[ Some of it hits Poe in the face. He puts his hand up defensively, laughing again. ]
Easy. Watch the crossfire.
[ He reaches behind him to get the shampoo, spilling some of it into his hand and then working it into John's hair. He massages the suds in, hoping John still feels the powder's buzz, hoping it tags on a little more relaxation.
Poe starts to speak. Hesitates. Bite the bullet, he thinks, not knowing exactly what that means. He's heard it used. He knows enough. ]
[John closes his eyes as Poe's fingers work the shampoo through his hair, massaging his scalp. His head hangs forward, shoulders dropping.
Powder or no powder, it's relaxing. At least when Poe is doing it. There are a lot of things Poe can do no one else can. How he's gotten under John's skin, and into his heart and head, is anyone's guess.
There's too much John likes about him to narrow it down to any one thing, but if he were forced to choose, at gunpoint, he would say it's Poe's soul.
At his core, beneath the calluses and battle scars, Poe is a good man. Like so few are. Being with him, near him, makes John want to be good, too. When Poe touches him like this, with such care and consideration, he can almost believe he is.]
I'm okay. Think I'm coming down, now.
[A pause, shoulderblades shifting as he braces his hands over Poe's knees.]
You're not getting up? I thought you couldn't feel your legs. And you have soap in your hair.
[ He's not sure how to respond to the thanks. He's not sure he's even done anything to be thanked for. He made John cry.
Exhausted is fine, blissed out is good, but he made John cry. The way he sees it, he owes John. He owes him gentleness, he owes him care and rest. He just happens to want to give those things, too.
Poe rinses the suds off his hands, leaving John's hair sticking up in a way that he finds entirely charming, and moves to massage John's shoulders. A trick to get him to stay put, a way to make this last a little longer. ]
[Poe's trick works. John relaxes again, settling back down.
It seems impossible to disobey him, anyway, so soon after he'd fully submitted. John doesn't have it in him to argue. Poe had overpowered him so thoroughly, shaken John to his core in a way he didn't think was possible.
He'd been scared at the time, but there was a strange safety in knowing Poe was strong enough to hold him down, and keep him steady, or push John farther than he was willing, to places he might need to go, but has always been too afraid to, by himself. John's never had someone behind him, giving him that push, ready to catch him if he falls, and actually capable of doing it.
John wasn't sure that person existed, or if there was anyone in any galaxy who would want to, even if they could.
There are twenty or so small, white scars dotting his upper back. Shrapnel. John sighs, and the scars move with the muscle of his back, dancing over bone.]
[ Poe runs his fingertip across those scars, connecting the dots with a trail of water like somehow it'll turn into a picture that makes sense. The longer Poe's alive, the less sure he is that the universe is under any obligation to make any kind of sense at all.
Why are there people who can't see the value of others except as tools. Why this kind of violence, common across universes.
Why would a man like John be alone.
Poe decides to let that last question alone. He got lucky, is all. Plain and simple. ]
I guess that does mean we have to get out of the tub. And change the sheets.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Easy. Watch the crossfire.
[ He reaches behind him to get the shampoo, spilling some of it into his hand and then working it into John's hair. He massages the suds in, hoping John still feels the powder's buzz, hoping it tags on a little more relaxation.
Poe starts to speak. Hesitates. Bite the bullet, he thinks, not knowing exactly what that means. He's heard it used. He knows enough. ]
You okay?
no subject
Powder or no powder, it's relaxing. At least when Poe is doing it. There are a lot of things Poe can do no one else can. How he's gotten under John's skin, and into his heart and head, is anyone's guess.
There's too much John likes about him to narrow it down to any one thing, but if he were forced to choose, at gunpoint, he would say it's Poe's soul.
At his core, beneath the calluses and battle scars, Poe is a good man. Like so few are. Being with him, near him, makes John want to be good, too. When Poe touches him like this, with such care and consideration, he can almost believe he is.]
I'm okay. Think I'm coming down, now.
[A pause, shoulderblades shifting as he braces his hands over Poe's knees.]
Thanks. For this.
no subject
[ He's not sure how to respond to the thanks. He's not sure he's even done anything to be thanked for. He made John cry.
Exhausted is fine, blissed out is good, but he made John cry. The way he sees it, he owes John. He owes him gentleness, he owes him care and rest. He just happens to want to give those things, too.
Poe rinses the suds off his hands, leaving John's hair sticking up in a way that he finds entirely charming, and moves to massage John's shoulders. A trick to get him to stay put, a way to make this last a little longer. ]
no subject
It seems impossible to disobey him, anyway, so soon after he'd fully submitted. John doesn't have it in him to argue. Poe had overpowered him so thoroughly, shaken John to his core in a way he didn't think was possible.
He'd been scared at the time, but there was a strange safety in knowing Poe was strong enough to hold him down, and keep him steady, or push John farther than he was willing, to places he might need to go, but has always been too afraid to, by himself. John's never had someone behind him, giving him that push, ready to catch him if he falls, and actually capable of doing it.
John wasn't sure that person existed, or if there was anyone in any galaxy who would want to, even if they could.
There are twenty or so small, white scars dotting his upper back. Shrapnel. John sighs, and the scars move with the muscle of his back, dancing over bone.]
I can't wait to go to sleep with you.
no subject
Why are there people who can't see the value of others except as tools. Why this kind of violence, common across universes.
Why would a man like John be alone.
Poe decides to let that last question alone. He got lucky, is all. Plain and simple. ]
I guess that does mean we have to get out of the tub. And change the sheets.