Their informant appeared at the very last minute, heavily cloaked when they weren't, but neither of them able to see his face underneath the bone-white mask. Luke didn't choose the locally-made beer when he ordered — for once, Luke wanted a beverage that didn't taste like hazardous waste-product.
The cup cradled within his hands. A swirl of glimmering orange and blue — starting from the center of the vortex. Luke drank deep. The sweet-sour, heightened fragrance and creamy flavor popping against his tongue—
It invaded, assaulted his senses, numbing—
*
He's not real.
He's not… he's(not) here.
Luke can sense it just as clearly as the spice(spices) effects, sweeping in lightning-brilliance over his nerves and veins. It's not him, encased in white walls. It's(not) him, crawling hungrily onto Han's naked lap, into the ring of his arms, grinding on Han's cock twitching to fullness.
It's(not) him, getting fucked open in overly gentle, rhythmic thrusts, lubricant dripping out of his ass, flesh red and brutal. Han's teeth flash out and bite down on Luke's shoulder.
The needy, little groans(not) erupting from him, wanting and pleading for more. The hot, incoherent breathes against Luke's face, against his hair and his golden, stubble-dusted cheek where Han's mouth rests, when they're(not)—
Everything swirls around him, disappearing, and he's (not) disappearing along with it, immersing into total blackness. Into the shrieks and howls. Eyes, so many disembodied eyes peering out and bloody, gleaming teeth snap apart.
Darth Vader on a smoking, lower-leveled structure, opening his leather-gloved hand to Luke's face.
A girl appearing on the top of his island, willfully climbing the stony steps of the First Jedi. She stares pleadingly into Luke's face, opening her bag and holding out his father's lightsaber—
*
With a ripping, choked-up scream, Luke wakes violently on one of the twin-cots, quivering and covered in perspiration.
As he heaves himself onto his side, an infuriated-looking Han grabs his shoulder.
"Gee—kid, you try'na give me a heart attack?" he barks out.
"Nas Ghent," Luke says, urgently, blinking out the haze building in his vision. "Nas Ghent… it was him in the mask. We saw him. He—"
Han interrupts, scowling, "Yeah, apparently slipped something nice into your drink while he was at it." He forces Luke to lie back down onto a pillow, telling him gravely, "You weren't breathing, Luke."
Instead of being startled by the news, Luke gazes up at him, incredulously.
"Han, tell me he didn't get away." At the silent and obviously frustrated confirmation, he arches himself up, getting dizzy when Luke weakly jolts into a sit. "No—"
"It was him or it was you," Han insists, grabbing him again, this time with his blunt fingernails clawing into Luke's upper arms. "There's no use getting riled up now. You need rest."
"We can't fail this mission…"
Han's voice drops into a low, angry growl. "A spice smuggler got away, so what?" he says, holding Luke in place from squirming. "You think it's worth getting yourself killed for it?"
"Leia said he worked for Vader. He had intel—"
"Okay, he was a glorified smuggler for the bad guys. Somebody will catch him."
"… was supposed to be us," Luke mumbles grumpily and frowning, no longer thrashing. He sinks gradually back to the cot-frame, wincing at the increasing dizziness.
"Stop complaining and get some rest," Han says, more softly. His thumb-pad lands against Luke's forehead, along with several other fingers, touching over his hot, flushed skin lightly. "Need to… get the rest of it out of your system first, y'hear me?"
It's too much for him. Luke doesn't want to fake this charade anymore.
"You know, we don't have to pretend in here…"
Han looks at him solemnly, dropping his fingers.
"Who's pretending, kid?" he asks.
The response strikes a chord of fear and thrill in Luke's heart. It leaves him speechless. Han leans over him with a determined glint in his eyes, and for a second, Luke thinks he's gonna kiss him — instead, Han's mouth pushes against Luke's forehead in a comforting, heated seal.
It's better than a kiss, by far.
Maybe not the best… but it's better.
*
It's eternal springtime here — the hydrophytes and watery soil, the electrical storms and rains.
And Luke says goodbye to it, preparing to be smuggled with Han out of the Faj system and back to the Rebel Alliance. Waiting too long increases the chances of taking a hit by the asteroid belt.
He considers passing it up, for however long the elliptical orbit takes, staying for a little bit and using up the rest of their credits. Luke heard about a Byzal canyon on the planet, used for the swoop racers. He knows they would have enjoyed getting a view of it.
Just… pretending a little while longer.
But, it's not what a Jedi would do. Not really. And he can't assume that's what Han wants. Even when their hands are gathered together, their fingers never breaking, eyes gently seeking each other.
There's a meaning still to come. Luke knows it's there between them, and it's no mistake.
Fill: Better Than a Kiss (Luke/Han - NSFW, blood, nonconsensual drug use) - 4/4
Something happened.
