It had been several years, since he'd been home, and that was only partly by design. Sure, it had basically been running away when he joined the army, the first time. Running from his father and from his responsibility and from his fate. But he had found himself, in his blade. His life had finally made a sort of sense, now that he knew what he was built for. He was made to fight - made to protect - and it suited him. So the years slipped away easily, with barely a thought of home.
Barely a thought for the boy he was one day meant to own.
He had thought he had closed that door, by leaving. Hoped he had secured Owain some kind of childhood and some kind of normal life just by not being there. He'd satisfied himself on that point, years ago. Part of him, a small part of him, figured the likelihood of him surviving long enough to actually ever see Owain was pretty small. If he got killed in battle, then he died doing something he believed in, and Owain was free. It wouldn't have been a bad trade off.
But honestly, he didn't think about it much.
Which is why, when they sent him back home - ostensibly to report on the state of the war to the King - he hadn't even realised it that it was near Owain's eighteenth birthday. To him, Owain was still that nine year old boy that he'd mussed the hair of and then left behind.
So he was a little frustrated, when he arrived in the city, and was immediately sent to his Father's house, only to find his father wasn't there. Or rather, he was, but he was busy and would Master Poe please wait in the hall for him. He was mildly surprised, that it wasn't Lon-qu who greeted him and told him to wait, but times changed. Maybe his father had finally realised exactly what that relationship was, and had set him free.
So Poe paced, the dark cape flicking behind him as he turned on his heel, impatient. The dark grey of his uniform was broken only by a cascade of bright silver buttons down his front, and a brilliant orange sash that ran from his shoulder to his hip. He heard the door open behind him, and was already set to immediately give his Father a good dose of sarcasm.
"You know, I could have just gone straight to the palace instead and save us both a lot of--" He stopped dead, because the man in the doorway was certainly not his father. "-- time."
That first week in the Dameron estate had been terrifying for the poor kid. He'd just lost his parents - their funerals had been modest and gentle and unerringly respectful, but still, they were gone - and he still couldn't understand why he had to stay here, in a giant house of mostly-strangers he'd only ever seen through his mom or dad's jobs. He wanted to be back home, in the house his dad built for his mom after he was born and she stopped serving. He wanted to be in his bed, with the toy sword under his pillow and the stuffed dog he propped up to guard him. He wasn't taking the adjustment well, and he kept wanting to know why his parents had to die, even if it was just to ease the knot in his tiny stomach that kept telling him it was all his fault.
He studied and he napped and he spent every other hour of every day with Kes, until the man told him, gently, of the expectations he would have to uphold when he was a little older. A life of servitude, but a life of security - walking in the footsteps of his parents, two of the most wonderful human beings in the history of the world, unflinching in their loyalty, as he would no doubt be. It didn't scare Owain, really, not on its own, but it piled on top of the confusion and the anxiety and the guilt and made it so much harder to sleep at night.
And then he met Poe, finally, seven days after his arrival, and Poe had been kind and warm and made him feel safe, tall and imposing and twice his age. He roughed up his hair and called him buddy, he gave Owain a highfive as soon as he asked for one - and then he was gone. It had only lasted for a moment, and he'd imagined, over the years, that Poe might not remember even meeting him - but he remembers. He's eighteen now, almost, and he still remembers Poe's smile every time someone mentions his name. He's distorted the memory over every recollection - with so many people around him telling him stories of Poe's bravery, of his kindness, and, of course, of his dashing good looks, it had been hard for him not to turn Poe into a kind of idolized, unattainable figure. A demigod among men. A demigod that owned him.
And a demigod among men who is shorter than him.
Owain's in his best clothes, which for a servant can only consist of a tight white shirt and formal attire. He's startled, at the sight of Poe - he still feels little, in front of him, small and unimportant and barely even anything - but he's been training for this. All those hours in the yard swinging his sword hadn't just been to train for the military. He'd been learning how to steel his confidence, how to do what needed to be done, and right now, what needed to be done was an introduction.
"Hhhhhhhhey," he says, stupidly, immediately clutching at his shirt as he steps through the open doorway. That's not what he was supposed to say - he was supposed to bow, or to fall on one knee, he was supposed to call Poe Lord Dameron and pledge his allegiance. He goes red with nerves, but he clears his throat and tries again.
"Lord-- Dameron."
He rushes it out, looking at Poe for approval for one short, short second, and then he's on one knee.
"Owain," he's tripping over himself to hold one hand out while keeping his eyes respectively trained on the ground. Fuck, wait, handshakes are for men on an equal social standing - he draws his hand back, fast.
"We-- met once before, when I was young? I don't know if you remember me, but I-- I remember you. Very well. I've been waiting for the day to see you again, and - and I'm eighteen. In a few days. So... I'll be..."
It was kind of amazing, just how dumb Poe Dameron could look, when the time was right. Face blank of any understanding, brows furrowed and lips parted as if half speaking a question already.
Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't this.
He could recognise him. Almost. See the edges of the child he once knew in the lines of the man before him. (Almost a man. A few days, he'd said.) It seemed almost impossible, with Owain having a good head on him, and more handsome than even his father had been. Had this been just a normal bar, on some lonely world, Poe would have slid right down beside him to chat him up.
A heat rose to his throat that he wasn't sure came from embarrassment or anger or being caught off guard, or all three at once. His hand didn't go to the hilt of his sword, but it twitched like it wanted to.
"No." It came out harsher than he meant it, but he stubbornly grit his teeth. He didn't step back, but he didn't reach for the hand - either when it was extended or when it retreated - his eyes instead locked on Owain's face.
"No. You won't be. I didn't come here, for this, I--" But it was dawning on him, now, exactly what was happening. Because he was worth twice as much, to the military, with his pledged at his side. Two men for the price of one. And to think, he'd almost looked forward to coming home--
His guts twisted, acid in the back of his throat, and he shook his head.
"No. You're your own man, Owain, whatever - whatever anyone else told you. And I refuse to be a part of this."
He'd learned to fight as well as his father, in preparation for this. He'd learned to fight as well as Poe's mother, he suspects, though he has the common sense not to brag. He'd been raised in dedication to the sword, because Poe was military, and so as was his slave. When Poe shuts him down, like a door made of concrete slamming shut, he doesn't flinch away. When Poe says you're your own man, he doesn't feel the sting of rejection, because he just-- doesn't get it. He doesn't understand. He'd spent his whole life waiting to finally meet the man in front of him as an adult. The man who - while shorter than him - still feels like a giant. More so than ever, with that fire in his voice. A giant he's impossibly unworthy of, but a giant he's going to stand beside.
But - nine years.
