The Perfect View.

Finn has his hand on the door handle when he hears it. It's low, throaty; just a split second of a thing.

But it's undoubtedly Poe Dameron moaning.

This draws a pause from the trooper, just back from an extended mission - early as a surprise for the pilot. He's just standing there, clutching at the door handle as a restless heat crawls up the back of his neck, prickles at the corners of his jaw. Of the things he was expecting, this wasn't one of them; it's the middle of the goddamn day, and Poe is usually running drills with the new recruits. Finn's received a handful of personal videos, mostly of Poe going through mundane updates of life at the base. Anything more than that could become a major security breach if intercepted. But there'd always been that longing in his voice, right at the end, when he told the camera, told Finn, that he missed him. That had been unmissable. Is this what he'd meant?

Poe moans again, the sound a little louder this time, the noise catching at the back of his throat, and Finn can't stop himself from glancing up and down the hallway, wondering if this is, in fact, the first time that someone has heard those sounds coming from this room. He bites his lip, trying to ignore the way his dick twitches in his pants. He should - yeah. He should go. Leave Poe to it. Find him again when he's not otherwise preoccupied. Let the surprise not be a thing of embarrassment for being caught.

Another moan, dark and grumbling, and this time he hears a name through the door. ‘Finn.' It's thick and muffled, but Finn swears that's what he's just heard. Finn, in all good conscience, cannot walk away from the opportunity, which is good because he can't seem to move. His body is decidedly not simply giving up giving up and not letting him walk away. Not when this opportunity has been laid so perfectly at his feet.

Besides, he'd already opened the door a fraction, so Finn can't stop himself from peeking through the crack, feeling something hot and dirty pooling in the pit of his stomach at his quiet little secret intrusion as he sees if he can get an eye on the action.

He can. And he does. And Poe's right there, in perfect view, and Finn's dick immediately hardens from the sudden rush of blood.

Poe's bed is set up so that if you were lying down on it, your feet would be facing the door, so Finn's got the most perfect view. Poe's clothes are on the floor in a little pathway from the door up to his bed. Poe is sprawled out on his back, buck-ass naked, with one of his pillows - Finn's cheeks flush red with silent annoyance when he realises that is his pillow - tucked under his hips, angling his entire body so that Finn can see everything. The spread of Poe's legs, the perfect line of his spine, the roundness of his ass and the long, thick curve of his cock, the way the muscles in his thighs tense and flex as he fucks himself into his hand. He's working himself slowly, twisting his wrist as he pulls up, dragging his thumb across the slit, and then he's stroking back down, and Finn wants to get in there, let them both enjoy this, let me, just let me—

Finn needs to go. Poe is beautiful like this, there's no denying it, but he's been staring too long; he's bound to get caught soon, and if not by Poe himself, then by a passer-by. Finn never should have looked in the first place, he knows this, and his dick is so hard it hurts as it strains against his suddenly too-tight trousers. The longer he stands there, the more the heavy shame grows in his gut, sour at the back of his throat.

“Finn."

There it is again, that word, that name that Poe had given him when they'd first met, and there's no denying its existence this time. Finn freezes, suddenly unable to breathe, his heart trying to break through his ribcage as he's trying to piece together an apology big enough to cover his spying on the Pilot, then it occurs to him that Poe's got one arm thrown over his forehead, hand clenched into a fist, shielding his eyes. His world is spinning as it dawns on him that he hasn't been caught.

Poe just gets off on the thought of him while he's away.

It shouldn't come as a surprise, but it does. Slaps him right in the face; the fact that it's his name that's dribbling from Poe's pink lips, throaty and raw, ragged around the edges. It digs at something underneath Finn's skin, settles as a jittery heat at the base of his spine. Finn is fighting tooth and nail to not unzip his pants and start jacking off right there in the hallway.

There's movement inside of the bedroom, and Finn is sent back into panic mode as Poe starts to shift himself on the bed, and moves his arm from his face. Finn feels like he's going to throw up, so fearful of being caught that his body is threatening to reject the inner lining of his stomach, and is ready to turn and run when he realises that Poe's eyes are still squeezed shut, and his fingers are slipping between his lips, working around moans that hitched onto every breath. Finn can see Poe's tongue moving between the digits, coating three of them in his glistening saliva before pulling them away; a thread of spittle stretching and breaking off from his fingers, landing on his chin, and Poe laps it up with his tongue.

Finn is still navigating the blissfully erotic terrain of Poe's body when he finds out where those slick fingers have gone, and sweet jesus it's nearly enough to turn Finn's knees to jelly.

Poe's hand is sliding below his balls, seeking his rim, breaching it with a wet finger while he's still slowly pumping his cock into his other hand, eyes rolling back at the delicious intrusion of his thick finger. Poe makes the most delicious sounds, a rumble from deep within him that speaks of his unfulfilled need. Finn is completely out of his mind, he can't stand it anymore. He silently shuffles inside, hastily closing the door behind himself, and the click is enough to pull Poe from his stupor of wondrous lust. Poe makes a rough, quick noise, full of panic, “Finn." His eyes catch on Finn's, and then drop down to the bulge in his pants. “Huh," He had meant to say something, but he was still skimming across the surface of an orgasm, and it left him breathless. He tried once more, “Hi," Very nice. Charismatic. Suave, even. Keep going, you fool. “You weren't meant to be back yet," To Finn's dismay, Poe's second hand his left his entrance, though he's still working himself slowly, absently, like that part of his brain doesn't need instruction to just keep going.

