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“This is important, Ben,” Leia stresses, spine ramrod straight as she watches her only son rub at his eyes over the veritable mountain of official datapads stacked atop his desk.
Senator Ben Solo of the New Republic feels as if he hasn’t slept in years. The dark circles under his eyes have become as much a part of his face as any other feature, perhaps rivaled only by his nose or his ears. He slides his hands down the length of his cheeks, gaze unseeing out the window as he tries to digest what his mother has come to him with.
Light pours into his small office to catch half of it on fire with the golden sunset, a blaze of deep reds and vibrant blues and verdant greens. Fine woven rugs and shimmersilk tapestries and soft jewel toned throws fill the room to bursting, color draped across every surface then layered overtop each other when space ran out. The plush chair Senator Organa had chosen to sit in had first needed to be relieved of two overstuffed throw pillows, both embroidered with fine gold thread. They had been a gift from Ryloth, bequeathed to him by a local official after a settled trade agreement.
“Mother, I am not in need of a bride ,” he insists, utterly baffled as to her line of thinking. “What century are we in?”
Leia’s mouth twists, gaze flat and impatient. Ben’s brown eyes are just like hers, so he’s been told by the number of senators that are constantly pointing out the similarities between the two of them. And the differences. “This isn’t about the size of your household, Benjamin. This is about diplomacy. Securing a foothold in the Western Reaches. Gaining favor with the populace to usher in a new era of - are you even listening?”
“You cannot be serious, there’s no way you really intend for me to -”
“Having a spouse from the region we’re most struggling to be effective in would go a long way towards showing the citizens that we have their best interests at heart. Your partner would be symbolic to them in a way no peace treaty or propaganda campaign ever could be.”
A vein throbs along the curve of his skull. He tries to pretend he doesn’t notice the cold sweat that’s broken out at his temples.
“This is my life we’re discussing, Senator ,” he snaps, “not politics.”
“Politics is your life.” Leia hisses, harsher than Ben is prepared for. Her face is stony and disapproving, aging fingers clutching at the top of her cane hand over hand. “It has to be. You’ll never make any kind of difference in the galaxy otherwise.”
Ben sets his jaw.
His mother must know what he’s thinking. All of the lonely nights spent as a small boy, all of the lost time and empty milestones he experienced alone. All of the sacrifices he’s already had to make for the greater good before he was ever even old enough to set foot on the senate floor. The mother he’s had to share with the New Republic all his life.
But Ben is a politician now, too. A third generation senator. His life was always meant for service. His just started earlier than most.
“I’ll look over the proposal again.” He tells Senator Organa, voice weak with dread and nausea.
---
The Senate Complex, while being a ridiculous squat building made of nothing but moving sidewalks and haughty generational ego, did manage to have a lovely night time view for all the late hours Ben has spent toiling away within it.
The glittering lights of Republic City dance against the flat black sky, speeders and pleasure yachts streaking across the skyscrapers in a tight weave that never seems to tangle. All of it illuminates Ben’s office in a hazy amber glow as he gazes out the window dominating the wall behind his desk from his small sitting area across the room.
He is sprawled back in repose, big body swallowed up by downy feathers bound in fine woven cloth. This lounger, something between a chair and a cushion, had been given to him by the head of a noble family on a planet he can’t quite recall. She had seen the state of his office and had decided to add to it rather than poke fun at him like most did. Ben idly runs his fingers along the faux fur pelt draped over one leg, lost in thought as he stares past the city to the barely visible stars.
Other politicians in the vast single story building of the Senate Complex have been baffled by Senator Solo’s office. Prickly standoffish bastard he is, very few can reconcile his demeanor with his aggressively cozy decor. Though it isn’t as if he has the strangest chambers by far. Ben had been to a meeting in one such office way over on the east side of the building that had housed an impressive collection of exotic slime. Jars filled with it lined the walls high enough to touch the ceiling, casting the room in a sickly viridescent hue, sunbeams thrown into strange patterns through the glass as late afternoon invaded. Ben swore that after looking long enough at one such jar, he saw something move inside.
