[ in truth, extreme dedication to faction isn't something either of them are unfamiliar with. it isn't even something exclusive to zenith. they've both met meridian zealots. hayame, for one. set, in some ways, willing to destroy anyone who threatens the promise he'd made his son; though in other ways, he's as indifferent to the concept of sides as any bearer cassian's met.
still. his eyebrows pull downwards, disapproving, as jyn wracks her brain for the name. and when she produces one, cassian gives a slight nod. white-haired, zenith, cid — yeah, that sounds familiar to him too. he has a faint memory of a man he'd spoken to upon arrival, so certain that everyones' worlds were gone forever and that yima was doing them a kindness. ]
It's a waste of time.
[ impossible as it is to be tense, in this soft bed with jyn, there's the edge of a growl in his voice. ]
[there's a relief, jyn finds, in hearing this voiced outside her own head; a relief, she finds, in not being alone, on so many counts. almost funny how profound that revelation is when she's spent so much of her life that way, anything that mattered kept to herself without anyone else she could trust.
(this cements it, now, that she can never go back to that, but she doesn't have to.)
she could kiss him — literally — but for the moment, holds off. says instead,]
Fucking bantha shit, is what it is.
[a roll of her eyes; her own scoff has no less of an edge than his voice.]
And these people are too stupid to realize it won't benefit them.
[ there's a relief, he thinks, to share this with jyn. maybe he can't tell her what happened, and maybe he can't tell her everything he's looking into, but this is something. a trusted confidant, a person who understands. someone on the same page. he's had john gaius as a co-conspirator, but jyn is someone he knows and trusts implicitly. or maybe it's just that while he doesn't, strictly, need her so that he isn't completely alone in this, he wants her. he wants her, and he has her. a small miracle.
her agreement only seems to seal that. he closes his eyes briefly, then opens them to focus on her once again. follows the shape of her eyes, the curve of her cheek, the brown hair framing her face. ]
Jyn.
[ the cord around his throat and small pouch slung across his chest, visible through the absurdly open shirt, feel so heavy. but this is a thing he's already committed to; and Jyn is someone he's already committed to; so he cannot put this off. ]
If I left Zenith, would you come with me?
[ it's a question and not a question. they went to scarif together. they went to highstorm together. but she gets a say in this. she gets a glimpse of the plan he's been turning in his head, over and over, for a week now. ]
[it's a question, and it's unexpected. irritation, annoyance, everything in between all fall off of jyn's face as it turns serious, as her eyes find his, searching. it's a question, the kind cassian wouldn't ask her if it weren't serious; she knows that as certainly as what she can read in what he can't say. she knows that as certainly as she knows, now, that he trusts her. wants her.
(which is no small thing, either — being wanted, rather than left behind. there's a stupid moment where something stings in her eyes and lumps in her throat, but she manages to blink, manages to swallow, hopefully before it ever shows.)
at the same time, the question isn't actually unexpected at all.
because, suddenly, a knot in her chest that's been there for weeks starts to loosen. because, she admits,]
I've been thinking. [she pauses, idly dragging her bottom lip through her teeth, considering. over so many nights during which she'd given up on sleep entirely, she had been thinking; ruminating over something that'd turned her skin cold, but had just been frustratingly far out of reach. now, though, slowly, haltingly,] It's all stupid, but maybe Zenith isn't the best place to get anything done.
[that's exactly it, isn't it? the place she's tried to get to — and finally arrived at, with the help of a trusted confidant putting things to actual words that she hadn't quite been able. there are things that she could do in meridian to try to make this place better.
that they could do.]
And I think we should go. [she takes their still-joined hands, gives his fingers a gentle squeeze.] I'd go with you.
[ is it a surprise that jyn's been having similar thoughts? no, of course it isn't. because maybe they got it wrong. because it's bothered him since the beginning, hasn't it, since the oracle, since before jyn got here — silco saying, a universe to be remade cannot have anything else left. if we're rebuilding from the ashes...it must only be ashes. how many sleepless nights has he spent wondering about their world, and thinking about the worlds he saw when he traded with set, with vash, with quetzacoatl? how much is he really willing to burn, to ensure he takes down the empire?
how much can he even trust yima to do that for them?
he trusts quetzacoatl's offers more. he trusts set's promises more. and maybe the sides don't matter, but then what is he even doing with zenith? and it makes sense; john had agreed. one on each side. one with a good reason to stay in the sunlit city, able to keep his eyes open. and hadn't akua spoken to him, too, of the ease of changing sides, how that had to mean something. it has to mean something, all of it.
and then jyn says, i'd go with you.
unbidden, he remembers a different conversation from a lifetime ago. he remembers being unable to stay; he remembers another being unable to go. he remembers that's just love. the reminder is like a shock to his system. he shivers, even as she squeezes his hand gently. ]
I want you to come with me, [ is a confession, even though she's already agreed. but she should know this; he wants her to know this. ] And I want to go to Meridian.
