Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Finn! Buddy!” Poe strides into his office, BB-8 hot on his heels. His formal jacket’s open and loose, arms already spread. Finn jumps to his feet with a grin. “High holy entropy, it’s good to see you,” Poe grunts around a hug.

Finn squeezes his shoulders hard, claps a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him close. “I just saw you a couple weeks ago,” he teases.

“Ah, meetings don’t count. We never get to catch up, just get further behind.” Poe at last releases him and steps away, excitement in his eye. “Plus, last time we didn’t have a mission coming up.”

“Thanks for coming. I know I could really use you on this.” Finn’s grin widens, belying the nervous simmer just under his skin. “I can’t even remember the last time we had one, can you?”

Poe squints at the ceiling, scratching his speckled beard and making a play of it. “Must’ve been over a year, at least.”

“Probably closer to two,” Finn muses. 

Chagrinned, Poe shrugs. “Yeah, I think you might be right.” Then, softer, he says, “Life just got away from us, didn’t it?”

Finn stomach churns a bit at that. “Yeah. It did.”

There’s a beat of quiet between them. A taut pause common of all old friends, each wondering what they’ve missed of the other. For his part, Finn wonders what he always does: is this the time he slips up? 

It’s been four years since Exegol. One of their last true battles together. And despite his stubborn heart, they’ve drifted apart. Not completely, of course, but more than he would like. After the last vestiges of First Order strongholds fell, Finn found himself recruited with Rey for the New Republic’s Advisory Council. It looked good, he’s sure, for the Republic. Having the two newest Jedi on retainer for matters of state. And it seemed like—still seems like—a way to do some good. He’s proved himself in it, at least. Finn finds he has a knack for understanding others. Getting them to cooperate and see each other’s point of view. He’s heard some whispers of Jedi persuasion that make him uneasy but Rey just snorts at it and he tries to let it roll off. He’s learning to refine diplomacy, practicing on missions to more worlds ruined by the First Order than he would like to admit. For anyone else, it might be a tool just for their own gain. But Finn finds it most useful—and most effective—when the goal is simply to help someone else. And he’s proud of that. Poe, though, was offered a position at the New Republic Academy. Rebuilding the damn thing after its major losses in the Hosnian Cataclysm. He’s been from one end of the galaxy to the other and all around its circumference. Recruiting, budgeting, analyzing. Crafting new training programs, even new maneuvers for the students to practice. Poe’s stamped his name all over the next generation of fliers; Finn couldn’t be more proud. It’s been years of work, and will likely be years still, but an issue came up that neither the Council nor the Academy could overlook.

They need ships.

Badly.

And while there are many shipbuilders throughout the galaxy, there are none more skilled than the Mon Calamari. So the mission is simple at its core: convince Dac’s most industrious residents to share their resources once more. But that job is easier said than done.

It’s not even the mission that concerns him most though. It’s the sticky feelings that bubble to the surface around Poe. Holocalls and distant comms notwithstanding, he can count on one hand the number of times they’ve gotten together outside work in the last two years. And every time he felt more and more…unstable. That might not be the right word but it’s the only one that feels close. A part of him unfurls when Poe’s near. Blossoming into a sweet kind of ache that simultaneously renders him complete and bereft. All the skill navigating a conversation he’s acquired goes right out the window as soon as Poe smiles at him for too long. Finn might be hesitant to admit that the pilot crosses his mind at least once a day. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t be worried at all. And he shouldn’t be worried about it with Poe. They’re good together. They’ve always been good together. They’ve fought together through so much and Finn’s trust in Poe is absolute. But this is different. Not that his feelings are a battle but he and Poe are on opposite sides now, so to speak. For perhaps the first time, he can’t work out a strategy against his so-called opponent. If he makes a wrong move, if he takes a risk and pulls out all of these things for Poe to see, is the potential damage worth it? Some days, the answer is yes. But then where is the time to act on that action? So despite his effort, despite throwing himself into work and Jedi training and education, he can’t let go of it. It’s a problem he can’t solve, a vexing juxtaposition. He’s in love. And he doesn’t know if Poe feels the same. 

Then this assignment fell into his lap. Poe’s excitement, the research and mission prep—it’s kind of comforting. It’s almost like old times again. Then door hisses open and another piece of the past ambles in.

“Hello, sirs!”

“Threepio!” Poe exclaims, breaking out of Finn’s sphere to slap the droid on the shoulder. “I haven’t seen you for ages!”

C-3PO might not be able to smile but his voice certainly sounds more chipper as he dips a quick jerky bow. “I hope you have been well, sir. I have followed your career with much interest! And you as well, Councilman!” Threepio exclaims, bowing to Finn. “Thank you for accepting my communication.”

“Thanks for coming, Threepio,” Finn says. “What have you got for us?”

He motions for the droid to sit and takes a seat himself behind his desk. Poe throws an ankle over his knee, making himself right at home in a way that makes Finn’s heart clench pleasantly. 

"Now Generals, Mon Calamari are extremely technologically adept, but their culture extends past the ships they are able to create. Had I known of your mission sooner, I would have informed you of the expectation!”

Finn finds it laughable that the droid is behind the curve. Then again, maybe he should have asked C-3PO for help sooner. Still. Serving his spymaster role for the Republic, Threepio should have known anyway. This assignment could very well make or break the New Republic’s floundering navy. 

Finn exchanges an uneasy look with Poe. "What exactly are you getting at?"

Mon Cala paid a steep price even admitting Leia during the height of the Resistance effort. Even though they hadn’t provided much of any support, the planet still fell under First Order occupation until after the Battle of Exegol. And it was Rey of all people, who had even been exiled from the planet thanks to her mission with Leia, who brought forth the restitutions motion to the new Senate leaders. Her reasoning was sound: if the Republic wanted to rebuild its forces, having the best shipbuilders in the galaxy on board would be helpful. Her Jedi standing probably helped.

"Excuse me, it came to my attention that you were traveling to Dac during one of their most ostentatious celebrations. What I mean to say is that you may be required to perform some rather...delicate tasks."

Poe blows half a raspberry in relief, buffeting a wayward curl off his forehead. "Pfft, delicate we can do. I can get a ship through anything and Finn can snipe with the best of them, can't you buddy?"

Finn just makes a face. He doesn’t do much shooting anymore and he's pretty sure that's not at all what Threepio meant. 

If it were possible for a droid to look chagrinned, it would be written all over C-3PO's metal face. As it is, he doesn't hide the nervous twitch of his head

"I'm afraid this task is far outside a cockpit, General Dameron."

“Not generals anymore—"

"Master Poe—"

"Stars and galaxies, Threepio."

"What's the task?" Finn cuts in before they can really get going. "Lay it out straight, Threepio."

"Mon Calamari are known for their technological advances but they also pride themselves on their rich histories in arts, music, and literature. The gala you will be attending marks the first day in a week-long celebration of—"

"Shorter, please," Finn grumbles. He feels bad cutting the droid off but there’s a worse feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"To wit, sirs, I'm afraid you'll have to dance."

Oh, kriff. Finn tries to school his expression into something neutral, which is a far cry from what Poe's doing.

"Dance?" The pilot's eyes practically pop out of his head. "With who?"

