#red23

—

Biggs is currently trying to ignore the fact that he knows Wedge is out there, probably watching him. If Wedge doesn't know what the problem is, Biggs does, even if he won't admit it to himself. It's really pretty simple; he wants Wedge. He wants him badly. And the fact that he wants him so badly is clashing terribly with the memories of Luke and the hope that maybe, just maybe, they might see each other again.

The problem is, it's a pretty vain hope. Luke isn't likely to leave home anytime soon; his uncle, though a good man, was far too good at manipulating Luke's guilt to keep him there. He thought he was protecting Luke, but he never seemed to see how much more he was hurting him than getting out into the galaxy ever could. And without Biggs around to nudge him towards spreading his wings, well... it's just not very likely that they'll ever see one another again, now.

Which doesn't stop Biggs from still dreaming about Luke, still fantasizing about what they might have had. Which would be fine except... the past few months, another presence has been intruding into his dreams. A certain dark-haired, very intense eyed Corellian pilot. And it's making Biggs feel conflicted... and guilty. It doesn't matter that he has no reason to feel guilty, that he and Luke never actually promised each other anything. Or even admitted their true feelings, for that matter. Just the fact that he wants someone else is enough to leave Biggs confused and irritable.

His solution's been simple: avoid Wedge whenever and wherever possible. And that's hurt, too, because he considers Wedge a good and trusted friend. Not to mention that it hasn't really done anything to lessen his feelings, and seems to have actually made them worse. Which is why he's annoyed as hell that Wedge asked him to work on his X-wing with him today when any number of other members of the squadron are available. The heat and humidity is just deepening the feelings toward actual anger, and Biggs snaps at Wedge, reaching a hand back out of the crawlspace, "Gimme that smaller hydrospanner."

—

And there he goes. Wedge is starting to run out of patience. He crouches over the tools, looking for the right one. When he finds it, he starts to lean over to hand it into Biggs, but stops mid-lean. "Kriff, Biggs, I dunno. You sound like you're about as likely to sabotage my ship as fix it. What the hell did I ever do to you?" That's the wrong tack to take, and he knows it is, so he growls irritably at himself and slaps the tool into Biggs' outstretched hand, only too aware of how he has to lean around the lower half of Biggs' body to reach him.

The source of Biggs' moodiness has been a topic of conversation with the other pilots as well. Reigning consensus is that Biggs got some bad news from back home about Luke, since he's not mentioning him as much lately. Hobbie's take was simple: "Bet he found out this Luke whoever got a girlfriend." Wedge isn't so sure. There's something else going on, and he just can't quite put his finger on it.

—

"If you think that, then why the kriff did you ask me to fix it?!" Biggs almost deafens himself with the shout in the confined space, and grimaces. Great. Now he has the start of a headache in addition to everything else. He can't even rub his temples in here... there's just not enough room. And yet he refuses to back out of the access hatch, because if he does that, then he's going to have to look at Wedge. And probably talk to him. Kriff, I thought I was safe enough because he doesn't seem like the 'talk about your feelings' type. Guess I was wrong. "There are a thousand other things I could be doing right now that don't involve being too hot and covered in grease!"

He can't help it now; his temper's up and while Biggs has never really been quick to anger, when he does, it's best to stay out of his way for a while. He snatches the hydrospanner from Wedge, bangs his knuckles on the edge of the hatch and curses fluently in Huttese. Maybe I should just go back home. But he knows he won't, he believes far too strongly in the Rebellion's cause to let his own personal issues interfere with duty.

—

With literally anyone else in the squadron, Wedge would crack some sort of joke about better ways to be hot and covered in grease. Hell, a month ago, he would've said the same thing to Biggs. But this Biggs... he can't. And the loss of that friendship pisses him off. "I don't know, I had some stupid fucking idea that my wingmate still gave a shit about watching my ass out there." His voice is too loud too, and heads are starting to turn in their direction. "If you don't, then get the fuck out of my ship and let's go settle this with Command right now. I'm not flyin' with someone who doesn't wanna so much as look at me, much less fly with me. What the hell is your problem, Darklighter?"

