#pukefic

So I was paging through my reams if scraps and, instead of writing more trenchfire, I thought I'd post this for you cats. 5 times being retired spy lovers was the worst, and the one time it was pretty okay. NSFW, sorry, no cut because I'm on mobile like a noodle I. Luke still loves winter. He shouldn't, really. Makes everything harder, trying to walk carefully, not freeze to death, all that. Equipment failures, frostbite and misery are the main features of the season, but for some reason it's still his favourite. Perhaps because the cold makes him remember warmth, or something equally schmaltzy. "Does it still feel odd?" Poe's question catches him off guard. They're walking down the Avenue Charles de Gaulle, strides matched, his arm looped casually through the crook of Poe's elbow. "Does what?" "This," Poe answers, gesturing vaguely at the frozen Parisian streets, "walking like this. Being...like this." "Maybe a little," Luke admits. He feels a slow trickle of guilt. He's not sure he's been following the rules. Ordinary lovers, Poe had been quite firm, did not constantly double back, check their weapons, and take a half hour to make the five minute walk to the grocery store. They didn't even take guns to pick up their butter chicken to go, apparently. "Does it feel odd to you?" "No," Poe answers with the stubborn lift of his chin that means 'yes, but I'll be damned if I admit it'. "We're done with that now, Luke," he continues, "I've never felt better." Luke almost believes it. Being with Poe is good, it is, but that doesn't change the prickling feeling at the back of his neck that tells him he's followed. He fights the urge to glance back. Of course he's being followed. This is one of the busiest streets in Paris. "Well, I'm glad you're feeling good about it." Poe studies him, frowning. "What's wrong?" "Nothing." It sounds flimsy, even to him. "You know it bothers me when you lie to me, Luke." Poe's voice is calm, but Luke doesn't miss the glances he shoots at the high windows above them. With a studied casualness, Luke pulls him close, whispering in his ear. "Turn and look at the Eiffel Tower when I point it out to you." Despite the tension, it feels good to kiss him on the cheek. It doesn't take hardly any effort at all to pull Poe to the edge of the sidewalk and point out the Eiffel Tower in the distance. "Isn't it beautiful?" He scans the sidewalk, looking for the stuttered step, the eyes that avoid his gaze. Nothing. Nothing but the growing unease settling into his spine. "Aren't I supposed to say something ridiculous like 'not half as beautiful as you'?" Poe's hands are on the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer, their mouths warm on each other in the brisk air. He's sure it's a cover, a way to unobtrusively scan the street, but Luke gives it his best effort in any case, biting gently at Poe's lip as he pulls away. "See anything?" "You distracted me." "What?" "I'm joking," Poe kisses him again on the cheek, "it's the lady in the green sweater and navy overcoat." He freezes. "She's packing. What did you do this time, Luke?" "Nothing, I-" "Come on, she's calling for backup." Poe grabs his arm, pulling him back up the street, waving his arm for a taxi. "How do you-" Poe shoves him into the back seat, "I just do." Once safely secured in the back of the cab, Poe raps on the partition "Hotèl du Cap, s'il vous plait." "We're not staying at the Hotèl du Cap," Luke remarks quietly. "We are tonight." Luke sighs, twining his fingers into Poe's as he reflected on how nice it was that his partner was adjusting so well to civilian life. II. The infinite selection of the grocery store is maddening. "Who even needs this many choices?" Poe says in exasperation as they stare at the wall of crackers, "I just want a carrier for my cheese." "Welcome back to North America," Luke says with a crooked grin. Poe shoots him a look. He had hoped it would feel good to be back. Canada was home, after all, and he had missed her on his many travels, but he's surprised at how big it all feels, torn between the relief of finally being able to breathe properly again and the fear of suddenly being very exposed. It wouldn't be so bad if the big-mess of it all would have the decency to stay outside, but it follows him everywhere, including to the grocery store. "Do you want rice or wheat?" Luke asks, drawing his attention back to crackers. "Wheat, obviously." "Well, that disqualifies about a third of the shelf. Flavoured or original?" "That's very tricky. Either original or herby something or other." "Very specific." Luke moves closer to the shelf to examine the labels. "Round or square?" "I don't c-" Poe begins, the realizes he