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."
The way Owain was looking at him should have sent up warning flags - would, probably, if Poe wasn't feeling the same damn fucking thing. Or, at the very least, something very close in a slightly different shade. So instead of find warning signs all he found was a reflection of his own feelings back at him. It was intoxicating on a level he didn't even register.
He doesn't try to cross the space - hyper aware of Owain's fingers even just brushing his ear sending a shiver right down his spine that he didn't even try to suppress.
(This was bad, a part of himself would later tell him, berate him quietly in the darkness while he stared at the ceiling and listened to Owain's gentle breath next to him. This was bad, and was going to end in one of them getting really fucking hurt. If anyone had been there to witness it, they would have intervened - told Poe to cool his fucking heels and take a step back - to recognise what he was doing. That Owain had been made for him, that he should be pulling away so that Owain could find his own feet - find himself. That he was getting in the way of Owain's personhood, that it had been just four fucking days, that he was in over his head and he needed to breathe--)
But there wasn't anyone else there. And the voice in his head would stay silent until the darkness came. So all he could do was grin, his heart thundering away far too quickly, his pleasure and his feelings written far too clearly across the face that Owain was trying to memorise.
"... It's not too cheesy," he replied, his voice a low whisper. He raised a hand to touch Owain's face again, as if he couldn't stop himself from doing it, his breath shuddering in his chest. "... Trust me, I... get it."
Though his face is hot to the touch and though his eyes are still frantically finding somewhere to settle, though he can't stop fucking smiling - he still inches his fingers away from Poe. There's hesitation here now, and when he swallows and tries to set his face back into something stable, it helps him finally just look Poe in the eyes without running away from it.
He takes his hand back and just-- points at his own chest. He looks around as if there's someone behind him, someone else Poe must be talking to, then rolls back to smile at Poe again, leaning into his touch.
"For-- me?"
He stops pointing at himself and drapes his arm back over Poe's side.
"I make you feel the same as how you make me feel? The-- fire stuff?"
Poe just smiles, his eyes crinkling with it, so fond and so in love that it spills out of his expression with ease.
But he doesn't say it.
"Yeah." That's the most he's willing to say - the rest too much, too claiming. He nuzzled in closer, pressing his face up against Owain's throat, pressing his nose too close, breathing deep, lips skimming over Owain's skin.
Owain laughs, he can't help it - he uses the same soaps as Poe, so he wonders if it's not a slightly narcissistic comment, but he lets it slide. He's still dwelling on that yeah, anyway. A single word, completely fucking with his brain. He doesn't hide how happy it makes him, laughing again and again in these short, brilliantly happy outbursts, just because his lungs keep swelling and his heart keeps hurting and he can't contain all the disjointed bliss.
He looks at Poe, though, under the waves of all this silly, joyful energy, and he sees that face. That face he wants to remember when he's old and grey. Again, he touches Poe's hair just for the sake of touching it, and then leans in, kissing him just for a moment, the softness of Poe's lips setting that spark alight even brighter.
He... needs this.
"I wanna touch you more," he says, slowly. "Just-- to have you. As mine. For a while. Are you okay-- with that? I know I was, um. Rough. Earlier."
It's not the soap. It was the sweat and the slightly tangy scent of just being human that was impossible to describe.
He melts into the kiss like he would drown without it, sliding his body closer, pulling flush against him. Even when Owain speaks, Poe's lips are right there at the edge of his mouth, trying to catch the words as they were released.
"Trust me, I'm fine," he promised, murmured into Owain's lips and cheek. Then, in a tone that sounded like he believed it answered everything:
Maybe there's still a bit of conditioning in him that responds to I want you, but whatever the reason, it's enough.
Every part of him feels like it's touching Poe, now that they're this close. He knows he should be doing something, moving his arms and taking this further, but his eyes are locked on Poe's and he just keeps getting more and more lost in them. He remembers with a start, eventually, what he wants, and he chuckles a little low as he leans in to steal another kiss.
He rests his hand just below Poe's navel for a second before taking a breath and tugging at his belt, stripping it away. His hand doesn't touch Poe's flesh, but he sits up to pull Poe's pants down to his thighs, then rests his open palm over his tenting cock. He breathes out, shaky like he's the one being touched, then looks nervously back to Poe.
He feels his breath hitch as Owain's fingers rest against him, the thin
fabric doing absolutely nothing to hide the way his cock automatically
responded to it.
"There are... a lot of ways, in particular," He admitted, unable to
completely smother his grin, despite Owain's nervous look. "But it's your
birthday, Owain. Still." He leaned forward, just enough to press their
foreheads together, his hand resting on Owain's hip.
"... I would just lie here and kiss you forever, if that's what you told me
you wanted."
In all this sweeping, stars-under-the-skin emotion he's been caught up in after Poe's choice to get branded for him, he forgot. A wave of heat rolls from where Poe touches him, and he shuts his eyes, letting himself feel pinned under the gentle brush of that hand on his hip. Idiot, he tells himself. You're eighteen now.
Kissing Poe is only one thing he wants. He wants-- all of him, every part of him-- forever. It's timid and exploratory, every touch to Poe's cock like he's never done it before, hand shaking with nerves as his palm slides over his bulge, and he punctuates each movement by leaning forward to snag a blind, chaste kiss. Touching him like this feels momentous in a way that doesn't really make sense after everything they've done, like this is the moment where touching Poe really fucking matters, and he doesn't wanna mess up.
He carefully, carefully pulls Poe's underwear down, exposing his cock to the air and gently taking hold of it. It's featherlight, in the way a pledge's touches are supposed to be when shaking someone's hand or doing something for their master, stealthy and unnoticable. He steadily firms up his grip until Poe can really fucking feel the heat of his fist, the tightness of his soft skin, as he gently starts to stroke, rolling foreskin back from his head and kissing him once more to make it an even thousand.
"I want... you to fall apart in my hands," he confesses, slowly. "I want to just-- overload you. Make you writhe and cum and feel as intensely as I always do with you."
