“Just what in the hell is that?” Poe asked. He hadn’t walked into his quarters expecting to see a monstrosity, but here he was. Doing just that. While Ben Solo stared at him, fuming, his face red and mouth pinched. That wasn’t such an unusual look for Ben admittedly; he was often and regularly perturbed, but usually it was because Poe had done something reckless or Ben had managed to get one of his shipments confiscated. But right now, at least as far as Poe could see, the source of Ben’s ire was a painting, huge, depicting two wookiees facing one another, each one holding a brightly colored orb out to the other. “You planning on redecorating my room or something here? Because, uh, I have a concern or two.”
In all honesty, Poe didn’t care one way or the other, but the way the pink of Ben’s cheeks deepened was well worth the possibility that Ben would say yes and force him to live with this thing. In fact, if Ben didn’t plan on leaving this behind here, he might just ask to keep it. The disdainful glance Ben threw its way had to indicate something about how he felt about it and Poe was perfectly happy to poke that feeling with a stick. Or a painting of gift-giving wookiees anyway.
“It’s not funny,” Ben answered, even though it really, really was and he had to know that Poe would absolutely find it so.
“Hey.” Poe lifted his hands, conciliatory. He was Ben’s friend here, truly. His partner in this and in all things. “I want to support you in your aspirations as an interior designer. I’m just saying maybe baby steps would be appropriate. Maybe not starting right in with the giant wall hangings. A couple of plants might be nice, come to think of it. A new duvet, perhaps? One that’s big enough that you won’t steal the whole thing in the middle of the—”
“You’re an asshole.”
It took every ounce of Poe’s self-control not to burst out laughing in Ben’s face, but, as he’s had a lot of experience with just such heroic restraint, it wasn’t as impossible as it should have been. He did wish BB-8 was here to commemorate the occasion, however. It’d been a good, long while since the last time Poe’d seen Ben this worked up about something so ridiculous. “Come on, the regulation blankets suck. I’m sure you could do much better than that.”
“Look, I don’t know what all you know about the black market art scene, but—”
“At this rate, I’m thinking I know more than you,” Poe answered. He had to pinch the bridge of his nose to hide the smile that threatened to fully occupy his face and never leave again. He’d remember this moment years down the road and still get a laugh out of it. Clearing his throat, he added, sobering, “Are you really trying to tell me you’re smuggling this thing somewhere and you’re expecting to get paid for it?”
Ben just rolled his eyes and Poe devoted a moment to wondering if Leia ever had to put up with this from Ben’s father. Then he stopped and realized she probably had to put up with worse.
“I’ve already been paid for it.”
Well, that was a relief. There was nothing Poe hated worse than putting up with Ben when he’d failed to score a deal. He moped way too well for a guy in his thirties. “So what’s it doing here?”
“There’s no room for it on my ship,” Ben replied, waspish. “I think my source misunderstood exactly what it was I was looking for.”
Crossing his arms, Poe turned away and drew in a deep breath and hoped that was enough to suppress the giggles. Busying himself with taking off his jacket, he shoved the thing into his closet and finally was able to face Ben again. “What did your source think you were looking for?”
“Forgeries.” And oh, Ben was genuinely mad now. He paced around the room, eyes firmly on the floor. Poe could tell he wanted to yell, to rage against the unscrupulousness of the people he dealt with. Poe’d tried to tell him time and again that he didn’t have to consort with criminals in order to haul cargo, but his argument had always fallen on stubborn ears before. Possibly Poe could make his case again now, but if he was being honest, it didn’t bother him that Ben did this. In fact, of the two of them, Poe probably had the more dangerous job.
He could take care of himself and as long as he wasn’t ripping off people who couldn’t afford it, Poe let it slide. Happily.
“Okay, so I’m still not seeing the problem. It’s one painting.”
Ben’s mouth nearly disappeared with how puckered it got, small and round with his unhappiness. His head shook in small, jerking motions. Then he lifted his fingers. Four, then one. “It’s forty-one paintings. And I can only reasonably fit forty in the cargo holds and make it seem like I know how to handle priceless works of art.”
Poe was willing to let the ‘priceless works of art’ thing slide for a minute, but he kept it in the back of his mind. For safekeeping only. And to ensure he’d have it for blackmail later. “Forty…? Why the odd number?”
“The guy thought I should bring something home for my, and I quote here because yeah, no, ‘fella.’”
Poe very nearly choked and for a moment his vision flashed white and he couldn’t help it any longer. There was no holding back now. The laughter was startled right out of him. “I’m your fella now, am I?” Poe was surprised to find he didn’t really mind all that much. In fact, the thought of it warmed him in ways he wasn’t ever going to share with Ben on pain of death. Sure, he loved the guy, but he wasn’t about to go expressing his feelings all over the place. The fact that Ben wasn’t much like the sort to emote either only made them more suitable to one another. Ben couldn’t exactly get mad at him about not saying he gave a shit when he would’ve rather chewed off his own arm than say the same in return. “I guess you could call me worse.”
“I’m not calling you anything,” Ben said, voice low with the threat of not a single damned thing because Poe knew better than to believe Ben’s threats. He couldn’t sound menacing if he tried.
“You’ll call me fella if you know what’s good for you,” Poe answered, equally ridiculous. He wasn’t much good at issuing threats either, at least not where his friends and loved ones were concerned. At least not when they weren’t fighting about something serious. But he smiled anyway and reached for Ben, grabbing his vest to pull him into a kiss. His gaze settled over Ben’s shoulder for a moment, that damned painting filling his vision and he couldn’t help but start laughing again. Right into Ben’s mouth.
Ben’s hands came up and cupped his face, his fingers brushing against Poe’s cheeks before they settled behind Poe’s ears. He turned the kiss demanding, pulled the laugh from Poe’s lips and gave him something else to think about.
The painting was forgotten entirely. Ben’s design, no doubt. At least, he thought it was forgotten. Poe’s design, definitely.
But when Poe got up in the morning, sneaking out of bed before Ben had a chance to wake up, he absolutely was going off in search of someone who could put together a frame for him that would fit that ugly-ass painting. He offered Ben a lingering glance from the doorway and gloried gleefully in his slumbering innocence.
There was no way in hell that he was giving it up. Too many good memories attached to it now.
Ben was gonna have to look at that thing every day for the rest of his life, Poe vowed it to himself.
And he intended to make sure that vow was kept. With blaster-proof transparisteel if he had to.