Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

He had been lying under the covers of his bed, still as stone and eyes wide open, huddled in the corner as if to put as much distance as he could between them, for a small eternity, before she talked. 

The room was dark and the curtains were closed, so he couldn't see anything in the shadows, except for the vague outline of Princess Rey's small frame. Nevertheless, he could hear her. Despite how much effort he put into pretending she was not there, he could not, in fact, ignore her presence – something that had been plaguing him ever since he could remember, long before she elicited such a reaction out of him.

The rhythmic sound of her breath echoed in the room, soft and gentle and yet so terribly near. Her hair, free from the braids it was usually weaved into, made a rustling noise against the sheets whenever she tossed and turned in the bed. She even let out an annoyed huff every now and then, tugging his lips into a smile against his own will. 

There was something so peculiarly Rey in all the little sounds she let out. He hadn't ever realized how much noise a human being could make. He'd always been alone in this bed, and now he found it within himself he could not go another night without her by his side, with her warmth and her weight on the other side of the mattress and even the absurd amount of noises she alone could make. 

It was clear by the way she moved and whined that she was having trouble sleeping. He wondered if she was as embarrassed by this whole situation as he was, or if she was still frightened by what had occurred in her rooms. He felt the terrible impulse of stretching out his hand and rest it on the gentle curve of her hips, soft and inviting, only to reassure her. Of gathering her against his chest and listen to the sound of heartbeat, only to make sure she was safe and sound in his arms.

He didn't. He knew that whatever he'd come to feel for her – a surprising and yet, at the same time, perfectly predictable situation, because she was beautiful and fierce and wild, and how could someone not love her for that? –, he was alone in it. Even as she lay in his bed, he had to remind himself she was not marrying him out of love, but out of duty. 

Still, his hands burned from the need to touch her. 

When she spoke, after what had passed over him as an unsettling lifetime, her voice was barely above a whisper. It was faint, in a way she'd rarely allowed herself to be in his presence before, and he wondered what it all meant.

"Your Highness–" 

His lips twitched in a small smile, out of their own accord, at the absurdity of the situation.

"We're sharing a bed, I reckon we are well past formalities," he told her, his voice colored by a humor and a fondness he still had trouble reconciling with. "You may call me Ben." 

There was a soft, hesitant giggle that made his heart grow too big for his own chest, then she exhaled, deeply.

"Ben," she murmured, slowly, as if tasting his name on her tongue. A shiver ran down his spine upon hearing her. She'd used his name earlier, when he'd dashed into her chambers as a man possessed, but that had been a slip, jarring and heart-wrenching, and yet unintentional. This time, she wanted to utter his name and it did unspeakable things to his heart. "I may just get used to that." 

He slowly turned into her direction, rolling onto his side. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, so he could see her back, turned on him. She was uncharacteristically rigid, her spine a taut line even in the shadows that surrounded them. The urge to wrap his arms around her was so strong he had to ball up his hands into fist to prevent himself from reaching out.

He felt the need to fill the uncertain silence with one of his pointless retorts, as if to make everything normal again. "I certainly hope so, as we're to marry in two weeks." 

He could not see her, but he felt her rolling her eyes at him.

"Sometimes I wish you were a bit less irritating. It might do wonders for your personality," she muttered, but there was something that resembled affection in her voice and that tugged at his heart in a way that was both painful and pleasant.

His voice was colored by the same fondness he'd heard in hers, when he replied. "I will try, but I make no promise."

She let out a snort.

It was such a familiar sound his heart twisted in his chest and he felt as if dazed by it. He'd never realized how much he'd come to love the little things she did – the way she snorted and scoffed and pressed her lips into a teasing smirk that used to drive him delirious when he was a child. It had happened so gradually he'd barely had the time to grasp it and now he was, a fortnight before their wedding, utterly enchanted and bewitched by everything she did.

A fool in love.

"Ben–" she started again, softly. He thought he might grow accustomed too, to the sound of his name uttered by that sweet, silvery voice. Her next words took him by surprise, as it often happened when Princess Rey was involved. "Would you hold me?" 

His heart stilled in his chest, afraid of having heard her wrong. The room was silent with the exception of their breaths and the rushing sound his blood made, as it barreled towards his heart, and yet he feared he'd imagined her words, as he desperately wanted to embrace her. The idea of holding her in his arms made him feel dizzy, almost feverish. He imagined her body melting against his, soft and pliant and warm in his arms. He imagined her heartbeat underneath his palms, her shoulders rising and falling slowly against his chest as a new calm settled over her, lulled to sleep by the sound of his own breath.

His throat went dry.

Just to imagine the soft skin of her nape underneath his lips felt sinful.  

He had to swallow, before talking. "Hold you?" 

She hesitated for a moment, but then he felt her nod. He was growing fond of the noise her hair made, when it brushed against her pillow. The idea that he would hear it for the rest of his life made his chest feel awfully tight.

"Yes," she said, simply, the same determination he'd always associated with her in her voice. He imagined her raising her chin, defiant as always, challenging him as she'd always done ever since they were children. "I cannot sleep. I keep thinking about–" Her voice faltered, but she did not need to put it into words. Ben could imagine perfectly what she was thinking about and it made his heart ache. "Please, I– I need to know I am not alone." 

Her admission took him by surprise, again. It was a rare and eventful thing, for her to show such a vulnerability, and he felt like he'd been just granted a privilege.

It was impossible to deny her. 

It was a simple thing, to stretch out his arm and wrap it around her waist, to bring her closer in a slow, gentle motion. Despite being the one to ask him to hold her, she seemed surprised by his gesture, because she held her breath and her body tensed in his embrace, but then she relaxed when she felt his hand splay gently over her hip, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the fabric of her nightgown.

"You are not alone," he whispered, then, his lips inches away from her ear. It would have been so easy to press a kiss there, to the spot beneath her ear that called to him, but he didn't. When she imperceptibly craned her neck to the side, he wondered if she would have wanted him to. "I promise you, you are not alone." 

