[ The dim-sum is, as far as Poe is concerned, a complete success. Up to and including John seeing how many dumplings they could stuff in Poe's mouth before he was no longer able to chew. (Seven, it was seven.)
They get back to Poe's place as it's starting to get dark. Poe unlocks the door and opens it to BB-8's loud, annoyed whistlebooping as the droid rolls over to demand information about where Poe has been all day. He grins down at the droid and motions John inside. ]
[It was a good night. If this is what being a friend to Poe Dameron is like? John won't consider it a loss. They laughed. Relaxed. Had fun. Thought about and did something that wasn't killing people for a while. That's all John can really ask for from anyone.
They walk back to Poe's place, and John stops a few feet back from the door. He doesn't expect anything. Doesn't even want to look like he does. He's happy enough to say bye from that distance, a safe distance, for both of them.
Then Poe invites him in. John blinks, glancing back over both shoulders. There's no one behind him, and he didn't think there was, but Poe's never invited him in, or over, before. It's always John's place, and John's bed, or wall, or door...
He swallows, butterflies dancing violently in his stomach. They're a little dusty, but still alive, apparently.]
[ No pressure, no expectations, no small amount of amusement. Poe finds himself charmed again by John’s glance over his shoulders, saddened again by how surprised John seems by every little gesture.
(Make more of them, Poe thinks, and he feels his own small twinge of fear.) ]
Finn’s out on a shift, so we have the place to ourselves. [ He lifts one shoulder in a shrug and BB-8 chirps a reminder that no they do not have the place to themselves. Poe nudges the droid with his toes. ] Mostly to ourselves.
[Is that what they're doing? John has no idea. He's stared half-mad warlords in the eye during negotiations and had a better idea of what was happening. With Poe, John just doesn't know. Everything about their relationship, or lack thereof, has been left purposefully vague. Fuzzy around the edges.
Which is usually how John likes it. Or thought he did.
His heart thumps once, like a sonic boom, as he steps around Poe (and BB-8) into Poe's home. It's unfamiliar territory. John maps the windows, doors and barriers with a quick scan of his eyes before noting any surface details. Habit.
Turns out there aren't many. Poe and Finn's place is about as barren as his and Rodney's. All that really stands out are the makeshift beds on the living room floor.]
I like what you've done with the place. You're really running with the whole living room concept.
[ Poe gives John’s shoulder a light jab, heading for the kitchen area with BB-8 at his heels. He doesn’t say anything about the living room beds. It’s not really his place without Finn’s permission, even if the evidence of their sleeping arrangements is right there. Neither one of them is good at sleeping alone.
He reaches the kitchen, ducking down to a cabinet next to the fridge and pausing there. ]
[John bats Poe's hand away, still looking at the beds. Bed. Singular. Not unlike the nests he'd thrown together with bag-buddies on the floor of a mud hut to see them through a cold night, week, or month. He never considered that Poe and Finn might be a thing. Maybe that's why Poe's never invited him over. Not while Finn is around, anyway. Maybe he's the guy Poe calls when Finn is busy.
It's none of his business what Poe does in the time they're apart, or with who. He repeats it, each time more sternly than the last, with expletives thrown in for good measure. Always in the voice of his old drill-instructor. Wrestling his jealousy into submission, and back down into the small, dark crack in his heart it crawled out of. Where it belongs.
John follows Poe to the kitchen, leaning in with his elbows on the counter and a half-smile.]
[ The cabinet is liquor, mostly—Poe pulls out a small bottle of whiskey and sets it on the counter before going for the beer in the fridge. He knocks the cap off with a tidy whack against the edge of the counter and hands it to John.
Bottle openers are for plebs apparently.
Poe is, unsurprisingly, oblivious to the jealousy. He pours himself a small shot of whiskey and takes a sip, savoring the flavor of smoke and the burn in his throat. He watches John over the glass, studying those galaxy eyes, wanting to kiss that thin, expressive mouth. He reaches out and hooks his thumb over the band of John’s pants and tries to pull him close. ] How long can you stay?
[Just watching Poe makes John thirsty. He's mid-swallow when Poe reels him in by the belt. He sets the bottle down on the counter-top, thirsty, but not that thirsty.
Not when Poe is looking at him like that, wanting something from him. Wanting him? John's never been able to tell the difference. His eyes follow Poe's eyes, tracking their movement, wanting to see what he sees, and know what he's thinking. All day he's been throwing John for a loop. Hot and cold in some moments, and lukewarm to chilly in others.
He wants to say something funny. To lighten what feels like heaviness in the room. People don't like heavy, and John wants Poe to like him. Too much. He swallows hard.
[ Poe sets his own glass aside, ignoring BB-8’s boop of inquiry. He tugs John closer and kisses him, slipping a brush of tongue past John’s lips.
And Bee makes a noise like an electronic sigh and rolls off into the living room. ]
He knows what kissing is. [ Another, deeper kiss, the drag of teeth on lips. ] Doesn’t see the point though.
