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Screeching of loose pipes rattled suddenly, the rigid metal scented air and glitching holographic monitors replaced by an overdue landing indicator. A familiar planet coming into view after a week-long trek through some of the galaxy's uglier regions had granted the promise of well deserved relaxation in the clustered constellation of decadence below. A fragrant facade of elegance and charm that stuck out like a blemish against the desert planet’s surface, greeted the transport full of eager New Republic flyboys as their clunky craft less than gently kissed the sands.
Finally.
The frustrated pilots hurriedly unbuckled their constraints and fled from the creaking ship; shaking their unsettled hair and adjusting their ill-fitted dress, hastily rented from the first smuggler they passed en route. One in particular, sandy haired lad, tugged at his collar. Stepping from the ship last to a roar of complaints from his fellow flyers, chastising him for the bumpy landing that had wrinkled their already unfortunate attire.
"I could use a drink!" One pilot said finally, the boisterous squadron erupting into laughter in response.
A snide older wingman shoving the source of the exclamation, "First round's on you, kid!"
“By the looks of that landing, Vod here's already had enough.” The blond just flashing a colorful rebuttal with a pale finger while he made his way along the isolated beach, face flushed.
The entire crew quickly followed suit, clearing the stretch of sand that led to lamp-lit cobblestone. What would on any other planet be looked down upon as lazy craftsmanship, was seen as luxury on the casino planet. On Canto Bight, plaster and stone was more than glamorous, it was worth its weight in gold. Or at least it seemed it was, considering the cost of a visit. It was one of the many petty things they boasted about, whenever the need arose to cover up the sinful pleasures of their best patrons, or buy favor from whatever galactic power was at the top of the food chain that given week.
Where there were stone walkways, there were also drunken romps buried in their shadows. Where a crystal chandelier hung majestically, there were molecule wide daggers being dug into the flesh of a non-paying barfly. While tourists enjoyed the smell of almost extinct flowers, there were droids clearing out the brush for another unnecessary nightclub or string of condos. Things that would normally go unnoticed for the sake of a good time, but a blaring alarm that could not be ignored for a man questioning his own place in a less than spotless regime.
"This is your kinda place, ain’t it Dameron?"
A daydreaming moon dweller was snapped from his thoughts just in time to realize they’d entered into the main casino, "Right, Poe?"
Poe had swiped a glass of cheap champagne from a roaming service droid. Quickly downing the bitter liquid and handing it off to yet another passing bot. Ignoring victory kids was better for his health than getting bent out of shape over what they might be implying. Istead his eyes wandered in search of a bar that he had been eager to find since they’d arrived. A centerpiece to the gaudy casino he'd read about on the holonet that was as famous for its specialty cocktails as it was for being a hot spot for singles.
"I’m just sayin’," the now discontented youngster snapped, “Maybe even your kind can catch some tail-wind in a place like this.”
“You shouldn’t say such things about your mother.”
Slender legs nearly buckled from the rapid lunge, the more compact fighter ducking a sloppy swing before the eldest member of the squad could place himself between the two scrappy pilots. An obvious rage building beneath ivory tresses as he implored both men to walk it off, Dameron managing to keep composed despite his junior still mouthing off. Scanning the room for anywhere else to go but there, high rollers, alcoholics, self-indulgent slugs, and smugglers impairing his view of the casino floor.
"Kriff."
Being small in stature may have been an advantage for long hours in a narrow cockpit, but it unfortunately wasn’t good for much else. Especially when dealing with unreasonably entitled life forms who believe the world should be laid out for them. The filth the planet was famous for that got off stepping over the backs of those less fortunate than themselves to snag a piece of the overbearingly luxurious pie. Though, even the jaded pilot had to admit that there was a raw, uncontaminated passion the city oozed that couldn't be spoiled that he hoped, even if just for a little while, would intoxicate him too.
His ‘undying’ love for the New Republic had all but burnt out. A cause he’d once believed was the key to his dreams and aspersions that he’d joined to follow in his mother’s footsteps, had crashed and burned like an Imperial TIE. With all the slave traders, crooked dealers, con artists, war criminals, and two faced naval officers around him, he found it hard to imagine Shara Bey ever flying for such a corrupt institution. One whose members were paid in free drinks and stay for their silence about what really goes on behind closed doors and in hotel rooms.
The long nights of trading with imperial sympathizers, buying drinks for warlords while taking a naked dip in their private pools built on the bones of their planet’s people, courting the sons of the Empire to earn favor in the coming war, and flushing their growing army that sought to enslave the Galaxy once again. The idea of which churning in his stomach as he pushed through the crowd in some direction he assumed was west. He may as well have stayed on Kimiji at this rate. Being a soldier had far from washed him of his sins. Just put the spice on someone else's hands.
A careless elbow knocked into what felt like a deflated life support vest, but the high pitched shriek that followed caused the clumsy pilot to assess that it was, in fact, not. Poe twisting to see what he assumed was a very disgusted lady cursing him in her native tongue. A large, burgundy stain now expanding on the front of her ivory dress. The Flyboy could only respond with a sheepish grin, quickly escaping on the turn of his heel before the blobbish dowager could alert authorities. An action that this time nearly made him collide with a parade line of monochrome dressed.
