Work Text:
Ben Solo had always had, what his mother called, a “wandering eye.”
Leia used to insist that he got that rude trait from his father, delivering a quick smack to the back of her son’s head whenever she caught him staring below some woman’s neckline. Han is Han about it; he won’t take the blame. He insisted that it was the work of one Lando Calrissian. After all that time travelling together, he’d taught the boy far too many tricks. Lando, however, pointed the finger at Ben’s uncle, Luke. He claimed it was “wrong” to make a young man repress his feelings and urges like that, wrong to make your poor, impressionable nephew take a vow of celibacy when there’s a whole galaxy to explore.
What he really meant by that was: Let the poor boy get laid before he decides if he wants to grow up to be a miserable, lightsaber-wielding virgin.
Despite his family’s attempts to assign the blame, Ben would like to think it was all his doing.
Opportunity came easy for a man like him. When you’re in your twenties, and you’ve got your own ship and enough credits to buy everyone at the cantina a round, just because you feel like it… it doesn’t take long for someone to set their sights on you. If Ben doesn’t go to them, they come to him, and who is he to refuse? He’s a rover, as most smugglers tend to be. You make a lot of enemies with a job like his, and it’s dangerous to stay in one place for too long. (Not to mention, it’s boring.) Ben’s got the kind of job that lets him to hop from planet to planet, and, while he’s there, he has the opportunity to explore as many seedy bars and dimly-lit alleyways as he wishes. Naturally, this results in an abundance of ex-lovers and two-day flings with no strings attached, cut short by a speedy departure in his ship the very next morning. That is, if he even bothered to stay that long.
Ben had gotten hookups down to a fine art; he knew exactly what to say and how to say it to get what he wanted. It was the thrill of the chase that did it for him, volleying suggestive comments back and forth until some attractive humanoid creature agreed to spread their legs for him in a shady back-alleyway of a bar he couldn’t even remember the name of.
There were a few unfortunate times that he accidentally left his favorite jacket behind, and some lays just aren’t worth the credits he had to shell out to get that old, sentimental scrap of fabric back from the pawnbroker. Then, there was that one time that he wound up sprinting barefoot through the streets of Corellia, clutching a pillow to his groin to keep himself decent, wearing only one sock, trying his best to get away from an angry, red-eyed Chiss who was threatening to rearrange his face. (That, he maintains, was not his fault. It’s hard to spot a wedding ring in a dark bar.) Still, he doesn’t regret a moment of it.
Taris had been his latest stint, tending at a cut in his lip in the nearest rundown hovel he could find, soothing his hurt ego with Tarisian Ale that tasted like it had come straight out of the ground on Kashyyk. A dodgy deal with a Vulkar had left him bruised and 500 credits worse off. Fortunately he’d found the perfect place to lick his wounds, buy a drink and sniff out what else Taris had to offer him.
She had approached him first, sauntering over to his booth with great concern for his bleeding lip and a spare drink in her hand. He’d graciously accepted her help, and the drink, he’d even let her sit herself down in his spread lap in his booth. He hadn’t been with a Twi’lek in a while, it was hard to remember exactly why just looking at her. Her skin was smooth and pink and contrasted with the black leather she had wrapped around her arms and her tits. Her lips were full and purple, almost swollen looking as she sucked on her straw, long eyelashes flicking up at him. She had sat so nice in his lap, pressing herself up against him, opening up her legs for him to work his fingers into her, right there in the bar. He’d forgotten about how good Twi’leks could feel, just a little bit hotter, a little bit tighter than anything else.
He didn’t even make it back to her place, stumbling out the back of the dingy bar and placing her on the knocked up hood of some strangers’ landspeeder. She’d offered to suck him off first, offered so nice with her pretty, full lips but why bother when he already knew how good her cunt tasted? He thanked her, almost politely, as she let him pull her black wraps down, let him lick and suck his way across her tits, grinning to himself when he saw her nipples. He was convinced there was no greater sight in the galaxy than a pretty pair of tits, no matter the size or shape. Anything he could get his mouth on was good enough.
“Ah -” He started, “Looks like you owe me 10 credits huh?” he chuckled, scraping across her nipple with his teeth as his fingers pulled and squeezed at the other one.
“Nuh-uh, you said purple, they’re p-pink” she tutted at him, gasping as he licked at her again, pulling at his hair to keep him where he was. He thanked her, even more politely, when she let him bend her over the hood, scraping his knees on the dusty, hard floor as he buried his face between her cheeks, swapping between licking at her hot, leaking cunt and her ass.
“Thought you had a busted lip?” She’d smirked as she rubbed herself onto his tongue, stretching herself over the front of the transport.
“T’got better.” he mumbled, muffled by the sounds of his own slurping.
