He loves seeing Poe like that. Smug, like he just knows how hot he is. Proud of himself in a way Owain is just to know him. He brushes his tongue over Poe's and slowly fucks further into him, meeting resistance from using spit and lube alone but slick enough and leaking enough pre that it eases with each gentle thrust.
"Ffffuck..."
A part of him remembers the way Poe pushed his hand away, and his heart sinks with nerves as he, again, wonders why, but then he remembers the way their foreheads met and the way he still kept touching him and he picks up speed, meeting his lips. Gently pulling at lips before leaning against him.
He's lifting Poe with both arms, which means he can't touch his cock - he moves to press them closer together, as close as they can be, skin and clothes touching, and with every thrust he grinds his abdomen and that soft, blood-stained sweater over Poe's cock.
It was definitely not the most comfortable fuck he'd ever gotten - and reminded him that he really needed to pick up some oil especially for this purpose before they left - but in all honestly the burn was almost the best part of it. There wasn't a lot he could do to meet those thrusts - he just did his best to relax, fingers curling against the back of Owain's neck.
He would have been able to keep himself from moaning like a whore, maybe, if Owain hadn't stepped in closer, hadn't lit fire to him by grinding that sweater (which was quickly becoming the most erotic piece of clothing Poe had ever known) against him. He bucked and moaned, despite the position, hands grabbing at Owain's back for purchase, fingers digging hard into fabric.
It's not quite enough touch but at the same time almost too much, and he writhes a little, trying to push down and force more of Owain inside him, but he's pinned to the wall.
"Oh, fuck, Owain--" he breathes, another moan sliding from his lips. "Fuck, you feel so good--"
The writhing on his cock feels fucking amazing, the way Poe just twists and falls down on him and struggles in his arms, making Owain make a noise that's close to a growl every time it happens. He doesn't let Poe move, though, not really - he keeps him pinned to the wall, clinging tighter, fucking harder into him and giving him what he wants, what he needs, but staying in control. He rolls his body, arching his back and pushing in with more than just his cock, fucking at full force with his hips and his thighs, and the pace gets faster and faster until he's bottoming out and his balls are hitting Poe's ass with each thrust.
Owain doesn't think he's going to last. Not as long as he normally does. Too eager, too ready for this, too overwhelmed. He catches at Poe's lips and grunts against him, eyes shut.
"Poe-- I fucking-- love--"
He swallows and leans back, too clouded by lust to have the energy to finish his sentence, let alone know what it's going to be. This or you. One of them. He bucks up harder, holding it there, and it's barely been a few minutes but he can feel what's coming.
At some point the burning had been completely replaced by numbness, which did absolutely nothing to temper the pure pleasure that shook him every time Owain thrust himself up full and deep, the head of his cock slamming past that perfect fucking spot every time. His cock was angrily weeping precum into Owain's sweater and Poe really couldn't find it in him to care.
He'd already be a lot closer to his orgasm if they hadn't run him ragged for the last two nights in a row, but that didn't mean he didn't moan pathetically as Owain rumbled his intention and need.
"Yes--" It came out more like a plea than anything else, Poe's whole body felt flushed and hot, his back rubbing raw between the fabric of his jacket and the stone of wall, tearing at freshly healed scabs from the claw marks raked across his back from the night before. It was, to put it bluntly, fucking hot as hell. "Fuck-- Owain, please-- I want to feel you come inside me--"
He's ruining Poe's skin, the stone leaving fresh cuts and grazes through fabric, layered wounds like thatchwork over the marks he left with his nails last night. Owain doesn't notice, and if he did, he might have stopped - but Poe's giving him permission to come and it's making his legs quake and every clumsy thrust comes harder and sharper, scratching and bruising as hard as the wall allows.
He lets go of one of Poe's thighs, letting his leg dangle beneath them, holding him high enough that his toes will barely be able to find the ground, if they try. He keeps him steady by looping his arm around his waist, and he just keeps fucking grunting, over and over without thinking, that needy growl rocking out of him as he just well and truly fucks, Poe's bare ass pressed so damn tight between Owain's body and the wall, so much pressure from the sweater pressed over his cock--
And then he's unloading like last night didn't even happen, cumming with a moan far too loud for where they are, filling Poe with everything he has. He presses into him as deep as he can, legs weakening and bucking and making him pull out every few seconds only to just fucking slam all the way back in, and when he's finally done shooting his load he's panting and pale and exhausted.
He pulls out, gently, his cock already softening and dripping free with a small waterfall of cum down Poe's ass, and he laughs a little sheepishly as he lets go of Poe's leg so he can stand, then leans on him for balance.
