FIC: Counting Banthas [Star Wars, Rey x Ben]
Title: Counting Banthas
Author: Omnicat
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: J.J. Abrams & co’s Star Wars: Episode VII - The Force Awakens and Rian Johnson & co’s Star Wars: Episode VIII - The Last Jedi.
Warnings: None.
Characters & Relationships: Rey x Ben
Summary: The Force arranges a sleepover and Rey and Ben just have to deal. Gee, thanks, Force. // 1238 words
Author’s Note: Enjoy!
Counting Banthas
He drummed his fingers on his stomach, stared at the ceiling, and focused on his breathing. Only his. If he listened closely enough to the sound of air moving in and out of his own lungs, it would surely drown out everything else there was to hear.
“Are you asleep yet?” Rey asked from the vicinity of his shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
“No,” he ground out.
“Oh,” she said, utterly apologetic. “Sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
“Well, this isn’t my fault.”
“It’s not mine either!”
“Oh, keep your voice down,” Rey groaned, rolling over in her bed. Her bed, not his, whatever the Force may be trying to fool them into thinking.
“Stop waking me up with questions,” he shot back, turning his back to her in his bed, which he in no way shared with her.
Thirty minutes later, he asked: “Are you asleep yet?”
Rey heaved a heartfelt sigh in answer.
Rubbing his burning eyes, he let himself fall onto his back. “Do you think the Force will let us go if I braid your hair?”
“Why would it?”
“I can only assume it’s trying to accomplish something with this mutual hostage sleepover scenario, so we might as well start playing along and get it over with.”
“Oh,” she said, a picture of neutrality. She said that a lot when he talked, ‘oh’, and every time, he felt a little more like he should just shut up forever. With a lack of inflection in both her voice and the Force that would make Supreme Leader Kylo Ren’s designated bearer of bad news envious, she deigned to reply: “I’d rather not. I don’t think I’d sleep a wink if you started touching me.”
His nails dug into his palms. Right. Of course. He really should stop forgetting how much she despised him every time they spoke more than a few words to each other without starting a fight.
“What else do people do on sleepovers?” Rey asked.
“Paint each other’s faces. Sneak into their parents’ bedrooms to watch each other try on their clothes and jewelry. Ask juvenile and overly invasive questions,” he answered, a little meanly.
Rey gave no indication of noticing.
“What, like ‘how many meals did you have this week’?”
But would you look at that, here he was regretting it anyway.
Heart twisting painfully in his chest, he dragged a hand down his face. He rolled onto his stomach, reached over the edge of the bed for the panel that turned into a set of bedside drawers when tapped, and blindly slapped at the wall.
“More like, ‘Who was the first boy you ever kissed?’”
He could hear the disgusted scrunch of her face in her voice. “The first boy I kissed?”
“Or girl. Or whatever other sexes are present or gender categories sorted into on Jakku.”
“I’ve never kissed anyone.” A beat. “Have you?”
“Sure.” He pushed the top two drawers back into the wall and stuck his hand into the bottom one.
“Who was she? Or whatever.”
If he didn’t know it was just wishful thinking, he would have thought her voice was sharp enough to be an accusation.
“You wouldn’t know her,” he said. But because he wasn’t actually trying to annoy her, he added: “We lost a bet.”
“Ah. Romantic. What’s that sound?”
“Very,” he said to the former (something, somewhere, had unclenched with a feeling like a breath of relief; he cautioned himself against getting his hopes up) and ignored the latter (not that... not that one either... the raised symbol had to be on there somewhere... ah, no, not this either...). “A tale for the ages. You would’ve loved the look of disgust on her face.”
This time, he was sure he could feel her affront through the Force. “Why would I -”
She cut off with a surprised little yelp when he found the right flavor ration bar and slapped it down on her shoulder.
“Midnight snacks are also traditional,” he said, snatched his hand away from the hint of bare skin it had brushed, closed the drawer, and curled up on the edge of his bed, as far away from her as he could get. If he’d known she was coming he would have stocked up on real food, but if it was good enough for those days when paranoia kept him from stomaching anything less tamper-proof, it was good enough for an impromptu Force Bond slumber party.
“Oh,” Rey said softly. He heard the wrapper crinkle and her sheets rustle. When she spoke next, she was sitting up, her voice coming from above him. “Thank you, Ben.”
He grunted. Then, because he was a masochistic idiot, he said: “I would know exactly how many meals you’ve had in a week if you’d just said yes. I would make sure of them myself.”
