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“Ben,” Finn whispered, matching the solemnity of the room, “You’ve got to get up.”
“Why?”
The word wasn't unkind, but it was distant, disinterested. Ben regretted having taken the tone, especially with Finn, but didn’t have the energy to correct it.
General Organa had fallen ill three days ago, and had been abed ever sense. It was nothing serious, as Ben understood. The med droid ran several scans, and determined the sickness to be harmless to the Resistance at large. Which, of course, was a relief. Sequestered as they were in the bunker, fear of a virus always loomed. What might start as a single case could balloon, stoked by cramped quarters and constant shortage of food. Without enough medicine to share, nothing could be done to curb the epidemic. The residents would be forced to ride out the wave in quarantine, and as it passed, who knew how many would drown.
That, however, wasn’t the case. Not now, at least. Belsavis was still deep in winter, so the threat still hung above their heads. But this was nothing, really. Had it come to any of the young recruits, it might not even have registered at all.
But it hadn’t. It had come to Leia, whose frailty Ben hadn’t fully understood until he first visited her sickbed. Swallowed up by blankets and sweating, she looked smaller, and weak. It was an image so at odds with his conception of her that at first he wasn’t sure who he was seeing.
“Because this isn’t helping,” Finn continued. “Please, you’ve been in here for days.”
Right on both counts. Still, he didn’t leave his chair, or even turn when he heard the other man sigh. Pressing his knees together, he blinked weariness from his eyes and stared down at his mother, scanning for signs of consciousness. Not that he expected to find any. She’d slept through most of his watch, and hadn’t so much as stirred in hours.
“She shouldn’t be alone.”
“Someone else can see to that.” Finn stepped close, carefully and quiet. Unnecessary. The crack of a gun wouldn’t wake her. “You need rest too, you know.”
“You needn’t worry about me.”
“I do, though,” Finn said, and this time his tone was stern. “We both do.”
Ben winced. He knew locking himself away would trouble them; Rey especially, who’d been on a mission since the previous week. She and Commander Dameron had taken off six days ago, and the separation was wearing on them all. They’d grown accustomed to moving as a team, and even when they couldn’t, it was uncommon to be apart thing long. Split missions were generally quick. This one, however, was dragging, complicated by miscommunication with their contacts. Frequent comm contacts had soothed the sting the first few days, but once Leia had taken ill, Ben withdrew.
“Is she angry?”
He wouldn’t blame her. Missing three days of communication was negligent in ideal circumstances, and separation in the midst of war was anything but.
“No, but she doesn’t want you staying here.” Finn came to the back of his chair and took him by the shoulders. He dug strong fingers into the meat, feeling for tension. It didn’t take long. Ben had hardly left the stiff chair, and his back had suffered for it. “And I don’t either.”
What started as a scoff fizzled to a groan as Finn worked a stubborn knot. His thumb broke it, chipping the ache, and some of Ben’s resolve fell away.
“What about what I want?”
“Taken care of,” Finn said. “I commed the med wing on the way. They’re sending someone at shift change.”
“That’s an hour away.”
“Which she’ll sleep through, whether you watch or not.” The man’s hand worked higher, tapping the notch at the crown of Ben’s spine. He shuddered, half hating Rey for teaching Finn that trick, but leaned into it all the same. “Come on,” the man continued. “You did what you could.”
Ben wasn’t sure of that. He had no aptitude for healing, hadn’t cultivated many skills outside of battle. Now, he wished he’d studied more carefully. Even if he couldn’t have cured her, he could at least have tamped her fever or softened her dreams. If he’d been a better student, perhaps.
He shook himself, clearing the thought. It wasn’t helpful.
“Fine,” he muttered. “A few hours won't hurt.”
He could hear Finn’s mind work, carding through ways to trap him overnight. But the man didn’t protest the concession. Instead he gave Ben’s shoulders a final squeeze, then stepped back.
“We'll talk timelines later,” he said dismissively. “For now, I just want to get out of here.”
“To where, exactly?”
This was Belsavis, after all, not Voss. They couldn't walk in fields of sweetgrass, or roam the forest to clear their minds. Leaving the bunker for the few minutes it took to rally ships was a hazard. Any longer and they risked damaging their extremities.
“The mess hall, first. You need something hot. It’s freezing in here.”
It was, and despite being bundled a shiver still racked Ben’s spine. It wasn’t comfortable, but Leia had moaned so miserably against the heat that he couldn’t bear to keep it on.
“And after?”
“My room.” Some of his wariness must have shown, because Finn held up his hands. “You don’t have to spend the night.”
