Work Text:
Having a broken arm is not conducive for studying, Rey decides. Her head flumps down on the wooden desk with a dull thud, shuffling study papers underneath her cheek. This sucked.
Dr. Holdo’s abnormal psychology class was not for the faint of heart.
The exam on personality disorders was coming up and Rey was in the worst possible position to prepare for it. Her stomach growled with hunger, her arm was sore, and she was having the weirdest achy side effects from her new birth control. Or she was just PMSing. Or both. Everything was uncomfortable.
“Fuck this,” Rey mutters to herself, pushing out the chair and rising from the desk. She needed to eat. Or something. She could worry about the test later.
The dorm was empty and lonely without Rose there for the weekend — she’d gone home to visit her family, briefly. Rey made due hobbling around opening doors with one hand and trying to exist. And Rose wasn’t there to make her feel better about her body responding strangely to new medication, which was another layer of grumpiness to Rey’s evening.
She adjusts her sports bra as she walks out, stupid thing irritating her once again. There was no cramping yet, but Rey had a feeling her new birth control was contributing to her very tender breasts. It wasn’t odd for them to hurt during her cycles, but this was a different, heavier tenderness than she was used to.
She exits the bright linoleum hall into the cool air outside, gleaming light poles illuminating the sidewalk through the campus with a canny bronze glow. There aren’t too many people out this late; a lot of them are in their rooms or actually in town enjoying the weekend. Rey meanders past rows of bushes and rolling plains of the quad grass, aiming for the section of the cafeteria still open this late.
No coffee, she tells herself sternly, no matter how tempting it is. She doesn’t need the caffeine this late. Period.
She can hear the sounds of people in the school café before she even reaches the doors. When she pushes them in, she’s greeted by the wafting scent of baked goods and coffee grounds, and there’s a small line already.
And Rey instantly regrets coming.
Ben Solo sticks out like a sore thumb in basically any crowd — tall, huge, broad, and with the kind of black, messy hair that belonged in the MySpace era. He was... some position on the football team, Rey could never remember what, and for some reason, was also majoring in psychology and constantly in her classes.
And he was good.
Every single time he was called on, he had the answer to the question. He never stayed to talk with the professors, but had his assignments turned in before almost anyone else, and had well-written, astute responses to the discussion questions online. And he was one of the most quiet, rude, cold people she had ever met. The few times she’d tried striking up conversation with him, he’d stared at her like she’d grown six heads and stolen his wallet. So, no study group invites for him, and no essay reading, and no nothing.
And it drove Rey absolutely insane, because he could — most of the time — hold totally normal, if not slightly short, conversations with everyone else.
His presentations were good, too; he had a low, rolling voice that scooped you up and carried you away with his words. Rey could still recall several parts of his presentation on SSRIs with clarity.
“I’ll have a black coffee, room for cream and sugar, and the roast beef.”
The barista nodded as she took his order, and Rey mused at how normal it surprisingly was.
Ouch. Her chest really did kinda hurt. Surreptitiously, Rey rubs her good arm against her bosom, trying to massage out some of the ache.
“I can help you.”
Rey blinks, then awkwardly heads over to the free register. Ben Solo is literally right next to her, accepting his black coffee and he’s so close she can even smell the nice cologne he wears.
“Just the panini,” Rey says, pointing at the menu and handing over her card.
“Awesome. Anything else?”
“Nope.”
“Got it. You can wait over there.”
Rey steps over to the side of the counter where everyone else is waiting for their fare. From here, she can watch Ben receive his coffee and then start heading towards the bar for his cream and sugar. It’s not creepy watching, it’s more like people watching, and he pours in exactly one packet of sugar and a small dollop of milk. Not much of either at all.
Then, he turns around, and he sees her.
It’s impossible for him to hide it, the way his eyes slightly widen and then his entire expression goes blank. But he wanders over in her direction anyway to join the small herd of waiting, hungry students, and Rey thinks he’s going to go to the back until he walks straight up to her.
“Hey Solo,” she says, instinctively, and then cringes inside. Fuck. This guy definitely did not want to strike up conversation with her.
