ten

. . . 1982 . . .

If there's one thing Ben doesn't expect, it's for Rose Quartz to already be waiting for him in their alley. He's deemed it their alley against her will. Her territory to guard, his to stomp all over. It's a great balance, in his head, even if she doesn't yet agree.

He thought he would keep her on her toes this month. Ben didn't have time to make his monthly check-in to pester her, so he missed it, so he decided to show up when he did have time a week later. Seeing her there, pretty in pink and arms crossed and fuming was absolutely the least of his expectations. Though maybe he should have expected some rage, with the clouds having opened up and pouring rain upon them.

"You," she always started her conversations with him with that accusatory word, didn't she, "do not get to belittle me."

"Excuse me?" Ben tilts his head, actually bewildered for a moment. Very few times does he get caught off guard, but here's one, standing right in front of him, dressed like a Barbie doll. Fitting. She has one named after her. "I haven't been here yet to try and belittle you, sweetheart."

Her nose twitches. Can't help it. He grins openly and widely. "Don't." She's exactly eleven paces away and yet she speaks to him with the authority of someone nose-to-nose and a head and a half taller. "You patrolled my area and then gave me credit for it."

"Is this suddenly a bad thing?" Ben taps his shield against his kneeguard as he thought, pondering the options presented to him. "You're making things extremely complicated, Rose, what do you deem good and bad, exactly?"

"I want you to just– just leave me alone." Her hands toss into the air in exasperation. Her voice even growls a little in the frustration. It's an adorable act of fury, though her face betrays the theatrics, showing that it's completely serious. You can't fake the glare she's facing him with.

Ben nods slowly. "I understand." Truly, he gets where she's coming from, and if his pursuits are going this poorly received, maybe he'll take the no for what it is.

Except.

Except she doesn't turn to leave.

Except she's still staring at him, waiting for the argument.

Except she's standing there, fury burning pink in those eyes of hers, like she didn't want to be done.

Ben is okay with games. He's been playing them with her for the last few months, prodding and teasing for some sort of reaction from her, dancing around her while she danced back, playing poker while she played chess.

He opens his mouth to argue and give her the response she's waiting for when her hand raises and liquid, pink fire shoots out of the crystal in her palm.

It's shocking at first, because Ben knew about Rose Quartz. But in all his efforts to get on her bad side or her good side or whatever side led to inside her spandex, he forgot about what led to that name. The crystalfire and the crystal. His instincts lead him to forgo the shield and just fake left out of the way, his head snapping to the end of the alley, watching as the dumpster glows fiery pink before eviscerating into a dumpster made of quartz.

Rose quartz.

He wants to marvel at her.

Everything she touches turns to gemstone. A beautiful, fiery Medusa.

Ben doesn't get the chance, because she's firing at him again. Her palms do not have ammo limitations, flaring and releasing fire that crystalizes the targets they hit.

He can only dodge, and only barely. She's coming closer too, the crystalfire now turning into sharp shards shaped like daggers.

Closer, and he can fight properly.

Closer, and maybe she'll nick him, and he can see if she's really willing to hurt him, or if this is all for show.

Her face betrays nothing, like she doesn't know yet either how far she's going to go.

She's six paces away. That's when Ben launches into his own attack. The next crystal she shoots he risks the shield, knowing Vought will manufacture another for him if this one is shattered or ruined, but it doesn't. It serves its purpose and ricochets the crystal back at her.

Ben's fighting back snaps something inside of her. He watches it flitter in Rose Quartz's eyes. A little stumble in her facade. She will regret slipping and worse, regret letting it show that she did.

He uses that moment to shove her back against the wall with the shield, the impact causing the bricks to crack and pieces to crumble off around the both of them. She doesn't flinch. Doesn't even seem hurt. Her jaw is clenched like she's annoyed.

She tosses him back so effortlessly that it takes Ben a second to realize that it isn't with her bare hands but with those damn crystals, her palm flaring. He doesn't know if it's fury or adrenaline glittering in her eyes but they are the pinkest he's ever seen them be, and he wants to say she's smiling. Wants to, but can't tell, because he's on the other side of the alley, his own back colliding and sliding down the concrete. Asphalt crumbles around him.

Ben doesn't move when she walks up to him. Straddles him, looking down at him with contempt in her eyes. Why would he move? It's a great view.

