“Lieutenant FN-2187,” General Hux says. FN-2187 comes to attention in front of General Hux’s desk and salutes.
“Reporting as ordered, sir,” he says, keeping his voice calm and emotionless with an effort. It’s never a good sign to be called in front of the General, but FN-2187 has no idea what he might have done. His squads have been models of orderliness and good discipline, his own marksmanship and strategy scores are among the highest on the ship, and there have been no infractions that he knows about for at least a standard month.
“You are being reassigned, Lieutenant FN-2187,” General Hux says. FN-2187 does not flinch, but he wants to. Reassigned? For what reason? Where to? Who will look after his ‘troopers? “We have arranged a peace treaty with the Resistance,” General Hux continues, his face puckering up like he’s just bitten a lemon, and FN-2187 gapes behind his helmet. A peace treaty? FN-2187 knew that the First Order was being driven back - that much, at least, trickles down to the ‘troopers - but for them to have signed a treaty, matters must be much worse than FN-2187 suspected.
“Under the terms of the treaty, our...new relationship will be represented and sealed by a new relationship between a representative of our loyal troops and a representative of the Resistance’s forces,” General Hux says. The lemon is getting sourer. “You have been chosen to represent the First Order, Lieutenant FN-2187. I expect you to do so.”
“I will do my duty, sir!” FN-2187 says.
“Yes,” General Hux says, nodding. “That is why you have been chosen. Captain Phasma assures me you are the best of our young officers.” The lemon must be so bitter it hurts, FN-2187 thinks irreverently. “Therefore you are the best choice to demonstrate our sincerity.” He scowls. “You will marry the Resistance representative in one standard week.”
FN-2187 has never been so grateful for his helmet, because he cannot keep his jaw from dropping. Marry? He’s going to marry someone? How - who - what - what the kriffing hell is going on? But it is not a Stormtrooper’s place to say any of that, and General Hux looks like he’s said all he’s going to say on the matter. So FN-2187 salutes again, and says, “Sir, yes sir.”
There’s nothing else to say.
“I hate to ask this of you, Dameron,” General Organa says regretfully. “But you’re our best bet.”
Poe blinks down at the datapad in front of him, the terms of the peace treaty with the First Order right there in blue script. “You want me to marry a representative of the First Order.”
General Organa droops. “Please,” she says quietly. “I cannot and will not order you to do this. If I was not married, I would do it myself so that no one else would have to make this sacrifice. But if we have anyone who might be able to convince a representative of the First Order that we are not monsters - to make a true relationship with someone so alien to us - it’s you.”
“Kriffing hell, General,” Poe says, too shocked to watch his language. He stares down at the datapad for a while, at the phrase ‘representative of the loyal troops of the First Order,’ and his heart sinks. “At least tell me this isn’t going to be that absolute bastard Hux.”
“No,” General Organa says immediately. “None of the higher-ups at all, in fact. I set the limit we’d accept at Captain.”
“So it could still be Phasma,” Poe say, amused despite himself. “Well, that’d be an interesting wedding night. At least I’d have a good view during the dancing.”
General Organa puts a hand over her eyes and tries valiantly not to laugh. “See, this is why we need you, Dameron,” she says, once she’s gotten herself under control. “Can you think of anyone else who would be making jokes right now?”
“No,” Poe admits, and sighs. “I’ll do it, General. You knew I would.”
“I did,” General Organa says sadly. “Thank you, Commander Dameron.”
“You’re standing up for me, though,” Poe adds. “I expect you to walk me down the aisle.”
“If that’s what you want, you’ve got it,” General Organa says, nodding. “We owe you one for this.”
“I expect my own planet, one of these days,” Poe teases, and looks back down at the datapad. A representative of the loyal troops of the First Order. Oh, this is going to be bad.
FN-2187 stands at General Hux’s shoulder, staring from behind his helmet at the tiny woman waiting for them. General Leia Organa is almost mythical in the First Order, the woman who defeated the glorious Empire and now leads the Resistance against the First Order, the unkillable, the terrible. She’s rather small for such an enormous heap of titles. She looks - old, FN-2187 realizes, possibly the oldest person he has ever seen. Old, and tired, but still with the spark of battle in her eyes. A formidable opponent.
But she’s not his opponent anymore, is she? There is a peace treaty. That’s why FN-2187 is here. And if the Resistance works anything like the First Order - though that’s not a safe assumption - the man standing behind her shoulder, as FN-2187 stands behind General Hux’s, must be - must be the man FN-2187 is here to marry.
FN-2187 recognizes him, of course. Commander Poe Dameron, who leads the X-Wings which have made such trouble for the First Order. He’s on the official Enemy List.
The official Enemy List did not mention that he was so very handsome. FN-2187 is grateful all over again for his helmet, which keeps anyone from seeing how very much he likes looking at Commander Poe Dameron. Even if the man does look unhappy. Well, FN-2187’s not too happy either.
“General,” General Hux says.
“General,” General Organa replies.
FN-2187 thinks that Commander Poe Dameron might be trying not to laugh. It is funny, sort of, in a tense way that might devolve into violence at any minute.
FN-2187 hopes it won’t, though. General Hux might be miserable at the idea of signing a peace treaty with the Resistance - with giving up his dreams of having the First Order spread throughout the galaxy - but FN-2187 is honestly a little relieved. He hates taking his troops out and watching them die. He will be glad to know that his service is buying his comrades peace, a chance to not be shot at for a while. He’s still deeply dubious about being married, but - well. He’ll do his duty.
The signing of the treaty is a very formal affair, with lots of dignitaries from planets FN-2187 has never heard of watching over dedicated comm lines, and FN-2187 has nothing to do but stand behind General Hux’s shoulder and stay quiet. He uses the time to watch General Organa and Commander Dameron. They’re less...stiff than he expected, from what he knows of generals and commanders. They seem to like each other, even, if FN-2187 is interpreting their little sideways smiles and quiet conversations properly. He might not be, though. It’s not as though he’s seen a lot of affection during his life, after all.
