Time will calm them down, eventually, but as Owain is right now, even a few hours away from touching Poe is enough to kill him. He can feel Poe's heart beating when he rests a hand over his chest and it makes his own surge into overdrive, looking down at Poe with that same awe, that same stunned disbelief that he has it in him to make someone feel like that. Anyone. Not just the person he was raised to see as inherently better than him. Just-- anyone.
There's a thrill in him, an energy that comes from heading outside of the tent with Kiron. He hasn't gone somewhere on his own like that for years, and those few seconds away from Poe's side - he'd hardly ever left his sight these past few days, and doing that here, in the cold, snow-covered grounds of a foreign planet, a warzone--
This is what being independent is about, isn't it? Making choices, however small, being able to see them through without asking if taking a step outside is okay. When Owain shifts and kisses Poe three times, then four, then five, all in quick succession, he breaks each one wit a laugh he wouldn't really be able to explain if he tried. The laughter dies and slips into something headier, darker, and his fingers draw lines further down Poe's clothes, unbuttoning halfway and then stopping.
"Sorry," he says, an urgent gasp. He needs to remember where they are - his back is to the entrance of the tent, but if someone comes in, it won't be hard to see what they're doing. He keeps Poe half dressed and shifts back just enough for his fingers to claw at Poe's belt, hands freezing in place when he hears footsteps just outside the tent but then scrambling to fish out his cock even faster once they're gone.
"I gotta-- just," His eyes are wide as he tears them away from Poe's belt and back up again. "Just wanna fucking touch you, I wanna make you say my name, I want-- what do you want me to do? Tell me."
Poe doesn't laugh with him - though he does grin hard enough that it hurts - every single thing that Reeve had said to him mere minutes ago utterly gone from his mind. Every shadow banished in Owain's bright sunlight. He leans up into every kiss, trying to take each a little harder and a little deeper than they are given. He's already got Owain's belt free and is tossing it to the floor when he feels Owain freeze. That's when he hears the footsteps and he freezes too - his body going utterly still even while his heart decides to race faster.
He raises his hips in an effort to help, groaning lowly as Owain pulls his cock out into the chilled air, his blood running thick and hot enough to more than make up for it.
He's having a hard time thinking straight, but the sound of someone outside his tent did at least bring him a little bit back to reality. "... Desk," he breathes, and for a few seconds that's all he can get out, because he's sliding his hand into Owain's trousers, palm rubbing hard against the length of his trapped cock. "... then I -- fuck, I want way too much than either of us can do right now, but at least -- might not be painfully fucking obvious that I am going to fill your mouth with cum and then drink every drop of yours down, if someone accidentally walks in--"
The grin is enough - Owain is just so overwhelmingly, stupidly, childishly happy, so incredibly ruined by the joy that controls every part of him, and to know that Poe might feel even a fraction of that warmth just by being here is enough to make him want to cry. Owain holds Poe's cock with both hands, elvet-soft strokes going upwards, always replacing one fist with the other at each careful twist over his head. He's hypnotizing himself as he watches, and it takes a while for what Poe is saying to sink in, but eventually it does with a hard, needy pulse through his dick, and he comes to a stop. Desk. Desk. Desk. Okay.
He slides off, obscenely tenting his dishevelled and now half-open uniform, and for a second he looks like he's going to hesitate or go slowly with all of this, but instead he straight up grabs Poe by the dick and leads him to the desk without letting go. He pushes Poe down into the hard, wooden chair that faces the open tent, and with a grin he sinks to his knees, out of sight behind so expensively carved mahogany.
His gag reflex still isn't great, and his lips are cold from being outside for so long, but they warm when he presses forwad and tries his best, sucking in half of Poe's cock and humming hard. He's noisy, too noisy, with the sloppy sound of spit sliding over flesh filling the otherwise empty tent, but he digs his nails into Poe's thighs and keeps going. His head bumps the desk every so often, so he angles himself down a little further, back arched so when he swallows Poe's cock before coming off of it with a pop, he'll be more comfortable.