—

Biggs suddenly goes very, very still. And very quiet. It's a dangerous sort of silence, one that really ought to be telling Wedge to back off, but of course he won't, because he's Wedge. Biggs says, very calmly and evenly. "What makes you think I'm not going to watch your back when we fly?" If there's one thing Biggs does have a short fuse about, it's his sense of personal honor. The fact that Wedge would question his intent regardless of their personal relationship... he backs slowly out of Wedge's X-wing, and his hands are curled into fists. His dark green eyes bore into Wedge like molten glass poured into a snowbank. "You think that just because I'm not kissing your ass like everyone else does it means I'm going to let some damn Imp blow you out of the sky?"

—

Wedge is gonna strangle him. That's all there is to it. Nah, but if he does that, the Alliance will be out two of its best pilots. So instead of going around Biggs' throat, Wedge's hands go up into his own hair, clutching at the sweaty strands like he's tempted to rip them out. "When have I ever, ever seriously expected anybody to kiss my ass?" He crowds into Biggs' space, lowering his voice but not his intensity. "You know fucking well that's not what it is," he says, jabbing a finger toward Biggs' face. "When, exactly, did you stop giving a damn about the rest of us, huh?"

—

"What?" Biggs blinks at that finger shoved right under his nose, taken aback by Wedge's abrupt intrusion into his personal space but also by the accusation. "What do you... I haven't stopped giving a damn about anyone or anything!" He takes refuge back in anger and slaps Wedge's hand away from his face, circling around him to put the hydrospanner back down with the rest of the tools. "I'm still doing my damn job, and I'm doing it well. I don't have any idea what the kriff you're talking about." It's a snarl, and Biggs hopes it doesn't sound as defensive as it feels.

—

"I'm talking about how you've stopped acting like you like being here!" Wedge turns as Biggs moves around him, but stays where he is, fighting down the urge to hit Biggs back, because that is most certainly not going to solve anything. This time. "I thought we were friends! What the hell happened?" He's still angry—Biggs isn't the only one taking refuge— and he's hiding his hurt behind a layer of snarling. "What did I do to piss you off so badly? Kriff, Biggs, I kinda thought we were close enough that you'd at least have the fucking courtesy to tell me why you hate me all of a sudden."

—

"I don't hate you." And yet it's said in the cool, dispassionate tone of a stranger, for all that. Biggs puts the hydrospanner down, trying to get a grip on himself, on the feelings inside him. If I hated you, it would be easier. I wouldn't care how angry you are or how much hurt I can hear underneath that venom in your voice. Even knowing what he does, Biggs can't bring himself to face the truth of his own desires. He turns to leave. "Don't push this, Wedge. Just don't."

—

Oh no. He's not getting out of this that easy. Wedge reaches out and snags Biggs' elbow. "Don't you fucking walk away from me. Do you seriously not get it? People are worried about you! I'm worried about you!" He's back in Biggs' space again because damned if he's going to yell right now, no matter how much he wants to. "Whatever's going on with you, you've got to talk about it. I'm your wingman, Biggs. Whatever's bothering you, let me know what I did so I can try to fix it. Or something! Why won't you let me try to help?"

—

That touch. It sends a jolt through him like an electrical current over his skin. He's avoided touching Wedge at all since the dreams started, not even an affectionate backslap after a successfully completed mission, and that lack of touch comes back to bite him now, and bite him hard. Biggs shudders, and his resolve, and his temper, finally fully breaks.

"You want to know what's wrong?!" Biggs grabs Wedge's wrist in an iron grip and pries that hand from his arm. He catches Wedge's other wrist too, before he can take a swing or anything else, and slams Wedge hard against the side of his X-wing.

"You're what's wrong!! I can't stop fucking thinking about you, night or day. I want to kriffing drill you into a mattress somewhere and I can't... deal... with... that... and... and...!" And your feelings for someone who never said they thought of you as anything more than a big brother, an object of hero worship. It's not a fucking betrayal if you never promised anything in the first place... Before Biggs knows what he's doing, he's pressed himself up against Wedge, trapping him against the side of his ship, and he's kissing him hard, with as much anger as desire, everything let loose inside him at once in an unstoppable flood.

