Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Cassian
The first time is a surprise to them both.
It happens shortly after Cassian has resumed his duties as an Intelligence officer. He is not cleared for field work, so he throws himself into briefings and strategy meetings. He is staring at star maps when General Draven unwittingly drops a bomb into his skull.
“That Jyn Erso turned out to be useful after all,” he says absently.
Cassian’s attention snaps to the General so quickly and with such instant ferocity that everyone in the meeting room takes an involuntary step back.
“The intel she got on the Tarilla mission will help us plan our next move.”
“Which mission?”
Something in Cassian’s tone must alert Draven that something is wrong because the General turns to regard his most devoted officer with a raised eyebrow.
“The one she just got back from.”
Cassian is storming to her quarters before he can stop himself, bypassing the lock codes on her door (he is a spy, after all) and barging in without permission. She looks up, her fingers going tight around the towel she has wrapped around herself. Her hair is still dripping wet. Cassian’s eyes dip. A large purple bruise is spreading up her bicep like a blooming flower.
In two long strides he has her backing up against the far wall. Her eyes are bright with surprise. His hands hover just millimetres over the bare skin of her shoulders.
“You didn’t tell me you had a mission.”
His flat tone is incongruous with his blazing expression.
“I didn’t realise I had to.” Waspish, as usual.
“You don’t have to.” Cassian grits his teeth and takes a deep breath.“But why didn’t you?”
Her gaze slides away. A flush is creeping up her chest, and he realises that she left without a word to avoid a fight. She would have announced her assignment, he would have protested, and it would have devolved into a shouting (perhaps a punching) match - quite possibly in a public place. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve clashed violently and in full sight of the whole Rebellion. She is not known for restraint, and he is not known to compromise.
Now, he wants to shake her. He wants to know how she could leave him behind without so much as a goodbye. He wants to shackle her to his bed so that she can’t ever face a blaster again. He wants to shuttle her to an outer rim planet so she will be as far away from the war as possible. He knows she’ll never let that happen.
So what he does instead is to grab her by the hips and pull her into himself, as if he could shield her with an embrace. Because he knows that she will never, ever stop fighting until the job is done.
“You could have been killed,” he says, even though they face death every day as rebels - even though they have faced death together.
To his surprise, her arms go around his neck. He presses his nose to her neck and breathes. He hears her whisper sorry, I’m sorry against his collarbone. She’s so close, almost part of his skin. But it’s not enough. He’s not sure it will ever be enough.
So, before he can think about it too hard, he’s jerking away her towel and letting it flutter to the floor behind him. He hears her squeak of surprise just before he takes her face in his hands and kisses her. It’s not really a surprise when she kisses back; they’ve been tiptoeing around their mutual attraction for weeks. She sucks his lip through her teeth as her fingers slide under his bomber jacket. His fingers find her bare flesh, and she jumps a little at the contact.
Their joy, their pleasure has always been measured with a sharp edge of pain, of loss.
It takes him less than a heartbeat to peel his belt open and fumble apart his trousers.
And then he has her pinned against the wall. He catches her knees and draws her legs around his waist as he lifts her. He is inside her before either of them can think too hard about what’s going on. And then there is nothing but feeling, an overload of sensation and emotion for them both. She is panting onto his Adam’s apple, and her hands are fisting in the sleeves of his bomber jacket. He realises that she is naked, and he is still fully clothed. He wants to feel more, so much more.
So he backs away suddenly, disentangling himself from her lithe thighs. She makes an angry sound of protest until she notices that he is jerking off his jacket, then his shirt. He bends to yank off his boots and shuck his trousers. And then he is on her, calloused hands roving from her face to her neck to her breasts while his lips and teeth find her skin. And then he is in her, and she sighs in pleasure. He thrusts desperately, his teeth grit.
Their love-making is rough, almost angry. He wants more than a sigh; he wants to make her scream. Her fingernails are raking red lines across his back, and the thin slivers of pain are nothing - nothing - compared to the tension building low in his gut. Her low moans turn to keening wails as their bodies move together in a frenzied rhythm of pent up rage; the terror of losing each other, the fury of frustrated expectations, and the beginnings of a fragile love. They lose themselves in each other.
The first time, they don’t even make it to the bed.
The second time is like something out of his adolescent daydreams. She is on her knees in front of him as he leans back in the pilot’s seat of their stolen Imperial shuttle. They’re on their way back to base after one of their many missions together. Cassian suspects Draven assigns them as a pair simply because he’s tired of hearing them shout each other down when they are assigned to separate missions. It helps that they are a very effective team.
He can’t think on it any more; his thoughts are impossible to gather as it is.
Her lips are almost unbearably tight around him. He groans, hands tight on the chair’s arms. The wet friction is like liquid fire. He feels the surge that signals the beginning of the end for him, and he doesn’t want it to end - not alone, not without her, never without her.
So he pulls her up, and she straddles him. She grinds against him, clad only in a standard issue undershirt and briefs. He grins into her kiss; only Jyn could make a threadbare rebellion hand-me-down look so sexy. His hands travel up her thighs, and she gasps as he slips his fingers under the hem of her underwear. And when he slides his index finger into her while circling her clit with the rough pad of his thumb, she comes undone. Her back arches and she throws her head back with a loud moan. Her hips gyrate over the deft strokes of his fingers, and he anchors her to him with his other arm. When she slips onto his chest, boneless and panting, he pulls her underwear over her legs. Then he’s coaxing her up with his hands, his lips whispering at her ear. She braces herself on his shoulders as she rides him desperately. When she begins to quiver with release, he helps by bucking violently. He comes with a shout just after she does, his entire body shaking within her arms.
