[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.]
[ He hoists her up like she weighs nothing, and she coils him around him on blinding hot instinct, steadying herself. She keeps one hand between them only long enough to guide him in. It's slow going. Probably not as slow going as it should be. A moan bubbles up out of her throat as he drives in, that warm sensation of stretching even better now.
She steadies her grip on his shoulders and he gives it another thrust and she cries out again, louder this time as she feels his hips press flush to hers. There's some fluttery sense of satisfaction in her gut. Pride, maybe. Not just for her but in both of them, as if the most natural thing in the world were some feat of exceptional sexual acumen.
Rey's forehead presses to his as she shifts the grip of her heels against the small of his back. She wants to get better situated, and that adjusts the angle of how he sits inside her. Goosebumps prickle up her thighs. She forces a breath in and only then realizes that she's been tense and holding it in, trying to manage the intrusion and get used to him. ]
Oh.
[ He'd slid in so easily, so painlessly, she hadn't thought there'd be more to it but she's left gulping down air then, keenly aware that she's not actually loosened up around him but rather that she'd been relaxed enough to take the first thrusts.
She's dazed, overwhelmed by the sensation of being so karking full. Tilting her chin up she drags another kiss from him, exploratory, feeling this out. Every twitch of her aftershock that clenches up her inner walls around him makes her body flare with the pleasant ache of satisfaction.
Finally, humming an appreciative noise for the way his length drags along her inner walls as she does, Rey begins to move with him. ]
[The kiss turns hungry instantly as he chases the need coursing through his body. He finds that, trying to move this way, even with her moving with him and even with all of his strength, is incredibly difficult to do standing up. So he does what any self respecting person would do:
He uses the Force.
It requires concentration he doesn't quite have, split between fucking her and also trying to keep her upright in a way that allows him to keep pulling their hips together but somewhere the ideas merge and he pins her spine to the wall with its help. It leaves her free to move her hips with him and frees some of the burden on his arms, allowing his hands to move up and return to caressing her chest. He remembers the pleasant sensations that came with that, and spends time brushing the callouses of his fingers across her nipples.
But all this, all of her inferred pleasure -- its just not enough. As a result, its only a moment, brief and tender before he grabs for her under her breasts again and and increases his pace some -- long, deep thrusts become quicker, slightly more shallow. He has no idea what he's doing, and he's fighting a losing battle to find what feels good in between chasing relief from the immense pressure building in his stomach.
All the while, his vocalizations increase in frequency, alternating between moans and growls held behind his teeth.]
[ The kiss breaks with the sudden jerk of force that flattens her spine against the wall, drawing a grunt from Rey's lungs that could just as easily be one of the many sounds she makes to answer his thrusts. It's a not entirely unfamiliar feeling, but one she has to reach to recall from the forest on Takodana. Dizzy with want as she is, she's not reaching for the Force with any clarity. She can't see it the way she otherwise might.
He's pinning her. There's a flicker of an instant where, wide-eyed, she's clearly torn. Like before with her wrists, she finds herself some confusing cross between indignant and super into it.
Her body settles on the latter. She tilts her chin up and cries out as he ruts up inside of her more quickly, more desperate. Her hands grope for him wherever she can reach, pulling in his hair, blunt fingernails scraping down his bare back, leaving red lines that trace on one side all the way down to the scar she'd left him with in Perdition's Rest.
The pleasure doesn't hit her at all angles like it had when his tongue was working her. Rather, this is a very specific sensation of being split open, reiterated. There's something deep and slightly painful that he bumps once or twice, but even before his rhythm goes shallower, the way each thrust opens her, pumps against her sensitive inner walls, blinds her to it. It's that incessant assailing pleasure that leaves her gaping and trembling and crying out for him —
But she plateaus all the same. Like his preliminary efforts with his tongue, it feels amazing and chases her towards her peak for a while, but she plateaus — in a place of satisfaction, granted, but one where she can see how this alone might not be enough for some women, as she'd been warned.
In part it might be his lack of grace courtesy of the newness of it all, not hitting the right spots inside of her — he's chasing something, and she can feel it building in him as though his body were an extension of her own, feeding her own pleasure and feeding off of it in turn across the bond — but it might also be a function of her basic biology or even his lingering efforts towards self restraint. (Later, she'll be able to appreciate that he seems to be putting forth an effort to be gentle with her. To give her what she's asking for. But at this particular moment, she just wants him to rut into her like a wild animal.)
Ultimately it doesn't matter why. She slips a hand between them to try to reach that sensitive bundle of nerves that his pubic bone keeps pressing into and circle it with her fingertips. To correct it.
She's already started to realize that tugging at his hair is a good way to get what she wants, so she gives up on steadying herself with a hand around the back of his neck and takes up a fistful of his hair instead, drawing him in closer so she can bite at his neck and shoulder. She speckles more dark red marks across his pale skin, like she's leaving herself a map. That vague awareness stirs something in her.
He's hers.
Circling her thoughts along with an incoherent string of his praises of how good it feels and how big he is, that feral, possessive instinct curls up and nests in her chest assured that he belongs to her now, that she's marked him as hers. Just as she belongs to him. ]
[He is only vaguely aware that he's managed to plateau her. It might be the clumsy way he chases release, or his general relationship with emotional intimacy, but he's collapsed into a rhythm now -- like a dog chasing a car.
The raking of her nails down his back gets him to slow down briefly in favor of arching his spine into it, his teeth falling to the crest of her ear to rest there briefly. His rocking becomes slow when he does this, but like before, it doesn't last. He needs to ride this out, and the quicker speed he'd adopted seemed to help more than the slower pace he had originally taken.
