Keeping a firm hold on Janson's arm, Hobbie leaned sideways and quickly scooped up a fresh bottle of the local brew as the two pilots stumbled through the crowd. A few moments later, he spotted a small alcove facing the large plaza they were exploring and began to steer his wingmate towards it.

Janson laughed as he was tossed against a sturdy duracrete wall and Hobbie stumbled to a halt beside him. "And I thought this whole trip was going to be boring," he wheezed. "Or full of shooting. Like the last mission with Celchu. Lot of Imps on that one." He paused, letting his head fall back against the wall. "We had Imps."

"Got away from them, though," Hobbie noted, remembering the sudden panic as two cruisers suddenly flashed into view.

"Blind jumps are exciting."

"Terrifying, I think you mean."

"We're fine. Made it here, didn't we? To this place- It's- What's this planet's name again?"

"Niopra," Hobbie replied. With unsteady hands, he refilled the crude wooden mug that had been his companion for the past several hours.

"Me," Janson insisted, thrusting his own mug forward. "More."

Hobbie eyed the other pilot for a moment with a certain amount of skepticism. Ace pilot he might be, but Wes Janson was still weedy and gangly. Nearly twenty years old, he looked closer to sixteen or seventeen. And judging by the glassy look in his eyes and flushed cheeks, he was more than a little intoxicated.

Sudden shrill laughter broke through the air, tearing Hobbie's attention away from Janson. Two young human women stumbled by the alcove, hands clasped tightly together as they laughed and giggled, heading determinedly towards the far end of the plaza.

Seeing Hobbie's attention wander, Janson reached out and tipped the bottle and began refilling his mug.

"Not too much," Hobbie said as he turned his attention back to Janson. "We leave tomorrow. Once we have, um, fuel. They're refueling our ships."

Snorting, Janson took a long pull from his mug. "That's tomorrow. Flying's easy. Drink now. Party now. Do- whatever the kriffing hell people are doing here."

"It's a festival," Hobbie deadpanned. "Be festive."

Janson threw his head back and laughed. It was easy to make him laugh, Hobbie had discovered. Easy and the sound of it had a knack for loosening the knot of worry that was his constant companion. Unaware of Hobbie's idle musings, Janson pulled at his arm, dragging him away from the alcove.

"Come on," Janson said with a grin. "That sounds extra festive," he declared, jerking his head towards a large cluster of people cheering at one end of the plaza.

With a snort, Hobbie took a gulp from his mug and let himself be dragged back into the crowd.


A bright, yellow light suddenly fell across Hobbie's face, causing him to grimace and groan, then try to roll away. Instantly, a sharp pain stabbed through his temples and a wave of nausea swept through his stomach and up his throat, leaving him flopped helplessly on his back. As he dragged a blanket over his face, trying to block out the light, he realized that his mouth was bone-dry and that he ached all over. As though he'd run a marathon the day before.

"Mrmph."

The sound came from beside him, then the bed beneath him wobbled slightly as a warm body rolled over and pressed close to his side. A face buried itself into his shoulder and he felt soft puffs of hot air on his skin from his companion's slow, deep breaths while an arm loosely wound itself around his.

A nagging sense of responsibility began to tug at Hobbie's mind, a vague awareness that there was something he needed to do today. But he just couldn't get his thoughts in order enough to remember what it was. It was important though, right?

"Stop thinkin' s'much," a voice mumbled into his arm. "Sleepin'."

Hobbie waited until the heat of the sunlight had faded somewhat, then reluctantly pulled the blanket off his face and set to work opening his eyes.

Finally, Hobbie got his bleary vision working again. The first thing he saw was a wide, wooden ceiling above him glowing faintly in the light of the rising sun. Blinking, he looked around and spotted several large windows with drawn curtains made from a light, unevenly woven fabric. Craning his head for a moment, he realized the bed was set underneath another large window and that there was a small gap in the curtains through which light had managed to find him.

This… was not the Redemption. Suddenly uneasy, Hobbie forced himself to look down at the warm body curled up next to him.

