Chapter Text
Rey’s last session of fall midterms ends with a bang rather than with the relaxing movie night she suggested. Predictably, Finn and Poe shot her idea down in favor of a party, claiming their senior year needs to celebrate as many of their lasts as possible.
It starts with a well-intentioned pitcher of sangria and goes downhill rapidly, to the point where, by eleven, Rey watches with growing concern as Poe pours a handle of gin into the mix. Gin. He gives Finn a shrug, muttering something about good enough, and Finn dumps in a headache-inducing amount of sugar and whatever juice he’s found in their almost-bare fridge. The resulting mixture is one that could melt plastic, she thinks.
She didn’t intend on drinking much. Maybe a cup of juice and a little vodka here and there to keep her well-meaning friends from thinking she isn’t having fun. She planned to stick next to Rose and spend the evening silently amused by the odd flirting byplay between her, Poe, and Finn—it’s been going on since their Junior Year, and it doesn’t take being an Alpha or Omega to know something’s up between the three of them.
A sip of the plastic-melting not-sangria, and Rey’s sure she would groan at them and tell them to have the unavoidable threesome already.
Except the evening goes far from her plan. Halfway through, Rose gets a phone call asking her to come in early the next morning for some interview for an internship she’s been pining over, and she begs off in favor of sleep. As Rey orbits the outer edge of the room, watching the party from the outside without jumping in to participate, she wonders if she, too, could escape.
Parties aren’t bad, per se. If this one only included Finn and Poe, and perhaps a few other friends, this party might even be great. The issue is Poe’s adoptive brother—Ben , and Ben’s friends.
The three of them stand in a corner she’s avoided, all looking like massive gods of some otherworldly place—it doesn’t help that they stand quite a bit taller than the rest of the guests.
Rey sighs as she stares at the three of them and admits that Phasma and Hux aren’t awful. A little obnoxious, but not awful. If she’s being honest, the problem is Ben—the patronizing, miserable dick of an Alpha.
She watches as his throat bobs, her eyes focusing in on the stupidest little thing from all the way across the room. When Phasma tosses her head back in laughter, exposing a long column of throat, Rey rolls her eyes. Alphas are an odd, unknown quantity. Poe’s one, too, but Ben—Ben is one of the detestable Alpha-Alphas, the kind who only chases omega-tail when he’s not busy trying to ruin her life one class at a time.
On a campus of thousands of other students, it’s unbelievable that she can’t avoid him. Even though they’re both English majors, it should be possible to avoid him, but every semester—every single fucking semester—they’re in a minimum of one class together. Even the semester she used to take all her required electives, from language classes to a gym class, that was when Ben registered for the same calculus class.
Any two normal people would have sat on opposite ends of the room and ignored each other, much like the two of them do now, but it was impossible.
For Ben, she guesses his competitive streak is second nature, as an Alpha. For Rey, it’s derived from days spent as a child, fighting with others for scraps in Plutt’s poor excuse for a children’s home. By nature or nuture, she’s a fighter, uncommonly so for a Beta.
She’ll be damned if Ben Solo ends up with a higher GPA. The man who skates by, attaining endless A’s, will not outdo her.
Rey glares down at her empty glass, realizing she’s spiraling again. This happens when she’s around him. She sucks in a slow, calming breath, and tries to relax, starting with the scowl on her face. Truthfully, he’s done nothing wrong, unless existing counts.
In an attempt to chill out and enjoy the night, she heads over to where Poe and Finn are struggling to improve their sangria-fiasco, and holds out her glass until one of them takes a hint and fills it.
Finn’s eyes narrow in on her now-full glass first, then shoot to her. “You okay?”
“Fine.” The word comes out a little forced, and at Finn’s quirked eyebrow, she tilts her head toward where Ben and his friends stand in the corner.
“Ah.”
Poe sighs, butting in. “You only need to get along for a bit longer.” He smiles, prodding as though they haven’t discussed this a billion times, “You should try to get to know him. He’s a nice—”
“He’s an ass,” she interrupts, only to grimace as Finn chimes in something about he’s got a nice one, too. It’s a struggle not to recoil or roll her eyes. “You’d understand if you took a class with him. He’s always correcting things—not just students. He corrects the professors, too. It’s obnoxious. Every time I answer a question, he’s got a rebuttal, and—”
Ben’s voice, deep and dry, comes from nowhere as he clears his throat. “You know I can hear you, right?”
She almost jumps, or flinches. Almost, because even when caught unaware, Rey has no intention of giving him the satisfaction of knowing he’s surprised her. Still, goosebumps shoot up her arms, and she ignores them, turning to face Ben and give him a spiteful, baleful glare.
