Work Text:
The first thing he perceives is a throbbing in his head, before he even opens his eyes.
The second thing, immediately following, is a pair of hazel eyes meeting his. Hazel eyes, attached to the body of--
"Rey?" He jolts fully awake, eliciting a fresh wave of pain, and--is it--nausea? Everything just feels like undifferentiated misery. He drops back on the pillow again, closing his eyes and groaning.
"You were pretty drunk," she says quietly. "Here." She holds up a glass of water with a straw in it, supporting his head as he takes a few sips. Then she hands him two small white tablets that he takes without question.
"How...why are you here?" His voice sounds croaky, more gruff than he intended. She blushes. Great, now he's made her think he doesn't want her around, which...couldn't be further from the truth. He just doesn't--do hangovers cause hallucinations? He doesn't think so. He shakes his head slightly.
"I'm sorry, I just wanted to make sure you didn't aspirate, or--I know it's an intrusion, I'll just be going--"
"No, it's fine, it's--please stay," he whispers, practically begs, and god, since when has he been such a desperate drunk? Surely he's repulsed her completely by now, but his head hurts too much to figure out how to course-correct. Is it the alcohol making his stomach lurch? Or the self-loathing? What's the difference, really, he thinks ruefully.
"Ok," she says, quietly again--hesitantly, miraculously. "Drink some more water." He finishes the glass, and the next one that she returns with a minute later. Then he promptly passes out again.
He sleeps restlessly for a while, tossing through dreams that seem to be half memory. All of Rey. Rey, a revelation in a yellow dress, saying his name and holding her hand out to shake. Her laughter, and a feeling of shame in his belly that quickly blooms into something else as he realizes she got his joke, she gets him. He sees her dancing, feels a spinning as the dream resets into something less tangible, a sensation of softness and rhythm, lips and bodies moving together. It's warm and safe and it feels like home, but it’s slipping away as reality starts to claim him. He tries to hold on, but can’t.
He wakes suddenly, realizing that not only is Rey here, sleeping, in his bed, but he’s gripping her shirt...the same shirt she was wearing last night at the block party. Has she been here all night?
He pulls his hand away, rests it on his forehead, thinking. He can do that a lot better now that the water, the painkillers, and the extra sleep have done their job. It would’ve been easy enough for her to let herself into his place this morning--she has a key after all, for taking care of things when he’s out of town for work. But did she bring him home? He reaches back in his memory, realizes he can’t remember anything after the fourth--or fifth?--drink he’d poured and downed behind the table at the edge of the yard, sullenly watching her flit around the party like the bright butterfly she is, smiling indulgently at Hux, hugging Finn, laughing and dancing with Poe. Poe, that--that fucking himbo.
He groans. Then-- dancing… Something comes back to him. Dancing with Rey. Was it just in his dream? Did it really happen? Other images--feelings--start to filter back in, and, oh god. Did he--did they--? His stomach turns again and this time he knows it’s not from the alcohol. It would be just like him, wouldn’t it, to finally get what he’s been longing for for years, and fuck it up so completely. To get to touch Rey, and not even really remember it. To touch Rey, for the first and last time, because, well, she’d have to be drunk to want him, and what must she think of him now, to take advantage of her like that?
He sits upright. His mind is spinning and he feels like he can’t breath, and before this turns into a full-blown panic attack, he needs to know.
“Rey,” he says, as softly as he can, considering the urgency he’s feeling. She doesn’t respond. “Rey.” A little louder this time. She has to hear him, she has to, he can’t bring himself to touch her right now, even innocently. “REY.”
She opens her eyes and smiles slowly at him, like absolutely nothing is wrong. “Morning,” she says, stretching. “How are you feeling?”
“Me? I’m, um...I’ve been worse, thanks for the Tylenol. Are you--how are you?”
“Oh, I’m fine. I only had a couple drinks, and lots of water. Sundays are my long run days, you know.”
“Rey, did you--did you stay here all night?” He tries to keep his voice neutral.
