Chapter Text
Finn sat at the edge of the square, notebook in hand.
Ever since the occupation of D’Qar, the former duke felt like he had far too much idle time. The occupation of his palace had led him to flee to a friend, and anxiously wait around while the First Order of Christ sat about establishing strict laws and building up the army to rather uncomfortable sizes.
So, what was there to do? All Finn could do was busy himself: helping Rey and her father with the harvest, practice his art, sit around the town square and observe his former subjects go about their business. Often, the latter two went hand in hand.
This evening’s subject was a young man, maybe a few years older than Finn, although it was hard to tell behind his neatly-trimmed beard and youthful demeanor. He was busy entertaining the village children with his lute, singing some nonsense song about stars and knights. Every so often a stray curl would fall into his face, and he would just smile and toss his head back.
He was absolutely gorgeous.
Finn made sure to take his time with his furtive glances and careful charcoal strokes, trying his best to capture the man at his lute. The process was rather challenging, as he kept moving around and laughing as he strummed, but Finn tried, studying his face and attempting to recreate it on parchment. He had a nice nose, Finn noted; it was prominent and suited the rest of his angular face rather nicely.
Then the man turned to look at him, and immediately stopped playing.
Finn felt his stomach drop as they made eye contact, nearly breaking the stick of charcoal he held in his hand. Oh, Adonai, don’t let him think I’m strange. It’s not like I was completely staring at him, right?
Instead, the man smiled. Finn weakly smiled back.
He turned to a young woman beside him with black hair and an orange gown and said something, laying down his lute. The woman nodded, grabbing a fiddle and placing it under her chin.
Finn hardly understood until the man walked up to him and took a deep bow.
“Poe da Meron,” he said, grinning.
“Finn Galletti,” he replied, then frowned. He was the duke, of course everyone already knew his name.
At that moment, the woman in orange began playing a cheerful melody.
Poe extended his hand. “May I have this dance, your Grace?”
Raising an eyebrow, Finn took it.
He smiled, reeling him in as the flock of children joined them again in dancing. Poe, as it turned out, was a delightful partner, spinning around with joy and never faltering with his footwork. Finn couldn’t help but laugh as Poe brought him in for a spin, before reeling him back in and letting the Duke fall in his arms.
It may have not been a banquet, but it had all the atmosphere of one. All around them, various dancers were circling around them, and other musicians had joined in: another fiddler and a tambourine player, to be exact. Meanwhile, the observers who weren’t dancing were clapping and cheering along with the beat. It was wild and casual, but above all, it was fun like Finn hadn’t seen in months.
He couldn’t tell how long they’d been dancing. All he knew was that after some time, the orange lady and her compatriots set down their instruments with a loud sigh.
“That was…” He grinned. “That was something.”
“Indeed,” said Poe, bending down to press a featherlight kiss on Finn’s hand. “But I must be off. It was an honor, your Grace.”
Finn could only dizzily nod as Poe walked off, lute strung over his back. “Safe travels.”
“I think I’m in love.”
Rey snorted, continuing to fill her basket with unsold wares. “You’ve only said his name about eighteen times since you’ve come here, my friend.”
“Then it’s got to be fate,” said Finn, resting his arm on her stand. “Rey, you have to understand—he was the one who came up to me in the first place.” He sighed. “He kissed my—”
“You’re getting that look again,” said Rey, flicking him on the forehead. “I get it, your Dreaminess, you love him.”
“Oh, shut your mouth,” he said, grabbing a fig out of her basket. “Anyways, how was your day?”
She frowned. “Business is slower than usual. I think everyone’s lost their spirit after the Order … you know.”
Finn nodded, licking fruit juice from his lips. “And how’s Signor da Cielo?”
“Papa’s trying to stay positive for our sake, but he and I both know that it’s all…” She paused, eyes widening. “Oh, hell.”
The long shadows drew nearer.
“The Legionnaires,” he whispered, hand twitching near his sword as the battalion advanced towards them. “Oy! Signors!”
They stopped, puzzled.
Finn shook his head. “You idiots,” he yelled. “You fools. Your back is towards the sun, we could see you minutes ago.”
And then he struck.
Even with their own weapons drawn, the Legionnaires could hardly expect Finn’s sword clanging against theirs. Rey swiftly joined him, her own sword drawn in anticipation as she swung at them, yelling with rage all the while. Within five minutes, the entire battalion was lying face down.
Someone applauded.
Finn turned around—only to come face-to-face with Poe da Meron and the orange woman from the square, both hollering with delight. “Jessika, did you see that?”
“Sweet Lord, I did,” said the woman, who was laughing. “Shit, they went through those asses like lard, didn’t they?”
Rey’s eyes widened as she sheathed her sword—no doubt checking Jessika out.
“Softened lard,” said Poe, nodding. “Oh! Your Grace!”
Finn nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “Da Meron. Good to see you again.”
“I never knew you could fight like that,” said Poe, eyes wide in amazement. “I mean, I knew you knew how to, but I didn’t—”
“It’s fine,” said Finn, wiping his hands on his doublet (it wasn’t a particularly nice one, he didn’t mind it getting too filthy). “But, I suppose we must be off.” He winked at Poe. “Arrivederci.”
He could have sworn he heard Poe stammer.