So he goes again, relentless as ever, vaguely aware of her fingers brushing against herself and against him. She's not in the way exactly, but he can't deny that her nails are a little too close to him for comfort. So he slows once more, as another idea dawns on him --
But then she bites down mid-thrust, and he momentarily forgets where he is. His shoulders tremble unexpectedly, and he abandons any thoughts of shifting their position. He goes back to driving into her, a singular focus as he chases that sensation he feels somewhere far away -- but its closer now. Its so close that he can feel the way her praise rubs against it, the way the hand in his hair pulls him closer, the way she claims him with her teeth.
He swears under his breath -- its like torture, trying to find that one thing that's finally going to coax the relief out of him.]
[ Beneath his trembling response to her is a simmering frustration, like he doesn't quite know how to see it through. For a moment she's frustrated with herself too — that he's taken care of her, that she's taking him so well and satisfied and he's ... not quite. Not exactly. Maybe she'd rejoiced too soon that managing to fit their bodies together would be the most difficult part.
But there's something like revelation in the way he responds to her as she scores him with her nails and teeth, a kind of clarity that cuts through the bond. When she'd told ROSIE what had worked for them before that point, ROSIE had asked if it was the passion or the pain that Rey liked. She's getting the sense now that for Ben, it's specifically the pain.
She's so karking close that it borders on painful to do it, the muscles of her thighs twitching with the rhythm of her fingers, but she pulls her hand back to his shoulder and digs her nails in. That had, after all, been part of the advice she'd gleaned this week. Paying attention to a partner's signals. She abandons her own climax in favor of his. ]
Good. Ben, you're doing so good. [ She hurries out the words, breathless, tongue and lips and teeth mapping their way across his clavicle. She opens her mouth to urge him to move faster, to go harder, but he's already there and instead a moan comes out. She smothers it against his neck, pulling his hair to keep his chin up whiles he bites down into the tendon there.
Honestly, there are worse things than riding this out while waiting to figure out what works for him. Like ... most things. Most things are worse than getting fucked into this wall. So she relaxes into it.
She rocks up against him, trying to keep his rhythm, the wiggle of her hips shifting how he strikes inside of her. The wet sounds of skin slapping against skin fill the corridor, and she arches into that with each thrust, trying to seek that friction against her clit, and she squeezes tight around him for it. ]
Please, please, keep going like that. [ She utters this between thrusts before a whimper rises in the back of her throat that's desperate and close and almost pained. Her breath draws up short and she muffles that noise too against his skin, worrying her teeth in his muscle. ]
[The muscles in his shoulders flex with effort, and when she bites down on his throat, it feels like electricity running down his spine. His hands move up to cradle her face, to run his fingers through her hair the more she ravages his skin, and he feels the progressive climb coming much faster now.
The praise and the direction reinvigorates him, and he changes nothing except the way in which he acknowledges her efforts. He's louder now, his growls becoming heavy exhales of breath that come uneven.
Abruptly, his grip on the Force starts to slip, and he's forced to grab for her again, and his cries reach a crescendo that he fights to muffle in her hair. He drives himself to hilt with one short jerk shortly before something deep in his stomach snaps like a rubberband. He comes deep inside of her, and its a fight to keep himself moving inside of her, to pull every last bit out of his swollen cock.]
Rey--
[It sounds almost distressed, lost in ecstasy as he feels how quickly she fills with his seed. And then, as he falls over the edge and lands, he feels the energy begin to sap itself from his muscles almost instantly. He's practically glistening with sweat, red faced and out of breath.
He doesn't quite collapse on her, but he is instantly forced to brace himself against the wall with the whole of his forearms, half-pinning her with his bulk as he struggles to find oxygen and the energy to stand straight again.]
[ She's so afraid as he begins to jerk and thrash with his climax that he's going to leave her there on the brink, but then heat floods her and he thrusts through the end of it and the bond between them is wide open and sharing the electrical jolt that pushes him the rest of the way, and the contractions of her own climax squeeze around him to draw the last dredges of his spend out, wringing him dry inside of her. It comes on as a whole body shudder, bringing tears to her eyes with how overwrought and relieved she is.
Rey wraps herself around him in a clingy mass of scrambling limbs, trying to draw him closer and deeper and hold on like he might vanish in the next instant as soon as the high drains away. There's a distinct moment there where he's — everything.
Holding onto his middle, though, isn't working. She can feel how weak he is from holding her up this long, and her full weight descends on her again as the anchor in the Force lets up on her torso, letting her spine slump away from the wall. She has to disengage, and she knows it. But she mourns it, chasing desperate kisses down his neck, burying her face against the slope of his shoulder, shuddering with the aftershocks of that moment.
She's panting and slick with sweat, so the disentanglement comes faster than she wants it to. Her legs start slipping off his hips, and she lets out an inconsolable whine of loss against his skin. ]
Incredible.
[ She sounds elated, but even Rey can't manage excitement with the kind of muscle fatigue she's experiencing. The shift of her hips as her legs slide down to settle her upright and his cock slips free (to her considerable chagrin) draws attention to how stiff they are and how her thighs ache with the effort of their frenzied movements.
She tugs at his shoulders, futilely grappling at him in hopes that they can somehow get closer. ]
[The first thing that occurs to him is that he is a bloody mess. When Rey slides off of him, he grabs for his softening cock to keep the mixture of their shared fluids from dropping on his half-worn pants or his boots, and he can feel himself twitch from overstimulation. What he is left with afterwards is an awkward cupping of his hand while he tries to parse exactly what just happened.
