He gets lost in Poe's eyes, as he so often does. Caught in the depth of them, wishing his own were as beautiful. Tristan clears his throat and Owain knows, instinctively, that he should address him, maybe pull back from Poe and stop making things so fucking awkward for the poor dude but he-- can't, not yet.
He presses his lips to Poe's forehead and just breathes. He wraps his arms around him - one behind his head and the other his neck - and just fucking holds him, pulling Poe to his chest and resting his chin in his hair. He's just-- overwhelmed, and he needs this, needs Poe, and it takes another few seconds of silence before he eases back.
There's no way in hell he's going to miss this by sitting in the back, so with an apologetic - but defensive, maybe - glance to Tristan, he sits on a table right by the chair, holding Poe's hand tight again and refusing to let go.
"... Holdo's probably gonna flip her shit."
He's not saying it to anyone in particular. The air, maybe. Holdo's totally gonna flip her shit.
Tristan doesn't interrupt, though he does give Poe a bit of an "are you sure about this" look over Owain's head. Poe just nods, and waits until they're all set up.
"By he time she hears about it, there won't be a damn thing to do about it," Poe said as he held out his arm. Tristan carefully cleaned the area of skin on his bicep, before grappling his tools - sliding a fresh needle into the end of be bamboo rod and dipping it in ink. He took the tiny metal hammer, and after glancing as his sketch again, began to tap the hammer against the rod, driving the needle into Poe's skin. He blood welled, dark with ink as he worked, murmuring the entire time under his breath in a long- forgotten language, the magic in it making the hair raise on the back of Poe's neck, a tingle to the air.
Owain doesn't let go of Poe's hand during the process, squeezing tighter every time it looks like it might have hurt a little too much, consistently letting him know that he's here. There are a few moments where he feels like crying again, and it's stupid how easily the tears come - he smears them away on the back of his hand every time, sniffling and not really knowing what to do with himself. Neither Poe nor Tristan seem to hold it against him, and that makes his heart swell. Crying at the Estate meant kind words and gentle consoling followed by stern, soft-spoken lectures about keeping up appearances. There was nothing manipulative here.
He almost starts a conversation with Tristan, but his throat feels closed and sore from all the emotion that keeps welling up in him. He watches the ink and the magic bloom and he thinks of his own brand, and he wonders if-- there's something he can do, maybe.
"My mom... had a location spell."
He's swallowing, hoping it's not too late to bring this up, for either of them, but maybe-- maybe. He looks at Tristan, but he doesn't have the guts to ask him, so he looks back to Poe, as if he might know the answer.
"Could... Tristan enchant our brands-- both of them-- so that, like, we'll be able to track each other? Find each other, if we're ever apart?"
"I assume so," Poe replied, who despite the literal driving needles into his flesh seemed fairly impassive - only wincing when Tristan started on a section of bare flesh that hadn't been touched yet. In a few seconds, it was numb.
"But nothing that could be activated by someone else. Last thing I want is to end up being captured and giving away your position, too."
"Hmmm, that's more difficult," Tristan murmured. "Location spells tend to be tied to the object that is most useful - the spell can remain far after death. But what you're talking about feels far more... Personal."
Owain hadn't handled his own branding quite so easily. He'd gotten used to physical pain over the years - it was, inevitably, part of his training - but he'd been young when Poe's personal crest had been etched on his arm. Every flinch, however miniscule, has Owain smoothing his thumb over Poe's hand and wincing in sympathy.
He looks to Tristan, and he tries to keep quiet so as not to interrupt his concentration.
"So - we can't do it?"
Lissa's spell would have been easy to track - a marking of property, return to sender, and that's not what he wants his and Poe's to be. He wants a spell that's just there's, something that connects them. He looks at Poe a little nervously. He drops his voice.
"I just, like - don't want to be apart from you. Or not be able to find you, if I ever need to."
"I didn't say I couldn't do it." It wasn't an admonishment - Tristan's brow was pulled tight into a v, deep in concentration and thought. The sentences came slowly, like they were being drawn from somewhere deep below, and in between he continued to murmur the protection spell he was etching into Poe's skin.
"I could have it take a more - telepathic link. If you touch it, a light will appear in your vision in the direction of the partnered tattoo... brighter if you're closer, fainter if you're farther. Mind, if one of you lost an arm, it would only take you to the arm, but."
"Okay, well, neither of us are gonna lose an arm." He's slightly impatient, which means those drawn out sentences are fuuuuucking killing him. "Is there, like - a limit? Distance-wise? If we were an entire galaxy away, would he still be able to find me? 'Cause that's the important part."
He looks at Poe, and in all his intensity he realizes he hasn't actually asked if Poe would want this. A connection, to always keep them by each other. He goes a little red and it's obvious even before he brings it up that he's pretty damn embarrassed by this, and he stumbles over himself to apologize.
"That's-- we don't have to do that, obviously. Just-- yeah."
"It'd be pretty damn dim, but yeah. It should work. How you'd tell what planet from that far away would be anyone's guess, though."
