Jyn Erso (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kestreldawn) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2017-05-07 08:55 pm
kestreldawn) wrote in maskormenacelogs2017-05-07 08:55 pm
Entry tags:
[i found love where it wasn't supposed to be] - CLOSED
WHO: Jyn Erso & Cassian Andor
WHERE: De Chima #003
WHEN: May 7, night-time
WHAT: They share dreams and things get sort of weird, but also hot and steamy probably.
WARNINGS: Smut warning. Mention of suicide attempts, depression, abuse, abandonment, shitty childhoods, war, death, murder. You know, typical Rogue One stuff.
It went without saying, without any kind of verbal agreement or acknowledgement, that as soon as Jyn and Cassian had realized the other was there - and in the same house, no less - they'd be unwilling (and perhaps unable) to sleep separately. They'd switch off on whose bed they'd eventually crawl into, often depending on whoever had been in theirs first. The other would come padding down the hall, knock more out of courtesy than necessity, and slip under the blankets as though it were the most natural thing they could do.
Although Jyn had had her own quarters with Saw while on Wrea (which she'd initially and mistakenly interpreted as not being "good enough" to share a bunker with the others who'd come to visit and partake in missions, but later came to cherish), and had had her own room with Akshaya on Skuhl, she found the idea of a large, empty bed to be rather daunting. Especially knowing that Cassian (and thusly his arms, his hands, his touch, his voice) were only steps, a breath down the hall. So there'd been no part of her that argued the first night they'd silently agreed to sleep alongside each other. If anything, she'd radiated her gratitude for their gifts of shared consciousness, their innate understanding of one another that had already been frothing at the surface long before their sudden arrival in De Chima.
Of course, this didn't come without its own set of challenges.
Namely - dream sharing. Though Jyn didn't quite know or couldn't yet understand that it'd been happening. It happened the first night, in subtle, tiny ways - flickers of memories that weren't hers but somehow populated and coagulated in her mind's eyes as she slept. Faces she didn't know, names she didn't recognize. She hadn't connected that it might've been Cassian's dreams seeping through her skin and skull in molecular form; she'd chalked it up to the lingering stress of arrival and the overwhelming reunification of the two of them, and of K2.
His lips at her neck, leaving blazing hot, sweltering trails along her skin as they reached for the precipice of her jaw - her lips to the heavens, parted and wet, breath rushing in and out in desperation and heady rapture.
His hand at her hips, her waist, her ribs - fingertips barely skimming and gliding across the delicate surface of her, rumbling over the mountains of her bones, her own fingers clutching desperately at the hair at the back of his head.
Arching backs curled toes whispered names
The feeling of wholeness and being filled from the inside as he enters her, her limbs spread to welcome him fully, hips rising to meet his in a gentle collision.
His name leaping from her lips with each thrust of his body, feeling as though even this couldn't be, wouldn't be close enough; unsure if such a feeling could exist between the two of them.
Jyn wakes with a sudden gasp - eyes wide, back lifting from the bed to sit upright. A trickle of sweat slowly slithers down from her clavicle, parting the space between her breasts. She presses the fabric of her shirt against it to capture it, feels the cold rush of air flood her body, sending a shiver down her spine. She exhales a sigh, reaching up to rub her eyes, acutely ignoring the warmth that's pooled in her gut (and below).
WHERE: De Chima #003
WHEN: May 7, night-time
WHAT: They share dreams and things get sort of weird, but also hot and steamy probably.
WARNINGS: Smut warning. Mention of suicide attempts, depression, abuse, abandonment, shitty childhoods, war, death, murder. You know, typical Rogue One stuff.
It went without saying, without any kind of verbal agreement or acknowledgement, that as soon as Jyn and Cassian had realized the other was there - and in the same house, no less - they'd be unwilling (and perhaps unable) to sleep separately. They'd switch off on whose bed they'd eventually crawl into, often depending on whoever had been in theirs first. The other would come padding down the hall, knock more out of courtesy than necessity, and slip under the blankets as though it were the most natural thing they could do.
Although Jyn had had her own quarters with Saw while on Wrea (which she'd initially and mistakenly interpreted as not being "good enough" to share a bunker with the others who'd come to visit and partake in missions, but later came to cherish), and had had her own room with Akshaya on Skuhl, she found the idea of a large, empty bed to be rather daunting. Especially knowing that Cassian (and thusly his arms, his hands, his touch, his voice) were only steps, a breath down the hall. So there'd been no part of her that argued the first night they'd silently agreed to sleep alongside each other. If anything, she'd radiated her gratitude for their gifts of shared consciousness, their innate understanding of one another that had already been frothing at the surface long before their sudden arrival in De Chima.