The space he takes up is unfair—such a large, broad body shouldn’t belong to someone so annoying.
“Yes,” she hisses. “I am aware you have ears. Since you can hear me complaining about you, why don’t you take the hint and go fuck yourself?”
He’s so much taller when she’s this close. Taller, and at this distance she can see the softness of his hair. The observation makes her want to down the contents of her glass, just so that she might forget—forget his height, forget his hair, forget those lips, because fuck her, those lips—
The corners of them tilt up. “Oh, is that what you want?” he asks lowly.
It’s the gin causing the warmth in her belly. Her lips flatten into a line, and her eyes cut to his. Her tone is purposefully sweet—but that sort of aggressive-sweet—when she says, “I was just telling Finn and Poe how the midterm went today. An A, for sure.”
“That’s nice, sweetheart,” he says cooly. “But why don’t you let me know when you get the results. You can check your wrong answers against mine. I’m sure I got another perfect score.”
She’s already bristled at the sweetheart comment—one that shouldn’t sound so delicious coming from such a jerk—and it’s a quick step to steaming mad. She scoffs. “I’m willing to bet I did better.”
Ben doesn’t grin. It’s a character flaw or something. Any expression he makes is always a slow, saucy relation to a smirk, and the sort of smirk that graces his mouth now does things to her that she instantly hates herself for. His voice is cold and controlled. “Should we put money on it?”
A groan interrupts their stare-off.
“If it means so much to you, just go to the guy’s office!”
She and Ben both turn their heads to see Finn, who’s thrown up his arms. “You guys are a buzzkill!” he practically shouts. “You’re ticking us all off, you always do, and that shouldn’t be possible, I’ve had like—” he takes a bewildered look at the cup in his hand, “Like five of these? Fuck.”
Finn shakes his head, addressing them again. “You two ruin our parties with your stupid bickering, so just be done with it! Put ‘em on the table and measu—”
At Ben’s snort, Finn stops mid-sentence and frowns. “Well, no. Not you, Rey, I guess that doesn’t make sense,” he blabbers. “Anyway. You know Professor Reynolds! The guy can’t even use a computer. When I took his class he sat there and graded tests on paper when people handed them in. They’re probably in his office.”
She’s actually considering the idea, and she’s not sure that says anything good about her. Next to her, Ben folds his arms over his chest. His shirt gives a valiant effort, but strains against the muscles in his arms. It might be November, but the urge to take a freezing cold shower is still intense. Rey pulls her gaze away.
His low laugh sounds like a basso locomotive, and when she hears it, she shifts her weight from foot to foot, trying to think of other things. “Getting expelled is a fun idea, Finn,” he jokes. “But I’m sure Rey won’t mind waiting until next week to find out I got a higher grade.” Her eyes shoot to his, and he raises one of his genetically perfect eyebrows in condescension. “ Again.”
Rey struggles to push down the urge to toss her drink at him—though the thought of him in a wet shirt is…
There is something very wrong with her, she decides. With another calming breath, she replies in a tone akin to spitting needles, “Time to put your money where your mouth is. A hundred bucks says you won’t sneak into that office with me tonight. Another hundred says I got the higher grade.”
From the corner, she hears Phasma murmur, “Oh shit, this is getting good.”
Hux being Hux, clears his throat. “Ben, this is silly. You won’t break into Professor Reynold’s office, will you? That’s absurd.” The way he says it is with his usual drawling tone—one filled with condescension that could match that of any Alpha, despite his actual Beta status.
The way Ben stares down at her makes her feel like she’s about to burst into flames. His eyes are dark and piercing, and he works his mouth. “Yeah,” he answers quietly, the word almost a lover’s whisper. “I think I will.”
It’s a foolish thing, and it’s what leads to them sobering up in the chilly November air on their walk to the Humanities building, where their professor’s office is. The air is dry and bitter cold, and in her ineffable genius, Rey’s failed to bring a sweater, or even a jacket. They walk side by side, and she can almost feel the heat rolling off him. It must be the alcohol circulating in her veins that suggests his arms would be more comfortable than a jacket.
She gulps. This is so stupid. It’s too late to have another drink now that she and Ben are playing a game of chicken—Rey refuses to be the one who backs out first. He cannot be allowed to beat her. He’s already difficult to tolerate and adding another victory to his side will make him impossible.
Behind them, Phasma and Poe are muttering something she can’t hear. They insisted on coming as lookouts—Finn crashed on their couch just before the four of them left, having far too much to drink to be sneaky. She keeps glancing over at Ben, waiting for him to stop and groan and admit he can’t go through with this.
