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Finn spent more than enough time being locked up in clothes, thanks very much. Never again.
Half the appeal, honestly, is that freedom. D'Qar is a lot warmer than Starkiller Base. To be able to move around without constriction is the greatest feeling. Breeze on his legs, ease in his step: he doesn't know why more guys don't try a Nakadian kilt. It's simple to pull on, falls straight just past his knees, and he doesn't think about it one way or the other. The twill fabric is a dull no-color brown that hides the dirt and washes without worry. He's convinced this is the perfect garment.
Rey shakes her head at him. "It's messy. Dangerous! What if the skirt gets caught in something?"
Finn fails to see the problem. Anything could get caught, from a jacket sleeve to one of her long, trailing pieces. "Then I'll -- tear myself free?"
"Hmpf," she replies and turns back to doing something very complicated with tiny screwdrivers and nails no thicker than a hair. "Just be careful."
Then Poe returns from a diplomatic mission to Bespin's Cloud City, one that Finn had to miss because of a head cold. Among the presents he's toting - in addition to soft-cooked twisted bread and some poetry holos and the new installment of Finn's favorite farming sim game - is a beautiful red dress from Naboo.
"In case you ever need to dress up," Poe says, lying back on the bed, arms behind his head, grinning. He looks so pleased with himself. "The khaki can't be appropriate for everything. Not even the dress olive."
"Says the guy who'd wear a flaksuit all day, every day, if he could."
"Don't knock the flaksuit, man," Poe says and kicks him. "It's comfy as fuck. And orange goes with exactly nothing, which means it's always in style. Convenient."
The dress is long, and simple, like a wrap that spills down into a swingy skirt. It is way too nice for Finn; he imagines the fabric catching on his calluses, or the skirt snagging under his big feet.
What's more, it is unmistakably a dress. Not a tunic or a straight, utilitarian kilt. He can't quite define the difference, but he knows that it's there. Knows that it's important.
One side of the skirt has the fabric all ruched up; he has no idea how that works, but it reminds him of the decoration down Solo's breeches and the sleeves on Poe's jacket. He runs his fingertip up the gathers, then back down.
"Thanks," Finn says, and folds it back up, slipping it back into its bag. "Really, thank you."
Poe's confused, looking back and forth from the bag to Finn. "Aren't you going to try it on?"
"I'm okay," Finn tells him. "Want to fire up Lunar Sowing?"
"But --" Poe pokes the bag. He reaches in and pets the dress. "It's so pretty. Put it on?"
"Found some cheats to accelerate the rain and germination cycles," Finn says. "Fairly confident I'm going to kick your agricultural ass."
"Really wanted to see you in it." Poe slides forward as BB-8 projects the opening credits for the game. "It was hard to choose the right color."
"You chose great," Finn says, then hits start. "Okay, prepare to starve."
-
He tries the dress on the next time he's alone in their cabin. Poe's on a recon flight and won't be back for half a standard day.
Finn isn't ashamed, he doesn't think. He just needs to do this, first, on his own. Having Poe watching him brings its own pleasures and stresses. Sometimes, it's just too easy to get mixed up in what Poe thinks about him before Finn figures out what he thinks, what he feels, for himself.
It really is a beautiful dress. Not that Finn knows much of anything about fashion, but this is fluid and snug and really pretty. Not fussy, nothing like the pictures you see in edu-holos of Naboo queens or anything, all those ruffles and huge, stiff lines. More like a couple strokes of a calligrapher's pen, across the chest, around the waist, descending in a swoop down the legs.
When he closes his eyes, the red burns a little behind his lids, still, persisting.
-
"It's not because I think it makes you a woman or anything," Poe says quietly. Late in ship's night, when Finn's back late from a relief mission and too tired to do much more than kick off his boots before falling back on the bed. He's tugged off his jersey, leaving just the kilt on. He'll get to it, eventually.