Of course, this didn't come without its own set of challenges.
Namely - dream sharing. Though Jyn didn't quite know or couldn't yet understand that it'd been happening. It happened the first night, in subtle, tiny ways - flickers of memories that weren't hers but somehow populated and coagulated in her mind's eyes as she slept. Faces she didn't know, names she didn't recognize. She hadn't connected that it might've been Cassian's dreams seeping through her skin and skull in molecular form; she'd chalked it up to the lingering stress of arrival and the overwhelming reunification of the two of them, and of K2.
His lips at her neck, leaving blazing hot, sweltering trails along her skin as they reached for the precipice of her jaw - her lips to the heavens, parted and wet, breath rushing in and out in desperation and heady rapture.
His hand at her hips, her waist, her ribs - fingertips barely skimming and gliding across the delicate surface of her, rumbling over the mountains of her bones, her own fingers clutching desperately at the hair at the back of his head.
Arching backs curled toes whispered names
The feeling of wholeness and being filled from the inside as he enters her, her limbs spread to welcome him fully, hips rising to meet his in a gentle collision.
His name leaping from her lips with each thrust of his body, feeling as though even this couldn't be, wouldn't be close enough; unsure if such a feeling could exist between the two of them.
Jyn wakes with a sudden gasp - eyes wide, back lifting from the bed to sit upright. A trickle of sweat slowly slithers down from her clavicle, parting the space between her breasts. She presses the fabric of her shirt against it to capture it, feels the cold rush of air flood her body, sending a shiver down her spine. She exhales a sigh, reaching up to rub her eyes, acutely ignoring the warmth that's pooled in her gut (and below).
[for the record: we run everything by each other before posting ;-) ]
There weren't obvious night terrors. Not at first. And still not usually. It took quite a bit of acclimating to this being a safe and secure environment. Where no one noticing them sleeping would capture or kill them for it.
But even most of the time, when Cassian slept recon-worthy still and silent, enough to once fool anyone that he was peaceful or not there or didn't exist…
Jyn could no longer be fooled. They were happening then too.
running and never reaching
fighting and losing
fighting and winning
trying to prevent and making it happen
direct memories and flashbacks
beings already known and more not
people of varying ages and genders, with clothing Imperial and Civilian, of different planets and species, all unified by a single smoking blaster hole cleanly through the right eye
And Jyn herself.
their argument flying from Eadu, aboard SW-0608 before it became Rogue One, only they didn't just yell and storm to separate parts of the ship, one struck, and they
Why she kept coming back, or let him in, night after night…
…because it was better even to experience that together than apart.
Because…
…for all the times he'd screamed himself awake (mentally or voiced), thrashed over shaking and drenched, jolted as if striking or being struck, or remained perfectly still without making a sound but just opening his eyes with that deadness to them…
…there were as many times like that for her, too.
And for either, for both: being able to turn and see the other, if they were miraculously unawakened: hear them breathing, feel them warm, solid, present, alive
or if the other was woken and woke the dreamer, pulled them out, extracted them, flew them away, to push back their hair and press their back and hold them firm
…In fact… even the nightmares themselves.
Never wanting the other to see those things… or see me like that… the way I see myself…
It was still better together.
Because I want to see you. And if what it takes is letting you see me, it's worth it. I will never not listen. So I will also tell. I couldn't do this for myself, but I will in trade because I want to do it for you. I want to be here to help.
…And, perhaps, even shared glimpses of the dreams themselves was… a release.
Beginning to know one another's cast of ghosts. In being shared, those who they missed might seem a little less dead. Those who haunted, a bit protected against.
Maybe it didn't feel that way all at once. Maybe it wouldn't for a very long time. But molecule by molecule…
And ultimately. Just to no longer be confined to a single mind. …not just me… not alone
…Until, after a month of sharing a bed, sharing embraces, sharing nightmares.
This dream.