Poe catches himself watching the impassive Stormtrooper behind General Hux’s shoulder again, and tears his eyes away hastily. He doesn’t even know if the Stormtrooper is male or female at this point, though he or she is not much taller than Poe himself, which is something of a relief - for all his joking, Poe was a little worried that he’d end up marrying the intimidating Captain Phasma, or someone else just as tall; the First Order’s officers do tend to run towards great height, so far as Poe has been able to observe. But this Lieutenant FN-2187 (and kriff, they don’t even give their officers names, how is Poe going to cope with having a spouse named FN-2187?) is a perfectly reasonable height, if rather intimidatingly broad in the shoulders.
Once the treaty is signed, General Organa and General Hux nod icily to each other and retreat to their respective ships, and Poe and Lieutenant FN-2187 are left alone in the room, staring at each other. Well, at least Poe is staring - he honestly can’t tell what Lieutenant FN-2187 is doing behind that helmet. They’re supposed to be getting to know each other. The wedding ceremony is tomorrow.
How the kriff is Poe supposed to get to know a person in a faceless helmet?
“So,” Poe says at last, “who talks first? You talk first?”
“You do, apparently,” Lieutenant FN-2187 says, and Poe is startled by how nice a voice the Stormtrooper has.
“Don’t suppose you could take off that helmet?” Poe tries. “It’s a little awkward, trying to talk to someone I can’t see.”
Lieutenant FN-2187 thinks about this for a moment, and then he lifts his gauntleted hands and takes the helmet from his head, and Poe gasps like the breath’s just been punched out of him. Lieutenant FN-2187 is kriffing beautiful, all dark skin and gorgeous features and wide, dark, fathomless eyes. Poe has never seen such an attractive man. Who knew that Stormtroopers looked like that under their helmets?
Poe steps forward and holds out a hand, because frankly it’s hard to be scared of anyone who looks like that and is watching Poe with a sort of faintly apprehensive, faintly hopeful expression. “I’m Poe Dameron,” he says, in case that never came up during any briefings.
“I know,” Lieutenant FN-2187 says, putting his helmet down on a nearby table and clasping Poe’s hand with much-appreciated care. The gauntlets don’t even dent Poe’s skin. A gentle Stormtrooper, who would’ve guessed? “You’re on the Enemy List.”
Poe blinks. Lieutenant FN-2187 looks sheepish. “Sorry,” he adds. “Um. That wasn’t...diplomatic, was it?”
“Not terribly,” Poe says, starting to grin. “So, have you got a nickname or something? FN-2187 is kind of a mouthful.”
“No,” Lieutenant FN-2187 says, shrugging. “FN-2187’s the only name they ever gave me.”
“Do you mind if I called you - um -” Poe’s mind goes briefly blank - “Finn?”
Lieutenant FN-2187 looks briefly startled, and then starts to smile. It’s a stunning smile, bright as sunlight. “Finn,” he says thoughtfully. “I like that. Yeah, you can call me Finn.”
“Finn,” Poe says, realizing that their hands are still clasped. “Pleased to meet you, Finn.”
Finn’s smile changes, goes somehow soft and pleased. “Honored to meet you, Poe.”
FN-2187 - Finn, Poe called him Finn - stands in front of the Justice of the Peace and looks down the aisle that Poe is going to come walking down in a few short minutes. Finn had the ceremony explained to him briefly by a very harried young woman with pens stuck in her coiled hair, and really it sounds simple enough: Poe walks up the aisle, the Justice of the Peace, says some things, Poe and FN-2187 - Finn, his name is Finn now - will both make oaths of fidelity, and then they will sign a legal document. Then, apparently, there will be a dinner and dancing. FN- Finn - does not know how to dance. Somehow it never came up during Stormtrooper training. Hopefully Poe will know what to do.
Hell, hopefully Poe will know what to do about being married. Speaking of things that weren’t covered in Stormtrooper training. Finn knows that people do get married, it comes up occasionally in propaganda broadcasts that some general or other has taken a spouse, but frankly it never seemed to have much relevance to Finn, and now that it does, well, he wasn’t going to ask General Hux to explain it to him. Or Captain Phasma. Or - well, anyone he knows, actually. Except Poe.
Who is now walking down the aisle on General Organa’s arm, looking handsome and a little nervous. Finn takes a deep breath.
For the Order, and for peace. Here goes.
Poe has thought about getting married, now and again, has even occasionally indulged himself in thinking about what sort of person he might marry. In all his idle daydreams, though, an astonishingly handsome Stormtrooper simply didn’t feature, for some odd reason. Nor did getting married in order to cement a peace treaty between the Resistance and the First Order, for that matter. Clearly, Poe’s imagination has been falling down on the job.
Finn is waiting up at the head of the room, looking ever so slightly nervous, in full Stormtrooper kit except for the helmet. Poe’s really hoping that he can convince Finn to switch to less...military clothing at some point. He can borrow some of Poe’s, if he needs to: they’re roughly the same size, and Poe has some looser shirts and trousers that he could loan Finn easily. The armor’s a bit of a buzzkill, really - Poe’s spent too much time shooting at people covered in white plating to really feel comfortable around anyone wearing it.
But all of that is for a later conversation. For now, Poe bows to General Organa and takes his place beside Finn, facing the Justice of the Peace, and composes his expression into respectful attention. Here goes marriage.
Poe does, in fact, know how to dance. Finn is frankly grateful, and says as much. Poe smiles up at him - his boots are not as tall as Finn’s, though Finn suspects they’ll be about the same height once their shoes are off - and shrugs. “Learned when I was a kid,” he says. “It’s easy enough. You lead, since you’re learning - it’s harder backwards. At least I’m not wearing heels!”
