"... so we smeared it on his socks." Wedge Antilles’ voice shook with laughter. "Even he couldn’t ignore that smell."

The brown-haired girl laying beside him snickered. "So that’s why Cardeb finally started wearing clean uniforms. But tauntaun guts? Isn’t that a bit disgusting?"

"Hey, it worked. Hobbie just had to bunk out for a few nights until Cardeb got the hint."

"Sounds like you’ve done a public service."

Wedge propped himself up on his left elbow and grinned. "Do I get a reward?"

She smiled lazily. "I’ll put you in for a medal."

The corners of his brown eyes crinkled as his fingers lightly trailed across her bare stomach. Leaning closer, he nipped at her ear and growled, "Not exactly what I had in mind, Soral."

"Oh?" The girl caught his hand before it could stray any lower. Shifting onto her side, she gazed at him from under her eyelashes. "What did you have in mind?"

He closed his eyes and let her push him onto his back, groaning quietly as she massaged his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. As her hands moved lower, she murmured into his ear, "Tell me what you want."

He was breathing too heavily to answer, already hard as her fingers slipped between his legs, stroking the inside of his thighs, carefully avoiding his shaft. He arched off the bed when her hand cupped and fondled his sac

Something hot slid over him, enveloping him in warmth and wet. He almost lost control as her tongue swirled around his head, teasing his tip. His thoughts were spinning, his head was ringing, his voice was half-growl, half-whine.

"I want..." I want to be with you forever. I want to die right now because nothing will ever feel this good again. I want... I want... Wedge finally recognized the ringing sound.

"I want to shoot whoever’s on that comlink." Soral raised her head, startled, then began to laugh. Wedge sat up, tugging his pants from where they’d been lodged between the bed and the wall.

"If this is anyone but Mon Mothma herself, I’m going to scream." Wedge pulled his comlink from the pocket of his trousers and thumbed it on. "Antilles here."

"Captain. General Rieekan would like to speak with you in his office immediately."

"General Rieekan?" The pair exchanged surprised looks. "I’ll be right there. Antilles out."

Soral was already weaving his arm into his shirtsleeve when he clicked the device off. "Maybe they’ve found the Princess," she said hopefully.

"Maybe they’ve found Luke," Wedge mused, buttoning his tunic and standing. "Where’s my underwear?"

"Maybe they’ve caught the Emperor and want you to space him." She leaned over the other side of the bed and came back up with a piece of white cloth. "Here you go."

They shared a small laugh. Both knew that anything the grim General Rieekan had to say would not be good. Wedge fastened his pants and turned to the young woman, watching her shrug into a dark robe. He opened his mouth, then shut it, unsure of what he wanted to say. Gently, he lifted her face and kissed her, then departed.

The door slid shut with a hiss, and Soral raised her fingers to her lips. She could still feel the pressure of his mouth against hers. It felt odd to her, as though she’d kissed a stranger. There was something different, something wrong... She pulled the heavy cloth tighter around her body and glanced at the chrono. She had an hour and a half before she went on-duty. Plenty of time for a shower, plenty of time to think.

It had been a week since the Rebellion fled their base on Hoth. There was still no word of the missing persons--Princess Leia, Han Solo, Commander Skywalker--but Wedge insisted that Solo, a fellow Corellian, was more than equal to any challenges the Imps might throw at him. He and the Princess were sure to turn up any day now. And everyone knew that Luke Skywalker could do the impossible; he’d return soon as well. They had to keep the faith.

The Rebellion hadn’t kept the faith in planetary bases and instead took to space, keeping the fleet together, constantly on the move. Soral had heard rumors that the huge Mon Calamari luxury liners were being refit as warships and fervently hoped it was true. Perhaps her unit would stage from one of them. How fitting that the species that led her to the Alliance might join her at last. And, of course, the Rebels could use the help. Just one battleship, with crew at full strength, would replace the people lost at Hoth.

The young woman shook her head angrily. Replace? No, never. They would bring the numbers back up, but the experience, the spirit of those dead--that was lost forever.

In spite of it all; the death, the fear, the running, this past week had been almost... blissful. In the fleeting moments they shared, neither Wedge nor Soral mentioned the Rebellion; they were not soldiers running for their lives, but young lovers with nothing but time.

Publicly they were friends, like she and Janson were friends, and they shared meals when they could and spoke in the hangar. But behind closed doors she took his hand and let him touch her. She never told him that he touched more than her flesh; she didn’t have to. The change, though subtle, was obvious to him.