His lips at her neck. Tasting her skin, feeling her pulse, the contractions of her throat, her breath. The sounds she was making spinning his head and all he wanted was to help her make more
His hand at her hips, her waist, her ribs - fingertips barely skimming the map of her skin, marred and miraculously un-… her fingers in his hair… the landscape of her body flowing and surging under his body and hands
Burying his face into her throat, his body sinking into hers, obeying their shared gravity, enfolded in her arms and breasts and ribs and hands and legs and then
Yavá… Jyn…
Pushing up against inside her, along the nerves and tissues most sensitive under her stomach, from below… from within… what there are words for but the words never capture what matters… the closest he'd ever heard was a Varadan phrase meaning 'petals and honey' but even that…
Jyn
Gravity can stop mattering, not as working upon them, generated from them; equal and opposite propulsion, neither pressing or pinning down the other but both pulled equally in… until from a place so deep it stars swirl inside them and he feels her contract around him and he
He woke instantly beside her. Not certain at first if her starting upright was what had done it—they both have hair-trigger alertness if anything seems to threaten, and can go from deep sleep to fully functional in seconds—or if they'd woken simultaneously.
He props himself up on one elbow to look at her, about to ask if she's all right.
When he notices his own… trickling and pooling. And freezes.
…surely not…
…why not, exactly…? no internal logic violated…
Oh Yavá please why was that the word that had come into his head…?!
With a difficulty they hadn't had in a long time, he lifted his eyes to her again.
no subject
The only thing she's figured out about her powers is that when her mind is not yet alert, when it's still drugged and groggy with the haze of sleep, the thoughts that barge their way in are not nearly as strong or as consistent. She feels something like - shame? embarrassment? sheepishness? float its way past her mind's eye, though there isn't enough electricity currently sparking in her brain to make the connections, to hear the rest - or to even make the connection from point A to point B to realize it's his thoughts that she's hearing.
But she catches the slowness of his eyes, the way they hesitate and need to be pried away from the sheets to look at her.
Her hand falls from her eye, the lid a rubbed pink, before she blinks and her brows gather with concern.
Gut reaction says that it's her - it's something about her, something about something she's done (or not done? said? not said?) that's changed his feelings about her. Of course, how stupid could she have been? Papa left her; Saw left her; Akshaya and Hadder were stolen from her; Maia, too.
Why not Cassian?
How could she have thought that he would've been immune to the negating force field she seems to emit, like an aura constantly around her, that drives everyone away?
But when she meets his gaze, the thoughts rampaging in her brain like a herd of clumsy bantha seem to stop. There's something in there she can recognize even in the dark, and it hasn't a thing to do with her. At least, not in the way she fears.
"What is it?" she asks, hesitation and trepidation in every vibration of her voice.
no subject
But it is one of the few things that make it easy for him to put his own aside.
Sitting fully upright, he gathers her into an embrace.
(If his lower half somewhat awkwardly twisted away.)
"First things first," he murmured into her hair. Doesn't matter what brought it on or that the thought passed on its own. He'll say it every time. "I am not leaving you."
If he had any say in the matter, he thought he literally couldn't survive being severed from her.
If he didn't have any say in the matter…
…try me.
no subject
Papa had once said that everything he did, he did it to protect her. She'd believed it, for those agonizing hours waiting in the hatch, waiting for it to open and hear his voice, see his face. Her Mama had told her to trust the Force, that she'd be there. She'd believed it, until the moment she'd heard her body hit the fertile earth with a sickening thud. Saw had said to give him a day, but he'd never promised to come back for her, he'd never answered her pleas and fears with promises he knew he couldn't keep.
The others - Maia, Akshaya, Hadder .. even Zorahda and Yalla - they'd all been taken, too. And, truthfully, so had Cassian, as far as their home galaxy was concerned. He'd been taken from her too, and would have been, had they not - through the Force or otherwise - ended up here.
She purses her lips into a tight, straight line - knowing that he'll hear all of her arguments anyway, even if she doesn't give voice to them. She attempts to dislodge the lump in her throat with a hard swallow, leaning her head against his, closing her eyes, steadying the tremor in her hands.
Exhales.
Nods.
I'll try to believe it, she thinks. I'll try until I don't have to try anymore. I'll try until it's true.
no subject
Of course she's right. Of course you're right. All he could offer was the same determination her father had.
"But I have an advantage he didn't."
My enemies already killed me.
"I'm free of them now."
His arm tightened around her.
My goal now is you.
(…How hard had he tried not to make her his goal before…)
But he's learned already that it's different.
And I'm pretty good at accomplishing my goals.
(His lips brushing into her hair: )
"So are you."