His heart skips a couple beats when Owain stands - his figure cutting a perfect, if disheveled, silhouette, and in that split second Poe wishes he could stop time just to frame it. To keep that image of Owain forever. But then he is suddenly being pulled forward by his cock, barely having enough thought to grab the reports as they go, tossing them haphazardly onto the desk when Owain pushes him down into the chair.
It's not the greatest blow job in the world, objectively, but the way Poe reacts to it makes it very clear that he is over the moon with it. (Doesn't really matter, what those chilled lips are actually doing, as long as they belong to Owain.)
He laces his fingers into Owain's hair, finger nails scraping against his scalp, every obscene slurp making Poe's cock throb hotly.
"Fuck, Owain," he moans lowly, "You feel so--"
But he's cut off by the sound of heavy boots outside the tent, and only just managed to grab one of the reports and pretend to be reading it as the Runner opens the flap of the tent and steps in. Poe's hand in Owain's hair pushes down hard against his head to keep him under the table.
"Captain Dameron? I have the new shipping manifest from the last supply drop."
"Good, good." He set down the report and then held out his hand for the new one.
The crunch of boots over frozen grass is what grabs his attention first - how many nights had he trained to hear the footsteps of an enemy or the wanderings of his future master? - but rather than send fear through him, it sends something else. Something that makes his cock ache with a pain that takes over his head, like he needs this, he needs to be seen doing this. A primal, overwhelming, messy feeling that shocks him with its intensity, so strong and animalistic and overtaking that that he doesn't have the time to ground himself when Poe tightens the pressure on his skull and keeps him in place.
Owain splutters when Poe holds him, three or four inches of dick trapped hard against his tongue. It's quiet, loud enough for Poe to hear, if not the messenger, but he gets what Poe wants from him and for a moment, he stays still.
Just for a moment.
His body adjusts to the tip of Poe's cock hitting just against the surface of his throat and he takes a silent breath through his nose. The Runner seems flustered, for a moment, but it's not because he's seen anything - after handing his report to the captain, he's startled to find that he only had half of it on hand, and with a quick ah, excuse me, wait a moment, he goes rifling through the messenger bag he has slung over his shoulder for the second page.
He stands there, an unknowing audience, and Owain's heart hammers in his chest. Carefully, carefully, he starts dragging his lips - warmer, softer now - further down Poe's cock. It's risky; he's never taken him this deep before, and one wrong move could have him coughing or gagging for air, but he keeps going, sinking further and further and further until he's taken Poe to the base.
His tongue swirls against the underside of Poe's cock, and he swallows, trapping his head in the pressure that pulls him down. He jerks Poe off with his tongue, that wet tip gliding back and forth as much as he can reach, and he hollows out, applying as much suction as he can with what limited space he has to move.
It's for the best that the runner's eyes are dragged away from Poe to his bag, because it means he misses the wy Poe's eyelashes flutter, the way his eyes slide shut as he does everything in his power from sliding himself deeper into Owain's throat. His whole body tenses, the hand in Owain's hair gripping sharply as a hot, desperate need washed over him.
His eyes glazed over a little, unable to focus on the unwitting audience, too destraxted by the fact that Owain was trying to kill him in the hottest way possible. He doesn't make a sound, though his lips part, sucking in a breath that is thankfully not quite loud enough for the runner to hear.
"Thanks," he said to the runner, his voice far huskier than normal as he took the offered sheets, and tried not to die. "Is that... Is that all...."
The Runner hesitates for a moment, catching that huskiness, wondering to himself if Poe's alright - but he doesn't ask. He starts talking about the recent recruiting work Poe did back at the capital; he mentions the pub crawls, the nobles at the ball, and how something about him must have seemed especially charismatic, even compared to his past attempts at ringing in numbers, because they've got a good two dozen new soldiers ready to train.
