Poe chuckled, lowly, the idea of Finn counting down was at once hilarious and erotic, and he now regretted giving such a precise estimation, but.

Well. Hopefully he could distract him.

He was doing his best, at least - slowly and methodically working the tight muscle open. However much Finn hated him now, he'd thank him later. The second finger followed soon after - spreading them gently apart as Poe's breath was slowly growing ragged. He had patience, sure, but patience only extended so far, and the way Finn was moaning was making it really, really difficult.

"This'll go faster if you help," he whispered roughly. "Grab the bottle."