“Funerals ruin my appetite.” He imagined a humorless pull at the corner of her mouth. “If you’d come with me, though, I’m sure Leia would let you braid my hair all you -”
“I don’t make good decisions when I’m expecting to wake up to a knife at my throat every time I close my eyes,” he said, abandoning all pretense.
They’d had this conversation - this fight - before. They both knew that she wouldn’t budge without enough concessions on his part to effectively end the war, and that even if he abandoned his thankless, rotten destiny, it wouldn’t be to throw himself at the mercy of the Resistance.
They both knew better, and yet every time anew, they kept trying.
Rey sighed. “Yeah. Well, thanks anyway.”
“You’re welcome,” he said bleakly.
He listened to her open the packaging and chow down on the ration bar, all thoughts of distracting himself with his own breathing forgotten. She licked her fingers clean when she was done. It made him want to kiss her knuckles, and he almost wished she would just punch that idiotic thought out of him.
“Does anyone actually sleep during sleepovers?”
“Eventually.”
“Hm.”
They lapsed into silence.
Then, slowly, tentatively, Rey lowered herself to her mattress beside him, a million lightyears away, and scooted backwards until her back was pressed to his, warm and solid.
His breath froze in his lungs. He didn’t dare move.
“This is right where the wall is in my room,” she said.
What his treacherous ears heard was: so she couldn’t turn over and wrap her arms around him.
He swallowed thickly. And because he was a masochistic idiot, he said: “I’m in the middle of the room.”
“Good,” Rey breathed.
She hates you, the part of Snoke that still whispered in his ear every Force-forsaken day told him. You are everything she fights to eradicate, Kylo Ren. The things you have done cannot be compensated for with snacks.
For a while they both lay frozen, his heart beating to the rapid tune of lies tricks delusion trap and the Force a trembling cord of suspense between them.
But he had never been good at heeding warnings.
Without any particular thought to point to as reason or excuse, Ben turned over and wrapped his arms around Rey’s waist. She gasped, then melted into him, and then somehow, unerringly, managed to twist around and bring their faces together and press her forehead to his without any ungainly bumping or flailing. With a slow, tremulous exhale, he closed his eyes and pressed back.
Eventually, they slept.
Author: Omnicat
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: J.J. Abrams & co’s Star Wars: Episode VII - The Force Awakens and Rian Johnson & co’s Star Wars: Episode VIII - The Last Jedi.
Warnings: None.
Characters & Relationships: Rey x Ben
Summary: The Force arranges a sleepover and Rey and Ben just have to deal. Gee, thanks, Force. // 1238 words
Author’s Note: Enjoy!
Counting Banthas
He drummed his fingers on his stomach, stared at the ceiling, and focused on his breathing. Only his. If he listened closely enough to the sound of air moving in and out of his own lungs, it would surely drown out everything else there was to hear.
“Are you asleep yet?” Rey asked from the vicinity of his shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
“No,” he ground out.
“Oh,” she said, utterly apologetic. “Sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
“Well, this isn’t my fault.”
“It’s not mine either!”
“Oh, keep your voice down,” Rey groaned, rolling over in her bed. Her bed, not his, whatever the Force may be trying to fool them into thinking.
“Stop waking me up with questions,” he shot back, turning his back to her in his bed, which he in no way shared with her.
Thirty minutes later, he asked: “Are you asleep yet?”
Rey heaved a heartfelt sigh in answer.
Rubbing his burning eyes, he let himself fall onto his back. “Do you think the Force will let us go if I braid your hair?”
“Why would it?”
“I can only assume it’s trying to accomplish something with this mutual hostage sleepover scenario, so we might as well start playing along and get it over with.”
“Oh,” she said, a picture of neutrality. She said that a lot when he talked, ‘oh’, and every time, he felt a little more like he should just shut up forever. With a lack of inflection in both her voice and the Force that would make Supreme Leader Kylo Ren’s designated bearer of bad news envious, she deigned to reply: “I’d rather not. I don’t think I’d sleep a wink if you started touching me.”
His nails dug into his palms. Right. Of course. He really should stop forgetting how much she despised him every time they spoke more than a few words to each other without starting a fight.
“What else do people do on sleepovers?” Rey asked.
“Paint each other’s faces. Sneak into their parents’ bedrooms to watch each other try on their clothes and jewelry. Ask juvenile and overly invasive questions,” he answered, a little meanly.
