Conflicted: A Reylo Fanfic

Temptation

Rey opened her eyes and found herself in Ben's arms. It was not a surprise in the least. She'd known just where she was and why before she'd even awaken. In fact, if anything, she'd been afraid to open her eyes and find it wasn't true. But there he was, as solid as life beneath her cheek, her hand riding the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. She could feel his warmth and feel his presence completely surrounding her, inside and out. But there were new things too, particularly his scent, which she'd never before realized was missing. He smelled of spice and strength and so many things she couldn't identify, and she found herself intoxicated by it.

Moving carefully so as to not disturb him, Rey rose up on her elbow, giving herself a better vantage from which to observe him as he slept. His face was utterly devoid of tension, completely relaxed in a way she'd never seen before. She noticed the impossible darkness of his lashes as they lay in contrast to the pale skin below his closed eyes. She noticed the graceful contour of his full lips, and the aquiline bent of his nose. A lock of his hair stretched across his brow, and she couldn't resist the temptation to hook it with her finger and draw it back. Her fingers felt the silky softness of his hair and she was suddenly consumed by the need to touch more of him, to know the true feel of him, rather than her mind's supposition of such a sensation. But just as she contemplated such a possibility, her eyes fell upon the long scar that extended from below his right eye down across his jaw and into the collar of his black shirt. Vividly recalling the moment in which she'd given him that scar, she was lost in sorrowful contemplation when his eyes slipped open.

He watched her silently for a moment as her eyes filled with tears she refused to shed. Slowly, silently, he reached for her hand, which hadn't yet managed to stray from his hair. Gripping it lightly, he pressed a tender kiss to her fingertips, his eyes all the while maintaining contact with hers. Then, he directed her fingers directly to the scar, pressing them to the creased flesh before withdrawing, leaving them there. Given such explicit permission, she allowed her fingers to explore and caress every ridge, every nuance of the scar. She recalled the first time their bond had manifested, when he'd been in the middle of a treatment to close the last of his wound. And she flinched when she recalled attempting to shoot him right in his gut. How much pain and heartache she might have avoided had it been possible to end him in that moment. But how much she would have missed out on too, such as this very instance.

"I don't regret the scar," he whispered ever so softly. "It's my constant reminder of you."

And his words wrung the tears she'd held so skillfully in her eyes. "I could have killed you," she moaned softly. "I wanted to."

"But you didn't."

"But I should have," she argued. "Why didn't I?"

"Because you didn't want to."

The circular logic was so wrong and yet so right at the same time that she couldn't process it. Instead, she focused on the scar again, tracing it over his jaw and feeling the deformity in the bone that the strike had caused. He obligingly turned his face to give her access as her fingers continued to trace the angry mark onto his throat, pausing to feel the steady, strong pulse in his neck. Then her fingers were thwarted by the neckline of his clothing.

"How far does it go?"

She watched him hesitate for a moment, then a decision came into his gaze. Clearly alert to any sign he should stop, he reached for the collar of his shirt. Suddenly and inordinately anxious, Rey found herself careful not to give any indication that he should stop as she moved to give him space to maneuver. Pulling the clothing to one side, he exposed the angry slash that trailed the length of his clavicle before ending just short of his shoulder. She'd never known the damage she'd inflicted had been so extensive, only aware of one end of it. Reaching forward tentatively with a question in her eyes, she set her fingers at his neck again once his slight nod gave her permission. Tracing the scar once more, she felt the myriad pits and waves in his delicate clavicle and she felt tears flood again. Breathing his name in sympathy, she wished there was something she could do for him, some way she could express how much she regretted having left him with this mark in his flesh. And, before she could question the wisdom of such a gesture, she leaned forward to kiss his clavicle, right on the spot in the middle that seemed to have required the most rebuilding of the bone.