Poe's been kissing him, neck and clavicle, running the flat of his palm down Finn's hip and thigh, then tickling his fingers under the kilt's hem.
Finn laughs a little. "That's good."
"You didn't think so, did you?"
Finn lifts his head and wiggles back into the bed. "Not until you said something, no."
"Shit," Poe says, grinning, kissing Finn's chest so slowly, lightly, that goosebumps start prickling up.
"It's okay," Finn tells him. "Whatever works for you."
"No, if you were a woman, that'd be cool," Poe says and frowns. "I'm getting off-track."
"Are you?" Finn traces the bumps of vertebrae on the back of Poe's neck, counting them off. "Could've fooled me."
"Ha, ha. It's like..." Poe rolls on his side and draws figure-8s on Finn's chest. The eights turn into radiating squares, then morph again into shapeless pokes. "Forget it, I don't know."
"Yeah, you do," Finn tells him and works his fingers through Poe's bed-tangled hair, tugging outward, loosening the snarls.
Poe glances up, wearing half a smile.
"Words never fail you," Finn says. "Someone could cut out your tongue and you'd just hit your head against something to keep talking in Binary. Bump-bump-bang."
"Eww, man --" Poe shakes his head and shudders. "Nasty."
Finn flicks the edge of Poe's ear. "Point stands."
"It's you. Seeing you. It's just. All of you. No, more of you."
"Flashing my legs, yeah."
"Jerk. More you-you, not your body. Though that works, too." Poe plants his chin on the edge of Finn's rib cage and exhales noisily. Hot breath on cold, older kisses makes Finn shiver. "I don't know, I don't think I'm saying it right."
"It's okay," Finn says.
Poe turns, resting his cheek on Finn's chest. His hand slips down the front of the kilt to cup him lightly through the rough fabric. "I'll get it right."
"Fairly certain you have more important things to do." Finn pulls on Poe's arm. "C'mon, up."
"Eh," Poe says, shrugging a little, then scooting upwards. "I'll multitask."
"If you crash your X-Wing because you're thinking about me in a dress, I'll kill you myself," Finn says. "Sorry, General, it was my fault, I've been expanding my wardrobe options, see, and..."
Poe makes a descending whistle as he mimes the crash with one hand, spiralling through the air, accelerating. "Wheeee, Finn's got such great legs and the way that silk really clings to his hips, so hot -- oh, fuck....BOOM."
"What a way to go, damn." Finn rolls on his side, kissing Poe, lifting one leg so Poe's knee can slot between his own. "Promise you won't do that."
Poe tilts his head back, smile curving slowly. "I can't promise anything, baby."
"Asshole," Finn says and tightens his arm over Poe. "Such a jackass."
"Yeah." Poe sighs, walking his fingers up under Finn's skirt, up the back of his thigh. "That's me."
They fall asleep like that, half-hard, and Finn has ludicrously pornographic dreams.
-
The resistance receives a delegation of Korunnai, Force-sensitive adepts interested in contributing to the cause. After the main ceremony, Leia hosts a smaller, quieter reception in her quarters.
Finn isn't sure why he's here. Once you hear his story of defection and desperation, there really isn't any more to him. The story is useful, he knows that, but now he's standing here on the edge of the crowd a little awkwardly, sipping warm punch, trying not to fidget with the hang of his skirt.
Poe is delayed by a skirmish the next system over. Rey is deeply absorbed in conversation with two of the guests. Finn has only this overly sweet punch to keep him company.
"A special occasion deserves a special something," Leia had said when she checked that Finn would be available to meet the delegation and give his spiel. She pressed the soft package into his hands before departing. "Maybe something a little less revealing than crimson Naboo couture for your first time."
This dress is a lot more conservative, with simple sleeves and a straight boatneck, but it's every bit as soft and clingy as the red one. Sometimes the fabric is silvery gray, but then the light shifts and it looks snowy white. He has to stop himself from moving the fabric back and forth to watch the changes.
