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Strange steps trace us back

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“Take off your clothes and put these on,” Finn says, shoving a pair of metal restraint cuffs into Poe’s hand before he walks out the door.

He doesn’t say when he’s coming back. This must be the beginning of their game. He’s curious where Finn’s going to take this, what interrogation method he’s going to choose. It’s already different from what the real First Order tried on Poe. For one thing he was never naked (and certainly never eager for it), but here he is now, completely bare in the middle of the room. He stands. He guesses Finn’s watching somehow, monitoring Poe’s reactions.

He's in a rarely used area of the Resistance base, but he'd rather not think about the possibility that someone could decide they need a thing from this exact storeroom and accidentally stumble in on him. The room is cold and it feels like it’s getting colder by the minute. That must be intentional. To make him wish for any kind of clothing, which he does, and to remind him of his interrogator’s incipient presence, which he’s not likely to forget. The First Order mainly beat him up, and he knew as soon as he told them what they wanted he’d be dead. They were neither subtle nor good enough at the beating to make him stop wanting to be alive.

This time, his interrogator won’t have even that much leverage. And now, as then, they don’t have a lot of time. Denying him sleep, hygiene, or food is off the table, probably would be anyway because Finn lost whatever cruelty he had when he decided to be more than that, not to mention that this is for fun, so Finn’s going to have to use other tools. The only thing that will stop Poe from giving up is his pride, and what Finn’s assured him is Flen-headed stubbornness. He knows the short list of what's definitely not going to happen, the things that one or both of them said they aren't comfortable with, but that leaves a lot of open territory. He really doesn’t know what is going to happen, which is what’s keeping a pleasant tingle of anticipation at the base of his spine despite the fact that he’s starting to shiver in the frigid air.

Finn obviously wants him to work himself up waiting. He and Finn have been talking about this for weeks – Finn spinning out scenarios in his ear with a quiet intensity that gave Poe the best kind of tingles. Poe has to assume that nothing Finn already mentioned is going to happen. But still, he imagines a stone-faced officer bending him over the table in the corner and fucking him, rough and not quite enough lubricant, telling him that he’s pathetic and he might as well give up. He lets himself get so lost in his fantasy of what might be that he’s surprised by the sound of the door opening.

Finn isn’t in a proper First Order uniform, but he’s got a crisp black jacket on and Poe decides to suspend his disbelief as eyes rake him over, taking in his body, his hands clasped in front of him, his dick hard with anticipation.

“I see I’ve got a pervert here,” Finn -- the officer -- says with a sneer.

Poe meets his eyes defiantly. Finn steps close and wrenches Poe's arms behind his back, fastening the restraints together. Poe doesn't know how they work, has no idea how to get out.

"You'll tell me, it's just a matter of when," says Finn. His accent is different, more reminiscent of the officers in propaganda broadcasts the Resistance intercepts. Poe is more than a little impressed. "Your choice. You can tell me now, or after you're... damaged."

Poe spits in his face.

Finn looks back coolly, unruffled. Damn. He turns away and wipes his face on something, and when he turns back Poe braces for retribution.

"You'll regret that," the officer says, and slaps Poe hard across his right cheek, knocking his head to the side.

The sting of it is an affront, the instinctive flash of rage that comes from being hit in the face. He tries not to react. Finn steps to the side, then turns Poe roughly by the arm. The click of the cuffs unlocking is loud over both their breathing. Poe’s hands are jerked above his head, there’s a jangle of metal, and the lock snicks shut. Once he’s secure, Finn laughs and grabs Poe's half-hard dick in one gloved hand.

"I wonder. How much do I have to hurt you before you don't enjoy it? Let's see," Finn sneers.

He holds Poe’s cock in one hand and slaps with the other. It's a sharp pain, so much worse than Poe imagined, making him jerk away instinctively. His body wants to curl up in a ball and protect itself.

"You know how to stop this, and cringing away like the weakling you are isn’t going to get you there," says Finn as he delivers more sharp slaps and Poe is gasping, held back from running only by the hand firmly wrapped around his balls.

He's definitely not aroused by the situation any longer.

“I’m flattered that you’re so interested in my dick,” he gasps out between bursts of pain.

“It does seem to be one of your weak spots,” Finn says. “This could have been so easy for you, you know.”

The look on Finn’s face is equal parts disgusted and disappointed. Poe almost believes him.

