Chapter Text
“And don't think the garden loses its
ecstasy in winter. It's quiet, but the roots are down there riotous.”
- Rumi
Ben Solo does not think about sex. He doesn’t think about dating or getting married and having children. He doesn’t think about kissing or holding another person in his arms.
He accepted years before that those things were impossible for him, for reasons clearly organized in a box in his mind. This is his reality, decided and filed away forever. It’s better for him to be alone.
At first, he was simply not interested. The kids his age began to look at each other and then started dating and marrying. During those life steps, he had been an onlooker, left-footed and left behind.
Ben has never looked at a person and liked them enough to make the effort, so in some fundamental way, he didn’t understand what drove them.
He expressed as Alpha very late in adolescence, when he was seventeen, years after most Alphas and Omegas were already settled into their rare designations.
Ben as a teenager was troubled, full of oversensitive pain that found expression only in anger. He was easily overwhelmed; sometimes he threw things, broke things and screamed, and didn’t know why he did it when he knew it would make people hate him. He simply opened up and it spilled out.
Resentful and ashamed, he spent time alone.
And so he spent his first rut alone as well, back when he didn’t know he even could be in rut. All he knew was, at seventeen, he walked the streets for hours, searching for something, something he needed, but couldn’t find.
Aggression drove him in his search, a kind of teenage rage that had no source. He wanted to punch someone, anyone. A man at the corner store looked at him sideways and Ben snapped, punching him solidly in the face, grinding him to the ground.
After a crazed moment of victory, Ben let the man go, stumbling back. And then he ran away, ran until he was exhausted.
He didn’t ever find what he needed, that first rut.
When he came home, his mother understood at once. When she saw the blood on his knuckles, she put him on suppressants to tame the violence inside him.
He needed that control.
His parents separated because of him, and he was sent away to Jedi Camp to live with his uncle because his mother and father couldn’t stand the sight of him one more day.
He needed control for what had happened when he lived with Luke. For the years afterward where he was lost. The years of working for Snoke.
Even while he was deep in the worst part of his life and he fleetingly thought of dating, he knew better than to involve anyone else in his black hole of a life. That he would need to get better before he even thought of doing that, whatever getting better meant.
And maybe it was that thought in the back of his mind, of getting better and having a happier life, that was one of the last things he kept hold of.
He’s only recently found his way back—to his family, to something other than self-hatred. His thirties have been better so far than his twenties.
But that leaves him with lost time, so much of it. And there is still fear. He is better now—he’s in therapy, he’s medicated. He knows now that the only noble idea he had in the dark part of his life—that idea of saving other people from having to deal with him by refusing to consider romance—was fucked up and has damaged him.
There are things about his body that he is neutral about—his size, musculature, and height are at least what an Alpha should be like. His hair is okay.
But there are more negatives. He has a bowlegged walk. His nose needs its own social security number. He can’t grow anything more than a goatee even if he is held at gunpoint.
He has no experience with women.
One of his only glimpses was at Luke’s Jedi Camp in the summer, after a game of spin the bottle late at night. He had been terrified during the game, the bottle glinting with the threat of his demise, but he had steeled his resolve and spun it anyway.
It stopped, pointing at a girl he’d never spoken to before. For just a split second, the girl looked disgusted, but she covered it up by rubbing her palms on her thighs.
“I’m tired of playing this game,” she says loudly, looking right at him. “I’m going to bed.”
Rejected even as a dare. He spends the rest of the night swimming endless laps across the camp lake, half trying to escape the horrible look on her face that had branded itself on his mind, half hoping he would drown in the darkness.
But at last, he had emerged on the shore, exhausted and shaking, empty of everything.
Maybe he shouldn’t have taken the rejection so badly, but she hadn’t even known him. He didn’t even like her. But she must have known. She could feel the rage inside him. That his parents sent him away for it.
He pretended like he was above it, that it was beneath his concern. It helped that he was incapable of developing a crush the way his friends described it. Or maybe he was just good at crushing those feelings before they could grow into something that would make him lose control.
Then came the years of darkness where he wasn’t worthy of it, where he hated himself so much, he didn’t let himself even think of it. Whenever he met an Omega in person, he forced himself not to look at them, punishing himself because he knew he was a monster.
It’s only in his thirties that he tries again. He steels himself for weeks and enters a bar. Just to see.
It is a mid-city bar on a Friday night. It takes him many minutes to gather up the willingness to speak to one of the women there. He feels as if the back of his head is vibrating off, or as if he is staring at himself from the outside looking in. Judging himself on how his hand rests on the bar—too casual? Do other Alphas lean on the bar?—judging how he stands out from the rest like a bullseye.