We should sit down here. No, he thinks. They can’t stay here, in public, where someone could find them like this.
But the more he thinks about moving, the more tired he gets. Eventually, he finds his body sinking again, and he has to roll sideways to allow himself to slide to the floor without hurting Rey. It wasn’t glamorous, but he wasn’t ready to pass out either. Perhaps more importantly, he can feel the way Rey tugs for him and sense her desire to stay even after they’ve finished. Is that normal? Maybe.
She wants him in the same way that he hadnt realized he wanted her. And so, he blindly gropes for her company with his free hand — the one not covered in jizz.]
Rey...
[All he can do is mumble her name and tug ar her arm to coax her down to him.]
[ His resistance to the suggestion is mere static across the bond, dissolved entirely as he sinks against the wall beside her. She takes his hand and as she sinks down to straddle him where he sits, pulls it between them, her fingers twining with his. The motions are languid, not for lack of attention but for an ease and comfort that has no place in a construction hallway.
She nests her forehead against the side of his neck, her nose pressing there. Unlike Ben, she pays little mind to their mess, which means the fluids dripping out of her and smeared against her cunt now rest securely on the crotch of his pants.
Drifting apart, pulling their clothes back on and going about their business, seems so far off that it's almost an impossibility. She can't tolerate the thought of being separated from his bare skin right now, drugged not on whatever Quin had accidentally laced the food with, but on hormones and neurotransmitters that have her quite nearly nuzzling him.
Her eyes shut, she pulls back on every hoarse time he'd said her name prior, every strained prayer, and a smile flutters at the corners of her mouth. ]
Don't worry.
[ She takes his other hand, the messy one, and pulls it between them too, letting it rest on her thigh. Mingled fluids smear against her thigh and hand both, but she doesn't react. That's sort of the point. ]
We can go shower later. [ When they're capable of moving. ] And there are machines to wash your clothes.
[Yes, but now he has a walk of shame to make, and he still isn’t sure how much of this he wants to be a public affair. They messy. But for the time being, he is absolutey too tired to consider it. Its a struggle to stay awake, so much so that it surprises him. Rey takes one of his hands, and he doesn’t resist the gesture. Then, she goes for the other one, and he lifts his head off the wall to look at her.
Oh.
The mess when attributed to himself, he wasn’t really into that. But there is something about the warmth that pools under his wet hand that makes him realize that he might be into seeing it on others. Her head rests near a cluster of bruises, and its the only thing that keeps his eyes open. He turns his head just enough to rest it against her own, lips pressed to her forehead. He doesn’t know what is supposed to come next, but — he could get used to this. Absolutely.
At least, as far as Rey is concerned. She is talking about showering, and he nods dimly.]
Right.
[His voice is a scratchy baritone, lightly dehydrated.]
...are you glad you waited?
[The thought enters his mind, and he doesn’t have the energy to apply a filter. The “you” should have been “we”.]
[ A floating numbness floods her body, and distantly she recognizes that she's acting on an especially cuddly instinct that doesn't feel entirely hers — or at least beyond what she has felt before. The desire for contact has always been there, but right now it feels like she can't get close enough to him, not in the same scrambling way that she'd been so desperate to get him inside of her, but like she wants to find a way to milk more intimacy out of this. There's no obvious route to that, however, and Rey settles for running her hands up his arms lazily.
She lifts her head some, enough to look up at him, her face still flushed and splotchy from sweat and arousal and it looks like she may have blinked out one or two overwhelmed tears at the end there because her eyelashes are wet too. Her lips shine in the fluorescent light. ]
Yes.
[ There's no hesitation in giving him that answer. Right now she doesn't care if it's an 'I told you so' because he's right and she's content and this is where they are. That's what counts. In hindsight she can see how her desperation to constantly push and push was born out of the uncertainty of their precarious relationship, like she was well aware that each intimate moment they shared could be the last.
It doesn't feel that way now. They'd arrived in a good place last night, a place she was content with, and demonstrated that at the very least they both cared enough to work through some truly atrocious bullshit of their own incompatibility. There's comfort there. This isn't rushing to savor something that's a flash in the pan that they might lose. It's more like the start of something.
There's the practical reasons too, of course. Beyond their relationship, she can easily see how maybe in that bed on Drakstaden they'd have disappointed one another somehow. It's not for nothing that she's opened up and been asking people about the particulars of it all here.
A lot of old anxieties melt away on her tongue. She wants to share them — that she had regretted Drakstaden only because she was afraid this meant it wouldn't be him, but someone she felt less connected to. That so many people had warned her it would feel awkward or go badly and it hadn't. But none of those things matter anymore, so she lets them go in an instant. ]
I mean it, that was incredible. [ Despite her low energy, she hasn't been this excited since she sat in the pilot's chair of the Falcon for the first time, escaping Jakku. It shows in the way she babbles almost aimless praise. ] Better than I thought it'd be, and I've thought about it a lot.
[ There's no flush there to indicate any shame, nor does she reach for validation in the form of soliciting his agreement. She's not especially worried about that just now, given how unrestrained he had been, how he actually solicits her now to share her feelings. ]
[He bites down the instinctive surprise. Yes, he knows now that she has probably thought about it a lot. For all his insecurities, for all he had tried to distance himself, he hadn't forgotten when she had jumped his bones in Drakstaden, and when he had been forced to separate them for fear of rushing headlong into something that -- required a level of trust he wasn't sure he was capable of.