Poe's eyes looked a little glossed over - as if he was listening but wasn't fully there - but when Owain directly addressed him he blinked, pulling himself out of it, and offered him a lazy smile, squeezing his hand.
"If you're sure it can't be used by anyone else, Tristan, go for it."
Tristan nodded. "I'll weave it in after this one."
"Just matters that it'll work. As long as I've got a direction to walk in, you know? I can figure out the rest as I go."
He feels anchored by the hand, squeezing back. There's a flare in him, a reminder - an entire world of people would tell him he's acting like a fool, intoxicated by a dream so far above his station, thoughts he doesn't deserve to think - but he looks at Poe, looks at what he's doing, and the acid in his stomach settles.
He keeps quiet during the rest of the application, staying still other than small encouraging handsqueezes as he lets both Tristan and Poe focus. The tattoo is bandaged before Owain gets a chance to see it in full, primarily because when he's given the option to get a better look, he goes red and mumbles something about how he wants to see it for the first time when he's alone with Poe so he can kiss the fuck out of him again. Tristan pats the chair when Poe's out of it so he can weave the location spell into Owain's already present brand, and it seems to hurt a lot less than it did the first time he was marked, the fresh ink of Poe's crest so much darker, more solid.
It's wrapped up and he's left alone while Poe and Tristan talk about payment and reminisce, and Owain slides out of the chair to come over. He doesn't really listen to the conversation - just slides closer and closer into Poe's side, going from standing a few inches apart to holding his waist and bending down to rest his chin on his shoulder over the course of five or six minutes.
They're done and they're on their way and Owain immediately leads Poe into an alley behind the store, pressing him up against a wall to kiss him as hard as he fucking can.
It's not sexual, not really. He doesn't even make the connection to that, despite his insistence that he was gonna tease Poe all day, ruin him by the time they get to tonight. It's just-- direct, hard and desperate, like he needs this, kissing Poe like it's the only way he knows how to show him just how much he fucking loves him. When he pulls back, he's still barely half an inch away from him.
"You are--"
His eyes dart from Poe's lips to his eyes to his lips to his eyes.
"You are-- the most-- perfect, kind, beautiful--"
He can't even finish his thought, swooping in for another kiss, fingers tangling through Poe's hair.
There'd been a knowing look that Tristan had shot Poe, when he saw Owain's brand. Tattoos given that young stretched, and even the magic woven into them left tell tale signs of the age. So he'd known what he was looking at, the moment he'd seen it. Knew Poe well enough to have the rest of the pieces fall together.
He didn't say anything. But it was clear to both of them that Tristan knew exactly what Poe was doing. And why he was doing it. (It didn't have nearly as much to do with just how handsome Poe's young partner was than Tristan had originally thought.)
Poe doesn't even think twice before letting Owain pull him into the alley, back slammed up against stone and he's kissing back just as hard, as soon as his body catches up with what's going on. Sexual or not, it sends a hot pulse of arousal through his blood, his arm aching under the bandage, his gaze a little hazy when Owain first pulls back. He's about to reply - argue, maybe, about how this was literally the least he could have offered - but then Owain's lips are on his again and all attempts at conversation are lost. He raises his hands, gripping the sides of Owain's face, palms pressing a little too hard on his jaw as he deepened the kiss - just as needy, just as desperate.
"... You've just - got really low standards -" he teases when he finally gets a breath, but he smiles when he says it and he cuts off any following argument by taking a deep kiss.
Poe cuts him off and Owain makes a groan of dissent, but he doesn't fight the kiss. He struggles to breathe but he doesn't let that stop him, and the tightness on his jawline as Poe presses into him makes this feel-- real, like it matters, like Poe really, really fucking wants this as much as he does.
Even the way his hand drifts to Poe's side is just instinct, rather than an attempt to take this further. He slides his bare palm beneath Poe's shirt, over his ribs all the way down to his ass, the tips of his fingers slipping beneath his belt to rest against soft skin.
But he's careful this time. More careful than he was in the clocktower, at least. He doesn't press hard against Poe's body, doesn't let scratches and bruises reopen from the way he brushes against the wall - he just holds him in place, firm and guiding, his other hand locking behind Poe's neck to keep him from moving away. He kisses Poe with his heart beating in his chest and with the same raw intensity he felt the first time he did this, and when he finally pulls away, he's just - overwhelmed. A mess. Red across every inch of his face, teary and sweaty and flustered, so far from attractive. Just overwhelmed.
"Can we--"
He looks to Poe's eyes, and for the first time, he's suddenly so fucking embarrassed and shy and nervous to see them that he just falters and stumbles over a few ums and uhs as he looks out of the alley and tries to hide what he's feeling.
"Can we go home? I just want to-- kiss you, and-- and not stop. Kissing you. Ever? Probably forever. I kind of think forever? I think I just want to kiss you forever."
It might not be conventionally attractive, sure, but the emotion written across Owain's face causes Poe's heart to thump - hard, just once - against his ribs. Causes his lungs to squeeze.
