POKER FACE - Kylo Ren.

Chapter 2 - Dancing & Dues.

   You weren't sure how many drinks you had at this point. It wasn't like you cared to count anyway.

   You weren't even sure if you were even going to go drinking with Poe and his friends, but after that interaction with the mysterious man in the casino washroom, you needed a strong drink to forget his face that had been printed on the back of your eyelids, an image of him always there every time you closed your eyes.

So, you did the only sensible think you could think of to get rid of it – danced a little, drank a little, kissed a little. You don't remember the details of the bar anymore, you were too drunk. All you knew was that it was packed shoulder to shoulder, 2000's dance music pumping so loud it made your skull rattle.

   You could feel the warmth of Poe's body against yours, his chest pressed against your back. His white t-shirt clung to his chest with sweat, his shaggy hair rustled. Alcohol poisoned each other's blood, tainting morals and libidos. Everything was sticky hot, panting and shouts.

   And when Poe began to grind up on you, you didn't even care. Anything was better then thinking about him — his dark hair, onyx eyes, broad shoulders, big chest...fuck, what were you even thinking?

   You throw your head back against Poe's firm shoulder, ass swaying against his hips in those tight jeans of yours. You were too drunk to care and he was too, hands poking and prodding, gripping at any exposed skin that he could get at.

   "Do you want another drink?" He slurred into your ear loudly, but just barely audible over the loud music. A drunken giggle left you, chest vibrating as it was pressed against him now. You shake your head.

   Instead, you were spinning on your heel to face him, pressing your chest against his. He looked down at you with that charming smirk of his and you just did the one thing you did any other time you were drunk with him — you kissed him.

   He didn't protest to the sign of affection, in fact, he took it as an invitation — his calloused and rough hands skimming under the fabric of your drab shirt, the fabric hiding your figure. You could feel his cock half-stirred in his pants already, pressed against your thigh.

   The longer you kissed Poe, the more you saw him, his face flashing behind those fluttered closed lids. So, you kissed him harder, teeth-clashing, tongue-jamming. Everything was a spinning mess, but you were sure he was guiding you back now, hands gripping your hips as the two of you drunkenly stumbled into the cramped bar washroom.

His lips were on your throat, his five o'clock shadow scuffing against your supple flesh. Your eyes were rolling, blinking, glossy. You felt like you were out of your body entirely, limbs having lost control, blubbers and slurred words leaning your alcohol tasting tongue.

   "...Don't act like you don't like it."

   Your eyes snapped open, his dark voice ringing in your head. Your gaze flickered around the empty washroom, Poe's mouth sucking at your throat still has his hands gripped at your breasts under your shirt, pads of his fingers stroking over your pebbled nipples.

   "Wha...what did you say?" You slur, murmuring to Poe. You were sure you had heard him say something just by your ear moments ago.

   "I said Do you like it," he repeats, "when I touch you, I mean." He grunts against your neck, fingers still rolling and pinching at your hard buds. All you could do was nod and whine, choking on your own pathetic stutters.

   Your hand was dropping between the two of your sweaty bodies, head pounding and eyelids heavy. You were gripping and cupping at his tented jeans, desperately trying to tug the zipper down as his own hands worked at the button of your jeans.