"... Not sure anyone could tell you that, Owain." He didn't move from where he was, though he looked back down at his hand, the blood already starting to congeal over where the old scab had been.
"Gods knows I certainly can't. I don't know what we are." He frowned, still staring into his palm as if it would provide answers.
And then he stilled, frowning.
"This isn't... an order, Owain, it's a suggestion, but... maybe it would help if you just -- wrote for a little while. In your journal."
Again, the uncertainty is - hard, but it's better. He's always been drawn to labelling things, categorizing them, putting everything in boxes, but how much of that is him and how much of it is his training? Has his need for a purpose been bred into him like so many other traits? A part of him by design, so he'll be the perfect Pledge?
Owain takes a breath and nods. He doesn't know what they are. That's fine. That's fine, for now.
"Maybe there isn't-- a word for what we are? Not yet." He eyes Poe a little nervously. "Just - I don't know. You're a lot. To me. And I'm fucking up, all the time, especially today, but it's-- a lot. What we are. I don't know."
He lingers over Poe for a second, and then finds his journal. He doesn't know what he wants to write, but he writes-- a lot. It turns into a letter, nebulously written to Lon'qu, and it's long and it's winding and he's silent the whole time, but it helps, getting everything down. His feelings for Poe, and how he doesn't know what they are, only that they feel more real than anything else he's felt. His fear that he's not good enough, in every aspect of his life - for Poe, for Kes, for his parents memory.
He ends it with a quiet note that he just wants to be - happy. And that Poe makes him happy. And that that's what he has to remember, despite all the guilt and the shame, because if Poe allows him that, allows him his freedom and his agency and helps him find the person he is under the societal shackles he's been put into, it must mean more than his duty, or more than his station, or more than-- most things. Most things. All things, maybe.
Poe had watched him for a moment, and then left him to it - fetched another clean basin of water, cleaned the wound in his hand so that it wouldn't get infected, then carefully re-bandaged it. He'd paused for a few minutes - out of sight behind Owain - to look at the other journal that they'd gotten at the same time, running his fingers over the cover. But he didn't pick it up. Instead he pulled out his sword and started running through his routine for cleaning it - which he hadn't done in a few days.
That was what he was doing when Owain came back and held out the journal.
He took it, slowly, but his eyes were on Owain rather than the book, an eyebrow raised.
"... I don't have to read it, Owain. I wasn't - I meant it as something for you. But I will, if you want me to."
Owain makes no motion to take the journal back from Poe. The only time he looks away from him, in fact, is to take a quick glance at his sword - he loves weapon maintenance, it keeps him calm and steady, and he thinks of his father's sword tucked away with the rest of his things. Maybe he should do something with that, later tonight.
"Just - the last part. If nothing else. I don't know how to put my feelings-- sometimes-- when I don't write them down. But it makes sense, I think? Of-- things."
There's a part of him that just wants Poe's approval, to think the way that he does. To find happiness in Poe and in himself through Poe and take hold of that. There's a bigger part of him that just wants to share those feelings. His feelings.
"Kes--" He bites down, gets through it. "Kes was unhappy-- when I first said-- I wanted to be his friend. Instead of his son's pledge. And then by the end of things-- I asked him if I could write to him as a friend, after I said I would do better by you? And he said it would be appropriate. Like that. After that."
He looks at Poe, uncertain. He's not sure what he's asking for, or why he's sharing this, he just-- doesn't know how he feels.
"Alright," He says, pulling the book into his lap and setting the sword on the table. He flickers over the page for half a second before Owain speaks again, and he looked back up.
Sighed.
"You can tell him whatever you want, in your letters," Poe said, with almost a shrug, but not quite. "Maybe he figures that would make at least one of us, keeping in touch." It was almost muttered. "But you can write whoever you want, Owain. Even my dad. Though uh - maybe - keep some of the things between us... between us."
He ducks his head to the page and starts to read - from where Owain mentioned - his brow furrowing in concentration and his lips slightly moving as he mouthed the words as he read. When he finished he kept looking at the page for a while, considering, though he reached out blindly just to gently take the tips of Owain's fingers into his hand.
"We'll figure it out," he said, finally, closing the book and looking back up. He didn't want to be the be-all and end-all of Owain's world, but at the same time... This was a million times better than the way Owain had looked at him, after talking to Kes. He gave Owain's fingers a squeeze.
"I know. I'm not asking for permission to write to him. And I won't tell him about, like, the-- yeah." He digs his hands into his side, feeling stiff and nervous and unaware of where to look. "Just-- it feels weird? That I can only be his friend if I'm obedient to you. He raised me, I love him, it's--"
He hasn't quite fully formed the idea that all he is to Kes is, primarily, a tool, something designed for Poe's protection. He's a treasured tool, taken care of and protected, a weapon lovingly polished for his entire life, and he's aware of that on some level, but it's - hard, to relate those feelings to wanting to be more than that to Kes. Wanting to be more than that to everyone.
Fuck.
He'll find his own feet, when everything is said and done. For now, letting Poe help him find his individuality - relying on that - it's the only way he's going to change. He lets Poe take his fingertips and he kneels down, crouching beside where Poe is sitting and closing their hands together. He kisses his ring finger, for the second time that night, but it means more, maybe. Not a goodbye, this time. Hello again, my Captain.
"I really, ah--"
He runs his thumb over Poe's fingers, looking up at him from slightly below.
"I know things are getting complicated-- but being with you means the world to me. If you can be patient with me-- especially if something like this happens again-- I'd-- love you. For that."
