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“Sure, yeah, no problem,” is something Poe finds himself saying a lot, lately.
He'd said it a few weeks ago, with a grin so wide it'd threatened to split his face, when he and Finn had been asked if they would mind terribly rooming together. A surge of new recruits had left Resistance Base teaming with life, dorms overflowing and personal space receding, and Poe had only been too happy sacrificing his bunker if it meant he got to share it with Finn.
Then, he’d said it again this morning, stupidly agreeing to not only authorise but attend a night of drunken revelry with the crew, in celebration of a job well done and a particularly successful supply raid to boot. When they’d waggled their eyebrows and asked if Poe would be bringing Finn, Poe had simply ran a tired hand through his hair and agreed.
Fatally, Poe had said it a final time barely an hour ago, damp and off-guard walking out the ‘fresher door to Finn asking him he could borrow his jacket.
Agreeing to that had been Poe's worst mistake. And oh, what a mistake it had been.
It’s not that Poe minds, or has minded, literally ever, Finn wearing his clothes. And the jacket is practically theirs now anyway – he needs to remind Finn again that he doesn’t need to ask. The thing is, Finn – all broad shoulders and rippling muscles – wearing his clothes just does something to Poe. The baser part of his brain likes that his jacket smells like them; that everyone on base knew who Finn had been hanging around with recently when he wore it.
It's just that Poe’s penchant for a drink or two or five, and the resulting lack of inhibitions that usually follow, put him in a sticky situation at times like these. Because Finn was Finn, and Poe was irrevocably, utterly in love with him. And he was wearing Poe’s jacket. Poe was, quite simply, fucked. Known he would be from the minute he'd reluctantly agreed to this evening to the moment they’d walked in together, Finn wearing his jacket, welcomed by a raucous applause from everyone he and Finn consider friends.
He’d grabbed a drink from Rey's outstretched hand and downed it whole, and planted himself too close but not close enough to Finn on the bench, tuning out half the conversations around him and breathing calmingly through his nose.
Would it be so bad if he just kissed Finn? If he leaned over just a little and pressed his mouth to the juncture where Finn’s shoulder meets his neck, moving upwards towards Finn’s mouth, grabbing him by the collar, feeling Finn’s breath on his face, and-
Poe feels the stab of an elbow in his gut, and whips his head to where Finn is looking at him sheepishly. Poe’s frankly just glad he’s got an excuse to wheeze as Finn checks him over, sparkling eyes crinkled with worry.
“Sorry!” Finn says guiltily.
Blaster to his head Poe couldn’t be mad at Finn for anything, so he shrugs Finn off with an easy smile and a slightly winded: “s’right.”
Poe’s had worse. Wants Finn to do worse, if he’s honest. Not that he should be entertaining that line of thought in public. Or, well, ever.
Finn returns to his heated conversation with Rose across the table, placing a hand on Poe’s thigh and squeezing in apology.
It’s a good job Finn’s not looking. Oh kriff, it’s a good job Finn can’t see his face right now. Poe’s sure he’s red as a beet, ready to all but ooze into the floor, and a glance at Rey confirms it.
She’s smirking at him, as she often is when Poe’s reduced to a stumbling pitiful mess around Finn. Poe shoots her a scathing look, but she only laughs.
“Tell him,” she mouths from across the table.
Poe gives her a disbelieving look.
“Tell him what?” he mouths back. It’s not an entirely unfair question.
What’s he supposed to say? He’s hardly going to tell Finn he’s in love with him, that he wants to blow this space-waffle stand and go to their room and not leave for at least three standard days, thank you very much; that he wants to take Finn to Yavin-4 to meet his Father to boot, and show him the trails he used to walk and the trees he used to climb before he ever signed-up to the Academy.
The trouble – and it really is trouble, now that it’s been too many moons and it hasn’t gone away like a lot of Poe’s infatuations used to – is that Poe doesn’t just want to wake up every morning next to Finn, but next to him; with him.
Rey slides him the liquor bottle in pity, and Poe takes a large gulp. He doesn’t hear the whistle of applause from his crew or see the fond roll of Rey’s eyes. Poe does feel the imprint of Finn’s hands on his knee, a sturdy and gentle touch: are you alright?
No.
Poe is not kriffing alright. And he doesn’t want to feel the warmth of Finn’s skin through the fabric of his slacks anymore either. So Poe takes another swig, and a another, and then he’s pulled into a sea of cheers and dancing crewmates.
He feels Finn’s eyes on him, not judging exactly, but there’s concern and an undertone of something that might be pity? Poe bristles.
Someone produces a pack of cards and Poe takes another drink, and he doesn’t remember a single moment of the evening after that.
*****
Poe awakes in their bed. Their bed in the sense that he and Finn share it, temporarily, until Finn can get his own place, not theirs because he and Finn are a they.
The ache in Poe’s chest is outshone by the ache in his head, a dull throb that has Poe burying his face into the pillow and cursing whoever left the blinds open.
Where’s Finn? Poe wonders idly. By the position of the sun and the lack of BB-8 barging into his room, he can’t have overslept anything important. Poe stills, listening out for any sign of life, but there’s nothing there. There’s no telltale radiator warmth coming from the other side of the bunk, and he can’t hear water running in the next room either.
Odd.
Poe would never admit it, but he’s gotten used to waking up to warmth and sleepy smiles and the occasional arm flopped indelicately around his waist. To wake up and be suddenly alone is… jarring.
Where is he?
Poe has a sudden, horrifying notion that maybe Finn didn’t come home with him last night. That perhaps someone had sauntered over to him, placed an arm round his shoulders possessively, like Poe does sometimes when he forgets he’s not supposed to. They might have whispered in Finn’s ear, touched the small of his back, took Finn home and-
No. Poe buries deeper into the pillow. That can’t be right.
Besides, Finn absolutely came home last night. Poe remembers.
He remembers tripping through the door in hysterical laughter; Finn’s joining laugh sounding far away and forced, though kriff knows Poe was too drunk to think about why at the time. He remembers the water placed by the table, the covers being tucked around him as strong, lovely hands smoothed the bedcover over him. The ghost of Finn’s breath over his nose, the moment of eye contact that followed, and the way Finn’s lips felt as Poe surged up to kiss them, sloppy and uncoordinated as he was.
Poe shoots upright.
It comes back to him now, in dreadful agonising clarity: the way Finn had stilled above him; the firm, gentle hands that guided Poe back down into the mattress. The whines Poe wishes he didn’t remember making; the look of a kicked Porg on Finn’s face. The grip Poe had had on Finn’s shirt, deftly disentangled, and the way Finn’s eyes were clouded over as he looked at Poe from the door.
