[ It's a shared afternoon off, when Poe invites John over. Vacation time in place. Supplies for camping half-bought, wholly planned.
Poe feels strange about the whole thing. Ever since he accidentally called them a couple, gave a conventional name to whatever it is he and John have, he's had a funny feeling in his stomach.
It's there now as he watches John sleep, the two of them laying side by side on the big bed Poe only uses with John.
You're beautiful, you know that? Poe thinks. He reaches out, brushing John's jaw with his fingertips, not wanting to wake the other man but wanting to touch him.
This is strange. It's unfamiliar. It's terrifying, in a way Poe isn't used to feeling. But in this moment, with the sun streaking in through a crack in the curtains and John's breathing a slow and steady rhythm in the silence, Poe is pretty sure he can let it just be.
( This is peace, he thinks, this is peace, and he's missed it. ) ]
[It's the first truly lazy afternoon John's had in a while. There's no shortage of work to be done for the shuttle team, or RR-1, especially in preparation of their vacation. He can always find an excuse to stay busy.
Relaxing, on the other hand, has always taken a concentrated effort. Even on his days off John fills most of his day with physical training, sports, and teaching himself new, pointless skills, like playing the guitar. That one's got a lot of work before it becomes relaxing.
He was happy when Poe called, and asked him over in the middle of the day. It was a first. They had sex, not unusual, but then he fell asleep. Another first. Usually Poe has somewhere to be, or says he does, and John does to. Because he'd rather leave than get kicked out, and up until now? He's only passed out at Poe's place twice, and one of those times was to keep watch on Poe through the night after being put through the wringer by Kylo Ren.
Today was different. The sex was slow, a marathon versus the usual sprint, and more intimate in every way. As if the word 'couple' had changed everything, and maybe it had. John fell asleep after, without asking if he could stay. He hadn't been thinking. Content and sedated, Poe was the only thing on his mind. He dreamed of brown eyes and messy curls instead of a pale hand biting into his chest, sucking the life out of him decades at a time.
He doesn't wake up all at once. He feels the room first, warm and bright with sunshine, then the presence of another person, familiar, he knows it's Poe by the weight of him, and his smell, the touch is last, light as a feather. He moves against the sheets, yawns, and stretches, cracking open one eye to look at Poe.]
Hey. [He swallows another yawn] Sorry, must've... dozed off.
[ Poe's eyes are on John's chin, the blush of stubble there, on his neck, on the sharpness of his jaw. He explores each one with gentle fingertips, aware too of how naked they are.
Poe is used to staying with people after sex. There's always brackets around the experience, a set time or a set reason he has to leave or they do. Just lying bare beside someone, nothing but empty hours on either side, is a kind of intimacy Poe has only ever let himself imagine. ] It's fine.
[ He trails his fingers down to John's shoulder, then his chest, strangely mystified by the body of a man he's been sleeping with for more than a month. ] Do you have to go?
[Even if he did have to go, John wouldn't. Not unless the entire city (or Rodney) was under attack. He doesn't want to break the spell Poe is under. It's like he's touching him for the first time, and it feels... good.
Better than good.
It feels like a sun-drenched afternoon lying beside someone he cares about deeply, maybe even loves, should. Something John hasn't felt in years, and never thought he would feel again. That if he didn't die first, the chances of meeting someone he fit with were slim to none. Not with all his broken pieces and jagged edges.
His eyes drift half-closed, so he can look at Poe through his eyelashes while the rest of the room feels soft and out of focus. With no reason to move, he doesn't. Just smiles lazily as Poe touches him.]
You're gonna need the jaws of life to get me out of this bed.
[ Poe snorts quietly, his focus unbroken. ] Finn might object to taking the roof off the apartment.
[ John's hips, John's thighs, John's scars. This one the jagged dip of flying shrapnel, this one a gunshot, this one a knife. It's a relief, Poe realizes, to be with someone who has these kinds of scars. No questions need to be asked about certain things. No explanations need to be given or refused.
This body is his to explore. It's not something borrowed for mutual pleasure. It gives Poe a little hitch in his breath to realize that, makes him breath a little faster with nerves instead of arousal. His fingers linger on one of the deeper scars, fingering the edge where hard tissue meets soft.