"S-Sorry. You're just-- I'm surprised I ever last longer than that with you. You are-- ridiculously, stupidly hot."
He was getting so fucking close, between those last few thrusts, but he had simply not completely recovered from the night before. So even though he felt like he was about to tip over the edge, he didn't, even as he could feel Owain cum deep inside of him, felt him thrust hard to keep at that depth even as the man's legs were shaking with the effort.
He had gripped hard, while Owain came, determined not to accidently slip back down the wall, and he was panting as well as his feet gingerly found the floor. He gave a low groan, his ass throbbing now that it was empty, and he could feel Owain's cum dripping down onto his thigh. He vaguely kicked at his clothes so at least they wouldn't get dripped on.
He was, also, hard as a fucking rock - but he made no motion to relieve himself of it. Instead, he pressed a hard, clumsy kiss to Owain's lips. "... You're the one telling me this?" He teased lowly. "You have... no idea... what the hell you do to me."
The only reason Owain pulls back from Poe is so they can kiss, and his half in this doesn't come back as hard - his side of the kiss is just a tired, soft thing filled with relaxed and clumsy motions, content and happy sighs. He grins into the teasing, fingers curling against Poe's side as his cock flexes one more time for good measure.
"If I didn't know what I did to you, I wouldn't want to be with you all the time," he mumbles, leaning down to press a kiss to Poe's neck. "I only like it so much 'cause I know we're both having fun."
He finds Poe's cock and wraps his fingers around it, stroking from base to tip, letting go, stroking from base to tip. He meets Poe's eyes with a kind of sleepy excitement, slow strokes suddenly coming even slower.
"I think," he says, words thoughtful and dragged out, a long pause for emphasis. "I think... I'm not gonna let you cum... until tonight. I'm gonna keep you hard-- gonna keep you waiting and desperate until you're begging for release-- so that when we're alone, one of us is gonna get fucking ruined."
He isn't really capable of fully grasping what Owain's words meant to him, let alone be able to say something about them that managed to convey even a sliver of it. Because they wouldn't have been true, a few days ago. Knowing that they were both having fun hadn't been the point of Owain's training. So it made something tighten in his chest - an almost sweet taste at the back of his throat - but he swallowed it down and covered it with a dumb, slightly smug grin instead.
Later. He could think about it later.
Two seconds later the choice on when to think upon it was made for him - because Owain had found his cock and all thoughts had fled his head utterly. He leaned in a little, pressing his forehead into the man's shoulder.
"I don't know whether I should... curse you, or bless you, right now--" He complained lowly.
He keeps stroking Poe in deliberate, slow twists, grinding over his tip with his palm to overload his nerves. Each tug of Poe's cock is firm and decisive but ultimately unfulfilling with how slow it is, with how certain Owain is in only stroking upwards - it's his goal to bring Poe as close to the edge as he can be after last night, and only when he feels like he's hit that point does he stop and press another gentle kiss to Poe's lips.
"I mean, it's not quite what you mean, but I like it when you curse, if that influences anything." He's so, so close to Poe, voice the tiniest whisper. "You're this elegant nobleman I'm supposed to walk on my hands and knees for, and yet there are times when we're in bed where you just-- sound like a fucking whore. Like despite all the power you should have over me, all the poise you were raised with, in the end there's nothing you want more than my cock. Nothing you'll fall to pieces faster for."
He grins, leans back, taking his hand away.
"Don't even get started on how hard I get when I see you angry. Fuck." He strokes his own cock a few times, forcing the last drop of cum out of him that he swipes up with his fingertip. He brings his finger up to Poe's lips, biting his own and watching to see if he'll taste it.
He groans, his body falling a few centimeters as it chased after the hand that was drawn away. He was already having to tell himself that waiting until later was a good idea, was better than just pushing Owain down on his knees and thrusting himself into his mouth or jerking himself off onto his face or a myriad other images that those achingly slow strokes had brought to his mind. (The earlier romance of that first kiss he had stolen was utterly gone.)
But he doesn't blush, even at the words fucking whore, because instead of being embarrassed by them, he almost feels... a bit proud. So instead of blushing he just grins, wicked and wide and sharp, trapping his tongue between his teeth, barely visible through parted lips.
"And you're getting fucking cocky," He replied, his voice low and husky, and he did - indeed - sound like a whore. "Not wrong, though." He tilted his head as the finger tip was offered, and he leaned in, tongue swiping the drop of cum from the tip before his lips closed around the first knuckle and he gave a good little suck.
