"Not that you're--" But he follows Owain's gaze, and grits his teeth a little. Even out of earshot, it was enough to make the situation uncomfortable. His voice dropped a little lower.
"You aren't doing anyone a disservice. Or dishonouring their memory. I merely --" The person across the room aimlessly moved in their direction, and Poe sighed, giving Owain the clothes. "Go put these on - they'll make sure they fit properly. We can discuss this later."
He tucks the rest of the clothes under his arm with a kind of practiced steadiness, earned from spending hours alone in a room being taught how to fold and carry clothes from the laundry to the bedroom without being seen. He nods and gets to his feet, giving an awkward sort of half-dip of his head, not sure what level of respect he's supposed to be showing Poe right now.
"Sorry. Yes, sir. I'll be back soon."
He ducks into the changing room and it takes a little too long for him to decide what he wants to wear, but he's happy with what he picks out. The sweater from before and some dark grey pants that are a little too thin and hug far too close to his ass, but he loves them because he feels like he could run in them as far and as fast as he wanted to. He doesn't have any new shoes yet, but the ones he was wearing before now are a part of his uniform, and he doesn't want any part of that touching this. He's barefoot and it sucks because the floor is cold, so he keeps kinda stepping from one foot to the other, but--
But he's beaming, stupidity aside. He's sheepish, at first, when he pokes his head out of the curtain to find Poe, but there's an undeniable pride and joy written all over him. He's got clothes. His. He picked them. Poe helped.
Poe was never particularly good at sitting still, at the best of times. And without something to put his focus on, he spent the time going over their brief conversation in his head, trying to figure out how to approach it. Owain was starting to hear him, he thought, starting to get it -- But one night wasn't going to undo a life time's teachings. There was hope, though. There was hope.
There was something on his lips, ready to be spoken, as Owain stepped out - and it fluttered away on silent wings as soon as he actually saw the man.
Oh.
Oh, that was a problem.
He swallowed and forced a smile to his lips, warming quickly and hoping it didn't show on his face. "Not bad at all. Not bad at all. Fits alright?"
He turns in place so Poe can judge him, and yeah, son, he may as well be wearing fucking leggings, with so much of him being shown off without his notice. He tugs on the sweater again and catches himself in the mirror, frowning as he turns his head to the side an examines his chin, squeezing his jaw the same way Poe did back in the barracks. He thinks he cleans up okay. Maybe not as good as Poe, but enough.
He scratches at his scalp and porcupines his hair accidentally, taking out a long breath. There are - a thousand, a million words, right on the tip of his tongue, but he just walks over and, again, tugs on Poe's sleeve. Closest thing to a hug he's got in him, still.
"Thanks," he mumbles, then shakes his head. "I mean - thank you."
The heat was only growing, eyes drawn downwards quite of their own volition, before he snapped them back up to Owain's face.
Gods. He needed a break. But it would probably be a hard thing, to slip away to a brothel, if even a pub was considered scandalous. Just - put it aside, Poe, forget about it for now.
When Owain tugged on his sleeve, the smile that Poe gave him was broad and warm and honest, and he reached out to squeeze Owain's elbow in return.
"You're welcome."
Payment was not an issue - even just flashing his crest was enough. The tab would go to his personal accounts. They picked up two more outfits, for Owain, at another shop, and a decent pair of boots that looked well with the clothes but would also be good for hiking. As they left the last shop, however, the sun was well and truly gone, the night an inky blackness perforated by the dim and distant stars. The streets were lit by low oil lamps, and that was enough to find their way back to the palace, and ultimately, their rooms. The room itself had two lamps, as well, though Poe only lit one as they entered. He had been in the middle of giving Owain a very brief run down of the members of his squadron - none of whom where here, of course, but would inevitably be part of Owain's life.
"-- and L'ulo is from the third planet of the Maresh system - he has green skin. You won't miss him. He's a good man and served with my mother, at one time." He blew out the match as the lamp lit, filling the room with a low, golden glow.
"Don't worry about packing. Once I have my orders in the morning, we'll know what to expect."
Owain always found something poetic in darkness, but again, there's a paranoia about being away from the house that he hasn't yet managed to quell. He spends most of the walk back walking closer and closer to Poe, until their arms are touching and Owain can lean into him every time something makes him nervous.
But already, he's starting to feel as comfortable in this new room as he did in Lissa's house, way back when he was allowed to live there. He wonders, sometimes, whatever happened to it.
"L'ulo, okay. Got it." He's been listening to Poe with that same unwavering attention that's been trained into him since he was young, but there's - something there, under the surface of it, something that shows genuine interest even beyond Poe's role in his life. He's never been introduced to so many new faces at once before - even as a kid, the servants to the Dameron household trickled in and out over the years. There is a small, buried part of him that hopes they'll be as kind to him as Poe has been, but there is such a larger part that's certain they won't be.
He sits on the edge of the bed, but now that Poe's promised to share it with him, he's not trying to make himself as small as possible. He feels okay, now.
"What do you expect we'll expect? Think they'll be like, "yo, Dameron! It's time for war!" and ship us out?" He grins, at ease, the clothes he's still wearing having given him a fucking huge boost to his self esteem. "I might turn eighteen in the middle of a really badass fight. That'd be rad."
"I suspect they'll want me to stay for at least a few days - they tend to use the us for rectuitment, when we're in the Capitol. Or balls. Or both. But I'm hoping they would be willing to ship us out soon."
Owain's boosted ego and informal speech made it far easier for Poe to do the same, even though he has started stripping, again, as soon as they got in. But he started with his boots, this time.
