2/6/2

They're waiting, quietly, at the elevator. K'Ahuana has 'gone back to get something he forgot.'

The other men are… tolerating this.

Threepio, on the other hand... He knows what's about to happen. He's human enough for that. And he knows how this is going to end. Just because he, personally, doesn't see what Rey likes about Kylo, doesn't mean he's unaware of the fact that they're the most married people he's ever met. He doesn't see why the other men don't do something about this. "Shouldn't we… stop him?"

The K'Aar shakes his head, and Poe's agreeing with him. Poe puts a hand on Threepio's shoulder. "He needs to get shot down on his own on this one. We stop him he'll always wonder about maybe or what if, and…"

The K'Aar continues, "And in six months, he'll be back, with his own backers, and be stupid enough to make a formal challenge for her, and Ren will kill him, and… That's not going to do anyone any good."

"I doubt Kylo would kill a puppy for—" Jon starts.

"A formal challenge means he shows up with all of his backers and attempts a raid on your home to get her out of it," Ilnor supplies.

"Oh." Jon winces. Yeah. Kylo likely wouldn't take well to thousands of armed men showing up to attempt to remove Rey by force.

"Families arrange marriages on our world. Formally, the ladies don't have a choice about it, though in most cases their fathers will take their preferences into account. That doesn't mean they're entirely powerless. They can signal that they aren't happy with the deal if someone they like more shows up. And it's considered the height of rude to attempt to take a woman from her husband. He's got every right to kill you and everyone you bring with you if you fail. And she's got to say, yes. You can't just carry her off. But… If you can do it, if you survive it, that gets you a lot of status, and if he managed to take Ren's woman from Ren's home-" Ilnor continues.

The K'Aar breaks in. "Boldness in the face of true love. They write songs and stories about that. That's how I got their grandmother, and," he taps the scar snaking up the back of his hand. "He's… being twenty-two. But if she gives him a hint she might go for it, he'll be back."

They watch. "Is her taking the flower a bad thing?" Poe asks.

"Not from K'Ahuana's point of view," The K'Aar replies.

They watch Rey give it back. And even from the far side of the room, even without Force sensitivity, they can all feel Rey tell him in no uncertain terms, no.

He gives her the flower again.

Jon raises an eyebrow… "Uh…"

The K'Aar shakes his head. "Look at the way he's moping. That was… salvaging some pride I think. He's not going to try again."

"Good," Threepio says. "I'd prefer our deal continue on, not end in blaster bolts and lightsaber burns."

The K'Aar sighs, and as his grandson joins them, he wraps an arm around his shoulders. "Come on, lad, let's go."

K'Ahauna looks wrecked. "I'd…"

"I know. We've all been there, one way or another. At least she was kind about it." He nods to Threepio. "Are you showing us back to our rooms?"

"Yes, K'Aar. And by the time we get there, I have a feeling Colonel Jefferies will have the formal contract written up. If you like, we can go over it together."

"I would like that."

"Excellent." Threepio hits the enter button on the elevator, and it swishes open. The K'Arans head in, and Poe notices that Jon doesn't, so he hangs back, too. "Grand Marshal? Commander?"

"We'll wait," Jon replies. "Unlike you, we're not going to the I-Deck."

Threepio nods, and hits the close button.

And a moment later, Jon and Poe are alone, in the throne room, waiting.

As soon as he knows the elevator is out of earshot, Jon runs his hands through his hair, slouches, moans quietly, and then looks up at Poe. "Finally."

Poe grins at him. "You mean, that's not how you thought that'd go?"

Jon rubs his forehead. "I'd have appreciated things going closer to script, but… We didn't fail."

Poe inclines his head. "And even if we had, it wouldn't have been the end of the world."

"I guess not." Jon pops the collar on his vest, and begins taking off his rank hexes. He smiles a little, then he looks to Poe. "Relaxing time?"

"Gods, YES!" He glances at the elevator. "Where the hell are we? Closer to my ship or your room?"

"Your ship, I'd assume. We're on the AAA-Deck, so…" They hear the sound of the elevator returning. They step in.

