Chapter Text
The most reliable place Cassian’s path crossed Jyn’s was in the mess. When he was on base, an embarrassingly large portion of his day was spent looking forward to the moment at mealtimes when she'd come in and automatically take the seat beside him. It was comforting but unremarkable (to anyone but him, he hoped) if her thigh pressed alongside his, if his fingers brushed her wrist as they reached for the same bottle of Naboo fish sauce.
He didn’t have many other chances to indulge his craving for her touch. He was still in Intelligence and she’d been posted to Basic Training as an instructor, pending further assessment of her capabilities. At least, that was what Draven told Cassian every time he asked why he couldn’t work with her yet; in reality, he suspected, she’d become the object of a tug of war between Draven and the infantry CO, who didn’t want to give her up. A few times he’d been able to observe her hand-to-hand classes and she’d used him as her demonstration dummy, which was exhilarating if painful. He’d never enjoyed having the snot kicked out of him so much.
But after she hurt her shoulder, she couldn’t teach and she’d started missing meals. This was the fifth day in a row he hadn’t seen her at all. And it wasn’t that she was eating at different times; he’d checked with Bodhi and the two Guardians, and they hadn’t seen her either.
He knew Jyn’s recuperation had not been going smoothly. She still didn’t have complete range of motion or strength in her right arm and couldn’t lift it over her head. She hated not being able to use it fully, and even though the medics kept telling her to take it slow, she’d set her rehab back this week—again—by pushing herself too hard.
Jyn didn’t like showing weakness or vulnerability. She never asked for help, and rarely accepted it. You had to be in the right place at the right time and catch her off guard. A few times Cassian had been lucky enough to persuade her to let him help, but her general reaction whenever anyone offered assistance was to stare coolly at them until they gave up. At least, that was what she did to strangers; she snarled at her friends.
Bracing himself to be snarled at, Cassian went to the barracks in search of Jyn. He found her sitting hunched on the edge of her bunk, gnawing with resignation on a ration bar. Her right arm was back in a sling.
“Coming for dinner?” he asked casually.
“No,” she snapped.
It pleased him more than it ought, being able to anticipate even such a small reaction from someone who was (as per Kay) continually unpredictable. His first impulse was to smile, but she didn’t look like she’d appreciate it right now. Instead, he propped his shoulder against the doorframe and composed his face into a gently inquisitive expression. “Why not?”
“What’s the point?” She held up the chunk of compressed protein paste in her left hand, scrunching her nose in disgust. “All I can eat one-handed is ration bars or soup. Both of which suck.”
Of course. Cassian should’ve figured it out much sooner. He scanned the sharp lines of her face and neck. It was hard to tell, since she was wearing thick pants and a quilted jacket, but she might already have lost a couple of kilos.
“Give me five minutes,” he told her.
In a stroke of luck, he didn’t even have to explain why he wanted to get behind the serving line; the cook on duty was a Clawdite he’d helped get an encrypted message to xer family last month. Xe let him pass and Cassian grabbed a tray.
The problem was that since Jyn ate almost anything that didn’t run away, it was difficult to get a sense of her true likes and dislikes. A wide variety (as much as the Rebellion’s limited stores could provide) was the best idea. He scooped a pile of scrambled reconstituted protein onto a tin plate. With a lot of her favourite hot sauce poured over top, it would be more or less palatable. A couple of the steamed dumplings stuffed with who-knew-what were small enough to eat in one bite. And a bowl of noodles in thick curry; if he cut them into short pieces, Jyn could stab at them one-handed with a fork. There wasn’t a lot of sweet, calorie-dense food available but he snagged the last ripe joganfruit—he could peel it for her—and a square of baked nut paste with honey, hoping to coax her to eat both.
Carrying a full tray he couldn’t hurry, but he walked as fast as he could. He didn’t want the food to be stone cold by the time he got back to her quarters.
She looked surprised when he returned and thumped the heavy load down on the footlocker at the end of her bunk. “You didn’t have to do that.” Her voice was small and gruff, the way it got when she was trying to conceal pleasure she didn’t think she should show.
He shrugged; that was self-evident. He wanted to. At least feeding her would be less dangerous for his self-control than washing her hair.
Cassian didn’t understand his own reactions to Jyn. Half the time being around her made him calmer and more centred than he'd felt in years, and the other half he could barely look at her without feeling like he was broadcasting his entire soul for the galaxy to see.
He wanted her, of course, but that didn’t explain everything else. Sex would have been relatively simple. The weakness that hit him in the solar plexus at the sight of her, how much he wanted to make her smile… that was the confusing part. He’d used the fact she needed help with her hair as a transparent excuse to touch her, to care for her, to be closer to her. And all it had done was make him hungry for more.
Speaking of hunger—he tossed a napkin on Jyn’s lap and passed the tin plate over so she could rest it on her knees and brace it against her right arm.
She took up a fork in her left hand, holding it awkwardly. “Don’t watch,” she grumbled. “I eat like a rancor these days.”