[ Poe yanks John sharply against him, wrapping one arm around the man’s waist and dipping his fingers past the top of John’s pants to brush his ass. He nips at John’s neck. ] Droids. What can you do.
[So much for platonic. John sighs against Poe's mouth, his hands rubbing up and down his sides before settling on his shoulders. They're such good shoulders.
John likes the kissing. The touching. The biting. The attention. He soaks it up, greedy, taking all he can get while he can get it. War makes a man shortsighted. nothing matters but the next second, next minute, and it's anyone's guess if you'll even make it to the next hour, so why worry? Chances are it's all FUBAR anyway.
Rough fingers grip at the muscle of Poe's upper back, digging into his neck, twisting and pulling at his hair. He moves his hips against Poe's hips, denim sanding away at denim, and groans low in his throat.]
[ A throaty chuckle. ] Yeah, best part was when you stuffed it in my mouth.
[ Tongue, teeth, lips against John’s neck, his thumb tracing circles across the top of John’s ass while he uses his other hand to take a fistful of John’s hair. He pulls John’s head sideways, gentle but quick, exposing more of his throat for roughening attention. He speaks against John’s skin. ]
Yeah? That was my favourite part too. [More groaning, and John's already breathing hard, his hands raking down Poe's back his shirt as Poe's lips and teeth make short work of what little resistance he had to getting fucked in Poe's kitchen with BB-8 in the other room.
You really are beautiful, you know that? John didn't know.
John's never been called beautiful before, and he never knew he could want to be called beautiful until now. Why is Poe always doing this to him? Catching him off-guard and shaking him in new, painful ways all the way down to his core.
The soldier in John wants to retreat from this assault. The man in him, who would never call himself beautiful, who is afraid to be alone with himself, who feels something quickly and dangerously approaching love for Poe Dameron, is too stupid to run.
His eyes dip closed, tongue skimming nervously over his lower lip before catching it between his teeth. How can a man be educated, trained, married, survive multiple wars and live to near forty, and still be so completely lost?]
No. [In a quiet voice, his face safely turned away.] You're crazy.
[ There are certainly times Poe feels crazy. There are times when he feels like a loose bit of debris sailing through space, waiting to crash into a shield or burn up in the atmosphere of his cause. ]
You're still beautiful.
[ He wraps lips and tongue around John's earlobe, grazes the skin with his teeth, and keeps his lips close enough to brush John's ear with every word as he says, ] Your eyes are beautiful.
[ Poe shifts the hand in John's hair to the side of his neck, down to his collarbone, down to his hip. ] Your mouth is beautiful.
[ He rucks John's shirt up just enough to slide his hand underneath and trace his fingers around the outline of one of the nastier scars. ] Every one of these is beautiful.
[ Every one marks a struggle survived.
Poe sucks lightly on John's ear. ] Every time I get to touch you, I find something else.
[John didn't know any part of him could still be found, or was worth looking for. He wants to tell Poe he's wrong, to argue, to present him with all the evidence to the contrary. The thick of a black folder that doesn't exist with his name on it, and everything he's done that hasn't been recorded.
Poe is crazy, he has no doubt about that, and being with him makes John crazy, too. His heart can't beat any harder, or faster. He's already shaking with adrenaline made physical, his body and mind conditioned through war to treat every rush of emotion like they're going to battle. Every word Poe says is only spinning him further out of control, in an uncontrolled ascent, flying high, then higher. Past the point of return.
Love feels a lot like hypoxia.
Poe's lips and fingers leave scorch marks on his skin. The mouth around his ear is what makes his knees go weak for a moment, like he's been kicked in the gut, except he's hard now, his hands sliding down Poe's shoulders and gripping onto the thick of his biceps hard enough to bruise.]
You can touch me whenever you want.
[John means it, more than he's meant anything, in that moment. He turns his head to try and catch Poe's mouth, and kiss him as hard as he want to kiss him, with everything Poe is making him feel and then some.
[ It's John's turn to take Poe off-guard. The rawness of the kiss, the hunger and the force of it, burn through his sense of control like a dropped blowtorch through delicate wires.
When John let's him go, Poe is half-hard himself, and he has to take a second to rest his face against the curve of John's neck. There's a sense of safety that comes with taking John in hand. He has to keep a hold of himself, he has to stay focused. But god, that one kiss, and it all comes undone.
He has no idea what he was going to say next, if there was anything he wanted to say at all. He's winded, heart pounding, and the goal of getting John off with kisses alone has slid down a peg on his list of priorities.
Poe bites John's neck, hard enough to pretend what he says is a command instead of a plea. ] Do that again.
[Poe's not in command anymore. It's John's turn to lead the assault. He snakes a hand up between their bodies and grabs a fistful of Poe's shirt, twisting the fabric tight around his fingers and giving it a jerk. Hard enough to snap Poe's head back, away from him, so he can attack Poe's mouth with great prejudice.
