Chapter Text
Rey wakes to the earthy smell of petrichor drifting in from the open window. It’s been a hot, dry summer, and with the cool breeze fanning over her bare feet that have kicked out from under the sheets, it's a sure sign that a much-needed rain shower has just passed through.
Thin gray dawn creeps in timidly, barely lighting the room. But she can see well enough, and a slow smile spreads on her face at the various items of clothing– some hers, some not hers– littered across the floor.
It’s the first time she's ever awakened in a bedroom that's not her own, but that's okay. Better than okay, actually. Even though she and Ben only met a week and a half ago, he's already succeeded in turning her world completely upside down, in the best possible way.
Her smile grows wider as she dips her chin to look at him.
He’s still sound asleep, holding her tightly in his grasp, his massive frame wrapped around her like a hot, heavy, Ben-shaped vine: his arms, strong and solid, crushing her to his bare chest, his cheek pressed against her breast. Warm, even breaths puff across her skin, and a soft rush of affection runs through her as she combs her fingers through his dark, tangled waves, her nails scratching lightly against his scalp.
The quiet serenity of the moment is enough to make her throat swell, and she blinks back the sudden inexplicable urge to weep.
Before Ben, Rey never thought she could feel like this about someone. To want them in every way imaginable. It's as if she only began breathing the instant their eyes met, had ever known true happiness the first time his lips brushed against hers.
And if the previous ten days were a building crescendo, then last night was its passionate peak.
They'd met for dinner, as they had every other night this week. But last night Ben had wanted to cook for her, rib eye steaks and asparagus on the grill, because she had once mentioned it was her favorite meal.
At twenty-nine, Ben was a solid eight years older, and on their second date he admitted with a flush that while he wasn’t a virgin, he’d had fewer encounters than he could count on one hand. So when she confessed she’d never been with anyone, he seemed determined to take things slow, for her sake– a well-intentioned if a bit old-fashioned act of chivalry she found sweet and would never, ever tease him for. But after so many days and nights of talking and soft touches, held gazes and making out on his sofa, their mouths searching and hands roaming, getting lost in a heated haze of desire and need, she was just about ready to beg him to take her to bed.
And when they finally made love, allowing pulse and breath and instinct to be their guide, something inside her that must have been lying dormant suddenly broke apart, released. Something infinitely precious that binds them, timeless and beyond explanation.
In that same moment Ben told her he loved her, and she acknowledged the truth of those words; she saw it flickering in the glossy depths of his eyes, had felt it in the reverence of his touch. So when she said she loved him too, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like coming home, like the refrain to a song they'd been singing for countless years.
Pulling her chilly feet back under the sheets, she stretches her calves a bit, working out the beginnings of a charley horse. She'd already visited the bathroom and scrubbed her mouth with her finger and a dab of his toothpaste a couple of hours ago, after she noticed he'd done the same.
So she’s content to lie there, alone with her thoughts, continuing to play with his hair and listen to the sound of his steady breathing.
Being alone is nothing new for Rey. Self-sufficient and stubbornly independent, she had no choice to be anything but. Bouncing in and out of foster homes until she turned eighteen, she had begun preparing for the day when she’d be on her own at the start of her sophomore year of high school: working as many shifts as she could at crappy fast food joints, the stench of fryer oil and greasy onions wafting from her tattered backpack and books while she crammed for tests into the early morning hours. Often running on nothing but Red Bull and sheer force of will to get her through her classes the next day, sleep being a luxury she wasn’t always able to afford.
But all the grease and cramming and sleepless nights had been worth it; when she left her final foster home on her eighteenth birthday, she had already saved enough for the first six months' rent on a little one-bedroom upper in a decent neighborhood in Chandrila, their moderately-sized city of a hundred thousand, and had graduated with good enough grades to grant her entrance into Chandrila University’s engineering program, which offered work study, allowing her to earn money to apply towards her tuition and expenses.
And now, after three years of college, she has only a handful of acquaintances and even fewer friends. It’s not that she doesn’t want to connect with people– she’ll admit there’s still a part of her that does. A little piece that wants to fit in. To be one of the group. But her efforts at connecting with others on a deeper level have never gone over well, so with each failed attempt her emotional walls rose higher and higher, mortared by humiliation and fury, and Rey's not surprised there aren’t many people with the patience or desire to scale them.
Until she met Ben, and all those old walls crumbled to dust at his feet.