Across the room, Luke lifts his glass to Finn and smiles. He's intending to be nice, of course (it's Luke, he can't be anything but), but now Finn feels a little more self-conscious.
"Absolutely amazing story," a woman says behind him.
Finn swallows down the rest of his punch, a little too quickly, before turning to her.
She's taller than he is, hair in thin plaits wrapped around and around her head, adding another ten centimeters to her height. She's as dark as he is - all the Korunnai are, something he finds he's enjoying without quite being able to say why - but a million times more elegant.
"Thanks," he says.
"It couldn't have been that easy, though?" She leans in a little, as if expecting that he'll confide a far more interesting truth. "Just...help yourself to a TIE and off you skedaddled?"
Finn shrugs. He didn't think that was how he told the story, but maybe he should revise it a little. "I wouldn't call it easy, no."
"And now, it seems, here you are...exploring everything freedom has to offer, eh?" When she smiles at him, he wants to stare, dazzled, and never blink.
"I guess?" he manages to get out. He's very thirsty suddenly, all over again. He takes refuge in one of those phrases that can be used for just about any purpose. "It's all been a learning experience, that's for sure."
Her hand is on his shoulder now, stroking the fabric, then plucking it. "Coruscant silk?"
"Maybe?" Finn reaches for another glass of punch as the service-droid scoots past, but misses it. "It was a gift."
"Well, they certainly are getting the most out of your exploration and education, I'll say that." She cups the side of his neck and pats him, a little absently, before turning and sweeping away.
He's not sure he'll ever get used to this. This is more than, different from, simple self-consciousness. He's himself, but he also means something to other people. How he lets that affect him, or not, is a constant puzzle. Weird enough when that's just Poe, but, with his story and his example, he's also supposed to mean something on a much, much larger scale.
Former Stormtrooper defecting to the Resistance is a very good story. Former Stormtrooper shacking up with the man he rescued is an even better one.
Former Stormtrooper shacking up with that man while wearing dresses to cocktail parties is, as the Korunnai woman just said, an absolutely amazing one.
He wonders what Phasma's going to make of this when it gets out.
-
"I can't believe I missed it," Poe says the next morning. He rolls over onto his stomach, face half-mashed against the pillow. From what Finn remembers, Poe's been back for less than a couple hours; that he's fairly conscious and talking is miraculous. "The general said you were great."
Finn's just back from the 'fresher, towel around his neck. "What did she say?"
Poe lifts his head, squinting, then rubbing his fist against his eyes. "That you were great? And the guy in charge liked you a lot. Why?"
"She gave me a dress."
Poe grins. "Heard that. Apparently you like her taste better than mine."
"Ah, man --" Finn sits on the edge of the bed. "It's not like that."
"Isn't it?" Poe slips down the bed to curl around Finn. "I get it. She's got a good eye."
He's warm from sleep, heavy-limbed, and Finn drops his hand on Poe's back, stroking down, coming to rest in the hollow right over his ass.
"I like yours better," Finn says eventually. Poe murmurs, pushing his face against Finn's thigh. "Are you asleep?"
"No," Poe says, muffled and thick-voiced. He nips on Finn's leg, then rolls over just enough to talk clearly. "I'm here."
"Go back to sleep." Finn pats Poe's ass before standing up; Poe fake-yelps and wiggles. "I've got to get going."
He's nearly all the way dressed, blaster already holstered, boots pulled on, and he's shrugging on his jacket when Poe speaks again. His voice is a lot softer; at first Finn assumes he's falling back asleep.
"Wear the red one to the Onderon thing?"
"What thing?" Finn pauses, jacket half on, frowning.
"The thing," Poe says, then yawns extravagantly. He circles his hand impatiently as it goes on and on. "You know. On Onderon."
"Mysterious thing in place I've never heard of? Can't wait."
Grinning, Poe points at him, then yanks the blanket over himself. "That's what I'm talking about."