What appeared to be some sort of bridal party was enjoying their post vows. A quick glance given to the newly weds, who both appeared to be females of their species, made the young offworlder smile. They were a cute couple. Nuzzling and cooing at each other in wedded bliss. It was a beautiful thing to behold. After all, there were still a great many places in the Galaxy where the two brides would have trouble getting a wedding. It was fair to assume that was even why they were there in the first place.
Canto Bight was a safe haven for those minorities that fell along what the majority may consider ‘amoral’. A glaring difference from its opposing atrocities as contrasting as the casino’s approved attire. In a sense, he supposed the loudmouthed laserbrain was right. Canto Bight was a place where
people like him
were safe to pursue a chance at a normal life; happiness, marriage, and even having a family.
At least for those who could afford it.
The faux city that rose from the desert planet was like an oasis for the rich and fabulous. Glamorous to the point of gaudiness, the casino and its surrounding hotels and summer homes were always lit up like the stars themselves. Twinkling and glittering against the black skyline, brilliant and bold, like a spotlight in the darkness.
For those considering rolling the dice for a chance at a better life, for a moment, the weight of the galaxy lifted off of their shoulders. The smiling faces of the wedded women, their maids clad in black and whte lacy dresses and with flowers tucked behind their gray, triangular ears, made Poe's heart swell. A soft smile sticking on his lips as he pushed his way through what remained of the crowd. Perhaps there was hope for the galaxy, after all. Even if it was small.
“Another round.“ An elite cadence filtered through the clamber, curious eyes searching for the source, and hopefully, the bar he was looking for.
A quick sweep around some tusked gentleman and there it was - There
he
was. Like a beacon in that sea of black and white, a delicate ebony lace cocktail dress. The lining, an unusually chocolate shade of cherry underlay, draping ivory thighs - Legs that extended into oblivion, graceful and thin, and easily the nicest the young pilot could ever recall. Each capped off in a stunning set of crystal encrusted stilettos.
The tall stranger, whose Outer Rim accent caught Poe by surprise, sat at the center bar. A single sparkling shoe dangling stultified from the end of his foot, legs crossed one over the other, and nursing the last few sips of a colorful drink. Velvet throated, that same cadence thanked the barkeep who dropped off a second round, asking him politely to put it on the company tab.
Soft tresses burning like a space explosion, bright orange and full of fire, captivated him. It was nearly perfectly styled back save for a few strands the luxurious figure had let fall forward to one side. Framing his face to lead the eye to forests of cool stone green ringed by flames of their own that flicked and fluttered with every causal blink of purposefully forgotten mascara. A flattering shade of deep red to match his dress and compliment the male’s fair complexion adorned full lips and a dusting of freckles that became more apparent as those pedals thinned into a soft smirk caught coffee pools off guard as mossy eyes turned his way. A single wink making the pilot's heart skip in his chest.
He’d noticed him staring. Of course he had. The man was dressed to stand out. He knew all eyes were on him that night like the wine stain on that alien woman’s white dress.
And he lived for the attention.
Another small unnoticed earthquake rattled and smashed an empty cluster of glasses. Behemoths being unleashed from their stables for the night's third race. All customers, excluding ticket holders and the pilot, who nearly shed his skin, ignoring the massive beasts while the gambling festivities continued. Drinks continued to flow, dice rolled, and scum still managed to crawl up from whatever gutter it called home Said scum daring to plant an unwanted hand on speckled flesh, sending the radiant male Poe had been watching into a sudden mood change.
"Such a beauty shouldn't be left alone in a place like this."
Suddenly dazed green eyes slowly slid until stopping at the sight of some hybrid humanoid. A tall, lanky, greenish man with poor posture and who obviously didn't get the hint that the statuesque redhead wasn’t interested. After all, it hadn’t been the less than charming amphibian’s only try. First it was 'beautiful night, but not as beautiful as you', followed by 'I'll put those drinks on my tab if you give me a kiss', and finally 'you should ride my speeder'.
“Why don’t you come with me, Princess? I’ll show you the town.”
"Piss off."
The ginger slammed the second drink back. Turning his seat to face the slimy creature. It's face was more twisted than before. Now it was obviously angry, showing its flared nostrils and narrowed eyes. Toothless mouth searching for a halfway intelligent comeback, but quickly being cut short.
"Try someone in your league. I believe I stepped in something suitable earlier."
A long stiletto was lifted to point at the male before he abandoned his attempt. Storming off into the crowd, the failed suiter shoved the now snickering pilot with what must have been a shoulder, though it was hard to tell. The feminine victor of the exchange replacing his leg across the other with a confident smirk.
"They never quit..."The prideful beauty sneered, turning back to his empty drink.
Painted lips pressed against the sugar coated rim, absorbing its crystalline sweetness. The gentle pressure building on his bottom lip as he began mindlessly tapping the container. His rhythmic pattern halting as some new shining knight sat down beside him. This one's suit was even tackier than the last. How pathetic. The redhead pulled the glass away from his mouth, more than ready to take a shot at the new stud’s ego.
“Nice shoes.” Poe spoke, cutting off the irked damsel. A cocked jaw turning to greet the new patron, green eyes set as though waiting for an obvious cenjecture.
“...and?”
“Nothing. They’re just nice.”