"That was really fast," Poe says.

"That's because they only went one level up. It'll be easier for them to go up, and then cut across. We're going to go straight up to the deck your ship is on, and then cut across."

"Good." Poe touches his suit. "Look, this is, without a doubt the best suit I've ever worn, but…"

"But it's not a 'you-relaxing-having-a-good-time' look. I get that. Hell, I designed this," he gestures to his Grand Marshall uniform, "And it's not my idea of relaxing either. So, we'll hit your ship, you get comfy, and then back to my place so I can get out of my monkey suit. You dance?"

Poe grins at that, widely. "I've been known to, on occasion."

"Is that part of your idea of relaxing?"

"Sometimes. Is it yours?"

"Depends on how fast the stims wear off. I'm probably good for another three hours, which might mean just get blasted and crash, but I if I've got a bit more… There are a few decent clubs on the F-Deck."

"Excellent," Poe says as the elevator speeds them upwards.

"So, this is home for you?" This time Jon's really looking at Poe's ship. It's a freighter, a high quality, but fairly small one. Compared to the fighters Poe normally flies, it's huge, but compared to the mega freighters that carry millions of kilotons, this is tiny.

"My one true love." Poe says as he pats Micah's hull and keys in the code that opens his hatch. Though the real Micah would have been horrified to see this is the ship Poe named after him. The real Micah likely wouldn't have deigned to even fly this thing. Too big, too slow, too ugly.

Fortunately, Jon doesn't know enough about ship names to ask why his freighter is named Micah. He does know enough to look around at the living space and say, "This is nice."

"Thanks."

"Spacious for a ship, right?"

Poe doesn't point out that they're on a ship in a ship right now, and that, no this is not spacious for a ship. "Most people with one of these would have at least a crew of four, so… It's spacious for BB and I." At the sound of his name, BB rolls over, and sort of looks up at Jon as Poe finishes up with, "Little tighter for a traditional compliment. Anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

BB beeps at him for a while, and Poe nods, and nods some more, and then smirks. "Well, I'm glad I missed that."

Jon asks, "Missed what?"

"Got a call in from Chewie, asking if I'm up for some babysitting, because he's going stir crazy stuck in the Falcon with Paige."

"Paige is the baby, right?"

"Yeah. And I'll go rescue him tomorrow."

"You do kids?"

"For a while. I'm a fairly good Uncle/older-brother-type, but I've never wanted to be Dad. Teaching and hanging out with them is enough. After a few days of all kids all the time, I get kind of itchy and need to head off for a bit."

Jon nods at that. "I'm the youngest of five. I've got nieces and nephews all over the place. And for a day or two, it's fun…"

"Yeah, for a day or two, and I like coming back to them just fine. It's really nice that every time I land on Lirium there's this collection of people who are really excited to see me and want to know what I've been up to, but I need grown-up time, too."

"Exactly."

Poe gestures to his galley. "Have a seat, relax," gestures to the drink cabinet. "Grab a drink if you want one. I'll be out in a bit."

Then he vanishes into his cabin.

The first thing Poe did with this ship, after landing it on Lirium, was refurb the living space. Since he's mostly moving around people and things for the settlement, he didn't need quite as much storage space as the average freighter. He added three small cabins and an extra refresher, so he could move kids around easier. Then he and Rey spent a few days ripping out the Captain's and Crew's cabins. Finn, Rose, and Chewie showed up just as they were wrapping that up. Then all five of them worked on getting a new bigger, more comfortable cabin, set up for him.

So, he's got some very non-standard adaptations for his cabin, like a bed big enough for him to stretch out on. An actual bed. Not a bunk tucked into a shelf on the wall. A massage chair for all of those hard to reach places he just can't get to himself. A small workout corner so he doesn't end up like most captains, getting rounder and rounder with each trip.

He strips out of the suit Jon put him in, and lays it neatly on his bed, before going to his closet (also bigger and better appointed than standard for a ship) and getting out hangers for it, and some of his normal clothing.