Next time they're together, he's going to look John in the eyes the way John looked at him this time. The new challenge. A harder one than most.
Not anymore, Poe thinks. Another flip-flop of nerves. ]
[John yawns, stretching further, arms draped loosely over his head. Dog-tags spill over one shoulder and onto Poe's pillow. He never takes them off. Not even in bed. Force of habit, or security blanket? John's never given it much thought. His identity and service identity number are one in the same.
John's eyes flutter open as Poe's touch lingers over a particular scar. Ugly and ragged, dimpling the pale skin around it. Not every scar has a story, but that one does. Still hurts if he thinks about it.]
Piece of rebar, went right through me. There's a matching one the other side. Building was blown on us during a failed rescue op, whole thing fell on our damn heads.
I was pretty sure it was over that time, but here I am.
[He looks up at Poe, exhales, and smiles.]
Yeah, same. But the next best thing is being here with you.
Poe remembers that moment in the garden during the Festival of Light where he'd wished he could stay in Riverview. It still haunts him in odd moments, drives a dark spike of guilt into the heart of his resolve. He didn't have the reasons that someone like Karen had. He has every reason to go home.
Poe rests his forehead against John's chest, scared to look at him.
The next best thing.
Even that makes him feel a mix of warmth and fear. Someone who gets it. Someone whose scars say he knows the fight and its importance, whose stories support that. Someone who knows how much the sky means.
You lucked out, kiddo, his father's voice says, and Poe shivers.
He's not ready for this. He's not ready for forever, they can't even have forever. Not unless they both stay, and that isn't an option.
Normally it's so easy for him to live life in the moment, to act without thinking about the future or the consequences, but that's been harder lately. Even when living in the moment might be okay.
He doesn't ask John if the people he was with when the place blew made it. There are certain assumptions Poe makes when he hears us, then I. He knows how that story goes. He's lived it, too many times. ( Even one time was too many. )
He just wants to stay here, suspended in sunlight, with the murmur of traffic outside making the quiet of the bedroom seem like its own small world. Everything in balance. The both of them safe. ]
I'm-- [ Poe stops. It's a stupid thing to admit. It's a pointless thing to admit. He still wants John to know and he isn't sure why.
( This time he thinks of Finn, of that talk about being a person, about learning and the time it takes. ) ] I don't know how to do this.
[ That's a thousand times better than This scares me. ]
[John's hand goes to Poe's back, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades.
Poe has his own scars. John knows. He's seen them. Scars on his skin, heart, and mind. War is more than a physical battle, and no one can win all the time. There are always losses. Sacrifices. Sometimes it's the life of the comrade, and sometimes it's your own. All at once, or in bits and pieces. Social life. Love life. Spiritual life. Until there's nothing left but your trigger finger and a pulse.
It's not uncommon to forget what life was like before the war, and how to live it. That's why Riverview is a blessing and a curse. It's time away from the fight, to rest and recuperate, but John hardly knows how to use it. Rest isn't rest when your head is always buzzing, your ears ring from too many years of too many gunshots, and you don't know how to relax in a room without clearing it first.
When John's hands are idle, they start shaking. A little at first, then a lot. The only cure is time at the range, in the cockpit, or on the mats.
And lying here with this man.]
I do, but I'll be honest, here. I'm not very good at it.
I haven't been with someone in... a long time. Years. Not since my ex-wife.
[A pause, as his hand slides up over Poe's shoulder, pulling him in closer.]
[ Poe shifts so his face is against John's neck and shoulder instead of against his chest, letting himself be pulled in close. He's been letting John do a lot of things that he normally wouldn't, and Poe himself has been doing a lot of things that he's still uncomfortable with.
Looking at John's messages over and over, keeping even the ones that have no long-term relevance. Watching John when he doesn't think the man is paying attention. Dropping in to RR-1's offices for no reason at all except to say hello under the glare of John's sixteen-year-old soldier. ( Finn's expression is equally priceless for entirely different reasons. )
It's like Poe has been given permission to act in ways he hasn't since his Academy girlfriend, and he's not sure those ways of acting still apply to someone his age. ]
Before or after Atlantis? When you met her, I mean.