Nine years without an independent thought. Nine years without even considering the idea that he might want to leave or the thought that Poe might reject him. Lissa and Lon'qu were happy and in love and their lives were perfect, both in his memories and in the stories he's heard. He owes a great debt to this family, and the idea of leaving - the idea of bringing that much shame to the Dameron repuation - why would he want to do that? Poe's reaction is so fucking ludicrous, to him, that he doesn't even register the words for what they are. He just frowns, for a second, but he pushes on, fearing maybe he's not being clear.
"... So, ah--"
He hesitates, and he sinks lower on his knee, hunching his back to show his subservience. He puts his hands on the floor, wondering if that might help. Genuflecting, entirely. Devoted.
"I'm-- an excellent swordsman," he says, and there's confidence in his voice, even as he falters, directs it to the ground, and wonders what the fuck I refuse to be a part of this means. "I've trained my whole life - in preparation of serving you in battle. I can fight by your side, I can take commands you might issue me, I can-- my life is yours to do with as you wish. I can fight, I can die, whatever it is you need. My loyalty begins and ends with... uh. You. Obviously. Like I said."
His hands are shaking, a little, and he has to curl his fingers to keep them tight. This isn't-- this isn't how this was supposed to go. Poe was suppose to be happy, not-- whatever this is.
"Good, I see you finally got your Pledge," General Holdo murmured, without even looking up from her desk, the quill still moving over the page as she spoke. Poe and Owain had stepped into the room a moment before, Poe clasping his hands behind him and standing to attention.
"I want you to know, Captain Dameron, that I personally was unimpressed with your refusal to commit all of your resources to the war effort," She continued, the word 'resources' very clearly referring to Owain, especially since she gestured vaguely with her quill in his direction. "Between this and your recent recklessness, I was concerned that we would have to demote you. So I'm glad that you finally saw sense."
She looked up, her smile cold and sharp. Poe looked anything but pleased, his fists tight enough behind his back that his knuckles were turning white, and he glared at the wall behind her, still standing at attention. He had not been hoping to find her, here. He's been hoping that General Rais was currently stationed at the palace. He and Holdo had never seen eye to eye.
"My orders, sir?" He asked, his voice sharp, the insubordination apparent in the tone if not in the words. Holdo sighed at him, tilting her head.
"You're on recruitment, for the next week, until the next troop transport leaves for the Omir system. If I'm satisfied with your behaviour, you'll leave on the transport. If you're not, I hear the palace guards could use a new sword instructor. Do I make myself clear?"
"Very clear, sir," he ground out. But it wasn't the worst it could have been. Recruitment mostly involved telling stories and going to rallies, both of which he was fairly good a--
"Good. So - You... Owain, is it? Good to have you on board, finally. I've heard a fair bit about you - your training scores are impressive. You'll have a chance to meet the other Pledges at the ball, tomorrow night - you'll be expected to serve the dinner with them, so I hope your manners are better than your Master's."
The bubble of confidence that had been slowly building around him without his notice popped the second he entered Holdo's office.
Between all the nerves of finally meeting Poe, the excitement of buying his own clothes and the fear of leaving the House for the first time since before he even had two digits to his age, Owain didn't really have the mental capacity to notice how Poe was making him feel good about himself. Not in a quick, easy gratification sort of way that came from smiling at him or being kind to him - but at a very fundamental level, Poe treating him so much differently to the rest of the world was blooming a very stable warmth behind his ribs.
It had only been a day, but slipping back amongst people who gestured at him as an object made him feel like he was waking up from a dream. Only, you know. Without a hand on his dick.
He keeps his posture straight and relies on his training to see him through this. Feet together, hands by his side to show he's unarmed and to show he's ready to take anything given to him, eyes downcast until he's spoken to. Holdo is intimidating, and he's grateful he's not supposed to look directly at her unless otherwise told, because the second he saw her he stuck close to Poe and wanted to run.
When she addresses him, he's drifting off a bit, thinking about Poe. He starts, raises his hands in shock, quickly puts them back by his side and looks to Poe for permission to speak. He doesn't wait for Poe to give it to him before he answers - partially because he thinks Holdo's authority might override Poe's and he doesn't want to disrespect her. Partially because he's scared Poe will say something stupid like you don't have to ask if you want to say something and end up getting in trouble.
"Yes. Sir. Yes. I can-- yeah. I mean, yes. Obviously. Or-- not obviously," he rushes, somehow both red and pale at once. "Not obviously, because you don't know me, so how would you know what's obvious and what isn't? Just-- yes. Yeah. I can do that. I can do anything. I'll serve... dinner. And have manners. Please. Thank you. Sorry. And-- yes. Owain. I'm Owain. There's a ball? I've always wanted to go to a-- not that that-- matters. Sorry."
He bows his head, eyes shut tight, nails digging into his legs. Fucking-- stupid. Idiot. Fucking stupid, stupid, stupid stupid idiot.
"Owain, you will keep your answers short and succinct when addressing a superior officer, unless you are asked to elaborate," Holdo said, her voice calm and mild, though there was still an edge to it. "You may belong to Captain Dameron, but as long as he is a member of our armed forces, you also belong to the King."
She looked up, finally, catching Owain in a sharp look. "Do I make myself clear?"
"He doesn't belong to any--" Poe started to interject, a heat rising in his voice, but Holdo raised a finger and glared him down. "Just because you have difficulty with Authority, Captain, does not mean I don't expect obedience from you or your pledge. So you will let him confirm, himself."
Owain knew it was coming, and there's a brief, panicked second where he spirals. It shows on his face, which might make things worse - might show how inexperienced he is actually dealing with this kind of behavior without Kes's love for him as a safety net beneath it - but he takes a deep breath, resisting the urge to grovel on his knees.
"No, yeah, of course," he says, stuttering more than once. "I didn't-- I mean, yeah. Yes. Yes. Just yes. Confirming. Yes."
He looks to Poe out the corner of his eye, full of fear - is he fucking up too much? Is Holdo going to find a way to pull some strings and separate them? - and then he's back to staring at the floor, as he should be.
"I'm-- very sorry. For-- my behaviour. For not-- for not-- I'm sorry."
They'd passed out far too early. Hadn't even had dinner. But between the blood loss (which is what made the not eating dinner a little more problematic) and, well, everything else, Poe had been utterly exhausted. At some point he had woken up shivering, realising that they hadn't bothered to grab sheets or blanket after Owain had rolled them up earlier that morning. So instead he carefully pulled himself free - padded over to his stuff (wiping his chest down with the still slightly red water in the basin) - and grabbed his cloak.