Poe must’ve passed out after that, though how he managed to sleep so soundly, he isn’t sure.
Poe’s awake now, regret grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him with the force of it. He stumbles through the bunker, splashing water on his face and half tripping into his jumpsuit in his haste to put it on. He rushes out the door, nearly colliding with BB-8 who has to do a u-turn so comical it might be funny in any other circumstance.
Poe’s running, the pounding of his feet reverberating into the pounding of his skull, a feedback loop that has Poe’s ears ringing and breath heaving by the time he’s skidding to a halt at the door of the canteen. He looks through the door.
Finn’s sitting with Rey and Rose, a couple of Poe’s pilots plopping down next to them. He’s smiling, in animated conversation, and Poe feels something awful like shame curl in his gut.
He whips away from the door before anyone can see him, leaning against the wall, hard and cold and pressing into his spine. He’s so stupid - Poe always knew he was - but this? It’s low, even for him. And Poe’s been to places in his short, kriffed-up mess of a life.
BB-8 twirls round Poe’s legs, confused about the sudden change of pace. He absently places a hand to their head, the droid spinning in place and trilling in confusion.
Poe knows he needs to apologise to Finn. And he’s going to, if it’s the last damned thing he does.
But Poe just can’t face him. Not yet.
“Alright,” Poe whispers more to himself than his droid, daring another peek into the canteen. He embeds the image of a happy, carefree Finn into his memory, and takes a breath.
Later, he promises. Hopes Finn hears it. Hopes to every star in the galaxy that the Force works for things like that.
Then Poe straightens, and walks determinedly across base to the operations desk.
“Supply drop?” the brusque lady behind the desk asks him. “Reconnaissance? Long-haul intel run? Territory scouting?” she asks him, tapping her pen against her data-pad.
“All of them,” Poe says as he grips his helmet, resisting the urge to look around every corner for Finn.
*****
Everything goes well for the first couple of weeks.
He’s off base almost entirely, jumping from system to system with only enough time back at the Resistance to repair Black One, and sleep. Or not.
The rest of the crew give Poe resigned or exasperated or even reproachful looks, but Poe doesn’t care. He gets enough information from the little time he spends grounded to know that Finn’s been taking lessons from Rey and is showing promising signs with the Force. That’s good. Poe’s only ever wanted what Finn wants. And he knows Finn wants to do good with the Force very kriffing much.
He still feels awful about coming on to Finn that night, shame and revulsion and guilt making a permanent home in every fibre of Poe’s being. And he will apologise to Finn, one day. Soon, even, but there’s so much to do and so many places he needs to be and he’s always thought better in a cockpit anyway. He does feel guilty leaving Finn with all of the paperwork and bureaucracy while he’s gone - some Co-General Poe’s turning out to be - but he never flies if Finn’s scheduled to be away, and does as much as he can in the short, less-than-a-standard-day periods he’s around.
Poe’s running himself ragged, he knows. But the adrenaline high of skirting the edge of possible while flying Black One and the euphoric feeling of doing something right for a change? Poe needs it. Needs to keep so busy he doesn’t have time to wade through his brain, as well. The look on Finn’s face when Poe kissed him haunts Poe every time he closes his eyes, and he’s still searching to find the right way to say I love you, I’m sorry, you’re the best person in my life, please can we still be friends?
Jess corners him as he’s easing into the cockpit of Black One for his next run.
“What’s your fucking problem, Dameron?” she climbs the ladder and ignores the frenzied beeping of the droids she’d pushed out the way to get here. “What fucking gives?”
Poe runs a hand through his hair.
“Seriously, Poe, this your - what? Fifth mission? Are you fucking kidding us?”
Poe closes his eyes.
“I fucked up,” he says, and Jess offers him no sympathy.
“You kriffing well will if you don’t cut it out Poe,” she glares at him.
“No, Jess, you don’t-” Poe sighs. “I really, really messed up this time.”
“So? Un-fuck it up. You’re the General. That’s your job.”
There’s a groan of metal doors and Poe’s gaze snaps to the corner of the hanger, where Finn’s walking in with Rey. Jess follows his line of sight.
“Or do fuck it, in this case,” she sighs, sounding almost sympathetic. “Just… sort it out, Poe, before you come back in a box.”
Or not at all, she doesn’t say, but they both think it.
Jess steps back and bangs on the wing, and the flurry of drones and mechanics around them recede.
Poe catches Finn’s eye, and Finn looks agonised, walking faster towards Poe and breaking into a jog as the airlock closes around the cockpit. As Poe starts the engine and drives away, he turns one last time to see Finn, panting, standing in the entryway and looking at Poe like he’s taking Finn’s heart there with him.
Poe’s last happy thought is that maybe without him, Finn will take the chance to keep immersing himself into his life here, and Poe won’t be around to fuck it up any more than he already has.
*****
For the second time in a far too condensed period of Poe’s life, he awakes in his bed with no memory of the events that led him here.
Consciousness comes slowly at first, ebbing and flowing like the tides on the planets that have moons. There’s the pink glow of what could be a sunrise or a sunset, filtering through the mostly closed blinds, illuminating the specks of dust that float lazily around the room. Poe’s heartbeat is steady in his ears, thrumming lazily, chest rising and falling with each breath. He hears the faint hum of life outside his bunkers’ doors: wheels rolling along gravel, the ever-present buzz of conversation, and the occasional earth-vibrating whoosh of a jet taking off.
Poe’s not got a headache – at least, not yet he hasn’t – so it’s not drink that’s landed him here. His limbs don’t feel heavy. If anything, Poe feels like he’s had a decent night’s sleep. He stretches, long and good, and notes an ache in his shoulder. He hums at that: doesn’t know how or where that came from, but an ache sure isn’t the worst thing he’s ever woken up to. Poe wiggles his toes, just to check, and then his fingers, testing, and freezing his whole body when he taps something warm and solid beneath his right.
Poe screws his eyes shut and tries again. Still there.
He opens his eyes minutely, turns to the right slower still, but the solid being hunkered in the chair next to him confirms his unfortunate theory.
“Hey buddy,” Poe tries weakly.
His voice is scratchy, like it hasn’t been used in a while. Or, Poe thinks, as fragments of memory start to come back to him, like it might’ve been used too much.
Poe distantly hears Finn’s relieved sigh.
Poe remembers yelling. The screeching of metal as the galaxy imploded around him. The dread in his stomach as base came into view, too fast and too soon.