Finn is confused, but he’s happy Poe’s cheerful, at least. And Poe is a good teacher, patient and full of encouragement; by the time they’re both tired enough to step off the dance floor, Finn thinks he may have gotten the hang of at least the simpler dances. He’s always liked learning new things, and if this new thing has no combat applicability, well, Finn isn’t in combat now, is he? He’s helping to keep the peace, instead. This is a new environment; it makes sense that it would require a new skill-set.
They’re supposed to spend the night together, Finn knows from his hasty briefing, and that, too, is going to be a new skill-set. But Poe is a good teacher, and Finn’s not worried. Poe leaves Finn at a table for a moment as he goes off to make a bow to General Organa, and Finn is watching his - his husband, what an odd thought - with an idle sort of appreciation when General Hux steps up beside him.
Finn comes to attention immediately. “Sir,” he says.
“I trust that you will do your duty, Lieutenant,” General Hux says. Finn nods sharply.
“Sir, yes sir!” he says. General Hux scowls down at him, that lemon-sucking look back on his face.
“Do not forget where your loyalty lies, soldier,” he says softly. “Captain Phasma assured me you were the finest of her troops, and would never forget what you owe the First Order. Do not prove her to be a liar.”
“Sir, no sir!” says FN-2187, and only manages not to salute by sheer luck. He suspects it would be a bad thing to salute in a party full of Resistance members, but the reflex is hard to suppress.
“Good,” says General Hux, and walks away.
Poe appears beside Finn a few moments later. “Hey, buddy, you good to go?” he asks. “I saw your General over here - everything alright?”
“He was just reminding me how important this is to the First Order,” Finn says, which isn’t quite a lie. “I’m fine if you are.”
“C’mon, then, the General booked us a room in the best hotel on the planet,” Poe says, and takes Finn’s hand. Finn curls his fingers around Poe’s carefully, mindful of the gauntlets on his hands.
“Lead on,” he says, and Poe does.
“So,” says Poe, surveying the vast expanse of bed in front of them, “this is an awkward question. What do you know about sex?”
“It’s a distraction from combat efficiency and should be avoided, but is not an infraction bad enough to warrant reconditioning unless it is repeated frequently and with the same partner, as this may indicate the formation of a bond of loyalty stronger than that to the First Order,” Finn replies promptly. Poe considers that.
“Okay,” he says at last. “Some of that doesn’t apply to married couples. For instance, in the culture I come from, we’re not supposed to have sex with anyone but each other from now on.”
“Alright,” Finn agrees. That’ll be easy enough. He’s gotten this far without having sex with anyone; only having sex with one person won’t be terribly difficult.
“More specifically,” Poe says, “what do you know about the mechanics of sex?”
Finn shrugs. “They told us what not to do,” he says. “It sounded messy.”
Poe laughs. Finn is pleased to have made Poe laugh, if confused as to how he did so. “Yeah, buddy, it is messy, if you’re doing it right,” Poe admits. “But it’s also a lot of fun. And - well - technically in order to be valid a marriage has to be consummated. That’s the law pretty much everywhere. So...well. Um.”
Finn blinks. “Alright,” he says again, and starts stripping off his armor. He’s down to his black bodysuit before he looks up again, and finds Poe gaping at him. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, buddy, nothing wrong,” Poe says hastily. “I was just - um. Surprised.” He leans back against the tall bed and holds out a hand. “Come here?”
Finn does, taking Poe’s hand and letting himself be pulled in until they’re body-to-body, Finn pinning Poe against the bedpost. Finn has - has never actually been this close to another person while wearing so little clothing, that he can recall. Poe is warm, and they’re about the same height, so their noses are touching. Poe smiles.
“We’ve got all night,” he says quietly, “and while we could be businesslike about this and just get each other off, we’re married. We should probably start to get used to each other. That alright with you?”
“Yeah,” Finn says, heart beating harder. He’s not sure why he’s feeling a little flushed, a little warm, a little too jittery for just standing pressed up against Poe, not even doing anything energetic.
“Do Stormtroopers kiss?” Poe asks gently. Finn shakes his head a little, nose rubbing against Poe’s, and that makes Poe smile. Finn can feel a matching smile stretching his own cheeks. “Then that can be our first lesson,” Poe says, and tilts his head, and leans forward.
Finn isn’t sure what he expected kissing to be like, but this warm press of lips, the incredible intimacy of sharing breath - he gasps, and Poe pulls him closer, until Finn can feel Poe’s heart beating against his own chest.
Of all the things Poe expected out of his life, taking a Stormtrooper to his bed was simply not on the list. The fact that that Stormtrooper is both stunningly beautiful - seriously, Poe had to keep looking away while they were dancing so as not to get lost in his new husband’s eyes - and apparently very responsive in bed is - well, if Poe had to marry a Stormtrooper, at least he’s gotten the single best one in the galaxy. The way Finn melts against him when they kiss - the soft rumbling noises that Poe doesn’t even think Finn knows he’s making, deep in the back of his throat - the warm strength of Finn’s body and the careful gentleness of Finn’s hands, one clasped in Poe’s, the other placed tentatively on Poe’s hip - Poe’s taken virgins to his bed before, but never one so very sweet.
Or, for that matter, one so very innocent. Which is a weird thing to think about a Stormtrooper, of all things, but at least all of Poe’s previous partners had at least been kissed before. It’s kind of appalling to think of this beautiful, responsive man in Poe’s arms getting to what must be his late twenties without ever even kissing someone. On the other hand, all of the people he would have been kissing would also be Stormtroopers, or worse, First Order officers, so really maybe it’s for the best that Finn has never done this before.
Poe breaks the kiss when he finally needs to breathe more than he needs to hear another soft, rumbling moan from Finn’s throat, and Finn leans against him, forehead against Poe’s, panting softly.
“You know,” Poe says quietly, “I think this is going to work.”
Finn breathes a laugh. “If our respective organizations can get on as well as we are, this peace will go very well,” he agrees.
“Yeah,” Poe says. He reaches up and cups his hand around Finn’s cheek, and Finn leans into the touch with a soft, happy sigh. “I think it will.”