-
The Onderon thing is another diplomatic visit, marking the installation of a statue to the heroes of the rebellion. Finn's relieved from his usual duty rotation and put on the diplomatic roster, so he practices his story and tries to get a little more sleep than usual.
He shines his boots, then hates how clunky they look, and shines them again. They still look like crap. There's no inspection awaiting him, no demerits to be awarded and Phasma to piss off, but all the same, he feels a similar sort of nervousness. Not quite in the pit of his stomach, but a little higher, up in his chest, fluttering next to his heart.
Connix finds him nicer boots, sleeker, darker, and much taller. They reach high enough to nudge under the dress's hem. There's a term for what they do - she says it's "improve the line" - but Finn just knows he feels more comfortable now.
He meets Poe outside the barracks to walk over to the shuttle together. It's dumb - why don't they just meet at the hangar, where Poe's spent most of the day already? - but in the end, Finn realizes he's looking forward to this. He could use a little breathing room before joining the rest of the group.
"Oh, yeah," Poe says, looking him up and down, smile slanting and widening. He's wearing his dress uniform, his hair still wet, and Finn could say the same about him. "Yeah. Damn."
Finn punches his shoulder. "Stop being weird."
"You stop being weird and let me appreciate you," Poe says, punching back, harder. "You look amazing."
"Thanks. You, too."
"Eh. It's itchy." Poe smoothes down the jacket, then grabs Finn's hand. "You, though. It shouldn't work."
Finn ducks his head.
"I've been thinking about it, see --" Poe's ambling toward the hangar, ruminating, squeezing Finn's hand for emphasis as he talks. "You're so broad and strong, right? Macho dude guy. None of that should go with...'pretty'. And then you put this on and you're beautiful, too. Strong and delicate. Everything you are, all at once."
Finn starts hurrying, suddenly conscious of the fact that without BB-8, he's not sure what time it is. "You're not making any sense, man."
Poe snorts. "I am, too. I'm making tons of sense. If I put on a dress, I'd just look like a lumpy asshole ruining a pretty dress." He pulls up short and tugs on Finn's hand until he stops and turns around to face him. Poe slips his hands onto Finn's waist, then down his hips. "You put one on, and somehow you look stronger and prettier. Fucking magic."
Finn inhales, then breathes out slowly. "Do you want to put one on?"
"No, probably not." Poe's the one to hurry now, setting off double-quick. Over his shoulder, he adds, "I did, tried that one on when I bought it. Looked terrible. Leia made Threepio take a picture, it looked so bad."
"I want to see that," Finn says as they arrive at the hangar.
"Never," Poe says and grins as wide and obnoxiously as Finn's ever seen. "Never ever in a million years."
"You sure about that?"
Poe kisses him then, quickly, hand curling around the back of his neck to hold Finn still. "I want to fuck you right now, you know that?"
Finn's equilibrium tilts, spins, yet somehow he manages to remain upright and relatively, outwardly, calm. "Dude, change of subject?"
"No," Poe says, pulling back, taking his hand again, like they're just having a regular conversation in public. "The only one."
-
The statue on Onderon is incredibly ugly, both blocky and menacing, and the speeches almost interminable. The reception, however, is a lot of fun. Finn thinks, sometimes, that he should be a little more self-reliant, but events like this really are far more enjoyable when Poe's there.
Even - perhaps especially - if Poe is being particularly attentive, like he is now. He's as charming and sociable as ever, and then, over a regional governor's shoulder or from the middle of a folk dance, he'll glance at Finn. Sharply, pointedly, without his expression actually changing. Finn doesn't know how he does it, and he either can't bear another one or he doesn't want Poe to ever stop.
There's only the one assassination attempt, and luckily that comes well toward the end of the party. All the canapés are long gone and the beverage fountain is spurting only flat fizzy water when a lone maniac tries to toss a grenade at Leia. His aim is off, however, and Rey easily tackles him while Poe kicks the grenade off the edge of the plaza. It tumbles end over end into the forest far below and never explodes.
