Chapter Text
Tonight, he is adding one more option to his list of favorite ways to see her.
Naked, in his clothes, and in a skin tight, floor length dress.
When he zips her into it, it takes everything in him not to immediately rip it off, pull her to the floor and wrap her throat in the tattered remains.
And she smiles like she can read his mind.
But tonight is too important to waste any more time.
So, they go.
Besides, there will be time to tear it apart. Later.
For now, she shines, stunning, and to have her on his arm is to be the most fulfilled man alive.
Secrets are done, and fear is for fun.
So they stride into the party together, smiling.
Ben can tell his colleagues are surprised, not only by his presence, but his company. But he has never made friends at work, so all observations are new.
The mingling is droll, the appetizers unappealing. The only saving grace is the open bar. Ben swirls a single pour of good whiskey in his glass, searching, scanning—
Snoke.
He is already looking at him, at them, and he knew this was inevitable. Counted on it, in fact.
And so he presses a kiss to the back of Rey’s silk-gloved hand and excuses himself to the restroom—an opportunity.
————
Being without him still turns her stomach, but she knows—
He will come back.
He always comes back.
But in the meantime, a man approaches, and she knows without being told that this is the man who has kept Ben on a leash, who continues to take him away from her. Kylo, she mentally corrects, recalling his coaching from this morning, between longing kisses and heavy sighs. They call me Kylo.
He doesn’t ask for her name. She does not offer it.
“You’re Kylo’s whore,” Snoke surmises as a means of introduction.
She nearly flinches at the word from a mouth besides Ben’s. But she has endured worse. Far worse. She clings to this fact as she smiles.
“You could say that,” she replies, toneless and bland.
“I do say that,” Snoke replies, swallowing down a sip of his drink before setting it down on the table between them.
And suddenly, any manner of feigned diplomacy is gone.
“You must be what’s been keeping my best man so distracted,” he bites, not an ounce of teasing in his tone. Rey has been on the receiving end of words from a great many chilling men, but no one has turned her stomach so instantaneously since—well, no sense in dwelling on the past.
“I suppose so,” is what she settles on in response, smile so fake she knows he can tell.
His eyes scan her body, and she’s never felt more naked, more loathed. She swallows down the bile in her throat.
“I’m sure you believe you’re special to him, girl. That you’re unlike all the others. I’d even venture to say you believe he loves you.”
He says the word love like it burns his tongue, as if it might hurt her, a dagger hurled at her chest, an attempt to break her.
At that, she laughs, tinkling and high and slightly boisterous, amused enough that she watches his face break out into a grin. He thinks he’s winning.
He’s wrong.
“No, Mr. Snoke. We don’t love each other. I’m not delusional.”
He seems pleased at her words, and she watches him write her off as a complete nonissue. Amateur, she can’t help but think.
“Well good, I’m glad—”
“We belong to each other.”
The din of the party remains, but between them, a bout of silence so thick, she could cut it with a knife. The thought turns her smile genuine.
His turns to a sneer.
“That’s where you’re wrong, girl. He belongs to me.”
His grinning surety is an ugly thing. She wants to wipe it away.
Instead, she pushes down the rash instinct and steps closer to him, close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath, to skirt her silk covered fingers over the rim of his glass, feeling the delicate ridges of the crystal.
Closer.
Close enough to lean in and whisper in his ear.
“We’ll see about that.”
————
Ben is relieved, as always, to have her back at his side. Neither of them do very well when apart, their separate worries given space to grow and fester.
She slips her bare hand into his, leans up to press a kiss to his scarred cheek. Staking her claim.
The commotion begins right when they expect it, the crash of a glass hitting the floor, a frightened shout for a doctor, room swarming with panicked energy as they stand on the outskirts, soaking it all in.
Eventually, Ben feels confident that there is enough confusion for them to slip out undetected.
“I think it’s time for us to go, don’t you, Mrs. Solo?”
“I think you’re right.” She smiles, wide and bright and alive. “Let’s go home.”