"That's not true. Being with Poe is more than enough for me."
He says it quietly, so quiet that the administrator doesn't even hear him, but it's Owain's first real act of rebellion, even if he doesn't yet see it as that. Saying Poe to someone in such a high position of authority, instead of Captain Dameron. Saying it right in front of his owner, who, at least, definitely would have been able to hear it. It's the kind of disrespect that might get him truly, dreadfully punished, if he were under the hand of a different master.
The old man takes him to the center of the room and reads out a long, long list of obligations. Poe has to stand there for a solid ten minutes as Owain nods, obediently, to commands like you vow to forego your safety and your comfort for the sake of the man who claims you and you swear an oath to lay down your base wants and desires for he who has taken you in as his charge. He promises, explicitly, time and time again, to strip himself of every individual right he has, vocalizing in almost clinical, systematic terms the fact that he's barely a human. Poe gets to hear him say things like I acknowledge I'm his hand and nothing more, I acknowledge my complete and total fealty to the nobleman above me, I acknowledge Captain Dameron's right to change and strip everything about me until I suit his needs in a Pledge.
Everything short of explicitly saying that all he has is his name, something Poe can still completely tear away from him, if he so chooses.
By the end of the reading, Owain is sure, more than ever, that he's just a slave, hidden under a silk veil of honour and respect, treated like more than he is by society at large. He's downcast but obedient, eyes distant and glassy. He didn't think it would hurt so much.
There's nothing careful about the knife that plunges into his hand. It's a test, to see how Pledges react to pain - they're supposed to let go of such base reactions, after all, unless their owners specifically enjoy seeing them hurt.
He winces as the silver blade cuts a line across his palm, and he's led back over to Poe in silence. His arm is trembling slightly, but Owain's dignity is still held together with a steel tight jaw and the hard eyes of a man far older than he is, far older than he's seemed until now.
With his good hand, he unfastens Poe's cape, and the old man does the kindness of taking it, but a flash of anger hits Owain's eyes - this is his job, he should be holding onto Poe's clothes during all of this. He unbuttons his shirt next, just enough to expose his bare chest, and a drop of blood rolls down his fingertips onto the floor. The old man tuts at Owain's carelessness.
He puts his sore and bloodied hand over Poe's heart, the cut stinging at the contact. There's too much blood, because it's fucked up to cut someone's hand, it's violent and if it heals wrong it can be permanently damaging, it's the kind of wound that can kill, but that's why they still do it. Owain doesn't really listen to himself as he says the vow - something practiced and rehearsed that he's said a thousand times in the mirror, my body is yours, my mind is yours, my spirit is yours, my life is yours - poetic waxing about his blood being the core of him and how the core of him belongs to Poe both inside and out.
There's a lot of blood, so much of it dripping down past Poe's heart and over the rest of his body under his clothes, staining them with him. When he's done, he hesitates, then brings his hand to Poe's lips. Blood for him to take.
The core of him belongs to Poe both inside and out.
He wouldn't have been able to get through it. He barely did, as it was, almost just swearing a blue streak and grabbing the damn thing out of the administrator's hands and tearing it to shreds in front of him. The only thing that stayed him - the only thing that kept his jaw set and his feet planted - was the word Poe.
That was all he needed, to know how to make this right. Or, if not right, to make it better.
His heart hammered, hard, despite himself, when Owain's pressed the bloodied hand to his chest, the wild beat probably more than obvious to Owain himself. His expression is hard, but his focus is on Owain, only, as the hand is raised to his lips. He pressed them against the wound, the taste of copper blooming on his tongue. When he pulled back, his expression was dark, his lips smeared red.
"Good," the Administrator said. "And here I thought you would never go through with it. It is complete, you may--"
"No, it's not." Poe interrupted, stepping abruptly toward the Administrator and grabbing the knife from his hands. The man was so surprised he didn't even try to stop him, gaping like a fish as his eyes flicked to the silver knife that Poe was now wielding.
"Captain Dameron--"
"Say another word, and you'll bleed as much as Owain has," Poe warned him, his voice dark. The Administator looked terrified, but the threat had it's effect, and his mouth shut. Poe kept glaring at him for a few more seconds, before finally pulling back, turning to face Owain.
He took a deep breath, and then met Owain's eye, utterly solemn.
"I forgo my rights to strip you of yours," he said, voice firm and unwavering. "I vow to forgo my own safety and comfort to protect yours. I return to you your wants and- desires-" The tiniest hitch in his voice on that word, but he carried on without acknowledging it. "I give you your body's autonomy, and take only what I give to you, in return."
Without even looking down, he pulled the silver dagger against his palm. The blade so sharp that the pain took almost a full half second to register, and Poe grits his teeth together, eyes unwavering. His clean hand - still gripping the dagger, moved to undo the clasps of Owain's sweater, pulling it open clumsily, but effectively, before he reached out, pressing the bloodied hand to Owain's chest, just above his heart.
There's so much blood.
"My body is yours," He continues, conviction in ever word. "My mind is yours. My spirit is yours. My life is yours. My blood bears the signet of my conviction, the core of me belongs to you, inside and out."
It still stung, gods it stung, but he raised his hand, pall open, to Owain's lips. He didn't blink.
The red on Poe's lips is beautiful, in its own way, but so much different to how Owain always imagined it would be. He watches a drop of it fall down the corner of Poe's lips and roll down his jaw, and he wants to wipe it away to keep his perfect form unmarred by the filth of Owain's body. He doesn't, but he looks to his feet and holds the wrist of his bleeding hand when the Administrator sends them on their way.
And then Poe has the knife.
It's a distant kind of panic, the thing that flutters in his chest. A skip of his heart, the only signal he has under a layer of cloudy apathy and a desire to just go back to yesterday and sleep. He looks nervously to the Administrator, as if he might know what to do, but he doesn't, of course - but then Poe meets his eye and Owain holds it.
"Wh--"
He comes to life again with each word.
It hits him. It fucking hits him, all at once, what a fucked up life he's had. It's just a flutter of a thought, there at the corner of forming into something real, but it's there. To make a vow like this to a man he's only ever been told about - the Poe in his dreams never would have done something like this, but the Poe in front of him is so, so much better. He doesn't know what to say, other than stare, shocked, his heart beating faster and colour coming back to his face with every passing syllable.
The blood on his heart meets a racing, pounding pulse that rivals the anger he felt in Poe. This is what it feels like, he thinks, to fall in love.
