[ 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:]
[ The part of the correction Rey focuses on is that he's pointing out how apparent it is. She wrangles her extra clothes — boots piled on too — into one arm and with her other hand gives a go of smoothing her palm over her breast like that'll ? ?? flatten her nipples down ?? That's not how it works but it's what she's trying, like the stiffness is just rumpled fabric.
Update; they're still sensitive. This was a mistake. She gives it up after a second attempt of groping herself for the sake of no one noticing and instead just … holds her boots in front of her chest. Yeah, this is fine for now.
They probably have bathing suits or something lying around that she can wear. It's a beach, after all. And if not … She'll have to address the implicit threat in Kylo's observation. ]
It won't be obvious with my sash over it. [ Later. After showering. ] And anyone who does notice won't say anything.
[ Or if they do, she'll punch them in the mouth before he gets the chance to kill them anyway. It's really not that big of an issue: that's the point she's trying to make. She nods her head in the direction of the bathrooms, which are blessedly … on the way to the bunks, away from the lounge area, so they should be able to slip quietly past. ]
[He nearly snaps and tells her not to tell him what to do -- until he doesn't. He isn't implicitly aware why he doesn't, but...well, she definitely gets a small frown for her trouble, at least. Rather than verbally protest, he shuffles what is left of his clothes and turns to head toward the bunks. If she's going to have her nips out like that, then she can deal with his nips being out like this.
Also, he's still...really warm, and he doesn't want to talk about it.
Kylo Ren is already aware of the shower situation. Fortunately, him and Rey have officially been in the same room naked now, so its a little less awkward. The downside is the potential that someone else is in there already. Then he'll have to fight them.
With each step they take, he is looking around for someone to spot them. The closer they get to the showers, the more he starts looking for naked people headed in the same direction so that he can suggest them to go in another direction (hopefully without Rey noticing. Would that be embarrassing? Almost definitely yes.)]
[ Hulking awkward crow has leveled up to skulking snarling defensive crow, and Rey is honestly just … gonna let him have his little self-centered paranoia fit on his own back there without further comment on it. It's loud and clear across the bond between them (which seems ? ?? stronger somehow, right now ?? not examining that too closely) what he's doing, searching for someone who Cares about this who might have noticed and who he might be able to lash out at. But she's also committed to her not attempting to change each other plan.
If he wants to live his life being paranoid and weird and looking for a fight, that's his business. It only becomes her problem if he starts that fight and goes overboard with it.
That resolution actually makes this whole thing a lot easier. It's — dare she think it — comfortable. Or maybe that's still just the neurochemical cocktail she's buzzed on right now. It could wear off in a few hours (or a few minutes, if he kills her buzz; it's a mystery).
Fortunately it's the middle of the goddamn day so the number of people actually heading for the showers is roughly none. Most of them are probably out at the beach like normal people. So maybe it was smart for Kylo to be like 'let's take this inside where we won't have an outdoors audience.' Rey keeps close to him as they enter the showers. She does a quick scan of her own then, finally, to ensure they're actually alone.
She's still Team No Secret Relationship, but there's a considerable difference between not wanting to lie to their faces and wanting them to see her naked, rinsing off Kylo Ren's cum. Like. She has boundaries.
Satisfied that it looks empty, she holds her hand out for his tunic and stops in front of one of the laundry machines. This is not her first soiled clothing rodeo. ]
Pants too. [ She looks pointedly at the stain that she left in his crotch, and makes no effort to obscure the surge of pride she feels. Because she marked him. And he's hers. And the lizard part of her brain is like 'what if you didn't wash your pants what if everyone saw' and the rational part of her brain is like 'even I know that's gross.' ]
[Oh. Right. Both laundry and shower require being naked at the present. He hands her his tunic without comment but “pants too” gives him puse. Still, he frlt her affirmation that they were still alone, so he slips out of them again after prying his boots off.
He is still lightly flushed, his paranoia having worked him out of that strange slumber he felt creeping inward on him back in that hallway. It was nowhere to be found, now. Once he passes his soiled pants to Rey, he immediately searches the shower for proper product. He passes over half of what is left there until he finds something that seems mostly agreeable, and then spends the next five minutes checking the ingredients while cautiously glancing toward the enterance of the showers.
None of this satisfies his needs in hair and body care, but — what he found was close enough and would have to do for now. He turns to check on Rey’s progress with the laundry. He isn’t required to wait for her, but he finds himself...wanting to. The time in the hall had been short, and fleeting. He hadn’t realized it until he found distance from her.]
