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(Finn wakes suddenly, fingers tightening around Poe’s, and— oh, that’s Poe’s hand in his, and he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t want to, asks after Rey and his whole body is on fire but Poe only grips tighter, hand like an anchor as Finn slips back into unconsciousness.
Somehow, the silence is no longer quite so loud.)
---
Finn heals. He’s lived his whole life preparing for a war and now he has the battle scars to show for it, thick new skin tough beneath his fingers as he presses a hand to his bare shoulder.
He has his own room, now, too— the Resistance insisted on it, giving him something to call his, though he drapes Poe’s (his) jacket over a bedpost and thinks this would’ve been enough.
He’s spent his whole life sleeping in barracks, surrounded by the sounds and smells of other men. His room is too quiet now, the air too still, and he finds himself wandering the corridors in the dead of night, desperate to sleep but unable to relax. He’s leaning against a wall, eyes shut, trying to steady his breathing, when the door to his left opens with a quiet hiss.
Finn stumbles away from the wall, already starting to mumble apologies as he makes his way back down the hall, but a hand on his arm, familiar soft chuckle stops him in his tracks. He looks at the man in the doorway for the first time, and of course his wandering brought him right to Poe’s door, sleepy brown eyes meeting Finn’s as he says, “I thought I heard—” He stops, shaking his head, a small smile playing over his lips. “Never mind. You wanna come in?”
He steps aside, gesturing for Finn to follow, and his feet are moving before he’s made up his mind. The door slides shut behind them and they’re alone, Poe perching on the end of his bed as he looks up at Finn. “Can’t sleep?” He nods toward an armchair along the wall and Finn sits, shaking his head. Unsure of what to say, he opts for the truth. “Too quiet. M’not used to having my own room.”
Poe nods like he knows, running a hand through his hair distractedly. “You can stay here, if you want.” He pauses. “Or— not, just— if you want.”
He’s almost flustered, and Finn’s never seen his confidence waver like this; even covered in blood, helpless aboard an enemy ship, he’d never seemed anything but calm. Now— now his feet are bare, his pajama pants not quite long enough to cover his ankles, fingers picking at a loose thread on his comforter. Sleep-vulnerable suits him in a way Finn never would’ve expected, and perhaps that’s why he says, “Yeah, okay, if you’re—“
“’Course I’m sure,” and Finn can’t help but return Poe’s smile even as his eyes dart around the room, uncertain.
Poe moves to the side of the bed, tugging back the covers; he looks at Finn expectantly even as Finn settles back in the chair. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m good here. I don’t mind.”
Poe gives him a long look, searching and inexplicable, before he says, “When’s the last time you got a good night’s sleep? Bed’s plenty big, if that’s not…too much.”
Too much? and Finn doesn’t think it, doesn’t let himself go down that road, gets to his feet and moves to the other side of the bed. He follows Poe’s lead, slipping beneath the covers and relaxing against the pillows. They’re the same as in his room, but these smell like Poe, and as Poe leans over to switch off the light Finn takes in a deep breath, struck by how dizzy he feels.
Poe turns back to him in the darkness, eyes, teeth gleaming as Finn’s eyes adjust. “Night, Finn.”
“Night, Poe.” He hesitates, then: “Thanks.”
He can feel Poe smile, though they’re not even touching (somehow, and only barely, their bodies so warm, so near, they may as well be). “Don’t mention it, buddy.”
Finn lies still— very still— until Poe’s breathing grows slow, even, and Finn finally, finally feels himself relax. The exhaustion that had temporarily abated is back in full force, and with the white noise of Poe’s breathing, Finn can feel the lull of sleep pulling him in. He lets it, relieved, eyes slipping shut as he curls closer to the warmth at his side.
---
When morning comes, he realizes just how close.
He wakes with his head on Poe’s chest, arm slung across his waist like this is where he belongs, the piece that’s been missing all this time. In one moment he registers that this is the first time in months, maybe years, he’s slept through the night; in the next, he realizes that Poe is awake, can feel that smile curving just above his head, and Finn eases himself off Poe’s chest with a noise that falls somewhere between content and apologetic.
“Morning,” Poe offers, voice thick with sleep. “Sleep well?” He sounds amused.
“That obvious, huh?” Finn leans back against a pillow, looking up at Poe. “Sorry about…that.”