"Well," Leia says, waving off the local officials' apologies and excuses. "I think perhaps that's the cue for turning in?"
Poe's hand is already on Finn's back. As soon as he'd seen to the assassin's arrest, he was back at Finn's side, closer than ever. When she says that, he tightens his fingers. The fabric moves across Finn's skin. For a second, he hears his own breath like an oncoming wind.
Poe laces their fingers together. "Want to walk the walls? Look at the woods?"
His tone's heavy and meaningful, so Finn nods slowly. "Yeah. Let's do that."
They don't see much. Darkened tops of trees waving in the wind. Occasional firelight twinkling like stars. If you look down too long, Finn finds, you get confused about whether you're looking up or down. He bends over the railing, testing that, and Poe embraces him from behind, breath on his neck.
His weight is just right, plastered over Finn, teeth on the bare skin of Finn's shoulder. He mumbles a little, feigning irritation, when Finn struggles to turn around.
"So sorry," Finn mutters, wiggling around. "Want to kiss you, hope that's acceptable."
"Hmm," Poe says, leaning back, giving him room. "Fine."
Now he's looking at Finn again, eyelids heavy, lip in his teeth. Finn shivers but makes himself hold still. No one's passed them the whole time they've been here, but he's not worried about being interrupted. He's worried about - or distracted by - the opposite concern. About being completely alone here, the only one to take up Poe's gaze.
"You like the dress?" Finn asks, not because he wonders but because he needs to say something, anything, toss some words out and hold on.
"I fucking love you," Poe says, voice rough as the stone wall against Finn's back.
The worry turns inside out. Flips, reverses, and now he doesn't want anything but Poe's eyes on him, his hands, the promise of his mouth.
Finn unbuttons Poe's jacket, kissing him hungrily, and when he finally gets it open, gets his palms up under Poe's shirt, feels warm skin and breathes in Poe's scent, he laughs a little. "That wasn't the question, Commander."
Poe shoves up the skirt and cups Finn as he kisses him. "I like it."
Finn shivers, like a cold wind is ripping through him, and he has to swallow a couple times before he can respond. "Cool."
"So pretty," Poe's murmuring, kissing down the side of Finn's neck, stroking his cock gently, just his fingertips, through the fabric of his briefs. "Pretty, pretty guy."
Finn shivers again, harder, a groan building in his chest. His hips are rocking into Poe's hand, his head is bumping against the wall. He tries to shake his head, tries to dissuade Poe, but it's not working. Admittedly, he's not trying very hard.
"You are, you know," Poe whispers, up at Finn's ear, then along his jaw to his mouth. "So pretty."
Any one thing would be too much - what he's saying (what he's saying, what is he saying?), his touch on Finn's cock, his mouth gone soft and wet and hot against Finn's, just pressing in, soft little sucking sounds squeaking out. All together, it's overwhelming.
"Beautiful, actually," Poe's saying, nudging Finn's legs apart, kissing his throat, pushing his other hand up Finn's skirt, too. "Never seen anyone like you."
He's easing down Finn's shorts, slow at first, then a quick yank so they let Finn's cock spring out.
Finn tries to laugh at that, but it comes out like a grunt. When Poe moves, the dress's fabric drags over his skin, silky-fast. Finn can almost hear it, down low, below the sound of their voices and breaths, a tiny persistent whisper.
"It's true," Poe says, getting ready to argue, but Finn thrusts into his hand, groaning. "Fuck. You are."
"Please," Finn says, rocking faster. "I --"
"What do you want?"
Finn rolls his eyes. "Anything. Everything. I don't know, I just --"
Poe looks at him then, a whole new kind of look, evaluating and enthusiastic, for a long time. He's smiling to himself like he knows a secret, a really good one. He's still stroking Finn, and now he's nodding, smiling more widely. His brows jump just like they do when he gets a terrible idea, something reckless and dangerous that, somehow, he invariably makes work.
