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kathierif_ficTitle: Control, and the loss thereof
Author: Kathie
Fandom: Star Wars
Pairing/character: Han Solo/Luke Skywalker
Rating: FRAO
Prompt & Prompter: pillow biting (prompted by na_leo_patrz over at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rounds_of_kink)
Kink: finger-fucking
Disclaimer: not mine.
Notes/Warnings: Takes place during the third (sixth?) movie, before the final battle. 2735 words. I'm blaming![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shades_of_hades for the almost paranoid checking that I didn't misspell Han's name this time, thank you :)
Summary: “A Jedi,” Luke said, “is always in control.” Han disagrees. And he's out to prove it.
“A Jedi,” Luke said, “is always in control of himself and one with the Force around him.” He looked so serious and earnest while saying it, so respectable and adult that Han wondered for a moment what had happened to the blue-eyed, naive farm boy that he and Chewie had picked up on that dusty planet. It hadn't been that long ago, he was certain of that. Luke didn't have the right to age so quickly.
But Luke wasn't that innocent farm boy anymore. He was a veteran fighter pilot, survivor of several battles with the Empire, he was the last and the first of the Jedi order, a man, but sometimes, Han found himself wondering if, at the bottom of his big, soft heart, Luke still was nothing more than a farm boy from Tatooine, and what it would take to bring that farm boy out again.
Other days, Luke's reserved, almost detached Jedi-attitude only annoyed the part of Han that had always been looking to provoke whoever it could and had gotten him in trouble with authorities again and again, and today was such a day.
He poked at Luke, who was sitting on Han's bed with his legs sprawled out across the blanket, with his bare toes. As General of the Rebellion, Han had the privilege of a single room for himself rather than bunking with the others, and he had gladly taken it.
Having a room for himself didn't necessarily mean that he was alone there. Chewie spent a lot of time when he wasn't tinkering with the Falcon with Han, and sometimes, Leia stopped by.
And Luke, who had his bunk with the other pilots and who sometimes seemed to crave Han's presence and experience like a drug.
Han didn't mind. When Luke had shown up, he had wordlessly waved him in and had returned to his preparations, which included staring at plans and blueprints and pretending he didn't know what he was getting into. Luke had settled on his bed and had kept mostly silent, until now.
“Always?” Han asked and raised both eyebrows. “Any time?”
“Yes,” Luke confirmed. “Always and anytime.”
Han's lips curled, and he scoffed. “I doubt that,” he drawled and tipped his head back, to stare at the blank ceiling of his room. It was painted in a dull and washed-out light gray, and in a way, it represented their current situation, in which they were lying low and waiting, perfectly. Han briefly considered to apply a fresh coat of paint, maybe something brighter, and wondered if that would provoke fate and if a friendlier room was worth that risk before he discarded that line of thought completely.
“What do you mean, you doubt it?”
Han grinned. “It means I don't think Jedi are always completely in control. Nobody is.”
“They are.” A glint of passionate temper sparkled in Luke's eyes, and Han carefully hid his triumphant grin. He almost had Luke where he wanted him; had almost brought that farm boy in him out again.
“Uh-huh.” Han stretched out on his stomach next to Luke.
“I can prove it.” Luke sat up straight. “Any challenge you want to throw at me.” There it was again, that earnest tone to Luke's voice. Han opened his mouth to comment, but Luke just continued talking. “Any challenge within reason, of course.”
He had learned something, Han had to admit. He didn't know if it was Leia's influence, the responsibility of an experienced fighter pilot or just a growing maturity that came with age, but Luke wasn't as naive anymore as he had been at their first meeting.
It didn't matter, he decided as he rolled out of bed again and pushed his feet into his boots. He had an idea.
What he was planning was not outside the lines Luke had just drawn, and even if it was, Luke would stop him quickly if it went too far. There was no doubt about that in Han's mind.