There's a second, the shortest of seconds, where he thinks this is wrong, don't do this, but he drowns it out. He does more than just drink the blood from Poe - he kisses the wound, licks his hand clean with his tongue, just lovingly fucking dotes on this, even as the foreign, metallic taste of it fills his mouth far too strongly. When he's done and Poe is still bleeding, he tears off his sweater with his good hand and wraps Poe's wound in it, pressing his own cut into one of the layers to stop the flow of it. Their blood meets in the middle. He swallows, and he's smiling, and he's laughing, and he gets it. Poe won't leave him. He wants to be equal. Equal.
It's not going to last, this realization. Not when Kes's lessons come back and hit him. But it's here, for now.
"Poe."
Louder, this time. Loud enough for the Administrator to hear.
Poe doesn't laugh, he can't bring himself to. But Owain's laugh cements a few things for him, erases any lingering question or doubt. He swallows, at his name, and nods, firmly.
"Owain." An acknowledgement, before he turns back to the Administator and hands him the bloody knife.
"Now we're done."
The thin man's lips were pressed thin, even paler than he was before, glancing nervously between them.
"Captain Dameron, you must know that there is absolutely no legality to what you just--"
"Owain gave me his pledge, and I have full legal right to do whatever the hell I like with it," Poe replied, the anger back in crisp, even tones. "Just sign the damn certificate. I don't need your approval for my own vows."
The man glared at them, but then nodded, stepping back to his desk and fetching the parchment. He signed it, and then held it out for Owain.
"Your thumbprint, in blood." He said, pointing to where it should go.
What he does next doesn't come from spite. If he was asked why he did it, he wouldn't be able to give a solid answer. But--
He brings his thumb to his chest, mixes his own blood with Poe's. Prints his thumb where it needs to go, staring the Administrator dead in the eyes. He's shaking like a leaf, holding his bloodied sweater in his good arm, and he's terrified, worried about what this might mean - if it voids the legality of their relationship, or - or, fuck, fuck, this'll definitely get back to Kes, fuck, what will Kes say, fuck, he can't lose another father figure, even one that always kept some professional distance - but.
It's done. Poe's blood with his. Marked on paper. Done.
All the confused, too-new-to-have-an-aim resolve he felt melts away with that action, and he looks to Poe for help.
He'd been planning to press his own thumb into it, after Owain, but the surge of pride that swells in his chest as Owain plants his rebellion on paper stops him. No. That one is his. He grabs his jacket and throws it over himself, as well as grabbing a piece of cloth that was meant to bandage Owain's hand. He breaks it in two with his teeth, wraps part of it over his palm, and the other half over Owain's.
Then he reaches out with his good hand, clasping Owain's tightly in his own.
"Yeah. Yeah, we can go."
And without another word, pulls him out and into the hallway.
He keeps his silence as they beelines back through the complex to the military wing. Doesn't seem to notice the glances in their direction, the confused looks that people give when they see two men smeared with blood. He doesn't give a shit about anyone else, right now, but he needs to tend to Owain's hand. So back to the rooms it is. As soon as they reach them, he let's go, pushing open the door and going straight for the water basin. Damn it. He'd forgotten to fill it in the morning.
"Sit down, I'll get some water," He said, throwing the basin under his arm and heading immediately back out the door before Owain could stop him. He was back only three minutes later, the heavy basin wavering as his cut hand couldn't quite hold the weight that it needed to, but he got in and set it down with only a slight wince. "Okay, come here, let's get you cleaned up."
Owain, contrarily, notices each and every one of those stares as harshly as he noticed the knife through his hand.
He shrinks in on himself further and further as they walk, only standing to his full height again when they're back in the privacy of their own room, the sunlight filtering through the lone window. He realizes, quite out of nowhere, that he didn't bring any books with him - he wouldn't have been allowed, because they belonged to the estate, but he spent such a long time wanting to write one of his own. Yesterday, he would have wondered if Poe would allow him to write something, if he asked. Today, he knows without a doubt he would buy him all the stationary he needed.
He goes to the basin when Poe's back with it, wanting to help him lift it but deciding it might mean more to let Poe take care of him without rushing to bend to his knee for him. He's silent still as he holds out his hand, wincing as he gets a proper look at the cut - the Administrator really was unnecessarily rough with him, the whole thing starting from the thin gap between his index and middle finger and cutting diagonally down past the heel of his palm and getting dangerously close to his wrist. It's going to hurt for a while, and this is the hand he uses to fight with.
He wonders, maybe, if this was a punishment.
He leaves his hand in the water for a second before meeting Poe's eyes.
"It's official now? It's official on paper that I'm yours? If-- your dad-- wanted to take me back, after he hears about all of this-- he wouldn't be able to?"
Poe swears, lowly, as he gets a look at the wound. He remembers Lon'qu's scar- it wasn't nearly this long. "Fucking bastard," He mutters, taking a soft cloth and gently dipping it in the water before he very carefully ran it over Owain's hand. He doesn't look up, all his attention on tending to Owain's hand.
"Yeah. It's official. Only you, me, or the King could annul it, now."
He dipped the bloodied towel back in the basin, the water turning red, before continuing.
"Obviously I can't - there's nothing to prove that mine meant anything," He says, his brows furrowed so deeply that lines creased his forehead. "But I meant every one of them. As solemn an oath as yours. I doubt anyone will bring it up. Renlow is a coward, and he'd be in more trouble than me, if word got out. So he'll keep it to himself."
Even though they've both been swearing a fair bit, his heart still feels a weird, stupid thrill every time Poe curses. It's still hard to separate the image of this noble, cleancut military man in his head to the rebellious, spitfire Poe in front of him. It's...
He really does like the real Poe better.
He watches Poe clean his wound, keeps his hand steady every time he feels like flinching and pulling away because of the pain. His first real scar, other than the brand on his bicep he's kept hidden away under a red bandage. He listens, and he absorbs, and he watches the water run darker and darker with blood.
"There's no part of me that doubts you." It's the truth, and he means it, but he also knows he can't just leave things at that. Nine years of conditioning - of course he'd trust Poe implicitly, Poe would never question that. That's not what this is.
"I don't know why you want this... or why you would go to such lengths for me. I know you said - a lot of this has nothing to do with me, specifically. I'm a symptom of something you hate. And maybe - maybe that's the only reason you fought so hard? But it..."