Another office had what was possibly the brightest version of every single color in the known galaxy vying for attention within the decor, bright and chaotic enough to give him a headache every time he needed to call upon her. One Kaminoan, most bafflingly of all, had absolutely nothing in his office. He’d ordered the desk and chairs removed completely and, as far as Ben was aware, simply sat on the floor with nothing more than the four walls keeping him separated from the rest of the building.
Ben heaves a long sigh, letting his eyes drift back down to the datapad he’d been studiously avoiding since it came across his desk. Trembling fingers swipe through the dossier detailing his proposed nuptials. The plan that will forever tie his fate to the rebuilding of the Western Reaches.
The planet that has been chosen is tiny and inconsequential, long forgotten by the rest of the galaxy and nestled in a sector seldom traveled. A junkyard, if ever he had read about one.
Jakku. He wryly supposes it would have to be Jakku, wouldn’t it? The sight of the Empire’s last stand. The Starship Graveyard, standing as the decomposing monument to all of the New Republic’s illustrious progress.
---
Senator Organa’s chambers are spartan but comfortable, layered with posh whites and creams and light grays. When Ben enters, heart already lodged in his throat, her guests are seated along the couch in her sitting area, refreshments already served atop the low table before a crolute and a human female.
The girl, a slip of a thing, concerningly skinny with muscles wound up tight, is digging into the tea cakes and finger sandwiches like she will never see food again in all her life. The crolute is massive next to her, taking up enough space to encroach onto the cushion she’s claimed for herself. His pinched face spasms in disapproval, and he smacks a tart out of her hand upon noticing Ben’s arrival. She has freckles along the uneven line of her knuckles.
“Senator Solo,” the crolute greets, oily tone slick enough to make his skin crawl. He heaves himself up off the couch, hauling the girl with him by her bicep. Ben is briefly worried it’ll snap within his meaty fist. “We are honored to finally meet you.”
When Ben had been considering this arrangement, he had paled at the thought of who he would be presented with. He had never been consulted as to his preferences for a wife (beyond his mother, mortifyingly, confirming that he was heterosexual), but he was petrified that he would be paired with someone tasked with making him happy. A woman trained to meet his needs , whatever those were deemed to be. A woman that was refined and poised and well-versed in the world of politics, all fluttering lashes and painted lips and silver tongue, wanting nothing more than to carry the children of a prestigious bloodline and bask in the comforts and social status that came with being a senator’s wife.
Someone eager for the duty of this arranged marriage in all the ways he was not.
Someone who would never really want to know him.
But the girl in front of him now, blue jam smeared at the corner of her mouth, exasperated set to her shoulders, doesn’t seem to be any of what he was scared of.
She doesn’t bow. Doesn’t curtsey. Doesn’t even meet his eyes as she stands tall under the weight of the room’s scrutiny, not moving, not speaking. Her chestnut hair is pulled back in three messy buns, heart shaped face scrubbed clean and bare of any makeup to hide the freckles spanning the bridge of her nose. She is dressed in an ill-fitting dress of thick white cloth that she does not appear to be comfortable in at all, constantly pulling up the low neckline as it sags down her athletic frame.
“This is Rey,” the crolute continues proudly, pushing her forward a step. “She’s my very best. Very reliable. Very competent. Pretty. No family you’d have to deal with. She’ll make you a very good wife.” He seems to pinch the inside of her arm then, because Rey flinches and dips in forward in a bow that’s really more of a nod.
“Your very best what ?” Ben finds himself asking bemusedly. Rey’s hazel eyes flicker up to his and away just as quickly.
“Why don’t you accompany me to the great hall, Mr. Plutt?” Leia cuts in with false levity before the crolute can answer. Her tone is syrupy sweet, enough so to turn Ben’s stomach even further. “We can discuss the finer details of the arrangement and let them get to know each other, yes?”
Plutt acquiesces after a moment of thought, squeezing Rey’s arm in his grasp until she winces. He mutters something low and threatening into her ear that Ben can’t make out, disappearing out into the hall with his mother seconds later. A pit hardens in his stomach when he hears the doors hiss shut, heart shuddering to a stop before it kicks into doubletime.
He is all alone with his intended. His fiance .