That doesn't stop his need to awkwardly clear his throat. He, of course, did not receive the benefit of sex talks from other people. He has no frame of reference for how poorly the whole thing could have gone -- what he does know is that he'd done quite a bit of holding himself back through that entire ordeal. It was uncharted territory for both of them, and he'd been more than a little aware that he could fail and ruin any hope of getting that back.
He's still a little wound up, from how much he'd resisted the Dark tugging at him. Passion, he remembers that word, and it stands out then.]
...good.
[He'd more confident now that it won't happen, next time. He doesn't vocalize his concerns that he might have hurt her and driven her away. He doesn't voice the fact that he'd been agonizing over what Jessica had said to him. Her babbling praise makes it obvious that none of it was worth acknowledging.
He's not as wrapped around her as she is around him (mostly because she is holding his hand), but he is content resting his head against her's and potentially falling asleep right in this hallway now that--
No. Hold on. Back up Kylo Ren.]
We shouldn't stay like this.
[He can already feel his muscles adopting a persistent ache from how much energy he had put out, and the pain seeping in from the hard floor.]
[ She lets go of his hand then in favor of looping both arms around his neck and holding him close, a pang of longing and regret hitting her. It's not that he disagrees; he'd articulated his agreement as clearly as she could ever expect him to. But it's just how he is. He can't linger in the moment, busy fearing the next one. ]
Just a little longer.
[ She runs her fingers over the bumps of the scratches she'd left in his back. ]
Please.
[ She's not ready to let him go. Not ready for distance between them or clothes or any of the other things that entailed. If anyone were considering heading this way, they'd surely been put off by the noises. They weren't quiet.
Besides, she's not sure she could care if someone did come by, despite the fact that she's the more exposed one, stripped down entirely but for her arm wraps. ]
[His lashes flutter briefly when she brushes her hands over the shallow scratches in his back. Once she releases his hand, he wraps his large arms around her and presses her into his bare torso. Fortunately for her, he is also too tired to argue once she provides resistance. She's warm, where the floor and the wall are cold. Its easy to not want to move.
He makes a light noise of protest, but he folds one of his legs in to cement the fact that he isn't going to force them to move yet.]
Shower.
[That's the only tangible thought he can communicate. Galactic basic is hard.]
[ She's not a particularly small woman, but nested against him, she feels small all the same. The warmth of his skin finds its equal in something blooming inside her chest and stomach, something she can't quite articulate. Fulfillment, maybe. She's been chasing this for so long.
The dark red marks in his skin have begun to spread and purple, and she presses soft, lingering kisses to them while she hums an agreement in the back of her throat. Yes, shower. That's the best next stop. But the stiffness of her hips and the soreness of her thighs only makes the notion of getting up and dressed less appealing. ]
I like this.
[ She moves her hand along his shoulder to trace one of the marks. It shouldn't be that surprising. It's not the first time she's marked him, after all. But the context is so different now, it almost helps her erase the conflict that the scars she's left on him stokes in her gut. They're still the same, in so many ways, but it looks different now. ]
It feels like you're mine.
[ That's what she'd told Loki. That Kylo was the only thing that had ever really been hers. There's some wonder in seeing that properly externalized now. ]
[Kylo doesn't answer right away. The question is loaded, even if Rey doesn't realize it. He wasn't yet convinced that she'd be able to live with the darker parts of him. She'd always be trying to change him, and he knew that eventually, one of them would surely grow tired with the dance they danced.
He couldn't say when -- but it feels somewhat inevitable, after how much they had fought. He keeps his arms around her, in spite of his silence.]
Am I?
[He poses the question back to her, opening his eyes to look up at the ceiling. In his mind, she'd always been his. It was why he followed her so closely, why he lashed out so angrily when things regarding her didn't go his way.]
[ She can feel it. His doubts, fears of a future that aren't entirely baseless. Despite the good reasons that support his uncertainty, Rey doesn't share it. She's relaxed, at peace. Dreading something like that had driven her to compromising in other ways to try and avoid it. She needs to suspend her consideration of that possibility. It might happen. A million things might happen. ]
Yes.
[ Even if what he's afraid of does come to pass, and they do have to draw that line in the sand with one another, it's not going to change that. She'd demonstrated that well before now in the way she had demanded to be the one who handled the situation early on in Hathaway. The way she pushed Poe and Finn away to tell them that Kylo Ren was hers to deal with. It was written too in the way she'd warned Poe that Kylo might lash out after they'd broken things off, the way they couldn't properly let each other go.
Satisfied with ... answering her own question, I guess, she draws back slightly to look over his face. He's still flushed, still shining with sweat, still disheveled. The only other times she's seen him that way there's been an undercurrent of rage. It's gone now. She presses a kiss to his mouth and then starts to push to her feet, standing over him. Her muscles and joints groan with the effort of shifting positions and stretching, sore as they are, but she reaches a hand down for him.
Or she starts to reach a hand down for him, at least, before she notices the spot she's left behind in his pants. Then the hand moves instead between her thighs to the slippery mess of them that has been dripping out of her this whole time. It's a fucking water park down there. She only laughs, though. ]
[Kylo, on the other hand, is perfectly aware of that mess. Now that the cold hits it, he can feel the spot soaking through his pants, and his expression dips downward in an unamused fashion. He has to walk all the way to the showers like this!!!
