![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
IC contact
Fulcrum; go
[text | voice | video | action]
[OOC—update: Just specify in subject line which game!]
Fulcrum; go
[text | voice | video | action]
[OOC—update: Just specify in subject line which game!]
Fulcrum; go
[text | voice | video | action]
[OOC—update: Just specify in subject line which game!]
[action]
She remembers, then, how short of a time they've really been in each other's lives - how so much of it had been so hyperfocused - like a light beam through a crystal, setting the world on fire - on the mission, on the Rebellion, on Jedha, then Eadu, then the Council, then Scarif.
The time they've shared like this - outside of war, outside of death, outside of destruction - is barely a breath in the grand scheme. They've explored the insides of each other's minds, wandered the labyrinths of grey matters and folds to exhaustion, and yet -
There's so much still to learn.
And where it might have frightened her once, it exhilarates her now.
So when he pauses, when he shifts and pulls away, she doesn't begin to shrink back into herself the way she had the first time they'd shed their clothes like second skins and used their bodies like flint to set their demons aflame. Instead, she waits; she listens; she breathes; she trusts. Her galaxies repeat, reverberate the words still echoing on her tongue - again and again until she's certain he's not only heard them, but is starting to learn to trust them, too.
And when he returns, she welcomes him back, welcomes and basks in the scrape of stubble against her chest, her neck - allows his lips to trace invisible patterns along her skin she'll remember for the rest of her days. Hand again sowing the fields of his hair, the other snaked under his shirt to press assuredly against his back. Allows the pinhole focus of her attention to blur its edges, spread out and feel every part of him against, in every part of her.
Even the Force couldn't keep me away.]
[action]
That was why he changed his coat so often in the U-wing, you know… yes, adapting to different temperatures… switching wet for dry… range of movement for carrying vs. fighting vs. piloting…
But really it was to force himself out of the last moment into the next. Shed that skin. That being. Be who he needed to be now, not dwell on who he'd been just before. Someone he almost invariably deplored.
Curious. He's still fully clothed, right now.
…He doesn't think of this consciously. But… in the stillness—her allowance of it, her priceless trust—he cranes back his head again to meet her eyes. His face is expressionless—not hiding anything; the opposite, not putting anything on to fool her, not feigning to project—but his eyes are hers once more. And he shifts them, gently now, no less decisively, so the framework of his legs holds her up without also needing his arms; and he keeps them fully locked below, but deliberately disentangles his arms, arches back from the waist, so he can strip off his jacket. Give her access to what's below.
Then, eyes still fixed on hers, slides his hands up beneath her remaining clothes, shifting them loose, doesn't matter whether they stay on or come off, but he's replacing them most closely against her now with the flowing warmth of his hands on her skin, her ribs, breasts, everything.
And begins to move in her again; longer, slower, more deliberate strokes. That roll and propel her higher up and back against the wall. But unhurried now, and no danger of her hitting painfully against it.
He's with her now. Freed from anguish and need. So he knows what he wants next.]
[action]
Not only for the nerve endings singeing with electrical spark under his touch, but for the pulse coming through her thumb, beating through her wrist. Syncing percussion and vibration down to the molecular level.
The resuming tidal flow of his hips, his driving force, pulls sounds out of her like a staccato thread - grunt and groan and plea on the searing heels of each of his thrusts. She feels the heat again beginning to blossom and unfold like silk, like the quickening movements of a bird's wings as it prepares for flight; a growing flame spreading out from where he's buried himself inside of her. Eyes, incandescent, brand every angle shadow peak hollow of his face like fire to leather.]
[action]
They've revelled and ecstasied in seamless sharing of control. Just now, she'd given him the space, safety, freedom to be uncontrolled. Now… empowered by her… he takes his and her permission to stop avoiding what he'd learned too well to do. See if it could be used for love not war. Control.
When he cranes his head to claim her jawline with his mouth; when his other hand moves flat against her inner back; even his twisting his torso beyond propulsion of their labor to flex his muscles, to surge up to greet her palm against him. Everything is, greedily yet self-possessedly, to take every millisecond, every micromotion, of all of this. Inhabit it fully. And do with it exactly what he most wants it to be.