With her handler gone, Rey is dropping back down to the couch to stuff two cucumber sandwiches into her mouth at once. As if Ben will take the tray of refreshments from her now that the niceties are over and done with. Something in his chest tightens around the riot that is his frantic heart.
“Are you, ah -“ He flinches when she looks up at him, eyes sharp and assessing. “If you’re hungry, I can call for a proper meal to be brought.”
Rey lights up, and, oh, it’s a sight far lovelier than he’s prepared for. She nods her head, and he fishes his comm from his pocket to order a meal be delivered to Senator Organa’s office.
Then all is quiet between them, Rey forgetting about the sandwiches in favor of scrutinizing him instead.
“Why are you doing this?” She asks Ben without tact, without preamble.
He is taken aback for a moment by the directness of the question. She is nothing of the political offering he assumed he’d be paired with. This girl doesn’t seem at all versed in the doublespeak of politics, the artfully crafted conversations meant to circle the point without ever outright converging on it. He’s so used to having to glean hidden meanings from statements designed to appear innocuous that her honesty is refreshing in a way he hadn’t expected.
So he gives her his honesty in return.
“If you’re referring to the marriage, the idea, admittedly, was not mine.” He comes forward, noting the slight way she shrinks back in her seat, wary of him, before he claims the armchair across from her, keeping the low table between them. “Truthfully, it wasn’t something I wanted to do. I never intended to marry for… political reasons.”
“For love, then?”
He can’t parse out her tone. It isn’t quite accusatory. Or disbelieving.
He takes his time to consider this. “I hadn’t really given it that much thought,” he admits. “I had no specific plans to marry at all. Nor did I to abstain from the practice entirely.”
Rey appears to be chewing at the inside of her cheek, weighing his words carefully.
“Why are you doing this?” Ben amusedly asks her.
“Well, at first I had no choice,” she informs him without hesitation. “It seems I was picked out for you without being consulted on the matter. Niima outpost is very small. When Plutt says that I’m his finest , he means that I’m the only one of his scavengers young enough, old enough, or female enough for you. I ate the portions I had earned from him at the end of a long day and woke up in Republic City with my hands bound.”
Panic and rage coalesce in Ben’s chest, deep and trembling. He opens his mouth, about to offer to drag Plutt back into the room by the roll of flesh hanging from the back of his neck and toss him at her feet. Send her home with his sincerest apologies even though the thought makes something small and foreign tighten in his gut. There’s no way his mother is aware of exactly how she was procured. Once he informs her, she will rectify this immediately.
But Rey continues on before he can say any of it.
“After I stopped to think about it, though, I realized it might not be so bad. Being your wife.” She admits, grin enigmatic and arresting. “Any life on a world like this is probably better than what waits for me back on Jakku. Long days burned by the sun. Fighting for my life every second. The cut of metal on my fingers. Throat always dry. Stomach always empty. At the very least, a senator’s wife would never starve. Would she?”
He is already vehemently shaking his head. “Never. I would ensure you never knew hunger again, Rey, if you were - if you were my wife.” His cheeks burn now. Why does her smile seem to grow at that?
“You’ll provide for me, Senator Solo?” She simpers. He gets the feeling she’s toying with him. Her tone is sharp, almost predatory, like she isn’t listing out her own wants but trying to root out his own. “Give me a home? Three meals a day? Clothe me in finery befitting your station?” Her eyes narrow above her upturned lips. “And in return, I’ll smile and nod at political functions by your side, be seen and not heard, always pretty, always agreeable, always willing to spread my legs for you in our marriage bed and let you put your babies inside me. Right?”
“I hate political functions,” he rasps, head spinning from her last insinuation. A stiff breeze might be enough to bowl him over right this second. She raises a brow at him. “I… no. This marriage would not be… transactional. I don’t want anything from you that you are not freely willing to give. I hate empty agreement. I hate vapid conversation. I hate the pursuit of unattainable beauty standards. But most of all, I hate husbands that force themselves upon their wives.” He’s wringing at his fingers, he realizes distantly. His left ring finger is caught in the tight grip of his other hand, thumb pressing painfully into the knuckle. “I-If we had children together one day, it would be because you wanted it. If we so much as spent time in the same room together, it would be because you wanted it.”