Rey gave no indication of noticing.
“What, like ‘how many meals did you have this week’?”
But would you look at that, here he was regretting it anyway.
Heart twisting painfully in his chest, he dragged a hand down his face. He rolled onto his stomach, reached over the edge of the bed for the panel that turned into a set of bedside drawers when tapped, and blindly slapped at the wall.
“More like, ‘Who was the first boy you ever kissed?’”
He could hear the disgusted scrunch of her face in her voice. “The first boy I kissed?”
“Or girl. Or whatever other sexes are present or gender categories sorted into on Jakku.”
“I’ve never kissed anyone.” A beat. “Have you?”
“Sure.” He pushed the top two drawers back into the wall and stuck his hand into the bottom one.
“Who was she? Or whatever.”
If he didn’t know it was just wishful thinking, he would have thought her voice was sharp enough to be an accusation.
“You wouldn’t know her,” he said. But because he wasn’t actually trying to annoy her, he added: “We lost a bet.”
“Ah. Romantic. What’s that sound?”
“Very,” he said to the former (something, somewhere, had unclenched with a feeling like a breath of relief; he cautioned himself against getting his hopes up) and ignored the latter (not that... not that one either... the raised symbol had to be on there somewhere... ah, no, not this either...). “A tale for the ages. You would’ve loved the look of disgust on her face.”
This time, he was sure he could feel her affront through the Force. “Why would I -”
She cut off with a surprised little yelp when he found the right flavor ration bar and slapped it down on her shoulder.
“Midnight snacks are also traditional,” he said, snatched his hand away from the hint of bare skin it had brushed, closed the drawer, and curled up on the edge of his bed, as far away from her as he could get. If he’d known she was coming he would have stocked up on real food, but if it was good enough for those days when paranoia kept him from stomaching anything less tamper-proof, it was good enough for an impromptu Force Bond slumber party.
“Oh,” Rey said softly. He heard the wrapper crinkle and her sheets rustle. When she spoke next, she was sitting up, her voice coming from above him. “Thank you, Ben.”
He grunted. Then, because he was a masochistic idiot, he said: “I would know exactly how many meals you’ve had in a week if you’d just said yes. I would make sure of them myself.”
“Funerals ruin my appetite.” He imagined a humorless pull at the corner of her mouth. “If you’d come with me, though, I’m sure Leia would let you braid my hair all you -”
“I don’t make good decisions when I’m expecting to wake up to a knife at my throat every time I close my eyes,” he said, abandoning all pretense.
They’d had this conversation - this fight - before. They both knew that she wouldn’t budge without enough concessions on his part to effectively end the war, and that even if he abandoned his thankless, rotten destiny, it wouldn’t be to throw himself at the mercy of the Resistance.
They both knew better, and yet every time anew, they kept trying.
Rey sighed. “Yeah. Well, thanks anyway.”
“You’re welcome,” he said bleakly.
He listened to her open the packaging and chow down on the ration bar, all thoughts of distracting himself with his own breathing forgotten. She licked her fingers clean when she was done. It made him want to kiss her knuckles, and he almost wished she would just punch that idiotic thought out of him.
“Does anyone actually sleep during sleepovers?”
“Eventually.”
“Hm.”
They lapsed into silence.
Then, slowly, tentatively, Rey lowered herself to her mattress beside him, a million lightyears away, and scooted backwards until her back was pressed to his, warm and solid.
His breath froze in his lungs. He didn’t dare move.
“This is right where the wall is in my room,” she said.
What his treacherous ears heard was: so she couldn’t turn over and wrap her arms around him.
He swallowed thickly. And because he was a masochistic idiot, he said: “I’m in the middle of the room.”
“Good,” Rey breathed.
She hates you, the part of Snoke that still whispered in his ear every Force-forsaken day told him. You are everything she fights to eradicate, Kylo Ren. The things you have done cannot be compensated for with snacks.
For a while they both lay frozen, his heart beating to the rapid tune of lies tricks delusion trap and the Force a trembling cord of suspense between them.
But he had never been good at heeding warnings.
Without any particular thought to point to as reason or excuse, Ben turned over and wrapped his arms around Rey’s waist. She gasped, then melted into him, and then somehow, unerringly, managed to twist around and bring their faces together and press her forehead to his without any ungainly bumping or flailing. With a slow, tremulous exhale, he closed his eyes and pressed back.
Eventually, they slept.