Then he climbed back onto the bed with Owain, threading himself into the man's limbs, and threw the blanket over them both.
Owain wakes up a few hours later, as completely drained in every sense of the word as he was the night before. His eyes are-- slow, stuttering, when they open, and he can't tell if he's shivering because they left the window open (fuck, they were so loud last night) or if it's from everything they both went through yesterday.
He's cold enough to side further up to Poe under the cloak-blanket, closing his eyes again and burying his nose in his chest. He'd been pushing the line when he first suggested that he and Poe share the bed, rather than insist he stay in the cot or else throw himself to the floor as he'd first intentioned - but he doesn't find he cares so much about lines anymore.
He falls asleep again, but just for a moment, and he moans a little unhappily when he's torn from that sleep haze back to the world of the living. It's nice, though, in a sense - the sunbeams filtering in on Poe, tucked away under the false blanket, small and curled up and perfect. He's fine with just staying here, watching him, listening to the sound of his Poe's steady breathing and the distant birds until he finally can't take it anymore -
Owain tries not to wake Poe up, when he plants that kiss to his forehead. He tries even harder not to wake him up when he whispers something into his hair.
"If I hadn't found you-- if I hadn't been given to you-- I don't know what kind of life I could have lead. It's been-- two days-- three, as of now-- and you've saved so much of me."
He still thinks Poe's asleep, when he kisses down to his nose, then to his lips. Feather touches.
He wishes he was better at fighting the parts of him trained to hate this.
It was the whispers that woke him. Not quite distinct enough to make out words, but it roused him from the depths of sleep - happily, for once, dreamless. He hadn't even yet opened his eyes before Owain pressed a shadow of a kiss to his nose, to his lips.
He leaned in, just a little, to that last kiss - pressing far firmer than the other man had done as he finally opened his eyes.
Owain laughs into the kiss, which might have ruined things, with a normal master - earned some kind of punishment, at least, for disrespecting the gift that was given to him - but he's just made warmer, with Poe, still shivering just a little but enough for it to bother him.
"D'you think we'd get in trouble if we just stayed here all day?"
There's a pause.
"Because, I mean-- you're starting to make me like trouble."
He wears the blood Poe left on his cheek like a badge of pride, not wiping it off until he has to, when they're back in their room getting changed for the ball. Before heading home, they spent the rest of the day preparing for the evening and doing a few extra duties, which mostly involved visiting a few more establishments for Poe to recruit in and overseeing their signups - but they found a second bookstore, too, and Owain nervously tugged Poe into it. A Pledge served at the counter, and when Owain bought the books he wanted, he thought she would be okay with it, given her station, but she seemed scared, looking from him to Poe and fearing Owain was going to get hurt, like she must be by her master whenever she speaks out of turn, and it made him feel shitty for the rest of the afternoon. Violence was never a part of Kes's household. Pledges are supposed to be more honored than that.
But the daylight faded and they came back, books in hand, and Poe's fucking stunning in the uniform Owain helped him into. Owain had found himself unable to keep his hands away, so he used the excuse of doing up buttons just to feel his broad shoulders and firm chest through his clothes, breathing somewhat unsteadily and just-- just really god damn hard. He dresses himself, for the most part, but he has to get Poe to help him in turn, because he hasn't ever worn such fancy clothes - it's easy, putting things like this on a person, but he can't seem to tie his tie properly from this point of view, and he has to make a note to himself to practice in the future.
The ball itself is beyond stunning, with chandeliers coated with diamonds and lined with bright, open flames that illuminate the room brighter than anywhere Owain's ever been. It hurts his eyes, at first, until he adjusts. Their entrance is awkward and stilted, because Poe is supposed to go in alone and Owain is supposed to come in through the side with the rest of the pledges, but there's an argument that's only settled by Poe being told Owain can enter with him if he stands at his back. They walk in side by side, to looks that are starting to hurt Owain just a little less.
They pass a banquet and Owain follows it, eyes open. He should-- focus on dancing, but--
"Shit, I'm hungry." He doesn't need to stand on his tiptoes to see over Poe, but he does anyway, just to see even more of the fresh meats and fruit lined up for the attendants. "Oh, man. They have ice cream? You ever had that? We should have that."
The only reason they don't cause a scene with the doorman is that Poe assaults him with charm - a winning grin and a knowing nudge pushing the man to give in to his request. In fact, Poe has nothing but smiles, for the Ball. He knows he's on duty. He knows what is expected of him.
He also knows that he's a primary draw, at these events - that in particular, he has a tendency to raise enrolment especially of noble women. It means he knows he has to dance with a lot of them. That's what Holdo had meant by best behaviour. Didn't mean he had to feel good about it.
"I've had it a couple times," he said, turning his attention to the buffet, before gesturing for Owain to follow with a tilt of his chin and heading for it. "Gonna have to stop hogging you to myself and actually take you to mess to eat, sometimes."
Fuck, yesss! Owain practically skips over to the food, nearly tripping on his boots in his haste. He's getting looks, but nobody's willing to say anything (though those who do are immediately silenced by a smile from the Captain), and Owain's still riding from the high of the journals to notice. He knows enough about table manners to know ice cream goes in bowls, but he also knows that the bowls are over there and the plates are right here and that's, frankly, a much more important factor in his decision making process.
The ice cream is chilled by magic in ornate, golden trays, and Odin takes too many scoops and digs the fuck in. He's slowly dragging his spoon from his mouth when he looks at Poe. Could probably use his tongue on that spoon in a pretty suggestive way, if he wanted the attention and if they weren't in public. Decides not to.
"I kind of prefer it when you keep me to yourself. It's nice, being alone with you."
Still says something suggestive anyway. He offers the ice cream, and a second spoon, to Poe.
The summons from Holdo came obnoxiously early, a mere few hours after they'd fallen asleep after the ball, and Owain complained like a petulant little kid the whole time they got dressed in the dark. Mumbling things about how he never liked her, about how the military is the worst, about how he's tired and his ass hurts and he can barely stand straight after how hard Poe fucked him and how the fuck did she expect him to just stand there rail-steady behind Poe and act as if he totally didn't get his shit wrecked last night? She's so short-sighted and terrible.
It would be kind of obnoxious, if it wasn't such a huge, huge change from how he acted after Kes. The Owain that pulled back from Poe is dead and gone, at least until he has reason to resurrect again.
They head to Holdo's office and he does a better job at responding to her through sharp, direct answers, primarily because he's too tired to trip over his words - though he stumbles at her quick and obligatory comment about his birthday, which he had forgotten was today. July 15th. She compliments Poe on his behaviour at the ball and assigns him the mission he's been itching for, something he'll pack up and ship out on in a couple of days, and Owain bites back his excitement to see Poe in action, because he knows it's not his place.