Every kiss feels a hundred times more sensitive than they should - tingling on his lips almost to the point of over-stimulation - every one of his nerves hyper alert. He is breathing very slowly - very deeply - every breath almost vibrating through his chest. He can feel the weight of every touch - not physically, no, but something else, something deeper, as if ever touch has meaning, and his cock throbs hotly even under the faintest brush of touch. He's so sensitive it almost tickles, and he squirms a little until Owain's grip firms. Then all he can do it pant, heavily, taking the kiss even as he's pressing closer in against him, making it hard to get a good stroke in.
"I already-- fuck, Owain, but I already do... You just- everything you do, I just--"
Shut up, Dameron! He scolds himself, cutting off with a low, helpless moan as he presses forward into another kiss - hot and heavy and open mouthed, the hand on Owain's hip curling with need but he doesn't move it yet.
"... Can I touch you?" He whispers, despite everything, he still can't help but ask. Feels the need to ask.
Poe says too much for Owain's world not to shift a little.
Everything you do. His heart hammers against his chest even though he doesn't fully understand why. These aren't feelings so easily identifiable for a man who grew up being told he had to shut everything about himself down; he watches his parents and knew in the short time they had together that the two of them were in love, and it's why he wants to tell Poe he loves him, because he wants to have with Poe what he knew Lissa and Lon'qu had with each other, but. Actually experiencing all of this? He has no idea what infatuation is, on an emotional level. Couldn't differentiate a crush with a storybook, fairy tale romance he hid away with at night to read under the covers as if it was something filthy.
All he knows is everything you do is how he feels about Poe. Every part of Poe makes his heart hurt.
So he stumbles and nods, feeling small and big all at the same time.
"I'd be mad if you didn't?" He laughs, shifting his elbow back so he can stroke Poe with a touch more access. "I want us to do-- everything. Anything. So... yeah. Don't-- ask. Just-- do?"
"Yeah," He murmurs, an agreement, and one that makes his heart skips a beat. "... Yeah, alright."
Don't ask, just do.
Don't say it, Poe, just show it.
His hands slipped down to Owain's belt buckle, pulling it open with a practised ease even though he's distracted - grinding himself a little into Owain's hand as he strokes. His touch is almost feather light as he pulls Owain's trousers down his thighs, pushing all the fabric as far out of the way as he can manage until it's pooling at Owain's ankles and he can force the rest off with a kick of his foot. He presses a hot kiss to Owain's neck, but he doesn't mark him, just lingers there against his skin and breathing in all of him. He doesn't go for his cock, first, and instead goes for the edge of his sweater, pulling it up and forcing Owain to let go of him for a half second so he could get it off and on the ground. Only once every scrap of fabric was off of Owain was he satisfied, leaning in to take a long, deep kiss as he slid his palm down the length of the man's cock and then curled his fingers warmly around it. Not stroking. Not yet. Just holding.
He's quiet when Poe strips him, but not in a way that makes him particularly obedient. He helps get his clothes off when he's guided, but he's rushing a little now, pulling everything off of himself faster so he can get back to this, the sleepy yet alert kisses and the firm and terrifying touches.
As Poe takes a hold of his cock, he shudders and bucks hard into it, too desperate to feel in his youth. He sucks in air and fills his lungs and wills himself to calm down, shutting his eyes with a flutter and resting his head against Poe's chest. He has no self-restraint at the best of times, but here and now with everything crashing over him with the force of a tidal wave - fuck, he just wants to cum already.
He realizes Poe's still a little dressed, so he buys time by easing him out of all of his clothes, leaving him naked and just fucking admiring the way Poe looks in the late afternoon sun. It's finally starting to set, leaving Poe in warm orange glows and making Owain's heart lodge in his throat every time he looks at him, and this, he thinks, is the way he'll remember Poe when they're older. Relaxed and smiling at him and everything you do still ringing in his head.
If what he feels isn't love, Owain doesn't know what possibly could be.
He guides Poe's hand back to his cock and finds his again once they're pressed together, Owain stroking Poe maybe a little faster than he should be with how careful this moment is.
"Fuck," he whispers again. He'd call Poe Captain or a good boy any other night, but he can't think of him as anything other than who he is. Poe, first and foremost. The man who saved him.
"Fuck, Poe, you don't--"
You don't know what you are, what you mean. He can feel his throat burn with a heavy, swollen emotion and he tries to swallow the lump down but it stays.
"I wish I knew how to tell you what you are to me," he finally says, voice thick. "You got my fucking brand--"
It's hard enough, reminding himself that he has to hold back, when Owain is just being himself. Hard enough to do when he's just laughing or grinning or getting suddenly nervous and Poe wants nothing more that to kiss the nerves away and bring the laugh back.
It's another thing altogether, when Owain is speaking and the words are sliding right into his heart and lodging there, heavier and heavier as they accumulate. It's hard enough, when it isn't so painfully obvious that Owain feels exactly the same way he does.
And that's okay. Owain can feel whatever he wants. Poe gave him that, specifically. Intentionally. The fact that he freely gives those feelings to Poe is enough to make him giddy, but doesn't break the overlying truth. There's still a power imbalance, there. Implicit. In time? In time, maybe they'll be just fine, and Owain will find himself and yet his heart will somehow still be here. With Poe. In time, Poe would even be able to accept that. Gladly. Warmly.
But it's too early.
It's too early and Owain is too young, and Poe is too fucking aware, now, of his own feelings. But he's had a decade to make sense of them. Had a decade to tell the difference between the first heady flutters of a crush, to something deeper.
Just because he's fallen so fast doesn't mean he hasn't realised how fucking hard he's fallen, too.
But he knows he can't expect that, from Owain. Knows he shouldn't.
Knows he can't deny him anything, despite that.
Once he has hold of Owain again he finally does begin to stroke - far slower than Owain is stroking him. His touch is almost too light - fingers barely brushing the underside. His eyes are locked on Owain's face, hair fucking glowing in the low afternoon sun, and he's pretty damn sure he's never seen anything more beautiful, than this. Locks the sight away, deep inside himself. Tells himself: even if this doesn't last - even if I'm only Owain's introduction to life, and not the entirety of it - it's worth it.
