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"Are you sure about this?" (yes)

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 Finn doesn’t think this talk is going well.

*

Last night Poe had staggered back through the door after three days straight on a solo mission in Black One, flightsuit smeared with oil and hydraulic fluid, hands shaking, haunted face covered in stubble and grime. Finn had never seen him so filthy, so exhausted. He was full of concern. But he felt something else, seeing Poe like this. He always did. He wished he didn’t.

“I’m fine, buddy,” Poe called back from the fresher. “Things got a bit untidy out there, but the ship’s ok, or she will be, so am I. Been debriefed. Just need hot water and soap. Be with you in three.” When he emerged from the fresher all squeaky-clean, he and Finn had the sweetest, fluffiest sex in the entire galaxy and Finn lay awake all night worrying about it.

It’s late the next evening. They’re sitting side by side on the cot, talking. Poe’s face isn’t haunted any more. It’s wearing an expression that Finn is pretty sure means “I don’t get it.”

Finn tries again. “Just a little … rougher. Because I don’t…” He knows he’s not getting this right. He can’t find the words. Sex is easy. Or it was. There was so much of it, before. But it’s different here on D’Qar. He knew that, even before he and Poe claimed each other. A social minefield of nuance and implications. “I don’t want to. Because it’s you, and I love you, that’s the first thing. Also I mustn’t, because you outrank me. Obviously. But that might not be important here. I don’t know,” he says. “Mostly I’m worried because of the … first thing.” He scrubs at an invisible spot on the frame of the cot, picks at it with one nail.

Poe quirks an eyebrow.

“I think what you’re saying is that you want rougher sex.” Poe pauses for a moment. “Wait. Is that why you’ve been so incredibly gentle with me?”

Finn nods miserably. “You noticed? I was trying hard not to be so…”

“Yeah I noticed,” says Poe. But he doesn’t sound upset. He sounds interested. “Finn, when you say you want it to be rougher, do you mean rough like ‘fuck me so hard I can’t walk afterwards’ rough, or rough that means something else. Something more … precise. Deliberate.”

Finn has no idea how to answer that. Eventually he ventures,

“Both.”

Poe nods. “I get it, Finn. You want to hurt me, right?”

Finn stares at the floor. Poe’s said it straight out. It sounds even worse than…

“I don’t want to! It just … comes over me. The feeling. Always has. Back then I acted on it, more. It wasn’t so important. Or it was different. I didn’t think I’d still feel those things, want to do those things here. Not with you. Not now we’re…” he trails off.

He’s finding this even harder than he thought.

“I can’t stop it! I’ve tried. All that conditioning. The training. I think they made me into a monster. I love you, Poe, so much, and everything we do together, but I have to struggle so hard to not … to not hurt you. Can the Resistance fix me? Are there – “

Poe holds up a hand.

“I don’t want to interrupt you, buddy, because this is very important, and I don’t want to be telling you how to feel, but you got to stop this talking about fixing. I’ve said it before, Finn. You’re a good man. You don’t feel this way ‘cause you’re broken. You’re not. Don’t think this is something they did to you. Call it pilot’s intuition. I think this is the way you’re wired. That’s all.”

Finn starts to panic.

“Then they can’t fix me? The doctors here—”

“Fix you” Poe says. “Why would you want them to?” He looks genuinely surprised. “The thing is, you just said you don’t want to hurt me. But you do.” He looks at Finn strangely, head tilted just a little to one side. “You really do.”

Finn doesn’t understand what is going on. He’s just confessed he wants to inflict pain on the gentlest, kindest lover he has ever known. He’d hoped Poe’s face would wear an expression of compassion. He expected it to bear an expression of distaste, even slow horror. But it doesn’t have either.

Poe’s face is lit with inexplicable amusement.

“You’ve not taken something into account,” Poe says.

“What?”

Poe grins.

“Me.”

*

Finn looks doubtful. “You sure?”

“Quickest way to show you. Do it. And watch me.”

So Finn does. He twines his fingers in Poe’s dark curls and cautiously tightens his grip.

Poe’s eyelids flutter closed and he lets out the softest of groans.

“Like that,” he whispers. “But harder.”

