#poevember

Your best friend usually told you everything, so if he left without saying goodbye...

"Have you seen Poe?" You asked a few dozen people throughout the day, even going so far as to find General Organa, pleading with her to tell you if he was off on a solo mission, or a secret one.

She assured you she had ordered no such mission.

So where was he?

Deciding to head back to your room to change for the festivities, you tried to shake off the anxiety prickling your skin. After a quick trip to the fresher, you put on your best outfit - which was basically the only thing you owned that wasn't Resistance-issued attire.

Upon checking Poe's room one final time, you reluctantly made your way to the mess hall, which, for the people remaining at the Resistance base, would serve as a dance floor.

Colorful strings of lights illuminated the dimly lit room, mismatchedbulbs from droids and ships and even various lanterns. Trinkets special to Resistance members were strung up here and there - good luck charms and souvenirs from missions - anything that would reflect and sparkle and shine.

As if holiday magic itself was guiding you, the sparkle of a familiar gold necklace glinted, catching your eye. All the sudden, there he was, sitting in a corner, surrounded by people, slurring his way through a story of battle glory.

Shit, he was already tipsy? Not good.

His dark brown eyes brightened as they landed on you.

"There you are," he laughed out, reaching out for you, suddenly ignoring the others vying for his attention. "I was just talking about you, come here."

Despite the fact that he was nestled in a corner booth, he insisted you shimmy your way to sit down beside him.

"Poe, it's okay, there's no room. I can just - "

"Nooo, 'sokay," he waved his hand dismissively before reaching up to pull on your sleeve. "Sit with me, right here. Been waiting for you."

Poe was so damn stubborn when he'd been drinking...which is how you ended up smooshed up against his side, halfway on his lap.

"You smell so good," he murmured, burying his nose behind your ear as his arm slid around your waist.

Nudging him with your shoulder, you couldn't help but smile. "How much have you had to drink? It's early."

The corner of his mouth curled knowingly as he touched his forehead to yours. "Started early. You weren't here to stop me."

Your face heated up at how flirty he seemed this evening. "What are you talking about? I've been looking for you everywhere."

"Not everywhere or you would have found me here," he shrugged, pushing his half empty drink toward you. "Gotta catch up."

"Uh, no thank you," you giggled, trying to find a comfortable sitting position that didn't land you all the way in Poe's lap. On second thought, maybe if you finished Poe's drink, you could keep an eye on what else he chose to imbibe for the rest of the evening.

"Actually, give me that." You downed it in a couple gulps, to Poe's great amusement and a whoop from your table mates.

"Okay, okay, you have to play the game too," a fellow pilot informed you, nodding to a cheap looking bottle of something or other in the middle of the table. "Truth or dare?"

You glared over at Poe. "Truth or dare? How old are we?"

"Four-hundred thirty-seven," an alien pilot opposite you teased. "Haven't played Truth or Dare since I was around two-hundred."

"Exactly," you decided to let a couple of centuries make your point.

"Come onnn, play with us," Poe breathed on your ear, goosing your ribs, which sent your backside jerking against his thigh as you shrieked in surprise. You nearly lost your balance, but Poe wrapped his arms around your torso to steady you.

"Truth or dare?" You were asked again.

With a groan, you decided on truth.

"You've hooked up with Commander Dameron," she declared. Everyone at the table leaned in, ready for your answer. You should have known.

"No, I haven't. That's the truth."

"Commander?" She challenged, fact-checking your statement with Poe.

"Don't ask me, it's not my turn," he mysteriously shrugged, which elicited some 'oooh's' and made you groan.

The game continued until it was Poe's turn. He choose truth and was posed the same question as you. His answer confirmed yours - no hookups between you. That fact didn’t stop his thumb from languidly tracing circles on your stomach as he held onto you.

On your next turn, you tried to avoid another probing question by choosing dare.

"Kiss Commander Dameron," the older alien pilot challenged. You felt a chuckle rumble in his chest.

"Fine," you shrugged, turning your head to peck him on the cheek. A chorus of 'boo's' went up, but you silenced them, letting them know they didn't specify where or how you had to kiss Poe.

So, naturally, when it was Poe's turn, he chose dare, and was dared to kiss you. On the mouth.

"Okay, time for bed," you decided, attempting to climb out of your crowded seat and off Poe's thigh, which you were certain had fallen asleep by now underneath your weight.

"Aw, don't go," Poe complained, keeping a loose hold on your wrist, but not holding you back, in case you really wanted to leave. "It won't be Life Day without you. Promise I won't kiss you."

Your eyes met his and you swore you saw a flicker of sadness dance across them. "Okay, I'll stay, but no more Truth or Dare." Hitching your thumb at your table mates you whispered, "They're ganging up on us."

"Then let's go dance," Poe proposed, releasing your wrist and clambering out of the booth and onto the dance floor. Just to make you laugh, he did a silly twirl and struck a pose before offering his hand. “Shall we?”

"Wow, you are so drunk," you cackled taking his hand and following him willingly.

You made it to the middle of the makeshift dance floor, and he pulled your hand to his chest, slipping his other arm around your waist as you began to sway to the music.

Smiling at him sweetly, you released his hand, pushing your fingers up over the exposed skin of his chest, revealed by one too many buttons unfastened. Not that you were complaining. Up your fingers traced, toying with the chain nestled there, over the smooth column of his neck. His throat bobbed under your touch.

Looping your arms around his neck, you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, swaying back and forth with a silly, dramatic flare, which earned a chuckle from Poe. His hands found your hips and squeezed, dragging you closer until your chest pressed against his and his forehead dropped to yours.

"What is going on with you?" You murmured, heart fluttering in your chest as you attempted to keep your wits about you.

"Nothing, just...really glad you're here. Missed you today," he whispered, alcohol tinged breath ghosting your lips.

"Could've fooled me. I couldn't find you anywhere, Poe. I thought you went back home for Life Day without even telling me."