A long pause. He breaks contact with Poe's eyes, even though they never looked back.
"But that's not important. You fought hard. You're fighting hard. For whatever reason. You're dedicated and you're brave and you want us to be equal. I still don't know if I can promise I'll always be good - but I want to be someone who can live up to the oaths you vowed to me in there. I want to be someone worthy of being saved, as you already are to me. I think maybe... that's... something."
"My hating the institution has nothing to do with you," He corrected, his voice low as he finished cleaning the wound. Without letting go, he reached back to his things, where a med kit lay, and fished out a proper bandage.
"Today?" He turned back, his eyes still on Owain's hand as he began to wrap the bandage tight. "That was about you. Specifically." When he's done, he ties it off, wincing as he has to use his own still-bleeding hand to do so, though he's careful not to get his own blood on the fresh bandage. He turns back to the basin and starts to wipe down his own hand.
"I owe it to you. And your parents. I owe them a hell of a lot more than this, but it's a start." He pauses, and finally turns his head to look at Owain. "You're already worthy of it, Owain. I'm just trying to prove that to you."
When his wound is cleaned and the bandage is applied, Owain pulls back, tentatively examining it with his other hand. Again, it's wrtten all over every part of him that he wants to help, but he's still struggling with this - he doesn't know if Poe would let him wash his cut in return or if it would be in poor taste to dote on him after everything they went through today. He watches Poe clean himself up in silence, pangs of sympathy hitting him hard.
Not as hard as some of the shit he's saying, though.
The fact that Poe's been thinking about his parents at all, let alone wanting to protect him from their sake, strikes a chord in him he didn't know he could feel. Everything in his chest just-- swells, at the thought of a younger Poe being taken care of by Lon'qu, and he moves closer to Poe.
He steps behind him, slowly, and very, very, very fucking nervously wraps his arms around his chest and his stomach, hovering for a moment before making skin to shirt contact. He doesn't give hugs that often, and it's obvious, with how light it is, like he's keeping as much distance as he can because he's scared he might hurt him. But it's there, and it's real, and he can feel his heart beating hard against Poe's spine.
"Is this--" No, fuck it, he's not going to ask if this is okay. He bites his bottom lip and breathes in the smell of Poe, changing course.
Poe froze - just for a heartbeat - as Owain wrapped his arms around him. His heart skipped a beat, and then it took a considerable amount of effort to focus on what he was doing, carefully scrubbing the cut clean. He was tougher with himself than with Owain - more confident about the amount of pain he could inflict - but his motions slowed to a crawl once Owain held him.
"Pretty sure I just swore an oath to tell you that you could," Poe pointed out, but the tone was lower and softer than the words might otherwise imply.
He sees Kes, suddenly. The tutors, telling him that he's a possession, one that might be cared for or loved but will ultimately end up dirty and scar-riddled and dead before Poe is marked by even the slightest cut. The slightest cut that marks his hand, now.
If he doesn't understand independence, than Poe doesn't understand the weight of being pledged. The years he spent second-guessing his training before his resistance and his confused was systematically crushed. It was easy, for him to be emotionally manipulated by Poe's father, regardless of his intentions. Stripping Owain of everything he loves and needs and cares for was easy, when everything he loved and needed and cared for died, and he was told that letting go of his humanity was all he could do to honour them.
He had vowed, before Poe interrupted the ceremony. Vowed to give up every part of him, as if he hadn't already, other than a desire for clothes and an urge to get fucked like the whore he is. Was willing to do it. Was willing to die, right there in that room, if Poe told him to take that knife and sink it into himself even further.
He pulls his arms away.
"Ah..."
He looks at Poe's back, the strength in him, the broadness of his shoulders, capable of carrying the world. Fixing it, maybe, if they're in a world that needs to be fixed.
"I was..."
He rubs at his side, aching, suddenly. Today took more out of him than he expected.
"I was gonna--"
He thinks of Lissa, of Lon'qu, of the love they had.
It's what helps him decide to speak up, despite Kes. Despite everyone.
He didn't turn around for several seconds. He'd felt the distance, as Owain pulled away, but he didn't turn to follow him. Instead he focused on his hand, drying the wound carefully, and slowly wrapping a bandage around his hand. The sounds of the outside world seemed to fade away, when Owain finally finished speaking, and Poe just breathed. No immediate reaction, though he had obviously heard it.
He tried to keep his hands steady, as he finally wrapped the bandage around his palm. Only once that was done, did he finally turn and face Owain with a stuttering skip of his pulse.
It didn't matter, right then, how terrible an idea it was. That small act of rebellion with the blood had just made Poe want to see more of them. So he met Owain's eyes with a challenge in his own.
There's not a single, single part of him that sees that as a command. Poe doesn't dominate him in this.
The build up would last for days, if Owain were relying on courage alone. He'd never thought of himself as a coward, or even as someone brave, but he feels as his world is starting to bloom into petals grown by Poe, that he's been scared, running fast and blind for a very long time. But it's not courage he needs to rebel. Not now, not after the ceremony. It's base instinct - instinct that Poe allows of him, instinct that Poe gave back - that has him stepping forward.
He doesn't know how to do this. He's never kissed anyone, never been kissed, never allowed himself the thought of it outside of lonely dreams and submissive fantasies. He'd always been told that if Poe ever wanted this from him, he could give it, but he was never to take the lead. Even if Poe asked him to, it would be an illusion of control, nothing more - but this? The soft, feather light touch of one hand on Poe's hip, the other where he was marked with blood, his own bare torso and the muscles of his stomach taut with hope and excitement and nerves, it's all him, all Owain, every last surging nerve, every last thrum of his heart.
The build up still takes a long time - Owain hovering like he needs more permission - but he strains against those shackles, curling his nails into Poe's shirt every time he thinks he might speak, wanting to do this by himself.
The kiss is clumsy and naive and over just as soon as it began. Chaste and sweet with blood still stained on his lips. It's obvious, when he pulls back with pinched brows and wide eyes, that he really, really fucking wants more of this, wants more than kissing, wants more of everything, but he doesn't have it in him to ask, doesn't have it in him to be the one to take this further.
He bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn't apologize.
He's patient. He's incredibly patient, watching Owain with a steady gaze even as the man hesitates.
The kiss itself is sweet and soft and over in and instant. A flicker of youth, and a reminder. Part of him knows, that's where he should leave it. A gesture given, and accepted. He should have just smiled, and brushed Owain's hair from his eyes and carried on.