"Yeah." His voice is far, far too soft, when he speaks - a low, murmured whisper, far more emotion in that 'yeah' than he'd really intended, but he can't help it.
Fuck.
Fuck, he was in deep.
"We might need to... eat and sleep, at some point, but yeah. Let's go home."
One last quick kiss, ruined by Owain's eagerness to leave, and then they're gone.
They get looks on the way home, because Owain completely fucking forgets his place, more than he ever has before. He hangs off of Poe's side like they're just-- boyfriends, spending the day together, too happy and openly affectionate to stop himself from touching the man he loves, hand against his side or quick kisses being pressed to his cheek and his temple when Poe isn't looking.
He collects himself a little better at the base, because this, at least, is where he needs to watch himself. He doesn't let it feel like cold water when it hits him that if he doesn't behave, Poe could lose his job, or Owain could get in serious, genuine trouble - he just limits his affection to things like sliding his pinky finger against Poe's when he can chance it, knocking their shoulders together, looking at him.
It's still pretty early in the day when they get back to their room, so the oil lamps don't need to be lit. He shuts the door behind them and the anticipation of the rest of the day has built to such a breaking point that he's about two seconds away from just not giving a fuck and telling Poe, straight up, that he loves him.
But he doesn't.
He's shy, again. Now that they're alone, he's just shy. Eyes darting away and nervous laughter hitting him, pins and needles running through his insides.
Poe basically completely forgets that's not what they actually are. At least for those few moments, walking in the utter blissful ignorance of an idiot in love, even if he can't admit it vocally, it basically radiates from him whether he likes it or not. He feels the lack of it as soon as they enter the palace grounds, but doesn't fight it - just makes a beeline for the military wing and their rooms within it.
He has his own set of nerves, though they feel - different - and he is already gingerly taking off his jacket. Between it and the bandage his arm felt like it was on fire, so he gives a small sigh of relief when he slowly pulls the bandage off. It was no longer bleeding, but the skin was very raw and the ink very dark. He couldn't try the spell yet - it would have to heal more before he could touch it. But that was fine.
He offered Owain a very warm smile when he heard him vocally stumble.
Owain watches the bandage come away, his heart leaping to his throat the second he sees the tattoo in full. Every strong line, every mark, every stroke of colour, all of it his. There's a second where the weight of what Poe's done for him hits him to the stomach so hard that he doesn't know what to do with himself, because it's-- this means more than anything could possibly mean. This is a choice Poe made, entirely of his own volition, to just... keep... Owain. As his, but as an equal.
He can feel himself tearing up again, feel himself get all snotty and red and embarrassed, and he laughs through it at Poe's teasing to stop it from getting worse.
"You're just..."
There's so much love in his eyes when he looks at Poe. So much love. He wants to touch him, but it's like he doesn't know how. Like nothing will be enough. He looks down at the cut in his hand, the sharp and jagged thing that went far too roughly than it should have over his palm. He looks at the bandage on his arm, which he slowly starts to unravel, feeling like his own tattoo is brand new even though he's had it for the better half of his life. He's distant, for a moment.
"I think..."
He looks at Poe, and his voice cracked and wavered, so he laughs again, trying to strengthen it.
"I think - even if it took a while for them to understand why I've made the choices I've been making - my parents would be proud of me to have gravitated so close to you." He nods. "Proud of you, for being in my life. I don't know. Is that weird to say?"
The smile didn't fade, but it did turn into a far sadder expression, the grief that he still hadn't actually been able to address pulling at his eyebrows, strings pulling taut in his chest.
"... No, it's not weird. I think they'd be pretty damn proud of you, Owain. Even if they didn't get it." He stepped over towards him, reaching out a hand to rest on the bicep opposite the tattoo, squeezing it slightly. "The Gods know that I am. And we've still got a long ways to go, yet."
Owain nods. He's had years to process the loss of his parents - though process might be generous, with how he's internalized some things - and he forgets that it must be such a fresh wound for Poe. It still hasn't hit him, not really, that he would have cared about Lon'qu in much the same way he cares about Owain. As a human, not as a pledge.
He warms at the touch, skin pink, and sheepishly nods his head. If he can keep finding ways to make Poe proud of him, that's all he wants.
"We'll get there." He pauses, drifting down to Poe's tattoo. Warming, again, at the neck. "Especially now that I'll always be able to find my way back to you."
"Just don't accidentally go walking into an ocean or a star if you try it," Poe said, smile growing even more fond.
There was - a lot. Suddenly. A mass of feelings pulsing beneath his breast and clawing at his throat. It took all the will in the world to keep the shoved down there rather than breaking into words.
Owain deserved better than that.
So instead he just smiled, then stepped in, sliding a hand around the back of Owain's head to pull him in to a long, slow kiss.
"An ocean's not gonna stop me from finding you if we're apart."
His hands feel jumpy and weird, like he doesn't know where to put them, and any instinct he had to touch Poe before is completely shut down by a shy, nervous flutter where everything Poe does makes him shiver. He grabs a fold of Poe's shirt as if that might be enough, giggling, again, like an inexperienced kid and ruining the kiss.