"With whomever you ask to accompany you, I suppose." C-3PO looks between the pair of them. "Though I rather thought you would go with each other. You are the ambassadors, so to speak. You will be meeting with Mon Cala's leaders and, as you have said so often, there are precious few hands to employ. It would be most serviceable if the two of you danced together."

This time, Finn can't control his face. That of itself is a feat these days. His eyebrows shoot up, jaw falls open—he can feel the incredulous squint starting to set in as soon as Poe looks at him. Though, for his part, Poe looks less incredulous and more...nervous? Finn's jaw clacks shut as he meets the pilot’s eyes. He tries to figure out exactly what Poe’s face is making but it's falling into something else before he can grab hold of it. A kind of mask, if he had to put a name to it. But why?

Ah. Well, there's a very good reason now that he considers. Poe has to know about it.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Threepio," Finn mutters. 

Poe glances at him. “What? Why?" 

"Well, because I can't dance."

"Oh..." It leaves Poe's mouth little more than a whisper, like he'd been expecting some other answer. Before he can ask about that too, the droid pipes up.

"I am programmed for all manner of etiquette and protocol, gentlemen. All of the traditional Mon Calamari dances you may need to employ are at your disposal!"

Somehow, the droid manages to sound positively pink about it, like he can hardly wait. Finn's not sure if it's because Threepio wants to see them trip all over each other or if he's genuinely excited to share his knowledge. Finn gulps and optimistically hopes for the latter. 

“We only have two days. Is that enough time?”

“Certainly, sir. Perhaps not for all the dances but at least one. The Mon Calamari correspondence indicated you should arrive at the capitol city the evening before the festivities.”

So a day, realistically.

To learn to dance.

“Why don’t you come by the Academy?” Poe ventures. “I’ve got a room there big enough for us to use.”

Finn chances a glance at Poe again before he bites the inside of his lip.

This is not going to go well.

“Sure.”

Chapter Text

“Ow!”

“Sorry, I—”

“Kriff, Poe, I thought I was supposed to—”

“No, that was me, I think. Threepio—”

“Sirs, please!” The droid flaps his arms like a plucked golden bird. “You must remember the steps.”

Poe lets out a very long, very frustrated huff. Finn just rubs his wrist where he smacked Poe’s, panting and incredulous. He figured it would be bad but this is ridiculous.

“We’ve been practicing all morning! All I’ve been thinking of are dance steps! All day!”

“We’re not fish folks, Threepio,” Poe says as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think we can move like that, our spines just won’t do it.”

Finn bends at the waist. Easier said than done in his starched practice uniform. With hands on his knees, he stares at the floor. All night, he’d worried about tripping over Poe’s feet. Or stepping on him. Or missing everything entirely. Surprisingly enough, he hasn’t done any of that. Yet. But aside from prepping for the mission, practice exercises from Rey, and the usual workload from the Council, they’ve been at it for hours. Dank farrik, he’s tired. Had enough. The upside? The dances seem to be singular, so what Finn thought they’d have to do was thrown out the window. No contact. Perfect for his concentration. Touching Poe comes with all sorts of sticky feelings and clouded thoughts and no amount of Jedi training is going to change that. The downside? They just finished learning the steps and that was bad enough. 

C-3PO drew up a diagram in the briefing-room-turned-dance hall. BB-8 even put together a little holo showing each movement. But Poe’s right. Finn’s body aches. The movements are just too foreign. For being bipedal, Mon Calamari are very different in terms of internal structure. So many of the dance steps required spins. Twists in several directions. Stuff that just didn’t work with human spines and centers of balance. Or, at least, not theirs. Maybe a damned acrobat. Finn has a sneaking suspicion that most of these dances are performed underwater, though C-3PO won’t confirm it. He finally catches his breath and drops his head, wiping the sweat from his brow. He’s fit enough even on his reduced exercise regimen. Poe is too, he notes with no small amount of desire. But this—

“This is impossible,” Poe grumbles, picking up on his darkening mood.

“It is far from impossible!” If a droid could frown… “I simply think that perhaps you two need different partners.”

Finn shoots up at that. “What? Why?”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, I think you two may be…incompatible.”

Poe puts hands on his hips and squints. BB-8 beeps rudely and C-3PO sputters.

“What d’you mean by that, exactly?” he glowers. “We’re doin’ the best we can here, aren’t we buddy?”

“Yeah!” The end of it gets stuck in his throat and Finn coughs. But is he though? Well, yes. In essence. The movements being exceedingly difficult wasn’t even the heart of the matter. The problem, the crux of it isn’t that Finn can’t learn to dance. He learned the steps faster than his friend even. But it’s…Poe. No, wait that’s not right, Poe already knows how to dance and he’s not a bad dancer. Finn would never say it out loud, but it’s specifically his feelings about Poe that make him dance with two left feet. Finn tried to ease into it, he really did. Tried to keep a cap on the feelings he’d managed to tamp down since Crait. They’re friends. Good friends. But as soon as Poe’s hand wrapped around his forearm to take him to the first spin, Finn lost all the concentration he had. He clears his throat again, just for good measure. “Yeah, of course we are. What about this is a partnered dance?”

C-3PO sighs, actually sighs, and shakes his head. “You haven’t learned the steps at all! Just because you are not in contact does not mean you are not dancing together.”

“That’s not how humans work, man!” Poe exclaims. “You have to tell us these things!”

“I thought it was apparent! You haven’t been in sync all morning. Quite like fish out of water.”

Finn rolls his eyes, trying very hard not to laugh. “We are at this point.”

“I only meant that perhaps you would work better with another partner. Someone who is more able to follow.” The droid hesitates, looking down at BB-8. The little astromech stays pointedly quiet. Smart thing to do, really. “Perhaps you are not able to relinquish control as the dance requires.”

Finn glances at Poe to find him glancing back. “Well, that’s the nicest way to say ‘You’re the worst at this’ I’ve ever heard.” 

The pilot shrugs helplessly. Finn shifts on his feet. He doesn’t want a new partner. It might be beneficial but he can’t fathom going to this event with anyone else. And he doesn’t want Poe to go alone.

“Threepio,” Poe says slowly, “we can’t get someone else to learn this thing on such short notice. We can’t even learn this on short notice.”

“But—”

“I think,” he says over him, “we would do better to learn a human dance and do it well instead of trying to do their dances and doing a shitty job. We don’t want to insult them.”

The droid seems to consider this. BB-8 whirs encouragingly. Finn holds his breath. Oh stars, Poe’s right but—

“Capital idea, Master Poe.”

Oh no.

Finn gulps, his spine ratchets straight as the pilot considers. 

“Is any of the traditional music have weird timing?” Poe asks. 

“No, sir. The music is designed for dancing. Approximately 4/4 time in most Basic transcription services.”

Poe makes a soft noise, thoughtful for a moment. Then, the pilot loosens his collar. Tosses his stiff formal jacket and drops his suspenders, opting to let them drape over his hips instead. Finn…well, he tries not to gape as Poe even throws off his customary button-down after wiping his face with it. Very quickly, he’s left with his sleeveless undershirt. Uhm. That is. That is a lot. Finn does gape then. At the muscled lines in Poe’s forearms. Biceps. At the patch of sweat in the middle of his chest where his mother’s ring hangs low. Finn shoves his hands into his pockets, uncertain what to do with them. His fingers itch to touch and he realizes—fortunately or unfortunately—he’s going to have them very full in short order.