"They'll have to officially commission you, as well. So it'll be a few days. So enjoy the comfort while you can," he added ruefully, nodding at the bed before he sat down on it beside Owain, working on tugging his boot off."
If that was a joke, it's one that completely goes over Owain's head, because fuck, he would love to go to a ball. He doesn't say that, even though it's written all over his face, because it's not his position - in his head it's something out of a fairytale, with elegant clothes and people falling in love, a far cry from what a military ball might actually be.
He's smiling, when he thinks about officially registering as a part of this, a part of Poe's life. He's still smiling, still light, when he puts a hand on Poe's wrist, stilling his arm.
"Can I... uh."
He nods to Poe's shoes. It's his job, after all, to do everything for Poe, even if Poe might not agree with that. Undressing him is a part of it, and he didn't think to do so before, too wrapped up in nerves about everything going on. Unbecoming behaviour for a servant.
Poe stills, looking confused by the question, that same damn heat returning under his skin. It takes a few seconds for him to realise the question isn't a- a come on, but specifically a job requirement, and that just makes him feel stupider.
He's about to say no, point plank, but Owain's cheerful demeanour makes that hard. So he just frowns, their earlier conversation returning to his mind.
"That's-- I-- alright, yes, but-- this doesn't have to be... You don't have to wait on me, you know?"
"I've spent ten years being told to wait on you, Captain," he says, getting on his knees in front of the bed, looking up at Poe from between his legs, unreasonable in his innocence. "I just want to do what I know I'm best at. This doesn't have to mean anything more than that."
His hand finds Poe's shoe and he takes it off carefully, slowly, like Poe is a fragile, beautiful thing made of glass. He does the same with the second, carefully lining both boots together under the bed at a perfect distance. He unfastens Poe's cape and helps him remove his outer layers, folding everything neatly on the bed beside him, either in silence or while asking cheerful, pleasant questions about the rest of Poe's squadmates.
He's back on his knees when it's time for Poe's shirt to come off, and again, he treats the man like glass. He starts at the bottom, Poe sitting over the edge of the mattress, and he lingers as he untucks his shirt from his belt. He undoes the lowest button, and then the button above that, taking his time, getting this right.
He pauses, suddenly, looking up.
"How do you normally sleep?" Owain asks, fingertips on bare skin and belt buckle.
It was far from innocent. Or at least it felt far from innocent, despite the light conversation about squad mates. But by the time Owain's fingers are on his belt, alarm bells were going off in Poe's head. The last thing he needed was for Owain to get Poe's pants down, so squirms a bit and grabs for his own belt, pulling it off but leaving his pants on.
"This is fine," he reassured Owain, "I'm good, I sleep like this." It was an obvious lie, and he let out a hard breath before giving a sheepish look.
"You don't-- have to do-- its fine. I'm fine. Thank you, Owain."
He knows Poe's lying, but he doesn't know why. This is just, again, how things happened - it doesn't even cross his mind that Poe might be uncomfortable. He very carefully pulls is hands back and settles them on his own knees, resting on the floor for a second while he figures what he's supposed to do next. He would ask Poe for direction, but that doesn't seem the right way to handle things.
"Okay. Sorry. I'll sleep the same way, then?"
He kicks off his boots, quietly, heading over to the pile of clothes they brought home with them and fishing in the pocket of his uniform for Lissa's ring, which he slips onto his right ring finger. It's not fancy, no signet or house or sign of nobility like Shara's must be - just metal and thick, made by Lon'Qu, made for purpose, probably far too big on Lissa's finger but perfect on a man's.
He hovers at the side of the bed, for a second, wondering if he could just-- slide in-- but he hesitates.
"Yeah, yeah of course." The response is automatic, even if Poe isn't quite able to look at him, his shirt half way open and his trousers too tight, a deep shame hitting him quite suddenly and very forcefully. He swallowed it down, but it took him several seconds to regain some kind of composure.
Great. Fucking great.
Not only had he ended up with a pledge, he was no better than the Masters who essentially kept them as glorified prostitues. His own body was betraying him and everything he stood for and he felt ill.
No. Calm down, Dameron. This is not the same. You have will power, so fucking use it. Desires are not intentions, nor actions. And as long as they never became them, then you are fine.
His own ring was actually very simple in itself - but it lay just behind the medallion crest that rested on his chest, beneath the last few buttons of his shirt. His body was slowly calming down, so he took that as an opportunity to pull the sheets back and slide in.
It takes a few minutes for Owain to actually get the nerve to slide in next to Poe, which he plays off - pretty unsuccessfully - by fidgeting with his sweater like he's trying to decide if he should leave it on or off. He leaves it on, and he tucks himself into bed, and for Poe, he must smell like home. He's always used the same soap Poe grew up around that he probably hasn't used for years, the same shampoo, everything - it won't be long before that's all gone, replaced by the same scents Poe wears now, but here in the lamp lit darkness and the confines of the sheets, it must be all too familiar.
He rolls on his side with his back to Poe, once under the covers, so he doesn't take up much space. Poe gets the pillow, of course - Owain didn't think to take one for himself from the cot, so he's just laying his head on his arm and looking out ahead of him. He can feel his heart race with every shift in the sheets from behind him, and against all his best judgment, he rolls over after a few minutes to get a look at Poe.
It strikes him, how handsome his master is, here in the faint orange glow of the night. The oil flickers occasionally and casts a warm shadow over Poe that makes Owain's throat dry, for some reason, and he finds if he were allowed, he would just... watch him, for a while, even as he slept. He wants to see what Poe looks like, completely at peace with the world. He might not ever see that, but seeing him relaxed in bed might come close.
