This is my first erotica, so please make allowances for my inexperience. ;) All comments and feedback are very much appreciated. This story is set during "X-Wing: Wedge's Gamble", sometime between chapters 30-33. Please note, however, that I can't fit everything into canon -- especially as I haven't read all of the X- Wing comics. This is very much an alternate universe.

Disclaimer: All Star Wars-related characters belong to George Lucas/Lucasfilm. "Wedge's Gamble" and some of the situations in this story were created by Michael Stackpole. My interpretation of the relationship between the characters involved and the subsequent extrapolation of which are mine. Please don't sue -- I'm making no money off this.

Rating: NC-17, m/m. Minors and people unable to read an explicit story involving a homosexual relationship, please stay out.

The most grateful of thanks goes to Audrey, who beta-read this story for me.

Night on Coruscant made little difference to those who dwelled in its lowest levels, where artificial suns gave an illusion of respite from the darkness. Tired faces hid from predators -- both sentient and not -- like little fish burrowing fearfully in the mud.

Still, if sludge and slime were found at the bottom, the old adage about scum rising to the top was certainly true. The elites of the city planet milled about on the highest levels of the spires and towers, enjoying the quiet evening and dealings best left after dark.

Wedge Antilles looked up at the lights shining steadily against the night sky, outlining the tall buildings they decorated like jewels. Perversely, this section of Invisec offered a beautiful view of one of the richer parts of Coruscant, capable of filling anyone with a sense of awe. To Wedge, the sight was spoiled by the corruption he knew lurked within, Ysanne Isard presiding from the center like a deadly spider.

Pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, he looked around warily for any possible spies -- who may not even be Imps, he thought wryly. Corran Horn's dedication and single-mindedness were admirable, but occasionally the younger pilot could easily slip into paranoia. Wedge adjusted his walk to imitate the hunched-over posture of the passers-by around him, careful to seem as if he was wandering aimlessly.

His destination was an indifferent hotel mouldering quietly at the fringes of Invisec. The Askajian receptionist did not even look up as he entered, her attention fully captured by a romantic holodrama. A bar nearby was more lively than the empty lobby, but its patrons were either too drunk or too apathetic to notice a brown-haired man slipping into an elevator. He smiled slightly as he knocked on the door that would lead him to his lover, ignoring the peeling paint that fell in flakes on his tired feet.

The room beyond the door was dark, illuminated only by the colourful lights outside the hotel. But the pair of blue eyes that greeted him was as bright as any sun, and the welcoming kiss quickly made him forget his dingy weariness. There seemed to be a tautness in the muscles under his hands, but he filed the fact away into a corner of his mind and poured himself into the embrace.

His lover pulled away slightly, a smile dancing on his lips. "I don't mean to interrupt, but you smell like a dead tauntaun."

"Hello to you too, Tycho."

Tycho Celchu's aristocratic features softened slightly, already rendered less stern by his scruffy appearance. The pilot's light brown hair stuck out in all directions, inviting a hand to run through it. Regretfully Wedge released his embrace, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. Datapads littered the one table in the room, a powered-dowm Emtrey resting next to it.

Giving in to Tycho's less-than-subtle shove, he started to unbutton his dirty clothes. One foot inside the refresher, Wedge looked back inquiringly over his shoulder at Tycho, who was switching on the bedside light. "Why was it so dark in here?"

The slender, blue-eyed man gave him an embarassed look. "I... fell asleep at the desk."

Wedge's laughter echoed throughout the small room.

The datapad was smooth and cool to his touch, if somewhat battered. It had to be -- not only was the Alliance unable to afford many new equipment, to carry around a brand new datapad in Invisec was akin to wearing an X-Wing flightsuit in a stormtrooper birthday party.

Winter could have touched this very datapad, Tycho thought, running his finger down its lines for what seemed to be the thousandth time. In his last visit Wedge had broken the news to him quietly, leaving before he could say another word. Winter, his old love, was here on Coruscant. She of the white hair and elegant bearing, like a ghost rising from Alderaan's ashes.

His hands tightened convulsively, then slackened, sending the datapad clattering against the table. Ghost -- that was an appropriate word to describe Winter. Fate and duty decreed that they must part, leaving behind nothing but promises and a lingering feeling of regret. And she disappeared, so thoroughly that at times he thought she was but a dream.

In old tales, now was the time for promises to be kept and loves to be affirmed. He was a noble son of Alderaan, bound by his word -- and he had made a promise to Winter, so long ago, that he would always love her. Obliquely, in the manner of the royal court of which she was accustomed to, he had even held up to her the prospect of marriage.

He loved Winter.

Damp arms encircled him, and a kiss was bestowed at his temple, where life-worn skin gave way to downy hair. Tycho shivered, running his lips up one of the arms which held him loosely.

He loved Wedge.

Was it possible for him to love both and keep his honour?

"Are you okay?" asked a concerned voice next to his ear. This was a side to Wedge not many has seen before, the gentle lover reserved for Tycho alone.

"Fine," he managed to say before his throat closed up. His leg twinged slightly as he turned to face Wedge, still enclosed in his arms, indicating to him just how long he had been standing and staring at the datapad.

Tycho was only slightly taller than his lover, and barefoot they were almost eye-to-eye. An impish light gleamed in Wedge's eyes, and before he knew it the brown-haired man had maneuvered them into the classic starting position for the Alderaanian waltz.

"Do you want to lead, or shall I?" Wedge's grin would not look out of place on a half-tamed hrimau cat.

"Set the course and I'm your wingman, Commander."