Quite suddenly, he feels very, very overdressed. Distantly, in a world where he’s not fantasizing about undressing Poe the rest of the way, he’s actually thankful for the tight-buttoned sleeves and high collar on his own formal clothes. It’s so different from his usual loose robes but the more of Poe’s skin on his, the more he’s going to lose concentration. Better to have a barrier. This is supposed to be an official mission, after all.

“I’m gonna show you my way.” Poe throws C-3PO a very pointed glance. “Dancing is like...kind of like a hidden language. You have to know how your partner speaks before you can really understand 'em. This may not be the official way to do it but it’s how I learned.” Poe steps up to him, gently prying his hands from his pockets with that earnest look in his eye. “’s called a stroll. You can speed it up or slow it down and it just repeats itself a lot. Just look at my feet for right now, ok?”

Finn obeys. Not because it’s easier to look at Poe’s feet than his face. It’s just easier because that’s what Poe asked him to do. He groans internally. Right. 

“BB-8, put something slow on, wouldja?” Poe gently slides the councilman’s hands into his and continues as the droid squeals happily, oblivious of the way Finn’s heart races. “You play leader, I’ll play follower.” When Finn glances up at him, Poe winks. “Since I already know it. Followers have a harder time dancing anyway. I can put a little zazz in it later. When I step back, you step forward. If my left foot goes, your right follows. Just mirror me, buddy, you can do it. Three steps.”

Finn holds his breath. Grips tight to Poe’s palms. I can do this. He can follow Poe, no problem. They’ve been following each other for so long it’s almost second nature for one of them to defer when the other obviously has a handle on it. Even now after being apart, it’s so easy to fall back into the rhythm. Poe takes a breath and gently pulls.

Step one. Two. Three.

“Good. Ok, cross your right foot back. Step left to open. We’ll call that a walk. And close.”

Finn lets the breath go as Poe stands apart far enough to show, dancing a quick back and forth. Then Finn follows. Left foot forward, right back behind, left. Out step forward, close together. With as much focus as he’s training on his feet, he would’ve thought he’d lose Poe in the movement. But no chance, not even as they repeat the sequence a couple times before Poe pauses.

“Fantastic!” Finn ears feel hot at the praise but so far so good. “You ready for the next?”

He nods, missing the way Poe wets his lip as he stares at their feet. 

“This is kind of a trust exercise. Take a couple steps and on the second, twist out a bit. And don’t drop me.”

Finn follows best he can. He stumbles just a bit but at the twist, when Poe leans out and back in his hands, he doesn’t let go. His fingers dig into the pilot’s arms, just enough to feel a tremor run through Poe’s body. His friend’s eyes widen minutely, Finn’s brow furrows, what—

Then it’s gone. Poe pops back up and grins. “Ok, hand up.” He spins under their arms. “Same side step.” Finn’s pulled into the movement. “Twist and lean. Same side step but slower. Reverse it. Dah, dah, dah,” he says, punctuating each step. Then, “Ok, now step out parallel with me.”

Finn drops one of Poe’s hands and follows as his jaw drops. “Wow, you’re really good at this.”

Poe’s grin gets even wider as they repeat the steps a few more times and Finn picks up speed. “You should see you! Now we know why they wanted you for the Council,” he teases, “you catch on quick. Ok, one last sequence then we just do the same thing over and over until the song ends. Ready?” 

Finn nods, trying to ignore the way his palms sweat and dance his best. Poe doesn’t seem to mind. He just smiles a soft sort of reassuring smile that sinks into Finn’s gut and blooms there.

“Come together.” He steps in close, sliding one of Finn’s hands to the small of his back. Finn’s brain shorts, going completely blank for a moment. “Two steps, lean. Just like before.” Poe dips; Finn follows on autopilot. “Good.” It’s not that they haven’t been in close quarters before but—but not like this. “Now, instead of moving your feet right in front of mine, step between my legs.”

The councilman’s feet grind to a halt. “Uh…what?”

“Put your foot here.” 

Poe points to a spot on the floor. Right between his legs. Oh that—that brings them in very close. So much so that Poe is practically straddling his thigh. Stars, it’s so close. Finn leans in as much as he dares but it’s still near enough to feel their heat together in the space. Huh. Wouldn’t you know it, he muses. They slot together…perfectly. And that look from before sidles back into Poe’s eyes as his lids slide down.

“Ok,” Poe murmurs. Just inches from his face. Finn can’t stare at their feet anymore; forced to look up. He would have anyway even if he could still see their feet. Poe might as well have put a finger under his chin and lifted his face for all that Finn could resist the soft tone of his voice. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Three point turn, we’re making a circle. Soon as we stop, we start at the beginning again. Think you can do it?”

“Yeah…”

Neither of them move. 

But Finn takes a breath as soon as Poe steps back. Screw Threepio, he’s never been more in sync with anyone in his life. He can follow Poe without a thought. Anticipate the pilot before he even realizes what he’s doing—like no one else can, in fact. Even after all this time. The room’s spinning; he’s not sure if it’s because of the dance or the fluttering in his stomach. One. Two. Three steps. And they stop. 

“Do—” Finn’s voice catches; he has to clear his throat. “Do we keep going?” he asks softly.

“Probably.” Poe watches him from under his lashes. He almost doesn’t recognize the look for what it is, he hasn’t see it in so long. Guarded. Poe’s hesitant. Finn’s heart aches.

But Poe doesn’t move. So neither does he. Just exists in the space they’ve made together. The nearness dissolves every part of the room except the two of them. Dazed, he thinks this might not be the first dance they’ve shared. Wonders if they’d danced around a similar idea before. With the Resistance. At the end of it. Stars, like this, pressed together, Finn could almost think Poe feels the same way he does. That the trust they’ve built, the friendship they share could be…more. He’s thought before. Maybe. But for the look in Poe’s eye, Finn would be positive of it now. Does he need only take the last step? Finish the dance, so to speak? Poe watches him still. A blush of exertion high on his cheeks, eyes almost shuttered but his chin tilts up like he would meet him halfway. He can’t help it, he leans in, a bated breath—

“Excellent job, sirs!”

C-3PO’s jolly metal voice jolts them apart. Poe drops his hands, Finn nearly jumps away. 

“I stand corrected! It seems you two dance very well together.”

“Yeah,” Poe’s voice sounds strained but it starts to clear, “that’s what happens when you have a good teacher. Right, buddy?”

Poe glances at him; won’t hold his eye. He’s starting to grin but something about it seems so forced. Finn’s shoulders drop.

“Right.” Mentally, he shakes himself and returns Poe’s smile with one he hopes feels more genuine.

“Perhaps I should reconsider my technique,” Threepio muses.

Then he's off again, muttering about lessons and dance steps and formal etiquette. And it's not that Finn doesn't think that it's helpful. He does. It is very helpful, because while he has some experience with these kinds of things, too much preparation is better than too little. But it's not at the forefront of his mind. Something is different. Poe is…distant. Physically and mentally. Still smiling, still holding his hands, but with a shadow in his eye. Anyone else watching might not see it, but Finn does. Poe stares at their feet more than he does by the fifth time around. The strange sort of disconnect that plagued them during the first practice runs returns. And though they don't miss a step, it makes Finn wonder.