"Without you? No," he shook his head as if trying to clear the cobwebs. "Not without you. Without telling you, I mean."

“But I couldn’t find you,” you insisted, resisting the urge to toy with the curls at the base of his neck. It felt good to be close to him - to have his attention. But he wasn't in his right mind and you couldn't take advantage of your friendship. "I thought maybe you were avoiding me. I was worried."

His gaze dropped, jaw clenching as your swaying eased to a stop. "I'm sorry."

In a group, drinking and telling stories, he could keep up a festive facade but you saw right through him.

"Hey," you softly redirected his gaze back to yours. "It's Life Day. You love Life Day. Right? The tree and the lights?"

"Yeah," he whispered, eyes flickering down to your lips. "I just...I'm not feeling so festive this year."

Stepping back, you ran your palms down his arms and took his hands. "Wanna get out of here? Let's get some air. We can look at the tree."

He nodded, following your lead out into the night, gripping your hand as if you might evaporate right before his eyes if he let go.

You walked quietly for several moments, cheeks burning as a few passersby noticed you holding hands with the Commander, prompting you to finally release your hold. Without the tether, Poe’s walking slowed, turning into a listless stumble, which was how you realized he might not be in any shape to take a stroll through the woods.

Perhaps he was better off tucked into a booth, surrounded by people. The fact that you misread the situation and his needs brought a wave of trepidation and regret. You stopped walking and turned to him, pressing your palms against his chest.

It took his mind a second to catch up, so you guided him around the side of the closest building - closed for the holiday. Steadying him up against the wall, with hands on his chest once more, you apologized. “I should take you back to your room.”

Gripping your elbows, he stared at you so intently it made your knees go weak. As your body swayed into his, he wrapped his arms around you, gathering you close. Mistaking it for a hug, albeit an intimate one, you turned your head to lay it on his chest, but his mouth met yours, capturing your lips in a breathy kiss.

All the air rushed out of you as he tasted you, spreading his hand over the curve of your back and pressing and pulling you into him harder. The heat of his tongue and the solid warmth of his body consumed you utterly and you found yourself kissing him back with fervor.

The sound of voices and a clattering bottle nearby jolted you out of...whatever this was, sending you stumbling back, dazed. You felt as drunk as Poe apparently was, but from him alone rather than the half drink you’d downed.

Poe, mistaking your withdrawal as rejection, reached for your arms, murmuring, "No, no, I'm sorry, don't go."

Noticing his obvious distress, you allowed his touch, gripping his biceps through his leather jacket. "It's okay. I'm here," you breathlessly gasped, mind reeling and heart pounding. "Let me take you back."

"I don't want you to go," he whimpered, grip on your forearms tightening. "Don't be mad. I don't want...I can't - "

"Hey," you soothed, touching his cheek to direct his bleary gaze to yours. "I won't leave you. Not ever."

This seemed to appease him and he followed your lead back to his room. Your instincts seemed to somehow be way off with him tonight, and you regretted tearing him away from the fun he seemed to be enjoying before you interrupted.

Maybe it was you. Perhaps that's why he'd avoided you all day. Hot tears burned your eyes as you guided him to lie down on his bed. As he pleaded with you not to go, again, you hushed him, swearing you wouldn't.

You worked his boots off his feet before helping him sit up to remove his jacket. Climbing into bed, you wrapped your arms around him, guiding him to lie down on your lap. His distress calmed almost instantly as he murmured, "thank you" a few times, burying his nose in your tummy.

"Love you so much," he whispered so faintly, you convinced yourself he must have said something else.

Raking your fingers through his slightly damp curls, you shushed him a few times, realizing you'd never seen him like this. Tipsy? Yes. Drunk? Maybe once or twice. Handsy? Always. But broken? Not like this.

He fell asleep in minutes and only then, did you let tears escape your eyes. Before long, you felt your eyes grow heavy, so you worked your way down onto the bed, hoping not to wake Poe.

Somehow, exhaustion mingled with the pounding in your heart - from worry, from sharing Poe's bed, from the flavor of alcohol on your lips from his kiss. And from the words he uttered - things he probably wouldn't even remember.

Sleep finally came, granting you both reprieve.

The next morning, you awoke while there was barely light in the sky. Since Poe was still asleep, you decided to freshen up a bit and get him some toast and something hot to drink. You crept out of his room and back again as quietly as you could manage.

Upon your return, you were surprised to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows digging into his knees and head in his hands. Dark curls tumbled over his fingers, obscuring his handsome face from you. His shoulders slumped defeatedly.

"Hey there," you softly greeted, presenting the tray of bland food and hot tea to him like an offering. "How are you feeling?"

"Like an asshole," he lamented, voice muffled by his hands.

"Well, I'm used to that," you attempted lightly. "But you had a lot to drink last night. What was that about?"

Raking his fingers down his face, he managed to face you then, eyes bloodshot and lips parched. It was kind of endearing to see him not looking completely perfect for once.

"First of all, tell me how pissed you are. I can take it." He visibly withdrew, waiting for your verdict on how he behaved last night.

"I'm not pissed," you assured him, "just really worried. Why don't you eat something and then we can talk?"

After Poe choked down some toast, you decided to swing by your room and change while he visited the fresher. You promised to return, and when you did, he was waiting for you with open arms.

Folding you close, he breathed on your ear how sorry he was, over and over, while you pressed your nose to the clean scent of his damp neck, exposed by the clean, thin shirt he wore.

Easing back, you reached to toy with the wet curls flipping out behind his ear. "What are you sorry for?"

"Where do I begin?" He scoffed, his gaze dropping. "I ruined your Life Day. I ignored you all day. Kissed you."

"So...you're sorry for kissing me," you clarified, your stomach dropping.

"Yes. No." He shook his head, confused. "I didn't want to be alone." He winced, regretting the words as they left his mouth.

Your jaw clenched as you struggled to maintain your composure. "So you're sorry for kissing me? Or you're sorry that you kissed me while you were drunk, just so you wouldn't be alone?"