[ She's quick about separating her leather pieces and piling them with his boots, but stripping out of her clothes takes a little longer. They're sticking to her salted skin, after all, and it's only once they're off that she starts tugging at the hairbands that are clinging desperately to the top layer of her hair, pretending to maintain the last vestiges of the style she'd started the day with. Once removed, the tangles are less obvious.
On the way over to him she grabs two towels from a stack and slings them over the edge of the stall before crowding in with him.
It's not the first time she's been in one of these stalls with someone else. But the last time, she'd been dressed, and there's something novel about being able to just … casually rest her hand on his bare chest and get in his space and —
Although there's no one in here yet, there could be soon. She pulls the curtain shut — more for his sake than hers — and looks up at him. There's a definite moment where she registers this closeness as — oh, maybe they could continue to just wreck each other. There's still a lot pent up. This is what happens when the sexual tension persists for years. Years.
But she swallows that down for lack of reciprocal indications from him and instead offers: ] Find something that works? [ She gestures for the bottled soaps he's selected. He's better about that than she is. Choosier. But she doesn't mind taking advantage of the results. ]
[Kylo pauses to glance at the curtain that gets closed around them, and instantly he becomes more at ease. They are shielded from view -- and as far as he knows, there is nobody else here who could sense them or discover who was behind said curtain.
Its not difficult to sense her intentions, despite the fact that she recalls the thoughts quickly enough. He follows that train of thought in silence for longer than he would care to admit -- but they have a separate objective here. That is what he is going to focus on.
For now.
She asks her question and Kylo's dark eyes drop to the bottle in his hand. He pops the cap and holds it up for her to smell. It smells of something similar to pomegranate, with an earthy, fragrant undertone. He places the selected shampoo aside for the time being.]
Not exactly. But it will do.
[He then reaches for her arm and pulls it up with the intention of squeezing a dollop in her hand.]
[ She can feel him unwind, and though she would consider herself the person most familiar with the softer sides of Ben Solo, Rey does recognize that in this particular moment, there's more than she's seen before. His reserve is less. The way he offers the bottle out downright welcomes her in here, to his space, and she contentedly leans forward to sniff at it.
A smile spreads across her face. Fruity, minutely floral. Honestly the best part of civilization is all the smells and tastes. The world is more vibrant far away from Jakku, even if she does spend most of it relatively cold. ]
Oh, I like that.
[ She reaches out to turn on the water — to her credit, the temperature is not quite scorching. But it's definitely on the hotter side of warm. Positioned as they are, the spray buffets both of them, so she shifts towards the curtain as he grabs her hand to squeeze some shampoo out into it, allowing his bulk to block the stream while she rubs it between her palms. ]
Get your hair wet.
[ Announcing her intentions to soap him up sounds like a good choice given how particular she considers him to be about this entire routine. She hasn't forgotten the blow dryer. ]
[The water hits his chilled skin (as he's been walking around the compound shirtless), and he can't help the way his muscles instinctively lock up, nor the hiss that passes between his teeth. His pale skin instantly turns red with the contact, but he eases into it with a slow exhale. The heat activates the adrenaline flow anew, though Kylo Ren takes steps to keep his breathing regular.
Task. Focus.
She gives him instructions, and he tilts his head back to do as he's told. It doesn't quite burn like the initial stream had, but he doesn't leave it there longer than necessary. A quick toss of his head removes most of his dark hair from his eyes.
In the same way that he invited her into his space by offering the scent of the chosen body wash, there is an unmistakable invitation in the intensity of his gaze as he sets said bottle aside to join the shampoo.]
[ Maybe it's the bond and maybe it's something simpler and more obvious than that, more primal, but there's a definite warmth and anticipation that passes between them in the moment of silence where he stares down at her and she rubs the shampoo to sudsing between her palms. Steam rises around them, carrying the pomegranate scent wider as she steps in closer.
The act of raising her arms and digging her hands into his hair involves pressing herself flush against his body again. She'd never put a lot of consideration towards something like this. In Drakstaden, her consideration of Ben's refresher habits ended at what he might look like naked and cascading wet, and while she's not disappointed, this is something else. Being present, being invited, wanted, participating.
Her tongue presses out against her lips for a moment, a mixture of concentration and an effort towards self control. Water from the shower head glances past his shoulders, some of it hitting her directly, some of it pouring down his chest and cascading against her in the process.
