12. Chapter 12

BB-8 isn't a terrible co-pilot, all things considered. Ever since Ben had uttered Leia's code in Poe's office, the droid had warmed up to him as much as an artificial intelligence could warm up to anyone. There's not much in the way of conversation, but he's being helpful and cooperative, dispensing a grand total of zero electric shocks.

Ben suspects that it has something to do with the notoriously adaptive loyalty subprograms that experienced BB units were capable of generating. He remembers the holo-ads from his childhood making a fuss about that— about how, with the proper care and upkeep, this model of astromech droid would be the closest thing to a pet mooka that you could get without having to worry about feeding schedules and childproofing the exhaust port.

"Let's get ourselves one, what do you think, kid?" Han Solo had quipped to a six-year-old Ben when one of those holo-ads lit up the air as they strolled around Old Hannatown Market with C-3PO. "Trade in old goldenrod over here."

Threepio had sputtered, looking as offended as it was possible for a droid to look. Ben had laughed, forgetting the previous night's bad dreams for a few blessed moments.

Now, he doubts that he'll ever be able to smile at this memory again— or at most of the good memories from his childhood, for that matter.

He checks the bond to see if Rey's awake. He think that she might be, but the strength of their mental link has waned once more. It flickers like the flame of a candle holding on to dear life in the face of a spirited breeze. So, instead, he presses a button on the communications panel that patches him through to the intercom in their quarters.

"Rey?"

"Hmm?"

Her voice sounds a little drowsy, a little far-off. He imagines her lying in bed, then immediately tries not to think too much about that. He's only four hours into his shift.

"Did I wake you?"

"No. I'm drifting in and out." She yawns. "What's up?"

"I was just wondering where Threepio is. And Artoo, for that matter."

"Rose mentioned that they accompanied Kaydel— Lieutenant Connix— on her diplomatic mission to the Sepan system. Old tensions between the Ripoblus and the Dimok are flaring up and there are whispers of civil war brewing. Kaydel went to investigate."

Ben quirks an eyebrow at the starlines shimmering beyond the viewport. "That's a tricky situation. The Galactic Alliance really put those two rust buckets in the middle of it?"

Rey snorts. "I don't know what High Command was thinking, either." She pauses. And then— "He asked about you. Threepio, I mean."

"He did?"

"Yeah. If I'd seen you again, if I'd gotten to talk to you at all. I... I may have told him to switch off."

Ben has to suppress a grin at the mental image of such an interaction between his mother's stuffy protocol droid and his feral, angry girl. Before he can say anything, though, Rey continues, "Poe was the one who briefed the Resistance on what I told him happened in the lair of the Sith Eternal. That's the reason I was able to get your name on the monument. But..."

She trails off.

"I know," Ben says softly into the static-tinged silence. "It's easier to forgive a dead man."

There's no response from her end. Just as he starts to think that she's fallen asleep, he feels her energy signature moving towards him, closer and closer with each second that passes. She's left their quarters. She is traversing the ship at a brisk pace. She—

— bursts into the cockpit, and hurls herself into his lap. Into his arms.

BB-8 chirps a greeting, only for Rey to narrow her eyes at him. "Are you spying for Poe?"

His spherical head rolls wildly from one side to the other.

"Still. I can't take your word for it." Rey's grip on Ben's shoulders tightens. "Could you give us a moment, please?"

The droid emits a dejected little beep and trundles off, the cockpit doors sliding shut behind him.

"You think Dameron is keeping tabs on you?" Ben asks once he and Rey are alone.

"I think that you and I are under at least a bit of suspicion right now, and Poe is the leader of the free galaxy before he is my friend. He's had to be." Rey snuggles into Ben's chest. "I don't begrudge him that, but I also don't want BB-8 staring at us while we make out."

Ben perks up. "We're going to make out?"

"In a bit," she replies primly. "Just hold me first."

He is more than happy to oblige, trapping her slim body within the circle of his arms and nuzzling at her hair. She smells fresh and clean from a recent foray into the sonic and the silvery glow of hyperspace veils her skin like moonlight as she curls up on his lap and listens to his heartbeat.

