He immediately protested the loss of Finn's mouth with a groan -- which turned into a healthy, husky moan as soon as he felt the pressure on his neck.

"Yours--" The word ground out between his teeth - an affirmation, a promise, and a plea all at the same time.

His fingers dug hard into Finn's backside, biting the fabric, and if they had been anywhere else - *anywhere *else, there would be a lot more insistent and urgent demands being made. But Poe was horribly aware of just how unprepared he was, at the moment. So fine. Rutting it was. He felt like he was fifteen again, dry humping for the first time. He hadn't figured it would be that hot, later on in life. (He was so, so wrong.)