Chapter Text
.
.
Rey stared hard at the picture on the mantle. She couldn’t remember exactly which Christmas this was she was looking at, but she must have been around 12. Gawky and painfully skinny, her red velvet dress hung off her little girl body almost pathetically. It had a grown up neckline, one that Aunt Leia had helped her pick out, wide yet shallow. Showing off clavicles, rather than not-yet-arrived breasts. Too old for her, but Rey had loved the dress. It was the first time she had ever felt womanly.
Ben stood next to her, like he did in every family Christmas photo taken every year, though this was the first year he’d rested his hand at her waist.
It was a completely innocent gesture, but little girl Rey in her grown up dress had warmed all over. It was the single most romantic thing she had ever experienced, and her foolish heart had leapt at the sight of her cousin ever since.
“Hey, kid.”
Rey startled, then turned to face Ben Solo. “Hey,” she said, trying to keep her voice as steady as possible. It was difficult, with him standing so close to her. She was tall, but he had always been taller. At first just long and lanky, and then, both tall and broad. His black turtleneck emphasized this painfully, and she was sure she felt her cheeks stain with pink.
“You want a drink?” he said, his eyes kind, if distant. The drink he held looked specifically adult, in a short glass with a single ice cube that was larger, more purposeful, than ice cubes one might pour water over.
She glanced around him, to where her dad and aunt were talking.
“What’d Dad say?” she asked.
Ben shrugged. “Didn’t ask Luke. I got to drink at Christmas when I was eighteen, so I figured you could, too.”
Rey chewed her lip. “I’m seventeen,” she said, hating every year that separated them.
And you’re twenty-eight, she added silently.
“Eh,” he said, shrugging. “I was drinking at seventeen, too. They just weren’t as happy about it.”
He took a long sip of whatever liquor was that particular maple syrup shade and jerked his head. “Come on. I’ll just splash a little SoCo in your eggnog. Our secret.”
Rey followed him, her eyes darting to where her dad and Aunt Leia stood, the woman’s head thrown back in laughter as she clutched Uncle Han’s arm. Han took a long drag on his own drink, much more depleted than his son’s, his face serious and drawn.
There was an assortment of bottles on the fancy mirrored cart, and Ben seemed to know exactly the one to pluck out. The amount he poured in the glass could have been a little, or a lot, but Rey had no idea. This would be her first drink.
Then he ladled in the egg nog, and the illicit liquid was swallowed up by thick, creamy sweetness. He handed her the drink and Rey took a tentative sip under his amused eye.
She wrinkled her nose. It made the eggnog taste worse, not better, more liquid and bitter, less sweet. But she took another gulp, a larger one, because Ben made it for her.
A corner of his mouth kicked up, a half smile both he and his dad did, and he tapped his glass against hers. “Merry Christmas, Rey.”
She smiled into her glass, taking another sip. Bitter, but warmer, making the very tip of her nose feel fuzzy. “Merry Christmas, Ben.”
.
.
Christmas was Ben’s least favorite holiday. The awful, over-cheerful music started in October and didn’t let up until New Year’s. Half the houses in upstate New York donned gaudy lights and sported plastic reindeer in their front yards. He had to buy presents for people he didn’t like and accept gifts that he had no interest in. And best of all, Christmas meant that his father would carry out his one dependable action of the year: showing up at his mom’s house to drink too much and put his crooked nose where it didn’t belong.
Ben didn’t have much in common with Han, but they shared a taste for whiskey. He took a long, careful sip of his drink and savored the warmth it brought, watching his parents all the while. Mom kissed his father on the cheek, and when he failed to grin, she scowled, swatted his arm, and said, “Stop being such a grump.”
Han snorted, but he was smiling now, some expression caught between amusement and lechery. “Whatever you say, princess.”
His parents had been divorced for fifteen years, but you couldn’t tell it by looking at them. Ostensibly, his father visited every Christmas to share the holiday with Ben, but truly, he was here for Mom. Never mind that he philandered his way around the country eleven months out of the year; come December he always showed up, fucked things up, and left before New Year’s resolutions could be expected.
When his parents started arguing, Ben refilled his glass--his third of the night--and set off with the whiskey decanter in hand to find a quiet place. There should be plenty in this vast tomb of a house.
God, he was too old for this shit.
Ben took a seat at the base of the stairs, far enough away from the drawing room that he didn’t have to hear his mother’s raised voice. He sat, drank, poured himself another tumbler full of whiskey, and drank again. He kept at it until the world felt warm, the silence dampened, his solitude more comfortable. It was hard to give a damn about his family when he had whiskey-loosened limbs and the sleepy edge of drunkenness was dulling his senses.