“Okay,” he said and squinted down at Luke. “Strip and lie down on your stomach.”
Luke stared back at him, his eyes narrowed slightly, but then, he stood.
“Okay,” he agreed. Unspoken, but yet audible between them was the implicit I trust you. Luke didn't need to say it. They both knew how true it was, how tangible between them that trust was.
Han couldn't hold back his grin anymore. “Don't go anywhere,” he said as Luke started to take off his clothes and lightly tanned skin became visible. “I'll be right back.”
With these words, he left the room without looking back. He needed something from the Falcon, hidden away in one of the most secret smuggling compartments in his ship, to continue with his plan.
When he came back, just a few moments later, Luke was naked save for the glove over his prosthetic hand, his clothes folded neatly over the back of Han's desk chair. He was lying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, and Han had to stop for a moment in his path and follow the strong line of Luke's spine with his gaze.
This, a dry voice at the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Leia told him, was not the body of a kid. Luke's work on his uncle's farm and the Jedi training he had undergone had left their signs on his body in form of lean, hard muscles.
Luke turned his head in Han's direction and smiled. “I almost expected you to get an embarrassing costume, or a Storm Trooper uniform,” he admitted and shifted slightly. The muscles under his skin twisted and moved smoothly and Han had to swallow twice before he managed to tear himself away from the view.
He snorted and stepped closer to the bed. “I want you to lose control,” he said, “not get you humiliated in front of all our pilots, or worse, get shot.”
“Glad to hear that,” Luke muttered quietly, and Han laughed and presented the flask to him.
It was cut from a single piece of crystal, but that wasn't why Han had brought it.
It wasn't why this flask was so valuable.
The valuable part was the golden oil within the bottle, gleaming slightly in the light of the overhead lamps.
“Come on,” Han murmured. “Spread your legs, make some room for me.” He nudged Luke's hip and crawled onto the bed, between Luke's thighs, where he settled into a comfortable position.
He started slowly by tracing his fingertips gently along the back and the inside of Luke's thighs, following the lines of muscles from the sensitive back of his knees to the swell of his ass and back.
Luke let out a small sigh and folded his arms under the pillow he'd pulled close. Han could feel the muscles under his hands relax slowly, and he brushed his warm, broad palm slowly across the small of Luke's back once before focusing his attention on Luke's ass.
He placed his hands on the downy soft cheeks and rubbed slightly before pulling them apart, to reveal the hidden opening between them. His thumbs brushed gently against the furled muscle. Luke inhaled with a soft hiss.
Han grinned. He gave in to the temptation and leaned over, to place a gentle bite against the crease where thigh met ass. He sucked a red bruise to the surface of Luke's skin and traced his tongue along one cheek, to Luke's back.
Luke made a small sound of surprise, and Han pulled abruptly away and reached for the flask he'd put down when he'd crawled on the bed, slowly opening it.
Now the fun could start.
“What are you planning?” Luke asked over his shoulder and arched his spine gently, like a predator preparing for a fight.
Han grinned and tilted the flask. A single drop of oil fell onto Luke's back, right above his ass.
Luke stilled. “It's warm,” he realized suddenly.
“Yeah,” Han answered and dripped more oil on Luke's body. “It's warm. A specialty, but it's really nothing against some of the other things I could get my hands on.”
Luke chuckled softly. “A promise?” he asked.
Han started drawing his fingers through the oil and in tightening spirals around Luke's hole.
“A fact,” he stated. “For now.” It was up to Luke if he wanted it to be more than that.
~*+*~
Luke felt the first of Han's broad, calloused fingers slide across his hole and press gently in and he took a deep, steadying breath and consciously relaxed the way Yoda had taught him. Luke suspected that this was not what the old Jedi Master had had in mind when he had told Luke that these meditation techniques would be helpful one day, but Luke didn't plan on telling him about this.
He bit back a smile at the thought of Yoda and focused back on what Han was doing to him.