He talks about how Poe might be ordered, soon, to greet any new soldiers that get assigned to this squadron, and he starts looking in his bag again for something Poe needs to sign to give his assent to that - and as he does, Owain secretly slips his injured hand down to his own cock and starts to stroke, eyes flickering shut. He can see it in his head - the runner's voice coming to a stop as he steps forward and looks down between Poe's legs, catching him, seeing Owain. He'd get hard and flustered and not know where to look, and Owain wonders - what would happen next? Would he want the Runner to join in? Would he want Poe to order him to take care of both of them? To end up covered in not only Poe's cum, but this stranger's, too? Or-- would he want to put on a show? Act possessive, say Poe is mine, you can't have him as he swallows his load and feeds his own back to him? Would he want to get fucked here on the desk while the Runner sat there, stunned, impossibly hard but unable to touch himself, so lost in the sounds of Owain's desperate screams for more, until-- finally-- he came in his pants?
Owain sucks Poe's cock harder than he knew was possible, trying to make him buck. He blows him with a twist of his head as his nails sink into his thighs even deeper, trying to bruise just enough to get Poe to speak up and blow their cover. He's silent, so fucking silent, as he pushes forward and fucking deepthroats Poe, almost choking but pushing through it without making a noise. It's hard to do, but so is shuffles Poe's pants down until they're around his ankles-- but he does, and Poe's so much more exposed now behind this desk, still just barely out of sight.
He pulls off of Poe's cock with as much space as the hands in his hair will allow, and he sucks on two of his fingers on his uninjured hand, getting them wet. He grabs Poe's dick, angles it to his lips, swallows the head again and slips his fingers down between the captain's legs as he strokes his cock even faster. He silently inhales through his nose and deepthroats Poe as the Runner finds the requisition contract and puts it on the desk, and the sound of his hand touching mahogany makes Owain cum. He shoots like a firehose already, five or six streaks of white painting the floor, but-- but-- even after a few seconds of shaking knees and a gentle, rolling cooldown, he's still hard, he still needs this, and he keeps jerking, he keeps feeling that primal need for this, he needs to fucking cum and he hammers his cock, even through the oversensitivity that shoots through him with each stroke.
The runner asks Poe if he has a pen, and now that he has to actually speak up, now that Poe has to actually use words, Owain is frenzied in his efforts to make him gasp, make him moan. Harder and harder he hollows his cheeks, and slowly, slowly he inserts both now-wet fingers through the rim of Poe's hole, searching out his prostate and grinding the tips of his fingers against it.
Poe wants to kill one of them. He's not sure which. Either he wants to kill the Runner, for being unable to shut the fuck up and leave, or he wants to kill Owain purely out of self defence. Because that's what it would be, at this point. Self defence from Owain trying to kill him.
He can't help but flick his eyes down toward Owain when the runner started rummaging through his pack, just in time to see Owain start stroking himself with his bandaged hand. He couldn't help it, he let out a groan, forcing his eyes away just to catch the runner looking up again with a furrowed brow.
"I have a headache," He snapped, a little too harshly. "Please just - continue."
However, it was 100% impossible to focus on anything other than Owain's mouth, or the way his trousers get dragged down and the cool air hits his thighs or the fact that he knows, right this fucking second, that Owain is getting himself right under Poe's desk and all he wants to do is yell at the runner to get the fuck out and then throw himself down on Owain and then either fuck him or be fucked by him and then do it the opposite way until they're both completely spent and who even gives a damn about Holdo or Reeve or anyone else they don't get it they've never got it --
His nails pierced the still-healing flesh of his injured palm, and that was enough to stave off the immediate orgasm that Owain's fingers sliding into him nearly caused, just in time to hear the runner asking for a pen. Fuck? Fucking --
"N-- Fuck, yes, fine, here--" He pulled one of the drawers open sharply and thrust the pen at the runner. "Is that it?" His voice is incredibly tight, a sudden rushing flush running under his skin as the runner babbles an apology, asking the Captain if he needs to have the medic fetched, and Poe manages to growl out a "No, I'm fine," despite the fact that he is starting to sweat quite visibly.
