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WHO: Poe Dameron
WHERE: The fountain
WHEN: February 2
OPEN TO: OTA
WARNINGS: sexual themes
STATUS: open

Yavin IV is a temperate moon with many rivers and lakes, and Poe spent a large chunk of his childhood pretending to be a fish in their warm, tropical waters. It means that he's got a deep-seated instinct when it comes to water, his breath stopping immediately, mouth closing, legs kicking, all to propel him towards the surface even before he fully registers where he is. Normally, the water he's used to is much warmer than the water he suddenly finds himself in, and he almost always has a memory of how the hell he got into it, but those are all concerns that can be dealt with after he's broken the surface and has taken a proper breath again.

After allowing himself a moment to discern what direction is up, Poe kicks hard, cutting through the water with his palms as well to propel himself up as quickly as possible until he breaks through to cold, biting air in a sudden splash.

Gasping, the frigid air like knives in his lungs, he reaches for the first solid object he can find, which happens to be the lip of...a fountain?

"Kriffing hell," he gasps, clinging to the stone for a moment as he gets his bearings. It's freezing, there's snow everywhere, and yes, he's in a fountain. Outside of that, though, are some buildings, what look like large multi-use structures, perhaps, as well as smaller ones in the distance, residential dwellings, by the look of them. A few humanoid shapes can be seen as well, but most of them are too far for him to be able to call out to, so he sets instead to hauling himself out of the water. Almost the moment he gets his feet under himself, he starts shivering, but he ignores that for a moment longer, still trying to figure out what happened. "Where am I?"

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Cassian is finally leaving hospital. To go…

Well…

It's been emphasized that he needs to stop camping in this frigid weather and make one of the available indoor options here…

…fine, don't like the word "home". Say "base camp".

So…

Blast all.

He wasn't sure how Graves would feel about it—Cassian wasn't sure how he himself felt about it—is this common tactical sense or another thing he doesn't particularly want to process—but he's heading to the northern cabin block.

Passing through the park (of course) he hears…

No. I can't.

Emotionally, for the first time, he's actually dispassionate. It's that this time he physically can't be of help.

…Kriff it.

Mentally pushing away K-2 and anyone else who would tell him off for it, he turns his path toward the fountain. Though the splashing alone hadn't had its usual effect on him, the sound of a familiar idiom—one he'd had to get used to not being universal here—gives the belated jolt. He quickens his pace to a jog.

The newcomer has gotten himself out of the water by the time Cassian reaches him. Which is good because with one hand enormously bandaged and that arm in a sling, Cassian would have been little help hauling him over the fountain wall. It also means Cassian hasn't managed his usual second move: removing his jacket to offer the newcomer something dry.

(At least they'd given it, and the rest of him, a decent cleaning at the hospital. So to new eyes he's a bit more of a welcome party and a bit less "this planet has mud monsters")

Cassian approximates both procedures by threading his good arm under the taller man's shoulder's to help him the rest of the way onto solid ground.

"You're all right," Cassian said. "There's food and shelter nearby and you have dry clothes in your pack. You've been… taken from wherever you were, to this place, which we haven't named or figured out how to leave. But all that is just as true for the rest of us. So you're among…"

…idioms, right…

"…friends."

Edited (sorry for spaaaaaaaam) 2017-02-03 00:23 (UTC)

The nearest humanoid comes running towards him, and while part of Poe is instantly on the defensive, the rest of him has started to shiver violently and can't really say he minds the company. Especially when he realizes that the humanoid has a bandaged hand, and a banged-up face, and looks more human than humanoid.

The man starts talking the instant he reaches Poe's side, and Poe lets him, leaning on the support he offers as he gets his feet under him properly and gets used to this frigid ground.

"Thanks," he croaks, gingerly pulling away once he feels more settled, twisting his shoulders to relieve the tight pressure on them only to realize he's wearing a pack of some kind. Well, that makes that comment the man said make much more sense. It distracts him enough that he doesn't question the man, instead focuses on the pack on his back, rolling his shoulders again to make it slide down and swing from one hand until he can drop it to the ground.