Her face softens. Rey leans back in her seat, arms crossing in front of her. The tense line of her shoulders relaxes. “You really mean that, don’t you, senator?”
“I’m not interested in having an unwilling partner. If it’s being returned to Jakku you’re concerned about, I’m sure Senator Organa knows of programs in Republic City that would house you for the time being instead.”
A pregnant pause hangs in the air between them. Ben thinks he might hear a droid rolling into the room through the service hatch with a tray, but neither of them move to acknowledge it.
“I had planned on accepting,” she tells him lightly. “Nodding along and being good and stuffing as many of these little cakes into my pockets as would fit. Then, upon first being left unattended, I would steal away and disappear into the city. You or Senator Organa or Plutt would have never found me.”
Ben’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth. “And now?”
She smiles, something wide and sunny. Butterflies burst deep within his stomach. “After meeting you, Ben, I don’t believe married life will be so bad.”
---
Leia schedules the wedding to take place in three standard days.
It is just enough time, he’s been assured, to have everything prepared. The guest list, bursting with important names and influential people and key witnesses to progress being made. The ceremony and subsequent reception, which he’s been assured will only include the finest arrangements and cuisines. The press coverage, which will have his nuptials broadcast across the galaxy. And the dress, made for his bride specifically so that she will look glorious for their big day.
Ben’s head is spinning so fast he might be sick. Nerves gather and stir within his gut so severely, he worries he won’t be able to hold himself upright long enough to make it to the altar.
The sudden and unexpected affection from his fiance, it turns out, only has him spiraling higher into giddy terror.
The pair have spent the past two days walking the grounds of the Senatorial Complex together, Ben pointing out landmarks of historical significance, and Rey delighting in pushing his buttons as he tries to play tour guide. She seems more interested in observing him than any of the things he shows her, holding his hand in hers and pinching at his sides and twirling strands of his dark hair around her clever fingers. While he’s explaining the contents of a display case down the hall from his office, she tucks a stray curl back behind one large ear. On reflex, he quickly pulls it free again.
“Do you keep your hair long to hide your ears?” She giggles.
“No.” He lies gruffly, already feeling them heat from the scrutiny. They’ll be red if she tries to reveal them again. But she takes pity on him and tugs at his earlobe instead. It makes him jolt. “I like them, you know.”
“Do you?”
He wonders what kind of social skills her lonely desert landscape has imparted upon her. She never says anything but what she’s truly thinking. If she wants something, be it information or conversation, physical desire or not, she simply asks for it. If she wants to touch him, she just does .
Rey gives no thought to propriety or grace. She has no tact. No ability or desire to hide exactly who she is.
He’s never been so enamored with somebody.
“Yeah, Ben,” she murmurs into his ear, up on her toes to brush her lips against the shape of it, the front of her body pressed maddeningly tight along the side of his. “I do.”
---
The night before their wedding finds Ben holed up in his office again, body folded into his favorite seat as he works through the breathing exercises learned from his days as an angry teenager.
The comforts he surrounds himself with do little to soothe him now. Bubbling nerves threaten to send him out of his skin. His heart thumps beneath his ribs hard enough to crack them open, never once slowing no matter how long he stares out at the stars. He sinks into the plush cushions without feeling them, eyes red and rubbed raw, datapad on Hosnian import tariffs abandoned at his side.
The knock that raps against his door makes him jump about a foot in the air.
“Come in,” he calls as he forces himself to inhabit his own body again, head light and vision swimming as he scrubs his palms down his face. It’s entirely too late for someone to be here on official business. He shudders to check the hour, but it can really only be his mother. She is often here even later than he is.
But when the door rushes open to admit his guest, it turns out to be…
Not who he expected.
Rey stands there in his entryway, eyes wide and clear, brows drawn low as she scrutinizes his empty desk. She’s wearing a tunic that’s at least three sizes too big for her, the shoulder drooping to expose one sharp collarbone. Her leggings are tight and soft looking, rolled up over her calves to scrunch above the thick socks she’s wearing. He wonders if her feet are cold here on Hosnian Prime, after a lifetime baking in the sand.
