The words are cross, but the tone is soft; so is her touch, when she takes his chin in one hand and leans up to kiss the corner of his mouth.
She just can't figure out what to do with that trust. Earned or not, familiar or not -- and it's certainly not that familiar, not with something like sex.
Cassian feels no real offense at the words - how can he when there's no real behind her words, and despite the way they've begun all of this, Jyn is so gentle and careful holding his chin, keeping him steady, gracing him with the gift of that kiss in particular.
Clearly, they've got something to talk about when everything is said and done. But she's asked him to distract her from her thoughts not once, but twice now, and he intends on living up to the promise that he could.
So when he does as he's been bidden, it's with enough force and intention to ensure that she's breathless when they part again, breathless and panting and unable to remember what was weighing heavily in her mind. He nips at her lips with sharp teeth, not intending to draw blood, but instead a gasp, a moan, anything that proves that he's following her orders to perfection.
It's perfect. Her breath catches when he bites at her. The sting is centering, gives her something to focus on.
She slips one hand along his side and down to his hip, squeezing hard before pulling at the hem of his shirt. She wants to feel more of him, skin on skin, her palm and chilly fingers on his warm waist.
He can be a distraction - and he can get lost in the distraction that Jyn is offering him, as well. It's so welcome, after all, from all the worries and fears that he knows they both suffer silently from.
And, truth be told, the way her breath catches sends a shiver racing up and down the length of his spine.
He gifts her with a gasp as she touches him with icy fingers, leaving his skin prickling in her wake. She clutches at his hip, and he burns with the desire to ask her to leave marks behind, to litter his body with them.
Instead, he swallows hard and makes a concentrated effort to pull away just enough to be able to begin hurriedly removing far too many items of clothing that are in the way of them experiencing each other skin-to-skin.
That's a place to start, anyway. It's a bit of a deflection, though even she isn't entirely aware of it. There's an inchoate kind of desire in her that she doesn't quite want to look at -- something that might have been lurking down there where she locked her feelings about her father for so long.
She doesn't want to think, she doesn't want to think, come on--
She shucks off her own vest and lets it drop to the floor with a thump before moving to help him get out of his layers. When he's finally shirtless, she doesn't waste any time before kissing him again, letting both hands roam down his chest and stomach.
Cassian is thinking too much. But in the asking, and in the answer, he gives himself an order to concentrate on. He's good at following orders - even if the self-consciousness he feels in regards to showing Jyn the newest scars littering his body, the newest additions from Scarif joining the collection.
His pulse thumps all the harder in his throat, and he fights those thoughts away, too, watching Jyn through hooded eyes as he pulls his shirt free from his trousers and she takes over and pulls it up and off, dropping it to the floor where it will, for the moment, lay abandoned exactly where it falls.
And then she's kissing him again, and his synapses are firing bright little bursts of light, and he doesn't know how he finds the wherewithal to work to tug her tunic free while she's touching him, skin to skin, but somehow, he manages.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[bakerstreet] rebellionbuilt
"Don't be stupid."
The words are cross, but the tone is soft; so is her touch, when she takes his chin in one hand and leans up to kiss the corner of his mouth.
She just can't figure out what to do with that trust. Earned or not, familiar or not -- and it's certainly not that familiar, not with something like sex.
"Kiss me again," she murmurs. "Don't be nice."
no subject
Clearly, they've got something to talk about when everything is said and done. But she's asked him to distract her from her thoughts not once, but twice now, and he intends on living up to the promise that he could.
So when he does as he's been bidden, it's with enough force and intention to ensure that she's breathless when they part again, breathless and panting and unable to remember what was weighing heavily in her mind. He nips at her lips with sharp teeth, not intending to draw blood, but instead a gasp, a moan, anything that proves that he's following her orders to perfection.
no subject
She slips one hand along his side and down to his hip, squeezing hard before pulling at the hem of his shirt. She wants to feel more of him, skin on skin, her palm and chilly fingers on his warm waist.
no subject
And, truth be told, the way her breath catches sends a shiver racing up and down the length of his spine.
He gifts her with a gasp as she touches him with icy fingers, leaving his skin prickling in her wake. She clutches at his hip, and he burns with the desire to ask her to leave marks behind, to litter his body with them.
Instead, he swallows hard and makes a concentrated effort to pull away just enough to be able to begin hurriedly removing far too many items of clothing that are in the way of them experiencing each other skin-to-skin.
"And you?"
no subject
That's a place to start, anyway. It's a bit of a deflection, though even she isn't entirely aware of it. There's an inchoate kind of desire in her that she doesn't quite want to look at -- something that might have been lurking down there where she locked her feelings about her father for so long.
She doesn't want to think, she doesn't want to think, come on--
She shucks off her own vest and lets it drop to the floor with a thump before moving to help him get out of his layers. When he's finally shirtless, she doesn't waste any time before kissing him again, letting both hands roam down his chest and stomach.
no subject
His pulse thumps all the harder in his throat, and he fights those thoughts away, too, watching Jyn through hooded eyes as he pulls his shirt free from his trousers and she takes over and pulls it up and off, dropping it to the floor where it will, for the moment, lay abandoned exactly where it falls.
And then she's kissing him again, and his synapses are firing bright little bursts of light, and he doesn't know how he finds the wherewithal to work to tug her tunic free while she's touching him, skin to skin, but somehow, he manages.