Spending the night wasn't necessarily the issue. Since his and Rey’s first tryst with the man, Ben had spent more nights there than not. Finn's bed was warm, a comfort even when they didn't couple. It felt good to be pressed between their chests, swaddled like a child. But Rey wasn't here, and the fact shined light on a fact he hadn't considered.
Though he and Finn's relationship had sweetened, the two still spent little time alone. This wasn't to say he mistrusted the other. Over the last few years Ben’s life had often been in Finn’s hands, and it was always handled with care. Still, Rey was their bridge, and proceeding without her gave him pause.
“May I ask what for?”
“You could, or you could let me surprise you. Your call.”
He considered having the man explain himself, but decided against it. Whatever Finn had planned, it had undoubtedly been approved. He and Rey had certainly conspired.
“Fine; have your way.”
Stretching his arms high, Ben finally pushed out of the chair. His knees protested, stiff from disuse, but he worked through it. He kicked each leg, rolling his ankles to grease the joints. He bared his teeth against a few vicious cracks before turning his attention to Finn. The other man’s brow was knit with concern, and Ben felt a renewed creep of guilt.
“It’s nothing,” he assured. “The walk will sort it out.”
“You sure? It’s not--” His eyes cut to Leia, but Ben waved off the concern.
“I read the reports. It isn’t contagious.”
Finn only looked half convinced, but ceded the point. Checking the time, he mumbled that the new watch would be arriving soon.
“We should clear out,” he said, “let them set up how they like.”
In case Ben could be convinced to spend the night away, he meant, though he was polite enough not to press.
A trip to the mess, it turned out, was nearly all that Ben needed.
While food was been brought to him on watch, it had all been cold and insubstantial. The smell of the hall alone lifted his mood, and after several heaping plates the knots in his gut relaxed. The few minutes of chatter they managed to wheedle from Rey did wonders as well. While he ate Finn fussed with his comm, pinging the woman every few minutes in the hopes of eliciting a response. It very nearly didn’t work-- communication had been spotty since the night before, apparently-- but as Ben sipped the dregs of his caf, the signal returned.
Rey’s voice came through, marred by static, and at the sound he snatched the comm away. He monopolized most of the conversation, but Finn didn’t seem to mind. The other man sat back, content to listen to them trip over each other after days of silence. It was no more than five minutes, but when Rey signed off, Ben felt lighter than he had in days. Were the ache of seclusion not still in his back, he might’ve been able to forget what kept them apart.
Beyond lingering stiffness, there was little left of Ben’s dour mood when he and Finn pushed back. So little that he’d forgotten about accompanying the other to his room. Halfway through dinner he’d resolved to spend the night away from Leia, but imagined doing so in his own room. When Finn turned right at the fork between their rooms, however, he was reminded of what he’d agreed to. And when the man made a beeline for the ‘fresher--
“You don’t have to,” Ben said quickly.
“Have to what?” Finn didn’t have to turn for Ben to know he was smirking. “You don’t even know the plan.”
He didn’t, but he could guess. Finn had shrugged off his coat and cuffed his sleeves before slipping through the ‘fresher door; tell enough, even if he hadn’t knelt at the tub.
“Enlighten me, then.”
Ben shrugged off his own cloak, letting it pool before wandering into the ‘fresher. He crossed the threshold in time to catch Finn shrug.
“You looked stiff.” The man leaned to open the faucet. “Thought you could use a bath. Fix the lights, would you?”
He obeyed, toying with the dial in the wall. Light swelled and dimmed with its turning, something that fascinated Ben during his first months on base. Like the personal heating units, the lights were a testament to the bunker’s age. Had it been built more recently, such functions would’ve been centralized. Setting it just below half power, he crossed the room to kneel at Finn’s side. By then the other man had finished rinsing the basin, and was adjusting the water’s heat.
“Thanks,” he muttered, reaching for the other’s wrist. Ben let him snatch it, and didn’t resist when his fingers were guided under the stream. “How’s that?”
Ben felt the faintest surge of embarrassment, and not just at the question. He felt like a child, knelt by his mother’s tub, hoping to be allowed to play in the bubbles. But he wasn’t a child, and Leia was far from well enough to bathe. A thought came creeping up at that: Shouldn’t be here. And he shouldn’t. Not while the General was ill. She’d never left his sickbed. Why should he?
“Ben?” He jumped, dragged from his thoughts by Finn’s voice. When the room came into focus, the other man’s brow was drawn again. “Talk to me. Too hot?” He shook his head. “Should I leave it?”
