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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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..."