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120_minutenChallenge: Gebrauchsanleitung
Fandom: Star Wars Legends
Charaktere: Tycho Celchu, Wedge Antilles, Wes Janson
Wörter: 779
Warnung: All the unrequited feelings. Or, well, some.
A/N: Ich hab insgesamt vielleicht ne Stunde dran geschrieben, aber das über vier Tage. Yay?
Tycho’s father had used to say that people didn’t come with instruction manuals; except, sometimes, they did. - He would say it almost fondly, not ridiculing the predictability of his HoloNet audience but Tycho had never quite bought into the second part, because statistics didn’t work like that and people were complicated. And than he met Wedge Antilles.
He had met men like Wedge at the academy: Young, quick-witted pilots with egos the size of a star destroyer and the skills and brains to back them up. Wedge might have been a bit smarter and more in control than most of them, but that didn’t exactly make him more predictable.
Except, it apparently did.
Wedge Antilles’s instruction manual came in the form of yet another young, quick-witted, egotistical pilot. Wes Janson was loud, a pain in the butt of every commanding officer and the one to hand Tycho a bottle of Corellian Red the day after the evacuation of Hoth, when Wedge was pacing the small mess hall of Home One. “Hates the stuff, but it reminds him of home, grounds him. But don’t mention Luke.”
Tycho just raised an eyebrow but as he was in desperate need for a drink himself, he just went for it. Two glasses in, Wedge deflated and after a third he even stopped fiddling with the bottle’s label and Tycho felt comfortable enough to ask whether there’d been word from Commander Skywalker or the princess. Wedge blanched and jerked upright. With a pointedly civil apology, he stalked off like a man on a mission, leaving Tycho to stare at the bottle of Red in bewilderment.
“I told you not to mention Luke, didn’t I?”
“How did you know?”
Janson shrugged carelessly. “The last time he left Luke alone, Biggs Darklighter died”, he said as if Tycho was supposed to know what that meant or who Darklighter was. Of course, Janson had been there for the Battle of Yavin, there was history there.
Except, Janson also knew where Wedge hid his Whyren’s Reserve and how he took his caf and that it took only two gallons of hydrolic liquid, a bit of Krayt dragon skin and a willing R5 unit to start an all-out no-holds-barred prank war with him. And, even more surprisingly, he was absolutely willing to share all that knowledge with Tycho. So, more often than not, it was Tycho who earned himself one of those Corellian half-smiles, while Janson stood to the side, grinning knowingly.
Wedge enjoyed classical music and didn’t watch holos with Wynssa Starflare on general principle and the left corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly when he had a good hand in sabacc. Whiskey made him talkactive and he was unbearable when hungover which, however, was easily cured with pickled rankweed. Janson had a stack.
“You love him, don’t you?” Tycho finally asked after two years and Janson shrugged.
“Nothing gets past you, hu?”
“But… Does he...” Tycho wasn’t sure what he actually wanted to ask.
“Know? Return my feelings? Even swing that way?”
Tycho flinched. Wedge was their commanding officer, in the end, he wasn’t supposed to know any of those things. Of course, Janson didn’t care: “Nope, nope and sure.”
“That… sucks.”
“Eh. Have had worse.” With another swig of his beer, Janson leaned back in his chair. “How about you?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t.”
Wedge got restless when he lost pilots on a mission, usually burying himself in work until Tycho coaxed him out of his office with a bottle of Corellian Red. It was an all to familiar occurrence for both of them. Rarer were the days when everything went almost according to plan. Those days left Wedge even more wired, aggressive even, as if the adrenalin refused to leave his system before something horrible happened. Janson didn’t have a recipe for those days.
“Sparring sometimes does the trick but it’s sort of hit-and-miss. Sex might work. Never tried it though, for obvious reasons.”
Tycho raised an eyebrow. “Because he’s your superior? Unexpectedly mature, Janson.”
“Yeah. That or the whole thing where I try to get my heart broken only every few months.”
“Oh. Sorry, I...”
“No worries. Wedge doesn’t really do casual sex anyway.”
Amused, Tycho raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s supposed to mean something."
“Course it is.”
And. Oh, yeah, that probably made sense. Kind of. Tycho hesitated, not sure how to ask. “...Why are you doing this to yourself, Janson?”
The other man shrugged, apparently untroubled. “Well, I love him, he loves you, so… How about you, Lieutenant Celchu?”
“That’s… That’s a good question.”
“Pity people don’t come with instruction manuals, isn’t it?”