He is content with this. Even if she ends up not wanting to do anything else, this is enough.

But, well, she had mentioned making out...

Their earlier conversation is still on Rey's mind, though. "I don't think Threepio bears you any ill will," she mumbles into his collarbone. "He still calls you young Master Ben. I went into his programming to make sure that there was no lasting damage from a certain procedure that had been done to him during the war— you're in his memory bank, but his code hasn't rewritten you as hostile. Nor is there any indication that it ever did."

"I'm not surprised that C-3PO would have outdated self-preservation protocols," Ben says wryly. "He's older than sin."

Rey is quiet for a while, examining his end of their mental link. He lets her.

"Your grandfather made him." Her tone is hushed, somewhat mystified.

"Yes." Ben drops a kiss on top of her head. "Obi-Wan told Luke a long time ago. Luke told me back when I was on the Deep."

"Ah, during one of your emotional, heart-to-heart conversations?" Rey teases. "While you cried in each other's arms?"

"Certainly a few weeks after I tried to clobber him with a shovel."

He feels her lips curve into a smile against his chest, right before she skims them along the line of his jaw. A shiver of delight runs through him and he holds her even more closely.

"I think it means something that Anakin Skywalker made a droid who remembers the good," Rey murmurs. "It's almost like a message, isn't it? From him to you. From the past."

"I think you're giving him too much credit," Ben muses. "He was only nine when he made Threepio."

"He had the Force," Rey counters serenely. "And if the Force has taught me anything, it's that time is fluid. The years echo through us."

He rubs her back gently. "You're so smart, cyar'ika."

"Stop it." She's blushing like she always does when he calls her endearments, pressing her heated face into the side of his neck.

"You are," he insists. "You're smart and beautiful and kind. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I wish we'd had more time together. I wish—" He cuts off abruptly, a belated sense of panic causing him to throw a shield over his own thoughts so as to obscure the rest of his sentence from her perception.

I wish we had more time now.

Rey peers up at him, her brow wrinkled and her lips slightly parted in confusion. She may not know what he's thinking, exactly, but his sudden recalcitrance has surely unsettled her. The inside of his chest is as heavy as if there's a stone lodged within it. He tucks a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear, the regret washing over him in waves.

"Ben?" she finally ventures when the silence has stretched on for far too long.

He responds with a kiss, his palm curving against the small of her back as he slants his mouth over hers. He kisses her because he would rather drown in her than in memories of the past or in worries about the future. He kisses her because she is the only one who can take away his grief.

☾✩☽

Rey doesn't think that she'll ever get used to the sensation of having Ben's tongue in her mouth.

Although— she isn't complaining. Not by a long shot. She loves the pleasantly shocked and deliciously wicked thrill that courses through her every single time.

It's just that his lips are so soft and he is so big. It's the earnest way his hands map out her every plane and hollow, always careful to match the pace with which she maps his. He makes her feel like she's safe and like she's burning up all at once, and she's never had that before.

Not that she has anything in the way of a comparison that can be made. He was her first kiss and he will be her last. Her only.

Rey stops wondering what Ben had been about to say and what had held him back from saying it. They can discuss it later— it's not like they're going anywhere anytime soon, with a few more days' travel between them and Nar Shaddaa's orbit. For now, there is only the heat building in her abdomen and the dissolution of every ounce of coherent thought as she and the one great love of her life explore each other with their hands and find all the angles at which their mouths can fit together. And there is also the bond, humming through the currents of the Force in threads of gold...

Rey just lets herself feel.

When she and Ben come up for air, his dark hair is hopelessly mussed from her fingers running through it and he's somehow managed to get her out of her vest. She's leaning against his arm— which is the only thing preventing her from falling out of the pilot seat— and she's straddling one of his thickly muscled thighs, his hand on her left breast as he takes ragged breaths against her neck. The Falcon' s dashboard beeps and clicks quietly at her back.