Ben has the decency to look a touch surprised, but not offended. “Hello.”
Rey can feel her traitorous cheeks getting hot. She had no idea where to go with this. She wished her panini would just magically appear. “So, uh, coffee? This late?”
Wow. Wow! Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Ben still isn’t offended, somehow. “Yeah. Need to study for Holdo’s test.”
Rey dies inside again. Maybe she should’ve gotten coffee if one of the best students in her class was abiding by it.
“Yeah,” she agrees, awkwardly, “I’m working on that too. The case study part is dense.”
“That’s where I am too. Not my strong suit.”
Rey smiles slightly. He was talking to her. Wow.
“You’re leaking, by the way,” Ben says, and gestures towards her torso.
Huh?
Rey looks down. There’s a wet spot on her shirt. Two small wet spots, actually, and they’re both on her breasts.
The entire room goes mute in her ears, all sounds muffled and everything suddenly far away — she was... was she? There was no way. She wasn’t pregnant, she couldn’t be— be leaking! She tries to cover herself, blood drained from her face, but one arm is crooked and stuck in the cast and the other is barely enough to manage. She’s still waiting on the fucking panini. What the hell is she supposed to do?
Ben must see the horror dawning across her features, because suddenly he looks mortified, too.
“I—” he stammers, “I was just joking, I didn’t mean— shit, I’m sorry, Rey—”
“I can't believe this is happening,” Rey whispers, and instinctively both of them are shuffling away to the furthest corner of the café with no people in it. Rey doesn’t even question Ben following her, doesn’t notice his arms moving as he shrugs off his college hoodie and wordlessly offers it to her.
“Here,” he says, quickly, “use this. Are you okay?”
“No,” she croaks, blushing. “I’m... I think it’s my medication. Oh my god.” Rey takes the hoodie, then realizes she’s can’t even get it on with one arm as she is.
Ben realizes it, too. Ears pink and expression blank, he wordlessly scrunches up the hoodie so she can put her head and arms through the giant holes. It’s almost a gown on her, but it’s warm and smells incredible and Rey almost forgets to be freaking out over whatever her body is doing.
“Where’s your dorm?” Ben asks.
“J Hall.”
“That’s too far. I’m in the S dorms, are you comfortable coming to my room? You can get cleaned up in there,” he offers quietly.
Rey’s head feels like scrambled eggs and it’s hard to think with her tits hurting, but his offer makes sense, and she doesn’t think she can survive the walk of shame to her dorm, he’s right.
“Okay,” she exhales. “That’s fine. But what about—?”
“Roast beef for Ben! Panini for Rey! Americano for George!”
Ben sets his coffee down beside her and leaves without batting an eye to get their food.
“Let’s go,” he says as soon as he returns.
—
The walk to Ben’s dorm is half as long as it would take to get back to hers. She’s glad it’s dark, and tries to ignore every single soul in the vicinity as she convinces herself nobody can tell what’s happening under the hoodie and nobody is weirded out to see Ben Solo walking to his dorm with a girl. Because that is definitely what’s happening.
Ben taps his keycard to get in, then once more at his door. The whole building smells like Old Spice and boy, and entering the safety of Ben’s room and hearing the lock click behind them takes a modicum of panic off Rey’s plate.
“I’m so sorry,” she blurts out immediately, still awkwardly covering her chest. She doesn’t know what else to do. He didn’t even need to do any of this. She’d never be able to look him in the eye again. “I think— I know I’m not pregnant, I mean, so I think it’s just... my medication... side effect.”
“I see. So this has never happened before?”
He’s remarkably calm about all of this, she’ll give him that. Rey can feel the embarrassment threatening her tear ducts, and takes a deep, steadying breath.
“No,” she admits, warbly, “it’s never happened before. ...My chest has been hurting all week, though.”
“It’s okay,” Ben says, and he means it, “here, you can use my bathroom.”
Rey gratefully accepts. She doesn’t have much faculties to notice the state of his dorm; no roommate present, bed neatly made, his side of the room clean and minimally cluttered. There’s a fighter jet poster on the wall over his bed, but that’s about it.