They don’t let go of each other right away, still basking in sweat and breathless puffs of air. When she finally lets him slide out of her, it’s to turn in his arms and sit across his knees with her arms still looped lazily around his neck. She leans against his chest, tucking her head under his chin. He strokes her arm in wonder as they drift into a sated sleep, watched by the stars around them.
The third time, he pulls her into a supply tent in the hangar and dares her to make a sound.
He’s been scouring the base for her for nearly half an hour after a particularly frustrating Intelligence meeting when he finally spots her in the hangar. But she’s not alone.
A small gaggle of puppy-eyed pilots are watching her as she bends, wrench in hand, to take a look at the wheels on an X-wing fighter. Jyn is laughing; he can hear her across the wide space between them. The baby pilots seem captivated by her, though she seems twice their age and half their size.
Cassian’s long strides are clipped as he approaches them. The junior officers notice him before she does, and they snap to attention. Jyn, still technically his subordinate, doesn’t bother to rise even when he clears his throat.
“Working hard, Sergeant?” He asks blandly.
Something in his stony expression must terrify the pilots because they straighten even further, eyes wide. Jyn, on the other hand, stands slowly and turns with a cocked brow that dares him to dress her down. He blinks at her glare and dismisses the pilots with a casual wave of his hand. They bolt away, throwing apologetic glances in Jyn’s direction. He doesn’t watch them go.
Jyn has the audacity to grin up at him.
“Something the matter, Captain?”
“With me, Sergeant,” Cassian says as he turns to march away, resisting the urge to grab her by the elbow.
He hears her fall into step beside him as they cross the hangar. His eyes slip to the side as he glares at the top of her head. They’ve nearly reached the exit when he finally finishes parsing the emotions thrashing in his gut. He is annoyed by the little boys who lavish her with their adoring gazes. They’ve certainly not earned the right to hear her laugh so carelessly when it’s taken him so long to pry open the shell of her heart. He doesn’t want to miss even a second of her smile. And if he’s completely honest, he’s even a touch jealous, though he knows he’s not got a monopoly on her happiness.
So, before he can think better of it, he abruptly pulls her into a dark tent filled with rows of crates. He steers her around the corner of a crate and plants a hand on either side of her head.
“Having fun, Jyn?” A sharp smile.
Her answer is an amused smirk and a hand on his cheek.
“Are you seriously jealous?”
She is ruthless, his Jyn. Smug, he thinks, and too close to the truth. She is still smiling when he pushes her into the crate and begins to shower her with kisses.
“C’mon,” she breathes, “Really? Right now?”
“Why not?” Cassian replies, “Afraid?”
She laughs, a dry chuckle that ends in a hiccup as he cups her backside.
“Never.”
His eyes are fierce, but his touch is achingly gentle. He feathers kisses down the ridge of her jaw, his fingers trailing lightly over the column of her throat. He slides his hands down her arms, skims her waist before lifting her shirt and unlatching her bra. He massages a breast with one hand while the other wanders lower, deeper. His kisses grow demanding, and she rises up to her toes to meet him. He gives one of her nipples a sharp tug and is rewarded by a sharp intake of breath. It feels like a small victory.
Her head snaps away as the heavy, booted footfalls of a squad march past. He slips his hand down her pants.
“Do you think they’ll hear you?” He taunts as she gasps his name.
“You wouldn’t-”
But he does.
Cassian spins her so she is pressed to the rough wood, his hands making quick work of her combat pants. With a finger, he traces the wet line of her slit. His other hand kneads her breasts in turn. The tent is silent but for their heavy breathing and the metal click as he undoes his belt. He drags his hardness over her bottom, and hears her breath catch in her throat. He leans forward, his lips in her hair.
“I wonder if you’ll be noisy.”
And then he pushes his way into her in a single, fluid thrust. Her back arches as he begins to rock back and forth. Her breathing grows harsh and uneven as he sets a hard rhythm, his blunt nails biting into her thighs. When she lets out a tiny cry and mewls his name, he is undone. He bends over her and comes with a throaty grunt.
Afterward, they dress quickly, laughing. It is the closest to happiness that he has ever been. Then, she smiles and kisses the corner of his mouth, her eyes warm.
His heart stutters with joy.
The fourth time starts slow as he covers her body with kisses. They begin with her lying on her stomach on his bed. He is on top, smoothing his hands over her body inch by inch. He nips her shoulder and traces her spine with his lips. When he flips her onto her back, he relishes her wetness on his beard, and the arch of her back as he runs his calloused hands down the back of her thighs.
Then her fingernails are digging into his shoulder blades as he enters her. He drags himself out, slowly, and pauses to kiss her deeply. They are still locked in an embrace when he fills her again, and again, and again. He tangles his fingers in her hair. She pushes him back, hands on his tightening abdomen, so she can watch him move over her. He watches face, momentarily distracted by the way her breasts sway as he thrusts harder, faster.
They reach completion together and collapse side by side. She turns to throw an arm over his slick skin and he draws her close. They have memorised the map of scars on their bodies and drift into a sated, dreamless sleep.
After that, he stops counting.