They know. He knows the others can tell. They know he is an Alpha who has not even kissed a girl at the ripe age of 31.
And how would he explain it? What do you say to a woman, an Omega?
"Oh, by the way, I've never been on a date before. Never been kissed before, either. The only girl who was supposed to was so disgusted she looked like she wanted to vomit. But I'm trying again, now, with you. I've invited you to be part of this peak nightmare scenario. I've decided to foist this upon you on our first encounter. Congratulations."
Desperately, after a few shots at small talk go nowhere, he finds himself drunk enough for it. He decides to be completely honest with a Beta woman seated next to him.
"I've never kissed anyone before,” he says. “I've never been on a date."
She looks startled, and then deeply uncomfortable. "What do you want me to do about it?"
He doesn’t know what to say to that.
"Sorry, that’s just too weird,” she laughs, sour alcohol on her breath. “An old virgin Alpha? No offense, but why didn’t you take care of that as a teenager, when you started your ruts?”
He doesn’t know why he never had.
She shakes her head. “A big boy like you is gonna lose control his first time, run wild and rut some poor thing to death. People are out here just trying to get laid, you know. You're bringing me down."
He reigns in his rage. "It's not... I never—"
"Sorry, sweetie. But no one here wants to deal with that."
And the worst part—the look in her eye isn't annoyed so much as pitying. She pities him. He is pathetic. And frightening.
He doesn’t blame them. He knows he is an Alpha who is a failure to his designation. He gathers up his pride and leaves, and never darkens the doorstep of another bar or club.
He doesn't need to think about it. The subject doesn't come up much, especially as he gets older. The only one who still brings it up occasionally is his mother, who looks sadder every time she does.
"I just want you to be happy," she tells him.
"You think I can't be happy on my own? That I'm not enough on my own?"
"No, and you know that. I just want you to experience the full range of human experiences. I want the best for my son."
"So I'm not really human unless I date.”
“I just want you to be happy, and I know you’re not. How could an Alpha be happy without a mate?”
“I’m probably asexual, so it doesn’t fucking matter! Leave it alone!” he snaps.
And there’s that anger that proves the rule. He can’t control his emotions, even with all the help he has now, so how could he control his body? How could he be good for someone, even if he did like someone enough to risk it?
That is the sum total of his experience to date. One girl who hated even looking at him, and a woman who pitied him but told the truth he already knew.
He puts it out of his mind. Porn is still enough for him, those rare times he feels a craving to touch another person. He’s survived this long. Sometimes, especially on birthdays, he thinks about it. Thinks about hiring professional help, someone who could teach him… but no, that’s even more humiliating than things as they are. Having to explain it to a stranger.
When he falls asleep at night, he curls an arm around his pillow. A hurt blossoms in his chest like a horrible tree that only grows and grows and casts a shadow on his every day, its roots jammed down deep in him, feeding on his life.
He missed his chance. He missed it, and he'll never get it back. He had a chance when he was young, but now he's too old. He will always be alone.
He works through grief for the lost years, and his private shame.
And it's all fine. He’s accepted it. He’s almost content.
Until he sees her.
She's working for his father, a mechanic at his shop. She's one of those youths that his parents took under their wing because they failed with him. He resents them still, hates that they come over for family dinner on Sundays, hates that they fill some need that his parents have.
He's the child they did not choose among those his parents willingly chose. They are stuck with him, and decided to nurture these others, go out of their way for them.
(His therapist says this is bullshit. He’s working on it.)
He’s dropping something off for his dad when he sees her. Well, her ass at first. Working under the hood of a truck, she is up on her toes, arm reaching inside.
She is dressed in dark slacks and a polo shirt with his father’s logo on it. Omega, he knows. He is so sensitive that he could close his eyes and point at her, wherever she is. Her scent is—
Fuck—
With what he can see if her face, she’s grimacing, but completely focused. Dark hair, unconsciously graceful movements. He watches her climb up onto the bumper to get more leverage.
He wants to be a truck.
Or maybe better—he can just imagine, stepping up behind her, putting his hands on her hips and squeezing her until she goes still like a bird. So aware of him, but not unwelcoming. Cautious, but knowing from his scent what he is and what he can do for her. How he can take care of her. She’d press back into him shyly.
He’d push into her from behind like that, with her just like that. Peel her clothes aside to see her ass in the air, feed his cock into her inch by inch until she’s his, she’s just his. Hear her sweet little gasps, make her feel so fucking good.