She looks away. No, no, no, he can’t help pleading, though he knows he has no right to her gaze. “Yes, I did. I got you home, and I was just so tired. I wanted to make sure you were ok, but I guess I couldn’t stay awake very long.”
“So we...we didn’t…” He feels his ears getting hot, and--it turns out there’s just no way to delicately ask the girl next door, the girl you’ve been in unrequited love with for almost as long as you can remember, whether or not you had drunken, sloppy, dubiously-consenting sex with her the night before. He looks down at his lap, realizes that he’s still in last night’s shirt too, but that his shoes, socks, and jeans have been removed. He’s pretty sure he knows by whom. “We didn’t, you know, have…”
Fortunately, she has mercy on him, of course she does, because she is everything good and pure and kind. “No, we didn’t.” Her tone is odd, but he can’t dissect that right now, he’s just so relieved. He leans back against the headboard, slowly filling his lungs with air and letting it back out. “Ben?” He spares a glance at her. Her eyes are big with concern. “Are you ok?”
“Yes, I’m fine, now.”
“Oh, ok. Ok, good. I’ll--I guess I should get going then. Thanks for your hospitality,” she jokes, gesturing at the bed, but neither of them laughs.
She wants to leave. He’s already kept her here too long, taking each drop of care and kindness she’s been willing to give him, but he can’t help it. He wants more. “I should be the one thanking you. Thank you, Rey. For making sure I was ok.” He smiles at her sincerely, and it feels strange. She smiles back. He decides to press his luck. Who even is he anymore? “Can I make you some breakfast? I can--I make some mean blueberry pancakes, but you probably want something lighter if you’re running this morning.”
“Blueberry pancakes sound perfect.” No, your smile is perfect. “Carbo-loading, you know.” He starts to get out of bed when he feels something warm and soft on his arm. Her hand. “I’m not really hungry, yet, though. Don’t you want to just...wake up a bit, first?” He’s already had enough adrenaline coursing through him this morning to wake a horse, but he sits back down, looking at her curiously. “Ben, you don't have to do this. If you want me to leave, I will."
"No!" He says, too loud. There he is, the Ben he knows, too awkward, too much. "I mean, you can stay. I, uh...I like having you here."
"You do?"
"Well, yeah."
"Because you sure seemed quick to get out of bed. You were...relieved that nothing happened between us last night."
So she's just going there. His brain is short-circuiting. Nothing for it now but honesty. "I was. I was worried that...that maybe I forced myself on you. You know, since we were--I was--drinking."
"Forced yourself on me? Ben, you could never!" She laughs, for some reason.
Wow, she sure has overestimated his virtue. Good people, people like her, they just can't imagine the depths of depravity people like him are capable of. "I couldn't? How...how can you say that?"
"Because I want you too, you know. I would be...willing."
If his brain was short-circuiting before, now it's completely fried. Smoking in splatters on the floor. Or something.
"You want me? Too?"
"Yes, Ben." She giggles. Giggles. "Why else do you think I'm still here?"
"To be...nice?"
"How is this being nice? Ben, I'm a lot more selfish than you give me credit for." She sits up. He knows he's staring at her stupidly, his mouth hanging open, but she moves toward him anyway. Like she's going to kiss him. "You know what I would like for my thank-you breakfast? Even more than blueberry pancakes?"
He's gaping. He manages to shake his head no.
"You," she says, and her lips are on his. They are soft and dry, but soon things are becoming much more wet as she devours him like she hasn't had a good meal in years. He’s recovered enough to kiss her back, his hand supporting the base of her skull. It’s warm there, under her hair. He’s about to get lost in the movement of her tongue, wants to follow it down, burrow under the sheets, and see what else he can taste, but his brain--his fucking brain--gets in the way again.
“Rey,” he pulls back, slightly out of breath. “I--”
“Is something wrong? Is this ok?” She looks worried, and dammit, he could kick himself. No one should ever put that look on her face.
