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1.
Cassian’s mouth hovers wet and hot just above the skin of her throat, behind her jaw. With each breath she takes, she feels the grate of his beard and her whole spine tingles, burns.
Jyn’s fingers fumble for the clasps of her shirt, and he lingers above her, waiting as she unlocks the fastenings. He is still, silent but for the roughness of his breath. His legs bracket her own.
She tilts her neck ever so slightly back to brush against his lips. “You didn’t have to stop.”
He presses down, all warm tongue and the scrape of teeth. She shivers, fingers stumbling against the clasp.
“I just wanted to make sure,” he murmurs into her skin.
“Make sure of what?”
He kisses her neck again, feather-light.
“That you’re sure,” he says. “About this.”
With a click, she manages to loosen the fastening. In a move less elegant than she would prefer, she pulls her shirt open.
“I’m sure,” she says, with a bit more confidence than she really feels. But it’s Cassian. She’s unsure of many things, but not him—never him.
“I’m sure,” she repeats. “Keep doing what you’re doing, and I’ll get this thing off.”
He chuckles, low. His hand slides down her side, palm splaying across her bare stomach.
“Need some help?” he asks.
“I can take my own shirt off.”
His tongue swipes slow across her skin.
“Want some help?” he clarifies.
She smiles, manages a loose shrug. “I guess that works.”
2.
A cargo mission lasts longer than anticipated, and by the time she and Bodhi are pulling out of hyperspace to see the white plains of Hoth pop up on the horizon, they’ve been off-planet nearly three weeks.
They’re warmly greeted as they disembark, sandwiched between a chortling Baze and beaming Chirrut, assured by K2 that he’s glad they’re not dead, even offered congratulations on a successful mission by the Princess Leia herself. And all the while Cassian stands at Jyn’s side, hands clasped behind his back, smile just a tad too tight.
Silently, he follows her down the corridors of the base to her room. And as soon as she’s closed the door behind him, his palms are firm on her waist, spinning her, pressing her up against the door. He kisses her, rough, a little desperate, and Jyn claws at his shoulders, lets him hitch her up against the wall and loops her legs around his waist. His hands are hot beneath her thighs, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath.
“Miss me?” she whispers.
He growls, bites at the corner of her jaw. “Shut up.”
“Missed you too,” Jyn agrees, tightening her legs and tugging his lips back to hers.
3.
Be quiet!” Jyn hisses. “I hear something!”
Cassian stills. And then slowly, very slowly, he lifts his lips from Jyn’s collarbone.
A long pause.
“I don’t hear anything,” he murmurs, his stubble prickling at her skin. The hand that’s inched its way beneath her shirt shifts upwards, calloused palm rough against her lower back.
“Footsteps,” Jyn insists, swatting at his head with the hand that had been formerly tangled in his hair. “Someone’s coming.”
“Ah. And you don’t want to be seen together?”
Any attempt to sound wounded on his part is mitigated the slow swipe of his tongue up the column of her throat.
Jyn rolls her eyes. “Not with your hand down my pants, I don’t.”
“My hand’s not down your pants,” says Cassian, reasonably.
“Not yet.”
He chuckles. “Good point.”
The footsteps—she knew she’d heard them—grow louder, and even Cassian must hear them now because he lifts his head entirely, eyes trained on the supply closet door as though prepared to leap away from her at any moment. (Jyn rather wants to point out that he could just step away from her now and save them all the drama, but she’s too busy listening. Well, listening and staring at the sharp line of Cassian’s jaw, clenched in anticipation.)
But then the steps are fading; whoever it was must have passed them by.
“Okay,” Jyn breathes, tugging at his jacket. “That was lucky.”
Cassian turns back to face her, tilts his head to the side. She thinks, unbidden, that she’ll never get tired of seeing that smile: crooked and sharp, like a flash of light.
“We have a room, you know,” he says. “That locks.”
She gives him a look. “We have, what, ten minutes before the meeting? But if you want to relocate—”
“No, no.” He’s laughing when he pulls her closer; she can feel the rumble of it against her chest. “Sorry. Forgot I was on the clock.”
“Be quiet,” she grouses.
“Hear someone else out there?”
“Cassian, just—” she presses to her tiptoes, slips her arm around his shoulder. “Be quiet.”
He seems happy enough to oblige.
+1.
The slump of his body against the mattress rouses Jyn from a deep, dreamless sleep. She blinks against the blackness, barely able to make out the smooth slope of Cassian’s side inches from her nose.
She lays a hand on his shoulder and he turns wordlessly to face her, slipping his arm around her waist.
“It’s late,” she murmurs.
“I’m aware.”
“Long day?”
He huffs a sigh, swipes his thumb along her arm. “Very.”
“I’m up early tomorrow,” she says, reaching out carefully into the darkness to pat at his shoulder, slide her palm up to cup his cheek.
He groans, pulling her closer. “Don’t remind me.”
“I have to remind you. Otherwise, you’ll yell when the alarm goes off.”
“I’ll yell either way.”
“True.”
“For now,” he whispers, bending to brush his lips against her forehead, “let’s just pretend we can stay here for a while. Just like this.”
She lets her arm fall, tucking herself into the hollow beneath his chin. “It’s not like you to ignore reality.”
“Just for a bit.” His voice is thick, his breath already slowing. “Just…for a bit.”
“Okay.” She curls a little closer, presses her lips to his chest. “Just for a bit.”