Before. We met in college. She was political science, and I was in mathematics. Graduating directly into the USAF to begin training as a pilot.
[It feels like longer. It feels like a lifetime ago. John remembers the divorce, but everything before feels like it happened to someone else. They were happy, once. John knows they were. It was never a perfect marriage, but it hadn't been loveless. Lisa was an intelligent, power-house of a woman set on changing the world from Washington. John had been...
It's blank in his mind. A grey area, like burnt out film cycling pointlessly through a projector, only flickering back into black and white picture years later when he was deployed. Those years spent behind enemy lines he remembers more clearly than his graduation, and wedding day, but it's Atlantis that's in colour. If he closes his eyes he sees stained glass and blue light, can even smell the ocean.]
It was the job. I was never home, and I couldn't tell her where I'd been. I had a choice. Her, or the war, but it wasn't really a choice. It wasn't like I could've just... walked away. Not when I was already knee deep. It just didn't make sense. It wouldn't have been worth everything I...
[His fingers curl up into Poe's hair, twisting and pulling gently. It calms him down.]
Doesn't matter now anyway. Point is, you can't be worse at this than I am. At least you've got a clean slate.
[ The job. Poe can remember, vaguely, when he thought of what he does as a job. It's got that same gauzy gray film, that indistinct fog that turns clear memories into points on a vanishing horizon.
For a second, he thinks of Cassian, old at twenty-six. Bathing in blood will do that to a person. Poe kisses John's neck lightly, draping his own arm over the other man's waist and pulling them that much closer. John's fingers in Poe's hair steadies him, too. The pilot shifts up onto one elbow, changing his angle enough to kiss John's temple, the gray there. ]
It matters.
[ But he won't ask John what he did, when, where. If John ever wants to share Poe will listen. But until then he can just understand. ]
[John closes his eyes again, sinking into the rare outpouring of Poe's affection. Poe's lips and warmth are here and now. That's what matters. The present is all anyone really has.
At least that's what he's been telling himself, during these last lonely years. There's no point in worrying about dying alone. What's important is surviving, and keeping everyone alive. Nothing else.
Especially not his aching heart.
John moves suddenly, shifting half on top of Poe to assault him with kisses everywhere. Face. Neck. Chest. Shoulder.]
[ Has anyone ever called him sweet? Anyone who wasn't somehow brushing him off, anyone who meant it as a good thing? ]
No--
[ Poe makes a startled noise somewhere along the lines of gack, attempting at first to shield himself, instinctive self-defense. Then he lets it happen, rolling over so he's on his back, bare-chested, the chain through his mother's ring trailing down one side of his neck. He never takes that off, a parallel to John's dog tags, his reasons both different and the same.
This time when John descends with a kiss, Poe meets him, kissing him back fiercely. His words are far shyer. ]
[They shyness is what kills him. Poe's soft underbelly exposed. John lays against him, wanting to shield this softness from the world. He strokes back his hair from his face, openly admiring. His eyes trace the lines of Poe's brow, nose, lips, and jaw. Burning it into his mind. Something beautiful to think about when life is ugly.
Chest to chest, John can feel Poe's heartbeat and warmth like they're his own. No wonder he fell asleep. He's never wanted to move less.]
I wasn't sure, for a while... If you liked me back.
[Now it's John's turn to be shy, his eyes dropping away with a slight shrug.]
My radar's kinda broken. All I see are the bad guys.
[ At first it was because of Karen, because of an unspoken loyalty there, the feeling that he couldn't care that much about the two of them without feeling like he was lying to the other somehow. Then that fight. Those broken ties. Poe realizing that no matter how much he cared about her she would never understand him putting the fight first.
He always has to put the fight first.
Poe isn't looking at John either. Not at his face, anyway. He's preoccupied by the chain of John's tags, sliding his fingers underneath it and tracing his nails lightly along John's skin. It feels good, to be weighed down underneath John, even if the man is slender for someone his height.
Poe closes his eyes and runs his fingertips down John's arms. ]
[The question slips out before he can stop himself, soft, and tentative. He knows he shouldn't ask. Poe has his reasons, and John can imagine a few of them.