"I'll sleep it - sleep it off, now if you'll excuse me--" He points hard at the door and a very confused Private gives him another look before taking off, pen still in hand. As soon as the tent flap closed Poe slammed the chair back and nearly pounced on the man under his desk, grabbing Owain's cock with a fierce hunger and stroking him roughly, finding him already slick from his previous orgasm, and then kisses him hard.
"You trying to fucking kill me?" He accuses, but it's too good humoured to be angry. "If you don't fuck me right now, I swear to the gods--"
Owain feels like he could shoot again already when Poe tugs at his cock, and the kiss he gives back is more bite than anything else. Knowing he got Poe this riled up is enough to make his knees weak, but he still just keeps hearing the captain's voice in his head-- fuck, yes, fine, here-- and too much precum is flooding down his shaft, making his dick wet and slick and red and angry.
"He wanted you to sign something," Owain laughs after Poe breaks the kiss, barely able to catch his breath, leaning forward fast to catch and bite Poe's bottom lip. "You just gave him a pen and chased him out."
They should go to the bed, or even better, realize what they're doing and how damn easy it would be for them to be seen, but Owain's too caught up in this to care. He twists Poe around and anchors him onto the desk, tearing his shirt open and pulling his slacks clean off, and he does the same for himself - tugging off the bottom of his uniform and leaving it on the floor. He grabs Poe's leg and angles it up, hooking it over his shoulder, and he lines the head of his cock to his hole and--
He grunts as he sinks in, deep. There's resistance, despite the wetness of his cock, but he pushes forward, straining Poe, stretching him open, so fucking tight-- and then he starts to move, fucking into him, out of him, picking up speed too quickly, completely foregoing comfort just because they both need this, they both need this. The desk shakes beneath them as Owain fucks harder into him, balls slapping lewdly against Poe's ass when he forces himself to bottom out, and the grunts he make are too loud, too obvious, so easily overheard.
He grabs Poe's cock and starts to jerk it in time with each thrust, until he decides, fuck it, fuck that, he wants to make Poe scream his god damn name. His strokes go faster and faster and faster until his hand may as well be a fucking blur, his hand getting coated with saliva and precum with each gentle squeeze and slightly loosened grip.
Owain can feel his balls draw tight to his body and he grunts as his slams get harder, heavier, burying deep. "Poe," he gasps, throwing his waist against Poe with each angry, deep fuck. "I'm gonna-- again-- where do you want me to--?"
"And who's fucking fault is that?" Poe demanded, but a wicked grin had split his lips as Owain had nipped at them. "How the hell would I be able to sign anything with your fucking mouth--" But he gets cut off as he's slammed back against the desk, and honestly? He really, really couldn't bring himself to care. His own cock is hard and heavy and leaking a steady stream of precum onto his belly as Owain pulls up his leg, and he grips the edge of the desk with both hands, knuckles turning white, as he finally gets what he was begging for.
There's enough of an edge of pain to it to keep Poe from just breaking immediately upon entry - even though his cock throbs hard and his body tenses - he just doesn't want it to end, not yet, even though he knows every second they spend like this is another second that they could be caught--
But thoughts completely fail him, when Owain grabs his cock, and he bucks against him, gasping out his name, hips raising right off the desk to force Owain hard and deep into him. He can already feel it, can always feel the tension building and he didn't even have a spare thought to warn Owain, so he just on the edge when Owain gasps out his name. Half a heart beat later and it's too damn late.
"In-- In m-- fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, Owain--" Before he's even got the whole of his lover's name out he's already coming, jerking hard as the pleasure lances through him like a lightning bolt, sending hard shots of cum right onto his own chest, one errant shot hitting his throat.