He doesn't reply. Not with words, at least. He presses closer, stealing the word 'brand' from Owain's lips with a searching kiss, tongue sliding deep to taste the entirety of him. His grip on Owain's cock firms, tighter, and he begins to stroke a little faster, slowly gaining on the pace that the other man is setting on his own cock. He presses closer, free hand reaching between them to pull Owain's hand back - but he doesn't leave any room for the other man to doubt his intentions. The hand that he'd been using to stroke him he now wraps around them both, letting a shuddering breath out against Owain's lips as he holds their cocks together and gives them both the same achingly slow stroke.
Everything inside of him is starting to fit into place, Poe's touch making him feel whole and human as it always does. His hand tightens around Owain and he squirms back, that kiss earning a soft smile that gives way to a quiet moan of ecstasy as he cants his hips. Everything-- everything-- completes him. He's aware, hyper-aware, that any trace of vigilant servitude in him is dead and fucking buried, at least for today. He almost breaks the kiss and stops what they're doing, because it hits him like a train that they could dance right now. They could dance, like they never had a chance to at the ball, and that's-- that's what Owain wants, he wants to be held, he wants to be held and he wants to do something intimate and romantic and not even strictly physical, just-- danced with.
But things progress in the instant that thought hazily connects, and soon Poe is chasing his hand away and moving everything forward, grinding their cocks against one another and making Owain shudder and moan as he curls forward. With Poe taking over, Owain has both of his hands free, and he slides them across Poe's neck just for the sake of touching him.
"Poe--"
He's shut his eyes again, helpless and vulnerable to all of this. Poe's moving too slowly and he's starting to get impatient - until now, just looking at Poe set a fire in him that made him too giddy and anxious to move, but that fire is beginning to burn in a slightly different colour. Now he just-- he wants more, he wants everything. He fucks into Poe's hand, a river of pre flooding down between them and making everything sound so much more wetter and lewder than beautiful like it feels.
His fingernails carve lines in Poe's neck as he curls them in, and Owain forces his eyes open to get a better look at him. He could say it. He could still say it.
"I..."
It wouldn't be like him to hold back, if he hadn't had years of being held back beaten into him. He could say it, if he had been raised as nobility, as he should have been. He looks at Poe, and it's there, it's so obviously there. Seconds from saying it. Seconds from telling Poe. He swallows, and it's hard to focus, hard to breathe, with the way Poe keeps stroking. Slowly. Too fucking slowly.
Another breath.
Eyes wide. Locked on Poe's.
Vulnerable, young. Barely experienced in the world, let alone in love.
Poe can see it, and it spreads a warmth through him that's so sweet it makes his tongue curl. But he doesn't let him say it. Before Owain can get another word in, he leans in, taking Owain's mouth with his own, kissing him slow, and lovingly, and deep - like there was nothing else in the world to do, save kiss him.
Owain is far from the only one leaking precum between them, and his hand is slick as it strokes them both, gripping a little tighter to make up for the loss of friction, still slow but the pace was picking up. Not consciously, just his body giving in to his need while his mind and heart were completely elsewhere. Locked into Owain's lips and words unsaid.
There's a momentary disappointment that flares in him, because he could have said it. He could have said it, and maybe Poe might have wanted to say it back, and maybe Owain doesn't fully understand the weight of what those words might hold outside of the vaguest fantasies and the base, hopeful thought that he and Poe could be something close to what his parents were to each other - but it could have happened. It could have shaped them into something even better.
But again - he's young and he's naive. It's so, so easy for Poe to captivate him, to change him. The kiss is a firework, all of Poe's intentions and all of his love warming Owain from the inside, and he slowly glides his cock harder against Poe's with a rut of his hips. He can already feel his climax building and he doesn't want this to end yet, so when he breaks the kiss to grunt and lower his head, he puts his hands on Poe's shoulders and squeezes down to warn him to take it easy for a second.
"Fuck, Poe--"
It feels unnatural at this point not to say it, but he looks up and he sees Poe's eyes and he doesn't have it in him anymore. The courage is gone, buried under waves of what if and the fear that everything could end. He swallows hard and slides his leg between Poe's, hooking behind his knee just to tangle them both together even tighter.
His grip almost completely releases - just the feather light touch of his fingers around them both, barely a stroke it's so slow.
He can feel it too - not his climax, he'd been too focused on Owain's pleasure and on keeping himself from saying anything - but the burning need to speak, to put it into words. It's almost painful, keeping it locked in his chest, even as it seeps out of him in almost every other way. He knows this is going to hurt him, in the long run, and he can't care.
Knows perfectly well that if he's never felt like this before, he's never going to feel like this again.
But that's okay. He'll have the brand, always. He'll have their vows. Even if he isn't the one to have Owain's heart.
The thought makes something tight and sour burn in the back of his throat, and he leans in to press his lips to Owain's cheek, then again, to his jaw, and again, against his ear.
You're the best thing that has ever happened to me, he almost says, the sounds right there in the back of his throat, his chest tightening, the sour taste spreading. He's doing this to himself, and he knows it: knows he could break it and hear exactly what he wants to hear and pretend that meant that everything would be fine for the rest of time, but -
He can't.
He owes this to Owain. So he can't.
Instead, he swallows, and whispers something between a question and a plea:
This might be the closest Owain'll ever get to hearing the word in the context he wants to hear it. That thought hits him without warning and he's shocked by how much it hurts, given how new and clumsy his recognition for his own feelings are, and how much - at the same time - it fucking heals him. Poe wants Owain to show him how much he loves him, and that's-- that's... His mouth goes dry, and the uh that slowly ekes out of him is quiet and distant, almost as if he were resistant to the idea. It's rattling around in his head that he won't be enough, that he'll put everything he has into this and Poe will just - hate it - and he suddenly has no idea what to do with his hands.
But he nods, nervous and unable to find the words, fast and eager despite the fear in his eyes that he can't tear away from Poe's. It takes him a moment before he moves, because he's scared - when he kisses Poe again it comes fast and quick without build up, even though it's slow and questioning and searching for reassurance. He doesn't break the kiss as he rolls Poe onto his back and shifts to be a little more on top of him, waist to waist, but he does feel his heart thump harder against his ribs as he brushes fingertips over Poe's cheekbone as if he were made of marble.