Some time later, as Finn arches up against Poe’s hands, crying out in astonished pleasure as he comes, Poe is absolutely certain that this marriage, at least, is going to go very well indeed.
“So since we’re at peace now,” Poe says, smiling up at Finn, who’s leaning over his chair to see what Poe is looking at, “it seems awkward for the two of us to live on a military base. I’ve been looking at houses on neutral territory - d’you want to help?”
Finn pulls another chair over and sits down beside Poe. “I know you have a - a father,” he says, a little awkwardly. It came up a few days ago, in a discussion of family that baffled Finn immensely. “Do you want to - to be near him?”
Poe shrugs. “I’ve gotten used to being far away, and that’s what comms are for,” he says. “I’ll introduce you this rest-day, when he calls. And it seems more - hm. Symbolic, I guess - for us to find a new place, together, rather than inflicting my entire extended family on you. We can always visit, too, you know.”
“Alright,” Finn says, shrugging. “Wherever you think best.” He leans over to examine the house listings on Poe’s datapad. “I have no idea what to look for in a house, you know. I’ve never lived anywhere but a barracks.”
“To be fair, I’ve never tried to buy a house before either,” Poe says, grinning. “And I’ve been living in barracks since I was nineteen. So this will be an adventure for both of us!”
Finn’s affection for Poe ratchets up another notch at the sheer kindness of that statement. Poe has lived in a house, with a family, already knows how to be around people who aren’t Stormtroopers, but he’s always so damn kind about it, making it sound like Finn’s complete incomprehension of the wider universe is not just unremarkable but normal.
“Tell me about these places, then,” Finn says, and Poe leans forward, pointing to each one in turn. Finn lets the words wash over him, watching Poe gesture excitedly and laughing whenever Poe starts enthusing about some aspect of one house or other, but he doesn’t really pay attention until he hears, “...right on a lake.” For some reason, that catches Finn’s ear, and he leans forward to look more closely at the house in question.
It’s a tiny little house, at least as far as Finn can tell from Poe’s description - it sounds very large to him, given that it’s for only two people; you could fit at least a squad of Stormtroopers into the same space without any trouble - but the grounds, even in the tiny blue-tinted picture on the datapad, are lushly beautiful. The lake stretches out from the edge of the tiny lawn, gleaming in the sunlight, and something about it makes Finn feel - comfortable. He taps the picture gently to enlarge it.
“Here,” he says. “I like this one.”
“Nice choice, buddy,” Poe says instantly. “What say we go visit it tomorrow, see if it’s as good as it looks?”
Finn smiles. “I’d like that,” he says.
“Then we’ll do it,” Poe replies.
Poe likes the well-designed kitchen of the little house Finn picked out, and the nice large bedroom, too. The house even has a tiny office, which Poe plans to requisition for his own use, should Finn agree; Poe is still, technically, the commander of the Resistance’s X-Wings, after all. And Poe has quite deliberately left a few things out where Finn could easily snoop through them over the last few days, and been pleased to find that either Finn doesn’t snoop or he’s the best-trained spy Poe has ever met - and frankly Poe doesn’t think Finn could be a spy. The young Stormtrooper is far too honest for that line of work. So really, Poe is pleased enough with the house, could see himself living here -
But the real selling point is the way Finn adores the lake. He’s standing out on the red-brick patio, staring out over the water with a look of sheer bliss on his face, and he has been out there for nearly an hour already. Poe doesn’t know what about the lake makes Finn so happy, and doesn’t think Finn knows what pleases him so much, but Finn is clearly absolutely delighted with the grounds of this little house. He barely even glanced at the interior.
There’s enough room for Poe to land Black One out back, and charging ports everywhere for BB-8, and Finn is happy. That’s good enough for Poe.
“We’ll take it,” he says to the realtor, who beams with all three of her mouths.
“I hope you two will be very happy!” she trills, and Poe smiles.
“You know, I think we will,” he says.
The First Order and the Resistance went in together to give Poe and Finn some starting money - Poe doesn’t like to think of it as a dowry, but that’s essentially what it is - and the credits easily cover the price of the house with enough left over for furniture and housewares and probably quite a lot of other things, too. While the Resistance is not a wealthy organization, it’s a lot cheaper to fund two people than it is to fund two hundred thousand, and Poe can’t even feel guilty about the dent he’s making in the Resistance’s budget, not when he knows that General Organa is using the peace treaty to cajole further funding out of half a dozen star systems. The realtor hands over the key and leaves cheerfully, and Poe goes wandering out onto the patio to join Finn.
“So, it’s ours,” he says, and Finn turns away from the view to beam at him.
“Wonderful,” he says, and Poe can’t help smiling back.
It takes Finn a while to get used to being a civilian - to get used to being married. He wakes up next to Poe every morning, and for a while he hops out of bed as soon as he wakes, because that’s how it worked in the First Order. But there are no drills to do, here, no weapons to clean or armor to polish, and after a while Finn starts to really like the quiet hour after dawn, when Poe is still fast asleep - Poe doesn’t wake easily or early, by preference - and Finn can curl around him and watch Poe breathe, stroke his fingers through Poe’s absurdly soft hair and trace the line of Poe’s jawbone, enjoy the feeling of stubble against his fingertips and the warmth of Poe’s body against his.
Once the sun has risen enough to warm the lake a little, Finn slides out of the bed as quietly as he can - though really he needn’t bother with the stealth, as Poe sleeps so deeply Finn suspects he could set off a small explosion without waking his husband - and goes padding out to the lake. He was a decent swimmer before, since Stormtroopers are required to have such useful life skills as swimming, running dozens of miles with a full pack, and shooting things accurately; but regular morning swims have taken Finn from ‘decent’ to ‘really quite good,’ and he enjoys very few things so much as the sensation of cutting through the water like a fish. He swims eight or ten laps of the lake - it’s large enough to give him a decent workout, which is nice - and then comes dripping back up to the house. Poe’s little droid is usually waiting for him with a towel, and Finn is always careful to thank the little thing. It’s understandably wary of him, even after several months, but Finn doesn’t blame it. They were enemies, after all, and the droid only wants to protect Poe. Finn can sympathize.