And that's okay when they're toting blasters and charging caps and fighting for the freedom of the galaxy.
It's a whole other thing when there's just a silky dress and Finn here.
"What?" Finn asks.
Poe kisses him, deeply, dirty, fucking his tongue in and out, then sucking Finn's tongue into his mouth, nipping down, moaning until Finn can't help but reply. Finally, finally, he pats one hand on Finn's cheek, squeezes his cock one more time, and says, "Got it."
"What?" Finn asks again. "Please --"
"So pretty," Poe says, taking Finn's hand, helping him step free of his briefs. "We can do this here, but you're going to make a fuck of a lot of noise. Room?"
Finn shakes his head. His pulse and breath are fighting, colliding, and he's so warm all over that he can't do much more than stumble after Poe.
"Next time, outside," Poe says, like it's a promise he's very serious about, as he opens the door to their chambers and walks Finn inside, hands on his waist. When Finn looks down, he can see his erection tenting his skirt, and it looks wrong but also sexy. He's not entirely himself right now, or he's changing, starting to be able to appreciate sights in a different way.
Poe tips him forward onto the bed, hands and knees, and Finn splays out at first, so glad not to be upright any longer that he almost laughs with relief. When he tries to turn over, however, Poe presses his hand between Finn's shoulder blades to keep him still.
He's about to complain, or just ask what's going on, when Poe pushes the skirt up to Finn's waist. He drags his fingertips down the backs of Finn's thighs, from his ass down to the top of his boots. So lightly that Finn thrusts involuntarily, another little tremble pumping more pre-cum out his cock. He turns his head, tries to look over his shoulder, but all he sees is his own ass, up in the air, and the indistinct outline of Poe's shoulder and arm. In between, there's the liquid fall of his dress.
Poe scratches his fingers back upward, into the crease Finn's buttocks make, then spreads him. Finn can't say, or see, or hear a goddamn thing then because Poe's kissing the tops of his thighs, then his crack. He's licking up and down, murmuring to himself like he's very proud, vibrations burbling, running, branching outward. Finn rubs his face into the mattress, trying like hell to stay still. Poe's tongue is moving, throbbing, opening Finn up, flat and broad at first, then pointed and precise, stabbing around his hole, again and again until Finn's collapsed on his chest, pushing back against Poe's face, moans babbling out of his gut in a long, constant, endless stream of need and noise.
The head of his cock bumps and rubs his stomach, the mattress. The muscles in his legs are fluttering like he's been running for fifty kilometers. Still, on and on, Poe's licking him open, sending pleasure in thick streams through Finn, under his skin, lighting him up, opening him up, inflating him with heat and brilliance. All Finn can do is rock back and babble, keep moaning, his cock jumping and aching, untouched.
At some point Poe pulls back - Finn feels his nose lift out of his crack, feels the sudden cold gap - and there's the sound of his jacket and belt hitting the floor.
"You taste so good," Poe says, wrapping his arms around Finn's waist, grinding against his ass. HIs mouth is on Finn's shoulder, the nape of his neck, teeth and tongue scraping and scouring. "I want to do that all night."
Finn thrusts back against him. The dress is tangled up nearly around his armpits now, sweaty and sticky. He chokes on a laugh, then another one. "I'm not going to stop you if you want to."
"You like that?" Poe asks; Finn can hear the smirk on his face.
"Yeah," Finn says. "Think it's pretty obvious."
"Pretty. Beautiful," Poe whispers, biting down for a moment before continuing. "The way you just go for it. Every time, every little thing."
Finn rocks back, then forward, dragging his cock along the bed. "I --"
Poe tightens his arms around him, squeezing chokingly hard, before sitting back. He tugs Finn up higher by the hips. "You want more, right?"