Which is not so different from how he's been all along, because crucial to what he wants, to what stimulates him the most, is her pleasure and confidence and care.
But… now… his own side of those things, left (while he still needed to trust and believe that he wasn't inherently hurtful or manipulative to her) determinedly out of it… he finally lets come to bear.
To try to explain might seem like a distinction without a difference… but to be in it and feel it, for him, and seems also for her… is a whole new level.
The fingers of his right hand roll and fold on her nipple; then his palm splays again to hold the whole of her breast, cupping and compression. His left hand moves up her back to her shoulder blade, dragging his nails marklessly up her flesh; traces and follows the sculpted muscles of her shoulder, her bicep, down her forearm as far as he can reach, before drawing her arm out from around his back… to clasp her hand in his; continuous, liquid, extending their arms, to pin her hand above her head against the wall. Their fingers still interlocked, pliably, to run and rub his between her own. The shifting sinews of his forearm playing with hers, too. His other hand shifted inside her shirt, over her chest stretched open, sculpting her breast brought up and forward by the stretched muscles of her captured arm, and continued to work her over.
His lips and whisper tingle in her ear. Breathed, rhythmic, enforcing and enhancing the surging tide, the cresting of their hips.]
That's it…
I've got you…
¡…!
Come for me, Jyn
[action]
Her tongue feels thick and heavy in her mouth, the tip of it running along the ridge of her teeth as breaths give way to pants, as grunts give way to moans. Her fingers curl down and tighten, grip like iron, as the tension at her center begins to contract and pull every muscle in her body, like an imploding supernova, focal point distinctly at where they're fused.
The velvet of his voice is what finally does it, though - it's the final push to explode her body and atoms and molecules out of the stratosphere and into the orbit of her swirling head. She comes in tremor and spasm - wave, after wave, after wave - knees and legs trembling like branches in a breeze, ribs reaching for his, shoulders rooted firmly into the wall to keep her from collapsing to the ground. Her head bucks forward to crash into his shoulder, fingers of her free hand clutching his shirt on the opposite shoulder so tightly it's a wonder it doesn't melt together. Her body quivers and flinches as electrical spark and ravaging embers course through her veins like blood, murmurs of sound released to his chest in desperate huffs of air and warmth.]
[action]
Excruciating… exquisite
…But he kept himself on the brink.
Didn't let the crest break.
His head came back down, bringing his chest and arms inward, enfolding her, to catch and caress her as she shivered apart. Holding her head to his heart, his fingers pouring into her hair, he cupped her head and kissed its crown, murmured words punctuating their heavy breaths.]
amor meu
meva vida
my love
my life
[He held her, held them both, throbbing and breathing, against the wall.
Then he craned back his head. His eyes… had a new spark in them. Adoration, maybe mischief.
But also… the look of a drill sergeant.
He drew one foot back. His hands moved down her body, finding points of leverage. Bracing her on one thigh, he bent his other knee, bending her back and himself down with perfect balance and suspension. Laying her meticulously down on her back—with a quick graceless grab to pull his discarded jacket under her shoulders, bunched to cushion her neck, before they met the floor. Laying himself down with her.
His flesh never came out of her. Unyielding.
The beauty of her orgasm could have brought him to one too. He'd chosen not to.
Hands now braced on either side of her breasts, looking at her down the length of his arms, he gently pressed his leg inside hers to urge her further open. And began to slide gently up in her again.]
Beautiful, [he murmured. Pushing up in her to rub her sweetest, densest nerves.]
I think you have more.
[action]
She reaches up to rake her dampened fringe from the perspiring skin of her forehead, before pressing the back of her knuckles to the plumpness of her cheeks as she lets out an enchanted laugh, glowing as one does in such a transcendental state. It's one rumbling, delirious giggle then another and another, until she rediscovers her longing and hunger, lifting her hands to mold to the sides of his face to pull him down, crashing their lips together with a ravenous appetite.
Her hips surge beneath him as her knees bow outward, her teeth coming down to press gently into the soft flesh of his lip. One hand finds the small of his back, reaching up under the hem of his shirt, delicately tracing the muted range of his spine up towards his shoulders. She pulls her mouth away from his enough to fill her lungs again, eyes narrowed with desire as she flicks them open and up.]