He means to ask but he doesn’t get the chance. BB-8 plays a variety of music that is traditional of the gala and the dance works fine for most of it. By the time C-3PO calls it sufficient, Finn’s dead on his feet. So yes, he wants to ask. Did you feel that back there? Or Where’d you learn to dance? Or even just Are you ok, man? But he’s too tired for it. Finn trudges out of the briefing room with a wave of thanks at C-3PO and Poe bids him goodnight following after. 

The landing platform is quiet. Empty except for themselves. Finn pulls up short at his speeder and Poe ambles past to his. BB-8 rolls on ahead and fits into Poe’s speeder. He turns to smile only to find his friend leaned against the frame, smiling back. 

“You did good today,” Poe murmurs. 

It shouldn’t but the tired, syrupy tone slides up Finn’s spine like a finger. Prickling the skin at the back of his neck pleasantly. “Had a good teacher.”

Poe surveys him then, throat to boot, avoiding his eyes. The pilot’s jaw tightens. He swallows. It looks as if he might say something but whatever it is doesn’t come out. Instead, he reaches across the space and fits his hand around Finn’s arm. Squeezes gently, fingers lingering, a touch that thrums through his blood in a way even dancing hadn’t. This, oh this is different. A hint of something he’s been aching for in moments he would never voice. He can’t help a soft inhale. The hand opposite comes up without a thought, to cover Poe’s and keep him there. Take him home, lay him down, curl around him and bask in this connection for as long as Poe would let him. 

“Don’t worry.” Worry? Who’s worrying? “Won’t miss a step tomorrow. We’ll get the job done and get what we need.”

Oh. Right. 

Poe’s hand slides away. Finn’s fingers clench at his side, action aborted. 

“See you bright and early, buddy.”

And with one last tired smile, Poe slides away into his speeder. Finn, for his part, has to take a moment to gather himself on the platform as he watches his friend fly off. Stupidly, perhaps, it feels as though his heart leaves, too. He’s given it away; Finn didn’t even realize until now. He gave it away ages ago. Oh stars, this might be a disaster. A mission really isn’t the time to bring up old feelings. He really needs to get his act together before tomorrow but that is easier said than done. He tries though. First in the shower when he makes it back to his lonely apartment, then in bed. He stares at the ceiling, one arm tucked under his head. Wonders what it would feel like to have Poe there with him. Not for a job, just because he wanted to. Then he frowns and shakes. He needs to get a grip, he knows. He’s afraid of his feelings, yes, he’s working on that. But he’s also afraid of botching this mission somehow. Being too distracted or incompetent or ruining the dance and all their chances to do something good. It’s not often that his nerves shoot off like this but this whole situation feels so loaded. He doesn’t want to fail. Truth be told, he’s not sure why Poe’s touch does what it does. If something were to happen, it would have already happened. Right? Maybe he should just tell him. He frowns again. Maybe not? There’d been time. Chances. Enough to know it wouldn’t work. But a little voice in his heart whispers, Liar, until sleep finally sneaks in.

Chapter Text

It takes the better part of a day but the trip to Mon Cala passes without incident. Until it doesn’t. It’s just the two of them on a tiny transport, Threepio back to his spymaster duties and BB-8 on deck for rookie training. Poe doesn’t trust them in any other hands, metaphorically speaking, and he delights in telling Finn how the little droid puts the pilots through their paces. They review the notes for the meeting on his datapad but Finn knows the logistics forward and back so the chatter is decidedly more personal. It’s a nice opportunity to catch up, really. Sharing stories again as Poe happily sets the autopilot, filling Finn in on the mechanics of rebuilding the Navy, traveling the galaxy looking for pilots. It’s not exactly boring but it’s not daring either. It’s a safe topic and Finn’s all too happy to listen to Poe’s stories. All’s well, until about halfway into the trip when Finn’s nerves start to get the better of him. Not about the dance, just about Poe.

Again.

Maybe it's the flight? The pilot's easy posture? Or the way his eyes crinkle and cheeks dimple as he smiles bright and wide. Stars, Finn's missed this. More than he even realized. And it makes him nervous. Would it really be so bad to be honest? He could swear there's something in the way Poe looks at him that says everything would be ok. Maybe even welcome. They've always been good together, right? He could go back and forth for hours—he knows, he’s done it once already—but before he can really get going, Poe’s voice breaks into his thoughts.

“You uh, you still feelin’ good about the dance?”

Poe casually leans back in his chair and Finn very pointedly keeps his eyes on Poe’s face so they don’t wander down the stretch of his body. 

“Yeah? Are you?”

“I wondered if—if we should try it one more time. I don’t want to mess this up.”

Something about that seems…subversive. Up until now, Poe hasn’t really shown any hesitation about the dance himself. Finn squints but stands.

“Sure,” he nods. “We can do that. There’s not much space back there but we might be able to get a couple practice runs in.”

Finn’s stomach flutters and he tries his best to quell it. Is Poe having second thoughts? Unsure all of a sudden? It does nothing for his nerves, that much is certain. They have to finagle their bags a bit to clear enough space. Even then, it’s not more than a few steps long or wide. Just the loading dock really. Poe smiles at him, crosses his arms over his chest.

“Why don’t you try it solo? See if you remember the steps without me first?” Poe seems to hesitate but uncrosses his arms long enough to squeeze Finn’s shoulder. “I’ll count, would that help?”

“Ok…”

He’s not sure where Poe is going with this but Finn swallows and stares at his feet, hands out in front of him holding nothing. When Poe starts a soft even count he takes a few steps. Now, what was it? Forward. Back. Quick step, side, twist? He stumbles a bit but Poe murmurs, “You got it, keep going,” so he does. He makes it all the way through the first and second sequence. And at the third, he stumbles again. That—Poe was so close for that. Finn glances up at him. He’s still smiling, but something around the edge of it seems sad. 

“Maybe I’m not doing a very good job,” Finn mumbles. No, he's certainly not. It shouldn’t be that hard to remember, should it?

“You’re doin’ great, why would you say that?”

Wow, what a question. “The third sequence uh, throws me off.”

“The spin huh? That’s ok, it’s rough to do it without a partner. Give it a try though, you’re almost there.”

Finn shakes his head—more to shake off the feeling of Poe between his thighs than anything else—and tries again. Has Poe caught on already and decided to leave himself out? Maybe Poe doesn't want to touch him again, would rather keep that distance? Finn rolls his eyes at himself. Stars, now there's an anxious train of thought. Projection at its finest. Staring at his feet, he makes a pass around. Nearly runs into his duffel when he steps too far out but he makes it through the trip well enough. He glances up at Poe. More eager than he would admit to see that glimmer of pride that feels like it’s just for him.

“Now try it without looking at your feet,” Poe chuckles.

“I don’t have anything else to look at.”

Poe blinks, his mouth sets, and he steps into Finn's raised hands. “Then look at me,” he softly says.

Finn’s mouth goes dry at the drag of Poe’s fingers twining in his. The pilot leads Finn’s other hand behind his back and it settles there almost like it belongs. And in a breath and a step, they’re dancing again.

“Better?” Poe murmurs.

“Yeah,” Finn breathes. “Nice to have someone to hang on to.”

Poe guides him through the steps, flowing slow and easy. “You can always do that with me, buddy. That never changed, you know.”