Ben coughs, drawing her attention to the back corner of the room he occupies. His cheeks flush at the little smile she gives him, padding over a multitude of colorful faux furs and vibrant handmade rugs. He hasn’t seen her with her hair down before. It brushes at the bare freckled skin of her shoulder, silky soft and fine looking. He wants to feel it in his fingers. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“No,” he admits. The muscles in her lean biceps are more defined than he expected them to be outside the sleeves of her dress, or the armwraps and tunic she seemed to favor today. He feels his mouth start to water.
When she gets close enough to brush his boots with her curled toes, he shifts the datapad to the low side table without taking his eyes off her. She looks so soft like this. So strong and at ease. He finds suddenly that he is desperate to touch her, to know what it’s like to have her in his arms, to feel her body hot and languid against his. Her embrace must be something divine. Life changing.
“I’ve never seen your office before,” Rey murmurs.
She hasn’t. Ben has always either met her at his mother’s, or in the cavernous dining hall of the building where he watches her put away more food than a bantha could consume. Rey looks around, eyes drifting over tapestries and masterfully embroidered cushions and soft woven throws dyed with finest pigments.
“It suits you,” she finally settles on, looking for all intents like she really means it.
This he raises an eyebrow to, somehow her most questionable truth yet. He has only ever heard the opposite: perpetually stern and unyielding Senator Solo lounging in the strangest combination of comfort and color, nothing matching or ordered like he so favors, nothing as clean or as simple as he so often demands things to be.
“How so?”
But she only shrugs, already distracted, gaze caught on the fleece blanket draped behind his right shoulder. When she falls to her knees next to his outstretched legs, his breath stops so suddenly in his chest that static begins to encroach into his vision. She crawls into his lap with an artless sense of purpose that makes his pulse jump, settling comfortably with one knee bracketing each of his hips as she runs her hand along the material to the side of his head.
“How did you get all of these?” She asks instead.
“Gifts.” He explains gruffly, nodding to the throw she’s rubbing between her fingers. “That one was from the matriarch of a very old bloodline. She knew my grandmother.”
Rey hums, sinking deeper into the cushioning on either side of him, coming to rest against his body like it’s the easiest thing she’s ever done. As if she’s experienced him a thousand ways already. The slight swell of her breasts press against his chest, and it’s a wonder, he thinks, that she cannot feel the frantic beating of his heart at the sensation. Soft. So soft.
“I have questions,” she tells him, breath hot against the skin of his throat.
He wraps her in his arms, settling her closer and nuzzling his nose into her chestnut hair like he’s wanted to do since he first met her. She smells like sunshine and salt. Vanilla soap. His eyes flutter shut.
“I will do my best to answer them,” he vows, one palm sliding up her back.
“Do you want children?”
Ben nearly chokes on his next exhale, alight with undeniable interest. He has to be careful. “I had never really… thought about it. Before.”
“And now?”
It was all he’d thought about, since she broached the subject at their first ming. Ben teaching her how to take him inside, body opening up for him so he can fill it full. Giving her everything she wants; food, a home, a doting husband, a life uncomplicated by pretending to be anything she isn’t. Walking through his entryway with tiny versions of her clinging to his legs and welcoming him home, big hazel eyes smiling up at him at the end of every long day.
He swallows. Then swallows again before rasping his answer. “Yes.”
“How many?”
“However many you’d like.”
“What if I want twelve?” She asks, surely having no idea, the things she’s doing to him. The torture she’s forcing him to endure. “What if I’ve always wanted a big family, Ben? What if I want as many babies as you can give me?”
Ben might expire right here underneath her before he can give her any if she keeps talking like that.
“It sounds like we would need to spend a lot of time in bed together,” Ben hazards, hands slowly sliding around her waist. She’s so tiny that his fingers nearly touch.
Fuck, he wants her now . Tradition be damned. He wants to get to work providing her with the life she wants immediately . No matter how many tries it takes. The sooner they begin, the bigger their family can get.
“Have you ever fucked anyone before, Ben?”
“Yes.” He pants.
“So you know how to make it feel good?”
“Yes, baby, I do,” he growls as he drags her closer.
Her lips settle against the overlarge shell of his ear, the huskiness in her voice barrelling straight down the column of his spine. “You’re the first man I’ve ever been with like this.” Ben groans, fingers sliding to her hips, clutching her tight enough to bruise if he isn’t careful. “I’ve never taken a man inside of me the way I’ll take you. Is it very big?”