He claims his mouth with a viciousness he reserves for fighting, when his back is up against the wall, and there's nowhere to go but through. Everything that's packed inside of him, unstable and explosive, like mortar, needs someplace to blow. He targets Poe's lips. All tongue, and teeth, hungry and wolfish, stealing his breath and growling it out again. He drives Poe back against the nearest cabinets at the same time, hard enough to knock stuff off the shelves inside, and pinning him in place with a knee between his thighs.
John doesn't give Poe time to regroup, he reaches down between them and grabs Poe's cock through his jeans, kneading roughly. He's only half-hard. John wants him hard for him, he wants proof that Poe wants him, wants this, and isn't just yanking his chain.]
I'm not gonna stop.
[Finally, John claims something for himself. Even if it's only for right here, and right now, Poe is his, and he'll have him.]
[ He feels his shirt draw tight across his throat for a moment before his head jerks back, and then John is on him again. He tries to push back, to put weight behind his own kiss, but John is strong for someone so slender and Poe doesn't fight as hard as he could.
Hitting the cabinets hurts. The rough grip on his dick hurts. But he's on his way to panting and can feel himself engorging and this is not how Poe thought this would go when he drew John toward him across the kitchen.
Please don't, he wants to say. There's an animal side to John that Poe envies and admires, a sense of power in check that lives in John alongside his beautiful fragility, each making the other something more. John is a beast with a thorn in his paw, and Poe wants to be eaten alive.
( He doesn't want to be that far in anyone's power, he's terrified of it, raw with the fear of it. ) ]
Let-- [ --go. Poe can't get himself to finish the two-word sentence. He doesn't want John to take him at his word.
Besides, he's fully hard in John's grip. He'd be outed as a liar either way. ]
[John doesn't know what Poe is. Some days he's an easygoing pilot and friend to all, a role John is intrinsically familiar with, and others he's a broken down rebel, fighting tooth and nail for a hopeless cause. There's more to him than that. John knows, because there's more to him, too, and they're not so different. Poe's seen the side of himself he doesn't show anyone, more than once, as of this night.
He bites Poe's lower lip hard enough to taste blood, punishing him, at the same time as he strokes him through his jeans. He pops the button, yanks his fly down, and goes for skin, wrapping his callused fingers around Poe's dick and pulling it out from his pants. No hiding.]
Do you know how crazy you drive me?
[A harsh whisper into Poe's ear as he jerks him, as if Poe's holding out on him, trying to keep some of that hardness to himself when John wants it all. John won't let him. Usually, John is all give, receptive to what Poe likes, and how he likes it, easy, because that's the man he's become in the face of great difficult, but it's not fair that Poe gets to strip him down to the skin and leave him shaking, scared, and vulnerable, while he hides behind his own shield.
It's not fair that Poe makes John reach for him, like he hasn't reached for anyone since his Lisa left, and then keeps stepping back. It hurts.]
Because you're going to find out.
[Big talk, but John's made a career of winning when the odds are against him. He can live off scraps, and he's used to working with nothing, or less than nothing, to turn the tides of war. Hail mary.
Maybe he's been trying to do too much with what Poe's given him, pieces of affection, slices of attention, a solid fuck when he has the time, or inclination. John's found himself knee deep in a battle he doesn't understand, fighting for something that might be even more impossible than winning the war against the Wraith, or Empire. Poe's never asked him to fight for him. Until now, John wasn't sure he even wanted him here.
Now that he does, or thinks he does, John finally has ammunition. The tides have changed.
John thumbs the wet of Poe's dick around the head, slicking him, teasing him with callused fingertips and just a hint of nail digging into sensitive skin. Then he stops, undoes the front of his own pants, releasing his own erection, and rubs it against Poe's.
He stops again. Draws back to look at Poe with eyes gone cool, and sharp, with all the confidence of a man with nothing to lose, and everything to gain.]
You're going to get on your knees, you're going to suck me, and you're going to fuck me like I've been waiting for you to fuck me since the last time you came over.
[ Poe tries to find something to grip that isn't John, his hands sliding uselessly over the cabinets, while that snip of pain in his lower lip and the blossoming taste of blood drives Poe's adrenaline somewhere safe, toward stubbornness, toward anger.
John's grip on him fractures Poe's focus on anything but emotion, sensation narrowing to the heat in his stomach and the painful stimulation at his crotch. Then there's the friction of John's dick against him and Poe's hips twitch forward. His nails scrape the smooth cabinet fronts. He hates John Sheppard for just a second, hates him for doing exactly what Poe has been trying to avoid.
Do you know how crazy you drive me? Because you're going to find out.
He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see the danger in John's own, so he can pretend he isn't being forced toward a vulnerability he's not sure he's ready to show.
