Chapter Text
Rey leaves, and the base becomes quieter again. She tells him, no, asks him, please, take care of him, shortly before she has to go, both of them sitting by Finn’s bedside, and Poe barely has enough time to make a promise he was planning on keeping even before she brought it up, and he’s called away, and the last thing he sees is Rey pressing a kiss to Finn’s forehead, and he thinks, hope.
He knows it’s there in Rey, something that makes people turn their heads and watch her, something that promises – he doesn’t quite know enough about anything that went down on the surface of the Starkiller while he was in the air, but Rey recaps the story, still half panicked and barely coherent, and Poe sees it in the General’s eyes, even though she is, after all, learning about her family crumbling even further. It’s hope.
They meet by Finn’s bedside later, Rey and him, and she tells him quietly about how he came back for her when she thought he wouldn’t, and Poe says, I know. He likes her well enough, small and lithe and strong in a way one can feel rather than see, and he’d like to get to know her better, but there is a lightsaber strapped to her side, and hers is the kind of hope that will take her somewhere very far from here, at least for now.
And so Poe wishes her the best of luck, sincerely, and she smiles so brightly he immediately understands Finn wanting to literally plunge headfirst into the very lair of evil just to save her. And then Poe leaves, because she seems to have something else on her mind, something that’s not meant for him to hear just yet.
But he returns, and not just once – not because he has a promise to keep, but because that’s where his hope is found. In the face once hidden underneath a standard issue white stormtrooper mask, and Poe seems to need to come look at it over and over again to believe it.
He felt it, like a powerful surge reanimating his tortured body, when Finn first took that mask off, I’m getting you out of here!, help coming from the least expected place, and it came not because Poe asked for it, but because some kid decided he wasn’t going to submit anymore. Because the rigorous and no doubt absolutely horrendous training he went through, didn’t extinguish somethingin him. Because he wanted to do the right thing.
...And because he needed a pilot, but Poe decides to believe in all those other things as well.
The First Order now know of the vague location of their bases, and so everybody’s on high alert, and until they decide what to do, where to relocate, Poe spends more time in the cockpit than he does on solid ground, but he still comes back, takes the detour (and often, his dinner) to the med bay day after day to check on Finn.
The rise and fall of his chest is steady, but so is the beeping of the machines that help keep him alive, and the doctors tell Poe, it’s only a matter of time, but how long, no one can tell. Apparently once you actually survive a lightsaber to the back, your chances might be anywhere from miniscule to surprisingly good, and Finn is still oscillating somewhere in the middle.
“When he decided to break you out back then, did he tell you what made him do it?”
The General has a knack for appearing out of nowhere when he least expects it, and before he has the time to stand up in a greeting, there’s a soft but firm hand on his shoulder, urging him to stay just the way he is, and she stands next to him, intent eyes on Finn, then him, then Finn again.
“Not really,” Poe replies, “he just said it was the right thing to do.”
“Mmm. The only time I was saved by a stormtrooper, it was actually my brother in disguise,” she chuckles, but something in the tone of her voice bothers him still.
“You’re not still suspecting him of...? After everything he’s done for us?”
She arches her eyebrows in such genuine surprise that he immediately feels guilty, and actually laughs shortly, which is in turn a bit comforting.
“Always so quick to jump to conclusions,” her smile has the faintest scolding edge to it, “of course I don’t think he’s a First Order spy, Poe, do you?”
There are tiny beads of sweat on Finn’s forehead and neck, and it’s seeping into the hem of the light shirt somebody thought to provide him with, the thin fabric clinging.
“...He would have to be really deep undercover,” Poe grumbles, slumping in his chair somewhat, and she squeezes his shoulder gently, laughing some more.
“Exactly. I have all the faith in him, don’t worry.”
“So do I,” Poe says, and it probably comes out a bit too earnest – he stiffens up, and she doesn’t comment, but he can sense her smirking.
“Sometimes,” she remarks, “we get lucky, you know.”
She just lost her husband, to her son, and half her air force was massacred, the location of their home base most likely compromised, and yet there she stands, in the deceptively calm quiet of the med bay, and smiles like she means it.
“We do?” Poe inclines his head.
“Most often, when we lose something, we tend to gain something else. Could be the ten seconds of the upper hand in a fight that we have right now, or the stormtrooper deciding he isn’t going to obey anymore, or the girl picking up a lightsaber.”