Meanwhile, she works her fingers through his dark hair. It's shorter than hers, and easier to lather, but her fingers dig in against his scalp while she gathers it her palms and spreads the shampoo throughout. It's probably not as thorough of a job as he would do himself, both because she's not as thorough about her own hair (shampooing it at all is still New and Exciting because prior to Drakstaden she was definitely living on that Old Spice 3-in-1) and because her focus seems to be split between the actual task and enjoying their closeness, indulging in the soft intimacy of such a simple service as a chance to comb her fingers through his hair and massage his scalp. ]
[Kylo doesn't take his eyes off of her, even when she leans in to press her body against his. In fact, for a moment, it seems like he isn't going to react at all -- not in the physical sense of his body language. The bond tells a different story at this distance. He's circling the drain of his own thoughts, following various choices and the consequences that might come with them.
By the time she thinks to apply pressure to his scalp, his forehead has already dipped down to rest against her's, to make it easier for her to reach the whole of his scalp. His hands have moved to brace against the opposite walls of the shower stall. There is the sense, in the front of his mind, that he wants to hold her ... but the choice to deny himself (and her) that intimacy is conscious.
He's learned a thing or two about anticipation, and if there is one positive trait he has, its that he's a fast learner (once he's interested in the lesson). His tongue darts out impatiently to wet his lips while Rey massages his skull. Every now and then he would tilt his head to guide her hands to where he needed them to be.]
[ At this distance, she can splay her fingers fully, deft and nimble fingers working generously and persistently at the task until she can grasp nothing but foam and suds and she has no convenient excuse to continue touching him. She squirms a little, her weight shifting, as though she had hoped perhaps he would succumb to that instinct to enfold her in his embrace once more if she lingered like this long enough.
Alas. Not for the first time he's left her wanting. By now she must be an expert in unfulfilled desire.
She closes one fist around his hair, tugging gently to guide his head to tip back and sit under the spray. Soapy water spills down in an opaque stream, gurgling down the drain between them as she continues to work her hands through, massaging the hot water into his scalp and threading her fingers through his hair to clear out the shampoo entirely.
It's the most he's allowed her to take care of him. Ever. Even the sparse attention she'd been allowed to direct towards his injuries had been limited, or secondhand through a medical professional. Like this, he really does feel like hers. She uses that to help convince herself that she doesn't need his arms around her. ]
[He's somewhat surprised when she tugs backwards on his hair, and his hands ball to fists at the side of the shower. How near-impossible it is for him not to react, just then. He allows her to do her work, unbidden -- and he is somewhat surprised to find that she is quite thorough in it.
Once that task is done though, he lifts his head back up and instead reaches for the body wash that he had shelved without commenting. His broad shoulders still do a decent job of blocking the stream from hitting Rey, leaving only the rising steam to comfort her in any meaningful manner. He can still feel some of the suds rolling down the front of his chest.
And then, without warning, he reaches for Rey with his soapy hands, finding a firm grip on her arms to turn her around and pull her flush against him. Its a power-move, for certain, but this way she quickly gets what she had been looking for -- his embrace, suffocating in its intimacy.
His hands don't stay on her arms. Regardless of acquiescence, guidance, or protest, Kylo's arms quickly loop under her own, one hand crossing her body to hold her hips flush against his own while the other moves to massage the lather around her breasts.
This time, he seems more certain of what he wants: to feel her, to possess her in the same way that he feels she has chosen to possess him.]
[ There's a moment of instinctual resistance as he repositions her, ingrained deep in her muscle memory from a lifetime on Jakku. She spreads her heels to try and brace herself against the move, but the ground is slippery, and he gets her back to him all the same. That's around the moment she stops fighting anyway, realizing that having his body solidly following the curve of her spine is something she hadn't known she'd wanted.
A satisfied noise lilts out of the back of her throat, unbidden but also unchecked. The intensity of his hunger for her is still a new thing, so thoroughly suppressed for so long. Not only is it novel and refreshing, but the way he seizes her fills some void in her that she has tried hard to sublimate over the past few months.
Needing to be wanted is not good for her. She knows this. Keith is right. But stars, the way he wants her makes her think she'll never be left without again. Were any shadows of doubt lingering around her conscious following his admission of her importance to him (and there really weren't, not after what Poe had said), this would surely chase them away.
Denying him that carefully cultivated veneer of control has proven to be the most intoxicating part of watching him surrender to this. She tilts her head back, the crown of her head pressing into his clavicle, and that arches her spine forward to press her breasts into his palms. She draws a ragged breath, reaches one hand up over her shoulder to grope at him, pull at the back of his neck, try to feel him. Her other hand goes back for his hip, grappling blindly. ]
[Unlike Rey, Kylo no longer thinks of what he shouldn’t indulge in. He knows now that this is what she wants, for all she might say otherwise. The primal sort of desire that he feeds her, the sort that borders on unhealthy obsession — he leans into it, his grip tightening on her chest when she reaches to pull at his neck. He bows his head to make it easier for her, burying his teeth into her shoulder without finishing the bite. It is meant only to remind her that he presently holds her to his whim.
