Work Text:
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-Beep beep-
…
-Beep beep-
…ugh.
-Beep beep-
‘Okay, enough already,’ Finn thinks to himself with a groan, even though the sudden noises aren’t really all that bothersome. It’s not like he can sleep anyway; the ambiance isn’t right – not without the muted hum of BB-8 resting contently on his charging station, without Poe’s gentle breaths and the occasional shifting of blankets. Every tiny noise on base seems to sound a good thirty decibels louder than usual when they’re not here. An MSE-series droid could still keep him awake at this point, to be honest.
Sniffing slightly, he opens his tired eyes and rolls onto his side so he can observe the noisy datapad that’s propped up against the wall. The light of it is harsh against the darkness of the room and he’s forced to squint to read what it says. A long string of words is displayed across the screen:
Message incoming on secure channel. Information transmitted intended only for -Datapad #827 Owner: Finn- and may contain confidential material. If you have received this message in error, please contact the sender and destroy all record of this transmission. Transmissions may be monit-
Finn sighs, pressing the confirmation button by poking out a hand from under the blanket, to prevent the rest of the disclaimer from taking up the whole screen. He rubs his eyes with the back of the same hand, and another message comes through.
I miss you. So send me something nice. -P
A sudden sense of relief washes over Finn, soothing any hint of annoyance, and it shows on his face through a soft smile that he can’t quite contain. Until now, he hasn’t heard from Poe in over three standard days. Catastrophic thinking doesn’t help anyone, he knows that, but back when Finn was a stormtrooper three days with no contact was a very long time. An ‘unlikely to be seen again’ kind of long time. So he thanks the Force (and BB-8, too) that Poe is alive and well.
With that anxious energy out of the way, Finn turns his attention to what Poe has asked of him. While it’s nice to be missed, he doesn’t see how that’s related to shipping items across the galaxy.
What supplies do you need? -Finn he types, although really he doesn’t want to send anything away. What he wants is for Poe to come back, because his absence is both visible and deeply felt. It leaves the same kind of heavy weight in his chest that seems to show on the other pilots’ faces and in their posture when they talk about their homeworlds. The sweet, woodsy smell of Poe’s soap has been washed out of Finn’s pillow already, even though he tries his hardest to find a trace of it by burying his head deep into the fluff. There’s no one playfully fighting him for space in the single-occupant bed, no cold feet shoved between his own. Like a soldier without a weapon, an integral piece is just…missing.
‘But the text is still nice, I guess,’ he thinks. Tugging his blanket higher, he hugs it close to his chest as he balances the datapad against the durasteel wall again.
(Composing message…) comes through from the other end, an automatic indication of interrupted typing. Finn waits. (Composing message…)
A moment later, the light is illuminating the sleeping compartment again.
No, Finn I’m not talking about requisitions, that’s not what I was getting at. I just meant... (Composing message…) Okay, what I was fishing for was an ‘I miss you too’. Not saying you have to miss me or anything, but…
Finn groans. Misunderstandings are so easy without the context of facial expression.
Of course I miss you. I really do. When are you coming back? -Finn
A few more rotations yet. Don’t think I can survive that long, though.
You better be exaggerating, because if you’re not I’m gonna kill you. -Finn Easy as that, their playful camaraderie has returned.
Ha ha. Here, look, I’ll prove it. I’m dying out here.
A quick second later, the datapad beeps again, this time in a different, higher tone that reminds him of the noise C-3PO makes when something has startled him, and suddenly there’s a splash of vivid colour taking up the entire screen – a view of a sky at dusk, or maybe dawn, he’s not sure. But the top of the picture is a wash of soft pink turning blueish-green, with three suns dimming in near perfect diagonal alignment. The bottom sun is dipping almost fully below the horizon, leaving barely a speck of visible light. There’s sand in the image too, copious amounts of it, but unlike Jakku (screw that place, seriously) at least it seems to be accompanied by a large pool of water.