He's too awake after the meeting to go back to bed, and given that it's his birthday, Poe offers to take him to the capital and wrap up anything he might want to do before they leave. He's completely fucking overwhelmed by the possibilities - he kind of wants to see a show, but he doesn't even know if they have shows here - and by the time the sun is coming up, Owain's just taking Poe to a grassy hill that overlooks most of the Palace so they can lay down and plan things out.
It's secluded enough that he doesn't feel embarrassed about walking in front of Poe, or about finding his hand and holding it without being invited to.
"Eighteen," he says, back to the grass, leaves rustling from the tree overhead. He pulls Poe's injured hand to his lips and kisses the back of it, on freshly changed bandages. "Old enough to serve. You going to be okay with me fighting at your back? You've never even seen me swing a sword."
Poe spends the entire early morning smirking to himself as he listens to Owain - mostly silent for his own part - a very warm feeling glowing in his chest while he listens to Owain rant. He, on the other hand, looks like he may as well have gotten a full night's sleep - he's awake and attentive and far less fighty than he was the last time they saw Holdo. Which means she eyes him a bit suspiciously, but ends up giving him their orders and letting them go.
He'd forgotten about Owain's birthday, and manages somehow to not go red as a lobster when it's brought up. Thankfully. Even though it does make something dark twist in the pit of his stomach.
He manages to push the feeling away, for the most part - tries to make it up, in some small way, by offering Owain anything he wants, for the day, and follows him to the park, happy to let the man - and he was a man now, he thinks, queasily, where up until now he'd really only been a boy - do as he wished.
"I don't doubt your ability with one," He says, trying to ignore the 'old enough to serve' and only half managing it. "We'll have time for a little training once we're out there - they won't put us on the front line right away anyway. Gotta reintegrate with the unit."
He watched the leaves above him.
Fuck, but he was not going to be able to just let it lie.
He'd forgotten about the rest of the unit, somehow - he'd been imagining himself and Poe back to back, swords in hands, cutting down enemy soldiers and protecting one another from the storm. He feels something twist uncomfortably in his gut and he goes quiet, watching the clouds drift by overhead. It's strange, how much this feels like home. For some reason he imagined it would smell different out here, or something, but the fresh air fills his lungs just as readily as it did in the garden of the House.
He can feel his emotions squirming and turning in on themselves, anxiety starting to build, and he looks to Poe, about to ask for reassurance that nobody in the unit is gonna fuck with him because he's a Pledge, but Poe interrupts him before he gets a chance to open his mouth. He starts, more confused than anything, and he pushes himself up on his hands, wincing when it tugs at the half-healed scab of his own injury.
"What?"
He's frowning, and-- again, this is an improvement, because he just looks stumped rather than scared. He doesn't panic and start wondering what he's done wrong, to make Poe feel like he needs to do this - he's just worried.
"What for?" He looks out over the spires of the buildings up ahead, then turns back. "You've-- been great. To me. You haven't done anything wrong?"
He's sore, is the first thing he notices, but that thought flees even more quickly than it came, because as soon as he opened his eyes, he met Owain's peaceful sleeping face. There's a slight furrow in Owain's brow, as if he's thinking a little too hard, deeps in dreams, and it's all Poe can do to lie there and watch him sleep for several minutes.
But early morning rays of sun are creeping into the room and pulling Poe awake, and no matter how much he would rather stay in this moment, time still passes. With a quiet breath, he leans in and presses his lips to Owain's forehead. He lingers, stretching time as long as he is able, before he finally pulls away and carefully untangles himself from the cot.
He is a quiet as he possibly can be as he cleans up and gets dressed, but he keeps glancing over to see how the morning light catches Owain's hair, a bittersweet love gripping his heart.
He's not going to be able to do this again, for a long time. Not like this. And he knows it.
When the knock comes, he silently curses them in his mind, the noise far too loud to let Owain continue sleeping. He pads over to the door and exchanges some short, cursory words, and then recieves the packages that the man came to deliver. Shutting the door again, he brought them to the table and began to unwrap the brown paper. Owain's uniform - complete with cape - lay inside, branch new and spotless.
Owain wakes with a start, his eyes jerking open. There's no peace in him, after the dreams he's had, and it takes a moment to feel the warmth of the bed and the scratchiness of the Pledge-assigned sheets as something real. More real than the pain he feared for in his sleep. That knock was just a knock, nothing more.
He sits up, slowly, his bones in an aching kind of pain. His hair is all flat from where it's been pressed into the pillow, sticking up in weird strands on the other side, but he still blearily looks at Poe's back and smiles as he only half listens to the whitenoise of conversation. A far cry from how he should act, as a Pledge. Anyone else would be ashamed their masters woke up before them. More so, that they then let them sleep when a delivery was expected.
Owain yawns and flops back onto the cot as Poe unravels his uniform, stretching his legs, his knee popping with a satisfying click. He lets himself stretch out a bit, unable to do so last night, and watches the ceiling until his mind kicks into gear. He rolls out of bed soon enough, still just super god damn naked as he slides up to Poe and wraps his arms around his waist. There's a quick kiss to his neck, and then an excited shout as he pulls back and slams his hands on the able, all his sleepiness just-- dead and gone.
"Uniform! Uniform! Shit!!!" He goes straight for the cape, sort of laugh-screaming despite the scratchiness of his morning voice. He fastens it around his neck and does a bit of a spin, then goes straight for the boots, hopping on one leg as he tries to put one on. Still naked.
There he stands, one-booted and caped the fuck up, beaming at Poe. Doesn't even think that this is kind of disrespectful.
"Good? Good so far?" He does a twirl, stumbling a bit. "Oh man. I'm going to be the best. You're going to love fighting with me."
He pretends not to pay attention as Owain stretches in bed like a cat, making it extremely tempting to give up what he was doing and crawl back onto the tiny cot - but his decision is made for him as Owain gets up and wraps around him.
He was not expecting the shout, and starts a bit, getting out of the way as Owain joyously began to grab at the uniform and the boots, and can't help but stand and watch, a smile plastered on his face and a laugh caught in the back of his throat.
It is utterly disrespectful, and... therefore kind of hot. Woops.
"Yeah, not bad. Though you may want something to protect your softer bits," he teased, fighting the smile and losing, as he stepped over to slide his hands onto Owain's hips.
It had been several months, since Kiron had been assigned to Reeve. Though the man wasn't as strict as Kiron would have preferred, he was far better than his friend, Captain Dameron. He knew Kiron's place and ensured that Kiron kept it.
