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It’s not too often that you get to ditch your grimy day-to-day mechanic jumpsuits in favor of something more feminine and flattering—
But hey, it is Halloween night.
Standing in the cramped confines of your bunk, you look into the full-length mirror that hangs on one wall.
You and your best friend have planned matching costumes for tonight’s party: him going as a sun, you as a moon. Throughout recent weeks, you’ve both been playfully secretive about the details of your outfits, which had been all fun and games at the time… But now, appraising your reflection, you worry over whether or not you might’ve overdressed.
After burning an afternoon scrounging through the basewide laundry room, you’d found a couple of old metallic shock blankets that were falling apart at the seams. You’d washed the old swaths of chromelike fabric, and—after several hours of creative snipping and hand-sewing—created yourself a pale, shockingly reflective minidress that is sure to turn heads.
As for your makeup, you’ve done your best to match the look and theme—warm silvery glitters, a dark and muted tone painting your lips.
The costume feels good , even if you don’t quite look like yourself—you look ethereal, powerful, maybe even beautiful —
All words that belong nowhere near a Rebel greasemonkey such as yourself.
You turn away from the mirror with a frown.
You begin transferring your makeup, your comlink, and other personal items into the circular white purse you’re using for the occasion. A glance at your bedside clock tells you that your friend will be here any—
Knock, knock .
“Who is it?” you ask playfully.
“I’m here to talk to you about the many benefits of switching to solar power. If you’d just take a look at these pamphlets—”
With a roll of your eyes, you hit the switch beside your door, allowing it to slide open and reveal Commander Poe Dameron’s shit-eating grin.
He’s taken his costume a bit more literally than you have—but boy , is it effective.
Wearing only the lower-half of his Resistance-orange flight suit, he has the long sleeves tied in a knot around his waist like he would on any tepid D’Qar afternoon. A thin black undershirt pulls tight across his abdomen… And to top the look off, he’s wearing goddamn sunglasses .
He looks like he’s ready for the summer photoshoot of a Men of the Resistance calendar, infuriatingly hot as always, and meanwhile you look like—
“Woah.”
You can feel the moment he first notices your outfit; his attention has you struck still like a bantha caught in the headlights.
This suddenly feels all too overwhelming, like far too much—between your newfound embarrassment for your costume and your persistently unhelpful attraction to your best friend, you don’t know that you’re capable of mingling with somewhat-polite society at the moment.
“Yeah, I know , okay?” You scoff weakly, defensive words without venom. “The chrome is tacky, but I thought it’d be fun, and I—”
“Shut up,” Poe murmurs with a wave of his hand. Taking off his shades, his dark eyes begin shamelessly trailing their way up your body; you fight the urge to squirm.
At length, you sigh in defeat. Giving a slow twirl to let your dress catch the dim artificial lights of your room, you quirk an eyebrow at him in question. “What do you actually think?”
You watch Poe’s throat bob through a swallow, and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him… Nervous like this before.
“You look fucking gorgeous, alright?” At your stunned expression, he runs a frustrated hand down his face. “Absolute smokeshow. You can’t do this to me, babe, I’m just the putz that’s supposed to be your date and—”
“Date?” You blink, mind racing to catch up even as worry darkens your features. “Wait, I—do what to you?”
Poe Dameron’s gaze snaps to your own—his bitter-caf eyes are alight with desperation. One of his broad palms finds its way to your hip, eliciting a small gasp from your painted lips.
“Do you know how goddamn hard it is already not to ruin this thing we’ve got going? And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” His words are lower now, almost solemn.
Shit, shit, shit.
Is Poe Dameron saying what you think he’s saying?
Or is this another one of your more elaborate dreams?
Could it—
“Poe,” you manage to breathe at last, eyes frantic as they search his face. “W-what… What if I want this, too?”
And how could you not?
Upon your arrival to D’Qar nearly two years ago, you and Poe Dameron were fast friends. Being around another person had never felt quite so right —but with Poe, he’s the other half to your whole. You’ve known it for a long, long time by now… But just how far are you willing to take that?
How much are you willing to risk to find out?
Poe breathes your name.
“You’re beautiful ,” he insists, pocketing his sunglasses to wrap both arms about your waist, now. “And I’m talking every day, even when you’re dripping in speeder oil and scowling up a storm—and you’re also beautiful here, now , with your face shimmering like the stars.”
You melt under his words, there’s no way around it. Cheeks hot, limbs unsteady; you’re helpless but to wait for him to reach the terminus of his thoughts.
At last, Poe straightens somewhat—though he does not release his hold on you.
“Here’s what we can do,” he begins, almost as if to himself. “We leave this room and head to the party and pretend that I’ve never made a fool of myself here, okay? Just know that we’re damned good friends and that’s all we’ll ever be. Or…” He swallows thickly. “Or I can kiss you… And I’ll finally get to see if your lips are as soft as I keep daydreaming of like some lovesick teenager. And then we go to the party.”
You don’t realize you’re nodding faintly until a resulting grin blossoms across Poe’s face.
“Or, plan C: fuck the party—”
But you don’t give him the chance to finish.
Stepping the rest of the way into Poe’s arms, pressing yourself flush to his chest—you kiss him like the galaxy is crashing down around you.
It takes him no time at all to meet your rhythm. You part your lips, allowing his hot tongue entrance as his calloused hands explore the curved planes of your body, made sleek by the metallic fabric you wear. Deepening the kiss, the two of you move together—him ravaged and hungry, you slow and savoring.
Night and day.
When you thread your fingers up the back of his head and into the thick, dark curls there, an unrestrained groan rumbles through him, and it surprises you into pulling back to catch your breath at last.
Poe has a couple smudges of lipstick on his cheek from the intensity of kissing you; you can only imagine what you must look like.
As if on cue, the both of you bubble into nervous, delighted laughter.
“I knew these costumes were a good idea,” Poe laughs, pulling you tight once more so that he can kiss his way down the side of your neck.
“They’re gonna be memorable,” you breathe, a giddy smile warming your face. “That’s for sure.”