The moment the bathroom door locks, she realizes she’s fucked.
She can’t get the hoodie off. She’s probably— probably gotten... stuff all over the inside of it. She doesn’t even have a clean shirt to wear, let alone bra.
For a moment, Rey allows the tears to burn up, angry and frustrated and humiliated, and drip down her cheeks. She sniffles very, very softly, so it doesn’t echo. She doesn’t need Ben to know she’s crying in his bathroom. Clumsily, she manages to turn on the faucet and splash water on it with one hand. Taking a wad of toilet paper, she dabs at her face to dry it.
There. That’s slightly better. Rey sniffles again, then makes a valiant attempt at getting off the hoodie. If she could get the clothes on, she could get them off, right? She manages to get it halfway skewed up her torso before her casted arm gets stuck, and she does breathing exercises to calm down, not get worked up and start crying again. God, these hormones were miserable.
Rey takes a moment to work up the courage. Then, she opens the door, hoodie halfway swallowing her.
“I can’t get it off,” she says, and worries at her lip.
Ben is upright instantly, crossing his room in three paces to get to her. His hands descend upon the thick fabric, prying it gently up and over her head again.
Rey can feel the cold air of the room hit her wet shirt, and blushes deeply.
“Do you...” Ben’s voice trails off, his gaze roaming over her unsurely, “need help with the rest?”
Rey stares at Ben for a long second, some sort of strange, electric heat simmering up in the air. She wonders where his roommate is. She wonders what bizarre planetary alignment allowed her to go from studying with a broken arm to— to this in Ben Solo’s dorm room in less than an hour.
“Is your roommate coming back soon?” she asks, timid.
“No,” Ben blurts out, “he’s gone for the weekend. Science Fair.”
“Okay. Um. Sure.”
“...Are you sure?”
Rey gulps. “Yes.”
The shirt she’s wearing is just a cut up Nirvana top. She’d kicked off her slides at the door.
“Okay,” Ben says softly. “Arms up.”
Rey closes her eyes, unwilling to face him as she does as he says. She raises her casted arm as high as she can, and flinches when his fingers brush against her midriff to pull up her shirt.
“This is insane,” she mumbles.
“It’s not,” Ben says, the epitome of calm and firm. “People have reactions to their meds all the time. What makes you special?”
The teasing is just enough to make her crack a small smile.
“Still,” she says, and then winces. The ache can now be defined as a pressure, like something building up and stuck. And then, her shirt is off, and she’s standing in Ben Solo’s room wearing a sports bra and yoga pants.
He is doing a bad job of not staring at her.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, glancing away and busying himself with folding up her slightly damp shirt and placing it on top of his dresser. “Hot girl in dorm. Distracting.”
“Hot girl?” Rey parrots, baffled.
Ben looks back, confused at her confusion. A beat of silence passes between them as they both understand — Ben’s brow furrows, even if his ears are red, and Rey can steadily feel a strong heat crawling up her neck as her eyes widen.
“You think I’m hot?” she asks, genuine.
“Yeah,” Ben manages to get out, and his whole face is edging towards crimson. “I mean. Of course, dude.”
This is a joke. A dream. “I wish I felt hot,” Rey admits, voice cracking. “I don’t know if I believe you. This isn’t super weird?”
Ben growls, somehow, under his breath, like that displeases him. “No, Rey. This is hot. You half-naked in my dorm dripping milk is definitely, definitely fucking hot.”
And then, like some sort of embarrassing, erotic sitcom, she can literally feel the pressure mount up in her breasts with the wave of arousal that follows his words. And she knows instantly there is more leaking out. It really does ache.
He must see it on her face, because he softens, and wanders back over to her. “Does it hurt?”
“Yeah,” she sighs, nodding. “It’s really tender.”
“Understandable. Do you want to take off your bra or leave it on?”
Rey considers. She supposed she could just pull it up, but it was... wet... and she didn’t want to wear it any longer than she had to. She wasn’t even sure the whole constriction thing was helping.
But that meant Ben taking off her bra. In his dorm. Alone.
