"Think this belongs to you." Han has Poe by the scruff of his neck; he shoves him into Leia's office.
Poe shakes off the touch irritatedly, then composes himself rapidly, straightening his jacket and raking a hand through his hair. "General."
His face is flushed, his eyes fairly glittery.
"Are you quite all right?" Leia asks him.
"Yeah, yeah," Poe says, nodding quickly, scrubbing his palms up and down his sides. "Sure. Feel fantastic."
Han's leaning in the doorway, arms crossed. He snorts and says, "Found him strung out on U over on Wukow-VI. Bunch of Trandoshans and their buddies about to have their scaly way with him."
"I --!" Poe swings around to jab his finger at Han. "I had it under control!" He wheels back to address Leia. "I really did. Everything was under control until *someone* opened the wrong door, then proceeded to open his big fucking mouth, and --" He shrugs and sticks his hands in his jacket pockets, then apparently remembers protocol and yanks them out to hold behind his back. "Ma'am."
Han is laughing, long and loud, his shoulders lifting and falling as he shakes his head. "Hell of an outfit you're running here, princess."
She sets down her datapad. "We do our best, yes. General."
"That it?" Han asks.
Poe stands between them, hands behind his back like a good boy, and feels like a jackass.
"I believe so," Leia says, "unless you wanted something else?"
"A thank you would be nice!" Han shoulders past Poe to come right up to Leia's desk, banging both fists down on it, then leaning in. "You're the queen of etiquette, yet you never seem to be able to say a simple 'thank you'. Why is that, huh?"
Poe tries to step backwards, silently, out of the room.
Leia leans to the side to peer around Han. "Wait where you are, Commander. Thank you."
Han's grinning, shaking his head, silver hair sweeping across his forehead. "Oh, sure, the stupid foolhardy pretty boy gets a thank you. Great, that's just great."
"I'm not --" Poe starts to say. He stops when Han glances over his shoulder. "That's not fair."
Han counts his points off on his fingers. "Stupid? Think you can survive a Trandoshan party. Foolhardy? No backup in sight, not even a ship to escape on. And you're damn pretty," Han tells him, before looking back to Leia and addressing the rest to her. "And you know it. What's worse, though, is she knows it."
Leia pulls herself up. "I do have eyes, yes."
Poe opens his mouth and closes it. Everyone on base knows to get to safety when Solo comes calling. He's never been this close to one of their arguments, and the tension in the room is fearsome. Even worse, he appears, somehow, obscurely, to be the *subject* of their argument.
He's probably done for.
"Thank you, General Solo," Leia says, each syllable draped in more sarcasm than the last. "Your help in making this non-issue into something of a diplomatic disaster is very much appreciated."
"It's not a disaster," Poe tries to say. "We still --"
"Would you *shut up*?" Han asks.
"No, let my agent speak," Leia says. "If that's not too much of an imposition, that is. You were saying?"
Against all his best instincts, Poe joins Han before Leia's desk. "I have the launch codes --" He drops a tiny holo-drive in her palm. "And they got their droid parts, just as requested."
Leia looks back and forth between them. "Now I'm confused. What, exactly, did General Solo rescue you from?"
"That was." Poe huffs out a deep, put-upon sigh. "A misunderstanding."
Her gaze flicks over to Han. "It was?"
"Don't look at me like that!" He backs up a little, hands up. "I know what I saw. What's more, I know you'd never forgive me if I let a gram of harm come to his precious, pretty ass."
"Stop saying that," Poe says, quietly and firmly. "Please stop."
"Yes," Leia says. "You *do* seem rather fixated on Commander Dameron's personal appearance."
"Oh, no, oh, no, you don't get to put this all on me!" Han crosses his arms. "I wasn't the one *out of his mind* on U who could barely stay out of my lap on the ride home."
"Commander?" she asks.
Poe has resumed a good posture. A stiff one, even, jaw set and eyes flat, not looking at anything in particular. "He's exaggerating. *A lot*."
Han barks out several laughs. "If anything, I'm downplaying. You know --" He smirks at Leia. "On account of delicate, royal ears."
"And U? What is that?"
"Recreational," Poe says, a little sullenly, not meeting her eyes. Behind him, Han just grins more widely. "Thought I was officially off the clock."
Han's shaking his head and rubbing his hand over his mouth and jaw. Finally, he says, "Udacha, remember that? It's a hell of a lot stronger than it used to be."