Finn's hands are in his pockets now, a thumb rubbing along the side of his straining shaft, “Got back early," He explained, “Thought that I'd surprise you with a bit of fun when you got here, but it looks like you've got that all handled on your own." There was a small chair tucked under the desk pressed against the wall. Finn pulled it out, dragged it across the ground, a horrible scraping sound filling the room that made him wish he'd just picked up the damn thing, and set it in front of the door, a little closer to the bed. Now he could smell Poe. He was all burning cities and fighter fuel caked in sweat and sex. It was enough to make Finn a little light-headed, so he leaned back in the chair, waving his hand vaguely, “So, by all means, don't let me stop you."

Blinking slowly, Poe waited for the punchline. He sat there, for a full half a minute, his hand actually stopping the lazy stroking of his cock because this had to be a joke. It just had to be.

“Go on then." Finn should - he doesn't know what he should do anymore, and he's in so deep now he ought to just enjoy the ride. And he might be able to, if Poe would just stop staring at him with those impossibly brown, doe eyes and get back on with it.

As he starts to move his hand again, Poe's thighs start to shake, a slow tremor winding up from his knees; he's probably close, and Finn's glad to be there to see it, can't wait to watch Poe's dick pulse and twitch as he comes. He wants so badly to feel it in his hand, to feel the moisture pool in his palm as it flows from Poe's tip, but he's glued to the chair as Poe's finger goes dipping back into his hole and he's making deliberate, delicate work of getting himself off, all the while never tearing his eyes from Finn's face. There's a quiet sort of burning in Poe's stare, and Finn can't convince himself to meet it, for fear that he'd evaporate right there, so he focuses on everything - anything - else. Poe takes his time, twisting his wrist with every upwards stroke, moving his grip down his thickly-veined shaft, laves over the head, pulling gently on his foreskin, eyes never once leaving those that refused to return the gaze. Finn's grown uncomfortably warm, and goes to shrug out of the leather jacket that smells like the both of them now. Lord knows how many times they've fucked while Finn's wearing it.

“No," Poe whines, just as he's pushing his finger deeper into himself, and Finn damn near topples right off the chair, “Keep it on," He's biting his lip, Finn can see that much, and in his hand his cock jerks as he slides his fist back down to the base, “It suits you," The end of the word is lost in a moan, and Poe finally tips his head back as a tremor quakes through his body, and arches his back, moaning each time he rolls his hips, each time he pushes his dick into his fist.

Oh. Oh.

This is so much better than anything that Finn could ever hope for. He's sitting forwards now that the dizzy feeling in his head has passed, and his heart is hammering again, his blood humming in his ears. If his breathing seems loud, it probably is, but it's nothing compared to the quick and throaty grunts that are passing under each of Poe's breaths, and he's staring down at his own erection, hand gliding over it faster now; one last stretch before the finish line. He's curled over on himself, stomach muscles rarely seen now tensed, and covered in a gleam of fine sweat. Poe gives Finn this absolutely filthy grin (and it makes sense why, with all the fawning he's seen over the Pilot, it alone wooed so many people into the Resistance with him); his brown eyes are still dark and teasing and sexy as all hell, and he still manages, somehow, to will a wink out of himself as if to truly invite Finn to enjoy the show.

Poe seizes. Inside, his mind goes into overdrive, revving fast, faster, faster—And then something cracks, and everything shatters apart.

“Oh God… Oh… Finn…"

He says his name differently as his orgasm crashes over him. Breathless… Desperate… Finn's heard his name be moaned, be gasped, be screamed. But none of it sounded quite the way that this did.

Finn watches the tip of Poe's thick, cut dick suddenly start spewing beautiful strands of come onto his stomach, his lips suddenly fixated on muttering just one word, repeating it like a prayer that he's desperate to have answered with eyes squeezed shut. And it's like someone flicked a switch in his brain, blurring or blacking out him moving from the chair to the side of the bed, because when he switches back on, he tastes Poe against his tongue as he's mopping up a path through the come spent on the pilot's chest. He drinks up every flavour of Poe, dragging his tongue up his boyfriend's neck before he's slamming their mouths together in a kiss so hard that he fears their lips might bruise. Poe's scrambling beneath him to kiss him back hastily. He whines softly, sounding pained, and tries to arch his back to bring more of his body into contact with Finn's.

It's only now that Poe lets Finn strip out of the jacket, because otherwise he's gonna get come on it, and he's allowed to settle down into the bed in sheets that smell like dozens of restless nights. Finn collapses at Poe's side, and like a pair of earphones hurriedly shoved into someone's pocket, they end up in a tangled, exhausted heap. Delirious. Rapt. Floating somewhere on Cloud Nine.

“I've been thinking," Finn doesn't know how long it takes the words to rise to the surface, but by now it's obvious that Poe has abandoned his duties for the rest of the day, “That maybe I ought to go on extended assignments more often." He gets a half-hearted slap on the chest for that, and the slowest fuck of his entire life.