[ Poe is complete jelly. He allows himself to be rearranged without protest, sinking into Peter again on the bed with a shuddering sigh – content, blissful. His head feels like he's floating in clouds or maybe riding a really good high, and he can't think of anywhere he'd rather be in that moment.
Poe soaks up all the kisses, all the attention, finally turning his face towards Peter to knock his nose against Peter's jaw. ]
Yuh-huh.
[ Breathy agreement, and he doesn't sound the slightest bit put out about it.
(He usually wears long sleeves, anyway. This won't be much of a hassle.
[ He breathes out another laugh, and close as they are, the full effect of Peter's incredulous look is probably lost on Poe. ]
Eloquent.
[ But the warmth in his voice undercuts the sarcasm.
He keeps up the gentle attentions. Peter can't claim to be an expert in this shit, but he knows that when things get intense for him, there's always the small chance of him crashing. Peter doesn't really get why that happens to him, doesn't really know how to avoid it, but whenever it happens, he usually wishes he wasn't alone.
He has no way of knowing if that's the same for Poe or if Poe has the capacity to crash in that same way, considering this is their first time doing anything like this, but he figures a gentle transition can't hurt anything. ]
Poe is used to riding on endorphins. He's used to chasing after that kind of high with sex, and he's even used to finding it with intense sex. But not usually with the kind of intense sex that gets him like... this. However, despite how much he'd been swept up in the moment, right now, he only feels good, and he wants it to stay that way.
He half-turns towards Peter, resting his forehead on the other man's neck, breathing in the smell of him and trying to soak up his body heat and not giving a single fuck about the steadily drying cum on his skin.
When he speaks words are a little slow, but warm. ]
[ The correction is on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down, letting out an almost token exasperated scoff instead. ]
Yeah, of course I'm good.
[ Peter wasn't the one who practically shattered, after all.
Peter should— probably go get them cleaned up, but he's loathe to move away when Poe seems so comfortable. He reaches up, carding his fingers through Poe's hair, enjoying the warm, damp brush of Poe's breath against his skin. ]
I mean, after a show like that, how could I be anything but good?
[ Peter lets out a quiet hum, though he sounds vaguely uncertain. ]
Maybe not now, but you’re gonna be feeling it later.
[ Which is— well. That’s what Poe wanted, admittedly, but the guy is, like, all important and shit, and as the “best pilot in the Resistance” – Poe’s words, not Peter’s (though he’d probably agree, under great duress) – he should be in better condition.
It’s why Peter brings up a hand to the nape of Poe’s neck, why he carefully starts massaging his shoulders – though he’s careful to ease up the pressure around the bruises painting Poe’s left shoulder. ]
[ Oh, hey, massages. Poe won't complain about that when Peter is so set on pampering him; he's one to enjoy the physical touch, and Peter is practically showering him in it. Poe rumbles with approval, letting his eyes close again. ]
So what I’m hearing is that I need to triple the smart-ass. Got it.
[ Poe hums thoughtfully, like this makes complete, reasonable sense. As Peter’s hands move down Poe’s arms, Poe just relaxes even more, sighing happily as he relishes every bit of attention. ]
[ With all the immediacy of someone who fully intends to follow through, but all the fondness of someone who means exactly none of it.
He keeps up his ministrations, trying to knead away the worst of what’s sure to be a persistent ache for the next few days]
Think of the Resistance, Dameron. They’ll have to get a new poster boy if all your teeth are knocked out, and your recruitment numbers will absolutely tank.
... He’s definitely had that particular private thought about Poe enough times that he would likely reach triple digits, but— that smug look on the guy’s face tells Peter that he must’ve spoken it aloud, too.
Ugh.
Ugh.
Poe will never let him live that down.
It’s why Peter’s expression sours. He playfully plants a hand on Poe’s face, just to hide that shit-eating grin from himself, and shoves him onto the bed. ]
That jawline’s gonna be a puffy mess if you don’t shut your trap.
[ He gives the guy a considering look, as if to size him up and do a bit of mental math.
Then, decisively, ]
Actually, I probably could.
[ Admittedly, not that high or far, but enough of a distance to definitely call it throwing.