She sometimes remembered to curb her stinging tongue and acid words. Not always, not even often, but it had been only a week. She actually tried to speak to some of the other pilots, but only if someone she knew was with her. Wedge watched her quietly converse with Janson and a new Tunroth mechanic, then heard peals of laughter from the trio; none of it sounding mean or hurtful.

The barriers of her soul remained, but Force knew she tried to let him in.

To be sure, their private moments weren’t many. The pilots were on double-duty, and Soral often went out as Wedge came in. If Soral’s roommate, Ayran, didn’t spend most of her downtime with an "umm, friend," they wouldn’t have any time alone. As she brushed her hair, Soral wondered idly who Ayran’s new toy was. She was pretty sure it was a young Alderaanian named Tycho, who’d joined up shortly before the move to Hoth. Ayran wasn’t very circumspect; no reason she should be, really. Alliance leaders had more to worry about than PDA.

Soral zipped up her pilot’s persona along with her flightsuit, leaving her personal life behind her. Now, if they passed in the corridor, a smile and a friendly word would be their only contact. By silent assent, they kept their affections private.

Mostly private. Except for the occasional storage room tryst. Soral locked her door and headed toward the hangar, smirking as she remembered how Wedge had caught her eye the day before when she returned from patrols. She’d watched him turn down an empty corridor, and she followed as soon as she could get away. The hall was silent, eerie, and she’d yelped with fright when a hand clamped onto her wrist and dragged her into an open doorway.

The door slid shut, and Wedge pressed against her in the semi-darkened room, trapping her between the door and his firm body. Urgent hands opened her flightsuit as his mouth slanted over hers, invading and plundering. She quivered, wild desire swelling inside her. He roughly pushed the garment off her shoulders, sliding his hands down her back as she hurriedly unzipped his uniform.

His heart raced as she reached down, freeing his weeping member. Wedge shuddered and growled as she stroked him, then shoved at her clothing until flightsuit and underpants pooled around her ankles. A tiny sound escaped her lips as he pulled back, staring into her eyes, his hands roaming over her body then drawing her close.

The tip of his organ pressed into her seeping folds as he tried to raise her leg, almost knocking her off-balance.

"Wait, my boots..." Soral pushed him back.

"Huh? Oh, damn." He saw her clothing tangled around her feet; no way to get them off quickly. "Turn around."

She obeyed immediately, shivering with excitement.

"Bend over," he growled, running his callused hands down her spine. She felt him grasp her hips, keeping her steady until she was balanced with her palms against the floor.

"Very good." Wedge massaged the smooth orbs of her buttocks, then slid his hand between her thighs, teasing her. She moaned as he slid two fingers into her, and he grinned, withdrawing his digits and lightly slapping the inside of her thigh.

"Spread your legs as far as you can. Mmm... that’s good." He parted her cheeks and positioned himself at her opening. "That’s perfect." He sheathed himself in a single thrust, jerking her hips back against his, and her breath caught at the sudden fullness.

Then she was empty again as he withdrew, her breathy whimper of protest the only sound in the room. His left arm snaked around her waist while the fingers of his right hand dug painfully into her hip and he pulled her back again, harder, driving into her with a force that surprised them both.

Upside-down, blood rushing to her head, the pleasure between her legs growing unbearable, Soral gave in to oblivion. She braced herself and pushed back, impaling herself on the hardness that thrust into her, quicker now, faster and harder, his grip on her hurting deliciously as her walls clenched in orgasm.

Her knees trembled and she was grateful for Wedge’s arm around her, unyielding and powerful, the only part of him that wasn’t shaking with the force of his thrusts. His head fell back, he squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on how she tightened around him, the sound of her soft throaty cries and his own hissing breath. His right hand moved of its own volition, slipping between her folds, searching for the bundle of nerves that would make her squeal.

Too much, it was too much to hold back, but anyone could walk by and hear them so she bit her lip and choked on her scream. Something more than ecstasy enveloped her, a rapture that sound couldn’t express. Tears rolled down her face as she rose higher, feeling every exquisite motion of the man inside her. His heat filled her suddenly and she tasted blood, shaking and crying.

Wedge caught her as she fell and lowered her gently to the floor. His eyes widened at her bloody lip and tear stained face. "Soral?" He took hold of her chin and examined her worriedly. "Dor’anja, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head, staring at him with wide brown eyes. Words bubbled to her lips and she almost spoke them aloud. Looking into his sweet, earnest face, it seemed so easy, so right I think I love you no reason not to.

But she couldn’t, and she didn’t know why.

Continued in Part Two