He kneeled like that until she came, hard and loud dripping onto the bonnet of the rusty speeder, fingers tangled in his hair so hard it made him moan. He drank up everything she had to give him, grunting as he swallowed it all down reminding himself that he should definitely look for Twi’leks more often. When she’d finished she let him slip his cock into her, the whole thing in one go. He’d be embarrassed to admit he didn’t last long, the heat and grip of her cunt making him spill into her a little sooner than he’d have liked.
His lip had healed up just fine after that.
His favourite place was Coruscant. The city was a smugglers dream, filled with endless, depraved possibilities, enough to get sucked into and lost in. The bars were full of species he’d never even seen before, drinks he’d never heard of and spices and snuffs he had yet to try. The last time he’d had a job there he’d ended up higher than he ever had been, his pants stuck tight around his thighs as he fucked someone into a mattress he didn’t recognise. For as long as he could remember Ben had been interested in guys, Luke finding him and Tai messing around in his sacred temple had been one of the highlights of his short lived time at the academy. Coruscant had no problem in supplying Ben with a plethora of options - this time, it had appeared in the form of a delicious young Balosar he’d found selling spice near the ‘freshers in his favourite dive bar.
“What is it you’re after?” the man had asked, antennapalps twitching softly as he spoke. His hair was dark and curly, falling about in waves that parted for the appendages on his head. His dark complexion reflected the fluorescent blue lighting of the bar. The way he looked Ben up and down gave him shivers.
“Well, that just depends on what you’re offering doesn’t it?” Ben had smirked, propping his arm up against the wall next to him.
That is how he ended up high off his tits on Death Sticks, fucking a pretty, little Balosar in some rundown apartment, moaning everytime he bottomed out just right. Ben didn’t think he’d ever sweat so much in his life, skin sticking and slapping as he tried to fuck him harder, grunting with the exhertion of it. He didn’t know if it was his mood, the guy he was fucking or the drugs but god if he didn’t last twice as long as he usually did, feeling light and airy, snapping his hips up as fast as he could. He couldn’t quite work out which moans belonged to who or where his body started or ended, everything a little fuzzy and frayed at the edges of his consciousness. The only thing keeping him focused was how rock hard he felt and the hot, tight pressure in his balls. Ben liked to run his mouth, which apparently was no exception when he was high. He swore he’d turned his voice hoarse that night, grunting about that “tight little ass” and “nice big cock.” He’d usually always preferred making women come, there was always something more rewarding about it, something more visceral, more primal involved. But who was he to deny the exquisite creature in front of him, when he had asked so nicely, if he could swallow his come.
Then there were the other times. The times where Ben just needed to get fucked. It usually happened after some near death experience on some badly planned mission where he’d fucked up again. After that, he usually needed something raw and real to snap him back into reality, just something to take the edge off a little. The last time had been a close call, the shipment he was after had got mixed up with some goons with big bounties and the whole thing went to shit after he started running his mouth. Even he couldn’t deny he was like his father, thinking he could solve his problems with a single blaster and a healthy dose of sarcasm. After that he was convinced destiny must have had something bigger planned for him because there’s no other explanation for how he got out of that one alive. After that jumped to the next system and flew immediately to the nearest dump he could find, smacking seven different types of currency down on the countertop in exchange for the first drink they could give him.
Ben is honestly not even sure how it happened. He’s not even sure who it was … or what...it was. All he knows is that he was drunk, mouthing off and pushed up against some grimy, damp wall of a back-alley, his palms pushed flat against the brickwork as he choked out desperate moans into the dark. He’s pretty sure they were tentacles, the hot sticky things wrapped around his cock and balls, keeping his thighs locked open and in place and pumping up inside him, filling him up further than he thought possible. He had tried to talk, tried to keep some semblance of control, talking about how, “He can’t be long, he’s a guy with a very tight schedule.” He didn’t even get to finish his sentence, didn’t even get to process what was happening as another tentacle wrapped its way around his face, pushing into his mouth and past his tongue to shut him up. He had whimpered, leaking profusely at the concept of just being made to stand there and take it, unable to move until he had been thoroughly used up.
And that is how Ben ended up on Jakku. Another run in with the First Order, got caught up smuggling stolen weapons. He didn’t know they were stolen (Honestly.) Not that they listened to him when he calmly tried to explain that fact. After somehow surviving being shot out of the sky at high speed, escaping from his now trashed ship and walking for miles in the god-forsaken Jakku desert Ben Solo needed two things.
To find Unkar Plutt and to get fucked.
He’d been in some shitholes in his time, but Ben thinks this is possibly the worst he’s ever been in. At first he had assumed it to be some sort of outhouse, just following the smell of old ale and sweat and hoping it would turn out to be a bar. It wasn’t until he poked his head inside and saw an upturned piece of metal acting as a countertop and empty oil tanks filled with what he can only assume to be some very out of date alcohol. A thick layer of sand and grime covered everything in the room, nothing was safe from the dull, grey dust that swept in from the outside. It was silent, which was odd as far as bars go, but given the kind of depressing, bleak planet Jakku was, it wasn’t a surprise that they wanted to drink away their sorrows quietly.