He was getting a complex about the words good boy, his cock visibly jumping an inch as it twitched to it, and he wet his lips again as he savoured the taste of Owain's cum.
He can't tell if this is okay or not for him to feel, but the way Poe calls him cocky sends a fucking bullet of pride straight through his system. He still lusts for that - acceptance for Poe, admiration, praise - and that's what he takes this as, but. He thinks that's okay, because it's different, when thoughts of Kes are at the back of his mind and he cares less about the training ingrained in him and more about just being with Poe. When things are good, like they are now, that praise is just--
Praise. From someone he cares about. Not carefully tailored words from a master, feeding into his position as a slave and keeping him down. Just - praise.
And fuck, he definitely noticed how Poe's cock twitched just now.
"Aight, c'mon."
He slaps Poe's ass, overtly cocky, shuffling his cock back into his pants. He gives one last, swooping kiss to Poe's lips and helps him find something to clean up with, then stretches his arms and back and acts like he's not about to spend the rest of the day fucking with Poe's head and driving him to a frenzied desperation for later tonight.
"You wanna buy me a present still? 'Cause, I mean, I don't know how you can top what we just did, but that's probably next on the list."
It takes him a few minutes to make himself less of a mess, and to make sure there's no longer cum dripping from his ass down the backside of his thigh, but eventually he manages to pull himself into something respectable - even if his cock is still hard enough to visible strain at his pants. Might need to deal with that before going out on the street, but. It's fine for now.
"Actually, I had an idea about that. But it's... not exactly a traditional kind of gift."
Nah, Odin'll want him to show off. He slides up behind Poe while he's talking, holding him from behind, resting his chin on the curve of his shoulder. He doesn't say anything for a while - just slides his fingers down over Poe's cock and leaves them there. Not even stroking him, just letting his palm rest against the tent of the fabric. When he does talk, his voice is riddled with that same cocky, smug tone as before. The boy's enjoying himself.
"Yeah?" He kisses Poe's neck, soft and chaste, such a dichotomy to how he's treating him. "I'm happy with anything you wanna do. The journal alone makes me wanna cry? Like, every time I think about it, it overwhelms me. So. I'm not gonna be able to keep myself from breaking down if you've got something even more beautiful than that in mind."
He can't help it - shifting his hips to get even a little movement of Owain's fingers over his clothed cock.
"Well, I think I'll leave it a mystery until we get there," He said, turning his head with a smug smirk, before pulling out of Owain's grasp. He really, really needed to get a hold of himself before they got to the street.
It took a little while to get to the street.
Eventually, however, Poe was walking up to a small dark shop without a window front. It didn't even have a sign, just two gold letters painted on the door: T.T. He pushed the door open, gestured for Owain to follow him and stepped inside.
"Tristan?" He called out, and a moment later an older gentleman, covered with tattoos appeared from a doorway, rubbing his hands down with a cloth. "Ah, Captain Dameron. And this is...?"
"Owain." Poe answered immediately, before offering a charming grin. "He'd like to sit in."
It strikes Owain, as he sees Tristan in all his rugged, ratty, amazingly bearded glory, that he feels much less afraid of being around new people than he was a few days ago. He's not sure what's changed - maybe it's just the fact that he went through something awful with Kes and Poe stuck by him regardless - but that cockiness in him surges, and he focuses on his new found confidence rather than worry about what, exactly, he's sitting in for.
He uses that new found confidence to sling an arm around Poe's waist, slightly possessively. He could take on this fuckin' dude, and his bearded-ass beard. He'll fight anyone to keep Poe close to him.
"I'm gonna sit in so hard."
Shit, he's gotta calm down.
Arm still on Poe's waist, he looks around the store, eyes drawn back to that T.T. on the outside of the glass. He looks back to Tristan.
Tristan's eyes crinkle a little at the display, shooting an amused raised eyebrow at Poe.
"Owain, huh." He steps over, and holds out a hand - even after being washed, there are dark ink stains spotted over the skin. "Tristan Treehold, technically - my name, not my profession."
"Tristan's a mage," Poe explained, with a half smile back at Owain as Tristan gestured for them to follow him deeper into the shop. The front was almost nothing but books - even though each shelf had a thin chain across it with little signs that said 'do not touch'. At the back of the shop was a black chair, higher than most, and leaned back farther than most, as well. Owain would recognise this, at least. Even tattooists who didn't work with magic tended to use similar chairs.
"He has a very special branch of magic - no one in the army would look to anyone else for a tattoo. Am I right?"
"That's right," Tristan agreed with a broad smile, moving back to a table. It was covered with long needles, all carefully cleaned and prepped, as well as something that looked like a tiny chisel and hammer. "Surprised to see you though, Dameron, you didn't seem very interested last time we spoke."