does. "Round." "Gourmet or everyday favourites?" "Luke, is that even a question? We're in Save-On, how gourmet does it get?" In answer, Luke holds up a box of mixed herb Breton minis. "This is about as gourmet as they've got. Unless you prefer the Ritz." Poe is about to reach for the box, a sarcastic comment ready on his lips, when the unmistakeable whistle of a bullet passes his ear and the box explodes in a shower of wheat powder and minced herb. It isn't even a matter of thought to drop to the ground, hands over his head. Luke has already made the dive and pulled out his ridiculous Glock. He glances over at Poe and frowns before sighting along the aisle and pulling the trigger. "Where's your gun?" He shouts as he kicks Poe toward the meagre shelter of a kinder surprise display. "It's a grocery store, Luke!" Poe shouts over the sound of more gunfire, "Not a fucking shooting range!" "Tell that to the black balaclava boy band!" To Poe's mingled relief and dismay, Luke tosses him a second pistol. "Preferably after you shoot them." "God, you're horrible." Poe picks out one of the attackers behind the cereal end cap and squeezes the trigger. "At least I'm horribly alive," Luke shoots back as he slides a second clip into the Glock. They lie in tense silence for several heartbeats. Luke risks a look around the edge of the bin of Ritz crackers he's crouched behind. "I think we're clear." They rise slowly, creeping along the aisle to inspect the bodies at the end of it. "It would appear," Luke mused, kicking one limp, black-booted foot, and getting a weak curse in response, "that if you want to buy your crackers in peace, you'd need to get your name off of Russia's most wanted list." "My name? Or yours?" "Irrelevant." III. "Red sauce or cream sauce?" Luke looks up from his book. Poe's been engaged in aggressive negotiations with dinner for an hour, and the question surprises him. "I'm sorry?" "Red sauce or white," Poe repeats impatiently, "which do you want?" "What am I eating it on?" Luke lays the book on his lap, setting his reading glasses aside. "I think it's supposed to be pasta." "I don't think I really have a preference. Red is perhaps slightly more atmospheric. I think it would match better than white." It would. Red would go with the crackling fire, the endless shelves of books, the knitted blanket over his knees, the unopened bottle of Chianti on the kitchen table. "Fuck," Poe swears softly. "Tomatoes putting up a fight?" "Just read your damn book, old man." "There's no reason to be like that," Luke comments mildly, returning to 'Anna Karenina'. "There's every reason!" Poe yells. A clattering sound erupts from the kitchen, followed by a steady stream of curses in three languages and a heavy thump. "You okay in there, Dameron?" There was a long pause. "No." "Ready to call in backup?" "...No." Luke settles back into his chair with a smile, setting aside the book in favour of his phone. "Scream if you're bleeding," he says equably. "I'm a failed chef, not a damsel in distress," Poe says in disgust. Luke's glad he's not in the kitchen. It's hard to keep the smile off his face as he scrolls through Expedia. Twenty minutes later, he pokes his head around the kitchen door to see Poe still sitting in a sea of red. "Come on." He tosses Poe a packed overnight bag. "What? Where are we going?" Poe leaps to his feet, frustration colouring his cheeks the same hue as the awful sauce. "For fuck's sake, Luke, I'm covered in tomatoes, what-" Luke stops the protest with a kiss, tasting anger and garlic on Poe's tongue. He waggles his phone as he pulls away. "We're going to get pasta with red sauce." Poe grabs his hand, stilling the phone. He frowns. "Sicily? Really?" Luke shrugs. "I hear the pasta's good." "Aren't you on the no-fly list?" "Not as Marcus Smith, I'm not," Luke says with a grin, holding up his Canadian passport. He kisses Poe again, flicking out his tongue to catch a drip of red from his cheek. "Looks like you missed a spot." Poe gives an evil grin and Luke doesn't get the warning until the last of the tomato sauce in the pot hits his face with a splat. "Damn," Poe's tongue runs over his cheek, "you too." Luke can't keep from smiling. "Shut up and get your coat." IV. "Luke, this seems a bit excessive." He looks out the French doors to the balcony pool. The water is lit by soft green lights and ripples under a faint breeze. He picks up one of the extravagant cocktails from the sideboard. "I feel like this isn't something normal people do. "Nonsense." Luke's busy unpacking their bags, looking far too well put together for having been scrunched into a plane seat for eight hours wearing a suit. "Normal people go on vacations all the