After she’s found her grip and beins arching into his hand, he allows it to roam more freely, sweeping his large hand across her collar bone to leave behind a trail of soap. When he reaches the opposite shoulder, he curls his hand around it and holds purchase there, releasing the hold of his teeth to instead press his lips to her ear. His other hand moves lower, massaging over the tops of her thighs as far as he can reach without needing to kneel. His hand slides a bit easier as the fluids mix with soap, and he feels a familiar heat creeping into his bloodstream. He doesn’t bother to verbally communicate this time; in addition to the heavy presence at her back, the Force might weigh heavily on her mind.
He is listening, studying what works and what does not in between what his own instincts tell him to do. Back in Drakstaden, he had thought he had ample opportunity to learn the curves of her body, but having her pressed to him like this quickly shows him that he hadn’t really known much of anything.]
[ The soap turns his touch slippery, gliding over her skin in a way that's both enticing in its smoothness and frustrating in how it denies him purchase in her skin. He doesn't seem to mind. Instead he digs his teeth into her shoulder, eliciting a whole body twitch as her cunt clenches around emptiness. It feels like he should still be there. Her hips are aching and separated as though to make room for him still, and her cunt is stretched still for his presence, but he's not there.
This teasing shines a light on how empty she feels without him there, but the bond is dilating, widened by the way they burrow into one another, and she knows that he feels it too. Of course he does. He always has.
Caught in the circle of his arms, she feels surrounded. Enveloped in the heat of his body, the glide of his skin. He's solid and real and here. After a lifetime surviving without touch, it's almost too much stimulation at once, to feel his hands mapping her with him so solidly pressed to her back. But if it is, she'll suffer happily.
Eager noises punctuate the path he blazes across her collarbone, and her head tilts, exposing her neck, making room for his mouth at her ear. She feels useless, pinned to him like this, so her hand tightens in his hair, grabbing a fistful that pulls harder for how damp and clumped together it is. It affords her the illusion of control, which she undermines entirely with a squirming, desperate rasp: ] More.
[ When his fingers find her thighs, her knees part wider, beckoning him in with some futility. She hazards a glance down. There's an acute sense of loss as the soap washes away the traces of him from inside her thighs, and she whimpers. Her hips buck back against his, seeking reassurance in the heavy warm that presses into her. It's a modest comfort, which she rocks back against. But given the slow exploration his hands trace, taking their time in stimulating her without satisfying that electric prickle that maps her skin, she spots a way to take something for herself.
The hand she keeps on his hip slides down between them and gropes for the weight of his burgeoning erection. He's not as hard as she's felt him before. But he's reacting to her, and she can feel it. She presses him between the cleft of her ass, giving him room to swell against the curve of her pelvis along her folds. ]
[His hand ventures just a bit higher to grip around her throat, though he does not squeeze until she buries her fingers in her hair, and reaches for his cock. His grip clamps, brief but strong as he weighs whether or not to stop what he's doing as a result of it. His voice vibrates against her ear when she pulls him in between her ass.
Last he checked, they were supposed to be washing the mess off, not creating more. And that thought slips between them with some amusement behind it. He was not prepared to deny himself the pleasure he'd felt not so long ago, and so the refusal to engage does not stick.
As the soap sticks to Rey's legs, his hand ventures higher to slip between folds of skin, seeking out the small bundle of nerves that she had guided him toward earlier. He is quicker to find it this time, spreading his fingers to expose her to the cold air before slipping one of them inside of her.
But he pauses before getting too aggressive with her, the sound of More echoing in his ears, instead pushing his hips forward to trap her hand between them. Boldness rises in his tone.]
[ Any amusement his thought about how counterproductive this all is gets swallowed up in the sharp inhale as his fingers close around her throat. Every nerve in her body comes alive while her lungs tighten. But her airway isn't cut off. Not really. Just squeezed, and only for a moment. When it loosens again, she releases a rasping breath, half-sputtered.
On its heels comes a whimper as his fingers find her cunt. The way he spreads her open prickles her anticipation just like the hand at her throat. His touch is so close to satisfying that sensitivity, but the brush of his fingertips across her sensitive flesh is too short-lived, and his single digit too thin after she had just had so much more. She's soaked on the inside, slick still with his cum where the water couldn't wash it away, and his finger slides right in.
She seethes out a grateful moan.
Like before, it's a steep escalation. But only in the moment. All sorts of explosions can look sudden if one ignores the fuse that has been burning. She releases his hair, slaps her open palm against the wall of the shower with a heavy thud. Every breath scrapes out of her lungs, heaving her chest.
