28. Chapter 28

Her retort is echoed over and over again, passed along from one student to the next, whispered in hallways and classrooms with quiet reverence, spreading through the school like the most delicious form of contraband. By the time lunch rolls around, three Gryffindors and one Slytherin have made a pact to get There's no need to call me "sir," Professor tattooed on their bodies in the summer, while a second-year Hufflepuff has declared that he would like it inscribed on his tombstone.

"I'll be telling mine and Rose's kids about this," Finn brags to anyone who will listen. "Our four daughters and four sons will all know the story of how their Aunt Rey completely wrecked Professor Solo."

"Since when were the two of you going to have eight kids?" Rey mutters to Rose.

"We're not," Rose says crisply. "But I'll let him dream for now."

Rey goes through the rest of the school day in a sort of haze, lost in the clouds of possibilities of what's in store for her. Will Ben make her write lines or clean his office or...

She realizes that she has no idea. As far as anyone's able to tell, she's the first student that he's ever given a detention to.

"If the way he acts in class is any indication— bloody hell, Niima, he's going to put you through the wringer, he is," Jannah remarks. "It was really nice knowing you," she adds sincerely.

Come evening, Rey's so nervous that she only picks at her food— much to everyone else's surprise, and for the first time in living memory. When the clock strikes quarter to seven, she pushes her plate away and gets to her feet.

Her housemates stand up as well. It starts with the seventh years, and then the rest follow. As one, they salute her. She doesn't know whether to laugh or to be mortified, so she settles for nodding stiffly at them as she exits the Great Hall.

It's the longest walk of her life, through shadowy corridors and up torch-lit, winding staircases. She's not afraid at all but there is a certain anticipation, and it's every bit as intense as fear. She remembers Ben's firm tone when he'd issued the detention and, before that, the way his dark eyes had flashed when she talked back, and she somehow can't shake the feeling that her life is about to change.

Rey's all nerves when she knocks on the door of Ben's office. When it creaks open, her knees do that annoying wobbling thing as she steps inside, the magical locks clicking behind her with a weighty finality. He's standing behind his desk, arranging the mountains of paperwork piled on it, and he doesn't immediately look at her so she takes the time to look around.

She's never been here at night before. The impersonal austerity of the surroundings is softened by the glow of the torches hung on the walls and by the moonlight streaming in through the windows. There's a big couch in one corner that hadn't previously been there, but she doesn't afford it any more than a moment's passing notice because Ben finally meets her eyes and it appears as though his pale features are softened, too. He doesn't seem annoyed or angry anymore, just tired. There is a wrinkle on his brow that she wants to kiss— but she can't do that, can she? They're in a fight, after all.

Aren't they?

"Before anything else..." He trails off, then beckons her closer. She walks over to his desk and he grabs a sheaf of paper from it and hands it to her.

It's a magazine. The October issue of the Doubtful Bludger, as a matter of fact. "Last page," Ben grunts, and Rey turns to it and—

— and there it is. The announcement of the essay writing contest, with an illustration of the Firebolt Supreme marked as first prize and the deadline for submissions a date long past.

The Transfiguration work is seamless. She would never have known that the magazine hadn't printed it if it hadn't been her own lie that she'd concocted.

This must have taken him hours.

And suddenly the reason for his visible exhaustion is all too clear.

"Did you sneak this out of the library?" she asks.

He nods. "I'll put it back tomorrow. I wanted to show it to you first, because..." He trails off, and she hadn't thought it was possible for the look in his eyes to get any softer, but he proves her wrong. "Because we're in this together," he says at last, "and— and I know it's not easy for you. I apologize for the times that I've made it even more difficult, but in the end you can always count on me. I promise you that."

She puts the Doubtful Bludger back on his desk and makes her way around it until there's nothing between them anymore. Then she flings her arms around his waist, burying her face in the front of his crisp white shirt.

It's automatic, the way he returns the hug. Like it's a given, and that's something that she still has a hard time believing.

"Sorry," she mumbles. "For— for walking out. And for snapping at you in class."

"No harm done," he says, easily enough. "If anything, it was a wake-up call. I want all of you to do your best in my subject, but you have to do your best in other subjects, too. I'd forgotten how demanding seventh year can get."

"Because that was four decades ago?" Rey can't help quipping.

"Cute," Ben snorts into her hair, and she smiles by the beat of his heart. He rubs her back soothingly in that way of his that never fails to make her melt.

"Nice couch," she says.