“Hey,” Finn’s voice is gravelly too; like it goes when he’s been crying. Poe shakes his head to clear it of the thought. “Scared us, coming in hot like that.”
Poe resists the urge to quip his usual in regards to hard and fast.
“Landed though, didn’t I?”
The reply might’ve been funny if Poe wasn’t actually asking Finn to confirm; a tightness screwing its way into Poe’s chest.
“Always do,” Finn assures him, more kindly than Poe thinks he deserves.
And kriff, Finn hasn’t even looked at him yet. Finn’s tracing his thumb over Poe’s open palm, staring into it like it might hold the secrets of the galaxies. Poe sort of hopes he’d know by now, if it did.
The events of the last few days come back in pieces – the whole sorry state of it bubbling into Poe’s consciousness until he thinks he might be sick with it.
It’d started well, at first, a seemingly run-of-the-mill intel drop: four jets, in and out within a standard day, back at base in time for dinner. Ha. They’d been made fast (and Poe would have to talk to someone about that), leaving them to spring from the small planet unprepared and unequipped, chased halfway around the galaxy and back, drawing their assailants out and away hoping against hope they didn’t lead any of them home.
Poe remembers an engine failure in his craft and a coms drop-out in another, making it home Poe thinks with everyone in tow, all but crashing into base and alarming half the Resistance while they were at it. Shouting, after that, from him and to him. Smoke, lungs and nostrils thick with the scent of it; hands pulling him out; an achingly familiar voice calling his name, panicked. And then-
Nothing, until the trace of Finn’s thumb against his palm.
“The crew?” Poe asks, and Finn nods, squeezing Poe’s hand when a breath whistles through his teeth. “The jets?”
“Fixable”
Poe won’t be banished from base then, though it does little to soothe his freefalling brain.
“You?”
Poe can’t help the hammer of his heart.
Finn stops the rhythmic movement of thumb-against-palm to look at Poe with an expression he can’t even begin to fathom. Poe’s not brave enough to hold that look today – maybe hasn’t been ever – so he looks up; directs his attention to the dusty ceiling fan above his head. He’d clean it, he thinks idly, if only he could ever be fucked.
There’s a clatter at the door and a familiar series of beeps - a not much quieter shhhh following.
“I’ll be okay when you are,” Finn says simply.
With that Finn stands to open the door, and Poe can’t decide if he’s relieved or annoyed as Rey and BB-8 come crashing into the room. Rey waves, looking guilty, and Poe almost manages a smile. BB-8 trills at his bedside, and in reassuring his drone, Poe misses the moment Finn slips away.
As he lies there, comforted by the familiar chatter of his two other best friends, Poe misses the feel of rough thumb against smooth palm, and wishes he’d been brave enough to ask Finn to stay.
*****
Three days later – Poe’s getting better at the whole time-keeping thing, now that he sleeps and wakes in regular rhythms and feels well enough to bother keeping track of something as trivial as time – the door to Poe’s bunker opens.
Poe’s upright, legs crossed under him, cards in one hand and caff in the other. He and BB-8 are sitting on the bunk, staring at each other hard. Where his droid had learned to play poker is beyond him. How BB-8 had gotten so good doesn’t bare thinking about. Poe had always taken a lax attitude towards droid-minding, and clearly: he was now paying the price.
“Give us a minute BB?” Finn’s voice is soft, with a hint of a smile – like he’s trying to find the scene before him funny, but can’t quite make it stick.
Poe can’t bring himself to look in Finn’s direction, choosing instead to stare dumbly at his losing hand, swirling the now cold caff in his tin mug.
BB-8 vacates the bunk in a flurry of cards, an affectionate peep to Finn, and a frankly rude series of trills that tell Poe in no uncertain terms that their game isn’t over yet. From the corner of his eye Poe sees Finn walk a few steps forward, standing several feet from the side of Poe’s bed, the soft click of the door behind him echoing in the room.
“Bedrest’s over,” Finn says simply, and Poe’s glad to hear it.
He hadn’t needed it – hadn’t wanted to be cooped up like a child in bubble-wrap while there was work to do; feelings to avoid. He’d sustained no injuries to speak of: the dull ache in his shoulder almost gone by the time Poe had woken up on the second day. Poe had had a sneaking suspicion the rest was more a reprimand than a necessity, but the medic had been firm and Finn, in a way that had made Poe’s chest ache, had been firmer still.
So, restless from days spent in bed, loosing dismally at every card game in the book to his droid, Poe does his best impression of leaping out of bed.
“Great!” Poe shuffles around the bunker, trying feign his usual swagger. He scoops up his flightsuit, laundered and clean and folded on the chair – who had done that for him?
“Guess I’ll just…” Poe nods lamely towards the door, making to walk in it’s direction, when Finn sidesteps in front of it.
A beat of eye contact.
A resolute jut of Poe’s chin.
Finn moves back out the way.
“I won’t stop you,” he begins, and Poe feels something tighten in his chest, “but we should talk.”
Alarm bells ring in Poe’s ears, shattering his hopes of a quick and painless escape. He trudges back to the dresser, plops his belongings back on it, jumpsuit creased where Poe’s tried and failed to fold it nicely again.
“Look,” Poe says, spreading his palms and sinking back onto the mattress, “if this is about the crash-”
“It’s not about the mission.” Finn’s voice is unwaveringly firm.
Well kriff.
“Ah,” Poe says eloquently, “right.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry,” Poe says eventually. “Really Finn. I am so, so sorry.”
Finn makes to speak, but Poe ignores him.
“I can’t remember everything, but I know it wasn’t fair of me. You didn’t deserve me springing on you like that.” Poe takes a breath, resting his chin in his hands. “I don’t deserve you being here. ‘Specially after I fucked it all up so royally.”
Finn doesn’t speak. Poe hears footstep, anticipates the opening and closing of the bunker door, an exiting Finn.
Instead, there’s a rustle, and then Finn’s wonderful gravelly voice is right by Poe’s ear.
“But you didn’t fuck it up, Poe,” Finn puts a hand on Poe’s knee, absently rubbing circles into it with his thumb, “because you’re a good pilot, and a good General.”
Poe makes to say he wasn’t just talking about the mission, but Finn ignores him.
“And even if you did, I’d sit with you through every bantha-fucking soul crushing meeting afterwards, because that’s what friends and Co-Generals do.” Finn pauses, and reaches to wipe a tear Poe would vehemently deny was ever there. “That’s what we do, Poe. But man, you gotta come and talk to me when things happen, or I won’t know how to fix it.”