Brown-black hair fell across his companion's face, obscuring everything that wasn't pressed against Hobbie's arm. A bare arm was hooked around his and, Hobbie suddenly realized, he could feel the warm press of flesh against his body further down. There was a sharp hip and a hairy leg, and sithspawn, a chill went up his spine as he remembered who he'd been on the mission with.

The Boss was going to kill him. Narr was going to transform into an enraged rancor and rip him to shreds for this. Then Antilles would set fire to whatever was left of him, and even Luke might deliver a kick or two just to round things out.

Janson- Wes- It was Wes now, wasn't it? They'd jump-skipped straight to a first name basis now, hadn't they? No more polite distance, no more 'getting to know you' feelers. Not if they'd done what he thought they'd done last night.

Wes was indisputably the baby of Rogue Flight. A seasoned pilot with plenty of kills under his belt or not, he and Luke were still the youngest. And Luke at least looked like he'd finished growing, whereas Wes was still an always hungry teenager with gangly limbs and a lean body that was still building the muscle and strength his broad frame hinted he'd have someday.

Luke had an eerie, almost mystic quality to him at times that belied his apparent youth. He had similar flashes of naivety and wonder that Wes had, but in other moments, he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. His sense of duty and responsibility were so strong that he was capably serving as Antilles's second-in-command as they carried out their various missions.

Meanwhile, Wes was just… Wes. Cheerful, almost manic sometimes. Always looking around with fascinated eyes. He was deadly in a fight, never hesitated to pull the trigger either in an X-Wing or on the ground, but there was still something almost innocent to him. Out of all of the pilots in Rogue Flight, he'd grown up the furthest from the direct touch of the Empire's dark influence and it showed.

Well. Had shown.

Who knew what things would be like now that Hobbie may or may not have spent the night drunkenly deflowering him?

Possibly.

Wes had quickly proven himself popular with many of the female members of the Rebellion, but Hobbie couldn't ever remember him paying any special attention to any of the males. Of course, Wes also hung out with Antilles more than him, so what did he know?

Well, he knew they'd both gotten drunk, more than they'd intended on that emerald brew. He could feel a distinct dried graininess on the sheets below him. And notably didn't feel the ache of having been on the receiving end of any coupling. (Not that he'd had any interest in that since the Academy.) Which, logically, meant Wes had been the recipient of whatever enthusiasm they'd been able to work up.

Biting back a groan, Hobbie automatically raised his hand to run it through his hair- then froze.

Reddish-brown lines and patterns were wrapped around his hand, wrist, and arm. The swirling loops and spirals followed the curve of his arm, wobbled slightly around jutting bones. A memory suddenly flashed through his mind, bright and shiny and blurry at the edges. Something like a net wrapping around his limb as he clutched at Wes's hand, the narrow strands holding them together. The cool feeling of something damp spreading across his skin as a voice said words about honor, protect, for all time. The roar of an approving crowd as Wes laughed and repeated them, then cocked his head expectantly as Hobbie did the same.

Sithspawn. They'd definitely done more than just fool around.

A knot forming in his gut, Hobbie carefully rolled onto his side so he could shake Wes awake.

The younger man let out a soft whine as Hobbie extracted his arm, then rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in a pillow.

"Come on, wake up," Hobbie prompted as he reached out with his tattooed hand to shake Wes's shoulder. His voice sounded rough and hoarse, and he suddenly realized the ache in his throat was from more than just drinking all of the previous day. Face coloring slightly, he gave Wes another shake.

When a flailing hand failed to dislodge Hobbie's persistent efforts to wake him up, Wes reluctantly peered up from the pillow and rolled onto his side, wincing slightly as he moved. Bleary eyes focused on Hobbie's hand, following it as it awkwardly came to rest on the bed between them.

"What's on your hand?" Wes asked in a raspy voice.

Hobbie looked down for a moment, considering. "I think we might have gotten married yesterday," he admitted.

A thoughtful look crossed Wes's face. He pulled his free hand up to his face, turning it over to check for matching marks. Nothing.

"Try the other one."

With a soft sigh, Wes pushed himself up on his arm and looked down. Sure enough, similar marks decorated his right hand and arm. "Huh." Flopping onto his back (with another small wince), he held his arm up in the air, studying the marks in fascination. "Do you think these are permanent? I mean, they're not bad, but they're a little more abstract than anything I would have chosen."