“The Force works in mysterious ways?” Poe suggests, and that laughter is almost delighted.
“Something my brother is far more likely to say than I am. No, I think it’s just life’s way of repaying us for all the awful things it puts us through. Catching a break, right before even more awful things come our way. Cheer up. And eat your dinner, you know it tastes so much worse when it’s cold.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Poe sighs, and listens to her footsteps fading in the distance, before finally stabbing his ration with his fork.
“You’re so lucky you don’t have to eat this stuff,” he mumbles with his mouth full, and it’s probably a good thing Finn remains unconscious, because the faces Poe makes throughout battling with that dinner aren’t a pretty sight.
-
He dreams of white, of the flash of neons and the hum of a planet kept alive by machinery – then of swirling orange sand and blood all over his visor, of wide eyes, innocent eyes, in the cross-hairs of his gun.
He thinks he’s being burned alive, the sweat down his spine setting him ablaze, the frantic beating of his heart only kindling the fire.
The weapon in his hands fires without him pulling the trigger, and his scream is wordless, silent. He claws at his mask, but it won’t come off, it’s welded in place, and he’s going to suffocate, he’s going to die like this.
He recognizes the person before him now, her jaw set tight, you came back too late, the lightsaber coming alive in her grip, a dizzying blue, and his gun fires without him commanding it again, and the determination in her face is replaced by shock, then fear, then a blank nothing.
Finn wakes up with a jolt and Rey’s name a hoarse shout barely making it past his lips, and his body attempts to propel him upward, but he’s chained to whatever bed he’s lying in by a dull, heavy pain spreading all over his back and stealing his breath away.
“Hey, hey, whoa! You’re okay, relax.”
It takes him a moment to focus enough to realize that he knows that voice, and even longer to assign it to a specific person.
“...Poe?” he tries, and yeah, that’s him, appearing in Finn's field of vision, all comfort and a warm smile, and Finn looks from him to his own hands, and they're blissfully empty.
“You're fine,” Poe insists, “had a bit of a close encounter with a lightsaber, from what I hear. What were you thinking?”
He sounds amused, and Finn finds that looking at his face is a good idea – it helps his heartbeat settle down, apparently.
He remembers it, the snow and the blinding red and blue light, and the dangerous buzz of the sabers colliding, and... what was he thinking?
“Rey...?” he asks, which is proving an increasingly difficult task, since his throat feels like it got too close to a lightsaber itself.
“She's okay, too,” Poe grins, “Artoo woke up, and he had the last bit of the map with him – so they were able to piece it together, and Rey decided to go after Luke Skywalker herself, which, I don't know about you, but I say leave the guy to his retirement for a while longer, eh? No, yeah, I know, I know, we need him. Rey needs him... And you look terrified. Sorry, I rambled. I'll go get a doctor.”
“No, I-” Finn tries, then has to go through the anguish of clearing his throat, then tries again, “can I just get some water?”
“Water, right! I can do that,” Poe exclaims, jumping to his feet fast enough to make Finn's head spin, soon disappearing out of sight and rummaging somewhere nearby.
Finn sighs and stares at the ceiling – it doesn't seem to be coming down on their collective heads just yet, which is probably about as good as things are getting.
“The Starkiller...?” he asks, too quiet and hoarse again, but Poe hears him anyway.
“Oh, yeah, turned to dust. More or less. Figuratively speaking. Excellent thinking with the direct approach, I gotta say. As a reward, one cup of water, premium Resistance base quality. Which amounts to 'barely drinkable' these days, I'm afraid.”
Something about Poe makes Finn smile – puts his mind at ease, even, he realizes. He's offering him the mug with such an apologetic grimace, looking on so concerned as Finn tries to make his body cooperate, and contort into a position that allows him to drink – there's a warmth about Poe, something genuine, that Finn isn't used to at all and thus can't really name, but he likes it a lot.
The water is nothing short of amazing, soothing him and yet making him more alert, but that is soon accompanied by the unfortunate side effect of his body remembering to remind him that he's still, in fact, in a lot of pain.
He arches his back away from the mattress pressing on the unknown wound, but that doesn't really improve anything, and he winces, struggling for any comfortable position at all.
“How long was I out?”
“Almost two weeks,” Poe supplies, and when Finn proceeds to probably look just as horrified as he feels, he hastens to add, “it's fine, it's fine, you didn't miss anything important. The First Order are taking a bit of time to catch their breath, which in turn gives us time to reinforce our position. The General is pretty optimistic...”
