#I had my doubts but going from stabbing hip pain to just general discomfort with occasional pain within 20 minutes is straight up witchcraf

[liminalwings]

Some-fucking-how, I gave myself a back injury on Monday. Not this just-passed Monday. LAST Monday. Monday of last week.

And I've only as of yesterday got more than 70% functionally back. Today I'm like 90% functional if I don't walk a goddamn mile.

How did I hurt myself?

Wrapping goddamn presents on the bed.

So dumb.

Hope everyone's December is going better than mine. X'D

[merakiaes]

As Good As New - Jose “Sad Eyes” Guzman

Pairing: Jose “Sad Eyes” Guzman x reader

Requested: Yes. 

Prompts: None. 

Warnings/notes: Not proofread so I apologize in advance for any possible mistakes, and Spanish translations are, as always, at the end. Let me know what you think, I hope you like it xx

Wordcount: 3391

Summary: Sad Eyes turn up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, in dire need of your nursing expertise. 

Waking up in the middle of the night to the sounds of echoing gunshots and wailing police sirens weren’t an unusual occurrence when you lived in Freeridge, in the midst of a violent and dangerous gang war that never seemed to end.

But the usual being followed by loud banging on your front door was not something you were used to, which was why you almost jumped out of your own skin when the repetitive knocks reached your ears and processed in your brain and awaking you from your slumber.

Your first instinct was to hide underneath your duvet and hope that whoever was at the door wouldn’t be able to see you if they were to come inside, but then you realized that you weren’t a six-year-old hiding from the monster under your bed.

This was real life, you were an adult and no matter how much you didn’t want to, you knew you would have to check it out even if it meant risking your life by doing so.

So you dragged yourself out of bed and pitter-pattered out of your bedroom and down the hall, jumping when another set of banging was delivered to the front door, the force of the hits causing the pictures on the walls to shake.

But still, you forced yourself to continue, your pulse loud in your ears and your heart thumping violently behind your chest as you silently crept up to the door. 

Carefully, you leaned your head up to peek through the peeking-hole and you jumped when the person outside knocked on the door yet again.

But you instantly relaxed when you identified them through the dark, wasting no time in turning on the porch light and unlocking the door.

Why Sad Eyes would turn up at your doorstep at three in the morning, you didn’t know. 

You had no relations with each other than being neighbors and the occasional, very much one-sided flirtatious comment, but it all became clear to you when you opened the door. 

“Oh, my God.” You sucked in a breath when you caught sight of him, the porch light now illuminating his face and showing off the bruised, bloody skin. “What the hell happened?”

You wasted no time rushing outside and going up to his side, your hands moving up to take his face in your hands in order to inspect the damage, and he did nothing to stop you.  

“You know what, I don’t need to know.” You quickly cut him off when he opened his mouth, taking a step back from him. “I don’t want to become an accomplice to whatever shit it is you’re caught up in this time. Come on, get in.”

He nodded his head simply and managed to push himself off the wall, wordlessly walking past you and into the house while you stayed on the porch for a moment, wrapping your arms around yourself to provide some heat in the chilly night air and looking around the street.

The sound of police sirens wailing could still be heard and the more intently you listened, you realized they were coming closer. So you hurried back inside, shutting and locking the door and turning the porch lights back off.

Turning around, you noticed the kitchen lights were now on so you made your way there, finding Sad Eyes now sitting at the kitchen table, drinking directly from a bottle of vodka.

His face scrunched up when he took a large gulp and his eyes found you when you entered, his intense gaze following your every move to his best ability with one of his eyes being pretty much swollen shut.

“Nice outfit. Looking fine.” His voice cut through the silent air, his head lifting in a nod and his lips tugging up in what you guessed was supposed to be a smirk. But in the state he was currently in, it looked more like a painful grimace.

You glanced down at your body briefly, your cheeks turning hot when you felt his eyes trailing along your form ad you realized that you were still only dressed in your nightdress.

“Really?” You raised an unimpressed eyebrow when your eyes moved back up to meet his. “You’re beaten to a pulp and bleeding all over my antique chairs and you’re still flirting?”

A chuckle left his lips, but it quickly turned into an uncomfortable cough, forcing him to put the bottle of alcohol on the table in order not to drop it.