"I had to get one. Some girl keeps dropping by my office and I'm not certain how much more my desk and chair can take."

Rey giggles, and they fall into a comfortable silence, still locked in an embrace.

"You have several options here, Miss Niima," Ben says at last. "First, you can leave my office right now and get some well-needed rest—"

"No," she says. Too quickly, and she doesn't care. She's missed him too much.

He holds her a little more tightly, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Your second option is to dust the shelves and we'll call it a day."

"That's what you had planned for my detention?" She blinks up at him. "And you're giving me a choice?"

"I mean, I only gave you detention so I'd have a reason to see you." He seems a little bit grumpy as he tells her this, and a wave of affection passes through her, causing her to snuggle into his chest once more.

The thing is, she's kind of tempted to take him up on dusting the shelves. It seems like the least she can do after embarrassing him in front of her classmates. Before she can say anything, however, he continues, "Your third option is for me to make you come before sending you off to bed."

Now she understands what it means for one's ears to prick up with interest. He's not even trying to seduce her. His tone is very calm, almost academic.

It kind of drives her crazy.

"Is... is there a fourth option?" Rey hears herself ask.

"There is." Ben takes a step back, his hands sliding to her arms. Staying there, his thumbs tracing tentative circles on her skin. He watches her face like— like whatever he's about to say next, he has to be studying her expression while he says it.

Gauging her.

"The fourth and last option," he tells her, and his voice is so husky and so low that it curls through her veins like smoke beneath blood, like some secret thrill unfolding its dark roots amidst all the longing, "is for me to make you come and send you off to bed— after I paint that lovely little ass of yours red because you were such a brat in my classroom."

At first, it's as though all the air has been sucked out of the office. His words make her feel lightheaded like that.

But the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that—

— she's not surprised.

Not really.

There is a memory that had just been waiting to resurface. The night of the Celestial Ball, the door creaking as he fucked her up against it. The way she'd squeaked with each powerful thrust as his thick cock opened her up and left her breathless. I ought to throw you over my knee, he'd said, and she'd all but begged him to, lost in the heat of the moment.

Now, a month later, she stares at him in the flickering shadows. She thinks about how big and warm his hand always feels on her bottom, how he can practically cup both her cheeks in one palm.

She remembers the dangerous glint in his eyes whenever she tests the limits.

This is why she'd been so nervous coming here. A part of her has always known what's going to happen tonight.

The silence stretches on for far too long. Rey's brain— and, to be frank, certain other parts of her— are purring for that fourth option, but her lips refuse to obey. Refuse to give her desires voice. She has no illusions about the way she looks right now; a fish out of water, her mouth opening and closing, soundless.

If Ben is at all discomfited by what must appear to be a less than favorable reaction on her part, he doesn't show it. He rubs her shoulders with an idleness that somehow manages to still be reassuring.

"There's absolutely no pressure," he says. "Whatever you want to do, we'll do."

"But have you ever— er—" She falters, flushing hot from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

"No," he replies evenly. "But if there's anyone I'd like to try it with, it's you." A fleeting, roguish smirk lightens his features. "I hear it's a great way to release some tension."

He is almost boyish, just this side of hopeful, and in hindsight she'd never really stood a chance. Even though he'd given her a choice.

"Okay," she says. "Let's do it."

She swears that he stops breathing for a moment.

"Are—" He licks his lips— "are you sure?"

"Yes." She holds his gaze as steadily as she can. It is in little more than a whisper that she says, "Teach me a lesson, sir."

"God, you're a dream."

Ben slants his mouth over hers while she's still preening at the compliment. It starts as a gentle kiss, her senses singing sweetly, but it's quick to turn into something heated, something that veers into punishing, his teeth worrying at her bottom lip until she moans.

When he pulls away, his expression is... stern. And it is electric, the thrill that runs through her at that kind of look.

Ben removes his charcoal-colored suit jacket and drapes it over the back of his chair, leaving him in the matching trousers and waistcoat, the white button-down, the navy blue tie. Rey's heart drums a mile a minute as she watches him place his wand on the desk and then— very slowly, very methodically— roll his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing those muscled forearms, those lean wrists. She is totally checking him out now, and he seems content to let her. His steps are more measured than they need to be as he walks over to the burgundy couch in the corner of his office.