Pacing away, one hand landed on his hip while the other tore through his hair. "That's not what I meant. I...I was trying to forget everything and just drink and have fun, but not with you."

Shit. Wrong wording. Again.

"So, that's why you avoided me all day." It wasn't a question. The realization of it stole your breath from your lungs and you sank down on the bed as tears burned your eyes.

"No, baby. No." Poe was quick to kneel down before you, reaching desperately for your hands. "This is...shit, this is coming out all wrong." Seeing tears pool in your beautiful, shining eyes seared his insides with guilt and shame - his companions ever since the events leading up to the Battle of Crait.

"Tell me what's going on," you whispered. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," he insisted, bringing your fingers to his lips and kissing them urgently.

"Too many people have died," he finally confessed, his head bowed and his voice a broken whisper. "It was supposed to be Life Day, but there's only death. We lost over half the fleet."

"I know."

"So many families couldn't celebrate Life Day. Too many." His eyes met yours, wet with fresh tears. "And how many of them are dead because of me?"

"Poe, we all know what we're signing up for when we join. We're all ready to give our lives, you know that. You can't possibly take the blame for what the First Order has done to us."

"There's blame enough for me to share, believe me," he insisted. "And I just couldn't hang anything on the tree yesterday and celebrate life. Not with over half of us gone."

Eyeing him sympathetically, you squeezed his hands. "Life Day isn't only about being alive. Death is a part of life. Life Day is also about remembering the dead. And part of living is grieving the dead, and sometimes feeling a little guilty that you're still here."

“But I don’t, though,” he admitted. “I’m glad I’m here, and more than that, I’m glad you’re here. You, most of all. You're the one person I don't wanna...that I can't..."

"Come here," you coaxed. Poe joined you on the bed but never let go of your hands. "You're my one person too, you know. The person I look for after every mission. The one person I need to be okay.

"It scared me so much yesterday when I couldn't find you," you went on.

"I'm so sorry," he repeated, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. "Please don't hate me for yesterday. It's been a long time since I had that much to drink. I know it's no excuse for what I did."

"So you don't remember, then...what you said?" You should have known Poe would only kiss you and utter heartfelt confessions when he was wasted.

Releasing your hand, he titled your chin up to meet his gaze. "I know what I said. I do love you. Always have." A nervous, breathless laugh escaped his perfect lips. "But I understand, you know, if you don't - "

You silenced him, pressing your mouth to his for a tender kiss. "Believe me. I do."

The sadness lingering behind his eyes started to seep away, replaced by a flicker of hope. "Is there any way we could re-do yesterday?" He proposed, tracing the shape of your jaw. "I only have one meeting today."

"That sounds perfect," you agreed, leaning into his touch.

Hand in hand, you visited the Life Day tree, said the prayers, remembered those lost. Then you had something to drink with friends - just one though, before dancing and laughing all evening.

When he kissed you this time, he meant to do it, and everyone saw it. And when you walked back to his room, he asked you to stay. And you did. Every night.

1000 Follower/Holiday Celebration Masterlist

//

You couldn’t remember when it started. You supposed there had always been that light, playful smack across your face whenever you told him a dirty joke, just to get him to laugh.

At first, he’d shoot you a look of feigned disbelief; still not used to such filth coming out of that pretty mouth of yours, before he’d let out a wayward snort, shaking his head.

Then, that lighthearted slap — always landing in the same spot that would afford his digits the chance to graze along your jaw.

“Malo,” he would mutter under his breath, as you leaned in and gave a teasing nudge against his shoulder; pleased with yourself that you had managed to steal a smile from your commander.

You supposed there had always been those consoling taps as well, when he tried to comfort you after missions that had gone awry. 

He would find you curled up under the hull of your X-wing, your bottom lip quivering violently against the futile attempt to stop your tears from spilling down your cheeks. Your glassy eyes gazing up at him spoke of the utter devastation at the mere thought of the thousand and one innocent lives lost because of your ineptitude. 

He would pull you into his arms, rest your forehead against his; his hand closing securely over the nape of your neck. Sometimes, a kiss upon your hairline would unravel you, giving you absolute permission to fall apart.

Those soothing strokes — they settled his softened fingers right behind your earlobe, his thumb positioned just at the right angle so it could catch your tears when they did stream down your face; as he cooed: “Shh-shh-shh-shh…”

//

Of course, there was that time when he kissed you for the first time. You supposed it had slipped your mind because you were so nervous and befuddled when it happened.

It was most probably during Life Day; deep in the throes of war as you were, there really wasn’t time for slowburn romance or something like that — yet, he found time for one anyway.

Just like how you found him lying on the wing of Black One, where he would always be on this day of remembrance. His body stretched out parallel to the orange livery, with arms folded behind his head, prodding his chin skyward. He counted the stars, and tallied them to the number of people he’d lost, always fixated on the brightest one he believed to be his mother.

Just like how his lips found yours, when he shifted onto his side to look at you; that hand gliding up along the curve of your face. He pulled you in like gravity, anchoring you upon the axis, as he kissed you in the softest way possible.

Your hands on his flight suit clutched on for dear life, as if you might tumble over if you didn’t hold onto something; clinging onto each other like floating life buoys washed out to sea.

You tilted your face to allow him better access, and he pushed his tongue into your mouth carefully; his fingers adding pressure at the back of your neck, as he staked his claim on you.

There was that time as well, when you did something stupid to piss him off. He’d pulled you into a dark corner, evidently fuming. He practically shoved you up against the wall, aligning the length of his heated body with you. His thick thigh already slotted between your legs, rubbing up against your apex, making you gasp for sacred air.

His hand gripped onto your face, so you’d look into his eyes maddened with desperation.

“You’re mine,” he’d growled. “No one else — mine.”

You wriggled in his rigid clutch, but only half-heartedly; it actually thrilled you — his rough, possessive hold on you.

“Then, make me yours,” you had pleaded; desire ghosting against his lips. 