Still, he observes the way that she laughs when she marvels at the amount of...fluid...running down her legs, and something in his chest squirms painfully. Gosh it sure was nice to hear her laugh, and it was even nicer to know that he had put it there. He doesn’t know what to do with these emotions. Fortunately, she spares him by reaching for him to help him to his feet.
In a grand twist of plot, he takes it. Its a process with how weak he feels. The energy is coming back, but it is a slow process. He goes to his knees first, and then with her help, he gets to his feet. Then its just a matter of tucking himself away in his pants and picking up his tunic and his belt. He is...definitely not putting those back on. He doesn’t need to soil them too.
At lest the lightheadedness was gone.]
Are you...
[—going to be ok? He nods toward the seemingly endless river.]
[ Rey glances down at his indication and makes a sort of half-hearted effort towards wiping at the mess. It mostly just smears around, though, and leaves her hand equally soiled. It doesn't bother her, at least. The effort had mostly been made with him in mind, as he obviously had some Feelings about it that neither of them were going to examine or he'd get Tired and Cranky. This particular emotion isn't worth that process, she decides. ]
It's fine.
[ Looking back at his face, still tacky with some of the same fluid, she realizes she's been tasting it on his mouth for some time now. He knows the taste of her, but she does't know the taste of him. She brings her fingers to her mouth. The same flavor of her own arousal is there, something just shy of tangy, but mingled with a stronger salt and something else she can't place.
Her tongue darts out briefly, satisfied with this discovery. It's not a great taste, honestly. But it makes her skin hum all the same, coaxes a primal instinct out of her that's stretching its limbs. Her gaze drops from his then and she sets about collecting her clothes.
She pulls her pants on, despite the way sweat makes the fabric stick and struggle up her muscled thighs, despite the way the slip-n-slide of their spend stains them. Her shirt is worse, folding and rolling up several times before she can get it straightened out. She balls her undergarments in the sash and wraps her belt around it, then picks up the torn band that had bound her breasts.
Another laugh. That wasn't really thinking ahead. But it had been really great at the time, and so there's pink in her cheeks as she just … piles it on top of her other clothes. What else is she going to do with it? ? ? She looks down at her shirt, as though trying to evaluate the necessity of it. Her nipples are, in fact, apparent through the fabric. But usually the sash would be there, and …
[If she happens to look up at his face, she'll notice that he swallows thickly when her tongue flicks outward, totally derailed from his original concern. He opens his mouth to comment, but no sound comes out, and he is instantly embarrassed about it. Instead of trying again, he closes his mouth swiftly and clears his throat surely he could not be aroused so easily or so soon after -- all of that.
He doesn't want to test it yet. Maybe.
She's getting dressed again, but stops at her binding.]
...
[He doesn't apologize, but judging by his expression, he realizes that he probably fucked that one up.]
...perhaps nobody will notice.
[He would notice. And the thought of someone else noticing suddenly makes him frown. So, he amends:]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.]
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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.
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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.]
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She steadies her grip on his shoulders and he gives it another thrust and she cries out again, louder this time as she feels his hips press flush to hers. There's some fluttery sense of satisfaction in her gut. Pride, maybe. Not just for her but in both of them, as if the most natural thing in the world were some feat of exceptional sexual acumen.
Rey's forehead presses to his as she shifts the grip of her heels against the small of his back. She wants to get better situated, and that adjusts the angle of how he sits inside her. Goosebumps prickle up her thighs. She forces a breath in and only then realizes that she's been tense and holding it in, trying to manage the intrusion and get used to him. ]
Oh.
[ He'd slid in so easily, so painlessly, she hadn't thought there'd be more to it but she's left gulping down air then, keenly aware that she's not actually loosened up around him but rather that she'd been relaxed enough to take the first thrusts.
She's dazed, overwhelmed by the sensation of being so karking full. Tilting her chin up she drags another kiss from him, exploratory, feeling this out. Every twitch of her aftershock that clenches up her inner walls around him makes her body flare with the pleasant ache of satisfaction.
Finally, humming an appreciative noise for the way his length drags along her inner walls as she does, Rey begins to move with him. ]
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He uses the Force.
It requires concentration he doesn't quite have, split between fucking her and also trying to keep her upright in a way that allows him to keep pulling their hips together but somewhere the ideas merge and he pins her spine to the wall with its help. It leaves her free to move her hips with him and frees some of the burden on his arms, allowing his hands to move up and return to caressing her chest. He remembers the pleasant sensations that came with that, and spends time brushing the callouses of his fingers across her nipples.
But all this, all of her inferred pleasure -- its just not enough. As a result, its only a moment, brief and tender before he grabs for her under her breasts again and and increases his pace some -- long, deep thrusts become quicker, slightly more shallow. He has no idea what he's doing, and he's fighting a losing battle to find what feels good in between chasing relief from the immense pressure building in his stomach.
All the while, his vocalizations increase in frequency, alternating between moans and growls held behind his teeth.]
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He's pinning her. There's a flicker of an instant where, wide-eyed, she's clearly torn. Like before with her wrists, she finds herself some confusing cross between indignant and super into it.
Her body settles on the latter. She tilts her chin up and cries out as he ruts up inside of her more quickly, more desperate. Her hands grope for him wherever she can reach, pulling in his hair, blunt fingernails scraping down his bare back, leaving red lines that trace on one side all the way down to the scar she'd left him with in Perdition's Rest.
