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The sun is near set when they stop to make camp, disappearing over the mountains way in the distance. It’s just the two of them out here on the range, for now at least. In a day or so they’ll reach town.
For now, Finn sits, watching his cowboy finish his share of the night’s chores. He can make out the silhouette of Poe’s shoulders, the brim of his hat against the darkening sky—solid and steady as he pets down the sloped shoulder of his mare.
“Come here,” Finn says, smoothing his hand down the fabric of the bedroll, “sit with me.”
“The horses need tending to,” his cowboy answers, though they’ve already been given their fill—fed and watered, brushed until their coats shine. Still, Poe lingers, rubbing around his mare’s ears and snout, soft and affectionate. He dotes on them, kind-hearted and generous.
His cowboy is a good man, Finn knows, but the horses aren’t the only ones needing his attention tonight. Finn lifts his chin and says, “So do I.”
At that, Poe glances over his shoulder, firelight flickering in his eyes.
It was across a dying campfire that Finn first laid eyes on him, when he was just one of a dozen cowboys hired to drive cattle north. He was telling stories, voice dropped low to not spook the herd, and Finn remembers having to lean in close just to hear him talk. Even back then, he knew that Poe’d be someone worth paying attention to.
He learned over the next few months of the drive, that Poe Dameron was good with a lasso but couldn’t shoot worth a damn, and that he didn’t mind guarding the cattle at night so long as he could see stars shining in the heavens.
When the drive was through—head of cattle all counted, wages distributed—Finn found him at the saloon.
“Howdy partner,” Poe said, smiling like he'd been waiting for him all evening. “Was hoping I’d see you again.”
He slid over a glass of something strong and dark, and Finn took a sip, savoring the taste. He didn’t miss the way Poe watched him as he swallowed it down. His eyes were dark in the dim saloon, like hot coffee over a fire, strong enough to float a horseshoe. Finn wasn’t sure which set his heart to racing more.
He had a feeling he knew why Poe wasn’t out whoring or gambling away his earnings like the rest of the men, flush with cash in a town with plenty of ways to spend it. Instead, he asked, “You got a sweetheart back home missing you?”
Poe laughed, eyes squinting like they do in the sunlight. He shook his head. “My mama always used to say that I’ve got too much tumbleweed in my blood to ever settle down.”
Finn smiled, though his heart was jackrabbiting in his chest. He slid his boot across the floorboards, spreading his legs until their knees touched under the table, full of intent. “I reckon we might have that in common.”
And later that night, Finn learned how sweet rye whiskey tastes when sipped from another man’s lips and that strong hands that grip reins and rope cattle feel gentle on his skin.
The next morning, in the early dawn light, Poe kissed him softly. He said that he’d be heading back south for another drive in a few weeks time, and that they sure could use another cowboy with experience.
When he saddled up and left town later that day, Finn went with him. They’ve been riding together ever since.
“Thanks for starting the fire,” Poe says.
“I had no choice,” Finn shoots back, making a show of blowing on his hands and rubbing them together. “Since you’re too busy spoiling the horses to keep me warm.”
Poe snorts—or maybe it’s his mare—and he gives her a final pat on the shoulder before turning around. “I reckon they’ve earned it, don’t you?” He strides closer until he’s standing over Finn, boots bracketing his thighs, and Finn has to crane his neck just to hold his gaze. “Besides, I think I spoil you plenty.”
“Prove it,” Finn says, tugging at Poe’s hand until he drops into his lap, thighs spread wide over his own. “Spoil me.”
It’s not a challenge that Poe is ever going to refuse. His eyes drop to Finn’s lips as he leans in for a kiss. But he stops himself mere inches away, drawing himself back, eyes shifting left to right along the horizon. It’s an old habit.
Finn cracks a smile as he watches him, amused. “Ain’t nobody out here but you and me.”
It doesn’t take but a second for Poe to realize that he’s being made fun of. There’s a flush coloring his cheeks, though he barely misses a beat. “What about the horses?” he asks, removing his hat, setting it down with their saddles and gear.
Finn just shrugs. “Nothing they haven’t seen before.”
And Poe laughs, sweet and breathy, then he leans back in. His lips, though chapped from the wind and sun, are gentle against Finn’s. His kiss is as sweet as a spring rain, slowly washing over them. Their mouths slot together, perfectly aligned, as Poe pulls Finn in with a hand to the back of his neck.