Finn gasps, then inhales sharply, when Poe kisses his crack again, like he'd never stopped, just resuming fast and deep. He feels like he must be spread so wide, horizon-wide, open and yearning, so when Poe moves his mouth up to the curve of one cheek and presses a slick finger inside, the tension almost hurts. And then it's far from pain, just hot, pulsating need, corkscrewing farther in as he rocks forward, taking it deeper. When Poe shushes him, he goes still, breath burning his nose and mouth. Poe rubs from the inside out, sending shards of light past his eyes, down through every nerve ending.
Finn feels himself coming, untouched, sharp and ragged. He shouts when Poe reaches around to touch him, touches the come on his stomach. He hears the slurp and pop of Poe's finger in his mouth, and he reels between that and the three, now, up inside him, turning slow as a single dancer, spreading, spreading. He's shivering, whining for it. When Poe finally pushes inside him, it's one single long interminable slide that fills him up and still leaves him wanting more.
Poe's lying on him again, one sticky hand on Finn's shoulder, the other on his hip, and he fucks forward long and hard, pulling them back together, shoving again. His breathing is so loud, symphonic, in Finn's ear that Finn can't hear his own. He turns his head, tries to kiss Poe, only gets the side of his neck. When he bites down, desperate to connect more, Poe moans and thrusts raggedly, hips switching side to side as well as forward and back, deeper and deeper until he's just pushing more without ever drawing out.
Finn fights to keep his knees bent, ass somewhat in the air, but by the end, he's flat on the bed, teeth against Poe's neck, and Poe's pressed over him, grinding in, and in, muttering under his breath. When he freezes, nails digging into Finn's skin, Finn manages a couple shallow thrusts back, a squeeze and flex around Poe's cock, and that's it, that's Poe's orgasm tearing through him, through Finn, trembling and pumping.
He stays there, poured out over Finn, breathing heaving, sweat sticking them together, for a really long time.
It's only when Finn realizes he can't feel one of his hands, caught as it is under his chest, that he tries to move. Poe grunts, kisses his back, says, "Not moving."
"Just a little," Finn says. His throat hurts like hell; how loud was he? The muscles in his arms and legs are twitching, still, like he just came. Sweat is going cold everywhere Poe's not touching him, and he knows the wet spot underneath him is just getting grosser by the minute.
"Nope."
"Please?" Finn asks, smiling. "At the very least, brush your teeth?"
Poe lifts his head. "Excuse you?"
Finn displaces him enough to roll onto his side - yes, that wet spot is gross and, damn, his crack is soaked and running - and lightly shoves Poe's chest. "I want to make out?"
Confident as he is, sometimes Poe still gets surprised. Finn doesn't know how that works, but right now, as he's scrambling up, his brows are up and his smile is wide and startled.
While he cleans up, Finn tugs off the dress, flapping it out, hoping it can be resuscitated. He pulls off his boots, finds an extra blanket to cover the wet spot, and by the time Poe dashes back into the room, taking a running jump onto the bed, Finn is almost dozing. He's full, warm, slightly ticklish all over, like he just got done laughing harder than he's ever laughed in his life.
"Did you hang up the dress?" Poe whispers, pulling himself up along Finn's body.
"It's over there --" He gestures vaguely. "It's fine."
Poe sits back up, sliding off the bed. Peering into the dark, Finn sees him picking up the dress, as well as the pieces of his uniform, and hanging each up. He straightens each piece, running his hands down back and front, before padding back to the bed.
"Done and done," Poe says, crawling under the blanket, wrapping himself around Finn's side.
"Thanks," Finn whispers.
"Any time," Poe says, rolling them up in the blankets. "Got to take good care of beautiful things."
Finn pokes his finger into Poe's shoulder. "Life lessons from the old guy. Lucky me."
"I'm full of wisdom, pal."
Finn kisses him then, sucking off the antiseptic tang until he's down to what Poe really tastes like. He plans on drawing this out nice and long, until he's almost humming, Poe all but sinking against him.