He shuts his eyes tight and tries to will away all the warmth and the butterflies and just relax, but it's honestly next to impossible. It takes all his strength and all his focus to kiss Poe back, his lips parting and moving like heavy, heavy doors he has to throw everything he has into opening, and there's too much electricity, he has to pull back.
Owain dips his head and bends his knees and slumps against Poe's chest like a marionette with its strings cut, arms flopping uselessly at his side. Like a doofus.
"I really wanna kiss you," he says, like he's protesting his own bullshit. "Just-- my heart's getting all-- fluttery. And it's hard. 'Cause you seem more beautiful than you ever have and it's making me nervous."
"Yeah, I would just prefer not to have to pump sea water out of your lungs when I find you," Poe replied, the smile flickering.
The giggle in the kiss made him chuckle, so really in the end neither of them were actually kissing, just laughing with their lips against each other, which still honestly wasn't that bad, all things considered. Owain tries again and Poe's getting into it when suddenly Owain collapses on him and Poe lets out another soft, amused snort, his heart feeling approximately five times too big in his chest.
And it started to beat completely out of rythym when Owain spoke again.
I know the feeling, he wanted to say, but even that was too much, too close.
He owed Owain his freedom. He couldn't take it back from him, now. Not even for this.
"Should I make an ugly face until you feel better?" He teased quietly, pressing a kiss into his hair. "It's alright. I got you, okay? Whatever you want to do, it's all fine."
Owain weakly pats his hand on Poe's chest, letting it linger too long just to feel the firmness of it. Poe's body is so much more-- real, compared to Owain's. Strong because he fights. His own isn't like that, really. There's no denying his own athleticism - he was raised to be a soldier, raised to be able to swing a sword by Poe's side and not slow him down - but he's never been on the field of battle. There was such care taken to his appearance. Cut for aesthetic, raised to look perfect for someone else. He didn't even question that, until recently. That his fucking build was decided for him.
Every aspect of him was shaped for Poe. His body was just the most visible part of it.
He stands a little straighter. He tries to look Poe in the eyes, but he doesn't have the guts and ends up just sort of stammering again, laughing like a fucking idiot. He leans in and kisses his neck, because that comes easier to him than anything else right now - he gets to tuck himself up against Poe, breathe his scent, feel surrounded by Poe, yet not so naked in front of his spotlights.
He doesn't ask if they can go to bed, this time, even though he always has. He just pushes Poe back, gently, until they're at the cot, too small for the both of them but so much closer and cleaner. He drops Poe back onto it and rests one knee on the edge of the bed to deepen this, breathing him in, one arm around Poe's back for balance.
Poe had completed forgotten about the cot - and was startled a little when the back of his legs hit the edge of and he sat down a little too quickly, a little too heavily. One arm went out behind him to stabilize himself - leaning his weight back and also a good deal of Owain's, but he didn't seem to mind. His own heart was beating a jack rabbit pace, wild and sharp against his ribs despite to slow, methodical nature of Owain sliding in and slumping against him.
His free hand slid into Owain's hair, finger nails dragging into his scalp.
The words were there again, right on the tip of his tongue, and he swallowed them down. He couldn't offer Owain that - not when he had basically no choice. He would accept it and wouldn't even realize that he wouldn't have had another option.
But it wasn't the worst, Poe thought to himself. To love Owain. Even if he only got to feel like this for a little while.
Acting on instinct, Owain's hand travels again. Lower than it needs to, lower than this moment might want, his hand curling into a relaxed fist as it rests just above Poe's ass. He adjusts to the way Poe sinks against the mattress, lower to the ground than the bed ever was, and he raises his knee just a little further onto the cot to keep the both of them in place.
The nails in his scalp makes him shudder, and he doesn't hide it, his whole body quivering at even the slightest touch from Poe. The kiss on his neck comes slower, for a moment, and when he bites in its place, there's no frenzied marking, no desperate need for a flush of pink - there's barely any pressure, just the feel of teeth on flesh.
He leans back and again, can't quite bring himself to look at Poe. He laughs, as he's been doing this whole time, a jumble of nervous energy, everything too disorienting to think about.
The core, core tenet of Pledge training is to be able to serve your master with unflinching rigidity. The first thing he would have been trained in - the first lesson he would have learned, that he would have come back to time and time again through so, so many tutors - would have been how to conduct himself in front of his master. Every Pledge is the same - they have to keep their head lowered, but their eyes must meet their owner's. Always ready for an order, always ready to hurt or be hurt or to serve.
These butterflies, the shyness in Owain - the fact that meeting Poe's eyes is too much for him, makes everything inside him squirm and flutter and light up - the way he just blushes, laughs like a kid so clearly in love, tries to keep looking back at Poe but then ends up looking away with a shy smile and a happily angry bite of his bottom lip as if he's telling himself with a light heart to just get his shit together -
It's proof, above anything and everything, that whatever Poe's teaching him is sinking in. This is all him, against a decade of conditioning. Purely and totally Owain.