“Think about it, Dameron,” Finn says as he walks out the door.

Poe doesn’t bother to twist around and watch him go. He looks up to see his cuffs attached to a cable that’s going over a metal bar under the ceiling. He tests it, hanging as much of his weight as he can stand, but it seems to be part of the support structure of the room and not going anywhere. Of course.

Then he wonders again where the holocam is. If it can see his face, what Finn is picking up from his expression.

It’s even more boring now that he’s attached to the ceiling. His mind wanders back to fantasies of Finn coming back in here and bending him over the table. He hopes Finn’s getting off on this. It’s hot in itself just imagining Finn getting a thrill from hurting him.

It surprises him how quickly his arms and shoulders start to ache. They’re not even stretched as high as they could go, but he can’t quite get up enough on his toes to get any real relief. He tests how far forward and back he can move (just about one step, no more) and tries bouncing on the balls of his feet, shifting from one to the other. And he waits.

When Finn comes back, he has something in his hand, a thin black rod that looks like it might be made of carbonite nanofiber and could have come from any pile of ship components on the base.

“I take it you haven’t changed your mind,” Finn says.

“I kinda like it here. Comfy.”

Finn strikes him faster than he would’ve thought possible, a sharp sting on his hip followed by a bloom of pain that makes him gasp involuntarily. Finn looks down at his hand, impassive, as he rains a series of blows across Poe’s outer hips and thighs.

So they’re getting to the hitting part now.

He trusts that Finn isn’t going to damage him permanently, but that doesn’t make it hurt less, everything else receding before the throbbing pain even after Finn stops.

“That was a nice warm-up,” says Finn.

“Oh, we’re finally getting to the real fun?” Poe spits out, breathing heavily.

Then the rod is over his ribs, and that’s worse, instincts screaming to pull his arms down, to protect himself, but he can’t. He tries to twist away and Finn grabs him by the throat. He can still breathe, but it’s enough to make him feel like it’s an excellent idea to stand still right now. He starts humming to distract himself from the pain.

“What’s that, something your mother used to sing you?” Finn says as he whips the rod against the tender underside of Poe’s arms. “She isn't here anymore, is she? Can’t protect you now.”

It’s a Yavinese folk song, and it’s a low blow to bring up his mother, but he should’ve expected it. He keeps humming. Finn keeps hitting him, and it all blends together until it finally stops.

“I’ll give you another chance to consider my offer. When I come back you had better have your mind made up,” Finn says.

He walks out of the room. Poe’s arms ache again, now that there’s not something worse to eclipse their dull, throbbing pain, and his whole left side is burning from elbow to knee. He looks down and sees he’s striped with raised pink welts that are just starting to bruise a darker purple. There are only a few spots of blood; somehow he’d imagined worse despite his training for the resistance. He shifts from foot to foot, twists side to side, trying to keep warm, trying to shift the pain from one place to another. It feels like the room has gotten colder, but his senses aren’t the most reliable any more.

He starts singing, then, partly hoping it will annoy Finn and partly for something to do other than shiver and whimper in pain. He starts on a song his mother used to sing as a lullaby, since Finn brought it up, something about war and death that was probably inappropriate to sing a little kid to sleep, come to think of it. But the important part is that the end wraps back into the beginning so he can keep on singing without needing to stop and think.

He doesn’t count, but he’s made it through a few repeats when the door opens again. It’s gotten to the point that he was hoping that Finn would come back, which he knows is playing into Finn’s mind game more than he should be but it’s not anything near enough to break him.

Finn walks straight up to him without saying a word, something small in his hand, and in an instant there’s some kind of clip holding Poe’s nose. He grabs Poe’s hair with that hand, and his hip with the other, and it’s all Poe can do to drone on with his song over the reawakened pain from his broken and swollen skin being lit up from the pressure. He briefly wonders if Finn is getting blood on his hands.

He holds Poe there for a minute and then without warning the hand is gone from his leg and is instead slapping across his mouth, forcing it shut. He instinctively tries to twist away but between the grip on his hair and over his face, he can’t move. He opens his mouth as far as he can and it’s not enough to escape Finn’s broad palm, the taste of leather and his own blood and he can’t breathe, tries to bite but it won’t let up, he can’t breathe. He should be doing something, anything, to distract himself but his whole body is screaming for air and he can’t think.

