It's late enough that Wedge expects the base's communal refreshers to be empty.

As he approaches the door, though, he hears the singing. Loud, confident, ringing notes. Wedge pauses for a moment outside, listening. The song almost sounds familiar, but he can't quite place it. The voice is good, and it takes him a few moment to recognize it. Tycho Celchu, the newest member of the squadron.

Wedge steps inside, and the moment the sound of the door opening rings out, the voice cuts off, leaving only the sound of water on tiles.

“Don't stop on my account,” Wedge says without thinking as he steps into a stall. He undresses and turns on his own spray, wondering if Tycho will. It seems to be just the two of them in the refresher, but Wedge knows he himself would never choose to sing in front of anyone else, even like this.

Wedge is lathering up his hair when Tycho's voice rises again. It's quieter than before, not as confident, but still beautiful. The notes are precise and lovely, the song this time one Wedge does know. He finds himself quietly singing along despite himself and is surprised by how nice their voices sound together.

The song ends, and Tycho doesn't say anything before he starts another. Similar to the last, another Wedge knows, and as he sings along again, he thinks. Tycho hasn't been around long, and Wedge isn't close to him. Is actively avoiding him, if he's honestly with himself. He's still smarting from the losses at Yavin, and is so afraid to make another friend only to have them die. And yet...if he really is being honest, he likes Tycho. He's fiery and handsome and a hell of a pilot. And apparently has an excellent voice.

There's a wet sound from the next cubicle as Tycho shifts under the water, and a vision comes to Wedge unbidden. Tycho on his knees, a flimsy towel the only thing between him and the wet tiles, Wedge behind him, pounding into him, the sound of Tycho's voice raised not in song but pleasured cries.

Wedge gasps at how quickly arousal hits him, the song choking off in his throat. He hadn't meant – does he really think of Tycho like that? Unbidden, his hand drops to his suddenly-hardening cock. He hasn't, not since before Yavin, and it hits him with more force than he'd expected.

Tycho stops singing, too. “Wedge?” he ventures, voice seeming too loud in the sudden quiet. “Are you...?”

Except his tone has gone heavy, too, suddenly, that wet sound coming again, and oh, maybe it wasn't what Wedge thought at all.

“Are you?” Wedge echoes just loud enough to be heard over the spray. His hand moves, drawing pleasure, as he pictures Tycho doing the same on the other side of the thin partition.

Tycho makes a quiet sound, and breathes, “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Wedge answers, and his entire body prickles with the knowledge of what they're doing together. He hadn't expected this; it's so far outside his normal comfort zone, and yet he doesn't stop.

He listens to their breaths rise together, growing more labored, more expressive of what they're feeling. He bites his lip as he tips over the edge and hears Tycho doing the same. Wedge watches his release swirl down the drain with the water and shivers as he knows the other man is too.

Silence descends in the refresher but for the sound of falling water and heavy breathing. Wedge has no idea what to say, what this might mean for them. This isn't what he was looking for when he came here.

Tycho's water turns off abruptly, and his voice floats over the partition. “I'll leave first. Goodnight, Wedge.”

Wedge can't bring himself to respond, knowing how badly his voice would shake. Moments later, the door opens and closes, and Tycho is gone. Wedge leans his forehead against the cool wall, water pounding on his back as he tries to get hold of himself.

He doesn't know what he's going to do now. He doesn't know if he'll be able to look Tycho in the eye next time they meet. But he can't help wondering: was this a mistake or just what they needed?