Poe is usually awake by the time Finn gets back, and is often standing at the stove making something delicious - Finn has learned about omelettes and pancakes, waffles and muffins, scrambled eggs and toast and jam - with an enormous mug of caf near at hand. He is always appreciative of the sight of Finn wandering through the kitchen clad in nothing but a towel, and Finn has gotten used to deep drugging kisses and enthusiastic groping - to returning both in equal measure, too. By the time Finn has showered, breakfast is usually ready, and then after breakfast Poe retreats into his office to do whatever he does in there - Finn’s never asked - and Finn goes out to find adventure, shrugging his way into the battered leather jacket that Poe loaned him early on.
Finn has made friends with half a dozen of the local families, and has discovered that he likes helping out. He’s helped build a barn and learned how to bottle-feed a young animal and watched small children while their parents went shopping, and he’s gotten decent at bargaining in the market just from watching people haggle while he carries their purchases for them. And he has learned so much about how the rest of the galaxy works, just from listening to people talk. He’s learned about families and friends and neighbors, feuds and rivalries and teasing, young love and old loves and the sort of deep contentment that comes with long and happy relationships; he’s learned about half a dozen species of sentients and twice as many species of nonsentients, and been half-adopted by a pittin that he brings meat scraps every time he goes by its lair.
In the afternoons Poe emerges from his office and they’ll go for a long walk, or swim in the lake again, or play a game - Finn knows a few variants of sabacc that Poe doesn’t, and Poe has some tricks at dejarik that Finn never learned - or have sex, because that’s never going to stop being fun. They make dinner together - Finn is a good student, and has applied himself eagerly to learning how to cook, because he never wants to eat another ration bar in his life - and then they’ll stay up late, curled together on the couch watching holos or playing chess or just kissing and talking.
If their marriage is meant to be a sign of how well the peace treaty is holding up, well, the peace is going very well indeed.
Poe is honestly sort of baffled by how well he gets on with Finn. Poe’s been looking for a life partner on and off for years, pretty much since he got over the everyone-is-gorgeous-let’s-fuck stage in the academy, and yet he has never found anyone who suits him so well as this young Stormtrooper with his enthusiasm for learning and his startling gentleness and his eager smiles.
But the long and short of the matter is that Poe does get on better with Finn than he does with pretty much anyone else in the galaxy, and this little house with Finn’s wet footprints on the patio is swiftly becoming home. Poe didn’t think anywhere in the galaxy could ever suit him as well as his parents’ house on Yavin 4, with the Force-tree blooming out back, but this - this is very nearly everything he ever wanted.
Poe loves the way Finn curls around him protectively in their bed. He loves the way Finn looks rising out of the lake, stark naked and gleaming in the morning sun. He loves the excitement in Finn’s eyes every time Poe introduces a new food to their menu, and the contentment in Finn’s expression after Finn comes back from babysitting or helping to look after someone’s animals or helping out in whatever way he’s found today. He loves that Finn always wants to help, that he’s so eager and generous and gentle.
He’s pretty sure he loves Finn, though he’s never said it. This is still a treaty marriage, after all, and Poe has no idea if Finn is even interested in being loved, or if he’s just here because his duty put him here, and is making the best of it. He’s not sure if Finn would put his love for Poe above his duty even if he did love Poe.
But sometimes, when Poe half-wakes early in the morning to find Finn curled around him, petting Poe’s hair and humming contentedly deep in his chest, Poe really does suspect that his own growing feelings are not unreciprocated - that one of these days, when Poe does tell Finn how he feels, Finn will open his arms and his heart and say the same.
Finn didn’t realize that anniversaries were a thing, here in the galaxy outside of the First Order’s control, so he’s a little baffled when he gets home after his morning adventure to find that Poe has put together a lavish picnic on the patio, all of Finn’s favorite dishes and an elaborate cake, and is looking slightly nervous and very proud.
“This is - great, Poe,” Finn says, confused.
“It’s our one-year anniversary,” Poe admits. “We’ve been married a standard year, and the peace is still going strong. I thought that was worth celebrating.”
“It’s definitely worth celebrating,” Finn says, grinning, and leans in to kiss his husband. He gets a little lost in the kiss, in fact, and forgets all about the meal spread out on the blanket until Poe pushes back a little, gasping for breath and flushed pink around the ears, to say, “Eat first, ravish me later.”
“Sounds good to me,” Finn agrees, and sits down on one side of the blanket. He expects Poe to sit down across from him, but instead Poe sits beside him, leaning against Finn’s shoulder, and reaches out for one of the little bread-pocket things of which Finn has become so fond. He holds it to Finn’s lips, and Finn bites it gently from his husband’s fingers, feeling more than a little smug at the way Poe’s eyes go dark when he presses a kiss to Poe’s fingertips. That’s the most fun part of sex for Finn, really, the way he can get such delicious reactions out of Poe so easily.
“You’re a dreadful tease,” Poe says, sounding happy and amused, and Finn laughs and picks up one of the little orange fruits that Poe likes so much and holds it to his husband’s lips. Poe licks it out of Finn’s fingers, and Finn laughs aloud.
“Who’s a tease, again?” he asks merrily, and Poe shrugs.
“Me,” he admits. “But somehow I don’t think you mind that much.”
“No,” Finn replies, smiling, and selects another orange fruit. “No. I don’t mind at all.”
Poe wasn’t intending to seduce Finn with a picnic lunch, necessarily, but it seems to have happened nonetheless, and he can’t really say he objects. The way Finn tastes with his lips coated in sweet-apple pulp is a revelation; the way Finn looks at Poe when Poe licks his fingers is better than any aphrodisiac Poe’s ever tried. And while Poe also wasn’t intending to introduce Finn to the idea of outdoor sex - well, the blanket is soft and the bricks of the patio are warm from the sun, if a little hard, and the grass when they move off the patio is a much more forgiving surface, and they’re far enough from any other houses that Poe doesn’t have to worry about anyone seeing him presenting like a pittin in heat, or hearing him shouting his pleasure to the gleaming lake and the uncaring birds above.
