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.
Owain wakes up alone, the hazy afterglow of the dream seeming like it's coming from something almost real. He feels exhausted, and he's not sure why he's still so tired until he can feel his cum dripping down the inside of his thigh and he remembers with an awful, lurching jolt to the stomach where he is.
Poe's not here, thank christ - it doesn't take long for him to hurriedly clean up, change out of his clothes into some slightly more modest pants and awkwardly bundle up the sheets to wash them later when he gets a chance, but fuck, he's embarrassed and real god damn lucky he's alone. He slips on the sweater from yesterday, because he still loves it, it's still his favourite, and he's zipping up his boots by the time Poe's heading back into the room. Owain is - somewhat redfaced, admittedly, but - mostly just normal, smiling ear to ear at the sight of him and very obviously unaware of anything that might have just happened.
"Ah - Captain! I was wondering where you were." He brushes down the sweater with his hands, nervously looking to the sheets bundled up in the corner, then runs his hand through his own still uncombed hair.
"Um - I'm still getting your clothes ready for the day. Sorry - I've only been up for a short... um, while. Uh. Did--" Fuck, he can't look at Poe without seeing his dream. He looks anywhere but at his face.
"Poe," He corrects, instantly, the word Captain bringing a heat to his face that he's lucky his darker skin doesn't immediately make obvious. "Captain is - Captain is for in public, okay? Here it's just Poe."
In public, he might be able to disconnect the word from Owain's panting moans, from his desperate pleas to be fucked, harder-- The heat only worsens, and despite himself the memory sends a rush of blood south and he's a fucking monster, is what he is. So he doesn't meet Owain's eye, and instead goes straight for his uniform. He strips, but he does it without looking at Owain and with taking barely any time at all - clothes off, clean ones on - and then he's pulling on his ceremonial jacket and working the buttons up.
"Yeah. Fine. I'm fine. You?" The question was a little too high pitched and Poe almost winced when he heard himself, deciding to press on rather than wait for an answer. "You set for the debriefing?"
He frowns, predictably, but he's not going to resist an order, not after being given the same one twice. Poe it is, then, if it's really that important. ... More realistically, Owain will just go out of his way to never address his master by name in private, but. For now, he won't argue.
Owain has his hands ready to help Poe get dressed, but he rushes through getting his clothes on by himself so decisively that Owain doesn't really have the guts to offer. He squeezes his jaw, again, still the same way Poe did it to him yesterday, a habit he's taken up to just because it makes him feel like they're connected - and then he's back to lacing his own boots, taking a deep breath and hoping he looks okay.
The way Poe pushes past the question without waiting for an answer doesn't strike him as suspicious. It's what Masters do, after all. Feign an interest that they don't really have. He just shrugs one shoulder, rolling it a little.
"Yeah, of course." There's a pause before he answers, as he shuts down the thoughts he's not going to allow himself to have again. He looks into Poe's eyes and forces himself to just see his master, rather than the man from his dreams.
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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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Poe's not here, thank christ - it doesn't take long for him to hurriedly clean up, change out of his clothes into some slightly more modest pants and awkwardly bundle up the sheets to wash them later when he gets a chance, but fuck, he's embarrassed and real god damn lucky he's alone. He slips on the sweater from yesterday, because he still loves it, it's still his favourite, and he's zipping up his boots by the time Poe's heading back into the room. Owain is - somewhat redfaced, admittedly, but - mostly just normal, smiling ear to ear at the sight of him and very obviously unaware of anything that might have just happened.
"Ah - Captain! I was wondering where you were." He brushes down the sweater with his hands, nervously looking to the sheets bundled up in the corner, then runs his hand through his own still uncombed hair.
"Um - I'm still getting your clothes ready for the day. Sorry - I've only been up for a short... um, while. Uh. Did--" Fuck, he can't look at Poe without seeing his dream. He looks anywhere but at his face.
"Did you sleep alright?"
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In public, he might be able to disconnect the word from Owain's panting moans, from his desperate pleas to be fucked, harder-- The heat only worsens, and despite himself the memory sends a rush of blood south and he's a fucking monster, is what he is. So he doesn't meet Owain's eye, and instead goes straight for his uniform. He strips, but he does it without looking at Owain and with taking barely any time at all - clothes off, clean ones on - and then he's pulling on his ceremonial jacket and working the buttons up.
"Yeah. Fine. I'm fine. You?" The question was a little too high pitched and Poe almost winced when he heard himself, deciding to press on rather than wait for an answer. "You set for the debriefing?"
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Owain has his hands ready to help Poe get dressed, but he rushes through getting his clothes on by himself so decisively that Owain doesn't really have the guts to offer. He squeezes his jaw, again, still the same way Poe did it to him yesterday, a habit he's taken up to just because it makes him feel like they're connected - and then he's back to lacing his own boots, taking a deep breath and hoping he looks okay.
The way Poe pushes past the question without waiting for an answer doesn't strike him as suspicious. It's what Masters do, after all. Feign an interest that they don't really have. He just shrugs one shoulder, rolling it a little.
"Yeah, of course." There's a pause before he answers, as he shuts down the thoughts he's not going to allow himself to have again. He looks into Poe's eyes and forces himself to just see his master, rather than the man from his dreams.
"I'm ready for anything."