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There was little that frustrated Rey, now. By all accounts, she'd conquered the things that so-called irritated her, had pushed them aside, reconciled, adapted to the change and the burning anger within. She'd identified and compartmentalized and understood her problems and obstacles such that she was never bothered by anything. A zen person, whole and complete and in tune with her inner peace. That was until Benjamin Solo opened his mouth. 

"I'm just saying, Valentine's day is an archaic holiday and should be adapted to show gratitude instead of romance," She had knife handed the table, as though it were the thing pestering her over a simple and mundane thing. It was a terrible habit, knife handing things, rude and abrasive. She was a woman of class and high standard, she was better than baser expression. 

"And I'm saying, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" Ben Solo, on the other hand, was growling at her, cheeks ablaze and brows furrowed, tendons in his hands sticking from the backs of his palms, perhaps his eye was twitching as well. Rey didn't know, she avoided looking at him when they argued, the heat behind his gaze feeling too personal. 

"Calling something stupid has no base in an argument," She chided, scolding herself because moderating was just as much an invitation to yelling as being snide. His eyes lit up, proving her point. 

"Doesn't change that fact!" He nearly shouted at her, "Valentine's day has a history steeped with expressions of love and lust, movies and novels are written for it, songs and ballads have existed since the dawn of time," 

"Sure, but those are tributes to romance and love, not to the holiday, I'm saying that Valentine's day shouldn't hold the expectation of lust behind expression or interaction," She hated how into it she got, how her head would tilt and her eyes would narrow, it was almost like she enjoyed the verbal sparring matches they shared, even if they were frequent and about the smallest things. 

"Showing gratitude is so insincere," Ben huffed, rolling his dark eyes, "I'm so grateful to know you," He mocked, twisting his lips in a peculiar way, "Giving someone flowers and chocolate out of gratitude or respect is hardly as impactful as an expression of desire," 

"Desire is expected in return, and that is where the problem lies," Rey watched him falter, and her eyes narrowed, gaze sharpening on his frowning face, "Desire can lead to dangerous things, oftentimes at the expense of another person, emotionally, physically or whatever else may apply," Ben leaned back in his office chair, crossing his arms and regarding her like a child would when placed in time-out.

Rey tapped the table with her finger, driving home her point, "Unrequited emotion is why the suicide rate skyrockets on Valentine's day, that vulnerability is soul-crushing to others when not returned. Others would simply take advantage of one person's romantic inclinations to rob them financially and emotionally. It would be safer, and a better example of social humanity to proclaim feelings of intense gratitude," 

"That's so cynical, even for you," Ben mutters to her, disregarding the very real research into human emotions that she's paraphrased. But it's not the blatant ignorance, but instead, the way he targets her that makes her jaw snap shut, and her teeth clench. It's often how he ends these arguments, affecting her the way he does, rarely through facts or statistics. 

She's reminded again why she shouldn't keep entertaining his arguments, his need to bother her in the middle of a workday just to shut her down regarding her character. He's obviously never learned how to debate with someone, but then again, he's a baser person, driven by his emotions. Things she has to consider each time they interact. So, ever the bigger person, strangely wounded as she is, she clenches her fists and dips her head, her words cordial and succinct, "I can tell you're very passionate about your side, that's commendable, but I think we should retire this conversation for another time," 

This time it's he who flinches, visibly wincing but correcting his lips into a firm line, eyes hard as they lift back up to her face for a fleeting moment, before skipping away to the wall, the floor, his hands in his lap. He nods and stands quickly, aggravated as he is, and leaves her office. It's not until he's down the hall and out of sight before she slumps back in her chair and sighs. Her eyes sting when they close, and she wonders if it has to do with the tightness in her throat. 

Rose steps into her office not too long after, footsteps soft and sure, fingers tapping on the open door and lanyard of keys and bobbles clinking. Rey peels her eyes open at the sound of her coworker's voice, "That sounded rough, I could hear it from the other side of the office," Rey's lips pull into a grimace and she forces herself to straighten, watching as Rose leans her shoulder against the door frame, "Are you okay?" 

"I'm always okay," Rey answers, more than a little tired after that particular spat, she shrugs and flaps a dismissive hand, "Sometimes it's refreshing," 

"Yeah, well, you let me know when he gets too aggressive," Rose shakes her head, crossing her arms and inspecting her nails half-heartedly, "If it's between you and me, I think he just needs a romp in bed," 

"Rose!" Rey hisses, scandalized by her coworkers entirely too-honest mouth. But the darker woman smiles coquettishly, "You're just the most available woman in the office, and you're pretty too," 

"Benjamin is not interested in me," Rey denies, "I can't believe you'd suggest that," 

"Honestly Rey, with the way you two go at it you could have fooled me, sex though? It might be good for you," She flat out grins, 

"Are you encouraging it?" Rey lifts her brows, leaning forward on her forearms, staring at the vulgar woman beseechingly, 

"What?" Rose nearly cries, "You can't tell me the man isn't attractive, Rey," The brunette shakes her head, unsure how to proceed, unused to having her attraction demanded of someone, 

"It's not that," Rey avoids, peeking at the empty hallway behind Rose, "he's just, very..." She waves her hand beside her as if it would explain the millions of things running through her head. Things like capable, big, and absolutely fuckable.