Leia remains silent. Her gaze flicks back and forth between them, then down to her desk. Eventually, she says, "I wonder if either of you have any idea how much work I have to do."
"Yes, ma'am," Poe says, almost fervently.
Han rolls his eyes. "When *haven't* you been martyred to outside obligations?"
"Do you think you could keep each other company and out of my hair while I finish?" She waits, then adds, "Or would that be expecting too much?"
"Couldn't I just go back to my quarters?" Poe asks.
Han says at the same time, "You think I want to hang around this place, you're crazier than --"
"So that's a no," she says, picking up her datapad again. "That's a shame."
"Wait --" Han edges a little closer, his eyes narrowing, his tone suspicious. "Why's it a shame?"
Without looking up, Leia says, "I could use some stress relief, something at which both of you excel, though not quite as much as you excel at causing the stress in the first place. If you'd been able to wait, we might have had a lovely time together."
She sounds as dispassionate as she might when discussing inventory and logistics.
Poe glances at Han and finds him already looking back, his expression frank and appraising.
Before either can say something, Leia pulls out another datapad. "Over there would be fine. I'll be with you just as soon as I can."
So they jostle and elbow each other, scuffle and mouth off, but the U really is making Poe a little sillier, less careful, than usual. Han pulls him over his lap, asking, "Where were we? Here...? Or. Here?"
Poe rolls his face against Han's jacket, inhaling leather and sweat, trying to clear his roiling head. He can't. All he can remember/do is slip back into that slightly feverish haze he'd worn all night until he managed to pull himself back together, temporarily, in front of the general. He can let go now - that might not be the best decision, but he isn't in any kind of space to evaluate such things. All he knows is he *can* let go, so he does, and Solo laughs at him, face in his hair, hands roving up and down Poe's back.
"Can't hold it together?" Solo asks.
"Don't have to any more," Poe tells him, and finds that spot on Solo's neck that makes him shiver when Poe sucks on it.
"What would you have done, I wonder, if she'd told you to stand at attention?"
Poe blinks, slowly, leaving his eyes closed longer than necessary. Finally, they open, but his gaze slides away. "Would have."
"Or kneel?" Han wonders, smiling slow and mean, slipping Poe's jacket off his shoulders and down his arms. Poe tries to get it off the rest of the way, but his hands end up trapped in the cuffs until, rolling his eyes, Solo takes pity on him.
"That, too," Poe replies, eventually. "Kneeling, I mean."
"Yeah, kid, I'm not the one half-blitzed. I can follow a simple conversation."
"Like kneeling, you know," Poe says.
"Do I know that?"
Poe kisses Han's throat and cups him, all at once, then slides open-mouthed to Han's lips, kissing him again, flexing his fingers against Han's fly. "I could show you?"
When Han smiles, Poe slips the kiss back along his cheek. "Going all out, are we?"
"Just offering." Poe leans back a little, frowning. Disappointed.
"Ah, did I hurt your feelings?"
Biting his lip, Poe squeezes Han's fly again, three more times, then withdraws his hand to get his own trousers open. "No, I'm good."
"You're *pouting*," Han says. "Are you serious?"
Poe squeezes his thighs around Han's and leans further back, concentrating on touching himself. "I'm *fine*."
"Oh, for fuck's sake --" Han hooks one arm around Poe's waist and yanks him forward, crushing him against his chest, kissing open his mouth. He shoves his hand down the back of Poe's trousers, squeezing, exploring, and bites the side of Poe's neck before whispering, "Just let it go, kiddo, would you?"
Poe lifts himself up slightly, tugging down his trousers enough for Han to have better access. He frowns down at Han. "Let what go?"
"Whatever bullshit animosity you're wallowing in."
He shakes his head, but that still doesn't clear it. He pumps his cock a couple times, as if that will do anything but further distract him, then, giving up, shrugging, reaches for Han's cock again.
"I'll take that as a yes," Han says, leaning back to give him access.
With a bit of concentration, effortfully acquired, Poe manages to get his hand in, Han's dick out, and he curves forward, jacking Han all the way hard while kissing him light and shallow.
When Han starts to move a little against him, tightening his grip on Poe's ass, letting a few flimsy groans free, Poe smiles into the kiss, counting it as a win.
He could do this all night, he really could. Knowing that there's more to come, that Leia is right over there, is almost too much.
"Han, I wonder if you would get him prepped and ready?"
"Huh?" His lids are heavy, his mouth open, and it's actually Poe who turns around. He manages to say, much more clearly, "How so?"