( Poe doesn't find his own fragility beautiful. It's ugly, it's weak, it's a poisonous voice that whispers memories of peace in his darkest moments and make him wish for a place away from war. )
Poe is angry. It's safer than being anything else. ]
[Simple as that. If Poe doesn't want him, or only wants him one way, his way, always, John should go. Staying would be too dangerous. Already is, and has been since the day Poe first broke through John's defenses.
God, he's afraid. What if Poe doesn't want him? John doesn't know which outcome is worse. Leaving, after making a fucking fool out of himself, and going back to his house that is not a home, or giving in, and letting Poe have him the way he wants him. Because something is better than nothing
Poe's eyes are closed, and John is glad. For a moment he's overcome with sadness. A despair as dark, thick, and suffocating as the black sand storms of Afghanistan. He's tired of being alone, and unwanted. It's been a long day, and he's been on edge for so much of it, desperate for something, a sign? or maybe just an indicator Poe really wanted to be there, with him, and that all of this means something.
That it isn't just sex for him, because it isn't for John. Poe made him cry. John hadn't cried at his father's funeral, or Carson's funeral, or standing in Elizabeth's office, scrubbed clean of her personal effects, wanting for all the world to be in her place.
Poe made him cry.
He's angry too, and he shoves Poe back into the cabinet, because even John has his limits, no matter how closely he guards them. He's still horny, but it's deeper now, burning painfully in his gut, all twisted up with too many emotions to separate.]
[ Poe isn't sure what answer he expected. He's not even sure what answer he wanted. All he knew was the intimate instinct to fight when backed into a corner. He's lived his life in that corner for years; the fight is second nature, with the result a gamble every time.
When John shoves him, he feels the chain of his necklace bounce against his skin underneath his shirt at the same time his back hits the cabinets. For a second he has the sense that his mother's ring is bearing down, that the chain will leave an imprint on his neck that won't go away for days.
He doesn't want John to go.
He has no idea how to say it.
His stomach is knotted for reasons that have nothing to do with arousal.
Poe reaches out, catches the hem of John's shirt in his fingers, pulls on it like a child trying to get someone's attention. He can't lose John, and it feels like if he doesn't say what needs to be said, he will. In some way, Poe will lose him. He can't do that.
Again, that acute awareness of his mother's ring.
He's used to losing people in war. He's even comfortable with it, as much as a person can ever be comfortable with that kind of trauma, that kind of grief. It's losing people in other ways that really scares him. ]
Don't go.
[ An unconscious echo of John's words that first night. It's small. Poe clears his throat, but he can't say the words again. He can't put more force behind them. They get stuck in his throat, grinding together around the lump there. He can only hope his eyes say what the rest of him is terrified to.
[John looks into those eyes, dark and soulful, looking back at him with a sadness reflecting the hurt in his own heart. Selflessly, or selfishly, John won't leave him.
Can't.
It's not about the sex, not right now, but they're not men of words. They're men of action. Sex is just a medium used to convey emotions left unsaid. A way to connect with body and touch, and to speak truth with voices lost or forgotten. John's become so used to suffering in silence that he doesn't know how to cry, and Poe has his own demons.
He answers Poe with his lips, kissing him again, hard, arms draping loosely over his broad shoulders. John wants him, and he's not leaving. Hands following the outline of Poe's scapula, fingers digging into the tense pillars of muscle on either side of Poe's spine. Fingertips tracing the curve of Poe's ribcage, heaving beneath his touch, to his solar plexus.
His hands reach Poe's shoulders again. He almost can't bear to break the kiss, but he remembers Poe in his fear, himself in his fear that night when Poe pried him out of himself, kicking and screaming, into a freedom he'd never known until that night.
John draws back, looking at Poe again, holding him with his eyes, and pushes down. Gently. Firmly. To his knees. Where John commanded him.]
[ Poe folds. There's one moment, one breath of resistance that's more instinct than intent, and then he's down on his knees with John's hands on his shoulders, too relieved by the kiss and the touching to really protest.
( He wouldn't protest either way, but he tells himself relief is the reason. )
He grips the backs of John's thighs through the man's pants, pressing his face against John's clothed inner thigh and feeling the scrape of cloth instead of the gentle pliancy of skin. He reaches up to try and pull John's pants down, glancing upward as he does to make sure he has some kind of permission to do it.
His heart feels about ready to explode its way out between his ribs like rapid blaster fire. There are a thousand things he wants right now, not the least of which is to run far and fast from the admission that John is someone more important a casual partner. But more than that he wants to show the man, to prove to John that he is more important than that.
Poe kisses one of John's iliac crests, leaves a line of kisses down his pelvis to his dick. Rests his face for another moment against John's body.
Then he kisses John's penis, tongues his way along its length to the head, and takes it in his mouth. ]
[John's fingers carve through the thick of Poe's hair, pushing it back from his face. He can't look away. Poe is submitting, but John is no less enthralled by him. His breath is quiet, but quick, his body vibrating beneath Poe's lips, every kiss sparking something deeper and more fulfilling than simple pleasure.