Ben could only hope, could only pray, that in this squalid little ramshack town there was someone just as desperate as he was to get laid. Although quickly looking through the clientele it didn’t look promising. He wasn’t about to completely let go of his standards.
“What do you mean you don’t accept credits?” Ben asked incredulously as some withered old woman pointed to a sign so scuffed that he could barely make out. She mumbled a few words in a harsh, foreign language, gesturing wildly with her hands, making an attempt to explain something to the smuggler. The two played a very confusing game of charades for several minutes before a voice rang out from one corner of the nearly-empty bar.
“We don’t do that here,” the female voice translated. “This is a trading post. Credits are worth next to nothing here… Got any scrap metal in that little purse on your hip?”
The woman was slouching in a corner of the bar, gripping a pint of what looked like dishwater. Her hair was styled into three, small, sloppy buns, and her flyaways framed her tan, freckled face nicely. It was easy enough for Ben to decipher whether she was a traveler or a local; the poor thing looked as though she had a layer of sand permanently caked onto her skin. It would likely take more than one shower to scrape it all off, and wasn’t that a thought for his sinful little mind to tinker over. It wasn’t hard to tell that she was a scrapper. Her chipped fingernails and dust-stained clothing supplied Ben with an image of her scavenging parts from all of the old, destroyed ships that decorated the landscape of this hellish planet. Sweating and cursing as she tried to find anything of value in the hollow, skeletal remains of some bog-standard trading ship.
Still, he couldn’t help but notice that, despite all of that, she was rather pretty for a scavenger. On an otherwise barren planet in the Inner Rim, she was a tasty, little fruit that managed to stay good and ripe under the hot, Jakku sun. Surely, she would be willing to help him unwind after all he had been through.
“Ah… Thanks,” He managed to reply after eyeing her body for a moment, almost forgetting what she had even said.
He slipped his hand into his satchel - Not purse, he scowled internally, fishing around for something of minimal value, something worth the murky, alcoholic concoction he was asking for. After a minute or two of impatient searching, he dropped a few disorganized pieces of a busted motivator onto the countertop, hoping it’s enough. The little, wrinkly woman behind the bar eyes the scraps, and Ben can physically see her gauging the worth of each piece. Her eyes dart frantically from one bit of metal to another; everyone on this planet has the mindset of a scrapper. Even on the odd chance they manage to get out, they’ll spend the rest of their lives appraising the material goods—or sometimes people—that they surround themselves with, wondering, “How many portions would this get me?” even if they’ve already got food on the table.
Ben wondered how long the pretty stranger sitting in the corner of the bar had appraised him. He wondered how much he’s worth to her, wondered what amount she settled on in her mind. If she’d already decided if he was of use to her or not.
Eventually, the old woman behind the bar gave a firm nod, turning to drip the valve of a large oil canister into a dirty, cloudy glass. Ben looked around, slicking his hand through his hair, turning with a smirk to face the woman that had spoken to him before. He made his move.
Slotting himself into the other side of her booth, getting himself nice and comfy in the corner, he spread his legs open and set his drink on the table. She looked up from her drink, eyes narrowing distrustfully, slowly reaching toward the wooden staff leaning up against the booth.
“You looked like you could use some company.” Ben always began his introduction with niceties and a few compliments. “Thanks for that translation, by the way. I’m not well-versed in these desert planet languages, but you seem to be. That’s impressive, you know.”
“I don’t do hookups,” she interrupted him, “or whatever it is you’re after.”
Always the smartass, Ben feigned innocence, widening his eyes and pressing his palm flat against his chest like he was offended.
“Who said anything about hookups? I’m just here to make sure a pretty girl like you doesn’t have to finish her drink alone,” he claimed, bringing the rim of his glass up to his lips.
The drink looked and tasted like a Happabore’s bathwater. It was viscous and bitter, like nothing he’d ever tasted before. He grimaced, trying his hardest to swallow it down, trying not to think about it as it threatened to make its way back up his throat.
“That’s … repulsive,” he stated, tipping the glass upside down, watching the syrupy liquid drip down the sides, too solid to really be considered a beverage, in his, expert, opinion. “This tastes like womp rat poison.”
“It’ll get you wasted if you’re not careful,” she warned with a slight skirt, swallowing a mouthful herself.
“If you can handle it, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he joked, huffing out a laugh before matching her own sip, swigging the alcohol down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Bet you get drunk easily, a short, little thing like you.”
She made a face at him, scrunching her nose in irritation. “I can handle a drink better than most… I could probably drink you under this table.”
“You’re competitive, huh?” Ben gave her a toothy grin. “Don’t worry. I find that sort of thing very attractive.”