“Hotter.” He flexed his fingers under the stream. “Please.”
Finn thumbed the carpals under his grip, and with his free hand adjusted the knobs. When the water began to steam Ben hissed, muttered there, and the other man released him. Pulling back to wipe dry, Ben watched the other man stop the drain and squeeze soap into the stream. Standard scrub, unlike the bubbles and milks from his memories. Still, it would scent the water, which was more than enough.
“Did Rey put you up to this?” he asked, rising to strip. There was no point in refusing now. The bath was being drawn, and it’d be senseless to waste it.
Finn laughed, the sound nearly swallowed by water. “Not this time.”
Ben flushed, busying himself with the ties on his tunic. He didn’t think often of his first week on Belsavis. There wasn't much point to. The time was smeared together by fatigue and sickness. Now and then, however, he allowed himself to revisit a particular, albeit hazy, memory: Finn stripping him, guiding him to the shower, and washing his filthy hair. His hands were gentle, even then. Because Rey needed the help, he supposed, or simply because Finn was kind.
“Why then?”
He tugged his tunic over his head, tossing it before setting to work on his pants. Finn let the question hang a moment, seemingly distracted. His eyes roved the exposed chest, and Ben was grateful for the low light. The attention, though gentle, was jarring, and deepened the blush the man's laugh had kindled.
“Can't a guy do you a favor?” Finn joked, finally turning to give Ben privacy. “I told you, I've been worried.”
Ben hummed, but otherwise didn't respond. Making quick work of the clasps, he kicked his pants aside and edged near to the tub. It was half full, the water steaming and frothed with soap. His feet ached to sink in it.
“Can I?”
Finn nodded, holding out an arm for him to brace. He took it and eased in, hissing at the first kiss of heat. It stung, sent a flare through his nerves before fizzling out. Finn kept the faucet open, tending to himself while Ben settled. The cuffed edges of his sleeves were soaked, and instead of rolling them more he tugged the shirt off completely. He tossed it into the growing pile of clothes, then fished a band from his pocket. Gathering his twists-- which were long enough now to fall into his eyes-- he tied them back before shutting off the water. By then it had crept to Ben’s chest, just under his nipples. Steam rolled up to lick them, dampening the nubs. His head fell back against the tile, and he made fists below the water to resist tweaking them.
“How is it?” Ben hummed, too slugged for a real answer, and Finn accepted it. “Just relax, then. Let me take care of you.”
He didn't need to be told twice. The burning lap of water drowned the vestiges of his hesitance; Finn could do anything he wished. Ben wouldn’t object, though if the other man wanted the night to turn carnal, he’d have to do the work. The weariness that’d settled over him after dinner had doubled in weight.
Unhindered by sleeves, Finn plunged deep, soaking to the elbows and bumping Ben's thigh. He tensed, half expecting the other man to trail up, but he only massaged. He worked the muscle, broke a knot above the knee, then withdrew. Ben felt the water’s surface being skimmed, and seconds later heard soap coming to lather. It reactivated the smell, filling the ‘fresher with a bracing, medicinal scent. He breathed deep, trying to place it. Not the floral notes his mother favored, but no less comforting. Han, perhaps, prepping for a shave.
“Scoot up,” Finn instructed, interrupting the thought. Letting it go, Ben obeyed, adjusting to expose the upper reach of his belly. “Good.”
The word sent a curl of warmth through his chest. He wanted to be, but without directive it was difficult. With Luke or Snoke there’d been goals, points on the horizon to reach. Here, there was nothing: no daily objective beyond survival or clear endgame. Victory, yes, but the how was too dependent on improvisation. Ben thrived on routine, and lack of it threatened to send him into a tailspin.
Rey helped, of course, more than he could’ve hoped. She’d been careful at first, wary of upsetting their balance. But he was persistent, eager, and she ultimately unwilling to deny him. Once settled into the role, the woman had little difficulty commanding his attention. She was a sturdy companion, studious and experimental, and often anticipated his needs before himself. Best, she never sought to overstep her reach. There’d been no attempt to bend him beyond what they’d negotiated. The only decision she’d made alone was to initiate involvement with Finn, and that--
Ben groaned, dragged from his thoughts by the other man’s thorough hands. Satisfied with the work he’d done at the shoulders shoulders he moved down, leaving trails of foam in his wake. He took his time, curling his fingers now and then to snag a nail. It was a pleasant sting, and one that scattered Ben’s breath when it edged a nipple. They were hard still, and wished Finn would take one: roll it between his fingers and coax out a moan. Exhausted as he was, Ben knew he wouldn’t get hard. Still, it would feel good.