He sits down, leaning against the backrest, one arm slung over it. His legs are spread a little far apart and, shit, why is a habit that she finds so annoying in boys her age somehow so attractive when he's the one engaging in it? Is it his tailored clothes, or the fact that his legs are so very long, or the way that he seems haughty and languid all at once, blurry shadows thrown on his form by the torchlight in such a way that it makes her think of oil paintings, of chiaroscuro...

"Miss Niima." His deep voice jolts her out of her reverie. His tone is clipped, his words commanding. "Come here."

She places her aspen wand on his desk and complies. It's as though she's walking on air with feet that are made of lead, his implacable dark gaze reeling her in.

Rey doesn't need to be told to take off her shoes. They both know she's going to end up on the couch. And Ben doesn't tell her to unbutton her blouse, either— once she's standing between his legs in her knee-high socks he reaches out, his large fingers skimming against her chest as they fiddle with the row of small buttons, popping the ones from her collar to just slightly above her navel open one by one. It's not long before he parts her white blouse as much as it can go while still tucked into her skirt, with the last three buttons still fastened, and—

— and he pauses for a moment, staring at her chest, his pale brow wrinkled.

Bollocks, Rey thinks, realizing too late—

"Are those nifflers?" he finally asks.

"Yes," she mumbles. The bra that she'd decided to wear today sports a print of the long-snouted black rodents. Some are holding pocket watches in their tiny, fleshy paws and others— including the ones plastered directly over her nipples— are frozen in the midst of dancing a jig.

"They're smiling at me." Ben says it like he's in a daze.

Rey's embarrassed. "I'll just take my bra off, then, shall I?"

"No need." He thumbs at her nipples through the cups. This, combined with what he growls at her next, makes her shiver, her embarrassment dwindling until it's nothing more than a distant memory. "You're going to be laying face-down, anyway."

Her breath hitches.

He pops her breasts out of the bra cups and seals his mouth over one nipple, sucking swiftly and harshly, before moving on the other and affording it the same treatment. Her knees go weak but, just as she's about to clutch at the back of his head— both to balance herself and to coax him further— he pulls away, looking at her all dark eyes and damp lips.

"I don't want you to enjoy this too much," he says huskily. "This is your punishment, after all."

Rey swallows and, silently, she lets him guide her into position. Lets those great big hands of his maneuver her body any way that he sees fit, like he's taken the lump of clay that is her form and is molding it into an object of his desires. Gentle tugs to her wrists, fingers on her waist, on the small of her back, until she's on her stomach, draped over his knees on the couch, her bottom sticking up in the air. She's covered in goosebumps, what feels like every single nerve ending in her body singing, all electric and sharp and reborn.

Ben pushes her knickers downwards until her knees are bound together by the cotton fabric. He palms one cheek and then the other, his hand moving beneath her pleated gray skirt, almost carelessly flipping it up past her hips. She's fully exposed to him now and it's so startling even though it's hardly the first time— there's just something about being vulnerable. About being unable to see what he's doing, guided by touch and her imagination alone.

He clears his throat. "Any time that you no longer feel comfortable, just tell me to stop, okay?"

"Okay," Rey agrees, although she doesn't think she'll ever take him up on that. Not when his voice is like gravel. She'd do anything to keep Ben Solo sounding like this.

The first slap is... well, it's more of a pat, really. It's some limp thing falling dully against the live wires that have been strung through her by heightened anticipation.

"Oh," she blurts out, a very profound disappointment welling up inside her, rendering her unable to stop herself from speaking. "Is that it—"

His open palm cracks against her backside.

She gasps.

It's a sharp, echoing pain, and it leaves her warm all over. Ben caresses her left cheek, where he'd struck, smoothing away the residual sting.

Then he spanks her again.

The right cheek, this time.

It's instinctive, the way her back arches. A hiss of air sucked in through the clench of her teeth.

"That mouth of yours landed you here, Miss Niima, and I have a feeling it's going to get you into even more trouble before this night is over." They could almost be a lover's sweet words, the way he murmurs them, but there's a vein of steely reprimand in his tone. It burns through her like fire just as much as the next collision of his palm against her ass does. "To think that I even tried to give you the easy way out. I've been too lenient."

Lenient... is not an adjective that Rey would use to describe Ben. She snorts, earning herself another smack. One that is bright hot, the echo of his hand on her bare bottom resounding through the quiet, torch-lit office. She flinches, her exposed breasts dragging against the rough fabric of the couch. The loop of her shoved-down knickers tightening around her knees.

And what she soon registers is her teacher's erection digging into her side.

Merlin, what a wicked man.