[ there are so many pragmatic reasons for him to go, and he'd expressed them all. but to jyn, and only to jyn, he shares this reason. cassian andor had needed zenith, in the shadow of the iconoclast oracle; but now he wants meridian. he only needs to lean forward a short distance to meet her mouth with his, to push all of that longing into a kiss, soft and sweet. ]
[she doesn't need cassian to say it in so many words, because it's already been there, between them. i want you to come with me. but hearing that, actually hearing it so clearly? is a revelation.
it's a swell of emotion in her that she can't quite blink back this time, can't quite swallow down. and how could she? if it's been decades since anyone has told her they loved her, it's been just as long since anyone has expressly wanted her in their life, enough to ask something so significant. her chest shakes on the next breath, but one the next —
jyn lets him have that, with her, as he presses their lips together; she gives that back, kind, because she wants this, too. wants him in her life just the same, wants him to come with her wherever she goes. always.
when she feels her lungs begin to burn, she pulls back just far enough for a breath. just far enough to say, softly,]
Then we'll go.
[one last affirmation, because it feels important to also say clearly, before she lifts her free hand to his face, cupping his jaw, and pulls him back in toward her to kiss him again. it's not quite gentle, like the way he'd kissed her; it's with the force of all the things she still can't put a voice to.]
[ jyn isn't the first person to follow him somewhere. melshi had followed him to the rebellion, for conviction as much as the personal. cassian had recruited, collaborated with, numerous people within the alliance, and many of them took up the cause of scarif because he asked. it feels similar, and different. because jyn has her own reasons for wanting to leave zenith, but there isn't just reason or duty or cause to this. she wants him. there's no question that she wants him.
and it's terrifying.
will jyn grow to regret her love, as others who have loved him did? will this, the wanting him, hurt her as it has others? will he let her down as he did his family, his home? won't she suffer for it? and the love, the choice to return to jyn, is a commitment; it's one he made with open eyes. but — there's still a contradiction between them. jyn wants him. he wants her to live. he doesn't have it in himself to want life.
she pulls him back in, more insistent than the last time, and he follows. of course he does. his free hand goes to her hair, brushes it backwards blindly, fingers trailing till they find the back of her neck. he pulls her closer as they kiss, narrows his attention to her soft lips, to the warmth of her, to the nearby thudding of her heartbeat.
he doesn't have it in himself to want life, but he does want her. he does want this — quiet moments where nothing else and no one else exists. he's lived with pain for so long that he'd forgotten how its absence felt. that even these glimmers of time without it, when she overwhelms his senses and blurs out everything else, are breathtaking. before, he'd used sex to drown out the noise. with jyn, with others before her. but this is different. this is devoting the whole of his attention to her, to cherish her, because he wants to give that to her, because he wants to spend his life on doing that. this love is not a bandage over his pain, but a counterpoint to it.
he has always wanted a better galaxy so someone else should not suffer. for the first time in a long time, he wants something for himself. ]
[cassian follows her, and she follows him. jyn thinks: that's how it is, how it's always going to be, for the rest of the time that they have to live, beyond anything that would've ever seemed possible not so long ago. (and she wants as much of that time as she can get now. she'll fight however hard she has to in order to hold onto it, for the both of them; she'll do what it takes, with clear-minded purpose, to ensure that they both live.)
that's what love is — or, at least, how the concept, made real in her hands and in his (gentle, always gentle) hands on her, made real in the space — and heat — that they share, takes definitive shape in her mind. it's not the holodrama nonsense that could never actually fit into anyone's reality, but the commitment, the choice to follow each other. the trust that the other will be there, never far behind.
and because she doesn't doubt any of it, not anymore, she opens herself up to it.
she opens herself up to him — lips parting under his, hands moving to his waist to nudge him over top of her as she lies on her back, so that everything she feels on all sides of her, in every possible way, will be him. it's not a position she usually likes to be in, with a near complete lack of leverage and space to be able to move.
[ they've done this before. he knows her cues, just as she knows his. it's so easy to open in response to her, to shift his weight as he lets go of her hand — mouth still on hers — and brace his arms, his knees on either side of her. navigate the fleeting sense of worry for her comfort without taking his attention from her. they've done this before, but in some ways it feels like a first time. they aren't in a half-empty room of a home they'd called their own in a moonlit city. this room is hideous, and unfamiliar, and anonymous. they aren't hiding from their respective demons, from recent experiences, in one another.
his touch, for its intensity, is tender in a new way. he'd told her before, with his words, i love you. now he shows her. he shows her in the way his lips meet hers; he shows her with the sweep of his tongue; he shows her with how he fumbles, one-handed and without looking, for the hem of her shirt. he shows her when he pulls his face back, but only so he can press a kiss to the base of her throat, near the kyber crystal she always wears, and then another just because. ]
[it's familiar enough to be seamless, and yet wholly new at the same time. he's always been gentle with her, always careful, always giving her nothing less than his full attention, but there's still no precedent for the way his touch is so achingly tender, or for the way that what he'd told her is so clear in his kiss; not in their previous moments together, or in her life at all. they're open to each other in a way they've never been before — and that realization seizes in her chest. has her taking in a shaky gasp as he presses his lips to her throat.
this is intensity like she's never felt, and it —
doesn't scare her, because it's him. it feels right, because it's him.
and here, now, nothing else matters — including time.
but they've still squandered weeks of it away, haven't they? weeks that they could've been sharing this. maybe time doesn't matter, but she doesn't want to fucking waste any more of it.
she nudges them both upward, quickly capturing his mouth with hers before releasing as she does, if only so she can push his shirt from his shoulders and down his arms before tossing it aside, if only so she can give them enough space to work her own over head. if only so they can remove the last of what remains between them, piece by piece.]
