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Trading Favours

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As far as roommates go, Cassian Andor's a pretty good deal.

 

He's responsible, so they're never late for things like rent and utilities payments.

 

He's neat, so Jyn doesn't have to worry about someone else's stuff getting all up in her space.  

 

He's good at household chores, which is a definite bonus because she's terrible at them. She just doesn't have time to worry about mundane shit like cleaning stuff, especially not if it's just going to get un-clean again the next day. She's much more inclined towards the if-it-starts-to-smell-just-throw-it-away-and-buy-a-new-one school of thought.

 

The only downside, if there were any, is that he's no pushover.

 

It's actually a surprisingly common misconception a lot of people seem to have about him. It's easy to think that Cassian's more passive because he's relatively quieter than most, preferring to observe rather than participate. People who don't know him that well tend to assume that he's softer. Compliant, even. 

 

But after eighteen months of friendship and another six of cohabitation, Jyn's learned that he's actually stubborn as fuck — and that's coming from her.

 

"Please, Cassian. Help me."

 

"No."

 

"You're my only hope."

 

He hums, one slender finger tapping theatrically at his chin. "What was it you said to me when you beat me at pool last Friday? 'Put your big boy pants on and suck it up' ?" He smirks, turning back to his laptop. "That was good advice. You should try it."

 

She groans, flopping down onto the couch. She knew that was going to bite her in the ass one day. "I'll do the dishes for a month."

 

He shrugs mildly. "I like our dishes the way they are. Unbroken and intact."

 

She groans again. It's not like she can argue when he's right.

 

"Come on," she wheedles, twisting on the couch. "I'll do the laundry for two weeks. I'll pay for beer the next time we go out." She waves her hands in the air, momentarily flailing around for more ideas. "I'll go down on you."

 

Cassian looks up then. "You're not going to go down on me."

 

She snorts on sheer impulse. "You underestimate the depths of my desperation."

 

To her surprise, he frowns. He looks down at his computer screen, and then back up again at her. There's a familiar pinch showing up between his brows, the same one that shows up whenever he's thinking particularly hard.

 

He clears his throat carefully. "You'll actually... do that?"

 

She pauses, the tangible weight of what she's suggesting landing on her.

 

Well. She likes Cassian. It's certainly not like she's ever found him unattractive.

 

In fact, come to think of it, she genuinely doubts if any level of desperation would actually factor into her enjoyment of the scenario she's currently picturing in her head.

 

So, she shrugs.

 

"Sure," she says, as lightly as possible. "I'm good with that. If you are?"

 

His fingers flex over the keyboard of his laptop, clenching and unclenching almost sub-consciously. "So, uh, what's the deal, exactly? We do this, and I come to your work mixer with you?"

 

"One favour for another," she agrees with a nod.

 

He's not looking at her, but he nods. "Okay."

 

"Great," she says, as nonchalantly as she can manage. "So, when do you wanna do this?" She cocks her head, considering him. The set of his shoulders seems awfully tense all of a sudden. "Now?"

 

He starts in his chair, the laptop jolting sideways as he blinks at her. "Jesus, Jyn."

 

"I'm not hearing a 'no'," she says, slipping off the couch readily. Thank God she's already brushed her teeth.

 

"Are you serious?" Cassian asks. It's somewhere between a dazed musing and a disbelieving demand, but his hands are slack as she plucks his computer from his lap, setting it safely on the floor and out of the way. "Fuck," he swears as she drops to her knees in front of him, his knees already parting for her despite his stunned expression. "You're really doing this."

 

"I thought we'd already established that," she says dryly as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants. His hips lift automatically off the seat, giving her the room she needs to pull the pants down.

 

Cassian huffs a breathless laugh, the sound strained as he slumps lower, getting his crotch closer to the edge of the chair to make it easier for her. "I wasn't yet entirely sure this isn't all just a dream," he says, his voice already sounding rougher than usual. He hisses when she lets the heel of her palm graze over his bared cock, already half hard in his lap, his eyelids falling shut as she wraps her fingers properly around him. "Honestly, I'm still not sure."

 

"Must be a very, very vivid dream, then," she says as she pumps him leisurely, allowing herself to enjoy the feeling of him in her hand, warm and solid.

 

"Yeah, don't wake me up from this one," Cassian jokes weakly, but there's a definite spark in his eyes as he watches her work him with her hand.

 

She darts her tongue out, running it over her lips, getting them ready for him. She's always liked giving blowjobs well enough. After all, what's more empowering than literally having a man's dick between your teeth?