"Yeah, well, I actually have an idea now. Got some paper?"
"Yeah, over there," Tristan pointed, and Poe shot Owain a grin before pulling from his grasp to go and draw something across the room.
"You in Poe's regiment, then?" Tristan asked Owain amiably as he opened a cupboard and pulled out a small dark bottle of ink.
Mages meant something to Owain - his mom had been amazing, given freedom to study her craft under the generous consideration of The Lady Commander, and he'd always admired the things she could do. He looks at Tristan with a newfound respect, and he holds his hand with that same barely there softness he was trained to have as a Pledge. Making himself as small as possible, even as he sticks by Poe's side and tries to rebel.
Poe pulls away, soon enough, and Tristan is asking him... a question. He's not sure how to answer, partially because he doesn't want to say I'm his Pledge but primarily because there isn't really a word for what he and Poe are. He shoots a nervous glance to Poe to try and find guidance, but Poe's busy drawing something, which... sits on Owain's mind, makes him wonder what this is, until he looks back to Tristan with a very tentative confidence.
"I'm, uh." Again, there's hesitation; a pregnant pause as he looks at the ink in Tristan's hand and realization about why they're here starts to dawn. "I'm his friend. More than his friend? I'm more than his friend."
Yeah. Yeah, he's happy with that. It's shy and hard to restrain, the smile in his voice, but he does his best, just so he doesn't start laughing like a fucking idiot in the middle of someone's tattoo parlour.
Some of his pride falters, and the smile slips from Owain's eyes. It's not really... news? Poe had said he'd go to bars and shit to relieve his stress after a day like the one they first had together, so it makes sense that people who knew him would be... aware, maybe, of Poe's interests.
But it's a reminder that those interests are there, and Owain's eighteen and he's in love and against all the evidence that suggests otherwise, he wonders if Poe would have gotten bored of him and sent him away by now if it wasn't for the obligation of keeping him.
"Uh," he starts, even though he has no idea where to go or what to say. He looks at Tristan and shrugs, somewhat nervously. He lowers his voice, in any case, making absolutely sure that Poe can't hear him.
"I can't really-- speak for him. But it's-- a lot. To me. Here." He pats his fist over his heart. "Every time I think about him. So. I don't know. Just, it's a lot. To me? Maybe for him. I think for him. I don't know."
Tristan just smiled at him, knowingly, and then reached out to pat a thick, warm hand on Owain's shoulder. "You wouldn't be here if there wasn't something there," He said, giving a squeeze, before looking back at Poe who was walking over with a piece of paper.
"Alright. Look - don't say anything about how terrible the drawing is, alright? As long as you know the heraldry I'm looking for, you should be able to work it out, right?"
Tristan took the piece of paper, with, quite frankly, a really really terrible drawing of a house crest on it. "You could have just told me that you wanted your crest, Dameron, I think I even have it in one of my boo--" He paused, and then squinted. "Oh. Never mind. Sure. I've got it."
He flashed a look at Owain, a curious frown on his face, but then he walked over to his sketching table. There was no way in hell he could work from Poe's drawing, so he quickly sketched out another one. Poe, on the other hand, was already stripping off his jacket.
"Did you want a spell in it?" Tristan asked without looking up from his drafting table.
"Yeah, just a basic protection charm, thanks Tristan."
The hand on his shoulder reminds him of Lon'qu, and he looks at Tristan with an even brighter admiration than before. He can see both of his parents in this man, to an extent, and he's overwhelmed with an instant desire to just-- to know him, to be his friend, to study under him and become a mage and an artist and brand things to people's skin and make it permanent and solid and real.
His stomach tightens, when Tristan reassures him of Poe's feelings. Something about Tristan is just-- honest, so it takes a moment, but Owain soon nods, completely believing him.
When Poe comes back with his drawing, Owain stands on tiptoes to try to see it, but he can't quite see it and he's not sure if he's allowed to ask for a chance. When Tristan looks at him, there are too many butterflies in his stomach to make him shrink back, so he just... waves. At that frown. Soon, Poe is stripping and getting settled and Owain comes to wait by his side again, the artist's chair reminding him of the time he was branded as a child. Even that had happened in the Estate, keeping him secluded and away from the city - but it's familiar, nevertheless. He runs his hand over Poe's arm, catching his attention.
"Is this..." He hesitates. He knows what this is, he knows, but he hasn't let the gravity of what Poe is doing sink in yet and he doesn't have the guts to ask in case he's wrong or in case he's right and he'll make a fool of himself with all the inevitably bawling. "Is this still-- my birthday present?"