He glances at normal.

Might be going dancing. Might be relaxing. Might be…

He sighs. He thinks he's reading Jon right, and he's fairly sure relaxing involves sweet, supple friction, moaning, lots of slick, and squishing sounds, all of which Poe would rather enjoy doing with Jon. Except… He can remember last night's reservations about that.

He's staring at the sort of thing he'll often wear to go clubbing. His fuck-me-hard-and-deep outfit. He's reaching for it.

Jon's wedding band is in his mind's eye.

Fuck.

He rubs his forehead. Take it easy.

Besides, if Jon's right about how long he's got until the stim wears off, he really doesn't have the time to get into this. Not… not the way he wants to.

He pulls out his usual out and about clothing. Button down, trousers, jacket. He puts the jacket back, it's warm enough he doesn't need it.

Slow and easy. Have a few drinks, maybe if Jon's feeling up to it, a little dancing, and then tuck him into bed with a kiss on the cheek.

Poe's shaft is yelling at him, cursing him because it's fairly sure this is the worst plan he's ever had. There is a perfectly fine man out there who would likely jump on him if given the chance, and… Stop it. You'll get yours soon enough.

"Okay. I know we're on the F-Deck. I see restaurants, food carts… uh," Jon follows Poe's gaze, seeing what he's curious about. It's twenty minutes later, and most of that's been spent in an elevator going up, but now they're out in the thick of it, and Poe's looking around.

"Squammath courts. It's a game, sort of like… You ever play hoop ball?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, hoop ball with goals instead of nets. You kick or throw the ball around, instead of bouncing it."

"Okay… I see shops and that's a cinema, but… I'm not seeing any clubs or bars or places I'd go dancing."

Jon doesn't exactly roll his eyes, and he doesn't exactly grin, but it wouldn't be a leap to suggest either of those things had happened. "We're in a more 'family friendly' section of the F-Deck. The place where Colonel So-and-so can take his wife and kiddos and not have to explain what that nice gentleman wearing the bright orange shorts, and nothing but bright orange shorts, is selling."

"So, there's an adult section," Poe says with a grin.

"Yeah. Once I get changed, we can head there." Jon steers them through the market toward one of the hallways branching off. "Hold up," he yells to the tram that's just about to pull away, and, fortunately, the driver does. "We're a bit past the central hub, but my rooms are on the far leeward side, so I was figuring you didn't want to walk all twenty klicks."

"You're right about that."

They're quiet on the ride. Poe doesn't know how much of that is the fact that this is a First Order… or was a First Order ship, and you're better off not talking about your business where anyone can hear you, or if Jon's just tired.

Judging by the way he's resting back against the seat, probably tired.

Well, that's okay. Poe doesn't mind some time in his own head, watching the F-Deck pass them by. They're in a residential hallway, passing by flat after flat after flat. It reminds him a lot of the years he was on Coruscant with Leia. Buildings that spanned kilometers, on and on and on. No natural light, no sign of the sky.

You could live your whole life on Coruscant without ever seeing the sky. Without ever feeling fresh air on your face.

He always found that a bit claustrophobic.

BB finds that amusing. The cockpit of his fighter was usually three meters square, if that. Obviously, being in a small enclosure isn't the issue. No visible sky is.

There's no sky here, and the hallways go on and on and on.

"Do you miss the sky?" he asks Jon.

Jon blinks, and shakes his head a bit, like he's waking up. "Uh… No. I… Well, you saw. My room is far enough aft that I have a window."

"Right."

"Do you… I mean…" He looks at the hallway. "Is that why you live in your ship? Always a view of the sky?"

"No, but it doesn't hurt. I'm on the move a lot. I could have a place on Lirium, but it's easier to just keep everything all together with Micah."

Jon thinks about that. "I can see that. If I never knew where the next day would take me, it'd likely be nice to have all my stuff go with me."

"Yeah, it is."

They're both quiet for a while, and then Jon says, "So… How do you decide where to go next?"