Unaware of the desire, Finn avoided nub. Instead he scrubbed the lower swell of the other’s chest. He dug in the heels of his hands on the way back up, rubbing out in wide, slow circles. Ben bit off a whine too late, and Finn chuckled.
“Glad you agreed?”
Pointless question, Ben thought. He rarely regretted doing as his partners asked.
“Is that a serious question,” he teased, “or are you fishing?”
“The second, mostly,” the man admitted, so honestly that it made Ben itch. “I like hearing you say it.”
It wasn't the answer he expected, and Ben wasn’t sure how to respond. So he didn’t. Sinking a little in the tub, he casted out, searching for something else to focus on. Thankfully, it didn’t take long. Finn never failed to provide.
“You’re staring,” he said, changing tack.
If Finn was thrown by the sudden shift, he recovered quickly. “One of us has to keep our eyes open.”
“You know what I mean.”
The attention had been a brand since he’d begun to strip, burning his chest and arms. It wasn’t uncommon. When he could manage, Finn attended his and Rey’s sparring sessions. At first Ben assumed it was to pick up techniques; once he began frequenting their beds, however, the man’s motivations became suspect. Regardless, that Ben didn’t overly mind. Long hours of training had molded his body into something useful, and men were especially prone to stare. The bore of Finn’s eyes on his profile, however, was a distinct displeasure, and becoming more unnerving by the second.
“Sorry,” the other said after a while. “You’re just...distracting.”
That was putting it kindly. He knew well how odd his features were: comical ears and a large nose atop a fat, too expressive mouth. It betrayed him even when he didn’t speak, quivering with the slightest emotion. The scar between his eyes lent some sternness, but it was ruined by the soft jaw and babyish, weak chin. Individually the features might be overlooked, but smashed together made an eyesore. He’d been an ugly child, grown into an even uglier man, and didn’t need reminding of the fact.
“There’s no need to be delicate,” he mumbled. “I’m aware of how I look.”
“I don't think you are.”
Ben’s mouth turned down, and he cracked an eye to peek at the man beside him. Finn was leaned against the tub, one arm draped over the lip and the other tracing patterns on Ben's chest. The water steamed, working in curls up the dark, bare chest. It stuck to the skin there, glistening his collar and neck and forming droplets on the twists banded at his crown. He was a picture of repose; virile, handsome, and princely. Distracting, Ben's mind echoed, though in a wholly more pleasant sense.
“What do you mean?”
Finn shrugged, evading the question, and Ben's frown deepened. Sparing his feelings, he supposed. Unnecessary. Finn wouldn't be the first to make jabs at how he looked, though admittedly he'd grown accustomed to the oversight. Nose scrunching, he turned his attention to the wall. Spurred by the motion, Finn finally spoke.
“Hey,” he said, a little defensive. “Don’t give me that. I like how you look.”
“I’m sure.”
“I’m serious.” Finn shifted, parting water. Ben expected to be taken by the chin, but Finn spared him that. The other man scooped up water instead and began washing the smeared soap away. “I figured that was obvious by now.”
Ben hummed noncommittally. He accepted Rey’s attraction, but that was different. The woman was a scavenger, used to repurposing hideous things. There was no accounting for her taste. From Finn, however, he expected better. More than once the man had commented on his appearance-- sweet, senseless things, peppered between moans in bed-- and while he soaked them up greedily, he didn’t take them at face. It was foreplay; metaphorical at best, and at worst, nothing more than a tool to slick his cock.
Sensing discomfort, Finn didn’t press, focusing instead on finishing the bath. Dumping handfuls of water over the other’s shoulders, he cleared the last of the soap. It ran down Ben’s chest, cooler now, pebbling his nipples. They’d relaxed under the heat, but the chilling water rekindled the dull ache.
“It’s getting cold,” Finn observed, bringing his dry hand to Ben’s face. He tucked his hair behind one ear, then thumbed the generous curve. Ben blushed, both from pleasure and embarrassment. He hated his ears, but they were wonderfully sensitive. “You should get out.”
He nodded, but didn’t make to move. He sat a while longer, pushing into Finn’s hand. Finn allowed it, teasing the shell with his nails and rubbing down to the lobe. Ben whimpered at that and turned, pressing a kiss to the other’s wrist. He felt the pulse there, a steady and confident, and resisted the urge to lick.
“Sweet,” Finn muttered, his voice rumbling and pleased. “Stay with me? Just to sleep. I want to make sure you actually do.”