John's body is covered in scars, but the worst of his wounds have always been on the inside. Invisible to the eye. Looking down at Poe, at his kind, strong face, and his sad, bottomless eyes, John knows those same wounds are there.]
Don't worry about it. I know now.
[A pause, tender as he brushes a dark curl back from Poe's forehead.]
[ Poe is glad John says not to worry about it. There's a moment, just a moment of pure panic at the thought of exposing himself more than he already has. At tangling with his own lies and reasons for them so abruptly. There's no way John can miss it: the way Poe tenses at the question, the way he relaxes when John brushes his hair back and says Thanks for telling me.
[John gives one of Poe's curls a playful tug, still smiling. He doesn't want Poe to stress. Doesn't want him to feel anything but good right now, because he deserves to relax, and to feel good. Both men have their issues, and they've sure as hell came up against them in the past few weeks, but right now? Everything feels right.]
I trust you. You saved my ass, remember? When I made an idiot out of myself on that cliff. I'd just walked through the portal, and directly into the fight. Didn't know what the hell I was doing. I thought maybe if I died, I'd just wake up back in Atlantis.
[He lays his head against Poe's chest, skin warming skin. The steady thump of Poe's heartbeat is its own kind of music.]
There's just something about you. Different. Maybe because you're from another world, or maybe because you're you. Who the hell knows. Guess I've got a thing for people from other galaxies.
[A low chuckle, his eyelashes dusting against Poe's skin, fingers still teasing through his hair. Twisting and coiling.]
That night? the first time, we didn't use any protection and I was okay with it. Never have been before.
[ Poe smiles when John pulls his hair, then runs his own fingers through John's as the man lies down with his cheek against Poe's chest. ] I still keep...
[ A pause. He keeps wondering, off and on, in quiet (dark) moments, what if everyone here is dead.
Easier, safer, to move on from the thought, particularly when he doesn't want to spoil this. The rough of John's cheek against his bare skin, the honesty that makes Poe feel strange and shy all over again.]
I'm just me. I'm the same as anybody else.
[ He looks down at the top of John's head, and shifts to wrap one leg over John to keep him close. ]
You're not the same. No person is the same as anybody else. Kinda like stars.
[John hums when Poe touches his hair. He likes the contact. Any and all of it. He can't get enough of Poe's skin and touch. Can't get enough of his smell, either. Or his voice.
He arches his neck to look up at Poe, his brow furrowed. Then away with a quick press and lick of his lips. It's a habit.
John's not used to speaking this openly or honestly either. He doesn't talk much about himself, or anything personal, if he can help it. The less people know about him the better.
So they can't judge him. Reject him. Hurt him.]
I don't know. Most guys like it better. Want it. I, uh, wasn't sure if you did, but it felt right.
[He can feel his chest tightening. The initial surge of panic that comes with vulnerability. The hot rush of embarrassment, too.
Because he's an idiot with stupid hang-ups, and Poe probably didn't care, and hadn't noticed. Why should he? Poe doesn't have a map of all of John's many walls.]
[ Poe gives a breathy little laugh and leans up enough to kiss John on the mouth. ] I like being inside you even more.
[ Another lingering kiss, one between each statement. ] I like it when you shake. I like it when you shiver. I like it when I have to hold you up and I like the sounds you make.
[ He trails one hand down from John’s shoulder to his hand. ] I would tell you if I wanted something different.
[John's eyes widen, his face flushing all the way up into his ears.
He laughs into Poe's first kiss, shyly, awkwardly, then melts into the rest. John doesn't know how to respond, or even react. No one's said anything like this to him before. Not outside of dirty talk during sex, words quickly spilled and forgotten, meaningless outside the heat of the moment.]
Don't say stuff like that-
[(You're going to make me fall in love with you.)]
You're gonna make me want it right now.
[He grabs Poe's hand with his hand, bringing it to his mouth, kissing over every scarred knuckle and mechanic thickened joint. This he can do. Actions are easier than words.]