 

Even so, she'll admit to a faint rush of nerves buzzing throughout her gut. It's been long enough since the last time she's done this that she's not exactly feeling one hundred percent confident of her abilities. Not so long that she's completely forgotten what she's doing, though.

 

"Tell me if you want me to do anything in particular," she says, before dipping her head to lick a long stripe along the length of him.

 

Overall, she feels pretty good about the performance she manages to rustle up. He's quite a bit bigger than she'd initially pictured, her hazy estimations formed on the basis of the few times she can recall having seen him in swimming trunks and bike shorts. She doesn't manage to take him all the way into her mouth, but hey, that's what hands are for.

 

Either way, Cassian certainly seems to enjoy it. He's not making porn star level sounds, or calling her a 'sexy cocksucking bitch' or anything (for which she's very grateful), but the low grunts, the clench of his thigh muscles under her hands, and the 'Jesus fuck' he mutters when she pulls off his rounded head with a pop to inform him that he can come in her mouth if he wants, all feel like pretty good indicators that she's doing something right.

 

Throughout the whole process, he doesn't actually touch her, which she finds only slightly odd, but certainly not unwelcome. She can't even remember if she's ever given a blowjob without having the recipient's hands all over her head — almost like they're worried what it might mean for their masculinity if they just lie back and let someone else suck their dick without their guidance.

 

She sits back on her heels once she's done, dragging the back of her hand over her mouth to wipe it off as they're both struggling to catch their breaths.

 

It's a struggle not to rub her thighs together. It's hot when someone appreciates the good work you do, okay? Not her fault if she's a little turned on herself.

 

"Be sure to wear something nice," she says instead.

 

"I'll have my tiara polished," Cassian quips half-heartedly, before heaving forward with a great effort to pull his sweatpants back up. He glances up at her as she carefully moves to stand. The one part of blowjobs she's never enjoyed is the numbness she always gets in her knees. "Need some help?"

 

"No, it's fine," she says, rubbing her hands briskly over her thighs to get the circulation going again. "Just a little stiff. It's been a while," she adds at the sight of his concerned expression.

 

"Oh." He pauses, his tongue running along his chapped lips. "In that case, need some… uh, help?"

 

She frowns, looking at him in confusion. "What? I just—" She catches the pointed downward glance he gives her. "Oh. That." She waves a dismissive hand. "Nah, I'm good. The only payback I need is the pleasure of your company." She snorts, pointing at herself. "See what I did there?"

 

Cassian shakes his head, smiling despite himself. "That was embarrassing."

 

"That was genius," she corrects, already halfway to the bathroom. She'll need to brush her teeth again before going to bed.

 

Honestly, though? She doesn't feel all that fussed about it.

 

 


 

 

A small part of her recognises that she should, advisedly, be on the lookout for any possible awkwardness between her and Cassian, especially after the events of the 'mixer negotiation', as she's taken to calling it in her head. After all, it's not every day that you get on your knees to suck your non-romantic cohabitation partner off. That's not generally something that goes on the list along with 'buy more eggs' and 'clear laundry hamper'. 

 

Most of her, though, can't really be arsed to give it a second thought. Not when things seem to be perfectly fine, her and Cassian interacting with the usual amount of healthy snark, complaints about people they hate, and puns that probably only the two of them will ever find even halfway funny.

 

Especially not when she's got an asshole like Han Solo grating on her nerves at every fucking work event she's forced to show up to.

 

"You're breaking my heart, Erso," Solo says when he finds her in a moment of vulnerability. She's been left temporarily bereft of the shield of Cassian's presence, since he'd disappeared two minutes ago to get them each a refill.

 

"Wasn't aware you had one," she says shortly, deliberately turning her back on him.

 

Han sidesteps around her easily, blocking her way. "Harsh. Come on! I thought we were friends."

 

"Friends don't use friends to make their crushes jealous," she snaps, folding her arms over her middle. "I don't know if you've noticed, but it's been a while since either of us was in high school. "

 

Han holds his hands up in mock surrender. "It was one time!"

 

She snorts, making it as ungraceful a snort as she can muster. "Try five, you moron. You can forget parading me around in front of Leia for tonight, she already knows I'm here with Cassian."

 

Han smirks and rests his hands on his hips. "Bold move, bringing the roommate. You gonna ask him to prom, too?"

 

"Fuck off, Solo," Jyn says, aggressively bumping her shoulder into his as she pushes past him. She stalks off before he can make a stupid dig about how she's lightly bruised his elbow at best.

 

Cassian is already on his way to her, carrying two cups full of something that better have alcohol in them.

 

"What was that?" he asks bemusedly, watching as she swipes one cup from him and drains it in one gulp.