It's different this time. More intimate. Poe's never hesitated to go down on him, but he doesn't usually take his time, either. There's always a sense of urgency when they fuck, a rush to get each other out of their clothes, and get each other off. Rough, and a little careless. Just two men knocking boots between missions.
The warm wet of Poe's mouth makes him gasp. John's hands go to base of his skull, cradling his head. Supporting and encouraging him. He wants to see more of this side of Poe. Gentle and giving. Scared, but brave. Strong enough to risk tenderness. The heart and soul of the rebellion, who refuses to give up hope. He could, and is, falling in love with him.
Poe's always beautiful, but like this? John would fight a war for him.
[ Poe eases his lips and tongue back and forth over the head and length of John's cock, a little deeper each time, choking once, muscles in his throat spasming lightly at the invasion. One hand on John's thigh, the other gliding up and down John's penis as Poe moves, slicking John with spit. He uses his tongue to push John's dick up against the roof of his mouth, rolls the roughness of his palate against John's head.
He can't get enough of the feel of John's hands against his head, in his hair. He tugs lightly on John's thigh, pushing John deeper in, choking himself again, intentionally this time. He can't talk like this, not with words, he can't give himself up vocally, but he can do it with his mouth, his hands. Poe shifts his fingers from John's dick to his balls, running his thumb over the sensitive skin in the cleft between them, then dragging his nail across the same place. ]
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no subject
Date: 2018-02-18 10:46 pm (UTC)They get back to Poe's place as it's starting to get dark. Poe unlocks the door and opens it to BB-8's loud, annoyed whistlebooping as the droid rolls over to demand information about where Poe has been all day. He grins down at the droid and motions John inside. ]
Want to come in?
no subject
Date: 2018-02-23 03:39 pm (UTC)They walk back to Poe's place, and John stops a few feet back from the door. He doesn't expect anything. Doesn't even want to look like he does. He's happy enough to say bye from that distance, a safe distance, for both of them.
Then Poe invites him in. John blinks, glancing back over both shoulders. There's no one behind him, and he didn't think there was, but Poe's never invited him in, or over, before. It's always John's place, and John's bed, or wall, or door...
He swallows, butterflies dancing violently in his stomach. They're a little dusty, but still alive, apparently.]
Now?
[Smooth, John.]
no subject
Date: 2018-02-23 11:20 pm (UTC)[ No pressure, no expectations, no small amount of amusement. Poe finds himself charmed again by John’s glance over his shoulders, saddened again by how surprised John seems by every little gesture.
(Make more of them, Poe thinks, and he feels his own small twinge of fear.) ]
Finn’s out on a shift, so we have the place to ourselves. [ He lifts one shoulder in a shrug and BB-8 chirps a reminder that no they do not have the place to themselves. Poe nudges the droid with his toes. ] Mostly to ourselves.
no subject
Date: 2018-02-23 11:39 pm (UTC)[Is that what they're doing? John has no idea. He's stared half-mad warlords in the eye during negotiations and had a better idea of what was happening. With Poe, John just doesn't know. Everything about their relationship, or lack thereof, has been left purposefully vague. Fuzzy around the edges.
Which is usually how John likes it. Or thought he did.
His heart thumps once, like a sonic boom, as he steps around Poe (and BB-8) into Poe's home. It's unfamiliar territory. John maps the windows, doors and barriers with a quick scan of his eyes before noting any surface details. Habit.
Turns out there aren't many. Poe and Finn's place is about as barren as his and Rodney's. All that really stands out are the makeshift beds on the living room floor.]
I like what you've done with the place. You're really running with the whole living room concept.
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Date: 2018-02-23 11:53 pm (UTC)He reaches the kitchen, ducking down to a cabinet next to the fridge and pausing there. ]
Want a drink? Booze or nonbooze?
no subject
Date: 2018-02-24 12:15 am (UTC)It's none of his business what Poe does in the time they're apart, or with who. He repeats it, each time more sternly than the last, with expletives thrown in for good measure. Always in the voice of his old drill-instructor. Wrestling his jealousy into submission, and back down into the small, dark crack in his heart it crawled out of. Where it belongs.
John follows Poe to the kitchen, leaning in with his elbows on the counter and a half-smile.]
Yeah, sure. Got any beer?
no subject
Date: 2018-02-24 01:59 am (UTC)Bottle openers are for plebs apparently.
Poe is, unsurprisingly, oblivious to the jealousy. He pours himself a small shot of whiskey and takes a sip, savoring the flavor of smoke and the burn in his throat. He watches John over the glass, studying those galaxy eyes, wanting to kiss that thin, expressive mouth. He reaches out and hooks his thumb over the band of John’s pants and tries to pull him close. ] How long can you stay?
no subject
Date: 2018-02-24 02:20 am (UTC)Not when Poe is looking at him like that, wanting something from him. Wanting him? John's never been able to tell the difference. His eyes follow Poe's eyes, tracking their movement, wanting to see what he sees, and know what he's thinking. All day he's been throwing John for a loop. Hot and cold in some moments, and lukewarm to chilly in others.
