but chase more. ] Pick me back up. I'm ready. I want it.
no subject
He isn't quite lost in the kiss, nor in her discovery that she's tasting herself, but he's still surprised when she reaches for him again. The skin-to-skin contact causes him to moan into her mouth, to pursue the kiss more greedily, and twitch briefly against her palm.
But then she breaks it, and he barely hears her request. Fortunately, she repeats it.
She wants it -- and he has enough of an idea where to go from here, even if he's as useless as a baby duckling in terms of how to get there. So he picks her up as she's requested, bracing her against the wall so that she can help in guiding him to where he needs to go. There's no room for doubt now. All he can do is trust Rey to know what she wants -- and she always seems more sure than him, in that area.
So he waits until she's found him and allows her to slide down on top of his cock. The space is tight, and there is nothing to stop the restrained groan that squeezes its way out of his throat. Oh that's a lot. He can't even tell how much of him that she has taken -- but he knows he can go farther.
He's got her pressed to the wall, guided by both instinct and desire. Now that its happening, he knows what he wants -- more. It requires shifting how he is holding her, requires her to hold on to his shoulders so that he can twist her hips to a better angle for himself.
He pulls back once he's got her there, and presses in a little more confidently, feeling the easy way he slides to hilt this time -- and the ease of it encourages another husky, heavy, and pleased sound to come from his chest.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
wraps this? ??