You walked up to him where he sat and wasted no time in taking his face in your hands again to better be able to inspect his injuries, humming as you did so.

“The cuts on your face aren’t that bad, it’s mostly bruising.” You told him, too occupied with going over every cut and every bruise to notice his eyes on you. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

His hand left the bottle on the table and slowly moved down to the hem of his black t-shirt, shakily grabbing it and raising it, putting his bare torso on full display for you.

When doing so, countless of other, much bigger bruises were also made visible for you, along with a deep cut stretching all the way from his hip to his navel.

You noticed he was struggling to hold his hand up and quickly took over, allowing him to drop his hand back down and leaning down to get a closer view.

The cut was very clean and precise, without a doubt caused by a very sharp blade of some sort. It luckily wasn’t very deep at the edges but it was deeper toward the middle, the wound still open and gushing out fresh blood.

Carefully, you rolled the bottom of his shirt up so that it wouldn’t fall back over the wound and stood back up, looking down to your hands that were now covered in sticky crimson.

“I’m gonna have to stitch you up.” You told him and he nodded, already looking at you silently.

You walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed the towel hanging off one of the cabinets, wiping your hands relatively clean off his blood while walking back to him, giving him a nod. “Take your shirt off, I’ll be right back.”

His face pulled into a small, tired smirk. “If you wanted me to take me clothes off you could’ve just asked, mami.” He flirted back, sticking to his usual flirtatious demeanor, even when he was slowly bleeding out.

“Not the time.” You gave him a pointed look, but still couldn’t hold back the small smile tugging at your lips as you walked out of the kitchen and to the bathroom.

Once in there, you quickly cleaned the blood off your hands and tied your hair up, throwing on a robe and grabbing everything you would need to get him patched up.

Two minutes later, you were back in the kitchen, sewing him up while he drank generously from the bottle of vodka, barely even sparing you enough to be able to clean his wounds.

But you got just enough to soak the clean cloth you’d brought with you from the bathroom and you couldn’t blame him for wanting to numb the pain. 

You weren’t the one repeatedly being stabbed with a needle and yet, you could feel his pain. You couldn’t even imagine how he was feeling. 

For the first time since you had started with the stitches, he set the bottle down on the table and left it alone, his eyes instead falling on you where you sat leaned down in front of him.

You tried ignoring his intense gaze to your best ability but even though you were occupying yourself with his stitches, you found it hard to ignore the rough beating of your heart, the close proximity between the two of you having a bigger effect on you than you would have liked to admit.

“Did I wake you up?” He asked then, breaking the thick silence hanging in the air.

You briefly looked up at him, but quickly turned your attention back to the task at hand. 

“Well, it’s twenty past three in the morning and I’m a nurse who works early morning shifts so I think it’s only a given that I was asleep.” You mused slowly. “But it’s alright. I’d rather you come here than bleed out on the street somewhere.”

You pulled your lower lip into your mouth and chewed on it slowly, furrowing your eyebrows in an attempt to better be able to keep your eyes from drifting off from concentration.

But while doing so, you put too much concentration into concentrating that you stopped concentrating, accidentally pressing down too hard on Sad Eyes’ wound and coming back to reality when he jerked under your touch, a hiss of pain leaving his lips.

“Oh God, I’m sorry.” You quickly apologized, pulling your hands back to yourself and looking up at him to make sure he was alright.

His face was pulled into one of discomfort but not enough to be not okay, which was all you needed to know it was alright to get back to work.

You didn’t come very far, however, before he reached his hands down to grab your wrists. 

“Your hands are shaking.”

Your eyes flickered back up to his at the sound of his words and at the feeling of his warm fingers slowly coming down over yours, and you offered him a small smile and an accompanying shrug. “Well, yeah, I didn’t get much time to properly wake up. I’m still a bit sleepy.” You confessed, chuckling.

He nodded his head and let go of your hand, allowing you to go back to work.

“I guess it’s my turn to say sorry.” He said, bringing the bottle back to his lips for another large gulp before continuing. “I didn’t want to wake up my mamá and the homies all got separated so I didn’t really know where else to go. We had to split up to get away from la juda.”

You didn’t know much Spanish, your knowledge and vocabulary pretty much being limited to introducing yourself and asking others to introduce themselves, but you did know what that meant. 