Hearing his voice so low and controlled in her ear makes her shudder, but she can't parse what he's reaching for. She flutters around him, aching for fulfillment but groping blindly to convince him to give it to her.
He already knows, she can feel it. He's found his way there on his own this time. She tries to pull her hand back, to show him, but it's trapped between their bodies. He must want to hear her ask for it then. Ask for it from him. That solidifies his need for control, crystalizes it in her mind. She's not too proud to give it to him, not when he's showing her how badly he wants her. ]
More, please. [ Her hips rock into his hand — or strain to, anyway. His grip makes it hard, keeps her steadfast against him. ] I want to come.
[He feels the easy way his finger slips inside of her, and purposefully curls it until he feels resistance.]
How?
[That question is less sure, less demanding, but no less intimate in how it is pressed into her ear. This is uncharted territory for him -- the dirty talk, the vocalization of any sort of vulnerability in his desire to please her how she wants to be pleased. He can track easily enough what she wants through the Force and through the way she struggles to rock across his finger, but seeking affirmation is all he really knows how to do.]
Tell me how you want me to do it.
[She's still holding him, in spite of being trapped between their bodies. He shifts just enough to bury himself to hilt in her hand, the muscles of his abs rocking against her spine. He's easily swelled in her hand. The question of whether or not she wants him isn't there -- just which way would be the best way. He's almost sure that he might come just from the act of pushing her over again.]
[ He ruts up into her hand as if to remind her. He's properly hard in her grip now, thick and rigid. The water that streams down between them smooths her hand's movement against his skin as she squeezes him in turn.
She'd thought his aggression was the mark of pure, unadulterated desire, that it showed more than anything else could how ardently he wanted her. She'd been wrong. This is something far better.
Whatever appeal his forceful overtaking of her had held, it's nothing next to this offer. It repositions everything for her to hear him so earnestly offer her what she needs — it's softer than trying to possess her. It's trying to drink her down and learn her and satisfy her. She's never valued herself highly enough to hope for that kind of attention, and she hardly knows what to do with it.
The water is warm, nearly scorching, but Rey shivers all the same. ]
I want you inside of me. [ She licks her lips, rocking her hips back against him in both indication and encouragement. ] Your … [ She doesn't know how to ask for it. Has never had to use the words before, and they feel as foreign and filthy on her tongue as Huttese. ] Your cock belongs in me. Use your fingers while I take it.
[ Now that it's out there, she braces for some kind of negative reaction. But it's just the truth. And she's aching for it. If she puts any real thought towards it, she's not actually afraid of him refusing her or scorning her — after all, he'd been the one to ask, to express that earnest need to satisfy. But she does feel vulnerable, but ultimately it's only fair to give him that in kind. ]
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no subject
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?
no subject
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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Update; they're still sensitive. This was a mistake. She gives it up after a second attempt of groping herself for the sake of no one noticing and instead just … holds her boots in front of her chest. Yeah, this is fine for now.
They probably have bathing suits or something lying around that she can wear. It's a beach, after all. And if not … She'll have to address the implicit threat in Kylo's observation. ]
It won't be obvious with my sash over it. [ Later. After showering. ] And anyone who does notice won't say anything.
[ Or if they do, she'll punch them in the mouth before he gets the chance to kill them anyway. It's really not that big of an issue: that's the point she's trying to make. She nods her head in the direction of the bathrooms, which are blessedly … on the way to the bunks, away from the lounge area, so they should be able to slip quietly past. ]
Stop worrying.
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Also, he's still...really warm, and he doesn't want to talk about it.
Kylo Ren is already aware of the shower situation. Fortunately, him and Rey have officially been in the same room naked now, so its a little less awkward. The downside is the potential that someone else is in there already. Then he'll have to fight them.
With each step they take, he is looking around for someone to spot them. The closer they get to the showers, the more he starts looking for naked people headed in the same direction so that he can suggest them to go in another direction (hopefully without Rey noticing. Would that be embarrassing? Almost definitely yes.)]
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If he wants to live his life being paranoid and weird and looking for a fight, that's his business. It only becomes her problem if he starts that fight and goes overboard with it.
That resolution actually makes this whole thing a lot easier. It's — dare she think it — comfortable. Or maybe that's still just the neurochemical cocktail she's buzzed on right now. It could wear off in a few hours (or a few minutes, if he kills her buzz; it's a mystery).
Fortunately it's the middle of the goddamn day so the number of people actually heading for the showers is roughly none. Most of them are probably out at the beach like normal people. So maybe it was smart for Kylo to be like 'let's take this inside where we won't have an outdoors audience.' Rey keeps close to him as they enter the showers. She does a quick scan of her own then, finally, to ensure they're actually alone.
