Chapter Text
“Do you think we’ll stay here for a long time?”
Finn looks over to where Poe is burying the pole deeper in the ground. It’s an arduous task; there’s only a shallow layer of dirt covering solid rock.
They’ve spent the better part of the time since their landing in a gorge struggling to sink enough metal poles into the planet’s surface to cover the Millennium Falcon with a makeshift tent.
A shelter from the storm they’re expecting. The winds are said to be strong enough to blow away almost anything in their path, having eroded the surface of the planet over time. No one wants to risk damage to the Falcon.
“You mean here, on this planet, or here, in this spot?”
Finn shrugs, running his hand over the smooth canvas. “I dunno. Both, I guess?”
“Depends on what the scouts find. The general’s sending some out tomorrow to see if there’s any green on this desolate planet.” Poe straightens up, dealing the pole a hearty kick and smirking with satisfaction when it stays still. “How are things looking over there?”
Finn leans in to inspect a place where the fabric has been patched, picking at a thread and finding it durable. “Fine, I think.”
“Good. We’re done then.”
A sudden breeze blows Finn’s jacket apart and he shivers, looking up.
In front of him, the massive canvas is spanned between two rocks, covering most of the Falcon. Turning around, his eyes see nothing but rock to either side for miles and miles. Except - there, on the far horizon, a hazy dark mass is forming, moving…
Finn feels his heartbeat pick up at the ominous sight.
“Oh, that’s coming for us, alright.”
He glances at Poe who’s standing close by now, leaning against the wall of the tent.
They might well be the only two crew members left outside. He can’t see or hear anyone else. In fact, he can barely hear anything.
He swallows. “Why’s it so quiet?”
Even his voice feels pressed by the silence.
Poe’s face is turned towards the horizon.
“The wind doesn’t meet any resistance here,” he says softly. “It’s just smooth rock for miles on end, no grass to blow through, no trees to whistle past. Nothing at all... until it hits us.”
He sounds almost reverent. As though the approaching cloud bank was some kind of sacred sight and not a purveyor of disaster.
Finn stares at him, watches the curls dance across his forehead, the collar of his shirt beginning to flap.
“You like storms?”
“You ever been in the eye of a storm, Finn?” Poe asks back by way of reply.
Finn shakes his head and tucks it between his shoulders.
“There’s nothing like it,” Poe says raptly, eyes still trained on the sky.
“Isn’t it dangerous?” Finn asks, glancing nervously at the dark clouds that seem to be moving faster towards them by the minute.
He wishes he could guess how far away they are, how long it will take them to reach the spot where he and Poe are standing, exposed and at the mercy of their forces.
A chill runs down his spine, rooting him firmly to the ground.
“Yes,” Poe says, as gentle as though he’s trying not to wake someone. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”
And he turns towards Finn. The wind has picked up now and his hair is blowing wildly around his face. One of his eyebrows is raised in challenge.
“Do you trust me, Finn?”
There’s a sinister rumble in the distance, herald of the storm.
Finn looks at Poe whose eyes are glowing with the thrill of it, and nods.
Immediately, a grin breaks out on Poe’s face. “Come on then!”
And he pushes away from the tent and steps out into the open -- right into the path of the wind that is blowing ever faster, carrying with it the electric crackle of the air.
Finn has to raise his voice now to drown out the swelling roll of thunder, and he can’t quite conceal a hint of panic. “Poe, what are you – shouldn’t we go inside?”
“In a minute,” Poe shouts back. The wind is tugging on his clothes, sweeping his hair back from his face.
And Poe laughs at it.
The impossibility of him renders any argument futile.
Finn should probably find it irritating rather than irresistible.
He takes a deep breath and ventures a step away from the tent, then another, keeping his eyes riveted on Poe until he reaches him.
Here, the wind is unyielding, but so is Poe – his arms spread out to either side, head thrown back and eyes shut.
“You’re not afraid of anything, are you?”
Poe turns to look at him.
“The question is not whether you’re afraid,” he says, “rather than what you’re willing to do about it. If I held back every time something scares me, I wouldn’t be where I am.”
“And what are we doing about it?” Finn asks, half-shouting now despite their proximity.
He can’t figure out what good stepping into harm’s way for no reason is going to do.
A gust of wind knocks Poe half a foot backwards, and he lets out a yelp of delight.
“Today, Finn, we are facing our fear!”
Finn braces his feet against the rocky ground, keeping his head down. Then he follows Poe’s example and closes his eyes.
“Do you feel it, Finn? Do you feel alive?”
And as they stand in the midst of the storm, Finn thinks he feels… something.
Something more than just the wind pulling hard on his clothes, flattening them against the front of his body. Something within him that burns sweetly, a tender ache, a strangely familiar longing for something he can’t put into words.
He can’t say how long they’ve been standing there when a different sensation breaks his trance.
Cold fingers closing around his wrist.
“Can’t let you get blown away,” Poe says close to his ear.
Finn opens his eyes, noting with delight that Poe’s cheeks are tinted pink, before a stabbing pain flashes through his left eye.
He lets out a cry, about to stumble if it were not for Poe’s grip on his arm.
“Kriff! Finn, are you okay?”
All Finn can think of is stopping the pain. He reaches up blindly, but finds his other arm caught in Poe’s grasp as well.