His hair is hanging in wet ropes across his face and he tosses his head to get it out of the way.

"...Thanks," he repeats, lifting a hand to swipe the water out of his face and clenching his jaw to hide the chattering of his teeth. "Wait, you don't know how to leave? Where is this? How did you get here? How did I get here?"

Cassian shook his head. "I wish I could tell you. There doesn't appear to be a pattern to where anyone was or what they was doing before they found themselves in that water and emerged here. 'Here' being a village in a forest in a canyon. I'd say those responsible are at a level of technology or capability beyond our ability to understand it. I'd be interested in your own theories and observations once you've had a chance to make any. For now, I can only tell you that, having somehow brought us here, there has been no more direct interference. We're left to our own devices."

On impulse, Cassian said, "I'm so sorry this happened to you. To all of us. …You needn't tell me anything. But I'd be interested to hear where you were before the fountain. After I take you somewhere warmer. The inn will already have a fire going."

After Poe was out of danger of freezing, and less likely to overloaded, Cassian would tell him about the unclaimed cabins and take him to one if he wanted to be alone. Cassian sure had, on his first night.

Poe narrows his eyes sharply, glancing around with quick, furtive movements like he's searching for someone hiding behind every building.

"This isn't a First Order outpost, is it?" he asked, hushed, leaning close to avoid being overheard. The man doesn't look like he's First Order, but then again, the best spies never do look what they are, and Poe's learned not to trust mere appearances. It's hard to tell under the bulk of the man's coat whether or not he's carrying a blaster, or even a lightsaber, but he can't rule out the possibility that his new friend is armed and not quite as friendly as he seems. Something about his screams danger to Poe, who's learned through trial and error how to spot that sort of thing in someone.

His weight is balanced on the balls of his feet, his body held carefully that he can spring to action at any moment despite the fact that he's sopping wet and shivering. He'd rather be cold and wet as he ran for his life than dead, and the rest of what's going on can be figured out later.

"I don't know what that is," Cassian admitted. "I haven't met anyone here with the same frame of reference as me. We've been brought from… very different places."

Almost subliminally, Cassian tracked the movement of Poe's eyes. Though Poe's body language may have been enough. Cassian decides to revisit his earlier call; Poe's in greater danger here from the cold than from Cassian, and there was a way to emphasize that point that could also help improve the one and prove the other.

Cassian stopped walking and turned to present his back to Poe. "It's too far to walk there without your getting hypothermia. And I need to fix this blasted sling."

I can't climb out of here, my arm—!

Cassian expected Poe would do better by him than Cassian had by Tivik. (The situations were rather different.) But if he did, it would only be fair.

Cassian shrugged to indicate what he wanted help with. "We'd kill two mynocks with one shot if you took my coat."

Of course these things seem to happen around the time he's heading to the inn to grab lunch for himself. It's an inconvenience really, especially around lunch--the one meal of the day he didn't have to worry about. He's improved marginally in his fishing skills and is starting to recognize some edible plants, but he would need to learn how to hunt properly at some point soon.

The splash as he walks by makes him pause. It was all too familiar now, that sound. A new arrival. Ah well, might as well see what kind of being comes out before he ducks into the inn and pretends not to notice them. He's about to do just that when he remembers his own arrival, how miserable it was. Had it not been for Margaery, he'd have half frozen to death before he reached the inn. With a small dramatic sigh for no one else but himself, he saunters over to the fountain as the new person climbs their way out.

Oh, this man seemed to have potential.

Byerly waits of course until water isn't being splashed everywhere before he approaches, casual sway in his hips as usual, looking at the man through dark eyelashes and beautiful honey-colored brown eyes--a notorious family trait.

"That's a question we'd all like answered, I assure you," he begins as he pulls one sleeve of his black pea coat off and follows it with the other, draping it over the other's shoulders as he begins to shiver. Byerly is wearing black scrubs underneath, arms deceptively toned considering how slim he looks in sleeves of any sort.

"For now, let's get you inside and warmed up before we delve into this sticky topic, hmm?"

