Rey wasn't sure how long it took them to sleep, or which of them shifted the blankets first, but when she opened her eyes, it was to a pitch black room, a narrow bunk, and Ben wrapped warm and naked around her beneath the covers. In fact, Ben's naked arms and legs were the only thing keeping her from tipping off the precarious edge of the bunk. That feeling of impending surrender to gravity had been what woke her.
Carefully, she shifted onto her elbow and pushed at Ben, coercing him onto his back before slinging herself half on top of him. She curled against his chest, tugging the blankets back up around them. There was a sweet musk to their skin, the mingled scents of sweat and sex and wood smoke, and she kissed Ben's collarbone twice, just to see if it tasted the way it smelled.
Ben mumbled something unintelligible into her hair, one hand coming up and threading into the dark strands as he wound his arms around her, drawing her down. The quiet of the room and the warmth of the bed around them made it impossible to stay awake. He fell back asleep to the lulling comfort of her breath on his skin.
When Ben woke again, the ship's dim autolight had turned on, a faint reminder to its inhabitants that it was day again. At first, it took Ben a moment to remember why he couldn't move, weight pinning his body and limbs to the bunk beneath him. As that weight shifted, snorting ungracefully, memories of the night before came racing back. Lifting a hand, Ben brushed Rey's hair off of her cheek and out of her mouth, the slightly damp strand tangling in his fingers. He smiled, slowly nudging her awake.
"Nnht?" Rey pulled herself from the seductive clutches of sleep and immediately turned her face right into Ben's palm. It blocked out the light decently well, and it made his chest jump with what she suspected might have been a single, silent laugh. Turning back, she peered at him, confirming the presence of that elusive, smile. Only this morning, it was slightly broader, slightly easier. And the gleam in Ben's eyes matched it. A slow smile curled on her own face, and she stretched her legs, resituating herself and confirming her suspicion that men were all very similar first thing after waking up.
"You're a very attractive sleeper."' Ben teased her quietly, trying to find all the places that Rey had managed to wrap the thin blankets around them--and between them--in her sleep and work them free. It was hardest to unwind the trailing corner she had somehow managed to wind around her ankle, but he eventually succeeded and tucked the warm fabric back around them neatly. He tucked his nose into her hair.
Outside in the corridor, a long trailing 'squeeeeeee' and the pattering of tiny feet went past his closed door, followed by the lecturing voice of RD, fading in the direction of the cockpit. Ben groaned, tightening his arms around Rey, not wanting the real world to intrude on the moment.
"Either that was Spoon, or the porgs are attempting a re-habitation." He sighed, muscles loose and sleepy.
Rey was perfectly happy to deny the existence of the outside world for a few more minutes, but her eyebrows bunched at his words. "Spoon?" She had clearly missed something. "Did you name another porg?"
Ben rumbled a soft laugh. "I forgot you weren't here. One of our residents has evolved to acquire the use of tools as primitive weapons. Watch your ankles." The commotion outside picked up again, then faded off in the opposite direction as before. "He... it... clearly grew up on the Falcon, it hates the outdoors. Apparently it also hates other porgs. And us. And RD." Ben paused, considering. "Really I think it hates everything. It's great, I like this one."
Rey laughed, winding her leg around Ben's and tucking her ankle behind his knee. "That would be your criteria for liking something." Nosing at his cheek, she slid her fingers up to turn his head, still feeling sparks of uncertainty and wonder as she pulled him in to kiss her. She was allowed to do that now. Not just allowed, really. Maybe even welcome.
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The Art of Broken Pieces
FanfictionRey knew Ben Solo needed her. He'd never fully succeeded in killing his past, and those cornerstones of his life dragged behind him, a weight he refused to process, to grieve, and to forgive. That was what he needed her for. Not to stay his hand, or...