He thinks you’re hot, her mind supplies unhelpfully, and Rey feels admittedly a bit dizzy at the revelation. But someone can think you’re hot and not like your personality or whatever, right? Like Ben for example — she’d clocked him as a total douche, but could confess that he was handsome in a Jane Austen kind of way and built like, well, a football player.
“I won’t look,” Ben adds.
Rey gives in.
“Okay,” she murmurs. She puts her arms up.
Ben steps behind her, and she can feel the weight of his presence. His large, hot hands are immeasurably gentle when they come around her ribcage, and his fingers slide under the elastic band of the garment to begin pulling it up.
The motion tugs on her breasts, of course, and Rey scrunches up her face as they become free from the confines. The air is cold against them, wet of course, and she can’t bear to look at them, doesn’t want it to be real.
Ben carefully directs each of her arms through the bra, and then she’s out of it. He immediately turns his back to her to put it with her shirt and give her privacy.
“Thank you,” Rey says hurriedly, “I’m going to the bathroom.”
“I’m grabbing a shirt for when you get out.”
The door clicks shut.
Alone in the bathroom, Rey allows herself to dissociate a little, enter a trance of cleaning herself up while her thoughts go haywire. Here she was, topless and... lactating... and Ben Solo was just outside, waiting for her. Helping her. It was totally, batshit fucking insane, and yet it was happening. How did she go from studying to this? Where did it go wrong? Did they warn her at the clinic about these kinds of side effects? Rey can’t recall — she just wipes down with water, dabs herself dry with toilet paper, and takes some extra tissue in case she needs it.
It takes some willpower to make herself open the door and face him again. But she does.
One arm awkwardly covers her chest like before, and does a poor job of it due to the cast.
Ben turns around, sees her, and quickly looks away to nab the aforementioned shirt. “Better?”
Rey realizes even if she’s cleaned up, the pressure is still there, if not worse, and she doesn’t really feel better at all.
“No,” she mumbles, “not really.”
Ben frowns. He’s careful to keep her out of his peripheral vision, and holds out the shirt at a funny angle for her to take it without him peeping. “What’s wrong?”
“It just hurts,” Rey complains weakly, rubbing at them. She takes the shirt with her good hand. “It’s... Are you sure you want to hear this?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a lot of pressure.”
Rey’s holding the shirt he gave her in her hands, just staring at it forlornly. All of this sucked. She was going to end up leaking all over Ben’s clothes. He could totally hold this over her head ‘til they graduated, and she’s numb at the thought.
“You probably need to, uh. Express. The milk.”
Rey gapes at him. Oh god. He was right. She was... full. For days she thought this was just her period coming up, but really...
“How do I do that?” she whispers in horror.
“It’s okay,” Ben placates immediately, fidgeting where he’s standing because he’s can’t look at her, “it’s easy—”
“I don’t have a baby,” she protests, spiraling, “I’ve never even had sex, I can’t—”
“It’s not like that, you just have to squeeze.”
Rey balks, glancing down at her chest. “Like, like milking them?”
Ben doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “I mean. I guess. But doesn’t it hurt?”
She supposes he’s right. Again. She’s blushing so much it’s a mottled flush across her chest and neck, and experimentally, Rey reaches down and squeezes one of her breasts. Only a meager, tiny droplet appears. She tries harder, and it barely helps.
“It’s not working,” Rey whines.
“Don’t hit me — do you want assistance?”
“Maybe.” They’ve come this far. Why not continue being shameless and stupid? “I don’t know. What, do you want to try?”
Ben’s head slowly turns to peek over his shoulder, and Rey just watches him warily, but doesn’t move or shy away. The rest of his body follows shortly after, moving at the same, sedate pace until he’s fully facing her and his eyes are roaming her body like hot fingers.
“Do you want to sit or something?” Ben asks, and his voice is thick and low, but neutral somehow. For the first time, she can really see how dark his eyes are, heavy-lidded as he ogles her.
Rey just nods a lot. She can’t make eye contact, so she beelines to the bed to sit there and pretend everything about this is normal.