He realizes quickly that he's wearing some kind of pack on his back. To Poe, who's used to carrying things in the myriad pockets of his flight suit, it's a very strange feeling. He hasn't worn something on his back since he was in the Academy, and that was nearly fifteen years ago. Uncomfortable with the strange weight, he shrugs out of it as soon as possible, letting the bag slide down until it dangles from his fingers, just in time for someone to join him.

Poe looks at the man through dripping hair, a skeptical look on his face as he listens to him speak.

"Nobody knows where the hell this is? Not even the system? Planet?" That seems highly unlikely. "This isn't a Republic outpost?" Or an Empire outpost, but he doesn't want to bring that up just in case it is and he somehow tips his hand. The last thing he needs after crawling dripping wet out of a fountain is a blaster straight to the chest.

Swiping a hand irritably through his hair to push it off of his face, Poe opens his mouth to demand more answers when the man drapes his thick coat over his shoulders, and he shuts up. It's still warm from the man's body, and it's blissfully dry, and Poe can't help hunching into it a little. He's freezing, and any help is appreciated on that front. "Thanks," he mutters belatedly, one hand clutching the lapels shut to keep them together and to keep his body heat in.

"Yeah, you're probably freezing now, huh," he murmurs, not oblivious to the fact that his new friend-turned-savior is now in his shirtsleeves, displaying soft skin that is undoubtedly seconds away from goose-pimpling.

He raises a delicate eyebrow, weight canted onto one hip. His expression softens slightly from mild irritation to something like...amusement, and maybe something a bit more. My but this man was quite handsome with his wet hair pushed back like that. Byerly has a higher tolerance for handsome/beautiful people.

"Yes, actually I am," he begins bluntly. "I suggest we go inside where there's a fire and around this time, food." There are indeed goosebumps on his light, milky skin as he turns and intends to lead Poe to the inn without turning back to see if Poe is following. Byerly has a sort of swagger when he walks; elegant, confident, and unconcerned about what's going on around him.

"There's been no evidence to satisfy me thus save for my own observations of day-light cycles and the recognition of various flora, but this seems to be Earth. I've never been here before and I'm from a planet where it takes months to get here."

Despite the fact that the man is wearing soft black clothing that looks an awful lot like pajamas to Poe, the way he holds himself makes Poe want to imagine him in something much more formal, the kind of clothes a Senator would wear, or something one of the rich fops he knew back in the Academy would favor, the kids from prosperous core planets who joined the Navy because it was a respectable profession that they could quickly translate into a political career. He'd always found those cadets a little obnoxious, but most of them meant well, and they couldn't help that they were born into wealth and power. Hopefully this man is cut of that same cloth, because Poe would really rather like to avoid making enemies this early on in the game.

Especially since he's not exactly hard to look at. That would be a tragic waste of a perfectly handsome face.

The man turns and starts off towards one of the larger buildings, obviously expecting Poe to follow him. He does, but not before he rolls his eyes. Yep, just like the rich kids from the Academy.

"I'm from the Yavin system," he says, looking around curiously as he follows the man towards the building they're apparently heading to. "I've never heard of Earth." In Poe's mind, earth is what lies beneath their feet. He's never heard someone treat the word like a proper noun before, as a name for an entire planet. How short-sighted.

Edited 2017-02-10 00:50 (UTC)

Byerly doesn't look back until they're at the inn. He opens the door and the temperature difference is obvious and immediate as he steps in ahead of the newcomer, waving a hand out to invite him in. Truly though, Byerly was less than discreetly attempting to get a look at the other man's ass.

"I've never heard of the Yavin system. I suppose since you're referring to systems that you at least have space travel which is at least a step above what a lot of the other people here have where they're from." He moves behind Poe towards the fireplace to warm himself up. Hell, he was getting cold just looking at the other man and remembering when he had first arrived.

Poe obliges, perhaps unconsciously, by stepping into the building and immediately shrugging out of the coat he's been lent, not wanting it to get even more ridiculously wet since he doesn't actually need it any more. Instead, he folds it carefully over one arm and slings his pack back up on his shoulder, looking around the interior of the building and trying to hide his dismay at how...rustic it all looks.