 

"The reason why I need another drink," she grumbles, slipping her arm into his to tug him back towards the drinks table. "Come on. I heard Lando snuck tequila in."

 

 


 

 

"No."

 

"Please."

 

"No."

 

"Please."

 

Jyn swats at him with the spatula in her hand. "Just get it delivered."

 

"It's eight bucks for delivery," Cassian protests from where he's standing at the fridge. "That's daylight robbery."

 

"That's literally what you ordered, you miser." She pokes the spatula into the frying pan, pushing at the veggies heaped on top of each other. "I'm not running around the city during my forty-minute lunch hour just because you refuse to pay delivery charges for shoes you purchased for yourself."

 

"You don't have to run around the city," Cassian says, pouring himself a glass of water from a jug. Yeah, he's one of those people who stick lemon or cucumber slices in a pitcher of water and leaves it to chill in the fridge. It's fucking weird. "It's three blocks from your office."

 

"So you'll know just how to find it, then," she says stubbornly, one hand on the gas knob to adjust the flame.

 

"I can't, I'm working all day tomorrow." He replaces the jug in the fridge and turns to her, entreating. "Come on. I'll make it up to you."

 

She snorts, turning off the flame to dump the veggies into the two clean plates sitting on the counter. "Yeah? How?"

 

"I'll go down on you."

 

She pauses, the pan suspended in mid-air. She turns to look at him, brows furrowed. "What?"

 

Cassian shrugs, one hand curled around his glass of lemon water. "One favour for another, right?"

 

She raises a brow, setting the emptied pan in the sink. "How bad do you want these shoes, exactly?"

 

The corner of his lips pulls up in a crooked smile. "They're really nice shoes." He cocks his head. "What do you say?"

 

She squints at him, giving some serious thought to the suggestion. It's been two days since the 'mixer negotiation'. She hasn't managed to get off since then, although it's certainly not for lack of trying.

 

"Okay," she says, walking over to the kitchen table. She hops up onto it, hands braced on the edge to steady herself. "I get to choose when, right?"

 

"Yes, you do," Cassian agrees readily, already moving to stand in front of her. She lifts her hips when he tugs firmly on her shorts, surprised when he snags her underwear along the way so that her bare ass meets the cool surface of the table when she lowers herself back down.

 

"We're gonna have to disinfect this table before eating dinner," she informs him as he drops to his knees, pushing her knees apart so he can settle between them.

 

"We can eat in the living room," he reassures her, nudging her closer to the edge of the table. He pauses, looking up at her. "Tell me if you want me to do anything in particular."

 

Realistically speaking, it's not the best cunnilingus she's ever been on the receiving end of.

 

But, also realistically speaking, it's certainly miles from the worst.

 

Cassian's attentive, and thorough, and precise, and she's willing to bet a fuckton of money that if she'd been spread out on a bed with the added benefits of comfort and mobility for them both, he could definitely get her to the finish line a lot quicker than he's doing now. In fact, if he'd kept up with that one trick he was doing with his tongue, there's a reasonably strong chance he could have had her approaching orgasm number two within a flat minute.

 

"Text me the store address later," she says as they're settling onto the couch, Cassian setting out two beers on the coffee table as she turns the TV on.

 

"Will do," he says, taking the plate she hands him, and just like that, they're engrossed in a new episode of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.

 

 

 

The first thing she does she gets back to the office after lunch the next day is sneak a peek into the box.

 

He's right. They are nice shoes.

 

 


  

 

Less than a week later, her headphones die out.

 

Since she'd quite frankly rather commit harakiri than ride the subway without them, she gives him a handjob in exchange for the temporary loan of his pair.

 

Three days after that, he forgets his wallet when he's at the convenience store around the corner and promises her an orgasm if she brings it to him.

 

Barely two minutes after they get back in the front door, she's on the couch, naked from the waist down, he's got two fingers inside her and a thumb on her clit, and she's already disturbingly close to coming.

 

There are probably healthier ways to conduct the little you-scratch-my-back-I-scratch-yours system they've got going on. Several, in fact.

 

Actually, probably literally any other way would be healthier.

 

But for now, she's just going to enjoy the orgasms whenever she can get them.

 

After all, it's not like Cassian isn't getting something out of it, too. Also, his fingers are bigger than hers and therefore infinitely better for achieving orgasms, so why the fuck would she not want that to keep going?

 

Besides, as far as favours go, Cassian's requests can get pretty interesting.

 

He promises her two orgasms in exchange for her to accompany him to an exhibit he has to visit for work. As a general rule, she doesn't like to waste time on things like museums. They're usually full of pretentious art students and white guys in fedoras telling their passively quiet female friends all about the latest groundbreaking, innovative artist on the scene, who's probably making waves for their daringly creative use of earwax as a sculpting medium, or some other garbage. All in all, it's a social luxury she's never been able to afford.