Poe cocks his head a bit. "Well, for a long time, someone gave me mission objectives, and then I planned everything out to make sure those objectives were met. I'm good enough at that, and then taking care of everything, that I got a lot of on-my-own style missions."

"And let me guess, then there were so few of you that they couldn't afford to give you a partner or team?"

Poe nods. "Yeah. So, I'd have something like, 'Well, it's your bloody fault we're down to seven ships. Go get us a functional Navy. With pilots.'"

"And you just… get them? I mean, you're pretty, but… no one's that sweet of a sweet talker."

Poe barks a short laugh. "Trust me, I know. I'm good at cards, too. So play a lot of sabbac or poker. Win money, win ships. Meet people. Find people who didn't love the First Order, sweet talk them into offering to help. Turning help into ships. It's slow. But we were building up when Ren took over and stopped doing the shit that makes recruiting easy."

It's clear Jon's not sure what he means.

"Alderaan was the best thing that ever happened to the Rebellion in terms of recruiting. And, if we'd had… anything to work off of, the Hosnian System would have flipped all the support our way, except—"

"Except unlike the Rebellion there weren't enough of you left ten days later to take advantage."

"Exactly. And then Snoke's gone. Hux is dead. Ren's freeing slaves, and… And Hux took out something like 80% of the Army of the New Republic, so it's not like I can really go through their guys, find people who want to join up. The ones who were left generally stayed local, keeping watch on their own homes so…"

"You become rebels without a cause."

"Pretty much. That's when Leia gave up."

"And without her, you weren't going to keep going?"

He shrugs a bit. "I'd already talked to Rey. I was looking for kids then. Seems I've got a talent for finding Force sensitives who need a good home. But… Captain goes down with the ship, so I was going to see it to the end. I was there the day the Resistance began, I couldn't let it go while it was still breathing." He looks away from the passing flats to Jon, "You ever think about leaving?"

Jon laughs at that. "Every fucking day while I was in training. Every minute those first few months. But… Nothing at home. Mom made that clear. I didn't take her 'soft option,' gone off and gotten myself married to some well-born lady. And I've got skills, but they're fairly particular. I've got connections, but again, in a very narrow field that I'm the wrong sex for, and the queen of said field had pretty much put a Do-Not-Touch sign on me. And, of course, once you're done training, it's not like you can just leave the First Order. They didn't take kindly to attempting to do that."

"I certainly recall a lot of objecting when Finn and I tried it."

"Yeah. It's a little different for people in the kind of training track I was in… Hux grads are good for a lot of things, but creative work doesn't seem to be one of those things, so people like me didn't train with them. And, during training, they'd let us go if we didn't want to stick it out. We're… dead weight if you break one of us, and... a lot of us were well enough connected that you'd make life... difficult if you broke one of us, so better to let us go than make us stay. But once you take your first stripe, you're in. So I'm twenty-four. I can still bug out because I'm not done training yet, but… Broke and on my own was terrifying, and an Ensign's commission in the design corps wasn't. So, here I am."

"And here you stayed."

"Kylo… I guess he'd been in charge about a year… Ten months? Something like that. And I get a call to go see him." Jon sighs. "You ever been so scared you wet yourself?"

Poe just looks at him. "I'm a combat pilot."

"Yeah, that's why I'm asking. I know you've been in the kind of situation where you could get that scared, I just don't know if you've done it."

Poe sighs. Jon apparently is not close to any other fliers. "Flight suits have… personal hygiene and waste disposal units."

"Diapers?"

"Basically. Because, yes, it's common to get that scared, and also because it's not like a fighter, which you might be in for hours, sometimes days, has a refresher."

"Ah."

"Yeah. Anyway…"

"Okay. Kylo's been in charge for a few months, and… He's cleaning house. I mean… The man is killing officers right and left, and it's not exactly like he had a reputation for being cool or calm under the best of circumstances. And I get the call to see him."

"And you shit yourself, because why the fuck does he want to see you?"