It’s very big now , with how painfully hard he’s grown underneath her. Ben tries to gather the amount of brain cells needed to be reassuring. He won’t hurt her. He’ll take his time getting her ready for him. He won’t push inside until she is begging him for it, soaking the sheets of their marriage bed with her wetness, writhing under his body as he pins her in place.
Ben chokes out a gasp when Rey presses her hips down, rocking against the length of him in a curious back and forth.
“I’m not sure you’ll fit,” Rey mumbles.
When Ben has heard this same thing in the past, it’s always been an obvious (if welcome) ploy to stroke his ego. It’s been whined or teased or moaned, but never has it sounded so disappointed. As if Rey really believes anything in this galaxy would keep him from giving her his cock, his children, his heart.
“I’ll fit.” He promises her, hips chasing the friction she’s given him a taste of. She is warm between her thighs even through the layers separating them, Ben’s nerves set ablaze as he imagines how hot she must surely be inside. His bride-to-be melts into his embrace, knees spreading wider around him. It gives Ben even more room to work up against her, let her feel more of what she’ll accept inside of her little cunt when she’s all his.
“Have you ever touched yourself, sweetheart? Hm?”
Rey nods her head, biting at her lower lip as his thumb presses a rough circle into her hip bone.
“Have you ever touched yourself inside?”
She nods again.
“How many fingers did you use, honey?”
“One,” she admits in a huff, sighing against his pulse as he presses against her more insistently. “I… I tried two… but I couldn’t…”
Ben groans at this, needing to grind his teeth together against the spike of arousal that bolts through him. She’s going to be so fucking tight. Obscenely virginal. He’s never taken anyone’s innocence before, has never felt the particular desire to, but the thought of all that slick untouched heat turns his mind into soup. He might have to prepare her for hours before he’s able to finally have her. His little wife might plead and whimper and cry his name for a small eternity before he can lower himself between her legs, spread her wide enough for -
“Bennnn…” She moans, fisting at the front of his tunic as his cock slots between the puffy lips of her cunt. “That… it feels good…”
He can feel how hot she is through her leggings, through her little underthings. Ben grunts, losing himself to the body caging him in, sinking further into the pillows under her slight weight. Her breath is choppy now, hands shaky at the nape of his neck. She gets her legs back under her just enough to start pushing back into his helpless grinding.
“You aren’t what I expected,” she sighs, tangling her fingers into his hair and pulling until his head is falling back against plush blankets, moaning at the tight pleasure-pain of her grip. “When I tried to imagine who I was promised to, I saw someone cold and distant. A calculating politician. A man who would take whatever he wanted regardless of how I felt about it. But you would stop if I asked you to, wouldn't you, Ben?”
The words manage to filter through to his lust drunk brain after a moment, and when they do, he has to squeeze his eyes shut against the agony of it. To be without her is physically painful. But his fingers tighten at her shifting hips, stilling her and himself and his heaving overfull lungs.
He is shaking, he realizes, held taut like a bowstring as he shows her that he can be good. He can let her go now, if it is what she desires. He will walk her back to wherever she’s been sleeping in the Senatorial Complex, and he will not follow her into her bed, no matter how desperately he wants to.
He feels a smile bloom against his neck, then her lips are sucking a kiss into the pale skin there. His breath rushes out of him, catching on another inhale just as quickly as she grinds against the sensitive head of his cock. One of his hands shoots out to clutch at her ass without meaning to, reveling in the groan that tumbles past her lips as he uses his newfound leverage to encourage her forward again.
“You’re so sweet, Ben,” she coos, pink lips brushing along the line of his jaw until she plants a kiss on his chin. He doesn’t feel sweet. He feels wretched for all the ways he wants to defile her. Deflower her. Take her apart and put her back together around the shape of his body.
His eyes nearly roll into the back of his head when she moves in a tight figure eight, slick enough at her core now to feel through his pants. Fuck. Fuck.
“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” she admits in a hush, “will you give me my first one?”