And Poe doesn’t know how to respond to that, heart frozen in his chest, breath catching in his throat. Maybe, if he plays his cards very right, he and Finn might be ok after all.
“And did it not occur to you, you moronic nerfherder,” Finn’s continues, “that I only said no because you were drunk?”
Oh. Oh.
That’s a little more than Poe was expecting.
“Oh,” Poe breathes aloud, feeling giddy and stupid and like if Finn stops touching him, even for one moment, he might simply dissolve into the floor beneath them.
Finn laughs, good-natured and positively beaming up at Poe, and Poe’s stomach swoops.
Then Finn schools his expression, eyes piercing into Poe’s: “but if you tell me you went on those kriffing missions just to avoid me, there won’t be a place in this galaxy you can hide.”
Poe laughs then, really laughs, sinking his forehead into Finn’s and closing his eyes. He breathes properly for the first time in weeks.
“I didn’t lead five reconnaissance missions in a row just to avoid you,” Poe lies dutifully, dramatically placing a hand over his heart.
Finn laughs with him, the warm, rich sound enveloping Poe until he feels it in his toes.
“Don’t do it again,” Finn murmurs, breath ghosting Poe’s lips.
Poe so desperately wants to close the gap. But there’s something he needs to say first.
“I love you.”
Poe means it. He’d follow Finn anywhere: burning x-wings, uninhabited planets, Starkillers, more Finalizers, wherever Finn wanted to go – if only Finn wanted Poe enough to ask.
For now, he bares himself entirely to the most important person in his life. No secrets. No half-truths. No lies. Just Poe: take him or leave him.
“Poe,” Finn breathes, leaning forward to whisper in Poe’s ear. “Oh Poe.”
Finn takes his hand and squeezes it, running his thumb over the knuckles.
“I love you,” he places a kiss to Poe’s knuckles.
“I want you,” a kiss to Poe’s nose.
“I need you.” Finn rests his forehead against Poe’s. “Always have, always will.”
Poe sucks in a breath.
“Now come here.”
And kriff, that’s all Poe’s ever needed to hear.
He crashes their lips together, clumsy and uncoordinated, pushing into Finn until they topple over, crashing into the floor in a tangle of limbs. Finn’s crying, or maybe Poe is, but he doesn’t care – can’t conceptualise a thing beyond the warm body pressed snugly against his and the fact that Finn loves him. Loves him. It reverberates off the walls of his bunker.
“You love me?” Poe pulls away from Finn’s lips just enough to ask.
He has to know. Has to be sure. Can’t spend one more moment of his life second-guessing.
“I love you,” Poe adds for good measure, “I love you, I love you, I love you…”
Poe accentuates each proclamation with a kiss to whatever part of Finn he can reach, and Finn lets him: laughing, weightless, breathless. Poe moves to Finn’s lips, kissing him again, and again, and Finn kisses back like he’s a dying man and Poe is water – or maybe it’s the other way around.
“You never said,” Finn chides between the press of their mouths. “Kriff Poe, if I’d known.”
Poe shrugs into the kiss. “I was scared, man, I don’t know!”
“Scared?” Finn laughs breathlessly, his disbelief palpable.
And yeah, maybe Poe does feel silly about it now.
“Make it up to you,” Poe mumbles as his mouth works along Finn’s jawline.
And Poe plans to. Plans to declare his love for Finn at every opportunity: screaming it from the rooftops and standing atop the tables in the canteen; from the cockpit of his x-wing and in the treetops of Yavin-4, because Poe suddenly, viscerally, needs to take Finn to Yavin-4 to meet his father.
Finn sighs contentedly into the kiss, the vibration tingling Poe’s lips.
“What am I going to do with you?” Finn asks gently, kissing Poe’s forehead.
And Poe, buoyed and weightless and sick with love, doesn’t miss his chance.
“I have some ideas.”
Finn chuckles, warm and rich and tickling where he’s pressed his lips to the base of Poe’s throat. “I’m sure you do.”
Poe eyes him gamely, grabbing Finn by the chin and kissing him soundly, just because he can. Then he’s shuffling, struggling to get purchase, tugging Finn up, up until they’re both standing. Poe grins, victorious, and makes to wriggle his hands under Finn’s shirt and divest him of every item of clothing he’s wearing.
Strong hands at Poe’s waist stop him.
“But so do I.”
And oh, every atom of Poe sings in response.
He smooths a hand through Finn’s hair, nails scratching at his scalp, revelling in the way Finn closes his eyes and sighs into the touch.
“Show me,” Poe whispers.
And Finn does, grabbing Poe by the backs of his thighs and lifting until Poe is laughing and giddy, wrapping is legs around Finn’s waist. Finn holds him like it’s effortless, like Poe weighs nothing, and Poe nuzzles into Finn’s neck in contentment, breathing him in as he loops his arms round Finn’s broad, glorious shoulders.
“Won’t get far if you do that,” Finn says softly, but makes no move to hurry things along.
“Always figured I was make love not war kind of guy, anyway,” Poe grins dopily into Finn’s shoulder.
“Poe,” Finn says, easing him down gently.
“That’s me!” Poe responds enthusiastically, not giving Finn time to continue. “Biggest lover in the galaxy, I am. You ask-”
“You’re the Co-General of the rebellion,” Finn interrupts him, smiling.
“So?”
“So you do make war?”
Poe snickers.
“Whatever, man, just let me kiss you.”
Finn presses a chaste kiss to the side of Poe’s mouth, then crouches down, undoing Poe’s shirt button-by-button and placing wet, reverent kisses to each newly exposed expanse of skin.
Poe breathes through his nose and ignores the way it rattles through his chest. Then he scrambles to help, pulling at his shirt, reaching for his belt buckle, anything to speed this along.
“Where going?” Poe is abruptly bereft of Finn as he steps back, and Poe shrugs off the rest of his shirt in confusion.
“Getting undressed?” Finn offers, winking in Poe’s direction. He drops his trousers and pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion.
Poe kicks off his trousers, ignoring the heat curling in his gut at the sight of a shirtless Finn.
“But I wanted to do that,” he says quietly.
Finn looks to Poe and then the shirt, reaching to grab it. “I could put it back on?”
And the offer is so earnest and so Finn it makes Poe’s heart seize in his chest. He wants to kiss him. He wants to hold him. He wants to spend every day waking up to him and kriff – one day he’ll take Finn back to Yavin-4 and marry him.