Then come and find it [she purrs, the corner of her lip hooking up with mischief.]
[action]
His body contracted, bending forward at the waist, abdominal muscles tightly shaking. He came down onto his elbows so his hands can frame her face. One hand trailed downward, wrapping around her throat, pressureless but so firm, sliding with agonizing slowness down all of it. At its base, his nails curl inward; rake, maddeningly light, down clavicles and breasts. Nipple, areole, mound. Then, with the perfectly controlled, painless, swift decisiveness with which it had wrapped her throat, he fills his palm with her breast, and his whole body arches, simultaneously bringing his mouth above his hand, and, the fabric of his pants (open to allow connection but still up around his waist) rasping her inner thighs, his smoother body coursing and furrowing her velvet warmth.]
[action]
She cries out at his sudden propulsion, back arching itself away from the ground and towards him. Her heels dig themselves into the cold, hard metal underneath, providing opposite friction for his forward momentum. Each thrust of his hips is another spark, another inferno, another combustion of heat and electricity in her body - and she's unable to control or tamp down the sounds he's drawing out of her, as though he reached down into her lungs and pulled them out himself.
Her fingers grip the fabric at his shoulders as she hooks one leg around his thighs, allowing him to burrow deeper.]
[action]
Sliding inside and working around one another's clothes has had its own sweetness, but now he needs her flesh on his. Craning up his neck, straining back his head, he kisses her neck under jaw. Then props himself up on one forearm, palm braced to the ground, to start working at finally, fully removing her shirt and bra—his fingers a bit less dextrous than they'd been earlier. His lower body, still sheathed to the hilt, falls still for the effort, but every thrum and squeeze from her gets an answering jolt and shiver, inside and out, from him.]
[action]
She picks up her head and leans forward to lavish his neck, collar bone, shoulder with kisses and grazings of her teeth as she reaches her hands down to unfasten his belt and the button of his trousers, to allow him more freedom of movement. She uses her heels with care and precision to help side them further down his legs so they bunch at his ankles, mirroring her own. His shirt is next, her head falling back to the jacket under her head as she tugs up on the hem of his shirt towards his head, hands and fingers greedily, hungrily stealing any touch of him that they can manage along the way.]
[action]
But better because she's here too.
He looked down at her.
His mouth, his brow, the lines around his eyes, had taken on a troubled set long, long ago. Even with all his features completely lax in dreamless sleep, he tended to look a bit concerned.
Now…
…
who could tell because everything went away except his eyes taking in every fiber of her. He even seemed to forget the rest of their bodies for a moment. Just absorbing her. And let the galaxy spin around them.
Almost unvoiced:]
I love you.
[action]
She isn't even entirely sure, in that moment, whether there's still a world to speak of outside of this strange metal box they've found themselves in, and for now - while their breaths and gazes mingle, while they fuse together so exquisitely - she finds she doesn't care.
The only world she wants now is the one staring back at her.
Her hands reach up to skate across the surface of his cheeks with a tenderness so soft she surprises herself. She had thought the ability to be long since destroyed, ever since Lah'mu. But here, with him - under him, around him - she rediscovers it. Her lips spread softly into a smile - softer than the one she'd shared with him as they breached the forcefield around Scarif, but just as brilliant. Just as bright. She arches her neck up to press it to his mouth, then to his cheek, his temple, the space between his brows, his forehead.
She murmurs and echoes what she'd heard him say earlier, then adds on something of her own:]
My love, my life. My moon and my stars.
[action]
[He pulled her into him, hard pressing arms and abs and chests, kissing every part of her face and neck, needing to feel every atom of her against every grain of him. He didn't arch into her now, below. Leverage required too much separation. And he needed his whole body tight against hers. It didn't allow for the long bowing strokes… but as awareness of that region started dominating once more, other muscles came to play… smaller movement, more internal… enough that he almost shivered apart. —But, again, kept himself back, on some impossible edge. The consuming need to be part of her stronger than the desire for release.
But not for much longer.
So he moved his hand to her hip. And below. Guiding her, urging her to bring herself over the edge on him.]