"You give up pretty easily for being the best hero in the country," she says, nudging his boot with the toe of her shoe.

Ben only raises an eyebrow. "Who says I gave up?"

And he hooked the toe of his own boot around her ankle, causing her to stumble on top of him. That wasn't part of the plan. It wasn't. But how can you argue with a pretty woman now completely straddling you?

Both of her hands come up and slap him on the chest. Once. Twice. Thrice. "I told you to leave me alone."

"Then get off of me so I can," Ben says it casually but when their eyes lock, he realizes the question that lies in it.

She doesn't.

And her hands don't move.

She does, however, slap his chest again once more for good measure.

"You are god awful," Rose Quartz says, and her words are so breathless. Her mouth is hung open afterwards, just a little, a pretty little O that looks to him like a pretty little effort to catch her breath.

If he had to guess, Ben figures she was trying to get off of him. It really seemed that way.

But instead of standing, her ass slid backwards like she wanted distance from him first before she did. Slid backwards across his thigh, and never fully got to her feet, because she stopped right there.

He could hear her heart catch in her chest. Feel the breath stop after the sharp inhale she took.

Ben slowly, slowly raises his hands to her hips and moves her forward again, as close as she initially was. "You liked that, didn't you?" His voice is gravelly even in his own ears.

Rose doesn't answer. He really didn't expect her to. She's the most stubborn person he's ever met, and this is the least likely thing she would confess to. But when he pushes her hips backwards again, rubbing her against the rougher material of his suit, she whimpers. Just a little, but it's enough.

Ben shifts, his suit growing tighter, trying to adjust himself without moving away from the friction point for her. She's going on her own pace now, too, like she just can't help herself.

Her knee brushes against his dick as she's grinding against him, and his head falls backwards against the wall in pleasure. Leave it to him to be reduced to the rubble he's sitting in, accepting the scraps he's given after months of pursuit. He's not even mad. He couldn't be. It's more than enough.

Ben feels her eyes on him like electricity. He sits up just enough to lock their gazes. Her grinding's slowed to a stop. Her bottom lip is trapped between her teeth, her eyes glancing from his to his mouth to the knee she's got so dangerously close to his cock.

She could knee him there right now and put an end to this entire escapade. She could pick up her pace again, let her leg rub against him, take him all the way with her. She knows it, too. He sees the way the realization of her control enters into her mind.

Rose Quartz rolls her hips again, back far enough that her clit is right on the edge of his thigh strap, and she presses harder, her full weight against the meat of his thigh. He doesn't care. God, he really doesn't fucking care. The throaty whine it brings out of her is enough to make him forgive every bit of trouble she's caused him, to make him want to plead for forgiveness for everything he's caused. She's found her spot, right there, and works it, picking up her pace, grinding against the velcro strap. Her hands are balanced on his shoulders. One of his is on the ground, the other is on her hip to keep her steady and where she likes it, wants it, needs it, where he can keep her also pressing her knee–

Rose Quartz tilts her head back suddenly and lets out a loud, shuddery moan. Rain water falls across her face, trailing down her cheeks. She looks beautiful in her vulnerability, giving him this moment of her trust, even more beautiful than her rage.

It takes all of four seconds for her to realize what happened.

Ben watches the stages of grief as they flash on her face. Embarrassment is the last emotion to reach, her face as pink as her eyes, not helped by how flushed her cheeks became from her high.

She clears her throat. Still doesn't move. He wishes so fucking badly that she would now, though, because he is so hard that it's hurting to be in this position with no relief or adjusting, and there's no sign of either.

"That was a mistake," she says fiercely, like her face isn't bright and cooling only by the rain falling on it.

Ben raises his eyebrows. "You should get off of me now, then." His voice is so, so embarrassingly strained. They're both in predicaments, aren't they?

She doesn't. "It's never going to happen again. I hate you. You are so fucking awful."

Her hand is inconspicuously trailing down his chest. Ben wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't so hyper aware of everywhere their bodies touched, where hers began and his ended and the gray space in between. Face still red but eyes hooded and misty, she cups her hand over his dick through his suit.

"Never, never again. Not after today."

And suddenly, Rose Quartz is undoing Ben's zipper in the middle of the rainy alley.