Emerald pools twitched at the darker male’s unexpected compliment, or more so, lack of follow up. A brow cocking as a tawny hand waved over the bartender. The newcomer asking for the expert’s strongest drink and the oblong alien snorting before turning to grab a bottle off the top shelf. Pouring the oddly hued liquor over ice and sliding it across to him.
It was dark, almost brown, but with an ominous tint of green that lingered around where the ice touched the glass. Its scent was faintly that of firewood or moss and one sip yielded that it had enough octane to fuel his X-Wing for a month. Still, Poe managed to keep it down. The burn crawling up his throat as nothing more than a slight cough.
“Military man?” The brogue voice asked, Poe still fascinated by its lyrical tone.
“Pilot.”
“Hmph. I can tell.” A dangerous smile returned to those matte red lips. The glint of the still swinging chandelier flickering in malachite orbs as they watched the flyboy over a sugared rim..
A pink tongue slowly sliding over sweetly flavored granules. There was a venom in his voice as he spoke. It was sarcastic, but laced with a playful insanity that made Poe’s heart race. The kind of rise you’d get off of tossing chance cubes, or outflying an enemy ship. And potentially, just as deadly.
“Armitage.”
The funicular fashion in which the divine visitant spoke his name somehow sounded smooth and polished. An Arkanisian tongue twisting over each harshly edge syllable without stumling. A mastery of the accent that Poe butchered upon trying to repeat it, gaining him a momentary cross look that faded into rolled eyes. A rare peak of shame climbing up towards the back of Poe’s mouth, choking him before he could exchange names. Brown eyes breaking away from the beautiful vision to stare at his libation before pouring more of it down his throat.
“Do I get to know your name, Pilot?”
There was a renewed softness in those stony eyes as the ginger tilted his head in question, Poe turning his gaze to see a small smile on the corner of garnet lips. A faint tenderness that had long been absent from his life that, for a moment, put him off guard. Tongue stumbling over his own teeth to find the means to speak.
“Oh, it’s - I’m Dameron. Commander Poe.”
The Ginger's nose wrinkled.
"I mean," He sighed, worn fingers flattering his glass as he grasped it firmly in his hands scooting himself closer into the bar, “'Commander Poe Dameron’. I’m a Commander. My name is Poe.”
“Poe Dameron?” He gave a sinful laugh, “And what brings you to Canto Bight, Commander?”
A sudden intrigue filled jade hues, an ivory chin coming to rest on the back of the elegant figure’s wrist. Fair fingers still clutching the empty glass by its rim. Ice cracking and clicking as it returned to its liquid state.
Armitage had heard the surname before, or rather read it in a file of possible targets. ‘Dameron’ listed as the husband of a particularly high ranking threat that had captured his interest back on Jakku. A woman - Pilot. Sunkiss skinned and lovely from what he could tell of her picture, with dark curls and a unique scar over her brow that belie a track record pocked with achievement and praise. The listening of a sole son had made his younger being fret, discovering a single page at the back of the file stamped simply with the red letters ‘deceased’.
“Mandatory leave.” Poe said flatly, tilting his now half empty drink to admire its odd color. Armitage snapping from his thoughts to return his attention to the man.
“Oh?” The sultry ginger asked with a smirk, a slender leg brushing the side of Poe’s stool as Armitage craned his neck. Soft white skin catching the pilot’s eye, "Trouble in paradise?"
“My superiors think I ask too many questions.” His eyes never left the supple skin, “The New Republic doesn’t like it when you talk back, so they put my whole squadron on shore leave.”
Poe wasn’t sure if Armitage was impressed, or just disinterested, but he let out a jagged laugh. Setting his empty glass aside as a droid came to retrieve it, the decorated ginger turned back to his company. This time with a less amused glaze to his eyes that faded them to an almost icy hue. Impeccable posture relaxing against the back of his chair came a listless ‘imagine that’.
"Yeah…"
“The vacation must be pleasant, at least?” He finally continued before turning his head to watch the bustling crowd that swamped the casino.
Dameron simply let a laugh slip, “My Squadron’s more excited about it than me.”
A reply that must have tickled his fellow patron who smiled a bit. An observation that was quickly forgotten upon the slender male leaning his body towards Poe instead. That same tilt of his head from before drawing the Commander’s eyes once again, causing his palms to sweat against the glass.
“You seem eager to get back, Dameron," Armitage whispered, "Why so quick to leave the city?”
“I-“ he choked in an attempt to laugh off his own nerves, one sweat drenched palm reaching back to tame a loose curl, “I-I’m not.”
To say that the redhead was prideful of shaking the moon-dweller would have been an egregious understatement. The shift in his demeanor raising the hairs on the back of the Defense Fleet Commander’s neck. A sensation that was more welcome than Poe cared to admit as fine fingers traced the shoulder seam of his jacket. A slim body turning towards him and slender leg grazing the grain of black slacks before gracefully slipping from the stool. A single manicured talon cutting a line from one side of broad shoulders to the next before an unnoticed hand could slip away what was left of the pilot’s drink. The turn of the redhead's waist only accentuating the ravishingly gorgeous male’s thin frame and, surprisingly, round behind.
“Well," the rest of the room felt silent, "It's been a pleasure chatting with you."
