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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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?"
no subject
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."