“Nothing to be sorry about.”
And that’s it. Nothing more needs to be said, and when Finn follows Poe back to his room the next night, there’s no question, no discussion. Finn curls in close to Poe, feeling the tension drain from his limbs; he pillows his head on Poe’s chest once more and listens for the steady beat of his heart, the gentle whoosh of air every time he breathes. (That sound, of someone else who is undeniably alive, is why Finn comes back, keeps coming back— or so he tells himself as he half-heartedly fights to stay awake, not wanting to miss a moment of peace. He nods off quickly, though, consciousness overwhelmed by the warmth and security of Poe’s body surrounding his own.)
---
Of course, not every morning is quite so innocent as the first.
There are the times Finn awakens to find Poe missing, his side of the bed still warm; he’ll return minutes later with wet hair and flushed cheeks, murmuring, “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” as Finn blinks up at him from where he’s cocooned in the sheets. Poe will smile but it won’t quite reach his eyes, and as he turns away Finn starts to wonder if he’s done something wrong, if maybe all this should stop, but his eyes linger over the slope of Poe’s back as he reaches for his clothes and he wonders if he could stop.
(Poe knows what he wants. He shivers as cold water drips from his scalp down to his neck, chest, and he tries not to think about Finn’s hands tracing the trail it leaves behind. The towel is still slung low around his hips but the cold shower’s effects are already wearing off, like Finn’s mere proximity is enough to drive him to distraction once more.
Still, he doesn’t want to push Finn— doesn’t know what it was like to grow up as a Stormtrooper, given little, if any, say in the course of his own future. Poe knew his parents, trained as a pilot, saw the galaxy and fought for what he knew to be right— made choices that were never offered to Finn, to the man the First Order only ever viewed as a number, a means to an end.
So he waits every night for Finn to come to him. He grows accustomed to falling asleep with Finn’s head above his heart, skin warm against his own; sometimes he wakes feeling like he’s on fire and has to force himself out of bed while Finn sleeps on, pretending he needs to get ready for the day when really, there’s nowhere else he would rather be.
Poe thinks too often about the first time he laid eyes on Finn: the fact that Finn saved him, that he gave Finn his name. That Finn doesn’t have a last name, but maybe— he tries so hard not to let himself think, but he’s spent so long wanting nothing for himself— maybe one day, he would take Poe’s.
He thinks too about the second time he saw Finn, that familiar jacket hanging from his shoulders; his only possession in the galaxy, and still he was willing to give it back to Poe. Poe only wants to give him more. He starts with the left side of the bed; maybe someday, it’ll be a place he can call home.)
Finn— Finn doesn’t know what to think, what he wants. He misses Rey, but it’s an ache that’s faded into the background; he knows she’s safe, and that’s enough, for now.
Poe is another story altogether.
Each night Finn presses closer, whether by accident or by design; curls his fingers deliberately around Poe’s waist and swears more than once he can feel Poe brush a kiss over the top of his head before he drifts off to sleep, leaving Finn content and restless at once. He doesn’t dare let himself believe it’s more than wishful thinking, his imagination running wild; starved of touch, of human connection for so long, he doesn’t trust himself to know where the line lies.
And yet...
He does know what he wants. He just doesn’t know how to ask for it.
---
As it turns out, he doesn’t have to.
Finn startles awake, stumbling into consciousness from a dream he forgets the moment he opens his eyes. The room is dark, quiet, still like only the earliest hours of the morning can be, but something’s off—
There’s a sharp intake of breath from just above Finn’s head, and he realizes (with a rush of shame, elation, desire and everything in between) three things in a single overwhelming instant.
Number one: Poe is awake.
Number two: His heart is racing.
Number three: Finn is hard against Poe’s hip, and Poe hasn’t pushed him away.
Finn feels like he might die, cheeks burning hot but even as he tries ever so subtly to shift away he knows it’s futile, there’s no way Poe hasn’t felt it, felt him—
But Poe’s fingers tighten, just barely, where they’ve slipped around Finn’s waist, and it’s enough to make him freeze, forget how to move. Poe’s breath hitches and he murmurs, scarcely audible despite the silence that surrounds them, “Do you know how many times I’ve woken up like this with you?” and moving be damned, Finn forgets how to breathe. All the early morning showers (no rhyme, reason or pattern) suddenly come into sharp focus, all the times Poe couldn’t quite meet his eyes after a particularly restless night. Finn pulls back just enough to meet Poe’s gaze and would swear he could drown in the desire he sees there, the desperation that matches his own.