In that sole moment, the crowd had washed away and all that remained was delicate moss glancing back his way. Eye set like gems in an ivory face. Jewels that glimmered and entranced. Leaving their viewer paralyzed in the wake of their command before turning to saunter off.
“Good evening, Pilot.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Titian follicles seemed to glow even brighter in the mid morning sun, a gentle sea breeze loosening a few tresses from their desired style. An ivory hand rising to tuck the strands of red pigment behind a pale ear. Their owner, leaning his body over the plaster balcony to take in the scenery below, watched tourists bustle towards one of the planet's more famous attractions; A large body of saltwater that took up half of the rock's arid surface. It was a beautiful stretch of aquamarine as far as the eye could see, glittering surface reflecting back into equivalently blue-green pools. A hue not unique to Cantonica’s famous beaches, but certainly one he’d come to appreciate in the past few weeks. After all, its color was a rare sight to behold where the oat sewing Arkanisian had once called home - A vast wasteland of sand and imperial skeletons. Cantonatica was certainly something to be admired in the vast variety of climates and environmental differences the Galaxy had to offer. Even though the sun was less than friendly when it came to his preadaptation to a cloudy climate, or the artificial light of deep space travel, it beat the heat of the average sweltering desert planet and frankly, anywhere was better than Jakku. An ocean was a welcome change.
Armitage had seen many worlds across the Galaxy. Those same eyes, ever shifting, changing color with the context of his situation, or how he chose to dress. Today’s attire was wine in color. Which brought out an undertone of blue hues that reflected in his eyes with flecks of navy and teal, rippling from the center like the chiffon skirting of his dress. Loosely fitted just above his ankles, crossed one over the other in a relaxed stance. The open toe of a single champagne stiletto mimicking the beat of whatever ambiance the casino had playing mindlessly in the background. The top of his dress was fitted, with an open back that laced like a corset over bare flesh. Leaving a delightful view of a trail of freckles that lead the eye towards his tailbone. Faint marks that had become more apparent with the weeks he’d spent in the sunlight. His normally pallor complexion had soaked in a rosier tone from his time on the casino planet’s white sand beaches, and basking by pools on sea to sky cruise ships that toured the surrounding area. It had been refreshing. Almost delightfully so, considering the torment of his last stationed post and the rigorous training details he’d learned by endurance there; but this was hardly a sabbatical. There was work to be done, charming beings with well lined pockets into financing his soon to be legacy, and coaxing new recruits into pledging their loyalty to his Order. An assignment his Sargent saw him fit for a few times in the past, and one that he'd excelled at, thanks in part to his silver tongue and what Rax repugnantly referred to as ‘assets’. Fine, soft red hair and delicate body. High cheeks that took well to a dusting of blush. Soft shoulders that slipped seductively into a sultry collarbone of fair, smooth skin dotted with fields of concentrated melanin speckles in intriguing places; and gentle eyes that spoke more to his mood than any expression. Natural features that were considerably rare, even by way of his species. Features that men and women alike seemingly sought out; perhaps even fetishized. A weapon he solely held in the name of the First Order, and one far more effective than any moon-sized canon some supposed “Empire” had ever botched. Twice. A clean smirk flattened stained lips. A prideful smugness that ran the length of his entire body every time he dared to think of the failures of those who came before him. A laughable and pathetic collapse that could have easily been avoided. A point of view that his own father, Brendol Hux, and his imperial supporters still foolishly refused to assess. At best, the reign of the Empire could be described as a debacle - at worst, a catastrophe. Yet, still, scum slumped up from the cracks in the stone to see it rise to power once again. A pipe dream of many of Armitage’s higher ranks that he’d conspired to see crushed since childhood. Late nights, sullied with tears and bloodied lips in which he conceived aspersions of his own, and that would bury the Empire and all who favor it in the past - where they belong. His smirk had faded to a light smile. Strawberry lashes feathering radiant cheeks before parting to reveal benign and veresent orbs. They fell on the golden sands below, following the shoreline as it arced into a pleasantly calm cove, cut out of a cliff by hand for better atmosphere. Pretty, but obviously man-made, and encompassing a thunderous waterfall that fed into the shallows below. The cascade duly acted as both scenery, and a launching point for tour ships and recreational sea speeders. The tour ships were lumbering beasts, smoothly transitioning from river to air as they chest the falls. Cumbersome and boxish in design compared to the smaller crafts that streaked past them, or frolickedin their wakes. The speeders, small and streamline, shot from the same cascade out into the sky like blaster bolts, only to return to skim the water casually upon tiring of the initial thrill, or their pilot realizing there was no longer something supporting the craft from beneath. Most choking before gaining too much distance from the safety of the river. In fairness, it was a safe assessment. The speeders tend to cop out after too much flying. They were, after all, designed more to hover than take to the skies. Flying death traps that, unsurprisingly, always managed to attract the New Republic Pilots that vacationed there. A squadron of well-bodied men, barely systematically maintaining themselves, always seemed to rent the ghastly machines. Today was no different. They shoved and butted one another for their ‘go’ at flying from the edge of the faux cataract. Finally agreeing to flip an old, tarnished Wupiupi the eldest wingman kept in his pocket for luck to decide their order. Said luck being questionable, as the coin, naturally, decided