“No, yeah, it's not... that,” Finn mumbles, averting his gaze when Poe arches an inquisitive eyebrow. “Nevermind.”
“What is it?”
“No, it's... I'm not used to... this,” Finn admits, wringing his blanket in his hands without really realizing it.
“To what? Living that resistance life? I promise it's not that bad. The food isn't great most of the time, and it's a lot of moving around, but there are upsides, too, you know-”
“No, no,” Finn finds himself smiling, at the total positivity in Poe's... whole person, probably, “it's... all of this. Being out of commission for two weeks... well, it's just not a thing in the First Order.”
“What, do they have some super fast healing chambers or something?” Poe demands, “because we could use one of those, you know.”
“I don't know, they might,” Finn shrugs, “but nah, if you're so badly injured that you can't function for that long, they usually just pull the plug.”
The shift in Poe's expression is so sudden and intense – from the horror in his eyes, to the displeased frown creasing his forehead and ruining his sunshine of a smile – that Finn almost apologizes for saying anything at all.
“They just kill their own?” Poe asks darkly.
“If you're a grunt, it's just more efficient to fill the spot with someone able-bodied,” Finn says, and Poe's glare is like a building storm, his jaw clenching, before he sighs, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Well,” he declares, his smile returning, though a bit bitter now, “physiotherapy will be a big surprise.”
Doctors pour into the room sooner than Finn can ask any more questions, or perhaps reassure Poe, who still looks a bit distraught, a bit angry, that he really is okay and very grateful – instead, the pilot leaves him, though with a promise to return soon to check on him.
It is only after he's answered a dozen questions about what exactly his pain feels like, after he's gotten his – surprisingly positive, considering he' still mildly shocked he's even alive – prognosis, and he's lying alone again, painkillers slowly lulling him to sleep, that he realizes that it's the middle of the night, and Poe was sitting by his bedside anyway. That, and his jacket is smiling at Finn, draped over the chair he sat in.
It is the last thing he sees before sleep finally overpowers him again, and this time, the dreams are a fraction kinder.
-
It's almost too easy to forget that the threat is far from diminished – the skies are still blue in the morning, the weather still pleasantly warm, and now there's a slightly confused, very decidedly ex stormtrooper to show around the base. Poe takes to that task without even really thinking twice about it, firmly ignoring the comments about babysitting and taking puppies for walks, that he tends to receive.
The truth is, Finn is curious, and clever, and recovering faster than anyone dared hope, but he also didn't have anything aside from a number for a name a couple of weeks ago, and Poe still catches this forlorn, distant look in his eyes every now and then, like he's still figuring out this whole fitting in thing.
...But then Poe comes back from recon flights to find Finn cheerful and laughing, although still on crutches and only out of bed because he probably focused his pretty twin beams of unadulterated, irresistible please on some nurse until they caved, and talking to many more people than Poe is sure he's had the time to introduce him to, or following General Organa around like... well, yeah, like a puppy – and add wearing Poe's jacket all the time to the list, and it's swiftly becoming an image Poe starts looking forward to. Especially when Finn tends to greet him just as enthusiastically himself, really.
And so, for the longest time, Poe goes on thinking there's nothing wrong. Finn is there with them in some of the meetings, when he's allowed, and he tries so hard in his physiotherapy he always finishes sweating, but accomplished, and he eats for three, and always, always has questions about something, questions Poe is more than happy to answer, ignoring Snap elbowing him in the ribs around the lunch table, or Jessika winking at him playfully whenever he catches himself grinning too broadly at Finn.
But yeah, he seems fine.
And then one night, Poe is on his way to fetch a late snack to eat in his bed, taking a shortcut through the command center to what doubles as a sort of cafeteria, but is really only marginally less cluttered tables with a bunch more chairs around them than usual, and happens upon Finn sitting on a crate, unusually rigid, unusually quiet. He doesn't even respond at first when Poe greets him.
“Hey, uh, buddy? You okay?”
Finn tenses up, obviously only noticing Poe's presence just now, and he looks at him with eyes wide and jaw set tight, hands clasped almost anxiously in his lap.
“Yeah, I'm, uh... yeah. Totally fine.”
“Can't sleep?” Poe ventures a guess, and Finn's smile is sour at best.
“Something like that.”