Hearing that, Finn feels a wave of heat, all the lust he’s been running from. Incrementally and experimentally he increases the force, watching the line of Poe’s jaw slacken as his mouth opens, his chin tipping up to expose his throat. Finn badly needs to run his tongue down it, feel the scratch of stubble, catch the vulnerable flesh just there between his teeth, and bite it just a little. He pushes the bad thought aside. Each ragged, stuttering breath Finn pulls from Poe is the sweetest of music. It’s wrong music. Poe’s letting him do this because he loves him. Poe doesn’t deserve to be treated like this. It’s so wrong, it’s so wrong, it’s …

It isn’t until he leans back and stares at his trembling lover, at the beatific expression on his face as his head is tipped back so far it becomes increasingly hard for him to breathe, that he gets it. Poe is not suffering on his behalf. This is not Poe martyring himself. He’s drinking the pain, chasing it, needing it, every angle of his body begging for it, the visible hardness of his cock in his pants, the way his bare toes curl tighter and tighter, the flush spreading across his neck, everything signaling that he wants Finn’s hand to pull tighter, to hurt him more. And how Finn wants to hurt him more. It’s too much. He lets go. Sits back, eyes wide, frozen, panting.

Holy shit,” Finn breathes. “You like it.”

“Yeah.” Poe’s smile is slow and satisfied. “I do.” He looks like he’s just won the Coruscant lottery. “Commander Poe Dameron, Resistance adrenaline junkie and hopeless, hopeless painslut, has just had final, glorious confirmation that the man he loves is exactly who he needs. I might pass out from erotic anticipation, now you’ve sprung this big secret on me.”

He leans closer, briefly raises a still-trembling hand to Finn’s cheek.

“Don’t stop all the other stuff, sweetheart. Don’t ever stop. I want to curl up with you every night. I want to be gentle. All the love and gentleness we’ve got between us. All that. But also,” — he leans in even closer, kisses Finn with a wet and open mouth, tongues sliding together, not touching each other anywhere else, just a single, dizzying kiss that leaves Finn, already stunned by what has just happened, half-blinded by shock and love, while Finn’s hands are slowly guided to Poe’s sides. Finn grips him helplessly, not sure what to do. Poe’s voice is low and urgent.

“Finn. You can do what you want. Because as you have just found out, which was highly enjoyable to me, I want it too. Want to be hurt, want to wake covered in bruises, want to taste blood in my mouth. You can be rough with me. Make me forget my name. Let me forget this war. Basically, I’ll take whatever you give me and I’ll love every kriffing second of it.”

“Not into being punched though,” he adds.

Finn looks alarmed. “That’s not something I … I wouldn’t…I’ve never…”

“And don’t fuck me up so much I can’t fly the next day. That’s non-negotiable. Deal-breaker.”

Finn stares in horror.

“I’m not that …”

“I know.” Poe presses both his hands in his own. “I know you’re not. Also I talk too much. But got to say it. Most important thing is, if I can’t take something you’re doing to me, I’ll tell you. Then you stop.”

Finn shakes his head. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me…?”

“I didn’t know you’d be into it. I didn’t think you were. It wasn’t obvious. You got pretty good at hiding things over the years I guess.”

Finn nods. “Yeah. Not that thing. But others, sure.”

Poe shakes his head. “But that’s not why I didn’t. I was scared you’d be freaked out. You’d bug out.”

“So all that time I was…you were…?”

Yeah.” 

*

“And you’re sure that it’s acceptable, with a higher-ranking officer?”

Poe nods. “We’ve been over this before. The...”

Finn bursts out laughing.

“Fuck you,” says Poe, agreeably.

*

Poe is lying on the cot. Finn is sitting in a chair facing the bed, elbows on his knees. They’ve spent an hour discussing safewords, trust, emotional negotiation, and a large number of intriguing practices. That part of the discussion was hot as hell. Finn had thought about most of them before, hell, done a lot of them before, but watching Poe’s mouth explaining them was the best thing he’s ever seen and he didn’t want him to stop. Now both of them are hyper-aware of the space between them, each breath they’re taking. Poe is explaining that they don’t need to do any of these things, truly, but if Finn wants…

But Finn is having difficulty concentrating on anything other than Poe’s shoulders and ass and the line of his back right there on the bed in front of him. He clears his throat. Poe gazes up at him through his lashes, his mouth a little open and cheeks flushed and suddenly Finn cannot take it any more.