Their informant appeared at the very last minute, heavily cloaked when they weren't, but neither of them able to see his face underneath the bone-white mask. Luke didn't choose the locally-made beer when he ordered — for once, Luke wanted a beverage that didn't taste like hazardous waste-product.
The cup cradled within his hands. A swirl of glimmering orange and blue — starting from the center of the vortex. Luke drank deep. The sweet-sour, heightened fragrance and creamy flavor popping against his tongue—
It invaded, assaulted his senses, numbing—
*
He's not real.
He's not… he's(not) here.
Luke can sense it just as clearly as the spice(spices) effects, sweeping in lightning-brilliance over his nerves and veins. It's not him, encased in white walls. It's(not) him, crawling hungrily onto Han's naked lap, into the ring of his arms, grinding on Han's cock twitching to fullness.
It's(not) him, getting fucked open in overly gentle, rhythmic thrusts, lubricant dripping out of his ass, flesh red and brutal. Han's teeth flash out and bite down on Luke's shoulder.
The needy, little groans(not) erupting from him, wanting and pleading for more. The hot, incoherent breathes against Luke's face, against his hair and his golden, stubble-dusted cheek where Han's mouth rests, when they're(not)—
Everything swirls around him, disappearing, and he's (not) disappearing along with it, immersing into total blackness. Into the shrieks and howls. Eyes, so many disembodied eyes peering out and bloody, gleaming teeth snap apart.
Darth Vader on a smoking, lower-leveled structure, opening his leather-gloved hand to Luke's face.
A girl appearing on the top of his island, willfully climbing the stony steps of the First Jedi. She stares pleadingly into Luke's face, opening her bag and holding out his father's lightsaber—
*
With a ripping, choked-up scream, Luke wakes violently on one of the twin-cots, quivering and covered in perspiration.
As he heaves himself onto his side, an infuriated-looking Han grabs his shoulder.
"Gee—kid, you try'na give me a heart attack?" he barks out.
"Nas Ghent," Luke says, urgently, blinking out the haze building in his vision. "Nas Ghent… it was him in the mask. We saw him. He—"
Han interrupts, scowling, "Yeah, apparently slipped something nice into your drink while he was at it." He forces Luke to lie back down onto a pillow, telling him gravely, "You weren't breathing, Luke."
Instead of being startled by the news, Luke gazes up at him, incredulously.
"Han, tell me he didn't get away." At the silent and obviously frustrated confirmation, he arches himself up, getting dizzy when Luke weakly jolts into a sit. "No—"
"It was him or it was you," Han insists, grabbing him again, this time with his blunt fingernails clawing into Luke's upper arms. "There's no use getting riled up now. You need rest."
"We can't fail this mission…"
Han's voice drops into a low, angry growl. "A spice smuggler got away, so what?" he says, holding Luke in place from squirming. "You think it's worth getting yourself killed for it?"
"Leia said he worked for Vader. He had intel—"
"Okay, he was a glorified smuggler for the bad guys. Somebody will catch him."
"… was supposed to be us," Luke mumbles grumpily and frowning, no longer thrashing. He sinks gradually back to the cot-frame, wincing at the increasing dizziness.
"Stop complaining and get some rest," Han says, more softly. His thumb-pad lands against Luke's forehead, along with several other fingers, touching over his hot, flushed skin lightly. "Need to… get the rest of it out of your system first, y'hear me?"
It's too much for him. Luke doesn't want to fake this charade anymore.
"You know, we don't have to pretend in here…"
Han looks at him solemnly, dropping his fingers.
"Who's pretending, kid?" he asks.
The response strikes a chord of fear and thrill in Luke's heart. It leaves him speechless. Han leans over him with a determined glint in his eyes, and for a second, Luke thinks he's gonna kiss him — instead, Han's mouth pushes against Luke's forehead in a comforting, heated seal.
It's better than a kiss, by far.
Maybe not the best… but it's better.
*
It's eternal springtime here — the hydrophytes and watery soil, the electrical storms and rains.
And Luke says goodbye to it, preparing to be smuggled with Han out of the Faj system and back to the Rebel Alliance. Waiting too long increases the chances of taking a hit by the asteroid belt.
He considers passing it up, for however long the elliptical orbit takes, staying for a little bit and using up the rest of their credits. Luke heard about a Byzal canyon on the planet, used for the swoop racers. He knows they would have enjoyed getting a view of it.
Just… pretending a little while longer.
But, it's not what a Jedi would do. Not really. And he can't assume that's what Han wants. Even when their hands are gathered together, their fingers never breaking, eyes gently seeking each other.
There's a meaning still to come. Luke knows it's there between them, and it's no mistake.
*