“Hmm,” Poe inclines his head, briefly squeezing Finn's shoulder as he passes him by on his way to the tiny kitchen, “well, neither can I. Still on night shift time. You hungry? I'm gonna whip up something quick, not that this fridge offers me a lot of options.”
Finn's only response is a non-committal sound, and Poe decides that the best course of action is to just get on with it, talk at him until it entices... something.
“Man, I would kill for some chuchitos right now,” he sighs dramatically, “you wouldn't experience those unless you grew up on Yavin, but god, buddy, they are delicious. The next time the General sends me to oversee a supply run, I swear I'm raiding the nearest marketplace for all the ingredients, because you haven't lived until you've tasted my chuchitos. The trick is to use the filling and wrapping around fifty fifty, and it's so easy to ruin completely, I'm telling you...”
He dances in between the stove and the fridge almost as quickly as he rants, getting what he hopes will turn out to be a semi-successful scrambled egg going, and still, no response from Finn.
“Not even any condiments on this damn base, and I told them a million times, you don't feed people tasteless mush for months on end without starting another revolution, honestly...”
“Poe.”
The mention of his name is so quiet, and yet it captures Poe's attention immediately.
“Yeah?” he responds, and when Finn remains silent, he finally decides to secure everything on the stove so that the entire base doesn't go up in flames because of a scrambled egg mishap, and turns around to look at Finn.
He's paler, shrunken, shoulders hunched defensively, all in all a sight so miserable that it makes Poe's heart clench. He also wants nothing more than to reach out, touch and reassure him, do something, but somehow he senses Finn wouldn't appreciate that right now.
“What's wrong?” he asks instead, softly, and Finn's eyes are dark, too dark, the only gleam in them the reflection of the poor lighting in the mess hall behind them, the bluish neons lending an almost sickly sheen to his skin.
“Have you ever killed someone?” Finn asks tightly, as if he can't believe himself he's actually saying those words.
“Finn-”
“I mean, like, close quarters, you know, not... not from inside a fighter jet, I just-”
“Hey,” Poe says firmly, finding himself stepping closer.
“Sorry,” Finn retreats even further, “stupid question.”
“No, it's not. And yeah, I have.”
Finn's eyes seem to grow three sizes.
“You – you have.”
“Well, yeah,” Poe sighs, “I'm not proud of it, but sadly it's almost impossible to last this long with the resistance without shooting a bad guy or five... Are you sure that this is what you want to talk about?”
“I just...” Finn hangs his head, his next words only the quietest murmur, “I was trained for it. Bred for it. I know it's not exactly a tragedy that I don't want to kill anyone, but...”
“But?” Poe urges him on.
“I watched him... Down there, I watched Kylo Ren kill – kill his own father like it was nothing. Poe. I... And before, before when you guys came to rescue us and before they got Rey, I fought... That guy was one of my own squad. We'd trained together since we were what, like, sixteen? And I couldn't kill him, and I knew he wanted to. He really wanted to. But all I could think about was... What if I killed him by accident? I was holding a damn lighstaber I didn't know how to use and I, I...”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Poe interferes at last, closing what little distance remains between them, and reaching out for Finn's hands clasped tight in his lap, “stop. Stop it, and listen to me.”
It has the desired effect, Finn tripping over his words and taking a long nervous gulp of a breath, looking at Poe intently, his fists unfurling, big warm hands allowing Poe's fingers to curl around them.
“Not wanting to kill people,” Poe says clearly, firmly, not allowing his voice to waver, “is what sets you apart, Finn. From that squadmate of yours, from that bastard capable of killing his own... his own father. From anyone in the First Order. They tried to hammer it into you, but you resisted, and you continue resisting it, and that is what sets you apart. Please try to think of it that way. You're different. You're good. Okay?”
Finn nods, once, that incredible jaw set tight, and Poe conjures up his warmest smile.
“You're good,” he repeats.
And then Finn is leaning up, and perhaps Poe has really misjudged how close they're standing, because it's incredibly easy to just let him... do that. His lips are dry and warm and cautious, but no less urgent, and a surprised, choked gasp escapes Poe, but before he can reciprocate in any way, it's over, and there is undue horror in Finn's eyes.
“Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't... I don't know what – shit. I'm sorry.”
Once Poe gathers his wits, he laughs, and that sound has more effect on Finn than anything else probably could – he looks taken aback, staring at Poe somewhat unsteadily, having yanked his hands out of the tentative grasp, now back to wringing them in his lap.
“What for?” Poe grins.