[ It's teasing, lazy and languid, because if he's being honest Poe doesn't feel like sex right now. He feels like this. The two of them sprawled in bed, John kissing his way over a fresh bruise between his knuckles with origins Poe can't guess.
He draws his hand up enough that John is forced to look at him if he wants to keep kissing Poe. ]
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Poe feels strange about the whole thing. Ever since he accidentally called them a couple, gave a conventional name to whatever it is he and John have, he's had a funny feeling in his stomach.
It's there now as he watches John sleep, the two of them laying side by side on the big bed Poe only uses with John.
You're beautiful, you know that? Poe thinks. He reaches out, brushing John's jaw with his fingertips, not wanting to wake the other man but wanting to touch him.
This is strange. It's unfamiliar. It's terrifying, in a way Poe isn't used to feeling. But in this moment, with the sun streaking in through a crack in the curtains and John's breathing a slow and steady rhythm in the silence, Poe is pretty sure he can let it just be.
( This is peace, he thinks, this is peace, and he's missed it. ) ]
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Relaxing, on the other hand, has always taken a concentrated effort. Even on his days off John fills most of his day with physical training, sports, and teaching himself new, pointless skills, like playing the guitar. That one's got a lot of work before it becomes relaxing.
He was happy when Poe called, and asked him over in the middle of the day. It was a first. They had sex, not unusual, but then he fell asleep. Another first. Usually Poe has somewhere to be, or says he does, and John does to. Because he'd rather leave than get kicked out, and up until now? He's only passed out at Poe's place twice, and one of those times was to keep watch on Poe through the night after being put through the wringer by Kylo Ren.
Today was different. The sex was slow, a marathon versus the usual sprint, and more intimate in every way. As if the word 'couple' had changed everything, and maybe it had. John fell asleep after, without asking if he could stay. He hadn't been thinking. Content and sedated, Poe was the only thing on his mind. He dreamed of brown eyes and messy curls instead of a pale hand biting into his chest, sucking the life out of him decades at a time.
He doesn't wake up all at once. He feels the room first, warm and bright with sunshine, then the presence of another person, familiar, he knows it's Poe by the weight of him, and his smell, the touch is last, light as a feather. He moves against the sheets, yawns, and stretches, cracking open one eye to look at Poe.]
Hey. [He swallows another yawn] Sorry, must've... dozed off.
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Poe is used to staying with people after sex. There's always brackets around the experience, a set time or a set reason he has to leave or they do. Just lying bare beside someone, nothing but empty hours on either side, is a kind of intimacy Poe has only ever let himself imagine. ] It's fine.
[ He trails his fingers down to John's shoulder, then his chest, strangely mystified by the body of a man he's been sleeping with for more than a month. ] Do you have to go?
[ It's more plaintive than Poe means it to be. ]
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[Even if he did have to go, John wouldn't. Not unless the entire city (or Rodney) was under attack. He doesn't want to break the spell Poe is under. It's like he's touching him for the first time, and it feels... good.
Better than good.
It feels like a sun-drenched afternoon lying beside someone he cares about deeply, maybe even loves, should. Something John hasn't felt in years, and never thought he would feel again. That if he didn't die first, the chances of meeting someone he fit with were slim to none. Not with all his broken pieces and jagged edges.
His eyes drift half-closed, so he can look at Poe through his eyelashes while the rest of the room feels soft and out of focus. With no reason to move, he doesn't. Just smiles lazily as Poe touches him.]
You're gonna need the jaws of life to get me out of this bed.
That's a giant crane with teeth.
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[ John's hips, John's thighs, John's scars. This one the jagged dip of flying shrapnel, this one a gunshot, this one a knife. It's a relief, Poe realizes, to be with someone who has these kinds of scars. No questions need to be asked about certain things. No explanations need to be given or refused.
This body is his to explore. It's not something borrowed for mutual pleasure. It gives Poe a little hitch in his breath to realize that, makes him breath a little faster with nerves instead of arousal. His fingers linger on one of the deeper scars, fingering the edge where hard tissue meets soft.
Next time they're together, he's going to look John in the eyes the way John looked at him this time. The new challenge. A harder one than most.
Not anymore, Poe thinks. Another flip-flop of nerves. ]
I wish we could go flying.
