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Turnabout

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Finn's impatient, fresh out of the field and keyed up, all intense focus and gentle but inexorable insistence, and one minute Finn's kissing Poe hello and what seems like the next Finn's got him flat on his back and stripped and is kneeling athwart his hips, knees planted and lube in hand, already reaching back to slick himself. Poe knows where this is going, has no complaints about where this is going, but – yeah, okay, fair is fair, Poe can be pushy too, can be hasty and demanding, especially when he's been in the field, but does Finn let him get away with that? No, Finn does not, Finn likes to insist on dragging it out even when Poe's tight-wound and shaking halfway out of his skin, and turnabout is fair play.

So Poe catches Finn's wrist, stops him, draws him forward and then drags him down into one more kiss, all teeth and insistent tongue, and lays a hand heavy on the back of Finn's skull in an effort to keep him there.

“Let me help,” he cajoles, when Finn loses patience and breaks the kiss, tries to draw away. “Go on, turn around, let me make it good for you.” He doesn't wait for an answer, just goes ahead and relieves Finn of the lube as he says it, strips the bottle right out of his hand, back and away toward the web of the thumb like taking a blaster, and he shoves encouragingly at Finn's hip until Finn heaves a put-upon sigh and rearranges himself so he's facing away, hands planted, knees astride Poe's chest.

“Come on, then,” Finn says, testy, and cants his hips, offering or demanding, and he strokes Poe's dick with his slicked hand like he thinks he can hurry Poe along by distracting him. It's a valiant effort, but Poe's having none of it; he has a plan, and he's not going to be dissuaded by a mere handjob. Finn's been gone for weeks, and so help him, Poe's going to do this up right for him, welcome him home in style.

“Easy, easy,” Poe says, and tosses the bottle aside unused. Instead, he squirms into a better position so he can reach up with both hands to grasp Finn's hips, his perfect ass, and draws him back and down until Poe can get his mouth on him, spread his cheeks and lick up into him. Broad, wet strokes to start, right across his hole, pressing in hard – no point in being coy about it, not if he wants to keep Finn's attention. Finn goes tense, the glorious muscles of his ass and thighs flexing, and he huffs his approval, a voiceless huh where someone less considerate of the neighbors' sensibilities – Poe – might have shouted.

As Poe goes slower, wetter and more deliberately filthy, Finn relaxes just enough, shifting and resettling his weight to let Poe drag him down further until he's right there, right in Poe's face, cock heavy and drooling against Poe's chest, and Poe doesn't have to crane his neck at all to get right where he wants to be. Poe slows further, then, plants his feet and peaks his knees so Finn can lean into his thighs while Poe escalates, laps down to his sack and licks, sucks before working his way back up slower still, careful grazes of teeth and stubble in counterpoint to the slick yielding slide of lips, the press of tongue. Through it all, Finn gasps and hisses breath, sags against Poe's legs and clings there, shifting his hips minutely, restlessly. He's still got a hand curled 'round Poe's cock, but he's not making any real efforts at persuasion, just holding it really, maybe managing the occasional half-voluntary squeeze when he remembers to. He's so clearly struggling to keep his fraying patience together, to keep still and let Poe give him this, and Poe does his level best to reward that patience, make it worth Finn's while to stay here just a little longer.

When Poe comes back to Finn's hole, finds it all the more sensitive for the neglect, he wraps an arm around Finn's thighs and drags himself closer still, presses in tonguefirst, fucking into Finn as best he can, and Finn finally rewards him with a moan, low and quiet, and sags heavy against Poe's knees. Poe gropes for the lube, fumbles it open onehanded, and pulls back just long enough to douse Finn with it, slicking him generously, indiscriminately, cleft to sack and his own face into the bargain. There's a tricky moment while he works out his angle of approach and it ends up being pretty awkward, but when he pushes in Finn takes two fingers easily, wet and open and ready, and he shakes when Poe keeps going, licking at him where he's stretched around Poe's fingers, pulling and spreading and trying to work the tip of his tongue in alongside.

“Come on, come on,” Finn grits, and he tries to kneel forward, tries to pull away, and Poe doesn't have a prayer of holding him down, never did, but Poe can support his own weight, can cling tight and be dragged along for the ride, make Finn work to shake him, draw this out another few seconds just for the sheer cussedness of it.

