[ there's pressure on either side of her — the countertop, sharp and firm, and poe's body pressed snug against her own — and there's heat too, his skin and their breaths and the unmistakably encouraging warmth that comes from the perfume, getting stronger with each moment they stay embraced. even without the perfume, the sheer temptation that comes from how eagerly he responds to her would have been encouragement enough, and so when poe's hand cups against her jaw and his teeth catch against her bottom lip, rey can't help but give in to that swell of want, two hands dropping from around his neck to palm the edge of the countertop and push —
until she's seated, in one swift motion, her legs dangling over the edge and split, her hands lifting to curl into the fabric of his shirt and tug until he's brought back. closer this time, close enough that she can swan hot air and the words that come with them over his open mouth, a response that's far more confident than she really has any right to be draping between them. ]
I said what I said, Poe.
[ which is half a challenge, half defensive, but entirely the brand of reckless obstinance that has defined so many of their interactions in the time they've known each other.
and really, rey thinks — what's the harm? she's gone through orientation, she's heard the spiels. they have quotas and expectations to meet. and even if she thinks they're stupid, even if she's less willing to let some mysterious council demand she do things with her body with people she's never met, poe isn't a stranger. he's — he's more than a friend, isn't he. he's infuriating and difficult and always frustrating, but he's always met her point for point, space for space, and this is no different. not really.
the only difference she can find is that they're building each other up rather than driving each other up a wall. and that, she guesses, has to be worth something. ]
no subject
until she's seated, in one swift motion, her legs dangling over the edge and split, her hands lifting to curl into the fabric of his shirt and tug until he's brought back. closer this time, close enough that she can swan hot air and the words that come with them over his open mouth, a response that's far more confident than she really has any right to be draping between them. ]
I said what I said, Poe.
[ which is half a challenge, half defensive, but entirely the brand of reckless obstinance that has defined so many of their interactions in the time they've known each other.
and really, rey thinks — what's the harm? she's gone through orientation, she's heard the spiels. they have quotas and expectations to meet. and even if she thinks they're stupid, even if she's less willing to let some mysterious council demand she do things with her body with people she's never met, poe isn't a stranger. he's — he's more than a friend, isn't he. he's infuriating and difficult and always frustrating, but he's always met her point for point, space for space, and this is no different. not really.
the only difference she can find is that they're building each other up rather than driving each other up a wall. and that, she guesses, has to be worth something. ]