Work Text:
The slide of their mouths together is clumsy at first, teeth scraping, noses bumping, but neither of them cares. His mouth is warm and wet and his hand slides up to cup her cheek like she’s something precious, and Jyn thinks, fuck first kisses, third kisses are way better.
Or maybe it’s just Cassian.
Cassian kisses like he has all the time in the world, almost methodical, like he’s determined to find all the ways to make her gasp and melt further into him (and he’s already found quite a few). It’s a good thing he has his arm around her back, she thinks dizzily, because otherwise she’s not sure she’d still be upright. He’s so careful, even now, even when she can feel his need in the way he’s trembling against her.
She wants to make him lose control.
She tangles her fingers in his hair and drags him closer, nipping at his bottom lip. He lets out a ragged little gasp. His beard scratches gently at her skin; she imagines what that would feel like between her thighs and her knees go weak.
“Bed,” she gasps.
“Bed,” he agrees.
They stumble to it, unwilling to take hands or mouths off of one another for an instant. Jyn flips them on the way down, grinning at Cassian’s startled grunt, and ends up straddling his waist. She hesitates a moment, shifting to make sure her knee doesn’t jab him in his bad side.
The look in his eyes stops her dead. Intent, like he’s trying to memorize her, like she’s someone worth remembering. His hands skim slowly up her thighs, under the hem of her shirt to spread warm, callused fingers across her skin.
She’s too hot. She yanks the shirt off entirely, throwing it aside. Once, the scars on her body made her ashamed, self-conscious. Then, they made her angry, became a challenge to anyone that thought they could take her. Now, she’s almost proud of them. They’re proof of what she’s been through, and that she’s still here after it all.
Cassian traces a finger over the largest one on her ribs, spreads his palm across a pockmark on her hip. “So many stories,” he muses.
“Your turn,” she says, tugging at his shirt. He obligingly wriggles out of it, revealing his own collection of scars.
Huh, she thinks. They match, both carrying their pasts with them on their skin. She touches a scar on his shoulder; ragged, round, a blaster burn.
“My first,” he says, “A skirmish on Dantooine.”
She puts a hand over his on her ribcage. “Another inmate,” she says, “Took exception to my attitude.”
He snorts. “I can’t imagine why.”
She spreads her fingers over his side, gently. The scar there is fresh and ugly, the skin around it puckered from bacta patches.
He pushes himself up to kiss her. His bare skin on hers feels like an electric shock, like sunlight, and she fumbles her breast wrap off so she can press more of herself against him.
He breaks from her mouth to chuckle into her neck. “I’m glad I didn’t have to do that.”
“The great Cassian Andor can’t undo a breast wrap?”
“I can,” he says, pressing a hot kiss to the underside of her jaw. “But I like that I didn’t have to.”
“Helps you maintain your image?” she teases on a gasp, head falling back as he nips along her collarbone.
He smiles into her skin. “Something like that.”
She pulls him back up so she can kiss him again. It feels like there’s a fire burning inside her, hottest where their bodies meet.
He must feel the same need, because he flips them. Or tries to; they end up tangled in each other in an undignified sprawl. Jyn laughs. It’s almost worth it to stay, just to feel him so entwined with her, but she needs her hands free to touch him, so she wriggles onto her back.
He’s laughing, too, as he sits up. He tugs at her belt. “May I?”
“Thought you’d never ask,” she says, and moves to shove her pants down over her hips.
“Wait,” he says, “I like this part.” He frees her belt, slides his fingers under the waist to peel both layers slowly down her legs. He somehow turns the slide of linen over her hips into something intensely erotic, so she has to remind herself to breathe by the time he’s done.
It should feel vulnerable, to be laid bare while Cassian is still half dressed. But she lost her modesty long ago, and he’s looking at her… He’s looking at her like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. It’s hard to feel self-conscious in the face of that.
“Kiss me,” she blurts.
He smirks, runs his hands up her thighs. “Where?”
Oh.
He laughs, and she would be mad but she loves his laugh, so instead she smirks and lets her knees fall to the sides.
That shuts him up.
“Dealer’s choice,” she says.
He swallows. Then, slowly, he lowers himself between her legs. And now it feels vulnerable. She’s had sex before, but this feels—
“You don’t have to?” she says.
He pauses to smile up at her. “I want to,” he says. “If you want me to.”
She considers, and finds she very much wants him to. So she nods.
At the first hot touch of his tongue on her clit, Jyn’s hips buck up of their own accord—right into Cassian’s mouth. He grunts and recoils, hand going to his face.
“Sorry!” Jyn says, “Sorry. I don’t—“
“It’s okay,” he says, grinning at her. “Worth it.” He spreads his hands across her hips, pinning them gently to the bed, and lowers his head.
She’s ready for it this time; her hips still stutter upwards, but the warm pressure of his grip is enough to keep her mostly still. He explores her, hot mouth, wet, beard scraping at her inner thighs (which is exactly as incredible as she thought it would be), nose bumping her clit when he dips inside to taste her.
“I thought you said you weren’t good at this,” she pants, tugging gently at his hair.