anyway i guess this is a good place to note we're getting nsfw
[ she nudges them both upward, and they part after the quick, chaste kiss. he smiles as she dispenses with his shirt, works on her own; and he sits up to give her space to do that, to pull the cord from around his neck and pool it, ever so carefully, in the top drawer of the bedside stand. and with that task done,
he can return his attention to jyn.
because that may not be everything between the two of them gone yet — there's the matter of her leggings, which will perhaps not be so easily removed, and his swim trunks — but he finds himself as impatient as she feels. (i love you. i love you.) he curls back over her so he can catch her face with both hands and bring it back to his, returning his mouth to hers and savoring the taste of her. his fingers tangle in her hair, find the fabric of her hairband and pull that off as well, letting the waves fall to her shoulders.
they have to part for breath eventually, and he leans his forehead against hers when they do, closes his eyes briefly. (i love you. i love you.) opens them, kisses each eyelid when she blinks, then carefully lowers her till she can feel the fabric of the bedspread against her back. he slides his hands back to her sides, kisses her throat again, and then kisses her stomach. working his way downwards, see, because he is impatient and she is impatient but they have time. and maybe there's something a little deliberate to it, too; because she is impatient, and he will oblige...soon. ]
[there's nothing in any world, in any galaxy, more beautiful to see, than his smile. it fills her with a warmth like she's never known, gentle as it starts in the center of her chest and spreads out to the rest of her. a part of her would be content to just stay like this, under a smile that she's sure could warm an entire planet for the way it does her, for the way that it tugs on the corners of her own mouth, oh so easily.
but the rest of her is impatient; they both are. it's relief she sighs into his mouth when he curls back over her, the warmth of his skin on hers, with nothing else between them there, even better. one hand reaches for his face, catching him as he catches her (following him, as he follows her), thumb grazing gently over the rise of his cheek as they kiss; it lingers, there, when they emerge for a shared breath, and just exist for a moment, foreheads touching, in that shared space.
i love you, is her equally silent echo of the unspoken, in the way that she allows her eyes to close just long enough for him to kiss each of her eyelids, in the way that she holds on as he slowly, carefully, lowers her onto her back.
in the way, too, that allows herself a long, slow breath, and then another, as he takes his care, working his way down her throat, to her stomach, with kisses pressed to her skin. though tries, and mostly succeeds, to remain still (a feat for her), she wriggles just a little bit under him, pushing the band of her own leggings down as she does. because she's impatient, because even if they have time, it doesn't stop anticipation from building in her.]
[ jyn's impatient little movements don't go unnoticed. and because his lips barely leave her skin, she can surely feel the way they curve into a smile despite himself, the small huff of warm breath somewhere in the vicinity of her belly button as he tries not to laugh. he catches one of her hands in one of his, brings it close so he can kiss each of her knuckles once again, and then the back, and then the palm. there's a wrinkle about his eyes with the force of his smile, surely visible to jyn, as he patiently works his way around her hand.
he's not teasing her. but he's not not teasing her.
her other hand gets the same treatment, as he shifts his weight back somewhat precariously onto his knees, while he keeps a safe but firm grip around the wrist of the hand that's been kissed. and it's only after that job has been done that he releases her, turns both his hands to that band of her leggings. he gives it an experimental tug, pulling down far enough that he can press another kiss to a few centimeters of newly exposed skin, then curls his fingers around the elastic to pull it down harder. it gives, of course, but tight as it fits her, pulling it down her hips takes more effort than he'd maybe banked on this requiring.
at one point, he looks back to her, catching her eyes with his, and very slowly raises an eyebrow. his voice almost doesn't tremor from repressed laughter when he says, ]
[bastard, comes the thought, but it has no heat even in her mind. there's certainly none of it in the scowl she attempts to form on her face, and her eyes aren't nearly as hard as she's trying to make them. it's all impossible when she can feel his smile against her skin.
it's even worse when he glances up, when she can see the way that his eyes crinkle with it, and her heart jumps into her throat from the sight of that. when all that fond warmth settles over her again, smoothing out all her edges and keeping her in the moment.
fuck, comes another thought. it's a good look on him.
she's powerless, really, in the face of that, to do anything but let him continue to fucking tease her, let him try his own efforts at pulling down her leggings. except —
she bursts into small titters of unrestrained laughter when he gets stuck and catches her eye. it's not at him (except it kind of is), and —]
I'll break both of Diane's arms, [she pronounces on a breath, still laughing.] And when she can't defend herself, I'll go to that stupid fucking mud pit and throw mud at her until she lets us have normal clothes back.
[ he'd done so well at keeping a straight face, even as jyn started to laugh. but then she laughs all the harder, begins to spell out a ludicrous threat against diane, and
cassian andor, who has been on both sides of an interrogation without cracking, who is famously hard to read according to certain groups within the alliance, who smiles much more easily for an act than out of real mirth,
begins to laugh helplessly, tips over so that he lands beside her, shoulders still shaking, and gestures for her to get on with handling those leggings (and leg warmers, diane why). regaining his composure is fucking difficult when jyn fails to stop with her colorful threats, just keeps going until the image reaches a new level of absurdity. he passes a hand over his eyes in a fruitless attempt to stop laughing, offers a breathless, ]
"That doesn't sound like a super fun time."
