Pretty Poe Dameron thots...
Being his hairdresser and getting to wash those luscious curls. Running the warm water over his tresses. Massaging the shampoo into his hair. Rinsing it off and applying the conditioner; massaging the cream into his scalp, tugging at the strands. Getting a little smile and a bottom lip-bite out of him while you take your time saturating every strand. His little hums of pleasure.
Once you rinse and towel dry him, you can’t find it in you to cut a single piece because they’re all so gorgeous. You whisper in his ear that it “looks good long” and you keep rubbing your fingers through his tresses with product.
First of all, I know nothing about hairdressing lol but this does sound wonderful.
Poor Poe is so stressed that as you start washing his hair, the usually chatter commander just melts. You almost think he falls asleep if it wasn’t for the lip bite and the little hums and moans of pleasure. You don’t feel guilty taking so long washing his hair since he’s enjoying it just as much, if not more, than you are. “That smells great, what is that?” He murmurs as you massage the conditioner in.
Making sure his hair is all falling into place after drying it, placing the curls as they normally sit - which you know just because of the way the hair grows, not because you’ve stared at him before... - and honestly as his hair dries and the curls bounce up after being weighed down from the water, you just can’t do it.
“Looks good long.” You tell him, not realizing how low your voice is, how close you are to his ear. Your hands are on his shoulders and you feel him shudder.
“You think?” He asks, eyes locking with yours in the mirror.
You nod, resisting the urge to rub his shoulders or run your hands down his chest. “In my professional opinion, but it’s your call.”
“You know best.” He agrees and starts to move, but you stop him from standing with your hands still on his shoulders.
“Let me get the dead ends.” You stop him, both wanting to make his hair as healthy as it can be, but also not wanting to give him up just yet.
It doesn’t take you long to finish the trim, and once you’re happy the dead ends are gone you’re rubbing some styling cream between your palms, a nice smelling solution that brings out natural curls. You run it through his hair, trying to focus on the strands between your fingers and not the way his eyes close and his cheeks heat up.
As you’re brushing the stray hair off his neck and face, all you can think is this man needs someone to play with his hair more often based on his reactions. You don’t think that it has anything to do with you - you’re just a tech that moonlights as the hairdresser and he’s the best pilot in the resistance.
He comes and finds you a few days later and you’re worried he’s upset about the cut, but instead he asks if you’d like to have dinner that night, you realize it might have a little bit to do with you.
