Chapter 1
It wasn’t like Finn had never done this before.
He’d had plenty of sex while he worked on Starkiller Base. There’d been the short-lived midnight trysts with Phasma, the one night when Slip was drunk and desperate, and, of course, all of the time he’d spent with Nines. From bunks to maintenance rooms to escape pods. There’s even been the one time in the TIE Fighter, where Finn had gripped the controls for balance and accidentally sent a blast into the hangar. Thankfully, they’d been able to get dressed in time. Nines had taken the fall that time, claiming he’d heard a noise and gone to investigate when he’d tripped and hit the trigger. Finn, or “Eight-Seven” as he was called then, had simply heard the blast while walking nearby and run to see what was going on. Nines was reprimanded by Phasma and Hux with the usual spiel of how lucky he was that no one was hurt. The two Stormtroopers had laughed for quite some time that night as Nines reenacted Eight-Seven’s trip dramatically, but then the laughter gave way to the usual late-night bunk fumbling.
So, of course, Finn wasn’t new to sex. But, by the Force, was he nervous. He tried to tell himself that it was because of Poe. The rugged Resistance pilot was different from anyone else he’d ever known, after all. There was feeling behind this relationship, not just two men in armor struggling to retain something of themselves after years of conditioning. Finn had saved Poe’s life, and Poe helped him remove his identity from the First Order. They’d been torn apart after only moments together, only to find each other again. Poe’s face was the first Finn saw when he woke up from the injuries he’d gotten during the attack on Starkiller Base, and the first time Finn stood up without falling down, Poe had been so ecstatic that he’d swept the ex-Stormtrooper off of his feet and kissed him. Poe Dameron was just something else entirely. Even so, the dashing pilot wasn’t what was making Finn sweat bullets. No, it was memories, particularly of the last times he’d seen Nines.
They were both grieving. They’d returned to the base after the raid on Jakku with a squadron of three instead of four. Zeroes and Nines were both upset about losing Slip, but not in the same way that Eight-Seven was. They’d all seen it coming, there was no denying that. Slip had constantly fallen behind in training simulations, but Eight-Seven had always managed to save him. Until it came to real life. Despite being by his side, Eight-Seven was too late.
The moment they’d been ordered back to the barracks, Nines wasted no time, removing his helmet and gloves first, striding to Eight-Seven with a vicious need for comfort. He stopped cold in his tracks when he saw the streaks of blood on the shocked man’s helmet.
“You couldn’t have done anything,” Nines whispered. He removed Eight-Seven’s helmet for him slowly, revealing the Stormtrooper’s sweaty, tear drenched face. “He just wasn’t ready.” Anger coursed through Eight-Seven’s veins as he stared at the ground, avoiding Nines’s pale eyes.
“He shouldn’t have been in the field. I tried to tell Captain Phasma that he wasn’t ready. She said that a weak link either needs to be fixed or allowed to break,” he spat. The anger gave way to sorrow and guilt again as tears stung his eyes.
Nines had always been able to avoid emotional outbursts. Instead, he gripped Eight-Seven’s face and tried to wipe away the constant stream of tears. “Just kiss me, it’ll be okay,” he soothed.
On some level, Eight-Seven knew he needed something other than to be distracted by mindlessly fucking away his grief. But in the moment, all he wanted was punishment, and he knew how to make Nines give it to him. The night went on, and Zeroes, used to the sounds of the “couple’s” violent fucking, put his noise-cancelers into his ears as Nines let every hint of emotion he had go into Eight-Seven’s body. But once they were done and Nines felt the comfortable numbness return, Eight-Seven was still plagued by thoughts and feelings that he’d managed to ignore throughout the years, magnified by the loss of one of the people closest to him. One thought pierced all of the others, travelling from his subconscious to the forefront of his mind. ‘Fuck the First Order.’
“I hate them,” the young Stormtrooper hissed. Decades of rage and fear and pain that had been beaten back by constant conditioning surged forward. He couldn’t take it anymore.
Nines rolled over to look at his lover. “Who doesn’t? They’ve killed hundreds of us, and yet they claim to be the humanitarians. Slip was just another notch on someone’s belt.” Eight-Seven swallowed. They were talking about two completely different groups, on separate sides. It hit him then: Nines was lost.
Eight-Seven snuck out of bed that night, his mind racing. He needed to leave, to get far away from the base. That was when he’d remembered the rumors about the prisoner from Jakku. The others were saying that he was the best pilot in the Resistance. If he could fly as well as he’d heard, maybe they could escape. That night, Eight-Seven died and Finn was born.
From the moment he made eye contact with Poe, Nines had been practically swept from his mind. Even with Poe seemingly gone, Rey managed to keep thoughts of his old life at bay. The constant action was the perfect distraction from the fact that he’d simply left the person that he shared the most intimate parts of himself with behind without a single goodbye. He thought that was the last of it, until the day Han Solo led them to Takodana.
The moment the First Order arrived, Finn could practically feel Nines's presence, yet he continued on with Luke Skywalker's lightsaber in hand. Somehow, he'd convinced himself that there was no way they'd see one another.
Then he heard that voice he'd been dreading even the mere memory of.
"Traitor!"
And he heard that voice ringing in his ears as Poe placed gentle kisses along his jaw. The image of Nines being shot into oblivion flashed before the younger man's eyes, and his chest tightened. He could feel himself begin to shake. 'Oh, by the Force, not now,' he thought frantically. 'Please, not now.'
Poe paused, noticing the change in his partner's demeanor immediately, and looked at his face. "Finn?" There was no response. The dark man had his eyes closed tightly, his face drawn up in what seemed to be pain. "Finn, what's wrong?" He wanted to ask a dozen questions('Was it me? Can I help? What did I do?'), but he knew better than to do that. He'd seen plenty of breakdowns in his time with the Resistance, and overwhelming them was the worst thing to do. Taking a deep breath, he brought a tentative hand to Finn's face. "Babe?"
Finn's lip began to quiver and tears poured from his eyes. "I can't. I'm sorry, I just can't right now. I want to, but I can't," he choked out, bringing his hands to his face.
"It's okay, I understand," Poe replied, even though he didn't. He searched his mind wildly, attempting to muster up something to say or do. But he couldn't think, all he knew was that Finn, his beautiful boyfriend, was crying uncontrollably and he didn't know why. He swallowed and heard his own voice crack with emotion as he asked, "What can I do? Please tell me."
The deep brown eyes that the pilot had come to adore opened, connecting with his own. "Just hold me," Finn whispered through shaky breaths. Poe nodded silently as Finn sat up, leaning into him. He buried his face in the older man's bare chest, trying to block out the crippling thoughts and focus only on the comfort of Poe's skin. But he couldn't. All he could think about was those damned memories. From the beginning to the very end. Yet the more he went through his past, the more the rose-colored goggles began to fade. In Poe's arms, he began to remember even more that he'd suppressed, the darker times, and he cried even harder.
A helpless Poe sat there, clutching the most important person in his life to his chest. He didn't know what this was. He didn't know how to help beyond holding him. All he did know was that he'd continue to hold Finn until he told him to stop, even if that took the rest of his life.