"Are you feeling any better about me being here?" It's a tough question to ask, after Poe lied to him, but it's pressing on his mind and he needs to know. "I know you don't want this, but - have I been okay? I'm not - getting in the way or anything? For the most part? Or -"
He frowns, trying to figure out how to phrase the actual question he wants to ask.
Poe had his back turned, when Owain slipped into bed, so he didn't see that he was still wearing the sweater. Instead he had his eyes closed, trying to go over sword forms in his head, and get his body to go the rest of the way to calming down. He'd finally managed it, even though he was hyper aware of any and all movement behind him. So he was already expecting the voice, as soon as he felt Owain turn over.
He sighed, very quietly, before turning over, too, to face him.
"It's not-- about you. You know that, right?" He asked, his voice a low murmur. "You shouldn't have to be here, but that's not your fault. And I mean- we only just met properly, as adults, but yeah, I enjoy your company a lo-- Owain, you're going to overheat in that," he interrupted himself to point out. Almost without thinking he shuffled closer, reaching out to pull at the hem of Owain's sweater as if about to tug it off.
"Just because I'm an awkward dumbass doesn't mean you should spend the whole night sweating--"
He really, really wants to be here. With Poe. He can't hide the guilt that hits him every time Poe says things like you shouldn't have to be here, but it always, always threatens to drown him. He's said too many times, to the man who doesn't want him like this, that staying by his side is all that really matters. He lowers his head and he listens, and he struggles to think of a way to express himself, but then Poe's interrupting him and tugging at his sweater.
His stomach jumps when Poe brushes his skin. He breathes hard through his nose, feeling electricity shoot through him, and he does his best to put that feeling aside.
"You aren't-- an awkward-- Captain," he says, and there's a hint of admonishment that he immediately goes red over. Improper tone of voice for a pledge.
"Deal for a deal?" He rests his hand on Poe's, hitting him with a very firm if very cautious look. He's still not sure how this deal for a deal equality thing woks, but it's the only way he can allow himself to let Poe do things he shouldn't do.
"I'll take it off if you take that back. About being an-- awkward-- just, you said you wouldn't say that kind of thing about yourself. Remember?"
"It was just an expression, Owain. But yeah, yeah, I take it back." The other option would be explain why he felt that way, but that was a terrible, terrible idea.
He stopped tugging at the sweater, though the flutter of muscle under his fingers had been extremely satisfying. Satisfying, and then sickening.
"I'm just saying - you don't have to- try to accommodate your comfort for mine, alright?"
"It was a bad expression." He's quiet. Sulking, maybe. But Poe took it back, and that's good enough for him, so he lets it go. "And I don't-- I just want you to be happy. I'm at my happiest when you're at yours. I'm comfortable when you're comfortable."
He sits up, looming over Poe, crossing his arms over each other as he grabs the bottom of his sweater and pulls it off in one steady motion. Bare like this, he looks strong, to an extent - he has to be, given he was raised primarily for combat - but there are no scars on him, no marks, no signs of real battle, just perfectly soft skin about to be ruined by war in Poe's name. He's slim and lithe with perfectly cut muscles, and he was so, so clearly put on a diet that values aesthetic even over survivability - he's beautiful, masculine but boyish, athletic but so clearly only eighteen.
He gets out of bed for a second, and without a shirt, the tightness of his pants seems even more revealing. Low around his hips, the V of his adonis belt showing, the tiniest glimpse of his black underwear peaking out from over his waistband. He folds the sweater and puts it away, and then he's back between the sheets and shuffling closer to Poe.
He wants to say something about how Owain's happiness shouldn't be dependent on his, but then he's stripping and Poe's heart falters. He only watched for a second before he raises a hand to his face, rubbing deeply at his eyes.
Owain was, in short, utterly beautiful.
But it only cemented in Poe's mind that he was absolutely out of bounds. One hundred percent. Far too young, but more importantly, far too easy. He had no doubt that Owain would go along with whatever he asked, so he resolved never to ask it. So he kept his eyes diverted, turning onto his side again as Owain slipped back into the sheets.
"I'll be fine. We'll figure it out. But for now we should get some rest- going to be a long day, tomorrow, I think..."
This has nothing to do with him. That's what he's been told. Poe hates the system, not the Pledge. Even if he doesn't understand Poe - even if he doesn't understand Poe's morals - it's been made clear, at least, that he's not the part of this he hates. There's an ache in Owain's chest if he thinks about it too hard... all the promises he'd been relying on, all the words Kes had spun for him, that Poe would be wholly on his side, happy just to know him - all of it, dashed. But it's a manageable pain, so it's okay, he can do this. As long as Poe doesn't send him away, he can do this.
It's a restless night. Owain's a light sleeper, and whenever a soldier laughs or passes by their room, he opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, confused and afraid and not sure of where he is. It always steadies, but his anxiety gets the better of him more than once - fragments of the night fall away to Owain staring up at the ceiling in silence, listening to Poe's deep breaths and waiting to calm down. The lamp flickers low and fades away, and his eyes adjust to the darkness, and he shifts closer and closer to Poe, trying to find comfort.
Poe wakes up before he does, come morning, and Owain'll be pressed to his side, hard against his leg, completely unconscious. His chin is right on Poe's shoulder, mouth just slightly open, brows pinched like he's focused on whatever it is he's dreaming about. There's a shallow grind of his length right up against Poe's thigh, every so often.
Owain talks in his sleep.
When he says Captain, the image in his dream making him whimper, it's low and it's desperate and it's wanting.