"Of...course we have space travel," he retorts, turning slowly to look back at the man with his eyebrows crawling high up his forehead. "Do these..." He leans closer and lowers his voice so the other humans he can see moving around are less likely to overhear him. "Do these people not have space travel?" He sounds horrified. "How was this planet colonized?"

A smirk curls his features as he realizes what it is the other man is attempting to hide in his expression. Byerly, a socialite by birth and by trade, could read expressions fluently. This one, he could absolutely empathize with. Their current setting left more than a few somethings to be desired, electricity being one of them, a reliable source of heat another.

Byerly quirks an eyebrow once more at the last question.

"Many of them do not. It seems this place is immune to the regular rules of time and space. And this is Earth, where humans originated. You're not familiar?" Either this attractive person was not human or from so far in the future humans have forgotten their roots.

Edited 2017-02-10 14:02 (UTC)

Poe didn't grow up in the lap of luxury. But he did grow up comfortable, and he's been more or less comfortable ever since, even in the Resistance when money was tight and they couldn't exactly be choosy about where their base was located and just how clean it was kept. This is something else, though. This place reminds him of an impoverished outer rim planet. He'd be amazed if they had a puddle jumper hidden in one of those barns, forget an X-Wing.

"That doesn't seem plausible," he retorts, looking around skeptically once more. "Most historians agree that humanity originated on Coruscant, though nobody knows for sure, the records have been lost to time."

So distracted by this wildly inaccurate telling of history, Poe almost forgets that he's cold and soaked to the bone. That is, until he shivers violently, his teeth clacking together sharp enough that he'd have lost part of his tongue if he'd still been talking. "Not that I'm not enjoying this conversation and all," he begins, chafing his palms up and down his arms after he deposits the man's coat over the back of a chair. "But I'd really like to get out of these clothes. And maybe dry off, that'd be nice."

Oh Poe, honey wait until you find out there's no electricity. Byerly has been secretly pining for his favorite holodramas for weeks.

Again, Byerly gives the other man a look of polite condescension (an expression perfected by years of playing politics with the elite of his society).

"I daresay they agreed on the wrong planet. That is not even a planet we've heard of. Though far be it from me to spoil a historian's good time in playing Detective. Humanity started on Earth, things went to shit and we sent out humans to Beta colony, and we've expanded from there to Cetaganda unfortunately, Escobar, Komarr, Barrayar and now Sergyar."

He watches as the other man seems to jerk and then shiver. Byerly puts one hand on his hip the other points to the pack on his shoulder.

"In there is a dry change of clothing, though it sounds as though your priorities are simply to strip," he teases, smirk curling further. He gives the other man a blatantly appraising look, raking his eyes up and down.

"Come. This way," and he simply turns and begins to walk towards the back of the inn where there are a few rooms (occupied) and a bathroom.

Polite condescension is a look Poe is very familiar with, and he doesn't handle it with much more grace now, at thirty-two, as he did in the Academy at nineteen. Resisting a sneer is difficult, but doable, but the sharp quirk of his eyebrow is inevitable.

"I've been all over the galaxy, and I've never heard of any of those planets," he counters. He's got to remind himself not to play his hand too early in the game, he's still not sure who all these people are, or where their loyalties lie. Declaring himself the Resistance's star pilot might win him some points in some arenas, but it would paint a target on his back in others, and he's still not sure where he is. Wet and shivering would be a terrible way to die.

He's almost forgotten about the pack on his shoulder, and when the man points it out, he blinks in surprise. "Oh," he breathes, twisting to let the thing slide down into his hands with the intent of investigating just what was inside.

The look he gets halts that urge, and Poe finds himself returning it instinctively, cataloguing details he'd previously been aware of but hadn't properly taken the time to appreciate. "Considering I was unaware that dry clothes were an option, I don't think I can be blamed," he replies, just in time for the man to turn and walk away from him again. Shaking his head — that's going to get old, fast — Poe follows as he had before, taking note of as much of his surroundings as possible.