After a century, the hand lifts enough for Poe to take a gasping breath.

“Tell me,” Finn whispers against his ear, pinching the bruised flesh over his ribs.

“The resistance... will not be intimidated by you,” Poe forces out.

Finn’s hand is back on Poe’s mouth and he knows he can survive this, can hold his breath himself, and that lasts until his body doesn’t, can’t, every molecule crying out for air, struggling, kicking at Finn, no change, no breath.

When the hand is lifted, he almost falls over.

“Well, this is getting us nowhere,” says Finn, looking at Poe like he’s been very disappointing.

Poe’s still gasping, only managing to stand because every time he starts to sink down the cuffs bite harder into his wrists which is a “real damage” kind of pain, the kind of thing that might not fade in a few days, weeks. As bad as everything else is, he can’t risk that. Finn watches him impassively. He struggles for a minute, legs shaking and threatening to collapse under him.

“Let’s try something different,” Finn says, face breaking into a fond smile, and it’s so unexpected it almost bowls Poe over again. He wonders if it’s a trap, a deliberate break in Finn’s façade to draw him in.

Finn’s arm is wrapped around him, the thing on his nose is removed, and then there’s a metallic click and his arms are being slowly, slowly lowered. That hurts even more somehow, fire from his fingertips to his shoulders as sensation he didn’t even know was missing comes rushing back. He shakes against Finn’s body, fabric rough against Poe’s naked skin, and he can’t seem to stop.

Finn wraps a hand around the back of Poe’s neck, strokes gently down his spine. Poe wishes he’d take the gloves off, but if Finn let go of him at this point he’d definitely collapse. Finn runs his hand up his side, and with the rest of the pain fading the drag of fabric over the welts on his skin is excruciating. He breathes a broken sound into Finn’s shoulder.

Finn pulls away suddenly, just enough to get a grip on Poe’s jaw, holds him in place as he catches Poe’s bottom lip in his teeth. It’s a painful kiss, more biting than anything, but Poe tries to lean into it anyway. Then Finn’s lips are gone, and he’s using his hold on Poe’s head to steer him backwards across the room until his heel bumps into the wall and his brain is barely working fast enough to slow down before his back smacks into it.

The wall is cold on his back as Finn presses him up against it with his whole body, hard enough that the fly of his pants is digging into Poe’s cock painfully. It doesn’t hurt enough to cancel out how good it is to have Finn’s warm body up against him. The hurt’s better when it comes directly from him and not from a tool.

Poe feels a tug at his scalp, Finn’s hand in his hair pulling his head to the side, forcing an involuntary full-body shiver from him. It feels like that’s the only thing holding him on his feet as Finn sucks bruises into his collarbone while Poe gasps and wordlessly begs for more of this, more of Finn, the thumb of his other hand digging in cruelly to the angry marks the cane left on his hip. They’re not close enough, and Poe can’t stop jerking his hips desperately, trying to regain contact.

“You’re so hot when I’m hurting you,” says Finn, digging fingers in deeper.

Poe pushes into the press of his fingers, pulls away from the grip on his hair so the hurt is stronger there too, not sure where he wants it most. It feels secure here, he’s not going to fall, Finn won’t let him fall. They stay like that for a minute, and then the hand is gone from his hip, blessed relief. His eyes are closed again because it’s too much to take in otherwise, so it’s a surprise when Finn’s fingers shove themselves into his mouth. They taste even more of blood now.

“If that mouth isn’t going to give me any useful information, it’d better give me something else,” Finn says into Poe’s ear so he can hear the smile in the threat.

Finn pushes him down the wall by his hair, more of a controlled collapse than anything else, until his ass hits the floor. When Poe tries to raise a hand to get at Finn’s belt, Finn knees it away.

“No hands. This isn’t a demonstration of your skills,” he snaps.

Finn’s cock is rock hard when he shoves it against Poe’s lips, proof of how much he’s getting off on this too. Poe wonders how long it’s been that way. He hopes it hurts a little. Then Finn’s hand is back in Poe’s hair, so tight it makes his whole body want to go limp, making it easy to just open his mouth and let Finn fuck it. It’s a weird position because he’s not up on his knees, Finn’s braced against the wall leaning over him, and it’s rough and fast and hard to breathe, dick hitting the back of his throat hard but at the wrong angle to get all the way inside. Poe’s half gagging on it and that makes it even harder to catch a breath. His hands are scrabbling against the floor and his world is narrowing: Finn’s cock, his mouth, the spit running down his chin, body straining for air. He can’t think, can’t take this, can’t get away from it.