"Yeah, basically. Did someone implicate me in one of the plans to take him down? Did he think I was one of Hux's pets? I mean… Fuck… I just… took over Tactical Design. I wasn't ordered to do it. But…" He gives Poe a look that says a whole lot, most of which he doesn't want to put into words. "So, at the very least, maybe I was about to get killed for overstepping my bounds by a light year, and who knows, maybe one of the latest round of the purge had named me?"

"Were you... one of Hux's plants?" Because it's occurring to Poe that maybe, in the beginning, not everyone was in love with Ren taking over. And if he was afraid of being named...

"Oh, fuck no. I never met him, but... Just the holovids gave me the willies. There was just something... terrifying about that man."

Poe makes a mental note to tell him the talking-to-Hux story, but later, "So, you go up to see him…"

"Down, but yes. Heart in my throat, guts churning, in a cold sweat, and he's distracted and pleasant, and wants to know if I can see about expanding our uniform line to fit non-humans."

"Which you can do?"

"Which I can do in my fucking sleep. I mean, okay, it's a pain in the ass, but the droids do the work. We make them standard sizes because it saves on costs, but taking measurements when you enlist, and then making a fucking uniform for anyone who's not within the standard ranges isn't a problem. Hell, I can't put Kylo into one of our standard uniform sizes, not and have it look good, so it's not like we don't have a protocol in place for non-standard sized people. Had to do a bit of work for non-humanoids, but so far we've only had a few of them, and the challenge of something that looks good for something that say, doesn't have legs, or has too many of them, is fun."

Poe nods at that. "So… he gave you a job you found interesting, and that kept you going?"

"I think so. I'm not sure if I'd have left, but… I was on my way to burn out. Just… uh… 'Give it time, and it'll get better,' but… It wasn't getting better. I was going through the motions. Kept my people going, but everything was hollow. Having something to really do. That kept me here, and going."

"Yeah. Know all about that." He says it while watching the latest stretch of market go by.

Jon looks at him, closely, really feeling that. "Do you?"

Poe half smiles, a little. "Yeah. I'll tell you about it, one day."

"Home sweet home," Poe says as he and Jon step into Jon's place.

"Yep." He heads over to his fishbowl and feeds the fish. "Bonnie, Clive, Tom, Harry. Have a good day while I was out?"

They bop up to the top of the water and gobble the flakes.

"You talk to fish."

"You talk to BB."

"BB responds."

Jon shrugs at that. "I'm going to get changed. Feel like being useful and pouring us something to drink while I do?"

"Sure. What do you want?"

"I've got vodka in the cooler and would love some right about now."

"I can do that."

Jon smiles at him, and then heads into his room, and… doesn't close the door.

Poe's shaft immediately notices that. His head notices, too, just at about the same time. And, sure, okay, maybe the idea is the door is open so he can get his lips wrapped around a shot glass that much faster, but…

Poe's pretty sure a shot glass isn't the only thing Jon's looking to get his lips wrapped around.

He hears the sound of a zipper being undone. Then he closes his eyes, and swallows. Maybe he's misread Jon. Maybe he's a lot more… ready… than he looks. Got stuck, moving on, reason to keep going… That's hopeful and good, right?

Yeah. Right.

Poe goes to the cooler, and there is a bottle of vodka in there. He finds the glasses and pours them two of them. He turns a bit, and… There's another picture, Jon, and the husband, on the beach, having what looks like is a great time.

"You like beaches?" he calls out to Jon.

"More Lane's thing. I'd never seen one before the day that picture was taken."

"Oh. There are some nice ones on Lirium. If winter ever eases off…" He glances at the photo of the two of them again. "You look like you and he were having a lot of fun."

Jon comes to the door of his bedroom. He's in his shorts, and nothing else, and Poe forgets to breathe for a heartbeat, because… Shit… He drags his eyes up from Jon under those shorts, which aren't exactly hiding much, to his face, and… Shit. Jon's got a sort of soft aching look on his face. "Look, if you want to know more about Lane, that's fine, and I'll be happy to talk about him, but not tonight. Tonight, I want to get blasted, relax, and have a good time, not cry."