Byerly is properly surprised at the return of the look he had just given the other man. Usually people he's been surrounded by are too scandalized or pretending to be too scandalized to react like that. Perhaps...perhaps this one is from a place where people aren't quite so, well, Barrayaran.

The extra rooms are locked, presumably because they're taken. A bathroom at the end of the hall is open though, which is where Byerly stops. He puts his weight on a hip as he folds his arms, quick, small jerk of his head towards the bathroom.

"Get changed and I suppose we can chat about how much we don't know about what's going on here." Although if Byerly is honest, he'd much rather be doing other things with this dashing newcomer.

Poe doesn't have time to pretend to have delicate sensibilities, he's used to running on a tight schedule, and he's usually not in an outpost for longer than a few hours or overnight. He's learned, in his time, that it's often best to be direct.

Which is why, when the man stops nearly directly in front of a door that leads to what looks like a bathroom, forcing Poe to sidle past him if he wants to enter, he doesn't make much of an effort to keep their bodies from brushing.

"You know, there's really only one situation where I let someone boss me around like this," he murmurs, standing far too close with the excuse of the hallway being too narrow and the man not backing up enough to give him space to move freely.

He will soon learn that there's no real schedules here. No reason to hurry. No reason to take chances lest he miss them altogether. That doesn't, however, mean that Byerly won't follow right along with whatever the other man seems to have in mind. And if Byerly is reading him correctly--which he usually does--he's just as interested.

Byerly is a mere inch taller than the other, something mildly surprising. He's not used to being interested in many men below his height. However...he was never one that could resist someone this blatant about what their intentions were. Quite refreshing from his home planet.

He doesn't back up an inch, instead looking at the other with his clan's infamously sharp and beautiful eyes, smirk playing at his lips again.

"It's always the types that seem assertive outside of that one situation that seem to enjoy being bossed around during that one situation," he mutters thoughtfully. "Does that make me special? Although I suppose we could make this so that you haven't broken your own rule yet," he practically purrs.

Considering that Poe still thinks he's going to get out of here in a few hours, his appreciation for haste can be excused. What shouldn't be excused is the idiocy of indulging in a tryst with someone he just met, when he's still shivering and soaked to the bone, but Poe has always had issues with impulse control, and the man is clearly interested.

Poe is used to being shorter than most people he knows; the Damerons weren't exactly gifted, height-wise — thanks, Dad — and he grew up around many different alien species that tended to be taller and bulkier than humans anyway. The fact that this man is an inch taller than him doesn't bother him in the slightest. In fact, it might make things easier, depending on what they wind up doing.

He folds his lower lip between his teeth, digging them in until the flesh flushes a deep red, and slowly lets it slip free before licking away the indentations his teeth left behind.

"One thing you should know about me is that I never break the rules," he replies in a low murmur, his smirk making it quite clear that that's a blatant lie. Poe loves breaking rules. But that's not the point. He hooks a finger in the hem of the man's shirt, tugging him along as he moves away, into the bathroom. "C'mon, then, I think I'm going to need help getting out of these wet clothes..."

His eyes never leave the other's lip as he worries on it. Nervous habit or intentional? At this point, Byerly couldn't care less. The smirk he sees lets him know at least that they are, indeed, on the same page.

He allows himself to be pulled inside and shuts the door behind him, leaning against it. He looks positively smug at the developments thus far. Although his expression sours a bit when he realizes the other is still in very wet and very cold clothing.

"Somehow I'm not quite sure I believe that," he retorts as his hands, pre-warmed from the fire downstairs, make their way to the other's waist, dragging his fingers against the other's skin and hiking the shirt upwards as he goes. Byerly's hands are soft and smooth--never a day of hard labor in them. Well. Until he came here, that is.

He's being very careful not to press into the other until the offending clothing is removed, lest he become cold and wet as well.

Poe is surprised by how soft the hands of his new friend are. He's not used to that, since almost everyone he knows works hard for their living these days, doing manual labor and risking their lives to ensure the survival of a free Republic. Soft, delicate hands take him aback a little, but he's not complaining. It just serves to make him a little self-conscious about the scars he knows litter his skin, the pale barely-visible ones that aren't large enough to feel, and the newer raised pink ones that are taking their own sweet time to heal.