time. I hear Italy is really quite popular this time of year." "That's not what I meant." He sets down the drink, which had turned out to be some awful citrus liqueur with cranberry juice. "Then I don't understand you." "Don't be difficult." It is a nice suite, he has to admit. The bed is made with crisp white sheets and the carpet is deep and luxurious under his bare feet. "I'm not being difficult," Luke protests. He's moved on to the impressive array of wine, taking the corkscrew to a bottle of Chianti. "We're on a holiday, just the two of us, in a suite, like two normal people." The liquid gurgles pleasantly into a crystal glass. "Right. The holiday destination we arrived at on fake passports, in the suite you rented for less than a fraction of its value from a retired mafioso who owes you a favour. Oh," he adds, plucking the filled wineglass from Luke's hand and taking a long pull, "and it's not, in fact, a suite, but an entire villa. Sounds normal to me." "Good." Luke frowns at the stolen glass for a moment before shrugging and pouring a second. "No! It's not good!" Poe can feel the frustration rising as he follows Luke out into the balcony. The warm air is soft and pleasant, a sharp contrast to winter in the Northwest Territories. He's determined not to let it distract him. Luke, to his dismay, is doing a walk around, peering over the balcony. Even watching him sets Poe on edge, and he fights the urge to check his six. "Look," Luke opens his hands wide in a gesture of surrender as he returns, his suit jacket sliding up in a telltale crease under his left arm. "I'm sorry, Poe. I can tell I've upset you." His arms are warm, gentle, and Poe's not sure it the kiss is an apology or a distraction. He slides his hands up Luke's well-muscled sides. Luke moans appreciatively, stopping in a tight gasp as Poe's right hand freezes over the hard spot just under his arm. "Are you carrying?" He whispers. Luke is still, arms still wrapped around him. He can't help but jump as a silenced gunshot thumps just behind his head. "Before I answer," Luke murmurs in his ear, "just remember that if I hadn't been, we'd both be dead." Poe gives this due consideration, submitting to Luke's embrace, surprised at how little he minds the cold press of the Glock against his back. The water of the pool burbles softly behind them. "I suppose you're right." "Am I...forgiven, then?" Luke asks between kisses. "Absolutely not." Poe shoves hard against Luke's chest. It's worth the frustration and strain to see the spectacular splash as Luke hits the water. V. "I'm sorry." "No, don't worry, it's...it's not your fault." "It just startled me, is all." "No, no, I completely understand. I would have done the same." "Thank you for saying so." Luke bends down to give the bodies a pat down. Two wallets, one dog tag, and a quantity of arms and ammunition. He tosses a wallet over his shoulder. "Have a look at that, will you?" "Sure." He hears Poe thumb through the wallet. "Huh. Did you know Bolivia had a secret service?" "No, actually, I didn't." Luke pulls out a registration card, examining it carefully. "Sorry to ruin your day...Carlos," he murmurs, "but it isn't my fault you're a sneaky bugger." "And they've got quite a lovely logo." "I don't doubt it. Bolivia is a lovely place." Luke sighs and rises from his crouch, wincing as his knees creak. "Ah, so they were here for you," Poe smirks, tossing the wallet back onto the unresponsive body of Carlos's companion. "I don't see how that matters at all," Luke says primly, hooking his hands under Carlos's arms and dragging him toward the alley. "I just want to know who to blame for missing the Viennese pre-opera cocktails." Poe follows his lead, dragging the second body by the bootlaces. "We've been twenty minutes at most," Luke grunts heaving Carlos into a dumpster, "there's still plenty of time for you to drink your Shirley Temple before the first act." "I don't know if I'll manage," Poe sighs in mock concern, dropping the body at the dumpster. "I've been traumatized." Luke shoots him a dirty look, glancing down at the body, then back up to Poe. "You going to toss this one in there, or just look at it?" Poe asks lightly, examining his cufflinks with exaggerated care. "Oh, I thought I'd just leave him here. You know how the police love clues." He grins at Poe's look of disdain. "But if you'd like to, feel free." "No, I think he's good there." Poe holds out a hand, "I don't want to rush you, but I will need to be very drunk if you want me to listen to Don Giovanni." "So a Shirley Temple won't do it?" Luke takes his hand, returning the infectious smile. "Most certainly not." VI. Luke tries hard to be quiet, he really does. He's