“I’m so hard, Poe. Stop talking. I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you right now”

Poe gives him a lazy, inviting, thoroughly filthy smile.

*

He moves to the cot and unbuttons Poe’s shirt excessively slowly. He brushes the skin beneath it with his fingertips, pulls the fabric free from his lover’s body where it lies, traces the old scars from heavy landings with careful lips and tongue. He is gentle as thistledown. Poe feels the difference in what he is doing. Finn’s not holding back any more. This is a softness unsullied by secrecy or pretense. Right now, Finn wants to be gentle. That’s only possible because he’s not scared of being the opposite. Poe shivers. Fuck, he thinks. This old dance. I’ve missed it so much. This is going to be kriffing perfect.

*

Finn senses the change in Poe’s body. It’s not felt like this before. It’s relaxed, pliant. Different. Finn strokes the curve of Poe’s cheekbone, feels him tremble slightly, close his eyes. Leaves the pads of his fingertips there, just for a moment.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Oh yes. Take what you want, Finn. Take it all.”

*

He does. He drags Poe’s hands above his head, feeling the bones of his wrists sharp between his fingers, pins them to the pillow, and kisses a gasp out of his lover’s mouth with a searching, insistent tongue. He splays the fingers of his other hand over Poe’s jaw, pushing it back, licking his throat, nipping at it, scraping his teeth on the stubble. Then he pushes Poe’s head to one side and presses the flat of his tongue against his jugular, feeling the steady, dizzying beat of life. He feels dizzy. It’s about trust. That’s what they’d talked about. The trust Poe has in him is what makes this right. It’s what makes him trust himself. He trusts himself. He does. He pulls back, runs a fingertip down the line of the artery, feels Poe shudder under him, then carries the finger down across the hollow of his clavicle, already beaded with sweat so the finger slips easily over his pectorals. He takes one nipple between finger and thumb, rolls it, eliciting a hiss, then presses harder and harder, twisting, until Poe’s moans become harsh, needy cries.

He needs to say something. Partly to reassure himself that Poe really wants this. It’s so new. But also because he wants more.

“Does that hurt?” he asks, softly, against Poe’s ear.

He twists again.

Poe moans wildly. It takes a while for him to reply.

“Yes,” he whispers.

“Tell me how it hurts,”

Poe’s having difficulty speaking.

“Sharp, it’s …”

He exhales.

“It hurts so much.”  

He breathes again.

“It’s fucking amazing, Finn … “

Each word on the exhale.

His eyes flicker open. Unfocused, dark.

He’s so gone.

“Good” says Finn, letting go of Poe’s wrists. “Turn over”

He drags down his pants and underwear.

At the first sting of Finn’s hand against his bare ass Poe lets out a soft yelp and then another when Finn strikes him again, and again, harder each time, in warm, ringing blows that make Poe spill a continual stream of words of agonized pleasure. “Please, Finn, please, yes, please, more. Fuck, Finn”

He drags him onto his back, shivering, Poe’s cock is dark and so hard, and Finn reaches for the lube on the side table, fixes himself some, then closes his slick hand around Poe’s shaft and begins to carefully play with it, softly dragging a thumb over the slit, sliding his hand up and down its length, bringing Poe close to coming and then letting him go, tracing lines across and around his balls and groin with his fingers, waiting before resuming his gentle teasing, holding Poe tight so that his muscles shake with desperate need. There’s sweat on his face, his pupils huge.

“What are you doing?” Poe gasps.

Finn grins. Poe knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I’m going to make you desperate for it,” he says.

“You already — ah —“

He and Poe have done a lot of things together but it’s never felt like this, like the both of them are two sides of the same mind, breathing the same air, thinking the same thoughts, feeling the same things. Empathy, Finn thinks. He wonders if this is what makes it ok, too. He wonders if Poe can feel what he feels, just as he feels what Poe feels, somewhere deep inside him, that hungry chase for pain. He knows, somehow. Somehow. He pulls Poe’s shaking legs upwards, changing the angles, slicks his fingers and slips one finger up against Poe’s hole, nudging it, pressing it, toying with it.