He hopes the man won't ask him too many questions about those.

"You calling me a liar?" he challenges, his teeth glinting in his broad smile.

Twisting a little, he grabs the wet shirt the man has been so helpful as to ruck up and hauls it off himself, the fabric sucking and sticking until he yanks it free and drops it with a wet splorp onto the ground. With it gone, he's shivering again, and he presses himself closer to his new friend and his lovely dry body.

"You can interpret that however you like," he breathes across the other's lips, dipping his head in without making any kind of contact. His hands follow along the new planes of muscle as they're exposed, subconsciously tracing and focusing on the rough areas of scarring. Byerly doesn't typically go for proles--Vor soldiers are far less scuffed up than proles, and so this rugged body type is new, exciting for him.

Pressing up against his cool, damp body and feeling some of it soak through his own shirt makes Byerly shiver. A hand comes up to hook 2 fingers behind the angle of the other man's jaw, gently, moreso teasingly, pressing their lips together.

His friend is so warm to Poe's chilled skin, even with the soft black cotton of his shirt between them, and Poe decides to take the initiative and slide his hands in beneath it to settle on slim hips before sliding further back so Poe can press himself right up against the other man, pinning him back against the bathroom door.

He's got beautiful eyes, this man, framed by dark lashes, and Poe's not the type to be self-conscious about any perceived inadequacies, but he can't help feeling a little...rough in comparison. His eyes are brown too, but they're darker, muddier, shadowed by heavy brows and nestled in wrinkles formed by squinting against the glare through the transparisteel of his cockpit and exacerbated by laughter and smiles. Thankfully, for the sake of his ego if for nothing else, it seems the other man doesn't intend to stare soulfully into Poe's eyes for very long, and instead tucks his fingers beneath Poe's chin to pull him in to a kiss.

That's more like it.

Making a pleased noise in the back of his throat, Poe shifts even closer still, one hand drifting down from the man's spine to slip boldly beneath the waist of his soft black trousers, sliding easily between fabric and flesh until he can palm the man's ass in his hand, giving him an appreciative squeeze.

Byerly is perfectly fine just going along wherever the other directs him. Up against the door is a great place in his expert opinion. He lets out a small sigh as he's pressed up to the door, relaxing into his new companion.

The small sound he can feel through their locked mouths only encourages him to grind his hips forward--after all, more friction produces more heat. The cool, rough hands on his waist cause him to jolt slightly, sharp intake of breath through his nose the only indication of just how cold the fingers are pressed against his skin.

In between progressively rougher kisses with bruisingly firm force and some small bites to the other's lower lip, Byerly pauses, lips hovering mere centimeters away. His breath comes out in broken, warm puffs.

"I'll have you know," he purrs, "if I wasn't wearing these hideous clothes, I would make you work harder for that handful."

For all that he's said that he lets people boss him around in bed, Poe seems perfectly happy to take the lead here, physically moving Byerly the way he wants him until they're pressed together from belly to knee.

"Somehow, I don't believe you," he retorts with a half-swallowed laugh, shifting to drag his lips along the man's neck so he can continue to murmur lowly to him. "The way you wiggled your ass in my face since the moment I climbed out of the water makes it pretty obvious just what you wanted." And Poe will happily oblige him, shifting so their legs slot together and he can grind back just as deliberately, the broad muscle of his thigh making a perfect platform for the man to rock against.

He has to remove his hands from the rather lovely position they've landed in so he can instead whip off the black shirt his friend is wearing, but he thinks it's worth it to get him more on the naked train. The skin he uncovers is just as smooth and soft as the man's hands were, and Poe takes a moment to marvel at such unblemished skin.

He really must be some rich fop, to be able to afford medical care that eliminates scarring. Well, that, or he's lead such a sheltered life he's never had to worry about blasters or lightsabers or plain old sharp knives.

"That's better," he murmurs mostly to himself, splaying a hand across the man's side and enjoying the contrast between his dark, scarred skin and the creamy flesh beneath it. "Now. Where were we?"