—

Oh. That's the only coherent thought that flickers through Wedge's mind as Biggs damn near knocks the wind out of him, first with the impact of hitting his ship, then the impact of Biggs' body against him. Of course Wedge thought about trying to get Biggs into bed. There aren't many people on base he hasn't had at least idle thoughts about. And when he and Biggs became friends, he thought maybe, but with Biggs so caught up in the guy back home...

Guess maybe he's not so caught up in him anymore.

Even caught so wildly off-guard, even with his hands pinned, it doesn't take Wedge long to respond. The last of his anger bleeds out through the kiss he returns, and as the anger goes away it's replaced by nothing but heat, at a level that surprises even him.

—

Dimly, Biggs is aware of the hangar erupting with whistles and catcalls. Some part of his mind knows that there's probably money exchanging hands, especially amongst the other members of the squadron. None of it is important enough to percolate through the haze that's descended on his brain. He's forgotten the difference between his anger and his desire at this point, and he kisses like it's still a fight, like they're still angry, even though that's the farthest thing from his mind. Eventually he has to come up for air, gasping and blinking himself out of a near daze. "Wedge... I..."

—

"Took you long enough!" someone yells. Wedge thinks it might've been Porkins but he's not sure. He hears cries of "pay up!" and he starts to wonder if everybody knew what was wrong with Biggs except for him.

Wedge feels about as blindsided as Biggs looks, but he's faster to recover. "So.... yeah. We should probably talk, huh? And by talk, I mean, like, actually talk, not wander off to my quarters and get naked." Yet? Oh hell, that could really happen... He has to swallow a sudden surge of nervous excitement. There's still too much up in the air, and he actually likes Biggs too much to let his libido run away with him and damn the consequences.

—

"I... uh..." Biggs lets go of Wedge's wrists and steps back sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He bites back an urge to yell at their audience to kriff off, because it won't do any good and will probably just encourage them. His grin's a little lopsided, but it's still the grin that Wedge remembers from before this whole episode started; now that he's admitted it, it's amazing how much of his frustration has disappeared. Not all of it, of course, as is quite evident from just a glance downward, but some at least. "Yeah. Yeah, we probably should. But we need to get away from these nerfs first..." He gestures over his shoulder to the heckling crowd.

—

"All right, all right," Wedge yells over Biggs' shoulder, "show's over. You can all gloat at me later, I promise." He grins up at Biggs. "You know, the last couple weeks would've been a hell of a lot easier if you had just laid a kiss on me then instead of stewing about it all this time." Now it's his turn to look a little sheepish. "So. Your place? Hobbie's gonna be busy collecting his winnings for while if I know him. We should have some time to talk." That's twice now that Wedge has offered to talk. About feelings. He can barely believe the words are coming out of his mouth, but before anything else goes on, he's got to find out what's going on inside Biggs' head.

—

"Yeah, it probably would have. But you didn't annoy me into it then. I guess you should have poked me sooner." Biggs looks around and then nods. "Yeah, let's go back to my rooms. Like you said,..." He glances over his shoulder at Hobbie, surrounded by other members of the squadron and raking in more than a few credits, by the looks of things. "He'll be busy. And if he gets done collecting before we're done talking, he can find somewhere else to hang out for a while. Serves him right." God, I'm never gonna hear the end of this with him...

—

"So, um, lead the way?" Wedge wants to hold out his hand, but boy would that send a signal he's not sure he's ready to send, to Biggs or to anyone else watching, so instead he just nudges at Biggs with the absent-mindedness of a distracted cat, pulling away from the durasteel still at his back. "Quick, before they start giving us shit again."

—

"Yeah, come on." Biggs, too, quells the urge to reach for Wedge's hand. Even though he wants to make that connection, he's just not sure if it would be welcome. He knows Wedge pretty well by now, and he knows that he's all about the casual relationships and not so much for the feelings. And yet, he's offering to talk about his feelings, so... maybe? Biggs just keeps his hands to himself and leads the way to his rooms, losing a bit more of the tension in his shoulders when they leave their audience behind.

—

It's one of the awkwardest and most intense walks Wedge has had anywhere. He has no idea what to say, and talking is not something he usually has a problem with. Still, Biggs seems to be acting more and more like his usual self, and that's heartening if nothing else. Once they're inside the room though, and behind a closed door, Wedge feels like his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. He fidgets with the knot of his sleeves around his waist, chewing on his lower lip. "Well that was... unexpected." He laughs abruptly. "By me, at least. Apparently not by anybody else."