He doesn’t. Not even when they’re standing in front of a thick wooden door, bearing both a frosted glass window and a plate with their professor’s name. Rey’s resigned herself to the fact that she’ll be breaking in—at this point she only hopes breaking in won’t include breaking the window.
“I’ve got it,” Ben sighs, pulling out a wallet and a card from said wallet. He pushes the card between the doors lock and the frame, jimmying it. “My dad taught me,” he mutters, noticing her look of disbelief.
This is not the Ben Solo she knows—the one who undoubtedly tattled on every kid on the playground growing up, and the one who might still show up to the first class of each new semester with an apple for each teacher.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s never going to work.”
It works. The door pops open, and Ben’s smirk turns cocky and arrogant as he catches the door and holds it for her, gesturing for her to enter. She bites her lips closed to stop the litany of swears that threaten to flow out.
Twenty minutes later, she’s whispering out into the room, “Have you found it yet?”
Ben’s response is a single annoyed huff. She can sympathize; they’ve grossly underestimated how much crap their professor is hoarding in his office. It’s a miracle nobody’s reported the room to a fire marshall as a potential hazard. The mountains of books, knick-knacks, and framed photos, combined with useless rubbish, seem to provide an extra layer of insulation from the cold. It’s stuffy, and hot, like an igloo made of paper and junk, or maybe like a sauna.
To top that off, Ben removed his upper layer five minutes into their search. It left him in a tight knit black sweater that did little for propriety’s sake. When she looks over at him now, she can see every line of his upper body with the way it hugs him, and she soaks in the view. He catches her staring. One of his eyebrows raises.
Rey swallows, turning back to the stack in front of her. At least Finn was right about one thing—their professor does have a habit for grading on paper. There’s a stack of graded finals on one side of his desk, but it’s for another class. She’s yet to find theirs.
Annoyed, she drops the finals back to the desk and slumps against one of the many bookshelves, ticked she’s bothered betting actual money on such a stupid pissing contest. They didn’t determine what would happen if the tests can’t be found, but since their friends insisted on a if you tied, we get the money clause, she’s guessing the same rules apply.
She adds never make bets while drunk to her mental list of things to remember. The whole evening was a massive mistake, and she’s not two seconds from admitting it when Ben opens his mouth and reminds her of how logically sound her reasoning was. “Can’t find them,” he shrugs. “Ready to admit I won? That’s usually the case.”
Rey stares at him. It’s amazing, the size of that ego. She spends half a minute wondering what it might take to wipe that expression off his face, but her willpower runs out, and she snaps. “Look, asshole.” She walks around the desk to stand in front of him and shoves a finger into his chest. It’s a miracle she doesn’t blink at how solid it is. “I’m sick of your bullshit, so if I—”
Phasma’s low whistle—the one designated as a warning—interrupts the angry rant she’s been building. Her blood, once boiling, turns to ice, and Ben’s eyes go wide. He reaches out and flicks off the lights, plunging them into darkness that’s barely helped by the muted glow from a desk lamp.
“Someone’s coming,” he whispers, as if she’s forgotten what that whistle means.
His eyes dart around the room while she’s frozen in place. It seems he’s looking for a place to hide, but she’s already scoped that out, and their options are limited. The room lacks closets and they can’t both fit under the desk—not that a desk is a good place to hide, because what on earth do you do if someone intends to sit down and work? You’re either discovered, or there’s an uncomfortable moment of your face being in someone’s junk, or you’re trapped indefinitely like that episode of The IT Crowd. Rey doubts their friends would rescue them, so the desk option is out.
With what Rey imagines are mere seconds to spare, Ben sucks in a breath and says, in an odd tone, “I have an idea. Trust me?”
Her scoff is quiet. “Absolutely n—”
That’s all she gets out before his hand cups her face, and his mouth crushes to hers. She doesn’t get a chance to register what’s happening before Ben wraps an arm around her back and slides the hand at her face back to tangle in her hair, keeping her lips locked to his.
His mouth is so soft.
Rey finds herself pressed to a bookshelf with his lips slotting over hers. He kisses ruthlessly, like he’s working out all his built up annoyance with her in this kiss—he catches her bottom lip between his and sucks at it, then tugs her hair to angle her face up toward his.
Being so close, being in his arms, it’s like she’s putty, and he’s immovable, like mountains and earth. She was right about how warm he was—the heat coming off him isn’t oppressive, but almost soothing. His mouth slows, and he tugs her closer, and it’s comforting, almost like those cold rainy days when she curls up in a warm blanket with a good book and tea.
His tongue traces the seam of her lips, and Rey doesn’t think twice before she opens up, moaning into him.
The sound of a clap—Phasma’s “all clear” sign—breaks them apart.