“I know.” He doesn’t. Or, didn’t. “Well. Maybe I wasn’t sure.” He is now.

Poe frowns. “Why? I thought it was a given. I’ve always got your back, you know that, right?”

“Well…” Finn hedges, “things change, you know?”

“I didn’t think we were one of those things.”

Ouch. Something in Poe’s voice almost makes him want to throw it all away. Forget he even had these feelings to share, just so Poe wouldn’t ever sound like that again. But maybe he should just come out with it? He has the time. He has the nerve. Poe’s literally in his hands, it couldn’t be better. For his heart, the mission, hell, even his sanity—he should. 

“Poe—” “Finn—”

They each laugh, tense, awkward. Then, Poe nods encouragingly and says, “You first.”

Finn takes a deep breath. “I wanna tell you something.” Honesty first. “But I’m—not sure how to say it best.”

Poe’s face goes blank, his grip tightens. “Buddy, you can tell me anything. What’s goin’ on?”

“It’s…” His throat feels tight and he scrabbles at the words as they slip through his fingers. “I wanted to tell you for a while, I think.” He knows. “It just never felt like the right time.” Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, he’ll never know. He laughs, a soft deprecative sound. “Now probably isn’t good either but I need my head on straight, you know?”

“Sure, I get that. What’s got you so twisted up?”

You, you, it’s always you, he’s practically begging Poe to see it before he has to say it.  

Sweet entropy…

“I—"

But the pilot’s eyes seem shuttered again. Guarded. To Finn, he looks prepared for bad news. They’ve stopped dancing. Poe’s still holding on but every line in his body is tight. Ready to run? Finn gulps.

He can't.

He sighs.

“I wanted to say...thanks." Stars, how's he going to save this? He stares at his shoes. "For all you did during the war. For sticking around when you could, for coming with me now. It...really means a lot to me.”

What an understatement. His stomach churns. He manages to peek up just in time to see what looks like disappointment etching deep in Poe's eyes and that somehow makes it worse. What would he have to be disappointed about? Finn takes a deep breath and nods with a sense of finality, putting on a smile that feels so brittle it could crack. He goes to step away but Poe grips his elbows and leans in.

“Finn, is that really what you were gonna say? You don't have to hide from me.”

There’s something in his eye that Finn doesn’t recognize. It’s not a look he’s seen before but it looks too close to fear for him to keep going now.

Then, an alarm blares. Poe sucks in a sharp breath, Finn starts, everything falls away. 

“Sorry,” he winces. “What is that?”

“Proximity alert,” Poe mumbles. “We gotta drop out of lightspeed.” He opens his mouth ready to ignore the thing but the alarm blares again and his jaw snaps shut with a clack. “We’ll pick this up later?”

Oh boy. Finn knows Poe. If there’s something he wants to know, he’s going to be the last to drop it. The Force sensitivity thing was example enough. Finn sighs, trying on a smile that feels more real this time.

“Yeah.”

They break atmo on Mon Cala at starset. And just their luck, they’re landing in the middle of a storm. 

Finn hefts his pack over his shoulder as Poe touches down on the landing pad. He spies their contact through the sheeting rain and barely makes out her outline in front of the classic Mon Cala dome structure. It’s not far, but far enough he knows they’ll be drenched by the time they get there. He purses his lips. He figured it would be wet somewhere—the whole planet is wet—and he’s glad he chose the waterproof duffel instead of the leather one. Probably could've done without wearing his favorite robes on the trip though. At least the datastick from the Council won’t be soaked, tucked as it is under his clothes in the bag. 

Poe huffs as he shoulders his own bag. The hatch opens with a hiss, immediately buffeting the inside with whips of cold wet wind. 

Well, nothing for it. 

Finn sprints from the transport, Poe close behind. It’s a fruitless effort really but it at least gives them the appearance of haste. In the few dozen meters, they're absolutely soaked, and Finn’s liaison for the mission grins at them as they dash into the rounded alcove. 

"We say that rain brings ragged company," she shouts above the rain, "but it seems you have plenty of pep, Councilman."

"Senator Berak," he pants, dipping in a customary bow. Poe follows suit as Finn wipes the water from his face, "good to see you."

The long, elegant barbels at the corners of her mouth twitch as she smiles, her patchy blue-green skin wrinkling in a decidedly human gesture. "Let me show you to your room, the festivities will begin soon and I imagine you would rather attend the party more dry than wet."

Finn huffs a laugh at her teasing tone and, as usual, it puts him at ease. Meeting Marai Berak had been an amazing stroke of luck. Or perhaps the Force at work. Finn's position on the Advisory Council afforded him many meetings but very few had the potential to work such lasting effects. The navy needed master shipbuilders. Mon Calamari could provide that if given the right incentive, but what good would it do if Mon Cala didn't actually participate in the talks? Finn needed a partner for the project but ran into a clear problem: Many Dac denizens were hesitant to engage in New Republic affairs. Even fewer would consort with known Resistance members after the First Order's occupation, fearful of their return. Berak, thankfully, was not one of them. All their work together points to a favorable outcome, he just hopes that's the case.

"We’re honored to have an audience with your high court," he says, trying not to get distracted by the way Poe's clothes stick and his curls drip as she leads them to a turbolift.  

"You've earned it. All the work you've put in illustrates the truth of your words.” The lift descends with a jolt, taking them beneath the rain and the waves into the main structure. "My superiors tell me we will discuss the restitutions proposal before the start of the festivities. Is that amenable?"

"Perfect." This is work and it's something he knows without a doubt. It's far easier to navigate than his own sticky feelings and he slips easily—thankfully—into his role. "I have the information we went over consolidated on a datastick for your reference. Whatever the decision, I'll transmit it to the Senate tomorrow." 

Berak seems satisfied with his answer and leads them through the main dome. Transparisteel spans between elegant white arches, creating almost a bubble effect between the open ocean and the floor tiled in blues and greens. It’s a beautiful structure—he’d like to appreciate it more—but he notices the distinct looks she's throwing at Poe. While he did inform her he'd be bringing someone along, he didn't specifically say who. He can sense her curiosity so he steels his nerve, hoping he's played his cards right.

"I am hopeful about the proceedings and invited Commander Dameron from the Republic Academy," he says smoothly. "Since he's spearheading the rebuilding efforts, I thought it would be advantageous for him to confer with your advisors on fleet design during our visit. He has a sharp mind and a keen knowledge of the needs of our pilots."

Poe glances between them as Berak levels Finn with a look. He stays firm, face impassive, keeping an even pace with her flat-flippered feet. For a few steps, she holds a measured silence. Then she scoffs wetly and shakes her head.

"A bold move, Councilman. Clearly your military training hasn't deserted you." The tone of her voice suggests she's impressed, if not somewhat surprised. "What makes you think the court won't take offense at your presumption?"

“Maybe they would look favorably at our eagerness to work together?” Berak scoffs and Finn grins. “Truth? I thought they might enjoy seeing two former Resistance generals grovel and offer them something in return this time."

"Oh..." Berak laughs, slowly at first then loud and ringing. Finn's grin widens. Now, she's pleased. "Oh, you are clever, aren't you?" 

"I would never presume to say it."

Poe chuckles and Berak makes a rude noise in her throat, something between a cough and a burble that Finn knows for a fact is a swear in her mother-tongue. He barely conceals a laugh as Berak pulls up to a rounded door set far back in an alcove. 