Ben strolls over leisurely, grabbing a fresh towel from a drawer, and sits down exactly next to her. “You still okay?”
“Yeah,” Rey nods. He places the towel generously over her lap. “Just self-conscious.”
“I still think you’re hot. Twice as hot, actually.”
He was ridiculous. “I’m not much to look at.”
“A bold-faced lie. Do you want me to tell you how pretty your tits are, because I would all night. Give ‘em here.”
One arm wraps around behind her, the other comes from the front. Rey tucks her arms in tight against her to give him optimal room, and with her breasts jutting out, Ben’s hands engulf them. They’re so warm, and Rey sighs with relief at the touch.
“That feels better already,” she admits, and Ben hums quietly.
“Yeah,” he says, husky, “same.”
And then he squeezes. It’s firm, not enough to hurt, and when Rey looks down she sees the beginnings of droplets forming, swelling. He squeezes again, slowly applying pressure, and the droplets turn into a small, weak dribble, barely a trickle.
Her head is pure fog. Rey glances at Ben from the corner of her eye to gauge his reaction, and sees his mouth hanging open. He whispers “holy shit”. He’s staring at her like she’s some sort of secret goddess sent from Venus, reverent, and something in Rey preens at the sweet attention, relishes it, because at least he wasn’t disgusted; at least he hadn’t rejected her. He’d done the opposite in every regard. He had blown all her expectations out of the water.
“Sorry,” Rey says anyway, too embarrassed to think clearly anymore, “this is a lot for you to deal with. I’m sorry.”
“No, this is fucking amazing,” Ben blurts out, and he’s totally serious somehow. He’s not even smiling, just still locked onto her dribbling milk and absently grabbing the towel to dab it up. “Is that weird?”
“Yes, but keep it up because you’re making me feel better.”
Ben cracks a lopsided smirk, never looking away from her tits. “Yeah?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Do you like hearing me talk about your tits?”
Rey’s belly clenches and she swallows down the thick, embarrassing wave of arousal he summoned so effortlessly. This was not the time. She nods.
“They’re perfect, if you ask me.” His hands are back to massaging them, almost groping as he squishes them and coaxes more milk out. “Perfect size. Perfect pink nipples. I like how puffy they are — side effect? I assumed so. But...” For a moment, his thumb grazes over one wet, sensitive nipple and Rey gasps, a strangled, hitched noise that comes from her throat. “That must mean your milk is delicious. I bet all of you is delicious.”
Her head is spinning like a carousel — an obscene, debauched carousel. Ben goes on and on about her, how perfect everything is, how nourishing her milk must be, and the more he slowly expresses it, the more Rey can only think about how sensitive her breasts are and she wants more somehow.
“You...” Rey croaks out, voice tight, “you can try it... if you wanted?”
She’s not looking at him; she can’t. She’s pretending she didn’t even say it. Why did she say that out loud again?
“Are you for real?” Ben asks, serious.
Rey cringes, withdrawing some, but he’s already stopping her with an arm around her waist and a big hand covering an entire breast, palming it gently.
“It was stupid to ask,” she says, struggling, “I’m sorry. Sorry.”
“No, really,” Ben urges, “I don’t mind, especially if it helps you.”
Oh. Rey lets all that sink in for a moment — he said yes. She offered to let him... directly help alleviate her milk-swollen breasts... with his mouth. And he said yes.
Sitting there, she squirms, the crux of her thighs humming with warmth.
“I think it would help a lot,” she confesses, and Ben nods in agreement.
Wordlessly, Ben leans in. With his strong arms, he maneuvers her further onto his bed, legs still parted and dangling off, and he cranes over her lap to position himself. His breath ghosts across her skin, tingling and warm, and her nipples harden in response. She swallows.
Ben looks so fucking happy.
He shuts his eyes and wraps his lips around one nipple, latching onto it and running his tongue back and forth over the sensitive flesh in his mouth. Rey makes a humiliating noise of pleasure, her fingers scrambling to clutch at his black shirt for purchase. Then, he sucks — softly and gently, slowly working his way up to a more insistent intensity. The relief was palpable. She could feel the pressure giving way to a swirling, lovely mix of arousal and comfort.