He leans in, crushing his mouth to Poe’s and the noise Poe makes is enough to shatter him apart, put him back together; if he could get any harder, that noise alone would’ve done it. He shifts his weight, slinging a leg over, between Poe’s, and— fuck, Poe is just as hard as he is. Finn can feel the length of him through too many layers of clothing and he has to pull back to breathe, but the way Poe is looking at him makes that easier said than done.
When their lips meet again, Poe seems determined to take his time even as he rolls his hips up against Finn’s, seeking friction that makes them both gasp; Finn presses his forehead to Poe’s, breathing his air, wanting everything at once, the heat of his skin and the taste of his lips and more, so much more.
Poe’s hands linger at the hem of Finn’s shirt, eyes asking permission; Finn nods, and as Poe tugs the shirt over his head he realizes— “Is this mine?”
Finn ducks his head, sheepish smile in stark contrast to his bitten lips, the sheen of sweat on his skin. Poe gets a hand under his chin, tilting Finn’s face up to meet his and leaning in to kiss him sweetly, deeply, because this time, “It suits you” isn’t quite enough.
Poe pulls back just enough to drag his own shirt over his head, hands settling heavy on Finn’s waist as their kisses grow hungrier, spurred on by the heat and promise of skin pressed to skin. Night after night spent tangled together but it’s never felt like this, never so deliberate, and Poe moans as he shifts enough to get Finn on his back, fingers tracing down his torso almost reverently. His touch dips dangerously low and Finn gasps, reaching out to drag Poe down into a searing kiss. They’ve barely broken apart, lips still brushing when Poe murmurs, shining eyes fixed on Finn’s mouth, “Can I—”
“Yes, anything,” and the noise that leaves Poe’s throat is nothing short of desperate. He tugs Finn to the edge of the bed, kneeling between his legs and stroking his still-clothed cock once, twice before Finn is lifting his hips, begging for his touch without a single word. Poe slips his pants over his hips, down his legs and Finn moans as Poe’s fingers curl over his bare thigh, around his cock, leaning in to drag his tongue across the head and Finn feels his hips arch off the bed, sees Poe’s lips curl into a smile just before his mouth sinks down onto Finn’s cock and oh, oh, Finn thought he knew what he wanted but never once had he dared to dream it could feel like this.
One hand anchoring Finn’s hips to the bed, the other stroking the base of his cock, the skin his tongue can’t quite reach, Poe takes Finn as deep as he can, pulling back only to breathe, to savor the desperate sounds that Finn makes at the loss of his touch, the content moan that follows as he sinks back down. Finn’s fingers tangle in the sheets, flexing as they grip Poe’s shoulder; Poe reaches up to move Finn’s hand to the back of his head, eyes falling shut as Finn’s fingers slip through his hair, the slightest pressure against his scalp like a question they both already know the answer to.
Poe hollows his cheeks, taking Finn deeper each time, moaning as Finn’s fingers tighten in his hair. The vibrations leave Finn trembling, cursing, and when Poe pulls off just enough to glance up, Finn is looking down at him with wide eyes, like he’s never seen anything, anyone quite so beautiful.
Poe presses the heel of his hand to his crotch even as he takes Finn between his lips once more; he doesn’t want this to be over so soon, but Finn’s cock hits the back of his throat and Poe can’t think about anything but the noises Finn’s making, the heat of his fingers on the back of Poe’s head, trailing down his spine. He doesn’t let up, and Finn is barely able to catch his breath, to manage a broken, “I’m—” before he’s coming, spilling into Poe’s mouth, hips working as Poe swallows around him mercilessly.
Poe’s tongue drags across the underside of Finn’s cock as he pulls back, lips curving into a smile as Finn shivers above him. A drop of thick liquid lingers at the corner of his mouth and he wipes it away with his thumb, pressing his forehead to Finn’s bare thigh as he reaches between his legs, breathing unsteady, limbs trembling. He still doesn’t want to push Finn— wants to give and give, but won’t take unless he knows, but already Finn’s hauling him back up onto the bed, kissing him open-mouthed, working his pants down just enough that his cock springs free and Poe can’t help but groan.