It was impossible not to when pretty much all of your neighbors were gang-members and criminals of some sort.

You couldn’t deny the fact that you were curious about why they had been running from the cops this time but you weren’t stupid enough to ask questions, and either way, you knew you would probably hear about it on the news the next morning.

You always did.

“You don’t need to apologize.” You answered simply, going back to stitching him up. “It’s no problem, really.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him nodding his head, his eyes not once leaving your face. “Then at least accept my gratitude.”

The corners of your lips instantly tugged up into a small smile, your eyes flickering up to him. “That I will accept.” You told him, shooting him a playful grin. “You’re welcome.”

“You should really get a gun.” He said then and you raised an eyebrow, not having expected that.

“That was a quick change of topic.” You chuckled, eyes flickering between him and your hands. “What do I need a gun for?”

He held on to the backrest of the chair beside him, scooting down a bit more in his seat to give you better access to his wound when you silently indicated for him to do so. “You opened the door without any protection.” He answered, stating the obvious. “You could have been killed.”

You hummed, eyebrows furrowing with concentration again. “I have pepper spray in my bathroom.”

“What good is it gonna do from there?” He questioned, tensing and releasing a guttural sound of pain when you poked the needle back into his skin.

You quietly apologized. “Bring the pepper spray the next time I open the door, got it.” You mumbled absentmindedly, and he shook his head.

“I’m getting you a gun.”

“I barely even know how to use one.” You said, finishing the last stitch and putting the thread and needle back to move on to the bandage.

“I’ll teach you. I want you to be able to protect yourself.”

You looked up at him, giving him a good look before nodding your head, your lips tugging into a small smile. “Alright.” You agreed, before sitting back up to your full height and putting the bandage back to the table. “There, all done. As good as new.”

He carefully began scooting up in his chair and when seeing his struggle, you stood up and offered him your hands as support. 

He hissed, his hand coming down to touch the stitches. “I don’t feel it.”

You quickly slapped his hand away from the stitches, giving him a disapproving look.

“No, you’ll probably need to give it a few days. You’re pretty beaten up.” You told him as a response to his words, giving him a glare. “So don’t touch the stitches. I don’t want you showing up on my doorstep with an infection a few days from now.”

He stared at you for a moment, eyes amused, and then nodded, bringing his hand away from his injury. “Thank you. For this.” He said.

You smiled, wiping your hands off on the wet towel you’d brought. “You’re welcome.” 

You began cleaning up the table, then starting to walk back to the bathroom and leaving him to follow.

“Do you have anywhere to stay the night?” You asked him as you put the medical supplies back into the bathroom cabinet, closing it back up to see him standing behind you in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

He watched you as you washed your hands free of the blood and antibacterial ointment that you had put on his smaller cuts, nodding his head once. “I’m heading back home.” He told you. “Just hope ma’s not awake.”

“You could always stay here.” You answered, looking up at him through the mirror, shrugging. “You know, if you want to.”

You turned off the water and grabbed a clean towel, drying your hands while turning to look at him with a teasing smile playing on your lips. “Wouldn’t want mama Guzman to see her pretty boy all bruised up.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Pretty boy, huh?” He asked, pushing himself off the doorframe and standing up straight. “You moving in on me, mamita?”

You snorted at that, turning your attention away from him briefly to put all of the dirty cloths into the laundry basket. “Asks you who’s been shamelessly flirting with me since I moved in two years ago.”

“So you noticed, huh?” He smirked, and you watched out of the corner of your eye as he took a step over the threshold.

“A blind person would’ve been able to notice.” You snorted again, closing the lid of the laundry basket and turning back around to face him. “You’re not exactly subtle about it.”

A low chuckle left his lips, his eyes following you as you walked back over to him and leaned against the edge of the sink. “And you still keep playing hard to get.” He mused, causing you to roll your eyes.

“I’m not playing anything.” You corrected him, sighing slightly. “I just… I don’t want to be just another name, you know? I want something serious.”

He nodded his head along as you spoke, eyes soft and not leaving yours for a second. “Siempre hablo en serio.” He said, and your head instantly tilted to the side.

“You know I don’t speak Spanish.” You said, crossing your arms over your chest and squinting slightly at him.