“I'm sure your man will perform admirably if you trust him enough to bring him this far." Finn almost chokes but she continues, sizing Poe up with one large eye. "I hope you will forgive us the sparse accommodations. Many have come for the festivities and we are short-finned on space.”

Poe rises to her challenging eye. “No problem,” he says with an easy smile. “We’ve bunked in tighter spaces, haven’t we?”

Berak doesn’t have eyebrows but even her slippery brow ridge raises at that. Poe glances at him; he gives the nod of approval the pilot’s looking for. Ok, Poe’s all right with sharing. If Poe’s all right, then he’s all right. Right? Oh. Finn realizes the mistake immediately. Oh shit—

“I'll send someone for you and your partner shortly,” she says to Finn. “You have my comm ID if you find you need anything during your stay.”

“Thank you,” he says, trying to wrap it up so they don’t drip any more on the fine floors. “We appreciate the consideration.” 

Finn’s not sure if Poe noticed the new emphases on your and partner but Finn sure did. Whatever Berak thought before is definitely not what she thinks now, and Finn’s pretty positive she’s thinking he and Poe regularly share the same coral outcrop, so to speak. So he just smiles and does his best to hide his embarrassment with a bow. It must work, because Berak bows back and leaves them with an access key as she glides away. 

“Nice of them to put us up,” Poe muses, hefting his bag better over his shoulder as he follows Finn in. 

“It was her suggestion, actually,” he replies absently. "Classic Calamari hospitality."

“Yeah, I can’t imagine sleeping on the transport for this.”

Finn can feel his work veneer slipping away as he pushes inside. True, they’d shared close quarters during the war. Slept back to back on more than one mission, not feeling the touch of a ‘fresher for sometimes a week or more. He actually means to respond but something has caught his eye and lands like lead in his stomach. This room in a far cry from their transport. It’s nicer than his office. Covered from top to bottom in dark blue and green shades. A desk and a plush armchair occupy a corner. The ‘fresher occupies another. A series of candle-shaped lumalamps light the room in soft, flickering yellows. There’s a large floor to ceiling transparisteel window opening into the ocean beyond, yawning black in the night. The whole thing gives the room an intensely intimate feeling. But what has caught his eye and stopped him dead in his tracks is the bed.

It’s beautiful and spacious and dressed in bright seafoam green. But that’s just it. It’s—

“Just the one, huh?” Poe muses.

There a tight note in his voice. Or Finn thinks there is. 

“Yep.”

He stands for only a moment more then he snaps into gear. Berak did say someone would be coming shortly. There's not time to worry about the bed now. They need to dry off and change and Finn needs to find his game face again. Though now, there's nothing to distract him from Poe. Being in the same room. Wet. And taking his clothes off—

Towels!

He strides across the room to the opposite side of the bed, drops his duffel and takes his time retrieving some towels from the 'fresher. When he reemerges though, Poe's already doffed his wet clothes and is pulling up a fresh pair of black trousers. The fabric just crests the top of his ass, Finn’s hands clench involuntarily around the cloth, frozen, before Poe holds his hands up for it.

"You know," he muses as Finn lobs him the towel, "I haven't heard you do politician speak in a while."

Oh. That's not what he thought Poe would lead with. It actually sets him at ease a bit and he shakes himself some, stripping out of his own soaking robes as Poe dries his hair. 

"What do you mean politician speak?" he asks, pulling on his own trousers. "That's just how I talk, man."

He keeps his eyes on the floor, then on his duffel. Telling himself it's because he's looking for his best set of clothes and not because Poe's walking toward the 'fresher behind him.

"Yeah right." Poe pulls up short, right in Finn's space after he tosses the towel back in on the 'fresher floor. "I don't think you'd call a senator 'man'. You talk different when you're on a mission."

The pilot stands within arm's reach, assessing, but he hasn’t—he hasn't done up his shirt. He's standing, right where Finn can touch him, black dress shirt hanging loose and open over his chest. His mother's ring glints in the light, catching Finn's eye and drawing him down into swaths of soft skin. There's a few scars he hasn't seen before, one thick on Poe's side, another long and thin across his pectoral. Poe didn't tell those stories; he's suddenly desperate to ask. Finn gulps. 

"It's my job," he manages. "I'm supposed to be formal."

"I know, I didn't say it was a bad thing." Poe grins and scrunches his nose in a teasing way. "I prefer the way you talk to me though."

Finn doesn't know what to say to that so he just says, "Good. I don't wanna change that." 

There's a long pause. To busy himself, he pulls out the dark blue robe he chose for the occasion. Shrugs into a matching formal shirt but freezes when Poe's hands come up to do the buttons for him. He can’t really process that fact. Just watches, gobsmacked.

"So," Poe starts gently, "what were you going to say earlier? Really?"

A finger brushes his stomach and Finn croaks, "Poe, can it wait?" 

Poe frowns but it's not angry. Just confused. "Why? What’s so important that you can’t tell me?"

Finn swallows hard. "Now’s not really a good time. We have to go out there and not make fools of ourselves! I think we should concentrate on that."

Poe pauses at his chest, eyes taking a hurt edge that cuts deep in Finn's heart. "You afraid I’m gonna embarrass you?"

"What? No!" 

"Did I—" He pauses, looking somewhat lost. "Did I do something wrong?" 

"Kriff, no, Poe! Why—"

Poe finishes the buttons to his throat and drops his hands, but he doesn't move away. "I really thought after the Force sensitivity thing I showed you you could trust me with this kind of stuff.”

Finn's fingers itch at his sides, twitching to take Poe in his hands and pull him close. Still, he only says, "I do trust you, it’s just—this isn’t the same."

"I didn’t freak out about that, I won’t freak out about this. I know we haven’t—I know I could’ve made more time. For us, I mean. We shouldn’t have to go on a mission to share big news and I feel like this is big. Finn, I know you. I know you." Stars, he really does, doesn't he? "You wouldn’t do all that lead up just to tell me thank you for coming. Something’s wrong, just tell me."

"I am grateful you’re here, that wasn’t a lie," he says, voice low.

"I didn’t say it was." Poe takes a step forward, Finn takes one back, shoulders meeting the 'fresher door. "But I know a bad liar when I see one."

Finn's voice sticks in his throat. "You’re a terrible liar."

"Yeah," Poe scoffs. "I know. How do you think I know what one looks like? You might be able to lie to everyone else— " He pokes a finger in Finn's chest. “—but I like to think you wouldn’t lie to me. So give it to me straight. You don’t think I’m cut out for this? Tell me, I’ll fly home right now and leave you to it."

"No, Poe, you kriffing idiot, that’s the last thing I want you to do." He can't help it. Fear and frustration boil over into an exasperated groan before he can go on. "I need you here. You’re helping me keep it together, I know you wanted to talk with them about the fleet." He pauses. Sighs. "I don’t want you to leave. Ever.

Poe leans back, trying to meet his averted eyes, and softy asks, "Is that all you need me for? Backup?"

Stars and galaxies, the sound of that question rends Finn to his bones. His eyes slip closed, head falls back against the door with a thud. "No."

He feels Poe's fingers brush his wrist. Lingering again. "Then what are you so afraid of?"