And that more or less derails any thoughts Poe's having about kissing his way down that delicious looking trail of hair below Jon's navel and peeling him out of those shorts. This is not a man who's ready to move on, yet. "Okay." He hands Jon the shot glass. "Cheers."

"Back at you." He shoots it down, and stares at Poe, who is not moving away from the counter, at all, and then turns and heads back to his room. He still doesn't close the door.

Poe pours his shot back into the bottle. Then he gets a wine glass, and the bottle of wine from the cooler, and pours himself one of them.

He's having a hard enough time making good decisions around Jon because of how fucking pretty he is, and he knows that if he gets more than mildly toasted, his shaft is going to end up in charge of decision making, and it's not going to make the sort of decisions sober Poe approves of.

He takes the vodka bottle, and his glass of wine, and goes to sit on the sofa, (not looking into Jon's open door, for a good two seconds, and then he peeks, and… holy shit that man's got an ass for days, and then he slams his eyes forward) and sits down.

"So, which one is which?"

"Which one what?"

"The fish."

"Harry's the little gold one, Bonnie's the pink one, Clive is black, and Tom's green."

Poe nods, and stares at the fish. "Hey guys, I'm Poe."

Jon comes out. "Now who's talking to fish?"

"Well, I figure—" He looks over at Jon, standing there, begging to be admired, and his words die. He licks his lips. He nods. It's not like Jon's got a direct view of the inside of his brains and can see what he thinks sexy it, but… Damn, if he can't.

He's in a tight shirt with no sleeves, and snug trousers. It's not… club wear, or aggressively sexy, but… Shit, it cups his ass in all the right ways, and there's hints of something else very good inside those pants, and his fucking arms! Jon's not huge. He's more on the long and lean side of things, but he's got amazing arms, and right now Poe really wants to watch those biceps flex as Jon holds himself up, over him, thrusting sure and deep and… FUCK!

All of that takes a combined fifteen seconds. Then Poe makes himself grin, look Jon up and down, and say, "Well, aren't you a pretty little thing."

Jon strides right up to him, standing in front of him, between his legs, looking down at him. "Do you think I've got a full ten centimeters on you?"

Poe scoffs at that. "Six. Maybe." But he's sure Jon's right. The man put him in a perfectly fitted suit by eyeing him. Then he stands up, and his eyes are right on lip level with Jon. He looks up just a bit. "But if you put an outfit like that on, 'pretty little thing' and 'gorgeous' is what you're looking to hear, right?"

Jon runs his fingers through his hair. "Absolutely. After all, we're relaxing."

Poe keeps looking. He bites his lip, hard. "You walk into a room, and every man in it's going to drool."

"Person. Every person. After all, I'm not picky."

Poe grins at him, feeling the heat of his body, and how easy it would be to close the five or six centimeters between them. "So, how do you like to relax?"

"Well, baby, let's find out." He reaches back, pours himself another shot, and downs it.

"Baby? I know I've got five years on you."

"Four. I'm older than Kylo."

"Barely."

"By almost a year. If he was born on Concordance Day… That's two weeks before my birthday."

"Oooo…" Poe sits back down, and takes a sip of his wine. "Dancing, clubbing, shooting the shit and getting drunk?"

Jon sits next to him, already starting to look a little loose and a bit flushed from the alcohol.

Poe makes himself look, but not move. The man is fucking sex on legs, and he's going to do his best to be a good little boy and not do anything about it.

Jon settles back, relaxed, stretches one leg out, foot bare… Shit, Poe doesn't even like feet, but… Jon's is long and narrow with really nicely shaped toes, and it's on his thigh and… He wants to lick it, suck a few of those toes, see how Jon'd respond that that. Party Boy's going to kill him. "Nearest club's at least forty-five minutes from here, and I can feel it, I've got maybe two hours before I crash. So… shoot the shit, and then bedtime."

"I can deal with that."

They're quiet. Jon's eyes are closed, and he's soft and loose on the sofa. Then he pulls his head up and says, glances at Poe's barely tasted glass of wine. "Is this what relaxing looks like for you?"