[action]
Nerves already heightened and sensitive from before, from their continued union, don't take much to drive her forward. It's only a matter of moments before she's found the edge, hips bucking wildly against his hand, muscles and velvet skin spasming around him in forceful waves.]
[action]
His muscles went lax, everything unlocked and let go. Tight as they'd pressed before, interlocking stones, it's liquid now, pouring into one another's curves. He closes his eyes into her pulsing neck, breathing something worshipful, but utterly inaudible from lack of voice and air. His hand finds the energy to brush a fingertip to her cheek, then settle there.]
action] (OH THAT ART IS LOVELY)
She dreams of the dark, black sea on Lah'mu. How often she'd stare into its impossible depth, conjuring up creatures who could have lurked beneath the light-drained surface. How her Mama had kept such a watchful eye on her adventurous and curious daughter, knowing that she could be lead by a glittering stone underneath its waves.
She dreams of the grotto on Wrea. Sitting at the perch of it, Maia at her side, the others splashing in the water below and out of sight. She remembers the first time Staven invited her to join the others for a drink; she'd been 12 then. He clapped her back and roared with laughter when she first spit out the fermented bantha milk, then whooped when she gave it another go and finished the glass.
She dreams of those last moments on Scarif. Finally fearing death and the loss it brought for the first time in her life, clutching onto the one thing that promised her a future.
When she re-enters herself, her eyes don't open right away, but her lids tremble with consciousness. She wiggles the fingers resting lightly on his breathing form, feels the slickness of perspiration. Breathes in the heady scent of sex and musk and sweat, mixing with rust and metal and oil. Subconsciously squeezes around him as nerves misfire in their descending state, feels the trickling of him escaping her and puddling on the ground beneath her. Feels his pulse - in his chest and down below. Wonders at the weight of him on top of her - in no way oppressive or hindering, but .. grounding. Assuring.
Her eyes slowly open to stare blankly at the ceiling as she remembers what had driven them into the freight elevator in the first place. I should have known you my whole life. The war should never have happened to either of us. We should have had all that time.
We did know each other our whole lives, she thinks. We fought alongside each other in our own battles, fighting against our own demons. We were with each other through comrade death and skirmishes that made us expel our breakfasts outside of the ring. We were with each other in the cold feel of a durasteel blaster and the smell of ozone. All of those things lead us to each other, but we'd already known each other before we met.
She exhales a heavy sigh, though it isn't one of sadness. It's one of gratitude.
Her hand traces itself through the strands of his hair gently.]
I would do it over again. If it brought me here. If it led me to you.
I would it all over again.
[That TAG is lovely!!!]
Are you monitoring somehow…? I don't care.
His breathing was steady. So it might just be sweat. But where he pressed his face to her skin, it was wet. From effort and emotion and release… and what she'd just said.
Because she meant it.
And he knew what she'd gone through.
She'd do it again for him.
What that meant to him was… too big to hold in his flesh. He wished he could ever have a prayer of exlaining or returning that feeling.
…But he didn't know if he was capable of thinking that way, back.
The decisions that most clawed and roared at him in any moment of silence
The things that should never have been done or failed to be done
The people that…
Jyn had been a convicted criminal for refusing to accept or abide by an unjust universe.
Cassian had never been convicted and was a criminal in any universe.
There are things he couldn't do again.
(Even for Jyn…?)
(Please please Yavá never make me find out.)
But more than that…
He could not credit… this
lying here with her, bodies shaking and breathing and interwound
all of her open to him, flesh and mind
able to be as open back
he couldn't conceive of… what came before as having led to this.
If there was causality how could he accept
If they were linked how could this transcend
If…
…if nothing.
It didn't matter. It was thoughts.
And what he did feel was still an agreement.
Perhaps they were here in spite of everything else. That even all of it couldn't prevent this correctness in the cosmos. That they'd been brought here for existence to right itself and create whatever they had always been intended to be, in themselves and one another.
He can't think that way, but he feels the same.
So though it doesn't sound like it should follow, his whisper is indeed a direct response:]
I never believed in the Force before you.
YOU'RE LOVELY
But the words hadn't been a ransom for his own.