Ever so slowly, ever so gently, Ben thumbs at her nipple through the thin fabric of her sleeveless shirt. Rey gasps, her fingernails digging into his bicep. She'd found out a long time ago that her breasts are very sensitive, that touching them when she masturbates is a surefire path to orgasm— but, just as it had in their quarters several hours ago, it throws her for an utter loop how amazing it feels when Ben's the one doing the touching.

Especially when he's staring at her chest with something like awe, his completely entranced gaze focused on the burgeoning outline of her nipple as it hardens into a taut bead under his ministrations.

"Rey," he grates out, then pauses, licking his kiss-stung lips nervously. "Can... may I see them?" He swallows. "Please."

And, the thing is, Rey isn't totally ignorant in the ways of seduction. She's learned a little from overhearing other women talk. The key, apparently, is to tease. To move slowly, to let your partner's imagination fill in the blanks. To let the waiting be an experience in itself, adding to the sensuality of the moment.

But that paltry tidbit of knowledge flies right out the window, because Ben looks so tentative and yet so boyishly hopeful. When he's gazing at her like that, she can't bear to do anything else but telekinetically lock the cockpit doors and then hurriedly grab the ends of her shirt with shaking hands and pull it over her head. And let it fall to the floor.

Ben doesn't exactly shut down, but his eyes go as wide as saucers while the rest of his face freezes, slack-jawed. He looks like she's just punched him in the gut as he stares at her bare breasts and, stars, it goes right to her head. It brings with it its own rush of giddiness, to know that she has the power to render him incapable of speech.

The whine of the ancient hyperdrive filling the cockpit is soon punctuated by another one of Rey's shuddering gasps as Ben leans down to kiss her breasts. The right one first and then the other, his lips unfailingly gentle on her skin— but she's never had anyone's mouth there before, so each touch is like a static touch. It's almost too much.

And when he seals his lips over one nipple and his fingers caress the other as he begins to suck... forget it. She's gone, brain turned to mush, her spine arching, her hips squirming in a mindless, desperate bid to alleviate the pressure between her legs on his broad, hard thigh.

Ben spends ages on her like this, switching from one breast to the other and back again. He lets up when she starts to get overstimulated, pulling his mouth off of her nipple with a wet pop and then dotting soft kisses around the pebbled peak.

"Gorgeous," he mumbles against her skin, his voice deep and raspy and broken. "Even more gorgeous than I imagined."

"Think about my tits a lot, do you?" Rey breathlessly quips, because she doesn't know what to do when confronted with all of this burning adoration except try and deflect it with humor. It's a defense mechanism, of sorts.

But Ben won't let her hide from this. He lifts his head to study her face, his expression solemn. "Yes," he says simply. "In the year before Exegol, in the months on the Deep, and ever since I saw you again in Mos Eisley— I have spent so much time thinking about your..." The faintest hint of a lopsided, mischievous smirk flickers at the corner of his mouth. "Your tits, as you call them."

Rey's cheeks blaze scarlet. Again. In hindsight, she supposes that she'd brought this upon herself. But, before she can so much as reply, Ben's big hand squeezes her hip like he's suddenly afraid she'll clamber out of his lap any second now and he's trying to keep her with him. She realizes that his cheeks have drained of all color. He looks alarmed.

"Was that too forward?" he blurts out in a tone that is close to panicked. "I apologize. I don't know what came over me— well, that's not entirely accurate," he hastily corrects, " you came over me, everything about you, but I still shouldn't have said that—"

Shaking her head, she pulls him close and banishes the rest of his apology with a kiss. This time, she's the one who slips her tongue into his mouth first, her lips moving against his with fierce affection. This time, when they break apart, she's the one who guides his hand back to her right breast. The one who gently but insistently pushes down on his shoulder so that his hot mouth can work its magic once more.

The next few minutes pass in a haze of yearning. The pilot seat wobbles as she grinds down on his thigh while he licks and sucks and nibbles at her breasts, his velvety tongue swirling and lapping, his teeth digging in just right. She buries her nose in his soft hair, whimpering incoherent encouragement, doing her best to to transmit through their faded bond how good he's making her feel. And finally she is so close, she just needs a little more...