[ without looking up. has diane said those exact words, in that exact order, in that exact cadence, over the course of this day? of course she has. probably to both of them! ]
[they've made each other smile before during small moments of amusement over the past several months, have even gotten a laugh out of each other a couple of times, but jyn's never heard anything like this from cassian — nothing this solid or sustained. she'd be thinking about the sheer wonder of that if she weren't also laughing helplessly, tipping over onto her side with it, only encouraged by his.
his impression, which really is in diane's exact cadence, only makes that worse.
she can't remember the last time she'd laughed like this, either — until her sides ache, until there are actual tears in her eyes. after a time, after she's wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and she catches her breath, she sets to work on the stupid leggings and leg warmers, wriggling and tugging on the whole combination to the point of finally getting free of them.
without missing a beat, she tosses them to the other side of the room, where they land in a heap on the floor. good fucking riddance.
falling gently back down onto the bed, then, she shifts closer, hooking a (now) bare leg around cassian. for a moment, it's almost like she's going to lean in to kiss him, but she stops short of that. says, instead, in her own impersonation,]
"Maybe you should try the spa! Rest and relaxation gets everyone in tip top shape!"
[ he really can't remember the last time he laughed like this. there are tears in his eyes from pure mirth, and he wipes them away with the hand still at his face. maybe when he was still a teenager, maybe, with brasso or bix or someone who'd made up the patchwork of his new life. who can say?
and he doesn't focus on trying to remember, not when he has the privilege of hearing jyn's laugh. the sound is so bright, so sweet, so lovely. he feels a surge of satisfaction when she only laughs harder at his impression, finally starts to get his breathing back under control as she wiggles out of those leggings herself. he's finally able to drop his hand in time to watch her throw them across the room — which would make him grin if he weren't already — and he tips his head up to look at her as she returns to laying on the bed. his smile softens, then, to something fonder, as he turns his face towards hers. as she hooks that leg around him. and then she leans in so close,
and echoes diane.
and he drops his head back on the pillow, reaching to smother his own laughter all over again. then he has a better idea — moves his hand to, instead, go behind her head and pull her in for another kiss. likely, they're both still laughing, but that has to be a good way to get her to stop mimicking diane and to help him recover his composure. he's still the one to break off the first attempt, trying so hard to push that mirth aside, and takes the second attempt with more ferocity — enough to push her backwards, encourage her to return to her back, his free hand moving out to steady his weight on her other side once again. ]
[there's nothing that's ever been as easy to her as being here. the smile that forms on her face in response to the one that softens on his is easy; so is the satisfaction that curls just on the edge of it when she pulls more laughter out of him, and so is the laugh that bubbles up from her chest in turn — quieter now, that they're so close, but no less bright.
and isn't it amazing how easy this is, how light? life as she's known it — as they've both known it — is hard and cold and fucking unfair; those things are still true (she'd never, of course, be under any delusion of otherwise), but sometimes, sometimes, in the certain moments, with the right person, it can be something else.
it's that thought, maybe, that comes at the same time as cassian's second attempt to kiss her, that quiets her laugh down, has her taking him in instead. has her reaching for him, pulling him over her as he guides her onto her back again, sighing into his mouth at the comfortable familiarity of the weight.]
[ jyn pulls him back over her, and he moves fluidly to accomplish just that — following her, following him — without taking his mouth off hers. he's still bent sideways over her, but her arms guide his hips and allow him to, sightlessly, bring his knee back to her other side. this kiss is no less full of love than the past ones, and as he's repositioned it becomes languid. she sighs, content, and he takes her lower lip into his mouth for a moment; and he gently, so gently, savors this kiss. they have time.
he lifts his lips from hers only to kiss her again, and then again, curled over her. his arms are bent, fingers to elbows balanced on the bedspread, so close to her that the bare skin of their chests are pressed flush as he makes every attempt to kiss her senseless.
and then finally, when he really has no option but to come up for air, he raises his head with eyes dark and intense, and, ]
It's not too late if you still want to try the spa, instead.
[they have the time — and she's less impatient now, somehow, to linger in it. his kisses are languid, savoring, radiating warmth; she doesn't have to reach to pull him in, as close as they are, but she still has both hands gently holding his face.
still does, even as, when they emerge for air, he lifts his head and says that. still does, even as she lifts a single brow, and responds, easy,]
Fuck off.
[her voice, breathless, also has no bite at all whatsoever; on the contrary, there's just another hint of a laugh in it, one that reaches all the way to her eyes.
then, lifting her head just slightly off the pillow, she leans in for another kiss before he has the chance to comment.]