Lips and hands roamed over each other as they stumbled their way towards the narrow bed, which creaked unsteadily as they fell on it. A clumsy hand switched off the light, plunging the room into dimness. Wedge straddled him, wearing only a loose pair of pants. His face was flushed and alive, eyes slitting as arousal spread its warmth into his body.

Wedge always reminded Tycho of summers on Alderaan, the warm fingers unbuttoning his shirt feeling like rays of sunshine on cold, fearful flesh. The shadowed eyes flashed blue, then green -- the shape-shifting colour of the lakes near his now-dead home. He reached up, freeing himself from the shirt and pulling his lover down for a deep kiss.

Tongues dueled and tasted each other, while hands sought to liberate their bodies from the confines of clothing. Wedge smelled like soap and musk, and the muscles under his hands assured him with its familiar firmness.

Tycho's eyes squeezed shut, wishing he could release himself from the turmoil raging in his heart. Wedge was his best friend, confidante, and lover. The only person who believed in and trusted him, and had fought so hard for his place in the Rogue Squadron. Wedge had stood by him through accusations of treason, and comforted him during lonely, everlasting nights.

His kisses moved lower and Tycho gasped, eyes flying open. The Corellian was as diligent a lover as he was a pilot, conscientiously mapping out the sensitive spots on Tycho's body the first night they were together. The blue-eyed man smiled, memories flitting through his mind.

Wedge caught the smile, answering it with one of his own. He moved up, giving Tycho a quick kiss. "I lo--"

"Shh..."

don't speak don't break the silence oh please

Winter was reminiscent of her namesake, distant and beautiful in its starkness, hiding its warmth deep under a protective layer of coldness. They shared a special kinship, as only survivors of Alderaan could, finding a short respite from loneliness in each other's arms. There were things he could never explain to Wedge, only to find understanding with her. But for a long time she was a star on the horizon, something he desired but never thought he could touch.

Wedge was everything Winter was not.

Winter was everything Wedge was not.

Black or white.

Right or wrong.

Winter or Wedge.

Then Wedge's mouth closed over his cock and coherent thoughts shattered, transmuting into a sharpening of desire and the quickening of the blood. Tycho moaned, sheets bunching within his fingers as he thrust up into the hot wetness. Lazily the Corellian slid his tongue up and down, prompting wordless pleas.

Wedge sucked hard, opening his throat and taking in the entire length. Minutes seemed to fly by like seconds as Tycho let go of the rumbled sheets and tangled his fingers through his lover's hair, thrusting sharply. Supernovas exploded behind his eyes, the burning energy racing throughout his entire body and finding release in a long scream.

Tycho panted, slowly freeing his fingers from brown, tangled hair. Arms outstretched on either side and a sheen of sweat reflecting Coruscant's multi-coloured lights, Wedge thought he looked like a statue, a piece of artwork made by discerning hands for display in a shrine. And all his, he thought. For the moment.

The Alderaanian raised an eyebrow at Wedge's smug smile, a challenge darkening his sky- coloured eyes. He pulled the unresisting man down on the bed, until they were side by side. Smoothly, he slid an arm under his lover, and the other over the man's chest. Tycho planted kisses down Wedge's throat, biting at the skin, while his fingers stimulated the nipples gently. He felt a trembling as his free hand slid down to rest just before Wedge's erect cock, smiling against the Corellian's flushed skin.

Wedge's hands rested over his, urging on his ministrations. Tycho ran a finger under the erect cock teasingly, ignoring his lover's desperate bucking. Finally he enclosed it within his hand, drawing a sharp intake of breath and a grasping of his wrist. He began to pump, keeping up a random rhythm -- sometimes light and slow, then hard and fast.

His lover's breath hitched as he approached his own climax, slowing into a disappointed moan as Tycho ceased his stroking. The blond man reached over, snagging a bottle resting on the small stool that served as a bedside table. Unsteadily, he poured oil onto his hands, smearing it over Wedge's fingers. One hand slid down again, massaging the gleaming liquid onto Wedge's cock.

Tycho met his gaze as his arm slipped out from under Wedge. The Corellian's blue-green eyes widened in surprise and more than a little apprehension as he began to turn over onto his stomach. Drawing his knees up slightly under him, he waited, tense. They had always made love face-to-face, and he was unsure of Wedge's reaction.

do it do it do it please

The bed creaked as Wedge shifted, straddling Tycho. The blond relaxed as oiled fingers probed his opening, his lover gently inserting one, then two, to allow him to adjust to the feeling of fullness. The fingers slid in and out, spreading more oil into the cleft between his buttocks, a prelude to the final act.

He gasped, a mixture of pleasure and pain, as Wedge's cock penetrated his opening. Slowly but less than surely, arms held rigidly on either side of him. He arched his back, pushing against Wedge, coaxing more speed and force from his lover. His request was met with glad compliance, soon sending them rocking against the bed.

It wasn't long before Wedge's thrusts became harder, less controlled. Firm fingers clutched tightly at his shoulders, and Tycho pushed back, meeting his lover with equal force. Desire flared, and with a cry Wedge shuddered as he orgasmed. Breathing harshly, he fell heavily to Tycho's side.

Tycho kissed Wedge's forehead, tasting salty sweat. The brown-haired man was already dropping off, no doubt tired from the day's work and the night's pleasure. His lover watched as his face relaxed, snuggling against him.

"Love you," he murmured.

"I love you too, I'm afraid," Tycho whispered, unheard. "I'm sorry." He drew up a blanket over them, waiting for dawn to chase away the dreams of the night.

THE END?