Han's single finger was sliding deeper into Luke's body, pressing into his inner walls as if he was searching for something. His other hand was curling around Luke's hip, his thumb petting Luke gently. Han wasn't trying to restrain him in any way, he was just offering a connection between them, a sort of anchor.
“How are you doing?” Han murmured and rubbed his middle finger against the rim of Luke's hole.
“Good,” Luke assured him. “I'm good.” He was.
“You let me know when that changes,” Han ordered and slipped in a second finger along the first. Luke's muscles were stretched wide and burned slightly, but it wasn't distracting him from holding on to his control. This was not different than Jedi training. He could still focus on every single detail of what was happening to him and around him, the slickness of the oil on Han's rough fingers, the warmth of it on his skin, the slow and methodical twist of Han's fingers, pressing against tightly strung muscles and patiently urging them to loosen and relax.
And then, Han turned his hand, pushed his fingers in deep and brushed against a small spot deep inside Luke that sent a sharp wave of arousal through his body. It was intense, almost too intense, and a soft noise escaped from Luke's throat as he tried to make sense of the battery of sensations racing along his nerves.
He couldn't quite decide if it was pain or pleasure he was feeling; if Han's fingers caused so much pleasure it was painful or if Luke simply was able to find pleasure in pain. He was acutely aware that he'd spread his legs wider and that he was pushing his ass backwards, back and up, greedy to get more of that feeling, despite his doubts whether he liked it.
It looked as if his body had decided for him, already.
The oil was sweet-smelling, with a distinctive, spicy note to it, and it was slowly dripping down the inside of his thighs, running over his balls and most likely ruining Han's sheets. His dick was pressed tight against his own stomach, smearing fluid against his skin. Every twist and turn of Han's wrist made Luke's dick jump slightly. Sweat was starting to appear on his skin, mingling with the oil in a heady fragrance, and Luke buried his face in Han's pillow to help him focus, but a particular stab of Han's fingertips against that small bundle of nerves deep within him and a lungful of Han's smell and he felt as if his control was starting to crumble.
But he was a Jedi.
He could be stronger than that.
He knew he could.
Han now slowly worked a third finger into him, pouring more oil between them and over Luke's hole. The stretch was harder to take this time. Luke panted into Han's pillow, trying to relax into the push and pull of Han's touch.
A Jedi was always in control of himself and his body. A simple thing like the gentle thrusting of fingers into his body shouldn't be able to take him apart so completely.
There was no doubt that Han was careful, trying to make sure he was okay and not in pain but enjoying what Han was doing to him. Han wanted to prove his point, but he wouldn't harm Luke for it, Luke knew. He trusted Han, and every fiber of his being and the Force told him that he was right to trust Han.
No harm would come to him from the older man.
Han turned his fingers, pads pressing against Luke's inner walls, and sent another shock wave of sensation through Luke's body.
He wouldn't lose control.
Not like this.
His mouth opened on another thrust, but before a single sound could escape, he pressed his face harder into the pillow and clenched his teeth into the fabric.
Han moved faster, his fingers rubbing over the little bundle of nerves with more intent, pressing down and thrusting harder, faster.
Skin slapped against skin.
Oil and sweat mingled on Luke's body.
Saliva wetted the pillow between Luke's teeth. The fabric dried out Luke's mouth, and he tried to swallow down the moans and whimpers he couldn't suppress anymore, stifling them in the pillow.
He screwed his eyes shut tightly and clenched his fingers in the pillow.
Somehow, he needed to get his control back.
His mind drifted over the lessons Yoda had taught him, the way the old Jedi had accepted things -
His breath hitched, and Luke tried to inhale deeply, tried to let go of the tension in his body and mind.
He was not in control of his body. He had to accept that. He could accept that because he was not in danger.
Han was in control of Luke's body, from the tips of his sweaty hair over the throb of his erection and the burn of his stretched muscles to his toes, but Luke was in control of Han.