She shivered, and he asked himself if it was a normal reaction to how his breath ghosted over her skin, or if it was something his presence elicited. He did not want to fool himself, and yet he could not help it. 

Her hand came to rest upon his, as it lay on her middle. She intertwined their fingers with the same ease she did everything else with, as if the world were a riddle she'd solved a long time ago, and he could do nothing but let her guide him, his heart a thundering creature in his chest.

Her palm was warm now, her fingers delicate but firm, and when she exhaled and melted against him, he felt her thumb brush again against his knuckle, as if she'd realized how awestruck he'd been by the same touch earlier. It was intoxicating – in the brief span of a night, he'd gone from not having ever held her hand to gathering her against his chest, his lips hovering against her soft skin, his hand resting on her middle. 

It was inappropriate. It was indecent. It was obscene. 

And it was wonderful. 

"Thank you," she breathed out, so softly he wondered if she'd wanted him to hear it. 

"I cannot believe you are thanking me," he replied, but there was no bitterness in his voice. It was no witty retort, no sarcastic comment – it was a whispered thing, that elicited another soft laughter out of her.

She swatted his hand, but it was a much gentler touch than she'd ever used when it came to him. "Do not grow too accustomed to it."

Before he could stop himself, he rested his forehead against her shoulder. It was such an intimate thing, being so close to her –  it came as a rushing feeling to his heart and his mind alike, as if she'd washed over him like a tide and he'd let her drag him under. 

It was such a pleasant way to drown. 

"I have to ask," he started, then, his voice just as soft as hers. "Where did you ever learn how to wrestle a man to the ground?" Then, after a second of silence, he felt his lips curve in a smile and added, "Not that I'm surprised, given our childhood. I probably have scars from the first few summers you have spent here." 

She stifled a little laughter and oh, there was such a delicate sort of beauty in the feeling of her trembling body against his. It felt warm and intimate, as if resting in front of a fireplace, as if submerging his sore limbs in a tub of hot water. It was an enveloping sensation – it spread from his chest, this kind of tingling warmth, but then it reached every inch of his body, and he felt so oddly at peace. 

"Maz, my mother– She had me take fighting lessons, ever since I was a child," she replied, then.

Her chest moved with every breath underneath his palm, and if he paid attention to it, he could even feel the rhythmic sound of her heartbeat in the silence that surrounded them. He willed his body not to react to her presence, but it was a difficult thing to do, especially when she kept leaning into him, melting into his touch, wriggling as if to find a better position.

He let out a strangled sound.

"Mh," he said, trying to mask it. "I should have known."

She laughed again, and the way her body trembled against his didn't exactly help him in his predicament. "She wanted to make sure I knew how to take care of myself, if the situation called for it." 

He felt his heart stutter in his chest, when he replied. "I'm grateful she did." 

Her fingers traced slow, exasperating patterns on the back of his hand and his pulse quickened every time her skin brushed against his, his blood flowing somewhere he desperately did not want it to go.

"Even if I used my knowledge to beat you up for most of our childhood?" she asked. 

Her voice was playful and he could see, in the back of his mind, the teasing smirk he was so familiar with. He wondered if she was smiling now. If the familiar dimples had appeared on her cheeks. If he dared to reach out and press his lips to her face just to find out. 

He let out a breathy exhale that could pass for a laughter. "Yes, even then," he replied, then, despite himself, tightened his hold on her, as if it frightened him to death, the possibility of ever letting her go. He cleared his throat, breathing her in. "Rey. If something had happened tonight and you were– I–" He swallowed, trying to steady his voice. "I would be devastated."

There was a brief silence, but it was tense, somehow, as the precious, terrifying moments before the storm breaks. Her breath hitched on her lips and she inhaled, sharply. Her heartbeat stilled underneath his palm for a second, then it started to race in her chest, so erratic he could not keep count.

"I thought you hated me," she murmured, in the end. Her voice was breathy, uneven and shaky. He wondered if she was weeping. 

Before the courage could leave him, he pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder, there where the nightgown had fallen off a bit, revealing her freckled skin.

It was no more than a brush of lips, soft and delicate, and yet the simple contact made him shiver. It was so much more than he was used to – her skin was warm and soft like the rest of her, and he wished it were day, so he could study the constellation of freckles he'd glimpsed before.

"Quite the contrary, I'm afraid," he told her, then. 

At this, the world stopped.

It felt like everything stilled for a terrible moment, even his heart. She sucked in a breath and then–

He barely had the time to realize what was happening, because suddenly Rey was turning into his arms and she was in his space, so close he could make out the familiar lines of her face even in the darkness that surrounded them. He could see all the freckles that dotted her face, the shades of hazel in her eyes, the way her hair fell on her shoulders in gentle waves. Her eyes were wide, her jaw slack, surprise so easy to read in the back of her gaze. 

"Ben," she said, her voice tinted with something that resembled awe. He wondered what he'd ever done to deserve such a thing. "I do not understand." 

His arm was still resting on her waist, his hand now splayed on the small of her back. She was so warm underneath his touch and there was so much to feel. 

The way her breath fanned against his neck, when she breathed out. The way her spine arched ever so slightly when his fingers started to trail up and down her back. The way her legs brushed against his, underneath the covers. The way he could feel her chest move, her small breasts pressed against his torso, every time she inhaled and exhaled. 

He couldn't quite deal with all of it. It felt like an attack on his senses.

"I think you do, my lady," he breathed out, his lips tugging upward in a tender smile that was equal parts loving and sad. "I do not think there is a person in the world who could know you and not love you, Rey."

She blinked at him, as if to make sense of his words, and when she did, he noticed her eyes shimmer with unshed tears. His heart twisted in his chest and he could not bear the thought of being the cause of her tears, he could not bear the idea of Rey weeping because of him. 