Fandom: Star Wars Legends
Charaktere: Tycho Celchu, Wedge Antilles, Wes Janson
Wörter: 779
Warnung: All the unrequited feelings. Or, well, some.
A/N: Ich hab insgesamt vielleicht ne Stunde dran geschrieben, aber das über vier Tage. Yay?
Tycho’s father had used to say that people didn’t come with instruction manuals; except, sometimes, they did. - He would say it almost fondly, not ridiculing the predictability of his HoloNet audience but Tycho had never quite bought into the second part, because statistics didn’t work like that and people were complicated. And than he met Wedge Antilles.
He had met men like Wedge at the academy: Young, quick-witted pilots with egos the size of a star destroyer and the skills and brains to back them up. Wedge might have been a bit smarter and more in control than most of them, but that didn’t exactly make him more predictable.
Except, it apparently did.
Wedge Antilles’s instruction manual came in the form of yet another young, quick-witted, egotistical pilot. Wes Janson was loud, a pain in the butt of every commanding officer and the one to hand Tycho a bottle of Corellian Red the day after the evacuation of Hoth, when Wedge was pacing the small mess hall of Home One. “Hates the stuff, but it reminds him of home, grounds him. But don’t mention Luke.”
Tycho just raised an eyebrow but as he was in desperate need for a drink himself, he just went for it. Two glasses in, Wedge deflated and after a third he even stopped fiddling with the bottle’s label and Tycho felt comfortable enough to ask whether there’d been word from Commander Skywalker or the princess. Wedge blanched and jerked upright. With a pointedly civil apology, he stalked off like a man on a mission, leaving Tycho to stare at the bottle of Red in bewilderment.
“I told you not to mention Luke, didn’t I?”
“How did you know?”
Janson shrugged carelessly. “The last time he left Luke alone, Biggs Darklighter died”, he said as if Tycho was supposed to know what that meant or who Darklighter was. Of course, Janson had been there for the Battle of Yavin, there was history there.
Except, Janson also knew where Wedge hid his Whyren’s Reserve and how he took his caf and that it took only two gallons of hydrolic liquid, a bit of Krayt dragon skin and a willing R5 unit to start an all-out no-holds-barred prank war with him. And, even more surprisingly, he was absolutely willing to share all that knowledge with Tycho. So, more often than not, it was Tycho who earned himself one of those Corellian half-smiles, while Janson stood to the side, grinning knowingly.
Wedge enjoyed classical music and didn’t watch holos with Wynssa Starflare on general principle and the left corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly when he had a good hand in sabacc. Whiskey made him talkactive and he was unbearable when hungover which, however, was easily cured with pickled rankweed. Janson had a stack.
“You love him, don’t you?” Tycho finally asked after two years and Janson shrugged.
“Nothing gets past you, hu?”
“But… Does he...” Tycho wasn’t sure what he actually wanted to ask.
“Know? Return my feelings? Even swing that way?”
Tycho flinched. Wedge was their commanding officer, in the end, he wasn’t supposed to know any of those things. Of course, Janson didn’t care: “Nope, nope and sure.”
“That… sucks.”
“Eh. Have had worse.” With another swig of his beer, Janson leaned back in his chair. “How about you?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t.”
Wedge got restless when he lost pilots on a mission, usually burying himself in work until Tycho coaxed him out of his office with a bottle of Corellian Red. It was an all to familiar occurrence for both of them. Rarer were the days when everything went almost according to plan. Those days left Wedge even more wired, aggressive even, as if the adrenalin refused to leave his system before something horrible happened. Janson didn’t have a recipe for those days.
“Sparring sometimes does the trick but it’s sort of hit-and-miss. Sex might work. Never tried it though, for obvious reasons.”
Tycho raised an eyebrow. “Because he’s your superior? Unexpectedly mature, Janson.”
“Yeah. That or the whole thing where I try to get my heart broken only every few months.”
“Oh. Sorry, I...”
“No worries. Wedge doesn’t really do casual sex anyway.”
Amused, Tycho raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s supposed to mean something."
“Course it is.”
And. Oh, yeah, that probably made sense. Kind of. Tycho hesitated, not sure how to ask. “...Why are you doing this to yourself, Janson?”
The other man shrugged, apparently untroubled. “Well, I love him, he loves you, so… How about you, Lieutenant Celchu?”
“That’s… That’s a good question.”
“Pity people don’t come with instruction manuals, isn’t it?”
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Date: 2018-03-02 07:49 pm (UTC)