[ he's smiling again — can't seem to stop smiling — as her lips meet his once more. and, again, he takes the time to enjoy this, to enjoy her, to enjoy everything about this moment. and then he finally pulls back, gently takes her hands from his face, and moves downwards once again. with the shiny leggings thankfully gone, the only fabric left between them is her underwear, and that's much more easily dealt with.
and once that is dealt with,
there is really nothing left to do but reward her, at last, for her patience. the time for teasing her has come and gone; now he only wants to make her feel very, very good. and so he — sets his mouth to task, as intent as he's been about anything in all the time she's known him. ]
[even when she can't see it, just feel it, his smile has an instant effect on her; it's like it transfers from his lips to hers. or maybe they share it, because in some ways, it's hard to tell what separates them when they're pressed so closely — and that distinction doesn't really matter, anyway. no, what matters is that, honestly, she would be content just to stay like this.
but that's not what he has in mind.
and — she's certainly more than content with that, too.
it's not a sense of urgency that comes to her, exactly, as he works intently, because she's learning the value of time, and it's not want, because of course that had never left — but it's heat. it's her senses steadily becoming overwhelmed, eyes sliding closed so she can focus on that, surrender to it. it's her own pounding heart and breaths becoming harder to catch, and her hands, empty, tightly grabbing fistfuls of sheets. it's being brought to a place she'd tried to seek out with others in his absence, and while most of that had been fine, done what it'd needed to do, it —
hadn't been this fucking good.
something in her, one last bit of sense, maybe, tries to say something to that effect, but in the end, it's a gasp she's able to manage, and a half-formation of his name.]
curled on his side next to jyn, their foreheads touching, he's still in awe of this. of her. and he still leans forward to peck her lips, brief, and murmur as he pulls back, ]
You're beautiful.
[ and she is. she's as beautiful now, tangled in the blankets, hair loose and half in her eyes, as she's ever been, always is. she's beautiful because she's jyn, and he will never see her otherwise. it's such a strange miracle that they have this after everything — this chance to discover one another in new and different ways, to actually think about some kind of future together. A life. he doesn't know how to want life, but he wants her — achingly. maybe that's something. ]
[people can be happy here, vash had told her what seems like an age ago now; it's funny, how time feels when it's actually there, stretched beyond any and all limits she'd ever known. happy — the word sticks in her mind, taking root there as they're curled together, as a gentle thumb brushes the hair away from cassian's forehead and he is, in this moment, the only center of her world. is that what this is? the actual name she could put to the smile that can't seem to fade from her own face when he kisses her and tells her that she's beautiful, or the warmth that settles in her to the point of feeling like it's permanent.
is she happy?
the whole concept of that is so foreign that she still struggles to piece it together, but, she thinks — maybe. maybe she is. maybe it's actually possible.
he has this way of showing her what's possible when she'd thought otherwise.
and that's one reason, one reason out of so many, more than she can actually quantify, that —]
I love you.
[it's soft, barely more than a whisper, but it fills the space they share with every bit of emotion she feels.
you're beautiful, too, is a thought that goes unsaid, maybe less because she's not quite sure how to say it, but because she doesn't need to. it's there in how her eyes never leave him, how her hand keeps touching his face, reverent, fingers ghosting over the skin there like they're handling something precious. it's also there in how she leans forward, pressing her lips to his in a long, slow kiss, one that can take the time that they have.
(it wouldn't be terrible if you two made each other happy.)]
[ vash had said, she loves you. you love her, too.
it had been the first time cassian had heard that sentiment in so many words about the two of them. and, even then, he'd known there was truth to it — whether he liked it or not. it had been terrifying to consider. there are so many reasons why she shouldn't love him. there are so many reasons why he's likely to bring her pain. has there been anyone who loved him who didn't regret it? and how little he deserves peace; how little he deserves the way she looks at him now, the way her hands skim his face like he's worth something.
the way she says, i love you.
she wouldn't like knowing that these thoughts are never far, even at a moment like this. but maybe she would like knowing the way she speaks, the way she looks at him, the way her touch feels — that all of it seems to fill the space between them, suffuse this moment, until there's little room for worries of deserving. it's so hard to take his eyes off her. it's so hard to think about anything but his arms curled around her, but the way she leans forward now to kiss him, unhurried. it's so hard to think about anything but the slow bloom of bliss inside his chest, anything but pressing closer, deeper, into the kiss.
i love you, goes unsaid. but she has to know, by now. i love you, i love you.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
still. his eyebrows pull downwards, disapproving, as jyn wracks her brain for the name. and when she produces one, cassian gives a slight nod. white-haired, zenith, cid — yeah, that sounds familiar to him too. he has a faint memory of a man he'd spoken to upon arrival, so certain that everyones' worlds were gone forever and that yima was doing them a kindness. ]
It's a waste of time.
[ impossible as it is to be tense, in this soft bed with jyn, there's the edge of a growl in his voice. ]
This war, these factions, all of it.
no subject
(this cements it, now, that she can never go back to that, but she doesn't have to.)
she could kiss him — literally — but for the moment, holds off. says instead,]
Fucking bantha shit, is what it is.
[a roll of her eyes; her own scoff has no less of an edge than his voice.]
And these people are too stupid to realize it won't benefit them.
[also just... stupid in general, but.]
no subject
her agreement only seems to seal that. he closes his eyes briefly, then opens them to focus on her once again. follows the shape of her eyes, the curve of her cheek, the brown hair framing her face. ]
Jyn.
[ the cord around his throat and small pouch slung across his chest, visible through the absurdly open shirt, feel so heavy. but this is a thing he's already committed to; and Jyn is someone he's already committed to; so he cannot put this off. ]
If I left Zenith, would you come with me?