And yet, despite the tears, a slow smile started to spread on her lips.

"You–" She swallowed, her voice shaky. "You love me?" 

He smiled too, tenderly, then brought his hand to her face, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, His fingers lingered against her skin, brushing against the thin, red line on her throat her assailant had left her. She shivered in his touch, her eyes fluttering closed for an instant. 

"Of course I do. I reckon I have for a while, but I had not realized it until I almost lost you tonight," he murmured, his thumb sliding up to gently stroke her cheekbone. "I know you do not share the sentiment and that you are not marrying me out of love, but I hope we could move past this conversation and–" 

The words died on his lips when her hand came to rest on his face.

She caressed his cheek with the utmost care, as if he were made of the most precious crystal, then she cupped his jaw, cradling his face with such a tenderness he knew it would ruin him. He felt powerless in front of her, fully knowing he would have let her devastate him.  

He gulped.

"You, Your Highness–" She started, a somewhat teasing tone in her voice. "–are a ridiculous man." 

Then, she surged forward and kissed him. 

He found her in the kyber garden, sitting on the stone bench he had insisted for, when the architect had first planned the section of the royal gardens he was so keen on seeing built. The flowers were in full bloom, as the summer sun, now slowly sinking beneath the horizon, shone on them, and he had to begrudgingly admit she'd been right, years ago. The flowers bloomed so prettily, a burst of color in the green scenery, surrounding her small figure as she sat there. 

There was something reassuringly familiar in the sight of her, with her chestnut hair coiled up in a crown braid he suspected his mother had some part into weaving, and he found himself unable to speak for a whole minute, as if gripped by something he couldn't quite explain.

He felt at home, which was the most peculiar sensation. He had been here his whole life, never leaving Alderaan's court for more than a few days at most, and yet the palace never felt quite as warm when she wasn't here. 

It was not a feeling he wanted to explore, mostly because he suspected she would make a mockery out of it.

When he sat down next to her, though, he had still trouble speaking. It did not seem to bother Princess Rey, because she accepted his presence with a grace he rarely associated with her, and turned slowly into his direction, giving him the gift of that hesitant smile he'd glimpsed once before. 

"I never thanked you," she said, then.

His eyebrows rose out of their own accord, because the words felt uncharacteristic of her, who had spent the better part of her childhood pestering him and trying to make his life as miserable as she could. 

He blinked her in. "Thank me? Are you sure the summer heat hasn't made you delirious?" 

She didn't rise to his bait, which was even more peculiar. Instead, she quietly shook her head, bringing her gaze on her hands, currently resting on her lap. Before she could fully turn away from him, though, he noticed a hint of red on her cheeks, which surprised him even more. 

"For the flowers," she murmured, softly. "I know it was you who insisted on planting the kyber flowers. It was very kind of you. I should have thanked you when you first showed it to me." 

At this, he felt a blush color his cheeks too and he quickly averted his eyes, staring at the flowers around them. He didn't know what to say and he was not used to this new, soft-spoken Rey who was quietly sitting in what he considered her gardens. Her fierceness and defiance were not abated, but she'd grown into them, mastering them and turning them into sharp weapons at her command, unsettling him in new, unprecedented ways.

He had to clear his throat a few times, before saying, his voice uneven to his own ears, "You missed their blooming season last year." 

She turned again into his direction, tilting her head to the side as if to study him, and granting him a full view of her face, bathed in the soft, pink light of the sunset. The years had been kind to her – her face was now a delicate thing, its lines sharp but lovely, as if carved by a very talented sculptor. The freckles he'd made fun of when they were both children now accentuated her ethereal beauty and he had trouble reconciling the woman in front of him with the child he'd known.

At nineteen, Princess Rey was beautiful. He'd missed the moment in which it had happened – one summer she was a wild little thing, running in the gardens with the sword she'd stolen from him and her skirts bunched up, and the next she was a woman who made him nervous with her presence. 

He briefly wondered if he'd ever had the same effect on her, but he was quick to dismiss that thought. 

"Is this your intricate way of saying you missed me, Your Highness?" she asked him, then, her lips curved into the smirk he was so familiar with. And yet, she was oddly entrancing as she stood there, against the flower he'd had planted just for her. 

He snorted, an undignified habit he could not seem able to get rid of, no matter how much his mother scolded him.

"Not a chance, my lady. I must admit it felt nice to spend a summer without being annoyed by your constant presence," he replied, but his words lacked the usual bite. It felt less like a mockery and more like a tentative teasing between friends. 

Friends, what a wild idea!

She let out a huff of breath that resembled a scoff. "I could say the same."

It was devastatingly easy to smile, as if she had put him under a spell and he could not help the way his lips tugged upwards at the sight of her. Then, he let out a deep breath and sobered up, as his gaze lingered on her for a few seconds more. "I trust Queen Maz is well."

Queen Maz had suddenly fallen ill the previous summer, forcing Rey to stay in Takodana for the first time in so many years. Ben had felt oddly bereft, as if without her nagging presence he were somehow incomplete. He hadn't exactly missed her, but it had been a peculiar sensation – he'd grown so accustomed to her that it had felt almost wrong to spend a summer without her by his side. 

If she were surprised by his inquiry, she did not show it. Instead, she nodded, but he did not miss the way her fingers gripped her skirt, so tightly her knuckles had turned white. He felt compelled to take one of her hands into his to reassure her, but he did not.

"Yes, she is. She recovered fully," she replied, her voice a lot softer than he was used to. "I wanted to summer in Takodana this year, too, but she would not let me. She's exceptionally stubborn." 

He felt his lips twitch in a smile. "That seems to be a trait you inherited." 

She snorted too, a sound he knew by heart by now. Hearing it after almost two years did something unexplainable to his heart, as if she had pressed down on it with her palm as she used to when they wrestled during their childhood. He felt odd and he couldn't possibly understand why. Maybe he had to grow accustomed to her presence again, after so much time apart. Maybe he had missed her, in some twisted way. 