He wants to say something funny. To lighten what feels like heaviness in the room. People don't like heavy, and John wants Poe to like him. Too much. He swallows hard.
What comes out is the truth.]
As long as you want me to stay.
no subject
Date: 2018-02-24 02:37 am (UTC)And Bee makes a noise like an electronic sigh and rolls off into the living room. ]
He knows what kissing is. [ Another, deeper kiss, the drag of teeth on lips. ] Doesn’t see the point though.
[ Poe yanks John sharply against him, wrapping one arm around the man’s waist and dipping his fingers past the top of John’s pants to brush his ass. He nips at John’s neck. ] Droids. What can you do.
no subject
Date: 2018-02-24 02:58 am (UTC)[So much for platonic. John sighs against Poe's mouth, his hands rubbing up and down his sides before settling on his shoulders. They're such good shoulders.
John likes the kissing. The touching. The biting. The attention. He soaks it up, greedy, taking all he can get while he can get it. War makes a man shortsighted. nothing matters but the next second, next minute, and it's anyone's guess if you'll even make it to the next hour, so why worry? Chances are it's all FUBAR anyway.
Rough fingers grip at the muscle of Poe's upper back, digging into his neck, twisting and pulling at his hair. He moves his hips against Poe's hips, denim sanding away at denim, and groans low in his throat.]
You must've really liked that dim-sum—
no subject
Date: 2018-02-24 03:09 am (UTC)[ Tongue, teeth, lips against John’s neck, his thumb tracing circles across the top of John’s ass while he uses his other hand to take a fistful of John’s hair. He pulls John’s head sideways, gentle but quick, exposing more of his throat for roughening attention. He speaks against John’s skin. ]
You really are beautiful, you know that?
no subject
Date: 2018-02-24 03:35 am (UTC)You really are beautiful, you know that? John didn't know.
John's never been called beautiful before, and he never knew he could want to be called beautiful until now. Why is Poe always doing this to him? Catching him off-guard and shaking him in new, painful ways all the way down to his core.
The soldier in John wants to retreat from this assault. The man in him, who would never call himself beautiful, who is afraid to be alone with himself, who feels something quickly and dangerously approaching love for Poe Dameron, is too stupid to run.
His eyes dip closed, tongue skimming nervously over his lower lip before catching it between his teeth. How can a man be educated, trained, married, survive multiple wars and live to near forty, and still be so completely lost?]
No. [In a quiet voice, his face safely turned away.] You're crazy.
no subject
Date: 2018-02-24 04:06 am (UTC)[ There are certainly times Poe feels crazy. There are times when he feels like a loose bit of debris sailing through space, waiting to crash into a shield or burn up in the atmosphere of his cause. ]
You're still beautiful.
[ He wraps lips and tongue around John's earlobe, grazes the skin with his teeth, and keeps his lips close enough to brush John's ear with every word as he says, ] Your eyes are beautiful.
[ Poe shifts the hand in John's hair to the side of his neck, down to his collarbone, down to his hip. ] Your mouth is beautiful.
[ He rucks John's shirt up just enough to slide his hand underneath and trace his fingers around the outline of one of the nastier scars. ] Every one of these is beautiful.
[ Every one marks a struggle survived.
Poe sucks lightly on John's ear. ] Every time I get to touch you, I find something else.
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Date: 2018-02-24 04:39 am (UTC)Poe is crazy, he has no doubt about that, and being with him makes John crazy, too. His heart can't beat any harder, or faster. He's already shaking with adrenaline made physical, his body and mind conditioned through war to treat every rush of emotion like they're going to battle. Every word Poe says is only spinning him further out of control, in an uncontrolled ascent, flying high, then higher. Past the point of return.
Love feels a lot like hypoxia.
Poe's lips and fingers leave scorch marks on his skin. The mouth around his ear is what makes his knees go weak for a moment, like he's been kicked in the gut, except he's hard now, his hands sliding down Poe's shoulders and gripping onto the thick of his biceps hard enough to bruise.]
You can touch me whenever you want.
[John means it, more than he's meant anything, in that moment. He turns his head to try and catch Poe's mouth, and kiss him as hard as he want to kiss him, with everything Poe is making him feel and then some.
To shut up him, and to thank him.]
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Date: 2018-02-24 05:02 am (UTC)When John let's him go, Poe is half-hard himself, and he has to take a second to rest his face against the curve of John's neck. There's a sense of safety that comes with taking John in hand. He has to keep a hold of himself, he has to stay focused. But god, that one kiss, and it all comes undone.
He has no idea what he was going to say next, if there was anything he wanted to say at all. He's winded, heart pounding, and the goal of getting John off with kisses alone has slid down a peg on his list of priorities.
Poe bites John's neck, hard enough to pretend what he says is a command instead of a plea. ] Do that again.