Finn has gotten good at this in the past year. He’s a very fast learner, and he is in incredibly good physical condition, with a level of self-control and discipline that astonishes Poe regularly; the combination means that he is very capable of fucking Poe through the mattress - or, in this case, the blanket - without any difficulty. And he’s delightfully responsive, even after a year of experience: he still moans low and rumbling in his throat when Poe kisses him, still arches up against Poe’s hands with sweet startled moans, still sighs so contentedly when Poe curls into the curve of his body.
They spend the afternoon out on the lawn, fucking and swimming and eating and doing it all again, and by the time they collapse into bed, late that night, they are both exhausted and delighted, and Poe is willing to lay money that this is the best first anniversary in the history of the galaxy, bar none.
Finn wakes up to the muted beeping of his communicator and rolls out of bed, scooping the little device up and padding barefoot out onto the patio so as not to wake Poe. He’s wearing only a loose pair of sleep pants, and the morning air is cool on his bare chest; he takes a moment to admire the sunrise over the lake, the water glittering like jewels. Only then does he glance down at the readout on the communicator, and his heart goes cold. General Armitage Hux.
But he presses the accept-call button anyway, because what else is he going to do?
“Lieutenant FN-2187,” General Hux says.
“Sir,” Finn replies, trying not to flinch at the designation. He hasn’t been called FN-2187 in nearly a year, hasn’t thought of himself as FN-2187 for at least half that time. General Hux’s words feel like they’re ripping open a long-healed scar; but his next ones are worse.
“At last our plans have come to fruition,” General Hux gloats, and Finn’s mouth goes dry with horror. Plans? What plans? “You have done your duty well,” General Hux continues. “The pitiful Resistance is entirely taken in.” So was I! Finn wants to shout. He can’t be hearing this. This can’t be real.
“Here are your new orders,” General Hux says. “A company of Stormtroopers will be arriving on your planet in ten standard hours. You will rendezvous with them at the coordinates provided -” the communicator beeps, a string of numbers appearing on its screen - “and take command, Captain FN-2187, as a reward for your loyalty. But first,” General Hux smiles, and Finn’s guts roil, “kill Commander Dameron.”
There is only one acceptable answer. Finn takes a deep breath. “Sir, yes sir,” he says.
“Poe,” Finn says frantically, shaking his husband’s shoulder. “Poe, wake up.”
Poe mumbles something incoherent and rolls over onto his back, smiling hazily up at Finn. Ordinarily, Finn would find his husband’s morning bleariness adorable. Today, though - “Commander Dameron, red alert!” Finn snaps.
Poe goes from horizontal to vertical in a split second. “Report!” he barks, all the bleariness gone from his face, and Finn sighs in relief.
“The First Order is going to attack in just under ten standard hours,” he says. “Also I’ve been ordered to kill you.”
Poe raises an eyebrow. “I notice I’m not dead,” he observes, sounding far more amused than worried.
“Um. Yes. About that,” Finn says, lips quirking into a smile despite the desperate situation. “Does the Resistance accept defecting ex-Stormtroopers?”
Poe laughs delightedly. “Yeah, we do,” he says. “Welcome aboard. Let me just comm the General -” Organa, not Hux, Finn realizes after a single moment of sheer terror - “and tell her the bastards are moving today, and then we can talk tactics.”
Finn blinks. Poe does not actually sound surprised at all, not the way Finn was, to hear that the First Order is breaking the treaty. “You knew?” he asks. He wants to add, and you still married me? You were still kind?
“The General is not as stupid as that smarmy bastard Hux seems to think she is,” Poe replies, turning to rummage in his closet. Finn takes the hint, and is fully dressed - Stormtrooper efficiency at its finest - Poe turns around again, shrugging into his uniform coat. Finn hasn’t seen Poe in his uniform since - well, since they were married. Now that he’s not seeing Poe through the lens of hated-Resistance-enemy, he can admit that the uniform looks good on his husband. But then, everything looks good on Poe. So does nothing at all.
“We knew he’d never actually abide by a treaty,” Poe continues, interrupting Finn’s train of thought. “Him or that monster he serves.” Poe’s lips curve into an incredibly smug smile, and despite the situation, Finn wants desperately to kiss it. “So we’ve been making some plans of our own.”
Poe offers Finn his hand, and Finn takes it gratefully, following Poe out to the big communicator screen in the main room, his mind whirling. The Resistance knew this whole treaty was a fake, the whole marriage was a sham, and yet - and yet -
Poe punches in a call code Finn’s never seen him use before, then pauses before he hits the call button and turns to Finn.
“Thank you for not killing me, buddy,” he says solemnly.
“I couldn’t,” Finn admits, all his weakness laid bare.
Poe kisses him, long and sweet, and Finn tangles his fingers in Poe’s hair and kisses back - this might be the last chance he ever gets to kiss Poe Dameron, and he wants to savor it. At last Poe pulls reluctantly away. “When this whole mess is over, Lieutenant Dameron, we’ll need to have a long talk,” he says quietly. “So don’t you dare die on me.”
“Yes sir, Commander Dameron,” Finn replies, unable to suppress his smile, and Poe nods approvingly and turns back to the comm screen, fingers linked tightly with Finn’s.
General Organa has clearly been awake for a while - she’s immaculately dressed as always, her hair in its tight crown around her head - and looks unsurprised to see Poe calling on what must be a private, encoded line. “Dameron,” she says evenly.
“General,” Poe replies. “They’re moving.”
“Yes,” General Organa says, and her lips quirk in a tiny smile. “A usually reliable source woke me up this morning with the news. We’re ready, though. Have you got everything under control on your end?”