He shifts down the cot and it's still such a tight fit for two people. He has to hold Poe's legs up a little so his ass is right up against Owain's thighs, and he shoots him a quick glance to make sure he's comfortable before he looks back down between them. With his thumb at the base of his cock, he breathes out and slowly lines himself up with Poe, gently pressing his tip against his entrance.
"I'll--" he swallows. "I'll-- go slow. Okay? If-- if I'm going to make love to you, then-- I want you to really feel it. Everything."
The quiet uh almost makes him regret it - a guilt rising in his chest. Too much, Poe, you're putting too much pressure on him--
But as soon as Owain's lips meet his, the regret disappears, even as he does everything he can to reassure him. Pour ever last drop of everything he feeling into every touch, letting go of his cock to cup his face instead, then shifting as he was guided.
His skin is flushed, lips parted and expression expectant and... glowing. As if he had a star burning inside him that no matter how hard he tried to extinguish it, it kept flaring brighter.
He can't reach Owain, once their in position, his hands falling back to his side and curling in the sheets, instead. It's fitting, a part of his brain thinks, that they are on the cot. He's not sure why. It just gives him such a deep feeling of fondness that it's impossible to not feel warm about it. He runs his tongue over his lips, far too slowly, as he nods.
"... Yeah. I want to feel it. I want you to feel it. Everything."
Owain laughs, too loud and too happy for how serious the moment feels.
"Are you kidding? I haven't stopped feeling everything since you first became mine."
There's possessiveness there, but a clear distinction - he didn't become Poe's pledge when they met, they became each other's. He doesn't think through his wording, though, not when he just wants to bend down over Poe and pull him into another kiss before he can respond. It's still light, still soft, but he's starting to pick up what he thinks Poe might like in a kiss and he's obviously trying so, so hard to give it to him.
He stays close to Poe's lips as he looks down between them, and the atmosphere in the room feels too full again. He angles his cock down with his hand and grunts as he pushes against Poe's hole a little harder, closing one eye in concentration as he pushes and pushes and pushes until Poe takes him. He breathes hard through his nose and looks back up to meet Poe's eyes, butterfly kissing him right on the tip of his nose before leaning away and kneeling upright.
All that pre that mixed between them was enough to let him slide into Poe easily enough, but it's sticky and leaves resistance and the tightness and the heat makes him sweat against his animal instincts to just-- fuck, to fuck and to cum and to claim. He bites the inside of his cheek and looks down over Poe's body, and all his fucking radiance, that star that's illuminating him from within, it hits Owain right in the heart and brings him back down. This is-- real, what they have. This is special. He's going to treat it like that - in a real way, not in the way he thought was real back at the clocktower.
The head of his cock slips further into Poe, the underside scraping over flesh and making him stop and start in staggered motions. This is about-- connecting, about feeling Poe take over him, feeling Poe around him. The smile slips from him as he's lost in a mix of lust and affection, but he enters Poe about half way before he has to stop and breathe.
"I-- love," Owain says, struggling to keep his voice steady. "All of this-- and I'll--"
He pushes further, grunting around the tight, tight slowness of the way he enters, and he bucks his torso forward and leans over Poe, hands by his sides.
"I'll-- be--"
He thinks of what Tristan said, he thinks of what Poe said when they first met.
"I'll be-- the only person you ever need-- from now on."
His heart skips two beats, and it's almost painful when it restarts, his pulse picking up. All because of a single four letter word.
Mine.
"I am yours," he whispers, against Owain's lips when he kisses him, and his heart refuses to resume a regular beat, falling and staggering over itself helplessly. That, at least, is something he can say - something that will be true, regardless of what happens. The fresh tattoo on his shoulder physical proof of that. The healing cut on his hand. He's done nothing but brand himself with Owain since almost the day that he met him.
And he'd do it a thousand more times.
It was all he could do to relax, to let out a long, shaky breath as Owain entered him - sore, still, from earlier, but his cock is heavy where it lies against him, precum sliding down to cause a small wet spot on his skin. His body adjusts far too quickly, like it knows exactly how much he needs this. Like he's designed specifically for this.
He reaches out as Owain speaks, sliding a hand into his hair and pulling him down even as Poe arches upward, wanting to connect everywhere.
"Don't tell me." It's barely above a breath, a whispered breath. Half a plea, half a confession. "Show me."
The fingers in his hair are what anchor him. He feels safe and loved and wanted and bright the way he did when he was just a little kid, back when Poe was this unknowable figure, only eighteen but so grown up in Owain's eyes. Poe had roughed his hair up and called him his little buddy before leaving him alone to grow up and be forgotten, and-- Owain allows Poe to pull him down to meet him, and when he does, he understands for the first time in nine years why every time he's been nervous, every time he felt like he was sinking in his Pledge training, every time he was worried about what his parents thought of him, every dark evening after the sun had set when he was alone with nothing but his memories and his lessons, he'd ran his hand through his hair.
Huh.
The plea runs through him like a rocket and it feels like Poe is begging him to just stop thinking and talking and fucking do this, and maybe he can tell, on some level, what Poe's feelings for him are, because he doesn't get locked in his thoughts wondering what this is or stuck in the fear that's been building that he won't be enough. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip with an achingly slow intensity before he kisses Poe again, heart heavy with need and fear and want, body a sweaty mess of limbs and jumping nerves.
He'll make Poe whole, in the way he has for Owain.
He's slow, unbearably slow, especially for him, and it's so obvious he's holding back the instinct to speed up because he wants to make this perfect. Owain's ears are trained on every gasp and uncomfortable shift Poe might make, so that when he senses this isn't completely, completely wonderful, he can stop everything he's doing and adjust so that when he fucks back into Poe a little harder Poe'll have to do everything he can not to moan.
There's weight with each thrust. It's not just about the movement, the way he stretches Poe open and rubs against every ridge of muscle and struggles not to gasp and writhe when the heat of his insides clamps down on the sensitive head of his cock - when he pushes forward and presses in he leans hard into it, putting so much pressure on Poe, tight and hard shoves against his prostate that last for so, so long. When he pulls back it feels like he's winding up to something, because every time he fucks inwards it comes harder and more sudden than when he'd left.
