It was a possessive thing, Finn rationalized. Poe wasn't talking literally. He should feel neither hope nor despair because this wasn't what he really meant.

But he tried to imagine it anyway. That this wasn't a hotel room he'd been fucked in a million times but someplace that was theirs. (That thought was going to hurt a lot when another client got this room.) There was no base hardly a mile away. This was no hotel and there was no one else. In fact, they were entirely different people from a totally different time. Just at peace and in love. It was remarkably easy to picture, far more than it should be.

His hand stayed slow as if they had all the time in the galaxy, as if they could do this whenever they wanted. His breath hitched, hand running lower for just a moment before continuing his strokes. "Poe," he muttered, hand reaching for his chest. "I've been waiting for you. There's no one else, there's nothing else here, and I want you."

It would have sounded scripted if not for the wavering in his voice and the plea in his eyes. Just a moment to forget was all he wanted. He'd remember later what he really was to Poe and how weak he was to think differently and beg, but that was later.