The next afternoon, Finn was back at the square with his notebook. A young girl with fiery red hair and a skip rope had caught his eye, so he was busy with capturing her likeness—when he heard a lute and a very familiar voice.
“Flashing his sword at the Legionnaires,” sang Poe, as Jessika fiddled next to him with a smile, “Finn the duke saved us all!”
Finn stared at him wide-eyed as Poe continued to sing about him vanquishing “bucketheads,” as the Order’s Legionnaires were so fondly known in D’Qar. People were clapping along and laughing. The redhead had abandoned her skip rope in favor of dancing along.
Poe finished his song with a flourish, when he caught Finn’s eye again. “Oh, look! Our hero is here!”
“Your Grace!” Almost immediately, Finn was swamped with children climbing on top of him. People were putting flowers in his hair. Someone was crying out of admiration.
It was overwhelming, yet … it was nice.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, once the crowd of adorers had backed off. “But thank you anyways.”
“It’s nothing, your Grace,” said Poe, smiling widely. “Although I do have one small request.”
“Yes?”
“I never did get to see that drawing you made of me.”
Shit. “Oh, um, it’s nothing special,” said Finn, shyly opening his notebook to the image of Poe from the previous night. The man had his head tilted back in joy, long curls plastered across his forehead as he strummed his lute. “Just a rough sketch.”
Poe whistled as he looked at it. “I don’t know, it looks pretty good for a rough sketch.” He looked back up. “Honestly, your Grace. It’s beautiful.”
“It’s nothing.” He rolled his eyes. “I could show you how a proper drawing is made, if you want.”
Poe snorted. “Sure.” When Finn didn’t laugh back, he stopped. “Wait, honestly?”
“Of course, I have to memorialize the great bard of D’Qar somehow.”
Poe opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything.
Finn chuckled. “Is that a yes?”
“Oh, yes!” He nodded. “Yes, of course.”
Finn smiled, holding out his hand. “Then what are we waiting for?”
Rey and her father were both out at the market, meaning the house was empty when Finn and Poe walked in.
“This yours?” asked Poe, settling on the couch in Finn’s makeshift studio.
He shook his head, placing a fresh canvas on the easel. “No, I’m staying with a friend. You know, the fruit sellers at the market?”
“Rey da Cielo?” Poe sat up straight, hands folded in his lap.
“That’s right,” he said, picking up a fresh piece of charcoal. “Alright, now, let’s do this.”
However, after a few charcoal strokes, it was evident that this wasn’t going to work out.
“Do you have to sit like that?” asked Finn, sighing.
Poe frowned. “Like what?”
“Like that.” He gestured to the stiff way Poe was sitting. “It doesn’t look right. This isn’t a royal portrait, you don’t have to sit so formally.”
“Then how should I sit?”
“Just—” Finn rubbed his forehead, leaving charcoal stains on it. “Just act naturally. Recline like you would at home.”
Those words might have been a mistake.
In a flash, Poe pulled his doublet over his head. Finn could only gape as his tunic soon followed, landing unceremoniously on the floor as he lay back on the couch, arm slung over his head.
Finn gasped silently as he took it in, silently thanking the Lord that Poe had kept his breeches on (although he couldn’t stop himself from whispering the Shehecheyanu upon seeing Poe’s toned and scruffy chest). “Alright, I…” Damn it, Galletti, focus! “…I think that’s good, yeah.”
Poe was silent as Finn sketched, completely still save for the rise and fall of his chest and the occasional yawn. Finn, in return, didn’t say anything as he drew, letting himself linger with his glances.
“It’s finished,” he eventually declared, setting his charcoal down. Poe walked over to where he was standing, hand gently brushing against Finn’s as he looked at the drawing.
“It’s…” He sighed. “…wow.” He looked back up, eyes sparkling. “It’s lovely, your Grace.”
“Call me Finn,” he whispered, gently setting the canvas down. He suddenly registered how heavily the two of them were breathing.
Poe nodded, biting his lip. “Right. Finn.” The way he whispered his name left Finn feeling lightheaded.
Neither of them moved for a while, faces still close.
Finn took a shy step forward. When Poe didn’t say anything, he let his eyes close and gently brushed their lips together.
After a few seconds, he pulled back. “Sorry.”
“Why?” asked Poe, and soon arms were on his shoulders and oh, Poe was kissing him, slowly yet passionately. Finn wrapped his arms around Poe’s bare waist as he kissed back.
Poe pulled away quickly, motioning to Finn’s chest. Heart thumping, he tugged his doublet off, letting it fall to the floor as he gently brushed the other man’s cheek, pressing a kiss to his forehead before capturing his lips again.
“I,” Poe whispered after a while, resting his forehead against Finn’s, “I believe we should continue on the couch.”
The thought of his couch being used for anything other than posing should have scandalized him, but instead it sent a rush of energy down his spine. “Good idea,” he said, smiling giddily.
Just as he was about to lean in again, there was a brutal hand at his neck.
“Wait—” He could only struggle as more armored hands were on him, pulling him away. “Wait, Poe! Poe!”
“Shut your mouth,” said a brutal voice—the voice of a Legionnaire.
“No!”
Still, all Poe could do was look on with terror as the duke was dragged off.