If he wanted this to stop, he just needed to let go of the pillow still clenched between his teeth and fingers and say the word.
He didn't need to.
Han could hold on to Luke's control for a little longer, a few more thrusts of his fingers, until it became too much. Sensation overwhelmed him, the Force wrapped itself around him like a blanket, and Luke came hard. Colors exploded in front of his tightly closed eyes, his muscles strained, his hips working in frantic twitches.
Over the slowly quietening rush of blood in his ears, he could hear Han.
“See,” he said smugly, “you're out of control sometimes, great Jedi.”
Luke's face was still buried in the pillow, breathing heavily and open-mouthed. His body was feeling weightless, his muscles relaxing, and through the hum of the Force in his mind, he detected something unusual in Han's voice, a weird, disbelieving tone he wasn't quite used to.
He hummed weakly. “'m not.”
He grimaced and tried to hide a wince as Han slowly pulled his fingers out of the tight grip of Luke's muscles and exhaled quietly. He would feel this for a while, he was sure, every time he moved too carelessly, but this was just an opportunity to practice other Jedi techniques Yoda had taught him.
Han snorted. “You know,” he replied, his voice muted, “we're floating in thin air, right under the ceiling, without an anti-grav generator.”
“Oh.” Luke lifted his head from the pillow and blinked slowly. “Oh.” He shook his head and gently brought them back down to the bed. “I thought...I was just feeling like floating,” he said wonderingly, feeling, for a split second, as naive and clumsy as he had the first time they'd met.
Han grinned smugly. “See?” he grumbled.
Luke sat up. He pushed Han down into the pillows and settled on top on him.
“I was perfectly in control,” he said with a smile. “Otherwise, we wouldn't have stayed up there, but crashed down to the floor.”
And before Han could find a reply, Luke kissed him, ready to return the favor and to make Han see stars.
~end.
Author: Kathie
Fandom: Star Wars
Pairing/character: Han Solo/Luke Skywalker
Rating: FRAO
Prompt & Prompter: pillow biting (prompted by na_leo_patrz over at
rounds_of_kink)Kink: finger-fucking
Disclaimer: not mine.
Notes/Warnings: Takes place during the third (sixth?) movie, before the final battle. 2735 words. I'm blaming
shades_of_hades for the almost paranoid checking that I didn't misspell Han's name this time, thank you :)Summary: “A Jedi,” Luke said, “is always in control.” Han disagrees. And he's out to prove it.
“A Jedi,” Luke said, “is always in control of himself and one with the Force around him.” He looked so serious and earnest while saying it, so respectable and adult that Han wondered for a moment what had happened to the blue-eyed, naive farm boy that he and Chewie had picked up on that dusty planet. It hadn't been that long ago, he was certain of that. Luke didn't have the right to age so quickly.
But Luke wasn't that innocent farm boy anymore. He was a veteran fighter pilot, survivor of several battles with the Empire, he was the last and the first of the Jedi order, a man, but sometimes, Han found himself wondering if, at the bottom of his big, soft heart, Luke still was nothing more than a farm boy from Tatooine, and what it would take to bring that farm boy out again.
Other days, Luke's reserved, almost detached Jedi-attitude only annoyed the part of Han that had always been looking to provoke whoever it could and had gotten him in trouble with authorities again and again, and today was such a day.
He poked at Luke, who was sitting on Han's bed with his legs sprawled out across the blanket, with his bare toes. As General of the Rebellion, Han had the privilege of a single room for himself rather than bunking with the others, and he had gladly taken it.
Having a room for himself didn't necessarily mean that he was alone there. Chewie spent a lot of time when he wasn't tinkering with the Falcon with Han, and sometimes, Leia stopped by.
And Luke, who had his bunk with the other pilots and who sometimes seemed to crave Han's presence and experience like a drug.
