Jyn wishes she knew more in his mother tongue to pour onto him the way he does for her, wishes she could conform and twist and curl her tongue the way he does to create such beauty. He sculpts and forms and breathes life into the world around them - the worlds inside of them - the heat of his breath enough to melt the snow of the eternal winter inside of her, the warmth of his gaze enough to force shoots of grass and colorful leaves through the barren, hardened earth of her core. The stars of her universe align with his, their lights both sources and reflections, both moons and suns, powerful on their own - more complete together.

She inhales sharply at being filled, though it doesn't surprise her the way it had the first time. Then, it had been an expression of the unknown, of the uncertain - now, it's release of the anticipation, the excitement. The exquisite bridging between two bodies so they can melt into one, even if more in theory than in physicality - the delight of friction and warmth and pleasure.

One palm presses to his back, the other lost in the fields of his hair as lip drags under teeth to contain the sounds within. There's only a vague part of her that's alert enough - separate enough - to remember their publicity. But it's enough to keep her stifled sighs and blissful murmurs prisoner in her mouth -

"Por favor," she whispers, lips brushing against the curl of his ear, voice heady as her scrambled mind tries to remember the words he's taught her, "Te quiero."