Poe is groggy, when he wakes, not totally there. His sleep had not been uninterrupted, though he hadn't moved a muscle the few times it had happened, not wanting to disturb Owain. At some point, between the last time he had woken up and the morning, he had pressed himself fully up into Owain's body, a foot slipped between Owain's legs behind him.
He blinked a few times, blearily, as he woke, but then Owain moves, a low desperate word on his lips and Poe freezes utterly. He's terrified, for a split second, that Owain is awake and figured it out - wants to make Poe happy. But a few seconds pass and Poe realises that the man is dreaming. He relaxes, but not by much- his heart pounding and his cock absolutely rock hard, straining against his trousers, and his balls aching. He shifts very, very slowly, slipping a hand down to his own groin, pressing at the straining erection as if that would make it go away. Instead, of course, all it does is shoot a throb of need through him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
It would have been easy, if he'd been by himself. He would have quickly pulled out his own cock and stroked himself to orgasm just to take the edge off. But he couldn't, here, not with Owain grinding against him in his sleep and making the word Captain unfairly and unbelievably erotic. He clamped down his teeth and tried, very slowly, to slide himself off the bed. He just needed to get to the toilets, then he would be fine.
He squeezes his arm tight around Poe's waist, letting out a whiny, irritated moan when he tries to pull away. His eyelids twitch almost like he's about to wake up, but he doesn't - instead, in his sleep, he presses his whole body against Poe, anchoring him back to the bed, not letting him move.
He'd never act like this, if he were awake. If Poe had asked him to move because he was in the way, he would have bowed his head, rushed out an apology and hidden from sight for the next three days. Here, though, so locked in disconnected, unconscious thoughts of him and Poe, he's stuck and he's here and unless he's woken up, he's not letting his master leave.
For a second, he slackens against Poe almost enough for him to pry himself away if he attempts to do so again, but in the haze of being asleep and having a warm body tight against him, Owain locks his legs down on that foot slipped between them. He's starting to pant, suddenly, whatever happening in his dream getting stronger, hotter, more intense. His bare chest rising and falling faster and faster, his body twitching and jolting erratically in response to phantom hands touching him in ways only he can see.
A few seconds pass, and then he's fucking against Poe's leg, faster than before, as fast as his tired and unconscious body will allow. Each roll of his hips leaves a dark wet spot of precum on his thin pants, and Poe must be able to feel that, every time the constrained head of Owain's cock presses hard against him.
Poe was not an inexperienced individual. Though he generally tried to keep his dalliances discreet - he certainly had them.
And yet, for some reason, Owain possessively gripping him in his sleep and then rutting against his thigh was one of the most erotic things that had ever happened to him. He thought maybe it was the massive amount of guilt, that made it worse, but he was not self aware enough to realise what it was that actually was arousing him beyond any measure he'd taken to that date.
It was the demanding way Owain's arm tightens around him. Not a plea, or a request, but holding fast. Taking what he wanted.
No one had ever treated Poe like that before. Even in the hazy dim rooms of an off-world brothel where he'd asked to be treated as far less than he was. It had always been a game. This wasn't. Owain might be asleep, but the desire? That was honest.
Poe groaned, lowly, unable to try to pull himself away. He knew he should be waking Owain up. Right now. Right this god damned second. But he couldn't bring himself to move, his heart seizing up in his chest and his cock leaking despite the fact that he wasn't touching it.
This was hell? This was hell. This was a brand new fucking hell.
Captain, please.
Poe shut his eyes tight but couldn't help the moan that slipped from his lips.
The problem was, that Poe was not a man of restraint. He never had been. Restraint was something that he recognised and usually completely avoided just by doing something else instead. Diversion, rather than inaction. He was not used to trying to not do things.
So even knowing full well that what he was doing was wrong, he was already justifying taking action about it. It was fine, if it was just Owain. He'd just - help him - then peel off before the man even fully woke up. He wasn't even half way through the thought before he was snaking a hand behind him, palm sliding down the front of Owain's thin pants before gripping the firm length beneath it. Knew, in exactly the same instant, that this was definitely the opposite of what he should be doing, as he started to grind his hand firmly against Owain's groin.
Owain's breathing is staggered and his whole body is trembling like he's been in a blizzard. He hasn't shot a load for weeks - months, maybe - because... there was a part of him, a small, buried, shameful part of him, that had hoped Poe would just fucking use him the first night that they met. Tear him apart, pull him to pieces, maybe ask to be torn apart and claimed instead, begging to get his ass filled by a slave. Owain is... beyond pent up, after saving this up for so long, hoping that if it happened it would fucking kill him.
He's getting what he wanted, if only in his dream.
Poe's got him tied to the bed, one of Owain's legs hooked over his owner's shoulder, the other apart on the bed to give him access. Poe's fucking him raw, his whole body rolling with a rhythm like a wave, stretching Odin open with each thrust. His own cock just fucking leaks as he looks up from the bed, up into Poe's eyes, up into Poe's fucking smile. He's telling Owain he's a good boy, whispering what a good job he's doing, telling him how proud he is to see him like this, well-fucked and willing and "horny like the slut he is", that's what Poe says, that's what Poe says to him. He's fucking ruined, already, and in his dream, Owain's allowed to say what he wants.