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Date: 2018-02-24 05:26 am (UTC)He claims his mouth with a viciousness he reserves for fighting, when his back is up against the wall, and there's nowhere to go but through. Everything that's packed inside of him, unstable and explosive, like mortar, needs someplace to blow. He targets Poe's lips. All tongue, and teeth, hungry and wolfish, stealing his breath and growling it out again. He drives Poe back against the nearest cabinets at the same time, hard enough to knock stuff off the shelves inside, and pinning him in place with a knee between his thighs.
John doesn't give Poe time to regroup, he reaches down between them and grabs Poe's cock through his jeans, kneading roughly. He's only half-hard. John wants him hard for him, he wants proof that Poe wants him, wants this, and isn't just yanking his chain.]
I'm not gonna stop.
[Finally, John claims something for himself. Even if it's only for right here, and right now, Poe is his, and he'll have him.]
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Date: 2018-02-24 06:16 am (UTC)Hitting the cabinets hurts. The rough grip on his dick hurts. But he's on his way to panting and can feel himself engorging and this is not how Poe thought this would go when he drew John toward him across the kitchen.
Please don't, he wants to say. There's an animal side to John that Poe envies and admires, a sense of power in check that lives in John alongside his beautiful fragility, each making the other something more. John is a beast with a thorn in his paw, and Poe wants to be eaten alive.
( He doesn't want to be that far in anyone's power, he's terrified of it, raw with the fear of it. ) ]
Let-- [ --go. Poe can't get himself to finish the two-word sentence. He doesn't want John to take him at his word.
Besides, he's fully hard in John's grip. He'd be outed as a liar either way. ]
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Date: 2018-02-24 06:54 pm (UTC)He bites Poe's lower lip hard enough to taste blood, punishing him, at the same time as he strokes him through his jeans. He pops the button, yanks his fly down, and goes for skin, wrapping his callused fingers around Poe's dick and pulling it out from his pants. No hiding.]
Do you know how crazy you drive me?
[A harsh whisper into Poe's ear as he jerks him, as if Poe's holding out on him, trying to keep some of that hardness to himself when John wants it all. John won't let him. Usually, John is all give, receptive to what Poe likes, and how he likes it, easy, because that's the man he's become in the face of great difficult, but it's not fair that Poe gets to strip him down to the skin and leave him shaking, scared, and vulnerable, while he hides behind his own shield.
It's not fair that Poe makes John reach for him, like he hasn't reached for anyone since his Lisa left, and then keeps stepping back. It hurts.]
Because you're going to find out.
[Big talk, but John's made a career of winning when the odds are against him. He can live off scraps, and he's used to working with nothing, or less than nothing, to turn the tides of war. Hail mary.
Maybe he's been trying to do too much with what Poe's given him, pieces of affection, slices of attention, a solid fuck when he has the time, or inclination. John's found himself knee deep in a battle he doesn't understand, fighting for something that might be even more impossible than winning the war against the Wraith, or Empire. Poe's never asked him to fight for him. Until now, John wasn't sure he even wanted him here.
Now that he does, or thinks he does, John finally has ammunition. The tides have changed.
John thumbs the wet of Poe's dick around the head, slicking him, teasing him with callused fingertips and just a hint of nail digging into sensitive skin. Then he stops, undoes the front of his own pants, releasing his own erection, and rubs it against Poe's.
He stops again. Draws back to look at Poe with eyes gone cool, and sharp, with all the confidence of a man with nothing to lose, and everything to gain.]
You're going to get on your knees, you're going to suck me, and you're going to fuck me like I've been waiting for you to fuck me since the last time you came over.
Don't make me ask twice.
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Date: 2018-02-25 02:52 am (UTC)John's grip on him fractures Poe's focus on anything but emotion, sensation narrowing to the heat in his stomach and the painful stimulation at his crotch. Then there's the friction of John's dick against him and Poe's hips twitch forward. His nails scrape the smooth cabinet fronts. He hates John Sheppard for just a second, hates him for doing exactly what Poe has been trying to avoid.
Do you know how crazy you drive me? Because you're going to find out.
He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see the danger in John's own, so he can pretend he isn't being forced toward a vulnerability he's not sure he's ready to show.
( Poe doesn't find his own fragility beautiful. It's ugly, it's weak, it's a poisonous voice that whispers memories of peace in his darkest moments and make him wish for a place away from war. )
Poe is angry. It's safer than being anything else. ]
What if I won't?
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Date: 2018-02-25 03:25 am (UTC)[Simple as that. If Poe doesn't want him, or only wants him one way, his way, always, John should go. Staying would be too dangerous. Already is, and has been since the day Poe first broke through John's defenses.
God, he's afraid. What if Poe doesn't want him? John doesn't know which outcome is worse. Leaving, after making a fucking fool out of himself, and going back to his house that is not a home, or giving in, and letting Poe have him the way he wants him. Because something is better than nothing
Poe's eyes are closed, and John is glad. For a moment he's overcome with sadness. A despair as dark, thick, and suffocating as the black sand storms of Afghanistan. He's tired of being alone, and unwanted. It's been a long day, and he's been on edge for so much of it, desperate for something, a sign? or maybe just an indicator Poe really wanted to be there, with him, and that all of this means something.