Maybe not as messy, but she was certainly as fast. Within a couple of minutes the plate was scraped clean and her satisfied sigh burrowed into his ear. He remembered the small noises she’d made while he was brushing her hair and how she’d slowly relaxed, each bone in her spine settling against him in a trusting way that had made it hard for him to breathe.
She elbowed him gently with her good arm. “Some of this is for you, I hope.”
“I already ate.” A few hours ago, but the statement was still true. Her eyes flickered sideways skeptically, and he cocked an eyebrow at her, letting her know he was holding firm on this point.
She huffed out a tiny sigh and picked up her fork again, spearing the last dumpling and holding it out. “Well, I’ve had three of these and I want to leave room for dessert. Come on, share.” She prodded the fork toward his face, waving the morsel under his nose.
An unwilling smile caught at the corner of his mouth. “Fine.”
“Open up,” she ordered. He did, and she inserted the dumpling in his mouth. He closed his lips around the tines as she pulled it out gently.
She was watching his lips, and he swallowed quickly, unnerved by her regard. “There. Now eat your dessert.”
Jyn eyed the pastry left on the tray, oozing a gloss of honey onto the plate. “I'll give that to Baze, he likes them. They’re too sweet for me.”
He didn’t believe her—very little was too sweet for Jyn—but he picked up the jogan fruit instead and pierced the rind with his thumbnail. A fine mist of juice burst into the air and the tart-sweet scent made his mouth water. Carefully, not wanting to bruise the tender flesh, he peeled it and pulled the narrow segments apart.
Jyn licked her lips. His own tongue darted out and flickered in unthinking mimicry. He didn’t know what possessed him (oh, don’t lie to yourself, Cassian) to hold the piece of fruit out to her between his fingers.
She could have taken it from him with her good hand… but she didn’t. Instead she leaned over, her eyes slanted up to watch him through dark lashes. She curled her fingers around his wrist to hold it steady, placed her lips around the fruit—delicately, precisely, barely grazing his skin with her tongue—and drew it out from between his fingers. Her lips shone with juice as she worked her jaw to chew and swallow.
Cassian's breath reversed and he choked on air. Blood thundered in his head. Jyn was closer suddenly. He realized that was because he’d leaned down toward her, his eyes fastened to her mouth. His hand was still floating in the space between them, tethered by hers around his wrist. He could feel her breath on his fingers. He touched the corner of her mouth, blotting up a single sticky drop of purple juice.
What was he doing? He told himself to straighten up and move away, but then he heard the tiny catch in her own breathing as she stared back at him. His pulse picked up again. She tilted her head, keeping her eyes on his, and pulled him a bare centimetre closer by her grip on his wrist. Close enough for their lips to touch.
It was like an electrical shock. His nervous system whited out for a moment and no other part of his body existed: only his lips where he felt the slightly rough pressure of hers, the soft wet warmth. She tasted sweet and sharp together, the essence of the fruit on her lips tangy against his, stinging the chapped skin.
The kiss drew on and on, delicious, sweet and slow as trickling honey. Cassian had to close his eyes. Just the touch and taste of Jyn’s mouth was overwhelming without any added sensory input. Her fingers trailed slowly up his arm, across his shoulder, and gripped the back of his neck, warm and startlingly soft except where the callouses on her palm rasped.
He shifted, thinking only of how to get closer to her without hurting her injured arm. His knee jostled the empty plate on her lap and it clattered to the floor. Her hand clamped down on his neck as they both jumped in mutual startlement. His pulse rabbiting against her palm, his eyes snapped open and he stared down at her.
Jyn was always beautiful; that was nothing new, but the expression on her face was. Her eyes were half-lidded, her lips parted with breath coming quick between them. She looked... stunned, maybe, by her own reaction. Or his. He felt suddenly shy and wondered if the yearning hope he felt was obvious on his face. He looked away, trying to crush his want back down into a more manageable size.
“Cassian?” Her voice wobbled on his name, and the doubt he heard spurred him to bring his hands up and slide his palms along her jaw, cradle her face with all the tenderness he could, bring her as close as he wanted her. Apparently, astonishingly, that was where she wanted to be too.
She kissed him again: greedy and eager this time, like she was discovering something entirely new, like no one else had ever been so brave as to hold her and learn her taste, and he spared an instant of pity for all the people who’d never have the intoxicating experience of kissing Jyn Erso.
Their mouths whispered together, apart, together. Bolder than he’d dared to imagine, he tasted the freckles on her cheekbone, searched for the softest, most tender spot below her ear. Her left hand furrowed into his hair, stroked down his cheek and held his face pressed to hers. He let himself breathe her in.
“Cassian,” she murmured in his ear. “I think I need your help with something else.”
He held back a shiver at the sensation of her breath moving over his skin and the sound of his name in that teasing register. Just ask, he wanted to beg, just tell me. Whatever you want. Just ask. But all he could manage was a low, rough noise of inquiry.
She drew back and looked up at him again, her eyes still languidly half-closed but hungry. Her nails scraped small, tingling trails along the muscle of his neck. “Help me take these clothes off.”