Rating: R for language
Disclaimer: Right, Wedge and Hobbie aren't mine [sniff], but if they were .....
Ambiance: NIN "Closer" you let me violate you you let me desecrate you you let me penetrate you you let me complicate you help me ...

Untitled #1

In a dirty bar, the depths of Coruscant.

I looked up from my drink. Across the dank and filthy bar, a pair of eyes captured mine. They weren't especially unique eyes in any way -- they just had mine, and wouldn't let go. I think, at that moment (and I know it sounds like a damn cliche), time stopped or slowed something, or everything went into slow-motion, or something, because when I finally got ahold of myself enough to think, what the hell are you doing, staring at weird men across bars?, the noise from my group of friends I was with, the background conversations, the music, seemed to crescendo back into being with an "urrrrrr" kind of sound like in bad holos. But the man was still there. This time I looked at him, didn't stare, wasn't caught. He was drinking something brown and ugly and probably extremely potent, compared to my wussy pink fruity thing. He looked a bit out of place -- no, that wasn't it, what was it? Out of place maybe, more like in place but more worthy of notice than the other denizens of the bar.

And then he had my eyes again, but this time I was ready and I sucked in air, ran my hand through my hair and turned to my friends who were deep in discussion about whether to try and find a glitterstim dealer or not that night. Even though I wasn't looking at him, I felt his eyes on me, desperately trying to penetrate me, willing me to look back so he could have me again. I was scared shitless. Oh gods won't he just piss off why won't he go away what does he want who the hell is he anyway oh gods even though it was so obvious what he wanted. He wanted me. Did I let him have me?

I finally looked back and I still don't know why I did. I knew he would have had me. So I looked because I'm a masochist. Whatever. The point is, he was gone. His seat at the bar was taken by a Wookiee, which almost made me drop my wussy pink drink. I scanned the smoky room, trying to be surreptitious, when I saw him. He had me again. He stood by the door, waiting. I didn't even say anything to my friends -- I just left, headed for the door and him.

His eyes locked on mine minutes before I actually got within speaking distance of him. When I was close enough to say anything, I never got the chance. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me outside, never breaking eye contact. His mouth moved, and I realized that he was saying something. It was a real effort to make my ears work again, but once they got going, I caught "-- much rather not do this in a dark alley, and neither would you, I think. Your place or mine?"

I shrugged, and said "Whichever's closer." I could practically feel the waves of want rolling off of him and crashing into the waves of fear that were rolling off of me.

"My place, then --" and he hailed a cab.


He didn't touch me the entire ride. I was allowed to think. I was my own still, to think about what the hell I was doing. Going to some guy's apartment that was staring at me in a bar! What the fuck was my problem! Then he looked at me and I was gone. Did he drug my drink or what? I didn't care, at least not when he had me like he did. Brown eyes. His eyes were brown. I forgot what color my eyes were. I swallowed hard, and then he touched my hand, and then I was not my own.

The cab bumped to a stop, we both tossed the driver a few credits, and he pushed me onto the landing pad. A moment later, he had my wrist again and was dragging me down a corridor, through a door, against a wall. He pressed me against a wall and stared at me. I think he really did see into me that time. His eyes half-closed, and his lips took mine -- not rough like I was expecting -- well, not very rough. OK. He broke away and looked at me and I don't know but he really had me and all I really remember was that it was pretty fucking incredible.


"Morning, Commander."

"Morning, Hobbie."

"OK then, good morning, Wedge."

"Morning, Hobbie."

Hobbie quirked an eyebrow at his CO. The CO in question sat at his desk, listlessly staring at some numbers floating above his datapad. "You OK, Wedge?"

"Yeah. Fine." Wedge slouched further into his chair.

"You sure?"

"Yes. I'm fine. How are you?" Wedge stared at Hobbie with the obvious intention of making him go away.

"OK, fine. See you later ... boy ..." Hobbie left the office, barely missing a delivery person on his way out. The uniformed messenger shrank against the wall until Hobbie passed.

"Commander Antilles?" The messenger carried a smallish box and a datapad, and did not look up from it as she spoke.

"Yes?" Wedge glanced up at the intruder and caught her eye.


And he had me again.

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