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Poe stirs and inches closer to the warm slope of Finn's back and goes back to sleep twice before he gets his eyes open enough to let in the gauzy light, to say, “You're still here.”

“Mm? Yeah.”

“Not complaining,” Poe says, a little more awake with each word, “like, at all, but why?”

“On leave,” Finn explains, rolling and pinning Poe close with an arm, so they're chest to chest and his lips are against Poe's forehead, and Poe shivers just a little at the forearm across his back like a bar of durasteel.

“Wait, you are? For what?”

“For this,” Finn says, and kisses him, nudging Poe's mouth open with his tongue and lingering there, not rough but deep. Poe kisses back as thoroughly, pulling back long enough to say, “That what you told the administrative committee?”

“They didn't ask.” Neck kiss. “They were too afraid I'd change my mind.” Another neck kiss, this one wetter and with more teeth. “I'm a pain in their ass, they were thrilled to get rid of me for a bit.” Finn sucks on the skin below the point of Poe's jaw, lingering enough to leave a mark, and grazes over the spot with the tip of his tongue.

“How long a bit?”

“Two sessions' worth.”

That's nearly seven standard months. It's unheard of. “What are you gonna do?”

“Oh, was I not clear?” The next kiss is more demanding, hungrier, longer-lasting, and Finn's hand slides lower, cupping Poe's bare ass and pulling him even closer, fingertips brushing along his crack, while keeping Poe's arm pinioned at his side.

“Lemme get my arm out,” Poe says, wanting to touch back, and Finn says, “Nah,” and kisses him more, angles his hand to nudge Poe's rim with a fingertip. Got you, Poe thinks, if you want to give me more you'll have to let me move. He knows exactly how long Finn's reach is and how he can bend, just as he knows exactly where to put his mouth if he wants to have Finn shouting within seconds and which positions are easiest on Finn's back and what the little twist at the corner of Finn's mouth means when it appears, even though all of these things have changed, multiple times, over the years.

Finn's craning back now to look him in the eye, a sly half-smile warming his face. “I think maybe,” he says, “I'm gonna have to ask you to hold onto the bed.” They don't have a headboard as such, but there's a metal bar that's part of the bedframe.

“Just ask?”

“Insist.”

“Or what?”

“Or I won't do any of the things I'm thinking of doing.”

“Which would be what, exactly? Wait, don't tell me--I have to hold onto the bed to find out.”

“Okay then,” Finn says, “I won't tell you that. Will you do it? On your back.”

“I guess,” Poe says, and Finn snorts and lets him move.

He stretches his arms up and grips the metal with both hands. It opens his chest and he's glad to find he feels both vulnerable and thrilled, as he has the hundreds of times they've done some version of this specific thing. The feeling's there waiting for him, for them, and every time it feels like an incredible discovery.

Finn looks down at him with that same expression, soft and sly, warm hunger in his eyes. “Perfect,” he says, and bends down to seize another kiss. Moves to Poe's neck again, presses his face in an armpit and inhales deeply, bites a nipple. Nuzzles and kisses Poe's chest and belly (scratching a little--he started letting his beard grow out around the same time he started shaving his head, and Poe is unreasonably into it). Runs his tongue along the thigh-seam, breathes softly on Poe's stirring cock. Poe's hands itch already to reach down and guide his head, but he stops himself, knowing it won't work and happy, really, to prolong the agony.

When he feels Finn's touch on his dick finally, it's not hand or mouth but the soft skin on the underside of Finn's wrist, just unfocused enough to be excruciating, and he draws in a sharp breath and lets go almost without meaning to. Finn withdraws his hand, of course, and Poe rolls his eyes and reaches back up.

Finn says musingly, “I have lots of time, did I mention that?” and resumes the light, glancing motion, making Poe chase the contact with his hips and lever against the bed. Finn lies down beside him and Poe rises into the kiss, giving everything with his mouth that he can't with his hands; Finn moves again to dip his fingers in the jar of slick, again to nudge Poe's thighs apart, again to get a good angle and work two fingers in so slowly and so perfectly that Poe, who's made a deal with himself to stay quiet as long as he can, breaks the deal with a groan and a curse, trying and failing to inch further down and fuck himself onto Finn's fingers without letting go of the metal. He keeps his grip, just. He doesn't think he can stand for Finn to stop.

Finn works on him slowly, slowly, methodically, catching every nerve inside, holding Poe's gaze with his. Poe can't look away, doesn't want to, never wants to: Finn's making his concentration face, almost a frown, like nothing is more important to him than making Poe shove against him and swear and sweat and say his name, their only point of contact where Finn's hand transfixes him.

Somewhere in the early middle of these proceedings he'd thought about when he wanted to start begging, what would really get Finn going without making him feel like he has to deliver something he isn't up for, but Finn's spreading his fingers and watching Poe closely and the rest of him is so far away and Poe hears himself say, say hoarsely, as if he's really afraid of the answer, “Please let me touch you.”

Finn's face softens, smile spreading now, and Poe doesn't care how trite it is, it is like the sun coming out. “Yeah,” he says, “go for it,” and Poe unclenches his hands and heaves up awkwardly. Finn laughs and says, “Hold on a sec,” and pulls his fingers out, still slow, and Poe's groan is half regret and half relief as he pulls Finn into his arms and their mouths meet.

They rock against each other. “Can you come for me,” Finn murmurs, “do you want to, can I make you--”

Poe's, “Yeah,” is just a breath, and it turns out he's right.

They take a break for a little while, and then Finn kneels up and jacks himself and comes on Poe's chest. “That was the original plan,” he admits when they're lying together again, sticking where they touch, Poe nestled against his side.

“Hope you didn't mind the revisions.”

“I loved the revisions.” Finn presses his lips to the top of Poe's head. “I love you.”

“So I can look forward to seven months of this?”

“I'll give you a break now and then,” Finn says gravely. “I might go see Rey somewhere in there. And I still have to do some of the regular part of my job, and help Rusty keep up. And if you--” he stops.

“If I what?”

“If you go out on a call,” Finn says, “can I come with you? Only if you want.”

Poe's reactions to this are definitely mixed, and they jostle for expression. He takes a couple breaths to sort them out. “Is this because we weren't talking?”

“Sort of. It's because of what we weren't talking about. I think I'm just out of—out of step. With what you do, and how you work, and what you're helping people fight for. I wanna watch you again.”

That focus, that concentration. “Can I think about it?”

“Sure. And you can say no.”

“Is the leave because we weren't talking?”

Finn sighs with exaggerated patience. “I already told you what the leave is for,” he says. “You want me to show you again?”