[ No missions, no schedules, just flight. ]
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[John yawns, stretching further, arms draped loosely over his head. Dog-tags spill over one shoulder and onto Poe's pillow. He never takes them off. Not even in bed. Force of habit, or security blanket? John's never given it much thought. His identity and service identity number are one in the same.
John's eyes flutter open as Poe's touch lingers over a particular scar. Ugly and ragged, dimpling the pale skin around it. Not every scar has a story, but that one does. Still hurts if he thinks about it.]
Piece of rebar, went right through me. There's a matching one the other side. Building was blown on us during a failed rescue op, whole thing fell on our damn heads.
I was pretty sure it was over that time, but here I am.
[He looks up at Poe, exhales, and smiles.]
Yeah, same. But the next best thing is being here with you.
[Pilot sweet talk.]
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Poe remembers that moment in the garden during the Festival of Light where he'd wished he could stay in Riverview. It still haunts him in odd moments, drives a dark spike of guilt into the heart of his resolve. He didn't have the reasons that someone like Karen had. He has every reason to go home.
Poe rests his forehead against John's chest, scared to look at him.
The next best thing.
Even that makes him feel a mix of warmth and fear. Someone who gets it. Someone whose scars say he knows the fight and its importance, whose stories support that. Someone who knows how much the sky means.
You lucked out, kiddo, his father's voice says, and Poe shivers.
He's not ready for this. He's not ready for forever, they can't even have forever. Not unless they both stay, and that isn't an option.
Normally it's so easy for him to live life in the moment, to act without thinking about the future or the consequences, but that's been harder lately. Even when living in the moment might be okay.
He doesn't ask John if the people he was with when the place blew made it. There are certain assumptions Poe makes when he hears us, then I. He knows how that story goes. He's lived it, too many times. ( Even one time was too many. )
He just wants to stay here, suspended in sunlight, with the murmur of traffic outside making the quiet of the bedroom seem like its own small world. Everything in balance. The both of them safe. ]
I'm-- [ Poe stops. It's a stupid thing to admit. It's a pointless thing to admit. He still wants John to know and he isn't sure why.
( This time he thinks of Finn, of that talk about being a person, about learning and the time it takes. ) ] I don't know how to do this.
[ That's a thousand times better than This scares me. ]
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[John's hand goes to Poe's back, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades.
Poe has his own scars. John knows. He's seen them. Scars on his skin, heart, and mind. War is more than a physical battle, and no one can win all the time. There are always losses. Sacrifices. Sometimes it's the life of the comrade, and sometimes it's your own. All at once, or in bits and pieces. Social life. Love life. Spiritual life. Until there's nothing left but your trigger finger and a pulse.
It's not uncommon to forget what life was like before the war, and how to live it. That's why Riverview is a blessing and a curse. It's time away from the fight, to rest and recuperate, but John hardly knows how to use it. Rest isn't rest when your head is always buzzing, your ears ring from too many years of too many gunshots, and you don't know how to relax in a room without clearing it first.
When John's hands are idle, they start shaking. A little at first, then a lot. The only cure is time at the range, in the cockpit, or on the mats.
And lying here with this man.]
I do, but I'll be honest, here. I'm not very good at it.
I haven't been with someone in... a long time. Years. Not since my ex-wife.
[A pause, as his hand slides up over Poe's shoulder, pulling him in closer.]
...Did I mention I was married?
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[ Poe shifts so his face is against John's neck and shoulder instead of against his chest, letting himself be pulled in close. He's been letting John do a lot of things that he normally wouldn't, and Poe himself has been doing a lot of things that he's still uncomfortable with.
Looking at John's messages over and over, keeping even the ones that have no long-term relevance. Watching John when he doesn't think the man is paying attention. Dropping in to RR-1's offices for no reason at all except to say hello under the glare of John's sixteen-year-old soldier. ( Finn's expression is equally priceless for entirely different reasons. )
It's like Poe has been given permission to act in ways he hasn't since his Academy girlfriend, and he's not sure those ways of acting still apply to someone his age. ]
Before or after Atlantis? When you met her, I mean.