 

But, what the hell. Her roommate's already got two free passes, so it's not like she'll have to fork out for her own admission ticket, anyway.

 

Plus, she likes orgasms. (And her roommate.)

 

She's surprised to find herself actually enjoying the exhibit. It's some kind of photography series that's evidently meant to be a political commentary on war, and the notes under each piece are genuinely intriguing. She actually has to stop Cassian several times because she's too busy Googling more information on her phone, one hand curled around his arm as she reads bits out loud for his benefit, eyes goggled in fascination.

 

She almost feels charitable enough to let him off the hook after her first orgasm, but then he reaches for the vibrator she's left out on her nightstand with a devious, very purposeful smirk, and, well.

 

Since he's offering.

 

 


 

  

"Can I ask you a question?" she demands one night when they're lazing on the couch, his feet propped on the coffee table and hers sprawled out in his lap.

 

"Sure," he says, kneading absently into the dip just under the jut of her ankle bone. "What's up?"

 

"Am I good at sucking cock?"

 

He promptly chokes on what she thinks is either dry air, or his own saliva. "What?"

 

"Blowjobs," she says, prodding him in the thigh with her big toe. "Am I good at giving them?"

 

He gives her a look, half incredulous, half confused. "What do you think, after yesterday?"

 

Heat blooms in her core at the memory of Cassian's fingers curling tight into her hair, his other hand slapping flat onto the kitchen counter as she'd sucked him harder.

 

"Yeah, but you're a guy," she says, pushing the memory aside. "Comparatively speaking, it doesn't take much to make you come. Just, like… a really strong breeze."

 

"I'd say more like a definite gale."

 

She rolls her eyes. "Answer the question, Cassian."

 

He blinks. "I don't… know? I haven't done much analysis on the subject." His nose wrinkles. "I don't know if you know this, but it's kind of hard to think when a pretty girl's on her knees in front of me with her mouth on my dick."

 

She starts slightly, eyes widening in surprise. She's always been aware that Cassian's objectively good-looking, of course, but she's never actually stopped to wonder if he thinks the same thing about her.

 

"Okay," she says slowly when her brain's done short-circuiting. "Fair point. What about top five? Out of all the blowjobs you've ever had, am I top five?"

 

He scratches his head. "Uh… yeah. Definitely."

 

"Top three?" she pushes, bouncing her heel lightly on his thigh.

 

"If I had to narrow it down? Sure, probably." He shoots her a wary look. "Please don't narrow it down any further."

 

"Nah," she agrees, settling back down into the couch. "Top three's good enough for me. Top three gets you a spot on that podium."

 

"Good to know you're only in it for the medal," Cassian says.

 

She snorts, one hand reaching for the remote to turn up the volume on the TV.

 

 


 

 

"I'm going to cut his balls off."

 

Cassian sets the bowl of eggs he's been beating down on the counter. "You're not going to cut his balls off."

 

"I am," Jyn insists, reaching for two clean mugs. "I'm going to cut his balls off, and he's never going to annoy anyone ever again."

 

He raises a brow as he opens the fridge. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't Han and your boss have some kind of... thing going on?"

 

She sighs, pouring coffee into the mugs. "Leia, yeah. It's beyond fucking obvious. He's always hanging around our floor when he never actually needs to be. I'm pretty sure even Threepio from PR's noticed, and he's easily the most oblivious dork in the entire building." She pauses, replacing the decanter into its slot. "Actually, PR is kind of the worst career path for him."

 

"Or the best," Cassian observes mildly, adding a splash of milk to the eggs. "But anyway, if that's the case, then she's definitely not going to be happy if you cut Han's balls off."

 

"Probably only because she won't be the one who gets to do it," Jyn scoffs, taking the milk carton when he hands it to her.

 

Cassian shrugs, picking up the whisk to give the contents of the large bowl one last mixing. "Maybe they'll get their shit together soon. And then you won't have to cut anyone's balls off."

 

She sighs melodramatically, screwing the cap back on the milk carton as she moves towards the fridge. "So I've to just keep suffering Han until he finally nuts up and asks Leia out already?" She closes the fridge once she's done, shaking her head all the way back to the kitchen counter. "Maybe I should invest in some blood pressure medication."

 

There's a quiet clink as Cassian puts the whisk down.

 

"Or," he says lightly, reaching for the frying pan, "you could just have an orgasm. Those are pretty good for stress relief."

 

She pauses midway through stirring her coffee.