"Not generally. I'm trying something new."

"Turning over a new leaf, Master Dameron? Feeling… responsible or something?"

"Or something."

"I thought that was the point of relaxing. Let the responsibilities go."

"One day, Jon, one day. Right now… I can wait."

That gets an intrigued look out of Jon. "What are we waiting for?"

"You, nothing. Get blasted, I'll watch your back."

"Is that all you'll watch?"

"Tonight, yeah."

Jon looks puzzled by that, but he does pour himself another shot and take it, shivering at the feel of it burning down his throat. "Okay. That's enough." He stands up, still in good control of his legs, and picks up the bottle. "The crash is going to hit me hard, and if I have any more, I'll be a wreck tomorrow." He crosses the room, puts the bottle back into the cooler, rinses his glass, and then returns to the sofa.

"What's on for your tomorrow?" Poe asks, as Jon sits close to him.

"R4-6837, my secretary, knows. Hopefully setting up more of these. And you're babysitting."

"Yeah. Chewie's off at Maz's. I'll head there, make sure he gets some baby-free time. Pick up some more supplies for Lirium, kill some more time, and then go home. Got… Probably five more days until I can go back."

"I thought it lasted ten days."

"It does, but it takes twelve to thirty-six hours to get going, and they all got sick at slightly different times, so I don't go back until I get the okay from MX-6."

"Not going to cut it short and get bit by the last virus of the lot?"

"Exactly. I've seen nothing to make me think this is something I want to experience."

"I don't blame you for that. One thing I know we've got to get is some sort of plan in play for what happens if Kylo gets sick again. The First Order didn't have any formal succession in play, because that would have been seen as encouraging whoever was next in line to go after Snoke, but I think we should have something like that here."

"Not a bad plan."

"Let me guess, that's the sort of thing you guys had pages of manuals for in the New Republic?"

"Of course. And part of working security was making sure the guys who preferred the number two didn't go out of their way to turn him into number one."

Jon's looking at Poe, eyes soft and warm, alcohol flush on his cheeks, lips wet, and Poe's a centimeter away from leaning into him and kissing him when he says, "Okay. You're a combat fighter pilot. How did you end up on security? That makes almost as much sense as hiring a dressmaker to design armor."

Poe closes his eyes, takes a sip of his wine, and tries not to look like Jon just poured a bucket of cold water on him, because that pulls him right away from how pretty Jon is, and dumps him back into why he's trying to be a good boy.

"How about this? One day, you'll tell me all about Lane, and I'll tell you about why I stopped flying, except for shuttling people around, for five years."

"You saying it'll make you cry?"

"Not anymore, but it doesn't make me smile."

Jon nods. "Okay. Tragic backstories are tabled for a later date."

"Sure." Poe glances to the pictures. "Okay, I've been wondering about this, and… If I'm out of line, just smack me-"

"Oh baby, you've got to be really good or very bad to get me to smack you."

Poe closes his eyes, squeezes his legs together, and does not respond to that. Then gets himself back under control before saying, "Anyway, I've heard you talk about a girl friend, and obviously, Lane, so… You 'verse?"

"Wide as the galaxy, love. Boys, girls, inbetween, none of the above, I like 'em all."

"You'll just wrap those pretty lips of yours around anything, won't you?" gets out of Poe's mouth before he can stop it.

"And have an absolutely fabulous time doing it." Jon's eyes are warm and full of satisfied mischief. "You like it, too. Don't tell me you don't. You'll break my heart."

"I certainly wouldn't want to do that." Not at all. "And yeah, I like it, too." He thinks about it. It's been… weeks since he got on his knees for someone. Too long. "Nothing like making someone sing. Hitched breath, flushed skin, that… throb… Yeah, I like that, too."

"Good." Jon's smiling at him. "Not the worst plan I've heard." He licks his lips. He blinks. His eyelashes are so long, and his eyes so blue, and he's just gazing at Poe and…

He's thirty-eight, it's been a while since he's gotten hard without a hand on him, but if Jon keeps that look up…

Jon licks his lips again, leans toward him, and then says, "We going to do something about this?"

