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“I’m not nervous,” says Rey, and Poe blinks at her, wonders if that’s the truth.

“Neither am I,” offers Finn, but the way he’s shifting on his knees betrays him.

“Me either,” Poe says, smiling, folding his arms behind his head and sinking a little more into the mattress.

He enjoys the view: Finn and Rey looking at one another, Finn absently licking his lips. They’re kneeling on either side of him, rumpled from sleep, underclothes askew, and their lips are swollen from kissing one another. He loves them like this – untidy and breathless, throwing their trust at one another and seeing it stick.

They’ve been sleeping together for a while – actually sleeping, piled together in the middle of Poe’s bed. It started by accident because of conversations they couldn’t bear to end, each of them adding words until they clumsily fell asleep, waking up in a fond tangle of limbs. It continued because they were locked in some sort of orbit around each other, held in place by Rey’s bright smile and Finn’s good heart and Poe’s lifelong habit of falling for strays.

(BB-8, his last, happy adoption, approves of their arrangement, only ever waking them up before they’re ready on days when the General needs all hands.)

It was almost inevitable, he thinks, that they’d end up like this, waking up and realizing they were the luckiest son of guns on base, touching, being touched, and this morning, risking a kiss.

“What about me?” he asks them, quirking his lips.

He knows Rey never backs down from a challenge, and that Finn loves them both more than he has words or experience to explain, so it’s not altogether a surprise that they move as one and smack their heads together in their attempt to get to Poe first.

“Steady,” he says, laughing, sitting up to smooth a hand over Rey’s forehead, to kiss the place Finn will surely get a bump. “Steady.”

“Steady,” says Finn sarcastically. “Steady, he says.”

And he kisses Poe, and Poe goes from zero to breathless in three or four seconds. There’s a lot of spit and urgency in Finn’s attention, but he slows eventually, shivers when Poe runs a hand down one of his arms.

“My turn,” says Rey, and turns Poe’s face toward her. The look in her eyes is fiercely determined, and Poe wants to reassure her but doesn’t get the chance before her mouth is on his. It’s a playful kiss, all sly curls of tongue and hints of a smile, and he’s grinning when she pulls away. Girl’s got secrets.

“We doing this?” he asks her, then looks at Finn.

Finn rubs his palms on his thighs. “Hell, yes.”

“Yes,” says Rey, and she’s pulling off her undershirt, and Poe feels heat pool in his belly.

“Wait a second,” he says, quickly. “I gotta check, before we do this, I . . . “

Rey waits, watching him, completely at ease, patient. He loves her.

“You remember the conversation from last night?”

Rey looks a little confused. “Which part?”

“I’m yavan,” Poe says, looking from her to FInn.

Finn frowns. “You’re a skin condition?”


“You talked about it. Yavan. On your planet. I mean, I was tired as hell, but I got it. It’s a skin condition. About twenty percent of the population is . . . “

“It’s a gender,” says Poe.

“Oh,” says Rey. “Like the gafni?” She colors a little. “I fell asleep.”

“It’s okay. The gafni are . . . yeah, sort of . . . hang on.” He looks at Finn again. “A skin condition?”

“What’s a gender?” Finn asks.

Poe’s mind goes conveniently blank. “Huh?”

Finn shrugs. “You said it’s a gender. Is that a skin condition, too?”

“You don’t have genders?” asks Rey, sitting cross-legged.

Finn looks down at his hands, turns them one way and then the other. “Should I?”

The conversation is getting more and more surreal by the second.

“It’s not a skin-condition,” Poe says. “Gender’s a . . . a social role. It’s about how you and your body move through the world, how you choose to look, how you act, how you relate to others.”

“Some places – backward places,” Rey says firmly, “think it’s tied to your genitals.”

Finn raises an eyebrow.

“You know, you have a penis, you’re a boy, you have a vagina, you’re a girl,” she continues. “Boy, girl, man, woman, those are some of the genders in the galaxy. I’m a woman.”

“In the Order we . . . “ Finn pauses. “We were just Stormtroopers. We didn’t differentiate except for rank.”

“No genders at all?” Poe asks, fascinated. No wonder the armor always looked like it was one size fits all.

Finn makes a disgruntled sound.

“It’s okay,” Ray says gently. “It’s . . . in my corner of Jakku? People dress a certain way, or act a certain way, depending on whether they know themselves to be a man, or a woman, or a gafni.”

“And that’s about genitals?” asks Finn.

“It used to be,” says Poe. “In some places it still is.”

“So this is about your genitals,” Finn says slowly.

Poe closes one eye, as if the action will help him get purchase on the whole conversation. “Yes and no.”

Finn sighs and slumps a little.

“Yes, in that my genitals are maybe not what you think they are,” says Poe.

Finn appears to be thinking that over.

“No, in that my gender – my being yavan - is just another category back home,” Poe continues. “Think of it this way – it’s kind of like the Force. The Force runs through everyone, right?”

“Right,” says Finn.