 

"Huh," she says. She turns, propping her hip against the counter. "Yeah, I've heard that a few times."

 

Cassian turns away from the unlit stove, hands resting lightly on his hips. "Is that a yes?"

 

She raises a brow. "What's the favour?"

 

He frowns, looking caught off guard. "The what?"

 

"The favour," she repeats, already grinning in anticipation. "What do you want?"

 

He blinks blankly. "Oh. Uh." He looks around the kitchen, and then back at her. "Nothing."

 

Her brows shoot up into her hairline. "Nothing?"

 

"Not that I can think of, at least." He takes a step forward, letting his finger trace across the sliver of skin between her rumpled tank top and sleep shorts. "No catch, Jyn. This one's a freebie."

 

"How charitable of you," she quips dryly, but her breath hitches in her throat when his hand slides under the hem of her top, fingers fanning warm and rough over the small of her back.

 

She holds back for just a moment longer, searching his face for hesitation. This is new territory for them. They've always volunteered because they want something in return, not because they just want to... volunteer.

 

All the same, Cassian's mere inches away from her, the air between them feels like it's vibrating hotly against her skin, his eyes are turning darker and darker the longer they stand there looking at each other, and his fucking hand is—

 

"Couch," she manages, turning to stride out of the kitchen. "If we have to stop to clean up after, I'm gonna be late for work."

 

She ends up a tiny bit late for work after all. Not much — just fifteen minutes or so. Truthfully, she doesn't really care all that much.

 

After all, it's not like she was ever going to skip breakfast. He'd already cracked the eggs and everything.

 

 


 

  

"You're lookin' healthy."

 

"Go away," Jyn orders, deliberately not looking up from her computer.

 

Han Solo turns to lean against her desk, folding his arms across his torso like he's settling in to watch a movie instead of what he's probably here to do instead, which is, nine times out of ten, annoy the shit out of her. "What? I can't pay a friend a compliment?"

 

"Not when I know it's because you want something," Jyn says irritably, swatting him out of the way as she reaches for a folder, buried somewhere behind him in the organised mess of her desk. "Spit it out or leave, Solo."

 

Han shrugs. "I mean it. You look great." He tilts his head. "Your skin is all clear and shit."

 

"Thanks for the stamp of approval on my skin," she snipes as she searches through the folder. "Get out."

 

Han leans in, peering at her face. "Hey, I actually mean it. You're practically glowing." He pauses, his nose scrunching. "Are you pregnant?"

 

"What the fuck," she hisses, whacking him in the arm with the folder. "Don't be fucking rude."

 

"I don't mean you— you're not fat, Erso," Han says quickly, recoiling before she can hit him again. "You're not! Seriously, you just look weirdly good. Fuckin'— what's the word— radiant."

 

She pauses, and then retracts the folder. "Oh. Well. Thanks. I guess." She turns back to her computer. "Now you can get out."

 

Han squints at her, brows knitted together in concentration. "Andor's dick really that good?"

 

She punches him in the shoulder.

 

"Ow, motherf— ow!"

 

"He stubbed his toe," Jyn explains as a co-worker passes by, looking in on her cubicle worriedly. "He's fine."

 

Han glares at her, one hand still rubbing at his injured arm. "That's gonna bruise, you know."

 

"Good," she says sardonically. "Now maybe you'll think twice before opening your big fat mouth."

 

He leans back against her desk, the smirk reforming on his face even as his hand continues to rub at his arm. "Huh. Interesting."

 

She exhales wearily, pushing air through her nose with great effort.

 

"What," she asks. Against her better judgement.

 

Han crosses his arms again, cocking his head in that way he always does when he's feeling extra smug. "You didn't actually deny it."

 

She glances at him, more annoyed than anything. "Was I supposed to?"

 

"Shit." He leans forward, his face lighting up with genuine interest. "You two are dating for real now?"

 

"No," she says, tossing the folder back onto the desk.

 

To her surprise, Han's face falls a little. "Oh." He perks right up again, leaning back in. "Sleeping together?"

 

"No," she says decisively, turning back to her computer. And then she pauses. "Well. Not exactly."

 

"Spill," Han commands. Fuck, he's practically bouncing with excitement.

 

She really, really wants to punch him again.

 

She groans, rolling her eyes. "It's nothing, you idiot," she says, half-distracted with her computer screen. "Just… we do stuff. Sometimes."

 

"'Stuff'?" Han echoes, waggling his brows. "Does this stuff happen to include his dick? More specifically, his dick touching your—"

 

"Not that," she snaps, looking around hastily. "Other stuff."

 

Thankfully, no one seems to be listening.

 

Little too late to be worrying about that, she realises wryly.