its owner’s fate to be dead last. A low chuckle falling from cashmere lips as verdant orbs watched the distant figure mouth a curse before cantankerously handing over the key to a familiar face. The same shabby pilot from the night before, whose drink he'd lifted, hopped in the vehicle without any hesitation. Racing across the water’s surface at an alarming pace. The exact sort of impertinence Hux expected from one of the New Republic’s infamous flyboys. A particular memory came to mind, where Rae Sloane had gone as far as to refer to this particular breed of rebel scum as ‘wolfish’, a word she normally reserved as an insult against his Sargent in more private settings. One that wasn’t entirely incorrect, upon inspection of Rax’s nature beyond the service. A trait he had quickly discovered was inequitably common among the remaining Imperialists whom he’d been forced to grow up with. A prevalence that disgusted him even more than the idea of the Empire ruling once more, and that no rebel pilot he’d met, not without trying, had surpassed. Yet . While Armitage was sure a lot of why had to do with their surroundings, he had come to find a great many of the New Republic branch’s officers were generally less than well-mannered. Etiquette was a foreign concept to the entire lot of them, it seemed. It was rare to even find one with some semblance of what personal space was, let alone one that could recognize it. All were abhorrent, most were perverse, and some even bordered on lecherous - hosting rapacious hands that pawed at the hem of his skirt, and lascivious thoughts that snaked from voracious lips on the end of amatory tongues. Even the more composed Commander from the bar was quick to note the young Hux’s coquettishness. A state he had noted leaving the military man chewing his own tongue and fighting to keep grip on a glass with sweating palms. It was almost endearing, considering the alternative. ‘Poe’, as he called himself, had almost seemed sincere. Save for the pungent musk that wafted from his neck as Armitage drew his body ever closer to him that night. He had to wonder if the pilot had really thought he wouldn’t notice? Nothing stayed under Armitage’s radar for long. Not even when obscured by vague innocence. He was well aware the navy man wanted to sleep with him already, and though not unusual behavior for a soldier visiting Canto Bight, it was the pilots greatest weakness. The key to disrupting any chance the bronze buffoon had to resist. After all, the quickest way to a flyboy’s heart is just below his belt buckle.
“At least he’s cute.”
The words slipped from his mouth with a little more enthusiasm than he expected, but even Armitage had to admit that the Commander’s pheromones had done their job. The intoxicating mix of chemicals that oozed from his tawny skin had infiltrated his senses that night with what they caused naturally - A bodily response in the form of the desire to mate. As a man who preferred to believe he had a better control of his more sordid desires, this admission came with a sting of shame, knotting his gut more than the growing arousal that seemed to have become a recurring symptom of being in the pilot’s vicinity. Ivory digits glommed synthetic stone, the ginger’s attention fixated on the source of his pelvic discomfort as Dameron dared to push the small, and now quivering craft to what appeared to be its absolute limitations. What was the fool doing? Sea speeders weren’t made to fly long distances and the engines were clearly cutting out. Either he was insane, or…
Feral eyes scanned the craft’s surroundings, searching the ocean for some answer to the ensuing chaos. Armitage’s heart throbbing in this throat as verdigris finally fell over the bobbing head of a struggling child. Her small frame fighting the growing waves as a riptide dragged her from the shoreline. The muscles in thin legs coiled to leap the barrier before rationality stopped him in his tracks, the loud sputter of a dying engine core finally marking the speeder’s descent towards the sea below. Hux held his breath, the tiny vehicle falling into a nosedive, its sole passenger pressing his body as close to the craft as possible before it hit the water. A sound that closer resembled someone striking a plate of metal than a splash stung the ginger's ears, his face growing more pale than usual as both he and the crowd of onlookers grew quiet. Neither the girl or the pilot had surfaced. Frail arms shook and an audible yell ripped from Armitage's throat when a soaked palm of curls finally broke the waves. Floundering arms desperately assisting the frightened girl atop the now capsized craft before groping for a handle on the totaled vehicle himself. Unheard words working to calm coughing and crying despite what must have been substantial pain resulting from the fall. A suspicion confirmed when the rescuers that rushed the secured duo to shore had to help the pilot limp up the beach. The fact that the courageous idiot was standing at all was completely remarkable. A testament to his skill, or possibly just proof his skull was thicker than it should be. Whatever the case may be, such an impressive control over a ship not designed for colliding at full speed with the ocean was worth further consideration. Talent like that, if not just a culmination of asininity and dumb luck, was wasted on an X-Wing Squadron. Such a proficient pilot should be trained in a more exemplary army. For a cause with substance. A just goal.
Order.
“You certainly know how to make an impression, pilot.” Armitage taunted, making his way down to where Poe had stopped to sit, “You look like you could use a drink.” The suggestion was punctuated with the tap of a heel. The sharp sound right beside Poe catching him a bit off guard. The rough hands that had previously been wringing out his waterlogged tank top now desperately attempted to sweep back dripping curls. A low grunt escaping when he finally stumbled to his feet. A surge of pain sweeping his core, aching agonizingly as he attempted to catch his breath. The redhead having to stifle a laugh at the gruesome expression that twisted on the pilot’s face. “Do I have to move?” Poe questioned jokingly, gripping his abdomen. “My treat?” Armitage implored, a delicate fingertip sliding a loose curl from the doused fighter’s forehead. A smile crossing a well cut jaw as it did so, “It’s a date.”