His gaze followed your movements, eyes flickering down for the shortest of second, but he quickly looked back up to your eyes, meeting your raised eyebrow with a smug smirk. 

“Let me translate for you, then.” He said simply, slowly walking over to where you stood and surprising you by taking you by your hips.

Your eyes widened at his sudden boldness, your heart picking up speed and your arms uncrossing from over your chest.

He leaned down close to your face and you watched his every move, barely even daring to breathe with how closely you were standing to each other.

He scanned your face for a moment, eyes staying at your lips slightly longer than they did on any other part, and then he looked up to meet your gaze, giving you a nod.

“I’m always serious.” He translated like promised, and before you got the chance to react, his lips were pressed against yours in a kiss.

Your eyes widened even further at this, your hands rising into the air in surprise. 

But he wasn’t discouraged by your unresponsiveness, taking a step closer to you and moving his hands from your hips to your waist, fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

He pressed his lips harder against yours and only then did the shock wear off, allowing you to come back to your senses.

From then on, your body moved on autopilot, working together with his in a way that made it seem like this wasn’t by far the first time you’d caught yourselves in a situation like this.

Your arms slowly wrapped around his neck and your lips began moving against his in perfect synchronization, adding even more pressure and letting him know that you were on board with whatever the hell it was that was happening.

As a response to your response, he gripped your waist and lifted you up to sit on the counter of the sink.

When he did this, you immediately broke apart from the kiss, already speaking. “You shouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting until those stitches are healed, I don’t w-“

But his lips were back on yours again before you could finish, hushing you in the process and stepping in between your legs.

You made no move to stop him, melting into his touch once again, and your legs moved up to wrap around him carefully, bringing him even closer to you while he took the kiss a step further and slipped his tongue into your mouth.

Your entire body felt like it was on fire and your heart like it was on the verge of bursting, and any sleepiness that you had previously been feeling was now long gone, instead replaced with excitement and maybe a tiny bit of arousal.

But unfortunately, like every other human being on the planet, you needed oxygen to live, so sooner than you would’ve liked, you broke apart with heavy breaths, eyes opening and meeting each other’s gazes again.

The tension between you now was thicker than it had ever been before, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, not in the slightest. On the contrary, it gave you a sudden burst of confidence, your head lifting in a nod.

“Is that how you thank everyone who stitches you up in the middle of the night?” You inquired through heavy breaths.

You watched as his face lit up in a smirk, his head shaking in response. “No.” He shot you down. “Only you, mamas.”

Your face stretched into a smirk to match his own and you hummed in contentment when he leaned his head back down to press another, shorter kiss to your lips.

“How are you feeling?” You mumbled against his lips, hand coming down to carefully touch right by the bandage on his torso.

He broke apart from the kiss and gave you a cheeky look before burying his face in your neck, murmuring out against your skin. “As good as new now.”

You didn’t get the chance to say anything else, a squeal leaving your lips and your entire body jerking where you sat when you felt a sharp pinch at your butt.

A glare overcame your features, but you did nothing to object as he brought his head back up and, with a chuckle, reconnected his lips with yours in another kiss.

It was safe to say that from day on forward, you never got a break from your occupation, even when you weren’t on a shift, because when you shared your life with a Santo, you would always be needed to play his personal nurse.

But as long as you knew he was safe and healthy, you didn’t mind patching him up every once in a while. And he wouldn’t have it any other way, because just with a single touch from you, he would always feel as good as new.

Translations (I’m not a native Spanish speaker so this might not be a hundred percent accurate):

La juda – the pigs (cops)

Siempre hablo en serio – I’m always serious

Tagged: @babienay​ @firebenderwolf​ @chaneajoyyy​ @moanlightbaby​ @dolanackles​ @marvelously-flawed​ @ugh-jalynn​ @jazzwhitlockhale​ @joyrivh​ @socialistavocado​ @turn-diamonds-into-snow​ @clemmingstylins0n​ @trublmr​ @fairygardenss​ @spookysnena​ @shadow-of-wonder @bxmaaa 

[chiclet-go-boom]

fracture: look

reylo smut, by request

The door irises shut behind him and he strips off the gloves with a curse. The belt follows, hitting the far wall with a clatter. The heavy overtunic is easy, the tabs are meant to release when he pulls but fuck the shirt, he’s not dealing with it. Grabs over his shoulder and just hauls it off, buttons pinging everywhere in protest. He scatters all of it like morbidly dark leaves as he stalks across the room to the fresher.