"I don't-" Shaking his head, Hobbie forced the idle question away. "Did you hear what I said? I think we-"

"Had a Canto Bight wedding," Wes interrupted. Looking unconcerned, he shrugged. "It happens. We had been drinking." Then, he paused for a moment before snorting. "My family tends to produce… very friendly drunks. Accidentally getting married isn't the worst thing that could have happened."

"What does that mean, exactly?"

"It means Mom tells stories she shouldn't after she's had a few. Incidentally, if Skywalker ever learns a Force Mind Wipe power, let me know? I have a few memories I'd like removed," Wes said as he made an unhappy face. "Ugh. There are some things parents should never tell their children."

"You're not taking this seriously," Hobbie retorted, his voice somewhat accusatory.

"Hobbie, we got married on a planet so small and insignificant that our charts don't even have a name for the system, let alone its single inhabited planet. We had to talk to people to find that out. In the grand scheme of things, this is pretty minor." Folding his arms behind his head, Wes grinned. "Besides, it could be worse."

"How?"

"I could be female and impregnatable?"

"What?"

"That's how I came to be in the galaxy." Wes scrunched his face again. "Like I said, Mom overshares when she's drunk. Again, Skywalker learning Force Mind Wipe powers would be amazing."

"I'm- I don't-"

Hobbie could feel the blood vessels pounding away in his skull. Helplessly, he collapsed back against the soft sheets and stared up at the ceiling. He didn't know what he'd expected, but chatting about how Wes was the product of drunken shenanigans similar to what they'd done the night before hadn't been anywhere on his scopes.

"There's one other thing you're overlooking."

There was a new tone in Wes's voice that immediately caught his attention. Before he could react, Wes suddenly heaved himself up, swinging a leg over Hobbie's torso and coming to a rest straddling his hips. Startled, Hobbie jerked his arms up and out of the way until Wes was settled on top of him.

As knees and powerful thighs squeezed his sides, Hobbie let his hands come down to rest on Wes's legs, tentative and light. Looming above him, Wes smirked, eyes dark and pupils clearly dilated.

"They told us yesterday when we landed that they wouldn't be done refueling until at least midday today. That their equipment is old and they don't have enough fuel on-site for both our ships so they'd have to bring some in." Wes's voice dropped to a lower register and he leaned forward, arms coming down to bracket Hobbie's shoulders. "Which means we still have a lot of time to kill before we can leave."

Almost unconsciously, Hobbie's hands slid up to Wes's bony hips and gripped tight. Hell, he thought as Wes bent down and kissed him, it isn't like I could get in more trouble.


It was over an hour later when Hobbie finally managed to pry Wes out of bed and push him into the shower. The younger man had proven to be quite enthusiastic about their new method of passing the time and, honestly, it hadn't taken long for Hobbie's feeling to match his.

But they did need to start preparing to leave and rendezvous with the Redemption.

"You know, I'm pretty sure it's traditional for newly married couples to spend most of the day after the wedding in bed," Wes insisted as Hobbie pushed him into the shower. "Mom used to say that after she and Dad got married-"

"I absolutely do not want to hear more of your mother's dirty stories."

"I didn't want to hear them either, but they're all stuck in my head. May as well use them!" Wes let out a small yelp as Hobbie reached in and turned the water on. Once he'd found the corner of the shower stall furthest from the cold spray, he just grinned. "Suffer with me, Hobbie."

Testing the water with his hand, Hobbie leaned against the frame of the shower door. "Are you talking about the cold water or the fact that your mother rambles about sex when she's drunk?"

After taking a moment to consider, Wes waggled his hand in the air. "Either. Both. The point is, you should join me."

Hobbie could only snort in reply. It wasn't long, though, before the water had reached a tolerable temperature. Stepping into the stall, he pulled the transparent door shut behind him and stepped into the spray.

For a long moment, he just enjoyed the sensation of warm water hitting his back and sliding down his skin, standing still with his eyes closed. Sensing that Wes was staring at him, he reluctantly opened his eyes again.