 

Han blinks, brows knitting together in confusion. "What other stuff could you do that involves—" His eyes go round, mouth forming a small 'O' to match. "Oh. That stuff."

 

"Thank God," she says dryly. "Here I thought I was gonna have to give you the birds and the bees talk."

 

"Already got it when I was eighteen," Han quips brightly, leaning back against her desk. "Anyway, considering the half-assed nature of the stuff you're doing, it looks like I'm the one who needs to be giving you that talk."

 

"We're not not sleeping together because we're scared, you dumbass," she says. "We're just not doing it because we don't want to."

 

He raises a skeptical brow. "You want to do… stuff, but you don't want to sleep together?" He scratches at his head. "Do you hear yourself, kiddo?"

 

"Don't call me kiddo," she mutters, pretending to scroll through something on her computer. "It's really not like that. We just do things for each other sometimes." She shrugs slightly, more of a light jerk of her shoulders than an actual shrug. "As, you know. Favours."

 

"Favours?"

 

She glances at him. "Yeah. Like that day I skipped out on lunch with you guys to go pick up his shoes from that store?"

 

Han's entire face scrunches inwards. "You got a blowjob for that?!"

 

"It's not called a—" She sighs sharply. Why is she even bothering? "Yes. Yes, I did."

 

The expression Han's wearing right now is somewhere between aghast and impressed and delighted and repulsed. It's easily the most comical look she's ever seen on him, and that's really saying something.

 

"What kind of fucking barter system is this?!" he demands. "Does whoever gets on their knees first get to pick what takeout you guys order for dinner or something?"

 

"Don't be ridiculous." She pauses. "Although, that's not a bad idea."

 

Han sucks in a sharp breath. "You two are fucking psychotic."

 

"Hey," she says, affronted, "at least we don't spend our workdays bugging everyone within a two-hundred foot radius just to get on each other's radar."

 

"Yeah, well," Han retorts, "I'm an idiot, but at least I'm self-aware enough to know when I actually have feelings for someone!"

 

The ensuing silence drops between them like a hammer, thudding down into the cubicle and throwing everything into freeze frame.

 

Jyn presses her lips together. They're chapped.

 

"I don't have feelings for Cassian," she says.

 

She's not lying, either. It's the truth, as far as she's known all along.

 

All the same, the words feel strange and unfamiliar on her tongue, the mere utterance of them making her insides quiver unsettlingly.

 

Han scoffs, pushing up from her desk. "Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, kiddo."

 

 


 

 

Jyn's usual protocol for dealing with Han Solo is to put him out of her mind as soon as he's out of her sight. It's a procedure that's proved remarkably effective the entire time she's been working with him, mostly for how it hasn't resulted in any dead bodies or homicidal charges thus far.

 

Unfortunately, her usual protocol doesn't seem to be working right now.

 

The worst part is that she's not even thinking of Han Solo himself. That would be simple enough to deal with. She just spends ten or so minutes steeping in her own annoyance, another ten minutes ranting (usually to Cassian), and a final ten minutes fantasising about all the ways she'd kill him if murder was legal.  

 

The worst part about all of it is that she's thinking of what Han Solo said.

 

That's easily twelve times worse than Han Solo himself, because the things Han Solo says are infinitely stupider than Han Solo himself.

 

But this time, the things Han Solo said happened to be about Cassian.

 

And, fuck. Fine, whatever, she'll admit it — she's basically already thinking about Cassian throughout at least eighty-two percent of her day to begin with. (Coming up with new things to spike Han's afternoon coffee with generally occupies the other eighteen percent.)

 

But now, she's being forced to confront the uncomfortable truth: their newfound habit of performing sexual favours for each other is awakening thoughts in her that have mostly lain dormant over the last few years. More than just thoughts, too. Feelings.

 

You should have just moved in with Bodhi, she tells herself sullenly on the subway ride home. Why didn't you just move in with Bodhi?

 

Because Bodhi lives with Kay, she silently answers a split second later. She already has one egotistic, squawking, annoyingly tall person bugging her at work all day. She definitely doesn't need another waiting for her whenever she comes home.

 

The memory of this morning's activities flashes up in her mind for the thousandth time that day. Cassian's gentle voice as he greeted her 'good morning'. Cassian's hair, all rumpled from his pillow. Cassian's expression of absent concentration as he carefully cracked eggs into a bowl, brows slightly furrowed. Cassian's laugh, warm and still rough with sleep, as she relayed a story about Han using her as a human shield to protect himself from Leia's wrath, manifested in the form of flying staplers and other office supplies.

 

Why the fuck isn't she thinking about the orgasm she'd gotten instead?!

