Poe Dameron Appreciation Week Day 5 (a day late)
Doing Day 5 because wanted to write something yesterday, but my executive dysfunction was through the roof. I don’t even properly have anything (excerpt for a fic excerpt at the end), but as I’m finally almost done with the first draft for my gingerpilot fic, I have some rambling thoughts.
I don’t treat gingerpilot as a crack ship. Yeah, I find that aspect fun, but I don’t write crack (I have no talent for it, which makes me sad). I write serious relationships. I also write could never ever happen in canon ships because it’s a great challenge. And I’d just spent a year writing two good guys who are immediately compatible, so I really needed a break. I also needed to get some dark energy in here because writing exclusively decent people gets tiring. I need to feed the demons somehow. So when gingerpilot started popping up in the Poe tag, I grew interested. I’d never paid any attention to Hux in TFA, but I found him so much more interesting in TLJ (yup, I’m one of those people). So, as I was walking through the park one day, this idea popped up into my head. I wrote down a beginning when I got home, having no clue where this was going, but hoping that it wouldn’t get past 30,000 words.
I have no grasp of what 30,000 words means. Clearly. I have 107,745 words now. And I still have a couple of more scenes to write. And I’ve discarded so many storylines that didn’t work out. This fic is officially the length of The Prisoner of Azkaban.
What happened was that I did something horrible to my arm that first night, either a sprain or I don’t know what, and was in horrible pain for days, and all I could do was sit with my arm propped up and try to distract myself by whatever means possible, which with me always means a story. In this case, the one I had just started writing. My ADHD brain instantly went into hyperfocus for weeks. I’ve never written this fast in my life. But I could not stop. This fic was the only thing keeping me sane as I popped painkillers every eight hours, because holy shit it hurt (I wasn’t on painkillers for weeks, but recovery did take forever). I really, desperately needed to write characters who weren’t obviously compatible, and yet, really are (these two will not stop flirting), and are all about cuddling and touching each other and have exactly the kind of sex-free, sensual relationship that I want.
Oh yeah, I’m writing them as ace. The dearth of sex-free ace fanfic depresses me every time I try to find something to read. Another giant motivation for me is simply having something to curl up to that caters to my tastes and needs for once. And canon has been so nice about not giving me any obviously sexual vibes that I need to ignore (if you try to burst my safety bubble, which my mental health depends on, I will ignore you).
So… Yeah. I’m not sure why I’m posting this before the actual fic. So here’s an excerpt:
Armitage blinked his eyes open to warm sunlight. He frowned. This wasn’t his hotel room. On his guard, he took stock of his surroundings as he lied still on the bed. And the bed’s other occupant. Oh. He’d fallen asleep on Poe’s bed. That hadn’t been his intention. Although, since none of this sappy exchange of feelings and letting his guard down so thoroughly that he’d allowed himself to be unconscious beside someone else had been intentional, perhaps he should quit being so fixated on planning any of this out. He and Poe had cuddled for about an hour, although he couldn’t be sure. Armitage had rubbed his hands over the full expanse of Poe’s bare torso, then he’d laid his head down on a pillow while Poe stroked his back. Soothing. Always so soothing. Did he expect Armitage to break down again? Well, Armitage had hardly given him reason to think otherwise with his shameful displays of emotion.
Poe was still asleep, lying on his back, the thick, cerulean blanket pulled up to mid-chest. His left arm rested atop the blanket, while his right was tucked beneath it. His chest rose softly with each breath. Armitage’s attention caught on the brushed steel band hanging on a chain, also steel, around his neck. His mother’s wedding ring. For a moment, Armitage indulged his own frequent regret at not possessing anything from his own mother, then brushed the thought aside.
Poe looked beautiful like this. Well, the man looked obnoxiously gorgeous no matter what he was doing or what expression he had on his face. Even now, with Poe’s face slack in sleep, Armitage saw that pretty smile and his distress as Armitage confessed his less than desirable backstory, so concerned for him, his desire to comfort Armitage so disconcertingly genuine.
If Armitage revealed his true identity to him, that concern would evaporate. The softness in his eyes would turn to steel. His hand would reach for a blaster instead of the touch of Armitage’s hair. That would make dispatching Poe easier. If Poe regarded him with hate and disgust instead of nascent affection. Armitage raised his left hand, holding it over Poe’s head. If he touched those brown curls, Poe might wake. Why didn’t Armitage want that to happen? Why was he concerned about Poe getting sufficient sleep?
He lowered his hand, looking at his clothed arm. Only Poe had removed his shirt last night. He hadn’t asked Armitage to remove his, nor had Armitage offered, even as he wondered if Poe found the uneven amount of dress unfair. Armitage rarely allowed anyone to see his bare torso. A childhood insecurity. One of the many shortcomings that he couldn’t seem to shake.
<i>Sixteen years old and still as scrawny as a starved rat. A stiff breeze could tip you over.</i>
Armitage had already made regular visits to the gym of the Absolution to be able to hold his own in a fight, but after that comment, he’d doubled his efforts. They continued until this day, yet Armitage had only managed to build the leanest muscle mass. The stronger build that he trained into his stormtroopers would always be beyond him. Especially now that he was so busy with running an army. He barely managed to stop by the gym three times a week. Poe himself wasn’t rippling with muscle, but his chest looked far more appealing than Armitage’s own. Yes. He, General Hux, had been too embarrassed to remove his shirt before a Republic pilot.
Sneering at his own ridiculousness, Armitage got up, slowly, making sure to jostle the mattress as little as possible, and went to the refresher. When he came back, Poe had shifted onto his right side, his back to what was currently Armitage’s side of the bed. The blanket had slipped to his waist, revealing the full expanse of his back. A back that Armitage had kissed and stroked mere hours earlier.
There was a particular activity that Armitage had always wanted to indulge in. He’d wished to last night, but it seemed that he’d fallen asleep, instead. No time like the present, like they say. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, Armitage pulled it over his head. He glanced down at his chest as he folded the shirt and placed it on the side table. <i>Still too thin.</i> He straightened his spine, shoving the thought away. Ten years dead, and yet the old bastard still made it impossible for Armitage to be comfortable in his own skin. Poe wouldn’t mind his slenderness. It was obvious enough while Armitage had his clothes on.
Gently, he got back into bed, slipping under the blanket as he scooched toward Poe. He pressed his face to Poe’s right shoulder blade, encircling his waist with his left arm, and closed his eyes.