I'll try to believe it. I'll try until I don't have to try anymore. I'll try until it's true.
Yes. That's the only way to do it.
Quietest yet, almost difficult to discern if spoken or thought—perhaps aloud in Yaval but clear to her in thought:
"Mai he estimat a ningú com t’estimo a tu"
i've never loved anyone the way i do you
no subject
Jyn easily lets herself melt into the sturdiness and invitation of his embrace, feels flecks of her hardened shell continue to whisk away, blown off her skin with some invisible breeze or by some unseen hand, revealing the soft, pink, fleshy surface underneath. Like being born again, like being created all over again.
All breath escapes her lungs, leaving her emptied -
Allowing the sudden rush of bubbling bursting brilliant love and emotion to come flooding back in, her face turning towards his, hand at his cheek, forehead against his. Her lips seek his out in the darkness of the room, knowing on instinct and intuition where they are and needing no guidance to find them, feeling so
Warmed and
Full and
Whole and
Grateful.
Neither have I, she thinks, transmitting with ease and without hesitation.
She pulls back a moment later to allow the oxygen back into her lungs but also to add, in a whisper:
"I'm sorry for waking you."
no subject
More rising sensation… and he thinks of moving away an instant before she does first. Which is probably a good thing. Running his thumb down her jawline, he lets his hand move away from her face… to regretfully fall elsewhere. Gathering the blanket in preparation.
"I'm not sure you did? Was afraid I woke you. I should get up anyway."
no subject
She can feel the rush of heat coming up from under the collar of her shirt, knows her cheeks are blossoming under the cover of darkness.
"We were -" Her eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips to his chin, then back up to his lips. She bites her own again for a moment before finishing with, "Er, naked .. together."
Doing other things on top of simply being naked, she thinks, but decides to keep some of the detail to herself, so as to avoid any possible embarrassment.
no subject
His thoughts are churning.
was it my dream or yours
it's important
were you an active participant or
I wasn't passive in mine so
is it possible we both
Her affect is not of having gone through something unwelcome. Nonetheless, the idea of… trapping her in…
were you there with me
or did I do this to you?!
Over the blanket, which covered the sweatpants he'd been about to get up to change and throw in the laundry, his knuckles whiten.
In a moment of regression, he isn't sure what to verbalize.
…
…a moment that drags on.
no subject
She pauses, lifting her eyes up to his.
"I was with you. Am with you."
no subject
…wait. Yes. Of course. Unrelated questions. He's never had the power over Jyn he did over Kay in reformatting him. Thank everything. The question is irrelevant.
And on any matter, he'll always believe Jyn.
He moves back to put his arm around her once more. Lowering his forehead to her shoulder. Exhales something between crying and a laugh; he isn't sure either.
There are too many thoughts to parse in his mind—paradoxical, overcrowded, fighting one another… there's no way she'd be able to untangle them… so while on his own, in the past, he'd have endured drowning until it passed, he'll keep that wave from crashing down on her. And sits back, leaving his hand gently on her arm to ground himself, and tries to verbalize. Not entirely successfully, but still better than not.
"I've thought about… I'd like to… and if you were too then that was… ugh. Sorry."
Clears his throat, tries to do better.
"I'm… not reacting badly because of… anything in the dream. Not anything to do with you. Those are… that was… good.
"I, um…"
Introspection, que et fotin
Shuts his eyes, takes a few breaths. Squares his shoulders a bit. When he begins speaking, it's almost like being back in that hangar on Yavin 4.
"I've done terrible things for the Rebellion. I've never done… that.
"…but… not because I ever chose not to.
"I just… wasn't asked."
Looks in her eyes again, looking wretched.
"I had known for certain there were things I'd never do… that I did. …Multiple things. I can't rule anything out. …The only thing I got to test—think I wouldn't do it and prove that was true… was when you wouldn't turn your back or give up, and let me join you.
"I hope that if I'd ever been given that order… something that has no purpose except to spread pain and terror… that would be an order I wouldn't follow because it would mean the cause was no longer just. Only the Empire used such weapons.
"But I never tested it. I never got to prove that I wouldn't. In the face of all the things I never thought I was capable of but was.
"…Do you understand?"
no subject
Bright eyes watch him curiously, attentively, but add no pressure to the words so tangled at the tip of his tongue. She'll wait; however long it takes, she'll wait - with no pre-conceived expectation or agenda.
