She wasn't looking away. It was one thing to have those eyes on him briefly before she ducked her head or refocused her gaze, but quite another right now to have his arms full of allana and her looking at him like she planned to never blink again.
The urge to kiss her was so fast and fierce, but it was by no means foreign.
She twisted him up inside in all the ways the really attractive women he'd dated had, and a whole new string of ways he couldn't attribute to any one other female he'd ever dated. He wasn't a womanizer (like his father had once been) because his was a nomad who feared people getting too close, he was a womanizer because none of the women came even close to living up to the strong, amazing women who had surrounded him most of his life – his Grandma, his Moms (Claire and Lisa both), his Aunt Faith, his Aunt Claire and many others – and so they never got close to him because of that.
But Allana Djo Solo was way, way too close in more than just physical distance.
There were about a hundred reasons not to do it, every single one of them shaped like Jacen Solo doing something very painful to him, and the fact that her father wasn't here to somehow sense it – as really, by this point, there would normally have been door knocking at the very least as Ben's thoughts moved to places that former Sith Lord fathers did not appreciate at all – was just one more reason not to do it.
By dammit, she was scared and crying and looking to him for reassurance that words just weren't giving and he was just a regular guy, dammit. Not superpowered, not superwilled, not supermoral. Just a regular guy with a very, very attractive woman in his arms that, truth be told, he'd wanted to have, just once, the chance to win her over with his ridiculous lines – that were supposed to be ridiculous, it was the point, it won the ladies all the time – and Winchester charm and not have an angry former Sith out for his head while he found out if Winchesters really were supposed to fall for their best friends.
Cupping her cheek instead was meant to be a compromise between urge and comfort. It really was.
"We'll get them, together," he said gruffly, the slight roughness of his thumb – not a lifetime of hard labor or hunting rough, but definitely telling of a life not lived pushing paperwork around – dragging over her cheek. Which was really soft. Like, ridiculously soft. This was really the abort point, because otherwise he knew where the thought would lead and it would be from soft cheek skin to soft other skin and how nice it would be to touch said skin and-
Oh, fuck it.
He didn't think. He didn't plan. He barely even breathed as he slid his palm from her cheek to the back of her head, exerting gentle pressure as he lowered his mouth to hers.