“I don't know if... I didn't want to assume anything,” Finn struggles to find the right words, “I was just... the moment. Caught in the – the moment.”
“The moment, right,” Poe's grin is almost hurting his cheeks, and something warm and fluttery and delighted is unfurling itself smack in the middle of his chest. “Well, as far as I'm concerned, the moment is still going on.”
It's Finn yelping in gentle shock this time, even though Poe makes sure, a hundred times over, that he's allowed to proceed – he recaptures Finn's hands as he leans in again, and their fingers entwine, Poe's heartbeat somewhere in his throat, entirely too frantic and exhilarated, as Finn lets him, lets him kiss him one more time, reciprocating a bit clumsily, but no less earnestly.
This is... unplanned, and yet Poe already knows it's just about the best course of action, the best outcome he could have hoped for. He brushes his thumb over Finn's knuckles, lips slacking, asking to be allowed even closer, and damn, did Finn come out of his healing sleep with miraculous kissing abilities, or is it just Poe's own infatuation making the experience utterly unforgettable...? It's difficult to tell.
Finn makes a strangled sound, a tiny pleased murmur, and then his arm is around Poe's waist, and thunk, Poe smacks his knee on the crate Finn is sitting on, but it's all good, it allows him even closer, closer still...
The door opening and letting the loud footsteps and laughter is like a gunshot in the blessed quiet, and they spring apart – or, more accurately, there's less springing involved, and more of Poe groaning his displeasure as they disentangle only highly reluctantly.
A group of ensigns, no doubt on their way from their shift, freezing for a moment when they spot Finn and Poe, selecting a table on the far side of the mess hall, but sadly not opting for, uhh, actually being quiet.
“Rhys, hey,” Poe grumbles as the youngest one of them, a capable droid technician, makes his way over to pick out a six pack of cans from one of the fridges.
“Poe – I mean, hi? What are you two up to?”
“Oh, we were just...”
“Scrambled eggs!” Finn supplies very helpfully, still looking far too deliciously disheveled in Poe's opinion.
“Right!” he agrees, perhaps a tad too cheerfully, “late night snack. You guys have a good shift? Yeah? Alright, nice, have fun, bye bye... Good god.”
He leans on the nearest cupboard heavily after the kid scurries away, and Finn snorts a laugh, his grin the most blinding, beautiful thing.
“Yeah.”
“Do you, uh...”
“Yeah,” Finn repeats, a reply to a question not asked, “but first, scrambled eggs.”
“Uh... what?” Poe asks dumbly, raking his hand through his hair – is it just him, or is it suddenly a bit hotter in here? Definitely just the stove. Yeah.
Oh, right. The stove.
“Crap! Right, scrambled eggs. Dammit. Fortunately not completely burned just yet.”
Finn's laughter should be outlawed, honestly just... It actually makes Poe grip his spatula tighter, his chest suddenly getting rather tight, which just might be the stupidest reaction he's ever had post-kissing.
He concentrates on the scrambled eggs instead, perpetrators of it all that they are, and feels Finn's gaze on him the entire time, as they remain silent save for the sizzling of standard-issue non-bacon, and attempt not to eavesdrop on the group sitting on the other side of the vast room, their voices carrying surprisingly loud.
Somehow, even though it's really difficult to concentrate on anything else beyond the memory of Finn's lips on his, Poe manages to finish the truly magnificent feast, shoveling it into two mismatched bowls, and when he turns around, it's to be confronted with Finn himself, at a very dangerously close proximity, almost making him drop their exquisite (second) dinner, honestly, damn that man, and his smile, and his... chest, kind of not agreeing with the loose lacing of his top, and his... warmth...
“So,” Poe clears his throat, remembering that he is, in fact, an adult man, pushing one bowl into Finn's hands.
“So,” Finn sighs, accepting it and looking at it with a fondness that no bowl of scrambled eggs deserves (really, Poe is kind of jealous of it).
Laughter erupts from the table of youngsters at that very moment, and Poe groans. Well done, he scolds himself, on not coming across a hundred years old.
“Do you want to take this to my quarters?” he suggests, and his brain catches up with his mouth a second too late, sadly. “Not to – not like that. Just to... eat. In peace. Oh my god.”
Finn actually giggles, which should definitely be outlawed, and takes a step closer.
“I'd like that, yeah. Lead the way.”
And so Poe does, a bit unsteadily, forcing himself not to look at Finn pacing next to him every three seconds, to check that he really is there. Not to behave like a teenager with a first crush.