She is so wet between her legs. All soft and slick and thrumming. He slaps both cheeks in turn and then slides his hand down her ass until his thick fingers are skimming along her front walls. Rey bites down on a whimper, her hips canting, pushing back into his touch in a mindless bid for more stimulation. And Ben is so, so good at giving her what she wants, dipping two fingers into her entrance, curling them inside her as tears leak from the corners of her eyes at how amazing it feels. How not enough it is.

"You're fucking soaked," he hisses, sounding angry and fascinated all at once and there's something almost shameful about the way her cunt twitches around his fingers. "You like getting spanked, huh?"

"No," she says with a pout that, while he can't see it, is clearly evident in her voice. She has no idea what possessed her to respond that way even as she's wriggling against his hand as best as she can. She likes tempting fate, perhaps.

"Liar." Ben slips his fingers out of her and lands another blow on each of her buttocks in quick succession. Feeling bursts of pain immediately after waves of pleasure causes her senses to go haywire— it's as if her arousal folds over the hurt, transforming it into something that— that—

— that sings like gold—

And Rey becomes part of this hymn, a throaty moan emerging no matter how much she tries to suppress it.

God help her, she really tries, but it spills from her parted lips. Quavers through all of this shadowed space anyway.

Ben's clothed erection twitches against her ribs. His hand comes out of nowhere, spanking and then soothing.

Again and again and again.

Rey can't pinpoint the exact moment she closes her eyes. Or when she starts panting. Or when she starts trying to desperately grind her exposed clit on his rock-solid thigh.

That's the thing about delirium. It sneaks in when it's least expected. It completely muddles the passage of time.

"Should have known you'd like this." Ben is a voice above her, in the dark. "You've always been one of my smartest students. That also means you're smart enough to know what you deserve. The question is—" He wedges his left hand between their bodies so that his finger circles her clit, so lightly that she wants to weep— "do you deserve to come?"

"Yes," she says immediately, raising herself up on her elbows and knees to grant him better access.

He spanks her again, for all her trouble. "Yes, what?"

He's turning the tables on her. Giving her the chance to make up for what she'd done to him in front of the whole class.

There's no more room for pride left in her system. She just wants release.

And, somehow, she gets the feeling that he needs this, too.

"Yes, sir," Rey says softly. Too softly, given the situation. She says it with all the quiet adoration that can only have been brought about by five months of knowing someone like him. She says it with all the contrition that she can muster for what had happened earlier today— and the week before, when she'd walked out on him. This is the only thing he's asked of her even after all that, and she'll be damned if she doesn't give it to him. "I want to come, sir. Please."

Ben goes still for several long moments. And then he shifts position, as carefully as though not to jostle her on his lap, and her eyes fly wide open in surprise as his full lips press the ghost of a kiss to her nape. Before she even really knows that it's happening, he straightens up, increasing the pressure on her clit at the same time that his open palm bears down on her ass with another fleshy thud.

"Taking your punishment so well," he rasps. "Maybe you're not such a bad girl, after all."

She writhes from the sheer force of his next blow. "I want to be good for you, sir." Her tone is slightly higher than her usual pitch. Breathless even to her own ears. "I just need a little direction. Please spank me some more."

"Fucking Christ." Uttered like he hadn't meant to say it out loud. Followed by him complying with her wishes. More and more slaps to her already smarting bottom, more slow haphazard circles on her clit, his busy hands teasing whimper after whimper out of her as she claws at the upholstery. "If only you could see yourself now, Miss Niima," he continues in that hypnotic rumble. "Still in your school uniform for the most part, thrown over my lap with your skirt tossed up, your ass bright red, your cute little pussy dripping..." He slips two fingers into her once more, tucking his thumb against her clit even as his other hand metes out those sharp blows on her rump. "How much more can you take?"

"I—" Rey tries to answer. She really does. But whatever she's about to say is abruptly cut short when she realizes that she sounds so broken. There's a sniffling sound that she realizes is originating from her at the same time that she realizes tears are streaming down her too-warm face— but all of these realizations take place at a distance, like she's watching herself cry through a veil of fogged-up glass. She is no longer herself, with all the schoolwork that she's drowning in and that maze of social relationships that she has such a difficult time navigating and the childhood that had left irreversible scars. She is somewhere else, brought there by these hands of his that have wrought an onslaught of pain and pleasure and she can no longer tell which is which.

"Give me a number, Rey."

