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[This time, a reversal: he kisses her mouth the way he had her core. Wanting to find every softness and curve and plump of flesh and lavish it.

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.]

Edited 2017-06-12 08:55 (UTC)

[Jyn sucks in a breath, heaving her chest up at the careful, meticulous trail Cassian's following with his hands. Feather-light touch across the vast expanse of her skin draw up its rippled, goosebumped terrain, nerves simultaneously set on fire and chilled into a state of ecstasy. She hums a quiet noise of being teased, of relishing in the attention, in the stimulation of his hand.

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.]

Edited 2017-06-13 01:41 (UTC)

[Her flexing, bracing her legs reverberates onto him. His hand on her cheek slid to cradle beneath her neck. He turned his face on her breast to kiss its swell, hear her heartbeat, and struggle for breath.

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.]

Edited 2017-06-13 21:17 (UTC)

[It takes less than a second for Jyn's mind - however clouded and foggy it might be in her distracted state - to figure out what it is that his hand is doing. She loosens the grip on his shirt and aids him in the removal of hers, lifting her body off of the ground at the waist and then at the shoulders as the fabric is tugged off. She twists her arms around to her back to unfasten the bra next, sliding the straps down her arms and shuddering at the sudden exposure to the air.

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.]

[The shirt ruffles his hair as it goes. For a moment he stays with his face tilted up, eyes closed… and they're in a metal box, there's no sunlight, no moving wind, no rustling trees, but it doesn't feel like the confines of a cell or a ship. It feels like being between the tree canopy and the clouds on Yavin 4.

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.

[Jyn's hands stop their exploration - no, it isn't that they stop, but it's that they pause to drink in the feel of him beneath her skin. Molecules vibrating against molecules, warming up their air around them with their friction and synchronized oscillations. She swears she can feel them both - united like this - trembling with the rotation of this planet on its axis, suspended in time, air, motion while the rest of it spun at mind-numbing speeds.

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.

Jyn.

[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.]

[She easily wraps her arms around his neck, his shoulders, burying her face into the trails her hands and fingers have left, a violent tremor running through her at the urging of his hand. She muffles the cry of his name into his skin, voice rasped and hoarse as her hips lift towards, against him. Her fingertips press into the outline of his scapula, trailing the swooping curve before keying down his spine like a piano, to the small of his back.

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.]

[His fingers dug into her shoulder so tightly he would, if he were capable of thought, let go lest he leave marks. Like she to him, against her skin, into the well of her clavicle and throat, his temple against her neck, an uttered groan ripped out of him. And her wave was met by his pulse, kissing, then gentling, then releasing as he spent himself, heat and cadence, inside her.

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.]

Edited 2017-06-14 05:32 (UTC)

[She hears the ocean in her ears, eyes closed, chest and diaphragm and rib cage heaving with desperate pants - an attempt to catch the breath she's lost.

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.

[He turned his face closer into her skin. Unable to demonstrate how badly he needed and welcomed her fingertips through his hair, unable to push himself up into it the way an animal might. Only able to moves his fingers in a similar pattern where they rested, one in the curve of her neck and shoulder, one in the soft skin of her forearm—over the imPort mark.

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.

[The words hadn't left her mouth with the demand of finding their counterparts. She'd released them into the ether because it seemed foolish not to, because he drove out of her things she would've kept buried and hidden in the darkest depths of her, because she needed him to know.

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?

[…Everything they were both just thinking about… but how to articulate it…]

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.]

Edited 2017-06-14 22:47 (UTC)

It used to be the Force of Others, didn't it? Which .. would make sense, if you think of it that way. My mother used to talk about it at length when she'd teach me. She taught me Chemistry, Literature, History, all of the other core things, as well, but she came alive whenever she talked about the Force.

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.

[He'd eased onto his side to listen to her, gathering her up against him, belatedly trying to take his share of the cold floor.

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.]

[She feels the wetness on her skin, hears his thoughts and immediately tightens her arms around him. Turns her face to bury it in his hair, inhale the scent of him until it mixes with the gases in her blood and in her lungs. To remember it forever.

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.

[He loses some of the control over his breathing. He bowed his head to hers, forehead to breastbone, feeling her encompass him with her heart and warmth and breath, words and thoughts and love.

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.]

Edited 2017-06-15 03:40 (UTC)

[She recognizes the sounds as the ones she'd made in the cargo hold after Eadu. Desperate gasping, as though all oxygen had been removed from her lungs, from her cells, from every crevice and molecular structure of her body. Diaphragm spasming and attempting to equalize itself with little success.