Han didn't mind. When Luke had shown up, he had wordlessly waved him in and had returned to his preparations, which included staring at plans and blueprints and pretending he didn't know what he was getting into. Luke had settled on his bed and had kept mostly silent, until now.
“Always?” Han asked and raised both eyebrows. “Any time?”
“Yes,” Luke confirmed. “Always and anytime.”
Han's lips curled, and he scoffed. “I doubt that,” he drawled and tipped his head back, to stare at the blank ceiling of his room. It was painted in a dull and washed-out light gray, and in a way, it represented their current situation, in which they were lying low and waiting, perfectly. Han briefly considered to apply a fresh coat of paint, maybe something brighter, and wondered if that would provoke fate and if a friendlier room was worth that risk before he discarded that line of thought completely.
“What do you mean, you doubt it?”
Han grinned. “It means I don't think Jedi are always completely in control. Nobody is.”
“They are.” A glint of passionate temper sparkled in Luke's eyes, and Han carefully hid his triumphant grin. He almost had Luke where he wanted him; had almost brought that farm boy in him out again.
“Uh-huh.” Han stretched out on his stomach next to Luke.
“I can prove it.” Luke sat up straight. “Any challenge you want to throw at me.” There it was again, that earnest tone to Luke's voice. Han opened his mouth to comment, but Luke just continued talking. “Any challenge within reason, of course.”
He had learned something, Han had to admit. He didn't know if it was Leia's influence, the responsibility of an experienced fighter pilot or just a growing maturity that came with age, but Luke wasn't as naive anymore as he had been at their first meeting.
It didn't matter, he decided as he rolled out of bed again and pushed his feet into his boots. He had an idea.
What he was planning was not outside the lines Luke had just drawn, and even if it was, Luke would stop him quickly if it went too far. There was no doubt about that in Han's mind.
“Okay,” he said and squinted down at Luke. “Strip and lie down on your stomach.”
Luke stared back at him, his eyes narrowed slightly, but then, he stood.
“Okay,” he agreed. Unspoken, but yet audible between them was the implicit I trust you. Luke didn't need to say it. They both knew how true it was, how tangible between them that trust was.
Han couldn't hold back his grin anymore. “Don't go anywhere,” he said as Luke started to take off his clothes and lightly tanned skin became visible. “I'll be right back.”
With these words, he left the room without looking back. He needed something from the Falcon, hidden away in one of the most secret smuggling compartments in his ship, to continue with his plan.
When he came back, just a few moments later, Luke was naked save for the glove over his prosthetic hand, his clothes folded neatly over the back of Han's desk chair. He was lying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, and Han had to stop for a moment in his path and follow the strong line of Luke's spine with his gaze.
This, a dry voice at the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Leia told him, was not the body of a kid. Luke's work on his uncle's farm and the Jedi training he had undergone had left their signs on his body in form of lean, hard muscles.
Luke turned his head in Han's direction and smiled. “I almost expected you to get an embarrassing costume, or a Storm Trooper uniform,” he admitted and shifted slightly. The muscles under his skin twisted and moved smoothly and Han had to swallow twice before he managed to tear himself away from the view.
He snorted and stepped closer to the bed. “I want you to lose control,” he said, “not get you humiliated in front of all our pilots, or worse, get shot.”
“Glad to hear that,” Luke muttered quietly, and Han laughed and presented the flask to him.
It was cut from a single piece of crystal, but that wasn't why Han had brought it.
It wasn't why this flask was so valuable.
The valuable part was the golden oil within the bottle, gleaming slightly in the light of the overhead lamps.
“Come on,” Han murmured. “Spread your legs, make some room for me.” He nudged Luke's hip and crawled onto the bed, between Luke's thighs, where he settled into a comfortable position.
He started slowly by tracing his fingertips gently along the back and the inside of Luke's thighs, following the lines of muscles from the sensitive back of his knees to the swell of his ass and back.