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[It feels like longer. It feels like a lifetime ago. John remembers the divorce, but everything before feels like it happened to someone else. They were happy, once. John knows they were. It was never a perfect marriage, but it hadn't been loveless. Lisa was an intelligent, power-house of a woman set on changing the world from Washington. John had been...
It's blank in his mind. A grey area, like burnt out film cycling pointlessly through a projector, only flickering back into black and white picture years later when he was deployed. Those years spent behind enemy lines he remembers more clearly than his graduation, and wedding day, but it's Atlantis that's in colour. If he closes his eyes he sees stained glass and blue light, can even smell the ocean.]
It was the job. I was never home, and I couldn't tell her where I'd been. I had a choice. Her, or the war, but it wasn't really a choice. It wasn't like I could've just... walked away. Not when I was already knee deep. It just didn't make sense. It wouldn't have been worth everything I...
[His fingers curl up into Poe's hair, twisting and pulling gently. It calms him down.]
Doesn't matter now anyway. Point is, you can't be worse at this than I am. At least you've got a clean slate.
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For a second, he thinks of Cassian, old at twenty-six. Bathing in blood will do that to a person. Poe kisses John's neck lightly, draping his own arm over the other man's waist and pulling them that much closer. John's fingers in Poe's hair steadies him, too. The pilot shifts up onto one elbow, changing his angle enough to kiss John's temple, the gray there. ]
It matters.
[ But he won't ask John what he did, when, where. If John ever wants to share Poe will listen. But until then he can just understand. ]
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[John closes his eyes again, sinking into the rare outpouring of Poe's affection. Poe's lips and warmth are here and now. That's what matters. The present is all anyone really has.
At least that's what he's been telling himself, during these last lonely years. There's no point in worrying about dying alone. What's important is surviving, and keeping everyone alive. Nothing else.
Especially not his aching heart.
John moves suddenly, shifting half on top of Poe to assault him with kisses everywhere. Face. Neck. Chest. Shoulder.]
And I like you.
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No--
[ Poe makes a startled noise somewhere along the lines of gack, attempting at first to shield himself, instinctive self-defense. Then he lets it happen, rolling over so he's on his back, bare-chested, the chain through his mother's ring trailing down one side of his neck. He never takes that off, a parallel to John's dog tags, his reasons both different and the same.
This time when John descends with a kiss, Poe meets him, kissing him back fiercely. His words are far shyer. ]
I like you too.
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[They shyness is what kills him. Poe's soft underbelly exposed. John lays against him, wanting to shield this softness from the world. He strokes back his hair from his face, openly admiring. His eyes trace the lines of Poe's brow, nose, lips, and jaw. Burning it into his mind. Something beautiful to think about when life is ugly.
Chest to chest, John can feel Poe's heartbeat and warmth like they're his own. No wonder he fell asleep. He's never wanted to move less.]
I wasn't sure, for a while... If you liked me back.
[Now it's John's turn to be shy, his eyes dropping away with a slight shrug.]
My radar's kinda broken. All I see are the bad guys.
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[ At first it was because of Karen, because of an unspoken loyalty there, the feeling that he couldn't care that much about the two of them without feeling like he was lying to the other somehow. Then that fight. Those broken ties. Poe realizing that no matter how much he cared about her she would never understand him putting the fight first.
He always has to put the fight first.
Poe isn't looking at John either. Not at his face, anyway. He's preoccupied by the chain of John's tags, sliding his fingers underneath it and tracing his nails lightly along John's skin. It feels good, to be weighed down underneath John, even if the man is slender for someone his height.
Poe closes his eyes and runs his fingertips down John's arms. ]
I pretended not to.
[ Even with himself. ]
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[The question slips out before he can stop himself, soft, and tentative. He knows he shouldn't ask. Poe has his reasons, and John can imagine a few of them.
John's body is covered in scars, but the worst of his wounds have always been on the inside. Invisible to the eye. Looking down at Poe, at his kind, strong face, and his sad, bottomless eyes, John knows those same wounds are there.]
Don't worry about it. I know now.
[A pause, tender as he brushes a dark curl back from Poe's forehead.]