“I love you,” Poe says instead, smile bright and wet and dazzling he’s so happy he gets to say it now. “Leave it,” he clarifies as Finn hesitantly picks his shirt up from the floor, “just wanted you, anyways.”
Finn drops the shirt moves to Poe with blinding speed. Their mouths crash together and Poe stands on his toes, leaning into Finn hungrily. Poe eases his fingertips into Finn’s short hair, tugging him down as Finn wraps his arms around Poe and pulls him up. Poe’s never needed to breathe less. Never needed to stay in one spot for the rest of his days the way he does right now. Finn’s warm and solid weight envelops him, and all Poe can think about is the wet heady warmth of his mouth and the way every sense in his body is attuned to Finn.
Just as Poe’s in danger of deciding to stay latched onto Finn’s mouth forever, he pulls away.
“Alright there?” Finn asks, sounding a bit stunned, and kriff: Poe’s a little more than alright.
Poe grins, boyish.
Finn’s eyes darken, and he releases Poe’s jaw where it’s cupped in his hands. Poe attaches his mouth to the base of Finn’s throat and kisses it, setting a daring pace as he mouths down Finn’s sternum.
“Copycat,” Finn grits out, body taught and chest heaving.
Poe doesn’t even look up. He’s on a mission, and that mission is in Finn’s pants.
He reaches the waistband of Finn’s boxers and trails is tongue along the elastic, just to fuck with him. Then, when Finn’s writhing and panting and Poe’s thin patience has long worn out, he strips them off with a flourish, encouraging Finn to lift his legs and tossing the fabric far across to the other side of the room.
“Not even gonna take me to bed?” Finn asks as he slides his fingers through Poe’s hair.
“Nah,” Poe replies flippantly, looking up at Finn with an expression he hopes says not helplessly desperate to have your dick in my mouth.
“Such a gentleman,” Finn chides. “I’ll have to tell your father about it.”
“Yeah?” Poe grins. “Great. You’ll say: Kes, your sexy, sexy beast of a son gave me the best blowjob of my life.”
Finn snickers.
“You’ll be like – I came so hard I saw stars, man.”
“Poe!”
“I came so hard I broke the laws of time and physics and projected through the galaxy, regaining consciousness just in the nick of time to bend your son over his bunk and-”
“Poe,” Finn takes Poe by the jaw and lifts him gently until they’re eye-level. “Man, shut up.”
Poe grins sideways, kissing Finn sloppily and with far too much tongue before slinking back to his knees. Just this once, he’s happy to oblige.
Poe’s done a lot of things in his life. He can’t remember any of them as he sinks his mouth onto Finn.
Finn is hot and heavy and hard inside Poe’s mouth, and Poe closes his eyes, breathing through his nose and relaxing around him. Then, with a grin that would be salacious if it weren’t for the fact Poe’s mouth is otherwise engaged, Poe pulls away and glides back with a gusto that could only be described as enthusiastic.
It wouldn’t be boasting for Poe to say he’s good at this. And that’s great, because Poe wants to be good for Finn.
Poe feels the smooth slide of hands returning to his hair as Finn’s breathing ratchets. He swallows around Finn, and when Finn groans Poe feels it revibrating down his spine. Finn’s nails dig into Poe’s scalp and his hands curl in Poe’s hair, but he doesn’t pull the way Poe wants him to. So, on the basis that Finn’s pretty big on clear communication:
“C’mon,” Poe rasps. “Not gonna break. Kriffing pull Finn.”
Let it never be said Finn doesn’t take instruction.
Like a quadduck to water, Finn’s wonderful hands curl into Poe’s hair and tug. The sting is electric and Poe gasps into it, setting his mouth back to work Finn like his life depends on it. Poe’s at least 90% sure it does. He mouths Finn until he’s moaning, writhing over and into Poe and away again, like he can’t decide if he wants more of Poe’s mouth or less of it.
Poe snorts. That sounds about right.
Finn makes a questioning noise and Poe ignores it in favour of pulling off to kiss the inside of Finn’s thigh. His skin is so warm and soft there, and Poe thinks it would be a crime against the Force not to graze his teeth along it; licking and nipping the flesh there until Finn is vibrating around him, head thrown back as a litany of curses leave his lips. His hips twitch, just minutely, and Poe rolls his eyes.
Poe takes Finn all the way down, grabbing him firmly by his thighs and yanking. Finn stumbles and recovers, bracing himself on Poe’s head, and Poe does it again, gentler this time. Finn gets the idea and rocks into Poe, establishing a beautiful jerking rhythm that has Poe screwing his eyes closed as heat pools in his gut. Finn has the audacity to breathe in relief, like he was holding himself back - like Poe wouldn’t have let him do this the whole damn time. Poe makes a hazy note to put Finn right about that later, and sets to work in the meantime showing Finn the full meaning of tight wet hot.
The hands in Poe’s hair tighten and Poe hums around Finn, laughing at the way it makes Finn’s muscles pull tight, tense and shaking around him. Poe sinks back down and Finn’s hands become insistent, digging into Poe’s hair and pulling up hard.
Poe backs off, looking up in confusion. He nearly comes on the spot.
Finn looks like sex. There’s no other word for it. He’s debauched and slick with sweat, eyes blown and fluttering shut as his chest heaves. Finn looks about ready to devour, except he’s looking at Poe like he’s ready to devour him, and Poe would like to make it extremely clear to the Force and all associated powers: it could go either way, and Poe would not complain.
“Stars, Poe.” Finn pulls him up, then wraps his arms around Poe’s waist comfortingly. “Kriff.”
Poe beams with pride.
“Good enough to tell Kes about then?”
Finn jerks back to look at him, expression priceless.
“Why the fuck are we talking about your dad right now?”
Poe’s shrug is noncommittal.
“Want me to finish the job?” Poe offers as an apology. Not that he’s particularly sorry.
Poe expects a lot of things. He does not expect Finn to sink to his knees right there on the floor.
“Got my own plans,” Finn murmurs. “Turn around?”
And Poe does, letting strong firm hands guide him until he’s facing the bunk, elbows bracketed on the mattress and feet planted on the floor.
Poe feels the weight of Finn’s head resting on the small of his back; the warmth of a kiss to his tailbone. Poe shivers. Finn trails his mouth down until it meets the curve of Poe’s ass, grazing his teeth along the soft flesh. .
“Can I?” Finn asks.
Poe would sink to his knees and beg if he had to. Finn doesn’t make him.
Poe manages a small jerk of his head, attempts at words failing, and Finn runs a soothing hand along Poe’s thigh.