“Yes! More than ok! I just--I don’t understand. I thought--I never thought you would be interested in me in a million years. I’m so...and you’re so…” He gestures vaguely. “You seem to be friendly with everyone but me.”
“That’s because, argh, Ben, you make me so flustered! The whole happy, smiley, Rey-of-sunshine thing? It doesn’t work on you. It’s like you can see right through all my bullshit. I never know what to say.”
“Well, I guess that makes two of us.” He pauses, mentally reinterpreting a whole catalogue of memories.
“But it’s nice. With you, I don’t feel like I have to pretend everything is ok. You’re so, just...understanding.”
Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Rey, I have obviously never understood a thing in my life. I’m an idiot.”
“Hm. My idiot, though. Yes?”
“Yes. Your idiot. I’ll be your whatever you want.” He initiates the kiss this time, laying her down on the bed underneath him, just enjoying her mouth for a while. He’s not sure he feels ready for anything else yet. This is all happening so fast.
Rey has other ideas through. She takes his hand and holds it to her breast, encouraging him to squeeze. She breaks the kiss and looks straight at him with a gleam in her eye. “Look, Ben. Kissing is nice and all, and you're really--I mean really-- good at it, but I didn’t suffer through all your snoring all night just for a kiss. I was hoping for a little more for my thank-you. You know, for saving your drunk-ass life.”
He knows she's teasing, I mean, who the hell kisses someone like this out of gratitude , but the truth is, he does feel like he owes her. Owes her for all the time they could've had this, if he hadn't been so sunk in self-pity, too confirmed in his inferiority complex to notice her signals. Owes her a goodnight kiss for every time he'd fallen asleep dreaming of her smile. Owes her a mind blowing orgasm for every time he'd wanked to the image of her thick, round ass burned in his memory. Owes her a homemade breakfast for every morning he’d woken up ravenous for the taste of her skin he thought he’d never have.
So if she’s here to collect, who is he to say no?
Now that he’s made up his mind, he wastes no time pulling off her shirt, her socks, her underwear. He hears Rey’s breathing speed up as she senses the shift in his energy. Once he has her bare before him, he sits back on his haunches just to look. Her skin is creamy, freckled along the shoulders and collarbones. Her nipples are already hard, her breasts rounded where they fall toward her sides. They look like they will fit perfectly in his palms. Her stomach dips toward her navel, then swells lower to where--oh my god, her cunt, it's--
"Perfect," he breathes, memorizing the delicate shape of her folds where they flare around her opening, just like a flower, and that cliche has not prepared him for the reality, not at all, for the way it entices him to enter and take, with its promise of a warm welcome, and he shivers and shakes his head because he remembers that this is supposed to be for her. “Rey,” he rasps. “What do you want? I’ll give you anything." Everything.
“Your mouth,” she says immediately. “I want your mouth on me, I’ve imagined it so many times, those lips--” She dissolves into a moan as he licks her, his tongue tracing around her folds to take in each taste and texture. He takes the inner labia on one side between his lips, pulling it into his mouth as his tongue flicks the edge, then repeats it with the other side. Above him she’s gasping and fidgeting, ohmygods dissolving into incoherent whimpers. She seems to be enjoying it. He reaches up to take one breast in his hand, teasing her nipple as he tests her entrance with one finger on his other hand. She’s so wet, it slips in effortlessly.
He’s overwhelmed with the sensations of her under his mouth and hands, the smell of her arousal and the sounds of her pleasure as she responds to his touch. If he can give this to her, every night, every day, for the rest of his life, he thinks, maybe his life will not be a waste after all. His cock is throbbing almost painfully, but he needs her climax first, needs to know that he is capable of centering her completely, holding nothing back for himself.
He licks her clit harder and faster as he adds a second finger, reaching for her G-spot, and when her voice changes to something high and desperate, he thinks he’s found it. He crooks his fingers, stroking there mercilessly as he switches from licking to sucking on her clit in short pulses timed with the movement of his fingers. She’s chanting his name now and thrusting her pelvis, which makes it hard to keep his place, but he can’t deny her anything. He lets her fuck herself on his face and hand, and in just a few breaths she’s gushing on him, her whole body shaking in what seems to be--he hopes is--a really, really, good orgasm.