Kiron had been getting more aquatinted to Reeve's moods - had begun to anticipate exactly when he would tell Kiron to come to his bed and strip for him. Sometimes Reeve sent him back to the tent, first - told him to be ready and waiting for him by the time that Reeve arrived.
Tonight was different.
Reeve had snapped at him to go to the tent, but had given no instruction. He was in a worse mood than Kiron had ever seen him, which meant that Kiron had not yet begun to figure out a strategy for dealing with it. Without instruction, he wasn't sure what to do with himself, and eventually decided to sit on the end of the cot - still clothed - and wait until his master appeared.
Reeve loved the guy more than anyone, but as far as soldiers go, he's too fucking rash. They'd been on a reconnaissance mission and Poe had found an opportunity to strike at the enemy and take them out; a rare opportunity, a difficult choice to make. Failure would have set them back months, reset the trail routes they'd been tracking should the enemy realize Poe's squadron knew the location of their scouts. But Poe didn't fail. He and his companions delivered a decisive blow to the enemy and ended up with a far larger prize than they had bargained for.
But Reeve had been punished. He should have done better by him, Holdo said. It was too risky a move, and Reeve should have stopped him. The criticism turns into an argument and the argument turns into a fight- Reeve is given three days suspension. Three days alone with Kiron.
He's back home, after taking a drink to cool his head, a scotch that doesn't sit right. He's wearing boots and they crunch almost threateningly as he walks slowly back to the tent. Once inside, he looks at Kiron with what first seems to be apathy but quickly morphs into a sour distaste.
"What made you think just sitting on your cot was what I wanted?" He's wearing gloves, black and hardened leather, and he snaps them to his wrists. "I've told you time and time again to be ready when I arrive. What am I supposed to do with you now?"
Kiron was sitting straight as a rod, as soon as he heard the crunch of boots outside the tent, his hands folded tightly in his lap. He stands up incredibly quickly, when reeve scolds him, eyes immediately turning to the floor at the snap of leather.
"I am very sorry, Master," He whispered, barely above a breath, his head bowed. His fingers worked a little nervously as they reached for the buttons of his shirt - pausing before he actually did anything with them.
"Should I... do you wish me to undress, Master, or..." It wasn't often that Kiron couldn't anticipate exactly what Reeve wanted, but he'd never seen him in this bad a mood, before. There was a good chance Reeve might simply wish to beat him, instead, which - of course - Kiron would take willingly, if it meant he might ease some of his Master's frustration. A very real flush was starting to glow under his skin, purely from the anxiety of not knowing what he should be expecting.
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day one.
Barely a thought for the boy he was one day meant to own.
He had thought he had closed that door, by leaving. Hoped he had secured Owain some kind of childhood and some kind of normal life just by not being there. He'd satisfied himself on that point, years ago. Part of him, a small part of him, figured the likelihood of him surviving long enough to actually ever see Owain was pretty small. If he got killed in battle, then he died doing something he believed in, and Owain was free. It wouldn't have been a bad trade off.
But honestly, he didn't think about it much.
Which is why, when they sent him back home - ostensibly to report on the state of the war to the King - he hadn't even realised it that it was near Owain's eighteenth birthday. To him, Owain was still that nine year old boy that he'd mussed the hair of and then left behind.
So he was a little frustrated, when he arrived in the city, and was immediately sent to his Father's house, only to find his father wasn't there. Or rather, he was, but he was busy and would Master Poe please wait in the hall for him. He was mildly surprised, that it wasn't Lon-qu who greeted him and told him to wait, but times changed. Maybe his father had finally realised exactly what that relationship was, and had set him free.
So Poe paced, the dark cape flicking behind him as he turned on his heel, impatient. The dark grey of his uniform was broken only by a cascade of bright silver buttons down his front, and a brilliant orange sash that ran from his shoulder to his hip. He heard the door open behind him, and was already set to immediately give his Father a good dose of sarcasm.
"You know, I could have just gone straight to the palace instead and save us both a lot of--" He stopped dead, because the man in the doorway was certainly not his father. "-- time."
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That first week in the Dameron estate had been terrifying for the poor kid. He'd just lost his parents - their funerals had been modest and gentle and unerringly respectful, but still, they were gone - and he still couldn't understand why he had to stay here, in a giant house of mostly-strangers he'd only ever seen through his mom or dad's jobs. He wanted to be back home, in the house his dad built for his mom after he was born and she stopped serving. He wanted to be in his bed, with the toy sword under his pillow and the stuffed dog he propped up to guard him. He wasn't taking the adjustment well, and he kept wanting to know why his parents had to die, even if it was just to ease the knot in his tiny stomach that kept telling him it was all his fault.
He studied and he napped and he spent every other hour of every day with Kes, until the man told him, gently, of the expectations he would have to uphold when he was a little older. A life of servitude, but a life of security - walking in the footsteps of his parents, two of the most wonderful human beings in the history of the world, unflinching in their loyalty, as he would no doubt be. It didn't scare Owain, really, not on its own, but it piled on top of the confusion and the anxiety and the guilt and made it so much harder to sleep at night.
And then he met Poe, finally, seven days after his arrival, and Poe had been kind and warm and made him feel safe, tall and imposing and twice his age. He roughed up his hair and called him buddy, he gave Owain a highfive as soon as he asked for one - and then he was gone. It had only lasted for a moment, and he'd imagined, over the years, that Poe might not remember even meeting him - but he remembers. He's eighteen now, almost, and he still remembers Poe's smile every time someone mentions his name. He's distorted the memory over every recollection - with so many people around him telling him stories of Poe's bravery, of his kindness, and, of course, of his dashing good looks, it had been hard for him not to turn Poe into a kind of idolized, unattainable figure. A demigod among men. A demigod that owned him.
And a demigod among men who is shorter than him.
Owain's in his best clothes, which for a servant can only consist of a tight white shirt and formal attire. He's startled, at the sight of Poe - he still feels little, in front of him, small and unimportant and barely even anything - but he's been training for this. All those hours in the yard swinging his sword hadn't just been to train for the military. He'd been learning how to steel his confidence, how to do what needed to be done, and right now, what needed to be done was an introduction.
"Hhhhhhhhey," he says, stupidly, immediately clutching at his shirt as he steps through the open doorway. That's not what he was supposed to say - he was supposed to bow, or to fall on one knee, he was supposed to call Poe Lord Dameron and pledge his allegiance. He goes red with nerves, but he clears his throat and tries again.
"Lord-- Dameron."
He rushes it out, looking at Poe for approval for one short, short second, and then he's on one knee.