Everything’s going dark around the edges when finally, Finn stills, coming down his throat with a groan and a stutter.

Poe takes a gasping breath as soon as his throat is clear. Finn’s down in front of him all of a sudden then, watching his face intently as he yanks hard at Poe’s hair to tilt his head back up from where it had fallen. Poe whimpers.

He jumps when he feels Finn’s hand on his cock. He’s still wearing the glove, and it’s abrasive against sensitive skin, but Poe doesn’t care.

“You know what I need to hear,” Finn says flatly. Poe takes a moment to process his words, brain strange and staticky. He shakes his head, feeling more like a disobedient child than a man resisting interrogation.

“It looks to me like you’re enjoying this,” Finn continues, “aren’t you? Not a very good little soldier now, hmm? If you give me what I want, I’ll give you what you want.”

Left unspoken in the air between them is the threat that he can withhold Poe’s orgasm forever, or at least that’s the way it feels. There are so many different aches in his body that his mind doesn’t know how to process them anymore. The wall’s hard and there’s a burning everywhere Finn hit him and where the cuffs cut into his wrists and it’s all going straight to his dick now, to where Finn’s holding everything literally in his hand, rough strokes that Poe can’t ignore.

All Finn has to do is keep doing what he’s doing and wait.

It’s not long, and also an eternity, before Poe’s so close, everything tingling and drawing together and so, so ready, and maybe if he keeps quiet, doesn’t move, Finn won’t stop, won’t notice, will let him. He’s almost, almost there when Finn takes his hand away.

“Tell me,” Finn says, grabbing a whole handful of skin over Poe’s ribs and pulling it away from the bones.

The pain is sudden, shocking, and deep, and Poe’s making noise in spite of himself, little whimpers that might be on their way to becoming pleading. Then he snaps his mouth back shut. He can barely remember what he’s doing this for any more but he can’t tell, he just can’t. Finn isn’t letting up, poking and prodding at his broken skin, then slapping it, enough that it still hurts over his arousal, that it can’t quite flip over into something satisfying. The throb in his skin after the slap does, though, thrumming through his chest like a gong.

“Please,” he whispers, knowing it’s not the right word.

“That’s right, talk to me,” says Finn, and his hand is back on Poe’s dick but it’s not enough, soft, teasing brush of the hand. “Tell me. Tell me and I’ll take care of you.”

Somehow it’s that bare hint of kindness that breaks Poe open. Finn does take care of him, always takes care of him, and he needs that so badly right now, needs to come, needs to let go of everything he’s holding and hand it all to Finn.

He says the two words that Finn has been asking for, the ones they'd agreed on in what feels like a faraway time and place. "You win."

Finn keeps hitting him as he comes, sharp bursts of pain that aren’t reading that way any more, and Poe yells so loudly that anyone in this section of the base must hear. Without Finn holding him by the hair he collapses forward into Finn’s arms.

“So good for me,” Finn whispers. “You’re so amazing, did so good.”

They stay there on the hard floor for a while. Poe feels wrung out, emptied of words. Finn took them from him. Took him from him, in a way, and he feels so light with all those things gone. Floaty.

Finally he manages to sit up on his own. He’s naked and shivering and hopefully not still bleeding and would really like to get off the floor now.

Finn’s face, now that he can see it, doesn’t have the expression he expects.

“What’s up?” he asks when he finds his words again.

“Are you really okay?” Finn says, looking a little broken himself. “That was... a lot.”

“I’m good, I’m so good right now, babe. I mean, I’m really cold, and kind of sticky, and my butt hurts from the floor, but that was. Wow,” Poe answers. “I would like a bed. And you. And cuddling. Now please.”

Finn’s still shrinking in on himself.

“I didn’t think I’d like it that much,” he says in a small voice.

“I like that you liked it, I love that you liked it,” Poe says, scooting closer so he can wrap arms around him. “That was so hot. Believe me.”

Finn nods into his shoulder, and then they have to stay like that for a minute before Poe just can’t anymore. His left knee hurts in a very unfun way and he is just really, really freezing.

Bed. Blankets. Now.