She waves her hand without looking up. "Fingers, mouth, slick. Whatever you like."
"What about it?" Han asks him, mouth on Poe's earlobe, four fingers in his crack already.
"Your call." Poe arches into the touch, finally releasing Han's cock, rocking forward so his knees dig into the upholstery and his face flattens against Han's shoulder.
"Well, *my* call is probably --" Han tips Poe's head back, thrusting up a couple times, "not entirely comfortable for you. Not at first."
Poe's eyes widen. "I'm pretty adaptable, though."
"Are you now?" Han's index finger works against Poe's hole, with only sweat to ease it.
"Mouth, then," Poe says, even as he pushes into the touch.
"Really?" Han scrubs his other hand over his face. "Damn."
"You've never had a problem with it before," Leia says quietly from her desk. "Why now?"
"None of your business," he snaps and Poe draws in on himself. Han glances over. "Not you, kid, don't worry."
Poe has slid off Han's lap to the side, but he tilts in again, mouth against the silver stubble along the underside of his jaw. "I'll take care of it."
"You always *assume*," Han calls to Leia. "Assume you know best, never bother to ask. It's *infuriating*."
"It's leadership," Poe mutters.
"Call it what you like," Han says, folding his arms, shifting a little away from Poe. "I don't have to like it."
"All right," Leia replies without looking up. "That's your obligatory objection registered and acknowledged. Feel better?"
Poe isn't sure if he's allowed to laugh at that. He does, however, he can't stop, and Han shoots him a terrible look for it. Unconcerned, he pulls himself to his feet and pads into the 'fresher to wash up and bring back the slick and a glove.
"Know your way around here, huh?" Han mutters.
Poe's got the cap to the slick in his teeth, so he just shrugs before lifting one leg up onto the seat and squatting a little. His trousers pool around his foot on the floor as he wiggles and frowns, reaching between his legs with slicked fingers. The glove squeaks a little and that makes him laugh, too, which makes everything ticklish, his balls lifting and bouncing.
Han watches him and doesn't say anything. He doesn't move to help or anything half so generous, but the anger and irritability have vanished from his expression. He's left looking slightly bemused, a little baffled. Vaguely soft around the mouth and eyes. He has one arm up along the back of the couch, his other hand on his dick, stroking himself softly.
Poe just watches back, stretching himself a little more patiently now, deliberately. It must show on his face, because Han's expression is shifting, sharpening, and this is --.
This is different. He can't let himself close his eyes, can't look away, as he works a third finger up his hole, to the first knuckle, then deeper. He tries to spread his fingers apart, feels the crush of his ring, tries again.
"How many?" Han asks.
"Three." He blinks now, rapidly, then widens his eyes as his fingers fold on themselves and the tip of his pinky nudges in. "Okay, four now."
"That's the idea," Poe says, grinning, bearing down on his hand and shifting his hips forward to change the angle. He has to brace his free hand on the couch, near to Han's, before he can rock back. Han grabs his wrist, holds it crushingly tight, then tugs harder, making Poe topple forward, against him.
He keeps his hand inside, which is kind of amazing, frankly. Han's kissing him, hard again, all teeth, flashes of tongue, and touching Poe's penetrating hand, tracing the outline of his hole, teasing at Poe's knuckles.
"Quite a flexible creature, isn't he?" Leia asks. She's standing off to the side, her head tilted fractionally.
"How long've you been there?" Han demands, breaking the kiss but holding Poe in place. "A little warning wouldn't go amiss."
"I'm so sorry," Leia says, stepping forward, her robe opening as she moves. Her breasts are visible, then hidden again, and Poe bites his tongue to try to stay quiet. "I thought these were *my* quarters. I must be mistaken."
She stands right next to them now, reaching out to comb Poe's hair back off his face. He's so sweaty, and hates for her to have to touch that, but she simply smiles at him, reassuring and promissory all at the same time.
"Ma'am," he says, when she mirrors his own pose, one knee on the couch on the other side of Han, her robe open all the way, revealing what's between her legs.
"What the *hell*'re you playing at?" Han asks, looking back and forth between them.
Eyes fastened on Poe's, Leia strokes the dildo before turning to Han. "There's a neural link," she tells him, and descends onto his lap just as Poe had earlier, straddling his thigh, pushing the dildo in his hand. "Go on, try."
"This --" Han shakes his head. "This isn't what I signed up for."
