10. Chapter 10

Ben ushers Rey into the Falcon posthaste. Copious amounts of tears are pouring down her cheeks and it would lead to nothing short of a world of trouble if someone were to think he was responsible for making the last Jedi cry— which he supposes isn't too far off the mark. Once inside the privacy of the ship, he scoops her up and she lets herself be carried willingly, hiding her face in his neck and clinging to him for dear life as he strides into the dingy lounge and takes a seat on the tattered couch.

He tightens his arms around her, strewing kisses all over her hair, his own eyes suspiciously wet. Her energy signature is all tangled up in bitterness and grief, and it takes no great effort to fall back into self-loathing when she's like this because of him. He should have found a way off the Deep sooner. He should have been strong enough to hold on to his first life. He should have gone with his father when the latter showed up on Starkiller Base. He should never have joined Snoke.

And so on and on, a trail of recriminations. He reflects bleakly on his past choices as he embraces the woman trapped in the wake of their fallout. He walks the pathways of regret.

Rey peeks up at him through lashes spangled with tears. The bond has stirred without Ben noticing, so faint is its glow these days. Somehow it has managed to broadcast his dark musings and she looks stricken, touching his face, the roughened pad of her thumb tracing where the scar had been. "As long as we're talking about should-haves," she says hoarsely, "maybe I should have taken your hand— either on the Supremacy or on the Steadfast. Maybe I should have gone to Exegol with you and we could have killed Palpatine together. Or maybe I should have been strong enough to surmount the lightning unscathed."

"Rey, no, don't do that," Ben protests. His own hand rises to cradle her face, so that they are mirror images of each other in this moment. "Don't blame yourself— it—"

It tears me up inside.

She offers him a thin, watery smile. "Now you know how I feel when you blame yourself. So—" She turns slightly to nuzzle into the mound of his cupped palm— "so don't do that anymore, okay?"

It is easy— it is instinct— to lean down and kiss her. He'd intended for it to be a chaste, dry peck, a simple affirmation of all that he carries in his heart, but that flies out the window as soon as their lips touch. She parts her mouth for him eagerly and she tastes like salt and like yearning as she strokes his face, as he runs a hand down her spine.

The next several minutes are a blur of tangled tongues and wandering fingers, Rey shifting in Ben's lap to straddle him fully and gasping into the kiss when he cups her bottom, giving in to his urges enough that he squeezes her pert cheeks before he even fully realizes what he's doing.

Stars, but she has a nice ass. That had always been one of the many scattered thoughts that flickered through his mind every time he watched her run from him.

"Ben." Rey pulls away and giggles, despite her lingering tears.

Kriff. The bond is in fine form today.

"Sorry," he mumbles, blushing.

She's a little pink in the face as well, but she shakes her head as she wriggles back against his hand, practically seating herself on it. "Do it again," she breathes.

Hardly daring to believe his luck, Ben tightens his grip once more, his fingers digging into the shapely, pliant flesh through the thin fabric of Rey's leggings. A tiny sigh of pleasure bubbles up her throat and she starts kissing his neck. He leans back to grant her lips full access as he continues palming her ass, his blood rushing south...

It sounds very far away, the hydraulic hiss of the Falcon' s main door sliding open. "Rey?" Finn calls out.

"Damn it," Ben swears vehemently under his breath.

Rey scrambles off of his lap, stealing one last kiss to the tip of his nose before she skips out of the lounge. Ben allows himself a minute or two to sulk while waiting for what had been the beginnings of an erection to subside.

When he joins Rey and the gang— as he's taken to sardonically calling them in his head— they appear to be in the middle of an argument. The tension is palpable even from out in the access corridor, where he hovers awkwardly, reluctant to actually enter the cockpit.

Poe and Rey are glaring daggers at each other as BB-8 stands between them, domed head swiveling from one to the other and then back again like a lost child. Finn has plunked down into the co-pilot seat and is also regarding Rey with a censorious expression.

Rose Tico is just... leaning against the wall and staring off into space, clearly fed up.

A muscle spasms in Poe's jaw as he catches sight of Ben standing at the threshold. "I am just saying," he tells Rey in a tone of painfully forced calm, "that— as the leader of this mission and a fairly decent pilot in my own right—"

"And I'm saying—" Rey's tone isn't calm at all, she obviously has no compunctions picking a fight in Ben's presence— "that it's his father's ship, and Han would want—"

All of a sudden, Ben is seized by the extremely visceral fear that someone— either Finn or Poe— will muster a scathing response along the lines of how what Han would have wanted was to not be dead. It's what he would say if he were in their shoes. And if it— or something like it— were to be uttered now, there would be a repeat of the cantina brawl on Kemal Station, with Ben throwing the first punch.

To prevent this from happening, he speaks up. "I must have missed the part where we elected you the leader of this mission, Dameron."

Poe blinks, annoyed. "I'm always the leader. Of every mission."

"This one wouldn't even have come about had it not been for the information I gave you," Ben retorts.