He attacked you with a bruising kiss, urgent fingers clawing at your face; his hungry mouth just about ready to eat you whole, as his every inhale swallowed the whimpering he’d robbed from your aching heart.

//

Then — there was that time he made love to you, after you had both barely escaped from Exegol. 

Like homing beacons, your bodies found each other amidst the post-war hubbub the moment you hopped out of your X-wings.

His hand, the other one, molded to the architecture of your soot-covered face, the other side; held onto your watery gaze, as he breathed through his own tears: “You alright? Tell me you’re alright?”

That night, his custodial hand kept hold of your dazed face for purchase, as he moved in and out of you, his panting breaths coming out in languid sighs every time.

His hooded eyes locked onto yours intently, as you watched them darkened into black pools reflecting your yearning for him — until he finally spilled inside you with a long, guttural groan; his fingers digging into your pulse points as he seized a satiated release from you.

And then — and then, that time when you found him in the fiery wreckage of Black One, a hefty shard of the transparisteel canopy pierced through his chest. 

He could barely lift his arm, his nerves shot; but you lowered your face within his reach, even helped him latch his hand onto your face — upon that safe space where his callouses and scars had found a home in your creviced crinkles.

Mirroring in his sad eyes was such fear you had never seen before, yet his thumb caressed lovingly against your streaming tears; as he quivered: “It’s OK — it’sokit’sokit’sok…”

It was the first time, and it was the last time — when you pressed your palm against the bloodied stubble of his cheek; holding him in place, doing whatever you could to keep him from falling to pieces.

You held onto him sturdy and tight; clambering for any slither of him that would keep him yours forever — until the light dissipated in his eyes.

//

You had never noticed before until you noticed them all one not-so-special night.

So, you slid your own hand up your gaunt jawline, trying painstakingly to emulate the shape of his palm with the roughness from years as a starfighter pilot; but without that one scar from that one incident he never told you about. 

Helplessly — hopelessly, you brushed your thumb against your cheek, searching in vain for that cut that had vanished with time, shifted deeper within — to your heart.

You traced the corner of your lip, over and over, desperate fingers pillaging for those intricate moments you’d soon forget — where he had last kissed you, last touched you, last felt you.

You nuzzled your face against his pillow that still smelled of engine oil and debris after all this time. Just to pretend you were pressed up against the column of his neck. Just so you could almost hear him sigh in your subconsciousness.

He’d been doing private transport and smuggling for almost a decade now. Every time he ran a job he felt like a noose was tightening around his neck. This was the last run. If this young guy, “Flyboy” wanted the operation afterward, he was welcome to it.

The turn of the lock on the hotel door has Santiago reaching for his pistol. Before he can jump out of the tub he hears a voice.

“Pope? It’s Flyboy.”

Santiago looks around the bathroom. “You’re about three hours early for the meeting. I’m in the bath.”

“If you’re not early you’re late,” the almost cheery voice calls out before the bathroom door opens and the guy barges straight in. “I caught an earlier flight into town.”

His dark curly hair waterfalls over his forehead before he pushes it back to a messy wave. He has a million-watt smile that makes Santiago’s cock harder than the barrel of a rifle. He leans forward so nothing surfaces.

“Hi, I’m Poe Dameron.”

Santiago cocks the gun. “Get the fuck outta here.”

Poe’s eyes flick over the water. “Don’t be embarrassed. I know plenty of grown-ass men who take bubble baths before a big job.”

Frustrated and amused, Santiago flicks water in Poe’s direction. Laughing, Poe leaves.

Santiago has no idea where Poe gets the confidence to do something like that. Then again, that’s exactly the kind of confidence (and good looks) that will get them out of any tight spots on this run.

Santi decides to hire him. Something about the guy is trustworthy.

And handsome.

He’s really fucking hot.

Santiago splashes water on his face and tells himself to get a grip. The guy’s like, 20 years younger than him. Probably into Only Fans models and Kardashians.

He’s not going to be interested in a gray-haired, bad-kneed, grumpy old guy with a beard like he’s trying to hide out from the FBI. Which, technically, Santiago is doing.

Santi puts the gun aside and reaches for his towel. Nowhere in sight. He realizes they’re still on the bed in the main room.

He leans his head back and debates just putting his clothes on wet. He looks at himself in the mirror.

Santiago’d let his beard grow in for the first time in his life. He’d been the face guy for Delta, for private security, for a lot of things. The beard was a rebellion. Hiding his face for the first time.

Poe Dameron probably has nothing to hide. Then again, Poe’s big, pretty eyes had looked at the tub a little too long. The water’s clear enough to show pretty much everything.

Knowing how to read people is Santiago’s bread and butter. And God in heaven, he wants to butter that guy’s bread.

Fuck the towel, Santiago decides.

*****

Poe checks his phone, makes sure it’s on and tracking his location.

It had taken him months to infiltrate Santiago’s network. It had shocked Poe to find out it wasn’t a huge operation. It was really just Santiago handling everything. He brought in a few other, trusted guys when he needed a hand.

Frankie, for example, the helo pilot. He’d been Poe’s way in.

Showing up early to the hotel outside of Toronto had been a way to try and catch Santiago off-guard. It had worked a little too well.

He’d never get that image out of his head now.

Santiago Garcia, nipples-deep in a tub, his head tipped back and a gun pointed toward the door. His beard, more gray than black, had beads of water at the edge. Santi’s strong shoulders were wet.

Probably wishful thinking, but Poe swears he saw a hard on under the water.

He adjusts his pants.

This is work, he reminds himself. Get Santiago to flip on whoever had hired him to get three palettes of coke out of this bumfuck town in Canada and down to Pennsylvania.

The trouble was, every job turned personal with Poe. He couldn’t help it. Whether it was his heart or his cock, some part of his body always had an opinion.

“Hey,” Poe calls out to Santiago, “just so there’re no surprises, I also have a gun, but it’s not loaded. And my fake credentials are in order.”

Poe hears the distinct sound of a magazine releasing. He relaxes.