Rey’s always been good at fixing things, but even her tinkering capabilities have limits, so when her trusty '67 Harley Sportster started acting up a few weeks ago, she finally gave in and brought her bike into a repair shop.
He was elbows-deep in an engine, covered in grease and muttering and cursing when she first saw him. She’d later find out that while he’d grown up fixing cars, his father being one of the best mechanics in the city, it had been many years since he’d been under the hood, having just returned home after an almost decade-long absence. After walking away from what he referred to as a “soul sucking” career as a corporate attorney and an absolute tyrant of a boss, not to mention a cushy penthouse apartment and six-figure salary to boot.
Small price to pay, he’d said matter-of-factly, and the warmth in his eyes and contentment radiating off him like a solar flare told her he absolutely believed it, too.
He had moved into the furnished apartment above the shop; his father Han had been renting it out but, as luck would have it, the former tenant had decided to move on last month. Ben’s mother Leia had given it a sprucing up, replacing the old furniture covers with new ones in a rich mulberry shade, and by bringing in a few green potted plants: a couple of creeping figs and a sprawling philodendron in a hanging basket which Rey thinks looks particularly nice, thriving in its spot over a large east-facing window in the main room.
(“To give the place some color,” Ben had said with a slight roll of his eyes, but Rey could tell he was pleased by her efforts.)
Rey had only met them once, but she’d gotten the impression his parents were so thrilled and relieved to have him back home, if he’d asked for the moon they would have done anything in their power to get it for him.
She stifles a yawn; she's getting sleepy again. She's just starting to doze off when Ben shifts against her. Thunder rolls in the distance and the breeze picks up, swirling the curtains in a frenzied dance against the window. He lifts his head from her chest, his eyes opening slowly.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, his low voice thick and rough with sleep.
Sweetheart. The endearment lights her up from the inside and makes her belly swoop. He began calling her that almost right away, and the fervor in his eyes when he says it tells her that perhaps it means something more than either of them realizes.
He’s so beautiful, Ben. She tracks the smattering of beauty marks dotting his pale complexion to the sensual curve of his plush pink lips before meeting his gaze, his deep-set eyes shaded a dark whiskey in the dim morning light.
Ben looks at her in a way no one else ever has before. As though she's someone. As though she matters.
She likes it more than she cares to admit.
“Hi,” she whispers back. Her heart trips against her ribs, something it’s been doing more and more lately.
Ben hums and readjusts their position, stretching out on his back and settling her against his side. His left arm curls around her, his palm pressing securely against her waist while his other hand finds hers, lacing their fingers together to rest over his heart, bumping strong and steady. Her cheek presses against his shoulder, and her eyes wander across the enticing view of his well-defined chest and abs.
A mark on his stomach, over his ribs, catches her eye and she lifts her head. Has he been hurt? She untangles her hand from his and sits up to get a better look.
“It’s a birthmark,” he says gently, stroking his hand along her bare back. She turns to look at him, finding his gaze soft and heavy-lidded. She nods.
Her fingers skate lightly over his abdomen. The silver-dollar sized mark is flat, the same texture as the rest of his skin, just a few shades darker and with blurred edges, almost like the skin has been scorched.
Burned.
"You know, some cultures believe a birthmark is from a past life, showing how that person was killed." Rey hears the words coming out of her mouth, but it's too late to stop them.
She cringes. Dammit. What a batshit crazy thing to say.
She must have read it somewhere once, but still. A cold shiver runs down her spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. It’s a horrible thought, one she doesn't even wish to linger over, the thought of someone killing Ben… and besides, she doesn’t even believe in the idea of past lives. It’s complete nonsense.
And yet…
A strange, heavy sense of foreboding falls over her. A streak of lightning flashes across the sky, followed by another deep roll of thunder. The sky’s turned black now, but oddly enough the wind has died down, suspending the world in stillness, in a duplicitous sense of calm.
Because somehow, Rey knows the storm is on its way.
But Ben seems oblivious to all of it. He slants her a slow, crooked smile before rolling her onto her back, settling between her thighs, his black shaggy hair falling around his face. She feels him, hot and hard, nudging against her folds. A moan escapes her lips; she’s wet already.
Thoughts of storms and past lives immediately fall away as Ben shunts into her, easy and deep. She tips her head back and sighs, running her hands over his shoulders and biceps before he leans down, trailing sweet kisses along her throat. But he stops for a moment to murmur against the shell of her ear.
"Well, if that's the case, I'm sure I probably deserved it."