Owain's grinning like the fucking devil as Poe makes his demand, but they're both swept up into the heat of their bodies melting together so quickly that it doesn't last. They fuck for what barely feels like minutes before it's hitting the end and he's still just god damn hammering into Poe when he feels the love of his fucking life shoot his load beneath him, and Owain can feel it, too, can feel he's about to--
He hears the crunch of footsteps outside and that's what sets him off. He wonders if it might be Reeve, and a flare of possessive jealousy hits him. He wants Reeve to see the state he's put Poe in so he'll know - he'll know - that Poe is his now, Poe belongs to him, Poe's his good boy. That's the thought that ends this.
He pitches forward with a single, barely restrained shout, bucking hard and deep into Poe as he comes, raising his lover's waist up and off the desk to drain his balls as deeply as he can. His entire body is shaking so hard he's like a leaf in a god damn storm. His hips slap erratically against Poe's ass as he empties himself of shot after shot after shot, but he leans down and presses his lips to his throat - he laps at that errant shot of Poe's climax and grazes his teeth against his skin, sucking far too hard on his neck and leaving a nice red mark, and when it's done, when everything's over, when both of them are heading into the gateway of their afterglow, he gives Poe his leg back and flops uselessly on top of him.
He'd say something like holy shit if he had the energy.
The footsteps he heard are fading into the distance, and they're safe from whatever passerby that was, but they're not in the barracks back home. They can't stay like this on a fucking desk, marked by each other's cum, and the few conscious thoughts Owain can string together are all about how he should move. He really, really doesn't want to, though - even the thought of pulling out is too much for him, and he's still languidly hard, still stretching Poe open from here, even as he steadily starts to relax.
Owain says something like th... hnrng into Poe's neck, still too scrambled to work.
Poe didn't even notice the footsteps - either coming towards them or going away - which is either for the best, or a telling sign that maybe he should resist fucking Owain in a place where they can easily be walked in on because he has absolutely no ability to stop himself once in the heat of it. Maybe a mixture of both. Everything is sore, and he collapses back onto the desk in a hazy pant, somewhere else entirely, barely registering Owain's weight as he sinks against him. After a moment, though, and a garbled half-sound from Owain, he starts to clue into where they are and he groans.
".... Nghh," is his own failed attempt at language, and with one arm lazily tries to push Owain off of him. He really doesn't try that hard. "... Gotta... fuck..." No. Those were supposed to be two separate thoughts. Not one near-plea. Try again, Dameron.
"... Gotta move... fuck, you... fuck that was good, but you gotta..."
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There's a thrill in him, an energy that comes from heading outside of the tent with Kiron. He hasn't gone somewhere on his own like that for years, and those few seconds away from Poe's side - he'd hardly ever left his sight these past few days, and doing that here, in the cold, snow-covered grounds of a foreign planet, a warzone--
This is what being independent is about, isn't it? Making choices, however small, being able to see them through without asking if taking a step outside is okay. When Owain shifts and kisses Poe three times, then four, then five, all in quick succession, he breaks each one wit a laugh he wouldn't really be able to explain if he tried. The laughter dies and slips into something headier, darker, and his fingers draw lines further down Poe's clothes, unbuttoning halfway and then stopping.
"Sorry," he says, an urgent gasp. He needs to remember where they are - his back is to the entrance of the tent, but if someone comes in, it won't be hard to see what they're doing. He keeps Poe half dressed and shifts back just enough for his fingers to claw at Poe's belt, hands freezing in place when he hears footsteps just outside the tent but then scrambling to fish out his cock even faster once they're gone.
"I gotta-- just," His eyes are wide as he tears them away from Poe's belt and back up again. "Just wanna fucking touch you, I wanna make you say my name, I want-- what do you want me to do? Tell me."
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He raises his hips in an effort to help, groaning lowly as Owain pulls his cock out into the chilled air, his blood running thick and hot enough to more than make up for it.