Owain is a sweaty red mess already. He's practically laying on Poe at this point, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, feeling Poe's cock grind against his tight abs. He tries a few times to keep kissing Poe, but he can't handle it, not on top of everything he's feeling - he's resting his forehead on his shoulder and breathing wavering breaths, less moaning with rolling sounds and more with vocal ahs and fucks and Poes that come out of him far too often and far too easily.
The fingers stay there, curled tight into Owain's hair, nails just barely brushing against his scalp. He took the kiss like a lifeline, the muscles in his neck taut as he kept pressing up into it. The rest of his muscles tighten in instinct to it, his body squeezing tightly around Owain's cock, muscles contracting - the feeling caught between pushing him out and pulling him deeper.
He doesn't mind the speed, even though it may very well drive him mad. But it's slow enough that he can feel everything and there's literally nothing in the world he wants more, right now. For a while he's fairly quiet - panting heavily, his breath hitching with every perfect thrust. And he can't really stop moving, every time Owain sinks deep he squirms to meet it, to get it perfect, to get it just right--
But he stops being able to pay attention to things, every thrust sending him further into a buzzing, heady bliss, barely aware of anything save how fucking perfect it felt. He craved to feel Owain's lips on his, but could only press them against the man's hair, moaning against him. As every moment passed he was getting less and less quiet - completely incoherent, still, there were no words rolling off his lips - but he moaned and panted and grunted and groaned and he felt like every nerve ending in his body was on fire and held so tight it was almost painful.
It would take so little, to send him over the edge - he felt like he was there, constantly, ever perfect thrust against his prostate taking him right to the edge of orgasm and leaving him there. But there was no desperate urgency. It felt far, far more important to stay in the bliss of a trance that was forever on the edge of being too much, panting and writhing, fingers caught tight in Owain's hair and keeping him hard down against him. He rolled his hips into every thrust, grinding his cock between them, but it was far, far to slick for any real friction - a stream of precum leaking from him that wouldn't stop.
"--Owain--" The first coherent word to leave his lips.
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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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He doesn't try to cross the space - hyper aware of Owain's fingers even just brushing his ear sending a shiver right down his spine that he didn't even try to suppress.
(This was bad, a part of himself would later tell him, berate him quietly in the darkness while he stared at the ceiling and listened to Owain's gentle breath next to him. This was bad, and was going to end in one of them getting really fucking hurt. If anyone had been there to witness it, they would have intervened - told Poe to cool his fucking heels and take a step back - to recognise what he was doing. That Owain had been made for him, that he should be pulling away so that Owain could find his own feet - find himself. That he was getting in the way of Owain's personhood, that it had been just four fucking days, that he was in over his head and he needed to breathe--)
But there wasn't anyone else there. And the voice in his head would stay silent until the darkness came. So all he could do was grin, his heart thundering away far too quickly, his pleasure and his feelings written far too clearly across the face that Owain was trying to memorise.
"... It's not too cheesy," he replied, his voice a low whisper. He raised a hand to touch Owain's face again, as if he couldn't stop himself from doing it, his breath shuddering in his chest. "... Trust me, I... get it."
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Though his face is hot to the touch and though his eyes are still frantically finding somewhere to settle, though he can't stop fucking smiling - he still inches his fingers away from Poe. There's hesitation here now, and when he swallows and tries to set his face back into something stable, it helps him finally just look Poe in the eyes without running away from it.
He takes his hand back and just-- points at his own chest. He looks around as if there's someone behind him, someone else Poe must be talking to, then rolls back to smile at Poe again, leaning into his touch.
"For-- me?"
He stops pointing at himself and drapes his arm back over Poe's side.
"I make you feel the same as how you make me feel? The-- fire stuff?"
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But he doesn't say it.
"Yeah." That's the most he's willing to say - the rest too much, too claiming. He nuzzled in closer, pressing his face up against Owain's throat, pressing his nose too close, breathing deep, lips skimming over Owain's skin.
But he needed safer ground to talk on.
"... Fuck, you smell good."
Nailed it.
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Owain laughs, he can't help it - he uses the same soaps as Poe, so he wonders if it's not a slightly narcissistic comment, but he lets it slide. He's still dwelling on that yeah, anyway. A single word, completely fucking with his brain. He doesn't hide how happy it makes him, laughing again and again in these short, brilliantly happy outbursts, just because his lungs keep swelling and his heart keeps hurting and he can't contain all the disjointed bliss.
He looks at Poe, though, under the waves of all this silly, joyful energy, and he sees that face. That face he wants to remember when he's old and grey. Again, he touches Poe's hair just for the sake of touching it, and then leans in, kissing him just for a moment, the softness of Poe's lips setting that spark alight even brighter.
He... needs this.
"I wanna touch you more," he says, slowly. "Just-- to have you. As mine. For a while. Are you okay-- with that? I know I was, um. Rough. Earlier."
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It's not the soap. It was the sweat and the slightly tangy scent of just being human that was impossible to describe.
He melts into the kiss like he would drown without it, sliding his body closer, pulling flush against him. Even when Owain speaks, Poe's lips are right there at the edge of his mouth, trying to catch the words as they were released.
"Trust me, I'm fine," he promised, murmured into Owain's lips and cheek. Then, in a tone that sounded like he believed it answered everything:
"I want you."
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Maybe there's still a bit of conditioning in him that responds to I want you, but whatever the reason, it's enough.
Every part of him feels like it's touching Poe, now that they're this close. He knows he should be doing something, moving his arms and taking this further, but his eyes are locked on Poe's and he just keeps getting more and more lost in them. He remembers with a start, eventually, what he wants, and he chuckles a little low as he leans in to steal another kiss.
He rests his hand just below Poe's navel for a second before taking a breath and tugging at his belt, stripping it away. His hand doesn't touch Poe's flesh, but he sits up to pull Poe's pants down to his thighs, then rests his open palm over his tenting cock. He breathes out, shaky like he's the one being touched, then looks nervously back to Poe.
"You... want me in any way in particular?"
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He feels his breath hitch as Owain's fingers rest against him, the thin fabric doing absolutely nothing to hide the way his cock automatically responded to it.
