With Poe's warm, relaxed body against him again, Finn was able to put everything else aside. He could bask in this, staying here forever if he wanted to, drowning. He closed his eyes and let himself be slowly consumed again.

Hours later, he was still in the bed, wrapped in Poe's arms, staring at the bulkhead. The same horrifying thought kept swimming around his mind as he turned the words this way and that, trying to decipher some sort of sense: He'd begged Poe for it.

He couldn't keep denying the finer points to himself anymore. The baseline was that he'd enjoyed the sex with Poe, on all occasions. The fear and forcefulness and possessive nature- It all turned him on more than anything else ever had before. He had to admit that.

But he still knew this was wrong, even if he liked that it was wrong. Poe refused to listen to him, refused to sway when he expected Finn to bend on command. They had agreed on something mutual, and Poe led the charge in fucking it up. And Finn begged him to keep doing it.

Fuck, fuck, what was wrong with him?

He untangled himself from the arms, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, but there was nowhere to go. He rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed at his face, just sitting there. Even if he did get up, Poe would find him. And he'd gravitate back to Poe, thinking they could talk. And they'd somehow end up fucking again or something. But they did need to talk, Poe needed help.

Maybe- Maybe now that they had done this, they could stop arguing about... how it would begin. Maybe if they could move beyond that, Poe would feel more secure about their relationship and listen to him.

He pressed his thumbs against his closed eyes, willing himself to calm down. Nothing would get done if he was freaking out.