 

You just need to even things back out, she tells herself firmly, getting up when a muffled, mechanical voice announces her stop. He gave you a freebie, and now you're feeling guilty. Return the favour, and you're done. There. Problem solved.

 

And she'll never have to worry about anything that comes out of Han Solo's fucking mouth, ever again.

 

 


 

 

"I need a favour!" is the first thing Cassian says when she gets home, his voice carrying from the kitchen.  

 

She practically sags in relief, not quite able to believe her luck. This is good. This is great.

 

All she has to do is say yes to whatever it is he wants now, do the favour, waive his — ahem — compensation, and then she's home free. Debt resolved. Balance restored.

 

She doesn't waste a second, dumping her bag right there on the hallway floor and charging into the kitchen, ripping off her jacket as she goes.

 

"What is it?" she asks, already a little breathless. 'Eager' isn't a familiar mood for her. She's not exactly sure how best to disguise it, especially not in front of Cassian. So, fuck it.

 

Cassian wheels round from where he's standing at the stove, a wooden spoon held out in front of him. "Taste this and tell me if it's too much salt?"

 

She skids to a halt, frozen rigid. "What?"

 

"Or if it's too spicy," he says, his free hand cupped under the sauce-coated spoon to catch any stray drops. "I can't really tell. Accidentally bit down on a chilli earlier, my whole tongue's kind of numb now."

 

She stares at him. "That's all you want?"

 

He lowers the spoon a little, peering at her in confusion. "Huh?"

 

Her fingers curl into her palms, hands fisting into tight little balls at her sides. "I thought you needed a favour," she says slowly. "As in—"

 

"Oh," he says, brows lifted in understanding. His face melts into a smile, his head of dark hair shaking easily. "Sorry, nothing like that. Just the sauce."

 

Her jaw clenches hard. "Are you sure," she presses, trying to dilute down the note of entreaty in her voice. "Are you absolutely sure there's nothing else I can do for you?"

 

A large glob of bright red sauce drips down into Cassian's palm, the spoon now completely forgotten.

 

"Jyn," he says carefully, "are you okay?"

 

She exhales tightly, before abruptly spinning away from him in a tight circle. She paces a couple steps away, and then whirls back around, raking a rough hand through her bangs. He's set the spoon aside and is watching her with a concerned frown, a dishcloth in his hands as he wipes his palm clean.

 

"I want—" she starts, and then stops.

 

She shakes her head, and starts again. "What do you say I return the favour from this morning?"

 

He looks surprised by that. Not that she can blame him. "You what?"

 

"Come on," she attempts to cajole, tilting her head in invitation. She's never been much of a cajoler. That's definitely more Cassian's forte, but, well. Desperate times. "You go get comfortable on the couch, yeah? It'll only take a few minutes."

 

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Cassian says dryly, but he sets aside the dishcloth, hands propped on his hips as he frowns at her. "I'm fine, Jyn. You don't need to do that."

 

"But I do," she argues. She throws her hands up, flailing a little at the sharp arch of his brow. "I mean, you— it's not fair, is it? For you to just give me one, and then I don't even have to—" Her hands are moving again, gesticulating wildly. "That's not how this works!"

 

"It was a freebie," he says slowly, taking a small, firm step towards her. "Like I already said. I'm not expecting anything in return."

 

"And that's bad for me!" she exclaims. "Because—"

 

She pulls up short, noticing the arrested expression on his face.

 

"No," she says hurriedly, taking a couple quick steps forward. "No, not like that, that's not what I—"

 

"It's all right, Jyn," Cassian says, a little stiffly. "You don't have to explain yourself to me."

 

"No, I—" She darts forward, bracing her palms against his arms to stop him from turning away. "I really didn't mean it that way!"

 

He doesn't look her in the eye. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It won't happen again."

 

"But I want it to!" she blurts out.

 

For a brief moment, everything stops in the room. Silence descends, a very peculiar, heavy sort of silence that sits on her shoulders and presses in on her ears, and sort of makes her want to binge eat twelve frozen pizzas in a row, down the same number of shots in tequila and throw everything up immediately after.

 

Cassian's eyes flick up to hers, his dark brown irises finding hers in an instant. God, she loves that brown. How come she's never realised that before now? That's her favourite brown to ever exist in the world, ever.

 

He's perfectly still, holding himself back at a safe distance but not yet wriggling out of her grasp yet. She'll take that as a good sign.

 

He swallows, and clearing his throat quietly. "When you say you 'want it to happen'—"

 

"I mean I want it to," she says emphatically. Shit, one whole day of suffering through her emotional constipation, and all of a sudden she feels like she can't say that enough. It's fucking ridiculous.