“I think so,” Poe says, and glances over at Finn. Finn takes a deep breath.
“There’s supposed to be a company of Stormtroopers landing here in -” Finn glances at the chrono - “about nine and a half standard hours, ma’am. I’ve been ordered to take command of them. With your permission, ma’am, I will do so and then order them to surrender.”
General Organa gives Finn a long, searching look, then nods, as though some suspicion as just been confirmed and she’s pleased by it. “Do that, young man,” she says. “And we’ll have someone coming by to accept their surrender. Dameron, I want you coordinating the attacks from home - Wexley and Pava are already in position, no point ousting one of them at the last minute. You know what to do.”
“Yes, General,” Poe says, smiling. “I do.”
“Good,” General Organa says. “Then I will be in touch with both of you as the situation warrants.” She nods again to Finn. “Welcome to the Resistance, Finn Dameron.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Finn says, and Poe ends the call. “Attacks?” Finn asks Poe, desperately curious.
Poe looks at Finn for a long moment, as if trying to read his heart and see if his change in loyalty is real, and then smiles. “We found the First Order’s headquarters, and also the headquarters of that asshole Snoke,” he tells Finn softly. “There are eight squadrons of X-Wings waiting for the ‘go’ signal to take both out.”
Finn gapes. “You - you’ve been a step ahead of Hux the entire time,” he says wonderingly.
“Since the treaty, anyway,” Poe admits. “It’s very useful when you know your opponent is a cheating son of a bantha, and he thinks you’re as honest and trustworthy as the Jakku day is long.”
“I think you just insulted banthas,” Finn says thoughtfully, and Poe kisses him.
“Breakfast,” Poe says when they part. “And then, Lieutenant Dameron, I think we have a war to win.”
“General Hux gave me a promotion,” Finn says. “It’s Captain Dameron now.”
“Oh is it,” Poe says, grinning widely. “Well then, Captain. Shall we?” He offers Finn his arm, and Finn laughs, surprised by the bubble of joy growing in his chest.
“Yes, Commander, I think we shall,” he says, and puts his hand on his husband’s arm. “Let’s do this thing.”
“Hm,” Poe says, leading the way to the kitchen. “Battle cry needs work.” He grins at Finn’s chuckle. “Howabout, ‘For love’?”
“I like that,” Finn admits softly. “Yes. I like that. For love.”
Finn digs his Stormtrooper armor out of the closet where it’s been stored for the last year and spreads it out onto the bed, grimacing a little.
“I never realized how uncomfortable this stuff is until I got to wear something else,” he tells Poe, who gives him a sympathetic look.
“Well, with luck, this’ll be the last time you have to wear it,” he replies. Finn nods, and reaches for the black bodysuit. He doesn’t really have to think about how to put any of it on - twenty-six years of training are not so easily forgotten. He’s fully armored within three minutes, and turns with his helmet under his arm to find Poe watching him with a very odd look on his lovely face.
“That was simultaneously very hot and kind of intimidating,” Poe admits. “And I - I don’t like seeing you in that. It’s not right.”
“I don’t much like wearing it anymore,” Finn replies quietly. “When this is over, I don’t want to put it on ever again.”
“I will do my damnedest to make sure you never have to,” Poe says, and goes up on his toes, cupping his hands around Finn’s face and kissing Finn deeply. Finn kisses back, curving his free hand very carefully around Poe’s waist to keep him steady.
“Alright then,” Finn says when Poe finally rocks back onto his heels. “Here I go.”
Poe nods, and steps back, Finn takes a deep breath and turns towards the door. He’s almost left the room when Poe says, very softly, “Come back to me.”
“I will,” Finn promises, and walks away.
Poe watches the whole battle from the command center he’s made out of his office - the one Finn’s never set foot in, never even asked about, where BB-8 keeps track of all the message traffic that Poe needs to know about and briefs Poe every morning on the progress of the covert preparations for the war. There are half a dozen comm screens in that office, and one of them is linked directly to Finn’s helmet through a bug Poe really doesn’t feel guilty about planting. The others show the General in her headquarters; Snap with his squadrons and Pava with hers; Admiral Statura on his flagship; and the legendary Millennium Falcon. Poe’s contact on the Falcon is not the General’s husband, who apparently sees no need to keep anyone up to date on his movements, but a young woman Han Solo found on Jakku years ago, a girl named Rey who can fix anything and fly anything and fight like a whirlwind. Poe’s quite fond of her.
Ordinarily, therefore, he would be taking the opportunity to watch her fly the Millennium Falcon and chat with her about the upgrades she’s made recently, but today he’s glued to the feed showing Finn walking - no, marching, in perfect quickstep time - out away from the little village where they live and towards a nondescript field where, in about half a standard hour, there will be a company of Stormtroopers arriving.
The rest of the village has already been evacuated, and if Poe needs to bug out, Black One is fueled and waiting for him; he can be gone in minutes. If Finn fails in his mission, then the only person the Resistance will lose will be Finn himself.
Which is utterly unacceptable. Poe can’t lose him. Not now.
Finn comes to attention at the edge of the field, watching the sky. All of this depends, so heavily, on who is currently commanding the company of Stormtroopers about to land on this quiet planet. If Captain Phasma - or, stars forbid, one of the officers - is here, then Finn is about to die rather messily. But if it’s some green lieutenant or other - better yet, if it’s one of Finn’s old squads, the ones who knew Finn when he was FN-2187 and trusted him to be the best of the best and the most loyal and devoted of all the Stormtroopers in the First Order - well. Then Finn has a chance.
The troop ship lands gently in front of Finn, and Finn waits impassively as rank after rank of Stormtroopers file out. It’s rather overkill for a single small village, especially since they’re assuming that Poe Dameron, Commander in the Resistance forces, is already dead, but there’s a small city and a spaceport within a day’s march, and Finn suspects his orders will be to advance upon and decimate it. Not that he’s going to do that, but it does explain why the First Order is willing to send an entire company of Stormtroopers to pick up one man.