All in all, it’s a pretty amazing picture. Finn’s never been to an actual lake. Or an ocean. Not outside of a sim, anyway.
Are you doing recon? -Finn. After typing his reply, Finn reaches up to flick on the small light at the head of the bed so he can see it better. He’s been told reading his datapad in the dark is bad for the eyes, and as he’s lucky to have the freedom to read anything after lights out at all, he doesn’t argue.
If recon is sitting around with my feet in the sea, then yes. But no, I didn’t take the picture for recon – I just thought it looked pretty. Wanted to share with my favourite member of the Resistance. It’s what we’re fighting for, after all. Wish you were here.
It looks…wow. But I thought you were on a mission? -Finn
Hey, I’m still working! Too bad Finn has to imagine Poe’s overdramatic, overly slighted reaction at the teasing, because he always enjoys that. Our lead was a bust though, unfortunately. Gotta wait ‘till morning to return to the city. Can you believe they withdrew my landing permissions? If I never have to deal with the New Republic again it will only be too soon. It’s almost like we’re not the ones trying to save their lives. The cutting sarcasm bleeds through – no miscommunication this time at all. Finn understands the Republic’s sentiment, though. If another Starkiller Base isn’t floating through one’s star system it’s easy to think everything’s fine. People tend to believe what they can see, after all, just like Finn had for most of his life. So he doesn’t really know how to respond.
The text goes on without his input anyway. Too bad I don’t have the same knack for diplomacy Korr Sella did, Poe seems to realize. Then a moment of silence. How about you? Anything new on your end?
I got to patch up a Gungun today. I mean…Kalonia supervised, but it was mostly me doing it. Leg cartilage completely ripped. Had to cut all the way down the thigh to get it back together – blood everywhere. Tons. -Finn
Nice image. Yep.
He was okay in the end, though. General Organa gave me a thumbs up after. -Finn
Now you’re just making me jealous.
And I got through to Rey for a few minutes. I didn’t understand most of the Jedi stuff, but it seems like she’s learning a lot. Luke Skywalker says hello. -Finn
Ooh, don’t tell Jess. Finn chuckles aloud at that, breaking the silence of the room. Well, glad to hear things are running smooth. In other news, babe, did you know you can turn off your automatic signature? Did you mean to have it sign your name every time?
Yes. -Finn Nien Nunb had set that up for him, and truth be told he likes the constant reminder. Makes him more human, doesn’t it? Nines and Zeroes had nicknames, as do his new friends like Snap, Testor. Now Finn has a proper name of his own that Poe has given him, and it doesn’t belong to the First Order, or even to the Resistance for that matter. Just to him. He likes showing it off.
Fair enough. Well, I’ve got to meet with the Commander-in-chief here early tomorrow. Convincing her to donate those parts we need to fix Red Two is going to be a trial and a half. They’re not cheap, so I’m hoping I can back up my proposal with good looks. Tell me if it’s gonna work. (Video incoming…)
The screen then changes, and there’s movement this time although nothing is very visible. All Finn can hear is some shuffling around and rustling of fabric, but then there’s a brief but familiar flash of interstellar orange as bright as a light beam. Finn wants to reach through and tilt Poe’s datapad upward, but whatever’s happening on the other planet keeps the capture lens away from Poe’s face.
“Beebee-Ate, will you cut it out?” comes through the speakers, and despite the words the tone of voice is as warm as the sunset had looked in the picture. “Aww, come on, buddy-”
“Buzz-beep-owee!” another voice chimes in, an indignant squeal.
“Well I don’t complain when you turn R2 on halfway through his charge cycle, do I? Ow, hey! You know I didn’t mean ‘cut it out’ literall-”
Override authorization: BB unit astromech droid. Audiovisual signal transfer disabled. Duration: eight galactic standard hours.
After that, there’s a long stretch of time with no further communication, and Finn finally feels his eyes start to droop now that he’s had his usual nightly dose of his entertaining bunkmates. But then the datapad chimes again.