Any hope Ben had of refusing was quashed when Finn leaned over the tub, replacing the hand with his teeth. He nibbled the ear, soothing the harsher nips with his tongue, until Ben went limp, whimpered whatever you like. Finn released his ear with a pop, and before Ben could double back unstopped the drain.
“Take your time,” he said, bracing to stand. His knees stuck a little, twinging Ben’s guilt, but he carried on quickly. “Dry off, and get comfortable; you know where the sleep pants are.” He did. Finn had lent him several pairs recently, though usually when his own were ruined with come. “Come to bed when you’re ready.”
Without waiting for a response Finn turned for his room, leaving Ben alone in the ‘fresher. He lingered in the tub, letting the water drain around him and listening to the sounds of the other man preparing for bed. Soft fabrics rustling, the creak of desk drawers, the ding of alarms going live. It was soothing, almost domestic, and Ben allowed himself to enjoy it before hopping out.
He didn’t dawdle after that. Though the water had been cool toward the end, it was nothing to the chill of the room. Finn had redirected the heat to dump only into the bedroom. A smart decision, and one Ben would thank him for later. For now, however, he scowled and shivered, rummaging through the storage by the tub for spare clothes. He stuffed himself into them, unconcerned with their ill fit. Crossing his arms to trap heat, he hurried from the ‘fresher, hoping to find Finn warming the bed.
The man didn’t disappoint. Though there was little to see-- the lights had been cut, and the only source of illumination was now blocked by Ben’s back-- he could make out a lump beneath the covers. Mouth turning up, he walked quietly to the corner where the bed was nestled.
“Couldn’t wait, I suppose,” he teased, slipping in beside.
Finn muttered something indistinguishable, lifting the blanket in invitation. He accepted, slotting in quickly to conserve heat. Once beneath, he found Finn was already half asleep, and he had to shoulder him aside to make room. The man grunted, shifting sluggishly to accept him. Eventually Ben managed to work his side against Finn’s belly; a position the other apparently like, because he tossed a leg over Ben’s to trap him.
“Comfortable?” Finn asked.
The word blew hot against Ben’s, and he hummed his assent. “You?”
Finn echoed it, nuzzling the other man’s neck, then went still. So still, that for several minutes Ben thought he was asleep. He wouldn’t fault him, of course. Finn worked hard, had likely been exhausted before tending to his partner. That he’d managed to stay awake this long was commendable.
But then he stirred, pressed a kiss to Ben’s throat. “I meant it, you know.”
“Meant what?”
“That you’re beautiful.” Ben scoffed, and the other man sighed. “It’s true. Here--” he pulled back, arched his neck, and kissed the fleshy underside of Ben’s chin. Ben sucked in a breath and tilted to bare his throat. Finn accepted the gift, nipping lazily down the line of it before coming to the hinge of Ben’s jaw. “And here.”
He mouthed the point, tongue peaking to tease the hollow. Ben moaned, and encouraged by the sound Finn closed on the point and suckled. It sapped the remains of Ben’s strength, and he made helpless fists in the blanket.
“I love these,” the man continued, nosing the curve of Ben’s ear. It sparked a nerve, and half tickled, Ben laughed. Finn’s own chuckle puffed the shell, and he repeated the motion before switching tack. “And this.” A hand trailed over Ben’s cheek, coming to hover over his nose. A single, careful digit ran the bridge, then fell against his mouth. “This, especially.”
Heat flooded Ben’s cheeks. Finn’s finger was a poor substitute for cock, but he moaned against it all the same. His tongue darted out, wetting the knuckle before rolling down to the root. Finn hissed; remembering, as Ben was, the last time his cock pierced those lips. Even tired as he was, Ben could feel him struggling with a decision. A low roil of desire spread out from Finn’s seat: desire to wet Ben’s appetite with a shallow thrust of fingers, work him to a spit and sink a cock between his lips.
But no. He was tired, they both were, and the likelihood of even coming close to a finish was low. Ben felt the heat bank, and the man withdrew, resting the hand on his chest instead.
“I could stare at you all night.”
It was a ridiculous thing to say, but Ben’s throat tightened anyway. He swallowed, willing the knot of fondness and gratitude down.
“I wouldn’t recommend it. It’s a long watch; you’d be the one in need of bath, after.”
“Not a very good threat.” Finn lowered again, burying his nose in Ben’s neck. “I think I’d like that.”
Ben imagined how the other would look half sunk in water, speckled with droplets, dripping soap, and his throat threatened to close again.
“I think I would, too.”