The pleasure doesn't hit her at all angles like it had when his tongue was working her. Rather, this is a very specific sensation of being split open, reiterated. There's something deep and slightly painful that he bumps once or twice, but even before his rhythm goes shallower, the way each thrust opens her, pumps against her sensitive inner walls, blinds her to it. It's that incessant assailing pleasure that leaves her gaping and trembling and crying out for him —
But she plateaus all the same. Like his preliminary efforts with his tongue, it feels amazing and chases her towards her peak for a while, but she plateaus — in a place of satisfaction, granted, but one where she can see how this alone might not be enough for some women, as she'd been warned.
In part it might be his lack of grace courtesy of the newness of it all, not hitting the right spots inside of her — he's chasing something, and she can feel it building in him as though his body were an extension of her own, feeding her own pleasure and feeding off of it in turn across the bond — but it might also be a function of her basic biology or even his lingering efforts towards self restraint. (Later, she'll be able to appreciate that he seems to be putting forth an effort to be gentle with her. To give her what she's asking for. But at this particular moment, she just wants him to rut into her like a wild animal.)
Ultimately it doesn't matter why. She slips a hand between them to try to reach that sensitive bundle of nerves that his pubic bone keeps pressing into and circle it with her fingertips. To correct it.
She's already started to realize that tugging at his hair is a good way to get what she wants, so she gives up on steadying herself with a hand around the back of his neck and takes up a fistful of his hair instead, drawing him in closer so she can bite at his neck and shoulder. She speckles more dark red marks across his pale skin, like she's leaving herself a map. That vague awareness stirs something in her.
He's hers.
Circling her thoughts along with an incoherent string of his praises of how good it feels and how big he is, that feral, possessive instinct curls up and nests in her chest assured that he belongs to her now, that she's marked him as hers. Just as she belongs to him. ]
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The raking of her nails down his back gets him to slow down briefly in favor of arching his spine into it, his teeth falling to the crest of her ear to rest there briefly. His rocking becomes slow when he does this, but like before, it doesn't last. He needs to ride this out, and the quicker speed he'd adopted seemed to help more than the slower pace he had originally taken.
So he goes again, relentless as ever, vaguely aware of her fingers brushing against herself and against him. She's not in the way exactly, but he can't deny that her nails are a little too close to him for comfort. So he slows once more, as another idea dawns on him --
But then she bites down mid-thrust, and he momentarily forgets where he is. His shoulders tremble unexpectedly, and he abandons any thoughts of shifting their position. He goes back to driving into her, a singular focus as he chases that sensation he feels somewhere far away -- but its closer now. Its so close that he can feel the way her praise rubs against it, the way the hand in his hair pulls him closer, the way she claims him with her teeth.
He swears under his breath -- its like torture, trying to find that one thing that's finally going to coax the relief out of him.]
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But there's something like revelation in the way he responds to her as she scores him with her nails and teeth, a kind of clarity that cuts through the bond. When she'd told ROSIE what had worked for them before that point, ROSIE had asked if it was the passion or the pain that Rey liked. She's getting the sense now that for Ben, it's specifically the pain.
She's so karking close that it borders on painful to do it, the muscles of her thighs twitching with the rhythm of her fingers, but she pulls her hand back to his shoulder and digs her nails in. That had, after all, been part of the advice she'd gleaned this week. Paying attention to a partner's signals. She abandons her own climax in favor of his. ]
Good. Ben, you're doing so good. [ She hurries out the words, breathless, tongue and lips and teeth mapping their way across his clavicle. She opens her mouth to urge him to move faster, to go harder, but he's already there and instead a moan comes out. She smothers it against his neck, pulling his hair to keep his chin up whiles he bites down into the tendon there.
Honestly, there are worse things than riding this out while waiting to figure out what works for him. Like ... most things. Most things are worse than getting fucked into this wall. So she relaxes into it.
She rocks up against him, trying to keep his rhythm, the wiggle of her hips shifting how he strikes inside of her. The wet sounds of skin slapping against skin fill the corridor, and she arches into that with each thrust, trying to seek that friction against her clit, and she squeezes tight around him for it. ]
Please, please, keep going like that. [ She utters this between thrusts before a whimper rises in the back of her throat that's desperate and close and almost pained. Her breath draws up short and she muffles that noise too against his skin, worrying her teeth in his muscle. ]
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The praise and the direction reinvigorates him, and he changes nothing except the way in which he acknowledges her efforts. He's louder now, his growls becoming heavy exhales of breath that come uneven.
Abruptly, his grip on the Force starts to slip, and he's forced to grab for her again, and his cries reach a crescendo that he fights to muffle in her hair. He drives himself to hilt with one short jerk shortly before something deep in his stomach snaps like a rubberband. He comes deep inside of her, and its a fight to keep himself moving inside of her, to pull every last bit out of his swollen cock.]
Rey--
[It sounds almost distressed, lost in ecstasy as he feels how quickly she fills with his seed. And then, as he falls over the edge and lands, he feels the energy begin to sap itself from his muscles almost instantly. He's practically glistening with sweat, red faced and out of breath.
He doesn't quite collapse on her, but he is instantly forced to brace himself against the wall with the whole of his forearms, half-pinning her with his bulk as he struggles to find oxygen and the energy to stand straight again.]
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Rey wraps herself around him in a clingy mass of scrambling limbs, trying to draw him closer and deeper and hold on like he might vanish in the next instant as soon as the high drains away. There's a distinct moment there where he's — everything.
Holding onto his middle, though, isn't working. She can feel how weak he is from holding her up this long, and her full weight descends on her again as the anchor in the Force lets up on her torso, letting her spine slump away from the wall. She has to disengage, and she knows it. But she mourns it, chasing desperate kisses down his neck, burying her face against the slope of his shoulder, shuddering with the aftershocks of that moment.