The day had been an utter whirlwind, and Poe hadn't quite caught up to the gravity of it. The weight of it. He's still riding high on victory and rebellion. So though he knows he should be giving Owain time and processing power, he doesn't move. He just breathes.
He smiles at the question, tip of his tongue pressing into the back of an incisor, mischievous and ready to say yes but unable to just blurt it out. He tilts his head, like he's considering the question, thoughts already full of the answer.
Thoughts of the Poe in his dream come to mind and make him blush. They were only in this room a few hours ago. He's surprised how quickly he forgot.
"Yes."
He rakes his hand down Poe's chest, hand finding his heartbeat. It feels so much different now that he understands, just a little more, what they are. Pledge in name, something else in spirit.
He presses his lips together as he looks at Poe, no idea where to go with this. Again, his youth and inexperience have maybe never been more clear, and he repositions himself a few times before he tries anything. Shifting his weight, moving his hands to rest in about four different places on Poe before they settle resting on the bridges between his shoulders and his neck. He breathes in like he's about to go fucking diving.
"Okay, well."
Okay, then.
The kiss starts out just as chaste as before, Owain ghosting over Poe with a softness and an innocence that still contradicts the ragged fraying skin on his hand and the sword under their bed he's been raised for. It lasts longer, this time, but it's still not deep - no parted lips on his part, no tongue against tongue. He briefly scrapes his teeth over Poe's bottom lip as he pulls back, eyes wide and hopeful, but he still doesn't have the guts to take this where he wants to.
He goes red, starting to feel embarrassed. He knows first kisses aren't supposed to be-- amazing, but he wants it to be. Not for Poe's sake. For his own, as a person with wants and needs and desires.
"I want you to help me through this," he says, an attempt to be firm and independent while still asking for help. "Because-- because I want to do-- everything-- and I don't know how, or how far you'll let me take this. How far you want me to take this."
He lets a long breath go, before he reaches out. Wordlessly cupping bothe sides of Owain's face, his palm stinging with the pressure but he didn't care. He didn't know the answer to that. Was pretty sure, on some level, that he'd already taken this far enough.
On another, that after what he swore today, there was no going back anyway.
"We'll figure it out," he promised, quietly, thumbs brushing over Owain's cheeks. Then he was stepping in, having to pull the taller man down slightly, raising up on the balls of his feet as he pressed a warm kiss to Owain's lips. It was chaste, at first, but then his lips were parting, teeth pulling gently at Owain's bottom lip before encouraging his lips apart, deepening the kiss as soon a he was able to. He pressed closer, his heart slamming so hard against his ribs it made him shudder. He pulled back, for air, a haziness to his eyes that was emphasized by his shallow breaths. His hands slipped down from Owain's neck, fingers trailing over the bloodied shirt. "Should probably- we should probably get cleaned up."
The kiss still isn't great, because Owain is trembling all over from nerves again - but every unexpected thing Poe does, the teeth on his lips and the tongue against his, drags a fucking violent moan out of him, like this alone is the height of pleasure. When Poe pulls back for air, he actually whimpers because of how badly he doesn't want this to end, leaning down after him until he has no choice but to break away.
But oh, right. The blood. He'll be sad to see it go, but he supposes he can't wear it forever.
He puts his thumb to Poe's lip and very lovingly smears the last remain of blood away from it, slightly dried but wettened by the kiss. There's... a way... that they can do this.
"Would you..." He swallows. "Would you be opposed--"
He's struggling with his wording here, and it's only partially because he's embarrassed. He wants to ask Poe for consent, but he doesn't know how to phrase it without asking for permission. He sighs, frustrated, and it's-- obvious, at least, that he's pulling hard against the shackles of his training to figure this out.
"If... you wanted to. We could-- share a bath. Or... something."
Poe smiles, and it's far too fond - a surge of pride welling through him, again, mirroring and accentuating how he felt with that bloody thumbprint.
"Yeah. A bath." His hand falls from Owain's face, trailing down his chest, stopping to hover where the shirt was damp with blood. He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself, and nodded. "There's a bath for the officers - it's private."
He looked up again, a wry smile pulling at his lips.
"And everyone would expect you to go with me anyway, now."
Owain can't connect the way he deflates to the reason for it, but it takes the wind out of his sails to be reminded of how nobody will think twice about him and Poe locked away together. As much fear as he felt when everyone looked at them on the walk back to their rooms, he'd found a small seed of pride in it. To an extent.
Nobody's going to know how they are behind closed walls. He gets that. Asked for that, even. But it's hard to navigate that, amongst the oppressing feeling of a lifetime of corruption and a small flower blooming in his chest saying that he wants Poe to keep treating him like he's special more than anything.
Before they head out, Owain presses another kiss to Poe's lips, shy and quick and chaste and over far too fast again because he still doesn't know how to take the lead. They head out of their rooms (still bloodied, though Owain at least puts his shirt back on), still getting strange looks but generally ignored, as Owain's demeanour changes pretty much the second they're in public again. All hints of heart-skipping excitement just sweep away from him, and he's standing tall and subservient behind Poe, training he still can't run away from despite everything he's feeling.
The private bathroom is bigger than the bedroom he shared with the other servants back at the House, and he doesn't comment on it, but it's the first time something has felt distinctly unfair. He locks the door behind them and lights the cream-coloured candles standing in bronze arms on the wall, all of them hidden in lattices that cast flickering shadows on the tiles. There's a series of small steps up to the thick, elevated bath inlaid in a shelf of marble - obviously designed so that when the pledges stood beside their Masters in the bath, they wouldn't be looming over them.
Owain boils water and starts to fill the bath, and the candlelight isn't dim enough to hide the shy excitement on his face when he turns back to look at Poe from the corner of his eyes.
"You can - uh -"
He hesitates.
"You can undress yourself... or... I can. If you want. I can do that. If that's-- okay. This time."
He expected it, though, knew it would happen - the shift as soon as they stepped from private to public. He hated it with such a fire that it tempered everything else he was feeling, pushing it all down into his chest and slowly cooling. But that was probably for the best. What was left was righteous vindication, and a solemn promise to himself that Owain would only feel like that for the absolute minimum amount of time possible.
At least away from the Capitol, they could be less formal even in public. But part of him wanted to just reach back and grab Owain's hand again.
He didn't.