Ben is lost to the world. To be fair, she is, too, and her hands idly wander to his hair — it’s unwashed but still silky — and tries to not tremble too much as he works at her. When he finally unlatches from her, he licks over and over her reddened nipple, soothing it, and she keens in his hold.
“This is the best thing,” he breathes out in between laving, “I’ve ever tasted.”
And then he goes to her other breast. His free hand kneads at the one he drank from, milk still dribbling out between his fingers as he suckles on her untouched, swollen one. His tongue performs the same overstimulating tricks, swirling around and applying more and more suction until he was draining her into his mouth.
Ben wasn’t exactly quiet, either. Every so often she would catch a long, low hum from his chest, like a quiet, pleased groan of satisfaction. Sometimes he would sigh, like he was blissfully content.
And Rey was going to explode.
Her thighs were absolutely slippery by now. She had never done anything with anyone before, besides herself and her toys, and being actually touched by a human being was downright overwhelming and deliriously good. She didn’t know if all intimacy could be like this, but she had the feeling it wasn’t. Every noise she made had her caring less and less about propriety and what Ben thought of her, writhing and moaning in his bed as he drank her milk deeply.
It takes her a minute to realize his hands are wandering, too, and ever-so-careful not to bother her broken arm. The one on her breast had disappeared down her waist, groping at her hips, squeezing just above where her ass met the mattress. His other hand pawed at her throat, her neck, crawling up to her mouth where he cupped her cheek and drifted his thumb across her bottom lip.
Rey wanted to suck on it more than she wanted anything in her whole life. She parted her lips in a haze, tongue darting out, and he lets it barely touch, toying with her as he switches which nipple he’s suckling from.
“So fucking good,” he groans, “could drink you forever. Could touch you forever.”
“Please,” Rey begs, “touch me more. Anything. Please. Just— just more than this.”
Ben stifles a moan into her skin, and breaks away to lean up and kiss her.
Rey freezes, surprised, and then she realizes he’s still got his lips pressed against hers, and if she wants to keep kissing him, she needs to kiss him back. So she does. Or tries to, at least; she didn’t have much practice kissing at all. From the way his mouth moves, coercing hers into long, drawn out movements and teasing her with his tongue, she thinks he’s really good at it.
And he tastes sweet and creamy. Like milk.
Rey’s face grows hot, and she’s suddenly gasping for air as he breaks away, forehead pressed against her own as his labored breathing matches hers.
“Wanna touch you,” he rasps, and Rey nods aggressively. “Wanna be inside you.”
That sounded amazing to her. She felt empty in a way she couldn’t describe, and the hand on her hip starts rummaging under the band of her tights, slipping in and past her damp panties. Fuck, he could feel that, couldn’t he? He was going to feel everything. He was going to know.
“How’re you feeling?” Ben manages to ask, somehow, amidst the fever, and Rey is so wildly touched that he even cares enough to ask, let alone remember.
And the answer is better. Mostly.
“Good,” she exhales, winded.
“Can I have more?” he asks, frank.
Rey’s heart skips a few beats. “O-of course. Yeah. Please.”
All at once, his fingers ease past her damp curls and straight into her molten heat, drowning in juices. She’s wetter than she’s ever been without touching herself, and Ben wastes no time in latching back onto a nipple at the same instant he wriggles one long, large finger into her entrance.
Rey whimpers a pretty, loud noise and Ben groans back contentedly against her heart.
She tries to grind down into his hand; his wrist is just barely pressed up against her clit, and the little electric jolts coming from his tongue are serving to leave her hot and swollen and waiting for release. She whines and whines Ben’s name softly, embarrassed for him to hear it, but for some reason it only makes him grip her harder and growl back, delicious teeth grazing against her sensitive teat.
And he wants more, too. His other hand appears at her side, gripping her tights and yanking them down over her ass to give himself better access to her core. He gets it around her knees, spreading them open, and with the newfound space Rey feels a second finger work its way inside of her, stretching her perfectly.