It just so happens he's a penniless fop with the correct last name to get him into higher social circles. Or well, penniless compared to other Vor his age. He'd been cut out of his inheritance quite cleanly and now had to earn his living (appalling for a proper Vor, and one of the High Vor at that, though he's in the wrong branch of his family). The nature of his work could certainly put him in some danger, less often involving knives and phasers, but possible. That doesn't mean he's been sloppy enough to be marred by them yet.

He does notice how the other seems to be spending an inordinate amount of time just looking. Byerly already knows he has good skin, but having someone else staring at him like this in awe is something different. Men he's been with before on his home planet of Barrayar are usually too eager to get to the more carnal parts of trysts, thus not allowing themselves to properly appreciate how much effort Byerly puts into his skin care routine. That and not acknowledging his skill as being blemish-free in a society that values soldiers and its military. Or perhaps they were in a rush to get off because Barrayaran society is extremely homophobic and no one wanted to be caught with their pants down with Byerly Vorrutyer the Town Clown.

All that aside though, focused on here and now, he has a dark, rough, decidedly not-Barrayaran rugged specimen in front of him. The other man's enthusiasm in and of itself was enough to send a jolt of pleasure straight to his groin.

He tilts his head to the side for the other, voice husky and low as he slowly grinds against a solid thigh: "Just because I know what I want and make it known doesn't necessarily mean I don't make you work for it."

The removal of the shirt reveals that Byerly is actually a bit leaner than his clothing might suggest, more tone than a useless aristocrat might be (or in this case just a useless aristocrat). "I believe you were ready to ravage me," he suggested helpfully, wicked gleam in his eye.

Poe likes to take the time to properly enjoy his trysts, usually because he's never really kept in one place for very long, so he has little opportunity to repeat the experience with the same partner. To keep them from becoming a messy blur of hands and mouths and quick, fumbled orgasms, Poe tries to consciously take the time to soak in as much detail as possible, so that each encounter remains a discrete event, detailed and memorable.

The man grinds up against Poe's thigh slowly, the twist of his hips promising things Poe is all too eager to discover for himself in due time, maybe once he's wriggled out of his wet trousers so they stop clinging uncomfortably to bits of his anatomy that he would much rather prefer un-constrained.

"Oh yes, that's right," he replies mildly, like they could be talking about the weather on Chandrila, and not hurried sex in an inn bathroom. Since he's a man of his word, and since his friend obligingly tilts his neck so invitingly, Poe allows himself to do more than just drag his lips across his skin, shifting to press a proper kiss to the tendon that stands out sharply in his neck before sinking his teeth into the flesh beneath his lips. Since they don't know each other that well yet, he doesn't bite as hard as he might otherwise; he keeps it light enough not to be too painful, but firm enough to leave a mark, a mark he exacerbates by sucking the skin between his teeth until a bruise forms bright and obvious just below his friend's jaw.

Perfect.

Byerly simply used his trysts as ways to gather information most of the time. Rarely were they pure pleasure for him, though there was no harm in enjoying himself while he worked. Well, that and blackmail. There was a certain advantage to him not giving a single shit what his countrymen thought of him on the whole. It allowed him to earn exactly the type of reputation he needed to seem like the absolute scum of high Vor society--that way he seemed much more benign than he actually was. It allowed guards to come down at exactly the wrong time with Byerly Vorrutyer.

Without hesitation and unabashedly, he pulls back slightly so his hand can get working on pulling the other man's pants down--the water had started to soak through his own pants. That couldn't continue for much longer as far as Byerly's concerned.

There's a sharp inhalation of breath at the bite, something he hadn't expected with the preceding light kiss. But then there's the low moan in the back of his throat when he feels the other creating the bruise. One hand comes up to squeeze his shoulder as he does it. His eyes are hazy from lust, and he succeeds in at least getting the other's pants undone enough that Byerly can sneak a hand in the back, grasping his ass and giving it a squeeze before maneuvering the pants downwards. His other hand joins the first to help. Once the pants are clear of his friend's ass, they drop unceremoniously and Byerly, again without shame, palms the other's arousal, using the heel of his hand to press teasingly.

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