The Arkanisian heir wasn’t sure how it happened, but the casual offer to buy a drink quickly turned into flirtatious conversation and dinner at seven. A loss of grip that made him grit his teeth, but not one he was too overly concerned with. Drinks, dinner, it made no real difference. The final stage of the plan was the same. And this way, Dameron was sure to think he was actually interested. Not that the pilot’s charm wasn’t making that easy enough. Parted lips pouted softly, a bionic arm reaching out to sweep a coating of matte plum. Vibrant jades watching the small droid work its magic in perfecting the evening’s look. Black crystals shimmering in the light, reflecting off the bot’s macro lense as it zoomed to focus on every small detail. A tight cocktail dress with a sweetheart neckline that sparkled against white flesh, especially where it was bared at the sides, or crossed straps drew an x between slight shoulder blades. A slim belt cinched his waste into a mocked curve, disguising his more linear shape. Slender legs denude from mid thigh to strapped ankle and sleek stiletto sandals to match. This time, the droid chose to line the ginger’s eyes in a smoked onyx. Careful to keep the fierce pigment from staining fiery filaments that stuck out from the coal color like scorching embers, celadon colors overpowering any blue hues as Hux examined his appearance with delight. Praising the droid for its hard work before stepping out for the evening's targeted pratt. He was a man on a mission this evening. Weapons drawn and sights set on turning a Rebel son from his father’s, or in this case, mother’s legacy. Pride swelled at the idea. The assassination of the New Republic in the eyes of such a decorated officer’s boy brought him more joy than he cared to admit and his shoulders were set high on that confidence. With the proper execution of woo and manipulation, it could even be called a simple task. Before dawn, the Naval Commander would be smitten with him, if he couldn’t be classified as that already. After all, there was one offer no flyboy could resist and it happened to be Armitage’s specialty.
“Evening, Pilot.” Broke lyrical cadence, delicate hands placing themselves on broad shoulders as the voice’s source leaned in for a whisper, "Did you miss me?” “Absolutely.”
A cheerful smile broke over a freshly shaven cheek, the shadow of dimples now painfully clear as he turned to look at his date. A look that visibly shook the painted ginger for a moment, taking his seat across from Poe. Armitage hadn’t noticed the genetic creasing before. It seemed to have been hidden under the roughage of stubble that had been there prior. A dangerous stir cut at his chest with each thundering beat of a racing pulse. He couldn’t yet tell if this feeling was excitement, or his senses warning him that trouble was coming, but the Arkanisian seemed to be leaning towards the latter. A flash of similar facial structures filling his mind with memories of freezing, tormented nights in the Jakku desert. The desire to break for the door only broken by the sound of his dinner plate being set down in front of him. “You have dimples.” Armitage finally spoke, mustering a plastic smile as he prodded his fork into a helpless vegetable. “I got them from my dad,” Poe replied, trying not to speak with his mouth full of food, “but his are more noticeable.” “My daddy had them as well.” The Arkanisian's brow twitched upon realizing what he’d said, pulling his napkin up to dab the corner of his lip before correcting himself. “Well, not my father - but, the man who cared for me when I was a child.” Curious coffee pools watched as brilliant jade surrendered to icy blue, an equally cold expression forming on the redhead’s face. The air about him had changed entirely. Body slumped, compressed as tightly as it could. Head lowered to avoid eye contact and hands clutching whatever was in grasp. A look of concern had broken out over Poe’s previously joyful gaze. A fear of having said or done something wrong brimming to panic in the back of his mind. A less than cautious hand darting across the table to rest over pale flesh. The sudden heat of his touch snapping Armitage from his trauma. The startled ginger ripping his fist from under a tan palm before calming himself, a quick recovery and placing his hand lightly over the worried pilot’s. “You look a bit like him.” He stated, running his thumb over a rugged knuckle. Surprisingly gentle fingers dared to coil with his own, a thumping heart beating at his rib cage uncomfortably. It wasn’t a familiar thing for the young Hux to have someone so conscious of his feelings. It wasn’t even familiar for anyone to assume he still had feelings. Most of his superiors simply assumed, or at least acted so, as though he was devoid of such useless things - like a good soldier should be. Yet, here he was. Lost in a swirl of unnecessary emotional memories that, had he not known better, he could have swore the pilot had seen too. A flyboy. An uncouth, degenerate New Republic fighter was seemingly showing him empathy. Armitage didn’t know whether to be horrified or disgusted by this sort of appalling infringement on his normalcy. Yet, neither described the feeling. An unconscious release of tension straightened his body as a soft smile returned to Dameron’s face, the pilot playfully joking about being unsure being compared to who the pilot was unaware was Gallius Rax, was a compliment.