almost cleared up all the glass before he hears Poe's horrified whisper from the top of the stairs. "Holy shit, Luke, what the hell happened?" A thousand lies cross his mind, but none of them measure up to the sheer absurdity of the truth. "You probably won't believe me if I tell you." "I'd like to give it a try, if it's all the same to you." The fifth and third stairs creak reliably as Poe descends, looking around at the mess of smashed furniture, blood, and broken glass that covers the entryway to their apartment. "Um. So, I know you said that I wasn't supposed to shoot anyone in the house." Luke begins. "Oh, Luke." Poe breathes. The disappointment in his voice freezes something in Luke's blood. For a moment, he can't think why until, with a sickening lurch, he realizes it's not something he's ever heard before. Exasperated, amused, even angry, he knows, but this is something different and ten times worse. A rustling makes him turn in time to see Poe sit heavily on the second step, head sinking into his hands. "We can't do this, can we?" Shoes crunching on the shards of glass, Luke walks over to join Poe on the stairs. He wants to take his hand, but something about the set of Poe's shoulders makes him hesitate. "I think you probably could. I...I can't. Not the way I should, anyway. And not for the reasons I thought when we started." Poe is silent and still at his side, so he just keeps talking, the words pouring out of him in a desperate rush. "I can put my gun in the case and lock it up. I can. When I've gone to ground and they can't find me, I can lock up everything and sleep like a child." His hands knit together, scars overlapping like lines on a subway map. "What I can't do...or maybe what I won't do, I don't know, is give up on life. I don't want to live in the middle of fuck all Canada, Poe. I don't want to go to ground. I want to walk down the street holding your hand. I want to take you to the opera, go out for dinner, go...go buy ridiculous crackers. I know it's selfish, but I want to have that life and I want to share it with you." He pauses, unsure of himself. "And if I've learned anything so far, it's that I can't have that like...like normal people. They won't let us." He sighs, kicking at the glass on the floor. "It won't matter how many rules we make for ourselves, Poe. There are people out there who want us dead. Hell, maybe we even deserve it. But I...I'm not ready to let them win. I'm not ready to give up on this, on...on us. So you're right. I can't go pick up the butter chicken without a gun. But I can still have the butter chicken, and I'd still like to share it with you. If...if that's still what you want." There's a horrible silence that stretches between them and Luke feels his heart start to crumple in his chest. "If you don't-if you can't...I understand." He can't look at Poe's face, doesn't want to see the answer written in his eyes. Instead, he stares ahead at the gaping holes where the front windows used to be, so he doesn't see Poe's hand until it covers his, squeezing gently. "Sometimes," Luke snaps his head around to see Poe smiling at him, "you're really stupid, you know that?" He can only manage a shocked "What?" Before Poe's other hand is in his hair, guiding their lips together, and the time for questions is over. "What," Poe asks, planting a line of kisses along his neck," makes. You. Think. That. I. Don't. Want. You?" "N-nothing, it's just-" Luke gasps as Poe's hand leaves his, sliding up the inseam of his dress pants. "Just what?" Poe whispers, teeth grazing his jaw. "Can't...think when you're...doing that." The heel of Poe's hand presses against his crotch. Then, as suddenly as it began, it's over. Poe pulls away, studying him with serious eyes as the cold air from the open windows whispers between them. He shivers. "Can we agree to compromise?" Poe asks at last. "What?" "Can we compromise. We'll just carry on like...well, like sensible spies while we're here, but..." Poe hesitates, running a slow hand over Luke's leg. "Can you promise we'll get away every once in awhile?" He looks up and the hope in his eyes is like a stab in the gut. "And I can have you all to myself?" "Of course," it's the easiest promise he's ever had to make and Poe's mouth on his is the sweetest reward. "Of course." The kiss seems to use his whole body, every inch of him needing to be closer, needing to feel Poe against him. "Right now," he murmurs and grins as Poe freezes. "God help me, Luke, if you tell me we're getting on a plane right now-" Poe begins to warn, but Luke's laughter stops him. "Not a plane," he smiles, pulling Poe along behind him as he climbs the stairs, "just away from the broken glass." The