Then, she went quiet for a moment, before speaking again. "She adopted me. I reckon you already knew it, but if we're– if you're to be my husband, it is only right you know it from me." 

Something churned in his chest at the mention of their nuptials, and he could not tell if it were pleasant or not. There was no point in lying – their marriage had been a constant presence in his mind lately, as it was only a year away now. But hearing her speak of it made his heart do an odd thing against his ribcage, as if it had started to thunder against his bones. 

He cleared his throat again. "I want to assure you it does not make a difference to me, my lady," he replied, earnestly, searching for her gaze. 

There was a sharp inhale, but her eyes were almost warm, when she looked at him. As if reassured by his words. It was absurd – Princess Rey, reassured by his words! Surely the world had started to turn backwards! – and yet he felt there was some kind of truth in there. 

"My parents had sold me out to an innkeeper when I was barely four. They probably needed money to buy more ale. Maz– she was traveling across the kingdom when she found me in the inn I slaved for. If it hadn't been for her, I–" Her voice broke and she took a deep breath, as if rattled by her own words. He felt, for the second time, the sudden urge to reach out and comfort her, but he did not think his gesture would be well received – it was more likely she'd end up cutting off his arm – so he stayed put. "When she fell ill last year, I was so frightened. I did not know what to do."

It was not exactly the first time she allowed herself to show such a vulnerability in his presence, but it took him by surprise every time, and he always felt as if he'd stumbled on a moment that was not meant for him. He felt like an intruder every time she confided in him, and yet he could not quite abate that spark of something akin to pride in his chest, as if being granted the privilege of her confidence were something to be honored of. 

"I am glad she recovered," he murmured, softly. Her eyes, which had fallen on her hands again, turned back to him, and there was the hint of a tender smile on his lips. It felt almost ruinous, in a beautiful way. That was probably why he felt compelled to add, "I kept pestering my mother to ask about the Queen. About you. I wrote probably a thousand letters I never sent. I was– I was worried for you."

Her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. "You were?" 

He couldn't quite suppress a laughter at the sight of her shocked expression. "Of course I was," he replied, then. His eyes were fixed on her face – the one he hadn't seen in almost two years, familiar and foreign at the same time – and he did not miss the way she curved her lips in a smile for the briefest second. "You may not believe me, but I do care about you. I meant what I said years go. I know I am the last person you would ever want to marry, but I will try my best to be a good husband to you. I promise."

She bit down her bottom lip, then exhaled. "I could do worse, I suppose," she said with a shrug, but he noticed the hint of humor in her voice and the smile on her face. He also noticed her dimples, which he'd thought about more often than he would have liked to admit. 

He let out a heartfelt laughter, which made her turn into his direction and stare at him, so intently he wondered what she was thinking. "I'll take it as a compliment."

The gentle summer breeze came to shake the flowers around them and the few wisps of hair that were free from her braids alike, as they sat there in the soft light of the sunset. How many summers had they spent like this, begrudgingly side by side, trading quips back and forth? It felt like he'd spent his entire life with her, and in some ways, he had – she had tumbled into his existence when he was barely ten, all wild and fierce and defiant, and he'd never been the same ever since. She had left an imprint on his soul, like a foot could do on the sand, lasting eternally.

"I used to dread the day we would marry," she confessed, then, after a few seconds. Her voice was barely above a whisper, her fingers twisting the skirts of her green gown. "I used to beg my mother to annul the engagement and I wept every time she told me she would not do such a thing. But now that our nuptials are barely a year away–" She took a deep breath, then exhaled, and he felt mesmerized by the way her shoulders moved. "As I said, I could do worse." 

It felt more poignant than she'd probably intended to. Her words lingered in the sweet summer air for a minute, as a few petals fell from the nearby tree into his lap and in her hair. Their vibrant color suited her chestnut tresses, and she looked even more ethereal like this, a creature from old songs who had come to steal him away into the woods. 

"I used to nag my mother, too," he told her, then. His fingers came to play idly with the flowers fallen into his lap, the radiant red almost a drop of blood against his pale skin. "I used to think you were sent here just to torment me and I dreaded the summers you would spend at the palace. But now–"

He raised his hand, slowly, as if asking for permission. When she didn't flinch away or attack him, he stretched out his arm and placed, gently, the flower he was holding into her hair. Her lips trembled when she exhaled.

His own lips curved in a tentative smile. "I suppose I could do worse, too." 

They stared at each other for a moment, his hand lingering against her cheek, not quite touching her. Time stilled as the setting sun painted her face in shades of pink and golden and he was painfully aware of every rapid beat of his heart against his ribcage. The red of the kyber flower in her hair heightened the beauty of her fair skin and the brightness of her hazel eyes, and his gaze lingered on her parted lips for a minute before he finally exhaled, letting his hand fall down. 

"I must go," he said, then, averting his eyes and standing to his feet all of the sudden. "I have– I have matters to attend to. I hope you have a pleasant night." 

He didn't even look back when he quite literally flew from the gardens, but he swore he'd felt her gaze follow him all the way back to the palace. 

Kissing Rey was something akin to a religious experience. 

He'd imagined it before, in a remote corner of his mind where he could pretend he had not, when it was night and he was alone in his bed and her dimpled smile had taken hold of his thoughts. He'd imagined brushing his lips against hers, lightly, in some gentle imitation of a kiss. He'd imagined letting her hair loose from the braids her handmaidens had twisted it into and sinking in his hands into its soft waterfall. He'd imagined the little sounds she would make, when his mouth would slowly travel down to press worshipful kisses to the column of her throat. 

What he'd imagined paled in comparison to the reality of it. 

Rey kissed him as she did everything else – with a fierce determination that made him come undone. It was no light brushing of lips – her kiss was frantic and needy, as if she'd been waiting for this moment her whole life.