He opens his eyes. Poe's watching. Something like a bated breath held between them, his gaze firm. But Finn looks closer. Tracks from the hollow of Poe's throat to the set of his lip. Is that his same fear reflected in Poe's dark eyes? 

What he means to say is, I’m scared to tell you, to walk out of this room and lose you. Or something like I'm afraid I'll never feel the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I’m with you. But what comes out is simply,

"I’m in love." 

Poe's lips gently part. "Oh." His gaze finally drops. "Then— That’s—"

Does he dare? 

Poe looks so lost, he can't stand it. 

He leans forward, brushes his right hand across Poe's cheek, as if it would teach him the letters of Poe’s hidden language. The pilot's eyes flutter, sweet entropy. He leans into Finn's hand. They sway, Finn’s left drops to Poe’s back, step together—a mockery of dance. Tenderly, he tilts Poe’s face up to meet his.

"With you."

Something like wonder spreads over Poe's face and he dares to hope. "…with me?"

"Yes."

Chapter Text

There’s no air left in his lungs. Not with the way he feels. His heart thuds in his chest, nerves through the roof. He said it. A kind of anxious euphoria washes over him. He actually kriffing said it. Now Poe's looking at him some type of way. Stars, Finn wants to kiss him. Desperately. No reason why he couldn’t. Plenty of reasons why he shouldn’t. He waits. Poe has to say something.  The pilot reaches up, flattens his hand against the back of Finn’s, pressing their palms into his cheek. Poe's tongue flashes pink across his bottom lip; Finn practically vibrates out of his skin.

“Finn, I—”

The door dings.

Finn freezes. Poe squeezes his eyes shut in the most exasperated grimace. He drops his hand, swearing a blue streak with, “Nerve-burning-laser-brained-son-of-a-bitch,” before he shouts, “YES?”

Whoever’s on the other side can’t hear him and the door ding again. Finn stifles a laugh in Poe’s shoulder, a quick explosive mix of anxiety, relief, hilarity. More than anything reveling in just how wonderful it is to be so close. Poe looks helplessly between him and the comm on the door across the room as it dings a third time, hands clenching around Finn's elbows reflexively. 

“Just. Hold that thought.” He strides across to room, flips on the comm. “What is it?” Finn can tell he’s trying to keep his voice level but it obviously doesn’t work as a droid timidly calls,

“Sirs, the proceedings will be starting shortly. I’m to show you the way?”

The droid just sounds so confused and Finn giggles, rather inanely, before he starts throwing on the rest of his clothes. What else is he supposed to do? Oh stars, what has he done already? Damn. Damn damn. 

“Can we get—” Poe groans. “—like five minutes? Can we do that?”

“Of course, sirs?” 

Poe turns and makes a sort of strangled noise while Finn digs for his shoes, hands shaking.

“No wait! I wasn’t done!”

Stars and galaxies, Finn finds himself half petrified half exhilarated by what that might mean but, “Poe, we kind of have to go.”

"I know, I know, but I can’t just— You were— You know what, no." He strides back across the room, shirt flapping. "Absolutely not.” 

Before Finn can even think, Poe dashes the last two steps and throws his arms around Finn's shoulders. Stars, what's happening?

"Poe?!" He staggers back a step, wrapping the pilot up against him on instinct to keep them upright. And Poe—Poe presses his face into Finn’s neck like he had on Exegol. Shudders as he mumbles, 

"I love you. Stars, I love you, too. I can’t let you walk outta here without knowing that. I was so scared we weren't flyin' the same vector, I had to hear you say it first. I was so sure and then so sure I was wrong. Finn—you can't believe how many times I went back and forth in my head, I felt like a teenager all over again."

"I might have some idea," he chokes. All the breath leaves him in a whoosh. He can’t even put a name to the feeling, only that it’s elation but more. He digs his fingers into Poe's back just to make sure he's actually real and in his arms. Then, he laughs. Laughs again and squeezes that much tighter, lighter than air, Poe's heart racing against his chest. "Why? Why did we do this now?"

Poe snorts into his shoulder but doesn't let him go. "Why now? It was over! I thought I lost my chance! We went our separate ways, but all I could think was I never told you I love you. Then another shot fell in my lap." He finally pulls back, fixing Finn with a sappy, sardonic smile. "Look at me. What an idiot."

Finn rolls his eyes fondly. 

“I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're lookin’ at me like I'm nuts,” Poe continues. “I love that when I spend a day with you, I can still smell you on my clothes; and I love that you’re the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. I just wanted spend ages telling you all these stupid little things and I hope now I can?”

The last part comes out a question and Finn grins, throat tight. “Of course you can. Poe, there’s so much I want to tell you but—”

But the droid dings the door again and he sighs. As much as he doesn’t want to, there is still a job to do. 

"Five minutes are up," he says, gently extricating himself. “But after this, I promise we’ll get everything sorted out. Make sure we’re flying the same vector even though I think we already are.” He squeezes Poe’s arms as the pilot grins. “C’mon, come help me save the galaxy again.”

Poe chuckles, a familiar teasing spark in his eye. “Bit grandiose for what we’re doin’ here, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. But it’s a start.”

The pair spring to before the door can chime again. Poe fumbles around in his bags for the rest of his clothes. Finn grabs Poe's tie, fixes a knot at his throat. The pilot buttons his shirt. Poe throws on his shoes, Finn holds out his jacket. They're just about to the door, dancing around each other with ease this time. Finn’s got his hand on the access panel and it hisses open but Poe leans in, slipping the datastick he nearly forgot into his pocket pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as he slides by.

"For luck," he grins. 

Finn catches his wrist. Smears a kiss over Poe's knuckles, fixing him with a heated look. "For later,” he mumbles, then Poe pulls him out the door. 

The waiting droid looks amazingly like its creators, large-eyed and piscine and curious. But it doesn’t comment beyond, “This way, sirs,” as it ambles down a spiraling corridor. They descend some distance and a strange sort of calm settles over on Finn’s shoulders. It’s familiar, but with a new piquant twist. His nerves are usually steady in any high stakes. Just more so now when Poe’s hand brushes the small of his back as they pause. The largest stressor of his whole kriffing trip has evaporated. Well, mostly. There’s nothing to the rest. 

Berak waits for the at the door, cocking her large head at their delayed appearance. But she looks at Finn. Then at Poe, and laughs to herself. 

“Glad you got that all sorted then,” is all she says. 

Finn feels his face heat, spies the blush creeping across Poe’s. Then she opens the doors and it’s time to start.

Inside, the Mon Cala royal court sit semicircle to greet them. Some faces are decidedly more inviting than others but Finn doesn’t let it get to him. He simply makes his way to the data terminal. Berak takes a seat at the left. Poe stands at his right, he notices, at a respectable but questionable distance. If he sees some google-eyes cut their way, he pretends the smirk on his face isn’t to do with that. He glances at Berak as she introduces them then again at Poe just before he starts. Fortified by the pilot’s soft smile. 

“Your Majesty, honored courtiers. Why are we here? And what's happening? What’s happening, what we’re trying to do, is the antithesis of what you may have heard. You hear about this movement to arms, that we must band together and fight any new threat with a show of force the galaxy has never seen. I don’t know about you, but that sounds like the Empire to me. Like the First Order. I’m here to tell you that’s not what we’re proposing.”