Luke let out a small sigh and folded his arms under the pillow he'd pulled close. Han could feel the muscles under his hands relax slowly, and he brushed his warm, broad palm slowly across the small of Luke's back once before focusing his attention on Luke's ass.
He placed his hands on the downy soft cheeks and rubbed slightly before pulling them apart, to reveal the hidden opening between them. His thumbs brushed gently against the furled muscle. Luke inhaled with a soft hiss.
Han grinned. He gave in to the temptation and leaned over, to place a gentle bite against the crease where thigh met ass. He sucked a red bruise to the surface of Luke's skin and traced his tongue along one cheek, to Luke's back.
Luke made a small sound of surprise, and Han pulled abruptly away and reached for the flask he'd put down when he'd crawled on the bed, slowly opening it.
Now the fun could start.
“What are you planning?” Luke asked over his shoulder and arched his spine gently, like a predator preparing for a fight.
Han grinned and tilted the flask. A single drop of oil fell onto Luke's back, right above his ass.
Luke stilled. “It's warm,” he realized suddenly.
“Yeah,” Han answered and dripped more oil on Luke's body. “It's warm. A specialty, but it's really nothing against some of the other things I could get my hands on.”
Luke chuckled softly. “A promise?” he asked.
Han started drawing his fingers through the oil and in tightening spirals around Luke's hole.
“A fact,” he stated. “For now.” It was up to Luke if he wanted it to be more than that.
~*+*~
Luke felt the first of Han's broad, calloused fingers slide across his hole and press gently in and he took a deep, steadying breath and consciously relaxed the way Yoda had taught him. Luke suspected that this was not what the old Jedi Master had had in mind when he had told Luke that these meditation techniques would be helpful one day, but Luke didn't plan on telling him about this.
He bit back a smile at the thought of Yoda and focused back on what Han was doing to him.
Han's single finger was sliding deeper into Luke's body, pressing into his inner walls as if he was searching for something. His other hand was curling around Luke's hip, his thumb petting Luke gently. Han wasn't trying to restrain him in any way, he was just offering a connection between them, a sort of anchor.
“How are you doing?” Han murmured and rubbed his middle finger against the rim of Luke's hole.
“Good,” Luke assured him. “I'm good.” He was.
“You let me know when that changes,” Han ordered and slipped in a second finger along the first. Luke's muscles were stretched wide and burned slightly, but it wasn't distracting him from holding on to his control. This was not different than Jedi training. He could still focus on every single detail of what was happening to him and around him, the slickness of the oil on Han's rough fingers, the warmth of it on his skin, the slow and methodical twist of Han's fingers, pressing against tightly strung muscles and patiently urging them to loosen and relax.
And then, Han turned his hand, pushed his fingers in deep and brushed against a small spot deep inside Luke that sent a sharp wave of arousal through his body. It was intense, almost too intense, and a soft noise escaped from Luke's throat as he tried to make sense of the battery of sensations racing along his nerves.
He couldn't quite decide if it was pain or pleasure he was feeling; if Han's fingers caused so much pleasure it was painful or if Luke simply was able to find pleasure in pain. He was acutely aware that he'd spread his legs wider and that he was pushing his ass backwards, back and up, greedy to get more of that feeling, despite his doubts whether he liked it.
It looked as if his body had decided for him, already.
The oil was sweet-smelling, with a distinctive, spicy note to it, and it was slowly dripping down the inside of his thighs, running over his balls and most likely ruining Han's sheets. His dick was pressed tight against his own stomach, smearing fluid against his skin. Every twist and turn of Han's wrist made Luke's dick jump slightly. Sweat was starting to appear on his skin, mingling with the oil in a heady fragrance, and Luke buried his face in Han's pillow to help him focus, but a particular stab of Han's fingertips against that small bundle of nerves deep within him and a lungful of Han's smell and he felt as if his control was starting to crumble.
But he was a Jedi.