He slid his hand across the tabletop, attempting to nudge her fingers with his, like some above-the-table version of footsie. She unexpectedly yanked her hand back, still distrustful, smashing the bottom of her glass down on the smuggler’s knuckles. He yelped dramatically, hissing and cradling his knuckles to his chest, checking them over for damage.
“You don’t just… touch people’s fingers. We don’t do that here,” she stuttered, flustered, flicking her eyes to look at the others in the bar. “Just… tell me what you want.”
Ben put his hands up in surrender, whining out an explanation. “Listen. I fucked up my ship, and I gotta get off this shithole planet. I need to speak to some guy… Fuck, what’s his name? Uncle something? Big guy, ugly mug. That sound familiar?”
At first, she didn’t reply. She took one more sip of her drink—a big one, big enough to drain the rest of the glass down her throat—and then swallowed it all down. A moment later, she stood up, turning away from him as though she were going to leave him there.
“Wait, wait,” Ben pleaded, scrambling to stand and follow behind her. “Okay, hold on. I know it’s—”
She held her finger up, dismissing whatever desperate plea was about to slip out of his mouth. It was a signal for him to shut up, to stay seated, and, unsurprisingly, it was enough to make him hard.
Sometimes, Ben wondered if he talked so much because he enjoyed being told to shut up. There’s nothing quite like a firm hand clapping over your mouth when you’re getting fucked. He’d let his mouth run like a faucet, let meaningless words spill out until his lover took it upon themselves to stuff their fingers in his mouth or shove his face into a pillow. It’s degrading, knowing that the man or woman fucking you from behind couldn’t care less about what you have to say. He wondered if this woman was the degrading type, wondered if she’d shove his face into a pillow and hiss, “Do you ever stop talking?”
She made her way over to the bar, speaking to the bartender in a hushed tone. It was a shame that someone like her—someone so young—would likely spend the rest of her life on a planet like Jakku. It seemed like such a waste, knowing she’d probably end up just like the lonely, withered creature behind the bar; knowing she’d spend the rest of her life scavenging and appraising junk parts because there’s nothing else she could have done. Ben didn’t know why that made him feel sick.
She returned to the table with a tray, balancing too many muddy-looking drinks on top for only two people. Ben huffed out a laugh and opened his mouth to make a joke—something like “Well, it’s five o’clock somewhere”—but Rey interrupted.
“Listen,” she started, setting the tray down carefully, a typical scavenger scared of one spilled or wasted drop. “You want to get off this planet?”
Unsure if he was allowed to speak yet, Ben hummed out an affirmative “Mmhm.”
“What a coincidence. So do I,” the scavenger spoke.
There was something about her nonchalant tone of voice that led Ben to believe he was about to be scammed and pillaged. Suddenly, it felt like he was ten years old again, sitting across the table from Lando during an impromptu game of Sabaac, not knowing that his uncle had a rare card slipped up his sleeve and a knack for cheating.
“You say you can handle your liquor better than me,” she continued, nudging a drink across the table until it’s placed right in front of him. “We’ll see.” She narrowed her eyes.
“Look, sweetheart,” he sighed like he was tired, like he was delivering bad news. “I don’t have time for these little ... desert games. I got shit to do. People are expecting me… And, y’know, I’m sure you’re a real champ when it comes to outdrinking all of the senior citizens and four-foot-tall Teedos I saw hanging around this outpost, but I’m a big guy. It takes a lot to get me tipsy. I don’t want to crush your spirit or anything, but you’re smaller than you think you are.”
The scavenger scrunched her nose at him, flushed and irritated. “Then I’ll make this little desert game worth your time… If I overestimated myself and you win, I’ll personally escort you to Unkar myself, no questions asked.”
Ben paused to consider her offer, idly tracing the rim of his glass with his fingertip. He assumed she was telling the truth. (Though, his questionable judge of character had left him handcuffed to one too many bedposts with his satchel missing, his credits gone, and his pants around his ankles.)
“Sounds good to me,” he decided, throwing his hands up as if to say ‘Why not?’ before grabbing one of the glasses by its handle and bringing the rim to his lips.
“But,” she states, “if I win, you owe me a free ride to wherever you’re going next… I’m not too loud, and I don’t need much to eat. I can sleep on the floor if I need to; I’m not picky.”
Surprised by the sudden hint of desperation in her tone, he just stared at her for a moment before rubbing his jaw in consideration. Eventually, he lifted his glass, giving her a lopsided grin. “Cheers.”
The girl beamed—Not at him, though. Not really. He could sense her excitement at the prospect of getting off this shithole of a planet, of seeing the galaxy in its entirety. He wondered how miserable it would be to look at the same sand dunes every day, to never see a patch of green grass or an ocean. Just looking at her made his chest ache.
He was sure she’d spiked his drink, sure of it.
