The Art of Broken Pieces

One Porg to Rule Them All (and Lunch)

Ben cursed under his breath as Rey's cheeks went pink. He hadn't been paying enough attention to stop her from eating the last tart, and the boiled-down Aurelian liqueur quickly worked through her. He had no idea how intense it was in this form, though judging what little he allowed to trickle through his walls was telling him it was, unfortunately, on the strong side.

On most other worlds the intense aphrodisiac was considered an illegal substance, and that was if you could even get it off world without Aurelian customs hunting you down. He had vague memories of a time when Lando had been caught peddling the stuff on the inner worlds, the tongue lashing Leia had given him, and Han's awkward—and amused—attempts to explain to a very confused young Ben what Uncle Lando had done which was so bad.

Luckily the dinner seemed to be winding down, guests drifting back off to small conversations over dessert tables stacked with suggestively-shaped sweets. Helping Rey carefully to her feet, Ben wrapped a supportive arm around her waist and tucked her against his side as he made the necessary polite excuses.

"Poor dear!" Their hostess purred when Ben found her, explaining that his wife was still quite sensitive to the local delicacies. Her look was all too knowing, and her smile made Ben once again consider mayhem as a tolerable alternative.

Rey could barely feel her feet. The room itself seemed to glow, every hard edge becoming soft, every sparkling dish or flickering gem turning into a beautiful haze of light. She was warm, and Ben was warmer.

He dragged her step by boneless step through the room, and Rey found her mind detaching from anything but the sensation of that powerful arm around her waist, and the alert nerves in her chest and side where she was pressed against him. She wound her arms around his rib cage, sighing as the velvety fabric lit up her fingertips.

She was pulsing all over, and so weightless that it felt like she was barely even walking. If anyone spoke to them, she didn't hear. If Ben said words to her, they didn't register beyond the lovely, deep vibration of his voice in his chest.

They were suddenly outside, beneath the violet sky with its veils of gold. A chill breeze brought up gooseflesh on her bare shoulder. She dug her hands beneath Ben's coat, rearranging herself snugly against him, so his coat folded around her and his body pressed delightfully against hers.

He filled up her arms perfectly, and every part of him was made of hard, unyielding planes of muscle. She rubbed her face against his chest, delighted by the smell of him, the way his shoulders curved toward her so he could bend enough to hold on.

His hands burned lovely imprints into her waist and ribs. She wanted them everywhere. Her own hands seemed unwilling to remain still as she noticed the contours of Ben's back.

It had been so horrible to have him angry with her, and now he didn't feel angry, and that was...nice. That was good. It was exactly what she'd hoped would happen if they finally talked. She snuggled against him, running her hands up to cup his shoulder blades beneath his jacket, then down the length of his back, over his hips, lower... Yes. This was nice. He felt nice. Even the chill breeze and her dizzy head felt nice. She was melting into him, practically limp with the sensations trickling happily downward through her body.

Ben could feel the drug enhanced heat rising from Rey's skin, and it was becoming difficult to keep up with her hands as they explored him. The press of her body against his own was intoxicating in its own right, the soft fabric of her dress molding to her curves as she pressed closer. He was painfully aware of every place where she touched him, the soft swell of her breasts against his chest, her head tucked under his chin as her hands wondered shamelessly.