—

"Yeah apparently they knew what I wasn't saying." Biggs laughs a little, faintly, and starts digging under the mattress of his bed... an odd action, it would seem... at least, until he comes up with a hidden bottle of Corellian whiskey. Whyren's, no less. "I figure maybe a couple swallows will help, yeah?" He raises his eyebrows at Wedge. He knows Wedge loves good Corellian whiskey (and it makes sense, he's Corellian!) and having a bottle of the rarest on hand is probably another subconscious acknowledgement that Biggs made to his feelings for him.

—

Wedge's eyebrows shoot up almost all the way to his hairline. "Where the hell did you manage to get a hold of that?" He nods though, because there's no way he's gonna say no to that. "If you were trying to impress me, you just did." That's not exactly the truth. He impressed Wedge a long time ago, probably about five minutes after they first met. And now Wedge is gonna have to admit that, probably, so yes. Definitely some liquid courage is required.

—

"My dad has connections," Biggs says with a shrug, sitting on the bed and holding out the bottle to Wedge. "Considering how much he takes advantage of others, I don't feel bad taking advantage of them." Biggs grimaces inwardly; now is not the time to be thinking about his disagreements with his father. So he grins instead and shakes the bottle temptingly. "Come on. You can have the first sip."

—

The bottle is not the most tempting thing in the room right now. But Wedge takes it anyway and twists it open, filing away Biggs' comments about his dad for later consideration. He's heard similar comments before, and sooner or later he's gonna have to ask, but for now... The whiskey is as good as he remembers, and warms all the way down. He takes a second swallow and hands it back. He hovers briefly, trying to decide whether he's going to sit on Biggs' bed, or Hobbie's. For right now... Hobbie's seems like the safer bet. So he sits across from Biggs, although the room is small enough that their knees are practically touching anyway.

—

Biggs, too, takes a couple swallows before he hands the bottle back to Wedge. He's not planning on taking in more than it takes to relax him a little, which with whiskey this potent, won't take much. He wants his head clear for this. Whatever this is or is going to be. And that's the problem. He has no idea what to say. Biggs, who almost always knows exactly what to say in any situation, is completely tongue-tied. "So, um.... I guess it's pretty clear how I feel, at least in general."

—

Wedge is really really tempted to get drunk and let instinct take over, but instead he waves the bottle away for now. He scrubs at his face with one hand. "Well. Kinda. I still don't understand why you were so mad at me." Taking away his hand, he tilts his head and squints at Biggs. "You were avoiding me because you wanted to kriff me? Is that what I'm getting out of this?"

Just saying that out loud sends a pleasant little shiver through him, although he tries to hide it.

—

"I wasn't mad at you. I was mad at myself." Biggs sighs. "Look, back home... Luke and I knew each other since we were kids. And we made eyes at each other from the time we were old enough to understand what that meant... but I was never certain if the way he was looking at me was just adoration or something more. And Tatooine, well... it's backwards about a lot of things the core worlds take for granted, so we never said anything. And honestly, I'd never wanted anyone but Luke before. I told myself I was content to just dream about him and hope that maybe we'd meet again someday, unlikely was that was... and then you came along." Biggs grins a little.

"And yes, I've wanted to kriff you from the first day I met you. Suns, you're gorgeous and dark and dangerous and you're a hell of a pilot, how could I not?" Biggs shakes his head, looking rueful. "Thing is, I'd convinced myself so well that Luke and I were tragically separated soulmates destined to meet again someday that finding out I had this desire for someone else made me feel like I was being unfaithful. So I bottled it all up and just let it build and build until, well... until today."

—

A grin pulls hard at both corners of Wedge's mouth and he ducks his head at hide it at Biggs' compliment. He's not entirely sure that anyone has ever called him "dark and dangerous" before, but he kinda likes it. At Biggs' next words, though, the grin fades a little. He looks up at Biggs, his elbows resting on his knees. "I'm sorry that you two never really had a chance to figure things out. You'd think by now the Outer Rim would be a little more... I dunno, modern, but then again, the Empire probably isn't helping any of that, either." Down his eyes go again and he spends an inordinate amount of time studying his own hands. "Guess I don't have to tell you that though. The Academy probably wasn't any more accepting than your home planet, huh?"