He pulled off his shirt, too, setting everything carefully aside before climbing into the chair. He was, of course, utterly covered in scratches and bruises and dark red marks on his throat, but Tristan was a professional and a gentleman and was busy in his work. When Owain touched his arm, he offered a warm, beaming smile.
"I warned you that it wasn't exactly traditional," Poe mused, still smiling as he reached out to grasp Owain's hand, and pulled it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss against his knuckles. "And technically I was going to do it anyway, so I'm not sure it counts as a birthday present, but. Yeah."
He looks at the marks on Poe's skin, the bruises he left there. Each individual injury a memory of a time Owain was just so fucking happy to be with him that he got carried away and felt too much. Everything in his chest is too full for him to carry, like someone just inflated his heart with hot air, or like he's been holding his breath for too long and his lungs have forgotten how to work without aching.
He finds Poe's hand and he holds it, and he doesn't realize he's tearing up until he looks at the knuckles he's gripping tight to and finds them blurry. He's startled, and he blinks, and it makes a couple of tears fall onto Poe's wrist. He laughs, shy and awkward, scrubbing it away. He completely forgets Tristan is even here.
"Are you sure? You'd be-- mine. Permanently." He swallows, looking at Poe. "I'll always be with you, if you do this. I'll always be a part of you, in some way, and-- and. I know the last few days have been a lot, but are you sure you're okay with that? Okay with me?"
"I already am, and you already are," Poe pointed out, simply. "That's going to be true, tattoo or not. But I'm not going to let you be the only one to wear the mark of it, Owain."
He gave Owain's hand a squeeze, with a reassuring smile.
"The pledge is already there. I'm just making it visible."
Owain's heart seizes and he looks at Poe for the briefest of seconds--
And then he crashes their lips together, laughing, hands on either side of Poe's face and just-- crying, through all of it, overwhelmed and full of too much fucking love to be able to conduct himself any better. It's a fucking terrible kiss, honestly - wet from tears, Owain breathing too hard into it, teeth, and he pulls back too soon, wiping both of his eyes on his wrists.
"Fuck," he says, voice thin and diluted. "This is-- fuck. I don't deserve this, everyone's gonna know, this isn't-- this isn't something you can hide or explain away like the bandage on your hand, man, this is--"
He cuts himself off, holding Poe's hand, bringing it up his cheek and just-- resting on it.
"I wish I knew how to be as much to you as you are to me." He kisses the back of Poe's hand, breathing out. "I wish I just-- fuck."
He could say it. He could say it so, so, so easily.
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"Ffffuck..."
A part of him remembers the way Poe pushed his hand away, and his heart sinks with nerves as he, again, wonders why, but then he remembers the way their foreheads met and the way he still kept touching him and he picks up speed, meeting his lips. Gently pulling at lips before leaning against him.
He's lifting Poe with both arms, which means he can't touch his cock - he moves to press them closer together, as close as they can be, skin and clothes touching, and with every thrust he grinds his abdomen and that soft, blood-stained sweater over Poe's cock.
"Fuck, Poe--"
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It was definitely not the most comfortable fuck he'd ever gotten - and reminded him that he really needed to pick up some oil especially for this purpose before they left - but in all honestly the burn was almost the best part of it. There wasn't a lot he could do to meet those thrusts - he just did his best to relax, fingers curling against the back of Owain's neck.
He would have been able to keep himself from moaning like a whore, maybe, if Owain hadn't stepped in closer, hadn't lit fire to him by grinding that sweater (which was quickly becoming the most erotic piece of clothing Poe had ever known) against him. He bucked and moaned, despite the position, hands grabbing at Owain's back for purchase, fingers digging hard into fabric.
It's not quite enough touch but at the same time almost too much, and he writhes a little, trying to push down and force more of Owain inside him, but he's pinned to the wall.
"Oh, fuck, Owain--" he breathes, another moan sliding from his lips. "Fuck, you feel so good--"
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Owain doesn't think he's going to last. Not as long as he normally does. Too eager, too ready for this, too overwhelmed. He catches at Poe's lips and grunts against him, eyes shut.
"Poe-- I fucking-- love--"
He swallows and leans back, too clouded by lust to have the energy to finish his sentence, let alone know what it's going to be. This or you. One of them. He bucks up harder, holding it there, and it's barely been a few minutes but he can feel what's coming.
"I'm gonna-- already-- can I just--?"
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He'd already be a lot closer to his orgasm if they hadn't run him ragged for the last two nights in a row, but that didn't mean he didn't moan pathetically as Owain rumbled his intention and need.
