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Beautiful

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Hobbie doesn't like being in the wheelchair, and he definitely doesn't like having someone else pushing him around, but as Wes directions him back to their room, they both know he's not strong enough yet for anything else. Honestly, he should probably still be in the medbay, but he'd insisted on checking himself out, and the staff had finally agreed to release him into Wes's care.

“You're being more crotchety about this than usual,” Wes comments as they arrive at their quarters.

Hobbie remains silent, and Wes's wry smile falters. He's starting to get an idea what this might be. “Do you want me to help you out of the chair?” he asks carefully.

Hobbie sighs. His crash had damaged his prosthetics badly enough that they're all now down in a lab somewhere undergoing repair and won't be back for hours, leaving him far less mobile than usual. Wes knows how much he hates that and is trying to be helpful while not coddling him.

“Did you see that new nurse?” Hobbie asks finally.

“The cute blond? Sure.”

Hobbie makes a face. “She was watching me the whole time. As soon as they took off my prosthetics, she got this look on her face...” He waves his right arm as if searching for the right word. “Like pity.” He grits his teeth. “Disgust, maybe.”

“I don't think–”

“I didn't ask what you think. I'm telling you what I saw.”

Wes closes his mouth, trying not to be offended, trying to understand Hobbie's frustration. “Go on.”

Hobbie huffs out a breath and runs a hand over his face. “I just hate that, you know?” His expression twitches just before he grabs the blanket covering him and casts it to the floor.

He looks so small without the prosthetics that make up the majority of three of his limbs, and Wes tries to control the way his heart squeezes between the sight and the things he's saying.

“People see this,” Hobbie goes on, bitter, “and they think I'm weak or broken or that I can't fend for myself. Or they think I'm ugly or less than human. Like I can't tell when they're staring. Like it doesn't hurt.”

“Can I do something?” Wes asks, needing to try. Though it's not the first time he's seen it, it's a rare occasion when Hobbie gets like this, and Wes hates the shadows in his eyes now, needs to take them away. “Please?”

Hobbie looks at him warily but nods.

“Can we get you on the bed?”

Another nod, and moments later, Wes has him situated on one side, facing the tall mirror hanging on the wall. He sees the way Hobbie's eyes slip across it and away. Wes slides in behind him, positioning himself with his legs framing Hobbie's.

“Can I undress you?” he asks next.

Hobbie hesitates, looking uncertain, then agrees quietly.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Wes murmurs, meeting Hobbie's gaze in the mirror as he undoes the snaps up the back of his hospital gown. He pulls it off, letting it slip to the floor. “There.” Wes rests his chin on Hobbie's shoulder, turning to press a kiss to his neck before looking back at the mirror, taking him in.

Pale skin dotted here and there by old scars. A love bite on his collarbone the bacta had managed to fade but not do away with entirely. Soft cock nestled in a thatch of blond hair. Residual legs spread to help him balance as he avoids leaning back against Wes, shortened arm held protectively close to his body.

“You're beautiful,” Wes murmurs. He lets himself touch, slow and easy in case this isn't something Hobbie wants right now, hands rubbing his hips gently before traveling down his legs, tracing across the smooth skin where his limbs end. Once, Wes had been so afraid to touch him here, not knowing if he was allowed. And though they're not in this situation often, now, there's nothing off limits between them.

“I love your body,” Wes goes on, kissing his neck again. He watches Hobbie's lashes flutter in the mirror. “This body is you, Hobbie. This is the body you've survived in. You're amazing.” He smiles against Hobbie's skin, wrapping his arms around his middle and just holding him for long moments. “Those other people – what they think doesn't matter. They don't know you. They don't know what you're capable of. They don't know what you've been through, the things you've seen and done and overcome, the way you could take them out with your one hand tied behind your back.”

That gets a soft chuckle out of Hobbie. “Wes...”

“Shh, I'm not done.” He takes hold of Hobbie's residual arm, guides it close until he can press a light kiss to the tip. “You're not helpless or pitiful. I know you know that, but I think sometimes you need to hear it, too.” He catches Hobbie's eye in the mirror again, gives him his most lascivious grin. “And you're certainly not ugly. Hell, if you think that, you haven't been paying attention to me at all.”

Hobbie smiles a little, breathes Wes's name again. He reaches back with his right hand, catches Wes's wrist and draws it around his body, pressing it between his legs to where he's grown hard and needy with the praise. “Please, Wes,” he murmurs.

“I've got you, beautiful,” Wes promises, keeping his eyes on Hobbie's as he touches him, watching his every reaction. The way his face twitches and his eyes grow heavy with pleasure as he rests more of his weight against Wes, the way he trembles slightly as he gets close. The gorgeous way he cries out when he reaches his peak, shuddering through the cascade of pleasure in Wes's arms. “That's it.” Wes presses his face into Hobbie's neck, sucking a kiss at the juncture of his shoulder.

They just stay that way for awhile, twined together.

“Wes,” Hobbie says finally, a trace of emotion there. His hand covers Wes's where it rests low on his belly.

“Yeah?” Wes looks up, meets the reflection of blue eyes soft with afterglow and everything else.

“Thank you.”

“I love you,” Wes answers solidly, and it's everything he needs to say.