Title: Stay Hungry
Fandom: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Rating: PG
Length: 1500 w
Content notes: none, it's just domestic fluff
Author notes: for fan_flashworks "it's a trap!"; also for 15kisses prompt "help". Thanks to G for beta and lunabee34, minoanmiss, & blueswan for encouragement.
Summary: Poe insisted on making dinner, and it's not going well.


They were, in Leia's words, keeping house together. Finn assumed that was mostly figurative, given how this wasn't a house, but a revamped escape pod from an Imperial dreadnought. Like the other capsule dwellings around base, this place had way more imagination than space — just a combination cookery-and-refresher station, sleeping area, and this intervening common area, large enough for two, if you were both sitting down and already got along well.

Finn loved having his own space like this. He wasn't able, however, to make Leia's imaginative leap, let alone the sort of flights of fancy that Poe liked to do, whereby they entertained friends over dinner and drinks.

Something clattered in the cooking area. There was a pause, then the muffled sound of Poe cursing. Another, longer pause intervened before an enormous, clanking noise.

Rey looked at Finn, who just shrugged.

"Shouldn't we check what the problem is?" She frowned at the curtain pulled across the entrance to the cookery. "Make sure he's okay?"

Finn scrolled through several screens on his datapad before replying. "He's fine."

"Mothermunching bantha-bile turdshit!" Poe yelled. Then: "I'm fine!"

"See?" Finn said without looking all the way up. "He's fine."

"If you say so," she said, sitting back and uncrossing her arms. A few more bangs and bumps and curses, and she sat back up. "He probably needs help."

"Oh, no doubt about that," Finn said. He smiled a little, like he was remembering a joke. "But he can get by, trust me."

Rey clasped her hands between her legs, then shifted again and played with her hair. "The thing is, though. I'm really hungry."

Finn grinned at her. "When aren't you?"

She rolled her eyes.

He started to push the dish of nuts and dried fruit toward her, then realized she had finished all of them, as well as the little shore-berries he'd picked this morning and set out to dry.

Rey said, "And if helping him means we get food faster, that would be the right strategy to take."

"Except," Finn began, then set aside his datapad and leaned forward so she had his full attention. "Helping him usually means taking over and doing it for him and while that might be quicker, it's also annoying."

"To you."

"To me, yes." Finn nodded, finishing the conversation, and picked up his pad.

"I'm going to go find Rose, she usually has leftovers or knows who has some," Rey announced, standing and grabbing her coat. She stopped, remembering her manners, and added, "Thank you for the invitation to dinner."

"But—" Finn rose, then didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry."

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said without turning. Raising her voice as she passed the cooking station, she called, "Thanks for nothing, Poe! See you later."

Something else crashed and Poe stuck his head through the space between bulkhead and curtain. His hair was damp from sweat and steam, the curls rioting upward, and his face was flushed.

"What's going on? Where's Rey going?"

"Funny thing," Finn said. He leaned against the bulkhead opposite the curtain and crossed his legs. "Invited her to dinner and she went and expected to be served some dinner."

Poe's mouth opened and worked silently for a few moments. He shook himself and flung open the curtain. "I'm making dinner! You told her I was making dinner, right?"

"I told her you wanted to make dinner, sure."

"Finn!"

"Poe." Finn's lips twitched, but he managed to keep the smile from spreading.

"Finn! Look at this! Is this the kitchen of someone not making dinner?"

Finn peered over Poe's shoulder. "That is the kitchen of someone who has some sort of vendetta against utensils and pots."

"I'm not used to this cooker!"

"All right," Finn said. "But the pots?"

Poe sighed and waved his hand. "They're surprisingly slippery."

Nodding, Finn patted Poe's shoulder. Sweat had soaked through the thin jersey and now the fabric was damp, clinging to Poe's skin.

"What were you going to make, anyway?"

Poe straightened up, then coughed into his hand to clear his throat. This was how he started briefings, too. Finn wondered whether Poe had been doing the same move since primary school presentations.