The first glass had gone down fine. The second wasn’t too bad either… But the third hit him like a fucking Railcrawler, and he had to take a few breaths to steady himself after he swallowed it all down. The scavenger was infuriatingly unaffected after the third round. Her face was flushed, and she seemed a bit looser, but she wasn’t swaying in her seat like Ben was. If anything, the drinks put her at ease, made her more talkative. She asked him all sorts of questions, especially ones that pertained to his travels. She was so eager for any piece of information he could give her, peering at him with stars in her eyes and rosy cheeks as he rambled about his home planet, about Correlia’s nightlife, about Cloud City. (She couldn’t believe that one, couldn’t believe there was an entire city suspended that far above the ground. It was impossible to explain to someone who’d spent her entire life on the dusty surface of a desert planet.)
“Falling behind, huh, flyboy?” she taunted, necking the last of her fourth glass in one go.
He found himself unable to speak, unable to look away as she swallowed the rest of her drink down, shamelessly watching her sweat-streaked throat move. He wondered how much he could fit down a tight throat like hers, wondered how many inches she could stand to choke on.
She stared right back at him with an amused look on her face, like she knew what he was thinking.
“Is this what you do?” she asked, biting on the tip of her thumb.
“What? Smuggling?” He slurred, sipping at the rancid liquid in his cup, still not used to the taste, texture, or viscosity of it.
“No,” She clarified. “Go into bars and look for pretty women to fuck.”
Ben blinked slowly. “Huh?”
“Do you go into bars and look for pretty young women to fuck.” She repeated slower, her accent enunciating every word carefully. Ben Solo, a man who had no problem fucking strangers in the street, was blushing at the ears over this little desert rat saying the word “fuck.”
He knew she was mocking him, he knew that she was trying to shame him. To call him out for the slut he was.
“Not just women.” he admitted, swallowing thickly. Agreeing to play whatever game she had planned for him next.
Her eyebrows raised for a split second, quick enough that she regained composure but not that quick that he didn’t notice her surprise.
“Ah.” She breathed, taking another calculated sip, swallowing thickly before she added, “Then you’re just anyone’s whore, hm?”
His breath hitched.
He nodded, maybe a little too aggressively.
“What is it that you like? Big tits? Small? Big cock?” she asked in rapid succession, “Tentacles?” she added.
“That was only one time.” He whispered. She leaned closer, compelling him to continue. “All of it. I like all of it.” Ben whispered.
The girl half-crawled across the booth towards him, clambering over the table like the wild, feral thing she was. If he couldn’t tell she was a scrapper before, he definitely could now, flicking his eyes over her strong calves and thighs that held herself up as she gracefully climbed the furniture. Her arms were strong too, defined and tanned by the sun. She examined his face a little closer, leaning in until their faces were almost touching. He could smell her from here, the smell of sweat and dirt and oil, and something that must have just been a little bit her. The smell of her mixed with her warm, alcohol tinted breath went straight to his cock.
“Why bars?” She asked, sitting down next to him.
“Why not?” Ben replied, head spinning.
“Is it because they’re strangers you like fucking them? Or is it the public part you like? Do you just like people seeing you be a slut?”
He almost whined at that. “Both.” he whispered, nodding without the consent of his own conscious thought.
“You’d let me do anything to you right here wouldn’t you smuggler? I bet you’re hard right now hm? Bet you’re all flustered because a pretty girl is talking about fucking.” Her palm suddenly squeezed at his upper thigh. He jolted at the feel of her, kneeing the table and sending an empty glass to the floor. She checked behind her casually, looking to see if anyone from the bar was watching them.
Ben was too busy focusing on breathing to give a shit about anybody else. In any case, now was definitely not the time to think about his predilection for public fucking. Definitely not with her strong hand that close to his cock.
“Did you think about fucking me already? Bet you’ve already pictured me bent over the table for you?” She whispered, palming at his thigh, so so close to where he needed her. He was hard against his pants now, throbbing, almost, painfully. He felt like he was constantly 5 seconds behind, always trying to keep up with her words, her hand, her questions.
“Well, have you? Have you already thought about what my tits look like?” She reached down to palm at his balls next, he groaned at that, unable to stop himself. She shoved her hand over his mouth, letting him smell the sweat and grime up close. “You’re not a very good slut, are you?” She questioned.
“Yes.” He breathed out onto her hand, letting his tongue trace through the gaps of her fingers. “Yes to all of it,” He carried on sucking, she tasted like sweat and iron, like she was created by the planet itself.
“Come on smuggler.” she tugged at his jacket collar, leading him away from the table.
His heart jumped into this throat, his brain a constant monologue of “pleasefuckmepleasefuckme” as he tried to coordinate his big, clumsy feet to follow her. The cold air hit him as they walked outside and granted him the sweet relief of sobering him, just a little.
“What’s your name?” he asked, shivering a little, unsure of whether it was because it was cold or because he was so turned on.
She laughed lightly, “Like you care, flyboy.”
He did.