“Ben?” Rey asked. “Are you all right?”
“Never better,” he said.
She fidgeted with the sleeve of her white sweater dress. The color suited her, made her look as sweet as she was. If there was anything that made Christmas at home bearable, it was Rey, and Ben felt suddenly happy that she’d sought him out.
“You’re the best of this bunch, you know that?” Ben asked.
There wasn’t much of a slur in his voice, despite the fact that his head was swimming. Ben had long ago perfected the art of acting sober through his liquor.
Rey glanced at the decanter, then the glass in his hand. Maybe she wasn’t fooled.
“I don’t know about that,” she said, “but thanks anyway.”
Ben smiled. It was easier to smile for Rey than anyone else in this family. She was a stubborn little thing, but she was kind. Good in a way that the rest of them had to work hard for, and that they never quite achieved anyway.
“It’s probably because you didn’t get our screwed up genes,” he said.
Fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Rey didn’t need reminders that she was adopted, least of all on Christmas.
She stiffened, a lovely frown pulling at her mouth. It was an oddity he’d noticed, that Rey was even prettier when she frowned than when she smiled.
“I’m sorry,” Ben muttered. “That was an asshole thing to say.”
She looked away, arms crossed over her modest chest. “Whatever. It’s okay.”
Rey pushed her hair away from her face, and it hit him all at once, as if the change had happened overnight rather than over years: she was growing up. Nearly a woman already, really, and a beautiful one at that.
Not that it mattered.
Ben set aside his glass, stood, and grabbed the railing to steady himself. The world tipped around him, still warm and pleasant, but in the way of a carousel ride that was just starting. It wasn’t spinning quite yet, but it would be soon.
“C’mon,” Ben said. “Let’s get some air.”
He took Rey by the wrist and pulled her along behind him.
.
.
It was cold out on the expansive stone veranda. Ben hadn’t wanted to risk going back to the front of the house where he and Rey’s coats hung on the hook, so he’d dug them something out of a hall closet. He wore an impressively formal wool longcoat, and had given her a worn leather bomber.
“Mine in high school,” he commented as he adjusted the collar where it’d rolled under. Rey couldn’t help to shiver when his fingers brushed her neck.
He canted his head at her. “You okay?”
“Mmmhmm,” she mumbled. “Your hands are cold.”
“Damn, sorry,” he said, cupping them to his mouth and blowing. Steam plumed around his face, and Rey stood transfixed. Even such a benign task as warming his hands sent a prickle over her. “Better?” he asked as he touched the tips of his fingers to her cheekbones.
She held back her shiver this time, though her heart was thundering.
“Yeah.”
Ben gave her that half-smile, then turned from her. He walked to the thick stone banister, leaning heavily over it. Rey joined him, though she stood upright, her hands tucked into her underarms as she looked out over the backyard.
Rey almost snorted. The grounds of Alderaan House could never be hemmed in by the word “backyard.” This part of New York was littered with lakes, and Alderaan boasted one of its very own. It lay muted and frozen now, surrounded by snow tinged blue by starlight. The grounds rolled on to the treeline in the distance, clean and soft under its blanket of snow. Low mountains that she wasn’t sure Aunt Leia didn’t also own jutted into the night sky beyond that, painting a pristine, if cold, picture.
“Remember the New Years I broke my wrist?” Ben asked suddenly.
Rey nodded, her eyes on the lake. “I felt terrible. Your mom goaded you into going to sled with me, even though I know you didn’t want to. Then you fell and hurt yourself and I--” Rey shook her head. “Well, you remember.”
“You cried harder than I did,” he said, his voice warm and kind.
“You didn’t cry!” she said, turning to him. “You were almost out of college at that point!”
“Being twenty-one doesn’t mean I couldn’t cry over a fractured wrist.”
Rey huffed, a gust of steam billowing between them. “Well now I feel so much better.”
Ben laughed, an easy sound, almost relieved. “I should just spend these get togethers with you,” he said. “You’re a breath of fresh air in that stuffy house.”
Rey trembled. “Then why’d we have to come outside?”
“You want to go in?”
She shook her head, and Ben smiled again. He turned out to look at the frost hardened snow, and Rey took a moment to look at him. Big nose and big lips, she knew she shouldn’t think he was so pretty. But she did. She liked the way his face tried its hardest to look funny, and didn’t quite succeed. His nose only made him look regal and his lips just made her wonder what all that soft would feel like if pressed against her own. He’d grown out his hair, and it brushed all the way down to his collar. He had gorgeous, wavy hair that Rey wouldn’t have minded to have inherited. Dark and thick and even more perfect long.