"Owain," he's tripping over himself to hold one hand out while keeping his eyes respectively trained on the ground. Fuck, wait, handshakes are for men on an equal social standing - he draws his hand back, fast.
"We-- met once before, when I was young? I don't know if you remember me, but I-- I remember you. Very well. I've been waiting for the day to see you again, and - and I'm eighteen. In a few days. So... I'll be..."
He clears his throat.
"... Your property. Officially."
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Whatever he'd been expecting, it wasn't this.
He could recognise him. Almost. See the edges of the child he once knew in the lines of the man before him. (Almost a man. A few days, he'd said.) It seemed almost impossible, with Owain having a good head on him, and more handsome than even his father had been. Had this been just a normal bar, on some lonely world, Poe would have slid right down beside him to chat him up.
A heat rose to his throat that he wasn't sure came from embarrassment or anger or being caught off guard, or all three at once. His hand didn't go to the hilt of his sword, but it twitched like it wanted to.
"No." It came out harsher than he meant it, but he stubbornly grit his teeth. He didn't step back, but he didn't reach for the hand - either when it was extended or when it retreated - his eyes instead locked on Owain's face.
"No. You won't be. I didn't come here, for this, I--" But it was dawning on him, now, exactly what was happening. Because he was worth twice as much, to the military, with his pledged at his side. Two men for the price of one. And to think, he'd almost looked forward to coming home--
His guts twisted, acid in the back of his throat, and he shook his head.
"No. You're your own man, Owain, whatever - whatever anyone else told you. And I refuse to be a part of this."
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Nine years, he'd been told he belonged to Poe.
He'd learned to fight as well as his father, in preparation for this. He'd learned to fight as well as Poe's mother, he suspects, though he has the common sense not to brag. He'd been raised in dedication to the sword, because Poe was military, and so as was his slave. When Poe shuts him down, like a door made of concrete slamming shut, he doesn't flinch away. When Poe says you're your own man, he doesn't feel the sting of rejection, because he just-- doesn't get it. He doesn't understand. He'd spent his whole life waiting to finally meet the man in front of him as an adult. The man who - while shorter than him - still feels like a giant. More so than ever, with that fire in his voice. A giant he's impossibly unworthy of, but a giant he's going to stand beside.
But - nine years.
Nine years without an independent thought. Nine years without even considering the idea that he might want to leave or the thought that Poe might reject him. Lissa and Lon'qu were happy and in love and their lives were perfect, both in his memories and in the stories he's heard. He owes a great debt to this family, and the idea of leaving - the idea of bringing that much shame to the Dameron repuation - why would he want to do that? Poe's reaction is so fucking ludicrous, to him, that he doesn't even register the words for what they are. He just frowns, for a second, but he pushes on, fearing maybe he's not being clear.
"... So, ah--"
He hesitates, and he sinks lower on his knee, hunching his back to show his subservience. He puts his hands on the floor, wondering if that might help. Genuflecting, entirely. Devoted.
"I'm-- an excellent swordsman," he says, and there's confidence in his voice, even as he falters, directs it to the ground, and wonders what the fuck I refuse to be a part of this means. "I've trained my whole life - in preparation of serving you in battle. I can fight by your side, I can take commands you might issue me, I can-- my life is yours to do with as you wish. I can fight, I can die, whatever it is you need. My loyalty begins and ends with... uh. You. Obviously. Like I said."
His hands are shaking, a little, and he has to curl his fingers to keep them tight. This isn't-- this isn't how this was supposed to go. Poe was suppose to be happy, not-- whatever this is.
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day 2.
"I want you to know, Captain Dameron, that I personally was unimpressed with your refusal to commit all of your resources to the war effort," She continued, the word 'resources' very clearly referring to Owain, especially since she gestured vaguely with her quill in his direction. "Between this and your recent recklessness, I was concerned that we would have to demote you. So I'm glad that you finally saw sense."
She looked up, her smile cold and sharp. Poe looked anything but pleased, his fists tight enough behind his back that his knuckles were turning white, and he glared at the wall behind her, still standing at attention. He had not been hoping to find her, here. He's been hoping that General Rais was currently stationed at the palace. He and Holdo had never seen eye to eye.
"My orders, sir?" He asked, his voice sharp, the insubordination apparent in the tone if not in the words. Holdo sighed at him, tilting her head.
"You're on recruitment, for the next week, until the next troop transport leaves for the Omir system. If I'm satisfied with your behaviour, you'll leave on the transport. If you're not, I hear the palace guards could use a new sword instructor. Do I make myself clear?"
"Very clear, sir," he ground out. But it wasn't the worst it could have been. Recruitment mostly involved telling stories and going to rallies, both of which he was fairly good a--
"Good. So - You... Owain, is it? Good to have you on board, finally. I've heard a fair bit about you - your training scores are impressive. You'll have a chance to meet the other Pledges at the ball, tomorrow night - you'll be expected to serve the dinner with them, so I hope your manners are better than your Master's."
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Between all the nerves of finally meeting Poe, the excitement of buying his own clothes and the fear of leaving the House for the first time since before he even had two digits to his age, Owain didn't really have the mental capacity to notice how Poe was making him feel good about himself. Not in a quick, easy gratification sort of way that came from smiling at him or being kind to him - but at a very fundamental level, Poe treating him so much differently to the rest of the world was blooming a very stable warmth behind his ribs.
It had only been a day, but slipping back amongst people who gestured at him as an object made him feel like he was waking up from a dream. Only, you know. Without a hand on his dick.
He keeps his posture straight and relies on his training to see him through this. Feet together, hands by his side to show he's unarmed and to show he's ready to take anything given to him, eyes downcast until he's spoken to. Holdo is intimidating, and he's grateful he's not supposed to look directly at her unless otherwise told, because the second he saw her he stuck close to Poe and wanted to run.
When she addresses him, he's drifting off a bit, thinking about Poe. He starts, raises his hands in shock, quickly puts them back by his side and looks to Poe for permission to speak. He doesn't wait for Poe to give it to him before he answers - partially because he thinks Holdo's authority might override Poe's and he doesn't want to disrespect her. Partially because he's scared Poe will say something stupid like you don't have to ask if you want to say something and end up getting in trouble.
"Yes. Sir. Yes. I can-- yeah. I mean, yes. Obviously. Or-- not obviously," he rushes, somehow both red and pale at once. "Not obviously, because you don't know me, so how would you know what's obvious and what isn't? Just-- yes. Yeah. I can do that. I can do anything. I'll serve... dinner. And have manners. Please. Thank you. Sorry. And-- yes. Owain. I'm Owain. There's a ball? I've always wanted to go to a-- not that that-- matters. Sorry."