“Good,” Santi says, the sound of his body moving in the water plays like background music behind his words. “Frankie says you do a lot of private flying.”

“Mostly for rich assholes,” Poe smiles to himself.

A dark chuckle wafts out of the bathroom. “That doesn’t change tomorrow. I’m both of those things.”

“No, you’re alright. I can tell,” Poe can’t stop himself from saying. “Anyway, Frankie probably told you we had the same problem. I lost my license last year.”

Santiago’s quiet.

“Or maybe he didn’t tell you. I guess it’s kind of an anonymous group. It’s in the name,” Poe says, hoping his cover story as an addict sounds plausible enough. “I’m clean, though.”

“About that,” Santiago’s voice is a low rumble. “I can’t afford for shit to go sideways on this one. The guys who hired me, they don’t fuck around.”

Poe checks the gun in his wheeled suitcase, and the backup hidden in the bottom of his backpack.

“You okay with a piss test?” Santiago says. “Just for the coke.”

Poe pauses. Obviously, it’ll come out negative. He’s never done coke a day in his life. Something about the authority in Santiago’s voice sends electricity up Poe’s spine. Poe’s a sucker for that tone of voice, especially coming out of a guy like Pope.

Poe clears his throat. “Yeah, that’d be okay.”

“Great, come back in.”

“In… the bathroom? Now?” Poe rests his hands on his hips, his cock already straining to lead the way to Santi.

“You have to take it in front of me, to make sure everything’s straight. You used to be active duty, right? You remember how it’s done.”

Yeah, but he’d never been this hard for one of his Navy buddies.

Shit.

“Okay, knock knock.” Poe pushes the door open tentatively.

Santi’s still in the tub, his arms out on both sides, leaning back without a care in the world. His dark eyes glint under his heavy lids, just a sliver of heat that makes Poe sweat from all the way across the room. He lifts a hand, points to the toilet.

“The kit’s on the counter. Turn toward me when you do it, no cheating,” Santiago says.

Poe takes a deep breath and opens the box. It’s simple enough. A plastic sample jar and a little strip you put inside.

He gives Santi a weak half a smile and goes to the toilet. His hand rests on the button of his jeans. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Santiago dip a washcloth in the water.

There’s no way Poe should take his cock out. Not right now. Probably not ever. It’s a really bad idea to picture sticking his dick in Santiago’s mouth. Nothing chases the image away, though.

“Performance anxiety?” Santi says without looking over.

“Yeah,” Poe’s eyes track the cloth as it moves over Santi’s chest and shoulders. His mouth waters. Santi runs the cloth over his beard and Poe can’t take anymore. “I can’t piss right now. I’m too hard.”

Santiago’s beard moves as he smiles. “You should do something about that.”

Poe leans back against the counter, his ass pressed against the marble. His hands rest on the cold stone, but he can’t get a grip mentally. His heart beats hard in his chest. His eyes scan up to the ceiling.

Poe wipes a hand over his face. “Look, I don’t usually…”

“Fuck with older guys?” Santiago says, a hint of defensiveness in his voice.

“I don’t fuck with anyone lately.” Poe laughs at himself.

“Not good to fly like that. Tense. On a hair trigger.” Santiago hears the need in Poe’s voice and knows how to give him that little push. “Come over here.”

Poe takes a shaky breath.

Santi leans over the side of the tub, his beard resting just over the edge of his folded arms. “You don’t want to? I don’t believe that. Look at you. Unzip your fucking pants.”

Poe’s cheeks feel hot. His fingers slide the button open on his jeans. He fumbles with his zipper on the way over and Santiago has to finish the job.

“Fuck, it’s been awhile for you, hasn’t it?” Santiago says, his hand reaching inside Poe’s jeans.

“Yeah.” Poe’s fingers thread through Santi’s soft, salt and pepper curls. He holds on a little too tightly and Santi’s dark eyes sweep upward.

“Pull harder,” Santi says.

Poe guides Santiago by the hair to swallow his cock. He doesn’t start slow. No, Santiago goes all in at once, sucking and swallowing Poe all the way to the base. The hair on his beard and mustache catches on the dark hair at the base of Poe’s cock as he pulls his mouth off with a pop.

Poe groans. “Do that again.”

The tip of Santiago’s tongue plays with the slit at the end of Poe’s cock. He pushes his hips forward and Santi lets him in all the way. His mouth and throat are so tight and wet. He moves his tongue, suctions his cheeks. Fuck. Poe’s moans fill the bathroom as he fucks into Santiago’s mouth. In and out. Over and over.

Santi licks at Poe’s cock, then jerks him off a few times with his hand, turning his head to get his mouth on Poe’s balls. The feel of Santi’s lips and mustache are too much. It feels too good to hold back.

Poe pulls Santi’s face away, holding it close to the end of his cock, letting Santiago work him with his strong hands. He comes so hard his legs shake, cum shooting out of him and onto Santiago’s face and beard in hot, warm ropes. It drips off the white and silver hairs and into the water.

Santiago licks his lips, using a soft tongue to clean Poe. He has to gently hold him back.

“Still sensitive,” Santi smiles, flicking his tongue out and making Poe’s knees almost buckle. “You look good when you come.”

Poe wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and looks down at the handsome man in the bathtub. “I bet you will too.”

He wastes no time taking off his clothes and jumping in the tub with Santiago. Water splashes onto the floor, but neither of them care. They’re too busy exploring each others’ mouths, tongues pushing and tangling, hands everywhere.

“I wanted to kiss you the second I saw that beard,” Poe moans.

Santiago laughs, but it’s cut short when Poe’s fingers find his asshole. He teases and gives Santi just the tip.

“You have any lube?” Poe asks.

“In the bedroom,” Santiago says, pausing sucking on Poe’s tongue. “Shit. The towels are in there too. I guess this is messier than either of us intended.”

Poe kisses Santiago, softer now, his eyes dark and a little troubled. “You have no idea.”

*****

They’d barely had two hours of sleep, but it had been worth it.