“Luke Skywalker’s a Jedi. Rey here, she’s unique, super talented, maybe getting trained. I can’t feel the Force at all. The General’s Force sensitive. It’s all part of the same thing, but people express it in different ways.”

“So . . . what does that mean? How do you . . . “

“We dress however we want,” Poe says. “I usually wear clothes that a lot of humans associate with men, but I sometimes wear vanista -- long shifts that women and yavan on my planet wear over pants. Things like that. Because that expresses part of who I am.”

“Okay,” says Finn. He mulls that over. “The Order, everyone dressed the same.”

“Right,” says Poe, grinning. “Because you didn’t have gender.”

“Correct,” Finn says, nodding.

“And traditionally, in my community, yavan had certain responsibilities on feast days that no one else could fulfill. Ceremonial roles. Joyful ones,” says Poe.

Finn chews on his lip, nods again.

“The Order said all of you were interchangeable,” Rey offers. “But in Poe’s community, that’s not true.”

“We need yavan, and we need men, and we need women, and only then does the society work as it should,” Poe explains.

“So – being yavan, it’s who you are,” says Finn.

Poe nods.

“That means it’s important to me,” he says seriously. “I want to understand it. Learn about it. I’m sorry that I don’t know anything about it, it’s just that I’ve spent my whole life being . . . formed. Made into a thing, just like all the other things.”

Poe shakes his head. “You’re not a thing.”

“You’re Finn,” Rey says quietly.

Finn nods. “I know, I get that, and thank you for . . . I just don’t know a whole lot that wasn’t about fighting, you know? Or sewers.”

“It’s okay,” Rey reassures him.

“So – I want to know about this,” Finn repeats, steadily. “But it’s also not a big deal to me. Because I’m attracted to you. So that means I’m yavan compatible, right?”

Poe grins. There’s something unlooked for, freeing and delightful about all of this. “Should we find out?”

Finn quirks a smile. “I’m ready when you are.”

Poe tugs on his arm until Finn falls, awkwardly, in a heap at Poe’s side, and then he kisses him, slowly, teasingly, tugging a little on Finn’s bottom lip. He feels Rey press up behind him, her breasts warm against his back, and she kisses his shoulder through the fabric of his t-shirt, hitches one leg over his thigh.

“Too, many, clothes,” Finn soon says, and there’s an ungainly moment where everyone tries to get rid of what they’re still wearing, and it’s several long minutes before anyone’s naked. They settle eventually, sitting close as Poe slowly, gently, works the ties from Rey’s hair and Finn leans his forehead against Poe’s shoulder.

“I’ve never done this before,” Finn says, and he sits up straight. Poe catches a look at the expression on his face – something like a wince – before he smooths it out.

“I’ll tell you what to do,” Rey says as Poe frees the last of her hair, and Finn visibly swallows in response. “If you’d like that,” she adds.

“I would like it very much,” says Finn, and he shifts so that he can kiss her, and Poe touches Rey’s face, then Finn’s. They part and turn toward him, and Finn whispers, “beautiful,” before he kisses the hollow of Poe's throat.

They’re clumsy with one another, with their own limbs, but Poe feels such joy to be touching them that he simply laughs when they get tied into knots, and Finn and Rey do too. It’s maybe the best sex Poe’s ever had because of it – because for every hand that skims over his chest and across his belly, for every lingering kiss pressed to the inside of his thigh, there’s merriment. He fills his hands with every part of Finn and Rey he can reach, brings Rey to her first orgasm with his fingers, feeling her slick and warm against the heel of his hand, gasping alongside her when Finn scratches his nails down the length of Poe’s spine and kisses each vertebrae in turn. He lets himself be turned over, lets Rey use her mouth to coax him closer and closer to coming, his fingers tangled in Finn’s hair as Finn kisses him with a newfound confidence that’s a whole other kind of turn on. He shuts his eyes as he comes, moans happily as his whole body runs hot with pleasure, and then Finn’s closing one of Poe’s hands around his dick, and Rey’s whispering her encouragement. She comes again, pressed up against him, just as Finn shoots across Poe’s stomach, and the sound of her cries make Poe’s hips stutter, makes the heat at his core smolder and spread. Finn sinks down beside him, aftershocks making him shudder, and he burrows in close. Poe can barely speak for how tenderly he feels toward him in that moment.

Everything’s sticky, and a little too warm, and Poe’s heart’s clattering in a way it hasn’t since the first time he learned to fly. But it’s perfect, he realizes, drawing circles on Rey’s back with a fingertip, to feel suffused with this kind of happiness, body worn out and well used, Finn and Rey tucked up against him. His eyes are heavy. “We gotta get up,” he murmurs. “Eat.”

“Shhh,” Finn says in response, and pulls a blanket up from the bottom of the bed, throws it over all three of them. “Don’t mess with my glow.”

Which is good advice, Poe thinks, and he smiles as he starts to fall asleep, whispers “me too,” when Rey says she loves them both, hears Finn echo the sentiment. And then he’s gone, slipping into a welcome nothingness, and he dreams of a feast day on Yavin 4, of having Finn and Rey close by, of feeling himself soar.