[ Poe's hand drops from John's ear to his wrist, gripping it hard. He bites John's neck hard enough to leave the kind of mark people will notice. Murmured against the mark of his teeth: ] What did I say?
[ He takes John's other wrist and pulls the man's hands away from his shirt, placing John's hands almost gently back at his sides. John doesn't get to hide, here. He doesn't get to run away. Poe is too familiar with the impulse, the ducking behind a blaster or a laser canon and a quip.
He's more emotional than John, he doesn't hide it as well as John, lashes out or invites people in more readily than John, but there comes a point where it's still easier to be the hotshot flyboy with a dumb sense of humor than it is to be honest with himself or anyone else.
Poe runs his thumbs gently over the callouses at the base of John's palms. He presses his cheek against the roughness of John's own and murmurs into his ear: ] Keep your hands where they are, John.
no subject
[ He takes John's other wrist and pulls the man's hands away from his shirt, placing John's hands almost gently back at his sides. John doesn't get to hide, here. He doesn't get to run away. Poe is too familiar with the impulse, the ducking behind a blaster or a laser canon and a quip.
He's more emotional than John, he doesn't hide it as well as John, lashes out or invites people in more readily than John, but there comes a point where it's still easier to be the hotshot flyboy with a dumb sense of humor than it is to be honest with himself or anyone else.
Poe runs his thumbs gently over the callouses at the base of John's palms. He presses his cheek against the roughness of John's own and murmurs into his ear: ] Keep your hands where they are, John.