It was a fumbling thing – an exploration of sorts, because he'd never kissed anyone before, and it was clear by the way she moved that neither had she, and yet when she coaxed his lips open, there was no hesitation about her. She kissed him as if to devour him, as if being parted from him were too painful for her, and it made him dizzy and delirious, this kind of feverish want. 

In his dreams, kissing her had been like dipping into known waters, carefully and methodically. But, as it often was the case when Rey was involved, the reality was quite the opposite. Kissing Rey was like diving deep into the ocean, letting the waves pull him under. 

Before he could realize what he was doing, he had one hand buried in her hair, while the other rested on her hip. She'd gotten closer during the kiss, their bodies pressed so close together he could hear the echo of her heartbeat, and when she broke away from him to breath, he let out a soft whine that elicited a giggle from her. 

It took him a few seconds, or maybe a lifetime, to open his eyes again. When he did, Rey was still there – not a dream, but a vision all the same. 

A slant of moonlight now filtered through the curtains, illuminating her. Her skin was flushed, from her face to the edge of the collarbones he could see peeking through the nightgown, and her lips were red and swollen from the kiss. Her hair was a mess around her face and her breath came in short pants, the only sound he could hear for miles.  

He felt like he'd just witnessed the birth of a star. 

"I–" he started, then. His heart was making a dull sound in his chest, beating so loudly he thought she could hear it, pressed against him as she was. "I do not understand." 

"I think you do, Your Highness," she replied. Her lips were curved into that teasing smile he knew so well, but there was a new tenderness about it he had not glimpsed before, as if it had become apparent to his eyes only now, in this moment, as they both lay in his bed a fortnight before their nuptials. "Do you truly think I could not love you?" 

He was lost. He couldn't believe his own ears and he wondered if somehow the fright had made him delirious, but when he blinked, she was still there, looking at him with her bright eyes and tender smile and he–

He couldn't understand it. 

"I have been nothing but horrible to you," he replied, then, his voice faint and awestruck at the same time. 

Her eyebrows rose up in the expression he was so familiar with and it felt so terribly easy to fall into this old dance with her, a dance made of quips and jabs instead of steps – a dance they'd started when they were both children and that they had never stopped dancing, even as the music changed and blossomed into something different. 

"And I spent my childhood throwing rocks at you," she reminded him. Her smile was a bright thing, so luminous it took his breath away. "I suspect I pestered you because I felt drawn to you, in some unexplainable way I could not understand."

The words escaped his lips before he could stop them. "I thought you just relished into seeing me distraught."

She laughed, a rich sound that coaxed a smile out of him, too. Her hand came to brush against his face, pushing his tangled curls out of his eyes and then cradling his jaw as if she were holding her whole world in her palm. 

"I cannot lie, I did enjoy disrupting your days," she replied, then, a hint of mischief in the familiar glint of her eyes. "But there has always been something else. Something I could not quite understand. I think I realized I loved you the year you showed me the garden of kyber flowers you had built just for me. I had tormented you and plagued you for years and yet you were so kind and gracious to do something to make me feel at home even if you did not have to."

Oh. 

He still remembered the day he'd shown her the garden. How bright her smile had been upon seeing the endless, vibrant rows of colorful kyber flowers. How happy she'd looked, as she ran and twirled through the gardens. How something that had suspiciously felt like warmth had blossomed into his chest at her giddy happiness, taking roots there as if it were another flower.

"I wanted you to feel at home," he breathed out, softly. His hand was resting on her hip and though he knew it was such an inappropriate thing to do, he could not stop touching her, as if terrified of seeing her vanish before his eyes. "I know you miss Takodana, but Alderaan is your home. I hope you'll come to consider it as such, in time." 

"Ben," she said, his name spilling from her lips like a sacred thing, drenched in love and awe and tenderness. "Alderaan– I love Alderaan, but you are my home. You have been my home for quite some time." 

He was, once again, powerless when it came to Rey. When she leaned in and kissed him again, he could do nothing but comply, bringing his hand on her face, threading his fingers through her hair, letting her kiss him as if she were starved for him. 

His back hit the mattress with a soft thud and then she came to straddle him, her thighs bracketing him and pinning him underneath her. It felt like another one of their fights, as they rolled onto the ground in a tangled mess of limbs and expensive fabric, but he gladly surrendered to her now. 

The kiss turned slower and deeper, as if she wanted to explore him. Her teeth scraped against his bottom lip, gently, eliciting a wrecked sound he was not aware he could make, and then her hands started to travel down in maddening paths. Her fingers brushed against his neck, traced the lines of his collarbones above the fabric of his sleepshirt, splayed gently on his chest as if to feel his heartbeat and he was lost in it, in the way she touched him. He felt dizzy, his mind spinning, so close to coming undone just by her presence alone. 

It was only when she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and started to tug it, trying her best to yank it free from his trousers, that he realized. 

"Wait–" He let out a soft moan when she pressed an open mouthed kiss to his pulse point. "Rey, we cannot–" 

She pulled away from him only to stare him right in the eyes. Straddling his hips as she was, she looked utterly ruined – red lips and glazed eyes and a desperation about her he'd never seen before. He felt his cock twitch at the sight and he gulped. 

Her hands were now toying with the hem of his shirt. "If you're about to say it is not proper–" she said, her voice a breathless little thing as she surged forward again to steal a kiss from his lips. "You can save your breath. I do not care for that. I never have, I do not see why I should start now." 

He let out a breathless little laughter that promptly turned into a surprised whimper when she deemed him distracted enough to slip her hands underneath his shirt and pressed her warm palms against his skin. It surprised him, how physical this sensation could be – how much he loved the feeling of her skin against his, the way her weight pressed him down into the mattress, the heat of her body spilling into him. 