Santiago didn’t fuck doggy anymore. His knees couldn’t take it. Luckily, Poe had no qualms about working his gorgeous ass over Santi’s cock while he was laying down. Although Santi did flip him to finish. Call him old fashioned, but there was something about holding onto someone's hips, the push and pull, filling him up, feeling the cushion of Poe's ass, that drove Santiago crazy.

The whole drive to the airstrip, all he could think about was how good Poe had looked bent over, taking anything he dished out, his huge eyes begging for more.

The airplane hangar is half caved in, but does a good enough job hiding the plane and cargo.

The morning’s crisp. The edge of winter trying to slice into autumn. Poe rubs his hands together, almost able to see his breath.

“Wish you’d picked a warmer place than Canada,” he says.

Santiago pushes his sunglasses from off his nose and into his hair, leading Poe inside. “What we’re hauling doesn’t get made in warmer places.”

They walk around to the back of the plane, still open. Santiago walks inside, inspecting the cargo.

“Huh? What the hell is this?” Poe says, all the energy gone from his voice.

The palettes are there, but the coke isn’t packaged how he’d thought. Some kind of grading stamp and a maple leaf.

“Fifty drums of maple syrup.” Santiago slaps out of the drums. A deep thud echoes off the metal walls.

Poe walks closer and a sweet smell hits his nostrils. “Are you hiding cocaine in there?”

“Drugs? No. This is where the real money is.” Santiago makes sure the ratchet straps are tight on all of them before he walks back out. “Help me close the cargo door.”

“Isn’t importing maple syrup legal?” Poe numbly helps him close the back of the plane.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Santiago sniffs. “The guys who bought this aren’t paying tariffs on it, and they don’t want it watered down or fucked with in any way.”

“What do they even do with this much syrup?”

Santiago looks at Poe like he’s the dumbest man alive. “Maple syrup wrestling. And then everyone who watches eats a plate of pancakes, dipped in the leftovers.”

Poe feels almost queasy. “That’s gross. I almost wish there were drugs in here.”

“Come up to the cockpit. Let’s see if we can get her running,” Santiago says, folding his arms. “Unless we have a problem?”

Poe leans his elbows on one of the metal drums, covering his face with his hands. “No. No problem at all.”

“Good,” Santi says tugging him toward the front of the plane, “because we’re going to the match tonight. A little thank-you gift from our employers.”

“Hell no.” Poe sits down in the pilot’s seat, Santi in the co-pilot’s. “Our first date isn’t going to be watching two naked women grapple in liquid sugar.”

Santiago’s lips twitch and he combs his fingers through his beard to hide it. Poe’s obviously frustrated, flipping switches and reading gauges, mumbling to himself.

“A date, huh?” Santi grins.

Poe looks a little embarrassed. “If you want to. Maybe you’re just into younger guys for the sex.”

Santiago’s grin disappears. “That’s not why I slept with you. I’m interested, okay? If you’re sure you want a guy with gray hair and a soft stomach.”

“I love those things actually,” Poe says, wishing he hadn’t used that particular word yet.

He closes his eyes and sends up a silent wish not to die, and starts the engine. The plane sputters to life and they taxi out.

“Oh, one sec,” Poe says. He reaches into his pocket and takes out his phone. He slides the cockpit window open. He chucks his phone out, shattering it on the tarmac. “Okay, we’re clear for takeoff.”

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“I know, I know,” he cooed, on the other side of the comms, the soft glow of his holopad lit his face as he upped the intensity on your remote-controlled toy. The vibrations surged, pulling a gasp from your lips. 

“It hurts that I’m not there, doesn’t it?” he murmured, the sound of your soft gasp made his cock twitch.

Your whimper in response only spurred him on. “But I’m here—I’m here, princess,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing, trying to steady you even as the vibrations from your toy kept assaulting you, vibrating hard against your swollen nub.

He could hear it; the way you struggled to keep up, the way your breath hitched and broke into soft, pleading cries. Maybe he’d gone too far, too fast. It was supposed to be a quick call. Still, he didn’t want to overwhelm you—not like this.

“Let me—” His voice faltered, the faint sound of his shaky breath catching in his throat. His fingers moved deftly over the controls, dialling the settings back to something gentler. When your sharp gasps melted into a soft, contented sigh, he let out a quiet laugh, his grin practically audible through the comms. “There you go… better, right?”

On his end, you could hear him shifting, the faint creak of leather and the clink of metal as he adjusted himself. Was he leaning against his ship’s console? Lying on a bed in some unfamiliar quarters? The details didn’t matter—only the jingle of his belt and the raspy, ragged moan that slipped from his lips as he touched himself. Even though his movements were slow, measured, you could tell he was as eager as you were, trying to match the pace of the graphic vibration waves of your toy he could see from his holopad.

“Tell me,” Poe murmured, his voice rough and laced with need. “How needy is that pussy of yours? Are you leaking for me, just like I’m leaking for you?” His calm tone belied the heat beneath his words, his breaths growing heavier as he stroked his cock with increasing intensity. You could almost picture him, hips bucking up to meet the tight circle of his thumb and index finger, his movements raw and desperate.

Your pussy clenched at the sound of his voice, his filthy words sending shocks of heat through your body. A trembling gasp escaped your lips, and you felt a fresh wave of arousal spill out of you, soaking your thighs.  

“Kriff, I can hear how wet you are, even through the call,” he groaned. “Fuck, sweetheart…” His breaths came in short, uneven gasps as he muttered against the comms. You heard the faint sound of him spitting into his hand, spreading the slickness along his cock, focusing on teasing the sensitive tip with each stroke.

“Shove two fingers into that pretty pussy,” he rasped, the command sharp and filled with want. “Scissor them, just like I do when I’m with you.”  

You obeyed without hesitation, sliding two fingers inside in one swift motion, your body already so eager to comply. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how deep you reached or how hard you pressed against that spongy wall, it wasn’t him. You wanted him—wanted his cock stretching you wide, filling you completely. You could almost feel the ghost of his rugged hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as he drove into you, relentlessly fucking you into the mattress of your shared quarters.