If he had been less drunk her home would have made him more sad. It was a lonely little thing, a shelled out AT-AT in the middle of the desert, filled with nothing but ratty blankets and bits of scrap she must have liked the look of. She noticed him looking, “It’s not much … but it’s...home.” she shrugged. He nodded. She placed her hands on his chest, walking him back into the corner of the room. The back of his knees hit what must have been her makeshift bed, and he let himself fall.
“Is this what you wanted, hm? When you first saw me? You thought that a nice pretty girl like me would let you bend her over her bed and fill her up with your come?” His head was spinning again, trying to process what she was saying. She had straddled him at this point cupping his face with her calloused, warm hands.
“Can I?” He choked out. “Would you let me?”
She laughed.
“Show me.” She started, pulling the buns out of her hair. “Show me what you’d do if I let you.”
He grunted, letting his hands run through her hair as it fell past her shoulders.
“Can I?” Ben asked, pulling at the rags covering her shoulders.
“Can you what? Use your words.”
“Can I see your tits.” He rasped, “Please.”
The fabric around her shoulders fell as she shrugged it off. It fell to just above her breast, showing the small slope of skin that was there. Her nipples were hard already, poking through the thin fabric in the cool, night air. Remembering that he had the use of his hands, Ben reached to cup them, using his thumbs to slowly rub and tease her. She let out long breaths, closing her eyes to focus on what he was doing, letting her hands fall back to rest on his knees, exposing herself to him.
He pulled the rest of her dust-covered top down, his breath catching in his throat as he saw her in the low light of her dingy room, even in this light she was - something. She was scrappy and bruised, old scars and grazes haphazardly spotted around her limbs, yet there was something undeniably irresistible about her. Ben bent his head down to kiss at her skin, not her nipples, not at first, just the soft skin of her breast, tracing his lips soft and light. He liked that he was warming her with his hot breath as he mouthed at her, watching how she came alive for him as he worked. He marvelled at how soft she was, how this creamy, milky skin was hidden, all wrapped up and safe from the harsh sun and brutal climate, and now it was exposed just for him to explore. He sucked her rosy nipples into his mouth, groaning as he tasted her. She wrapped her lithe, little fingers into his hair, pulling at him to keep him where he was. Not that he minded - at all. He flicked at her with his tongue, sucked at with his lips and pulled and pinched with his fingers until he could practically smell her through her leggings.
“Y-You’re good. I’ll give you that.” She moaned, her chest flushed and a little sweaty. “Good little slut.” She sighed tenderly, stroking at his hair.
He moved his hand down to rub clumsily between her legs, desperate to feel her wet and warm after she’d started grinding on his thigh. “Nuh-uh.” she smacked his hand away. “Lie back.”
He did as he was told, breathless at how easily she took control. How effortlessly she told him what to do, like she’d fucked him every night since he’d tricked his way into stealing his first ship. He settled onto his back, folding up a tatty, dusty blanket to use as a pillow, propping his head up.
“Do you like eating pussy?” she whispered, tracing his lips with her finger, dipping in to feel his tongue. “Do you like getting messy? Making other people feel good as they fuck your mouth hm? Would you let me use your mouth, pretty boy?”
Ben nodded eagerly, wide eyed and ready to do what he was told, the very idea of getting to taste her sobering him up almost immediately. She peeled off her leggings, eyes nearly bugging out of his head as he realised she didn’t bother to wear underclothes. Her legs were sandy and scuffed, her knees stuck out a little bit too much, but all Ben could focus on was the swell of her hips, and the way she was dripping for him already. She had kept the hair around her mound, he liked that, liked it so much it made his mouth water in anticipation. The women that usually opened their legs for him had waxed their hair into intricate shapes or styles, some removing it completely, some not having natural body hair at all. He smacked his head back into the bed, patting either side of his head for her to join him already.
She crawled over him, stopping to lick into his mouth just once before moving upward. If just her mouth was anything to go by then Ben was sure he’d revel in the taste of her cunt. She had this taste - it made his head spin and his stomach churn, affecting him like he’d just sniffed a backhand full of snuff. Before she sat down, she brought his arms to either side of his head, and balanced her legs on top of them, locking them into place beneath her. Ben felt like he couldn’t breathe, the smell of her, earthy and warm, right next to his face, the sight of her perky little tits hanging above him, the feeling of being pinned down and used up by this feral little desert girl. He was convinced this is the closest he had ever been, and would ever be, to meeting the Maker itself.
It was like nothing he had experienced before, and for Ben Solo, that was saying something. He was used to getting people off, used to learning what they liked quick enough for a quick thrill, quick enough to get them nice and ready for him. But the desperate noises she made, the way she used his mouth to get what she wanted, moving herself ontop of him, fucking her cunt down onto his face, was almost an epiphany. Ben was itching, dying to get his fingers free and pump them into her, curl them just right and make her cum on his face, but he was trapped, his hands starting to tingle under the weight of her legs. So he carried on, carried on being a good slut for her, doing what she wanted - what she needed. He tongued at her while his nose bumped against her clit, burying itself in the hairs she had there, every noise she made going straight to his cock.