"Yes--" It came out more like a plea than anything else, Poe's whole body felt flushed and hot, his back rubbing raw between the fabric of his jacket and the stone of wall, tearing at freshly healed scabs from the claw marks raked across his back from the night before. It was, to put it bluntly, fucking hot as hell. "Fuck-- Owain, please-- I want to feel you come inside me--"
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He lets go of one of Poe's thighs, letting his leg dangle beneath them, holding him high enough that his toes will barely be able to find the ground, if they try. He keeps him steady by looping his arm around his waist, and he just keeps fucking grunting, over and over without thinking, that needy growl rocking out of him as he just well and truly fucks, Poe's bare ass pressed so damn tight between Owain's body and the wall, so much pressure from the sweater pressed over his cock--
And then he's unloading like last night didn't even happen, cumming with a moan far too loud for where they are, filling Poe with everything he has. He presses into him as deep as he can, legs weakening and bucking and making him pull out every few seconds only to just fucking slam all the way back in, and when he's finally done shooting his load he's panting and pale and exhausted.
He pulls out, gently, his cock already softening and dripping free with a small waterfall of cum down Poe's ass, and he laughs a little sheepishly as he lets go of Poe's leg so he can stand, then leans on him for balance.
"S-Sorry. You're just-- I'm surprised I ever last longer than that with you. You are-- ridiculously, stupidly hot."
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He had gripped hard, while Owain came, determined not to accidently slip back down the wall, and he was panting as well as his feet gingerly found the floor. He gave a low groan, his ass throbbing now that it was empty, and he could feel Owain's cum dripping down onto his thigh. He vaguely kicked at his clothes so at least they wouldn't get dripped on.
He was, also, hard as a fucking rock - but he made no motion to relieve himself of it. Instead, he pressed a hard, clumsy kiss to Owain's lips. "... You're the one telling me this?" He teased lowly. "You have... no idea... what the hell you do to me."
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"If I didn't know what I did to you, I wouldn't want to be with you all the time," he mumbles, leaning down to press a kiss to Poe's neck. "I only like it so much 'cause I know we're both having fun."
He finds Poe's cock and wraps his fingers around it, stroking from base to tip, letting go, stroking from base to tip. He meets Poe's eyes with a kind of sleepy excitement, slow strokes suddenly coming even slower.
"I think," he says, words thoughtful and dragged out, a long pause for emphasis. "I think... I'm not gonna let you cum... until tonight. I'm gonna keep you hard-- gonna keep you waiting and desperate until you're begging for release-- so that when we're alone, one of us is gonna get fucking ruined."
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Later. He could think about it later.
Two seconds later the choice on when to think upon it was made for him - because Owain had found his cock and all thoughts had fled his head utterly. He leaned in a little, pressing his forehead into the man's shoulder.
"I don't know whether I should... curse you, or bless you, right now--" He complained lowly.
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Owain's falling in love with him for a reason.
He keeps stroking Poe in deliberate, slow twists, grinding over his tip with his palm to overload his nerves. Each tug of Poe's cock is firm and decisive but ultimately unfulfilling with how slow it is, with how certain Owain is in only stroking upwards - it's his goal to bring Poe as close to the edge as he can be after last night, and only when he feels like he's hit that point does he stop and press another gentle kiss to Poe's lips.
"I mean, it's not quite what you mean, but I like it when you curse, if that influences anything." He's so, so close to Poe, voice the tiniest whisper. "You're this elegant nobleman I'm supposed to walk on my hands and knees for, and yet there are times when we're in bed where you just-- sound like a fucking whore. Like despite all the power you should have over me, all the poise you were raised with, in the end there's nothing you want more than my cock. Nothing you'll fall to pieces faster for."
He grins, leans back, taking his hand away.
"Don't even get started on how hard I get when I see you angry. Fuck." He strokes his own cock a few times, forcing the last drop of cum out of him that he swipes up with his fingertip. He brings his finger up to Poe's lips, biting his own and watching to see if he'll taste it.
"Your reward for being a good boy."
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But he doesn't blush, even at the words fucking whore, because instead of being embarrassed by them, he almost feels... a bit proud. So instead of blushing he just grins, wicked and wide and sharp, trapping his tongue between his teeth, barely visible through parted lips.
"And you're getting fucking cocky," He replied, his voice low and husky, and he did - indeed - sound like a whore. "Not wrong, though." He tilted his head as the finger tip was offered, and he leaned in, tongue swiping the drop of cum from the tip before his lips closed around the first knuckle and he gave a good little suck.