The thing about Finn, is that he does things with reverence.
“Kriff,” Poe breathes, choking on a groan that threatens to rip through his body.
Finn’s mouth is warm and wet and his tongue – kriff. It’s hot and sure and prying in all the right places and Poe doesn’t know how Finn’s kept this under wraps for so long. Pack a weapon like that and fail to warn a guy? Well. Poe’s got things to say about it for sure.
Right after he’s done. Poe won’t interrupt Finn while he’s busy.
Finn’s tongue is pressing into Poe urgent and damp, and Poe wishes he could write this down for prosperity. He’s hot all over, sleek with sweat and hair plastered over his face, breathing hard into the mattress as Finn fucks him with his mouth. The bedsheets scratch at Poe’s skin and the metal frame of the bunk creaks as Poe’s pressed against it harder and harder as Finn burrows deeper inside of him.
Poe rocks back into Finn’s mouth, the tension building and coiling inside him and Poe screws his eyes shut, willing his traitorous body to hold out longer. He wants to keep Finn’s mouth on him until the nearest star implodes and sucks them into a black hole, Poe’s lasting final memory of Finn’s hands gripping his thighs as his stubble scratches Poe’s skin.
“Finn,” Poe gasps, arching away from the touch and back into it a second later, when a hand curls round Poe’s waist and closes around his dick.
Finn laughs, jerking Poe lazily like he isn’t less than two standard seconds from falling apart in Finn’s arms. It’s all too much, and Poe hadn’t believed there was such a thing as too much of the good stuff until Finn had shown up, kind and generous and jerking Poe off as he eats Finn’s ass.
Kriff above Poe’s never going to recover from this; is ruined for anyone and everyone else. Though he’d thought the very same thing the moment Finn had taken his helmet off that very first time, and again when Poe had found him safe and alive and completing his mission back at base all that time later. So all fairness to Finn, this is less a crushing revelation for Poe than a confirmation of his long-standing theory.
“Finn,” Poe says again, aiming for more authority, and the arm stills, and slides out from him.
Poe whines despite himself, rousing when Finn pulls Poe up with him, twisting him round bodily to meet for what must be their trillionths messy kiss of the evening. Poe resolutely ignores where Finn’s tongue has been.
Come to think of it, no he doesn’t. Poe would kiss Finn anyway. He wonders if Finn would find that sexy or troubling.
Finn makes a questioning sound and Poe remembers he stopped him for a reason. It feels like a very unimportant reason now, except he needs Finn in him like he needs air to breathe and a cockpit (Poe snickers at his own comparison) to fly in.
“I just-” Poe works to pull away from the magnetism of Finn’s mouth, settling his breathing. “I need you, buddy. Like, all the time.”
Poe adds the last bit like a whispered confession, and wonderful, perfect Finn kisses him gently.
“Ok,” Finn intwines their hands together. “Start with right now, and work on the rest later?”
And yeah, that sounds good to Poe.
Finn pads across the room and Poe watches him, admiring the way his body catches the shadows, expanses of skin rippling in the shifting light. Finn retrieves a bottle from the drawer and walks back with a nervous smile on his lips, and Poe flashes him what he hopes is his best predatory grin.
It works, because Finn laughs.
Poe lays on his front on the bed and makes a show of wiggling his ass for Finn’s benefit. Would hate for him to forget why they’re here, after all. Finn swats at him half-heartedly and Poe stretches languidly until he’s settled on the mattress.
“Ready?” Finn resettles himself at Poe’s ass, working a generous amount onto his fingers.
“You got it buddy,” Poe sighs, fighting the urge to twitch in anticipation.
Finn slides a digit into Poe, slick and to the knuckle.
“That’s it,” Finn breathes into him. “Kriff, Poe.”
Poe agrees.
“Another,” Poe says, because Finn might want to draw this out but Poe does not – not this, anyway - and Finn must sense Poe’s impatience or just be really accustomed to his antics by now, because he slides in another digit wordlessly.
And yeah: that’s better.
Poe arches backwards, testing, and Finn’s fingers are warm and sure and steady as the rest of him, meeting Poe for every thrust as Poe rocks into him. Finn’s breath is on his back and Poe pictures how his face must look: lips pursed a little and brow furrowed in concentration; breads of sweat dripping from his brow as he works Poe open.
“Another?” Poe tries his luck.
Finn swats his thigh.
“Poe Dameron, you are the most impatient man in the galaxy.”
“That’s why you love me,” Poe grins over his shoulder, arching his back in a way he hopes will sweep Finn off his feet and encourage him, against all odds, to get a move on already.
Finn makes a clicking sound with his tongue, unconvinced.
But he must actually love Poe after all, because there’s the squelch of the lube and a third finger added finally, and Finn laughs when Poe sighs in relief, grinding backwards into him. Then Finn hooks his fingers, without so much as a warning, and Poe’s blinded as white hot bolts of pleasure shoot through him. Finn wraps arm round his torso, holding Poe securely as he presses into him again and again.
Finn whispers encouraging words into the juncture of Poe’s neck, and Poe lets himself be wrapped in the smooth timbre of Finn’s voice. He drops his head to the mattress lets his body rock into the rhythm of Finn’s hands.
“Finn,” Poe says, as-if it’s all he’s capable of saying. As-if it’s all he’s capable of feeling, planets and stars and galaxies wrapping around them and narrowing into nothing until the only thing that exists is the touch of Finn’s skin to Poe’s own.
“Finn, come on. I need-”
“Yeah?” Finn says, spare hand a vice grip on Poe’s hip. “You sure you’re-”
“Yes, Finn, please,” Poe doesn’t bother hiding his impatience. “Buddy, you’re killing me here.”
“And my dick will help with that?”
Poe can practically hear Finn smiling.
“Oh yeah, hundred percent,” Poe lets the words tumble out of him. “Just what the doctor ordered!”
“What medics have you been talking to?” Finn muses, but he kisses his way up Poe’s spine as his fingers slip free. Poe fights the contradictory urge to shove them right back in.
Finn shuffles round the bunk for the lube as Poe rolls over, and when he finds it he holds it up triumphantly, looking at Poe with a soft, hopeful grin.
Yeah, Poe thinks as he smiles back stupidly: Yavin-4. Marry Finn. Spend the rest of my days sucking his dick. Poe realises he might have said part of that out loud, because Finn’s looking at him with his mouth slightly agape.
Poe ducks his head and makes room on the bed, swinging his arm in a gesture for Finn lay down. When Poe handles Finn onto his back, he looks at Poe questioningly.