He raises his head enough to grin at her. “Was that a compliment? I’m flattered.”
“You’re gonna be flattened if you stop now,” she warns.
“As you wish,” he says, and flicks his tongue across her clit, grazes it gently with his teeth. A shaky moan slips out past her lips, fingers tangling in his dark hair. He hums, satisfied. One hand leaves her hip to tease at her slit, tracing up and down ever so lightly.
“Cassian, I swear—“ she gasps.
She feels his answering smile against her thigh. He slips the tip of a finger inside, and Jyn clenches around it, a hot tension starting to coil in her pelvis. He picks up speed, his finger pressing further in, crooking up—
Her hips buck up again, but he moves with her, ready for it. He doesn’t let up, tongue laving across her clit, a second finger slipping in. The tension sharpens, heat pooling higher, and then bursts. She moans, the muscles in her thighs shaking as her cunt clenches around his fingers.
“I like that noise,” he says as she comes down. She doesn’t have words yet, just tugs insistently at him. He takes his time, trailing kisses up her stomach, so by the time he reaches her breasts she can rise up to meet him, bringing their mouths together roughly. There’s a new taste on his lips, musky, a little bitter. She pulls back, wrinkles her nose a little. “Is that what I taste like?”
He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t know?”
How’s she supposed to answer that? “No?”
“Hm,” he says, and kisses her again. “I like it.” She leans into him, chest to chest, skin to sweat-damp skin.
“My turn,” she says, sliding a hand along his waist.
He gets the pants off impressively fast, considering his injury. He’s already hard. Jyn smiles. “I guess you do.”
Cassian is, quite frankly, beautiful. She knew that already, of course, but seeing the clean lines of his body, free of his bulky coat or baggy pants, smooth skin broken here and there by scars, the subtle interplay of muscles underneath… This is not a man who does anything he doesn’t choose to do, which means he’s choosing her, to be here right now with her. He could have any girl in the base, whether he believes that or not, but he’s here.
Their eyes meet. He looks a little uncertain. “What is it?”
She smiles. “Just enjoying the view.” She slides a little closer to him, takes him gently in her hand. He tenses. She hesitates.
“Tell me if I’m doing it wrong?” she asks.
He nods, letting his head fall to her shoulder. That seems like a good sign, so Jyn tries a tentative stroke, brushes the pad of her thumb across the tip. He pulls in a shaky breath.
“Good?” she asks.
“Good,” he confirms fervently.
She explores. Watches in fascination as her fingers work to find the particular ways to make him gasp, or moan, or pant words she can’t quite hear into her neck. There are no walls left between them, she thinks. And they have time to take their time, to figure out how they work together. They have a future.
He leans into her, more and more, until somehow she ends up on her back again. She quirks an eyebrow at him, letting her hand still. “Trying to tell me something?”
“If you want to,” he says.
“Oh, yes,” she says.
She parts her legs around him again, still wet from the last time (and from watching him come apart in her hands, because fuck). He rises up on his knees, and hesitates. “Protection?”
“Implant,” she says, and smirks. “I got it in prison.”
“That’s not as sexy as you think it is,” he teases.
Whatever snarky reply she might have come up with short circuits at the feel of his mouth on her breast, the barest hint of teeth on her nipple. He shifts, and the tip of him bumps gently against her slit. She sucks in a ragged breath.
“Tell me what you need,” he says.
“You,” she says.
He eases into her so gently, eyes locked on her face, so careful and controlled. He’s afraid of hurting her, but she will not break, and she wants him inside her now. She drags him down, nipping at his jaw. “If you’re going to fuck me,” she growls in his ear, “Do it properly.”
Something dark flickers across his face. He draws back, then drives into her, knocking the breath from her lungs. That’s more like it, she thinks, but that many words are beyond her. “Fuck,” she gasps.
He stills, a ripple of tension running through his body, and their eyes meet. She can’t look away, and neither does he, their gazes locked together as his hips start to move again. The rhythm he sets is methodical, like his kissing, a steady, relentless pounding driving her towards another peak. All she can do is ride it, hands gripping blindly at his hips. Her eyes flutter closed, head tipping back, and he picks up the pace.
And then there’s nothing but sensation, both of them lost in the movement of their bodies together. It feels like forever and no time at all before Cassian tenses, shuddering inside her. The way his eyes go unfocused, all trace of his usual composure lost to the moment, combined with the small, jerky motions he’s still making, is enough to send Jyn over the edge after him.
The aftershocks are fading by the time Cassian comes back to himself. He eases out and rolls to lie beside her.
“I’m glad you’re here, Jyn,” he says.
“You’re just saying that because I made you come,” she says, teasing.
He props himself up on an elbow to catch her eye, dead serious. “No, I’m not.”
She reaches up to touch his cheek, run her fingertips over his beard. Disheveled is a good look for him, she thinks fondly.
“Jyn,” he starts.
“I know,” she says. She’s still hiding, trying to deflect with humor, but he doesn’t deserve that. She leans up to kiss him, says into his mouth, “I’m glad you’re here, too.”