He relaxed, slightly, when they got to the bath, and Poe helped Owain prepare, helped pour the heated water into the tub. He was about to start removing his own clothes when Owain spoke up, and he watched him for a minute before that small, fond smile returned, and he gestured with his head for Owain to come over.
There's no methodical worshipping at Poe's feet when he takes off his shoes. He doesn't make sure, once they're off, that they're neatly aligned next to each other, like he did last time - he just sorta puts them together and then off to the side, not even noticing when one of them falls over after he propped it up in a weird way. When he takes off the cape, unties the cravat, he folds them up and puts them up on the sink a ways away from the bath, and when he's back to Poe's shirt, he's--
He's so much more nervous than he was last time.
The buttons are still mostly open from the ritual, so he has to start from the middle, warm faced and nervous. His fingers tremble enough when he pulls at the first button he finds that he messes up, not pulling it through the hole. He has to shut his eyes and breathe and tell himself he's done this a thousand times before, on mannequins and on tutors and on Kes, before he can try again. His hands are actually starting to sweat, a little, and he laughs awkwardly as he dries them on his blood-stained sweater, taking a breath before getting back to it.
He undoes each button and pulls Poe's shirt off and then just-- stares. His blood, right there, all over his chest. Blood that Poe took from him in silence, then gave back in turn. Just looking at Poe makes him hard as fuck, and it's impossible to hide it, the firm outline of his cock running down the inside of his leg. He gets to Poe's belt buckle and he looks up at him, just once, then pulls it off. He hooks his fingers under Poe's waistband and just-- quietly--
"Fuck, Poe." He clenches his jaw tight. "If people knew you were letting me do this-- letting me think about you the way I'm thinking about you-- you'd be punished. I'd be punished. Wants like these are-- supposed to be above me."
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He says it quietly, so quiet that the administrator doesn't even hear him, but it's Owain's first real act of rebellion, even if he doesn't yet see it as that. Saying Poe to someone in such a high position of authority, instead of Captain Dameron. Saying it right in front of his owner, who, at least, definitely would have been able to hear it. It's the kind of disrespect that might get him truly, dreadfully punished, if he were under the hand of a different master.
The old man takes him to the center of the room and reads out a long, long list of obligations. Poe has to stand there for a solid ten minutes as Owain nods, obediently, to commands like you vow to forego your safety and your comfort for the sake of the man who claims you and you swear an oath to lay down your base wants and desires for he who has taken you in as his charge. He promises, explicitly, time and time again, to strip himself of every individual right he has, vocalizing in almost clinical, systematic terms the fact that he's barely a human. Poe gets to hear him say things like I acknowledge I'm his hand and nothing more, I acknowledge my complete and total fealty to the nobleman above me, I acknowledge Captain Dameron's right to change and strip everything about me until I suit his needs in a Pledge.
Everything short of explicitly saying that all he has is his name, something Poe can still completely tear away from him, if he so chooses.
By the end of the reading, Owain is sure, more than ever, that he's just a slave, hidden under a silk veil of honour and respect, treated like more than he is by society at large. He's downcast but obedient, eyes distant and glassy. He didn't think it would hurt so much.
There's nothing careful about the knife that plunges into his hand. It's a test, to see how Pledges react to pain - they're supposed to let go of such base reactions, after all, unless their owners specifically enjoy seeing them hurt.
He winces as the silver blade cuts a line across his palm, and he's led back over to Poe in silence. His arm is trembling slightly, but Owain's dignity is still held together with a steel tight jaw and the hard eyes of a man far older than he is, far older than he's seemed until now.
With his good hand, he unfastens Poe's cape, and the old man does the kindness of taking it, but a flash of anger hits Owain's eyes - this is his job, he should be holding onto Poe's clothes during all of this. He unbuttons his shirt next, just enough to expose his bare chest, and a drop of blood rolls down his fingertips onto the floor. The old man tuts at Owain's carelessness.
He puts his sore and bloodied hand over Poe's heart, the cut stinging at the contact. There's too much blood, because it's fucked up to cut someone's hand, it's violent and if it heals wrong it can be permanently damaging, it's the kind of wound that can kill, but that's why they still do it. Owain doesn't really listen to himself as he says the vow - something practiced and rehearsed that he's said a thousand times in the mirror, my body is yours, my mind is yours, my spirit is yours, my life is yours - poetic waxing about his blood being the core of him and how the core of him belongs to Poe both inside and out.
There's a lot of blood, so much of it dripping down past Poe's heart and over the rest of his body under his clothes, staining them with him. When he's done, he hesitates, then brings his hand to Poe's lips. Blood for him to take.
The core of him belongs to Poe both inside and out.
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That was all he needed, to know how to make this right. Or, if not right, to make it better.
His heart hammered, hard, despite himself, when Owain's pressed the bloodied hand to his chest, the wild beat probably more than obvious to Owain himself. His expression is hard, but his focus is on Owain, only, as the hand is raised to his lips. He pressed them against the wound, the taste of copper blooming on his tongue. When he pulled back, his expression was dark, his lips smeared red.
"Good," the Administrator said. "And here I thought you would never go through with it. It is complete, you may--"
"No, it's not." Poe interrupted, stepping abruptly toward the Administrator and grabbing the knife from his hands. The man was so surprised he didn't even try to stop him, gaping like a fish as his eyes flicked to the silver knife that Poe was now wielding.
"Captain Dameron--"
"Say another word, and you'll bleed as much as Owain has," Poe warned him, his voice dark. The Administator looked terrified, but the threat had it's effect, and his mouth shut. Poe kept glaring at him for a few more seconds, before finally pulling back, turning to face Owain.
He took a deep breath, and then met Owain's eye, utterly solemn.
"I forgo my rights to strip you of yours," he said, voice firm and unwavering. "I vow to forgo my own safety and comfort to protect yours. I return to you your wants and- desires-" The tiniest hitch in his voice on that word, but he carried on without acknowledging it. "I give you your body's autonomy, and take only what I give to you, in return."
Without even looking down, he pulled the silver dagger against his palm. The blade so sharp that the pain took almost a full half second to register, and Poe grits his teeth together, eyes unwavering. His clean hand - still gripping the dagger, moved to undo the clasps of Owain's sweater, pulling it open clumsily, but effectively, before he reached out, pressing the bloodied hand to Owain's chest, just above his heart.
There's so much blood.
