[That's all he has to do. As if saying 'stop' isn't a Herculean task, when Poe's voice is smudged against his skin, his nails sunk into the back of John's neck like a bird of prey.
John feels like prey right now. Trapped, and overwhelmed. Paralyzed by the offer that's not quite an offer, but a promise, of what Poe could do to him with those big hands and thick hips if John shuts up and let's him.
He doesn't know how it would go down, exactly, but his brain is all too eager to imagine it. His backs of his knees hitting the edge of the bed. Clothes on the floor. Hands in each other's hair. Poe's hot breath and lips against his ear as he fucks John into the mattress, his necklace dangling over John's shoulder, the washer, his mother's wedding ring-
Through the haze, John remembers Poe's pain. His despair, and his struggle to cope with that despair. The desperate call that was as close to a cry for help as Poe Dameron, a man both strong and proud, was capable of.
John feels like prey, but he isn't. Poe is drunk. Poe is vulnerable. Poe is the victim of a lifetime of war, of loss, and of suffering, and John doesn't want to contribute. Not while calling himself a friend.
He slides both hands up to brace against the back of Poe's neck, knitting into his thick, curly hair, and gently pulls his head back so he can look at him.
It's hard. Poe is so many things John wants. Needs. He's lonely, too. Wants to disappear into someone's body just as desperately, and drown his pain in pleasure.
And those damn eyes.
But John sees the hurt in them now, and won't let himself ignore it. No matter how badly he wants this, wants him.
He speaks softly, but firmly. With no small amount of affection, even though this is rejection.]
You have to stop. You're drunk, and it's not right. It would feel good, and I want to, don't get me wrong, but I don't want you to wake up wondering what the hell happened.
If you want this, really want it, there's tomorrow, and the day after. Any day you want. You've got my number. But you need to make that call sober. I need to know you really want this, want me, because I don't want to be something you regret.
I don't want to ruin our friendship because I couldn't say no when you needed me to.
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Date: 2018-01-17 04:01 pm (UTC)John feels like prey right now. Trapped, and overwhelmed. Paralyzed by the offer that's not quite an offer, but a promise, of what Poe could do to him with those big hands and thick hips if John shuts up and let's him.
He doesn't know how it would go down, exactly, but his brain is all too eager to imagine it. His backs of his knees hitting the edge of the bed. Clothes on the floor. Hands in each other's hair. Poe's hot breath and lips against his ear as he fucks John into the mattress, his necklace dangling over John's shoulder, the washer, his mother's wedding ring-
Through the haze, John remembers Poe's pain. His despair, and his struggle to cope with that despair. The desperate call that was as close to a cry for help as Poe Dameron, a man both strong and proud, was capable of.
John feels like prey, but he isn't. Poe is drunk. Poe is vulnerable. Poe is the victim of a lifetime of war, of loss, and of suffering, and John doesn't want to contribute. Not while calling himself a friend.
He slides both hands up to brace against the back of Poe's neck, knitting into his thick, curly hair, and gently pulls his head back so he can look at him.
It's hard. Poe is so many things John wants. Needs. He's lonely, too. Wants to disappear into someone's body just as desperately, and drown his pain in pleasure.
And those damn eyes.
But John sees the hurt in them now, and won't let himself ignore it. No matter how badly he wants this, wants him.
He speaks softly, but firmly. With no small amount of affection, even though this is rejection.]
You have to stop. You're drunk, and it's not right. It would feel good, and I want to, don't get me wrong, but I don't want you to wake up wondering what the hell happened.
If you want this, really want it, there's tomorrow, and the day after. Any day you want. You've got my number. But you need to make that call sober. I need to know you really want this, want me, because I don't want to be something you regret.
I don't want to ruin our friendship because I couldn't say no when you needed me to.