(Composing message…) According to someone who shall not be named, I have a habit of interfering with your circadian sleep cycle, so I’ve been relegated to typing only. If you’ve ever wanted to shut me up, now’s your chance to mute your notifications. Finn’s brain can fill in Poe’s melodic laughter from memory, and it makes the corners of Finn’s lips tilt upward too. What time is it there? Is it that late?
About 2300. -Finn Only the nocturnal contingent is shuffling around at this hour, the tapping of Finn’s fingers on the datapad filling in the rest of the empty soundscape. The suns are still out where you are, though. Don’t burn. -Finn Suns can be scary. Finn still has haunting memories of Slip’s pale face after one of their Tatooine simulations, layers of skin peeling off like a molting lizard. Terrifying.
Knew being with a medic would come to this. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.
I’m serious!!! Finn adds a couple more exclamation symbols, because it’s important. Next time you should borrow the stormtrooper bodysuit and it will protect you from the rays when you take off your flight suit. -Finn
Always happy to wear your clothes, but I’m offended, frankly, that you would cover this body up. (Composing message…) Iiiin fact, Finn, it’s so warm maybe I should take off more.
Not a good idea. -Finn
This is followed by another long pause.
(Composing message…) Uh, let me try this differently. It’s night-time, so you’re in bed, right? What are you wearing?
My usual sleeping clothes. -Finn What else would he be wearing?
With the grey shorts? Now I know for sure you’re teasing me. Some symbols are tacked onto the end of the sentence, arranged into something that looks somewhat like a cross between an annoyed bantha and an evil zabrak.
Teasing? -Finn Now he’s confused. I wear them all the time. -Finn
I know. Another pause. Know what else I wanna see you in? My jacket.
Why would I wear your jacket to bed? -Finn
The fact that you have to ask that proves that I’ve failed as a boyfriend. Oh. Boyfriend. They haven’t really talked about it – it’s the first time it’s been mentioned, actually, and the sight of the word makes him squirm a little against the sheets. There were no ‘boyfriends’ in the First Order, at least not for low-level disposable people like Finn, and now he thinks he understands why. Poe embodies everything they’d been trying to weed out of the stormtrooper contingent – passionate, rebellious, opinionated, sexual, sometimes shamelessly indulgent. “Boyfriend,” Finn says out loud, to test the way it feels on his tongue. Yeah. Yeah, he likes that.
Why don’t you send me a pic? Poe adds.
Finn tilts his head. Kind of strange, isn’t it, a request like that? Finn’s surroundings are hardly comparable to a beautiful sunset on another planet. But who knows – maybe Poe is feeling homesick. Finn shifts, sitting up a little and pointing the datapad towards different points of the dark room. There’s no real decoration to it, really, just Poe’s bunk embedded into the wall on the other side with another (unoccupied, thankfully) bunk above that, connected to the floor by a ladder. Poe’s bed is usually messier and more lived-in than now, even though Poe doesn’t spend much time in it these days, instead choosing most nights to climb into Finn’s cubbyhole and cuddle. Obviously when that happens it’s a tight fit, no pun intended, but Finn likes the warm intimacy of being so close together, in the small space that traps their heat in like a cozy nest. It’s the complete opposite of the cold stormtrooper barracks, with their open bunks arranged in practical, ordered lines.
Before he can become even more distracted, Finn yawns open-mouthed and decides that his chosen image will be as good as any.
Oh. Wait.
How do I take pic? -Finn
Top right corner. Little button that looks like BB-8’s optical sensor. Ah, there it is. Mmm…can’t wait to see.
With a click, a still image is captured on the screen – tidy and organized and not a wrinkle in sight – of Poe’s bunk. Even Captain Phasma wouldn’t have complaints; the crisp lines of the tucked-in bedding are so perfect. A swoosh sound plays as it sends automatically, confirmation popping up in the other corner.
Another long pause from across the galaxy.