door is hard and cool against his back as Poe presses hungrily against him. Luke pulls a knife from his sleeve, letting it fall to the floor with a thud. "Now I'm all yours." "Not yet," Poe shoots back, hand running up his ribs to catch on the shoulder holster. "It's empty." "Liar. Take your shirt off." Luke obeys, delighting in the flush that crawls up Poe's neck as he watches. His shirt and shoulder holster join the pile on the floor. Poe steps close, running his hands around Luke's waistband. "This is a terrible place for a gun." The breath hitches in Luke's throat as the cold metal slides against his back, raising goosebumps across his shoulders. "It's...convenient." "Sure." Poe unthreads his belt, "Until it goes off in your pants." "I'm not sure you're allowed to talk like that," Luke knows he's grinning like an idiot, but he can't help it. "I'm serious, Luke," Poe says gravely as the pants follow the shirt to the floor, "it's a hazard. Take your shoes off. I don't even want to know what's in your socks." "Yes, sir." "Don't do that, it makes me nervous." Luke steps out of his shoes, sliding a second knife out of his sock sheath. "What, follow instructions, or call you sir?" Poe looks up from his shirt buttons. "Both, actually." Laughter bubbles up inside him and he pulls Poe close, tugging at his belt, not bothering to wait for the buttons to be finished. "I thought you liked being in charge," he whispers, nipping at Poe's ear. "I just don't trust you to follow orders." Poe's hands are hot and eager on his waist as they stumble towards the bed and he's too caught in the rush of contact to notice the leg hooked behind his knee until it's too late and he's sprawled back on the bed, gazing up at Poe's satisfied smirk. "Nice throw." The triumph in Poe's face sends a thrill through him. He's hard now, pulse hammering through him as Poe takes his time undressing, each movement precise in its economy. "Are you making me wait on purpose?" "Maybe a little." Poe kneels on the bed between his knees, running contemplative hands along his thighs. "How long do I have you to myself?" "Until the next hit team finds the bedroom, as far as I'm concerned. His dick twitches hopefully as Poe pulls at his underwear. "What about the windows?" Poe's mouth is warm on his chest, teeth closing gently over Luke's hardening nipple. "What...about them?" It's hard to breathe with Poe's tongue sliding over his stomach. He looks down to meet Poe's hooded gaze. "You going to call someone to replace the gaping holes in the walls?" He smirks, tongue darting out to slip over the head of Luke's cock. "I cannot believe we're having this conversation." "I just need to know my timelines," Poe says casually, as if he's not stroking Luke's balls. "You've got...lots..." Luke gasps, "so get on with it, would you?" "That's not how it works." Poe's tongue moves lower, circling his ass and Luke moans. "If I have lots of time," Poe continues, massaging a finger slowly into him, "then I can take as long as I like." He pulls away momentarily and Luke hears a snap before the whole glorious length of Poe is stretched out over him. "So do I have time to fuck you?" he whispers, lighting a thousand fires under Luke's skin as he rocks his hips gently. "Or am I going to be interrupted by the window repair guy?" "Oh, for Christ's sake," Luke groans, thrusting up into the hollow of Poe's hip. "Just...yes, come on." The lube is slick and cool as Poe trails a wet hand over his chest. "I love you like this," he confides, pushing Luke's legs apart. "You're so ready for me." "Damn...right," Luke moans, his cock hard and dripping as Poe slowly teases him open, slipping first one finger, then two inside him. The edges of his vision colour a little as they brush his prostate. "Poe," he pants, "I can't...I..." the words are lost as Poe adds a third finger, pushing him over the edge as he comes, shaking, across his stomach. "I'm not done with you yet," Poe whispers. Luke manages a nod, hands tightening on Poe's ass, pulling him close. "More." The word turns to a moan as Poe thrusts into him filling him, ragged breath shivering in the cool space between them. "More." Poe cries out, arching into him, each muscle taut as a bowstring as he comes. Still breathing heavily, Poe looks down at him, cheeks flushed over his smile. "I have one more request. For our compromise?" "Right now?" "Yeah." He folds his arms across Luke's chest, propping his chin on his hands. "Next time, can you try not to wreck the place?" "It's not my fault they came in the front windows." "Really?" "Yes." Luke runs a hand through Poe's dark curls, "but if it makes you happy, I'll invite them through the front door next time."