"Harder," he whispers, his voice rumbling out of him against the real Poe's ear, words spoken just as much to his real master as the fake one in his dream. "Hhharder... fuck, please, fuck me, fuck me, Captain, Captain, call me a good boy, tell me I'm good, you're gonna-- you're gonna make me fucking cum, fuck--"
He bucks hard against Poe's hand now that it's touching him, shivering hard until his whole body tenses and coils and heats up. It only takes a few seconds, and then--
And then he's done. Barely a few seconds after Poe's hand touches him, barely a second after Owain begs for it, he's flooding his pants with cum, pressing so, so hard into that palm that he's pushing Poe's arm deep into the mattress, trapping him against it while he blows. His mouth is torn open in a silent moan - a silent scream, maybe - and he thrusts erratically against him with a pleasure he's never fucking known in his entire god damn life.
It goes on for a full two minutes, maybe even more. Even after he's done shooting, making a warm, sticky mess right in Poe's palm, he's grinding against everything he can, unconscious and unrestrained. He goes completely, completely limp after far too long, falling onto his side of the bed with a grunt.
It's only when it's all over that he slowly, slowly starts to wake up.
By the time Owain wakes up, Poe is gone. As if someone had taken flame to fuse, he's out of he bed in seconds, shaking. They hadn't filled the water bowl the night before so he fled the room, instead, filthy hand clenched against his chest, the heat and the shame so intense that he walked far faster than he normally would have. The officer's toilets, at least, were more private than the enlisted ones - and even had the novelty of some running water, though it was not hot. He slammed and locked the door behind him, running the water. But he didn't put his hands in. Instead, he pulled loose his trousers, his cock almost impossibly hard, braced his clean hand against the wall, and with Owain's cum still coating his fingers, stroked himself quickly to an impossibly hard orgasm. It didn't take long. Maybe thirty seconds, at most, just a few strokes, and he was panting, hard, coming into the basin as his entire body shook with it.
It made him very fucking dizzy, so he leaned his head against the cold glass of the mirror and tried to catch his breath.
He hadn't known it was possible to feel so good, and so fucking sick in the same moment.
He resisted the urge to vomit, and just stood, shaking, for a good long moment as the intensity subsided. He wasn't going to be able to forget that voice, now, but it--
He had been able to deal with it, until that voice. Until Owain begged him to call him a good boy. After that, there was nothing but shame, even as he came. A horrified, self loathing shame.
It took him a few minutes to put himself together, to get his heart rate back down. But finally he padded back to their room - in bare feet - a mere ten minutes after he had left it.
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"You aren't doing anyone a disservice. Or dishonouring their memory. I merely --" The person across the room aimlessly moved in their direction, and Poe sighed, giving Owain the clothes. "Go put these on - they'll make sure they fit properly. We can discuss this later."
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"Sorry. Yes, sir. I'll be back soon."
He ducks into the changing room and it takes a little too long for him to decide what he wants to wear, but he's happy with what he picks out. The sweater from before and some dark grey pants that are a little too thin and hug far too close to his ass, but he loves them because he feels like he could run in them as far and as fast as he wanted to. He doesn't have any new shoes yet, but the ones he was wearing before now are a part of his uniform, and he doesn't want any part of that touching this. He's barefoot and it sucks because the floor is cold, so he keeps kinda stepping from one foot to the other, but--
But he's beaming, stupidity aside. He's sheepish, at first, when he pokes his head out of the curtain to find Poe, but there's an undeniable pride and joy written all over him. He's got clothes. His. He picked them. Poe helped.
He's like a person, almost.
no subject
There was something on his lips, ready to be spoken, as Owain stepped out - and it fluttered away on silent wings as soon as he actually saw the man.
Oh.
Oh, that was a problem.
He swallowed and forced a smile to his lips, warming quickly and hoping it didn't show on his face. "Not bad at all. Not bad at all. Fits alright?"
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He turns in place so Poe can judge him, and yeah, son, he may as well be wearing fucking leggings, with so much of him being shown off without his notice. He tugs on the sweater again and catches himself in the mirror, frowning as he turns his head to the side an examines his chin, squeezing his jaw the same way Poe did back in the barracks. He thinks he cleans up okay. Maybe not as good as Poe, but enough.
He scratches at his scalp and porcupines his hair accidentally, taking out a long breath. There are - a thousand, a million words, right on the tip of his tongue, but he just walks over and, again, tugs on Poe's sleeve. Closest thing to a hug he's got in him, still.
"Thanks," he mumbles, then shakes his head. "I mean - thank you."
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Gods. He needed a break. But it would probably be a hard thing, to slip away to a brothel, if even a pub was considered scandalous. Just - put it aside, Poe, forget about it for now.
When Owain tugged on his sleeve, the smile that Poe gave him was broad and warm and honest, and he reached out to squeeze Owain's elbow in return.
"You're welcome."
Payment was not an issue - even just flashing his crest was enough. The tab would go to his personal accounts. They picked up two more outfits, for Owain, at another shop, and a decent pair of boots that looked well with the clothes but would also be good for hiking. As they left the last shop, however, the sun was well and truly gone, the night an inky blackness perforated by the dim and distant stars. The streets were lit by low oil lamps, and that was enough to find their way back to the palace, and ultimately, their rooms. The room itself had two lamps, as well, though Poe only lit one as they entered. He had been in the middle of giving Owain a very brief run down of the members of his squadron - none of whom where here, of course, but would inevitably be part of Owain's life.
"-- and L'ulo is from the third planet of the Maresh system - he has green skin. You won't miss him. He's a good man and served with my mother, at one time." He blew out the match as the lamp lit, filling the room with a low, golden glow.
"Don't worry about packing. Once I have my orders in the morning, we'll know what to expect."
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But already, he's starting to feel as comfortable in this new room as he did in Lissa's house, way back when he was allowed to live there. He wonders, sometimes, whatever happened to it.