If you only knew how endearing you are right now. Unreal. I kriffing love it so much I want to burst.
Why? Was that weird? -Finn Another fish-out-of-water, ‘stormtrooper doesn’t know how we do things around here’ sort of thing? What picture was I supposed to send? -Finn
Let’s see, how do I explain this…(Composing message…) Here. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.
A second later, Finn receives another image, and – oh.
Oh.
Poe has sent a still picture of, well, himself. He is grinning so wide that his eyes are creasing and squinting in his tanned face. There’s more stubble than usual covering flushed cheeks; the waves in his hair are pleasingly windblown. Man, the soft yellow sunlight has hit Poe’s face just so, and Finn doesn’t know whether that’s what is reflecting in the eyes, but Finn is amazed that a still shot can still manage to capture the mischievous twinkle, like actual stars set against the darkness of space. Looking behind Poe, he can see the black metal landing gear of Black One. BB-8 is also in frame in the background, Poe’s datapad reflected in his photoreceptor, somehow managing to look as miserable as Poe is happy.
Another couple of images in quick succession - one of Poe’s hands moving to brush damp hair back from the top of his forehead, momentarily obscuring the image, and another with the hand moved away, leaving Poe’s curls to flop downward again. Poe’s eyes are half-lidded now, grin less wide but more intimate. Maybe there’s some way to save these pictures, Finn thinks, because he feels the urge to covet this sight for himself. Just for him, just like his name.
Absently, Finn finds himself touching the screen, pressing a thumb against one of Poe’s reddened cheeks. A different chime again and it disappears from under his finger, replaced by another message.
Now you? …Please.
Oh. Catching on, mouth moving upward into a smile again, Finn shifts to lie on his back, the datapad above his chest, pointed away from him so the lens can see him. Sure – he can do this, right? Easy as stealing a TIE fighter. His finger tries to pinpoint where the image capture button would be until he hears the correct click. There’s barely enough time to flip it back around before it’s sending, however. What he does catch is a glimpse of his face, and oh no, the low angle has made him look like a Hutt-like blob. It can even see up his nose. No, no, no. Where’s the cancel? Where’s the cancel button?!
Looking sexy as ever. This is followed by a picture of a heart (how did he do that?) and Finn wants to crawl under the covers again. As he slumps, he exhales a frustrated sigh. But you know what? He hasn’t gotten where he is today by being a coward and giving up. So he takes the datapad up again and tries to hold it like Poe must have done in his picture, at an angle slightly above his head. Quickly, he takes the second capture before he feels too silly about it, and flips the datapad over to the front again.
You know it can take pictures from the front too, right? Poe responds. Not that that half of your face isn’t as gorgeous as the other.
Oh. -Finn
Stars, I want to kiss you. Think we could get Statura to work on that teleportation tech again?
Several heartbeats pound in Finn’s chest, each word sending sparks of interest down his body, even though Poe’s joking about the teleporter.
I want to kiss you too. -Finn Maybe in a less frantic way than the usual ‘welcome back I’m so glad you didn’t die’ kisses. Maybe more the way Poe’s lips wake him in the mornings, relaxed and poorly-aimed. Those same lips almost always proceed downward to do things that make them both late for muster.
He gulps, the sound audible despite a sudden rush of water through the pipes to Akhbar’s quarters down the hall.
Yeah? Now it’s getting interesting. Where do you want to kiss me?
Bunk. Mess hall. Doesn’t matter. Maybe not in the command centre though. -Finn
I meant on my- The message cuts off early, but is followed by another picture – this time with the frame on Poe a little wider, and Finn sees that Poe’s life support apparatus and flight vest have both been removed to allow for the top of his flight suit to be undone. The undershirt is drenched in sweat and clinging – Finn knows this because instead of being white like it’s supposed to be, it’s basically see-through against Poe’s skin. Next is another shot, with zipper down to waist-level. Poe appears to be in the process of removing the undershirt entirely, dark nipples on golden skin almost begging for Finn’s touch, to pebble under his fingers.