The base is silent at this time of night, or rather, as quiet as a humming, thrumming complex housing hundreds can ever be, and Poe really, really hopes BB-8 has picked this night to power down in the fighter just where Poe left him, and not come into his room and stand guard by the bathroom door like any other time the tiny droid is feeling a bit lonely. Speaking of, he really needs to take a shower...
“Uh. So,” he manages somewhat stiffly when they are finally standing in front of the door to his quarters, “here we are. Casa de Dameron.”
“Exciting,” Finn chuckles, and Poe hopes he doesn't see him taking a big, reassuring breath as the door slides open.
“Ooh, you have a window!” is Finn's first comment, and the first thing Poe thinks is, oh good, didn't even notice the clothes on the floor. His second one is, how can someone be simultaneously so cute and so hot, getting excited about a damn window.
“Yeah, I requested it,” he comments, sitting on the round rattan stool by the entrance and digging into his, now slightly cooled, eggs.
“You can do that?” Finn sighs, face upturned, mouth slack in awe, spoon stuck halfway to it, and Poe flicks a switch by the door, watching his eyes widen proportionally as the shutters slide open fully and reveal the whole width of the slanted window.
“Well, I was among the first in the building when we found it, and I called dibs,” Poe admits, and Finn guffaws.
“Good thinking.”
They eat their snack, Finn captivated by the frankly pretty awesome view of the starry sky, and Poe captivated by the view of him, and only when he finishes his portion, does Poe gather enough courage to walk over to him and stand by his side.
“Not many stars to see where you were?” he asks gently, and to his surprise (and delight) Finn's laugh is a choked snort, genuinely amused.
“Do you even remember what the base I worked on was called?”
“Oh... Oh god. Oh my god, I'm...”
They laugh about it together, and, well, Poe's room might have a window, but there really isn't much.... well, yeah, room. Fortunately, it doesn't seem like they'll need it.
“The eggs were... wow,” Finn comments quietly, and Poe smirks, taking the empty bowl out of his hands and setting it aside.
“Your standards are very low, that's refreshing.”
“Regarding food? I guess. It still feels weird not getting a protein injection for dinner.”
“A protein inj- god.”
“Yeah,” Finn smiles bitterly, “delicious. Really leaves that artificial aftertaste in your mouth.”
And Poe has an entire arsenal of lines ready to go at that suggestion, but somehow, it doesn't seem right to use any of them on Finn. Not right at all.
And so he only reaches for his hand once again, a wordless question, and Finn responds silently as well, but clearly enough, turning to face him, eyes darting from Poe's eyes to his mouth, and then Finn bites his bottom lip somewhat nervously, and then Poe can't resist him anymore.
He realizes Finn kisses carefully, like he's still too uncertain to do anything but follow Poe's lead, and so he attempts to show him, by proximity alone, that he's allowed to lead this in a direction he likes.
The first tug at his bottom lip, he attributes to Finn's beginner's clumsiness, but the second one makes his knees buck, and a tight core of pleasure settle in his stomach.
“You, uh...” he manages, entirely distracted by Finn's palm flat on the small of his back.
“I don't... Is it good?” Finn breathes out.
“Good,” Poe agrees quickly, “yes, good. Very good, Very...”
But Finn doesn't let him finish that particular jumble of sentences, kissing him again, more enthusiastic, more focused, more... everything.
They back away from the window, somehow managing not to trip over each other's feet, and Finn is tugging at Poe's vest, something needy sneaking into his breathing, and Poe would like nothing more than to give in fully, god, does he want to, with every inch and fiber of his being, but...
“Hold on, hold on,” he manages to stutter, immediately mentally kicking himself for this stupidly adult decision, “I want to make sure that... I don't...”
“Right, yeah, uh...” Finn stumbles over his words, allowing some air in between them, “sorry. I got a little bit carried away.”
“That's okay,” Poe grins, and when he sees Finn hang his head, he interferes immediately, hand on his cheek, oh my god is that stubble, that is unlawful and amazing, and succeeding at making Finn look at him, albeit sheepishly.
“I want this,” Poe declares softly, but firmly enough so that there can be no doubt, “but I don't want to rush into anything we might not be... ready for. Yeah?”
He swallows hard and dry – that really is a stunning smile Finn can do.
“That's... yeah. That sounds good. Thank you.”