"My body is yours," He continues, conviction in ever word. "My mind is yours. My spirit is yours. My life is yours. My blood bears the signet of my conviction, the core of me belongs to you, inside and out."
It still stung, gods it stung, but he raised his hand, pall open, to Owain's lips. He didn't blink.
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And then Poe has the knife.
It's a distant kind of panic, the thing that flutters in his chest. A skip of his heart, the only signal he has under a layer of cloudy apathy and a desire to just go back to yesterday and sleep. He looks nervously to the Administrator, as if he might know what to do, but he doesn't, of course - but then Poe meets his eye and Owain holds it.
"Wh--"
He comes to life again with each word.
It hits him. It fucking hits him, all at once, what a fucked up life he's had. It's just a flutter of a thought, there at the corner of forming into something real, but it's there. To make a vow like this to a man he's only ever been told about - the Poe in his dreams never would have done something like this, but the Poe in front of him is so, so much better. He doesn't know what to say, other than stare, shocked, his heart beating faster and colour coming back to his face with every passing syllable.
The blood on his heart meets a racing, pounding pulse that rivals the anger he felt in Poe. This is what it feels like, he thinks, to fall in love.
There's a second, the shortest of seconds, where he thinks this is wrong, don't do this, but he drowns it out. He does more than just drink the blood from Poe - he kisses the wound, licks his hand clean with his tongue, just lovingly fucking dotes on this, even as the foreign, metallic taste of it fills his mouth far too strongly. When he's done and Poe is still bleeding, he tears off his sweater with his good hand and wraps Poe's wound in it, pressing his own cut into one of the layers to stop the flow of it. Their blood meets in the middle. He swallows, and he's smiling, and he's laughing, and he gets it. Poe won't leave him. He wants to be equal. Equal.
It's not going to last, this realization. Not when Kes's lessons come back and hit him. But it's here, for now.
"Poe."
Louder, this time. Loud enough for the Administrator to hear.
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"Owain." An acknowledgement, before he turns back to the Administator and hands him the bloody knife.
"Now we're done."
The thin man's lips were pressed thin, even paler than he was before, glancing nervously between them.
"Captain Dameron, you must know that there is absolutely no legality to what you just--"
"Owain gave me his pledge, and I have full legal right to do whatever the hell I like with it," Poe replied, the anger back in crisp, even tones. "Just sign the damn certificate. I don't need your approval for my own vows."
The man glared at them, but then nodded, stepping back to his desk and fetching the parchment. He signed it, and then held it out for Owain.
"Your thumbprint, in blood." He said, pointing to where it should go.
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He brings his thumb to his chest, mixes his own blood with Poe's. Prints his thumb where it needs to go, staring the Administrator dead in the eyes. He's shaking like a leaf, holding his bloodied sweater in his good arm, and he's terrified, worried about what this might mean - if it voids the legality of their relationship, or - or, fuck, fuck, this'll definitely get back to Kes, fuck, what will Kes say, fuck, he can't lose another father figure, even one that always kept some professional distance - but.
It's done. Poe's blood with his. Marked on paper. Done.
All the confused, too-new-to-have-an-aim resolve he felt melts away with that action, and he looks to Poe for help.
"Can we go?"
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Then he reaches out with his good hand, clasping Owain's tightly in his own.
"Yeah. Yeah, we can go."
And without another word, pulls him out and into the hallway.
He keeps his silence as they beelines back through the complex to the military wing. Doesn't seem to notice the glances in their direction, the confused looks that people give when they see two men smeared with blood. He doesn't give a shit about anyone else, right now, but he needs to tend to Owain's hand. So back to the rooms it is. As soon as they reach them, he let's go, pushing open the door and going straight for the water basin. Damn it. He'd forgotten to fill it in the morning.
"Sit down, I'll get some water," He said, throwing the basin under his arm and heading immediately back out the door before Owain could stop him. He was back only three minutes later, the heavy basin wavering as his cut hand couldn't quite hold the weight that it needed to, but he got in and set it down with only a slight wince. "Okay, come here, let's get you cleaned up."
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He shrinks in on himself further and further as they walk, only standing to his full height again when they're back in the privacy of their own room, the sunlight filtering through the lone window. He realizes, quite out of nowhere, that he didn't bring any books with him - he wouldn't have been allowed, because they belonged to the estate, but he spent such a long time wanting to write one of his own. Yesterday, he would have wondered if Poe would allow him to write something, if he asked. Today, he knows without a doubt he would buy him all the stationary he needed.
He goes to the basin when Poe's back with it, wanting to help him lift it but deciding it might mean more to let Poe take care of him without rushing to bend to his knee for him. He's silent still as he holds out his hand, wincing as he gets a proper look at the cut - the Administrator really was unnecessarily rough with him, the whole thing starting from the thin gap between his index and middle finger and cutting diagonally down past the heel of his palm and getting dangerously close to his wrist. It's going to hurt for a while, and this is the hand he uses to fight with.
He wonders, maybe, if this was a punishment.
He leaves his hand in the water for a second before meeting Poe's eyes.
"It's official now? It's official on paper that I'm yours? If-- your dad-- wanted to take me back, after he hears about all of this-- he wouldn't be able to?"
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"Yeah. It's official. Only you, me, or the King could annul it, now."
He dipped the bloodied towel back in the basin, the water turning red, before continuing.
"Obviously I can't - there's nothing to prove that mine meant anything," He says, his brows furrowed so deeply that lines creased his forehead. "But I meant every one of them. As solemn an oath as yours. I doubt anyone will bring it up. Renlow is a coward, and he'd be in more trouble than me, if word got out. So he'll keep it to himself."
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He really does like the real Poe better.
He watches Poe clean his wound, keeps his hand steady every time he feels like flinching and pulling away because of the pain. His first real scar, other than the brand on his bicep he's kept hidden away under a red bandage. He listens, and he absorbs, and he watches the water run darker and darker with blood.
"There's no part of me that doubts you." It's the truth, and he means it, but he also knows he can't just leave things at that. Nine years of conditioning - of course he'd trust Poe implicitly, Poe would never question that. That's not what this is.
"I don't know why you want this... or why you would go to such lengths for me. I know you said - a lot of this has nothing to do with me, specifically. I'm a symptom of something you hate. And maybe - maybe that's the only reason you fought so hard? But it..."
A long pause. He breaks contact with Poe's eyes, even though they never looked back.