Once the silence settles back in around them, she lets her gaze linger on his face - studies his expression, the wretched shame in his eyes. Somehow, she can see it through the darkness, through the shadows surrounding them. After a moment, she raises her hand and touches it to the side of his face.
"I understand," she says, so acutely remembering the last time she'd said such words - in Lah'mu, to her Papa, after he'd promised that everything he'd done had been to - No, stop it. Stay here. Don't lose yourself. "You don't have to live under that shadow anymore," she says softly. "You .. you don't have to prove or test or verify anything like that, not for your sake, or the Rebellion, or me, or anything. Anyone." She shakes her head gently, her other hand lifting to now cup his face tenderly, sweetly.
"There's .. no part of me that's upset with - any of what we dreamt. No part of me that didn't .. want it, too. You haven't done anything wrong."
no subject
But with deliberation, that thought, and the look in his eyes, shifted to something else. Something tinted with shared self-aware amusement.
I'll try to believe it. I'll try until I don't have to try anymore. I'll try until it's true.
…It was something else the telepathy was giving them. Something he'd known, even helped others work on, but never so successfully in himself. Knowing their stray thoughts could affect the other, they were getting better, not at suppressing them, but at managing them. Choosing to focus deliberately on an aspect rather than get hijacked into full reliving.
Once again wondered how anyone ever managed to do this alone. And how profoundly alone they all were trapped in their own individual minds.
…Though he has it easy. He gets to be selective… only with Jyn. She has to feel this from everyone, and so might disagree.
…He'll stick with how lucky he is. And try to help her if he can.
And right now, the feel of her hand against his face, her eyes in the dim light, her words and the feeling behind them (no part of me that didn't want it too) carries him away in a different direction entirely. One he chooses fully to go with.
Moving his hand to her face as well, with his mind and touch and eyes Thank you, kissing her again.
…though rightly or wrongly, though his body is still warm, the gravity well no less real out here and tugging, and it's not necessarily about how he wants it… he seems to be assuming that, tonight, has ended with the dream. He breaks this kiss with a smile. This time his withdrawal much lighter, without dread. But a bit more pedestrian embarrassment.
"…I should clean up. Then we can get back to… sleep."
…he assumes. Or avoids assuming.
no subject
She can't help but wonder at it all -
Remembers, hears Saw's voice swirling through the recesses of her mind:
"If you're alone, you don't care as much. If you've got no one left, it doesn't matter much what happens to you. There's a sort of fearlessness in being alone. But when you start to love someone else ... It's ironic."
"What is?", she'd asked.
"You find you that you have so much more to fight for, but it becomes that much more dangerous to fight at all."
Cassian had given her that absent piece, the thing person entity reason to fight when she'd all but lost it, had seen it die with her mother's body, with her father's absence, with Saw's abandonment, with the gnarled metal from Pontha One lodged in her ship, in the yellow eyes of Zorahda before she'd pulled the trigger.
Perhaps it made her vulnerable, to so willingly attach and love and open herself like this, but - stars be damned, she'd rather risk it with him at her side than ever go it alone.
Not again.
Never again.
She blinks herself back into the present at the touch of his lips and, then, his words. Her hand falls from his face to touch his arm, lightly but .. urgently. Takes a minute to realize what he means by "clean up" before drawing him closer - easing him back down onto the soft of the mattress, swinging a leg to the other side of him and leaning back, letting her gaze waft down to the sharp edges of his face, the depth of his eyes.
She shifts, lets her hands trail up his chest before she leans herself forward to bring her lips to his ear.
"Makes no sense to clean up if you're going to get dirty again, anyway."
no subject
yes much less scarier not having things you don't want to lose
but also so much colder
and empty…
…It's all heat and fullness of intensity now.
She pushes him back, he goes quite readily
She straddles him, his hands go immediately, lightly, to her waist, her hips
All the while his eyes stay raised to hers, never closing nor looking away, with a brightness in them of… surprise and… admiration and… definitely aroused attraction, and also…
That slight hitch in his breath was the sound of all thoughts being blasted out of mind.
As her hands move up his torso, his also do hers, exploring the ridges of her ribs, every swell of muscle and curve of form, not yet advancing on uncharted territory, but…
His eyes lower, half-closed, to watch the movement of her body under clothes as she leans in, nearly closing all the way at the vibration of her words and lips at his ear.
