Wicked Rating: NC-17, Slash
Cerebel

Wedge is fiddling with his locker, in the pilot's preparation room, when Wes steps out of the shower, nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips.

"Still out of uniform, Wes?" Wedge asks, suppressing the smile dancing around his mouth.

Wes shoots him a mock glare, and saunters to his locker, the one in the far corner, opening it up and starting to pull a flight suit out.

The silence from Wes is starting to get a little threatening — not that Wedge is worried, he's played enough pranks on Wes that he knows Wes doesn't take them too hard, but he doesn't doubt that there's some kind of revenge in the works. He'd better be on his toes.

Wedge lingers, messing around inside his locker long after he's really done, wondering if he should say something, when he feels a hand turn him around and push him back into the bank of lockers.

Wes kisses him, only an edge of roughness, but his tongue has a wicked slide to it. Wedge can feel his skin get hot, and when Wes retreats a little, still close enough that they're sharing breath, Wedge rallies.

"Eugh, you still smell like Ewok food," he grimaces, holding Wes back away from him. "Get away from me."

Wes grins. "And whose fault is that?" He nudges under Wedge's jaw with his nose, worrying the skin with his teeth.

"Wes," Wedge complains, but he doesn't try to get away.

"Mm-hmm," hums Wes, against Wedge's neck. "Try explaining that to this crazy squadron of yours."

Wedge ducks down and seals their mouths together, because he just can't help it.

* * * * *

Wes doesn't usually like getting straight to the sex. Wedge was just the opposite — he always felt tense, nervous and jumpy, like he has to cram all the experiences he can into as short a time as possible. He liked it fast.

Or that was what he thought, before his first time with Wes.

Right now is no exception; Wes is licking into Wedge's mouth, so slowly, and he's rubbing, just a little, along Wedge's erection, constricted beneath his flightsuit. Wes hasn't bothered to stop long enough to even take clothes off yet, and Wedge doesn't really have a hope of hurrying it along ...

Wedge groans softly into Wes' mouth, because the stimulation isn't enough, and Wes holds him securely enough that he can't squirm, can't try and force Wes faster.

Wes retreats, cocks his head to the side. "Do you want something, Wedge?"

"No, not at all," Wedge snarks, but the effect is overcome by the breathlessness in his voice. He curses his lack of air, and Wes' tongue for making him that way.

"Oh, well, I suppose you'd be happy doing this a little longer, then," Wes says, a wicked smile and Wedge doesn't have time to let out an irritated sigh before Wes is on him again.

But at least, this time, Wes is unzipping the flight suit, pulling it off Wedge's shoulders, stripping him. So very methodically that Wedge is going crazy.

And then he's bare to the waist, and Wes is pulling his arms up, above his head, cold metal sliding around his wrists — what the — ?!

"Wes!" And Wedge tugs on his arms, but Wes has, indeed, tied him down pretty securely. He's had training for it, after all.

Wedge fixes a glare on Wes, but, to his surprise, he doesn't seem to be getting any softer. In fact, this whole thing has a kind of tense eroticism about it that Wedge's cock is finding very, very interesting.

"Perfect," says Wes, rubbing his hands together. "I knew that would work."

Wedge gives Wes an exasperated look. "What, the old 'start-to-have-sex-with-me' ploy?"

Wes nods enthusiastically. "Yep. Fools 'em every time."

"Oh?" Wedge asks, shifting his weight. Wes' eyes are raking over him, and it's really all Wedge can do to concentrate. "You've been doing this with someone else, then?"

Wes laughs, licking along the line of Wedge's ear, and Wedge bites his lip to keep back the noise he really, really wants to make.

"It's Kel Tainer, isn't it?" Wedge gasps. "I knew the two of you had more than just deathly hate going on."

"Ewww, Wedge." Wes' hand comes to the other side of Wedge's neck, and Wes tongues where he bit earlier, in the locker room. "Way to get my libido down."

"Libido?" Wedge manages. "I didn't know you knew what that word meant Wes," and the last word devolves into a groan as Wes slides his hand down, wrapping it around the base of Wedge's erection, and just holding there. "Sithspit, Wes ..."

And Wes still isn't moving, his hand staying right there.

"Wes," Wedge pants, "what are you doing?"

"Well," murmurs Wes, thoughtfully, "I thought I might make you beg."

Wedge twists a little, involuntarily.

"Think I'll succeed?" Wes asks.

"Now's the part where I'm obligated to make a show of defiance, right?" Wedge shoots back, but he's thinking about Wes' wonderful hands and strong shoulders and the way Wes kisses him just before he splits Wedge open, and it's really very distracting, all things considered.

