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It’s not as if Rey and Poe are competitive over everything. And when they are being competitive, there’s never any malice to it. It’s playfulness, a form of bonding, because why would Poe simply introduce Rey to a new form of food when he could challenge her to an eating contest instead? And why would Rey let an opportunity for revenge over getting sick from too much blatberry pie escape when she could goad Poe into sparring with her instead?

And the races, oh frack, the races. Poe in his X-Wing, Rey in the Falcon, and it doesn’t help that BB-8 likes to boast about Poe’s skills, or that Chewbacca totally eggs Rey on.

That last one, the one over the lava pits, was so barvy that General Organa threatened to ground them all if they ever pulled anything like that again. Finn had assumed she meant she’d keep them from flying, literally keep them on the ground, but Poe had admitted sheepishly that she was actually referring to sending them all to the barracks without dinner like misbehaving children.

Chewbacca thought it was hysterical until the General fixed him with a glare that meant he was very much included in that threat.

The one thing all these competitions have in common is that Finn is the judge. He’s not certain when this happened, because he’s pretty sure he’d remember agreeing to something like that. But they always look to him for a verdict on the winner, and Rey and Poe have become absolutely shameless in trying to flatter and bribe and trick him into choosing them. Hell, they even use that as a chance to compete.

Finn honestly loves it. He loves seeing them smile and laugh and tease each other good-naturedly. It’s so different from what he grew up with, but Finn thinks that this is what everyone should have in their lives, this easy happiness and camaraderie. Everybody needs a Rey, everybody needs a Poe.

So they’re not competitive over everything, and it’s all a game anyway.

Except this. This isn’t a game, or it doesn’t feel like one, although Rey and Poe are definitely being competitive over it.

Poe’s mouth is against the right side of Finn’s neck, Rey’s lips brushing his left ear. Their breath is so warm, and Finn’s squirming between them, gasping. One arm is slung around Rey’s waist where they’re pressed chest-to-chest, the hand of the other clasping Poe’s thigh where he’s draped across Finn’s back.

Rey kisses him firmly, deeply, her lips curving against his when Finn groans. Poe’s hips rock against him, the head of his cock sliding wetly against the base of Finn’s spine.

He lets them shuffle him around, positioning him on the bed how they like, Poe’s hands on his shoulders and Rey’s at his waist. Sprawling him back across the mattress, and Finn watches the way they grin at each other, feeling a string of precome leaking over his stomach because he knows those smiles.

Those smiles mean trouble, every time. Those smiles mean the competition’s heating up, only right now it’s Finn who’s heating up, because they turn their matching smirks on him like predators and his hips want to buck off the bed just from looking at them.

They move over him with impressive synchronization, fingers trailing over his skin, bracing against his legs. Heads dipping low, and Finn is doing a really terrible job of holding back his desperate noises for the slide of their mouths. Poe nips at the inside of Finn’s thigh, Rey sucks a bruise below the hollow of his hip, and Finn reaches up and fists his hands in the pillow because he’s not sure whose hair he’d want to grab first.

There’s the briefest pause, and somehow Finn just knows they’ve got those smiles on their faces again. And then their lips are on his cock, both at the same time, and he squeezes his eyes shut because maybe that will make the room stop spinning. Rey’s lips are at the head, he recognises the flick of her tongue at his slit, and Poe mouths at the base, nosing a little at the vein running along the underside, and Finn already feels destroyed.

They lick him messily, taking it in turns dragging their tongues over his cock or jostling each other to suck at him, and every so often Finn can hear the wet sounds of them kissing. Rey’s hand cups his balls, Poe’s fingers slide back up the cleft of his ass, and Finn’s pretty sure he’s babbling absolute nonsense as he twists beneath them, trying to fuck his hips up against those smiles.

They’ll want a verdict, when they’re done. Flopped either side of him, sated and so so warm, Rey and Poe will want to know who made him come hardest, fastest. Laughing and taunting each other, voices low and loving.

Finn can never answer. He’s always too overwhelmed, too oversensitive, too content in their arms. And they’re not really looking for a judgement, not for this. The sex isn’t a game, just the banter that follows.

It’s the one competition where there’s never a clear winner.

Except for maybe Finn himself - he’d take a victory lap but he’s too exhausted, so he’ll happily settle for cuddles instead.