Though that might also be a sign of respect for Finn’s devotion and duty. In which case, the irony is kind of delicious.
The ‘trooper who is apparently in charge of the company steps forward and salutes Finn, who returns the salute easily, muscle memory and reflex taking over even after a year of not saluting at all. “Company F reporting for duty, Captain FN-2187, sir,” the ‘trooper says, and oh, it’s FN-2003, Finn’s old squadmate - Finn’s friend, insofar as he had friends back in the First Order - and Finn smiles behind his mask as he takes the datapad from Slip. He reads over the orders - destroy the village and decimate the city, just as he expected - and then puts the datapad away in one of his belt-pouches.
The tiny comm unit in his ear buzzes, and Poe’s voice, tinny and small, says, “The attacks have started.” That’s Finn’s cue.
“Soldiers of the First Order,” Finn says, projecting his voice the way Captain Phasma taught him, years ago when she gave him his first promotion, “stand down.”
Poe bites his lip, hard, as Finn orders the Stormtroopers to stand down. On the other screens, the First Order’s headquarters goes up in flames under the turbolasers of Snap’s squadrons; Snoke’s hideout crumbles as Pava’s forces attack, the Falcon hanging behind them with Rey keeping a sharp eye out for any fleeing ships which might attempt to bring Snoke to safety; Admiral Statura leads his fleet out of hyperspace to mousetrap the ships of the First Order as they move in on the Hosnian system; General Organa leans forward over her own display, knuckles white on the edge of the counter as she sees her careful plans come at last to fruition. But Poe has eyes only for Finn, alone in front of an entire company of blank-helmeted, unreadable Stormtroopers, facing them down with nothing but his own indomitable will. There are so many ways this could go wrong -
And from the ranks of identical, faceless Stormtroopers rises the only response a Stormtrooper is ever allowed to give a commanding officer: “Sir, yes sir.”
It’s long hours after the crisis, the Stormtroopers have all marched obediently into custody, where - according to General Organa - they’ll be given therapy in an effort to undo the brainwashing the First Order forced on them, and Finn has spent the entire day in armor, sweating in the hot sun and earning new bruises everywhere the armor pinches. But it’s over at last, and Finn strips the armor off as quickly as he can, leaving it and the black bodysuit in a heap on the bedroom floor and heading for the shower, half-desperate to scrub the reek of fear-sweat and metal from his skin.
When he comes out, Poe is sitting on their bed, looking thoughtfully at the pile of armor. Finn sits down next to him and leans over to rest his forehead on Poe’s shoulder, sighing as the last of the day’s tension runs out of him. They sit in silence for a long moment, and then Poe says, voice carefully light, “I’d suggest burning that, but I don’t think armor burns too well.”
“Give it to Genda,” Finn mumbles, naming the little village’s blacksmith. “Have her make something useful out of it.”
“Swords into plowshares,” Poe says thoughtfully, and then turns and puts a gentle finger under Finn’s chin, coaxing him into looking up. “You came back to me.”
“I said I would,” Finn points out, and Poe smiles.
“I wasn’t sure,” he admits. “The First Order is gone, or will be in the next few days, which means the treaty is void - no point having a treaty with a polity that doesn’t exist anymore. You could leave, if you wanted to. You could go anywhere. You don’t have to put up with me anymore.”
Finn shakes his head and sits up properly, reaching out to gather Poe’s hands in his. “Put up with you? Is that what you think I’ve been doing, this past year? I thought I was falling in love with you.”
Poe blinks at Finn for a long minute, while Finn hopes desperately that he hasn’t misread the situation entirely, and then a smile spreads across Poe’s face like sunrise over the lake. “Gone about it all backwards, haven’t we?” Poe asks quietly. “Most people fall in love before they get married.”
“Do they really?” Finn asks, not really paying attention to what he’s saying: the curve of Poe’s lips, the sparkle in Poe’s eyes are far more important.
“Yeah, but apparently there’s something to be said for this way,” Poe says, laughter under his voice. Finn’s really not paying attention to the words at all; he’s planning just what he wants to kiss first. The curve of Poe’s jaw, just there, where the stubble is starting to show; and then the line of his neck when he tilts his head back, where the skin is tender -
“Finn,” Poe laughs, and frees his hands from Finn’s gentle grasp to cup them around Finn’s face. “You’ve got that look again.”
“Do I?” Finn asks, and then Poe kisses him.
Poe didn’t actually take part in the battle, not physically - though he helped coordinate his pilots as they made their runs, of course - but he’s still coming down off of post-battle adrenaline anyhow. And he can’t think of any better way to deal with that than taking his beautiful, brave, glorious husband to bed - his husband who loves him back, thank the Force and all its works.
Poe kisses Finn, but it’s only scant minutes before Finn is definitely the one in charge of the kiss; he has Poe down on his back, Finn’s weight heavy and perfect atop him, in record time. Poe has only one objection to this, which is that he is still wearing clothes; but a gasped explanation and few hasty moments of stripping take care of that, and then Poe is flat on his back again, Finn spread out atop him skin-on-skin, and it’s exactly what Poe needs, the perfect way to bring him back to himself now that the battle is over.
Finn leaves off kissing his way down Poe’s throat and braces himself on his elbows so he can look Poe in the eye; Poe’s not actually ashamed of the pitiful whining noise he makes. Finn’s mouth is so nice, why did he stop?
“We should get married again,” Finn says, and Poe’s brain short-circuits. “Properly. With your father there, and everyone from the village - because we love each other, not because of the treaty.”
“You are a kriffing genius,” Poe says hoarsely, and reaches up to haul Finn down into a kiss. “Yes. Yes, we should do that. Yes, I will marry you.”
“Oh good,” Finn says, and gets back to driving Poe mad with pleasure.
Poe thinks, while he’s still got the coherency to think anything, that he could definitely spend the rest of his life getting used to this.