On their own accord, Finn’s hands drift up to Poe’s waist, pulling him in. His fingers press into the small of Poe’s back, relieving the tension in his muscles, drawing sighs from his lips.
Finn takes advantage of Poe’s parted lips to slide in his tongue, deepening the kiss. It’s heady. A desire that’s been simmering between them all day finally boils over, greedy and insistent.
When they’re alone like this, it’s hard to not give in to every heated glance. With another hundred miles still to the next job, they can’t afford to get sidetracked. Passions must be checked. But the day only lasts so long, and when the sun sets and they stop to make camp at night, there’s plenty of time to indulge—to blow air on embers, still glowing red hot.
Ever so slowly, Finn’s hands shift, trailing down to the front of Poe’s trousers and finding him hard beneath the rough fabric. He slips his hand inside, giving Poe’s cock a firm squeeze that has Poe gasping. He breaks from the kiss. His breath comes in staccato pants, hot against Finn’s lips in the cool evening air. Now that the sun's disappeared, the temperature is dropping by the minute.
Without any warning, a firm hand to Finn’s chest pushes him away. He yields to Poe’s wordless command and lies back against the bedroll. Poe looms over him, and even in the sun’s dying light, Finn can see the state that he’s in—dilated pupils and kiss-swollen lips. Beautiful.
Finn hauls him closer by the backs of his thighs, grabbing a possessive handful of ass. It makes Poe groan, uninhibited and free, like he only ever is when it’s just them and the horses. He pulls at the buttons of Finn’s shirt, hands clumsy with impatience, lips on Finn’s neck, teeth against his beating pulse.
Finn drops his head back, sighing as Poe’s hands travel lower. When his eyes flutter open, he finds the sky darker than expected, a few pale stars beginning to show. Their subtle flicker drifts out of focus as Poe unfastens the last shirt button, running gentle fingertips through the hair around his navel, dark and downy. His hand drops lower, past Finn’s waistband, to cup him through his trousers.
It’s then that Finn grips Poe by the hips and shifts his weight, flipping them over. He lands on top of Poe, a victorious smile lighting up his whole face. It’s a point of pride for him, that despite the dozens of wild broncos that have tried to throw his cowboy, Finn is the only one to ever unseat him, to get him on his back. (He doesn’t care that Poe lets him.)
Finn’s steady hands work open Poe’s trousers, drawing him out, flushed and hard, into the cold night air. “I thought you wanted to be spoiled,” Poe teases, breathless as Finn takes him in hand.
“How about I spoil us both?” Finn answers, spitting in his palm and wrapping his hand around them both.
Poe’s fervent kiss is enough of an answer. He thrusts against Finn, feet planted on the ground to give himself leverage. The friction—the delicious drag of skin against skin—makes them both groan.
Finn feels himself flush, cock leaking enough between their bodies to make the grind filthy, so good that the world narrows to just him and Poe and the heat trapped between them. His eyes slip shut, orgasm hitting fast and hard like the snap of a rope. Poe follows, not far behind, coming apart beneath his touch.
Once they’re both spent, Poe kisses him slowly with soft, drugging kisses. They make Finn so warm that he doesn’t even notice that the campfire’s dying out.
But Poe must; he gives Finn one last peck on the lips before pulling away. After cleaning them up, he hikes his trousers up over his hips, buttons still undone, and goes to drop more wood on the fire.
He returns soon enough, smelling like smoke, singing under his breath. It’s a song from home, a slow, sweet ballad that Finn didn’t know the meaning of until long after he’d learned the words. All he knew for a while was that the cattle seemed to like it, and every time he listens to his cowboy’s rasping melodies, Finn understands more and more why.
He curls into Poe’s side when he settles back down, drifting to sleep under an old wool blanket, feeling the vibrations in Poe’s chest as he finishes the lyrics. He never feels more at peace than he does like this.
The reality is, they’ll never make a home together. They’ll spend their days drifting with the wind, working their fingers to the bone for men with more to their name than a horse and a pair of boots.
But that’s alright with Finn because there’s nothing he’s ever loved more than the range and its big, open skies—except maybe the cowboy that keeps him warm on a cold prairie night.