Rose isn't entirely convinced, but eases up on the woman's obvious turmoil and gives a reassuring smile, "Well, hopefully, one of you can fuck it out of your system," She glances over her shoulder, "Maybe the office will return to its peaceful waters," And she sweeps from the doorway like she's been whisked off to better places. Rey continues to stare at the floor where her coworker stood, where Benjamin had waltzed in over an hour ago demanding her attention. 

Fuck it out? She can do that, can't she? At the very least, Benjamin is an eligible man, not terrible to look at, respectful and kind when he wants to be. But the problem lies with asking, and how does one ask their polar opposite for a tussle in the sheets? 

Benjamin assaults her with his presence the next day like clockwork. She can see his approach from down the hall, the militant way he marches, practically stomping on the carpet all the way to her door, eyes affixed on her position. She presses her lips together and finishes the sentence she's typing in an email, minimizing the screen and swiveling her chair to face him as his knuckles rap on her door frame. He's polite like that for all of five seconds before falling into the chair opposite to her. 

He practically melts into it, despite dwarfing the thing, the pressure system for height hissing under his frame. Rey absolutely does not remark on how rude it was to walk in like he owned her office, and instead laced her fingers together and greeted him, "Benjamin, to what do I owe the pleasure?" The man rolls his eyes into his skull and sighs through his roman nose, muttering something that sounds like a childish sneer. She perks up, the once-daily flush of frustration beginning to take hold, "What was that?" 

"Rey," He grinds out, sitting up and practically glaring at her, "You know why I'm here," She goes still, shocked by his statement, and immediately Rose's suggestion from the day before surges to the forefront of her brain. Afraid that he'd somehow caught wind of their conversation. Still, she tilts her head slowly and considers his agitated form, and she can't help but agree with her potty-mouthed coworker, Benjamin looks too tense for the muscles he's wrapped in. She also knows not to confirm something if she doesn't have to, "No," She hums, "I'm afraid I don't,"

"You conceded an argument yesterday," He lifts a brow and leans forward, his sleeves are rolled to his elbows today, and his arms flex nicely when he rests his elbows on his knees. The man is just so large. 

"No," She denies, mostly herself and partly his statement, he's awfully distracting today and she remembers why she doesn't look at him directly. But his eyes bore into her like he's peeled her clothes off in his mind the moment he laid eyes on her from down the hall. She's above baser needs like sex or lust that comes with it, and it irks her that he makes her feel these things. She shakes her head and swivels back to her computer, fingers clicking on the keyboard, "Actually, Benjamin, I don't think I can do the debates with you today," She takes great care not to look at him, but she can feel the way the air is sucked from the room, the way he tenses and glares and hurts. 

She feels like she's been punched in the gut, her chest beginning to hiccup as he stands slowly and gracefully, "If that's what you want, Rey," He says to her quietly, and in her mind, while she asked something reasonable, it is akin to losing something precious. She's lost many precious things in her life, irreplaceable things, mementos, and souvenirs from life before her tragedy that losing anything else, so far in her life now, seems almost criminal. Tragic. She doesn't want to lose things, anymore, even if she thought she was above tangible things to keep. 

"Benjamin," She calls out sharply, it doesn't sound like her well-composed voice, it sounds afraid and sad. 

She's just so tired of arguing, and feeling terrible after them, but a part of her relishes the attention, so she preens on the inside when he turns in her doorway to look over his shoulder. The way his lips tug into a frown at her makes her cheeks grow warm. She gestures to the chair he had smothered moments ago, "Please, have a seat," And her eyes stay glued to him as he sinks down again, but this time his own gaze is carefully trained on her face, as though he's seeing something there that concerns him. 

"We don't have to do this today," He gives her the out, his voice a gentle hum in her office. Still, she shakes her head, even as he continues, "I know I'm not always kind when we have our banter," 

"Banter?" She questions, because it was akin to screaming at each other on the worst days, the only thing it lacked from an actual argument was the hatred, regardless of his predisposed glares. She watches Ben shrug, looking small in his too-big body, 

"I guess you could say I never learned," It's a quiet admission, she takes it for the gift that it is and simply blinks, waiting for him to decide the path of conversation, "My parents, all they ever did was yell at each other," 

"I see," She says, but she doesn't. She knows that persons who care deeply for one another often argue the most, she knows that Ben never talks about his parents save for sparse mention. Rey doesn't have much to compare their spats to; all the screaming in her life was often done in silence.