Or under his tongue.
Ah, now he gets it, where Poe is going with this breadcrumb trail of not-so-subtle hints. Looking at Poe’s body makes Finn’s hands travel to his own chest almost of their own accord, ghosting over the dark fabric of his shirt. Suddenly he’s very glad nobody’s in the room to observe his lack of self-control.
Are you with me, Finn? Lose the shirt and send another pic? Another combination of symbols, something that sort of resembles a smiling face this time. Please?
Finn doesn’t need to be asked twice, because he was already tugging it over his head and dropping it to the floor anyway, pushing down the blankets.
Shirt is off. -Finn In a sneaky move, he leans over the side of the bed and takes a picture of it lying in a crumpled olive pile.
Hah. You and BB-8 are two of a kind. Not fooling me at all with your innocent faces. I see right through it. Speaking of, BB-8 is nowhere to be found in the pictures anymore. Finn assumes he’s back in his X-wing compartment in low-power mode with his auditory sensors on mute. Other than the video blockade, the droid’s not a bad ‘wingman’.
Amused, Finn turns the datapad towards himself again. When he tilts it back and forth, he can see that Poe was right – it does indeed have a front lens. After a couple of tries in the side-menu, he eventually finds the correct button to rotate the view towards him. Turning around in bed so the soft light above his head can bounce off of his upper body, Finn takes a shot of his torso that extends from the top of his shorts to his neck, the space where Poe always spends ages languidly kissing up and down.
That’s more like it. I don’t care how bulky it is, next time I’m bringing a holocam. You’re gorgeous. Finn’s chuckle echoes off the walls. With a beep, the next image he receives is a closer shot of Poe’s fingers at the bottom of the zipper and half into his underwear. The flight suit has been pushed all the way off his arms to pool around his waist. The trail of soft hair leading downward on Poe’s lower abdomen looks positively appetizing. Finn’s chest expands as he takes in more air.
More, please. -Finn
Hmm…maybe. What do I get in return? An image of Poe as a Toydarian with little flappy wings enters Finn’s mind suddenly; man, he drives a hard bargain. Using a position similar to Poe’s, Finn draws a line down his torso and under the waistband of his shorts, tugging them away from his body slightly as he snaps the next shot. Better. Getting warmer.
If you wanted my pants off, why did you ask me what I was wearing earlier? -Finn
Oh, Finn. Much to learn you have, dear padawan. Finn doesn’t understand any part of that sentence. Never mind, just keep going. I’m already hard as durasteel right now.
Oh boy. They’re really going there. Licking his lips, entirely unconsciously, Finn presses harder into the sheets and tries not to moan out loud.
You first. -Finn
Then he’s not sure if he should have asked, because the next thing he sees sends a shudder through his body and turns his breathing ragged. The top half of Poe’s face isn’t visible, but the confident grin and half-bitten lip certainly is, and…oh man. Further down, Poe’s suit, pants, and undergarments are all pushed down and out of frame, and in his hand he’s holding the base of his cock in what looks like a tight fist. It’s the same thing he does when they’re on base in some supply closet and he’s trying to stop from slipping over the knife edge and coming onto Finn’s eager, spit-slick lips, just so they don’t alert anyone walking by in the hallway. That particular memory is so vivid Finn can almost taste it, almost feel Poe’s thighs shaking under his grip, feel Poe’s hand struggling not to push down on his head.
Kriff, Poe looks like he does this for credits. That’s what he thinks when he looks back to the picture, focusing his thoughts as best he can. He manages to get his fingers back up and typing, but just barely.
That’s…that looks really good, Poe. -Finn
Yeah? What do you want to do with me?
Anything. -Finn
Everything. -Finn
Tell me, Poe writes, but Finn’s a fighter, not a poet, and he definitely has no experience in something like this. How does he even begin to describe all the things he wants to do? After a minute of waiting, Finn’s brain running through a million different scenarios and bodily arrangements, Poe continues anyway. I know what I’d do with you if you were here right now. You remember the first time I felt you all the way down my throat? I’d do that.