“Stars…” Poe’s voice broke through your haze, a low, guttural sound coming from deep inside his chest. “If you could only see how my cock’s twitching with every sound you make. It’s beautiful, princess. P-perfect.” His words stumbled as he repositioned himself, the surface he was leaning on creaking faintly beneath him. You imagined his feet flat against the floor, his hips thrusting up into his fist, every tug of his hand coaxing out soft, unrestrained whimpers.  

“I’m yearning for you, baby,” he choked out. “To be inside you— ngh—kriffing 40 clicks away, and you’re still driving me insane.”  

His words drew a breathless laugh from you, breaking the intensity for just a moment. “Poe,” you teased lightly, “you’re not supposed to tell me how far away you are!”  

“Baby—” His voice was wrecked, punctuated by the sound of another sharp gasp, as he groped his balls to squeeze them and ease the tension. “We’re having comm sex. We’re n-not exactly sticking to—fuck—all protocols.”  

“Maker—” Poe groaned, his voice wrecked as his hand moved faster along his length. His grip tightened, his thumb teasing the red sensitive underside of his tip with each upward stroke. The slick sounds of his fist gliding over his cock were shamelessly loud, and you could almost feel his desperation through the comms. His hips bucked erratically, his other hand gripping the edge of whatever surface he was sprawled on. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, trying to stifle a moan, but failed as a hoarse, needy gasp slipped past his lips.  

His balls tightened as he neared the edge, the sensation making his eyes roll back, leaving him breathless. “Baby, I can’t—I can’t hold back any longer,” he panted, voice trembling with restraint. “Tell me when you’re close—I wanna come with you.”  

Your soft whimpers filled his ears as he flicked the holopad again, upping the intensity of your toy. The vibrations hit a new high, pulling a broken cry from your lips. “I’m—close…” you managed to mutter, your voice shaking with need.  

“Kriff’s sake—okay,” Poe groaned, his own breathing uneven. “Ready? I’ll crank it up and make it good for you… I’ll do a countdown… 3—2—”  

But instead of cranking it up further, he lowered the setting abruptly, to tease you, as he always did, pulling you back from the edge.  

“Poe Dameron!” you shrieked, frustration lacing your voice. “I hate you. I’m actually going to kill you, you kriffing tease—I’m—”  

He cut you off with no warning, his hand flying to the controls to max out the vibrations. The sudden intensity overwhelmed you, your body clenching as pleasure coursed through you in relentless waves. Your legs pressed together instinctively, trying to manage the overload of sensation, but the toy didn’t relent. Two more long pulsating vibrations, and you shattered, pleasure crashing down like a storm, leaving you trembling and incoherent.  

On his end, Poe wasn’t far behind. “Fuck—sweetheart—” His voice was raw, and a deep moan rumbled from his chest, reverberating through the comms. His cock pulsed violently in his hand, thick ropes of cum spilling over his knuckles and dripping onto his stomach and flight suit. His hips jerked through the aftershocks as he milked himself for every last drop, panting like a bantha in heat.  

“Shit,” he muttered, realization dawning as he glanced down. “I only have this flight suit. Now I need to clean it.”  

Your soft giggle broke through his momentary annoyance, earning a low chuckle from him. “Oh, laugh it up,” his tone was full of mock indignation. “I’m gonna be walking into the hangar tomorrow with a very suspicious-looking stain on my gear and people are gonna start asking questions.”  

“Well, at least everyone will know you were very productive on this mission,” you quipped, unable to resist.  

“Yeah, right. I’m sure that’ll be great for morale,” he shot back, his grin practically audible through the comms.  

As the laughter died down, a flicker of concern crossed your mind. “Poe, I know this is supposed to be a secure channel… Are you sure, certain, a thousand percent positive, that no one could hear… whatever we just did?”  

“Honey,” he drawled, still catching his breath. “Even if someone hacked this frequency, I don’t think they’d survive the secondhand embarrassment.”

You rolled your eyes, though there was still a lingering doubt gnawing at you. “I’m serious, Poe. What if—”

“Shh,” he interrupted. “It’s fine. I checked before we started. It’s just us, sweetheart. I promise.”

You fell silent for a moment, his reassurances soothing but not enough to chase away the other ache in your chest, the same ache you always felt when a mission that was supposed to be short drew out longer than it should. “Poe…” you whispered softly. “When are you coming back?”

The question hung in the air, heavier than either of you wanted to admit.

“I—” He hesitated, his voice faltering just slightly before he steadied himself. “Soon, princess. I promise. I always do.”

“Do you?” The raw and vulnerable words slipped out before you could stop them. “Sometimes it feels like every mission just takes you further away and last time you came back days later that it was supposed to, bloody, all beaten up and...”

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, his tone gentle but firm, like he was anchoring you both through this uncertainty. “I know it’s hard. But listen to me. I always come back to you. Always.”

There was a depth to his voice now, something unspoken but deeply felt. “No matter where I am, or what I’m doing, I’m always finding my way back to you.” He paused, exhaling softly. “Because there’s no place in the galaxy I’d rather be.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the emotion rising in your throat. “You better keep that promise, Dameron.”

“I will,” his voice was low and sure. “Now, as much as I’d love to keep this line open and hear you breathe, I should probably clean up before this mess dries and I have to give weird explanations to the rest of the team.”

Despite yourself, a laugh bubbled out, lightening the mood. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he replied with a grin you could hear. “But you love me for it. Goodnight, sweetheart. Sleep tight. I’ll be dreaming of you.” His voice dropped lower, softer, a promise lingering in his words. “And next time we do this, I’ll make sure I’m close enough to hold you after.”

“Goodnight, Poe,” you murmured, the warmth of his promise wrapping around you as the line clicked off. The ache of distance remained, but his words left you with a fragile but certain hope.

HAPPY POEVEMBER!