“Stick your tongue o-out” she panted, threading her fingers through his hair, stroking him lightly with her fingertips in a way that was almost loving. Ben obliged, wanting nothing more than to make her feel good. He let her grind down on him how she wanted - using his nose, his mouth, his chin, bringing herself closer and closer to orgasm. He could feel it in the shaking of her thighs, noticed how she started using him up, not caring if she was rough, not caring if he could even breathe, just chasing the high he was giving her. Seeking brief reprieve in the slick satisfaction of his mouth.
“P-please.” he muttered, tongue and lips busy as he begged her to come, not ignoring how the soft vibration of his voice made her jitter above him.
“Are you letting me use your mouth, slut?” She gasped from above him, “letting me use that pretty mouth to get myself off. You’re so good, so good- for me.” She was close. He licked at her faster, eager to do whatever he could to get her off. He broke his hands free from under her legs just to grab at her tits, pinching and grabbing at her nipples as she came, grunting as he made sure he swallowed and lapped up everything she gave him. Grabbing at his hair she pulled his face even closer, making sure his mouth enveloped the whole of her cunt as she rode it out. She stayed there as she came down, panic briefly setting in to Ben’s system as he realised that he really couldn’t breathe with her sat like that. He waited for her anyway.
“Y-You did so good.” she gasped for breath, her body trembling as she clambered from ontop of him.
“Thank you.” He said, maybe perhaps too earnestly, saying whatever was necessary to get her to praise him again so he could drink it down. Maybe trashing his ship really had been worth it.
“What’s your name?” She asked, rolling over next to him and lying on her front.
“Ben. Ben Solo. Why?” He questioned, sitting up a little, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Okay.” She paused to catch her breath, her body still shaking. “Ben -” She started, and already he was a goner, the way she said his name, the way she looked with her face flushed and pressed into the pillow next to him, the way she was red down to her tits.
“I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me like you fucked those other people.” He swallowed, sitting up. Somehow the implication was that she wasn’t at all like those other people he had spilled his come into, and somehow he understood what she meant.
“Gonna fuck you from behind, m’kay?” he grunted, propping himself up on his knees behind her. “You gonna let me fuck you? Gonna let some stranger from the bar fuck this tight little cunt?” He growled now, getting close enough to whisper it into her ear. “You got some nerve calling me a whore, look at yourself, bending yourself over for a guy you don’t even know.” He undid his belt buckle, shoving his pants halfway down his thighs before spitting onto his palm to slick himself up.
Ben wondered how long she’d been waiting, how long she’d been imagining faceless strangers with her hand shoved down her underwear in the early hours of the night, just to help her sleep. He wondered if she’d ever had to invite anyone back just to satiate the urges the sweltering nights brought, if he was just another in a long list of those she’d asked her fuck her senseless. Maybe she’d managed to wait, maybe he was the first in a long time - desperation starting to seep in at the edges, her small, rough fingers failing to bring relief. Regardless, she needed him now.
“Keep looking that way.” He pulled at her hair to keep her facing straight. “Don’t want you to see my cock, just want you to feel it. All of it.” He carried on slicking his cock, tapping it on her clit just to watch her squirm, savouring the sound of wet skin slapping together.
“Yeah, who’s the slut now huh? Ask me to fuck you again. Ask me nice, like a good girl.”
She didn’t reply, she just tried to fuck back onto him. Tried to catch the head of his cock so he could sink into her already.
He smacked at her ass, pulling away from her. “Fucking, ask me. Or you’re not getting it.”
“just … fuck me.” She hissed, like it was painful for her to ask, her blush visible even at the edges of her cheeks. “Please.”
He grinned, that type of shit eating grin he knew she’d probably hate, the type she’d probably smack him for. He lined up with her cunt and propped his hands on her hips. “I knew you could play nice, desert mouse.”
Before she could form a witty reply he started pushing into her, feeling her part for him, letting him into her tight, wet heat. The way she moved around him was like she was made for him, stretching further and further to make room just for him. She exhaled as he pushed in, arching her back and pushing back against him, like it was a personal challenge to stuff him all inside her cunt.
“Yeah, you feel that? You feel my nice big cock working you open? Ever had a cock this big, hm, scrapper?” He teased, keeping his hand tangled in her hair, working his hips forwards slowly.
Once he bottomed out he felt like he was drunk again, he felt lightheaded, like he still couldn’t feel his hands right. He didn’t think she’d fit him all in, not all in one go, but she had. She’d taken him so well. The feeling of her clenched down on him bought him crashing right back down to the planet for the second time that day. She mewled, she literally mewled, as he started to move.