It took him all his strength to reach down and wrap his fingers around her wrists to stop her. A dark thrill went through him when he noticed her wrists were so dainty and small he could grip both of them with just one of his hands. 

"I know you do not care, but it is the truth," he started, feeling his lips tug in a smile despite himself, searching her familiar face. "As appealing as the thought of you having your way with me sounds, it is not proper." 

She rolled her eyes, then made a quick work of freeing herself of his grip. Instead of letting him go, though, she closed her fingers around his wrists and pinned them to the bed, above his head, pressing their bodies close together in the process. There was no way to hide the effect she had on him, and he hissed when her center brushed against his clothed hardness. 

Her face was barely a breath away from his and she was breathtaking, all fierce glory and beautiful freckles. He swallowed, his stomach twisting in anticipation. 

"I do not care for what is proper, Your Highness," she repeated, then, bending down to press another kiss to his pulse point. Her teeth came to graze at his skin, gently, and he whimpered when she nibbled at the underside of his jaw. His cock was positively throbbing now. "We'll be married in two weeks, after all."

It was extremely difficult to remember why he was protesting so much in the first place. "That is why we have to wait–" 

"Mh." Her lips trailed down his neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his skin that turned him boneless into her hands. He felt himself grow harder and he was sure she could feel it too, but she did not seem to mind, for she smiled and moaned against his throat when he bucked up into her after she'd nipped at the tender skin of his collarbone. "I think we have waited long enough." 

His hands were still pinned above his head and even though he knew he could easily free himself of her grip, he did not. He came to the realization he loved it, the way he was completely at her mercy. 

"Rey–" he started, but the words died on his lips the moment she slowly rolled her hips.

It was tentative, as if she were testing it, and yet it elicited a whimper from him. He threw his head back on the soft cushions, fighting the urge to rock his hips too. The pleasure was so strong it bordered on pain, a sensation so big he could not comprehend it.

"Rey, love, we need to stop–" 

Her hands let go of his wrists and came to rest again on his chest, as if to balance herself as she straddled him. She slowly canted her hips again and a moan tumbled out of her lips, the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. 

"Why?" she asked him, then.

Her voice was low, breathy, dripped in desire, and despite all his efforts, he could not help the subtle movement of his hips, his cock brushing against her center above the layers of their clothes. They both whimpered.

Her eyes traveled down, when his cock was trapped in the juncture between her thighs. "You want me, I– I can feel it." 

He let out a chuckle, despite it all. His hands slowly came to rest on her hips and it sent another thrill down his spine, the fact that they spanned her whole waist. She was not a small, delicate thing, but he loved how petite she looked, when she was wrapped in the safety of his embrace.

"Yes, of course I want you. How could I not? I adore you," he murmured, then, rising to a sitting position just to press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth. She hummed at the contact, her eyelids fluttering shut. The tremble of her eyelashes felt like a storm, against his skin. "But I want to do this properly." 

Rey let out a deep exhale and shifted her hips again, probably without even realizing it. It was intoxicating, the thought that he could have that effect on her. "You and your stupid obsession with being proper."

"Do not mock me." He hummed as he slowly trailed down, kissing the spot where her jaw met her neck. She let out a soft moan and her body melted against his. "I want to take my time with you. I want to spend the whole night worshipping you. Kiss you as you deserve to be kissed." 

"I should have known you were– Oh– a poet," she mocked him, but her voice was breathy and there was no bite to her words. She was too occupied with the kisses he was littering her skin with, he supposed. 

Her hips twitched when his teeth scraped her neck, gently, and she moved against him, rubbing herself against his hardness. He kissed the place where the blade of the assassin had grazed her skin and she sighed at the contact, arching her back slightly, as if to pull him closer.

Her nightgown had bunched up a bit when she'd straddled him, leaving the beautiful skin of her legs free for him to explore. He could not stop himself.

One of his hands traveled down and he started to run his fingers up and down her leg, starting from her calf, taking his time to count all the freckles he could see in the faint light of the moon coming from his windows. It was a slow, maddening affair – he brushed his fingertips against every inch of skin he could reach, exploring it, memorizing it, committing to his memory the way it felt underneath his palm.

She whimpered again and ground down into him, eliciting a groan from him. 

"Ben–" Her voice was a broken thing, so different from the prim and perfect tone she always used. "That feels– Oh–" 

His hand came to rest on her knee, hitching her leg around his waist to feel her better. The change of angle made them both inhale, sharply, because it was so much better. He'd never thought it could feel like this – as if a fire were slowly building underneath his skin, burning him whole. 

"Good?" he asked, then, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her pulse point, high on the sound of her hectic heartbeat. 

She nodded, almost frantically. "So good," she breathed out, rolling her hips again. She bit down her bottom lip, stifling a moan. "So– so good. Don't stop. It feels– Oh–" 

Even above the layer of their night clothes, he could feel the wet heat of her as she rubbed against his cock and he felt his control slip for a moment, as his fingers came to brush aside the fabric of her nightgown. His hand slid up her thigh, relishing in the softness of her skin. 

"Good," he repeated, then. "You are so good."

She whimpered.

He pressed another kiss to her neck, then started to trail down, as far as he could reach. He knew he had to stop, but he did not want to – he wanted Rey, her moans, her short breaths, the way she rocked above him. The things she said. He'd never thought it could feel so good.

"I want to make you feel good," he told her. She whimpered again at his words, and something sparked within him when he realized she liked it. He smiled against her skin. "To undress you slowly until you're squirming. To kiss every inch of your body. Every freckle on your skin. I want to rain kisses down your chest until you are drunk and delirious with it. Until you're begging for me."

Her hands came to thread through his hair, tugging almost violently at it to bring him closer. He complied, nipping at the skin of her collarbones, careful not to leave a mark that could have them discovered. And still, it made a shiver run down his spine in pleasure, the idea that someone could find out. That someone could see the evidences of him on her. That someone could discover how much he'd wanted her, how much she'd wanted him.