"He has an idea in his head of what you are, and won't divert from it. He likes things to have a use, and a purpose, and doesn't deal well when they don't. Hell, you should have seen it when he was trying to marry me off. Wouldn't talk to me for days, if I got lippy." He paused, sighed. "It doesn't mean he doesn't love you. Or me. He's just... Like that."
He squeezed Owain's fingers gently, but frown slightly at the... Offer? Thought?
"I'm not gonna abandon you now. But you don't need to -- offer it to me, like that. As if it's a trade."
"I'm not trying to... offer you anything. I'm just-- asking for-- I don't know. Patience? Help? Something."
His shoulders arch down and he leans his chin on Poe's thigh. Everything in him is pulling him in a thousand different directions, but he comes back to the words he wrote down, the words that Poe gave him. They're an anchor, if nothing else.
He thinks of Poe smiling at those women again and something unsettles in his chest. It should be a Pledge's greatest pride and joy, to have their charge fall in love. He should find security in knowing Poe isn't-- interested, in women, not like that. But the thought of him with some Lady growing old by his side, his closest companion-- the thought of another Lord spending his life with Poe like that? It just...
"I'm glad you didn't get married." He kisses Poe's hand, the palm of it, right by the cut he made for him. "I like that it's just us. I should-- focus on that. When I think about your dad. I like-- us."
"I'm not going anywhere," he reassured him, reaching out with his free hand to glide fingers into Owain's hair and then gently scratch at his scalp, fondly. "You'd have to do a lot worse than that, to drive me away."
He plays with Owain's hair quietly, threading his fingers into it and out again. His chest tightens in a weird way, when Owain says I like that it's just us, those butterflies that had grown dormant now daring to try to rustle their wings again.
"You don't need to push yourself so hard," he murmured lowly. "It's okay to be confused, sometimes. But if I can- help, just let me know."
Owain believes - fully, wholeheartedly - that he could make this worse. That he will make this worse, somehow, eventually. He shuts his eyes and leans into the touch, back so much more to his old self, the boy that's quietly and slowly starving from a lack of love.
It's okay to be confused sometimes.
He stays there for a moment, trying to restore himself, pull back from the reset Kes put him through. He could sleep like this, honestly - uncomfortable on the floor, his back starting to ache, but his eyes shut gently against Poe's leg, the feel of fingers against his skin lifting him back in the air, piloting him.
He looks up.
"Are we..."
He swallows. Looks away. Looks back up.
"Are we-- can we still--"
He gestures with one hand.
"Like-- physical stuff. Are you still-- are we still--?"
He doesn't answer immediately - thinking it over rather than answering immediately. Testing himself.
He doesn't know.
He doesn't know if Owain wants it because he actually wants it, or because he was trained to. Or if he really wants it at all. But then he thinks about what Owain had written, and... None of that particularly matters. Owain probably doesn't even know. But he can't pretend that they both - that they weren't both there, to start it. As much his fault, as Owain's.
So after a long moment he nods, bending over to press his face into Owain's hair again.
"... If you promise me that you'll tell me if you feel like- you're doing something for... For the title's sake, or solely for me. I won't- I won't punish you for it, but I want to know that we're... That we're both there, together. And not one of us off somewhere else. You or me."
He thinks of how it would feel, if Poe were only with him for the sake of being with him. It hurts something in his gut that he can't quiet identify, but again, he starts to understand things a little clearer. He doesn't want Poe to be any less than-- Poe. Poe doesn't want Owain to be anything less than Owain.
He shifts a little uncomfortably as he rises to his feet, hand cupped under Poe's chin to angle him upwards. He looks into his eyes, searching for something - vindication, validation, things he should find in himself, not somebody else - and all he finds is someone who just genuinely, genuinely wants him to be happy. For Owain's own sake.
He kisses Poe on the forehead, right above his eyes, soft and gentle and lingering. He doesn't pull back right away, when he lets go - just stays there, eyes closed, breathing in the smell of him. He finds Poe's hand, his uninjured one, and brings it back to the blood Poe left on his chest.
"I think--"
It's been four days. Confessing any kind of feeling now-- confessing another label, another title, now, after a night of losing himself to them-- would be a bad idea. So he swallows it down, what he was about to say. What he thinks they are.
His eyes close, as Owain's lips press to his forehead, a gentle flutter of wings in his chest. His fingers curl against Owain's skin when they are brought to touch it, the blood already drying. He lets out a long, slow breath as one of the knots of tension in his breast slowly releases by a fraction.
That isn't a request a Pledge would make.
"Yeah."
He's not done with his sword, but that's not really the point, right now.
Owain takes Poe's hand and leads him back to the bed, leaving the sword behind them, the grip on his wrist light like air. He never would have done this a few days ago - taking the lead on what he wants, guiding Poe rather than standing behind him - but he's lost the subtle firmness of his touch, the decisive rebellion in every little movement he made. He's touching him with that same nervous fear of someone who's never touched before, even as he carries the will and individuality he's been growing since Poe first bought him clothes.
Whatever this is, though, it's a need for comfort, rather than an expression of lust. He pulls Poe down to the bed - urges him, more accurately, with a quiet pinch at fabric and a pleading look in his eyes - and then immediately lays alongside of him, his back to Poe's chest.
He breathes out, facing the wall, with no idea about what he's doing, or what he wants. He watches the wall as if it might give him direction, or something, and when it doesn't, he rolls back over to be face to face.
Poe's lips are close, and he swallows, looking at them.