He’d do it all for her, she wouldn’t have to do anything but take him, brace herself while he pounded all his pent-up lust into her, what he’d saved all for her, only for her, his sweet mate, waiting for him—
“Hey, Ben!” his dad snaps a finger in front of Ben’s face.
Ben jumps, nearly punching his dad out in reflex.
Knowing he needs to distract his dad or he’ll know, Ben thrusts the plastic bag into his hands and growls, “I'm going to start charging you delivery.”
He’s glad he decided to wear a light coat even though it’s early autumn.
His dad usually gets distracted by talk of money, but Ben knows he didn’t fool him this time, especially when his dad raises an eyebrow with a smug smirk, glancing over at the Omega woman.
“Am I interrupting something, kid?”
Ben ignores him and goes inside the shop’s waiting area, and then into the small back room where they eat, setting out the food.
He never loses control like that, not on suppressants. He’s never reacted like that to just a scent. His hands are shaking.
Without looking at his dad, he picks at his chow mein.
“Do you like her?” his dad asks quietly after a few minutes of silent eating, and Ben despises the hopeful tone in his dad’s voice.
Yes.
It’s none of his business.
“Her name’s Rey,” his dad says, eyeing Ben hopefully. “I took her on because I needed more help. And she’s good.”
Ben knows she’s good. “You thought you’d hire a female Omega when you knew I’d be coming around.”
“It’s not like that, kid,” he grumbles. “Not everything’s about you, you know. She needed a job, too, and I figured it was a win-win. And hell, If my kid happened to like a sweet, nice, good-looking girl like her on top of that… well, I wouldn’t throw a fit about it.”
“She’s an Omega and working here.” Not that she shouldn't, but....
“Protective, huh?” His dad smirks again.
Ben digs his nails of his free hand into his palm.
“You know I only have old farts here. The couple Alphas working for me are mated. We wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”
Ben says nothing, but relaxes minutely, still stabbing his food.
His dad leans back, overly casual as he throws out, “You know, if you dated her, you could be the one looking after her.”
Ben finally looks at him. “It’s not happening.”
His dad just raises his eyebrows, chewing. “Huh. And why is that?”
Ben says nothing.
“She’s single. You could at least try talking to her, kid. What’s the worst that can happen?”
She’d see right through him.
The subject drops. If Ben takes lunch to his dad’s shop a little more often to try to catch a glimpse of her, Han only smirks at him, and Ben manages to slip in and out so as to fend off an introduction.
Just to catch her scent every few days. Just to see her at a distance is enough. It’s like looking at a panther with iron bars between them—he gets a thrill of excitement and it’s still safe, no chance of contact. He feels a little creepy, but he doesn’t know what else to do.
He wants her, but he knows he’ll never have her. She seems so at ease and worldly, and knows exactly what she must want. He knows she’s better than him—smiling to herself, going back to her phone, probably texting her friends, probably her boyfriend, probably many handsome debonair men who are just waiting to date this angel girl....
He imagines telling her that he is a virgin, and imagines that look of faint disgust and pity on her face, and he becomes so angry he has to go to the gym and punch a bag for hours.
It’s as if she’s the embodiment of every Alpha instinct he ever suppressed for years, coming back all at once to destroy him.
At night, he dreams about her. He runs through a forest of towering trees, searching, searching as he always does in his ruts. She teases him, and makes him wait so long he starts to sob, but then he catches her. They melt together until she is astride him, parted around him like a warm river. And she is so beautiful, looking down at him with a smile. She wants him, loves him. She wants to be with him always.
He stays in bed when he usually rises. He's almost paralyzed from that blossomed hurt, and the cold reality that he was meant to live this life completely alone settles into his bones, so deep.
He's a virgin. No one has ever wanted him, and he can't imagine that she would think so little of herself. That she would overlook how unlovable he is. That she would take leftovers, castoffs.
It would be pity. If she went on a date with him, even if she agreed, she would find out the truth somehow, and pity him.
Maybe, comes the devilish thought. Maybe there's another way.
He could just not tell her.
It's very unusual for an Alpha man to be a virgin in his thirties. She would expect him to be experienced. If he studied hard, maybe he should just fake it? Never mention it?
It isn't an impossible suggestion.
Better not risk it, he decides.
But then he comes to dinner with his parents one Sunday, and she's there, and he has never hated his dad more for doing this to him.
Inviting her to dinner so he has to meet her.