The words hit him in an unexpected place, somewhere he's guarded for so long he'd all but forgot it existed. He didn't know he wanted to hear them. He didn't know how much they would mean.
Maybe it's just that he feels so exposed. Maybe it's just John. But those four words go a long way to salve the wounds Leia left when she chose his torturer over him.
There are three dangerous words of Poe's own hanging unspoken in his mind. Half-formed. Still able to be pushed away for as long as they stay in that nebulous state. ]
You winged it. [ There's a tracery of amusement in the statement. ] I'm scared to see what happens when you really plan.
[ Poe remembers the lightness, the peace of John working on him, the writhing pleasure and the blankness that came with it. Freedom, freedom from everything, just for a little while. ]
Book another weekend scared. Definitely.
[ For a second all he does is breathe and focus on the brush of John's fingers across skin still tender from the bindings. ]
[John smiles into Poe's hair, relieved. It feels good to know Poe wants to go there with him, and that he'd made the right call in pushing him. Maybe, between the two of them, with time, they can break down some of those walls they both struggle with. If anyone could understand John's struggle, and be patient with him while he tries, and inevitably fails, Poe might. Like no one else has.
He traces a red line over the rise of Poe's shoulder. He'll be wearing the harness for a day or two, until the marks fade. John likes the idea of that. A lot]
You're welcome. Thank you, babe.
[Yeah, he said it again. Without the safety net of the ropes between them.]
[ I like it when you call me that. It shouldn't be hard to say. But somehow the words stay stuck. He curls a little more firmly against John instead, letting himself drift, letting the weight of the blanket and the stroke of John's fingers carry him toward sleep.
It's sound. Deep. Dreamless. The kind of sleep that heals and refreshes and is so rare and precious that Poe hasn't seen it in years. He drifts back to consciousness in the circle of John's arms, and just stays that way for a while, listening to John breathe, smelling the salt of dried sweat on them both.
Eventually he shifts just enough to kiss the base of John's throat. ]
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The words hit him in an unexpected place, somewhere he's guarded for so long he'd all but forgot it existed. He didn't know he wanted to hear them. He didn't know how much they would mean.
Maybe it's just that he feels so exposed. Maybe it's just John. But those four words go a long way to salve the wounds Leia left when she chose his torturer over him.
There are three dangerous words of Poe's own hanging unspoken in his mind. Half-formed. Still able to be pushed away for as long as they stay in that nebulous state. ]
You winged it. [ There's a tracery of amusement in the statement. ] I'm scared to see what happens when you really plan.
no subject
[Murmured teasingly against Poe's temple, fingers stroking up and down over Poe's bicep beneath the sheets.]
I'd turn this place into a theater of operations.
no subject
Book another weekend scared. Definitely.
[ For a second all he does is breathe and focus on the brush of John's fingers across skin still tender from the bindings. ]
Thank you.
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He traces a red line over the rise of Poe's shoulder. He'll be wearing the harness for a day or two, until the marks fade. John likes the idea of that. A lot]
You're welcome. Thank you, babe.
[Yeah, he said it again. Without the safety net of the ropes between them.]
no subject
It's sound. Deep. Dreamless. The kind of sleep that heals and refreshes and is so rare and precious that Poe hasn't seen it in years. He drifts back to consciousness in the circle of John's arms, and just stays that way for a while, listening to John breathe, smelling the salt of dried sweat on them both.
Eventually he shifts just enough to kiss the base of John's throat. ]