"Sorry," he mumbles. "I just want-- closeness. For a bit. We were too far away from each other-- tonight. I don't want to feel like that again."
"Yeah, I'd rather not repeat the experience, either," Poe admits in a low murmur. He slides in closer, nudging himself in under Owain's head and wrapping his arms losely around him. He turned his head, nose nuzzling just beside Owain's ear as he breathed him in deeply.
Four days.
He couldn't really say that he hadn't felt something for Owain even before he met him - a mixture of guilt and something else - but the last few days had pushed Poe's heart to its limits. Even trying to think in terms of time made him frustrated.
They'd been chosen to be together long before either of them even knew themselves.
It wasn't just Owain, that had come with expectations. Poe had merely been fighting his.
Owain tries to just absorb this moment until he falls asleep, but it doesn't work.
Every long period of silence just aches, rather than comforts. A dull thrum in the back of his stomach that makes everything feel heated and uncomfortable in a way he can't really pinpoint. Last night - even the night before - laying like this with Poe would have been everything to him. Just a quiet moment with someone who he knows cares about him.
It feels cheap, after everything with Kes.
The minutes tick by and they're both still awake, Owain unable to even shut his eyes because of all the thoughts in his head. He just stares distantly over Poe's head after he nestles in, his heart skipping every time there's breath against his ear but otherwise just-- silent.
It takes him a while to realize just how incredibly, incredibly fucking guilty he feels. For acting the way he did. For letting Kes's pride influence him so much. He wants to show Poe that it was just-- a moment, a mistake, because everything up until now feels cheap, in the shadow of their vow and the blood Poe gave him. To lose so much will after Poe did so much for him - it says a lot, Owain thinks, about what a pathetic and terrible man he is. Poe deserves so much more than whatever they are.
He presses his lips to the top of Poe's hair and breathes in his scent, and it's so fucking familiar now. The thought that he could have been away from that if he kept acting the way he did just-- breaks his heart, and he tangles his fingers in those curls, unaware of just how badly he's shaking until he sees his hands tremble. He swallows and shifts down, until he's level with Poe's throat, and he leans in, teeth scraping over skin as he kisses him there.
He's not sure why it comes on so fast, or what it means - but those feather light touches harden, and so does Owain, as he slips his hand down Poe's waistband and finds his cock. He doesn't take him out of his clothes, but he strokes in firm, long lines, the kiss on his neck coming harder, his teeth deeper, every few seconds.
Poe is lost somewhere in his own thoughts, nestled into Owain. They are jumbled and make no sense, circling in on his father and why it's so damn hard to even talk to him and wondering what it is that Kes actually wants, from all of this. He thinks he knows. Grandchildren. Heirs. A continuation not solely to his line but also Lon'qu's. He knows, at his core, what a disappointment he is. Normally he gets away without caring.
But normally he hasn't just seen his dad almost rip something incredibly important to him away. Four days ago, he would have only been frustrated by the pettiness of it, but now? He can feel the panic in his breast at losing Owain. He said I had to be perfect for you... it makes him queasy and he grips a little tighter, just as Owain shifts. For a second he thinks he broke the moment, that Owain was pulling away, but then his lips find Poe's throat and Poe lets out a quiet sound on the end of a released breath.
He half thinks to say, you don't have to do this but the teeth come a little harder and Poe's eyes flutter closed, his breath coming a little faster, his pulse picking up. He doesn't know where the line is until Owain is crossing it, and Poe's cock immediately fills, under the touch, straining against his clothes. He moans as Owain's teeth sink deeper, the feeling almost claiming and suddenly he wants nothing else. Wants Owain to mark him, to claim him, completely of his own free will. So he doesn't speak - either to beg or encourage - and instead just rolls his hips harder against Owain's hand, wings alive and fluttering against his ribs.
He's a little too rough. In that few seconds it takes for Poe to strain his clothes, Owain feels like the poor guy isn't getting hard fast enough for him, so each stroke of his hand is haphazard and quick, needy more than pleasurable. His teeth against Poe's neck catch and he grunts when it happens, pulling at skin, scratching. He doesn't stop until Poe is like steel in his grip, and then he breathes out, pulling away.
He tugs at his nightshirt, tearing a rip in the bottom in his haste to get it off, and then he's bare from the waist up, traces of Poe's blood still there in the dying light of the oil lamp. He rolls Poe onto his back and straddles his waist, leaning down to sink into a kiss, hard and clumsy and bad but lonely and fast and starving. He pulls his hands through Poe's hair and tugs so he'll arch his neck back, exposing his throat again, which Owain sinks into with even harder kisses than before, humming into all the bright pink hickeys he leaves.
He lets go and rests his hands on Poe's chest, hard in his clothes, grinding his ass back hard against Poe's cock, and he hates himself, a little. He always does. Aimless loathing that flutters into his expression, so clearly directed inwards. He finds Poe's hand, the one with the cut, and he thinks it's fucked up to do this, maybe, to rub his dick over the scar Poe gave himself like it's something to fetishize, but that doesn't stop him from guiding Poe's hand down Owain's pants, wrapping his hand over Poe's fist and fucking into it, smearing precum down his wrist.
"F-Fuck," he pants, and it's new, Poe's only seen him like this when Owain was dreaming, just desperately horny and throwing himself into something like an animal. Tell me I'm good and tell me you love me are both there, right on the corners of his lips, and he bites it all down, hiding it all away.