[ it's a question and not a question. they went to scarif together. they went to highstorm together. but she gets a say in this. she gets a glimpse of the plan he's been turning in his head, over and over, for a week now. ]
no subject
(which is no small thing, either — being wanted, rather than left behind. there's a stupid moment where something stings in her eyes and lumps in her throat, but she manages to blink, manages to swallow, hopefully before it ever shows.)
at the same time, the question isn't actually unexpected at all.
because, suddenly, a knot in her chest that's been there for weeks starts to loosen. because, she admits,]
I've been thinking. [she pauses, idly dragging her bottom lip through her teeth, considering. over so many nights during which she'd given up on sleep entirely, she had been thinking; ruminating over something that'd turned her skin cold, but had just been frustratingly far out of reach. now, though, slowly, haltingly,] It's all stupid, but maybe Zenith isn't the best place to get anything done.
[that's exactly it, isn't it? the place she's tried to get to — and finally arrived at, with the help of a trusted confidant putting things to actual words that she hadn't quite been able. there are things that she could do in meridian to try to make this place better.
that they could do.]
And I think we should go. [she takes their still-joined hands, gives his fingers a gentle squeeze.] I'd go with you.
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how much can he even trust yima to do that for them?
he trusts quetzacoatl's offers more. he trusts set's promises more. and maybe the sides don't matter, but then what is he even doing with zenith? and it makes sense; john had agreed. one on each side. one with a good reason to stay in the sunlit city, able to keep his eyes open. and hadn't akua spoken to him, too, of the ease of changing sides, how that had to mean something. it has to mean something, all of it.
and then jyn says, i'd go with you.
unbidden, he remembers a different conversation from a lifetime ago. he remembers being unable to stay; he remembers another being unable to go. he remembers that's just love. the reminder is like a shock to his system. he shivers, even as she squeezes his hand gently. ]
I want you to come with me, [ is a confession, even though she's already agreed. but she should know this; he wants her to know this. ] And I want to go to Meridian.
[ there are so many pragmatic reasons for him to go, and he'd expressed them all. but to jyn, and only to jyn, he shares this reason. cassian andor had needed zenith, in the shadow of the iconoclast oracle; but now he wants meridian. he only needs to lean forward a short distance to meet her mouth with his, to push all of that longing into a kiss, soft and sweet. ]
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it's a swell of emotion in her that she can't quite blink back this time, can't quite swallow down. and how could she? if it's been decades since anyone has told her they loved her, it's been just as long since anyone has expressly wanted her in their life, enough to ask something so significant. her chest shakes on the next breath, but one the next —
jyn lets him have that, with her, as he presses their lips together; she gives that back, kind, because she wants this, too. wants him in her life just the same, wants him to come with her wherever she goes. always.
when she feels her lungs begin to burn, she pulls back just far enough for a breath. just far enough to say, softly,]
Then we'll go.
[one last affirmation, because it feels important to also say clearly, before she lifts her free hand to his face, cupping his jaw, and pulls him back in toward her to kiss him again. it's not quite gentle, like the way he'd kissed her; it's with the force of all the things she still can't put a voice to.]
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and it's terrifying.
will jyn grow to regret her love, as others who have loved him did? will this, the wanting him, hurt her as it has others? will he let her down as he did his family, his home? won't she suffer for it? and the love, the choice to return to jyn, is a commitment; it's one he made with open eyes. but — there's still a contradiction between them. jyn wants him. he wants her to live. he doesn't have it in himself to want life.
she pulls him back in, more insistent than the last time, and he follows. of course he does. his free hand goes to her hair, brushes it backwards blindly, fingers trailing till they find the back of her neck. he pulls her closer as they kiss, narrows his attention to her soft lips, to the warmth of her, to the nearby thudding of her heartbeat.
he doesn't have it in himself to want life, but he does want her. he does want this — quiet moments where nothing else and no one else exists. he's lived with pain for so long that he'd forgotten how its absence felt. that even these glimmers of time without it, when she overwhelms his senses and blurs out everything else, are breathtaking. before, he'd used sex to drown out the noise. with jyn, with others before her. but this is different. this is devoting the whole of his attention to her, to cherish her, because he wants to give that to her, because he wants to spend his life on doing that. this love is not a bandage over his pain, but a counterpoint to it.
he has always wanted a better galaxy so someone else should not suffer. for the first time in a long time, he wants something for himself. ]
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that's what love is — or, at least, how the concept, made real in her hands and in his (gentle, always gentle) hands on her, made real in the space — and heat — that they share, takes definitive shape in her mind. it's not the holodrama nonsense that could never actually fit into anyone's reality, but the commitment, the choice to follow each other. the trust that the other will be there, never far behind.
and because she doesn't doubt any of it, not anymore, she opens herself up to it.
she opens herself up to him — lips parting under his, hands moving to his waist to nudge him over top of her as she lies on her back, so that everything she feels on all sides of her, in every possible way, will be him. it's not a position she usually likes to be in, with a near complete lack of leverage and space to be able to move.
but here, with him, she'd never want to.]