There was something disarming about this 'Poe Dameron', despite Armitage being fully aware that he could be quite formidable if he chose to be. His ability to take charge without having to be given a direct command hadn’t gone unseen. Nor had his willingness to risk his own life for the life of an ailing child. An act that had struck Hux deeper than he’d previously noted. There was a kindness that radiated from him. A warmth like none the officer had felt before. It felt comfortable. Dare he say it, safe? An admission that brought what felt almost like guilt at the idea of seducing him, but not enough to stop the loyal operative from completing his goal. Not by a long shot. After all, flirtation was not a hard sell on the Commander. It was like waving a steak in front of a Nexu - It didn’t take long to get a bite. His nerves had seemed to simmer down from the night before and he was now in full swing, skillfully delighting his fem fatale with romantic conversation. Armitage was amused, he had to admit. The cocky pilot was almost shameless in his endeavors to dazzle him and before long their laced fingers had progressed to leaning over the table just to be closer to the other. Finished plates having been set aside for hungry hands to graze at any exposed skin they could reach. Soft pale digits teasing the hairs of Poe’s wrist as he spoke of his homeworld and the colony he grew up in. Tales of climbing in the Force sensitive tree he had in his yard, or attempting to pilot ships he’d built from scrap. Even a story of how his mother took him into the atmosphere to watch the sunrise over Yavin from space. All while himself pawing at the soft skin of Armitage’s arm as both patrons impatiently waited for the cheque, the duo finally making their way out into the night after paying. By the time they left, Armitage had removed his heels. Letting the stylish pair dangle carelessly from delicate fingers as he strolled along smooth stone roads barefoot. His date falling alongside, having stripped from his jacket to drape it over his lovely Ginger’s shoulders. Curious it seemed as to where the taller male was leading them after so abruptly exiting the restaurant. He was blissfully unaware of what the radiant Arkanian had planned for him.
The night was calm. Nary a breeze brushed bare skin and most of the planet’s guests had taken to their hotels, or busied themselves on indoor activities. Only a few well soused strangers, clearly enjoying their stay, stumbled the opposite direction down their path. The air around them cooled comfortably. Pallid fingers closing the rented coat around an exposed collar bone. It was infused with that same musk from the evening prior. A warm scent that reminded Armitage of one of the few sunny days he’d witnessed before being forced from his home on Arkanis. The smell of evaporating moisture as the usual rain dried from tree bark, and moss began to parch. Dark soil and black stone that radiated heat back as the sun beat down upon it. It was a rugged odor, with a spice that stung his nose enough to prick up his skin into goosebumps as copper lashes closed slowly in pleasure. Lifting the ebony fabric to his nose in wonderment. His mind buzzing in heated anticipation as he made his way towards his desired location.
“Pretty.” The pilot commented, his half dazed company turning to look back at him and nod. It was a beautiful sight. A stone balcony that stuck out from three archways and overlooked the humming lights of the city below. An orange glow that burned from blue and went on until it reached a black sea that broke with gray waves. Stacks of steam and smoke stretched towards the sky, spouting from late night cafes and restaurants before disappearing into a web of stars that were somehow more noticeable than they were from the street. The occasional sprout of palms shooting from between buildings, or amidst decorative features that stood stagnant as silhouettes. The view was that of a painting that one would find in a high priced art gallery. Brushed to canvas with precision and mastery to entice the senses and move its audience. Simple, timeless,classic.Romantic. Vermillion tresses rested silently on Poe’s shoulder. The awed male breaking his gaze to look instead at the beauty beside him. Fluorescent lashes closed gently over soft cheeks as his date leaned on him. A sweet smile barely visible on purple lips. A sight that caused the flyboy’s heart to pound as mossy colors appeared from behind ebony lids to watch him in return. Armitage raised his head slowly. Keeping his head tilted just enough to encourage Poe to steal a kiss. Rough fingertips tracing the edge of a pale jaw as both men leaned into the embrace. The taste of Hux's lips tingling on Poe's tongue. Heated ivory skin burning at bronze fingers as they slipped over exposed hips. Armitage leaning back against cold stone with a sudden hiss. The shock breaking their kiss for a moment before the flustered fighter could pant out a laugh. An aggravated glare burning from above flushed cheeks as Hux snarled at the lack of red staining his rendezvous darker complexion, smirking lips reclaiming sweet plums before the ginger could protest. Contorted mouths giving way for tongues to dance between hot breaths. A playful hand sloped the curve of Hux’s back, finding a place to rest as he arched closer to Poe's body. The pilot moved suddenly, lifting his lanky lover onto the balcony's facade. A startled yelp slipping out before Armitage managed to lock his legs around Poe’s waist. The hem of his skirt creeping up creamy thighs as he pulled Poe closer. He hadn't expected the smaller male to be capable of lifting him with such ease. Though, he supposed the Navy man was hardly unfit to do so. The structure of his body was cut with muscle, despite his more diminutive stature. A wide frame and thick arms, defined abdomen that Armitage could feel under the untailored shirt he’d procured for his time on Cantonica. Every inch seemingly carved from marble for ravenous hands to examine. Thin arms draped over Poe's shoulder as the slender fingers of one hand hooked in dark ringlets, tugging softly at chocolate curls. The opposite continued to assess the Commander’s shoulders and back. Fighting to swallow a whine as course hands made their way up already shaking legs at a painfully slow pace. Nails gripping cheap fabrics in desperation to feel more
Armitage could practically feel the pilot’s groin throbbing. He knew he wanted him just as much, yet Poe kept it slow. Teasing and tormenting each and every field of bare skin his fingers could access. An act that nearly made the lusting Hux want to push him down. A temptation he swallowed along with an agonized moan. The last thing he wanted was to scare him off by being too aggressive. All his careful planning would have been for not if he were too quick to push the flyboy. Of course, it was a concern of why he’d become so impatient at all? Why was he so desperate under the Commander’s touch? Those worries were quickly silenced by the feeling of warm hands slipping under his skirt to paw at a frail pair of lace panties. A mostly transparent number with a floral pattern and filigree he’d hand picked especially for the evening. Tight thighs closing just enough to allow the garment to be slipped off with ease. Hands propping themselves at his sides, fully ready to drop from his seat and lean over the railing, only to be halted when the philanthropic flyboy dropped to his knees. Wide hands grasping soft inner thighs as the Arkanisian’s abdomen tensed. "Poe-"
Olive eyes rolled back, the sensation of moisture and heat sending a shudder through his body. Lithe legs weakly pushing in on firm palms that held them at bay while a wet tongue slicked it’s way up his length. A gentle kiss moving seamlessly into parted lips that grazed pulsing flesh. His heart throbbed almost painfully, head dizzied as thin fingers fumbled to lace in soft curls. An unfamiliar stir knotting his gut at the tawny male deciding to treat him. A skillful tongue gliding downward. Each pass smoother than the last as Hux’s member slipped deeper into his pilot’s eager mouth. His posture arching as Poe began to gently suck. A gasp breaking from smudged lips, talons gripping tighter at the coil. That clad Poe's scalp as unannounced fingers fondled what the Republic fighter couldn’t swallow. A light pressure applied at the base that begged the sylphid male to cum. “Ahh. Pilot…!”