"Forgive me, Your Highness," she purred, the use of his title making him buck up into her without him even realizing. She bit down on her bottom lip, tightening her hold on his hair. "But I do not think I will be the one to beg."

He laughed quietly, something warm blossoming in his chest that had nothing to do with the way she was moving above him. 

"You may be right," he said, as he kissed a path up and down her throat, mindful of her wound. "After all, it is only right I beg the goddess I am worshipping." 

She almost whined, as he traced odd patterns on her thigh, his fingers slowly inching closer to her core. She was so wet he could feel it through their clothes and he desperately wanted to sink in her, feel the heat of her around him, bury himself in her as if there was no other place he'd ever wanted to be.

It was difficult to remind himself why he'd stopped her in the first place. 

"Ben–" Her breath came in ragged pants, her voice broken and drenched in desire. "More– I need–" 

She was desperate – a disheveled, ruined thing in his lap, so different from the woman he knew and yet so similar, too – and he wanted to give her anything she asked for, all that she needed and more. His other hand rested firmly on her hip and he helped her, guiding her as she ground down on his cock, frantic in her need. 

At every roll of her hips, the pleasure bust underneath his skin, but he tried to ignore, focused on her and her alone. 

"I want to sink to my knees and kiss you here." His fingers came to brush against her clothed sex and she keened, tugging at his hair, writhing into his lap. "I want to take my time to make you come undone. You'd have to guide me, of course. I have never had a lover before. Do you reckon you can do it?" 

She nodded, feverish. "Yes," she said, breathless and frenzied, her skin flushed red from her cheeks to the edge of her chest. He tugged her nightgown down her shoulders and bent down to press a kiss to the outline of her breast, brushing against the smattering of freckles he could see even in the moonlight, and though it was a painful position, he was rewarded by the way she whimpered and rolled her hips again. "Yes, I can do it. I have thought about it– Oh–" 

Her body shuddered in pleasure when he rolled her nipple between his fingers, through the flimsy material of her nightgown.

He did not what possessed him to be so bold, but now it was not the time to let his doubts have the best of him. Instead, he gripped her thighs with his fingers and helped her, canting his hips in time with hers. The pleasure was almost blinding, an explosion of light dancing behind his eyelids every time his eyes fluttered closed. 

"Good. So good for me." His voice was so low he could not recognize it. Nevertheless, she seemed to appreciate it, because she whimpered again at his words and clutched at his shoulders, fisting his sleepshirt between her fingers. "You'll be so beautiful when you come, I am sure of it."

She tipped her head backwards and he took advantage of that moment to litter kisses down her throat, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Her skin was covered by a thin layer of perspiration, as she ground down on him. 

"So perfect. So pretty and flushed and beautiful," he growled into her skin, as he canted his hips. She was growing desperate – he could feel it in the wrecked sobs that every movement tore out of her mouth, and it made him feel lightheaded. "I want to take my time to make you unravel. To make you feel so good it feels almost sinful. To turn you boneless and mindless with pleasure. And then, when you are ready for me, I want to finally sink into you." 

His cock was throbbing at the thought and he wanted nothing more than that – push her undergarments to the side and sink into her, warm and wet and perfect as she was. His muscles tensed in anticipation, a pressure building steadily underneath his skin.

"I'd push home slowly, so slowly, inch by inch until you can take all of me." His teeth grazed at her skin and Rey whimpered as her hips moved erratically, as if she were possessed by a feverish need. "Until you are all I can feel. Until there is nothing but you." 

Her grip on his shoulders was nothing short of painful but he relished in that, in the way her thighs quivered around him, in the way her nails dug into his skin even above the layer of his shirt, in the way she panted against his mouth when she tugged at his hair and she bent down to kiss him, fiercely. 

"Ben–" Her breath was scorching hot when she rested her forehead against his. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her mouth parted in a soundless moan, and it took him all his strength not to come like this. "I– I think–" 

He leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, such a contrast to the frantic rhythm of their hips. "You can come," he whispered, then, because he knew he couldn't hold it off for much longer either. "Please, my love. Let me feel you."

She shattered with a keening sound that she muffled by biting down on her bottom lip. Her body went rigid into his arms – she arched her back, tense as a drawn bowstring, and she clutched his shoulders so firmly he was sure he was going to bruise. Her hair was plastered to her forehead and her face was flushed, and he'd never seen something as devastatingly beautiful as Rey, undone. 

The sight of her was enough to send him over the edge too, and he came with a muffled cry, spilling into his trousers as he gripped her hips. The pleasure enveloped him, starting from a tingling in his spine and spreading in the rest of his body, like wildfire, stealing the air from his lungs and turning him mindless, enveloping everything in a golden haze that made him feel dizzy. 

It took them a while to come down from their high. Rey sagged against his chest in a boneless heap of limbs and satisfaction and it was only when his back hit the mattress again that he realized that some time had passed and they had somehow laid back on the bed, the sheets tangled and creased beneath them. 

He blinked at her as she lay on his torso, her head resting against his fluttering heartbeat. It was such a peaceful picture – her eyes were closed as she breathed in and out, and she looked at home in the circle of his arms.

Rey noticed him staring and lazily raised her head, smiling softly at him with a smile that felt so utterly gentle and awestruck at the same time. 

"Well," she started. Her hand came to rest against his chest, tracing odd patterns against his clothed skin. It was a slow, lazy movement, as if her body felt as heavy as his. "That was very proper indeed." 

A laughter slipped past his lips, even though he could feel a flush start to take hold of his face. "I am sorry," he murmured, though he could not find it in himself to be as sorry as he thought he should be. One hand came to brush a few strands of hair out of her face and he smiled up at her. "I suppose overstepping does not quite cover what has happened here." 

Rey smiled down at him. "And yet, I have no complaints. I, for one, cannot wait for our wedding night now." 