He’s smeared with blood, the slash still oozing groggily where it cut the deepest.

There’s many reasons for black clothing and this is not the least of them.

“Reflect,” he hisses and the wall obligingly switches to echo. He inspects the damage. He earned this one, no question, too distracted with his own thoughts to notice when his sparring droids executed an attack sequence they had definitely not been programmed with and he wasn’t prepared to defend against. One had actually slipped through to mark him. No doubt somebody’s amateur assassination attempt and the fact that it actually scored has him in a foul mood.

The slice runs diagonally, a thin start skipping over his ribs under one nipple but starting to gouge on the downward stroke to end in a vicious hook at his hip. The heavy tunic had hidden the damage as he’d walked here so whoever was watching would know they’d failed but his pants are wet and sticky with the aftermath.

Kylo prods at it and growls.

He wipes off the worst of the blood, scrubbing where it’s already dried. Every flex jabs at him. He should probably get the lower few inches stitched but then it won’t hurt as much and what would be the point? Pain instructs. This is something he needs to remember for awhile.

Stripped to the waist, he walks back into the main room with a bacta gel pack in his hands though because regardless of what he’d prefer to do, it can’t stay like this. He has too many other things to do today to be bleeding everywhere while he does it.

With a grimace Kylo peels the slashed material of his pants farther down his hip to fully expose the wound. The gel is cool on his fingers as he starts to swipe it on in long strokes, starting from the bottom. The prickle starts to work its way under the skin, pins and needles and artificial antiseptic calm.

The room echoes with unexpected susurration. Contracts and then painfully expands. He looks up.

She’s sitting on something high, one leg pulled up to her chest in a casually loose clasp, the other dangling. That’s as far as he gets though before her head jerks back and her eyes widen. Color hits her cheeks like a slap.

He freezes at the look on her face.

Her mouth opens. She fixates on his chest and he can feel the touch of it like a hand, it’s so heavy. Her gaze jerks to his eyes for a heartbeat and then raggedly jumps to his shoulders, his arms, before raking down to stab at the exposed flesh of his stomach, lower still. Caught. Fascinated.

His heart hammers sickeningly hard in his chest. He’s aware suddenly that she’s staring at the curl of dark hair leading down to his groin, peeking out from where he’d shoved the material out of his way, the narrow line of muscle that pulls there.

Her tongue flashes out, wetting her lower lip and he feels that as if she’d kissed him where her eyes are.

He straightens, as caught out as she is. He’s already half hard from that alone, the curl of lust tightening as his body reacts even before he can.  

She stares at his cock swelling and only then yanks her eyes away.

“Rey,” he purrs. She says nothing, giving him only a blushing profile. Clutches her knee to her chest. “Rey. Look at me.”

She takes a deep breath then another and then grudgingly swivels her head in his general direction, aiming her gaze somewhere to the far right of his shoulder. Beyond that, she doesn’t move.

Curious, he takes a step forward. She flinches nearly imperceptibly but still doesn’t move to escape like he expected she would. Doesn’t shift back or away or even reply. The last time she’d snapped at him to put something on but this time, nothing.

He looks over his shoulder but of course there’s nothing there but his own black wall. He turns back.

“Where are you?” he asks. “Somewhere you can’t leave?”

She tries to school her face but she’s terrible at it. Keeps staring off to his right as if there’s something infinitely fascinating there. Her breath is shallow, he can see her chest rising and falling in helpless reaction.

“Is the General there? Your friends?”

She shakes her head a tiny bit but the color on her cheeks heightens.

“Yes,” he smiles. “You’re with your friends. Possibly my mother. The Resistance version of High Command? And you can’t leave without people asking questions you can’t answer, so... a meeting?”

Her eyes flick up to his face, very obviously not looking any lower than his chin. She scowls, shifting. Tries to smooth out her expression again with slightly better success this time.

“I can feel you,” he breathes. “That hit you hard. Seeing me. Seeing me open. Do you remember the first time?”