Every muscle in his thin frame tightened, a sharp shiver pulsing through his body as he released. Sturdy arms holding the quivering figure from slipping off his perch. How could he have come so quickly? He was almost ashamed. After all, it was he who was to be seducing the pilot. Not the other way around. It didn't matter. He was beyond caring right now. Buzzed arms flung themselves around the moondweller’s neck, pulling him into a kiss before he’d had the chance to swallow. A bittersweet mix invading his mouth with a starved tongue, edging his hips forward, faded jade locking with brown. Armitage broke the kiss, that hot, wet tongue slowly slicking his own fingers. A sly hand slipping down to fondle the growth throbbing at Poe's trousers. Moving to coat his entrance, the seminal mixture his lover had shared with him allowing him to slowly slip a slender finger inside himself. Another following as tears filling emerald pools, Poe fumbling to unfasten his belt. He could sense his partner’s unwillingness to wait any longer. The hungry look in those verdant pools enough to steal his very breath. Tapered fingers slipping over Poe’s member, coiling to close towards the tip. Cradling the hot mass to position him at his entrance. The two first fingers on his hand being used to guide the thick length to replace his own digits. The pilot’s size was larger than Hux had anticipated, and not at all what his height had prepared him for. There was a noticeable wince as Poe pushed deeper, and Armitage had to bite down on the shoulder of the Commander’s wrinkled dress shirt to stifle a scream. Teary eyes shutting tightly as tears his body shook. Hux kept his legs up as best as he could, the pressure quickly giving way to pleasure. Firm hands moving to assist weak thighs from falling causing Armitage to arch his back. The harsh breaths and moans of his lover for the evening beckoning him to press his body closer. To connect every possible part of them. Ever sliver of skin. Fine fingers ripped at white cotton cloth, tattering that which barricaded from gold flesh, frustratingly halting his touch. A hungry mouth mauling at the tender point between Poe's neck and collarbone as their rhythms came into sync. A ruined mop of orange hair flinging back with an unrestrained moan, Poe hitting his prostate without any forewarning. A steady rhythm repeating the indulgent thrill as long legs locked over the flyboy to keep him in place. A repetitive sensation drawing him ever closer to climax with each dedicated thrust.
“Kriffing cum…!”
There was an urgency in that breathless command. Dominating and insistent. A desperation that shot like fire through the pilot’s core. Entrancing him to abide in his lover’s orders. A cry ripping from Armitage’s throat as his body twisted and turned under the sensation filling him. Hot pearls beading onto his stomach as he twitched and seized below the fighter’s weight. Finally ceasing as Hux’s body relaxed into what felt like a puddle. Poe lifted the limp Arkanisian's head so he could kiss him. Both fighting to catch their breath as their bodies cooled and unwound against the white stone. Arms coiled inseparably and on the verge of collapse, their foreheads pressed to the other’s in tender embrace. It wasn’t like anything Armitage had felt before. There was no chance the pilot would let him go, but he didn’t feel restrained. He didn’t feel smothered, or obligated. He was protected. Safe. A quality the young Hux had never been able to recall before. Not through sex, or with any man he’d had hold him. Not even as a child had he ever been made to feel so comfortable. It was a feeling that something deep inside of him yearned for again and again. One he wanted to keep with him always. Even if he knew that could never be. This was not protocol. His feelings, these sordid desires that had suddenly become such a plague unto him. The First Order, like the Empire before it, strictly forbade sexual behavior outside of the act of reproduction. Intercorse was a tool, not a game. There was no necessity for pleasure. It was only a distraction from his ultimate goal. Yet, he wanted to feel it, if only for a while. To see what it was like - understand why it had always been such an effective weapon in manipulating one's enemy, he’d enjoy this passion for the little Rebel pilot. This passion that bubbled between them, Even if it had to stay in Canto Bight .