—

"Yeah, I am too, still. Sometimes anyway. But the life we live... well. I mean, you and I could die tomorrow. We could die tonight or in the next hour. To hold myself away from the chance to be with someone I can be with on the off chance of being with someone I'll probably never even see again is pretty stupid." Biggs snorts and takes another sip from the bottle, just a small one. "The Empire's all about pairing up good little Imp men and women to make more little Imps to train. They've all but got a breeding program going. And if you're not into contributing to that... or even if you are but also like to occasionally have a wander to the other side... well. It's not looked upon kindly."

—

Biggs' words are sobering in more than one aspect. Too sobering. He reaches for the bottle and takes a another little drink. "You know that's why pilots are so rowdy, yeah? What am I saying, of course you do, you were a TIE pilot, and their life expectancy is even shorter than ours. You're not wrong. As long as we're here and we're fighting, we've gotta cram in every bit of life we can manage, because yeah. We don't know how much of it we're gonna get. Nobody does, I know, but... especially us." Wedge hands back the bottle and drags his fingers through his hair, digging at his scalp with the motion. "Biggs... that's why I've always, well. You know. I'll kriff just about anybody who's interested and sober enough to say yes. It's just always been... easier. Like if I lose one of them, I'm only losing a little tiny piece of my heart and not the whole thing."

His eyes meet Biggs', and there's a hint of real fear hiding there, deep down. "I can't—I can't do that with you. I can't manage to keep my distance. Worse, I don't wanna keep my distance. You've got every little part of me right there in the palm of your hand—you have for ages—and that scares the shit out of me, but.... in a good way."

—

"I... kinda figured that was why you kept things so casual with everyone." Biggs nods, his eyes soft, his expression understanding. "But something else I realized, sitting around denying I had any feelings for you at all for so long... I was worried I might hurt in the future because of Luke, and I was letting it keep me from living. We risk our whole selves every day, Wedge. And well, a heart can shatter, yes... but if you're still alive, it can mend, with time." He smiles and leans in so they're only a few inches apart. "It scares the hell out of me, too. But the only thing I know is that seeing you, here, saying these things? I know the risk is worth it."

—

Risk is not something Wedge backs away from, usually. But most of the time, it's not his heart he's risking. He watches Biggs for several heartbeats, trying to weigh out all of the options, all of the pros and cons and he keeps coming back to the pair of dark green eyes smiling at him from so close. Close enough that Wedge could lean in and kiss him again if he wanted to. And oh he does want to. Is this risk worth it? Does it even matter, if there's no way he can resist taking it anyway? His eyes dart between Biggs' mouth and Biggs' eyes, and in the end, there's no question of what he's going to do. There's really only one thing he can do. Moving slowly, in a hesitant, start-stop sort of motion, Wedge closes the last little bit of distance between them and presses his mouth to Biggs'.

—

Biggs' own heart is in his throat. This is the moment of truth. Wedge will either close the distance, or he'll pull away, maybe even break and run because the thought of anything more than a casual fuck is too much for him. Biggs won't blame him if he chooses the latter; the life they live is hard and unbelievably dangerous and unpredictable. He waits, and watches, his dark green eyes earnest and soft and asking for nothing, only giving Wedge what he feels. And when the last bit of space between them is crossed and their lips meet again, he makes a soft, happy sound and slips his arms around Wedge, one hand sliding up into that thick dark hair he's longed to touch for so, so long...

—

There's no telling what the future holds for them , but that's just made Wedge very good at living in the moment. And this particular moment... it's worth living in—and probably reliving later in great detail. Without breaking the kiss, Wedge switches sides so he's sitting next to Biggs, wrapping both his arms around his waist. Biggs tastes of the Whyren's he was drinking, and Wedge spends several vaguely delirious moments chasing that taste, and if he feels drunk, he's pretty sure it's not the whiskey doing it. He stops and presses his forehead against Biggs', trying to catch his breath.