“Ben,” she cries out, vision going blurry when he presses against the perfect, sweet spot inside of her that she can’t even reach with her own hands.
He’s switching back and forth between her tits shamelessly now. He suckles on one, pops his mouth off, and then plays with the nipple between his calloused fingers. He licks at them, big, flat doglike licks that leave milky drool all over her skin.
All she can sensate is him. He’s the only thing she can hear, taste, touch, smell. Like being encased in a shell, Rey feels her belly tightening and clenching around Ben’s fingers, the combined pleasure growing to be too much too quickly, and Rey makes it known with stammers and pitchy moans of, “W-wait, Ben, Ben I’m gonna, I’m, I-I’m—”
“M’gonna watch you,” he says from under her chin, raising his head up. With his free hand, he takes one nipple and pinches it, pulling it hard and Rey feels pure, hard fireworks bolt through her nerves and go straight to her cunt at the same time he moves in his palm to finally rub up against her clit.
Rey doesn’t stand a chance. Her vision goes fuzzy, then black-white, her pussy squeezing relentlessly around his two fingers as she gushes around them. Her orgasm comes in waves and waves, and in the midst of it, she realizes her tits are actually, like, almost spraying milk — little spurts keep coming out, and yes, Ben is watching in total, perverted rapture.
“Holy fucking shit,” he mumbles a second time, amazed, and Rey realizes that yes: Ben Solo really thinks she’s hot, even like this.
It takes a full minute for Rey to reconnect to her body again and regain her senses. She’s only vaguely aware of Ben moving around, kissing her on the cheek, on the nose, leaving momentarily, returning with... a wet rag? It’s cool and so, so soothing as he uses it to wipe her up clean from her sweaty forehead to her mess of milk to her slickened thighs.
“Feeling okay now?” Ben checks again, and Rey can’t help but smile weakly, breathlessly.
“I’m great,” she says, voice all funny, and they both laugh.
Ben glances at the clock on his nightstand, and then back to her. Clearing his throat, she can see pink across his cheeks as he goes to grab the clean t-shirt he promised her.
“Here,” he says. “It’s getting late. I don’t mind walking you back to your dorm, but if you wanted to stay, we can eat and I can sleep in Hux’s bed, or we could share. I’m fine either way. But I wanted to take you to breakfast tomorrow morning. Or something. Do this right. We could study together.”
Rey has much more of her faculties about her, even if her head is still pleasantly spinning. Maybe it’s the post-orgasm glow, and the relief at finally not being in agony, but she doesn’t have a filter and straight-up says, “Listen. I thought you hated me.”
It’s clearly not the answer Ben expected, and looks kind of stricken.
“I fucking suck at talking to girls, Rey.” Is all he says. He’s so embarrassed and she can feel it radiating off of him, unable to look her in the eye. Rey grows steadily more flustered herself, trying to piece together the implication of all of this.
“You mean you’ve thought I’ve been hot since...?”
“I met you,” he finishes her sentence bluntly.
Rey stares at Ben, awestruck. Her heart is doing things that should probably put her in the hospital.
“If we share my bed, I promise no funny business,” he tacks on to his earlier offer, scratching the back of his head, and oh, he really wants to sleep in the same bed as her, doesn’t he? “And if you wake up and feel full again or whatever you can just get me up and I’ll help.”
Rey thinks she’s floating, maybe. This might be a dream. She might have fallen asleep on her desk. She confirms, “So I stay the night and we study in the morning?”
“If that’s what you want, yeah.”
“Yeah,” Rey smiles faintly, “I want that. Sounds really nice.”
“Okay, good. Come to bed. Just wanna hold you for a minute.”
Nobody needs to tell her twice. Ben has already kicked off his sweatpants and wears a pair of boxers that hint at his bulge, but he promised no fooling around, and Rey believed him. Not that she would’ve minded, she thinks. But it’s nice not to rush.
Rey crawls gently into his arms, the bed barely big enough for Ben, let alone both of them, and she has to curl up half on top of him, cast included, in order to fit.
The test and the panini can wait. She's too comfortable to move.