"There are... a lot of ways, in particular," He admitted, unable to completely smother his grin, despite Owain's nervous look. "But it's your birthday, Owain. Still." He leaned forward, just enough to press their foreheads together, his hand resting on Owain's hip.
"... I would just lie here and kiss you forever, if that's what you told me you wanted."
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In all this sweeping, stars-under-the-skin emotion he's been caught up in after Poe's choice to get branded for him, he forgot. A wave of heat rolls from where Poe touches him, and he shuts his eyes, letting himself feel pinned under the gentle brush of that hand on his hip. Idiot, he tells himself. You're eighteen now.
Kissing Poe is only one thing he wants. He wants-- all of him, every part of him-- forever. It's timid and exploratory, every touch to Poe's cock like he's never done it before, hand shaking with nerves as his palm slides over his bulge, and he punctuates each movement by leaning forward to snag a blind, chaste kiss. Touching him like this feels momentous in a way that doesn't really make sense after everything they've done, like this is the moment where touching Poe really fucking matters, and he doesn't wanna mess up.
He carefully, carefully pulls Poe's underwear down, exposing his cock to the air and gently taking hold of it. It's featherlight, in the way a pledge's touches are supposed to be when shaking someone's hand or doing something for their master, stealthy and unnoticable. He steadily firms up his grip until Poe can really fucking feel the heat of his fist, the tightness of his soft skin, as he gently starts to stroke, rolling foreskin back from his head and kissing him once more to make it an even thousand.
"I want... you to fall apart in my hands," he confesses, slowly. "I want to just-- overload you. Make you writhe and cum and feel as intensely as I always do with you."
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"I already-- fuck, Owain, but I already do... You just- everything you do, I just--"
Shut up, Dameron! He scolds himself, cutting off with a low, helpless moan as he presses forward into another kiss - hot and heavy and open mouthed, the hand on Owain's hip curling with need but he doesn't move it yet.
"... Can I touch you?" He whispers, despite everything, he still can't help but ask. Feels the need to ask.
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Everything you do. His heart hammers against his chest even though he doesn't fully understand why. These aren't feelings so easily identifiable for a man who grew up being told he had to shut everything about himself down; he watches his parents and knew in the short time they had together that the two of them were in love, and it's why he wants to tell Poe he loves him, because he wants to have with Poe what he knew Lissa and Lon'qu had with each other, but. Actually experiencing all of this? He has no idea what infatuation is, on an emotional level. Couldn't differentiate a crush with a storybook, fairy tale romance he hid away with at night to read under the covers as if it was something filthy.
All he knows is everything you do is how he feels about Poe. Every part of Poe makes his heart hurt.
So he stumbles and nods, feeling small and big all at the same time.
"I'd be mad if you didn't?" He laughs, shifting his elbow back so he can stroke Poe with a touch more access. "I want us to do-- everything. Anything. So... yeah. Don't-- ask. Just-- do?"
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Don't ask, just do.
Don't say it, Poe, just show it.
His hands slipped down to Owain's belt buckle, pulling it open with a practised ease even though he's distracted - grinding himself a little into Owain's hand as he strokes. His touch is almost feather light as he pulls Owain's trousers down his thighs, pushing all the fabric as far out of the way as he can manage until it's pooling at Owain's ankles and he can force the rest off with a kick of his foot. He presses a hot kiss to Owain's neck, but he doesn't mark him, just lingers there against his skin and breathing in all of him. He doesn't go for his cock, first, and instead goes for the edge of his sweater, pulling it up and forcing Owain to let go of him for a half second so he could get it off and on the ground. Only once every scrap of fabric was off of Owain was he satisfied, leaning in to take a long, deep kiss as he slid his palm down the length of the man's cock and then curled his fingers warmly around it. Not stroking. Not yet. Just holding.
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As Poe takes a hold of his cock, he shudders and bucks hard into it, too desperate to feel in his youth. He sucks in air and fills his lungs and wills himself to calm down, shutting his eyes with a flutter and resting his head against Poe's chest. He has no self-restraint at the best of times, but here and now with everything crashing over him with the force of a tidal wave - fuck, he just wants to cum already.
He realizes Poe's still a little dressed, so he buys time by easing him out of all of his clothes, leaving him naked and just fucking admiring the way Poe looks in the late afternoon sun. It's finally starting to set, leaving Poe in warm orange glows and making Owain's heart lodge in his throat every time he looks at him, and this, he thinks, is the way he'll remember Poe when they're older. Relaxed and smiling at him and everything you do still ringing in his head.
If what he feels isn't love, Owain doesn't know what possibly could be.
He guides Poe's hand back to his cock and finds his again once they're pressed together, Owain stroking Poe maybe a little faster than he should be with how careful this moment is.
"Fuck," he whispers again. He'd call Poe Captain or a good boy any other night, but he can't think of him as anything other than who he is. Poe, first and foremost. The man who saved him.
"Fuck, Poe, you don't--"
You don't know what you are, what you mean. He can feel his throat burn with a heavy, swollen emotion and he tries to swallow the lump down but it stays.
"I wish I knew how to tell you what you are to me," he finally says, voice thick. "You got my fucking brand--"
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It's another thing altogether, when Owain is speaking and the words are sliding right into his heart and lodging there, heavier and heavier as they accumulate. It's hard enough, when it isn't so painfully obvious that Owain feels exactly the same way he does.
And that's okay. Owain can feel whatever he wants. Poe gave him that, specifically. Intentionally. The fact that he freely gives those feelings to Poe is enough to make him giddy, but doesn't break the overlying truth. There's still a power imbalance, there. Implicit. In time? In time, maybe they'll be just fine, and Owain will find himself and yet his heart will somehow still be here. With Poe. In time, Poe would even be able to accept that. Gladly. Warmly.
But it's too early.
It's too early and Owain is too young, and Poe is too fucking aware, now, of his own feelings. But he's had a decade to make sense of them. Had a decade to tell the difference between the first heady flutters of a crush, to something deeper.
Just because he's fallen so fast doesn't mean he hasn't realised how fucking hard he's fallen, too.
But he knows he can't expect that, from Owain. Knows he shouldn't.
Knows he can't deny him anything, despite that.