Benjamin presses his lips together as he does when he's nervous or unsure how to proceed. Rey glances at the doorway behind him, asking for answers, and receives one in a way she wishes she didn't. 

"What's your opinion of sex, Benjamin?" Her voice sounds far away, but her eyes catch the way he flushes and his brows furrow, eyes cast away from her, anywhere but on her. It wasn't a taboo topic, but Rey was certainly the least vulgar person in the office, she's sure she's embarrassed him. Still, with extraordinary effort, Ben lifts a hand and flaps it inconsequential-like and huffs, "What about it?" 

"Sex," She states again, squinting behind the rim of her glasses, "You know, cunnilingus, fellatio, coitus," 

"I know the words for sex, Rey," He scolds, looking at her with that flare of annoyance that signals the start of their informal debate. 

"So then, you could tell me what you do with it," She says in her familiar prim and proper tone, it drives him mad, and she's a little delighted when he bristles at it. 

"What I do with it?" He's more than confused, more than a little flustered, he's gazing down at his hands and probably imagining their placements for various positions, "Sex is great," He says lamely, and Rey sighs through her nose. He needs a little help. 

"From an evolutionary point of view, sex has been used as a tool for communication, socializing, and of course procreation," She catches the way his eye twitches on the last word, "I believe that's all there is to it, procreation," His eye twitches again, but he looks personally affronted,

"What?" His hands are clenched already, "There is more than... procreating, to sex than you're suggesting," She listens attentively as he delivers his argument, "Sex is more than a tool, its a mechanism for personal fulfillment and enjoyment," 

"So you're saying sex is fun?" She asks to clarify, enjoying a little too much the way he flushes all the way to his ears, 

"Sex is absolutely fun, and if it's not, you're doing it wrong," Rey tuts at his enthusiasm, ready to hit him with studies and facts, 

"Sex is a science, Benjamin, its a study of the human body, if you wanted to argue about person to person contact," 

"No, it's more than just a study-" He grabs at the air like it has the words he needs to say, "Sex is a personal connection with your partner, sacred, even if it's not long-lasting, or the relationship isn't a commitment," 

"Oh? So one-night stands are considered sacred too?" She asks him, genuinely curious, 

"Without a doubt," He says, "You're engaging in a vulnerable moment with someone, even if they're a veritable stranger, you're baring your needs and desires to them, for them," 

"That's... rather romantic of you," She comments, but he recoils as though she said the wrong thing. His eyes land on her face and she can feel the demand on her skin before he speaks it, 

"Then what is sex to you?" It's almost accusatory, and she tries not to shrink back from him.

Her experience was limited to her first time and two others following, none of them were particularly affectionate relationships, but she had been curious about the thing other women her age giggled and bragged about. Her first time was simply a half in and then out kind of situation, it wasn't much of anything before her partner decided she was too dry to do anything with.

Her following partner in college had been a drunken fumble, the only way she could find courage with someone too intoxicated to unzip his pants, they didn't get very far, and she didn't finish. The last was a strained relationship she had tried over a year ago, encouraged to get into the dating game she met a nice man, who was a perfect gentleman and respectful of her person. He wasn't demanding, and he was patient to a fault. The issue wasn't really the sex, but to her, it always felt methodical, an action she had to perform because it was expected. The relationship had ended painfully, she had been called cold and removed. 

She didn't know how she could share all of that with Benjamin, so she tried to keep it simple, "Sex is an action done to excite the physical body until ejaculation occurs," Benjamin squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers to them, muttering something, she continued, "It's a joining of two persons until sexual gratification is achieved, or historically, procreating," 

"Jesus, Rey," Ben breathed, it was a strained kind of noise, and she dared to lift her eyes to him, "Have you ever had sex?" 

"Yes!" She squeaked, Ben didn't look convinced, "I have," She frowns at him, "Sex is a mental stimulant as well-" 

"Stimulant-" He mocks, 

"And, it's been studied at length for hundreds of years," She begins to knife hand, "The mental connection to sex is complex and perplexing, surface-level at best. Identifying the fine lines between gratification and pain is difficult, and oftentimes why sex isn't satisfying at all," 

"At all," Benjamin echos, eyes wide, he leans forward, latched onto her words, "Rey, have you ever cum during sex?" All at once, the appropriateness of the conversation smacks into her and she cringes, the question a little more than personal. She wants to focus on facts, not her personal experience, or lack thereof. She absolutely does not want to think about Ben Solo and sex and her. 

"That's not really..." she shakes her head, "That's not what we were discussing," 

"I could make you cum." 

Rey's eyes lift up from her desk to Benjamin's face. He says it so earnestly it's almost painful.

She must look startled, or like she's about to run because he lifts a surrendering hand and continues to speak in rushed lit, "You want to settle this debate with facts right? Saying sex is just a physical activity without anything else involved is a crime, I refuse to let you believe it," she opens her mouth, but Ben stands up, and she closes it, "Sex is... so much more, it can be more, let me prove my side to you," His eyes are so dark they remind her of deep slate, she swallows the tightness in her throat, the burning on her cheeks and nose distracting. 