The flicker of her eyelashes is his only answer but that’s all he needs.

He looks again at where she’s looking, trying to figure it out. “I remember the first time too,” he says. “You were angry. So angry with me.” He steps backwards until he impacts the wall, slides over until he’s positioned near where she's staring so determinedly. The front of the room, her commanding officer, a projector for all he knows. The mutinous, panicked expression on her face is worth everything.

He sets his shoulders against the cold metal, widening his stance a little. “I like it when you’re angry,” he confesses to the air. He coats his fingers again with more of the healing gel and tosses the rest of the pack onto the floor to skitter away.

He looks down and starts to smear the bacta again, moving his hand over the wound, stroking higher and higher over his stomach, navel, to his ribs. Her breathing hitches and she’s trying, he can see her trying but her gaze keeps coming back, over and over again to watch. He takes his time, running his fingers over skin, smearing both shine and blood traces along the length of the slash.

He shivers, flesh pebbling, and it has nothing to do with the sting.

“I like it when it looks like you want to fight,” he continues as if he hadn’t stopped. “To argue with me. I think sometimes of you biting me. And I think of biting you back.”

It’s foregone. She fixates again, this time on his mouth. He tenses his stomach and is rewarded twice when teeth indent into the corner of her lip and the pain of the pulled wound flushes over his senses, hardening his nipples.

“Did you want to then, Rey? Do you want to now? Sink your teeth into me, make me bleed a little more?”

Her eyes cut right, startled. “S...sorry? Oh. Uh. Just seventeen. So far,” she says, her tone a little too high, definitely too fast. “Three more by tomorrow. That’s… that’s really all I can guarantee. For now." She nods once, and then again. "Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Well done,” he says after a moment when it appears whatever she’s been asked was enough of an answer. “I wonder what you’re talking about. Speeders? People? Droid repair? No matter.” He wipes the excess bacta on his pants. “I don’t actually care.”

She looks at him helplessly, the urge to bolt writ large on her face. Her fingers are so tight, clutching at her bent leg. He wonders what anyone else would see other than the discomfort. The blush still lingers and he doesn’t think it’s going to go away anytime soon.

“I think about you all the time, you know,” he continues conversationally. “Biting you. Sucking bruises into you, fucking you. My fingers sliding into you, kissing you senseless. The way you’ll move under me. The sounds I want to hear you to make.” He half closes his eyes, staring at her as he slides his hand into his pants. The gel traces on his fingers tingle sharply on the sensitive flesh as he wraps his grip around the head of his cock, pulling it away from the painful position it was in. “The way you’ll feel, convulsing around me. Are you sure you can’t leave?”

He can see the breath she takes, trembling as it is. But she shakes her head and for the first time, deliberately locks her gaze with his. Fuck, that’s hot. He tightens even more, balls drawing up, and the groan he makes is half unwilling.

Fine. Okay. He can do better than this. He shoves the other side of his pants down so he can free himself properly, spreading his legs even more, elongating his body for her. Presses his shoulders hard into the wall.

“Do you see what you do to me, Rey,” he whispers. “And you’re not even here.” He smears the palm of his hand over the head, coating it with himself and then strokes himself down, long and slow. He drops his head back against the wall, hips shifting in reflex because it feels so damned good. She’s watching, she’s watching and it’s all he can do not to speed up.

“Sometimes I think about taking you hard. Up against a wall while you’re angry, while you tell me that you’ll never be with me, never want this from me. And I take you and take you and take you because I can’t help myself.” The words pour out as his hand strokes.  “Those damnably long legs of yours wrapped around my waist. Nails in my shoulders, in my back. Teeth in my ear, in my throat.” He watches her face, wondering if that’s something she’s ever thought about. Maybe. Maybe not. “Look, Rey. Look at how hard I am for you.”

Her eyes cut over again, looking at whatever is in her world but she look back guiltily, watching his fingers as they flash up and down. She shifts once, and then again, her hips moving in a tiny, fretful circle. He can feel it hit her again, the deep sweet that has no answer but touch and motion and frantic heat.

At least he can indulge.