Ben steps back, and they spent a moment staring at each other in surprise before Rey whisper-yells, “What the fuck was that?”
His response is dazed, and innocent. He shrugs. “A kiss?”
“Oh, really?” she deadpans. “What the hell, Ben?”
Ben shrugs again. Her eyes follow one of his hands as it ruffles through his long, dark curls. “Better to get scolded for making out in here than to get kicked out for finding our exams and checking our grades.” His throat bobs. “Think about it. What if they claimed we were trying to change our answers, or scores? At least this way we just seem like stupid college kids.”
It’s a good point. She huffs. “Fine. Just… ask next time.”
Next time?
“I didn’t have time,” he grumbles. “And I'm getting the impression you wouldn't have yes.”
“That’s my point!”
Ben lets out a frustrated exhale just as someone knocks at the door, and they both go silent again. Their eyes go wide in panic at the sound of keys jangling.
“Uh, okay,” she whispers, “I don’t have any better ideas. You should kiss me again.”
The intensity of his gaze doubles at her words, and it raises goosebumps on her skin again. His arms are back around her in seconds, his body pressing her to a bookshelf again, and he stares down at her briefly. It’s gentler this time, when he raises her chin and presses his mouth to hers. There’s no hesitation this time, from either of them, and her mind fogs with something overpowering and soothing.
She doesn’t just let him kiss her this time—she kisses him back. Ben’s a lot more attractive when he shuts up and puts his mouth to better use. Maybe if he did it more often, they could do this again.
His hands drop from her face and slide down to her hips, yanking her clear off the ground in a single smooth move—she winds up pressed between Ben’s chest and a bare wall after he moves them away from the shelves. Her thighs squeeze his hips, and he delves into her mouth, then works kisses over her jaw and down her throat.
Rey tries to catch her breath, resting her head back against the wall. His lips suck at a spot on her neck. Whatever they’re supposed to be doing is lost in the lava plume mounting in her ribs, and in the deep-seated desperation for more.
Ben’s kisses and nips at her skin trail down slowly until they reach a small patch by the nape of her neck. She’s never paid much attention to it, but when Ben nips at it, he freezes and pulls his head back, and looks at her with wide eyes.
“I thought you were a Beta,” he works out, his voice sounding strained and full of… something. He’s flushed red. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’re an Omega. I wouldn’t have… Your gland, I didn’t—”
She frowns. “What? I’m not.” The words come out breathily, though. It’s getting hard to breathe, harder the more she drinks him in. There’s a heady, giddy feeling bubbling up in her. She wants more, and part of her thinks it needs to stop entirely. When Ben’s head tilts, she takes in his befuddled expression and almost laughs. “I would have noticed by now.”
“But…” his eyes drop to the spot on her neck. “Are you sure? I think—”
The sentence is interrupted by drunken giggling, coming from the door. It’s like being doused with a firehose and yet, it doesn’t manage to smother the sudden flame in her chest.
Phasma’s grin is impossible to miss as she leans against the office’s open door frame and gestures to the two of them. Ben still has her pressed to a wall. “Dameron,” Phasma laughs, “Who bet on November?”
“Finn. Damn, guys, you lost me fifty bucks. I put money on December.”
Rey groans, dropping her head back against the wall. “You guys had a bet going?” The arm under her tightens, supporting her with ease, and she struggles not to smile at the man holding her.
"Absolutely," Phasma winks. "For about a year."
She must tense or grimace or something, because Ben leans in and murmurs, “Hey, can we deal with them later? You should get… home.”
He speaks the word home as thought it’s hell, and Rey thinks she understands, because the idea of leaving—leaving this room, leaving his arms, leaving this weird and unexpected fantasy, is anathema to her. Maybe her senses are just kicking back in, but not a single one is saying leaving Ben is a smart idea.
“Home?” Rey tightens her arms around his neck, her frown deepening. “Why? We haven’t found the test grades.” Glancing over at their friends, she points out, “The coast is obviously clear. We should keep looking.”
Ben’s jaw goes rigid. “No. The grades don’t matter, you win, okay? You should go home. Now.”
He’s insistent, but seems reluctant to let her go. She studies his face, but… he only looks concerned.
It takes a conscious effort to be rational, and it almost hurts to nod. “Okay. Sure.”
With the briefest pause, he lowers her to the ground, giving her time to find her footing, but he doesn’t take his eyes off her for a second. Swallowing, he leans in, brushing his fingertips over that spot on her neck. It makes her shiver, makes that heat in her surge, and it makes Ben’s eyes widen.
His head ducks down, and she thinks he’s about to kiss her again, but he only presses his face to her neck, and—
Did he just smell her?