The part of his mind fixated on the situation, perhaps at the expense of specifics, losing the present to the past, reflexively fumbles Are you sure
but all the rest of him is focused on specifically, rightly her. And doesn't need to ask. Knows her better. Yes. In anything. Including this. When Jyn takes the lead, with that look in her eyes, the fire of galaxies, he trusts her. And will gladly follow.
Especially when, as ever, she's leading exactly where, he couldn't on his own, but already most wanted to go.
One of his hands moves down her back. Fingers and palm mapping and moulding to her; they curve under her thigh, holding and supporting her there.
The other moves up, as she leans against him, smoothing her shoulders and neck and hair, holding her as if for a kiss, but instead his lips go to her jawline, the ley line tendons of her neck, the slopes and hollows of clavicle, back up to her throat.
Holding her up and pulling her close, closer in, as from below he gently arches and presses up against her.
no subject
When was the last time .. ?
Hadder flashes in her mind despite her best attempts to leave his ghost up in the blackness of the ether where it belongs. The first time they'd broken the atmosphere over Skuhl in that dinky planet hopper - her hands over his, pulling up on the throttle - up and up and up and up until the nose tore through into the vast darkness of space - a first for Hadder, a familiar sight for Jyn. I choose this, she had thought. I choose the stars and peace and you.
How similar a vow she makes now, melting onto Cassian like silk.
I'm sure.
She can feel the embers glowing in the pit of her, every brush of his hand against her like a bellow, slowly turning it all to flame.
Focuses on the sensation of his skin against hers, the heat it creates, the singed edges it leaves as it brands her skin like leather. Lips part to release the fluttering sigh that rushes out at the press of his lips to the thin paper of her throat, back arching into his touch and into every part of his body - hungry, insatiable, bottomless.
Her hips push forward, slowly orbiting as though around the central axis of her sex, before she leans down to ravenously crush her lips against his, reaching up to release the hair collected at her neck and let it cover them like moonlight.
no subject
His hands briefly tighten, gathering the fabric of her shirt. Just as quickly, release, to continue their far more important work. Not so much charting her terrain as sculpting her from clay. The fabric rides and ridges and rustles like the flora of worlds he hadn't thought of in years but suddenly wishes he could go with her… be with her in the grasses and trees when they move and speak in the wind the way everything is moving and speaking right now… But the intermediary is distortive. Creasing the sculpture. Limiting what they can feel.
His hands are not leaving her, not even for leverage. So it's with a ripple of all the muscles in his abdomen that he pulls himself to sit more upright, pressing their torsos together from waist to chest. Tlting up his chin to deepen their kiss. Wrapping his arms around her to slide his hands inside her shirt.
His calloused fingertips were only light on her skin. But pressing and caressing her with his palms, mimicking what was happening with their lips.
What had not been the goal but will not be ignored: his pulse thuds against her breast and in either or both their throats. If they can even tell whose heartbeat is whose. And, independent of the rest of the dance, where the mind was at least somewhat engaged, he moves at the same point of axis, where her hips are guiding him. Eliciting another vibration of air to sound. This one, actually somewhat voiced. And sounds like him breathing out, "Jyn."
no subject
Her fingertips tease up through the bottom of his shirt, hips now rocking in a steady and maddening rhythm, causing every muscle from crown to sole to suddenly shudder with pleasure.
She curls one arm around his neck, presses the other palm to the side of his face - lips brushing lips, forehead to forehead - before she comes to a standstill.
Pulls away
Flicks open her eyes
Finds his gaze
Holds it as she'd held his hand on Scarif
The stardust inside swirling and burning
Traces her thumb along his lips from one edge to the other
Again narrows the space from her mouth to his until
contact.
Once again reclaims the undulating rhythm of the seas with her hips against his, allowing her teeth to drive down with care and precision against his lip.
no subject
As the shirt came over her head, his head ducked down. Sternum, breasts; kissing her yes but also for an instant, just resting his head, closing his eyes to let her heartbeat reverberate through his head. As if pulling the rhythm into himself, the guidance for breath. Her shudder ripples through both of them; and brings his head back up, tilted back, giving her again his throat, chest, and eyes. Taking her example, he pulls himself free of his own shirt.
His hands return to her sides and cup around her lower back, counterbalancing, suspending the arch, as their foreheads touch, and they kiss and breathe… when she moves back he looks at her as they had coming down the tower citadel: seeing the universe in their eyes. Not breaking the contact for a moment even as her thumb against his lips encourages a pulse of his hands and chest both pressing her, and he kisses her fingertip as it moves. When eye contact has to break, only for replacing her finger with her mouth.