“Gonna ride you?” Poe murmurs into Finn’s shoulder. Finn’s pupils blow wide.
“Aren’t you always saying you’re old and decrepit?” he recovers quickly.
But Finn stretches back on the mattress, panels of his body on full view for Poe to ogle, and arches an eyebrow at Poe in amusement.
“Me?” Poe swings a leg over Finn to straddle him. “Never. Pass the lube.”
The eyebrow waggle Poe gives him might be overkill, on the basis he’s already here and hovering over Finn. But it earns him an eyeroll and a light smack to his ass, and Poe thinks he wants to push Finn’s buttons forever. Sure as kriff wants Finn to push his.
He wraps a slicked hand round Finn’s dick, snickering when Finn gasps and bucks into him. Finn shoves Poe for laughing and Poe kisses him back, scraping his teeth along Finn’s jawline as he leans back up.
“Alright then,” Poe plants his hands on the gorgeous expanse of Finn’s torso. “This is your Pilot speaking. Ready for lift-off?”
“I should’ve left you on the Finalizer,” Finn says drily.
“Sucks to be you, buddy,” and with that Poe sinks down.
If Poe could freeze time and the orbit of moons around planets and planets around stars, he would, just to keep this look on Finn’s face. He’s slack-jawed and sweaty and staring into Poe with wide-eyed wonder, and yeah: Poe figure’s he’s looking at Finn the same way. Finn’s grip is vice-like on Poe’s hips in way that’s definitely going to bruise, and his brows are furrowed in the way they get when he’s really, really exercising his self-control. In about three standard seconds, Poe plans to learn what it takes to make Finn loose his grip all together.
Poe leans over the gorgeous expanse of Finn, letting his hands splay across Finn’s midriff to explore coiled muscles and smooth chest, until Poe’s face is level with Finn’s and he can reach down to mouth along Finn’s jaw.
“You can move buddy,” Poe ghosts his breath over Finn’s ear, pressing his fingers into Finn’s shoulders in a way that has Finn’s breath hitching and body trembling beneath Poe.
“That’s on you, man,” Finn replies, but one of his hands drops down to grope at Poe’s ass, and Poe catches the glint in Finn’s eye.
“Yes Sir,” Poe salutes, and Finn laughs and lets his head fall back onto the pillow.
Poe rocks up gently at first, getting a feel of Finn beneath him and his own weight on his thighs. He wriggles and adjusts on the way down, unnecessary thanks to Finn’s thorough preparation, but essential in the way it makes Finn’s eyes screw shut, breath rasping out of him.
A few more leisurely thrusts. Poe’s hardly moving, really, but Finn’s so beautiful beneath him and Poe would like to amend his earlier statement: there’s no rush, not really, not when Finn’s here and so is Poe and Poe wants to feel like this forever, trapped in the warmth and all-encompassing feeling of Finn.
Then again, Poe muses as Finn cracks opens his eyes, variety is the spice of Poe’s life. And just maybe he wants to see what Finn would do if he fucked around and found out.
“Oh kriff,” Finn breathes as they make eye contact, watching Poe with the wary familiarity of someone often dragged into Poe’s antics, and is now assessing the impending and likely unfortunate possibilities accordingly.
Kriff indeed.
Poe rises up fully and sinks back into Finn in one swift motion, nails digging into Finn’s chest as pleasure arches and fizzes up Poe’s spine.
“Force,” Finn chokes, and Poe halts as he hovers over Finn.
“Nah buddy,” he cups Finn’s cheek, “that’s all me.”
“Yeah,” Finn aggress easily. “Do it again?”
And who’s Poe to deny him?
So he dutifully lifts up and arches his back and this time Finn – talented wonderful sexy Finn - rises up to meet him and oh, Poe can’t stop the groan that spills from his throat. It’s like flying Black One an engine down, electrics blinking frantically and freefalling through the galaxy. Poe’s tumbling, nerves alight, stars and planets peeling past him in a blur.
Finn tilts his hips just so on the next thrust and oh, yeah: that’s where Poe needs him. Poe sinks down as far as he can, pressed into Finn and pressing them into the mattress. Poe leans forward to lick a bead of sweat traversing down Finn’s chest. It tastes of salt and heat and like Poe wants to ingrain this moment in his memory forever: nothing but the slick feel of Finn’s skin and the sound of their breathing. He’s shaking now, thighs trembling as he fucks into him, Finn meeting him for every thrust as Poe tries to remember that he wants this to last; mustn’t lose himself to the heat coiling in the pit of his stomach.
Finn has other ideas, and while Poe’s distracted by the slide of their bodies and the way Finn’s hand is massaging his ass as Poe drives down into him, Finn’s other hand has slipped from Poe’s hip to stroke Poe’s dick, the dry hot drag of Finn’s hand nearly finishing Poe on the spot.
“Finn,” the word leaving Poe’s mouth in a way that can only be described as tortured. “Oh man, buddy-”
Finn twists his wrist.
“Kriffing hell Finn,” Poe yelps. “Want this to be over already?”
“Want you,” Finn pants as he lifts up to meet Poe, hand still lazily working his dick.
“You got me,” Poe rasps, thinking that Finn’s going to have every sane feeling in his body if he keeps jerking Poe like this.
Finn just shakes his head.
“No,” he huffs frustratedly, “want you.”
He reaches for Poe and holds his hips so tight Poe stops moving.
Kriffing damn: Poe wants Finn to tie him up and ruin him sometime. Or now. Now would be okay too.
Finn grunts and tugs at Poe, and Poe drops forward easily. He leans over Finn, looping his arms around Finn’s shoulders as Finn rearranges them until their limbs are tangled and Poe’s sitting on top of him.
“Hey,” Poe breathes, and he can’t stop the smile as Finn brushes the sweaty curls off his face. “Better?”
Finn nods; kisses him. Poe moans into it, opening his mouth as Finn’s tongue sweeps inside, hot and wet and sweet in a way Poe knows is just the pheromones talking. Not that Poe’s ever worried about that. Poe slides his hands to the back of Finn’s head, pulling him closer, and Finn kisses in a way that takes Poe back to when Finn was just a nameless Stormtrooper and Poe a grounded Pilot, and walks him through every single moment between.
Finn rocks up and Poe does his best to sink down, the slow, slick grind of their bodies dirty and sure. Poe feels raw and perfect and flayed open for all to see, though of course it’s just Finn and he’s always been able to see through Poe anyway. When Finn drives into him just right Poe doesn’t hold back, groaning and tilting his head back, digging his nails into the solid muscle of Finn’s shoulder. Finn hisses and thrusts harder, over and over, whispering Poe’s name like it’s a prayer as he kisses the base of Poe’s throat. Poe feels coils of heat claw at him from the inside out, and he grinds into Finn desperately.