Is Ben saying he wants to, in Rose's terms, fuck her?

Rey blinks up at him for what feels like ages, her breath shallow from her parted lips as she considers his proposal. It's the most pursuant of facts he's ever been with their debates. Rose had mentioned needing to fuck it out of their systems, the screaming matches between them. Ben has always been passionate, and very few times in a fleeting manner. But Rey is the hesitant one because she knows how this is going to go. She's either going to accept a one-night stand with her hopelessly attractive coworker and be disappointed when he's all talk, or she's going to say no, and this conversation will hang over her forever, and she may lose the closest thing she has to a friend. 

"What are your terms?" She finds herself saying, Ben nearly scoffs at her, 

"This isn't a transaction, Rey," He shakes his head at her, 

"It is," She insists because sex has always been something demanded and not quite freely given, always coerced. She watches Ben tense up, as though he can read her mind, it would be the first, 

"I'm cooking you dinner, I need you to send me an email of anything you won't eat and you're allergic to," 

"Anything," She says, "I'm not picky, and I don't have allergies," Then she focuses on the first thing he said and she blinks up at him, "Wait, you're cooking for me?" 

"We're cooking," He corrects, placing his palms on her desk and leaning down in a too intimate way, "We also need to discuss safety," 

"Safety?" She frowns, and she leans away from him, "I haven't been with a partner in over a year," She chances a glance at him, hardly believing that she's agreed to this crazy proposal. Ben is practically vibrating, and watching her with a predatory focus that makes her want to escape. 

"No, Rey," He corrects quieter this time, "A safe word, something to tell me 'no' if you're uncomfortable," 

"Why can't I just say 'no'?" His eyes flutter and he glances away from her, 

"Some people like to hear it in bed," She blinks, squints, and then her lips part as realization dawns on her. 

"Oh," She frowns a little, "That must be an important topic for some," 

"Yes, us included," Us, she bites her lip at that, another action much like the knife hand that she gives into when under stress and high emotional strain. It all seems impossibly serious, now that she's thinking about it, and she's afraid of what might happen. Afraid that if she grows cowardly in the face of this, she'll anger Ben. "Rey," His voice floats through her office, his large hand closing over her thin fingers, he's warm. 

"Yes?" 

"You can drop out at any time, you can tell me if you don't want this," His eyes catch hers, and she feels pinned, secure, safe. "I promise, I won't hold it against you, I won't bring it up. I'll never darken your door again if that's what you want," He says softly, as though he's afraid of spooking her even more. Rey searches his eyes and within herself and knows he's speaking the truth. Benjamin has always been professional and polite with her outside their daily debates and arguments, he's never once held animosity over her, even after losing a debate, never once made her feel uncomfortable for her victories. He's a man of his word. 

"Alright, Ben," He squeezes her hand a little, and seems to take a breath. Then he leans back and releases her, beholding her in a way that makes her feel like putty. She carefully folds her hands in her lap, straightening her shoulders and spine, lifting her chin regally, and fluttering her heavy eyelids, parting her lips slowly, she watches Ben and the way he seems to devour her with his eyes. 

Benjamin steps back once, twice, before nodding his head and speaking softer, rougher, than she's ever heard, "I'll send you my address, Rey, wear something comfortable for Friday," 

"Friday," She parrots back, watching the way his lips curve up instead of down into one of his rare half-smiles. He slinks from her office with the grace of a man who just landed a lay. 

When he turns the corner at the end of the hall, when he's out of sight, Rey expels the breath she'd been holding. It comes out stilted and gasping, her trembling hands pressing into her mouth, her knees shaking and body vibrating with anticipation and the very real realization of what she agreed to. 

This is how Rose finds her, as the woman sidles up to her doorway, sly at first and then concerned, "Rey?" The smaller woman moves quickly to the brunette's side, a hand on her shoulder and soft coos falling from her lips, "What's happened? What's wrong?" 

"Rose, I agreed," She manages to stutter, 

"To what?" 

"I'm gonna shag Benjamin Solo." 

Benjamin continues to visit her for his clockwork harassment that she seems to enjoy a little too much, in fact, she's begun to anticipate his arrival, it excites her, scares her. They've argued about the tradition for surprise birthday parties and the vivid history of ice cream since, and not once has Ben mentioned the upcoming Friday looming over their heads, and Rey certainly hasn't brought it up. Rose has taken to slinking into Rey's office each time their arguments come to a close, her expression a little hopeful but pensive enough for both women. Rey is beginning to think of Rose as a friend too. 