She's still Team No Secret Relationship, but there's a considerable difference between not wanting to lie to their faces and wanting them to see her naked, rinsing off Kylo Ren's cum. Like. She has boundaries.
Satisfied that it looks empty, she holds her hand out for his tunic and stops in front of one of the laundry machines. This is not her first soiled clothing rodeo. ]
Pants too. [ She looks pointedly at the stain that she left in his crotch, and makes no effort to obscure the surge of pride she feels. Because she marked him. And he's hers. And the lizard part of her brain is like 'what if you didn't wash your pants what if everyone saw' and the rational part of her brain is like 'even I know that's gross.' ]
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He is still lightly flushed, his paranoia having worked him out of that strange slumber he felt creeping inward on him back in that hallway. It was nowhere to be found, now. Once he passes his soiled pants to Rey, he immediately searches the shower for proper product. He passes over half of what is left there until he finds something that seems mostly agreeable, and then spends the next five minutes checking the ingredients while cautiously glancing toward the enterance of the showers.
None of this satisfies his needs in hair and body care, but — what he found was close enough and would have to do for now. He turns to check on Rey’s progress with the laundry. He isn’t required to wait for her, but he finds himself...wanting to. The time in the hall had been short, and fleeting. He hadn’t realized it until he found distance from her.]
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On the way over to him she grabs two towels from a stack and slings them over the edge of the stall before crowding in with him.
It's not the first time she's been in one of these stalls with someone else. But the last time, she'd been dressed, and there's something novel about being able to just … casually rest her hand on his bare chest and get in his space and —
Although there's no one in here yet, there could be soon. She pulls the curtain shut — more for his sake than hers — and looks up at him. There's a definite moment where she registers this closeness as — oh, maybe they could continue to just wreck each other. There's still a lot pent up. This is what happens when the sexual tension persists for years. Years.
But she swallows that down for lack of reciprocal indications from him and instead offers: ] Find something that works? [ She gestures for the bottled soaps he's selected. He's better about that than she is. Choosier. But she doesn't mind taking advantage of the results. ]
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Its not difficult to sense her intentions, despite the fact that she recalls the thoughts quickly enough. He follows that train of thought in silence for longer than he would care to admit -- but they have a separate objective here. That is what he is going to focus on.
For now.
She asks her question and Kylo's dark eyes drop to the bottle in his hand. He pops the cap and holds it up for her to smell. It smells of something similar to pomegranate, with an earthy, fragrant undertone. He places the selected shampoo aside for the time being.]
Not exactly. But it will do.
[He then reaches for her arm and pulls it up with the intention of squeezing a dollop in her hand.]
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A smile spreads across her face. Fruity, minutely floral. Honestly the best part of civilization is all the smells and tastes. The world is more vibrant far away from Jakku, even if she does spend most of it relatively cold. ]
Oh, I like that.
[ She reaches out to turn on the water — to her credit, the temperature is not quite scorching. But it's definitely on the hotter side of warm. Positioned as they are, the spray buffets both of them, so she shifts towards the curtain as he grabs her hand to squeeze some shampoo out into it, allowing his bulk to block the stream while she rubs it between her palms. ]
Get your hair wet.
[ Announcing her intentions to soap him up sounds like a good choice given how particular she considers him to be about this entire routine. She hasn't forgotten the blow dryer. ]
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Task. Focus.
She gives him instructions, and he tilts his head back to do as he's told. It doesn't quite burn like the initial stream had, but he doesn't leave it there longer than necessary. A quick toss of his head removes most of his dark hair from his eyes.
In the same way that he invited her into his space by offering the scent of the chosen body wash, there is an unmistakable invitation in the intensity of his gaze as he sets said bottle aside to join the shampoo.]
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The act of raising her arms and digging her hands into his hair involves pressing herself flush against his body again. She'd never put a lot of consideration towards something like this. In Drakstaden, her consideration of Ben's refresher habits ended at what he might look like naked and cascading wet, and while she's not disappointed, this is something else. Being present, being invited, wanted, participating.
Her tongue presses out against her lips for a moment, a mixture of concentration and an effort towards self control. Water from the shower head glances past his shoulders, some of it hitting her directly, some of it pouring down his chest and cascading against her in the process.
