drabblewriter

Hobbie's back is to Talon Squadron filling the briefing room as he adjusts the holoprojector in preparation for giving the briefing on their next training mission. As he twirls a knob, his connected datapad lights up, a text communication scrolling across the top of the display.

Your butt looks cute today.

Hobbie feels heat bloom in his cheeks even as there's surprised pleasure too. He doesn't have to look at the sender. He doesn't have to turn to see Wes barely containing himself where he sits behind him.

Another message: I can't wait to get my hands on it.

Hobbie stabs at the button to turn the datapad's screen off.

“Is something wrong, Lieutenant?” a voice pipes up from behind him.

“Not at all, Cadet Donos,” Hobbie assures. Quickly, he reactivates the datapad, feeds the proper information to the holoprojector, and disables the screen again before Wes can distract him any more. Then he gathers himself and turns. “If you'll all quiet down, we can begin.”

That means you, menace, his stern look tells Wes, who's smirking back at him from the front row.

You know you love me, Wes's expression answers.

Hobbie tears his gaze away and makes himself focus on their pilots.

Against his better judgment, he does. He really does.