"But that's not important. You fought hard. You're fighting hard. For whatever reason. You're dedicated and you're brave and you want us to be equal. I still don't know if I can promise I'll always be good - but I want to be someone who can live up to the oaths you vowed to me in there. I want to be someone worthy of being saved, as you already are to me. I think maybe... that's... something."
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"Today?" He turned back, his eyes still on Owain's hand as he began to wrap the bandage tight. "That was about you. Specifically." When he's done, he ties it off, wincing as he has to use his own still-bleeding hand to do so, though he's careful not to get his own blood on the fresh bandage. He turns back to the basin and starts to wipe down his own hand.
"I owe it to you. And your parents. I owe them a hell of a lot more than this, but it's a start." He pauses, and finally turns his head to look at Owain. "You're already worthy of it, Owain. I'm just trying to prove that to you."
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Not as hard as some of the shit he's saying, though.
The fact that Poe's been thinking about his parents at all, let alone wanting to protect him from their sake, strikes a chord in him he didn't know he could feel. Everything in his chest just-- swells, at the thought of a younger Poe being taken care of by Lon'qu, and he moves closer to Poe.
He steps behind him, slowly, and very, very, very fucking nervously wraps his arms around his chest and his stomach, hovering for a moment before making skin to shirt contact. He doesn't give hugs that often, and it's obvious, with how light it is, like he's keeping as much distance as he can because he's scared he might hurt him. But it's there, and it's real, and he can feel his heart beating hard against Poe's spine.
"Is this--" No, fuck it, he's not going to ask if this is okay. He bites his bottom lip and breathes in the smell of Poe, changing course.
"Can I still ask for things I want?"
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"Pretty sure I just swore an oath to tell you that you could," Poe pointed out, but the tone was lower and softer than the words might otherwise imply.
He'd given him back his desire, after all.
"... What do you want?"
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He sees Kes, suddenly. The tutors, telling him that he's a possession, one that might be cared for or loved but will ultimately end up dirty and scar-riddled and dead before Poe is marked by even the slightest cut. The slightest cut that marks his hand, now.
If he doesn't understand independence, than Poe doesn't understand the weight of being pledged. The years he spent second-guessing his training before his resistance and his confused was systematically crushed. It was easy, for him to be emotionally manipulated by Poe's father, regardless of his intentions. Stripping Owain of everything he loves and needs and cares for was easy, when everything he loved and needed and cared for died, and he was told that letting go of his humanity was all he could do to honour them.
He had vowed, before Poe interrupted the ceremony. Vowed to give up every part of him, as if he hadn't already, other than a desire for clothes and an urge to get fucked like the whore he is. Was willing to do it. Was willing to die, right there in that room, if Poe told him to take that knife and sink it into himself even further.
He pulls his arms away.
"Ah..."
He looks at Poe's back, the strength in him, the broadness of his shoulders, capable of carrying the world. Fixing it, maybe, if they're in a world that needs to be fixed.
"I was..."
He rubs at his side, aching, suddenly. Today took more out of him than he expected.
"I was gonna--"
He thinks of Lissa, of Lon'qu, of the love they had.
It's what helps him decide to speak up, despite Kes. Despite everyone.
"I want to kiss you. I think."
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He tried to keep his hands steady, as he finally wrapped the bandage around his palm. Only once that was done, did he finally turn and face Owain with a stuttering skip of his pulse.
It didn't matter, right then, how terrible an idea it was. That small act of rebellion with the blood had just made Poe want to see more of them. So he met Owain's eyes with a challenge in his own.
"Then kiss me."
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There's not a single, single part of him that sees that as a command. Poe doesn't dominate him in this.
The build up would last for days, if Owain were relying on courage alone. He'd never thought of himself as a coward, or even as someone brave, but he feels as his world is starting to bloom into petals grown by Poe, that he's been scared, running fast and blind for a very long time. But it's not courage he needs to rebel. Not now, not after the ceremony. It's base instinct - instinct that Poe allows of him, instinct that Poe gave back - that has him stepping forward.
He doesn't know how to do this. He's never kissed anyone, never been kissed, never allowed himself the thought of it outside of lonely dreams and submissive fantasies. He'd always been told that if Poe ever wanted this from him, he could give it, but he was never to take the lead. Even if Poe asked him to, it would be an illusion of control, nothing more - but this? The soft, feather light touch of one hand on Poe's hip, the other where he was marked with blood, his own bare torso and the muscles of his stomach taut with hope and excitement and nerves, it's all him, all Owain, every last surging nerve, every last thrum of his heart.
The build up still takes a long time - Owain hovering like he needs more permission - but he strains against those shackles, curling his nails into Poe's shirt every time he thinks he might speak, wanting to do this by himself.
The kiss is clumsy and naive and over just as soon as it began. Chaste and sweet with blood still stained on his lips. It's obvious, when he pulls back with pinched brows and wide eyes, that he really, really fucking wants more of this, wants more than kissing, wants more of everything, but he doesn't have it in him to ask, doesn't have it in him to be the one to take this further.
He bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn't apologize.
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The kiss itself is sweet and soft and over in and instant. A flicker of youth, and a reminder. Part of him knows, that's where he should leave it. A gesture given, and accepted. He should have just smiled, and brushed Owain's hair from his eyes and carried on.
The day had been an utter whirlwind, and Poe hadn't quite caught up to the gravity of it. The weight of it. He's still riding high on victory and rebellion. So though he knows he should be giving Owain time and processing power, he doesn't move. He just breathes.
"... Did you want to kiss me again?"
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Thoughts of the Poe in his dream come to mind and make him blush. They were only in this room a few hours ago. He's surprised how quickly he forgot.
"Yes."
He rakes his hand down Poe's chest, hand finding his heartbeat. It feels so much different now that he understands, just a little more, what they are. Pledge in name, something else in spirit.
"Do you want me to kiss you again?"
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"Yes."
He doesn't surge forward. He just stands, and waits, though his lips are slightly parted and his chest feels a little tight.
The morning feels a half a lifetime away, somehow. Everything about it had felt wrong. This?
This probably was wrong, too.
But it felt right.
"Yeah. I do."
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He presses his lips together as he looks at Poe, no idea where to go with this. Again, his youth and inexperience have maybe never been more clear, and he repositions himself a few times before he tries anything. Shifting his weight, moving his hands to rest in about four different places on Poe before they settle resting on the bridges between his shoulders and his neck. He breathes in like he's about to go fucking diving.