He glanced at her, catching Rey staring. “What you looking at, kid?”
Rey flushed, turning quickly away. “Sorry. Just...spaced out for a second.” She could feel him looking at her, and she willed her profile to be as attractive as possible.
After a moment, he stood straight, stretching with a groan. His groan broke on a laugh and Rey glanced tentatively over. His back was bowed and his head thrown back. She followed his gaze.
“What?” she asked, looking up at the swags of live evergreen boughs that decorated the arches between the stone columns.
“You don’t see it?” Ben asked, and Rey shook her head, squinting into the shadowed dark. The lights strung in the boughs had been turned off hours ago.
Ben tugged her to stand where he was and pointed. She looked, but shook her head. “Nope, what am I looking at?”
“Mistletoe,” he said, his voice losing its teasing edge.
Rey felt a sudden flood of heat over her whole body, and her eyes darted to him. He was already looking at her, steady and still, even for the liquor she could smell on him this close.
She looked down, sure if he looked hard enough, he’d see her inappropriate crush written across her face. But he knocked a knuckle under her chin, tilting her face back up.
“You ever been kissed?” he asked, his voice low and more serious than he usually used on her.
She didn’t know what to say. No, was the answer, but if she gave him that, he’d remember all over again how young and inexperienced she was. A yes would be a lie, and she was terrible at those.
Her answer didn’t matter, it seemed, because he ducked the several inches that separated them in height, and touched his lips to hers. Rey stared hard at his cheekbone for a long moment before she thought to close her eyes. Ben shifted, pressing a bit firmer, the kiss more wet than it had been a moment ago.
Then he pulled away, before she could even think to kiss him back.
He considered her face, his gaze hard on her mouth.
“You taste good, kid,” he said, and dipped down again. She readied herself, but he surprised her, running his tongue over her lips, first the bottom, then flicking the top. He pulled away, licking his own lips in concentration.“What is that?”
“Honey,” Rey stammered, her breath caught in her throat, her thoughts a jumbled mess scrambling to remember every second of Ben’s mouth on hers. Trying to remember what he tasted like. Alcohol, a new flavor he’d shown her that night, and mint, one she knew on her own. She swallowed. “Honey lip balm.”
Ben nodded, slow and serious, like this was something he’d want to remember later.
“I like it.”
Then he stepped back, almost stumbled. He shook his head, and she wished his smile would come back.
“We should go back in,” he said.
He didn’t wait for her, didn’t even look at her, just turned and walked through the french doors. Rey followed feebly after, mind reeling and fingers pressed hard into her lips.
Ben had kissed her. Her first kiss. Her cousin.
She thought she’d be happy, but all she felt was cold confusion and a little like crying.
Ben had kissed her, and she didn’t know if she liked it.
.
.
The promised carousel ride had gained momentum, and Ben felt like he might be sick. He shrugged out of his father’s old longcoat and tossed it to the floor. Someone could pick it up later.
Rey followed him back inside, just a step behind, a quiet shadow girl. The lights were blurred, haloed around their sconces, and Ben had to stop and brace himself against the wall for a moment.
He’d kissed Rey. Flirted with his seventeen-year-old cousin and pretended to see mistletoe. Just for the chance to lick honey balm from her lips. It was sweet--she was sweet--and he wanted--
Ben turned around and leaned against the wall, tilting his head back. What the fuck was wrong with him?
“Ben?”
He looked at Rey. She was still wearing his leather jacket, her cheeks and nose red from the cold. Her lips were red too, but he was responsible for that.
She hadn’t kissed back, he thought. His memory of the moment was fuzzy, lost in too-soft focus like everything else right now.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he said.
Rey nodded, not looking at him. She couldn’t get enough of looking at him before.
“Of course,” she said. “I’m not stupid, Ben.”
He laughed too hard, too loudly, and when he finally stopped, Ben found that his eyes were wet. “I know that.”
Rey seemed to close in on herself. Shoulders hunched, gaze cast down, arms caught close to her sides. She wanted him, he knew as much, had known it on some level for years. A passing crush, he’d thought, the sort of infatuation that growing up would extinguish.
She glanced up at him and let out a shaky breath, thighs pressed tightly together, and Ben couldn’t help but wonder if his kiss had made her wet.
His mother insisted on a family photo, same as she did every year. She and Uncle Luke fought a playful battle over the best way to set up the camera, then rushed back to take their places right before it flashed.
Ben couldn’t make himself smile, and at the last moment, he looked at Rey. She stood straight, but her lips were trembling, like the secret he’d pressed upon her was already trying to spill out.