When she hears the inner war he wages, she doesn't tell him not to - she doesn't tell him to disregard his fears, his tribulations. But she softens herself beneath him. She lets her limbs and flesh and bone melt like rubber in the sun. Her fingers continue their work at raking the fields of his hair, her other twisting to interlace with the fingers of the hand he'd skated across her imPort mark.
She turns her head to press her cheek to his forehead, lets her eyes close again.
Doesn't dream of anything in particular this time. Finds that all she wants to dream of is already here.]
Mama would've loved you for saying that. [She lets out a quiet breath of a laugh, kissing his dampened forehead.] What changed your mind?
<33333 (P.S. Hallo comparative religion courses…)
I assumed it… implied… unidirectional causality. "This happened because the Force made it happen." I can't buy that as more than… consolation. Confirmation bias to avoid facing the horrible truth that reality is chaos.
But now I don't think it matters whether we found each other because we were 'supposed' to, or that finding each other makes us able to… make something good, become something better, out of everything that came before. Maybe there's no difference. They're both the same thing. And that… seems like… the heart of what people seem to be talking about when they say 'the Force'.
[How literally he's ready to take some of the other elements—to what one is being attuned, how passively it can be relied upon—he's not ready to judge. …But that itself is a change. He's no longer simply dismissing them. Not just because he's seen what Chirrut can do, but because the concepts, possible explanations, no longer seem contradictory. The Force need not be separate from the beings within it.]
no subject
I never got the impression it was vindication of any kind. But rather that - what you do as an individual affects others, and vice versa. We're connected to everything around us, humans, non-humanoids, trees, rocks, whatever it might be.
She always made it out to be that you weren't ever really alone. No matter what you thought. Because you were connected to others through the Force. [Her voice is floating like a wispy cloud in the air, eyes still closed, memories of her Mama flashing in her mind's eye. Even now, all these years later, she still sounds love-struck while talking about her.] I didn't believe in it either, before ..
Well, you.
no subject
Remarkably unconcerned about getting out of here to somewhere more comfortable or less of a trespass.
Perhaps because in here… they could be in a lifepod. The rest of the universe ignoring them and ignored.
By her last two words, he's touched his face into her neck; his body still loose, breathing moderated, slow… but definitely tears now tracing a line on her skin.
Lyra
Seidh
Galen, Jeron
How do we do this
How do we risk
When we know how easy
Please however it finally goes don't let me outlive her
He remains silent, relatively still, but can't make it stop. Has to keep his eyes closed against her until the storm drifts on its own, away.]
no subject
Her arms cling to him tightly, securely - so any threat of floating away, disappearing in whatever capacity, is harder to do. She shifts - gently slipping him from inside of her - as she turns on her side to face him. Uses her thumbs to gather the tears on his face, pressing her lips to his forehead.]
I love you, Cassian. My moon and my stars.
no subject
And allows himself to receive it.
…He finishes openly sobbing
(the first time since he was…
…four
even Kay has seen him catatonic and convulsing and screaming and silently crying but never gasping in grief like that
making Jyn the only person alive to hear him make such sounds)
and turns his head, resting his cheek against her chest, to wipe his eyes with the heel of his palm.]
Sorry…
[Not because he thinks she minds or will think less of him or doesn't understand. He knows better than all of those. There are just only so many ways to exit such a moment.
And it is a slightly awkward—if not actually psychologically unusual—way to come down from… though they are in an elevator so maybe worrying about awkwardness is moot…
One more time, he turns his face to press a kiss between her breasts, to her drumming heart.
…Knows he's feeling better because he has to suddenly suppress a mental image of Kay amazedly criticizing him for spilling so many fluids in so little space.]
no subject
The exhaustion that comes after, as tension leaves the agonizingly tired muscles, as air flow once again establishes itself and oxygen floods the senses and the body.
Feeling light-headed, almost drunk or high off spice or rankweed.
Twitches in toes and fingers and faces.
She holds onto him, says nothing as the sounds force themselves out of his core and barge through his lungs with violence and calculated madness. Simply reminds him of her presence in her touch, in the weight of her hands and limbs and the pressing of her lips to every part she can find.
Murmurs something at his apology, not outrightly dismissing it but certainly not finding it needed.]
I'm here.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
idk why i thought i responded but realized i read it and didn't reply while i was at the doctor's ha
#relatable!
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)