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his touch, for its intensity, is tender in a new way. he'd told her before, with his words, i love you. now he shows her. he shows her in the way his lips meet hers; he shows her with the sweep of his tongue; he shows her with how he fumbles, one-handed and without looking, for the hem of her shirt. he shows her when he pulls his face back, but only so he can press a kiss to the base of her throat, near the kyber crystal she always wears, and then another just because. ]
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this is intensity like she's never felt, and it —
doesn't scare her, because it's him. it feels right, because it's him.
and here, now, nothing else matters — including time.
but they've still squandered weeks of it away, haven't they? weeks that they could've been sharing this. maybe time doesn't matter, but she doesn't want to fucking waste any more of it.
she nudges them both upward, quickly capturing his mouth with hers before releasing as she does, if only so she can push his shirt from his shoulders and down his arms before tossing it aside, if only so she can give them enough space to work her own over head. if only so they can remove the last of what remains between them, piece by piece.]
anyway i guess this is a good place to note we're getting nsfw
he can return his attention to jyn.
because that may not be everything between the two of them gone yet — there's the matter of her leggings, which will perhaps not be so easily removed, and his swim trunks — but he finds himself as impatient as she feels. (i love you. i love you.) he curls back over her so he can catch her face with both hands and bring it back to his, returning his mouth to hers and savoring the taste of her. his fingers tangle in her hair, find the fabric of her hairband and pull that off as well, letting the waves fall to her shoulders.
they have to part for breath eventually, and he leans his forehead against hers when they do, closes his eyes briefly. (i love you. i love you.) opens them, kisses each eyelid when she blinks, then carefully lowers her till she can feel the fabric of the bedspread against her back. he slides his hands back to her sides, kisses her throat again, and then kisses her stomach. working his way downwards, see, because he is impatient and she is impatient but they have time. and maybe there's something a little deliberate to it, too; because she is impatient, and he will oblige...soon. ]
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but the rest of her is impatient; they both are. it's relief she sighs into his mouth when he curls back over her, the warmth of his skin on hers, with nothing else between them there, even better. one hand reaches for his face, catching him as he catches her (following him, as he follows her), thumb grazing gently over the rise of his cheek as they kiss; it lingers, there, when they emerge for a shared breath, and just exist for a moment, foreheads touching, in that shared space.
i love you, is her equally silent echo of the unspoken, in the way that she allows her eyes to close just long enough for him to kiss each of her eyelids, in the way that she holds on as he slowly, carefully, lowers her onto her back.
in the way, too, that allows herself a long, slow breath, and then another, as he takes his care, working his way down her throat, to her stomach, with kisses pressed to her skin. though tries, and mostly succeeds, to remain still (a feat for her), she wriggles just a little bit under him, pushing the band of her own leggings down as she does. because she's impatient, because even if they have time, it doesn't stop anticipation from building in her.]
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he's not teasing her. but he's not not teasing her.
her other hand gets the same treatment, as he shifts his weight back somewhat precariously onto his knees, while he keeps a safe but firm grip around the wrist of the hand that's been kissed. and it's only after that job has been done that he releases her, turns both his hands to that band of her leggings. he gives it an experimental tug, pulling down far enough that he can press another kiss to a few centimeters of newly exposed skin, then curls his fingers around the elastic to pull it down harder. it gives, of course, but tight as it fits her, pulling it down her hips takes more effort than he'd maybe banked on this requiring.
at one point, he looks back to her, catching her eyes with his, and very slowly raises an eyebrow. his voice almost doesn't tremor from repressed laughter when he says, ]
This place has terrible fashion.
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it's even worse when he glances up, when she can see the way that his eyes crinkle with it, and her heart jumps into her throat from the sight of that. when all that fond warmth settles over her again, smoothing out all her edges and keeping her in the moment.
fuck, comes another thought. it's a good look on him.
she's powerless, really, in the face of that, to do anything but let him continue to fucking tease her, let him try his own efforts at pulling down her leggings. except —
she bursts into small titters of unrestrained laughter when he gets stuck and catches her eye. it's not at him (except it kind of is), and —]
I'll break both of Diane's arms, [she pronounces on a breath, still laughing.] And when she can't defend herself, I'll go to that stupid fucking mud pit and throw mud at her until she lets us have normal clothes back.
[it definitely doesn't sound threatening at all.]
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cassian andor, who has been on both sides of an interrogation without cracking, who is famously hard to read according to certain groups within the alliance, who smiles much more easily for an act than out of real mirth,
begins to laugh helplessly, tips over so that he lands beside her, shoulders still shaking, and gestures for her to get on with handling those leggings (and leg warmers, diane why). regaining his composure is fucking difficult when jyn fails to stop with her colorful threats, just keeps going until the image reaches a new level of absurdity. he passes a hand over his eyes in a fruitless attempt to stop laughing, offers a breathless, ]
"That doesn't sound like a super fun time."
[ without looking up. has diane said those exact words, in that exact order, in that exact cadence, over the course of this day? of course she has. probably to both of them! ]
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his impression, which really is in diane's exact cadence, only makes that worse.
she can't remember the last time she'd laughed like this, either — until her sides ache, until there are actual tears in her eyes. after a time, after she's wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and she catches her breath, she sets to work on the stupid leggings and leg warmers, wriggling and tugging on the whole combination to the point of finally getting free of them.
without missing a beat, she tosses them to the other side of the room, where they land in a heap on the floor. good fucking riddance.
falling gently back down onto the bed, then, she shifts closer, hooking a (now) bare leg around cassian. for a moment, it's almost like she's going to lean in to kiss him, but she stops short of that. says, instead, in her own impersonation,]
"Maybe you should try the spa! Rest and relaxation gets everyone in tip top shape!"