On the other hand, Poe couldn't stop looking at Owain. Every flush and bitten lip just made Poe grin so hard that it hurt, and he pressed a few warm kisses to Owain's cheek as he trailed down to try to catch at his mouth, the grin making it far more harder than it should have been.
He shuffled backwards on the bed, fingers hooking into Owain's belt loops to pull him along with him. His entire body felt far warmer than it should - hadn't even noticed that he was as flushed as Owain was, almost out of nothing but pure joy.
He'd never fallen this hard for anyone. The thought should be making him panic, but it isn't- it doesn't- all it does is make him want to lie back and pull Owain on top of him, arching his neck to steal a kiss as he pulls their clothes bodies flush against each other.
There's a stupid giggle in response to each kiss, followed by a quiet and embarrassed oh my god as Owain runs his hand down his stupid fucking stupid red stupid face and tries to just will away all this stupid fucking god damn BLUSHING. It doesn't work, but he lets Poe guide him, cock stirring just from the proximity of those fingers in his belt, and he settles down in an uncomfortable yet perfect closeness riiight next to Poe.
He shifts so he can be on his side facing Poe, closing him in against the wall and drawing the hand up from his back to rest on Poe's hip. He doesn't resume the kissing right away. He wants to, of course - he wants to do a lot of things, but. He's so close to Poe that he could count every lash, if he wanted to - catch the light of his eyes, the colour, commit his entire fucking face to memory so that when he's old and grey he'll be able to remember the curve of Poe's cheekbones, the perfect cut of his nose, those lips--
So that's what he does. He raises his hand, brushes some hair behind Poe's ear. Watches him, quietly, as the heat from his fades into something heavier and deeper and real. The way he's looking at Poe - like he's never seen him before, never seen someone so perfect before, never been given cause to feel so much admiration and fullness in him - it's a lot. Daunting, maybe, in its intensity. Examining every inch of Poe with a piercing clarity.
"You are so fucking beautiful." It's a whisper, one of awe and love, and he's said that word before, but it's true. There's nothing more strictly beautiful to him than Poe, and he runs his thumb over his cheek, just under his eye. Sappy.
"Fuck." He almost says it, again. Doesn't, of course. He just flickers his eyes back to Poe's, gets nervous again and cuts away, then forces himself to look back. To remember the colour. His heart feels like it's dying, from how fast its going, but he holds eye contact.
"I don't even know what I want to do," he admits, laughing nervously and apologetically and joyfully all at once. "It's like-- would it be too cheesy if I said it felt like I was on fire? Everything you do makes, like, an explosion. In me. It's scary. Not-- in a bad way. Just-- intense."
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He presses his lips to Poe's forehead and just breathes. He wraps his arms around him - one behind his head and the other his neck - and just fucking holds him, pulling Poe to his chest and resting his chin in his hair. He's just-- overwhelmed, and he needs this, needs Poe, and it takes another few seconds of silence before he eases back.
There's no way in hell he's going to miss this by sitting in the back, so with an apologetic - but defensive, maybe - glance to Tristan, he sits on a table right by the chair, holding Poe's hand tight again and refusing to let go.
"... Holdo's probably gonna flip her shit."
He's not saying it to anyone in particular. The air, maybe. Holdo's totally gonna flip her shit.
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Tristan doesn't interrupt, though he does give Poe a bit of an "are you sure about this" look over Owain's head. Poe just nods, and waits until they're all set up.
"By he time she hears about it, there won't be a damn thing to do about it," Poe said as he held out his arm. Tristan carefully cleaned the area of skin on his bicep, before grappling his tools - sliding a fresh needle into the end of be bamboo rod and dipping it in ink. He took the tiny metal hammer, and after glancing as his sketch again, began to tap the hammer against the rod, driving the needle into Poe's skin. He blood welled, dark with ink as he worked, murmuring the entire time under his breath in a long- forgotten language, the magic in it making the hair raise on the back of Poe's neck, a tingle to the air.
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He almost starts a conversation with Tristan, but his throat feels closed and sore from all the emotion that keeps welling up in him. He watches the ink and the magic bloom and he thinks of his own brand, and he wonders if-- there's something he can do, maybe.
"My mom... had a location spell."
He's swallowing, hoping it's not too late to bring this up, for either of them, but maybe-- maybe. He looks at Tristan, but he doesn't have the guts to ask him, so he looks back to Poe, as if he might know the answer.
"Could... Tristan enchant our brands-- both of them-- so that, like, we'll be able to track each other? Find each other, if we're ever apart?"
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"I assume so," Poe replied, who despite the literal driving needles into his flesh seemed fairly impassive - only wincing when Tristan started on a section of bare flesh that hadn't been touched yet. In a few seconds, it was numb.
"But nothing that could be activated by someone else. Last thing I want is to end up being captured and giving away your position, too."
"Hmmm, that's more difficult," Tristan murmured. "Location spells tend to be tied to the object that is most useful - the spell can remain far after death. But what you're talking about feels far more... Personal."
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He looks to Tristan, and he tries to keep quiet so as not to interrupt his concentration.
"So - we can't do it?"