 

Hell, she's just going to go with it.

 

"I want it to happen, Cassian," she repeats, her voice ringing a little clearer. She can feel herself getting more confident by the second. Is this what talking about feelings is like?

 

Shoving aside her self-directed incredulity, she focuses on the man in her arms.

 

"I want the orgasms," she says firmly. "I want you there with me at every single shitty work mixer I have to be at. I want us relying on each other to get stuff done. I want to be there with you at every fucking exhibit you need to go see, and not just because they're actually kind of amazing! I want the sitting down to breakfast in the mornings, and getting sidetracked because we're too busy jumping each other." She grins, too helpless to contain it. "I want sex, Cassian! Sex with you! Proper sex, instead of both of us chickening out with a couple blowjobs and leaving it at that!"

 

He opens and closes his mouth. He blinks. "Actually, for you, it's not called a—"

 

She's laughing before he can finish, her face splitting into a wide smile as liquid warmth floods through her, bright and giddy. "I know. I know." Cupping her hands around his face, she drags him down, pressing her lips to his with no hesitation.

 

It takes them a minute to get it right, because suddenly, it's not just her smiling, Cassian is too, and his arms are banding around her waist to pull her closer, and she's never realised how fucking hard it is to kiss someone when you're both smiling, but goddammit, she's gonna try her hardest anyway because she's finally kissing Cassian.

 

Then something clicks into place, and they're catching each other at just the right angle, their bodies pressed flush against each other. Her tongue is tracing along the seam of his lips, his hand dipping lower on her back to palm her ass, and she doesn't exactly know how it happens, but the kiss is rapidly turning hotter than whatever chilli Cassian had been messing around with earlier.

 

He breaks it off first, panting warm and heavy against her lips. "I have to finish the sauce," he tells her, his voice ragged.

 

She nips at his jaw, grazing her teeth over the healthy sprinkle of stubble that always seems to show up by the end of the day no matter how cleanly he shaves in the morning. "Forget the sauce."

 

He growls something in Spanish that she only barely catches, but it makes heat curl in her core nonetheless, her tongue darting out to trace along his jawline. The next thing she knows, she's practically being carried out of the kitchen, her laughs echoing along the hallway.

 

 


 

 

Two days later, they're walking into Lando's house, Han's promotion party already in full swing.

 

"This is stupid," Jyn announces as she peels off her jacket. "We could have just stayed home and had sex."

 

"You know you'd kick yourself if you missed a party for your friend," Cassian says idly as he takes the jacket from her, hanging it up next to his. "Or you'd just kick your friend." He steps back into her side, one arm sliding around her waist. "We can go home after this and have sex."

 

"I'm taking that as a promise," she says grumpily, but she relaxes into the comforting press of his hand on her back.

 

"Hey, it's the newlyweds!" Han appears in front of them, a half-finished bottle of whiskey in one hand and, inexplicably enough, a broom in the other. He's got his tie knotted around his head, like he's doing a very bad impression of the Karate Kid. "How's the honeymoon going!"

 

To both Han and Cassian's surprise, Jyn merely strides off, weaving through the crowd gathered in the living room.

 

Han's jaw hangs agape. "What's she doing?"

 

"Does it matter?" Cassian asks wryly. "No one's going to stop her either way."

 

Jyn charges through the room, stopping only when she reaches her target. Extending a hand, she taps firmly on the shoulder in front of her.

 

"Han would like to invite you to have dinner with him," she says flatly. "Tomorrow. Eight o'clock. He'll pick you up. What do you say?"

 

Leia Organa stares blankly up at her, her drink straw dropping from her mouth.

 

Jyn waits patiently as the other woman blinks slowly.

 

Finally, Leia snaps back to her senses, gesturing sharply with her glass.

 

"Seven," she says, a familiar, distinct note of authority edging her tone. "And I don't want to see that beat-up old Ford Falcon anywhere near my building."”

 

"Great," Jyn says with a nod, shaking her boss's hand before stalking away.

 

Han is still frozen motionless by the time she gets back to him and Cassian, his mouth hanging wide open and his eyes rounded.

 

Jyn swipes the bottle of whiskey from his slack fingers. "Congratulations on the promotion, Solo. Enjoy your date." She uncaps the bottle before slipping her arm into Cassian's, grinning when the contact allows her to feel his sides trembling with barely contained laughter. "Should be a very self-aware experience."

 

With one last tip of the bottle to Han, she and Cassian turn away, the whiskey already halfway to her lips.

 

"Joke's on you, Erso!" he yells as she and Cassian disappear into the crowd, ready to have a good time. "I'm still gonna drive my Ford!"