"He's not, you know, forcing you to do this? Right?" Rose quietly asks, holding both of Rey's hands in her own, "I know that I suggested it, but I don't want you to feel pressured just because of my stupid mouth," 

"I'm okay Rose," Rey promises with a slight smile, "He's just as concerned about it as you are, I think," 

"He is?" Rose has to ask, and Rey considers Ben's reputation outside of her office. She realizes that while he has the capacity to be kind and patient, professional, and cordial much like her, he's also got the reputation of a slave driver, a stickler for perfection, and sometimes a bit of an emotional asshole. 

"I know that he will try to make it as...pleasurable for me as possible," Rey supplies, still trying to wrap her head around it, trying to deny it the way she has denied herself from masturbating every night since his declaration: I could make you cum. She's a little afraid of the nature her fantasies will take, and have begun to take, the new identity of the previously faceless man thrusting into her. She's afraid of what it means. 

Rey has suffered, been an enemy to her own mind, ostracised by her peers for her lack of social skills and issues integrating with pop culture cues. To keep herself from feeling isolated she wrapped herself in her knowledge, in her ability to be cordial and succinct, and it had been working for her. She'd landed a well-paying job in a profession she'd been alright with and gotten along well enough with her coworkers that she wasn't the odd one. Then she started meeting people she liked, and she started feeling things she thought she had gotten over years before. 

Things like friendship and gossip and self-care time amongst people who liked her for her were long forgotten since her first year of high school. The word 'girlfriend' was something other women boasted about when they scheduled things like spa days or trips to a mall, things that Rey had never been invited to. She felt as though she were being exposed to so many feelings that she had no outlet for. Now, with her ideals being compromised in a work setting, with her hopeless yearning for friendship, she was compromising the things she swore off by agreeing to fuck not only a co-worker, but a man she had put off-limits.

In all ways, Rey was impossibly frustrated. 

Rose was still there, however, supporting Rey with what might have been the throwes of an emotional breakdown were she any other woman, "I trust you, Rey, you've got a good head on your shoulders, I know if you feel something off, you'll leave," The woman pulled out her phone and opened the contacts tab, "Put your number into my phone, you can always call me, no matter the time," 

"That's incredibly kind of you," Rey whispered, she'd never given out her phone number before. Her fingers shook as she dialed her information, the weight of a question on her tongue, "Rose, are we friends?" 

"What?" The other woman's voice was the epitome of incredulous, Rey wouldn't dare lift her eyes from the table, "Rey, of course, we're friends," She lifted her gaze and took in Rose's sincere face, the way the woman's brows pinched in concern, how she smiled encouragingly, "I'd love to invite you to brunches or out to drinks sometime if you weren't always working," Rose typed on her phone, and within the desk drawer beside her, Rey's phone chirped with a notification, "Now you have my number," She commanded Rey's hands yet again, "It's up to you, Rey, no one can make you do something you don't want." 

"Thank you, Rose, for being my friend," Rose gave a bright toothy smile and squeezed Rey's fingers, nodding enthusiastically before rising from her chair. 

"I'll see you later Rey, come find me, or you know, text me if you want to talk," Rey simply nodded at the woman in the doorway and watched her leave around the corner. Now all she had to do was gain the courage to go home, change, and present herself as a prize at Ben Solo's door. A sigh fell heavy from her lips, and she wondered if she was making a mistake. 

Fortunately or unfortunately, Rey didn't encounter Benjamin as she left the office that afternoon, she was left with her scrambled thoughts all the way home. There were a few questions lingering in her mind, the most prominent of them all was 'what does one wear to a fuck me date?' Rey had been out of the dating game for over a year and even then she hadn't had to consider as much as she did now. With that factoid, Rey didn't need fancy heels or sheer garments to woo people she wasn't looking to woo. It also meant that the most casual clothes she owned outside of work were her sleep shirt and shorts. 

Getting home, the first thing she did was open her closet, more than determined to figure it the fuck out because apparently, she had in Rose's eloquent terms, a dick appointment with Benjamin. But after opening that door, her eyes fell on her simple work shoes, her presentable blazers, and sensible turtlenecks, her unflattering dress pants, and thick button-down shirts. She did not own a single pair of jeans. Despairingly, Rey had slumped onto her bed, frowning at the offending clothing as though they would change shape into something more casual. 

Then, like the godsend Rey was beginning to believe she was, Rose texted and asked if everything was alright. Rey spent a healthy amount of time discovering individual style and things like unacceptable pairings. Rose had called her outfits 'mature', whatever that meant. In the end, after some struggle and more tightness in her throat, Rey ended up dressing in a sensible cream turtleneck and a pair of high-waisted black slacks. Rose recommended simple flat shoes or sandals to pair, and Rey was inclined to believe her. Now all that was left was to walk out that door and march her dressed up self to Ben's address. 

Freezing up was a new concept to Rey, she'd never considered herself ruled by fear, and certainly never become paralyzed by it. She'd had the whole drive over to Ben's address to think it over, to analyze the situation, his intentions, her intentions with Benjamin thereafter. The entire time, Ben's carefully written sticky note address slapped to the center console above her radio, the bright yellow burning into her thoughts. Fear was the ever-present thought and emotion, fear of what might happen, fear that he'd change his mind, or that she would, but most of all, the fear of the unknown drove her. 