She laughs at him then, back arching, her nipples lifting to point at him. "You've never complained before. Never had many limits, not as I recall."
Han works his lips against each other in a tight line. Poe's heartbeat nearly splits open his dick, crushes his hand.
"That was different!" Han finally gets out. "Very different."
"Oh, really?" is all Leia says, before turning back to Poe, reaching to cup his cheek and kiss him.
Han is maybe five inches away, yet Leia's kiss is a full, private thing, just for Poe. He groans around her tongue, rocking back on his hand, then forward, dragging his cock along Han's thigh. He's so close. He's been so close for *so long* tonight.
"Why don't you bend over, sweetheart?" she asks.
Han laughs. "I know you don't mean me."
"No," she says. "I don't think you could take this."
He huffs and splutters, but if he manages to form a response, Poe doesn't hear it. He has to focus on extricating himself from the tangle here, find his balance again, then kneel on the couch, ass to the room, head on his arms.
He breathes in and out, flashes hot and cold, warm and chill.
"So nice," Leia says, drawing her fingertips down his spine, achingly slow. "Doesn't he look nice?"
Leia clears her throat. "I said, doesn't he look nice?"
Poe turns his head then, cheek on his arm, and Han's glaring at him again.
"Yeah," Han says. "Yeah, kid. Look great." His gaze flickers away, to somewhere behind Poe. "Fuckable, that's for sure."
"Envious?" Leia asks, her hands on Poe's waist now, thumbs drawing looping circles over the tops of his buttocks.
Han snorts. He points at Poe, performing a deliberate snub of Leia. "Comfortable, pal? Need a pillow or anything?"
"So thoughtful," Leia says as Poe shakes his head and smacks his lips.
"Slick," he tells Han. "Can you find it?"
Leia is drawn up behind him, soft skin against his, dildo rocking between his legs, its head nudging the back of his balls. "So nice," she says, quietly, folding herself along his back, kissing the bone in his shoulder blade. "So helpful."
"Helpful can be overrated, y'know," Han puts in.
He is smearing the slick over his fingers. Poe had just wanted the tube; he didn't expect -- this.
"Sir," Poe says, gasping, head falling until his forehead's caught against the back of the couch. He pushes back, against Leia, against Han's much bigger, warmer hand. "Thank you --"
Someone's chuckling. It could be either of them. Then he hears the wet sound of them kissing, of Leia's moans, Han's grunts, as Han fingers him wetter, looser, then guides Leia's dildo inside. He wishes he could see this; he can *picture* it, Han with his arm around Leia, supporting her, their kiss a frantic blur, Leia's body small and pale and *strong* as she goes up on the tips of her toes and tightens her hands on Poe's waist, starts fucking him in earnest.
He can't see, he doesn't dare look - if he looks, Poe knows it'll all be over, he'll just shoot his load and be done with it, used up, finally superfluous - and he *can't* look. She's buried all the way inside him, the hair on her mound scouring his crack as she grinds in even deeper.
"Easy, beautiful," Han is saying, to no clear effect. "Easy."
Leia fucks harder, if anything, her nails in Poe's skin now, her breasts bouncing off his back, harsh little grunts falling from her mouth. He's seen her like this of course, but it usually takes her awhile to get to this desperate stage of tiny snarls and shuddering thrusts.
He hears them kiss again, hears her moan and Han, too.
"More," she says and Poe spreads his legs and drops his shoulders until he's nearly bent double. "More."
He is hollowed around sparking, overwhelming desire; he can't do much more than hope he's opening wider, taking her deeper. Her every thrust jolts his prostate, jerks his untouched cock up higher.
"He's giving it to you," Han says, almost defensively, and that must be his hand on Poe's shoulder now, in his hair, tugging up his head until, blinking, face stinging with sweat, Poe can see him. Sort of. Han's bending over, kissing Poe's cheek, then his mouth, before saying over his shoulder. "All of it, he's giving it all up."
He sounds -- angry? Not jealous, which is how Poe thought this would go, nor aloof, nothing like that. Worried, maybe. He kisses Poe again, almost sweetly, hand gentle in his hair.
Leia doesn't say anything. Poe can hear the creaking of the harness, the quiet bounce of her breasts, the rasp of her breath.