The hand still at her hip slides up her ribs, over the swell of her breast and the jut of her collarbone and the thin column of her neck until he can bury his fingers in her chestnut hair. He grips it in a loose fist, concentrating on being soft for her, being sweet and gentle and patient. He presses his mouth to hers, close-lipped, sighing into the kiss when she wraps her arms around his shoulders to return his affections. Her lips start to move against his in a languid unpracticed rhythm, and he can do nothing but match her, guiding her ministrations into something more fluid. Rey moans.
Her hips haven’t stopped their maddening back and forth. It’s both too much and not nearly enough. Ben’s cock throbs under the sweet pressure, heat and friction surrounding him and climbing up his spine. Lost to it, he coaxes her mouth open with a clever flick of his tongue, sliding into her so he can taste the whine she can’t manage to bite back. It makes him fist her hair harder.
They shouldn’t be doing this. Ben should be waiting for their wedding night, shouldn’t he? He’s supposed to keep his hands to himself until he belongs to her. If he was smart, if he was half as sweet as she seems to think he is, he would have sent her back to her room as soon as she settled into his lap.
Rey kisses him and kisses him and kisses him , until his head spins and the world beneath him ceases its rotation. She sucks on his tongue when he next gives it to her, and for a wild moment, as wires cross in his brain, he thinks he feels the sensation around his cock, instead.
Shit, what would she look like sucking his cock? All big doe eyes and steely determination. Would he still be able to see the freckles on her cheeks through the sheen of his come?
She kisses him again, clumsy and eager, her desire for it, for him, fanning the flames of his ardor until he is clutching at the swell of her ass for dear life. She is squirming in his lap now, whines muffled only by his own mouth against hers.
“Can’t you wait to have me for one more night?” she teases breathlessly, teeth worrying at his lower lip as he drags her hips down against his more urgently.
No, he wants to tell her, I feel as if I’ve waited my entire life for you. Every second I haven’t been buried inside of your body has been the worst kind of torture. I might not survive another second.
His chest is heaving under her hands. She nuzzles her nose into his hair, deceptively sweet, dragging the tip of her tongue along the shell of his ear as soon as he lets his guard down. She’s a menace. He can already tell she’ll never give him a moment's peace.
“You’re so hard,” Rey whispers, rubbing up against his erection in the dirtiest possible way. Using him. Using his body to make herself feel good. Wringing herself dry with his cock. “Do you like this?”
He wants to be a thing of hers. He wants his cock to be something she pulls out whenever she wants it, something to sit on whenever she wants to be full, something to ride whenever she wants to feel good, no matter what he happens to be in the middle of doing when she finds him. Without any regard for his own pleasure. A fantasy springs to mind of him in his office, kicked back in his desk chair, phone cradled in the crook of his shoulder as he watches his little wife walk in and undo his pants without a word so she can stuff herself with his cock. He’d have to bite the inside of his cheek until it bled to keep from giving them away to whoever he was on the line with. He’d have to grip the chair’s arms until they broke to keep from coming inside of her within a single stroke of her hips.
Instead of answering, he thrusts his hips up in earnest, one open hand on her thigh to keep her steady.
“Is this how you wanna fuck me? Tomorrow night? When I’m your wife?”
“No.”
Before she can say anything else specifically crafted to drive him out of his mind, he fucks against her even harder. “When I finally have you, there isn’t going to be anything between us. I’ll keep you in bed for our entire honeymoon, naked and full of my come. There won’t be a single moment I’m not inside of you.”
Her hands fist at the fabric covering his shoulders, pulling him all out of sorts. He wishes it didn’t feel so good. So debauched to be rutting against each other like this on the eve of their wedding. He thinks she’s soaked through her leggings, and all he can do in the face of that is shiver and grind into her faster.
“I-I want it,” she gasps against his kiss-swollen lips, movements uncoordinated and so so desperate as she rides his cock through the fabric of their clothes. “I want you to fuck me, Ben. Won’t you do it now? Please?”
He almost comes just from that, from her sweet little plea for the pleasure his body can give her. But they can’t. He wants to take his time, wants to give her everything when he claims her innocence for himself. As it is, he isn’t even sure how long they have before the sunrise. He needs more than just a couple of hours. No matter how his desire shrieks in fury at his refusal.