He could be stronger than that.
He knew he could.
Han now slowly worked a third finger into him, pouring more oil between them and over Luke's hole. The stretch was harder to take this time. Luke panted into Han's pillow, trying to relax into the push and pull of Han's touch.
A Jedi was always in control of himself and his body. A simple thing like the gentle thrusting of fingers into his body shouldn't be able to take him apart so completely.
There was no doubt that Han was careful, trying to make sure he was okay and not in pain but enjoying what Han was doing to him. Han wanted to prove his point, but he wouldn't harm Luke for it, Luke knew. He trusted Han, and every fiber of his being and the Force told him that he was right to trust Han.
No harm would come to him from the older man.
Han turned his fingers, pads pressing against Luke's inner walls, and sent another shock wave of sensation through Luke's body.
He wouldn't lose control.
Not like this.
His mouth opened on another thrust, but before a single sound could escape, he pressed his face harder into the pillow and clenched his teeth into the fabric.
Han moved faster, his fingers rubbing over the little bundle of nerves with more intent, pressing down and thrusting harder, faster.
Skin slapped against skin.
Oil and sweat mingled on Luke's body.
Saliva wetted the pillow between Luke's teeth. The fabric dried out Luke's mouth, and he tried to swallow down the moans and whimpers he couldn't suppress anymore, stifling them in the pillow.
He screwed his eyes shut tightly and clenched his fingers in the pillow.
Somehow, he needed to get his control back.
His mind drifted over the lessons Yoda had taught him, the way the old Jedi had accepted things -
His breath hitched, and Luke tried to inhale deeply, tried to let go of the tension in his body and mind.
He was not in control of his body. He had to accept that. He could accept that because he was not in danger.
Han was in control of Luke's body, from the tips of his sweaty hair over the throb of his erection and the burn of his stretched muscles to his toes, but Luke was in control of Han.
If he wanted this to stop, he just needed to let go of the pillow still clenched between his teeth and fingers and say the word.
He didn't need to.
Han could hold on to Luke's control for a little longer, a few more thrusts of his fingers, until it became too much. Sensation overwhelmed him, the Force wrapped itself around him like a blanket, and Luke came hard. Colors exploded in front of his tightly closed eyes, his muscles strained, his hips working in frantic twitches.
Over the slowly quietening rush of blood in his ears, he could hear Han.
“See,” he said smugly, “you're out of control sometimes, great Jedi.”
Luke's face was still buried in the pillow, breathing heavily and open-mouthed. His body was feeling weightless, his muscles relaxing, and through the hum of the Force in his mind, he detected something unusual in Han's voice, a weird, disbelieving tone he wasn't quite used to.
He hummed weakly. “'m not.”
He grimaced and tried to hide a wince as Han slowly pulled his fingers out of the tight grip of Luke's muscles and exhaled quietly. He would feel this for a while, he was sure, every time he moved too carelessly, but this was just an opportunity to practice other Jedi techniques Yoda had taught him.
Han snorted. “You know,” he replied, his voice muted, “we're floating in thin air, right under the ceiling, without an anti-grav generator.”
“Oh.” Luke lifted his head from the pillow and blinked slowly. “Oh.” He shook his head and gently brought them back down to the bed. “I thought...I was just feeling like floating,” he said wonderingly, feeling, for a split second, as naive and clumsy as he had the first time they'd met.
Han grinned smugly. “See?” he grumbled.
Luke sat up. He pushed Han down into the pillows and settled on top on him.
“I was perfectly in control,” he said with a smile. “Otherwise, we wouldn't have stayed up there, but crashed down to the floor.”
And before Han could find a reply, Luke kissed him, ready to return the favor and to make Han see stars.
~end.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-13 11:12 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-15 01:24 pm (UTC)...I'm always debating if it's "provoked" or "provocated" which is probably just German, huh?
(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-15 01:32 pm (UTC)