His hands are on Poe's chest now, large and warm and still so careful, and Poe makes a decision, taking one of them and bringing it to his lips, kissing Finn's knuckles, the back of his palm, the inside of his wrist.
“Because I like you,” he confesses among all that, “a lot. And I want this to go... well. ...And to be completely honest with you, I really need a shower right now.”
Finn's whole face seemingly lights up with that grin, and Poe doesn't think he will ever be able to get over those.
“Okay,” he says, nodding to himself as if he's memorizing all of Poe's words, “thank you. For the... eggs.”
“You're welcome for the eggs,” Poe chuckles.
One last kiss, soft, lazy, slow, lingering long after it's finished, and Finn's fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt, like he's searching for an anchor.
“I should go,” Finn decides, quietly, hoarsely, and Poe sees it far too clear in his eyes again, the unsteadiness.
“You don't have to,” he suggests, and Finn's eyes widen, lips moving as if he's repeating the words to himself.
“Not like... that,” Poe suggests, “we don't have to... do anything. But... you need sleep, and I need sleep, and you don't even have your own quarters.”
“I still sleep in the infirmary, but only because there's a free bed right now,” Finn admits timidly, and honestly, the amount of lovesick swelling Poe's heart suffers might very well cause some sort of a condition in the future.
“That's decided, then. You can sleep here. The bed's wide enough.”
Finn looks at it askance, and Poe has to laugh.
“Don't worry, I don't snore. Much. Or kick.”
“...I might,” Finn admits.
“Guess we'll just have to find out,” Poe smirks, and, with one last brush of his thumb across Finn's cheekbone, he puts some distance in between them, probably the hardest task he's had to do in the recent days.
“Yeah,” a deep sigh, and a lot of relief in it.
Without another word, Poe turns away, shedding his vest and pulling his shirt off over his head, without even realizing, and it is only upon asking if Finn will be needing to use the shower too, and receiving no response, that he blushes a bit, realizing what a show he's just made of himself.
“Sorry,” he half laughs, half groans, “I'm gonna go hide in there. Do you want to use the shower after me? Because water rations and everything, I gotta switch the boiler off for the night...”
“No, no, I'm, uh... good. Yeah. Definitely. Good.”
Poe pretends not to notice that look that Finn levels him with, literally sizing him up from head to toe, and it is only after the door to the bathroom slides close behind him, that he allows himself to come undone a little bit, leaning on the wall and grinning like an idiot, trying to hide it with his hand even though there is absolutely no one there to see, and call him an infatuated fool.
The lukewarm water helps somewhat, and he's wise enough to step out before it begins helping too much. It doesn't feel right, with Finn in the next room, not really.
Finn, who, as Poe discovers immediately after stepping out (cautiously at first because all his clean clothes are... somewhere in the bedroom and not immediately at hand), fits absolutely perfectly into his bed, already curled up on one side, taking up so little space Poe wonders if he had been conditioned to do that, too... He's clutching onto one of Poe's ancient pillows, his breathing steady and calm, face that much younger, and, predictably, much more vulnerable, and only a soft chill creeping up his still-damp spine reminds Poe that he might have been staring a bit too long.
After a moment's consideration, he slips into a clean pair of sleeping pants and a fresh t-shirt, and it definitely a novel sensation, trying to slot two bodies together in this particular bed, but it's as if Finn reacts to the warmth of him, curling closer the second Poe settles down, murmuring something nonsensical and then sighing happily.
“You're really handsome, d'you know that,” Poe sighs, creating his own nook out of a blanket and pillows bunched up under his head.
“And you make really good eggs,” Finn sighs, and Poe squeaks, a betrayed embarrassed sound.
“You're not asleep!”
“Mm of course I am,” Finn hums, smug and pleased, not even needing to open his eyes to see the damage he's caused. “See, totally asleep. Night night.”
Poe watches him almost breathlessly for a moment, too ensnared, too preoccupied trying to memorize every single angle and line of his face, and then he summons all his courage and leans closer, their noses brushing together before he plants a kiss on Finn's.
“Good night,” he murmurs, and it seems that this time, Finn really is asleep.
...Which doesn't stop him from sliding his hand underneath Poe's t-shirt to rest on his ribs, making him yelp, their quiet laughter eventually replaced by their breathing evening out.
Not that anyone's keeping score, but Poe definitely does snore, but it's okay, because it turns out that Finn has a tendency to hog blankets.
They make do, though.