Ben punctuates his calm demand with another smack that, while markedly gentler than the others that had come before, is still so intense on her tender skin that she yelps out the first digit that comes to mind. "Six!"

"All right. Six." He caresses her sore cheeks and kneads her clit like it's a reward for her giving him an answer. "Can you count them for me?"

"Y-yes, professor," she hiccups through her tears.

"Good girl." He spanks her with such force that she practically seizes up.

"One," she manages to say. Her mind is as blurry as her vision— that has to be the reason she adds, "Thank you, sir."

His cock twitches at her side once more. He's actually really, really hard now. It is its own rush to the head, to know that she still has some form of power over him. Even when they're like this.

The next blow to her ass knocks an audible sob out of her gasping lungs. "Two," Rey groans. "Thank you, sir."

Ben starts to pump the two fingers that are inside her, tapping at her G-spot with each stroke. She's trembling all over, on the brink of orgasm, her little whimpers muffled into the couch.

Whimpers that soon devolve into a drawn-out whine of protest when he slows his pace.

"Four more, Miss Niima," he reminds her gently. "Then you can come."

"I'm going to die." She has long passed the point of having any idea what she's saying. "You're going to kill me, you tosser—"

He has the audacity to chuckle.

Then he spanks her again.

Her body moves with the strike, her toes curling in the socks that cover them, her nipples scraping against the couch. Her hips bucking into that cupped hand of his that's beneath her.

"Three," Rey sniffles. "Thank you, sir."

"I thought I was 'you tosser.'"

She narrows her eyes even though he can't see her do so. "How can you even joke at a time like—" His palm cracks on her right cheek— "aaah— four—" He fucks her faster with his fingers, his thumb nudging at her clit more insistently. Relief floods through her; she knows this rhythm well. He will build her up until she breaks and she's so ready for it. Salivating. "Thank you, sir," she moans again.

How is it possible for her body to feel so heavy and her soul to feel so light at the same time?

"Almost there, baby," Ben hums. "Just two more, then you can come. Shit, I think this is the wettest you've ever been, the tightest— you clamp down on my fingers every time I punish your ass." A darker streak emerges in his next words. "Should have started giving you detention in goddamn September. Imagine what a model student you'd be with regular spankings."

She can only babble some kind of nonsensical response that sounds like agreement. His hand rains yet another stinging blow on her bottom and she squirms, knees tangled in her underwear. "F-five," Rey stutters, barely able to hang on to speech as Ben's fingers flick at her G-spot and her clit at the same time. "Thank— oh— thank you, sir—"

The next and last blow is the hardest one. It's like he puts all of his strength into it. She all but wails in pain and then she comes— suddenly, violently, with all the force of an explosion, spasming around his hand, wires crossed between what hurts and what feels good, drowning in light and heat.

"Six," she hears someone cry out, and it takes her a while to realize that it's her own voice. "Thank you, sir—"

Rey collapses as the orgasm tears through her. The pleasure is so sweet after all that hurt— viscous, almost, like a haze of honey. She is teary-eyed and shuddering, draped limply over Ben's lap while he rubs her back and her poor, beleaguered bottom. His big hands bringing consolation and calm when they had lit her on fire only moments ago.

"You did so well, sweetheart," he tells her. None of the sternness that he'd adopted at the start of all this remains. He sounds reverent, and gentle, and sincere. "Took your punishment like a champ. Jesus, you're amazing. I'm going to fuck you now, okay?"

She turns her head to the side, peeking back and up at him as best as she can. He looks a little flushed himself, his pupils blown wide with arousal as he stares down at her like she's something that he wants to devour. She can't quite muster the strength to speak at the moment, so she nods instead, feeling very small and secure and sated. He could do anything to her now and she would welcome it.

Ben moves out from under her sprawled form. He wedges a couple of the couch's throw pillows under her abdomen so that her ass is still raised in the air despite her decidedly uncooperative limbs. Rey lets him do all of this, still powerless and twitching from her aftershocks, her breathing a ragged beat that slowly evens out against the soft cushions as she hides her face in her folded arms.

The couch dips and shifts in accordance with Ben's weight as he kneels behind her. There is the sound of a belt being unbuckled. A zipper being pulled down. There are fingers on her hips positioning her just so, and then her professor is pushing his cock into her dripping wet cunt.

Although she's slick and pliant from her recent climax— and still not totally over it, to be completely honest— Rey's legs are pressed together by the underwear around her knees. Thus, it's an incredibly tight fit. Almost even more so than usual. She and Ben both groan as he works his way inside her.