Lissa's spell would have been easy to track - a marking of property, return to sender, and that's not what he wants his and Poe's to be. He wants a spell that's just there's, something that connects them. He looks at Poe a little nervously. He drops his voice.
"I just, like - don't want to be apart from you. Or not be able to find you, if I ever need to."
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"I could have it take a more - telepathic link. If you touch it, a light will appear in your vision in the direction of the partnered tattoo... brighter if you're closer, fainter if you're farther. Mind, if one of you lost an arm, it would only take you to the arm, but."
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He looks at Poe, and in all his intensity he realizes he hasn't actually asked if Poe would want this. A connection, to always keep them by each other. He goes a little red and it's obvious even before he brings it up that he's pretty damn embarrassed by this, and he stumbles over himself to apologize.
"That's-- we don't have to do that, obviously. Just-- yeah."
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Poe's eyes looked a little glossed over - as if he was listening but wasn't fully there - but when Owain directly addressed him he blinked, pulling himself out of it, and offered him a lazy smile, squeezing his hand.
"If you're sure it can't be used by anyone else, Tristan, go for it."
Tristan nodded. "I'll weave it in after this one."
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He feels anchored by the hand, squeezing back. There's a flare in him, a reminder - an entire world of people would tell him he's acting like a fool, intoxicated by a dream so far above his station, thoughts he doesn't deserve to think - but he looks at Poe, looks at what he's doing, and the acid in his stomach settles.
He keeps quiet during the rest of the application, staying still other than small encouraging handsqueezes as he lets both Tristan and Poe focus. The tattoo is bandaged before Owain gets a chance to see it in full, primarily because when he's given the option to get a better look, he goes red and mumbles something about how he wants to see it for the first time when he's alone with Poe so he can kiss the fuck out of him again. Tristan pats the chair when Poe's out of it so he can weave the location spell into Owain's already present brand, and it seems to hurt a lot less than it did the first time he was marked, the fresh ink of Poe's crest so much darker, more solid.
It's wrapped up and he's left alone while Poe and Tristan talk about payment and reminisce, and Owain slides out of the chair to come over. He doesn't really listen to the conversation - just slides closer and closer into Poe's side, going from standing a few inches apart to holding his waist and bending down to rest his chin on his shoulder over the course of five or six minutes.
They're done and they're on their way and Owain immediately leads Poe into an alley behind the store, pressing him up against a wall to kiss him as hard as he fucking can.
It's not sexual, not really. He doesn't even make the connection to that, despite his insistence that he was gonna tease Poe all day, ruin him by the time they get to tonight. It's just-- direct, hard and desperate, like he needs this, kissing Poe like it's the only way he knows how to show him just how much he fucking loves him. When he pulls back, he's still barely half an inch away from him.
"You are--"
His eyes dart from Poe's lips to his eyes to his lips to his eyes.
"You are-- the most-- perfect, kind, beautiful--"
He can't even finish his thought, swooping in for another kiss, fingers tangling through Poe's hair.
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He didn't say anything. But it was clear to both of them that Tristan knew exactly what Poe was doing. And why he was doing it. (It didn't have nearly as much to do with just how handsome Poe's young partner was than Tristan had originally thought.)
Poe doesn't even think twice before letting Owain pull him into the alley, back slammed up against stone and he's kissing back just as hard, as soon as his body catches up with what's going on. Sexual or not, it sends a hot pulse of arousal through his blood, his arm aching under the bandage, his gaze a little hazy when Owain first pulls back. He's about to reply - argue, maybe, about how this was literally the least he could have offered - but then Owain's lips are on his again and all attempts at conversation are lost. He raises his hands, gripping the sides of Owain's face, palms pressing a little too hard on his jaw as he deepened the kiss - just as needy, just as desperate.
"... You've just - got really low standards -" he teases when he finally gets a breath, but he smiles when he says it and he cuts off any following argument by taking a deep kiss.
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Poe cuts him off and Owain makes a groan of dissent, but he doesn't fight the kiss. He struggles to breathe but he doesn't let that stop him, and the tightness on his jawline as Poe presses into him makes this feel-- real, like it matters, like Poe really, really fucking wants this as much as he does.
Even the way his hand drifts to Poe's side is just instinct, rather than an attempt to take this further. He slides his bare palm beneath Poe's shirt, over his ribs all the way down to his ass, the tips of his fingers slipping beneath his belt to rest against soft skin.
But he's careful this time. More careful than he was in the clocktower, at least. He doesn't press hard against Poe's body, doesn't let scratches and bruises reopen from the way he brushes against the wall - he just holds him in place, firm and guiding, his other hand locking behind Poe's neck to keep him from moving away. He kisses Poe with his heart beating in his chest and with the same raw intensity he felt the first time he did this, and when he finally pulls away, he's just - overwhelmed. A mess. Red across every inch of his face, teary and sweaty and flustered, so far from attractive. Just overwhelmed.
"Can we--"
He looks to Poe's eyes, and for the first time, he's suddenly so fucking embarrassed and shy and nervous to see them that he just falters and stumbles over a few ums and uhs as he looks out of the alley and tries to hide what he's feeling.