Of course Finn remembers, so clearly – Poe on his bare knees, forehead gleaming and lips swollen red, swallowing him down slick and tight until his nose hit the curls of hair at the base of Finn’s hard cock. Poe touching expanses of his skin in return for voiced encouragement, making even the little hairs on Finn’s arms stand on end in an effort to get closer to him. Finn remembers the embarrassing sound he made when Poe pulled back to suck the sensitive head into his mouth and grin up at him at the same time, pink tongue swirling over dark skin and stroking relentlessly over the spot on the underside where his foreskin had retracted.
That’s it, babe. You’re thinking of fucking my mouth, aren’t you? All the way in, just like that. Make my eyes water, Finn. I want to taste you leaking onto my tongue.
Finn almost drops the datapad as he tosses it to his left hand, his right hand so eager to get into his shorts, which are already soaked through with arousal. He shoves them down until they hang off of one of his bare feet.
Finn?
Yh keep goin -Finn
Are you typing one-handed?
Yeah. -Finn
That’s one hell of a mental image. Kriff, babe, please tell me what you’re thinking about.
Again, the answer is, ‘too many things’. Poe on top of him, teeth scratching over his earlobe as he whispers filthy endearments in hot, wet bursts. Finn’s hands digging bruises into the moving muscles of Poe’s back, into the little dents above the curves of his ass. The way the slight height difference between their bodies allows them to fit together just right, in the way a musical note shifted just a touch can make everything sound more beautiful. Poe’s cock nestled perfectly in the groove of his upper thigh. No, Poe’s cock deep inside him, moving slow and easy. Anything. Everything.
All of that, and the only response he can think of is: You. Thinkn bt you -Finn
Come on, give me something to work with. Personally, I’m thinking about the Hoth mission now. That one was hot, right?
Finn whimpers. Yous aid I gave you the cold sholdr -Finn And maybe he had, but only because Hoth was awful in a way that’s second only to Jakku.
Not my finest wordplay, I’ll admit. But I warmed you up though, didn’t I? Even though they’d recovered the tech cache, they’d had to wait for the ship to de-ice, cramped together under an emergency blanket…it wasn’t so much ‘warming up’, as it was like being thrown into an erupting volcano. Not a day goes by that Finn doesn’t recall Poe riding him with the stamina of a kriffing tauntaun, bouncing in his lap with his hands gripping and sliding down the length of the long scar down Finn’s back. Every breath they’d gasped out had mixed together in floating clouds in the cold air; the ache in Finn’s thighs from trying to keep up with the frantic pace had lingered for days. I felt that one every time I sat in my X-wing for, like, a week. No regrets. Although I returned the favour later, yeah? Loved seeing you so loose and fucked out on my bunk against the white sheets. The way you looked licking my come into your mout The text breaks off then – Finn’s fairly certain Poe’s doing the same thing he is now – but the text soon returns with kriffing stars above, you’re perfect and it makes Finn produce a whine of pure desperation, as incoherent as Poe had been after that second round.
Molten heat spreads through Finn’s abdomen as he moves his fist faster up and down his cock, spreading the wetness from the tip down over where the skin slides slickly over the sensitive head. It feels incredible, and it’s hard to think of anything substantial beyond the tight rhythm of his own hand and Poe’s everything. Trying his best, though, he manages to get his other hand to type back a quick Y’re good too. -Finn but only because he really needs to reciprocate somehow. Oh it’s good. Oh it’s good. Oh, it’s-
Finn?
Y -Finn
Talk to me. Want more?
Ys -Finn
I’m sorry, I gotta say it. The constant ‘-Finn’ is making me laugh.