“That’s it,” Finn gasps in his ear. “So good Poe, you’re so good.”
And if Poe’s eyes prickle he doesn’t care, gasping as Finn bites his lower lip. Poe lets the sting travel right down to his curling toes.
Poe tries to return the favour. He needs Finn to know how perfect he is; perfect for Poe and perfect for the Resistance, and that Poe would relive that day on the Finalizer a hundred times over so long as they all bought him here: his Finn in his bed with him until they’re old and grey or the galaxy implodes around them; Poe doesn’t care which.
But he’s past rational thought, utterly unable to articulate a thing as the taste of Finn’s mouth overwhelms him. Poe feels spark after spark as Finn pushes into him, whispering encouraging nonsense into nook of Poe’s jaw, the base of his neck, the juncture of his shoulder, hands holding Poe steady and helping him sink down further and further into Finn.
“Touch me,” Poe breathes, eyes screwed shut, and Finn does: warm hand immediately wrapping around Poe’s dick as Finn whispers into him soothingly.
Finn tightens his grip and pulls their bodies together ever more, grinding in every sense of the word, so close together they’re barely moving apart anymore. He feels Finn all over him, hot and sweaty and solid, working Poe in a steady rhythm until Poe’s breath hitches. The white-hot heat builds and builds until Poe’s on the edge of existence, tense and waiting to tumble over the edge.
“Love you,” Finn whispers into Poe’s ear, accompanying the words with a sinful twist of his wrist, and that’s it: Poe’s starring in a bad Holo, he’s sure, because those three words have him stuttering over brink, fucking into Finn’s hand as pleasure ripples through him, cursing and gasping Finn’s name as he works Poe through his orgasm with a truly mind-blowing dedication to the cause. Finally Poe’s done through, sinking into Finn heavy limbed and dazed. He breathes in the smells of sweat and sex as he cradles his head in Finn’s neck.
Poe feels a hand run through his hair, and vaguely registers that Finn’s still rutting into him.
Poe may be skirting the edges of consciousness and unable to offer more than a mouth to the shell of Finn’s ear and a hand that traces his slick torso, but by the force Finn’s going to come, and Poe’s going to be here to help.
“C’mon buddy,” Finn’s rhythm is faltering and Poe feels Finn shake beneath him.
“I got you, that’s it. You’re so good Finn, come on, you’re so- ” Poe murmurs a litany of reassuring platitudes, plastering his mouth to Finn’s as he jerks into Poe. Finn groans as he comes, hands finding Poe’s hair and cradling Poe to him, pressing them together as-if Poe would ever choose willingly to move away.
Finn collapses back onto the mattress, chest heaving, and Poe falls prone on top of him, basking in Finn’s warmth.
Poe gets a few sated, sticky, glorious moments with Finn’s hands carding through his hair, until he’s kneed in the thigh as Finn wriggles beneath him.
“Up, buddy,” Finn says gently. Poe groans into Finn’s chest.
Finn laughs softly, shuffling awkwardly but with a little more care for Poe’s limbs this time, until he manages to shimmy out from under Poe who, for the record, is having no part in Finn’s sudden determination to move.
Poe hears the padding of feet and the rush of water from the fresher, and before he’s decided whether has can be bothered to follow, Finn’s back: dipping the mattress and running a hand down the full length of Poe’s spine. Poe sighs contentedly.
“Roll over,” Finn says as he places a kiss to Poe’s tailbone.
By all accounts Poe should have several clever things to say in response, especially with Finn’s mouth right there, but he’s sleepy and content and about ready to become one with the mattress.
All he manages is a disgruntled: “you roll over.”
Finn laughs and Poe flops onto his back anyway, pleased when a warm cloth is gently and efficiently run over him. Poe has a sudden mental imagine of Finn’s mouth following trail of the cloth as it slid over his body. Had Poe been ten years younger and less thoroughly, thoroughly spent, he’d suggest it.
Instead, Poe cracks an eye open to watch Finn toss the cloth away. As Finn turns to walk back he’s lit by the fluorescent light of the fresher, and Poe catalogues every beautiful dip and curve of his body as he gets closer and closer, until the bunk is creaking and Finn’s lifting the covers and curling himself over Poe.
“Kriff!” Poe gasps as Finn’s feet press into his calves. “Buddy, what the fuck man.”
Finn snickers and kisses Poe, long and languid leaving the faint taste of for the rest of our lives in Poe’s mouth. Finn ducks to rest his head on Poe’s chest and Poe closes his eyes, breath evening into a slow, steady rhythm.
“So,” Finn says after a moment, running a hand softly down Poe’s torso, “make love, then war, and then?”
Poe thinks that sounds something like hope.
He doesn’t know how to hold that for him - how to assure Finn, beyond any possible doubt, that wherever Finn thinks this is going, Poe’s going to be right there with him.
“You forgot the make love bit,” Poe grins instead, because this he knows how to do, and if he can keep Finn smiling until the edge leaves his voice and the worry banishes from his face, that’s a life worth living from where Poe’s standing.
“We literally just did that!” Finn laughs in disbelief, swatting Poe on the chest.
“We should do it again,” Poe declares, reaching up to capture Finn’s mouth all over again.
*****
Later, much later, so much later than Finn’s nearly asleep and Poe’s in danger of joining him and the sky has waned from blue to pink to black, the door hisses open, and BB-8 lets themselves in.
Been gone more than a minute, they trill helpfully, is Master Poe ready for round two?
Poe laughs, wanton and easy, moving a hand to stroke through Finn’s hair.
“Ready to go again buddy?”
He’s talking to his droid but he’s looking at Finn, the innuendo making smile, nestled safe in the knowledge that Finn wants him any time, any galaxy, anywhere.
BB-8 looks between them, assessing the mood with calculating beeps. Then they turn around and leave, muttering something about being Poe needing to recalibrate their understanding of a minute, and that Chewie plays better stakes anyway.
Poe rolls his eyes. Then he has a thought:
“You know how to play poker buddy?”
Poe weighs the odds that Finn will instead side with BB-8, taking him for all he’s worth rather than actually helping him win a hand.
When all Poe gets is a muffled “mmm?” in response, he laughs.
An issue for another time, Poe supposes, drifting off to sleep in the warmth of Finn’s arms.