“Let me,” Finn tells him, and Poe’s eyes threaten to slip shut but he doesn’t want to miss a moment of this. Finn’s hand is tight around his cock, slick precome making the glide of his fingers that much smoother; his thumb catches beneath the head and Poe’s hips lift off the bed just as Finn leans down to swallow his moan, deep and low in his chest. They’re still kissing as Poe comes, one hand curled around the back of Finn’s neck. The other slips low around his waist, pulling him in so they’re touching everywhere, chest to chest, hips aligned, and neither man can quite bring himself to mind the mess they’ve managed to make.
(Finn extracts his hand from between their bodies moments later, looking between Poe’s satisfied expression and his own fingers; he hesitates a moment, then takes two between his lips. Poe groans, the world going white around the edges, as he hauls Finn down for yet another kiss.
It’s not the first time he thinks I want to stay here forever with Finn’s arms around him, but it’s the first time he thinks it with Finn’s laughter on his tongue, heartbeat skipping beneath his touch.)
---
They fall asleep, tangled together like every night before (perhaps not quite like— fewer clothes, legs entwined, an intimacy they’d never dared approach); it’s not until the next day that they talk, Finn propped up against the pillows, bare to the waist as Poe moves about the room in search of clean clothes.
(Finn’s gaze follows him shamelessly, and Poe catches him staring, flashing that sweet, wide grin that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Like what you see?” he asks, teasing; “Why don’t you come here and find out?” Finn returns, daring.
Poe would, he knows, if he weren’t already late to meet the General. But this— this can’t wait.)
Finn takes a deep breath. “Last night was…”
“A long time coming?”
Finn looks up to find Poe watching him intently, shirt curled, forgotten, in his fist. “At least…”
“When?” Finn asks, and right away Poe understands, because of course he does, because he has since that first moment aboard the Finalizer (you need a pilot).
“When I first saw you in my jacket,” and Poe pauses, backtracks, “But not because of that. I’d...been thinking about you since you helped me escape. Since I woke up alone on Jakku. Wondering where you were, if you were…”
And Finn can’t help but think he shouldn’t have given up so quickly, should have kept searching for Poe, but he couldn’t have known, and oh, Poe is still speaking, and—
“And then I saw you, and it was like everything came into focus.”
Finn thinks of Poe’s arms tight around him, wonders how he didn’t see it before— wonders if he did, decides it doesn’t matter, because he’s here now , and Poe has crossed the room to his side of the bed, leaning down to take Finn’s face in his hands, capture his lips in a kiss so slow and sweet that everything else fades to static.
Poe has a way of distracting Finn, of giving him what he needs before he knows he needs it. This is no exception, and he traces Finn’s lower lip with his thumb as he murmurs, “This wasn’t a one time thing— if that’s what you want,” and for the first time since he can remember, Finn is done questioning what he wants. Poe kisses him once more before he turns to go, though he hesitates in the doorway, looking back at Finn. “You can sleep here while I’m gone,” and it’s a plea as much as an offer, as though Finn would say no (after last night, the past few months, after finally realizing)—
He knows what— who— he wants, and he watches him walk out the door without a word.
(This is the war he thought he could leave behind. Perhaps the galaxy isn’t as big as he thought.)
---
Poe’s gone for two weeks, but it feels like months.
(Finn sleeps in his bed, but it’s not the same. The sheets smell like him, until they don’t—)
Until he steps off the X-Wing, and it seems barely a moment has passed.
Poe’s arms wrap around Finn with the same abandon as before, but this time when he pulls back it’s to kiss Finn, hands warm on his face, a mirror image of the last time he saw him; Finn only hears the murmurs when Poe pulls away, smile like a secret dancing over his lips as he nods toward General Organa. She’s watching them with an expression that lingers somewhere between sadness and hope, though she turns away to grant them the illusion of privacy.
Poe leans in, lips close to Finn’s ear, voice soft as he tells him, “I need to report to the General. See you back in our room?”
Our room.
And that’s it, that single word like the echo of a home he never thought he’d have.
Finn presses his lips to Poe’s cheek, watches him go; tugs half-consciously at the hem of his jacket and turns back toward camp, hardly daring to think it, (hardly caring to think anything else).
Ours.