"L'ulo, okay. Got it." He's been listening to Poe with that same unwavering attention that's been trained into him since he was young, but there's - something there, under the surface of it, something that shows genuine interest even beyond Poe's role in his life. He's never been introduced to so many new faces at once before - even as a kid, the servants to the Dameron household trickled in and out over the years. There is a small, buried part of him that hopes they'll be as kind to him as Poe has been, but there is such a larger part that's certain they won't be.
He sits on the edge of the bed, but now that Poe's promised to share it with him, he's not trying to make himself as small as possible. He feels okay, now.
"What do you expect we'll expect? Think they'll be like, "yo, Dameron! It's time for war!" and ship us out?" He grins, at ease, the clothes he's still wearing having given him a fucking huge boost to his self esteem. "I might turn eighteen in the middle of a really badass fight. That'd be rad."
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"I suspect they'll want me to stay for at least a few days - they tend to use the us for rectuitment, when we're in the Capitol. Or balls. Or both. But I'm hoping they would be willing to ship us out soon."
Owain's boosted ego and informal speech made it far easier for Poe to do the same, even though he has started stripping, again, as soon as they got in. But he started with his boots, this time.
"They'll have to officially commission you, as well. So it'll be a few days. So enjoy the comfort while you can," he added ruefully, nodding at the bed before he sat down on it beside Owain, working on tugging his boot off."
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If that was a joke, it's one that completely goes over Owain's head, because fuck, he would love to go to a ball. He doesn't say that, even though it's written all over his face, because it's not his position - in his head it's something out of a fairytale, with elegant clothes and people falling in love, a far cry from what a military ball might actually be.
He's smiling, when he thinks about officially registering as a part of this, a part of Poe's life. He's still smiling, still light, when he puts a hand on Poe's wrist, stilling his arm.
"Can I... uh."
He nods to Poe's shoes. It's his job, after all, to do everything for Poe, even if Poe might not agree with that. Undressing him is a part of it, and he didn't think to do so before, too wrapped up in nerves about everything going on. Unbecoming behaviour for a servant.
"Can I undress you?
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Poe stills, looking confused by the question, that same damn heat returning under his skin. It takes a few seconds for him to realise the question isn't a- a come on, but specifically a job requirement, and that just makes him feel stupider.
He's about to say no, point plank, but Owain's cheerful demeanour makes that hard. So he just frowns, their earlier conversation returning to his mind.
"That's-- I-- alright, yes, but-- this doesn't have to be... You don't have to wait on me, you know?"
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His hand finds Poe's shoe and he takes it off carefully, slowly, like Poe is a fragile, beautiful thing made of glass. He does the same with the second, carefully lining both boots together under the bed at a perfect distance. He unfastens Poe's cape and helps him remove his outer layers, folding everything neatly on the bed beside him, either in silence or while asking cheerful, pleasant questions about the rest of Poe's squadmates.
He's back on his knees when it's time for Poe's shirt to come off, and again, he treats the man like glass. He starts at the bottom, Poe sitting over the edge of the mattress, and he lingers as he untucks his shirt from his belt. He undoes the lowest button, and then the button above that, taking his time, getting this right.
He pauses, suddenly, looking up.
"How do you normally sleep?" Owain asks, fingertips on bare skin and belt buckle.
"Another set of clothes, or just...?"
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It was far from innocent. Or at least it felt far from innocent, despite the light conversation about squad mates. But by the time Owain's fingers are on his belt, alarm bells were going off in Poe's head. The last thing he needed was for Owain to get Poe's pants down, so squirms a bit and grabs for his own belt, pulling it off but leaving his pants on.
"This is fine," he reassured Owain, "I'm good, I sleep like this." It was an obvious lie, and he let out a hard breath before giving a sheepish look.
"You don't-- have to do-- its fine. I'm fine. Thank you, Owain."
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He knows Poe's lying, but he doesn't know why. This is just, again, how things happened - it doesn't even cross his mind that Poe might be uncomfortable. He very carefully pulls is hands back and settles them on his own knees, resting on the floor for a second while he figures what he's supposed to do next. He would ask Poe for direction, but that doesn't seem the right way to handle things.
"Okay. Sorry. I'll sleep the same way, then?"
He kicks off his boots, quietly, heading over to the pile of clothes they brought home with them and fishing in the pocket of his uniform for Lissa's ring, which he slips onto his right ring finger. It's not fancy, no signet or house or sign of nobility like Shara's must be - just metal and thick, made by Lon'Qu, made for purpose, probably far too big on Lissa's finger but perfect on a man's.
He hovers at the side of the bed, for a second, wondering if he could just-- slide in-- but he hesitates.
"Can I still come to bed?"
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Great. Fucking great.
Not only had he ended up with a pledge, he was no better than the Masters who essentially kept them as glorified prostitues. His own body was betraying him and everything he stood for and he felt ill.
No. Calm down, Dameron. This is not the same. You have will power, so fucking use it. Desires are not intentions, nor actions. And as long as they never became them, then you are fine.
His own ring was actually very simple in itself - but it lay just behind the medallion crest that rested on his chest, beneath the last few buttons of his shirt. His body was slowly calming down, so he took that as an opportunity to pull the sheets back and slide in.
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He rolls on his side with his back to Poe, once under the covers, so he doesn't take up much space. Poe gets the pillow, of course - Owain didn't think to take one for himself from the cot, so he's just laying his head on his arm and looking out ahead of him. He can feel his heart race with every shift in the sheets from behind him, and against all his best judgment, he rolls over after a few minutes to get a look at Poe.