This kiss is… devouring… not synchronized at all, but neither cares, when one gasps the other holds on with determination and teeth until the rest returns… all the while her movements like a tide upon him…
With sudden decisiveness (if not conscious decision), abrupt but the opposite of violent, smooth and controlled, his hands on her thigh and upper back press her against him, as he shifts and turns them both. One of his knees and forearms brace him up, and he lays her fluidly down from against his chest and shoulder, to the bed. His body stays held back, but his head again went down with her, kissing against down every part of her body she's chosen to reveal; his forearm still braced to keep him up, but that hand twining into her hair. The hand of his free arm, tracing the swell of her breast to the ladder of her ribs to the middle of her stomach and tracing down, finding the waistband of her pants.
no subject
She feels the lingering ghosts of battles and wars and loss subtly raising like mammals below the surface of the sea of his skin. She commits each to detail, fingers trailing delicately along every one - memorizing curves and textures and locations. Her fingertips become the cartographer, charting the foreign yet eager-to-be-known skies that stretch across his bones, cocoon him, keep everything that's inside from spilling out in front of her.
The sudden revolution to her back elicits a whimsical, fluttering sigh - soft as the cushion underneath as she sinks in. She squirms and blurs underneath the trailing touch of his lips, fingers as they swim her depths and chart her skies - feels no hesitation or regret or worry of allowing him entry, allowing him access to the being she's kept hidden from almost all else, save for one.
Her fingers tangle themselves in his hair, mind and nerve and heart acutely aware of the wandering explorer in his fingers, body undulating with each step - chest, ribs, hips - all rise to meet him like the rising of the sun at dawn.
Tongue darts out, wets her lips, head back and eyes fluttering with want and anticipation. She breathes his name more than once, a quiet plea and urging in her tone, wanting nothing more than to tear herself open and let him inside.
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As if called there by his name: both his hands are suddenly on either side of her face; and he's over her, waiting to meet her eyes, seeking confirmation there as well.
Receiving it, another deep but quicker kiss.
Then he presses his hands to the mattress on either side of her, to push himself down her body. Until his hands are once again gentle on her hips, tracing the waistband, but not trying to move it yet; he lowers his weight, traces his profile against her thigh. Then, through the fabric, a different kind of kiss.
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She sucks in a tiny breath, holds it in her lungs until they feel as though they might burst. Teeth dig into the plump pink flesh of her lip as she angles her head forward and down, eyes trailing his movements like a shadow. Her skin ripples with pleasure, eagerness at his fingers - muscles twitching in reflex and unbridled hunger.
In an explosive sigh, the breath she's been holding breaks loose from her mouth - disperses into the air in a shower of spark and heat - at the feeling of his lips against her. A repeat of before:
please.
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The thought released his own held breath. He bends his arms, pressing between the mattress and her body, to grasp the band and slip it down. One hand brings it the rest of the way, with a bit of a laughing wrestle to get the pants over her feet. Before finally sending them lightly airborne toward the foot of the bed. Then his arms slide back up, palms settling spread, gentle supporting pressure in the small of her back, forearms cradling her, his upper arms pressed flush to her thighs.
He laid his head down for a moment there, kissing her stomach and legs. Then came to rest in the center and kissed her again, this time without barrier. And kept going.
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But it's one she's willing to tell, to share, to know - with Cassian, and with Cassian alone.
One hand fiddles with the thin skin at her hip bone as it arches up, her center rising meeting his mouth and tongue. The other gently cups one of her breasts, then reaches up to brush the hair from her face. She exhales a steady stream of sound and air, eyes mostly closed but flicking open to gaze down at him every few moments - relishing, absorbing, rejoicing in the sight of him between her thighs.
The hand at her hair travels down to gently touch his instead, raking the strands back away from his forehead, fingers curling to give a gentle tug of encouragement - keep going.
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He shifts his arm, so more of his forearm is pressing her up, in gentle opposite impulse to what's happening to her in front. Let her be weightless, held on both sides, and suspend in the middle.
And to free his other hand. Which caresses admiringly once more around her back and ribs, massaging her stomach, until finding her hand.
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t/w past noncon, self-hate
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/lays on the ground, dead and unconscious and somehow weeping
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[ooc]