Archive of Our Own ^beta

"in the darkness with you"

There's only so much pine cones can do to keep a campfire going when you've run out of wood and luck.

And if their clacking teeth and shaking are any indicator, they might run out of warmth before the starless sky gives way to dawn.

Sitting squeezed together beneath Ben's fur cape beside the fire, with their eyes trained on its waning flames as if it'd somehow slow down the process and their ears perked up in search of any hostile sound, the night trickles away in uncertainty.

They can't fall asleep at the same time, they know—whatever this place they woke up at is, it wants them dead. The temperatures are extreme, the landscape like a checklist of biomes thrown together, and the fauna—even the flora!—bizarre and lethal.

They'd run out of topics to discuss some time ago, of things to argue about, and most certainly of energy after escaping a pack of wolves.

It isn't until Rey feels Ben's head loll against her shoulder that she notices she'd been dozing off as well.

"Shit", she huffs, rubbing her eyes. Just how long have they been here?

Rey's eyes fall on the campfire... only to find it growing much too weak before there's even a hint of sunrise. A sharp claw of fear snuffs out frustration.

Her mouth goes dry.

"Ben", she calls, shaking his shoulder. "Ben!"

He jolts awake mumbling something, in a daze, but Rey gives him no time to adjust from dream to reality.

"The fire", she blurts out, hastily catching his chin with her fingers to direct his gaze at it.

"Fuck", curses Ben, carding a hand through his hair.

"Can you do something? Use your black magic?", asks Rey, eyes still on the fire as she tries to rein in her fear.

He archs an eyebrow at her. "Can't your white magic do something?", he retorts.

Rey's eyes find Ben's and in them, beyond the snarky facade, the same rising panic.

"White magic isn't for offensive spells and stuff like that", she says, breaking eye contact to wrap herself a bit tighter with the fur cape. Ben mirrors her action.

"That's not how black magic works either", mutters Ben between clacking teeth.

Silence envelops them then, brewing with tension—so unlike the silence of past warm, secret afternoons in the fields, of sitting together cataloguing plants and flowers.

But Rey's brain is traitorous and so is her mouth as it breaks the silence.

"You could teach me."

She flinches—nothing like re-opening a wound. Slowly gazing upwards, she expects a scowl, a "too late". Instead she finds bewilderment... and relief.

Rey thinks she's never heard Ben's voice as weak as it sounds now as he swallows hard and says: "I'd be glad."

The relief she too is starting to feel fades just as quickly as it came, however, at the realization of just how much they're shivering.

Rey has no time to wonder what's Ben doing when she sees him get up and...

"Ben, what—"

... undress himself.

She swiftly averts her eyes to the coarse sandy ground, her cheeks flushing. If his intention's to help her warm, well... it's a success.

To Rey's relief, she doesn't see his underwear land on top of his tunic and pants.

To her panic, as he picks up his clothes and feeds them to the campfire she sees a very distinctive bulge behind the grey fabric covering him from hips to thighs.

All and every curse word Rey had learnt in twenty-three years of life form now a chorus in her mind.

Ben clears his throat, and if she thought his voice before had come out weak, now it's but a croak.

"This should keep the fire running", he says.

And Ben's right.

The fire keeps burning, brighter now as its warmth takes away the sharp chill in her bones—but looking at his shivering form, Rey can only worry. Their sheepishness be damned, she pulls at Ben's arm until his side is flush to hers.

Silence befells them again but now, even through the uncertainty and the fear, there's light and calm—a spark of right in a world so wrong.

They allow each other—themselves—to cradle and soothe, cocooned by Ben's cape and a love once thought lost.

But as it always seems to happen in this place, whatever redoubt of peace they manage find never lasts long enough.

The darkness brings with it mist and shadows of strange forms—and whispers otherworldly, too familiar for them to ignore.

Words they thought they'd overcome, words they thought they'd forgotten—they haunt them.

Curled up together in a tight embrace, not the crackle of the campfire nor their hands covering each other's ears can keep the words away.

Tonight, the words have made Rey their main focus.

And they can't silence the words, they can't silence their inner demons—but they can be louder than them. This, Ben vows to Rey. This he promises with a kiss, timid at first, hungry as Rey hungers.

Inexperience and shyness hold no candle to the devotion with which Ben peppers Rey's whole body with kisses and caresses, to the devotion with which he caresses and massages soft flesh and hidden places that have only known Rey's fingers until now.

Ben gives her whatever she asks for—the gentle touches and the rough, just like she needs, and Rey rewards with him chants of his name and sounds he wants to etch in his memory forever.

Tears of sorrow turn to tears of bliss as Ben makes good on his words, ruling over whispers and banishing the cold for her—his beloved, his everything, his Rey.

Gazing into her hazel eyes, Ben's heart is full as he sees the same love nestled there.

With that same love Rey caresses Ben in return, just as clumsy and reverent as her lover—and with a kiss and a gentle first push they love, and love, and love.

Until the dawn finds them, undone and yet never as readier to face the future together.