Ben's hand tightens at the jut of her hip, guiding her as she rubs against him, helping her chase the friction. "You— have—" He punctuates each word with a sloppy kiss to her breasts— "the most— perfect— tits—" He takes one hypersensitized nipple into his mouth again, sucking hard, releasing it only when she cries out from the sharp, nigh unbearable pleasure— "I knew you would," he continues in a voice that bridles with dark heat, the words somewhat muffled as he alternates between licking and biting, all the while playing with her other breast with his large, nimble fingers— "knew it would be like they were made for my hands and my mouth— look at how flushed they are, look at those freckles— look at how they bounce while you're riding my thigh—"

"Ben," Rey chokes out, for no reason other than the fact that it feels good to say his name. Maker, she's nearly there. She's found the right angle to bear down on, her clit throbbing and swollen, the drenched gusset of her underwear caught between her slick, wet labia, his thigh so wide and solid and warm between her legs. The world is starting to splinter apart at the edges, beads of sweat dotting her brow. "Ben, I'm going to..."

"Yes, darling, come for me." He sounds as feverish as she feels, his hand on her hip steering her into a frantic rhythm, his lips covering her chest in rough, open-mouthed kisses. "Come sweet, come slow, pateesa. Come on my thigh, you beautiful girl—"

Rey breaks with a hoarse shout, the tension in her core dissolving into a fiery wave that carries her through, carries her over, the bond singing and the space behind her eyelids flashing white-hot with bursts of pleasure.

She collapses against Ben's chest, limp and sated, kissing his neck as he runs his hands along her back, soothing her through her aftershocks. In her raw, vulnerable state, tears spring to the corners of her eyes from how gentle he is with her. If only she'd known that it could be like this. If only she'd trusted her heart a little more...

But that's in the past. She's been given a second chance. Things can be good between them now. Things can be good forever.

She doesn't know how long she remains slumped in his arms, waiting for her breathing to even out. But, eventually, she becomes aware of the bulge in his trousers, the hard length poking against her bare abdomen, and she looks up at him. Her eager hand wanders lower. "I think it's your turn now."

Ben flashes her a crooked grin that melts her heart. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Rey confirms, the tips of her fingers grazing the outline of his erection.

And that's when an almighty lurch plows through the ship, and the sensors on the dashboard start to scream.

☾✩☽

"Walk me through it again," a grumpy, just-woken-up Finn orders, his hands on his hips as a stone-faced Ben steers the Millennium Falcon to the nearest spaceport. "What exactly happened?"

"So, the hyperdrive motivator is really old," Rey says earnestly. She'd managed to put her shirt and vest back on before the others barged into the cockpit, summoned by the alarms. "It overheated and Ben only narrowly managed to bring us back into realspace before we blew up. Anyway, we might actually need to replace the parts— long overdue, in my professional opinion."

"I don't understand." Rose gestures at the dashboard. "There's a gauge there that monitors the temperature within the superconducting shield. It should have been easy to notice that the hyperdrive motivator was getting too hot and give it a break by hopping out of lightspeed. That way, we wouldn't have almost become space dust."

"I did not notice," Ben says tersely, his gaze fixed on the starry wastes. "I apologize."

"Beebee!" Poe darts an astonished, reprimanding glare at his droid. "As co-pilot, it was your job to pay attention to these things. It's not like you to slack off."

An affronted BB-8 starts to chirp a response, but Rey swiftly steps in front of him. "His circuitry's probably on the blink again," she tells Poe. "You know what, why don't I just go and check— come along, BB-8—"

She rolls the protesting droid out of the cockpit with her foot.

"Well." Finn clears his throat in the awkward silence that follows. "It would be nice to stretch our legs, anyway."

"As well as go shopping for rations," Poe adds as he and Finn head to the lounge. "And we can even go to a restaurant— they make the best spiced mynock wings here in the Arrowhead—"

"It seems to me that some people have already eaten," Rose mutters under her breath, loud enough for only Ben to hear.

It takes every single ounce of willpower that he possesses to not spontaneously combust on the spot.