He's having a hard time thinking straight, but the sound of someone outside his tent did at least bring him a little bit back to reality. "... Desk," he breathes, and for a few seconds that's all he can get out, because he's sliding his hand into Owain's trousers, palm rubbing hard against the length of his trapped cock. "... then I -- fuck, I want way too much than either of us can do right now, but at least -- might not be painfully fucking obvious that I am going to fill your mouth with cum and then drink every drop of yours down, if someone accidentally walks in--"
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He slides off, obscenely tenting his dishevelled and now half-open uniform, and for a second he looks like he's going to hesitate or go slowly with all of this, but instead he straight up grabs Poe by the dick and leads him to the desk without letting go. He pushes Poe down into the hard, wooden chair that faces the open tent, and with a grin he sinks to his knees, out of sight behind so expensively carved mahogany.
His gag reflex still isn't great, and his lips are cold from being outside for so long, but they warm when he presses forwad and tries his best, sucking in half of Poe's cock and humming hard. He's noisy, too noisy, with the sloppy sound of spit sliding over flesh filling the otherwise empty tent, but he digs his nails into Poe's thighs and keeps going. His head bumps the desk every so often, so he angles himself down a little further, back arched so when he swallows Poe's cock before coming off of it with a pop, he'll be more comfortable.
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It's not the greatest blow job in the world, objectively, but the way Poe reacts to it makes it very clear that he is over the moon with it. (Doesn't really matter, what those chilled lips are actually doing, as long as they belong to Owain.)
He laces his fingers into Owain's hair, finger nails scraping against his scalp, every obscene slurp making Poe's cock throb hotly.
"Fuck, Owain," he moans lowly, "You feel so--"
But he's cut off by the sound of heavy boots outside the tent, and only just managed to grab one of the reports and pretend to be reading it as the Runner opens the flap of the tent and steps in. Poe's hand in Owain's hair pushes down hard against his head to keep him under the table.
"Captain Dameron? I have the new shipping manifest from the last supply drop."
"Good, good." He set down the report and then held out his hand for the new one.
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Owain splutters when Poe holds him, three or four inches of dick trapped hard against his tongue. It's quiet, loud enough for Poe to hear, if not the messenger, but he gets what Poe wants from him and for a moment, he stays still.
Just for a moment.
His body adjusts to the tip of Poe's cock hitting just against the surface of his throat and he takes a silent breath through his nose. The Runner seems flustered, for a moment, but it's not because he's seen anything - after handing his report to the captain, he's startled to find that he only had half of it on hand, and with a quick ah, excuse me, wait a moment, he goes rifling through the messenger bag he has slung over his shoulder for the second page.
He stands there, an unknowing audience, and Owain's heart hammers in his chest. Carefully, carefully, he starts dragging his lips - warmer, softer now - further down Poe's cock. It's risky; he's never taken him this deep before, and one wrong move could have him coughing or gagging for air, but he keeps going, sinking further and further and further until he's taken Poe to the base.
His tongue swirls against the underside of Poe's cock, and he swallows, trapping his head in the pressure that pulls him down. He jerks Poe off with his tongue, that wet tip gliding back and forth as much as he can reach, and he hollows out, applying as much suction as he can with what limited space he has to move.
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His eyes glazed over a little, unable to focus on the unwitting audience, too destraxted by the fact that Owain was trying to kill him in the hottest way possible. He doesn't make a sound, though his lips part, sucking in a breath that is thankfully not quite loud enough for the runner to hear.
"Thanks," he said to the runner, his voice far huskier than normal as he took the offered sheets, and tried not to die. "Is that... Is that all...."
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He talks about how Poe might be ordered, soon, to greet any new soldiers that get assigned to this squadron, and he starts looking in his bag again for something Poe needs to sign to give his assent to that - and as he does, Owain secretly slips his injured hand down to his own cock and starts to stroke, eyes flickering shut. He can see it in his head - the runner's voice coming to a stop as he steps forward and looks down between Poe's legs, catching him, seeing Owain. He'd get hard and flustered and not know where to look, and Owain wonders - what would happen next? Would he want the Runner to join in? Would he want Poe to order him to take care of both of them? To end up covered in not only Poe's cum, but this stranger's, too? Or-- would he want to put on a show? Act possessive, say Poe is mine, you can't have him as he swallows his load and feeds his own back to him? Would he want to get fucked here on the desk while the Runner sat there, stunned, impossibly hard but unable to touch himself, so lost in the sounds of Owain's desperate screams for more, until-- finally-- he came in his pants?