Peter works out. It helps pass the time when he’s going from one job to another. Plus, it helps give him an edge when he has to fight his way out of a shitty job. People tend to underestimate him, which he hates, but he uses it to his advantage when it comes to caving in faces. ]
[ Poe considers him through narrowed eyes, pausing for a second or two...
And then he seems to decide that Peter is mostly accurate. Peter is strong, and trying to argue that would be dumb as hell, and he's also got Poe on a few inches up and around. Poe's definitely got strength in the right places and when he needs it, but he's also probably light enough that Peter could haul him up and give him a good toss.
Another pause... ]
You know, if you just complimented me outright, we wouldn't even be talking about throwing people.
[ Peter is a contrary asshole at the best of times, which is why when he sees Poe trying to pull himself up, Peter just tries to shove him again. It's light, though, without much force – more for show than any real intent to keep the guy down. ]
It's 'cause you're acting like we're in some trashy romance.
Anyway. The fact that I can fuck your brains out should be more than enough to inspire you.
[ And he echoes the words back in a mocking voice. ]
[ Of course, Poe is exaggerating how hard Peter's shove hits him, but he flops back down on the bed, giving Peter an unimpressed look for a prolonged moment. ]
That is pretty inspiring, but I'm just saying. You can fuck my brains out and tell me I'm pretty.
[ Obviously, he prefers "handsome" and "dashing," but also, he likes fucking with Peter. ]
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Poe soaks up all the kisses, all the attention, finally turning his face towards Peter to knock his nose against Peter's jaw. ]
Yuh-huh.
[ Breathy agreement, and he doesn't sound the slightest bit put out about it.
(He usually wears long sleeves, anyway. This won't be much of a hassle.
Also? Worth it.) ]
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Eloquent.
[ But the warmth in his voice undercuts the sarcasm.
He keeps up the gentle attentions. Peter can't claim to be an expert in this shit, but he knows that when things get intense for him, there's always the small chance of him crashing. Peter doesn't really get why that happens to him, doesn't really know how to avoid it, but whenever it happens, he usually wishes he wasn't alone.
He has no way of knowing if that's the same for Poe or if Poe has the capacity to crash in that same way, considering this is their first time doing anything like this, but he figures a gentle transition can't hurt anything. ]
Feeling okay there, flyboy?
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[ And Peter thought he was eloquent before.
Poe is used to riding on endorphins. He's used to chasing after that kind of high with sex, and he's even used to finding it with intense sex. But not usually with the kind of intense sex that gets him like... this. However, despite how much he'd been swept up in the moment, right now, he only feels good, and he wants it to stay that way.
He half-turns towards Peter, resting his forehead on the other man's neck, breathing in the smell of him and trying to soak up his body heat and not giving a single fuck about the steadily drying cum on his skin.
When he speaks words are a little slow, but warm. ]
Mmm... still good, starboy?
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Yeah, of course I'm good.
[ Peter wasn't the one who practically shattered, after all.
Peter should— probably go get them cleaned up, but he's loathe to move away when Poe seems so comfortable. He reaches up, carding his fingers through Poe's hair, enjoying the warm, damp brush of Poe's breath against his skin. ]
I mean, after a show like that, how could I be anything but good?
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A show, huh? Lucky you, gettin' front row tickets.
[ He turns his head enough to get a look at his wrists, and his eyebrows wing up, something impressed in his groggy tone. ]
Damn, you did a number on these.
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In my defense, some of that might've been self-inflicted.
[ He casts the words as a joke, but Poe did seem to fall back into his grip a lot more often than not.
But— no, yeah. It was definitely mostly Peter's doing.
He takes one of Poe's wrists, bringing it up to his lips. ]
I can grab you some ice.
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[ He doesn't sound concerned about the bruises.
He actually kind of likes them. ]
They're not all that sore.
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Maybe not now, but you’re gonna be feeling it later.
[ Which is— well. That’s what Poe wanted, admittedly, but the guy is, like, all important and shit, and as the “best pilot in the Resistance” – Poe’s words, not Peter’s (though he’d probably agree, under great duress) – he should be in better condition.