Once he has hold of Owain again he finally does begin to stroke - far slower than Owain is stroking him. His touch is almost too light - fingers barely brushing the underside. His eyes are locked on Owain's face, hair fucking glowing in the low afternoon sun, and he's pretty damn sure he's never seen anything more beautiful, than this. Locks the sight away, deep inside himself. Tells himself: even if this doesn't last - even if I'm only Owain's introduction to life, and not the entirety of it - it's worth it.
He doesn't reply. Not with words, at least. He presses closer, stealing the word 'brand' from Owain's lips with a searching kiss, tongue sliding deep to taste the entirety of him. His grip on Owain's cock firms, tighter, and he begins to stroke a little faster, slowly gaining on the pace that the other man is setting on his own cock. He presses closer, free hand reaching between them to pull Owain's hand back - but he doesn't leave any room for the other man to doubt his intentions. The hand that he'd been using to stroke him he now wraps around them both, letting a shuddering breath out against Owain's lips as he holds their cocks together and gives them both the same achingly slow stroke.
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But things progress in the instant that thought hazily connects, and soon Poe is chasing his hand away and moving everything forward, grinding their cocks against one another and making Owain shudder and moan as he curls forward. With Poe taking over, Owain has both of his hands free, and he slides them across Poe's neck just for the sake of touching him.
"Poe--"
He's shut his eyes again, helpless and vulnerable to all of this. Poe's moving too slowly and he's starting to get impatient - until now, just looking at Poe set a fire in him that made him too giddy and anxious to move, but that fire is beginning to burn in a slightly different colour. Now he just-- he wants more, he wants everything. He fucks into Poe's hand, a river of pre flooding down between them and making everything sound so much more wetter and lewder than beautiful like it feels.
His fingernails carve lines in Poe's neck as he curls them in, and Owain forces his eyes open to get a better look at him. He could say it. He could still say it.
"I..."
It wouldn't be like him to hold back, if he hadn't had years of being held back beaten into him. He could say it, if he had been raised as nobility, as he should have been. He looks at Poe, and it's there, it's so obviously there. Seconds from saying it. Seconds from telling Poe. He swallows, and it's hard to focus, hard to breathe, with the way Poe keeps stroking. Slowly. Too fucking slowly.
Another breath.
Eyes wide. Locked on Poe's.
Vulnerable, young. Barely experienced in the world, let alone in love.
Lips parted.
About to say it.
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Owain is far from the only one leaking precum between them, and his hand is slick as it strokes them both, gripping a little tighter to make up for the loss of friction, still slow but the pace was picking up. Not consciously, just his body giving in to his need while his mind and heart were completely elsewhere. Locked into Owain's lips and words unsaid.
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But again - he's young and he's naive. It's so, so easy for Poe to captivate him, to change him. The kiss is a firework, all of Poe's intentions and all of his love warming Owain from the inside, and he slowly glides his cock harder against Poe's with a rut of his hips. He can already feel his climax building and he doesn't want this to end yet, so when he breaks the kiss to grunt and lower his head, he puts his hands on Poe's shoulders and squeezes down to warn him to take it easy for a second.
"Fuck, Poe--"
It feels unnatural at this point not to say it, but he looks up and he sees Poe's eyes and he doesn't have it in him anymore. The courage is gone, buried under waves of what if and the fear that everything could end. He swallows hard and slides his leg between Poe's, hooking behind his knee just to tangle them both together even tighter.
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He can feel it too - not his climax, he'd been too focused on Owain's pleasure and on keeping himself from saying anything - but the burning need to speak, to put it into words. It's almost painful, keeping it locked in his chest, even as it seeps out of him in almost every other way. He knows this is going to hurt him, in the long run, and he can't care.
Knows perfectly well that if he's never felt like this before, he's never going to feel like this again.
But that's okay. He'll have the brand, always. He'll have their vows. Even if he isn't the one to have Owain's heart.
The thought makes something tight and sour burn in the back of his throat, and he leans in to press his lips to Owain's cheek, then again, to his jaw, and again, against his ear.
You're the best thing that has ever happened to me, he almost says, the sounds right there in the back of his throat, his chest tightening, the sour taste spreading. He's doing this to himself, and he knows it: knows he could break it and hear exactly what he wants to hear and pretend that meant that everything would be fine for the rest of time, but -
He can't.
He owes this to Owain. So he can't.
Instead, he swallows, and whispers something between a question and a plea:
"Make love to me?"
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This might be the closest Owain'll ever get to hearing the word in the context he wants to hear it. That thought hits him without warning and he's shocked by how much it hurts, given how new and clumsy his recognition for his own feelings are, and how much - at the same time - it fucking heals him. Poe wants Owain to show him how much he loves him, and that's-- that's... His mouth goes dry, and the uh that slowly ekes out of him is quiet and distant, almost as if he were resistant to the idea. It's rattling around in his head that he won't be enough, that he'll put everything he has into this and Poe will just - hate it - and he suddenly has no idea what to do with his hands.
But he nods, nervous and unable to find the words, fast and eager despite the fear in his eyes that he can't tear away from Poe's. It takes him a moment before he moves, because he's scared - when he kisses Poe again it comes fast and quick without build up, even though it's slow and questioning and searching for reassurance. He doesn't break the kiss as he rolls Poe onto his back and shifts to be a little more on top of him, waist to waist, but he does feel his heart thump harder against his ribs as he brushes fingertips over Poe's cheekbone as if he were made of marble.
He shifts down the cot and it's still such a tight fit for two people. He has to hold Poe's legs up a little so his ass is right up against Owain's thighs, and he shoots him a quick glance to make sure he's comfortable before he looks back down between them. With his thumb at the base of his cock, he breathes out and slowly lines himself up with Poe, gently pressing his tip against his entrance.
"I'll--" he swallows. "I'll-- go slow. Okay? If-- if I'm going to make love to you, then-- I want you to really feel it. Everything."
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But as soon as Owain's lips meet his, the regret disappears, even as he does everything he can to reassure him. Pour ever last drop of everything he feeling into every touch, letting go of his cock to cup his face instead, then shifting as he was guided.
His skin is flushed, lips parted and expression expectant and... glowing. As if he had a star burning inside him that no matter how hard he tried to extinguish it, it kept flaring brighter.