He was getting a complex about the words good boy, his cock visibly jumping an inch as it twitched to it, and he wet his lips again as he savoured the taste of Owain's cum.
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Praise. From someone he cares about. Not carefully tailored words from a master, feeding into his position as a slave and keeping him down. Just - praise.
And fuck, he definitely noticed how Poe's cock twitched just now.
"Aight, c'mon."
He slaps Poe's ass, overtly cocky, shuffling his cock back into his pants. He gives one last, swooping kiss to Poe's lips and helps him find something to clean up with, then stretches his arms and back and acts like he's not about to spend the rest of the day fucking with Poe's head and driving him to a frenzied desperation for later tonight.
"You wanna buy me a present still? 'Cause, I mean, I don't know how you can top what we just did, but that's probably next on the list."
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"Actually, I had an idea about that. But it's... not exactly a traditional kind of gift."
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"Yeah?" He kisses Poe's neck, soft and chaste, such a dichotomy to how he's treating him. "I'm happy with anything you wanna do. The journal alone makes me wanna cry? Like, every time I think about it, it overwhelms me. So. I'm not gonna be able to keep myself from breaking down if you've got something even more beautiful than that in mind."
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"Well, I think I'll leave it a mystery until we get there," He said, turning his head with a smug smirk, before pulling out of Owain's grasp. He really, really needed to get a hold of himself before they got to the street.
It took a little while to get to the street.
Eventually, however, Poe was walking up to a small dark shop without a window front. It didn't even have a sign, just two gold letters painted on the door: T.T. He pushed the door open, gestured for Owain to follow him and stepped inside.
"Tristan?" He called out, and a moment later an older gentleman, covered with tattoos appeared from a doorway, rubbing his hands down with a cloth. "Ah, Captain Dameron. And this is...?"
"Owain." Poe answered immediately, before offering a charming grin. "He'd like to sit in."
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He uses that new found confidence to sling an arm around Poe's waist, slightly possessively. He could take on this fuckin' dude, and his bearded-ass beard. He'll fight anyone to keep Poe close to him.
"I'm gonna sit in so hard."
Shit, he's gotta calm down.
Arm still on Poe's waist, he looks around the store, eyes drawn back to that T.T. on the outside of the glass. He looks back to Tristan.
"Tristan's Taradiddle? Tristan's Tiromancy. Tristan's... Triskaidekaphobia?"
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"Owain, huh." He steps over, and holds out a hand - even after being washed, there are dark ink stains spotted over the skin. "Tristan Treehold, technically - my name, not my profession."
"Tristan's a mage," Poe explained, with a half smile back at Owain as Tristan gestured for them to follow him deeper into the shop. The front was almost nothing but books - even though each shelf had a thin chain across it with little signs that said 'do not touch'. At the back of the shop was a black chair, higher than most, and leaned back farther than most, as well. Owain would recognise this, at least. Even tattooists who didn't work with magic tended to use similar chairs.
"He has a very special branch of magic - no one in the army would look to anyone else for a tattoo. Am I right?"
"That's right," Tristan agreed with a broad smile, moving back to a table. It was covered with long needles, all carefully cleaned and prepped, as well as something that looked like a tiny chisel and hammer. "Surprised to see you though, Dameron, you didn't seem very interested last time we spoke."
"Yeah, well, I actually have an idea now. Got some paper?"
"Yeah, over there," Tristan pointed, and Poe shot Owain a grin before pulling from his grasp to go and draw something across the room.
"You in Poe's regiment, then?" Tristan asked Owain amiably as he opened a cupboard and pulled out a small dark bottle of ink.
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Poe pulls away, soon enough, and Tristan is asking him... a question. He's not sure how to answer, partially because he doesn't want to say I'm his Pledge but primarily because there isn't really a word for what he and Poe are. He shoots a nervous glance to Poe to try and find guidance, but Poe's busy drawing something, which... sits on Owain's mind, makes him wonder what this is, until he looks back to Tristan with a very tentative confidence.
"I'm, uh." Again, there's hesitation; a pregnant pause as he looks at the ink in Tristan's hand and realization about why they're here starts to dawn. "I'm his friend. More than his friend? I'm more than his friend."
Yeah. Yeah, he's happy with that. It's shy and hard to restrain, the smile in his voice, but he does his best, just so he doesn't start laughing like a fucking idiot in the middle of someone's tattoo parlour.
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"For more than a night? Alright, I'm impressed." Something twinkled in his eyes when he turned back to Owain. "Didn't think I'd live to see it."