PLEAS E -Finn
Show me, then. I’m begging here, wish I could see you so bad. See? Look at what thinking about you has done to me. Want to stretch you so wide. Another ‘ping’ and he gets a picture, of just Poe’s cock this time, looking painfully engorged and purplish-red and aching, and though Finn shuts his eyes tight the sight is already burned into his brain, making his whole body tremble as he gasps for breath. His free hand, the one that’s not moving desperately between his legs, leaves the datapad entirely so he can shove two fingers into his own mouth, coating them with as much saliva as he can. Urgently, he moves them between his legs where they’re spread apart on the bed against sheets that have long since been pulled out of their corners by his squirming.
Coincidentally, the next message is, Wanna get you ready licking you out with my tongue, and it arrives at the same time as Finn is circling his hole and blissfully, finally sliding one of the digits inside himself. Deep, so deep, just how Poe would do it. More than ever, he feels so empty without the pilot. This is no replacement at all for Poe’s fingers, which are rough and calloused from gripping the control stick of the X-wing, yet careful enough to control Finn in the same expert way, to find just the right angle with the most precise of movements until Finn feels like he’s flying. Don’t leave me hanging, buddy.
Finn quickly forces in the second finger, fighting against the tight fit now but continuing to try to find the right spot. Once he does, he pushes against it relentlessly. The pressure between his legs builds and builds, to a point where he thinks he might just spontaneously combust. And then, a sudden burst of inspiration – Finn stops his stroking for a quick second, grabs the datapad and tilts it so that it can capture the action of him fingering himself shamelessly, and sends it off with a hastily pressed Wish u wre here. -Finn
And then he’s gone, bucking into his own hand again just in time to shout out his pleasure to the whole barracks. He spills over his fingers, over the sweat-damp sheets, over his bundled shorts. His body falls back and sinks into the pillow, and then he tilts his head to the side to try to see where his datapad has ended up. Luckily it’s face-up on the sheets next to him.
Sometime during the chaos, a handful of basic letters, jumbled up in no apparent meaningful order, have returned to him from across the galaxy. Shaking, Finn grabs for the datapad with messy fingers, trying to type something, some kind of reply to keep that connection to Poe Dameron, but it just feels so good that he can’t come up with what to write.
After some ragged breathing, and some time spent attempting to piece his shattered thoughts back together, he opens his eyes to look at the screen again, and realizes he’s accidentally left a long string of text in the form of: Poeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, with almost a full screen’s worth of the final repeating letter. Invariably, one last -Finn, is tacked onto the end when he relaxes his clenched hand. He’s surprised he didn’t break the thing completely.
(Composing message…) Wow. Sounded like a good one.
What…what should I type for you? Let me help. -Finn Now that he’s in the comedown he feels a little selfish, because looking back on it it had indeed been a pretty one-sided conversation.
Was right behnd u babe. With a joyous chime, a final image comes through of Poe’s midsection, covered in strings of milky white. ‘Don’t lick the datapad,’ Finn has to tell himself, even though it would make no logical sense to do so. ‘Don’t lick the datapad.’
That was amazing, Poe continues. You’re amazing. And…oh kriff I’m so sorry to have to do this so soon, but BB-8’s powering up again. Better go clean up and get a few hours of shut-eye or he’ll cut me off altogether. Want to get to say a proper goodbye.
Okay. Bye then. See you when you get back. -Finn
You know it. And hey, you know I love you, right? Just checking.
Entirely content, Finn smiles.
I know. Me too. -Finn
*
To: Officer Cadet Finn, Commander Poe Dameron
From: General Leia Organa
Subject: Notification of Non-Compliance
What I received this morning, for your consideration:
This is to notify Command that unauthorized and/or inappropriate usage of Comms equipment was detected from 2250 hrs to 2340 hrs of date listed above, violating Section 2a of Resistance Communications Policy. Continued failure to comply will result in restricted access and loss of personal use privileges.
P.S. The Comms team gave me the detailed log. As entertaining as it was and as happy as I am for you, please don’t make me read, or look at, anything like that ever again.