She's panting and slick with sweat, so the disentanglement comes faster than she wants it to. Her legs start slipping off his hips, and she lets out an inconsolable whine of loss against his skin. ]
Incredible.
[ She sounds elated, but even Rey can't manage excitement with the kind of muscle fatigue she's experiencing. The shift of her hips as her legs slide down to settle her upright and his cock slips free (to her considerable chagrin) draws attention to how stiff they are and how her thighs ache with the effort of their frenzied movements.
She tugs at his shoulders, futilely grappling at him in hopes that they can somehow get closer. ]
Let's … We should sit down here.
[ And hold each other and not budge. Like ever. ]
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We should sit down here. No, he thinks. They can’t stay here, in public, where someone could find them like this.
But the more he thinks about moving, the more tired he gets. Eventually, he finds his body sinking again, and he has to roll sideways to allow himself to slide to the floor without hurting Rey. It wasn’t glamorous, but he wasn’t ready to pass out either. Perhaps more importantly, he can feel the way Rey tugs for him and sense her desire to stay even after they’ve finished. Is that normal? Maybe.
She wants him in the same way that he hadnt realized he wanted her. And so, he blindly gropes for her company with his free hand — the one not covered in jizz.]
Rey...
[All he can do is mumble her name and tug ar her arm to coax her down to him.]
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She nests her forehead against the side of his neck, her nose pressing there. Unlike Ben, she pays little mind to their mess, which means the fluids dripping out of her and smeared against her cunt now rest securely on the crotch of his pants.
Drifting apart, pulling their clothes back on and going about their business, seems so far off that it's almost an impossibility. She can't tolerate the thought of being separated from his bare skin right now, drugged not on whatever Quin had accidentally laced the food with, but on hormones and neurotransmitters that have her quite nearly nuzzling him.
Her eyes shut, she pulls back on every hoarse time he'd said her name prior, every strained prayer, and a smile flutters at the corners of her mouth. ]
Don't worry.
[ She takes his other hand, the messy one, and pulls it between them too, letting it rest on her thigh. Mingled fluids smear against her thigh and hand both, but she doesn't react. That's sort of the point. ]
We can go shower later. [ When they're capable of moving. ] And there are machines to wash your clothes.
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Oh.
The mess when attributed to himself, he wasn’t really into that. But there is something about the warmth that pools under his wet hand that makes him realize that he might be into seeing it on others. Her head rests near a cluster of bruises, and its the only thing that keeps his eyes open. He turns his head just enough to rest it against her own, lips pressed to her forehead. He doesn’t know what is supposed to come next, but — he could get used to this. Absolutely.
At least, as far as Rey is concerned. She is talking about showering, and he nods dimly.]
Right.
[His voice is a scratchy baritone, lightly dehydrated.]
...are you glad you waited?
[The thought enters his mind, and he doesn’t have the energy to apply a filter. The “you” should have been “we”.]
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She lifts her head some, enough to look up at him, her face still flushed and splotchy from sweat and arousal and it looks like she may have blinked out one or two overwhelmed tears at the end there because her eyelashes are wet too. Her lips shine in the fluorescent light. ]
Yes.
[ There's no hesitation in giving him that answer. Right now she doesn't care if it's an 'I told you so' because he's right and she's content and this is where they are. That's what counts. In hindsight she can see how her desperation to constantly push and push was born out of the uncertainty of their precarious relationship, like she was well aware that each intimate moment they shared could be the last.
It doesn't feel that way now. They'd arrived in a good place last night, a place she was content with, and demonstrated that at the very least they both cared enough to work through some truly atrocious bullshit of their own incompatibility. There's comfort there. This isn't rushing to savor something that's a flash in the pan that they might lose. It's more like the start of something.
There's the practical reasons too, of course. Beyond their relationship, she can easily see how maybe in that bed on Drakstaden they'd have disappointed one another somehow. It's not for nothing that she's opened up and been asking people about the particulars of it all here.
A lot of old anxieties melt away on her tongue. She wants to share them — that she had regretted Drakstaden only because she was afraid this meant it wouldn't be him, but someone she felt less connected to. That so many people had warned her it would feel awkward or go badly and it hadn't. But none of those things matter anymore, so she lets them go in an instant. ]
I mean it, that was incredible. [ Despite her low energy, she hasn't been this excited since she sat in the pilot's chair of the Falcon for the first time, escaping Jakku. It shows in the way she babbles almost aimless praise. ] Better than I thought it'd be, and I've thought about it a lot.
[ There's no flush there to indicate any shame, nor does she reach for validation in the form of soliciting his agreement. She's not especially worried about that just now, given how unrestrained he had been, how he actually solicits her now to share her feelings. ]
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That doesn't stop his need to awkwardly clear his throat. He, of course, did not receive the benefit of sex talks from other people. He has no frame of reference for how poorly the whole thing could have gone -- what he does know is that he'd done quite a bit of holding himself back through that entire ordeal. It was uncharted territory for both of them, and he'd been more than a little aware that he could fail and ruin any hope of getting that back.
He's still a little wound up, from how much he'd resisted the Dark tugging at him. Passion, he remembers that word, and it stands out then.]
...good.
[He'd more confident now that it won't happen, next time. He doesn't vocalize his concerns that he might have hurt her and driven her away. He doesn't voice the fact that he'd been agonizing over what Jessica had said to him. Her babbling praise makes it obvious that none of it was worth acknowledging.