Sinking in, forcing her open, inch by inch.

She lets out a whimper when his hips finally settle flush against her rump. She is extremely sore there, and combined with the sensation of being split into two on his length— it's too much. She makes the strangest, most guttural, animalistic sounds as he ruts, his spread fingers digging into the couch on either side of her. She's sobbing, she's whining, she's begging— for what, she doesn't know, it's all too intense. Ben fucks her the way he'd spanked her, hard and deep and measured, letting her feel every single bit of it. They're both still wearing most of their clothes, and that lends a layer of desperate thrill to the scene.

"That's it, Miss Niima, take it like a good girl," he murmurs, his gravelly praise the only thing that she has left to hold on to, the only thing that can still ground her— however barely— in the real world. "So good for your teacher, letting me put my cock in you after I've spanked you raw— you're so fucking gorgeous—" He hunches lower, dotting kisses on the back of her neck, making her cry out again with a clever swirl of his hips before he lifts himself up on his arms again and increases the speed and force of his thrusts, eliciting even more cries from her. Thank Merlin for the Silencing Charms that always shroud his office, because this is the loudest she's ever been during sex.

And it's not long before she starts drooling.

Rey can't help it. At this angle, she's stuffed so full that she can hardly breathe, and the aftermath of everything that he's made her feel tonight has turned her into a quivering, overly sensitized mess. Her mouth hangs open and her tongue lolls out and her eyes all but roll into the back of her head as Ben rams into her from behind.

"You're going to come again, aren't you?" There's a conspiratorial edge to his question. A hint of smugness, and of mischief— like this, as with so many other things, is their little secret.

"Yes, sir," she chokes out, and he immediately switches up the pace and the angle so that he's plowing into her in just the perfect way and— "Yes, like that," Rey babbles, all of her self-control blown into mere wisps before a relentless gale, "right there, please, gonna come on your cock, professor—"

And she does. With yet another hoarse scream. Gushing all over the throw pillows propping up her hips.

When her body goes limp, yet another series of aftershocks rolling through it, she wonders if she'll ever be able to move again.

She wonders if she's going to pass out. It certainly feels that way, her eyes heavy, some velvety darkness beckoning her near.

Ben pulls out of her, still hard. She vaguely registers the unmistakable sound of his fist working up and down his length and the telltale laboredness of his breathing. A few moments later, she feels warm liquid splatter all over the aching cheeks of her ass, several drops trickling down the cleft between them.

He's coming on the red marks and bruises that his hand had left.

Time passes. Rey doesn't know how much, but it does. She's faintly aware of Ben pulling her knickers back on for her and asking if she's okay, but she's too out of it to formulate any sort of response other than a weak nod and a yawn.

Her eyes are half-shut when he stretches out beside her on the couch, gingerly turning her to face him while he curls his long, broad frame around her, slipping his arm between her head and the couch so that she can use it as a pillow. She winces as these movements jostle her backside, and in the flickering torchlight his features take on an expression of utter remorse.

"I got carried away," he mumbles, reaching around her to tug her hair free from the already disheveled buns. "I'm sorry, Rey, I—"

"No," she rushes to assure him. Forcing herself to find the will to speak despite her exhaustion. "You said to tell you if I wanted you to stop, and it never crossed my mind. I promise."

"You're too good to me." Ben runs his fingers through her loose hair, then presses a soft kiss to her exposed right breast and then the left before carefully tucking them back into her bra.

He's getting her comfortable so that she can sleep well, she realizes, and in this raw emotional state of hers tears threaten to well up once more. She inches forward just a little, just so that she's snug up against him, inhaling his scent, content to let his solid, unfaltering embrace lull her to sleep.

"That cute little butt of yours is going to hurt a lot tomorrow," Ben remarks. "I should cast a healing spell."

"No need." Rey latches her hand around his bicep to keep him where he is, wanting nothing more than to stay in the circle of his arms. "At least, not now."

"In the morning, then."

"Okay." She hesitates for a few beats, then adds shyly, "But don't go overboard. I think that I'd rather like to still be able to feel some of it tomorrow. It's... y'know, proof."

"Proof?" Ben echoes, clearly baffled. "What do you mean by that?"

Rey yawns again. Drowsiness has erased any semblance of her filters and what they've just done has made her a bit more honest— with him and with herself. A bit more brave. "You see," she explains as she drifts off, "sometimes I find it hard to convince myself that you're not just a dream."