He doesn't try to take the lead, or even match it, all of the horrible feelings from the evening just lending themselves to making him want to feel reassured - to feel whole, again, and right, and justified. He's not sure this would accomplish any of them, but it's still Owain's. Nothing about this was Poe's request or preference - at least not as far as Owain knew. This was entirely Owain's desire and that - all on its own - was enough to get Poe's pulse thumping hard and heavy.
He gets a half a second of breather when Owain pulls back to take off his shirt and the view is... Breathtaking. Quite literally. Owain's body is flawless, the only mark on him was Poe's own blood and a very dark desire rose in him seemingly from no where at all. Fuck the war, just keep Owain at home and in his bed until he's begging just like he was in that dream--
The shame washes so quickly over him that he feels ill, but he's hard as a fucking rock. He meets the kiss with far more needy vigour than the last, kissing back hard enough to bruise, hands gripping Owain's hips, fingers digging into the flesh there. He hisses when his neck is snapped backwards and moans, writhing, as Owain makes hickies bloom on his throat, perfect and raw. The fantasy about claiming Owain is gone in an instant - replaced with a far, far more satisfying one of Owain claiming him. He groans something - obviously meant to be words but not coming out like them.
His hazy eyes open just in time to catch that look on Owain's face, and his heart lurches in a far less sexual way.
"Owain--" he starts, though whatever he was going to say is utterly lost as Owain takes his hand and starts fucking himself with it. The bandage curls at the edges with each rough stroke and it stings, throbbing sorely, but he takes the message and doubles down, fingers wrapping firmly around Owain's cock and strokes it roughly - more thoroughly than the man had been striking him, mere minutes before - well and truly trying to fuck him with his hand, rather than pretend this is foreplay. He braces himself up on an elbow, half upright, and reaches up to grip the back of Owain's neck, hard and tight, before dragging him down to claim his lips.
It's dry and it's scratchy but he doesn't think he's ever felt anything better. His mouth drops open in a silent holy shit when Poe starts fucking going at it, and his knees press hard indents into Poe's side as he squirms and shuts his eyes and just-- experiences it all. He feels like he's gonna cum already if this keeps up, his thrusts into Poe's hand coming shallow and rickety until he gives up and just pushes hard into his fist and holds himself there, and maybe that's what Poe wants, but Owain--
Owain wants more. He wants both. To claim and to be claimed. He kisses Poe back with all the strength in the world, but he doesn't let it last. He pulls back, cheeks red, eyes downcast.
He grinds back against Poe's cock one more time and reaches down behind him to pull it out of his clothes. It's clumsy and it's awkward and Owain's getting annoyed with himself for not just being able to fucking do this, but eventually the cool air of the night makes contact with Poe's skin and Owain breathes out a breath. He strokes it a few more times, gets his uninjured palm slick with precum, then brings his hand back up to Poe's lips, holding his index and middle fingers right up against them.
"Suck," he says, and-- it's a command, it's a command, it's a command. "Get my fingers wet."
His hips had been rolling up against Owain entirely of their own volition - something he only actually realised after Owain finally releases his trapped cock. Fuck, but he wants out of his pants. Not really something he's able to do, at the moment.
His strokes had slowed, in the meantime - still rough and thorough but the pace had definitely slowed. He groaned, lowly, as Owain brought his hand to his lips, half-lidded eyes dark with lust met Owain's as he leaned in, tongue running between the two offered fingers before pulling them between his lips and sucking. Hard. He didn't even bother not to pretend that he was thinking about something else, entirely. Any hesitancy had fled, when Owain's hand had touched him - all thoughts dumped from his mind so his body could live fully in the moment.
And fuck, but he wanted to hear Owain command him again.
His eyes fluttered, his strokes picking up a little more speed as he coating Owain's fingers in saliva, the slightly salty taste of his own precum on his tongue.
It almost hurts, the way the bandage scrapes over his cock, but he still finds himself grunting like an animal in heat and bucking into it every time the coarse fabric grazes his head. He's getting worse, more vocal, louder than he was the first time he and Poe did this, breathing hard growls that roll from the bottom of his chest. He's staring down at those slick fingers with that same self-loathing and that same need to just fucking take Poe and be close and be his and be owned and own and to have it all, all of it, all on his terms, his terms, their terms, not Kes's, not the world's.
He bucks forward and shuts his eyes when Poe sucks his fingers, fucking hard into Poe's fist and pushing his fingers in to feel the soft wetness of his tongue. He rubs his thumb over Poe's bottom lip and thrusts into each stroke with louder moans, louder, he's gonna be fucking shouting at the top of his lungs by the time this is done. He keeps this going, fucking into Poe's mouth with his fingers until he can see how slick and wet they are, and then he draws them back, taking a breath.
This is another thing he only has the basest of experience with, but fuck, he doesn't care. He leans back, prying his dick out of Poe's grip, and he rests himself more on Poe's legs than his waist, arm behind him on the mattress to keep steady. He arches himself up with one leg and reaches beneath himself to find his hole, which he slowly starts to fuck with one finger Poe made slick for him. It's-- tight, he's not even sure he'll be able to fit two fingers inside himself, let alone Poe's cock-- but he grunts, and he stretches, and he's aggressive, too aggressive than he needs to be as he puts on a show, forces that hole open.
He inserts his second finger and he looks up at Poe, eyes dark, hazed over by lust and anger. Anger at everyone for making him feel for even a fucking second that he's worth less than what he is.
"Stroke your cock," he orders, and again, it's loud, too loud for where they are. "With-- your injured hand. Get ready for what I'm gonna do to you."