It’s why Peter brings up a hand to the nape of Poe’s neck, why he carefully starts massaging his shoulders – though he’s careful to ease up the pressure around the bruises painting Poe’s left shoulder. ]
You sure you’re okay?
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Do I seem not okay?
[ He feels pretty fucking good right now. ]
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[ Another quiet hum, but more agreeing, this time. Poe seems good, and far be it from Peter to question it while the guy is still riding out the high.
Probably a better to check in later, when Poe starts coming down from it.
He moves on to carefully pressing into the muscles of Poe’s biceps; the guy struggled pretty hard, earlier. ]
You’re all floppy and quiet and have the smart-ass turned down pretty low. I kinda like it.
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[ Poe hums thoughtfully, like this makes complete, reasonable sense. As Peter’s hands move down Poe’s arms, Poe just relaxes even more, sighing happily as he relishes every bit of attention. ]
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[ With all the immediacy of someone who fully intends to follow through, but all the fondness of someone who means exactly none of it.
He keeps up his ministrations, trying to knead away the worst of what’s sure to be a persistent ache for the next few days]
Think of the Resistance, Dameron. They’ll have to get a new poster boy if all your teeth are knocked out, and your recruitment numbers will absolutely tank.
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Yeah, where else are they going to find another jawline that could cut glass?
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... He’s definitely had that particular private thought about Poe enough times that he would likely reach triple digits, but— that smug look on the guy’s face tells Peter that he must’ve spoken it aloud, too.
Ugh.
Ugh.
Poe will never let him live that down.
It’s why Peter’s expression sours. He playfully plants a hand on Poe’s face, just to hide that shit-eating grin from himself, and shoves him onto the bed. ]
That jawline’s gonna be a puffy mess if you don’t shut your trap.
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No, no, no. [ In between snorts. ] You've got all these nice things to say about my face. I wanna hear them, c'mon.
[ He stays where he is, grinning up at Peter. ]
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I will actually throw you out, Dameron. Literally just huck you off my ship and keep your clothes as compensation for having to put up with you.
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Psh, you couldn't throw me.
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Then, decisively, ]
Actually, I probably could.
[ Admittedly, not that high or far, but enough of a distance to definitely call it throwing.
Peter works out. It helps pass the time when he’s going from one job to another. Plus, it helps give him an edge when he has to fight his way out of a shitty job. People tend to underestimate him, which he hates, but he uses it to his advantage when it comes to caving in faces. ]
So you really shouldn’t tempt me.
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And then he seems to decide that Peter is mostly accurate. Peter is strong, and trying to argue that would be dumb as hell, and he's also got Poe on a few inches up and around. Poe's definitely got strength in the right places and when he needs it, but he's also probably light enough that Peter could haul him up and give him a good toss.
Another pause... ]
You know, if you just complimented me outright, we wouldn't even be talking about throwing people.
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[ ... not that Peter reacts any differently, but, hey. It's different, on account of it being Peter.
He reaches out to tousle Poe's hair, making a bigger mess of his already wild curls. ]
If your head gets any bigger, it'll break your neck.
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He should probably get a haircut. ]
Hey, gotta enjoy it now, and you never know...
[ He pushes his hair back, and then rests a hand dramatically on his chest and with a lofty tone, ]
Your sweet words could be the inspiration I need to get me through another firefight.
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Then he plants his hand on Poe's face and pushes him again. ]
You're gonna make me puke.
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[ This DISRESPECT.
He catches Peter's wrist, tugging at him and trying to haul himself back upright. ]
C'mon, what is with this rudeness?
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It's 'cause you're acting like we're in some trashy romance.
Anyway. The fact that I can fuck your brains out should be more than enough to inspire you.
[ And he echoes the words back in a mocking voice. ]
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[ Of course, Poe is exaggerating how hard Peter's shove hits him, but he flops back down on the bed, giving Peter an unimpressed look for a prolonged moment. ]
That is pretty inspiring, but I'm just saying. You can fuck my brains out and tell me I'm pretty.
[ Obviously, he prefers "handsome" and "dashing," but also, he likes fucking with Peter. ]
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