She found herself sitting in her car for several minutes, procrastinating on her more than punctual arrival. Fingers gripping too tight on her steering wheel such that she had to wrench herself from it. She was out on the street and into the building too quickly, her movements rigid as she stalked into the lobby with her shoulders bunched up tight to her ears. She felt like hiding, and she was hardly able to appreciate the water feature behind the associate desk, or the lounge area circled around a glass fire pit. A Starbucks coffee shop that was nestled at the far end of the first floor, and a few elevators seemed to wrap around behind the front desk. 

Her head on a swivel, she noticed a few unwelcome glances her way, specifically from a man dressed in sleek black clothing. Rey is vulnerable off to the side of the lobby, debating her path to the elevators when she catches the man standing in her periphery. She squeaks and stumbles a quick step away from him, eyes to the floor, to a place she can escape to because she's unbearably uncomfortable when his hand closes around her elbow. Animal urges rise to her throat, and she rounds on the man, a poor idea because her hindbrain recognizes how big his hand on her is, but she's not going down without a fight. 

"Rey?" She flinches, blinking and stilling like cement, "Skittish aren't you?" He says like she wasn't having a panic attack in the middle of his apartment lobby. He releases her, and she slowly collects her form, eyes stuck on the expanse of soft black wool wrapping around his chest. He dips his head, catching her eyes with his, and offers a half-press of his lips, "I realized you need a key to operate the elevators, so I figured I'd meet you down here," He glances around behind him, then back at her from the corner of his eye, "I didn't recognize you at first, you dress down nicely," 

"Rose helped," She finds herself saying, her face a little hot as embarrassment catches up with her and her heart slows down. Benjamin doesn't seem to notice her inner turmoil or the racing panic she was coming down from. 

"You look very... classy for Rose's taste," He says after a moment, and she isn't sure whether or not it's a compliment. She lifts her chin, squinting a little and taking in his tight black jeans and black sweater, the black well-loved shoes he wears. His hair is down too, it's longer, and makes him look younger if not for that constipated look on his face. 

"And you look every bit of a budding supervillain," She manages, and he gives her a twitch and press of his lips together before he tilts his head to the elevator, deciding wisely, not to rise to her choice of wording. He leads her to the metal box of doom, and she tries not to focus on the racing thoughts in her head, things telling her this is a very bad idea, that she should run. She flinches when the doors slide shut, and after a moment of silence and the easy movement of the elevator rising, Benjamin speaks, "Rey, my offer to call this off still stands," his voice is that quiet and gentle tone used in her office not so long ago. 

"I'm already here aren't I?" She says bravely, breathlessly, Benjamin looks entirely displeased with her response, 

"We can simply enjoy dinner as two friends, nothing tonight will happen unless you want it to, Rey," 

"You seem to be giving me a lot of opportunities to leave," She's trembling, she realizes in her voice, a knot in her throat, "And what will happen if we get down to it and I say no? Will it leave you aching and angry? Would you hold it against me as the frigid person you know I am?" Benjamin stares at her, and stares, and keeps doing it until she's physically uncomfortable and she parts her lips to snap at him, and his dulcet tone fills the air between them, "I like you, Rey," She blinks, "Whether or not we have sex tonight or ever, won't change that," His eyes search her face for a moment, and he seems to find what he wants because his next words are said with an edge, "I'm asking you to trust me." 

How does she respond to that? How could she when he's so sincere, so passionate about it? She blinks up at him, confused and feeling like her thoughts and emotions have been tossed in a blender and put on the highest setting, she wants to respond but she doesn't know what to say. Trust is hard to come by for her, she's only ever had herself to rely on, and her history with friendship is non-existent, her history with lovers depressing, she can hardly trust she's making the right decision with Benjamin, let alone trust the man himself. 

The elevator dings, the doors slide open, and ultimately, nothing is said as they slide out into the hall. Benjamin leads her down the far end of the corridor, and she notices passively that there are few doors on the floor at all. His is a bold navy blue color, gold plated metal numbers mounted upon it, he unlocks the door and swings it open, stepping aside for her to enter first. 

The first thing she notices is the little rug at the entryway, it has a small pineapple on it. Then she spots the shoe rack and bends down to place her flats there, straightening up, she casts a wide glance to the open floor plan around her, the full kitchen, the massive windows leading to the living room and lounge area, and the closed-off hallway beyond. Benjamin shuffles in behind her, toeing off his own shoes as he welcomes her, "You can take your coat off or settle anywhere you like, most of the food has been prepared, you're welcome to use the bathroom, down the hall on the left," she simply nods and wanders off in that direction. 