He grins, laughs, throaty and deep.
"I might be the one who's gonna get a dick in my ass, but you're the one that's gonna get fucked."
He wonders exactly what it was that taught Owain how to talk like that. Not just here, and now, but that first morning where he was grunting and panting and begging even while still asleep. Something very hot and dark flares in his chest, briefly, as he wonders what kind of lessons that might have involved and who he was going to need to stab to keep them from teaching that kind of shit --
But it also had the side effect of being fucking hot. Owain's anger may as well have been an aphrodisiac, as far as Poe was concerned. Because he felt it, too. It was a righteous anger and a rebellious one, and regardless of how everyone else in the universe might have felt about Owain, Poe gazed at him like there was nothing more fucking beautiful in existence.
He did as ordered - as soon as he was ordered - though his strokes were slow and even, his fingers flicking down to watch Owain prepare himself. It was too rough, and he had half a mind to tell him so - but kept his mouth shut. He was not telling Owain to do a damn fucking thing tonight.
"Fuck," he groaned, his cock pulsing a long line of precum down his shaft and over his fingers. "... Fuck, Owain--"
He stretches himself out until it's done, until the clean movements of sinking his fingers into his heat and out again come easily, and then he sits back up, taking a breath. He doesn't stop Poe from slowly stroking his cock even as he aligns the two of them together - he can feel Poe's hand against his ass with every tedious, upward stroke, and he waits until he's gripping himself at the base before he sinks down.
He writhes on the tip of Poe's cock once it enters him, grunting hard through his teeth. Even this is almost too much for him to handle, with a searing pain all but tearing him apart, and he clenches down, too angry and inexperienced to fight the instinct and just relax. It hurts, but the slickness of his saliva and the precum coating him from the inside makes it bearable, and he doesn't care enough about the pain to stop. Poe is still dressed, but his nails find Poe's chest and he digs in for grip, scratching off a layer of skin and cutting small, tiny droplets of blood over flesh.
"Okay," he grunts. "Okay-- fucking-- back to me. Hand on my cock. Don't stop until I say you can."
He lowers himself further, pushing about a quarter of Poe's dick through that ring of tight, pink muscle until he has to stop and take a breath. He eases, a little, but it's not enough, and the pain is shooting up through his body and into his skull, giving him a headache.
But every little burst of pain - every shot that aches through him - makes his cock just fucking pulse, precum beading at the tip and flowing down in streams, completely covering Poe's hand, the bandage, his body beneath Owain. He fucking needs this.
It's fucking tight, but his heavy lust gets tempered, a little, by the obvious pain contorting Owain's face. He takes Owain's cock when he's told to, long smooth strokes despite the bandage, running his thumb over the slick head with every pass. It's incredibly erotic, if it didn't also make his heart hurt with an entirely different sort of longing.
That brief moment of yearning for just a slow, loving consummation - and a deep flush blooms under his skin at the thought. Not now. Not when Owain was obviously trying so hard to prove something, if only to himself. But suddenly he just wanted to lose himself in Owain, every stroke taking a millennia and falling into a trance--
He was pulled out of it by the sharp pain on his chest, his breath hitching, lips parting wordlessly, but his cock throbbed hotly, another gush of precum sliding down his shaft even as the head was now buried in Owain's body, and he had to resist the urge to fuck up into him.
"... You gotta... Fuck, Owain, you're so tight, you got to relax--"
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"Gods knows I certainly can't. I don't know what we are." He frowned, still staring into his palm as if it would provide answers.
And then he stilled, frowning.
"This isn't... an order, Owain, it's a suggestion, but... maybe it would help if you just -- wrote for a little while. In your journal."
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Owain takes a breath and nods. He doesn't know what they are. That's fine. That's fine, for now.
"Maybe there isn't-- a word for what we are? Not yet." He eyes Poe a little nervously. "Just - I don't know. You're a lot. To me. And I'm fucking up, all the time, especially today, but it's-- a lot. What we are. I don't know."
He lingers over Poe for a second, and then finds his journal. He doesn't know what he wants to write, but he writes-- a lot. It turns into a letter, nebulously written to Lon'qu, and it's long and it's winding and he's silent the whole time, but it helps, getting everything down. His feelings for Poe, and how he doesn't know what they are, only that they feel more real than anything else he's felt. His fear that he's not good enough, in every aspect of his life - for Poe, for Kes, for his parents memory.
He ends it with a quiet note that he just wants to be - happy. And that Poe makes him happy. And that that's what he has to remember, despite all the guilt and the shame, because if Poe allows him that, allows him his freedom and his agency and helps him find the person he is under the societal shackles he's been put into, it must mean more than his duty, or more than his station, or more than-- most things. Most things. All things, maybe.
He hands it to Poe to read.
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That was what he was doing when Owain came back and held out the journal.
He took it, slowly, but his eyes were on Owain rather than the book, an eyebrow raised.
"... I don't have to read it, Owain. I wasn't - I meant it as something for you. But I will, if you want me to."
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"Just - the last part. If nothing else. I don't know how to put my feelings-- sometimes-- when I don't write them down. But it makes sense, I think? Of-- things."
There's a part of him that just wants Poe's approval, to think the way that he does. To find happiness in Poe and in himself through Poe and take hold of that. There's a bigger part of him that just wants to share those feelings. His feelings.
"Kes--" He bites down, gets through it. "Kes was unhappy-- when I first said-- I wanted to be his friend. Instead of his son's pledge. And then by the end of things-- I asked him if I could write to him as a friend, after I said I would do better by you? And he said it would be appropriate. Like that. After that."