"Can we go home? I just want to-- kiss you, and-- and not stop. Kissing you. Ever? Probably forever. I kind of think forever? I think I just want to kiss you forever."
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"Yeah." His voice is far, far too soft, when he speaks - a low, murmured whisper, far more emotion in that 'yeah' than he'd really intended, but he can't help it.
Fuck.
Fuck, he was in deep.
"We might need to... eat and sleep, at some point, but yeah. Let's go home."
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They get looks on the way home, because Owain completely fucking forgets his place, more than he ever has before. He hangs off of Poe's side like they're just-- boyfriends, spending the day together, too happy and openly affectionate to stop himself from touching the man he loves, hand against his side or quick kisses being pressed to his cheek and his temple when Poe isn't looking.
He collects himself a little better at the base, because this, at least, is where he needs to watch himself. He doesn't let it feel like cold water when it hits him that if he doesn't behave, Poe could lose his job, or Owain could get in serious, genuine trouble - he just limits his affection to things like sliding his pinky finger against Poe's when he can chance it, knocking their shoulders together, looking at him.
It's still pretty early in the day when they get back to their room, so the oil lamps don't need to be lit. He shuts the door behind them and the anticipation of the rest of the day has built to such a breaking point that he's about two seconds away from just not giving a fuck and telling Poe, straight up, that he loves him.
But he doesn't.
He's shy, again. Now that they're alone, he's just shy. Eyes darting away and nervous laughter hitting him, pins and needles running through his insides.
"I... hey. Hello."
Nailed it.
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He has his own set of nerves, though they feel - different - and he is already gingerly taking off his jacket. Between it and the bandage his arm felt like it was on fire, so he gives a small sigh of relief when he slowly pulls the bandage off. It was no longer bleeding, but the skin was very raw and the ink very dark. He couldn't try the spell yet - it would have to heal more before he could touch it. But that was fine.
He offered Owain a very warm smile when he heard him vocally stumble.
"Alright birthday so far?" He asked, teasing.
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He can feel himself tearing up again, feel himself get all snotty and red and embarrassed, and he laughs through it at Poe's teasing to stop it from getting worse.
"You're just..."
There's so much love in his eyes when he looks at Poe. So much love. He wants to touch him, but it's like he doesn't know how. Like nothing will be enough. He looks down at the cut in his hand, the sharp and jagged thing that went far too roughly than it should have over his palm. He looks at the bandage on his arm, which he slowly starts to unravel, feeling like his own tattoo is brand new even though he's had it for the better half of his life. He's distant, for a moment.
"I think..."
He looks at Poe, and his voice cracked and wavered, so he laughs again, trying to strengthen it.
"I think - even if it took a while for them to understand why I've made the choices I've been making - my parents would be proud of me to have gravitated so close to you." He nods. "Proud of you, for being in my life. I don't know. Is that weird to say?"
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"... No, it's not weird. I think they'd be pretty damn proud of you, Owain. Even if they didn't get it." He stepped over towards him, reaching out a hand to rest on the bicep opposite the tattoo, squeezing it slightly. "The Gods know that I am. And we've still got a long ways to go, yet."
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He warms at the touch, skin pink, and sheepishly nods his head. If he can keep finding ways to make Poe proud of him, that's all he wants.
"We'll get there." He pauses, drifting down to Poe's tattoo. Warming, again, at the neck. "Especially now that I'll always be able to find my way back to you."
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There was - a lot. Suddenly. A mass of feelings pulsing beneath his breast and clawing at his throat. It took all the will in the world to keep the shoved down there rather than breaking into words.
Owain deserved better than that.
So instead he just smiled, then stepped in, sliding a hand around the back of Owain's head to pull him in to a long, slow kiss.
The only safe way he had to express himself.
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His hands feel jumpy and weird, like he doesn't know where to put them, and any instinct he had to touch Poe before is completely shut down by a shy, nervous flutter where everything Poe does makes him shiver. He grabs a fold of Poe's shirt as if that might be enough, giggling, again, like an inexperienced kid and ruining the kiss.
He shuts his eyes tight and tries to will away all the warmth and the butterflies and just relax, but it's honestly next to impossible. It takes all his strength and all his focus to kiss Poe back, his lips parting and moving like heavy, heavy doors he has to throw everything he has into opening, and there's too much electricity, he has to pull back.
Owain dips his head and bends his knees and slumps against Poe's chest like a marionette with its strings cut, arms flopping uselessly at his side. Like a doofus.
"I really wanna kiss you," he says, like he's protesting his own bullshit. "Just-- my heart's getting all-- fluttery. And it's hard. 'Cause you seem more beautiful than you ever have and it's making me nervous."
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The giggle in the kiss made him chuckle, so really in the end neither of them were actually kissing, just laughing with their lips against each other, which still honestly wasn't that bad, all things considered. Owain tries again and Poe's getting into it when suddenly Owain collapses on him and Poe lets out another soft, amused snort, his heart feeling approximately five times too big in his chest.