"You actually look kind of happy right now," Wes said, fascination in his voice. "This planet is good for you, I think. You usually just look kind of constipated back with the Fleet."

"We don't have the threat of imminent death hanging over our heads at the moment."

"Aw, and I thought it was my scintillating company." Grinning, Wes groped at the small shelf tucked into the corner over his shoulder and grabbed a chunky blue bar. "This smells like soap," he said, offering it to Hobbie.

"Thanks."

Taking the bar, Hobbie turned slightly so he could scrub at it under the water, working up a lather while hoping that the mostly human-looking population on this world meant the soap was safe for humans. Meanwhile, he cast a surreptitious look at Wes.

The man looked perfectly relaxed as he stood leaning against the tile wall, hands tucked neatly behind him. With Hobbie's body blocking only part of the water spray now, a fine mist of water had managed to reach him, clinging to his hair and eyelashes. The beginnings of a few scattered pinkish red bruises dotted his hips and thighs, matching the ones Hobbie could feel developing on his own back and shoulders.

"So what happens after this?"

Startled, Hobbie jerked his eyes back up to Wes's face. His posture was still calm and relaxed, but if he looked close, Hobbie realized there was a hint of tension in Wes's face, a slight tightness around his eyes. Not quite so calm, then.

"What do you mean?"

"When we get back to the Fleet. Is it you, me, and the hyperspace ways after this?"

Hobbie blinked for a moment in confusion. Then blinked again as he ran the statement through the Wes-focused filters his brain had started developing. Oh. He was asking about…

"I hadn't thought too much about it," he admitted after a moment. "I guess… we can see what happens?" Hobbie frowned again as his voice trailed off.

"They do say that what happens in Canto Bight stays in Canto Bight." Wes laughed softly, the tension in his face seeming to ease off.

"Maybe not everything." The words slipped out before Hobbie could stop them and he could feel heat spreading across his face.

Wes's eyes went a little wide at the unexpected reply, then a small smirk flitted across his face. His gaze flickered downwards, then he nodded slightly. "Looks like the tattoos aren't permanent after all."

Sure enough, the brown ink was running off his hand, the soapy water turning an odd orange color.

"That's a shame, you probably needed that to help convince the Boss about what happened here," Wes teased.

"What?" Hobbie demanded.

"Please. The minute you see Narra, you'll be spilling the whole thing. You couldn't keep a thing from him even if you wanted to."

Determinedly scrubbing off the last bit of the brown ink, Hobbie glared. "I could, too."

"Derek Klivian, leave something out of a report? I'd pay to see that."

"I've done it before," Hobbie shot back. "And you'll end up telling Antilles everything over Corellia brandy and sabacc."

Wes gasped softly, eyes going wide in mock hurt. "Me? The man who's pulled off some of the greatest pranks the Redemption has ever seen?"

"What pranks?"

"Exactly."

Hobbie felt a smirk spreading across his face, a match to the one stretched across Wes's face.

"You have something in mind?"

"Well, to be properly thematic," Wes drawled, "I think whoever spills the truth first should have to spend a few days in one of the lovely gowns we saw in the festival plaza yesterday."

"Assuming we can get one," Hobbie noted.

"I'm sure we can manage."

Wes would break first, Hobbie was certain of it. He let his tongue wag at the sabacc table and Wedge would be sure to ask after every detail of their mission. This would be easy.

Still smirking, Hobbie extended his hand, and with a short laugh, Wes reached out and shook it with his own. The brown tattoos on his hand were still intact, and the water striking their clasped hands brought back the memory of getting married in the plaza the day before.

Perhaps it was the memory of the excited crowd and the buzzing in his head, or the full body ache reminding him of how they'd celebrated after. But just as he should have been letting go, Hobbie found himself tugging Wes closer, and wrapped an arm around his waist once he was standing close.

Their lower bodies brushed together and Hobbie knew he wasn't the only one thinking about the last several hours.

"Dear," he said in mock greeting.

"Husband," Wes laughed as he looped his arms around his neck.

"You're going down," Hobbie vowed right before kissing him.


Coming next, the Rebellion is close to moving to Hoth when the Rogues have to deal with a tricky situation - and its aftermath.