He looks at Poe, uncertain. He's not sure what he's asking for, or why he's sharing this, he just-- doesn't know how he feels.
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Sighed.
"You can tell him whatever you want, in your letters," Poe said, with almost a shrug, but not quite. "Maybe he figures that would make at least one of us, keeping in touch." It was almost muttered. "But you can write whoever you want, Owain. Even my dad. Though uh - maybe - keep some of the things between us... between us."
He ducks his head to the page and starts to read - from where Owain mentioned - his brow furrowing in concentration and his lips slightly moving as he mouthed the words as he read. When he finished he kept looking at the page for a while, considering, though he reached out blindly just to gently take the tips of Owain's fingers into his hand.
"We'll figure it out," he said, finally, closing the book and looking back up. He didn't want to be the be-all and end-all of Owain's world, but at the same time... This was a million times better than the way Owain had looked at him, after talking to Kes. He gave Owain's fingers a squeeze.
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He hasn't quite fully formed the idea that all he is to Kes is, primarily, a tool, something designed for Poe's protection. He's a treasured tool, taken care of and protected, a weapon lovingly polished for his entire life, and he's aware of that on some level, but it's - hard, to relate those feelings to wanting to be more than that to Kes. Wanting to be more than that to everyone.
Fuck.
He'll find his own feet, when everything is said and done. For now, letting Poe help him find his individuality - relying on that - it's the only way he's going to change. He lets Poe take his fingertips and he kneels down, crouching beside where Poe is sitting and closing their hands together. He kisses his ring finger, for the second time that night, but it means more, maybe. Not a goodbye, this time. Hello again, my Captain.
"I really, ah--"
He runs his thumb over Poe's fingers, looking up at him from slightly below.
"I know things are getting complicated-- but being with you means the world to me. If you can be patient with me-- especially if something like this happens again-- I'd-- love you. For that."
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He squeezed Owain's fingers gently, but frown slightly at the... Offer? Thought?
"I'm not gonna abandon you now. But you don't need to -- offer it to me, like that. As if it's a trade."
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His shoulders arch down and he leans his chin on Poe's thigh. Everything in him is pulling him in a thousand different directions, but he comes back to the words he wrote down, the words that Poe gave him. They're an anchor, if nothing else.
He thinks of Poe smiling at those women again and something unsettles in his chest. It should be a Pledge's greatest pride and joy, to have their charge fall in love. He should find security in knowing Poe isn't-- interested, in women, not like that. But the thought of him with some Lady growing old by his side, his closest companion-- the thought of another Lord spending his life with Poe like that? It just...
"I'm glad you didn't get married." He kisses Poe's hand, the palm of it, right by the cut he made for him. "I like that it's just us. I should-- focus on that. When I think about your dad. I like-- us."
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He plays with Owain's hair quietly, threading his fingers into it and out again. His chest tightens in a weird way, when Owain says I like that it's just us, those butterflies that had grown dormant now daring to try to rustle their wings again.
"You don't need to push yourself so hard," he murmured lowly. "It's okay to be confused, sometimes. But if I can- help, just let me know."
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It's okay to be confused sometimes.
He stays there for a moment, trying to restore himself, pull back from the reset Kes put him through. He could sleep like this, honestly - uncomfortable on the floor, his back starting to ache, but his eyes shut gently against Poe's leg, the feel of fingers against his skin lifting him back in the air, piloting him.
He looks up.
"Are we..."
He swallows. Looks away. Looks back up.
"Are we-- can we still--"
He gestures with one hand.
"Like-- physical stuff. Are you still-- are we still--?"
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He doesn't know.
He doesn't know if Owain wants it because he actually wants it, or because he was trained to. Or if he really wants it at all. But then he thinks about what Owain had written, and... None of that particularly matters. Owain probably doesn't even know. But he can't pretend that they both - that they weren't both there, to start it. As much his fault, as Owain's.
So after a long moment he nods, bending over to press his face into Owain's hair again.
"... If you promise me that you'll tell me if you feel like- you're doing something for... For the title's sake, or solely for me. I won't- I won't punish you for it, but I want to know that we're... That we're both there, together. And not one of us off somewhere else. You or me."
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He shifts a little uncomfortably as he rises to his feet, hand cupped under Poe's chin to angle him upwards. He looks into his eyes, searching for something - vindication, validation, things he should find in himself, not somebody else - and all he finds is someone who just genuinely, genuinely wants him to be happy. For Owain's own sake.
He kisses Poe on the forehead, right above his eyes, soft and gentle and lingering. He doesn't pull back right away, when he lets go - just stays there, eyes closed, breathing in the smell of him. He finds Poe's hand, his uninjured one, and brings it back to the blood Poe left on his chest.
"I think--"
It's been four days. Confessing any kind of feeling now-- confessing another label, another title, now, after a night of losing himself to them-- would be a bad idea. So he swallows it down, what he was about to say. What he thinks they are.
In the end, he just doesn't have the guts.
"Can we-- lay down?"
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That isn't a request a Pledge would make.
"Yeah."
He's not done with his sword, but that's not really the point, right now.
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Whatever this is, though, it's a need for comfort, rather than an expression of lust. He pulls Poe down to the bed - urges him, more accurately, with a quiet pinch at fabric and a pleading look in his eyes - and then immediately lays alongside of him, his back to Poe's chest.
He breathes out, facing the wall, with no idea about what he's doing, or what he wants. He watches the wall as if it might give him direction, or something, and when it doesn't, he rolls back over to be face to face.