And it started to beat completely out of rythym when Owain spoke again.
I know the feeling, he wanted to say, but even that was too much, too close.
He owed Owain his freedom. He couldn't take it back from him, now. Not even for this.
"Should I make an ugly face until you feel better?" He teased quietly, pressing a kiss into his hair. "It's alright. I got you, okay? Whatever you want to do, it's all fine."
shut up
Every aspect of him was shaped for Poe. His body was just the most visible part of it.
He stands a little straighter. He tries to look Poe in the eyes, but he doesn't have the guts and ends up just sort of stammering again, laughing like a fucking idiot. He leans in and kisses his neck, because that comes easier to him than anything else right now - he gets to tuck himself up against Poe, breathe his scent, feel surrounded by Poe, yet not so naked in front of his spotlights.
He doesn't ask if they can go to bed, this time, even though he always has. He just pushes Poe back, gently, until they're at the cot, too small for the both of them but so much closer and cleaner. He drops Poe back onto it and rests one knee on the edge of the bed to deepen this, breathing him in, one arm around Poe's back for balance.
Make me :')
His free hand slid into Owain's hair, finger nails dragging into his scalp.
The words were there again, right on the tip of his tongue, and he swallowed them down. He couldn't offer Owain that - not when he had basically no choice. He would accept it and wouldn't even realize that he wouldn't have had another option.
But it wasn't the worst, Poe thought to himself. To love Owain. Even if he only got to feel like this for a little while.
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The nails in his scalp makes him shudder, and he doesn't hide it, his whole body quivering at even the slightest touch from Poe. The kiss on his neck comes slower, for a moment, and when he bites in its place, there's no frenzied marking, no desperate need for a flush of pink - there's barely any pressure, just the feel of teeth on flesh.
He leans back and again, can't quite bring himself to look at Poe. He laughs, as he's been doing this whole time, a jumble of nervous energy, everything too disorienting to think about.
The core, core tenet of Pledge training is to be able to serve your master with unflinching rigidity. The first thing he would have been trained in - the first lesson he would have learned, that he would have come back to time and time again through so, so many tutors - would have been how to conduct himself in front of his master. Every Pledge is the same - they have to keep their head lowered, but their eyes must meet their owner's. Always ready for an order, always ready to hurt or be hurt or to serve.
These butterflies, the shyness in Owain - the fact that meeting Poe's eyes is too much for him, makes everything inside him squirm and flutter and light up - the way he just blushes, laughs like a kid so clearly in love, tries to keep looking back at Poe but then ends up looking away with a shy smile and a happily angry bite of his bottom lip as if he's telling himself with a light heart to just get his shit together -
It's proof, above anything and everything, that whatever Poe's teaching him is sinking in. This is all him, against a decade of conditioning. Purely and totally Owain.
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On the other hand, Poe couldn't stop looking at Owain. Every flush and bitten lip just made Poe grin so hard that it hurt, and he pressed a few warm kisses to Owain's cheek as he trailed down to try to catch at his mouth, the grin making it far more harder than it should have been.
He shuffled backwards on the bed, fingers hooking into Owain's belt loops to pull him along with him. His entire body felt far warmer than it should - hadn't even noticed that he was as flushed as Owain was, almost out of nothing but pure joy.
He'd never fallen this hard for anyone. The thought should be making him panic, but it isn't- it doesn't- all it does is make him want to lie back and pull Owain on top of him, arching his neck to steal a kiss as he pulls their clothes bodies flush against each other.
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He shifts so he can be on his side facing Poe, closing him in against the wall and drawing the hand up from his back to rest on Poe's hip. He doesn't resume the kissing right away. He wants to, of course - he wants to do a lot of things, but. He's so close to Poe that he could count every lash, if he wanted to - catch the light of his eyes, the colour, commit his entire fucking face to memory so that when he's old and grey he'll be able to remember the curve of Poe's cheekbones, the perfect cut of his nose, those lips--
So that's what he does. He raises his hand, brushes some hair behind Poe's ear. Watches him, quietly, as the heat from his fades into something heavier and deeper and real. The way he's looking at Poe - like he's never seen him before, never seen someone so perfect before, never been given cause to feel so much admiration and fullness in him - it's a lot. Daunting, maybe, in its intensity. Examining every inch of Poe with a piercing clarity.
"You are so fucking beautiful." It's a whisper, one of awe and love, and he's said that word before, but it's true. There's nothing more strictly beautiful to him than Poe, and he runs his thumb over his cheek, just under his eye. Sappy.
"Fuck." He almost says it, again. Doesn't, of course. He just flickers his eyes back to Poe's, gets nervous again and cuts away, then forces himself to look back. To remember the colour. His heart feels like it's dying, from how fast its going, but he holds eye contact.
"I don't even know what I want to do," he admits, laughing nervously and apologetically and joyfully all at once. "It's like-- would it be too cheesy if I said it felt like I was on fire? Everything you do makes, like, an explosion. In me. It's scary. Not-- in a bad way. Just-- intense."
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