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But it's a reminder that those interests are there, and Owain's eighteen and he's in love and against all the evidence that suggests otherwise, he wonders if Poe would have gotten bored of him and sent him away by now if it wasn't for the obligation of keeping him.
"Uh," he starts, even though he has no idea where to go or what to say. He looks at Tristan and shrugs, somewhat nervously. He lowers his voice, in any case, making absolutely sure that Poe can't hear him.
"I can't really-- speak for him. But it's-- a lot. To me. Here." He pats his fist over his heart. "Every time I think about him. So. I don't know. Just, it's a lot. To me? Maybe for him. I think for him. I don't know."
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"Alright. Look - don't say anything about how terrible the drawing is, alright? As long as you know the heraldry I'm looking for, you should be able to work it out, right?"
Tristan took the piece of paper, with, quite frankly, a really really terrible drawing of a house crest on it. "You could have just told me that you wanted your crest, Dameron, I think I even have it in one of my boo--" He paused, and then squinted. "Oh. Never mind. Sure. I've got it."
He flashed a look at Owain, a curious frown on his face, but then he walked over to his sketching table. There was no way in hell he could work from Poe's drawing, so he quickly sketched out another one. Poe, on the other hand, was already stripping off his jacket.
"Did you want a spell in it?" Tristan asked without looking up from his drafting table.
"Yeah, just a basic protection charm, thanks Tristan."
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His stomach tightens, when Tristan reassures him of Poe's feelings. Something about Tristan is just-- honest, so it takes a moment, but Owain soon nods, completely believing him.
When Poe comes back with his drawing, Owain stands on tiptoes to try to see it, but he can't quite see it and he's not sure if he's allowed to ask for a chance. When Tristan looks at him, there are too many butterflies in his stomach to make him shrink back, so he just... waves. At that frown. Soon, Poe is stripping and getting settled and Owain comes to wait by his side again, the artist's chair reminding him of the time he was branded as a child. Even that had happened in the Estate, keeping him secluded and away from the city - but it's familiar, nevertheless. He runs his hand over Poe's arm, catching his attention.
"Is this..." He hesitates. He knows what this is, he knows, but he hasn't let the gravity of what Poe is doing sink in yet and he doesn't have the guts to ask in case he's wrong or in case he's right and he'll make a fool of himself with all the inevitably bawling. "Is this still-- my birthday present?"
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"I warned you that it wasn't exactly traditional," Poe mused, still smiling as he reached out to grasp Owain's hand, and pulled it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss against his knuckles. "And technically I was going to do it anyway, so I'm not sure it counts as a birthday present, but. Yeah."
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He looks at the marks on Poe's skin, the bruises he left there. Each individual injury a memory of a time Owain was just so fucking happy to be with him that he got carried away and felt too much. Everything in his chest is too full for him to carry, like someone just inflated his heart with hot air, or like he's been holding his breath for too long and his lungs have forgotten how to work without aching.
He finds Poe's hand and he holds it, and he doesn't realize he's tearing up until he looks at the knuckles he's gripping tight to and finds them blurry. He's startled, and he blinks, and it makes a couple of tears fall onto Poe's wrist. He laughs, shy and awkward, scrubbing it away. He completely forgets Tristan is even here.
"Are you sure? You'd be-- mine. Permanently." He swallows, looking at Poe. "I'll always be with you, if you do this. I'll always be a part of you, in some way, and-- and. I know the last few days have been a lot, but are you sure you're okay with that? Okay with me?"
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"I already am, and you already are," Poe pointed out, simply. "That's going to be true, tattoo or not. But I'm not going to let you be the only one to wear the mark of it, Owain."
He gave Owain's hand a squeeze, with a reassuring smile.
"The pledge is already there. I'm just making it visible."
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And then he crashes their lips together, laughing, hands on either side of Poe's face and just-- crying, through all of it, overwhelmed and full of too much fucking love to be able to conduct himself any better. It's a fucking terrible kiss, honestly - wet from tears, Owain breathing too hard into it, teeth, and he pulls back too soon, wiping both of his eyes on his wrists.
"Fuck," he says, voice thin and diluted. "This is-- fuck. I don't deserve this, everyone's gonna know, this isn't-- this isn't something you can hide or explain away like the bandage on your hand, man, this is--"
He cuts himself off, holding Poe's hand, bringing it up his cheek and just-- resting on it.
"I wish I knew how to be as much to you as you are to me." He kisses the back of Poe's hand, breathing out. "I wish I just-- fuck."
He could say it. He could say it so, so, so easily.
"Just--"
I love you, right there, so, so, so, so easily.
But it doesn't come.
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shut up
Make me :')
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