"Greens stew with Panannian legumes and those spicy stalk things you like even though they do weird things to my piss, plus roasted lotus roots with a bitterfruit glaze—"

"Damn," Finn said. "Kind of wish you'd succeeded."

Poe's nose wrinkled up as he smirked. "It was going to be amazing." He sighed again and slumped, looking utterly dejected. "If only someone had been kind enough to check on me. 'Hey, Poe, ol' buddy, ol' pal, how's it going in here? Need a hand?' and so on."

"Uh-huh."

"And then I'd be all, 'no, no, I got this,' and this mysterious big-hearted stranger would insist-" Poe deepened his voice. "'Oh, but I really must insist, you're such a handsome and sweet dude, let me pitch in...'"

"That would have been pretty interesting," Finn said. He was rubbing Poe's back again, up high across his shoulder blades. "Shame it was just me and Rey here, huh?"

"Yeah," Poe said, head hanging. Finn squeezed the base of his neck and Poe groaned happily. As usual, his muscles were as tense as duracrete. Poe tipped against him.

"I mean, you set the trap expertly," Finn added.

"No trap," Poe mumbled, turning so they were chest to chest, resting his forehead against Finn's shoulder. When Finn moved his hand down Poe's back, Poe made a sub-verbal noise of complaint; Finn resumed rubbing his neck and Poe sighed.

"Definitely a trap," Finn said and switched hands. His thumb and fingers were starting to ache.

Poe tipped back his head so he could meet Finn's gaze. "I'm too proud to ask for help."

"Oh, is that the issue?"

After a long while, during which his eyes darted and he sucked and bit one cheek, Poe said, "Maybe?"

"Interesting."

Poe shuffled around, as if he could get closer to Finn than they already were. As his hands came to rest on Finn's waist, he leaned in and brushed his lips against Finn's. "Why are you so mean to me?"

Finn smiled, sudden and broad. "You get ambitious, you know. Maybe you need to...scale back your expectations sometimes."

"Maybe you need to shut up," Poe mumbled, and kissed him again. "I set my hopes high so I can get good stuff. That's how hope works."

"That's also a recipe for disappointment." Finn didn't have much energy for this debate, but it was important to make his usual point. It wasn't that he wanted Poe to be disappointed. He wanted everything the opposite of that, but he also worried in equal measure what could happen to the guy after so much disappointment.

"Joke's on you," Poe said, smile curving, brows lifting, amused by his own dumb joke, "I don't use recipes."

"I know," Finn said. He tilted his head and wrapped his other arm around Poe's back, kissing him for a good, long lingering interval. They swayed lightly together in the kiss.

Poe made a deeper, cracked sound in his throat and dug his fingers against the muscle of Finn's waist. He got a knee between Finn's and grazed his teeth along the inside of Finn's lower lip.

"Easy, man," Finn whispered, drawing back. "We need to figure out dinner first."

"I hate cooking," Poe said as he pressed his face against Finn's chest again. He peeked up to add, "Can I admit that?"

"Aw," Finn said without much warmth, but plenty of sarcasm. "I keep telling you, those insta-sludges and puffy protein puffs are more than fine by me."

"I hate cooking but I have this crazy compulsion for flavor."

"Dilemma," Finn commented, combing Poe's hair up from the nape of his neck. Poe shivered pleasantly at the touch.

"Maybe you could help with the stew?" Poe suggested. "And I'll tackle the root?"

Finn laughed and checked the one pot on the cooker. Inside, watery green broth sloshed around. That was not stew and probably never would be.

"Maybe we could have more porridge for dinner and sort out this stuff some other time."

Poe chewed his lip. "Vulpix-tail millet and dried hollowberries sound good?"

"The best," Finn agreed. "Forty seconds in the nuker, and we're eating like kings. Who are infants. With upset tummies."

"Excellent." Poe swept Finn up in a sudden hug and kissed him loudly, wetly, all his relief and joy washing out the frustration. That was something Finn very much wanted to learn: how to let a bad mood go and dive into the next, happier one.

Enough time with Poe, he figured, and he'd be a natural at it.