“Don’t rub it,” Poe says sternly. “You’ll hurt yourself worse.”
Finn notes vaguely that Poe turns him around so the wind is blowing against his back instead. “Here, let me see. Can you look at me?”
He blinks his eyes open with some trouble. “It hurts,” he says, feeling a pathetic whimper rise in his throat.
“I know,” Poe murmurs soothingly. Finn barely hears it over the howling of the wind. “Hold still, okay?”
He tries to hold as still as he can, which is anything but easy with the wind seeming adamant to push him towards Poe.
“Don’t blink,” Poe’s voice says in his ear. His hand is close to Finn’s eye and he struggles to keep it open wide.
And then the pain is gone, only a faint echo throbbing in its wake.
“There we are. Just a bit of debris.” Poe’s voice is soft as silk and his face is very close, eyebrows furrowed with concern. “Does it still hurt?”
Finn shakes his head meekly. To his embarrassment, he finds himself sniffling – and then holding his breath when Poe strokes the pad of his thumb gently across the skin below his eye, wiping away a stray tear.
“Sorry about that, buddy.”
“Not your fault,” Finn says. He feels weak in the knees, his ability to withstand the wind fading.
Poe’s hands slide down to his upper arms. He’s still staring at Finn’s face and Finn averts his gaze, feeling his cheeks heat up.
“Enough excitement for now. Let’s get you inside, huh?”
Finn is about to agree when a gust of wind sends him falling right into Poe’s chest.
Before he can die from humiliation, Poe’s laughter rumbles against his ear. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you, bub.”
His breath is warm against the side of Finn’s face, a welcome contrast to the cold wind that surrounds them.
“Think you can walk?” He asks, a chuckle tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Or do I need to carry you?”
Finn ducks his head into the collar of his jacket, thankful that his dark skin conceals the rush of blood into his cheeks.
“Shut up.”
Poe laughs again with his head thrown back, a marvelous sight against the backdrop of the storm clouds that are covering the vast expanse of the sky now.
There’s a clap of thunder right above them and then a raindrop hits Poe’s cheek.
Another lands on his forehead at the same time as Finn feels one running down his own temple.
“Get ready to run, Finn!” Poe exclaims, and then he grabs Finn’s hand and starts towards the entrance of the tent which is tucked into a niche near the face of the rock.
“We’re going to get drenched!” Finn yells, shaking Poe’s hand off as a flash of inspiration strikes him. He shrugs the jacket off his shoulders and hoists it up above their heads.
Poe loops an arm around Finn’s waist to press in close as he ducks underneath it.
They stumble more than they run now, propelled forwards by the wind, and Finn feels breathless laughter bubble up at the absurdity of the whole situation.
Before long, the rain is beating down so hard Finn can barely see where he’s treading, and he just so spots the rock face before he smashes into it, catching himself with his hands.
Poe tumbles into him, pushing at his shoulders.
Suddenly, the rain stops.
Finn blinks. They’ve reached the spot where the canvas meets the rock, providing a temporary shelter from the storm. The entrance to the Falcon can’t be more than a few feet away.
Strangely enough, Finn doesn’t care to find it right now.
He turns to look at Poe.
His cheeks are tinged red beneath the golden complexion, lips parted with his heaving breaths. His hair is clinging to his forehead and temples.
His clothes, soaked through, are also clinging, but Finn forces his eyes up to meet Poe’s that are staring curiously back at him.
“We made it,” he says, unable to ban the astonishment from his voice.
Poe grins at him. “’Course we did. You didn’t think I’d let us die out there, did you?”
Finn shakes his head. “Would’ve defeated the purpose. ‘Do you feel alive?’” He mimics Poe.
“Don’t even pretend you didn’t,” Poe says, braced against the side of the rock, and his smile fades to make way for an oddly earnest expression. “You felt it, didn’t you?”
The downpour and thunder aren’t as half as intense as the look in his eyes.
Finn swallows. “I felt it,” he confirms, voice gravelly.
Poe is so close now Finn could count the droplets of rain caught in his eyelashes.
“I knew you would,” he says.
His breath is warm on Finn’s cold, wet face.
His mouth is warm, too, and surprisingly soft against Finn’s.
He surges up almost instinctively, hands scrambling across Poe’s chest and shoulders until they find his face.
The kiss is urgent, a sudden release of built-up tension, much like the cloudburst they got caught in.
It slows down as Finn smoothes the pads of his thumbs along Poe’s jaw, returning the tender gesture from before. Poe’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek and he gasps softly, almost soundlessly, his mouth falling open.
His tongue is wet and hot against Finn’s bottom lip, the sensation sending a thrill through his very bones.
A rush like a torrent, like a blast of air.
He barely notices the whimper that falls from his lips when Poe pulls away ever so slightly, breathing hard.
Finn lets his hands fall to the lapels of his jacket and tugs him closer, until their foreheads come to rest against each other.
He feels utterly, vibrantly alive.
“That feeling,” he murmurs hoarsely when he’s caught his breath. “When we were standing in the storm. It was like – like a yearning. For something I didn’t know the name of.”
Poe’s arms wrap around his waist, holding him against his body.
“Do you know it now?” he asks, his breath caressing Finn’s face like the softest echo of the wind.
Finn closes his eyes.
Somewhere deep inside, he thinks he does.