" What information?" Poe cries. "You said there was a threat to the galaxy and that's it. It was my intelligence network that gave us a jumping-off point— that gave us some direction—"

"Okay, it's settled!" Rose says loudly. " I'm the mission leader."

Ben and Poe gape at her in surprise but, before they can protest, Rey quickly chimes in. "Capital idea, Rose— I mean, Commander Tico." She darts Ben a look that causes him to snap his mouth shut.

Poe is not so easily quelled. "But—"

"As your superior officer, I won't tolerate my decisions being questioned, General Dameron," Rose airily cuts across. "All right, so— it'll take a hundred and fifty seven hours on a Class 0.5 hyperdrive to reach Nar Shaddaa. We'll break that up into ten-hour shifts, with the last leg on the Ootmian Pabol divided further into five hours each. There are three people on this team who have experience piloting the Falcon—" She points at Ben, Rey, and Poe— "and Finn, BB-8, and I will alternate on co-pilot duty. This will ensure that we're all well-rested and alert by the time we touch down on the Smuggler's Moon." She waits for everyone to nod— some more glumly than others— and then continues, "Finn and Poe will take the first shift. After coming all the way from Tatooine, Ben and Rey need to sleep."

Ben searches Rose's face, startled by the fact that she'd called him by his first true name, but her expression remains strictly businesslike.

"What will you be doing?" Finn asks Rose.

"I," she haughtily replies, "will be playing Dejarik with BB-8 until it's mine and Rey's turn in the cockpit. Now— let's get a move on."

☾✩☽

There's no question of who Rey will be sharing a room with on this trip, although she suspects that Finn and Poe are going to be less than enthused once they find out. But with the two of them busy running preflight checks, there's no one to stop her from leading Ben into her quarters and firmly locking the door.

"Is she always like that?" Ben asks, tilting his head at her as she perches on the edge of the bed and tugs off her boots.

"Rose?" Rey pauses, biting her lip as she considers, then grins. "Yeah, she's really bossy. Keeps all of us in line."

"I can believe it." Ben falls into a contemplative sort of silence as he watches Rey unfasten her utility belt, tossing it carelessly to the floor. He steps forward, clearing his throat, when she begins taking down her hair. "Let me."

Her heart skips a beat. She almost nods before she remembers that she hasn't washed her hair in days— and then she's paralyzed by self-consciousness.

Grooming had not been a primary concern on Jakku, where everyone was sweat-soaked and sand-crusted and just trying to survive day by day. It hadn't been until Rey joined the Resistance that she'd had the luxury of being able to shower at any time, with no fear of wasting precious water. Still, the habit had never been fully ingrained, and often it was only whenever people started wrinkling their noses around her that she'd been reminded to scrub down.

With Tatooine being so much like Jakku, she'd regressed.

Ben narrows his eyes as the gradually strengthening bond transmits Rey's insecurity. "You think I care about that?" he demands— baffled, offended. "You believe my love for you is contingent on whether or not you've— you've showered?"

A fresh wave of bittersweet tears threatens to leak down her cheeks. Her gaze drops to the floor. She feels so— so broken. Like she's made up of floating, fragile pieces that are anchored only by sheer force of stubborn will.

Heaving a ragged sigh, Ben walks over to her, the mattress dipping under the additional weight as he sits beside her on the bed. Ever so slowly, ever so gently, he removes the ties fastening her buns in place, his large fingers combing out the tangles in her greasy locks. At first, Rey can do nothing but stare bleakly at the wall while he does this, wincing whenever he works on a particularly stubborn knot with unerring patience; it's only as his hands drift lower to press steady, soothing touches to the stiff muscles of her neck and her shoulders that she allows herself to close her eyes and relax against him.

Poe's static-tinged voice filters in over the intercom, issuing clipped instructions to brace for launch. Ben doesn't stop what he's doing, using the Force to keep Rey and himself grounded as the cabin rattles and groans. In the darkness behind her shut lids, Rey visualizes the Falcon soaring over the metallic urban sprawl of Coruscant, disappearing into the amber-tinted clouds of late afternoon, and then coming out the other side to be enveloped by the velvety black of space, with all its glittering stars.

Their quarters have stilled, the ship guided into a smooth sublight crawl by Poe's deft maneuvering, when Ben's equally deft fingers apply just the right amount of pressure to a sore spot between Rey's shoulder-blades. Unthinkingly, she moans in relief, and his energy signature stirs with an interest that is not entirely professional.

"My poor darling," Ben murmurs, all gravelly and low. "So fiendishly overworked."

"Says the man who toiled in a mining complex for four standard months," she counters even as she scrunches up her nose in reluctant pleasure at the endearment. "I should be the one—"

"I like doing this for you," he insists, in a tone that brooks no argument, and for once Rey's not in the mood to pursue the matter because his strong hands are turning her boneless in the best of ways, draining what feels like a year's worth of tension from her aching form.

It's not long before she's yawning. Ben lays her down on the bed, which is much too narrow for the two of them— a problem he solves by curling around her, tucking her back against his chest. She falls asleep like this, surrounded by him, warm and safe and cared for, his slow, even breathing in her ear almost like a lullaby.