"Let him come, let him --" Han says. Urges. "Leia, you're --"
She is bent over him again, arms around his torso, pinning his arms in place. Her face turned away from Han, her mouth on Poe's side. She bites and sucks in time with the jittery thrusts, and when she starts to come, Poe is the first to moan. He knows the pause and bitten-off breath almost as well as the neural node on her clit, and drops his hips almost all the way, fucking the upholstery now as she grinds out inside of him, clockwise, then widdershins, gasping, biting hard.
"Hell," Han says, later, shaking his head, his fingertips skidding, zigzagging, through the sweat on Poe's back. "Well, *hell*."
Leia is lying between them, on her back, dildo jutting to the ceiling, her face buried against Han's chest. Poe hasn't moved. He's not sure he can, not for a while. A pink flush, vivid, almost lurid, spills down Leia's chest, darker than her nipples.
Over the mess of her hair, Han catches Poe's eye. "You good?"
Leia cranes her neck, touching Han's cheek until he looks down at her. "Fuck him?"
Han shakes his head, whistling, his hair moving over his eyes. Poe closes his eyes and rubs his face against his arms. He must have come, maybe, it's always so hard to tell on U, but every overloaded nerve just lit up all over again at Leia's suggestion. He repeats her words, lets them fly up inside the vault of his skull, lets her question become both aria and command.
"What do you think, kid?" Han asks, touching Poe's hair again, waiting until Poe looks at him. "What'd you want?"
He's swooping within his skin, buoyed on sensation. "You --" He coughs and tries again after smacking his lips a few time. "Whatever she wants."
"Hell," Han says again, flatly, even as he stands up and pumps his cock again back to fully erect. "What the *hell*?" He shakes his head. "Don't answer that."
Leia slips over to kiss Poe, lets him touch her breasts, even laughs into his mouth - like a girl, like a girlfriend, like (he imagines) a wife - when he kisses her neck, the swell of one breast, takes her nipple in his teeth and sucks.
Han's touch on Poe's ass is so light that he shudders, feeling goosebumps break out and run away. He rocks back, urgently, even shakes his ass just to be clear.
"Easy," Han tells him. "Just getting the." He coughs. "Hell. Lay of the land."
Leia's wrapping her arm now around Poe's neck, chokingly tight, lifting herself up, then under him, kissing him again, laughing and moaning all at the same time.
When Han rocks into him, there's no stretch, just an eased-in give, a spreading warmth that makes Poe groan until his lungs are empty. He clenches as best he can, then pushes back, and that's it, Han's fucking him slow and sweet, drawing it out, as Leia squirms and sucks on his tongue, her joy effervescent around them.
Han's balls slap the inside of Poe's thighs, heavy, regular, over and over. Pleasure spreads, sinks across, Poe, blood-warm, so heavy, and Leia squirms free again, hand going between her legs, detaching the dildo, white fingers in black hair, flash of red clit.
"Please?" Poe asks, watching her, licking his lips.
"What's he saying?" Han asks.
Leia runs her sticky fingers across Poe's lips, makes him chase the taste with his tongue. "The only thing he ever asks for."
"Save it," Han says.
Leia, nodding, withdraws her hand.
Poe moans now; he's so filled, so warm, shivering on the edge of coming, and yet all he wants to do is taste her, lick her open, fuck his tongue deep into her hole until she clutches at his head and whispers his name, lets him feel her, gives herself over to him, just for a second, the time it takes to come and repeat his name a couple times. Just that.
Han comes suddenly, like a *kid*, rocking easily one moment, then scratching his nails down Poe's back the next as he shudders inside, pumping, flexing. He pulls right out, the last couple spurts landing high on Poe's ass, then fling himself forward, landing on the couch, sprawling, still panting and moaning dramatically.
They know each other so well, have known each other for so long, that anyone else might as well be a foreigner on their shores, ignorant of the language, needy for understanding, lonely for touch. And yet, still, it is a privilege to visit, a gift vouchsafed, treasure.
Poe carefully steps backward, sinking off the couch, turning, to sit on the floor, back against the couch, head on the cushions. he stares up blindly at the ceiling. Han's come squishes around his hole; he should probably get up before he stains the general's carpet.
In a minute, he decides, brushing his knuckles down the shaft of his cock. He could probably come a couple more times.
Behind him, he hears them kissing. Then the low rumble of their voices, getting more strained very quickly.
"Don't argue," he tells the ceiling. "Come on, please don't --"
Someone pets his hair. Someone else chuckles hoarsely.
"Good man," Han says and squeezes the back of Poe's neck.
"Yes," Leia agrees, lying down, head against Han's leg, her arm over Poe's chest. "One of the best."