Owain sucks Poe's cock harder than he knew was possible, trying to make him buck. He blows him with a twist of his head as his nails sink into his thighs even deeper, trying to bruise just enough to get Poe to speak up and blow their cover. He's silent, so fucking silent, as he pushes forward and fucking deepthroats Poe, almost choking but pushing through it without making a noise. It's hard to do, but so is shuffles Poe's pants down until they're around his ankles-- but he does, and Poe's so much more exposed now behind this desk, still just barely out of sight.
He pulls off of Poe's cock with as much space as the hands in his hair will allow, and he sucks on two of his fingers on his uninjured hand, getting them wet. He grabs Poe's dick, angles it to his lips, swallows the head again and slips his fingers down between the captain's legs as he strokes his cock even faster. He silently inhales through his nose and deepthroats Poe as the Runner finds the requisition contract and puts it on the desk, and the sound of his hand touching mahogany makes Owain cum. He shoots like a firehose already, five or six streaks of white painting the floor, but-- but-- even after a few seconds of shaking knees and a gentle, rolling cooldown, he's still hard, he still needs this, and he keeps jerking, he keeps feeling that primal need for this, he needs to fucking cum and he hammers his cock, even through the oversensitivity that shoots through him with each stroke.
The runner asks Poe if he has a pen, and now that he has to actually speak up, now that Poe has to actually use words, Owain is frenzied in his efforts to make him gasp, make him moan. Harder and harder he hollows his cheeks, and slowly, slowly he inserts both now-wet fingers through the rim of Poe's hole, searching out his prostate and grinding the tips of his fingers against it.
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He can't help but flick his eyes down toward Owain when the runner started rummaging through his pack, just in time to see Owain start stroking himself with his bandaged hand. He couldn't help it, he let out a groan, forcing his eyes away just to catch the runner looking up again with a furrowed brow.
"I have a headache," He snapped, a little too harshly. "Please just - continue."
However, it was 100% impossible to focus on anything other than Owain's mouth, or the way his trousers get dragged down and the cool air hits his thighs or the fact that he knows, right this fucking second, that Owain is getting himself right under Poe's desk and all he wants to do is yell at the runner to get the fuck out and then throw himself down on Owain and then either fuck him or be fucked by him and then do it the opposite way until they're both completely spent and who even gives a damn about Holdo or Reeve or anyone else they don't get it they've never got it --
His nails pierced the still-healing flesh of his injured palm, and that was enough to stave off the immediate orgasm that Owain's fingers sliding into him nearly caused, just in time to hear the runner asking for a pen. Fuck? Fucking --
"N-- Fuck, yes, fine, here--" He pulled one of the drawers open sharply and thrust the pen at the runner. "Is that it?" His voice is incredibly tight, a sudden rushing flush running under his skin as the runner babbles an apology, asking the Captain if he needs to have the medic fetched, and Poe manages to growl out a "No, I'm fine," despite the fact that he is starting to sweat quite visibly.
"I'll sleep it - sleep it off, now if you'll excuse me--" He points hard at the door and a very confused Private gives him another look before taking off, pen still in hand. As soon as the tent flap closed Poe slammed the chair back and nearly pounced on the man under his desk, grabbing Owain's cock with a fierce hunger and stroking him roughly, finding him already slick from his previous orgasm, and then kisses him hard.
"You trying to fucking kill me?" He accuses, but it's too good humoured to be angry. "If you don't fuck me right now, I swear to the gods--"
no subject
"He wanted you to sign something," Owain laughs after Poe breaks the kiss, barely able to catch his breath, leaning forward fast to catch and bite Poe's bottom lip. "You just gave him a pen and chased him out."