Finn pulls the datastick from his pocket, passes it to Berak. A selection of data streams to each court member’s terminal. Readouts and techincal data of ships needed and lists of remuneration.

“I’ll start simply: I’m here to recruit you. I know other have come to you for a similar reason. I know that you chose to protect your people, how you fell under attack for your efforts. I know how citizens of Dac have suffered under Imperial and First Order occupation. Senator Berak has been an adamant and inspirational voice for her people. With her knowledge and guidance, I have come to recruit you for a new movement. Not wage war. Not to burn or destroy or resist. To rebuild.”

He gestures to Poe then to the room at large, surreptitiously casting specific information to their displays. Credit amounts, at first. Protections and supplements from the Republic. “My friend, Poe Dameron, and I come to you with gifts. And a hope to move forward—” Then the starships. “—with this. Your majesty, if you will, let us to tell you about the United Rim Fortification Corps.”

There’s a smattering of murmurs throughout the court and he checks a grin. Poe meets his eyes as he goes on, letting him take the lead and do what he does best. Stepping in at the perfect time. Just when Finn needs him. And it hits him again, all at once. They really are good together, aren’t they? He’d almost forgotten. Then Poe steps around the holotable, fingers dragging down his forearm as he moves to make a point. A frisson of heat settles in Finn’s stomach. Maybe they’ll save the galaxy after all, in their own little way.

The preliminary meeting ends with more fanfare than Finn expected. So much so that he actually loses track of Poe for a while, lost in the throng of nobles and senators eager to continue the restitution talks over hor d'oeuvres. Which is great, because it means he did his job and did it well. They’ll continue the talks tomorrow, if accepted. Right now, their gracious hosts usher out into the main hall, dimly light by scones pockmarking curved white beams. The room is packed to the gills, no pun intended. He can’t see Poe through the crowd. Maybe he’s still back in the meeting room with Berak? Finn makes his way back against the crowd just as the king takes the far-off stage. 

Uh oh. 

The start of the gala. The dance. They can’t miss it now! Everyone present is expected to take part, the Mon Calamari would find it insulting if they refused, all their work could be for nothing. And they worked so hard to get it right! After all the mess his feelings put him through. Finn isn’t panicking quite yet, clearly there’s still some time. But Dac’s strange orchestra is tuning up and Poe’s nowhere in sight. All the other dancers start to take their places around him. Then just when he’s starting to worry and the first note rises, he feels a familiar hand twist him round. 

“Poe! Thank entropy, what happened to you?”

“Miss me?” Poe’s smile is reassuring, taking a lascivious edge as he falls into their starting dance position. 

Oh, that is much closer than they’d practiced. Finn glances down between then to find Poe’s chest pressed against his. Dazedly, he says, “Yeah...”

That’s definitely not how they practiced before. He doesn’t have time to think or ask about it before the first strains start. Then Poe’s leading and he’s following. Effortlessly shifting roles as Poe takes them through the first sequence. 

“Sorry I lost you,” Poe says. “Berak was givin’ me twenty questions. Also, I take it back, you know.”

“What?”

Poe leans out like they practiced. But when he does, he smirks. Wraps his leg around Finn’s hip as they dip together. “I like your politician speak. You’re lightyears better than anyone else at it.”

Finn’s head spins at the added contact and all he can manage is, “Yeah?”

“You talkin’ about ships like that? I think I lost some childhood memories trying to keep my jaw from fallin’ open.” Finn barks a laugh and Poe grins. They step out together and come back in, close enough for Poe to whisper in his ear, “You sure know how to get a guy hot under his flight suit.”

Finn doesn’t give a centimeter as they move through the next dip. Poe’s leg wraps around his hip again and he can’t help throwing out, “So if I start reading from an X-wing manual, will that get me in your cockpit?”

Poe chokes as they come upright. “Pfft, FINN.”

“You’re not the only one with cheesy lines,” he chuckles, rather pleased with himself. “So what was Berak asking about?”

“The ship models I preferred.” Poe shakes his head. “She’s got an eye for them, lemme tell you.”

Finn sighs, more grateful than he realized he would be. “Glad she kept it professional.” 

“Oh don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll ask later.” Poe pauses, tilts his head. “So what’re we gonna tell her?”

It’s a cautious question but Finn understands. He really does. So hesitant himself, he says, “I hope we can tell her we’re actually partners. Like love partners.” Poe giggles and Finn rolls his eyes. “I know, sounds bad, but you get it.”

Poe’s face splits, smile wide and bright and blinding. “You mean it?”

“Well yeah.” Finn steps in as close as he can for the third sequence. Plants himself without hesitation between Poe’s thighs as they turn in time, just to make a point. “I mean we’re finally speaking the same language here. I wanna know what all you have to say on the matter.” 

Poe states at his lips as the song comes to an end. They don’t part—Poe’s still straddling his leg, pressed in as close as he can get. “Would you like to discuss your proposal over dinner?”

Finn snorts and several Calamari dancers look their way as they pass. He throws them what he hopes is a reassuring smile and takes a step back. Just enough to see Poe look him up and down, a gleam in his eye. 

Finn wets his lip. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

His stomach flips. “We’ll have to find a table if you want to stay for dinner.”

Poe sidles just close enough to lean to his ear and say, “I had something else in mind.”

And that’s all Finn needs to hear. 

They slip away. Slowly at first. Nod to Berak, who smiles in a very smarmy, fishy way. Stride out of the main hall. Up the sloping corridors. Halfway, Poe grabs his hand. The door’s in sight. In tandem, they sprint that last few meters and crash inside. 

Finn’s not sure whose hands are where. The door hisses shut and suddenly Poe’s in his space. Hands under his clothes, lips on his neck. Unbuttoning this, that, and the other between heated breaths and nonsensical words.

“No right, no right at all…” Poe’s mumbling.

“No right to wha—” He doesn’t finish; the pilot’s tongue slips between his teeth and Finn’s brain short-circuits.

Finally, he finds bare skin and groans at the heat of it. Poe all but shoves the shirt and robe from his shoulders. Fits his fingers in the high waist of Finn’s trousers, digging in as he walks him back until his knees hit the bed. Finn tumbles back with a breathless laugh. Dragging Poe along with him. He bounces, just slightly, bed decadent under him but not nearly as much as the feeling of Poe above him, slotted perfectly between his thighs, arms bracketing his head. 

Poe kisses his cheek. “No right—” Then the other. “—to look—” Smears the rest along the line of Finn’s jaw. “—as good as you do.”  

Finn digs his fingers in Poe’s back as the pilot sucks a bruise in his skin. “How long are we going to be here?”

Poe mumbles from somewhere in Finn’s throat, “At least a week. Threepio said party keeps goin’.”

“So that means you, me, and this bed for a week?” Finn’s groan catches in his chest and he turns his head to set his teeth in Poe’s bicep. Just for the pleasure it gives him.

“Count on it. After things wind down tomorrow, I’m gonna take you apart. Again.”

Finn shudders at the implication, thoughts almost running away with themselves, but he reigns everything in long enough to pull Poe down into a tender, lingering kiss. And, as always, Poe follows his lead exactly when he needs.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he says softly. “For working on this with me. Teaching me to dance. We’re good together, right?” 

Poe smiles, pressing their foreheads together. “Perfect, if you ask me.”