Meanwhile, she works her fingers through his dark hair. It's shorter than hers, and easier to lather, but her fingers dig in against his scalp while she gathers it her palms and spreads the shampoo throughout. It's probably not as thorough of a job as he would do himself, both because she's not as thorough about her own hair (shampooing it at all is still New and Exciting because prior to Drakstaden she was definitely living on that Old Spice 3-in-1) and because her focus seems to be split between the actual task and enjoying their closeness, indulging in the soft intimacy of such a simple service as a chance to comb her fingers through his hair and massage his scalp. ]
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By the time she thinks to apply pressure to his scalp, his forehead has already dipped down to rest against her's, to make it easier for her to reach the whole of his scalp. His hands have moved to brace against the opposite walls of the shower stall. There is the sense, in the front of his mind, that he wants to hold her ... but the choice to deny himself (and her) that intimacy is conscious.
He's learned a thing or two about anticipation, and if there is one positive trait he has, its that he's a fast learner (once he's interested in the lesson). His tongue darts out impatiently to wet his lips while Rey massages his skull. Every now and then he would tilt his head to guide her hands to where he needed them to be.]
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Alas. Not for the first time he's left her wanting. By now she must be an expert in unfulfilled desire.
She closes one fist around his hair, tugging gently to guide his head to tip back and sit under the spray. Soapy water spills down in an opaque stream, gurgling down the drain between them as she continues to work her hands through, massaging the hot water into his scalp and threading her fingers through his hair to clear out the shampoo entirely.
It's the most he's allowed her to take care of him. Ever. Even the sparse attention she'd been allowed to direct towards his injuries had been limited, or secondhand through a medical professional. Like this, he really does feel like hers. She uses that to help convince herself that she doesn't need his arms around her. ]
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Once that task is done though, he lifts his head back up and instead reaches for the body wash that he had shelved without commenting. His broad shoulders still do a decent job of blocking the stream from hitting Rey, leaving only the rising steam to comfort her in any meaningful manner. He can still feel some of the suds rolling down the front of his chest.
And then, without warning, he reaches for Rey with his soapy hands, finding a firm grip on her arms to turn her around and pull her flush against him. Its a power-move, for certain, but this way she quickly gets what she had been looking for -- his embrace, suffocating in its intimacy.
His hands don't stay on her arms. Regardless of acquiescence, guidance, or protest, Kylo's arms quickly loop under her own, one hand crossing her body to hold her hips flush against his own while the other moves to massage the lather around her breasts.
This time, he seems more certain of what he wants: to feel her, to possess her in the same way that he feels she has chosen to possess him.]
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A satisfied noise lilts out of the back of her throat, unbidden but also unchecked. The intensity of his hunger for her is still a new thing, so thoroughly suppressed for so long. Not only is it novel and refreshing, but the way he seizes her fills some void in her that she has tried hard to sublimate over the past few months.
Needing to be wanted is not good for her. She knows this. Keith is right. But stars, the way he wants her makes her think she'll never be left without again. Were any shadows of doubt lingering around her conscious following his admission of her importance to him (and there really weren't, not after what Poe had said), this would surely chase them away.
Denying him that carefully cultivated veneer of control has proven to be the most intoxicating part of watching him surrender to this. She tilts her head back, the crown of her head pressing into his clavicle, and that arches her spine forward to press her breasts into his palms. She draws a ragged breath, reaches one hand up over her shoulder to grope at him, pull at the back of his neck, try to feel him. Her other hand goes back for his hip, grappling blindly. ]
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After she’s found her grip and beins arching into his hand, he allows it to roam more freely, sweeping his large hand across her collar bone to leave behind a trail of soap. When he reaches the opposite shoulder, he curls his hand around it and holds purchase there, releasing the hold of his teeth to instead press his lips to her ear. His other hand moves lower, massaging over the tops of her thighs as far as he can reach without needing to kneel. His hand slides a bit easier as the fluids mix with soap, and he feels a familiar heat creeping into his bloodstream. He doesn’t bother to verbally communicate this time; in addition to the heavy presence at her back, the Force might weigh heavily on her mind.
He is listening, studying what works and what does not in between what his own instincts tell him to do. Back in Drakstaden, he had thought he had ample opportunity to learn the curves of her body, but having her pressed to him like this quickly shows him that he hadn’t really known much of anything.]
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This teasing shines a light on how empty she feels without him there, but the bond is dilating, widened by the way they burrow into one another, and she knows that he feels it too. Of course he does. He always has.
Caught in the circle of his arms, she feels surrounded. Enveloped in the heat of his body, the glide of his skin. He's solid and real and here. After a lifetime surviving without touch, it's almost too much stimulation at once, to feel his hands mapping her with him so solidly pressed to her back. But if it is, she'll suffer happily.
Eager noises punctuate the path he blazes across her collarbone, and her head tilts, exposing her neck, making room for his mouth at her ear. She feels useless, pinned to him like this, so her hand tightens in his hair, grabbing a fistful that pulls harder for how damp and clumped together it is. It affords her the illusion of control, which she undermines entirely with a squirming, desperate rasp: ] More.