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments are kindly appreciated!

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If Poe could fuck you everywhere he would, and he'll try anything once

But an X-wing cockpit just isn't made for that

He'd give it a try with the hatch open but really that's pushing it.

its uncomfortable neither of you finish and it feels like a chore

"Let's agree never to do that again"

But the endeavor does spark something in Poe

the next day he'll come to you with a list of every kind of star ship he can think of, and he looks like he hasn't slept

this list is LONG and organized.

He has color-coded, alphabetized, and made this list titled:

⭐ SHIPS WE SHOULD TRY TO HAVE SEX IN ⭐

He's already crossed out a few, some that you've already done it in and some that would go just as well as the x- wing fiasco

You think he must be nuts but but he's practically vibrating and looks like the most excited Massiff pup known to the whole of the galaxy

and thus, your quest begins, how many star ships can you actually have sex in?

Masterlist

Instead of answering, he licks his lips and dives into your center, drawing a surprised gasp from you as he laps messily at your folds. You hum when he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, a shiver of pleasure racing through your body.

You’ve never seen him like this before, so rushed, so…frantic. Normally, he takes his time, draws everything out, especially when he’s been away, but it’s different this time. He’s different.

Poe sinks lower, spearing his tongue into your fluttering hole, his nose pressing deliciously against your clit. You moan as he pushes in as deep as he can manage, his tongue sliding along your sensitive walls before slipping back out to tease your entrance. His hands grip you like a vice, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he drinks from you like you’re an oasis in the middle of the desert.

You know something is wrong, but he just feels so good, and he clearly needs this, so you don’t question it, instead letting him have his way with you. It doesn’t take him long to send you over the edge, a scream lodging in your throat as he groans into you, greedily lapping at the release that spills from your pussy.

He pulls away quickly, wasting no time as you come down, your chest heaving, heart beating wildly beneath your breast.

He settles over you again, the slide of his bare skin against yours heavenly. Your brain is still fuzzy with pleasure as he positions himself at your entrance, but you're coherent enough to notice that he isn’t talking, isn’t making eye contact. Usually you can’t get him to shut up, whether it’s about how good you feel or how much he missed you, begging you to look at him as he fucks into you.

“Poe,” you say, reaching for him, hands skimming his strong shoulders, the muscles flexing beneath your touch.

He still won’t look at you, his brow pinched in what you thought was concentration but now realize is something else. He grunt as he begins to push into you, your mouth falling open in a gasp as the length of him drags over one of your sweet spots. He pauses when he’s fully seated, his jaw clenched and you realize…he’s shaking. 

What had he seen out there to make him act this way?

Concern breaks through the haze of lust as you slip your hands up his shoulders and neck, his movements stilling when you take his face in your hands. He pants, wild eyes glued to your neck as you patiently wait for him to gather his thoughts. When he does, you see his desire, yes, but also something unexpected: fear. Pain lances through your chest, eyes welling with tears as you stroke his cheeks with your thumbs. 

It takes him a moment to give in, his eyelids fluttering as he practically melts into your touch. You pull him close, wrapping him in your arms and he happily buries his face in your shoulder, eyes still closed as he inhales your comforting scent. His forearms are braced on either side of your head as you hold him, fingers carding soothingly through his hair.

“Slow down, baby,” you tell him softly, nuzzling your nose against his ear. “You’re safe here, you’re home.”

His hands fist into the sheets at your words, arms pushing in closer to you, as if he’s trying to hug you back. You hold him as long as he needs you to, whispering comforting words, his cock still nestled inside you. When he’s ready, he pulls back to meet your eyes, the look in them guilty, pleading.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, swallowing thickly as your thumb brushes his cheek once more. “This mission, it…it was rough.”

“I figured as much,” you say softly, nodding in understanding. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head, sighing as his eyes rove your face. “Not yet.”

You smile, nodding again and pulling him into a gentle kiss. “Later then.”

His lips quirk slightly and he nods, leaning in to kiss you again. He still seems slightly desperate, but no longer frantic, kissing you deeply and slowly, his lips and tongue sliding languidly over yours. 

When he starts to move again, it’s unhurried, his hips grinding into yours, his hand reaching down to pull one of your legs around his waist, pushing him even deeper inside until the tip of him bumps your cervix. Your cunt squeezes him and he breaks the kiss with a groan, his eyes glassy as he watches you writhe beneath him.

“So beautiful,” he slurs, sliding his hand up to cup your cheek. 

You moan in response, skin heating a little, both from pleasure and from his words. He moves his thumb over your bottom lip, wordlessly asking you to part them. You do, sucking the digit inside, your tongue lapping at his fingertip. Poe’s movements stutter slightly, his throat bobbing as he watches you, damp curls falling across his forehead.

His pace increases a little and you know he’s close, his body shuddering over you. You reach for him as he pulls his thumb from your mouth, hand coming to rest against the base of your throat as he pushes into you again and again.

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” he pants, breath hitching as you clench around him. “You know that, right?”

You’re so close, so full—of him, of your love for him. You feel like you’re going to burst from it all.

“I know,” you breathe, smiling softly at him. “I love you too, flyboy.”

He leans in to press his forehead to yours, his labored breaths fanning against your lips as he thrusts, the pleasure rising higher and higher.

The hand on your neck clenches slightly and you whine, pussy fluttering around his length as you fall over the edge, pleasure surging through your veins. Poe groans, the sound of it broken, as he follows you a moment later, spilling his warmth deep inside. You’re still pulsing around him as he comes down and he can’t seem to stop the press of his hips, his softening cock pushing his spend even further into you.

He’s still inside when you come down, his gaze intent on your face as he cradles your head in his hands. When you lock eyes, he smiles, thumbs rubbing soothing circles at the base of your skull. You smile back, content to be in his embrace again, to have him be with you, be present. There’s still something there in his eyes, that fear, and you hope he’ll talk to you about it once he’s ready. Until then, you’ll settle for keeping him grounded and in the moment.

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