“Sometimes. Sometimes I think about taking it slow.” And he does, slipping the head of his cock between his fingers, teasing at himself. “I think about kissing you. I think about your mouth on me, so desperate. I think about hearing my name as you tremble under me, over me. As you thrash and fall apart for me. Just for me.” His voice drops even lower without thinking about it and he hunches forward with the restlessness that his own words are painting. The sting of his injury just adds to it. She’d be so sweet. Her eyes are perfect as they touch him everywhere, drink up his face, drop again to where he’s eager for her. “I think about what it would feel like to drive into you, again and again and again when you’re not angry. When you’re anything but angry.”

He can see her other hand clench at her side and he swallows and she mirrors him, shifting hard in place. Her gaze slips down his chest, watches his hand as it moves inexorably. He’s hard enough to drill through the wall behind him it feels like. The ache under his heart is no better.

“Drop your leg, Rey. Open yourself, even just a little for me. Let me think about what we’re never going to have.”

He wonders if that’s too far, too much. But she does. Oh, fuck, she does, slides her leg tentatively down from the death clutch against her chest, her eyes wide and hesitant and black. Leans back just a little bit on her hands and she looks away as if she can’t watch him while she makes this decision. Her legs twitch, and then hesitantly move apart the tiniest of spaces.

And there’s nothing to see, absolutely nothing at all, not even if her breasts are tight and aching for his hands because there’s just so much cloth between them, but her body has shifted because he asked her to. He can imagine surging up, three steps, four to shove himself between her legs, put his hands on her waist, pull her into him, onto him rough fast sweet slow and either way he knows, he knows she'll take him to the hilt if she’s feeling even half of what he feels.

So wet. So tight. So fucking ready for him.

He closes his eyes and strains. Tightens his hand at the base of his cock because he could come like this, right now, just thinking about it and not yet, please, not yet. He can feel the hair falling in his face as he pants. Spreads his free hand on the wall, fingers wide as if that can help him stay together.

“Fuck, Rey,” he shudders. “You could ask me for anything right now and it’s yours.”

He opens his eyes just in time to catch the sudden twist of longing and an odd, tangled fury on her face and he throws his head back and laughs. “Okay, not that,” he manages to garble out. “Anything else though.”

And that, suddenly, makes her angry. She sits upright and jerks her knees together, snapping her attention away as if she can deny him, deny them both the deep abiding urge to make this real.

He can see her trying to erase the last few seconds, color again stained like rose on her cheeks. Her fingers bite into whatever she’s sitting on, whitening the flesh of her fingertips as she looks around, desperately trying to drag herself back there instead of here.

He resumes stroking himself. “Still, maybe I would,” he croons, surprising himself. “Want me to turn up on the Resistance doorstep and surrender? They’ll stick a few dozen needles of suppressants in me every couple of hours like clockwork so everyone feels safe enough to spit at my feet, but you can fuck me as much as you like in a jail cell before the execution.”

She still doesn’t look but he can see the shudder, some hard emotion moving like a storm over her delicate features. Her lip curls back.

“Think about it. At your mercy. Chained down, forced to serve. There just for you, and only for you.”

He has no idea what he’s saying, spinning it out between them but then the sense of it hits him, the way it would be, could be, the taste of her above him, riding him, knowing that all that’s left is fucking her and death and he makes a noise of low excitement and his hand strokes mercilessly hard.

“Rey,” he demands breathlessly. “Rey. Look. For you. Just for you. Always.”

The end hits him like a nova and he arches his shoulders against the wall, digging his heels down, everything flexing as he comes. It splashes on his chest hard once, twice and he digs his other hand into his hair to pull, another pain, imagining it's her, that she’s pleased, that the hurt he feels is her nails raking down his chest in encouragement. He milks himself dry, gasping.

Finally he opens his eyes and fuck yes, she’s riveted on him, shocked. He runs his hand down his cock a few more times for echo before straightening lazily, feeling the aftershocks in his legs, the wired tremble of release so deep in his belly. His hair is sticking to his face, his lips and he shakes it away. Looks down and he’s made a mess of himself.

There’s come on the back of his hand and he brings it to his mouth. Sucks it off and watches her.

Her legs are squeezed together so tightly that he aches in sympathy.

“Good luck with the rest of your meeting,” he finally manages to get out.

It takes all he’s got left to turn and walk back to the fresher. He’s bleeding again and he can’t even care.