Poe knows, he just knows, that he can close the gap, pull Jon close, kiss him into next month, and… Again, he'd be so good. It's all over his face and eyes and the way he's looking at him, and that mouth… Shit that mouth. He'd wrap those pretty little lips around his shaft and take him through heaven and out the other side and…

He's still wearing his ring, and Lane's picture is on the wall, and he lives in the home they share, and if this is going to ever be more than fucking… It can't start now.

Poe smirks. It physically hurts to say it, but he does. "About what?"

Jon looks like he just had the rug pulled out from under him. He jerks back, a little uncoordinated from the alcohol, stunned.

Poe gives him a wink, stands up, and fires off a salute. "Think I'm going to call it a night. Pleasure working with you, Grand Marshall."

Jon swallows, hard. He nods. "And with you."

What are you doing back here? BB asks Poe when he returns to his ship.

"Kicking myself in my own ass so hard I've got toes sticking out of my mouth."

That's anatomically impossible for humans.

Poe waves that off.

Where's pretty boy?

"Hopefully in bed, sleeping, not hating me. I think he had enough that tonight should be fuzzy."

What do you mean hopefully? You didn't leave him there?

Poe grits his teeth. "No, I'm being mature, and responsible. Older and wiser. So I didn't fucking leave him in bed. And I'm not in there with him. And… Fuck!"

BB rolls over to him. Are you okay?

"No. I'm fucking not." Now he pours himself the vodka. A large shot of it. "He practically gift-wrapped himself for me, and I said no, because…" he shakes his head… "Because I want to be more than just a fuck buddy, and I don't think he can take more than that right now."

Doesn't he get to decide that?

"I…" he opens and closes his mouth, and then drinks half of his glass. "I think if I said to him, 'Hey, you're fucked in the head right now because you're still deep in mourning, and I've been there and done that, and it fucking sucks, but you've got to get out of that before there's a shot for us, that'd… probably just insult him or something. He's got to… I don't know… get closer to out of it before I can even lay it on the table and not have it sound like I'm being… I don't know."

You wanna go back?

"Of course, I want to go back! I want him…" There are a lot of ways he wants Jon, but he's fairly sure BB'll just tell him they're anatomically impossible, too.

Humans are weird.

"Yeah. I'm going to…" He gets up and wanders idly toward his room. Wank and go to sleep, probably.

But before that. He grabs his datapad, and sets it for a note.

Ten hours later, Jon wakes feeling wrecked. He's exhausted and fuzzy, his mouth tastes like death, and his eyes feel gummy.

He knows he and Poe did… something. Talking. There was talking the night before. He remembers… okay, he's pretty sure he remembers everything. The details are muzzy but there are no blank spots. He'd just about thrown himself into Poe's lap, and… Shit, he sprinted out of there.

"Fuck." Jon rubs his head. No hangover. That's something. He's just tired. Yeah, stims are safe, but you feel pretty rough after taking a few of them.

Stims… tired… Poe… Talking with Poe. Talking sexy with Poe… Poe reacting to being talked to like that… He's sure that Poe likes men. That feels right, but… With the way he ran out… "Shit."

He didn't take Poe for cloaked, Likes men, afraid to admit it. Flirts but runs away if it gets real, but… That's exactly what he did, so…

"Fuck."

He sits up, and swings his legs to the side of his bed, he sees his main datapad. It's blinking at him. Personal letter.

Since he gets one of those every other decade, he pulls the pad close and turns it on.

Jon,

Hey, I'm off babysitting now. Wanted to let you know I enjoyed spending time with you. I hope to do it again, soon. If you ever need Commander Dameron, for any reason, just give me a call.

Wasn't sure how hungover you might be. You were looking pretty loose when I left, so one of those little food delivery droids should be lurking around with my magic hangover potion. Give it a try, and then go drink some water. I'm not going to say it'll make everything better, but it'll help.

Til next time,

Poe

Jon just stares at it, utterly clueless as to what to do with that.