Poe's lips are close, and he swallows, looking at them.
"Sorry," he mumbles. "I just want-- closeness. For a bit. We were too far away from each other-- tonight. I don't want to feel like that again."
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Four days.
He couldn't really say that he hadn't felt something for Owain even before he met him - a mixture of guilt and something else - but the last few days had pushed Poe's heart to its limits. Even trying to think in terms of time made him frustrated.
They'd been chosen to be together long before either of them even knew themselves.
It wasn't just Owain, that had come with expectations. Poe had merely been fighting his.
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Every long period of silence just aches, rather than comforts. A dull thrum in the back of his stomach that makes everything feel heated and uncomfortable in a way he can't really pinpoint. Last night - even the night before - laying like this with Poe would have been everything to him. Just a quiet moment with someone who he knows cares about him.
It feels cheap, after everything with Kes.
The minutes tick by and they're both still awake, Owain unable to even shut his eyes because of all the thoughts in his head. He just stares distantly over Poe's head after he nestles in, his heart skipping every time there's breath against his ear but otherwise just-- silent.
It takes him a while to realize just how incredibly, incredibly fucking guilty he feels. For acting the way he did. For letting Kes's pride influence him so much. He wants to show Poe that it was just-- a moment, a mistake, because everything up until now feels cheap, in the shadow of their vow and the blood Poe gave him. To lose so much will after Poe did so much for him - it says a lot, Owain thinks, about what a pathetic and terrible man he is. Poe deserves so much more than whatever they are.
He presses his lips to the top of Poe's hair and breathes in his scent, and it's so fucking familiar now. The thought that he could have been away from that if he kept acting the way he did just-- breaks his heart, and he tangles his fingers in those curls, unaware of just how badly he's shaking until he sees his hands tremble. He swallows and shifts down, until he's level with Poe's throat, and he leans in, teeth scraping over skin as he kisses him there.
He's not sure why it comes on so fast, or what it means - but those feather light touches harden, and so does Owain, as he slips his hand down Poe's waistband and finds his cock. He doesn't take him out of his clothes, but he strokes in firm, long lines, the kiss on his neck coming harder, his teeth deeper, every few seconds.
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But normally he hasn't just seen his dad almost rip something incredibly important to him away. Four days ago, he would have only been frustrated by the pettiness of it, but now? He can feel the panic in his breast at losing Owain. He said I had to be perfect for you... it makes him queasy and he grips a little tighter, just as Owain shifts. For a second he thinks he broke the moment, that Owain was pulling away, but then his lips find Poe's throat and Poe lets out a quiet sound on the end of a released breath.
He half thinks to say, you don't have to do this but the teeth come a little harder and Poe's eyes flutter closed, his breath coming a little faster, his pulse picking up. He doesn't know where the line is until Owain is crossing it, and Poe's cock immediately fills, under the touch, straining against his clothes. He moans as Owain's teeth sink deeper, the feeling almost claiming and suddenly he wants nothing else. Wants Owain to mark him, to claim him, completely of his own free will. So he doesn't speak - either to beg or encourage - and instead just rolls his hips harder against Owain's hand, wings alive and fluttering against his ribs.
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He tugs at his nightshirt, tearing a rip in the bottom in his haste to get it off, and then he's bare from the waist up, traces of Poe's blood still there in the dying light of the oil lamp. He rolls Poe onto his back and straddles his waist, leaning down to sink into a kiss, hard and clumsy and bad but lonely and fast and starving. He pulls his hands through Poe's hair and tugs so he'll arch his neck back, exposing his throat again, which Owain sinks into with even harder kisses than before, humming into all the bright pink hickeys he leaves.
He lets go and rests his hands on Poe's chest, hard in his clothes, grinding his ass back hard against Poe's cock, and he hates himself, a little. He always does. Aimless loathing that flutters into his expression, so clearly directed inwards. He finds Poe's hand, the one with the cut, and he thinks it's fucked up to do this, maybe, to rub his dick over the scar Poe gave himself like it's something to fetishize, but that doesn't stop him from guiding Poe's hand down Owain's pants, wrapping his hand over Poe's fist and fucking into it, smearing precum down his wrist.
"F-Fuck," he pants, and it's new, Poe's only seen him like this when Owain was dreaming, just desperately horny and throwing himself into something like an animal. Tell me I'm good and tell me you love me are both there, right on the corners of his lips, and he bites it all down, hiding it all away.
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He gets a half a second of breather when Owain pulls back to take off his shirt and the view is... Breathtaking. Quite literally. Owain's body is flawless, the only mark on him was Poe's own blood and a very dark desire rose in him seemingly from no where at all. Fuck the war, just keep Owain at home and in his bed until he's begging just like he was in that dream--
The shame washes so quickly over him that he feels ill, but he's hard as a fucking rock. He meets the kiss with far more needy vigour than the last, kissing back hard enough to bruise, hands gripping Owain's hips, fingers digging into the flesh there. He hisses when his neck is snapped backwards and moans, writhing, as Owain makes hickies bloom on his throat, perfect and raw. The fantasy about claiming Owain is gone in an instant - replaced with a far, far more satisfying one of Owain claiming him. He groans something - obviously meant to be words but not coming out like them.
His hazy eyes open just in time to catch that look on Owain's face, and his heart lurches in a far less sexual way.