He keeps a light pressure on her as she rides through it, and he’s not sure what’s normal for her, but it seems to be going on for a while, another aftershock each time he thinks she’s done. His chest is blooming with pride as he watches her face, blissed out and glowing, her head thrown back. I did this for you. I did this to you.
Finally she opens her eyes and looks down at him, and if he thought her smile was beatific before--well, clearly he’s an idiot, as has been well-established. She says his name and he knows this moment will be burned in his memory forever.
“Oh my god, Ben. I have never come that hard in my life. ” She laughs, apparently from pure joy, and he knows the feeling.
“Well, I just wanted to make sure you knew how incredibly grateful I am to you for ensuring I didn’t meet a grisly death drowning in my own vomit.” God, that is without a doubt the least sexy thing he has ever said, and it’s like he doesn’t even care. Nothing can dampen his enthusiasm when this woman is naked in his bed.
“Come ‘ere,” she says, and he flops down next to her on his side, head propped up on his hand so he can get a good look at her face. He leans in to steal a few more soft kisses while she sighs in contentment. Then she shifts and her hand finds his cock, still hard and leaking. He drops onto his back, groaning. He’s already halfway there just from being with her. “What do you like, Ben?” she asks, completely unnecessarily, as she sits up and pulls his boxers down off his hips.
“You,” he says. “I like you. I like you touching me. Anything--any way you want.”
She smiles and strokes faster, then--yes, this is really happening--bends over him, taking his cock in her mouth. Lightly, shallowly at first, just swirling her tongue around the head. It’s torture, and he’s about to take back what he just said when she steals his breath completely, taking him deeper and sucking hard. He tangles his hands in her hair as she starts to bob her head up and down, getting him a little further back in her throat each time.
It’s mesmerizing watching her cheeks alternately hollow out and fill, her breasts moving ever so slightly, the graceful lines of her hands as they work the base of his cock and his balls, where an all-consuming tension is building almost to the breaking point. Inhuman noises are coming out of his mouth, but he manages to find his voice to warn her of his impending release. She just takes him harder and faster. She wants him to come in her mouth. Well, he’ll give her that, too. “You’re going to swallow it all, aren’t you, Rey,” he gasps, and when she looks at him and winks, that is the end of him. His world narrows down to this one point, where pleasure is rolling through him in slow waves that match the bobbing of her throat as she takes everything.
When he comes down, he pulls her up to him in almost the mirror image of how they’d been before, except she’s nuzzled in under his arm, so warm and soft, and he thinks maybe he does still have some alcohol to sleep off, after all, because he’s already drifting away. Everything feels so right.
“Ben,” she whispers. “You must really be grateful that I brought you home last night.”
“You have no idea,” he mumbles into her hair.
“You know what you told me last night, while I was putting you to bed?”
He groans, bracing himself for the worst.
“No, it was adorable.” She lifts her head up so she can see his face. He still can’t believe she’s here, in his bed, looking this lovely. “You kept apologizing for being so drunk. You called me pretty and you said I deserved to be kissed, but not like this. You said you’d wanted to kiss me for years, and you weren’t about to waste it on a moment you probably wouldn’t even remember.”
“Wow, drunk me has a surprising amount of sense.”
“And then you said if I stuck around, you’d give me a real kiss, a good one. So that’s why I stayed. Not because I fell asleep. I was hoping you would remember.” She pouts at him, just a little. He rubs her back. The skin is so smooth.
“Well, I guess I was even drunker than you thought.”
“I guess so. But you kept your promise anyway.”
“Sure did. Thanks to you.” She lays her head back down on his shoulder and he pulls her even closer, tucking the sheet up around her shoulders. She swings her leg over his and he knows he is about to have the best nap of his life. And, for the first time in a long time, he can’t wait to wake up again.