"Yep," and Wes' voice brings Wedge back to the present. Wes strips off the rest of Wedge's clothes, and slips between his legs, making Wedge open up, spread underneath him. "You're supposed to say," continues Wes, "that Imperial torture can't break you, and neither can I."

"Well, it can't," states Wedge, as firmly as he can, "and you won't."

Wes grins. "We'll see."

Wedge thought he'd seen foreplay before, in their other encounters, but this — this is far and beyond anything Wedge has seen. He didn't know how much Wes really paid attention to his body, because obviously Wes has, he's touching Wedge all the ways he likes to be touched — and on top of that, he runs his fingers along Wedge's skin, in long, wandering strokes that send waves of goosebumps up Wedge's spine.

It's all so gentle, so slow. Wes touches him like the moment will go on forever, just a never-ending build of pleasure and arousal, like they have all the time in the world together. And Wedge is so hard right now that if Wes weren't trying to make him beg, he would be already.

"Hmm," and Wes settles back on his heels. "You look pretty desperate there."

"Apparently not desperate enough," Wedge forces out.

Wes grins. "Give it time," shucking off his own flight suit, giving Wedge a lascivious stare that Wedge can't hide from, can't flinch away. He's so exposed.

Time, time ... all Wedge is giving it is time, and Wes is driving him crazy.

And now Wes urges Wedge's legs up, and Wedge guesses what's coming. Oh, sithspit —

Wes slides a hand under Wedge's balls, and ducks down, stroking at the skin between his legs. Wedge's spine arches, he can't help it, but Wes holds his hips against the bed. Then a kind of tickling, dancing massage — Wedge tosses his head to the side, and he bites his lip so hard he wouldn't be surprised to taste blood.

But then — then there's a wet stroke, following the path of Wes' fingers, and Wedge groans. He struggles against Wes' hold, because he wants more, he wants it so badly, but he doesn't want to give in, no, he can't let Wes win.

Oh, oh wow, because that's Wes' finger pushing inside, starting to stretch him open, and now all Wedge can think about is how it feels to have Wes fuck him.

"Wes," and Wes licks, again, digging in with two fingers now, and he hasn't even touched Wedge's cock and it's still — Wedge is on fire, coursing through his veins, and he wants, he wants so badly.

Wedge dimly realizes that the cuffs are digging into his wrists, and it hurts — so he focuses on that, tries to shut out the incredibly interesting squirming thing Wes' fingers are doing and then, oh force, Wes hits Wedge's prostate and Wedge spasms.

It's enough, Wedge is stretched enough, he can take Wes now, but Wes still isn't moving, still isn't —

"Please," Wedge gasps.

"What was that?" Wes asks, cocking his head to the side.

"Wes, please, don't do this any longer — ... " Wedge swallows his words, twisting up to meet Wes' strokes. "I need you," he pleads.

Begs.

And then Wes' hand slides up over his hip, and Wes spreads his legs open even more, and adjusts the angle, just a little —

Wedge breathes in a groan as Wes slides further, further inside, hard as durasteel inside Wedge.

When Wes is all the way in, penetrating Wedge to the root, Wes shifts upwards — drawing a helpless noise from Wedge — and unlinks the cuffs.

Blood pounds in Wedge's hands, and Wes grabs his wrist, pulls it down to where Wes' cock is stretching Wedge open, guiding Wedge's fingers straight to his entrance. "Feel it," breathes Wes, and Wedge does, somehow it's amazingly more real, all of the sudden. Wes, so deep inside him ...

Then Wes starts to move, to rock Wedge so gently back and forth, and Wedge couldn't tear his fingers away, even if he'd wanted to. The reality of the penetration, the way he and Wes just seem to fit so well, deep down.

Wedge's free hand grips Wes' arm, the slim muscles flexing under his skin, and Wedge gasps. He can feel it, the tingling from deep inside — he's getting so close, so close ...

Then Wes thrusts in, all the way in, and stills. Wedge is on the very edge, the very edge, his breath coming too rapidly, his heart pounding, and he half-panics, twisting to look up at Wes —

But Wes just ducks down, kisses him, and he slides his hand around Wedge's erection. He strokes once, twice, and then Wedge is coming, a supernova flashing inside him. He thinks he cries out.

Wes slides out of him, limp now, and eases Wedge back into his arms. Wedge doesn't think he can manage to move; his limbs feel oddly liquid.

"I love you, Wedge," Wes murmurs in his ear.

"I love you too, Wes," Wedge says, exhausted, and he relaxes back into Wes' touch.

It's a long time before either of them speak again, then:

"You gotta admit, though," says Wedge, craning his neck around, "that was totally the best prank in Wraith Squadron history."

"Pssh," scoffs Wes. "You just wait, old man."

Wedge grins, and he lets himself fall asleep curled against Wes.


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