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.

[One more quick pass of his hand over his eyes. Then uses it, propping himself up on one elbow, to brush back her hair and trace her face.

Murmurs,]

I'm going to get you fired.

I want to run away with you into the woods, now.

Fired from a job I hate? Please do.

[She tilts her head to look at him and smile into his touch.]

I wouldn't argue.

[He stargazes in her eyes.

Tempted to kiss her
or put his forehead to hers to throw open and share some memory
the way to insert themselves into one another's pasts retroactively

...but he's too likely to get lost in her again, and they should really get out of this elevator.

They can get lost all they like in the woods or in their bed. They have that now.

The suppressed desire to kiss her is obvious but transposes itself into a slight smile. Not hiding his regret even slightly, he pushes himself upright. …But does press a hand to her shoulder to prevent her from doing the same just yet; casting around for a piece of clothing he doesn't strictly need. His sock just feels disrespectful. …His own underwear will do. Bending over her legs with total focus, care and precision like rewiring a nav, he gently wipes her clean of his… donation, using his tongue-wetted fingers where it's set enough to defy immediate removal.

…The activity and the reaction of her skin to his touch making him want to abandon everything again and kiss her again more. But wait, wait. There are more glorious places than elevators. If he wants to imagine a little longer than he can do literally nothing else for the rest of his life than make love to her.

He deliberately lowers his eyes to (much less lovingly) apply a quick, efficient swipe to any pooling on the deck. Just seems courteous. …As well as an ingrained aversion to leaving personal data where anyone could take it.

Knotting the cloth to only expose dry swaths, he finds the rest of his clothes. He'll decide on the way if it's not too offputting to stick the bundle in his pocket or just toss it. (Though see again re: leaving such rich data as genetic material. Whether anyone's looking to collect on him or not.)]

[She moves to get herself re-clothed, and raises a curious eyebrow at his staying touch. She props herself up on both elbows to glance down and watch his careful movements, expression soft and melted at the care he shows in cleaning her off. She hadn't even thought of it; would've simply dealt with the leaky aftermath with some discretion later on.

But he still draws out shivers and twitches out of her, even in an action as simplistic (and perhaps as primal) as the grooming he's doing, and she exhales a sigh of knowing - and picking up on - the fact that it's best if they get out of their strange metal love box, and wills herself to not react the way she wants to (very much wants to).

Once he's finished, she reaches a hand out to touch his arm lovingly, a silent thank you for being so considerate, before she gathers her trousers to her thighs and lays her shoulders back down on the ground. She elevates her hips, pulling her underwear and trousers up the rest of the way, then rests them down to fasten. She stretches for the shirt and bra they'd disposed of in their passion, moving in reverse from before to place everything back on where it had been.

Once done, she flips her legs over to kneel on them, readying herself to stand. She glances at the balled up fabric in his hand.]

Can take it home to be cleaned later, if you want. I can run back to the office to grab my pack and shove it in there.

[He can't help laughing. And possibly blushing.]

Not necessary.

[Once he's reached that stage of dress, he'll just shove it in his coat pocket.]

…for me. I can wait if you need it the pack for yourself.

[He does feel… bad? or just strange… hijacking her day… the abandon with which they can both treat…

everything. That isn't each other.

…but again. (And again and again.) Jyn is the exception to all his rules. On other matters, he gets wary when presented with what he most wants. With her, he'll just be grateful for it.

And defend the hell out of it.]

Edited 2017-06-16 11:46 (UTC)

[She makes a noise to signal she doesn't need the pack for herself. It's mostly out of habit, more than necessity; she always carries around a change of clothes, spare credits - or dollars, in this case - in case what she has on her (which is minimal to begin with) gets taken, and usually some kind of weapon. She hasn't pursued the idea of carrying around this world's version of a gun - not yet, anyway (and hopefully never) - but she did find an extendable truncheon that she keeps in the pack.

Just .. in case.

She reaches out to touch him again, this time letting her fingers skirt across the back of his hand.

Confirmation of each other's presences for them both.]

[He turned his hand over to grasp hers back, immediately.

Suddenly put his other hand to her waist and pulled them together and kissed her deeply.

No matter all the intimacy they'd just had. No matter they should get going. No matter they were going to spend the rest of the day together. One lifetime of missed, stolen, and sacrificed opportunities was enough.]

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[That TAG is lovely!!!]

YOU'RE LOVELY

<33333 (P.S. Hallo comparative religion courses…)

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idk why i thought i responded but realized i read it and didn't reply while i was at the doctor's ha

#relatable!

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