He bows his head, eyes shut tight, nails digging into his legs. Fucking-- stupid. Idiot. Fucking stupid, stupid, stupid stupid idiot.
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She looked up, finally, catching Owain in a sharp look. "Do I make myself clear?"
"He doesn't belong to any--" Poe started to interject, a heat rising in his voice, but Holdo raised a finger and glared him down. "Just because you have difficulty with Authority, Captain, does not mean I don't expect obedience from you or your pledge. So you will let him confirm, himself."
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Owain knew it was coming, and there's a brief, panicked second where he spirals. It shows on his face, which might make things worse - might show how inexperienced he is actually dealing with this kind of behavior without Kes's love for him as a safety net beneath it - but he takes a deep breath, resisting the urge to grovel on his knees.
"No, yeah, of course," he says, stuttering more than once. "I didn't-- I mean, yeah. Yes. Yes. Just yes. Confirming. Yes."
He looks to Poe out the corner of his eye, full of fear - is he fucking up too much? Is Holdo going to find a way to pull some strings and separate them? - and then he's back to staring at the floor, as he should be.
"I'm-- very sorry. For-- my behaviour. For not-- for not-- I'm sorry."
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day 3.
Then he climbed back onto the bed with Owain, threading himself into the man's limbs, and threw the blanket over them both.
He was not the first to wake, this time.
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He's cold enough to side further up to Poe under the cloak-blanket, closing his eyes again and burying his nose in his chest. He'd been pushing the line when he first suggested that he and Poe share the bed, rather than insist he stay in the cot or else throw himself to the floor as he'd first intentioned - but he doesn't find he cares so much about lines anymore.
He falls asleep again, but just for a moment, and he moans a little unhappily when he's torn from that sleep haze back to the world of the living. It's nice, though, in a sense - the sunbeams filtering in on Poe, tucked away under the false blanket, small and curled up and perfect. He's fine with just staying here, watching him, listening to the sound of his Poe's steady breathing and the distant birds until he finally can't take it anymore -
Owain tries not to wake Poe up, when he plants that kiss to his forehead. He tries even harder not to wake him up when he whispers something into his hair.
"If I hadn't found you-- if I hadn't been given to you-- I don't know what kind of life I could have lead. It's been-- two days-- three, as of now-- and you've saved so much of me."
He still thinks Poe's asleep, when he kisses down to his nose, then to his lips. Feather touches.
He wishes he was better at fighting the parts of him trained to hate this.
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He leaned in, just a little, to that last kiss - pressing far firmer than the other man had done as he finally opened his eyes.
"... Morning."
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"D'you think we'd get in trouble if we just stayed here all day?"
There's a pause.
"Because, I mean-- you're starting to make me like trouble."
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day 4.
But the daylight faded and they came back, books in hand, and Poe's fucking stunning in the uniform Owain helped him into. Owain had found himself unable to keep his hands away, so he used the excuse of doing up buttons just to feel his broad shoulders and firm chest through his clothes, breathing somewhat unsteadily and just-- just really god damn hard. He dresses himself, for the most part, but he has to get Poe to help him in turn, because he hasn't ever worn such fancy clothes - it's easy, putting things like this on a person, but he can't seem to tie his tie properly from this point of view, and he has to make a note to himself to practice in the future.
The ball itself is beyond stunning, with chandeliers coated with diamonds and lined with bright, open flames that illuminate the room brighter than anywhere Owain's ever been. It hurts his eyes, at first, until he adjusts. Their entrance is awkward and stilted, because Poe is supposed to go in alone and Owain is supposed to come in through the side with the rest of the pledges, but there's an argument that's only settled by Poe being told Owain can enter with him if he stands at his back. They walk in side by side, to looks that are starting to hurt Owain just a little less.
They pass a banquet and Owain follows it, eyes open. He should-- focus on dancing, but--
"Shit, I'm hungry." He doesn't need to stand on his tiptoes to see over Poe, but he does anyway, just to see even more of the fresh meats and fruit lined up for the attendants. "Oh, man. They have ice cream? You ever had that? We should have that."
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He also knows that he's a primary draw, at these events - that in particular, he has a tendency to raise enrolment especially of noble women. It means he knows he has to dance with a lot of them. That's what Holdo had meant by best behaviour. Didn't mean he had to feel good about it.
"I've had it a couple times," he said, turning his attention to the buffet, before gesturing for Owain to follow with a tilt of his chin and heading for it. "Gonna have to stop hogging you to myself and actually take you to mess to eat, sometimes."
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The ice cream is chilled by magic in ornate, golden trays, and Odin takes too many scoops and digs the fuck in. He's slowly dragging his spoon from his mouth when he looks at Poe. Could probably use his tongue on that spoon in a pretty suggestive way, if he wanted the attention and if they weren't in public. Decides not to.
"I kind of prefer it when you keep me to yourself. It's nice, being alone with you."
Still says something suggestive anyway. He offers the ice cream, and a second spoon, to Poe.
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day 4 - morning.
It would be kind of obnoxious, if it wasn't such a huge, huge change from how he acted after Kes. The Owain that pulled back from Poe is dead and gone, at least until he has reason to resurrect again.
They head to Holdo's office and he does a better job at responding to her through sharp, direct answers, primarily because he's too tired to trip over his words - though he stumbles at her quick and obligatory comment about his birthday, which he had forgotten was today. July 15th. She compliments Poe on his behaviour at the ball and assigns him the mission he's been itching for, something he'll pack up and ship out on in a couple of days, and Owain bites back his excitement to see Poe in action, because he knows it's not his place.
He's too awake after the meeting to go back to bed, and given that it's his birthday, Poe offers to take him to the capital and wrap up anything he might want to do before they leave. He's completely fucking overwhelmed by the possibilities - he kind of wants to see a show, but he doesn't even know if they have shows here - and by the time the sun is coming up, Owain's just taking Poe to a grassy hill that overlooks most of the Palace so they can lay down and plan things out.
It's secluded enough that he doesn't feel embarrassed about walking in front of Poe, or about finding his hand and holding it without being invited to.
"Eighteen," he says, back to the grass, leaves rustling from the tree overhead. He pulls Poe's injured hand to his lips and kisses the back of it, on freshly changed bandages. "Old enough to serve. You going to be okay with me fighting at your back? You've never even seen me swing a sword."
Re: day 4 - morning.
He'd forgotten about Owain's birthday, and manages somehow to not go red as a lobster when it's brought up. Thankfully. Even though it does make something dark twist in the pit of his stomach.