“Not yet, baby. We don’t have enough time. I have to marry you in the morning, remember? I have to see you in your pretty dress. I have to take it off of you and find out what’s underneath. I have to teach your body how to accept all that I want to give it.”
She whines, high and unhappy as his cock throbs against her through the layers of their clothing, against the pulsing hot flesh of her clit.
“But I want you,” she sobs, tucking her face into his shoulder.
“You have me,” he vows, lips against her ear. “Always know that.”
He gives her an expert roll of his hips, And then she’s gasping, hands tugging at his hair, movements liquid against him as she winds tighter and tighter.
“B-Ben, I - Ben -”
She buries her face in the crook of his shoulder as she comes, fingers fisting in his shirt, tensing all over as she shakes apart. He encourages the weak grind of her hips, begging her to use him, begging her to let him make her feel good.
When she groans his name in the throes of her orgasm, deep and guttural and uncontrolled, he has no choice but to follow her over the edge of that final bliss.
“Shit,” he snarls, grip like iron around her shaking thighs as he forces her down hard and comes against her fluttering center. He almost thinks he can feel it, the grasping of her muscles, the needy clench of her virgin cunt. He makes a mess, watching her widening eyes as she takes him in between the obscene spread of her legs. He soaks through his clothing and hers, until he’s surely smearing his come all over her little pink pussy through her leggings -
He groans through another hot pulse, teeth clenched as he gives her more, as he imagines it covering her bare skin, the grasping hole spasming against his cockhead.
Ben looks down at her, delirious, in love, utterly disbelieving, and sees her already blinking up at him. Her cheeks are so pink they almost eclipse her pinprick freckles. She looks wrecked, limp against his chest, so sated and content and soft.
He kisses her, gentle and sweet. She coos and kisses him back, crowding closer as he wraps her up tight and cuddles her to him.
They kiss for minutes or hours, Rey liquid in his arms as their clothes cling to them unpleasantly. But he can’t bring himself to care. Not when Rey sighs his name and pulls him impossibly closer.
—-
When Leia stalks down the hall in search of her son the next morning, her black mood has everyone jumping out of her way before she can sink her teeth into them. Even the droids.
But mostly, she’s reserving her wrath for her only son, her baby, the boy she loves more than anything in this galaxy, the biggest headache she ever created for herself. She is prepared to yell, to disinherit, to guilt and threaten and possibly even rip one of his ridiculous pillows open. He is an hour and a half late to his own wedding, the very event their program to develop the Western Reaches hinges on.
She stabs in the override code to his office that she isn’t supposed to know and flings herself through his door in a whirl of fury. She will hold his cold feet to the fire if she needs to. She will ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, promising himself for this role only to refuse responsibility once the entire galaxy has turned its eyes to them.
But instead of finding him hiding from the world behind his desk, datapads stacked to the ceiling to conceal him, she finds an empty chair. Her rage flickers and cools in her confusion, staring blankly out the window at the late morning sun as she tries to think of where the hell else he could possibly be.
Then a snore rips from the opposite corner of the room.
Leia jumps and turns her head to find him sprawled out on his back in a collection of cushions, swathed in a soft fleece blanket, massive frame practically spilling out of them as he sleeps. Dead to the world. Leia is about to yell in exasperation, about how utterly deplorable it is to oversleep on this day of days, but then another great snore swells over the silence, and she realizes it isn’t coming from Ben.
Tucked into her son’s side under the blanket is another body, small and wiry, easily missed among the absurd fray of overstuffed pillows he’s collected. Ben’s bride-to-be is caged in his arms like she is his favorite stuffed toy, her head tucked under his chin as they both slumber on. Oblivious to their responsibilities. Uncaring of their wedding currently taking place without them.
Leia watches Ben’s eyes flicker and move behind his lids, his face more at peace than she’s seen it in years. Decades, even. In her sleep, Rey’s hand spasms against his ribs.
She backs out into the hall again, allowing his door to slide shut in her face. She blinks at the blank surface of it for many moments, trying and failing to collect her thoughts. After not nearly enough time, she straightens back to her full (if not considerable) height and starts back down the long hall. Back to the lavish televised wedding missing its bride and groom.