Poe can’t speak.

“Keep talking to me, Poe”.

“I can’t”

“Tell me about your X-wing.”

“Black One.”

“Yes.”

He slips the finger inside.

“She’s … she’s a T-70 X-Wing.”

“Right. Engines?”

“Finn…please. Please.”

“Engines?”

Four Incom-FreiTek 5L5 fusial thrust engines… and there’s retro thrusters, four of those, the turbo impellor…”

He hooks and shifts his finger. Plays the fingers of his other hand over the bruises on Poe’s ass. Pats the soft skin. Dips his head to lick into the heat, slips another finger in. Poe groans.

“Tell me more. I won’t move until you do.”

“Acceleration compensator…” Poe recites, with a dark, wrecked voice, runs through the specs interspersed with halting gasps for air. He manages pretty well—Finn’s impressed—until Finn slips a fourth finger in to join the third and he cannot, simply cannot speak any more. He pushes back against Finn, whining. Finn thinks there’s no need for words any more, can’t think of any himself. Both of them are past needing them. His own cock is so hard he can’t think, already slick and wet, and he lines up the head against Poe’s hole and slowly slides his length inside, burying himself. “Fuck, Poe” Finn says. “You feel so good. So tight. Can you feel me?”

“I can feel you. Finn. I’m so filled with you, fuck me, fuck me” he whispers. Every time Finn pushes deep, his thighs press hard against the bruises on Poe’s ass and Poe shudders with sensation. His eyes are closed, squeezed tight, his mouth wet and open. “You look so…” Finn breathes, awed, “so beautiful. I’m so close, so fucking close.” And he reaches to grabs Poe’s cock in his fist as he changes the angle of his hips from one that is damn near perfect to one that is beyond perfect, hears Poe begging him, pleading with him to let him come. And that is enough to push Finn over the edge, hearing Poe’s rough cries as he follows him over, stroking him through it.

*

Finn’s eyes are wet. He rubs come into Poe’s chest, flat-handed. Licks it clean. They disentangle carefully, breathing hard, and collapse together, exhausted, air suddenly cold on their skins.

“Fuck”

“Yeah.”

“That was …”

“It was.”

Finn clutches him tighter, buries his nose in the nape of his neck.

He smells of sweat and come and home.

“We should clean up. Shall I run the fresher?”

No, Finn growls, locks his feet around Poe’s ankles, snakes an arm around his chest, pulls him close, kisses his shoulders. Poe hisses delightedly as the bruises brush against skin.

“Dunno if I can fly tomorrow, Finn.”

Finn is alarmed. Had he crossed a line. He’d …

“But we…”

Poe throws an arm back to cradle Finn’s back, rubs his fingers along the shallow depression of his scar. “Sorry” he says. “That was low of me. You were perfect. That was perfect. I don’t wanna fly tomorrow, is what I meant. I will. But fuck, I would rather stay right here.”

“No, go. Be safe, but you should go, because…”

“It’s an easy run, just a …

“You should go because I love how you look when you get back” he blurts, half asleep and unable to stop himself.

Poe snuffles a soft laugh into the pillow. “Like last night? Exhausted, covered in dirt, hardly able to stand? Yeah, of course you do, sweetheart. Of course you do.” Amused, he curls tighter into Finn’s embrace. “Next time I won’t rush to the fresher. I’ll get on my knees as soon as I close the door. Then you can fuck my mouth and hold me up, try to come before I pass out.”

Finn groans.

“You like that, huh?”

*

Finn’s asleep, breath fanning against Poe’s shoulders. Poe’s not quite able to join him. He’s too exultant, too full of adrenaline, too stickily, ridiculously in love. It feels like a post-mission buzz but so much more pleasurable. He doesn’t want to sleep. He aches. He can’t move because Finn’s holding him so tightly. It is exactly what he wants.

He sighs contentedly. “Well that little talk went well, I think,” he says out loud to no one in particular.

Finn shifts behind him. “Poe “Last Word” Dameron” he mutters, fondly. “I love you.”

Poe smiles into the darkness.