His color scheme is dark, but not too much that it feels threatening, with a couple of extra blankets or pillows the place could even be described as cozy. She finds his bathroom easily, washing her hands and casting out curious glances to his personal effects, little pieces of Benjamin that she'd never associate with the nearly angry man she meets every day at the office. The more of him she puts together in her mind, the more vulnerable she feels. 

Benjamin is in the kitchen with a rag over his shoulder by the time she returns, he's placing out vegetables and cutting boards, knives that look too expensive, and a package of uncooked steaks. She lifts a brow, "Steak? A bit extravagant don't you think?" 

"If it makes you feel any better, I forgot to buy red wine," It does make her feel better, like this isn't an attempt to fully romance her. It reminds her that she's there to prove a point, that the sex they'd agreed to have was methodical in nature, nothing attached, it wouldn't be amazing or make her drool into the sheets. He wouldn't want to see her afterward for fault of her emotional frigidness, sex was just an act, nothing else. 

"No pasta then, either?" 

"A woman who eats pasta, that's good," She squints at his offhand comment, doing her best not to be insulted, and he must feel her sharp gaze on his back because he turns off the sink and glances over his shoulder, "I had hoped you'd be hungry, so yes I planned to make pasta," 

"Because I'm a woman or because I'd be hungry?" He frowns at her, just now aware that he's treading a thin line between a debate and an insult. He says his next words carefully, turning to face her fully and forcing her to look at the counter beside him, "Because I invited you here to feed you, and fuck you afterward, and I know some people avoid eating carbs with proteins because it's difficult to process two heavy foods at once," She hums and lifts her chin, catching his molten gaze, breezing over the fact that he very much intends to shag her, she's pleased with his answer. So she tilts her head to the steak package behind him, 

"How are you cooking it then?" 

"Pan searing it, medium-rare," He turns back to the sink and then to the pantry, pulling out fettuccine pasta, then to the fridge and setting heavy cream, an entire stick of butter, and garlic on the counter. He turns and regards her again, "Would you like to help cook?" 

"Sure, how are we seasoning the steak?" He shakes his head, watching her push up her sleeves. He holds up and finger and searches through a drawer or two, producing a sensible tan-colored apron. Rey blinks at him, searching for an explanation, he frowns slowly and straightens, "I live here, and can change my clothes if they get dirty," That's a fair explanation, she agrees, holding out her hand for the article when he shakes his head again, a lightness moving through his eyes that she's immediately suspicious of, "I'll put it on for you," She was right to be suspicious, but nods anyway because staring at the bare ingredients is already awakening her hunger. 

Dutifully, Rey turns her back to him, watching and feeling Benjamins' arms drape around her, his long fingers tying the ends of the apron, his palms skimming her body suggestively. He grabs her upper arms and turns her around, peering at the top of her head and frowning once more, "What is it now?" She presses, and the light returns in his eyes, 

"Stay here, I'll be right back," And he disappears into the bathroom. She tries not to think too hard about how warm he was, or how his fingers nearly encircled her entire upper arm. She also tries not to remember whether or not she's been with a man as large as Benjamin is, or worry that it might be a problem for her. She doesn't get too much time to worry about her own bodily functions, or lack thereof, when he returns, an elastic headband wrapped around his wrist. 

He reaches for her hair and she ducks a little, eyes wide, he pauses, she pauses. His eyes find hers in a hopelessly understanding way and he says, "I'll be gentle," The promise in his voice has her once again, turning her back to him. This time it is so he may card his fingers through her hair, pushing it tenderly behind her ears, slipping the headband around her head, and pushing it back gently to secure any flyaways. His fingers linger a little too long at the back of her neck, thumb idly pressing against her spinal column and baby hairs. Benjamin clears his throat, and Rey swallows, feeling him step away by the cold gathering on her back.

"Now we may begin," She searches his form for another explanation, a reason why he is being so attentive and tender. Wondering if his behavior is why he enjoys intercourse, because of the buildup. He's doing an excellent job at avoiding her gaze, however, and rips open the steak packaging. 

"You didn't answer my question," Rey says quietly, slowly slinking up to his side, watching him work, 

"Didn't I?" He asks distractedly, 

"How are we seasoning the steak?" Her voice is soft but pointed, she's ready to cook and accomplish a task she can perform. Disliking the floating sensation she's beginning to feel. 

"With salt and pepper, of course, you'd ruin it any other way," The absolute way he says it makes her brain latch on, she tries not to gawk at him in disbelief, something akin to playfulness rising in her. 