Would you please,” Finn growls, after the first careful buck of his hips doesn't throw Poe off. “Could you – for fuck's sake – just lie the hell down and let me get on your dick already?” Poe grips tighter, draws back and sucks breath enough to reply, but his arm's slipping and pulling his head back was a mistake, and then it's all over, Finn's got a hand on his wrist, he's breaking his grip, he's free. There's a flurry of pushing and shoving, knees and elbows, and then Finn's facing Poe again, back to where they started, hand planted hard against Poe's breastbone as he sits back and down onto Poe's cock, taking what he wants, and all Poe can do about it is stay where he's put and try to arch up to meet him.

Finn's having none of that, though – once he's got it in, he gets his knees under him, gets his hands planted, and just goes for it, sets a rhythm Poe can't match, rides him into the mattress with rough, demanding rolls of his hips. His hands are hard on Poe's biceps, gripping, holding him down so he can't get a hand on Finn's cock, can't even touch him, can only lie there without giving a thing and let Finn take what he wants. Finn's beautiful above him, glorious in motion, face set in lines of pleasure, of relief, eyes closed and lips barely parted. When he opens his eyes and looks down at Poe, though, his expression firms toward a dangerous determination that's all too familiar, and Poe resigns himself – oh, hardship – to being fucked right out of his Force-damned mind.

It's – overwhelming, to say the least, being the object of all Finn's focused drive and force like this, and it's fantastic, too, sets an extra strand of arousal coiling hot and prickling around the simpler need building in him, because what does Poe want, really, but for Finn to use him however Finn needs to, whether for his clever ideas or his clever mouth or just as a dick for Finn to fuck himself on, however Finn likes it best? It's perfect, perfect, Finn has him right where he wants him and that's right where Poe wants to be, and Poe sets his jaw and grips the blankets 'til his hands ache and hangs on, resists the building pressure, determined not to lose it until Finn's through with him.

Time slips and skids, a sweat-slick dry-throat eternity and no time at all passing while Poe aches, burns, endures, whimpering through clenched teeth because if he doesn't do something to bleed pressure he might just explode. It's too long by far and nowhere near long enough, and then Finn's shifting his weight, leaning back and steadying himself with one hand on Poe's ribs, and Poe opens his tight-shut eyes just in time to watch as Finn jerks himself, slow hard strokes in time with the roll and snap of his hips, and comes and comes, head thrown back, mouth wide around a soundless shout. Poe shudders when it spatters across his chest, goes tense and shaking or maybe he already was and didn't know it, and he twists his hands harder into the bedding and clings like he can physically hold himself back from coming while Finn rides out the aftershocks, gasping quietly, hips hitching. He can do it, whatever Finn needs, long as Finn wants, he can –

“Come on,” Finn is saying; “C'mon, come for me,” and he's kneeling up, giving Poe room to move, but all Poe needs, all Poe wants is – he tears his numb fingers out of the blankets and grabs, uncoordinated, gets his hands on Finn's waist and – well, paws ineffectually at him, he can't grip worth shit right now, but Finn gets it anyway, sits down onto him again with a low groan that Poe feels everywhere and settles there, pinning Poe's hips and letting Poe grind up into the immovable weight of him until Poe can finally give it up, let go, let orgasm run through him with a great wracking relief like the cessation of pain. Finn rides him through it, clenching around him, huffing a little broken-off huh at each snap of Poe's hips, then slowly, slowly slumps forward to lie on top of him, heedless of the sweat and the jizz and the heave of Poe's chest, pressing him down heavy and present while the last pangs of orgasm send sparks up Poe's spine, making him shiver and jerk.

It's always harder than Poe expects, fitting himself back into his own body again after these things, the places his head goes in extremis, in the throes of whatever. Finn helps, breathing hot against Poe's throat while Poe sucks air and comes slowly back to himself, the heavy hot sweat-stinking sprawl of him holding Poe down safe and secure until he can marshal his thoughts and stir himself enough to tip his head toward Finn's, pressing cheek to scratchy, slick-smeared cheek, and rasp, quietly, “Welcome home.”