"Okay, well."
Okay, then.
The kiss starts out just as chaste as before, Owain ghosting over Poe with a softness and an innocence that still contradicts the ragged fraying skin on his hand and the sword under their bed he's been raised for. It lasts longer, this time, but it's still not deep - no parted lips on his part, no tongue against tongue. He briefly scrapes his teeth over Poe's bottom lip as he pulls back, eyes wide and hopeful, but he still doesn't have the guts to take this where he wants to.
He goes red, starting to feel embarrassed. He knows first kisses aren't supposed to be-- amazing, but he wants it to be. Not for Poe's sake. For his own, as a person with wants and needs and desires.
"I want you to help me through this," he says, an attempt to be firm and independent while still asking for help. "Because-- because I want to do-- everything-- and I don't know how, or how far you'll let me take this. How far you want me to take this."
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On another, that after what he swore today, there was no going back anyway.
"We'll figure it out," he promised, quietly, thumbs brushing over Owain's cheeks. Then he was stepping in, having to pull the taller man down slightly, raising up on the balls of his feet as he pressed a warm kiss to Owain's lips. It was chaste, at first, but then his lips were parting, teeth pulling gently at Owain's bottom lip before encouraging his lips apart, deepening the kiss as soon a he was able to. He pressed closer, his heart slamming so hard against his ribs it made him shudder. He pulled back, for air, a haziness to his eyes that was emphasized by his shallow breaths. His hands slipped down from Owain's neck, fingers trailing over the bloodied shirt. "Should probably- we should probably get cleaned up."
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But oh, right. The blood. He'll be sad to see it go, but he supposes he can't wear it forever.
He puts his thumb to Poe's lip and very lovingly smears the last remain of blood away from it, slightly dried but wettened by the kiss. There's... a way... that they can do this.
"Would you..." He swallows. "Would you be opposed--"
He's struggling with his wording here, and it's only partially because he's embarrassed. He wants to ask Poe for consent, but he doesn't know how to phrase it without asking for permission. He sighs, frustrated, and it's-- obvious, at least, that he's pulling hard against the shackles of his training to figure this out.
"If... you wanted to. We could-- share a bath. Or... something."
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"Yeah. A bath." His hand falls from Owain's face, trailing down his chest, stopping to hover where the shirt was damp with blood. He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself, and nodded. "There's a bath for the officers - it's private."
He looked up again, a wry smile pulling at his lips.
"And everyone would expect you to go with me anyway, now."
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Owain can't connect the way he deflates to the reason for it, but it takes the wind out of his sails to be reminded of how nobody will think twice about him and Poe locked away together. As much fear as he felt when everyone looked at them on the walk back to their rooms, he'd found a small seed of pride in it. To an extent.
Nobody's going to know how they are behind closed walls. He gets that. Asked for that, even. But it's hard to navigate that, amongst the oppressing feeling of a lifetime of corruption and a small flower blooming in his chest saying that he wants Poe to keep treating him like he's special more than anything.
Before they head out, Owain presses another kiss to Poe's lips, shy and quick and chaste and over far too fast again because he still doesn't know how to take the lead. They head out of their rooms (still bloodied, though Owain at least puts his shirt back on), still getting strange looks but generally ignored, as Owain's demeanour changes pretty much the second they're in public again. All hints of heart-skipping excitement just sweep away from him, and he's standing tall and subservient behind Poe, training he still can't run away from despite everything he's feeling.
The private bathroom is bigger than the bedroom he shared with the other servants back at the House, and he doesn't comment on it, but it's the first time something has felt distinctly unfair. He locks the door behind them and lights the cream-coloured candles standing in bronze arms on the wall, all of them hidden in lattices that cast flickering shadows on the tiles. There's a series of small steps up to the thick, elevated bath inlaid in a shelf of marble - obviously designed so that when the pledges stood beside their Masters in the bath, they wouldn't be looming over them.
Owain boils water and starts to fill the bath, and the candlelight isn't dim enough to hide the shy excitement on his face when he turns back to look at Poe from the corner of his eyes.
"You can - uh -"
He hesitates.
"You can undress yourself... or... I can. If you want. I can do that. If that's-- okay. This time."
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He expected it, though, knew it would happen - the shift as soon as they stepped from private to public. He hated it with such a fire that it tempered everything else he was feeling, pushing it all down into his chest and slowly cooling. But that was probably for the best. What was left was righteous vindication, and a solemn promise to himself that Owain would only feel like that for the absolute minimum amount of time possible.
At least away from the Capitol, they could be less formal even in public. But part of him wanted to just reach back and grab Owain's hand again.
He didn't.
He relaxed, slightly, when they got to the bath, and Poe helped Owain prepare, helped pour the heated water into the tub. He was about to start removing his own clothes when Owain spoke up, and he watched him for a minute before that small, fond smile returned, and he gestured with his head for Owain to come over.
"Yeah, it's alright. You do mine, I'll do yours."
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There's no methodical worshipping at Poe's feet when he takes off his shoes. He doesn't make sure, once they're off, that they're neatly aligned next to each other, like he did last time - he just sorta puts them together and then off to the side, not even noticing when one of them falls over after he propped it up in a weird way. When he takes off the cape, unties the cravat, he folds them up and puts them up on the sink a ways away from the bath, and when he's back to Poe's shirt, he's--
He's so much more nervous than he was last time.
The buttons are still mostly open from the ritual, so he has to start from the middle, warm faced and nervous. His fingers tremble enough when he pulls at the first button he finds that he messes up, not pulling it through the hole. He has to shut his eyes and breathe and tell himself he's done this a thousand times before, on mannequins and on tutors and on Kes, before he can try again. His hands are actually starting to sweat, a little, and he laughs awkwardly as he dries them on his blood-stained sweater, taking a breath before getting back to it.
He undoes each button and pulls Poe's shirt off and then just-- stares. His blood, right there, all over his chest. Blood that Poe took from him in silence, then gave back in turn. Just looking at Poe makes him hard as fuck, and it's impossible to hide it, the firm outline of his cock running down the inside of his leg. He gets to Poe's belt buckle and he looks up at him, just once, then pulls it off. He hooks his fingers under Poe's waistband and just-- quietly--
"Fuck, Poe." He clenches his jaw tight. "If people knew you were letting me do this-- letting me think about you the way I'm thinking about you-- you'd be punished. I'd be punished. Wants like these are-- supposed to be above me."
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