“Fuck.” He spat out. “You feel so good. Fuck. Might have to take you with me -” he was blabbering again as he started to fuck her. “Galaxy this big but never had a cunt this good.” He whined. “Gonna have to steal you away so I can fuck you whenever I want huh, would you like that little scavenger? You’d like me to take you as my own personal slut?”
She nodded, flicking her eyes back to him as she started meeting his thrusts, the sound of her skin slapping his own starting to fill her empty little room. Somehow the way she insisted on staring right back into his eyes as he fucked her was almost as intimate as being balls deep inside her. Almost.
“Would you come with me, huh? The next time I go to a bar, you want to come with me so I can share this pussy out? Fuck, I bet you could take a cock bigger than mine in this little cunt.” He was going harder now, angling his hips up each time to that little spot that was making her shake, she was dripping too. He could feel it running down his cock onto his balls, making a wet slapping sound when their skin met. “Oh - you like the thought of that? Did that get you wet you little slut huh, the thought of taking a bigger cock than this one? How about in that pretty little mouth, you want one in there too? Greedy little desert girl.” He licked at her ear as he spoke, grabbed at her ass and stretched her out as he fucked her back onto his cock.
She was close, he could feel it. Could feel the way she was dripping, the way she was pulsing around him, the desperate little sighs that had started working their way out of her throat. He chuckled, “Or maybe I’ll keep you all to myself sunshine? How about that? Just keep you around to keep my cock warm, such a perfect little fit.” She nodded at that, and Ben was fairly sure he heard her chant “yesyesyes.”
“What was that?” he asked in a mocking high-pitched tone, “Do you want that? You wanna be taken away and kept as my little cockwarmer?” He spat onto his fingers and pressed them over her swollen clit, groaning as she clenched around him, leaking onto his balls again.
“Come for me then. Sluts come when they’re told to.” He carried on stroking over her as he moved her backward so they were both sat up together. He kept stuffing his cock into her as he played with her clit, smacking and pinching her tits as she wound her arm behind his neck. “Please, baby, fuck, come, please come on my cock - n-need it.” That familiar tight feeling in his balls had caught up with him all at once, threatening to force himself to spill inside her without even getting to feel her come.
“Please sweetheart, please come, need it, m’close.” he moaned as he licked into her ear.
“Yes Ben, please, need you to fill me up. Need to feel you.”
He spat onto his other hand and slicked up her nipple, pinching and rubbing at it as he rubbed at her clit. He felt it before she did, the rhythmic clenching of her cunt around him as he tipped her over the edge. She grabbed at him as she cried out, hand grabbing at his own, tight and desperate, like she was taking him with her. That’s what set him off. Before he could stop himself, or even process what was happening he was filling her up, spurt after spurt, both of them groaning as they came together.
She collapsed back onto her knees, face pressed into the pillow as she caught her breath again. Her back was slick with sweat, her hair a tangled mess on her shoulders. She looked peaceful, flushed and calm. All he could do was look at her, enjoy the warm feeling of her just a little longer, pushing his come back into her with his softening cock. She smiled at the feeling of it, pushing back at him to make it a little easier. He exhaled at the sight of it, his cock, wet and covered in their come, slowly fucking back into her swollen, pink cunt. He didn’t want to leave, he realised. Didn’t want to meet this Uncle guy and leave her alone on this rotting planet.
After a few minutes of no sounds except slow breathing and the slick sounds of him moving inside her he pulled out and collapsed beside her. He didn’t know what to say, and the worst part was that he didn’t know why he had to say anything. His natural urge to check her wallet for cash and do a quick runner before she realises just isn’t there. Fucking drink, he scolds himself for drinking whatever the fuck that was, that’s what’s got him all flustered, acting all off.
He looked to his side to see she’s looking at him, her face sweaty and flushed, beaming. Looking at her was like looking into the sun itself. “So - where were you going next anyway?” she smiled and tucked his hair behind his ear.
“Huh?” Ben blurted, loud and dumb, completely lost in a post-orgasm haze and the weird palpatations that looking at her was giving him.
“I won. I finished all my drinks” she laughed lightly, “So - you owe me a ride to wherever you’re going.” She lay herself out on her side, her tits spilling out of her top again, her cunt still pink and raw. He’s about to get hard again if he carries on looking at her. He wipes the sweat away from his eyes. “Ah - shit yeah.” He tries to think about where the fuck he needs to be that isn’t inside this woman on this bed again right now.
“Well - where do you wanna go? Your choice. I guess I have time for a little detour.” He smiles, throwing his hands behind his head to lean on them.
“I …. I don’t know. I’ve never been anywhere else.” She frowns a little, like she’s disappointed him.
He sighs disapprovingly, “Well -” he starts and she looks worried, eyes wide and her face paling, “Looks like we will just have to keep going ‘til you find a planet you like huh?”
She beams up at him. Letting her head rest on the pillow now she’d gotten her answer.
She closes her eyes, lets her mouth fall half open in the beginnings of sleep, as she whispers,
“I’m Rey.”