It strikes him, how handsome his master is, here in the faint orange glow of the night. The oil flickers occasionally and casts a warm shadow over Poe that makes Owain's throat dry, for some reason, and he finds if he were allowed, he would just... watch him, for a while, even as he slept. He wants to see what Poe looks like, completely at peace with the world. He might not ever see that, but seeing him relaxed in bed might come close.
"Are you feeling any better about me being here?" It's a tough question to ask, after Poe lied to him, but it's pressing on his mind and he needs to know. "I know you don't want this, but - have I been okay? I'm not - getting in the way or anything? For the most part? Or -"
He frowns, trying to figure out how to phrase the actual question he wants to ask.
"Do you--" Like me? As a person?
"--enjoy my company?"
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He sighed, very quietly, before turning over, too, to face him.
"It's not-- about you. You know that, right?" He asked, his voice a low murmur. "You shouldn't have to be here, but that's not your fault. And I mean- we only just met properly, as adults, but yeah, I enjoy your company a lo-- Owain, you're going to overheat in that," he interrupted himself to point out. Almost without thinking he shuffled closer, reaching out to pull at the hem of Owain's sweater as if about to tug it off.
"Just because I'm an awkward dumbass doesn't mean you should spend the whole night sweating--"
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He really, really wants to be here. With Poe. He can't hide the guilt that hits him every time Poe says things like you shouldn't have to be here, but it always, always threatens to drown him. He's said too many times, to the man who doesn't want him like this, that staying by his side is all that really matters. He lowers his head and he listens, and he struggles to think of a way to express himself, but then Poe's interrupting him and tugging at his sweater.
His stomach jumps when Poe brushes his skin. He breathes hard through his nose, feeling electricity shoot through him, and he does his best to put that feeling aside.
"You aren't-- an awkward-- Captain," he says, and there's a hint of admonishment that he immediately goes red over. Improper tone of voice for a pledge.
"Deal for a deal?" He rests his hand on Poe's, hitting him with a very firm if very cautious look. He's still not sure how this deal for a deal equality thing woks, but it's the only way he can allow himself to let Poe do things he shouldn't do.
"I'll take it off if you take that back. About being an-- awkward-- just, you said you wouldn't say that kind of thing about yourself. Remember?"
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He stopped tugging at the sweater, though the flutter of muscle under his fingers had been extremely satisfying. Satisfying, and then sickening.
"I'm just saying - you don't have to- try to accommodate your comfort for mine, alright?"
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He sits up, looming over Poe, crossing his arms over each other as he grabs the bottom of his sweater and pulls it off in one steady motion. Bare like this, he looks strong, to an extent - he has to be, given he was raised primarily for combat - but there are no scars on him, no marks, no signs of real battle, just perfectly soft skin about to be ruined by war in Poe's name. He's slim and lithe with perfectly cut muscles, and he was so, so clearly put on a diet that values aesthetic even over survivability - he's beautiful, masculine but boyish, athletic but so clearly only eighteen.
He gets out of bed for a second, and without a shirt, the tightness of his pants seems even more revealing. Low around his hips, the V of his adonis belt showing, the tiniest glimpse of his black underwear peaking out from over his waistband. He folds the sweater and puts it away, and then he's back between the sheets and shuffling closer to Poe.
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Owain was, in short, utterly beautiful.
But it only cemented in Poe's mind that he was absolutely out of bounds. One hundred percent. Far too young, but more importantly, far too easy. He had no doubt that Owain would go along with whatever he asked, so he resolved never to ask it. So he kept his eyes diverted, turning onto his side again as Owain slipped back into the sheets.
"I'll be fine. We'll figure it out. But for now we should get some rest- going to be a long day, tomorrow, I think..."
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This has nothing to do with him. That's what he's been told. Poe hates the system, not the Pledge. Even if he doesn't understand Poe - even if he doesn't understand Poe's morals - it's been made clear, at least, that he's not the part of this he hates. There's an ache in Owain's chest if he thinks about it too hard... all the promises he'd been relying on, all the words Kes had spun for him, that Poe would be wholly on his side, happy just to know him - all of it, dashed. But it's a manageable pain, so it's okay, he can do this. As long as Poe doesn't send him away, he can do this.
It's a restless night. Owain's a light sleeper, and whenever a soldier laughs or passes by their room, he opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, confused and afraid and not sure of where he is. It always steadies, but his anxiety gets the better of him more than once - fragments of the night fall away to Owain staring up at the ceiling in silence, listening to Poe's deep breaths and waiting to calm down. The lamp flickers low and fades away, and his eyes adjust to the darkness, and he shifts closer and closer to Poe, trying to find comfort.
Poe wakes up before he does, come morning, and Owain'll be pressed to his side, hard against his leg, completely unconscious. His chin is right on Poe's shoulder, mouth just slightly open, brows pinched like he's focused on whatever it is he's dreaming about. There's a shallow grind of his length right up against Poe's thigh, every so often.
Owain talks in his sleep.
When he says Captain, the image in his dream making him whimper, it's low and it's desperate and it's wanting.
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He blinked a few times, blearily, as he woke, but then Owain moves, a low desperate word on his lips and Poe freezes utterly. He's terrified, for a split second, that Owain is awake and figured it out - wants to make Poe happy. But a few seconds pass and Poe realises that the man is dreaming. He relaxes, but not by much- his heart pounding and his cock absolutely rock hard, straining against his trousers, and his balls aching. He shifts very, very slowly, slipping a hand down to his own groin, pressing at the straining erection as if that would make it go away. Instead, of course, all it does is shoot a throb of need through him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
It would have been easy, if he'd been by himself. He would have quickly pulled out his own cock and stroked himself to orgasm just to take the edge off. But he couldn't, here, not with Owain grinding against him in his sleep and making the word Captain unfairly and unbelievably erotic. He clamped down his teeth and tried, very slowly, to slide himself off the bed. He just needed to get to the toilets, then he would be fine.