That it isn't just sex for him, because it isn't for John. Poe made him cry. John hadn't cried at his father's funeral, or Carson's funeral, or standing in Elizabeth's office, scrubbed clean of her personal effects, wanting for all the world to be in her place.
Poe made him cry.
He's angry too, and he shoves Poe back into the cabinet, because even John has his limits, no matter how closely he guards them. He's still horny, but it's deeper now, burning painfully in his gut, all twisted up with too many emotions to separate.]
Make up your damn mind.
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Date: 2018-02-25 04:14 am (UTC)When John shoves him, he feels the chain of his necklace bounce against his skin underneath his shirt at the same time his back hits the cabinets. For a second he has the sense that his mother's ring is bearing down, that the chain will leave an imprint on his neck that won't go away for days.
He doesn't want John to go.
He has no idea how to say it.
His stomach is knotted for reasons that have nothing to do with arousal.
Poe reaches out, catches the hem of John's shirt in his fingers, pulls on it like a child trying to get someone's attention. He can't lose John, and it feels like if he doesn't say what needs to be said, he will. In some way, Poe will lose him. He can't do that.
Again, that acute awareness of his mother's ring.
He's used to losing people in war. He's even comfortable with it, as much as a person can ever be comfortable with that kind of trauma, that kind of grief. It's losing people in other ways that really scares him. ]
Don't go.
[ An unconscious echo of John's words that first night. It's small. Poe clears his throat, but he can't say the words again. He can't put more force behind them. They get stuck in his throat, grinding together around the lump there. He can only hope his eyes say what the rest of him is terrified to.
Don't go. Please don't go. ]
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Date: 2018-02-25 04:57 am (UTC)Can't.
It's not about the sex, not right now, but they're not men of words. They're men of action. Sex is just a medium used to convey emotions left unsaid. A way to connect with body and touch, and to speak truth with voices lost or forgotten. John's become so used to suffering in silence that he doesn't know how to cry, and Poe has his own demons.
He answers Poe with his lips, kissing him again, hard, arms draping loosely over his broad shoulders. John wants him, and he's not leaving. Hands following the outline of Poe's scapula, fingers digging into the tense pillars of muscle on either side of Poe's spine. Fingertips tracing the curve of Poe's ribcage, heaving beneath his touch, to his solar plexus.
His hands reach Poe's shoulders again. He almost can't bear to break the kiss, but he remembers Poe in his fear, himself in his fear that night when Poe pried him out of himself, kicking and screaming, into a freedom he'd never known until that night.
John draws back, looking at Poe again, holding him with his eyes, and pushes down. Gently. Firmly. To his knees. Where John commanded him.]
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Date: 2018-02-25 05:20 am (UTC)( He wouldn't protest either way, but he tells himself relief is the reason. )
He grips the backs of John's thighs through the man's pants, pressing his face against John's clothed inner thigh and feeling the scrape of cloth instead of the gentle pliancy of skin. He reaches up to try and pull John's pants down, glancing upward as he does to make sure he has some kind of permission to do it.
His heart feels about ready to explode its way out between his ribs like rapid blaster fire. There are a thousand things he wants right now, not the least of which is to run far and fast from the admission that John is someone more important a casual partner. But more than that he wants to show the man, to prove to John that he is more important than that.
Poe kisses one of John's iliac crests, leaves a line of kisses down his pelvis to his dick. Rests his face for another moment against John's body.
Then he kisses John's penis, tongues his way along its length to the head, and takes it in his mouth. ]
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Date: 2018-02-26 01:43 am (UTC)It's different this time. More intimate. Poe's never hesitated to go down on him, but he doesn't usually take his time, either. There's always a sense of urgency when they fuck, a rush to get each other out of their clothes, and get each other off. Rough, and a little careless. Just two men knocking boots between missions.
The warm wet of Poe's mouth makes him gasp. John's hands go to base of his skull, cradling his head. Supporting and encouraging him. He wants to see more of this side of Poe. Gentle and giving. Scared, but brave. Strong enough to risk tenderness. The heart and soul of the rebellion, who refuses to give up hope. He could, and is, falling in love with him.
Poe's always beautiful, but like this? John would fight a war for him.
He would win Poe's war for him.]
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Date: 2018-03-03 11:50 pm (UTC)He can't get enough of the feel of John's hands against his head, in his hair. He tugs lightly on John's thigh, pushing John deeper in, choking himself again, intentionally this time. He can't talk like this, not with words, he can't give himself up vocally, but he can do it with his mouth, his hands. Poe shifts his fingers from John's dick to his balls, running his thumb over the sensitive skin in the cleft between them, then dragging his nail across the same place. ]
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