"That's a lie if I've ever heard one," Benjamin huffs, a little affronted and perhaps thrown by her accusation, and hands her garlic bulbs to peel, 

"You cannot be serious," He's trimming the meat of some of its fat, "Steak is flavored enough to eat plain, salt and pepper are merely added for personal preference," 

"Sure," Rey agrees, humming low in her throat as she stands by the trash bin, "Steak is good and all, Benjamin, but sometimes it needs nuance, it needs rubs and smoked roasts, it needs binding agents and cherry wood fires," 

"Barbequing is very different from pan-seared steak, Rey," Ben reminds her none too gently, his voice a little annoyed, she smiles to herself, 

"Is it? It's all meat, cooked a certain way, you could argue that pork or fish all have distinct flavors without anything added. I'm just saying it's better with seasonings," 

"You can't say that eating seasoned fish is better than trying it at its freshest," He's setting the pots and pans out now, Rey places a small pile of garlic on a cutting board beside her, a knife appears shortly after, and he's back to assaulting the pasta,

"That is exactly what I'm saying," She hears him fumble at the confidence in her voice, "Why limit yourself on the flavors of the world? Why wouldn't you try foods prepared in a number of ways, exposed to a number of ingredients instead of just raw or sparsely prepared?"

"There is such a thing as too much seasoning," She nods sagely at his words, that too, is true, and she can recall her own experiences in the kitchen, flavored sand rolling over her tongue instead of the chicken and rice she'd tried to make so long ago. Ben lights the pilot, and sets the water to boil, turning and joining her with a cutting board and knife of his own, "Yes," She says, accepting the asparagus he hands her and slicing them down the center the way he silently demonstrates, "But there is a flavor called bland, and I've definitely had bland steak," Benjamin sighs beside her, shoulders tense and a curl to his lips, "I will not feed you bland steak, Rey," 

"I bet you're the type of person to buy carrots and eat them as is," It's a petulant grumble from her, and she's too focused on not cutting her fingers to catch the wide grin he gives the cutting board below him, 

"Are you judging me for my healthy eating choices?" he's teasing her now, and she fights her own smile, wondering when it got so easy to be around him. 

"I'm absolutely judging you," She confirms, listening to Benjamin scoff in mock disbelief, waving his hand around as though fatally injured, 

"I can't believe you, my baby carrots and broccoli florets have done nothing to you!" Ben moves behind her and places the pasta in the bubbly water, 

"Carrots are delicious roasted or in stews, nothing else," She sets her knife down, finished with the vegetables, and turns to face him,

"You blaspheme, here, in my kitchen," He glares playfully over his shoulder, and Rey finds herself eager to meet his gaze, she finds that she's actually enjoying this debate, this proper banter.

It's so simple for her at that moment, to be in his kitchen, to tease him for eating his vegetables, to just be without worrying over his intentions. She watches him place the steak on the skillet, butter and garlic and herbs thrown in with the salt and pepper, and she reflects that he's been rather clear with his intentions the entire time. She realizes that she was the finicky one, unpredictable and skittish. The only reason either of them would get hurt from this interaction is if she turns it into something it isn't. 

Benjamin must catch the sober look on her face because his smile fades and his brows pinch a little, "Rey..." He begins to say, and she shakes her head, suddenly saddened by her thoughts, "No, I understand," She says, "I'm still thinking about it," Still thinking about making this more than dinner? About denying his attempt to prove her wrong? The threat that this arguing between them has turned into something more? That perhaps she's been lying to herself for too long about the kind of person she was, the kind of person she made Benjamin out to be. 

"Don't think about it," He says quietly, giving her a pointed and knowing look, "Thinking about it is part of the problem, you just do what feels right," she gets the feeling he's not talking about her feelings or thoughts, but instead about the chemistry between two people. 

Doing what feels right has never existed for her, it was always what must be done. She never had a choice, and perhaps that was why her previous relationships failed, her friendships never more than familiar strangers because she never did what felt right, only what was expected of her. She stares at the tense muscles of his shoulders, his back to her, and asks 'what does Benjamin expect from her?' The more she searches for an answer the more she struggles to find one. The easiest conclusion is that there is no answer, Benjamin expects nothing from her, nothing for her to say or do except to simply exist at this moment. 

It's liberating, almost, and she feels the urge to kiss him. It strikes her by surprise, her fingers twitching, eyes watering with emotion, she wets her lips and parts them, trying to steer her mind away from that animal need, but instead, she says his name. He turns, expression a little more closed off than it was before, eyes a little greyer, frown a little sadder. She doesn't like it, really, on a deep level, it hurts her to see him upset, and she can't help but feel like this time it's her fault. 

She steps into his space, catching the way his eyes flutter, his lips twitch, how he's careful not to touch her. Benjamin has always been so considerate, perhaps a little mean during their arguments but he's a creature of passion. The more she searches herself for a reason to stop, or keep her hands to herself, the more her reasons sound like bleak excuses. She wants this, she doesn't feel like she owes him anything, there's no pressure behind her movements when her hands press to his firm chest. There is no guilt or shame or feeling of inadequacy as a woman when she rises to her toes and locks her gaze to his plush lips. 

Ben doesn't meet her halfway, but he kisses her tentatively, gently, adoringly. It feels soft, and a little wet, and like him.

It feels right.