Thanks for telling me.
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He likes it when John plays with his hair. ]
I'm sorry I didn't before.
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[John gives one of Poe's curls a playful tug, still smiling. He doesn't want Poe to stress. Doesn't want him to feel anything but good right now, because he deserves to relax, and to feel good. Both men have their issues, and they've sure as hell came up against them in the past few weeks, but right now? Everything feels right.]
I trust you. You saved my ass, remember? When I made an idiot out of myself on that cliff. I'd just walked through the portal, and directly into the fight. Didn't know what the hell I was doing. I thought maybe if I died, I'd just wake up back in Atlantis.
[He lays his head against Poe's chest, skin warming skin. The steady thump of Poe's heartbeat is its own kind of music.]
There's just something about you. Different. Maybe because you're from another world, or maybe because you're you. Who the hell knows. Guess I've got a thing for people from other galaxies.
[A low chuckle, his eyelashes dusting against Poe's skin, fingers still teasing through his hair. Twisting and coiling.]
That night? the first time, we didn't use any protection and I was okay with it. Never have been before.
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[ A pause. He keeps wondering, off and on, in quiet (dark) moments, what if everyone here is dead.
Easier, safer, to move on from the thought, particularly when he doesn't want to spoil this. The rough of John's cheek against his bare skin, the honesty that makes Poe feel strange and shy all over again.]
I'm just me. I'm the same as anybody else.
[ He looks down at the top of John's head, and shifts to wrap one leg over John to keep him close. ]
Is that a good thing?
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[John hums when Poe touches his hair. He likes the contact. Any and all of it. He can't get enough of Poe's skin and touch. Can't get enough of his smell, either. Or his voice.
He arches his neck to look up at Poe, his brow furrowed. Then away with a quick press and lick of his lips. It's a habit.
John's not used to speaking this openly or honestly either. He doesn't talk much about himself, or anything personal, if he can help it. The less people know about him the better.
So they can't judge him. Reject him. Hurt him.]
I don't know. Most guys like it better. Want it. I, uh, wasn't sure if you did, but it felt right.
[He can feel his chest tightening. The initial surge of panic that comes with vulnerability. The hot rush of embarrassment, too.
Because he's an idiot with stupid hang-ups, and Poe probably didn't care, and hadn't noticed. Why should he? Poe doesn't have a map of all of John's many walls.]
Yeah, anyway... This is nice.
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[ He runs his hand through John’s hair to toy with the little hairs at the base of his scalp. ] But if it was good, I’m glad.
[ Poe runs the toes of one foot along John’s leg, hesitating a moment. ] I like having you inside me.
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[Suddenly, John is unsure.
John hates how weak his voice sounds to his own ears, even as he loves how gently Poe kisses him. How caring he is.
He shifts to look up at Poe, rising into his elbows on Poe's chest, careful not to dig in his elbows. He knows they're pointy.]
I like being inside you.
Is that what you want? I could do that more. You don't have to fuck me. If you're tired of it, just say the word-
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[ Another lingering kiss, one between each statement. ] I like it when you shake. I like it when you shiver. I like it when I have to hold you up and I like the sounds you make.
[ He trails one hand down from John’s shoulder to his hand. ] I would tell you if I wanted something different.
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He laughs into Poe's first kiss, shyly, awkwardly, then melts into the rest. John doesn't know how to respond, or even react. No one's said anything like this to him before. Not outside of dirty talk during sex, words quickly spilled and forgotten, meaningless outside the heat of the moment.]
Don't say stuff like that-
[(You're going to make me fall in love with you.)]
You're gonna make me want it right now.
[He grabs Poe's hand with his hand, bringing it to his mouth, kissing over every scarred knuckle and mechanic thickened joint. This he can do. Actions are easier than words.]
I'd do anything you want, you know that, right?
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[ It's teasing, lazy and languid, because if he's being honest Poe doesn't feel like sex right now. He feels like this. The two of them sprawled in bed, John kissing his way over a fresh bruise between his knuckles with origins Poe can't guess.
He draws his hand up enough that John is forced to look at him if he wants to keep kissing Poe. ]
I want you to feel good. That's what I want.
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