"Owain--" he starts, though whatever he was going to say is utterly lost as Owain takes his hand and starts fucking himself with it. The bandage curls at the edges with each rough stroke and it stings, throbbing sorely, but he takes the message and doubles down, fingers wrapping firmly around Owain's cock and strokes it roughly - more thoroughly than the man had been striking him, mere minutes before - well and truly trying to fuck him with his hand, rather than pretend this is foreplay. He braces himself up on an elbow, half upright, and reaches up to grip the back of Owain's neck, hard and tight, before dragging him down to claim his lips.
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Owain wants more. He wants both. To claim and to be claimed. He kisses Poe back with all the strength in the world, but he doesn't let it last. He pulls back, cheeks red, eyes downcast.
He grinds back against Poe's cock one more time and reaches down behind him to pull it out of his clothes. It's clumsy and it's awkward and Owain's getting annoyed with himself for not just being able to fucking do this, but eventually the cool air of the night makes contact with Poe's skin and Owain breathes out a breath. He strokes it a few more times, gets his uninjured palm slick with precum, then brings his hand back up to Poe's lips, holding his index and middle fingers right up against them.
"Suck," he says, and-- it's a command, it's a command, it's a command. "Get my fingers wet."
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His strokes had slowed, in the meantime - still rough and thorough but the pace had definitely slowed. He groaned, lowly, as Owain brought his hand to his lips, half-lidded eyes dark with lust met Owain's as he leaned in, tongue running between the two offered fingers before pulling them between his lips and sucking. Hard. He didn't even bother not to pretend that he was thinking about something else, entirely. Any hesitancy had fled, when Owain's hand had touched him - all thoughts dumped from his mind so his body could live fully in the moment.
And fuck, but he wanted to hear Owain command him again.
His eyes fluttered, his strokes picking up a little more speed as he coating Owain's fingers in saliva, the slightly salty taste of his own precum on his tongue.
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He bucks forward and shuts his eyes when Poe sucks his fingers, fucking hard into Poe's fist and pushing his fingers in to feel the soft wetness of his tongue. He rubs his thumb over Poe's bottom lip and thrusts into each stroke with louder moans, louder, he's gonna be fucking shouting at the top of his lungs by the time this is done. He keeps this going, fucking into Poe's mouth with his fingers until he can see how slick and wet they are, and then he draws them back, taking a breath.
This is another thing he only has the basest of experience with, but fuck, he doesn't care. He leans back, prying his dick out of Poe's grip, and he rests himself more on Poe's legs than his waist, arm behind him on the mattress to keep steady. He arches himself up with one leg and reaches beneath himself to find his hole, which he slowly starts to fuck with one finger Poe made slick for him. It's-- tight, he's not even sure he'll be able to fit two fingers inside himself, let alone Poe's cock-- but he grunts, and he stretches, and he's aggressive, too aggressive than he needs to be as he puts on a show, forces that hole open.
He inserts his second finger and he looks up at Poe, eyes dark, hazed over by lust and anger. Anger at everyone for making him feel for even a fucking second that he's worth less than what he is.
"Stroke your cock," he orders, and again, it's loud, too loud for where they are. "With-- your injured hand. Get ready for what I'm gonna do to you."
He grins, laughs, throaty and deep.
"I might be the one who's gonna get a dick in my ass, but you're the one that's gonna get fucked."
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But it also had the side effect of being fucking hot. Owain's anger may as well have been an aphrodisiac, as far as Poe was concerned. Because he felt it, too. It was a righteous anger and a rebellious one, and regardless of how everyone else in the universe might have felt about Owain, Poe gazed at him like there was nothing more fucking beautiful in existence.
He did as ordered - as soon as he was ordered - though his strokes were slow and even, his fingers flicking down to watch Owain prepare himself. It was too rough, and he had half a mind to tell him so - but kept his mouth shut. He was not telling Owain to do a damn fucking thing tonight.
"Fuck," he groaned, his cock pulsing a long line of precum down his shaft and over his fingers. "... Fuck, Owain--"
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He writhes on the tip of Poe's cock once it enters him, grunting hard through his teeth. Even this is almost too much for him to handle, with a searing pain all but tearing him apart, and he clenches down, too angry and inexperienced to fight the instinct and just relax. It hurts, but the slickness of his saliva and the precum coating him from the inside makes it bearable, and he doesn't care enough about the pain to stop. Poe is still dressed, but his nails find Poe's chest and he digs in for grip, scratching off a layer of skin and cutting small, tiny droplets of blood over flesh.
"Okay," he grunts. "Okay-- fucking-- back to me. Hand on my cock. Don't stop until I say you can."
He lowers himself further, pushing about a quarter of Poe's dick through that ring of tight, pink muscle until he has to stop and take a breath. He eases, a little, but it's not enough, and the pain is shooting up through his body and into his skull, giving him a headache.
But every little burst of pain - every shot that aches through him - makes his cock just fucking pulse, precum beading at the tip and flowing down in streams, completely covering Poe's hand, the bandage, his body beneath Owain. He fucking needs this.
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That brief moment of yearning for just a slow, loving consummation - and a deep flush blooms under his skin at the thought. Not now. Not when Owain was obviously trying so hard to prove something, if only to himself. But suddenly he just wanted to lose himself in Owain, every stroke taking a millennia and falling into a trance--
He was pulled out of it by the sharp pain on his chest, his breath hitching, lips parting wordlessly, but his cock throbbed hotly, another gush of precum sliding down his shaft even as the head was now buried in Owain's body, and he had to resist the urge to fuck up into him.
"... You gotta... Fuck, Owain, you're so tight, you got to relax--"
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