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He squeezes his arm tight around Poe's waist, letting out a whiny, irritated moan when he tries to pull away. His eyelids twitch almost like he's about to wake up, but he doesn't - instead, in his sleep, he presses his whole body against Poe, anchoring him back to the bed, not letting him move.
He'd never act like this, if he were awake. If Poe had asked him to move because he was in the way, he would have bowed his head, rushed out an apology and hidden from sight for the next three days. Here, though, so locked in disconnected, unconscious thoughts of him and Poe, he's stuck and he's here and unless he's woken up, he's not letting his master leave.
For a second, he slackens against Poe almost enough for him to pry himself away if he attempts to do so again, but in the haze of being asleep and having a warm body tight against him, Owain locks his legs down on that foot slipped between them. He's starting to pant, suddenly, whatever happening in his dream getting stronger, hotter, more intense. His bare chest rising and falling faster and faster, his body twitching and jolting erratically in response to phantom hands touching him in ways only he can see.
A few seconds pass, and then he's fucking against Poe's leg, faster than before, as fast as his tired and unconscious body will allow. Each roll of his hips leaves a dark wet spot of precum on his thin pants, and Poe must be able to feel that, every time the constrained head of Owain's cock presses hard against him.
He says it again.
Captain, please.
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And yet, for some reason, Owain possessively gripping him in his sleep and then rutting against his thigh was one of the most erotic things that had ever happened to him. He thought maybe it was the massive amount of guilt, that made it worse, but he was not self aware enough to realise what it was that actually was arousing him beyond any measure he'd taken to that date.
It was the demanding way Owain's arm tightens around him. Not a plea, or a request, but holding fast. Taking what he wanted.
No one had ever treated Poe like that before. Even in the hazy dim rooms of an off-world brothel where he'd asked to be treated as far less than he was. It had always been a game. This wasn't. Owain might be asleep, but the desire? That was honest.
Poe groaned, lowly, unable to try to pull himself away. He knew he should be waking Owain up. Right now. Right this god damned second. But he couldn't bring himself to move, his heart seizing up in his chest and his cock leaking despite the fact that he wasn't touching it.
This was hell? This was hell. This was a brand new fucking hell.
Captain, please.
Poe shut his eyes tight but couldn't help the moan that slipped from his lips.
The problem was, that Poe was not a man of restraint. He never had been. Restraint was something that he recognised and usually completely avoided just by doing something else instead. Diversion, rather than inaction. He was not used to trying to not do things.
So even knowing full well that what he was doing was wrong, he was already justifying taking action about it. It was fine, if it was just Owain. He'd just - help him - then peel off before the man even fully woke up. He wasn't even half way through the thought before he was snaking a hand behind him, palm sliding down the front of Owain's thin pants before gripping the firm length beneath it. Knew, in exactly the same instant, that this was definitely the opposite of what he should be doing, as he started to grind his hand firmly against Owain's groin.
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He's getting what he wanted, if only in his dream.
Poe's got him tied to the bed, one of Owain's legs hooked over his owner's shoulder, the other apart on the bed to give him access. Poe's fucking him raw, his whole body rolling with a rhythm like a wave, stretching Odin open with each thrust. His own cock just fucking leaks as he looks up from the bed, up into Poe's eyes, up into Poe's fucking smile. He's telling Owain he's a good boy, whispering what a good job he's doing, telling him how proud he is to see him like this, well-fucked and willing and "horny like the slut he is", that's what Poe says, that's what Poe says to him. He's fucking ruined, already, and in his dream, Owain's allowed to say what he wants.
"Harder," he whispers, his voice rumbling out of him against the real Poe's ear, words spoken just as much to his real master as the fake one in his dream. "Hhharder... fuck, please, fuck me, fuck me, Captain, Captain, call me a good boy, tell me I'm good, you're gonna-- you're gonna make me fucking cum, fuck--"
He bucks hard against Poe's hand now that it's touching him, shivering hard until his whole body tenses and coils and heats up. It only takes a few seconds, and then--
And then he's done. Barely a few seconds after Poe's hand touches him, barely a second after Owain begs for it, he's flooding his pants with cum, pressing so, so hard into that palm that he's pushing Poe's arm deep into the mattress, trapping him against it while he blows. His mouth is torn open in a silent moan - a silent scream, maybe - and he thrusts erratically against him with a pleasure he's never fucking known in his entire god damn life.
It goes on for a full two minutes, maybe even more. Even after he's done shooting, making a warm, sticky mess right in Poe's palm, he's grinding against everything he can, unconscious and unrestrained. He goes completely, completely limp after far too long, falling onto his side of the bed with a grunt.
It's only when it's all over that he slowly, slowly starts to wake up.
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It made him very fucking dizzy, so he leaned his head against the cold glass of the mirror and tried to catch his breath.
He hadn't known it was possible to feel so good, and so fucking sick in the same moment.
He resisted the urge to vomit, and just stood, shaking, for a good long moment as the intensity subsided. He wasn't going to be able to forget that voice, now, but it--
He had been able to deal with it, until that voice. Until Owain begged him to call him a good boy. After that, there was nothing but shame, even as he came. A horrified, self loathing shame.
It took him a few minutes to put himself together, to get his heart rate back down. But finally he padded back to their room - in bare feet - a mere ten minutes after he had left it.
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