That elicited another laugh out of him and a flutter of his heart at the thought of their upcoming nuptials. 

"My lady," he started, looking up at her as she stood there, bathed in the moonlight, beautiful and breathtaking as she was, the stuff of ballads and poems. He still could not believe she was real. "You are insatiable." 

She bent down to place a tender kiss to his cheek, so soft it almost felt like a dream. "You cannot blame me, Your Highness," she whispered, then, a wicked way about her. She knew the use of his title affected him, because she smirked at the tremors that went through him once the words left her mouth. "I have been waiting for a while." 

He could not do anything else but kiss her, sweetly and deeply and lovingly, threading his hands through her hair, pulling her so close he could feel her heartbeat echo his own. The smile that spread on her face when he pulled back was every bit as wonderful and tender as her kiss. 

Her hand traveled down, slowly. Her fingers traced the lines of his muscles with something that resembled worshipfulness, so different from the heated ways of a few minutes earlier. It felt almost sacred, in a very wretched way. He found he loved them both, her tenderness and her eagerness, the softness of her smile and the heat of her pleasure.  

Her eyebrows rose slightly as her hand traveled lower, stopping at the hem of his trousers. "Shall I call for a bath?" 

It was a sensible thing to concern oneself with, and yet, he found he could not move at all. His body seemed to have turned liquid, as he stood there beneath her, boneless and utterly content in the afterglow of their lovemaking. He felt his eyelids start to flutter shut and he had to blink her in a few times to make sure to be awake.

"Later," he mumbled, then, curving an arm around her waist and gathering her against his chest. Rey went willingly, their legs tangled, her head buried in the crook of his neck. "I wish to hold you for a while, if that is alright with you." 

She pressed a kiss to his skin, softly. "That is very alright with me." 

As he fell asleep, his only thought was for the woman lying in his arms and the wedding that was supposed to take place in a fortnight.

He could not wait for the rest of his life to begin.

The silvery sound of Rey's laughter echoed behind him as they ran through the torch-lit halls of the castle, her hand safely wrapped around his, her fingers laced with his, the firelight dancing in her hair whenever he turned back to stare at her.

It was a breathtaking thing, to be granted the privilege of seeing her like this.

The corridors rushed past them in a blur of light and darkness and he stopped only when he thought they were far enough from the crowd not to be noticed. His breath was heavy on his lips and so was hers when they abruptly came to a stop, her chest clashing against his back, but he wasted no time and turned on his feet to press her into the nearest wall and kiss her senseless, deeply and lovingly and sweetly, eliciting a surprised noise from her.

She was quick to wrap her arms around his neck, her hands finding their way to his hair with a familiarity that made his heart clench in his chest, such a powerful sensation he felt like the world around them had dimmed down to nothing. The palace could crumble and the kingdom could fall for all he cared – the only thing he wanted was to feel her heartbeat pressed against his own.

He'd learned her over the course of the last two weeks and now he coaxed her lips open as easily as ever and she parted them with no resistance, kissing him with the same ardor in the dim-lit corridor, two figures pressed against the stone wall in a blur of soft fabric and frantic need.

"I thought–" she started, then, when he parted from her, his breath ragged and uneven. Her hands lingered on his shoulders, the warmth of her palms burning a layer through the expensive doublet they had sewed just for this day. "I thought you cared about what is proper."

In response, he bent down to steal another kiss from her, making her laugh against his mouth. She was smiling so wildly it was terribly difficult to kiss her, but he'd learned over the course of endless summer days that they were both too stubborn for they own good and thus they both refused to let each other go. His hand lingered at the base of her neck, tilting her head backwards, stroking her nape underneath the soft curtain of her hair.

"I do," he replied, then, as he started to trail little kisses down her cheeks, the corner of her mouth, the place where her jaw met her neck, where he knew a kiss could make her week in the knees. She let out a pleased hum at every contact, arching herself off the wall to grant him a better access. "But it is our wedding feast, I reckon we can leave whenever we want."

"But it is not over yet." Rey moaned, softly, when his lips started to kiss a path down her neck and rested at her pulse point, left uncovered by her dress. "They'll wonder where we've gone."

He pulled away from her just to stare at her, as stunning and magnificent she was in her wedding gown. Her handmaidens had twisted part of her hair into a complicated braid that rested upon her head while the rest of it cascaded freely over her shoulders, but he suspected she'd been the one to weave the kyber flowers in it, red against her chestnut hair. There was a flush to her cheeks that he assumed it had less to do with the running and everything to do with the kisses he'd pressed against her skin. The freckles on the bridge of her nose were a constellation he could not wait to explore.

She looked divine.

"I do not care for them," he said, then, pressing another kiss to the soft spot beneath her ear. She shuddered in his embrace, her nails sinking into the fabric of his doublet with little care for it. "I want to worship my bride the way she deserves. I think we have waited long enough."

A soft sigh left her mouth when he trailed down, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her throat, the crook of her neck, the dip of her collarbones. Her noises echoed in the empty corridors, enveloping them in their private bubble.

"In that case, Your Highness– " she said, in a breathy voice that made something pool in his gut, his body trembling with anticipation. "I suggest you hurry up and kiss me, before you unleash my wrath. You do not want to disappoint your bride."

He was more than happy to comply. "I would not dare," he murmured, then he kissed her again, pouring into the kiss all the love he felt deep within his chest, a thing that had blossomed gradually just like the kyber flowers she'd weaved into her hair.

Then, before she could utter a protest against his lips, he swept her off her feet, her dress pooling in a soft heap of fabric into his arms. She gasped, surprised, but then a giggle left her lips and she laced her arms around his neck for support as he gathered her against his chest.

"I must repeat myself. You, Your Highness–" she started, teasingly, her fingers idly playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. "– are a ridiculous man."

Instead of replying, he bent down to kiss her again and together, Rey safely wrapped in his arms, they walked toward their chambers.