[ When his fingers find her thighs, her knees part wider, beckoning him in with some futility. She hazards a glance down. There's an acute sense of loss as the soap washes away the traces of him from inside her thighs, and she whimpers. Her hips buck back against his, seeking reassurance in the heavy warm that presses into her. It's a modest comfort, which she rocks back against. But given the slow exploration his hands trace, taking their time in stimulating her without satisfying that electric prickle that maps her skin, she spots a way to take something for herself.
The hand she keeps on his hip slides down between them and gropes for the weight of his burgeoning erection. He's not as hard as she's felt him before. But he's reacting to her, and she can feel it. She presses him between the cleft of her ass, giving him room to swell against the curve of her pelvis along her folds. ]
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Last he checked, they were supposed to be washing the mess off, not creating more. And that thought slips between them with some amusement behind it. He was not prepared to deny himself the pleasure he'd felt not so long ago, and so the refusal to engage does not stick.
As the soap sticks to Rey's legs, his hand ventures higher to slip between folds of skin, seeking out the small bundle of nerves that she had guided him toward earlier. He is quicker to find it this time, spreading his fingers to expose her to the cold air before slipping one of them inside of her.
But he pauses before getting too aggressive with her, the sound of More echoing in his ears, instead pushing his hips forward to trap her hand between them. Boldness rises in his tone.]
More what?
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On its heels comes a whimper as his fingers find her cunt. The way he spreads her open prickles her anticipation just like the hand at her throat. His touch is so close to satisfying that sensitivity, but the brush of his fingertips across her sensitive flesh is too short-lived, and his single digit too thin after she had just had so much more. She's soaked on the inside, slick still with his cum where the water couldn't wash it away, and his finger slides right in.
She seethes out a grateful moan.
Like before, it's a steep escalation. But only in the moment. All sorts of explosions can look sudden if one ignores the fuse that has been burning. She releases his hair, slaps her open palm against the wall of the shower with a heavy thud. Every breath scrapes out of her lungs, heaving her chest.
Hearing his voice so low and controlled in her ear makes her shudder, but she can't parse what he's reaching for. She flutters around him, aching for fulfillment but groping blindly to convince him to give it to her.
He already knows, she can feel it. He's found his way there on his own this time. She tries to pull her hand back, to show him, but it's trapped between their bodies. He must want to hear her ask for it then. Ask for it from him. That solidifies his need for control, crystalizes it in her mind. She's not too proud to give it to him, not when he's showing her how badly he wants her. ]
More, please. [ Her hips rock into his hand — or strain to, anyway. His grip makes it hard, keeps her steadfast against him. ] I want to come.
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How?
[That question is less sure, less demanding, but no less intimate in how it is pressed into her ear. This is uncharted territory for him -- the dirty talk, the vocalization of any sort of vulnerability in his desire to please her how she wants to be pleased. He can track easily enough what she wants through the Force and through the way she struggles to rock across his finger, but seeking affirmation is all he really knows how to do.]
Tell me how you want me to do it.
[She's still holding him, in spite of being trapped between their bodies. He shifts just enough to bury himself to hilt in her hand, the muscles of his abs rocking against her spine. He's easily swelled in her hand. The question of whether or not she wants him isn't there -- just which way would be the best way. He's almost sure that he might come just from the act of pushing her over again.]
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She'd thought his aggression was the mark of pure, unadulterated desire, that it showed more than anything else could how ardently he wanted her. She'd been wrong. This is something far better.
Whatever appeal his forceful overtaking of her had held, it's nothing next to this offer. It repositions everything for her to hear him so earnestly offer her what she needs — it's softer than trying to possess her. It's trying to drink her down and learn her and satisfy her. She's never valued herself highly enough to hope for that kind of attention, and she hardly knows what to do with it.
The water is warm, nearly scorching, but Rey shivers all the same. ]
I want you inside of me. [ She licks her lips, rocking her hips back against him in both indication and encouragement. ] Your … [ She doesn't know how to ask for it. Has never had to use the words before, and they feel as foreign and filthy on her tongue as Huttese. ] Your cock belongs in me. Use your fingers while I take it.
[ Now that it's out there, she braces for some kind of negative reaction. But it's just the truth. And she's aching for it. If she puts any real thought towards it, she's not actually afraid of him refusing her or scorning her — after all, he'd been the one to ask, to express that earnest need to satisfy. But she does feel vulnerable, but ultimately it's only fair to give him that in kind. ]
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wraps this? ??