He can't reach Owain, once their in position, his hands falling back to his side and curling in the sheets, instead. It's fitting, a part of his brain thinks, that they are on the cot. He's not sure why. It just gives him such a deep feeling of fondness that it's impossible to not feel warm about it. He runs his tongue over his lips, far too slowly, as he nods.
"... Yeah. I want to feel it. I want you to feel it. Everything."
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"Are you kidding? I haven't stopped feeling everything since you first became mine."
There's possessiveness there, but a clear distinction - he didn't become Poe's pledge when they met, they became each other's. He doesn't think through his wording, though, not when he just wants to bend down over Poe and pull him into another kiss before he can respond. It's still light, still soft, but he's starting to pick up what he thinks Poe might like in a kiss and he's obviously trying so, so hard to give it to him.
He stays close to Poe's lips as he looks down between them, and the atmosphere in the room feels too full again. He angles his cock down with his hand and grunts as he pushes against Poe's hole a little harder, closing one eye in concentration as he pushes and pushes and pushes until Poe takes him. He breathes hard through his nose and looks back up to meet Poe's eyes, butterfly kissing him right on the tip of his nose before leaning away and kneeling upright.
All that pre that mixed between them was enough to let him slide into Poe easily enough, but it's sticky and leaves resistance and the tightness and the heat makes him sweat against his animal instincts to just-- fuck, to fuck and to cum and to claim. He bites the inside of his cheek and looks down over Poe's body, and all his fucking radiance, that star that's illuminating him from within, it hits Owain right in the heart and brings him back down. This is-- real, what they have. This is special. He's going to treat it like that - in a real way, not in the way he thought was real back at the clocktower.
The head of his cock slips further into Poe, the underside scraping over flesh and making him stop and start in staggered motions. This is about-- connecting, about feeling Poe take over him, feeling Poe around him. The smile slips from him as he's lost in a mix of lust and affection, but he enters Poe about half way before he has to stop and breathe.
"I-- love," Owain says, struggling to keep his voice steady. "All of this-- and I'll--"
He pushes further, grunting around the tight, tight slowness of the way he enters, and he bucks his torso forward and leans over Poe, hands by his sides.
"I'll-- be--"
He thinks of what Tristan said, he thinks of what Poe said when they first met.
"I'll be-- the only person you ever need-- from now on."
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Mine.
"I am yours," he whispers, against Owain's lips when he kisses him, and his heart refuses to resume a regular beat, falling and staggering over itself helplessly. That, at least, is something he can say - something that will be true, regardless of what happens. The fresh tattoo on his shoulder physical proof of that. The healing cut on his hand. He's done nothing but brand himself with Owain since almost the day that he met him.
And he'd do it a thousand more times.
It was all he could do to relax, to let out a long, shaky breath as Owain entered him - sore, still, from earlier, but his cock is heavy where it lies against him, precum sliding down to cause a small wet spot on his skin. His body adjusts far too quickly, like it knows exactly how much he needs this. Like he's designed specifically for this.
He reaches out as Owain speaks, sliding a hand into his hair and pulling him down even as Poe arches upward, wanting to connect everywhere.
"Don't tell me." It's barely above a breath, a whispered breath. Half a plea, half a confession. "Show me."
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Huh.
The plea runs through him like a rocket and it feels like Poe is begging him to just stop thinking and talking and fucking do this, and maybe he can tell, on some level, what Poe's feelings for him are, because he doesn't get locked in his thoughts wondering what this is or stuck in the fear that's been building that he won't be enough. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip with an achingly slow intensity before he kisses Poe again, heart heavy with need and fear and want, body a sweaty mess of limbs and jumping nerves.
He'll make Poe whole, in the way he has for Owain.
He's slow, unbearably slow, especially for him, and it's so obvious he's holding back the instinct to speed up because he wants to make this perfect. Owain's ears are trained on every gasp and uncomfortable shift Poe might make, so that when he senses this isn't completely, completely wonderful, he can stop everything he's doing and adjust so that when he fucks back into Poe a little harder Poe'll have to do everything he can not to moan.
There's weight with each thrust. It's not just about the movement, the way he stretches Poe open and rubs against every ridge of muscle and struggles not to gasp and writhe when the heat of his insides clamps down on the sensitive head of his cock - when he pushes forward and presses in he leans hard into it, putting so much pressure on Poe, tight and hard shoves against his prostate that last for so, so long. When he pulls back it feels like he's winding up to something, because every time he fucks inwards it comes harder and more sudden than when he'd left.
Owain is a sweaty red mess already. He's practically laying on Poe at this point, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, feeling Poe's cock grind against his tight abs. He tries a few times to keep kissing Poe, but he can't handle it, not on top of everything he's feeling - he's resting his forehead on his shoulder and breathing wavering breaths, less moaning with rolling sounds and more with vocal ahs and fucks and Poes that come out of him far too often and far too easily.
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He doesn't mind the speed, even though it may very well drive him mad. But it's slow enough that he can feel everything and there's literally nothing in the world he wants more, right now. For a while he's fairly quiet - panting heavily, his breath hitching with every perfect thrust. And he can't really stop moving, every time Owain sinks deep he squirms to meet it, to get it perfect, to get it just right--
But he stops being able to pay attention to things, every thrust sending him further into a buzzing, heady bliss, barely aware of anything save how fucking perfect it felt. He craved to feel Owain's lips on his, but could only press them against the man's hair, moaning against him. As every moment passed he was getting less and less quiet - completely incoherent, still, there were no words rolling off his lips - but he moaned and panted and grunted and groaned and he felt like every nerve ending in his body was on fire and held so tight it was almost painful.
It would take so little, to send him over the edge - he felt like he was there, constantly, ever perfect thrust against his prostate taking him right to the edge of orgasm and leaving him there. But there was no desperate urgency. It felt far, far more important to stay in the bliss of a trance that was forever on the edge of being too much, panting and writhing, fingers caught tight in Owain's hair and keeping him hard down against him. He rolled his hips into every thrust, grinding his cock between them, but it was far, far to slick for any real friction - a stream of precum leaking from him that wouldn't stop.
"--Owain--" The first coherent word to leave his lips.
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