They should go to the bed, or even better, realize what they're doing and how damn easy it would be for them to be seen, but Owain's too caught up in this to care. He twists Poe around and anchors him onto the desk, tearing his shirt open and pulling his slacks clean off, and he does the same for himself - tugging off the bottom of his uniform and leaving it on the floor. He grabs Poe's leg and angles it up, hooking it over his shoulder, and he lines the head of his cock to his hole and--
He grunts as he sinks in, deep. There's resistance, despite the wetness of his cock, but he pushes forward, straining Poe, stretching him open, so fucking tight-- and then he starts to move, fucking into him, out of him, picking up speed too quickly, completely foregoing comfort just because they both need this, they both need this. The desk shakes beneath them as Owain fucks harder into him, balls slapping lewdly against Poe's ass when he forces himself to bottom out, and the grunts he make are too loud, too obvious, so easily overheard.
He grabs Poe's cock and starts to jerk it in time with each thrust, until he decides, fuck it, fuck that, he wants to make Poe scream his god damn name. His strokes go faster and faster and faster until his hand may as well be a fucking blur, his hand getting coated with saliva and precum with each gentle squeeze and slightly loosened grip.
Owain can feel his balls draw tight to his body and he grunts as his slams get harder, heavier, burying deep. "Poe," he gasps, throwing his waist against Poe with each angry, deep fuck. "I'm gonna-- again-- where do you want me to--?"
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There's enough of an edge of pain to it to keep Poe from just breaking immediately upon entry - even though his cock throbs hard and his body tenses - he just doesn't want it to end, not yet, even though he knows every second they spend like this is another second that they could be caught--
But thoughts completely fail him, when Owain grabs his cock, and he bucks against him, gasping out his name, hips raising right off the desk to force Owain hard and deep into him. He can already feel it, can always feel the tension building and he didn't even have a spare thought to warn Owain, so he just on the edge when Owain gasps out his name. Half a heart beat later and it's too damn late.
"In-- In m-- fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, Owain--" Before he's even got the whole of his lover's name out he's already coming, jerking hard as the pleasure lances through him like a lightning bolt, sending hard shots of cum right onto his own chest, one errant shot hitting his throat.
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He hears the crunch of footsteps outside and that's what sets him off. He wonders if it might be Reeve, and a flare of possessive jealousy hits him. He wants Reeve to see the state he's put Poe in so he'll know - he'll know - that Poe is his now, Poe belongs to him, Poe's his good boy. That's the thought that ends this.
He pitches forward with a single, barely restrained shout, bucking hard and deep into Poe as he comes, raising his lover's waist up and off the desk to drain his balls as deeply as he can. His entire body is shaking so hard he's like a leaf in a god damn storm. His hips slap erratically against Poe's ass as he empties himself of shot after shot after shot, but he leans down and presses his lips to his throat - he laps at that errant shot of Poe's climax and grazes his teeth against his skin, sucking far too hard on his neck and leaving a nice red mark, and when it's done, when everything's over, when both of them are heading into the gateway of their afterglow, he gives Poe his leg back and flops uselessly on top of him.
He'd say something like holy shit if he had the energy.
The footsteps he heard are fading into the distance, and they're safe from whatever passerby that was, but they're not in the barracks back home. They can't stay like this on a fucking desk, marked by each other's cum, and the few conscious thoughts Owain can string together are all about how he should move. He really, really doesn't want to, though - even the thought of pulling out is too much for him, and he's still languidly hard, still stretching Poe open from here, even as he steadily starts to relax.
Owain says something like th... hnrng into Poe's neck, still too scrambled to work.
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".... Nghh," is his own failed attempt at language, and with one arm lazily tries to push Owain off of him. He really doesn't try that hard. "... Gotta... fuck..." No. Those were supposed to be two separate thoughts. Not one near-plea. Try again, Dameron.
"... Gotta move... fuck, you... fuck that was good, but you gotta..."