He's not as wrapped around her as she is around him (mostly because she is holding his hand), but he is content resting his head against her's and potentially falling asleep right in this hallway now that--
No. Hold on. Back up Kylo Ren.]
We shouldn't stay like this.
[He can already feel his muscles adopting a persistent ache from how much energy he had put out, and the pain seeping in from the hard floor.]
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Just a little longer.
[ She runs her fingers over the bumps of the scratches she'd left in his back. ]
Please.
[ She's not ready to let him go. Not ready for distance between them or clothes or any of the other things that entailed. If anyone were considering heading this way, they'd surely been put off by the noises. They weren't quiet.
Besides, she's not sure she could care if someone did come by, despite the fact that she's the more exposed one, stripped down entirely but for her arm wraps. ]
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He makes a light noise of protest, but he folds one of his legs in to cement the fact that he isn't going to force them to move yet.]
Shower.
[That's the only tangible thought he can communicate. Galactic basic is hard.]
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The dark red marks in his skin have begun to spread and purple, and she presses soft, lingering kisses to them while she hums an agreement in the back of her throat. Yes, shower. That's the best next stop. But the stiffness of her hips and the soreness of her thighs only makes the notion of getting up and dressed less appealing. ]
I like this.
[ She moves her hand along his shoulder to trace one of the marks. It shouldn't be that surprising. It's not the first time she's marked him, after all. But the context is so different now, it almost helps her erase the conflict that the scars she's left on him stokes in her gut. They're still the same, in so many ways, but it looks different now. ]
It feels like you're mine.
[ That's what she'd told Loki. That Kylo was the only thing that had ever really been hers. There's some wonder in seeing that properly externalized now. ]
Are you?
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He couldn't say when -- but it feels somewhat inevitable, after how much they had fought. He keeps his arms around her, in spite of his silence.]
Am I?
[He poses the question back to her, opening his eyes to look up at the ceiling. In his mind, she'd always been his. It was why he followed her so closely, why he lashed out so angrily when things regarding her didn't go his way.]
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Yes.
[ Even if what he's afraid of does come to pass, and they do have to draw that line in the sand with one another, it's not going to change that. She'd demonstrated that well before now in the way she had demanded to be the one who handled the situation early on in Hathaway. The way she pushed Poe and Finn away to tell them that Kylo Ren was hers to deal with. It was written too in the way she'd warned Poe that Kylo might lash out after they'd broken things off, the way they couldn't properly let each other go.
Satisfied with ... answering her own question, I guess, she draws back slightly to look over his face. He's still flushed, still shining with sweat, still disheveled. The only other times she's seen him that way there's been an undercurrent of rage. It's gone now. She presses a kiss to his mouth and then starts to push to her feet, standing over him. Her muscles and joints groan with the effort of shifting positions and stretching, sore as they are, but she reaches a hand down for him.
Or she starts to reach a hand down for him, at least, before she notices the spot she's left behind in his pants. Then the hand moves instead between her thighs to the slippery mess of them that has been dripping out of her this whole time. It's a fucking water park down there. She only laughs, though. ]
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Still, he observes the way that she laughs when she marvels at the amount of...fluid...running down her legs, and something in his chest squirms painfully. Gosh it sure was nice to hear her laugh, and it was even nicer to know that he had put it there. He doesn’t know what to do with these emotions. Fortunately, she spares him by reaching for him to help him to his feet.
In a grand twist of plot, he takes it. Its a process with how weak he feels. The energy is coming back, but it is a slow process. He goes to his knees first, and then with her help, he gets to his feet. Then its just a matter of tucking himself away in his pants and picking up his tunic and his belt. He is...definitely not putting those back on. He doesn’t need to soil them too.
At lest the lightheadedness was gone.]
Are you...
[—going to be ok? He nods toward the seemingly endless river.]
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It's fine.
[ Looking back at his face, still tacky with some of the same fluid, she realizes she's been tasting it on his mouth for some time now. He knows the taste of her, but she does't know the taste of him. She brings her fingers to her mouth. The same flavor of her own arousal is there, something just shy of tangy, but mingled with a stronger salt and something else she can't place.
Her tongue darts out briefly, satisfied with this discovery. It's not a great taste, honestly. But it makes her skin hum all the same, coaxes a primal instinct out of her that's stretching its limbs. Her gaze drops from his then and she sets about collecting her clothes.
She pulls her pants on, despite the way sweat makes the fabric stick and struggle up her muscled thighs, despite the way the slip-n-slide of their spend stains them. Her shirt is worse, folding and rolling up several times before she can get it straightened out. She balls her undergarments in the sash and wraps her belt around it, then picks up the torn band that had bound her breasts.
Another laugh. That wasn't really thinking ahead. But it had been really great at the time, and so there's pink in her cheeks as she just … piles it on top of her other clothes. What else is she going to do with it? ? ? She looks down at her shirt, as though trying to evaluate the necessity of it. Her nipples are, in fact, apparent through the fabric. But usually the sash would be there, and …
Hm. She'll figure it out. ]
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He doesn't want to test it yet. Maybe.
She's getting dressed again, but stops at her binding.]
...
[He doesn't apologize, but judging by his expression, he realizes that he probably fucked that one up.]
...perhaps nobody will notice.
[He would notice. And the thought of someone else noticing suddenly makes him frown. So, he amends:]
Nobody will notice.
[Or he'll kill them. Basically.]
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wraps this? ??