☾✩☽

It is the deepest, most peaceful slumber that Ben has known in over two decades— with the exception of the months he'd spent among the dead in the Netherworld of the Force, although those long periods of nothing probably don't count. Even back then, there had been the faintest traces of a nameless, restless urge that had occasionally inspired a frantic search for sight, for sound, for something in the mists.

Now there is only a general aura of warmth and safety, draped over him like a blanket. And it all has to do with the woman in his arms, her presence a constant, reassuring glow in the Force that banishes all attempt at nightmare.

When he cracks open his eyes, a bleary glance at the chronometer indicates that there's still an hour to go before Rey has to take her shift. Ben would have been content to drift back to sleep, were it not for a certain... problem.

While his mind had been blissfully switched off, his body failed to receive the memo and has at some point reacted— in a very undeniable way— to the feminine form molded flush alongside it in a spoon-shaped curve. His nose is buried in the crook of Rey's neck, his arms crossed over her chest. And he is achingly hard against her backside.

Gritting his teeth, Ben attempts to shift away— to put as much distance between him and a still asleep Rey as the narrow bed will allow. However, the moment he loosens his embrace, she unconsciously, instinctively snuggles further into him, one hand reaching back to grab his hip and push it firmly against hers once more.

The soft, whimpering sound she makes is full of need. She wriggles, and it doesn't help his situation one bit.

His face is shaded pure scarlet now. He considers trying to move away again, but then she moans his name. "Ben." The single syllable rolls off of her tongue with such raw yearning. It echoes through the chambers of his soul.

He hunches forward, kissing the shell of her ear. "Rey. Sweetheart."

"Mmm?" She starts to turn to him, her eyes at half-mast, but his arms lock her in place, his heart beating at her spine as his lips glide over the bare skin of her neck. He slowly begins to rock against her and this, too, is instinct, as is the slide of his hands to cup her breasts— although he freezes once a little rationality comes filtering in and he realizes exactly what he's holding.

But Rey arches into his touch, flashing what is quite possibly the most beatific smile that Ben has ever seen. "We do this a lot, in my dreams," she rasps, "but this is the first time I've woken up to find that you're still holding me."

"It's not a dream," he whispers. I'm here, I'm here...

She rolls her hips back into his in a way that makes him gasp. "Yes." There is a dazed sort of contentment in her teasing tone as she languidly rubs against the ever-growing bulge in his trousers. "You're definitely here."

He has to chuckle at that. And he has to pinch her in playful reprimand, but— considering where his hands are currently located—

He pinches her nipples through her snowy white tunic. He does this without even thinking about it. And it's the strangest thing, it's as if a wave of light is unleashed from her end of the bond, suffusing their mental link on the crests of a melody that is so intensely primal at the edges.

Ben can do nothing but bask in this light; he is a man possessed, the too-small bed creaking as he grinds himself against Rey, his shaking fingers exploring the slight swell of her breasts. He marvels at how they fill his hands, at how her nipples harden into taut little beads, at every sigh and moan that he is able to elicit from her lips.

"Don't stop," she mumbles. "Feels amazing..."

He wants her to feel even more amazing, and that's when he strikes upon a brilliant idea. He roves one hand down her body until it cups the warm apex of her thighs that's damp through the thin material of her leggings; she jolts in his arms at first, startled, but then she's parting her thighs a bit wider and relaxing under his ministrations as he traces and caresses, learning the contours of her through touch alone. The bond is humming now, all silvery and resonant, and he's panting open-mouthed into her neck as he chases the friction, as he attempts to give her the same pleasure that's sweeping through his veins like wildfire.

It is artless, completely devoid of grace. It is furtive and fumbling, a race to arrive at some hazy, inarticulable destination before she has to go back to her friends. But together they find a semblance of rhythm, together they make it work, and when his questing fingers brush against a certain spot at her very center that makes her suck in a shuddering breath, he hears, Yes, there in his head, in her voice, as clearly as if she'd said it out loud.

He focuses on rubbing at that spot while his other hand continues palming her breast. She is not passive in this, reaching back to tangle her fingers in his hair and moving against him in such a way that his erection slides between the globes of her perfect, glorious ass. Thank the stars for her skintight leggings. Thank the stars for Rey. Thank the stars for the second life that had led up to this moment, this wonder of wonders.

Be with me. Rey sends this plea out into the Force, chanting it over and over again until the bond is vibrant with it, until it is all that Ben knows. Be with me. Be with me.

She is the first to fall off the edge, her body undulating against his like a sigh, like a ripple of ocean waves in the sunlight. She cranes her neck to press her lips to his in a sloppy, bruising kiss, and then he's coming, too— coming in his trousers, his mind blanking out in a burst of brilliant gold as he groans her name into her mouth.

It feels like releasing a breath he'd been holding in for years.

Rey rolls over so that she's facing him, wrapping him up in the circle of her slender arms. "Good?" she asks drowsily, smiling against his lips.

"Very good," Ben replies in kind, ears still ringing, eyes crinkling at the corners as he nuzzles at the tip of her nose with his. "The best, as a matter of fact."