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and he doesn't focus on trying to remember, not when he has the privilege of hearing jyn's laugh. the sound is so bright, so sweet, so lovely. he feels a surge of satisfaction when she only laughs harder at his impression, finally starts to get his breathing back under control as she wiggles out of those leggings herself. he's finally able to drop his hand in time to watch her throw them across the room — which would make him grin if he weren't already — and he tips his head up to look at her as she returns to laying on the bed. his smile softens, then, to something fonder, as he turns his face towards hers. as she hooks that leg around him. and then she leans in so close,
and echoes diane.
and he drops his head back on the pillow, reaching to smother his own laughter all over again. then he has a better idea — moves his hand to, instead, go behind her head and pull her in for another kiss. likely, they're both still laughing, but that has to be a good way to get her to stop mimicking diane and to help him recover his composure. he's still the one to break off the first attempt, trying so hard to push that mirth aside, and takes the second attempt with more ferocity — enough to push her backwards, encourage her to return to her back, his free hand moving out to steady his weight on her other side once again. ]
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and isn't it amazing how easy this is, how light? life as she's known it — as they've both known it — is hard and cold and fucking unfair; those things are still true (she'd never, of course, be under any delusion of otherwise), but sometimes, sometimes, in the certain moments, with the right person, it can be something else.
it's that thought, maybe, that comes at the same time as cassian's second attempt to kiss her, that quiets her laugh down, has her taking him in instead. has her reaching for him, pulling him over her as he guides her onto her back again, sighing into his mouth at the comfortable familiarity of the weight.]
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he lifts his lips from hers only to kiss her again, and then again, curled over her. his arms are bent, fingers to elbows balanced on the bedspread, so close to her that the bare skin of their chests are pressed flush as he makes every attempt to kiss her senseless.
and then finally, when he really has no option but to come up for air, he raises his head with eyes dark and intense, and, ]
It's not too late if you still want to try the spa, instead.
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still does, even as, when they emerge for air, he lifts his head and says that. still does, even as she lifts a single brow, and responds, easy,]
Fuck off.
[her voice, breathless, also has no bite at all whatsoever; on the contrary, there's just another hint of a laugh in it, one that reaches all the way to her eyes.
then, lifting her head just slightly off the pillow, she leans in for another kiss before he has the chance to comment.]
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and once that is dealt with,
there is really nothing left to do but reward her, at last, for her patience. the time for teasing her has come and gone; now he only wants to make her feel very, very good. and so he — sets his mouth to task, as intent as he's been about anything in all the time she's known him. ]
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but that's not what he has in mind.
and — she's certainly more than content with that, too.
it's not a sense of urgency that comes to her, exactly, as he works intently, because she's learning the value of time, and it's not want, because of course that had never left — but it's heat. it's her senses steadily becoming overwhelmed, eyes sliding closed so she can focus on that, surrender to it. it's her own pounding heart and breaths becoming harder to catch, and her hands, empty, tightly grabbing fistfuls of sheets. it's being brought to a place she'd tried to seek out with others in his absence, and while most of that had been fine, done what it'd needed to do, it —
hadn't been this fucking good.
something in her, one last bit of sense, maybe, tries to say something to that effect, but in the end, it's a gasp she's able to manage, and a half-formation of his name.]
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and later,
curled on his side next to jyn, their foreheads touching, he's still in awe of this. of her. and he still leans forward to peck her lips, brief, and murmur as he pulls back, ]
You're beautiful.
[ and she is. she's as beautiful now, tangled in the blankets, hair loose and half in her eyes, as she's ever been, always is. she's beautiful because she's jyn, and he will never see her otherwise. it's such a strange miracle that they have this after everything — this chance to discover one another in new and different ways, to actually think about some kind of future together. A life. he doesn't know how to want life, but he wants her — achingly. maybe that's something. ]
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is she happy?
the whole concept of that is so foreign that she still struggles to piece it together, but, she thinks — maybe. maybe she is. maybe it's actually possible.
he has this way of showing her what's possible when she'd thought otherwise.
and that's one reason, one reason out of so many, more than she can actually quantify, that —]
I love you.
[it's soft, barely more than a whisper, but it fills the space they share with every bit of emotion she feels.
you're beautiful, too, is a thought that goes unsaid, maybe less because she's not quite sure how to say it, but because she doesn't need to. it's there in how her eyes never leave him, how her hand keeps touching his face, reverent, fingers ghosting over the skin there like they're handling something precious. it's also there in how she leans forward, pressing her lips to his in a long, slow kiss, one that can take the time that they have.
(it wouldn't be terrible if you two made each other happy.)]
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it had been the first time cassian had heard that sentiment in so many words about the two of them. and, even then, he'd known there was truth to it — whether he liked it or not. it had been terrifying to consider. there are so many reasons why she shouldn't love him. there are so many reasons why he's likely to bring her pain. has there been anyone who loved him who didn't regret it? and how little he deserves peace; how little he deserves the way she looks at him now, the way her hands skim his face like he's worth something.
the way she says, i love you.
she wouldn't like knowing that these thoughts are never far, even at a moment like this. but maybe she would like knowing the way she speaks, the way she looks at him, the way her touch feels — that all of it seems to fill the space between them, suffuse this moment, until there's little room for worries of deserving. it's so hard to take his eyes off her. it's so hard to think about anything but his arms curled around her, but the way she leans forward now to kiss him, unhurried. it's so hard to think about anything but the slow bloom of bliss inside his chest, anything but pressing closer, deeper, into the kiss.
i love you, goes unsaid. but she has to know, by now. i love you, i love you. ]
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