He manages to push the feeling away, for the most part - tries to make it up, in some small way, by offering Owain anything he wants, for the day, and follows him to the park, happy to let the man - and he was a man now, he thinks, queasily, where up until now he'd really only been a boy - do as he wished.
"I don't doubt your ability with one," He says, trying to ignore the 'old enough to serve' and only half managing it. "We'll have time for a little training once we're out there - they won't put us on the front line right away anyway. Gotta reintegrate with the unit."
He watched the leaves above him.
Fuck, but he was not going to be able to just let it lie.
"... I owe you an apology."
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He can feel his emotions squirming and turning in on themselves, anxiety starting to build, and he looks to Poe, about to ask for reassurance that nobody in the unit is gonna fuck with him because he's a Pledge, but Poe interrupts him before he gets a chance to open his mouth. He starts, more confused than anything, and he pushes himself up on his hands, wincing when it tugs at the half-healed scab of his own injury.
"What?"
He's frowning, and-- again, this is an improvement, because he just looks stumped rather than scared. He doesn't panic and start wondering what he's done wrong, to make Poe feel like he needs to do this - he's just worried.
"What for?" He looks out over the spires of the buildings up ahead, then turns back. "You've-- been great. To me. You haven't done anything wrong?"
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Day 5.
He's sore, is the first thing he notices, but that thought flees even more quickly than it came, because as soon as he opened his eyes, he met Owain's peaceful sleeping face. There's a slight furrow in Owain's brow, as if he's thinking a little too hard, deeps in dreams, and it's all Poe can do to lie there and watch him sleep for several minutes.
But early morning rays of sun are creeping into the room and pulling Poe awake, and no matter how much he would rather stay in this moment, time still passes. With a quiet breath, he leans in and presses his lips to Owain's forehead. He lingers, stretching time as long as he is able, before he finally pulls away and carefully untangles himself from the cot.
He is a quiet as he possibly can be as he cleans up and gets dressed, but he keeps glancing over to see how the morning light catches Owain's hair, a bittersweet love gripping his heart.
He's not going to be able to do this again, for a long time. Not like this. And he knows it.
When the knock comes, he silently curses them in his mind, the noise far too loud to let Owain continue sleeping. He pads over to the door and exchanges some short, cursory words, and then recieves the packages that the man came to deliver. Shutting the door again, he brought them to the table and began to unwrap the brown paper. Owain's uniform - complete with cape - lay inside, branch new and spotless.
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He sits up, slowly, his bones in an aching kind of pain. His hair is all flat from where it's been pressed into the pillow, sticking up in weird strands on the other side, but he still blearily looks at Poe's back and smiles as he only half listens to the whitenoise of conversation. A far cry from how he should act, as a Pledge. Anyone else would be ashamed their masters woke up before them. More so, that they then let them sleep when a delivery was expected.
Owain yawns and flops back onto the cot as Poe unravels his uniform, stretching his legs, his knee popping with a satisfying click. He lets himself stretch out a bit, unable to do so last night, and watches the ceiling until his mind kicks into gear. He rolls out of bed soon enough, still just super god damn naked as he slides up to Poe and wraps his arms around his waist. There's a quick kiss to his neck, and then an excited shout as he pulls back and slams his hands on the able, all his sleepiness just-- dead and gone.
"Uniform! Uniform! Shit!!!" He goes straight for the cape, sort of laugh-screaming despite the scratchiness of his morning voice. He fastens it around his neck and does a bit of a spin, then goes straight for the boots, hopping on one leg as he tries to put one on. Still naked.
There he stands, one-booted and caped the fuck up, beaming at Poe. Doesn't even think that this is kind of disrespectful.
"Good? Good so far?" He does a twirl, stumbling a bit. "Oh man. I'm going to be the best. You're going to love fighting with me."
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He was not expecting the shout, and starts a bit, getting out of the way as Owain joyously began to grab at the uniform and the boots, and can't help but stand and watch, a smile plastered on his face and a laugh caught in the back of his throat.
It is utterly disrespectful, and... therefore kind of hot. Woops.
"Yeah, not bad. Though you may want something to protect your softer bits," he teased, fighting the smile and losing, as he stepped over to slide his hands onto Owain's hips.
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500 :D :D :D :D
wE'RE 1/10TH OF THE WAY TO MY FIRST GOAL
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dont look at it
shh shh shhhh... puts fingers 2 lips and fades into the sahdows
Paralogue 1: Kiron and Reeve
Kiron had been getting more aquatinted to Reeve's moods - had begun to anticipate exactly when he would tell Kiron to come to his bed and strip for him. Sometimes Reeve sent him back to the tent, first - told him to be ready and waiting for him by the time that Reeve arrived.
Tonight was different.
Reeve had snapped at him to go to the tent, but had given no instruction. He was in a worse mood than Kiron had ever seen him, which meant that Kiron had not yet begun to figure out a strategy for dealing with it. Without instruction, he wasn't sure what to do with himself, and eventually decided to sit on the end of the cot - still clothed - and wait until his master appeared.
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Reeve loved the guy more than anyone, but as far as soldiers go, he's too fucking rash. They'd been on a reconnaissance mission and Poe had found an opportunity to strike at the enemy and take them out; a rare opportunity, a difficult choice to make. Failure would have set them back months, reset the trail routes they'd been tracking should the enemy realize Poe's squadron knew the location of their scouts. But Poe didn't fail. He and his companions delivered a decisive blow to the enemy and ended up with a far larger prize than they had bargained for.
But Reeve had been punished. He should have done better by him, Holdo said. It was too risky a move, and Reeve should have stopped him. The criticism turns into an argument and the argument turns into a fight- Reeve is given three days suspension. Three days alone with Kiron.
He's back home, after taking a drink to cool his head, a scotch that doesn't sit right. He's wearing boots and they crunch almost threateningly as he walks slowly back to the tent. Once inside, he looks at Kiron with what first seems to be apathy but quickly morphs into a sour distaste.
"What made you think just sitting on your cot was what I wanted?" He's wearing gloves, black and hardened leather, and he snaps them to his wrists. "I've told you time and time again to be ready when I arrive. What am I supposed to do with you now?"
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"I am very sorry, Master," He whispered, barely above a breath, his head bowed. His fingers worked a little nervously as they reached for the buttons of his shirt - pausing before he actually did anything with them.
"Should I... do you wish me to undress, Master, or..." It wasn't often that Kiron couldn't anticipate exactly what Reeve wanted, but he'd never seen him in this bad a mood, before. There was a good chance Reeve might simply wish to beat him, instead, which - of course - Kiron would take willingly, if it meant he might ease some of his Master's frustration. A very real flush was starting to glow under his skin, purely from the anxiety of not knowing what he should be expecting.
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